#ive already spoken to my manager TWICE about her

[thebraxiatelcollection]

You know what, I'm starting an evidence book against my colleague because I have really had it with her this week.

#about me #ive already spoken to my manager TWICE about her #my other admin colleagues are saying i should go on sick leave because of stress because its clear my managers are not going to do anything #and honestly im really really tempted #i get we are short of staff but come on this is the nhs #we are short of staff everywhere #but this colleague is absolutely AWFUL. She is the definition of a bully #im keeping an evidence book because i just cant take it #she is just making me really unhappy coming to work #which is so unfair #because i absolutely love my job and the other colleagues i work with #but nobody and myself like her

[forever-rogue]

congrats on the followers milestone! can i request

“You’re shaking.” from prompt list 3 with Javier Peña? ❤️

Ask and you shall receive, my love 💕😌

Javier Peña x Fem!Reader; warnings: depictions of violence & angst

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Javier," you didn't even open your eyes as you reached out for him. You were buried in a cocoon of warm, plush blankets, resting on a pillow that smelled just like him. 

It was late - so late that it was early in the morning. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you listened to him continue to pace his bedroom. The window was wide open, letting in the soft sounds of the lightly falling rain, but it still wasn't enough to drown out the shuffling of his feet. His body was practically humming with nervous energy as he couldn't quite seem to calm down.

"You're going to wear a hole in the floor," you pouted as you sneaked a peek at him, finding him standing at the foot of the bed, shoulders slumped and hanging his head in...shame? Worry? Something was weighing heavy on him. 

He got like this sometimes; but you didn't blame him. While you didn't work for the DEA and weren't completely privy to every aspect of his job, you knew it was hardly rainbows and sunshine. But you never, ever pried, rather, you provided whatever he needed. Sometimes it was silence, a comforting touch as he pondered over his actions. Sometimes it was listening to him as he ranted and raved about his day. Sometimes it was providing a sounding board he posed different theories about anything and everything. 

But most importantly, it was you being you. He loved you more than life itself, and at the end of the day, getting to come home to you, to be yours, was more than he could have dreamed of. You were the reminder that for all the bad that was in the world, there was still some good. There was still a reason to hope, a reason to get up every morning and fight for the right thing. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned around and looked at you, nothing but sorrow etched in his eyes. Those soft brown eyes were often filled with so much emotion, so many things all at once - honeyed and golden - and now? They were tired, empty- hollow. He exhaled slowly, a long shaky thing before he offered you a small nod.

You sat up and held your hand to him, beckoning for him to come closer. Javier stared at your outstretched hand for a moment before caving and giving you his own, much larger hand. Pulling him closer to you, he gave in and sat at the end of the bed.

"I love these hands," you whispered before bringing it to your lips and gently kissed his knuckles, "so strong and calloused, but still soft and tender under it all. One of the best parts of my day is getting to hold one of these hands - or to be held by them."

"Dulzura," it was the first time he had spoken since he'd arrived home. It had been late and you were already in bed. He'd barely alerted you to his presence, only announcing his arrival with a soft kiss to your forehead that had stirred you from your slumber.

"Javier," you reached over and touched his cheek before tracing over his features, "I love you, so much. I want you to always know that. You don't have to tell me what's going on,  but you know I will be here for you no matter what."

Almost as if a weight had been magically lifted from his shoulders, he let out a gentle sigh before closing his eyes and keening into your touch. You were the sun, despite the cold, dark embrace of the night, and he was lucky enough to be in your orbit.

"I love you," he whispered gruffly, his voice catching on each syllable. Before he could think twice about it, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer, wanting to feel the sacred intimacy of your skin on his, "I will always protect you. Yeah?"

"Javier," you smiled softly before pressing your forehead against his, "I know that. You don't have to tell me what's on your mind, but if you want to, you know I'll listen. I'm not here to judge you; you think you're this monster, but I know you're not. You're a good man, despite what you think."

Javier made a small sound in his throat before gently laying you back down in your pile of blankets; they were soft - so soft - just like your heart. Instead of getting up to aimlessly pace around, he laid down next to you, facing you, as he slung an around your waist and tangled his legs with yours. Reaching over, you brushed a stray curl from his forehead before giving him a gentle kiss. The worry on his face eased up ever so slightly as you closed your eyes and pulled him against your chest before using him as your pillow.

It wasn't long before you were asleep again, delicately snoring in his arms as he tried to ground himself with your presence. But sleep still managed to evade him, and he laid there with a multitude of dark thoughts in his mind.

But at least you weren't one of them.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be a quick in and out of the small supermarket. Another long week had passed and you had wanted to surprise Javi with his favorites for dinner. 

It was all supposed to be so simple.

And now? 

You were lying against a mess of rubble and smoke, your ears ringing out of control as your vision grew hazy. Everything hurt, but you were alive - covered in blood, not all your own, as you tried to make sense of what happened. Abrasions and gashes liberally covered your body as you tried to wipe away the grime from your face.

All around you people were running around frantically, screaming and shouting. You didn't blame them; if you hadn't been so confused and taken aback by what happened you would have been the same. 

You pulled yourself up on shaking, trembling legs, and tried to navigate away from the ruin. Whatever type of bomb that had been used was enough for this building and the next, it had caused nothing but chaos. All you knew was that you wanted to get out. Out, out, out and into safety.

But before you could escape, you heard frenzied shouts of your name among the loud ringing and screams. You looked around and found Javier sprinting over to you.

He stopped as soon as he was in front of you, his hands finding your face as he looked you over. You didn't even realize you'd begun to cry until you felt his hand brush away some of the tears.

He was speaking - asking you questions but you didn't hear a word. His hands went to your shoulders as he tried to shake you and pull you back in reality but nothing worked. It was like you were watching a movie play out, but this wasn’t anything like that - this was a horrifying reality. The worst part? You were one of the lucky ones.

You were in such a daze that you shut down, finding yourself blankly staring back at him. Nothing but fear and worry clouded his expression as he tried to get you to say something - anything - back to him.

The last thing you remembered was him pulling you into his arms and turning away from the horrific scene.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next time you woke up it was quiet. Almost too quiet and nothing met your ears the harsh ticking of the clock on the wall and the beeping of the several machines. A small groan left your lips as you slowly moved, trying to stretch your stiff limbs as you woke up. 

Rubbing at your heavy eyes, you frowned deeply when you saw all the contusions and lingering scratches on your hand.

Oh. It hadn’t been some sort of wicked dream or nightmare. 

Your throat was practically raw as you tried to swallow, screaming in pain. You quickly spied the pitcher of water and sad plastic cups on the table next to your bed, reaching for it hastily as you poured a cup and downed it in one go. It was warm and almost metallic; you wondered how long it had been there. How long you had been there. 

Studying the IV in your arms, along with other various implements, you sighed as you tried not to cry. Everything hurt, every fiber of your being felt like it was aching to the bone. Pulling back the thin, scratchy blanket, you realized your lower half didn’t look much better. Your legs were nothing but constellations of black and blue tinged with green. As if to test the waters, you moved each leg, flexing your feet and knees, as if just checking to make sure everything still worked. Just in case. Just because.

It hurt now, and no doubt for a long time, but you were alive. You were still breathing, taking in shallow breath after shallow painful breath. But you were still here. That’s what mattered.

You looked around for someone...anyone. But found no one. Your heart fell a little as you had half expected Javier to be there, or perhaps Steve, or maybe even Connie. But there was no one. Half tempted to get up and move around, or at least try, you refrained and hit the call button on the remote on your side instead. 

It was only a few moments before you heard footsteps approaching and a nurse poke in her head. Her face lit up when she noticed that you were awake and conscious, despite the sight for sore eyes that you currently were. 

“You’re awake,” she came over and looked at you, a hand going to your face as she brushed away a few tangled locks from your forehead, “a welcome surprise. How are you feeling?”

“Like death,” you admitted quietly, “but I’m here, and that’s...that’s the important part.”

“You survived a bombing.” she reminded you, “being here is the only thing right now. How’s the pain?”

“Just sore,” you admitted, not quite feeling the full effects just yet, “am I...anything permanent?”

“No,” she promised as you felt a wave of relief wash over you, “you got lucky. You’ll be back to normal eventually, right now you’ll need lots of rest - for your body and mind. We just want to keep you for a few more days to make sure there’s no infection with anything. You had a few good gashes on your legs and abdomen.”

“Okay,” you let out a stunted exhale as you realized that no matter what happened, you were in good hands and had been well taken care of. But that still didn’t solve the mystery of why you were alone, “there was a man that brought me in I’m sure...is he...here?”

“Javier?” she asked as you nodded lightly, “he had to leave on an emergency call. Don’t worry, sweetheart, he hasn’t left your side in days.”

“Days?” you tilted your head to the side in confusion, “how long have I been here?”

“Almost a week,” she gave a tight lipped smile, “go on and rest, and I’ll bring you something to eat. I’m sure he'll be back soon.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

But soon turned into hours and those hours stretched into the wee hours of the night, and eventually you fell back asleep. The amount of painkillers and fluids were enough to keep you drowsy and despite wanting to see Javier, you couldn’t stay awake. 

It had hurt your feelings a little - the fact that no one stopped in to see you. But you decided not to take it personally; work was probably insane at the moment.

Javier didn’t make an appearance until the next afternoon.

His tread was light as he hovered in the doorway, almost as if studying you to see if you were conscious. 

“Javi,” you beamed when you spotted him, slowly sitting up as best as you could. Your heart instantly felt better at the sight of your lover as he shuffled into the room. You’d expected him to be excited, to smile, to cry, to...something. But there was...nothing. You frowned as he came and stood at the side of your bed, “Javier? W-what’s wrong, mi amor?”

“Look at you,” he whispered softly after a few tense moments, reaching up and gingerly touching your cheek. You sighed and reached for his hand but he quickly flinched out of your grasp.

“It’s okay,” you promised softly, surprised by his recoil, “it looks bad now, but it will be better. They said nothing is permanent. I’ll be fine soon enough.”

“You were almost killed and you think this is fine?!” you had never heard him shout before, not like this, not in such anger. His nostrils flared as he ran a hand over his tired face, “you look terrible, you were barely conscious and then in a coma for a week. Nothing about this is fine!”

“Javi,” you had leaned away at the sound of yelling, confused and hurt by his harsh response, “I’m alive, okay? That’s what matters. The rest will get better -”

“What about all the people that it won’t get better for?” he sighed as he turned around for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling heavily, “what if it had been you? If something worse had happened to you, I would never be able to live with myself.”

“But it didn’t,” you whispered, “and I know it’s hard to accept right now, but I am okay and it will get better and this isn’t your fault. Please, Javier, calm down, my love, you’re shaking…”

“This was because of me,” he turned around, an emotionless mask on his face, “don’t you understand that? This happened to you because you know me...because you’re with me.”

“Javier-”

“I couldn’t even protect you,” he hung his head with a bitter laugh, “I promised I would always protect you, and I couldn’t even do that much. What if...I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this every day knowing how easy it is for them to get to you. I won’t have anything happen to you just because you’re mine - because of me.”

“You didn’t….” you paused and tried to reach for him, holding out your hand and offering it to him as you had done countless times before. Except this time...he didn’t take it, “Javier. I know this was bad, and I know that it wasn’t your fault. You did protect me - if you hadn’t gotten me here in time, or came to me, it could have been so much worse. I’m not...I know the risks of your job, Javi, but it doesn’t scare me. Not away from you….I love you.”

“I know,” he answered gruffly, “I know you do. Despite the fact that I’m a bad man that does bad things. And I love you too. That’s why I have to do this….”

“Do what?” you asked as your heart plummeted into your stomach at the tone of his words. This wasn’t good - no this..was very bad, “Javier? What’s...what’s going on?”

“As soon as you’re well enough to travel, you’re going home,” he didn’t even look at you as your mouth dropped in horror and confusion, “you’re getting on the first plane back to the states. And you’re never setting foot back in Colombia.”

“Javier,” your voice cracked as he refused to meet your eyes, “you can’t just do that. You can’t-”

“I have and I will,” he answered gruffly, “it’s been taken care of. The DEA will set you up with a new place and help you find a new job. Please...just don’t argue with me. Just…”

“You can’t do this,” you were crying now, as your whole world crumbled around you and Javier started to walk away, refusing to look at you again, “please...please don’t do this. Please don’t make me leave. Don’t - don’t...walk away. Javier, I love you, and I want to be here with you. I don’t care about anything else!”

“I know, Dulzura,” he whispered as he paused in the doorway, his back still to you, “I love you more than you will ever know. That’s why this has to be done. Please just...do this one thing. For me.”

“Javier...don’t walk away,” you were begging him, your chest tightening in constricting as it got harder and harder to breathe, “p-p-please don’t do this. Please don’t leave me - not like this. Please.”

“I am sorry,” he promised gently, “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. But I do love you, truly, that’s why I have to do this. You will thank me one day.”

“Javier,” he turned and walked out of the small room, pausing for just a moment before he exhaled shakily and walked away. If you had seen him, you’d have seen the most heartbroken look on his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. But you didn’t; instead you sat there, helpless and small as your vision grew warm and bleary with your own tears. 

You hid your face in your hands as you cried and cried and cried until you couldn’t anymore. No one came in, no one said anything, and he never came back. 

This was….it. A new life without your love. 

Empty, hollow, broken. Just like him - and now you. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #narcos #javier pena #javier pena x reader #forever-rogue's follower celebration

[roger-that-cap]

tolerate it

part 2/2 of cardigan!

so, this is the follow up to my first ever one shot (guess not anymore LMAO) up here! i sincerely hope that you guys like this, because it was like pulling teeth for this one. every now and again i’d find a golden one and smack it in there and hope that one decent line made up for all the others.

natasha romanoff x fem!reader

this was the hardest thing ive ever had to write (simply because there was so much emotion in it and it was hard to reel myself back in just to cast out again) and i had to write a paper on nathaniel hawthorne.

warnings: pretty angsty for me, bittersweet, um- why do i write angst, DRAMATICS hahaha

word count: 4.5k!

would like to remind you that i do not own taylor swift songs! this one borrows a little from tolerate it, the best song on evermore imho (tied with coney island).

You knew that opening the door was going to be a hard part, but what you didn’t prepare for was actually listening to her. You could have stared at her for eternity in silence, just harping on everything good and bad that ever happened between the two of you. You could imagine a thousand different scenarios where the two of you were happy and none of this had occurred, but that wasn’t the case. She didn’t come to you to stare and leave.

“Thank you,” Natasha said, her voice throaty as she took a cautious first step into your space. Your space. It sounded weird, and you knew that it felt weird to her. You two had shared everything for the longest, and now you had your own place to live in. “Thank you for letting me in.”

“You came to talk,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively, and she didn’t miss the obvious tell of your body language. “I won’t make you waste your time. Say your piece, and then...” you trailed off, both of you knowing full well where you were going with it. 

“Can I just start with the fact that I’m so sorry,” she blurted, and you have her an unamused look as you sat on your couch, and she sat on the edge of it. “And that I don’t know why that happened. I don’t expect for you to ever forgive me, and I don’t forgive myself. I won’t ever forgive myself for hurting you so badly, and having such a lapse in judgement. I’m sorry.”

“What was it that was different?” You asked, the question that had been haunting you for a while now finally escaping your lips. When she gave you a confused look, you stared back at her. “What was so different about whatever happened on the mission?”

You didn’t ask what you did wrong, because you didn’t do anything wrong. It took you weeks to know that, weeks to come to the conclusion, but you knew. It wasn’t anything that you lacked, it was something that Natasha did. Whether it was loyalty, restraint, a moral compass, or even something else, you didn’t think that it was you.

“There was nothing different.”

You were trying to hold it together, but you knew that you were seconds from falling apart right in front of the person who had destroyed you. “You don’t have to lie.”

She made a face. “There wasn’t. There was nothing about her that was better than you, I swear.”

But there was nothing different. There was nothing different in the way that you held her to the way that Abigail did, then. There must have been nothing different in the way that you kissed her in the morning. Nothing special about how you would dance with her on the third of the month simply because you liked the number three. There was nothing special about the way you held her hand and rubbed her back and sometimes sang her to sleep when she needed it. And there was certainly nothing different or special about the way that you let her put her head on your chest, just so that she could hear your heart beating.

Maybe what you did was different or special to you and not to her. And maybe it was time for you to finally realize it, whether it hurt or not.

Your emotions were threatening to come through, and you couldn’t have that happen. “I thought you came to talk. Talking requires truth.”

“I did,” she rushed, and then she sighed and wiped her palms on her thighs. You knew what that was. Of course you knew what she was. That was her being nervous. “I just wanted you to know that I love you, I love you so much, no matter what you choose. I never meant for any of it to happen, and I hate myself for making you feel that way.”

“You knew what happened with the others,” you said, and you knew that she knew that you were talking about the men who used to cheat on you without thinking twice. You saw her wince. “You knew how I felt about dishonesty. You knew how long it took me to be fully trusting of you, and you ruined it for two months of fun?”

“I know I did.”

“Do you know that, Natasha?” You asked, your voice starting to raise a bit. “I trusted you, and then I gave you everything I had. There wasn’t a piece of me that wasn’t for you, don’t you get that? I painted a portrait of us with the best colors I had and you opened the door on me doing the finishing touches and threw black paint over it.”

She was surprised that you were actually allowing yourself to be angry, and that made you even more upset. You were allowed to be pissed. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out, a thin layer of tears in her eyes.

“I did- I had everything lying out on the table for you emotionally. It was wrapped so pretty for you when I helped you through your own stuff, and it waited until you were ready. There wasn’t a thing you didn’t know, not a secret kept from you. And I still can’t believe that you returned me being in love with you, with that.”

“It didn’t mean anything to me. None of it meant anything to me at all, I swear.”

“It meant something to Abigail,” you said, and you saw her flinch. “It meant something to the girl that told you that she loved you. And if I’m not mistaken, you told her the same. So did it really not mean something, or are you an even larger liar than I thought?”

“It didn’t mean anything.” For a spy, she was quite easy to read. Or maybe you just spent so much time knowing her that it was impossible to not know her inside and out. You knew her every movement that she made when she lied, and you knew what she looked like when she was telling the truth. This, this wasn’t it.

And it destroyed you.

“Don’t you understand how that feels? It feels like being cut a thousand times by the fancy blade that you made yourself. It feels like being bitten by your own dog. It feels like being nearly drowned in the oceans that you’ve swam in for forever. We were so close! We were so close that I was sure that we were predestined or some of that cheesy shit, Natasha. I could have sworn that we were meant for each other, but now I know that we were, because the betrayal that you did cut me down into a million pieces. That was something that neither of the others were able to do. That’s something that only you could do, and I trusted you not to do it. I never thought you could do it. I thought that you loved me far too much to pull the shit that you did.

“Maybe I was foolish enough to make the knife right in front of you, but I trusted you to know it was there and not use it against me. And you still stabbed me with it.” Your voice cracked and you could feel warm tears falling into your hand, but you didn’t care. You had to keep going. “How could you see me give and give and give to you, for you, and then tolerate it and go see someone else?”

She was breathing heavily after your rant, like she had spoken the words instead. A singular tear came down her face, and you thanked whoever was sitting above and watching for the crack in her mask. You were begging to see her half as emotional as you, half as hurt by her own actions.

You knew that it was different when you saw her wipe her tear. She never wiped her tears around you. You were the only one who got to see them, but you supposed not even you were allowed to see it anymore.

“I can’t even begin-” her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I regret what happened.”

“How do you regret-” you pursed your lips and shook your head, closing your eyes for a second as your heart clenched. “How do you regret falling in love with someone?”

“I don’t love her-”

“Do you love me?” You asked.

“More than I love anything else in the entire world.”

“You loved her more if you risked me losing me, Natasha.” You said, and her brows shot up at your conclusion. “You know what would happen if you did that to me and I found out. You knew you would lose me, and you did it anyway. So you two must have had something special. Congrats.”

“No, you’re-”

The temper that you tried to keep in check was bubbling over again, and you realized that there was no checking yourself. “Do you know how long I waited for you and never cheated? Never had sex with anyone else, never went on a date with anyone else? For just as long as you were supposed to! And I managed! So what’s wrong with you?”

“Y/N, I think we should calm down a little. Let’s talk it out for a second.”

“I’ve been talking it out. All by myself, actually, because you’re too afraid to do a damn thing and admit that you fucked up for two months straight.” You closed your eyes again as you felt the hurt come back up. “How do I know it was just that time? How do I know that?”

There was a silence that spoke volumes. “You don’t.”

“And what if we got back together, after all of this?” It was hypothetical, but seeing the hope perk up in her sparked something that you hadn’t felt towards her in forever. Or, you had, it was just smothered by the heat of your fury. “How would I know that you aren’t off pulling the same thing you did earlier?”

“You’d have to trust me.”

“Well, I can’t do that. I literally can’t,” you cried out, putting your head in your hands and shaking you head. It was quiet except for the sounds of your cries, and it was ominous. There was never a quiet moment between you and Natasha, but you were dying out, fizzling away. You already had your Big Bang, now you were creating black holes that would forever remain on opposite sides of the universe. And you both knew it.

“You- you humiliated me,” you shook your head from left to right again, face still hidden. “You had an affair with a younger girl, you did it in front of the people I shared a living space with. You did it shamelessly in front of the people I cooked meals for every day, the people who’s fucking uniforms I ironed! They were my friends too, Natasha, and you humiliated me. You made them keep your dirty secret, did you apologize to them?”

“I haven’t spoken to them much.”

“I had to figure out from Pepper in front of the wedding dress store,” you continued, your throat tightening. “I was there getting the dress that I was going to walk down the aisle in. Everything was perfect, and then you did something that shattered what I thought couldn’t be broken.” You had thought that you and Natasha were rock solid, the hardest stone. You two were diamonds that sparkled and prevailed together, until you learned that you were truly just glass.

She leaned forward, giving you a look that you knew meant honesty. But it was far too late for that, and it wasn’t going to do Natasha much good now. “I wish every second of the day that I didn’t do it, Y/N. Every second of every day.”

Your lips turned into a scowl. “Wishing doesn’t do anything for us. We’re not little kids and we’re not princesses.”

That word, wishing, must have been the one to do her in, because she was sobbing right into her own sleeve, an arm covering her eyes from your sight. Your tears were subsiding, and you watched her with thinly pressed lips. Watching her cry was never pleasant.

“I’m so, so sorry. I can’t- I can’t imagine how you must feel, but I’m so sorry. I don’t know why- I can only apologize to you and beg that you’ll welcome me back to you, where I’m supposed to be.” Your eye twitched as you listened, and told yourself to keep your strength up. “I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, baby, but I know now. I know who I’m meant to be with, and it wasn't her. It’s you, it always has been.”

You knew that. You had always known that. It was a fact, something that had always rang as true as the beating of your own heart. You knew that it was written in the stars for you by some gracious god who decided to reveal what could have been your present and future to you, but you guess the other half of the tale never saw it herself. She knew now, sure. But she learned a little too late for your taste.

“Please, you have to know. You have to know that I didn’t- that I would never do it again.” 

How could you tell someone that their apology wasn’t enough? How could you reject someone when they were at their lowest point? How were you going to find the strength in yourself to turn down the woman that you still very much loved? The one that you thought that you lost to another was right in front of you, begging for a second chance, but was it right for you to give it to her?

But how could she see you at your most vulnerable every day and know that you loved and cared for her with your whole heart and still do what she did? How was she okay with ruining you after all that you had been through? How did she not feel bad for two months about betraying the one person who she knew would be forever in her corner?

Whatever her method was to do things that hurt the people she supposedly loved, she found a way. And so would you.

“Have you said what you needed to?” You asked, your tone slow and deliberate as you fought for your tears not to ruin your words. Just as slowly, she nodded. “Then, please leave.”

A noise left her throat. “Please, wait. Wait.”

“There’s nothing left to say, Nat. We said it all.” You stood up, and she followed. “Fix your relationships at the tower, alright?”

“Don’t,” she muttered, tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t tell me that you don’t want to try and then act like you care about me.”

You both walked to the door, because you knew that I the end she would do what you asked of her. “We were friends first.” You insisted. “We were friends first, Natasha, so I care. So, because we were friends first, I’ll tell you to get better. Work on yourself. Fall in love with someone else. Maybe not with two people at the same time.”

Her face was utterly pitiful. Her eyes were watering in a way you had never seen them do before, and her hands were shaking. You had seen the most of Natasha that anyone had in the entire world, yet you had never seen her so torn apart, so open. She laid it all out for you like you had been doing for her for years, and now you were finally the one to ruin the pretty picture. “Please.” 

As soft as a gentle breeze came your next word. “No.” You yanked your apartment door open, and then you were both shivering. She looked up at you, her face full of an expression of the most shattered you had seen her yet, and the part of you that still ached prayed that it would be the last time you would ever see her at all.

Your body moved on its own. It asked for one more point of contact, just one more before you deprived yourself from the person you loved the most. Your lips pressed against the crown of her head as you told yourself it was for your own good. Your eyes shut as you put your hands on her shoulders, and tears were turning spots of her red hair dark. She was shaking underneath you, crying even harder than you were. You pulled away from her and opened the door wider.

“Wish you all the best, Nat.”

She walked away, off of your porch and into the night. You shut the door.

§§

You figured that you would miss her, but it wasn’t as bad as it was in the early part of leaving. By the time you moved on, it was far past the date of the wedding and even further past your anniversary. Sometimes it still hurt to think about how your life could have been had she chosen to stay faithful, but you learned that the scenarios hurt more than they helped and stopped.

You had a steady job, could keep up with the rent on your apartment, had enough for groceries and even had spare to get your nails done if you wanted to. You were doing it all, and you were doing it well after being attached at the hip to someone else for years and years.

There was a time where you would have thought that living without Natasha would be excruciating. The first night after you stormed out and cried yourself to sleep, you were sure that it would be painful, every night without her next to you would be like a stab in the gut. But after a while, it really wasn’t.

At first, it was. You missed her terribly, and, a part of you still did. You missed the good things that happened, but you realized that the good didn’t erase the bad, and that the bad didn’t erase the good. So, after a long time of thinking about her, your stance on Natasha Romanoff wasn’t hateful, or upset, or vengeful. You barely had one.

You thought about her and saw a book that you had finished reading a long time ago. Impactful at the time you read it, of course, and it could leave a longing imprint, but it was over. You could never relive that exact moment ever again that you read her, not a good one or a bad one. The hardest, most intense part of it was over, so far behind you that you could breathe again. 

