#coulda made a river with all those tears

[tinkabelle24]

To Build a Home

Chapter 14: Limbo

TW! Assault (physical) attempt, alcohol abuse.

Masterlist / Chapter 13

---

It was roughly eight miles from his spot at Highland Park to the Lair, just below Chinatown; Raph was at top speed the entire way.

Even when his lungs started burning and heart felt ready to explode, he kept going. The river provided much needed relief as he bypassed Williamsburg Bridge into Manhattan.

When he finally arrived, he found her with Leo at the kitchen table. She looked small in her chair, face deliberately obscured from view. He knew immediately that she was hiding something.

After what felt like an eternity of coaxing, she finally lifted her tearful gaze to his. "I fucked up, Raph," she murmured. "I'm so sorry..."

Raph despised every moment of it, but it needed to be done. He needed her to understand just how terrified he was for her.

He finally released her, leaning back into his chair with a stony expression. "Is it working?" He asked.

Val blinked. "I-Is what working...?"

"The phone I gave ya." The terrapin gestured to her purse, sitting at her feet. "Is it working?"

"O-of course," she answered quietly, still confused. "Raph, I don't under-"

He shot forward suddenly, causing Val to jerk back. "Then why didn't you use it?" He demanded. "It ain't an accessory, Valerie."

At that, the brunette shot him a dangerous look. "Excuse me?!" She promptly rose from her chair. He followed. She jabbed a finger in his direction. "Do NOT patronise me!"

Raph blinked, unsure what to make of this newfound side to her. He'd glimpsed it a handful of times over the months. Tonight though, it was like looking into a mirror.

"Well- fuck, Valerie!" He spluttered, gesturing wide. "I gave it to you for this EXACT reason. Why didn't you use it?! Explain it to me! Make it make sense!"

They must've been pretty loud as Leo and Donnie suddenly came barrelling out of the lab.

Great, spectators...

"I didn't feel like I could-"

Raph couldn't help but laugh. Just, fucking- WOW...

"That's bullshit and you know it! You coulda been raped! You coulda been killed! Why would you willingly do something so fucking stupid?!"

Leo attempted intervening. "That's uncalled for, Raph-!"

"No, he's right," Val interjected. "It was stupid, and I'm sorry. The last thing I wanted was to add unnecessary drama to your lives, but I've gone and done it anyway..." A tear escaped her swollen, bloodshot eyes as she slowly shook her head. "...I-I can't do this, Raph."

The colour immediately drained from Raph's face. She doesn't mean...?

"V-Val..." He murmured, reaching for her. She stepped away and he felt his heart shatter into a million pieces.

The terrapin's hand limply returned to his side. He swallowed hard, forcing the wretched tears back down. He refused to let his brothers see him cry.

"So, what ya said this mornin', about givin' us a shot... Was that all bullshit?"

Val's eyes grew wide. "R-Raph-"

"-If you knew ya couldn't do this then why didn't you stop me?! Why'd you kiss me back?! Why'd we go back to your apartment?! You've made me look like a fucking fool, thinkin' we had a chance-"

"Because I love you, okay?!"

Those words hit him like a tonne of bricks. Suddenly, he could no longer feel the ground beneath him, and he grasped the nearest piece of furniture to keep from collapsing.

She said it...

She fucking said it!

She loves me!

Me!

With everything else going on, he couldn't identify whether he wanted to sing, throw up, bawl his eyes out, or all three at once.

"I screwed up, I know that. When I promised to keep you guys a secret, I wasn't expecting to... I could do it, back then, when I barely knew you - I can't now. It's too complicated... I-I'm sorry."

So, this was it? Was she seriously ending this before it ever really began?

He was now leaning more toward throwing up...

He caught her sharing a look with Leo, and something inside him snapped.

You...

Raph growled as he fixated on his brother, who'd yet to notice.

You did this.

He clenched his fists, trembling with fury.

You're the reason!

He blinked and had already covered several feet. He heard Val scream for him to stop, but he couldn't. He was no longer in control. Only when she leapt in front of him did he finally come to, skidding to a halt just inches from her face.

The terror in her eyes will haunt him forever.

"Leave him alone!" She cried as Donnie yanked her between himself and Leo.

"Stand down!" His younger brother snarled, pushing him back as far as his arm would allow. They glared at one another for a few moments, before the red-banded terrapin finally shifted focus to his eldest brother.

Leo didn't return the hostility. There was pain in his eyes - guilt. Rarely had he expressed this emotion in front of his brothers - only Splinter.

Too late, brother - the damage's already done.

Raph couldn't stand around any longer. He needed out. He needed space. More severely, he needed the pain to stop.

He left.

---

After dressing Val's hand, Leo reluctantly dropped her off at her apartment, before joining Mikey and Casey in the search for Raph. He and Donnie urged her to stay, citing a potential concussion. They also didn't want her alone tonight, given everything that's gone down.

Honestly? That was what she'd rather be right now - alone; to use her own shower, change out of her ratty clothes, and (try to) sleep in her own bed.

She also had this nagging feeling...

Check the roof.

Check the roof.

Check the roof.

It could quite possibly be her rattled brain screwing with her emotions, but it also mightn't be. If he was in fact up there, she couldn't just leave him. She wouldn't.

So, she checked the roof.

The motion-sensitive light was already on when Val gingerly pushed the door open; it usually didn't turn on until one was a few feet out onto the roof. So far, so good.

"Raph...?" She called, hoping a familiar voice would prevent him from taking off.

The brunette carefully scanned her surroundings, gaze falling on the weather worn stack of pallets he jumped out from that fateful night. She frowned as her thoughts immediately shifted to the ‘what-ifs’; specifically, what would my life be like, had I not met him?

She’d like to think she’d still be on the straight and narrow; still taking the necessary steps toward her GED so she could finally apply for that EMT course. She’d still have the strength to go no-contact with her mother, whilst maintaining a positive relationship with her siblings. She'd still have her hobbies and be working to better herself physically. She'd probably even have a cat.

Knowing what she does now, her life wouldn't feel complete, even with all that. She pitied her hypothetical self; she'd be going about her life, completely unaware her missing piece was a red mask-wearing, Sai-wielding, 6-foot talking turtle man.

She wasn't being hyperbolic when she shouted those words. No. She meant them with every fibre of her being. He came into her life when she needed it the most. He slowly chipped away at her defences, providing a safe space to truly be herself. He shared her sarcasm and chaotic sense of humour; their ridiculous antics often getting them into trouble.

She never was one to test boundaries; she had to be the 'good' girl, always. But she very quickly realised she'd do anything to see that man smile and hear that gorgeous laugh.

It broke her heart doing this to him, but she could no longer cope with all the secrets. She was prepared to ask for what she needed, but that was before putting herself in danger to avoid calling for help.

She didn't feel deserving of their trust, after that.

A gasp escaped her when she heard a sniffle. She hurried toward its origin, rounding the pallets until she reached a red and black tartan blanket sprawled out on the concrete. She found Raph sitting atop it, nursing a near-empty bottle of rum.

He slowly turned his gaze toward her, and her heart sank. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot - he'd been crying.

"There you are," she breathed.

"Here I am..." the terrapin's speech was slurred. "You found me."

"You're drunk."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious..."

"How much of that have you had, tonight?"

Please don't tell me you downed it all in one sitting...

"I think I started... hmm... 'round here?" He pointed near the halfway mark. So, about ten ounces of straight liquor... She did not envy his liver.

"There's like a mouthful left." She tried keeping her tone neutral; it was pointless arguing with a drunkard.

"Yep."

"Right, I'm cutting you off."

Raph didn't protest when she took the bottle. After screwing the lid back on and setting it down, she offered him her good hand. "C'mon, we're going downstairs."

The terrapin frowned. "You ain't gonna try to seduce me again, are ya?"

Ouch.

"Nope," she bit out, struggling to mask the hurt in her voice. She beckoned him once more. He grabbed the pallet stack, instead.

Stubborn pain in the...!

She watched as he shakily pulled himself to his feet. The moment he was upright, his eyes glazed over and he fell forward.

"Whoa, hey!" Val rushed to steady him; he immediately shrugged her off.

"I'm fine!" He snapped, bracing himself against the stack. "I just need a minute..." He squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the swaying to stop. Once he'd finally stabilised himself, he slowly opened them again.

"Okay, I'll jump down first, then you follow."

"I ain't an invalid, Valerie. I can get down myself."

"I've no doubt you can; I just wanna make sure you don't go flying off the platform."

Raph harrumphed as they approached the ledge of the building. Val leaned forward slightly to locate the fire escape, and the terrapin grabbed her arm instinctively. Startled, she whipped her head around.

"You okay? Do you need to sit down?"

"No, I just..." He released her. "Sorry. Go on."

The brunette nodded then proceeded climbing over the concrete barricade, before carefully easing herself down onto the platform.

"Alright, slow and-"

Raph was already halfway down by the time she turned around. He landed hard on his feet, stumbling forward as he struggled to stand. Thankfully, he caught himself before he could bump her into the railing.

"Smooth," the brunette muttered, rolling her eyes. She ducked under his arm to reach her apartment window, prying it open. Taking his shoulder, she gently guided him inside.

"Will ya stop fussin'-"

"Less talk, more walk, mister. In ya go... That's it."

Raph's gaze lingered over her bed as he shuffled toward the table, slumping into the nearest chair. After shutting the window and drawing the curtains, Val made her way into the kitchen to pour them both a glass of water.

"Here, this'll help."

The terrapin groaned softly as he lifted his head from the table. "Hm...? Oh... thanks." He hauled himself upright and reached for the glass... then his arm abruptly went slack.

Val's eyes darted to his face; his head was tilted back, lids closed and chest rising and falling erratically. Shit. She lunged for the trash can; just in time, too.

"That's it, get it all out." She rubbed the back of his neck soothingly as he proceeded emptying the contents of his stomach into the can. Once he'd finished, she led him to the bed and laid him down.

"Thank you..." He murmured as she pulled the quilt up over his shoulders.

At that, she gave a small smile. "You're welcome. Now, rest." As she stepped away to retrieve his water and a bucket (just in case), he mumbled the words that would make her heart stop.

"I love you..."

Val froze. Once she finally picked her jaw off the floor, she shakily turned to him. "What...?"

No response. He was out to it.

She blinked. Did I just...? He couldn't have possibly...

Forget the shower - get your hallucinating ass to bed.

