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pastaaa-bird · 3 years

Text

Day 4:historical

@aphrarepairweek2021

Sorryforbeingadaylate

Oh warning for very minor swearing(only happens three times) but other then that there is nothing inappropriate and also there is implied period typical homophobia in this

Summary: An 80s human AU where a stressed out Chiara (nyo Romano) is saved from going crazy by a hero(Amelia aka nyo America)

Basically this is just fluff, fluff and more fluff

Chiara Vargas was a second a way from flipping her desk and raging down the halls, or at least she would be if she had not possessed just enough self control to hold back on the urge.

“Fuck fuck fuck….” Chiara muttered, the sound coming out muffled from her face being squished against her desk in failure.

“OH, CHIARA” came a high pitch voice down stairs.

Reluctantly she lifted her head to the sound.

“WHAT?I'M BUSY”,she yelled back, mentally cursing her brother for disturbing her sulking.

“A CERTAIN SOMEONE IS HERE FOR YOU",

“WHO IS IT?”,

“YOU'LL HAVE TO COME DOWN AND SEE",

After managing to hold back a bitter protest she stood up then stormed down stairs.

“This better be worth my time, Feli or l swear to Dio l’ll-",

Chiara came to a halt once she saw the girl beside Feliciano.

“Hey!” a cheerful voice as usual from the smiling blonde with pink sunglasses in her hair, dressed in her demine shorts, red t-shirt and long white socks with a pair of roughed up old sneakers.

“Amelia- uh hi there" She replied while awkwardly fidgeted with the sleeves of her jacket, embarrassed at the realisation that she had heard her yelling.

“Nice to see you calm down, anyway l’ll you two ladies to it”, he winked at Chiara who rolled her eyes at the look, not sure whether to love or hate that it felt the exact same to when her grandfather would make comments about her bringing a boyfriend home.

He disappeared into the sitting room to join Valentino on the couch.

“I was wondering if you would want to hang out, we haven't done that for ages”,

“Oh right, ugh l don't think l can”,

“Sure you can! You're not busy are you?”,

“l am, study”,

Amelia raised an eyebrow at that.

“Study? Our exams aren't till two weeks" ,

“I know, l know but l'm sick of revising everything on the night before the exam, besides l need as much of time as possible to understand this crap",

“Ah fair enough- how about l help ya with it? math l'm guessing?”,

Sighing at the memory of her many failed attempts at completing and understanding equations and formulas she nodded.

“Yeah, but are you sure?”,

“Definitely!”, stated Amelia with both hands on her hips and standing tall to her eagerness for the task.

“Alright then...",

A while later Chiara found her self back at her desk with Amelia standing beside her reading over her practice questions, nervously waiting for the results.

It felt like an eternity before Amelia finally looked up and spoke.

“And…that's like sixty five percent right!”,

“Sixty five?! Where did l go wrong this time?!”,

They had been at this for quite some time now. Despite Chiara’s frustration she stayed relativity calm for the most part thanks to Amelia’s encouragement and little jokes that made her either outright laugh or complain due to what she claimed was annoyance even if though she did find it humorous.

“Symbols, you forgot them again, there's supposed to be a measurement symbol at the end of this to say whether it's centimetres squared or cubed or meters squared- eh you get the point...", she paused then continued.

Miss Kirkland is your math teacher, right? She's real strict when it comes to small stuff like that so she takes off a lot of marks”, explained Amelia while doodling with the pen in the corner of the practice sheet of paper Chiara had used.

Miss Kirkland, certified smartass- even if it is technically her job to be one. Now, Chiara didn’t exactly hate her but she was far from a favourite in terms of teachers she was forced to put up with.

She hated how Miss Kirkland loved to call on those who she knew where not paying attention, there was a sense of snobbishness when it came to the way Miss Kirkland would proudly correct the unsuspecting student with a smile that more closely resembled a smirk.

“l hate this, I'm so close to getting this right but l keep screwing it up”,

“Come on it's fine! You've made awesome progress since when we started! It's only been like what….an hour? Give yourself some credit",

“…l guess you're right. But I'm also stuck for other things- like history and geography suck",

“ Wanna head to the library? They got good resources for both”, questioned Amelia now looking up from her doodling.

“Nah, I've had enough school for today. Let's do something else, anything in mind?”,

“Ooh! A few things-“,

Understandably Chiara was not surprised when they had arrived at the arcade on their bikes.

“Is this becoming an addiction for you?”,

“Ha-ha very funny, you have your obsessions and l have mine”,

“You even call it obsession, keep all this up and l'll be hosting an intervention for you",

This time Amelia genuinely laughed in response, Chiara savoured every second of the sound.

They were stuck there for a while, when it came to Amelia's great interest and Chiara’s competitive attitude it was easy to guess that there would obviously be competitions to see who could score the highest.

To Chiara’s dislike Amelia ended up winning proportionally more then she did followed by listening to the victory taunts from Amelia.

And it seemed that as quickly as they arrived they where off again.

“No, no, no, nah, no, nope, no”,

“Oh come on! l thought you weren't a quitter”,

“I have my exceptions, this is one of them",

Roller skating, she wanted Chiara to roller skate. Clearly Amelia wasn't aware of the fact that Chiara would likely crawl into the ground out of embarrassment if she would likely- no when, when she would end up falling flat on the floor.

“l'll help ya along! You'll be fine", urged Amelia tilting her head to the side with pleading eyes.

Upon arrival to the centre she instantly felt her heart sink knowing what would be expected her. After much convincing from Amelia and equally as much rants about what could go wrong from Chiara- she ended up agreeing to at least attempting to skate.

Chiara felt her chest tighten and face heat up once she suddenly felt the hand of Amelia intertwine with her own, guiding her into the skating area after they got their roller blades.

It was fascinated to see how effortlessly Amelia could move, practically gliding with ease although at a much slower pace due to guiding Chiara along. For this moment anyway, Chiara forgot how to feel anxious.

The last destination for the day was the local diner.

“Two milkshakes please, a double chocolate for myself and a strawberry and banana mix for her”,

“Coming right up, dear", replied the waitress.

“Oh and don't worry l'm paying, l owe ya for last time with the ice-creams” reassured Amelia after she placed their order.

It was the small things that Chiara adored about Amelia the most, how she remembered her favourite foods was one of them. Along with her passing small notes with funny faces on them to her whenever they shared a class and she had noticed that Chiara was dying of boredom.

They sat on the high chairs in front of the counter top as they awaited her drinks, Amelia flapped her hands with giddy excitement once they were received, Chiara couldn't help smile at the sight.

She thought about sharing the milkshake together, putting the straw in her drink like those shitty romantic movies Amelia loves so much. It would be cute wouldn't it? Cuter to see Amelia's reaction to the gesture! She smiled to herself at the idea.

Then her face dropped.

No, no they couldn't, not here, although her smile was brought back again by looking towards her girlfriend who had all her attention on blowing bubbles into her drink.

“Should you really be playing with your food like that?”, she questioned placing the straw into her own drink.

“Might as well make the most of it when my folks aren't here to tell me off ", Amelia shrugged in response.

Chiara found her self agreeing with that mentality and joined in with the childish behaviour.

They cycled back to the house, it was getting dark already.

Amelia was invited in and the two walked past the living room seeing Feliciano and Valentino with their eyes still glued to their precious TV.

At peace now they were sat together on the back porch. There was a small garden behind the Vargas' house, it was closed off by the tall fence( put there mostly so the neighbour's cat couldn't hope over and ruin the vegetable patches or flowers).

The air was humid all day and was beginning to cool down with the sun getting lower and the clouds moving in.

For what could have been anywhere from a minute to a thousand years the two spoke about anything and everything, the topics seemed to flow so easily, naturally changing with ease.

Finally the two sat in comfortable silence, looking towards the sky who’s colours had turned into oranges, yellows and pinks.

This is what Chiara so deeply enjoyed, how they could just sit together and feel so secure.

Routinely this what would be done for one another if the other was upset and asked for so, this time was often spent with their hand held or being hugged by the other.

There would be times where Chiara in particular would wish to be alone, in cases like this Amelia would go prepare or buy a snack for whenever Chiara is feeling okay again, it gave her something to look forward to when she needed to be alone with her own depressing thoughts.

Sometimes when Amelia would be upset she would just want to vent and vent with no words of “it will be okay" or “look on the bright side of things", Chiara was there to listen and agree with the difficulty of whatever situation she found herself in.

Chiara's head was rested on Amelia’s shoulder, her arm wrapped around her in response to it.

Now it was getting cold, thankfully she still wore her jacket…but maybe…

“Amy?”,

“Yeah?”,she quietly answered back to the nickname.

“It's getting a bit…chilly don't you think? Would you, would you like my jacket?”,

“Oh...Uh sure.If you wouldn't mind that is”, a blush covered Amelia’s cheeks, she was rarely flustered or at least visibly.

The jacket was a gift to Chiara for Christmas from one of her relatives, it was given oversized to her but she kept it since it seemed more comfortable like this. On Amelia the jacket finally looked normal, it fit her well and looked quiet lovely.

They went back to silence until Chiara broke it again.

“Thanks by the way. I really needed today- to get my mind off of all this stupid fucking stress l've been trapped in lately",

“Of course. We all need a break now and then",

“You could say that again…l love you" Chiara looked up, her chin now on Amelia's shoulder.

Amelia glanced down at her and grinned.

“The feeling is mutual, sweetheart"

The end

Okay now for me rambling

Uhhhhh l read through this and l don't think l made any mistakes? I'll edit this if there are and sorry if you saw any, idk l'm bad at checking for mistakes and l don't have someone to proof read for me

Oh and Valentino is human Seborga and alsooo not sure if l made it clear but Feliciano does know about their relationship and also Chiara is Bi and happy to feel valid in her relationship with Amelia as if it were the exact same as when she is with a guy and not something taboo in this time period

ALSO damn, sorry this isn't that particular to the 80s- l did leave out things l was originally going to add in though! Like l was going to have Felicianio and Valentino have a movie marton but according to Wikipedia they werent common around then and the ones that did happen were anime soooo y e p

Also thought about adding in a house cord phone but eh idk it felt nicer to have Amelia visit instead of having Chiara call her or if l tried writting it as Amelia calling and then showing up it just felt forced and weirdly put in any way l tried to write it in

AH l am so worried that this is boring or cringy, like l honestly can't tell if it is or is this fine-ehh l guess l've written worse um yeah if you've read this far thanks :)

(I'm editing this for mistakes and wtf 90 is so high why would she be shocked- damn l think l know why l originally wrote that, l was thinking Amelia said ONE of the questions is 90% right but before it l said she was correcting multiple questions so it reads as multiple questions being 90% right all together ANYWAY l corrected it so it's fine again okay bye -AND it turns out l missed some mistakes yet again-editing this for the 3rd time rip)

#hetalia #hetalia 2021 #hetalia america #nyotalia #nyo america #nyo romano #hws america #hws romano #romerica #hws americano #hws romerica #hetalia fanfiction

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et-lesailes · 4 years

Photo

title: break point

pairing: ransom drysdale x personalized reader

word count: 3050

summary: when your ex boyfriend’s mom comes to you in need of help for his horrible behavior and attitude during his house arrest, you give in and see what you can do. things definitely do not turn out as planned.

themes: angst, smut

taglist: @evanstush, @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @whysparker, @sebastian-i-stan, @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly, @denisemarieangelina, @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @ifuseekamyevans, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @savemesteeb, @raveviolet, @hurricanerinwrites, @captainamerica-is-bae, @shaddixlife, @tessa-bl, @marvelouspottering, @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc, @thegetawaywriter, @dwights-new-plague, @rynabarnesrogers, @fckdeusername, @doloreschanal, @ssworldofsw

notes: thank you so much @capsicleimpala for requesting this, i absolutely loved writing it and it was such a creative idea! i really hope you love it :) also, in this story, fran survived lol. i don’t think ransom would be able to only have house arrest for being a direct murderer, even with a rich lawyer hehe *** for anyone interested in commissioning me, please check out this post !

When you hear the television inside as you’re in the process of inserting your key into the lock of your upscale apartment door, you freeze. Last time you checked, you didn’t have a roommate, and you definitely didn’t have a significant other hanging out in there. Your heart starts racing. Should you call the police? Ever since making it big in tennis, competing in all sorts of national and international tournaments, you’ve had a lot of crazy fans vying for your attention. Some do it in sweet ways, and others… not so sweet. However, no one’s actually ever showed up at your home.

You take a deep breath and twist the lock, pushing the door open anyways. There’s no way the man at the front desk would just let anyone walk right up. Perhaps it’s maintenance?

But no. Instead of seeing a worker dressed in uniform and fixing a leak, you see Linda Drysdale lounging in the armchair of your living room, legs crossed with a naturally unamused demeanor as her blue eyes flicker across the flat screen TV. She glances up at you as if she’s lived there her entire life, eyebrow lifted. “Finally. I didn’t realize tennis practice took so much time, how many methods can possibly be involved in hitting a ball back and forth?”

You look at her in disbelief for a few moments, trying to process that your ex-boyfriend’s mother is inside your home right now despite the fact that you and Ransom broke up three years ago. You aren’t even offended by her words; you’re aware of how blunt and straightforward the seemingly harsh lady can be- she was practically a true mother-in-law to you when you and Ransom were dating. You finally speak. “Linda. What are you doing here? You can’t just- how did you even-”

“The young man in the lobby clearly isn’t getting paid enough. A twenty was all it took. Might want to move somewhere else before he just casually allows a serial killer to walk in.” She rolls her eyes, then mumbles under her breath, “Or my son.”

“What?” you ask, and she shakes her head, looking up with a slight authoritative smile crossing her lips. “We need to talk, Y/N. I’m just going to get straight to the point. My son is ruining his life, as per usual, and I’ve had enough of it. I did everything I could to get him out of this damn lawsuit, to keep him out of jail, and he’s just-- Christ, he’s an ungrateful brat, that’s what he is.” She looks fed up, the sharpness in her eyes seeming as though she’s ready to strangle the man. “Drinking himself to death, fucking a new girl every night, on every single drug you can think of-- he’s a little piece of shit, even without being able to leave the house.”

“And you’re telling me all of this, why…?”

“Because he loves you.” She states simply, and you hate that the words make your heart race. “I know he still loves you, and that you’re the only girl on this planet he’ll ever love. He’ll listen to you, Y/N,” she insists, “and so you need to go see him. Better yet, just date him again. He was a significantly better person when he was with you.”

You look at her shocked, slowly shaking your head as you let out a quiet scoff. “Linda. He tried to kill someone. He’s the reason your father died. How can you ask me to go back to him? Why do you even care what happens to him, after everything he did?”

“Because he’s my son. And maybe you’ll understand one day, when you have a child of your own. But what I understand is that you could turn him into someone his family can approve of. Or, at least, even tolerate.” She adds with a roll of her eyes before continuing, “He tried to be good for you, Y/N, you know that.”

“Good?” You look at her incredulously, starting to get a little heated. “He told me he didn’t want to be with me anymore just because I was trying to have my own career! He couldn’t stand me putting so much time into tennis. He hated me playing tennis. That’s not what a “good” boyfriend does, okay? It’s not my responsibility to fix him back up when he couldn’t even be a support for me in the first place.”

She quickly waves her hands, frowning slightly. “Okay, okay. Fine, don’t think about getting back together with him. Just see him, at least. Please.” She sighs deeply, looking down for a moment as she rubs her temples before looking back up at you. “I’m begging you here, Y/N. I can’t just stand here and watch this boy waste all my hard earned money for his own selfish needs. Hell, if I could, I’d just stick him in jail now if I could. He doesn’t deserve this freedom at this point.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you look away. “What a nurturing mother,” you mumble under her breath, and although she hears you, she doesn’t remark on it. She sighs again instead, looking at you somewhat frustrated and helpless. “Just go over to his house, only for an hour. Talk to him. Convince him to stop being such a prick.”

You look at her somewhat frustrated, but finally sigh. You are the only one who’s ever been able to get through to Ransom, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t concerned when you heard the news. The Ransom you knew was an asshole, but he certainly wasn’t a murderer. Something clearly changed in him since you broke up with him, and so maybe Linda was right.

“An hour.” You finally agree, though give her a warning look. “And if he gets disrespectful or crosses any lines, I’m leaving. I’m not a miracle worker, Linda.” She looks relieved nonetheless, immediately nodding her head. “Of course. Thank you, Y/N.” The two of you stand there for a moment before she lifts an eyebrow, looking at you. “Well? Get over there before he gives himself alcohol poisoning.” You blink, about to protest but sigh. You figure it’s best to get this over with anyways- if you don’t, you’ll be up all night stressing about it. “Fine. But you need to leave first, you can’t- you can’t just hang out in my house when I’m not here, you know?”

“Oh, I’m leaving. This place is a shoebox.” Linda looks around somewhat disdainfully before pausing, looking to you with a smile. “But you’ve… decorated it very well.” You roll your eyes, gesturing to the door. “Goodbye, Linda.”

Her smile remains as she nonchalantly waves, heading out the door.

As you come up to Ransom’s door, your heart is racing. You can hear loud music and obnoxious giggling from inside, no doubt Ransom is throwing some kind of get together- or probably more of an intimate gathering featuring scantily clad women who throw themselves at his good looks and money. You glance over at his BMW shining in the driveway, barely scoffing to yourself. Of all the things to keep intact, he would make sure it was his car. You were with him when he bought that car, and it was probably one of the only “girls” he had ever loved in his life.

You being the other one, of course. You know that at one point, Ransom Drysdale loved you. You can’t help but wonder if that’s still the case.

You take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. The talking and laughing doesn’t stop; these girls are clearly unbothered, but you hear footsteps.

And then he appears, dressed in a t-shirt and perfectly fitting jeans, his brown hair slightly tousled and his cocky smirk across his lips- until his intoxicated brain registers who you are. He blinks in surprise, smile fading from his lips for just a split second- then quickly returns to his normal self, most likely realizing he absolutely must look composed and confident. “Y/N. I knew you’d come crawling back to me eventually. Took you a while, though, I’m kinda busy right now.”

You stare at him for a few moments; you thought you’d be nervous and apprehensive, but now, as if by magic, any feeling of uncertainty slips away. It’s almost impressive how he has this effect on people, but within less than one minute of this conversation, you’ve already had enough.

“Shut the fuck up, Ransom.” You find yourself saying, suddenly pushing right past him and grabbing his arm in the process. “We need to talk.” You practically drag him into the kitchen, ignoring the confused and even irritated looks of the half naked women on his couch clearly having been in the middle of enjoying his attention. It’s surprisingly easy to maneuver him, most likely because he’s a little too drunk.

“Wow, hellcat. You really missed me, huh? Unable to find anyone who’s a better fuck than me, I take it? Alright, alright, I’ll squeeze you in. I have to say, I definitely missed your tight little-”

He’s cut off by a sharp sting on his cheek when you slap him across the face, his lips parting into a shocked ‘o’ almost immediately as his blue eyes stare at you in complete shock. Even you’re a little shocked upon where this sudden boldness is coming from, but you decide you’re on a roll and that there’s no need to question it. You came here to say something, and you’re going to say it. You don’t even let him respond. Not that he has the words to, anyways.