And damn, did it feel good to breathe. 

§§§

Seeing her was awkward, and it was something that came straight out of your outdated imagination. You were by yourself buying apples at the market that you always went to because you adored fresh fruit, checking for bruises on them that were never there. You were carrying four in a bag with a content look on your face, just walking around and looking at other fruits and vegetables when you felt someone’s eyes on you. You looked up.

Sam Wilson was looking right at you, his jaw a little slack as he recognized you. You hadn’t seen him since you stormed out of the compound god knows how long ago. Within seconds, your life at the tower and memories with him flashed in your head. You two would cook together side by side often, and that's where you would do most of your bonding and talking with him. Your heart clenched for a moment, and then you raised the hand that wasn’t occupied and gave him a wave and a half smile, one that you hoped told him that you weren’t angry.

You looked back to the vegetables and then at the sign on the table. Damn, that’s kind of expensive. You shrugged your shoulders and put the greens on the weighing machine anyway, and pulled the money out of your purse for it. You smiled at the vendor and left with your new bag, wiggling your eyes at the strawberry table and starting your approach. 

“Hi,” an achingly familiar voice called out while you were steps away from the table of deliciously red strawberries. You could smell them from where you were at. You turned around still, even after easily identifying who the voice belonged to. “How are you?”

She was as beautiful as ever, the top of her head under a blue ball cap and her eyebrows perfectly done. Her eyes were hidden by shades, but you didn’t need to see them to know what she was thinking. Her arms were loose at her sides, but her fingers were moving strangely, and you noticed them immediately as her nervous tick. You took in a deep breath. 

“I’m good, how about you?” You asked Natasha back, and she gave you a pained smile.

“I’m alright.”

“Oh, sweet,” you said, and then gave her a parting smile before turning towards the strawberries.

“Wait,” she called out.

You stopped and turned your head, even though you wanted more than anything to forget that you ran into her. “Yes?”

There was a moment of silence between you two, and then she took a step forward. “Are you still upset?” She asked, voice lower in volume than usual. 

You almost scoffed at her. “I’m an adult, I can’t really be sad for long or I’ll forget to pay a bill or something.”

“Can we talk?” She started, and you held up a hand.

“Let’s not open up old wounds,” you said, already knowing exactly where she was going with all of her hesitance and fiddling with her thumbs.

“I need to apologize for what happened.”

You shrugged. “I forgive you. Actually, I forgave you weeks and weeks ago. It’s okay. We can move on from it.” We need to move on from it. 

You saw your old lover’s face light up in just the slightest, but just as fast as you saw it, it was gone. Her lack of wanting to express to you didn’t hurt anymore. “We?”

“We can move on,” you repeated, “just not together.” Her face dropped at what you said, and you shrugged your shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I fucked up.”

Yes, you did. “It’s in the past now.”

There was a pause, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You wondered when your heart started to beat on its own again and not for the woman standing so close yet so far away. You wondered when you started to do anything for just yourself, and you wondered when you had stopped doing that in the first place. Her voice brought you out of your thoughts. “Is it?”

You almost had to ask her to remind you what the conversation was about. “Oh. It is,” you said gently, but your voice was still stern. “All good things must come to an end, and what we had was good. It was great, and that must have meant that we were destined to end fast.”

She shook her head slightly. “If you- if you forgive me, it doesn’t have to be over.”

“It does.” You looked at your phone and sighed. “I have to leave.”

“Okay,” She said softly after a moment, and finally took a step back. It was a small one, like her body was trying to override her brain. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you, Nat.” You saw her wince, and if you hadn’t made peace with everything, you would have, too.

She took another step back and cleared her throat, just as Sam started making his way over. She nodded at you, and you gave her a small smile, almost encouraging. Just walk away, this is the last time you’ll have to do it. “Later,” She said, her voice a little hoarse as she turned on her heel and walked right past Sam.

“Later” meant never. And you didn’t know if you were supposed to feel nothing or everything about it.

§§§

The last time you saw Natasha Romanoff was a year later, when you were holding hands with a pretty woman from an art show that you went to. She stole your heart with her work, and she turned out just as beautiful on the inside as she was with a brush, and on the outside. Her name was Julie, and she was great. She was honest. 

You really liked Julie. She wasn’t Natasha, though, and it was both refreshing and saddening, because you knew that what you felt with Natasha was a one time thing. You two had one chance to keep the bond that was seemingly inseparable and stronger than steel together, and everyone was rooting for you. And then, it just fell apart.

You knew that Natasha was your first actual love, and the only person who was ever going to be able to love you emotionally like you needed to be. The two of you were, in your mind, made for each other. If soulmates existed, Natasha would have been yours, and you would have been hers. You knew that even five years after not being with her, and while the hole in your heart wasn’t hollow, you had a feeling that a little something was always going to be cold, like a cavity that was never filled. Someone saying her name or asking about her was like chewing ice on it.

But people moved on. Just like you did. And you had moved on from the beautiful yet icy mountains of Natasha and into a soft and whimsical meadow, and that meadow was Julie. 

You were holding hands with Julie, arms swinging as you were leaving the donut shop and talking about silly things that made the both of you grin when you caught a familiar flash of red. Out of instinct, you looked over your shoulder, and what you saw made you freeze.

Natasha Romanoff was with a girl with brown skin and black hair that was glinting in the sunlight, and she wasn’t focused on the way that you and Natasha locked eyes in that moment, the moment that seemed to last years. You didn’t think you were still moving, and it certainly didn’t feel like you were taking a step, but you were. You saw her blue-green eyes blink at you, and like you were still stuck on the same wavelength after all that time, you both raised a hand and gave a timid wave, small smiles gracing the both of your faces.

You saw the girl tug lightly on Natasha’s arm, and your grin stretched. Natasha looked over at the girl, and an immediate smile, one similar but not quite the same as she used to give to you, was on her face. You turned your head forward, a light smile still on your own face as you watched it all happen in a split second.

You both kept walking.

*****

ahahaha wow, that hurt really bad actually - never doing angst again i’m a fluffy type of gal

so i’ve never done a taglist before! so i hope i’m doing it right otherwise this’ll make me look incredibly dumb-

@messuhp @username23345 @fishlikestuff @thelastavenger-3000 @grievingfortheliving @madamevirgo @dontmindmejustreading @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @sourpatchspinster @fayhar @sarcasticallywitty15 @normanijauregui

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #marvel fanfic #natasha romanoff angst #gay!natasha #this saddened me #my fics

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Thin Line

Summary: You’re wild and free. She’s strict and trained. You and Natasha are polar opposites and it drives her crazy. Each move you make annoys her to no end. But, there’s a thin line between annoyance and adoration.

Rating: 18+ Violence, Language, Blood, Death, and Smut.

Chapter 8

If you could rewind time you would in an instant. 

You couldn’t put your finger on when everything had gone to shit.

Sure you were there, you saw as the team split in two in the compound, difference of right and wrong and opinion driving a pointed wedge into the bond that had been forged. But still a big part of you hoped things wouldn’t get as bad as they had.

That hope faded the day of the signing.

It had all happened so quickly there was no possible way you could’ve stopped it.

One second you’re meeting King T’Chaka and Prince T’Challa alongside Natasha, then the building is blown up, and the next thing you know, you’re waking up in a medical bed. 

You groggily open your eyes, all your senses fading in. You hear the TV in the room and you sit up quickly, which is a bad move. 

“I’d slow down if I were you, you took a pretty big hit.”

Following the voice, you find Doctor Cho, head of the Avengers med team. She walks closer with a clipboard in hand.

“Can you tell me what you remember?”

You hold up a finger, eyes glued to the screen.

“Bucky?” You find yourself whispering in disbelief.

The news was claiming he blew up the UN in Vienna. Blurry security footage put him at the scene.

You didn’t know much about the Winter Soldier, only what Steve, Natasha, and old S.H.I.E.L.D records had disclosed. He was under HYDRA control, marked dangerous, he saved Steve from drowning after S.H.I.E.L.D went down, and he vanished.

But he’s been quiet this entire time. Not once had anyone been able to find him and he just popped up to blow up a UN building.

Shaking your head, you look away from the TV, focusing on Doctor Cho. You answer her previously asked question,“ everything except coming here.”

“Right, well, you’ve sustained injuries to your torso and head. Nothing too serious, just some bruising on your shoulders and ribs and the cut on your head. Miss Romanoff says the chairs kept the explosion from doing any major damage.”

The lack of Natasha’s presence was the first thing you noticed, and then the TV.

“Am I clear to leave or do you need to run some tests?” 

“No, you’re clear to go, just let me unhook you.”

Doctor Cho makes quick work of unhooking you from the heart monitor and taking out the IV. The second you’re unhooked she double checks your injuries and sends you on your way with a warning to take it easy.

As you’re leaving out you take in the outfit you’ve been put in. Black Stark Industries sweatpants, a plain grey t-shirt, and black trainers.

You make your way through the facility with ease, finding the two heads of your team. Tony was going at it with Steve, with the news report you saw, you already know what chaos is ensuing.

They’re the only two in the room, causing you to look around. Federal agents walk around but your eyes settle on your red headed girlfriend.

She turns to you as you approach and a small smile graces her lips,“ you’re awake.”

“Yeah.”

“How’re you feeling? You threw yourself in front of me the second the bomb went off.” She informs you.

Nodding, you subtly take her hand and she laces her fingers with yours,“ I remember. Doctor Cho says I’m fine though. Just some bruising.”

Her eyebrow quirks and she smooths the thumb of her free hand over the cut on your head,“ just some bruising?”

“I’m fine Pretty Girl.” You assure her with a smile.“ But everyone else isn’t.” You send a glance to Tony and Steve in the glass room.

Natasha sighs, filling you in on everything that’s happened since the bomb. All you knew was that they said Barnes bombed the building. She tells you that King T’Chaka was killed and all about Prince T’Challa going after Barnes. You’re not in the least bit surprised when she tells you about Steve and Sam going for Barnes by themselves. 

You just know this means everything is spiraling down fast and with your number one girl being okay and in front of you, you’re inclined to worry about your best friend.

“Do you have my phone?” 

She narrows her eyes but pulls your phone out and hands it to you anyway.

Giving a gentle smile, you squeeze her hand, before walking away and dialing the compound.

It rings twice before you hear Wanda’s voice.

“Y/N?”

“Hey Wan.”

“You said you’d be back.” Her accusatory tone is laced with sadness.

Sighing, you drop your head,“ I know, and I planned to, I just got caught up in all kinds of things.”

“Y/N, what’s going on? There’s a reason Tony has me trapped in the compound.”

Tony locked her in the compound? Honestly it makes sense with everything going on. But has he really not told her about anything?

“He’s just trying to keep you safe Wan, we all are. Things are really tense between the team and the government right now and we don’t want them finding any excuses to hurt you.”

“They already have excuses.”

“All the more reason that you stay there. We’re doing our best to fix things.”

“Your efforts won’t mean anything to them.”

“Come on Wan-”

“I have to go.”

“Wanda don’t-” But she’s hung up already. 

“Dammit.”

A gentle hand runs up your shoulder, the touch familiar and as calming as it can be given the circumstances.

Your body moves with the heavy sigh you give and when you face Natasha you give a soft smile.

“Did you know Tony locked her up in the compound?” You ask.

There’s no accusation in your tone, you’re just curious.

But when she nods you’re hurt. Why hadn’t she told you? Did she not trust that you’d keep it quiet or did she think you wouldn’t understand?

“Y/N, I know how much you care about Wanda, I wasn’t sure-”

“It’s fine. Let’s just focus on whatever the hell is about to happen to our friends.”

As gently as possible, you take her hand off your shoulder and walk away to the surveillance system.

Tony raises an eyebrow at you but limits conversation to that. You both look to the cameras as Bucky’s interview begins. Natasha stands as close to you as possible.

She knew she’d regret not telling you, but having seen how much you care for Wanda, she went with her gut and kept quiet.

No you hadn’t blown up at her, shouted and accused her of not trusting you. But your silence said more than your words would have.

You have always been willing to talk to Natasha about anything, whether you were upset with her or feeling cheesy and romantic, you used your words to express yourself. Saying nothing at all to her scared Natasha more than anything.

The doctor had spoken to Bucky for all of two minutes before the power shut off.

Tony immediately looked for source of the power outage. One glance back at the now empty glass room, you know Steve and Sam went for Bucky.

Federal agents were running around working to get the power back up and Agent Ross demanded to get eyes on Barnes.

You knew that wasn’t the problem though. It’s definitely a problem but not the problem.

More important than that, you wonder who the hell just questioned Bucky.

Wasting no time, you, Tony, and Natasha hurry upstairs.

“Please tell me you brought a suit.” Natasha says as calm as ever.

Tony unbottons his jacket and answers,“ sure did. It's a lovely Tom Ford, three-piece, two-button. I'm an active-duty non-combatant.”

“And it’s lovely, but also not bullet proof.” You remark, inciting a raised brow from him. You simply shrug.

Sharon Carter hurries by, telling you three to follow her and you do, putting ear pieces in on the way. You end up right at the fight.

With Bucky distracted by other agents you all manage to get into position.

Natasha and Sharon go after Barnes the moment he’s taken Tony down and once Sharon is down you attack as well.

He has Natasha pinned to a table, metal hand choking her when you slide in, kicking his leg and making him let her go.

Your eyes widen as he punches at you with his metal hand, quickly rolling away and jumping up you aim a kick at his side and he grabs your leg, flinging you into a cluster of tables.

Had you not already been injured you would’ve gotten up faster but that didn’t matter, Prince T’Challa seemingly appearing out of thin air, goes for Bucky and they’re quick to leave your like of sight.

Every muscle in your body screams in protest when you start to sit up. Your head pounds a little but your worry shifts to the red head you just watched get choked.

Groaning, you push yourself up, clutching your side in pain, and going over to her.

She’s still breathing heavily, eyes on the ceiling in slight shock.

“Hey, eyes on me Romanoff, you’re okay.” You tell her, free hand gently gripping her shoulder and pulling her into a sitting position on the table.

When she focuses on you her eyes scan your even more injured form but you don’t let her dwell on it, instead turning to Tony and Sharon.

Tony’s still on the ground, a bruise quickly forming on his cheek, but apart from shock he’s other wise okay. Sharon however is out cold.

You squeeze Natasha’s shoulder before going over to the blonde and kneeling down. Her chest moves with shallow breaths so you know she’s not dead but that doesn’t mean she’s okay.

“Come on Carter.” You grumble, sliding an arm under her legs and one behind her back, ignoring every bit of pain you feel.

Both Natasha and Tony watch you as you carry the blonde.

“Don’t just stare at me, get up, come with me to medical.” You nearly snap at the two.

A brief pause, then they’re getting up, and following you. Or at least they start to.

When they see Secretary Ross they follow after him and after you’ve taken Sharon to medical, you go to where they are.

Natasha’s voice is the first to meet your ears,“ what happens when the shooting starts? What, you gonna kill Steve Rogers?”

You frown, eyes instantly snapping to the Secretary as he answers.

“If we’re provoked. Barnes would’ve been eliminated in Romania if it wasn’t for Rogers.”

“Which is better how?” You speak up.“ Had you killed Barnes this would be an even bigger shit show.”

The secretary eyes you,“ there are dead people who would be alive now. Feel free to check my math.” His gaze shifts to Tony.

They go back and forth until Mister Secretary tells Tony you all have 36 hours to bring them in.

Your eyes don’t leave Ross until he’s completely gone.

Tony slumps into his chair, hand running over his chest, mentioning the numbness of his arm. Natasha stands and places a hand on his shoulder.

“You alright?”

For the briefest moment you see him about to say no, but he pulls it together and says always. Before you all launch into a plan.

Natasha and Tony make their plans clear before looking to you.

You heave a sigh,“ I have to go to the compound.”

They both hold uncertain gazes.

“If Steve tries to reach Wanda I have to interfere. If he involves her any further it’s game over for her and I can’t let that happen.”

Natasha steps to you, hand finding your wrist,“ you know it won’t be that easy.”

“Has it ever been?”

********

Fast isn’t fast enough. When you get to the compound there’s an explosion in the distance.

Heart pounding, you race to find Wanda. Eyes darting in every possible direction.

Steve came for her just like you thought her would.

Fear starts to creep in. It plays on every doubt you’ve had about all of this working out and it makes you move faster.

You run into her, and surpisngly Clint, at the entrance.

Looking at Clint, you quirk an eyebrow,“ you know your best friends on the other side of things don’t you?”

He shrugs,“ it’s not often that Nat and I see eye to eye. But it’s good that you two have each other’s backs.”

“Guys,” your shoulders drop,“ we should all have each other’s backs. Forgive me for still singing kumbaya but, there’s still a chance we can fix things.”

They both stare at you, taking in your words,“ you join Steve and this gets near impossible to come back from.”

Clint is the one who replies,“ you know it isn’t that simple.”

“But it is! All of this is making it harder.” Your arms gesture around you, mainly to the smoke billowing in the distance.

The building literally shakes and for a moment you wonder if it’s another bomb, you wonder who else is here. And then you remember: Vision.

Wanda doesn’t meet your eyes when you look at her and it’s clear she did something to him. You know she would never truly hurt him but they got past him somehow and you know it wasn’t Clint.

“Y/L/N get outta the way.” The archer’s eyes plead with you, knowing that if Vision gets to them again they won’t be able to leave.

But you don’t care, you’re goal here is bigger than whatever his reasons are.

Ignoring him, you look directly at your best friend,“ I told you I’d come back. I’m here now Wan and I need you to trust me.”

“I did.”

Your heart breaks at her words.

“Did you know Stark was going to lock me up here? Before I told you.” She asks, clarifying in the end.

Taking a small step forward you answer,“ of course not. Had I known it never would’ve happened. I want what’s best for you but I know you’re not a threat and you’re not a prisoner.” You take another step and Clint raises his bow, an arrow aimed at you.

“Clint I swear if you shoot that thing at me I’m gonna snap it in half with your head.”

Of course you won’t actually hurt him but his threatening action pisses you off. He’s not listening. Neither of them are.

“Don’t you two care about this team at all? Or are you too hooked on listening to Steve’s ideals?” You snap, now standing about a foot away from them.

An arrow is still pointed at you but you know he won’t use it, not yet at least. You’re hoping not at all.

“I just watched Barnes kick the crap out of Tony and Nat, only for Steve to aid in his escape. Steve is loyal to a fault, one that makes him and Barnes look guiltier. He’s dragging you into a fight that doesn’t have to happen.”

Wanda’s green eyes search yours,“ you don’t get it do you?”

“No you don’t get it Wanda!” You’re emotions spike, the stress of everything bringing you to this angry state.“ The second you leave this compound, the second you meet Steve where ever the fuck he asked you to, you become the threat they think you are!”

That familiar fear flickers through her eyes but vanishes just as quickly.

“You’ve done so much good and you’re about to jeopardize that for Steve’s agenda and I don’t fucking understand! Why does that matter more than your freedom?”

It’s with this words that you see you’ve lost her, determination now set in her eyes.

“You forfeited my freedom when you signed the Accords.”

When her eyes glance over at Clint you move out the way of the arrow he fires at you. The end is blunted so you know it was most likely electrified or a net.

You barely make another move when Wanda’s magic wraps around your ankles and wrists, bringing them together and forcing you to the floor.

“Wanda please don’t do this.” Sad, angry tears start to roll down your cheeks but she leaves you with an almost expressionless face.

You call her name until her red magic is no longer trapping you. She’s long gone and you know it.

“Fuck!” Your fist nearly smashes into the wall but it’s stopped by the red synthetic hand of Vision.

The androids eyes look into yours,“ we can still save her.” He tells you.

A huge part of you wants to believe him but you know it’s not going to be nearly as easy as he says.

“Come on, we need to meet Tony and the others.”

*******

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Tag List: @uglipotata72829 @jumbojamba47 @fayhar @blackwidowromonoff @natasha-danvers​ @shycucumbersandwich​ @natasharomanoffsbitch-x​ @studywithrosie01 @gorgeyhun69 @imnotasuperhero  

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romonova #black widow x reader #black widow #marvel x reader #mcu #reader insert #Thin Line

[wildcrisis]

The Detriment of a Pro-Hero Society

Also known as: Kids are kind of being brainwashed into being heroes, let’s look into that.

Dedicated to @deafmic for getting me back into this bullshit and inspiring me to finish something I had started noting out about two years ago. By now, I’m sure much of this has been said over time by various people, and it makes me happy to know that there are others out there who like to look deep into the background culture and settings of their favorite manga!

I apologize in advance if you notice an idea of yours here; I haven’t been active in the fandom in two-ish-years, so I may be restating some things you guys already have. I consider this rambling analysis to be free to use and abuse by anyone, no credit necessary! I only get a little bit of time on the weekends to really be on my PC, so if you send me an ask or reply to this, it may take me some time to reply back!

Anywho, onto this mess I’ve made. It’s not very tidy and is more a collection of thoughts than a properly detailed analysis, but I ain’t got all day. Again, this is messy but I don’t really have the energy to make it nice and neat.

Looking for something in specific? You might wanna ctrl+f around these titles, because this is very long and rambling.

Part I: The Beginning of Quirks and their Effect on Society Part II: What Makes a Villain Part III: M O N E Y and F A M E Part IV: Brainwashed Part V: Ignoring Those Who Need Help Part VI: Cycle/Conclusion

Part I: The Beginning of Quirks and their Effect on Society

So, we know through the manga that, as quirks first began to evolve and more and more people obtained them, the world was thrown into chaos. People had obtained power, and power is as power does, and it corrupts.

As people began using their quirks for evil deeds that broke the law, law enforcement around the world was essentially powerless. After all, during the birth of the quirk age, quirks were the minority. The powerful minority. Against that, men with tasers, batons, and guns hardly stood a chance.

However, just as the rise of quirks gave birth to people who would use that power for misdeeds, so did it bring life to those who had the inherent desire to protect others. The beginning of the age of vigilantes, which would lead to the age of Pro Heroes.

Obviously, All for One was very relevant during this time, but we’re not here to talk about him. For once. We’re here to talk about society as a whole.

The world order was too chaotic. We are aware of this due to the monologues of certain characters, and I assume we’ll be learning more as more of the former carriers of One for All become present in Deku. In this beginning, it wasn’t so much “heroes” versus “villains”, more than it was law abiding citizens versus law breakers. It’s likely that precedent hadn’t yet been established for “no quirk use”, as there were hardly enough people who could actually enforce such a law.

As more of society began to develop quirks, the Police Force made a decision to not use their quirks to take down law breakers. They moved to a more leadership position, and took a backseat to those who did use their quirks for good. At first, it was a hard decision to allow such things as Pro Heroes to take on law breakers who were too dangerous for someone to take down without a quirk.

But why, after all this time, have the Police and the Pro Heroes remained separate entities? Why have they never combined, and why do they remain so polarized in how they approach situations?

The answer is simple, yet multi-layered. Heroes and Villains ... they’re popular. They attract attention.

Part II: What Makes a Villain

If you assign a person the label “Villain”, you de-humanize them. They are no longer a “person”, per se, but a monster. Evil, in the eyes of most people. It’s easier, then, to accept their fate of being beaten by a Hero, and being carted off to prison.

This is an important distinction to make. If you remove the labels of Hero and Villain. If you remove their Quirks. Do people still react the same way? Do they cheer and adore the hero, as the hero beats the opponent senseless? Of course not. In a battle of man vs man, in the moment, humans don’t react in such a way.

We can understand why an adult who lived a hard life may turn to a life of crime. But, hardly to we look as to why or how they got there.

In this world where quirks have become the norm, but are constantly evolving, we must wonder; how are quirks judged? How are they defined? How are people treated, for the quirk they possess?

We have many examples of outcasts, and they possess a wide variety of quirks from “extremely destructive” to simply “strange, odd, not okay in society”.

Shigaraki and Overhaul are both examples of terrifying, destructive quirks. Is it any wonder that their lives turned out the way they did? The power of death was etched into their very DNA. We know Shigaraki’s backstory and how he became who he is today. It’s implied that Chisaki was abandoned or ran away as well.

Then, you have the more odd quirks that, on the surface don’t seem nefarious, but when explained in context, would make people feel uncomfortable. Toga, who’s quirk is to drink blood and transform into another person. Twice, who can make copies of any person and used his quirk for an evil deed. Nemoto, who can force anyone to tell the truth, and lived a life where he realized everyone was lying to him.

Even Shinsou Hitoshi, desperate to become a hero, was put down for what his quirk DOES. Brainwashing. That’s a “villain’s quirk”. Fellow children said that to him so casually, and behaved as if they were terrified of him!

Eri, with her quirk that made her father disappear from existence itself ... Had she not been rescued from Overhaul, what would have become of her? Forced to believe her entire existence was a curse, told that she does nothing but harm people -- as she grew older and gained control of her power, would anyone honestly think she would have led a life of goodness, considering how she was raised?

How many people labeled Villains are currently in prison, because they were treated like outcasts from the moment they developed a terrifying quirk? Was there anyone there to help them figure their way through this world, considering what they’d been born with? Are there services for people who have trouble controlling their quirks, which are truly destructive? Even with laws in place saying that you can’t use your quirk publicly, just LIVING with that knowledge that you were born ... with a scary quirk ... a villain’s quirk ... How people treat you because of that, how you look, what your quirk can do -- do you ever have any friends? Any real friends, that aren’t just people who are scared of you?

Is it any wonder, that people like this turn out to be “villains”? Society is GROOMING THEM to BE VILLAINS, simply for who and what they are and are born with.

Part III: M O N E Y and F A M E

Throwing oneself into harms way sure is a dangerous move, that most people would never bother doing. How, then, do you entice more people to become heroes and take on the villains that are popping up all around for obvious reasons?

You make your Heroes popular. You make sure they look stylish. They have cool attitudes. You make them popular among the children. After all, getting fellow adults in on the Pro-Hero train is good and all, but much like a pro-athlete, one can likely only do Hero work for a certain span of time before their body is unable to take the strain. Maybe say, ages 18-40?

Besides, with more and more people being born every day with quirks, the number of people who turn to villainous activity will grow, right? Especially if you’re not actively helping people manage their quirks, because hey, they’re not allowed to use them publicly so what does it matter?

Kids. Kids will watch heroes on TV, and see it just like any other super-hero show or cartoon. They’ll buy the merchandise. People will begin to hemorrhage money over these heroes, because they’re flashy. They’re kind. They save lives.

