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spilledkauffie · 3 years

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Bingo

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2.0k T/W: pure, stupid, fluff A/N: you meet Bucky at a Bingo night ft. Yori ❤︎

it’s a little dorky, but I thought it was cute!

Setting the tables with the rectangle cards, you smiled, straightening them out. Despite what your friends thought, you actually enjoyed volunteering with the local senior Bingo games on the weekends when you could. Feeling like they were often better company and far more entertaining than going to a club. It wasn’t a very big meeting hall, but that’s what made it feel so cozy to you. Hugging yourself when you finished the tables, you stroked the outside of your arms, feeling the softness of the cardigan you wore over your tank top. Sighing happily, you made your way to the announcing host, passing a few comments, as you waited for people to find their way in.

“Hey! Hey, look!” You heard a familiar voice; turning you found Yori and his usual group making their way to their table, with one exception. Smiling you made your way to him, arms still crossed, “no, I want you to meet her,” you heard him say to his friend, making you smile.

“Hey, Yori,” you said, coming to hug him, “brought more friends?”

“I- I’m Bucky,” he reached his hand to shake yours, to which you responded, taking his hand in yours.

“Barnes,” Yori added, reaching to slap a name tag on Bucky's chest.

Bucky took a deep breath, keeping his patience, as he looked down to the tag where Yori had written ‘single’ in parentheses, “yep. . .that’s me.”

“This- this is the one I told you about,” Yori nudged you on the elbow pointing to Bucky, only making him more nervous as he immediately looked down to Yori with a questioning look.

“Ohh,” you nodded slowly, squinting your eyes at Bucky who met your gaze again, “you mean the anti-social grumpy one who’s scared to come because he’ll lose? That one?”

“Yes! That one,” Yori bobbed on his heels happily with a smile.

“What -I’m not-”

“Well,” you tilted your head, “I hope you have a good time and perhaps win something,” Bucky smiled, “but I think you’re going to need your hand back for that.”

Jaw dropping, he looked down to find your hand still in his, “right,” he laughed nervously, letting go, “sorry, of course.”

You laughed quietly, biting in your lip watching him look anywhere but to you, mainly keeping his head down.

“Yori, you need anything you know where I am,” you softly placed a hand to his shoulder, “Bucky,” he looked up with a half forced smile, but you waited a moment, “it was nice to meet you, I’m glad you came.”

As you turned to walk away you could hear Yori whisper, “I think she liked you.”

Followed by a quick change of subject from his friend, “I think you should find our table.”

And lastly, “I know where our table is, and if you can keep your eyes off her, you’d see it too.”

With a giggle to yourself, you walked up to the foldable table that had been set up for you to sit at as usual. You were alone, but you were in charge of any assistance and you kept the first, second, and third prizes hidden. It was harder than one thought to keep curious seniors from nosing around for them.

While the night was long and you stayed quiet, you were very grateful to have a little more entertainment tonight. It seemed Yori and his friends got their own entertainment out of teasing and poking fun at Bucky, who was a true sport through it all.

“Absolutely not,” you heard Bucky say. Looking up you saw him holding his card to his chest, with Yori trying to convince him to let him take a peek at his numbers, “are those the rules of Bingo?” Bucky shook his head, but another one of Yori’s friends tried to peek from his opposite side, “Oh,” Bucky dropped his jaw, leaning even farther back in his chair to keep the card hidden against him, “a double front attack? Really guys?”

Unable to hide your smile, you kept an eye on the table, specifically Bucky. Who after giving the group a few amusements, looked over to you. Blinking softly, happy that he noticed you, you lifted your hand to wave subtly. With another half smile, that was genuine this time, he raised his hand to wave, but forgot just how far back he was leaning in his chair. Soon, you watched him vanish from sight and he found himself flat against the floor, with a wince.

“That’s whatcha get, you punk,” Yori told him through a laugh and an assertive nod.

It wasn’t long before there was a soft murmur of quiet laughs spreading throughout the hall, as Bucky reset his chair and sat properly in it this time. He pressed his lips together tightly and avoided everyone’s eye line, but yours. Hand over your mouth, you looked mildly worried, raising your half furrowed eyebrows at him, he could tell you were asking if he was okay. To that he carefully nodded, before turning to someone else who was addressing him at the table.

The half way break came up shortly after, and you had to help a few people. When you looked back up from your table you saw Bucky, hands in his pockets and bouncing on his heels about three people away down the small line. Leaning your head to the side to see him, it took him a moment, but when he saw you, he gave a quick smile, before being spoken to by the elderly lady in front of him.

“You’re a very handsome young man, so nice of you to come play,” she said, to which he gave a shy thank you, as she asked you for a new marker, “he’s a very handsome young man, you know,” she whispered loudly, before glancing back at him, “and she’s single you know.”

Ducking your head, you gave a monotone, “thank you, Mrs. Kasey,” putting your hands over your face, hiding the embarrassment, you composed yourself and straightened up, “hey, what can I help with?”

“Word is you got the prizes?” Bucky perked an eyebrow and gave the most obvious wink.

Half smiling, half jaw dropping, you looked around his hip to see Yori, who was keeping a curiously careful eye on his friend, shaking your head you looked up to Bucky, “so. . .they sent you? I don’t break that easily.” You crossed your arms over your chest, playfully, keeping eye contact.

“Well,” he shrugged, “to be honest I’d like to know what we’re playing for too, I mean what’s our motivation here? I don’t know,” you covered your mouth, hiding the smile accompanying your soft giggles, “Why are you laughing? This is serious. What is the purpose of playing Bingo if you don’t know the prizes?”

With a real laugh at how hard he was trying to convince you, “okay, alright,” you reached under the table bringing up the prize in your hand, elbow against the table as you held it up, he looked down.

“A jar of jelly beans,” Bucky nodded, bobbing his head back and forth before a confident, “okay, seems fair, what about second place?”

You held up a jar in the other hand.

Bucky looked between you and it, “that’s- that’s just a smaller jar of jelly beans,” he lifted his shoulders as if asking ‘why?’

“These people really like their jelly beans,” you admitted, “I figure you can guess what third place is.”

“Seriously?” he dropped his shoulders, disappointed.

“Was there something you were hoping to get instead, Mr. Barnes?” You set the jars down, resting your chin on top of your laced hands as you looked up through your eyelashes at him.

He swallowed, deciding if he wanted to say anything, he winced as if he was going to regret what he was going to say- luckily for him the announcer called everyone back to the tables. He sighed, and you leaned back in your seat as you parted ways again. The evening remained entertaining with Yori occasionally reminding everyone at the table that if Bucky wins he’d share the prize.

Towards the end of the event, Bucky was the only one at the table still in the final rounds, meaning the entire table squeezed around him, glancing at his card and intensely listening. When the last number was being called, they all had a hand on Bucky, clinging to him like it was the olympics and he was their champion.

“Seventeen” was announced and you noticed a sudden shift in Bucky’s demeanor, even though everyone around him was ecstatic, he looked like his mind was suddenly somewhere else, until he shook his head like shaking off a bad memory and he lifted his card. He didn’t have to say it, his group was already exclaiming Bingo enough for him. He came up casually with the other two, and you handed each of them a jar of jelly beans.

Bucky gave a ‘thank you,’ and took his back, but it was gone before he could even offer it to anyone.

“What’s the joke?” Yori held out the jar back to Bucky swiftly, “I can’t open it.”

Smiling, Bucky popped open the jar in no time and immediately it was out of his hands again.

“Congratulations,” you said behind him, making him turn around, he saw you had your jacket in your arms and purse over your shoulder, “I hope I’ll see you next month?” “Next month?” He tilted his head, “I thought it was weekly?”

“Volunteer rotations shift,” you explained, gesturing your hand in a circle, “I won’t be back until next month since we’ve got new volunteers.”

“Oh,” he nodded and there was silence.

“Anyway, I hope I’ll see you around,” you waved to him and to Yori as you left, pushing in the door’s brace open.

As it shut, Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, with a sigh, still watching the door.

“Go,” Yori said next to him and waved him away, “you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Bucky took a moment to consider it, “take the bus okay? I don’t want you guys-”

“Yes, yes, we will,” Yori said, already turning back to his friends.

Smiling towards them, he started a jog for the door, exiting, he looked to find you. Already on the sidewalk, he met up with you. Obviously causing you to stop in your tracks and wait when you heard him.

“Hey, um-” he looked around, “can I walk you home?”

“Sure,” you nodded, smiling.

There wasn’t a terrible amount of conversation, but you liked his company and didn’t want him to feel like he had to talk.

“I think it’s really sweet what you’re doing, what you did tonight” you said, looking straight ahead, even though you knew he was looking at you, “there hasn’t been that much laughter in a very long time,” you exhaled sadly, “most of them spent five years alone, or missing out on seeing their grandkids grow up. I was so happy to see their smiles.”

“And what about you?”

You finally turned to him, “I was here, alone” looking down, you laughed, “then again I was alone before, so. . .” you bit in your lower lip, wincing “that sounded so pathetic.”

This time he laughed with you, “no,” he shook his head, “I know how alone feels.”

Stopping on the sidewalk, you exchanged glances, “well, this is me,” you pointed up to your apartment building.

“Right, okay,” he breathed nervously.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you said, walking towards the steps.

“Yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair, “hey, do you- would you want to get dinner?”

“Finally,” you giggled, before turning back to him, “it took you four blocks to ask!” He gave a shocked expression, only making you smile bigger, “I’m free Sunday, meet you right here at six?”

“Okay,” he said happily, “it’s a date then.”

“Perfect,” you squeezed your arms, hugging yourself.

He swallowed harshly, before taking a step closer and leaning in to kiss you on the cheek, sweetly. When he pulled back, he looked slightly nervous, as if that was the wrong thing to do.

“You missed,” you batted your eyelashes, with a soft smile.

Bucky took a second, unsure if you were serious, either way he took his chances and met your lips with his. Somehow this one took you by more surprise, causing you to move your hands against his chest, holding on to his jacket, until he pulled back.

“Bingo,” you whispered.

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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vignettes of a bond || alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader

I originally wrote this in two parts for my sleepover but after I realized how long it accidentally became, I've reformatted it, added/changed a few things, and made into a oneshot!

word count: 3.1k

warnings: smut, angst, knotting, violence

June 2nd, 1943, 11:43 p.m., James Barnes’ bedroom

“I wanna do it, before I go,” he whispered against your skin. “But I know it’s wrong. It’s too cruel.”

“No, please,” you whimpered, “I want it. I want your mark.”

Bucky pulled back for a moment and you examined your Alpha’s face carefully, knowing it might be the last time for a long time. “I couldn’t bond to you and then leave you. It wouldn’t be fair… you deserve to find somebody who can stay, and be with you, and protect you.”

“All I want is you,” you whispered. “Please, Alpha… bite me.”

You saw him hesitate for a moment before he leaned in and sucked at your neck, building the anticipation before he finally sunk his teeth into your skin and you cried out, one single tear rolling down your cheek. “Mine,” he growled against your skin as he lapped at the healing wound, “my Omega. Forever.”

“Yours, only yours,” you agreed eagerly.

It wasn’t the first time Bucky had taken you, but that night he really and truly claimed you, left you a desperate begging mess, stretched out over his knot as he filled you over and over.

The next morning, you were still sore between your legs as well as on your new mark, and it took everything in you to be strong as you saw him off at the train station, waving goodbye and praying that your Alpha would return to you soon.

November 9th, 1943, 2:24 p.m., undercover SHIELD facility

“You promised Bucky you’d take care of me,” you reminded him with a little smile, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“I know,” Steve relented, “but we both know I can’t do that. Not in this state. But maybe I can protect you if I do this. Maybe I can protect my country. I owe it to everyone, especially Bucky, to try.”

You nodded. “But I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Come see me before I ship out for good, alright?”

“Of course,” you agreed.

December 27th, 1943, 8:32 a.m., your front porch

“You’re lying,” you gasped as you shook your head. “You’re wrong, no, it’s not true.”

“It is,” Steve promised as tears welled in his eyes, “I’m so so sorry, I saw it myself, I had to watch him fall…”

“It’s not true! He’s not dead!”

“I know he loved you so much. He talked about every day, he couldn’t wait to come home to you,” Steve remembered, choking up noticeably. “But he won’t. He’s gone.”

“You don’t understand, I know, okay? I know.”

“You’re in shock, I understand, it’s hard to lose your mate—”

“You’re a beta, you wouldn’t understand,” you dismissed; sure, he looked like an alpha now, but it didn’t make a difference. “Omegas, we know when our Alpha dies, we feel it, it kills us. He’s far away, but he’s still there, I still feel him!”

Steve held you as you sobbed, your body crumpling into his arms. Sometimes you thought maybe he held you too tight on accident because he was still getting used to his new strength; other times you thought he did it on purpose.

February 3rd, 1944, 12:00 p.m., undercover SHIELD facility

“Even when I had nothing, I had Steve,” you recalled shakily, “and now he’s gone too.”

“Is that why you’re volunteering?” Agent Carter asked you. “Because you’d rather sleep for a hundred years than live without your mate and your best friend?”

“I’m volunteering because my mate and my best friend died for SHIELD,” you corrected firmly, “and if I’m not willing to also, then I’m admitting I think they went to waste.”

“Steve told me you didn’t think Bucky was dead,” Peggy remembered.

You winced. “I’m not sure. But I know he’s not coming home again. I came here to give whatever I could to help find him… I was asked to participate in a cryogenics research study. If it helps him, then I’ll do it.”

She was about to get up, apparently satisfied with your final interview, but you stopped her.

“On one condition,” you added. “If James Barnes is found, alive or dead, wake me up to see him.”

She nodded, stepping out of the room and leaving you alone again.

May 8th, 2012, SHIELD headquarters

“Can you hear me?”

You slowly blinked awake, your vision taking a moment to catch up with your mind. You saw tubes coming out of your arms; you saw Steve above you, looking like the day you saw him last.

“Did you find Bucky?” you asked instantly. Why else would they wake you up?

“No,” Steve answered, seemingly a bit disappointed that that was your first and only question.

“Then put me back to sleep,” you demanded.

“It’s been 68 years,” he told you. “You’ve slept for 68 years. It’s time to wake up.”

And you did, more than you ever wanted to, because you realized you couldn’t feel him anymore. Your Alpha was gone. Worse, he probably died while you were asleep; he probably died alone.

One more time, like he had 68 years ago, Steve held you while you sobbed.

August 1st, 2014, 2:11 a.m., Avengers compound, Steve Rogers’ quarters

You ran into Steve’s room barefoot and still in your pajamas, barreling through the door and right into his bed.

“Steve, I feel him!” you rushed.

“What?” he groaned sleepily, looking up at you as he blinked in confusion.

“I feel him again, he’s alive,” you explained. “I know it. He’s weak… he’s hurting… but he’s there.”

“That’s impossible,” Steve shook his head. “It’s been too long, he would’ve died of old age anyways.”

“Don’t you want to believe it? Don’t you want to think he’s out there?”

“Do I want to think he’s alone and I didn’t save him?” Steve hissed. “No, I can’t say that I particularly do!”

“But we still can, Steve, we just have to find h—”

But before you could finish, the feeling left you, and you were just half of something again.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“He’s gone again?” Steve realized.

You nodded, biting your lip as it started to quiver. He sighed and pulled you into a hug. “If I could just see his body, and know it was over,” you whispered, “if I could just bury him, have a funeral…”

“We’ll have one,” Steve decided, “after this mission. We’ll put him to rest. He deserves that, and so do you.”

You nodded into his shoulder. It shattered you into a million pieces but it was still the better option, to try to let him go in whatever small way you could. He would always, always, always be your Alpha, nothing could change that, but a funeral would at least bring some closure.

That would have to wait until after your next mission though… and it was going to be a big one: tracking the elusive Winter Soldier.

August 3rd, 2014, 1:14 p.m., Lower East side

You were a few blocks away, helping civilians escape the firefight, when you felt it.

For one impossibly brief moment, you felt him, stronger than you had in nearly 80 years. He was here.

You instantly got up and ran like you’d never run before, finding the Soldier and Steve locked in a brutal showdown— but his mask was gone now, and you nearly fell to your knees at the sight of him.

“Bucky!” you yelped, but you knew he wasn’t there or you would’ve felt his presence. Your Alpha was somewhere underneath the shell that wore his face, and you needed to find him.

You ran forward just as Steve made a break for it, getting to him just in time to stand between the Soldier and his mission.

“Alpha, please,” you whimpered, clutching at his chest. A metal hand backhanded you to the ground.

“Out of my way, Omega,” he growled, stepping over you, but you grabbed at his ankles even when he tried to kick you away.

“My mark,” you explained hastily, pulling your shirt down some to make sure it was visible. “It’s yours. Do you remember? You gave me this. This is your mark on me.”

He stared down at you, seeming to be contemplating it, and you scrambled back to your feet and faced him.

“I still feel you,” you whispered. “I knew you were alive, I knew you’d come back to me. I could feel you, right here,” you explained as you took his hand and placed it on your chest. “Could you feel me? Did you know I was waiting for you all this time?”

His eyes were watering but he still seemed confused— stunned, more specifically, as you placed your hand on his chest.

“I’ll always be yours, Bucky. I’ll always be your Omega, no matter where you are.”

A stun gun took you down, an array of masked men appeared, and before he could really see you for what you were, he was dragged away and taken to be erased again.

August 3rd, 2014, 9:04 p.m., Avengers compound, medical bay

“I can’t believe we let them get away,” Steve lamented, resting his face in his hands. “I can’t believe they took him again…”

“They’ll be back,” you promised sternly. “They’re going to figure out what I am to him. They’re going to realize I could break his programming. And they’re going to come for me.”

“And when they do?” Steve pressed.

“We’ll be ready. And I’ll get my Alpha back.”

August 3rd, 2014, 9:04 p.m., temporary HYDRA operations facility

"The woman on the bridge... the Omega..." Bucky mumbled. "She knew me... she had my mark."

"No she didn't."

He furrowed his brow. "She showed me..."

Pierce sighed, glancing over to the HYDRA scientist who looked back at him sternly.

"She's too dangerous to be left alive," the man sighed, shrugging in his lab coat. "We can't deprogram a bond like that."

"We'll take care of her," Pierce promised.

Bucky launched from the chair, snapping his restraints like paper. "Touch her and I'll fucking kill you!" he bellowed, tackling his handler to the ground.

Pierce just laughed as another scientist jabbed Bucky with a needle, dosing him with something strong enough to kill any other man but just enough to knock out a super soldier. Pierce stood up and dusted himself off as he watched Bucky go limp and be lifted back into his chair.

"I can see the fight in your eyes, Soldier," he taunted as he leaned into his face. "I know you really would kill me, if you could. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, right? But don't worry about your mate, we'll make it quick and painless. Hey, maybe beforehand me and a few of the other Alphas will show her a good time, poor thing's been without her mate for 70 years... I bet she's raring to go."