But first-

[Hey Leo. Just wanted to let you know I've found Raph. He's safe. He's asleep in my bed.]

While she waited for a reply, Val decided to change. It no longer felt right to undress in front of Raph, so she grabbed her pyjamas and padded into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Her shirt was halfway over her head when her phone chimed.

[Hey, thank you. We're coming now. Also, what are you still doing up? It's almost 5!]

[I'm going to bed right after this, I promise. And I think it'd be best to just leave him here; he's not really fit for travel at the moment.]

[You know that if he stays, he won't be able to leave until the evening. Are you okay with that?]

It'll be awkward as hell, but we'll manage.

[I know, and it'll be fine.]

[Alright, then. We'll talk later. Bed.]

[Yes, mom.]

Val stared at the terrapin bear-hugging her pillow, unsure how to proceed. Again, it didn't feel right. She’d just taken what could've been a beautiful relationship and dashed it to pieces; she didn’t want to risk exacerbating things by sharing a bed with him.

She decided to give sleeping on the floor a try.

After prying the pillow from Raph’s vice-like grip, Val tugged the fluffy blanket from the bed-end then laid them both on the floor, beside the bed. The carpet itched and pushed on her tender ribs and spine. She tried lying on the blanket, which was a little better, but quickly grew cold. She threw on a hoodie and sweatpants, then tried again.

The sun was peeking over the horizon by the time exhaustion finally took her.

When her eyes creaked open a few hours later, she was lying on the bed with Raph snuggled against her back, arm curled around her waist. Too tired to move or protest, she drifted off once more.

---

Masterlist / Chapter 15

@android-cap-007 @happymoonangel @miss-andromeda

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #oc val scott #tmnt 2007 #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph x oc #to build a home #raph x oc #tmnt fanfic #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 07 #tmnt oc #tbah #tmnt leo #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello

[toosicktoocare]

while I always think the acting in 911 is great, tonight’s episode was so *chef’s kiss*

I wasn’t aware my heart could break 80 times in one night

#911 fox #9 1 1 #911 s5 #coulda made a river with all those tears

[milfjensenackles]

to purgatory and back: chapter 1

2k words | read it on ao3

Dean had been trapped in Purgatory for at least a month now. He could barely keep track of time at this point. It’s not like it mattered. The world felt muted here, the sky grey and lackluster. Dean subsisted on whatever food he could find, whether that be a fish he miraculously found in a nearby water source or the flesh of a large beetle (that had been a terrible day, one he wishes he could forget). He was miserable. He wanted to get back to his brother and start hunting again. Every day was the same here. Every action he took was only what was necessary to stay alive. Kill monsters, look for Cas, sleep, repeat.

He hadn’t seen Cas since the day Dick exploded and sent their asses here in the first place. He just up and disappeared, leaving Dean to mutilate Leviathans and various other monsters on his own. Dean didn’t even know why he fought for so hard for so long. He didn’t know if Cas was alive. He didn’t know if they could escape, even if Cas did survive the last month alone against the unforgiving terrain that was Purgatory. All he knew was that he had to try to find Cas as soon as possible.

And then he met Benny.

Benny was an… interesting character, to say the least. He was snarky, reckless, and honestly? He could be pretty annoying sometimes. No wonder they got along so well. Dean ran into Benny during what was now a routine Leviathan attack that might have been Dean’s last. The Leviathan had Dean restrained in the air, holding on by the collar of his t-shirt. Something managed to knife the thing before Dean had a chance to get near his own weapon.

“I had that under control,” Dean mumbled from the ground, attempting to brush some debris off his jeans until he realized that, based on the amount of grime currently covering his person, there was no point in trying.

A large, scruffy-looking man looked down at him and smiled before winking at Dean, intentionally flashing his sharp fangs. “Sure you did.”

Dean gaped at him and immediately pointed his knife at the man’s neck. “You’re a vampire.”

“No shit. Really?”

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why did you help me? So you can drink me dry?”

“Nah, I’m not that kind of vamp. Human blood doesn’t do it for me. Seemed like you were in a bit of a pickle there, so a ‘thank you’ would be nice,” he said, looking Dean up and down with a smirk and a look in his eyes that Dean couldn’t quite pinpoint. The vampire stretched out his hand to shake Dean’s. Dean looked at it for a brief moment, hesitating to align himself with someone he would have killed without a second thought as a hunter. Normally, Dean wouldn’t even consider trusting him, but what choice did he have? It was either work with a vampire or die at the hands of a different one. The vampire seemed to sense his hesitation but leaned his head forward and moved his arm even closer to Dean’s. Dean rolled his eyes, lowered his weapon, and clapped their hands together. “Nice to meet ya. I’m Benny. I can help you get out of here.”

So Dean and Benny continued forward into the endless cycle of fighting monsters and waiting for something dangerous to find them. Dean could feel himself warming up to the vampire, against every fiber of his being that warned him against it. Dean told Benny the story of how he and Cas were sent to Purgatory, and Benny told Dean the story of his death. Benny tried to convince Dean to move on without Cas, but Dean refused each time he tried. Dean wasn’t leaving this terrible place without Cas, even if it meant he had to stay forever.

“So, are you in love with this angel or what?” Benny asked as they warmed themselves by the small fire Dean built. It was dark, and Purgatory got cold at night. Dean was lucky he and Sam taught themselves how to make a fire when they were kids, otherwise he’d more than likely have frozen to death by now.

Dean spluttered out a noise that was a mix of the words “What?” and “No!” while aggressively shaking his head.

Benny laughed. “It’s just that all I’ve heard about him from you is that he has the most dreamy eyes ever and he’s so strong and smart. Not to mention all the ‘where’s the angel’ crap I’ve had to listen to every time we try to gank somethin’.”

Dean stared into the flames before quietly saying, “First of all, I never said his eyes were dreamy. And second of all, I ain’t into dudes.”

“You coulda had me fooled,” Benny mumbled under his breath. Dean heard it and chose not to respond.

Dean and Cas had a complicated relationship. It didn’t help that one of them was always dying. Dean wasn’t in love with him, though. Benny was just being antagonistic as usual. Cas was his brother. His family. That’s why he was so desperate to find him. You don’t leave family behind.

Every night, Dean and Benny slept on the ground as close as possible to the fire, waiting until it inevitably fizzled out and they had to depend on their thin jackets to keep them warm. Dean learned to block out the noise of screeching and wailing that came from deep in the trees over time, allowing him to get a few hours of sleep after their light source disappeared for the day. He found comfort in praying to Cas. He had no idea if Cas was listening, but it made him feel safer as he laid there, everything surrounding him engulfed by the dark Purgatory sky, rocks pressing into his back.

“Cas, if you’re out there… I hope you’re still out there. I don’t even know if angel radio works in Purgatory. I’m going to find you. We’re going to get out of here. I just… I miss you, Cas. You’re my best friend. You’re family. I’m not leaving without you. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Dean felt a tear slide down his cheek as he finished the prayer, hands clasped together and eyes squeezed tight in an attempt to make his effort feel more sincere. He’d never been one to pray, but he would try anything to get into contact with Castiel. Dean took a few deep breaths and slipped into a fitful sleep.

He dreamt of Cas most nights. Cas dying at the hands of some monster and Dean can only watch, can’t move to save him. Cas leaving him, choosing not to come home from Purgatory. Dean would wake with a start, the vision of Cas drifting away slowly, only to find himself an empty clearing with Benny fast asleep nearby. Sometimes, though… he had good dreams about Cas. Cas grazing his fingertips across Dean’s lips. Cas ghosting his mouth along Dean’s jawline. Cas pressing into Dean until all he can do is gasp Castiel’s name…

Those dreams terrified him just as much as the nightmares.

Dean was a wreck the next morning, having barely slept. He pushed himself off the ground, attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes. God, did he miss coffee. He missed having breakfast with Sam and Cas after a long hunt. He missed normal food, like bacon and pancakes. He missed Cas. Dean was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. Maybe his nightmares were trying to tell him something… Maybe Cas didn’t want to be found.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Benny asked after a few hours of wandering through the forest.

If Benny noticed, Dean was being more obvious with his moping than he had originally thought. He sighed before responding, “I’m sick of it here. I want to shower. I want to see my brother. I want to find Cas. And I want this stupid beard off my face.” Dean rubbed at his chin, which was now layered with thick stubble. Normally, he would shave at least every few days, but that obviously wasn’t possible here.

Benny snickered. “I think it suits you.”

Dean grimaced. Benny held up a finger to him, indicating that he should stop whining for a moment. He searched through his pockets and eventually presented Dean with a pocketknife. “I can use this to shave you. If you’d like.”

Dean looked at the knife, and then at Benny. “You sure that’s a good idea? What if you cut me and you can’t control yourself?”

“I think I can handle it. I want to make you feel better.”

While Dean wasn’t ecstatic about the idea of a vampire and a knife all up in his face, he did really hate the scratchy feeling that came with excess facial hair. Dean eventually resigned himself to the fact that this was happening and settled on a tree stump near the water’s edge. Benny kneeled in front of him and pushed his knees apart to get close enough. Dean watched as Benny wet the knife in the river before pressing it against Dean’s jawline, scraping away the thick hair that had grown uncontrollably over the past few months. As Benny concentrated on Dean’s beard, Dean was watching Benny’s face. He wasn’t bad looking by any means. Dean’s eyes flicked from the top of Benny’s head to his eyes, and then down to his lips. Benny happened to look away from shaving Dean at that exact moment, catching Dean openly staring. Benny inhaled quickly, and shakily whispered, “Like what you see?”

Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed heavily. He was lonely and had nothing to lose at this point.  It was just a friend comforting another friend. Nothing wrong with that. Cas was probably dead, anyway. Why was he thinking about Cas right now? Dean watched as Benny leaned in, slowly, waiting for Dean to confirm that he was okay with this. Dean gave a small nod and Benny’s lips crashed into his.

***

The morning after… whatever happened between Dean and Benny wasn’t as awkward as Dean expected. Dean didn’t want to think about it. Benny was acting normal, so he could act normal too. Just guys bein’ dudes. Relieving some tension. He had been stressed, and it felt good to enjoy himself for once. It felt good to do something normal. Dean couldn’t help but wonder though… if this meant that he was actually ‘into men’, like Benny suggested so long ago. He really didn’t have time for a sexuality crisis right now. They still had to find Cas. Dean pushed the thought to the back of his head, making it a problem for his future self to deal with.