Now, not to say that Heroes are just there for the paycheck -- not at all. Many people become heroes simply because they do love to help people. Some become heroes because they want to stop bad guys. Sure, there are some who do it to maybe someday live an easier life, or because it pays really well and they have family to support. But, I do believe that most people go into the Pro Hero business with good intentions.

THIS, is part of the reason that Pro Heroes have remained separate from law enforcement. They are now a business. A very wealthy business. It’s not just hero agencies that make money off of the Pro Hero business. It’s toy manufacturers. Comic book stores. Prisons. Hospitals. Roots of Pro Hero society reach into nearly every type of business that there is, whether directly or indirectly.

Nobody wants that money to disappear by folding Heroes back into the police force. No, they want MORE heroes. More heroes, and more people for the heroes to fight.

tldr: heroes = $$$, so keep ‘em coming

Part IV: Brainwashed

There are a lot of factors that go into making society as a whole okay with something. It takes a lot of time, for one. It takes powerful, well spoken people. It takes lots of media attention. Before you know it, everyone is eating up the same exact thing quite willingly ... and it spreads to the next generation. And the next. After that happens, its something that is well integrated into society, like a freckle that’s always been on your arm -- its just “always been that way”.

I’ve mentioned several times that its odd for people to be so okay with one person beating another person senseless. Again, we know that its considered acceptable, because of the labels we’ve put on these individuals based on their actions: Heroes and Villains.

What I wonder is: How long have people been okay with this? Do they not realize that, in a way, this is history repeating itself?

We know why people don’t dig deeper into this. Pro Heroes are popular and people love them. The media has hand fed the Hero lifestyle to children for some time now. There are schools, MORE THAN ONE SCHOOL, that teach your child how to become a pro hero.

Think about that. It’s not just some extra-curricular activity, like sports. These are schools, designed to take in freshly graduated MIDDLE-SCHOOLERS who have not finished their regularly schooling education, who still have growing bodies and minds, and ... crafts them into perfect pro-heroes. AND PARENTS ARE OKAY WITH THIS -- SOMETIMES EVEN MORE THAN OKAY WITH IT.

These schools send young teenagers onto the streets under a pro-heroes wing to witness and be a part of fighting crime. Not organized crime, like a ring of bad guys or something, but ... random crime. Disasters. From a young age, they may encounter situations with actual dead people. Their training is dangerous. Their powers can be dangerous. One wrong move, and a student, someone you worked alongside, had lunch with everyday, is just ... gone.

There exists a police force in society. There are already pro-heroes. Why, then, is society okay with multiple schools that are practically breeding child soldiers? They are teaching kids everything about how to kick ass, how to take down these terrifying people, how to fight, how to save lives ...

Why is no one looking into why villains exist in the first place? Are these kids ever taught de-escalation tactics? To talk their opponents down? Not everyone out there is using their quirk to be evil for the sake of being evil. There’s always a reason, a purpose.

Part V: Ignoring Those Who Need Help

Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.

Hey, Star Wars had some good points!

I’ve discussed before what makes a villain. People who are afraid of what they’re capable of. People who society has turned their back on. People who desperately need help, but there is no one out there willing to give it.

These people will always find each other in the shadows. They begin, at a young age, being terrified of what they are. What they’ve done. What they can do. Maybe they’ve been kicked out of their families. Maybe they’ve killed before, completely on accident.

The average person turns their back on people like this.

These people begin their lives terrified. Constantly being told that their quirks, their past, their family, what ever it is, will make them end up a bad person. Or, maybe they tell them they’re already a bad person. That fears breeds anger and hate. Hate for this society that would rather see them burn, than offer them any help.

A young boy grows up into a man. He had a potentially devastating quirk that he never really got a good hold on, because he was never allowed to practice with it. Everyone is too scared to let him try. Then, one day, something happens -- completely by accident. He causes a scene. A massacre. He hurts people.

Parents are excited to see which of their quirks their baby displays. Instead of being one or the other, or even a fusion of both, the unthinkable occurs. Its a mutation. The toddler hurts a sibling, a parent, a friend. Terrified, the parents abandon the child, for fear of losing their entire family.

A child is told, over and over, that his quirk will never be good for anything other than being evil. This knowledge rests heavy on his shoulders, its repeated to him yearly as he grows. Then, when he acts on what everyone has TOLD HIM FOR YEARS HE WILL DO, they are surprised. As if they hadn’t imprinted the very notion into his mind.

In a way, Overhaul was right about one thing. Hero society is a disease. People look forward to watching Heroes take down Villains and save the day. They don’t think at all about why these people are villains, how they got there, where they came from. They will never admit to potentially being the reason villains exist in the first place.

Part VI: Cycle/Conclusion

Wow, I have rambled a lot. I don’t think I hit every point that I’ve ever thought of for sure. There’s ... a lot of them. And a lot of comparisons I wanted to make to other superhero anime, specifically Tiger and Bunny, which I believe does an excellent job of showing the ups and downs of hero societies.

What I wanted to make clear in all this rambling mess (which, if you read all of it, I am SO SO SORRY), is that the very existence of Pro Heroes and Villains exist solely because of a few factors that exist in a cycle.

Pro Heroes = $$$ -> Schools for more heroes -> ignoring quirk-related-problems -> more villains -> pro heroes beat up villains -> pro heroes =$$$ etc

There is someone, or some organization, that sits above all of this. There has to be. There has to be some more logical explanation as to why this type of Hero v Villain culture has been allowed to exist all of this time, and things have not drifted more back in the direction of police vs lawbreakers. There has to be a reason that its okay for heroes to be so popular. There has to be a reason that children are allowed to be groomed into becoming heroes. There has to be a reason that there isn’t more help out there for people with these types of potentially destructive quirks.

There has to be reasons.

There has to be reasons for how the Hero Commission moves. There has to be reasons for how the police move. There has to be a reason that society is still allowed to go on like this, and that its become culturally acceptable.

If anyone out there can put all my rambling into clearer words and actively wants to, I would love that. Thank you for taking the time to read my mess!

xoxo Wild

#boku no hero academia #bnha analysis #my hero academia #analysis of hero and villains #deafmic #THIS IS A HUGE RAMBLING MESS #READ AT YOUR OWN COST #spoilers #manga spoilers

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

MAKE MY MESSES MATTER (MAKE MY CHAOS COUNT)

THE 100 / BELLARKE/ CANON DIVERGENCE SINCE S2 FINALE

AO3

{First letters come when frost finally lets go of the river. / a.k.a. clarke leaves to heal herself; it doesn't mean she abandons anyone }

This fic is dedicated to the best reviewer, best beta and best friend in the entire world - Lana, darling, I don't deserve you <3 <3.

**********************************************************************

I‘ll see you in the future when we’re older

And we are full of stories to be told

Cross my heart and hope to die

I’ll see you with your laughter lines

- Laughter Lines, Bastille

I.

First letters come when frost finally lets go of the river.

It’s not spring yet, and Echo told him not to let anyone get their hopes too high-  weather is unpredictable and cold can come back quickly and violently, but – fuck, winter was so hard and now there are flowers blooming in-between ponds of mud and still-remaining snow. People are laughing again, letting yellow light of spring sun kiss their pale, frostbitten faces and Bellamy slowly, very slowly lets himself take a breath. It feels as if he was holding it ever since first snows hit them, when they were so epically unprepared and if it wasn’t for Lincoln, they’d probably all be dead by Winter Solstice (what an irony- Bellamy thinks sometimes, looking at Lincoln wrestling with kids, helping Abby, kissing Octavia- what an irony indeed).

And even with Lincoln, there was nothing easy about those last few months and Bellamy’s hands are calloused and rough from digging too many graves in the frozen ground. And then flu hit them and there were too many bodies to bury, so they burned them instead. He can still almost smell it; this strangely sweet smoke smelling like meat, which was making their empty stomachs growl, which in turn would make them sick.

There was nothing easy from the beginning till the end and the hardest part was that there was a huge hole with jagged edges where Clarke was supposed to be and where she wasn’t, his ‘together’ haunting his dreams and hers ‘you won’t be by yourself’ mocking him over and over again.

But now spring is finally truly coming, days become longer and he manages to sleep more than an hour or two during most nights, so he decides to focus on positives.

Letters come when Bellamy’s on a hunting trip deep in the forests; they are waiting for him in Arkadia along with Echo. She was a frequent visitor during the winter; serving as their link to the situation between clans, telling them all about Lexa’s trial, about the fall of the treaty, about wars coming and ending and beginning ( because all this world is war, war and war, constantly. Never stopping, not even to take a breath). The only thing she wasn’t telling them about is, well.  

Clarke.

Bellamy knows Echo knows where Clarke is. Or at least, has a general idea. She slipped it, once or twice, mentioning some ‘Wanheda’ in a tone living legends are spoken about, but the person she described didn’t seem like his Clarke at all. His Clarke was soft eyes and steel turned skin and blood under her fingernails because she was saving somebody, not because she strangled someone with them. His Clarke was hummed lullabies and her father’s worn-out watch and grace with every movement…  but his Clarke is gone and he doesn’t know if she’s ever coming back and hearing about new Clarke is too painful, so he’d rather not know anything at all.

Echo is sitting in front of his cabin, eyes closed, facing the sun and well, it turns out that not only Sky People are done with winter. She greets him with a simple nod and tells him that she has something for him. He expects everything, but a small package haphazardly wrapped in some kind of green cloth, smooth under his fingers and tied with a piece of string.

“This went through a long journey”- Echo informs while handing him the bundle. “One of the traveling clans from North brought it to my village, asking if anyone still keeps any kind of contact with Sky People. They really didn’t want to bring it in here themselves. “

Echo draws abstract lines on the fabric of her pants with her index finger, looking down and apparently thinking how to tell him something, while Bellamy fights with an urge to smile grimly. Apart from Echo and Lincoln, they haven’t spotted a single Grounder during winter. Not that Bellamy complained about it- they certainly had enough trouble even without them- but he had found it strange, until he realized that the legend of Clarke is not only a legend of Clarke but also the  legend of Sky People- Those Who Burn, he heard Echo saying one time, Those Who Burn everything standing in their way.

(what an irony)

“Just- just open it.”- says Echo eventually, raising her head to look into his eyes. “ And if you want to send anything back, let me know.”

She waves to him goodbye before he can get a chance to say anything and turns around quickly, her boots making soft, cracking noises on wet snow and mud. He is left standing in front of the hut with the package still in his hands, frozen in time and space, a good few minutes before he manages to move again.

He leaves the bundle by the doors and just - goes. To do things that don’t really need to be done, supervise people who are doing just fine without him hovering, piss off O ( ‘’What the fuck is wrong with you, Bell’’ ) and have yet another unnecessary shouting match with Abby before he’s able to come back and dare to unwrap it.

The string lets go easily, the cloth parts and Bellamy can see pile of – paper? Is it really paper?- few dried flowers, which slip from his knees and land on the ground and a greenish, nice smelling thing, which appears to be some kind of bark.

Half of the sheets of paper- which is also gray-green and there are tiny plant veins visible on their surface – turn out to be empty. The other half is full of words- words spilling on the margins, words on words, words chaotic and wild and crazy and-

II.

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been twenty –two days and I think I’m losing my mind. I bumped into a Grounder hunting party today; they just dropped their weapons and things and ran away from me, so I took their things I guess I’m a thief now, why not, actually so they had this paper and a pen, it must be from before the Apocalypse and it still works, can you believe? And I started to write this, I heard people used to write letters to their loved ones when they were away-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been thirty –seven days, I wonder how Monty’s doing, how you are doing, how are you all doing, it’s so cold, I fell asleep on a tree branch and now I can’t feel my fingers, it hurts, Bellamy, it hurts to even-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been fifty days, I found a bark which works miracles on frostbites you should give it to my mother or Lincoln, or I should’ve given it to them, but I’m not with you, I’m alone here, I think I’ve lost my mind-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been exactly fifty-eight days-

I miss you

I miss you

I miss you

I miss you

Dear Bellamy,

I’m haunted by myself.

III.

First, she catches a terrible cold. Then she slips on a thin layer of ice while hunting and injures her head and she doesn’t even remember how she manages to crawl into the cave she has been living in for some time and collapse on the fur. Her head is spinning, burning red and she sees Wells and Finn and her dad and Bellamy-

“Are you dead?”- she asks, confused and then he looks at her and she sees his body drained out blood, his eyes desperate, his hands stretched out, reaching for her:

“You told me to go.”- he says and his voice makes her shiver.” You told me to go and I went, was it worth it?”

Was it worth it was it worth it was it worth it Clarke was it worth it tell us Clarke tell us weren’t we worth it was it worth us – dead men of her life repeat and repeat and Clarke screams and screams and screams until her voice dies out and she drifts into a blackness and there’s nothing and nobody around her anymore.

IV.

Dear Bellamy,

I’m on the coast now, in Luna’s clan village. Their language is like a song on a wind; you’d love it. Luna sends her love to Lincoln. I had- rough time during winter, you can probably tell from the other letters. But those people helped me and –

Bell, they don’t seem to be afraid of me. I don’t remember them being involved in Mount Weather war, but they must’ve heard of it, heard of me. Still, nobody here treats me like other Grounders. Travelers stopped in a village and they agreed to bring my letters to Camp Jaha, even if they didn’t seem completely comfortable with it. I hope you’ll get it. It’s not much –and I don’t expect to get anything back – but that’s the best I can do now.

I just want you to know I think about you every day. All the time. And I’m so, so sorry, Bell.

Out of all the terrible things I’ve done, I’m most sorry for the ones I did to you.

I miss you,

Clarke

V.

“She doesn’t get to do this shit!”

Octavia’s all flaming anger, standing in the middle of his hut and waving her hands.

“Not after she left.  She left us, she left you; she doesn’t get to write you things like that!’’

But Bellamy’s angry too, anger to match Octavia’s, slowly burning his insides.

“Who the fuck allowed you to read it? How do you even know I get this, huh? You’re going through my stuff now, O?”

“Yes, because apparently you’re not capable of making rational decisions like burning this shit without reading! You’re probably already writing her a reply, aren’t you?”  

“It’s not your damn business, Octavia!”

They circle each other like wild dogs thrown into the pit, ready to fight with their fangs and claws. Octavia’s still holding Clarke’s letters and she throws them into his face, bares her teeth and fucking hisses.

“You know it’s all her fault. Everything that went wrong, is because of her. She killed all those people- TonDC, Month Weather, it was all her. “

Bellamy sees red and he could never, ever hurt his sister, but he feels his hands fisting, muscles clenching, bloodthirst swallowing him whole and he’s just so angry.

“I killed all those people along with her, Octavia.” – he says lowly, breath heavy and head low, facing her like a charging bull. “If Clarke’s a murderer, then so am I.”

“Because she made you this way!”- Octavia shouts so loudly, that her voice breaks in half and his fists drop to his sides and he just looks at her. He feels his lungs collapsing, his heart-stopping, entire freaking world freezing for a moment.

His sister is shivering like a leaf on a wind, hands outstretched towards him and shining eyes.

“She sent you away.-“ she whispers, stuttering like a little child and then she turns around so he won’t see her crying. “She sent you away and you went for her and I could- I thought I- I could lose you.”

Her shoulders are shaking and she wraps her arms around herself, sobbing and Bellamy’s standing still, hearing white noise in his ears and suddenly coming back to the times, when Octavia had bangs and curious eyes and clean hands and he was her only lifeline, the only thing connecting her with the whole wide world bigger than two chairs, two bunk beds and endless darkness under the floor.

“Octavia..”- he wants it to sounds like an apology, but instead it comes out like a plea.

Understand. Please. I can only forgive myself, if Clarke’s forgiven too.  

He hesitantly takes two steps and raises one hand to touch her back, to comfort her, but something stops him halfway. His hand’s frozen in its track, frozen in the air, hanging between him and Octavia like a blown-up bridge between two worlds which will never be connected anymore.

She hiccups, wipes the tears with the palm of her hand and turns around. Her braids are coming undone and the dark make-up around her red eyes is smudged, but she stands straight, with chin up high and says, clearly and calmly:

“She doesn’t deserve you.”

O marches out of the hut and he doesn’t stop her.

Instead, he kneels down to pick up the letters and puts them in order.

And then he takes the pen he asked Lincoln to bring him from the last trade and presses the tip of it to the clean sheet of paper.

Dear Clarke,

Winter was fucking awful and spring’s not much better, but at least it’s warmer now.

VI.

Clarke decides she likes the ocean most.

It’s big and wide and endless; silver-gray waves with white manes,  cool sand under her bare feet, wild wind and the smell of salt, smoked fish and crown made of finger-cutting sharp seagrass -  it’s everything she dreamed it would be, long, long time ago, and so much more and nothing less.

She wasn’t planning to stay, truth to be told. For the first few weeks she was constantly waiting for this sharp tug of ache inside just go, just go, far and far and never come back but it never came and Luna’s people are more gentle and kinder than anyone who she has ever met and they’re the only ones who seem not to be afraid of her. So she stays.

She patches up hunters and delivers children along with the old, nearly blind healer; she kisses scraped knees of kids and learns how to knot fishing nets and breathes in, breathes out, washes her face in icy, salty water.

One time,  girl from the village brings her charcoals and she spends hours on playing with them, morbidly fascinated with how different they feel, when her hands are no longer soft and white, but callused and cut and scarred and short on one finger and red, so, so red.

Clarke draws sea and people and a little, chubby boy chewing his fist and before she can even notice, she draws constellations of freckles and messy hair and soft, sad eyes; brown ponytails and sharp elbows and braids; goggles and gentle smiles and she wants to weep, she misses them all so much.

She wonders about her package, she wonders if it ever reached Bellamy, she wonders if it even matters at all.

She –well, she’s healing. But she’s still aching, something is still tearing her apart from the inside and she still can’t seem to let go of so many things, so she can’t go back.

She hasn’t had any hallucinations ever since she’s been around humans again, but her nightmares still have brown eyes and are holding a little football ball in their clawed hands.

VII.

“Bellamy, Bellamy tell us a story!”

Bellamy stares at the fire as kids are chirping loudly in his ears; he keeps his hands on his knees, palms out, fingers outstretched as if he was holding something.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess-”

“Clarke! Clarke!”

“Okay, okay!” – she laughs, with her head thrown back, but her eyes sad when she says-

“Once upon a time, there was a rebel – “

“-turned queen-“

Octavia’s bright eyes, narrowed lips, sharp pain in his chest.

“-turned king.”

Flames dancing on a pile of sea wood, her voice full of nostalgia.

VIII.

By the next spring, Clarke has a baby inside of her.

She doesn’t know whose it is; she doesn’t really want to know, to be honest. There were few,  men, women, nothing to grow attached to, just a tension relief, fuck and forget. She needs to get rid of it, but she spends too much time thinking about what she needs and what she wants and about Ark and Octavia Blake and then she can feel it move and everything in her screams mine mine mine.

So she lets it stay.

She lets it grow.

She lets herself grow bigger; soon enough her spine starts to hurt like a bitch and her eyes water when she sees little kids, little birds, little dogs and apparently every single damn little thing in the world. Her feet swell and her breasts ache and she suddenly craves wild mushrooms and tuna and apples.

She goes through twenty- hours- long labor, clutching Lila’s hand all through it and crying for her mom and Bellamy, delirious with pain, sweat and tears and blood and then-

A pair of very brown eyes,  strangely calm; a cloud of delicate blonde hair.  They look at each other and it’s like the world stops turning and for a moment there are just Clarke and this tiny alien thing covered in her blood,  small starfishes of her hands fisted, small feet kicking the air.

Clarke’s daughter has long lashes, pink, wrinkled skin and a nose like a tiny button and Clarke can’t stop looking at her, won’t stop looking at her. She feels some kind of –oblivion. Everything that was messed up before, everything she couldn’t deal with, now perfectly in order and she can’t remember being in such peace ever in her entire life.

IX.

Dear Bellamy,

Her name is Julia.

Bellamy clenches the paper in his hand, head thrown back and just- breathes out.

X.

When Julia’s eight months old, Clarke slowly starts packing.

It’s unintentional, at first; cleaning her hut, throwing some things away or giving them as a gift to those who needed it more than her anyway, packing the rest in sacks, trading with travelers for material for a travelling carrier for an infant– she does all those things before even realizing what she’s doing, until one day Aidan walks on her while she’s asking Rhea where she could get a horse, or maybe even two and how can she pay for them.

“So you’re really leaving, huh?”- he doesn’t sound accusing, but a bit sad and like he has been expecting it for some time now.

And Clarke… Clarke takes a deep breath and nods.

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been three years now. I think it’s time to go home. Would you like to meet my daughter?

The reply comes fast as the wind,  two lines written on a piece of paper apparently torn from the bigger one, letter bold and honest.

Dear Clarke,

Can’t wait.

XI.

They leave at dawn, moon and stars still visible on the golden-pink sky, Julia napping in her sling. Luna hugs her tightly and then Lila and Mara and Devon and Rhea and then the whole village kissing her cheeks and touching her hair and saying thank you and Clarke has such a lump in her throat that she can barely breathe, because she’s the one that owes them everything she has now.

Aiden helps her up on the saddle and pats her thigh.

“You’re always welcomed here, you two. And I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.”- he winks, a wide grin spread on her face and she suddenly remembers why she even let this man, those people, get closer to her in the first place. “Also, I want to meet this man of yours and remind him how lucky he is. Being loved by a woman like you, Clarke- tragedy, but what a privilege at the same time.”

And to that, she can only blush.

XII.

She comes back at sunrise;  appears like a ghost from between trees on the white horse,  baby strapped to her chest, sacks hanging from both sides of her saddle.

He abandons his post near the gate and runs and runs and runs and she jumps off the horse and runs too,  but when they’re ten feet apart from each other, they slow down.

It’s been three years -

( but when Bellamy looks at her beaming, all golden hair and blue eyes and pink-cheeked baby glancing at him curiously half-hiding his face in the crook of her neck,  he feels like not a day has passed since dropship)

“Hi.”- she says, breathless,  taking one tiny step closer.

“Hello.”- he responds, taking another.

She looks him in the eyes, smiling, and she has damn laughter lines on her face. God, he wants nothing else but to spend the rest of his life giving her more. He raises his hand and traces them delicately and she shivers under his touch, leaning into his hand.

“Bell.”-   her voice is hoarse with emotions and low, just above a whisper. “ I  missed you, Bell.”

Sun is setting, casting reds and goldens on her hair as he wraps his arms around her and her daughter and she presses her face to his shoulder and the forest is so wonderfully, wonderfully green.

And in this one moment, they are everything and nothing and Bellamy knows there are storms in the future and broken hearts and bloody hands; but right now, when he can feel her lips on his skin and her baby’s little hand fisting his shirt,  all they are is right and real and exactly, where they are supposed to be.

#bellarke #bellarke fic #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy x clarke #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Twenty-Two

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI

cowritten by: @lux-scriptum

Lev pushed a few bits of shredded chicken in Eden’s mouth while she had her mouth open. “I think I’ve actually managed to get most of this in her, not on her, this time,” he muttered, more to himself than to Nate. He had to stifle a yawn almost immediately after speaking.

When he looked up, Nate was smiling a bit. He took a sip of his coffee and said, “She does not make it easy, I imagine.”

Lev nodded. “Little monster,” Lev said to Eden fondly. He booped her nose, and nearly had her latch onto his finger for his troubles. He sighed softly, and gave her another bite. “So what’s the plan for today?”

Nate gave him a sympathetic look. “Same thing as yesterday. Twice the training and then we can take care of the baby.”

Lev grimaced. Three days of this schedule, and he was already exhausted. It didn’t help that he barely slept, between Eden and his own restlessness. “I should have guessed,” he said apologetically. He pushed another bite in Eden’s mouth when she screeched at him. “Why are you yelling at me, bitty girl?”

Eden babbled angrily at him through the bite, smacking the tray of her highchair with her little hands.

“You’re going to choke,” Lev scolded.

She screeched again, before laughing and shoving her fist in her mouth. Lev sighed and gave up.

“Here, have the spoon,” he said, handing it over. Maybe it’d keep her entertained for a little longer. He looked over at Nate. “When do you want to start today?” He asked tiredly.

Lev didn’t like the pity in Nate’s face any more than he liked the amusement. “When she goes down for her nap.”

“Hmm.” Lev stood to get a rag to clean her up with. “What are we working on?” He wrestled with Eden, who arched away from him and the washcloth with a loud squawk.

Nate snorted into his mug of coffee. “I think blocking.”

Lev gave a satisfied, “Hah!” when he got Eden cleaned up. She gave him a dirty look, but he’d won, and that was what mattered. He glanced over at Nate, and gave a small nod. “Okay.” He unbuckled Eden and scooped her up, spinning once to get her to laugh again. “There’s my bitty girl,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

He was mid spin when he realized Nik and Cameron were in the doorway to the kitchen. He slammed to a stop, holding Eden close. “Hi,” he said lamely.

Cameron’s gaze was unreadable. Lev didn’t protest when Cameron took her from him, and then he was distracted by Nik throwing himself at Lev. Lev stumbled, and swore his back cracked from the hug Nik gave him, but Lev was happy enough to just bury his face in Nik’s neck. He sniffled, just a bit, clinging to Nik hard.

“Well I missed you too, Princess,” Nik said.

Lev bit his neck, just in case Nik was teasing him like he thought, but his head jerked up when Cameron spoke.

“It’s time to come home.”

After a few seconds, Lev said hesitantly, “Me too?”

“Yes,” Cameron said simply.

Knowing Cameron hated tears, Lev shoved his face in Nik’s neck, trying hard not to cry. It was several seconds before he managed to lift his head. He twisted to look at Nate, and then back at Cameron. “I was supposed to train,” he said in a small voice. He wanted to go home, but Bay was scary.

“Then train.”

Lev opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to go home already, before the offer was rescinded, but he snapped his mouth shut instead, and just said, “Okay.”

----

Lev waffled in front of the door to the nursery. He was tired, and sore, and sweaty, and he just wanted to go home. He probably would have continued to hesitate if Cameron hadn’t spoken up irritably.

“Hurry up.”

Lev flicked him a look, and scooted into the room. “Bay?”

Bay looked up from his book only after he finished the page he was on.

Lev bit his lip, before brushing his hair from his face. “I’m going home with Cameron. But- training?” He winced, and then added, “I mean, what do you want me to do about it? I’m- I’m gonna be in- with Cameron.”

“What do you think should be done about it?”

Lev blinked. “I don’t-” He looked back at Cameron, and then back to Bay. “I- is there someone there who can train me? I don’t want- that’s a really long drive to make every day.”

