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sourwolphs · 3 years

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Like an Animal - Bucky x Reader (4/8)

Read on Ao3 (for better interface + formatting)

Summary: Reader is an enhanced Omega kidnapped by Hydra and trapped in a cell with Alpha Bucky Barnes. Tags: A/B/O, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Warnings: Rated M

Wanda used our winding trip from the medical bay all the way to the residential quarters to point out all the amenities in the massive Avenger compound. There was a gym packed with state-of-the-art equipment, a training room with a boxing ring and floor-to-ceiling padding, a lap pool, steel-and-glass conference rooms and office spaces, and even vibranium-reinforced practice rooms for enhanced members of the team. In the upper levels, we passed through the sprawling main kitchen, a lounge packed with plush red couches and a bar stocked with top-shelf alcohol, and a dark and cozy movie room with a massive projector screen.

I was still feeling weak and tired post-heat, and seeing the Avengers compound felt surreal, like I was walking through a dream. All those years I’d spent running… from what? From this? From resources? From a pack? From a chance to make a difference?

Maybe I was crazy to already feel like I belonged here, that I could use the abilities I never asked for to do good in the world, but walking through the compound with Wanda felt… right. I felt like I was coming home.

The only piece missing was him, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the insistent tug in my chest seeking out Alpha.

Wanda showed me up to my floor, one level above the other residential floor with the common kitchen and lounge area. The pack’s living quarters were built like an apartment complex with hallways full of doors— some with name tags and goofy indicators of the inhabitants (like a cardboard cutout of Captain America with a Sharpie heart drawn on his face outside of a door marked “Wilson” and a fuzzy Halloween doormat covered in orange spiders outside of “Romanoff”).

“Well, here you are,” Wanda said. We stopped in front of a door at the end of the second hallway. Inside was a newly renovated one-bedroom apartment, complete with a kitchenette, living area, bathroom and closet. It was cozy and fully-stocked— sheets, towels, pillows, even pantry staples— and had clearly been decorated by someone with an eye for interior design. I wondered if Tony’s Omega had been in charge of it.

I surprised myself when I felt a tear slip down my cheek, emotions bubbling up inside my chest. I’d spent so many years living in dumps, sleeping on couches and in bathtubs, even on wooden pallets in the back of a restaurant where I had worked for six months, when I could have just listened to that agent and found my way here.

Wanda must have caught the sadness, anger, gratitude and guilt swirling in my scent because she wordlessly leaned in for a hug, her arms warm and firm around me. “You will always be welcome here,” she murmured. I took a deep, soothing inhale of her cinnamon sugar scent and immediately felt my heightened emotions calm— a courtesy of her comforting designation.

After Wanda left me to relax and settle in, I showered and changed into a plain set of loungewear I found in the dresser, climbing into the freshly made bed for a nap and some time to think.

I’d spent the bulk of my adult life running from difficult choices and responsibilities, preferring to scrape by under the radar, hiding both my abilities and my designation. Even just a few days ago, I probably would have given Wanda the slip and found my way to another state to start over. But something had changed in me. I wanted to try.

Maybe it was the fact that the threats the red-haired agent had warned me of had finally become a reality in that Hydra cell.

Or maybe it had something to do with him.

The pack left me alone for a few hours, which I spent getting in a quick power nap before snooping through the apartment, finding good hiding spots and plotting emergency escape routes— because old habits die hard.

I had my head in the closet, groping at a panel in the wall that could either be an air duct or a hidden electrical control panel, when someone knocked softly. As I approached the door, I couldn’t help but take in a deep breath— hoping for that smoky cedar scent on the other side— only to be met with a smooth and neutral Beta blend that was surprisingly familiar.

On the other side of the door stood the red-haired agent.

Last time I’d seen her, there had still been hints of blonde growing out at the ends of her hair. Now, it was cut in a short bob at her jawline, the deep red at her roots running solid through the strands. She smelled like rosewater and ozone— a garden before the rain.

“It’s you,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying. She smirked at me, pouting her lips, and I couldn’t help but feel remorseful. I hadn’t been the nicest when she’d found me last. My escape had involved quite a lot of…. frozen body parts.

“Hi, Y/L/N,” she said. “You’re looking a little less frosty than the last time I saw you.”

I laughed nervously, hoping she wasn’t here to give me a dressing down. I’d only frozen her limbs a little bit back at Fifth Street. Besides, I wasn’t in any state for a brawl, especially with my connection to my abilities still weak post-heat— not to mention the lingering effects of the Terrigen Crystal restraints. “Do you want to… come in?” I asked, opening the door wider.

The Beta nodded and slipped through the door, gaze sweeping around the room before she plopped onto a sectional in the living room. She was graceful and lithe, clad in all-black athleisure, hair pulled back behind her head in a delicate french braid.

“I should probably introduce myse—“

“Did you braid my hair for me?” I interrupted.

She smiled and laughed a little, looking surprised. “You noticed?” She asked, patting the braid at the back of her own head. “I’m surprised you didn’t wake up when I did it, actually. Wanda and I didn’t want you to come to and think you were back in that cell. We figured cleaning you up a bit in the medbay would help.”

I swallowed down the unexpected lump forming in my throat. No one had cared for me like that since my Mom had passed. “Thank you,” I choked out— but it came out more like a whisper. I took a seat on the edge of the couch across from her.

“It was nothing,” she said with a smile. “Anyway— Let me re-introduce myself. I’m Agent Natasha Romanoff, but you can call me Nat. Everyone does. I think we got off on the wrong foot last time we met,” she said with a smirk.

“I’m sorry… I—“ I dropped my head into my hands in embarrassment, groaning.

“Don’t apologize! I cornered you. I shouldn’t have. Besides, I deserved it for underestimating your… tenacity,” she winked. “I’m here to see how you’re holding up. And to fill you in on what you missed while you were out, and what we know so far.”

I nodded, urging her to continue.

“We found you and Bucky at a defunct Hydra base in Paraguay,” she began. My breath hitched at the mention of his name. “We also found a bunch of illegal rut and heat-inducing drugs, and obstetrics equipment, all of which we confiscated for analysis. When we found you, you were deep into a sympathy heat and Bucky was barely hanging on through his rut, but we managed to get you both to safety without incident.”

I was speechless. I knew Hydra was evil. They were the bogeymen of children’s nightmares when I was growing up, the big bad evil lurking just beneath the surface. But what were they planning…. And why me?

“You’re probably wondering why it was you,” Nat said, reading my mind. “We don’t know either. But like I said the last time we met… There are a lot of evil people out there who would love to get their hands on your abilities.”

“When you first came to me, that warning didn’t seem real,” I admitted. “It does now.”

Nat nodded. “And the offer I made to you back then still stands. You’re a damn strong woman to have made it through what you did, and the world needs more people like you protecting it. Bucky told us how you stood up to that Hydra douchebag.”

“Aw, shucks,” I said, trying to play it cool through the heat rising in my cheeks and the swoop of excitement in my stomach. They really wanted me here. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to keep me around, but if I’m being honest, I don’t really feel particularly safe leaving. At least not now.”

“Understandable,” she added. “Take your time getting settled in. We don’t run on any formal schedule around here— most of the pack either lives here or spends weekdays here. You’re welcome to use any of the facilities— except I don’t recommend poking around in Stark’s lab.”

We both laughed, and Nat stood, making her way back out of my new living space. “Oh— One more thing before I leave you alone,” she said, spinning gracefully on her heels. “Wanda asked me to tell you that if you want someone to train with, she’s happy to help.”

——-

I’d never had a pack. Not since my parents, anyway— but the three of us could hardly be considered one, with how isolated we were. So it genuinely surprised me how quickly and effortlessly I fit in at the compound.

It took a few days to find my footing. I spent long hours mapping out the maze of buildings, hallways and facilities from one edge of the campus to the other. But slowly, I started to carve out a routine with the people who lived here.

It was Sam who became my friend first. We met one morning in the common area kitchen, as I awkwardly buttered a slice of toast, planning to take it back to my room to eat alone. He’d just gotten back from a run, sweat sticking his shirt to his chest, making his normally neutral Beta scent strong and tropical. It reminded me of the beach— salty ocean breezes, lemon and lime. He was leaning against the counter, swigging down orange juice straight from the carton, and giving me an amused look. Before I could retreat to my room, he coaxed me to the countertop to keep him company while he ate.

We hit it off almost immediately, discovering everything we had in common. We both loved 60s music, enjoyed running in the mornings, and considered breakfast our favorite meal of the day. From that morning on, we made it a routine to cook elaborate egg, bacon and pancake breakfasts, the scent of which reliably drew pack members out of their rooms with bleary eyes and morning breath.

Soon, our morning breakfasts turned into pre-breakfast runs. I quickly learned that my abilities increased my stamina more than I had previously known, as I outpaced Sam most days. After 10 miles left him sweat-soaked and gasping for breath, I felt like I had the energy for another 20.

A week after our heart-to-heart in my apartment, I stumbled upon Natasha’s secret training room, located a few doors down from the gym and boxing ring and devised to look like a storage closet from the outside. It was a small, low-lit room with mirrors on the walls and a ballet bar running down the width. She was practicing pointe, hair tied back in a severe bun. I’d never learned to dance, but I liked to share space with her while she trained, marveling at the power and grace in her form. I started bringing a yoga mat there in the early afternoon when I knew I could find her there. I’d always enjoyed yoga— needed it, even. The grounding and meditation aspects of the practice helped me locate the source of the strange energy within me and wrangle it under control. With my body distracted by challenging physical forms, my mind was free to connect with that icy burn in my chest, memorizing how it channeled its way through my body.

I was overjoyed at my blossoming friendships with the two Betas, but at the end of the day, I found myself craving time with another Omega. Luckily, I had Wanda in my corner right from the jump. It’s common for pack Omegas to stick together, serving as sources of comfort and support to one another without any strings attached, and Wanda was generous with both. We’d spend the early evenings in comfortable silence, reading or watching 80s sitcoms. Some days, we’d even venture into the the reinforced training rooms so I could test out the strength of my abilities under supervision. Wanda never parted ways with me without a soothing hug, and I began to wonder if she needed them just as much as I did. Natasha had told me she was bonded, but I could never smell her mate on her, nor had I met him yet.

I ran into Steve last, on a Saturday afternoon. According to Nat, he’d been out on missions for my first week, which is why I hadn’t met him yet. I was outside, wandering the paths of the Avengers campus and soaking up the early spring sunshine.

Feeling uncharacteristically safe, I turned my head up towards the blue sky as I walked— which meant that I literally ran straight into Captain America. He was still suited up in navy tactical gear, dirt smudged across his cheek and in his golden hair, vibranium shield strapped to his back.

“Woah there,” he said, reaching out to steady me with just the tips of his fingers as I ricocheted off his chest.

I was immediately hit with his warm and inviting scent, like hot summer sunshine and old books. It felt strangely familiar and… comforting. He was huge, as most Alphas are, but his kind, open face and gentle scent felt to me more like that of a Beta or an Omega.

“S-Sorry,” I sputtered, taking a step back. His hands dropped to his sides. “Wasn’t looking where I was going— clearly”

“Steve Rogers,” he said with a smile, holding out his hand to shake.

I laughed, despite my initial nervousness. “Yeah, I know. Nice to meet you Captain America, I’m Y/N.”

Was that a… blush? Steve looked bashful. “Actually, we’ve already met, but I don’t think you remember. Last week. I…carried you out of that Hydra base.”

My eyes widened. That must be why I’d unconsciously associated his scent with safety.

Now it was my turn to blush— he’d carried me out while I was in heat. Sobbing, begging for my Alpha, slick running down my legs…

“Nat didn’t tell me that part,” I said quickly. “But thank you. Really. I owe you.”

He shook his head with a smile. “Happy to help.”

From that day on, Steve started accompanying Sam and I on our runs in the morning, much to Sam’s chagrin. Not even I could keep up with Steve’s superhuman stamina, but teaming up on Sam to outrace him made us laugh until our sides were in stitches.

After I’d accidentally let it slip that the only major movie franchises I’d watched were Star Wars and Toy Story, Sam took it upon himself to “educate” me on the best action movies of the 90s and 2000s every evening. In just a few weeks, we tore through Mortal Kombat, Point Break, Die Hard, the Matrix trilogy, and the Mission Impossible series. Steve would often join us, cramming his huge body onto the compact couches in the movie room. Even Natasha found time at the end of the day to curl up with us, critiquing the outlandish hand-to-hand combat moves on the projector screen and throwing popcorn every time the choreography offended her expert sensibilities.

Though I felt closest and most comfortable with Sam, Wanda, Nat and Steve, I slowly got to know the other pack members as well. Stark, who spent most of his time tinkering in his lab, sent updates to me through FRIDAY on any new information their analysis had uncovered from the confiscated Hydra equipment. Dr. Banner, a shy Omega who smelled peculiarly like sage and burnt caramel, was helping Stark analyze the equipment, and would often share updates as well. Pepper, Stark’s Omega, was a human ray of sunshine. She checked on me more than a few times, always asking how the facilities were treating me and urging me to ask for anything I needed.

Altogether, my first three weeks with the pack were a dream come true. But as much as I loved every minute of my new life here, there was something— rather, someone— missing.

My first day waking up at the compound, I’d half expected Bucky to come find me. After all, we’d been through something terrible together. Part of me stupidly believed he’d swoop in to comfort me, apologize for not being by my bedside when I woke up and reassure me that everything was going to be fine. But that was just a silly fantasy concocted by my Omega hindbrain. He never showed. And nobody seemed to be talking about him, either— at least not to me.

After Wanda had reacted so strangely to my questions about his whereabouts when I woke up, I held back from asking any follow-up questions of Sam, Nat or Steve. I’d never had an Alpha in my life. My parents had been Betas. I didn’t know if it was normal for an Omega to feel this connected, this obsessive. And frankly, I didn’t want to be weird.

After a few weeks, I started to grow used to my Omega brain thinking about him by default— his delicious scent, his icy blue eyes, the feel of his fingers gently carding through my hair, the pressure of his teeth on my neck. More often than not, I found myself unconsciously scenting different rooms in the compound, seeking out that cedar smell before I entered. But I never caught it.

I struggled to sleep at night. After feeling it once, unlike anything I’d experienced before, my body viscerally craved the comfort of his Alpha purr. The craving was so strong that sometimes I couldn’t rest for hours— tossing and turning, piling pillows and blankets on the bed to imitate the safety of a nest. Running with Sam and Steve in the morning helped tire me out. So did practicing yoga with Nat, and exhausting my abilities in the training room with Wanda. But there was always something missing. And try as I might, I couldn’t shake it.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think that I was experiencing bond withdrawal. But without a mating bite, that explanation was impossible.

————

If Bucky hadn’t been tortured by Hydra for 70 years, he would say that this was the worst pain he’d ever experienced. It didn’t compare to having his brain scrambled by electricity, but it was damn close.

After the quinjet had landed at base after the rescue, and Sam had scooped up Y/N to ferry her to the medbay, Bucky pulled Steve aside on the landing strip, tearing his eyes away from Sam’s back retreating into the compound.

“I think it would be best if I… went away for a while,” Bucky said, unable to make eye contact with his best friend. He studied Steve’s boots, dirt-smudged and scuffed from combat.

“Buck, I don’t like where your head’s at,” Steve said gently, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder. “You just got dosed up on synthetic rut and locked up with an Omega in heat for some messed up…forced breeding crap. It’s not like you did anything wrong. This isn’t on you.”

Bucky bit his tongue, hard. That’s where Steve was wrong. He had done something wrong— and even if he hadn’t succumbed to what Hydra wanted from him, he still needed to keep himself away from Y/N. This close, he could still smell traces of the Omega’s heat lingering on Steve. Even without rut, it was turning his inner Alpha feral with want.

“Just a few weeks, is all. Make sure she’s okay?” Bucky said, knowing he didn’t have to ask. The pack would take care of her. “She’s strong— she told those Hydra agents to fuck off— but she shouldn’t have to be. Not after this.”

Steve gave him his signature earnest look, chewing his lower lip with concern, before sighing out his agreement.

Bucky had spent the past few weeks in a cramped studio apartment the pack kept for emergencies in Brooklyn. He’d hardly left the space, sleeping fitful hours in the night, interrupted by nightmares. He’d paced the floor in front of the only window so many times in his agitation that he thought he was starting to see grooves in the wood.

At all hours of the day, he ached for her scent, still vivid in his Alpha hindbrain— sharp and crisp as snow but just as sugary sweet as peppermint. Embarrassingly, he’d taken to snacking on a crumbling jar of mints he’d found in the back of the pantry, letting the artificial scent soothe his racing thoughts as they melted on his tongue. It wasn’t as good as the real thing, but it helped— especially since his whole body felt like it was prickling with need nonstop, chest cracking open, aching for her touch. His Alpha wrestled with his conscious brain to remember every small detail of her, from the gentle curve of her waist to her soft lips, the feeling of her hair between his fingertips, her unbelievable scent.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was going through fucking bond withdrawal. With an Omega he’d spent maybe seven hours with.

If Bucky’d had it his way, he would have stayed holed up in the apartment until this… thing had run its course. But after three weeks, Steve had finally had enough of his self-isolating nonsense, and had showed up at the door of the apartment to drag Bucky back with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

Bucky could tell his best friend didn’t know exactly why he was so opposed to returning home, though he figured Steve had an inkling of what was going on just from the lingering scent of suffering and guilt that had soaked into the peeling wallpaper of the studio.

“Everything’s fine, Buck. She’s settling in great— you’ll see. Wanda, Sam and Nat love her,” he said reassuringly, the unspoken I do, too hung in the air between them. Even with three weeks of distance between them, Bucky still couldn’t forgive himself for not being the Alpha to rescue her from that cell, for being so caught up in his own urges that he couldn’t be the hero that Steve was.

Bucky spent the majority of the car ride back to the compound stewing in self-hatred and anxiety, wondering if his return would be what tipped Y/N over the edge, sending her back into hiding. Then it would be undeniably his fault that she left. His fault that she was taken from everyone in the pack. Mercifully, Steve said nothing about his inner turmoil stinking up the car, only rolling down the window a crack to let in the cool spring air.

Even after all that time spent stewing in his thoughts, Bucky still wasn’t prepared to see her the minute he got back to the compound.

When he stepped out of the elevator on his floor, duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, he was immediately hit with three scents at once— a hot spike of concern from Steve, a dose of Nat’s joyful rosewater smell, and her. Peppermint. This time sweet, happy and warm like a cup of mint tea.

The two women were laughing together, lounging on the plush red couches of the living space, but their laughter cut off sharply as the ding of the elevator sounded. Bucky froze like a deer in headlights as they both turned to look his way.

Time seemed to slow down as their eyes connected. His eyes frantically scanned her face and body for evidence of injury, documenting the healthy glow in her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, her soft hair pulled back in one of Nat’s french braids. She looked… happy. Healthy. Beautiful.