“Hey, Dean. I see something over by the river.”

Dean’s eyes followed where Benny was pointing. There was something… someone, maybe… crouching down on the rocks. It looked like they were desperate for water, like they hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks. As Dean got closer, the shape became clearer and the tan color of a familiar trenchcoat came into view.  

Cas.

Dean felt himself move toward Cas and wrap him in a hug. A grin stretched across his face, threatening to break him apart by the seams. They found each other. His thoughts became a repetitive cycle of telling himself that Cas is alive, Cas is safe, Cas is okay.

They had never hugged before. He didn’t want it to end. After months of searching for him, all he wanted to do was sink into his best friend’s warm embrace for as long as Cas would let him. Dean pressed his face into Cas’ shoulder, breathing him in. He felt Cas relax against him, and they stood there for what felt like an eternity, as though each of them was making sure the other person was real. As he pulled away slightly, his eyes roamed over Cas’ face with abandon. His bright blue eyes, his cheeks smeared with dirt, and his plush lips parted in a way that made Dean feel insane. Cas was looking at him, head tilted, a small smile growing on his face. Dean’s heart was going to beat out of his chest. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt more relieved, more peaceful, more… full of love.

Oh, shit.

He’s in love with Cas.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #purgatory!destiel #dean winchester #castiel #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #lauren writes #there's some deanbenny but it's like. for the plot

[musicnoots]

Baby, I’m Home

Joe Toye/Reader

A/N: No hurt, just comfort.

Synopsis: You’re home from the war, but Joe is more distant than you remember.

Tags: @gottapenny @those-dusty-jump-wings @junojelli @curraheev @bandofmarvels @medievalfangirl @wexhappyxfew @majwinters @david-weepster @higgles123 @dustyjjumpwings

It’s nearly one in the morning when you turn over to his side of the bed, empty. His crutches are gone and the pillow still holds the shape of his head snuggling into the crook of your neck. You can almost bathe yourself in his scent of almonds and tobacco, letting it slip through your fingers and instead, hearing the rain beat the window like two boxers in a ring. There’s a part of you that long for his touch—the soothing feeling of his rough fingertips holding your chin just the way he did back under the rainy nights in Aldbourne, two kisses on your left cheek, one on your right.

You had only been home for a day and a half, but you feel even more lonely than when you were in Europe fighting the war. Coming home was something you anticipated for the longest time, but when you actually did come home, you were welcomed with a stale cup of water and the Philly sun, his hands touching the back of your neck—cold and gentle.

You knew he was different from the moment he touched you.

Joe did not smile the same. Nor did he talk the same. He lags behind you on the walk back home.

He did not kiss you the same. Rather, it was a simple kiss on the apple of your left cheek and a pat on the back.

You had been through a war no person should ever go through—more than half of it without him by your side—and yet, his empty spot in the bed hit you harder than any grenade that landed three feet too close to you. There was a part of you that began to wonder if it was you that was different. Somehow, that Joe hadn’t changed at all and maybe it was your fault.

The tender ache of hitting your leg against the nightstand tugs on your nerves when you start making your way down to the dining room, your arms longing for something you’re not sure is attainable anymore. You’re stumbling through the hallway like a drunk man making his way back home, eyes barely open and hands bracing against the beige wall until you find Joe sitting at the table in silence.

There’s a knot in your stomach, reminiscent of the first time Joe kissed you.

It was on a late night in Aldbourne after the jump into Normandy, outside of the bar you had ever so politely stepped outside for some air. You can remember the moment so vividly—the way his eyes twinkled violet under the moonlight, and his hands accidentally brushing against yours with his lips speaking words that melted into romantic poetry until they collided with yours and composed a passacaglia.

The knot in your stomach was the same knot you felt the last time you saw Joe in the war.

Bastogne. The Ardennes. You remember it all too well—the snow falling on your eyelashes, the trail of blood leading to not one body but two, and the words that escaped his lips with every piece of the strength he had left. One moment he was stroking your chin with the rough pad of his thumb and the next he was laying in the middle of the forest in his own blood. Ripped away from your embrace and placed into the hands of someone who knew how to keep his alive physically but not emotionally.

Everything happened too fast, too quickly for you to fully cope with what felt like your loss in the middle of a bleak midwinter. For some reason, you remember that more than any intimate moment you’ve felt with Joe when you see him sitting alone in the kitchen. A cold cup of coffee and his fingers becoming shaky under the moonlight.

“Joe.”

Your voice is soft and soothing like lukewarm black tea falling against his back, but he doesn’t stir one bit. His eyes are focused on the cold cup of coffee from this morning rather than your inviting touch, feeling his tense and slumped shoulders when you place your hands on his bare skin. He feels different, physically, but you can’t explain how—you just know that he isn’t the same as when he left you in the Ardennes barely clinging onto his own life.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, almost as if he knew the exact words that were going to fall from your lips and you fall quiet.

You blame yourself. Thinking that somehow, somewhere the love between you got lost in the letters and black ink and the reason Joe was no longer the same was because of you.

What in the world had you done for him to be this way?

In a world where he should have been happy, a hero’s welcome into the arms of his Mama and the comfort of his childhood home, yet he sits in the kitchen with old coffee and bags under his eyes like he was still in Europe. For once, you find yourself missing the Joe you once had in a foxhole, back when you didn’t have to wonder how many months, how many weeks, how many days did pass for him to be a completely different person.

“I miss you,” you whisper. The same words you had written over and over in your letters doesn’t quite have the same meaning anymore. Where back then, it was missing his physical presence, but now you long to touch his soul emotionally.

He sighs, not sparing a second to even look at you. “I’m right here. Go back to bed, baby, I’ll be there soon.”

His answer is dry and distasteful, as if the words themselves made your ears ring and your heart drop because you damn well know that he’ll come back to bed in two hours where the sun barely peaks through the horizon to bid goodbye to the stars. You’re kneeling on the floor at this point, practically pleading for an answer.

“I don’t understand—why are you so distant to me? You kept writing to me, saying that you miss me, and that you want nothing but to be in my arms but when I’m here, you don’t want anything to do with me. Help me understand that, Joe. I’m not asking for you to tell me what you see in your dreams, I’m asking for a simple answer so that I can help you. Please.”

You await for the words to spill from his lips. His eyebrows crease, eyes staring down at the dining table and his hands still clasped around his mug, but he doesn’t move.

His lips are pressed into a thin line as if your word did not go anywhere but through one ear and out the other and one by one your thoughts have fallen silently as he does. You’re hurt, wondering if this was the reality of the dream you and Joe onced dreamed of in the letters.

“I’m not good enough for you.”

He says it almost naturally, as if it was the only thing on his mind since leaving Europe and maybe it is.

You blink, hoping that he was lying, that you somehow misheard him in a silent kitchen at one in the morning. “Why?”

“Because, Y/N—“ Joe’s body tenses, he raises his voice for a split second before he realizes it’s you that he’s talking to. “I can’t do nothing for you anymore. Nothing. You see me? I got nothing but a leg and a half, you waited a whole year for a leg and a half, you came home to a leg and a half.”

“That’s not true, and you know it—“

“Look at me, Y/N.” He grabs your hand and places it on his right thigh, and your eyes look at the stump while you hear him unravel right in front of you. “Look at me! Is this what you wanted to come home to? When I asked you to come home with me after the war, is this what you wanted? You’re all first sergeant and silver star, but you come home to a man who can’t do shit because he got no leg! What kind of fuckery is that?”

You listened carefully, letting his words tear holes in your heart and it might be the only time Joe has ever hurt you because you can hear him breaking down with his own voice. “I waited almost a year to come home to you, Joe. Almost a damn year, and I knew what I was getting myself into when I saw you get carted off!”

“Well, this isn’t damn what you deserve, Y/N!”

You fall quiet at his raised voice. You had been in a war where men were screaming bloody murder at you everyday, you had seen the worst of humanity at its prime and yet, seeing your loved one break down in front of you was tougher than any battle you fought.

He’s vulnerable to the touch. His body shivers, his cheeks are red and hot, and all of a sudden it’s Bastogne all over again. The hospital. Leaving you was one of the hardest things Joe had ever done because not only had you two promised to walk out of the war alive, but he had walked out in a way he never thought he would. Knowing his life had forever changed, he never wanted you to feel the pain of coming home to him.

“You deserve better, Y/N, and I’m not it,” he says, looking down to avoid your gaze on his watering eyes. “Y’know how I felt in the hospital? I wish I coulda been with you instead of that fuckin’ hospital, I wish I still had my leg and take you on those nice, long walks by the River like I promised back in Toccoa, wish I could grab your hand and run out of the courthouse after we tie the knot, wish I could get up on my own every morning.”

You bring your hand to Joe’s face, your thumb tracing his eyebrows in the dead silence. You and Joe had experienced the same war, just differently.

“I love you,” you whispered, and he started crying. “I don’t care that you have a leg and a half, Joe, I fought the rest of the war to be able to come home to you. I didn’t fall in love with your leg, I fell in love with you. You, Joe Toye, in the flesh and in the empty cafeteria at Toccoa when you used to meet me for early morning coffee.”

He sniffles, feeling like an unnecessary mess in the middle of the night when he should be in bed with you, sound asleep. “I’m sorry,” he said in the midst of his silent sobs. For a second, Joe tried to wipe his tears away with the sleeves of his sweater, but you simply stop him and wipe them away for him. It’s the little things that make him feel so loved in his most vulnerable moments. “I just…I’m not—“

“No, you are, Joe.” You take his hand and kiss his palm. “You are everything I want, and everything I wanted to come home to.”

“I feel like a wimp,” he huffs.

You shake your head and wrap your arms around him, letting his nose rest on the nape of your neck and feeling his lips leave just the softest of kisses on your skin. “Don’t say that, baby. You’re human and you’re allowed to have feelings, but please, don’t shut me out. I want to be able to help you and love you until you forget what made you sad in the first place.” You kiss the top of his head. “And plus, tomorrow’s a big day. Wouldn’t want you to be down on such a special occasion.”

“Thanksgiving?”

“Nah, Joe Toye Day,” you say and he immediately smiles, murmuring in his softest voice You remembered into your skin. “Come on, bubs, let’s go back to sleep,” you tug on his sleeves and he knows better than the resist his temptations.

