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entitled-fangirl · 4 months

Text

The cold ground provided no comfort.

Felix Catton x reader

Summary: The reader finds Felix in the maze after a strange encounter with Oliver. They decide to drink their problems away.

Words: 910

Warning: drinking, death, poisoning, cursing.

Author's note: This was a request and DUDE IT'S GOOD! Here's the original ask: "hi! can you write something where the reader is Felix's best friend (they both have feelings for each other), and she finds him just as Oliver leaves him in the maze with the bottle of alcohol he drugged. neither reader nor felix know it's spiked so they're drinking it together and they die together? if it's too much you can totally ignore this!" Hope I did it justice!

Masterlist <3

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She pushed her legs to move faster as she ran through the maze in search for Felix. She had been to Saltburn many times, and she had been through this maze just as many, but now it felt like she knew nothing of the place.

But she knew Felix was there. Of course, he would be there. That’s where he goes to think or when he’s overwhelmed. They often shared intimate moments at the heart of that maze when things became difficult. She loved those moments with him. She loved the feeling it gave her when he wrapped his arms around him. She loved the look in his eye when she said something witty. She loved when his lips would pull into a smirk. God, she loved him. But, she would never admit so.

Her sprinting was interrupted by hitting what felt like a brick wall.

Oliver.

Oliver Quick was a confusing being. While initially she was excited to have him stay at Saltburn with the Catton’s, she slowly grew to see that he was a little more than strange.

She balanced herself, gawking at him slightly. “Oh, Oli. Thank god. Have you,” she paused, catching her breath, “Have you seen Felix?”

Though it was dark, she could still see the hesitant look in his eye. He turned his body to the side, pointing in the direction he had just come from.

She nods, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She began to walk in that direction before stopping. “You okay, Oliver?”

“I’m not sure.”

She nods. This party was becoming a nightmare. But she didn’t have time to make sure he was alright. She needed to find Felix first.

She needed to know he was alright.

Her legs began to sprint again in search of him. And, she finally found him.

She rounded the corner, letting out a soft breath at the sight of him. He was so beautiful.

He stood, leaning against the statue that lay in the middle of the maze. His angel wings were still on him. It was dark, but she could see in his stature that something was wrong. Very wrong.

She approached him slowly, her feet crunching the ground with every step.

He turned, an angry look in his eyes. They immediately softened seeing that it was her. “Oh, angel. Didn’t hear you.”

She nods, continuing to close the gap between them. “Sorry. Had to see you were alright.”

His lips pulled into the grin that she loved so much. “Yeah, angel. Just… had something happen.”

She rested her hand on his chest gently. “With Oli?”

He nods.

She wished she could take the heartache from him. The pain. She would carry it deep within her heart if she could, just to keep it from reaching his soul. He didn’t deserve any of this.

She looked down to see the alcohol bottle resting on the ground. “You been drinking, Lex?”

He nods again, his shoulders relaxing under her touch.

She shrugs, “Well, don’t let it go to waste, huh?”

He grins slightly. “I like the way you think, angel.”

Angel. Her heart always lept at the word every time it came from his lips. His angel. She was his angel.

He reached down to pick up the bottle, pulling it to her lips.

…

A little while later, and a few drinks later, they both sat on the ground. His back rested against the base of the statue, her back against his chest. Her head laid against his shoulder. She felt his lips began to kiss her neck. “…Fe..?”

He hums.

“W… what.. you doing?”

His lips grin against her neck, “Dunno. But… it feels… right.”

He was right. This felt right. It felt perfect. Like they were meant for each other.

She moved her head to look at him, their faces inches apart.

“I… I think I… I love you, Lex.”

Their lips were mere inches from touching.

He stared down at her lips, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

Perhaps this was a bad idea. They were both quite drunk, and their friendship meant everything to each other. But they didn’t care enough to worry if this would ruin them.

He leaned in to her, their lips brushing before she pulled back with a horrid feeling. “Imma be sick…”

She crawled forward in case she would vomit. Something felt wrong. Perhaps it was alcohol poisoning. She already knew the hangover tomorrow would be horrendous.

He pulled himself to his feet ungracefully. He stumbled towards her, falling to his knees at her side. “Angel…?”

She let out a groan. “Just… hold me, Fe…? Pl… Please?”

Even sober, he would never deny her.

He pulls her to him, letting his arms wrap around her as her head laid on his chest. She could feel his uneven breaths in her hair.

“I feel… dizzy, Lex. I’m… tired…”

“Fuck. Lay… Lay down. Let’s lay down.”

He pulled her down with him, their bodies laying on the cold dirt. He rested on his back, his eyes closed and his hand still on her waist. She cuddled close to him, her arm laying over his torso.

His voice was a mutter, “Close your eyes, angel. I.. I gotchu.”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Her eyes closed.

….

The two lovers lay dead in the morning, holding each other close, for the cold ground would never provide comfort to the lost.

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#felix catton #felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #jacob elordi imagine #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn 2023 #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn #saltburn movie #oliver quick #felix catton fanfic #felix catton angst #saltburn angst #jacob elordi angst

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 2 months

Note

routine vibe check: what’s the best starter pokemon and why are you right (pictures and long paragraphs of evidence welcomed and appreciated)

Gonna get a good grade in vibe check, normal to want and inevitable to achieve because I have objectively correct Pokemon opinions and will block naysayers

OKAY LET'S GO

I decided to do, like, a top 5 list or something, because I'm bad at picking a single favourite of stuff. And then even that overwhelmed me, so I found one of those tier ranking list sites and produced this:

It was done in less than a minute, so if I wanted to get really picky, I don't know if I would be fully wedded to it (not sure if maybe Sceptile should be one higher) BUT it did help to highlight the important ones.

So!

5. Bulbasaur

It's. Just. So. Nice.

Like you can find cooler, more beautiful, cuter, fancier... there's a whole bunch of ways for a Pokemon to be great. But you will never ever find a nicer Pokemon than Bulbasaur. It's so lovely. Look at it. Look at its face.

I can't put it higher, because the rest of the line is fairly bland in terms of development. It's good and logical and fun, don't get me wrong, but Ivysaur and Venusaur just look like bigger versions with More Flower and Less Cute rather than creatures in their own right. To be honest, if it weren't a starter requiring a three-stage evolution, you could do away with Ivysaur. Something I don't like about a lot of lazy three-step lines is that the middle step just looks like a transitional mid phase rather than a Proper Creacher, like they were artificially inflating the Pokemon number count. Meanwhile it took us until Paldea to get a Girafarig evo that would actually make the giraffe tall. Madness.

However my first ever Pokemon was a Bulbasaur I called Daffodil, and I have traded him forward onto every single successive generation since. He is, quite literally, my First Ever Pokemon. I love him desperately. I still have him. Not many people still have their First Ever Pokemon. But I do and I love him. So, Bulbasaur gets the fifth spot.

4. Snivy

Again, a victim of the Banal Transitional Middle Evo, but both Snivy and Serperior are incredible, and as Meatloaf took such pains to tell us, two out of three ain't bad.

But Snivy! It's so snooty! I was super lucky with mine, too, because I beat the 12.8% odds and got a female, and I loved her. Normally the initial baby starters are designed to be cute but Snivy has SO MUCH PERSONALITY, she's great. And the design of Serperior is utterly gorgeous. She keeps the expression, but rather than the Animal Crossing-style snooty-cute vibe of Snivy you get this thousand yard withering stare of an empress whose servant (you) has just turned up dripping mud in her throne room and asked her for money. Her green and gold colour scheme is exquisite. Her filigree design, including her high collar, give off the air of wealth and sophistication befitting her immaculate pedigree. And all this! In a simple snake. Incredible design work, 10 out of 10, no notes.

Begone, you miserable peasant. Have him boiled.

3. Torchic

Now I'll be real with you, lads, but Pokemon design hit its stride with Hoenn and then got better.

It's partly a fashion thing, of course - you look at some of the Kanto designs and they are remarkably 90s, because that's when the franchise launched. Others are clearly a product of what the 1990's were capable of producing in pixels on an already over-stretched cartridge medium. Like we like to clown on Red and Green/Blue now, but my god, those game designers performed a miracle with Pokemon. Every single square inch of space was used to make that game, and complex designs weren't going to cut it.

(With that said, there is still no excuse for Dragonite.)

And then Johto came about and its Pokedex sucks ass. It's mostly new evolutions for existing Kanto stars, useless babies to inflate the dex number, or poorly thought out single-evos like the inexplicably short Girafarig and the unacceptably dreary Dunsparce (our greatest thanks to Paldea for fixing both of those).

BUT THEN CAME HOENN (trumpets intensify)

And we get habitats! Biomes! A different regional climate, gifting us a brand new area of Pokecology! And therefore a brand new flush of creativity in Pokemon design across the board; less dated, and more inclined to be unique rather than a rehash of Kantonian stuff.

Which brings me nicely to this lad:

Now, I mean. Just look at him. Fucking hell. Cute starter stage, check. LOOK AT HIM FACE

AND THEN he became, at the time, a brand-new unique typing: Fire/Fighting. I realise that is now the norm for like, half of the Fire starters, but that's because of Torchic, actually. He was super popular. In fact if you ever play Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald and you do what my husband and I like to call a Mynci Dave run (use one Pokemon almost exclusively, meaning it gets all the experience points and therefore over-levels to a terrifying degree, allowing you to sweep the game; so named after the noble Primeape we first did this with, Mynci Dave), Torchic is the PERFECT Pokemon to choose, because almost everything is weak to either Fire or Fighting in that region.

Anyway, Combusken is, again, kind of mid (although props for the inverted colour scheme and the fact that it actually does look like a teenager.) But Blaziken, on the other hand... Blaziken is a six foot ninja chicken with wings for hair whose Pokedex entry describes it as able to leap tall peaks in a single bound, a feat it achieves after strengthening its legs by hoofing Geodudes down mountains like they're fucking footballs

Also an impressive bulge.

My first was called Gilgamesh, and he was fucking great. For a long time, this mad lad was my actual favourite Pokemon, not just starter. Brilliant. Love him. Five stars out of three. King.

2. Fuecoco

It would probably surprise you to know I've not actually used one. I chose Sprigatito, and I do really like Meowscarada, actually. But pretty anthro cat boys have been done in Pokemon quite a bit at this point; cats, dogs and rabbits are over-represented in terms of Poke-taxa. Possibly this is another reason for a toad, a snake and a chicken being 5, 4 and 3 so far (ooh, basilisk ingredients, I've just realised.) They're new and unusual! I like an Eeveelution as much as the next person, but they're a whole family of cat-dog-rabbits, like.

However.

Nintendo has tried its hand at Pokecrocodilians three times (Feraligatr, Krookodile, Skeledirge), and they have gotten so much better at design each time that the three of them are basically a scale proxy for ongoing design improvement. Look, I've made a diagram:

EXCEPT

(Strap in)

This one is that rare thing: a three step line that deserves to be a three step line. Let's talk Fuecoco first:

SO CUTE. It's charming, it's charismatic, it's adorable.

It also has hints of its evolutionary end goal, but not like an undeveloped middle evo. It likes singing. The white face hints at the eventual calavera, and it looks a bit like a lil chilli pepper - a ghost pepper, probably in reference to the eventual Fire/Ghost typing. But the colours and shape right now also look a bit reminiscent of a babygro, because this thing is a cute starter. Lookit them teefs. That tuft. Its lovely smile. Beautiful.

And then, at the point you expect it to turn into just the awkward teenage version of the adult, instead we get Crocator:

Oh boy. Oh there's so much to say. Okay okay:

The region it's from is based on Spain, but this thing is incorporating Hispanic elements from across the board. It's a mariachi in a sombrero, except the sombrero also looks kind of like a ring of Mexican marigolds and kind of like a Catalonian Easter cake called Mona de Pascua that has an egg (or egg-shaped confectionary) in the middle. Body shape and markings look kind of like a piñata. The white face is now on its way to a calavera, with the cheek and nostril markings more defined. And it sings, with its open mouth (also how crocodiles release heat, appropriate for a Fire type) and signified by the mariachi theme.

THAT IS A LOT.

And then it becomes Skeledirge. A Fire/Ghost crocodile.

Now the obvious design here is the calavera and the Día de Muertos theming, which is part of it. But there are also many examples of crocodile figures in Spanish folkloric ghost stories: the Catalonian Cocollona, the Lizard of Magdalena from Jaén, or the Drac de Na Coca, or even the Cuca - that one is Portuguese, but turns up in both Brasil and the Iberian Peninsula including in parts of Spain. It's got a Gaudi vibe (like Barcelona). It's got an alebrije vibe (like Mexico).

And the bird! Nile crocs have a cleaning symbiosis with Egyptian plovers; it also sits at the tip of the snout where male gharials have a sort of bulbous bit to help them make sounds (the singing thing).

But this is what the bird does when Skeledirge uses Torch Song:

youtube

It becomes a microphone, then grows in size and attacks the opponent in Phoenix form. Phoenix: Fire/Ghost. Resurrected from the ashes.

Quite simply, your fave could never.

5. Rowlet

My god. (My god)

gasp

Look at this lovely creacher. He is so round and so soft and so lovely. He looks like that baby Yoda meme. He looks like that cat that someone's landlord said they would make an exception for because he looks very polite. Look!!! At his lil bow tie!!! He is a smartly dressed young man and he is kind and he is... well, a bit vacant behind the eyes. A himbo, if you will. But he is all the better for that. What a lovely owl.

He looks a little like a barn owl, perhaps, and those were imported to Hawai'i, where Rowlet is from. But I think he looks a little like a Pueo owl, and given that he will eventually be a Ghost type, that seems right - pueos are one of the physical forms assumed by ʻaumākua in Hawai'ian culture, as I understand it.

And then, hang onto your tits, lads, because this is another banger - THE MIDDLE EVOLUTION IS ITS OWN DESIGN!!! (confetti cannons)

I said earlier that boring middle evos are like just awkward teenagers of the adults. Here, I present to you, a very deliberate Awkward Teenager, in Dartrix:

IT'S A DANDY

I love him I love him I love him

He plays with his fringe and if you touch it without permission he has a tantrum. God, he's so charismatic. Also, that fringe further suggests the pueo - they have pronounced outer rims around their facial disks like that. Look at his bow tie and tail coat. So smart and handsome

This one is so good that it could be the final evo. This is actually my issue with the Delphox line - Braixen is amazing, and then it becomes the bland boredom of Delphox. Braixen should have been the final stop. Here, Dartrix is much the same - good enough to be a high-quality end goal.

Where they differ is that Decidueye is better again.

IT SHOOTS ARROWS MADE OF ITS OWN QUILLS

Also, fun fact - This line is the only starter to change secondary typing. Dartrix is part Flying; but on evolving a second time into Decidueye, it switches to Grass/Ghost. In this evolution, it's definitely mostly a pueo, so the ʻaumākua reference is IN, but actually barn owls also have their associations with the dead in various cultures.

The crown of feathers around its head are also reminiscent of an ayaigasa - a hat worn by Japanese samurai archers. And yet! AND YET!

It still has its lil bow tie look. Bigger now, more of a cravat; but there it is.

A perfect Pokemon, and a perfect evolutionary line. No notes.

Anyway, thank you for this chance to waste three and a half hours writing this essay

#asks #pokemon #long post #gif

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giorno-plays-piano · 9 months

Text

House of Chains

Part I

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: noncon, yandere, obsession, canon-typical violence, chase scenes, death of minor characters.

Words: 1.4k

Summary: In return for help to come back to your home world, you have been faithfully supporting the Greens to put Aegon on the throne. But when your promise is fulfilled, neither Otto nor Aemond are keen on letting you go.

P.S. You can read this little fic first to better understand the story if you'd like, but it's not necessary.

______________

When Aegon, now with a crown on his head but dead drunk as usual, finally disappears behind the closed doors along with Helaena and the Queen, you feel like you can breathe again. It's done. The new King is crowned. Your contract is fulfilled.

Turning your head to Aemond sitting by your right, you smile awkwardly, like you can't quite believe it happened. God, Aegon is crowned. It is far from the true victory of the Greens, but it is a good start - and a good finish for you. You've only promised to help putting the oldest son of Alicent on the trone, no more, no less. You are free to leave this godforsaken world and reunite with your family.

Aemond flinches when you touch his hand softly as if you just hit him, but you're not alarmed: he is still like that when he's alone with you. If anything, he seems even more jumpy when it's only you two, sharing comforting silence together.

