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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Sorry for your loss - “I will move on” #04

Read on AO3 || Serie Masterlist here

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction pining, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, domestic Wanda, hurtful behaviors.

Tag list: @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia / @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5

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Chapter Four - I will move on

"And I guess that's about it." You say as you finish telling Agatha about your last few weeks. She smiles as she shakes her head.

"I have to say I am proud of you." She comments gesturing briefly with her hands. "Are you sure you don't want to add anything else?"

You shrug, unable to remember anything relevant that you haven't mentioned.

You told her about writing again, about trying to drive again. About helping Wanda to stay home without having panic attacks, and to go back to work. You had only managed to drive in the supermarket parking lot, but it was still progress, and Stephen was very happy to hear it about too. The only thing missing to get your life back to normal was your apartment. And you had already arranged with Wanda to visit later that week.

"I have two questions for you then." Agatha says when you confirm that you have nothing to add. "Don't you think it's time to try to reconnect with your friends?"

You hesitate, thoughtfully.

"I don't know." You said slightly uncomfortable. "My friends weren't just mine. They were Nat's friends too. And then she died, and I isolated myself. And well, I guess they were in their own grief too, because none of them tried to look for me anymore."

"You took your time to heal." She says. "Maybe they took theirs too. And now might be the time to reconnect."

You sigh, looking away.

"Yeah, I'll think about it." You speak. You look back at Agatha a moment later. "What was the other question?"

Agatha hides a small smile.

"A sensitive topic for patients who lose their beloved lovers." She says and you frown in confusion. "Well, dear, I need to ask if you are trying to date again?"

You gasp in surprise, feeling your face heat up.

"W-what?"

Agatha lets out a giggle.

"I know this may seem insensitive at first, and that's more because of the sexist socioeconomic construct that treats widowed women as violated property that must belong to their lover for the rest of their lives than anything else but I need you to understand that it's perfectly natural to move on." She narrates and you just stand there with a shocked expression and your heart racing. "You are a single woman now, and you have sexual and emotional human needs. I'm going to help you work through any kind of guilt, because judging your progress, you seem ready to be in a relationship again."

"I...I don't..."

"Don't worry, honey." Agatha interrupts with a giggle. "I'm not telling you to go around fornicating." She jokes. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. But I don't think it's really your style at all."

You feel your face heat up, frowning at Agatha, but she continues to speak.

"Anyway, I'm saying that it will be good if you get back into romantic relationships with other people. Casual encounters, that sort of thing. You are allowed to love someone again, there's nothing wrong with that." She explains getting up toward her own desk, and then gives a mischievous little smile in your direction. "Not to mention that orgasms are great stress relievers."

You choke in surprise, but Agatha just smiles, turning to write the appointment report.

Your face is still very red when you leave her office.

//-//

"I'm going to make a gardener out of you yet, huh?" Monica joked as you finished composting, making you laugh lightly.

"Well, I had a good teacher." You joked back as you stood up.

You were at Wanda's flower shop again. It became routine for you to help Monica with the garden and the flowers. And as the days went by, you got used to being in the greenhouses while she was attending to customers and Wanda was working in the office. It took two weeks for Monica to start joking that you had become a staff member at the flower shop. You don't really mind helping out. Botany has turned out to be something surprisingly relaxing for you. The hours of Wanda's shift passed by quickly when you keep your hands busy with the plants and flowers, your anxiety long forgotten.

"Are you hungry?" Monica asks as soon as you return to the store's front desk, and she pulls out the " break" sign tucked under the counter.

"Sure."

"Let's take a lunch break. See if Wanda wants to join us while I attend that boy." Monica says looking forward toward the window display. There is a boy clearly unsure about whether or not to enter the store and you exchange a chuckle with her before heading towards Wanda's office.

She is on the phone when she answers the door for you, and signals with her finger in her mouth for you not to say anything as she makes room for you to enter. As she mumbles in agreement on the call, you look around. She seems to be working on the organization of some big event judging by the whiteboard in the corner filled with notes, and you figure it's a party or some wedding, because you and Monica have been growing more flowers for this kind of thing lately.

"That sounds pretty good, actually." You listen to her speak as she jots down a few things in an agenda. " Don't worry, we have enough for the engagement party and the ceremony."

The shelf on the side in front of the whiteboard catches your attention, and you walk over to the furniture next.

Wanda moves a little behind you, adding some stickers to the whiteboard. You keep looking at the bookshelf, distracted by the objects on it. There is a picture of the twins that makes you smile, some books, and other small pots of plants. You lightly caress the bonsai before looking down.

You run your fingers over the red flower on Wanda's bookshelf, trying to remember the name. Monica has taught you many things, but you don't know many as well.

"Anthurium" Wanda whispers behind you, as she turns off her cell phone and realizes that you are looking at the flower with curiosity. You murmur in understanding, turning to make comment that it is very beautiful, but your speech dies in your throat when you realize how close Wanda is. "What did you want?" She asks curiously and you are almost leaning your body against the bookshelf, trying to think clearly.

"I-I came to ask if you want to have lunch with us." You say while mentally telling yourself not to look at Wanda's lips.

Wanda murmurs in understanding, and you can barely breathe when she stands even closer, her hand outstretched to something above your head. She pulls out a small stick caught in your hair, and all you can do is stare at her with a racing heart as she bites back a smile, and tosses the stick into one of the vases on the shelf behind you.

"I'd like to join you, but I'm busy." She says and her gaze falls to your lips for a second before she turns her head away and walks off. You let out a breath, wiping your sweaty hands on your pants as Wanda walks toward the table in search of the notepad and pen she was using before hanging up her cell phone. "Can you please bring me something to eat? I'm starving. I just don't know exactly what I want..."

You smile as you see Wanda's thoughtful expression with pen and notebook in hand. You approach, putting the notebook down with your hand gently.

"Don't worry, I know what you like." You say simply, and Wanda blinks in surprise, smiling awkwardly. "I'll stop by that confectionery shop you like and also bring you a dessert, okay? You look stressed."

Wanda laughs lightly, her cheeks flushed.

"Thanks, love."

The nickname slips so naturally from her lips that it takes a moment for both of you to realize what has just been said. Your gaze falls to Wanda's mouth the same minute that her pupils dilate. You are almost breaking the distance when Monica opens the door, not noticing the closeness of the two of you because she has her gaze on a piece of paper in her own hands.

You and Wanda immediately turn away, embarrassed.

"We have a big order, girls." She announces excitedly, raising her eyes to you. Monica frowns slightly at the guilty expressions and reddened faces. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"No." You answer in unison quickly, surprising Monica again, who acquires an expression of suspicion and humor. You clear your throat and Wanda lets out a short laugh.

"We were just talking about lunch." You say. "And well, Wanda has a big order too. I guess you guys will need my help then."

Wanda turns to you again with this statement.

"What? No, I can't make you work for me..."

You interrupt with a laugh.

"Wanda, don't even start." You say. "I love staying here. And I'm happy to help, really. Don't worry about it."

"You sure make my shifts more fun." Adds Monica with a smile, making you laugh. Wanda looks at you intently.

"Are you sure?" She asks, and you smile as you nod in agreement. "We'll talk about it later. You can't work for free, and if you're going to help you need a schedule, and breaks and chores."

You laugh, nodding.

"Yes, boss." You murmur playfully and Wanda pats your arm, making you and Monica laugh.

"Let's get our lunch now, I'm starving." Monica orders as she turns to walk out the door. You murmur in agreement, and quickly kiss Wanda on the cheek before following the other woman. Wanda has a foolish smile on her face until you return with her lunch many minutes later.

//-//

You call Carol Danvers the day before you return to your apartment.

Things go much better than you expected, but it's not surprising, because you usually expect the worst case scenario.

Carol is very happy to hear from you, and you are happy to know that she doesn't hate you for not calling before. You talk for a few minutes, but she can't talk much on the phone because her shift is about to start. You are surprised to learn that she is working in a nightclub downtown now, unlike months ago when she worked in a rock bar in Queens.

She tells you that Bruce was traveling because of his internship, but that he would be in town for the weekend, and invites you to visit her at work. You hesitate because you are not sure if you are ready to go to a club, but you accept as you think of Agatha's words about reconnecting with your friends again.

You are the one who drives to your apartment the next day, after you and Wanda leave the flower shop. Your heart is racing the whole time, but Wanda rests her hand on your thigh to calm you down, and as the minutes go by, you can no longer tell whether you are nervous about the trauma or something else.

Parking in the small condo cluster, you take a deep breath. Wanda gives your thigh one last squeeze before she pulls her hand away and gets out of the car, completely oblivious to the way your entire body trembles at her touch. Shaking your head slightly to push that kind of thought away, you step out of the car.

Your hands are shaking wildly as you take your keys out of your pockets, just as you reach the second floor, after you have politely waved to the people who recognized you on the way to your apartment.

"Hey, breathe." Wanda asks softly beside you. And you take a deep breath, and it helps. And then you turn the key, and go inside.

It is exactly the same as the last time you were here, many months ago, on the day of the accident.

Your mother cleaned it up, of course, but it is still the same. Everything is in the exact same place, even the shoes that Nat left lying in the corner of the bookshelf. And you felt your chest tighten when the flashes of memory began.

You walked around, looking at the surroundings while Wanda followed you. A few tears streamed down your face, but you said nothing.

You were in the kitchen when the first sob escaped your throat. Leaning your hands on the counter, you dropped your keys and tried to push away the memories that were clear in your head.

It was as if you could feel Nat in the room. Seeing her in the armchair, laughing at your jokes, or being a disaster in the kitchen on nights when you tried to eat something homemade. Her books mixed in with yours on the bookshelf, your wedding and graduation pictures on the mantelpiece.

You moved away from the counter quickly, however, as Wanda looked at you intently, unsure whether to approach or not. Walking down the hallway, you stopped in front of your bedroom door.

And you stood there. Long minutes staring at the wood. Unable to move.

Feeling arms around your waist, you sighed, your body relaxing considerably.

Wanda hugged you from behind, and waited. You were crying again, and you only stopped after a while. Taking a deep breath, and lightly stroking Wanda's hand to ask her to let go, you waited for her to let go of you to open the door.

Wanda waited for you outside. You just walked around the room, your face wet as you breathed with difficulty, your arms crossed as if you were afraid to touch anything.

When you came out, you took a deep breath once more. And then you said you needed to call your mother.

That's how you spent the rest of the day packing up your apartment together with Wanda, your mother, and Pietro and Monica, who came to help after Wanda said you needed more people.

You came back the other day too, until the only things left were larger pieces of furniture.

"Are you sure you're going to sell?" Your mother asked you in the parking lot as soon as you left there in the late afternoon. Wanda had just gone home with her brother and sister-in-law.

"That was her apartment, Mom." You say as you put the boxes in the trunk. "I could never live here without Natasha."

"It's a good property." She comments, making you chuckle lightly.

"I'm sure the next owners will love it."

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, dear. It's just a nice apartment, not the kind of thing you get every day and..."

"Are you wanting to keep it by any chance?" You interrupt, irritated at your mother's lack of sensitivity. She sighs, and you frown.

"No. But maybe someone else wants to."

It takes a moment for you to understand what she is implying.

"You know Nat didn't talk to her family."

Your mother looks away.

"Actually..." She begins and you close the trunk with a confused expression, "I've been seeing Melina since January."

You blink in surprise, and then let out a dry laugh.

"I am speechless." You say in shock. "You...are you serious? Wow, I...wow."

You lean back against the car, impressed and annoyed. Your mother sighs guiltily, stepping in front of you again.

"Look, I know I should have had something, but you were so..."

"Sad? Yeah mom, my wife died, I had a right to be."

"That's not what I meant."

You sighed, rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, I know." You grumble. "But it sucks that you kept it from me. What the hell does Melina want anyway?"

Your mother looks away for a moment.

"She wanted to see you actually." She says and you let out a wry laugh. "I know how ridiculous it sounds, but her daughter died and you were the only remaining connection to Natasha."

You push your fingers against your forehead lightly, thinking you are starting to get a migraine from this conversation.

"You know what, Mom?" You say. "Since you two have become such good friends lately, tell her that her chance to connect with me was lost the moment she didn't attend the funeral."

Your mother sighs, but you are already turning to get into the car. She follows you a moment later, sitting in the passenger seat.

You drive in silence back home.

//-//

Over the weekend, you almost canceled your plans with Carol.

Your mother was giving you the silent treatment for the way you refused to talk about Natasha and Melina, and you were very irritated by the whole situation.

Grumbling about how ridiculous it all was, you agreed to have coffee with the two women the following week, and your mother's mood changed considerably, the complete opposite of what happened to you.

But you forced yourself to smile, and got up from the couch to get ready.

Around seven-thirty at night, you arrived at the place, which was already very busy, neon lights peeking through the windows along with the loud music.

"My goodness, look at you!" Greeted Carol cheerfully as soon as you met her at the counter. She turned around to hug you tight, and you felt your chest swell with happiness. You had missed your friend so much.

"You got a haircut" You comment in the same excitement, smiling at her. "I missed you, Danvers."

She smiles, mumbling that she missed you too. She asked you to sit on one of the stools at the front of the bar, and you did so while she went back behind the counter.

You updated each other a bit as she served some customers, and a while later, Bruce arrived.

"Banner I can't believe you are wearing a suit in a nightclub." Carol teased as she greeted her friend, making you chuckle slightly as Bruce explained that he didn't have time to look more casual.

"It's good to see you." He said to you as he hugged you, you repeated the words, then sat at the bar.

A few drinks and laughs later, Carol's shift ended, and she sat at a table with you two.

Between telling your friends about your progress in therapy, and hearing how Carol had left her previous job after punching a slacker client in the face, and learning that Bruce was working as an aspiring scientist, and lecturing around the country, the three of you had enough beers for the direction of the conversation to make your cheeks flush.

"I swear to you, she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!" Carol told you, making you and Bruce laugh at her excitement.

"Now you're going to say that the next second you saw the next most beautiful woman in the world?" You teased wryly, and Carol laughed as she told you to shut up. "Are you even dating this Gamora girl?"

Carol hid a smirk, taking a sip of her beer.

"Actually." She began. "We're living together."

You widened your eyes in surprise, and then laughed.

"My god, Carol Danvers in love!" You teased making her laugh as she flashed you her middle finger. "No, but seriously, that's amazing! I'm happy for you, Carol."

"Yes, yes." She says smiling, "But what about you? I know you and Nat were like, madly in love or whatever cheesy stuff you put in your books, but it's been months. It would be nice if you met someone new."

The topic is quite sensitive, and the mood at the table changes because of it. But you are far more embarrassed than upset, and you lower your gaze to your bottle before answering.

" Oh, well, i..." You begin half-heartedly. Your stomach does a flip-flop, because you are thinking of a person. "There is someone, I think. But I don't know if we're both ready to take that on yet."

Carol makes an agreeing noise with her mouth, and then has an insinuating little smile on her face.

"Do you still remember how to be with a girl, champ?" your friend teases, and you nudge her shoulder shyly as she and Bruce laugh.

"Aren't those things like riding a bike?" The other man asked timidly, getting a wry look from Carol.

"You know, Bruce, your innocence is admirable." Carol teases making you laugh.

"Don't be mean." You say poking her lightly in the ribs, but Bruce doesn't really care. It's been that way since college when he told you guys he was asexual. The whole thing was funny because Carol has always been very, very sexual. And they have been teasing each other about it for years.

"Ah but I won't be, I promise." She assures. "Actually, I'm much more interested in hearing about your new girlfriend."

You laugh shyly, drinking some of your beer.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

Carol laughed, her gaze running around the room before returning to you.

"Well, that blonde girl has been looking over here for a few moments. I have a girlfriend, and Bruce doesn't like sex. I guess you're the one who's going to have to talk to her."

You widened your eyes at your friend's words, looking forward quickly.

A blond woman was indeed staring at your table.

"I don't think that's a good idea." You mumble clumsily, and Carol gives a little laugh.

"That's too bad, because now that you've looked, she's going to come here." Your friend warns, and you choke on your beer when you see the girl actually getting up from the countertop.

"Carol, help me." You awkwardly whisper but your friend just laughs, and then the stranger catches up with you all.

"Hi." She greets sensually, looking up at you. You swallow dryly as your friend holds back a giggle. "Would you like to dance?"

"I-I..."

"Use your words." Carol teased lowly next to you, making the girl laugh at your clumsiness.

"Don't be shy, I don't bite." The girl added maliciously. " Unless you ask me to."

You feel your face heat up with embarrassment, and you spread your mouth open, not knowing what to say next. Carol murmurs impressed.

"Sorry, sweetie, she used to function better than that." Carol interrupts the interaction, taking pity on your distress. "I think she's taken. But if it's just a dance, we can all enjoy it together."

The girl bites her lips, seeming to consider. She takes one last look at you, and then accepts the invitation.

This is how you end up on a dance floor, trying to escape the hands of a stranger.

You remember how to dance, and the drink helps a lot. But there are hands running over your body before the woman turns around and starts rubbing against you in rhythm with the music. You feel your breath catch, the excitement of having so much intimate contact after so long reaching you completely.

"Are you sure you're taken?" She whispers against your ear, and you give a short laugh, feeling your head spin.

"Yes." You half-heartedly assure her, using all the rest of your drunken control to push her hands away from you.

The woman didn't mind, stealing a short kiss on your cheek before dancing away, swaying her hips.

Carol threw her arms around you next.

"Wow, you really are in love!" She enthusiastically shouts to be heard between the beats of the music. You laugh with flushed cheeks, saying you need to take some air.

Your friend continues to dance, pulling Bruce close, and the man laughs awkwardly as he puts his arms around the blonde. You chuckle at the scene before turning to go outdoors.

It is easier to breathe outside.

Your first action is to take your cell phone out of your pocket, and check your notifications. Your heart melts when you open a message from Wanda. It is a picture of her and the boys, lying together between a comforter. The caption reads "movie night, doesn't even look like they were jumping on the couch two minutes ago".

You stare at the picture for a few seconds after sending a heart emoji to Wanda. And then you gasp softly, realizing. You really are in love with her. Like in romance movies, and fairy tale books. But also like the real thing. Because you love Wanda's company, her sharp jokes, the way she talks and behaves and cares for everyone. You don't want to be in a bar, or meet another girl. You want to be wrapped in a comforter with Wanda and the kids.

Trying not to panic at this conclusion, you put your cell phone back in your pocket, deciding to go back inside to say goodbye to your friends.

//-//

You are trying to find a way to tell Wanda how you feel. The problem is that you are insecure, because you have no idea if she is ready for a relationship again. You don't even know if she likes women.

With so much suffering in the past months, you also don't want to face a broken heart. So you decide to wait and see how things will turn out.

It is something about the way your life is completely intertwined in Wanda's now, in the same way that she has wrapped herself around your heart that makes you sigh when you think about it everything.

You are distracted while you work, and Monica smiles because you have a smirk while tinkering in the gardens, which is clearly not related to the plants. She doesn't say anything, because it's the same way Wanda smiles when you bring her coffee, or when you two come back from lunch. She can only be excited to think how it will be to organize your wedding.

It is at lunch after group therapy that Wanda invites you to her father's wedding anniversary party. You hadn't met him yet, and a party was a good thing, because you wouldn't have all his attention on you, and it lessens your anxiety considerably.

The party will be at Wanda's father's country house, and you will be able to cross the "take a trip" goal off your therapy to-do list.

In the meantime, you prepare to see Natasha's mother.

It is a Thursday, and you set aside your lunch period for this, because you really don't want this meeting to last more than an hour.

Your mother and Melina are already in the restaurant when you arrive, and you nod politely to the woman when you sit down at the table, signaling that she doesn't need to get up.

"So, what did you want?" you ask snidely, earning a scolding from your mother. Melina doesn't seem to mind your aggressiveness however.

"Let's order something to eat first please." Your mother says before the other woman can respond. You roll your eyes, not disagreeing.

After the waitress takes your orders and leaves, you cross your arms impatiently.

"Look, I know it's hard for you to hear from me after all this time..." The woman begins.

"Hard for me?" You cut her off with irony. "No, Melina. I was not the daughter you abandoned. It was just hard for Nat not to have you around. I simply don't like you myself."

"Honey" Your mother warns, but you let out a dry laugh.

"No, really." You continue firmly. "What do you really want with me?"

Melina sighs, straightening herself in her chair.

"Your mother told me that you intend to sell Natasha's apartment." She says. "I don't approve of such a decision."

You stare at her for a moment, and then let out a laugh.

"I should have known you'd only show up for the money." You say feeling your stomach turn with anger. Melina rolls her eyes, but doesn't deny it. Your mother looks surprised that you are right.

"I gave that apartment to Natasha..."

" I beg your pardon?" you interrupt angrily, your loud tone attracting the attention of the next table. "You gave her the apartment? Are you listening to yourself now?"

"We don't need to get carried away." She asked with irritation in her eyes, drawing a nasal laugh of indignation from you. "You know I'm right."

"No, Melina." You retort seriously, lowering your tone. "Clarify for me how you can possibly think that putting an apartment full of debt in your daughter's name to escape the state, making her work two shifts to pay for everything, sets up like giving an apartment to someone?"

"You are manipulating the facts." She hits back and you nod in disbelief, closing your eyes momentarily. "I had financial problems, and Nat didn't object when I suggested..."

"She was 15." You cut in. "You forgot that little detail right? You also forgot about going to the guardianship board to emancipate your 15 year old daughter just so she could take on a debt of yours?" You asked angrily. "Oh, did you forget about Nat working in a diner throughout her teenage years to pay for everything?"

Melina clenched her jaw, glaring at you angrily. You really weren't in the least bit of patience for this conversation, and it was a good thing the waitress arrived with your orders, because you were about to turn the table.

"I am not hungry anymore." You grumble as soon as the waitress leaves and you look down at your food, your stomach turning. Then you look forward. "When I sell the apartment, I will talk to your lawyer and if you are entitled to anything, you can rest assured that it will come in the mail. Now do me a favor, and never look for me again."

After saying these words to Melina, you exchange a quick glance with your mother and get up, walking to the exit.

//-//

You are pretty upset about the whole Melina thing, but your mood improves almost immediately when Wanda invites you to visit her.

Actually, she needs help with the kids, because she's busy with a rich lady's wedding that required priority on the flower project, and the summer vacation started that week.

Monica was helping Wanda with the whole design, so you and Pietro would take care of the kids.

It was quite fun to do it, because you loved children. Pietro even had the bright idea of setting up a little lemonade stand outside Wanda's house, and while the other women were working, you and he took the kids outdoors.

"Don't you think a million dollars is a lot of money for a glass of lemonade, Billy?" you ask the boy as you watch him put several zeros on the price cardboard. Pietro laughs as he helps his daughter pin up her hair.

"I don't know." The kid tells you without stopping drawing. "I'm a kid, I've never paid anything."

You laugh, looking forward. You and Pietro are sitting on chairs placed on the grass while the children play around the lemonade stand.

When some of the neighbors buy the lemonade, you tell Billy that a gold coin is worth a million, and he doesn't argue.

The temperature rises considerably throughout the day, and around two in the afternoon you and Pietro decide that it would be good to take the kids swimming.

"Call the wives please." Pietro says to you as you stand in the living room after you two walk back in and put everything away, and he is helping the children put on bathing suits. You feel your face heat up at the innocent insinuation of Wanda being your wife, but you say nothing and he doesn't even seem to notice.

You knock on the door, then enter the office, and smile at the two women inside, who seemed to be concentrating on their own papers.

"Let's go for a quick swim girls?" You ask, ignoring the way your stomach gets butterflies when Wanda looks up at you.

Monica lets out an excited exclamation.

"Yes, please!" She says. "This room feels like an oven!"

You and Wanda laugh, and you make room for Monica to walk past you.

"Any chance you have a bathing suit in my size?" You ask Wanda next, and she bites back a smile, thoughtful.

"Let 's find out."

//-//

It is only upstairs that you realize that you have never been in Wanda's bedroom before.

All the times you have been here, you were reserved for the living room, the kitchen and the office. Except for the times you were in the twins' bedroom, and well, when you used the bathroom.

You stood still a bit past the entrance, not knowing exactly what to do with your hands as Wanda searched the closets for a bathing suit for you.