In his wildest dreams, Joe Toye would have killed Hitler with a knife to the windpipe and FDR would have awarded him 10,000 dollars every year. He would have had you in his arms, a big mansion of his choice, and a big check to give to his mama every month just to say thank you. Only in his dreams would he still have his leg and able to take you on nice dinners with his arm wrapped around your waist, fingers just barely digging into your bare skin rather than his crutches.

But for now, he still had you in his arms, fast asleep on the couch on Joe Toye Day.

#band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #joe toye #joe toye x reader #joe toye imagine #joseph toye #im sorry this is lw sad i just feel sad

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 64

The aftermath of Jocelyn’s visit to Alexandria changed our world in far more reaching ways than just the loss of my baby and Daryl leaving. We locked down. We became more insular. We stopped visiting other communities. Hilltop and the Kingdom were almost mythical it seemed. The Sanctuary, it went under, quickly. Carol’s leadership couldn’t bandage the lack of land to grow things, the lack of unity that Negan’s power had ensured, and the deaths of his people at the hands of their victims was one final straw.

Former Saviors, the ones that assimilated and weren’t killed for their past indiscretions found homes in the remaining communities. Michonne, calling her ‘Mom’ was as natural to me it seemed as inhaling, became more careful. She wanted RJ, Judith, and the other children to be safe. As safe as she could make Alexandria with the dangers lurking just outside our walls. And so, she pushed aside her one time dream of a unified group. Her urge to create a charter, a treaty between our people dropped. Her maternal instincts coupled with her warrior nature won out.

Judith and I still visited Negan. He was given more light, the window that had been boarded opened. He got a cot. He was allowed books. His prison became more livable, even if it was still captivity. Without Daryl to occupy part of my time, without the need to take care of my sister and my new brother, I spent more time with him.

He and Judith continued to play. First it was ball, then as she grew and became more inquisitive, he and I would take turns telling her stories. I spent the visits that I made to him alone, with my side pressed against the bars of his cell, feeling his heat mirrored against his side. I was on the free side of the cage, yet I was just as imprisoned as he was. We talked, and talked. I made sure he never felt that same darkness that forced him to ask Maggie for death and he made me realize that letting go of my baby girl might be simpler if she had a name.

“Surely you and Daryl had ideas.” He offered, our fingers linked together through the bars. “Give her a name, sweetheart.”

I sighed, and let my fingers trace the length of his. It sounded simple. It could be. But I couldn’t, not alone. “I’ll have to go to him,” it was a breath, but Negan heard me. “She was his baby too.”

He didn’t flinch. Or sigh. Or make any sign that it irritated him that I’d be leaving Alexandria to go to Daryl to have this conversation. It had been weeks since I’d seen him. I knew where he was, everyone who should know did. He was back at the site. Back where Dad had disappeared. Back to his search, which he felt was more important, more conductive to his pain than being with me.

“Then go,” he offered, but his hand didn’t leave mine. “But be safe, be smart, and come the fuck back to me, princess.”

I left a day later. I had to prepare. Daryl hunted, but God knew what he’d consider food at this point. Supplies, a horse, and I had to take Judith aside and explain. I wouldn’t leave her without a goodbye. Without assurances that I would make it back to her. Without telling her I loved her and she needed to be good for Mom. And so, hugging Mom, giving RJ a kiss on his soft and sweet smelling forehead, and one more hug and kiss to Judith, I was off.

My trip was uneventful. Few walkers approached, and those that did were easily dispatched. Knives and arrows, how quickly we learned to adapt. I heard the river before I saw it. I saw his early warning system before I saw him. And then I was at his camp, a dog approaching me with curiosity.

“DOG!” His voice sounded harsh from disuse. And I realized he probably only spoke to the dog, aptly named, and sparingly. The brown haired animal rushed back to Daryl’s side and I looked up at the man I once would have happily died for. Would I still? “Jessi.” He bobbed his head and gestured toward his makeshift seating arrangement around his campfire.

I sat and he joined me, biting his lip. “You look-” dirty, tired, miserable all came to mind. “Good.” It came out as lame as I felt. Why was I here? Right. “I-”

“Still as beautiful as the day I first saw ya.” I blinked back the pain in my chest and swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Missed ya.”

I nodded absently. Then why’d you leave? Why was camping by the damn river better than laying next to me and working through our grief together? I said none of it. Why bother? “I think we should name her.” It came out in a rush. Not my intention, but it did. “I can’t-WE can’t let her go if she doesn’t have a name.” My eyes were on the rushing water and I nearly missed Dog coming closer to me. And then his soft head was on my knee and my fingers slid through his rough fur. Soothing, just like I’d read during my short stint in college. Petting animals helped calm anxiety. “She deserves that much.”

“Jessi-” I shook my head. This wasn’t about us. This was only about HER. “You could have-”

“She was OURS,” I met his eyes finally, feeling all my pain and anger coming up. “I shouldn’t HAVE to do it alone.” I stood up, scaring Dog a bit, forcing him away from me. Walking to the bank of the river I watched the rush of the current, wishing like hell that my dad was here. “You can search for Dad, you can hide in a tent and adopt a dog, but you can’t name our baby.” I gave a snort of false humor. “Hard shit, sign up Daryl Dixon, the more simple it sounds he likes to sit that shit out.”

“You coulda died.” He was closer than I expected and I cursed his ninja-like feet. “You coulda died. We coulda lost Judith. And I couldn’t do shit to stop either fucking thing.”

“Our baby did die,” I was sure he was close enough to hear me over the water. “She’s gone, and we don’t get another chance, and she’s laying under the dirt. She’s alone and she doesn’t even have a fucking name.”

I didn’t fight him when he wrapped his arms around me from behind. I didn’t pull away when his chin propped on top of my head. I let my tears, the ones I’d held back for the most part after RJ was born, fall. Our little girl deserved so much fucking more. Than this. Than us.

“I’m sorry.” It fluttered my hair, his apology. “I have fucked up at every fucking turn with ya, Jessi Grimes.” I shrugged. Cannot unspill milk or unbreak eggs. “I couldn’t stay and see how-”

“Broken I was?” Sighing, I could feel Dog’s body sit next to my legs. “I’m fine. It’s fine.” It wasn’t, not really, but this is me. I reassure. I let go. “Let’s name her, and I’ll go home, and you can keep searching.” For a pipe dream. For a man who is as gone as our little girl.

I was home before dark. Mom seemed shocked. Judith was extremely happy. And Negan was relieved.

“You look tired, princess.” He was seated on his cot, but stood as I walked down the stairs. I pushed the chair closer to his cell and practically collapsed into it.

“Don’t get up,” I waved him off from standing, I was tired enough for the both of us. “I am tired.” I smiled at him. “And I probably smell like wet dog.” He chuckled and stayed seated. “I didn’t expect to go and be back so soon. Not that I’m not grateful.”

“Daryl come back with you?” His worry, no doubt. I shook his head. “Damn fool.” My smile grew.

“You’re biased.” I sat forward and touched the bars in front of me. “We named her.” I heard the springs of the cot squeak with his body shifting. “I had to stop by one of our more artistic people’s places, I want her grave marked properly.”

“What did you pick?” My eyes met his and I could see true interest. “What’s your little girl’s name?”

“Wren Mae Grimes-Dixon.” I smiled, thinking of how tiny she was and how the wren was a delicate bird. I brushed away an errant tear. “The man who I stopped to see, he’s making her a cross engraved with her name and-”

“A wren?” I nodded. “It’s a beautiful name, sweetheart. She would have been-”

“Would have.” I clutched at the bars in front of me. “WOULD HAVE.” I glared. It wasn’t fair. Why did my baby have to pay the ultimate price? Why did I have to KEEP paying? “I can’t decide if I’m pissed that you let me live to feel this. Or if I’m pissed that she didn’t turn inside me and take me with her.”

“Jessi,” I could hear his pain and fear. The pain of my loss and grief coupled with the fear of me slipping away again.

“It comes in waves.” I brushed more burning tears away. “I don’t want to die, but fuck if it doesn’t suck to live.” Closing my eyes against the feelings, the pain and anger. “I got to hold her.” I hadn’t told him. I didn’t want to relive the pain. “She was perfect. So fucking perfect, even when they put the needle through her tiny fucking skull ‘just in case’.” I felt the sob come and didn’t stop it. “She should be here.” It hurt. The steady beat of my own heart like a traitor. “She should have cried. She should have been demanding for my milk. Dirty diapers should be my reality, MY DAUGHTER’S dirty diapers.” Instead, I have my brother’s. Again. “I’m sorry,” fuck why now? I’d felt so much better on the way home. So good when I commissioned her grave marker. And now? Now I felt it all like it was new. “I don’t know-”

“Because you bottle it up, Jessi.” He was in front of me, his fingers touching mine. “You push it away, you move forward. That’s Jessica Grimes.” I looked up at him and saw his smile. “Stop being so fucking brave, princess. Let it out.” The tears were leaving burning paths down my cheeks. “Stay. Stay with me here, go up, ask them to lock you inside with me, but don’t fucking go back to Michonne and Judith tonight. Give yourself this ONE FUCKING NIGHT to be taken care of.” I closed my eyes. “It’s not a request, princess, it’s a command. Go up to whatever moron is lurking upstairs, tell them to open the damn door of this fucking cage and lock you in.” I didn’t move. “Let me hold you tonight, Jessi. Let me hold you while you fucking grieve finally. Please?”

It was easier than I expected, getting locked in the cell with Negan. I left my weapons easily with the guard, and then I was cradled in his arms, laying on top of him on his cot as he whispered comfort to me while I cried.

#The Walking Dead #negan x ofc #miscarriage #grief/mourning #daryl dixon x ofc #OriginalGrimesDaughter #rick grimes daughter

[axispheydra]

Prompt 23 - Thirsty

“It’s the rivers, miss. With the toads in spawning season, the locals can’t fetch the water they need. Damned things are so aggressive, and there’s so many of ‘em, too.” They Hyurian woman is almost apologetic as she speaks, wringing her hands and looking off towards the gentle baddle of the stream. True to her words, a number of gigantoads have made it their spawning grounds, and while one or two might not be a problem, no one in the village can handle that many at once.

It wasn’t an unusual thing in Thanalan’s deserts. Small settlements popping up along the rivers, just people trying to make their way in the world away from the suffocating grasp of Ul’dah. But these are ordinary people with ordinary talents, not versed in combat or blessed with fortune. They can’t even afford to hire an adventurer to clean out monster infestations like this.