Bucky's arm twitched as his eyes started to fall shut, a tear falling down his blank and motionless face.

"Wipe him," Pierce instructed to the scientist, turning and walking away as the electric whirr of the machine charging up filled the room.

August 11th, 2014, 3:53 p.m., SHIELD headquarters

Steve was impressed with how accurate and imminent your prediction was; HYDRA was hot on your trail and desperate to eliminate the biggest threat to their Asset. Knowing they were coming made it easier, but it was still a brutal fight.

You and Steve tried to stay together, but they were smart, they used the perfect bait to lure you away.

"Tell me where he is," you demanded from the HYDRA agent as you held a blade to his neck, "then I'll kill you."

"Isn't it supposed to be 'or I'll kill you'?" he frowned.

You shook your head. "Not the way I operate."

Opposite to the reaction you were expecting, he grinned widely. "He's here."

Your heart stopped.

"On the roof. He's here to kill you."

You dropped the knife and ran straight for the stairwell, ascending them like they were nothing and calling out for your Alpha.

You found him there, waiting, gun trained on you. Raising your hands in surrender, you yelled to him again.

"Bucky," you called across the windy roof, eyes nearly blinded by the bright afternoon sun. "Alpha."

"I'm not who you think I am," he yelled back. "I'm not your Alpha."

It hurt to hear it in his voice, but you knew it wasn't him. Cautiously, you stepped closer. "Before you left, you told me you didn't want to mark me and leave me behind," you recalled. "But I wanted it. I wanted to be bonded to you more than I'd ever wanted anything."

He could clearly see you were coming closer, he even tightened his finger over the trigger of his weapon, but he was waiting. You kept walking to him, slowly.

"I've never regretted it," you continued, "not even when I thought you were dead, not even when I had to spent a lifetime-- more than that-- apart from you."

Finally you were face to face, and you stepped closer until his gun was pressed right into your chest.

"You can shoot me now and I still won't regret it," you promised. "I love you."

Shakily, he lowered his weapon. "Omega..." he breathed.

"Your Omega."

He pulled you into him and you sobbed as you felt him come to life in your arms-- the real him, your Alpha, your Bucky. He held you close and breathed against the top of your head and it was like a dream coming true decades after you'd forced yourself to let it go.

But you'd never given up. And now you had found him again.

Agents started to come onto the roof and Bucky spun the two of you around, firing with his right hand and using the left, metal arm as a shield for you.

He carried you and you didn't even know where he was taking you, but it didn't matter. In his arms, you were home.

August 12th, 1:03 a.m., Avengers compound, your quarters

You hadn't stopped coming or crying for at least an hour. Bucky had all but split you open on his knot all night and he didn't show any signs of stopping.

He apparently intended to make up for lost time. And you'd lost a lot of time.

"Just one more, I know you can give me one more," he groaned furiously rubbing your clit as his knot began to swell again.

You could give him anything, as long as he asked for it like that.

You'd lost count of how many times he'd told you to come for him, and how many times you did it immediately.

"I can see how full you are," he whispered as he rubbed your stomach gently. "So much seed in you that your body can't hold it all."

You looked down and yep, you were distinctly bloated from his come alone; it made you a little dizzy to even look at it.

"The idea of you alone during your heats, no one to protect you, it kills me," he explained with a growl. "I won't let you go again. I can't."

"Then don't," you sighed. "Never leave this bed, fill me with everything you have."

"Did anybody ever help you through them? The heats?" he asked. "I wouldn't blame you, they can be so painful... I just need to know so I can make sure you forget about them."

"No, Bucky, never— I never let anyone touch me."

"Steve could've helped you, at least some..."

"He wouldn't have, he loves you too much. And I wouldn't accept anything less than you, ever. You're my Alpha. We're bonded. There's never anyone else."

That didn't seem to satisfy him, his eyes darting away as he swallowed. Your gut sank with the realization he probably wasn't being totally honest about why he asked.

"Your ruts," you gasped. "Were you alone for all of them?"

He shut his lips tighter.

"Bucky, it's okay, just tell me. I was asleep for 70 years, I skipped most of them, but you... you had to live through them all."

"They gave me betas, and omegas," he mumbled, "but I don't... I don't really remember. I know they wanted me to. They threatened to hurt me if I didn't, because they knew I'd go crazy after so many ruts alone, but I can't remember if I really did it. I remember... I remember crying, and begging for you."

"Alpha," you breathed as you felt new tears run over the stains of your old ones. "It's okay. Whatever happened, it's okay now. We're together again. Everything's okay."

You wiped his tear away with your thumb, holding his face tightly, weaving your fingers into his long hair.

"I'll always be your Omega," you promised.

He leaned in closer to you, kissing your cheek before pulling back a little. "It's faded," he whispered as he ran his thumb over the mark on your neck. "The last time I saw it, it was still fresh."

"It's older, sure, but it's stronger than ever, Bucky."

August 14th, 10:12 a.m., Avengers compound, residential area kitchen

Steve's eyes went wide when he came into the kitchen for breakfast and found you there, steeping your tea. "Surprised to see you out of the love nest so soon," he smirked.

"It's been three days, I don't think that counts as soon," you scoffed.

"It does to him," Steve frowned. "He's asleep, isn't he?"

"Yep."

"I know he wouldn't let you out of his sights if he was conscious," Steve chuckled.

At that moment, you heard Bucky call your name and run out into the hall, only a bedsheet covering his groin as he appeared in the doorway. You spun around and smiled when you saw him come running towards you, embracing you with his free arm.

"You should've told me you were leaving, I got scared when I woke up without you," he admitted weakly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry!"

He pulled back and clutched your face in both his hands. "I'm waking up next to you every morning for the rest of my life, you understand?"

You nodded dutifully. "Yes, Alpha."

"One hand on the sheet, please, Buck?" Steve winced, looking away.

“Whoops,” Bucky groaned, reaching to cover himself as you laughed softly.

“Let’s go back to bed, baby,” you decided quietly, taking Bucky’s (free) hand in yours and waving goodbye to Steve, who was already making his way as far out of earshot as possible.

#alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader #alpha!bucky barnes smut

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sevenkittensinatrenchcoat · 3 years

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Some Analysis of the Heaviside Layer and the Jellicle Choice

NOTE: This is mostly going off on the 1998 version, because the story is made more clear there.

Why Does Anybody Want to Go to the Heaviside Layer?

We know that those who are chosen to go to the Heaviside Layer “Can now be reborn and come back to a different Jellicle life”. So, they’re reincarnated. This is based on the idea that cats have nine lives. The Heaviside Layer moves them from one life to the next. I’m guessing that only after living all nine lives do cats actually die. What happens then? Do they remain in the Heaviside Layer? Is there some other sort of afterlife they move on to? Can cats tell which life they’re currently living? Old Deuteronomy has apparently “lived many lives in succession”, all as Deuteronomy, so he’s probably aware, but is that just him, or does every cat know? There are a lot of holes in the lore that can only be filled with “for the purposes of this story, it doesn’t really matter”.

The Heaviside Layer is “full of wonders” as well, so everyone wants to see what’s up there someday, but if it’s not their day, it’s not their day. If Heaven exists, it would be cool to see what it looks like, but that would mean dying and most people don’t want to do that.

The play never explicitly states that any of the cats gathering for the ball want to be chosen. The question they’re asking is “Who will it be?”. They want to know who the lucky cat is and see them off. This is probably the end of that cat’s life as the cat they know, so they all want a chance to say goodbye. The Jellicle Choice has their life celebrated before moving on to the next one, because that’s what most of the musical numbers do.

Who Actually Wants to Go to the Heaviside Layer?

Everyone, someday, but only a few are probably interested in being chosen at the specific ball that the play’s about. Cats who don’t have songs about them aren’t being put in the spotlight, so none of them are up for it. Out of the cats with songs, several of them are also out. Macavity is only sung about because he’s the antagonist and we need a song explaining who he is. Old Deuteronomy’s number is also just musical exposition for a main character.

Some of the musical numbers are spontaneous, while others seem to be presentations being put on for the ball. The cats with songs that are presentations are probably the ones making a case for the Heaviside Layer. So, now we have to determine which is which.

Gumbie Cat:

This one seems pretty planned. There are costumes and special effects. Munkustrap has a Gumbie Cat in mind, right after talking about the Jellicle Choice, meaning that he either thinks Jenny should be picked, or he thinks she will be picked. Jenny is the OLD Gumbie Cat, someone reaching the end of one life, possibly ready to move on to another.

Rum Tum Tugger:

Tugger crashes the party here and Munkustrap isn’t pleased with this. He appears to be the one organizing the night’s events, so if an event annoys him, it probably wasn’t meant to occur. Tugger’s number is spontaneous. Since Tugger is a fairly important character, the song serves as his introduction. It’s a typical musical I Am Song.

Bustopher Jones:

There aren’t any costumes or effects in this one and Bustopher doesn’t even stick around for the ball. But, some of the cats sing his praises when he shows up. He most likely had no intent to campaign to be the Jellicle Choice. He dropped in to say hi and Jenny just started cheering for him, because she’s his biggest fangirl. He probably could qualify for the Jellicle Choice, but he’s clearly not interested. He doesn’t even care who the choice is. Bustopher is not a normal Jellicle cat, not asking “who will it be?”.

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer:

Jerrie and Teazer perform their number to no one after everyone scatters in fear of Macavity. Their number is just them messing around, telling the audience about what they’ve been up to, because it’s fun.

Since Old Deuteronomy probably doesn’t count for the choice, since he’s the judge, we end act one with only one established candidate. Tugger, Jerrie, and Teazer had other reasons for their musical numbers and Bustopher basically declined, “I’m still in my prime, I shall last out my time” meaning that he doesn’t intend to go anywhere, Jennyanydots is the only cat who’s been seriously considered by this point.

And Jenny doesn’t really qualify either! She performed her number before Old Deuteronomy showed up, and by starting up Bustopher’s number, she nominated someone else. If she nominates someone else, she most likely doesn’t want to win, or at least doesn’t care very much. So, Munkustrap nominated her, but Jenny herself isn’t really competing to be chosen. She appreciates that she was given her own number and that she’s admired that much by the tribe, but she’s still got a lot to do in this life.

So, on to Act Two. Old Deuteronomy has seen Grizabella sing Memory by herself and implies in The Moments of Happiness that he’s basically already made his choice. However, he implies it with references to Memory, which the other cats haven’t heard yet, so they don’t know that. Old D is still hearing people out though, so now we enter the “auditioning for the Heaviside Layer” portion of the show.

Gus: The Theatre Cat

Gus is an ideal candidate for the Jellicle Choice. He’s old and frail, he’s lived a long and meaningful life, it would be good for him to move on. Jellylorum nominates him. She’s interesting, because the other cats in her age range were all nominated themselves, but her moment in the spotlight is nominating someone else.

Jellylorum is Gus’ caretaker. She most likely brought him to the ball, intending to plead his case. Gus is far too weak to dance at the ball, so I imagine that he was off napping somewhere throughout Act One.

Gus is the only cat who can really compete with Grizabella and his number is the only one that can really compete with Memory. Jenny had a big show put on for her number, and the amount of energy she put into it shows that she’s got a lot of life left in her. Theatre Cat and Memory are both about cats who are definitely reaching the end of their current lives, not able to put on a show. They’re simple, but emotionally powerful.

Gus isn’t just physically weak, but mentally a bit out of it as well. He’s barely involved in the creation of his own number. He just plays off of what Jellylorum said. He’s not even really present enough to want to be chosen. Jelly is pleading his case for him, not because he wants it, but because she believes that he needs it. She knows that he’s not what he used to be and that it’s probably time to move on. She sings a song to celebrate his life and accomplishments, knowing that if she succeeds, this is the last time she’ll see Gus as Gus. But, she keeps the mood fairly upbeat, keeping any pauses in the song from lasting too long, not wanting anyone to get too sad. The Jellicle Ball is a celebration of life, not a funeral.

There’s a lot going on in this number.

Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat:

So, Theatre Cat has a bit of a downer ending, so Old Deuteronomy decides to change the subject, calling in Uncle Skimble to lighten the mood. The kittens all love his train stories and mentioning his name cheers Jemima up immediately.

This is another number that appears to be a presentation. The construction of the train feels like there were props ready and that this had been rehearsed, only going wrong at the last second. So, Skimble’s another candidate for the Jellicle Choice, but, like Jenny, the energy of his number is proof that he doesn’t really need it. Skimble’s goal at this point is just to entertain. He leads the number himself, so one nominated him, so I doubt he’s being taking very seriously as a candidate. At this moment in the show, everyone’s probably certain that Gus will be chosen.

One interesting detail of Skimble’s number is that he always sings in the past tense. Not every single lyric in the song is in the past tense, but the lines in the present tense are sung by the chorus, not by Skimble himself. The number starts with the chorus in present tense:

There’s a whisper down the line at eleven thirty-nine

But, when Skimble takes over, the tense shifts:

All the guards and all the porters and the station master’s daughters would be searching high and low

The chorus alternates between past and present tense throughout the number, but Skimble stays in the past. He’s mainly telling specific stories about his time on the train, but he also makes more general statements about his time as railway cat:

You could say that by and large it was me who was in charge

Skimble’s time as railway cat is purely in the past tense. He’s retired. The retirement is fairly recent, since the chorus of mostly kittens don’t seem to know about it. My theory is that the humans running the train decided that Skimble was getting too old to do his job and Skimble had to retire. He’d defined himself by his job as The Railway Cat. He was defined by his career, so without his career, who is he?

This is part of a reoccurring thing with several other characters. Many cats have titles of The X Cat, with X being a career or role in society. But, some of them are now too old to play their parts. Grizabella’s looks have faded with age, so she can no longer be The Glamour Cat. Gus is too weak to perform, so he can no longer be The Theatre Cat. Grizabella, Gus, and Skimble are defined by roles that they can no longer play, so who are they now? What do they have left to contribute to society?

The answer is Memory.

Gus and Skimble tell stories from their past careers to the future generation. They inspire the younger cats. The stories of their lives, their memories, are what they have to give. The show has the importance of memory as a reoccurring theme. Skimble clearly figured this theme out on his own, creating his own number to share his stories with the kittens. Gus isn’t quite as aware, but his theatrical career is clearly an inspiration to Jellylorum, who tells the stories when he can’t. The memory can outlast the person, because others hear the stories and tell them to even more people. In that way, Gus will always be The Theatre Cat, Skimble will always be The Railway Cat, and maybe, Grizabella will always be The Glamour Cat in the same way.

This concludes the Auditions For the Heaviside Layer. The remaining character number is another one that Old D isn’t present for and features a younger cat who’s just really getting into his role of The Magical Cat. But, there are still some things worth pointing out:

Mr. Mistoffelees:

The song, despite being as flashy as the rehearsed numbers, is played as spontaneous. Tugger has an idea and then he sings a song to sell the idea, the idea being “Misto can save the day with his magic”.

Up until this point in the show, the only real interaction between Misto and Tugger is Misto calling Tugger a “terrible bore”. If he had a planned number, Misto probably wouldn’t have picked Tugger to sing it. The opening of Gumbie Cat implies that he would’ve wanted Munkustrap to do it. He thought Munk was going to sing about him, but he sung about Jenny instead. So, Misto thought he’d have a number, for whatever reason, and that Munk would sing it.

It doesn’t make sense for Misto to want to go to the Heaviside Layer. He’s just become an adult and is still trying to prove his worth as one. He wouldn’t want to have to start over. Misto is very competitive, so he might think of being chosen as winning a competition, and he just has to win, wanting the victory, not the prize. He also might’ve wanted his own number, not as an audition for the Heaviside Layer, but purely for a moment in the spotlight and the validation of someone wanting to sing about him. He wants to put on a show for the party and show off his magic tricks. He assumed that Munkustrap was in on that plan and would give him his own special number, but he didn’t. Munkustrap arranged a number to nominate Jenny for the Jellicle Choice and didn’t really have anything for Misto to do.

Misto wouldn’t expect Tugger to give him a number. The number is exactly the sort of number Misto wanted, a chance to show off his magic with a long break to show off his dancing. He didn’t expect Old Deuteronomy to be kidnapped, and the trick to bring him back is one he’s never done before, so it isn’t all fun and games, but the fact that he gets a number gives him confidence. So, Misto shows off a lot and gets to be a hero and the adults take him seriously now and this is basically his dream come true. It’s not about the Jellicle Choice, but it’s still a big deal.

Sidenote:

In many productions I’ve seen, when Misto does his Conjuring Turns, the UFO that Grizabella rides to the Heaviside Layer starts to descend. He’s powerful enough to open the gates to the Heaviside Layer and might not even know. Munkustrap is Old D’s son and heir, but Misto will be the one who sends cats to the Heaviside Layer in the future, because he can. The importance of his magic might give him co-ruler status with Munkustrap!

So, the candidates for the Jellicle Choice are:

Jennyanydots (declines, nominating Bustopher instead)

Bustopher Jones (declines)

Gus (loses out at the last minute)

Skimbleshanks (didn’t expect to win and didn’t)

Grizabella (last minute nominee and winner)

#cats 1998 #jennyanydots #rum tum tugger #grizabella #bustopher jones #mungojerrie #rumpleteazer #old deuteronomy #gus the theatre cat #jellylorum #munkustrap #skimbleshanks #mr mistoffelees

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tma-ficrec · 3 years

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Five All Time Mod Recs

To start off this blog, we decided to submit ourselves to the mortifying ordeal of being known and show y’all our TMA top fic recs!

These are fics of very different premises and categories that stayed with us and soothed our souls. Feel free to ask for more recs (or more specific stuff) because we’re definitely not done. Enjoy!

Mod Ami:

Statement Ends by @martivist 4k words. Jonmartin. Angst. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. S5 AU.

"Final statement of Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement given… I think it’s June? We haven’t done very well counting time since the days stopped. Summer 2019, call it that. Statement begins.

We’ve found a way to send them back where they came from. All of them."

Forty-some years after the apocalypse abruptly ends, the final acts of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood come to light.

Mod note: This fic... goddamit this fic. I read it halfway through s5 and I genuinely think this is one of the best endings the show could have had. It hit all the points Jonny made and then some. This fic is pain, yes, but the best kind.

Ninety Feet To Home by @judesstfrancis 33k words. Jonmartin. No Powers AU. Baseball Players AU. Fluff. Pining.

Jon isn’t really Martin Blackwood’s biggest fan. And he knows it’s a him problem, because it’s not like Blackwood is a terrible person or like he loses on purposes just to ruin Jon’s life, but he can’t help it. In his defense, if you were on a hot streak and the same person kept coming in and ruining it for you every single time, you'd harbor a bit of resentment towards them, too.

Mod note: I’m so obsessed with this AU that I broke my vow of not making fanart for TMA and made fanart of it. Yeah. Sue me. It’s the perfect levels of pining, ridiculousness and it brought me (an argentinian whose only baseball reference is the HSM musical number) tremendous joy. As the us-statians would say: home fucking run. ALSO, MARTIN BLACKWOOD IS LATINOOOOO.

