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mydisasteracademia · 3 years

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SFW Alphabet: Enji Todoroki

Before you start, I know, I know. For this one, I’m pretending that he and Rei are divorced (which is frankly what they need and deserve), and he’s the Number One. Please don’t yell at me about how much he doesn’t deserve anything nice.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Enji is very awkward with his affection, especially to you. Quick little hugs, head pats, maybe even a pat on the shoulder. He’s trying not to be overbearing, but he hasn’t even dated before (his engagement to Rei doesn’t count), and he hasn’t shown romantic affection since his first two children were born.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

More willing to be around you, less likely to get annoyed at your antics. You likely became friends after you recognized him on the street and asked for an autograph for a family member, he accidentally broke your only pen, and you just met for coffee to start over.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

When you’re alone together and you sidle up to him, he enjoys cuddling. You’re so small in comparison that he just enjoys curling up to you, but only if you initiate. He doesn’t want to overstep in his first relationship as a single man again.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He can cook and clean well enough. Even though I imagine him with hired help up until he’s divorced, he knows how to function by himself, especially now that the kids are gone. He’s afraid of settling down again, just because his past still haunts him too much.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Oh, it would kill him to do it. But maybe he’d get too paranoid if you being targeted just to get to him, and he’d sit you down and discuss breaking up for now. He’s not out to break your heart; he wants his loved ones safe. He spends a lot of time avoiding his feelings in the days and weeks following.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Very afraid of commitment again. After the disaster that was his first marriage, even the thought of having children is enough to have him run for the hills. It takes a lot of time and healing for him to even consider marrying someone.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He tried to be gentle with you, but sometimes his brash personality can seep out. He feels awful every time it happens and tries to make it up to you, but for the most part, he’s been successful at being careful. His touches are light, as if you were made of glass.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He appreciates hugs from certain people. He enjoys when his daughter hugs him, and it makes his day when Shouto hugs him. He doesn’t initiate them with you, waiting for you to make a move. As soon as you hug him, though, his arms are wrapping around you like a big, warm, muscley blanket.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It happens during a villain attack in your first year of friendship, when he realizes he’s both in love with and terrified of losing you. As soon as you’re safe he’s hugging you tight, saying “Don’t scare me like that, I love you”.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He can get jealous easily, especially when you’re around people like Toshinori. He knows you can do so much better than him, and some part of him wants to let you go free, but then he realizes he doesn’t want you to leave.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are shy, yet passionate, and he often goes for your forehead. He likes it when you kiss his face, especially when you tenderly kiss his scar.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s, admittedly, not as good around children. Not unless it involves training in some way. He just doesn’t have the patience or endurance to keep up with them these days.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He gets up earlier than you do, due to his work as a pro. He might wake you up to eat breakfast with him, but otherwise he leaves you a note and a plate of food, detailing when he thinks he’ll be back.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Usually tries to make it for dinner, but always ends up collapsing into bed with you, just holding you close.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s hesitant at first, given that he doesn’t want you to run off the minute you learn of his past as an abuser. It takes a lot of mutual trust before he can really open up to you, and even then he worries you’ll leave him. He starts off by peppering little things about his kids here and there, maybe some things he likes.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

This is Enji we’re discussing. Of course he’s got a temper. He tries to keep his cool these days (trust me, he was way worse before as his family can attest to), but now he’s got a better handle on his temper. He still gets irritated easily, but he doesn’t rage like he used to. Not unless he’s facing a villain.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers what he can. As we’ve seen, he has a pretty good memory about little things (think Rei’s flower), so if you tell him you like or dislike something, he’s going to remember it.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Honestly, his favorite moment was when he first discussed his past with you. You’d cried as he told you of the horrible things he did and what he was doing to atone for it, and when you said you’d support him in his path to redemption, it really touched his heart.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Extremely protective, to the point where he would voluntarily end the relationship if it meant you were safe (though that’s largely rooted in his own insecurities). But sometimes he just wants someone to hold him and reassure him too.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts everything he has into your relationship. Tries to make time for dates, gives you breakfast in bed on your birthday, every once in a while giving you little trinkets... he’s also used to doing chores on his own, so don’t be surprised if he does most of the work around the house now that it’s just him.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Oh geez, where to start? He’s still got a temper that tends to flare up on bad days. If he gets too deep into his own self-loathing he’ll go a few days without even seeing you, instead sleeping at the agency and doing work from there. Real touchy about the subject of kids/marriage/his past and will stubbornly refuse to talk about it, sometimes to the point of fighting. Too prideful to admit his misdeeds sometimes. Drinks in the evenings to numb some of the pain. Spends way too much time in the gym and often neglects his own health.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He does what needs to be done. Trims stubble, makes sure his hair is combed, takes extra care with his clothing... he wants to keep up the facade that he’s got everything together in public. When he’s alone, shirtless and sweatpants for days babey.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Depends on how far in the relationship you are. In the beginning, he’d be sad, but he would learn to push the pain down. Later on, though, he wouldn’t want you to leave. He likely wouldn’t get into another relationship after you, focusing instead on his work.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I mean, I know this is already kinda canon, but he is a very Proud Dad. In order to make up for all that he missed, he likes to keep track of his kids’ accomplishments and if you get him drunk enough he melts into this puddle of pride as he boasts about how great they’ve become. Has about dozen framed pictures of his family (and two of just Rei, one when she was discharged from the hospital and one on the day the divorce was finalized) in his bedroom and office that he looks at whenever he’s lonely.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Anyone not willing to keep him in check. That would be the big one. Anyone too judgmental and/or just plain mean. Anyone who likes to poke at his insecurities just to watch him explode. Especially not anyone who gushes about other heroes all the time (especially not Toshinori).

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He tries to keep a fairly-regular sleep schedule. He usually ends up going to bed fairly late and waking up early. Sometimes if he gets a chance to take a break during the day he’ll nap depending on how exhausting it’s been.

#sfw alphabet #enji todoroki #todoroki enji #endeavor #endeavour

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

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Shadows and Pills - 2

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it.

A massive thank you to all my friends for support, especially to @glassjacket and @thoughtslikeaminefield . I say it a lot, but you need to know I love you.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: Part 1 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

Morning Routine: Already woken up. Shut off alarm with a shriek of terror by heaving it across the room with enough force that it shatters against the wall. Breathing exercises for thirty minutes to lower accelerated heart rate. Shower until the hot water is long gone and hypothermia is close to setting in, but she still can’t get clean. The thick, mucus-like sensation won’t leave her skin, glue and ashes spread thick over her flesh in a foul assault to her tactile senses that leaves her dizzy and faint if she considers it for too long. Throw out every scrap of food in the apartment; just the sight of it makes her gag and retch. Choke down the meds (the only thing she can stomach, at this point). Throw on clothes she’s mostly sure are on the correct end of her body. Grab her keys, and…

Where…

She always puts her keys in the same spot. Dish on the tiny table by the door. That’s her key dish. She knows she put them there. They are always there. She can remember putting them there; it’s one of the precious few things she knows she can do right these days.

So…

Why aren’t they there?

Thirty minutes turning the entire apartment upside down looking for the keys, ignoring the shadow that follows her from room to room, skittering to a far wall whenever the shadow runs too near, pretending that she is still alone, searching, searching, where the hell are they, I always put them in the dish, I know I dropped them in there, I can hear the clink from when I put them away yesterday where could they possibly have got to it’s not like THEY’D WANDER OFF BY THEMSELVES WHERE ARE MY GODDAMNED KEYS-

A searing, ripping pain tears her from her spiraling thoughts and back to the present where her hands are clenched in her hair, her nails dug into her scalp, and something slick and hot slides between her fingers. She releases her clenched fists, but her fingers come away smeared with blood and clumps of hair, and her shoulders begin to tremble, her mouth quivering and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“I just...need my keys. I need to breathe. I need my keys. I need-”

<clink>

Her head whips toward the sound, and there they are. In their dish. In the same dish she knows she left them in last night. Where they absolutely were not sitting seconds ago.

“But. I didn’t. They-“

No.

She snatches her keys and flees, followed closely by her personal nightmare.

...

The silence stretches out longer than even Alexa is comfortable with. The constant scratching of the doctor’s pen has quieted, and still Alexa sits, unnerved but unwilling to speak without direction. Answering questions is fine, but if she speaks on her own, she’ll start babbling. And there are a few things she needs to not say.

Like how she’s averaging about an hour of sleep a night, according to her clock. The nightmares start every time she falls asleep. She remembers less and less about any of them, to the point where the only way she knows she was even asleep is the inevitable rip back to consciousness.

And she’s not just missing parts of her dreams. Her days are beginning to blur, individual moments bleeding into others until she’s lost whole chunks of time, hours that are a smear in her memory with no real details. The loss, both of her days and nights, shakes her more than the lack of sleep. What else is she losing, along with her memory?

She can’t tell him why she’s wearing a hat or how she has to set reminders on her phone to stop tearing at her hair, how she has to clean her scalp and hold pressure at least once a day to stop the bleeding and try to repair the damage done by digging nails and ripped follicles.

She can’t tell him about how she can’t look in mirrors anymore. Two days ago, she was brushing her hair out into a ponytail with the intention of wrapping it into a skull-aching bun that might help hold everything inside her head and maybe possibly help her keep her fingers out of her hair, and then suddenly the eyes looking back out at her weren’t her own. Brown bled into ice blue then green in a flash; a wicked, cruel smile curved her lips, and she could feel herself smile, but she wasn’t smiling, and-

So, no, she shouldn’t lead the conversation today. Today Alexa needs a little guidance.

She feels the doctor’s gaze, but there’s less scrutiny than usual. His eyes feel a little more sympathetic than she’s used to, but she still won’t look up. He’s good at getting her to talk, and she needs every ounce of self-control just to keep herself held together and not exploding across his polished, pristine desk.

“Alexa, you don’t look like you’re...How have y-”

She must look pretty wretched if even the doctor is at a loss for words. She wouldn’t know. She has actively avoided all reflective surfaces for two days and has no idea of the state of her appearance. She can’ remember the last time she ate. What’s left of her hair is tucked under a knit cap; she’s cold all the time now, anyway, so the cap is a constant accessory. And it helps keep her hands out of her hair. If her looks are anything as bad as the state of her thoughts-

“I’m sorry it’s so bad for you right now.”

The statement is quiet, sincere, and wholly unexpected. Alexa almost drops her guards, almost meets his eyes. Her hands quake with the effort of maintaining her silence, clutching the edges of her chair with aching, creaking fingers. Her control is as brittle as her nerves; she wants to share, wants to not be alone with the shadow that’s her only company these days, but if the doctor knew…

“Are you sleeping anymore at all?”

She nods once, a sharp, staccato gesture that leaves out more than it says. It’s not a lie. One hour, however broken up in however many fragments, is still one hour, and sleep is still sleep.

“Are you following your medication schedule?”

Another single dip of her chin. She gives herself a little credit for not leaving anything out of this answer. She’s even remembering to follow the dosage increases. Maybe even a couple of increases of her own. Anything to numb, to shut out, to keep...it...away.

“Alexa, are you still with me?”

God, she wishes...everything feels muffled and thick, like her existence is coated in petroleum jelly. She's just so tired, and everything is so heavy and...and difficult…

“I can’t help you if you won’t communicate with me. Help me help you. Anything. Just the basic facts.”

Where to even start? Maybe getting locked up would be worth it if he really can help, can really make this...stop…

“I can ease your pain and get you on your feet again.”

She’s pretty sure nothing can help at this point, so really there’s no need to keep anything back. Being hospitalized can’t be any worse than living like this…

“Relax. Can you show Me where it hurts?”

No.

...no...not here, not…

“Your lips are moving, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Is there something you wish to confess? The good doctor can’t reach you now, but I am ready to receive your prayers. Speak, Alexa. Tell Me everything.”

Get out, get OUT, I have to go, I can’t, you can’t this isn’t - GET OUT!

“ALEXA! Wake up! You’re safe! Come back!”

Fingers, firm in their grip, but warm and clean and so very present, clench around her hand, pulling her out of her mind and back to the office. The rushing noise in her ears fades until she realizes it is the heaving of her own panicked breaths. She clenches her fingers, catching the doctor’s hand before he can pull away.

She hasn’t touched another person since she left the hospital.

“Please...I just need...a minute.”

He sits in the chair closest to her, holding her hand resolutely, despite any personal protocols to the contrary that he has demonstrated in previous sessions.

“As long as you need.” There is no eagerness, no exasperation, only concern and calm, and it soothes her raw nerves in a way nothing else has. She focuses on the warmth, the sheer thereness of his grip, and breathes, squinting her eyes against the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds.

Too bright, too warm, too…

The fingers in her palm chill suddenly, their embrace tightening painfully. Her hand feels slick, not with sweat, and her teeth begin to chatter. Her eyes squeeze shut as her stomach shatters, and a pitiful mewling escapes her lungs.

“Take all the time you need. I possess the patience of millenia.”

Breathe. Breathe slowly, you’re asleep. You’re exhausted, you just fell asleep. Wake yourself up. You can do this. Just...just breathe and wake up.

And then her hand is free of all contact, and the air in her lungs comes easily. The warmth of the filtered sun returns to her frozen limbs, not overly bright in the least.

“I think our session was particularly productive today.”

The therapist's voice comes from farther away, and she opens her eyes to find him back at his desk, pen in hand, legal pad full of fresh notes. She blinks, swallows, and sits up a little straighter.

“You seem to be making excellent progress with your strategies. Go ahead and up your dosage to the next step. Remember, I’ll be out of town on Thursday and Monday, so I’ll see you again in ten days. You have the emergency number if anything goes wrong?”

She nods numbly, unable to process anything beyond the basic requirements of behavior needed at the moment. He eyes her, his forehead wrinkling in sudden concern.

“Don’t hesitate to call that number at any hour,” he finally says, his fingers steepled to show just how serious, how sincere, he is. “Anything at all, whatever you need to talk about, call that number. The nurse will transfer you immediately if it’s an emergency. Will you call if you need to?”

She nods, a little more vaguely than she intends but her throat is paralyzed, her tongue nerveless and useless. He accepts the gesture at face value, though, and dismisses her with wishes for “continued progress and a good weekend.”

…

Afternoon routine: Stay out as late as possible, put off the inevitable. Stay out all goddamned night if she has to. There’s no point in voluntarily returning home; she knows this with a sense of dread as acute and sharp as the pain in her scalp. So she shuffles on, unseeing and unseen in the city that never sleeps, one of a numberless mass who denies reality for the sanity that fantasy provides, pretending that she isn’t being stalked, that she isn’t haunted by a continuous loop of ghosts and flashbacks of the dead from that day reminding her over and over that she survived while they didn’t, that she must remember them, that she isn't losing her mind, that the shadow isn’t constantly whispering to her, commanding her over and over and over to simply let go.

She pretends that she isn’t blacking out and waking to find herself in bed, night after night, in the midst of torment and debasement that her ragged mind can neither handle nor shut out. The shadow rips at her in a thousand ways, and she feels all of them, every shred of her consciousness pulled apart and examined and manipulated until she can’t remember who she was before this fundamental desecration.

Release yourself. I can break you completely, help you forget the pain and the misery. Let Me shatter you, remake you in My Glory. Only then can you truly be free from pain.

She fights. It’s all she has left, this battle of wills, and she clings to the tattered bits of her remaining self with a tenacity that impresses even the shadow.

How you shine, even in My darkness. Let me turn your burn to an icy one, let Me freeze your pain, let go and drift in My adoration. I shall raise you up; only grant Me entrance, give Me leave, and I will bless you, bring meaning and solace to your piteous existence.

God help her, she’s starting to slip. She just wants everything to end. No one will miss her, no one is depending on her. The only noise her phone has made in weeks are the reminders that she has set. She hasn’t sent in an assignment for nearly a month, and no one has so much as emailed. What is she holding on for, anyway?

You have fought so long and so hard. I can reward your valor, provide you a balm for your suffering. I will keep you safe from pain, from truth, from choice, from other poison devils. I can take the very memories from you, just as I did before, save you from yourself.

What?

And then her mind is flooded with a scene, a memory of the attack, but she sees it from outside herself, as if watching a film with herself as protagonist. She flees as debris falls all around, narrowly missing pipes, concrete, and office furniture as it rains down mindlessly, destroying life after life. By the time she reaches the ground floor of the stairwell, everyone is packed tight and covered with blood, dust, unspeakable filth, and the wretched crowd bursts into the lobby in a blind panic. They reach the street in the same state and turn as one to flee in the direction of least resistance.

Alone in the crowd, Alexa is jerked to a halt, nearly losing her feet as bodies plow around and nearly through her, but she is frozen as if glued to the pavement. There is no safety anywhere. A battle rages around them, monsters everywhere, incomprehensible and terrible, and then the glass lobby doors behind them explode, and Alexa knows the brief but exhilarating sensation of flight.

And then she crashes, and she knows the timeless and terrible sensation of fire. And pain. And crushing weight.

Watching the scene passively, she remembers everything, she feels everything even as her other self does, but now she is also an outside witness to the anguish. She knows the lines of suffering etched on her face and knows that she wears them even now. She feels the words echoing through her mind from that day, a thought, a plea, a silent prayer to someone, anyone who can help, can end her suffering.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just help, please…please, I don't care how anymore, just...end it.

And then a figure drops from the heavens, it seems, falling from one of the monsters’ flying vehicles, and it crosses the street and sidewalk as if drawn straight to her by the waning strength of her silent screams.

An impossibly cold hand grasps hers, pulling her up from the rubble, sliding her from underneath the bits of building as if they aren't present and pressing the life from her, bringing her face to face with darkness. The sun dissolves, shadows descend, and she decides that, as deaths go, hers could be worse.

She is lifted as if she weighs nothing, the fingers pressing into her face. A bitter, gelid frost flows through her veins, and the pain is mercifully dulled, lessened to a mere phantom, and then the god (for surely her savior can be no less to have such power at hand) pulls her into an icy, terrible embrace.

I find Myself in need of a conduit. Grant Me some small space of sanctuary, and in return I shall heal your broken body. Allow Me entrance, now, woman, before you depart this plane entirely. I am your God, your only chance of salvation. Do you accept Me?