That’s why they’re always so glad to see a paladin. Royalty among adventures, who work not for the clinking of gil in their pockets, but for the sake of those who need it. This is what justice is to Orara: helping those who can’t help themselves, and protecting the weak from the strong. Even if, in this case, the strong is just a handful of really big toads.

The toads themselves are scarcely a both to someone at her level. Although they regard her with curiosity (and likely hunger) as she approaches, they barely even react until her blade cuts their flesh. Even when they do fight back, it’s nowhere near enough to compete with a trained paladin. Soon, the small town’s water supply is free of monsters once more, and they have a sizable stock of toad meat as well.

“I don’t know how we can ever repay you, paladin,” says the Hyurian woman, taking Orara’s hand in her own. There are tears in the corners of her eyes, but Orara just shakes her head.

“You don’t need to worry about that. It’s our duty to try and help each other where we can.”

“I only wish more folks thought like that, paladin.”

How long ago was that? Less than a year? It seemed like another lifetime, now.

Orara stared into her drink, ruminating. It had only been two suns since a hole was blown into the side of the Free Company’s house and Ibe’ir escaped into the night, and the company was still in turmoil. Ganzeidin and Hastswys pulled on the reigns as best they could, but it seemed that everyone in the guild was shocked that one of their own could stoop so low.

“If anyone can steer us through this, ’s Ganze,” Hastswys said between tankards of ale. She was a lot less sober than Orara had ever seen her, and was presumably trying to get rid of the stress from the lookout. “Company’s important to him, y’know. To both of us. Father’s real proud, when it really took off. He’ll want to see it through.”

She’d looked over at Orara and smiled. “’M glad I thought to try and take ya in, Orara. Compared to most o’ the other folks in the company, yer just a lot more... whassa word...”

“Level-headed?” Orara tried. “Sensible?”

“Sounds about right. Quieter too. 'S a shame you’re a Lalafell, if you were a coupla fulms taller, then I’d-”

Hastswys got half a sentence in before the burning in Orara’s ears made her beg the woman to stop. The Roegadyn cackled, reaching for her tankard while Orara retreated back to hers.

“Something’s bothering me, though,” she said, feeling somewhat loose-lipped herself. “About the other night.”

“Oh? Whassat?”

It was more than one thing, actually. The timing of Ganzeidin’s arrival had been too perfect, especially considering Ibe’ir said their leader had contacted him and told him to check the house out. It was possible those two things were just a coincidence and a lie, but there was also the case of the arrow in Ganzeidin’s leg. Ibe’ir hadn’t been carrying his bow and arrow when they saw him enter the house. Hastswys’s expression began to harden as Orara spoke, before she finally responded in a low voice.

“Are you sayin’ my brother set this all up?” There was something of a threat in her voice, something that made Orara try to deflect.

“No, no. I’m saying it’s just odd.” Orara had expected some resistance, but to her surprise, Hastswys was quiet for a time.

“I was thinkin’ about the arrow thing too,” she muttered, staring into her drink. “But it don’t make no sense. Ganzeidin’s been workin’ harder’n anyone to make sure this Company stays alive. If he wanted out, he coulda left any time.”

“But then it would’ve been without money.”

“Fuckin’ hells,” said Hastswys, dragging her hands down her face. “It does kinda make sense.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just- it’s about justice. I can’t just let these things go.”

Hastswys peeked at Orara through her fingers. “’S about what?”

“I- oh. Nothing.” Orara retreated back to her own mug.

The pair sat in relative silence for a few minutes before Hatswys finally spoke. “We should go an’ talk to him.”

Orara coughed on her drink. “Right now?”

“Yeah. While we’re thinkin’ about it.”

“But we ain’t- I mean, we’re not really-”

“I know. But if I don’t get this outta my head I’m not gonna be able t’ sleep tonight. So c’mon.” Hastswys stood up and- to Orara’s horror- lifted the Lalafell out of her seat.

“What the- put me down!��� cried Orara, kicking against the woman’s grip. It was terrifying to be reminded that you were so small compared to nearly everyone else.

“Oof, Orara, yer way heavier’n I thought you’d be,” said Hastswys, staggering from the tavern. “Whadd’re you eatin’?”

“Then fuckin’ let me go!” she shouted, still squirming.

“Yanno, that’s the first time I think I ever heard y’curse!” laughed Hastswys.

“Aye, and you’ll hear a lot more if you don’t put me down!”

“Alright, alright,” said Hastswys. She knelt to place Orara back on solid ground, where she earned a slap across the face for her troubles.

“Hells whassat for?” said Hastswys, placing a hand over her cheek.

“Do that again and I’m usin’ the butt of my gun next time!” shouted Orara, finger thrust out. “Now c’mon. Let’s go find Ganzeidin before we sober up.” She began to walk away, only slightly wobbly.

“Ah, y'got a fire in you, lass!” said Hastswys, rising to her feet. “I like it. ‘S like good drink, leaves y’wantin’ more.”

“Keep it to yourself,” Orara grumbled. Hopefully they’d sober up on the way back to Mist; this was a side of Hastswys she was not fond of.

#FFxivWrite2019 #orara ora #writing #ff14

[reimagination]

Ophelia

The Noise is loud tonight.

I feel my skin a little too much.

"Dancing On My Own" plays on the radio.

I cry because I'm thinking of Carrie Fisher.

I remember exactly the temperature of the water.

Because the water was cold .

And the air was hot.

You said it's better to go when the air is cooler so it's less of a shock.

They whisper to me things.

My nose runs back into my throat.

Nat King Cole sings "Smile."

And I wish I could leave this country.

Should I put rocks in my pockets

Like Virginia Woolf

Who always in my mind

Looks like Nicole Kidman with a prosthetic nose.

I wish I coulda hugged Norma Jean.

I wish I had an answer for those immigrant kids.

I wish I wasn't afraid all the time

That someone might shoot me for being gay.

I found some pills today.

But it'd just be a temporary solution.

Because I ain't have the money for more.

I sing along to "Bury Me Down By the River."

I had a dream I shared jokes with Robin Williams.

Are they coming for me today?

Am I crazy enough them?

I'm a white man in an open carry state.

So do they think I'm gonna shoot them down?

But I don't even know how to buy a gun.

"It only takes an inch of water to drown a bitch."

I've heard him time and again, but it always makes me laugh.

Am tonight I that bitch?

I made fun of myself for being in the hospital.

I painted a picture in the style of Vincent Van Gogh.

I read somewhere that cold showers can ease depression.

I just stand there.

A slightly sulfur rain.

I just stand there.

Rutger Hauer was right about tears.

I can't see them.

But I can feel them.

Each one a ghost of myself.

They may be ephemeral.

But each emotion is real.

I just stand there.

Let the water rush over me.

I kept my secrets to myself.

#i write stuff #poetry #depression

[throne-of-no]

Rin Reads & Rants about: Catwoman: Soulstealer – Chapter 3

I’m finally back y’all! I finished my rough draft and now am ready to tackle this without the fear of ruining my writing image. LETS GO!!!!!

 So, chapter 3 starts off 2 years later with this:

               She was a ghost. A wraith

Which…sigh ok it’s a really stupid start with those dramatic words and honestly, the book should have STARTED here? We could have gotten those first two chapters in flashbacks or something but…I digress.

We then get a description of her and she looks different y’all now.

               The four-inch beige heels that clipped so nicely against the steps as she descended were just the start of the changes to her. The long golden-blonde hair, the manicured nails, and the suntanned skin were the next.

Lol so two things: She is now the blonde assassin that Sarah loves to write about. And she is now TANNED. She was PALE the first two chapters, but how boring is PALE gotta be suntanned!

Then Selina splooges on about her finely tailored clothing and all that which just made my eyes roll.

This entire beginning in my head is being read in an announcer voice like “WITH HER SUPER EXPENSIED CLOTHING AND NEW LOOK, SELINA IS BACK IN GOTHEM!” No? Just me? Ok

Selina then thinks about the League of Assassins and how they were bigger than any street lord and were such a ‘veritable force’ n stuff. It’s all very thrill stuff guys and totally doesn’t feel like utter info dumping.

               She (Selina) flashed them a wave and a smile white and bright enough to light up the Gotham Skyline.

Yeesh I can’t hold all this badassary flowing from our lead rn. Help me.

               Selina reached the sedan and the driver holding the door open for her. It took years of training to hold back her nod of thanks, to make herself ignore the urge to meet his eyes in a minimal greeting.

               He didn’t care to introduce himself. Didn’t do anything. Well trained not to be a presence but an instrument.

Uh, fuck you Selina. Why wouldn’t you thank the drive for picking you up? Also, the driver should be saying hi or hello ma’am. Who tf trains a driver to say nothing but open doors and drive people around without greeting them politely? Like, any limo driver would be like. “Good evening ma’am.” And yeah, celebrities normally are asses and don’t respond, but why tf would a driver be trained to be silent???? Like, this ain’t the middle ages when such jobs and the people who were in them were thought to be literal dirt to walk on. This is the 20 first fucking century where people are usually decent human beings to one another. Good grief.

Also, just in case you forgot, Selina has waxed golden legs now—forget those pale things they were 2 years ago!

Selina then goes into full detail of what makeup she is using and what she currently wearing and how. Something that was totally needed and I’m glad to have been enlightened by this. There is nothing better to read than her entire face updo.

               Selina stroked a hand down the silky-smooth leather of the Birkin beside her. The bag, the shoes, the clothes, the jewels—all were loaded symbols. Literally. And also, passports veritable golden tickets into the circles of society who dwelled above those eking out a living on the streets of Gotham City.

Sarah thinks we’re so stupid that we can’t figure out that its symbolism that Selina, who was born and raised in the bad parts of town, is now wearing all the fancy stuff. Thanks Sarah for holding my hand for I am a stupid reader.

               Nature is all about balance, Nyssa al Ghul, her mentor and personal instructor during her time in Italy, had once purred to her. Tip too far in one direction and it will always find a way to right itself.

               Gotham City had been tipping too far toward the rich and corrupt for a long, long time. She’d come home to right it once more.

Uh….if we’re talking about in terms of like a scale….no.  It would just fall to the heavier side. Now, if it crashed down and said things fell out of it then the other side would be heavier….That isn’t how this works. That’s not how any of this works.

Also…. she’s planning on infiltrating the rich side….hoow exactly and then do what...exactly? Is there a plan? Can someone tell me the plan…please?

