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elvendara · 3 years

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Sugar and Spice Day 2

July 13th

Cheerleader/Stoner HS AU

“He’s looking at you again.” MC said and nudged Yoosung with her elbow.

“Stop it! No he isn’t, he’s probably looking at you.” He retorted and continued to stretch, reaching for his left foot as he sat on the ground, legs spread apart as far as they would go. MC shook her head.

“Uh uh, he’s gay, and you’re the only one with a penis over here.”

“Oh my god! How would you even know he’s gay? What a rotten rumor, just because he isn’t interested in any of the girls that throw themselves at him. Maybe he has standards.” He scoffed.

“Sure, all the standards of a stoner.” MC scoffed right back.

“Wow, way to generalize. You don’t even know him.”

“And you do?”

“I didn’t say that, I just mean, don’t judge.”

“I may not know him, but you’re right about one thing, he isn’t your general stoner.”

“I know, he’s like super smart. The teachers love him because he doesn’t cause any problems and does all his work fast. He’s probably the smartest kid in the school…” Yoosung stopped when he heard MC laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“For someone who isn’t interested, you sure know a lot.”

Yoosung snapped his mouth shut. So what if he’d asked a couple of questions about Saeran? It was only because he’d overheard the teachers talking about him while Yoosung was in the office helping out.

“Just, be quiet OK. He’s going to hear you.” They both stood, side by side, legs apart and began to bend at the waist, stretching more. It was important to prepare their bodies before beginning practice.

He couldn’t help it, he snuck a peek at the bleachers and locked eyes with Saeran. He looked away quickly, as if it had been an accident. His heart rate increased and sweat broke out all over his body. It happened every time he saw the guy. Something about him just seemed to ignite a craving that was insatiable. He’d bleached his hair during summer break and added pink tips at the beginning of the school year. He wore a red shirt, a leather jacket, skinny jeans and biker boots. He usually wore eyeliner and a spiked collar, but Yoosung couldn’t see for sure if he did now. It looked good on him though.

“Sure.” MC rolled her eyes, as she stretched in the same direction as Yoosung. His blond hair was pulled back in a small tight pony, his white school t-shirt was cropped, and his gym shorts were tight around his ample ass and crotch. His amethyst eyes strayed to the bleachers continuously.

It certainly seemed like Saeran was looking at him. He could feel those brilliant amber eyes on him. He tried to shake himself, it wasn’t very manly to swoon. Though he supposed being a cheerleader wasn’t manly either, but he’d like to see one of those jocks try and do a backflip into a perfect split!

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced back just in time to see Saeran step down from the bleachers and head around back. It meant nothing of course, but he felt a little sad. He’d been looking forward to try and show off his moves. Flexibility was sexy right? No use in wallowing in his absence, time to practice.

They both ran towards the group already practicing and joined in. They rehearsed the cheers they knew by heart and learned the new dance routine their captain had prepared. Yoosung liked dancing, even more than the gymnastic and cheers part of being a cheerleader. But his head just wasn’t in it. His thoughts wandered back to Saeran. Was MC right? Was he gay? People said that about him all the time, but they were just assholes, trying to make fun of him because he didn’t want to join any of their cliques.

“Ow! Damn it Yoosung! Pay attention! You almost dropped me!” Hena screamed at him as she hit the ground roughly but still on her feet.

“Ah, sorry, sorry.” Yoosung shook himself, it was dangerous to not pay attention while doing the stunts they did. He felt terrible.

“I think that’s it for you Yoosung, why don’t you hit the showers.” Ashie, the cheer captain ordered with a shake of her head. She didn’t even look at him as he walked away. MC gave him a pitying look as he passed her and a squeeze of his upper arm. He nodded his thanks but knew he was in big trouble. He wouldn’t lose his spot on the team, but Ashie would make him pay for sure. He did as he was told and showered then put his uniform back on. The top was of the same style as the females, but with sleeves and longer, and the pants were plain white and loose fitting with stirrups for his feet so they wouldn’t ride up.

Grabbing his bag, he set out towards the busses. It was the last run but wouldn’t leave for another hour because it was set to take the kids home who had after school activities. Crossing the grassy area next to the track where the football players and cheerleaders were practicing, he glanced towards the bleachers and saw Saeran standing underneath. At least, he assumed it was him, all he saw was a patch of bleached hair. Without making a conscious decision his steps carried him towards the area. Before he realized where he was, he stood under the bleachers almost eye to eye with the taller boy. He held a newly rolled up joint, but only played with it as he watched Yoosung approach.

“Oh, uh, hi…” he stumbled and felt like an idiot.

“Hey.” Saeran answered and took a few steps towards Yoosung, standing close to him. Yoosung watched as Saeran reached his hand and traced his finger down his face. He swallowed at the touch, shivers crawling down his spine. They were so close! Close enough to kiss! The thought sprang into his mind, and he could feel himself burning up. He wanted to look away, but he was held firm in those amber eyes. They were clear, so he it seemed he hadn’t smoked anything yet. There was indeed black eyeliner around his eyes, the edges smudged to give him an edgier look. His nails were painted black, and he wondered what their hands would look like intertwined as his own nails were currently a bubblegum pink.

“Can I tell you something?” Saeran asked, so close he felt the warmth of his breath on his cheek. Yoosung nodded numbly, his body beginning to vibrate. “You are beautiful.” The sentence was short and to the point whispered intimately into his ear. Yoosung’s heart stopped beating, his eyes widening. He felt faint and stumbled towards Saeran, who caught him in his arms easily. It only made his reaction worse to feel the boy’s hands on his body. Once he was steady on his feet again Saeran took a step back.

“Sorry.” He let go of Yoosung and moved an arm’s length away. The joint was back in his hand as he turned and looked through the bleachers at the track and everyone still at practice. It felt like someone had doused him with a bucket of cold water. He wanted to reach out and touch Saeran again, but his body’s response left him shocked and confused. “Saeyoung says I’m too intense sometimes.” He kept his gaze away from Yoosung. “Heh…that’s me I guess, either no interest or too much interest.”

“Am I…interesting?” Yoosung asked.

“Very.” Saeran answered. There was a full minute of silence as they both let that sink in. There was a small smile on Saeran’s lips as he seemed to be mulling over something. Yoosung thought he could stand there and stare at the boy for the rest of his life. That smile was heavenly. Beautiful? Yes, Saeran was an angel!

“Do you read poetry?” he asked, his amber gaze once more piercing through Yoosung’s heart.

“Poetry? No…I…no.” the question took him aback, why were they now talking about poetry?

“I do. I like poetry. The way it flows, the language it uses to describe something so sublime there really are no words, yet…they try.” He turned towards Yoosung again and took a step forward.

“Cloaked in darkness with an icy heart

I roamed this earth.

Head held low with a shuffling step

Denied of every warmth.

Into my sight and in my world

A ray of sunshine

With golden hair and cherub lips

A vision so sublime.”

As he spoke Saeran again traced his fingertips down Yoosung’s face to his jaw and back again.

Yoosung swallowed, “What…who…wrote that?” his brain was buzzing, was Saeran really quoting poetry to him? He wondered how his legs were still able to hold him up, as they felt like noodles.

“I did.” He whispered into his ear again. “The first time I saw you, it was like the rainclouds above my head opened up and for the first time let the sun’s rays in. You glow. Your light is so radiant it puts the sun to shame. How anyone can be in your presence and not be blinded is beyond me. And now, here I am, touching that light.”

#my posts #Yooran #Yoosung Kim #Saeran Choi #Sugar and Spice #Day 2 #Cheereader/Stoner (High School AU)#Saeran is for sure intense and Yoosung is here for it #Ahh....

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halfway-happyyy · 4 years

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An Invisible String - Part 2

AN: This is something I’ve been working on for quite a while now, and it is a little different than my usual pieces. It will probably be about three or four installments. If you enjoy it (or even if you don’t) (I don’t do too many chaptered pieces... like, ever) please feel free to send feedback. Warnings include: mentions of suicidal tendencies, depression, anxiety, past mentions of domestic physical and mental abuse. Loosely inspired by the music video for ‘High Hopes’ by Kodaline.

Synopsis: Depressed, suicidal and recently single Alexander Skarsgård is at the end of his rope. But he is about to find out that no matter where you come from, what your pain looks like, or what your truth is... The universe will always fight for souls to be together.

part 1, part 3

“You will never escape this, Thea. Ever. This life was never meant to be abandoned. I will find you every single time my darling.”

The shadowed figure lunged towards her; his hands outstretched as if to wring them around her neck…

She had awoken with a jolt, her eyes snapped open to the white ceiling above her head and for a moment she had forgotten where she was. To steady her erratic breathing, she watched as the sequins from her wedding dress cast rainbows along her arm as the sun rose to greet the gauzy material. Thea strained for any sounds in the distance but could only make out the muffled whirring of the coffee machine in the kitchen. She had started to lose track of time now. Had she been here a day? Three? Was it possible that she had been back in the presence of the impossibly handsome, Swedish man currently brewing coffee down the hall, for almost a week already? She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, reveling in the feeling of the cool hardwood floor against her sleep-warm feet. As she stretched her arms high above her head to limber up, a small yawn escaped her open mouth. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a t shirt that she had purchased the other day and stepped out into the hallway outside her door. Immediately the scent of fresh coffee and croissants filled the air and she padded her way to the kitchen to investigate further. She stopped cold in the entranceway to watch the scene unfolding in front of her, in complete awe. Alexander, though immensely tall, was reaching for something at the back of the cupboard on his tiptoes, the edge of an old t-shirt rode up just enough to reveal the toned patch of skin beneath it. Thea swallowed hard and cleared her throat to announce her presence. Alexander immediately fell back onto the balls of his feet and swiveled around to greet her with a small smile.

“Good morning Thea.”

She dropped into the kitchen chair before her, trying in vain to ignore the way the elder Swede’s exposed lower body had made her feel. “Good morning,” She replied as nonchalantly as she could muster.

Alexander closed the distance between them to pass her a filled coffee mug. She took a tentative sip and smiled softly to herself when she discovered that he had made it just the way she liked. “How did you sleep?” He asked.

Thea marveled at the way silence settled between the pair of them, like dust settling into the nooks of a warm house. Where once the absence of noise had made her uncomfortable beyond words, with Alexander it felt painfully familiar. Normal even. She peered over at him; he was leant against the stove, one long leg crossed easily over the other one at the ankle. He was seconds away from bringing the edge of a steaming coffee mug to his lips, his blonde eyebrow quirked in question. “Apart from a few bizarre dreams, I think I slept just fine thank you.” She eyed the plate of warmed croissants next to him, and her mouth watered as she watched the way the steam rose from the pastry and dissipated into the air above them. She smiled wryly at him. “I’ll have one of those if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, of course.” Alexander reached for the plate next to him and handed it to her.

“How did you sleep?” She asked as she bit into a crunchy end piece.

Alexander watched her chew the flaky pastry, a small smirk in place on his features. “Slept fine, thanks. You uh… You’ve got a little something on the edge of your bottom lip there,” Within seconds he had bridged the gap between them, reaching toward her with the pad of his thumb. Instinctively, she recoiled from him as the warmth of his thumb contacted the sensitive skin of her upper lip, causing goosebumps to rise in uneven patterns along her arms. Had she been crazy, or had he felt it too? That split second where the most miniscule touch of his had left a searing trail of fire in its very wake.

Alexander cleared his throat and gestured to the hip-waders hanging haphazardly from a hook in the front hallway. “I figured that I’d like to go fishing today, maybe take truck out and spend some time on the water.” He glanced down at his feet, as if embarrassed by what he was about to say next. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?”

Fishing?

Thea could count on one hand the amount of times she had been fishing in her lifetime. Her grandfather (bless his heart) had taken her out on two occasions previous; one had been on a dock in her hometown, and the closest she had come to a fish that day was a glimpse through murky water at the unlucky amphibian who had perished at the hands of some other cruel soul. The second time was when he had taken her to the banks of the river not far from her home and tried to help her catch something there. To her immense relief, both times had proven to be wildly unsuccessful and she had been able to return home, conscience untarnished.

“Of course, you don’t have to, I just thought that if you hadn’t wanted to spend the day alone…”

Alexander’s apprehensive tone had shaken her from her reverie, and she found herself protesting. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to… I’d like to go; I just can’t promise that I’ll have any idea what I’m doing.” Thea felt her cheeks grow warm as she watched the slow, familiar smile spread across his features. She decided right then and there that she would not mind spending the rest of her life trying to make him smile like that again.

The drive out to the lake near his house had been mostly silent save for the crackle of the FM radio in the background. There was something about the Swede’s side profile that set her pulse racing from the moment the drive began. Maybe it was the way he let one arm rest out of the edge of the open window, the other calloused hand turned the steering wheel with ease. Or perhaps it was the way that when he frowned at the driver in front of him, the twinkle in his blue orbs dwindled the slightest bit, the delicate creases next to his eyes deepening in annoyance. Thea had caught herself wondering multiple times how it would feel to have that hand wrapped around her own again, the comfort that it might bring her, the sheer warmth of it. Alas, she resisted the urge for fear of never wanting to part with it. Instead, she focused on the beauty of her surroundings. A late May sun hung high in the azure sky, the warm wind floating in on his open window brought with it the promise of long days and even longer nights and not for the first time since reuniting with him, did she settle into the unfamiliar embrace of hope.

“We're here,” Alexander murmured as he pulled into a gravel parking lot and parked the car a few hundred yards away from where a weathered dock stood. He exited the vehicle wordlessly and reached into the backseat for his tacklebox, rod, and hip waders. “Forgive me, but it's been a while and I seem to have forgotten,” He squinted up into the beaming sun above him. “Have you ever been fishing before?” He asked when he had gotten around to her side of the door, which he opened without thought.

Thea stepped out onto the uneven gravel, suddenly wishing she had been wearing anything other than a pair of strappy sandals. She folded a hand above her eyes to shield herself from the bright afternoon sunlight and nodded her head yes. “Sort of… my grandfather had tried long ago to make a fisherman out of me.”

Alexander elicited a quiet chuckle and stepped into his hip waders, pulling the straps up over his shoulders with a muted snap. “I take it that he wasn’t so successful?”

“Not in the slightest bit,” She smiled. “But looking back on it now, it was less about the actual fishing than it was the quality time with him, you know?”

Alexander’s smile faltered the tiniest bit and he nodded his head in agreeance. “Absolutely. Catching a fish is the cherry on top of an already good time; when I’m out here… there is a peace that I get, that can’t really be attained anywhere else in my life.”

Thea followed him to the shoreline and bent over to roll up the bottoms of her jeans so that she could wade out into the frigid water before her. It had stolen her breath away at first, but a few more tentative steps forward allowed her body to adjust to the chilled temperature. She watched idly, as Alexander attached a piece of bait to the end of his rod and venture out into deeper depths before him. It had been remarkably difficult not to stare blatantly at the bare skin of his toned, golden shoulders; at the way that his muscles rippled each time he cast his line out before him. It was not long before Thea arrived at the conclusion that she could be content doing just this very thing, from here on out, for the remainder of her days. “Do you come to this spot often?” Her voice had startled her; the sheer volume of it sounded wrong amongst the silence and birdsong, and she regretted it immediately, but if it bothered Alexander at all, he made no show of it.

“I try to come out as often as I can. My brother’s and I discovered this spot a few years ago, and it’s been a staple ever since.”

“Gosh, it’s been a while since I’ve let myself think about you guys…” She murmured, wistfully.

Alexander swung an arm back and cast his line out into the abyss before him. “Yeah, I could say the same thing about you.”

“How are they?” Thea asked, in an attempt to set the conversation on another course.

Alexander turned to her, smiling. “They’re great, Thea. Mum’s recovered now- her and Sam are physicians up in Stockholm.” He was reflective as he shared this information with her; but there was an air of pride he exuded that she could not miss. “Gustaf and Bill are trying the whole acting thing up in California- it’s going pretty well. Valter thinks he can get it on it too, so all the power to him. And Eija,” He could not suppress the wide-mouth grin at the mention of his only sister. “Well, she just got married.”

Thea let a puff of air escape her mouth in surprise. “Married, hey? Wow.” She hugged her arms tighter around her frame, the chill of the water caused her to shiver involuntarily. “That all sounds so wonderful, Alex. I can’t imagine how proud of them you must be.”

Alexander turned to face her again and his expression told her that there was something more that he wanted to ask her but was hindered from doing so. “Do you see your family often?”

Thea swallowed hard; she could feel the inexplicable prickle of looming tears in the depths of her eyes and she shook her head. “Not often, no.” She had no desire for this conversation to continue further and was grateful that Alexander had sensed that almost immediately. She cleared her throat and offered up a small smile, that the man before her was slow to return. “Do you see your family often?”

“I try to head up to Stockholm every few weeks to see them…” He reeled in his line and cast out once again. “And I suspect that they think I get lonely up here by myself, but I’ve come to embrace the solitude.” She could not miss the way his voice hollowed out at the end of that statement. “Oh god… our family get togethers are something else, though, aren't they?” He grinned. “It’s easy to miss those.”

“Yeah, they sure are.” She agreed.

He nodded emphatically. “They’re loud, and utterly chaotic, and sometimes politically charged, but the love is always palpable. And the laughter flows almost as freely as the wine does, all night long.”

Thea could not help but smile at the memory of it. “It all makes me so nostalgic.”

Alexander glanced back at her- he had been about to ask her something, but his eyes clouded over the slightest bit and he veered off course at the last minute. “Want to come and try?” He lifted the fishing pole in gesture.

Thea was skeptical for a few reasons, but the hopeful look on his face helped to change her mind. She waded a little further out so that she stood next to the man beside her. She was so close to him that she could smell the afterthought of cologne on his skin- a scent so familiar that it made her almost dizzy. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve done this,” She warned.

Alexander smiled and pulled her in front of him, the all-encompassing warmth of his hands a welcome reprieve to her chilled frame. “So, the aim is to have your hands as far apart as feels comfortable for you… may I?”

“Absolutely.” She consented.

Alexander helped to move her hands to the proper position on the pole. “And once you've got that down, you're going to swing the pole back behind you for a moment…” Thea allowed him to move her arm back behind her. “And the key when casting the line back out, is to release it when it's in front of you." She did as she was told and watched the line sail out into the water before her. “See?” Alexander murmured. “You're a natural.”

Thea turned to tell him something, but her bare foot slipped on the muddy silt bottom beneath her, and before she could comprehend what was happening, she was fully submerged in the frigid lake water. In seconds, Alexander had managed to link a large hand around her bicep and haul her out of the water, the laughter bubbling up out of her throat like a beautiful song. She stood hunched over the mirrored surface, hands on her knees, and dripping from head to toe as the waves of laughter took hold of her body. Though she was now near-freezing, she could not recall the last time she had let herself laugh like this, and she missed the smile that had been blooming steadily on the older man’s face as he watched her. “A natural, hey?” She managed to breath out, once she was able to take a proper breath.

Alexander shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sure we’ll get you there in time. Come on. There’s a seat in front of the fireplace back home with your name on it.” Thea followed him back to the truck wordlessly and he had managed to find an old and tattered blanket in the bed which he secured tightly around her shoulders before he started the journey. Though the time on the radio only read 2:57 P, and the late-May sun still hung high in the sky, Alexander made sure the heat was turned to full blast on the ride home. “You alright?” He frequently asked her. “We're almost there.”

“I'm fine, thank you.” It seemed pointless to try to hide the chatter of her teeth and she was utterly grateful when the car rolled to halt in front of the stone structure a few moments later.

He exited the vehicle and stocked around to her side of the door, opening it so that she could head directly to the house. “Thea?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Here.” He tossed the ring of keys to her so that he could finish grabbing the rest of his gear. “You go on in, get into some dryer clothes and meet me at the fireplace in ten, okay?”

“Sounds good, Alex.” She murmured and let herself into the darkened front foyer. It struck her just now, how strange it was at how quickly this house had begun to feel like a home to her. Maybe it was that she had already known its owner in a past life. Almost as if the secrets she had shared with him ages ago lent themselves to these very walls and they just accepted her now. She padded down the hallway to the guest room and slipped into a pair of worn, denim jeans and an oversize knit sweater- and as she held her arms tighter to her frame in an attempt to warm up, she was in awe of the woman's touch that still lingered in the very fabric of the room. She had caught herself wondering multiple times in the past week about the woman Alexander had shared his life with up until a year ago. Who was she? What had she been like? What was the reason behind their untimely parting? A metal axe splitting through the center of a wooden log sounded in the distance and Thea wandered off in the direction of the commotion. She found herself rooted to the spot in front of the living room window in unconcealed awe, the site in front of her almost too much to bear. Alexander had changed into a pair of worn, navy blue coveralls, and was hulking through a pile of wood in the front yard. She could not be sure how long she stayed to watch his figure cut through the wood, but she came to when he entered the house laden with enough logs to fill the bottom of the ashy fireplace.