“Who the fuck are you anymore, huh? Why are you acting like this? And not just a douchebag fuckboy, either, but a full on killer? What the hell is going through your brain?” you practically scream at him, and he blinks in surprise before his features suddenly become defensive. “What, do you think it has to do with you? Our break up? You think I’m just so tormented, torn apart, that I’m not over you?”

“I- no, when the fuck did I say-”

“Well then why are you here, Y/N? Why do you, of all people, need to be here right now? Who are you to come show your concern and your goddamn disgust when you’re the one who dumped me?!” His voice is just as loud as yours if not louder, the vein in his neck bulging from anger, his eyes practically a shade darker. You throw your hands up in frustration, retorting, “Why does that even matter, Ransom? Can I not be concerned that the former love of my life turned into a goddamn murderer? Am I not allowed to be a little confused that my ex-boyfriend turned into a fucking psychopath?”

“Former, huh?” His voice suddenly gets low, dangerously low. “So that’s it? You found someone else? Some prissy, preppy tennis playing fuck who lets out the same little grunts and groans out on the court, in the bedroom too? That your type, Y/N? A skinny little-”

“You were my type, Ransom!” you practically scream now, glaring up at him in complete fury. “You know what my type was? Confident, funny, manly, someone who wanted me to be safe and someone who was so thoughtful he remembered everything I liked and disliked, who wanted to do everything he could to make my life better because he knew how to be selfless! Do you even know what that word means now?!”

“Well maybe I became this way because you decided to prioritize tennis! You don’t think that’s a little damn selfish?!”

“Are you-- God, you know what? Maybe you’ve always been this fucking ridiculous, and maybe I was blind. Maybe this is all my fault, Ransom, because I trusted the wrong person. I can’t even fucking believe I-”

And then his lips suddenly crash against yours, his hands grabbing your waist and pinning your small frame against the cool counter, a husky growl of frustration escaping his throat as he kisses you. Rough. You gasp, starting to press your hands against his chest, wanting to push him off… until you don’t. You’re kissing him back fiercely, though still angry as ever, moving your hands to grip his muscular biceps as you dig your nails in. “I fucking hate you,” you hiss against his lips, and he scoffs in between kisses, barely groaning from the feeling of your sharp nails leaving indents in his skin. He’s turned on, and you know it.

“No you fucking don’t.”

There’s no need for foreplay. There’s no time or patience for that. After easily sitting you up on the counter, he pulls your shirt up over your head only to connect your lips again, his teeth pulling on your lower lip roughly as he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside. His hands find your gym shorts and shove them down- he quite literally rips your underwear off, making you let out a muffled squeal of surprise into his open mouth. When you feel his fingers slide up your thigh and rub up against your wet folds, you let out a shaky gasp, moving your hands to grip his shoulder blades through his tee. “O-oh…!”

“You’re fucking soaked for me, cupcake.” His other hand moves up to grip the back of your neck, fingers curling into your brown locks. Despite the distraction of the haze of pleasure rushing through your brain and body, you can’t help but note his fond pet name for you. Every time you got stressed, you’d bake- Ransom would always lovingly make fun of you for this, hence how “cupcake” began. However, he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on this- perhaps on purpose. He’s most likely realized he fucked up, God forbid he show any sign of affection. You let out a short moan when his broad fingers rub your clit, his other hand using the grip on your hair to tilt your head up so your brown eyes are locked firmly onto his blue ones.

“You like that? You see what you’ve left behind for these past few years? You couldn’t possibly have forgetten how good I fuck you, right?” he speaks through husky breaths, panting just as much as you as he rubs. You moan lewdly, though your teeth clench in frustration. “Just fuck me already, Ransom, stop… stop fucking talking…”

He snickers and suddenly stops rubbing, leaving you feeling slightly disappointed despite the fact you asked for it. Hastily unbuckling his belt and pushing down his jeans and briefs, he wraps his fingers around his throbbing length, groaning lowly to himself as he pumps his shaft. Pressing it against your entrance, he wastes no time in thrusting inside you, gripping your hips tightly as a grunt of pleasure escapes his throat.

“Fuck. Fuck. I forgot… how fucking tight… your pussy feels around my cock…” he groans with half shut eyes as he bucks his hips forward, tilting his head back. “God damn!”

“Ransom!” You hear a girl’s voice come from the kitchen doorway, gasping from both surprise and pleasure as you look up- normally, you’d be embarrassed, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You’re still riding the rush of adrenaline from your rage towards this man, but before you can even comment, he sharply yells at her, “Get the fuck out of here, and take your damn bimbo sluts with you- I don’t fucking need any of you anymore!”

She stares at both of you angrily before grunting in annoyance, whirling around. You moan as Ransom thrusts into you even rougher, your hands sliding up under his shirt to feel his skin, nails once again digging in to relieve your tension. “Mm… mm… don’t… fucking stop…!” you cry out as you hitch your legs high up around his waist, letting him get a better angle as he continues fucking you in the middle of his kitchen. Your body is practically being rocked upwards from how powerful he is, your head buried into his neck as you bite and suck desperately only making him groan even more.

“You still on birth control?” he breathes out gruffly into your shoulder as his hands cup your ass, his teeth nipping and biting harshly. “You still getting checked regularly for STDs?” you retort breathlessly, though to be honest, you’re not worried about that despite his recent history. He may treat his things like shit, but he keeps himself well maintained all to uphold his little rich boy image. He’s actually much more hygienic than one would imagine, and has standards with the women he sleeps with despite coming off as such a playboy.

“Yes, just let me fucking know if I can-”

“Yes, yes, I’m on birth control, come inside me,” you whine demandingly, moving your hands up to grip his brown hair tightly, messing it up even more than before. He smirks, grunting louder as he uses his hold on your ass to rock your hips towards his, the sound and feel of skin slapping putting you into overdrive. “Ransom…! Shit, Ransom, I’m close, fuck, I’m coming!” He groans just from hearing you, chest heaving as he keeps going, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Come for me, doll, fuck…!”

Your release combined with the sensation of his inside you is euphoric. As much as you hate to admit it, you missed sex like this. You certainly haven’t had it since you broke up.

He pulls out with heavy breaths, staring at you for a few moments. You swear you catch a glimpse of the old Ransom, the one you fell in love with, the one who would never actually hurt anyone despite coming off as such an asshole.

“Don’t push me away.” You suddenly speak quietly through uneven breaths, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck as you stare up at him.

His hands are still holding your hips, those pacific hues studying every inch of your face with all types of conflict and concern spread across his sharp, handsome features.

“I don’t want to.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #rhee commissions

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themangolorian · 4 years

Text

the book

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (Narcos TV show)

Tiny ficlet. One shot. Javi’s POV. Inspired by this post.

Summary: When Javi finds an old book in an empty office, he cannot get his mind off the woman who poured her heart into the spaces between the words. The only problem is he has no idea who she is.

Javi had found the book in an empty office. He’d gone in to clear his head. To get away from the ruckus and noise of the space he had to share with everyone else. The office had been blessedly quiet. He’d been sitting with his head between his hands, and when he’d finally lifted his gaze, it had been there. Haphazardly laying on the corner of the desk as if waiting for him. Brown leather bound. The corners were worn, the pages yellowed with use and time.

Warily and needing something to clear his mind, he’d reached over casually to flip it open, unaware that action would unforeseeably change his life. Cien años de soledad. Not out of the ordinary, though its casing was. Javi had read it once, before moving to Colombia. He shuffled through the pages. It was a good book, but he had so little time left in his life for fiction.

Just as he was about to shut the cover of the book, something handwritten within the pages caught his eye. But he’d lost the page. He began leafing through the pages to see what someone had thought important enough to write in a book. Javi had never understood the point of doing something like that when one’s thoughts while reading could easily be kept in one’s head. But he was curious anyway.

As he thumbed through the pages, he realized there were handwritten notes in several places throughout the book. In a cramped but neat script. He had to squint to read them.

this is not how I would react to a ghost - next to what he supposed was a crude drawing of a smiling apparition. The corner of his mouth turned up. He flipped the page almost carefully now.

well...i dream of peace. everywhere in colombia. but mostly on this mess of a base. Javi smiled fully now.

Flipping through the pages, he found various personal and funny tidbits, commentaries on the story. So many phrases in the book were underlined. And drawings. Yellow butterflies. A calf-like beast. Flowers. So many flowers, some described within the book, some clearly made up in someone’s imagination. He began to wonder who on base could possibly be funny enough to talk like this. Based on the handwriting itself, and a few of the more telling comments, he knew it was a woman. But he scoured the pages between each flap of the book and could not find a name. Every thought imaginable seemed caught in the neat handwriting. Everything but her name.

Javi sighed and let the cover fall shut. He contemplated. Looked around the office. Noted the dust on every surface. He stood and tucked the book under his arm before thinking too hard about it.

In the weeks that followed, Javi began to find solace in the worn, obviously well-loved pages of the novel. Whoever had written these words was obviously snarky, maybe sassy, but she loved the story all the same. It was clear in her notes. Javi never actually re-read the book itself. Only the passages that would help him understand the noteleaver’s quips.

“What’re you reading there?” Steve called his way from the bunk as Javi traced the words of another note he’d only just found. He’d been sure he’d read them all, but this one was new to him, hidden between the many pages of the novel.

this is why we shouldn’t let tourists in

He’d been pleasantly surprised to find a note he’d not yet read and had accidentally chuckled out loud. But he closed the book with an air of having been caught when Steve spoke.

“Nothing,” he had to clear his throat, voice hoarse from disuse. The ambassador had forbade them from leaving the grounds, and they were growing listless in their boredom.

Steve glanced over. “Doesn’t look like nothing.” But he went back to cleaning his gun all the same, leaving Javi to wonder.

Javi stared at the book. He wondered who it had belonged to and why it had been abandoned in the middle of a dusty office. Briefly he wondered if its owner had died, and the thought panged his heart, though he could not say why. He shook his head at himself and tucked the book under his bunk so he could nap.

Because there was so little to do for the time being, Javi began carrying the book around. Both to read it...well, its previous owner’s notes. And to, if he was being honest with himself, maybe run into the person it belonged to. Though, at this point, he thought he’d be loath to part with it.

But...he’d begun to start thinking too hard about the writer of the handwritten notes which, by now, he’d come to memorize. He didn’t know what it was about her words that seemed to captivate him so. She was funny. Thoughtful. Romantic, at least in the sense of the book. Maybe practical. He felt like he’d gotten to know someone deeply, someone he couldn’t put a face to. And for Javi, that was endlessly frustrating.

As he sat in the mess next to Steve to eat lunch, he placed the book on the table just across from them. Steve had finally stopped asking about the book when Javier had shown him the first page, clearly stating its title.

“Can’t get your nose out of that,” he’d noted in his plainly straightforward way. But he hadn’t brought it up again, though sometimes Javi saw the way Steve’s brow would arch his way when he’d open it yet again.

Now, Javi perused the surrounding tables and the others milling about, wondering if any of them might be the person he was looking for. There weren’t many women on base other than the ambassador. There was her secretary, an older prudish type. He didn’t think it could be her considering she seemed to have no sense of humor. There were a handful of others and though Javi’s eyes lingered on them, he didn’t think it could be any one of them either. For one wild moment, he wondered if it could be the ambassador’s. But he shook his head at the thought, smiling.

“What?” Steve wondered through a mouthful of lechona.

But before Javi could respond, a hand was reaching out and picking up the book. Javi had to stop himself from reaching over automatically to stop-

Her. Javi had forgotten all about her.

“Here it is,” she was saying, sounding breathless with relief.

Her eyelashes were lowered against her cheeks in a lovely way as she gazed at the book with clear affection. She still had not seemed to have noticed Javi and Steve sitting there.

She was a researcher the ambassador had hired to help the DEA in their years-long mission to capture Escobar. Javi hadn’t realized she’d been staying on base. He’d only ever seen her once here. And that had been before everything had gone to shit. He’d never spoken to her long enough to get to know her, but she was pretty. Beautiful, really. And he remembered her laugh. He’d done something silly, accidentally tripped or something, and her laugh had been infectious. Had anyone else laughed, Steve maybe, Javi might have gotten irritated. But her laugh had brought a smile to his face.

“Con cuidado” she’d lilted at him before going the opposite way, her eyes still laughing.

“I’ve been looking for this,” she finally caught Javi’s eyes. She must’ve been wondering why he’d been staring at her. Smiling. How did she do that with her eyes? Always smiling.

When Javi didn’t respond, the corners of her mouth turned up now into an uncertain smile without diminishing the bright one remaining in her eyes. Maybe she thought they thought she’d interrupted them. “Well, enjoy your lunch.” She turned to walk towards the food counter, tucking her long lost, now found, book under her arm.

Javi only hesitated for a second, his mind racing, before he stood up and followed after her, rushing to find the right words to express that he’d read every single note she’d left in a decade-old novel he’d found in an empty office, and now he was sure he was in love with her.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he watched his partner’s retreating back. “What in Sam Hill was that about?” He drawled before reaching over and picking the lone buñeulo off Javi’s tray.

A/N: For the record, I’m one of those people who writes in their books and underlines incessantly. I know some ppl consider that sacrilege but it’s how I show my love! 🥰

Forever Tag List (please let me know if you’d like to be removed!): @lesqui @murdermewithbooks @beskars @rosetophighlander @dyn-djarin @keeper0fthestars @mrsparknuts @hiscyarika @watsonwise @lavenderl3mons @scarlettwitcher @adlerorzel-blog @tiffdawg

masterlist

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña imagine #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javi #narcos colombia #narcos netflix #pedro pascal #one shot #my writing #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena imagine #javi x reader #javi x you #javi imagine #self insert #masterlist

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dokidoki-tae · 5 years

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thank you for doing the maid ask!! if it's not too much trouble can you also do la squadra'' general reactions about having a maid (she can see stands but doesn't have her own) and risotto dealing with his feelings for her? the maid is clumsy and silly but she cares deeply about each member and tries to make sure they're happy and safe

This got pretty long haha. But it was fun to write!

Risotto: He left his team to their own devices and didn’t intervene when they were deciding on hiring a maid. He didn’t expect it to last long, and they knew what they had to tell her if she were to work for them. When she started working there, they crossed paths a few times, she always greeted him with cheer and he responded with silence. It never deterred her from greeting him each time. The first time he spoke to her was when Formaggio was bombarding her with questions after questions about her romantic life. He’s a man who values privacy, even for normal citizens, so he stepped in and stopped him. He would notice the little things she would do around the base and greatly admire her attention to detail and thoughtfulness. There has been a higher success rate lately, and he wonders if it has to do with her as a boast of morale. He saw her more frequently when she knocked on his office door for the first time. “Signore Risotto, I made some coffee, would you like some?” He agreed and since then she would always bring him a cup. During these exchanges, they exchange only a few words or two. At some point, he finds it hard to drink another’s coffee as he grew to love the way she made his. The next time, he got to speak more than two words to her was when he heard Ghiaccio berating her in the kitchen. Risotto had not slept in three days and his head was throbbing, so Ghiaccio’s yelling was not helping his mood. He stepped out and ordered him to leave. He couldn’t leave the maid in such a state and lead her back to his office. (Damage control) This is the first time Risotto got to know her and realized why some of his team was slowly growing fond of her. He apologized on Ghiaccio’s behalf but she shook her head, saying Ghiaccio was right because she can be careless. Risotto listened to as she spoke softly about her clumsy performance and how she’s grateful they had given her a chance, the softness of her voice acting as a sleeping agent. She laughs quietly when she notices he had fallen asleep.

Over time, Risotto spoke more to her, asking her how her day way when they cross paths, a huge change from before. He sometimes pulls himself away from work and sits in the living room to talk to her about how the team is frustrating him. One night, he dreams about her and making love to her. He wakes up in a cold sweat, upset by a very human desire he thought he suppressed long ago. When he gets lost in thought and lets his guard down, he thinks about holding her and how her lips would feel against his and wonders how his name would sound as he makes love to her. Ever thought only causes him to grow more and more angry at himself, and he ends up being cold to her. She deflates when Risotto orders her to leave him be, but she complies. Over time, she goes into his office and apologizes for being so clumsy and careless and nosy (thinking this is the reason Risotto is avoiding her). He can’t stand hearing her voice crack as she tries not to cry and stops her. “I can’t let you continue. I should be apologizing for my childishness. It’s just…I have grown fond of you, and I’m having difficulty understanding what I should do.” He had to put it all out there to clear things up. He watched, slightly amused, as she slowly began to process what he said and turn red. She couldn’t form a proper sentence. Risotto noticed her lips move and sound come out her lips but couldn’t hear what she was saying. “Speak up,” he instructed. “I’m fond of you too,” she said, quiet as a mouse. Risotto knew he had to work these feelings out and ignoring them has only made him grow restless. Knowing she shares similar feelings, he hopes they can talk and see if they could help each other out.

When Risotto shows her his stand for the first time, she takes them into her palms and coos at them like they’re babies. “They’re so cute, Risotto~ Just like you~” He raises an eyebrow. “Cute?’ She nods confidently. “Super cute.” She brings them closer to her face and watches them reach out to her, and she’s sure she can hear them say her name. She starts to make kissing noises, and Risotto can’t help but chuckle at her behavior.

Prosciutto: At first, he was against the idea of hiring a maid and having some random person snooping around HQ. But Formaggio, Gelato, and Melone went ahead and hired one anyway. He was pretty annoyed by her clumsiness at first, ordering her to not touch anything fragile. He softened up when he saw her go through the efforts of sewing one of Pesci’s jumpsuits despite poking her hands several times. She does help relieve him of some chores around the house despite how clumsy she could be. He is worried she will be a bad influence on Pesci as she encourages his “mammone” behavior. Though, he hopes having a woman around will control his teammates and maybe encourage them to be a little more hygienic. She got to meet his stand and was more in awe than scared. She tried to poke its eye before Prosciutto stopped and scolded her.

Pesci: He enjoys talking to her because she always listens to him with a smile. She doesn’t judge or criticize his timid personality like the other. He sometimes confides in her about things, how he doesn’t feel manly enough. She cheers him on and tells him he’s plenty manly, just in his own way. When she discovers she could see stands, she asks Pesci to see his. He feels embarrassed because it’s not as cool as the others. But she’s still impressed. One time, she brought a toy fishing rod and said, “Pesci, look! I have a stand!” He was flattered and thought it was cute.

Formaggio: Fantasized that she would be wearing one of those frilly maids outfits and was disappointed when she showed up in what were basically scrubs. It wasn’t sexy at all. Nonetheless, he badgered her with questions about her relationship status, and she couldn’t help but laugh at how eager he looked when she said she’s single. Eventually, Risotto came out of his office, saw what was going on, placed his hand on Formaggio’s head, and used his strength to push Formaggio’s head down. “I’m sorry my friend has been bothering you. I’ll send him away so you can do your job.” Formaggio eases up and becomes pretty friendly with her. He complains about all the people who’ve rejected him, and she gives him advice on how to talk to women. Formaggio actually blushes when she gasps in amazement when she sees his stand. He becomes bashful and rubs the back of his head. “Little Feet is pretty cool, huh?” and she nods her head furiously

Illuso: He spies on her after he finds out the others have hired her. After finding out she’s harmless, he doesn’t make much of an effort to communicate with her unless he’s being harsh and lecturing her for breaking one of their cups. usually he leaves Prosciutto to lecture her, threatening to take it out of her paycheck, but lately, he’s been lenient, so he takes it upon himself. When he does, she looks like a kicked puppy, and the others are glaring at him and that’s the last time she does it. He watches her constantly especially when the others are gone to do other things. He doesn’t mind her, but he doesn’t get why others like her. But he starts to notice the little things she does around the base that are pretty considerate. She arranges things the way Prosciutto prefers and folds clothes the way Ghiaccio prefers, she cleans the mirrors in his room with delicacy even when she’s clumsy. He can’t help but soften up around her. He introduces his stand to her, and she calls it a muppet. He mopes in Mirror World the whole day.