Bay considered that, and then said, “Nate’ll come over once a day until you’re caught up, and then Nik can take over, with detailed progress reports.”

“Okay,” Lev said in a small voice. “I- thank you. I’m sorry. For- for hiding so long.”

Bay’s smile was dry. “Was that what you were doing?”

Lev blinked. “Well. Not just from training. But- Rem- he’s not something I need to hide from anymore, so...”

“No, you do not,” Bay said tiredly. “When you train with Nik, I expect you to actually be training.”

Lev opened his mouth in confusion, before he snapped it shut again, going gold all over. “Oh,” he said, faintly. “I- yes sir.”

Bay gave him a long, firm look, before asking, “Did you need anything else?”

Lev hesitated, and then shook his head. “No. Thank you.”

“Then go. You’re dismissed.”

Lev ducked his head in a halfhearted bow, and then backed out of the room. He barely made it three steps down the hall before Cameron asked, “Are you done kissing his ass?”

Lev blinked at him. “I wasn’t- he’s scary.”

Cameron arched a brow. “And what am I?”

“My alpha,” Lev replied simply.

Cameron looked faintly pleased. “Are you ready to go?”

Lev nodded, and then hesitated. “Should I just shower at home?” He asked.

“Shower first,” Cameron replied.

Lev hummed softly, and detoured to the nursery where he’d been staying to grab the bag Nik had brought him the other day. He carried that into the bathroom he’d been using. He paused when he realized Cameron was still following him, and opened his mouth to ask, before deciding it wasn’t worth it and just started getting undressed.

When he glanced back, Cameron was getting undressed too. Again, Lev decided to keep his damn mouth shut, and climbed into the shower. Cameron followed, and that was enough to break Lev’s self control. He turned around and leaned close, resting hishands on Cameron’s chest and pessing his face in Cameron’s neck.

“Missed you,” he mumbled. All Cameron did in response was bite down on his shoulder, hard enough to bruise. Lev moaned before he could stop himself and then flushed. He pulled back as soon as Cameron let go, flustered, and reached for the soap.

Cameron helped him, taking his sweet time getting Lev washed. Not that Lev minded, flustered and horny or not. He’d missed Cameron, missed having him near, and if he was spending too much time with his face pressed against Cameron, well sue him. He was happy.

----

Cameron got them home after getting a dirty look from Nate for blowing Lev in the shower. His hair was still wet by the time they got back, and Eden’s tiny hands were once again in it. Cameron ignored her and carried her through the house, following Lev as Lev went tried to go to his old room. “You’re not going to find anything in there,” Cameron said.

Lev looked at him, confused, too anxious to say anything. Cameron rolled his eyes. “I moved your shit down across from my room.”

“Oh.”

Cameron didn’t bother waiting for a response and started down the hallway, knowing Lev was following behind him. He pushed open the door across from his bedroom and tilted his head inside. “I put everything away already.”

Lev went to peek inside and look around before looking back at him. “Thank you,” he said, with wide eyes. When Cameron didn’t say anything, Lev wandered inside to look around. He had a desk and chair brought in. though, he hadn’t been too worried about filling it too much since Lev spent most of his time either in his room or the nursery.

Lev settled the bag of clothes on the bed. “I’m guessing you want your shirts back?”

Cameron wrinkled his nose in distaste. All the clothes in that bag probably smelled too much like the angels in Bay’s house. The only angels he wanted stinking up his house were Lev and Nik. “Burn them.”

“Can’t we just wash them?”

“No amount of bleach is getting the smell of Bay’s house out of those shirts.” When Lev looked a little upset, Cameron gave an exasperated, “What.”

“...those were the soft ones.”

Cameron sighed irritably, getting smacked in the face by Eden for his trouble. “Keep one, then. It never leaves this room. The rest you’re burning.”

“Can… just.. Okay. Can you buy some more soft ones then?”

“Is that what you want?”

“If that’s okay?” Lev asked hesitantly.

“It’s fine.”

“Then yes, please.”

Cameron studied Lev’s face, his body, the way he was looking back at Cameron. “Did Silas fuck you?”

Lev’s face was mixed with vague insult and surprise. “No. We haven’t talked about that, and even if we had, Silas had his chance fifty years ago. He dumped me and then disappeared.” He quietly added, “I deserve better than that.”

“...You deserve a bastard born whore and an angel one step away from being cast out?”

He wasn’t pleased with the look on Lev’s face. “I deserve somebody who will be there for me when I need it,” he said, before almost whispering, “He didn’t even notice.”

“I can carve his wings off if you want,” Cameron said, lightly bouncing Eden when she started getting restless.

Lev looked vaguely amused at him. “Yeah, no. He’s still a friend.”

“And I’m sure that fact absolutely kills him,” Cameron said, dryly.

“Well, he broke my heart first.”

“Mmm.” Cameron couldn’t stop himself from snorting at the petty comment. “I need to make lunch,” he said. “Eden also needs to be put down and I imagine you and Nik need your playtime while I do work.” The new schedule he worked out over the last three days gave himself time to work in the babbling baby in his arms before he smothered her in her sleep.

Lev looked torn between mortification and amusement at Cameron’s choice of words. “I missed your cooking,” Lev admitted.

Cameron lifted a brow and shifted Eden over. “Of course you did.” He had turned around to go back to the kitchen, when he thought better of it. He looked back at Lev. “Change your clothes, first.”

-----

After clean up, Nik found himself playing with Eden on the living room floor while Lev was snuggled up next to Cameron on the couch, watching. Nik watched Eden gleefully smash the glowing keys to the multicolored piano. From the corner of his eye, he could see the pain etched on Cameron’s face. “Does that thing need to make noise. I don’t see why it should.”

Nik said, “What? You don’t think she’s playing well? I think she’s an artist.” Eden screeched at him, clearly agreeing with his assessment. “See, she agrees with me.”

“You would,” Cameron said, flatly. “You have no standards.”

“She’s doing well, for a baby,” Lev said, amicably. “And she seems to be having fun.”

“She has fun with a spoon,” Cameron said, “And at least those do not make noise.” As if in retaliation, Eden smashed the keys even harder, making Cameron grimace. “Who’s idea was giving an infant toys with noise.”

“Nate bought it,” Nik replied, playing with the keys along side the baby. “You should be touched, he got a piano just for you.”

“I think he did it to piss me off,” Cameron said.

“Is it working?”

“Yes,” he said, despite not even looking angry, just with vague distaste. “She’s not even being any kind of coherent.”

“She’s six months old,” Nik said. “She can’t play Motzart just yet, Cam.”

Cameron just rolled his eyes. “Clearly,” he muttered, taking a drink from the glass of whiskey in his hand. “And that will be fixed as soon as physically possible.” Lev just snorted softly and snuggled up more against Cameron. Cameron’s mouth twitched into a frown as he took another drink, clearly not amused by either of their amusement at his suffering, but just kept watching the tiny demon baby clanging keys.

Eden shoved her fist in her mouth, screeching at the keyboard and slamming a hand against the keys hard enough she started babbling angrily at the toy piano. “See?” Cameron said, dryly. “She agrees with me.”

Nik made a face. “I’ll let you believe that.”

Cameron’s nose wrinkled when Lev kissed his cheek, saying, “She’s a little young to be a professional, yet, but I’m sure when she’s older she can take lessons.”

“Oh she will,” Cameron muttered.

After a few more minutes of Eden’s adorable, yet extremely tone deaf playing, Lev suggested she move to a different toy. Nik was about to say no when Cameron instantly got up and turned off the piano and put it out of Eden’s tiny little claws. Eden squawked angrily at him, but just turned to the other toys when the piano was out of her line of vision.

Cameron had settled back in his spot with Lev glued to his side, When a set of bright neon rainbow keys caught Eden’s eye. Nik about got them for her when Eden already started moving. Nik’s eyes shot up when she started scooting and wiggling towards the plastic keys on her own. “Do you see that?”

“No,” Cameron said, full annoyance in his voice. “She is not allowed to move yet.”

Lev sounded too logical and apologetic. “I don’t think you can stop her from learning how to crawl, Cameron.”

“We’ll see about that,” Cameron muttered, going to pick Eden and the keys up. Eden started babbling angrily at him before Cameron just handed the keys over. Lev made a sad noise, clearly upset about being abandoned for the wiggling infant, but Cam had just went to sit back on the couch. He narrowed his eyes at her, “If you make a mess on my couch, I’m disowning you.”

Eden cracked a large smile at him around the keys, making a reachy hand for Cameron’s face. Nik mused, “I think she’s gonna take that bet, Cam.”

Cameron lightly bit down on Eden’s shoulder. “And I will win.” Eden lightly clawed at Cameron’s face before nearly dropping the keys and yawning widely. “On that note, I think it’s time for bed.”

Lev leaned forward, though, and examined Eden’s mouth. “I think one of her teeth is starting to come in.”

“Fantastic,” Cameron said, getting up from the couch. “She’s not touching another spoon in my kitchen.” Eden started getting fussy and Cameron lightly bounced her while Nik got up and followed him and Lev back to the nursery. “You can chew on toys, not kitchen utensils,” Cameron scolded. Eden’s angry babbling fell on deaf ears. “Your words mean nothing to me, you little monster.”

Eden screeched at him around the keys, but ended up just dropped her head on Cameron’s chest, yawning again. If Nik didn’t know better, he’d think that Cameron’s mouth lightly tugged when he toed the nursery door open.

Cameron went to lay her in the crib before making Lev and Nik leave them in peace so Cam could get her settled, claiming that she’d fight sleep with all of them in there. Nik just thought he wanted to be alone with the baby. Nik about protested, when Lev gently pulled him out of the room towards Cameron’s bedroom. “Let’s give them some alone time.”

Nik pouted. “But baby.”

Everyone was stealing his kid. First Nate and now Cameron- even if Cameron was… technically her dad, but still. The whine built up in his throat, but in the end he just sulked after Lev to their bedroom, and just rose a brow when Lev instantly flopped down on Cameron’s side of the bed, burying his face in one of the pillows. “Wow what’s wrong with my side of the bed?”

Lev looked up at him. “What do I need your side for if I have you right here?” he asked. “Come snuggle me.”

Nik hummed before going to land on top of Lev and burying his face in Lev’s neck, biting down on his neck. It wasn’t hard to smile when Lev started humming happily, wiggling a little underneath Nik. Nik bit down harder. “Someone is clearly glad to be home,” Nik hummed.

“I am,” Lev admitted, before, “I missed you both. So much.”

------

Cameron had picked Eden back up the moment he was left alone and the door was shut. He was sitting in the rocking chair, watching the snow fall with Eden on his chest, her small fingers clenched in his shirt.

Cameron felt horribly out of place, but he kept rocking and humming quietly, listening to Eden’s breath as he tapped his fingers rhythmically across her back. Surely it was a fast way to get her to fall asleep. He had the training, he might as well use it to get the kid unconscious.

Eventually he looked down and could see her eyes were closed. But he didn’t move, just kept rocking and humming- making sure she really was asleep. There really was no point in putting her in the crib if she would just start crying the moment he put her down.

After another twenty minutes of rocking, and Cam was sure she was sound asleep, Cameron went to put her in the crib before turning on faint music. He watched her chest rise and fall, small fingers curl into tight fists while she slept. He sighed quietly. She was going to start moving around on her own, which meant he needed to readjust his new schedule to make sure to account for keeping her out of hazardous situations, and out of his kitchen.

Cameron quietly slipped from the bedroom, flicking the sentries a look to make sure no one went in, and went back to his room. Lev was dozing underneath Nik, and Nik was dead asleep on top of him. Both were purring loudly, but Lev was jolting awake the moment Cameron was in the room, peeking out from underneath Nik at him. “Hi,” Lev said, softly. “Do I need to move to… the other bedroom?”

Cameron thought about it, and hesitated slightly. “No,” he said, eventually. “I can sleep in the other room, if you want me to.”

“Get in the damned bed,” Nik mumbled, pressing his face into Lev’s neck. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Cameron cut Nik a glare, but Lev said, “....Am I allowed to stay?”

Cameron blinked slowly and frowned at him. “Do you want to stay?”

“Only if it’s okay with you,” Lev said. “You didn’t want us in bed before you sent me away.”

Cameron wasn’t fond of Lev’s word choice, but decided to not dispute it. “It’s fine,” he said, moving over to Nik’s side. He stripped down and climbed in the bed. “Just. Don’t touch me,” he said, despite doubting that Lev could even move from underneath Nik’s body.

Lev’s only answer was a small “okay,” when he snuggled down under Nik, before giving a contented, “Goodnight.”

Cameron barely heard him when his head hit the pillow, six days of barely any sleep hitting him all at once. He didn’t have the chance to mutter a word before he was pulled under into a dreamless sleep.

tagging: @idreamonpaper @incandescent-creativity @livvywrites @halstudies​ @alittleyellowdinosaur

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #wip boost #hell to pay #ch: cameron #ch: nik #cameron and nik and lev #my writing #a/b/o verse #angels and demons

[isolavirtuosa]

Starting Over (For Real?) 1-3

Sequel to Starting Over and Starting Over (Again).

[fanfiction] NaruSasu

Whose dream is it now?

Starting Over (For Real?)

Isola Virtuosa

 - 1 -

  When I woke up this time, I was still inside of the tree’s roots.  I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the memories of yet another fake world that I’d been imprisoned in for who knows how long.  This was reality.  I was trapped inside of a tree, having all of my chakra sapped away.  The first thing I needed to do was get out of here before I didn’t have enough chakra to power my rinnegan.

And yet, how had I been able to get enough chakra to activate my rinnegan in the first place?

The warmth in my chest was growing, like my chakra was increasing rather than decreasing, yet I still felt the gentle drain of it as it left my body and went into the tree.

The more I came back into reality, the more I started to realize that what I thought was part of the roots was actually a human hand, a human torso, a human leg.

“Naruto,” I tried to say, but I don’t think any sound came out.  I tried to move, but I felt like I was bound in place.  I focused on the chakra that Naruto was feeding into me, gathering it into a chidori and blowing a hole through the roots that were trapping us.

I gasped as real air hit my lungs, but Naruto didn’t as much as stir.  I tried to tear out of the pod, but my arm felt like lead.  I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and concentrating my chakra again.  Then we were falling.  It must not have been very high, but after landing feet first, I immediately fell backwards and hit my head.  All I saw was white.

Naruto groaned, still attached to my torso.

I managed to get my voice to crack, but nothing more.

“Saaaa,” Naruto croaked, and I felt him trying to move.

My vision started to clear slowly.  It was still too bright out for my eyes to adjust.  I was suddenly overwhelmed by the chakra pouring into my body.  I gasped, trying to tell Naruto to stop.

“Rin…” he whispered.  “Rinnegaa…”

He was right.  The most important thing right now was my rinnegan.

“My… legs,” he rasped.

This was hopeless.  Neither of us could walk, our muscles so severely atrophied.  What was the point of waking up if we were just going to get sucked back in, starting over again and again and again in this endless cycle?

“Sasuke,” Naruto said, dissolving into a coughing fit.  “Sas…” he started coughing again.  “Sasuke, don’t… give up…”

“…s… the poin…t?” I forced through my ragged throat.

Naruto’s hand slammed into mine.  He flopped it around some more until he could curl his fingers around mine.  “Seal.”

“It…” I tried to get the words to come out.  “Won’t.  Work.”

“Hafta try.”

I wanted to scream.  I had tried.  Twice already.  Third time was not the charm.  We were going to die here.  Even if we released the jutsu, we couldn’t move and there was no one coming to save us.  We would die from exposure.

“Want… to… go… back?” Naruto asked, croaking each word out slowly.

Live in a world that gave you what you thought you wanted, or die.

I tried to remember the Sage’s words and slowly guided Naruto’s hand into the rat seal with mine.

It felt like it couldn’t be this easy.

“How do we even know if this is real?” I tried to shout, my voice barely coming out above a whisper.

“We have to believe,” Naruto said into my chest, his head so heavy he couldn’t lift it.

Of course the real Naruto would say something stupid like that.

So I believed.

 - 2 -

  “So this is how I’m going to die,” I muttered through cracked lips.  After we had released the seal, the God Tree had started to wither away.  We were no longer under constant peril of being swallowed up by a carnivorous tree.  Now we were starving, dehydrated, and incapable of so much as sitting up.  The sun had set and risen again, the both of us fading in and out of consciousness.

“I bet I can live longer than you,” Naruto said, laughing and coughing.

“I’d like to see you try,” I rasped.

“I am gonna live so hard,” he replied.

I squeezed his hand, our fingers still curled together from when we performed the seal, though Naruto had somehow managed to finally roll himself off of my chest and onto his back.  Help wasn’t coming.  Everyone else had been trapped in the tree same as we had, with the same atrophying effects.  We were miles from anyone, with no chance of someone stumbling upon us in a rescue effort.  I only hoped that the scavengers would pick our bones clean so no one would realize how embarrassingly I had indulged myself in my last moments.

“I wish it would rain,” Naruto murmured, licking his lips again.

“You’re just making it worse,” I scolded him.

“Whaddya mean?!”

“The moisture from your lips… evaporates…” I started to trail off, feeling myself being drawn into sleep again.

“Please stay with me,” Naruto said quietly, snapping me back awake.

I felt too tired to even answer him.  I put all my effort into squeezing his hand.

“At least we saved the world,” he said, squeezing back.

“Whatever’s left of it…” I managed to get out.

“Why do you have to be so damn pessimistic?!”

I smiled and it hurt.

Naruto sighed, then went quiet.

“…Naruto?”

He didn’t answer.

I felt myself drifting.

Someone was standing over us.

I was appalled that I hadn’t sensed their approach even in my near-death state.  Then I realized that I couldn’t feel her chakra.

“They’re still alive!” she called over her shoulder.

There were others.

Just like that, we were being taken back to Konoha.

I woke up in someone’s living room, an IV in my arm.

“Easy,” Naruto said, squeezing my hand.

I let the chakra I’d been building up disperse, trusting in him completely that we were safe.

Then I remembered that he wasn’t my Naruto.  This man sitting next to me with a ridiculous beard was practically a stranger, someone I hadn’t really and truly spoken with in almost four years.  Or was it five, even six now?  More?

“How long?” I rasped at him.

“Almost two years,” he said.  He was still holding my hand.

It wasn’t quite as bad as I’d imagined, since I’d lived through several years in the Infinite Tsukuyomi.  “You look ridiculous.”

Naruto grinned.  “Look who’s talking.  I’m not surprised that Uchihas are terrible at growing beards, though.  That’s what you get for being pretty like a lady.”

I stared at him.

His grin faltered and he retracted his hand.  “S-sorry, I’m just…  I’m used to you being… different.”

“I get it,” I said, turning away from him and finally taking in our surroundings in more detail.  We were in a living room with futons laid out across the floor, though ours were the only ones currently occupied.  We both had IVs feeding into us, but I was surprised by how easily I could move.  My muscles weren’t as deteriorated as I’d expected from being in a coma for over a year.

“There was a whatsit uh paralytic in the tree,” Naruto said, and I could feel his eyes following my every movement.  “That’s why we couldn’t really move.  That’s uh what you were wondering, right?”

Stop reading my mind, I thought.  Stop acting like you know everything about me.

“So uh it seems like some people were immune to the Infinite Tsukuyomi and uh ya know they were all just like chillin’ and watchin’ over the tree while the world went to hell and then we released the seal and they saw all the bodies bein’ freed and started rescuin’ everyone and they found Kakashi-sensei and he told ’em where ta look for us and uh yeah so uh yeah.”

I sat up.  It took more effort than I would have liked, but I did it, letting the blanket pool in my lap as I turned to stare at Naruto.  “Do I make you nervous?”

He let out a very high-pitched laugh.

I didn’t even know where to start.

“I don’t know how to act around you,” he said quietly.  “I was playing with my kids and now I’m in the ruins of Konoha with… nothing…”  He choked on the last word, his entire face crumbling.

I looked away and waited.

“You were out for a while, but I was able to get a lot of information from Ms. Miharu,” he said, calm again.  His tone was starting to sound more like an adult and less like a tongue-tied child.  “This is her house.  There were about twenty people in Konoha who were immune to the Infinite Tsukuyomi, all non-ninjas, and they’ve just been trying to survive for the last couple of years.  They’ve done some trading with survivors from other towns and villages, but food and skilled professions like doctors have been scarce, so it seems like it’s been pretty tough.”

I wondered if they hadn’t been better off without us.  “I want to leave.”

“Where the hell did that come from?!”

“I don’t know these people who are supposedly taking care of us, first of all,” I said, already feeling my blood pressure rising from Naruto’s flailing and whining.  “Second of all, I’m a missing nin and there is no possible way that I can stay here anyway.”

“Uh, where are you gonna go?” Naruto asked, scratching his nose.  “There’s nothing out there.”

“There’s nothing here, either.”

“There’s me.”

“Just what I always wanted.”

“Are you being sarcastic?!”

I looked at him.

“Your chakra is depleted and you’re missing an arm, you’re in no condition to be going anywhere,” he said with a frown.

“I’ve been missing an arm for years,” I said.

“So the reality of missing an arm is exactly the same as the dream world?” Naruto asked.  His tone was getting a little too sassy for my taste.  “Because it’s completely different for me.  The balance isn’t what I expected, and my brain keeps telling me that I feel pain where my arm used to be.”

He wasn’t wrong.  “I’m still leaving.”

“Dressed like that?” he said, and it was true that my clothes had been torn, my belt had been lost, and I looked like- “A stripper who had a fight with a tailed-beast and lost?”

“Who the hell is a stripper?”

“You!  You are a stripper!  I can literally see your titties!”

“I feel like I’ve walked in at an awkward moment,” the woman standing in the doorway said.

“It’s always awkward with us,” Naruto said with a grin.

“Oh, dear…” she said, looking between us.  “Mr. Uchiha, it’s nice to see you awake.  I’m sorry about the hack job I did with the IVs, I’m not actually a nurse…  And I’ve got some clothes for you to change into if you’d like, I just didn’t want to be undressing and redressing you without your consent.  I’m Miharu, by the way.  Pleasure to meet you.”

“What’s in the IV?” I asked abruptly.

“Ah, it’s some nutrients and such, but before there was also the anti-paralytic to get your body moving again,” she explained, bustling around the room.  She came back over to me with a set of pajamas.

I eyed them disdainfully before accepting them.  “And how did a non-nurse go about developing an anti-paralytic for the God Tree?”

“You’re so rude,” Naruto muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, that wasn’t me,” Miharu explained.  “There was a scientist who came from Suna.  You see, we tried to cut y’all down from that tree, but even if we pulled you out of those pods, you just wouldn’t wake up and you eventually got sucked back in.  But that scientist and some others tried studying you these last few months, and came up with the anti-paralytic for the day that y’all might wake up.”

“I see,” I said.  I still didn’t trust her, though my gut said she was harmless.

“Gosh, you must really just want to wash up and finally be rid of those rags,” she said, going to dig through a drawer and coming up with a couple of towels.  “We don’t have running water, but we’ve got a well and some buckets if you want to go wait in the bathroom.  It’s probably gonna be tough to walk right now, but the others that we rescued way before you are starting to get on their feet again.  And then there’s Mr. Uzumaki here, who just defies reality, doesn’t he?”

“Demon fox,” Naruto said, patting his stomach.  “Kurama’s actually a really helpful guy when it comes to getting injured.  Anyway, I’ll help you go up the stairs, Sas’.”

I glared at him.

Miharu started removing our IVs.

“Do you like sleeping in your own blood and filth?” Naruto asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“I don’t need your help,” I said.  I pushed myself up onto my knees, wobbling a little but keeping it together.  I tried to bring one leg up, but it didn’t want to move.

“Why don’t I start hauling those buckets for you?” Naruto offered.

“I would be much obliged,” Miharu said, and the two left.

Fuck, I hated him.  Being respectful and not playing on my embarrassment.  What other horrible traits had he developed in the dream world?

I couldn’t stand.  I crawled to the couch awkwardly and pulled myself up.

“Sasuke.”

I kept my back to him as he loomed in the doorway.

“Let’s go upstairs?”

It was humiliating as he settled my arm over his shoulder and hoisted me up.  My legs did not want to work properly, taking staggering steps even when Naruto was taking most of the weight.

He sat me on a stool in the shower and moved to undress me.

“No.”

He looked at me.

“You can go,” I said dismissively.

“Good, ’cause you smell awful,” he said, his shoulders sagging with rejection.  “I’ll be outside the door if you need anything.”

I waited until the door had shut fully before I moved my arm painfully in the motions of undressing.  Clearly our muscles had been kept active somehow, but they were still stiff and hard to move.

I tossed the clothes on the side of the tub and started washing up with the bar of soap that I’d been given.

It quickly became apparent that I could not lift the bucket to rinse myself.

I thought about calling Naruto.

Like I would ever ask that idiot for a favor.  It was bad enough he’d half carried me up the stairs.

I moved the water out of the bucket with my chakra, which was a waste and would probably set my recovery back, but Uchihas had their pride.

I banged on the door when I was done dressing, and Naruto opened it almost immediately.

“How long was I asleep?” I finally asked as he helped me down the stairs.

“Four days.”

“Fuck,” I muttered.  I’d started to suspect, but that was a long time to be unconscious and vulnerable in an enemy village.

“I stayed with you,” he offered quietly.  “I wouldn’t let anything… and anyway, most of the ninjas are still laid up.”

“I need to get out of here,” I asserted.

“Sasuke…”

“Nice and clean?” Miharu asked from the bottom of the stairs.  “I can put in another IV, or are you up to tryin’ some solid food?”

I didn’t want to pump unknown liquids into my body, but I also didn’t want to eat food from an unknown source.  Not that I was excessively paranoid.

I was just the right amount of paranoid.

“Ms. Miharu’s a great cook,” Naruto said, a grin stretching across his face.  I tried not to be blinded by it.

“Well, I don’t know about all that, but I could make you some broth to ease your stomach,” she offered.

“Fine,” I said gruffly.

“Thank you,” Naruto said, giving her a sweet smile.

She disappeared into the next room.

I frowned at him.

“What?  Just because you have no manners doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t.”

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?!”

I sat heavily on the couch, shoving him away.

He sat on the arm, as close to me as possible.  He opened his mouth to speak, and then our eyes met.

We both looked away.

I needed to get out of here.

 - 3 -

  Kakashi came to visit on the third day.

“You look awful,” I informed him.

“As do you,” he said, grinning away under his mask.