“This'll get you warmed up in no time, kid.” Alexander faltered for a moment as the weight of what just exited his mouth pressed on him. Thea had been too stunned at the sound of her old nickname to say anything in return. “I'm uh… I'm sorry.” He scratched uncomfortably at the back of his head. “It just sort of slipped out.”

Thea combed a hand back through her hair. “Just took me back a few years, is all.” She watched him kneel down on the hearth and toss the freshly split logs into the pit. With his hands now free, he reached for the box of red bird matches next to him, lit one, and threw it down onto the dry wood before him. The flames were quick to catch the wood, the sheer warmth of them instantly comforting. “That's already much better…” Thea held the palms of her hands up to the crackling flames and breathed a small sigh of relief.

“I’m glad.” Alexander murmured and dropped into his chair opposite the fireplace. It was silent between the pair of them for a long while. She could feel his gaze on the back of her neck like a warm ray of sun, and though it was a long time ago, she knew that questions usually resided in his silence. “What were you running from, Thea?”

She swallowed hard and let her hands drop to the stone hearth beneath her, her mouth suddenly void of all moisture. She knew this conversation had been in the cards for a while now; there was no conceivable way that he was going to let her to continue staying here- with him- without some answers first. “Lots of things.” She finally said.

“Did you marry him?” Alexander asked, hollowly.

Thea found the flames- wonderful shades of orange and red, mesmerizing. She watched them lick at the wood and at the stone chimney above them. “No.”

Alexander cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”

Thea wrung her hands together- a nervous habit that she had yet to outgrow. “I was at a point in my life where I needed to make a decision, and I needed to make it quick.” She took a deep breath to steel herself for the rest. “I knew that if I had gone through with those vows- if that god forsaken gold band got put on my finger, I’d be stuck forever.” She had expected to have to tell him more than she was ready for, but she still had so many questions for him. “And you…” She finally whispered. “What were you running from, Alex?”

“Ghosts.” The finite way that the word fell from his lips, allowed no room for elaboration.

Thea was silent as she contemplated this. Her heart nearly shattered at the thought of Alexander being so done with everything around him that the only option was to take his own life. She wondered briefly if the thought was still as adamant as it was a week ago. “Your family would have been devastated.”

“I know.” He cleared his throat again. “For what its worth, I’m glad that you’re here now.”

She nodded resolutely. “I am too, Alex.”

Their conversation had taken up more time than she had thought, and the fire had started to dwindle to glowing embers. The clock above the walnut bookshelf read 6:09, and the thought of having to prepare anything for dinner made her weary.

“Shall we head to the pub for dinner tonight?” Alexander asked, as if reading her thoughts.

She rose from her spot on the hearth, her body now entirely dry, and pleasantly warm. “Show me the way.”

They arrived fifteen minutes later to an unusually quiet pub. Where normally on Thursday evening’s locals would be starting their weekends early, she and Alexander had managed to find a quiet booth tucked away at the back of the bar. They ate their dinner of soup and bread in peace- bits and pieces of their previous conversation played on a loop in her brain. She knew that there would be further discussions on the matter- how could there not be? There was still so much that needed to be said. Still so much healing that needed to be done.

“God, it’s been years since I’ve seen you.” Alexander shook his head in mild disbelief and lifted the near-empty pint glass to his lips. “I don’t think I ever considered the idea that our paths might cross again.”

Thea smiled softly to herself. If she was honest with anyone, Alexander had always resided tucked away in the back of her mind. A secret that she only let herself think about on special occasions. Maybe it was the way that things had ended for them- so abruptly and so finitely that she believed that one day, if she played her cards right, she might have a second chance. Thea’s ears perked up when the previous rock song had turned to a Swedish folk tune, and she tipped the rest of the amber liquid into her mouth, setting the glass down against the wooden tabletop with a resounding clank. She rose from the leather booth, slightly lightheaded and dizzy with hope, and before she could talk herself out of it, she extended her hand out to Alexander’s. “Will you dance with me?”

She half expected him to decline and leave, but instead, his lips turned up into a small smile and he cocked his head to the side. “Right here?”

Glancing down at the scuffed hardwood flooring, she shrugged her shoulders and nodded. “Right here.”

Alexander slid out of the booth and closed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around her waist and taking her small hand in his much larger one. They swayed together on the spot for what felt like hours- and it took every ounce of self-control that Thea possessed not to just simply melt into his touch like she used to so many years before. She took note of the way in which Alexander still held her; like she was the most precious thing in the universe. Like if he let her go, she might shatter into a thousand different beautiful pieces. Thea had not realized that the song had finished until Alexander broke away from her to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. He was close now; so close that she could smell the scent of body wash on his skin; could smell the subtle scent of perspiration from chopping wood earlier. For a moment she expected him to kiss her- she very badly wanted it to happen. But the moment passed, and something sorrowful glittered in the depths of Alexander’s blue orbs that hindered him from touching her how she wanted him to. “There’s just something about you Thea. Something I doubt I’ll ever be able to move on from.” He swilled back the rest of the beer in his glass and smiled sadly. “Like some sort of invisible string has been tied to our fingers since the very beginning of time.”

As Thea viewed him under the dank light from the pub lamp, she had never ached more in her life, for the second chance to get things right.

#high hopes #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alex sstuff #drabble #tw:depression #tw:suicidal #tw:anxiety #alexander skarsgard au #writing #fluff #an invisible string

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theotherackerman · 3 years

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My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

NOTES:

Flashback: Historia, age 13

Current time: Tuesday, January 5th

chapter nine: i wanna be your endgame

Historia had joined the group in junior high when her life had been uprooted. The boys had immediately swarmed her, showering her in attention. Much of that attention was unwanted, especially from Samuel and Daz.

It had been gym class when the teacher had proclaimed it was time for dodgeball. It was boys versus girls.

Historia was okay at this game but she noticed Daz had taken a liking to trying to get her out.

“Hey Historia, if I get you out, you have to go out with me!” He yelled.

“Hey! Same with me!” Samuel added.

She had done fairly well dodging and hiding but when two balls were headed directly her way, one from Samuel and one from Daz, she suddenly felt doomed.

Just as they were about to hit her, someone shoved her out of the way. Historia fell to the ground.

“Get them, Mikasa and Annie,” the girl with short brown hair said as she offered her hand to Historia.

Mikasa and Annie looked at one another, then nodded. They threw with deadly precision, getting both Daz and Samuel out.

Historia took the girl’s hand and she pulled her to her feet.

When lunch came, Historia was once again being pestered by Daz.

“You should sit with me,” he insisted.

Historia was too nice to say no. She needed friends here, even if they were creepy friends. Before she could answer, someone else spoke up.

“She can’t because she’s sitting with us,” said the same girl who had saved her in dodgeball.

Historia looked over at her new hero.

“You’re such a bitch, Ymir,” Daz scoffed.

“Oh wow, haven’t heard that one before,” Ymir said as she grabbed her lunch tray and walked away.

Historia followed the girl to the only table that seemed not to have a certain clique. She sat down in between Ymir and the girl with the black hair who had saved her earlier in the day.

“Alright, this is Historia, everyone,” Ymir announced. “I’m Ymir. That’s all I’ve got to say about myself. Let me introduce you to everyone else. So on this side of the table we’ve got Mikasa. Don’t let her looks fool you, she can kick anyone’s ass. She is pretty good at writing and playing piano too. Us girls go over to her house a lot for sleepovers.”

Mikasa gave Historia a small wave.

“Then there’s Annie, our resident math genius. Her dad is teaching her to play guitar. She’s the other half of our ass kicking team.”

“Hi,” Annie said before returning to drinking her milk.

“If anyone bothers you, just get one of those two. The one stuffing her face is Sasha. She’s in the school marching band, percussion.”

“Hi Historia,” Sasha said after swallowing the food she had been eating.

“Connie is next to Sasha. His parents own the farm next to Sasha’s with a huge pumpkin patch. He’s an all around good dude.”

“Aw, Ymir. You do like me. Hey Historia!” Connie called.

“The last person on this side is Jean. He’s….he’s Jean. If he gives you too much shit, just call him horse face. After you get to know him, he’s okay...most of the time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Ymir? Stop calling me horse face!” Jean yelled from the end of the table.

Ymir ignored Jean, pointed to the boy sitting across from her. “This is Reiner. He’s probably going to be captain of the high school football team one day. He’s okay...most of the time.”

“What do you mean by that?!” Reiner asked.

“That’s Bertolt, he’s Reiner's best friend. Pretty cool guy once you get to know him.”

“Hi,” Bertolt said, not fully making eye contact.

“That’s Eren. He can be a bit of hot head sometimes. He and Jean get into a lot of arguments. He’s a pretty good guy though. Then right next to him is Armin. He’s our other genius. Armin, Mikasa, and Eren are literally inseparable. Find one, you’ll probably find the other two. Unless their class schedules split them up.”

“You’re not wrong,” Eren said before going back to talk to Mikasa.

“Hi,” Armin said as he gave a small wave.

“Floch is...well...he’s Floch. You’ll see what I mean,” Ymir introduced the second to last person.

“What does that mean?!” Floch asked.

Jean laughed, “your introduction was worse than mine!”

Ymir continued to ignore Jean and Floch. “ And the last person is Marco. He’s probably the most normal out of all of us. He’s pretty smart too. Well, that’s everyone.”

“You’re in my piano class,” Mikasa said with a smile.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Historia prepared herself for the prying questions that would come from the table about her family, her money. She had already experienced them in most of her classes.

“Do you like playing piano?” Mikasa asked before sipping her milk.

Historia’s face lit up. It was the first time someone had actually asked her opinion on something.

“Yeah, actually, I do. What about you?” Historia bit into her sandwich.

Mikasa nodded before putting her milk back on the tray. “Yeah, my cousin plays. He had been teaching me. He’s a lot more helpful than Mr. Grice.”

“He’s awful! I thought it was just because I was new!”

“No, he just doesn’t know how to teach.”

When the bell rang, the group scattered. Mikasa, Ymir, and Historia ended up walking the same way to science class together. When they arrived, there was Daz in the front row.

“Hey Historia, I saved you a seat,” he called to her.

Mikasa just glared at him before taking Historia’s hand and led Historia to the lab table she shared with Ymir.

Daz said nothing.

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

The coffee shop was mostly empty.

Ymir had been grateful for that.

“Hello! Welcome to Ral’s coffee shop!” The barista called from behind the counter. “So what can I get you two?”

“I’ll take an Americano with an extra shot, toffee syrup, 4 sugars, and cinnamon,” Ymir ordered.

“Can I get a macchiato with white chocolate syrup?” Historia ordered.

“Sure thing! I’ll get both of those done and bring them to you!” The barista said with a smile.

They left the register and wandered to a small table in the back corner of the coffee shop.

“You recognize anyone here from when you worked here?” Historia asked as she sat down.

“No, I don’t see Petra anywhere. She might have got married to Oluo finally,” Ymir said as she took the seat across from Historia.

A few moments later, the barista brought over their coffees.

“I never knew your mom was bipolar,” Historia said before taking a drink.

“Yeah, it’s not something I like to talk about,” Ymir muttered as she stared at her coffee cup.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you talk to anyone besides me about your mom.”

Ymir took a drink of her coffee. This was not a conversation she had prepared for. “I said something to Mikasa about her the other day. It was about how I haven’t visited her grave since she died and my dad’s before that. Not a big deal. I mean what is there to say about her?”

“And your dad was a soldier, right?”

Ymir nodded.

“Yeah, see that you told me. That’s why Levi likes you so much.”

Ymir scoffed, “Levi feels pity for me. You know that’s why I don’t talk about this. I don’t want to see that pity in your eyes.”

“I don’t pity you, Ymir.”

“Okay…” She said sarcastically before taking a drink.

“Really? Deflecting again?” Historia rolled her eyes. “I thought we were supposed to talk.”

“Yeah, we were until you started bringing my parents up.”

“Oh, so are we not going to talk now? Ymir, if you don’t want this, just say it.”

“Are you really stupid enough to think I don’t want this? You’re the one who pushes me away. Dating Reiner, that farm boy. Always keeping me close enough but never actually saying your feelings for me. I’ve put it out there, Historia. I’ve loved you and been in love with you since we were thirteen. I’ve never hidden it. You’re the one sending the mix signals.”

“I’m not sending mixed signals!”

“You are!”

“Oh. Okay! So you just go on dates with other people? I didn’t realize we had an open relationship!” Ymir yelled.

“We never had a real relationship because you never asked me to be in one!” Historia yelled back at her.

The barista rounded the corner. “We had some customers complain…”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving anyway,” Ymir stood up and pushed past the barista.

The cold January air hit her square in the face as she walked towards the bookshop where Sasha was waiting for them.

“YMIR!” She heard Historia’s voice behind her.

“What?” Ymir said as she turned around.

“That’s it?” Historia asked as she caught up. The heels of her boots clicked on the sidewalk.

“What’s it?”

“This? It’s over?”

“According to you, it never began.”

“Ymir...please don’t.”

“Don’t what? There’s nothing left for me to do. You think I have to ask you out.”

“Because I don’t know if you actually like me! How do I know it’s not because of my money or my family. All that farmer boy wanted was….”

Ymir kissed her, silencing her.

When she pulled away, she saw Historia smile. “You talk way too much, you know that?”

Historia laughed as Ymir took her hand into hers as they continued their walk to the bookstore.

“So…” Historia started.

“So what? I’ve proposed to you like fifteen times now, you turned me down. You wounded my pride. You get to do all the asking from now on.”

“....are you going to be my girlfriend then?”

“Are you asking?”

“Yeah.”

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

This damn song was going to be the death of Mikasa.

Lyrics were not coming as they normally did.

And why couldn’t she stop thinking about the song on that damn flash drive?

What song hadn’t she finished with Eren?

And what could Eren have possibly done with it to improve it?

She didn’t want to ask Levi for the box back. Not yet, it was too soon. She had checked with him to see if there had been a letter. Levi confirmed that Eren wasn’t lying. There was indeed a letter and if she ever wanted it, it was there.

She sat in room, pen tapping on her notebook.

She needed a response to Eren’s song now. She wanted to tell him exactly how she had felt remembering things that had happened between them.

His song had been really beautiful.

That wasn’t the most surprising thing of the night though.

No, that went to Armin deciding to stay at Eren’s place with him. It was good for them though.

Not to mention that Mikasa had been concerned about Eren staying alone after what he told her.

With Armin there, things would be easy.

She heard a strange sound coming from the bathroom.

Like someone was getting sick.

She tried to remember who was in the house.

Levi and Hange were at dog training for the puppies.

Sasha had gone with Ymir and Historia.

She heard crying which pulled her from her thoughts.

She left her room and knocked on the bathroom door.

“Annie?” She asked.

“I’m fine,” a cracked voice said from the other side of the door.

“I don’t believe you.”

Water ran and turned back off. The door opened to reveal a tear streaked face.

“Leave it alone, Mikasa. You’ve got enough to worry about,” Annie said as she pushed past Mikasa.

“You’re not eating and then…”

“No! No.”

“Well I know you tried the extreme diet once.”

“It was a fast and no. It’s not that. I’m fine, really.” Annie walked back to the room she was staying in.

“Annie, something is going on. You asked Levi to live here when you could have gone home to your dad. Sasha, I get living here. It’s far from the farm. You’re only a few blocks away.”

“I said leave it alone, Mikasa.”

“Annie, did your dad kick you out?”

Annie threw her arms up defeated. “Okay, yeah. He did. Is that what you want to hear?”

“No, I just know you better than almost anyone here. Well, besides Armin, he knows you best.”

Annie sat down on the bed, “can we not talk about Armin right now?”

“Did you have a fight?” Mikasa asked as she sat down next to her.

Annie immediately started crying again as she shook her head. Mikasa didn’t know what to do. Annie kept everything inside. It wasn’t because she didn’t care, it was the opposite. People sometimes would write Annie off as unfeeling but that was simply not true. She just didn’t speak unless she felt like she could add something to the conversation.

Annie ended up resting her head on Mikasa’s shoulder while Mikasa just held her. Mikasa had never seen Annie like this. She was always so put together so whatever it was, it had to be big.

After a while of Annie just crying, she finally spoke, “you’re the only one besides my dad and Levi who know. You can’t tell anyone.”

“You told Levi?” Mikasa asked as she pulled away.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I needed a place to stay but I needed to give him a reason.”

“Okay?”

“Swear to me. Not Historia, Ymir, or Sasha. Especially not Eren or Armin.”

“I swear.”

Annie looked at Mikasa before holding out her pinky to the other girl. Mikasa wrapped her own pinky finger around Annie’s.

Annie took a deep breath before speaking, “I’m pregnant.”

#mmtylif #my writing

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apocalypsewriters · 3 years

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Not-a Damsel in Distress: Getting to the Heart of Friendship

Summary: Victor-Hecate needs some serious wardrobe help, so they invite some friends over. Flirting, gadgets and hijinks are involved

A/N: It's here!!!! The second part. It's quite long, so I'd advise you to find a place to relax, maybe with a snack or a drink (it's important to stay hydrated) And once again, the incredible, amazing, talented @pagesofcursive (Briar) has characters heavily featured here, and her characters are linked at the end. We have another part in the works, but for now, enjoy!

Even though they lay curled on their bed, Victor-Hecate still wore almost as much clothing as in school, though they were wearing it more casually. A comfortable silence spread between her and Aster, who sat just beside them. Victor-Hecate wore a lightweight deep magenta jacket, black fingerless gloves, a scarf thrown loosely around their shoulders, and a matching grey beanie pinning up their normally flyaway curls and covering their ears.

A buzzing sound split the air, coming from Victor-Hecate’s phone. They picked it up, resting the book they were reading on the bedside table. A smirk split their face as they read the text, their clear blue eyes glittering with mischief. “So,” they began, stretching out the word. “I may have forgotten to mention that I, uh, invited someone over.”

They watched mock excitement grow on Aster’s face, contrasting comically to her outfit. She had dark, ripped jeans on, and an old leather jacket, matching with combat boots that dangled off the edge of the twin bed. “Ooh, anyone I know?” she gushed, then paused, looking mildly disgusted at the bubbly tone.

“You could say that,” Victor-Hecate said, but before the last word left their mouth, the door to their room flew open. A trio of girls walked in, somehow vastly different from each other, yet they all seemed to belong together. The first girl that flounced in was the one Victor-Hecate knew the best – her cousin, Violetta. Her wavy chocolate brown hair swished around her shoulders, the top artfully twisted together in a collections of curls held by bobby pins, holding the flyaway hairs, the ones that annoyed her ever since they were small, out of her eyes Ever stylish, Violetta wore a white miniskirt with a lavender tank top, finishing the look with a pair of black wedge boots. They had been texting back and forth for most of the day, organizing the afternoon. Her bouncing walk screeched to a halt two steps past the doorway, and her laughter cut off abruptly as she noticed Aster perched out on the bed.

The second girl crashed into her, unprepared for the abrupt stop. Victor-Hecate vaguely knew her from her cousin’s social media feed and her brief description over texting that day. Juni wore a white fit and flare dress that cut off right at her knees with shocks of pink and yellow flowers scattered around the hem. Her wide grin at the joke she’d just told was stark white against her deep brown skin. Her black afro hair was mostly tamed by a white bandana, matching with the cute outfit she wore.

Victor-Hecate didn’t recognize the final girl, who stopped herself from crashing into the other two just in time. Though she was about the same height as the first two, she seemed smaller. Her shoulders were hunched and swallowed by her white NASA hoodie. She’d just pulled her hands out of the large front pocket to catch her balance, revealing frayed and patched sleeves. She didn’t exude nearly as much confidence as the other two, her black leggings not bringing anything to her already humble outfit. Her curly chestnut hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that sat at the base of her neck – the hair tie seemed to be there only to keep most of her hair out of her face, not to make any statement. A glimpse of brown leather flashed from underneath her almost overlarge hoodie, but Victor-Hecate thought nothing of it.

Victor-Hecate smirked as they watched Aster straighten up as she locked eyes with Violetta. Their cousin broke free of the trance first, stammering, “Oh, Aster, I- I didn’t realize you were going to be here.” She faced her cousin. “Wait, why is she-” Violetta whipped back to Aster. “Why are you here?”

Aster exchanged a glance with Victor-Hecate, whose eyes glowed smugly. She sighed, collecting herself. “I met your cousin today, and we’re hanging out. Is there a problem?” Though her tone was even, almost a little hostile, her bouncing leg betrayed her nervousness. Aster slid to the edge of the bed. The tips of her ears matched the hue they had been earlier that day when the seated pair had briefly discussed Violetta in the hallway.

Violetta jumped to her own defense, holding up her arms placatingly. “No! No, not at all! I just… wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.” She had started going red too.

As the scene unfolded in front of them, Victor-Hecate’s smirk widened.

“So,” piped up Juni, her voice melodic and sweet. “What should we all do?”