It feels like ages since the night you comforted him while he was wailing from phantom eye pain on a deserted balcony. You grew closer, you think, although it's hard to say, judging by Aemond's perplexed expression. He probably never had anyone he could have a friendly relationship with, so he is still figuring out how it works, thankful to you for coming to treat him from time to time.

On that note, he actually became so audacious he slips in your chambers in the middle of the night if his eye bothers him again to seek your help, and, were you not planning to leave soon, you'd grow worried about your reputation in the court. Surely, the servants must already think Aemond spends all his nights in your company. One time Alicent even had to ask you why he was coming to see you so often, and looking at her being on the verge of a nervous breakdown as usual, you had to finally tell her what sorts of pain her son has been having. She cried. Then, she sent a dozen maesters to her son's chambers.

Aemond said nothing at all, though you apologized for revealing his secret. It wouldn't be good for him to tarnish his reputation, you muttered, since he would have to marry, eventually.

Regardless, his visits to your room only increased with Alicent no longer finding it scandalous, and you spend more time together with him than even with Otto, who's been notoriously controlling since the moment you arrived. But Aemond... he is almost nice. Pretty awkward, you think a little shy - god knows he has no idea how to converse with women who aren't planning on murdering him - but still nice.

He brings you a plate with fruits or a jar of nuts with honey, knowing you have a sweet tooth and don't always eat regularly, engrossed in carrying out Otto's plans. If, by chance, you are already in bed, undressed, he immediately turns away, nearly hiding behind a curtain to allow you to put something on as if you are completely naked in front of him, and his ears are fiery red. Besides, if you have time to come watch him train, he seems to sort of go out of his way to make the fight more entertaining for the public, which never really happens under normal circumstances because Aemond despises useless showing off.

Actually, when you came to the inner courtyard to see him practice for the first time, he stared at you, wide-eyed, wet glistening on his forehead, and missed Ser Criston's attack, nearly ending up with a deep gash in his shoulder. You felt so bad about it you came to apologize to his teacher later since you knew it happened because you distracted Aemond, but the knight only courtly asked you to visit the training grounds more often. It is for Prince's benefit, he said. You guess he wanted Aemond to get used to distractions, but the prince took it a little further, proud of you taking an interest in his fencing.

Well, he should be proud. Aemond is talented beyound measure, and his internal drive is something you love about him.

You love a lot of things about him, to be frank.

Nevertheless, despite how much you will miss him, Alicent and Helaena, you don't want to stay here a minute longer. This world is a black hole. Whatever gets inside comes out twisted and corrupted, and you dirtied your hands far too many times for it not to leave a mark on you. You don't like to kill, but you have to trade your power for dragon's breath. Today, you did even more for the royal family: you threw a shield over Targaryens when Rhaenys emerged from below, thinking she was planning to burn everyone alive. You didn't have to. Formally speaking, Aegon was already crowned, and if Meleys would spare some more flames, perhaps her deadly breath would be enough for an incantation to get you home. You wouldn't have to deal with Otto and plead for Vhagar's fire. But you still stretched a shield wide enough to cover them all, watching as Alicent trembled, standing in front of her older son and awaiting death. How could you not protect her and her kin?

But Meleys didn't burn you, and you wasted a lot of your power for nothing, barking at her angrily as she fleed. Least to say, Otto was amused at your theatrics even when you confessed to casting a protection spell for their sakes.

You purse your lips when you think of it. How foolish. You should have known Rhaenys wouldn't do it; this isn't in her character. You just panicked and played a hero for the sake of your own dignity. As if any of the Targaryens needed it.

Regardless, your debt is paid, and it's your time to leave, you tell to yourself in attempt to cool down as Otto finally enters the room. You hold your breath. You still can't believe all of you pulled it off, crowning Aegon so quickly.

"Long live the King," you proclaim proudly, tired but victorious, and Otto sends you one of his trademark sly smiles. "I hope you will win the upcoming war."

Aemond sends you a strange look, but you don't see him, your eyes on the Hand of the King as he strolls closer to the table.

"My promise has been fulfilled. I assume I can gather my things and come down to the shore right away?"

Otto's smile grows unnaturally wide as he stills. You grow anxious, staring at him and wishing you won't hear what you think you will. Please, no. You're done here. You murdered Misariya and half, if not more, of her little worms in the Red Keep. You stole, you spied, you murdered more. You chained Aegon to his room so he wouldn't run before the succession ceremony and cast a shield to protect him against a living dragon. Is it not enough?

But nothing is ever enough for men like Otto Hightower. It does not come as a big surprise, but you feel hollowed out anyway.

"You have been most helpful in aiding us so far," he starts carefully as if you don't know what he will say next. "I must admit your contribution has been so considerable that you've become our most trusted ally, more capable than any of our supporters. I ask you to reconsider leaving us so early while Rhaenyra still poses a threat to my grandson's rule."

The silence is so loud you can hear it pulsing in your ears.

"No," you smile through clenched teeth. "Keep your word. Take me to Vhagar."

Otto's smile is still plastered on his face, but he doesn't move. Doesn't say anything else as if he expects you to understand his position when it is you who is the victim.

"Aemond," enraged, you turn to him, to your last resort, searching for any sort of support from a man you chose to trust. "Please! I've done everything I could. Keep your word. Let me go!"

He must help. He's the closest to you, closer than Alicent or Aegon or Helaena. For the past month, you have been treating him almost nightly, easing his pain, giving him peace. Perhaps you haven't been each other's confidantes, but you think of him as a friend. He can't... he can't do this to you. He knows how much you miss your family, your home. How foreign his world is to you.

You look him in the face, searching for compassion, for understanding or at least some kindness, but Aemond's eye is hollow, and his lips are clenched tight.

"You are needed here," he says, and your heart sinks within you. "You have to stay."

Part III

Part II

Part IV

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Taglist: @heavenly1927 @lost-and-founds

#yandere #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd #the house of the dragon #house of the dragon

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stupidthoughtsinwriting · 1 month

Text

Glimpse of Us

Summary: Years after the faithful night, reality brings the two back together, with all the years of unresolved pain, feelings and comparisons

Warning: Angst is all the warning I can think off ehehhe, Hard core Angst

Note: ehehehehe the long awaited sequel to She use to be mine is finally here! After what? nearly 2 years. its finally here! I'm so sorry for the long wait and thank you to those who encouraged me to continue on with the next part. I won't dawdle on and let you lot enjoy the concoction i seem to have mustered on. ehehe again sorry for the months delay.

oh and i almost forgot, the italics are best imagined as her singing

P.S. I drafted this post 7 or 8 months after the first part and dear god, how time has passed. Looking back at the story, I'm not really too proud of this one and ended it because I really have no idea how to continue it. I have an idea for a next part (dangerous words coming from me) but I'm not gonna set a date for when I post it because we all know how the last part turned out. Anyways enjoy

😊❤️💛💚💙💜🖤😊 -T

‘Hey, you’re up in five’`

‘Yah sure, just touching up’ you say as you smacked your lips after applying a bit of lip gloss.

‘You don’t need it’ he replied.

‘Still. I can’t believe I agreed to this’ you scoffed, fiddling with your hair for the hundredth time.

‘You’ll do great’ he smiled ‘Now your hair is fine, you look amazing, and I have to go. Break a leg’ he bid before getting on stage to rouse the crowd. Admittedly, you are nervous. You wouldn’t call yourself a singer, but you do have a good enough voice and can hold a tune. You knew it was a mistake singing in front of Harvey and you were only doing this as a favor. God. You checked the mirror one last time before finding it was good enough.

‘Now for tonight’s performance, A very dear friend of mine has agreed to perform tonight, though with a little bit of persuasion.’ Harvey mumbled the last part, getting a laugh from the crowd and a chuckle from yourself ‘She has a voice made by the gods above, though I don’t remember Thor being much of a singer. She can lure you in better than a siren, but I think that’s the other mythology’ he said cheekily.

‘Now, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome a dear friend of mine, Y/N Y/L/N!’ he introduced, that being your cue to emerge from the curtain, you stepped on staged and made your way over to the middle where he and the mic was, the spotlight following your movement. You waved and smiled at the crowd, glad there wasn’t much. Grasping the mic, you chuckled as the small crowd continued to clap.

‘Hi everybody’ you began, getting a hello in response from the crowd ‘Wow, thank you for the warm welcome and thank you Harvey for that unrealistic introduction’ you chuckled with the crowd, turning to Harvey who waved you off.

‘Now, taking something off of Harvey’s speech, I am made by no god or am one. Nor am I a siren from the Greek mythology. It did take some persuading to get me to do this and hopefully I don’t regret it.’ You laughed sheepishly.

‘I don’t normally sing on stage or in public really unless it’s karaoke with friends, which by the way is how I got tricked into doing this, so pardon me if I seem a bit nervous’ you smile shyly. Glancing back at Harvey, with a smile on his face, he nodded, pushing you to continue. Pulling out the rest of the confidence you still had stored, you turned back beaming at the crowd.

‘Now to not keep you waiting any longer, Paul if you will’ you gestured to the man on the piano and he nods before gliding his fingers along the keys, playing the start of the song. Letting out a breath, you closed your eyes, feeling the rhythm of the piano before singing the lyrics. Grabbing hold of the mic, you opened your eyes and began.

He'd take the world off my shoulders

If it was ever hard to move

He'd turn the rain to a rainbow

When I was living in the blue

You let your eyes flutter to a close as you gripped the mic firmly. Swaying your body occasionally to melody.

Why then if he is so perfect

Do I still wish that it was you?

Perfect don't mean that it's working

So what can I do? Ooh

Opening your eyes, you scanned the crowd, completely surprised by how the much you can see of the crowd seemed entranced.

When you’re out of sight

You saw you’re your friends in a booth over on the corner, the people entering the establishment.

In my mind

Then the bar where you found him, staring at you. You locked eyes with those beautiful ocean blue orbs that you love loved so much. Stumbling over your words, you nearly forgot about the song but once the piano keys hit the right note, your lips continued in autopilot.

Cause sometimes I look… in his eyes

And that's where I find

A glimpse of us

Eyes leaving contact, you scanned his entirety. The grey streaks at his temples have grown longer since the last time you saw him. The old clean-shaven face he used to don had a goatee. Prominent lines and creases were evident in his features and really the years have aged him well. He wore a suit, complete with a vest, a red handkerchief in the breast pocket and everything. A glass of whiskey at his side and he was still as handsome as the day you left.

You closed your eyes once more, willing this to just be another trick or hallucination by your imagination. Though it was a horrid idea as memories of the day came back crashing onto you, you let them stay shut as you continued.

And I try to fall for his touch

But I'm thinking of the way it was

There you stood, as beautiful as the day he met you, if not more. In all your beauty, and the signature grin you adorned, you were radiant. Though the spotlight might have something to do with it, you were still a ray of sunshine through the darkest of clouds.

The rest of the world faded out to him and his mind finally faltered. There you were. Standing a few feet away as you introduced yourself. Your hair’s cut short, or at least shorter than the last time he’d seen you. Earrings hid behind your curls and the lightest bit of make-up was applied to your soft features. Though that didn’t hide the blossoming pink tint gracing your cheeks. Your lips glistened with the lip gloss you had on just like you use to. Smile lines drew at the corner of your eyes as you chuckled over your own words, explaining how you ended up in your current situation.

You always smiled, even when you were feeling down, you always smiled. Whether to hide what you were truly feeling or to just be nice to people, you always smiled. He nearly forgot how beautiful that smile was, with only his dreams used to recall that charming grin, since it has been a rarity for him to look you up or even open the box full of pictures during your years together. Even with the picture he kept in his nightstand, he rarely opened the drawer. Funny how this photographic memory of his nearly forgot the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen.

He listened to every single word you uttered as he looked and committed every single detail he could of you to memory. Your hair curled into soft waves, parted and pinned on one side. Your frame, fuller since the last time he saw your thin, nearly skeletal figure on that fateful night. You wore a wine-red wrap top that reached down to your wrists, paired with simple jeans and boots, you looked divine. The dip in the neckline of your shirt revealed the top of your cleavage but the gleaming gold necklace is what caught his attention. It was a simple gold bar plate though engraved with a heartbeat on one side. Common and a bit of a cliché now adays but what was special about that was it was an actual heartbeat. His. He gifted it to you when you both got accepted at Metro General. He explained that it was how his heart beat whenever he thought of you. As you tried to find the words to thank him, he made you turn it over to the other side to another engraving. You know I love you so, it said. A line from one of your favorite songs. He remembered how tears brimmed your eyes as you leaped to him, capturing his lip with yours.

What came as a shock to him now was that you were still wearing it. As he continued to look you over, the sound of your chuckle registered in his ears. God, he loves that sound. A sound he hasn’t heard long before you left. Looking back up to your face, he sees the girl he met all those years ago, buried under piles of books in the library on campus. The very same girl that chuckled at his horrible attempt at a flirtatious first introduction. A small smile tugged at his lips both at the memory and the sound. He hasn’t heard that sound in so long, it was a wonder when he heard it last. He just knew it was long before he fucked up and just chose to relish in the sweet sound now.

Now focusing and giving his undivided attention to your voice now, he listened.

‘I don’t normally sing on stage or in public really unless it’s karaoke with friends, which by the way is how I got tricked into doing this, so pardon me if I seem a bit nervous’ you laugh timidly. A chuckle bubbled at his throat as flashes of you singing whilst cooking in the kitchen of your tiny apartment came into view. Wearing nothing but his shirt as you flipped pancakes, singing from Coldplay to Queen at the top of your lungs or humming to Ed Sheeran whilst you worked and studied case filles.

He knew you enough to know that you were nervous, you didn’t have to say it. After all these years he still knew you better than the back of his scarred hands, heck better than he knows himself.

He saw you look to the side and his eyes followed, landing on the host from earlier. With a smile on his face, he nodded, giving you the reassurance you needed to continue with your performance. And it did, he saw how you pulled the last of your confidence before turning back to the crowd.

A pang of jealousy shot through him as he watched. I mean what did he expect, for you to be alone after all these years. A stupidly selfish part of him even hoped that you’d be waiting for him. To get his act together and you’d be back together. It was incredibly stupid; he knew that but that didn’t stop the creeping grip of jealousy from grasping his heart. As much as he knew how selfish the thought is, that didn’t stop the pain and hurt he felt seeing you look for reassurance in another man. Even after all these years.

The smile he had drawn up earlier had faded to a look of melancholy. It was good you had someone, he thought. Someone to be there for whenever you needed them the most, unlike him.

He watched as you turned and gestured to the pianist who nodded and started to fiddle with the keys. He watched as you took a breath, closed your eyes and began to sway to the smooth melody of the music. A small grin was itching at your lips. You were always more comfortable whenever listening to music and this was evident, unbeknownst to you.

Then you started to sing. You opened your eyes, took a firm grip at the mic and the lyrics just came dripping smoothly from your lips. That melodic voice of yours that he loves so much reminded him of the early mornings in the kitchen, the concerts in the shower and the lullabies to the kids under your care. Little did you know but the sound of your sweet voice always comforted him during the hardest times. He didn’t ask you to sing directly but he always listened whenever you hummed a simple tune or sang a song from some Disney movie to calm the kids in peds ward.

He took in every word that came from your lips. From what he’s heard so far from the first verse, it was about how the man lightened and took away the burden and sorrows the singer felt. The way you sang the song, it was beautiful. It was as if you were truly meaning the words that left your lips and he couldn’t help but feel the envy creeping back up at him, though at the same time, he’s conflicted with relief. He didn’t know if you’ve had someone during the past couple of years but as hurt as he is at the prospect of you with somebody else, it sort of gave him a sense of comfort thinking that you were getting taken care off. It eased some of the weight he felt and often times he thought maybe it was good that you separated. All he'd done with you the last few months of your relationship was hurt and neglect you and if you ever found someone that remedied that, maybe it was for the best that you left.

He watched your eyes flutter to a close again. The way your body moved to the melody of the music completely hypnotized him that his drink was deemed long forgotten.

Why then if he is so perfect, Do I still wish that it was you?

At those words, for some reason that gave him hope. He didn’t know if it was just the song but really, just the way you sang it made it seem all too genuine. He still loves you; he knew that very well. He also knows that he had a better chance in coming up with a new strategy in defeating Thanos (despite the many but one failed attempts he saw using the time stone), than ever getting back in a relationship with you.

You are the most kind, caring and understanding person he knew but you were also stubborn. He might have the chance in getting to apologize and to ask for forgiveness, but a relationship was a billion to one cosmic fluke. Though that didn’t stop him from wondering if you meant those words.