I’d finally shaved my farce of a beard, but I couldn’t really disagree with him.  We all looked like ghosts of our former selves.

Kakashi continued to grin, not saying anything.

“Did you want something?” I asked irritably.  He was the first person I’d seen besides Naruto and Miharu, and I realized I was fine with not seeing anyone ever.

“Just checking in on your recovery,” he hummed.  “Naruto said you were still having trouble walking.”

I looked at him.

“Oh, I’ve been appointed to act in the hokage’s stead while she recovers,” he said, like I’d asked him a question.

“Making sure I’m not getting into trouble?” I scowled.

“No, that’s why Naruto’s here,” he answered.

It suddenly seemed very obvious.

“And if I try to leave?”

“He’ll stop you,” he said cheerfully.

“Because those are his orders.”

Kakashi actually laughed at that.  “Well, yes, they’re his orders, but I don’t think Naruto needs orders to chase you halfway around the world.”

I felt… betrayed.

Some of the mirth left his eyes.  “Don’t start doubting him now.”

I was fool to think that the village in ruins meant that the conspiracy was dead.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi said sharply.  “He is on your side.  He wouldn’t even leave your damn side to help with the village when he’s the only fully-functioning ninja in all of Konoha.  He chose you.”

I didn’t care what he had to say.  It had been worrying at the back of my mind, why Naruto and I were the only two patients staying in this house that had clearly been prepared for so many more.  I told myself that it was because this place was so far on the outskirts of town, so far away from the hospital staff and the necessary supplies.  My mind loved to rationalize when it came to Naruto.

He was my weakness, and I was tired of it.

“What’s that look for?” Naruto asked, his grin faltering as he strolled into the room.

I turned away from him.

“Mm, well, he knows,” Kakashi explained.

“Knows what?” he asked, stooping in front of me and leaning in so his face was right in front of mine.

“That you’re spying on him.”

“I’m not spying on him!” Naruto cried, eyes darting to Kakashi, then frantically back to me.  “I’m not spying on you!”

I would have gotten up and left if I could walk.

“Senseeeei,” Naruto whined, still looking between us.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Kakashi asked, taking out a book.

“I was working my way up to it!  Our relationship’s all weird and awkward ’cause of the stupid Tsukuyomi.”

“That’s why your relationship is weird and awkward?” Kakashi snorted.  He licked his thumb to turn the page.

“Are you gonna tell us what happened in your dream world?” Naruto asked, trying to cross his arms over his chest, realizing he only had one, and losing his balance.  He stumbled back into a standing position, trying to play it off like it hadn’t happened.

“I’m sure you can figure it out,” Kakashi said with a shrug.

“Uh… how?”

“Use that brain of yours.”

“What brain?” I muttered.

“Don’t you start,” Naruto said, frowning at me.

I blinked.  First of all, I was angry with him.  Second of all, the normal Naruto response would be, ‘what the hell was that, bastard?!’, accompanied by yelling and flailing.

I tried to stand up, my legs shaking.

“Hey, take it easy,” he said, catching my arm.  My weight caused him to stumble, but he held us both up.

“This isn’t real,” I said, trying to push him away.  I ended up falling.

“Uh…”

I crawled towards the door.  It was a struggle to open it, but then I was outside.  I looked into the sky, searching desperately.

“No one else has shown signs of psychosis,” Kakashi was reasoning behind me.

“Yeah, but he’s lost it,” Naruto said, and suddenly he was there hauling me to my feet.  “What’s gotten into you, are you gonna crawl all the way across the border?”

“The moon,” I said.  “Where’s the goddamn moon?”

“Uh, I dunno, wherever it goes during the daytime?”

“It has to be here somewhere!” I snapped, leaning my neck backwards and searching the sky.

Naruto was struggling to keep us both up and finally just sat us on the ground.  “What are you doing?  What’s going on?  Talk to me…”

I finally looked at him when I felt his hand touch my cheek.  “This isn’t real,” I said flatly.

“You keep saying that, and I keep thinking you’re nuts, so…”

“Don’t you get it, we’re still in the Tsukuyomi!” I said, pinching his cheek until he let go of me.

“Uh, no,” Naruto said.  “You got us out, remember?”

“Why am I even bothering?” I muttered.  “You’re just a stupid figment of my imagination.”

“I think I take offense to that,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

I started moving away from him.  Did I have to see the moon to wake up, or was it just enough to realize?  I put all of my chakra into my rinnegan.

“Are you gearing up for a battle?” Naruto asked, chuckling nervously.

He looked so damn real.

“Hey,” he said.  His eyes probed mine, and then he reached out his hand again, this time catching me by the back of the neck and pulling me close until our foreheads touched.  “I’m pretty sure I’m real.”

Of course he was touching me, of course he was staring into my eyes with that overwhelming sincerity of his.  Because that’s what I wanted, so that’s what the world gave me.

“I mean, I’d know if I wasn’t real,” he continued, his brow scrunching up.  He laughed nervously.  “Of course I’d know.”

“You’re not,” I said, closing my eyes.  I couldn’t take anymore blue.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re not you,” I whispered.  “You’re who I want you to be.”

“This is who you want me to be?” Naruto asked, sounding confused.  “I mean, I’m just the same as always, just… I dunno…  I’m me, Sas’.  Come on.  Look at me.”

I didn’t open my eyes.

His sigh brushed across my lips.

I closed my eyes more tightly, goosebumps ghosting up my arm.

“Sorry,” Naruto said, abruptly moving away.

I was an idiot.  I needed to find the moon.  I needed to get out of here.  I needed to do these things immediately, but I felt rooted to the spot, my eyes still closed.

“You’re freaking me out,” Naruto finally said.

I slid my eyes open.

“This isn’t the Infinite Tsukuyomi,” he stated.

“How would you know?” I asked dismissively.

“’Cause,” he said.

I looked at him.

“I mean, we escaped, right?  We woke up outside of the tree.”

“It wasn’t real the first time, why would it be this time?”

“Whaddya mean, the first time?” he asked, scratching his nose.  Then he frowned.  “Oh, that dream.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

He took a breath and let it out sharply.  “You pulled me down once before, right?  We weren’t together.  In the tree.  Before.  The first time or whatever.  You woke up and pulled me down, yeah?”

“You remember?”

“Yeah.”

There was so much pain and loss in his face that I looked away.

“Your arm was… it looked really bad, and you just passed out,” he said.  “I couldn’t wake you up and then everything went black and I woke up back in my bed like nothing had happened.”

“You went back into the same dream world?” I asked.

“Yeah, didn’t you?”

“I woke up because I knew it wasn’t real,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “Why are you so stupid?”

“Why are you so rude?” Naruto shot back, nudging me with his foot.

I turned to look at him.  “This is my third dream world.”

“It’s not a dream,” he said, kicking at me again, but this time I caught his leg.

“How do you know that?” I snarled at him.

“I don’t!”

“Oh,” I said, dropping his leg.

“But arguing about it in the middle of Ms. Miharu’s garden isn’t going to do anything about it!”

I wanted to break down, to throw myself into his arm, to scream and shout and cry, but I was an Uchiha.  “The moon isn’t visible, now, anyway.”

Naruto looked at me.

I waited for him to figure it out and come help me to my feet.

We struggled back inside without a word.  We were never good at the words part.

“Why are you still here?” Naruto groaned as he sat me on the couch next to Kakashi.

I had been about to say the same thing.

“Just making sure you’re not off killing each other,” he replied, but even with a smile it sounded serious.

“That was a million years ago,” Naruto said, waving it off.

“Only two, actually,” Kakashi pointed out.  “But I remember it like it was only yesterday.”

Naruto sat on the arm of the couch next to me, his arm draped along the back of it.  “We’ve all lived completely different lives since then.  Sasuke apparently had two of them.”

“And did one of those two lives change how he felt?”

“Duh,” Naruto said, then shot a glance towards me.  “Right?”

I looked at him.

“You don’t want to kill me anymore,” he said, trying to sound confident.

“I don’t.”

“See,” Naruto said, beaming at Kakashi.

“When will I be exiled?” I asked.

Kakashi’s smile seemed to widen.  “How can I exile you from a place that doesn’t even exist?”

Naruto looked dumbfounded, and for once we were in agreement.  This wasn’t part of the Tsukuyomi script, and even I had no idea about what was going on.

“I’m here as the acting hokage, but to be honest the title no longer has any meaning.”

“What are you going on about, Sensei?!” Naruto cried, jumping to his feet.  “Of course it has meaning, it’s...” he hesitated.  “Well, it has meaning anyway!”

“Konoha no longer exists,” Kakashi said.  “The village is in ruins, most of the ninja are incapacitated, and there isn’t enough food to feed all of us.”

“So I’m not exiled… because there’s no place to exile me from…?”

“You were always the smart one,” Kakashi said, standing up and patting me on the head.

I scowled at him to cover up my confusion.

“This was a nice visit,” Kakashi hummed sauntering to the door.

“S-sensei!” Naruto stuttered, chasing after him.  “You can’t mean… but how can… I don’t…”

Kakashi grinned before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

#narusasu #isola starting over #i ain't even gonna lie this is so slow until like chapter 20

[delicrieux]

the phases of a firework

pairing: fred weasley x f!reader

fandom: harry potter

summary: fred weasley experiences the lana del rey-esque american dream 

d’s note: not written by me, but rather by a lovely nonnie! it’s a honor to post it xoxo leave some love in the comments! 

-------

I. Lifting Charge

Mother says they’re going to Florida for the summer. Florida means mosquitos, and sunburns, and salty skin and hair and breath because yes, Florida is a fucking cesspool, but for some reason, he doesn’t find himself thinking of any of that and is actually, really when you think about it, kind of calm. Everyone in the household finds this alarming. -“You’re not upset?” -“No.” -“Disappointed?” -“Not really.” -“Dad’s got a cousin in the Keys, that’s why we’re going.” -“Sounds like it’ll be nice.” -“We went to Egypt, you know, like, saw the pyramids and everything.” -“We can make sand pyramids.” But Florida doesn’t have sand. It doesn’t have beaches, either, at least not the part they could afford, because Molly and Arthur Weasley had scraped together everything to get that trip, because the kids didn’t need to know that it was possibly the last time they could leave the Burrow for a summer, because things weren’t safe at home and maybe a temporary home could suffice for a while. They didn’t need to think about the fact that people would die, statistically speaking, people they probably knew, and the kids didn’t need to worry or ask questions or complain, and they didn’t, because all they could afford was a trailer, enchanted, yes, but not exactly a condo, but you know what, no one really paid it any mind. Everyone was quiet, actually, and Molly and Arthur Weasley gripped their trunks and asked themselves how they thought they could hide a war under a swimming suit.

II. Time Delay Fuse

It’s not that it’s hot out, it’s just that balding grass patches and What Type of Blue Even is That sky doesn’t attract many, or really anyone at all. Ginny is on her side of the bunker, writing letters to friends, or maybe no one, just herself. Ron has been napping since they hopped off the portkey, Percy didn’t bother to come, and the parents are off doing parent-y things. George is who’s left, and that’s never a problem, but he’s worried about sunburns, and Fred assures him mate, we’ve got sunblock but it isn’t enough, and that’s why he’s sitting by himself in a lawn chair, Wayfarers resting on a sweating nose, and Johnny Thunder’s playing in a distant trailer and world. It’s oddly therapeutic, the bottom of the classes. There’s no worries, no cares, it’s like retirement but better because there’s no one they know anywhere around, and everything is finally kind of calm. He finds that alarming. -“You like fireworks?” It’s a nasal, chirpy sort of a voice she has. Like an alarm. An alarm goes off in him, not anything bad, just the inner male siren that blares and rings and screams Girl! Girl! Girl! He smiles to himself, thinking about the gargling sort of noise that would make when spoken aloud. George would’ve found it funny. -“Hello?” -“Sorry?” -“Fireworks. You good with them?” He doesn’t know why he’s nodding, maybe it’s because her hair shines that weird, oil gas spilled on a pavement colour, or maybe it’s because she’s standing there, expecting him to go, and who is he to disappoint, and he finds himself leaving the security of the lawn chair and following her up and into the empty part of the balding grass field. It takes half a day and three bottles of what the fuck is this anyway and they’ve managed to set up the perfect show. It’s the fourth of July, American Independence Day, yet it feels like everyone in the park is shackled.

III. Bursting Charge

He’s proud, drunk, and finding himself patriotic for a country he’s spent barely seven hours in. He’s had too much of Swamp Juice, that’s what she calls it, the mixture of Fanta and Bourbon, and the bottom of his stomach is twinkling and tingling, like there are mini little bombs going off in his gut. She says it’s a normal feeling, but he’s not too sure about that. He’s had liquor, of course he has, and one could consider him a sommelier, of sorts, in the way teenagers often pride themselves on knowledge of Grown Up Things. One of his favourite memories are when he and George broke into the liquor cabinet and stayed up till six in the morning downing bottle after bottle of gigglewater. Their stomach hurt, cramped, and their eyes were dried, but it was a night he’d cherish to the grave. But that wasn’t the same feeling. That was what it meant to be drunk and happy, happy that you’re drunk and drunk enough to be happy, but this, the sinking yet soaring and bubbling and fizzling sort of brew in his gut wasn’t that at all, and he’d heard Charlie mention a year back about some guy he’d met that bred some creature he couldn’t remember the name of at the moment. Charlie’d said it was indistinguishable, a feeling you get once or twice. Fred didn’t believe in soulmates, and he didn’t know if he really believed in being in love. It was a dangerous thought to have in a time as dangerous as these, but it wasn’t as if he cared all that much about the danger of things. -“You gonna dance?” She had her hand stretched out to his, hip cocked and lip quirked, and maybe it was the way the fireworks danced behind her shoulders. She was metallic nail polish and Disney World flip flops, two dollar tube tops and stolen hair ties, but she was smiling at him through a Cherry Coca Cola flavoured lip gloss grin, and who is he to disappoint, so he’s standing, swaying, dancing along to the sound of cracking and popping and booms, and he may have snuck in an enchanted firework or two, and the crowd is cheering and smiling and just nearly crying, and so is he when she leans in for a kiss. They’re proud, drunk, and Fred decides that Cherry Coca Cola is the greatest drink in the world.

IV. Stars

The summer stays hot, in every way possible. They spend afternoons melting ice cubes on each others backs and smoking cheap hash on the roof of her mobile home. He learns her parents are dead. She learns his aren’t. He doesn’t invite her to meet the family, but she, in a way, invites herself, and Molly and Arthur are absolutely ashamed when they find out that Fred didn’t immediately bring over the poor girl, look at her, she’s far too skinny. Ginny, dear, put on a kettle and a warm meal, she’s positively gaunt! She finds it amusing. She has dinner that night in the Weasley vacation trailer, and every night after it, too. Fred doesn’t mind. Some nights, he sneaks to her place and they read travel maps, planning future road trips to Nevada and eating Quaker Oats by the handful. She looks at the stars, he looks at her, it’s all very cliche, including her admiration for his super cool accent. He finds it amusing. -“So, what’s gonna happen when summer ends?” -“Whatya mean?” She huffs her smoke, a sign he’s familiar with. She’s frustrated but calm. Patient, but not for long. -“I mean, what’s gonna happen to you? To us? You’ve got school, yeah, but after, I mean, like, I don’t wanna jump to conclusions or anything but-” -“I like you.” -“I like you, too.” -“And I like hanging out with you.” The light in her joint goes out, and it matches the light in her eyes. -“So that’s it then.” - “I’ve just, I mean, there’s a lot going on back at home and, really, I don’t wanna drag you into it.” -“Yeah.” -“There’s a lot, really, there is, and I just wouldn’t want to-” -“No, yeah, it’s fine. I get it.” It takes him a few days, and a few talks with George, but it’s three in the morning and he’s had some liquid luck and he’s knocking on her door in Tommy Bahama shorts and a Life is Good shirt and he’s pretty sure he should’ve put deodorant on and spent more than two-fifty on the gesture but- -“It’s three in the fucking morning, Freddie. Either I’m about to die or you’re about to die, and neither option is really good, so what the fuck-” -“Marry me.” She stops talking, and breathing, and she’s about to laugh until he holds up a plastic little Made in China ring he got at one of those machines in the front of the supermarket, and it probably doesn’t even fit her, but all she can really think is thank God it’s not a damn Ring Pop. -“Are you fucking kidding me, red?” -“I don’t mean today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. I mean that when that thing going on is over, and when I’m out of school and ready to live life, I wanna live it with you. We could get a bigger trailer, or maybe an RV, and we could ride around America and, and collect special fireworks from around the world. We could have a kid or two, and they could live with us, or maybe we’d just start out with a dog, I don’t know, all I know is I wanna live my life like it’s a never-ending summer with you.” She’s not sure now if she’s laughing or tearing up, either is pathetic, but she crosses her arms over her Betty Boop pajama top and decides to find this adolescent adoration somehow sweet. - “What colour RV are you thinking?” - “Red.”

V. Ash

It’s in the form of a letter, and in a way, that’s better than a call, because then they couldn’t hear her sobbing on the other end. She doesn’t really know why she’s crying. They hadn’t spoken in years. They were sixteen and stupid, as all sixteen year olds are, but the worst part is believing in that sixteen year old dream and thinking the flame was still lit. She couldn’t blame it on her age anymore. She was just stupid. She stares at the paper, passed away, as if that was a better way of phrasing it instead of just saying dead. She can’t be too horribly upset. As far as she was concerned, he’d been dead for four years. Four years. Fuck. He was four, already. -“Where are we headed?” -“I dunno. Nevada?” -“Cool.” He’s got his hand stuffed in a Quaker Oats box, and she finds hers traveling to the two-fifty Made in China ring she keeps on her neck. She’ll tell Molly and Arthur someday soon, maybe once they hit Oregon, she’s not ready for England winters, because right now, life is red. Red with pain and anger, yeah, but also with love, and with red hair, and red lips, and red Cola, and red American fireworks, and red rings, and flip flops, and RVs, and yes, life fucking sucks and war fucking sucks and everything nowadays should be really very alarming, but when she sits back in the driver seat, travel maps sprawled and a four year old in a faded Life is Good shirt sitting in the passenger seat, she finds that life is actually, really when you think about it, kind of calm.

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #Harry Potter #imagine #imagines #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #george weasley #fred x reader #weasley twins #Ginny Weasley #fanfic #xreader #fluff #angst #ugh so good #so proud #xoxo #hp #hp imagine #aesthetic so good #summer

[ohdeputy]

100 Letters PART IV

Arthur Morgan x John Marston

Words: 6,812

Read on Archive

Part III

-

Pain crept periodically in and out of existence for John, alongside his blurred vision. He felt no sense of time and his thoughts were not tangible. The only consistency being the agony of his wounds. His face was hot and sore, causing him much discomfort through his restlessness. He was sure he had a fever from the amount he was sweating.

What John could only assume were days that passed by as he lay bedridden felt like hours for all he knew. Sometimes he could feel splotches of sunlight against his skin cast through cracks from the nearby window and distant chatter of people around him. Abigail’s fussing also made it through the haziness every so often. He preferred to tune it out when he could, wishing she could just let him be. It was bad enough having to listen to her when he was fully conscious. Other than those instances he was surrounded by black.

For the most part, that is. Sometimes John swore he could feel someone’s hand holding his. Rough and slightly calloused, yet so gentle. It was always at night, from what he could tell. When no one else could be heard and the air was at its coldest, making him shiver in his sleep.

He had the creeping suspension that perhaps... No. He thought, there is no way. Feeling foolish for even thinking it was who he imagined and somewhat hoped it might be. Nevertheless, John always held on tightly, feeling a deep comfort at the contact.

Soon, he started to stay awake for longer than the short moments he could only manage before. He was still confined to the cot he lay on, but he was not in a permanent state of confused slumber any longer. The pain had subsided slightly, yet he still could not move his face too much.

The first time he awoke fully rested, he reached a hand to the fresh stitches holding together the deep slashes in his skin. He winced, partly from discomfort. He couldn’t help feeling a little sad over it, too. It was… strange. This sort of thing never really bothered him before. He’d been shot a couple times, injured in countless other ways and had never thought twice about it. His scars were deeper than physical, serving as a reminder of how he alone he felt on that mountaintop.

Just off to his side, he could see Abigail. Whether her expression was of anger or worry, he did not know.

“Hey.”

Her brow shot up, “hey?! Seriously, John Marston, that all you got?”

He closed his eyes, too tired to start this again with her.

“You are a silly, silly man. You really are.” She stood up from her seat, “eaten by wolves. Never heard of such a ridiculous idea.”

She sat down again, clearly indecisive with whether she wanted to leave or continue shouting at him. “Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean really, who?!”

John breathed out through his nose in frustration, his tone curt as he responded, “I didn’t mean to, Abigail.”

Now Abigail sighed as she put a hand on his shoulder. Some of the anger had gone from her voice, “you never mean to but you always do. Always… trouble.”

“Well, I’ve certainly made my mistakes.” John blinked, looking away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she retracted her hand and he felt her intensive gaze on him.

“Whatever you want it to!” His words were a little more vicious than he intended, but he was fed up. He winced from the discomfort of moving his stitches as he spoke.

Her hand was back on him, “just shut up and get some rest.”

Underneath all the aggressiveness, John knew Abigail cared about him. He just could not understand her methods of showing it, most of the time finding her unbearably exhausting.

John continued to stay confined to the small bed for the next few days. He spent that time resting, and when he wasn’t asleep he listened to the people come and go around him. He would hear the hushed conversations between Arthur and Hosea, other times the soothing repetition of Javier sharpening his knife. One time he woke to sound of Miss Grimshaw shouting at the other girls. He pretended he was still asleep for fear of her shouting at him, too.

Throughout all of it, Abigail was always around. She mostly fussed about how foolish she thought he was, but also kept him updated on everything that was happening. When she told him how the gang finally planned to move on, he grew eager. Back down south, she had said, into the state of New Hanover. At this point he did not care where they went, as long as it was far away from the past. The land here was cruel and had already given him too much trouble.

Sure enough, once they were certain there would be no worry of another storm, they set a course south. John did not see much of it, since he was still too weak to do more than walk a few steps anywhere. After Abigail and Charles helped him into the back of one of the wagons, he did not see anything but the shifting of daylight across the canvas cover he lay under. Only emerging once they arrived at their new hideout of choice.

There, the first couple of days had blurred together. He was still not up to his usual strength, especially exhausted from their journey into the new state. He spent much of his time resting while the other gang members settled into the place around him. It was nice. Small, but not bad.

They found themselves in a clearing just beside a cluster of trees that kept them hidden well enough from any unwanted attention. At least for the time being. It had grown a lot warmer now that they were free of the snow, but a chill lingered that still caused his breath to hang in the air during the early mornings.

John had come to know this place as Horseshoe Overlook, having a wide view of the surrounding land. The lush forests and the winding Dakota River had become familiar to him from all the time spent confined to the camp. He couldn’t complain too much, though, as it was a sight to behold. Calming too, with sounds of nature all around him whenever he sat at his favorite spot just at the edge of camp. There, stood a tall oak that he would always situate himself under. Either with a book, propping himself against an old tree stump with a fresh cup of coffee, or his thoughts.

John could almost say he liked it here, but often he was reminded of the circumstance of their arrival. Blackwater always lingered in the back of his mind, lying dormant but never forgotten. He waited for the day where Dutch would properly address the complete disaster and wondered what he might say of Nico. He found himself looking over his shoulder more often, watching out for Dutch and avoiding him as much as he could. It got to the point where it may have even started to look suspicious. John couldn’t help it. He felt like a coward, but he could not bring himself to look at him.

When a week had gone by and still nothing was mentioned, John thought that the whole thing would pass by unspoken. So when he sat in his usual spot viewing the river below him, he was taken aback when he heard Dutch call for their attention.

“Everyone, gather round.” His voice came from the centre of camp, where he had set up his tent.

It wasn’t since Blackwater that he had last properly seen him. Since the day he had killed Nico and left John for dead. Because he was at the top of John’s list to avoid, and had managed it well enough, the realization hit him so suddenly. He originally thought Dutch might approach him once they had settled in. That he would corner him someplace to threaten John about what he saw back in Blackwater. To his surprise, it never happened. Dutch never once mentioned Blackwater since before the heist, and John had no intention of asking.

But it felt wrong. Not only for the horrors John faced at seeing his friend murdered in cold blood, but also for the ones they left behind. Jenny and Davey left in unmarked graves back in Colter, and the unknown whereabouts of Sean and Mac. After everything, John was left almost convinced that Dutch had put the whole mess completely behind him, never to be spoken of again. Until now.

When he hesitantly approached, their eyes locked momentarily. The blood in his veins ran cold like he was a deer caught in the sight of its predator. Fear seeped through his body when Dutch gave him a sadistic smile, and already John was preparing himself for the worst.

He joined the cluster of people around Dutch’s tent. Hosea and Arthur could be seen seated next to the gang's leader from recent conversation with him, looking a little tense. Others now stood around them, eager to listen to his speech.

“I just wanted to say how proud I am of all of you.” Dutch held a hand to his chest, feigning a sense of appreciation. John had to refrain from letting his face express how sickened he felt.

“Things may not have gone well in Blackwater, we lost some dear friends.” He paused to evoke some sort of sorrow around his words. “And we mourn them, we do. But we must stay diligent. We must carry on, or it was all for nothing!”

He looked at everyone pointedly, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his words, “would you have them die in vain? Davey, Mac? Jenny? Poor Sean?”

“We don’t even know if Sean is dead, it just looked like he was captured,” Lenny interjected, a couple of other murmuring in agreement.

“This is true.” Dutch nodded his head, “he may very well be alive. And if that is the case, we will bring him back safely. I promise you all-”

“What about Nico.”

Silence fell over the group as everyone turned to face Charles, who’d interrupted.  John was overwhelmed by a sudden appreciation for the man. Charles stared expectedly at Dutch, a couple of others turned to do the same. When everyone waited for him to answer, John noticed Hosea hanging his head. He thought the older man looked ashamed.

“Nico,” Dutch gave a heavy sigh. “She was like a daughter to me.” He looked off in the distance, eyes tearing up. He blinked and returned his attention back to everyone, his gaze turning dark. “But in the end she betrayed me. Betrayed us.”

He continued, “I regret to inform that it was she who alerted the law to our plans. I do not know what caused her to become a fraud within our midst, to take advantage of our hospitality," he spat the last word out. "After all this time to find out she was not who I thought she was.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Her real name was Heidi McCourt, nothing more than a mere charlatan who infiltrated our family for self-gratification,” Dutch spoke with conviction. He turned away taking the opportunity to become wistful once more, “I only wished I’d known sooner.”