Victor-Hecate watched the final girl shift uncomfortably, her eyes shifting between the not-so-subtly smitten pair. Finally, the girl spoke. “Is, uh, someone going to introduce me? I don’t really know anyone here. Besides Juni, that is.” She was surprisingly sure of herself when speaking, each word perfectly enunciated, her phrases carefully calculated. She reached for Juni’s hand for comfort, the action small but sweet.

“Right!” Juni gently squeezed the unknown girl’s hand, pulling her forward a little. “You met Violetta on the way over here, and then, uh, that’s Violetta’s cousin, Vee!” She waved enthusiastically at them, Bella echoing her, raising her hand. Victor-Hecate gave a little salute at being addressed, touching two of their fingers to their forehead. Juni continued, gesturing to Aster, who was trying to rearrange her position to seem less tense. “And then, that’s Aster, Violetta’s…” She paused, perhaps for dramatic effect, while also seeming to search for the right words. Violetta’s cheeks flared red in the silence; Aster opened her mouth in protest to whatever Juni would claim. Before either of them managed to make a sound, Juni settled on her word choice with a nod. “…academic rival.” She wiggled her eyebrows at the mystery girl, who rolled her eyes, having already picked up on the subtext. She pushed the girl forward a little more, who attempted to straighten up a little as Juni introduced her. “And, everyone, this is Bella!”

Victor-Hecate unfolded themself, straightening out their left leg and resting their right knee against their chest. “You’re Juni, right? Vi’s told me about you.” They stole a glance at Violetta, feeling guilty about how little they’d connected over the years, before addressing Bella. “But yeah, I’m Vee. Victor-Hecate. Tae. Whatever. Really, take your pick. I’ve collected more nicknames than I can count.”

Bella hummed, giving them a once-over. “Aren’t you hot with all that on?” The question, though a little prying, seemed innocent in intention. All the same, Victor-Hecate shifted uncomfortably.

Aster came to their rescue, redirecting the conversation. “Actually, that’s one of the reasons why I’m here today.” She slid the rest of the way off the bed, striding over to the closet and flinging the doors open with a bang, making everyone jump. “I’m helping them figure out new outfits and stuff.”

“And I was brought along? Really?” Bella mumbled to Juni, who shrugged in response. The pair perched on the bed, watching Aster look through the closet.

Violetta perked up immediately, rushing over to Aster to stick her head into the overstuffed closet. “And nobody told me about this? This is my specialty!”

Victor-Hecate nodded, unseen by the fashionista, who was already shoulder deep in the wardrobe, rummaging around. “That’s why I invited you over. I got into a bit of trouble at school, and I need help picking something out that won’t get me called out for dress code issues.”

Violetta stuck her head out of the closet, a piece of faux fur stuck in her hair, and scrutinized Victor-Hecate’s current outfit. “Have you thought about fewer layers?”

They shifted again, hugging their leg to their chest. “Not really.” She glanced desperately at Aster, who returned their helpless look. They scrambled for an excuse, for any reason other than their power. “I’ve been… uh, burning really easily lately, and I don’t want to take any risks.”

“You’ve been burning,” Bella scoffed, easily seeing through the blatant lie. “Like in the sun?”

Fortunately, Violetta didn’t notice, her head too deep into the layers of clothing again, looking for an outfit she approved of. “Mm, that makes sense, but maybe you can cover up without having everything being too… bulky?” Her voice was muffled by the copious coats. Frustration tinged her statement- probably because there wasn’t anything in the closet besides long-sleeved and thick jackets.

Victor-Hecate shrugged. “I guess? It’s just more… comfortable that way,” they said hurriedly, hoping to appease Violetta.

Finally, she emerged from the closet, stray hairs sticking up from her coiled hairstyle. She began redoing it, holding the bobby pins between her teeth, mulling over the situation. Between pins, she said, “Maybe we could buy you some cute jackets? And matching jeans?”

Her elbow brushed past Aster as she twirled up another piece of hair. Aster reddened at the closeness of her crush but managed to regain control and focus on the matter at hand. “What about long gloves?” she suggested.

“I guess that sounds good,” Victor-Hecate rearranged their scarf to cover more of their neck, uncomfortable with so many people close to them. They were glad Aster was there; she could help out if anything went wrong, as unlikely as it would be, and she could help deflect her cousin and her friends’ questions. They mulled over Aster’s suggestion, a nagging feeling persisting the longer they pondered the suggestion. “Is that allowed though? At school, I mean.”

“It’s not stated in the school rules that it isn’t allowed,” Bella recited. “So, I suppose you should be able to. But the hat…”

“Yeah, I know.” Victor-Hecate leaned back, trying to relax. There was no need to be closed off because they were around nice people, but it was still a bit difficult. “So, what are you two into? We might as well kill time as Vi organizes my makeover.” They grimaced a little, calling out to their cousin who was near buried in their closet again, “Nothing too extreme, ‘kay?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry,” Aster reassured, her tone light and teasing. Violetta giggled, the sound smothered by clothing again.

“Well,” Juni said, nudging Bella, “what do you want to do?”

Bella went stark white, nervous at the prospect of being the one to decide what the group could do. “Oh, it’s not that interesting,” she said, fumbling with her words. “Too nerdy to be interesting.” The explanation came out in a rush, as if the faster she spoke, the sooner they’d move on, but Juni wouldn’t let it go so easily.

The sunny girl perked up, grinning. “Spill!”

“It’s not much really,” Bella shyly mumbled, fishing around in what had been hidden underneath her hoodie earlier – a toolbelt. Unbuttoning one of the many pouches, she delicately fished out a small white box. It was made of shiny white material that looked smooth to the touch. Its rounded corners leaned its design to a sleek and modern feel. Two black lines traced from halfway up one face, across another, up to the opposite side it started on. The shy girl placed it on her palm, black facing down and a blue line lit up around the top of the box.

“Ooh,” Victor-Hecate said, leaning in. An intrigued expression crossed their face. “What does it do?”

Bella pressed an almost imperceptible button on top and the black popped out to reveal tracks. “It’s a prototype I’m developing,” she explained. “Gravity and surfaces are strange on extraterrestrial planets, so I’m working to calibrate the grip of the tracks to work on more surfaces, you see…” Victor-Hecate, baffled by her explanation, followed her gaze around the room – everyone who was listening wore a similar expression. None of them truly understood her description of the robot.

Juni leaned in, running her finger along the smooth surface. Her expression melted from confusion to curiosity. “It looks so cool, but… can you explain it in easier terms?”

Steeling herself and nodding, Bella tried again. “Right. Sorry. It would probably be easier just to show you.” She pulled out her phone, opening a completely foreign app. Tapping the screen a few times, the bot spun on her hand, seeming to gain its bearings. She laid it on the bed and it immediately traversed across the covers. To a chorus of gasps, it crawled up the wall, shifting easily from rough plaster to a smooth poster of the Coliseum and back again, before finally settling on the roof. Juni bounced up and down in excitement, cooing over Bella’s project.

Victor-Hecate’s gaze locked on the cube, moving to sit cross-legged, their mouth dropped open. “So, I’m guessing this is what you do? Like, your dream job, considering…” They waved their arm vaguely at the sleek white square on the bedroom roof and the well-loved NASA hoodie the shy girl was wearing.

“Yeah, it is,” Bella said. She nodded slowly, hesitantly. She pressed the screen again, and the strip of light went out. It dropped from the ceiling, Juni shrieking as it fell, which brought Violetta out of the jungle of the closet. It landed safely on the bed, bouncing slightly.

Letting go of Bella’s hand and placing her own to her chest, Juni recovered from the shock. “That is so cool!” she finally managed. “Have you named it?”

“No.” Bella blushed, seeming ashamed. “You know I don’t do that sort of thing. I leave it up to you,” she mumbled. Using her newly freed hand, she picked up the unassuming cube and stashed it back into her toolbelt. After clasping it shut, her expression softened as she saw Juni with a look of contemplation, taking her new job seriously. She glanced around, trying to read and process the mood of the room. “But this isn’t about my stuff. It’s about Victor-Hecate.”

“You really don’t have to use my whole name.”

Bella shrugged a little, brushing off the comment. “Since we’re trying to make sure they-” She paused, glancing anxiously at Victor-Hecate, who shrugged. “-won’t get in trouble anymore, I’d like to offer some advice. I suggest acclimating yourself to wearing fewer layers,” Bella said. She rolled up her sleeves, fidgeting as she talked. “Based on your body language, I’d assume you’re pretty comfortable here, so perhaps you can take off a few layers to learn to be more comfortable without them. Besides,” she said, giving up on folding back her sleeves and taking off the jacket entirely to combat the heat, revealing a muted cyan t-shirt underneath. “Don’t you find it hot here?”

Victor-Hecate blanched, cursing the shy girl’s perceptiveness. While she had good intentions, and they were mostly comfortable in the group of girls, they were still aware of the danger the others brought into the room. Frantically, Victor-Hecate fumbled for an excuse to keep their layers on.

Before they could come up with an idea, Violetta whipped around, her face alight with excitement. “Ooh, yeah! That way we can figure out how to build the outfit from there!”

“Only if you want to, Cat,” Aster said quickly.

Bella blinked, a little startled at the nickname casually thrown out.

“I’d rather not,” replied Victor-Hecate, their lips quirking up at the nickname.

“Why not?” blurted Bella, before clapping a hand over her mouth and going red. Her tense expression softened as Juni squeezed her hand before turning to face Victor-Hecate again, suggesting softly, “At least take off your hat?”

Victor-Hecate resisted the urge to put a hand to their chest to ground themself. Working to regulate their breathing, they finally managed to protest desperately, “I might have hat hair.”

Violetta’s expression was tender as she fruitlessly tried to reassure her cousin, “Nobody’s going to judge you, don't worry, Vee.”

“Fine,” they sighed. Mulling over the situation, they decided to go the whole way; they unwrapped their scarf, folding it on the bed beside them. Tugging off their beanie, their hair tumbled out, sticking out at odd angles. A little bitter that their cousin pushed for their change, they pelted the beanie at her. Under everyone’s eyes, Victor-Hecate shifted awkwardly, uncomfortable with the attention they weren’t used to.

Juni squealed. “Oh, your hair is so pretty!” Abandoning Bella, she leaned closer to Victor-Hecate, reaching to brush a strand of hair out of their face and tuck it behind their ear.

Victor-Hecate scrambled backward too late, their back hitting the wall just as Juni’s hand brushed their ear and lingered. Their chest exploded with pain. Their heart felt like it was about to burst, ready to fill their torso with shrapnel. It beat at a million miles an hour, pounding their blood past their ears, muffling the sound in the room, drowning out their cousin’s scream. Their breathing shallowed, and they struggled to calm down; they had experienced countless deaths before, but this was one of the worst. Taking a ragged breath, sucking in as much air as they could, they twisted the hem of their jacket, trying to recover as much as they could with Juni now clutching their head concernedly. Their chest still aching, they surveyed the room – Aster was clutching Violetta, who looked queasy and unsteady on her feet, Bella was peeking over Juni’s shoulder, a look of intrigue lighting up her face, and Juni was bent over them, terror etching her features.

Watching Victor-Hecate’s eyes clear a little, Juni pushed down her panic and started ordering the others around. “Okay, guys, someone call 911, and, uh, Vi, can you grab some aspirin? And–”

“No,” choked out Victor-Hecate. They pushed down a cough as they ran out of air. “Don’t! Please don’t call an ambulance. I don’t need it. I’m begging you. And could you–” They cut off with a shout as pain surged again. Their chest seized, leaving them momentarily unable to breathe. Panting, they clawed at their chest, desperate for the pain to stop but helpless to do anything.

“No,” echoed Aster. She tugged at Juni’s arm, but the usually sunny girl stayed put, concerned for their host, whose screams had stopped as their shallow breaths prevented any sound besides wheezing. Breaking free of Aster’s grip, she pulled at their still covered arms, trying to stop them from hurting themself further. Aster’s half-baked continuation trickled past the pain to Victor-Hecate, “It’s- god, it’s really hard to explain, but basically they aren’t in danger. It’s just their power.”

Bella’s eyes glittered with a thirst for knowledge, her voice steeped in curiosity, “Their power?”

Aster looked around the room helplessly before locking eyes with Victor-Hecate. Keeping their gaze on her, they shook their head. Not now. Aster huffed, seeming to respect their wish, despite not understanding it. “I- It’s their place to tell you, not mine.”

Victor-Hecate tried their best to smile through the pain at Aster. Suddenly, they gasped as their heart squeezed. They reached for Juni’s arm, intending to try to pull it off, but as Juni cupped their cheek, trying to reassure them, pain spiked, and their hand dropped with a muffled thump against their agony-wracked chest. Misinterpreting the action, Juni reached for their hand, only to be caught by Aster. Staring right back at Juni’s judgmental glare, Aster said, “I can't explain, but touching them isn’t- it isn’t good.”

“Are you sure?” Bella questioned skeptically, Juni nodding with her. “I would think they need comfort right now.”

Clutching Aster’s arm, Violetta leaned over the darker dressed girl to get a better view of her cousin. “You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked, concerned.

Victor-Hecate yearned to reply, to comfort Violetta. They tried to nod but failed as pain flared up again, and they curled in on themself. Violetta let out a sob, leaning into Aster’s reassuring touch as she wrapped an arm around the distraught girl. Curiosity getting the better of her, Bella hopped off the edge of the bed to examine the prone figure rolled up like a pill bug on their pillow. As she leaned in, her hand brushed Victor-Hecate’s fingertips. Immediately, they flinched away, a biting cold surging out from the point of contact, mixing unpleasantly with the already squeezing pain in their chest.

With a pointed look at Bella, Aster levelly pleaded, “Let’s just give them a bit of space, okay?”

Reluctantly, Juni moved away from Victor-Hecate, hugging Bella for comfort. The quartet watched with bated breath for the now black-eyed vigilante to still. Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain ebbed. Their chest eased, their heart rate returned to normal and their breathing deepened. Sitting up sooner than they should have, Victor-Hecate almost collapsed again as pain twinged on the left side of their chest. Their dark complexion was paler than usual as they propped themself up against the wall.

“Thank you,” they managed breathlessly.

Violetta’s forehead wrinkled, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Vee, I don’t- What happened?”

Victor-Hecate sighed, picking at the now rumpled scarf beside them, but resisting the urge to put it on. They traced the dark grey lines of the scarf design, unable to meet their cousin’s eyes as they softly spoke, “That's why I stopped talking with you.” They looked up, trying to gauge her reaction. “That’s my power.”

“Yes, but what is it?” Bella seemed to hold her tongue after the question spilled out. Based on her speaking patterns so far, a hundred questions waited behind that one. When Victor-Hecate stayed silent, Bella exclaimed, “It was incredible!” She cleared her throat awkwardly, reigning in her enthusiasm. “Incredibly interesting, that is. Your irises went completely black, which is fascinating.” She cocked her head, looking over Victor-Hecate again, who shrank a little under her inquisitive gaze. “You have almost completely recovered from whatever just occurred. Please, please explain it.”

Fixing their gaze on the scarf once more, they reluctantly explained, unwilling to keep them in the dark any longer. Rumors could spell more trouble than the truth. “I feel whatever pain you will feel when you die. It only happens while I’m being touched, so that's why…” They waved their arm vaguely at the scarf and wardrobe full of disturbed bulky coats and beanies. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just... didn’t want you to think less of me. Especially since you,” Victor-Hecate said, glancing toward Violetta, “have a functioning, helpful power, but I’m just stuck with this.” They gestured to themself before letting their arm drop, defeated.

“Oh, that’s awful! I- I’m so sorry,” Violetta said. Victor-Hecate lifted their gaze, hopeful. Violetta didn’t sound horrified, just concerned.

Juni held a hand over her mouth, echoing Violetta’s sentiment. “I- I feel so bad- I didn’t mean to touch you earlier, I swear–”

Victor-Hecate waved their hand, dismissing her apology. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to hurt me.” They rubbed her knee comfortingly, the fabric of the dress soft under their fingers. “You only wanted to help. Though I’d like to know, what was that? I haven’t really felt that type of pain before. My best guess is some kind of heart failure, but...” They trailed off, worried they’d pried too much.

Juni’s eyes widened in terror. “I…” She shrank back a bit, nestling into Bella’s hug, closing her eyes. “I do have heart problems, and I guess– I guess they come back later.”

Bella pulled Juni a bit tighter, resting her chin on the darker girl’s shoulder. She let out a puff of air, giving up on holding back her questions. “And me?”

Victor-Hecate shook their head. “It was too quick to get any kind of specifics. It was cold. That’s all I know.” They cast a cursory glance at Violetta, who still stood close to Aster, their hands interlocked. “Do you want to know?”

She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head, waves of rich brown hair falling on either side of her shoulders. “No. I- I can’t–” She leaned onto Aster again, squeezing her hand for comfort.

“I understand. And…” Victor-Hecate struggled to keep their expression and voice neutral. Although they understood the horror the others’ were feeling, it still hurt coming from family. Looking around the room again, they swallowed audibly. “…I get it if you want to leave. My power’s unsettling. I know that.”

“No, no, no! Don’t worry, I’m- it was just... a bit shocking at first,” Violetta hastily protested. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me neither,” affirmed Juni. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your power, it’s part of who you are! And maybe we can help in some way.”

Bella nodded enthusiastically, still biting back questions. Catching Victor-Hecate’s gaze, she slipped her left hand behind her back, a flash of white they hadn’t noticed before snagging their eye.

Brushing off the slight confusion, Victor-Hecate relaxed a little, a relieved smile gracing their face. “Thank you.” They rubbed their arm sheepishly. “And some wardrobe help would be appreciated. I really don’t want to get stopped at school again.”

Bella tapped her chin thoughtfully, tilting her head back to get a better view of the multicolored leotards knocked askew from the back of the wardrobe. “Have you considered a full skin-colored leotard?”

“I have, but it’s a pretty strange request and is probably expensive as heck,” they replied.

Bella chuckled. “I think I know someone who knows just the person.” She side-eyed Juni and lightly squeezed the sunny girl’s shoulders.

Juni’s eyes lit up, catching the hint just a few seconds later. “My girlfriend would be happy to buy some new clothes! Nyx- she, uh, she wants to get back at her dad and everything, so she doesn’t mind spending his money at all.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind at all,” Bella agreed, relishing in her friend’s excitement. It was her first genuine smile of the day, besides the ones fueled by curiosity.

Victor-Hecate considered the offer before accepting the idea. “Cool. When do you think we can meet up? And where does she live?”

Juni smiled sweetly and pulled out her phone, “Ooh, well, I’ll text her–”

“Oh, don’t worry, I know already,” Bella cut in. “She’s free this Friday, provided her douche of a father doesn’t spring anything on her.” She grimaced in sympathy.

Victor-Hecate sat forward on the bed, placing their hands on their knees. “Perfect, I guess. Will she have enough space for all of us?”

“Vee,” Violetta tutted, smiling triumphantly, humor glimmering in her eyes. “If you thought my house was big, then you are not prepared for the size of her mansion."

Characters (in order for appearance): Victor-Hecate, Aster, Violetta, Juni, Bella

#ahaaaa that was a lot #original character #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #anabella silvette #juni #violetta #aster #victor-hecate #writersociety #short story #not-a-damsel in distress series #fusion au #lgbtqia+ community #because what's the point in writing if at least one person isn't part of that

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cordytriestowrite · 4 years

Text

Calendar Days

Steve Rogers x Reader

One Shot

Summary: a series of monthly one shots focused around one of your favs

July

It was a rare thing to be alone yet so unlike the almost constant throbbing ache of being lonely. Steve didn't feel either so much anymore but unlike those lonely aches he was prone to suffering from time to time, the moments when he was alone were to be savored, treasured even. He did a lap around the entire floor plan and then had Jarvis run a scan just to be sure. Only with confirmation it was only him on this floor did he let his shoulders relax and eyes draw to his secret obsession.

An acoustic guitar hung off a mount set into the wall between two tall bookcases. He had never seen anyone take the instrument down let alone play it and that fact was apparent when he strummed his fingers across the strings a few weeks ago and a flat note pushed against his eardrums worse than a punch to the side of the head. He had smacked his palm against the vibrating strings, holding it solidly as he would over someone's mouth and nose. It worked to silence the offensive sound just as well.

He didn't touch it for a long time after that, not only because slight swell of intimidation under his tongue but because the chance didn't arise.

It didn't stop his morbid curiosity. Without practical application Steve transferred all his obsessive energy into reading about guitars. In theory he knew how to play, in theory he knew how to tune, and now was his chance to try it out. Grabbing it firmly by the neck he lifted it from the hook mount and held it tight in front of him like a live snake hissing a threat and ready to strike. Walking backwards he eased himself down onto the couch and repositioned, bringing the instrument close in his lap with arms wrapped almost reverently around the body and neck.

With a deep breath Steve willed his heartbeat to slow so he could hear the notes past the blood rushing in his ears. Thumb against the taut top string Steve pushed down and let the horrid, untuned note ring out.