Unconsciously, he felt his hackles raise when he noticed Nat’s hand circled around Y/N’s ankle where it was stretched out towards her lap.

“Hey Buck, long time no see,” Nat said with an uncharacteristic gentleness, shaking him out of his stupor. Both women were giving him a concerned look, now, the smiles drifting off of their faces.

Rather than say or do anything he regretted, Bucky elected not to say or do anything at all. Coward, his Alpha snarled at him as he strode down the hallway to his bedroom. Go back there and claim your Omega.

“Buck!” Steve called after him, concern coloring his tone. “Bucky!”

But Bucky ignored him, holding his breath to avoid her scent until his apartment door was shut tight behind his back.

#like an animal #my fic #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky reader insert #marvel fic #bucky barnes

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poptod · 4 years

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October 1st (Elliot Alderson x Reader)

Description: He waits until the last moment and it’s too late.

Notes: i wrote a love letter to my friend but im never gonna send it so im profiting off my misery. gender neutral as usual

Word Count: 1.9k

Sad, sick people have a tendency of gravitating towards each other, whether or not they're aware of the illness of the other person. You know this quite well – in your rather sick childhood, where your mind was plagued with thoughts of self hatred, most of the friends you made were just about as sad as you. Looking back, it is a rather horrifying thought considering you were only twelve and so ready to die. Your mother said you were exaggerating, and that makes sense. Things were dramatized back then. But there's a flicker of truth in there, a small part within the soul that truly believed they should be dead. There's no sicker thought than that.

This trait, that part of yourself, carried through into adulthood. Unfortunate, really – that means it isn't just teenage drama, it isn't just your peers or your family. It's you. You look at yourself in the mirror and realize with tired, drooping eyes that it was always you. There's a quote – something along the lines of, "some people grow sad very young, and I know this, for I am one."

Elliot is sort of like that, too. Well, the two of you get on fine – in both life and within your friendship – and you don't really need to talk about it. You're both well aware of the others' problems, but it doesn't need to be mentioned. All you do is sit in cafe's together so neither of you are approached by creepy people and smoke together at his apartment. It doesn't need to be more than that.

Despite that barrier in your head, he's still your best friend. Maybe because he's one of your only friends, the other being an internet friend who you visit every now and then. Oh well. You lead a pretty sedentary lifestyle – you don't need a lot of friends. Just one to hang around.

Still, he does get around sometimes. He gets up out of nowhere, you ask where he's off to, and he says out. Most of the time he doesn't let you come, but this time he has and he's just wandering around. Looking at people and rationalizing their presence, watching the birds on benches, staring at shopfronts. For a moment you think to ask why he'd take such excursions in such cold weather, but with a glance to his peaced out face you know he doesn't have an answer.

You suppose that's just fine – there's something about fall that has you enjoying time outdoors. The piles of golden and red leaves pushed up against the sides of the streets, the coffee signs in front of every cafe, each with their own drawings of steaming coffee, and of course the scents in the air. It's not a particularly nice part of the city, but it has a fair share of restaurants and most smell of apple cider and cinnamon. The taste of pumpkin is also there; probably because you're sitting next to a Starbucks.

People pass by you donned in fuzzy jackets and long scarves. You look a bit like them; you're not a fan of the cold, so you have mittens, a hat, boots, and a scarf. Elliot on the other hand is much the same, as usual, and you don't expect him to ever stray from that routine. You like his routine. It's familiar.

"I'm leaving soon," you finally blurt out, a topic barely in your conscious mind but ravaging your subconscious. It's both good and bad news, considering the trip is for getting a doctorate, but it's clear he doesn't feel the same way. His eyes widen and he looks to you almost incredulously.

"Where?" He asks.

"Berlin. They've got this program for foreign students. I'll finally be able to get my doctorate in linguistics," you say, nodding to yourself. "I, um... I don't know if I'll be back."

"Why not?" He asks in a softer, rougher voice.

"It's an expensive move, you know? And there aren't that many jobs for linguists here.. at least, there's more in Europe," you half mumble, staring at your fidgeting fingers.

He gets up and leaves. Without another word except an astounded stare out into space, he stands and leaves you on the bench. You almost go after him, but he's got that look about him, and you know he's a little lost in thought. It'll be fine – you won't leave for a little while (not until October, actually), which gives you some real time with Elliot, if that's what he wants. As hard as it is for people to read him, you have a knack for it. That's probably why he spends any time at all with you.

You're going to miss him quite a lot. Lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling in your sleep clothes, the clock well past midnight, you wonder if he'll miss you too. He hasn't talked to you since you told him, which you did a good week or so ago now. Guilt settles deep in your chest – he's a man of routine and you're seriously breaking it. Fortunately, it's not really your problem. You have your own life and it doesn't revolve around what makes him comfortable.

You still feel bad about it, though.

About two weeks before you're set to leave he finally texts you, telling you to come visit him, and though he doesn't say it you know he means one last time. You get it right before you're about to get in the bath, and instantly you reach for the drain, unplugging it to let it drain while you redress yourself. Something nice – not your sweatpants, no matter how warm they are in the late September chill.

Outside rain falls in great sheets, battering down on the already dead leaves and the many, many busy people. Most everyone you pass by is dressed in black – black coats, black pants, black umbrellas. It's like they're mourning a death, though the only death you can think of is that of summer. You don't have an umbrella in your bag, but there's enough people on the streets with umbrellas and enough overhangs that you manage to stay mostly-dry, till the crowd thins out around Elliot's apartment and you get drenched. Droplets of water run down your fully-soaked hair, falling cold on your eyelashes and turning your nose a blushing pink.

Excitement pounds through your heart at the prospect of seeing your friend again. People at your workplace are nice, but no one is quite as intricate or interesting like he is. Every person is special, as are you, but you find yourself looking for the same traits in all your friends. A sort of quiet person with far too much beneath the surface. That's the only way you know how to describe what exactly Elliot is – well, he's kind. Soft-spoken, usually. Lost in his thoughts. Distant. Compassionate, and surprisingly, warm. You don't hug him much but he's warm, and for some reason you never expect it.

He lights the joint, taking a few puffs to ensure it's working before handing it to you, leaning over the small couch so you can reach. Smoke clouds itself in your lungs, forming pockets of dry, happy thoughts in your head. It all comes out with your exhale, like the freeze of hot breath in winter and the fog of dry ice.

"I love you," you say. Blurting is becoming a bad habit for you, but that's okay. You won't see him for a long time, and you need to get it out, no matter how surprised Elliot looks. He always looks a little surprised. "You know that, right?"

He laughs – he actually laughs. A smile spreads across his usually dull cheeks, and a blush crosses him, pink around his grin and pronounced in his ears and the tip of his rounded nose. You can't help it so you smile with him, absorbing the entirety of his fluster. He's always so closed off. Maybe you help him out of that hole, but it's mostly wishful thinking that drives your thought process towards that.

A cloud of smoke releases itself from Elliot's mouth. He doesn't say anything in relation to your announcement, but you don't particularly expect him to. He's a little odd when it comes to affection. You don't mind it in the least, too caught up in memorizing his little movements and his breathy sighs to bother with the tough things.

So that's it. You spend one more afternoon-into-evening with him, and you don't see him again, not at the airport, not over text or Skype. There was a chance of that – you knew that, but it still disappoints and saddens you to watch the ground disappear, the last memory of your Elliot from several days ago. It feels as though it's already fading despite the fact that you remember every detail of your time with him. How could you forget?

Fidgeting with your bag on the plane, you close your eyes and wonder what things will be like when you get back, if you ever do. Your bag is a little like his jacket – a comfort, with fringes that are easy to fidget with, as much as it might annoy the person sitting next to you. Anxiously you dig your hand into your bag, looking for your anxiety meds, only for your fingers to brush against paper.

You don't have paper in your bag.

Pinching it between your fingers, you pull the paper out, revealing an envelope with your name on it. With shaking hands you tear open the glue, unfolding a note scrawled onto leaf paper. There aren't any lines for guiding, but the words are perfectly spaced.

(Y/N),

I'm not sure if I'll ever send this to you. Maybe not – everything is so unsure right now. My constants in this hectic state of the world are few and most are not good. My job, my scars, my anxiety, they never go away but neither do you. It may seem inconsequential to you – you're likable and you have other friends, but I don't. Not really. I have you, though, and it often feels like that's enough.

I always wanted a forever person; someone there throughout all life for better or worse. A bit like tonight – it ended with a bar fight, but somehow I enjoyed it. I looked to you and you were grinning and bashing a guy's head in, and somehow that made me smile. It's always better with you. I don't talk about that enough.

You're the good in the world. I find it hard to believe, much less articulate, how good you are. How kind. Understanding. Creative, open, pure in the best way. You make me want to become a better person, and isn't that what humans strive for? A connection with someone who makes you believe the world is capable of good, someone that makes you believe you'll be alright – so long as you stick by their side.

I don't write these kinds of things. You know that – I don't like bringing my deeper emotions to light. But you're safe and I trust you; I just hope you understand how special you are to me. You deserve so much good and I wish I could give that to you. I can't give you what I want to give you, but I will always be your friend, no matter what.

Elliot

He wrote this a while ago. That bar fight was a year or so ago – is that how long he's been keeping this letter back? Is this why he asked you to come over? ... Is this his attempt to get you to stay?

The plane's already over the ocean. You can't even see the shore anymore.

You realize just a little too late that he's the good in the world.

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr. robot #rami malek #rami malek character #mr robot #elliot alderson x male reader #elliot alderson x female reader

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catwithangerissues · 3 years

Text

Green tea, pastries, and a hoodie.

-A Shirabu Kenjiro Oneshot

Pairings: Shirabu x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Warnings: None! Completely sfw. Just some shy!Shirabu, introvert!reader, newly established relationship, and mentions of touch aversion.

Basically, I wrote this for a friend who I matched up with shirabu, who wasn’t the biggest fan of physical touch, though open to it with an s/o. It was meant to be a Drabble, but it quickly turned into a Oneshot lmao. Here ya go @almalckd ✨

——————

You had woken up late that morning, rushing to get out of bed as soon as your eyes laid on the time on the clock that rested atop the nightstand. You quickly fixed your hair, not really caring for it’s appearance at the moment, and brushed your teeth, quickly throwing on your uniform. It always annoyed you how you couldn’t just wear comfy clothes to school, you’d much rather that, especially in the winter..

You grabbed your bag and as soon as you stepped outside, the chilly air made you curse under your breath. “Classic..” You thought sarcastically and rolled your eyes at yourself. You toyed with the idea of just turning around and grabbing another jacket to go over your blazer, but a quick glance at the time told you that wasn’t an option today.

As you rushed to the school, a fellow late acquaintance joined you along the way. You two made small talk as you bitterly laughed about being so irresponsible for staying up so late studying the night before, you knew the copper haired setter would have a sarcastic comment about the situation, even though he does the exact same thing every week.. Though you didn’t want to admit it, he’d be right when he retorted back with a statement about how he’d never been late even on such little sleep. The thought alone made you crack a small smile.

Luckily enough, you weren’t late, you even made it in time to speak to a few of your friends before your first hour began. Setting your stuff down on your desk, seated away from other students, you felt relieved that you hadn’t missed class, and for your spot in the classroom. You were a bit of an introvert, but you were especially thankful today that you had your own space, since you knew you would be grumpy from the rough start to your day and didn’t want to take it out on anyone accidentally.

You see, you attend the prestigious school, Shiratorizawa Academy. You were an honors student, and therefor have a good handful of other class 4-6 students as friends. This was your second year at the school, and you had been enjoying the year so far, though exam week always stressed you out. You decided to attend Shiratorizawa after you had reached the top of your class in middle school, and that happened to be where you met Shirabu Kenjiro. You had known him for a few years through some other acquaintances, plus the fact that you two were academic rivals, but you weren’t close until your first year of high school. Fast forward a year and a half, and the setter held a much more special place in you heart.

You had only been together for a short while at this point. Having crushed on each other for a year and a few months before you two had the courage to mutually confess. He took you on a few study dates before you two made it official, and that brings you back to today.

You smiled at the fond memory of the red faced boy fiddling with his hands and looking uncharacteristically nervous as he told you how he felt. You mentally noted to replay that sweet memory in your head next time you were feeling anxious.

You were awoken from your dreamland by the teachers voice calling for the classes attention. Everyone situated themselves in their assigned seats, and the class began..

——————

It felt as though your first hour had taken longer than usual, or maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t yet seen your boyfriend today, so you were eager, and you were slightly hangry, having no time to grab breakfast this morning.

You walked out of you class, and sat by the wall a few steps away was the salt shaker himself. You smiled at him, happy to see your personal stress reliever, though he could only playfully smirk and raise an eyebrow at how tired you looked. He thought you looked quite cute all sleepy, but he felt a small pang of sadness in his heart when he quickly recalled the hundred other times you’d come to school like that, and the reason behind it.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t text you this morning, I woke up late..” You smiled sheepishly as you trailed off, hands behind your back as you slightly rolled on the balls of your feet, hoping he wouldn’t lecture you hypocritically on how you should sleep more.

“I figured, I stopped by the cafe you like on the way to school and thought you could use this.” He handed you a small to-go cup, labeled with his last name and the words ‘green tea’ in messy handwriting, and the packaged pastry you’d always get child-like excitement about when they had them in the mornings, freshly baked and still warm.

You two had gone to that cafe together many times now, whether it be for breakfast or a study date, you knew each other’s favorite items from the menu, but you still couldn’t help the feeling in your stomach at the thought that he remembered those little moments with you, or maybe you were just hungry..

He turned his face away slightly, and tucked his hands in his uniform pockets shyly after you took the goodies into your hands. He wasn’t very fond of pda, and he struggled to show his affection, or at least he thought he did, you gladly accepted his many different forms of it.

You took note of the scarlet color adorning his cheeks, and giggled at his mildly flustered state. “Thank you, Kenji. Hmm, maybe I should be late more often?” You joked, a sly smirk hinted on your face. You really did appreciate when he did things like this for you, despite the little quip.

“Don’t even think about being late on purpose, brat. I won’t be so nice.” He pouted lightly and huffed, turning to walk to your next class, a blush still adorning his cheeks. The threat wasn’t entirely empty, but you knew he was a big softy for you at the end of the day. You happily walked along side the boy, sipping the tea he had gotten you along the way, enjoying the warmth on your hands and in your previously angry stomach.

The two of you made a few more witty exchanges until you had reached your shared second class of the day. Making your way to your seats, coincidentally, you two sat next to each other. This teacher was a bit more laid back than your others, regardless of teaching a rather difficult subject, and that meant you got to sit with the copper headed boy that hour. Sitting your stuff down, you sat back and enjoyed your small breakfast, thankful for Kenji’s thoughtfulness once again.

——————

The rest of the school day passed by normally, nothing particularly exciting happening, other than listening to Tendo tell stories to Wakatoshi at lunch, trying to provoke a reaction out of the stoic man, and the rest of the team making conversation around the table you all occupied.

You had just walked your boyfriend to the doors of the gym, about to drop him off for practice. You sometimes would stay and watch them, the other boys often teasing Shirabu about your presence. You were surprisingly good friends with the boys, even Coach Washijo liked you, he claimed you kept the boys in line when they would start to lose focus. Though you just thought that was his weird way of saying Shirabu practiced better when you were around, not being as insulting to his other classman than day.

As the two of you stopped by the door, to the left of it actually, the boy turned to you, taking note of your shivering form. Remember earlier, when you thought about grabbing a jacket from home before heading out for school but decided against it to avoid being even later to class? You internally groaned at your own stubborn nature, and noted to start keeping a sweatshirt in your bag from now on.

“Idiot..” A ‘tck rolled off his tongue as he saw you, rolling his eyes, he knew you weren’t fond of being touched very much, so he offered of the best solution he could think of at the time to his shivering s/o. “D-do you want my hoodie?..” He shyly asked, normally Shirabu was quite the hotheaded partner, making insulting, albeit lighthearted, jokes to you every chance he got. But something in him softened when he saw your sweet face in that moment.

“I-I know you don’t really like hugs, and I’m not the biggest fan of pda anyways, so.. if you want my hoodie, that’s okay with me.. you can keep it for as long as you’d like, just don’t forget to bring one next time it’s cold, dummy.” He had already taken off his backpack, fishing for the hoodie he had placed in there this morning, despite not feeling the need to wear it himself as he initially thought he would.

You were pretty flustered at the idea of wearing his hoodie, but you were incredibly appreciative of his sentiment in that moment. “Yes please.” You smiled giddily, taking the hoodie and placing it over your frame, and immediately smiling at the warmth it provided you. You snuggled into the collar of it for a moment, breathing in the scent of your boyfriends cologne.

He muttered something under his breath as he put his backpack back on, and he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of you at the moment. “Hmm? I didn’t hear you, Shira’. ” “I said you look really cute wearing my clothes..” He partially interrupted and admitted frustratedly, still blushing. You smiled lightly as you placed your arms around his midsection, pulling him towards you gently, and nuzzled into his collar bone/the crook of his neck. He tensed in your hold, and a few seconds past before the tension released as he wrapped his arms around you carefully. It felt as though he thought you’d break if he held you too tightly.

“Thank you, Kenji. I appreciate everything you did for me today, especially this. You know how much physical contact puts me off, but you did everything to make sure I was comfortable today. So, thank you.” You smiled at giving him the praise you knew he secretly enjoyed, nuzzling further into his warm arms.

He felt tense again and he scampered to get his next words out, “Y-you don’t have to do this, I- I don’t want you to be uncomf-“ You hushed him with a light kiss on the lips, and though your eyes were closed, you feel his eyes on you and his shocked expression. You pulled away after a few seconds, looking up at the boy with a smile, “I know you don’t, but I’m not uncomfortable with you Kenji. Believe me, I’ll tell you if I ever don’t want something like this.” He relaxed in your arms again, pulling away after another minute or two in the embrace, he glanced at the time on his watch and looked at you, slight sadness evident in his eyes, like a puppy who’d had its toy taken away or been scolded for tearing through the trash.. again. You took this as a hint that he had to go for practice, and sighed happily as he planted a final quick kiss on your forehead. Turning away after, and waving as he entered the gym for afternoon practice.

As you turned and walked back into the main building of the school, you couldn’t help the shit eating grin on your face as you felt a few of the other passing by volleyball boys glance at you, taking note of Shirabu’s hoodie adorning your body. You knew he’d get a bit of slack for it, but also that he wouldn’t mind it for you.

You sat alone for a couple moments, recalling the last few minutes, and found yourself smiling. Maybe physical touch with someone, only if it was your Kenji, wasn’t so bad after all.

fin.