You opened your eyes and continued with the song. He noticed you looking at the growing mass of people watching. From the corner booths to the door, he knew from that growing look at your face that you were surprised to say the least at how many were captivated by your performance.

Then you met his gaze. Those soft blues meeting that beautiful shade of your own eyes. God, how much he loved those shining y/e/c orbs could never be put into words. How they twinkle in the light. The comfort and understanding they held and how they always seem to know he felt.

When he woke up from the crash, the first thing he longed to find were your eyes. The warmth, comfort and security they held, he ached to see those beautiful orbs because for the briefest moments he forgot everything but you. You were his main thought. He forgot about the fight, the neglectful months before, the pale, emaciated figure of yours that haunts his dreams, everything. Only the kind, gorgeous face of the woman he fell for all those years ago stayed in his mind because whenever he thought of comfort, the only thing that formed in his head was, no… is you.

He was hurt, in pain, his body ached, he could barely see let alone open his eyes. He needed comfort, he needed you. But when was life ever nice.

Instead, he was met with the fluorescent lights of the hospital room and the horrific sight of the mangled hands that once led a successful career in medicine. There was no warming gaze to be greeted with, only the sad sympathetic ones he now knows to be from the wrong woman and a cold, sterile room.

Cause sometimes I look… in his eyes

You stumbled over your words as you continued to look at each other. You continued singing but your eyes were locked together. Neither of you could look away. Your mouth moved on autopilot as your eyes lost the spark of a flame you had earlier, just like that night all those years ago, replaced by a reflection of the pain and grief he caused. The very same one that haunts his dreams.

A glimpse of us

You finished, your voice fading as the lyrics came to an end. As soon as the piano tuned out, you smiled and gave a little bow at the crowd who erupted in applause before leaving the stage in a hurry. Welled up tears spilled down warm cheeks as emotions and memories continued to riot your mind. After all these years he still managed to make you cry. Why can’t you move on?

You were quick on getting your belongings from the small prep area behind the stage however your plans of a speedy getaway were quickly ousted by the very same gentleman that perpetrated this whole ordeal.

‘You were amazing! The emotion you put in the performance…’ He continued to ramble on, looking past the curtain and to the roaring crowd cheering on for an encore, completely oblivious of his friend’s distraught state. ‘I mean the teary eyes, come on. Doctoring ever not work for you, acting could be something to con…’ he paused after finally getting a glimpse of you, swiftly wiping away tear streaks that ran down your cheeks but the growing redness in your eyes were dead give aways. ‘Shit’ finally piecing things together, he cursed, his attention fully set on you now. ‘It was real. Fuck, are you okay?’ he asked, finding it difficult figuring out what to do, yet a hint of urgency too as he still had to go back on stage.

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’ You swallowed, lying through your teeth. ‘I just… have to go’ you mumbled quickly, giving him a grin in hopes to resemble something as composed as the friend he knew. Though he knew you enough to know you were not ‘fine’, with great reluctance he let you go, rushing to the stage shortly after exchanging goodbyes and promising to check with him later.

As your friend went back on stage, you quickly took a survey of your appearance on a nearby mirror, making sure you didn’t look as dreadful as you felt. The bit of makeup you had on survived, however your eyes weren’t as forgiving being red. Nevertheless, you sped out to leave.

Considering your options, your only available exits were the front or back door and wanting to avoid individual who has left you in this state (just by being present), you turned to the corridor that lead to the back door but as unfortunate as you were, the exit was blocked by men hauling in delivery shipments and by the looks of things they weren’t going to be done any time soon.

You were antsy enough as it was and waiting by the second for them just added to your agitation. You really needed to leave now. A lump was lodging itself on your throat and the air around you seemed to be thinning. You need to leave NOW.

Swallowing all the anxieties you had, you had no choice but to rush out the front. You stayed on the side, avoiding the patrons and the one in particular perched up at the bar but unlucky you (your luck really seemed to have vanished really), the man saw your abrupt departure, unbeknownst to you.

You made it out to the street and the open air was a fresh welcome, letting you finally breath, whereas the establishment you had left felt suffocating.

You thought it was done. That the lump in your throat would finally dissolve as you walked down the street, thinking that you had successfully avoided the now famed sorcerer of New York. The hero, Doctor Strange…

but when was life ever good to you.

‘y/n…’ he breathed out, catching the sight of you sprinting toward the doors he entered only moments before. It pulled him out of his reverie, wondering if he should talk to you, what he’d talk to you about, an apology perhaps, contemplation of your years together, however the sight of you pulled him out like it always did, especially in the beginning. He sometimes had the tendency to be too deep in thought, he’d ignore everything and everyone in his surroundings, but he always caught you. Your scent, your voice, let alone your image, it always drew him from his stupor.

Now the sight of you cemented his thoughts.

Downing the last of his drink, he pulled a bill from his wallet and slammed it down the counter without so much as a look onto how much it was before he scurried out, chasing after you. (Like he should have done all those years ago)

He called out your name once he reached the sidewalk, turning left and right in search for you. The street wasn’t crowded much so it was easy to spot the figure stood still a few yards away to his right. With the last few rays of the dying sun and dim streetlight, he made out the curled head of hair the same shade as yours the figure had, and he just knew it was you.

‘Y/N!’ he nearly shouted, causing a few heads to turn in his direction but not yours. You kept your back to him as he sprinted your way. He knew you heard him. You would have kept on walking had you not.

It only took a second to reach you and when he did, he hesitated, not knowing what to do. He wanted to reach for you and plead for forgiveness. On his knees if he had to. Instead, he opted for another call for your name, hoping you’d finally face him.

And you did, after dropping your hands to your side, he heard a small sniff before you turned to him with your gorgeous smile and said (in a somewhat forced cheer in your voice)

‘Stephen. Hi’

‘Hi’ he replied densely. You idiot, he thought at how stupid his response was.

A silence fell over you both as Stephen canvassed your entirety now at a closer distance. He took in every graceful line, freckle and strand of hair he saw to memory. Every little detail he took in was as important as every breath he took. How bloodshot your eyes were didn’t go unnoticed though. Puffy around the eyelids from crying, red possibly from -he guessed- how hard you were rubbing them just before he reached you.

Surprising thing is, it still broke his heart seeing the distress you so clearly were trying to hide. The thought of tears running down your cheeks, was illegal. They had no business in gracing your face yet, he can’t help but realize that he just keeps being the reason you were left in that state. Where were all these sympathies back then? He asked himself, the very night flashing through his mind.

‘Stephen’ you said again, taking him out of head again. He missed that though. His name coming off your lips. It brought him back to all the mornings with you in bed, tangled in sheets as the morning glory woke you up and you woke him up with that honey sweet voice with the say of his name. Stephen

‘Sorry, um…’ he coughed, trying to piece a sentence, words, anything really that didn’t end in three syllables.

‘You were wonderful’ he finally managed, okay that’s five ‘Back there at the bar…. you were amazing’ like always, he wanted to add but stopped himself, pointing back to where he just left.

‘Thank you’ you muttered, nodding your head before leaving it down to look at your shoes. The way you responded lacked any sort of confidence, as if you didn’t believe his words or yourself. Truthfully, you were never really the most confident, even back then but always did step up when the situation needed. Either that’s the reason or you didn’t believe him, which considering his case, why should you.

Your hands were fidgeting, he noticed. Running and marking the bones of one hand with your fingers tips before your nails would start to pick on skin. This was something new to him. A new nervous habit of yours he hadn’t known before, so it was most likely picked up after your separation.

The person in front of him wasn’t the same one he knew all those years ago yet, still so similar and the same. He remembers everything about you, so if anything of the woman he knew back then was still in there, he knew by how you were acting that you were uncomfortable, agitated.

‘Really, you were amazing’ he affirmed, really wanting you to believe him, or at least to believe how wonderful you really are. ‘Truly, but are you okay?’

He’d done it. Ask that stupid question and that’s what broke the dam, causing the river to run past it with no mercy.

He heard a laugh at first, your hand raising towards your face. The sound bordered on maniacal, nothing like the one he loved but familiar enough to know he has heard it before. Slowly, your head rose, your hand half covering your mouth, half wiping away the rivers that flowed down your cheeks. The sight finally triggered the memory he was looking for. It was all too similar to that night, it felt like déjà vu.

‘um’ you started, finally managing to say after that little fit ‘I could lie but what’s the point? No. I’m not. I’m not okay because you’re here. Fuck, I actually thought that I could get away from this but no, evidently not.’ You tried to reason, looking him straight in the eyes ‘Christ Stephen, I was okay. I was okay when I was singing, I was okay ten minutes ago but then you just came out of no where and now I’m not okay. I’m never okay whenever it comes to you. Not anymore.’ You spit like venom, unrelenting in your streak to get out all your pain because of him. ‘I thought I could be civil but… I-I’m tired. I’m sorry, I’m gonna go. Enjoy your night’ you hurried, saying your goodbyes and turning your back to him to walk away. You would have gone had he not called you back in such a pleading tone.

‘please’ he begs and for some reason and it compels you to listen. You halt your steps, you don’t turn around, but you do wipe away your tears and he takes that as his chance to apologize for everything.

‘I’m sorry.’ He starts, his own eyes teary ‘I’m sorry for everything. You didn’t deserve what I did to you and it…’ he swallows that lump in his throat, trying to get the rest of his words out ‘it haunts me every day. You’re the kindest person I know, and I took you for granted. I was an arrogant piece of shit, too self-absorbed to even notice that the woman I love was working herself to death.’ You start to turn around ’You were the purest thing I knew and you didn’t deserve the monster I was. And I am so sorry for who I was then. I’ve changed or I’m trying to change, to be better than- than that monster that hurt you and I could only hope for your forgiveness because, you were always someone I never wanted to lose, and I did. By a stupid mistake and horrible decisions.’ His tears start to run, and you finally face him ‘I never wanted to let you go but I was hurting you more than I was loving you and I understand if I don’t get your forgiveness but, I am sorry. I am so sorry for hurting you. For taking you for granted. For not treating you how you deserved to be treated. For everything. You didn’t deserve what I did to you and hearing myself admit this… really just proves I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need you to know that I am sorry. I’m really sorry for what I did and that… that you deserve.’

You stare at him with tears running down both your eyes and he sees the same urge to wipe them away, in you. The hesitant twitch of your arm as if by instinct, to move and act on the need to clear away his tears and comfort him. At least that’s what he interprets the move of your arm because that’s exactly what you would have done, that’s exactly your character and he wants to do the same. To dry away your tears and take you in his arms in respite.

But you act against those thoughts, only balling your fist as some form of control. You stare into him, as if gauging to find the lie in his words yet there is none and he sees something in your eyes that he can’t explain before they dart away. He watches as you scan your surroundings, looking at the people likely to be watching you both but he didn’t care for them. He only cared about you.

When your eyes turned back to him, you closed them immediately, face scrunching as you desperately tried to hold back to tears but to him, it was as if you were so pained by the mere sight of him. He’d be lying if he said that it didn’t chip away a piece of his heart.

Your head bowed for a bit as you tried to compose yourself but the words that left your lips once you rose again, only broke more of his heart.

‘You’re forgiven’ you were quick to say before turning back and walking away from him. He watched with wet cheeks, as you sped away from him, and he kept his gaze on you until you disappeared around the corner and then you were gone.

For what seemed like forever, he kept his eyes on that street corner, hoping for something that won’t happen. He knew that whatever he wanted wasn’t going to happen, but a man could hope, right? Though hopes are as easy to diminish as they are to ignite. Grief and disappointment, they tend to last.

The sun had set and streetlights and buildings are all that lit the side walk where Stephen stood. A man well known to the people and thus, there were those who were bound to watch the spectacle put on by the hero. Small crowds had formed over time as they watched the powerful sorcerer confess to the dreadful things he’s done to some doctor from before his fame, asking for forgiveness to all the terrible things he’s done.

To new passersby, they’d wonder why a hero of the city stood so stiff, looking at oblivion. They’d wonder for a minute without context before walking away with a shrug, figuring much more important things to think of.

Eventually, the crowd thinned to a trickle, til the lone man was all that remained the lone street, wondering what he had done to deserve you.

A/U: I've read this way too much to do a final proof read so sorry for all the grammatical mistakes and spellings and all that. Thanks for the read though

I'm hoping that the people who asked to be tagged don't mind me tagging them this late in the game and I hope you liked it. Hopefully it was worth the wait @strangesweetheart @evelynrosestuff @vesta-ro @doodle-cat16 @nabiilahadid @evansmusk @circe143 @dracoflaco

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loserlvrss · 3 months

Text

꒰ 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓? ꒱ 古賀祐大

summary : you and your boyfriend broke up on bad terms, however, you can't seem to get over him when it would be so easy to be under him instead

genre : angst, non-idol!k x afab!reader, 1st person pov (yeah idk why either) tws : angst, suggestive content, kissing, alcohol consumption, language, toxic!k, lovesick!reader, jealousy, verbal fight author notes : fuma’s innocent don’t do girl don’t do itttt word count : 2.2k

my phone pinged! and i debated ignoring it — for the nth time in the last hour. the music was blasting, the bass shaking the house in a dub-step rhythm. i took another swig from the metal can that had somehow made it into my hands as another text rang out and caught the attention of the girl attached to my arm. the smooth liquid was the best the bottom-shelf had to offer, and beggars can't be choosers when trying to get drunk fast.

her eyebrows knit, eyes locking on the piece of machinery closest to her sights, then raising to mine.

honestly, right now, i wanted to throw the overly-expensive communication piece at the wall and watch it shatter. i looked to her, the phone, and then the can, taking the rest of it back and crushing it like a frat-boy would.

she huffed out a laugh, "you didn't block him?" but, it wasn't so hard to believe and she knew it just as well as i did.

i still loved him, even after the couple of months we've been broken up; it's not because it was on good terms. actually, it was the complete opposite: we were shit to each other and it was best we went our separate ways. we should, in reality, hate each other. it would only be the natural thing for two people in our situation to do — however, i can't help fighting the urge to reply.

her disappointment was apparent, “y/n, are you kidding me. he’s not even here right now but you can’t stop thinking about him! pick any other guy, i beg.”

my senses were colliding like a car-wreck — leaving my better judgment in the leftover to never be found again. i could see the red and blue and hear the sirens howling out to the moon. still, even under my dying breath, his name would roll off it.

“i-i’m tryi —“

“don’t be ridiculous, i know you well.” she said, fishing the phone that wouldn’t stop buzzing out of my hand. she read out the top text, “y/n, come over. i need to apologize. I need y — he’s drunk. he only ever says shit like this when he’s drunk! you forget he was my friend before he ever dated you. and, god, do i regret introducing you to him.”

my heart sank, a nausea creeping up my throat. he was bleeding me dry, i knew it, but he could have it all; my skin, bones, blood and teeth.

“block his number before you do something we’ll both regret!” she handed it back, “you know i only want what’s best for you — you’re you for fuck sake! you could have anyone, and i mean anyone, yet the only person in your head only texts you at two fucking a.m. you deserve better than him, don’t kid yourself.”

tears pricked my eyes because i knew it was true, but the shooting pain only went away when his hands were on my skin. it was better to stay away, to not take the risk. he should’ve been — should be — the one to get away, and sometimes i also wished she’d never introduced me to the devil under a different name.

“okay,” i sniffled, her palm resting against my cheek comfortingly, “i’ll block him.”

“good.” she unlocked her arm from mine, pushing me forward, “now go find someone better! god knows the bar is low!”

i felt the brush of a body against mine as i found myself smack in the middle of the crowd. my head whipped to the sights of a boy, probably around the same age as me, half-lidded eyes and flushed features. he apologized but, honestly, it was my — her — fault, though he didn’t seem to register that it was anything but an accident, probably too drunk to.

it was an envious state, i thought.

i smiled lightly, her words echoing my mind, “its okay. i’m sorry. my name’s y/n.” his face was soft with godly-defined structure: sharp nose, eyes and plush lips that upturned with a smile resembling mine.