"Calendar day! Calendar day! Calendar day!"

The chant was his only warning and judging by the increasing volume he had very little time to react. Still, as a super soldier with lightning fast reflexes he made an attempt to right the room in time. Everyone rounded the corner into the sitting room just as Steve's hand pulled away from the guitar now hanging in its rightful place. Wiping his hands down the front of his jeans he watched you round the corner followed closely by Sam and Bucky all clapping along to their ceaseless chant.

"Calendar day! Calendar day! Calendar day!"

Steve groaned, rolling his neck to hide the grin threatening to lift his lips.

"Is it the first already?" He asked, feeling a flush of heat up the back of his neck.

"Oh you bet your ass it is Rogers. And you know what that means!"

Sam and Bucky bracketed the calendar hung on the wall across from the slightly swaying guitar, arms held out like game show assistants displaying a shiny new car. You practically skipped up to the display and Steve could only watch your back as you flipped the page to display the July page.

Bucky let out a high pitched wolf whistle while Sam openly giggled in a way he wouldn't admit he could ever do.

"The birthday boy in his birthday suit." Bucky teased, throwing a wink at Steve who had half his face covered with his large palm as if he could somehow avoid the embarrassment this month would bring.

"I have never hated that shield more in my life." You joked, letting your eyes roam across the image but unable to keep from tracing the lines of Steve's Adonis belt until the muscle hit the sharp blue rim of the strategically placed Captain America shield.

"Steve, man, I can't believe you let them set you up like this." Sam managed to say through his throaty giggles.

"It was for charity!"

"Yeah, but no one else got naked for charity." Bucky countered.

If anyone could look away from the calendar they would have seen Steve collapse onto the couch, turning his head to bury it in a throw pillow.

Taking Steve's silence as surrender you stepped in to help out your captain.

"Buck, just wait til next month."

Throwing his arm around you he cocked his hip with catty confidence.

"Hey, I looked good and I didn't have to strip down to do it."

"Alright," Sam interjected, letting out a few more weak chuckles. "Alright let's let Cap pout by his lonesome. We got all month."

The men sauntered out, noise trailing behind them and suddenly Steve wasn't alone on this floor anymore.

You bit your lip, holding back words in favor of just watching Steve sink further into the couch, his body twisted in a way that was both humorous and sad. You moved closer to him, wondering if he would accept a comforting pat on the back for once.

"Sorry, Steve. But you knew this was coming! Honestly, it's not that bad after the first week. Just ask Tony or Wanda or -"

"It's fine. Really." Steve half mumbled into the throw pillow before sitting up and glancing right past you to the guitar on the wall.

It didn't take your years of training to catch the look. When Steve wasn't dead-set on a mission he let his face wear every thought and desire openly. Glancing in the direction of his gaze reminded you Steve was standing closer to that wall when you had come into the room. With an eye on Steve you moved closer to the wall, waiting for any sign you had hit the source of Steve's gloomy mood. Your fingers glanced along a set of strings, barely making a sound, and Steve swallowed.

"Ah ha!" You exclaimed, yanking the guitar off the wall.

"Fess up Rogers."

You offered the guitar up when Steve extended his arm for it. He settled into the position he was in before your interruption. Striking a cord you cringed for only a second before schooling your expression. Steve fiddled with the corresponding tuning knob. You watched him work, taking a seat on the ottoman as the minutes passed.

To see Steve struggle was not new. You had been by his side practically since the man came out of the ice. He struggled to adjust to a time he was never meant to be part of. He struggled to find Bucky, to bring him back onto the side of good. He struggled to patch things up with Tony and put ego aside in the name of friendship. But to see Steve struggle with something as innocuous as a musical instrument? It made your heart swell with a feeling you couldn't quite name.

Eventually Steve found the correct tuning. A solid, clear A note resounded proud and strong, finding harmony with Steve's wide smile and bright eyes. You smiled back, chin resting in your palm thoughtfully.

"You know they make tuners for that."

Steve's eyebrows stitched together in confusion.

"Little battery operated things that will tell you the notes. You could even get an app on your phone if you bothered to use it old man."

The joke didn't quite land judging by Steve's slight frown. He looked down at the guitar in his arms with a gravity you wish you could say didn't suit him.

"This isn't something I want to take shortcuts on."

You didn't think before scooting closer and laying your hand just above Steve's knee. You did take a moment to think about the squeeze that followed.

"It's not a shortcut, Steve. It's a tool. The same as your shield or the team."

"You're not tools." He argued.

"Well, Tony can be a tool sometimes." You countered, earning a breathy snort.

Steve looked down at the guitar, this time donning a small smile. He let his fingertips strum across the strings, pulling a face you imagined was similar to yours as the hideous notes clashed with each other and your senses.

"Show me this app."

July passed quickly and it seemed like only a few days ago the team celebrated Steve's birthday in what ended up being a weekend bash that began with a cake with the screen printed image of Steve's scandalous calendar photo and ended with a groggy re-entry into the world of the living with a splitting headache, queasy stomach, and the distant strumming of an acoustic guitar. He wouldn't let you watch him practice, wouldn't let anyone really, but it happened every day, almost constantly. No one commented on the way Steve's fingers worked chord progressions on any surface, or how the guitar that once hung in the sitting room had taken permanent residence in his bedroom. You wondered if anyone cared to take an interest in the captain's new hobby, or if there was just an unspoken rule to not talk about it. Now that the month was coming to a close you were practically itching with the need to know how Steve was progressing.

The knock on your door was so soft you almost didn't hear it over your too-loud thoughts playing keep away with sleep. You sat up, listening for the sound again, ready when it came the second time.

"Come in."

It was Steve, his acoustic guitar in front of his midsection like he held his shield for the calendar shoot. You tried not to think about the hard planes of Steve's body currently hiding underneath a white muscle shirt and grey sweatpants.

"Did I wake you?"

You shook your head. Sitting further up in bed and turning on your bedside lamp as he entered your room and shut the door softly behind him.

"I've been working on something. O-on the guitar." The clarification wasn't necessary, but you didn't want to scare away what felt like a very delicate moment being shared.

"I'm not ready to...do this in front of everyone but you have been there for me since the beginning of this and I...can I play a song for you?"

You wanted to cheer, to clap, to do that weird flailing then you do when you're super excited that Clint would inevitably mock with his own exaggerated version but now didn't seem like the time to make a big fuss, now felt like a time to just listen.

"I'd love to, Steve."

He smiled, nerves ensuring it didn't quite reach his eyes. He sat down on the edge of the bed, half in shadow and thus partially obscured from view. You leaned onto your right side, arm supporting your head, just to see a bit more of him.

He strummed a simple progression of E Minor and G once, twice, three times. And even though you knew the song you were still surprised to hear him sing.

"I need an easy friend. I do, with an ear to lend."

That feeling you had in your chest before was back. That first day in July when you watched Steve struggle to tune the guitar you knew in his hands there would be no shortage of dedication to the cultivation of this new skill. That same guitar he now played beautifully with a flow that looked so natural you knew he had to have practiced it all month and with that time and practice he chose to learn a song that meant something to you. You closed your eyes, going back further than the start of the month to the start of your friendship, to a man who was trying to navigate the world with only a little notebook of media to give him a jumping off point.

"Star Wars without a doubt. And Nirvana." You had said with a matter-of-fact tone that promptly ended the conversation. He wrote them down and that was that.

He did eventually see Star Wars, him and Bucky, but there was no mention of Nirvana in the years that had passed. You assumed he just hadn't gotten to it.

But here he was singing About A Girl in your bedroom, mumbling through the chorus as he concentrates on the chords.

Steve strums one final note, letting it ring out instead of stamping it down like you imagine he wants to since he cannot seem to look away from the wall opposite him. You give yourself a moment, needing a beat of silence to try to release some of the pressure in your chest. Instead, your heart flips and flutters as the lamplight crossed Steve's cheek when he glances almost imperceptibly your way.

"Steve Rogers."

He faces you fully now, face open for you to see the uncertainty and anticipation and tiny waves of pride that managed to break up the endless sea of self doubt.

"I think I love you."

It was the only thing you could think would explain the balloon in your lungs, the feeling of overwhelming adoration directed toward this one person. The fullness in your chest ached so much it squeezed a few fat tears from your eyes. You smiled as you wiped them away.

"I love you too."

You couldn't tell if he meant it in the same way you did, but you didn't think it mattered. Steve set the guitar down, leaning it against the foot of your bed before turning as much as he could towards you. Rising to your knees you shuffled into his open arms and held onto him like letting go wasn't an option.

"I have to tell you something." He mumbled as to not break the moment.

You didn't pull away to reply.

"What?"

"I don't think I'm a fan of Nirvana."

You pulled away, mouth open in shock and the air filling your chest to bursting finally finding an exit.

"What?! How? Steve, I don't think you understand the genius of grunge music."

He shrugged, face forming a half smile as you took a soapbox for a generation defining genre. Because he loved you.

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pinkykitten · 5 years

Text

bruise

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington x Hargrove! female reader

Warning: abuse, violence, cursing

Specifics: angst, fluff, romance, one-shot, hargrove! reader

People: steve harrington, billy hargrove, max mayfield, susan, neil

Words: 1,741

Requested: By anon Hello! I'm literally in love with your blog and the way you do it. It's amazing. I was wondering if I can request one with Steve Harrington, where the reader is Billy's sister and one time, he hits her because they were arguing so in school Steve noticed the bruises and ask her what is going on and make it kinda angsty but with a fluffy ending? I understand if it's too much or if it's too weird but I had this dream about it and that. Love you so much!

Authors Note: agghhhh this is so nice! tysm darling! i swear dream requests r like the best because i can tell u i have the most mundane dreams or they r like they dont make sense and im like high lol. this has violence and abuse in it so just beware and just a warning. also one scene i got inspiration from a star is born where they go to the supermarket and he patches her up with frozen pears i luv that scene. anyway im gonna be opening up my requests so requests r open again!

Being Billy’s sister wasn’t easy. He had a temper on him, and where there were good times with him when he didn’t get what he want his anger would consume him. After your mother and your father split life wasn’t easy. It was difficult with them together but now it was just impossible. Billy didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to leave his friends. And your father found someone new. Her name was Susan, she had red hair and she was timid to your father’s actions. She was the quiet housewife. She brought some baggage with her though it may seem to others but to you, she was a gift. It was a little girl, around 13, her name was Maxine, but everyone called her Max. She was a joy. You and her found to spend the most time together. You both understood one another. She felt compassion for you with your brother and father and you felt sorry for her with your brother. He was a jerk to his stepsister, you tried your hardest to stop him but once Billy hates someone, he most likely will hate that person forever. So you intervene when they have their arguments, almost always picking Max’s side.

From California all the way to Hawkins, Indiana you all went to enjoy or try to live a new life, with the new family.

“This place looks and smells like shi*,” Billy whined as he smoked a cigarette and placed his hands in his jean pockets.

“C’mon Billy, it can’t be that bad. Trust me you’re gonna make a lot of new friends, I just know it. Things are going to work out for all of us.” You tried to sound enthusiastic because your father and his new wife were right next to you but you had your doubts as well. “Yeah see, y/n knows what she’s talking about,” your father laughed as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

Your father was abusive towards you and Billy, sometimes you wondered if that’s what made Billy that way towards people. Its uncomfortable to hang out with your dad. He was nothing like a dad to you. A father doesn’t smack his child in the face leaving them a bruise, a father doesn’t belittle his children. You just felt stuck.

Then you met Steve. Steve was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to you. He was your best friend at first but then you started to grow a little crush on him. You think he doesn’t like you back like that because you’re Billy’s sister, and you know Billy bullies Steve. You always try to stop Billy from doing so.

“Billy would you just give it a break man!” You shouted. You were alone with Billy, the family out for dinner. You and Billy were having an argument about where they currently live, Steve, and about Max.

“Oh you wan’t me to give you a break, y/n I hate living in this shi*hole!”

“Oh my god Billy, shut up! You complain about everything, Max is not a nuisance, not even Steve is either,” you muttered the last part as you sat on the couch.

“I don’t want her as a sister! Dad keeps forcing this life on me, but I don’t want it. He doesn’t even deserve happiness.”

“Sometimes Billy things happen in life that we cannot change, but in the end you make do with what you got.”

Billy frowned at you then raised a brow, “yeah just like you’re doing Steve. Tell me, how does it feel to be in bed with the king of high school?

With that you stood up, furious. You felt like punching Billy, your fist raised in the air, but you stopped your actions and considered the consequences. “Don’t ever talk about Steve like that again.”

Billy walked closer to you, his face mere centimeters apart, “no one, tells me what to do.” With that he hit you on the face. It was so hard that you fell back and hit your head on the plush couch. Your eye stung and so did your cheek. As you looked at Billy’s face you could already tell he regretted what he did.

“Y/n, I’m sorry, I,”

“I hate you!” You screamed, tears running down your face as you ran to your room. You locked the door and cried on your bed for the rest of the night.

When you woke up you looked in the mirror to see that it now became a bruise. You tried covering as much up as you can with makeup. It was time to go to school and you walked there, not wanting to ride with Billy.

“Hey y/n,” a smile appeared as Steve walked to you. He put his arm up on your locker and saw that you weren’t your usual cheery self. “Hey what happened?”

You took your books out and shook your head, faking a grin, “nothing. I’m fine really.”

Steve knew how Billy was and was always on your side. All he wanted to do was protect you and to make sure you were safe. “If anything were to happen between you and your brother, you would tell me, right? I do care about you a lot y/n, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

You closed your locker and placed your hand on his cheek, “I’m fine Steve, you have nothing to worry about.” As you spoke you scratched where the bruise was at. You winced and looked away.

“Wait, you’re hurt.” Steve turned your face so you can look up at him and thats where he saw the bruise. His jaw clenched as he saw the purple wound. “Who gave you this?”

“Steve its nothing really I-”

“How did this happen?” Steve was getting angrier and angrier by the minute. You didn’t deserve to be treated this way, you deserved way more.

“Funny story actually, I fell down the stairs and I got this.”

“Bull shi*, its your brother isn’t it? Its Billy?” Steve asked but in reality he knew it was either your father or your brother.

Tears started to form in your eyes again, “yes, it was Billy. We had an argument and he got mad.”

Steve was so irate, he almost ran to the entrance of the school but you stopped him by pulling his sleeve, “no Steve please. Don’t leave me, I, I need you.”

Steve saw the desperation in your eyes and that you did need him at this moment, you were hurting and he knew that he needed to be there for you.

“C’mon we need to get that taken care of.”

Steve grabbed your hand and he led you to the cafeteria. “Steve we’re gonna miss class.”

“Screw class, right now I’m only worried about you.”

He led you to the frozen area and brought out frozen bag of mixed vegetables that they serve at lunch. “Those things are pretty disgusting,” you chuckled as Steve looked for tape, he laughed as well, “yeah they kinda taste like as* to me so I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

Once Steve found the tape and brought the frozen vegetables he stopped by the refrigerator. “We also need these.” He then stacked up on chocolate pudding.

“Oh my god Steve! My sister’s friends love those!”

Steve grinned and still holding your hand managed to hold all the items, “they are essential to making you feel better.”

“You do know there is a clinic near by that I could of gone to at the school?”

Steve shrugged, “yeah but all they would of done was dab some hand sanitizer on that and call it a day. I can’t have them doing that to you, you need more work done.”

You lightly bumped into him playfully. “You’re so silly Steve Harrington.”

“I try to be for all the pretty ones.” He gave you a playful wink. Your heart was beating fast with him. You liked Steve a lot but you thought it was just not meant to be.

He brought you to the science class. It was empty and it would be since it needed remodeling done.

“What are we doing here Steve? We’re not supposed to be here!” You tried to knock some sense into him but he just held onto your hand and brought you to the desk. You sat beside him. You two sitting next to each other.

“We need to take care of the bruise.”

Steve brought the frozen bag out and lightly placed it on your bruise. You winced a little at the pain and Steve apologized. He was so close to your face! Then he taped it. You looked up and saw what he did, making you laugh, “I look ridiculous!”

“I think that kinda suits you.”

You shook your head and the vegetables in the bag shook, “Oh my god why are we doing this? Why are you doing this?”

Steve placed his hand on yours and lightly brushed it, “Because you were hurt, and you don’t deserve that.”

Your eyes twinkled to him, they were like stars. You couldn’t handle it no more. With a leap of faith you moved closer to him on the chair and planted your lips on his. At first he was surprised but then he deepened it himself. It was a passionate kiss, you walked forward and placed yourself on his lap, deepening the kiss. When you two separated your breathing was harsh.

“Wow, that was amazing,” Steve was breathless, looking no where else except your face. “God you’re beautiful.”

You looked away bashful, “even with this ugly bruise?”

Steve kissed you again, “nothing could ever make you any less beautiful.”

You, still sitting on his lap, wrapped your arms around his shoulders, “you don’t know how long I wanted to do that.”

Steve kissed your bruise, or more like the frozen bag, “I’m so glad you did, I’ve wanted to be with you ever since I saw you.”

You two missed classes that day and he told you to stay at his house for a little bit until you’re ready to face Billy again. You were now the king’s girlfriend but none of that mattered, all you cared about was Steve and your love for him.

You two enjoyed chocolate pudding in that empty science room, talking about everything. You were finally happy and thankful for all that Steve had done for you.

Tag list: @harrington-lover, @angelgl16, @perfectlybeautifulsuit, @hyehoney, @haven-prelude (wont let me tag), @leasly, @totally-alexa21, @creamy-pasta-boi, @multireese, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @prentisskelley, @malereaderforkpop (wont let me tag), @guardian-of-cookies, @justafangirl-97, @teenageshitposts (wont let me tag), @andreaoreas, @dippergravity (wont let me tag), @some-booty, @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople, @collectiveyou, @wtfisalltherandoms, @fangirl-4-life415

wanna be tagged in my crap? comment!

#stranger things #fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #x reader #steve harrington x hargrove! reader #x hargrove! reader #steve harrington imagine #requested #bruise #OMG i need breakfast lol #i havent had breakfast yet!#get ready for requests to be opennnn #im readyyyy #also this is so fluffy u may die #WOULD ANYONE LIKE SUM STEWWWW

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whatarubberchicken · 6 years

Text

Marichat May 31

Reincarnation

Adrien sipped his coffee slowly, watching the people all around him. Mostly tourists, enjoying the view of the Eiffel Tower from this outdoor café. The Tale of the Battle of Paris was still on everyone’s lips, even a year later. He even saw one little girl dressed up as Ladybug. The sight made him smile, even though his heart clenched and he unconsciously fumbled for the ring that hung on a chain around his neck.

Not the real one, of course. That had been surrendered when Master Fu had taken the rest of the Miraculouses. Not that he minded too much. It wouldn’t feel right, transforming without… her.

“Sorry, chaton…,” her whisper echoed through his mind. “Maybe… we’ll meet again in the next life.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he’d promised, his voice just as strained. Both of their injuries had made it impossible for him to even crawl over and hold her one last time.

The cold of the ring bit into his palm and he looked down at it. ‘An heirloom,’ his father had written in his will when he’d given it to Adrien.

Yeah, right.

It was nothing more than a reminder of everything they’d lost that night. One final accusation for not listening to his ‘loving father’ and helping him bring his mother back. A lingering reminder that he would never see the love of his life again….

Adrien was pretty sure his father had expected him to throw it in the trash immediately. And he almost had. But the reminder of better days—bright laughter, warm hugs, and sweet, sweet kisses that had made a purr rumble through his whole being—he hadn’t been able to fully give that up.

“Damn it, Bug,” he thought, not for the first time, “how can we find each other in the next life if you didn’t let me die??”

She’d kept quiet about her own injuries while the medics worked on Chat, who was bleeding more profusely. The first responders had said she’d even been talking with them normally, right up until she’d simply passed out and never woken up again. It was only after her transformation dropped that they’d discovered just how much she’d been bleeding internally.

Chat, however, they’d been able to save. Chat, whom they’d gotten to first. Chat, who then had to watch his own father get arrested for terrorizing a city, only to be released later because nobody could prove he was Hawkmoth. They sure weren’t going to give him the Miraculous back so he could transform and incriminate himself, after all. And unless they had that solid proof, well… he had the best lawyers money could buy.

Master Fu had shrugged and said it didn’t matter. ‘Unless they’re willing to redeem themselves, villains never did well once their evil plans were thwarted,’ he’d said, giving Adrien a sad look as he put the Miraculous away for the last time.

He’d turned out to be right. The company never recovered; people quit left and right rather than be in the same room as the un-convicted supervillain. And a few months later, Nathalie had called to inform him that his father had taken his own life.

Adrien hadn’t cried.

He’d stood at the funeral, silent and respectful as the priest said the words, but as soon as it was over, his feet had carried him over to another grave. There, and only there, had he allowed himself to break down and weep for what he’d lost.

What he’d truly lost.

“Mrow?”