His voice is black velvet, midnight shadows slipping across the moon, and she can’t find the will to say no. Giving in is so much easier, hurts so much less, and she feels as if she’s been hurting forever, spent her whole life being crushed to death.

“Yes.”

His lips press to her, but there is nothing tender in the kiss. Ice, death, absence rushes into her, infecting a small fraction of every cell, sinking deep into her psyche before erasing all remembrance of its presence.

Alexa thrashes under the weight of the memories, the weight of the phantom debris crushing her down, only to find the man, the god himself lies atop her, pinning her emaciated form to her ruined sheets. His pale skin glows in the night, his ebony hair falling around their faces in an blasphemous mimicry of a halo. His painful beauty rips one last thing loose within her, and she remembers.

I would that you should allow Me leave to heal you once more, to form you into a proper vessel. I shall alleviate your anguish, and you may sink into My worship with euphoric, blissful abandon.

She is tempted, more so than any other time in her existence. She thought her imprisonment under the shattered building was horrible, but now she knows true torment. And yet, she resists.

Why do you continue to battle? You cannot prevail, and submission will bring you such pleasure as you have never known. Am I not your own personal God to worship? Do you not wish to drown in My blessing, to submerge yourself in My oblivion?

But he is the author of her suffering, as well, this would-be god who attacked her city, killed thousands of people for his ambitions and family squabbles. Who is she to tarnish the world’s grief for her own personal relief?

But he knows what is in her heart and her thoughts; it was there he planted the seed that has grown to strangle her sanity and reality, and he sends pressure through the roots of this vine to dig into her very soul. She shivers beneath him with wordless agony.

His face presses against hers, tongue snaking out to trace a tear track up her cheek, back to its source. Frozen lips ghost over her clenched eyelids, and she swallows the miserable moan that rolls up from her stomach.

I saved you once when I could so easily have allowed you to continue your half-life under the rubble until your flame sputtered and died, as it was meant to. And I shall show Myself once more a merciful, benevolent God. For you, My pet, a gift.

And suddenly there is a space in Alexa’s mind, a blank where something, someone, important once lived, someone vital stripped away. She gets a last glimpse of a smiling woman, proudly showing off a photo of a swaddled infant, of a filing cabinet collapsing, of a curling hand, before Brenda is ripped from her mind like so many strands of hair from her scalp. The pain of Brenda’s death, the horror of her last moments, yes, but also every bit of the love between them.

And then the name is gone, too.

Have I pleased you? Do you see now what relief can be had with submission?

“That...wasn’t...she wasn't yours to take-” But even the memory of the violation is fading, leaving only breathless, panicked horror and dull, aching want in its wake.

The shadowed god frowns, displeasure pressed into every line of his face, and his fingers tighten until the bones in Alexa’s wrists shriek in protest.

Must I nail Myself to a cross or rip out My eye to be worthy of your reverence? I grant you one more gift, then, of choice. One day to consider. Embrace My oblivion freely, willingly, joyously, as you know you should, and feel My pleasure. Or suffer in your belief that this pale, pointless realm offers you anything like what I can give. This shall be My last offering. Submission is sweetest when freely given, but so, too, can I revel in seizing what you so stubbornly withhold.

His lips seal over hers, stealing air and screams alike, and she feels him everywhere at once, emphasizing his threat, his promise. Her traitorous flesh, craving any tourniquet to stem the endless flow of pain, cleaves to his frozen form, curving against his body in a mockery of love making that leaves her stomach heaving.

And then he is gone. His presence, his pressure, his shadow, even his laugh lingers, but his form vanishes with her next thought. She falls from the bed, a perspiring, retching, wailing mess. There is nothing left within her to eject, but her digestive tract makes a resounding effort.

It’s hours until the sun comes up, and she counts every second from where she shivers, wedged tight between the bed and the nightstand. ...

3 (end)

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welcometocaritas · 4 years

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‘if you love me, don’t let go...’

First chapter of my yumagna fic is out ladies and gentlebabies!

Chapter: 1/6

Characters: Yumiko & Magna

Pairing: Yumagna

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Format: Multi-Chap

Summary: At some point, you just have to let go - or so Yumiko keeps telling herself.There was never any letting go of Magna.

Links: A03, FF.NET

[watermark is from my instagram yumagnas.home don’t worry i didn’t steal the pic ;)]

A/N:

[The rape/non-con is there for Magna's cousin and it will only ever be in references I will not be writing anything detailed about it because I don't want to trigger anyone and this isn't the story for writing about something like that as I would not be able to give it the time and attention it deserves]

Small note: Magna's cousin is called Maisie in this and I've also given her a brother called Morgan.

y'all are going to hate me because yes, this is going to be over 20000 words about a single night. And probably not even the whole night. but there's also flashbacks so it's OK? In my defense, we've gotten very few conversations with these two so there was a lot to talk about. I can't be held responsible for my actions. blame the writers.

I’m honestly a little worried that I’m going to bore people to tears because there’s really no plot. It’s just yumagna being soft and finally sorting out their shit.

I'm also working on a short oneshot - for real this time it's actually going to be short - that's set in the indeterminate future after this. It's basically just going to be pure fluff which you should knew is unheard of - I never write fluff. So hopefully it's not terrible.

There be angst here, lots of angst, but also comfort - if you’re familiar with my writing that won’t be a surprise to you.

I don’t have much hope for canon so I decided to do what I could to fix the mess they made.

I normally wouldn’t reveal anything that’s going to happen in a fic but y’all have been tortured enough already so just know I will absolutely be getting these girls back together, it won’t take more than a night, but it will take about 20000 words. Most of the story is written out already I’m just doing post-edits so I’ll update daily :)

If things seem a little disjointed it’s because I wrote everything out of order and it’s been a bit of a struggle to get everything to fit into place. I also haven’t slept more than 1-4 hours a night for the past three weeks, have been getting constant migraines and blood sugar crashes so I’m gonna apologize right now if there are any mistakes. I’m super sorry.

This is for the yumagna fandom cos I wanted y'all to have something nice with everything that's going on. I would also like to give a special thanks to Abbey and Mina who acted as my sounding board throughout this whole thing and were very patient with me - love you guys :)

....

"If you love me, don't let go

Hold

Hold on

Hold on to me

'Cause I'm a little unsteady

A little unsteady . . . "

- Unsteady by X Ambassadors

. . .

Nightmares had always been an issue, though less so in recent years. Magna had gotten almost gotten used to having a full night's sleep, barring the occasional pillow snatch. Back before all this started, she'd been on medication for PTSD, but well, it was kind of hard to fill a prescription in the middle of the apocalypse - and, well, the apocalypse had only added to the previous need for said medication. At least she was in good company. These days, it was more of a surprise if someone wasn't experiencing some form of post-traumatic stress, and that was a somewhat odd reality to wake up in, day after day. For years, this thing had set her apart but now? Now it just made her like everyone else.

Miko had nightmares too.

It was what had led to them sharing a 'bed' in the first place, way before things between them moved beyond the confines of friendship. They'd fallen asleep by the fire one particularly cold night, curled around each other for warmth, and they hadn't awoken until morning.

It had been something of a revelation.

On Magna's end, she suspected it had had a lot to do with trust. She'd trusted Miko not to shove a shiv into her side or try to cop a feel whilst she slept, trusted her even more to have her back if things went south during the night. She'd been . . . safe. Magna wasn't used to people being safe - she wasn't quite sure what she offered Miko in return, though; maybe the same thing.

Of course, in many ways Yumiko wasn't safe. There was nothing safe about the way Magna felt about her. Or the way those feelings seemed to be returned. She knew Miko had had a girlfriend in college who cheated - and when the other woman had told her that, a vindictive part of her had hoped the bitch had been one of the many, many people to meet their end by sicko teeth. Miko had smacked her on the arm for that comment, exasperation tempered by fondness and reluctant amusement.

She'd realized in her time away, that this past hurt would have only sharpened Magna's betrayal. Trust was important to Miko - hell, it was important to Magna - and she had broken hers by lying, lying for years. She hadn't thought of it that way when she'd been doing it. The secret had weighed on her, yes, but she'd been viewing it from a place of hadn't really considered how it would hurt Miko, only what it would do to their relationship if it had ever come out, what it would do to her.

That, more than anything, had made her realize that Miko had been right to kick her out. More than right.

Which is why she could hardly believe that they were here now. That Miko was letting her head rest in her lap, that she had invited her to do so. Sitting back against a tree and patting her thigh with a small smile her way when Magna had gone to settle a short distance off. The way she had nearly fallen over herself to accept that invitation was almost embarrassing but she couldn't bring herself to feel self-conscious about it, or to second guess the action. They'd done this as friends too and she was glad it wasn't something she had sacrificed with their relationship.

She'd been attracted to Yumiko from the moment they met. It was hard not to be. She wasn't blind - hot lawyer lady in a suit, how could she not notice her in that way? The woman had entered into her dilapidated life with a sureness and determination that was hard to dismiss. Intelligent, strong, and fighting for her.

No one had ever fought for Magna. Not until Miko.

(really, she'd been screwed from the start)

Of course, the person Yumiko was fighting for was little more than an illusion. If Miko had only known the truth then . . .

She probably would have dropped her like a hot potato, just like everybody else. She probably would have been wise to.

Or maybe she wasn't giving Miko enough credit. After all, she was still here now. Carding her hand through Magna's hair in a soothing motion as she pretended to sleep - and Miko pretended to believe her. She knew the truth now, and still she kept close. Maybe they weren't together anymore but that had been as much Magna's choice as Miko's. She couldn't let herself get to that place again, where she was so terrified of losing something, she ended up destroying it.

And God, Magna was so tired, so tired of being afraid, so tired of being angry.

Just so tired.

('I can't do this anymore.')

She needed a distance between them, even if she didn't want it. Romantic relationships had a tendency to blow up in her face. But friendships . . . well, they tended to be more reliable. After all, she had been friends with Miko for years and things only turned sour after they had crossed over the safety of that border into something more.

(things turned sour because you couldn't stand keeping it a secret from her anymore. The same thing would have happened if you'd still been only friends)

She shifted uncomfortably, remembering at the last second that she was supposed to be asleep. But Miko only stilled a moment before continuing with her motions, allowing the deception to maintain itself.

The relief passed her lips in a shaky exhale.

Magna couldn't bring herself to talk anymore. She was drained - both emotionally and physically - and the thought of pulling any more words out almost made her cry from exhaustion. And Miko seemed to sense that, almost as soon as Magna had first fallen silent. But then, she'd always been good at reading her.

She was observant. Like Connie.

Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, she immediately regretted the action. In the darkness, all she saw was her friend's face, disappearing into the crowd of sickos, possibly never to be seen again. Of course, Magna hadn't seen that at all. She'd kept her gaze ahead, too wary to look around and give away the disguise, but she had felt Connie's hand slip from hers, the ache of the empty space it left behind. Her imagination filled in the blanks now, even adding in a few colorful extras - wide eyes, a silent scream, falling beneath the weight of too many bodies, torn apart. Gone.

So many people were just . . . gone.

"Do you think she survived?" The words hung in the night air; foreign, distant. Magna blinked, unsure if they'd really come from her. She couldn't remember opening her mouth. But her tongue felt thick and heavy, her lips cracked, she could taste the metallic hint of blood caused by the effort.

Miko paused. Just a second, her fingers tangling in Magna's hair a little too tight, almost painful, then a breath, and she returned to smoothing it back. "You did."

"Barely. I was lucky."

"And there's no reason she won't be, too. Connie's smart, strong. She could make it."

Magna could think of a hundred reasons. A thousand.

Her stomach turned and she closed her eyes, opening them in a snap when Connie's face answered her. She trembled. "I should have stopped. I should have looked for her."

Miko didn't hesitate. "Then you'd be dead. Might even have gotten her killed as well. All for nothing."

At least, I wouldn 't be feeling like this.

Magna opened her mouth to argue but found that she didn't have the strength. She closed her eyes again, inhaling the scent of the woods, of the leaves and dirt beneath their bodies, of Miko. Especially Miko. "What the hell am I going to say to Kelly?"

If she wasn't dead.

What if they were the only ones left? Her and Miko. Bernie gone. Connie gone. Kelly gone. Luke gone. She'd failed to protect them. All of them.

And she'd thought she'd cried enough tears but her eyes burned and she rubbed at them fiercely, like there was dirt, like if she could just get it out the fire would vanish and she wouldn't crumble to ashes in its grip.

And there was Miko's voice, all at once gentle and firm, pulling her back. "She won't blame you. She knows you. You've always fought hard for us. As hard as you can. This just wasn't a situation in which you could."

Magna nearly scoffed.

No, she could have fought. But she'd gotten scared. She'd hesitated. She hated being fucking scared (small and shaking, hugging Morgan to her chest as Daddy's voice got loud, so loud, why was it so loud?). It was such a useless emotion. And now it had probably gotten Connie killed.

Miko tugged at her hair slightly, gentle but scolding. "Seriously, Magna. You couldn't have done anything. If anyone should be feeling guilty it's me."

Frowning, she turned her head in her grip to look up, a strand of hair snagged but she didn't mind the pain. "What are you talking about?"

But Miko shook her head, refusing to meet her gaze as she focused on raking her hands through Magna's hair, avoiding the knots with an ease born of years of practice. "I should have been there with you. I shouldn't have stayed behind that day."

And then you might be dead, too. Magna shuddered at the thought. Her worst fear, worse than Miko choosing to leave her, being taken from her. Forever.

And it wasn't even a what-if situation. It felt inevitable. This was the apocalypse: their expiration dates were always inching closer.

"I'm glad you did." Even though Magna couldn't see her face, she sensed her hurt, felt the flinch of her hand. "I couldn't lose you. Not like that."

Giving up on getting Miko to look at her, she settled back in her lap but kept her eyes open.

Yumiko's voice was caustic when she responded, fragile and harsh all at once. "I thought I lost you." The hand resumed its stroking, stiffer now, almost angry. "At least if I had been there I could have helped, and I would have known. I would have known if you were okay."

Not if you got out with Kelly.

But, no, Miko wouldn't have left them, wouldn't have left her. She would have seen her double back with Connie and gone after her too - like Magna, she was always watching. Maybe she would even have noticed and gone after Connie first - she was equally as protective of their group - and then Magna would have been the one left behind, to wonder, to fear.

Thinking about it, that probably would have driven her to punch Carol, too. Though her fuse had always been a lot shorter than Miko's.

Now, she snorted at the sudden memory. "I can't believe you punched Carol. I've never seen you like that." In a way, it had scared her. She was so used to Miko being the calm one, forever in control. She was the one who reined Magna in.

Okay, it had also been kind of hot. Even half-dead on her feet, she couldn't fail to notice that.

"To be honest, neither can I." There was a wry note to the older woman's tone, and Magna wondered if she was smiling, almost risked looking up again to find out. "I don't regret it, if that's what you're wondering."

"Not like you to kick a dog when it's down."

"Not like you to be so forgiving."

She scoffed. "I'm not. Connie's gone. Probably dead and she-" Magna swallowed, collecting herself. "I'm not forgiving. I just don't have the energy to be angry anymore."

"Well that's definitely not like you." Miko teased, hesitating for a moment before severity bled back into her tone. "Are you going to be okay?"

She closed her eyes, sighed. Why was she so good? "You don't have to worry about me, Miko."

Scoff. "Another lie. I found a grey hair the other day, thanks to you."

"Oh and it couldn't have possibly been the literal end of days that we're stuck in?"

"Have you met you?" Another tug at her hair, this time playful and, for a moment, Magna could breathe easier. "Seriously, though, are you going to be okay?"

For a moment.

She shifted, hair pulling painfully but that was almost welcome. "I'll be fine. I'll be a lot better once we find Kelly and Luke."

"And Connie."

"And Connie." She wished she could feel more hopeful on that front. Miko squeezed her shoulder and she relaxed slightly, trying to push the dark thoughts away for now. There'd been too many of them tonight already. There were always too many. But just for tonight she wanted to escape them, to hide away in Miko's lap and absorb every touch, every smell, every word . . . that she had come so close to never experiencing again.

. . .

"How can you lose me? You've owned me from the first moment I saw you."

― Dianna Hardy, Cry Of The Wolf

. . .

The full gravity of the world ending fell upon Yumiko within a matter of hours, there'd been no time to trivialize or hope. Right from the start, she'd felt the impact.

Her mother had been a doctor in the old world and she'd been working a shift at the hospital when the outbreak hit the city and surrounding areas. Yumiko's stomach still turned at the memory of calling her up from the safety of Magna's apartment, her eyes trained on the insanity playing out across every news station, her heart pounding as she pleaded, pleaded for the other woman to pick up, to be alright, to-

But the phone had rung and rung. One, two, twelve phone calls later and nothing.

----

Unable to sit and wait any longer, Yumiko swiped her abandoned keys off the table and marched towards the door, ready to drive over there right that second and make her mother okay. She was smart, her mother was smart, and resourceful, and she'd never stopped practicing krav maga - and Yumiko would definitely come to regret refusing all those classes the woman had tried to get her to enroll in growing up but she 'd been focused on her books and her studies and all her dreams for a future that fighting never entered into-

Her mother would be fine .

But a hand grabbed hers - strong, nails almost biting into her skin - and pulled her back. "You can't go out there."

Magna.

At some point, she 'd forgotten the other woman was even there, just whose home she stood barricaded within.

"I have to get to the hospital, my mother she-"

"Yumiko, you saw the news - hell, you just almost got your face bitten off by one of those sickos - the world's fucking lost it. " Her face took on an expression of incredulity. "And you want to go to the fucking hospital? No, no way."

Yumiko clenched her jaw, trying not to snap. "She's my mother. I need to make sure she's okay."

"I know, OK? Trust me I get it but . . ." she took a breath, frustrated and Yumiko could detect an air of desperation in the way she closed her eyes, pressed her lips together. "But you just, you can't, okay? They said that part of the city is already overrun and it's a hospital . The amount of people in there, dying people . . . it's a death trap."

Yumiko looked away, knowing she was right but unwilling to face it. It was her mother .

For a spiteful moment, she wondered whether Magna really did 'get it'. As far as she knew, the other woman hadn't visited her own mother since she was a child. Yumiko didn't even know if she was still alive - or if Magna knew for that matter.

"Look, I . . . " Magna shook her head. "If I thought that it could work, that we'd be able to help, hell even be able to get in there, I would drive you myself."