Hope you all enjoyed this little (lol, no) Oneshot! I’m a huge Shirabu simp and loved writing this! :)

🌱My itty bitty tag list : @almalckd

#haikyuu shirabu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyu #shirabu fluff #shirabu drabble #hq shirabu #shirabu kenjirou #shirabu oneshot #haikyuu!!#haikyuu oneshot

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bytheangell · 4 years

Text

Ahead of Ourselves

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Doctor AU for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Rating: Teen and Up – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: A lot of the hospital staff thinks that Dr. Lightwood is a little heartless... but Magnus discovers he might just be as good at acting a he is at medicine. -------------

Magnus doesn’t bother to hide his displeasure at being paired with Alec Lightwood for today’s surgery. As the son of the owners of the hospital, Alec gets whatever he wants whenever he wants it, and Magnus might hate him a little bit for it. After fighting so hard to get where he is, Magnus can’t help the sting of jealousy to see someone handed everything he ever wanted. Sure, Alec’s good at what he does, but in Magnus’ humble opinion he’s no better than the rest of them.

He’s also an asshole.

Mangus allows himself a moment of indulgent whining with Catarina on one of their lunch breaks over sad excuses for salad from the cafeteria. “Think about it - when was the last time you saw him eat, or sleep, or get upset? I’m telling you - a robot.”

Okay, maybe Magnus is getting ahead of himself since ‘asshole’ gives Alec the illusion of having enough feelings to even be rude - Magnus has a running joke with some of his friends at the hospital that Alec Lightwood is, in fact, an emotionless surgical robot that the Lightwoods created to pa their legacy down to. No matter how many patients he loses Magnus has never, not once, seen the man shed a single tear. He delivers bad news to families without batting a single, perfectly full eyelash.

He’s cold and uncaring and Magnus doesn’t particularly want to know what sort of person can be that way.

Alec’s sister, the resident forensic pathologist, insists that Magnus should try to get to know him better, that he really isn’t all that bad underneath it all. Magnus tries a few times, and he almost manages to get Alec to crack a smile at some shitty pun he made before Alec reminds him that they are working and it isn’t a time for jokes.

So when Magnus sees his name listed on the board under Alec’s, he knows he’s in for a long, boring, silent surgery later that night.

Unfortunately, all the quiet focus in the world isn’t enough to save their patient. Magnus curses, slamming his fist on the table next to him with tears stinging his eyes before the final, frantic beep fades into a flatline.

“Time of death,” Alec announces, voice so frustratingly neutral as he takes off his gloves that Magnus’ tears double in frustration at the sound of it. “11:08 pm.”

Magnus takes one look at the girl on the table and is already starting to run through a million split-second decisions, wondering if there was anything they could’ve done differently to ave her. They knew the odds on this one were bad, but they weren’t 0% - he just wasn’t good enough.

Alec takes one look at him and Magnus can practically feel the judgment despite Alec’s usual stone-faced demeanor. This isn’t the first patient Magnus lost, and it won’t be the last, but each one hits just as hard.

“I’ll talk to the family. You go pull yourself back together before rounds.”

And then he’s gone.

Magnus does, of course, pull himself back together in time for his rounds, with the help of Catarina’s reassurances that he can’t save everyone and nobody expects him to - not the Lightwoods, or the other staff, or even the patients.

When Magnus finally gets a chance to nap for a few minutes it seems as if everyone else has the same idea - after trying all the usual on-call rooms he normally crashes in during his long shifts, Magnus finds an empty cot in one of the farther corners of the hospital, in a wing so barely used he’s honestly surprised it isn’t blocked off by now.

He also finds someone else already sitting in the dark - Magnus might not have even noticed in his current state of exhaustion if they weren’t obviously crying.

“Don’t worry, I can sleep through some crying, pretend I’m not even here,” Magnus says, expecting his attempt at lighthearted comfort to be aimed at some intern who came out of the way to avoid anyone seeing them upset.

“Fuck,” he hears instead, followed by a sniffle and the sound of hands frantically wiping at a face.

He knows that voice, even in the dark.

“...Doctor Lightwood?”

“Just… shit. No one ever comes up here. Sorry,” Alec says, voice shaky with more emotion than Magnus thought him capable of.

Magnus hesitates.

He could follow his own suggestion and pretend Alec isn’t even there. He should. But he can’t, because he heard that tell-tale sign of crying and would feel too guilty just pretending he didn’t.

“Can I turn on the light?” Magnus asks.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Alec mutters.

“...do you, uh, want to talk about it?” Magnus tries.

“If I did would I be hiding out in here?” Alec counters. “I’m fine. I just need a minute then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Mmhmm,” Magnus agrees. He picks an empty cot and tries to close his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to actually fall asleep now. He tosses over once, then twice, before giving up.

“Okay, but you don’t get upset. Or angry. Or happy. So this is weird, and I can’t just let it go,” Magnus says finally.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I do this all the time, so really, it isn't a big deal?” Alec offers.

Magnus frowns. “...that doesn’t make me feel better at all,” he admits. “What do you mean ‘all the time’? You never do this.”

“Yes, I do. I just never let anyone see me do it. Do you think my parents are going to stand for their son walking around crying on a daily basis? Or, like, ever?” Alec huffs out a derisive laugh. “They have a reputation to uphold, which means I have a reputation to uphold. Heaven forbid a Lightwood has anything that can even vaguely be perceived as a flaw.”

Well shit. Magnus wasn’t ready for any of this, and honestly, he isn’t sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting heavy in the room. “You’re allowed to have emotions. You’re not - contrary to rumors I may or may not have started personally - an actual robot.” Magnus winces.

“Tell that to my parents,” he says. “I’m honestly not sure which they’ll be more upset over - losing the patient in the first place, or letting it get to me like this. I shouldn’t have let either happen tonight, let alone both.” Alec gives a rough sniff, and Magnus’ eyes are adjusted enough to the dim light that filters in through the window now that he can see Alec fidgeting with his hands and biting on his lower lip.

Magnus hates how casually Alec talks down on himself, despite the fact that Magnus himself was very sarcastically saying the same things about him not too long ago. Isabelle was right - he just needed to get to know Alec a little better. He hates her for that.

“No one’s perfect. NOt even you, apparently. I’m not going to lie, it’s refreshing to know. But I’m, uh, sorry you feel like you need to be. Guess no familial pressure is the one up-side to not having any family left.” Magnus wonders if maybe opening up a bit himself will encourage Alec to do the same. “If you ever want to talk-”

“Listen, I don’t need you to feel bad for me. Sorry for dumping all that shit on you just now, I don’t know what came over me. Just pretend this never happened, and you can go back to talking shit about me to my sister and everyone else in this hospital, and I can go back to keeping this room for myself.” There’s an edge to Alec’s tone like he just realized everything he’s been saying since he started what seems to be an entirely accidental venting he probably wishes he could take back. Magnus can practically feel him putting a wall up between them.

“Alexander-” Magnus starts, but Alec stands and crosses the room to the door before he can say anything more.

“I should go. Get some rest, Doctor Bane.” And just like Alec closes himself off again, leaving Magnus alone in the dark.

---

The problem is that Magnus can’t just pretend it never happened. He wants to. His life would be a lot easier if he did, probably. But instead, he finds himself watching Alec, really observing him, now that he knows what to look for.

Magnus can tell when Alec is intentionally pushing others away and closing himself off, and it’s almost always right before, and immediately after, surgeries. Magnus always thought that his kind bedside manner was the show he put on for patients but it doesn’t take long to realize that that is more the real Alec than anything else. It’s the cold, calculated version of himself he keeps on in the hallways and around his peers that’s the act.

And god, how tiring that must be for him, Magnus realizes.

Magnus also starts to notice the periods of time Alec’s nowhere to be found, and no one seems particularly inclined to go looking for him if it isn’t an emergency - except Magnus knows exactly where Alec goes now. The next time a surgery goes wrong Magnus slips a note underneath the door telling Alec that everyone is talking about how he did his best, better than anyone else would’ve done under the same circumstances.

The next time Alec loses a patient and needs to inform the family Magnus finds out his favorite hospital-accessible comfort food from Isabelle (which happens to be the greasiest burger Magnus has ever seen) and leaves it on the table in Alec’s usual hideout.

All the while nothing changes between the two of them. Magnus still makes terrible jokes that Alec only rolls his eyes at, before walking off without a single word and ignoring him just as much as - if not even more than - he did before. It’s a good thing Magnus is nothing if not persistent, and hardly deterred by a little silent treatment when he tries to say hi a bit more often in the hallways.

The more Magnus tries to get him to open up again, the more Alec closes off. He even yells at Magnus in the hallway over something so trivial Magnus forgets about it by the end of the day.

Through it all Magnus continues to leave little notes and pick-me-up gifts for Alec (Isabelle, upon realizing what he’s doing, is more than willing to provide him with all the inside information he needs for things like Alec’s favorite color or coffee order. She also tells him Alec’s favorite flower, and while he’s stunned that Alec even has a favorite flower Magnus also has to insist that isn’t what this is at all before poor Izzy gets ahead of herself).

Not that Magnus can really say what it is he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, which proves to be a problem a few weeks later when Alec loses another patient, and Magnus shows up to Alec’s ‘secret room’ only to find the door open and Alec waiting for him inside.

“What are you doing?” Alec demands, arms crossed.

“Bringing you a burger because I know you aren’t going to let yourself eat anything the rest of the night otherwise,” Magnus says simply.

“Why?”

“...because when we don’t eat, we starve. It’s like, human body 101.” Magnus deflects.

“You know what I mean,” Alec says, not letting him get out of it that easily.

“I don’t know… because no one should have to go through the stuff we go through alone the way you do. I know you didn’t want me around-around, so I just wanted to remind you that you weren’t alone.” Magnus shrugs, setting the plate down on the table near the door.

“But I was a dick to you,” Alec points out.

“Yup,” Magnus agrees. “That’s what happens when you bottle all your emotions up and push everyone away.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what Isabelle’s been saying, but-”

“She hasn’t,” Magnus reassures him. “It’s just kind of obvious once you start looking.”

“...and you’ve been looking?” Alec asks, curiously, with one scarred eyebrow arched.

“Not in, like, a creepy way or anything,” Magnus finds himself backtracking under Alec’s accusatory stare.

To his surprise, Alec laughs.

“Sorry. That was mean,” Alec says, and Magnus realizes with a strange mixture of horror and amazement that Alec’s teasing him. “I’m not going to lie, I saw you talking with Izzy a few times and thought she was putting you up to this.”

Magnus shakes his head. “Nope. Just me, all on my own, sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong,” Magnus confirms.

Alec looks down at the burger again, and then back up at Magnus. “Do you want to stay?”

Magnus, remembering why he came here in the first place, knows there isn’t a chance in hell he’s leaving Alec alone if he actually wants company right now.

“Sure,” Magnus agrees and watches as Alec makes impressive use of the plastic silverware the food comes with to cut the burger in half before offering it to Magnus.

They both sit down at the edge of the cot and eat, first in silence, and then with some semi-casual conversation, as far as two doctors on shift at a hospital can manage ‘casual’ without work-related topics cropping up here and there.

Alec is just starting to relax when his name is paged to one of his patient’s rooms over the intercom system.

Alec’s on his feet and to the door without a second thought, but pauses there to stop and look back at Magnus.

“Before I go,” he says, glancing anxiously at the speaker in the ceiling as if afraid it might cut him off before he finishes whatever he wants to say.

“Yes?” Magnus prompts, drawing Alec’s attention back to him.

“I was wondering if, maybe, I could repay you for the meal sometime?” Alec asks, and while it definitely sounds like he’s asking Magnus out there’s also, infuriatingly, not a single concrete part of that sentence that confirms Magnus’s suspicion.

“You can get me a burger from the cafeteria any time you want,” Magnus agrees.

“No, I- that is-” Alec starts again, and this time his name is repeated over the speakers and he curses again. “I’d like to take you out to dinner. If you want.”

“I’d like that,” Magnus agrees just as easily.

“Really?” Alec says, eyes widening just a little before he recovers quickly. “Right. I’ll see when we both have off and I’ll set something up, then.”

Just as quickly Alec’s gone, disappearing down the hallway.

When Magnus catches a few murmurings during his rounds of how strange everyone finds it that Doctor Lightwood is smiling a suspicious amount all of a sudden he keeps his own smile small and to himself.

And when he shows up to dinner two nights later he makes a mental note to thank Isabelle for getting ahead of herself as he watches the way Alexander’s entire face lights up at the sight of the single peony Magnus brought for him, beaming as he tucks it into his jacket pocket.

Alec has that effect, it seems, as Magnus sits across from him at dinner and does his best to not get too ahead of himself, either… but when Alec starts tossing out ideas for a second date before the first is even over, Magnus realizes he might not be the only one.

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #malec #ShadowhunterBingo #Isabelle Lightwood #i've had this little idea for ages and I'm glad for the excuse to finally run with it!#elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

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solohux · 4 years

Note

Since we’re here may we get a thrilling conclusion to the Milo Saga pls ? Reunions, love, family, all that good stuff Thank you. Also you’re amazing keep up the good work 👍

Here it is! The third and final part of the Milo saga!

Part I & Part II

All three parts are also on AO3 as a full fic titled ‘searching through shadows and snow’

Read On AO3 ❤️

For the first time since his exile after Exegol, Ben has a dreamless night’s sleep. It’s strange to wake up without tears on his cheeks, without clutching his pillow like a lifeline as a dream of his beloved Hux burns itself onto the back of his eyelids. But there’s still an empty space beside him in his bed, inside of his heart, and Ben knows that nothing can ever fill those voids. He rolls over onto his side and faces the vacant side of the bed, running his hand over the cold sheets and trying to force himself to imagine that Hux has just risen early to make breakfast. Everything is fine, everything is fine—

Ben can’t repeat the mantra a third time. It hurts too much to tell such a lie.

Morning has broken on the little planetoid, illuminating Ben’s room in a familiar glow. It’s particularly cold this morning, making Ben wish he’d worn a long-sleeved shirt to bed instead of this short, white one.

“Dada!” Ben’s three year old son bounds into Ben’s bedroom and leaps onto the bed, scrambling to his father’s side. He looks as though he’s had a good night’s sleep, since his copper-coloured hair is messy and his blue pyjamas are twisted and wrinkled. As usual, Milo’s favourite vulptex plush is in his arms. “It’s snowing! It’s snowing!”

Ben smiles at Milo’s excitement, his brown eyes alight with childlike wonder. Their planet experiences snow a few times a year but the landscape of beautiful white never fails to make Milo want to rush out in it before Ben has had a chance to dress him properly.

“Snow!” Ben smiles, hiding his sadness from his beloved boy and sitting up in bed to take Milo into his arms. “And I guess you want to go outside to play?”

“Yeah, Dada! Now!”

“Breakfast first, sweetheart,” Ben stands up with the boy in his arms, carrying him around his bedroom as he opens the drapes and sees the white wonderland that covers the entirity of the fields that surround their solemn home. Even the beds of white poppies have disappeared underneath the inches of snowfall.

“Awwwwww. But ‘m not hungry, Dada.” Milo wriggles in Ben’s hold, tugging at his father’s dark hair as he tries to climb onto his shoulders, making Ben laugh. “Go outside now! Pwease!”

“Alright, Milo,” Ben says, never being able to deny his son once he gets a certain expression on his face—the very same one that Hux used to give Kylo whenever he wanted to get his own way. “We’ll get dressed and then go out, hm? Build a snow-droid?”

“Yeah! A BB!”

“A snow-BB. Let’s go, sweetheart.”

In less than five minutes, Ben and Milo are dressed for the snow in thick clothes and warm coats. Utilising the ways of mind manipulation, Ben has easily kept his existence a secret, wiping the minds of the market traders who operate in the small town almost fifty miles away from Ben’s quaint countryside cottage. And it also means that Ben can steal without being caught. Whilst he tries to remain in a neutral state of mind when it comes to the light and dark side of the Force, Ben struggles. Truly, Kylo Ren has never left his veins—possibly kept alive by his love for Hux.

As the pair stand on the porch in the morning sun, Milo is practically buzzing with excitement whilst Ben tries to calm him enough to put his woolly hat and gloves on but the boy is jumping up and down, stomping his little black boots on the wooden decking whilst giggling.

“Hold on, starbright,” Ben smiles, making sure Milo’s ginger hair is dry under his hat and his adorably large ears are tucked warmly away too. “We don’t want you to be too cold, do we?”

“Dadaaaa, I wanna play!”

Ben smiles, amused by Milo’s impatience.

“Come on,” and Ben takes his son’s hand as they jump off the porch together, the snow swallowing Milo up to his little knees but instead of being scared by it, the boy pulls free of Ben’s hold and trudges off as fast as he can through the thick snow as more begins to fall upon the pair in a light flurry.

Ben follows closely behind his son, watching him run and play and pick up snow to throw it above himself, only for it to cover his little head.

Milo laughs, tumbling over and landing on his bum in the snow. Ben would give anything for Hux to see how happy their beloved son is right now.

Ben. Ben! The Force calls out to Ben, piercing his mind like a cold needle. He stands up quickly, looking to the clouded skies for the source of the disturbance. It’s been a long time since he’s sensed something as monumental as this, something that is making his hands shake and his stomach twist with worry. It feels familiar, though, which is somewhat comforting but Ben’s maternal instincts run haywire as the Force won’t let him smile.

“Milo, sweetheart,” Ben says, his voice low, but his heart stops when he sees a figure in the distance, one that is staring at him and Milo, and one that has the boy frozen on the spot.

Ben’s fingers twitch, wishing he’d kept a lightsaber with him in his exile for moments such as this.

“Milo,” Ben says sternly, standing behind his son. “We’re going inside.”

But the boy doesn’t move. Ben’s knees tremble; it this the Shadow Man who has been haunting Milo’s dreams? Is it another Snoke come to turn the newest Solo against his family just as he did with Ben? No. Never. Ben would die before he allowed anything to ever hurt his son. He owes it to Hux to love and defend their precious boy with everything he has.

But the man in the distance is getting closer. Ben skids to his knees in the freezing snow in front of Milo, finding his face looking anything but afraid as one would expect a child to look when staring down the man of his nightmares.

“Milo? Milo, look at Daddy,” Ben says, putting his hands on the boy’s cold, blushing cheeks in a vain attempt to draw his gaze away from the approaching menace. “What is it? Starbright, talk to me.”

Milo blinks but his brown eyes don’t stray from their path. He raises his mitten-clad hand and tries to point at the figure, uttering one word that sends Ben’s heart into overdrive, “Papa.”

It can’t be. Ben frowns, turning around to look back over his shoulder, seeing the man that doesn’t look like a monster at all.

He looks like an angel, gliding across the snow-covered ground with a copper halo around his head, his skin so ethereally pale and familiar that Ben can’t find any words to describe the man’s beautiful presence.

“No…” Ben whispers, taking hold of Milo and standing up with the boy sitting on his hip, his feet walking forwards of their own accord towards the snow-angel.

It’s Hux. It’s his Armitage Hux, here and present and so very alive. Ben chokes on his words.