Adrien blinked and looked down as he was once again jolted out of his thoughts. He smiled at the young tortoiseshell who was currently rubbing up against his leg. Even now, cats seemed unnaturally-attracted to him.

“Hello,” he said, bending down to pet the sweet creature. “You’re sure a pretty girl—WHOA!” he cried as she suddenly leapt into his lap. He laughed weakly. “Friendly little thing, aren’t you?”

He scratched her under the chin, relaxing as she purred and leaned into his touch. Then her eyes opened and she fixed Adrien with a sky-blue stare. His heart skipped a beat at the color—so familiar and beloved. Exactly like—

He studied his new friend a bit closer. She was young, probably not even a year old, and her coloring was both tabby and tortoiseshell—a tortie, if he remembered his cat breeds correctly. Her body was a mix of black and blue spots and patches, and her face was a split mask, one half being cream with little black spots that looked like freckles, and the other half a large black patch that almost looked like… a mask.

Ladybug’s mask.

He stopped petting the little cat, waiting for her to jump down once she realized she wasn’t going to get anymore pats. He was going crazy now, seeing Ladybug and Marinette in a stray—

The little tortie suddenly rose up on her hindlegs and, carefully but deliberately, put her paw on Adrien’s nose. He blinked, more surprised than worried that she’d scratch him. Her claws were carefully retracted as she continued to stare him down. Then, just as deliberately, she gave his nose just a bit of a push, up and back.

Just like Ladybug used to when she was feeling playful.

Just like Marinette used to when she’d tease him. Or scold him. Or—

“Marinette?” he whispered, nearly choking on the word. The cat sat back down and gave him a long, slow blink. Adrien’s throat closed and his eyes filled with tears. With a hoarse cry, he threw his arms around the tiny cat and hugged her.

“MRRROW!!!” came the angry protest.

“Sorry, sorry!” he laughed, immediately loosening his grip a bit. Any other cat would scratched and bit him by now. This one just purred louder and rubbed her head against his chin.

It was her. It had to be.

“OMG, Mari, OMG. My lady… princess…!” Adrien murmured, unable to stop himself from stroking her fur. She leaned into it eagerly. He took a deep, shaky breath and looked at her again. “You did it. You found me!”

She gave him a very self-satisfied look and settled herself down on his lap. Adrien couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him.

“And you—you’re a… you’re a Mari-chat!!” he howled, tears of laughter seeping out. He wasn’t surprised at all to feel her claws flex on his jeans as she gave him an unimpressed stare. But he couldn’t help it.

A cat. She’d come back to him as a cat. A spotted cat, no less! How—completely perfect! And torties… weren’t they considered lucky cats? Money cats, they were called in America. How completely like his lady!

“So,” he said, once he’d calmed down enough to talk again, “I guess this means you’ll be the one hanging out in my bedroom and eating snacks now, huh? Gonna get me back for all the trouble I got into as Chat Noir?”

“Mew,” Mari-chat chirped primly. Then she stood up, made eye contact with him, and calmly and deliberately pushed his coffee cup off the table.

Adrien yelped and shot to his feet, automatically scooping her up in his arms as he did. He glared down at her, fighting back a grin as she simply purred back at him even louder than before.

“YOU—” he began, but then he melted. “—I love you,” he finished, shaking his head at himself. Settling her more comfortably his arms, he headed for home, already planning all the changes he was going to make to make her more comfortable there.

And for the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to what tomorrow would bring.

End.

#marichat may 2018 #marichat may #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #sorry i couldn't resist ending on a pun #mari-chat

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

Text

Pulse/Thermite oneshot in which they break into Doc’s office drunk and make some very interesting discoveries. (Rating E, smut, ~3k words :) - written for @starshooter-apollo ♥

“You’d think that of all things, bandages should be easy to find in a doctor’s office”, Thermite grumbles as he slams another cabinet door shut, turns to Pulse who’s rifling through Doc’s desk with lifted eyebrows and a distracted expression. “Does he keep them under lock and key? Is he afraid of mummy costumes?”

“It’s probably the fact that you’re the only idiot who needs them regularly and you patch yourself up anyway”, comes the laconic answer, the words slurred slightly. Neither of them are sober which explains why they broke into Doc’s office in the middle of the night for really no reason, until Thermite noticed that he could use the opportunity to re-dress his wounds. They’ve separated from the others about an hour ago because both of them agreed they didn’t need to watch Bandit perform a strip tease and now they’re stranded here, determined to find some goddamn bandages and if it’s the last thing they do.

“Only because Doc won’t stop looking at me like he’s disappointed. Please, I have my dad for that.” Pulse snorts but it’s obvious his drunken mind is elsewhere, he’s leaning back in the heavy desk chair and has stopped searching, his gaze fixed on something Thermite can’t see from where he’s standing. “What is it? Did you find something?” He steps closer and peers into the drawer Pulse has pulled open and is examining with interest. “Oh shit, what is all this?” A low whistle escapes him and his friend grins in response.

“It turns out even doctors have secrets”, he says nonsensically, as he’s wont to do when intoxicated. His enunciation is crisp and clear but the content of his utterances suffers.

“Makes sense though, if I were in desperate need of a condom or lube I’d actually come here”, Thermite states, “or maybe approach Smoke.”

“Smoke is a walking condom.”

“I think I’ll finish this bottle without you, yeah? You’ve had enough.” He unscrews the vodka bottle they stole from Ash and topped up with orange juice and takes a generous swig that’s at least two thirds vodka, making him scrunch up his nose in slight disgust.

“Do you jerk off with lube?”

He almost spits it all out again and narrowly avoids death by inhaling alcohol, forces himself to swallow before he looks at Pulse with an incredulous expression. “What?”

“Just curious. You’re cut, too. I don’t really like it, don’t mind the friction.”

“Dude, I think your filter turned itself off at some point. I’m definitely drinking this on my own.” Thermite is undoubtedly not drunk enough to be discussing his masturbation habits with his colleague and best friend.

“I think this one is flavoured.” Again, Thermite has to muster up all his willpower to not spray Pulse with a screwdriver shower. “Seriously though, look at the variety, Jordan! Doc is a fucking lube dealer.” Excitedly, Pulse begins lining up bottles on the wooden tabletop, the labels, sizes and functions differing vastly.

Curiously and slightly disbelieving, Thermite starts to inspect them, finds a range so wide his head starts swimming – well, even more. Though it could also be the vodka. “The fuck?”, he mumbles as he comes across a particularly striking label. “Warming lube. Creates a gentle warmth that heats things up – what in the world?”

“Oh, that sounds right up your alley”, Pulse replies enthusiastically as he’s piling up more and more condom wrappers next to the lubrication, “you have to try it.”

“What, now?!”, Thermite scoffs and really, it’s just a joke, only then Pulse pauses and they hold eye contact and he knows they’re both thinking it. “I’m not going to wank in Doc’s office”, he says and sounds more convinced than he actually is because the thought is intriguing to his fuzzy mind. They’ve broken in here already, why not go a step further? He amends his last statement: “At least I’m not doing it on my own.”

“I can do it”, Pulse suggests and yes, he’s indubitably on that side of drunk where his playful recklessness bleeds into his iron composure and creates a volatile mixture that entertains Thermite endlessly.

“Didn’t you just say you don’t like lube?”

“No, I mean – on you.”

Another pause, this one significantly longer. Weighing the pros and cons is futile seeing as the only pro of this scenario is it’s going to feel so fucking amazing whereas the cons include a possibly awkward work relationship in the future, overstepping pretty much all boundaries Thermite holds sacred, the judgement he’ll face when he inevitably blurts out what happened to someone completely unrelated and so on. There’s nothing redeeming about this. Absolutely nothing. He drinks another sip, then another one without tearing his eyes away from Pulse who is watching him expectantly. “Okay”, Thermite hears himself agree, “sure. Why not?”

“Sweet. Sit down somewhere.” Pulse gets to his feet unsteadily and inexplicably adds: “I can wear gloves to make it feel like it’s someone else.”

Thermite possesses neither the presence of mind nor the crayons to explain to Pulse why nothing of what he’s saying makes any sense, so he decides to leave it and sits down on the desk, refusing to think about their current situation too hard. Still, his blood is rushing in his ears and admittedly into his groin in anticipation. He likes Pulse, feels comfortable in his presence and adores him for regularly humouring Thermite; alright, he also had the occasional passing thought about his tall, serious friend but never anything specific. Well, maybe once. He might’ve fantasised about him while touching himself once. Or twice.

The snap of latex yanks him out of his reverie and he realises Pulse has actually donned a pair of Doc’s gloves, wriggling his fingers with a slight grin. “The doctor is in”, Pulse says and Thermite feels his cheeks redden.

“You really don’t need to -”

“I don’t want this goop on my hands.”

“You’re going to put this goop on my dick.”

“Exactly. So stop complaining, Jordan, and lean back.” Thermite’s mouth snaps shut and he obeys, props himself up on the wooden surface, spreads his legs so Pulse can step between them and all of sudden, it’s intimate and embarrassing at the same time. His jeans are clumsily unbuttoned, zipped open and there’s a split second of doubt, the last moment where he could still stop this – but he lets it pass. His head feels light from the alcohol, his limbs are relaxed and as Pulse’s warm, gloved fingers gingerly pull out his penis, he realises he’s half-hard already. “Not bad.”

Thermite huffs a laugh at the words as well as Pulse’s curious expression as he gently palms him, examines every angle and then makes Thermite inhale sharply by rubbing his thumb over the sensitive head. “Jack, get on with it. You’re meant to jerk it, not memorise it.”

“Fine. Don’t be so bossy, it’s unbecoming.” Pulse reaches over and uncaps the warming lube, squirts some into his palm and, without further ado, wraps his slick fingers around Thermite’s shaft, moves them up and down slowly before switching to massaging the tip, prompting a low gasp from the older man. His dick is quickly filling with blood now, thoroughly enjoying the foreign touch, the smooth slide and especially the fact that it’s Pulse groping him right now. “Can you feel it?”

For a moment, he’s utterly distracted by the view of the broad gloved hand encircling his erection, forgot how it came about and is abruptly filled with desire so strong it makes his cock twitch in Pulse’s grasp. Then he notices the delicious heat amplifying the pleasure and hums contentedly. “Yeah, it’s – it’s nice. Oh, it’s really nice.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Warm. Like my skin is drunk. Mmm, keep going like this.” Each stroke feels like heaven, they’re too slow and teasing yet he has no objections against enjoying this whole thing for as long as possible, he’s in no rush and Pulse… he seems ridiculously pleased for some reason, keeps tightening his grip on each upstroke and alternates between watching Thermite and his erect cock, delighted about every reaction he can tickle out of either of them.

“Have you been jerked by a dude before?” He nods before he can catch himself – his inhibitions are long gone, courtesy of the strong buzz occupying most of his consciousness. “How was that, then?”

“They weren’t as chatty as you are, I can tell you that.” With a slight grin, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, concentrates on the prickling heat and the tender ministrations lulling him into a peaceful state of mind, not even worrying about the fact that he used the plural in his reply. A few men have jacked him off and Pulse didn’t know this before. Maybe he should worry.

“Is this how you masturbate normally?” The exploration has stopped now, Pulse is pumping his dick steadily and confidently – so confidently, in fact, that Thermite suspects it’s not the first time he’s doing this to someone else.

“Yeah. A bit faster still.” Though this tempo is acceptable, it’ll just take a while. He doesn’t mind. A soft gasp slips out and he finds Pulse staring at him intently when he opens his eyes again, his gaze as hot as his slippery fingers and Thermite knows it’s not just the lube that sets his skin ablaze.

“Do you finger yourself?”

The question is weirdly intimate despite the whole situation yet he feels compelled to answer. “Sometimes.”

“If this stuff feels good on your dick, it’s gonna be amazing up your ass. Take off your pants.”

He laughs incredulously. “Jack, you must be absolutely shit-faced if you’re being serious right now.” They look at each other and Pulse does something with his fingers that makes Thermite suck air in through his teeth and then he realises Pulse is being serious as well as shit-faced, just like Thermite himself, and why is he even still clothed? Suppressing all the protests flaring up at the idea of allowing his best friend to finger him to an undoubtedly mind-blowing orgasm, he toes off one of his shoes and helps Pulse to mostly remove his trousers and underwear, leaving them pooled around one ankle. His cock meets this new development with unbridled enthusiasm, leaking onto Thermite’s belly and twitching once more when Pulse bends the naked leg to put Thermite’s foot on the edge of the desk, exposing him fully.

As usual, Pulse wastes no time, is efficient and goal-oriented and lubes up the fingers of his other hand before he softly touches one digit to Thermite’s hole, rubbing slightly until he feels it relax, the lube once again spreading a soothing warmth; then he slips it inside and there’s no doubt now, he’s definitely done this before though whether it was with a guy or a woman is unclear. Fully trusting him to do the right thing, Thermite lies down flat and stares at the ceiling of the medical office, unfocused and without seeing anything because he’s concentrating on all the wonderful sensations happening between his legs.

Pulse is stroking him again while he simultaneously moves his finger inside, a gentle invasion that only adds to the arousal coursing through Thermite’s body, combining with the light-headedness from the vodka to form a thick mist settling over his mind, clouding his judgement, sense of decency and inhibitions. For a while, he just floats lazily, content in his passivity and revelling in the way everything spins around him, then his big mouth gets the better of him and he says: “You can add another. I’m used to it.”

To Pulse’s credit, he obliges wordlessly and even starts scissoring his fingers while he still jerks Thermite at a leisurely pace, focusing on the head and massaging the ridge now and then. Mixed with the warmth of the lube, it’s sensational, steals Thermite’s breath away already and then he feels the fingers curling against his prostate and moans throatily not only because he’s insanely turned on by now but also because this confirms his suspicions that Pulse has done this with a guy and that means there’s a chance. He doesn’t miss the short pause that follows his vocalisation. It could be an indication…

He tests his theory by groaning loudly the next time those skilled fingertips brush over his prostate and grinds his hips against them. The otherwise smooth movements are interrupted yet again, so he props himself up on his elbows to catch Pulse running his gaze over his naked legs and his crotch, chewing on his bottom lip and sporting a visible bulge in his trousers. Ignoring his own arousal for the moment, Thermite addresses him with a slight grin: “Hey, Jack. Wanna try out one of the condoms as well?”

Pulse’s eyes snap up, alarmed, and he hesitates. “You think so?”, he asks, his voice thick.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He waits until Pulse’s hands have withdrawn from his body, leaving him empty and thrumming with need before he gets up and rifles through the wrappers on the desk, acutely aware of Pulse’s presence behind him, breathing hard and being hard and it was a fantastic idea to agree to this. Then he stops. “There’s a glow in the dark one”, he manages to say with a straight face but cracks up at Pulse’s barking laugh, “oh God we have to use it.” He turns back to his friend and finds he’s already undone his jeans as well as pulled out his sizeable erection, ever so pragmatic, prompting Thermite to lift his eyebrows and comment: “Should’ve used three fingers.”

“Shut up”, Pulse replies with a grin mirroring Thermite’s and doesn’t protest when Thermite rips the foil with his teeth and carefully rolls the condom over his dick, making sure not to drag his bandages over the sensitive skin though he gives it a proper tug once the latex is unrolled, smiles at Pulse’s gasp in response. “I should make sure it’ll work. Get the lights.” Pulse turns on Doc’s desk lamp while Thermite kills the overhead ones and shines it directly on his crotch, his condom-clad and now also well-lit penis jutting out proudly and the sight is hysterical.

“Why am I friends with you”, Thermite snorts and laughs so hard at Pulse’s mock hurt expression that he has to support himself on the desk so his knees don’t give in. The entire situation feels surreal now, they’re about to have sex yet all he can think about is how ridiculous it’s going to look, getting fucked by a glowing cock. Still, he’s genuinely looking forward to it. None of this would’ve happened if they weren’t drunk, he knows this though he chooses to disregard this fact for now. “Get some more lube and then let’s go.”

He ignores how the sight of Pulse staring at him while slicking up his erection makes something in his insides flutter and instead turns around, rests his arms on the desk and presents his backside, taking measured breaths and jumping slightly at the feel of a gloved hand on one of his buttocks. “You ready?”

I’ve been ready months ago, Thermite thinks and only nods. When the remaining light source is switched off, he cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of Pulse’s dick and it’s exactly as garish, bright and hilarious as he thought it’d be. They both chortle as they admire the view, continue snickering even as the tip touches Thermite’s entrance, applies pressure and slips in when he relaxes. He shifts his stance, spreads his legs a bit more so Pulse is angled down, lowers his head so he can see the glowing cock between his legs. “This is ridiculous”, Thermite states matter-of-factly and chuckles up to the point where Pulse pushes in all the way and suddenly he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore whatsoever.

His nails dig into the wood and his mouth falls open at the familiar feeling of becoming one with someone else, being invaded this intimately and, out of nowhere, he’s so turned on he can’t even speak, only moan brokenly. Pulse’s cock is large, he can feel his insides fit snugly around it, is aware of every inch of it in his body and for a second he’s worried about passing out. The heat of it is almost unbearable.

The first movements are tentative and shallow, visible by the bright shaft appearing and disappearing again, creating delicious friction that slowly drives him insane despite the ludicrous view. He feels Pulse’s fingers tighten on his hipbones and then him withdrawing, slamming back in and almost knocking him off balance. “Jordan”, he murmurs and sounds wrecked already, “you feel so fucking good.” And with that, he begins thrusting into him for real, pulling Thermite’s hips flush with his own again and again, aiming for that sweet spot and keeping the angle when Thermite curses loudly.

It’s carnal, Thermite loses himself completely in the pleasure that zaps through him like electricity, the sensations amplified manifold due to the soothing darkness surrounding him, denying him any distractions, and so all he can do is focus on the desire coursing through him. Pulse’s thrusts are hard and deep, chipping away at the remains of Thermite’s composure, wrenching more and more noises from his throat. One of the hands disappears and he makes up for it by meeting Pulse, adapting to his rhythm and rolling his hips into him, clenching his muscles and causing them both to groan in bliss.

There’s a noise, something hitting the floor next to them and Thermite realises what it is when a warm hand wraps around his still slick cock – Pulse must’ve pulled off one of the gloves with his teeth and has resumed jerking him off, only now he’s playing a dangerous game. “Jack, I’m so close already, I’m gonna come real soon, so maybe don’t -” He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly, want to stay like this forever even if his legs are threatening to cramp up and his arms and neck hurt from the awkward position but if Pulse keeps stroking him like this, he won’t last another minute.

“It’s okay”, Pulse replies shakily, “me too.”

This seals the deal. If Pulse is already on the edge, it means Thermite is affecting him a whole lot more than he’d admit and the thought is thrilling. Both of them are chasing their release now, moving in unison and filling the air with strangled gasps and the occasional moan, the hand on Thermite’s dick insistent and skilled and he was right, it does feel fucking amazing and a few seconds later he’s proven correct once more. Because his orgasm is mind-blowing.

His legs are trembling when he’s pushed over the edge with a blissful whine, his cock spurting come all over Pulse’s fist that never stops moving, his hole contracting hungrily around the throbbing shaft that releases its sperm at the same time, Pulse groaning, relieved; it’s all a blur. Thermite’s stomach muscles flutter as they both ride it out, drunk and drunk on each other, trying to catch their breath and relaxing into the aftershocks, floating on the pleasurable sensations encompassing them.

Afterwards and before pulling out, Pulse is stroking one of his thighs gently and he doesn’t even care he’s smearing semen everywhere. “You know, maybe we should steal some of these, Jordan. For future experimenting.”

He can do nothing about the grin slowly spreading on his face as he takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”

#rainbow six siege #pulse #thermite #pulse/thermite #fanfic #oneshot #thermite is a babe let's be real

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cece2046 · 6 years

Text

Close the Curtains - Chap 1

Thank you my beta @reynardinepttr! Sorry I'm shit at English apparently omg.

Teddy Lupin × Hermione Granger

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12748991/1/Close-the-Curtains

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12922338/chapters/29528235

@sissannis because... yeah.

I saw her and I said to James, “I’m in love.”

James was texting to Albus or Victoire or whichever cousin our twisted huge family has. He hummed. I waited. About ten text-sent pop sounds later, he jumped a bit and turned his eyes to me. “What?” he asked.

“I’m in love? That thing’s gonna get you killed you know, if you keep putting all your goddamn attention into it.”

James wasn’t having any of it. “You’re in love with who?”

“Whom,” I replied calmly. “With her.” I pointed to her as discreetly as I could manage.

James turned his head and let out a soft “whoa”.

I know. That’s what I felt several moments ago.

The thing about me that you have to know is, I’m a very calm person. You have to be if you want some degree of emotional privacy as a Metamorphmagus. You need to train yourself not to change your hair colour according to your favorite person in the vicinity. That’s very cute and all when you’re a baby. Still cute when you’re a kid, but once you step into teenage years, it becomes inconvenient when all you want is to “play it cool”, you know? And now I’m an adult, that’d be simply embarrassing.