The more he spoke, the more worked up John became. Heidi McCourt? Betrayal? He felt a hand on one of his, not realizing he had clenched it in anger. Turning to see Abigail, her expression was one that pleaded him not to do anything rash. John retreated his hand away from her.

“I say good riddance, she was a rat,” Micah snarled out once Dutch was finished. “They always weasel their way into groups.”

Arthur suddenly shot up from his seat. He looked furious, glaring at Micah, but didn’t say anything.

Micah made no attempt to hide his smug expression as he focused his attention on Arthur, “you know I’m right, Morgan.” He snickered a little before continuing, “but don’t worry, rats always get what they deserve.”

Arthur held a fist at his side like he was about to hurl it into the other man’s face. “At least we can agree on that.” He walked off without another word.

John left, too. Not wanting to stick around the conversation any longer. Abigail followed, but he didn’t give her a chance to catch up as he pursued the direction Arthur had stormed off in.

He found him not far from the edge of their new camp, his arms crossed as he leaned against a tree.

“Fucking Micah,” John said as he approached.

Arthur didn’t look up as he responded, “don’t get me started.”

“And I can’t believe that stuff Dutch said about Nico, he-”

“Oh, just leave it, Marston.” Arthur cut him off, his tone short.

John reeled back, caught off guard by the harshness of his voice. His surprise quickly turned to anger, “are you kidding me?” He tried to keep the volume of his words down so they wouldn’t be heard, but could barely suppress his aggravation, “don’t tell me you actually believe any of that horsecrap!”

Arthur turned on John now. “Maybe she did deserve it!” he snapped.

John blinked at him. Arthur winced, instantly seeming to regret what he said, “oh, I don’t know.” He pressed his fingers to his temple, turning away.

John could tell he was conflicted. Still, it was no excuse for saying what he did. They had both known Nico the longest, and Arthur’s doubts only confirmed how deep Dutch’s grasp was on him.

John walked away, not sure why he even bothered to try and talk to him in the first place. The impulsiveness of his actions suddenly catching up with him. He got too emotional, deep down still believing Arthur was a good man and knew right from wrong. It was what he might have thought, but was being proved otherwise again and again.

Miserably making his way back to his tent, he threw himself on the corner of his bed. Thankfully, Abigail wasn’t there. He did not feel like talking about any of what just happened with her.

With nothing else to do and a newfound frustration, he decided to call it an early night. Not realizing how tired he was until his head hit the pillow, instantly falling asleep.

When he woke the following morning, the camp was quiet. Much of the gang had dispersed, leaving the place a lot less occupied. Micah was gone, much to John’s relief. Hopefully without the intent of coming back anytime soon, either. Arthur, Javier, and Charles had left as well. Something about them going to check out the nearest town.

John itched to leave, too. He’d become so bored from not doing anything and was once again suffocated from the people around him. He heard the town wasn’t too far away and thought he might finally be well enough to explore it.

Abigail was back to nagging him, and the combined company of Uncle and Pearson was starting to drive him insane. But more than anything else, John felt an uneasiness at the particular presence of someone else. Unlike a lot of his adept peers, Dutch had stuck around. And after his speech from the day before, John wanted to be as far away from the man as possible. The only issue was his means of getting to the town.

John sat in his spot on the stump under the oak tree. He held a book open in his lap but had stopped reading a while ago. Now he pondered on a way to make it into town. Under any normal circumstance, he would take the journey on foot, with it only being down the road. He couldn’t take his horse because… He thought back to the night he got attacked by the wolves.

He shuddered at the memory, remembering the last time he saw his horse. The last image of her fleeing from the predators that stalked him.

Though, if he was being honest, that wasn’t his horse. His actual horse was still somewhere in Blackwater, abandoned after the unanticipated turn of events.

John was struck by guilt, he hadn’t had time to think about any of it since then, with everything that followed. All he remembered was being thrown on some random horse with Javier in their escape, leaving behind the mare he’d been riding for years prior.

“How are you feeling, son?”

John turned around to see Hosea approaching him, and shook off the memory. He gave a warm smile to the old man, “a lot better. Nearly fine… but not quite there, y’know?”

“Course I know. It must be boring for you, but I’m glad you’ve been letting yourself rest.”

John was nodding, “it’s been a tough few weeks.”

“That it has,” Hosea agreed. The old man looked away wistfully as if preoccupied with something of his own.

“I was, uh, thinkin’ of heading into town.”

Hosea raised his eyebrows, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah, looking to get myself a new mount.” John gave a sigh, “thing is I don’t got no means of getting there.”

“Why that’s no issue, just take ol’ Silver!”

John faltered, “It’s kind of you to offer, but… you don’t have to do that on my behalf.”

“Nonsense!” Hosea waved his hand in dismissal, “she’ll be happy to stretch her legs. It’s only Valentine you’re heading to. Please, take her out for me. I insist.”

“Well, alright… thanks, Hosea.” He nodded his thanks after getting up from his spot. Briefly, he stopped by his tent to collect his things, slipping his arms into his coat and grabbing his satchel before being was on his way.

He walked the short distance to where the horses were left to graze. There, he spotted Silver Dollar and mounted up. The horse barely even looked up as John lifted himself up onto the animal. The older mare had known John for years now, trusting him almost as much as Hosea at this point. When John was younger, he and Arthur would joke about how the two of them, Dutch, Hosea, and Silver were the original members of the Van der Linde gang before any others had joined. He smiled at the thought, giving the old horse a pat.

John took the hidden path out of camp, emerging from the cover of trees and onto the main path toward the town known as Valentine. The ride there was relatively quick, seeing the bustle of people come into view as the buildings became more abundant around him.

It was a decent place, with a gunsmith, doctors office and saloon as well as a hotel. There was also a general store and train station, but most importantly a stable.

Horses and wagons churned through the muddy streets. John rode down them at a steady pace to take it all in. Piano music and loud conversation flowed from the saloon as he passed by. The sound of hammer and steel could be heard off in the distance, too, the town alive with folk keeping busy all around him. He always enjoyed seeing the different civilized places he was brought to. Studying new and diverse people sometimes proved to be even wilder than the western lands that surrounded them. It was fascinating.

John approached the considerably large barn at the end of the main street. He could make out the name painted in white with big lettering across the wood just above the doors.

AMOS LEVI & SONS.

Upon entering, the smell hit him before he even saw any of the horses stabled within. “Looking for a horse, mister?”

John turned to see a man polishing a saddle. “Err, yes, I am.”

“Well,” the stable owner wiped his hands on his leather apron, “what takes your fancy? We’ve got Kentucky Saddlers, American Paints... lots of fast ones.”

He thought for a moment, not really knowing exactly what he was looking for. “You have any sturdy ones?”

“Like a warhorse, sir?”

“Sure, something like that.”

The man moved to a stable just across from where they stood. “Well, we got this here Hungarian Half-bred. She’s a beaut.”

John studied the mare. She looked strong, with a dappled grey coat that stretched across the wide, lean muscle underneath. “She sure is.” He brushed a hand down her neck, “how much for her?”

“Two fifty.”

John almost choked at the price, suddenly aware of how hollow the satchel strung across his shoulder was.

“Do you have anything similar for…um, slightly less?”

The stable owner shook his head, “I’m afraid she’s as decent as we get.”

John couldn’t help but think to himself that it was no wonder they’ve always stolen their horses in the past. He left the man with an apology and the lie of a promise that he would be back when he had more money.

With no horse and a newly acquired sour mood, John returned to where he had left Silver. He untied the reins but was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t go back empty-handed, the time would come when he would need to rely on his own mount.

He walked Silver through town aimlessly, eventually wandering toward another couple of barns surrounded by pens full of livestock. Sheep, pigs, chickens, cows, the place was full, putting in perspective just how self-sufficient this town really was. It seemed too many animals were present for it to only be a ranch, though. Upon further inspection, John noticed a couple of men walking around the pens, one with a clipboard in hand. It looked like he was counting each animal in their sections, and only then did John realize the whole place must be some sort of auction yard.

As the two men strolled closer, John could just make out what they were saying. “…if we move the pigs into that barn, this area should be good for the sheep we got comin’ in from Emerald Ranch,” the one with the clipboard said as he wrote something else down.

The other nodded, taking his hat off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Sounds good. I’ll let the boys know when it’s time. You was saying it were for later this season, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Then, if you don't mind my asking, sir, why you thinking about this now?”

“Oh, cause it’ll be a big one, Pete.”

John listened, all the while making a mental note. He was no sheepherder, but neither was he a complete fool when it came to knowing there was value worth investing, or in his case stealing, in livestock.

“John? John, is that you!” The formation of an idea was suddenly interrupted when he heard his name being shouted. He looked behind him to see a coltish man make his way to where John stood, giving an awkward wave as he did.

“Hey, John! It’s me!”

John squinted, still unsure of who exactly this person that seemed to know him so well was. His memory was struck with realization when the man gave a goofy smile,“…Reedus?”

Reedus nodded with the same amount of enthusiasm John remembered him having. Save for being even taller than before and growing out a wispy looking beard, the stable hand was still the same as when he’d last seen him.

“What’re you doing here?” John asked him.

“I’ve actually come looking to work in the stables here. Amos, the owner, was kind enough to offer me a place. I grew up near Valentine, so I thought it would be nice to be around my ma again. How ‘bout you, what brings you to town?”

“My gang’s hindin’ out not far from the place, seems we are well suited in living a nomadic lifestyle.”

Reedus’ eyes widened, “no kidding! How is Dutch n’ Arnold getting along? And that Hosea!”

John smiled, “real fine, Reedus.”

The man pulled at the reins he held onto, “I actually came by the auction yard tryna sell this here horse. Won’t be needing one since I’ll be workin’ in the stables.” He gave a reluctant laugh, “you wouldn’t happen to be in need of one, would you?”

John blinked in surprise, “uh, yeah, actually.”

Reedus’ eyes lit up, “well, fry me in butter and call me a catfish! He’s all yours if you’ll take him!”

John hesitated, “I… don’t have too much to offer, I’m afraid.”

He waved a hand, “don’t be worrying about that, please, he’s all yours.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, Reedus, I couldn’t possibly accept.”

Now Reedus shook his head, “Y’all have always been good to me, I insist.”

He held the reins out to John, who reluctantly took them. “He’s an old boy, but he’s young at heart. Loyal and sturdy, too. He’ll treat you well.”

John didn't know what to say. “Thank you, Reedus.”

They said their goodbyes shortly after, and John made his way back to camp with both Silver and his new horse. Old Boy, he’d decided to call him, since Reedus admitted he never actually had a name for him.

The saddle was worn but surprisingly comfortable enough during his ride back to camp. The horse gave him no trouble and over the next while he’d grown quite accustomed to Old Boy. He took the time to care for him with not much else going on in the following days other than trying to get word of where Sean might be. Only after about a month or so of being at Horseshoe Overlook was there talk of finally getting him back. Trelawny had apparently heard about him being caught and held by some bounty hunters near Blackwater.

Arthur had spent little time around camp, but one particular night when he was around John heard him discussing with Dutch and a few others about Sean’s supposed rescue mission. When word travelled, both Abigail and Hosea advised him not to go. He reluctantly agreed, not that he was particularly fond of going back to Blackwater. He just couldn’t help but feel useless at doing nothing but sit around camp.  

After a plan was put into place, Arthur, Charles, Javier, and Mr. Trelawny all rode out. Two days later they returned successful, coming back with worse company than they left with. John didn’t have anything against Sean, but the boy just didn’t know when to shut up. Already he filled the camp with his annoying rambling, though people didn’t seem too bothered. They mostly used the fact that he was back as an excuse to celebrate. So that evening crates of alcohol littered the campsite with people drinking and dancing.

The sound of laughter mixed with music flowed through the night air outside where he sat in his tent. Almost everyone was celebrating Sean’s return, though John didn’t feel too up for it. He was glad that everyone’s spirits were lifted for the first time in a while, but it just felt too soon for him to be taking part in the joyous occasion.

He grabbed his rifle and pulled aside the tent’s opening to leave. Thinking he might make himself useful at the very least, he headed toward the camp border to patrol it. He spotted Charles already at its edge, looking out into the surrounding forest.

“I can take over if you’d like.”

Charles turned to face him as he approached.

“Thanks brother, but I think I’ll leave the festivities for the others.”

“You sure? I honestly don’t mind.”

The other man gave a nod of his head, “I find more comfort amongst the trees, no risk of drunken social interaction. You should go enjoy yourself.”

John dropped his eyes, “No, I… I can’t. Not yet.”

Charles gave a look of understanding, “Yeah. I get that.”

The two men stood in together in a silence that was not uncomfortable. John always did like Charles, probably because he was one of the few of them who actually had his head screwed on right.

“You should still go to relax a bit. It might take your mind off things.”

He looked over to Charles again as he continued, “mind you, that doesn’t mean get blind drunk.”

John chuckled at that, “I hear ya. Alright, well, let me know if you want to swap out.”

“Will do. Try to take it easy, John.” Charles gave him a pat on the shoulder before continuing his route.

John was a little lost on where to go, but as he walked back he could spot Hosea sitting off to the side at a table alone.

“John, my boy! Come, come. Join me.” His words were already slurred though the night was still young.

He motioned with over-exaggeration to the spot just beside him. John had no choice but to take a seat there.

“Here, here, take a drink,” he forced a beer into John’s hands, sloshing some of the liquid on him in the process. If it were anyone else, John might have minded. But Hosea could never do anything wrong in his eyes, so he didn’t give it another thought.

“You never did tell me how you got on in Valentine, huh?”

“It was good, yeah.”

“Didn’t get into any trouble, then?”

John smiled, “Hosea, who do you think I am? ‘Course not.”

“Goooood. Good, good,” the older man slapped the table a little. John didn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this drunk.

“That makes one of my boys. You know I tried to raise you decent, right? ‘Course Arthur had to go and make some trouble for himself in town, and, and… well, y’know…” the old man trailed off.

“Sure. You okay there, Hosea?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah…” His intense nodding slowly turned into his head shaking from side to side, “No, no…I don’t think so.” He frowned, “You know, I blame myself for Nico’s death.”

John was taken off guard by his sudden confession, he looked around wide-eyed in case anyone has overheard. He had said it a little loud, but nobody seemed to pay them any notice as the others sat around the campfire. Javier strummed away on his guitar, accompanied by the terrible singing of Karen and Arthur. Some others clapped along while Sean was already passed out in the dirt beside them.

John turned his attention back to Hosea, not understanding why he would say such a thing.

“How do you mean?”

Hosea sat slouched over the table now, his giddiness replaced by a somberness.

“I just.. I should’ve noticed. Something, anything.”

He looked up at John, eyes welling up. His heart twisted in pain from the sight.

“How could I not notice, John?” He said the words with such remorse, like he was actually asking him for an answer.

John was lost at how to respond, still not fully comprehending what the man was trying to say. Hosea was back to staring at his almost empty bottle. He looked at it intently and John knew he was somewhere far away.

“If I would have seen it coming perhaps I could’ve prevented her from turning away from us... I always tried, John, I did. With you and Arthur, too. She was misunderstood, I know that. But I loved her like she was my own.”

Worry was replaced by a wave of anger that boiled within John, having to sit and listen to a man who did not deserve the harsh treatment he was bestowing upon himself. Mistaking Nico’s distance for disloyalty when in reality it was nothing of the sort. He wanted to shout out the truth, that Dutch was the one to blame, not him. Yet, John held his tongue as he listened to Hosea blame himself. No matter how bad John wanted to tell him, he couldn’t. Hosea trusted Dutch too much.

“I cannot believe it. It almost sounds like one of my elaborate stories, doesn’t it?” He shook his head grimly. “Heidi McCourt…” he said under his breath. “And now she’s gone. An old man like me shouldn’t outlive a young girl like her. It just ain’t fair.”

John thought perhaps it might be the drink talking, but it sounded as if Hosea didn’t fully accept her betrayal as being true. Not that John could risk saying anything to him. And the little consolation it was, it still gave John the tiniest bit of comfort. Hosea wasn’t fully convinced, even if he wouldn’t admit it if he were sober, the thought was enough for John.

“Things… may have been complicated, but it wasn’t your fault Hosea. It wasn’t your fault.” He emphasized the statement to try and convince him.

Hosea gave a forced smile, blinking away tears. “You would say that, son.” He gave a heavy sigh before getting up from his chair, “I think it’s about time to call it a night.” Before John could say anything else, he stumbled off toward his tent, leaving John to wallow in the weight of their conversation alone.

The prospect of drinking now became tempting after the exchange. He picked at the label on his untouched beer. The singing had stopped a while ago so the night was filled with its usual sounds once more. People still drank around a fire that was far from burning out, just with much less enthusiasm. He thought he might turn in, too, until he heard someone call out to him.

“Joooooooohhhhhhnnnnnnn Marston,” the unmistakable voice of Arthur Morgan called through the air as John saw his form blundering toward him.

“Now don’t you start.”

“Ohhhhhh, take that stick out of your ass, Marston.”

He raised his brow at that. Arthur took some uneasy steps toward the table John sat at, sloppily flopping into one of the empty seats. He was obviously quite drunk. John watched his delayed movements as he slammed down the whiskey bottle he gripped in his hand.

His lids hung low as he swayed a little in his spot. As disoriented as he was, Arthur still managed to focus on John. He gave a little smile, and John had to look away. Even after all these years, Arthur could still make him flustered just by looking at him like that. He felt so stupid for letting the other man affect him so much, like they were still young kids sitting on a roof sharing candies. He knew full well things could never be like how they once were, but still his eyes darted to see if Arthur was still looking. And he was.

John cleared his throat, avoiding Arthur’s gaze once more. He looked around them, seeing the low light of Dutch’s tent at the other end of camp. John knew he had retired to his quarters with lady O'Shea quite early.

“Ohhhh loosen’ up, John. Dutch ain’t comin’ out.”

John was surprised by his quick wit despite being far from sober. He was about to respond when  Arthur continued. The ramble he went on was one John did not anticipate, making him second guess that perhaps he wasn’t really with it at all.

“So I went to Valentine, right, nd somehow managed to get into a fight.” He raised his hands innocently, “don ask mehow, I do not know. But we was fightin’ and this guy, this BIG guy was comin atchu from what I could see from the corner of meye, since, uh, this other sonovabitch was comin at me. But I knocked him out in one punch, so I go, ‘don worry Jahn, I gotchu!’”

Arthur paused to wheeze, “but it wasn you! It was Javier, nd he looks at me like whaaaat? Nd then BOOM, gets hit square in the jaw, nd. Well, I just. It sounded funnier in my head.”

Silence followed briefly after he finished. John could now make out the cut that split Arthur’s bottom lip, and how it was slightly swollen. John eventually responded, “… well, did you get the guy?”

Arthur blinked, eyes wide like he was reliving the tragic event all over again, “let’s jus say things escalated nd we nded up takin' the fight outside.” His voice drifted off slightly, “it were real muddy.”

“That sounds like quite the trouble you got into.”

“It weren’t jus me! Charles were there, too. Nd Bill, mmpre sure he started it. Nd you’s was there! Expect it were Javier stead o’ you.”

Arthur pressed his lips to the bottle of whisky, and John almost missed it as he mumbled, “you never come no more.”

John was sore just from the thought of the brawl. “I don’t think a bar fight would have been the best thing for me in my state.”

Arthur nodded, “mmprobably best.”

Another pause followed, John finding a certain comfort in their silence. The only source of light came from the low burning candle placed in the middle of the table, flickering across Arthur’s face and making his features dance.

It would be so easy to tell him. John didn’t know why the thought suddenly struck him. Maybe it was after everything he had gone through in the short span of the last couple weeks. Nico getting killed so easily and John’s close brush with death combined, life just seemed so fickle. To just to put it out in the air was so tempting. Arthur probably wouldn’t even remember the following day.

Dutch lied. About everything. I cared for you. I still care for you. I wrote you a letter every damn day and he burned each and every one of them to stop you from ever knowing…

Deep down John knew he wouldn’t say it. It was selfish. He couldn’t drag Arthur into all this, not now. Even if he did believe John, it could cause catastrophe, swaying the very foundation of the gang they’ve dedicated their lives to.

Perhaps after all this time, it had turned into John protecting Arthur from the truth. To avoid any more unnecessary damage. John already felt broken to the point beyond repair. But Arthur, he didn’t deserve to have his life completely turned upside down. For everything he knows to be a lie. At this point, it would just be a burden for him to know the truth.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, John didn’t notice Arthur moving closer until he took up most of his vision. John blinked back to reality, noting the way Arthur focused his attention on him, squinting his eyes a little as if he were trying to study John.

“Yur heal scarred up pre well.”

It took a second for John to understand what he meant, then he snorted, “you mean my scar healed up pretty well?”

Arthur frowned in confusion, “isn’t that what I said…”

John cracked a smile, unable to stop himself laughing at Arthur’s drunken foolishness. Arthur began laughing, too.

“What’re we laughing at?” Arthur asked him.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re laughing at, but I’m laughing at you. You’re ridiculous.”

It took a moment for Arthur’s stupid grin to slowly disappear as he processed what John had said. “Hey, thas not very nice of yoummarston.”

“Apologies, Mr. Morgan.” John tried to keep himself from seeming too amused, his efforts futile as he cracked up once more.

As if he had already forgotten, Arthur joined in again. He slapped his knee like John just told the funniest joke and the world seemed to stand still around them, making him briefly forgot about all his troubles. It was nice. Too nice, like it was too good to be true. John felt like they were teenagers again, getting up to no good with the fear of being caught by a scolding adult, all while acting like they could conquer the world. Talking similar to how they once did sparked that same nostalgic courage, like they could do anything. But they couldn’t, and the moment passed just as fast as it had come.

“I should, uh, go.”

“Yeah, alright, Marston. You always do.” He said knowingly, taking another swig of his whiskey bottle.

It was hard to get up from his seat. John wished he could let the moment last, but it felt…wrong. He didn’t want anyone to see the two of them like this. So he just smiled and turned away, slowly letting it fall away from his lips when his back was to Arthur.

He did not know whether it hurt less or more to talk with him like it was old times again. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, but it was a harsh reminder of what he could not have. A taste of what they once did have. And it only left John desperate for more. It was dangerous, he knew, and much too risky. And he knew It couldn’t happen again.

#john marston x arthur morgan #john marston fanfic #Arthur/John #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #jarther #Morston #morgston #arthur morgan/john marston #i usually go through it to redo the italics but i feel like no one even really reads these LOL #if you do tho i highly recommend just reading it on archive anyways!

[rogue-barnes-16]

SECRETS (part II/IV)

Summary: Detectives James Barnes and Y/n Y/l/n never really got along, despite being partners for seven months. You could say they hated each other, however, when James' past shows up threatening to break him all over again, the truth about their feelings comes to the surface.

Pairing: cop!Bucky Barnes x cop!Reader

Genre: angsty

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @notexactlythatgirl @thisismysecrethappyplace @sofreakinmanyfandoms @pizzarollpatrol @bubblycypress87 @sinviix @loislp @lovenaturefirst @dyanna-corona @2ptonpt @goodnightmode @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @mannls @cutie1365 @catch22inareddress @mybooradley @sebastianisasnack

Warnings: abusive ex-partner, mentions of toxic relationship, hungover, scars

A/N: I'm back from my brief hiatus(?) yayy! I'm still feeling super insecure about my writing so if you see something I'm doing wrong or something that I should improve, tell me. Tomorrow I'll post the next part of The Protege, but now enjoy <3.

Rogue-barnes-16 masterlist (you can find part I there)

The moment my eyes fluttered open, my hands gripped the sheets I had gotten tangled with, trying to suppress a loud groan the would have just made my head pound harder.

I stirred and turned my head to the man lying besides me as a proof of the bizarre events that my mind remembered from the night before.

This time I was unable to hold back a now regretful groan, which ended up shaking him awake.

"what the- Fuck" he sat up, pressing the heels of his hands against his shut eyes. "fuck fuck fuck fuck"

I shifted my position in a way that I had a perfect view of his bare back.

And that view made my heart clench, because it made me remember what I wanted to talk about without him in first place.

It also proved me that, sadly, there was no way in hell that I was wrong. The patterns of the scars were signs of domestic violence without a doubt.

"Barnes" I called him, not daring to move. "we still have to talk." my voice sounded demanding, but still tender and quiet.

"what 'bout?" his eased voice almost made me doubt my gut feeling, because after all, those scars could be something else.

But then he put his shirt faster than normal, and before even putting on his underwear.

"Dot." his shoulders tensed for a moment, but he did his best to hide it from me. "what happened between the two of you?" I didn't want to ask it directly, so I decided to take the long way.

"c'mon Y/l/n" he let out a humorless laugh, getting up to put on his underwear and pants. "You're the smartest detective I've ever worked with" I managed to hide my surprise at the compliment and I sat up on the bed. "do you really need to fuckin' ask?"

"yeah" he glared at me, leaning over the bed to grab his jacket. "Barnes for fucks sake" I let out a groan, falling back on the bed after I had seen him get out of my apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

BUCKY'S P. O. V.

I got in the precinct an hour or so before my shift actually started, but, honestly, I couldn't care less.

I made a bee line to my desk, not bothering on greeting my colleagues "Hey man, are you okay?" Wilson asked, probably noticing how bad I looked like due to the hungover.

"always" I curtly replied, grabbing the manila folders Y/n had been working on, and displaying it in front of me.

"Bucky?" I didn't even need to spare a glance at Steve to see his worried gaze. "what are you doing here? You don't-"

"got a problem" I muttered low enough for only us to hear it. "I- Y/n and I-"

"Please don't tell me that-"

"yeah" I replied before he finished his question. "we were drunk and-"

"Oh c'mon man" Steve sighed and I let myself fall on the chair while he kept pacing besides me. "with her out of everyone? You had to fuck your co-worker, who you've been pinning over for the last four months?"

"Listen, jerk that's not the important thing right here" I hissed, leaning over the desk to be closer to him. "she knows."

"she knew the moment that Dot showed up" he replied, sitting over my desk. "why does it matter anymore though? The trials start in a week."

"I didn't want her to know" I confessed, running my hands over my short hair. "not now, not like this."

"well there's no going back, pal" Steve said with a sad note on his voice. "you gotta- oh, there she goes" squeezing my shoulder, he got up and walked to his own desk. "Mornin' Y/l/n. Isn't it a bit early?"