Maybe not the stuff of legend by imperfectcircle. 14k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. S5 AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending.

Martin forgets slowly at first, and then all at once. One moment he's grasping at memories, desperate without knowing why to retain even a single image of an angry, scarred stranger saying incomprehensible things about eyes, and the next, nothing. He can't even remember what had him so anxious just now. A car alarm, probably, or a dog barking in the distance. He's always startled easily.

Mod note: I still quote it to myself from time to time. ‘’Martin, you ate the megalodon’’ makes me giggle and also terribly sad. This is an excellent way of exploring entities lore, as well as grief and hope.

the garden of forking paths by @bibliocratic. 49k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending. Use of Spiral Doors.

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

Mod note: I’m argentinian and the major element in this story is a Borgues book. OF COURSE IT’S HERE. This fic is an absolute ride and so so so beautiful - multiple universes and Jon and Martin doing the same thing over and over and over again, with hope of finding each other.

Family, Found by Dribbledscribbles. Gen fic. 9k words. S4 Divergent. Canon Divergence.

It’s Basira who catches onto it.

The collective shift that seems to come over them when heading in or out of the Institute. Not just the oppressive sensation of being observed, their every move catalogued for the voyeuristic cravings of some unseen Eye(s). That feeling remained with them even when they left the Institute these days, but it was always stronger inside its walls. That wasn’t the change. Nor was it the point.

The point was: making life worse for Jonathan Sims.

Mod note: Do you want to hit the Eye? Do you want all the Entities’s plans to be twarted by the power of found family? Do you want everyone who blamed Jon for everything in S4 to sit down and apologise? This is your fic.

Mod Ebby:

the apple of the eye by gocrazygostupid. 2.8k words. Fluff. Lore speculation.

TELL ME, ARCHIVIST

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SONG?

i'm not sure. i don't really get the chance to listen to music

if i told you, what would you do with it?

Mod note: I am absolutely weak towards any fic that gives the Entities some form of sentience, no matter what canon said. Especially when these interactions are so surprisingly soft.

I WOULD PLAY IT

I WOULD LISTEN

in the chillest land and on the strangest sea by imperfectcircle and raven (singlecrow). 19k words. S4 Divergent. Canon divergence, in the space between 159-160

Jon remembers a statement he read years ago given by a Jesuit priest, who said that the shortest prayer he knew was, just, fuck it, as in fuck it; it's in God's hands. He takes Daisy's hand and trails on after her.

or; hope is a thing with feathers.

Mod note: Everytime I read this fic, I end up at least a little teary eyed. It’s not exactly happy, more bittersweet, considering, but I still love it.

Come Love This World (Come Hate It, Too) by cedarbranch. 3.3k words. Character Study, fluff and angst, spans s1-5. Canon Compliant.

Jon never liked poetry, until Martin.

Mod note: Yes I am picking fics that personally came for my heart one way or another, not much else to say, besides that “it feels like loving you” haunts me still to this day, in a good way.

i love you, i'm glad i exist by kissyourlocalmoth. 1.7k words. Scottish safehouse period. Fluff. Established relationship.

Martin was thinking of a poem. It’s name sat on the tip of his tongue, aching to get out. It was a lovely one, too: something about how life felt easy now, at peace; how the small things felt like everything, a poem about… the importance of the little moments. These last few days had been like that, he thought. He couldn’t stop smiling to himself recently, and even Jon teased him about it sometimes, though he was hardly less giddy. He thought of the immense joy the little things brought him now, the mugs of tea they made for each other, how he would lay in their bed late at night staring at the ceiling, his love nestled against his chest, overflowing with so much contentment and fondness he did not know what to make of himself.

Mod note: Short and sweet, it was the first time I read that particular poem, and now it’s forever intertwined in my head with little scenes of jon and martin in the scottish safehouse before 160 happens.

exit wound by autoclaves. 3.1k words. Post-canon AU. Ending speculation.

Suppose there is a house on a hilltop. Suppose there is a story. There is always a story, and every universe is always expanding.

Mod note: I would’ve liked to tag this more, but it would probably spoil the twist it has. Reading back on it, the narration reminds me of the statement from 196, which I find fitting and a funny coincidence, considering.

#the tags used for each fic are tags we plan to use in the future #authors: feel free to ask us to untag you if you wish!#mod rec #fic rec #tma #magnuspod #the magnus archives #fanfiction #fic rec list #the fanfiction archives #list: mod rec #tag: jonmartin #tag: post canon

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

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chemical reaction

request from nonnie! “hiiiii! love ur writing sm ! could I request a fic with George maybe like an enemies to lovers kind of thing? or maybe like she’d hated him and he’d actually fancied her the entire time or something? thank you!!”

pairing: george x fem!reader (no specific house)

word count: 5.7k whoops sorry

A/N: i LOVED this request; i don’t think i'd ever really written an enemies to lovers fic before.. maybe once, so i adored this. wish this could be me and him rn tbh. also, had to put a hand through the hair in there ~shoutout to my gals~ anyway, please leave feedback, comments, reblog, share with your friends if you wish, thanks!

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu | message me to be added, loves!

There was no denying the indisputable chemistry between you both. Everyone could see it. It was pretty difficult to miss, actually, especially when the two of you spent nearly every single lesson at one another’s throats.

“I’m warning you, Weasley -- stay as far away from me as you possibly can. I don’t want you and your misplaced priorities anywhere near me.”

“Wow, it is a pleasure to be insulted by you. Really.”

It all started in your third year. The very misguided and frivolous George Weasley and his brother, Fred, had decided to be prats in your Potions lesson. You’d never really had any interaction with them before that; you were their absolute and complete opposite. You’d preferred to spend most nights borrowing any and all books from the library and reading through them as quickly as you could, or spending your afternoons with the Dueling Club to further your studies with spells, charms, and incantations; whereas the two of them were always setting off fireworks in the Astronomy tower, or whatever the bloody hell two thirteen-year-old pranksters did.

Potions had been normal that day -- Snape had his usual displeased scowl painted on his face, and you were continually checking the clock and counting down the seconds until you could leave and speed off toward your History of Magic lesson. That is, until George had purposefully put the wrong ingredient into his cauldron, causing a spark, resulting in an explosion quite larger than they’d presumed and a ghastly horrible sight: one of your eyebrows burning off completely.

You’d been outraged; while the majority of the class had been too startled and shocked to let a laugh escape their lips, the twins had absolutely no issue erupting into a fit of obnoxious giggles, obviously incredibly pleased at their error. Snape had even cracked somewhat of a grin (if you could consider the edge of his lip slightly curling upward in a sort of mock expression a grin), but he still threw all three of you into detention. You! In detention! For getting your bloody eyebrow burnt off by a juvenile boy!

You and George hadn’t been the fondest of one another since.

In an attempt to separate yourself from him, you’d completely changed course -- McGonagall had been able to help you switch out some of your lessons for others. You didn't really want to take Divination, but if it meant being away from him for an hour and a half of your day, then so be it. You were going to have to be okay with your choices.

Until you heard the sardonic, cool wash of his voice from behind you.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

He sluggishly fell into the seat next to you; (of course, it being the only open spot left as he’d arrived precisely two minutes after the bell signaling the start of the lesson) he propped his feet up on the table in between you both. With your mouth still agape and brows threaded together, you angrily shoved his feet off of the table and slammed your spellbook down in place of them. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” you huffed, folding your arms across your chest. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be right now? Like setting fire to a third year’s eyebrows? Or detention, perhaps?”

He scoffed airily. “Oh, hilarious, darling -- really; right fantastic joker, you are. No, you see, contrary to popular belief, I don’t spend every waking hour cleaning out cauldrons, or --”

You cut him off, “Oh, and here I was thinking that you’d make a perfectly adequate cauldron cleaner if a full time opportunity were to present itself.”

He didn’t skip a beat. “-- or setting fire to third year’s eyebrows.”

“No?”

“No,” he replied throatily. And then, that all too familiar smirk of his. “Only to those who deserve it.”

You were about to snap back with some snarky retort, but thankfully Trelawney’s very soft-spoken voice floated through the room and managed to calm you down a bit. It didn’t stop you from sneering at George completely though, as he relaxed back into his chair and grinned to himself like an idiot.

You yanked your spellbook off of the table and turned to the desired page; you didn’t really fancy the idea of doing more research on crystal gazing, palmistry, ornithomancy, and tessomancy, but seeing as N.E.W.Ts were coming up, it only made sense that Professor Trelawney would make you revisit these desired areas of study.

“Gaze into the beyond!” she cried, “and tell your partner what you see!”

George very obviously rolled his eyes as you peered closely into the crystal ball. You couldn’t see anything except smoke, and so you furrowed your brows even more, as if to will yourself to concentrate. It was no use. You hated this subject; you’d only taken it to get away from him, anyway! He scoffed at the sight of you concentrating fiercely. “And what is it,” he asked you in an uncanny expression of your professor, “that you see?”

You shot him a glance and backed away from the crystal ball, scribbling something down on your parchment, and then turning your attention back toward him. “I see myself trying to lower my blood pressure and focus on my work,” you said cheerily, “because the idiot sat across from me is being an even bigger git than normal.”

“Wow,” he replied, his voice fierce with mock surprise. He widened his eyes and nodded his head fervently. “You’re really rubbish at this, aren’t you?”

His quips made your blood boil.

It felt as if it were hours before the lesson had ended; when the bell rang mercifully, you packed up your things in a rush and nearly sprinted out of the classroom, without a last glance or a word to George. This was going to be a long bloody year.

-- -

“So what’ve you been learning in Divination, Georgie?”

You groaned and placed your head directly on top of your parchment. Why is it that they always seem to end up where you are? This was the library, they had absolutely no business being here. This was your turf, and it always had been.

“Little of this, little of that,” George replied to his brother, his voice merry. “Been revisiting some old tasks to prep for N.E.W.Ts. Oh, that reminds me -- I was crystal gazing the other day.”

“Yeah?” Fred’s voice heightened. You could hear the smirk and the eyebrow raise. “And what did you see?”

“Well, it was kind of difficult to tell,” George said, “my huffy, stuffy partner kept distracting me with her bloody obnoxious sighs every single time I so much as blinked in her direction.”

You slammed shut the very large book you were reading as the twins and their friends erupted into laughter, swiveled your way through students, and returned the book to its proper place on the shelf. To your delight, Madam Pince was not too keen on noise in the library, and immediately began scolding them. This didn’t stop George from sending you a wink and a shake of the head before you vanished in the corridor. Merlin, he was going to drive you bloody mad.

-- -

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Had your friends gone absolutely bonkers? He fancies you. You couldn’t seem to shake the phrase from your head no matter how hard you tried -- it was that outrageous and that hilarious.

There was no way that George Weasley fancied you -- for one, the two of you could not be more different. Secondly, if he really did, and he was still busy treating you like he loathed you, then that could mean only one thing: that he had the personality of a five-year-old. Yes, like that of a five-year-old boy chasing and pushing and teasing a five-year-old girl on the playground at primary school. And then, you figured, he was just as immature as he seemed.

“Perhaps you could make it a less.. hostile environment,” your mate told you one afternoon over lunch. “Clear the air a bit.”

“There’s nothing to clear,” you told her gruffly, picking at your sandwich. “He’s a git -- always has been, always will be.”

She began to laugh. “But you don’t really know that, do you? I mean, yeah, sure, he was a right prat during third year, but you’ve bloody hated the guy since then for laughing. Laughing. It’s not like he did it on purpose, you know. It was a mistake.”

You turned toward her in surprise. “A mistake that caused my bloody eyebrow to burn off!”

“And look,” she replied cheerily, “it’s grown back!” You groaned; why was she doing this? Make it a less hostile environment. The only way that could happen is if you and George were miles, if not worlds, apart.

“Maybe try.. having a conversation, yeah? You may have something in common,” she continued on, noisily slurping the rest of her pumpkin juice. “I’m just saying; you don’t have to love the bloke, but you don’t have to hate him, either. Make this atrocious Divination lesson less dreadful for you both by just being civil.” She slung her bag across her shoulder and tapped you on the shoulder. “Have got Charms -- just think about it, okay? See you,”

Civil. You supposed, as you took a very deep sigh and finished off the rest of your drink, that you could attempt to do that. Just then, a very loud bit of raucous laughter echoed across the Great Hall, coming from none other than the Gryffindor table, where George and Fred were no doubt showcasing one of their products for their shop they were so confident they’d be able to open and run. The commotion from the table only seemed to increase, and you took yet another very deep, gruff sigh. Civil. You could try. But Merlin, you’d have to try really very bloody hard.

-- -

When George sat down across from you a few days later, you’d been back and forth between the idea of being courteous and being rude more times than you could count on two hands. And luckily for him, you’d just flopped back to the idea of politeness.

You stuck out a hand and he looked at you quizzically. “Merlin -- have the fumes in here gone to your head or something? We’ve known one another for years.”

Civility, you thought. You stood your ground. “Can we just.. I dunno, start over? This lesson is already terrible enough without us nearly killing one another. I, for one, don’t want to dread this any more than I already do. So what do you say?”

You couldn’t tell right away if the arch of his eyebrows meant he was genuinely considering this or if he was fighting back a very haughty laugh so as not to spark an argument. But then, surprisingly, incredibly, he took his hand in yours and shook it firmly. “Alright then, Y/N,” he said professionally, “I suppose I can do that. But no bashing my methods of study,”

“No burning off my eyebrows,” you retorted.

“No worries there,” he replied, sneaking a small smirk at you as he opened his spellbook, “nothing to blow up in here.”

For the first time in nearly four years, the two of you had made it throughout an entire lesson without yelling at one another. It was both surprising and refreshing. And although you both continued to make small digs at one another, and he certainly continued to test your patience, you realized that maybe your mate was right.

It turns out you did have some things in common, actually.

“Why the bloody hell haven’t you tried out for Quidditch then?”

George was still beaming over your story of how you’d miraculously caught a Snitch at the very young age of seven in your backyard with your siblings. You’re not exactly sure when Quidditch had come up in the conversation, but somehow it did, and the two of you were now packing up to head to your next lessons.

“I dunno,” you replied truthfully, “it was never really my thing. I much rather prefer dueling than playing Quidditch.”

“Word of advice,” he said, shoving his Divination spellbook back into his bag, “never tell your housemates that you’re a Quidditch wizard. They will kill you dead you for not going out for the team.”

Just then, Professor Trelawney came scurrying over to you both -- her eyes wide and hair a tousled mess. “Mr. Weasley!” she cried excitedly, pointing down at the crystal ball, “what have you seen today?”

He looked at the professor, the ball, and then at you, a simple smile on his lips, sort of a half-smirk half-genuine sort of look. “Friendship,” he said simply.

Dumbfounded, Professor Trelawney began nodding fervently to herself and mumbling things neither of you could understand -- utter nonsense, really, and moved onto the next pair of students before they could leave. You folded your arms across your chest and raised an eyebrow. “Friendship, hm?”

George shrugged and placed his hands inside his pockets before starting toward the door. “And to think,” he said, “all you had to do was not loathe me so much.”

“It’s harder than it seems, George.”

“That’s mean,” he teased, bringing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. Then, genuinely, “we’re kind of best mates now, aren’t we?”

You choked back a laugh and held up a finger to him. “Erm, easy there -- wouldn’t go that far.”

He shook his head and began tuttering. “Dear, dear Y/N.. rubbish at both Divination and at lying.”

You threw a cushion from one of the chairs straight at his head before you both headed off in your respective directions. Best mates. Merlin. It was one lesson you’d both sort of gotten along in. He certainly was exaggerating a bit, wasn’t he? Even so, you couldn’t help the very small grin that spread itself across your face as you walked merrily toward Defense Against the Dark Arts.

You were having a particularly rough day.

You’d started the day off by waking up behind schedule, rushing through breakfast, and running in late to your morning lesson. You’d managed to completely bungle whatever nonsense Snape was having you concoct in Potions, losing a generous amount of points from your house. You’d slipped down the steps and given yourself a nasty bruise on your arm, and you were pretty sure that you were getting a cold -- and right before the winter holidays, at that.

So when you sluggishly made your way into Divination and George immediately began to tease you, you were not having it.

“Uh ohhhh,” he said in a sing-song sort of voice, “someone having a bad day?”

You knew he probably meant it as a joke and nothing more, but you were too pissed off to care. Was it the glassiness in your eyes? Your red nose? Your disheveled hair, or the fact that you’d hardly found the energy to straighten your tie? You growled, “I am not in the mood, George.”

“Blimey, alright, I was just --”

“I know what you were doing,” you scowled after a sneeze, “and I’d really just like to get through this lesson in one piece, if you don’t mind.” He put up his hands in surrender and sealed his lips shut. You sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m just not feeling the greatest today -- d’you mind if we just focus on the work?”

Today you were focusing your studies on palmistry. Not your favorite. It was an incredibly long, mundane lesson.

Later on, George asked you, “D’you want me to ask Trelawney if we can finish up early since you’re feeling ill?”

“Please.”

You closed your eyes for the few seconds George was gone; when he returned, he sat back down in his seat with a rather confused look etched on his face. “She, erm, told me no can do. I’ll just have to really.. ‘cleans my aura’ after this.” He used air quotes and actually had to hold back a bit of laughter. “It’s fine, I reckon. I’ll read yours. You don’t have to do mine.”

You reached out across the table as far as you could; your entire body was hurting. You didn’t want to be sneezing and achey during the Christmas holidays! You were busy pouting when George took your hand in his and began examining closely. You found yourself feeling surprised by a few things -- one, the tender touch of his fingers grazing your palm; two, how soft his skin felt against yours; three, the way your breath had hitched in your throat at the mere contact.

The feeling of his pointer finger tracing over your life and head lines on your palm sent shivers down your spine; perhaps it was an oncoming fever? You weren’t sure, and you didn’t know if the fogginess clouding your brain was the head cold or Trelawney’s classroom or the sheer intensity of the moment between you and this redhead. Somehow, though, when George looked up and locked eyes with you, you had this strange feeling that he was feeling the same things you were. Pure shock. Pure surprise.

“So, erm,” you began, clearing your throat and stretching as far away from him as you could, “what’s it say then? What’s going to happen?”

George hummed appreciatively and looked back down at your hand once more before letting go. “Some type of.. chemical reaction. In our Potions lesson. Bubbling cauldrons, and all that.”

What? Were the fumes getting to him too? He never looked so serious in all his life! Maybe he needed a trip to the hospital wing to uncloud his own head --

“Sorry? George, what’re you on about? We don’t take Potions together.”

“Oh, you’re right,” he replied, shaking his head a bit and forcing down a smile. And then, much to your surprise (and delight, perhaps?) he said something you were pretty sure you dreamt up: “--reaction must be between us, then.”