I know my mum didn’t care about showing her emotional status for everyone not colourblind to see, according to hearsay from Harry or Ginny or Ron. But I’m not my mum. I’ve been told many times that my mum was a lot more chipper than me. I don’t know why they keep telling me that. Maybe they just want me to be happier by setting up a role model out of my late mother, as ridiculous as that sounds?

I sometimes think that even though I’m a Metamorphmagus like my mum, I’m more like my dad. Not that I know about him much, mind you, but a kid has a lot to think about when he’s an orphan yet at the same time he has thousands of family members. Have you seen the Weasleys? Honestly.

Anyway, I’m in love but I’m pretty sure that my expression didn’t change at all. Totally cool. This woman is gorgeous. Not in a super model way or something. She’s just so… I don’t know. I just can’t take my eyes off her. She’s different, like she knows a lot of things and has been to a lot of places, yet I can still picture her sitting next to the fireplace in the Burrow and drinking tea with a book on her lap. It’s unsettling, to be honest.

James is saying something.

I turned my eyes to him. “What did you just say?”

“She’s coming our way, mate.” James stuffed his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, seeming a little nervous, which is totally out of character for him.

She is coming our way. Yes she is. Suddenly I don’t know the purpose of my own hands anymore. Where should I put them? Why do I have them if I can’t come up with a comfortable place to put them? Do I look at her? Do I pretend that my phone buzzed? Do I pretend to have a stroke? Do I pretend to be high?

I don’t know what I'm doing and she’s in front of us. She might be in her 30s? I don’t know. I can’t breathe.

She opened her mouth.

“James? James Potter?”

What?

James visibly jumped. Chill, mate. She just said your name. It’s not like she screamed your name when she came.

Wait, what? What now?

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, My Lady. I mean, yes. Yes. I am. James Sirius Potter. James Potter. The Junior. Just James. I mean, yes. My pleasure. And you are?” James stuttered his way through it. I’m proud of him. I still can’t form a sentence.

She smiled. I’ve never seen such a smile before. It’s not sunshine or daisies or unicorns or rainbows. It’s a little warm and a little sad at the same time. It’s like that first moment when there’s a breeze and you realize that summer is ending soon, but it’s not unpleasant, especially if you’re a fan of autumn.

“I’m Hermione Granger. Glad to make your acquaintance, too.”

“Hermione Granger? You’re Hermione Granger? Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m such a fan. You fought next to my dad in the war, yeah? And your thesis on that new application of dragon blood is so inspiring!” James is beaming.

“Thank you.” She gave him another smile. “Are you taking me to Harry? Is that why you’re here? Harry said in the last letter that he was going to send you to welcome me, since he has this meeting that he can’t get out of.”

“Oh yes, definitely. Jeez, dad didn’t say that you’re so hot. What are you, 40 years old now?”

Way to go, James.

She didn’t take offence. “More or less.” And then she turned to me. She’s staring at me. “Teddy?” Her voice is somehow lower. She looks a lot younger at that moment, like a school girl.

I straightened. “You know me?”

She closed her eyes for a bit. “You were still very young when I left Britain,” she said. “No wonder you don’t remember me.”

And suddenly she’s hugging me. She’s tiny compared to me, but I still feel enveloped. Her hair smells nice. I don’t know that scent. I tentatively put my right hand on her back between her shoulder blades. I shouldn’t have done that, because now she’s hugging me harder. She’s so soft. I’m getting hard. This hug needs to stop. Right. Now.

She pulled back like she heard my thoughts. “Shall we?” That’s directed to James, who’s currently staring at me with a thoughtful look.

“Yes, this way, Hermione. May I call you Hermione?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m practically your aunt."

We’re driving to James’s flat in Muggle London and then taking the floo. James is driving. Hermione takes the shotgun. I’m on the backseat. James struck up a conversation about her academic theory about something. I’m not listening. I’m just feeling her voice and thinking.

It’s not a secret that Harry and Ron have a third best friend. They talk about her. Not a lot, but they’re not keeping her a secret from us kids. We’ve all been curious once, but the moment we got a textbook she wrote, the curiosity disappeared. You don't really get curious about your textbook writer. No one does. We all tend to avoid them. So all we know is that she’s their best friend, she fought in the war, and she left for academic achievements. Nice and easy.

Come to think of it, why hasn't she come back to visit? Ever? If she’s such a good friend of Harry and Ron’s?

James is enamoured. He might have a crush on her. I can tell. What about her? I can’t see her face on the backseat. Well, a little. I can see her left ear, partly obscured by her hair. It’s pale and delicate. I want to touch it. I want to lick it. I’m being weird. Her neck is there for me to observe, too. I know if she turns around this moment and sees me, I might as well kiss my chance with her goodbye. This is so creepy, staring at that little patch of skin like a serial killer or… skin… fanatic.

James saved me from myself. “Are you coming with us, Teddy?”

I turned my eyes to him. “Sure. Why not?”

He has this meaningful little evil smile in his eyes in the rear mirror. “I thought you had a date with a certain blonde?”

“It’s not a date. It’s just a drink.”

“So? Are you going or not?”

“I can cancel.”

James whistled. I know what’s on his mind. He’s such a child.

“Are you single, James?” Hermione asked.

James suddenly tensed. “Ah, no?”

Hermione laughed. “Is that a question?”

James chuckled nervously. “Hey, Hermione, are you obligated to tell my parents everything regarding to me? Like, real-aunt stuff?”

I guess that’s the problem when you have parents. You love them. They love you. But somehow you just cannot be the people who know each other the most.

I’m a little surprised that Hermione actually thought about it for a bit. I can tell James is surprised too. People all give quick answers when they’re asked about this. Angelina will say “you bet your ass I will tell Ginny everything kids”. George will say “nah dude this is between you and me, pranksters’ honour”. But Hermione, she’s thinking about it like she’s not sure.

After a moment, she said, “I guess it depends.”

James is a little miffed. “Depends on what?”

She shrugged. “On whether or not it’s necessary to tell them?”

“How do you decide that?” I asked. I didn’t realise that I was already leaning forward and ready to participate.

She turned around and looked at me. “Well, I guess if James’s secret might put him in grave danger, then I should tell Harry about it. Otherwise I’m a pretty good secret keeper.” She paused for a moment, added, “What about you, Teddy? Do you tell Harry everything about James?”

I don’t know why, but her words warmed me in an unexpected way, like in her way of asking, she put me in the same level as her - adult, independent, guardian of that big child sitting in the driver’s seat. It means that she doesn’t see me as a child; instead, she sees me as a partner in crime in this car if James spills one of his secrets, and that pleases me enormously.

I looked into her eyes and said, “I’m the best secret keeper in the world.”

She shivered. Maybe. Maybe it’s just a trick of light and shadows and the speeding scenery outside the window. She didn’t look away though. I didn’t look away either. One moment passed and then we missed our opportunity to look away without being awkward or weird, so we have to keep looking at each other. I can’t control myself that well. I looked down to her lips for a split second, but she caught me. I can tell.

Damn it.

She silently turned around completely. James glared at me for a bit. Merlin, give me a break.

“So,” James said, “if I tell you something about my love life you wouldn’t tell my parents?”

Her voice is steady. “No. Unless your girlfriend plans to kill you.”

“That’s not as far-fetched as you would imagine,” James laughed a bit.

She’s totally relaxed now. “So you have one? Girlfriend?”

James hummed.

“And Harry doesn’t know?”

James hummed again.

She laughed a bit. “Okay. I won’t tell him, but I want a full report.”

James laughed along. “You need to win my trust first.”

She might murmured something like “Harry Potter’s fucking son”. I’m sure I heard wrong.

It’s pretty uneventful after that. We flooed to the Ministry, sat outside Harry’s office, and waited for him to end whatever’s going on in there. An assistant Auror, Kris, said that Auror Potter knew we’d arrived and he’d meet us as soon as possible. It’s interesting, the Auror Office. Everyone’s constantly on the move. Only one or two are sitting at their desks and chewing their quills. I’m guessing case closing report.

Hermione sits between me and James. James is on his phone again. He’s been on his phone ever since Malfoy Industries invented a method to make Muggle devices work normally in magical environments, which means five years ago. I think. Harry threatened to reducto that thing once, but he never did. I guess for a man like Harry, the more ways to find his family at any given time, the better.

She wasn’t doing anything, just watching the office and taking it all in. She’s been away for quite some time, after all. I can feel her beside me even when I’m not looking at her. I don’t feel warmth or smell her scent or something like that. No. I just feel her presence.

And then someone said, in a weak voice, “Merlin’s balls. Hermione.”

I looked up, and there’s Ron. He’s pale as a corpse.

Hermione stood up and said calmly, “Hi, Ron.”

And then he’s kissing her. And my blood turned to ice in my veins.

#Teddy Lupin #Hermione Granger #hprarepairnet #this is seriously fluff #no one's dead #yet #fairestoftherare

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miguels-talons · 7 years

Text

The Long Walk Home

So this is my entry thing for @therealjacksepticeye ‘s septicart thing. I know it’s probably only for drawing and fanart, but it’s called septicart. Writing is an art. So I wrote this because I can write and not draw. This is based off of a scene from the book “IT” by Stephen King. I of course had to write it to be about Jack and Anti in present times, but I think this is one of my best writing pieces! Anyway, here we go:

As Jack trudges through the thick blanket of snow covering the ground around him, he pulls at the strings of his hood, trying to better shield his face from the buffeting cold and snow filled winds. He mutters to himself silently, his warm breaths of air making small, white clouds form in front of his face. He had been out at the library earlier that day, researching things the old fashioned way when after he’d gotten that nostalgic feeling to use an encyclopedia again. He had rode there in a taxi but quickly lost track of time while inside the walls of the library, forgetting to charge his phone and keep an eye on the passage of daylight. By the time he was finished reading about whales he had realized that the sun was beginning to set and his phone was dead. He would have stayed to charge, but the library was closing and he had to leave.

So, here he is now, the thick jacket he brought hardly doing anything to keep him warm with the gushes of wind hitting him from all angles. Luckily, his house isn’t too far away from the library. It’s only a mile. He’d just wanted a taxi ride this morning because why walk when you can get a ride? Now he’s wishing he had another ride.

As he nears the bridge that arches over the large river which runs through his town his eyes begin to water because of the harsh winds. He blinks rapidly to try and clear his vision, blowing at a stray strand of green hair as it falls into his face. He doesn’t want to remove his hands from his pockets because they’ll freeze if he does and he’s just now gotten them warm in his pockets. He steps onto the bridge and partly remembers that this is the halfway mark between the library and his house. That thought improves his stride and lifts his spirits slightly.

A putrid smell hits his nose as he reaches the middle of the bridge. The smell is so terrible he has to stop as his nostrils burn and the scent travels down his throat, making him want to throw up so badly he leans on the railing of the bridge for a moment. He coughs a little, the horrid smell of rotting flesh surrounding him. He shakes his head to try and clear his nostrils of the horrid scent but it remains. He lifts his head, swallowing heavily against the bile rising in his throat to glance around, searching for the source of the smell. He vaguely thinks that any person with half a brain would already be gone, the smell warning anyone of some kind of danger. But Jack felt drawn to stay oddly enough. In the back of his mind he knew he should leave, but.. he felt like he had to see what was causing the stench.

He angles his head backwards, squinting his eyes to better see through the screen of rushing snow as he glances out over the railing onto the frozen water. His eyes widen at the sight.

There, standing on what should be too thin of ice, was the figure of a man slowly moving towards the bridge. Jack clears his throat and straightens up, keeping one hand wrapped so tightly around the freezing railing that his knuckles began to change to white, heart thumping loudly in his ears.

Hey there, Jackie, the voice was in his ears, in his head, everywhere and he could hear nothing but the scratchy tone that sounded so similar to a hissing snake. It had the lilt of an Irish accent, similar to Jack’s, which was slightly strange because he’s in Brighton, not Ireland. It’s a bit cold out for a walk, dontcha think?

Well, yeah, of course it’s way too damn cold, he already knew that. He slowly blinks and swallows heavily, taking a small step backwards as the figure draws nearer. He hadn’t been expecting the face of the man to look just like his.

The man looks just like him. Has the same face, the same green, dyed hair, same structure and the same kind of clothing Jack wears during the summer. The only difference would be that the man appears to be a few inches taller… and the fact his eyes are glowing a vibrant green, head tilted back with a twisted grin splitting his face. And as Jack notices how he has on only a thin, black t shirt with black and ripped jeans, he wonders how the hell this strange man isn’t freezing currently.

And, for some reason, Jack can’t look away from those glowing green eyes.

Do you wanna warm up, Jackie? It continues to speak and Jack knows it’s an it because this man could not really be a man. Now as his vision further adjusts to the darkness of this winter night he can see how the pale skin on the look alike is cracking, peeling in the violent winds. Bits of its skin is slowly ripped from its body, mixing with the snow as it blows away. Jack then takes notice of the green balloon that is being held tightly in its hand, blowing towards him… against the wind. How the hell is that possible? It should be buffeted backwards, not forwards. Here, do you want a balloon? See how it floats?

Jack knows he should flee. But he feels suddenly paralyzed and he cannot move away, only able to meet the peering gaze of whatever it is. It is stepping ever closer, raising the balloon in an offering fashion as it grins up at him, sharp and pointed fangs shining with a layer of saliva. Jack nearly screams as more of the skin peels away from its chest and a wave of spiders crawls from its flesh, spreading outwards and across its body. And even with one of his worst fears pouring from the creature’s chest he still can’t move, only able to watch as more and more of the small and black monsters cover its body, taking on the appearance of the black t shirt with how many of them there are.

You’ll float, too, Jackie, the creature whispers in his brain and he had forgotten about the other, larger monster because of the spiders. He let’s out a surprised gasp as the green balloon is now directly in front of his face. He falls onto his ass, eyes widening as a crumbled and cracked hand lands on the edge of the bridge between his legs, sharp nails digging into the stone surface. He screams as some of the spiders crawl from the hand onto his legs, each one being around the size of his hand. Their long and spindly legs arch as they climb towards his knees, their eyes seeming to glow a bright red. Their pincer like mouths open and close repeatedly, snapping out from their long and hairy faces and he screams again, batting at his legs, kicking at the slick and snowy ground. A few of the large spiders manage to stay clinging on as he scampers to his feet, slapping crazily at them, forgetting about the much larger threat pulling itself over the side of the bridge, the grin wider, reaching from ear tip to ear tip as it watches the scene unfolding.

Only when the final spider is knocked from his leg does Jack remember the horrid smelling lookalike that is now standing directly behind him, green balloon somehow floating directly beside his face. He slowly turns, breath catching in his throat as he’s met with the green gaze of the monster directly above him, eyes shining dangerously as a hand slowly begins to raise. He’s once more paralyzed as the spider covered hand reaches out for his shoulder, hardly able to even breathe as those piercing greens peer into his very soul, pinning him there. That’s when the large, bug like leg extends from the creature’s back, landing on the ground near his feet. This leg is soon followed by three more and a huge, armoured face emerges from behind the monster’s head, two, green glowing eyes landing on him.

He knew then that if he did not move, if he did not run, he would be devoured by one of these terrifying monsters. Unless they were the same thing, merely working together. But that thought did not come to mind as Jack slapped the spider covered hand away from him with a low growl, feet slamming the ground with soft thuds as he begins to sprint away, eliciting an unearthly roar from one of the two creatures.

Jack stumbles as he runs from the bridge, right foot hitting a patch of ice that nearly causes him to slip, to fall. But he catches himself, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he steps into the blanket of snow, making him run faster than he had ever thought possible. Clouds of his quick breathing continuously hits him in the face, making it even more difficult to see where it is he’s going. His legs only seem to move even faster when hears footsteps behind him, making the snow crunch loudly and he is too terrified to look over his shoulder. He loses sight of where it is he is running, everything turning to a blur as he just runs.

He only stops when he trips, falling to his knees, hands falling into the snow as the white stuff bites at his skin. That’s when a shadow falls over him, masking his view of any light. He slowly peers over his shoulder, heart stopping at the sight of the man towering over him, those spider like legs sticking from his back still, the head continuing to raise as the legs shift, pushing away from the creature.

You’ll float too, Jackie, the voice growls now and that’s the only thing he can hear, even over his own heartbeat, over the howling of the wind, over the hissing and choppy squeals of the gigantic spider. Come join the clown and you’ll float too…

The last sign that Jack had been walking home was the sound of his pained scream, echoing through the windy and dark night like a ghost.

____

I hope y’all enjoyed!

And Jack, if you read this, know that you helped me start writing again. It had always been my dream to become an author since I was younger but at one point I had lost my spark. You inspired me to write again. It maybe fanfiction, but fanfiction writing is better than no writing. So thank you for helping me to find my passion again.

#septicart #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #writing

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avengerofyourheart · 7 years

Text

Leave This Town Pt 2 (Mechanic!Bucky AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky, Natasha, Wanda

Summary: Your dreams of kissing your small town life goodbye are about to come true when an unexpected detour leaves you stranded. Meeting the handsome local mechanic has you rethinking your plans. Perhaps happiness is less about where you’re headed and more about the people you meet along the way.

Song Inspiration: Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers

Warnings: none! The mildest of swearing I guess?

Word Count: 2.3k

Tags are at bottom (TAG LIST IS CLOSED I’M SORRY)

A/N: Holy bananas, you guys. Once I started writing this part, I got carried away and I’m probably extending this fic by a few parts. heh. I’m so in love with this story, and that’s probably why! I really hope you are too. Any thoughts and feedback are appreciated! I love you all!! :)

***This fic is for @bionic-buckyb ‘s 5k AU Writing Challenge**

<<<Part One Part Two Part Three>>>

Leave This Town Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

_________________________________________________

Previously:

“Try the Boysenberry Pie while you’re there. Even for breakfast, it really hits the spot.”

Taking a few steps backward, you gave him a smile, “I’ll do that,” then turning to walk away.“Oh, Y/N!” you heard him call after you and you whirled in place, surprised.

“Keys. I need your keys.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Right. Sorry.” Digging into your purse followed by a toss of the keys, he caught them out of the air before you headed in the direction of the diner once again.

________________

A bell above the door jangled lightly as you entered the diner, the smell of hot grease hitting your nose. Straight ahead there was a counter with barstools, a view of the kitchen behind it. To both your left and right along the wall lined with windows, there were built-in booths with splitting vinyl cushions and spotted formica-covered tables.

The waitress behind the counter spoke, drawing your attention. “Hey, sweetie. Take a seat wherever you like, I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

“Okay,” you responded with a tight smile.

Choosing a booth, you dropped your bag and sat down. You looked around, seeing only 2 other customers currently sitting at the counter with coffee mugs in their hands. Moments later, a pretty redhead approached, wearing a sleeveless button-up flowered shirt and jeans under the apron around her waist. Bright red lipstick painted her lips as she talked to what looked like a regular customer. Probably a local.

“Sorry about the wait, hun. You just roll into town?” she asked you while handing you a menu, then pulling a small notebook and a pen out of her apron pocket.

“Yeah. Just passing through. I hope,” you replied, a nag of doubt in your voice.

“You hope?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s my car. I don’t know how long it’ll take to fix it,” you huffed out in a sigh.

“I see,” she nodded. “Well, don’t fret, Bucky’ll take care of you, no problem.”

Your own eyebrow raised at the mention of his name, but you should have known that everyone knew everyone here. The blessing and curse of small towns.

“I”m Nattie. Can I get ya something to drink to start? Coffee?”

You jumped at the offering. “Yes! Coffee, please,” then offering your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Welcome. Coffee, you got it. I’ll give you a minute with the menu,” she said with a smile before walking around the counter for the coffee pot.

After ordering breakfast and a slice of the recommended Boysenberry pie, you sipped your coffee and pulled out your planning materials and laid them on the table. You had hoped to be 8 hours further into your journey, even having planned out where you would stop and either sleep in your car if it seemed safe or a cheap motel if needed. This pit stop wasn’t ideal, but you could adjust.

A few hours later, you waved goodbye to Nattie and left the diner. Breakfast was delicious and the pie was every bit as amazing as Bucky had promised. It was mid-afternoon as you strolled down the main road past the elementary school grounds full of screaming children out for recess, the small public library, a barber shop, and the post office.

Approaching the auto body shop, you could hear classic rock blasting from the radio, then following the sound into the open garage. You didn’t see anyone at first glance, but after looking in between cars, you finally spotted a pair of long legs poking out from underneath a jacked-up car.

“Hello?” you announced yourself.

“Just a minute,” came the muffled response.

A few seconds later he rolled out from underneath the car and got to his feet, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Hey,” he greeted you with a smile. “How was the diner?”

“Really good. The pie was okay,” you shrugged, then sneaking in a smile.

He crossed muscular arms over his chest. “Is that so? Well, there’s something wrong with your tastebuds then,” he grinned a you.