"You don't have a license." She wasn 't sure why she said it, why out of all the things Magna was saying, that had stuck out the most. But it was the only thing she had the means to protest.

Magna huffed. "Fine, I'd let you drive but that-that's not the point. Miko, we don't even know how to kill these things. I stabbed that guy in the neck and he barely even flinched. The dead are eating people, I can't . . ." She shook her head, lost for words. "I can't protect you from that."

Yumiko cursed the way those words made her stomach flip - not the time. Her phone felt heavy in her pocket, useless, and her mind was a violent hellscape, tossing up image after image of all the situations that could be keeping her mother from answering but . . .

Fuck it.

She was right.

The world shook for a moment, shaky legs almost falling out from under her as she allowed herself to sink down onto the floor, hiding her head in her hands. She was right . The darkness made everything still and she could imagine for a moment that this wasn't really happening, that it was just some big nightmare, that-

People were fucking eating people, for god's sakes. Dead people. How could this be real?

There was a pause, the sound of shuffling, and she felt a stiff form settle down beside her. Hesitantly, an arm came around her, too lose, too distant, but there. "I'm sorry."

Yumiko shook her head, forgetting entirely Magna's discomfort when it came to any kind of physical intimacy - hell, any kind of intimacy in general - and allowed herself to collapse. Falling into her, she buried her head in the other woman's chest, hands coming up to latch onto the fabric of her shirt, desperate for something, anything to hold onto.

Magna flinched and her body became like a rock, rebelling at every place of contact between them.

Remembering herself, Yumiko moved to withdraw, "Shit, sorry, I-" but the arm around her tightened, keeping her in place. Slowly, she felt the muscles against her force themselves to relax as that arm found a surer purchase, pulling her closer. After a moment, she felt the slight weight of a chin coming to rest on her head, a hand coming up to find one of hers. Disentangling Yumiko 's almost rabid hold, they wrapped around her and squeezed, held tight and this-

This was better.

"Stay."

She did.

. . .

"I am your friend. a soul for your soul. a place for your life. home. know this. sun or water. here or away. we are a lighthouse. we leave. and we stay."

― Nayyirah Waheed

. . .

Magna knew that Miko's upbringing had been a fair bit more stable than hers. Parents divorced at nine, yes, but that was terribly common wasn't it? (and neither of them had tried to shoot the other.) She'd graduated at the top of her class, whilst Magna had been kicked out of three schools for fighting before her aunt and uncle had given up and stopped sending her. It wasn't a huge loss. The only classes she'd been doing well in were art and P.E. And whilst she had missed those it was a relief to get away from the taunting students and judgmental teachers.

Considering her criminal record that kept her from working at anything other than a seedy truck stop with its overly handsy customers, that had probably worked out for the best. Good grades wouldn't have been of any help to her by then.

She still laughed sometimes at the memory of Miko popping by on her shifts, how out of place she'd looked, sitting on a rickety stool behind the counter whilst Magna tended customers, still dressed in a suit from work that never seemed to wrinkle.

The pair of them had garnered more than a few looks.

But Miko had been at ease with it, picking at her fries - the only food on the menu that would probably pass a health inspection - making small talk, interjecting with the occasional complaint about Jerry, the company vulture, who kept trying to steal her clients. Magna had been confused by the attention, wary even. She'd wondered if the lawyer checked up on all her former clients like this, or if she was just a special case. She hadn't asked - she hadn't wanted to know the answer, to face the inevitable 'yes'.

A part of her had wanted to scare her off, had hated the way she got instantly on edge as soon as she saw Miko's form enter in the door, the way she felt even worse when she watched her leave out it. But another, more secret part, had been starved for company; the kind that didn't make her want to punch someone, anyway. So she'd held her tongue, and slowly let down her defenses.

Until one night, a trucker had gone to bite a chunk out of Miko's face.

It had been her turn to work the truck stop diner connected to the store, and Yumiko had been leaning against the counter, nursing a cup of too-sweet hot chocolate and conversing with her between customers. She'd just glanced down at her phone after hearing a ping and Magna had looked up at the sound, glimpsed the man lumbering closer, closer - too close.

She'd never been so glad of the quick reflexes life had beaten into her, because in that moment she hadn't needed to think. She'd shoved Miko back, a little too forcefully since she ended up hitting the ground with a smack that made Magna wince - but it was enough.

Her hand had been grabbing the knife from beneath the bench before she even registered, her arm jolting with the shock of sinking it into flesh that gave way too easily as she leapt across the counter, blood spattering against her face in a terrible sort of deja vu, her stomach turning - fuck fuck fuck - but he didn't fall, didn't scream; and then she'd grabbed Miko, tugged her up and ran, ears howling with the sound of all hell breaking loose around them. The police sirens in her head hadn't been real, she'd known they weren't, they couldn't be, not this soon, but her heart pounded in her chest from more than just adrenaline and fuck-

She'd done it again.

And just when she was finally starting to get used to freedom.

She hadn't realized until later that night, hauled up in her apartment - it had been closest and neither of them had really wanted to be alone after that - and watching the actual End of Days unfold on international television, that it had been the first time they'd touched. Magna had always kept a certain level of distance and Miko had never tried to cross it. Not until later that night, when Magna had reached out to stop her from leaving, when she'd collapsed into her arms with an ease that made Magna want to run out the door instead . . . and later when Miko grabbed her hand as she was heading to bed. It was just a moment, just a brief squeeze accompanied by a weak but grateful smile - but Magna had felt her heart try to escape her chest at that smile, at that touch . . .

It had just been a push. Barely anything compared to getting someone out of jail at least twelve years - though more likely an entire lifetime - earlier than expected. Especially when she still hadn't known that the person she'd been fighting so hard to free wasn't nearly as innocent as she'd assumed.

Somehow, the most surprising event of the night, was that Magna hadn't minded the touch, hadn't pulled away. More shocking, she'd missed it when it was gone; had felt empty each time Miko left her grasp, yearning to reach out and-

And that was when Magna had known she was screwed.

Miko told her that she'd known the same thing sometime around the third day of planning their trial strategy.

Thirteen years later and they were still pretty screwed.

. . .

"I've spent much too long in the space between staying and letting go."

- Perry Poetry

. . .

A/N: So this story has turned out to be a lot more Magna-centric then intended and that's not because I love Yumiko any less, I just find it easier to get inside the heads of characters like Magna. I'm used to writing somewhat dysfunctional people with more than a bit of trauma (probably cos I have a bit of trauma of my own lol). You know, the loveable walking disasters of the world. She might come off a bit ooc in this and that's partly because I'm still familiarizing myself with writing her and because she's a tad bit fragile after everything that's happened, which i think we all saw in last episode - Miko is also feeling pretty fragile for the same reason. Speaking of which. What. The. Fuck. It makes zero sense to me that these two would make up but still not get back together and I'm gonna sue the writers for torture if this keeps going on. So I had to write a fix-it fic. And I also felt like there was a lot these two still needed to talk about that I'm not entirely confident the show will ever address so voila a fic was made.

Also, just gonna note going forth that Magna’s own feelings about herself aren’t necessarily a reflection of my own feelings about her character. Girl’s got some insecurities to sort through. Likewise, her judgments - good and bad - about Yumiko aren’t necessarily true, either, for the same reason. It’s one of the causes for conflict in their relationship.

So there are probably two ways to look at how these two might have noticed they had feelings for each other: a) these two idiots have been in love for 13 years and were both too chicken and oblivious to do do anything about it, or b) their love developed slowly from the bonds of friendship over a very long time. I like both options but I decided to go with the former for this fic.

The series titles is from the song You by Keaton Henson. If you're familiar with the song - my Lost Girl buddies will be - don't worry nobody is going to die! that line just really fits them so much, and it's also about accepting the fact that you might lose the one you love but that doesn't mean you should be afraid of loving them or living your life.

. . .

OK, just gonna do a little shameless self-promotion, hope you don't mind :)

I made a yumagna vid so if you haven't seen it already and you're interested it's here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grzrpr0QZEE (I'm gonna do more so if you want to stay in the loop subscribe to my youtube channel. I'll probs end up doing a short one for Unsteady because of this fic but I'm holding out till we get a yumagna hug)

I have an insta for yumagna called @yumagnas.home . my multifandom one is @bonnielextra (lots of awesome women that i make edits for just fyi) and my personal one is @cissyalice. Hit me up so I can follow some more yumagna stans!

My twitter is @bonnielextra and @welcometocaritas (for my edits). Currently just a lot of crying about yumagna on the first one.

And my tumblr is welcometocaritas. Obviously no pressure to look at any of these but I just thought I'd put them in just case :)

#yumagna #magniko #the walking dead #nadia hilker #eleanor matsuura #yumagna edit #yumagna fanfic #magna twd #yumiko #yumiko twd #mypost #My posts #myfic #my fic #my edit #myedit

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maddie-grove · 5 years

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Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up: May/June

PLAYLIST

“How Do You Do” by Mouth and MacNeal (Once Ghosted, Twice Shy)

“Up the Wolves” by the Mountain Goats (Don’t You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey)

“The Daughters” by Little Big Town (Lady Rogue)

“9 to 5″ by Dolly Parton (Lady Notorious)

“Let the Little Girl Dance” by Billy Bland (What a Wallflower Wants)

“Poison Arrow” by ABC (Give Me Your Hand)

“Marie-Jeanne” by Joe Dassin (Never Mind)

“Mississippi” by the Dixie Chicks (An Unconditional Freedom)

“Semi-Charmed Life” by Third Eye Blind (Bad News)

“Honky Cat” by Elton John (Simple Jess)

“A Weekend in the Country” from A Little Night Music (Some Hope)

“Picture Book” by the Kinks (Mother’s Milk)

“A Place in the Sun” by Stevie Wonder (At Last)

“She’s in Love with the Boy” by Trisha Yearwood (A Dance with Danger)

“Little Hollywood Girl” by the Everly Brothers (Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes's Hollywood)

BEST OF THE BI-MONTH

An Unconditional Freedom by Alyssa Cole (2019): Daniel Cumberland, a free black man from New England, had his faith in justice and certainty in the world shattered when he was abducted and sold into slavery. Now rescued, he does what he can as a spy for the pro-Union Loyal League, but he has a lot of rage and trauma that nobody knows what to do with, least of all himself. Then a new spy joins the organization: Janeta Sanchez, a mixed-race Cuban-Floridian lady pulled in too many directions by her white Confederate family and now in desperate straits. Once again, Alyssa Cole has produced a book that’s not only a compelling romance but a fascinating historical novel. Daniel and Janeta are both complex, involving characters with a great dynamic, plus Cole provides a great perspective on less-discussed aspects of the Civil War.

WORST OF THE BI-MONTH

Once Ghosted, Twice Shy by Alyssa Cole (2019): Likotsi Adele, personal assistant to the prince of Thesolo, came to New York City a year ago for work and had what was supposed to be a casual affair with Fabiola, a gorgeous fledgling fashion designer. Just when her feelings were getting involved, though, Fabiola cut things off with no explanation. Now back in NYC on vacation, Likotsi runs into Fabiola, who proposes that they go on a date for old time’s sake. Although it’s technically the worst of the month, this novella is by no means bad; on the contrary, it’s very cute and sweet, with a pretty sexy love scene near the end. It just suffers from common romance novella pitfalls, mainly a dearth of conflict and some pacing problems.

REST OF THE BI-MONTH

Never Mind (1992), Bad News (1992), Some Hope (1994), Mother’s Milk (2005), and At Last (2011) by Edward St. Aubyn: Across five novellas, Patrick Melrose, son of an aristocratic non-practicing doctor and a charity-minded heiress, struggles with the legacy of his father’s sadistic abuse and his mother’s elaborately cultivated helplessness to intervene. The series follows him from early childhood (Never Mind) to drug-addled early adulthood (Bad News, Some Hope) to slightly more functional middle age (Mother’s Milk, At Last). I’ve never read such enjoyable fiction about the boredom and exhaustion of dealing with trauma and addiction, but St. Aubyn manages it with sharp characterization, whistling-in-the-dark humor, and a great sense of setting. I didn’t like all the novellas equally--Bad News has too many scenes about doing large amounts of heroin for my personal taste, and Some Hope sometimes loses track of its many characters--but, taken together, they’re magnificent.

Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes’s Hollywood by Karina Longworth (2018): Using the life and career of billionaire/producer/aviator/womanizer Howard Hughes, Longworth (the podcast host of You Must Remember This) looks at Hollywood from the silent era to the waning days of the studio system. I love You Must Remember This, and this book exhibits all the strengths of the podcasts: the compelling style, the evenhanded consideration of evidence from multiple sources, and the use of film analysis to examine what was happening in the culture at the time. Longworth’s portrait of Hughes is also refreshingly non-sensational; he comes across as a juvenile reactionary with a little vision, too much money, and some pitiable mental health problems, rather than a genius or a boogeyman.

Simple Jess by Pamela Morsi (1996): Althea Winsloe, an Ozark widow in the early twentieth century, is determined to remain unmarried and look after her three-year-old son by herself, despite the disapproval of her close-knit community. Still needing help on her farm, she hires Jesse Best, regarded as “simple” because of a cognitive disability stemming from a childhood brain injury. As they work together, Althea realizes that Jesse has depths that few people bother to see. I was a little concerned when I began this romance; the hero has serious, life-altering issues with mental processing, which I thought might create a troubling power dynamic between him and the heroine. Instead, Morsi contributes something really valuable by showing how society ignores the autonomy and complexity of people with disabilities. She also does a great job of showing how a close-knit community can be both claustrophobic and supportive. Finally, I enjoyed the journey of a gay side character (the song’s for him!).

Lady Notorious by Theresa Romain (2019): When George, Lord Northbrook, discovers that his father is part of a tontine whose members have started dying at an alarmingly fast rate, he enlists the help of Cassandra Benton, an unofficial Bow Street Runner, to investigate the possible murders while pretending to be his scandalous cousin. Already friends, they grow attracted to each other during this charade, but they come from different worlds and each have a complicated family thing going on. This is a thoroughly likable romance with a fun plot; I especially enjoyed how George’s efforts to care for his emotionally distant parents mirrored Cassandra’s struggles to let go of her codependent relationship with her twin brother.

Don’t You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey by Margaret Peterson Haddix (1996): Fifteen-year-old Tish Bonner doesn’t have much time for school; with an absent father, a troubled mother, and an eight-year-old brother she feels responsible for, she’s too busy trying to hold things together at home. When her father makes an unwelcome return, though, she finds an outlet in the journal assigned by a nice young English teacher who promises not to read entries marked DO NOT READ. I first read this YA novel in middle school, and it struck me as particularly unvarnished, both then and as an adult. Teens in horrible situations are common in the genre, but Tish’s matter-of-fact presentation the day-to-day of dealing with sexual harassment at work and total parental abandonment at home really brings out the utter bleakness. I love Tish, whose ultimate acceptance of her inability to handle everything alone is as brave as her desperate efforts to keep everything together.

Give Me Your Hand by Megan Abbott (2018): Kit Owens, a talented chemist from humble beginnings, is shocked when former classmate Diane Fleming comes to work in her lab. Although Diane was the one who inspired her to reach beyond community college, she also burdened Kit with a horrible secret...and now they’re in competition to work on a prestigious new grant. I love Megan Abbott as a writer; she has a very sensory-based way of describing things that makes everything palpable. While I didn’t love this book as much as The Fever, it has a delightfully twisted plot and female characters who are “bad” in a realistic (or, at least, a humanely portrayed) way. I did probably like Diane more than I was supposed to; like Lady Audley before her, she should maybe go to jail but she’s still awesome.

A Dance with Danger by Jeannie Lin (2015): In Tang Dynasty China, Jin-mei, daughter of a magistrate, finds herself in a compromising position with Yang, her father’s old associate and sworn enemy of a local warlord. Their mutual attraction makes the ensuing wedding a more pleasant fate than either expected, but Yang disappears mysteriously before the marriage can be consummated. Heartbroken and very suspicious, Jin-mei refuses to give him up for dead. This is a fun adventure-romance with a wonderfully spooky atmosphere, although the ending is a little rushed.

Lady Rogue by Theresa Romain (2018): After her sub-par art-dealer husband apparently committed suicide, Lady Isabel Morrow grew close to and had a fling with Officer Callum Jenks, a Bow Street Runner. Now she’s discovered that her husband sold his customers forged works, and she needs to (awkwardly) enlist Callum’s help in replacing them with the real ones. This is a solid Regency romance, mostly thanks to the fun burglary plot. Isabel and Callum’s relationship, while perfectly pleasant, is rather static; they obviously like and respect each other, but just need a little time to reconcile themselves to the not-onerous-to-them social costs of a cross-class marriage. There’s also a real bummer of a development involving a minor character at the end. I’m not averse to bummers, but it felt out of place here.

What a Wallflower Wants by Maya Rodale (2014): Stranded at a strange inn after a failed elopement attempt, secretly traumatized spinster Penelope Payton finds a friend in the striking Lord Castleton...but is he who he says he is? Absolutely not, but he’s pretty cool regardless. This is a sweet, heartfelt Regency romance with endearing leads and great messages, but it’s pretty sloppily written, and that detracted from my enjoyment somewhat.

#books #reading #theme: i'm not one of those people who goes around having fun

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cosmosogler · 6 years

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hi guys. i’m getting depressed again. i think it’s because i have not interacted with friends face to face in several days now. i talked to the grocery cashiers but one of them was, like, staring at me really obviously. my bangs are getting down to my eyes again so i pretended i couldn’t see him.

i did my chores today. i also have a Preview Image TM because i was expecting to draw two panels today and i drew four, one of which is i think actually the hardest thing i’ve freehanded in this entire comic so far. here it is!

all the reference images were at the wrong angles. i wish there was like a poseable 3d model of a hand (and sometimes arm) i could have on reference at all times. i take pictures of my own hands sometimes but it’s so clunky and inconvenient to try to keep my phone on while i look at the photo for more than 8 seconds at a time.

and the camera angle is hard and oh man i could complain about this single panel for multiple paragraphs. i got it looking exactly how i wanted it to, though, after a lot of grouching, so i guess my art block is starting to disintegrate finally.

i guess i should call it an art block. i was barely drawing, or not drawing at all, for several days there.

i’m really proud of how much better at drawing hands i’ve gotten over the last five months. i truly could not have ever drawn this from memory before working on the comic so hard.

i’m just as dedicated to my schoolwork... i wish the effort showed there too.

just wanted to take a minute to appreciate my improvement... i haven’t improved my drawing ability this fast in like a decade. and that was when i was just learning the basics. and to think it was all to tell a story about a relatively obscure mario game. jesus.

after this page is finished up tomorrow i’ll have 22 pages left in all of arc 3. then, according to my calculator and progress through my story notes, we’ll be roughly 20% of the way through the whole story, not counting pauses for goofs or side stories.

it feels... weird. to be chugging along with a project that has clearly defined goals and milestones. it feels weird to be able to calculate the percentage of the story i’ve completed and shown my audience. i can’t even do that with my weekly homework assignments during the semester.