Even when they’re within arm’s reach of each other, Ben still can’t permit himself to believe it. He’s already been blessed with a second chance at life, bearing such a beautifully bright baby boy, for his lover to be back too.

“Daddy,” Milo says, patting Ben’s cheek. “It’s Papa?”

Ben can’t take his eyes from Hux. He still looks the same as he did almost four years to the day since they last saw one another, sharing a kiss goodbye as Kylo Ren departed for Kef Bir, both unaware of what would transpire once their hands left each other’s and their destines diverged. The Hux in front of Ben’s tear-filled eyes is still as handsome as ever, his pale eyes just as piercing and his body just as tall and lithe. Even without the greatcoat and uniform, he’s still the image of power to Ben’s eyes, he’s still the only constant that has ever blessed Ben’s messy and lonely life.

He’s saved.

“Yeah, Milo,” Ben sighs. “It’s Papa.”

Hux’s shoulders shake as the tears fall, no doubt hurting his cheeks as they fall from his eyes and onto his freezing cold skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He takes another step closer as Ben sets Milo down in the snow, the boy bringing his thumb up to nibble on the soft material of his mitten whilst his other hand is held in Ben’s.

“Milo,” Hux says, beaming as he utters his son’s name for the first time. Ben’s chest clenches, watching Hux kneel down to Milo’s level; Ben knew that their son looked most like Hux but seeing the two together now, Ben can’t believe just how much of Hux is in their son. “My clever, brave boy. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“When I’m asleep,” Milo nods. “You said you would be here soon.”

“And here I am, darling,” Hux says. He looks up to Ben, smiling. “Here I am.”

“Hux…” Ben sobs, but Hux is standing and leaping in to catch him in an embrace before his knees give way beneath the weight of shock and relief that have fallen upon his shoulders like a collapsing building. It’s immense, it’s overwhelming but it’s the happiest that Ben has ever felt.

“Ren,” Hux whispers Ben’s once-name into his ear as they hug so tightly that nothing can get between them, and Ben feels his soul soar; Kylo Ren was never truly dead anyway. “My darling. I love you, I love you so much.”

“I-I love you,” Ben—Ren—cries. “Y-you were killed.”

“Death would never keep us apart, my darling. I’ve travelled across the galaxy in search of you. And it’s because of our son’s power with the Force that I was able to find you.”

“Don’t cry, Dada,” Milo tugs at Ben’s trouser leg and makes them pull apart. “It’s happy!”

“I know, starbright,” Ben sniffles, picking his son up and holding him between his parents, embraced by them both for the first time in his life. “I’m so happy. So happy.”

“I want to know everything,” Hux says, wrapping his arms around Ben and hugging both his lover and their son at the same time. “Everything, Ren.”

“It’s…uh. Ben.”

“Ben,” Hux repeats, raising his eyebrows but the smile doesn’t fade from his face. “As you wish. I want to hear everything about you and our son, Ben.”

“Can Papa stay for breakfast, Daddy?” Milo asks excitedly.

Ben takes Hux’s hand, leading him back to his house, “Papa is going to stay forever.”

Home was never a place for Ben Solo or for Kylo Ren; it was always Armitage Hux.

#kylux #kylux babies #post tros #post mpreg #m:writing

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silver-wield · 4 years

Note

I want to know what your thoughts are on the optional Aerith resolution scene? Particularly around the time where Aerith says the "love" line?

Awww man, you're gonna make me watch that? Lol

Ok let's do this then.

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be reasonably long.

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone’s interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis)

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog)

Tifa character analysis

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory – I should probably update this since I’ve had other ideas since then)

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti)

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis

Cloti reunion analysis

The Promise Analysis

Andrea’s approval (Cloti ask response)

Leslie analysis (not mine, but a good read)

Cloti action touching

Aerti friendship analysis

Cloti body language chapter 3

Cloti healthy disagreement

Cloti post heliboss battle (chapter 15)

Clerith playground scene

Cloti body language plate fall

Cloud and Barret friendship

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

Recap time!

So, Aerith's been taken by Shinra and the group is still feeling the after effects of the plate fall. Everyone's pretty demoralised and after they visit deep ground and Cloud gets the aborted flashback of himself inside a chamber being experimented on, he says to Elmyra they should go save Aerith before the same fate befalls her.

Elmyra asks they sleep on it.

During the night Cloud “wakes up” to see a ghostly Aerith heading downstairs. He follows her outside and they talk on the hill top where the lifestream can be seen glowing in the background.

It’s important to note that Cloud has literally just gone through both the train graveyard and seen a bunch of ghosts and the plate collapse where he’s seen a load of people he cares about die.

Cloud looks surprised. Hmm I wonder why....

Yeah, this is a no brainer opening. Aerith shouldn't be there and he doesn't think he's asleep at this moment. He looks around and figures out it's a dream, but isn't totally sure because how often does anyone have cognisant dreams?

You can see the doubt about if she’s a ghost or not and she doesn’t clear that up, so Cloud’s left wondering if Aerith’s dead already. The following conversation doesn’t reassure him.

Aerith's “Maybe. You tell me,” doesn't actually help here. If Cloud's having doubts about how real it is – and she's aware of his fake persona and wants to know the real him – then causing further doubt in his mind seems counterproductive. It's like she's implying an illusory nature to their relationship. It also feels like foreshadowing the moment Cloud thinks he’s not real.

She's also not looking at him when she says it, so even if it was a teasing moment between them, she's automatically set a distance between them. Because eye contact matters, remember? When someone can't meet your eye it's for a reason, whether they're uncomfortable or hiding something or whatever. Eye contact is a conscious connection between two people. Deliberately not making eye contact has meaning too.

Aerith exposition. Lots of fidgeting. No eye contact. She seems like she's making small talk to avoid something. Even when Cloud faces her head on she quickly turns away again to stare off into the distance. Cloud remains in her peripheral vision only. When Aerith does turn to reassure Cloud, he looks away.

And after is the immortal line “Don't be silly” in response to Cloud's sarcasm. I mean, isn't she supposed to be the sweet one? So wouldn't her saying silly fit with her vocabulary? Or should she have said something like “Cloud, don't be a fucking moron” because she swore that one time and everyone erupted into cheers over it? Let's say it is a callback to Claudia, who somehow had a prophetic vision of Aerith being “the one”. Aerith didn't say “silly goose” which was the exact line Claudia said, so technically Aerith's only half of what Claudia suggested. If Tifa says “goose” at some point does that validate her being in the running too?

Yes, I'm being facetious. Point is, unlike the promise between Cloud and Tifa when it was Tifa reusing her own words, this relies on Aerith having meta knowledge of what Claudia said to Cloud when he was 16 and Aerith was with Zack. So, with that in mind, why would Aerith care what Claudia had to say about some other guy she doesn't even know when she's already got a boyfriend? The implication of this is that Aerith already knew everything that would happen to Zack and she'd already moved on from him to Cloud before they ever met and yet she kept writing letters to Zack the whole time.

But then after meeting Cloud she decided to take him up on the slide and talk about her dead boyfriend...as a way to let him know she's single?

This is Cloud's face when Aerith says in a perky voice “You worried about me?” This is the bit where he says “Of course.” It's a very neutral expression tbf. There's not anything being given away and the way he says the line is very simple too. Nothing suggests he's revealing a big secret to her or that he's embarrassed by his concern. I'd say it's SOLDIER!Cloud at rest since we know from the devs that Cloud still puts on a front with Aerith because he doesn't know how to deal with her. Which is typical for Cloud since he's emotionally 16 and never dealt with girls.

That perky persona visibly drains from Aerith's face and body language. Her posture sags, she breaks eye contact, she looks sad. This is the image of someone who isn't happy to hear that Cloud's worried about her. Now, if she was into the whole ship wouldn't she be happier to hear that line from him? She's regretful and turns away again, using her body as a barrier to any possible intimacy.

I'm sure people disagree, so imma explain. If she'd turned her back that would be an outright rejection. She'd be fully closing herself off. By turning away, she's indicating the conversation isn't over, but her degree of attention on Cloud is less than if she'd face him head on. If she stayed facing him, then that builds intimacy since face to face is open body language which can have several interpretations – some of which I've mentioned before like confrontational when Cloud steps up to Rude. When it's between a couple, it's suggestive of building intimacy and trust.

And when Cloud takes a step towards Aerith, she steps away again, towards the lifestream in the distance. Not permitting the closing of distance is a sign she doesn't want to encourage intimacy with him. That she walks towards where the lifestream is means that's where her attention and focus is. Whether that's an overarching plot reason or from a “Zack is there” reason is up to your interpretation.

Another immortal line. Considering Aerith just stepped towards where we can see the lifestream and that she's taking up her priestess pose we can reasonably assume she's thinking of Zack, unless you're once again subscribing to the theory that she's meta!Aerith aware of her own death and speaking of that. In which case, yall need to make up your minds whether she's one or the other because you can't swap between the two when it suits you just to justify your arguments.

When Cloud says “I'll remember that” in response to Aerith's advice that “every moment matters” it definitely comes across as one of those character building life lessons that Cloud's had over the course of the game. He got one from Barret about how not everyone has a choice to run away, one from Marle about listening to others and caring and now he's got one from Aerith about making the time they have count. These are mentor moments.

But more importantly, look who Aerith's looking at when she says that line. It's not Cloud, not the lifestream. Us. The players. She is talking to us. This isn't just wisdom for Cloud, it's for us, too.

After a 9 second pause from Aerith, in which she looks at the ground, Cloud offers a suggestion of what she wants to say next. She seems very lost in thought during this time, and almost reluctant to speak. Considering she always seems to know what to say in any given situation, this is off. This very long pause is the longest she's been silent in the whole game. It's notable. She almost seems to be warring with herself as her eyes narrow and she subtly shifts from side to side.

I may well be wrong about the length of time she’s silent. It could be 7 seconds in a callback to the 7 seconds it took for Sephiroth to drop and kill her in OG.

I'm one of those who does subscribe to the whole OG!Aerith vs meta!Aerith theories – which I stick to throughout every scene involving her so don't even try and @ me and say I'm a liar – and to me, this looks like OG Aerith trying to assert dominance over the situation, while meta Aerith wants to refuse.

When Cloud speaks, Aerith looks grateful for the cut in. It pulls her out of that warring state, while he's trying to look cool and mature still lol (dork)

Okay, so that whole speech she gives about thanking him is definitely coming off like she's aware of things she shouldn't know yet. This may be what OG!Aerith was trying to prevent her from saying. This isn’t something that Cloud should know yet, after all.

After some physical humming and hawing, eyes downcast, then glancing away and we get a shot of her feet – remember all of this is intentional to build a story here – she looks up and we get this line that's making certain people freak out with joy.

Quick lesson on intonation.

Intonation is the rise and fall – the pitch – of how you say certain words. The way you say them gives them their meaning. You can say the same words in many different ways to convey different meanings and/or emotions.

I've previously focused on Aerith's choice of the word “can't” here because this is the key word in the phrase.

Honestly, I'm not entirely sure how certain people are interpreting this line to turn it into a positive. The word “can't” is synonymous with an impossibility. It means “there are specific reasons why this isn't possible.”

Aerith didn't say “Don't” as in “you shouldn't”. She said “can't” as in “not able to”. She is telling Cloud that he's not able to love her. The specific intonation on the word “can't” supports this evidence. If yall wanna examine it more closely then I suggest you turn the sound down slightly so it's actually harder to hear the whole sentence and see which words have more emphasis. Can't has specific emphasis, which wouldn't be there if she wasn't stressing the word.

As for her facial expression. I mean, this doesn't look like the earlier one where she's sad or regretful. This is matter of fact. She's telling him this as a kindness because he's not yet aware of the reasons that she is.

(Note: I didn't say which specific reasons because some of yall say it's her death and others say it's Tifa, so that's up to you. There's reasons, is my point).

So up until she said that, Cloud was actually looking at her. But this made him turn away in dismissal. Not with embarrassment. He's not caught out and flustered. He's SOLDIER!Cloud, remember? He's all front and super cool facade.

This isn't the first time a girl has thrown herself at him. Jessie did it too, only more ott. Cloud's used to brushing off girls and does it without effort.

I'm sure up to this point some people have been screaming about how biased I've been and unfair and this is so cloti (excuse me while I roll my eyes).

So, if I'm biased why am I about to point out that the above screen is real!Cloud popping in for a visit? This is him overriding the SOLDIER persona to question if Aerith might have a point. But not about her. About Tifa. Because within the previous few hours, Cloud and Tifa shared an intimate moment. And it wasn’t soldier Cloud who did that. It was real Cloud. Aerith is calling attention to real Cloud’s feelings for Tifa, which makes him look to the house where Tifa is sleeping. He gets soft eyed and starts to smile, but then seems to want to question himself, which we know isn’t a good idea. Real Cloud and Soldier Cloud aren’t ready to meet yet.

And while real!Cloud is busy debating with SOLDIER!Cloud about Aerith's words, she's approached completely silently – because, ykno, she's not actually there – and he's caught sight of her hand in his peripheral vision. The second she touches him he jerks back looking surprised. This wasn't a telegraphed move where he saw it coming from 10 feet away and chose to do nothing.

I also question that if he can feel her hand here then it's solid, but when he goes to grab her it's not? So, she chose to let him feel the first touch, but then rejected him grabbing her? Or is it more likely that having caught sight of her hand in his peripheral vision he didn't actually feel her touch his face then or the time after because Aerith's not there. There's no actual physical interaction between them.

This is pity. Not much else to say about it. Meta!Aerith knows Cloud's future and that by introducing these future concepts to him, she's causing confusion ahead of the time it should happen. She feels bad about that and probably about her OG behaviour that she had no control over thanks to the Whispers forcing her to go against her real nature.

Well, I was going to say that Cloud going to grab her wrist – not her hand – is just further proof of her intangible presence. She isn't someone he can hold onto. But having grabbed this screen it's clear he wouldn't have grabbed her wrist at all either. His hand is open and aimed at her forearm and already passing through her well before he tries to close it.

And the reason why goes back to the ghost thing. Cloud thought she wasn’t there in person, that she might be dead or it’s a dream, but then she touched him. So he wants to grab her the same way he did Jessie in the pillar, to try and keep her alive. But his hand goes through her and he’s left looking confused again.

“Do I get a say in all this?”

Well now. That's a bit different. I'm sure like everyone else we've all been convinced that Cloud said “Don't I get a say in this?” like he's arguing with Aerith's decision. That he's admitting he's already in love with her.

“Do I get a say in all this?” is a totally different kettle of fish.

Don't connotates a confrontational tone. It's argumentative. It's rejecting whatever previous statement was made.

Do is a question. It's inquisitive. Placid. Neutral. It's neither confirming, nor denying the previous statement. It's merely asking for more information.

Funny how those little word replacements some people use end up twisting the narrative.

Cloud’s not just speaking about Aerith’s most recent statement either. He’s talking about the whole conversation they just had. The possibility that she’s dead or dying and he doesn’t get any choice about it. This is a throwback to the OG theme of life and death and how the dying get to say goodbye and decide how to leave, while the living don’t and have to figure out how to move on from it afterwards.

Anyway, Cloud has his back to us, so we don't even know if that's coming from SOLDIER!Cloud or real!Cloud, so that's up for debate and I won't even bother since he's got his back to us and we can't see either way.

And then we've got the cool SOLDIER!Cloud (screen) telling Aerith he's gonna save her. We already know that Cloud does his best to sound cool and confident when talking to Aerith because he doesn't know how to be himself around her. This is the kind of line you'd expect to hear from him.

She replies, “If that's what you want.” which is also very non-specific. It's a neutral statement that leaves things up to Cloud. It could imply an answer to the previous question he asked, since the two do stand beside each other and make sense. However, the interjected “It's almost morning” line breaks this up and makes it less of an impactful statement from her. She's done her upmost to neutralise any romantic context from this scene.

Conclusion

If yall saw romance then okay, you must be right.

I sure af didn't. I saw a regretful Aerith telling Cloud things he shouldn't be aware of yet, feeling more regretful for confusing someone who's already suffering from mental illness and then making non-committal statements that neither reject or encourage his attention.

Maybe she's regretful for her own sake as well, knowing what she does about him and still doing this to push some future narrative only she's aware of, but I wouldn't say this is romantic. It's clearly some kind of goodbye from her. Cloud, for his part, looks confused and guarded through most of the scene. There's one moment when his real self peeks out to question Aerith's meaning, but then he's gone again. We can't say for any certainty that his question was asked by his true self or his SOLDIER persona and without visual context I won't speculate.

#final fantasy 7 remake spoilers #final fantasy 7 remake analysis #Chapter 14 resolution A #Cloti #Zerith #Tagging you guys cause you might find it interesting #Not gonna tag the other guys

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slasherscream · 5 years

Note

Yes yes wreck me inside out, make me cry, I lOVE ANGST AND/OR FLUFF

A/N: angst won out because i’m a bastard i guess

billy loomis x reader x stu macherft. reader has amnesia and forgets the boys

——————–

You’d just gone out to get a few things from the store.

You’d kissed them both on the cheek before walking out the door. Thrown a casual “I love you” over your shoulder on your way out which the boys had echoed immediately. You’d be back soon, you’d promised. They’d believed you because why wouldn’t they? You were always back soon. Never gone for long or never gone too far.

Been together for years now, the three of you. Since highschool and now you’re all in your mid-twenties. Some people grow apart. You’d all grown together, every year brought you three closer and closer to one another in ways even you hadn’t seen coming.

After-all how many highschool sweethearts really last? You’re a relationship minority. A fact your boys are endlessly smug about. Even you puff up with pride when talking about the two of them and how you all are. Perfect, you always say. Because you’re sure you’ve got a relationship as close to perfect as a relationship can get.

The honeymoon phase had hit you all hard and seemingly never left. There’d been rough patches of course. Uncovered secrets (both bloody and benign). Adjustment periods. The troubles that accompanied learning to shrink three separate lives down into a single harmonious one.

But every challenge you’d come across you’d conquered it together. Together you could face anything.

Then you didn’t come home. At first they thought it was a long line at the store. Then they thought maybe you’d stopped to pick up some food on the way back. Another two hours passed and they panicked. No messages. No calls and you never went so long without communicating a change in plans. None of you did that. Hadn’t even back in highschool when you were all just kids bullshitting your way through relationship etiquette.

They blow up your phone but there’s no response. When they do finally get a call they’re already shrugging on coats and headed out the door, ready to find you their damn-selves. They don’t recognize the number but Billy picks up immediately, “Y/N? Is that you? Where the hell are you? You’ve been gone for hours what-”

“Is this Billy Loomis?” A calm male voice interrupts him before he can really get himself wound up and on a rant. Billy goes quiet, eyes closing with irritation as he snatches up his keys.

“Yes. Who the hell is this? I’m busy.”

“There’s been an accident and you’re listed as the emergency contact for Y/N L/N.”