"You know you can look around right?" Wanda commented with playfulness in her speech, making you chuckle shyly.

Stepping forward, you twiddled your fingers together nervously as you looked around. You smiled at the decorations, and especially at the pictures on the dresser.

"Damn, I think I only have one pair." Wanda grumbled as she closed the closet, turning to you next, a swimsuit in her hands. "Do you want to wear it?"

You smiled wryly.

"Not if it's the only one you have." You say. "Don't worry, I'll keep my T-shirt on."

"Don't be silly, it's really hot outside. I'll lend you a bra."

Wanda leaves her swimsuit on the bed and walks over to the dresser behind you. You step aside to give her room to open the drawers.

You look quickly away from the underwear drawer, feeling your heart race at the intimacy of this moment. It only gets worse when Wanda hands you a black sports top, which she is glad to have found.

"Thank you, Wands." You mutter as you accept the garment.

You widen your eyes as Wanda begins to unbutton the shirt she is wearing, but before you have a heart attack, she flashes you a small smile and picks up the swimsuit from the bed, turning toward the bathroom as she uses her free hand to keep the shirt closed.

You take advantage of Wanda's exit to quickly take your shirt off, put on the top and then the T-shirt over it.

A moment later she returns, and your breath catches in your throat.

"This swimsuit has a tie in the back, can you help me with that?" Wanda asks distractedly as she tucks her hair into a bun. You swallow dryly, trying to keep your gaze off her exposed legs.

Wanda stands facing the dresser, watching you approach through the mirror. You ignore your uncompensated heartbeat as you stare back at her, and let out a shy smile as you lower your gaze when you notice her flushed cheeks as you stand right behind her.

Raising your fingers to the height of her back, you gently touch the skin exposed by the opening of her swimsuit. The contact makes every inch of the woman's skin shiver in front of you, and she sighs softly, the sound making your stomach turn.

You risk looking forward again, at your reflection, only to find Wanda's mouth ajar, her eyes dark. You risk dragging your fingers further inside the fabric, making her choke lightly.

Completely mesmerized by the way Wanda's body responds to your touch, you raise your other hand, trailing a finger up from the length of her coccyx to the opening of her swimsuit, watching Wanda close her fists as her cheeks redden.

You can hear the sounds of her uncompensated breathing, but you can also hear the muffled laughter from the distance downstairs, and that motivates you enough to ignore the trembling of your fingers as you zip up Wanda's swimsuit.

"W-we should go downstairs." You whisper in a hoarse voice, ignoring the urge to rip off Wanda's swimsuit.

The redhead swallows dryly before slowly turning toward you. Your faces are so close that you can feel her breath on your cheek.

"I..."

"Mommy why are you taking so long?" Billy's muffled scream coming from the backyard through the window makes you and Wanda jump in fright.

Pietro and Tommy repeat the same sentence next, and you clear your throat, taking a step back. Wanda can't keep her gaze on you as you both walk down to the pool outside.

You can only distract yourself from the feel of Wanda's skin on your fingers because you play in the pool with everyone, and these thoughts are pushed to the back of your mind for the rest of the afternoon.

It is only when you have to leave, after the children have had a bath, and are dressed in comfortable clothes in front of the television, and you have hugged Monica and Pietro goodbye that these thoughts come flooding back when you have to repeat the gesture with Wanda.

You disguise yourself, smiling politely at the couple standing behind the redhead as you let your arms circle her waist as you hug her. Resisting the urge to close your eyes and sink your face into Wanda's neck, who has her hands on your shoulders, you hold back a sigh as you pull away.

"See you on Monday." You murmur in a husky voice, and the redhead nods, her gaze falling quickly to your lips.

You think you'd better get in the car before you lose control of your body.

//-//

Startled slightly, you opened your eyes with difficulty. Someone was calling you, but it must have been very late, because you couldn't see anything in the room but the blinking light on your dresser.

Grumbling, you stretched your arm out to reach for your vibrating cell phone and answer the call.

"Hello?" you asked in a voice hoarse from sleep, closing your eyes again.

"Hey, sorry to wake you." It was Wanda, and her whiny voice made you open your eyes quickly, worried.

"Wanda? Did something happen?"

"Yeah." She agrees, sniffling softly. "I just... I'm so sad. The whole fucking time. Then Tony came over and started saying these things and now I'm crying and I can't stop. I'm sorry, it's not your problem, I shouldn't have called and..."

"I'm coming."

You think Wanda tried to say something to stop you, but you ended the call as you stood up.

"Where are you going?" Your mother asked as soon as you came downstairs, and you were startled to find her awake, but you didn't ask as you noticed the laptop in your lap.

"Wanda." You mumble simply, looking for your keys.

"Kitchen countertop." She informed and you muttered a thank you as you picked up the item from the mentioned spot. "You know, if you're going to start leaving the house at dawn to see her, it might be best to move in with her."

You chuckled awkwardly at the comment as you put on your shoes.

"Try to get some sleep, work will still be there in the morning." You tell her to change the subject, and your mother sighs, turning her attention back to the screen. "You don't have to wait up for me."

"Oh, I figured." She teases last making you roll your eyes in embarrassment before opening the door to leave.

//-//

You didn't have to knock on the door, because as soon as you parked the car and got out, you had a view of the outside garden porch, and you could see Wanda sitting on the rocking bench, looking at the ground.

You sighed, opening the garden gate to enter the backyard.

Making a noise with your feet so as not to startle her, you felt your heart squeeze as she wiped her tears away quickly, turning her head to the side. You sighed, taking a seat on the bench in front of her, rocking it slightly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked a moment later, and from the redhead's silence, you figured not. But she nodded next, looking down at her own feet. "Tell me what happened then."

It takes a moment, but Wanda speaks. She tells how Tony Stark showed up at her door at three in the morning, saying that he blamed himself for his brother death but that this was a good thing now because it was exactly what he needed to change his life and stop drinking, and that she punched him in the nose, saying that this was always his problem, everything was always about him. Tony promised that he would be someone decent now, that he was going to change, and Wanda just pushed him away, telling him to go change somewhere else.

"I feel like the worst person in the world right now." She grumbles as soon as she finishes narrating.

"Why?"

"Tony has been an alcoholic since he was fifteen, and he's finally getting better. I think he was in need of someone to help him."

You shook your head, letting out a short laugh.

"And why is that your problem?" you retorted, surprising her. "Wanda you are under no obligation to suppress your feelings to make others feel better. You have every right to feel angry with Tony. And to not want him in your life again."

Wanda takes a deep breath, burying her face in her hands for a moment, as if trying to believe your words.

You bit the inside of your cheek, deciding whether to speak what you wanted to.

"Wands?" You called after her, and she looked at you. "You said you were sad. Do you want to talk about that too?"

The redhead looks away from you, a weak smile on her lips.

"I don't know how to talk about it really." She starts by looking down at her feet. "I never did."

You wait, stretching your leg out and lightly tapping your feet together with her on the floor. Wanda smiles at the movement, and then bites her lips.

"I think it started when I was a kid." She counters thoughtfully, her gaze straying to the yard around her. "Ever since mama died, or maybe before. There's this sadness, stuck in my chest. And no matter what I do, it won't go away."

You listen intently, waiting for Wanda to finish.

"When I was younger, Papa worked all day and Mama took care of me and Pietro. But she got sick, and granny came to live with us to help. I was ten when she died, and Pietro's anxiety got worse." She swallows dryly, as if the memories are choking her. "Granny didn't know how to help my brother, so I took care of him myself. And when we were in high school, she got sick too. And well, Dad didn't know what to do really, so I took care of her at home while he and Pietro worked to pay for the medications." She adds, and sniffles lightly. "I just remember being tired. All the damn time. I'd go to school, and come home, and I'd eat, and play, and watch TV, but I wasn't really there. I started to think that's how everybody else felt, because I had a normal life, and I had no reason to feel sad."

You frown slightly, but bite your tongue to keep from interrupting.

"Grandma died just before I graduated, and I barely had time to miss her, busy with college applications, and taking care of the funeral at the same time." She counters with a wry laugh, as if realizing how unfair it was that she was left to take care of everything by herself. "And then I met Vis, and he was sweet and kind and he was everything anyone could want. The perfect boyfriend, perfect friend, and brother and husband. So I choked down that sadness, because it wasn't fair that I was with someone so amazing, and I wasn't satisfied." She recounts as she lets the tears flow. "When the twins came, everyone told me that my life was complete. That children were exactly what everyone wanted, and that I had the perfect life. So I kept that image."

Wanda raises her hand to wipe away a tear that ran down her cheek, but others kept falling next.

"With Vis's death, everything started to fall apart on me." She says after a pause, biting her lips slightly to hold back the crying. She lets out a nasal laugh next. "But I wasn't going to let that happen, so I gathered the pieces together. I put a smile on my face and continued to be the mother my children needed. And then I met you."

You frown in confusion, but Wanda does not look at you. She runs her hands through her hair, shaking her head slightly.

"You came into my life at its worst possible moment. And all you did was make me feel better again." Wanda declared with a sigh, and you felt your cheeks heat up, looking away to your feet. "You don't expect me to be happy, or polite, or sociable. You don't care that I get cranky and irritable, that I wanted to skip work or eat junk food." She counters, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I feel like I can breathe again, because when you look at me you don't judge me like everyone else. You just listen, and observe. And take care of me."

You sigh, impacted by the intensity of the confessions. You think that if you keep quiet long enough, Wanda can hear your heart beating fast.

The redhead takes a deep breath, twisting her fingers slightly before speaking again.

"That's why I called." She counters in a sigh. Her eyes fill with tears again, but she doesn't let them fall. "You've been the only person who makes me feel this way. And when Tony came along I felt I was drowning into those terrible thoughts again. I needed you to pull me back up."

You raise your head to Wanda, but she is looking down at the floor, her cheeks flushed. You smile, rising to sit beside her.

"I will." You whisper as you interlace your fingers, looking forward. Wanda stares at your entwined hands before leaning her head on your shoulder.

"Thank you." She murmurs a moment later.

"Don't mention it." You reply in the same tone.

You stand like this for many minutes, Wanda wiggling your fingers together. You are about to close your eyes when a childish voice startles you a little.

"Mommy?" it's Billy, dressed in adorable teddy bear pajamas, scratching his eyes sleepily. "Why are you out here?"

Wanda looks at him in surprise.

"Come here dear." Wanda asks signaling with her free hand for Billy to approach. The boy yawns, walking over to you two. You mess up his hair as Wanda releases her hand to sit her son on her own lap.

"Why are you here, Y/N?" The boy asks sleepily, making you and Wanda smile at how cute he looks.

"I am a friend of your mother's, Billy, I come whenever she needs me." You reply with a smile, trying not to be affected by the way Wanda looks at you.

"You should come more often, y/n. Mom is happy when you are around." Billy declares causing Wanda to let out a surprised exclamation, and you feel your heart race.

"Oh, really?" You tease with a little smile, and Wanda pushes her shoulder against yours lightly. "I promise I'll visit more often then."

"You can live here!" Billy exclaims excitedly next, making you laugh in surprise.

"Don't be silly, Billy." Wanda adds embarrassed. "We don't have a room."

"She can sleep with you mommy." Billy retorts as if it's obvious, "Daddy's not here anymore, and your bed is too big, because it fits Tommy and me together!"

You swallow dryly, surprised and embarrassed at the way Billy is casual above all, but mostly worried that this comparison might have hurt Wanda. But she lets out a little laugh, shaking her head.

"It's time for bed, enough of this talk" Wanda warns the boy next, getting up with him on her lap.

You accompany the two of them into the house, waiting until Wanda comes downstairs after putting Billy to bed.

Billy's words in your head were still echoing when Wanda suggested that you sleep in her bed after she came downstairs, and part of you wanted to, but you figured that night wasn't the best time. So you slept on the couch, and left after breakfast, ignoring how warm your chest felt at the image of the table with Wanda and the twins having coffee.

//-//

Your first stop after leaving Wanda's house was the cemetery.

Taking a deep breath, you stared at the memorial stone in the ground. The small photograph of Natasha carved into the stone.

"I miss you, pchelka" You whispered softly, leaving your hands in your pockets as you looked down. Your chest hurt less than the first time you came here, but the pain was still there. You imagined that it always would be. "I won't ever stop. But I want to live again. I hope you won’t be mad at me, from wherever you are, and understand that."

Part of you knew that Natasha would be happy for you. It was one of the reasons you loved her so much.

Kneeling down, you pulled out of your pocket the items you had left in the car's glove box a few days ago, planning to do this since the day of the bar.

" This belongs to you." You whispered, after digging in the grass next to the headstone, and pulling out of the small wrapping your wedding rings. You placed the metal in the dirt, along with the daffodil seeds you brought with you. Using some of the water from the bottle you had in your hands, you watered after burying the items. "Rest in peace, my love."

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wandaxyou #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda x yn #wanda maximoff x you #marvel imagines #sorry for your loss

339 notes · View notes

pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Text

Thicker Than Water (Part 8)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, (here)

Ao3 link HERE

Please note, this is pretty heavy, it deals with a lot of common insecutiries for adults with ADHD and Jaskier blames himself for a lot of things, but it’s not triggering in the traditional sense. Much of this fic has been about the ways Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria and other ADHD symptoms can cause self-destructive actions, this focuses on other insecurities, common blames, and then the self-isolation that can come from guilt, even unfounded guilt.

Please remember, in this fic’s world Geralt and Jaskier actually do have a loving and pretty healthy friendship, albeit with communication issues. People fight some times, these are just ways in which RSD can mess with healthy relationships.

OTHER TW: Mentioned child abuse.

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

Yennefer and Ciri asked Jaskier to come down for supper that evening. Between lunch and dinner he’d napped, evidently passing out wasn’t the same as actual good-quality rest and his body was demanding it’s due. Evening came around, though and Yen took his elbow to help him stand.

They walked at a slow pace down the hall, Jaskier’s body not up for much more. Ciri stuck behind them, but the pace was embarassingly painstaking.

“Ciri,” Yennefer said. “This is a lot for Jaskier, and will take some time, why don’t you go see if they need help in the kitchen?”

Ciri gave one more concerned look at Jaskier, then bounded off.

Yennefer steered Jaskier to an alcove in the stone of the hallway. He was embarrassed to find himself out of breath.

“What are you going to do?” She asked him. She wasn’t asking about his lungs.

“Eat supper I suppose.”

“I mean about Geralt.”

He knew she meant Geralt, and sighed. “I don't know, Ciri says I'm angry and I am...”

“But?”

“That day on the mountain I didn’t give him space,” Jaskier said, feeling a lump grow in his throat, blocking off his already small air supply.

“I never know when to give people space, I never have, I've been working on it my whole life and I still don't understand.” His chest ached. With emotion, with pneumonia, with tiredness. With shame.

“I’ve always been different, you know?” He looked up at Yennefer. He was taller than her but she sat regally, and he was hunched over, conserving his air.

“In stories being different is usually a good thing, you get cool powers and people love you, but life isn’t like that. And being different is...it’s so much worse when you’re a kid.”

“I know,” Yennefer said. Those purple eyes...she knew. She understood, probably better than anyone. There were parts of her story that Jaskier didn’t have, wasn’t entitled to, but she understood.

“I cant do things I'm not interested in, not don’t want to, can’t. Even if I am interested, they don't always get done,” Jaskier whispered, like he was confessing to a priest, not a barely-friendly witch in a cold hallway.

“I’m nothing but a ball of loose ends, tangled up and bouncing around, running into people and making them as tangled as I am,” Jaskier said. It came out half-sobbed, which upset his breathing and he began to wheeze, then cough.

“If I’m not interested in something, if nothing lights up my mind, I get so sad and tired it’s like this horrible weight.” Jaskier kept talking, feeling the emotions fighting to get out. “Being around people helps, I can get things done, be more normal. And interesting people, oh they’re the best, of course. They keep that awful sad, tired feeling away because they’re always interesting.”

He looked down at his knees, wrapped in their battered trousers.

“But I need to be around them so much,” he whispered. “And I’m too much for anyone to want around long.”

He leaned his head against the cold stone of the alcove wall, staring blankly and watching as his field of vision blurred with tears.

“I’m dramatic,” he said.

“You’re a bard.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Dad called me a pansy, among worse things. He tried to beat it out of me. I just, I seem to feel more than other people. Happy is more happy, but sadness, fear, rejection, they’re all so much worse. I overreact and it makes me hard to deal with.”

He felt a tear roll down and get caught in the scruff on his chin. “I need people though, and I need people to like me. Crowds come and go I just needed one person to like me so I forced it to be Geralt.”

Jaskier was crying in ernest now, full tears falling and shoulders shaking, clogging up his breathing so his cries mingled painfully with coughs. Yennefer reached out and pulled at his shoulder, bringing him up from his hunched over position.

“I’m angry at him even though it was my fault,” he said, wretchedly.

“I followed him and took advantage of the fact that he doesn’t talk because he wont tell me to go away. I took advantage of his patience like that so someone could keep me around and I let myself believe that he actually wanted me around, that just one person could bear being around me. And being with him left me time to go seek out other interests, go ahead or stay behind, I never got bored and it was perfect for me and probably hell for him.”

Jaskier sniffled, looking away and studying the wall because he couldn’t bear to see the condemnation that would surely be on Yennefer’s face.

“And I fell in love with him. Which was stupid because I've been using him this entire time,” he whispered.

“I used him for music and money, then I used him to bandage my self esteem and its all my fault.”

Jaskier finally managed to look at Yennefer and saw that she was actually rolling her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, he was on a horse, you were walking, he could have left you behind anywhere.”

“He’s too kind to leave me to die on my own.”

“What about towns?” Yennefer asked. “What about the djinn?”

“The djinn was my fault.”

“The djinn was his fault,” Yennefer said, stubbornly.

“The djinn was my fault, I thought he was joking. He’d do that, you know? I’d ask him what he was doing and he’d say ‘cooking a unicorn’ or ‘hunting a gabledegook’ so I just thought he was joking again because I thought surely a djinn was only a story. Even if they weren’t there was no reason Geralt would want one. I made horrible wishes, they could have ruined lives, can you imagine?”

“I can.”

Of course she could. It had been stupid of him to say that, Yennefer knew better than anyone how a careless wish, or even a not so careless one, could turn out.

“I have to ask,” Jaskier said, since Yennefer didn’t seem in the mood to turn him into a salamander. “Did geralt wish for you to love him?”

“He wished for me to be bound to him the sex was just...adrenaline, magic, wanting another outsider, a little bit of the djinn. I won’t do it again.” She said, fervently.

“You don’t have to promise that, I have no claim to him,” Jaskier said.

“No one has claim to anyone,” Yennefer snapped. “But you love him. Anyway, I wasn’t telling you, I don’t want him. I don’t want sex with him I want his destiny, our destiny, nothing more.”

“I love him very much,” Jaskier said, after she settled from her outburst.

“Have you ever told him?”

Never, he might think he owes me something.”

“I think you think he’s more self sacrificing than he is. He wouldn't date you out of obligation, he’s not that sort of man.”

Jaskier tilted his head back against the stone. “But he feels guilty, for everything, all the time. What if he did it as an apology.”

“Geralt wouldn't do you the disservice of a pity relationship.”

“We had a pity friendship.”

“You didn't.”

“We did.”

Yennefer peered at him with those strange eyes. “You love him though.”

“I do.”

“I don’t think its a lost cause.”

“I do.”

Yennefer shifted, pulling her hair over one shoulder. “When I asked earlier, I meant what do you want to do after this? Do you even want to see Geralt?”

“Oh gods I rambled and --”

“Shut up, you needed it off your chest.”

Jaskier sighed. “I always want to see Geralt, but I don't think I should be around him. He needs more space than most people and I need less. I do want an apology, I don't want him to grovel, I don’t want him to beg for me back in his life because that's a choice I want him to make on his own. I don’t even need him to tell me through speech because I know that can be hard. He could write a letter.I just...”

“And if you got an apology?”

“I intend to apologize first. I’ll apologize, maybe he’ll apologize, and that way we can at least be friendly, if not friends. And then in the spring I’ll leave, take a different path and it won’t matter anymore.”

I won’t be able to hurt him anymore, Jaskier thought, darkly.

“Nilfgaard wants you,” Yennefer warned.

“I know,” Jaskier sighed. “I may have to fake my death or... oh!” He looked up at Yen, smiling even as he wanted to cough.

“You can wipe my memory!”

Yennefer actually recoiled.

Jaskier’s excitement had set off the coughing and he felt it tear through his throat and squeeze at his ribs until the fit eased.

“I’m not wiping your memory,” Yennefer said, severely.

“Why not? Yen, it’s the perfect solution, and Nilfgaard couldn’t get anything out of me.”

“And Geralt get’s his damned wish,” Yennefer snarled.

Jaskier looked down. “I know he didn’t mean it, he’s a good man, he wouldn’t wish anyone gone in that way, but yes, that wish would be granted and I’d never bother him again.”

“Geralt has a habit of making stupid wishes that he doesn’t actually want granted,” Yennefer snapped.

“You’re supposed to be on his side,” Jaskier said, smiling wetly. “It’s my fault, remember?”

“I don’t think even Geralt’s on Geralt’s side,” Yennefer said. “I won’t take your memories. You wouldn’t remember anything.”

Jaskier deflated. “I guess I’m as good as dead if I can’t remember songs or how to play the lute.”

Yennefer shifted uncomfortably.

“I would forget how to play, wouldn’t I?”

“Well...” she said. “No. You would remember anything you’d learn, knowledge isn’t memories, you know? You’d even know your songs, just not why you knew them or that you’d written them.”

“If you won’t do it, is there a mage who will? I’d only need to get to a city, how much do you think a spell like that would cost?”

Yennefer groaned. “No, bard, I’ll do it. If it’s what you still want, if you’re sure at the end of winter, yes, I’ll take your memories. It’s better than some quack doing it, or worse, turning you in to Nilfgaard but...I don’t like it.”

Jaskier was surprised to see her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I won’t take that choice from you,” she said, blinking hard. “But I hope it’s not the one you make.” She sniffed, she tried to make it seem disdainful but it was definitely tearful.

“Anyway,” she said. “What about Ciri? She adore’s you, if you didn’t remember her it would break her heart.”

Jaskier waved a hand. “I”m only a storyteller,” he said, wishing bitterly that it wasn’t true. “She has a whole marvelous family full of stories they can tell her.”

“Didn’t you hear her, she doesn’t feel like this is a family,” Yennefer said, sharply.

“We’ll fix that.”

“So that you can abandon her, you mean?”

Jaskier grimaced. “It’ll be safer for her. Even if I traveled with Geralt, there’s no guarantee Nilfgaard wouldn’t take me, wouldn’t read my mind and put her in danger.” He looked Yennefer right in the eyes. “I won’t let myself hurt her.”

Yennefer hung her head. “We’ll discuss it at the end of winter,” she said. “Do you still feel up to dinner?”

Jaskier thought about it. He felt lighter, in a way, unburdening himself of the guilt he’d been carrying was better, but he was exhausted, and his chest felt raw.

“I think I’d rather eat in my rooms,” he said sheepishly.

He ate dinner alone, wishing he wasn’t but he was practicing giving people space, and he felt proud of himself for it. He only had to continue it, apologize, and get through the winter.

Then he’d never remember he had problems to begin with.

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

They will get there. Please read the note at the top, these are all very common ADHD insecurities and relationship problems. Remember, Geralt is not the villain. He needs to apologize, and he’s trying, but the villain is the insecurity.

Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz @samukai @charlies-dragon @live-long-and-trek-on @holymotherwolf @morte-mistrata @mewithanie @sharondnovels @stinastar @ionlylikemycat @annafortoday @its-the-quenchiest-stuff @kkiyomizu @so--many-fandoms @endless-whump @ineffable-monster-romancer @tookarma @seraphim-miryam @sweetiepieplum @nerdy-numinuos @ravenclaw-dirt

#the witcher #angst #not much comfort yet #yennefer is a very good friend #geraskier #not yet tho #ADHD! Jaskier #rejection sensitive dysphoria #Autistic! Geralt #who is not the bad guy here #insecurity and lack of communication is the bad guy #Geralt is mentioned to be occasionally nonverbal

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spyoikawa · 3 years

Note

Greetings and salutations, hope I don’t bother you to much. Not sure if matchups are 100% open but I’ll slide this in anyway. May I please have a matchup for Haikyuu? My pronouns are She/They and I’m bisexual with a preference to masculinity. My Myers Briggs type is INFJ and Enneagram type is 4. My star sign is Taurus. Im about 4’11..not to happy about it. I’m rather introverted, and can be considered not a people person. Because of me dressing in all black and taking a liking to gruesome things like slashers and murder documentaries. My aesthetic is mainly inspired by one of my favorite movies “The Crow”, if you need a reference. A friend of mine even likes to call me “dollar store vomitboyx” I’ve come to the conclusion I just scare people off. In reality, I’m intimidated by everyone around me and find it hard to start conversing, which may or may not come off as rude to people. When I finally become comfortable with someone I start to become really sarcastic and joke around with them with witty banter. Most of my humor comes off really insulting, but I’ll apologize and say it’s a joke if it becomes a problem. I’m not good with overly sensitive or dramatic people at all, and I HATE kids. I’m a huge animal person though. I have my moments where I can get really feisty, or very quiet and closed off. I’m the type of person that has very strong morals and opinions. I keep them to myself and bottle them up. If pushed far enough I’ll become unforgiving, and become aggressive. Especially with the types mentioned above. I find the most comfort in just being in my room drawing, reading and or listening to music ( GRLwood, MCR, P!ATD, MSI, Get Scared, sometimes Cavetown or Mother Mother ). I’m a plushie maniac and when I fall asleep you can always see me cuddled up to one of them. I find it because I’m really touch starved. I’m guilty of being submissive unfortunately, and I suffer from autism, depression and anxiety. I’ve also been developing a eating disorder. If you do get to this, thanks for your time. - Coii

@k1llj0y-darl1ng thank you so much for this request, it give me a lot to work with! I'm really sorry to hear about the end though... somethings in life we can't change or are very hard to change, and that can make life rough. But I know you can get through it and I hope you feel better as soon as possible!

Rion's Flower Shop: Tulips

For your matchup, you get

Tendou Satori

To be completely honest, I did barely any research for this one. Something told me that you'd match well with tendou. And if you dont, I am so sorry! I will always rewrite it for you if you are unhappy with it!

♡ if you find it hard to start speaking with people, don't worry! Tendous got you! Although he might not immediately strike up a full conversion with you, hes good at making small talk

♡ he notices almost immediately how people seem scared of you, and how you are intimidated by the same people

♡ therefore he decides to befriend you, because he knows almost exactly how you feel

♡ best decision of his life. By far.

♡ he has a good sense of humor, and enjoys yours, and can always tell when your comments are jokes or not. He's always up for a good banter too, it helps him vocalize his thoughts and say silly things without having to worry about hurting someone's feelings

♡ although he can be a bit extra, I wouldn't call him dramatic or sensitive. Tendou has a pretty good grasp on himself and has a good deal of self control (he absolutely agrees with your opinions on kids though, I feel that he might be good with them, but that doesn't mean he likes them)

♡ although you like to bottle up your feelings and opinions you can always trust tendou to hold onto them for you. Of course he'll never push them out of you, but sometimes its nice to let it out and he'll always be there for you to listen and comfort

♡ speaking of comfort-

♡ hes a bit touch starved himself, so you can expect cuddle sessions while watching movies, reading, listening to music, drawing, etc.

♡ his arms are so long too- like have you seen him? He probably gives the best hugs with those

♡ but backtrack, tendou can also understand the unforgivingness and aggressiveness of yours. Of course its never fun (and he hates to imagine) being on the receiving end of that, but he still remembers his childhood bullies and holds similar feelings for them

♡ once again, doesn't want to receive that treatment and knows how its probably not the best, but he understands it and empathizes with you, which can be really helpful sometimes

♡ moving on again, once you open up more, he's well aware of your disorders and mental cases. He tries his best to take upmost care of you. Even if he doesn't understand some of them or know what it feels like, he just wants to be there for you

♡ if you wish for his help, he will help you cross any obstacles and will support you until you can walk on your own again

♡ anyways, stan tendou, amazing s/o, very supportive and loving

Once again, thank you for this request, and thank you for giving me the chance to chat with you! I really hope you're feeling better soon, and know that there's people out there who support you, at the very least I do!

And for clarification, as you had mentioned it, in case anyone else was wondering, this event will be open till the 5th of next month, I might keep it going longer if I feel like it or if people really want it!

#tendou #tendou satori #tendou x reader #tendou x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu headcanons #tendou headcanons #tendou hcs #haikyuu hcs #oririon flowershop event

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revengeisalwaysanoption · 3 years

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A little something for @busybeingmakebelieve, hoping that IG prompt will become a longer fic <3 The quote in bold comes from prompt #57 on Maritombola 11 ****************************** What. The. Fuck. Abort mission. Drop the phone on sofa, face down, and maybe everything will go back to normal. The direct messages and the follow back from 'gotnoshame' will be gone, when he picks it up again. What a fitting username, by the way, with all those shirtless pictures in his gallery and the Instagram stories from the gym. Damn. He was never supposed to get into this so deep. Marti had followed that account to have something actually interesting to look at on his feed, instead of Margot the cat or Luchino's culinary adventures. Unexpectedly, however, the guy wasn't just hot. He could draw, he was a decent singer - though his music tastes were questionable... Cremonini's 'Buon Viaggio', really? - and often shared interesting insights on a lot of different topics. Literature, movies and TV shows, politics. Current events all around the world, sensitive issues such as LGBT rights and mental health. Helpful advice on how to take care of yourself when your brain wasn't cooperating, but also some tips for the people around you. Words that made Martino try harder to be there for his mum, even though he still struggled.

Little by little, he had become a comforting presence in Marti's life. One he couldn't do without. Which was stupid, since he didn't know a single thing about him apart from the fact that he was hot, sharp witted and kind hearted. He found himself wishing he knew a lot more about the person behind 'gotnoshame'. After a whole day of reading through the comments and exploring the profiles of people who had tagged him, all he had managed to get were a name and a location. Nico, from Rome. Sweet and cheeful Nico, who seemed to be quite a tormented soul behind those megawatts smiles. If the last quote he had shared was anything to go by, of course. "I, myself, am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.” (Augusten Burroughs) It didn't feel right to 'hear' him talk about himself in such a derogatory manner, so he sent him a direct message. What was he thinking? "Oi! The video of you playing the piano that you posted earlier really made my day, so please refrain from being so negative about yourself." "Yessir. Glad I could be of service. Anything else?" He had answered, in a matter of a few minutes. "Actually, I promise I'll try to be more positive on one condition." "Let's hear it." "You actually using Instagram, my dear 'mr220501'. I mean, how can anyone have just a couple of photos of themselves when they look so fine?" Shit. Marti hadn't noticed a new follower on his poor excuse for an Instagram profile. He wouldn't even have one, if it hadn't been for his friends' well-intentioned pestering. When finally dares to look at the screen again, the messages are still there and the '????' 'Did I scare you off?' 'I didn't mean to, I'm sorry.' that have been added afterwards make him feel a bit guilty about taking so long to answer.

"Well, by not being raging narcissist, I guess?" He regrets it as soon as he sends it. He's trying to say that he'd feel like a self-centered asshole if he filled his own profile with selfies, not that Nico is to blame for doing that. He quickly types that out, before he can be misunderstood."Not that you're one. Anyway, you got yourself a deal: more selfies from me, less negativity from you. I'm Martino, by the way."

"Niccolò, but you can call me Nico ;) ... you can come by and hear me play live, if you'd like, once we get to know each other better." He's a bit surprised at how fast things are moving between them, but he can't say that he minds too much.

"Do you flirt so shamelessly with all your followers?" "Only with my cutest one ;)” He scoffes at the phone, feeling his cheeks getting all red and hot. So much for not taking this too seriously. He could really fall for this guy. He probably already has. Fuck.

#skam italia #ig prompt #my writing #flashfic #nicotino

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satan-the-avatar-of-wrath · 4 years

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A Worthy Life

This is a submitted story, writer wishes to remain Anonymous. Credit to the anon, this is not my work. (A story with Satan)

Inspired by true events.

~A Worthy Life~

Satan never thought of humans as something special to him. He neither liked nor disliked them. He only regarded them as fragile beings that have shorter lifespan and more vulnerable than demons like him. However, his view changed after that encounter. It all started when Satan had to go to the human world again after he begrudgingly received another troublesome task from the asshole Lucifer.

As usual, after he finished the task, Satan chose to spend his remaining time by reading his book in the local park. He was still in the middle of reading when he heard a faint meowing sounds from the bushes behind him. “Hm? Oh, hey there kitty kitty~ are you alone? Come here, I won’t harm you,” Satan closed his book and reached out his hand to the kitten, but that only made the kitten more frightened and ran away from Satan. “Uh- hey wait!” Satan decided to chase after the kitten. He was concerned with how dirty and frail the kitten looked.

Satan didn’t even notice where he was going or which road he took while he was chasing the kitten, but in the end, he managed to catch the kitten. “Hey come on- stay still. I just want to check and treat you.” Satan said as he lifted the kitten to inspect for any wound.

“Let go of my cat! You evil ugly blondie head!” Satan was surprised to see a little boy standing in front of him. ‘Where did this brat sprout from?’ Satan wondered. “Were you talking to me cheeky brat?” Satan asked in an irritated tone.

“No, I was talking to the garbage can. Of course, I was talking to you panini head. Now give me back my cat!” the boy shouted and stomped on Satan’s foot. “YOU-“ Satan almost snap and go demon mode before a woman appeared from across the street; visibly looking panic. “Vian! Where have you been?! You know I was worried sick looking for you! You shouldn’t be out in your condition!”

Satan turned his attention to the woman. “Is this rude brat your kid? Or perhaps your little brother? Maybe teaching him some manners would help” Satan said as he put on his usual fake smile; trying to keep every last bit of his self-control. “I’m truly sorry! Please forgive him. He isn’t my son or my brother but I feel responsible for taking care of him.” The woman pleaded with teary eyes.

“Don’t be mean to missy! She is the only one who cares for me. And you! Give me back my ca-ugh” the boy suddenly doubled over and coughed violently. “Vian-“ the woman immediately carried the boy and excused herself; leaving Satan alone. Satan could only stare. Dumbfounded. ‘Tch, humans are so fragile’ was the only thought that crossed his mind.

He glanced down at the kitten and felt a bit responsible. The boy got agitated because of him after all and besides, he just realized that he…is kinda lost. He didn’t know his way back, he also wanted to return the cat so he decided to join them.

The woman thanked Satan once they settled into the woman’s house, “Thank you for returning the cat, Mr. Sam. And once again I offer you my sincerest apologies on his behalf. He…has a hard time trusting new people,” Satan could only listen to the woman while he stared at the little boy who was already asleep. Satan was still annoyed, but the boy looked pathetic in his eyes so he decided to just let bygones be bygones. He won’t go as far as avenging someone way weaker than him, especially not a puny defenseless little human.

“I bet he is really a handful for everyone isn’t he?” Satan noticed there was something wrong when the woman looked quite offended when he asked that. “This is quite a sensitive issue. Especially for Vian. Vian is actually a good boy. But everyone reject him, even his parents, because of his chronic disease. Most people still believe the disease he is suffering from is extremely the contagious one and should be avoided at all costs. That’s why he always put on a brave front because he immediately thinks that everyone hates him.”

Satan fell quiet with an unreadable expression and only then the woman realized she was spilling too much information to a stranger. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’m blabbering too much. Uh you previously said you need me to show you the way to train station right? I’ll guide you there.” Satan put on his trademark smile again. “Very well, thank you for your assistance.”

—

It was already a few days since Satan returned to the Devildom, but something was bugging his mind since then. ‘Ugh that brat. Maybe I’m still annoyed with him after all? Maybe I should avenge him? Wait, no. That time was different. I didn’t sense any malicious intent from him. In fact, I only sensed…fear? Sadness? Anger? Hurt?’

Meanwhile, Mammon who was counting stolen his money across from Satan could see it clearly how distraught Satan had become. “Yo! Is there somethin’ wrong? Ya have been puttin’ on serious scary face but ya seem stuck at the same page of your book.” Satan finally snapped and retorted back; venting his anger toward Mammon. “Uh- shut up. If you are looking for what’s ‘wrong’ then you can try putting your face in front of a mirror and you’ll see what’s wrong.”

“Geez calm that temper will ya? You’re more salty than usual that means there’s somethin’ up with you. Well, I don’t know and I don’t really care but if ya want to do somethin’ you should just act by what you really desire. You’re a demon and yet you think too much before even following your desir- oops that’s my cue to go, adieu!” Mammon immediately bolted out from the room as soon as Satan gave death-glare to him. “Damn it. I guess I’ll just go. I can check up on the cat. Yes, that’s the only valid reason,” Satan tried to reason to himself.

After he managed to get Lucifer’s permission, Satan came back to the human world. It was a good thing he still remembered the way to that boy’s house.

“Ah! You are the yellow-head catnapper from before!” the boy already jumped to his defensive mode as soon as he saw Satan in front of the house. “Vian, please be polite, I already told you he was only trying to tend to Bobby.” the woman lightly scolded the boy.

“Ahaha that’s right. You should listen to your missy, cheeky brat,” Satan plastered his usual fake smile, but he didn’t feel as annoyed as before.

“Don’t call me that! My name is Vian! Missy, you are wrong! That yellow-head is an absolute meanie!” Vian ran up behind the woman.

“You are calling me with weird names so why can’t I also call you with one too?” Satan smirked. He was satisfied. He felt like he won an argument.

“Come on Vian. You shouldn’t judge someone immediately like that. I’m sure he is a…nice gentleman. Although a little petty-minded?” The woman added the last words only in her thought. “As proof, he was trying to help Bobby right?” the woman tried to reassure Vian. “And Mr. Sam, is there something I can help you with?” the woman asked.

“Oh err right. This may sound out of the blue, but I came by just to make sure if the cat is all right. I’m quite confident in my knowledge about animal anatomy so I thought I can offer you some help since your cat looked a bit unwell the last time I saw it,” Satan said; trying to find a strong excuse. It’s partially true that he was concerned about the cat, but he felt like there is another thing he was more concerned about and Satan still wouldn’t admit that the boy was part of his concern.

“Oh, my. Really? Actually, you are quite right. I’ve been trying to tend to it but I think my effort alone is not enough so I’m grateful for your help. Please come in. Vian please wait here and keep Mr. Sam accompany while I go fetch Bobby, okay?” The woman said before she went off to another room; leaving Vian alone with Satan.

Now that they are alone, Satan could sense the nervousness and confusion emanated from the boy more clearly. “Why are you helping my cat? Or more like why do you still bother to come here?” The boy finally broke the silence with a low voice, almost as a whisper.

“Hmm? I see you still have the guts to talk. With how you look now I was sure you’ve turned into a stone, but I see you still want to talk and ask me before throwing anymore accusation at me again?” Satan showed his exasperation passive-aggressively with his smile. The boy instantly felt guilty. “I- I’m sorry.” The boy was on the verge of tears while saying that.

“Uh- okay, okay apology accepted. Anyway, why do you think it’s weird for someone to come here and offer help?” Satan quickly went back on the topic and decided not to intimidate the boy any longer. It would be troublesome for him to handle a crying child.

“Didn’t missy already told you? I- I’m different. I’m different from everyone. Everyone is healthy and I’m..not. Because of my disease, everyone around me never thinks of me as a worthy one. They only see me as something bad and they all avoid me. At least I still have missy who can still accept me.” The boy looked crushed when he explained it.

At that moment Satan felt like the boy would crumble into dust and gone at any given moment. There were also that sharp pangs tugging his heart. It was a very unfamiliar feeling for Satan. He gave it a moment, but he still couldn’t put a name into that new feeling.

Satan was speechless until the woman came back. “I’m sorry to make you wait. Here’s Bobby.” The woman said while holding the kitten. “Please lie it down in here. I’ll check it.” Satan began to dutifully check the kitten. It didn’t take long for Satan to pinpoint the problems. “Yes, your cat is sick. I have the remedy for the cat, but I need a few days to gather it. I’ll come back when it’s finished. Until then, please keep your cat hydrated, clean, and fed well. Luckily, I brought some special wet cat foods. You can feed it with these.” Satan said before leaving. Satan smile when the woman thanked him, however, his eyes were more focused on the boy who only kept silent.

—

Back in the Devildom Satan prepared the remedy faster than expected. Preparing it wasn’t a problem for him. What troubled him was the weird feeling he got that day. He wasn’t sure at first, but after he gave it more thought he got some idea. ‘Maybe, just maybe I can relate to that brat?’ Satan thought to himself. They are both very different. He is a demon, a high-ranked demon and that boy is a human, just a powerless little human. However, there was one thing in common and Satan only came to that conclusion after he was finally sure of what he sensed from the brat. It was mostly a feeling of insecurity.

Satan hates to admit it, but he is aware of his own insecurities. How he felt he needed to prove himself, his worth, so his existence won’t merely be seen as someone else’s shadow. While that boy, even if that boy struggles over a different thing, Satan could see the boy also wanted to be seen as someone worthy, as he really is, not as something else, especially not as a weakness.

Since he started to realize it, a new desire started to grow on Satan. Satan didn’t want to take Mammon’s word, but that time, he just followed on his desire. A desire to support that one little fleeting life.

Satan began to rummaged through his pile of books; trying to find any explanation and cure for the said disease. Satan was devastated when he found out there was still no cure that can completely heal the boy’s disease. “AARGH! Damn it! Can’t I really do something about it?! Satan threw his book away in frustration. Satan didn’t know what else to do. For the first time he felt powerless and his demon power won’t do any good. In the end he went to the human world again with a heavy heart.

—

“Welcome, Mr. Sam. Thank you for sparing your time to come here again.” The woman welcomed Satan as he arrived.

“I already promised that I would come here again so it’s only normal if I keep my words, right? And here, you can feed the cat with this medicine” Satan flashed his smile when he handed the medicine to the woman, but his eyes were busy scanning the room. “Is the boy not with you today?” The woman looked hesitated to answer when Satan asked her. “Ah, you mean Vian? He is resting in his room now. His condition is worsening again.”

The woman then looked at Satan with a pleading look. “Umm I know it would be rude of me to ask a request to someone I just know recently, but could I ask for your help to look after Vian for a while? There’s no one else I could ask for help and I need to go buy medicine and some supplies for Vian. Also I believe you are a good person, so, please?”

Satan gave it a thought. There’s no harm in helping her and he is also curious with the boy’s condition. “Sure, I’ll help. Don’t worry about it.” Satan said. The woman thanked Satan and showed Vian’s room, after that she went off to buy things.

Satan sat beside the bed where the boy sleep in. Satan could only look at the boy’s face in silence. ‘He looks paler than before. What could’ve happened to him while I was away?’ When Satan was lost in his thought, the boy suddenly shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He looked as if he was in agony. “O-oi! Brat?! What’s wrong? Wake up!” Satan gently nudge the boy, but panic was clear in his voice. He was afraid if the boy is in pain or having nightmare.

The boy’s eyes shot open, his breath was ragged. At first the boy didn’t notice Satan presence. It was Satan’s gentle voice and touch that brought the boy back to reality. “Are you ok now?” Satan asked; genuinely worried. He was never this worried over someone else before, not even to his brothers.

The boy couldn’t process anything. He only covered his face; trying to muffle his cries. “Oi, come on. You should tell me what’s wrong. I won’t know unless you tell me.” Satan kept urging the boy to speak; his hand rubbing the boy’s head in an attempt to soothe the boy.

“I-I’m s-sorry. I just had a-a bad dream.” The boy said with a hoarse voice. Satan handed the boy a glass of water and said, “here, drink this first, then tell me what was it about.”

There was only silence until the boy finally spoke. “I dreamt about it again. I was alone. Then I saw in the distance there were people. They were having fun and looked very happy. I wanted to get close to them to join them, but they immediately steered away from me. They only saw me with disgust. Then I heard they all talked badly about me. ‘He is different, he shouldn’t mingle with us.’ I always heard that same words.” A shed of tears streamed down the boy’s cheek as he retelling his dream.

Satan couldn’t take the heart-breaking sight. He brushed away the tears from the boy’s cheek gently with his finger; trying not to startle the boy. When he realized the worried look on Satan’s face, the boy quickly added, “umm sorry, please don’t worry about my silly dream. This is something I usually get when I feel down and sick.” The boy said. He tried to lighten up the mood and put up a smile.

But Satan won’t be fooled by something like that. “No, you shouldn’t say sorry. And about dreams, someone I know, well, my brother, once said that dreams are the manifestation of our subconscious mind. They are often influenced by our experiences and they reflect what we really feel about it and what we really want from it. So I wouldn’t think your dream as a silly one and you too, shouldn’t think of it as silly.” Satan held the boy’s hand in his. He put on a serious expression, but his touch was calming. The boy could feel the warmth from Satan’s touch and words. “You mentioned that you only got this dream when you feel down and sick. Care to tell me what happened? What triggered your dream?” Satan asked.

“Umm…so yesterday when I was strolling around with missy to take fresh air outside, there were some neighbors who shooed us away. They didn’t want us to get any closer to their house and said something about being ‘vile outcast or a ragtag bunch of misfit’. I don’t really understand what they meant, but missy wouldn’t explain it to me and she looked sad. So I think that must be something bad.” The boy was fiddling with his fingers as he told Satan what happened. Satan felt the anger inside him instantly rising up. He wanted to throw curse words and go hunt the culprit right there and then, but that time, he knew the boy needed him more.

Satan took a deep breath; trying to calm himself before he began to talk. “Listen, I won’t hide anything. I’ll be honest and tell you everything you need to know and hear. You are right. Those huma- I mean people are talking bad about you. BUT, those people are wrong. People who can only oppress the weaker and can’t try to understand the others are the real trash, not you or your missy.”

The boy looked like he was going to cry again. He thought only his missy can try to understand and give him the support he needed. He already gave up on his wish to be accepted by other people, but he knew deep down he still yearns to be accepted and recognized. And here he found another person who can understand and support him.

Seeing the boy started to cry again, Satan gave the boy a hug and patted his back. “I may only know you just recently and I may regard you as cheeky brat the first time I met you. But after knowing more about you I think you worth more than you ever think, more than other people think. Wait, scratch that. You are more worthy than those people who can’t see your worth. Those people have no place to decide your worth because you are the only one who can decide your worth. So, for now, you shouldn’t worry about being liked or not. Those who see you as you are and appreciate you will still like you and grow together with you. That means if you are doing something right they will support you and if you are doing something wrong they will help you to correct your way. You have your missy and Bobby that can support and help you. And now you also have uh…me at your side.” Satan said the last words with faint blush dusted on his cheeks.

“Ahem, do you understand it now, Vian?” Satan released Vian from his hug. Vian was moved by what Satan said so he eagerly nodded his head, he felt better after hearing that.

“Good.” Satan smiled. Satisfied with Vian’s reaction. He then ruffled Vian’s hair playfully until the Vian feels irritated. “Ughh…stop it!” Vian swatted Satan’s hand from his hand. Satan didn’t take Vian’s act as offensive at all. In fact, he was pleased. “There you go. I like it more when you show that fiery spirit. Remember, you don’t have to worry too much. You won’t know what the future has in store for you. I’m pretty sure you’ll find your own place to be happy and when you do find it remember your hard time as a lesson. That way you won’t fall into the same level as those trash people.” Satan smiled again, but that time it was a genuine smile.

His smile then shifted into a low key malicious one. “And if anyone dares to talk or do something awful to you, just tell me. I’ll make it certain that I will pay them a visit and give them a ‘lecture’ or two.”

Vian, who didn’t really understand the hidden meaning behind Satan’s choice of word with ‘lecture’ could only agree. “Um, okay! Pinky promise!” Vian said. He showed his pinky finger to Satan.