Melone: He’s one of the people responsible for finding and hiring her. Unlike Formaggio, he’s not disappointed despite her plain, modest uniform. He questions her eagerly about her healthy, birthday, favorite position. She stupidly honest but shies away from her favorite position part. Melone is surprised and confused by her because she’s the aggressive and defensive type, which he mostly encounters when he asks invasive questions. Her honesty attracts him and finds himself wanting to be around her. When he encounters her clumsiness, he tells her not to feel bad and to just keep on doing her job. He doesn’t really care if they pay her to just sit around and watch tv or eat dinner with them; he just wants her company. He shows her his stand and watches as her eyes widen and her lips form an “o.” She’s examining it and compliments it. She asks what it can do. “Create life” is all he says. He can’t find it in himself to explain how it all happens. He fears that she will hate him if she knew.

Ghiaccio: He’s indifferent at first about hiring one. “As long as they stay out of my way and doesn’t talk to me, I don’t care.” He does because the first few times she’s there, he evaluates her job performance. She’s pretty good at cleaning but is careless! He yells at her the first time she broke a wine glass which ends with her bursting into tears. Risotto was the only one home and ends up having to come out of his office, visibly annoyed, and orders Ghiaccio to leave the base and cool his head. Ghiaccio storms out as Risotto tries to (awkwardly) comfort the crying maid, leading her into his office. Over time, Ghiaccio grows to tolerate her presence and clumsiness. When she experiences one of his rants for the first time, she stares at him in confusion. He barks, “WHAT?!” due to her staring. When she asks why he’s so mad, he explains the stupidity of idioms and figures of speech. She listens to him and looks more passionate as he goes on. She validates his feelings, agreeing with him about how figures of speech make no sense. He’s startled by how she embraces his point of view and grows to like her. He’s smug when he activates his stand only for her to ask him to meow like a cat.

Sorbet: He didn’t want a maid at all. Why do they have to pay someone to clean the base when Prosciutto can do it? When Prosciutto hears this, they nearly get into a fight. Upon meeting her, he tells her he is not paying her. Gelato steps in to reassure her that she will be getting paid. Over time, he appreciates her presence. She’s pretty damn normal compared to anyone else in that damn base, appreciating how grounded she keeps Gelato. He enjoys seeing Gelato animated when he talks to her about random things. The others tend to just roll their eyes when Gelato talks about movies or music he likes, and Sorbet is the only one who’d listen. Now this maid is here and listens and converses with him, and it makes Sorbet happy.

Gelato: Gelato was one of the ones who found, interviewed, and hired her. He knew she would be great the moment he looked into her eyes. There was so much life and warmth in her eyes, it made him smile ear-to-ear. He thought it would be fun to hire and be around someone who had no ties to the mafia world. He often helped her as she cleaned which ends with her shooing him away and telling him that it’s her job to clean. Gelato has a lot of demons inside of him and ends up using her as a sort of therapy. She never has any advice to give, often ending with her tearing up after hearing about their hardships. Gelato respects that she actually listens and doesn’t simply tell him to drink until he’s numb. He accompanies her to the store to buy groceries for the base, and they end up talking about relationships. He teasingly asks her, “Do you find any of my teammates attractive?” as she turns a deep red and turns her face away from him out of shyness.

#risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #illuso #melone #ghiaccio #sorbet #gelato #jojo hcs #my writing #Anonymous

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 5 years

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8, 11, 17, 22

Hoo boy this got LONG so I put it below a cut, haha.

8. Have you received anon hate? What about?

Ahaha, yes, yes I have. Occasionally I’ve gotten very random, strange anonymous asks that are angry but not I don’t think directed at me? But anyway one time I did straight up get anon hate and it was because I shot down a previous anon’s ask about Flynn being Jewish.

How it went down is basically a friend of mine (not tagging her because if for some reason a bored person wants to give me hate for this I’m not going to let them go after her as well) came up with the idea that Lucy could be Jewish. This is because of the ways that we see Lucy handle the concept of fate, faith, and God in season one, some fun etymology we discovered about the name Rittenhouse, and because Lucy never specifies what religion she grew up in. Now, my friend made a post in which she went into a lot of detail about the name thing, rather than the bits about Lucy’s handling of faith/God.

I reblogged the post, and then I (instead of my friend for some reason) got an anon saying that based on the research they’d done on Flynn’s names, Flynn could be Jewish.

I responded as politely as I could and explained that Flynn couldn’t be seen as Jewish, and that if you wanted to write him as Jewish for an AU that’s fine, but Flynn is Catholic. Unlike Lucy, who never states her religion or gives us any real clue which religion she believes in--we just know she is spiritual--Flynn is seen in a Catholic church, talking to a priest. Flynn is also from Croatia, which is overwhelmingly Catholic as a religion. The anon also pointed out that Asher could be a Jewish name, I pointed out in response that Judaism is passed down through the mother and that given how important his mother was to him and how Flynn literally never mentions his father, it was more likely he’d go with his mother’s religion growing up.

My point was basically what my point always is: writers leave gaps in the writing, and we can use those gaps to decide whatever “headcanons” we want. But if you want to see a character as something that directly goes against canon, that’s not a headcanon, that’s an AU. So if you wanted to write Flynn as Jewish, you could, but it would be an AU, you could not say given the evidence that it was canon. With Lucy, you can.

Now, I do think maybe my friend’s emphasis on name meaning and origin and such made the anon think that was all you needed, when that was actually only part of why my friend and I decided Lucy could be Jewish. But in any case, I immediately got anon hate from someone telling me I was anti-Semitic and a bitch and so on.

I responded to the first anonymous message, trying to be firm and a little sassy but also polite. I tried to pretend that the anon was my much-younger sister, and thought about how I’d treat her if she acted this way towards me: with firmness and some sarcasm but also with love.

I explained my reasoning over again, had some fun gifs, and ended with telling the anon that I was sorry they were having a bad day and to please take care of themselves, and that I knew they were a better person than this.

The anon sent another nasty message, which I just deleted. I also privately messaged the original anon, who had reached out to me to continue our talk privately, and I asked her if she was the nasty anon and if so, she was welcome to express any opinion she wanted to my face, and I was happy to talk with her honestly if she had more frustrations than she was letting me know about. She told me that the anon was a friend of hers and that she had been bullied in another fandom, and that her friend, seeing this, had jumped the gun with me in protectiveness towards her friend.

I was not surprised to find out that both these people were young teenagers.

I told her I understood overprotective friends, since I am one, and told her that if she or her friend was struggling with anything that I was always happy to listen and provide what support I could. That was, as far as I can recall, the last of our interactions.

What the first person, with whom I was privately messaging, didn’t tell me (and I chose not to call her out on it) was that she has publicly on her blog talked about how I’d shot down her “Flynn as Jewish” idea, implying I was anti-Semitic. She was, in our PMs, clearly horrified that her friend had said such awful things to me and told me she’d immediately started telling her friend to back down the moment she saw what was happening, so I think that she didn’t, being so young, realize the cause and effect of her post. I chose not to call her out, since I didn’t see what good it could do, and since I felt she was genuinely contrite.

And, well, she was (and is) just a kid.

So there you have it, the time I got anon hate. If I’ve gotten anon hate before or since then I don’t remember it. I like to think of it as a cautionary tale, for other young people out there. Be careful what you post on your blog. What you post is public, everyone can see it, and people will take action or form opinions accordingly. So if you say something, you have to be prepared for the consequences, whatever those are, and to take responsibility for them if so. You might think you’re venting and “oh I didn’t really mean that!” but once it’s out there... nobody can tell that you didn’t really mean it or that you were just letting off steam. They’re going to take you seriously.

I think it’s also a classic tumblr example of looking for something problematic and jumping down someone’s throat. I said that the main heroine of a TV show could be seen as Jewish, and was excited over that fact, and then when another person suggested that a Catholic character could be Jewish instead, and I pointed out that would be against established canon, got called anti-Semitic. When... um... I had just been celebrating... the idea... of the main character... being able to be written in fanfic as Jewish... uh...

Let’s hope it’s the only time I get that experience, shall we?

11. Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

Um... I mean, Wyatt is popular or unpopular depending on which part of the fandom you ask. I liked him in season one as a foil to Flynn (they have an insane amount of parallels) and I thought there was a lot of potential to make him very much like Eliot in Leverage. I thought he could be a lovely Soft Boi. Season two severely disappointed me, but I decided that as a writer the possibility of writing a redemption arc for Wyatt intrigued me and would be a fun challenge (this is a habit of mine as a fanfiction writer--I take bad shit that happened in canon and fix it, or show how I would’ve done it differently, as in my Age of Ultron Redux).

So I like Wyatt, but I don’t excuse his behavior, and I understand why a lot of people don’t like him and why he’s unpopular with a large portion of the fandom now. I see opportunities with him but he was a toxic pile of shit so I don’t blame anyone for just nope’ing out.

What I don’t understand is when people take it to huge extremes like saying they want to set him on fire, or doing a huge meme on twitter about all the violent ways his own kids can murder him, but I see that sort of thing in every fandom about various characters and I’ve never understood it so that’s nothing new.

Actually I also don’t think a lot of people care about Jess? I don’t know, I just don’t see her a lot. I think people just don’t quite know what to do with her? If you’re a Garcy shipper you can have her be with Wyatt but that’s all you really need, and if you’re a Lyatt shipper you turn her into a one-dimensional bitch, so... I love Jess, I love her so fucking much, she deserved so much better and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.

17. Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen…

Instead of Lucy and Wyatt turning into “you’re in love with Lucy” so quickly in season two, I would have just had it still be a crush like at the end of season one where they said “I’m open to possibilities” and then have had Jess come back. Honestly, shoehorning Lucy and Wyatt together so quickly was the one thing that was wrong with season two. Unfortunate that it was such a big thing.

Wyatt spent all of season one showing us time and again how he was still deeply in love with Jess. He wanted her back not just out of guilt but because he still loved her. It’s understandable that, after he screwed up in 1x13 and all that went down in 1x16, he’d start to realize he needed to move on, and Lucy is his close friend and a beautiful woman and one of the few people in the world who knows about time travel and so he wouldn’t have to hide a large part of his life from her.

But to go from “I’m open to possibilities” and considering moving on to “deeply in love” in just six weeks? Um. No. Especially when in those six weeks, he and Lucy are separated. He didn’t interact with her. That sounds not like love of Lucy herself but fixation on an idealized version of Lucy in his mind.

Lucy certainly wasn’t focusing only on Wyatt all those six weeks. I think that Lucy’s arc in season two is mostly unchanged if you take away her romance with Wyatt. She was kidnapped by her own mother, who then tried to brainwash her, and she was about to commit suicide when Wyatt and Rufus found her. That’s plenty of reason for Lucy to be drinking vodka and spiraling. Let Lucy deal with those things while Wyatt deals with the return of Jess.

Would I have had Jess still be Rittenhouse? Y’know, I’m not sure. I do think Rittenhouse had a hand in her death and my theory is that in the original timeline Jess was a reporter, because Wyatt states that Kate Drummond, a reporter “even looks like [Jess]” after he sees her and Lucy has just told him who Kate was. This implies that Kate was similar to Jess, i.e. had the same job as Jess. My bet is that Jess was murdered by Rittenhouse because she, like Flynn, found out about their existence. So bringing her back... yeah I think that would mean either she never found out about Rittenhouse so there was no reason for her murder, or she was a Rittenhouse agent.

Either way, I sure as fuck wouldn’t fridge her. I don’t think I’d have her and Wyatt end up together as endgame, because I’ve been in and seen others in abusive relationships (platonic, familial, and romantic) and I’m a firm believer in the idea that just because an abusive or toxic person changes their unhealthy behavior doesn’t mean the person they dumped that behavior on owes it to them to stay with them or go back to them. Jess was Wyatt’s high school girlfriend. They’re in their thirties. That means she put up with his shit for half of her life.

I would have Jess and Wyatt ultimately realize, after Wyatt has done his appropriate redemption arc, that they aren’t meant for each other anymore and part ways amicably and she ends up with Amy who is of course brought back from nonexistence. Then I would have Flynn and Lucy be together romantically for the endgame, with implied Wyatt/Lucy/Flynn a la Leverage.

So yeah. No forced ridiculous bullshit “we’re in love uwu” Lyatt in season two. Focus on Jess/Wyatt instead. Lucy’s got enough on her plate already.

22. Popular character you hate?

I actually don’t think I hate any character that’s popular. The characters I hate are characters we all love to hate. I mean, I hate Wyatt’s behavior in season two and think he’s got a lot of shit to work through and I write him as realizing that and redeeming himself, which doesn’t sit well with the Wyatt-worshipping side of the fandom I’m sure, but I don’t interact with them and they don’t interact with me so? *shrug*

#mads answers things #sorry that anon story got long #there was a whole explanation attached to it #rather than a random 'fuck you' or whatever #it cracked me up the lack of logic that those kids were showing #but then they were kids and on tumblr so #the automatic response is attack for bigotry first #ask questions later #ah well I hope they're both doing okay #and growing and being better people #koortega

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ella-insideout · 6 years

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I wasn’t told you’d be this cold (Part VIII)

A/N: Finally, part 8 is here! Catch up on previous parts by heading to the masterlist (part 7 is here). I want to thank everyone who was understanding about the personal issues I’ve been going through, I am so gutted I didn’t stick to my update schedule. I’m doing a lot better now and I promise to get back on track. This chapter is pretty intense and angsty…so consider this your warning. Usual disclaimer: this is based off a very real and very sad relationship I had in uni. (Also, there’s a conversation in this chapter that took place in real life—literally word for word. FYI). This chapter was originally longer but I decided to split it up for suspense, haha. Feedback is always encouraged and much appreciated. Enjoy loves XXX

Word count: 4.4k

Helena never asked Harry about their relationship status, so it was wrong of her to assume that they’re boyfriend and girlfriend, she justifies. She and Harry never really had the conversation but she thought that they were exclusive again, like last time. And then Helena really kicks herself (mentally, of course) for making assumptions when it comes to Harry. During first year, she assumed he’d wanted to be with her, she assumed he cared for her, and look where that got her. But Harry was different now, she rationalises. Harry had also experienced heartbreak and he understands how Helena felt when he up and left her without a warning. He has a red rose permanently inked into his skin as a reminder of her (Helena just skims over the fact that the rose covers up a tattoo he originally got for Rachel). Helena sighs and rolls out of Harry’s grip, realising she’s been thinking about Harry’s comments for the past three hours. The bright screen of her phone reads 04:12 as she begins to finally close her eyes and sleep, deciding to confront Harry in the morning.

Her eyes blink open just five hours later and Helena hears two voices coming from the kitchen. She goes into Harry’s ensuite bathroom and quickly brushes her teeth (with the toothbrush he bought for her, she might add) before venturing out of his room.

“Mornin’!” Niall smiles at Helena from his place on the couch. He’s got a plate with eggs, toast and beans balanced on his lap.

“Morning Ni.” Helena smiles back at him. She sees Harry is standing at the stove, facing away from her direction.

“How d’yeh want your eggs, love?” Harry asks her without turning around, grabbing the carton.

“Scrambled, please.” She says quietly, walking up behind him. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head against his back. They stay like that for a few moments while Harry pushes the eggs around in the pan. “Can I ask you something?” Helena sighs out, her heart rate instinctually rising out of fear.

“Hmm?” Harry hums as he moves to serve the eggs onto Helena’s plate.

“Why did you say you aren’t my boyfriend?” She asks right as he’s putting the pan back onto the stove. Harry freezes for a moment before he grabs her plate and wordlessly sets it down at the dining table.

“Because m’not.” He states matter-of-factly, avoiding eye contact. “We never had that chat.”

“Let’s have it now then.” Helena crosses her arms, staring Harry down. He feels her eyes burning holes into the back of his head but he refuses to face her.

“How ‘bout we eat first, yeah? Don’t want your food t’get cold.”

“Fuck my food,” Helena hisses, pushing her plate further away, “why do you act like my boyfriend and then tell me you’re not? What are we, Harry?” She flails her arms out, frustrated with the man she loves. Niall, like a child seeing his parents arguing, quietly sneaks out of the kitchen and retreats back to his bedroom.

“We’re just… We just care about each other,” Harry finally makes eye contact with Helena, his eyes looking dull and sad, “it doesn’t need t’be anything more than that.”

“You called Rachel your girlfriend but you won’t call me that.” She shrugs her shoulders, giving up the fight already.

“Look where that got me.” He lets out a deep chuckle, “Labels are stupid—they complicate everything.”

“I’m not her,” Helena pleads with him, “I won’t break your heart.”

“I know, I know.” Harry says, walking over to Helena and pulling her into him. “I care about yeh, so much, pet. And you care abou’ me?” He feels Helena nod her head ‘yes’. “So why does it have to be any more complicated than that? I care ‘bout you, yeh care ‘bout me. That’s all I need from yeh.”

“Okay.” Helena whispers while breathing in his scent. She presses a few kisses to his chest as they stay in each other’s arms.

After breakfast Harry and Helena ventured into the living room to watch old American crime shows on Netflix. They laid together on the long sofa; Harry was wedged between Helena and the back cushions, resting his head on hers while she used his arm as a pillow. Helena hears Niall’s bedroom door open and he shuffles down the small hallway before walking into the shared living room and kitchen.

“You guys good?” He raises an eyebrow, observing his friends tangled together on the sofa. Helena nods and smiles at Niall and he continues into the kitchen, putting his dirty dishes in the sink. “What’re you watching?” He walks back and settles onto the love seat closer to the TV.

“Law and Order,” Harry answers, “the murder-solving one.”

“Sweet.” Niall responded, making himself comfortable as the next episode begins.

The three of them continued watching Law & Order until the sun set (and a bit after that, too). At some point Helena’s stomach began to rumble and Harry kindly offered to go to the curry place down the road to grab dinner. Once he walked out the door, she and Niall stood up to stretch their sore limbs. Niall walked over to the fridge and pulled out two beer bottles, easily uncapping them before handing one over to Helena.

“So,” he starts, “can I ask what this mornin’ was about?”

“Oh…” Helena’s cheeks turn red from embarrassment, “it was nothing. I was overreacting.”

“Well, what happened?” He asked out of genuine curiosity.

Helena took a moment, wondering if she should tell Niall about hers and Harry’s problems. While she’s nervous about it, she remembers the times before when Niall had helped her understand Harry’s point of view. To be fair, he’s the one who dragged Harry to meet with her after he’d ended things with Rachel. And Niall could be a good sounding board, she reasons, so she opens up.