Billy goes rigid. “What?”

The sudden change from anger to nothing makes Stu crowd him asking him what’s wrong. Stu is just a buzz in Billy’s ear in comparison to the voice speaking to him through the phone.

“They’re alive but their condition is critical. It’s urgent that you-”

Everything is a blur after that. Getting to the hospital (somehow in one piece). Talking to doctors. Waiting. Endless waiting. Stu curled up crying in a chair while Billy tries to comfort him from the numb, half state of being he’s fallen into. At one point they have to go sit in their car, Stu in real and true hysterics that had begun to scare the few other people around them. The night is drawn out torture and it stays that way until the early morning hours.

Stu had curled himself tightly around Billy, squeezed snugly against one another in one hospital lounge chair. Holding him like Billy was all he had. They were both afraid that this could be their new reality. Just the two of them (it had been that way once, ages and ages ago). The talk they’d had with the doctor was less than hopeful. Losing you …. an unthinkable cruelty they couldn’t wrap their heads around even as they imagined it.

And then a miracle. A doctor walking over and delivering the first good news they’d heard since arriving. “Stable. They’re stable and you’ll be able to see them soon.”

Stu started crying all over again. Only soothed by Billy’s arms around him holding him steady and tight. Maybe holding him together. It’s still a few hours before they’d allowed to see you.

They’ve seen worse injuries. They’ve caused worse injuries. Much worse. But you … seeing you, so beat up with every breath labored (knowing you’d just got done fighting for your life) and shaky? For the first time of the night Billy cries, just a few tears, he’s trying to be strong for Stu. For you. But even he can’t stop the few angry tears that escape.

They’re advised to go home. At first they don’t. Eventually they do. For two weeks you’re asleep. Medically induced coma for your own good. In that time they call teachers, family, friends, anyone who you’d want to know about your condition. Flowers, balloons, teddy bears, and cards from well wishers and loved ones alike begin to fill your room.

Everyone eagerly awaits your waking. When you’re finally brought out of the mini-coma you’re given a few hours to come to and adjust before visitors are brought in.

Stu and Billy are nearly jumping out of their skin waiting to see you. To see your beautiful eyes looking back at them. To hear your voice, their favorite sound in the world.

Then they get pulled aside by your doctor before they’re allowed into the room. Their face kind in the way someone who’s about to give you horrible news always is. Billy and Stu have to hold each other, sensing another brick-load of troubles about to hit them. By all means they’re at the edge of both patience and fucking sanity.

What more could go wrong? What more could they take before they just started rampaging? Before they grabbed this doctor by their stupid, bad news breaking face and smashed it to a pulp and-

“Retrograde episodic memory loss,” The casually decided upon problem of the week. Amnesia. Fucking amnesia. But it doesn’t really sink in until they walk into the room anyway, doctor following close behind and you look up but there’s no recognition there. Curiosity. But you don’t reach out for them, wanting to hold them, needing them to hold you. There’s no tears of joy. No anything.

That first “meeting” doesn’t go well. Weeks of stress boiling over at this one last slight dealt against you three. Billy is the one to snap and Stu follows close behind. They’re escorted out of the room but not the hospital.

The doctor talks to them in more understanding and hushed tones that only make them feel murderous. “This will be a difficult period of-” Stu doesn’t hear the rest. Too busy laughing like a madman. Difficult couldn’t begin to cover the full scope of loss they’ve felt when they looked into your eyes and hadn’t felt you looking back.

You go home with them eventually. You wanted to go stay with your parents or the handful of friends that you remember but the doctor suggests against it and so do the other people in your life. Jogging the memory best done in a familiar environment and whether you know it or not the environment that’s most familiar to you is the home you share with the boys. Your boys, apparently.

They’d made an impression on you but it had been poor to say the least. Their anger intense and terrifying. There’d been sadness too, obviously, but it was the anger that had stuck with you. It left a pit of …not fear, but something close in your stomach.

It’s family and the hospital staff that soothe your nerves enough to allow the boys to take you home. The nurses telling you just how worried and doting they’d been during your coma. Almost always at your bedside. All the people you love (and can still remember) telling you how incredible your relationship had always seemed. How happy you’d been with them.

So you go “home”.

It’s not easy. They’re perfect strangers to you and your the love of their lives. None of you knows what to do. How to act. How to deal with one another.

The first night is a special type of hell. They show you around the house, Billy radiating displeasure even as his voice is neutral. You get takeout and sit on the couch and don’t ask all the questions you want to because it doesn’t feel….right. You all pretend not to stare at each other.

When it’s time to go to bed you change in the bathroom but after a moment of hesitation you do crawl into bed with them. You’re not able to sleep. Deeply uncomfortable with how these two men you don’t know hold you with such familiarity. You put up with it for a few more days before you tell them you’d rather sleep in the guest room for awhile. Things, shockingly, do not get better from there.

Billy retreats into himself. Doesn’t know how to handle you not remembering him. Insecurity and anger blending to make the perfect storm within him. He tries to fight against it. Knows this isn’t your fault and that you’re the victim of this but some part of him is perceiving the whole thing as one giant rejection. The ultimate abandonment. You can stand right in front of him and feel nothing while he’s trapped feeling fucking everything.

Stu is doing his best to be his usual self. Trying to be positive and happy for you and Billy both. It’s hard. Whenever you don’t get an inside joke. When you try to politely shrug away from affection that you used to melt into. It’s hard despite all his smiling and posturing. He doesn’t know what else to do but try and act like things are normal.

Eventually you start asking them questions. About themselves. About you. About your relationship. They answer them all of course.

Stu with enthusiasm no matter what you’d asked. Desperately hoping something he tells you will jump-start any part of your memory. The amount of details he’ll throw at you from you asking the simplest of questions can make your head swim at times. But it’s endearing to, how much he’s trying to help.

Billy answers but there’s always a tightness to his jaw and a closed off look in his eyes. Like he’s angry you can’t remember. Sometimes he’ll be dutifully sharing a particularly important memory or story with you and some of that coldness will melt away for a moment. Then he’ll remember why he’s sharing the story with you like he would a stranger and not someone who also experienced the moment with him and that warmth is gone instantly.

Stu is out picking up dinner when you finally decide to address the elephant in the room. You figure one at a time is easier and Billy is definitely the more difficult of the two.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember."

"What?” Billy asks even though he’d heard you fine. You’d seen his body tense the moment you began to talk.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember.” You reach for the remote and pause the horror movie that’s onscreen. The final girl facing down the monster that’s been hunting her. You turn to Billy to do the same.

It’s about time you all faced the monster you’ve been running from instead of fighting. The full reality of everything instead of tiptoeing around it.

“I’m sorry. But it isn’t my fault I don’t remember."

"I know it’s not your fault.” An automated answer and it makes you snap.

“Then act like it."

His eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks. There’s not the usual coldness there. There’s a heat to them. Anger. Well perfect, you happen to be angry at him too. You grab the closest pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it and the anger settles on the rest of his face and not just in his eyes.

"Fucking act like it! You walk around and you act like I wanted to forget you and Stu. I got into an accident and now I can’t remember jack shit and it’s not just hard on you, okay? It’s hard for me too. It’s harder on me. Do you get that?” You demand.

“I-”

“I’m trying! I’m trying to remember and I’m trying to be normal but I don’t even know what my normal would look like anymore. And everyone tells me how good we all were together and I wish you’d show me that. Because I need …. I need some fucking support right now and if I don’t get it from you who am I supposed to get it from?” Tears fall from your eyes and you wipe the first of them away but before you know it you’re crying so hard you can barely breathe.

“Hey. Hey, don’t-” A hand reaches out to grabs yours and tug you insistently towards the other end of the couch. You’re settled against Billy, his arms wrapping around you and his lips pressed into your hair, “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been an asshole-”

“A huge asshole.” You interrupt, huffing against his chest.

“-A huge asshole.” He concedes, squeezing you tighter, “I was …in my own head and wasn’t thinking about how much shittier this is for you. I'm sorry."

There’s a long moment of silence in the room but it’s not uncomfortable for once. You can imagine in a different set of circumstances laying in his arms for hours without saying a word. The sort of comfort that comes from knowing someone intimately for years.

Your tears dry up but you don’t pull away at first. You shift ever so slightly and Billy goes to let you go (even though he doesn’t want to). When you just settle more heavily against him and even move to hold him back he sighs in relief. This is the first time he’s touched you meaningfully in months. He was starting to forget how good it felt to hold you.

"You don’t apologize much do you?” You ask quietly, but there’s teasing in your voice and Billy doesn’t bristle like he wants to.

“What makes you say that?”

“Thought you were choking on the words for a second back there.” You pull back just enough so he can see your face and start to mimic how he’d forced out the word, “Sor …Soooorr-”

“Shut up.” Before the amnesia he would’ve kissed you to make you quiet. Now he just tugs you back into his chest where he can feel you shake against him with laughter instead of tears. It’s enough.

“Are you guys cuddling without me?” Stu gasps with contrived betrayal (that’s maybe tinged with real upset). One hand full of takeout while the other is pressed dramatically to his chest.

“Yes.” You say even as you peak over the back of the couch to give Stu a grin, “But Billy’s kinda bony so get over here and make us all more comfortable please.”

You spend the rest of the night curled up like this. The takeout gets cold before you three can force yourselves to pull away from the first bit of comfort you’ve had in ages. There’s still plenty of conversations to be had and a long road to recovery but this is a first step.

As you watch Stu try to sneak food from Billy’s plate and get smacked for his troubles you think it’s a pretty good first step to make.

——————–

#billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #billy loomis imagine #stu macher imagine #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #this was billy heavy because billy is SUCH an asshole #he'd be the problem in this scenario %100 #billy loomis: is this about....me?#ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST #Anonymous

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yourlettersinthesand · 5 years

Text

‘39 - Brian May x reader

A/N: Well, here I am, writing reader insert fic. I’ve never written reader insert before, but @fredthelegend ‘s writing challenge came along and I figured I gotta step outside of my comfort zone at some point. This is probably not my best work and also very sappy at times, but hey - at least I tried. I’ve got a longer (and angstier) Roger fic coming up for this writing challenge too, but it’s not quite ready yet (yes, I’m very late). In the meantime, have some songwriting Brian fluff!

Reader is gender neutral, and this could also be read as BoRhap!Brian, if that’s what you’re into.

You came to your senses slowly, alternating between states of sleep and consciousness. You turned over a couple of times, burrowing your head into the soft sheets and letting the impressions of the world around you come back one at a time; sunlight dancing across your face and the warmth of the covers wrapped around your body. You were well aware that it was likely way past any reasonable time to get out of bed, but you were so tired, and it wasn’t like you had anywhere to be today. You might as well lie here for a bit longer, you decided, as you sprawled across the bed, limbs sticking out well outside of your own designated side of the bed.

Then, you realized that the other side of the bed was cold.

You opened your eyes fully, and the sight of the rumpled sheets next to you confirmed your suspicions.

You rolled onto your back, into a starfish position; closing your eyes for a moment and exhaling deeply. Last night had not been particularly wild - a couple of drinks with the band and a half-empty pub didn’t make for much excitement - but you had gotten back home late and the fact that you were already tired from the stressful past week didn’t help.

Then, you noticed the sound of soft guitar playing from the living room. Lifting your head slightly to look at the bedroom door, which had been left ajar, you frowned at first and then laughed silently, shaking your head. It wasn’t the first time you had woken up to something like this.

You stretched, groaning, then sat up and dragged yourself out of the sheets. You had fallen asleep in the same slightly oversized t-shirt you had been wearing when you got back to the flat last night, and settled for simply picking yesterday’s shorts off the floor and pulling them on to maintain some sort of dignity. You quietly pushed the door open and stepped forwards into the doorway, taking in the view of the living room and its resident.

Brian sat cross-legged on the carpet in front of the couch, his acoustic on his lap, strumming a slow-paced melody. Every now and then, he’d mumble a few words, as if trying them out to the beat. A pile of blank paper sheets lay to his right, and a single sheet with words scribbled on it to his left; a ballpoint pen discarded on top of it.

Brian’s hair was a mess and he was still wearing the worn-out t-shirt and sweatpants he had fallen asleep in last night. He looked gorgeous, and you caught yourself smiling a little, taking the opportunity to observe him while he still hadn’t noticed your presence.

Queen was doing well and for the past couple of years they had frequently been away on tours for months at a time, leaving you to your own devices back home. As happy as it made you that they were making it big, you hardly enjoyed the loneliness. So, knowing that you’d soon enough only have Brian’s voice at the other end of a phone line to keep you company, you were grateful for every moment like this that you could get.

“Genius at work?” you finally asked with a smirk, approaching him slowly.

Brian stopped playing and turned to look at you, a look of both joy and concern spreading across his face. “I guess so. Did I wake you?”

“God, no, I sleep like a bloody rock,” you assured him. “What are you writing, then?”

“Oh, just an idea that came to me. I’ve had a few chords in my head for a while now, but I only just came up with the proper order. And it’s still far from finished. I’m trying to come up with a melody.”

You kneeled on the floor next to the paper sheet, picking it up. A short sequence of chords was written on it: G, C, G, D, G, Em. A chorus or verse; you weren’t sure which one - and, frankly, Brian probably didn’t know either. Below it was a set of lyrics, about as short as the chord sequence. Brian’s handwriting was neat, but the letters were slightly disfigured; the rushed handwriting of someone in a hurry to put an idea into words before it was lost:

Don’t you hear my call, though you’re many years away?

Don’t you hear me calling you?

Write your letters in the sand, for the day I take your hand

You smiled. “It’s great.”

Brian’s eyes lit up a little, his eyebrows raising. “You think?”

“Yeah. Beautiful lyrics.” You read through the words on the paper again, regarding them carefully. “What’s the song gonna be about?”

Brian shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. I had this idea… It sounds a bit weird, but I had this idea of writing something inspired by the theory of relativity.”

You frowned, surprised. “The theory of relativity?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m imagining this…” Brian fidgeted with his fingers. “This man, who goes on a ship and travels somewhere, and he’s away for what he thinks is a short time, but then he comes back home and realizes that it’s been decades and everyone he used to know has aged without him. Don’t you think that would make a good song?” It was a genuine question, asked in a relaxed manner but with an underlying hint of insecurity.

“That’s- that’s amazing,” you said, sincerely. “Yes. Absolutely, it’s going to make a great song.”

Brian shrugged. “I hope so.”

“It is. It really is.”

Brian smiled, looking a little flustered. His eyes turned to the floor, his long fingers plucking at the strings of the guitar absentmindedly.

You crawled closer to him, reaching out and combing your fingers lightly through his hair. He leaned into the touch, before picking the playing back up, and your heart swelled. How lucky I am.

You remained in this position for a couple of minutes, Brian strumming his guitar and occasionally taking a break to write something down. Eventually he put the pen down, shifted slightly and placed the guitar gently on the floor to his right; your cue to lay down on his lap. You fit your head and upper body neatly onto his crossed legs, your back pressed against his stomach. You felt him lean back against the couch, and his fingers landed in your hair, running through it for a second. Your eyes fell shut almost instantly, You were always most comfortable like this.

“I thought about the fact that it’s kind of what touring is like, too,” he suddenly said, picking right back up where you had left the conversation several minutes ago. “I mean, you go away and feel as though you’re unstoppable and that you’ve got all the time in the world, but then you come back home and you realize that everybody else has moved on without you.”

You frowned, turning your head to look up at Brian. He didn’t look back at you; instead, his gaze was fixed somewhere on the other side of the room. His expression was neutral, but there was something underlying there, too; a sense of guilt, maybe. Something heavy and sad.

His voice was thoughtful, almost guilty, and your heart ached. You clasped your fingers gently around his wrist, your thumb rubbing up and down almost of its own accord. “Want my honest opinion?” You paused for a beat, but Brian said nothing. You continued: ”I hate waiting for you. I hate it when you’re not here, I hate only being able to talk to you over the phone for weeks on end.” You could feel Brian tensing up a little. ”But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s worth it. And it certainly doesn’t mean I’ll stop waiting.”

You heard him exhale as his body relaxed beneath yours, his fingers running through your hair once. In return, you put your hand on his knee, rubbing gently for a couple of seconds.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“Of course not. I’m way out of your league. Much hotter than you, and cooler, and…”

Brian slapped your arm gently, his body shaking with quiet laughter. “Oh, shut the hell up.”

“It’s true, though! I should be dating someone more rockstar-esque. Roger, maybe.”

“You think Roger reaches your standards? Are we talking about the same person? Last night he mixed beer and strawberry soda for you when you said you wanted a non-alcoholic drink.”

“Yes, he did, like a true gentleman.”

Brian snorted, and you took his hand, pressing it against your lips. “Sorry. Of course you are the one for me; Brian May, love of my life, apple of my eye, most epic shag I’ve ever had. I would never replace you, no matter how great Roger’s drinks are.”

“It’s like a giant hug.”

“I’d expect as much.”

Your laughter died down eventually, giving way to a comfortable silence and stillness. After a few seconds, Brian leaned forward - a movement made awkward by your respective positions - and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. You smiled widely as he moved on to your mouth, this time kissing you deeply.

He hummed contentedly. “You’re lovely,” he told you, his face hovering just above yours. You laughed briefly.

“You’re lovelier.”

#queen fanfiction #brian may x reader #queen fanfic #ftlchallenge #queen x reader #brian may x you #queen x you

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fa-nfiction · 5 years

Text

Thunder #42

“He’s fussy today. I don’t know what’s up with him. I’m really sorry, if I had known I’d have left him at my Mum’s …”

Teddy was bawling his eyes out while I was desperately trying to make him calm down by pushing his baby carrier slightly back and forth.

It’d been that way since we got off the plane.

“Easy, darl’. Hold up. I’ll park right over here.” Michael took a turn and parked the car at a rest area that had magically appeared.

There, he exited and got Teddy out of the carrier in an instant. I procured a bottle of milk and passed it on, and in a matter of minutes Teddy managed to calm down in his dad’s arms. A couple of minutes more, and the boy was sound asleep, his tiny fingers wrapped around the bottle.

“Don’t ever say that, Cas. That you should’ve let him stay at home. He’s my boy.” Michael said as he rocked him gently.

“I know. I just feel bad. That he’s been this way, and-”

“Don’t. It’s fine. Look at him, all asleep and happy now.” Michael looked at the boy and I felt my heart soar.

“Besides. It’s probably just the English air. He doesn’t like it.” He said and picked his box of cigarettes from his pocket before handing it to me. I lit one up and made sure to stand a bit from Teddy so the smoke wouldn’t bother him. The nicotine shooting through my body made me feel calmer.

“Oh, is that so? The dreadful, English air, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” He replied while rocking Teddy gently. “You should have seen me. The first couple of weeks I was crying my heart out too. We don’t like it.”

I bit my cheek from laughing too loudly at his remark.