Satan was a bit confused at first, but then the boy showed Satan how it’s done. A new warm feeling began to spring inside Satan. It was different from the usual hot boiling sensation he felt whenever he is angry. This new feeling was very pleasant for Satan. “Ahahaha, you are really something aren’t you” Satan laughed. At that moment Satan had decided that keeping Vian’s life as a worthy one is something he can do. Meanwhile, Vian only tilted his head. Confused by what Satan meant or why Satan laughed.

“It’s a bit too late to ask, but umm since when you were here?” Vian asked Satan. He just realized his missy is not with him. “Oh, your missy is out to buy things and ask me to stay with you while she’s out.” Satan explained everything that happened before.

“Brat, do you want to hear some interesting stories?” Satan suddenly wanted to tell some stories. Satan was thinking about telling stories from some books he had read before, but maybe he can also use his brothers’ shenanigans as a bad example.

“Hey, stop calling me that, or do you want me to call you with weird names again?” Vian pouted. “Ahahah, sorry that name kinda stick with you. And actually, I don’t care anymore if you call me with anything weird. I know you don’t really mean it.” Satan said jokingly, but he really didn’t mind it since the boy is special to him now.

“Sorry, I’m late. Oh, you’re awake already Vian? Thank you for your help, Mr. Sam.” The woman said when she returned home. She noticed the cheerful look on Vian’s face and that was the first time he ever showed such look in front of someone else other than her and that also made her happy. “Missy, missy, come join us! Yello- I mean mister said he wants to tell us some stories.” Vian excitedly called her. They all gathered and enjoyed their precious moment.

END

Thank you to the individual who i can not name, for submitting this good read.

To anyone who reads this, and is inspired to write, you too can submit to this blog if you wish to be Anonymous. It doesnt just have to be about Satan, it could be about anything.

Thank you x - Ty the Mun

Satan: .... Please kittens do submit, we enjoy reading all stories you write to us.

#anonymous #fanfic #inspired by true events #satan loves to read #mun too loves to read #we are here to use our blog to showcase your work as well #one love #story time #orphans #worthy life #relatable #obey me!#obey me! satan #obey me! shall we date?

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allaroundcringey · 4 years

Text

Dependency ~ Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 2 ~ Eavesdropping

Pairing : Sherlock x Female Reader

Summary : After a few years John Watson was left no choice but to call his old school mate Amelia Harold. The matter of the call you ask? Sherlock's drug problem. What started out as a simple phone call to help out his friend turned out to be so much more: it gave Amelia Harold a chance to find out who deemed her father guilty of murder. Full of friendship, truth, heartbreak, suspense, and love this story showcases what matters most in life: your friends and family.

Warnings : mention of drug abuse, addiction, and emotional abuse in later chapters

A/N : Just want to pop in and say that I plan on making a master list for this series once I get a few more chapters posted! Also- I think my schedule for posting will be every Sunday since a weeks worth of time ensures I can put out good chapters. If I feel the compulsion to post earlier than that then I will. Enjoy chapter 2!

***I do not own any of these characters, plot ideas, and lines taken directly from the show (though there are only a few of those) anything pertaining to Amelia is my original work.***

Both scattered across the ground due to the velocity of the explosion, Amelia and Sherlock quickly got themselves back together enough to stand up again. Sherlock looking nonchalant, Amelia was forced to question his odd behavior after such an event.

"Does this stuff just... normally happen around here?"

"Yes. Now if you would show yourself out that would be lovely." Sherlock said, flipping his night gown with his hand and heading towards his room. Before he could make it far Amelia stuck out her hand to stop him from going any farther.

"I'll leave when I please. And you'll be polite to me since I am company of John's. And I don't take bullshit from anyone especially from Sherlock Holmes. Understand?"

With a silent nod and look of defeat Sherlock sat back in his chair. Amelia could have left when he told her to since she had no reason to stay but she could not stand Sherlock being rude to her again. The main thought she held was how John was able to put up with such a creature.

In an attempt to clear the silence, Amelia spoke up. Sherlock clearly had the same idea since he started to speak at the same time. With an awkward stare, Sherlock spoke up again.

"Why are you so sensitive about your father?" He said bluntly. In truth he didn't mean for it to sound condescending but like many other things he'd said, especially that night, it did.

"How about you learn to shut your mouth and understand that not everyone is an open book. You definitely aren't." Amelia replied with a scoff.

"I only meant to make conversation." Sherlock snapped. Amelia had had a big enough dose of Sherlock for the night (if not a lifetime) and decided to see herself off. Wondering whether she should say goodbye or simply leave she decided on the latter to avoid more tension.

On her way down the stairs making her way around the corner, she caught a glimpse of Sherlock from where he stood near the window. He looked almost lonely. No, he definitely looked lonely. Contemplating on if she should go back up there he caught her staring and immediately put on a facade and slammed the door shut.

Today being a day off work, Amelia made her way straight to 221B that morning. She peculiarly found that this morning had been the easiest for her to awake since the traumatic events in her early adulthood. Not wanting to acknowledge the sudden, and frankly scary, change she blocked out the thoughts by what today could hold.

Hopefully John could finally have a moment to sit down with her and explain what he had phoned her for in the first place. What on Earth could Sherlock possibly need from her?

Hailing a cab outside her flat she knew that soon enough she would find out.

Pushing her way past the emergency crew outside 221B, Amelia found herself walking up the steps almost as if she had been there many times before. 221B had that affect on people.

When she arrived to the sitting room she found a new face sitting in John's chair. Sherlock of course was sitting in his own chair and John was standing near the desk.

"Hi, did I walk in on something? I'll come back later if you'd like." Amelia spoke directly to John, avoiding the curious gaze the new man cast upon her.

"No it is totally fine. I was just wrapping up anyway. Mycroft Holmes, pleased to meet you." Amelia could tell the smile he put on was fake, and he simply just wanted to get on with the matters that brought him there.

"Amelia Harlod."

"Are you John's girlfriend?" Mycroft asked which received a howl of laughter from John and Amelia.

"Oh my goodness you think I would want to be with this lad?" Amelia laughed, pointing her thumb at John, gasping for breath.

"Mycroft we've been friends since primary school only having recently reconnected again. Nothing of the relationship sorts." John explained so Mycroft could understand.

"Oh. Sorry to imply anything." Somewhat embarrassed, although trying to hide it the best he could, Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. "Maybe you can get through to him John. Or even possibly you Ms. Harold. Sherlock I don't think you understand how urgent this case is."

Tuning out since she felt it wasn't her place to listen, Amelia looked on at the damage that was caused to the flat due to last nights events. All of the previously skewed decorations were truly thrown all over the place now. She questioned whether it was safe to be in the flat at the moment but decided either way it didn't matter. She would have gone in no matter the answer.

Drawn away from her investigation of sorts, she found that Mycroft was getting into the details of the case he wanted Sherlock to take.

"Andrew West was found dead on the train tracks this morning." He stated.

"Tried to kill himself?" John questioned, even though that seemed self explanatory.

"Seems like the ovbious solution but no. West was believed to have held the plans for a missile defense system that are on a memory stick. These are now missing."

"That's not very clever."

"Assuming they have any brain's, it's not the only copy." Amelia added into the conversation, with a look of approval from Mycroft.

"Yes. Indeed that is the case." Turning his attention from John and Amelia he faced Sherlock. "You need to find these plans brother. Don't make me order you."

"I'd like to see you attempt that." Sherlock answered with an eye roll.

"Think on it." Mycroft insisted, that seeming to be his goodbye to his brother. Walking towards John he shook his hand and said his departures to him.

"Goodbye Ms. Harold it was nice to meet you. I hope I'll be seeing more of you." Mycroft added then promptly left the flat.

Annoyingly Sherlock played an ear splitting tune on his violin to match Mycroft leaving.

As soon as Mycroft was out of ear shot John started in on Sherlock. "Why did you tell him you've been busy? Your schedule is completely free to the point it's making you go mad."

"Why not?"

"So it's a rivalry between you two, a sibling rivalry? I wouldn't put it past you." Amelia thought out loud.

"You've known me for a day don't make assumptions." Sherpock answered, dragging the 'day.'

The ringing of Sherlock's phone started cutting off the argument that was bound to happen if the conversation lingered. He immediately picked it up and extanged a few words with whoever was on the other side.

"Ah. How could I say no." He hung up the phone and got up from where he was sitting to leave the flat. "Lestrade called to summon me. Are you coming John?"

"Yeah I guess so." John stuttered throwing a questioning look towards Amelia not sure what to do.

"Oh don't stand there looking like a lost puppy. Come along if you must." Sherlock said frustrated. Amelia wanting to say no just to retaliate but realizing she had no other plans for the day was forced to listen to him, and she followed the consulting detective and blogger out the door.

Not returning to the flat until late that night, the three of them were simply exhausted. Sherlock didn't bother to make conversation before heading straight into his room and closing the door behind him. Not that he would have in the first place. Finally having a moment of silence to speak, Amelia and John sat in the sitting room. Sherlock not being there to reprimand her, Amelia sat in his chair.

"I'm sorry it's taken so long to sit down together." John sighed as he sank into his chair.

"Nothing to worry about. I actually had a bit of fun today." Shifting in the chair so her elbows rested on her knees she looked directly at John. "I know you wouldn't have phoned me without a purpose. Not to just catch up."

"I'm sorry for that too. I know I should have called earlier not just when I needed you. I hope you can forgive me because truly I am so glad we are talking again."

"John of course I forgive you. It's my nature to not stay mad at anyone, you know that. Now tell me what you need because I'm getting impatient." Amelia replied with a light laugh.

"It's not widely known to the public but Sherlock tends to not have the healthiest of coping mechanism. Particularly when he's bored."

"Like he was yesterday."

"Yes, exactly. I know that when things with your father went down," Amelia took a sharp inhale at the mention of him as John continued on, "you experienced some of the same things. To put it bluntly I was wondering if you could help Sherlock get over his drug addiction. He says he can easily do it on his own and all other sorts of excuses but something that complicated can't be done by yourself. I'm sure you would understand."

"You would understand also. You were always there for me." Amelia commented with a sad smile, reminiscing on the past.

"I know it's a lot to ask and if you think it will be triggering in any way-" before John could finish Amelia cut him off.

"Even if it is I know how to handle myself. And I can see that you clearly care for Sherlock a lot. And although I don't want to admit it, I see why you care. Of course I'll help in anyway possible."

"Amelia you never cease to amaze me. Thank you again." John said as he got up to hug Amelia. Only staying in the hug for a moment, they released each other when John spoke up once again.

"I know you don't love talking about it but you do know if you need someone to talk to about anything pertaining to your father you know you can come to me. Right?"

"Yes John. I appreciate it." Amelia sighed, which then turned into a yawn.

"You can stay here tonight if you'd like since it's late. Cabs don't usually circle around here at this hour."

"That would be lovely John."

"You can have my bed if you'd like." John offered gesturing towards the upstairs bedroom.

"Well now, that would just be confirming Mycroft's suspicions John! The couch is just fine in all seriousness. Now get to bed." Amelia lightly slapped John across the shoulder in an attempt to shoo him off. After an extange of goodnights, John was off to his bed.

Alone again, Amelia sat on the couch and rubbed her face with her hands. After all these years it was still hard to openly talk about her father. Not wanting to think about him longer she gingerly laid down on the couch, calling it a night.

After he heard the final noises of the couch moving, Sherlock sat up from where he was on the floor next to his door with a hard look on his face. Eavesdropping was a bad habit of his. After learning the new information on Amelia and that her intentions were truly good he felt remorse for treating her rudely. He wasn't sure how to make up for his actions. In typical Sherlock fashion he didn't feel comfortable or right saying sorry. Deciding to sleep on it, Sherlock laid down in his bed. Alone again.

#sherlock x reader #sherlock fandom #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #holmes and watson #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #dependency

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gwilymz · 5 years

Text

Good Company-Part 2

Brian May x Reader

read part three here

Masterlist

Word count: 4,192 (yikes I’m SORRY)

Summary: After discovering Roger cheated on you, you let Brian comfort you in more ways than one. But with Roger’s discovery of what happened between his love and his best friend comes a divide between all of you-- and there’s an important choice for Brian to make: you or Roger?

Warnings: Just ANGST... lots and lots of angst and sadness, some mentions of drinking but that’s about it :)

You pulled the sheet over your chest, as when Roger sat on the edge of the bed, it was torn from your body a little, making you feel a physical vulnerability that you didn’t need piling on top of the emotional stress you were under after the day you had had.

“You’re fucking in love with her?” Roger scoffed, disgusted. Brian still sat, naked, on the edge of the bed, a pillow covering his manhood. He and Roger were calmer now, opting to talk on the edge of the bed instead of with physical violence and screaming at the top of their voices, which were raw from their concert which had ended not too long ago.

“Why do you sound so shocked, Roger? If you could be in love with her, why can’t I be?” Brian’s voice was softer, an innocent tone falling from his bitten lips, a stark contrast from what those lips were saying minutes before.

“What? Why am I shocked that my best friend fucked my love and is now saying he’s in love with her? Can I not be a little fucking confused?” Roger carded a hand through his long, dirty blond hair, his eyebrows furrowed, which emitted an emotion on the cusp of both desperation and anger.

“This isn’t new, Roger. This didn’t happen overnight. I’ve always--pretty much always, felt like this towards her. I don’t know, Roger. I’m sorry. This is stupid. I don’t know what to fucking do.” Brian’s voice cracked, a massive lump forming in his hickey-covered throat. He had never been more embarrassed. He was always the most rational in the band--in all of the groups he’d ever been in. Always the one who talked his stupid, mindless friends out of immature, idiotic situations like these. He had betrayed his best friend; had embarrassed himself in front of the four most important people in his life. Now, you knew that he was in love with you and he felt guilty, realizing that he had taken advantage of you when you were most vulnerable. He shook in violent sobs, unable to control the tears which were spilling from his bloodshot eyes. Everyone looked around, unsure of what to do, unable to console him as he cried into his hands, still warm from touching your hot skin.

You held the sheet over your bare chest as you sat up to rub his back, still not able to comprehend Brian’s previous confession, or the odd situation you were in. You had always gotten along with Brian, always enjoyed his presence: his calm, easy-going demeanor. And secretly, you had always wished that Roger’s attitude towards life was a little more like Brian’s. Brian just cared the right amount. He was serious when he needed to be, goofy and witty when it was appropriate to be. You didn’t know how to respond to his profession, because in all honesty, you didn’t know how you felt towards him. You had been focused solely on Roger for over a year. You had never thought about being in love with Brian, because you couldn’t be.

But your heartbeat fluttered when you thought of him. You remembered how you felt when you first met him, Roger’s hand on your lower back, leading you to a much taller man who stood by a pool table at a small bar next to your university.

“This is my best friend, Brian.” He introduced you two, flashing you a toothy smile as you looked up at the lanky man in front of you. His hair was frizzy and dark brown, almost black. He was wearing a buttoned shirt with a lightweight jacket over top, and nicely fitted pants, a guitar slung over his body. He shook your hand, and you felt your face grow hot when he touched you. You always thought he was cute; who wouldn’t? He was shy and anxious, yet confident and self-assured in some aspects. He was good at everything. He mediated all of the band’s arguments, he had a paternal, trustworthy quality about him. And he always surprised you, and everyone around him. When at college, nobody could fathom him doing anything else other than gathering empirical evidence, scribbling results of various arithmetic problems into a scientific notebook. But when he was on stage, he was a different man. He was commanding and playful, carefree. Nobody would expect him to be so academically inclined. He was yin and yang, tangled into one person. There was always something he was doing, and you admired him dearly, you just never realized it until that moment. It wasn’t until you thought about the butterflies in your stomach you had whenever you hugged him, how you always seemed to care about your appearance a little extra when you knew Brian would be there, that you realized that your feelings for him were never just platonic.

“Can you guys just leave for a bit? Please?” Brian continued to sob on the bed, flinching away from your calming touch. Deaky, Freddie, and Roger left silently, Roger rolling his eyes, angry that Brian was kicking him out of his own room, especially after what he had done.

“Brian, I-” You began, ready to tell Brian how you felt. You wouldn’t say you were in love with him, but your feelings were accelerating, inching closer and closer to that terrifyingly real label.

“You too, Y/N.” He retorted, interrupting you. “Can you please go? I can’t be around anyone right now.” His voice was muffled by his hands, which covered his face.

You didn’t feel like arguing anymore, exhausted by the day you had had. It was late anyway. You found your underwear and the rest of your clothes and quickly got dressed, leaving Brian alone with his feelings, feeling like you had just lost your two chances at true love. As you reached the living area, just Deaky and Freddie were sitting on the couch having a quiet conversation, trying to take their minds off of the fact that two of their bandmates were most likely not on speaking terms--and wouldn’t be for awhile. You felt terrible, like you had broken Roger and Brian up--which was infinitely sadder than the ending of your and Roger’s relationship. Roger and Brian had been friends long before you had met Roger the year before, and even though he had broken your heart, you couldn’t help but feel bad that your selfishness and lust towards his best friend caused him such pain, that you had stooped to the level that he had in that bathroom with the groupie.

“Y/N, darling come over here for a minute, it’s just us, Roger is in Brian’s room--don’t know why they can’t just switch but it’s alright.” Freddie smiled warmly at you, his teeth looking whiter than usual.

You sniffled and strode towards them, wanting to do anything to fix the situation, and realizing that these two men who spend the most time with Brian and Roger would know a thing or two about how to make it up to them.

“What exactly happened?” Deaky scooted away from Freddie, making room for you to sit in between the two best friends.

You sighed, not wanting to recount the memories, but you knew you had to let it all out sometime--it would be more detrimental to wait. “After the concert, I went backstage.”

“Well, darling we know that much,” Freddie retorted.

“And then I went to the bathroom, and Roger--Roger was cheating on me with some random girl. Thirty feet away from where he knew I was. But he didn’t see that it was me who opened the door, his back was turned away.”

“That complete dick!” Deaky remarked, nervously scratching his forearm.

“And then Brian followed me out of the pub when I was crying. He comforted me, and offered to walk me back here to get my stuff from Rog’s room.” You wiped your tears away, looking down at your cold, shaky hands. “When we got here, I gathered my things from his room, and Brian was helping me, trying to calm me down, and it just--happened.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence after you stopped recounting the night’s melodramatic events. All that could be heard was your own sniffling, and the faint sound of Freddie’s new vinyl softly scratching against the needle of the record player, a ballad barely permeating the tension-filled air.

“Well, I’ve got to say Y/N, fucking Rog’s best friend in his bed after he cheated on you was a good fucking power move.” Freddie nervously giggled, not wanting to see everybody who he loved in tears, even if just for a few minutes.

You smiled a little bit, amused by Freddie’s comment--he was right, it was quite funny, and quite the move on your part. But your mind rebounded, and you were back to thinking about Brian, revealing the truth about this predicament--you cared much more about Brian’s feelings than Roger’s. You convinced yourself it was the cheating, that you would be more distraught about Roger if the situation were different, but you felt an odd freedom, knowing your relationship with him was over. You had loved him, but you hadn’t been in love with him--with anybody, for a long time. You had forgotten the perpetual dizziness of being utterly obsessed with every part of a person. You missed being carefree but simultaneously having the utmost passion, pinpointed on someone. Looking up to their every decision, cloudy vision of the entire world that only came into focus on them.

“Do you think either of them will ever speak to me again?” You rested your head in your hands; you felt so heavy, utterly exhausted.

“Of course they will, Y/N.” Deaky comforted you. “Roger can’t really be too mad at you when he cheated on you, and Brian said he was in love with you and I truly doubt that he will feel differently anytime soon. He’s such a sensitive person, he just needs time.”

“Truly, Y/N. It will all be alright in time. Brian is an only child, he gets overwhelmed when he’s around people for too long; he can’t handle it sometimes. He’s just not fit for that; it’s why he kicked us out, he does it all of the time. He’ll come around soon. As for Rog, you should be utterly careless about his feelings!” Freddie took a swig of beer and scoffed, thinking about how stupid Roger was for ruining his only good relationship.

You gave Deaky and Freddie side-hugs and stood up, feeling slightly dizzy from the emotions of the day, the stress hormones in your blood affecting you like a drug would. As you walked out of the door, you knew you had forgotten all of your belongings you had went there specifically to retrieve, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and get them.

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Two weeks later, Brian sat, slumped on the couch. It was three in the afternoon and he was on his fourth or fifth shot of vodka. He drank it straight, and hated every second of it, but his self-loathing hurt him even more, and he was so used to the bitter, almost briny flavor, that the perpetual lingering of the taste on his tongue was a part of him now. He was already a lightweight--him being over six feet tall and weighing barely over 145 pounds--so the fifth shot of vodka in one sitting was making him drowsy, unfocused. While he drank to feel better, the alcohol only accentuated the emotions he felt, pulling the deepest feelings from his subconscious. He was curled into a ball, going over the events in his head, telling himself that everyone hated him, and he truly believed this.

His parents were disappointed in him for leaving school behind. The band was mad at him for throwing his life away these past couple of weeks, causing them to have to cancel some long-awaited venues so Brian could sulk. Roger despised him for betraying him. And you--you were the worst of them all. You were ignoring him, acting as if he didn’t exist, as if he were never a part of your life, a stranger. And that hurt him deep into his soul, because he wanted you so bad, and he had lost everyone because of it.

But the scary thing was that Brian probably wouldn’t mind the situation nearly as much if you and him had worked out.

“Brian, you have to fucking get up!” Freddie grabbed Brian’s bony arm and pulled him forward, unable to move his dead weight any more than a couple of centimeters, even though Brian had definitely lost weight from his depression.

Brian was silent, and he didn’t have the motivation to pull his arm away from Freddie’s grasp, even though he loathed that he was being touched.

“You can’t just keep doing this, Brian. We get it, you’re sad. We all are! Because we haven’t had a gig in weeks. You’re making this worse, Bri. You could be playing every night, making money, actually having a life, but instead you’re doing this shit. Every fucking night. What is it changing?” Freddie was yelling, small beads of saliva spewing from his mouth.

“Find another guitarist, I don’t care, Fred.” Brian mumbled, burying his face into the couch cushion beside him.

“Do you hear yourself, Bri? Find another guitarist? Three weeks ago you would have been aching to perform and now you’re just giving it up? You’re being ridiculous, and not to mention, this isn’t just affecting you. We have to play to make money. This is our life, too, Bri. It’s not just yours to ruin.” Freddie grabbed the half-drunk bottle of vodka from the coffee table and hid it in a random cabinet, cursing that Brian was so tall that he couldn’t just put it on top of the refrigerator or something.

“That’s why I said--find a new guitarist.” Brian looked at Freddie with deadpan eyes, and Freddie was genuinely scared. He had never seen Brian with so little life, so little enthusiasm. He always had something he cared deeply about, and for as long as he had known Brian, that was playing the guitar, making music, performing. Freddie sat down, pulling Brian into his chest. It was an awkward position, since Brian was so much longer than Freddie, but Freddie didn’t know what else to do--what else to say--to get through Brian’s thick skull.

“We can’t find a new guitarist, because there’s only one mister Brian Harold May, sweetheart.” Freddie pulled a random curl on Brian’s head and watched as it bounced back into place, before he squeezed Brian’s shoulders. “We have a gig tonight. We need you there. Queen isn’t Queen without a guitarist--and that guitarist just simply has to be you.”

With that, Freddie got up and left Brian alone with his thoughts again. His guilt was eating away at him, literally withering him away into skin and bones, and he came to the conclusion that Fred was right. His sulking wasn’t doing anything but making the situation drag on.

Three hours later, after Freddie had forced Brian to drink four glasses of water and eat a three course meal, Brian was backstage at a pub on the opposite side of London, strumming his guitar mindlessly. He knew he was rusty, that the alcohol in his system and his lack of playing for a few weeks was going to make for a bad show, but he had promised Freddie he would perform. The other three guys were aching to play again, they hadn’t had a proper gig since the fateful concert weeks ago, and they were getting restless, chasing the adrenaline high that came with performing a rock concert, the sweat, the feeling of the music in their bones. Brian still hadn’t spoken to Roger, and Roger hadn’t tried to speak to Brian yet, in fact, Brian hadn’t seen much of Roger for the past few weeks. He assumed, by Deaky and Freddie’s hushed late-night conversations, that Roger was hooking up with random girls to take his mind off of the chaotic turmoil of their lives. Sex was always a coping mechanism for Roger. Roger was go-getter, doing anything and everything, chasing an emotional high to balance out the lows. But Brian was the opposite. He ran away, curled himself into a ball and hated himself, replayed every mistake in his head, knowing he couldn’t fix them. Brian’s strumming halted as he heard Roger’s gravelly voice cross the threshold of the loud, untuned bass guitar which was being fixed by an annoyed John. He froze in his position, fiddling with his cold, silver, pinky ring and the sleeves of his purple striped shirt, hoping that somehow he was invisible, a ghost unable to be seen.