"I have work to do" she replied emotionless, looking for the folders on her desk. When she didn't find them, she silently walked to stand besides me and, leaning over my desk, she started to grab the folders.

"I won't tell anyone" she whispered in a tone much softer than I expected. "it's your place to do it so don't worry" with that, she came back to her desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was midnight and Y/n and I hadn't spoken since our brief exchange of words in the morning. Now that we were the last ones left in the department, it was impossible for us not to chat with the other.

It was Y/n who started the conversation.

"Hey listen" she called in low voice, walking to my desk to sit besides me. "I'm sorry for pushing you. I just-" she sighed, scratching her arm distractedly. "I-I just wanted to be wrong, and then" pursing her lips, she spared me a nervous look. "I don't know"

I glanced at her for a moment and, after taking a deep breath, I spoke. "I fell for her when I was really young" I stated. "Hell, I fell hard" she peaked at me, leaving the pencil she was using over the papers. "she was so charming. We got married when I was twenty-six"

"That's..." she looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. "that's nine years"

"not really" I scratched my neck, feeling Y/n's eyes on me. "we took lots of breaks" I tried focusing on the reports in front of me. "things went south during the last three years, though. We fought. A lot." I scoffed "I loved her so I always blamed myself-"

"Bucky" she cut me off in the most tender way possible. "we- you don't- we don't have to talk about it." before I could tell her that I wanted- no, that I needed to, she spoke again. "unless you want to."

I nodded. "one day I came home late. We argued and she... Uh... Slapped me." I shrugged, not daring to look at Y/n. "and I thought, she's worried, don't mind it." Y/n stayed quiet for me to tell her the rest of the story. "slaps turned into things being thrown at me, and then... Well, you already saw it."

"Your back." I nodded at her guess. "Bucky, those are some serious scars." I just shrugged, not knowing what to answer. "what the hell did she use?"

"what does it look like?"

"I didn't look at them enough to-" I started to unbutton my shirt to take it off. "you sure of what you're doing?" I nodded, leaving the shirt aside. "Okay uh" she stood up and hesitantly traced the scars with her fingers "those three ones gotta be from a belt."

"they are"

"well then she's strong as fuck" I let out a nervous chuckle while she inspected the rest of the scars. "this one... Did she stab you"

My nod was almost unnoticeable "That's the last one"

"I wanna believe that this burn here" her fingers ghosted over it. "isn't one of them." she sighed, grabbing my shirt and handing it to me.

I realized too late my hands were shaking too much for me to be able to button up my shirt. When she noticed this, she kneeled in front of me and did it for me.

"the last time we were together, she ended up stabbing me" her jaw clenched.

"I'm guessing she came here" she got up and came back to her chair. "because you brought a lawsuit against her?"

I nodded, clenching my fists a few times in an attempt to calm my nerves. "she showed up in my house yesterday. That's why I was in the bar."

READER'S P. O. V.

"what are you gonna do tonight?" That question didn't really need to be asked, but still, I did.

"I'll stay in the break room" he replied distracted. "tomorrow I'll figure something"

Without thinking twice, I casually suggested "come to my place"

He shot me a perplexed glance "and then what?" before I could even think about replying, he spoke again. "we fuck again?"

I couldn't help but snort with a note of bitterness in my laugh. "I'm trying to be nice, what the fuck was that?"

"not sure" he muttered absently, a frown forming between his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I think I'm too tired"

I sighed "yeah, me too" I looked up at the clock and, taking a deep breath, I spoke again "we should go home"

"we?"

"yeah" I got up, not wanting to face him for some reason I could not pinpoint. "You're staying at my place remember?"

"Y/n" he called me "there's still a week left for the trials"

"I think" I grabbed my things and put on my jacket "that we're more than capable of standing each other for a week"

I heard him standing up and I finally turned around to face him again. "Y/n, you don't have to-"

"Oh shut up" I said cut him off, throwing him his jacket. "I bet if it was Steve, you wouldn't be so hesitant"

"of course I wouldn't" he admitted, letting out a chuckle. "he's my bestfriend"

"then- I dunno" I shrugged with a grin on my face while we made our way out. "pretend I'm Steve, but stop complaining"

"That's-" he snorted falling into step with me. "that's so fucking weird"

"why? 'cause we fucked?" there was a beat of silence, but when I looked at him, we both burst into fit laughs.

BUCKY'S P. O. V.

"yeah, because we fucked" I confirmed, looking ahead of us with a smile dancing on my lips. "Where's your place, by the way?"

"what the hell? you were there last night." she shook her head a couple of times with a grin pulling the corners of her mouth. "I guess you were too drunk."

"so were you"

"yeah, but I still know where's my place" she stated proudly.

"what the f- Y/n, that's because it's your place." a snort escaped her lips. "which way, genius?"

"This way, jerk" she placed a hand on my back to guide me and, despite the thick jacket, I could still feel it's warm.

It was in that moment that I realized her touch somehow soothed me, and I found myself wishing she didn't let go of me.

#marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel miniseries #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes masterlist #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #james barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #40's bucky barnes #winter soldier x reader #bucky imagine #james barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes #reader insert #sebastian stan masterlist #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x y/n #james bucky barnes #white wolf x reader #bucky masterlist #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes smut masterlist #bucky barnes fanfiction #cop!bucky barnes #marvel au

[missjackil]

My 14x17 Opinion

Game Night

This was the first new episode since “The Announcement” and I have to say I was putting off writing it. I usually post these the day after, but I procrastinated so it’s a bit late. So forgive my butt-hurt tardiness and let's have at it.

I enjoyed this episode, though it wasn't without some issues. I must say that I was pleased that it wasn't as Sam-lite as I thought it would be from the promo pics, trailer, and knowing Jared didn't work a lot that week, I will always want for more Sam in an episode, but all his parts were necessary and high quality in this one, so I'm not angry at all. 

We start the episode with Donatello making cookies, singing Raindrops are Fallin’ on my Head, which made me smile. It made me think of Butch Cassiday and The Sundance Kid and I love that movie, and if J2 ever want to play the leads in a remake, I would be willing to pay for it myself! 

Donny gets interrupted by the door, and we know this is a problem because its the first 5 minutes of SPN, let's be honest. As soon as I see the bad guy’s wedding ring, I think “Shit... here comes Nick”. I thought he was gonna kill him and I'm glad he didn't. I like Donny, he looks like my dad. 😊

Back at the Bunker, the fam is getting ready for “Winchester Game Night” and Dean is playing Mouse Trap, and having no luck getting it to work. I had that game as a kid too and was never able to get it to work either, but it was fun putting it together! I did think it was a little sad but fitting, that Dean would have played that game as a 4 yr old, but leave it to John and Mary to give Dean a game made for older kids, that never worked out the way it was supposed to and had too many small parts he could choke on. (the irony is not lost on me)

Mary and Jack are in the kitchen. I could literally almost smell the Jiffy Pop popcorn. A Saturday night staple at my house growing up (any of you out there ever taste that greasy salt left on the sides of the foil pan? Good stuff!) and Mary starts in with the questions for Jack. I got a kick out of him telling her its annoying, and her face after. It’s ok Mary, he’s fine, he’s just a teenager now. Something I guess she never got to experience from the adult side. 

Sam is out getting pizza, and all the times they’ve had pizza, I never really saw what Sam likes on his. Apparently both he and Dean like lots of pepperoni. Good choice boys! The joy is short-lived (of course) by Donatello’s call, and Dean and Mary go off to help. I loved Sam sitting there researching. I have always loved his look of interest and concentration during these times. Smart!Sam moment #1 he figures out the language is ancient Hebrew, #2 he has the moment of realization that he knows it’s from the Bible, and knows what chapter and verse. (demerits for the writers though for not knowing Peter is in the New Testament and is in Ancient Greek, not Hebrew, but kudos for Sam/Jared for at least knowing the book is located near the back of The Bible)

Mom and Dean in the car. Now we have the talk about how wrong she knows she’s been but how appreciative she is to have this time with him and Sam. Uhoh... sounds like lines typically given to a character who is soon to be killed off? Hmmm we’ll see. Soon they arrive at Donny’s to find Nick. He says he's poisoned Donny and to save him, they have to help him. He wants to talk. 

Back at the bunker, violent rage!Sam awaits!! GOD that gave me tingles in the best way! I loved Dean leading Nick down the hall in cuffs, in slow motion as if leading him to his execution, and Sam standing there with his chest puffed out like a friggin’ bulldozer, and the snarl and slam attack against the wall!! (hand me that towel, please??) Dean backs Sam off, lots of brother touching going on, but we need intel, we can't kill him yet. 

Now Sam is in self-loathing mode.... he thinks everything is his fault. So many people dying because of him. This is gonna be a big issue soon, I promise. Mom talks Sam off the self-deprecating ledge and tells him he gave Nick another chance because he’s a good man and that's why she’s so proud of him. Sam softens up into the sweetest “aww shucks ma” smile and I want to hug him💕 also, still lines are being spoken by mom that are synonymous with being killed off.

Now, I procrastinated talking about Cas and Anael because the whole thing was boring. I'm not a wife hater but at least make her necessary if you’re going to cast her. I was ok about her role as Sister Jo for Devil’s Bargain but she hasn't been necessary since. Cas wasn't even necessary in this episode. We knew he was hiding the fact that Jack killed the snake, and there are probably 1000 other ways they could have reminded us that the Samulet is still around and maybe they can use it, than for him to find a similar one in the thrift shop or whatever that place was. I dug Methuzula though, he was the oldest dude in the Bible. He wasn’t an angel, for any of you worried about him liking lasagna or why he couldn't just smite Cas... its because he's HUMAN just extremely old. 

On to more interesting things. 

Nick wants to talk to Jack. I was not pleased with Nick referring to Jack as his son. Im not 100% convinced that the writer (and all involved really) remembered that Jack isnt Nick’s son, but added that as a note of empathy Nick has for Lucifer, you’d THINK someone, particularly Jack would say “Im not your son” ?? but anyway, he gives intel to Jack and also gets his blood (dun dun dunnnn) 

Sam is again a smarty pants and knows the antidote for Thalium is Prussian Blue (makes note) and figures he can hack the live feed (brains are so sexy) I also love that Sam’s word is the go word. So many more decisions are made because Sam thinks its the best option than he's ever given for in the fandom. So Sam and Dean take Nick with them to find Donny. 

I really love the broments in this part. Dean tells Nick if he tries anything funny, Sam will shoot him. “And if anything happens to me....” “Sam will shoot me”  “To start!” says Sam... because if he hurts Dean, Sam isnt letting him off that easy. But in true SPN form, as soon as Sam and Dean are separated, shit goes south.

Mom calls Sam and lets him know Donny was shot up with Angel grace, as Jack figured out, Nick was playing them. Now the fight between Sam and Nick ensues! Nick tells Sam why he used Donatello, which was to bring Lucifer back, “You can't, he’s dead he’s in the Empty” Sam says but this show’s self-awareness gets me sometimes lol Nick’s like “Cmon Sam you know no one stays dead anymore” and Sam starts kicking his ass. 

Now, I have already seen a million of you whine and complain that Sam didn’t kill Nick. It’s almost as though some of you have never met Sam Winchester. Of course Sam could have killed Nick, and most of us wish he did, but Sam has stopped himself from killing humans before. He stopped himself with Jake in AHBL and also with Toni in 12x01. Unfortunately it always bites him in the ass. Could it be that Sam thinks if he can kill a human with his bare hands that he’s a monster? This isn’t bad writing folks, this is Sam’s character. 

Nick takes advantage of Sam’s hesitation and starts nailing him with a rock. Spewing crap about Sam being Lucifer’s Perfect vessel and such.... this can only mean that issue will be coming up soon! Sam gets in the car and starts laying on the horn for Dean, calling out to him... Dean hears Sam is in trouble, enough playing around here time to kill some demons. 

When he gets to Sam. he sees he’s badly injured. Sam can hardly hold on to consciousness, protective!dean kicks in! Apply preasure to the blled, call 911, call mom. Now check for brain damage and play a counting game with Sam This hurt my feels so much, it made it feel so much more serious than all the other head injuries he’s sustained. Dean and his caring big brother smile and light hearted speech so Sam doesnt panic just kills me in the best way!! Sam tries to count with him a little and breaks into “You always put me first... your whole life” and manages to muster a little smile. Dean knows Sam believes he’s checking out, and you see the fear all over Dean’s face as Sam fades away. (OMG these 2!! Every freakin time!!)

Meanwhile, Mary and Jack found Nick and he has summoned Lucifer and just about to take him in again (Lucifer looked pretty cool,,, gotta say) and Jack zaps Lucifer back into the rift (no not forever guys... cmon) and starts torturing Nick. Mary kinda flips out telling Jack to stop. He’s contorting his hand, burning him from the inside out... not simply killijng him. Mary is full on worried now. Jack stops and Nick is laying on the floor. Mary is in shock and tells Jack to go help Sam, He heals him and Dean cant even hide his relief as he turns away to catch his breath. 

Now Jack returns to Mary who is more than worried about how Jack was torturing Nick. We know the Winchesters dont mind killing, but draw the line at torture. However, Mary stupidly poked the bear. She could have just kept herself and Jack calm and talked to the boys later, but she poked and poked till Jack freaked out. Though I am wondering if Jack was also hearing Lucifer when he was shouting “Leave me alone!!” But in any regard, he looked at Mary and something happened. Fade to black. 

Aside from the Cas/Anael part, I really enjoyed this episode. A few issues yes, but it hit most of the marks needed for me to enjoy an episode. Ive already rewatched it twice and will again and again. 

On a scale of Bloodlines to Lebanon, I give this a strong 7.5 without the Cas/Anael bit it would have been an easy 8.

#14x17 spoilers #game night #my opinion #i dug this one #love this 2nd half a lot

[bandomgay]

My brain to yours pt.1 b.u

Tw: blood,gore,self harm,violence,hallucinations,slight mention of an ed

Au: hey babes this is gonna be my 5th time trying to post this and i want death so bad...however if there is any confusing things or typos or things seem to quickly paced im sorry thats just my brain babey! Enjoy...i guess

Word count: 1,894

It all started when he was about 6 years old, he never spoke ever,not that he couldn't he just wouldn't, his parents were worried about his development,however nothing was ‘wrong', he had a quite developed thinking process for a child, but it wasn't a good one for his age nor was it a normal one,no child should be so terrified of talking to people and being thought lesser of as his voice shook violently while trying to say the easiest of sentences.

he understood people to early into his young life ,he got the memo that everything was too stupid and too hard to understand so he gave up . his mother took him back and forth to hospitals and child psychologists ,his mother scared for what was to come of him could this weirdness she didn't even have a name or diagnosis for develop into something more as he grew? She thought, would he be normal? Would he be like the other children who laughed and giggled at the littlest of things? Would he be happy like them? She had decided to push her concerns into the back of head deciding that maybe he was just awkward it's okay to not fit in hes a fucking 6 year old boy maybe it's not that deep.

he was now in the 3rd grade now and teachers became more and more loud and responsive with their problems, he thought maybe whatever bad stuff they had going on at home they just needed to vent threw aggressiveness and shaking hands and restless mornings,but however it was their screams he didn't care for, he looked them in the eye wondering what he had done wrong, however he didn't care enough to continually think about it, but he realized slowly that couldn't feel anything like the red faced teacher did, he’d envy the poor mannered teachers feelings if he could, just how they could get so angry and fed up with kids who were disgusting and vile and how he never felt that…... he never felt anything at all .Now he was in the 5th grade he had to repeat the 4th grade due to staggeringly low grades and his failed attempts at homework he never seemed to have remembered. Things were getting hard to remember, so hard to remember what the teacher had said in the classroom that seemed to fade away after he was picked up by his mom and the sheer silence of the drive home and his mothers sneaking looks into the mirror with furrowed eyebrows at her son who never told her how his day went.

In school it was just so easy just to drift off in the land of dark swirls and dark worlds filled with make believe that he couldn't separate from the real world that never seemed to go away and darkness he felt comfort in his head till he heard nothing but the disgusting laugh of a teacher who had looked as if she wanted to deck him in the face ( he imagined about 3 different scenarios of how that actually could have occured, he held back a giggle and a sly smirk) as she snapped her wrinkled hands in his face “earth to brendon” he heard the aged feminine voice laced with anger repeat twice but he had failed to tune into the first reminder he was too dissociated to notice, he came too but didn't understand her reasonings of not just leaving him alone and let him rot and break free and he soon heard the fits of laughter coming from children he knew he was too weak to stop.

he wanted to do terrible things to everyone in that very room including himself, a dark desire he couldn't contain from his mind but he never followed through with these type of thoughts. he could never seemed control them he thought of them like messages being sent from an unknown source in the back of his head that had an invisible connection to someone he could see but nobody else could he dared himself if he could just pull at the cord in his head he wouldn't have those those thoughts, the figure never showed up in the same form it could be the shadows of dirty rain water coming from outside showing like a projection on the dingy beat up wall rising above him to claim a mental dominance , or the rotten stain of mold on the bathroom floor that now seemed to have a charming glow yet secretive smile or the bag of dirty clothes that sat high up on its rounded edges now smiled at him and watched him threw the night .

now it was the 7th grade and things had went to shit,it was already shit but it had gotten no better, fits of depression had left him wanting to call a hitman on himself and letting himself be cut open so all the organs in his body to be shot out of him or rip his jaw and everything behind it out of his body but he was too fatigued to think about it anymore his brain seemed to have stopped working back in the 6th grade, he could never think clearly a heavy fog on his brain he could never do much for himself he found the most simple of things he couldn't do, he couldn't pay attention, he felt dizzy at random times becoming feverish and not thinking about why because he couldn't think he thought process lessen and lessened with every passing day until all there were was thoughts of gore and death,sadness and the never ending thought of killing anyone or anything that had managed to make him want death even more.

he just continued to fade in and out of reality staring into the wall for to long or unknowingly staring at the couple of people who he thought was calling him pathetic and worthless with the contradictory voice telling him he's so much better than the disgusting people he saw and that they didn't deserve to smile they don't deserve happiness even though they’d never even spoken a word to him, they were never mean to him. he started pinching,stabbing,pulling at his hair,clawing at himself hard trying to see if he could care that he'd just hurt himself he continued to hurt himself hoping somewhere in the back of his mind he start to feel things, to show him he's real everyone sees him, but his inner self knew what he was doing he wasn't just trying to see if he was a real person he was punishing himself because he couldn't do what the rest of the real kids could do he couldnt plop himeself in a hard metal chair and take a test without thinking about what a disgusting person he was, without hearing them say he wasn't shit that his brain is mush that he couldn't understand the easy directions how he could get so angry and mad without hesitation how he could imagine killing his parents im cold blood… he stomped on his own foot,why is he thinking about this why is he thinking about this why, they creeped back up on him showing him images of his brother and sisters dead and gutted his parents choking on blood and vomit pale and dying, he hated himself for thinking these things,but if it was possible for him to be completely honest with himself he didn't care if they had died or not he just didn't have the ability to care.

He couldn't look people in the face without seeing these images of grewling faces pushed together in piles of pink and red flesh crawling into each others organs which looked rotten and distorted, why was he seeing this things these disgusting things these things… he wouldn't admit to himself that everytime he looked in the mirror he tried not to vomit he tried to hard, he bashed in the mirror bloodlying his hand, his hiss echoing in the empty bathroom he couldn't go to the nurse he couldn't look her in the eye and see her like that, besides he was on the first floor and he was too weak to go all the way to the fourth floor he knew he would pass out, he felt something pooling in his stomach it was anxiety he felt the cramping in his stomach and the salivating in his dry mouth, he vomited into the sink, he hasn't eaten anything in about 3 weeks so the pain of dry heaving for almost half in hour into the sink made him dizzy and ultimately pass out. he had now awoken to bright lights that made him nauseous and whimper, he was in the hospital again. he tried so hard not look the nurses and doctors in the eye and seeing horrific images in his mind of them dead, rotten maggot filled and bloody be he regained his ability to see the normally after a while.

“Brendon honey…” his mommy's voice was there “mommy...hi mommy” he said in a broken whisper. She had realized he never calls her mommy unless something's wrong he wasn't aware that he was, he turned to the right finding an iv carefully placed into in scarily pale arm “honey...they found you in the bathroom your hand was cut up...you where passed out what...t?” she silenced herself for a moment seconds later starting up again. “They found you in the bathroom..the mirror was broken and your hand was cut pretty deep and passed out” he mouth trembled a bit, she moved his sweaty bangs out of his forehead, he felt wetness on his skin his own uniform shirt clinging to his skin he was sweating.

He didn't feel real he didn't respond properly to what she had said he only looked away.. And said “dizzy….everything hurts…” he was so surprised he felt something but if feeling was like this he didn't want it. “I d..don't wanna feel like this..can you make it stop mommy please?!” Nani was absolutely terrified she'd never been so scared for her little boy, “its gonna be okay,sweetie...i swear..to god i swear…” in this moment if she was honest she didn't believe there was a god, no god would do this to her son, she turned around after hearing the door and hard footsteps.

“Hello ms. Urie im dr. Yakima, i will be assisting and diagnosing your son” she nodded softly wanting her son to be okay. “Hey son,open your eyes for me,i'm here to help” brendon heard a much more distorted version of what the doctor had said than nani did, but then again he was fading in and out. He handed her pills and said firmly “these are anti-nausea and pain killers i'm gonna give these to him and he will feel much much better i promise..” He was right it with his cocked up eyebrow and charming smile that sparkled with calmness and reassurance that worked its way into nani. the medication  worked but not instantly. “Sit up honey..” She said softly, he followed what she said slowly with a wrecked groan and intense muscle pain however there was no rush.

#brendon urie #panic! at the disco #patd #*****mine #brendon urie imagine

[loathed-love]

aftermath

AO3: wren_rw Pairing: Colt Kaneko x Reader   Warnings: description of injury, language, tw: car crash Words: 2520 Summary: the obligatory “we broke up awhile ago, but you’re still my emergency contact” fic

Notes: started writing this... had a breakdown... bon appetite

“Hey, Vince- did you run the diagnostics on that Nissan?” 

A deep voice booms from beneath the hood of a sports car, thick with russian vowels. “On it, Boss. Looks like alternator failure.” 

“Oh, great.” Colt hides a smirk behind the rim of his mug, taking a deep swig of coffee. “Have fun with that.” 

Vince laughs- a thunderous, mighty sort of sound, and flips his boss the bird. 

“You don’t pay us enough to take that lip, sir.” This time, it’s a thin young woman perched on top of the cherry-picker, dark curls piled on top of her head. She’s got the coy sort of demeanor of someone who knows they’re playing with fire.

“I don’t pay you at all, Martinez. You work on commission. You want a raise, go ahead off your ass and get one.” 

Laughter and wolf-whistles break out all across the garage, a few hecklers elbowing the woman playfully in the side. She shoves them off, sticking out her tongue in childish defiance. 

It’s somewhere around that point that the mechanic wheels himself out from under a new model, pulling a headphone from his ear. “Hey, Boss- sorry to interrupt, but isn’t that your phone?”

Sure enough, the room quiets enough for the ringing to be heard from behind the door to Colt’s office. 

The man excuses himself and pulls the door closed behind him, before leaning back against his desk to take the call. 

. . .

He’s met with the sound of faded sirens and a woman’s voice, clear and impersonal. 

“Is this Colt Kaneko speaking?”

That’s his first premonition that something’s gone wrong. Colt narrows his eyes, rereading the unidentified phone number on his screen before bringing the device back to his ear. “That depends on who’s asking.”  

The woman forges on as if she hadn’t heard him, as if she’s speaking from a well-rehearsed script. 

“Hello, Mr. Kaneko. I'm calling from the UCLA Medical Center on behalf of Eleanor Wheeler. I’m afraid there’s been an accident...” 

Colt’s breath is shot, like he’s just taken a hit to the gut. The sudden roaring in his ears drowns out all coherent thought. Accident. The woman’s still speaking, but her voice is underwater. 

Ellie. In an accident. Ellie, who he hasn’t spoken to for months, Ellie, who he hasn’t stopped thinking about since she stormed out of his life, all hell hath no fury. 

Just like that, there’s not enough oxygen in all of Los Angeles to fill his lungs. “... Mr. Kaneko? Are you there?”

It’s a miracle when the words finally make their way past the swelling in his throat. “Yeah. How..” Colt can’t make himself form the question, screws his eyes shut against the drumbeat in his skull. “Is she.. ” She’s okay. Tell me she’s okay.

The woman hesitates for a brief, dangerous moment, and Colt can feel himself rocking on a cliff’s edge, a breath from falling hard into cold, dark water. 

“She was conscious when she arrived, but you’ll have to get more information on her condition from the-” 

The line goes dead before she has the chance to finish her sentence. 

“Everything alright, Boss?

Colt doesn’t bother with a helmet as he slings himself over his MT-50R. “Watch the shop. Don’t call until I say so.” 

That’s the only explanation that the Mercy Park Crew is offered. 

Colt’s bike is roaring past mainstreet the second that the engine kicks to life. 

He thunders down the 405, city-lights blurring into vibrant streaks of color. He barely hears the drivers who cuss him out as he swerves through rush-hour traffic, cutting a thirty minute commute into twenty minutes, into fifteen, into ten. 

His feet hit the ground before he’s even pulled into a full stop, and the bike connects with the pavement with a sickening crunch. 

Colt still feels as if he’s hurtling through space, bracing himself for impact. 

He doesn’t lose his momentum until he’s braced against the receptionist’s desk, deaf to the indignant cries of those in line behind him. 

The woman must recognize his voice from their phone call, because she doesn’t waste his time. He barely catches wind of the room number before he’s down the hall to emergency care. 

111. 112.  The roommarkers blur together. Everything is white. The fluorescent lights are nearly blinding. 113. 114. 115. His ears are full of cotton, the only sound in his awareness the thundering of his heart. 

Colt finally rounds the corner, and almost misses the door. 

116. 

The glass pane of the window is cool against his palm. Colt can hardly breathe through the wreckage in his chest.

. . .

Ellie is lying motionless between the starched sheets of her cot, the monitor flashing red in time with every heartbeat. She’s fast asleep, a sight that’s like a memory from another life. 

An angel under the white lights, her image is distorted behind the thick pane of glass. She’s never felt farther away. 

Then Colt pushes open the door, and it’s just Ellie, his Ellie, in a hospital bed, and everything is suddenly too close.

...

“Fuck.” 