               She (Selina) peer out through the gaps in the steel beams of the bridge toward the muddle-blue waters of the Gotham River. How many bodies would be swimming in it by the time she was finished here?

LOL WHAT THE FUCK? First of all is she planning to just throw ALL the bodies she kills into this specific water? I don’t know how effective that would be. Pretty sure they would catch on what you’re doing there. Also, from the sound it…you’re infiltrating the rich, you’re not…killing them all? Or am I totally missing this plan you have failed to explain to me?

               The brutal training at the League of Assassins had taught her many, many things. Had killed that street-raised desperate girl, leaving her somewhere at the bottom of a ravine in the Dolomites. Had drained that girl away into nothing, along with the blood of men who Nyssa and other had taught her how to bring down—how to punish.

This training sounds brutal and I wish we coulda gotten the book to be about said training rather than whatever the fuck this is about.

               Selina loosed a settling breath and beheld the sparking city as she reclined in the cushioned seat of the car.

               And finally, last long last, she allowed herself a little smile.

So, what Selina is like totally excited to be living the rich life now? Also I love how throughout this entire chapter it was like SELINA IS NERVOUS and then like 2 paragraphs later like SELINA WAS NOT AFRAID. Like…which one is it? UGH. Also, these snipets of training sound way better than this entire novel I’m JUST SAYING.

NOTICE:

The next chapter is in Luke Fox’s point of view so that will be fun. I will say though, I do not know how much input I will be able to give on the issue of race representation as I know things are brought up in that chapter about race, because I am a white female and have no real grounds to speak about it, nor am I well educated in such areas. So, if you’re expecting a full-on tearing apart of that portion of this book from here on out, sadly I am not your gal. I will, of course, continue to give my thoughts of the book and if I feel like I can, I will comment on some of those aspects. The last thing I want to do is misrepresent or make false claims especially when such a topic is very sensitive :)

 Interruptions count: 78

Animalistic words used for no reason: 7

#anti catwoman: soulstealer #anti sjm #Rin reads Catwoman: Soulstealer

[nasabeckx]

Try Again

Bucky x female!reader

Word Count: 2459

Warnings: Miscarriage, angst and fluff, I talk about beavers too much

A/N: Okay, I managed to finish this, it’s been “almost finished for like four days now and I was pretty sure I was never gonna finish it. Also, I have never been pregnant, nor have I been through something as horrible as this, and while I tried to learn as much as I could to make the information as accurate as possible, I’m sure there are a lot of mistakes.

masterlist

  "Alright, so if it's a boy? What's your pick?" Bucky asked.

 "I really like Alex," you responded, reaching over to grab a napkin from the opposing side of the table.

 "Okay, 'Alex'," he muttered to himself, trying to see if he liked it or not. He stuffed his sandwich into his mouth and chewed while he thought.

 "Yeah, I like Alex," he said, more confidently, "And if it's a girl?"

 "Alex," you said without missing a beat.

 "Oh, so you want a gender-neutral name, I see," he laughed. You looked at him with fake hurt in your eyes.

 "I'm kidding! I'm kidding, baby." he quickly recovered. Your hormones were going crazy, and he never knew when you were serious or not.

 "I'm just messin' with you," you giggled, "I mean, yeah I'd like a neutral name, but I really just like the name, and it happens to work with both," you explained, trying not to make him feel worse by laughing, which you were struggling not to do.

 You felt like you couldn't move. You wanted to yell and scream. You wanted to cry while pushing your face as far into your husband's neck as possible. You wanted this to be a dream.

 You woke up with a warm feeling around your legs, and a small pain in your stomach. Assuming you had wet the bed again for the third time in your pregnancy, you got ready to get up to wash the sheets, laughing at the thought of Bucky realizing it happened again. But, when you pushed the comforter back to inspect the damage, you were only met with red stains and your face dropping.

 You didn't know what to do first. Do you cry?  Do you wake Bucky up?

 After a few moments of consideration, you picked the latter, not feeling any emotion. You quickly took your hand and hit his back as hard as you could, nearly knocking him off the bed even though you knew he was a light sleeper.

 "Bucky... Bucky!"

 "What?" he asked, "did you wet the bed again? You know i-"

 "Bucky," you cut him off, "I'm bleeding."

 "Babe!'" Bucky shouted from upstairs. You set down the book you were reading and stood up from your comfy position on the couch.

 "Babe, come 'ere!" Bucky shouted again, impatient. He was obviously excited about something.

 "I'm coming!" you yelled, making your way up the stairs to your childish husband.

 You made it to the tops of the steps and start looking for him, unsure of where he was. He wasn't in the bedroom or bathroom, so he must've been in either the guest bedroom or the linen closet, and you were hoping for the former.

 You walked in to see Bucky standing in the middle of the room surrounded by boxes, buckets of paint, and other tools.

 "What are you doing?" you asked curiously, "And how did you get all of this in here without me noticing, you would've had to pass the couch?"

 "Doll, you know you're married to an ex-assassin, right? And you seemed to be so engrossed in your book, I probably coulda brought in a giraffe and you wouldn't have noticed." He explained, that last part makes you laugh and his eyes lit up when you did. He's said before, it was even in his vows, that his goal was to make you laugh, and boy did he fulfill his promise.

 "Then what are you doing with all this stuff?" you asked, not really putting two and two together.

 "Ummm," Bucky said, looking around the room and then back at you, "Building a nursery?" as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which it kind of was. You gave him a funny look.

 "Hon, you know the baby's not gonna be here for another 6 months, right?" You questioned. "Why don't we wait it out for a bit? We could invite Steve over this weekend! I'm sure he'd be happy to help you so you're not doing all of this by yourself." You were also planning on inviting Sam, as he'd be a huge help, but Bucky didn't need to know that.

 "Well, I'm just too excited and ya know how I sometimes get ahead of myself, just," he said, looking defeated, "humor me?"

 He gave you those big puppy dog eyes and knew you had to give in. How could you say no to that face?

 "Fine, but grab me a paintbrush, I'm helping," you said, turning around to go put on some clothes you were willing to lose to paint stains.

 You were in the passenger seat of the car with a blank expression on your face, while Bucky was on your left, sitting uncomfortably in front of the steering wheel as if at any moment he'll go into a rampage and crash the car. As that was the last thing he wanted to do and he didn't even want to be driving at that moment, he knew he had no choice.

 Both of you have barely said a word since you said the words that made both of your hearts drop, besides Bucky calling the midwife only for her to inform him to take you to the hospital for a scan.

 You felt bad because of the situation, obviously, you did, who wouldn't? But you felt even worse because of your reaction. You should be crying right now. Begging gods that you didn't even believe in to let your baby be okay. Let this turn out to be a big misunderstanding... or a dream! Yes, please, a dream would be much better.

 Part of you felt it was because of that small chance that it was one of those crazy pregnancy symptoms that nobody ever tells you about. That there was a scientific reasoning behind it that no matter how much the doctor tried to explain it to you, and how much you smiled and nodded your head, you would never understand.

 You were terrified more than anything. You thought this was crazy. Just a few hours ago you were laughing and eating dinner with your husband, happy as can be. And now you were in the car on the way to the hospital, just waiting to break down at any given moment.

You felt like you were a dam. Not one of those big mechanical ones that they build for strong wide rivers. No no. You felt like a dam that Beavers built out of sticks at the very top of the water, the waves from the stream threatening to tear down and destroy what they just spent so much time creating.

 And you couldn't imagine what was running through Bucky's mind. He was deprived of happiness for so long, and just when he finally had it in his grip, it starts to slip.

 You woke to a grumbling in your stomach, forcing its presence to be known. You looked over at the clock on your nightstand to see the red flashing numbers read the time: 3:24. For the past few nights, you've been waking up at around the same time for the same reason.

 You looked down at your barely protruding belly and the cool metal hand that lays on top of it. You were lying on your side with Bucky right behind you, his arm wrapped around your waist, loose enough so he wasn't constricting you, but tight enough to know you were still there and safe from harm. You were only just reaching your second trimester, but he was already protective enough of you when you weren't pregnant, so you were honestly just interested in seeing how far he would go with this.

 After managing to turn around in his grasp to face him without waking him up, surprisingly enough as he is the lightest sleeper you've ever known, you took a moment to admire him. He looked so cute laying there, with his hair tied back into the low bun you put it in before bed (he knew how to do it by himself, but he'd rather you do it since he always did it too loose so it always fell out by the time he woke up). His lips were slightly parted to make way for the quiet snores leaving his mouth, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath he took. He looked so peaceful laying there, and it almost made you regret waking him up. Almost.

 You pushed yourself closer to him to give a few pecks along his forehead. He slightly stirred, recognizing your touch, but his eyes were still closed, implying that he was still asleep. You stopped for a second, getting a feeling of confusion as that always worked, but you weren't going to be defeated now. You leaned closer and started peppering kisses on his forehead again, but this time you made your way down his face, going along his nose, cheeks, and finally ended at his lips. You put your hand on his chest and just slightly shook him awake.

 "Buuucccckkk," you dragged out his name in a whisper, not wanting to startle him awake. Finally, he took in a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his vision up, then gave you a look with furrowed eyebrows.

 "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, quickly pulling himself up to lean on his right elbow, using his left to inspect you for injuries, "What's wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

 "Baby, no I'm fine, nothing's wrong," you giggled. Bucky gave you a look of relief when you laughed, confirmation that you really were okay. He thumped back down on the bed to lay next to you, wrapping his arm back around you.

 "Then why did you wake me up?" he asked, almost groaning, shutting his eyes to hopefully relieve some of the tension he had in them.

 "I'm hungry," you said softly, hiding your face in his neck. You waited for his response. After a couple of seconds, you heard him sigh audibly. He rolled over onto his back and put his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes.

 "What do you want?" you heard the muffled voice ask you.

 "Potato chips and chocolate, please," you answered sweetly, smiling greatly at him. He slowly pushed himself up and out of the bed, and made his way to the kitchen.

 You sat up and leaned over to turn on the lamp at your bedside, and fluffed up your pillow. You patiently sat and waited for Bucky to return with your odd craving. It didn't seem to make sense to him, but it made perfect sense for you. Potato chips are good. Chocolate is good. So you figured they'd be good together. In other people's eyes, you may have seemed psychotic, but in yours, you were a genius.