“Last night, I called H the ‘best boyfriend ever’,” she makes air quotes with her hands, “and he said he wasn’t my boyfriend. We didn’t speak about it right then and there but it upset me… So I decided to bring it up this morning.”

“Dunno why he’d say he isn’t, he’s practically whipped!” Niall shouts as Helena shoots him a harsh glare. The smile on his face falters, “I—I mean that in the nicest way possible. Like, oh, he cares for you so much he’d drop anything for you. That sort o’thing.”

“I’ll take that.” She lets out a long breath. “But yeah… I berated him a bit because he’s called other girls his girlfriend before but not me. Which seems a little unfair, in my opinion.”

“Well you two are all loved up now, so I’m assuming it’s resolved?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she breaks eye contact and stares at the floor, “I’m still not his girlfriend—technically. He says labels are complicated and all that matters is that we care for one another.”

“He’s got a point.”

“I guess so.” Helena shrugs her shoulders.

“H, he’s head over heels for you.” Niall takes a sip of his beer, “You’re all he talks about… Probably all he thinks about, too. He’s just shit at being a proper human man, can’t express his feelings n’all that. But I swear to you he cares deeply about you.”

“Yeah?” Her head picks up and her lips turn upward, slightly.

“Yeah.” He nods his head. “And he’s right, y’know? Labels just make everything complicated. If things are good now, just let them be.”

“They’re good, they’re good…” She trails off, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself. “I just hate fighting.”

“I get that but sometimes fights are inevitable.” Niall reaches a hand out and pats Helena’s shoulder, “Besides, I bet you two will be married by graduation.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. You guys always come back to each other. From the outside looking in, it just seems right to me.”

Helena can’t find the words to respond so she just smiles and raises her beer in Niall’s direction, taking a big swig.

—

The end of term is a few days away and while Helena has loads to do (like finish her term essays and pack for Spain), all she can think about is what Niall told her two weeks ago. How she and Harry seem right together; that they could possibly be married by graduation in a year and a half.

Her mind wanders off and she daydreams about marrying Harry. Would they do it in a church? Probably not because neither one of them are religious. She wouldn’t want to wear white but can picture herself in an ivory dress. She can see Harry wearing a nice tuxedo, his long hair trimmed and styled back for photos. Bella would be her maid of honour and Niall would most likely serve as Harry’s best man. Maybe they’d get married up in Manchester to be close to his family. Or they could hold the ceremony in her parents’ garden down in Dulwich.

Helena shakes her head and pulls herself back into reality. Marrying Harry is something she can see herself doing but she knows it wouldn’t be anytime soon. And upon that realisation, her mind drifts away again. Why would Niall bring up marriage between them anyway? Why would he ‘bet’ that they’d be completely committed to each other by graduation? Helena wonders if Harry had spoken to Niall, if maybe one day they’d had a heart-to-heart and he shared that he sees himself getting to that point with her. That maybe he wants to be with her forever. Helena smiles and convinces herself that the imagined scenario actually occurred—Harry sees himself marrying her, so she believes that she will be with him forever. She grins at the thought of forever with him.

“What’s got you smiling?” Bella questions as she walks into the flat and sees Helena grinning at the mass of papers and books laid out on the table in front of her. “It can’t be ‘The evolving news landscape’ article, I’m sure.”

“No, no,” Helena shakes her head, “it’s nothing, just lost in thought. How was your sociology exam, babes?”

“Ugh, absolutely terrible.” Bella slumps into the chair next to her best friend and huffs out, “I felt like I did well on the essay but may have failed on the multiple choice. There were too many terms to memorise!”

Helena reaches her hand out and grabs Bella’s comfortingly. “Oh Bels, it’s okay. Hopefully you did well enough on the essay to get a good score.”

“Fingers crossed.” She says despondently. A moment later, her frown turns into a smile and she digs into her bag while explaining, “On a happier, unrelated note, I found a flyer for this event we should go to! Like, you, me, Harry and Niall.” She whips the neon pink poster out and hands it over to Helena; skimming it over, she furrows her brows.

“Undergraduate winter ball?” She reads out the headline, “Is this for Greenwich?”

“It’s for all London unis, it says,” Bella points to some more text on the page, “tickets are only 5-quid with an ID. I think it’d be a fun way to celebrate term and properly send you off! Don’t ya’think?”

“I wouldn’t mind getting pissed to say goodbye to everyone,” Helena laughs, handing the flyer back, “it’d make the goodbyes easier. But do we have to dress up, like in a gown?”

“I doubt people will be dressed that nicely, love,” Bella chides her, “just wearing something cute! And maybe convince Harry to wear real trousers since I’ve only ever seen him in denim.”

“I first need to convince Harry to come at all.” Helena sighs, wondering if Harry would be interested in an event such as a student ball. He’s not one for big parties and doesn’t enjoy ‘cliched’ dates, as he’s put it before. Helena grabs her phone and sends out a text to Harry.

Hey… So Bella wants you and Niall to join us a some undergraduate party in central this weekend. Would you want to come?

Depends on what type of party this is. Is it at a club?

Technically it’s a ball..?

Would I have to dress up?

Bella’s requested you wear real trousers.

And you?

I request you join me and we just spend the night getting drunk and snogging x

I’ll go for those reasons X

And tell Bels I promise to wear some proper trousers. X

—

The week had flown by and Helena has no idea how she got everything sorted. She’d finished up her essays and handed them in, sat her philosophy exam, moved (most) of her items out of her flat and back into her bedroom in Dulwich, and packed her two bags for Spain. The day of the undergraduate ball was finally here and Bella was finishing up Helena’s makeup (since she can’t contour to save her life).

“Are you excited for tonight?” Bella asks as she applies the finishing touches on Helena’s skin.

“I guess?” Helena questions. “I’m excited to be with you all, definitely. These events aren’t entirely my cup of tea, though.”

“I know, I know,” Bella tuts, “but I’m glad you’re coming out! It’s like going to the prom, but less American.”

“I’m looking at it as the Yule Ball from Harry Potter—which is something I’d actually like to attend.” Helena laughs and Bella joins in.

“Okay, open your eyes!” She instructs and Helena blinks her eyes open, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “You look so good, babes, Harry’s going to die when he sees you!” Helena smiles at the mere mention of Harry’s name. She feels confident with her makeup and hair done, now all that’s left is to get into her dress. Helena goes to her room and grabs the short black dress hanging in her closet. It wasn’t a gown, no, but Helena was never one for a gown, anyway. She’d chosen something she felt good in and she’s happy with her choice. She’s secretly hoping Harry likes it too.

The two girls were ready a few minutes before the boys were set to arrive at their flat so they sat on the sofa as they waited. At exactly 8.15 there was a knock at the door. Helena leapt up from her seat to open it, ready to greet both Harry and Niall but as she pulled the door back, her smile (and heart) dropped. Niall was standing alone. Harry wasn’t next to him, behind him, or even down the hallway. He simply wasn’t there.

“Hey, Ni,” Bella turns her lips up, trying to conceal her disappointment, “come on in.”

“Hi, H,” he kisses her cheek before walking in the flat, “hey Bels.”

“Where’s your partner in crime?” Bella crosses her arms, clearly angry with Harry.

“About that,” he turns on his heels to face Helena, “Harry’s still coming, I swear. Just said somethin’ came up and he needed to deal with it. He should be here by nine.”

“That’s fine,” Helena waves her hand in the air, “I get it. I’ll wait here for him, maybe get a few drinks in while I’m at it.”

“Are you sure?” Bella walks toward Helena and wraps an arm around her shoulder, “we wouldn’t mind waiting with you here. Or better yet, just come with us! Harry can meet up with you there.”

“I’m okay, really,” Helena explains, “you two go on and we’ll let you know when we’re on our way.” She gives them both a short hug and shuts the door behind them, suddenly becoming eerily aware of how quiet the flat has become. Tears brim at her eyes but she looks up and takes a deep breath, knowing that if she let them fall they’d never stop. She heads over to the fridge and pulls out some wine. Not bothering to pour herself a glass, she drinks directly from the bottle itself, settling down again on the sofa to wait for Harry.

Did something serious happen? Helena wonders. She hopes his family is okay, knowing full well if anything happened to them Harry would be distraught. Then she thinks things could be less serious, like he had to correct some citations in an essay or email a professor at the last minute over a mark. She decides to not let her mind spiral with what-ifs and hypotheticals, so Helena uses her newfound alone time to look around her shared flat and take it all in.

She realises that this may be the last time she’s in her flat until later next year and the thought makes her a bit sad. The idea of going to Spain and experiencing something new is exciting but knowing what’s being left behind makes her heart ache. Helena’s flight has been booked for New Year’s Eve; Harry’s going to join her before his term starts to help her get settled—though he hasn’t bought his ticket just yet. She thinks about ringing in the new year with him by her side, kissing him at midnight and vowing to spend the following 365 days loving one another. It’s a beautiful thought and Helena can’t wait until it becomes a memory. She’s not sure how much time has passed but eventually Harry knocks at the door.

“Well, look who it is!” She exclaims in a playful yet sarcastic tone, “I wasn’t sure if you were coming or not.”

“Sorry, m’sorry,” Harry breathes out, lightly pecking her on the lips, “do yeh want me t’come in or should we just head out?”

“We can go.” Helena says as she grabs her coat and handbag. She locks the door behind them and the two walk down the hallway towards the stairs to exit her building. Harry’s wearing a long coat but she can see that he’s made an effort by wearing black slacks and brown dress shoes.

“Yeh look nice.” He hums in her ear as they set off to the train station.

“So do you.” She smiles back, “By the way, s’everything okay? I was a little worried when Niall said something came up.”

“Yeah, yeah. S’all fine. Just kind of freaked out, I guess.”

“Why?”

“To be honest,” Harry clears his throat and places his hands in his pockets, “I was nervous you’d think this is a date.”

Helena’s heart begins being so fast she can hear it. Of course she thought it was a date—she and Harry are going to the ball together. “Is this not a date?” She stops, causing Harry to turn around and look her in the eyes.

“M’not really a date person.” He says lowly.

“You’re not an anything person,” Helena snarls, “not a boyfriend person, not a date person, you’re just an arse.” She begins walking again and picks up her speed to get ahead of Harry.

“H, wait a second!” He calls out after her as she all but sprints into the DLR station, swipes her oyster and runs up the stairs to the platform. Harry follows suit and sees she’s already boarding a train; he picks up his pace and makes it through the doors just as they’re closing. Despite being a Saturday night, the carriage is almost empty and Harry takes a seat next to Helena.

“H, just listen t’me, okay? I care about you loads, but sometimes I feel like you want more than I can give yeh.” Helena’s arms are crossed and she’s staring straight ahead.

Please say something.” He pleads with her again.

“Harry,” she says softly, turning to make eye contact, “I love you. I’ve loved you since first year. Hell—I think I loved you from the night we met. I’m so in love with you, everything about you.”

“I know.”

He didn’t say ‘I love you’ back and he didn’t say ‘I don’t love you’. He said he knew the whole time and that ripped her heart to pieces.

—

The rest of the train ride had been silent after Helena’s heartfelt admission and Harry’s heartless reaction. She’d led the way from the station to the event’s location at a swanky bar near Fleet Street and ignored Harry the entire way. However, the second they walked through the door, she faked a smile and looped her arm through Harry’s as they made their way into the crowd to find Niall and Bella.

“You made it!” Bella shouts over the loud music, hugging Helena. She eyes Harry and gives him a side-hug but doesn’t verbally acknowledge him.

“Oi, oi!” Niall yells as he spots Harry, handing him an extra beer. Harry takes it chugs the entire bottle, needing some alcohol to get through the night.

“M’gonna get another drink, anyone want anything?” He addresses the group.

“Jameson and ginger ale,” Helena replies, “double, please.”

“Anything for m’girl.” He smiles at her, his eyes shining bright. It’s as if he’d forgotten their entire conversation, like he’d already written off Helena’s feelings toward him. But Helena decides to put Harry at the back of her mind—for once. She wants to have a fun night with her mates, say goodbye to London properly and not worry about him. Tonight is for her.

As the night went on, the group surprisingly stayed together. While students from other units were at the ball, people hardly mingled outside of the group they came with and Helena was thankful for that. She’d seen Harry speaking with another girl earlier in the evening and she first felt a twinge of jealously until she realised that Harry wasn’t her boyfriend. He had free reign to speak with whoever he desired and she felt that she was able to let him go—that is, until he came back to her and grabbed her to dance.

Helena was hesitant, to say the least. She swayed to the beat in Harry’s general vicinity yet refused to get close to him. But the more she drank, the more her body disagreed with her mind. Harry was currently behind her, grinding himself against her ass as an old Craig David song blared through the speakers. His hands were on her waist, guiding her hips against his, and Helena’s hands were tugging Harry’s face into her neck. He planted kisses against her jaw before she spun around in his arms, locking his lips in hers. After a few moments, Harry pulls away and looks into Helena’s eyes—even in the dim lighting, she can see that they’re bright and full of life. They walk back hand-in-hand to the small table where Bella and Niall are sitting and chatting.

“I think we’re gonna head out now.” Helena pants out, taking a sip of water she’d left behind earlier.

“Oh, but babes, we haven’t spent as much time together! This one’s hogging me!” She points to Niall, laughing.

“Don’t worry, you can come over before I head off to Spain.” Helena gives Bella a tight squeeze. “You too, Ni.” He smiles at her. They say their goodbyes and she and Harry leave the bar, walking out into the night.

It’s quiet for a few beats as they stand and wait at a bus stop to get back to Greenwich. Helena decides to speak up and continue their previous conversation. “What do you mean that you know?”

“Hmm?” Harry looks down at her.

“When I said that I loved you, you said ‘I know’. What did you mean?”

“I think that’s self-explanatory, is it not?” He trails off.

“So this whole time, you knew. And you used me? You let me believe you love me back?”

“I never said I loved yeh!” He raises his voice, “S’not my fault if yeh got that idea.”

“But it is, Harry!” Helena shouts back, “You said you cared about me—!”

“I do!” He interrupts.

“Oh, you do? Because it seems like, to me, I was just some shag! I’m just an easy lay for you!”

“You’re wrong.”

“Prove it.”

“I care about yeh, I do,” Harry half-whispers, “and I knew you cared about me in a different way. I can’t control your feelings, I can only control mine. I like spending time with yeh, in any capacity. How’s tha’ so wrong?”

“That’s such bullshit, H! Maybe you can’t control my feelings, but if you noticed I was getting attached then you could’ve said something.”

“I went out and got a girlfriend, didn’t I?” He quips. “Figured you’d get over me after Rachel.”

“But you came back to me, for me!” Helena rationalises, afraid that the entire year and half of her life had been a lie.

“I came back,” he deadpans, “you were just there.”

Helena can no longer fight the tears and she begins sobbing. With perfect timing, the bus arrives and they board it, opting to sit in the back on the lower level. Fortunately it’s empty and Harry comforts Helena as she cries. She’s not sure how much time has passed but they make it to Greenwich and get off at Helena’s stop. As they walk toward her flat, he starts talking.

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, it’s the last thing I wanted t’do,” he places an arm around her shoulder, “I do care for yeh and I hope you can see that through all this bullshit. I wouldn’t be here right now f’I didn’t care.”

“But you—you don’t care the way I do,” Helena hiccups, wiping away at her tears, “and you never will.”

“M’sorry, m’so sorry, H.” He shushes and whispers in her ear. The rest of the walk is quiet until Helena reaches her building.

“I think we have more to talk about.”

“We do,” Harry agrees, “but let’s not talk tonight, yeah? Go on up, have a good rest and we’ll talk later, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Helena hums in agreement.

“M’gonna hug yeh now,” Harry explains, “but it’s just a friendly one. Don’t read into it, please.”

“Okay.”

Harry hugs her tightly but Helena’s arms stay at her side. She’s hurt, confused, heartbroken and entirely unsure of where she stands in Harry’s life. She goes into her building and feels the urge to look back and see if Harry stayed behind. She ignores her better judgement and turns around anyway, disappointed again. Harry’s gone.

#Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles angst imagine #harry styles angst blurb #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles concepts #harry styles concept #harry styles imagines #harry styles au #uni harry styles #uni!harry AU #hs writing

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aatgm · 6 years

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Part 4

we’re getting to the good stuff!! (warning: there’s descriptions of gore/body horror in this one)

Part One Part Two Part Three

Some time passed. Ava worked up the nerve to return to the living room with two porcelain mugs full of freshly brewed green tea. The man on the couch was sitting quietly and expectantly when she returned, as if he had never made any kind of terrifying scene at all. He looked confused when she held his cup out to him, as if he didn’t know what to do with it, but when she sat down and took a sip from hers, he did the same. Only a little tea ended up on the cushions.

“So.” Ava’s eyes were squeezed shut, her brows knit together, trying to ignore the slurping sounds. “You’re trying to tell me you’re not human.”

“Yes! What exactly is so hard to understand?” The man gave an exasperated groan through the upturned brim of his cup. He’d already drained it- Ava guessed she had been right in thinking he’d been dehydrated. “That was delicious, by the way. What was it?”

“Just green tea,” Ava said, flushing uncomfortably. “I made it from a packet, it really didn’t involve any kind of talent on my part, but-”

“I have no idea what that means. Anyway,” the man cut her off. “I come from another world, one more vast and ancient than a human could ever understand. I am a member of a species leagues beyond your own, a creature of primordial power and turmoil…”

“What’s your name?”

“What?” The man stared at her, seemingly stunned that she’d dared to interrupt him.

“Your name, man. Mine’s Ava. Avalina. Everyone calls me Ava for short. What’s yours? Assuming your vast and primordial species has names.”

“Simon,” he said, so quickly he himself seemed caught by surprise.

Ava glanced at the tv. The contestant was being chewed out by a judge with the name “Simon” engraved on his nameplate in big block letters.

“Mhm,” she said. “That’s a pretty vast and primordial name, alright.”

“No!” he shouted. “That’s not my… that’s not what I said! I said…” his brow wrinkled into a furrow of concentration. “Sie… Zi… Siea….”

He roared in frustration. “I can’t pronounce it with this human mouth! It comes out wrong… it’s not… whatever I said! It’s…”

Ava raised her eyebrows. The guy looked close to breaking down- his whole face was turning red. He was straining his face muscles as if fighting some invisible force.

“Hey, dude, it’s okay,” she said, standing up. “Simon works for now, right? We can sort out the… human mouth problem later. Don’t hurt yourself.”

He stopped and seemed to relax a little. “Well… it’s not anywhere near as majestic and terrifying as my true name, but it’s better than nothing.”

“So… Simon,” Ava said. “I have a lot of questions for you.”

“Oh, by all means. I’m not surprised, after all I’ve said already. This all must be very confusing, but I’m glad to enlighten you on the state of the world as you’ve never known it before-”

“What exactly are you saying you are?” Ava cut him off again. She wasn’t in the mood for the showboating he was trying to do.

“What- oh. Ah, yes, that’s right! I didn’t even mention!” The guy who was apparently for the time being going to go by Simon stood up from the couch. He stumbled a bit, but caught himself and tried to turn the movement into a bow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am a demon.”