If his knee hadn’t been touching yours under the table, or you hadn’t felt the stuffiness of your head cold take you over, you would’ve been sure that it had all been a dream, or perhaps the haziness of the classroom making you hallucinate. But no. He’d said it. He’d said it quite seriously, with his signature smirk and hand through the hair right afterward.

The bell rang, startling you, and he stood up slowly and slung his bag across his shoulder. You fumbled with your books, both exhausted from your oncoming illness and dumbfounded by his comment. “Mum swears by green tea,”

“Oh, erm, sorry?”

George laughed. “Green tea. My mum says it always helps during the colder months. Pretty sure they’ve got some in the kitchens.” He started toward the door, but waited for you. You both parted ways near the Great Hall. “Rest up, alright? Don’t need my partner missing out on the very exciting, albeit outdated art of palm reading.”

You laughed a bit. “I’ll be sure to, George.”

“And remember,” he pointed at you, “lots of green tea. A Molly Weasley recommendation.”

You couldn’t help the gentle smile that tugged at your lips. “Tell her thanks for me.”

-- -

Two days later and you were feeling as good as new. George had been right -- a few cups of green tea everyday, and it seemed to have cleared your sinuses right up. His mum was a right genius.

There were only two more days of classes before everyone was going to pack up and leave for the holidays. Although you’d be back after the new year, it still felt odd going home; you missed Hogwarts so desperately whilst being home. Something about the castle, illuminated by dazzling decorations and lights and ornaments -- it was rather stunning, actually, and always left you yearning for more.

You were busy scribbling down the very last bit of your Charms essay in the library when you heard your name. Oh no! How long had you been there, working away? You groaned and quickly wrote your name on the top of the parchment and bolted from the back of the library. Then you stopped in your tracks as goosebumps rose on your skin, and you listened:

“Do me a favour, Weasley, and just admit that your brother is mad for her.”

It was your mate. What was she doing, here in the library? Wasn’t she supposed to be in Herbology? You quickly skidded your way into one of the empty aisles, listening intently to the conversation unfolding just a few feet away from you in the aisle next to yours. And then came the unmistakable sound of Fred Weasley’s very dry sarcasm:

“Who? George? My twin? Mad for your friend? No, there’s no way.”

You could almost hear the smile that split his face. Your breath caught in your throat, and you struggled terribly to stifle a cough. What were they on about? There was no way, just absolutely no way that he really did fancy you. You thought your mates had been joking a few weeks back; you’d taken them up on their suggestion to be polite, but that was merely it. Friends? Maybe. A couple? Bloody hell, absolutely not.

“Could you be bloody serious for one moment?”

“I reckon I do not have a serious bone in my body, I’m afraid.”

Ignoring this, your friend continued. “How long?”

“Hmm,” Fred began. You imagined that he was probably looking toward the sky, as if searching for his thoughts so he could pull them directly out of thin air. “Well, let’s see. Pretty sure the day Y/N screamed bloody murder at him in Potions, he’d fallen very quickly in love, even though he never admitted it to anyone. I’ve known it, though, because the poor bloke wears his heart on his sleeve. So about four years, yeah.”

“And he just couldn’t quit the merciless teasing, could he?”

“It’s like you don’t know us at all.”

You couldn’t listen anymore. You quickly shuffled your way out of the library and all the way to your common room until you were safely in your dormitory and could yell into the void. Why on bloody earth would he have been acting so rude if he actually fancied you, even if he had been trying to keep his feelings a secret? But then his comment from the other day flooded your mind, and you soon found, as you mulled them over, that a lot of his comments toward you could be taken in a flirtatious manner if you hadn’t been so obsessed with hating him so much. Perhaps, looking back, he’d been basing his repartee off of your desire to make your distaste of him very well known.

What would have happened if you’d taken that misfortune in Potions in stride? Would you two have been alright? Acquaintances? Friends? Maybe even..

You felt a small jab in your stomach.

It’s as if the conversation you’d overheard had made you do a complete one eighty. Four months ago, the idea of spending any of your time with George Weasley nearly sent you into a tizzy. You absolutely abhorred the idea. The sight of him alone made your blood boil, and any and all interaction with him would have made you miserable to the point of constant sulking. But now?

It was sort of hard to get the guy out of your head.

You found yourself constantly replaying all of your interactions with him over the years back each night before bed. Of course, there hadn’t been too many, seeing as you’d done your absolute very best to avoid him at all costs. But the ones that had happened.. perhaps there was something other than disdain in his voice. Maybe you’d just chosen to hear it as disdain, because you didn’t want to admit to yourself what was actually true.

You didn’t know what happened between that time he’d first read your palm and what you’d overheard in the library, but something had changed.

Lots had changed.

His words echoed in your ears.

Maybe there was some type of chemical reaction going on.

-- -

When you walked into Divination the next morning, you weren’t very surprised to see George already sitting there. He’d started coming to lessons earlier and earlier, to the point where he was getting there before you. It was refreshing, actually. You’d always thought he didn’t really care about work; he’d proved you wrong, though, and you were glad.

You both fell into your routine quite easily, ignoring the very theatrical talks coming from Trelawney as she made her way around the room to observe each of you through her her very large spectacles. You felt a bit of a pull at your heart that this would be your very last lesson together before the holidays -- you relished and also sort of dreaded the idea of being very far away from this foggy mess of a classroom for a few weeks time.

“You’re awfully quiet today. Feeling better?”

George’s voice took you by surprise, because you’d both been working rather diligently on the finishing touches of your essays. You cleared your throat and stunned yourself at how softly your voice sounded in your own ears. “Yes, yeah of course. That tea worked wonders actually -- your mum’s a genius.”

George laughed softly but didn’t look up from his parchment. “Yeah, she’s a wonder, she is.”

“Has to be,” you replied, tracing over the letters of your name, “with seven kids and all. Has to be on top of things.”

“I reckon you’re right.” He finished whatever he was writing and looked up at you with a smile, and when you skittishly glanced back down toward your parchment, he asked, “are you sure you’re alright?”

“Mhmm,” you replied, biting down on your lip. Your feet were thumping rhythmically against the floor. And then the words were said before you could register just exactly what you were doing: “Heard something about you.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Whatever it is, I swear I didn’t do it.” Then he paused, thought for a moment, and opened his mouth to speak again. “Alright..maybe I’ve done it.”

A small chuckle settled in the air between you both when he finally looked up from his parchment and locked his gaze with yours. “Sorry. What did you hear?”

You considered making something up, for now you were panicking, and you hated feeling panicked: but then again, you were in pretty deep already, and what did you have to lose? “It was from your brother, actually. Fred.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“Yeah, said something interesting,” you continued on, focusing your eyesight solely on the parchment in front of you. You resumed tracing the letters of your name over and over, just to give yourself an excuse to not look at him as your cheeks surely flooded pink. “Said you actually haven’t loathed me this entire time?” It came out as more of a question.

“Really?”

“Actually, if my memory serves me correctly..” you dragged out every single word, still unsure if you were going to go for it. And then you did. “I’m pretty sure he actually used the word.. fancy.”

You half expected George to throw up his arms in a fit, exclaiming that Fred didn’t know what the bloody hell he was on about, and of course he’d actually disliked you this entire time. You also half expected him to burst out and cackle himself silly, because the sheer idea of a guy like him fancying a girl like you just tickled him. But instead, he licked his lips and peered at you with a type of compassion in his eyes you’d never seen before. Then he wiggled his eyebrows and offered, “He’s smarter than I thought. And to think.. I’d never even told him how I truly felt.”

Okay, surely you’d dreamt that. But nope; nope, he’d said it, yet again, causing the butterflies to dance animatedly around your stomach. You opened your mouth to speak as he smiled softly at you, but then Trelawney came bouncing over, completely interrupting the moment. “Oh, my dears! Friendship was on your horizon, you say; now, look into the beyond and tell one another what lies ahead!”

She bounced quickly over to the next group, and you took to looking inside the crystal ball; but any type of focus you’d had before had flown out the window now -- there was no way you were going to be able to properly function, because as it turns out, your very worst enemy had actually liked you this entire bloody time.

George leant in closer so that he, too, was hovering over the crystal ball, your foreheads almost touching. You could feel his breath on your neck. His voice was low and cool, “What’s the future say now, love?”

“Friendship,” you somehow spit out, your throat and mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara desert. “Maybe more, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,”

And then the sound of glass shattering against the hardwood floor across the room startled you both, causing you to pull away from one another and catch your breath.

Moment over.

-- -

The Great Hall was bustling with students chatting animatedly and loads of luggage carts and parcels of presents. You’d just finished your final lesson before the holidays (Charms -- ending on a high note!) and you were very relieved to be on a break from your studies for a few weeks time and to be heading home.

The Great Hall was filled with people, but not the familiar one you were looking for.

Perhaps the conversation you were hoping to have could wait until after the holidays; although you didn’t know if you’d make it through three weeks of wondering what and if without spontaneously combusting.

You tugged your luggage out into the corridor to board one of the carriages to the train when you spotted him standing with his siblings, surrounded by luggage carts and huddled up in his Gryffindor robes and scarf.

Before you could find the courage to walk on over to him to wish him a happy Christmas, it seemed as though he was able to read your mind, for he excused himself from his siblings and made his way over to you, causing you to back up a few inches and press yourself directly into the wall.

You both hadn’t had a chance to chat since your lesson yesterday, since you’d found out the truth, since you’d ran out due to your nerves and George’s cheeky grin.

“So, erm -- sorry I ran out yesterday. Was a bit.. flustered, is all.”

You could’ve said anything else, but these were the words that chose to escape your lips. Bloody hell. You internally scolded yourself, but the expression George’s face didn’t change.

“Flustered?” he asked, confusion crinkling the edges of his eyes. “About what?”

“George, come on.”

“No, please,” he placed his hand on his chest, “You’re going to have to remind me. Yesterday’s events are all a blur, I’m afraid.”

He smirked, and you suddenly felt your blood begin to boil again. He was going to make you say it, of course he was.

“You know,” you started through gritted teeth, “our little conversation in Divination yesterday afternoon. About your... feelings.”

He nodded dramatically and clicked his tongue. “Right. That conversation. You know, it’s funny,” he began, placing his hands inside his pockets and moving closer to you, “I really dislike crystal gazing. I find the more accurate readings come from palmistry.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he replied flatly, as if it were obvious. He took out his hand and placed in front of you. “Look here. I reckon you’ll be able to read the future quite clearly.”

You took his hand in yours, and immediately felt as thought you were out of your element. Yet, you began to trace the lines gently with your forefinger. You weren’t reading any bloody future; you were merely trying not to let the very steady pounding of your heart be so evident in the rising tension between you both. You found yourself, actually, pulling ever so gently on his hand, as if to bring him closer to you. You could easily reach out and trace the outline of freckles on his nose.

“See anything intriguing?” he breathed.

Something about being around him made you feel simultaneously more nervous than you ever had been and more confident; you were feeling so self-assured that you actually said something before you could overthink it. “Yeah, actually, looks here like you’re about to kiss me,” you said breathlessly.

How odd, you thought, that just mere months ago the man in front of you was none other than your absolute mortal enemy, and now all you wanted to do was spend the holidays locked away with him in a broom cupboard.

A cheeky grin split his face and he moved another inch or so closer; just centimeters to go, and his lips would be fully pressed to yours, the chemical reaction bubbling over perfectly. “Is that so?” he asked quietly, very slowly moving his way forward. He lifted your chin with his hand so your face was angled up toward his, and he stopped just as his lips so very softly brushed yours. It didn’t even seem real, honestly. Just then, one of the Weasleys shouted to George that their older brother was here to fetch them, and he you felt his smile brighten ever so lightly against you. Damnit! And instead of finishing what he’d started, he merely ran a finger across your chin, down your neck and over your collarbone and whispered, “Happy Christmas, love,” before pulling away.

What in the bloody fuc--! Was he kidding? Not only had the reaction bubbled over, but you now felt like exploding at how much of a prat he was being. He’d already made you say such silly things, and now he really had the audacity to almost kiss you and then pull away?

“You’ve got to be joking,” you said under your breath as he squeezed your hand. “You’re going to kill me.”

He wiggled his eyebrows seductively. “Have got to leave you wanting more, don’t I?”

You scoffed loudly and took a very deep, very overdue breath to regain your composure, but not before he leaned in and caught you off guard by pressing his lips to yours and gently melting into you. A slight sigh escaped you, and before you could register just what it felt like to have his lips on yours, you both broke apart -- he winked merrily at your wide eyes and made his way back toward his siblings. “You still going to be a right prat in three weeks time?” you teased, folding your arms across your chest as he tugged a beanie over his head.

“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind, love,” he said as if it were obvious, “you still going to let me read your palms and drive you mad?”

You grinned a bit more and shook your head, tugging your own scarf around your neck as he was pulled by his siblings out of the castle. You breathed deeply, brought your fingers to your lips where his had just been, and said to nobody in particular, “Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind, Weasley.”

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #george weasley imagine #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins fanfic #weasley twins fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp imagine

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mintytrifecta · 3 years

Text

Blood and Whiskey

Summary: washed up actor and a time-warping talk show host who likes disco walk into a bar

Aka: I was getting tired of writing one setting and the same people for forever and wrote this drabble as a break

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

If you were to ask the actor standing in front of you why he did what he did, there’s seldom doubt he’d be able to clearly tell you.

A grand finale.

A final show.

A shake of his fist at the cruel fate life handed him.

Just like him, all it became was an extravagant joke.

Actor growls, shoving away the echoing feeling of shadows with eyes burning into his back, grabbing and ripping him apart, pulling him back together vertebrae by vertebrae until he danced to a vengeful tune once more.

The entity, to put it lightly, has not made it easy to escape it’s grasp. A fool, he was, to think he could use its power to his own whim and not face the consequences.

Even so, with a new body and purpose he can see it lurking in the shadows.

Even now, as he trudged through a dimly lit street in the dead of winter he can hear it ringing in his ears.

After all, it takes time to escape from memories.

God he needs a drink…

Actor stops in his tracks and looks to his side. Blaring music vibrates in his ribs, shaking and stirring his insides.

It’s a bar.

A very neon, very bright bar.

A perfect place to sulk, He thinks to himself.

Tightening his grip around the pockets of his red velvet jacket, Actor takes a breath.

And walks in.

The music is even louder on the inside than from the outside. For some unknown reason, that fact surprises him.

All around the hall people can be seen dancing in a frenzied craze. Lights flashing in a showcase of every conceivable color available to the blind eye. Under the lights, a live band was playing some indistinguishable disco with a fervor and passion Actor wishes he still possessed. He scoffs and sharply inhales through his nose.

The air reeks with the familiar stench of alcohol and mania.

Actor squints his eyes and burrows his face deeper into the black scarf tied around his neck and shuffles his way to the leather bar stool. Slamming his hand on the wooden surface of the table to get the bartender's attention.

With a sigh, they dreadfully approach.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

Actor mumbled deeply, head miserably laying on polished oak. "Red wine. Any year, I don't care."

The bartender curtly nods and leaves to get the drink. Actor's in no hurry tonight, why should he care if it's taking forever?

"Here you go, sir. Red wine, 1926."

Ah, prohibition wine. Nothing quite like tasting secret rebellion acid slipping down your throat, whispering sweet illegality and chaos in the wake of conformity.

Actor downs the wine in one gulp and haphazardly slams the cup onto the table. Beside him, a man chuckles.

"You sure needed that one, huh friend?"

Turning to face the voice, Actor attempted to hide his widening eyes in reaction to the speaker’s appearance.

A man in a silky pink long-sleeve shirt tucked into… the ugliest shade of yellow Actor had ever seen paired with white shoes, stained and worn from long nights out dancing, no doubt.

The top of his head layed home to the biggest and most extravagant pink afro Actor had ever seen in his life.

And on his face… an eerily familiar, upturned, almost pink-like at the edges mustache.

What a strange-looking person, Actor thought.

“Yeah… hey, aren’t you one of the stage performers?” He questions offhandedly. Actor was sure he’d seen him perform when coming in.

“Oh, not for tonight. Maybe tomorrow’s yesterday though…”

Actor stares at the man, trying to piece together his offputting comment.

“You… what?”

The man grins at him, swishing in his hand a martini that definitely wasn’t there before.

“What did you say, friend?”

“Your-your comment on when you’re going to perform. What did you say?”

He gazes at Actor, brows furrowed in concentration before his eyes glaze over. He sits still on his creaking barstool, focusing on nothing and everything before jumping in his seat and grinning at Actor.

“Bah, who can remember things like that? I know I can’t. Anyways, I don’t think I caught your name, fellow. Or maybe I forgot that too, it’s entirely possible.”

Actor blinks with incredulity. His words caught in his throat, unable to pass.

“My name is… irrelevant.” He finally decides on saying.

“Irrelevant, hm? Sounds french! Have you ever been there? I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

Actor raises his hand to get the bartender’s attention and signals another round. It’s going to be a long night.

“Firstly, it’s winter. Second of all I didn’t even get your name, how am I supposed to talk to you without it.”

The man sits gasps for air, dramatically arching his back in shock before responding with a curt bow in his chair.

“Oh my apologies, Irrelevant, it must have slipped my mind! Name’s Wilford Warfstache!”

“Wilford Warfstache?” Actor echoes.

“That’s what I said!”

Actor snorts, picking up his second glass of wine, inspecting it as if passing final judgement.

“Well, Mr. Warfstache, what exactly do you want with me? Out of all the seats in the bar why’d you sit next to this one, huh?”

Wilford smiles and pats him heartily on the back. “My friend, you looked so lonely sitting at the bar with nobody else around you! I-I figured you could use some good company!”

Actor rolls his eyes. “How thoughtful…”

Wilford nods brightly, looking the Actor up and down with a slight hitch in his breath.

“Say… do I know you from somewhere?”

Actor winces, tirelessly holding on to a shred of hope that tells him he hasn’t faded into obscurity.

“I’m an actor. There’s a good chance you’ve seen me on the silver screen.”

With this revelation, Wilford’s face lights up in wonder.

“An actor! That’s fantastic! What movies have you done, my friend? Was there love? Was there murder? Was there treacherous betrayal at the hands of an ally?” He questions, voice getting louder and louder with each passing query.

“You could say that… It’s been a while since I landed a good role, however.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to stay like that! I’m sure you can find something big to be in soon!” Wilford cheers passionately.

“Yeah right… the last time I did some big movie was… god I don’t even know how long it’s been since then.”

Wilford pats Actor pitifully on the back, softening his voice to the best of his ability.

“Well, whatever role you played I’m sure it was wonderful!”

Actor took a sip of his wine. “I played a detective.”

“A detective! That’s a wonderful role to act! Why, I happen to have a friend who’s a detective and he’s one of the best people you’ll ever meet, trust you me.”

Actor nods solemnly, eyes and throat caught in a crossfire of guilt and rage. “So did I. Met him on set as a professional consultant and stayed friends afterwards. At least until...” he trails off.

“Until what?” Wilford asks.