“fuma!” he said, trying to shout over the music. however, something about his tone told me he wasn’t loud, exactly the opposite in fact: gentle, and warm. something my boyfriend — ex — had lacked when we were still together once upon a time. “you’re very, uh, beautiful.”

i laughed at his awkwardness, though i had to read his lips to understand. “thank you,” i replied, pulling him down to my height to hear each other better. my lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “you’re very pretty too.”

he visibly shuddered as i pulled away, furthering my slight sense of pride, mostly because i never had an effect over the only person i wanted to.

he choked out, “d-do you want a drink?” and i nodded, grabbing at his empty hand. the friend i had come with gave me an approving smile and shrugged as if to say the cliché, 'he's cute and you only live once.' he froze, obviously a little shocked by our sudden intimacy, however he brushed it away and led us both to a quieter area; weaving through lip-locked and timely-jumping college students.

i found myself pushing up onto the counter top, watching as he grabbed two beers from an already opened case. they were warm, but again, beggars can’t be choosers when trying to get drunk. he cracked it open and handed it in my direction.

his eyes wouldn’t land on mine, but only stared at the lips that were taking the smooth liquid so easily, watching my throat bob with every gulp. he shifted, leaning against the painted-wood-plastic at my side.

after a moment of deafening silence he asked. “do you go to this school?”

“no.” i replied, letting the can rest against my crossed legs, “i’m here with a friend.”

“a boyfriend?”

the words stung, because no matter the truth, i still wanted to say yes. i still wanted to be able to call the person i loved so deeply my boyfriend — to have him pick me up from this stupid frat-party and not have anyone say anything about it. i still wanted him, and i knew exactly why, though i’d never admit it.

i bit my lip and fuma must’ve, even through his clouded state, read the room. “a sensitive subject, i’m sorry.”

“don’t be sorry, i, uh, don’t have a boyfriend.”

“anymore.” he corrected. maybe it was because he was drunk that his words, even slurred, were so truth-filled it stung. “but i can tell you still want him to be.”

“no,” you paused, both knowing it was a lie, “i want to forget about him. he’s not here.”

“he’s not?”

“i don’t give half-a-fuck where he is in actuality.” you swallowed a bit of your pride, as well as some beer, “if he wanted to, he would. right?”

“right.” he replied, taking another swig.

i looked at him, all of him in disbelief. he knew i was a liar, but at the end of the day he didn’t even know me the way my ex could claim. maybe, i thought, that it was the best possible situation for me to be in. actually, it was the best i could make of this fucked up reality.

my voice lowered ever-so-slightly, “do you want to?”

“be your boyfriend?”

“woah, slow down there cowboy. let’s not go that far right now — we both know i’m not over my ex.”

i couldn’t tell if his face flushed from embarrassment or just the copious amount of alcohol running through his blood. “then, do i want to what?” he breathily-laughed out.

“make me forget?”

my reply almost sounded desperate, and i wondered if that resulted in an inclination to say yes. i wondered if that’s why i was pressed against the countertop i once sat criss-crossed on, lips locked with a stranger.

i felt guilty — a little lost — the sense of feeling so good but so wrong leaking through the thought of him; the man whose hands desperately groped whatever he could find, pressing our bodies so close i was convinced we could merge into one.

a moment ago it was true i wanted him to make me forget about my ex, i wanted him just as bad as he did me. but right now, the flashes of someone else strobed behind my eyelids, projected so nicely that i even wanted to forgive him — for the nth time in the years we spent on and off. i wanted to feel the intimacy of love, even if it was fake, but i couldn't when the only person i felt stockholm syndrome for was across the city.

but, a bus ride at this hour would be easy. it would take barely half and hour before i was underneath the man i wanted so pathetically.

my body shivered, but it wasn’t from the way fuma gripped my skin so gently. i felt a coursing guilt rush over me like a bad high. in reality, i knew i shouldn’t have offered, especially when both him and i were under copious amounts of influence; him worse-off than me. i was taking advantage of a good situation, a seemingly good guy, just to get over a bad for 40 minutes.

maybe i was just crazy — not crazily in love — but just plain fucking crazy. crazy for a man who wasn't mine anymore. crazy because i knew i shouldn't want him. crazy because i knew i was just losing a part of me that should've been lost a long time ago. crazy at the thought of being crazy.

"y/n" god, now i could ever swear i was hearing voices — his voice. well, that was until a hand grabbed my bicep, pulling me away from the tall man. "y/n, what the fuck are you doing?"

i didn't even get a chance to swing around fully before i was being pulled from the kitchen and out of the house entirely. the air was frosty, but honestly i couldn't be bothered to even feel cold; too annoyed to think of anything but the man who was still latched to my arm. eventually, i got fed up, after feeling copious amounts of despair fill my chest, pulling my limb from him.

he turned around calmly, despite the red i could see seeping behind his pupils. he tried to grab my hand this time, but i back away before he had the chance.

"don't — don't touch me, k." i crossed my chilled arms over my chest, one foot back and prepared to step again, "what are you doing here?"

"you weren't answering."

i scoffed, "i never answer, k. that's nothing new."

he didn't hesitate, and it was a little shocking, "your location is still on."

"that doesn't give you th-the right to just show up out of the blue!"

and despite being mad at him, he looked so damn cute with a pout on his face. i could tell he was somewhat drunk, a pink tinting his features i used to adore oh-so-much.

"but, you weren't answe —"

you yelled, "why would i answer you, k!" i couldn't understand his infatuation with the fact that i didn't answer his late-night texts, but maybe he was just as lovesick as i felt. "wh-why would i do that after all this time?"

was he just as damaged as i was? did he really still front like he cared, and was i still falling for it over and over again? it's said that to forgive takes strength, but right now i think that holding back is taking more out of me. he had my heart in his hands still, and despite dropping it countless times, he always knew when and where to pick it back up.

i wasn't sure if i loved him, but i'm just as unsure about not being in love with him. he's driving me to brink of insanity. he's gotten everything out of me, and it's taking everything in me to not muster up more.

if i had known that love would've had such a high price tag, would i still have felt the same way towards him? maybe the good could out-weigh this bad, but i was never one to wishful think before meeting his stupid-pretty eyes. i was never one to feel so unsure before having his stupid-hot skin on mine. i was never one to wear my heart on sleeve before he oh-so-gently pulled it out of me.

and maybe he was unsure too. maybe he didn't know why i wouldn't — couldn't — answer his messages. maybe he was one to think so highly of himself that s breaking up was just a suggestion.

did i love him enough to give him a fourth, fifth and sixth chance? yes. i loved him enough to forgive and forget after every little mistake, and that's what's eating at my brain. the hardest thing I've ever had to do was walk away while still loving him. so, why doesn't it feel like it's for the better? why doesn't his memory fade like its supposed to.

"admit that you only came to see if i was with someone else." i sighed, tears blurring over his frame, "admit that it was because you were blinded by jealousy. admit that you still want me, that you can't get over us as easily as i thought. admit that you still lo —"

"i love you, y/n."

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

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cairavende · 4 months

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Worm Arc 15 thoughts without interludes (interludes need their own post):

EVERYTHING IS FIIIIIIIINE

My daughters boss didn't actually try to assassinate her, her just planned to do it and then did it in one reality but kept the reality where he didn't! So it's ok! I'm fine. Not worried at all that Coil knows Skitter was planning on double crossing him and that he found a way to screw with Tattletales powers.

It's fiiiine (eye twitches)

I want to say I'm glad she got her full team on board, but given that there is a chance someone on her team ratted on her it might not be good.

Skitter goes a little bit far at the end with Triumph. Just a tiny itty bitty bit far. Child you almost KILLED HIM! And then you let him sit there dying when the threat isn't that he'll die now, but that you will come back if needed (mayor ain't going to say what you want him to say if you kill his son, the point is if he doesn't say it you'll come back)! I'm worried about you.

Brian I understand why you like my daughter and she seems to like you and I'm glad having someone you feel safe with is helping you process your very valid trauma (important note, you could have done the same with your sister, she was trying to help you but you wouldn't open up to her, you should open up to her). But please don't get in the way of her relationships with her girlfriends. Just understand in terms of long term stuff Chatterbug and Wolfspider 100% trump . . . Darkbug? Fuck what are you guys called?

(I've been informed Shadeswarm, Nightcrawler, Night Biter, Creepy Crawlies, or Carapace. I think Creepy Crawlies might be my preference among that.)

MOAR DOLL LESBIAN CONTENT!!!!!

Parian is one of my absolute favorite characters! Flechette is pretty cool as well. Being a hero hurts her. Stabbing my daughter also didn't build good marks with me, but I understand why she did it. Cause GAAAAAAAAAAAY. I have a hard time being too mad at a lesbian stabbing someone to protect her girlfriend.

I'm glad Parian isn't joining Coil full hog at least, she's too pure to be a villain (or a "hero"). I kinda wish she could just move to New York and be a fashion designer and live her best life, but I do enjoy the idea of getting to see her more.

And to be honest, I don't think anyone on Earth Bet is really going to be living their best life in the long run. Sorry guys.

The fucking shutdown the team gives to the Nazis is AMAZING! Like ya no Hookwolf or Purity this time, that obviously would have made it harder. But still, comparing the previous fight to this just really shows how much the team has increased in power. They didn't even bring Grue.

Skitter and Tattletale being able to work together to find all the people in a few block radius and figure out which groups are Nazis, all while just standing in the middle of the street, is so fucking cool. I fucking love watching them work.

I don't love the girlfriends fighting with the whole "Skitter wasn't told about the plan to have Regent yoink a Nazi". But they seemed to make up pretty quickly.

Skitter fucking running multiple bug clones, with cameras and microphones, all across her territory, and using them to talk to people and check in on things, WHILE getting surgery on her shoulder??! FUCKING HELL. Like ok yes, please love yourself child and let yourself take it easy sometimes. But also holy shit that is so god damn amazing. I am 100% convinced (I mean, I have been since like Arc 4 TBH) that she uses her bugs to basically offload her pain. Or offloads her mind to her bugs so she can ignore the pain in her body. Same idea. Like even if it's never confirmed it is true to me. And the multitasking! Give Taylor a Thinker classification!!

Just fucking attacking the mayor's family to intimidate him into telling people in Washington to not condemn Brockton Bay huh? I mean sure it kinda worked at the end (assuming he does what he said he would) but it really seems like a terrible plan. Like, the people in Washington are gonna hear about the attack and wonder about everything the mayor says. But fine, that's the plan.

Skitter making the bug clones complex enough that Trickster and Genesis don't even notice she's a clone at first is super cool! Also it does drive home that she is always just covered with so many bugs and using swarm speech so much that when a version of her shows up that is completely covered in bugs and speaks fully with swarm speech it doesn't throw anyone off.

Coil had to know that Triumph was the mayor's kid. The fact that he's the one who pushed to have them attack during family dinner.

I'm really proud of Skitter for figuring it out though! I pegged him as a cape pretty much right away and was able to figure out it was Triumph not long after, but she was in the heat of the moment. Also she got the girlfriend pegged as a either Prism or Ursa while I was still uncertain if she was a cape.

Holy shit that fight was so fucking cinematic! Perfectly built for Triumph to look cool by exploding bug clones with his shouts. And with Prism splitting and combining constantly. Just fuck. I'd love to see an animation of that fight. It was super cool.

And again, Skitter got dark there. And sadly I'm worried she's gonna get darker.

#Worm #Worm Web Serial #Parahumans #Cairavende reads Worm #Taylor Hebert #Chatterbug #Smugbug #Creepy Crawlies #Oh and they did a class presentation on how far they had gotten with their territories #And Skitter just swept the room. If Coil grades on a curve Skitter wrecked it.#Tattletale did pretty good too. Even with the curve she'd be fine.#Grue and Imp did ok. Imp did most of the work but Grue had some valid sick days.#Sundancer and Genesis did fine.#Ballistic lost major points for not knowing the names of the capes in his territory.#Trickster is literally just waiting for his team to come do the work for him. Horrible.#Regent is not doing well given he has Shatterbird.#Bitch gets a good grade on a technicality. Fucking “Nobody.” Project is going to have more strict requirements next time Coil assigns it.#Oh shit wait I don't have a name for Parian/Flechette!#Dollette? Bow and Sew? Needlework?#Hmm I think I like Needlework the most of those three. Dollette isn't bad though.#Needlework

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modern-day-bard · 4 months

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Worth The Feeling

Note: this is a completed project but I’ve had major problems posting on tumblr from my laptop! I’m not sure why. If anyone who sees this is interested, I also posted the fic on Archive Of Our Own 🫶🏻

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Pedro is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 2:

Now, I've made some blunders before. Mostly calling talent by the wrong name, which is a big mistake when dealing with big personalities. But I've tripped a few times, spilled a few things, and I even broke a glass in the middle of a take.

Yet somehow, none of those things compare to this.

Treating the lead as if he was a PA? Telling him he needs to get a walkie ?

The thought makes me sprint even harder toward the sound stage. Once inside, I scan the area as quickly as I can. There's at least a hundred people in here now and the more I push past, the more I realize they are turning to look at me disapprovingly. I really should find a new shirt first, but it can wait.

"Lana!" I shout when I catch a glimpse of one of her classic colorful scarves. I can see the bright fabric tied in a bow on top of her curly head of hair, but she doesn't turn around.

"LANA!" This time several people, Lana included, turn around.

"Hey!" She runs up to me and sweeps me in a hug, before pulling back with an uncharacteristically miserable expression. "Why are you all wet? Ava, I can see your bra." She pokes my visible white strap.

I swat her away. "Just wait. That is the least of my worries."

I explain the situation, visibly cringing as I await her reaction.

In typical Lana fashion, she bursts into musical hysterics. She covers her mouth when she notices how pained my expression is.

"Lana, I am this close to panicking. You don't think he'll complain, do you?"

"No, no he won't complain. You said he was relatively cool about it, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, he didn't even correct me."

"Exactly. You know if it was one of the Marvel guys from our last picture, you might be in trouble. But from the sounds of it, he probably won't even remember it by tomorrow."

"Yeah..." Why did that idea not make me feel any better?

Lana is snickering again. "You know I sent you the cast list like a month ago, right? How do you of all people not recognize Javi Gutierrez?"

I lower my voice. "You know I'm not an indie movie fanatic."

"I know. It's your fatal friendship flaw. But he was on a bunch of shows, too!"

"I haven't had time for TV with school! Movies are less commitment. Don't scold me in my time of need." I wack her arm.

"Fine, fine," She holds her hands up in defeat. "But seriously Ava, unless you want to continue to give us all a free show you should really get another shirt. I have to get these mics up and running, but go to wardrobe and find Barb."

She's right. The first scene is at 8:00am, and as a sound assistant, Lana has to be ready to mic up the actors as soon as they're out of hair and makeup. I still have to print out scripts for the first few scenes, and I'm really starting to hate the sticky feeling on my stomach.

"Okay, thank you!"

Lana winks at me as I turn and head for the wardrobe trailer on the far side of the lot. Barbra has been on Norwick Productions sets since movies were invented. That is actually the answer she will give a person if they ask how long she's been working. She's the grumpy, tough-love mom I never had. And since Lana is pretty much the only person I hung out with during hiatus, I missed Barb dearly.

Barb's expression pales as soon as she sees me.

"Ava, it's only day one for god's sake."

"Don't worry Barb, Lana already scolded me for you."

"I do like that girl. And I'm guessing you came by to catch up after break, and not simply because you need my help?" She raises a knowing brow.

"Obviously." I flash her a very over-dramatic smile.

"I should give you one of the ratty uniforms from the end of this film for that."

"But you won't, because you love me." I batted my lashes.

"Uh-huh." Barb sighs, disappearing into the depths of the trailer before coming back out with a clean white t-shirt. No fuss, no fake blood.

"You are my guardian angel." I say after swapping the shirts.

"Bring me real coffee tomorrow instead of this crafty crap and we can call it even." She says in a flat tone, and I know she's not kidding.

I give her a quick hug. "It's good to see you Barb."

That makes her chuckle slightly. "You too, kiddo."

I check my watch again. 7:30am. Barely enough time to print out the scripts. I bid Barb a quick goodbye and head to the closest copier.

After kicking it a few times, and uttering several curse words, I got the copier up and running and several copies of today's script printed. I try to skim today's scenes while walking back to the soundstage. I'm beginning to grow curious as to watch is actually happening in this movie. Since we usually shoot scenes out of order, these few pages aren't helping very much.

Back on the soundstage, I spot Lloyd, our director, and walk over to hand him today's pages.

"Ava, welcome back." Lloyd says in his usual artistic drawl. He takes one of the copies from me, flipping through as though looking for something specific, though I know he is barely even skimming the pages.

Part of me is holding my breath, wondering if Javi would have complained to Lloyd or a production manager at this point. I'm not sure when he would have time for that between hair and makeup, but in a world where my mishap today costs me my job, he would find the time.