 After a few minutes, the love of your life came through the door with Bucky carrying it. He put the plate down on your lap and you started chowing down. How the saltiness of the chips blended with the sweetness of the chocolate just created the perfect flavor.

 Bucky lied down on his side of the bed and watched you tear it apart. When you ate the last crunchy chip you bent over to put the clean plate on the opposite side of your nightstand so you could throw it out in the morning, and got up to brush your teeth quickly. The one downside to these early-morning cravings you were having was it meant you had to brush your teeth immediately after, as you felt as if your teeth were gonna rot if you didn't.

 You walked back to the bed, and quickly put yourself under the covers and snuggled into Bucky's chest, with both a full belly and a happy baby.

 You felt the car come to a stop and looked up to see you were in the parking lot of the hospital. Bucky turned the key to turn off the car and stopped for a moment, wanting to take in what was happening and what was at stake. He stepped out and trudged over to the passenger door to help you out the car and walk you into the tall building, not looking forward to the next few hours.

 Next thing you know, you're in a small room getting an ultrasound. Dr. Boren gave you warm smiles when she walked in, and as much as you wanted to return it, you just didn't have it in you. Bucky gave her a small grin, but it didn't reach his eyes.

 She calmly talked you through what she was doing, and now, all you were waiting on was whether your suspicions were true, if everything was fine, or, what you were most hoping for, for the nightmare to end before she said anything.

 You and Bucky were staring at the screen with your baby on it, hoping and praying, that he or she was okay. You weren't even at the point where you could tell the gender yet, but you both decided that you would wait until they were born, as neither of you cared about the gender. All you were hoping for was a happy, healthy baby. Now you might not even get that.

 There was an eery silence for way too long for your liking, but finally, the doctor looked at you and Bucky with a regretful expression on her face and an apology.

 That's when you broke. The waves finally busted through the barrier made of sticks and logs, leaving the beavers to do nothing but watch.

 As you were sitting there with your husband's arms wrapped around you, all you could think about was "What now?". You and Bucky have been trying for kids for years now. You had begun to think you were unable to conceive due to the serum running through Bucky's veins. That is until you got pregnant.

 You were ecstatic. He immediately called Steve in the car on the way home from your doctor's appointment after you two received the news. You had already started on the nursery, picked names, you were already planning their tenth birthday. You got too ahead of yourselves.

 And then you started thinking, "What about the beavers? What would they do after the destruction of their home?".

 They try again.

Tags~ (Open)

@ourghoststories

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #angst #fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst

[angryhausfrau-writes]

You Can’t Cross the Same River Twice - Chapter 21

“How was Maine?” Trapper asks as Hawkeye slings his duffel onto the bed. It's not his army duffel - that had been thrown out as soon as he'd gotten it back - but a new one made of cheerful red canvas, the furthest Hawkeye and the Sears catalog could get from olive drab.

“It was good seeing my dad again. And Steve, who appears to be settling in nicely. He's going steady with an old flame of mine, so that's one less woman chasing after me – which I'm sure we're both relieved about.” He and Trapper share a conspiratorial grin. “So it was good to hear about all that, and about how he's getting on at the practice.”

A pause.

“And it was good to visit Tommy.”

Good in a way Hawkeye hadn't necessarily expected.

It's not that his visits are ever bad, per se. But they can be exhausting. Emotionally difficult.

But this latest visit had been free of the yoke of guilt Hawkeye had carried around since Tommy had died on his table and Hawkeye had had to move on to other people he could save instead of saying goodbye. Free of the wild grief Hawkeye had kept in his heart ever since he found out that Tommy's body had been taken away some time during the marathon OR session – and that Hawkeye would never see him again. Free of the trepidation, the uncertainty that had so haunted Hawkeye's first visit.

--

Hawkeye stands on the rocky shingle where his granddad used to launch his lobster boat and stares out at the ocean. It's a beautiful day for winter in Maine - sunny and clear, with no cutting wind to strip the flesh from your bones. Hawkeye feels like it ought to be overcast and miserable, the weather appropriately solemn for the occasion. But Hawkeye isn't in charge of the weather. And Tommy always did like to be contrary.

Well, there's no sense in putting it off any longer – it's taken Hawkeye long enough as it is.

His gaze turns to the rocky beach beneath his feet, searching out a tz'ror. The stone Hawkeye selects is smooth and flat and large enough to serve as the foundation for all the future tz'ror he'll leave. Because he may not be religious, may not believe in any gods or any kind of afterlife. But through him, the memory of Tommy – his first best friend, his first of many things – will endure like stone.

Then Hawkeye makes his way up the rise to the lawn where his dad and Trapper are waiting – patient through all of Hawkeye's introspection and dragging his feet. They make a strange little funeral procession through town and out to the cemetery, his dad carrying a bouquet of flowers and Trapper carrying the last of the bottle of whiskey he'd used to grieve Hawkeye's supposed passing. And they may garner some unwanted attention from the various busybodies congregated in the town square, but Hawkeye's glad they're here with him for this.

Glad he doesn't have to face his grief and guilt and love for Tommy alone.

Tommy's grave is neat and well kept – his family clearly take tending to it seriously - and Hawkeye is glad of that. But there's a fucking bible verse on the tombstone – something saccharine and terrible about fighting the good fight and keeping the faith.

As if there was anything good about the Korean war. As if they know anything of the the fights Tommy fought – in the streets, in the classroom, in his books and articles. As if Tommy wouldn't personally fight any god who dared welcome him into the afterlife barehanded and with a smile on his face.

Hawkeye's dad places his bouquet on the grave and steps away. He'd gotten to go to the funeral, he'd said – paid his respects and said his piece then. This visit is for Hawkeye.

Hawkeye places the tz'ror on top of Tommy's gravestone.

“Hi, Tommy.” And there's no way to stall, nothing more for him to drag his feet over. “The war's been over a few months now. I'm sorry I'm only coming to see you now but it's, it's been hard. Getting to feeling like myself – figuring out who that even is. And I'm not all the way there yet, but at least I've got a chance at it, unlike you.”

Hawkeye pauses to blink back tears.

“I'm so sorry, Tommy. Sorry I couldn't save you, sorry that they made me try – sorry that you were in Korea in the first place. I know you don't blame me for it, that you forgave me there on the fucking table as you were dying. And I appreciate that - I'm trying to honor it – but I'm sorry you had to do that, too.”

Hawkeye runs his gloved hand over the sun warmed stone.

“I miss you, Tommy – I miss you and I love you. And I'm so, so sorry.”

Trapper comes up beside Hawkeye then, and takes his free hand. It would be risky if anyone were here other than his dad, but the cemetery is empty and Hawkeye really appreciates having Trapper's hand in his right now.

“I'm sorry we didn't get much of a chance to get to know one another, Tommy,” Trapper says quietly. “I reckon the three of us coulda had some fun together – coulda been friends after the war. You were a good guy, and I'm glad Hawkeye had a friend like you growing up. Someone to get him into trouble and then back out of it. I hope you're restin easy.”

Trapper takes a drink of the whiskey and passes it to Hawkeye who takes a sip and then pours the rest of the bottle over Tommy's grave.

It's not enough, but it's all Hawkeye has to give.

--

Hawkeye had gone home to his dad's house and cried. Cried like he had for Tommy when he died. Cried like he couldn't for all the other kids who'd died over there, and for all the kids who'd lived. Cried ugly and snotty and wailing.

And then when he'd finished crying, he and his dad had told stupid stories about all the trouble he and Tommy used to get up to as kids – all the pranks played and the jokes told – while Trapper listened and laughed. And later, he'd whispered other stories about him and Tommy into Trapper's ear as they laid together in bed. Stories about first kisses, second kisses, hundredth kisses. Stories about love that went beyond friendship, beyond a puppy crush, beyond “practicing for girls.” Stories about things his dad had probably guessed at, but that Hawkeye doesn't think he wants to hear about – wouldn't understand the importance of them the way Trapper does, anyway.

It had been cathartic, letting everything he's feeling out like that – the sorrow, the joy, the love. Hawkeye finally able to mourn Tommy after years and years.

And his subsequent visits to Tommy's grave had been easier – though not without a certain solemnity, a certain sense of a debt owed.

But his visit this past weekend had been different still. There was still an understanding of grief and loss and love – but Hawkeye was filled with an air of expectant joy, as well. The kind of quiet excitement you get at having the chance to catch up with an old friend you haven't seen in a while.

--

By now, Hawkeye has visited Tommy's grave enough that there's a whole stack of Tz'ror making a little altar on the gravestone. A testament to all the memories Hawkeye has of the trouble they used to cause together. And a marker of all the goings on of the world that Tommy can't be there for.

Hawkeye sits down beside Tommy's grave and talks for hours – about Crabapple Cove in the summer, about people they both knew as kids, about Hawkeye's life in Boston. About the lobster boil he and his dad and Steve are having down at the beach this evening and about Steve's continued harassment by the single women of Crabapple Cove.

About how the war's been over for a year and it feels like both forever and no time at all. Like it's been forgotten by everyone but those who were part of it. Those who's lives were marked by it. Those who celebrate its passing the way he and Steve are doing here tonight – and Trapper and Charles are probably doing in Boston.

“Speaking of the war, Tommy, your book's getting published finally. They wanted to make a bunch of changes – turn it into a real flag waver, use it to recruit kids to come over to Vietnam to get shot. But your editor told them to get fucked – and I may or may not have sent a few dozen angry letters when I found out about it. Along with everyone else in my little anti-war social club. And I think Margaret helped as well – she sure can pen a diatribe, I can tell you.

“So the book's getting printed just how you wrote it – minus some spelling corrections, if I know you. And that's something, I guess, even if it's nothing close to enough. Other people will get to see you, Tommy, get to know you. Get to see the truth of how things were over there.”

Hawkeye sighs. “I just wish you were still alive to see it - and to yell at all those nationalistic idiots yourself. But you aren't and you can't – so I guess I better keep doing it for you. After all, what are friends for if not to keep your communist propaganda from getting rewritten?”

Hawkeye laughs softly to himself and just sits for a while, leaning back on his elbows, looking up at the clear summer sky. It's almost like the sweet summer evenings from his childhood – sitting out on the back porch or down at the beach or out on the lawn. Him and Tommy talking and laughing and just being together.

Eventually, it gets late – the sun low enough in the sky to signal dinner on the horizon. So Hawkeye gets up and brushes grass off his pants, stretches his cramped legs.