20% feels like so far in! but then i remember that it’s taken me five months so far, and will take closer to six or seven months, to get to even that! i’m less than 1/5 of the way through my story and i already feel sad that it’s going to be finished and put away eventually!! just being able to see the end goal throws me off emotionally.

arcs 6 and 8 are going to be like 20% of the story each, on their own. god. to have a number, though, makes it feel so small. at my current running average this project is going to take three years (although i anticipate slowing down tremendously when life clotheslines me, and also at the end when i will need to use everything i will have learned to make the pages the spectacle i want them to be). one part of me says “three whole years!” another part says “ONLY three years? this project is finite with a rough idea of when it will end already?”

i’ve finished several stories by this point in my life, i’ve told jumbi’s entire story, but i dunno. i’m used to having the freedom to go back. having that clear number is so strange. what do i do with this progress bar? i’m used to this stuff being completely overwhelming and monolithic. i’m instinctively saying to myself, “no way! one-fifth, already? there’s GOT to be more than that!”

although i remember feeling like that when i finish books or games, too. it happened when i finished listening to taz: balance. that’s all? there’s no more? i don’t get any more time with these characters? there’s no more new things to learn about them?

feels like that in real life too. i realize there’s going to be a last time i ever play with my dog. there’s going to be a last time i ride my bike. there’s going to be a last time i see every single person i’ve ever met and ever will meet. there will be a last homework assignment. it doesn’t last forever.

it’s daunting.

adventure time is ending soon. there’s going to be a very last episode of that, too. my greedy little eyes won’t get any more new times with those characters.

is this an existential crisis? am i having an existential crisis over making progress with something? am i that jobless?

tomorrow i might do something fun if it’s not storming too hard. harrison said he might want to hang out. or i might lock myself in my apartment and try to draw three pages in one go again like the other week. that was a wild day. and by wild i mean my brain stopped working.

this is supposed to be a good thing. i’m making good time with a long and complicated and heavy story and i’m telling it in a way that i’m proud of. and i’m managing to do it while also taking care of myself even as my life circumstances get more and more stressful and out of control. i wish i could just be happy for that. that i’ve got this on lockdown.

i really am very unhappy about being left out in the cold by my department though... i’m unhappy that i’m the only person this has happened to in student memory... i feel singled out in the worst way. i know i’m usually anxious about anything that i could possibly be anxious about, but i feel this exhaustion leaking into every area of my life constantly. and to keep working hard at the comic even though i’m tired and upset and stressed... even though that stress is bleeding into more stress about stuff that doesn’t normally matter like site traffic... still working hard is something i want to be proud of. i feel like i can’t be proud of that because i am having trouble feeling positive emotions.

i don’t know if that ramble made sense. some of the sentences are too long but i’m not sure how to condense them.

i wish i could be happy that i feel like i am, to the very best of my ability, successfully telling a story that matters to me.

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ruwithmeguys · 7 years

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Olicity Fanfic Rec List:

(You’ll find all of these on AO3 unless I specify otherwise)

There’s so much love in this fandom and a great way to express them is to write fanfiction! I’ve had a tiny but if a difficult time recently - my mum was ill, ambulances, hospital and lost of chocolate (me) was involved - and I haven’t been able to write a thing.

Coming back to it, I took a quick look through all the bookmarks I’ve near-to obsessed over in the past and thought I’d write this list. @scu11y22 is to thank so if you actually manage to find one you haven’t read, then go send her a word :)

(This list is not exhaustive) They are to be: multi-chapt, slow burn, well written, mature, no threesomes (ditto x 1000), no kids and AU/canon divergent... and not @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34 AMAZING FICON

So.

Legacies series by @chronicolicity

Part 1 is called You’re His Hope ( Felicity struggling to save Oliver's humanity after losing him to the League of Assassins. Anything else would legit be a spoiler. Expect drama, romance, angst, humor, plot and plot TWISTS. Sparked by some amazing Tumblr theories I apologize in advance for completely ruining.) And so on and so forth.

The Crow

(Bratva Captain Oliver Queen has been looking for revenge his entire life. When he can’t trust his own family, the Bratva to get it, he finds the answer to all of his problems in Felicity Smoak; a genius hacker who is running for her life from the same object of Oliver’s hatred, The Triad. With an unlikely partnership, The Crow might just find out that light can shine in the darkest of places.)

ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING EVER TO EXIST BY @anthfan JUST MAYBE?

AO3 Address: Anthfan

(My personal fav is the Devil’s Backbone)

When the Day Comes

“Have you talked to her?”

“Yeah.”

“So you'll call her-” Thea sent a teary look back through the window at Tommy.

“I'll call her if he wakes up.”

“When,” she gripped him fiercely then, her little nails digging into his forearm, “when Tommy wakes up.”

Oliver nodded, “Yes, of course.” His tone as hollow as his smile had been.

An all time favourite of mine: Sins by @smoakandarrow

(Oliver Queen is alive.After being presumed dead in a violent shipwreck five years ago, Oliver Queen returns to Starling City determined to right the wrongs of his family. But the billionaire playboy's homecoming stirs more than feelings for joy; it threatens secrets someone is determined to keep buried. Secrets that threaten the life Oliver has just reclaimed, and the lives of those he loves the most.Vowing to protect his family at any cost, Oliver digs deeper, bringing danger to his doorstep, and leaving him with the shocking realization that the sins of the past are rooted much closer to home than he ever thought.When friends may be enemies, when enemies may be his best allies, when love is used as a smokescreen to hide the most vicious hate, Oliver isn't sure who he can trust. He just knows that he'll do anything to protect those he loves... even it means dying all over again.)

You Have Not Failed This Verse by @so-caffeinated

(Sometimes a payday ain't exactly what it seems.) Don’t let the brief description fool you. It’s incredible.

Hands

(Felicity knows her place in Oliver's life. She's the sidekick not the love interest. But in the Summer after the artificial earthquake lots of things can change.)

The Ways of the Universe

(No two epic love stories are the same. For Oliver and Felicity, it's quite the long road. What with all the crime-fighting, and super-secret identities, and emotionally-stunted men, and old flames, and meddlesome friends and family. Some goats, too. Picks up right after the end of 'City of Heroes' (2x01). Any similarities with the rest of S2 are, for the most part, coincidental.)

What Happened in Vegas - a very different take on the usual Vegas hookup fics

(It's all fun and games until you wake up hung-over and married to a stranger. Five years ago Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak made a drunken mistake that could never be corrected. After years on a hellish island he comes back as a man on a mission only to find out that what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas. (Season One Rewrite))

Every single story by @supersillyanddorky06 but especially Predator

(Oliver Queen is the one anomaly in the Chicago Outfit. He is the only non-blooded member to be a part of the high circle in the family. His reputation precedes him and he is their best hunter. Felicity Smoak, daughter of the Starling boss, infiltrates his house, intent on killing him. But a startling encounter tips the scales. He goes on the prowl and she escapes. Hate, heat, and friction. Sparks. But something bigger is happening in their world. And despite their disagreements, only they can fight it down. Mob AU. Not Bratva. Enemies-lovers. You'll want to bash their heads sometimes. Stuff will happen. Enjoy! )

The Legacy Series by @ash818 (I’m sort of in love with this universe: it involves Oliver and Felicity’s children and it’s a wonderful and very serious - possibly quite honest - look at what the future might look like for them. Plus, I wrote a one-shot for this. SHE’S THAT GOOD.)

(It's 2039, and Jonathan Queen cannot stop looking for trouble. Then trouble finds him and his family, and Jonny discovers that there is more to his parents than he ever suspected. He must learn to bear the weight of his parents' past, and he must learn fast, because time is running out for his mother.)

Most of these aren’t finished but this one hurts me because it’s been left alone:

Somewhere Out There

(When Felicity falls through a gate that takes her to a parallel universe, she finds herself in a world that is so much like her own, except for one very important thing.)

Layers

(I feel sad. Wanted something to cheer myself up. This is the result.I have no set dates for updating, so bear with me.This is the Bratva fic no one wanted. Note - I like that Oliver isn't possessive. I also like when women have agency. You will find both here. This is a Oliver/Felicity-centric story.)

His Girl Wednesday and Some Things Are Meant to Be

Insanely long fics (THANK GOD): Missing her interview for a position in the IT department of QC, Felicity Smoak meets Oliver Queen, son of the CEO and future CEO himself. Only Oliver doesn’t take the company as seriously as he should and after yet another fiasco with his assistant, his mother decides to take matter into her own hands and select one with more qualifications than long legs and deep cleavage. In an effort to get her off his back, he pretends he already hired one: the blonde nerdy girl he met a few minutes ago.Or when Arrow and Ugly Betty crash in my head (except we all know Felicity could never be ugly). It is mostly Arrow, I borrow a few plot ideas/characters from Ugly Betty.

Sequel: Three years ago, Oliver went on a cruise on the Gambit and never came back, leaving Felicity devastated. She forced herself to move on with her life, trying to forget that the love they had shared was one she'd never get to live again.

Except Oliver didn't die on that boat. But no matter how much he wants to, he knows he can't come back. Too many things happened, and the only way to keep his loved ones safe is to stay as far away from them as possible.

It all changes when Felicity starts questioning the circumstances of the accident that took him away from her...

One More From the Top

(In the aftermath of his fight with Ras Al Ghul, Oliver finds himself somewhere unexpected: his hospital room when he first came back from the Island.With a second chance to right the mistakes he’s made since coming back to Starling City, what will Oliver do to save the people he’s loved and lost?Will he be able to change his past or will be he forced to watch history repeat itself?)

Break

(After the events of Unthinkable, Felicity burns out from Arrow activities. So she takes a step back to get some air. This story tracks Felicity's journey of becoming a heroine in her own right as she helps form the Justice League.)

Good, Better, Best Series by redtoes - a three part series each specifying how O + F got together and stayed together. Not very long but 15 chapters so...

The Grand Adventures of Felicity Smoak

(a.k.a How Felicity did not save the day.Felicity's father comes back only to take her away from the life and the people she loves. But sometimes, it takes a series of misadventures for a girl to discover how badass she really is and how valuable she is to her friends. She gets in trouble, gets rich, gets in trouble, gets hurt, gets in trouble again and gets the guy.Canon divergence. From in mid s02 before the revelation of Slade Wilson.)

Another I need to mention - though it isn’t a multi-chap slow burn - is: This Love Thing

Also a short fic but there aren’t that many slow burns around :) is Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone

(When meeting Felicity, Oliver has a flashback. Afterwards, he flees, leaving behind his 'latted' laptop. She further investigates on her own, but lurking underneath everything else is Felicity's concern for Oliver. Just like with anything that matters to her – she doesn't know why he matters but he does, she can't let the episode – what she fears to be PTSD – go.)

The Darkest Hour

(just weeks after moving to Starling City, Felicity Smoak is kidnapped for information she does not have. She endures weeks of torture before she is rescued by a man in green leather and his partner, John Diggle. As Felicity begins to put the pieces of her life back together, she realizes the trauma she suffered changed her in unexpected ways. Restless and with a driving need to help others the way the man in green helped her, she finds herself using her brilliant mind and considerable computer skills to follow a different path fraught with danger and violence. As Felicity grows closer to the Green Arrow and Diggle, helping them in their cause to save Starling City, the three struggle against unseen enemies, and discover the unexpected truth behind her kidnapping.)

All in a Day’s Work

(By 9:00 a.m., she had broken a heel, lost her cell phone, and been the victim of a coffee catastrophe. By 9:30 a.m. she had “borrowed” the NSA mainframe. By 10:00 a.m., she was engaged to Oliver Queen. Really, it was all in a day’s work. Plotty, fluffy fun with a side dish of heart.)

The Best of Friendships have Benefits

(like Communism or time travel, having a sex-buddy sounds a lot better in theory than in practice. However, Oliver and Felicity see it as a means to rebuild each other. So, inevitable consequences be damned, they still give it a go, not expecting to gain a whole lot more than what they initially bargained for.)

Also, most fics by @yellowflicker09011996 will make you want to tear out your own heart but one of my favourites is: All The Worthy Places (They say if you get hungry enough, you start eating your own heart. When she sits on top of him, arms and legs tight around him and kisses his mouth like she wants to eat him alive, Oliver believes it. ) and To Rage Against the Dying Light (There could be no time to think, no moment to feel. The dark was going to engulf him till there was nothing left, if he so much as flinched.He had known grief and he had known fear but this… this was wordless.Nobody had ever told him that ruin felt so much like death.)

The Fall Verse by @callistawolf

(Taking place directly after the events in “Sacrifice” (the season 1 finale), Felicity tries to pull Oliver back from the edge. But is Oliver ready to be pulled back? Or is he ready for the fall?)

Step By Step

(During the summer between seasons two and three, Oliver and Felicity are attempting to navigate their new status post-fake but not actually fake I love you's, and a kiss that may or may not have meant everything. Or: What would have been different for Oliver and Felicity if that summer had been about both of them truly coming to terms with what they meant to each other. Basically - Felicity decides to live her life, and Oliver realizes that her life doesn’t necessarily include him as much as he may want. How he reacts, and how Felicity responds to his actions, shape the future of their relationship.)

City of Fallen heroes

(Five years ago, Felicity was kidnapped and forced to do the unthinkable in order to return home. Convinced she couldn’t be the loving wife Oliver deserved, she left and tried to keep her darkness from hurting their daughters. The return of an old enemy will force Felicity to decide if she’s the monster she thought she was— or the hero her family believes her to be.)

Absolution

(It’s been two years since the Atom invented a plague that wiped out most of Starling City. With a ruthless government agency in control, and a hooded vigilante fighting to shut the Atom down, Felicity Smoak quickly learns that life post-apocalypse isn’t exactly like it seemed in movies.)

He Deserves a Shot at Being Happy alos by @chronicolicity

(Short version: an AU where Tommy Merlyn didn't die, and is around for season 2 of Arrow.Long version: Tommy Merlyn has spent most of his life being an expensive disappointment to his family, but now he's a part-owner of a semi-successful nightclub in the worst area of town (it's seriously looking up) alongside his best friend, who — after five years on a deserted island — decided to come back to be a freaking vigilante. It's a long story, one that's longer than Tommy wants to remember, but it took the Glades collapsing and the death of one of their best friends to get him officially done with being a troublemaker. Nothing interesting. Just running a nightclub, and trying not to get into any trouble.Oliver's been gone god knows where for most of the summer, which means he's stuck being the big brother to the guy's snarky little sister, whose boyfriend "Ron" seems completely set on getting himself killed. An afternoon of test-driving Verdant's new cocktails gets interesting when Felicity Smoak and John Diggle show up asking (more) questions about where to find Oliver, and Tommy has to decide whether he wants to keep his new rule.Spoiler alert: he doesn't.) It’s so good guys... THE SLOWEST OF SLOW BURNS BUT SO FLIPPING REWARDING.

In Another Life

(Their lives couldn't be more different - and yet Oliver can't take his eyes off the beautiful blonde woman that leaves the subway every morning at 7.43am. There is something about her that makes him look up every morning - something that also makes him aware he'll never be good enough for her, or that she'd even notice him.He had no idea how much his life would change the day he rushed over to help her...Olicity AU - no Lian Yu, no saving the city (at least not in the way we know from Arrow :D ))

Felicity Takes a Holiday

(Frustrated by Oliver's apparent indifference, Felicity takes a solo trip to NYC where she meets with unexpected dangers. Is it super-soldiers amped up on Mirakuru, or Beasts created by Muirfield? Starts at the end of Season 2; a story of how Oliver comes to realize that he is in love with Felicity, told with help from CW's Beauty and the Beast and a whole lot of Diggle.)

What’s a Little History Between Me and You by @sarcasticfina

([Canon-Divergent] In the wake of The Undertaking, Felicity returns to Starling City when her brother Tommy is severely injured, and soon finds her world turned completely upside down.)

THERE AREN’T THAT MANY SLOW BURNS @scu11y22

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greenishbucket · 7 years

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I’m Waiting For It

An evening in the bar midway through Andover's Parents' Weekend. 1.9k, also on ao3.

Helen isn’t planning on getting wasted, not really. Just on getting tipsy enough to take the edge off, to push away the memory of the day until she’s home safe in Cambridge in a few days and can cry about it all she wants.

Even if she wanted to get really, truly drunk it’s not like there are many places near to Andover for someone to do so that aren’t places just too sketchy – purposefully so, for the sake of her son and his classmates to get drunk underage – for her to go to alone. She has to be back for day two of parents visiting weekend tomorrow, too, and it would look bad to turn up hungover.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t push the parameter of ‘tipsy’ to the absolute limit, alone at a table in a nearly empty bar two streets over from the hotel. She forgot to bring a book to read, or even the local paper, and her phone holds too many concerned texts from friends back home. Call me later x and don’t hesitate if you need a shoulder. When she’s in a better mind she knows she’ll appreciate them but right now it rankles.

The bar is dull without something to occupy her, the drinks taking too long to take effect even as she knocks them back and the music low enough that Helen is struggling to hear the words. Time to get her hearing checked, perhaps with her next eye test. Age feels heavy on her for a moment before it passes again.

Helen watches as a woman, also alone, orders an ice water. Her voice is low and firm enough to carry and she taps her fingers on the bar as she waits, looking around the room.

She seems familiar, dressed just a little too high end for the flavour of the bar they’re in like Helen is and her purse larger than it needs to be. She must be another parent from Andover staying in the area; the bag is probably still filled with emergency wipes and band aids, scrunched receipts and about seven half gone packets of chewing mints. Helen knows that her bag is – but maybe that’s just her. Holding on to the past, when her family was new and young and together.