Roger walked past Brian, not sparing him a look as he flipped his drumsticks between his fingers, chatting to Freddie and Deaky about the venue.

“The lights aren’t working right.” Roger sat down at the drum set, slipping his shoes off.

“A gig is a gig, Rog...we’ll just have to put on a hell of a show to make up for it.” Freddie said, his mouth still hovered over a cup of cold beer.

“That will be a little hard with mister fucking melancholy over there.” Roger snorted, pointing his eyes towards the lanky man in the corner of the room.

“Stop,” Deaky whispered, his knee propped on a wooden chair as he continued to tune his guitar. “He doesn’t need you to reinforce his feelings. We’ll be fine.”

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Below your apartment was a small café where you often finished assignments and drank sweet lattes, looking at the bustling streets of London, admiring the beautiful mystery of the city. Today you sat at the window and did just that, swaying your feet and warming your cold hands with the frothy latte you had just ordered from an outgoing peer of yours in your literature class. You hadn’t felt this lonely in ages, always busy with Roger and his shows. You realized you really lived through Roger and the band--you followed them around, of course to support their endeavors, but also because it was a vicarious outlet for you to feel something--like you were actually making the most out of your life. And as pathetic as it was, you missed it. You missed the banter between the band members, the people you would meet from all over London at their shows, the heavy music almost coursing through your veins. You missed all of it. And you hadn’t heard or even seen any of the four members for weeks--since you left their flat bawling from that night’s events.

As you sipped your piping hot coffee your mind wandered to Brian, remembering what Deaky had said to you. “He’s such a sensitive person.” And that scared you to think about, because in all honesty, Brian’s sensitivity to emotions was very severe. You knew he was deliberating about what happened incessantly. You recalled a specific time, the September of the year before. Brian, Roger and you had gone to a Japanese restaurant, recommended by the mother of a girl that Brian was tutoring for math.

“She said it was good!” Brian swung open the red door, ushering you and Roger in. A few more people were behind you guys, and Brian happily kept the door open for them, flashing them a shining smile; a young teenage girl blushed at this action.

“Raw fish? I don’t know, doesn’t sound good, mate.” Roger sat down on a small bench to wait for your table, sticking his leg out to attempt to trip Brian, and it worked a little, as Brian stumbled before balancing himself on his gangly legs.

“Don’t say that inside the restaurant!” You nudged Roger, holding his arm. Brian was chewing on a toothpick, leaning against a column, reading the menu. He asked the young hostess a plethora of questions about the fish: where they came from, how they were cured, preserved, and cut. She answered in detail, giving him coy looks between her explanations. He furrowed his eyebrows and thanked her for explaining, and then when you got to your table, he ordered a cucumber roll, talking to you and Roger in detail about how they shouldn’t be supporting an industry of killing innocent animals.

“Bri, it was your idea to come here, don’t yell at me!” Roger took a bite of the dumplings he had ordered as an appetizer.

“I know, but I didn’t know.” Brian fiddled with his chopsticks.

You snapped out of the memory, stirring another sugar packet into your drink and taking a sip. If he was that distraught about sushi, you couldn’t imagine how devastated he was about Roger and about you. You didn’t mean to be haughty, but if he really was in love with you, it would hurt to not hear it back. But he didn’t let you get your thoughts in, so it wasn’t like you could have done anything to stop these feelings he was undoubtedly having. You convinced yourself this as you looked over to the bulletin board hanging by the sugar and cream station. A familiar poster hung, haphazardly stapled on the middle of the board, attempting to cover every other arbitrary advertisement on the board. It was a grainy picture of Freddie, John, Roger and Brian, posed in flamboyant stage outfits, blank but smoldering expressions adorning their young faces, Freddie’s hand-drawn logo for Queen neatly printed above the picture; underneath, was the address, time, and date. It was tonight, a few blocks away. And although you knew it was an awful idea to go to a concert where both your ex and your so-called forbidden lover would be, you already wrote the address on a napkin.

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Brian was playing perfectly, although he was simultaneously hungover and drunk. His fingers danced over the strings gracefully, but he stood idle, scanning the crowd, hoping to see one person, but unable to see through the purple haze that permeated the thick, humid air of the bar. He felt tears stinging his eyes as he continued to think about you. He let his mind wander again, but his fingers stayed on track, implicitly focused on their own duty.

He was embarrassed, crying while playing a rock concert. His eyes were glossy and he made forlorn eye contact with some audience members, who looked at him confusedly. Deaky hopped across the stage, making sure to not trip over the tangle of wires on the ground, leaping towards Brian. He leaned towards him, still playing his riff.

“Bri, mate? Are you okay?” He yelled into Brian’s ear.

With that, Brian started to quietly sob, just as his guitar solo was to begin. Deaky made a “cut it out” gesture to the middle-aged man controlling the small light set-up, and he quickly cut the lights as Brian took his guitar off from across his body, hurrying backstage, where he locked himself in the bathroom. He wasn’t crying anymore, but he felt this dense sadness within himself that he couldn’t begin to explain the feeling of, he had never felt like it before. He was so in love with you it hurt.

“Brian, mate. We need to talk.” Roger knocked on the door, an annoyed tone falling from his mouth. Brian knew that Deaky and Freddie were forcing Roger to talk to him. Brian reached his arm out and turned the doorknob, leaving the door slightly ajar. Roger squeezed himself into the tiny bathroom and hoisted himself onto the sink.

“You know, our friendship will never be over, Brian.” Roger handed Brian the roll of toilet paper, gesturing to his runny nose.

“I thought you hated me.” Brian was a little angry at Roger, even if he didn’t have the right to be.

“I don’t hate you. I can’t be mad forever when I cheated on her. I did this too.”

Brian smiled a little, relishing in the fact that he had made Roger apologize. That was as rare as it got.

“But I also know that you didn’t really give a rat’s ass about me, you just care about Y/N. Am I right or am I right?” Roger leaned back, crossing his arms against his slick chest.

“You’re right. I wasn’t kidding about what I said.”

“I just--” Roger sighed. “I still love Y/N. I know we’re broken up, I know we won’t get back together. But--I can’t see you date her. I can’t. I won’t let it happen. I love you Brian, but no, that’s where I draw the line.”

Brian understood this, but it infuriated him. He didn’t like this innuendo of an ultimatum. He needed to be Roger’s best friend, but he needed to take a chance with you, too. But knowing that the collection of experiences he had with his best friend and his band trumped the slight possibility of a relationship with you, he obliged, tongue in cheek.

“So you won’t be with her? Ever?” Roger raised his eyebrows at Brian, the token of a promise between the two.

“No, never.”

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taglist: @silencedleviathan @alexfayer @ledger-kaos @ma-ntequilla @discodeakyy @richiethotzierz @thisloveisreal1 @heartsarecompatible @thelondondreamer5 @miez-lakatz @joe-mazzellhoe

#brian may #brian may fanfic #brian may smut #brian may x reader #john deacon #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #roger taylor #ben hardy #rami malek #freddie mercury #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #queen

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theglitteringhopeless · 7 years

Text

Promises Broken - Chapter 6 (Jughead x Betty fic)

The weekend rolls around after what feels like forever. Betty vows to use her time away from Jughead to really focus on her schoolwork and finally catch up. This plan is ruined slightly when she ends up shopping with Veronica on Saturday.

Riverdale has one poor excuse for a shopping mall, so Betty tends to do most of her shopping online. Veronica insists that she has to go shopping, however, because she needs a new dress urgently for a family dinner her mom is planning. And she needs Betty there to get her opinion.

“I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes,” Veronica demands before hanging up before Betty can say no again.

She sighs and heads for a shower.

She can’t help but notice that Veronica is acting weird. Well… weirder than usual.

First of all, she appeared with a coffee and a scone. Betty was grateful, as she hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast.

Then when they got to the mall, Veronica had insisted on buying Betty the lipstick she kept eyeing up. It was a bright red colour, very unlike the usual nudes and pinks she applied. But she couldn’t help admire it… It was bold and vibrant. Maybe if she wore it… she’d be a little bolder, too?

Veronica had watched Betty debate with herself before sighing and buying it for her, instead. She was relieved; the decision was now out of her hands. And, hey, if she never wore it, at least she didn’t pay for it.

So, Betty was grateful but also a little suspicious. Why was Veronica suddenly being so thoughtful? Not that that was a bad thing. Just… A new thing. And Betty had enough cynicism in her to wonder if perhaps Veronica was overcompensating for something.

She decides to stop internalising and actually ask.

“Hey, V, is something wrong?”

Veronica glances up from the pair of black stiletto shoes she’s fussing over.

“No, Betts. Why would something be wrong?”

Betty merely shrugs, not ready to admit that she’s suspicious of Veronica’s behaviour. She doesn’t want to throw her generosity back in her face. And, if there really is nothing wrong, she doesn’t want Veronica to be angry with her. Sometimes she forgets what a good friend Veronica is. Although they’re not always as close as Betty is with Jughead, their friendship remains strong. And it’s easy. There’s no drama with them. (Something that is so often seen amongst teenage girls.) They slip easily into each other’s company, and very seldom have disagreements.

This is threatened, however, when Veronica sighs suddenly. “Fine, you caught me. Something is wrong, Betty.”

She turns to look at her friend, worry clouding her features.

“What’s wrong, Veronica? Is it something with your dad?”

Betty knows that her dad is awaiting trial for embezzlement. It’s common knowledge amongst the people of Riverdale, but few people see up close the damage that has been caused. Veronica’s idea of her perfect father has been shattered, forcing her to grow up faster than she should have.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” She trails off, looking towards the entrance of a cafe. “Can we go for a coffee? I don’t want to do this here.”

Betty is now incredibly alarmed, but nods politely all the same.

Veronica is known for being overly dramatic but something about her face tells Betty that this isn’t nothing.

She allows Veronica to buy her yet another latte before settling down at a table.

“Ok,” Betty gestures to Veronica, who is sitting across from her looking increasingly nervous. “Talk.”

The café is pretty quiet, meaning Veronica’s next few words are heard clearly.

“Archie and I are dating,” she blurts out.

Betty pauses for a moment to consider this.

Veronica… and Archie?

Since when?

She knew that Veronica had kissed him during one of Cheryl’s vindictive games of Spin the Bottle. She also knew that Cheryl had set this up on purpose just to hurt Betty.

But Cheryl definitely wasn’t setting this up.

“Betty? Please say something. I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I just… I really like him.”

She snaps her eyes up to Veronica’s worried expression, suddenly feeling sorry for her. How long has she been agonising over telling her this?

“It’s ok, Veronica. I’m not mad.”

And she means it. Her feelings for Archie are long gone. Instead, she feels happy that two of her closest friends are now together. And Veronica is much more equally suited to Archie, anyway. She breaks through his walls and encourages him to come out his bubble from time to time, which is something Betty could never do.

It’s just…

If Betty lets the selfish part of her out, then she feels a little jealous. She studies Veronica, who, now that she knows Betty is fine with her and Archie, looks radiant and excited about her new relationship. Suddenly, Betty longs for a relationship of her own. This makes her cringe; she feels like those stereotypical teen girls who need a boyfriend to be happy. But she can’t help how she feels.

Loneliness, at the pit of her stomach, causes her to push her cup of coffee away.

She realises Veronica has been talking, and she hasn’t listened to a word she’s said.

“… just feels so right, you know? Like it’s no bi- Are you ok, B?”

She blinks up, feeling guilty that she’s about to ruin Veronica’s happy moment.

“Just… thinking about Jughead.”

Veronica’s face changes to one of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Betty. I didn’t think.”

“Oh, no! Veronica, you don’t have to be sorry. You have every right to be happy about your new relationship. I guess… I just wish I had one of my own.”

“I know, Betty. Maybe one day.”

“Yeah… One day.”

But even as she says it, she doesn’t believe it.

“I have to run, Betty. I’m meeting Archie,” Veronica smiles shyly, while also managing to look sheepish. “Do you need a lift home?”

Betty can’t help but smile herself at Veronica’s happiness.

“No, I think I’ll head to the book store now that I’m here.”

“You sure?” Veronica still looks worried about her friend.

“Yes! Now go have fun! Tell me all about it later.”

Veronica kisses her on the cheek then floats away, leaving Betty alone with her cold cup of coffee and her thoughts.

It’s barely afternoon and Betty is faced with a long day and zero plans. She’s too restless now to do something as mind-numbing as returning home and watching TV or studying.

Veronica and Archie are both busy.

She grimaces. Is this how it will be from now on? Will her two friends be too busy with each other to spend time with her? And then she feels guilty. Because it’s not their fault that Betty has no other friends. Maybe she should try harder to talk to new people… She’s just been so busy this year with school and the newspaper and… Jughead.

Jughead.

He was her friend, of course. But in a different way. She couldn’t just call him up on a Saturday afternoon and ask him to do something with her. That’s not how they worked.

She can’t help but wonder what he’s doing at this exact moment.

Is he reading the new novel he mentioned that he bought the other day? Maybe working on an article for the Blue and Gold? Or something entirely different?

She gets up and leaves the café, wandering through the mall aimlessly. She’s not in the mood to browse for a new book, despite what she told Veronica. Maybe she could buy some new clothes? Her bank account is looking quite full at the moment. Between her allowance and the occasional babysitting she does for her neighbours, she’s built up quite a little nest egg.

Without ever really making the decision to, she finds herself in one of the few boutiques Riverdale mall has. She sifts through rack after rack of the same styles of clothing, knowing that none of them would suit her. They belong on people like Veronica or Cheryl Blossom. She’s more of a Gap girl. Plain and simple. Maybe that’s why Jughead barely looks at her.

She leaves the shop with a melancholy sigh, feeling very down on herself all of a sudden. She’s never been the most secure girl in the world, but she’s also never been this insecure in her life. Shame washes over her as she realises it’s a boy that has lowered her self-esteem. But not just any boy. Jughead Jones. That has to gain her some points, right? It’s not some shallow minded football player that just wants to hook up in the back of his car. Jughead isn’t like the other boys. He’s… sensitive… and a little troubled, and just what she’s been looking for. He’s the only guy she knows that can keep up with her and give as good as he gets.

The bookshop looms closer as Betty strolls along, trying to drag out her trip. It’s the last shop in the mall, and is also one of the smallest. Books, it would seem, are a dying art. She wanders inside purely for something to do, smiling at the elderly man who’s been working here for as long as she can remember. He nods back politely, recognising her as one of his more frequent customers.

She scans the bestsellers shelves, not really seeing, but trying to look interested. There’s a new Judy Blume novel and Betty glances around stealthily before grabbing it to read the back. She’d die if anyone knew she was a closet fan.

“Whatcha looking at, Betts?”

Betty freezes and turns slowly, knowing from his tone of voice that she’s been caught red handed.

“Um, it’s a present for someone?”

Jughead raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing her. He’s wearing his usual grey beanie hat and denim jacket, his trusty satchel slung over his shoulder. Betty notices he’s clutching a new copy of The Catcher in the Rye and raises an eyebrow back.

“I’m shocked you don’t already have a copy,” she gestures towards the book.

“I do… Or did.” He grimaces slightly. “My dad came home drunk and spilled whisky all over it. It was too far gone by the time I found it.”

Betty doesn’t know whether to laugh or apologise. She knows FP struggles with addiction, but she isn’t sure if this was a one off or if he’s fell off the wagon. And she doesn’t know how to ask without coming off as nosey or judgey. She wishes, for the millionth time, that Jughead was more open with her.

She opens her mouth to ask about FP, then closes it, debating if she should or not. Before she has a chance to decide, Jug speaks up, completely oblivious to Betty’s inner turmoil.

“I’m heading to the cinema after this to see that new horror, do you want to come with me?”

She blinks, processing his words.

“You want to go to the cinema with me?”

He nods slowly, mocking her for being slow.

“Beats going alone,” he grins. “I’ll even buy you popcorn. But then I’ll probably end up eating most of it.”

Betty rolls her eyes, a smile appearing on her face. “Sure, I’ll go. But if you so much as touch my popcorn.”

“Oh, I’m so scared. What’s big bad Betty Cooper going to do?”

“Just you wait and find out, Jughead Jones!”

The two walk out the store, Betty’s precious Judy Blume book long forgotten, and head towards the cinema. Their laughter can be heard even from a distance, and anyone watching the two would see how both light up in each other’s presence. Betty, who is usually quiet and subdued, comes out her shell around him. Jughead is always laughing or smiling when he’s with her, a far cry from his usual sullen demeanour.

It’s not until they reach the ticket stand and Jughead insists on buying two tickets for some Stephen King adaption that Betty realises she hates horror films. But she knows that Stephen King is Jug’s literary hero, so she wills herself to grow up and face her fears. How bad can it be?

***

Bad. Very bad.

Betty has spent 80% of the film with her hands over her eyes, refusing to watch, and the remaining 20% tensed up waiting for a jump scare. Jughead is shaking with laughter beside her, getting more entertainment out of her reaction to the film than the film itself.

“Stop laughing at me, you sadist,” she hisses at him as he steals another handful of her popcorn.

“I can’t help it, you flinch every time the scene changes.”

He’s leaning in close, whispering in her ear to avoid disturbing the rest of the audience. Her cheeks automatically flush a red colour, and she’s thankful for the darkness of the cinema.

She doesn’t have a witty response for him, so she settles for feebly punching his arm then focusing back on the god awful film just in time for an intense chase scene. The murderer is stalking a girl through a dark forest, the ultimate cliché. Betty tenses up, watching as the girl trips over and the bad guy nearly catches her. Instinctively, she grabs Jughead’s hand, squeezing it for dear life. It doesn’t occur to her to feel weird about it, she’s too engrossed in the film.

He glances at their clasped hands, then up at Betty’s face. She’s glued to the film, paying him no mind. A small smile graces Jughead’s face, as he allows himself a small moment of satisfaction at her holding his hand. He knows it’s silly, but he can’t help the butterflies in his stomach that he feels being near her.

She bites her lip, flinching as the girl is inevitably caught and beheaded. Jughead laughs as she uses his shoulder to shield her eyes from the onscreen gore. He thought that her being scared of horror films would be annoying for him, but instead he finds it strangely endearing.

Then again, he finds most things about Betty Cooper endearing.

#promises broken #jughead #betty #bughead #riverdale fic #fanfiction

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toopliss-chewtoy · 7 years

Text

Hard Coded - Ch. 5/8

I’m so, so sorry for how much time there is between chapters >.< So many other little things that come between it that distract me... oh well, better late then never. A pretty long chapter this time too, please bear with it!

The glorious art in this chapter was done by @rokutsubasa61! She does great stuff, so be sure to have a look when you finish reading :D - J.

[Read from the start] Size: 4282 words Warnings: Author chose not to show warnings - some apply! Also on AO3

Chapter 5

“No cellphones at the table,” Stoick said with a stern frown.

“Sorry, dad.”

Hiccup put his phone away and continued to eat. His steak was pretty good - thanks to the fact Gobber did all the cooking - but his mind was distracted with other things. Things related to a specific white-haired boy.

“Who were you texting, anyway?”

“Just a friend from school.” A friend who he’d been going out with for a couple of weeks now, but that was on a strict need-to-know basis only. He didn’t want to talk about that, not with his dad anyway.

“Who?”

“Does it matter?” Hiccup gave his father a sarcastic stare.

“I’ve never seen you text this much before.”

The teen thought about that. He seriously doubted that he really texted Jack that much around his father. What was he going on about?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Humor me.”

The tension in the room was palpable.

“Why are you so insistent? What’s it to you who I’m texting with, it’s just a friend.”

“Just a friend.” Stoick grumbled. “Is it that white-haired lad?”

“Yes… he has white hair.” Hiccup frowned. “How do you know?”

“I saw you kiss him.”

All colour drained from Hiccup’s cheeks, reducing his complexion to something very much like Jack’s hair after a fresh dye. “W-what? I-I never-”

“I was done early and going to pick you up because of the weather. You were already in his car.”

It had been raining cats and dogs today, so of course Jack had offered to give him a ride home. Hiccup had kissed him in the car to thank him… and that hadn’t been just a peck on the cheek either. Good Gods! Stoick had seen that! Hiccup was mortified and scared at the same time. He wanted to go back in time to stop his past self from getting in that car and prevent this all from happening. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. He wanted Jack to do some weird demonic summoning spell that would instantly transport Hiccup to his bedroom.

“Who is it?” Stoick demanded.

Hiccup considered his options. Maybe this could still be salvaged.

“Jack, from the baseball team. We have science together.”

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“A few weeks now,” he confessed. This wasn’t how he’d envisioned coming out, but there was no denying it now. He carefully kept his face neutral, doing his best to appear confident. Fake it till you make it, right? In truth, however, his hands were shaking like little twigs in a hurricane-level storm, right there under the table.

“Impossible. You’re not gay,” Stoick said. “It’s in your barcode.”

“Oh please, my barcode-”

“Don’t interrupt me. This is just some futile rebellious act or something, and I will have none of it. You will break up with this boy immediately.” The bearded man gave his son a frightening look, just daring him to try his patience and see how ugly it could get. It took all Hiccup’s self-control to stay calm and not break down to scream or cry or both. Not yet. He had to face his father head on on this one.

“No.”

One word, yet so hard to deliver.

“No?” Stoick’s frown got so deep it put the grand canyon to shame. “You’re grounded until you break up with him. No phone, no internet except for school, and Gobber will bring you to school and pick you up right after.”

“You can’t-”

“I can. Now go to your room.”

Hiccup fled the dining table with his heart hammering in his chest. He went straight up to his room and slammed the door shut. Toothless startled, jumping a foot into the air and landing on the ground with an angry meow.

Hiccup paid him no mind and flung himself on the bed. A white hot rage boiled inside him. At the same time an incredible feeling of betrayal made him want to bawl his eyes out. He’d know his dad wouldn’t take it well, but actually experiencing it still hurt so much. And now part of him wanted to rigorously redecorate his room by throwing all the furniture around, and another part wanted to hide under the blanket and cry.

Stoick hadn’t taken his phone just yet, so Hiccup quickly told Jack as much as he could. He didn’t get a reply before Stoick came to collect the device.

After that it was just him. No connection to anyone outside his room. No support.

At least no-one but Toothless witnessed his breakdown.

Gobber knocked on the study door and went straight in, not needing to wait for an answer. As usual, Stoick was still working. Preparing for meetings, reading background material, answering countless emails - it was a never-ending stream of work. Not that you’d ever hear the man complain. He knew perfectly well what he was getting into when he ran for Mayor with even aspirations beyond that. He’d told Gobber as much when he’d asked him to be his personal assistant. Gobber had accepted that position not just to help his friend, but even more so to make sure at least someone was taking care of Hiccup too.

He’d address what had happened during dinner soon, but first…

“Courier,” Gobber stated.

The big, bearded man frowned. Gobber had seen that turn into his default expression the last few months.

“At this time? What did they bring?”

“The lad won’t say, he’ll only give it to you. Don’t look like much of a courier to me either.” The bald PA shrugged.

“Let him in.”

Gobber went to fetch the odd ‘courier’. If he was really that, because what delivery boy wears such an fine suit? Gobber was no expert on suit brands - he hated the damn things, it was bad enough he had to wear one - but it looked more expensive than anything he’d ever owned. Add to that the fancy briefcase he was carrying and you have the poshest delivery boy of the century.

The unknown figure wore it with confidence too, as if he was entirely used to this kind of stuff. He looked very unremarkable otherwise. Neat haircut. Clean shave. Your typical banker, including the borderline arrogant smirk. Gobber followed him inside and shut the office door, curious what he had to say to the mayor.