They both stood there in silence for what felt like a full minute.

“…Well!” Ava managed to chirp out. “Why don’t I make us some breakfast! You… clearly need… that is, we could both use some food!”

With that, she vanished up the stairs, practically leaving a dust cloud behind her.

Ava stood hidden at the top corner of the staircase. She put her hands on her forehead and gripped it, trying to keep it from splitting open. He was insane. She had let a crazy person into her house. What had she been thinking?! What part of her could have ever possibly thought this was a good idea?!

She had to get him to the hospital. That much was obvious. She had to get him out of here and take him someplace he’d be safe. Someplace far, far away from here. But she had to do it without him thinking she didn’t believe him. She didn’t know what he’d do if really confronted, to her or to himself. He’d obviously been through something terrible, this was clearly some kind of coping mechanism, he’d been running all that way in that torn up, bloody suit…

Ava realized he was still wearing that suit. He’d been in it all night, she thought guiltily. It couldn’t be comfortable. He needed clean clothes. She nodded. Clean clothes. She could do that. That was a task she could accomplish. That would take her mind off all this bullshit.

She went to her closet and shifted through the back hangers, producing a white collared shirt and some black jeans. After some consideration, she rooted through the bottom of the closet and found an unopened pack of briefs. She wouldn’t be surprised at all if he needed them.

She took a moment to change out of her pajamas herself- she hadn’t even taken the time to put on clothes before she’d raced downstairs. It couldn’t hurt to look presentable for this. Just as she emerged from her room, feeling slightly less rattled, she heard a loud crunching noise from downstairs.

She raced down the stairs and almost dropped the clothes when she saw the source of the sound. Simon was sitting on the couch, leaning over the table and eating his mug. There was a huge bite taken out of the rim, and she could hear his teeth grinding through a mouthful of porcelain.

Ava’s mouth opened and closed several times before she found her voice. “What… what are you doing?” she practically shrieked.

Simon looked up. “Oh, you changed your outer layer!” he said through a mouthful, white dust trickling out through his teeth. “Are those pieces of cloth for me?”

Ava looked down at the clothes she was holding and back up at the maniac eating dining utensils on her couch. She shook her head and set them down on the table. That was NOT what should be occupying her attention at the moment.

“Why are you eating it?!” she shouted, pointing at the brutalized mug. Simon was still crunching away at it. The handle had almost disappeared. He stared at her, confused. Then he bit into the mug again.

“Bitch!! Stop!” Ava was full on screaming by now. “Spit it out!!!”

Simon just stared at her. Very deliberately, he swallowed.

“You-! What the FUCK!!!” Ava screamed.

“Don’t give me food if you don’t want me to eat it,” he said indignantly.

“THAT WASN’T FOOD!!!”

Simon looked down at the remains of the mug again. “Oh,” he said, sounding a bit disappointed but otherwise completely nonchalant. “Shame. It has a great texture.”

“We’re going to a doctor,” Ava shouted, reaching out to grab his arm. “You need to get your, your stomach pumped, or your fucking teeth replaced, or-”

“What- no!” Simon jumped back. His face had gone white with sudden terror. “You’re not taking me anywhere! No human settlements, no human records, they’ll FIND me!!”

“WHO??”

“The ANGELS!!” Simon shrieked.

Ava stopped in her tracks for about two seconds. Then she rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, we’re still doing this, huh?”

“Doing what?! The only thing I’m doing is BEING IN MORTAL DANGER!! I’ve been here too long, I need to keep moving before the angels find me. They have eyes everywhere-”

“THERE ARE NO ANGELS,” Ava shouted in frustration. “Whatever, whoever is chasing you, it is NOT a damn angel!”

Simon fell silent and stared at her with an expression that suggested he’d never even considered a person could be so stupid.

“Look,” Ava said, feeling a bit bad for breaking down the guy’s fantasy. “I can tell you’ve been through a lot. I know you’re freaked out. I would be too! But trust me, whatever’s going on here, there is a logical, earthly explanation. Angels and demons aren’t real, alright?”

Simon just continued staring at her. “I don’t believe it,” he finally said. “Is total ignorance a universal human trait, or are you just special?”

“Look, buddy-”

“I know it’s been a while, but surely you’ve retained SOMETHING… surely you couldn’t be so entirely ungrateful as to have completely FORGOTTEN!” He stood up in indignation, stumbling a little but grabbing the arm of the couch to steady himself. “Surely, they left you all SOMETHING, didn’t they?”

“What are you talking about?!” Ava snapped. She could feel her patience ebbing away. “You’re not making any sense!”

Simon slapped his forehead and opened his mouth, no doubt to shout something else utterly incomprehensible. Then he stopped himself. He looked down at his hands; for a brief moment, something like sorrow crossed his face. Then he looked back up at her with a slightly more patient expression.

“Watch me,” he said simply, and closed his eyes.

He sat back down on the couch, crossed his legs one over the other, folded his hands on his lap, and began breathing deeply. He was perfectly still for almost a minute. Ava considered whether she should do something.

She stopped in her tracks. There was a crackling sound, like bones.

Simon’s shoulders hunched forward. Ava heard tendons cracking and snapping as his head sank down to meet his hands. With an awful crunch, the back of his ruined suit ripped along the seam as some formless thing pressed out from inside his body. The bones of his back creaked and separated as whatever it was pressed outward.

With a wet snap, his back split open. A thin spray of blood spread across the room as a huge, hideous thing, something that looked like a goat skull with a thin layer of grayish skin stretched over it and hundreds of thin, backward-facing horns, emerged from his ruined back, mouth open and full of dog-like teeth. The entire rest of his body folded away from it like a discarded mascot costume, as the skull was followed by hideously long, spindly arms and hands that ended in claws as long as pencils. The thing just kept coming, arms followed by a torso, followed by legs, until the horrible blood-soaked thing towered all the way to the ceiling. It sat in the remains of what had once been a human body, now turned inside out, stuck to it like a half-peeled wrapper. It looked down at Ava, moving its horrible, skeletal head to set its bulging, wild, ancient eyes on hers.

Ava stared. Then she screamed.

The horrible thing that must have been Simon seemed taken aback by this. It opened its teeth-brimming mouth to say something, but it came out in a bubbling mess of vowels and low hisses that seemed to burn Ava’s ears as it reached them. She stumbled backwards, still screaming, her mind a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts. She turned and raced for the door. As she went, she thought she saw the thing move toward her, half-stumbling on the fleshy mass that had once been its body. She grabbed the doorknob and threw the door open, racing out into the field.

#authorpost #avalina and the grave misunderstanding #original fiction #authors on tumblr #the actual book

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nancydhooper · 3 years

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The Enduring Harms of Trump’s Muslim Ban

As the Trump presidency draws to an end, we near the 4-year anniversary of the birth of one of its defining and most damning legacies: the Muslim ban. When Trump implemented his first Muslim ban, the public response was immediate. Crowds of protesters flooded airports in support of Muslims and other impacted communities who were immediately being detained or turned away all over the country. Lawyers and immigrants’ rights organizations nationwide, including the ACLU, filed a series of lawsuits as court after court ruled to block the ban. Despite the backlash, Trump issued new iterations of the ban to circumvent the law and conceal its real purpose, which in his own words was to block Muslims from entering the United States. Ultimately, the Supreme Court allowed the third iteration of the ban to be implemented. The Trump administration then further expanded the ban, explicitly targeting Africans. As a result, people from 13 countries still remain barred from coming to the U.S. Four years after the Muslim ban became a reality, families still remain separated, people are unable to celebrate life events or mourn the loss of loved ones, and dreams are faltering for millions of people worldwide. The stories of Neda, Anwar, Farah, and Haya show us how the Muslim ban has derailed lives and will continue to do so until President-elect Biden rescinds the ban.

FARAH

Photo by Katherine Taylor

Throughout my life, it’s never been easy for an Iranian person to come to the U.S. through the usual channels that a person of any other nationality would be able to go through without hassle. It has always been a super scrutinizing process. The background checks can take up to a year even for a simple visitor visa. I know this process very well, since I have been trying to bring my parents here for almost a decade. My sister and I moved to the U.S. in 2011 for a better life and to join our brother who had moved to the States four years prior. Ten years later, my brother is a dentist, my sister is an architect, and I am an attorney. We have all built lives and families here. My parents have never been able to enjoy our success because they cannot be with us. In 2017, my brother finally became a U.S. citizen, and we were so excited to bring my parents over through a family-based immigration process. By the time we could apply, the Muslim ban went into effect and we had to kind of give up any hope on getting my parents here. At the same time, it was so scary because of the uncertainty about what it meant and how it would affect people. My siblings and I spoke with various attorneys, and nobody knew anything. That was the scariest part, just not knowing how the ban would affect everyone. We decided to try applying for them anyway, hoping that the ACLU and other amazing attorneys would be able to get the ban overturned at the Supreme Court. Four years later, we are still separated because of the Muslim ban. My parents have had to miss so much in our lives. I’ve been with my husband for 8 years and married to him for 2 and my parents have never met him. They have never met my brother’s wife either. They had to attend our weddings and graduations via FaceTime. I know it’s difficult for them, not knowing when or whether they will ever see their children again, but they try not to show it. They’re hopeful that things will change at some point and they’ll be able to come here and meet all these important people in our lives.

I love America and its people. But I wish we would look at Muslims and other people perceived as different as people instead of attaching qualities or preconceived notions to them. It’s very cliche, but that’s the first step in understanding anybody outside your own little bubble. If we’re going to change anything for the better, that’s where it has to come from — trying to understand people who don’t necessarily look like you or have the same religion. What I miss most about my parents is their constant bickering. They are best friends, and cannot be away from one another for more than two seconds. They’ve been married for over 40 years and they never run out of things to talk, laugh, and bicker about. They have set an example that I’ve spent my whole life finding — that friendship in marriage. For the past eight years, my in-laws have been my surrogate parents here, and I can’t wait to put those two sets of parents together and just watch them interact. My parents’ English is not amazing, but I’m sure they can communicate through the language of love. I can’t wait. There are so many places we want to take my parents and so many people we want them to meet. It’s been so long and it feels so unattainable. I get emotional just thinking about it. Note: ‘Farah’ is a pseudonym used to protect her privacy.

ANWAR

Anwar and his children, Nadra and Mazeen.

A few years ago, I was announced a winner in the American immigration lottery. I then began a long and tiring journey to get my visa. The war in Yemen made the process extremely difficult. Many airports and government buildings were closed. In order to get my passport, I had to move as fast as I could through militant-controlled areas to reach the city of Maarib. Along the road, there were checkpoints where soldiers would investigate passengers and verify IDs and travel plans. The journey took more than 16 hours Once we had our passports, my wife and I sold all of our possessions and borrowed money from friends so we could travel to Djibouti because there is no American embassy in Yemen. It was a challenge just to get there. Travelers from Yemen must first go to Egypt or Sudan to get entry visas from an embassy in Cairo or Khartoum. After I finally arrived in Djibouti, I spent six months awaiting my visa. During that time, I lost my job and spent all the money I had saved. I was miserable because I had pledged to repay my friends as soon as I arrived in America. And then I got a rejection letter in the mail. My visa was denied because of the Muslim ban.

I had dreamed that my two young children, Nadra and Mazeen, would get to live away from the war and poverty in Yemen, that they would get an education and build a wonderful future. But we are still living in Yemen, where the state of the country is deteriorating every day. Now, thinking about the future frustrates us. It feels as if our dreams are slipping away, and we fear we may find ourselves unable to educate our children or provide them with food and medicine. Still, we are hopeful that the Muslim ban will be lifted. We trust America, its constitutional institutions, and the justice system. We want the new American government to hear our voices and rescind this ban retroactively so that my lottery visa is not lost. I am optimistic that they will. Coming to America would help me guarantee a safe life for my family and a bright future for my children.

HAYA

I was in high school when President Trump started talking about banning Muslims during his campaign. As a Syrian American, I had become accustomed to the discriminatory immigration system, especially after 9/11. But here was Trump literally saying, I’m going to ban Muslims, live on TV. Just hearing those words was confirmation that people like me and my family are not equal. It felt like violence. The words hurt, but I didn’t think Trump was being serious. I thought it was all for show. Even if he tried to enforce a ban, I was sure that some court would block it. There was just no way I could imagine America enforcing the ban, even though it basically just put onto paper all the discriminatory immigration policies my family had been dealing with since 9/11. So I was horrified when, just a few days after he took office, he made his Muslim ban a reality by signing the executive order. I was a senior in high school at the time — just a few months away from graduating. Because of the Muslim ban, my parents and 14-year-old sister could not get visas, so I had to attend my graduation alone. It was traumatic for me emotionally, to be physically separated from my family at a time like that. And I couldn’t even communicate with them freely because where they live, there’s no freedom of speech. So if I talk about politics on WhatsApp, for example, I could put them in jeopardy. It was just a really bad separation, and I felt it deeply.

I am the only U.S. citizen in my immediate family. My parents came here from Syria to build a better life, one free of oppression. Due to my dad’s job, however, we had to relocate a few years later back to the Middle East. There, I spent much of my childhood living between Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, visiting family and friends in Syria for holidays or special occasions. When the war in Syria broke out in 2011, though, that became increasingly difficult. After the Muslim ban became a reality, we felt trapped. We couldn’t return to Syria because of the war. We couldn’t live permanently in Saudi Arabia or the UAE because we are not Saudis or Emiratis. Now we could not go to the U.S. — at least, not as a family. We were stuck. Out of desperation, my parents decided to reach out to distant family members in Canada and see if we could immigrate there as refugees. That’s where we are today. I am currently in university, studying political science. When I first wrote to the ACLU in 2018, I said I couldn’t believe that a country that prides itself on its commitment to freedom and justice would close its doors on refugees and immigrants seeking help. I knew that was not what America was supposed to be. That’s why I am optimistic that the new administration will rescind the Muslim ban and restore hope to families like mine that have been separated for too long. It would be an important first step in reforming racist immigration policies, especially from the post-9/11 era. I dream that one day, the country I was born into will treat me as equal instead of discriminating based on nationality and religion.

NEDA

I am a member of the Baha’i faith, a religious minority that faces discrimination in my home country of Iran. I immigrated to the U.S. because I wanted to live in a place where I would not be discriminated against because of my name or religious customs. For the past several years, I have worked as a caregiver for elderly patients. When the Muslim ban was announced, I did not think I would be affected because I am a U.S. citizen and I am not Muslim. A few months later, when I applied for a visa to bring my fiancé here, I learned that I was wrong. My application was rejected immediately. I didn’t know it was possible to be treated this way in America. I was used to facing discrimination in Iran, but discrimination feels different when you’re not in your birth country. I’ve now been trying for years to bring my fiancé here. Most recently he had an interview at the U.S. consulate in Istanbul. I was hopeful that this time we would be successful and went to meet him there. But the consulate just gave me a waiver and told me to apply again. I filled out all the paperwork again and still, I am waiting. My fiancé and I were supposed to be married by now and living in America, our new home. Instead, we are stuck in limbo, still separated because of the Muslim ban.

The past few years have been mentally exhausting. Every time immigration officers tell me to do this or that, I have to get a lawyer, I have to do interviews, I have to pay a lot of money. I have friends and family who have gone through much worse because of the Muslim ban. One of my friends had a baby, and her mother could not get here to be by her side for the birth, even though she had a visa. My niece was hospitalized after a car accident and her husband, who was in Iran, was not able to come. A lot of families are separated, with one part here, another part there, unable to reunite during difficult times. At work, a lot of my coworkers know about the problem with my fiancé. They keep asking if there’s news, if he got here yet. And when I say no, they always say sorry. I don’t want to keep hearing the word sorry. I don’t want to be treated differently. I just want to be a citizen like everybody else. It’s my right to live here with my fiancé. I have no choice but to keep trying. I won’t give up. Note: ‘Neda’ is a pseudonym used to protect her privacy.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247012 https://www.aclu.org/news/immigrants-rights/the-enduring-harms-of-trumps-muslim-ban via http://www.rssmix.com/

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zombierunfiction · 6 years

Text

Season 2 Side Mission 11: Zombies, Stretch!

It took over a week for things in Abel to get back to normal. For Charlotte spending time with Sam was necessary. Janine had not complained when Charlotte asked for Sam and her to have a day off together right after everyone came back into Abel. Sam had stayed with her the whole time keeping her spirits up which is what she needed.

Currently though she was just looking to get back from Abel.

Charlotte, Simon, Jody and Sara had been sent out to a Church a town over to pick up some supplies when they started to get chased by zombified nuns.

"Come on guys!" Charlotte shouted as they ran through the gate with the zombies not far behind.

"Lower the gates! They're right behind - lower the gates!" Sam shouted as the gate lowered quickly cutting the runners off from the nuns who were picked off quickly. The four of them slowed to a stop panting heavily. Sam came out of the shack ruffling his hair. "Close one there, guys."

"Who would have thought a bunch of zombie nuns would be so hard to kill?" Charlotte said panting softly.

"And so fast!" Jody exclaims. "Even in the wimples and habits!"

"Hey, I went to a Catholic school. Nuns are the toughest women in the world, bar none." Simon said before laughing. "Bar nun."

"Got that right! I thought that one with the giant crucifix was going to-" Sara started before Jody jumpped in.

"She nearly did!"

"But she didn't. And Char, when you had to - oh, that was a-mazing!" Simon said as Charlotte laughed softly. "Well time to go and get our stretch on." He said happily as they walked over to an area that was set off just beyond the gate that had been corded off. When Abel was filled back up the Major had decided that the runners needed to stretch after a run to keep limber. So she had Jack and Eugene make up a recording for the runners to follow after a run.

"See you in the rec hall in five!" Jody said as they took off their headsets and packs.

Over the load speaker a voice rang out. "Mission completed! Begin stretching according to your usual cool down program."

After the the recording finished Charlotte walked with Simon, Sara, and Jody over to the rec hall which was a 10 foot by 10 foot room with an old couch and a TV with an old game system hooked up to it. They had some padded floors that had been set up for people who wanted to do yoga or anything like that.

Sam was sitting down in front of the TV with Janine beside him playing what looked like a castle defence game. Ed was sitting on the couch looking like he was trying to knit something but was struggling. Jody quickly took up the spot next to him and started helpping him out. Sara and Simon went to the other side of the room while Charlotte squatted down planting a kiss to Sam's neck.

"Having fun love?" She asked as Sam huffed.

"Trying. Janine has her own way of playing this game." He said as Janine rolled her eyes.

"It's called strategy Mr. Yao." She said with a huff of her own.

Charlotte chuckled walking over to Simon who was doing some stretches of his own while Sara was using one of the rollers over her outer thigh. She took off her shoes and sat down on the mat beginning to do some stretches as well.

Sara sighed deeply. "I love using a foam roller on my iliotibial band. Don't you Char? Feels like-" She let out a pain groan followed by an even more pained moan.

"That's exactly what it feels like. Feels like pain." Jody said with a laugh.

"I don't care for those myself." Charlotte said as she slowly moved into a stretch by pulling one leg towards her while leaving the other down.