This woman looks put together and held together, whereas when Helen looks in the mirror she can only conclude she looks put together and about thirty seconds from her hair unravelling from its bun, from her seams and the soles of her shoes giving up the ghost for good, all her unmarked papers collapsing on her from the sky.

The woman looks over at Helen and Helen raises a hand in greeting, even though she’s still unsure if this woman even is another Andover parent. It’s either the alcohol having more effect than she thought or that she’s still in polite mode but she supposes there’s no harm in making a new friend either. The woman smiles in response and comes over with her lone water. Helen takes a moment to wonder if she should feel embarrassed about her array of alcoholic drinks on the table in front of her but then discards the idea; what else do people come to bars to do, after all?

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” the woman says, taking her seat.

Helen isn’t sure whether or not to be affronted and so asks, “Why’s that?”

When the women smiles, embarrassed, she’s abruptly human. Not so put together that she can’t misstep with her speaking, not so put together that she becomes cold and unwelcoming like so many of the people Helen finds herself surrounded with these days. It’s a relief, attractive, and Helen feels herself let her guard down a little.

“Not like that!” she insists, “Oh God, let me start again. Hi, it’s great to meet you. You’re Helen, Shitty’s mom, right?”

Helen thinks for a moment, very distinctly, who in the fuck is Shitty? before recalling a phone call last week wherein he’d casually dropped that that was what the kids called him now. His father’s father’s name had been terrible from the start and Helen had always stood by that so it’s no loss to her for him to go by something else.

“That’s me. Sorry, I’m not sure who…?”

“Marcia. My son’s a couple of years behind yours. Derek Nurse? They’re on the hockey team together?”

Helen recalls Shitty saying something about a new defenseman on the team, doesn’t recall if he said he was good or bad. She recognises Marcia now, though, from the little tour group they’d been stuck in all day. Assured air but nervous when asking questions, dressed well with make-up that tastefully compliments her skin tone but tacky, gas station-style charms hanging from her phone case.

“Oh,” she says. “Yes, of course, I’ve heard lots about him. How’s he finding Andover?”

Marcia takes a sip of her water, makes a so-so gesture with her head. “You know. I think he enjoys it, plenty of funding for extracurriculars and he’s making some good friends, but.” She shrugs.

“Sad to have him away from home?” Helen asks. It’s the most common complaint among other parents.

“No,” Marcia says. “I mean yes, obviously, I’d love if he wasn’t away from home. He’s only a child and his sister’s already at college. But I travel a lot for work and so does my hu– my ex-husband, and they’ve both always been independent, so we’re all used to it. It’s just, well. All this old money shit, you know?”

Helen blinks, taken aback by the straightforwardness of it. “Yeah. Pretty exhausting.”

“Stop me if I’m completely wrong on this, but you know what I mean, right? This parents weekend has just been all about how old the buildings are and how many old white donors the school has and all that crap, but they aren’t telling us about what they’re teaching or how it’s being taught, or how the kids are doing emotionally. Derek’s not going to tell me everything and I thought all this money would mean he’s in good hands but now I’m worrying it’s all just a front, not that I thought it wasn’t but today was just really worrying.” Marcia takes a long pull of her water, the ice clattering against the sides of the glass.

“It sounds like you’re prioritising the right things to me,” Helen says. “What they’re teaching academically and emotionally matters, the environment the pupils are in all day matters.”

“I know my priorities are right,” Marcia replies promptly. “I just had higher hopes for this school, God knows why. I’m sure it will be fine but– old white money, you know?”

“I could write to the governors for you,” Helen offers because she is old white money, even if it’s less so than her ex-husband and a lot of the Andover crowd, and that has clout.

Marcia shakes her head. “No. I don’t know. Maybe. Let me think. I just wanted to get it out. I was just going to stew here and then go to bed but you’re here and I figured you’d be willing to listen and you’d get some of it as a mother. I would’ve vented at Derek’s dad if he’d been able to make it but here we are. Anyway, sorry.”

“Hey, my ex-husband who’s on trial for accounting fraud still managed to make it this weekend, just so he could tell me I’m a bad mother and pretend he gives a shit about our son, probably because it’ll look good for his case,” Helen says because all those drinks are finally starting to hit and she’s just stepping over the line into drunk. It feels good to get it out, too, and she’s always believed in letting emotions be expressed. It’s healthy. Her and Marcia can have a bonding venting session in this bar.

Marcia laughs, loud and startled. It makes her look even more human, the way her eyes are dancing with a shocked delight. “Oh shit,” she says, looking like she might be biting down on a smile. “I mean sorry. That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Helen finds herself trying not to smile too because when it’s put that bluntly, it really is a clusterfuck, isn’t it? How did she get into this situation? She has a PhD, she should have known better than to marry such an asshole. A businessman, too.

“Don’t worry about it, you can laugh,” Helen says and laughs herself. “It’s a mess.”

Marcia just smiles, a little wry. Her foot nudges Helen’s under the table just a little. “At least he’s an ex, right?”

“Should’ve done it years ago,” Helen says, bitter, because all those years wasted with that man. All that pandering to his stupid values, shoving Toni Morrison at her own child in the hope it could counteract some of it (and thanking whatever higher power, just the other day, when he’d asked for her recommendations on gender studies works).

Marica shrugs. “Me too, probably. Not that my husband was anything so bad as yours,” she continues at Helen’s look, “He’s a lovely guy, really great. There just wasn’t anything there anymore. Maybe neither of us made the effort, I don’t know, maybe that’s just how these things go. At least we can still be friendly, he can still be there for the kids.”

“At least he didn’t commit fraud.”

“Exactly,” Marcia laughs. “God, look at me blabbing on. I’m not even drunk.”

“I am, so no worries,” Helen assures her. “Would you like a drink? I’ll buy.”

Marcia pauses and Helen realises the question came out heavier, flirtier than it had sounded in her head. It’s been years since it’s even been an option. She doesn't want to backtrack. She waits.

“Sure,” Marcia says finally. “Just a gin and tonic, thanks.”

When Helen looks back for a moment as she walks up to the bar, Marcia is watching her go. She doesn’t look away even when she notices Helen noticing. It makes Helen’s heart race to know she isn’t misreading the situation, that she was the one to actually initiate this, and she turns back quickly, hands sweaty like she’s a teenager all over again, to order from the bartender.

“We can’t get too drunk,” Marcia says firmly when Helen returns with the drink. “Day two of parents’ weekend tomorrow, remember? Our children are relying on us, your horrible ex is waiting to pounce, the tour continues.”

“I know,” Helen says and she swaps the gin and tonic in her hand for Marcia’s half-finished water and takes a sip. “I’m cutting myself off here. We’ll just be slightly buzzed and we’ll wake up fine for another amazing day of fun tomorrow.”

“You think I’m going to get buzzed off one gin and tonic?”

Helen lets herself notice the details about Marcia that she’s been ignoring so far: the bump in her nose, the strength in the set of her shoulders, the way her mouth closes around the straw of her drink. When she checks, it looks like maybe Marcia is letting herself notice things back.

Helen isn’t sure where this will all go – they’re still on parents’ weekend, after all, and they’re both recent divorcees whose children are friends, and she hasn’t been with a woman in years – but that doesn’t mean it’s something not worth pursuing. Fuck it, she thinks.

“Would you be able to make time for more than one drink?” she asks.

Marcia smiles. She has laugh lines around her mouth, at the corners of her eyes. “I think I could do that.”

#check please fic #my writing #there is no ship name lol #but it's nursey's ma/shitty's ma

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racehas2hands · 7 years

Text

Ralbert- Welcome Home

For a week, Albert swore he couldn't breathe. He knew the strike would come with risks, but nothing could have prepared him to watch his best friend dragged off to a kid’s personal hell. Nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that never seemed to leave his body.

For a week, Albert swore he must be dead. The world around him looked real and it felt real, but he must have died in the fight. There was no other explanation. Religion was always a strange thing to him and it often lead him to the nuns, wondering where he’d go in the end since stealing and lying are sins. Cruel enough, stealing and lying are also his only way to survive.

So this must be hell.

As kids, Albert and Race swore to always protect one another. They hid in their secret spot away from their parents and guardians and promised they’d always be okay. Whichever higher being was above him, they must know that the best way to hurt Albert was to hurt the people he loved. And there was no one he loved more than Antonio Higgins.

Now the second he closes his eyes he relives the memory over and over again. He hears Race’s screams, detects the desperate undertones, and feels the hands gripping his arm and pulling him back. Everyday there’s this constant feeling that something is missing. Every once in awhile the memory will feel like a distant dream for just a second, just long enough for Albert to turn his head expecting to meet Race’s eyes. A smile will slowly bloom on Albert’s face only to be ripped off in a split second when he remembers why the space beside him is empty.

For a week, Albert put on a charade and pretended he wasn't in a state of limbo. He put on a strong face for the fellas and helped however he could, if a little quieter than usual. Then he went to the lodging house and pretended to sleep.

The day the Newsies won the strike felt bittersweet as Albert reminded himself that losing Race’s was for the greater good. That his sacrifice wasn't in vain. Then Roosevelt mentioned Jack’s drawings of the refuge and Race strutted in with that signature grin and a bundle of cuts and bruises.

“You fellas didn't think it’d be that easy to get rid of me, did ya?”

Albert cracked a small smile, only half-hearing the cheers and laughs around him. He didn't notice Snyder was there until Race slapped the handcuffs on him and he didn't notice when he started walking towards him. Before he knew it, he was shoving past boys with a tight throat and a clenched jaw.

“Albo!” Race turned to Albert with a giant grin that quickly faltered when he saw the tears pricking his eyes.

He was pulled into a giant hug, the kind that’s a little too tight and desperate. Albert buried his face in the crook of Race’s neck for almost a second before remembering where they were. He pulled away and quickly wiped his eyes, putting his hands on Race’s shoulders.

“Antonio Matteo Higgings, I swear you scare me like that again and I'll kill you myself. You got that?”

Race nodded, a little shocked but relieved beyond words to see he was okay. Or at least physically okay.

Albert gave a small smile before patting Race’s face and walking away with a small “You better”.

After that, the day went by as usual. Race easily slipped back into his familiar routine, though he couldn't seem to clear Albert from his mind. They've been together for years, seen each other at their best and at their worst, yet Race couldn't remember the last time he saw him cry. Excluding today of course. Since it might just be impossible for him to ever forget the look on his face.

To others, Albert probably came off as beyond relieved to see his best friend. It was kind of out of the ordinary for any of the boys to cry openly, but everyone knew Race and Albert grew up with each other. They knew there weren't many moments they spent apart and that they've been through everything together, so Albert’s red eyes weren't an over reaction. He just loved his brother.

Still, Race knew him better than anyone. He wasn't always open with his emotions, but Race learned how to read him like a bad bluff. That small smile didn't reach his eyes. Instead of looking relieved, he just seemed scared.

That night, Race met Albert on the fire escape after supper. It was their usual routine. Albert told him about the children’s crusade and together they managed to keep the conversation light, as if this morning and their fight with the Bulls didn't happen. It was a worthy effort on both parts, but denial can only last so long.

A short silence fell over them and Albert glanced over at Race. It was a little difficult to look at him. It was easy to pretend all of those injuries were from the fight, but Albert couldn't help wondering how many were inflicted by the Refuge. Then he noticed the nickle-sized burn peaking out of Race’s sleeve on his forearm.

Albert took a shaky breath, cursing himself for getting emotional. He had no right to be choked up when Race was the one who went through the trauma, he was the one who will have to put up with nightmares and feeling nauseous at the sight of a cigar. Still, Albert couldn't help but hurt at the thought of what he must have gone through. Race was always better at suppressing his feelings.

“You alright, Al?”

Albert straightened his back. “Course, why wouldn't I be?”

A few seconds of silence passed before Race spoke up. His voice was softer than usual. “You were crying before. When I came back.”

Albert scoffed, half out of defensive malice and half out of humor. A smile was on his face nonetheless. “Don’t act like you wouldn't be relieved to tears if it was me in your shoes.”

He joking punched Race on the shoulder, which earned a few seconds of laughter and a light shove. They were silent again when Race awkwardly cleared his throat and brought the conversation back. “The thing is, Al, you didn't look relieved. You looked scared.”

Albert let out another sigh and rubbed at his eyes. He thought about putting up a fight, but didn't think it was worth it. He shrugged, “I was. I almost lost you, Ant. You’re the only person who’s never walked out on me and instead you were dragged away kicking and screaming.”

Race put his hand on Albert’s shoulder with a sad smile. “Well I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. So there’s no need to get all emotional on me.”

“No need to get emotional?” Albert felt his chest and throat tighten again. He clenched his fist. Anger wasn't an emotion he felt often, but it was a hell of a lot easier to deal with than pain. “You don’t even get it, do you? You’re more than just a brother to me, you jackass! I love you. I love you and I almost lost you!” Albert covered his mouth, his eyes wide and pricked with still tears.

The silence stood for a few seconds and then Race started to chuckle.

“What's so fucking funny?” Albert wiped his eyes and pushed Race’s hand away before leaning on the railing. His ears were burning and he could feel his embarrassment slowly shift back to anger. Then his anger quickly turned to exhaustion. He was too emotionally drained to bother with any other feeling.

“Us, you nitwit!” Race shook his head, still chuckling.

“Race, for one goddamn moment can you just speak English? Not code or some shit.”

Race wrapped his arms around Albert’s waist from beside him. “You use to love when I spoke in code, we had our own secret language.”

Albert stiffened and stood straight, turning to face Race while also avoiding his eye. “What’re you-”

“When I was in the refuge, you were the person I was terrified of never seeing again. The person I thought of to make everything seem like,” Race shrugged, “It’ll be alright, ya know? The thing is, I got a big mouth and I was part of a big cause, so there were a lot of those moments. They tried to break me down and yeah I’m an optimist, but I’m no Crutchie Morris.”

Albert shook his head with a sad laugh. Race swallowed hard, “I was laughing because we’re supposed to know everything about each other, but somehow we managed to ignore just how much we mean to each other. You're my best friend Al, but I don't think we’re brothers. If you know what I mean.”

Albert wiped his thumb across his cheek to catch a tear Race didn't know he let out. He wrapped his arms around his neck and leaned their heads together with a small laugh. “We’re so dumb.”

“You said it.” Race chuckled.

They weren't sure who leaned in for the kiss.

#the begining paragraph is so dramatic lmao #ya boy has abandonment issues sry #albert dasilva #race higgins #ralbert #newsies #my writinf

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bellamysgriffin · 7 years

Text

future fics

here’s just a bullet point list at what’s coming next, in the general order they’re coming, most are gmw

five times riley matthews fell for maya hart and one time maya hart fell for riley matthews (gmw) : what it says on the tin. fell is meant literally.

i can do that (gmw) : little kid!zay. his dance origin story.

waiting for you (gmw): uhhh this is kinda the opposite of a josh/maya fic, it’s sorta lucaya, but it’s more so just about maya’s character

dear future husband (gmw): how riley lowered her expectations after dating mishaps, and how farkle slowly started to build them back up again

[request]

end of a love affair: maya getting over lucas, and the relationship they never really had.

amy/rory one shot (dw) - unknown

[miscellaneous au]

alison (gmw): lucas/maya, future high school reunion au. songfic to alison by elvis costello

maybe (gmw): lucas/maya at the end of a painful relationship. they still love each other, but it’s not that simple. maybe it’s time to let go. but maybe...

[request]

like i’m gonna lose you (gmw): lucas/maya, you never really know how much time you have left. lucas and maya decide to make the most of theirs.

missing you (gmw): clique six friendship fic, maya centric. every time maya feels herself falling, she turns to her friends. and in the end, she always comes back to riley.

[request]

[miscellaneous au]

coat of many colors (gmw): little kid!maya, involves cute katy/maya moments and maya having pride in her family

[request]

it’s gotta be love (gmw): lucaya au, lucas wakes up at some unknown apartment, head pounding from a massive hangover. all he remembers is this girl, not her name, just her, and wow, why are his knees weak all of a sudden?

[miscellaneous au]

miserable at best (gmw): set after lucas and riley break up but maya is still hung up on josh, and even though he’s finally realized he wants her, all he really wants is for her to be happy, even if that means he’s miserable

[request]

all shades of blue (gmw): yes, another lucas/maya, lucas helping maya heal. she wants to sink into her sadness. he won’t let her.

[miscellaneous au]

[request]

i’ll follow you into the dark (gmw): actually the angstiest lucas/maya fic ever, cancer!au

[miscellaneous au]

[request]

you (gmw): yes, bite me it’s another lucaya fic, okay?

[request]

learn how to fight (gmw): letter from lucas friar addressed to maya hart - never sent

[miscellaneous au]

over you (gmw): lucas and maya both trying to get over each other. not canon compliant.

people will say we’re in love (gmw): the only fluffy fic i will ever write. people are starting to notice maya and lucas getting closer, and they don’t like it.

tie a yellow ribbon round the ol’ oak tree (gmw): farkle is coming to see if riley might just want him back again. if she does, she knows what to do. she knows where to find him. if she doesn’t, well, it’ll be his fault.

requests under the cut! (always open, but may not be done in a timely manner)

"I will never apologize for saving your life, even if it costs me my own.” Amy x Rory or Lucaya.

could you do Riarkle, where Farkle tries to save Riley from a dangerous situation, but she gets seriously hurt despite his efforts and Farkle blames himself for it?

Rilaya — "Why are you avoiding me?"

1: “Come over here and make me.” Riarkle please :)

Riarkle, “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Lucaya, “I wish I could hate you.”

“Kiss me.” Lucaya

“I thought you were dead.” Claire/Charlie please!

Romione “I thought you were dead.” !!!

Amy and Rory, right after Amy get sent back by the angel to Rory (you might've already done this one) :)

Riarkle + their first major fight (angst and fluff please)

Angsty Romione not long after the battle of hogwarts

Tenrose — Tentoo and Rose adapting to life after Journey's End

Topanga finding out she's pregnant (w/ Riley not Auggie, so when they were quite young) and telling Cory

Romione angst and fluff — The two dealing with nightmares and PTSD

Angsty Corpanga — Topanga's feelings/POV during the Lauren triangle

I'm watching A Town Called Mercy right now & I can't help thinking they could've added some small Amy and Rory scenes into the episode, can you do something with that?