“Oh. Yeah, I understand. It must be terrible.” I teased back and put out the cigarette. Michael put Teddy into the carrier again, and miraculously, he didn’t wake up. Within moments, we were back on the road.

“You sent out the RSVPs yet?”

“Not yet, no.” I replied as we took a turn from the motorway and headed towards the central London. Teddy was still sound asleep. “Planning to do it tonight, though. I’ll just send them by Facebook.”

“Facebook? I thought you were going to mail them.”

“Not the way it works today, old man.”

Michael smirked at my remark and grabbed my thigh, teasing me. “What about Yasmin? I’m sure she doesn’t have one.”

“You’re dead wrong about that.” I scrolled through my phone to find the document I was searching for. We were going to have a big going away party, but nobody knew yet. That’s why I was creating an RSVP on the phone, readying it for to be sent tonight. I dreaded the girls’ reactions. I knew they were going to support me no matter what, but I also knew that they’d have a thing or two to say about it as well.

“It’s going to work out.” Michael could sense my uncertainty and he caressed my thigh while simultaneously maneuvering the car through the traffic.

“They’re gonna yell at me. I know it. Especially Cait.”

“What, for moving here?”

“They haven’t really come round to you, I think.”

Michael sighed and took his hand back to the wheel.

“And you?” He looked straight ahead, focused, concentrated, seemingly emotionless. I knew that wasn’t the case. He was anxious.

“All is in the past.” I said and tried to block the memories. “All is good now.”

“Good. I have something that you have to see.”

“Yeah, what are we doing here?” I looked around and recognized the area of Kensington and Chelsea. It wasn’t long until we drove into the Notting Hill area. On and on we went, until we were headed down a small road.

He parked the car, waved at a man seemingly waiting for us, and lit up a cigarette. I was completely dumbfounded, but managed to get myself and Teddy out of the car. The boy had now woken up and happily accepted the piece of bread I offered him.

“Steve!” Michael waved at the man, who now came closer. He was about Michael’s age, dressed in a casual suit, and carrying a briefcase of sorts. He had a very realtor-esque look about him.

“Steve, this is … Cassie. And our boy, Teddy.”

“Hello, how nice to meet you.” Steve said and shook my hand. Teddy waved at him.

“Likewise. Eh, if you don’t mind me asking - what’s … all this?”

Steve chuckled lightly. “He hasn’t told you, has he?” Steve turned to Michael. “This is your new home, if you’ll accept.”

“A … what? How?”

Steve chuckled again. “Not to your liking, or?”

“Of course it is. I just … I’m sorry, Steve, I just need to talk to Michael for a bit.”

“No problem. I’ll be waiting out here, you can talk inside if you like to.”

With a wink at Michael, he unlocked the door and showed us inside. I could feel how completely shocked I looked as I walked in.

It was beautiful. To the left, there was a large, light kitchen and to the right, a large open space, perfectly fitted to become a living room. In the middle, a large wooden staircase led up to the first floor.

Teddy seemed just as fascinated as I was, as his large blue eyes scoured through the room. I put him down and he began to crawl around.

Michael stepped up at me from behind and carefully laid an arm around me.

“If it’s… if you don’t like it, we’ll sell it and find another. Just say so.”

“Sell it? Wait, it’s ours already? Why haven’t you said anything? Ugh, that’s so typical you-“

He moved to stand in front of me, a sad expression on his face.

“It was my Dad’s. I got it after he passed.”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay. It’s just … I’m just a little unsure about it.”

Teddy had crawled all the way to the wall and tried to stand up. He hadn’t quite figured out how just yet.

“Why?”

“It was my Dad’s. We didn’t exactly have the best thing going on.”

“Oh, it’s a too many bad memories thing?”

Michael nodded, brows furrowed.

“I think it’s beautiful, Michael.” I took his hand as I spoke and he looked up at me with a half-smile.

Teddy’s happy baby talk made the both of us look to where he was standing. He had now managed to stand up, and used his chubby baby hand to support his balance. With a gorgeous smile, he looked at Michael and like that, out of the blue, he spoke his first word.

“Daaaad!”

We looked at each other, baffled and amazed, before we exploded in cheers and laughter.

( … )

It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes for, well, everyone, to reply as I’d sent out the RSVPs.

Yasmin was the first to respond with an all caps “I KNEW IT” and a ton of heart emojis.

Megan wrote a completely neutral “congratulations!” but it seemed like there was a lot more to it than that. Caitlin called my phone, and I didn’t answer. I was trying to tuck Teddy in, but just as Michael said, he hated the dreadful English air. Also, there were the entirely new surroundings of Nathan’s apartment which we had borrowed for our stay. There had been way too many new impressions for him today, and there was no way he would go to sleep early tonight.

“Pick it up!” A message from Caitlin read.

“Can’t. Tucking Teddy in.”

“We need to talk about this.”

Ugh. For fuck’s sake, Cait.

“I had hoped you’d be happy on my behalf?”

“I am. I hope you’ll be happy.”

“I am happy, Cait.”

“That’s good, then.”

I didn’t know what to write back to her, and I put my phone away and tried to sing a song for Teddy. It seemed to calm him down, and as I laid down beside him and laid my arm around him, he finally began to close his eyes. I did the same, only to rest for a moment.

The nightmares came quickly. They were about the same things that they were usually about. Some were with horrible scenarios where Teddy was missing, and I had to run through the entire city of Kenmare to finally find him. And when I did, I would find him in Michael’s arms, and Michael would be surrounded by beautiful women. Or, when the nightmare was particularly bad, there would just be one. One that was now his girlfriend. One that would have me kicked out of our home, one that would be Teddy’s new mother. This night, it was a particularly bad one. It had me tossing and turning until finally, I sat up in the bed with a scream. Sweaty and distraught, I flew out of bed and didn’t stop until I collided with Michael in Nathan’s hallway. He grabbed me by the arms and stopped me from running further.

“Cassie? Cassie! What is it?”

“You … you ... “ I cried. The memory of the dream was etched into my brain, and I was still in a state between sleeping and being awake. “You were with somebody else.”

He released me and I heard him sigh.

“How many times do we have to go over this?” I heard his voice change from worry to anger, and like that, I began to become angry as well. “How many times do I have to apologize?”

“I dunno, Michael. Start now and stop in 80 years?” I snarled back at him.

He backed away and let out a dry laugh. It only served to make me even angrier.

“What do you want me to do? You can keep on doing this-” He gestured vaguely with his arms. “Or you can accept that I am sorry, that it won’t happen again, and that I love you. But I need an answer.”

“How can you EVEN imply that I’m just delicate. How can you FUCKING not see that I’m like this because of you?”

“Lower your voice. Teddy might waken.”

“I’ll bloody well scream the house down if I want to.” I replied, but with a lower voice than before.

“Fine. But you have a problem. You weren’t exactly a saint, either.”

“A saint? What the fuck, Michael? At what point did I do something that made you go “hmm, well, yeah. I’ll screw someone else.” Fuck off. You fucking idiot. You fucking twat.”

I could feel tears running down my cheeks, tears that came from the entire situation. The dream, Michael’s misunderstanding, our argument, and the fact that he was right. If we moved in together, this would never end. I would always wake up from nightmares. He would have to deal with this jealousy forever. Teddy would, at some point, begin to understand that Mum and Dad weren’t good friends right now. I could feel my heart breaking at the realization. I sat down, back turned against the wall, and cried.

Although I didn’t deserve any of it, Michael sat down next to me and with one arm, he pulled me in next to him. I could feel him kiss the top of my head as my crying kept on, quiet as the night around us.

#thunderstorm #thunder series #the thunder series #michael fassbender fanfiction #michael fassbender fan fiction #thunder 42

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feel199x · 5 years

Text

gang member!au, gang member! han jisung, florist! reader, underground band!au

chapters: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X masterlist

song rec: dayfly by dean & half moon

warnings: angst, gun mention

”Miinho,” Jisung swung his legs off the bed, ignoring the shooting pain he felt, “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s coming, that dickhead from N/S.”

“How? He never did before.”

“I don’t know!”

“Then how do you know?”

“___ called.”

“What? Are they okay? I miss ___ so much, Minho please-”

“We don’t have time!”

Minho had no idea what state you were in, and if you were dead- how was he supposed to explain that to Jisung? That you had traded your life for theirs? Minho didn’t even understand, and he doubted that Jisung would either. Maybe it was wrong, but telling him wouldn’t be right either. God, how could he? When Minho heard him talking in his sleep, talking about you, dreaming about you, how could he? At least not now, he knew how Jisung was- emotional and impulsive. Everyone was down in their backup hideout, Chan and Woojin being smart enough to at least suspect that their location would be compromised. They had nearly forgotten about him and his condition after hearing the voicemail you had left. Minho was glad he had taken Jisung’s phone, and even more content that he was nosy. If he hadn’t checked the voicemail, who knows how this situation would end.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

Minho watched as Jisung stumbled, hands gripping the nightstand. Minho pulled Jisung, and leaned, helping Jisung get on his back. It wasn’t the most graceful, but it worked.

“Fucking liar. Do you think now is the time to be macho?”

The cellar was deep underground, damp and dark- rotten. The wood of the stairs was wet, splinters sticking out like split-ends. Deep under the earth, hidden from all good and bad to sit in true neutrality. It smelled like wet earth too, but not the fresh smell- the kind where you knew there was something rotting underneath. It was under the house still, but a lot harder to find than one would expect. There was an unspoken hatred for the fact that they were all there, the mess they had found themselves into you and the heat of hatred was rising, boiling over.

“You could have gotten killed. You need to be smarter.”

Chan had his arms crossed, tapping his foot like a mother whose child was late for curfew

“He’s here, isn't he?”

“That’s not the problem, Minho- You had one job. You know they’re here for Jisung.”

Felix spoke up from the back of the room, a scowl on his face. It wasn’t personal Minho knew, but he still thickened the tension in the room.

“Shove that self-righteousness up your ass, Felix. Do you know how much he weighs?”

“Oh, suck-”

“Both of you shut the fuck up!”

Chan pushed both of the boys away from one another, knowing there was no way this could end well. The boys glared at one another, but backed off- it wasn’t worth it.

“I have an idea.”

“Finally putting those two brain cells to work, huh?”

The nine of them had never fought before, all these years together had run rather smoothly- some petty quarrels here and there, but never anything serious. But then again, they had never been in a situation like this before, and it was pushing their unity and friendship to the limits. They had to snap from frustration at some point.

“The fuck is your problem?”

“Everyone told you to be careful! Literally what kind of shit luck do we have that you had to fall in love with a gang member’s manic pixie dream girl?”

“His what?”

“His wet dream, you dumbass!”

“Are you seriously trying to blame me for this? Instead of, I don’t know, feeling bad for ____ since the guy is fucking nuts?”

Changbin wasn’t one to get particularly vocal about his anger, he had a temper- everyone knew, but for him to snap at a friend? That was something else. Whenever Changbin got angry, he would always opt to isolate until he cooled down- never, never had he snapped at any of them. Changbin was soft, and never wanted to hurt anyone, even if he did get angry fairly easily. But for both Jisung and Changbin to be at each other’s necks? Never.

“You should’ve left. It’s always been nine or none.”

“We are all they had!”

Changbin’s face softened at the realization and took a deep breath. Jisung was right, this wasn’t your fault- and there was no one to blame except the kingpin of N/S. It was an unfortunate situation they found themselves, one consequence piling on top of each other like dominoes until they piled up into the mess they currently found themselves in.

“I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“We’re all just stressed, Jisung.”

Chan would’ve cut in earlier, but if Changbin had something to say- then he would let them vent. Changbin would never get physical, he knew. But if he had, then they had all already lost. There would be no way that any of them could cooperate if they would get physical over a slip of words.

“I don’t care, none of this is their fault. I don’t want to hear one word of blame- none of you know what they’ve been through.”

The room was beginning to become hot, but the tension in the air was fading as everyone let go of irrational anger.

“What was your idea?”

“My idea? Made with my two humble brain cells?”

Jisung lightened the mood, and everyone began to close in together- wanting to listen to Jisung’s plan. Things weren’t normal, far from it in fact, but at least they were all together. At least they had each other, at least they had unity. That was something that no music producer, no fight, no gang leader could take away. That’s what love was for them, unity against all storms, like roots of a tree- strong winds only made them stronger.

“We need something, anything.”

They pulled at their shirts, both unaware and pained by the room’s growing heat. They didn’t realize it yet.

“Why don’t we just kidnap the guy?”

“That would make us just as bad as him, Jisung we-”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Woojin always agreed with Chan, they shared opinions on most things- and it made for a good co-leadership. They worked well together, but most importantly, Woojin was never one for violence. Chan turned to Woojin in surprise, shooting him a questioning look and scanning the room for their response.

“We don’t have to hurt him-”

“Just use him.”

“Fuck, it’s hot.” Changbin pulled at his black t-shirt as it stuck to his skin with sweat.

“Wow, she’s-” Changbin shot Hyunjin a warning look and Hyunjn quieted, an amused look on his face despite the situation.

“Shut the fuck up, we need to get out.”

“You think he’s gone?”

“Look.”

“Oh shit. Shit!”

It was less than image and more of a smell, black smoke found it’s way from the cracks of the door, rising up and smogging up the air. The bar was hot as Chan forced it open, a sting lingering on his hand. The boys filed outside, stopping to look at the small house beginning to envelop itself in flames. The ancient wood was burning easily and quickly turning black as the fire reaching higher and higher, the crisp air fueling it. Jisung was clenching his jaw, eyebrows furrowed in anger and distaste. When did things go so wrong? He knew the flower-shop break in was the turning point, but how did he let it get like this? He wanted to cry, out of anger or sadness he didn’t know. Was it guilt or was it blame, did he wasn to carry a burden or point a finger? How could he know? All he wanted was to get back to you.

“Hyunjin, go with Felix and find the guys.” Chan wasn’t happy about sending them off to search, but it would be less likely that they would feel threatened if they thought only two boys were at home. “Alone, are fucking crazy?”

“You both have guns.” It was risky, Chan knew, but as much as he hated it- a risk had to be taken. They couldn’t all go guns blazing for a threat that they weren’t sure they still had to make a decision, and fast.

“You don’t actually-”

“No.”

“It would be self-defense anyway.”

Minho wasn’t trying to be rude, but realistic- comforting in a weird way. He knew that the situation that they found themselves in, and he wasn’t trying to make it any words by getting in a petty brawl.

“Oh fuck off with the cynical bull-shit.”

Minho turned to Felix slightly surprised.

“Oh, I’m surprised you know that word! Good for you.”

“Can you guys shut the fuck up? The house is fucking burning.” Seungmin cut in distractedly, watching the house burn from the top down. Thank god for the voicemail. Everyone waited anxiously for the duo to return. Jeongin turned around the corner to see that there was only singular car there. The N/S kingpin clearly didn’t think it through, he had underestimated them before- how could he make the same mistake again? Jeongin called the rest of the boys over as he saw Felix and Hyunjin return with a trio of guys.

“We found them.”

“Chan, what do we do?”

The trio of guys kneeled down in front of Chan. Any worry that showed on Chan’s face slipped away as he gave a firm punch to the middle man’s face. Like Woojin, Chan wasn’t one for violence. But unlike Woojin, Chan was good at it.

“Are you going to tell us where your boss lives?”

It was a gruesome scene to see Chan twist the man’s broken nose as he muttered out a weak “Yes!” Chan let go, hand splattered with blood.

“Great, I’d really hate to hurt anyone anyway. I promise to not let the cops know.”

“We’re going to call the cops?”

“Is that a good idea?”

Chan turned to the boys, having enough of their petty quarreling and questioning, and if Chan lost it- it wasn’t going to be pretty for anyone.

“Who’s gonna tell them what we did? Not these guys, they’re ratting out a kingpin to save themselves.”

“Is that such a good idea though?”

Everyone watched as Seungmin pressed Chan’s buttons, and Changbin added: “Maybe it’s time we’ve paid for our sins.” It was an unspoken feeling in the group, a sense of guilt and manipulation that resided in them ever since they had started selling. They owed a lot of their success to the drugs they sold, and it seemed like they were less of artists because of it. “None of us are innocent.” Felix only muttered, but it was true to them. “I never wanted this-” Chan was beginning to break, his voice wavering and they stopped. They lead the trio of men back to the car, and quietly listened to their instructions. Driving away from the house going up in flames.

“We could leave this life behind, we have the funds, the fans-” It was sort of plea, a wish rather than a fact that came from Hyunjin’s mouth, and Jeongin finished his wishful thinking, becoming an escapist himself. “It could be over. It could finally all be over.”

The car ride was quiet. Everyone anxious about your state of being, they opted against calling the number back- it wasn’t safe after all. But there was no way to know how you were, and what he could’ve done.

“We’ve been in this car for too fucking long.”

“Are you complaining?”

“What? No! I’m not an asshole. I’m just saying it’s been a while.”

“He really went out of his way, huh?”

The car ride hadn’t been long, but long enough for Felix to get restless- he was just the most vocal about his discomfort. It was his way of making things seem more normal than they were, sugarcoating their bitter reality. And most of them were thankful, but as the GPS announced their distance shortening, Chan grew worried about Jisung. “Jisung?” He was staring out the window, his anger towards the kingpin simmering.“What?” His voice came out harsher than he expected, voice strained with anger- he had practically hissed at Chan. “You should stay calm. We don’t know what state they’ll be in…” Woojin nodded, prompting to add: “Or what he’s done-”

“We don’t know what he’s told them either.” Chan finished.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, sure, but I’m just saying. Stay in control.”

“I said I’m fine. I know you guys mean well, but I’m good.”

The little flag appeared on the GPS’s screen and the robotic voice announced that they had arrived at their destination it was suddenly becoming real, too real. They were in the middle of nowhere, but the house was prestigious. It was big, too big. It was a complete juxtaposition to the surrounding greenery. It looked out of place. “We’re here, I think. We are here, right?” Chan parked the car and turned to face the men, and they nodded, the man in the middle covered his face. “I want to go in alone,” Jisung announced as he opened the door, nervously looking at the large house. “Fuck no.” Minho threw open the door from his side of the car. “Someone has to stay.”

“We can just lock the car. We already took their guns.”

“Oh.”

Chan locked the car they were all crammed in, and left the trio of men inside. The door took some time to open without force. But with a little coaxing, the door finally opened. Without a word, they took their guns out of the waistband of the pants or short. They split up, a group of three going in each direction of the large house. Jisung, Chan, and Woojin made their way up the stairs- finding blood spots going up the stairs, some of it pooling in some places. Jisung’s heart was in his throat, he thought he was going to throw up. He almost stumbled into the living room, and Chan pulled him back by the collar of his shirt behind the wall.