But, Lloyd is deep in conversation with a cameraman and doesn't spare me another glance. I take that as a good sign, and slowly slink toward the far corner of the room. This way I can still have a good view of the stage without calling too much attention to myself. I can see Lana across the room micing up one of the actors in the scene. Some older gentleman who I heard was popular on a cowboy show that I've never seen. I recognize his face more than I did Javi's, which embarrasses me further, even though the fact is only known to me.

Then, as though the gods of shame were looking down and laughing at me, Javi walks into the large room. I quickly open the first scene's pages to see if I can figure out whom he is playing. That, and so I can take my mind off of how he looks even more attractive in costume. I steal a glance up from the pages and see Lana micing him up now. He's smiling warmly at her, and she chuckles at something he said. Lana tends to laugh at most things, but I can't help but wonder what words were being passed between them.

The two men step onto the CIA set together, both dressed in impeccably tailored suits, making light conversation. Now is my que to bring them their copy of the pages for a final once-over before we roll the cameras. I inhale deeply and set my shoulders back.

Don't be intimidated, Ava. You can't embarrass yourself any worse than you already have.

Well, I know that last part isn't true. But I repeat it to myself all the same.

I walk up to the men, handing them each a copy with a smile.

The older gentleman gives me a friendly nod as he takes the script. Javi gives me the same smile he gave Lana a few minutes prior. I'm turning to leave, and I'm surprised when he says, "Thank you, Ava."

I pause, half out of surprise that he remembered my name, and half over the hesitation of wondering if I should apologize for earlier. But his attention is already on the pages, and there are so many people around to hear me admit my mistakes. I decide against it.

- - -

After we shoot the first few takes, I think I'm starting to piece together what the film is about. In the way that it is not unlike most other spy films I've seen. Older Cowboy, whose real name is still evading me, has a small role as the experienced head of the CIA who brings on Javi's character, a real loose cannon, despite his reservations. There is something about a kidnapping of Javi's lover that makes him "too close to the case," but he lies about his involvement with the woman to make sure he can be the one to save her. I'm assuming that is when we will be in Italy. Spy movies love a good ol' car chase in Europe.

I'm not blown away by the originality of the script or anything, but I'm still engaged in the scene even on their tenth take. I realize that Javi is actually quite talented. I'm only ever engaged in a scene if the actors are talented. That, or if Lloyd is having a breakdown.

I spend the rest of the scene trying not to notice just how well tailored that suit is on Javi. I never leer at the talent, but I always appreciate a good-looking man in a suit. Plus, there is something different about him. He has a kindness to him that I haven't seen with other actors. We've been working with a lot of big names recently, so maybe I've just become disillusioned. Even still, I know some lesser actors who would've complained about my assumption early, even if they painted it as a joke. They would never want me to fully live it down. But not Javi. At least, not so far.

When they call for a break, I decided it would be best to fulfill some of my other duties on another part of the lot.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I try to stay away from the soundstage, knowing that they will be working with Javi for the next few hours. I check my watch for the umpteenth today, and I crack a smile when I realize we only have about an hour left. My last stop is Emma Madden's trailer, our leading lady. And then I finally get to drive home and sleep.

I hadn't met Emma before, but similar to Javi, she isn't in the same celebrity category as our last film, so she seems much friendlier. I got a call on my walkie letting me know there was an issue with her food, and with not much else to go off of, I figured I might be in for a celebrity meltdown. However, when I got here, she let me know that she is severely allergic to mustard, and was afraid to touch the sandwich that had been dropped off to her. Sure, maybe it was a little 'Hollywood' for her to have me come and throw it in the garbage for her, but she was pretty apologetic about it.

"Thank you so much, Anna." She says with her knees brought up to her chest, as if she was shielding her center from the turkey sandwich springing back up out of the trash. Her expression is worried and her tone is so sincere that I don't correct her. Not that I would have otherwise.

"Not a problem Ms. Madden." I dust off sesame seeds from my palms.

"Oh please, call me Emma." She smiled at me now, and I couldn't help but like her a little.

"I know a mustard allergy is like, totally random, but it's actually pretty bad. I have an epipen and everything." I know she must be at least thirty years old, but her inflection reminds me of a teenager.

"I'll let crafty know. They should have sent you a food preference and allergy sheet to fill out months ago, that's the studio's fault."

"Oh, they did! I completely forgot about that. I figured it was just if you were a picky eater."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Well, no worries. I'll let them know now." I reach for the doorknob of the trailer.

"Thank you again!" Emma called out as I closed the door behind me.

As I'm finally able to drop off my walkie for the day, I run through all the ways that Emma's Mustard Mayhem could have cost the studio hundreds of thousands of dollars. How did they start production without having her sign a waiver? Why did no one double check that all the talent had sent in their allergy lists? If she were a higher profile celebrity, this could have been a huge issue. But as usual, these are the scenarios I keep to myself. And as I drive home, I try to run through only mustard scenarios, and ignore any that pop up with another actor in mind.

Series Masterlist

#pedro pascal x original characters #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou #narcos #the mandalorian #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez

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supercorpkid · 1 year

Text

Jump into action

Supergirl, B!D, Kara Danvers x Sister!Reader, Alex Danvers x Sister!Reader, Sam Arias x SisterInLaw!Reader

Word Count: 1980.

Notes: a request from a friend <3

“Sam?” You call, going inside the training center. “Sam, are you here? I think we have to go.”

“Go where?” Sam comes from behind a car that she’s been punching, using it as a punching bag since those are too light for her and Kara.

“There is something going on downtown, and no one is back from the other emergency thing they went on. I think it is up to us.”

You can see that Sam is clearly panicking. And you know for a fact that is not because of herself having to go there and fight, but rather because she will have to be responsible for you.

You are not a child, but the Superfriends often treat you like you are. Not only because you are the youngest of the gang, but especially because you’re the ‘baby’ Danvers and they see how Kara and Alex are protective of you. It’s worse for Sam, because ever since she married your sister, she knows Alex would be twice as upset if you got injured on her watch.

“Maybe I should go assess the situation alone.” Sam tries, like it’s a perfectly fine idea, and you roll your eyes at her.

“Sam! Are you serious? God, you guys keep treating me like I’m a toddler! I have the same training as Alex. I know how to take care of myself.” It’s a valid point, and she knows it, yet it is clear to you she is about to ignore and try a counter argument, so you beat her to it. “Besides, you should have someone with an FBI badge around as much as possible. You never know when you’re going to need it.”

She rolls her eyes when can’t find another good argument, “God, you’re right. Ok, fine, let’s go.” You open the biggest smile. “You’re there for support, do not jump into the middle of the fight. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, mom.” You joke, getting a huff in response. Way to push her buttons.

Is good to know that Sam and Reign have made peace with each other. And it’s great to have another Kryptonian on the team for sure. Yet, she is totally bonkers if she actually thinks you’re just going to sit still amidst the pandemonium. Like, does she even know the Danvers? You are not the ‘sit and wait’ kind of people.

You and Sam make your way to the confusion downtown. You can’t believe how many emergencies there are in National City. Kara would hate to know that you think it’s probably because of her, and how her powers and name just draw bad guys into town. But the truth is, it’s probably because there are a lot of heroes here to handle it.

“Ok-” Sam points at the center of what it looks like the confusion is coming from. “You get the people out of here, and I’ll go figure out what’s going on.”

“Yes boss.” You take your badge out of your pocket and start going around asking people to move out of the way and go to safety. There weren't a lot of people standing around in the middle of the chaos, so you’re done really fast.

Sam, on the other hand, was having a hard time keeping up with the fight and you thought, why not help, right? Did you absolutely ignore her when she said she didn’t need help? Maybe. Did you pretend you couldn’t hear her when she asked you to get out of there, even with her standing right next to you? No! (Yes!).

But in your defense, if there’s any, this was your first chance to actually do some work. Every time you go on missions either Kara or Alex are there, and they do not let you do shit! You know they’re scared of you getting hurt, but they get hurt all the time and they just shake it off and start over. You’re allowed to do the same.

“What the hell, Y/N!” Sam runs to you after you were thrown to the other side and hit your back on a tree, causing both you and the tree to fall loudly on the floor. “I told you to stay out of it!”

“I can do it! I’m fine!” You say, ignoring the pain you are feeling.

“Look at you!” Sam holds your face and you feel the burn of a cut when she touches your forehead. She looks at the blood on her hands, incredulous. “Stay here while I finish this! Do not move or I swear to God!” She gets up, throwing her cape behind her, and it almost hits your face. “Unbelievable! Alex is going to kill me!”

You obviously want to help her end this fight, but your body doesn’t want the same. You grunt while sitting up, to watch Sam fighting a few meters in front of you. You look down at your wrist, yep, it is definitely broken. Damn, Alex will kill both of you!

Sam is done a while later. And she comes back to you, picking you up, while mumbling things like ‘I’m Kryptonian! What were you thinking? How am I going to explain this to Alex?’ and so on. You stay in silence, in her arms, while she flies with you back to the Tower.

“Sam,” You start as soon as she lands. “I’m sorry. I wanted to prove myself and I messed up.”

She exhales deeply, knowing what you mean. She knows that you’re treated like a kid even though you aren’t, so she probably knows you were dying to prove yourself out there when you finally got the chance.

“Just- just let me deal with my sisters, ok?” She puts you back on your feet, but doesn’t let go of you as you limp your way inside the Tower.

You hear voices inside, and you know they are already back from their mission as well. Kara is the first one to notice you.

“Y/N! What-What happened to you?” She rushes to your side and even though you were walking when she saw you, she still picks you up and rushes to the couch that is in the middle of the room, with Alex following her close-by.

“I’m fine! I can walk!” You complain as she lies you down on the couch. Alex is already examining you the second you close your mouth.

“What happened?” She spits out greeted teeth, when you squeak after she examines your wrist. “It’s broken.” She looks up. “Lena?”

“Got it.” Lena rushes to the medbay, while Alex’s hand goes to your face to check your open cuts.

“Start talking!”

“It’s my fault.” Sam calls the attention, and everyone looks behind, very shocked by her confession. You, included.

“What?” You sit up on the couch. “No, it’s not.”

“Lay back.” Alex gently pushes you back on the couch, and looks at Sam, almost daring her to come closer and explain the whole thing. Which she does, even though she looks terrified that Alex will be mad at her about it.

“Yes, it is. There was an emergency downtown and all of you guys were out. And even though I made peace with Reign I’m still not sure I can use all this power, so I begged Y/N to come with me. And-” She rushes the explanation when both of your sisters open their mouths to argue. “She was amazing, really. She had my back the whole time and I should’ve protected her so she wouldn’t get hurt, so… It’s my fault and you guys can blame me.”

You furrow your brows at her. That was not what happened, why is Sam saying all this?

“She is brave.” She makes sure, when your sisters look back at you. “A true Danvers.”

Kara smiles, holding your hand that isn’t broken, and Alex’s confused and worried face eases up a little. As soon as Lena is back with everything necessary from the medbay, Alex starts stitching you up.

You don’t tell anyone that Sam’s story wasn’t exactly what happened out there. You know she was trying to have your back, but you’re not sure why when you did the opposite of what she asked you to, and got yourself in danger because you couldn’t take orders.

She is dragged to the medbay to lay under the yellow sun lamp shortly after by Lena, and you only get the chance to share one knowing look with her before it.

When Alex is finally done with you, and has made sure you are totally fine a couple of times, she makes her way to the medbay to check on her wife. You beg her to not be mad at Sam, but you’re still scared she is going to, regardless. You are her little sister, and all of her life she felt responsible for you.

Kara, who also feels responsible for you in every way imaginable, doesn’t get out of your side, and makes sure you have everything you need to be comfortable. It’s sweet, and not at all surprising.

“Hey,” Alex gets closer, and Sam gives her a trying smile, unsure about how she feels. “how are you, hun?”

“Oh, totally fine.” Sam assures her. “This is just a formality. Though Lena did say she would beat me up if I tried to leave.”

Alex chuckles, sitting on the stretcher, and holding Sam’s face while kissing her. “I’m glad you’re fine.”

“Wait, I just confessed that I put your baby sister in danger and you’re here kissing me?” Sam furrows her brows. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch, Mrs. Arias, is that I know my sister and my wife way too well to know that your story was full of baloney.” Alex catches a little smile on Sam’s lips before she interjects. “Please. Danvers are brave, like you said. But also stupidly stubborn. And that little one over there is probably the most stubborn of us all.”

“Well, I don’t know. Her big sister puts up a really tough fight.” Sam jokes, stealing a kiss from Alex’s lips.

“I’m glad you were there with her.” Alex makes sure, after the kiss. “I have no doubt you did everything in your power to keep her out of danger. Like I would.” Sam agrees with a smile. “Next time, though, you should let her admit it. She has to deal with the consequences of her actions.”

“Honey, Y/N broke her wrist and it’s feeling like crap. She is dealing with it. Besides, she just wanted to prove herself to you and Kara. Cut her some slack. She wouldn’t be so eager to fight if you guys let her jump in the action a few times.”

“I know, I know.”

“Now, can you sign me off from here? I really don’t need this.” Sam looks up at the yellow sunlight emulator.

“Oh, you can leave.” Alex says and Sam jumps off the bed immediately. “But you’ll have to deal with Lena.”

“Aw, come on.” And back to the bed she goes.

When Sam makes it back to where everyone is, there’s already pizza and donuts going around. Kara already picked up Charades, and you are all pairing up to play.

“Hey, you and me?” You look up to Sam coming closer.

Kara furrows her brows, a little pout forming on her lips. “What? But you always go with me.”

“Yeah, I know.” But you look back at Sam with a smile, regardless. “But I think we made a good team today. Wanna try?”

“Sure. Got your back.” Sam says, plopping down next to you. She places a little kiss on the top of your head. “Let’s kick some ass, baby Danvers.”

Kara and Alex share an eye roll before agreeing that you absolutely will not win. And despite their best efforts, you two absolutely do win.

#supergirl #alex danvers #baby danvers #kara x reader #kara danvers #alex x reader #sam arias

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frogmanfae · 8 months

Text

Newsies as Things I Heard This Week Part 2

(2 weeks late because I had to figure out how to divide it, a lot of things were said during week 2. 14 pages in my notes app to be exact)

Medda: When I see you shlep your way down- it's a word yeah and you shouldn't be doing it

Medda, teaching an orchestra class: You're using your middle finger which I know we don't always use- and you shouldn't

Race and Romeo: *SIDE EYE*

Davey: Yes, you can take all the blood and puke- that- that is all you, my friend. Go for it I... It is no longer my responsibility I don't want it

Medda, still in the context of a string orchestra class: I notice that some of you aren't always rosining your bows before we play, we should be doing that every time we play. I haven't been holding you accountable lately but I'm going to be a Rosin nazi this year

Davey: Wh- huh?? A what??

Jack: *trying (and failing) to not snort laugh*

Race, a self acclaimed fashion expert: What the hell are you wearing?

Romeo: A T-shirt

Race: But what is on it

Romeo: An axolotl

Race: A fuckin-

Romeo: It says you axolotl questions!

Race: ...

Romeo: Like- like you ask a lot of-

Race: No I get it I'm just trying to remember why I hang out with you

Race: He's like my favorite kid

Race: He wants to be a professional soccer player but he also likes marine biology

Davey: Oh and you also like both of those things

Race: Right exactly

Race, to Albert: Okay so Goldie Locks's parents were kidnapped by the bear mafia and then she broke into that house because she wanted to find her parents but she got sidetracked by food and comfy places to sit and nap because she's a kid

Spot, just walking in: What the fu-

Albert: *laughing hysterically*

Spot: No. No seriously what did I just walk into? What is this? What about Goldie Locks? Bear Mafia?? Huh???

Race: Does anyone wanna go to my locker with me so I can take Advil? I don't wanna go alone :(

Davey: *big sigh* I'll go

Sarah: Why are you walking like you just got ate out so good you can't-

Davey: wh- Do you have experience with that??

Sarah: ...

Sarah: Listen-

Davey: OH MY FUCKING GOD I WAS KIDDING WHAT-

Crutchie: So it's basically icy hot but for horses-

Davey: You should absolutely not be using anything meant for horses

Crutchie: But like it's stronger-

Davey: Which is why you shouldn't use it

Crutchie: But it works better because its stronger

Davey: ... No

Albert: *big wheeze of despair*

Race: ... Girl are you okay?

Albert, not even looking up at being called girl: I just dropped my croutons everywhere!! I'm gonna fucking- where's the nearest window?

Race: buddy we're on the first floor

Albert: FUCK

Davey, who gets chronic migraines: Ugh I'm in pain

Sarah: *holds up the L for Loser on her forehead*

Davey: Ah!

Davey: :0

Davey: You're!