"I like watching you. When you laugh, when you smile, when you’re passionately engaged in something you enjoy.” Amy x Rory

"You can’t tell me that all this time spent together has meant nothing to you.” Amy x Rory

"Remember what happened last time we played this game? I’m still looking for my dignity.” Either Amy x Rory or Lucas x Maya

"Stop borrowing flowers out of my garden to woo people who don’t even treat you right.” Lucas x Maya

“I did this all by myself. Can’t you be proud?" Amy x Rory

"You are small and full of anger.” Lucas x Maya

"I know I said I trust your judgement, but I’m thinking that maybe I shouldn’t." Lucas x Maya

“I could eat these cookies for the rest of my life.” Amy x Rory

"It took me a year to figure out how much you meant" Riarkle please xx

I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth/We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine/We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way/you’re my clumsy roommate and I’m a nursing/med student and am constantly patching you up under the guise of ‘gaining experience’ but I just really like taking care of you/touching you - any for Amy/Rory :)

“I just want you to let me in, babe.” “Okay, I see that you’re trying to be romantic, but listen, I would. The door’s jammed.” For Lucaya

Things you said while I cried in your arms. Riarkle

can i request one in Riley's point of view (there isn't so much of that) like how she start to notice her feelings, maybe a confesion of her part at the end

I'd really like to see you write another zayadora something. If you could include something about the reasons why zay likes her, that would be amazing. Some possible prompts would be established zayadora facing heading off to college, an angsty school dance piece where zay can't help feeling jealous of Farkle, or zay asking Smackle out for the first time.

Riarkle: Riley realizes she's in love with Farkle during the worst day of her life.

"Look at me-- just breathe, okay." for Riarkle.

lucaya prompt where they set riley and farkle up after smarkle & rucas both break up, and then stay and spy on them throughout their date.

lucaya prompt where maya loves lucas and is all freaked out because commitment issues and hope is for suckers and lucas tells her he loves her first and maya is like wooosh thank god i love u too babe

okay so just because i love you and your writing so very very much, i've got a lucaya prompt for you: it's senior year of high school and maya's working really hard to get her grades up, to get into her dream school, and eventually an application comes at last minute saying she got into to whatever the dream school was, maybe nyu or brown, and lucas is there with her to open it because she's so nervous and her hands won't stop shaking and she asks him to open it for her and JUST FLUFF PLEASE

Riarkle: Riley and Farkle has a huge fight and Farkle refuses to talk to Riley. This is a story of Riley doing everything she can to get him to forgive her.

“I don’t know where I am. Help me” for Riarkle please. I love your writing btw!!

Riarkle Prompt: Rucas and Smarkle is broken up. Riley realizes her feelings for Farkle. She has been making advances towards him for several weeks now, but Farkle has failed to notice. The Farkle gets sick and Riley does everything she can to take care of him.

“I heard you scream. Nightmares again?” Riarkle

“Hey. Just look at me. Breathe.” Riarkle

“Hold my hand. You’re going to be fine.” Riarkle

“I could just use a hug.” Riarkle

Riarkle Prompt: Farkle notices that Riley has been off lately and he tries to get to the bottom of it by asking non-stop questions. Riley tries to answer as best as she can, but she can't tell him the real reason she's upset. Riley is in love with Farkle and he is seemingly interested in someone else.

“I’m at the hospital.” Lucaya, Maya is hurt

“Don’t touch me!” Lucaya

Riarkle prompt please. "I miss you, not the i haven't seen you in awhile kind of miss you, but the I wish you were here at this very moment kind of miss."

Riarkle prompt: Riley giggles when she's nervous and lately she's been giggling a lot around Farkle.

Farkle has been working a lot lately and Riley is starting to feel as though maybe Farkle isn't as interested in her, so Riley asks for the help of Smackle to try to get his attention.

Right when Farkle finally decides to give up his feelings for Riley, Riley decides to show Farkle how much she loves him.

scorbus' first kiss?

jiles, jax realises he likes miles and starts avoiding him bc he doesnt know how to handle it, but miles gets confused and hurt that his best friend his avoiding him until bianca points out why...

can you do me an angsty as hell peraltiago one? maybe one where jake is working on an emotionally exhausting case (something to do with a kid maybe), and he breaks down and amy comforts him??

Zayadora: Smackle meets parents or first date ask out or college goodbyes or typical hangout

Lucaya prompt- They go to the Carnival together for their first date and have a good time.

“Oh geeze, is that all my blood? Crap. Okay. Cool. I’m not panicking. Uh, shoot. Wow.” (peraltiago, this dialouge is ssooo jake)

“I’m worried about you.” lucaya

Riley starting to think Farkle will never ask her out especially when he starts being really friendly towards a new girl in his science club.

“Do you think that this was a bad idea?” + lucaya

“Do me a favor and never talk to me again. We’re done.” + lucaya

Could you write me some zayadora? I'm not particular about the prompt, but these ones did remind me of them. “I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason.” “Never lose your heart, use your head!” “I was lost in your spell.” “I believe there’s something in you.” “How can I resist you?”

Imagine Person A in a situation where they have to die so that Person B can live. A is only able to overcome their fear of dying by thinking of B’s smile, and how they’d be protecting it with their sacrifice. A dies peacefully - that is, they would have, if they didn’t suddenly realize how they’d never be able to see B’s smile again. → doctorrose

isadora/riley

For the I love you prompts can you do a lucaya with a shuddering gasp and/or with a whisper in the ear maybe make them kind of sexy

#future fics #sorry if anyone actually read this #it's more for my reference #i'm working on a thg fic rn #but i should have that updated really soon #and then rilaya au!!#dana rants

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eryiss · 7 years

Text

Fraxus Week 2017 - Reversal Of Fate

Summary: At a low point in his life where everything seems to be on top of him, Freed finds himself sitting alone on his apartment stairs. He finds himself questioning why fate was being cruel to him. But, in a complete reverse to what he expected, fate decides to send Laxus Dreyar to his door. (Modern AU)

You can read it on Archive Of Our Own, FanFiction or under the cut. I hope you enjoy. ^.^

Reversal Of Fate

Fate could be both incredibly kind and incredibly cruel.

For Freed, fate seemed to be insistent on only delivering the latter. Over the last month, his life seemed to be imploding in on itself. The legal firm he worked for had been bought out and they'd replaced almost all of the staff, leaving Freed without a job; his car had been practically destroyed by a drunken driver without insurance, meaning he was forced into losing his no claims bonus; and his mother had been taken into hospital, leaving him with a constant state of worry for her health.

Today, fate seemed to be particularly annoyed at him. His aunt had come to visit him, constantly asking about his mother's wellbeing. This would be a kind gesture, if it wasn't obvious how she wanted favourable treatment in regard to the will if, as she had constantly phrased, 'The worst were to happen.' The idea of being responsible for his mother's will was bad enough without greedy relatives scurrying out of the woodwork to get a generous amount of inheritance.

And to top it all off, his apartment building was having a power cut, meaning they keypad at the door wouldn't work and he couldn't get in.

"Thank you." Freed sighed into his phone gently. "No, I don't mind waiting. See you later."

Freed hung up on his roommate, and the only person he knew who had an actual key to the building, Bickslow. He slid his phone back into his pocket, knowing that the battery wouldn't last with the luck he was having today, and sat down on the small steps that led to the door of the building. He put his head in his hands.

He simply felt exhausted, both emotionally and physically. It felt like the world was conspiring against him and throwing anything it could to make his life harder. He felt like he could just close his eyes and sleep for a month, but that would require a bed. A bed which he currently didn't have access to!

Sitting on the stone steps did give him a small amount of relief. His car was still being repaired so he took a taxi to and from the hospital. It seemed that the taxi driver was either being impatient or simply didn't like Freed, as he dropped him off nowhere near his apartment and drove away before Freed could complain. He considered reporting the driver to whoever he was meant to, but that would probably backfire on him in some way.

He leant against the small railing on the staircase, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the stairs he was sitting on. Bickslow had promised that he'd come home as soon as he started his brake, which would take just under thirty minutes. He was tempted to find something to do, but didn't want to miss Bickslow when he eventually came. So, he sat back and waited.

From: Aunt Victoria

Thank you for keeping me company today, it was nice catching up with you.

Frowning down at his phone at the seemingly random text from his aunt, Freed pushed his hair behind his ear and waited. The three little dots had appeared at the bottom of the screen as his aunt texted something else. He slightly wished that no text came, so he could pretend he hadn't noticed the message and ignore it. But unfortunately, another grey box of text shot up. Freed unintentionally clenched his hands around his phone.

From: Aunt Victoria

If you manage to find my reading glasses, please drop them off at my house as soon as you can xx

It would have taken so little effort to at least pretend she was interested in her sister's wellbeing. A small message of sympathy or even just a simple 'give her my love when you see her' would have appeased Freed. But no, she was far too focused on the obviously more important issue of her reading glasses. The damn things weren't even real, they were just a gaudy fashion accessory she used for attention.

He closed his messaging app, not wanting to read the text again and have his anger for his aunt grow. His eyes closed in defeat when placed his hand in his pocket and realised his headphones weren't there; he couldn't even listen to music to distract himself as he waited!

"Hey." A gruff voice said from above.

Freed looked up to see a tall man with broad shoulders looking down at him with a frown. He was holding a paper cup with something steaming inside of it and seemed to be waiting for Freed to respond. He didn't recognise the man, but his building was fairly large so he couldn't know everyone.

"Sorry, I'll get out of your way." Freed shuffled to the left so he wasn't obstructing the staircase.

"What, no." The guy said. "I just wanted to know if you're okay. You look a little… pissed off."

Biting back the urge to respond with the many snarky comments going through his mind, he slightly shook his head and laughed to himself, somewhat bitterly. It was ridiculous, he was sitting on the stairs of his apartment feeling sorry for himself; he was one impossibly eloquent monologue from being a sitcom character.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, though." Freed looked down, but noticed that the shadow the man was casting didn't leave. He looked up again. "I'm sorry, should I know you? I've had a busy day and-"

"No, you don't know me." The guy said. "I work at that store across the street. I see you come and go sometimes. Fuck, that sounds weird."

Freed sat and watched as the tall guy ran a hand through his short blonde hair. He waited for the blonde to complete whatever train of thought he was on, looking at the larger man's face. He was handsome, managing to look almost sensitive and rugged at the same time. The large scar on his face was interesting as well, looking exactly like a jagged lightning bolt. How one could get a scar like that, Freed was interested in knowing.

"Can I try that again." The guy sighed. Freed warily gestured for him to do so. "Thanks, right. So, I saw you've been sittin' here for like ten minutes or something. And it's pretty cold so I thought I'd give you this to keep you warm."

The guy leant down slightly and offered Freed the steaming paper cup. The other man took it slowly, looking down to see a thick serving of tomato soup inside of it. It did smell incredibly nice and wrapping his hands around the thin paper cup was already starting to warm him up; he hadn't realised how cold the street had become, not to mention how dark.

"Thank you, that's very considerate." Freed smiled slightly, taking a cautionary sip of the liquid. It was slightly too hot to drink. "I have my wallet, if you want me to pay?"

"Nah, it's on me. I'm trying to do something good for someone every day." The guy smiled back. "I'm Laxus, if you wanna know."

"Freed."

The two remained in silence, Freed cautiously sipping at his soup. He risked a glance up at the man named Laxus, noticing him frowning at his face again. He tried not to let it bother him, not at all sure what he should do in a situation like this. Freed very much kept to himself whenever he could, so this form of social interaction was foreign for him.

But still, the cautious and confused frown on Laxus' face remained and he showed no sign of leaving. Freed kept his lips against the rim of the cup, the blonde's face going back to a small neutral expression.

"Look." He spoke up again. "I know that this is none of my business and you probably don't want to talk to some guy who works at a shitty store when you've got all your work friends who are all doctors or business owners or whatever."

"Lawyers. I'm a lawyer."

"Shit." Laxus muttered, impressed. "But, yeah, sorry. But you look exactly like I did when I was at my mom's funeral. And nobody sits on their stairs looking like that unless they've had a really shit day. So, wanna talk about it?"

Laxus was looking down at Freed with a tiny but comforting smile. There wasn't any pity in his eyes, in fact they seemed oddly genuine. The blonde man was still slightly hunched up, so talking to strangers like this wasn't something he did often either. Freed took another small sip from his soup and smiled up at Laxus, his smile slightly sadder.

"Would you really be okay with listening to somebody you've never met rant about their problems?" Freed questioned, fingers tapping on the side of the cup. "Because, if I'm honest, ranting to somebody I don't know seems like it could be quite helpful for me right now."

Laxus' smile widened by a fraction as he took a step towards where Freed was sitting. He stopped and motioned to the steps. "D'you mind if I…"

"It's technically private property, but I'll grant you temporary access today. But if you annoy me I'll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing." Freed showed the hint of a smirk.

With a chuckle, Laxus turned and sat down on the step beside Freed, though he made sure that there was enough room to his left so people could walk past him if they were leaving or entering the building. They sat in silence for a short moment, neither knowing how they should approach the topic of what was bothering Freed.

"Have you ever had a day that's just completely normal?" Freed began. "Absolutely nothing happens in it but you end up reassessing every decision you've ever made. Thinking about all the insignificant things you could have done that would have might have changed your life. Because, even though you don't really know why, you're so exhausted with life that you just feel like anything's better than having all this pressure pushing down on you?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"For the past two months, that's been an everyday event." Freed chuckled dryly.

Laxus let out a low whistle. "You got any idea why y'feel like that?"

Looking directly into Laxus' eyes, Freed laughed. The lawyer could rattle off a list of reasons why he was feeling like that, he'd done that very thing in his mind as a makeshift coping mechanism for all the stress he was under. So far, it hadn't helped him.

"I don't want to bore you with it."

That was partially the reason. He also didn't want to list off his reasons only to realise half way through that he sounded like a petulant child who thought that he was owed the world for gracing it with his presence. Of course, he knew that, in reality, his issues were valid and the concerns were warranted. It was a shame that coming to that realisation was considerably easier than actually voicing his issues.

"Freed. I'm gonna go home, eat a microwave curry and sleep. Nothin' else." Laxus grinned. "Watching paint dry is more interesting. You won't bore me."

Seeing it as Laxus' mistake to make, Freed began to explain his recent troubles. He didn't go into detail about the more personal aspects, like why his mother had been taken into hospital. He was as open as one could be when he was telling a stranger why he was sitting on his front steps feeling sorry for himself.

To his credit, Laxus had simply sat back and listened. Although Freed didn't want to make eye contact with the stranger, the few times he glanced up at the other man's face he did seem to be paying attention. It was almost funny, a complete stranger was better and paying attention to Freed's issues than anyone in his family.

"You, erm, you said you lost your job." Laxus said after Freed had stopped. "But said you're still a lawyer."

"I got another job, at a smaller start-up firm. I get paid just over half of what I was making before, so I've been forced to make some adjustments." Freed sighed, taking a gulp of his now cooled soup. "I shouldn't complain, though. My colleagues are an improvement and a job is a job. I just feel like I should be making progress in my career right now, not going back."

"I lost my job a year back, used to work at a gym. I was a manager actually." Laxus leant back. "Me and a couple of the personal trainers got into a fight when we were put in the open. Pretty nasty one too, couple bones got broken. It was my fault, so my granddad, he owned it, fired me. That's why I'm working over there now."

Both men looked across the road to the small, tacky convenience store on the street corner. Freed furrowed his brown in confusion. Going from being the manager of a gym to working at a convenience store seemed like a very large step back. Having managerial status in the past should have opened more opportunities than that of a recently graduated teenager. He looked back to Laxus with confusion, who seemed to have anticipated this reaction and was grinning down at him. Freed looked back down with a tint of red on his face.

"The gym's a family business. Gramps said I can come back if I start making improvements. He's started to let me work a bit, I'm training a couple clients."

"Improvements?"

"I've got anger problems." Laxus' foot tapped against the ground in slight anxiousness of admitting that. "I'm better than I was before, I think. I go to this group therapy thing once every two weeks. They're the people who said I should try to do something good every day, hence the soup. The people in charge are really fucking patronising, but I think it's working."

"So, is that why you had a fight then?"

"Yeah, I thought they weren't pulling their weight so I nearly doubled their work hours when I was pissed off. They tackled me about it and things got ugly."

Laxus winced back at the thought. He had never been a personal trainer until a few months ago when his grandfather gave him a client and only then did he realise how much work they actually put in. Looking back, he would have acted in exactly the same way they both did if his work hours had been doubled without his consent. It was why he put up with the occasional snide comment or the extra bit of work Natsu and Gajeel left for him to complete, even though they'd mainly forgiven him.

"So yeah, I'm just gonna keep working at the store until Gramps thinks I can work at the gym full time again."

They fell into silence again, the street now dark as the early winter nights drew in. The occasional car drove past them or a pedestrian strutted by, glancing down at them before going on their way. The weather was crisp and cool, but Freed had half a cup of soup left and Laxus had a pretty extravagant looking coat slung over his shoulders.

Freed looked at Laxus from the corner of his eyes. The situation was still so unusual to him. It was highly probable that Laxus was talking to him as an extension to his daily act of goodness, which Freed was fine with. What did bother Freed was how simple and easy the conversation was between the two. He was a private person and he got the feeling that Laxus usually was as well, yet no awkwardness had occurred. Not for Freed, at least.

"Maybe that's what you should do." Laxus said out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Well, I'm doing something good every day to help me get over my anger shit, so maybe you should do something like that." Laxus frowned in thought. "To me, it seems kinda like you're putting everything on yourself and letting it take over your life. Which makes sense, because of what's actually happening. But maybe, once a day, you should just do something selfish. It'll probably help more than you think."

"I don't really think I should." Freed hesitated. "Once my cars fixed or my mother starts to improve, I'll consider it. But not now."

"It doesn't have to be big. You can include your mom in it if you want." At Laxus' words, Freed frowned again. "You seem like the kinda guy who'll be doing anything he can to help. So you'll probably go to visit your mom and see what you can do to make her life easier, like do her chores or something. Am I right?"

"I suppose."