“I… did something. Something bad that I can’t take back. I got stuck with a shitty hand, tried to use it and it backfired and no matter what I try to do I can’t get new cards. It’s not fair!” Actor growls.

Wilford hums, circling the edges of the martini glass with the paper umbrella. “Such is life, my friend. You can’t always make sense of it’s chaos, hell knows I don’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Actor spits with venom. “Oh, please. What bad thing could you have possibly done?”

“Everyone has some blood on their hands, my friend. There’s no need to dig for specifics.”

“And yet, here we are. Hell, the only good outcome from anything I did slipped out of my fingers and forever from my grasp.”

Wilford held out a finger, motioning for Actor to shut it.

“Never say never, my good man! If I know anything, it’s that things always come back to you. If they don’t you keep looking for them!”

“How inspirational.” Actor deadpans.

“It’s true! I say you should keep looking for the positive, even if it’s hard!”

"I don't know…"

Wilford tuts sotfly. "Come on now, don't you trust ol' Warfy?"

"Not really, no."

He shockingly gasps, bringing a shaking hand to his chest and spilling his martini on the floor. "W-well whyever not? I give pretty good advice, why not trust me?"

"I met you tonight."

"But it feels so much longer than that, doesn't it?" Wilford sighs, leaning his head on Actor's sunken shoulders.

He shakes the afro-d man off and takes a swing of his wine.

"Whatever you say, Will."

The two sit in silence, taking in the music echoing in the hall with comfort.

"You know, I did get an offer for this television series a while ago."

"Did you, now?"

"It was for some kind of choose-your-own-adventure thing. It seemed silly at the time and I didn't say anything yet but maybe I'll give it a shot." He mumbles.

"Wonderful idea, my friend! That seems marvelous to work on."

Actor sluggishly smiles. "You think?"

Nodding brightly, Wilford responds. "I do! And if it's any consolation, my friend," he pauses and shuffles through his afro, pulling out a small, pink flower. "I think you'd make a wonderful hero."

Actor lightly picks the flower from his hand, petting the rosy petal. It's soft and delicate, smooth under his touch.

"Whatever you choose to do, you'll be great at. I'm sure of it."

He gazes at his newfound friend, eyes shining with reinvigorated light for the first time in years.

"Thank you, Will."

"Anytime, good man! Anytime."

Actor stands up and brushes his jacket, smiling at Will. "I think it's time I left. I've got a friend to pay a visit to."

"Good luck! And remember you always have a friend here!" Wilford raises his full martini glass high into the air.

"You got it, Will."

And with that, Actor left. Perhaps it's time to resume his search for a certain Mayor.

Back at the bar, Wilford chuckles into his glass.

"What a strangely familiar person…"

#Markiplier #Who Killed Markiplier #Fanfiction #My Writing #WKM #Actor Mark #Actor Mark WKM #Wilford Warfstache #William J. Barnum #Wilford Motherlovin Warfstache #dude why is wil so fun to write

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

in honor of their route can i request arin and FMC hanging out with the rest of the group and the two trying to sneak away and go do something by themselves

Written by; @somekidnamedkai

Author's notes: aksfjsj i made this a little longer than i meant to with the group part im sorry. i hope you all like it!

It was a bland Friday evening. Nobody had any classes tomorrow, there wasn’t anything special going on the following day, or tonight for that matter.

So, everyone decided to hang out, play some games, drink some drinks, and just spend the night how Fridays are supposed to be spent: Living the best life.

FMC found some old board games in a closet and brought some down, with the help of her best friend, and partner, Arin Langdon. The two were an inseparable pair, where one was the other was there as well.

After FMC and Arin got downstairs, they saw everyone in a circle debating on what to do first.

“Do you guys have cards against humanity?” Omar asked the two siblings as they glanced at each other, neither knowing.

“I didn’t see it in the closet,” FMC replied to him as she plopped down the games she did have down.

“We’ll take your word for it, after all, FMC knows what being in the closet is like,” MMC jokes, teasing his younger sister.

She gave him a playful, death glare. “We have Giant Jenga,” she spoke with a grin. She liked Jenga, it was fun, plus, she normally won.

“Oh we aren’t playing Jenga, I already know you’re going to cheat and win,” Arin said with a smile and kissed their girlfriend's cheek.

“What is this Jenga game you guys are talking about?” Lucas asked them, as FMC, MMC, Arin, and Omar all pointed towards the largest box in front of them.

“You stack these blocks and take one out and put it on top, FMC is a cheater though and always wins,” MMC said answering Lucas’ question, to which he got a kiss in thanks.

“I don’t cheat. You guys are just jealous you aren’t good at the game,” FMC huffed a response as she grabbed the box, “Jenga it is!”

“Do we get a say in this?” Ezra asked as Nora shoved his side with a smile.

“No. You don’t. I do though, and I say we start the night off with Jenga,” Nora told Ezra, as she helped FMC get the game out and set it up.

As FMC and Nora got the bricks and set them up, MMC explained the rules, “So, what you do is you choose a brick, you can’t take one from the top three rows though, you take your chosen brick and get it out, and place it on the top. And you try to make the tower stay up and not fall.”

“And if the tower falls either during your turn or just because of you in general, you’re out,” Omar continued to explain after MMC stopped.

After the two girls got the game setup, everyone argued over who was going to go first, while everyone else was distracted, going about saying they wanted to go first, Arin took a brick, taking first place.

“Okay FMC’s turn,” they said with a smile as everyone looked shell shocked, as FMC let out a laugh and went, taking a brick from the bottom, placing it on the top.

“That’s not- I’m next,” Ezra said and slapped away Lucas’s hand, earning a glare from him in return, but a second later he smiled and playfully rolled his eyes, letting Ezra take his turn.

Ezra had a focused look on his face as he looked at the tower, wondering which brick to take. As he did that Arin grabbed FMCs hand, intertwining their fingers, and as Arin went to whisper something in her ear, someone spoke making them back up.

“If you take too long you’re eliminated,” Omar said to Ezra as he glared back. He grabbed a random one in the middle, before placing it next to FMcs on top.

“See that wasn’t so hard, was it?” FMC teased her friend as he glared, but she could tell he was happy to be there.

“At least I didn’t cheat to go first,” Ezra replied as Arins’ jaw dropped, pretending to be offended.

“These claims you are making are not true, Ezra,” Arin said to him, with a smirk as he chuckled in response.

Lucas went next, taking one from the bottom, MMC going after, then Nora and Omar last.

The group went a couple of rounds, about five to be exact before it was MMcs turn, he went to grab a brick, being very careful, and as he slowly slid the brick, the tower wobbled, “Dammit,” he muttered as he finished taking the brick out, the tower falling just a few seconds after.

Everyone yelped, jumping back as it fell, FMC and Arin laughed as it fell, “It’s FMCs fault. I don’t know how, but I’m gonna blame her,” he said with a grin and laugh.

FMC gasped dramatically, “Really, dear dear brother?” She asked dramatically, as he replied immediately with a yes.

The gang played Jenga for about half an hour, the tower falling many times. After MMC was out, it was Ezra next, then Omar, Nora following him. Lucas lost after Nora, leaving just FMC and Arin.

The two smirked at each other, as they took bricks and placed them up, “I love you, Arin, but I’m not going to let you win,” FMC said with a sweet smile at her partner.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, you should be the one who’s worried about losing, love,” Arin said, their British accent ringing out, emphasizing when they said ‘love.’

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that,” FMC said as Arin went to take their turn, but before she gave them a deep kiss, to distract them into losing.

The girl leaned back, going away from the kiss, and Arin leaned more forward wanting more. “Your turn,” FMC said with a smirk.

The two may have shared several kisses, but Arin would always melt into a kiss, which caused FMCs plan of distracting them to be successful. They went to grab a brick, taking it out of the tower just a little too quickly, because the tower fell, following the brick being taken out.

FMC cheered, being the victor of the game, as everyone else laughed, as Arin chuckled, but looked at FMC, “cheater.”

The path finder looked appalled, “how could you make such claims at me, Arin!” She said dramatically. “I’ve never cheated, I’m a very loyal girlfriend.”

Arin smirked at her, “You know what I meant,” they told her.

Everyone began to grab the bricks and put the game up, putting them in the box. “So, what’s next?” Omar asked as he took a drink from his cup. When FMC, Arin, and Lucas were playing the others got out some alcohol, and got some drinks.

“We could play most likely to,” MMC suggested, as he grabbed another bottle, knowing they’d probably need it.

“What’s that?” Lucas asked, looking at MMC, expecting an answer from him, but FMC answered.

“You say ‘most likely to’ and follow it with something else, like ‘have a lot of children’ or ‘read a million books,’ and the number of people who point at you, that’s how much drinks you take,” FMC explained.

“For example, if I said ‘most likely to steal a box of donuts, however many of us point at you, Lucas, that’s how many drinks you take,” Arin told, giving an example of the game, as the others nodded.

“Why am I the example for that?” Lucas asked, slightly offended.

“Because you’re the most likely to steal a box of donuts,” MMC stated, kissing his boyfriend on his forehead.

“Ok, now that we’ve decided on what to do, who starts?” Nora asked as she and MMC got out some more cups for the game.

“We could go in order from what place they got in Jenga,” Omar suggested, as everyone nodded in agreement.

As they all sat down, the group looked at FMC for what question she was going to do, “Alright. Who’s most likely to..” she began before pausing for a minute to think, “most likely to write a book.”

Right after she finished speaking, everyone pointed at Arin, including FMC, “You trying to get me drunk, babe?” They asked, flicking FMCs leg before they took six shots, one for every finger pointing at them.

“Alright, who’s most likely to make a deal with someone they’ll regret later on,” Arin said, as Omar, Lucas, MMC, and FMC pointed at Ezra, and Ezra and Arin pointed at Lucas.

“Both of you, take drinks,” MMC said, as Lucas took two shots, and Ezra four.

“Alright,” Lucas said after finishing his drinks, “my turn!” the ever so hyper prince said, “who’s most likely to learn a musical instrument for someone they love,” he said as everyone's fingers pointed at MMC.

He took a couple of drinks before playfully rolling his eyes, “I don’t know how I fit into that, but ok.”

Nora beamed, “I’m next. So, who’s most likely to drive hours for one specific food?” She asked

“Lucas, take some shots,” MMC teased his boyfriend as everyone pointed at him, even himself.

“You guys are purposely targeting me, and I’m insulted,” He said, with pretend hurt in his voice, but he took the drinks, “go ahead, Omar.”

“Ok. I got a great one. Who’s most likely too…”

A couple of rounds went by, everyone taking drinks. Soon Arin leaned in, closer to their girlfriend, “as much as I love them, do you want to go somewhere by ourselves?” They whispered in her ear.

“Yeah, I’d love to get some just our time, but how are we supposed to just leave without them asking why?” FMC murmured back, as the guardian thought for a second.

“They’re probably drunk enough that we’ll only need a lame excuse and they won’t question it,” They answered.

“That, or you’re drunk enough to think that plan will work,” FMC teased her partner, as Arin playfully slapped her leg, making her laugh.

Arin was probably the most sobered out of everyone, so they could surely tell FMC was just joking.

“What are you two talking abouutt?” Ezra asked, his words slurring together from how drunk he was.

“Nothing, nothing,” FMC responded to his question, smiling at Arin, kissing their cheek.

“Alright. Well, Lucas, it’s your turn,” Ezra said as the prince nodded, and started to talk.

While Lucas took his turn, “who’s most likely to..” he started but was interrupted as he thought, when Arin spoke up.

“I’ll be back in a minute, I’m going to put the games up, FMC, want to help?” Arin said as they stood up, and FMC nodded, taking their hand.

The couple left the group, games in their hands as they walked to the closet, “Alright, what do you want to do now?” FMC asked as they softly closed the door, looking at Arin.

“We could hang out in your room, and do anything you want. Or play another game,” they suggested as FMC nodded.

“How about we watch some tv and cuddle?” FMC asked, grabbing Arins hands, intertwining their fingers, as they nodded in agreement.

“Are you two almost back?” Nora yelled across the house to the two who left.

“Yup, give us a minute!” The girl shouted back as she and Arin walked up the stairs to her room.

Once they got there, the two kicked off their shoes and headed over to FMCs bed, and turned on the Tv. The redhead pulled FMC towards them, holding her in their embrace, keeping her close, “I love you.”

“I love you too, you dork,” She responded as She cuddled Arin as they watched the tv.

The two watched the movie, talking about random things, and Arin played with FMcs hair, focusing more on her than the movie. Soon the both of them fell asleep.

It was probably midnight, or three am, no in-between, when MMC opened the door to her room, “Hey are you t-” he began to talk, but stopped, when he saw the other two members of the triad, asleep, with their legs tangled together. Lucas snickered looking at them, as MMC shook his head.

“Hope you two are sleeping well,” He softly told them from the doorframe as he walked in, turning off the Tv and bedroom light before leaving, letting the two rest.

#answered #anonymous #lovestruck #ever after academy arin #ever after academy mc #arin x mc #fluff #fluffy #headcanons #lovestruck headcanons #touching thursday

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doodledraw · 3 years

Text

Return (Of What Was Cherished)

Cody crash lands on Tatooine. He doesn't really know why, but there's nothing left for him in the Empire. Little did he know there's a lot waiting for him this far out in the Outer Rim.

(thanks @katanrocksketches for the title idea!! and for being my sounding board ily)

Today for @commandercodyweek I decided to write a fic I’ve been wanting to try my hand at for a while!! Post-Order 66 reunions are just...the BEST so here’s my shot at it!

Read on AO3 here! Or under the cut!

He didn't know who he was. He didn't know what he was doing. All he knew was that it was kriffing hot and it had been over 24 hours since he had crossed paths with another being. Granted, 12 of those hours had been in space and then another 5 had been spent unconscious in the desert, slowly baking under the hot suns. Most of his armor had quickly been removed and fastened to a small sled using a piece of debris from his now absolutely trashed ship. Dragging that along, he began to wander the desert (it was just his luck he managed to land as far away from civilization as possible).

After two hours, he felt like he was going in circles.

After three, he spotted a ridge in the distance and started to make his way towards it.

After four, the ridge was still firmly in the distance and he was starting to think it was a mirage and that he was going to die out in the middle of nowhere.

He never realized that he was thinking clearer and more him than he had been for the last five years, like taking a breath after being underwater.

He finally reached the ridge on hour six and allowed himself a small rest. Clones were built for endurance but not for invulnerability. Besides, he needed to tend his wounds and the shelter he had found was the most he was going to get.

It was only once he'd stopped that his brain, no longer preoccupied with moving his legs through the rapidly shifting sands, caught up to his situation. That was when the panic set in. He was all alone, on a planet that very well could be the death of him, and yet at the same time he was feeling more alive than he had in a good long time.

After he gave himself a moment to panic, the rational part of his brain kicked in and he looked through the pockets on his toolbelt to see what he had with him.

Unfortunately, his black armor did nothing to help him from the heat of the suns, and he curses his competency for that. Why couldn't he have been forgettable?!

None of you are forgettable to me, my dear. You're all so very important, the memory surfaced unbidden. Obi-Wan would reassure him like that whenever he or his vode felt inadequate.

Cody's breath caught. He tried the name out in his head again. Obi-Wan. Then out loud: "Obi-Wan," he whispered to the wind.

He can say his General's name!

For the first time in years, he can say the name of the man who gave him everything and asked for nothing in return. It made him want to cry. But water is precious on Tatooine. Even he knows that. So he stashed that grief with all the other grief he'd piled away into a corner of his mind and then he left it be.

He's got a bacta patch, some tape, two painkillers, a spare comm that's broken straight in half, a ration bar, and nothing else. He split the ration bar in half and ate one of the halves along with one painkiller. Then he set to work making bandages out of part of the sleeve of his blacks and secured it around the cut on his head with some tape. Luckily he could still think rather clearly, so he didn’t think he was in danger of anything worse than a concussion, and the blood had stopped hours ago.

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up the next day. Sighing, he decided to conserve his painkillers and food. He wanted to make it out of this canyon...gorge...thing...whatever it was, if he even could and make it to some sort of civilization. So with a groan of pain, he set off again.

He focused on the fact that he was no longer burning under the suns constantly due to the slight shelter the ridge provided, and told himself that he could make it. He was Marshal Commander Cody turned Purge Trooper, the sun was not going to be the thing that killed him. Kriff it all, he was going to live. For his vode. For his General. He would live.

Civilization was a sight for sore eyes. After almost having fallen to his death multiple times, and having definitely aggravated the wound on his abdomen, he had made it out. He wanted to fall asleep. No wait, he wanted to eat something other than the expired ration bar and then fall asleep. And food required civilization.

The citizens of the town had apparently had a good amount of half-dead beings stagger their way into town because he was barely even given a second glance. The town, which he later learned was Mos Espa, was located in the north across from the Dune Sea, where he'd crashed. The barkeep was helpful enough to direct him to somewhere he could trade in some of his armor and scrap for some credits and get new clothes for it. He traded everything except his vambraces, greaves, blaster and toolbelt, and got a hooded jacket and a pair of patched-up spacer's pants in return. Freshly outfitted and feeling lighter than he ever had, but also more exposed than ever, he wandered back outside and through the town.

He had no working commlink, not that he would want to call the Empire anyway, better they just assume he died, and no credits and nowhere to go. Credits, he obviously needed. Shelter could come later.

Cody spent three weeks in Espa. He picked up odd-jobs here and there, and with the credits, bought some medical supplies, treated his wounds, and then did more odd-jobs. He had no purpose but also no reason to leave. The townsfolk weren't so bad once you got to know them and Espa was quiet, out of the way. No one could find him there.

At least that's what he thought.

Brown robes weren't uncommon on Tatooine. The first time he had seen one, he nearly killed himself by looking away from the box he was supposed to be catching. But it wasn't him, how could it be? The second and third times, he had been no less surprised, but this time he knew it wouldn't be him. It couldn't be him.

Now, being the tenth time, he barely even glanced at the stranger on an eopie wandering into town. But he felt the eyes on his back anyway.

Cody knew he was recognizable. He was one in a a few billion, obviously there would be people that had seen his face before. Some of the townsfolk asked about that at the beginning, but not for long. They stopped asking soon enough. So this stranger would realize soon enough that he wasn't who he thought and move on. They all did, everyone had for as long as he could remember, except for one. Cody couldn't escape the slight feeling of relief that filled him when the stranger's eyes were gone. For some reason, that stare had felt more piercing than normal. He shivered despite the heat, then turned back to his work.

He forgot about the stranger until that night, when he made his way into the bar for a refreshment after his day of work. They were there, at the bar, almost as if they were waiting for him. But that was crazy, and Cody resolutely placed himself as far away from them as possible. They made no move towards him, didn't even notice him, as far as he could tell, and they mutually ignored each other for the rest of the night.