“You’re a little brat aren’t you? A little piece of shit. You ruin everything. I will burn this house down before I let you go.” You were on your knees before him, whimpering and shaking, crying as he dragged a pocket knife across your collarbone. You were already bleeding from the back of your head, streaming down your back again. You were getting dizzy from the blood loss, your vision fading. Jisung was wide awake adrenaline spilling into his veins. It wasn’t right seeing you like this. This is what you must’ve felt when you wanted to go back to your flower shop, knowing you could be risking your life, risking everything. It was something deep and primal, almost animalistic inside of him. He could feel himself choking back tears, a lump caught in his throat.

“Jisung, you have to wait.”

“Wait for him to fucking kill them?”

“We have to wait until he’s away from ___. Otherwise, he might, panic and actually kill them.”

Jiusng watched from behind the wall, hands in fists, fingers traveling to reach for his handgun. Maybe Chan had a point, they had to be calculating and rational.

“You’re going to have to make it up to me, and you know how don’t you? Be a good girl.” He dragged the knife up your neck and to the point of your chin.

“Oh, fuck this.”

Jisung pulled out his handgun from the waistband of his sweatpants. It replayed in his head, the night you got taken away. How helpless, how useless he felt as you were dragged out of the store. You could feel a shooting pain up his leg like high voltage electricity, but he walked still, doing his best to make his way towards you. Jisung heard Chan curse under his breath and pull his gun out too, his waistband snapping as he pulled it out harshly.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Oh shit. Shit. Don’t fucking move. I swear to fuck I’ll kill them right here.” He pulled you by the hair, holding you head up by it as you toppled over, too weak to keep yourself up. Out of your spotty vision, you made out a figure as familiar as your flowers.

“Jisung...please.”

He could hear the pain in your voice, and it made him angrier. The gun pointing directly towards your captor’s head. “You’re outnumbered. You don’t actually think there’s a scenario where you win right?” Chan spoke out loudly, hands on his own gun.

“I don’t have to. I’ll take them down with me.”

“Chan, the police.” Woojin whispered as soon as he heard the faint sirens and the rest of the boys piled in. Realizing that there was no way to get out of this alive, he let the knife slip across your throat before plunging it into his stomach. There was barely anytime for anyone to react. You and the kingpin collapsed to the floor as he let go of you hair. You heard the gun clatter, Jisung holding your to torso, covering your neck as it sputtered blood.

“Oh fuck, fuck! Get a towel or something, please. Oh god, ____, c’mon stay with me. Please. Just to the hospital, you can make it until then, please.”

“You know….what flowers to put on... my grave, right, ‘sungie? It might... be selfish to say this... now but, I love you. I’m in... love with you... Han Jisung.”

The blood on his hands was warm, he was covered in a mess of it. It was all over the marble floor now, a maroon pool flooding the floor. Jisung wasn’t in control, he never had control over anything. It seemed so futile, like everything he had done in vain. Chan brought towels to cover the wound and clean up the floor, but the towels became tinted and heavier. Chan was desperately ripping fabric to try to stop the bleeding and Minho flew down the stairs to call the medics in. Woojin’s attention was on your captor, holding him back as he watched you. He was bleeding too, but not nearly at a fast of rate as you. Jeongin had your head in his lap, stroking your hair. He and Seungmin began singing you a song.

“You’re not gonna die. Oh fuck, fuck! Chan! You’re not- shut up, Jeongin! You can’t- your flowers come on, please. Just a few more minutes. I can hear the sirens- you can do it, oh fuck! There’s so much blood, Chan, what do we do? There has to be something, you can’t just- I love you so much. You’re so cold- why are you so cold? Please, it’s selfish, but just hold on. Chan, there’s so much blood- make it stop, oh god, fuck make it stop, please.”

You were the bird from the playground, plummeting towards the earth and there was nothing he could do. He tightened his fingers around yours, as cold as they were, trying to bring some heat to your body. He ignored the blood staining his shirt, and the medics pulled him away from you, prying his fingers off. The police came in and pulled your ex away, even as he screamed and thrashed, trying to make his way towards you. Jisung followed you down.

“Please, please, help- you have to, they’re so good- please, promise?”

Pinky promise? It echoed in his head.

They wouldn’t, they couldn’t.

a/n: haha gotcha there’s one chapter left (im sorry please dont be mad)

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids han #skz imagines #skz fic #skz han jisung #skz fluff #skz angst #stray kids han jisung #han jisung #han jisung fanfic #han jisung imagine #han jisung imagines

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lovelyfictional-imagines · 6 years

Text

Don’t Be Long (Twelfth Doctor x Reader)

Happy September!

So this is my first post in a while. I actually finished some requests I’d gotten and lost them in the process of posting them, and of course I didn’t save them prior to attempting.

Can you tell I love Keaton Henson? I’ve had this idea and I was either going to make it super sad with Polyhymnia (probably still will) or somewhat cozy with Don’t Be Long. Cozy won.

As always, I hope you enjoy! Feel free to send feedback or just asks/messages in general, and I’m working on the requests again while I have time off for Labor Day.

Also! Tried to keep the other person gender neutral, so it could suit whoever you wanted.

Until next fic,

- Ashley

Song: Don’t Be Long - Keaton Henson

Word Count: 1957

Oh please don't let me sleep

I'll only dream with you at my feet

You at my feet

And come here, I'll let you in

We can pretend that I'm just like him

I'm just like him

And come now, please lead me on

I just need something to keep me from

Giving up the gun

Every time she walks out the door, calling some temporary form of goodbye as she treads into the dusk with someone else, he wants to scream don’t go.

But until he is brave enough, he only says don’t be long.

Don’t be long.

How does one go about telling someone they’re in love with them? The Doctor knew he loved her before, when he had a younger face, lanky body, floppy hair. He knew she loved him too then, memories of her bright eyes flashing a kaleidoscope of feeling at him in a simple glance then, as they do now. He loved her now, even with his sometimes-distant personality and cold demeanor, and she loved him still. It whispered to him, in the way she carried herself, walking near enough to him for their shoulders and fingertips to brush but giving him the space this body desperately craved.

Feeling particularly somber this evening, the Doctor laid back against the plush cushion of her couch. The bedroom door opened, and the scent of honey and clean linens poured out, floating with gentle music into the flat. An incredibly comfortable looking cream-colored turtleneck hung around her shoulders loosely, paired with tight black jeans and smart brown dress shoes. Beneath her glasses she wore makeup, albeit minimal. Tendrils of her hair were curled, the rest swept back from her round face.

She looked absolutely stunning, as always.

Now he tried not to stare but found himself almost unable to do so. The effort she put into this, so much she didn’t need to do, to look the way she felt she had to for this person. This temporary person who would never—never love her the way he could. The way he did.

“How do I look?”

Broken from his reverie, he cleared his throat and finally managed to tear his gaze from her earnest face. (E/C) eyes were large with hope, shining behind round glasses. With those rosy cheeks and pink lips, she was an angel. Something an old man like him didn’t deserve.

“I wouldn’t pair those shoes with those pants, but it’s your evening.”

A scoff and an eyeroll were sent his way, he felt it as he dropped his gaze to the bowl of peanuts on her table. The Doctor took it in hand before laying it on his chest, taking a handful out and shoveling them into his mouth. Already she was off to the kitchen, searching for something else he wished she wouldn’t. Why couldn’t she stay in? With him?

And this distance won't comfort me for long

Don't be strong, give in

Come be more than a song

Don't be long, don't be long

Don't be long

“I’ll be back. Don’t wait up, eh? Or is that even possible for you?”

The Doctor chuckled along with her.

“Don’t be long.” he called back, hurt well-hidden from his voice.

A gentle gasp rung out from afar, and the hum of soft footsteps grew louder as she returned. Suddenly soft lips were pressed to his forehead and gone as soon as they appeared. Now she was off, finally leaving for the evening.

Hopefully she wouldn’t bring them home. If he couldn’t stand the idea of her being with someone else, could he even survive the sight?

Now home seems like a trap

I'm not coming back without your love

Without your love

And you'll be a seat belt for me

And I'll be an airbag, darling

Just wait and see, just wait and see

The front door opened and slammed loudly not even an hour later. Jumping from his half-asleep position, peanuts scattered about the floor, bowl ringing out as it cluttered to the floor. The Doctor sprung to his feet, searching for the danger.

And the danger was a hurricane of emotion on a set path to her room. Fat tears were streaming down her red face, and she stormed right by him and into the doorway, slamming the door behind her. He felt unsure of what to do, trying to summon his previous incarnations to try and deal with the situation. Where did all his sensitivities go? All his charm, his way of dealing with people that seemed to work before?

Running his wrinkled hands through his gray curls, he sighed. The Doctor brushed his black coat off, kneeling and reaching to gather the nuts in his hand. Once he’d cleaned them up and placed them into the bowl, he felt a bit more put together to handle this.

Never had he thought a mere door would be so intimidating. Throughout all of his misadventures, the fear felt then was minuscule compared to his apprehension now. He allowed his fingers to glide over the doorknob before drawing his hand back to his face, biting his fist. Finally, he moved it up, knocking as softly as he could.

“(Y/N)?”

Silence.

The Doctor waited.

The door emitted a loud creak as it opened slightly, and he felt his hearts ache harder than they ever had. Looking down his long nose, he watched the smallest, saddest human in London peek through the crack. Glasses had been discarded, her eyes were puffy and pink, trails of ruined mascara smudged across her blotchy cheeks. (H/C) was damp and ruffled, as were her clothes.

“I waited up.”

(Y/N) was quiet, save for a few sniffles.

“Want to talk about it?”

They regarded each other for a long moment, and then she nodded her head, motioning for him to follow.

Watching the small human amble on to her bed and flop down onto it, he followed. Gingerly he moved a stray pillow to the side, taking its place on the bed next to her. She shifted her position slowly, sitting up and tucking another pillow beneath her chin. The Doctor felt the hint of a smile begin to tug at his mouth at the simple action but forced it down.

Now he moved his leg onto the bed, turning to face her fully.

“Come on, (Y/N). Even you, as stubborn as you are, can’t remain silent and pensive forever.”

Now her (E/C) gaze was subdued, dim.

“They didn’t show up. To start with, anyway. Then they messaged me to tell me plans had changed, but also that we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I asked them why, just an explanation, and they informed me of how I wasn’t their type, blah blah blah. That I was too much for them. Excuses. This always happens.”

Now he understood completely. Sympathy and anger surged through his veins, feeling for his companion and wanting to tear this person apart simultaneously. This... this monster took his companion, his friend, took her heart and threw it away. All he’d ever wanted to do is to take her into his arms and let her know the one for her was right in front of her eyes.

Shoving his own selfish thoughts aside was difficult. Almost impossible, when she was sitting before him, aching for love, to give and be received. (Y/N) was vulnerable, hurt, and nowhere near the right state of mind for him to attempt a confession. It wouldn’t have been right, nor would it have been what she deserved. This silent conflict brought him to a conclusion he felt they both needed. A hushed sigh fell from his mouth, and he spread his arms gradually. He must’ve looked painfully uncomfortable, but earnest enough, because after a hesitant stare she slid into his embrace.

It suddenly felt easy, easy to hold her and even easier to breathe in her scent, bury his nose into her neck as she climbed onto his lap. Touch so kind, tender as her (B/T) arms moved around his torso, and he draped her in his. (S/C) skin that was like silk beneath his face as he pressed it into her jaw. Relaxing against him too, in almost no time, as her head rested against his. Any initial discomfort was sapped, only leaving the warm satisfaction he didn’t know his body craved.

“They do not deserve you. Anyone who believes you are too much doesn’t deserve a fraction of what you are, what you can do, or what you can give. You are a kind, adventurous, wonderful, witty, even if annoyingly so at times, girl. Your ‘too much’ will be enough for whoever you belong with.”

Cautiously she pulled back, moving to look him in the eye.

“Is my ‘too much’ too much for you? Honestly?”

His throat ran dry. To tell the truth or not, that was the question. Testing his self-control seemed to be one of her many talents

“(Y/N) (L/N), you insane, difficult girl, your ‘too much’ is the perfect amount for me. If I could have even more of you, I would. I’m called a madman, but whoever thinks that you are ‘too much’ is truly crazy. This, I promise you.”

Sincere words poured from him, pushing the limit and trying to convey to her how he felt at once without spelling it out. Again water welled up in her eyes, but (Y/N) smiled this time. She pulled him against her tightly, pushing her own face into his hair. Light laughter pushed its way through her thick congestion, and her fingers raked through his silver locks as she pressed her mouth to his temple.

“Ah, Doctor! ‘Not one for comfort’, my ass! You always know what to say. Even when you don’t.”

She released him, flopping back onto her pile of pillows. A goofy grin spread across her face now, and the Doctor’s hearts sped as her hands motioned for him to come near. Crawling up to her, she turned on her side and smiled at him, affection pouring from her, all for him. Just what he wanted.

So instead of fighting, for once, he allowed himself this. The Doctor allowed himself to settle in next to her on the pillows, permitted her to lace her fingers with his and lay her head on his chest. He could feel guilty tomorrow, but for now he chose to take this opportunity for pleasure, to be near the one he cherished.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Doctor. Object of my heart, my best friend. My love.”

The last word was a whisper, barely the ghost of her voice before. Naturally he’d heard it. But they’d address it tomorrow, when her heart was on the mend, she was in a fresh jumper, and had a significant amount of caffeine in her system. It would feel too much like he was exploiting her heartbreak, manipulating her into feeling more for him than she actually did.

“Anything for you. Anything.”

He spoke lowly, almost afraid of her hearing how compliant he was when it came to her. They both knew it, somehow. Just as they both knew they were in love. But that is tucked away for another day, taking their moments when they could get them. So the Doctor wrapped his arm around her, fingers curled around her shoulder and squeezing hers tightly with his other hand.

Tears dried. Hearts began to fall back into place. They slept.

And believe, woman

Come back, you've got blood on your skin

Don't leave, woman

Come here, give me time to let you in

Believe, woman

Come here, you've got blood on your skin

Don't leave, woman

Come here, give me time to let you in, in

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samcrowblack · 7 years

Note

100 OC ask...he he he...I want to know more about mah man ! Mah main man ! Even if I know a lot already, I want more ! >D

Sorry it took so long but here ya go!

James Walker

1. What do they smell like?Leather and metal because of all the knifes and other equipement he’s got

2. What is their voice like? I’d say they are mix between BrendanFraser and Matt Mercer

3. What is their biggest motivator? Anything that has to do withsomeone else. He needs to protect a friend, that’s his motivation. He needs tocook food for someone else, he’s gonna look up the recipe but as soon as it’sfor himself, he gets lazy and doesn’t do much effort.

4. What is their most embarrassing memory? When Thomas, his bestfriend, had to pull out an olive from his nose in a bar in front of a girl hewas trying to flirt with.

5. How do they deal with/react to pain? It depends on the typeof pain but James is the type to exteriors it in private. He’ll go in thetraining field or anywhere where he can blow off some steam so that when hecomes back to his friends, he can act normal.

6. What do they like to wear? Usually loose sporty cloths. Likea nice T-shirt and some jeans or a sweatshirt and some baggy pants.

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them mostpositively? His friendship with William, a fellow agent that became a brotherfor him. Will and James are they complete opposite so they complete each other.Both of them gained a lot from their relationship.

9. Describe the way that they sleep. On his side with a handunder the pillow. He always has a knife ready to pull out so he wants to keephis hands on it at all time. Unless he’s sleeping with someone else, he’ll bemore relax then.

10. What is their favorite food/kind of food? Pizza and hotdogs. He likes them because they are easy and good in taste.

11. What do they feel most insecure about? His ability todo what is right for those he cares. He always fears he is not doing wellenough for his friends and family and pushes himself to always be better eventhough he is already a very good person.

13. How do they react to feelings of guilt? Usually, he getsangry at the person first then himself. He will run away and try to forget thefeeling of guilt before maning up and facing his mistakes.

14. How do they react to/deal with betrayal? Full blown outanger. The person will either get their nose broken or they will be dead.

15. What is their greatest achievement? Not getting caught bythe police once even though he’s done a lot of stupid things in his life.

17. What are they like when they’re drunk? Happy, clingy drunkthat can easily switch to crying and depress.

18. What kind of music do they enjoy? Anything that catches hisears, really. He is not picky on that.

19. Are they right or left handed? Right handed

20. Fears? Anything that has to do with doctors, needles,hospitals, you get the picture.

21. Favorite kind of weather? Sunny and warm so he can go for anice climb.

22. Favorite color? Green

23. Do they collect anything? Knifes. Anything from throwingones to antique ones.

24. Do they prefer either hot or cold weather more? Hot

25. What is their eye color? Green

26. What is their race/ethnicity? Caucasian

27. Hair color? Naturally brown but he dies them red.

28. Are they happy where they are currently? Yeah, he likes itin Canada. Even though he is from the states, he likes the northern country.

29. Are they a morning person? Nooooooooooooope

30. Sunrise or sunset? Sunset because a new is coming soon.

31. Are they more messy or more organized? Messy af

32. Pet peeves? Can be over-confident on certain things

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance? Notreally

34. Least favorite food? Cakes

35. Least favorite color? Black

39. Tell us about one of the times they got injured? He getsinjured pretty often with his throwing knifes but the major injury he got washaving his fingers cut off by his nemesis, Evans. James got to cocky and triedto take him down on his own but suffered the consequences until his friends gothim out.

40. Do they have any scars? A lot yes, mostly cuts from histraining days or fighting

41. Do they struggle with any mental health issues? He has somesevere self-esteem problems that can lead to some minor depressive episodes

42. Do they have any bad habits? Besides being very messy?

43. Why might someone dislike them? He acts very confident andcan be a real knuckle head.

44. Why might someone love them? He is a devoted man that will doanything for the ones he cares about.

45. Do they believe in ghosts? Not really, nah

46. Is there anyone they would trust with their lives? William,Sophia, Gabriel and Thomas.

47. Are they romantically interested in anyone? Yes, he is inlove with Sophia.

48. Are they dating/married to anyone? At the moment, no but hewill be J

49. Do they like surprises? Yes, he does!

50. When is their birthday? I haven’t thought of one I mustadmit o.O Or if I did, I don’t remember XD

51. How do they usually celebrate their birthday? He’d like tohave just a nice outing or little party with his close friends.

52. Do they have any family? No, he was in a foster home. That’swhere he met his best friend Thomas.

56. What Hogwarts House would they be in? Gryffindor, no doubts

57. What D&D alignment are they? Lawful neutral

58. Do they ever have nightmares? If so, what about? Yes, theday Thomas got paralyzed beause of him.

59. What are their views on death? He is not afraid to diehimself but he scared to lose the ones he loves.

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at? Anymistakes Will may do (if it’s not a serious one)

61. When bored, how do they pass time? Throwing his knife at anytarget in sight.

62. Do they enjoy being outside? Oh yes he does.

63. Do they have an accent? A faint New Yorker accent

64. Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, what is their firstreaction? Meh

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say?His last words would depend on who is present. He has a lot of loose ties heneeds to fix so depending on who is present, he would settle things with thatspecific person if needed.