"So, instead of doin' all that when you see her next, just have fun. Bring in a bag of candy or something and spend some time watching cat videos on your phone or whatever you'd like to do with her." Laxus shrugged. "Play monopoly on an iPad, someone must have made an app for that."

"She does like watching people getting angry at video games." Freed smiled when he heard Laxus fight back a laugh. "She's unusual."

"Sounds like she's fun."

Freed nodded and smiled, taking Laxus back slightly. So far, all the smiles the green haired man had shown had a hint of bitterness behind them or they were forced. But this smile was real, and the man's face relaxed considerably. His features were subtle, but amazing. He was both handsome and beautiful at the same time, being one of few people who could boast that ability. Laxus almost blushed at the sight.

Glancing down at his phone to check the time, Freed realised that Bickslow could have easily come from his job and gave him the key to the apartment by now. He didn't find himself annoyed, his conversation with Laxus was actually quite enjoyable. Telling someone why he was so stressed did seem to relax him slightly. Apparently being stressed was making him more stressed. It was a vicious cycle.

Laxus managed to glance at the time on Freed's phone, sighing inwardly. It was getting late and his apartment block was a piece of crap. It automatically locked at eleven, meaning he would be left in a similar situation to Freed if he didn't get there in time. If he left now, he'd be able to get home with a fair amount of time to spare if the traffic was good. However, the drunken nightclub goers were going to start populating the streets soon and he always avoided them when he could; the last time he dealt with them someone pissed on his bike and he refused to let that happen again.

"I'm really sorry, but I'm gonna have to go. Are you sure your roommates gonna come?" Laxus sighed as he stood up. "Because my apartment's only half an hour away, you can take my bed and I'll sleep on the sofa. Or the other way around, if you don't wanna sleep in another guys bed."

"No, he's reliable. And if not, my upstairs neighbour works nights so I can wait until he leaves for his shift. Thank you though, it's a kind offer."

Laxus nodded, turning slightly to walk away but not moving. He and Freed were looking at each other, both smiling slightly. Neither wanted the conversation to end, but it needed to. Laxus widened his smile for a split second as a parting gesture before turning fully and walking. Freed stood up.

"Would you maybe like to go for a drink sometime?" He said with a small blush, Laxus turning around after mouthing a tiny 'Oh thank god'. "Maybe we can meet when I'm feeling a little less sorry for myself. If you want to, that is?"

"Yeah, yeah I would like that." Laxus smiled, matching the tine blush. "That could be your selfish thing for the day. Should we exchange numbers?"

Freed nodded and pulled out a pen and patted himself down to see if he had anything that he could write on. Laxus watched this and chuckled, taking the receipt that he'd gotten after buying Freed's soup from his pocket. He scribbled his number down and passed it to Freed, who smiled and held it against his phone, ready to use it later.

"So, text me I guess." Laxus grinned. "Or call, if you want. Your choice."

"I will, thank you." Freed smiled again. "Also, maybe after the drink we could go for a meal. If that's something you'd enjoy."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that." Laxus nodded, face red again. "It's been a while since I've been on a… had a meal with someone."

"Me too." Freed smiled.

A mutual understanding that the meal wasn't simply a meal now assured, the two stood looking at each other. They were both slightly red, both smiling and both wanting to stay like this for as long as they could.

But sadly, the booming grandfather clock in a ground floor apartment made Laxus realise how late it was. He sighed and gave Freed a small grin, telling him that he really did need to leave so he could get home. Freed nodded and widened his smile again.

"See you 'round, then." Laxus smiled, before muttering. "Fuck it."

He took a step forward and pressed his lips against Freed's cheek. Before the other man had time to react, Laxus was jogging across the road with his hand in the air in a final goodbye to Freed. He was soon hiding behind an alleyway beside the bodega. Freed watched this happen with a small chuckle, resisting the urge to place his fingers on where Laxus had kissed his cheek.

Deciding that there was no point in standing anymore, Freed sat back down on the staircase. He imputed Laxus' number into his phone, not under any stupid nickname as he was a grown man and not a love-struck teenager, and leant back on the steps to wait for Bickslow, now smiling.

A loud revving made him look up, just in time to catch a man of Laxus' size ride out of the same alleyway Laxus had gone into on an expensive looking yellow motorbike, wearing full leathers. Any doubt of who it was got put to rest when the bike slowed past him and the man nodded to him from behind his helmet. Freed gave a small wave towards him, the rider zooming down the road quickly. In a manner that almost looked like showing off.

"Well well well." A tauntingly bouncy voice said from Freed's right. "I've been living with a closet flirt all this time."

Freed rolled his eyes, standing up again as Bickslow walked down the street with the key in his hand. The blue haired man was grinning from ear to ear and it was fairly obvious as to why. Freed felt himself giving a half-hearted glare at his roommate.

"How long were you spying on me for?"

"Don't know. Started when I realised you were thawing the icy heart of Laxus Dreyar." Bickslow grinned when he saw Freed's confused face. Most likely because he knew Laxus' name. "Remember all those times when I said I wanted to set you up with the hunky blonde biker who works across the street? Because that guy you were talking to is hunky, is blonde, is a biker and I think that maybe he works across the street."

"Oh." Freed chuckled slightly, blushing again. "I suppose that you might have been right when you said we'd get along."

"You bet your ass I was." Bickslow cackled. "But if you get in bed with him, I don't know much of your ass will-"

"Don't finish that sentence, please." Freed grumbled with a larger blush.

"Fine. Now let's get you inside and you can tell me all about your special little date." Bickslow grinned, hopping up the steps and unlocking the door with his key.

"I'd love to, I honestly would." The sarcasm in Freed's voice was palpable. "But I thought that you were on your break. And considering you were spying on me, your break might be ending soon. So, you might want to get back soon."

Bickslow's grin faltered slightly, checking his phone he gulped dramatically. He tossed Freed the key wordlessly and began to run at an incredibly fast speed; which was completely inelegant. Freed chuckled at the undignified behaviour, glad that he could at least have the night to himself while he came to terms with the fact he had a date without Bickslow hammering on him for any details he could get.

As he walked into the building and locked the door behind him, he realised that the sincere smile had remained on his face. Perhaps he was unknowingly exaggerating, but it felt like it had been weeks since he was able to smile properly.

In his mind he began to evaluate what had actually happened. One moment he was complaining to himself about how relentlessly brutal life had been towards him for the last two months, then a stranger was giving him some soup, then he had a date. It was all based off of convenience, as well. Any other taxi would have gotten him home before the power cut, meaning he wouldn't meet Laxus; if he had gotten locked out any earlier he wouldn't have stayed on the steps, meaning Laxus wouldn't have seen him; hell, if Laxus didn't go to that anger management group it was likely he wouldn't have started the conversation.

Perhaps he had to re-evaluate his thoughts on fate. Because it seemed to have reversed it's ideals and was defiantly on his side.

And he was more than happy with that.

#Fraxusweek 2017 #fraxusweek #fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fanfic #Freed x Laxus

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quinnorsmth · 4 years

Text

i’m... i’m gonna post my discord rant here. don’t mind me, i’m just a boy from a crumbling home. never mind the random trigger mentions too, that’s for the spoilers that didn’t copy over from discord, heh.

self harm

the fun part about relapsing is that it doesn't seem to happen intermittently, it's kinda all at once. i'm steady enough that i won't do anything tonight but there's still this kinda chant in the back of my head y'know. just this cut cut cut cut from an overload of stress

and part of me - and i won't, i'm fine - part of me wants to just do it to shut the urge up, but i know that'll just keep the waves coming. i shouldn't've let myself slip in the first place, is the issue. it just... hit. things have been bad at home, i'm not functioning at school, i'm emotionally volatile and everything is just... messy.

i wanna bleed it out. i won't, i won't, but the tide's still high.

suicide

and like... i didn't mean to live this long anyway. senior year of high school, i always thought i'd've thrown myself off a roof or overdosed when i got to college, y'know? no more supervision, no one knew me yet, it'd've been perfect.

problem was with the height, y'know. buildings around here are too short. overdoses are more likely to fail than not. cutting to kill is too much effort.

ironically, the same anxiety and depression that make me wanna die have kept me from doing anything too risky. fear of failure, chronic fatigue.

as above

i even meant to just... throw all've that in a melting pot the start of this semester. week before class, i made that decision. end of august, i'd overdose, bleed out as much as i could, find the tallest parking deck around town and jump, angle myself to break my head open or something.

didn't manage it, though. DID has its perks, if you'd consider having someone in your own head sabotage your suicide attempt.

and now we're both kinda regretting it. we have vague plans for something abroad if everything goes to shit.

as above

and i guess i regret having even come here - not because of anyone on the server, but i regret making connections. regret having a reason to stick around, more people to talk me outta it. it was more feasible when i was isolating, when the only consistent connection i had was emotionally toxic. we'd even been in counseling because we were going so far downhill, and part of it was her fault.

i wish she pushed me further, wish i was better at debates. could've talked system member into letting me give this a shot, maybe i would've won.

i dunno. suicide's been my endgame for a long time. i've been losing this game for too long, though.

...wonder how long it'd take for anyone to write home and tell them i was found dead somewhere. i'll be abroad in Denmark while most of the rest of my studio will be in Rome. hell, they may not even hear about it, might just get back to my parents. they might all come back for one last year of school and wonder where i went.

i dunno.

i appreciate when people reach out, y'know. i like knowing that i'm cared about, but it also feels like someone smashing a baseball bat over my head.

i'm losing - hell, i'm not even making progress. i'm not doing any better. i've just been skating and i'm sick of it.

i wanna win. i want out.

been at this for almost... what, 7 years? give or take.

self harm, suicide

been self-harming for longer than that. i just - i remember starting a log of days i felt like i wanted to die back in late 2012. that was the first time i thought maybe this isn't normal

y'know. after i got used to shallow cuts with safety pins and broken scissors. only after that did i decide something was off.

so it's almost the anniversary of... of that. christmas eve.

i always feel a little fuzzy on christmas eve.

as above, alcohol

sometimes i'm tempted to plan for an out then, it'd be conclusive, poetic, maybe. i don't have the heart to give my sis and my dad something to cry about on christmas though.

don't care if mom'd cry though. she's the reason we fell this hard. i'm not one to blame people for my own mind, honest, but honestly, if she'd reached out instead of drowning herself in alcohol, i feel like i'd be better.

as above

she'd get loud. she doesn't have much of an indoor voice anyway, whatever, whatever. it gets worse when she's too shit-faced to hear herself. lil 14 year old Nate didn't take kindly to that, y'know, always had some noise sensitivity, it got worse when she got worse. got worse when loud started meaning mom isn't lucid anymore.

as above, emotional abuse

it's hit a point where she's kinda... i hesitate to use the term emotionally abusive, but system member and sis both say otherwise. she asks you a question and nitpicks your answer until you tell her what she wants to hear. what do you want for dinner isn't caring anymore, it's a fucking nightmare. everything's a game of guess and check with her.

she gaslights too, god, it's awful, and we already have problems with reality and doubting ourselves. she'll just make shit up, try and turn us against each other. she screams at my sis for not starting dinner when sis was working all day, then goes to dad and tells him sis was in the wrong. we all know she's full of shit by now but it's exhausting.

above, eating disorder

she doesn't use her fucking words anymore, y'know? she'll say can someone help me with this when she means to say can dad come over here with a toolbox to fix the sink or whatever, but she doesn't just... say that. doesn't ask, likes playing these shitty mind games with us. i come over not knowing what she wants and she blames me for not being dad and not having the toolbox.

eating around her is even hell. we order chinese food, i have dumplings. i eat five, she says i'm not eating enough. eat six, i've had too many, why didn't you share with me, no no, i don't want any, i had a quarter of a sandwich at 11am so i'm stuffed.

she pulls this shit on her daughter with an eating disorder and her son who hardly feeds himself as it is. pulls this shit around her husband who's trying to keep his weight in check. it's probably 'cause she's overweight and unwilling to do anything about it. there's nothing wrong with being heavier, but i think she hates that she is overweight, and she wants to drag us down with her.

mentioned death

and... yeah, yeah. she just drags us down with her no matter what we do or what we say. talks about dead relatives, pets, rants about her old workplace she hasn't worked at in over 2 years, turns every good memory toward something sour, oh i miss our old dog, your grandpa was such a nice man, anything she can to try and make us miserable too.

i wonder if that's a bit of why i'm fucking depressed. so used to being around someone who seems to thrive off misery.(edited)

alcohol

just - i feel nauseous any time she's in the room. anything is a reason to fight, reason to be angry, miserable, reason to drink.

and hell, if she has the best day of her life, she still drinks. time to celebrate, eh? no moderation for an addict, i suppose.

alcohol

i've never been one for physical contact without consent, but it's worse with her. sometimes she gets too giddy when she drinks, squeals like a high school girl, clambers all over people like a lap dog. she grabs me by the shoulders and i panic because i don't want her touching me. it's not even mom when she's that wasted, it's some drunk fuck in my house pretending she loves me.

she doesn't. mom, maybe, but even sober mom is a shot in the dark. sometimes she's just fucking mean. talks about shit to make people uncomfortable, critiques us without ever looking at herself. drunk mom's worse.

it's... insufferable. and it's why we have DID to begin with. i can't cope with her. system members can. one of us has had to shove her off before. she went and cried about it to dad, i had to tell him she was actually hurting us - and not intentionally, i get that, but she's over twice my weight and i'm kinda frail, honestly.

i can't go downstairs after like, 6pm anymore. it's always a system member, or one of them is active with me and talking when she's around because i can't do it.

not even safe in my own fucking house. i have to wait for her to go upstairs before i can get water from the fridge. it doesn't feel safe.

emotional abuse, alcohol, suicide

and like - look, she'd never physically hurt us, never intentionally, but emotionally? she's fucking mean. she wants us to be just as miserable, she wants to pick fights, she wants to pretend she's the victim when she's screaming at sis and shoving dad around in a drunken haze. it's not safe being around her because she'll fight.

we have no other choice but to avoid her. she's a walking landmine.

y'know what stings worst about this? i remember a time when she was a wonderful woman. she was great. she was great.

that mom's gone though. 12 years of alcoholism have killed her. even when she's sober she isn't the woman who raised me. hell, she's been gone since i was 15, probably. i wonder if some part of me made that connection, if that's why 2012 was the first time i ever recorded suicidal urges.

i miss her, y'know. 10 year old Nate's mom.

death, suicide

come to think of it, grandpa died a month after christmas. my urges started around that anniversary. funny how shit works like that, huh.(edited)

wonder if it's because she got shitfaced that night. kinda a shame teen Nate didn't give much of a reason for wanting to die beyond feeling some general stress and unease.

...there's no solution here, either. her brain's too far gone.

i wanna feel safe in my own family. i've had to retreat into my own head to find any solace.

...sorry. i'm bitter.

i oughta delete this in the morning.

#unheard unspoken

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demonsonthemoon · 7 years

Text

We Shall Rule - Chapter 3

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Comics Pairing: Platonic Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson Word Count: 4822 Summary: Bucky Barnes is slowly recovering from trauma and trying to start a having a normal life once more. Then he meets Clint, a new variable that intrigues him in a way he can’t quite name. This is a story of people learning to know each others and themselves, navigating identity and relationships, overcoming trauma and trust issues. It’s a story about life.

Also available on AO3.

Bucky had an appointment with his physical therapist the next day, and came back from it utterly exhausted, falling into bed without even bothering to check whether Steve was home or not. He stared at his prosthetic fingers for a while, watching them move back and forth as he willed them to, feeling his muscles strain under the effort. The process seemed so natural, yet so alien at the same time. It made Bucky uncomfortable. He took off the heavy prosthesis before sliding into bed for a nap, cringing as he unlocked the mechanism that let it attach to his body. Even now, he had trouble adjusting his equilibrium everytime he took the arm off. His body always instinctively compensated the heavy weight of the battery and motor inside it. He put the prosthesis down on the side of his desk he kept clear for this purpose. His whole shoulder was aching after his session of exercises and his massage, and he ran his hand over the scars on his lump as he breathed through the first wave of pain.

He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes, focusing on his heartbeat to try and not think of anything else.

He eventually fell asleep, waking up a few hours later to an ignorable throb.

He eyed the alarm clock next to his bed. It was four o'clock already and he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

He stood up with a sigh, dejectedly looking down at his sleep-crumpled clothes and sighing. He eyed his prosthetis for a second before deciding it was too much to bother with. He wandered to the kitchen, sleep in his eyes. He could feel his body leaning sideways still. He looked into the fridge to see whether they were any leftovers lying around, even though he was the one who did most of the cooking in the house and knew perfectly well there was nothing ready-made there. Bucky was tired.

In the end, he made himself a plain sandwich with ham and cheese, wincing at the dryness of the taste as he ate. He needed to get himself together, he thought. Instead, he went back to his room, not even bothering to open the curtains or turn on the lights. He picked up his phone from his bedside table, as well as a pair of earbuds, pushed up his pillow and settled himself against it. He put the earbuds in and brought his knees close to his chest, pressing play on the music menu of his phone. Music started blaring mid-song, too loud and too harsh, and Bucky felt his body tense up before relaxing again. He let everything wash over him, falling deep in himself and the music, ignoring everything else. A song became another then another, until he slowly regained some sense of time and place. The ache in his stump was mostly gone now, but he still didn't want to wear his prosthetis if he didn't have to.

He put his earbuds aside and opened the curtains and windows, letting in both sun and fresh air. He was only wearing a t-shirt, but the apartment was well-heated. It was a habit he had taken as soon as he had moved back in with Steve. Now that they could afford a nice apartment and proper heating, this little luxury was comforting.

Bucky walked to Steve's office space, a tiny room that barely fit a desk and some bookshelves. He knocked, then opened the door when there was no answer. Silence didn't always mean that Steve wasn't there. He would often be either too focused to reply or listening to music and not hearing anything of what was going on around him. The young man was actually gone this time, though. He was employed part-time as a graphic designer by a non-profit organisation, and did freelance illustration on the side, which made for flexible and erratic schedules that Bucky had long since given up on trying to keep track of.

He considered going out. Doing some groceries, maybe, even though they still had enough for at least two meals in the fridge. Or just taking a walk. But all of that would involve putting the prosthetis back on, and the effort of actually getting out of the apartment.

He sat down in front of the TV instead.