The curse falls on deaf ears, Ellie’s chest rising and falling indifferently in her sleep. 

Colt somehow holds himself together long enough to make his way across the room. Always falling towards her, helpless to her gravity. 

He’s already seated at her bedside by the time he questions if the proximity is a good idea. 

Ellie hadn’t asked him here. She just forgot to take his off her emergency contact list. 

If it were under different circumstances, if she were conscious- she’d keep as far away from him as possible. 

He has no idea how she’ll react to seeing him- and if she still hates his guts as much as she had last time; close proximity probably isn’t the best way to find out.

But her skin is the lightest he’s ever seen, almost white- and the sheets tucked close around her shoulders make her look like a corpse.

Colt has always been taught to trust nothing but his own senses, and the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor just isn’t enough. 

Tentatively, as if handling glass, he slips his hand over Ellie’s open palm. 

Just to feel the rhythm of her heartbeat against his skin. Just enough to ensure himself that she’s solid, and concrete, and alive. 

It was only for a moment, just long enough to calm the racing of his pulse. But then Ellie’s hand just barely tightens around his, and - God. He’s helpless. There’s nothing he could do to stop her. 

The minutes bleed into each other, fluid and viscous like honey. Time seems to speed up and slow down, completely resistant to Colt’s effort to keep track of the passing hours. He finds her medical charts locked inside the bedside cupboard, and reads them twice. By the time the morning light starts to filter through the curtains, Colt’s vision is fading 

into black.

. . .

He wakes to the faint tapping of a staccato beat against his shoulder. 

Colt goes rigid as the night’s events come crashing down on him, replaying over in his head like a film-reel. It takes him a few seconds to register where he is, and he sits up fast, knocking his elbow against the bedframe. “Fuck- Ellie-” 

His eyes run over her, searching for some alarming reason that she might have for waking him. He finds nothing of concern- except maybe the fact that she doesn’t look alarmed at all, her eyes soft and golden in the morning light. Colt looks down to find their hands still interlocked. 

He looks back up to her face, almost apprehensive, waiting for those brown eyes to go cold- for her to ask him to leave. 

The blow never comes. She just tilts her head back, appraising him. “You look tired.”

The sound of her voice sends a wave of relief stuttering through him, so strong that it hurts. He almost laughs with the force of it. “Jesus, Ellie. You’re one to talk.”

The ghost of a smile crosses her face, but her eyes are far away.

Ellie is focused on their hands, fiddling absentmindedly with Colt’s fingers. “They told me you would come.” Her voice is small, as if there were ever reason for doubt, and that’s enough to break Colt open. 

“Where else would I be?” His voice is cracked as if he’d been shouting, but he doesn’t care because she has to know. She had to know that he would come. 

Ellie starts to respond, she’s interrupted with a coughing fit so harsh that Colt is pressing a glass of water to her mouth before he can fully process the action. 

She barely even wets her lips before she’s leaning back against the pillow. “Colt, I have to-” 

“Drink.” His tone leaves no room for argument. Ellie rolls her eyes, and it’s all so familiar that it takes Colt a moment to breathe.

Once she’s half-finished the glass, she takes his wrist and guides the glass back to the bedside table. 

“I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me later. It can wait.” 

It’s selfish, he’s selfish- but whatever Ellie has to say, he’s just not strong enough to hear it yet. Not when it sounds so much like a preface to another goodbye. 

There’s a good chance this is the last time he’ll get to see her, and he wants to spend the time he’s got committing every last detail to memory. 

His attention can’t help but snag on the bruising beneath her eye, the IV and white bandages strapped across her chest. 

“Ellie,” Colt manages, his tone careful, measured. The blood on her lip is seeping into his vision. There’s a familiar creature stirring in his chest, seething in the itching of his fingers, the bitter taste of bloodlust on his tongue. “Who did this to you?” 

Ellie must see the stormclouds brewing behind his eyes, because her expression goes stern. “It was just a crash, Colt. It was no one’s fault.”

Her intention is clear. No penance, no revenge. No one pays for this. 

The creature rears it’s head in protest, but Colt stifles it down, biting hard against his tongue. “Fine. But if I find out they were fucking around, or drunk-”

“Colt.” Ellie cuts him off like only she can. “Look at me.”

He resists at first, so she resorts to force, bringing her hand up to his chin and pulling him towards her gaze. She speaks slowly, carefully enunciating every word. 

“There’s nothing you could have done.” 

He can’t help but marvel at how she always cuts to the heart of what he’s really thinking, what he can’t even bring himself to say.

Even when she’s wrong. “I could have been there.”

There’s nothing that she can say to that. Not when he’s the one who cut her out. They sit in silence for a moment, quieted by the burn of wounds that should have closed by now.

Of course she’s the first to take the leap, because she’s always been the bravest of the two of them, the one to look Colt in the eyes and dare him to jump. 

“I missed you.”

He jumps in after her- because that’s all he’s ever known, because he’s never had another choice. 

“I miss you too.” He almost chokes on the words in his throat. “God, just- always. All the goddamn time.” 

He wants to screw his eyes shut- but everytime his vision goes dark, he sees Ellie's car careening over the concrete barrier, smells it’s wreckage smoking on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I.. fuck. I’m sorry.” 

Those aren’t words that often fall from Colt Kaneko’s mouth, but when it comes to her- they come all too easily. They haven’t spent a day together that Colt didn’t bite back an apology for everything he’s done.  

“When I left, I thought I was protecting you. I thought that I could keep you safe, and now-” 

“Stop it.” Mercy’s eyes are bright with tears, and Colt’s always been shocked by how easily they go from honey to solid gold. “Just stop, okay? You can’t protect me from everything, and the harder you try, the further you push me away from you! I can’t take it, Colt!”

He opens his mouth to respond, but she’s just gaining momentum. 

“I don’t want to be trapped in a box, fucking cellophane wrapped from the rest of the world! That’s the reason I left my Dad in the first place! I want to live, actually live, and I want to do it with you! I don’t care what happens, I don’t care-” 

Her chest is heaving beneath her bandages, the heart monitor beeping faster and faster- too fast, and Colt does the only thing he can think of to bring her down. 

Ellie stills against his lips, cool, and chapped, and so soft that Colt wonders if he might need to be hospitalized himself. Her breaths stutter against him, and just as he pulls back- she pulls him in again, fingers winding tight and desperate into his hair. 

Tasting her again feels like speaking his mother tongue- foreign and hauntingly familiar at once, something so deeply worked into his being that it could never be forgotten.

“It’s okay,” he swears, wishing he could pass the assurance through their mouths. “You’re okay.” 

It’s just as much a comfort to him as it is to her- the knowledge that she’s here, warm with the flutter of a fragile heart, safe and living beneath his hands.

He holds her knuckles to his lips, wishing desperately that he could breathe in all that hurt, all those months of isolation out from between her fingers. 

“I’m here now. I’ve got you, El. I swear I’ve got you.”

And maybe that’s enough.

Ellie’s still holding unto him like she’s afraid he’s going to disappear, and that’s certainly enough to harden his resolve. 

He’s an idiot for ever leaving her, for ever doubting that the one who knows what’s best for her is anyone but herself. 

But he’s not making that mistake twice. They can’t waste a day- not a second, without each other, because life is a fucking coin toss and there’s no knowing what’s coming next.

Colt’s prepared to handcuff himself to this bed if the paramedics ever make the mistake of trying to pull him away from her. 

He knows where he belongs- right by Ellie’s side, and nothing is ever going to pull him from her grasp again.

#Colt Kaneko #Colt x mc #rod colt #colt kaneko fic #rod mc #ellie wheeler #Colt #rod fic #rod #ride or die #choices fic #choices

[lilragekitten]

Lol, I’m already so over this holiday season. SO MUCH under the cut oops.

Last night I had a guest check in (well, I didn’t my co-worker did) and the credit card was declined. Grandma was supposed to pay but there wasn’t enough to do the security deposit for the four nights stay, not even for one night. 

(I don’t know about you, but every single hotel I’ve ever been too, I’ve needed A) a credit card (in my name unless someone else was paying and then they had to email/fax over a permission form with all the details) and B) enough funds plus extra (anywhere from 15$-600$ extra one memorable occasion) to cover my ass and the hotels ass.)

Coworker gets in touch with Gma and she says there’s only a 500$ limit on the card and that they can come by later. Guest at counter were tired after a 7 hour drive, so they’re let into the room to nap (as the wife said she was going to do.) At 4pm, Gma comes in with Gpa and his CC. I ask if we’d be able to run for the four nights or are we just doing one, as the guests have said that they’d pay for the remainder of the stay, not a problem, they just don’t have a CC. Gpa says that no, there’s not enough there but we can do one nights worth. I ask if this card can be used to PAY for the one night I’m doing a hold with and he says sure. I asked TWICE bc they... did not seem to understand. 

(what’s super hilarious is that I’ve spoken to Gma on the phone about this reservation like two weeks ago confirming we need a valid credit card at check in to do a hold on it and she said okay.)

I explained as simply as I could “Your credit card is not being charged at the moment, it’s a hold on it for the 190$ which is for tonight’s stay. At check out, in four days, then we will process it as a payment for 187.57$ and that’s when you will be charged” “Oh okay... Can I get a receipt now?” “No... because I haven’t charged you anything so I do not have a receipt to give you. I will after check out, when it’s been paid for.” “Okay but I wont be here, I need a receipt” “We can email you the bill once your family leaves in four days, and your card has been charged then.” “......” He stood there staring at me legit HOLDING OUT HIS HAND. “But how will I know what you charge me?” So I gave him a business card, wrote 187.57$ on it and said. “At check out, this is the amount your card will be charged. You won’t be charged until they leave though. Do you understand?” And he stared at me some more, another guest off to the side look confused and amused, and He asked one more time for a copy of the receipt. 

I sighed heavily and laughed tiredly. Because I couldn’t NOT anymore. “ I don’t have a receipt TO GIVE YOU because you HAVENT PAID FOR ANYTHING yet.” and I turned to help the next guest. I thought that was the end of it.

Oh No.

At 440pm, I get this woman stomping up to the desk. I do not know this lady, I haven’t seen nor spoken to her. “Hi can I help you?”

And Good Lord. 

“YA YOU CAN HELP ME BY GETTING YOUR DAMN STAFF STRAIGHTENED OUT. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. I CALLED A MONTH AGO ABOUT THESE RESERVATIONS AND I WAS TOLD I NEEDED A CREDIT CARD BUT I DIDNT HAVE ONE SO IT WOULD BE OKAY FOR GRANDMA TO COME IN AND PAY FOR THE ROOM AND NOW YOUR STAFF IS CHANGING UP ALL THE RULES?”

“....Um, can I ask who you are?” (because it’s better to have confirmation before assuming, omg, it is not good to assume anything)

“YOU KNOW WHO I AM. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS, GRANDMA CALLED AN WOKE ME UP IVE BEEN SLEEPING WITH THE BABY AND NOW I HAVE THIS TO DEAL WITH I WA SIN A CAR FOR SEVEN HOURS AND I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS BECAUSE YOUR STAFF CAN’T DO THEIR JOBS”

“okaym but may I know your name ma’am?

“OH YOU’RE GONNA LEARN MY NAME YOU’RE ALL GONNA KNOW MY NAME I CANT BELIEVE THIS. YOU’RE CHARGING THEM 500$ FOR THE ROOM WHEN I WAS TOLD ALL YOU NEEDED WAS ASECURITY DEPOSIT AND-”

“What room are you in ma’am?”

“yOU DAMN WELL KNOW AND NOW YOU’RE CHARGING THEM 500$ WHEN THAT’S THE LIMIT ON THEIR CARD AND THEIR ALL UPSET-”

“Are you XXXXX in -” (I asked bc I was getting tired of being screamed at. She wasn’t just raising her voice, it was a high pitched shrill of ‘I wanna speak to your manager’ except there is no manager, only JennerJen and I am Tired and you’re causing a scene Brenda (not her real name)

“YES IM xxxx IN ROOM xxx!! AS YOU DAMN WELL KNOW AND I-”

“Ma’am, I’m not the girl that served you earlier, can I explain what I actually have done?”

“Oh.” Yeah... she stopped.. and stared at me. (later on she admitted we all looked alike, dressing the same (uniform) despite my like 6 or so inches on my coworker, my brown hair vs her red, my glasses and her not... BUT ANYWAYS)

“Yes. Sorry for the confusion, your family members didn’t really seem to understand what I was doing. I did take a security deposit, but only one night, as you can see here *showed her the transcript* for 190$. I told them that you and your husband would need to come to the desk to pay for the remainder, that is what you had said to my coworker, yes?”

“Yeah that’s right. Grandma called saying you had taken all her money and that we needed to pay on top of that.”

“Grandma was wrong.”

“Oh. Okay well they should be here soon to give the card-”

“They were aleady here, about an hour ago.”

“But she JUST called me and woke me up? Is she coming back?”

“I don;t know, I don’t need her to, but I do need YOU guys to pay for the room for your stay.”

“Oh yeah no, that’s not a problem! I completely understand, I just don’t get why she says she’s coming back then? Man, what the Hell?”

“What the Hell for sure. Sorry, I tried explaining it as simply as I could, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Oh yeah no for sure, I would’ve lost it” -starts laughing

“I hope you gave Grandma shit for waking you up”

“Yep”. 

She became my best friend for next fifteen mins, talking about getting drunk at Hanson and kicked out, how when both of us travel we prefer not having housekeeping usually,*This is Important* etc and then her hubby came in.

“What is up with your mother? Why did she call me? You guys made me yell at this girl?”

“Why did you yell at her?” *Me secretly going YES WHY?!?!?*

So they go off, come back to pay a little while later and I ask hubby, ‘Hey earlier we were chatting and your partner mentioned she normally doen’t like housekeeping, is that right? You don’t want service tomorrow? (Today- day after they checked in-Guests were to have service normally, but the night of 24/25/26th they get a rate of 100$ because there will be no staff in. (between 1/3-1/2 the rate off) He says, “Nah, I think we’ll take it, when do they usually come?” “Anytime between 8-4pm” okay let you know”

Well.

My girls finished at about 425. Theses guests came back at same time. The girls were just finishing rooms, and ended up clocking out when Hubby came to desk asking about service. I apologised and said that his room wouldn’t be getting done, but what did he need, I could go do it. He asked for towels. I brought towels. I see Wife in breakfast room feeding baby I ask if she needs anything else, she says “Oh god no, we’re fine, don’t worry, but maybe something for the diapers? I don’t want the room to smell” So I said I can go collect the garbage. “Oh no! That’s okay, is there like a bin or something?” I point to the big garbage shed outside but I tell her that she doesn’t need to do that. I can provide several garbage bags, put the diapers in them, tie it off, put it in hallway and then call the front desk so we can throw them out. She perks up “omg that’s perfect thank you so much.” 

So I go to room, drop off bags, inform hubby of ‘the plan’ and ask if there’s anything else. he says no. Comes to desk like five mins later all pissy. “So let me get this straight, there’s no housekeeping tomorrow or the next night for the discounted rate, but I had to pay full charge for today and I still don’t get any service?” I apologised and said that I had spoken to his wife and went with her decision and he’s like “NO I Specifically requested it last night here” (Yeah.. um no you said you’d let us know and then didn’t??? also your wife is a scary bitch and I don’t want to upset her again okay???) “We won’t be staying the final night now.” (they had only paid for the first three after anyways, and declined using Gpa’s CC to actually pay for the room)

I am Just So Tired. And I still get to see them tomorrow night. 

I also went to high school with the husband. LOL. Ugh. 

#JennerJen rants #JennerJen gets personal #tales from the front desk #I just needed to unload #Please don't reblog #Comments fine #I just cant handle people anymore #I ahte teh holidays #seriously #like calm tf down #I can hear her yelling at her husband from here #Please dont ever come back #we wont miss you #my boss was liek yeah no side with the crazy person #le sigh #I hope everyone except these people and 45 have a wonderful holiday #<3

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. VI)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~2kw

note: this is the only part without any Merlin in it BUT IT’S IMPORTANT FOR LATER OKAY (don’t cry, Harry will think you don’t like him)

pt. I  | pt. II  | pt. III  | pt. IV  | pt. V

.

.

By now, the compound has been home for so long that Harry is almost enamored to see London again. It’s easy to forget how much he loves these streets, the shops, the throngs of people going about their days. Easy to forget, but easier to remember.

He walks primly at the elbow of his proposing agent, a man named Martin Turner. The same who’d first met him as a ten-year-old, enthralling him with images of the world of gentleman spies. A world he’d never known to be real, until then, even with what his mother did for a living. Gentlemen were a much rarer breed in her work, after all. Some of her stories could turn a woman to the nunnery.

As Agent Lamorak, Martin has been kept away for nearly the whole of Harry’s training so far, busy with some mission or other, always jet-setting this way or that. They’ve spoken only a couple of times, but it’s no bother. Obviously, it’s more than understandable. All the more reason to take him up on his sudden invitation, delivered in person this morning in the training room, clear out of the blue.

They enter the tailor shop, Martin holding the door. Harry smiles, hands in his pockets, taking in the atmosphere for the first time through a proper candidate’s eyes. His last visit here felt like a new world. This time, it feels like coming home. He’s quite ready to get used to that feeling.

“’Morning, Simons,” Martin greets the headtailor.

“Good morning to you, sir.” The old man’s only movement seems to be the quiver of his mustache. “May I be of assistance to you gentlemen?”

“Yes, in fact, you may, Simons.” Martin’s head tips toward him. “I’d like for you to meet Harry Hart, my proposal for one of the open positions.”

As he was raised to do, Harry gives his hand, and the headtailor accepts. They shake. “How do you do, sir,” Harry says with a smile.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Simons here is nothing less than the best this business has got, Harry,” Martin boasts. “You’ll be taken good care of with him.”

“Oh, I have no doubt, sir.”

Then he blinks so rapidly he may have to blame the mothballs.

“Wait, sir… ‘Taken care of?’”

Simons politely withdraws his hand, which is fine, because it leaves Harry’s free to drop to his side like the dead weight it is. The way Martin is looking at him makes him wonder if perhaps there’s a television camera hidden somewhere, and his own expression will be plastered on newsstands and billboards by morning.

“You didn’t think I’d let you finish out the program without your own Kingsman souvenir, did you?” Martin grins. “The hell with that. It’s time you were fitted for your first proper bespoke. Unless you object, of course.”

“No sir!” Well, that could have been less of a yelp. He swallows, tempers himself, and tries again, managing formality despite his whole face splitting ear-to-ear. “I mean…no, sir. Thank you, sir. I’d be quite honored.”

“Mmhm. That’s what I thought.” The agent points to a heavy door of oak, off to Harry’s left. Simons comes out from behind the counter, a cloth tape measure hung over his shoulder, and Martin claps him on the back. “Give him the works now. This young man is our honored guest.”

“Of course, sir.” Simons does his best impersonation of a five-star doorman, motioning Harry into the room. “This way, please, Mr. Hart. Fitting room one.”

It’s the last thing on earth he’d have to be asked twice. He hustles forward, grateful it doesn’t turn into a cartwheel.

“I’ll be out here when you’re through,” Martin calls.

The fitting room is one of the plainest cubicles of space ever knocked together by man, little more than patterned wallpaper, brass hooks, and varnished wainscoting, but it takes Harry all of four seconds to decide that he loves it every bit as much as the rest of the place. He’s patient with Simons’s meticulous taking of his measurements, lifting arms on command, turning this way and that, holding various swatches of fabric to his chest for God knows how long. That’s the difference between the Kingsman Tailors and anywhere else. When he works here, he’s going to have to do something kind for Simons. A thank-you note, perhaps, with something for his trouble inside. Cinema tickets or something. It’s terribly kind of him to go out of his way for this.

In good time, the tailor excuses himself, returning moments later with a garment bag draping both tabled arms. “Try this, sir,” he bids, hanging the bag on one of the hooks. “It should give you a fair idea. If you find it’s to your liking, then we will proceed with alterations.”

He’s never stared so reverently at a bag before. “Thank you… Thank you kindly.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

This is it. This is the moment he’s imagined since he was a ten-year-old boy, pinning horrible drawings of suits between the butterflies on his walls. The concrete start of his new life.

The garment bag is shed to the floor before Simons is even fully gone. His brain suggests some analogy to a chrysalis, but he can’t be bothered to spare a thought to connect it. He strips to briefs and socks, dressing quickly, his back turned staunchly to the mirror. Stealing a glance too soon will ruin something about this. He isn’t sure what, but it matters.

In a moment, it’s done. He feels the places that need taking in—cuffs at his knuckles, rumpled elbows, puddles at his feet—but he doesn’t care. It’s the most comfortable thing in the world.

He turns around.

The suit is blue, he notices properly. A very, very dark navy blue. Fine pinstripes crawl the length of it. Simons has picked him a tie to match. Navy, with a slim white stripe, centered with a slimmer note of red. He takes in the two rows of handmade buttons. The press of the lapel.

Harry blinks the blur from his eyes. It is the most exquisite thing he’s ever worn.

We’ve done it, Mother. I wish you could see your boy now.

He’s making a mental note to phone her as soon as possible when another tap comes on the door. “Pardon me, sir. Agent Lamorak requests to have a look, if you’ll oblige coming out for a moment.”

He’s absolutely bursting to show someone, anyway. Lamorak will do wonderfully for now. Harry turns the heavy knob, consciously matching his stride to the elegance a suit like this commands. His expression, on the other hand, is under no such control.

Martin stands from the couch, letting out a long whistle. “You’ve outdone yourself, Simons. A few tucks and it’s a work of art.”

“Very kind of you to say, sir.”

“And this comes in the lot, yes?”

“Already ordered to your specifications, sir.”

“You’re a fucking gem.” Martin smiles Harry’s way, holding out a finger with each next word. “Bulletproof, water-resistant, flame-resistant, and conceals up to thirteen highly-classified armaments. There’ll be nothing you can’t do in this, believe you me.”

He believed it already. In front of the showroom mirror, Harry gives a crisp tug to the jacket, straightening his posture even further than it was to begin with. “I really don’t know what to say, sir. I can’t possibly thank you enough; I know this isn’t typical for only a candidate…”

“Nonsense. You’ve earned it.” His mentor takes a pull from a rock glass he’s been holding. Gin, it looks like. “Your weapons and written test scores were absolutely phenomenal.”

Yes, they were, weren’t they? He can’t help it. He’s had a feeling.

“And I’m not permitted to tell you specifics, but I can say that you’ve earned Arthur’s attention on almost every one of your practical tasks.”

That reminds him to ask. He makes eye contact through the mirror, rather than twist round in the suit. “If I may, sir, what was in those parcels we retrieved on the mountain, anyway?”

“In the envelopes? Those were floppy disks.” Swallowing another sip, Martin makes quotations with his hands. “‘Encrypted files of critical importance to international security.’ That’s this year’s bullshit for ‘Arthur’s Doctor Who fan club mailing list.’ Gives him an excuse for missing the last fifteen meetings.”

“You’re kidding.” Of course he isn’t.

“Of course I’m not.”

Why did I ask?

He’s basking in the jovial moment until Martin’s demeanor goes stony, his gaze laser-focused through the window. His tone changes in the drop of a hat.

“Harry, do as I say. Whatever you do, don’t counteract or seem suspicious,” he mutters levelly. “Time to prove your place in the family business.”

The miniature bell above the door jingles. In comes a portly man in an expensive windbreaker, lighting directly on Lamorak. Harry watches, indifferent neutrality on his face, as the newcomer ignores Simons entirely, no acknowledgment—sorry, Simons, he’d do well to remember you’re a person, too—and instead, steps up to grasp Lamorak’s hand.

They shake cordially. “Mr. Kuznetsov,” Lamorak’s far brighter with his greeting than he might’ve been. “On schedule as always.”

“Mr. Evansbee.” An alias; his name is Turner. And this man’s accent is Russian. “How could I miss one of our treasured conversations?” Lamorak set this meeting. Not the first, or the tenth, either. What kind of conversations?

“Please, allow me to introduce a star pupil of mine from the university. I’m helping him to look his finest when he represents us at St. Hugh’s next month. Oliver Greene, this is Mr. Kuznetsov, one of my trustworthiest colleagues.”

Harry doesn’t need a cue. Seamlessly he adopts his new self, shaking the hand he’s offered. “How do you do, sir.”

“I get by.”

He sends Lamorak the most innocuous look he’s got. “Shall I leave you to it, Professor? You’ve been more than enough help already.”

It’s the right decision. Nothing he gets in return suggests a forthcoming reprimand. “Yes, good lad, Oliver. You can go and get your things. I’ll see you in lecture on Monday.”

“Very good, sir. Lovely to meet you, Mr. Kuznetsov.”

“The pleasure is all mine, of course.”

Whatever you do, don’t counteract. His only move is to beeline for the fitting room, then, the outing finished just as quick as it began. The last he sees of Martin, he’s hooked an arm around the Russian’s shoulders, leading the way to the sofas, carrying on a lively discussion in whispers.

So this trip was no coincidence. Harry is implicitly careful as he removes each piece of his suit, hanging one at a time for Simons to collect. He isn’t disappointed. It should have occurred to him from this morning. Whatever Lamorak’s working on must be drawing to a close.

Besides. He could have met the contact here alone. No part of that required having a custom suit made.

Be grateful you were invited in the first place, and don’t ask why it’s over.

Well. He can’t make promises about the second part.

“Good-bye, Simons,” he says aloud near the exit, after saying a silent one to the suit in the fitting room. “I’ve left everything sorted for you.”

“Wonderful, sir. Good-bye.” It’s almost their last exchange, until the tailor catches himself. “Oh, and one more thing, sir?” He’s scribbling in a leather folder.

Harry stops, halfway through the door jamb, hoping it doesn’t count as counteraction. “Yes?”

Simons looks up, beaming friendliness. “I’ve located your file with us to store your measurements. Isn’t today your birthday, sir?”

Yes, it is. He’s all but forgotten that for the past ten minutes.

Harry smiles back. “Twenty-first,” he confirms.

“Happy birthday, sir.”

It’s certainly shaping up to be.

.

pt. VII  | pt. VIII  | pt. IX

#Kingsman #Harry Hart #Agent Merlin #Kingsman: The Secret Service #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #fanfic #oh look Aud did a thing #p.s. nobody asked but in case anyone's wondering: his mother's Peggy Carter of SHIELD and his other one is Angie Martinelli #it's @faeriviera's fault and now it's law so there #I leave it vague in this on purpose so y'all can speculate however you want but there it is so have fun