You let the moment linger, a crackle of electricity in your veins as you held his gaze. He then cleared his throat and walked over to your car, hood already raised.

“So,” he began, “I was right. It’s the radiator. Looks like there’s a crack that was sloppily patched so it was only temporary. How long have you had the car?”

You shook your head in disbelief. “About a week. That sneaky weasel! I can’t believe Brock sold it to me like that!” you exclaimed, gesturing to your broken vehicle.

“Guy sounds like a piece of work. Should’ve had it looked over by a mechanic before buying.”

“I did!” you explained. “Except…”

Bucky waited for you to finish.

“…he’s also the mechanic.”

The brunet burst out in laughter. “Well, that’s one way to keep business going. There’s a reason why doctors can’t be pharmacists, too,” he winked at you.

You let out a slow groan. “So what does that mean? You can fix it, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s an easy fix. Only problem is, I don’t have the part.”

“What?” you nearly shouted.

“I called and ordered it, luckily caught the guy before the truck left, but it won’t get here until Monday,” he said with an apologetic shrug.

You deflated, shoulders hunching as the news hit you. “Monday? That’s three days from now! Dammit,” you cursed as you slumped onto a stool next to Bucky’s work table.

“I know. I’m sorry, but I can only order if the truck is already passing by. They don’t make special trips to this small town. As far as cost goes, a new radiator runs about $250, plus labor it’s close to $500.”

Your mouth gaped open. “$500?” you exclaimed, then groaning as your head fell to your hands.

“It sucks, I know. These unexpected but necessary repairs aren’t cheap, but…”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, taking a deep breath. “I can handle it. I budgeted for car repairs, but didn’t expect it to be this much so soon. And I’m not willing to dip into my emergency fund quite yet. There’s too much to take care of once I get there. I’ll just…I’ll sleep in my car more and avoid getting a hotel a few more nights. I’ll figure it out.”

Bucky pursed his lips, stuffing both hands in his jeans pockets. “You know…the labor charge isn’t a big deal, I could probably shave a few hundred dollars off. I don’t have a lot going on right now, so—“

You shook your head vigorously, resisting. “No. I can’t ask you to do that. You can’t just work for free on my behalf, that’s not fair to you. Mama didn’t raise no freeloader.”

He chuckled at that. “You didn’t ask. I’m offering. Really, I don’t mind. Doesn’t feel right to have you sleeping on the side of the road in exchange for a few dollars. Please, just let me,” he spoke, sincerity shining out of his bright blue eyes.

Chewing on your lip in consideration, you paused a moment until a lightbulb went off above your head. “What if….” you began, shifting from one foot to another. “What if I traded you labor?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I mean, I could trade services with you somehow.”

Bucky’s eyes shot open at that.

“No! I mean….not…” you felt heat rising in your face, then clearing your throat. “What I meant was, I could…I don’t know, cut your hair for free or something. Even your whole family, I have my kit with me and I’m actually pretty good—“

The man straightened up at that, a hand flying up to his scalp. “Uh uh, no one touches my hair. You got a thing against long hair?” he accused you with a small smile, almost teasing.

“Wha—no, I mean, it doesn’t look good on some people, but it works for you, I kinda like the bun and with your face shape I just…I didn’t mean to criticize, I was thinking of what I could do…”

He grinned at your flustered demeanor, leaning against your car casually.

Clearing your throat, you looked around the garage. “Okay, well…do you need help around here?”

He eyed you carefully. “Can you do an oil change?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, slightly defensive. “No, but I can check my car’s oil and change a tire. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. I could also organize tools or do filing, answer the phone, help customers…whatever you need. I’ll be here til Monday regardless, so,” you shrugged, leaving the choice up to him.

Rubbing a hand over his scruff-covered jaw, he considered your proposal. “Okay. You can help with any projects you can find. It’s basically just me, so I could use another pair of hands sometimes. Tomorrow, though. You could probably use a few winks after sleeping in your car last night, right?”

You sighed, then nodding in resignation.

“There’s a motel about 3 blocks West that’s cheap and pretty clean. I can drive you there if you need to unload from your car,” he offered as he opened your rear driver’s side door.

“No, that’s okay,” you answered, only grabbing a medium-sized duffle bag from the back seat and slinging it over your shoulder. “I’ve packed pretty light. The rest can stay in the car, if that’s okay with you?”

“Sure. I lock up at night. So just head down this street then hang a left, it’ll be on your right. Maximoff Palace Motel,” he had pointed out each turn as he had spoken them, then punctuating his last statement with a firm nod.

“Got it,” you replied with a nod of your own. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then? 9am?”

“Sounds good. Have a good night, Y/N.”

“You, too, James,” you teased, earning an eye roll and a smile from him.

You found the motel easily enough. Stepping through the glass door into the front office you were met with a girl a few years younger than you with long brown hair that fell in waves down to her waist and wide-set hazel eyes, giving her a doe-like appearance.

“Hi! Welcome to the Maximoff Palace. I’m Wanda. Room for one?” she chirped cheerfully with a smile.

“Yeah. Um..three nights I think?” you said, figuring you’d be leaving town Monday afternoon.

“Of course!” she replied, her fingers flying over the keyboard of an out-of-date computer. “What brings you into town?”

“Car trouble,” you explained with a sigh.

Wanda paused in her typing, then taking a good look at you. “Oh. So…you’ve met Bucky?”

“Yeah. I’m actually helping him out for the next few days. Just until my car is fixed,” you explained, no longer surprised when his name popped up.

“I see,” she said quietly, her cheerful demeanor losing its warmth somewhat. “Name, contact information, and credit card number?”

“Um…sure. Can I just pay cash, though?” you asked, fishing your wallet out of your bag.

“You can pay in cash when you check out but we need a credit card on file in case of damages or some other incident,” she said matter-of-factly. Probably in case you ran out on the bill, you assumed.

“Okay,” you agreed, giving her all the necessary information which she copied, then sliding a key across the counter to you.

“Room 17. Enjoy your stay,” Wanda offered with a tight smile.

“Thanks…” you responded hesitantly as you took the key. You wondered why the sudden chill in her mannerisms while exiting the office, but shrugged it off.

Finding your room up a flight of outdoor stairs, you lugged your bags through the doorway and dropped them on the floor beside the queen-sized bed. You slipped off your sandals and crawled under the covers, springs squeaking under your weight. The bed wasn’t the most comfortable, but exhaustion quickly took over and within minutes you were fast asleep.

_________________

You awoke in the early evening, squinting blearily at the bedside digital clock. Your mouth tasted like something died in it, so you sluggishly rolled over to the side of the bed and rummaged through a bag for your toothbrush, but then noticed you had forgotten to pack toothpaste. Figures. You shuffled to the bathroom and made do with just water and brushing your tongue, popping in a mint you found in your purse. Stomach growling, you decided it was time to venture out for dinner anyway.

You headed toward the center of town and ducked into the corner store for toothpaste, some snacks, and a few other items before heading back to the diner. Nattie greeted you with a wave as you entered and selected a booth. The diner was busier than that morning with a few couples and a family or two adding to the chaotic noise.

“Hey, sweetie. It’s good to see you again. Another minute with the menu?” the redheaded waitress asked when she reached your table.

Plucking a menu that was stashed behind the napkin dispenser, you perused it quickly before selecting a random entree. You weren’t feeling picky and the faster you ordered, the less waiting time on a busy night like tonight. You’d brought a book this time, one of your favorite often-read paperbacks with folded pages and a broken spine.

You took your time with dinner, eating while you read and occasionally people-watched unobtrusively. After paying your bill, you waved goodbye to Nattie and strolled down Main Street toward your motel. The day had finally cooled off and you found yourself enjoying the walk, peering into store windows and smiling at people you passed on the sidewalk.

Reaching your room, you flicked on the tv mostly for background noise and took a hard look at the detailed budget you had written up for your trip. Paying for 3 days in a motel and adding the car repairs, your wallet was taking a hit, but Bucky’s willingness to lower the bill would definitely help. You were grateful to this kind stranger and the thought of spending the whole day with him tomorrow was strangely exciting. Surprised to feel a few butterflies flutter in your stomach, you shook your head to clear away the feeling and got ready for bed.

I’ll be gone in a few days, you told yourself as you drifted off to sleep.

____________

Part Three>>>

__________________________________________________________

Oh snap. This should be interesting! Well, I’m excited. :D Send me all your thoughts, I’d love to hear them! Love you guys!!

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allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

Text

Genesis - Chapters 17 & 18

I am so sorry for the delay between chapters. Work has been crazy and coupled with season 11 news my brain farted and I forgot all about this. If it weren’t for @scully-loves-ruthie giving me a nudge today I probably would have kept forgetting lol

Previous Chapters

1 & 2 // 3 & 4 // 5 & 6 // 7 & 8 // 9 & 10 // 11 & 12 // 13 & 14 // 15 & 16 //

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

San Diego, CA. 3:05 p.m.

Mulder had no clear idea as to what he was going to do from here. He had slipped out of the hospital unnoticed after discovering an escape route in the form of the wrought iron fire ladder attached to his bathroom window. He had removed his clothes in a crumpled tangle from the locker beside his bed. They smelled pretty bad but, Mulder reasoned, it was preferable to making the climb down the fire escape in a hospital gown with his bare ass hanging out for the world to see.

He had expected the descent to be pretty easy and so he was shocked to find it a rather unpleasant experience. Hindered as he was by his still weakened state, he had almost fallen several times. He felt light headed and disorientated, nausea and vertigo competing each other as the ground seemed to undulate beneath him in sickening waves. He was aware that what he was doing was bordering on insanity. He could see Scully with that expression she tended to get when she caught him doing something crazy. It was an expression she wore a lot – a kind of half frown. One perfect eyebrow arched, questioning, despairing of him and his latest crazy escapade. He could almost hear her voice inside his head.

You’re going to kill yourself one of these days Mulder.

And the echo of her concern spurred him on.

Besides, Mulder considered ruefully, if he didn’t kill himself there was a good chance Skinner might when he eventually caught up with him. Skinner had no time for renegades. Especially renegades who put their lives at risk. And deep down he knew that his superior had been right. He was in no shape to be doing this.

The ladder ended around 10 feet from the ground and Mulder had no other option but to suspend himself from the bottom rung, trying to elongate his body to lessen the impact when he let go and fell to the ground.

But he had lost his hold prematurely and didn’t have chance to prepare himself for the fall. A few feet that normally wouldn’t have fazed him, now seemed to take forever until suddenly the ground rushed up to meet him. Despite trying to stay on his feet, he felt his knees give way as he pitched forwards on to the asphalt below.

He remained where he was for a couple of minutes, desperately trying to regain his equilibrium as his vision suddenly blurred sickeningly. He knew that if he got up too quickly he would no doubt black out. But if he stayed too long, there was a good chance that a concerned passerby would see him and raise the alarm.

Slowly, shakily Mulder got to his feet, swallowing heavily to prevent himself throwing up. He took a couple of steps forward, relieved to find his legs seemed to be cooperating at least for the moment. His gait was unsteady though and he was all too aware that he must look every bit as dishevelled as he felt.

Gotta stop with the daytime drinking G-Man

The corners of his mouth twitched in a rueful smirk and he realised with gratitude that at least his sense of humour remained intact. Scully would probably disagree.

Scully.

Mulder began to walk. He didn’t take much notice of the direction. He just needed to put space between himself and the hospital. He’d figure the rest out later.

XXXX

Mulder squinted against the bright sunshine that reflected back at him from the pavement and he wished fervently he had a pair of sunglasses with him. His head was splitting again. Each step he took sending bolts of pure agony through his battered body. He found he was dripping with sweat, his breathing laboured. His suit jacket seemed to suddenly feel like it weighed a hundred pounds, adding to his exhaustion but he didn’t dare take it off even for a few minutes.

He had been more than a little surprised earlier to discover that his gun was still in its leather holster, tangled up with his clothes in the hospital locker.

He could only wonder at how such an immense breach in hospital policy had occurred because under normal circumstances, any weapon would be immediately tagged, logged and safely removed to be stored in a secure area until such time as it could be returned to its rightful owner. He had never known this procedure to not be followed. Hospitals tended to take a dim view of their patients running around the corridors waving guns about and so they ensured that, regardless of rank or file, any such weapon was swiftly removed from harms way.

But right now, he wasn’t much bothered about the how and why. Someone, it didn’t matter who, had made a monumental cock-up, but cock-up or not, Mulder would willingly take it because the presence of the weapon afforded him at least one advantage in an otherwise impossible situation and he felt somewhat reassured by its presence, however incongruous it might be.

The fact that the clip was less than half full was less reassuring and the spare clips he had brought to San Diego with him were still safely ensconced within the walls of the E-Z 8 motel where he had left them before making the trip to Wickham's apartment.

He had considered going back there to retrieve them, but had shelved the notion almost immediately as he realised that, if what Skinner said was true, then a full blown murder inquiry would be in place there and he couldn't risk the possibility of being seen by the hoards of cops who would no doubt be trawling through the grounds in their pursuit of evidence.

To be seen there would be calamitous, and he had enough sense to realise that until he figured this thing out his best course of action was to remain invisible; to disappear in to the woodwork so to speak.

His memories of events preceding his collapse at Wickham’s apartment were sketchy at best, the details hazy and incomplete. But his instincts screamed to him that his recent illness and Scullys disappearance were connected somehow. He just had to figure out what that connection might be, knowing that once the connection was made, everything else would fall in to place.

He walked aimlessly, not having any clear idea as to where he was heading, turning what scant recollections he did have over and over in his mind, trying to find some kind of correlation between them.

But there was nothing.

He came up with nothing that would shed any light on why Scully had been taken.

Or by whom.

What had happened at the motel that night to make her leave the room, unprotected and vulnerable in her position?

Scully wasn’t stupid. She was one of the most capable, by-the-book Agents he had ever worked with. Unlike him, Scully always considered unnecessary risk taking to be, well, unnecessary. And if there was one thing Mulder was certain of, it was that she must have, initially at least, gone willingly. But after that?

Mulder shook his head.

Where are you Scully? Speak to me.

He rounded a corner and found himself standing across from a small patch of park land, a welcome oasis in the middle of the concrete jungle. The wooden benches that surrounded it suddenly looked more than a little inviting to him.

He needed to sit for a while, if only to appraise in more detail his current situation and his aching body silently thanked him as he lowered himself on to one of the seats.

Five minutes later he began to wish that he hadn't bothered, because in doing so he just confirmed to himself what he already knew. Rummaging through his pockets he had realised how high the odds against him were stacked, because aside from his weapon, his FBI credentials and his cell phone he was pretty much running on empty. His wallet contained a couple of crumpled fives. Change from the twenty he had used to buy breakfast for him and Scully just the morning before.

Jesus, has it really been only a day?

He had his Bureau issue credit card but using that would be like holding up a large sign with the words 'Here I am' painted on it in red block lettering. The rest of the cards in his wallet were maxed out and he’d left his ATM card in the back pocket of his jeans.

He had no transport, no protection, no support and no where to begin. Add to that the B ball game being played out inside his skull, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done the right thing. Dropping his aching head in his hands, Mulder suddenly wished, more than anything else in the world, that Scully was with him.

But then again, if she were here, he wouldn’t be.

He would be warmly tucked up in a comfortable bed having his every medical whim tended to by professionals. And more than that, his partner would be with him. Keeping a cool eye on him and those caring for him. She would be horrified if she could see him now.

I need help . I can’t do this alone.

He shook his head and mentally considered who he could call upon. The two most obvious choices on his ‘go-to’ list were no longer an option.

I’m sorry, the allies you are trying to reach are unavailable right now....

Wickham? Maybe.....

Mulder discounted him immediately. He couldn’t really say why. Just a vague feeling of unease that prickled down his spine every time he thought about his old Academy buddy.

And that, pretty much exhausted his list.

Unless.......

Mulder blinked. He was so stupid.

Mulder you dumb fuck.

He slowly withdrew his cel from his inside pocket, frowning when he saw the single illuminated bar on the tiny battery symbol. Great. Even his phone was giving up on him. He tapped his finger against the side of the phone absent-mindedly, weighing up the pros and cons of involving them in a situation that he suspected might very quickly start to spiral out of control.

He knew that they would drop everything to help him. They had done it plenty of times before. But just because he could, didn’t mean he should.

Scully. I have to do it for Scully.

Mulder hit the speed dial.

XXXX

11:01 p.m.

"What took you so long?"

Mulder was quite unable to prevent the snippy tone in his voice. He had been waiting in the lobby of the Airport for hours. He was exhausted, he felt like shit and even worse, was painfully, conscious of the hours ticking by whilst all the time he did nothing to try to find his missing partner.

He also knew he was directing his frustration at the wrong person. He shrugged in apology.

“Sorry Fro. I’m not feeling my best right now.”

Frohike though waved the apology away, shocked by just how bad Mulder looked.

Put aside the obvious fever he was running, the sweat beading his pallid skin and collecting at the collar of the crumpled shirt – although that was bad enough. But what really struck Frohike was the look in Mulder’s eyes. They looked dead. Devoid of emotion. And he realised that his old friend was just about hanging on by a fingertip.

He also realised that the best thing he could do for Mulder right now, was to get things moving again. He held up a small leather sports bag.

"One change of clothes, wash bag, phone charger, keys to a Ford Taurus rental parked outside and . . ."

He reached inside his jacket, withdrawing a manila envelope.

"Five hundred in cash."

Mulder took the envelope from him gratefully and stuffed it in to his own jacket.

"Thanks, Frohike. I owe you."

Frohike coughed uncomfortably.

"Um, actually you don't. I took a little side trip to your ATM back in D.C. and withdrew the money from your account. Langly hacked in to your bank's mainframe and made some adjustments."

Mulder frowned

"What kind of adjustments?"

Frohike held up a library membership card and handed it to Mulder who turned it over in his hand.

"What's this?"

"Um, it's your new ATM card. Keep it somewhere safe."

Despite himself, Mulder couldn't help but grin. It felt good.

Frohike shrugged apologetically.

"Desperate measures and cash flow problems, y'know?"

Mulder slotted the card in to his wallet and glanced around the lobby. Frohike answered the question before he had a chance to ask it.

"Byers had to make a stop. He'll meet us at the motel."

Mulder nodded.

"And Langly?"

"Still safely located back at home base in case we need to call on his talents."

He looked past Mulder, eyes narrowing as they locked on to a group of men dressed in near identical attire.

Mulder tagged them immediately as middle income business men, probably on their way to some kind of convention. But it was clear from the way Frohike suddenly brought his hand up to shield his face that he didn’t share Mulders view.

To Frohike, a suit meant only one thing - Government - and Mulder smiled slightly as he recalled Scully's accurate conjecture that Frohike and Co. were the most paranoid men she had ever met, even more so than Mulder, which was certainly going some.

He cuffed the smaller man lightly on the arm.

"C'mon Frohike. We've got work to do. Save the paranoia for later. Believe me you're going to need it."

XXXXXXX

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

At around the time that Mulder was smiling at Frohike’s evident paranoia, someone much closer to him was battling some serious emotional misgivings of her own.

Ensconced safety within the boundaries of her hospital room, Dana Scully lay staring up at the ceiling above her, battling to hold on to some semblance of sanity as she replayed the events of the last few hours over and over in her mind.

Since awakening, it had seemed as though a constant stream of doctors and FBI agents had surrounded her, asking her questions she didn't know how to answer. She had not seen Wickham all afternoon, despite her frequent requests, and it seemed that no one had any wish to tell her any of the details she desperately needed to hear without him being present.

She had spent the afternoon battling to remember in more detail just how she had got here and the events leading up to it, and although the memories were there, the structure of them just didn't track somehow. She could remember clearly confronting Mulder as she held the child in her arms and his face as he insisted she hand her over to him. It had also become clear to her that the child had not in fact been Emily, but the terrified form of Charlotte Stevens who they had tracked down to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of San Diego. She could remember clearly her conversation with Mulder as they drove to the location. In fact she could remember every word of it, as though it were a stage play she had seen as an observer rather than a performer.

She could remember feeling mild pangs of unease at Mulder's insistence that they did not need to enlist the support of other agents before entering the building. But she could not remember actually entering or how exactly they had known that this was the place or that the child would be there.

She recalled talking to Christine Stevens at the motel and of removing her from the care of the sanatorium, of her partner's mild illness, and of his conversation with Wickham regarding those same actions.

What she couldn't reconcile in her mind were the gaps in those memories when some segments were so clear to her. For example, she had no recollection of the interval between Mulder's conversation back at the motel and of getting in to the car to go find the warehouse. It was all a complete blank, and the more she tried to remember, the more she ended up at a brick wall, frustrated to the point of tears.

She had not wanted to believe that it was Mulder who had put her here, but Wickham's words, her injury, the notes on her chart that she had requested to view and not least her own memories had made the fact just about irrefutable. The real question, she admitted, was not that he had done this to her, but why?