Davey: a lesbian!

Sarah, as if she's never heard this information: :00

Race: I go through that shit like that one senior guy goes through the freshmen before he turns 18

Davey: HELP OH MY GOD STOP WHAT THE-

Race: *shrugs and continues on* It got my point across

Race, who will play sports but not watch them: Do you ever notice how people watch professional sports and after the final call they're like "we won!!!"

Albert, an avid sportsball watcher: Uh yeah?

Race: Like, dude. You sat on the couch and ate Doritos for 2 hours. There is no *we* here.

Oscar: *cleaning sports equipment in the distance*

Elmer, giggling from across the room: What is he-

Buttons, also giggling: He is just- He is stroking those balls like... Like his life depends on it damn-

Elmer: *giggles worse* he just loves stroking tgose- oh shit he spotted us- go!! Go go go go gogogogogogog-

Spot: The only tenor in my choir class is-

Race: Your brother! And your boyfrienddd! And brother...

Albert: ... Same person?

Race, sadly: ... Yeah...

Jack: *the person in question, neither Spot's brother nor his boyfriend*

Spot: Oh my god stop posting on my private story!

Race: It's funny-

Spot: No it's not and I want you dead !!!

Crutchie: Ugh I wanna chop off my body

Jack: like

Jack: the whole thing?

Crutchie: yeah the whole thing. Ill find a way to make it possible

Spot (trans): let me know when you do

Crutchie: *shakes his hand* will do my guy

Race: I wanna go hooommmmeee!

Spot: No one cares

Race: :0 you're so mean!!!

Davey: it's okay Race

Davey: I care

Race: Davey I love you

Davey: There's a cafe named after John Snow, the scientist not the game of thrones guy, and it has a water pump sorta monument outside because he was the one to say that the cholera outbreak was caused by bacteria not air-

Race: Do the food options have punny names?

Jack: Like- like what?

Race: I dunno- cholera flower? (Cauliflower)

Albert: STOPP THAT'S SO GROSS BUT SO FUNNY I'M GONNA THROW UP

Katherine: You're thinking way too futuristic. We didn't have that kind of understanding of the infectious agent during this outbreak, it was in the early 1800s. You have to think like we're in the early 1800s-

Jack: *joking* Then you shouldn't be talking

Katherine: :0

Jack: You shouldn't even be in this class! It's science!

Katherine: :00

Jack: Woman!

Katherine: :000

Race: I am about to mangle your face and your body here

Spot: Thanks for the heads up

Davey: I LOST MY FUCKING WORDLE STREAK ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WHAT THE FUCK

Race: Oh my god calm down it is not that big of a deal-

Davey: IT WAS A 218 DAY STREAK

Race: NEVER MIND THAT'S TRAGIC WHAT THE FUCK

Davey: I KNOW

Romeo: I have 3 study halls this year it's glorious

Specs: You are not going to have enough credits to graduate

Romeo: That's a later me problem

Specs: You're a junior, you don't want to spend your senior cramming credi-

Romeo: Shhhh future problem

Specs: *long blink*

#newsies #newsies as things I've heard this week #this is only half of it from week 2 #david jacobs #jack kelly #lots of race in this one #he's just so easy to fit into these

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black-dhalias · 2 years

Note

hi ! i'd like to request a carlisle cullen imagine with an f!reader with she/her pronouns :) basically reader is carlisle's mate but he's already married to esme and it gets really complicated. preferably a happy ending but it really just depends on you! ! thank u and stay safe <33

Written in Stone

Carlisle Cullen X F!Reader

Warnings: none, fluffier than usual Note: Y/N/N (your nickname)

God forbid you knew where you were going, you think harshly to yourself—but not before glaring at Alistair who just follows his whims. Those urges to run, and others to stay put, but never what you’re currently doing. He simply shrugs his shoulder, which only infuriated you more—500 years with him as your best friend, and you still hated every second of it. The truth is, he’s always right and those whims have kept you alive all this time.

For him, you were simply his great great great niece, or something, who was descended from his only living nephew. Oddly enough, you were turned by the same vampire who turned him—and so began the painful journey together as the only friend and family the other has. Alistair understood your apprehension to run again, to find another desolate town to blend into, but it’s been too long.

So here you are, running to gods no where without a single clue where he’s taking you besides the grumbles under his breath. Barely making out— “last move.” You roll your eyes, practically jogging out in front of him.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, uncle.” Although a hundred years apart, he still sees a lot of his sisters in you—passed down through his nephew. The truth is, he’d do anything to protect you.

It’s a mountain town, where everyone wears thick jackets with thicker accents. The truth is, you barely understood a word the woman behind the counter said as she commented on your accent. Which is ridiculous. You may be in the States, but it’s not like the English are unique—in fact, you find yourself quite understandable.

So here you are, another grubby town in the middle of bloody nowhere—tossing an unnecessarily thick jacket to Alistair, across another grubby motel room. “You’re worse than me, although you knew that.” You raise a brow, eyes flickering between him and the obviously not natural staining on the bed.

“I’m not touching it.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you don’t sleep.” He throws the newly acquired cell phone in your direction. You’ve caught it before you’ve even realized it’s been thrown and smile at him, before taking a seat on the chair designated the cleanest in the room. “There. Now leave me alone for a bit.” With that, he walks out of the room to do who knows what. Not that you care.

However, what started as you playing on the phone for hours—ended with you killing it three times over before setting it aside. Boredom finally getting the best as day turned into night, the curtains no longer casting shadows, but simply existing in the room.

But night does not bring peace, instead—halfway through your shower, a knock echoed through the motel room. With a groan, you tie the towel as tight as you can manage and move across the room in a blink. “For only having a hundred years on me, your memories getting spotty old man.”

Only when you open the door, it is not Alistair, but two vampires—strangers. Your body goes rigid, your back straight as you tighten your leg muscles, reading their body language. The woman is smiling, her eyes big and face heart shaped. She’s soft. While the man is tall with blonde hair, and those same gold eyes—only they look nicer on him.

Your eyes flicker between their faces, they’re smiling awkwardly as if you weren’t the person they expected to answer the door. And if they were human, their cheeks would be a vibrant red as they try to not look at your toweled form.

“You must be Y/N.” Arms crossed over your chest, tightening around the towel—you raise a brow, leaning on the door, prepared to shut it.

“Nope. So you must going.” As you go to shut the door, the woman’s hand outstretches and lands on the door. You move faster than her, your hand catching her wrist and you instantly twist it to turn her into your chest—your other arm braced against her neck with just enough pressure to scare her a bit.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Based on our current situation, I’d say I’m older than at least three centuries.” Your voice drops as you keep your eyes locked on the man, reading him as he has gone rigid. Now watching you more closely. “That makes me stronger.” Her hands clasp down on your arm, but you do not move or yield. His gaze is not as soft as it was, but there’s conflict as his thoughts sort themselves out.

“Y/N-” Your eyes snap to Alistair as he saunters up, smirking as he wipes away the smallest amount of blood from his lip. “These are friends.” He places a hand on Carlisle’s shoulder, before chuckling again and shuffling past you altogether. Once past, you drop your arm and shove her towards the male vampire. “Pardon my niece, she’s more—” He lingers on the thought, speaking with this hands. “More confrontational than I am.”

You roll your eyes, crossing into the bathroom quickly to change and then rushing back at to sit at the seat. Kicking your feet up on the half table, that shouldn’t even be called a table at all. More like a small square of wood. “I was fairly nice. They’re the ones who didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“Must get that from you, old friend.” The man points out with a smile as he shuts the motel room door. “Although I didn’t expect to find you in the states.”

“Up until last week, neither did I.” You assert, glaring at Alistair for moving you from Europe to this hell hole.

“You don't have a say, Y/N/N." You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to the pair, raising an eyebrow. Something has changed in their dynamic, he's created some distance between them, and everytime the female steps closer—he maintains that distance.

You hum, "So care to introduce yourself?" The woman goes to speak, but your glare shuts her up quick and your lip twitches. Having a great time messing with them. "I wasn't asking you. I was asking the pretty one." However, your comment must have set something right in his brain, because he steps up to place a hand on her waist which is laughable. So protective.

"This is my wife, Esme. And I'm Carlisle." Your expression brightens as you sit back up, resting your feet on the ground and cupping your cheeks in your palms.

"So you're the famous Carlisle Cullen, I heard nasty rumor the Volturi was after-" Alistair cuts in, and you shut your mouth quick.

"Why're you like this?" He asks roughly, that's the thing about you and him. His gift is based on whims, a powerful tracker who knew danger so well—that he could avoid it entirely. Your gift is based on rumors, whispers that reach your ears—things you just know.

"Because its fun, and it's not like they don't know." The minute the words left your lips, you saw the guilty expression on Carlisle's face. The woman not so much, but she's not the one that has caught your interest—she's typical housewife, with dark hair and probably had brown eyes as a human. She was soft spoken and motherly, and she matches him, but he just doesn't seem to fit at her side. Not the way you would expect of mates.

Alistair goes to say something, but Carlisle interrupts him: "She's right. We're facing accusations from the Volturi, that are false." Your eyes widen as a whisper reaches your ear—one you did not expect to hear.

"Half-human, half-vampire." You laugh, sitting up with bright eyes—your interest piqued. "Oh I love a good twist."

"No." You hush Alistair and his denials, knowing he felt the danger creep up on you both, the minute you decided you wanted to help.

"Oh yes, I'd love to stick it to the Volturi."

Talking with the duo for the rest of the night, you find yourself intrigued by their family and their trifles. The intricacies of their life, and their die—none of it made sense, and yet they lived so happily. However, night turns to day and you find yourself sitting across from Alistair, in a battle of wits. Trying to convince him to go, or let you go for yourself. He breaks eye contact for a second at the sound of housekeeping going into the room next door, and you smile.

"C'mon, it's not like it won't be fun?" Alistair raises an eyebrow as if to ask if you really think that's a convincing argument. "Fine, how about this?" You lean forward, folding your arms on the tabletop. "I'm tired of running... What if we finally can stop hauling ass and just live a little?"

"And what if the Volturi wins? Then what?" You've met them once before, when they tried to forcefully make you join them. They almost had you, but your ability made a loophole in their little plan. You knew what they were up to from the start, and it gave you just enough time to disappear with your Uncle. "Aro's already made it clear, you're valuable and what're the odds we get away a second time?"

"Slim-" He makes sense, and that's what infuriates you further as you sigh. "But we need to take the risk. I want to take the risk." You and Alistair fall back into your staring contest, waiting for the other to give in, but he finally submits. Glaring at Carlisle from across the motel.

"We'll all be on Aro's list..." Alistair stands up and moves towards the door, looking back at you only briefly then back at Carlisle. "Some friend Carlisle."

However, when you look back at Carlisle and Esme—you are perplexed by a single thought. While Esme is looking at him, he is looking at you, as if trying to will you hear him. To understand what he wants to say, without him ever actually saying it.

"He'll get over it, sooner or later." Admittedly, Carlisle is intrigued by you and the guilt over those thoughts burn a little when he feels Esme's eyes on him. He glances down and then back at you, as you speak. "We'll leave right after I get a drink." And while Carlisle may hate your lifestyle, he thought someone would make him think he still had a heartbeat until he looked into those vibrant rubies.

The trip to Washington was silent, you hate long journey's like this, but enjoy the sights that come. The mountain ridges, and the long plains and lakeside views enough to remind you of what it means to live. Maybe that is the fantasy you sell yourself time to time, that it might be possible to feel human even now.

Standing at the edge of the lake, you fall in love with the way the sunsets over the ridge—with it just being bright enough to shimmer off the top of the water. Your smile is soft, so much so that Carlisle almost doesn't recognize you without the playful smirk you often wore. Your sense of humor and playful nature, a protective armor that both confuses and intrigues him. So much so, that despite his guilty conscience, he finds himself standing next to you in silence.

"Ya know, most of the time when we're on the run—the loneliness is the worst part. Not the running. Or the new place, but it gets lonely." You do not remove your eyes from the lake, just trying to memorize the outline so that maybe you'll remember it later when the loneliness begins again.

"That does sound lonely." You chuckle, but its the kind that gets caught in your throat and makes you sound sadder than you are. "It's the worst. And believe me, I love my uncle, but I always imagined the running would stop after a while. So here I am, five centuries later, and still trying to out run..." You finally gather enough courage to look him the eye, "I just want to live a little. My human life, its gone, it's been gone, but I wish I just a piece. A home. A lover. Friends. I'm not picky, but just something would be better than this."

Carlisle's features are softer than you initially thought, not as sharp, but still pronounced. His eyes glitter the color of amber stones, you had a pair of earrings with stones the color of his eyes. "I know what you mean. I travelled a lot before I found my family, and it took a while for it to all be worthwhile."

"How long?" Your voice has an edge as you try to imagine a world beyond this. "Because according to my uncle, he met you in the 17th century—I was turned in the 14th century, that's three centuries longer than you." Your voice is aggressive, but as soon as you feel his hand rest on your bicep, rubbing a small circle with his thumb—you go completely still.

Although you can't recall the last bit of affection you received, you always thought you would hate, but instead you find comfort in the gesture. So much so that your body softens, and you stop glaring at him for a few seconds.

"See..." He smiles softly, and for a second, you don't think about anything else. "Not so scary, Y/N/N." When he realizes his hand has drifted down to hold your hand, almost unconsciously, he drops it suddenly and smiles awkwardly. "But you're right. I don't know the extent, and I know you don't want to leave your Uncle, but it might be time."

You tuck your hands into the jacket pocket, and fidget with the bit of string that is tearing away from the pocket seam. "Actually, you're mistaken." When he drops your hand, you feel your soul tighten around your heart protectively. "I would sooner die, than part with my Uncle. And it's Y/N to you. Only Alistair calls me Y/N/N." You turn on your heel and walk back up to your Uncle, your mind reeling as you try to push away the thoughts of Carlisle Cullen and his inherent need to understand you. Its sick really, he has a whole wife and he's over there holding your hand and worried about you feeling lonely.

A whisper reaches your ear just as the Cullen's home comes into view, and your eyes widen as you realize the extent of the danger you are in. The Volturi are collecting witnesses of their own, many thought your gift was conditional, rumors, but that's just how you described them. Usually they were pretty accurate, and right now, you almost wish you had listened to Alistair's warnings.

You hardly even remember a time when you ever were in a car, they were pretty useless to vampires especially when the goal was to hide—not blend in as the Cullens seem to. Ever since your "talk" with Carlisle, the silence had become deafening and even more than that, Alistair had not stopped glaring at Carlisle.

"How many came?" You spot the pair of vampires, with the same gold eyes, as you get out of the driver's side rear—the home itself is beautiful, but you feel the presence of many vampires. More than you've ever been around at once.

"Eighteen." The new man responds, although his eyes are locked on you. Mind Reader, your gift shouts, actually it hasn't shut up since you got out of the car. He finally looks at Carlisle. "You have some good friends Carlisle."

"And Alice?" The psychic, it's never been this active before and the whispers are shorter than usual. More like thoughts, they could be, if you didn't know that you knew nothing about them. So it had to be your gift in action.

The unknown female shakes her head, and Esme embraces her tightly—hmm, must be family. Shield, interesting.Hmmm, so many gifts in one place, so many varied abilities. The male is back to looking at you with perplexion as Alistair asserts that he's going to the attic. Edward, now that was a first. It never really cared to tell you names, but hey, who are you to complain.

"Amazing." He mumbles, walking up to you as he pulls the female along. "Her gift, it's almost prophetic. I've never seen anything like it." You smile, oddly enough—unlike your Uncle, you're excited to meet all the new vampires. Curious to see what it's like to live in close proximity to each other. "Wait until I start hearing rumors from halfway around the world. I'm Y/N." You introduce, shaking hands with both of them. Their eyes follow your Uncle as he takes off, per usual. "Like I told them, don't mind him. He's just moody." You hear him scoff in the attic, and laugh a little with Bella.

"How does it work exactly?" Bella asks, as you take her outstretched arm to follow her inside the house. If you're honest, similar to Carlisle and Esme, you knew you could trust her.

"It's like a voice that spurts out information, like I know you're a shield. Although I don't know the extent. Or how I knew Edward's name, although that's never happened before either." You think about, tutting a little—"Actually. Now that I think about it, I don't really understand it much at all."

"Weird." You eye her for a second, and then at Edward before realization hits you.

"You're the human that carried the child? Except you're obviously not human anymore." You separate yourself, looking at the group of four. It makes sense, Carlisle turned Edward who fell in love with a human. They consider themselves to be family. "Can I meet her?"