To Gobber’s surprise, the pseudo-courier didn’t say anything at all. He simply took an unmarked, sealed envelope from his briefcase and handed it to Stoick. It was large - the kind that holds A4 printed documents - and not very thick.

“Is that all?” Stoick asked. At least he was just as surprised as his PA. “All the way out here for this?”

The visitor nodded. “Just delivering,” he said. “We hope to hear from you soon.” He glanced at Gobber, nodded at Stoick, and turned around to leave again. Gobber showed him out, thoroughly puzzled by the whole affair.

Stoick rubbed his temples, trying to keep the oncoming headache at bay. First that thing with Hiccup, now this… one peek inside the envelope confirmed his suspicion. It was a letter and thin document from Echelon, the company behind the barcode system as it is used today.

It must be a sensitive piece of paper if they delivered it like this. He quickly scanned the letter.

This definitely wasn’t going to help with his headache. They were getting impatient, and had sent technical instructions to make their transition go faster. The script was only a few pages long, but Stoick really didn’t want to deal with this now. He stashed the envelope in a drawer together with Hamish’ phone. He locked the drawer, pocketed the key, and decided he’d done enough work for one day.

Hiccup lay in bed. It was late, but sleep wouldn’t come. Father sleep had been scared off like a startled deer during hunting season and he’d probably not return to his duties anytime soon. Instead he surfed the glorious wave that was 400 channels of satellite TV, hoping to find something that could distract him. Or even better, lull him to sleep after all. So far he’d only found tasteless comedy-shows, crappy sitcoms that weren’t even funny 30 years ago, and doctor Phil reruns. He sighed. He wanted to chat with Jack. That idiot would probably stay awake to text back as long as it took for Hiccup to fall asleep. Sometimes Hiccup wondered what he’d done to deserve such a kind boy.

He couldn’t wait for school tomorrow. At least he’d be able to see Jack there. Maybe sneak off to a more private place for a hug or holding hands or something.

“Tomorrow the trial of Dr. D Faustino will reach it’s conclusion.” A news anchor said. “Experts claim he is facing up to ten years in prison for alteration of multiple barcodes during his career as plastic surgeon.” Hiccup perked up. He didn’t watch the news very often - not on TV anyway, that was more entertainment than news most of the time. But you didn’t hear about someone messing around with barcodes every day.

“How do you estimate the chances for a not-guilty verdict of your client?”, asked their correspondent to a guy with a sour face and gray suit. The tag in the corner said he was the doctor’s lawyer.

“I feel like we stand a good chance tomorrow. The evidence is all circumstantial at best. Today’s verdict will have a tremendous effect on the debate and social implications connect to changing ones barcode as well - it can transform the entire issue . I think the judge and jury are well aware of the deep underlying effects the verdict can have.” The lawyer then promised to appeal, of course, should the verdict be ‘guilty’.

Hiccup zoned out the moment some so-called ‘experts’ were asked for their opinions. He was repeating the lawyer’s words. Such a delicate case could have serious implications… if people would only listen to that lawyer. He seemed to have thought things through for a change. The man was probably of the opinion codes were overrated, that the real world wasn’t as black and white as the lines on your wrist. But no-one would say that on television, of course. All anyone ever wants are bite-sized pieces of black and white “truth”, taking any easy solution over actual thought and nuance.

Maybe with this court-case going on, some debate could be found online. Hiccup was hungry for any arguments against barcodes, especially now.

He got out his laptop. It was meant for school and thus absolutely littered with parental control software. Surely he could find a way to break through it, but one slip-up and his dad would find out and take the laptop away altogether… he couldn’t risk that. So for now he’d have to live with internet filters, restricted software, and worst of all: a time limit. It still had Google. That was something.

He had to work fast and efficient here. No time to do more than a quick scan over forum threads, which were more troll infested than information rich anyway. He was on the lookout for any credible sources like news websites or literature. The most recent news was easy to find. Google was kind enough to put that on the first two pages already. Faustino was on trial, buzzfeed was covering which famous musicians had an asterisk, and Congress would soon vote on a new bill to update the Barcode Security Act. The Enhanced Barcode Security Act, as it was very creatively called, was expected to pass into law without any problems. Now that was interesting.

Of course Hiccup had known the BSA existed, but why it was being updated was a mystery to him. He’d tried to read the original act with all its impossible legal jargon. As far as he could tell, it was just your basic privacy legislation, but then for barcodes instead of emails and phonecalls. This bill had been around for years now.

What politician had been brave - or perhaps foolish - enough to start a debate about it and get it appended? It wasn’t even clear to Hiccup what had to be ‘enhanced’ about it anyway, nor did any of the news-sources specify what exactly was going to change in it.

Sadly, as he dug deeper, he found more steaming troll-dung and tinfoil hats. Topics like these were an absolute favourite for the conspiracy nutjobs and the internet was full with ‘alternative facts’. It was pretty difficult to sift through the heaps of information and distinguish what was real and what wasn’t.

He longed for just a shred of reliable evidence to slap in his dad’s face. To back up what he’d known for years already: that a barcode does not define you, and that the match-making system was the biggest load of crap in the history of pseudoscience. So he kept searching. He still had fifteen minutes computer-time left before he needed to enter a password. No pressure.

Toothless was draped over his legs for moral support. The cat hadn’t left his side after his breakdown, which he was thankful for. Now that Hiccup was doing all right again, Toothless was relaxed as well, purring contently.

More fora. Reddit threads. 4-chan. Sometimes parts sounded reasonable, maybe even borderline scientific, but Hiccup was pretty sure it was better to disregard anything that was mentioned in one breath with ‘lizard people’ and ‘virtual Satanist invasions’. When his time was up and the laptop started to shut down on its own, he hadn’t learned much more.

He was fairly certain government committee reports at least existed, as well as scientific literature. Google scholar praise be unto thee. Sadly, any real article was behind a paywall, without as much as an abstract or conclusion available to Hiccup. And there was no trace of the government reports online at all. He hadn’t managed to find anything about the public debate at the time the whole system was introduced either. Even when searching for that specific period in time, all he got were marketing campaigns by Echelon Corp., the telecom giant.

Frustrated, Hiccup put the laptop aside. Toothless had dozed off and protested vocally against the sudden movement.

“Sorry, bud. You can’t help it either.”

The information was out there, Hiccup just couldn’t get to it.

Unless… His dad was going to run for governor election. Maybe Hiccup could get what he needed through his dad! Step one would be to break into Stoick’s home office and check his papers. Perhaps he could even get in his laptop. Who knows what kind of things that could give him access to! He’d just wait till tomorrow, when his dad wasn’t home, and have a quick look.

Wild trails of thought continued for a little bit longer, but his brain soon gave up. He was worn out just enough to sleep a bit.

The next day was better. He had one period off in the afternoon, and Jack had skipped a bit of training so they could spend it together. In fact, it seemed as if Jack had made it his mission to smother Hiccup in hugs. He touched the brunet whenever he could, evidently determined to show how much he loved Hiccup, and totally ignoring the surprised people that saw them.

At lunch, they sought some privacy, sitting on the ground in a remote hallway. Far away from the busy buzz of the cafeteria.

“I can’t believe your dad is doing this. This is pretty abusive if you ask me.”

“What can I do?” Hiccup replied. “He’s my dad and well respected at that. He can do as he pleases.”

“Still shitty.”

“Well… yeah. You don’t need to tell me, I can’t even go online at night.” Hiccup sighed.

“I know. Sorry. I love you.” Jack said. He rested his head on Hiccup’s shoulder.

“I love you too.” Hiccup played with his leather bracelet. “We’ll get around this.”

The constant affection during the day, made the isolation that was to come in the evening seem a bit more bearable. As expected, Gobber was there to pick him up right after school. Hiccup immediately spotted him as he walked out the door, waiting in the car, not far from the main entrance. Hiccup squeezed Jack’s hand and together they walked down the few steps to street level. People were all around them, and normally Hiccup wouldn’t do a thing with that many onlookers. He wanted to make a point though. He swallowed and kissed Jack right there. Not an innocent peck on the lips either.

“Wow,” Jack breathed. “I thought you wanted privacy for that.”

“Making an exception this once.” Hiccup smiled nervously. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yea,” his boyfriend promised. “See you tomorrow.”

Hiccup squeezed his hand one last time. The looks they were getting from their peers made him incredibly self conscious, so he quickly got into the car. When he looked at Gobber, he could swear the man was trying hard to hide his grin. Not quite the response Hiccup had expected, but he didn’t ask about it. He didn’t grumble to Gobber about being picked up either.

When they got home, Hiccup went up to his room as usual. Instead of starting on his homework, he pretended to watch TV, keeping a watchful eye on Gobber’s car outside. The moment he left for some grocery shopping, Hiccup went to his father’s study. The door wasn’t even locked.

Now he had about an hour to snoop around… and he had no idea where to start. He looked around, wondering when he’d last been in here. It felt like ages ago. There was an old, dark wooden desk with a sizable ergonomic chair behind it. Opposite were two smaller chairs. The floor was simple but clean carpet and the walls were mostly lined with bookshelves with rows of ledgers and books, some of which were leather bound. Unlike those show-studies of billionaires, however, Hiccup was pretty sure Stoick had actually read every page that was on his shelves.

He walked past the rows of ledgers and books and read their titles. The fancy bound books seemed to be an encyclopedia. Part 15 was missing and it stopped after 31 with room to spare on the shelf. There was a framed picture of Stoick and Valka, Hiccup´s mother, together. Hiccup had a picture just like that in his room, but then with only Valka on it.

He sighed, getting a bit frustrated.

What did I even expect? A folder with ‘my secret stuff’ written on it?

He wasn’t even sure if his dad had excess to the documents he was looking for. Also because the term ‘documents’ was rather broad and vague and he honestly had no idea what he specifically needed. Maybe this wasn’t as smart as he’d initially thought.

Of course he tried the drawers. They were all locked. In the top drawer was a keyhole, and the key was not in it.

Great.

It took him nearly half an hour to find the key. It lay behind the framed picture. The whole concept was so bad-spy-movie-like that Hiccup couldn’t help but feel very disappointed in his father’s attempt at secrecy. This man was not made for keeping things hidden, obviously.

He had to hurry now; he was running out of time, and he didn’t want to make this a daily thing until he found something. That was way to risky.

Inside the drawer was his phone and a letter from the cable company. Underneath that some more papers. A plain white envelope caught his attention. On it was just one name, in Stoick’s handwriting. ‘Valherama’, it read. Hiccup opened it, feeling like a voyeur and an archaeologist finding a new dinosaur at the same time. The envelope contained a hand written letter from Stoick to his wife. It was dated may, three years ago. One month after the accident, Hiccup realized with a start.

His hand trembling slightly, he scanned the letter. It was overflowing with sorrow and regret, but also love. So much love for Valka. Stoick really loved her with all his heart. Hiccup’s vision got blurry, and he rubbed away at his upcoming tears. Stoick missed her just as much as he did. But there was something else too. Not just general regret about the accident.

“I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, my dearest, for I have done a terrible thing. Even now, in this letter, after you have long gone to heaven, I am weak. I cannot get myself to confess to you, and all I can say is how sorry I am. I hope one day Hiccup can forgive me.”

It didn’t actually say what Stoick had done, but it had to be bad for him to feel this guilty over it. A bit further, it said Stoick ‘kept the original papers to remind himself of his folly’. So whatever it was, there were still documents in existence to prove it.

Just not in this drawer.

He’d seen pretty much all there was to see. The drawers contained nothing else out of the ordinary. One might consider random places in between the ‘taxes 2014’ folder a good hiding place for secret documents, but Hiccup doubted his father was that cunning, considering where he’d hidden the key.

But every office should have a safe, right? He hadn’t seen one yet. He checked behind the painting on the wall, just in case, but there was nothing. At least Stoick wasn’t that D-rank-movie cliché.

Hiccup poked his head onto the hallway. The coast was clear. He slipped out, closing the door behind him, and went straight for the master bedroom. Another common safe-hiding spot: the floor of the closet. It was a standard looking thing with a dial lock. The combination was his parent’s wedding date. He had to look that one up, but it was his first guess, and it was correct. He hoped the security measures at his father’s office were better than the ones he implemented at home, or no state secret would be safe.

There were your standard safe-things. A wad of money, a little felt box… and a few yellow envelopes. The kind that’s tied shut with a little piece of string on the back. There were no markings on the front. Hiccup opened one and found… his birth certificate? Or at least a copy? And a letter printed on Burgess Academic Hospital paper. There was also another, heavier envelope. Before he could take a look, he heard the front door slam shut. He damn near shat himself. As quick as he could, he took both envelopes, closed the safe and returned everything to its normal state.

Inwardly cursing continuously, he fled to his room.

Safe.

When he’d calmed down a bit, he dared take a peek into the booklet before hiding it. The table of content showed it was rather extensive. Privacy risks, public opinion, insurance influences, corporate access, etc.

The last subsection was unknown to Hiccup: ‘Ghost implementation’. When he flipped to it, it was just half a page. They cited some other researches Hiccup was sure he would never find. So much for that. But this booklet was a promising start! Finally something that might show how unreliable this stupid system was! Hope bloomed in his chest, and he allowed himself a little smile. Maybe he could-

Someone knocked on his door. He nearly dropped everything and scrambled to hide it under his covers, throwing an angrily meowing Toothless off his bed in the process.

“Yes?”

Gobber came in. “Picked up a magazine for you when I was out.” He held offered a gaming magazine. It was something Hiccup would probably never read under normal circumstances - physical gaming magazines were rare these days. But considering Hiccup’s limited internet access, it was a welcome gesture. He was surprised too. Was Gobber on his side in this?

“Thanks,” Hiccup tried to smile sincerely. “I could use that.”

“No problem.” Gobber nodded, hesitating. “And ehm… don’t worry lad. He’ll come around.” He left again before there could be an awkward silence, leaving Hiccup with new admiration for the man. He didn’t know Gobber cared that much. But for now, Hiccup had other concerns. He had to hide his ‘loot’ soon, and hide it well, or he’d be caught without having any extra copies.

He granted himself another quick look at the hospital letter before he’d stash it away. It was brief and honestly quite vague, stating that ‘the procedure had been succesful and payment should ensue’. No details, no price. The signature was illegible. Dr. F- something. Honestly it raised more questions than it answered. What procedure? On who? Was it related to ‘the thing’ Stoick regretted so much?

He looked at his birth certificate again. Odd to see his own, full name standing there. Below there was a string of letters and numbers on it - the code as a scanner would read it from Hiccup’s skin.

His breath hitched.

Impossible!

The code on the certificate.

The code on his wrist.

They didn’t match.

He ripped off his bracelet and stared at the black lines imprinted on his pale skin. He knew what they represented. It was something else entirely. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Suddenly the letter made sense. Dr. F- something. Faustino, the one who was now on trial. Stoick’s regret. It all clicked together.

Stoick had ordered Hiccup’s barcode to be altered.

#hijack #frostcup #j writes #hard coded

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depression-is-a-liar · 7 years

Text

Self post #46

“To Send or Not to Send”

07.07.17

I have been writing more but am keeping some posts private as they’re a bit too personal to share with the entire world. My mind’s quite a mess. I think that’s probably a symptom of overthinking. I know I should probably just quit it but there’s quite a lot to process at the moment, and I don’t even know where to start so it feels like I’m trying to get through it in some sort of chronological order, going through all my unresolved romantic melodrama.

I’ve been paying more attention to the narrative, the story which I live by. The one of struggle and overcoming. Of recovery and striving. I feel, that after spilling out my guts to Greg, that I’m quite happy to finally put some things to rest. I listened to myself repeat some of the same things I always do, whenever I encounter someone new who is receptive to learning about me, and while it was good to be open and receive compassion/understanding, I’m not sure how these stories are serving me anymore? Do I want to keep droning on about Kevin? Do I want to continue to be a victim of my narcissistic father? Yes, these were central experiences in my life, which did shape me (for better or worse), but what point is there in rehashing and reliving? I feel like if I’m not trying to cast myself as the villain (Kevin and Gui), I’m easily assuming the role of the victim (father, depression, life circumstances), while simultaneously trying to make a point that at least I’m now victorious and redeemable (present day Safi). What does any of it matter though? It’s all just fucking ego.

I wrote Kevin an email. I haven’t yet decided whether I should even bother hitting send, but I feel like I need to apologise and also have him understand that I’m okay. That he did me a favour, that I understand, I don’t hold anything against him anymore. I’ve forgiven him, so I hope now he can forgive me too. You see, I haven’t really forgiven myself for how depression took over and made a monster out of me. But will receiving his forgiveness even matter? Tom thinks he doesn’t want or need it, he has moved on and I should too. “Lay this ghost to rest now – there’s nothing more to be gained. The regrets only keep the narrative alive. Let them come and go as they please, it’s your choice to dwell on them or not”. He is probably right. But I want him to know the story so I can finally stop telling it. He’s the only person who could understand how far I’ve come, because he’s the one I hurt the most with my suffering. Perhaps one of my biggest regrets. I know there’s a chance he might not want to reconnect, and that’s okay. I just feel like I need to do this for me. To know that I at least apologised and owned up to my behaviour. And that I also made sure to thank him for all the support he did provide me for a time. But, like I said, I’m on the fence about sending it. I’ll probably talk about it with my therapist and see what she thinks.

I just want a clear conscience – how does one achieve this? Probably by not rehashing the past the way I do. Probably by recognising that I was a very different person then, reacting far more unconsciously through a painbody I couldn’t even separate myself from. Self-forgiveness is fucking hard. I suppose my experience with Tom B (the ex, not the friend) at the start of last year stirred up a lot. Dating someone with severe depression and deep seated insecurities was one hell of an eye opener. It was an enlightening, karmic experience, but also quite tough to swallow. He was hyper sensitive, incredibly negative, liked to blame everyone and everything for his current struggles, obsessed with the thought that love from one person was ALL he needed (no, therapy could never help!), smothering, insecure, defensive to the point where communication was such a struggle as he was constantly misinterpreting me (which of course set me into an equally defensive stance!!), so self-absorbed it wouldn’t matter how I was doing or what I needed, etc. Oh and he sulked constantly. I wouldn’t even know what I’d done sometimes (once it was because I didn’t hug him right) but he’d just go into a right sulk and then refuse to tell me what was wrong with him. So we would just sit there in awkward silence and tension, and inside I just wanted him to leave and let me have my evening back. It was a lot of unnecessary drama and it would weigh on me so much that I was neglecting my own mental health trying to tend to him, even though whatever effort I put in was thrown back in my face in the end ultimately as I was lumped into the list of people who “don’t give a fuck”.

Was I really like that? Wow. I could barely endure it for two months, yet Kevin endured it for well over a year. The difference is that Kevin loved me, and I never loved Tom. Kevin knew there was another side of me, that was so joyous, adventurous and kind, but unfortunately once the depression had taken hold this was indeed akin to what I had become. Not pleasant.

I tried reaching out to Tom B. I thought enough time had passed and wondered if he was okay. At first he ignored me, so I messaged again to say it’s sad that he still holds so much anger for me. He responded like a victim again and it was clear he hadn’t learnt anything in the past year and a half. The narrative was still going strong. I didn’t want you feeling bad, which you should; nobody cares; never felt like you were my friend; people suck ergo life sucks; etc. I must thank Tom for opening my eyes to that victim narrative though; I had never seen it so clearly until then. It was through that experience I had realised how incredibly self-limiting that particular story was. And it’s entirely self-fulfilling. I saw myself in him and wanted to help, but I was also repulsed by it at the same time. It was a mirror which made me realise just how unattractive and toxic some of my behaviour had been. His story is far more ingrained than mine ever was though, because he’s kept himself so separate to others and all the while there’s many elements of believing he’s superior (calling people “plebs” and “civilians” for instance) and that’s why society and others have shunned him.

Anyway, I tried to offer advice and consolation but he didn’t bother to read the long message I had taken the time to write (I wouldn’t have bothered if I didn’t care!). Said what he needed to say but then completely refused to listen to anything I had to say. Typical. I would have loved to know that his mental state had improved and that he was doing better. No, not to relieve any sort of guilt on my part. I don’t feel guilty. I’m not responsible for his mental health; I tried what I could to help but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves. I genuinely hoped he was in a better place. I guess in some way, I hope that Kevin would feel the same, and get some sort of ease in knowing I pulled through okay in the end? That I grew up, learned the lessons and prevailed as a result (there we go with the recovery narrative…). Alternatively, it might be just as Tom says: he doesn’t want or need it. I probably need it more than he does.

It has been over four years. 1,584 days to be precise. Do I hit send, or just let it go?

#my posts #self posts #dear diary #depression #recovery

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fychen · 7 years

Text

【TRANS】 Singles March 2017 Issue – Interview

Your collaboration song ‘Nosedive’ with Dynamic Duo won 1st place on a music broadcast after occupying the music charts. This happened just yesterday. When I saw the article I was really surprised. Every 1st place is special, but the fact that it won 1st place without promoting it on broadcast once was really unusual. Dynamic Duo and Chen’s combination was honestly a little surprising. How did the work start? The first time I went to hang out at Gaeko hyung’s studio. Hyung and I talked about this and that. When I said that I listened to Dynamic Duo’s music while growing up, ‘Then what if we did a work together?’ came out. The fact that a song with ‘Dy-Du’ hyungs was announced. It was another one of my dreams come true. There seems to be a lot of people who received comfort from listening to this song. The thing I most worried about when singing the song was delivering the lyrics. I wanted to deliver the lyrics cleanly and purely more than focusing on emphasizing my voice. The contents matched well with the atmosphere of the music video. Dynamic Duo hyungs' faces or my face didn’t appear once. Just Ryu Bok-sung senior’s presence was more than enough to be cool. Last year you alone showed diverse and exuberant activities. EXO announced three albums as a group, and individually EXO-CBX did a drama OST. 2016 was a year where I came to have a lot of greed as a vocalist. Especially when promoting as EXO-CBX. It was to the extent of immediately talking about the next album after finishing promotions of ‘Hey Mama!’ with Xiumin and Baekhyun. I don’t know when the next song or comeback will happen, but the plan is still in motion. It is said that your OST ‘Everytime’ sung with Punch for Descendents of the Sun was a scene highlighter. I am thankful if you say it like that. But actually on the contrary, I watched the drama because of the actors. And through that song, many people got to know my voice. You also participated in the OSTs for It’s Okay, It’s Love and Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo. When you sing songs to be inserted into a drama, what do you focus on? When I participated in the OST for It’s Okay, It’s Love, I received a lot of help from D.O. I was looking for advice on how to sing the song so that it would match the drama. These days, I try to understand the message behind the music more than the drama or characters themselves. I’m not an actor, so I think it is right for me to approach it through music. If I sing the song honestly, I think that it will match the scene thoroughly. I heard that normally when singing songs, you have to deliver the lyrics and emotions carefully. These days, young singers seem to focus on technique or method. First of all, I want to sing through a way that I like and am good at. Because people listen to me singing the lyrics first when hearing songs, I want listeners to focus on the lyrics first. If the lyrics are delivered well, the emotions will turn out well, and in contrast if the emotions are well-filled, the lyrics will be delivered effectively. But that’s not to say that skills aren’t important. There are a lot of people who are lacking, so it is important to keep practicing. You are EXO’s main vocal, do you acknowledge that you as a vocalist exceed the team? I’m still far from that. I have never been satisfied when I listen to my recordings. There are so many people in the world who sing well. As a vocalist, what part of music do you want to strengthen? I’m weak at groove. There is a wide gap in ability when singing ballads versus singing R&B. On top of that, because we are on a team, it is clear to realize what each member’s strengths and weaknesses are. There must be some motivation among the members. It has been six years since debut. Now when we enter the recording studio, I can see how the members have improved in abilities. I can understand how much our experiences in recording thus far have helped us. Naturally, when it is my turn, I also want to try hard. There haven’t been too many opportunities for you to show your abilities as a vocalist in an OST or King of Mask Singer, for a member in a performance group. Do you feel a thirst for singing? After promoting as a team, all the individual activities and time to promote oneself takes the same amount of time. I sing all the songs I want to sing individually in the practice room. So there is a solution to some extent. My ultimate goal is to sing a song that I have composed in a style that I like. What do you sing in the practice room lately? Beyonce’s ‘Hello’. It’s not a song that has come out recently, but I heard it by chance when driving a while ago. It’s high in a female key, but I wanted to sing it in a key that matches me because it’s a good song. I remember you recommended a song by Lucia and Epitone Project on a portal site’s music page. I try to keep it as open as possible when it comes to listening. I was adding indie songs to a playlist and came across a blossoming song. So I came to know the song ‘Are you going to love me for just one season like a flower?’ (T/N: listen here, such a nice song!) Are you saying that it’s possible to understand the feelings of a member of a boy group that is enjoying its peak popularity? I have… an analog sensitivity. I don’t go on SNS or Internet that much. I don’t have a special reason, but it just ended up like this. My friends tease me by saying that I’m technologically illiterate. Is it okay for you to be unaware of things that everyone else knows? I don’t really care that much. I seem to live in my own time. You’re your own self. I think that I have to have my own convictions. If I don’t, I will be trapped by many things and shaken. It is more comfortable to walk along a path that is certain for me. Honestly, that’s why I’m waiting a bit to write my own songs. My surroundings tell me to try different things to find what I want, but it seems fit for me to start after definitely figuring out what kind of music I want to do. I have the ease of “I’ll do it when it’s time”. I’ll do music for the rest of my life, anyway. Like a fruit, I trust that I’ll ripen with time. What has changed the most from before debut to now? Before, I was introverted and didn’t have confidence. I was nervous in front of people and didn’t speak well, but that has changed a lot with promotions. They call you and Xiumin ‘Kim Brothers’ among the EXO members. You have acknowledged that you have a close relationship, but when do you feel that Xiumin knows you too well? Hyung knows everything I like and don’t like. So when we go around, he prepares for the things I like and tries to avoid the things I don’t like. Sometimes his dedication feels like he’s my manager. Of course he’s comfortable with me… but he naturally understands people. I get goosebumps when he’s accurately aware of things about the other members that I had never known until now. Xiumin has said that he wants to emulate your professionalism. But there hasn’t been a time when you showed a deficient appearance. Aren’t there times when you’re scattered due to a busy schedule? Sometimes I show a naive appearance or catch myself making mistakes. I don’t like being embarrassed on stage. I don’t go on the Internet, but I definitely monitor my stages. In earlier times, I would feel guilty for a small mistake, but now I don’t have a lingering attachment to past issues. There is no end to the list of records that EXO has achieved domestically. EXO is six years old, but what is one thing that you are still dumbfounded at and can’t believe? Four consecutive years of receiving a Daesang! It’s not easy to receive a Daesang once in your life, but the fact that we have received it four times, it is a thankful and amazing thing. If you hadn’t debuted as EXO’s Chen, what would you be doing now? I’m often curious about that too. Um, I originally wanted to major in practical music. If I had studied music, I would probably be preparing to be a trainer or teacher? I would like it if listeners would enjoy music as much as I release stress through singing. I want to let others know the joy in music. trans: andie @ fychen ϟ please take out with full credit!