It was something she suspected only Wickham could answer, but his long absence was not helping the situation. Nor was the fact that no one seemed to be able to give her any kind of assurance as to his return, only that he had intended coming back to see her later.

Scully sighed and shifted her head slightly on the pillow, attempting to get comfortable and to ease the pain in her neck that her doctor's training told her was a direct result of laying in the same position for so long. She wished she could turn over, but the nature of her injury dictated that to do so would be both foolhardy and dangerous. The powerful pain relief that was being fed in to her via a canular in her arm had dulled the pain somewhat and Scully had no wish to allow it to flare up again.

The substance was probably a morphine based drug, and although she had attempted to read the typed wording that adorned the clear bag above her, she had been unable to, arriving at her conclusion based mostly on how drowsy she felt. She had drifted off for periods of sleep throughout the day, welcoming the oblivion, however brief, from her current situation, only to awaken with ever sharper memories of what Mulder had done to her, becoming wide awake once more as the sense of betrayal sharpened.

Why?

Such a tiny word. How could such a tiny word cause so much pain?

Scully sighed heavily as her eyes began to close against the tears that threatened to return.

Why did you do this to me Mulder?

And despite herself, she slept.

If Scully had been aware of the presence of the two men viewing her on the TV monitors from a room just a few feet away, sleep might not have arrived quite so easily.

They had remained in their positions throughout the day, although Wickham had left for brief periods of time to check in with the office so as not to give rise to any suspicions regarding his absence.

He had also been mildly alarmed to hear from Skinner that Mulder was missing from the hospital; although he had been slightly mollified to be told by his companion that Mulder's leaving the hospital was not only expected, but integral to the continued success of their scheme

He turned to face the Smoking Man who was regarding the sleeping form of Dana Scully closely.

"So what now?"

The Smoking man merely smiled softly.

"We wait Agent Wickham."

"Wait? For what exactly?"

Wickham was aware that his voice was shaking slightly, but all this waiting around was playing on his already shattered nerves, and he had no wish to draw out the process for longer than was absolutely necessary.

For a few seconds though, his question remained unanswered and the silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Finally though, The Smoking Man inclined his head toward the screen.

"Agent Scully has spent the afternoon playing events over in her mind. Events that have been suggested to her without her knowledge and which she now believes to be absolutely accurate. But the process cannot be rushed. Information must be suggested to her over time, information which she will come to regard as her own memories of what happened to her and why she was betrayed so utterly by the one man in this life she truly believes in........perhaps even loves. To expedite the process would be disastrous for all concerned, inasmuch as Agent Scully must believe without question. Too much information would effectively induce her to not be able to differentiate between the truth and the lies. She would begin to question her own memory and with it her recollections of true events,"

He smirked,

"and we wouldn't want that to happen would we, Agent Wickham?"

The unspoken threat was unmistakable and Wickham felt himself pale slightly, as the implications of the words became clear.

The Smoking Man, however, didn't seem to notice.

"So," he continued, "I believe we should let Agent Scully enjoy the quietude she so desperately needs to help her recover from her recent ordeal. And then, when she awakens once more, you will be there to answer some of her questions. You will be her friend. Her only friend, now that Mulder is gone."

CONTINUED CHAPTER NINETEEN

#genesis #my fic

8 notes · View notes

actuallyahorsewrites · 4 years

Text

This is the first, completed chapter of a new story I’m working on. Please do not even bother attempting to steal this, as it is basically a fictionalized account of my own shit, so, good luck, lol.

This is incredibly rough and unedited and definitely not my best writing, but maybe y’all can enjoy it anyway.

I gotta start somewhere, right?

Song credit is to the lovely Frank Turner (Tape Deck Heart, Tell Tale Signs) and the bar mentioned in this is Barcade in Philadelphia, a very real place.

Everything else is fiction.

Enjoy, I guess?

Gray clouds gathered in the distance, making the already cold, dreary streets absolutely miserable. Jamie shivered, drawing his thick jacket closer around him. No matter how much time he spent in Philadelphia, he would never get used to the winters here.

He had forgotten about the weird mixture of gentrification and abandonment that seemed to be the style in the city. It had been nearly eight years since he fled this place, and he was pretty sure he had purposefully erased most of it from memory. However, it seemed to him that the overall new coffee house and modern apartment vibe was starting to win out over the old, run-down warehouses and broken window aesthetic of the past.

Some things, he thought as he crossed a street and rounded an all too familiar corner, never changed. The familiar sight of his old apartment, complete with the homeless guy attempting to break into someone’s car, and the old couple yelling in Russian at each other was timeless. He half expected his ex-girlfriend to appear out of the door of one building, nagging him to get more candles next time he was at Target.

Jamie sighed. He knew coming here was going to be rough, especially coming back to his old street, but he didn’t realize that it would feel like it was yesterday that he had locked up and left for good.

He swallowed hard and turned away from the street. He had come here for a more specific than a walk down memory lane. Well. A different walk down memory lane, he supposed.

He turned a corner, letting his memories guide him down the sidewalk and underneath the subway. There were signs of growth everywhere, from a Starbucks across the corner in what used to be an abandoned air conditioning store to the perpetual potholes finally being filled in, to far less homeless people sleeping on the streets. In any other city, this might not have seemed like a sign of progress, but here, in this part of Philadelphia, it was almost a miracle.

A familiar faded brick building came into view, with a huge sprawling black sign declaring the building to be a bar with an arcade inside. His faint smile was bittersweet, memories starting to pile up as he crossed the street to the main entrance.

It was always strange, coming back to a place he hadn’t seen in years. Especially when it had been relatively untouched, as this bar had been. Sure, the people were different, and the specials were scrawled in a different handwriting, but the overall vibe and smell was the exact same. It was like walking into the past.

The room was long and lit by small, yellow tinged lamps that made it seem smaller. At it was, it was cramped, with a narrow bar crowded with stools and people, with an old jukebox blasting in one corner. An entrance to the arcade sat at the far end of the room, with the sounds of people screaming in excitement over the games they played.

Without thinking, Jamie made his way to the bar and ordered a Guinness. He sat down heavily on one of the stools to wait, his mind calming for the first time since he landed in this city hours earlier. This was what it felt like to come home.

Almost around the same time his beer arrived, the jukebox switched over to a faintly familiar song. The guitar was soft, yet persistent and he froze as he recognized it.

He hadn’t heard it in years--not since someone had used it as a parting line in a vicious fight that had ended a tumultuous relationship.

God damn it, Amy, we aren’t kids any more.

Jamie swallowed hard, trying to tamp down where his brain was dive bombing toward. He did not need to relive that set of mistakes tonight, not here, not now. Not when there were so many wrapped up in this bar alone worth reliving.

It seemed as the universe was determined to haunt him, however, as he caught a whiff of all too familiar shampoo.

Jamie froze. There was only person he had ever met that used that shampoo. That insane blend of floral and fruity, mixed with just an undertone of salt and sweat, enough to always drive him absolutely wild.

He turned, slowly, to his right. A slender woman, with long brown hair sat next to him, her face turned to the person sitting next to her. She was dressed in a well worn leather jacket and a pair of skinny jeans.

He would recognize the anxious tap of those long, slim fingers against her cider bottle anywhere.

You have got to be fucking kidding me, he thought, his heart pounding.

Mouth dry, palms sweating, he reached over and gently tapped her on the shoulder.

You know you kind of remind me of scars on my arms, the ones I know will never fade, that I covered with ink, but in the right kind of light still bleed through

“Amy?”

She turned to face him, a smile still present on her lips. It vanished instantly.

Jamie drank in her familiar, square jaw, long slender nose perched over soft, full lips before finally landing on those normally unreadable hazel eyes, now widened with surprise.

She gaped at him, revealing her once crooked teeth now straight.

“Son of a bitch,” she breathed. “Jamie?”

And just like that, it all came rushing back. Their first meeting, all those years ago, the seemingly endless conversations, the fights, the tears, and the inevitable good-bye five years ago that shattered him in ways he was still struggling to understand.

Fuck, he thought.

------------------- POV change ---------------------

Amy really wanted nothing more than to just curl up with a good book and a cup of tea in her pajamas, far away from everyone else. She really wanted to be underneath her warm quilts when the coming snowstorm hit, with the hope that work would be cancelled the next day due to weather.

But then, Drina’s boyfriend dumped her, and she was completely unable to be on her own, and couldn’t Amy please just come grab one drink with her so they could thoroughly thrash him to pieces?

It was truly the last thing Amy wanted to do. She loved Drina dearly, yes, but the girl went through boyfriends like Amy went through books; one a day, it seemed. There was only so much Amy could say that she hadn’t said before.

“But George could have been the one!” Drina groaned into her tequila sunrise.

Amy resisted the urge to sigh heavily. How many more times were they going to have to go through this?

“George was a sleaze ball,” she informed her friend. “He wasn’t fit to be in the same room as you, let alone date you.”

Dina sniffed. “You always know what to say, Amy,” she said. “What would I ever do without you?”

Amy often wondered that same thing, but kept that thought to herself. Instead, she took a long pull of her cider and gave her friend a knowing smile.

“You’ll never have to find out!” she declared.

It was a bit of a stretch. Amy tended to go through friends like Drina went through boyfriends, but that was more sheer bad luck and Amy running away from her problems all the time than any fault of her friends. Her longest friendship had lasted almost eight years before ending in a tragically bitter fight that left her leary of any long term commitments with anyone.

“You’re too good to me,” Drina said. “Let me buy you another drink!”

Amy went to protest, as she had barely drank any of her current one, but Drina was already flagging down a bartender to order more.

She sighed, tapping her fingers anxiously against the glass. She wondered how soon it would be before it was socially acceptable for her to bail, and then immediately felt guilty for doing so. Drina was a good person. A little high maintenance, sure, but who wasn’t?

The song on the jukebox changed and Amy’s blood instantly froze as she recognized the first, sad chords of the guitar.

It was a song that always brought back bad memories, no matter how much time and distance she tried to put between them and her current self. It didn’t help that Philadelphia was a hotbed of those memories, that this very bar was just a trigger waiting to be pulled, but she was muscling through most days.

I should make some excuse and get out of here, she thought. This song never failed to make her cry, both privately and publicly, and the last thing Amy wanted to do to Drina tonight was to explain her tragic dating history.

You can’t just keep waltzing in and out of my life, leaving clothes on my bedroom floor

Drina was talking about potentially moving to the back and playing some old school video games, or maybe even going somewhere else. Amy a little too enthusiastically agreed with the second suggestion.

“Are you okay?” Drina asked, giving her a curious stare. “You look weird.”

Amy flinched. “Sorry,” she said. “Too much to drink.”

The other girl gave her a questioning look, before shrugging. “Okay,” she said. “Let me go get the bill, and we can leave.”

She stood up and was gone before Amy could think to suggest splitting the bill. She sighed again, tapping the bottle harder as the song continued to play loudly in the background.

A gentle tap on her shoulder made her jump.

“Amy?”

Oh no.

She recognized that voice instantly. It took her back, to the first time she had ever come to this bar, to the years of her life she had wasted on someone who refused to love her back, to all the fights and tears and the reason why this song meant so much to her.

She slowly turned.

An all too familiar face stared back at her. A black paper boy cap was pulled down over what she assumed to be a bald head, shoulders hunched inside a patched gray jacket, a gaunt, pale face that still somehow managed to pull at her heartstrings. Those eyes, blue and searching, met hers and in an instant, Amy knew she was a fool to ever think she had truly put her problems behind her.

“Son of a bitch,” she breathed. “Jamie?”

#writing #contemporary #fiction #mine #a long five years #friendship #trauma #growing #actuallyahorsewrites #don't steal you idiots

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thecouncilofali · 7 years

Text

First Big Meeting Part 1

“You’re late,” one of them says in almost a snarl, as I plop down in the chair at the head of the table.

I nod. “I know. I pushed things too far last night and couldn’t get to you, I was fighting sleep just to finish the small bit I had. But we’re taking care of this now.”

“Is this the getting to know you part?” one with a younger voice asked.

I shook my head. “As much as yes I want to-,” and then stopped, and thought. There’s a lot from yesterday I need to go over, but it may be easier to identify triggers and where I tend to not manage certain things if I work out names and faces first.

I feel that overwhelmed feeling of a rush of impulses hitting to do too much at once. Going through everyone would take more time to initiate, but it’s important in the long run.

I nod at the one to the left closest to me. “Name, age, pronouns, introduce yourself.”

He sighed, and leaned back. He’s in a black jacket, pulling at the seems and worn at the pockets and elbows, black skinny jeans and sneakers with holes at the toes. His short, dark hair greasy and unkempt, with skin acting up in agitated red patchy flakes around his nose and eyes, a few freckles unevenly splayed across his face. “I’m Josh, 14, he and him and all that, and I struggle with a lot of social paranoia, and sexism.” His foot taps against the table in agitation. “And anger issues. This feels like therapy.”

“It kind of is. What do you think of Tavi?” I ask him.

He looks away. “She’s ... nice. But she makes me uncomfortable.”

“Neil?”

He shook his head. “I ... know he’s there in reach to help. Feel like I’m constantly about to fuck up around the guy. Same with her.”

He wraps his arms tighter around himself and tries to sink back into his chair, his foot tapping against the table even more nervously.

I nod, and move onto the one next to him, one I’m familiar with. “Anne, go for it.”

“You already know me.”

“Everyone hides from each other, and from me, and you’ve been avoiding me lately. Go on.”

She sighed, her breathing nervous and aggressive and glaring at everyone at the table. Her skin has patches of scars, where her skin looks heavily wrinkled and dried out and discolored, along her arms, her ribs, the side of her face and along part of her mouth. She does her best to cover them with a purple hoodie, and flipping short, greasy, unevenly chopped brown hair over the side to cover the worst of it. You can see red scratch marks along the ones on her cheek and neck.

“I’m Anne. I’m 18. She, they. I’m angry and I don’t like talking to anyone.”

Her arms are tightly crossed over her chest as well, and she’s avoiding eye contact with me. She radiates guilt and paranoia, and she starts scratching at her neck again.

“Don’t scratch, you’ll agitate it more.”

She scoffed and tucked her arm back down.

I look to the next one, and he sits up excitedly. “I’m Joseph! I like costumes and stuff. And masks. And bags. And making things and dressing up? I like pretending to be other people it’s fun that way.” And then fidgeted. “And makes me feel better sometimes. Anyway I’m almost nine, and I’m a boy!”

His hair is in a greasy dirty blonde mop that falls into his eyes, a birds nest in the back. He has freckles splayed across his cheeks and one blue, one brown eye. It looks like he’s missing a couple teeth, and the rest are yellowed and damaged, and I feel most likely cavity riddled. He’s massively underweight with over-sized, bright colored clothing on. Even his shoes are too big for him.

I can’t help but smile a little, but it’s bittersweet. I know he shares the part of me that indulges in separating me from myself, and copy catting those around me when I get nervous. He’s associated with the part of me that over indulges in pretend and fantasy.

“I’m Gloria,” says the one next to him. “She, her, sixteen, and I’m better than all of you.” She said it with a glare, but her voice is quivering with nerves. Her hands are shaking. She’s under weight as well. Dressed in nicer clothing than most of them, but it’s stained, worn, and mismatched. She keeps a pink, feathered boa around her neck, blue eyes that match mine, and straight, shoulder length, dirty blonde hair pulled back into a too tight ponytail. You can tell there are patches where the hair is thinner than the rest. She pulls at her hair in stress. Poorly applied concealer covers pimples and blemishes on her skin, and it looks as if the rest of her make up was done while trembling.

I feel like she’s part of the eating disorder as well.

“Would you like anything to eat?” I ask. “Maybe an orange?”

She leans back and swallows hard, shaking her head, and the urge to gag increases with me. “N-no, I’m fine, thanks.”

There’s this feeling that this is enough people, enough problems, that to take on or learn about any others would be too much, be overwhelming, and I look to the masculine one sitting next to her.

“Name?” I ask, leaning forward.

He shook his head, and I swing my leg at him. “Name,” I say more sternly.

Several names flip through my head, as if he’s trying to pick one.

“What do you want to be called?” I try.

“... S-stan,” he says nervously. “I think.” And then shook his head, paused, and then softly, “Benjamin.”

“Age, pronouns, what’s going on with you.”

“Uhm... 14, he, them, I guess, and I panic a lot? I feel depressed a lot. Things overwhelm me a lot of the time and I have trouble doing, uh, anything. Feel kind of constantly angry at things.”

So depression. And giant mountains of self doubt, from how he feels. His hair is brown and greased as well, bags under his eyes. His eyes are nervous, hands pulling at the over-sized, thick black jacket, he wears. He’s wearing blue jeans a size too big and shoes that have all the traction worn off at the bottom.

“Pelly was down here.”

“Get her away.”

“Why was she down here?”

“She was too close?”

They all chime up in a nervous, anxiety riddled chorus.

“We live with her still. Let’s focus on getting out, not that she’s here. That’s a consequence we have to live with for awhile.”

Everyone’s tense but there’s nervous nodding in acknowledgement, and some are able to ease, the others are still paranoid.

“If she does anything to cross another line I’ll speak out.”

And they ease ever so slightly more.

I look at the one next to Benjamin, another kid, with headphones on.

“Wright,” he said. “My names Wright, I’m ten, I like music.” He thumbs over an old walkman from the early two thousands. “I’m stressed without it. Oh, and he, him, they, she,” and shrugged. “I’m all of them.”

His hair is slightly greased but he smells of soaps, his hair dyed copper with brown roots showing, like it hasn’t been maintained in two or three months, his clothes worn and wrinkled like they’ve been slept in, but they’re clean. Some of the seams are tearing, and the shirt is too small and the pants too big. He’s wearing a binder, one too small for him as well, and his nails are a wreck from stress picking, small sores on his arms and legs as well he tries to hide.

“What do you listen to?” I ask him.

“Mostly classical. Helps me focus. Pop if I need to cheer up,” and then shook his head. “That’s it.”

I look to the one next to him. “SARAFIA!-”

“What do you actually go by,” I ask immediately, dead staring.

“... Aimee,” she says quiter, shifting and staring at your lap. “I’m 14 but I wish I was 12 again. I like dress up. And I know I’m smarter than anyone else here,” she says, staring at the others across the table. “And I hate boys.”

She has unevenly applied make up I remember from when I was 7 or 8, out of those kid kits. A pink scrunchie, a white dress that’s been strained at the seams, stained, and slept in. Her hair is brown with faint blonde streaks, greasy with split ends, and she has scars like claw marks over her lip, down her arms, one in her back like someone tried to rip her shoulder blade out.

“Hate boys?” I ask plainly.

“There stupid, violent, and impulsive. They’re predators, all of them,” she spat out, crossing her arms and slamming back like a toddler in a fit. “They’ll act nice but the moment you trust them they’ll take advantage of you.”

“What do you think of Neil?”

“I wish he wasn’t here. The moment you think you’re friends again he’s going to stab you in the back for her.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT HE DOES.”

I shake my head. “He’s a lot of things. That isn’t one of them. What do you think of Tavi?”

“I don’t trust her. She’d throw us to the wolves in a moments notice the moment we let our guard down.”

“I’ve let my guard around her. It usually ends with talking and apologizing and actually having a good day.”

“I don’t. Trust. Her,” she glares, insistent.

So paranoia, superiority complex, insecurities covered up by hubris.

I glance at the last one at the table currently. “Name?” I ask softly.

They shook their head.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Jax,” they stated, sliding half under the table and fingering along the grooves in the wood of the table. “I’m seven but I feel older. I don’t like focusing on stressful things. I get distracted a lot. Prefer they, them.” There’s a pause, as they seem to get fixated on the grooves in the wood, before sitting up, blue eyes dead staring at me. “I like people, I like being by myself sometimes, I like enjoying things. But I feel tired a lot too.”

Their hair is at that bowl cut length that hits their eyes, but looks to be watched. Light brown with a hint of red, skin slightly darker than the others, as if they like going outside.

They nodded. “I like sitting outside and doing things, even when it’s hot out, just as long as I’m not burning, and with other people too.”

They pulled out a pink toy car I used to have and run it back and forth across the table, watching it. They feel overweight but malnourished, the clothes they’re wearing a size too small. They rub they’re eyes sleepily before fidgeting in the chair and continuing to run the car back and forth, in gentle, almost noiseless movements. They seem to keep their voice quiet. I’m aggressively remembering how I used to play alone as a kid.

“What do you think of Tavi?” I ask them.

“She’s really nice, and really pretty. But I feel like she gets angry sometimes when we don’t get things. Like we don’t care but we just don’t get things. I like her a lot though,” and then softly kicked their feet. “I’m excited for this week.”

“What about Neil?”

“He can be scary sometimes, but I like him. He’s super smart and he seems like a good person. I wanna be more like him sometimes. I like how he handles things.”

I nod. “Anything else?”

They stop moving, and think a moment. “I get stressed a lot. Like everything is stressful, and I don’t know why, but I just like enjoying things, even when I feel tired.”

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