There is hesitance as she calls out for Rosalie, who comes in with a six year old in tow—if you didn't hear her heartbeat, you would think it was an immortal child. Once she reaches the spot right in front of you, there's a second when you consider running away from the strange girl. But curiosity wins out as you kneel down.

"Hi. I'm Y/N." She doesn't say a word, but instead reaches out to place her palm against your cheek. It's different, you see the world through her eyes as she tells you her story—all with a touch. Your eyes widen as your hand folds over her's. "Remarkable." You murmur, before she pulls her hand away and you are left in stunned silence. A half-human miracle that you didn't even know was possible.

You do not look for anyone other than Carlisle, you are less angry with him than you were when you first arrived at the home. "I'll stay. Whether it ends in a fight, or not. For you, and the child." You stand, and walk off towards the rest of the vampires—some more familiar, actually quite a few are familiar. However, your mind keeps going back to Carlisle's expression—the way he seemed hesitant to do anything other than nod appreciatively.

Edward approaches his father figure once the other's have walked away and raises his eyebrow, "What was that about?" Carlisle is unable to stop watching you, as you walk up to the nomads with that stunning smile.

"I have no idea." It is like the entire world just stopped moving the moment he was in the same room as you, he just could not stop wondering. He was absolutely enamored every time you spoke, and if he was dependent on breath—you would have stolen it with every glance.

"Carlisle..." His eyes are understanding, he knows what it's like to meet his mate. However, Edward doesn't understand what this means for Carlisle because he's married to Esme and Edward knows Carlisle loves her, but mates mean something. That kind of bond is powerful and unforgiving if ignored. "Figure this out before you hurt someone."

"Y/N..." You stiffen as you realize that you are no longer alone, standing at the edge of the property line, just before the trees. "What're you doing out here?" However, when you look at him, he sees how dark your eyes have become—you hadn't fed in some time, "oh."

"Bella's dad is here..." He understands quickly, nodding as he folds his hands together. "I hate hunting alone, and Alistair—he's him." He just is able to go longer periods without hunting, but he also just hates it here so he's still pouting in the attic. The other's had all left on their hunt, and when Benjamin asked if you'd be joining them, you just didn't have an answer.

You laugh a little, "Honestly, I never felt guilty about drinking human blood. I never lost control. Nothing." You hesitate. "And now, seeing the alternative. I just feel so absolutely guilty." His eyes widen at the admission, realizing that this is about more than just a whim. "And I hate you for it."

You would be stupid to ignore the way you feel when you're near Carlisle, it is unlike anything you've felt for anyone, and that alone is enough to make you feel guilty. The weight of your fear only bubbling to the surface because he's married, and he's a better person than you've ever been. That is what makes you feel guilty, you wish you made different choice—wish you didn't like the way his smile warms your core. The way you don't feel so alone when he's near, even if he doesn't say a word to you.

"Well I can't take away the guilt, but I could help you try..." He hesitates, watching as your eyes begin to do the thing they do when you're trying to read someone. It is like you see right through him, every motivation on full display. "It's worth a shot, right?"

When he expects you to disagree, he is visibly shocked as you nod—Alistair will hate it, but maybe this is how you start to live. Thinking about having a life is becoming easier, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to not imagine Carlisle in that life. Everytime he speaks, you just melt into an entirely different person.

So when he holds out his hand to you, there is a moment you hesitate, but this time you do not pull away or feel worry. Instead, you take his hand gratefully, and follow his lead into the woods where an idea, might just give you something to hold onto.

Only the falling point of a house of vampires, is the fact that the wife watches from a distance as her husband falls in love with another. And there's nothing she can do to stop the ache. She saw it back in that motel room, Esme should have said something then, but she didn't and now look what's happening.

Carlisle rests his hands on your shoulders, fingers trailing down your arms in a vertical motion, as you shut your eyes. "Focus on your senses other than sight." He pauses, "What you hear..." His breathing, despite not needing to, you are well aware of the fact that he maintains breathing even away from the prying eyes of humans. "What you smell..." He smells of medical grade disinfectant, but under that, you are able to make out the sweet smell of cinnamon and what you can only describe as the woods. "What you feel..." His hands, you are well aware of where his hands are at every given moment—especially as they keep moving up and down your biceps.

You turn around roughly, to the point that you forgot how close he really was— eye to eye, close enough to touch if you just lean... His hands dropping to his sides. "You need to back off because right now, all I can think about is you." You swallow, clenching your hands into a fist—so aware. "And you're married." You add on the last bit as a reminder for yourself. He nods, folding his arms across his abdomen, his own guilt is becoming very familiar.

However, you catch the scent of something—a bear you think, and push yourself off in that direction. This doesn't feel as instinctual as hunting humans, this feels like a conscious choice, but you go through. Dragging the large brown bear to the ground, rolling for a second before coming out on top—pinning the beast down, you hope for the best and drink as you would from a human.

Immediately, you note the difference in taste, but it's manageable and not as bad as you imagined it would be. Standing upright, you push away the bear completely and look back at Carlisle who offers you a smile. "See not so bad."

"That was terrible, but-" He eggs you to continue. "But I think I could do it." He smiles brighter, and although he might not admit it to you—he knows what he feels is real.

You walk back to the house, talking the entire way and telling stories of things long ago. You tell him about your travels, how your gift works, and times when Alistair did some of the most ridiculous things.

Carlisle laughs at your jokes and makes you feel more alive, piece by piece, you feel yourself pulling together. It's like a jigsaw puzzle, but just as you walk through the treeline—you spot Esme and all the pieces come apart right there. You swallow, feeling her eyes burning into you as she walks towards you—you almost hope that she does something to make it all make sense.

Only she hugs him, and whispers something unintelligible in his ear before gesturing for you to follow her. Perplexed, you look at Carlisle who's eyes have widened considerably. You almost don't trust her smile, but you follow her out into the woods and hope she doesn't come for you. Gods you would hate that.

"I know you feel something for him..." You stare at the ground, as you realize she only spoke once you were out of earshot completely. "I don't blame you."

"Well that's kind, because I didn't mean for it to happen." Your words sputter out before you can even think of a reason not to say them. That's the bitter part about being stuck like this, sometimes your body gets ahead of your mind or vice versa.

Esme takes your hand, you fight the urge to pull away, knowing she is just trying to be kind. But you hate touch, except from him. Which is infuriating.

"I know." She bites the inside of her cheek, you can see the indentation form and you worry she would cry if she could. "So I'm not going to stand in the way. I love Carlisle, more than anything, but if my mate walked through the door and consumed me." She rubs a circle on the outer part of your hand. "And I'd be terrible to prevent him the same. When I know what choice I would make."

You can barely even form a thought, "What does that even mean?" She smiles sadly, and you see for a moment that she's being honest. Trust her, that's what the whispers tell you to do and they've always looked out for you before this.

"It means love him. Be happy with him, and make him happy." She is soft, and you feel yourself becoming antsy as you stand in front of her. You can't read her anymore, because you can't focus at all. "Fight for him. Because I know him well enough to know, he's going to fight for you."

You do not move from that spot, even when Esme leaves back to the house—you feel more guilty because all you did was make a wife leave her husband, and you don't even understand how you feel about said husband. The silence is deafening as you finally find yourself sitting on the ground, your chest heaving because you want to understand. To know what it means to love Carlisle.

"Y/N/N..." You do not look in his direction, gods you hadn't even thought about Alistair until you heard him speak and that just makes you feel worse. Loving Carlisle, means staying here and leaving Alistair because there's no way he would stay.

"Go away." You've never had anyone to care for you other than Alistair, and never had to worry about disappointing anyone other than him. So you never did, because you could always be there.

"Please, I'd never miss this. The moment the great Y/N, found her humanity." He tuts, sitting roughly on the ground beside you. "I think you'd even be crying." You laugh, but he's right—you really do think you would crying right now. This feels terrible. "Plus I figured you were tied to Carlisle, from the first time he met you." He chuckles. "Surprised it took this long."

"Well aren't you a great Uncle." You lean your head onto your knee, "I wish we'd never come here." He too follows suit and leans his own head onto his knees, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"Because you don't want to leave." You groan and finally lean onto his shoulder, he's right. God's you don't want to go anywhere, other than into that stupid blonde's arms. "So stay. I'll be fine."

"What abou-"

"What about nothing. You've followed me long enough—" He hates the idea of leaving you here, but he knows you'd be well protected. "Time to live a life of your own." He laughs, kissing the top of your head. "Besides, with your new diet. You stink of bear."

You stand at door frame of Carlisle's office, leaning on the pane as you watch him shuffle papers. "Can we take it slow?" His eyes snap to you, and you realize he'd been so lost in thought, he'd not even realized you were there.

You slowly walk into the office, his eyes following you the entire way in. "Are you sure?" He whispers, closing the distance in an instant—"because I know..."

"You know nothing, sweets." You rest your hand at the base of his neck, before resting his cheek in your palm. "But that's okay. We'll take this one day at a time."

It took a century, but you had forever together—so what was another hundred years of waiting. All it took was a single moment, where he kissed the inside of your wrist before looking up to you—where amber met amber. And you realized that your love story had been written in stone, and no matter how much time passed—it was forever.

So that's where you started.

With forever.

—

Not even going to lie right now, I looked at this request last night because I was struggling to fall asleep. And ended up writing this at 3:00 AM, driven only by insomnia and my innate love of Carlisle Cullen. So I hope you like it!

#imagines #imagine #requests are open #fandom request #imagine requests #twilight #twilight imagine #twilight saga #twilight x reader #carlise cullen #carlisle x reader

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vinegar-on-main · 4 months

Note

"Hey."

Joshua looked up from his card game.

"Gimme a minute, I'm just in the middle of something," he said, turning to Natasha again.

"No, you're coming with me," Colm dragged him by the collar.

"Don't touch that!" Joshua hissed.

He freed himself from Colm's grasp but still followed the boy. It was shocking how strong he was. Colm was only a teenager, maybe fifteen, but he was nearly as strong as Joshua was. He could hold his own in a fight against Gradoan soldiers.

The only thing stopping him from cutting their heads clean off was Neimi. Though Joshua had only met him some hours prior, he could see clear as day that the girl was the young thief's only weakness. Whenever she was in pain or anything but happy, Colm was by her side, trying his best to help her however he could.

Joshua sighed deeply, "what do you want from me?"

Colm pulled something from his pocket and showed it to Joshua.

"When you attacked Neimi, you broke her mirror. I expect you to fix it as well," he growled.

Joshua took it and inspected it. It wasn't anything special. The base was of wood with flowers painted on. Several splinters jutted from the now broken handle. It had likely been fixed at least a few times before.

"Yeah yeah, I'll get it done before your bedtime," Joshua turned on his heels.

When Colm made no response to the snarky comment, Joshua made a note of it. He certainly wasn't an obnoxiously defensive kid.

Joshua returned to his card game.

"What did he say?" Natasha asked.

"Neimi's mirror broke and he blamed me so I have to take care of that," Joshua sighed.

He packed up the card game and stood.

"Come, I'll finish teaching you that game later. You know Serafew better than I, help me find a carpenter."

Natasha said nothing but lead him around town. Whenever he wandered off, she was hesitant to say much of anything.

"It's this way," she muttered.

"Hmm? Didya say something?" he asked.

"It's down this road," she said.

Joshua nodded, taking some steps back. He followed Natasha's lead, turning left to some small house near the city wall.

Despite how late it was, the lights were still on and the sign said they wouldn't close until at least another hour. They entered and Joshua put the broken mirror on the table.

"Can you fix this?" he asked.

"Not without switching the handle out entirely. Is that okay?" the carpenter asked.

"Yeah, just make it look similar," he set a pile of coins on the table, "and do it immediately, I'd like it done before tomorrow."

The carpenter sighed at his attitude but accepted the money.

"Sorry for his behavior," Natasha muttered as they left.

As they returned to the town square, Joshua was oddly silent. They sat at their bench again, and Natasha got the cards out. She lay them on the table as Joshua instructed.

"Shall we play?" she asked.

He was staring off in the distance, perhaps at some star or a particularly odd looking house. Natasha glanced behind her to try see what he saw, but there was nothing of note.

"Joshua," she said.

He finally looked at her, "what's up?"

"Do you wanna play again?"

"Sure."

Joshua looked at his cards, but thought little of what to do. Natasha placed first and waited for his move, which he never made.

"Are you sick? This is the first time you've been quiet all day," she chuckled.

"Huh? No, of course not. I was just thinking about that kid," he muttered.

"Who? Colm?"

"Yeah."

Natasha wracked her brain for what could be so special about Colm, but nothing came up. Unless Joshua wanted to harm him.

"... Why him specifically?" she questioned.

"He obviously likes Neimi, just look at how he shielded her with his own body earlier or the way he talks about her," Joshua muttered.

"That's it?"

"No, of course not," Joshua said, "he just reminds me of myself. Last time I cared that much about someone, he-"

Joshua stopped himself mid sentence. Natasha didn't need to know that. No one did. What happened that day was between himself, the gods and him.

Joshua placed a card on the table, "your turn."

Though Natasha was concerned, she didn't press it. If he didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't force him. And admittedly, she was scared of what kind of horrors a man as odd as Joshua had seen.

An hour later, they returned to the carpenter to pick up the mirror. The handle looked as though it was the original. They thanked the carpenter for it and returned to the inn where Neimi and Colm were.

"Here's your mirror," Joshua said.

Neimi took it and inspected it carefully. She turned it in her hand and a smile grew on her face.

"Thank you, Joshua," she said.

"No problem," he replied.

As him and Natasha left, he couldn't help but glance back at the teenagers. Neimi was overjoyed that her mirror was fixed again. But of course Colm was the interesting one here. He had the same look of joy on his face as he stared at Neimi. He looked as though he'd do just about anything for her.

Seeing this scene, Joshua brushed his worries aside. Colm was a good kid and Neimi was too sweet to even consider killing a fly. She wouldn't hurt Colm the same way Joshua had been hurt.

JOSHUA ANGST THANK YOU PIE

#inbox fic #asks #FE8 #fire emblem sacred stones #sacred stones #fire emblem

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crimeronan · 1 year

Note

as an Irish person reading trc/tdt what do you think of Maggies characterisation of the Lynch family??

oh i LOVE this question. anon so kindly giving me permission to infodump....

the short answer is: i love it?? i love it. i have varying quibbles about how niall's "redemption arc" is done and stuff like that, but purely on the irish side of things, i love it

further necessary context: i'm irish-american a few generations removed from ireland (who happens to have a hyperfixation on irish myth), my closest familial connections in the country are some distant cousins that my great-aunt traced recently. direct relations to her, but given that she is like 96, much less direct to me. so my perspective is very different from that of an irish person raised n living in ireland, & most of what i love most about the lynch family is directly related to diaspora and intergenerational trauma stuff

i said i was gonna infodump and then couldn't decide where to start. waow. okay so i've talked before about most of the worldbuilding in the dreamer trilogy being based in irish myth - ronan being from the otherworld (eldritch god, fairy, same thing), fintan mac bochra and the hawk of achill, not giving your true name/address to people at the fairy market, etc. these stories are woven through the whole fabric of the series

then the concept of irish storytelling itself is Also woven through the whole series, on both a meta and in-canon level

traditional irish storytellers will take a myth and make it their own, you can trace the origins of different tales back dozens or hundreds of years. the goal isn't to tell the story the way it's been told in generations past, but instead to tell it how You'd tell it. so there are these books repurposing irish myth in this unique way, but also these characters who are all so in love with storytelling in their own ways

you can see it in how niall and aurora tell their stories, how niall's always have a focus on action and tragedy and grisly death while aurora's are more focused on the love and the feelings and the soft fade-out of a tragic hero

you can see it in how declan has inherited niall's propensity for storytelling (the twitter confirmation of his middle name being "tadhg" still makes me Big Eyes Emoji) and also inherited niall's propensity for reckless idiocy, Geis Of Bullshit indeed.

then there's the way that declan and ronan both find themselves playing out different parts of niall's worst traits, how intergenerational trauma seems inescapable, how every damn person in the family is So Mentally Ill. this isn't necessarily the case for every irish-american family but it sure is for kitkat's. hoo boy we love giving chronic pain, psychosis, and inescapable depression to our offspring

that greywaren quote about "diaspora always idealizes the homeland" has stuck with me for a while because there's this kind of muted longing in the books' depiction of ireland itself, but also in the books' depiction of the barns, a place that niall and mór Made ronan's homeland. and more than that i see it in declan's views on his parents themselves, how he's able to reconcile with mór Because she's so distant and unfathomable and never personally fucked him up, so it's easier to forgive and forget everything she's done... how niall is dead and gone and can no longer change his behavior or grow or learn or fuck declan up any worse, so it's easier to accept his love as uncomplicated and good. child idealizing his distant homeland because that's what he's Supposed to have

truly don't know if that was the authorial intention but. it's the only way declan's arc makes any sense to me. that one line does a shitload of heavy lifting

and on a less theme-heavy note i love little details like. the brothers being so in touch with irish culture as second-gen immigrant kids, love that they play the uilleann pipes and attend the fleadh, love that ronan can do an irish accent on command, love that declan keeps photos of ireland in his bedroom but they still don't quite reflect his True Self like his attic does, love that mór is a gaelgeoir (irish speaker), there are other details i'm forgetting now

this post is ungodly long so i'll leave it here. these r my thoughts. it's good shit o/

#replies #trc #cdth #greywaren #greywaren spoilers #greywaren meta #cdth meta #kitkat learns gaeilge #<-only tangentially related but.