Until Cody left to make his way back to where he was staying. Noticing his brown hooded shadow, he made his way through alleys and then stopped. "Whoever you are, whatever you want, why don't you just leave me alone. We'll both be happier that way."

The figure made a choked noise and took another half step towards Cody, who had spun to face them.

"What do you want from me?" the clone demanded.

"I don't know."

"Who are you? How did you find me?"

The figure lifted their hands to remove the hood, and Cody immediately tensed towards his blaster. Moonlight illuminated silver threaded copper hair and Cody's eyes widened.

"My dear, I think you know the answer to that by now. It's not an expression you've particularly liked me to say," Obi-Wan Kenobi said, tears streaming down his drawn face.

Cody stumbled back against the rough stone wall. "No. No, it's not you. It can't be. I...I killed you! I watched you fall! That should have killed you!"

"You of all people should know I am rather good at surviving things normal mortals should not be able to," he chuckled wetly and his gaze moved off into the middle distance. "It was a specific point of anxiety for you during the war. Oh Kote. Ner'Kote...what have they done to you?"

"More like what have they done with me," Cody remarked bitterly. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Is this real? I need you to tell me right now if this is real, General."

"Not your General."

Cody gave him a withering glare. "Yes you are."

The Not Apparition took a step forward. "May I?"

Cody nodded slowly, and then General Kenobi was gently, carefully, cradling his hand in both of his like it was the most precious thing he had ever held. "I'm here, Cody."

Cody broke right there. In the middle of nowhere on Tatooine, Cody fell to the ground and sobbed. He grieved in his General's arms, the man he was not allowed to even think of until earlier that month. The man he thought he had killed. The man he loved.

"Ni'ceta! Ni'ceta, Obi-Wan! I should have fought it harder, I should have escaped earlier, I should have looked for you, I should have--"

Obi-Wan shushed him. "You should have nothing Cody. You did everything you could. It was not you. I forgive you. I've forgiven you. I'd forgiven you as I was falling. It was not you, my dear."

They sat there, two broken pieces slowly healing each other in the middle of an alley in the middle of nowhere in Mos Espa until Obi-Wan pulled away.

"Let's go home cyar'ika," he murmured.

Home. The first true home he would ever have. "That sounds perfect."

#codyweek2021 #day 2 post order 66 #Post Order 66 #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody week #commander cody #the clone wars #writing #my writing #doodledrawsart #listen i love them a lot okay #star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #my fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction

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docholligay · 3 years

Note

I’m sorry if this is too personal. I was really late for work today and now i feel like a total lump of trash.( first real job). Any words of advice besides don’t oversleep?

I mean, don't oversleep is the best way to avoid feeling like this in the future. Not being late is the best way to avoid the feeling of shittiness, over being late.

I’m not sure whether you want advice on not being late, or on not feeling like a piece of shit, so we’ll double prong it. At least half of the “stop being late” advice, you and anyone else reading this won’t take, but at the very least I can say I put it out there.

I have ADHD, and so a lot of those tips are based around what works for me, but certainly you don’t have to have ADHD to use them--inattention is a sign of a million different things, as is executive dysfunction, and sleep disruption is basically normal in our constantly connected culture. You don’t need any pedigree to use this.

On Not Being Late, With Special Attention to Sleeping.

Go to bed at a decent hour.

Figure out how much sleep you need in a night to move quickly in the morning, and move your bedtime back so you have a certain amount of cushion in the morning, depending on how far you live from work. It may annoy you to go to bed at 9, 10, etc, but you want to be a human being who does well at your job, and that takes certain sacrifices.

Don’t just lay in bed, sleep

Here’s the one no one will listen to me on: TURN OFF YOUR FUCKING PHONE AND PUT IT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM. PUT IT THE FUCK DOWN. Not only does it keep you awake for longer, but you’ll roll over at 2 am to “check the time” and end up on it for at least another half hour. You can keep it next to you if you legit have the willpower not to pick it up--I am not allowed to pick mine up from about 11:30 to 6 am, and I’m fine with that--but most people especially starting out, just don’t. Our addiction centers have been hijacked by technology in a ton of ways. If you need a transition, I really highly recommend getting a real, physical book and reading for about an hour before you go to sleep.

But I can’t sleep, I just lay there! Well, just lay there in the darkness!! Have some meditation and alone time! When I was a kid, my mom always used to tell met that I didn’t have to sleep, but I did have to rest. I still wake up every night about 3ish and stay awake for about a half hour/hour, but I don’t grab anything! I write stories in my head, I think about things, and eventually I go back to sleep. Meditate, recite poetry, whatever, but DON’T GRAB YOUR PHONE.

Get a very loud alarm clock and put it on the other side of the room.

When I was in high school I literally had this:

youtube

With the volume turned ALL the way up, playing reveille. It was the only way, really, to get myself up and get moving. I’m a lot better now, but in initial training, it was really tough for me. Putting it on the other side of the room means you can’t hit snooze. Don’t. Snooze is dead to you now. Snooze isn’t helpful and half the time you go back to a fitful sleep, and for what?

Leave your phone alone while you get ready.

I wake up early so that I can do my morning routine of reading the NYT on my phone. If you need “phone time” in the morning, make it a specific, laid out thing, not come endless scroll while you’re supposed to be doing other shit. My alarm goes off, I grab my phone and read, another alarm goes off, and it’s time to set down my phone and get dressed. Set multiple alarms for yourself, ONE MINUTE APART, NOT FIVE, if you have trouble setting down your phone. Annoy yourself into compliance. Set it down, and leave it at your bedside table. If you forget and pick it up, correct yourself, set it down, and keep getting ready. I find it useful if I’m having a rough time of it to put it by the door, or something, somewhere inconvenient.

Lay stuff out the night before.

Clothes, breakfast, etc. Then you can basically run through like a whirlwind. I can be ready in 30 minutes or less, generally, which ALSO gives me some slack.

All this has helped me IMMENSELY over the years and I do pretty well now!

On Not Feeling Like a Piece of Shit

I am a big believer in the useful qualities of guilt! Guilt is often a good guide for ourselves about the things we probably should be doing. We feel guilty blowing our entire afternoon refreshing tumblr/fb/etc because it’s a dumbass way to waste a lifetime. That being said, like anything in life, it has its limitations.

Are you working toward doing better next time, in a real, concrete way? Have you put things into place to try and make it less likely to happen? Than the guilt has served its purpose. You can release it. Even go all Marie Kondo and thank it for having shown you more of the person you’d like to be, but then let it go. Clinging to it out of some desire to self-flagellate without purpose is a kind of self-centered behavior. Who benefits from you stewing in your own natural juices?

DO we all do it? Of course we do, we’re only human, after all. But I want to encourage you that when you think, “I was really late for work one day, I’m a stupid piece of shit” you answer, “I made a mistake because I’m new to the workforce, and that sucks, but I’m taking steps to make sure it doesn’t keep happening. What more can I ask of me?” and if the answer comes back, “Well, you’re not putting your phone down/going to bed responsibly/etc” then recommit yourself to doing that! But I think, if you’re working, and you are sincere with yourself, you’ll find that sometimes the answer is, “I think I’m asking all of me that I can” in which case, you have no responsibility or even right to hate yourself over it.

It involves a lot of level of honesty with ourselves, but I believe that you’re capable of it. Be FAIR to yourself. And being fair is neither permissive nor cruel. If you’re doing your best, you hav to give yourself permission to forgive yourself. A mistake isn’t worth castigating yourself over. It’s really only repeated patterns of behavior where I think you’re allowed to give yourself a little bit of a spanking, and I’ve been on that side, for sure. But always think, “Is this FAIR to me? Would I consider this FAIR to someone else?”

I mean if I had an otherwise good employee who was really late once, I would think of the times I’ve completely fucked up my schedule. Once is nothing! I’d probably ask if everything was okay, and as long as it wasn’t a repeated thing, no big deal.

#Anonymous

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accioecho · 3 years

Text

Tkem novel 13

Chapter 17 “A joint investigation”

Tae-Eul’s grand plans for the two of them that night consisted of dropping by the shooting range, winning the biggest prize there and walking through the quiet city streets.

The soft stuffed lion was definitely bigger than something that fit the palm of a hand. Tae-Eul successfully hit all seven targets and gave Gon the bulky plush toy.

Tae-Eul’s shooting abilities were incomparable. Gon was no match for her. Sure, when he saw Tae-Eul’s remarkable skills he had first felt a little embarrassed by his poor performance. However that feeling had quickly been replaced by pride.

Gon held the toy against his chest, dimples crinkling, a content expression adorning his face.

“Why do you like that stuffed animal anyway?” Tae-Eul asked when she saw his proud smile.

“Because it’s a lion. It resembles you. Lions are fierce, courageous. And impressive.”

“Ah, I see.”

Her shoulders shook with mirth. They had barely spent half a day together and she had laughed several times already.

Gon put his arm around her. They were walking side by side, like any other regular couple. Spending time together like this… It would be really easy to fall into the quiet comfort of daily life.

As they neared her house, Tae-Eul finally broached the subject she had avoided until then. She had initially planned to bring up the subject as soon as she saw him but she had also really wanted to spend the precious time they had without any interference. Just her and him.

“Answer me without letting me go.”

“I won’t.”

“I want to ask as soon as I saw you but I was holding back. I waited for you as a detective but also as myself all this time.”

Gon halted his steps and turned to her. Eyes slightly widening, lips forming an uncharacteristic grim line, he grabbed her shoulders. Truth be told, there were a lot of things he had wished to discuss with Tae-Eul as well.

“Has something happened? Were you threatened by someone? Because of me?”

“I guess that means it will happen. That’s why you came.”

So much for a quiet daily life together. The idea of a regular life would have to wait some more.

Their eyes locked. Tae-Eul held Gon’s sharp, worried gaze.

“What is it?” Gon asked.

“Is there a dome stadium named K Stadium in the northern region there? With a capacity of 16,890 seats?”

“How do you know that? Did you look that up too?”

So she was right. Tae-Eul’s face tinged with concern. She had a lot to explain. Her hands slid inside her pocket and pulled out the usb key, the tiny item held tightly between her fingers.

Without waiting any further, Tae-Eul hastily ushered Gon to her place.

Gon, who had mostly hung around Tae-Eul’s now very familiar courtyard, who had never gone further than the Taekwondo Dojang, suddenly found himself stepping into the intimacy of her bedroom. Although he was there for a very specific purpose and not in the context of a romantic date.

Gon briefly looked around his surroundings. Her room was sprinkled with countless pictures from her childhood. A few shelves were pushed against the wall and were filled with books she had probably all read. A multitude of other belongings littered the small space.

Slowly approaching her bed, Gon carefully placed the stuffed lion next to her pillow.

They both sat down by the desk. Tae-Eul turned on her laptop, slid the USB key in its slot and played the audio file.

Gon didn’t need to listen for long. He recognized the news anchor’s voice. This was a piece of broadcast from the Kingdom.

“Is it?” Tae-Eul asked.

“Yes, it’s news from my world. But you found it here?” His mind was sent reeling at the thought of Tae-Eul’s discovery. “Who else knows about this?”

“Just me for now. I can’t really tell anyone about this. Nobody will believe it anyway.”

“What are you thinking of doing?”

“I need to investigate further and figure this out. This was my case, before I even met you.”

He respected, no— liked her bravery. This trait was one of the things that made Tae-Eul inherently her. But just this one time, he wished she was less courageous.

“It could be more dangerous than you think.” Gon swallowed the lump in his throat.

“That’s why I thought about just covering it up. But… if I cover it up, then no one will ever find out about this, since there would be only two people who know about this. Me. And the culprit.”

He was wrong.

She was braver than he thought.

She was brave and amazing.

“The two worlds shouldn’t get mixed up like this. They’re supposed to stay on their respective paths. But the two worlds are already colliding, and I’ve discovered it. So what else can I do? That’s why I decided to investigate. I’m a police officer in the Republic of Korea.”

He couldn’t stop anything then. Changes were already in motion, there was nothing he could do to prevent danger from reaching Tae-Eul.

She was in danger the moment she met him, yet she showed no fear, her sense of justice unwavering.

As the King of a nation, responsibilities weighed heavily on his shoulders. Tae-Eul equally felt the same responsibilities as a government officer of the Republic of Korea.

For a tiny second, Tae-Eul had worried Gon would perhaps hold this against her. She was wrong from the start.

Gon still seemed to be lost in thought, his mind going over the recent events. His posture was stiff, eyes unfocused and looking into the distance. As an attempt to distract him, Tae-Eul forced out a shaky laugh.

She also shared his sentiments. What were the odds that the one case she had been investigating for the past few weeks turned out to be tied to another universe. This was bigger than simply the two of them. She had no idea what she was getting into and she felt apprehensive by the sheer unknown that lay ahead of them.

Despite all this, there was one thing that she was sure about.

Gon probably didn’t know this.

Yes, she had always been courageous. But in that instant, the reason that gave her strength, the reason why she felt she could be braver was because of him. Because he was by her side.

“So tell me everything you know about this. This is a cooperative operation that only we can do.”

“How goes the order of command?”

“I’m your superior of course. I give the orders here.” Tae-Eul answered without hesitation.

Gon let out a small chuckle and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a neatly folded enveloppe that contained a copy of Lee Lim’s death certificate and fingerprints confirmation. With shaky fingers, Tae-Eul grabbed the document.

“Lee Lim? That’s…”

“Yes, the traitor. If he’s alive, he’ll be 69 right now. You should find someone who matches his age, blood type and fingerprints. In my world, his body was found the year after he committed treason. But the body… was someone else’s.”

Something was definitely strange. Staring at the file, Tae-Eul sat still, all muscles in her body tensing up. This was beyond their imagination. That a dead person could somehow still be alive.

Tae-Eul knew this was possible though. Because out there stood a gate leading to another universe. A parallel world, where individuals that looked exactly the same as in the Republic existed.

“If Lee Lim is alive… He’s here, using that body’s identity.”

“That’s right. We have to figure out what he’s done here for the past 24 years.”

“I’ll look into it. But until I figure it out, do just 17 things. Stay quiet, don’t draw people’s attention, don’t tell anyone you’re a king, keep Jo Yeong out of trouble, don’t use any guns, contact me whenever you go somewhere. And I’ll tell you the rest when I think of any.”

“I’ll do as you order. Just do two things for me.”

Wondering what he would say, Tae-Eul turned her face towards Gon. He wore an unreadable expression and wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Gon pursed his lips. He hesitated for a moment, and then finally spoke his mind.

“Don’t tell me not to come. And don’t tell me not to leave.”

“…”

“I have to go back sometimes, and when I do, I want to come back soon. Whichever it is, if you tell me not to come or leave, I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything.”

Even in normal circumstances, people easily got tired of their partner when they stayed apart for a short time. In their case, a whole universe stood between the two of them, like a wall standing firm and tall. Gon deeply hoped Tae-Eul wouldn’t experience any difficulties or become weary.

This was the very first time he felt this way. He knew this was selfish of him. In all his life as a King, ever since he was born, he never once harbored any selfish interests.

“So I’m asking you not to get exhausted. I feel like a lousy man after saying that. Am I?”

Still staring at Gon, Tae-Eul slightly nodded.

“I’m confused about which part you were nodding to.”

Tae-Eul let out a small giggle and started tidying up the desk. There was a time not so long ago when Tae-Eul thought she would never understand him. That was when he first came to the Republic, babbling about parallel universes, quantum mechanics and what not. She thought he was just a crazy guy and they would never be on the same page.

Before she knew it, she found herself understanding Gon’s way of thinking and perfectly being able to read his feelings. Because she was the same.

“You should go now. Yeong must be sick with worry since he doesn’t know where you are. He must be waiting for you.”

“Why would you think Yeong doesn’t know where I am?”

Tae-Eul abruptly stood up and went to the window to look outside. Seeing the empty courtyard, she looked around her surroundings.

“He’s following us around here too?”

“I guess I’ve made you curious. I’ll be off now.”

“There’s something else I’m curious about. Am I really not in your world?”

Gon who was about to open her bedroom’s door, stopped in his tracks.

“Eun-Sup and Jo Yeong. Nari and that palace worker. Even this person has the same face. Do I really not exist there?”

Gon stood still, unable to confirm or deny. His silence was answer enough.

“I do, don’t I?” Tae-Eul didn’t know what to think. This felt strange.

“I wanted to wait until I was sure before I told you. But it looks like it. There seems to be a person that looks like you, yes.”

Long after Gon was gone, Tae-Eul couldn’t shake the image of her double existing somewhere in another world.

—

“Your Majesty. You must return to the palace. I can’t protect you here, your Majesty. What is this place, and how long have you been coming here? Your Majesty, we don’t have a life here.”

Unable to hold back, Yeong let out all the things he’d been thinking about but couldn’t say aloud when they were with Tae-Eul and Eun-Sup.

Always looking out for him. Always defending his best interests. Gon was proud of him.

And he was about to relieve him of these daunting, heavy responsibilities.

Ever since their first meeting when Gon was eight years old, not once did Yeong disappoint or upset him. Yeong had become his most loyal subject, his best friend, his brother.

He felt guilty and sorry. But he was the only person who could carry out the task he was about to give him.

“You’ve endured a lot, Captain Jo. Yeong-ah. I can’t leave the palace permanently or give up coming here altogether. So you have to help me.”

#the king eternal monarch #lee min ho #kim go eun #tkem novels #the yearning!#the intensity!#these two and their feelings #ugh #oh and btw #there are only two chapters left and we'll be wrapping volume I

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straight-into-the-animus · 3 years

Text

Make Out (AltMal)

This was one of the fills for @superfinebeam who requested AltMal to the song Make Out by Julia Nunes as part of the Valentine’s Day Playlist Challenge. I’ve never written AltMal, so I hope this suited!

Warnings: None

Read on Ao3 here!

When they had been younger and circumstances were different, when they hadn’t been so angry -- or as angry --, it had been something else. Touches were fleeting and glancing. Not like the blows delivered and exchanged during training.

Kisses tended to make them better. They were never able to exchange them for that long, or share too deeply the emotions that might have gone into them were they different or in different places.

For all this, both men could only hope that whatever words were exchanged in the fiery day, under the all seeing sun, didn’t have a place in the cooler night time where no one was around. Not that it was forgotten, but a bit more forgiven.

This did not last. But while it did… It was nice.

----------

The entire time Malik had known Altair -- meaning, their entire lifetimes -- the man had never been able to sit and settle. Not that you were encouraged to do that as an Assassin, in terms of settling. But sitting and being patient, that was sort of encouraged, in some aspects. You were meant to be aware of yourself, to understand. It helped once you understood yourself to understand how you affected the world around you.

These were all important things. And yet, so often forgotten.

And Malik couldn’t help but remember this as he watched Altair strut around the Jerusalem Bureau, forgetting one of the few rules Malik now had and was able to enforce over the now-novice.

“When I ask you to prepare for a mission, I ask you to do it quietly.”

“Would you rather I scream?”

“I’d rather you stay in one place.”