Sam looked over slightly. "Looks ridiculous, like you're trying to roll out pastry with completely the wrong part of your body." He said turning back to his game. "Hmm... do you think there'll ever be pastry again? I mean, that French stuff. Crisp, light. Oh, what do they call them? Those things, with the layers of pastry and cream and icing on the top, and that do those feathered lines of chocolate, and when you crunch through them, all the cream went everywhere?"

"Mille-feuille." Janine states. "And don't building your mead hall there, I need it for defensive entrenchment."

"No, you see, I get an extra bonus for building there. Look." Sam said as the game made some noises showing he had built his mead hall.

Charlotte changed over to the other leg stretching then noticed Sam looked over at her with a smile as Janine sighed heavily. "I'm just going to have to-" The sound of something being destroyed in the game made Sam whine.

"Aw! You didn't have to do it right away! Now while I was distracted watching Char do - is that a groin stretch? It definitely seems to involved the groin-ular region in a major way." Sam said as Charlotte laughed.

"This is a minor stretch compared to others. You should know that from experience." Charlotte said making Simon and Ed snort laughing hard. Sam's face turned bright red turning back to his game.

"The next wave of Visigoths is coming over the hill in three turns, Mr. Yao. We have to be ready. Look spiked fence." Janine explained.

"Oh yeah, well, you'd know all about building stuff and keeping it secret and defensive position around your secret underground laboratory." Sam said sarcasticly.

"Yes, yes I would. I know how to do my duty and keep my mouth shut." Janine said snidely.

"And I thought we were friends." Sam said whistfully as Charlotte shifted to a sxtanding position before leaning foreward onto her hands.

"Friends are an operational liability. I knew the secret wouldn't stay secret the minute you all arrived here. Why don't you just go and help Charlotte with that - what is that? Downward dog? While I deal with the king of the Tervingi." Janine states.

"Yes it is downward dog." Charlotte said as Sam huffed.

"Oh yea! Oh you'd love that, wouldn't you? All the points for you, none of the points for me!" Sam said quickly.

"That's how it's going to be anyway, Mr. Yao. Just take a look. The Tervingi are attacking in three, two, one." Janine said as music signalled the bad guy coming making Sam groan softly.

Sara looked over and made a face at Simon. "How are you doing that, Simon?" She asked making Charlotte stand up and look over seeing Simon had curled himself into a yoga position making him look like a Parker Roll.

"What?" He asked rather muffled.

"It's not normal." Jody said when she looked over.

"It's normal if you did twelve years of yoga, honey! " He lifted his head with a grin. "Got to keep limber. One of the best ways to prevent aging."

"Doesn't it - it looks like it mess with your internal organs." Sara questioned.

"Or like, compresses your brain!" Jody started before Sara finished.

"Into your ass."

Charlotte laughed before shaking her head. Simon was obsessed with staying fit and young. He was always talking about fitness and supliments that Charlotte got the feeling that the worst case senerio for Simon was growing old not zombies. She started to do a variation of a quadricep stretch but kept her back leg straight leaning forward.

The game lets out a game over sound making Sam groan. "Aw, dammit!"

"Now, think hard, Mr. Yao. Ought you to have spent your gold on that mead hall, or would you have done better preparing defenses against the - " Janine started to lecture before Sam held up his hand.

"Alright I get it." He said as Janine rolled her eyes.

"Imagine if everyone had thought this way before the zombie apocalupse, Mr. Yao!" Janine said quickly. "If some of us hadn't stuck to our positions, come what may - "

"I understand, Janine!" Sam snapped before sighing heavily. "I never liked this game anyway. I'm going to go and see what Char's doing." He gets up and walks over to her looking at her oddly. "Um... I thought you were doing a simple quadricep stretch but that looks different."

Charlotte smiled. "Stretching different muscles." She said before switching to the other leg. "You should try doing some of the stretches. Keep limber as Simon said." She looked up at Sam with a grin. "Could make things interesting."

Sam couldn't help the blush that covered his face before he smiled. "You're on a roll today aren't you love?" He said making Charlotte's smile get bigger.

"I do my best." She said as Ed groaned in frustration from the couch.

"No, look. You have to hook it over like this." Jody said softly as he struggled working on something.

"I can't get my fingers to - " Ed started before Jody gently soothed.

"It's okay, just relax. You'll get it."

"If I turn it around, then maybe I can-" Ed tried to move it as Jody giggled softly.

"You're holding your breath. Try to breath normally." She said softly as Ed groaned again.

"Aw, now look! I've dropped a stitch!" He whined softly.

"Don't panic, we can fix it." She said encouragingly. "You're doing really well, you know. Fair Isle is hard."

"I just wanted to do a little hat for Molly." Ed said sounding disheartened.

"We can get some for you, you know. Lots of kid's clothes in town. Just say the word." Simon offered before Jody and Ed looked at him pointedly.

"That's not the point." They said in tandum.

Jody took a deep breath. "It means more if you make it yourself."

"And it's the challenge." Ed said with a grin.

"You know, like you and those ultra-long runs you go for just for the heck of it." Sara said with a grin.

"And you and your constant target practice." Simon counters.

"It's good to have a challenge. Otherwise, you go soft." Sara said.

Charlotte slid down into a split leaning forward humming softly as Sam sits down next to her. "I dunno, look at what Char's holding now. Might be good for the hamstrings, but it looks a bit too much like hard work, to me."

"My point entirely, Sam, thanks." Sara said with a grin.

After a few more stretches Charlotte shifted to a push up position where she kept one hand on the ground and held the other above her before switching to the other. The game made another game over sound as Janine growled.

"Ah! Damn you, Alaric the First! Damn you to Hades! How am I supposed to run a stable and profitable empire when you-" Janine ranted as Sam looked up from his magazine that was almost a year old.

"Oh, still playing that?" He questioned.

"I didn't know you even had a trebuchet! I don't even think they're historically accurate for the period." Janine complained as she restarted the game.

"That's a bit silly, that game, really. Trying to prevent the fall of Rome? It's just impossible! They got decadent, your soldiers are rubbish, non of them know how to fight-" Sam said before Janine interjected.

"That's defeatist talk."

Sam took a moment before replying. "I mean, by this point, right, the Roman Empire couldn't possibly survive. They've forgotten all of the skills of their ancestors. They didn't even-"

"-know how to make mille-feuille anymore?" Janine suggested looking at him over her shoulder.

"Yes. No, wait. Are you trying to make some kind of point, Janine?" Sam questioned.

"You know this is the Major's favorite game. If you can prevent the fall of the Roman Empire, you can prevent-" Janine explained before Sam held up his hands in surender.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

"Look at Charlotte, working on core strength. Look at Simon working on - what are you doing , Si?" Janine asked as Simon was holding a push up position but sitting on his forearms.

"It us, strengthens the back muscles, darling. It's great for uh, other horizontal activities." Simon said with a charming grin making Janine's face go bright red.

She laughed nervously before responding. "Thanks... Strengthening defenses. Do you see?"

"Do you have to turn everything into a teaching moment?" Sam questioned.

"Yes. Yes, I do." Janine said defiantly as Sam sighed crawling back over to start up another game with her. A few minutes later the door opened showing Maxine standing in the doorway.

"Guys, I think Evan's looking for you?" She said shutting the door behind her.

"But we're on break. Plus, I'm - " Sam started before another sound came from the game. "Yes, yes! In your face, Uric of Aquitania, in your face! See if you can come back at me now with your stupid flaming arrows."

"Yeah, somethings going on outside the gate. They need spare runners." Maxine explained as Simon and Charlotte stood up out of their stretches.

"Evan was supposed to send Two, Sixteen, and Nineteen out on a canned food run. They'll be coming back in, laden and slow." Sara said standing up as well.

"Mmm... is it urgent? Because I've got this campaign, and I - " Sam started.

Maxine looked at them rather confused. "Evan said to say 'zombie priests', who picked up a trail-"

Charlotte groaned face palming herself. "I thought I saw something in those cloisters." She said as Jody got up as well.

"They always hunt together. Priests and nuns. I tell you, they're in league with the devil." Simon said.

Sara gave him a look. "Maybe not the devil."

"Well, it depends what school you went to." Simon said before looking down at Sam who groaned softly. "Come on, Sam, get on secondary comms."

"Let's go distract some zombies while our runners come on home." Jody said as they walked out leaving Sam and Charlotte in the room with Ed and Janine.

"I guess we've got some zombies in habits longing to chase you." Sam said as Charlotte laughed walking out with him.

"That sounds like very bad Rofflenet spam." Charlotte said holding his hand tight.

"I don't know what's wrong with my brain, sometimes. Well time to run." Sam said with a smile as they headed towards the gate.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

< 61 >

Season 1 Beginning

Season 2 Beginning

#zombie #zombies run #zombie run #ZombieRun #zombiesrun #runner 5 #runner five #runner5 #runnerfive #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #run

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cuthian · 6 years

Text

In Hell, We Stand By You Chapter Five

Hi there, guys!

Just a quick FYI for all of you. The last two chapters of this part are still in editing and rewriting, so after the next chapter on tuesday, I will pause updating for a week or so, until my last exam is done and I will be able to spend some more time on actually writing.

It won't take more than a week, maximum two, I'm sure, to have the last two chapters up to where they need to be before I can update them.

Thank you for all the support so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Love, Annaelle

TRIGGER WARNING: Steve briefly thinks about suicide and dying, but ultimately doesn't do anything and talks about it with a healthcare professional.

Chapter Five

—————

The war against Iraq has been a part of many Americans’ reality for some time, but it truly hit home for the Barnes-Proctor family six months ago, when news broke that their youngest granddaughter, Capt. Rebecca Barnes, was captured by a faction of Al’Qaeda. Capt. Barnes’ capture was not made public knowledge until two months ago, when images of Capt. Barnes being rescued from her cell by U.S. Army soldiers, guided by Iron Man, flickered onto TV screens and internet sites.

The images of Barnes, 22, shocked Americans, and Barnes’ family specifically, deeply.

…In all, 34 soldiers from Barnes’ unit were unaccounted for – either captured, dead, or missing – after fierce fighting at Basra in south-east Iraq, but Capt. Barnes is as of yet the only known survivor. From the single image that has been released, it seems obvious that Capt. Barnes’ rights as a POW were severely violated, and the fact that her return to the U.S. needed to be delayed by two months until Capt. Barnes was stable enough to withstand transport only reinforces such ideas.

…Barnes, the granddaughter of State Senator James Proctor and Doctor Rebecca Proctor, joined the Army in July 2004 after high school to gain life experience and, to paraphrase Dr. Rebecca Proctor, to “pay her dues to her country as all those in our family have done”.

…“Becca has always been strong,” Dr. Proctor said at a press conference last month. “We have no doubt that she will pull through and return to the U.S. as the hero she now is.”

Capt. Barnes’ ordeal, to which we can only speculate based on a singular image, will certainly keep the nation enthralled for weeks to come, as Capt. Barnes is prepared to return to U.S. by medical envoy.

—M. Pleadt, CNN, ‘Captain Rebecca Barnes to return to the U.S. after time as POW’, 2008

—————

Rebecca Barnes’ residence, Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America

July 2011 Steve

The light that filtered through the thin, gauzy curtains was still faint and pale, and Steve blinked lazily at the clock on the opposite wall. It ticked on merrily, undisturbed by his heavy gaze, showing a time that was far from socially acceptable to be awake. Steve hadn’t slept through an entire night since he had received the serum though, and after he’d been forced to watch Bucky fall to his death…

Closing his eyes…

He swallowed thickly and shook his head.

The thoughts and images that haunted him did not bear thinking of in daylight.

He shook himself again and summarily focused on piece of paper on the fridge, listing his schedule for the day. It was a simple schedule, and he’d only complied in making it because he’d learned, in the weeks since he’d moved out of Becky’s spare bedroom and into the second bedroom in Becca’s apartment, that it was a really great motivator to get out of bed.

One step at a time.

Day by day.

Hour by hour.

Minute by minute.

After Becca had returned Bucky’s dog tags to him, Steve had made a conscious effort to get better.

The twenty-first century terrified him on a daily basis still, but he’d found that it wasn’t so overwhelming once he found the right friends to help him adjust. When he had shown Becca the article on the Smithsonian exhibit, tears of anger and frustration burning in his eyes at the thought of his drawings of Bucky being on display like that, she’d assured him she’d find a way to take care of it.

Two days later, a tall, beautiful woman with strawberry-blonde hair and an impeccable suit had shown up in Becky’s living room with a pile of papers that he needed to sign.

She’d explained that, while no one had been informed he was actually alive, she could put things in motion to have his driver’s license validated, his passport updated and his back pay from the Army released. It had all sounded like a load of hogwash to Steve, but it had been the papers he needed to sign saying he did not consent to his private property being used in a public display that nearly had him bursting into tears again.

The woman—Ms. Potts, as she’d introduced herself—had patted his shoulder kindly and explained that no museum had the right to exhibit his personal belongings without his express permission, but that such technicalities were often overlooked when there wasn’t a family member alive to legally object to the exhibit. He’d never signed anything as fast before.

A day later, Ms. Potts had called him to tell him the exhibit had been temporarily postponed, and she was working on getting the museum to return all of his personal belongings to him.

It had also been the day Steve had caught himself sitting on the bathroom floor with a razor blade slipping between his fingertips, the metal cool and sharp where he had it pressed up against the thin layer of skin covering his ulnar artery.

It had been, quite honestly, a terrifying experience.

He didn’t want to kill himself—not truly.

He didn’t always see the point of being alive when none of his loved ones were anymore, but he’d never actively tried to take his own life before.

He’d confided in Becca first, to his own surprise, counting on the fact that the other woman had been in his shoes—somewhat, anyway—to help her understand his reluctance to admit the weakness he’d discovered in himself.

The thought of having to vocally admit to a weakness like battle-fatigue was petrifying.

He was, for all intents and purposes, still Captain America.

Captain America was never meant to succumb to an act of cowardice as vile and inadequate as battle fatigue. He’d brought it up with Becca for that purpose alone—he knew she would have to understand what it would mean, having been in the Army herself.

He didn’t think Becky, for all that she was immensely knowledgeable and understanding, would know what accusations of such nature could lead to if overheard by the wrong person.

Steve, however, did. He was intimately and painfully aware of what happened to soldiers who succumbed to the weakness. He’d seen good men lead before a tribunal, accused and condemned for something Steve didn’t think was fair—no one asked to see the things they did in war. No one asked to be in a war in the first place; but nonetheless, those that didn’t know how to cope as well as others were ostracized and kicked out…

He’d even seen a man executed for it once.

It had not been common in their ranks, but Private Lucas O’Geary’s terrified, wide eyes as he was led before a firing squad were burned into Steve’s memory.

Becca had, gently and calmly, explained that things weren’t done like that anymore, and that it was no sin nor cowardice to admit to what she called PTSD. She’d told him of the therapist she talked to once a week, and the group meeting she frequented, where she was able to share her experiences with others who had gone through the same thing.

The idea itself was comforting, but it had still taken him several days to take her up on her offer to accompany her to one of said meetings, and a few days more until he relented and called the phone number she had given him—a therapist who was trustworthy and good, and willing to help him.

It had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, but there was something reassuring about knowing there was someone other than Becky or Becca to call when his own emotions and the world itself would completely overwhelm him again.

The therapist, a kind, seemly woman named Karen with thick copper curls and a friendly smile that reminded him of his mother so much it ached, had taken everything that came with Steve’s unusual background in stride and had focused, first and foremost, on ensuring he was comfortable.

She had signed the paperwork Becca and Ms. Potts insisted upon without a fuss, and had helped Steve talk through his life before the war, and how it still affected him—when he’d tried to deflect and tell her it was, apparently, all required reading in high school, she easily countered his point and reminded him that none of the historians who wrote those textbooks were him.

She wanted to hear from him.

It had been Karen who suggested mapping out each day, giving him a reason to get out of bed each morning, regardless of the dreary weather or his own dreary mood.

It had, to Steve’s greatest surprise, helped more than he cared to admit.

It had also been Karen who suggested he move out of Becky’s spare bedroom and into an actual apartment, where he could legitimately build himself a home. Becca had offered the second room in her apartment, citing she needed a roommate anyway, and Steve might as well start out with someone he could actually trust.

Living with the youngest Barnes had been… it had been a revelation, to say the very least.

He’d been shocked to his core on the first morning after he had moved in, when he had walked into the kitchen to find Becca eating a bowl of a sugary concoction she claimed was cornflakes dressed in nothing but a skimpy pair of panties and a tank top that honestly revealed more than it covered.

Steve was fairly certain he’d never blushed so hard in his life.

He’d also run into the doorpost trying to walk right back out of the kitchen and had been forced to sit through the most embarrassing ten minutes of his life while Becca’d applied butterfly Band-Aids to the cut above his eyebrow—still dressed in nothing but the top and her underwear—and Steve had tried to look everywhere but at her.

Steve grinned at the memory now, weeks later, after Becca had slapped him up the head and told him to get his head out of the gutter and had reminded him that, “you were like basically married to my great-uncle, or something. Would have been if had been legal. Whatever. It’s weird. You’re hot, but I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole, buddy.”

It had made a whole lot more sense when she had been dressed and poking him in the chest until he agreed with her. Once that issue had been cleared, Steve and Becca had fallen into a routine so smoothly, Steve found it difficult to believe he’d been here less than a month.

He had learned to work Becca’s coffeemaker on his second day in the apartment, when it became apparent that Becca didn’t really function as a human being before her third cup of caffeine.

She had shown him how to work the complicated monstrosity before sitting him down and suggesting he and Karen-the-therapist talk about healthy ways to go about trying to catch up with the twenty-first century. It had helped, to have a few different suggestions, to figure out what best suited him.

He’d began with day-to-day things, to ensure he could live without feeling completely out of his depth.

From there on, Becca had helped him choose some books and films to watch, to slowly immerse himself in pop culture until he felt less like he didn’t understand a single word anyone was saying. He quite enjoyed animated movies, and he’d been stunned to watch the progress of Disney movies from Snow White—which he remembered seeing with Bucky in ’37—to newer ones like Moana and Brave.

Neither Becca, nor Becky or Karen-the-therapist ever made him feel like he was an idiot for not understanding every reference or for not being able to navigate his way through life as smoothly as he should be able to, and it meant more to him than he could say now.

He’d felt much like a child, stumbling along in the dark while trying to learn how to walk, before Becca and Karen-the-therapist and Becky had taken his hands in theirs and guided him back out into the light.

He’d learned so much.

He’d learned that the world was a much bigger, but simultaneously a much smaller place now, and that women, people of color and openly queer people could practice any profession they liked, and that Becca liked to flirt with everything that moved when she was sober, and tended to include things that didn’t move when she had had a few drinks.

He learned that it was quite alright for women to have a social life as thriving as Bucky’s had been, back before he had been shipped out and they had to have a cover in place so people wouldn’t be suspicious of the two young, single men living together in a one-bedroom apartment.

He’d learned that Becca’s social life was more than thriving.

She had taken him out for drinks—disregarding his protests about not being able to get drunk—and had introduced him to the bartender in the club nearest to their apartment and her friend, fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and general human catastrophe Clint, before proceeding to get absolutely hammered and dancing with anyone who caught her eye.

Steve had loved it.