“Goodbye, Tommy, I'll be back to visit as soon as I can,” he says and then turns away.

And Hawkeye realizes he's looking forward to that next visit. It's not a duty or a way to assuage lingering guilt but a joy to get to come back to visit Tommy. To talk to whatever small part of him lives on in this cemetery in Maine and in Hawkeye's memories.

--

Hawkeye shakes himself out of memory and back into the present. Back into his bedroom in his house in Boston. Back to Trapper.

“All in all, it was a good trip. But I'm glad to be back home.”

“I'm glad you're back home too, Hawk,” Trapper says seriously. “Cuz I just spent an evening with Charles Winchester and I'm ready for some better company.”

Hawkeye smiles coquettishly. “Trapper, you flatterer. C'mon, it couldn't have been that bad.”

“All right, fine, it wasn't that bad. Honoria and Marjory were there so I wasn't just stuck with Winchester all night. And that sure was a good thing, cuz he got pretty soused and wasn't up for much conversation. Not that that's a big loss,” Trapper says a little meanly.

Hawkeye whacks him gently on the chest with the back of his hand. “Oh, stop. You don't really hate him.”

“Fine, I admit he's gotten a lot less snooty since I first met him. But that don't make it any more fun to sit through the endless stories about how smart and rich and well bred he is.”

Hawkeye laughs. “All right, all right – I take your point. It does get a little boring hearing about summering on the Cape for the fifth time.”

“This time it was all about how glad he is Korea's over and he ain't had to see none of the riff-raff from the 4077 in a whole year, so at least there was some variety to the snobbery. Though him listing out the names of every single person in camp – minus you and BJ and, weirdly enough, Max – got old pretty quick.”

Hawkeye smiles wryly. “I'm surprised I wasn't on that list – Charles couldn't get away from me fast enough back in Korea.”

“Well,” Trapper grins, “you do got a way of growing on people.”

A pause.

“And as big a pile of shit as Korea was, there was good stuff too. Friends I couldn't'a made anyplace else. People I love and care about that I never woulda met otherwise. And I reckon that's worth remembering – and I reckon Winchester thinks so too, or we'd've never started playing poker together.”

“That's true enough,” Hawkeye says. “Though I won't be sorry when it's been so long since the war I forget exactly which anniversary we're on.”

#mash #piercintyre #fanfic archive #you can't cross the same river twice #chapter 21

[news-ase]

[asoenews]

[news-monda]

[news-sein]

[news-lisaar]

[crankpendletonplays-blog]

Numb-Jughead Jones

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description:

Protective jughead x reader where shes a csa victim and self harms as a coping mechanism & he finds out and comforts her when she's triggered by something & expresses his feelings for her? if youre uncomfortable with this feel free to change it/say no but could you do a jughead imagine where he and reader are besties but she hides her depression because she knows about his home situation. he knows something is up and somehow catches her hurting herself one day and gets angry but explains hes mad because he cares about her and she kept it from him when he coulda tried to help and ends with them as a couple somehow? Fluffy angst? Love your writing so much, and thanks for considering Hey! Just a small request for JugheadxReader where the reader self harms and he comforts them :) thank you! Had all of these in my inbox so I thought I’d combine them and make them one big imagine! Hope you guys enjoy this!! Warnings: Self-Inflicted harm, mentions of self-inflicted harm, mentions of mentality disorders, violence, mentions of rape/sexual assault, pg-13, Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ If there’s one thing I’ve come to terms with in my 16 years of living, it’s that the older you get, the more this façade you’ve built of the world as a child slowly crumbles at your feet, until everything is gray. I mean, you see color, obviously. The sun is yellow, the sky is blue, the grass is green, nothing new there. It’s more like, everything feels gray. The leaves aren’t as vibrant as they used to be, the perfect white picket fences suddenly look chipped and decayed, almost like it had been that way all along, and everything was wearing a mask. You also learn that everybody around you wears a mask as well. Nobody is as happy or as great as they claim to be anymore, and some hide it well compared to others. I was one of those people.

My childhood had been pretty normal up until middle school. That’s when everything kind of went to shit. My dad left my family, my grandma died, and my cousin died in a drunk driving accident all in one year. I was also bullied at school a lot, and ended up being jumped by a group of kids when I was walking home alone in eighth grade. I laid in the alley way for what felt like hours, just staring up at the sky while all the kids beat me and did unspeakable things to my body until I couldn’t even feel it anymore. They eventually left me for dead until by some miracle, Jason Blossom had been walking home from his football practice and found me. My older brother was friends with him, and he was considered a part of my family. He went to Riverdale, the same high school that awaited me that next summer after I left middle school.

I still don’t know how Jason managed to do it, but he had carried me five miles to the town’s hospital, where my mom and brother had been waiting. My mom burst in to tears when she saw me covered in blood and grime in the older boy’s arms. I remembered her asking me simple questions, like who the president was, and what year it was. I didn’t even have the energy to answer her. I was numb.

That was the day the sun turned gray for me.

Of course, there was a whole legal battle. My mom tried to press charges and get everybody involved arrested, but the only thing they had were a few witnesses, and a few items two of the people had dropped. The most we could do was get a restraining order on the worst of them, but it didn’t help much. My older brother made me write down every single name, and I made him promise not to hurt any of them. He obviously didn’t, because the next day he, Jason, and my best friend Jughead came back to the hospital with bruises and cuts, and when I asked they told me not to worry about it.

A month later I was attacked again by one of the boys in the exact same alley way. He caught me alone walking home again, late in the evening. I tried to scream and yell, but no words left my mouth as I did my best to get him away from me. The feeling of your clothes being torn of your body and unfamiliar hands touching you in the most horrific ways is by far the second worst feeling in the world, the first being having your virginity ripped away from you at 14 years old by a horny high school boy who didn’t care about the consequences. It’s a feeling that makes you unable to feel anything at all except broken and numb.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, and depression a year later, to follow with my insomnia. I was handed pill bottle after pill bottle, handed to doctor after doctor, took test after test, none of it mattered though. None of it could fix me. None of it could erase what the boy did to me, or how all he got was a slap on the wrist after leaving me half naked and cold in an alley way after leaving his semen all in between my legs

I started self-harming because I wanted to feel again. I wanted to hurt. I wanted to feel pain, I wanted to feel the sting of the blade on my skin, or the blood running down my arms, something, anything, but I couldn’t. I was just numb.

I was good at hiding it though. I was good at faking a smile, and making everyone think I was ok. I was good at pretending to be happy and avoiding the elephant in the room just like everyone else did.

Jughead and I had made a promise with each other a long time ago to not keep secrets from each other. I knew that. Of course I felt bad about lying to him, but I was keeping this from him for his sake, or, at least I tried to convince myself that this was my “logical explanation” for it. Jughead had too much on his plate to handle me as well. Hell, he had the fucking sheriff on his trail, accusing him of murdering the guy that saved my life,

My thighs burned as the fresh cuts rubbed against the short jean fabric, but I still didn’t feel pain. Of course, it physically hurt, but only my thigh. My chest was still numb in the place where my heart rested, beating and thumping against my ribs, but lacking any feeling. I was mentally numb from head to toe.

I paced up the bridge, heaving my body up until I was standing in the middle, looking out over the edge of Sweetwater river. I looked over the ledge, the water running and swirling through the creek calmly, the jagged rocks pointing up at me, almost beckoning me to pull myself up on to the concrete ledge and fall to their doom. If I couldn’t feel anything in life, maybe l could feel something in death.

I pulled myself up on the ledge, sitting and swinging my legs so they dangled over the water dangerously. I wasn’t scared. I don’t know if that surprised me or not.

I pulled out my phone, texting Jughead twice before shoving my phone back in my pocket.

“How do you stop somebody from making a bad decision?” “I’m at the bridge.”

I looked out at river for what felt like years, thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Would anyone even really care if I was dead? Do I even matter?

Of course people would care. My family would care, Jughead would care.

But for how long?

Would I even leave a dent, or a hole, or a mark on people’s lives if I was dead? Or I would just be another case of a tragic fucked up teen who didn’t get the help they needed in time?

Whatever, it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered anymore.

I couldn’t even feel it.

I sighed, pulling myself up so I was standing on the ledge. I took a deep breath, looking out at the water. I could almost hear Jughead’s voice in the back of my head, screaming at me to stop, begging and pleading me not to do this.

It was almost like he was here.

Wait. Was he?

I turned my head to look over my shoulder, seeing the boy sprint toward me wildly. Had we not been in this particular situation. I probably would have been laughing my ass of and making a snarky comment about how I had never seen him run before.

I froze.

Holy shit, he was running. He never runs.

I turned back around, looking down at the edge once more. I shuffled forward quickly so the only things left on the concrete were the backs of my high tops, before holding my arms out and beginning to lean forward.

Everything that happened next felt like those slow mo scenes in Matrix, where Keanu Reeves dodges bullets like a fucking badass, except this time, there were no bullets. Just me, falling to my death, and Jughead’s arms wrapping around my torso and pulling me off the ledge, the both of us stumbling and falling on to the cemented bridge.

For the first time in a long time, I felt things again.

I felt Jughead’s arm wrapped tightly around my waist. I felt his hand on my thigh, his fingers flat against the bright red cuts and faded scars that littered my skin there. I felt his head on my shoulder, and his hair against my neck.

And I felt fear.

I felt the fear of what I had just done, what I was getting ready to do. I felt the pain of the cuts and bruises on my body. I felt the pain of what those people had done to me and my body.

I turned in Jughead’s arms, my body wrapping itself around his instinctively. Both of our faces were wet when he shoved his lips on to mine, our tears mixing together as they feel freely down our faces. The pain, fear, and hurt that I had felt in those ten seconds were immediately replaced with new feelings.

Love.

Happiness.

Hope.

Faith.

For the first time in forever, I finally felt something. I wasn’t numb, or cold because I felt something bigger than that. I felt love.

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

If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide, or at risk of suicide, please call the number 1-800-273-8255. This is not the end. You will never not matter. People do love you and you will leave a dent in their lives. Don’t give a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

#jughead jones #TRIGGER WARNING #riverdale #kj apa #archie andrews #betty cooper #lili reinhart #veronica lodge #cami mendes #cole sprouse #casey cott #kevin keller #madeleine petsch #ross butler #reggie mantle #Cheryl blossom #Josie and the pussycats #multifandom blog #multifandom imagines