#chen #exo m #exo #m: trans #singles march 2017 issue

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shockcity · 7 years

Text

DD #10 - hearts and other stolen things

Rating: M

Summary: AU - Matthew Murdock is a self-serving criminal with no time for love. But this Foggy fellow sure is persistent….

Category: M/M

Pairing: Foggy Nelson/Matt Murdock

Warnings: Deadpool

Note: I actually don’t often ship Foggy/Matt, as my OTP is Fratt, but I have a thing for cuddly dom!Foggy, so there’s that.

Oooh. Poetry.

__________________________

Deadpool had about five minutes before Matt packed up his shit and went home. It was starting to snow; his senses didn’t work so well in this weather, his fingers were frozen, and his socks were wet.

His socks were wet.

“Honey! I’m home!” Wade called, finally clambering onto Matt’s roof. “~I can’t feel my face! Baby it’s cold outside. Let’s go back to your place…sooo we can fuuuuck~”

“That’s not how the song goes,” Matt said, irritated. “I’ve been here for an hour. We said one, Wade.”

“Nuh-uh. Three! I’m totally early.”

He was not early. He was dumb, and Matt was cold and his socks were wet.

“Can we please just get this over with?” he snapped. “Your being here at all is a professional courtesy. Your man is there,” Matt pointed to the fourth floor. “My diamond is there.” He pointed to the fifth. “Got it?”

“Capisce compadre.” Wade saluted, but didn’t move from the roof. “I’m just curious though, what do you need a three million dollar diamond for?”

More socks, Matt thought, these are wet.

“I’m starting a charity for disadvantaged blind orphans with abandonment issues,” he confessed. “Then I’m giving the rest to the church.”

Deadpool laughed. “Sure. I should have asked, ‘hmm, how many pairs of silk sheets can you get with three mill?’”

Perching on the edge of the building, Matt tested the cable before buckling himself in.

“So many,” he answered, and then slid down onto the roof of the bank.

“Nice ass!” Wade yelled after him.

_________________________

Daredevil strikes again! Georgian Diamond stolen from Max Security Vault! said the Bulletin headline.

“DD strikes back. DD, a new hope. Return of the DD. The Phantom D–”

Matt hung up on him.

A few seconds later, Wade called back. “Is this Ghengis Connie’s? How is your dim sum on a scale of one to ten?”

Matt hung up.

“Idiot, Idiot, Idiot,” said Matt’s phone.

He did not answer; instead, he drank his very good organic coffee and wiggled his vicuna wool covered toes with quiet satisfaction.

“Idiot using Weasel’s phone, Idiot using Weasel’s phone, idiot using Weasel’s phone.”

Matt sighed.

“Unknown number, probably Wade, unknown number, probably Wade – I don’t know why I get up in the morning,” he said when he finally answered. “Stop calling me. And stop calling me Daredevil.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. But I’ll never lose your number, Rikki. What are you wearing?”

Matt hung up.

_________________________

They met on a heist.

Both people. Both times.

Matt would never ever admit to why he tolerated Deadpool’s crap, and he and Foggy were still really new, but Matt could reasonably say that two of the most prevalent people in his life were introduced to him while shit went down. Attachments were often made in times of strife, after all.

One introduction occurred during a high stakes B&E at S.H.I.E.L.D. Accounting HQ (don’t ask), and the other was at the law offices of Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz. Matt was stealing sensitive paperwork both times.

Deadpool was attempting to reconfigure someone’s face while arguing about the merits of fish tacos v carne asada (Matt has never asked for an explanation, because Matt gives a fuck only sometimes and this was not one of those times), and the whole one-sided debate/torture session was being held right on top of the file cabinet that Matt needed to break into.

It was very inconvenient.

Punches were thrown, acrobatics done, and some of Deadpool’s limbs were lost. Even though Matt left him doing a black knight “just a flesh wound” impression, Deadpool decided to seek out Matt later anyway. Apparently they were now “best friends for freaking ever and ever,” and “they still make those halfsy heart necklaces, I’ll get us one, omg!!1!”

There was over a year of suffering Wade’s…Wadeness, before the second most important person in Matt’s life walked in on him shuffling through Jeryn Hogarth’s personal file cabinet at 3 am.

Seriously with the file cabinets.

“Um, are you… stealing…stuff?” said Foggy, and then he took a deep breath. “Do you need legal representation?”

Matt considered this. “Probably,” he decided. “But that depends on my getting caught.”

Foggy nodded sagely. “True that,” he said. “I doubt I could out-ninja you, if you are, in fact, the dude I think you are…so, I’ll go call the cops and you can just skedaddle while I hope for the sake of my career that you’ve not taken anything too important.”

“Hogarth has evidence that one of your clients is guilty of embezzlement. This is that evidence,” Matt told him, waving the folder around. “So no, your ass isn’t on the line.” He thought for a moment. “Unless I decide to get rid of the witness.”

“Sure ok,” Foggy scoffed, taking out his phone and thumbing through it. He punched in 911 (presumably) and held it up for Matt to see (which he couldn’t). “Calling them now, so…catch you on the flipside.”

Matt made it four blocks away by the time the cops caught up, and by then he had replaced thoughts of the heist with thoughts of Foggy. Matt was fascinated, and oddly charmed by this man, and some part of his brain must have come loose or there was a gas leak in his apartment or something, because he found himself calling Wade to talk about it.

“He sounds amazing,” Wade said, groaning into the phone. “Is he hot? Are you gonna hook up? I think I’m jealous.”

“I don’t know what he looks like because I can’t see,” Matt reminded him politely, and Wade groaned again. “But he smells nice.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I can’t see him at all, because I’m blind.”

Wade hung up on him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Matt’s phone announced thirty seconds later.

“Just promise me one thing,” announced Wade, sounding melancholy. “Bros before hoes, Matty. Bros. Before. Hoes.”

Matt promised reluctantly, even though he had no intention whatsoever of ever crossing paths with Foggy again.

But fate had another plan, of course.

…and also Foggy and Matt’s romance is really quite a lovely story, and honestly, there’s only so much Deadpool readers can take.

_________________________

“Oh good! I caught you.”

Matt wasn’t sure how exactly Foggy Nelson had figured out where his local bodega was. He wasn’t sure how Foggy knew who he was even, because he was in Matt-clothes, not Daredevil cat-suit clothes.

And he’d just called himself Daredevil. Fucking Wade.

But more pressing things were at hand, like this getting caught business.

“What?”

Foggy seemed to realize what he’d said, based on his nervous shuffling. “Uh, not in the ‘apprehending a suspect’ sense, but in a, I need some friendly advice sense.”

Matt put down the fruit he’d been inspecting, and turned to face Foggy directly. There was an intake of breath.

“That’s…a cane. How did I miss the cane? Wow. Uh. Cane.”

“How did you know who I was?” Matt asked, crossing his arms. “And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you?”

He wondered if Foggy had thought any of this through, but then he didn’t seem all that nervous at the mention of killing things. Huh.

“Because you don’t kill people?” Huh. “And you feel like paying me back for doing you a solid that one time?”

Matt suddenly blushed, feeling like an asshole. He did owe Foggy, and he felt bad that Foggy had had to call on that debt to get Matt to help him. Matt wasn’t…a bad person, per se. Self-serving, yes. Compulsive liar and thief, absolutely. Unwilling to help his fellow man (especially when appealed to directly)? Of course not. He was human. He had human…emotions. Empathy. Compassion.

Stick hadn’t completely fucked him up, after all.

You’re a hot mess, baby, his internal Wade-voice said. What you need is some dick, offer him an afternoon siesta–

Shut up, Wade.

“Sorry, Nelson. Of course I’ll help.” Matt mumbled, frowning in the direction of his shoes. “I’m not a complete ass.”

“Ookay… never said you were. So, here’s the thing: someone broke into my apartment but they didn’t steal anything, man, they left something. In your expert opinion does this smack of crazy or clever manipulation? Or both?”

“What did they leave?”

“A hoe.”

Matt blinked. “Excuse me?”

“A hoe. Uh. Like the farm tool…thing. The raking. Of the crops. I don’t know I’m from Hell’s Kitchen.”

“A hoe,” he parroted in disbelief.

Foggy was smiling nervously, he could hear it, and Matt might have smiled back had he not realized exactly what (or whom) he was dealing with.

“Deadpool,” Matt hissed.

———-

“I’m just trying to get you out there.” Wade dodged a kick to the face. “It’s been two years, Matty! I’m surprised little Matt hasn’t just fallen off…just, detached and run off to find someone that actually appreciates him for who he is– ”

Matt socked him in the stomach. “Oof!” said Wade. “OK time-out. Time-out. That actually hurt kinda.”

Despite being angry at him, Matt did pull away, his hands on Deadpool’s shoulders. “You need to stop,” he told his friend. “Nelson could have gone to the police with your note.”

He hadn’t been able to appreciate Wade’s drawing of Foggy in a giant dick costume (“it’s very très chic,” Foggy had said) but the addition of the address for Matt’s local grocery and what time he usually dropped by was absolutely not something he appreciated at all.

“Oh, come on.” Wade threw his hands in the air as Matt stomped around his kitchen. “He never would have gone to the po po. He’s the most innocent butterscotch donut there ever was. The worst he’s probably ever done to anyone is ask if they were really blind. And those were special circumstances! And his hair is golden and glossy. He wears cute suits. He’s really come along way from She’s All That!”

“Wade, enough.”

Wade sunk into a sullen silence, which, getting him to actually shut up for even a short period of time was sort of a superpower of Matt’s. Everyone said so. And usually this was where he sighed and told Wade to stop pouting and then forgave him, but Matt was serious this time.

“You could have really screwed up here, you know. Nice guy or not, Foggy Nelson knowing my secret identity isn’t necessarily a good thing. Now he’s…involved. My enemies could come after him.”

“Spider-man hasn’t tried to arrest you in months– ”

“They could use him to hurt me. If I’m being honest, that’s what I’m most afraid of, Wade. Of people I care for being caught in the crossfire.”

“Oh my goooooooooood,” Wade exclaimed, skipping over to Matt and grabbing him into an uncomfortable hug. “You’re still scarred about that one time with the Punisher! Awwwww, Matty. You knew I’d be fine! I’m sorry you got splattered with my brains– ”

“You’re sorry?”

“ –and for making you choose between your boyfriend and me. But that was my fault, not yours. I was on Castle’s radar a long time before he started doing the do with you. Which sounded pretty hot, gotta say. Oh, and I heard you that one time.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re kinda loud.”

“Just…” Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Just let me handle it, okay?”

“You got it, DD. Consider me persona non grata! El out of it-o. Worry not about anymore interference from me, my good sir. I leave thee to thy contemplations of eternal celibacy. Foggy Nelson is never gonna hear from me again! You have my word.”

_________________________

“Hi,” Wade said into Foggy’s ear, who nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise. “Sooooo? What’d you think? He’s hot, right?”

“I, um– ”

“Ooh, breakfast burritos!” He purloined Foggy’s meal, sitting across from him at the little cafe table. People stared. Wade knew it was because he was super handsome and famous. “I notice you didn’t ask him out.”

Foggy shrugged awkwardly. “Well, he was pretty annoyed, so I figured it wasn’t the best time to suggest dinner.”

Wade shoved the half-eaten burrito in his pocket. “I see,” he nodded. “Oh, and speaking of seeing, how do you feel about the blind thing? Because let me tell you, it took some getting used to– ”

“Um.”

“ –but then Matt explained this thing called ableism to me, and wow was that an eye-opener. Pun totally intended. So if you’ve got a problem with blind people I completely understand, but also you’re probably gonna meet Mean Deadpool instead of Nice Deadpool. The Mean one kills people. Wait. So does the Nice one. Just don’t hate blind people, OK?”

Foggy let him finish, a cute little wrinkle in between his eyes. “I’m not ableist,” he replied, slowly. “I have no problem with the differently abled. Please don’t kill me. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, Matt is a very handsome duck, yes,” he admitted. “Like really handsome. And I’m interested. Very interested.”

Wade leaned forward excitedly. “It’s the hair isn’t it? I mean Charlie Cox is hot as fuck, but Comics!Matt has always been my secret man-crush. I’m thinking this particular fanfic features more of a Mixed Matt, like, Charlie’s adorbs face but with ginger tresses, and of course he’s got that ass in any medium. Because, like, that ass.”

Foggy held up a hand. “Dude, I’m trying to ask for Matt’s number.”

Deadpool pulled out his phone, which was covered in smooshed breakfast burrito. “Dude, why didn’t you just say so? Why do people insist on writing pages filled with useless dialogue? I’m not even that funny.”

________________________

“Unknown number, probably Wade, unknown number, probably Wade– did you pick up my dry cleaning again? I’ve told you hundred times to leave those people alone– ”

“Uh. That sounds like a story.”

Matt blinked. He blinked again. “How did you get this number?”

He could hear Foggy Nelson’s heartbeat speed up over the phone (Wade was fond of testing Matt’s abilities this way, usually with his hand down his pants, which was why Matt kept the length of their phone conversations to thirty seconds or less) and waited for an explanation that didn’t include the words 'dead’ or 'pool’. Alas, Matt was unlucky in life.

“I don’t know why I believed him when he said he would drop this,” Matt grumbled, leaning against his sink. “Listen, Nelson, it’s not that I don’t like you– ”

“No, it’s okay,” Foggy reassured him, though he sounded disappointed. “I get it, and I’m sorry I’m bothering you.”

“You’re not!” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not bothering me. I’m just not dating right now.”

“Bad break up, huh?”

Matt laughed humorlessly. “The worst.”

“Yeah, I lost a real spitfire a couple years ago to corporate law, and then wham! I’m suddenly working for HCB and there goes my high horse. She’s made it her goal in life to destroy me in court every chance she gets. Of which there are now many.”

“Why did you go to work for Hogarth?”

“Turns out owning your own practice is a total bummer. Thank you casseroles from endless pro bono clients are not accepted in lieu of rent money. Who knew.”

Matt smiled despite himself. “Not even enchilada casserole?”

“Not even that.”

There was a comfortable silence, and then Matt took a breath and said, “you know I was going to be a lawyer?”

“No way, Jose!”

He laughed. “Really. I was.”

Foggy laughed too. “How on earth did that go so sideways?”

So Matt told him, and Foggy listened and made all the right jokes and didn’t judge and generally charmed the pants off of him. They talked about law, then breaking the law (as you do), then Wade, then Wade’s hygiene (as you do), and then moved on to old movies, vinyl records, the best place for cannoli, that One Time Tony Stark Crashed Into a Strip Club, and the current health care bill that everyone but Wade was concerned about.

“We should have dinner,” Matt found himself saying during a slight pause in their banter. “I mean yes. I’m saying yes.”

“To dinner? As in, a dinner date?” Foggy sounded hopeful.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We should do that.”

“Okay.”

They set a time and place; both a bit breathless with excitement. When Matt hung up, he checked the time. It had been 2 hours and 36 minutes since he’d accepted the call. He had talked to Foggy Nelson for 2 hours, and 36 minutes.

When’s the wedding? His inner Wade-voice said.

Matt scoffed and ignored it, but he had a small smile on his face for the rest of the night.

_________________________

His socks were wet again, but this time it had nothing to do with snow. This time it was the Hudson; which Matt had decided to take a dip into (no, not decided, he’d been pushed. Pushed).

“You are dead!” He yelled, water-logged and spitting mad. “Dead!”

Wade only laughed and laughed.

“Um, thanks for the help,” Spider-man said, somewhat dubiously. Behind him, a large Godzilla-looking green reptile lay dead and still partially on fire.

“I wasn’t helping!” Matt growled, boots squelching as he dragged his sore body away from the boardwalk. “I’m a villain, remember?”

“Right.” Spider-man didn’t sound so sure. “You know, Daredevil, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You sure did,” Wade nodded, slapping Matt on the back of his wet catsuit. Ugh. “He’s not a villain at all! Self-serving? Yeah. Kind of a dick? Sure. But sinister enough for Spidey’s rogues gallery? Nah…wait. Isn’t Stilt-man in there somewhere? I take it all back.“

“I’m not a hero,” Matt hissed.

“Your boyfriend thinks you are! OMG Spidey it’s so cute, he’s dating the embodiment of summer sunshine, Raffi, and kittens playing in little boxes.”

Wade went on to tell the entire story of MattnFoggy, and Spider-man thought it was all very lovely, of course.

“That’s so sweet, DD,” he gushed like a High Schooler. “And now I’m 100% sure you’re just misunderstood.”

“110!” Wade crowed.

“110,” Spider-man nodded.

Later, Matt and Wade trooped back to Matt’s apartment; one exhausted and pensive, while the other remained as hyper and cacophonous as always. Wade was ecstatic about making a new friend, and was going on and on about “Team Red”, but Matt was too distracted to listen.

“Wade,” he said, cutting off his endless stream of nonsense. “Do you think…do you ever wonder about going straight?”

Wade gasped. “Honey, no.”

“I’m serious,” said Matt. “I’m just– I’m just worried for Foggy. I want to be good for him.”

“Listen.” Wade reached out and took Matt by the shoulders, shaking him a little. “You already are good. You’re great. Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes great. So what if you steal stuff? You’re not hurting anybody!”

“Rich people,” Matt pointed out.

“No one cares about the 1%, coal miners, or crybaby white people. You’re a freedom fighter! An enemy of fascist America! I’m proud of you, Matt. And so is Foggy, because that’s who this is really about.”

Which was true. This was about Foggy, and it was becoming a serious hang-up that was threatening the very fabric of their relationship. Something needed to be done, so Matt gathered his courage that night and asked Foggy if he really knew what he was getting into.

“You do know that I’m a villain, right?” He said cautiously. “I’ve been arrested by the Avengers and everything.”

For the first time, Matt was feeling somewhat ashamed of this, rather than just indifferent or irritated.

“Psh,” Foggy replied, holding Matt’s hand. They were intertwined on Matt’s couch, which seemed to be their habit these days. “Who needs those guys? Not me. Plus I like you just the way you are, and I know it’s cheesy, but you’ve stolen my heart.”

Matt smiled shyly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Foggy leaned in and kissed the top of his head and squeezed his shoulders. Matt melted. “But you know what, Matty? I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. I think you’re great, and it doesn’t really matter that you steal stuff, unless you’re caught and go to prison, which would suck. But even then I would stick by you. I’d be your legal representation.”

“That’s practically a proposal.” He grinned and sat up and stared in the general direction of his boyfriend. He felt warm and cared for, and the pure, overwhelming affection he had for this man prompted him to say, “Foggy Nelson, will you be my legal representation?”

“I will.” Foggy’s heart didn’t lie. “Forever and always.”

And Matt practically threw himself at Foggy, hugging him tight. “You know what, Foggy?” said Matt, kissing his cheek. “You’re the best thing I ever stole.”

#DD fic #daredevil fic #dd10 #foggymatt #deadpool shenanigans #and Peter who seems to randomly show up in like all my dd fics

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hollyhark · 7 years

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fic scrap post - Ben has lunch with Leia and Han

Here’s that scrap I mentioned a moment ago-- the idea is that Ben is secretly in love with Hux and has been harboring him (a fugitive) in his home since he found Hux hiding during a Resistance raid that Ben helped with. It was kind of a dark codependency idea that didn’t work out but I did like this opening scene.

Though he was sure he’d given himself plenty of time to navigate the city’s transport traffic, Ben is late for lunch with his parents. As he approaches their table at the back of the crowded restaurant, he can read the look on his mother’s face without use of the Force. She’s irritated but completely unsurprised by his lateness, and she’s annoyed with herself for being pleased that he’s come at all. Han, meanwhile, hasn’t noticed Ben’s approach, as he’s busy stuffing a fried appetizer of some sort into his face.

“You’re late,” Leia says when Ben looms over their table.

“Barely,” Ben says.

“We’ve been here almost an hour,” Han says, still chewing. He yanks on Ben’s sleeve. “What are you doing? Sit.”

“He gets it from you,” Leia says, turning her look of judgment on Han as Ben takes a seat and steals her menu.

“Gets what from me?” Han asks. “I was on time!”

“Yes, because we came together. Never mind, forget it.” Leia reaches over to squeeze Ben’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you made it. It’s been too long.”

“Yeah,” Ben says, though he disagrees. He doesn’t enjoy these outings. Though he’s outgrown his adolescent rage toward his parents, he still feels gangly and awkward in their presence, and like he’s always on the verge of doing something that will piss one or both of them off.

“Here,” Han says, shoving the basket of fried stuff at him. “Try one while they’re hot.”

“What are they?” Ben asks, lifting his lip.

“Martok fritters,” Leia says. “They’re extremely unhealthy.”

“They’re delicious!” Han says, looking personally offended by this remark.

Ben’s parents turn to him, and he’s weighed down by the familiar feeling of having to disappoint one of them when he takes the other’s side. They’ve never been married and they’ve sworn off each other at least five times that he can remember, but they keep ending up together again somehow, and their reunions always result in a torturous family lunch or two before the next split.

“You don’t have to eat one if you don’t want to,” Leia says, sharply, when Ben reaches for a fritter after hesitating.

“He obviously wants one!” Han picks one up and puts it on the little plate in front of Ben. “There,” Han says, shoving the plate toward Ben. “Eat up.”