He had loved the freedom and the beauty in Becca’s behavior, he’d loved the way she spun both men and women around the dancefloor confidently, without so much as a hint of fear.

He’d loved the way Clint knew sign language and helped him remember and expand his vocabulary before promising to take Steve out to show him real coffee.

He had especially loved her hilarious one-sided conversation with the potted plant in the lobby when they returned home that night, and had almost laughed himself silly before he’d been able to pull himself together enough to get Becca up to their apartment and into her bed without further incidents.

It had been a good night.

Steve smiled wryly now, clenching his fingers around his mostly-empty cup.

It had been a really good night, followed by a series of increasingly terrible days. Days where he couldn’t, where he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the will to eat…

He didn’t have many of those days anymore—but they still remained.

Both Becca and Karen-the-therapist had told him it was no more than normal, and Steve believed them—he did—but he still felt so tired.

His lack of sleep was usually to blame on his overly active mind and his nightmares, but every now and then, Becca’s active social life succeeded in keeping him wide awake too. Such had been the case tonight, when Becca and her date of the evening had stumbled into the apartment around one AM, giggling and stumbling over furniture and against the wall until they’d reached Becca’s bedroom.

Steve had felt it prudent to leave his bedroom to avoid hearing anything that might scar him for life.

As if on cue, Becca stumbled into the kitchen, her hair snarled, thrown into a messy knot with strands slipping down to curl against her neck. She was wearing a shirt that Steve was sure was one of the shirts she bought for him before she’d stolen it and shorts that ended mid-thigh and she looked like she wasn’t quite sure why she was conscious.

Steve smiled into his cup as she collapsed at the kitchen island, pillowing her head on her arms, before getting to his feet to get Becca a cup of coffee and to refill his own.

“Good morning,” he drawled playfully, pushing her favorite mug in her hands before retaking his seat.

She groaned wordlessly in response, but after a healthy gulp of her coffee, she glared at him balefully and moaned, “Shut up, Rogers. How are you so perky in the morning? Is it the serum? That’s cheating.”

Her lethargy was almost comical, and Steve couldn’t help but smile at her, because he saw Bucky in her, whining and moaning after he’d gone dancing, and though it hurt, he didn’t mind the ache so much anymore. It meant he was still capable of feeling.

He’d been afraid of losing that permanently for a while.

The ache felt good now—a reminder.

A reminder that though he’d lost something—Bucky—everything—it had been real.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

“Drink your coffee,” he told her gently, nudging her protruding lower lip with the tip of his finger playfully. “Gotta tell me about your date. Went pretty well, from what I heard,” he added, chuckling slightly when her eyes widened in surprise and then horror.

“You heard us?” she squawked indignantly, cheeks flushing with aghast embarrassment.

Before he could reply, Steve caught sight of a slim, beautiful woman in a tight black dress with straps slipping down her shoulders and high heels with red soles dangling from her fingers by the strap, her short red hair almost as wild and tangled as Becca’s long locks. The woman paused in the doorway, eyes widening as she took both him and Becca in, before she raised an eyebrow at him.

It almost felt like a challenge.

“I didn’t hear anything too scarring,” he said slowly, both to his roommate and the woman in the doorway. “But the fact that she’s standing in the doorway’s a pretty good indicator too.”

Becca sat bolt upright and swiveled around in her seat to look at the other woman, who now leaned against the doorjamb with something akin to a sheepish grin on her lips. “I promise I wasn’t sneaking out,” she said, slipping the slipping strap of her dress back onto her shoulder. “I have work in a few hours, and I assure you my boss would never let me live it down if I turned up like this.”

There was a distinct lack of accent to her words, and it rubbed Steve the wrong way—usually, with his enhanced hearing, he was more than capable of discerning accents, however faint.

The fact that he couldn’t with Becca’s hook-up bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

“You don’t have to go,” Becca said quietly, slipping off of her stool to approach the other woman, trailing her fingers down the redhead’s arm in an intimate gesture that made Steve flush and look away. “Stay for breakfast,” he heard her say as he turned to the ice box, opening it partially to get started on making aforementioned breakfast, and partially to pretend he wasn’t listening in on the two women.

He did not feel awkward about the fact that Becca had someone over—it had happened once or twice before—but more about the fact that this woman seemed to have no compunction or shame about walking into their kitchen the next morning.

Becca’s usual type snuck out the door while they had breakfast.

He and Becca had had several conversations about it, actually, and though Steve couldn’t imagine feeling content with strictly sexual encounters, he understood that Becca had no need for romantic relationships in her life right now.

The thing that felt most odd for him was how little concern she displayed in regards to her sexuality.

It was, however, comforting to have someone to confide in about his own experiences, someone with similar issues and who understood what it meant to struggle with one’s sexual identity.

Of course, his experiences were limited to Bucky and having to hide what they were to each other for fear of being persecuted and hurt, and Peggy, and the terrifying, new way she had made him feel, even if nothing had ever happened between them.

He set out the carton of eggs and the wrapped plate of bacon, briefly contemplating whether to make French toast too, before discarding the idea. He was the only one that ate more than a regular person, and experience had taught him that Becca ate like a sick bird in the mornings—something about her stomach not tolerating food before noon.

He’d just make one or two eggs extra, a few more slices of bacon and toast, and they’d be fine.

When he let the door fall closed, he caught a glimpse of the two women, entwined in what looked like a very passionate embrace, with Becca’s back pressed against the doorframe and the redhead’s fingers in her hair. Steve coughed awkwardly, averting his eyes as they jumped and broke apart. “Sorry to interrupt,” he deadpanned, biting his lower lip to hide his grin when Becca blushed. “Just checking if you’re actually staying for breakfast.”

“I suppose I could,” the other woman smiled tightly while turning to Becca. “If you wouldn’t mind lending me some clean clothes and your shower?”

Becca looked back at the woman with an expression on her face that reminded Steve all too much of the way he’d used to look at Bucky, or even Peggy. It was an expression filled with awe and fondness, and it made Steve ache nostalgically.

It was odd to see it on Becca’s face, especially considering her feelings towards romance.

He watched as she ushered the other woman back to her bedroom nonetheless, presumably to provide the aforementioned clothing, before turning back to his eggs and bacon and getting to work.

It’d been the deal they’d established when he first moved in; he did not have a stable income yet, so he couldn’t contribute to the rent yet, and he didn’t like doing nothing, so he’d taken over cooking in the apartment. It wasn’t like Becca couldn’t cook or was a bad cook—she’d made it clear she just preferred not to cook, and was happy to relinquish these duties to Steve instead.

He moved to the oven and popped in a couple of slices of bread to lightly toast them before moving back to the stove and getting started on the bacon as Becca walked back into the kitchen, moving around him smoothly and quietly to fetch plates and cutlery.

They moved around each other fluidly, in a dance born of fond familiarity, and it never ceased to amaze Steve. He’d fallen in with Becca and the extended Barnes’ family so easily it almost felt like breathing.

It wasn’t truly like feeling at home—because he didn’t think he could truly feel at home without Bucky at his side—but the sense of belonging and family they gave him made it easier to get up each morning.

The schedule had helped too.

He and Becca had dinner with Becky every Thursday, and he joined Becca at her VA meeting once a week. He met Karen for a therapy session three times a week, usually right after he’d drop Becca off at S.H.I.E.L.D. so he could use her car to drive up to Queens. Clint insisted on bringing him coffee at least a few times a week too.

Last week, he had added boxing at a local boxing gym twice a week to the schedule, because he’d missed boxing, had missed punching stuff when he got pissed off, and the grimy little gym he’d found reminded him of Goldie’s Boxing gym, where Bucky had taught him how to box.

He smiled sadly before refocusing on cooking breakfast, Becca and her guest.

He waited until he could hear the pipes groan as the shower turned on before he turned to Becca, offering her what he hoped was a cheeky grin and raised an eyebrow. “So?” he asked playfully. “Having fun? I thought you preferred it when they didn’t stick around.”

The flush on Becca’s cheeks was very nearly hilarious, but he listened nonetheless when she spoke, shyly, in a tone he’d never heard from her before.

“I know,” she admitted, setting the plates on the kitchen island before fiddling with the cutlery. “I don’t know what it is… she’s…” Becca shrugged helplessly and grinned in the direction of her bedroom. “She’s really cool. And just—” Steve barely managed to suppress the urge to chuckle when Becca flapped her hands desperately. “She’s really, really awesome.”

And though it ached, seeing this… this expression of youthful infatuation on Becca’s face, it made him inexplicably happy for her too. She had been nothing but kind to him, and he was pleased she’d found someone who could make her smile.

“I’m sorry we kept you up though,” she frowned, and Steve hated the way the smile immediately disappeared from her lips. It reminded him all too much of all the times Bucky had lost that smile—that radiant, beautiful smile that seemed to run in the Barnes family—because Steve had needed caring for, because he’d made Bucky worry—

“Becca,” he sighed heavily, turning to the table with the frying pan in hand, evenly distributing the eggs and bacon on the plates before setting it back on the counter. “We’ve been through this. It’s still your apartment. You get to do whatever—and whoever—you want.”

Becca just grinned dopily at him, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned back to the oven to pull out the bread. “...did you make a joke? Did Steve Rogers, Captain fucking America, make a joke about my sex life? Holy shit!” Steve groaned as Becca poked at him, but he couldn’t quite suppress the smile that tugged on his lips at her teasing.

“Just,” Becca shook her head and wrinkled her nose as she sipped at her forgotten cold coffee. “Steve. Stevie. C’mon. We’ve been over this. This ain’t just my place anymore. You live here too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve swatted at her half-heartedly and vaguely listened to see if the shower was still on before he took a seat at the kitchen island and gestured at the plate of eggs and toast. “Eat your food,” he told her sternly, wrinkling his nose when she stuck her tongue out at him before complying.

They ate in silence for a while before Becca frowned and glanced towards the bedrooms. “Is it me or is she taking a long time?”

Before he could contemplate her question, there was a firm knock on the door.

Steve looked at Becca quizzically, but her expression was just as comically puzzled as his own undoubtedly was. He hardly thought visitors at six-thirty in the morning were common in this era; they certainly hadn’t been in the time he had been here.

“You expecting more guests?” he asked, aiming for playful, though he could tell the tone fell flat. Becca shook her head wordlessly, frowning in confusion, and rubbed her fingers through her hair, tying it up again in a marginally less messy knot before she padded out of the kitchen to open the door.

Steve remained seated at the table for another few seconds until he pushed himself to his feet, wandering out into the living room to see who had called upon them so ridiculously early in the morning.

He froze halfway between the kitchen and the living room, one hand braced against the doorframe as he stared at the tall, dark skinned man that stood before Becca, looking hilariously out of place in his dark leather trench coat, eyepatch and boots beside Becca, who was still rumpled with sleep and dressed in her pyjamas.

Steve had never met another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent beyond Becca and her friend Clint, but this man breathed authority and Steve barely even had to look at Becca to realise that whoever this man was, he was high up in the chain of command.

He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. would be looking to recruit him, had expected as much after everything he had found out about it in the weeks since he’d been awake, but he hadn’t quite expected them to show up at six-thirty on a Wednesday morning.

He hadn’t quite expected that level of desperation.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” the man said, eyeing Steve with the one eye—Christ—in a way that made his skin crawl and made him feel entirely too self-conscious in his own soft pyjama pants and Star Wars t-shirt Becca had insisted upon. “Just the man I was looking for.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Steve said slowly, frowning as he tried to decipher the look on Becca’s face, stepping closer cautiously. He had had his fair share of experience with overbearing officers and higher-ups—senator Brandt had been the least of his concerns at times—but he had to admit that showing up at someone’s private residence at the crack of dawn was beyond anything he’d imagined possible, even in this century, where privacy seemed like a farfetched illusion at times.

“Steve,” Becca spoke up hoarsely, frowning impressively as she glanced towards the bedrooms. “This is Director Fury. He’s the man I told you about.”

Steve stiffened and glanced back to the tall man with new apprehension.

Not just an overbearing superior then—the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself. Becca had, in fact, told him about Fury, and how she supposed he would try to recruit Steve as soon as Becca gave him an inch.

It seemed he did not even wait for Becca to give him the inch.

“What brings you here, Director?” Steve demanded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorpost, eyes firmly on the Director’s.

There was an air of authority to him that made the soldier in Steve want to straighten his back and snap into position, but he purposefully suppressed the urge. He was not a soldier right now, and he was going to make damned sure Director Fury knew that too.

Steve didn’t miss the way the older man glanced towards Becca with an almost peculiar look on his face before he replied succulently, “I don’t believe Agent Barnes’s presence is required.”

“Excuse me?” Becca hissed, pushing herself away from the front door, and Steve barely managed to put himself between them—it was Fury’s own fault, really. Steve expected the leader of what appeared to be an organisation filled with an assortment of spies and former military personnel to have figured out that it was never a good idea to antagonise someone before their second cup of coffee.

“Becca,” he said softly, curling his fingers around her upper arm delicately—the last time he had grabbed her without thinking, she had carried finger-shaped bruises for a week—to draw the heat of her infuriated gaze back towards himself. “It’s okay.”

The anger in her eyes very swiftly gave way to worry, and that made him feel a little queasy in itself, because he hated when people worried about him.

He nodded towards the bedrooms, where the shower had finally stopped running, and gave her a nudge in that direction. He’d much rather she tend to her guest while he tended to his so they could get back to their damned breakfasts than stand here and argue.

They looked at each other in silence for another moment, and though Steve was uncomfortably aware of Fury’s eye upon them, he didn’t look away from Becca until he saw acceptance bloom in her eyes. She clenched her jaw in defiance and glared at him, but didn’t protest further and stomped towards her bedroom, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

He stared after her for a moment before Fury cleared his throat, and Steve turned back to him reluctantly.

“You’re up early, Captain,” Fury finally said, stopping and turning towards Steve with an inscrutable expression on his face. “Trouble sleeping?”

Steve was, contrary to popular belief, far from innocent and had engaged in plenty of things that would make even Becca blush—not in the least because he’d engaged in most of those things with her late great-uncle—and he didn’t miss the pointed look Fury gave the bedroom door Becca had just closed.

He did not appreciate the wordless implication.

“I slept for seventy years, sir.” He bit back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think I’ve had my fill.”

The other man inclined his head towards Steve, conceding his point, and followed him into the kitchen when Steve retreated there, his stomach growling something fierce, clearly unhappy at not being fed breakfast—Steve couldn’t say he disagreed there.

“Then you should be out, celebrating,” the director insisted, “See the world. I’m sure Agent Barnes would be willing to show you whatever you desire.” It was the third implication to his relationship with Becca that the man had made since he’d stepped foot inside, and it rubbed Steve all the wrong ways.

He ignored the urge to lash out at the man and eyed him speculatively.

“You here with a mission, sir?” Steve leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter as he eyed Fury intently. It was the only reason he could think of for the other man to be insistent on seeing him at 6 AM on a regular Wednesday.

Fury raised an eyebrow, but nodded nonetheless. “I am.”

Steve frowned, unsure of what to do with that information or why Fury would think he would want a mission. “You trying to get me back in the world?”

Fury shrugged and handed him a folder—Steve didn’t even want to know where he’d pulled that thing from—before he said, “I’m trying to save it.” The folder was deceptively thin and light, and Steve was sure he was not going to like what he was going to find inside.

He was right.

He narrowly avoided using some of the finer creative curses he’d picked up from the Howlies when he flipped to the first page and his eye fell upon the fucking cube.

“Hydra’s secret weapon,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Tell me you haven’t actually been using this.” He looked up at Fury angrily, fingers tightening on the fragile paper of the folder. “Please tell me you knew better than to use their secret weapon.”

Fury shuffled a little, and the look on his face was the first hint of actual human emotion Steve saw on it, even if it was only mild awkwardness. “Howard Stark fished that thing out of the ocean when he was looking for you,” Fury said, nodding towards the picture. “He thought what we think; the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy.” He must have read the confusion from Steve’s face, because he simply shrugged and added, “It is something the world sorely needs.”

He leafed through the limited number of pages in the folder, shaking his head. “Who took it from you?”

“He’s called Loki,” Fury sneered, and Steve was both impressed with and wary of the man that somehow managed to put a crack in Director Fury’s implacable expression. “He’s… not from around here,” the Director continued. “There’s a lot we’ll have to bring you up to speed on if you’re in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

Steve snorted and thought about some of the websites he had accidentally stumbled upon after Becca had shown him how to Google things and how to order things online. “At this point, sir,” he smiled wryly, “I doubt anything would surprise me.”

Fury grinned sardonically. “Ten bucks says you’re wrong.”

Steve sighed and eyed the folder again. Much as he did not want to fight anymore, he could not ignore something like this—and he was fairly certain that Fury knew he couldn’t too. “If I do this,” he began, tossing the folder onto the counter and tapping his finger on it pointedly. “I want Agent Barnes with me.”

Fury smiled at that, a sagacious kind of smile, that made Steve’s skin crawl a little. “I expected as much. Tell her debriefing packages will be waiting for you both at her desk.” With that, he turned and headed for the door, stopping short to glance over his shoulder. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

Steve glanced back at the folder and sighed. “You should have left it in the ocean.”

#In Hell We Stand By You #IHWSBY #stucky #stucky fanfic #my writing #lisa writes

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gentlemanmendes · 7 years

Text

Now or Never | part 1|

Now or Never:

part 2:

Part 1:

‘I don’t want to fight right now I know your always right, now I know I need you around with me but nobody waiting around with me.’

It was happening again. The same heated conversation that broke y/n’s heart. It was the only thing that her and Shawn would fight about but it was enough to make her constantly second guess their relationship. It was bad enough that Shawn was constantly away or with the other one (as y/n liked to call her).y/n didn’t want to waste the little time they had together fighting.

“What do you expect me to do y/n, I signed a contract. ” Shawn wasn’t yelling. It would be easier if he was because then y/n could have a reason to hate him. Instead he looked desperate. His eyes watering, his voice soft, his posture slouched.

It broke y/n.

But nothing broke her more than being in love with someone who was in a PR contract with someone else. It wasn’t Shawn’s fault, y/n knew that, and she knew she could trust Shawn, that he was loyal, respectful and that he loved her which made the situation harder. If she could accuse him of falling for the girl then maybe she would have an excuse to leave.

“I don’t want to fight right now.” y/n breathed out turning her back to Shawn so he wouldn’t seen her wipe the tears away.

It got to her. She tried to stay positive but sometimes it was impossible. She had to keep her love a secret. She couldn’t talk to her friends about it, couldn’t post cute pictures on Instagram, couldn’t go on dates with her boyfriend, she couldn’t even be there for her boyfriend when he was away on tour and it all became too much.

No matter how much she wiped her tears away more continued to fall, faster then she could wipe away the previous tears. Before she knew it she was letting out small sobs that she couldn’t contain.

Shawn stood behind her frozen.

I did this, he though to himself.

Guilt consumed him. He was the reason his girlfriend was falling apart right before him. But he was too selfish to give her up. It was the thought of coming back to her that got him through those hard nights on tour. Among all the chaos and pressure, she was the only thing that felt normal in his life. When he was with her everything felt perfect. He wasn’t giving her up that easily.

“Y/n.” Shawn whispered stepping closer.