“I thought you were enjoying my company.”

“Oh?” Malik spared a glance from his maps -- he hadn’t even gotten to work on them with being too focused on Altair, the complete ass -- and glanced up to see the other man standing in front of him, watching him with sharp eyes despite the hood. It wasn’t a look that disarmed him too much, he was used to it. And yet… It was familiar. “What gives you such an idea?”

“You could have told me to leave a long time ago. Or not allowed me to stay at all.”

“Whatever you may believe I may think of you, I would not shove an Assassin out of a sanctuary if he needed it.”

“Truly?”

Malik grunted in response and looked back down at his map, though he didn’t know where to start again with it. Altair wasn’t done.

“Would you be upset if I left and took the noise with me?”

“I’d have peace.”

“I don’t believe that’s an answer.”

Malik said nothing to that, feeling himself being backed into some corner somehow. Altair always had that sort of way, though he never understood it. By all rights he could belittle or shame him for acting this way to his betters, and Malik did think on this and used it to draw himself to his full height to look Altair in his eyes.

“If you excuse me, novice. I have to work.”

“As usual.” Altair nodded just a bit, eyes scoping Malik just a bit as he did. “I won’t take up much more of your time, then.”

Malik barely got out a farewell before the man was gone, white robes barely leaving a trace behind him.

----------

“Why do you do these things?” Malik asked the next time Altair came around and did the same routine, unwilling to allow him some sort of leg up. Altair was unperturbed.

“Do what things?”

“Is your existence on this world made with the purpose to upset me? Do you get some sort of pleasure from that?”

“Why would it?” He asked, still in such a measured tone, but even Malik could sense he had caught the once ‘great Assassin’ off guard.

“Because you do them so often that I’m left to wonder.”

Altair stalked closer so he was right across from Malik, the wood counter being the only divide between that and even then being nothing when only an arm shooting out to grab could be the distance breaker. Malik had his hand planted on the rough wood and leaned on it, making the distance all that much shorter any way, and Altair seemed to meet his stance just enough. He didn’t lean in, but his hands grazed the wood just enough as he started off slowly. His eyes, almost glowing golden despite the dying sun streaming in through the windows, met Malik’s.

“Whatever you believe I may think of you,” Malik recognized his words being echoed back at him but said nothing, allowing the man to continue, “you are likely wrong.”

“I believe you think of me as an inferior still. And that’s why you like to play with me.”

“I don’t play with you.”

“What’s all this then?”

“How else am I going to get your attention when you seem focused on everything but me?”

Malik found it in himself to speak again, almost caught off guard at that. Almost.

“You need to continue to learn that not everything is about you. We don’t all exist for Altair.”

Altair said nothing at that, leaning in just a bit more. Instead of widening the distance as Malik was sure he was supposed to do, he merely stayed stuck in his spot as if he were in a vat of honey.

“I know that. And… I wish to keep learning things. Things I fear I’ve forgotten.”

“Such as what?”

It was silent and still in the Bureau as Altair leaned in one more time, his only barrier being Malik, who found himself more willing than he believed he would be.

----------

A tongue tracing on the seam of his lips, hands just as exploratory under his robes, Malik could feel himself falling deeper into the feeling evoked from the sensations, fire building somewhere deep inside of him. It was a fire he had missed for so long, something from when he was not much more than a boy, working on becoming a man in many ways.

He was a man now, for sure. In that transformation he had lost many dear things -- family, body, maybe some of his own soul with it -- but this was something new. Not a replacement for things long gone, but… something else. Perhaps something better?

Not better.

Or yes?

This wasn’t- No.

“Don’t say you have to leave.”

“Hmm?” Malik was brought back to the present as Altair complained, mouthing the words against his lips before pulling away a bit. His hood was down, rarely, and though something in Malik was glad to see it, it was altogether a… different sight.

“You went into your mind again the way you do when you have to leave me. Or you want to leave me.”

“It’s not…” Malik looked from where they were sequestered in the corner, sure that no one would barge in and knowing that Altair could hide if anyone did. Still… “I’m still busy. And you’re still meant to do your business.” He somewhat playfully freed his arm and tugged Altair’s hood up a bit more.

“We have time.”

“And we’ll have more time later when I finish what I have to do. Letters to organize, recruits to manage and note-”

“I know you’re already done with those.” Altair interrupted, but there was a tinge of something more… urgent in his voice when he spoke afterwards. “I’m asking. Don’t make me do it again.”

It was quite nice. Although if Malik didn’t know better, he would have thought the man sounded desperate in a way. He even said so. But upon not receiving any reassurance to the contrary, no calls against the bluff…

“Alright, Assassin. As you say. Just a bit longer.” He conceded quietly, leaning back in to kiss Altair’s against the wall as two arms wrapped around him.

How much longer, he was unsure. And he was unsure if he would regret it. But he would give it all the same. Time was something they had so little of now, and though stopping and knowing oneself was important… He knew that, deep down, he didn’t want to stop. And he didn’t need to dig deep to know Altair wouldn’t allow that, either.

I hope you enjoyed! This was part of the Valentine’s Day Playlist Challenge, which has ended, though I will be posting requests all of the month of February and you can read more of what was posted specifically by following the tag in the bolded link above. I have a Masterpost here and more unrelated ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request! If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here but absolutely no pressure on that front. Have a wonderful day!

#assassin's creed #altair ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #altmal #my writings

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finalfantasy7 · 3 years

Text

Letting go

Despite all the crying, all the pain, all the disappointment that came from that little bookstore, I’m still scared of letting it go. Honest to god afraid of allowing it to become a distant memory where I can barely make out most of the details.

Little did I know going in I would barely register as a real job, strictly viewing it as a seasonal gig, only to leave it with bleeding heart strings.

I remember how at first I didn’t allow myself to see it as a long term gig, not after only staying as a seasonal at a previous location (a decision that admittedly ended up being a strike against my confidence). And yet, as the holiday season came closer to ending, the more anxious I became about being kept on passed the holiday season. It only became worse as I started to bond with the team there. Everyone and everything seemed to click. I very quickly found myself in a new “comfort zone” and much like love, it’s beautiful to experience and even scarier to lose.

What I failed to realize until now, was I had personally laid down the structure of the home I now associate with that environment. Yes, my colleagues were each as warm as they were individuals; each carrying a back full of personalized arrows and hearts full of dreams and fears alike. But looking back, so many of them highlighted how their kindness was not cheap and for some, certainly wasn’t free.

I now understand what [redacted] means when she says I seem to be the “glue” between people. A substance whose sole purpose is to hold things together and tightly at that. That being said, there are few cases of universal glue. No, in fact there’s specific types of glue for specific materials. I am nowhere near being a universal glue but I seem to be a decent brand for people…or at least those who can afford to be a bit vulnerable and honest.

To this day I will rave about my former coworkers, even more so about the ones I still keep in contact with today. But I’m now starting to see that the bookstore was home to me for a bit BECAUSE I made it home. I could have come in day in and day out and never looked back but I didn’t, at the time it almost felt like I couldn’t. How could I? When a small, insecure being was being suddenly labeled with tags and titles they had never heard before.

I wasn’t “[dead name]” when I stepped through those blue doors but “Finn Acosta”. Nor longer was I this lost entity, a ball of failure, fears and anxieties. No, I was now “Finn”; an attractive, fashionable leader who always seemed to “really see” people for who they were. But even at the time these words read hollow, not because I didn’t believe the genuine sentiment behind them but simply because I didn’t see that person looking back at me in the mirror. They unfortunately went from compliments to a heavy mask I felt I needed to wear, to proudly carry and maintain lest I seek to disappoint everyone.

There was a time period when “life was good” at work. I had recently been hired and I was hungry. You wanted to teach me how to make a table? Let’s do it. Need help with overnight inventory? Something I’ve never done before? I’m game. Wanna teach me how to rearrange every decorative piece on a table? Can’t wait. I suppose this time period could accurately be labeled as “Finn was bubbly” here or at least that’s how one manager described it when discussing how much I had changed by the end of my bookstore career. Managers seem to like this time period as much as I did. I used to think I was happy here and I suppose I was and yet, looking back it all seems so Illusionary? Perhaps our image of happiness changes more throughout our lives than we’d like to admit. But here I was in a relationship which I believed at the time was perfect, was in a workplace I believed was perfect and was starting to carry a new outlook of myself I had, you guessed it, deemed as perfect.

I sometimes wonder if I had the opportunity would I go back in time and warn that version of myself about the storm that was starting to brew? No, I don’t think I would. Even with the knowledge I have now, nothing could have prepared me for what was about to unfold, not really. Plus, who am I to rip off those rose coloured glasses off my past self- she was genuinely as happy as she could have been. I feel weirdly maternal towards that person. I know they were doing their best….unfortunately their best would soon be crushed by reality, more specifically, the flaws and beauty of what it means to be human.

Now going into my second year of psyche I can confidently say reading about humans and experiencing them are very different. To read about projection and have it’s description neatly grouped in small bullet points is very different from someone angrily shutting down your greeting because they’re having a bad day. I experienced a lot of projection at work and equally threw in my own.

It’s fascinating to think I experienced both appreciation and questioning of personality all at once in the same environment. I would be commended on how understanding I could be but equally questioned on how I couldn’t view things as more black and white the same people. How could you see only grays, is what I’d heard in my mind. Where was the fire? Where was the anger? Did it mean I didn’t care? Perhaps I simply didn’t give enough thought to these topics? But that wasn’t the case at all. For months on end I would ruminate about work; everything from issues of health and safety, union processing, to the well being of my coworkers.

This was my pack and I needed to care for it as best as I could…so I did. Someone didn’t feel comfortable addressing concerns to management? I’d do it for them. Let me check in with everyone I saw to see how they were. You look tired, allow me to buy you a coffee. Let me send out feedback forms to see what people need. Remember, each and everyone one of you matters and deserves nothing but care. Oh wait, management is also made up of human beings so I should also extend all this to them. Let me do this, let me do that, I will do this, I will do that. Eventually I became a husk of the person I started off at the beginning of the year. I felt bitter and broken. To put it frankly, I was exhausted.

I’ve never broken down so much in a place of work. I would sit in the corner of the washroom and cry (not too much so we couldn’t stop but enough to get a good sob out). No one ever knew. I know because I’ve now highlighted this to a few former coworkers and they each wear the same look of surprise, sadness and empathy. But why the tears? It was just a part time job and it was…until it wasn’t. Somewhere along the way this part time job truly became something else. I went from clocking in and out, to bringing every person who worked with me home. I packed up their fears in a precious bag and wore it around, how couldn’t I? They were afraid and I was used to carrying around people’s emotions with me. I was even better at wearing a bright toothy smile that hid my own emotions.

At some point I stopped being a CER and started to be..well..I suppose glue. But remember what I said earlier about different types of glue for different materials? Well, you see- management wasn’t particularly fond of the type of glue I was, at least a majority of them didn’t seem to be. You see in the eyes of my leaders, I WAS someone who was just clocking in and out and they weren’t happy with this. You see, the company preferred the type of glue that bonded workers and the company’s “vision”. Workers that were so bonded with that vision that it became almost indistinguishable of where the person started and the sales pitch ended. They wanted you to take work home with you, just not in the way I did. Ironically, because of this I was rated as a low performer; because I didn’t care enough, when all of my peers were telling me the opposite.

But there it was, the other shoe had finally fallen and little Finn isn’t as sturdy as they seem. No, in fact, I remember running out of the performance review in tears, rushing past my coworkers as I digested being told I was a failure (another notch to add to the belt). It’s true when they say, sometimes it’s not the information itself but how it’s delivered. I felt ganged up in the review; mine being the only that required the GM to be present (more like be the one who conducted it but I digress). My mind had completely shut down as my superiors watched me shrink into myself, using the little energy I had to not break down and cry. The surrealism of them joking around about not being able to find a seat in the mall to conduct the review as my mind turned into static. They told me I had “really up days and really down days”, a sentence that may as well be a death sentence if you deal with a form of mental illness. They noticed, they noticed I wasn’t neurotypical, that I was different and not in a good way. You know what hurts the most? These two women were part of a moment of trauma for me and they didn’t even try- for them it was just another day at work. They’ll never know how I spent the next few months psychoanalyzing myself, speaking with professionals to help me find “what I did wrong?”, “why was I a failure?”.

After months of pouring every bit of energy I had towards my team I was told I wasn’t good enough. A part of me wishes I could send this letter to those women, to show them “look what you did to me”. But I feel it would give them another opportunity to dismiss me when I’m most vulnerable, a moment similar to when they glossed over my anxiety disorder, chalking it up to, “I think we’re all anxious right now”. At the end of everything I’m more hurt than bitter. I’m not a manager, I’m not a leader but I know I would never put someone in such a situation and at the very least I can sleep at night knowing that.

To say my time at the bookstore was a learning experience would be an understatement. One day I was at cash dealing with a customer who clearly wasn’t having a good day and I decided then and there, I needed to leave. So, I finally ripped the rose coloured glasses off and decided to give my two weeks. Those two weeks were the least stressed I had been the entire year. Ironically, I had to leave the bookstore to finally take to heart the kind words that were told to me in it. I remember how I was told at my previous location how incredible it was of how many interpersonal relationships I had made in the short amount of time and it looks like here was no different….but it was. I’m now permanently leaving this company behind and realizing if this is what I can do with a few months, a year, imagine what I can do in a permanent career setting? I think I’ll be just fine; not because I’m “Finn”, not because I’m glue but because I try and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

#mine #letting go

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Note

can we get some good ole fashion 1940's bucky a/b/o. he marks his mate before the war and somehow she ends up in present day the same age as when he left for war?

genius, pure genius. I really went ham with this, so there's lots of angst and some vague-ish/implied smut

"I wanna do it, before I go," he whispered against your skin. "But I know it's wrong. It's too cruel."

"No, please," you whimpered, "I want it. I want your mark."

Bucky pulled back for a moment and you examined your Alpha's face carefully, knowing it might be the last time for a long time. "I couldn't bond to you and then leave you. It wouldn't be fair... you deserve to find somebody who can stay, and be with you, and protect you."

"All I want is you," you whispered. "Please, Alpha... bite me."

You saw him hesitate for a moment before he leaned in and sucked at your neck, building the anticipation before he finally suck his teeth into your skin and you cried out, one single tear rolling down your cheek. "Mine," he growled against your skin as he lapped at the healing wound, "my Omega. Forever."

"Yours, only yours," you agreed eagerly.

It wasn't the first time Bucky had taken you, but that night he really and truly claimed you, left you a desperate begging mess, stretched out over his knot as he filled you over and over.

"You promised Bucky you'd take care of me," you reminded him with a little smile, wiping a tear from your cheek.

"I know," Steve relented, "but we both know I can't do that. Not in this state. But maybe I can protect you if I do this. Maybe I can protect my country. I owe it to everyone, especially Bucky, to try."

You nodded. "But I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too. Come see me before I ship out for good, alright?"

"Of course," you agreed.

"You're lying," you gasped as you shook your head. "You're wrong, no, it's not true."

"It is," Steve promised as tears welled in his eyes, "I'm so so sorry, I saw it myself, I had to watch him fall..."

"It's not true! He's not dead!"

"I know he loved you so much. He talked about every day, he couldn't wait to come home to you," Steve remembered, choking up noticeably. "But he won't. He's gone."

"You don't understand, I know, okay? I know."

"You're in shock, I understand, it's hard to lose your mate--"

"You're a beta, you wouldn't understand," you dismissed; sure, he looked like an alpha now, but it didn't make a difference. "Omegas, we know when our Alpha dies, we feel it, it kills us. He's far away, but he's still there, I still feel him!"

"Even when I had nothing, I had Steve," you recalled shakily, "and now he's gone too."

"Is that why you're volunteering?" Agent Carter asked you. "Because you'd rather sleep for a hundred years than live without your mate and your best friend?"

"I'm volunteering because my mate and my best friend died for SHIELD," you corrected firmly, "and if I'm not willing to also, then I'm admitting I think they went to waste."

"Steve told me you didn't think Bucky was dead," Peggy remembered.

You winced. "I'm not sure. But I know he's not coming home again. I came here to give whatever I could to help find him... I was asked to participate in a cryogenics research study. If it helps him, then I'll do it."

She was about to get up, apparently satisfied with your final interview, but you stopped her.

"On one condition," you added. "If James Barnes is found, alive or dead, wake me up to see him."

She nodded, stepping out of the room and leaving you alone again.

"Can you hear me?"

You slowly blinked awake, your vision taking a moment to catch up with your mind. You saw tubes coming out of your arms; you saw Steve above you, looking like the day you saw him last.

"Did you find Bucky?" you asked instantly. Why else would they wake you up?

"No," Steve answered, seemingly a bit disappointed that that was your first and only question.

"Then put me back to sleep," you demanded.

"It's been 73 years," he told you. "You've slept for 73 years. It's time to wake up."

And you did, more than you ever wanted to, because you realized you couldn't feel him anymore. Your Alpha was gone. Worse, he probably died while you were asleep; he probably died alone.

One more time, like he had 73 years ago, Steve held you while you sobbed.

You ran into Steve's room in the middle of the night, barrelling through the door and right into his bed.

"Steve, I feel him!" you rushed.

"What?" he groaned sleepily, looking up at you as he blinked in confusion.

"I feel him again, he's alive," you explained. "I know it. He's weak... he's hurting... but he's there."

"That's impossible," Steve shook his head. "It's been too long, he would've died of old age anyways."

"Don't you want to believe it? Don't you want to think he's out there?"

"Do I want to think he's alone and I didn't save him? No, I can't say that I particularly do!"

"But we still can, Steve, we just have to find h--"

But before you could finish, the feeling left you, and you were just half of something again.

"Oh," you breathed.

"He's gone again?" Steve realized.

You nodded, biting your lip as it started to quiver. He sighed and pulled you into a hug. "If I could just see his body, and know it was over," you whispered, "if I could just bury him, have a funeral..."

"We'll have one," Steve decided, "after this mission. We'll put him to rest. He deserves that, and so do you."

That would have to wait until after your next mission though... and it was going to be a big one: tracking the elusive Winter Soldier.

You were a few blocks away, helping civilians escape the firefight, when you felt it.

For one impossibly brief moment, you felt him, stronger than you had in nearly 80 years. He was here.

You instantly got up and ran like you'd never run before, finding the Soldier and Steve locked in a brutal showdown-- but his mask was gone now, and you nearly fell to your knees at the sight of him.

"Bucky!" you yelped, but you knew he wasn't there or you would've felt his presence. Your Alpha was somewhere underneath the shell that wore his face, and you needed to find him.

You ran forward just as Steve made a break for it, getting to him just in time to stand between the Soldier and his mission.

"Alpha, please," you whimpered, clutching at his chest. A metal hand backhanded you to the ground.

"Out of my way, Omega," he growled, stepping over you, but you grabbed at his ankles even when he tried to kick you away.