His mind was blank as he settled on a cartoon channel and watched characters he didn't know about go through actions he didn't understand the point of. He hadn't had a crash so bad after physical therapy in quite a long time. It used to happen after every other appointment, the pain and the exhaustion making him shut down emotionally for a day or two. He knew he had to go through it all though, knew how much good the physical therapy was doing him. It was just hard to focus on the physical benefits when his body felt like a foreign object even as he was inhabiting it.

He remembered a time when that hadn't been the case at all. He remembered wearing his skin confidently, glowing with it as Steve liked to jealously remind him. He remembered training in the military, remembered the pleasure he felt in feeling his muscles work, the addiction to the smell of his own sweat on his skin. He remembered his own smile on photographs, never self-conscious, always promising something.

He remembered the cold of night, remembered the explosion of sound, so loud it immediately dissolved into silence. He remembered a fall, a searing pain through his arm, like burning your tongue, a numbness spreading through his brain until he didn't feel anything.

And then the silence. The silence. Waiting for something, trying not to hope, just losing himself to the silence and the burning and the cold.

He turned his head to greet Steve as he heard him come inside.

“Hey.” Bucky willed his voice to carry, not to tremble.

“Oh, hi,” Steve walked into the room from the kitchen, leaning agains the wall. “I hadn't noticed you there. What are you watching?”

Bucky turned back to the screen, but he honestly had no clue. “Don't know.” He shrugged, and felt Steve's gaze stop on his stump for a second.

“Bad therapy day?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, then let his head fall back against the back of the couch, hair falling across his cheeks as he did.

Steve toed off his shoes and pushed him slightly, forcing him to free some space on the couch. He sat down next to Bucky, well into his personal space, and even rested his head against his shoulder.

Steve was on his left side, so he couldn't put an arm around him, but he didn't really need to as the smaller man cuddled against him until there was barely any space between their bodies. It was funny how touch averse they both could be when it came to other people, and how much bodily contact went on between them two. Of course, they had a history that had built up this closeness, but even then. The fact that it had survived despite what they both had gone through felt like a miracle at times.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky stopped, not adding anything. There was a thought in his mind, but he wasn't sure where it was coming from, and he wasn't sure whether he should voice it or not. It would certainly be awkward.

Steve moved slightly against him, still looking for the most comfortable position. His small size was an advantage, since by curling in on himself and resting his head on Bucky's chest, he could fit under the stump of his arm without disturbing it. “Mmh?”

“Do you like Sam?”

Steve froze. Then he slowly uncoiled himself and sat down more properly, restoring a few centimeters of space between him and Bucky. “Why do you ask?”

His voice was calculated and careful, which made Bucky frown. “Uh? Because I'm curious? I think you would make a good couple.”

Steve looked away at that and started biting his bottom lip. Bucky was feeling more confused than he felt he ought to be at this early stage of the conversation.

“Uh? Is there a problem? If you don't want to talk about it it's...”

“No, no, no!” Steve started, shaking his head.

Bucky realised he had been moving his body away from his friend's and stopped. He knew that Steve got overly worried whenever he appeared even slightly uncomfortable, which was honestly annoying whenever he was the one worrying about Steve.

“Look, I-” Bucky stopped, ran a hand through his hair, then tried again. “I didn't mean anything by it. It was just a stupid comment. Ignore it.”

Silence fell as Steve failed to immediately reply, and Bucky pretended to focus on the television screen again.

“I might like him a little.”

Bucky could hear the embarrassment in Steve's voice. He didn't turn away from the screen, thinking that his friend would be more at ease without having to make eye contact.

“And I'm pretty sure he likes me well enough?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, turning back just slightly to see Steve's face. “Are you asking me?”

Steve shrugged. “Nah. I guess not. I'm pretty sure he would say yes if I asked him on a date I just don't... I'm just not sure if I should.”

Bucky kept on pretending he was following anything of what was going on on the TV. “Why shouldn't you? I mean, Sam is sweet. He's a little shit, but he's sweet.”

Steve started laughing. “He said almost the exact same thing about you not three days ago. I honestly think the two of you would be great friends if you interacted more when I'm not there to force you to.”

“I'll think about it. Not sure the guy is worth the effort, but if it makes you happy...” Bucky bumped his shoulder into Steve's. “You're changing the subject, though. Why shouldn't you date Sam?”

Steve sighed, then kept silent again. Bucky turned back fully towards him then, frowning once more. “Seriously, Steve. Is something wrong? This shouldn't be worrying you so much.”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, something akin to a bark that felt unnatural in his mouth.

“Easy for you to say.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve looked away. “Sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just... You're... you. You're used to flirting and dating and stuff-”

“I haven't actually dated anyone since you, you know.”

Steve leaned back against him one more, quieting down. “Yeah. I know.”

Bucky slowly brushed his right hand along Steve's arm. “Is this about me?”

Steve didn't reply, only pressing closer into Bucky's skin.

“Hey, Steve. I'm gonna need an answer on this one. Is this about me?”

“I don't know-” Steve's voice was half-muffled. “Maybe a little.”

Bucky sighed. “You idiot. I'm fine. I.. I'll be okay. You don't have to worry about me.”

“We never actually broke up.”

“Steve-”

“No, hear me out.” Steve put a hand out, as if to stop Bucky from even moving. “We never actually broke up. And I'm okay with that, because there wasn't time, there wasn't... we didn't know. But that's okay. But you haven't actually dated anyone since you were dating me.”

Bucky was regretting starting this conversation. He hadn't thought it was going to end up going in this direction at all.

“Are you asking me if I got enough closure?”

Steve didn't reply, but he stared intently at Bucky, blue eyes unwavering. It was reply enough.

“I... Of course I did. I mean... I left. I mean, sure, we kept in touch, but none of us actually believed the long-distance thing was working, right? And then you... you. And then I got hurt. There wasn't clear closure, but we're not...”

“Are we not?” Steve asked, still lying on Bucky, looking up through his eyelashes in a way that brought back so many memories Bucky had to wonder if he wasn't actually in need of closure.

He shaked his head, though.

“We're not. And I've got my closure. You don't need to worry about me.”

“Why aren't you dating anyone, then?”

Bucky let out a puff of laughter. “Dude. I barely leave the flat on my own.”

“Do you want to date anyone?”

“When did this become about me?”

“Buck, please.”

“I don't... know. I don't know. No? I'm not... I don't feel like I need to be dating anyone right now. I'm not... interested.”

“You're sure?”

Bucky wanted to laugh. Hell no, he wasn't sure. It was true he hadn't really felt the need to date anyone in the 18 months since his injury, but was that just because he hadn't been very social in any form anyway? Then there was Clint, with whom he might be flirting but also was not flirting. He had no idea what he felt for Clint. It had been different, before. When he liked someone, he would feel it immediately. There was an easy tension that came from being attracted to someone. If there was tension between him and Clint, though, it wasn't the same kind.

Buck nodded in Steve's direction. “I'm sure.”

Steve nodded too, then, more solemnly. There was something half-sad to his expression, and Bucky could guess where it was coming from. Maybe some part of Steve had wanted for Bucky to still be attracted to him. Maybe some part of him had needed that, as validation. Bucky wished Steve would have sat down on his other side, or that he was wearing his prosthetic, so that he could hug his friend close to him.

“I'm fine, Steve. I don't want to be dating anyone right now, and I guess that includes you. But you're my best friend. You're still my best friend. You'll always be my best friend.”

“I know. I don't need you to comfort me. I'm not a teenage girl anymore.” He let out the smallest smile.

Bucky laughed at that. “No, you're definitely not.”

Steve still didn't seem to want to move from his position on Bucky's chest.

Bucky wondered how the conversation could have deviated so much, but he was thankful, in a way. He seemed to have broken out of his daze of blankness and self-pity.

“So... you and Sam?”

Steve groaned, raised himself up again and pushed Bucky away.

“Shut up. You're an idiot.”

Bucky shrugged. “I'm serious, Stevie. There's something there. You know it. I know it. I'm pretty sure Sam knows it, though I'm also pretty sure he's just too polite to point it out.”

“You are not getting involved in my love life, Buck.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Steve. You've got to admit it to yourself. There is no way I will not get involve in your love life. You're doomed.”

Steve got up off the couch at that, putting both hands over his ears. “I am not listening to you anymore. You are an asshole and I will ignore you all evening and be the better for it.”

“I LOVE YOU TOO STEVIE!” Bucky shouted as his friend walked out of the room and into his bedroom.

So Bucky was left with the television once more. It wasn't the same cartoon playing anymore, though he was as unfamiliar with that story as with the previous one.

He turned the TV off with a sigh. It wasn't a sad sigh. It was more a marking of the transition between a moment of easy comfort and the rest of one's life. Bucky got up and stretched his right arm above his head.

His stump was still hurting slightly and he didn't want to have to put the prosthetis back on for just a few hours.

“Steve! Stop whining and come help me make dinner.”

Steve popped his head through the door. “You always tell me I can't cook to save my life.”

“Well, what can I say? I'm an optimist and believe there's still hope that you'll learn.”

Steve shrugged. “As long as you don't complain if I mess things up...”

Two days later, Sam invited Bucky to the cinema. He did so by text, and Bucky's first reaction was to show his phone to Steve.

“What have you been telling your crush about me?” Bucky asked accusingly.

Steve, of course, the jerk that he was, batted his eyelashes innocently. “Me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“You're full of crap, Rogers.”

Steve didn't looke even the slighest bit ashamed. “I told you you would get along more if you actually hung out without me. And I didn't force Sam to invite you. He actually liked the idea.”

“You are a terrible person. I don't know why I'm friends with you.”

Bucky started typing on his phone.

“Are you gonna go?”

Steve's voice was concerned. Bucky tried to play it cool, play it natural, and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I'm gonna go. But if your boyfriend picks a terrible movie, I'm blaming you as well as him. And you will regret this.”

Steve didn't even deign to reply, simply grinning like a puppy. Bucky made a face and walked away, making some coffee for two.

As he stared at the coffee machine, his thoughts drifted back to Clint. He hadn't contacted the young man after that one time in the coffee shop. Not because he hadn't wanted to. He just hadn't done it.

And wasn't that a perfect illustration of all of his relationships right now? It had been a year since he had come back from the hospital, and though he had never actively pushed anyone away, he also hadn't made any effort to reconnect with anybody. Which left him with two close friends, Steve and Natasha, then Jess and Sam, and maybe Clint. If he could get his shit together enough to actually text the guy.

Bucky joined Steve on their couch and put two mugs of coffee on the coffee table, one black with two cubes of sugar and one topped with a thick layer of milk.

“Why aren't you coming to the movie with us, though?” he asked Steve.

The blond looked up from the book he was reading, a pair of thin glasses balanced on his nose. “Uh?”

“With Sam and I. The movie. I don't mind going alone with Sam, but why aren't you coming? Are you gonna stay here by yourself while I go out with your future boyfriend? Because that would be weird.”

“Don't call him my future boyfriend.”

Bucky shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee with milk and handing Steve his mug. “So. Why aren't you coming?”

“I'm actually busy tonight. A friend of mine invited me to a gallery opening. It's way too fancy for me to be invited, but she was, and she could bring a plus one.”

“Do I know her?”

“I think you met her once, before you left. She's called Peggy?”

Bucky had to think about it. That would have been three or four years ago. “The name rings a bell, but I couldn't tell you what she looked like anymore.”

“Yeah, well. We lost touched for a while when I started my transition, but we started talking again a few months back, and she knew I was interested in that new gallery I guess. So I said why not.”

“Yeah, no,” Bucky replied, nodding and settling himself more comfortably on the couch. “It's good. That's nice.”

He would have asked if it had been awkward for them to reconnect post-transition, but knew he wasn't entitled to that kind of morbid curiosity.

“I hope you guys will have fun.”

“She told me she finds those events absolutely terrible, but I guess at least we'll have each other's company?”

Steve closed his book and put it on the table in order to pick up his coffee. He hummed pleasantly as the warmth spread through his fingers.

“Did Sam tell you what movie you're gonna see?”

“I have absolutely no idea. He told me he would pick and that I had no choice. I'm honestly kind of scared.”

He kept his coffee cup in his left hand and pulled his phone out of his pocket with the other one, starting to scroll through his facebook feed. Most of it was filled with news article, since he liked the official page of pretty much every media outlet that deserved an ounce of respect. He felt like he couldn't afford not knowing if something big was happening in the world.

They sipped at their coffee in silence as Steve went back to reading and Bucky kept fiddling with his phone. He tagged Natasha in a cat video and read a few articles on international tensions. He tried to avoid anything that dealt directly with military actions.

He remembered Steve telling him how stupid he was to sign up for the army. He remembered Steve admitting, after getting so mad at each other they had been thrown out in the rain by the friends they had been staying with, that he wished he could join in with Bucky. Steve had always been the patriotic one, at that time he had even believed in the army. Bucky was only interested in the money at first. But Steve couldn't possibly have joined up, and Bucky actually thrived as a soldier. Until his injury.

He locked his phone again. Whenever he let his thoughts wonder like that, he fell back to the same memories. He knew that he shouldn't blame his brain for still trying to process things, but he could admit to himself that he would prefer being able to ignore it all for the rest of his life.

“I'm gonna go grab a book.”

He actually had a nice time with Sam. They went for burgers before the movie, which was some kind of ridiculous space opera that made absolutely no sense but was visually stunning and somehow extremely enjoyable to watch. He came out of the cinema utterly confused but with a smile on his face, and didn't even think of refusing when Sam asked if he wanted to get a drink before they went back their own way.

Bucky texted Steve to let him now he would come back later than expected. He didn't expect his friend to text back immediately, and so put his phone back into his pocket, letting Sam lead the way to a bar he knew which should be somewhat less crowded than usual bars on a Saturday evening.

Steve had been right, of course, and he and Sam did get along really well. They both had a sarcastic sense of humor, and Sam had a particular way of caring for people without infantilising them which Bucky particularly appreciated. He let himself be carried away in the conversation, starting from their respective opinion on the movie – a mess, but in a nice way – to their favorite sci-fi movies, to their favorite movie quote and so on. The both of them had finished their drinks and were about to head in different directions to walk back home when Bucky realised he hadn't felt his phone vibrate for the whole evening. He checked the screen, which was blank.

He furrowed his brows, feeling anxiety rising in his stomach.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, hands in his pants pockets to shield them from the cold.

Bucky shaked his head slightly. “Yeah, I... It's just...” He looked up, and saw that Sam was looking genuinely concerned. “It's nothing, really. Just... Steve hasn't texted me back.”

“He might be asleep.”

Bucky shaked his head in earnest this time. “No. He was at this gallery opening. It ended half an hour ago, so he should be on his way. But... He's really careful about me checking in. He should have texted back.”

“His phone might be dead. Or he might just not have heard it, if there's a lot of noise where he is. And the party might have run just a slightly bit late and that's why he's not back yet. I'm sure he's fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, probably. It's probably nothing.” He laughed bitterly. “What a pair we make, right? Perfect illustration of codependency.”

“With what you've both been through, it should be expected. It might not be healthy, but it's not surprising.” “That's not exactly a comfort, Sam.”

The man shrugged. “Do you want me to come home with you, just in case?”

“I'm not a kid,” Bucky immediately replied, taking on an offended tone. “I can-” Bucky stopped himself. Sam was looking at him with a face that was carefully blank. No pity on his face, no obvious concern. It was the kind of expression so neutral it could only be a façade.

Bucky looked down at his feet. Sam might not be concerned for him, but he would certainly be for Steve.

“Fine. You can come with.”

Sam smiled, looking relieved, and Bucky shaked his head and walked away without even looking at him. The bus stop wasn't far, and they got there a few minutes before the last bus was due. As they waited, Bucky kept checking his phone, finally giving in and sending Steve a text asking him to show he was alive.

He hadn't been joking when he had told Sam that the both of them might be a little codependant. It was something that had taken him months to realise, and his therapist had had to ease him into it. He felt uncomfortable with the knowledge now, couldn't help analysing every single aspect of their relationship or even their conversations. But being aware of the problem wasn't enough to make it go away, and he had no idea how he would deal if he truly had to stop being so close to Steve.

Bucky's therapist has been asking him to have a conversation with Steve about all of that, even offering to make an appointment with him if Bucky felt he couldn't approach the subject on his own. After the conversation they'd had about Bucky's dating situation, he thought it might be worth a try. But well. There was one more step to take between knowing it was a good idea and actually doing it.

“Still no reply?” Sam asked, keeping a neutral tone.

Bucky shaked his head. The night had gotten a bit chilly, and he popped up his collar against the wind, admitting it would probably have been a good idea to wear a scarf under his leather jacket. Although Sam was only wearing a plaid collared shirt instead of a jacket and seemed completely fine. The fucker.

Bucky was about to call him out on that when the bus arrived. They stepped inside, and Sam bought a ticket while Bucky used his pass.

The only other passengers where three girls either back or getting ready for a night out and an older man. The girls were chatting at the back, but it still felt mostly silent, and Sam and Bucky took two seats at the front.

Sam checked his phone too. Still no word from Steve.

“Do you know the girl he's with?” Sam asked.

Bucky turned back towards him after having been staring at his own reflection in the bus window. “No, not really. Steve told me I've met her once apparently, but I honestly don't remember anything about her. I think they met in college, or late high school. They lost touch, reconnected a while back. She has contacts in the art scene – god knows how – and since she knew he was interested, she invited him.”

Sam nodded, two fingers rythmically tapping against his leg.

“I don't think she's trouble,” Bucky continued, for both their sakes. “I mean, I can't be sure, I don't know her, but Steve didn't seem worried at all. And he didn't seem surprised that she would invite him.”

“He should be fine, then.”

Bucky nodded, repeating Sam's words under his breath. They kept silent after that. The easy-going banter was gone between them, getting replaced by more and more tension as minutes passed by without any more news.

The bus finally stopped a block away from Bucky and Steve's appartment, and they walked up to it without exchanging one more word. As Bucky opened the door, he was hoping he would hear sound from the living room, or see light under Steve's bedroom door, but there was nothing. He let Sam in, closed the door again, and checked every room to be sure. No sign of Steve.

#Meeni writes fics #Fic: We Shall Rule #Winterhawk #MCU #Fanfic #Sam/Steve

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