When y/n didn’t move nor say a word Shawn took that as an okay and stepped closer this time wrapping his arms around her.

The presence was all that y/n needed. She didn’t need empty words or non-kept promises she just needed to know, feel, that someone was there and right now that someone was Shawn who was all she needed. His presence reminded her that she is his only. No matter what the tabloids write, or who his label decide to pair him in a contract with, she was the only one he wanted.

'Been through the ups and the downs with me, got a whole lot of love but you don’t want to spread it around with me.’

Y/n was at her lowest point right now. On the rare occasion that she was granted permission to come to her boyfriends show she was stuck back stage in his dressing room where she would stay unseen by the public. Just the way Shawn’s management liked it. What made it worse was that the other one was allowed to be on stage with Shawn.

'She’s just promoting her self like the contract says.’ Shawn said before he went on stage.

Fuck the contract! Y/n wanted to scream it loud enough for it to be heard over the music, over the screaming fans, over the pain that was eating her away inside.

She hadn’t noticed that tears of frustration were streaming down her face but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. No one would see them anyway.

Although the aching she felt inside told her not to, y/n couldn’t help it. She allowed her eyes to look up at the TV that showed Shawn on stage with the other one. He was beaming bright the way he did at every show but she was right next to him. Staring at him with admiration. The crowd was going crazy for the two.

It burned every inch inside of y/n. How she had to keep everything so secret when another girl could prance around and show off her fake love for him in hopes to gain more attention for herself.It sickened y/n. She loved Shawn with all she had and never asked for anything in return yet this suffering was what she received.

The other one didn’t care for Shawn the way y/n did. If Shawn was hurt she wouldn’t drop everything just in hopes of making him feel better, she didn’t put up with all the drama for Shawn like y/n does, she doesn’t love Shawn. She loves the attention she gets when she’s with him. That is all.

Unable to take it anymore, y/n let out a scream and grabbed the first thing she saw, which just so happened to be the remote, and threw it hard at the screen of the TV. The screen cracked in the center due to the force of the throw satisfying y/n.

She looked around the dressing room before reaching for the small wooden chair and slamming it against the glass table in the center of the room. It took a good four smashes before damage was caused to the chair.

The sound of crashing and banging must have been heard over the loud screams of the fans and chaos backstage because Andrew came rushing through the room in panic. He stared at y/n in shock wondering how such a sweet girl could try and destroy something.

Y/n looked up at Andrew, the broken leg of the chair still in her hands. She wasn’t crying anymore. She felt better. Although physically out of breath she felt like she could breath for the first time since that stupid contract was signed. The weight of the PR was still on her shoulders but she felt something again.

Reaching for the next chair she smashed it on the glass table hard causing glass to shatter every where on the floor.

Andrew’s shouts for y/n to stop could just be heard over the smashing and banging as y/n began throwing the chair against the glass covered floor, but she chose to ignore him completely. Enjoying the feeling of destroying something that had no worth to her. Is that how the other one felt about y/n and Shawn’s relationship. Did she enjoy breaking y/n?

Andrew wanted to approach y/n, stop her, but it wasn’t safe. He couldn’t find a safe way in so he watched her helplessly probably adding up the cost of the destruction y/n had caused that he would probably have to pay.

A small crowd was gathering outside of the door watching in horror and disbelief as the girl before them tore the room apart.

Shawn had pushed his way through the crowd unaware of what was going on. The buzz he usually felt after a show was wearing off sooner than usual as panic settled in to him at the sight of his girlfriend.

“Y/n” Shawn breathed out in disbelief as he watched his girlfriend destroy everything.

He hadn’t shouted, barely spoken above a whisper, but y/n heard it. It was enough for her to stop. She looked up at her boyfriend completely aware of all the eyes watching her and all the distraction she had caused.

How? How could I have done this? Y/n wondered.

She had no idea what had come over her, the buzz was now gone completely. She felt naked under all their prying eyes. Embarrassed with herself, horrified by her actions. All she could do was stare back at Shawn who was watching her cautiously as though she were a snake about to attack at her prey, them, at any given moment. The other one stood behind him an amused smile playing on her lips.

With that y/n broke down in tears allowing them to fall freely down her face. Not bothering to stop the sobs from escaping her lips.

Almost as if it were an instinct, Shawn hurried forward and within a split second pulled y/n into his chest. She gladly hid her face into his chest clutching onto his shirt for dear life. Shawn gestured for everyone to leave the room. With y/n still clutching to him he walked over to the door and slammed it shut so the nosy people hanging around in the hallways couldn’t watch y/n in her fragile state.

Since behind the door was the only part of the room that didn’t seem to have broken furniture or glass anywhere near it he slowly slid down the door to the floor, all while keeping y/n in his arms.

He held her close to him as she sobbed harshly, her whole body shaking. Shawn didn’t say anything, nothing came to mind. What could he say?

“Why?” Y/n finally spoke surprising Shawn since her sobs hadn’t stopped.

“Why what?” Shawn asked stupidly. He couldn’t understand what had caused y/n to break down like this.

“Why do you have to be with her? This isn’t fair! Your fans don’t care whether your with her or not.” y/n felt as though she sounded bratty but she couldn’t think of any reason how this would benefit Shawn or why he would want to do something as stupid as a PR.She didn’t want to go public with her relationship she just wanted Shawn to stop pretending to be in love with someone else.

Again Shawn felt stupid for being at a loss of words. He had no response. Not one that would be good enough anyway. He didn’t know why or how he had gotten himself into this mess in the first place.

“Y/n I’m sorry” he mumbled trying not to let the lump in his throat show in his voice. He knew that if he showed y/n how much it affected him it wouldn’t help the situation. He needed to stay strong for the both of them.

Y/n didn’t say another word, so many thoughts running through her head, so many things she wanted to say but her mouth couldn’t form the words. No words would even come close to what she wanted to say. She stayed in the same position but wanting to push Shawn away. He couldn’t just pretend to date someone else for the world to see and have y/n in secret. But y/n couldn’t find it in her to push him away. He had a hold on her. She was deeply in love with him even though she wished she wasn’t and wouldn’t dare show it.Not when things were so close to falling apart.

'Never pick up, never call me, he know we running out of time.’

Y/n stared angrily at her phone. She was seated alone in her bedroom pathetically calling her boyfriend who was on the other side of the world not even bothering to call her.

She was sick of always being the first to call or text, the only one making an effort. Their relationship felt beyond one sided to her and it was taring her apart, slowly, piece by piece. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it and was well aware that it would be near impossible for her to put the pieces back together when Shawn was eventually done with her.

It seemed like Shawn was already giving up on her. She understood that Shawn’s life was hectic and that he was busy with tour but that didn’t mean that it was okay to go two weeks without contact. Every time y/n tried to call he never picked up nor did he call back. Any texts were sent when she was supposed to be asleep and was too busy crying to write up a response.

Taking in a deep breath y/n opened up a new text and began typing the one thing she wanted to do least of all. She was beyond in love with Shawn, it didn’t make sense to break up with someone who you’re in love with. But then again it didn’t make sense to love someone who was never around or who kept you a secret because of a contract.

Just as y/n was re-reading the text before hitting send her phone began buzzing in her hand. Relief flooded through her as she read the name flashing across the screen. This must have been some sort of sign the universe was sending her.

“Hello.” she tried to compose herself as she answered.

The butterflies had erupted in her stomach like never before. It made sense to get butterflies on the first date, not eleven months later when they called to say goodnight.

“Y/n.” he sighed in relief as though he knew that he had almost lost her.

Y/n wondered if it was possible that Shawn knew about the message she was planning on sending. That he was aware of the fact that she had nearly given up on him.

“I can’t talk long. I go on stage in two minutes but I just needed to talk to you” he breathed out in relief.

She was his escape. His safe place. His heaven on earth he didn’t know what he would do without her. He knew that it was only a matter of time before y/n walked away. He was just thankful that today wasn’t the day.

Y/n couldn’t respond, like most of the time now days, she didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you in so long princess. I miss you!” Shawn paused. It wasn’t a empty pause. It was as though he was reflecting on how much he missed the beautiful girl he had grown to love so much.

It had been hard, especially the past few months. but he was grateful that he still had her in some way as oppose to not at all.

“I miss you too.”y/n smiled to herself. Just hearing his steady breathing on the other end of the phone was enough to soothe her.

“Okay I’m running out of time.” Y/n heard someone on the other side of the line telling Shawn to make his way to the stage. “But I just wanted to hear your voice and be able to remind you how much I love you.” Y/n smiled again not knowing how to respond. Her heart fluttered at her boyfriends words. He always had a way of effortlessly saying the most perfect things.

“I love you too.” y/n said barley above a whisper as if it were a secret, but it wasn’t anyone else telling them to keep it a secret. It was her choice this one rare time.

More voice’s came from the line as well as distant screaming getting louder.

“Good bye baby.” he said and with that the line went dead.

She was met again with the message she had angrily typed up and gladly deleted it, relieved that she hadn’t sent it and ruined what they had.

'Baby, I done, done enough talking I need to know that your mine.’

“Happy one year.” y/n smiled halfheartedly at her reflection in the mirror as she spoke on the phone to Shawn

“I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to have you in my life for a whole year!” y/n didn’t bother responding to this. It felt like empty words to her.

It all felt like a waste of time. A whole year wasted in a relationship that was going to go down in flames, with only ashes and scars as a memory.

“You don’t seem happy.” Shawn noted after a long pause of silence.

He was nervous, y/n could easily tell by the hesitation in his voice. He didn’t want to hear her say the words that were on her mind, knowing that they wouldn’t be good.

“It just feels like all talk.” she awkwardly admitted. She wasn’t sure if she regretted it yet or not as she waited silently for Shawn response. When Shawn didn’t respond she continued. “I mean you talk about how much you love me yet you never put any effort in.” she played with the hem of her shirt waiting for Shawn to speak.

“I’m sorry you feel that way”. He mumbled sheepishly in response making guilt grow in the pit of y/n’s stomach.

“I mean maybe if you showed me that you are all mine in some way…” Y/n tried to start but it wasn’t what she meant to say. It was by all means the truth but she didn’t expect her self to be this honest with Shawn on a topic so touchy to the two while they were supposedly 'celebrating’ their one year anniversary.“Forget it.” she breathed out slowly realizing that this phone call had quickly escalated into a disaster. “Well I better go to bed, I have an early start tomorrow.” it wasn’t exactly the truth but it just felt easier to end the call now them go on with it.

When Shawn didn’t respond she hung up slamming herself on her bed. Frustrated, she began groaning to herself at what had happened.

The door bell rang making y/n roll her eyes in response. The last thing she wanted right now was to go out with her friends to 'celebrate’ the way that they had planned. It didn’t feel right. She should be celebrating with Shawn.

When the annoying ringing continued y/n angrily pulled herself off of her bed and to the door, along the way preparing a speech on how she just wanted to be left alone.

“Guys I’m sorry but I….” Y/n cut herself off at the sight before her. “Shawn?” She breathed out in surprise at the sight of her boyfriend in front of her. He looked beyond exhausted but still as hot as ever. But more importantly he was there.

“Is this proof enough that I’m all yours?” Shawn asked looking down at his girlfriend hopefully. In response she began to laugh causing him to smile.

“You are aware of how cliché this is, right?” She quizzed as she pulled him inside before wrapping her arms tightly around him, nuzzling her head into his chest. The familiar warmth and scent relaxing her instantly.

After standing in Shawn’s grip she pulled away looking at him in awe.

“I have to be back in time for an interview tomorrow but I needed to spend tonight with you.”

In response y/n wrapped her hands around Shawn’s neck pressing her lips against his for a long awaited kiss. The feeling of his lips on hers instantly sent relief spiraling through her body. Shawn’s hands gripped y/n’s waist, pulling her body closer to his, deepening the kiss.

Although y/n tried desperately not to pull away Shawn did, pressing his forehead against hers so he didn’t have to pull too far away from her.

“I got you a present.” He breathed out heavily, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small wrapped box before handing it to y/n.

“I get to see you, and get a present. You spoil me too much Mendes.” She giggled but began unwrapping the small box instantly.

A blue Tiffany box came into sight once she had thrown the wrapping paper to the side. Y/n’s eyebrows creased slightly as she wondered what it was. As though the box would disappear between her fingers, y/n carefully undid the White ribbon before opening the blue box.

Y/n looked down in awe.

“Promises rings.” Shawn told her.

Two matching silver rings sat on a white cushion inside the box. One with a diamond and a smaller diamond on either end, the other thicker and more masculine.

Y/n was at a loss of words. They where beautiful and would have defiantly cost a lot of money. Far more than she was worth.

“One for you and one for me. They both have lyrics engraved on them. Yours has 'when you miss me close your eyes’ and mine says 'I may be far but never gone’” Shawn turned the masculine ring, that was clearly for him, over so the writing on the band was showing.

Shawn carefully took the rings out of the box and slipped y/n’s ring onto her fourth finger on her right hand before slipping his onto his finger.

“You are aware of how cliché you are, right?” Y/n quizzed giggling at Shawn’s small pout in response before pecking him on the lips. “I love you” she added.

“ I know princess, I love you too.” He whispered connecting their lips again.

#Shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fluff

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incomprehensiblelentils · 7 years

Text

Hey, so I’ve seen a little discussion on twitter about this but basically none of it here, so I wanted to mention it because it’s bothering me. Atypical is a Netflix comedy series that will be released on August 11, and this is the IMDB summary.

Sam, an 18-year-old on the autism spectrum, decides it’s time to find a girlfriend, a journey that sets Sam’s mom on her own life-changing path as her son seeks more independence.

So just from that summary there are a few things that make me nervous. First of all, many autistic people and communities (including me) prefer the phrase “autistic person” to “person on the spectrum” or “person with autism,” but a lot of people make this error and some autistics do prefer the latter phrases so it’s not a cardinal sin. Secondly, this show is about a white boy because…of course it is. I can use one hand to count the canon autistic/Asperger’s characters I know of who are not white dudes. Autistic white boys/men are disproportionately the ones who get diagnosis, treatment, and media representation, despite there being growing evidence that a fairly high percentage of girls go undiagnosed as children (hi that’s me) because they do not present the typical “signs” of being autistic that the medical community is used to seeing. Thirdly, both this summary and the trailer specifically single out Sam’s mom as having her own narrative arc. This is a thing that MANY stories about autistic people do - they feel they need to either filter the autistic person through a neurotypical lens, or at least include a secondary story about an NT person that ties into the autistic person’s story. This even happens in movies that I quite like, such as Mary & Max, and it happens with movies that are more problematic, like Adam (2009). I do understand that comedies typically have multiple plotlines, but choosing to highlight the mom’s journey in relation to how she feels about her son’s maturing is, uh, suspicious. It brings to mind the Autism Parent, who makes their child’s autism all about them and what a good/put-upon/selfless parent they are. Maybe it won’t be like that at all, but I see some red flags is all.

There’s a trailer out, which I’ve seen once and spent the whole way cringing through. This article does a pretty good job of breaking down why my shoulders were up around my ears the whole time, but for a quick rundown of the issues I see:

Again, white cishet protagonist, disproportionately represented in stories about autistic people

Many jokes about how ~awkward~ Sam is and how he doesn’t “pick up on signals”

“Sometimes I wish I was normal” which some of us DO feel, but it’s again a narrative disproportionately represented in the media

“Your son has the same desire to be loved that we all do” wow love that acearo erasure that’s cool

He says he really wants to see boobs, that’s uh some great objectifying of women there thanks

Not relevant to the rest of this post but I didn’t laugh at any of the jokes

So, yeah. On top of that, people have pointed out that casting an NT actor for the autistic lead is *quite* iffy. Someone brought it up on twitter and the show’s official account replied with this.

Auditions for Sam included autistic actors, but Keir was cast as best for the role. The cast does include autistic people

I don’t want to erase any autistic actors that worked on the show, but it’s deeply suspicious that the account brushed it aside with no specificity. If there are autistic actors, then that’s awesome. I’m glad they have work. But I question their choice to cast an NT actor as the autistic lead, and I wonder if maybe “best for the role” means, to them, that Keir Gilchrist was able to play to autistic stereotypes better than actual autistic people. Which is definitely a problem.

It’s very hard to find articles about the production of the show, but I did find one from USA Today that says creator Robia Rashid “consulted with a California State University professor who worked at UCLA’s Center for Autism Research and Treatment.” Which…that’s cool, but I wonder if Rashid or any of the producers know that there are actual organizations with autistic adults involved who they could have consulted. The Autistic Self-Advocacy Network is one such organization. This seems to be yet another case of an NT person consulting NT “experts” in order to tell an autistic person’s story. I also once saw a claim that Rashid was inspired by an autistic family member, but I can’t find anything to verify that. If true, I’m sure her intentions are noble, but Atypical is being presented as yet another story about a cishet white autistic boy who wants to “be normal.” Rashid seems to genuinely want to create an accurate and sensitive portrayal, which makes it all the more frustrating that she didn’t think (or bother) to talk to actual autistic adults, WHO EXIST. Hell, at this point I’m so tired of all this bullshit I’ll do consultation for free. (I’m kidding but only sort of)

There are already a handful of reviews out, most of which are fairly positive and all of which use the “boy with autism” language or (even worse) something like “suffering from autism.” One in particular includes this jaw-droppingly offensive line: “There’s some talk that an autistic actor should’ve played this role, but that complaint is shortsighted: An actor of Gilchrist’s caliber can do a tremendous job of humanizing a condition like autism, and he proves that here.” Wow thanks for outright stating that autistic people need “humanizing” because we can’t possibly do it ourselves, reviewer!!!! You were definitely the right person for this assignment! Anyway, nothing about any of these reviews indicates to me that the series is not the inspiration porn for NT people that I thought it might be.

If you’re wondering about media portrayals that I actually like, here are my recommendations. (Disclaimer: these are my opinions alone and some autistic people may find these characters problematic or offensive.)

Temple Grandin is a TV film based on the life of the real woman, and is the best portrayal of an autistic woman I’ve seen to date.

I know some autistics find Abed Nadir on Community problematic, which is valid, but I personally adore him.

Parker on Leverage sadly never had her Asperger’s canonized onscreen, but it was confirmed in blog posts from creator Dean Devlin. She has multiple excellent story arcs and an adorable romance over the show’s five seasons.

The 2017 Power Rangers has Billy Cranston, who is by far the best character in the reboot. I should warn that he is violently killed about ¾ of the way through the film, but is then brought back to life about five minutes later. I’m sure this could be traumatic if someone (especially a child) wasn’t warned.

On the Edge of Gone by Corrine Duyvis is an excellent novel about an autistic girl at the end of the world.

I can’t tell anyone what to do, and I don’t want to speak for any other autistic people. But I, personally, find pretty much everything I’ve seen about Atypical to be hurtful, frustrating, and an erasure of authentic autistic perspectives and experiences. I’d like to ask my NT friends to consider skipping this show, and maybe seek out stories told by or involving actual autistic people. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. You may be familiar with the phrase “death by a thousand cuts,” which some minorities have used as a vivid illustration to explain why microaggressions are so harmful - they happen again and again and they add up and it’s overwhelming. Atypical feels like another tiny cut to me. And it’s exhausting.

#atypical #autism #sometimes I have opinions

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