"My mark," you explained hastily, pulling your shirt down some to make sure it was visible. "It's yours. Do you remember? You gave me this. This is your mark on me."

He stared down at you, seeming to be contemplating it, and you scrambled back to your feet and faced him.

"I still feel you," you whispered. "I knew you were alive, I knew you'd come back to me. I could feel you, right here," you explained as you took his hand and placed it on your chest. "Could you feel me? Did you know I was waiting for you all this time?"

His eyes were watering but he still seemed confused-- stunned, more specifically, as you placed your hand on his chest.

"I'll always be yours, Bucky. I'll always be your Omega, no matter where you are."

A stun gun took you down, an array of masked men appeared, and before he could really see you for what you were, he was dragged away and taken to be erased again.

"I can't believe we let them get away," Steve lamented that night. "I can't believe they took him again..."

"They'll be back," you promised sternly. "They're going to figure out what I am to him. They're going to realize I could break his programming. And they're going to come for me."

"And when they do?" Steve pressed.

"We'll be ready. And I'll get my Alpha back."

#alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader #alpha!winter soldier x omega!reader #this is basically a oneshot omg #saturday night sleepover

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shortace · 3 years

Text

Descant Brill and the Bank Break-in

Fairies do not like the cold. Descant Brill shivered, and cursed himself for volunteering for this task. Although if he hadn’t, Opal Koboi would simply have ordered him to anyway. Or killed him. He wondered briefly if sheer terror was a sufficient substitute for the loyalty Opal demanded of him and his brother Merval. He decided it was.

On a winter night in Munich the temperature can get as low as -3 degrees centigrade. He supposed he was lucky that it was only just on zero tonight. There was a light coating of snow on the ground, which meant that he couldn’t walk - on the off chance anybody was around, footprints left by a shielded fairy would raise questions Scant would rather not have to answer. Fortunately Opal had thought to stock a secret warehouse with all manner of equipment prior to entering her cleansing coma, so tonight Scant was equipped with whisper-silent wings and a near-invisible cam-foil suit. There was no way any human would see him tonight, no matter what surveillance and security they had in place. Opal Koboi and her employees laughed in the face of bank security.

Of course, this wasn’t just any bank. This was the International Bank, renowned for having the most secure safety deposit boxes in the world. By human standards, anyway. Scant admitted to himself - and only himself - that he was a little bit apprehensive. Not scared. Just apprehensive. He glanced around nervously, half-believing that Opal could feel his tension, despite the miles of rock between them.

‘It’s a piece of cake,’ he tried to tell himself, muttering aloud. A nearby cat puffed itself up, on the defensive, at hearing the unexpected voice out of nowhere. ‘Human security. Nothing to worry about.’ The cat twitched its ears, then turned tail and ran.

He finally reached the front door of the International Bank, and hovered, shivering, for a moment to see what he was up against. A night guard sat on duty behind a desk, although his eyelids drooped with fatigue. Scant had to squint to make sure the huge keyring, including the safety deposit box master key, was on his belt. This had been a key part of the plan, and if he didn’t have the key, he would have to resort to Plan B, which he did not relish. It involved tunnel blue spiders, which turned Scant’s stomach even when it was somebody else who swallowed them.

However, as it was, the key was visible, and the tunnel blue could stay safely shut away. Glancing around to be sure nobody was watching, he briefly unshielded to use an omnitool on the locks. Of course, the guard saw him at that point, and was immediately awake and alert, striding towards the glass door with a hand on his gun.

‘Stop!’ he shouted, loud enough to be heard through the door.

Scant mimed deafness: one hand to his hear, mouthing exaggeratedly, ‘I can’t hear you.’ The omnitool beeped and the door slid silently open. Immediately Scant dropped the deaf act and looked directly into the guard’s eyes. He wore no sunglasses - being the middle of the night - and as he took a breath to shout another instruction, Scant Brill spoke, voice layered with magical mesmer: ‘You don’t need the gun,’ he crooned, ‘I’m a friend. We’re buddies. Pals. We go way back.’

The guard hesitated. ‘I don’t need the gun,’ he confirmed, ‘because we’re friends. But I still can’t let you in.’

Scant sighed, feining disappointment. ‘You can let me in,’ he said, ‘and then you can forget all about me.’

‘I can let you in,’ said the guard, apparently changing his mind. ‘And then I can forget… what am I supposed to forget?’

Scant grinned. ‘Perfect.’ He plucked the keyring from the guard’s belt, and watched as the guard blinked a few times and then went back to his post, completely ignoring the pixie standing right in the middle of the foyer.

Descant pressed the transmit button on the communicator on his throat, connecting him to Opal Koboi and his brother Merval. ‘I’m in,’ he said. ‘The guard is ignoring me, and I’ve got the key.’

‘Good,’ Opal replied. ‘Now plug in the flash drive.’

Scant tried to remember the diagrams and lessons on human computers the boss had made him examine. A USB port would be somewhere on the side of the guard’s laptop, he thought. He tried a couple of different holes, then remembered to turn the flash drive up the other way. Finally it slotted in and Opal’s program popped up on the screen. Run program, he clicked. Under his breath he sang three verses of the old Riverbend classic, Between You and a Dwarf, I’d Choose a Stinkworm Every Time, to give the virus time to infiltrate the security system. As he murmured the closing line, every creature has its purpose, and yours is to make stinkworms look good, the computer beeped and the monitors above blinked. On-screen, Scant was nowhere to be seen. The video was showing a loop recorded earlier in the night - same sleepy guard, same light snow, same everything - but no Descant Brill. Furthermore, every clock on every computer and monitor was now showing 10.34am. Business hours. The safety deposit boxes couldn’t be accessed by anybody outside of business hours. Now, they’d open like a flower. A very utilitarian flower, full of cash and stolen paintings.

One stolen painting in particular.

Once in the safety deposit box room, Scant hesitated, and swore: ‘D’arvit.’ He’d forgotten to check the computer to find out which box was Sparrow and Crane’s. Human computers confused him, with their strange letters inscribed on oddly-ordered buttons, and a mouse that didn’t even squeak. He’d been so relieved to get the flash drive in and the virus working correctly that he’d forgotten the other computer-related task.

Not to worry. He’d just open all of them. There was an emergency override button next to the master key hole for just that purpose.

He inserted the key, turned it, and smacked the button.

Immediately the small room was filled with the sounds of alarms and klaxons, as the individual security from each box’s owner was activated. Scant nearly screamed at the sudden cacophony.

‘What did you do?’ Opal shrieked into the communicator. ‘What is that? Descant Brill, what did you do?’

Scant stammered for a moment before recovering himself. ‘Not to worry, Miss Koboi,’ he said, despite being, in fact, very worried.

Three blocks from the bank, a light was flashing in a police station. The unfortunate constable on watch duty didn’t see it immediately, as she was reading a particularly good Artemis Fowl book. Reading was technically prohibited on the job, but who’d know? The only other person on duty was the guy in the canteen who made fantastic chips and horrific coffee.

‘Shut it off!’ Opal commanded, forgetting for the moment that Scant had no idea how to do so. Circuits had been broken by the opening safety deposit boxes; simply closing them again would not re-wire each alarm. However they were, gradually, one by one, going silent. None of them had been intended to last long; the aim was to cause terror in would-be thieves and attract attention from negligent bank guards.

‘It’s about twenty different alarms,’ Scant told her. ‘I think it’s just to scare thieves. I don’t think it does anything.’

‘I don’t pay you to think!’ Opal screeched.

Scant forebore to point out that he’d specifically said that he didn’t think. ‘No, Miss Koboi. Anyway, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll just boobytrap the painting, these will all shut off soon, and I’ll be gone.’

Unbeknownst to Opal and the Brills, one of the boxes had been wired to do more than just make noise. It was this which had set the light flashing at the police station.

Hands shaking slightly, and distracted by the noise, Scant finally located Herve’s painting in its tube, and carefully injected the bio-bomb’s tracking device in through the rubber seal. It was virtually microscopic, and left no visible external trace. ‘All done, Miss Koboi,’ he reported. ‘I’m out of here.’ He slammed the boxes closed hurriedly, just as the last klaxon went silent.

At the police station, the light still flashed. Finally, the officer glanced up from her book and saw it. She frowned slightly, and tapped it. It still flashed. International Bank patrons were notorious for being paranoid, and false alarms were fairly frequent, but still, better follow procedure. She grabbed her radio and asked a nearby unit to do a drive-by.

Descant Brill was already out the front door, shielded and flying, by the time it arrived. All they would find was a dopey guard and nothing whatsoever missing from the bank. Just another false alarm from another paranoid billionaire. Scant heaved a sigh of relief, and headed back for the chutes.

#artemis fowl #fanfic #writing #descant brill #brill brothers #opal koboi

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

Text

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n- More or less a filler chapter to for a hint of backstory and sexual tension. Welp)

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Warnings- Brief mentions of murder and rape

Chapter 3 Tell Me Your Past.......

Their almost kiss had weighed heavy on John's mind well into the next week. It made him feel guilty, like even if his wife was gone, doing that with someone else would be cheating on her, and worse yet, with someone like Y/n, Helen's polar opposite? He couldn't do that. Helen was good and kind, she was like flowers in spring, but Y/n……...Y/n was like a blazing, untamed fire; chaotic and dangerous. Hot. But he tried not to think about that last part too much.

In the moment, when they were leaning in and she'd seemed more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her, it felt like a good idea, he was finally willing to admit the spark she'd ignited when they first met. But when Donavan interrupted, sliding into the vehicle next to her, John had come back to his senses, reminding himself that she wasn't waters that he wanted to charter.

Pushing away the less that professional thoughts about Y/n had only been made harder when John heard them that evening, confirming his suspicions. The echoed sounds were muffled, but his trained ears could hardly miss a thing and John was actually surprised that he hadn't pieced things earlier. Donavan was always so protective, he hovered over Y/n like a watch dog and always seemed to bend at her whim. At first, John had thought that he was, like some of her other workers, loyal to a fault and too scared to oppose her. But there was something in the way he'd put his hand on her back as they walked into a room, and in the way she always let Donavan have the slight bit of say, it was clear she held him in higher esteem than she did the others.

Knowing that Y/n probably had someone else should have deterred John, Donavan didn't really like him anyway, but instead, it had fueled his feelings. He was jealous when she took Donavan's hand as they got out of the car or when he was the one helping her in and out of the coat. Of course, there was no way of telling what the true nature of their relationship was, they didn't appear as affectionate as more conventional couples, but he did know that whatever it was, they were definitely more than friends. After all, friends didn't leave your bedroom at three am with their shirts off and their pants unbuttoned.

The jumble of thoughts had haunted John every night before he succumbed to sleep, and when he'd bumped into Donavan on his way out in the wee hours of Wednesday morning while he'd gone to get some water, things had only gotten worse for him. Usually, it was easy to focus on work and push aside everything else, but that morning, it was easier to think of anything but.

They were running late too, long after John had gotten ready, waiting in the living room for Y/n to emerge, he'd gotten a call from Donavan, asking where they were and why they hadn't reached yet. After a brisk, stiff exchange, John had been the one to disconnect first, easing his cell into his inner breast pocket before sighing as he started down the hall.

His steps were silent, as they usually were and as he drew near Y/n's room, his brows knitted as he realized that her door had been left a crack open. That was odd, she never left her door open. It shouldn't have been possible for someone to get in with him knowing; John knew the inner workings of that place like the back of his hand, upon his employment; he'd re-vetted her staff, linked the hall cameras to his phone and obviously, if something had happened, he would have heard.

Still, everyone was flawed, maybe he'd made a mistake. Thinking the worst, John reached for his gun, holding it at his side as he neared her room, his ears searching for anything out of the ordinary, while his eyes scanned the surroundings. Even at the door, nothing seemed out of place. Though, when John peeked into the room, that was a different story.

She was fine, thankfully and when John's eyes fell on her, Y/n stood in front of the silver framed, full length mirror, the front of her chiffon shirt unbuttoned, her brown leather skirt, tight on her hips and short at it ended above her knees. She was barefoot too, her heels laid out at the foot of the bed, and if John's eyes weren't betraying him, he could have sworn that he saw glassy eyes and a few tears reflected.

Y/n didn't seem to notice, her stare vacate and fixated on her own reflection. Part of him wanted to call out, but most of John’s mind had evaded better sense and he was, for all intents and purposes, leering. Hesitantly, he moistened his lips, his wandered gaze enthralled with her appearance; soft waves framing her face, plump lips agape and perhaps most notably, pert breasts accentuated by black silk and lace. It was wrong to linger like that, practically ogling, but John didn’t think he could help it, he was already entranced.

He stayed like that, half hidden by her barely opened door, though still visible through the sliver, showing no signs of moving. Eventually, Y/n caught on, and she raised her head, locking eyes with him through the mirror, almost daring him to keep staring, especially when she dragged her lower lip between her teeth seductively, carelessly letting her fingers graze the edge of her open blouse, her nails just barely ghosting over the swell of her cleavage and then her stomach, before she finally turned around, moving to close up the top of her shirt.

By the time she was facing him, Y/n had already done the first two buttons and was quickly moving onto the third, any signs of tears now gone, save for the singular droplet that had remained on her cheek. Even that was quickly brushed away though, “Everything okay John?” She quipped as if she hadn’t caught him staring mere seconds ago.

Clearing his throat, John turned his gaze before facing Y/n again. If she was going to pretend that it hadn’t happened, he'd show her that he was better at that game. “Yeah,” he nodded coolly, just remembering he’d taken out his gun and putting it away, “Next time tell me when you’re running late,” he huffed, “And Donavan’s worried about you.”

“I-” Sighing when he abruptly started walking away, Y/n let her hands fall to her sides, not bothering with an explanation as John stalked down the hall and she yelled, “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes!”

The day had been long, and Y/n’s mind had been a weary mess for all of it. By the end, when the sun was just about to retire and the sky had just started taking on a burnt orange color, she’d decided to call it a day, harshly dismissing Donavan’s concerns and offers to accompany her as she left a few hours earlier than she usually did, though, requesting someone else’s company as she neared the waiting car. “Will you go somewhere with me?” Y/n probed as they settled in, hating how utterly vulnerable she’d sounded.

“I go where you go,” he offered stiffly, his gaze trained slightly off to the side, discreetly looking out the window, trying to work out where they were headed. They weren’t on the usual route, instead, they were headed in another direction, to the suburbs; specifically Oyster Bay. "Where are we headed?"

"I thought you go where I go?" Y/n shot back brashly, not looking his way, instead toying with the petal of a deep red rose from a bouquet she'd gotten. She hadn't mentioned who the flowers were from, nor had Y/n outlined why she'd been given them, though John supposed that it wasn't his business.

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed one of his palms up his thigh, trying to quell his annoyance. Why couldn't she ever just answer a question directly? "You can't just go somewhere and not mention it beforehand. I'm your security, not your secretary."

"I know," she gritted, trying to loosen her hold on the beautiful bouquet so the flowers wouldn't be ruined. "It doesn't matter anyway, we're already here," the car had stopped in front of the gates of a cemetery, the only population being that of stone and marble headstones, some with flowers and keepsakes among them while others were painfully barren. "Are you coming or not?" Y/n got out, taking the flowers but leaving her handbag, not even waiting for John as she casually walked off.

It didn't take long to catch up with her though, and soon enough, John was meeting her where she stood, near two matching grave markers, each constituting deep grey marble in a rounded arch, with gold engravings displaying who was buried beneath. He'd found her lingering in front of one, the clearly older one, while the other just was about a foot and a half away. She'd already placed the flowers in a little holder, tracing the arch of the cold stone before standing again.

Meredith Cecilia Romanov 1969-1999 Mother and Wife Gone, but never forgotten.

"This is my mother," Y/n swallowed thickly, not really sure why she'd chosen to tell John, and definitely not wanting his sympathy. Tears were hard to fight, and just maintaining her disposition was a trying task, even as she continued, words coming without permission, "Today's her birthday, she would have been fifty."

Out of her periphery, Y/n could see John starting, not the way he had that morning, with the swirl of lust on his dark eyes. That time, it was exactly what she'd dreaded; pity, though, mixed with something else, something like…...understanding. "I'm sorry," he managed, almost raising his hand to reach out before remembering that it wasn't his place.

"Its okay," she shrugged, sniffling softly, "It was a long time ago," blinking quickly, Y/n swiped under her eye dismissively, "I barely knew her, and I…..I've learned to accept it." In a way her father couldn't.

"Doesn't make it easier," it was a plight John knew all too well, the pain and suffering of losing someone prematurely, before you'd done with them everything you wanted to. There was so much he'd wanted with Helen; peace, a home, a family. And he knew part of Y/n felt some semblance of the same, like she'd been robbed of everything they could have shared. And she'd been so young too, probably no older than ten when she’d found out her mother was gone, forever. "How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking."

"Its……" She trailed off absently and Y/n's eyes went vacant and glassy, "It was….horrible." There couldn't have been another way to describe it, at least not at the top of her head.

"That covers a lot of ground," John noted, hoping that she'd open up a bit more, so he could be a little closer to her. He knew it was wrong, she was his boss and far beyond his reach, especially with Donavan in the picture. But then again, Donavan wasn't the one standing in the cemetery with her.

Briefly, she glanced at him, before turning away to explain, "I was seven, and she…..as far as I know, went shopping …...it was around my dad's birthday, she went to get him a gift or something, I guess. They snatched her, at the mall. People looked for days, he looked for longer, hoping she'd be alive," despite her efforts of staying steady, her voice broke, "She wasn't, and on his birthday, he got this box…...and a note, ‘happy birthday, from your wife’. It was bad, he knew it was bad, but he still screamed when he opened it; it was her left hand, ring and all still there."

"Fuck," John breathed under his breath. He'd heard the rumors, the little whispers that had said that had spoken of how Meredith had passed, but most of them had seemed too fictitious to be true. He was quickly realizing that they were true, every single one of them, "I'm-"

"When they found her body, in a canal, near the Eastside River," Y/n continued, surprising him, "She was barely recognizable, and the autopsy said that she'd died from severe blood loss after everything they'd done. And that she'd been raped, more than once, by more than one man."

"Y/n," John gasped. He'd done terrible things, killed with his bare hands, but none of them could have ever been that horrific. What had happened to Y/n's mother, it was…..unspeakable, terrible, and there was probably not one person in the world that he could think of as deserving a faith like that. "Who did it?" If he could, he'd take revenge for her, not that it would matter. It wouldn't bring Y/n's mother back.

At his question, Y/n huffed a dry chuckle, memories of Saturday washing over her; the reason she'd been so angry. "The fucking Irish," she breathed, taking a moment before straightening her back, pocketing her hands in her grey coat, and turning to walk away.

*****

Tagging-@harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea @jupiterdawngirl

#keanu reeves #john wick #john wick x reader #keanu reeves reader #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick fanfic #ff #fanfic #john wick x you #protective service #chapter three #angst #series #requested #john wick fanfiction #fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfiction

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