Han and Leia watch Ben put the lukewarm fritter in his mouth, Han with a look of satisfaction and Leia with disappointment. Ben chews it miserably and looks down at the menu. He’s almost thirty years old and he’s still sitting between the penetrating beams of his parents’ attention and wishing he had a sibling. Han and Leia both have plenty of other things going on in their lives, always have, but their scrutiny of him is still exacting and exhausting, and having it spread between him and a sibling or two would have been nice.

The conversation starts off benign, once the waiter has come and gone with their lunch orders. They all talk about work. They’re all good at what they do, though Leia would say Han is a sloppy smuggler and he would say she’s an overly rigid politician. They both at least approve of Ben’s career and agree that he’s successful. He’s a mediator, most often for legal disputes but sometimes in emergency situations. He tells his mother he doesn’t use the Force to gently brainwash the parties of the disputes he oversees, but she knows he’s lying and doesn’t seem to actually mind much.

“Settle any good fights lately?” Han asks.

“There was a confrontation on Yar-7,” Ben says. “Between the natives and the immigrant Varq population.” He shrugs, pretending to be humble, though his mother will see through it and Han probably will, too. “The mayor of Tantamon told me I probably prevented a bloody civil war.”

“Well done,” Leia says, giving his wrist a pat that he struggles not to find condescending.

“Yar-7,” Han says. “Isn’t that a moon?”

“Bloody civil wars can happen on moons!”

“Of course they can,” Leia says, and she shoots Han a look that causes him to make the ‘what did I do?’ face that both she and Ben hate. “How about your personal life?” Leia asks. She frowns when Ben groans. “What? It’s a legitimate question.”

“My work is my life,” Ben says, wishing he still had a menu to scowl down at. He grabs the last Martok fritter and stuffs it in his mouth, wanting to spit it out when he feels how cold it’s gotten.

“You can still have flings,” Han says.

“He’s too old for flings!” Leia says, before Ben can protest, his mouth full of cold Martok. “Ben, listen. I know your father and I aren’t the best example--”

“Hey,” Han says. “We’re not the worst example.”

“I didn’t say that! Ben, it just concerns me, and I know you don’t have the easiest time with interpersonal relationships--”

“Wrong,” Ben says, loud enough to make Leia scowl. “I’m simply not interested in them.”

“That’s not healthy,” Han says. “Everybody needs a-- Companion, once in a while.”

“Everybody needs a life partner,” Leia amends. “Someone to share things with.”

“They actually don’t,” Ben says. He’s had this conversation with them so many times that he can’t even muster up much fire for it anymore. “But maybe if you keep telling me so for the rest of my life I’ll suddenly develop the desire to marry and raise a family. That’s your plan, right?”

“I haven’t got a plan,” Leia says. That’s a lie, and she frowns when she senses Ben using the Force to discern this. “Well, not formally, but I would like to encourage you to open your heart at least to the idea that--”

“Oh, look!” Ben says, loud again. “The food’s here.”

Ben eats in angry silence, sensing his mother’s concern for him and his father’s attempts to give her a ‘lay off of him, maybe?’ look that causes Leia to shoot daggers at Han with her eyes. Ben can hardly taste his pasta, overcome with the nostalgic desire to throw a tantrum and storm away from the table. Part of him wants to angrily announce that he does share his life with someone, and that his domestic situation is fucking ideal, in his view, but his parents would possibly have him arrested if they found out whom he shares his life with and why, so he just stuffs his face and keeps quiet.

“Anyway,” Leia says at last, sighing. “Rey’s getting married.”

“Great,” Ben says, his voice muffled by pasta.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Dad did it earlier and you didn’t say anything!”

“Your father is not my child.”

“Neither am I! I’m a fucking adult!”

“Hey!” Han says. “Keep it down. Don’t make a scene.”

“Maybe you two shouldn’t invite me to places where you don’t want scenes made,” Ben says after he’s swallowed. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and throws it on the table. “Especially if you’re going to interrogate and berate me in those places.”

“Who interrogated?” Leia asks, sitting back and holding out her hands. “Who berated?”

“I don’t know why you’re so sensitive about this,” Han says. “You’re a good looking guy. You could get a date if you wanted one.”

“I’m telling you I don’t want one!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m telling you I don’t believe you!”

“Han,” Leia says. “Lower your voice.”

“If you don’t believe anything I say,” Ben says, standing, “Then I don’t really see the point in sitting here talking to you.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Han says. “We’re just having a discussion.”

“Right, about how I’m a freak for not wanting to date.”

“That’s not what we’re saying!” Leia says, now nearly shouting herself.

“It’s exactly what you’re saying.” Ben moves out of reach when she tries to grab his hand. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got-- Work.”

“Ben,” Han says. “C’mon. Don’t do this to your mother.”

“I’ve got feelings, too!” Ben says, shouting. When he turns, he finds most of the people in the restaurant staring at him. He growls under his breath and stomps away, feeling as if he’s been reduced to his volatile, miserable thirteen-year-old self. He’s not surprised. They do this to him every time.

Ben, Leia says, calling out to him through the Force as he approaches the restaurant’s front doors. Don’t be angry. I inquire about your personal life out of love.

You do a lot of things for me out of love, Ben sends back. They all suck.

He feels guilty for thinking that and knows she can sense his guilt, too. For that reason, he doesn’t officially apologize.

#fic scrap #star wars

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smittenbysizablesinners-blog · 6 years

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About Me

Name: Ronnie (Ron/Ronn or Ronnster is an okay substitute) | I also go by Tequila sometimes. (or Tequi for short). So that would leave ~5 suitable names to address me by! I have no preferences out of them.

Age: in my 20s (probably older than you :P)

Sex+Gender: CisFemale Sexuality: Heteromantic Pansexual (*maybe* more on demiromantic range in romantic-ness... or i’m just super awkward/easily entertained. maybe all of the above, haha) Height: 5′5″ (i don’t rp as myself really so it’s not like this info is relevant. lol. i wish i wasn’t quite as tall.. like being like 4′11 - 5′2 would have been nice... but i’m under 5′6″, albeit just barely, so that’s good at least i s’pose..) Ethnicity: Italian/Eastern European/English/German (+small bit of Turkish) American (basically Caucasian but I have a dark skin tone for a caucasian - olive skin from my Southern Italian and Eastern European (Slavic) [plus that tiny bit of Turkish in me] heritage). I’m technically Jewish as well as my mom’s mom’s mom (my great grandma) was Jewish and so on, but my grandma and mother were raised Catholic, and my dad was raised Catholic so I was raised Catholic (before I left the church as a teen / around 9th grade i left. Shortly after being confirmed in reality, ahaha xD;) Job: Unemployed atm *sobs* but sometimes i help friends or family with odds and ends for money. i used to do colouring commissions (digital). But I usually too to long and would end up feeling guilty about that so i stopped... And now I’m busier than before so I’d like to create content on my own terms with the free time i have. i’m also a student again. Psychology was a mistake. Now going for a International Politics/Studies/Relatioins | Global Peacekeeping degree and my goal is either to do something for state department or work for a non profit or something. I don’t aim to be rich and super successful. Simply being safe, happy, and satisfied is good enough for me. Though perhaps this stunts my motivation towards bettering myself (through good work ethic and stuff. i’m kind of a procrastinating potato person). Likes: G/t (hence having two G/t blogs; G/t is giant/tiny. if you aren’t cool w/ that then idk why you are here??? this blog is for G/t. Not necessarily sfw stuff either. This blog is NC-17+! (so if you are 16 or younger gtfo); I also like everything International - cultures; politics; languages ; architecture; art; FOOD :9 ; places; fauna; I LOVE CELEBRATING THE DIVERSITY OF THIS PLANET TTvTT ; I’m a rather liberal person socially, politically and so on. I will never be okay with bigotry of any kind. And I will not tolerate it. Nor bullying. Uhm. Let’s see. i’m kinda sorta socialist and thus kinda have some disdain towards capitalism I’m pro-choice but I hope that you have a good reason for it and not just because “it feels better w/o the condom”; if your all about that, i’d suggest maybe female condoms - though a little wonky at first - they allow for more sensation on both sides. They also can be used as ‘dental dams’. And i’m fairly certain they are free w/ most insurances. And they can be put in and stay in for hours before use - so you (if female) good go out and have fun and hook up and not ruin the heat of the moment by condom putting on and stuff. Just saying. (hey this IS a nsfw blog, might as well give some nsfw advice haha.) I’m agnostic though I’m sorta leaning towards atheism. I’m just do paranoid/unsure of everything to totally discount religion/a higher being/etc. I just sorta seriously doubt it. I am not fond of how religion has affected this planet now and throughout the past. But I can’t deny there are benefits to being religious and don’t hold it against people for being religious nor do i blame certain religions for the world’s problems. And Islamophobia, Antisemitism and anything anti-religion in such ways as the two before mentioned things counts as bigotry in my book and if you recall i don’t tolerate bigotry of any kind! I think the world kind sucks because people kinda suck in general, haha. I will never judge anyone personally. I may feel on the inside personal/hurt/angry feels, but I will do my best not to let it cloud my judgement of anyone permanently and it would take a LOT of hate and harassment for me to block anyone. I don’t like blocking people. I feel that is sorta like denying a person’s existence and sorta says ‘you aren’t worthwhile as a person’. And you have to be a total all-encompassing shithead for me to think that. That being said, I know some people with block very easily and my blog just being nsfw content-friendly would lead to blocking. a message stating why you are blocking me - especially if it’s nothing personal - would be nice, however, as I’m a VERY PARANOID person. Speaking of paranoia. I’m mentally ill. This is really why I write and/or talk a lot. It is a habit out of nerves and awkwardness. And my poor attention span makes long conversation hard - barring if going off into tangets is okay. I will do that a lot. I have one mode and that mode is stream of conciousness. I know my use of many many words can be annoying. Trust me. I know. Please don’t harass me about it. If it truly makes you anxious, reach out to me, and I will try hard to be more concise when reblogging you or if ever addressing you. That is if you’d feel comfortable asking me this. I may not block people easily, but that doesn’t mean won’t. And that’s just a reality that I have to live with. I accept this. But yeah, basically if I upset you in anyway, let me know! I am always trying to better myself. The hardest thing for me would be to not ramble. If it’s something like a certain topic or word bothers you. And I’m currently not tagging it. Let me know. I’m gonna try and be super diligent (and not so rambly) with tags on this particular blog at the very least. though i should do that on every blog tbh...) Anyways, back to being mentally ill. I have Bipolar Disorder Type II (maybe, that is. just switched psychiatrists and my new one things I may just have regular general depressive disorder as my “up” moments are very infrequent and all I really do is be more impulsive/talkative/jittery/etc than usual... and my mood tends to be good when ‘up’.. too bad it comes with the loss of common sense. I don’t do anything physically dangerous though. Worst would be buying something expensive and stupid for no good reason. I’ve done that a few times. 0/10 would recommend, haha. I also have OCD (which is like useless. it gives me extreme focus, but mostly with dumb things - lists, aphabetizing things, researching stuff on the Internet, basically the only good thing is that I can research like a boss, though bad thing is that i end up spending way too much time researching and over do it... I already mentioned my anxiety awhile back, but I’ve been diagnosed with both General Anxiety Disorder and Social Anxiety Disorder (i can practically be agoraphobic sometimes and have reculsive spells both online and off - which is why i probably will disappear at some point. maybe i’d come back. maybe i wouldn’t. and if i come back, it could be years before i do. i don’t know so you definitely wouldn’t know so puh-lease do not get attached to me ;___; G/t stuff: The truth is - I mostly like fluff and nice, kind, sfw stuff. At least as a viewer. As I content creator, I like to experiment and broach all kinds of topics, some sensitive. I will have characters that are genuinely bad people. Often I like dark characters that go through some sort of redemption. But I’ve toyed with doing something that is akin to ‘the making of a villain’ where a character starts out benevlent and than after going through some stuff, becomes malicious, perhaps downright evil even... a loss of self maybe have ocurred. I am not shy in having characters with imperfections, but in a realistic way that isn’t bad. I mean, it’s not ideal, but it happens. like blindness or a missing limb. many scars. mental illnesses are frequent in my characters and sometimes in a criminally insane way. However, I aim to reflect reality in such sort of topics, so of course criminally insane characters would be a very small minority compared to perfectly safe mentally ill characters. But, in any case, as I said, I plan on using extensive tags this blog WILL have (some) VORE. But it is NOT the focus of the blog and I don’t really draw vore - well i haven’t really done so yet... And in writing, I tend to making a horror element. Though I am somewhat fond of “safe” (platonic or not) vore.. I’m rather confused about it and have a hard time considering plausible within my own content. So in my writing it would be fatal and not with any main characters of anything...mostly just poor SOBs and such... Basically, it would be quality content for the vore community as it would likely portray vore as despicable and wrong. As, in a real life scenario, that would be a correct assumption. These would be worlds w/o safe vore (barring i guess immediate puking, but i’m actually kinda disturbed/freaked by things vomit-related. So I’m not sure i’d be able to write that... Maybe i could. It’s just RL vomit that causes me to panic and cry. Drawn stuff or written stuff, as long as it’s not too descriptive or realistic doesn’t really bother me, though i’m not sure i’d say i like it.). Some vore stuff actually upsets me. But thing with me is, I never know when something is going to upset (aka make me cry/angry/uncomfortable/panicky) or whatever, so I just live with any unfortunate run ins with feels as it happens and then move on. Unless, I feel it is condoning a poor behavior and gives a message that is not in line with what you (the writer) indicates it is, then I’ll just nothing. And if i do say something, it won’t be in a hostile way, it would just be hey, x action actually kinda indicates y because of z. just thought i’d let you know if interpretations of this that reflects what i just by readers would bother you. if not, or if you disagree, than that’s cool too. I was just staying that just in case that would bother you and thus maybe you’d want to change things. but it’s totally your decision and i’m not pushing either way. blah blah some rambling because i’m trying not be offending while likely saying things that may offend. I have a hard time not being blunt and firm with my words. So basically take anything I say with a grain of salt. Sometimes I open my mouth when i shouldn’t. If I made you upset, just let me know what i did and why it upset you and i’ll apologize (within reason. like if you were a jerk and i was just like ‘oh stop that shit already’, i’m not gonna say sorry if you were legitmately being a jerk. but otherwise, i’m quick to say ‘sorry’. i’m always saying sorry. sometimes i’m wanting to say sorry but i’m too anxious too. so keep that in mind as well. Uhm. I like M/f and M/m content the most. F/f is p. cool too. Poly Relations that mixes M/m, M/f and/or F/f are cool too (all types of combos as long as there are no “m” with a “F”...not to knock on that, just isn’t my thing.. So yeah, as I hinted, i’m noot really a fan of F/m.. and I’m not gonna make much content with that (though i do have a canon F/m pairing in one of my worlds/series/story/idk what to call it. don’t expect much of them though.). But in all honest, there’s a lot of F/m stuff out there and my content isn’t mediocre at best so it’s not really a loss to the F/m community that i’m not doing much of that.Also, please don’t request content. I may see on your blog at some point you wish there was ‘x’ and/or ‘y’ content and this may prompt me to write or draw something like that. but it might not either. In a nutshell, I do what I what when I want. I know that’s kinda selfish but that mindset - when in connection with just leisure activities keeps me sane!You can ask any question. I just might not answer. If I’m not gonna answer, I respond with something random. And I’m unlikely to respond with drawings. Too much effort. Sorry.In theory, I’d like to RP. But I’m just not the right kind of person for a serious RP. i’d only want to do a detailed, literate story RP and i’d only be able to do like one respond a day - if that. So it’s kinda a waste of someone’s time to RP with me. And I think I’d just prefer to write drabbles/one-shots or draw my characters or whatever. I don’t give my characters enough love. They kind just sorta chill in my mind not doing anything a vast majority of the time, haha xD So long story short, I’m not RPing currently. Sorry. And if/when I RP, I am not myself. I separate my interest/fantasy of G/t with my reality. Just trying to keep sane. Not trying to knock on people whom identify as a giant or tiny or whateverIDK what else to say. Probably am missing important stuff, while writing too much frivolous stuff, heh... I’ll probably edit this every now and that ^^

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findingourselvesfearless · 7 years

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13 Reasons Why: My Title IX Report Series

I always have found tumblr to be the venting site for most of my dilemmas. Usually they are told by poems. In the past during my high school ages, I could go through hell, and still keep fighting. Never reported anything, but that doesn’t mean nothing happened.

Lately in college, my title IX case investigation had begun. And for those on my page who don’t know what that is; it’s basically about rape/ sexual harassment/ Stalking/ Or sexual Assault occurrence on campus that gets investigated through a case. Each college has one. Some cases in the past for many colleges, are shoved underneath the rug, or the victim gets the blame and punished versus the perpetrator-- confusing right?

In 13 Reasons why, it’s shown when Hannah discusses about her rape with her guidance counselor and the counselor automatically blames her. I mean he didn’t state clearly that he blamed her, but the questions hit you in a way like....yea you fucked your own life. Like a teenage girl was suppose to assume that going to a party, and being in a hot tub, was going to make her a victim of Rape.

The truth is that the investigators job is to find out who it is, and we excuse them to be pushy, because we’ve seen on shows all the time, that it’s the best and correct way to collect information. Although in very sensitive and vulnerable topics it can make the victim, feel its their fault.

In this piece, I am going to get vulnerable. I am going to talk about parties. I am going to talk about assault. I am going to talk about rape. I am going to discuss about College. My College experience. These are my thirteen reasons why, I question my college experience, and my female gender.

Number One: Guys can be assholes. Most of the time they think with their Dick.

My first night in someone’s bed wasn’t necessary a mistake. No sex was involved, just a make-out. Nothing too spectacular. I had liked him, I really did. He was drunk. He wanted sex, he was a virgin, I didn’t take it from him. He just took the vulnerability from me. I didn’t think it would be the last time. He said, ”he liked my physique,” and “my roommate is going home every weekend, so you can come chill during the weekends.” It was inviting-- too inviting. But no one knows when they are going to find their future lovers. For him, that was the next day. The worst part is, he never told me. It was like going to the movies without seeing the trailer; they give a way too much, so we rather see it for ourselves. I watched them explode; now he is a pledge brother.

Number Two: Not everyone will believe you. Not even the ones you love.

You’ll be amazed that not many people trust the girl who cries for help, even when she didn’t pull any tricks up her sleeve. Or lies, that sensors the truth from its most vulnerable desires.

You open up, and hope someone will trust you. Hope someone will be there. I was raped on campus within the first two months, after a Frat party, the most popular one of all. And not by a brother, but by a person who wasn’t even suppose to be their in the first place.

I opened up to a friend who heard about it. He called me an alcoholic. I knew I wasn’t. I only have one to three drinks max. in a party, and attempt to avoid shots. Although he was crazed about the idea. If I went to a party and he was there. He would say “oh no Chrissy, you really shouldn’t be drinking.” Sometimes even force a drink from my hand.

I didn’t know how to react. So I just ignored him for a while.

Number Three: Its my Rape, not your trophy.

I barely remember the night I was raped. Some people were convinced I was drugged. I honestly don’t think he could of put something in my drink. All I know is who it was.

I remember just wanting to cuddle with him. But somehow clothes unraveled, and the next thing I know, I was there. He left immediately after. All I could hear in the hallways was his guy friends saying, “You fucked her, you fuckin fucked her.” By that time he had told his whole floor. He had sex with me, without a condom.

Maybe after that, I was known as “easy” on campus, because the incidents only increased. And people started talking more.

Number Four: It’s Wrong, I understand. But it’s the Rape Culture.

I know what he did was wrong. But he wasn’t a stranger. I had feelings for him, at one time, and he did so for me. Of course before the incident even began..

I had paused communication after I took Plan B, and received my period. We slowly started talking during Intersession. We settled things out, eventually.

I did. I truly did felt closure. The truth is, I want both those sentences to be true. I mean we did talk, but I still never felt relieved from that incident.

Number Five: My fishnets are a style, not a sign saying please grab my vagina.

It was the night of homecoming. About a month ago, I had started developing feelings for a special kid. Everyone in our campus practically knew I had a thing for him, and he had one for me. He had this deep spark in his eyes, this gracious smile, and a unique rhythm in his hands.

I spent several nights in his room. One time I walked in on him in his room with his guitar. It was honestly beautiful. He was singing and playing his guitar to a piece he had just written. I love the little special moments, its what I miss most about him.

Anyways we were by the stage of this fraternity, when he starts dancing on this girl I know... We were long over. But I still had a jealous spark that angered me. A guy danced with her afterwards, immediately after he tried to dance with me. I was like why not? It should have been why would I?

One thing led to another, and he was already touching my vagina. In that moment I knew, the “easy” label was permanent.

Number Six: I understand my outfit and drunkenness drew you an invitation, but that’s still not consent.

This is the night of the report of my Title IX case. I was wearing a romper. I never wore it again after that night. You know who you are. We danced. I was drunk. You asked to chill. You said you were a Frat brother. You pulled me into a closet. You saw the fear in my eyes. I attempted to leave, you didn’t let me. You seemed like the asshole type..

I was drunk. I was weak. And I guess I dressed sluttish, but I never consented to you.

Number Seven: “It’s Just Me and You” didn’t comfort me.

When we were in that dark small closet, you were right in front of the door. You wanted the control. You wanted to dominate me. I was tempted to turn on the lights but I was so uncomfortable at the time, how could I. The door somehow opened. My consumption of alcohol must have altered that memory. I remember trying to get out, but you were right there to control me. You looked into my eyes and saw how anxious I felt. You said, “Now I feel bad” and hugged me, while saying, “It’s okay, it’s only me and you..”

As this case unravels, I have found some things out myself. Your excuses don’t make sense. And you made a friend of mine uncomfortable once too.

Although we are too busy trying to find a Jake, that I don’t even know exists.

Number Eight: I was tired of reality.

Whomever you are, you took something valuable away from me. You took my drive. That night I felt powerless. It has happened so many times before. That night I was thinking of self harm.

I had talked to Res Life in my college about altercations of the night. Things got difficult to handle. Things may never be the same.

Number Nine: I made you angry, so you video tapped me.

This semester a student asked me to dance with him at a party after his friend introduced him to me. You danced with me for like a minute and than said you would be right back. I thought you were cute, so I just mingled around with friends. You looked at me three times in nearly an hour, and it was pretty obvious you were no longer interested. So when another guy came up to dance behind me, I didn’t reject the idea.

I didn’t know I was going to get punished, when you finally decided to come back. I didn’t know you were going to start video taping me grinding on another guy. And post it online.

I knew you didn’t go to this school. So I didn’t expect to see you again, but I have. In fact the last time I saw you was the previous weekend.

Number Ten: I really thought it was you.

I didn’t want this investigation to open. Its not what I had wanted, but it’s what you decided to do. When one of the guys from the fraternity mentioned to me that they knew who it was, and said your name... I was more of assured than surprised.

Last semester I had expected it was you. I just didn’t have enough evidence to confront you. After finding out, I slowly started to see much more of you, and I never use to see you. You would put your head down when you saw me. Some people thinks it means your guilty, embarrassed, or trying to hide and avoid something.

You declined the idea that it was you. I really thought it was you. I always thought it was you, still do.

Number Eleven: You reported it. One Second I asked you, you were uncomfortable for a second. I’m uncomfortable for a while.

The conversation in the Direct Message Inbox was definitely an uncomfortable conversation to have. I just wanted peace. I still haven’t received peace.

My anxiety and depression levels have increased. I breakdown nearly everyday. Everything is a trigger point.

Number Twelve: I want this Case to Die.

Today, I didn’t go to class. I stayed in my room all day. This case has been overwhelming. I’m not eating as much, my energy is low, I get physical body aches, my lungs burn and close up, my heart aches frequently.

The process of this case is destroying me. In every angle possible. I don’t know how much more I can take, before I have to remove myself for good.

Number Thirteen: You suggest you were worried. Meanwhile,your on the sidelines and I am attempting to not end everything.

You told me who the house thought it was. I believed it. Now everything is a domino effect. You say you were worried, you say you can’t wait until this is over, but you are just watching from the sidelines, as everything else ripples down. It barely even affects you.

Whomever sees this, just know this was hard to do. I haven’t been that vulnerable and open in my writing in a while. And maybe pressing send will make me feel better.

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