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

Text

A Second Queen - Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Daemon x Fem. Reader (Summer Isles) x Ashara Martel (OC character | Possibly Ace.)

Themes : Soft/Fluffy | Polygamous marraige

Word count: 700 words

Summary: You find yourself growing fond of Ashara, and your relationship with Daemon improves.

Author’s notes: Again, I had to do this in point form as there was too much to the story. If someone wishes for a tale of some event or the other, please send me an ask with the point you would like seen in more detailed form and I’ll see what I can do.

I do ask that the requests for this or anything else be kept short and sweet. Thank you.

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

If you like this, please consider giving it a reblog.

🔥Meeting Ashara gave you a lot to think about. And left you confused.

🔥 She held no bitterness towards your presence; she actively encouraged Daemon to find you and take you as a second wife. Most importantly, she knew your son would be his father’s heir as he was born first. Still, it did not bother her, but you could not help but notice that the princess was sad.

🔥And she proved to be a doting stepmother to Jace, never overstepping, and at times, teaching Jace all sorts of interesting and, much to your consternation, inappropriate things.

"And here I was worried Daemon would be the one to do it."

"Daemon is going to be a lot worse. And you better prepare yourself for it."

"Gods save me from you two."

🔥 You and Ashara spent more time together, and a friendship took form. You found yourself feeling genuinely happy after so long. Your son was thriving, you were at peace, and now all that remained was your relationship with Daemon.

🔥 We must not forget Daemon, now, can we? The prince went above and beyond to make amends for the pain he caused. He would devote every possible moment of the days he set aside for you, and he started from the beginning, by courting you again, bringing you flowers, writing you poems, taking you for picnics, or reading to you.

🔥It paid of, in slow increments. You were still wary, and Daemon didn't want to push you until you were ready, but you gradually warmed up to him, allowing him to sit closer to you and hold your hand, until you finally let him sleep in your chambers on your nights. And emphasis on the chambers. You were not yet ready to take Daemon to bed.

🔥 And no one was prouder than Daemon when Jace claimed a dragon, a blue- eyed, white and cream yearling aptly named Winter. There was a traditional feast to celebrate the event, and Jace was given traditional gifts associated with the occasion. It lasted well into the night, and was talked about for weeks.

🔥 And your relationship with Daemon improved more, to the point where you let him sleep in your bed.

"Just sleeping, nothing more."

"Of course, sweetheart."

"And no funny business!"

"I will be the very embodiment of chastity and virtue."

🔥And that did not go according to your plans, for you see, you would turn and curl into Daemon in the middle of the night. And Daemon could not wait to tease you about it in the morning.

"No funny business, you said. Interesting. Tell me, who was clinging onto me for dear life last night?"

You could only mutter under your breath and blush. And he would snicker before kissing you and heading out for the day, while you found yourself reeling from his kiss.

🔥Everything changed when you had a nightmare one nigh— a nightmare about the day you were forced to leave. After Daemon comforted you, he apologized again before holding you and watching you till you fell asleep. He then made a much bigger effort to regain your trust in him.

🔥And he hold you every night on his nights with you, for every other night he would sleep in Ashara’s chambers, to spare her the servants’ gossip, and there has been plenty already, as she had not given the prince a child.

🔥 This clued you in to the princess’ sadness, and you suggested he move his family to Dragonstone, where the servants were loyal and everyone would be free of wagging tongues. This he agrees to, and Ashara was much happier on the island, and away from the court.

🔥Your sleeping arrangements continue as before. That is until one night, after Daemon had kissed you good night. That kiss turned into something much deeper, and the two of you ended up making love.

It was not a perfect life, but in the end, none of you wanted to trade it for anything.

#the end #daemon #daemon x reader #x reader #reader insert request #daemon imagine #hotd #HOTD imagine #hotd x reader #writeblr #a world of whimsy writes

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softguarnere · 9 months

Text

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 23: Turkey and Hooch

Summary: Gene’s hands shake more than before as he passes the picture back to her. He doesn’t look at her. “She just . . . looked familiar, somehow.” A/N: Sorry for missing last week's update! I was on vacation and so busy hiking in the middle of nowhere that I didn't have much of a chance to work on this. There are so many details in this chapter that I want to point out, but at the risk of spoiling things, I'll add them to the author's note for the next chapter instead. (But if you're impatient like me, you can find them in the endnotes for this chapter on AO3) 😊 Warnings: language, death, grief, mentions of war, injury Taglist: @lady-cheeky @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs @ithinkabouttzu @mrs-murder-daddy @hxad-ovxr-hxart

Belgium, 1944

Like wildfire, the news spreads through the company – they’ve found a woman disguising herself as a paratrooper!

Zenie drops her spoon in the middle of the chow line. It’s just hit the snow when Bill ducks down to pick it up, pressing it into her hands like nothing happened. No one seems to notice.

“No shit?!” Skip cocks an eyebrow, a look that makes him appear half surprised and half skeptical.

“It’s what I heard,” Lieutenant Compton is saying. “The American soldiers who captured her said they never would have known if they hadn’t made her take off her helmet. That’s when they saw her braids.”

“God-damn! Did the Krauts know she was a girl?”

Compton shrugs. “I don’t know. And I don’t think they kept any of them around long enough to find out.”

“Well shit. I mean, that’s really something.”

Bill’s posture loosens. They’re not talking about her – just someone like her. Someone who has been caught just as easily as she could be. Any thoughts of wandering to the OP to find Shifty vanish from her mind. What if she takes a wrong turn like Babe did and ends up in a German foxhole? Hinkle wouldn’t be so kind to her.

Luckily, even in the snow-covered forest, Shifty’s powers of navigation cannot be thrown off. No one has ever doubted his abilities as an outdoorsman, but it’s still a nice surprise when he drops down into Zenie’s foxhole that evening.

He smiles, the warm air from his mouth creating a puff off steam against the cold that perpetually hangs around them. “Siyo.”

“Siyo,” Zenie echoes.

The joy she feels at seeing him is not reflected on Shifty’s face. All the worry in the world settles into the crease on his forehead as his brows scrunch together. He taps her sling.

“You really were hit.”

“Just some shrapnel.”

“Just?” The corners of his mouth twitch despite himself. “You act like you didn’t feel a thing.”

Try as she might, Zenie will never be able to forget the pain and the heat zipping through her arm as the shrapnel cut into her, or the discomfort as Gene and Renée dug it out of her flesh. Her friends’ sentiments keep echoing in her mind, though: it could have been worse. So, yes – just.

With no one around, Shifty leans closer to her, his shoulder pressing up against her uninjured one. “Sorry I didn’t make it here sooner. Shames kept sendin’ me out to scout. I couldn’t say no, bad as I wanted to.”

“You can’t ignore orders,” Zenie agrees. Shifty hums, frowning as he stares at her sling. She nudges his ribs with her elbow. “You’re a good soldier, Shifty.”

“I should have just come. Especially when I heard they found a woman . . .”

“Not me, though.” Somehow, the situation pulls a breathy laugh from her throat. God, what are the odds? She gets hit and keeps her secret intact, but a German girl gets found out just because she got captured when she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could have been worse. What was it Renée said? That someone was watching out for her. Well, that just might be true. She’s made it this far. Some would classify that as some sort of miracle.

Keeping their shoulders pressed together – keeping their connection established – Shifty leans back a little so that he can study her. “Are you okay though?”

She’s alive. Even in this icy forest with its daily explosions and its lack of food, she’s still here. Sitting in a hole in the ground, sure, but at least not laying in one in the horizontal sense.

“I am now.” She doesn’t bother hiding her smile. “I think I’d be more okay if you stayed here.”

“Am I stealing Bill’s spot?”

“He won’t be mad. Especially now that he knows.”

Shifty’s eyes go wide. “Bill knows?” Other questions remain unspoken: does that mean that everyone in the company will know within the next few hours?

“I trust him,” Zenie assures him. The Italian’s words from their earlier conversation echo in her mind. She repeats them, for Shifty’s sake. “We’re going to be fine.”

Bastogne is changing them.

Babe is not the same when he comes back from his patrol. Julian’s death weighs heavy on him in a way that feels similar to the way Bill’s grief clung to him after his brother’s death. He’s quieter. Silence does not suit him. Often the only sound he makes is the harsh, rattling cough that settled into his chest soon after they arrived here. A shame – he has a face that was meant to be happy and a voice that was meant to tell jokes and to laugh.

Zenie recognizes the hollow expression on his face all too well. It’s the same one that stared back at her in the mirror for so long after Granny died. She slides Babe her extra cigarettes and hopes that he understands what she’s trying to say by giving them to him. I’m sorry, I know it hurts, I’m here with you.

Gene is constantly on the move, running from foxhole to foxhole trying to fix everything. Several people have started whispering that he’s going crazy. There’s never a day when he doesn’t drop into her foxhole to ask how Zenie is doing or to check her arm. Besides the snow and the miserable temperatures, it’s the one constant thing that she can count on each day. Although he seems . . . distant, now. They were never close before, but he doesn’t stick as closely to her as he did before Bill knew her secret.

Zenie, too, feels different. The old sense of urgency returns. The same one that haunted her back in her room as a teenager, then the one that caused she and all her friends to live fast and reckless before and after D-Day.

Whenever Shifty isn’t all the way out at the OP, he’s sharing a foxhole with Zenie. And whenever they’re sharing a foxhole, she presses up against him, relishing the short time that they spend together. As cold as it is, no one can say anything about her leaning into his side or his arm around her. Anything to stay warm in this place – if anyone notices, no one gives them a second glance, because they’re all doing the same.

Pressed against each other in their foxhole, they peep over the rim, exchanging worried looks with men doing the same from their foxholes nearby. Today it’s not the cold that’s set them all on edge, but an unexpected foe – thirst.

“Jesus Christ, he’s actually gonna do it,” someone says as Babe lifts himself from his foxhole. He crouches low, glances up at the sky above them, looks around at all the faces peering out at him from the frozen earth, then takes off like a shot.

Zenie holds her breath, listening, just like Shifty taught her to all that time ago back in the woods of Clinchco. The second she hears the humming of a plane engine, she’ll shout a warning to Babe. After all, that’s what had taken the kid from I Company the day before. He had attempted the same mad dash to the little frozen creek nearby, only to get hit by strafing from an American plane flying overhead. All for some water.

His body is still there. Stiff, motionless, and frozen to the ground. Babe lifts the corpse’s hand and pries the handle of a jerry can from its fingers. He glances up at the sky again before slamming the bottom of the can into the film of ice that covers the creek. Zenie counts the seconds as he plunges the can into the water, holding it down as it fills up with water.

Finally, the deed is done. Still crouched low to the ground, Babe begins the two-hundred-yard dash back. A few feet away he pushes himself sideways, sliding over the icy ground and landing beside Bill in a foxhole, like a baseball player sliding onto home plate – safe!

A collective exhale is released from those watching. After a moment’s pause to make sure they’re still in the clear, Bill and Babe climb out of their foxhole, motioning for everyone to follow their lead.

Men scramble from their foxholes and form a line. One at a time, Bill opens people’s canteens and holds them steady while Babe fills them with water. He hardly finishes filling them before men lift them to their lips, greedily gulping at the cold water.

At the back of the line, Zenie’s tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth as she waits. If they run out of water before she gets there, she’ll make the dash to the creek herself, she decides, injured arm be damned.

Babe squints down into the jerry can to gauge the water level as Zenie and Shifty approach.

“Goddamn it,” he hisses. Water sloshes inside the can as he shoves it under Bill’s nose. Take a look! the gesture screams in defeat.

“Je-sus Christ!” Bill turns the jerry can so that Zenie and Shifty can see for themselves.

In the darkness of the can and with the lack of light from the cloud covered sky, Zenie squints, trying to make out what her friends are looking at. Bill gives the can a slight shake, and that’s when she sees it.

Despite the dryness in her throat, Zenie swallows thickly. “Is that - ?”

Shifty curses under his breath when he realizes what he’s seeing. There, in the bottom of the can, are floating chunks of something spongy looking. Zenie has never seen anything like it before, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius to deduce that it’s pieces of human brain. Specifically, those of the dead man from I Company.

Babe grimaces. “What do we do?”

For a moment, Bill hesitates – something that he seldom does. He sighs through his nose. “We gotta drink somethin’ if we don’t wanna die.”

“Hey!” Babe calls to the men who have already received their water. “Use your water purification pills. Now!”

Without letting the Philadelphians fill her canteen, Zenie screws the lid back on and walks back to her foxhole. She would rather take her chances with dehydration than drink water with brains in it, thank you very much. Bill and Gene will just have to try to understand this time.

Lots of things feel very big at sixteen. Any misfortune or slight can feel earthshattering enough to end it all. Now at twenty-one, with the distance of time and an ocean between that stupid Christmas party, Zenie realizes that 1939 was not the worst Christmas of her life. Sixteen-year-old Zenie had been wrong; she had no idea how much worse it could get. Especially because, if the rumors are to be believed, the generals are out there somewhere enjoying a dinner of, in Colonel Sink’s words, “turkey and hooch” in the lovely company of such bright shining stars as Marlene Dietrich . . . and Rebecca Sadowski.

But – at least this time she’s not quite so alone. In the cold of the foxholes, Shifty is pressed up against her right side and Gene is on her left. Somewhere across the snow, German voices ring out in familiar melody. They might sound beautiful under different circumstances.

With shaking hands, Shifty tucks his pictures and letters back into his jacket. Zenie shuffles through her own one last time, wanting to look at Granny’s kind face before trying to sleep for the night.

“Who is that?” Gene asks suddenly as Zenie is about to tuck one of her photographs back into the pile.

She stops, staring down at it before tilting it so that Gene can better see it. Through the darkness settling around them, Matthew and Marilyn smile up at them from their graduation picture.

“My older brother and sister,” Zenie explains. Shivering, she hands the picture to Gene.

He holds it very close to his face, squinting. For all that he does know about Zenie, there’s also a lot that he doesn’t. Besides the fact that she’s not a man, she realizes, he really doesn’t know much about her. In fact, from what she keeps hearing Babe complain about with the nicknames, he doesn’t seem to have that level of closeness with anyone.

With a finger stiff from cold and stained from his work as a medic, he points to Marilyn. His lips part slightly but he doesn’t speak.

“Marilyn. She married the boy next-door – her teenage crush. Didn’t want to be left at home without him, so she joined the Red Cross after he joined up.”

Gene’s hands shake more than before as he passes the picture back to her. He doesn’t look at her. “She just . . . looked familiar, somehow.”

Back in Bastogne’s church, for a split second, Zenie had thought that she caught sight of her. Maybe Gene has seen her, in all his trips back and forth between here and there. She’s about to ask when she realizes that Gene has closed his eyes. His breathing is starting to even out. With his job keeping him in constant motion, she couldn’t wake him up just to ask him. Tomorrow morning. She’ll have to try to remember to ask him then.

She tucks her photographs and letters back into her jacket and leans into Shifty’s side. He slips his hand into hers, tilts his head so that it rests on top of hers. The German voices are still singing somewhere across the snow.

“Ulihelisdi danisdayohihv,” she says, adding her own language to the mix. Then, with the foolish optimism and determination of her sixteen-year-old self she thinks, When I get out of here, I’m going somewhere warm. If she can’t stop Christmases from getting worse, at least she can stop them from being cold.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x ofc #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers x original female character #oc zenie mcglamery #like a girl (like a man)#my writing #hbo war fanfic #hbo war

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