66. How do they feel about sex? He likes it, it helps relax andhe likes spending a private time with his partner.

67. What is their sexuality? Heterosexual

68. Do they become squeamish at the sight of blood? Not really,nah. He’s seen his fair share.

69. Is there anything that they find really gross? Needles anddoctors

71. Do they enjoy helping people? Yes

72. Are they allergic to anything? Nope

73. Do they have a pet? Nope but he would like cats

74. Are they quick to anger? What are they like when they loosetheir temper? Very unpredictable and explosive. You know when he is angry

75. How patient are they? Not really

76. Are they good at cooking? Yeah, he knows his way around thekitchen

77. Favorite insult? Do they insult people often? You fuckingbastard

78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy? He kidsaround a lot and has a big smile on his face.

79. What do they do when they learn about other people’s fears?He usually tries to be understanding but will turn it to joke pretty quickly

80. Are they trustworthy? Yes, if you have gain his trust, he isa very loyal person.

81. Do they try to hide their emotions? Are they good at it? Yesand no. He is to expressive to be good at it.

82. Do they exercise regularly? Yes he does. He likes to trainand climb

83. Are they comfortable with the way they look? He acts like heloves how he looks but he sometimes doubt he is that attractive.

84. What are some physical features that they find attractive onpeople? Scars, he looooves scars.

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive? Usuallysomeone calmer and more grounded than him.

86. Do they like sweet foods? Not really.

87. What is their age? 25

88. Are they tall or short or somewhere in between? He isconsidered short for a guy

89. Do they wear glasses or contacts? Nope

90. Do they consider themselves attractive? Not really. He hassome problem with his physics even though he doesn’t act like it.

91. What is their sense of humor like? Quick and juvenile a bit.

92. What mood are they most often in? Happy, easy-going

93. What kinds of things anger them? Anything from an argument tosome bastard being a jerk

95. What kind of things make them sad/depressed? His failures orif his self-esteem problem gets to severe

96. What is their greatest weakness? His loved ones and fear oflosing them

97. What is the greatest strength? His loyalty and big heart.

98. Something that they regret? Not having been strong enoughfor Thomas when he needed him after the accident.

99. Biggest accomplishment? Opening up to William and acceptinghim as a brother.

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kurlykayaker · 5 years

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gaping hole

So, FYI - this is not my typical entry. In the long ago past, I tried a combination of writing poetry and prose (kind of stream of consciousness). See how it reads. My confidence in prose is zero. Haha, so if you have feedback (positive or negative), I have open ears. Thank you for reading. the world spins faster in grad school, but the days still feel long the more i stare at a screen/diagram i can feel my neural synapses tangling themselves together to find the right connection, “okay, i see how that works,” a semi-friend tells me “you lead an interesting life” with disdain. lead implies choice, interesting means ambiguous i wonder what it’s like “to be made” with just the right amount of egg, milk, butter, vanilla flavoring and flour, heated to the right temperature range. your mold never left the cookie cutter, you arrived “perfect” to this world, i rarely have negative feelings about my trans male identity these days, i embrace my pansexual orientation, and i don’t hide who i am, but why did i get angry? why am i hurt? why am i frustrated? perhaps the lack of sleep and food does not help, but i can tell you it’s more than just these things, it’s more than just these things. ....(moving to prose) I don’t share everything with everyone. I am selective about what I choose to share - ensuring that there is some level of trust between myself and the other person. I have become very comfortable with my “circle of friends” in PT school, but it has taken so muuuuch time and so many baby steps with all of these beautiful people, and I wouldn’t do it any differently. Even among these friends, there is always some level of ignorance, poor awareness, and ability to understand on their part; note, that I am not angered by this nor upset. It just is - which can be hard for a highly sensitive person to digest. I have traveled, I have walked and learned the ability to keep my heart neutral. Alas, there is emotion that still has to be released. Before I can reach that “well-balanced”/neutral state. My friends do not know the depth that I can feel alone at times - especially when I fail an exam (which does happen), during breaks when most people travel home/go somewhere with their significant other, or sometimes just on a Friday night. I prefer to be among smaller crowds - especially if I drink. The “being alone” is so multi-factorial. - being an ISFJ on the Myers-Brigg scale (not many of us), being very sensitive, having lost my father and aunt to suicide changes you ...being a trans guy (mostly attracted to other men), and add the whole graduate school thing on top. And please do not misunderstand, I absolutely love who I am. I love the beauty and richness it brings to my life, but there are moments - particularly painful moments, being a cookie cutter seems okay...haha I have been dedicated to therapy and found it to be very helpful. For the last 2 years, when I returned to therapy, I have been released twice now been told “I’m ready to fly free.” I went to a drop-in session about 3 weeks ago after failing an exam that I DID study for, haha. Words sometimes stick in my mind, from therapists - like they do for Bible verses from some people. Her words were, “It sounds like you have excellent coping strategies you’re using well..” and just like that, the smile erupts from my face... I know myself well - to know what works well for me, in life. I know that I find incredible meaning from helping others in my career. People freak out when they hear I have 3 part-time jobs, but each one brings SO much meaning to me - that I find MORE meaning in these jobs than what I find in some friendships and even some familial relationships - which is SO sad to admit, but truthful. The random patients I meet at the hospital, am able to interact with, and have organic moments with - mean the world to me. I have friends- and some of them ONLY study, study study - work out, meal prep, and then drink; this is the stereotypical health-related student. I stay up late. I eat unhealthy meals. I write poetry - art, woaaah. I go to dances alone - and dance (without having to be drunk). I don’t necessarily enjoy the parties with my cohort. I enjoy the “awkward conversation.” Things I have had to explain to my mom in the last week despite being out to her for nearly 5 years: a) how a trans athlete is trying to help U.S. states to legally allow trans people to play for the gender they identify with my Mom, “how is that fair? me: Sighs on phone b) what the ACLU is (she teaches ESL) c) that having sex with someone when you first meet them can be intimate (but not in her eyes) - i didn’t try to explain this one d) Re- this conversation was about 4 months ago, but we had a lengthy conversation about how President Trump’s decision to define gender legally as someone’s biological sex essentially is his attempt “to erase trans people.” My whole family - mother, stepdad, and older brothers ALL voted for him. Meanwhile, my Mom, “Well, what’s wrong with that?” me: very audible sigh, *rolls eyes*, and with fire, “REALLY, Mom? Does it matter that I came out to you as a trans guy almost 5 years ago and we had these hard conversations about gender then? Have you forgotten all of that?” Mom: “Don’t attack me. I just....don’t understand. “ me (still upset): “You know...if I don’t stay in this country, you can’t say you didn’t know, because I have explained this to you before. I’ve given you recommended books to help you understand. And, I’ll explain it again but you voted for someone who would prefer for me to use the female restroom. How would you feel Mom, seeing someone like me...in *your* restroom? (She’s fired up now....) The conversation continues. I calm down and explain it to her. I was trying to review some orthopedic information that day, in preparation for my clinical week. I couldn’t study after that- I recall going back to the coffee shop, sitting down and being so fucking frustrated. The feelings sunk in like the weighted Titanic - anger, complete frustration, annoyed, tired, so emotionally tired, alone- very alone, and void of hope. My hands are shaking, I can’t tell if I’m going to cry or hit something. I excuse myself from the coffeehouse, and go home - to cuddle myself in my bed. After my dad passed away and when I got to high school, I was afraid to leave home and go to school. It was a weird stage and feeling to experience at that age because most teenagers want to be the farthest thing from their parent. I later realized - I was afraid that I would come home, after school, and she’d no longer be there in the physical form. It was a rational fear; essentially, that’s what happened with my dad - I went to school (and never really left school) to find he .... was suddenly gone. Essentially, I’m always aware - this could happen at any moment. Despite sometimes my mom’s lack of understanding, I love the hell out of her and put these differences aside (despite wanting to educate her and try to help her understand more).... Yet, these are still things I continue to talk about with my mom - whom I consider VERY close to me. The pertinence of this story is that feeling of being alone. I can spend hours alone - studying, writing, meditating, listening to music and not feel alone. The context of the word is important; I don’t like the word, “lonely.” Lonely in my opinion, carries a connotation of co-dependency, unhealthy attachment, lack of self-resolve (emotionally, possibly mentally) and lack of self-comfort. What the fuck is the meaning of my word, “alone” then? I am comfortable in myself and my independence, but I feel so disconnected from the people around me- from some of my closest friends, from my very own mother, from my classmates. A close trans guy friend of mine, who lives in NC is doing an internship in Ireland; and he jokes that, I should “move there with him” (that’s his plan to move there). Which is a HUGE change; and I don’t normally place great emphasis on where we live. I think that internal happiness and connection is more abstract than that- it’s about a state of mind, and how you see life. But, maybe a change in culture would be healthy for me? That is something, I am unsure of - and don’t have an answer to. I know that when I go to my favorite Latino restaurant in Athens, I feel a sense of connection and love - that I don’t feel elsewhere. The waiters will just talk to me- they’re not in a rush, and I enjoy this greatly. ... The hardest aspect of writing sentences/prose to me is that I feel so academic and feel I need a sound “ending.” Poetry allows me to end the poem with a beautiful decrescendo. You’re not getting that here, haha. People try to tell me that “I’ll find someone” (re: partner) or ...”to just have faith.” I’m not looking to find someone tomorrow or even in 3 years - it’s so much more than being in a relationship. It’s about feeling connected to the people around me. When people provide this kind of “broken record” of a response, I’m tempted to start a conversation with this- the words you’ve been reading, what I’ve been expressing in this entry - but even with people that are close to me, when I’ve attempted, only so much is absorbed and understood. And so this, entry ends with a hole - a fucking gaping hole in which my Mom replies, “That is life, Jordan. Life is hard.” I laugh to myself, “You don’t think I don’t know that Mom?” ....

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tillerman1 · 5 years

Text

THE RESERVE by Ingmar Bergman

THE RESERVE (translated to the sentence by Thomas Jester)

MONOLOGUES:

ANNA: I named Anna Fromm 34 year lecturer in Slavic language and happy married then eleven years. I have two children, one boy and one girl. My husband's name is Andreas. There is no glimpse of something worrying in my daily life. My closest is nice, nice men, completely normal all but my eldest brother Albert, who is soaring to die.

ANDREAS: My name is Andreas Fromm is forty years old and is an architect of a state-owned work. My wife's name is Anna. I do not think there are many men who feel as good as me. Sometimes I almost feel that it feels a bit anxious with an existence, as is so to the degree protected for discomfort and real concern.

ANNA: It is clear that I worry about what's happening around me in the world. It's coming to me in a short moment. I can feel a breathtaking nausea, as the news itself affects me. But then the day ends.

ANDREAS: It's happening sometime that you think: when will the storm change direction. When will it cross this protected island. But it's not just the thoughts that keep you awake at night.

FIRST ACT

Anna wakes up early, but she stays immobile in the big comfortable bed. The body is itself still in one pleasant numbness; the room is dark and cool, The clock can not be more than six, it's still in the house. The big clock in the dining room strikes something (but always wrong). Henrik coughs in there in the children's room. The birds are heard in the trees outside the open window. She stretches out her hand and turns on the little white radio: it gives off a weak but penetrating voice: "Be merciful, Lord, for in my heart I am terrified. Yes, my soul is terribly frightened. Ah, Lord, how long? Return, O Lord, save my soul, save me for your mercy." She turns off the radio and sighs a bit unhappy. Then she hears trembling steps and it cracks on the door, a slight whining voice: May I come in. He gets it. Henrik, eight years old, now with coryza cum cough, comes across the floor and creeps up to Anna in bed. Are you awake already? It's hard to sleep, do you understand, because I cough all the time. I have been coughing all night. Anna pours some mineral water and gives the son a drink. Can not I stay with you? No, you're going to come in to you now, Henrik. If you take a book and read for a while so it's almost morning. Henrik descends from the bed and is gloomy. Mom, Martin Luther King has been shot. What do you say, has he been shot? Yes, no, they said in the news, says Henrik and Gäspar. Andreas Fromm thinks in principle that the morning is a bit of a big deal. He wakes up a few minutes before the alarm clock rings. Then he lies a little and enjoys being awake, being healthy and in all modesty of being Andreas Fromm. Then he stands up: counts one seated in bed, counts two puts feet on the floor, counting three stands on the floor. The window is open, it is pale, the small snow in the garden and spring has become unconscious. This generates not Andrew; he makes his small trainings program, since he has removed the pajamas jacket. Then he looks smoothly (and dancing) his bathroom, where he shaves, washes, spruces himself and cuts his toenails. He has great pleasure in all this. At eight past eight he comes down to the dining room, where Berta already presented his breakfast: squeezed orange, an egg, toast, cheese, boiled ham and tea with lemon. He looks in the newspaper. The headlines are blacks of Vietnam. Just before eight he walks into the nursery and greets Veronica, which is his love and five years. She is already eagerly engaged in the morning for her dolls and receives the father's tribute with friendly but excited eyesight. Berta tells him that Henrik is asleep and that he has been worried during the night. Andreas says he does not come for dinner today, takes the stairs in two shots and knocks on the bedside door. Anna cries in and greets him good morning. She sits in bed with her breakfast tray. Their conversation is short, polite and neutral. Anna says she will have Dad for dinner today, if he still does not come home, it's fine. He asks her to greet the old man. Anna wishes him a good day. Andreas recalls that there comes a man, like that should repair boiler today, and to heat probably comes to be off a few hours. Anna says that is not so good because Henrik is cold, but Andreas makes her feel that it's probably not going to be particularly cold in the rooms and that it's hard to get people and they come when it suits them, the devils. Anna asks if he or she is going to buy tickets for the concert. He says that his secretary arranges that matter. She asks him really not forget this. Andreas assures that he really should not forget this. They smile kindly (mornings are not clear) and Andreas does hastily farewell. Did you hear the news, Anna asks suddenly. No, why, asks Andreas. Martin Luther King is murdered, says Anna. What are you saying, is it true? Well, Henrik came in and told me he had heard it on the radio, I did not think it was true. Damn, says Andreas. They say fast farewell. Andreas takes pileus and coat, Berta vacuums in the stairs. He takes his little car from the double garage down the road and slopes gently on the wet slippery asphalt. In the car radio he hears about the murder. The queue in to the city is longer than usual due to the bad roadmap, but he will still arrive in good time to the Workshop. He takes the elevator up to his department and then the corridor to the left. His secretary, Mrs Prakt (a big girl with hanging shoulders and small intelligent eyes) is already there. She presents the entry and current visits list on his desk. She says that the Director-general calls for a call.

ANDREAS: Well, now I'm busy at four past nine, it's not possible. Did not you say that?

MISS PRAKT: Yes, I said you were busy. But the Director General said it was important and wondered if you can not postpone the meeting.

ANDREAS: Yes, I can do that. If you want to call Ray and ask him to come tomorrow instead, if he can. Would thou be able to arrange tickets to Concert Hall on Sunday also, then you are terribly sweet.

MISS PRAKT: I'll do that. Do you go for lunch?

ANDREAS: No, I do not think so. Why?

MISS PRAKT: I would to the dentist understand you and I wonder if you could dispense with me one hour after lunch. It may happen, I still have time, but I'm not sure. One must wait.

ANDREAS: Go you. I only have those sad guys from the social welfare office at one o'clock. And it will be long and obscene, you can come whenever you want. Hi.

Miss Prakt also says hello, but a bit weaker. She has respect cum toothache. Andreas walks through the corridors, takes the stairs and is soon at the head of the Director General. He is immediately admitted. Generaldirektör Ek är en storvuxen man med något bondskt över sin uppenbarelse. He is generally regarded as a "good man", an opinion he shares. They greet warmly, most kindly, and settle down in the comfortable couch, far away from the desk's services.

EK: It was fine that you could come right away. How are you?

ANDREAS: I'm fine, thank you. How are you doing yourself?

EK: Thank you. We have an infection going home. Alice is crazy and the girl is crazy and the kids are crazy. I have managed so far, but today I feel overblown, but it may be the weather of course.

ANDREAS: Yes, spring it's difficult it.

EK: Listen, Andreas, I have a boring thing to talk to you about.

ANDREAS: Oh, that was boring.

EK: I was in touch with the department last afternoon and then I met Rosén. He let me understand that they will not take your suggestion. They will relay it to us for new investigation and new proposals.

ANDREAS: So. It was boring.

EK: I wanted to tell you right away, so you do not get it through the newspapers. When the official decision was due, Rosén could not say definitely, but probably after Easter. As I said, I wanted to talk about it for you.

ANDREAS: It was nice of you.

EK: Something foolish was in the mood, I knew that. Because it took so long with the decision.

ANDREAS: Did Rosén have any motivation?

EK: Yes, you know, Rosén is a pot. He has nothing to say. He suggested that your proposal seemed a bit academic. A little on the side of development. Frankly, I did not listen so carefully. He speaks like a mill and then he has bad breath.

ANDREAS: Who will take over then?

EK: Rosén thought we would use Feldt and Bauer. There are two talented youngsters.

ANDREAS: They have no experience at all.

EK: I think they are pretty forward. And so they have a huge advantage in front of you because they are untested.

ANDREAS: (laughing) I'm 40 years, Georg!

EK: (laughing) Being 40 is almost like having a shameful illness.

ANDREAS: (laughing) What am I supposed to do now then? We'd put me away for the next year.

EK: We will talk more about it after Easter. I'll think a bit.

ANDREAS: Then I will not bother you anymore.

EK: Yes, by all means.

ANDREAS: I am grateful that you spoke so quickly. Salute your wife so much and have a nice Easter if we don't meet. Bye. Thank you.

EK: Bye. Thanks. And greet Anna so warmly.

When Andreas returns to his room, Mrs. Prakt tells that lawyer Järnberg is already waiting. Andreas says that he must first make a call. He walks into his room and closes the door. Sets himself at some desk and feels after. He knows nothing. Then he calls home. Asking for Anna. Berta announces that the wife had just left that she would first go to her brother at the hospital and then to town and that she would not come back until dinner. She would be at the Humanist Library at two o'clock she had said. Andreas puts on the handset and still does not know anything. Possibly a little headache. (It may be the weather.) Possibly a strange answering of the eyelids. Anna visits the same day, his brother Albert, who is admitted to a mental clinic. (He has an individual room, which is not very big but bright and modern.) Albert is short and coarsely built. The face is round and bright. He is at 45. He has knitted up the jacket sleeves, the wrists are worn with bracelets. Cheeks and mouth are painted. Anna takes her brother in arms and kisses him, handing out some foreign magazines and a pack of cigarettes. This employs them for a while.

ALBERT: Anna little, how it was fun to see you. I've missed you terribly.

ANNA: There has been so much to do lately.

ALBERT: Do not take it! I know how much you have to stand in. So yes set you. How are the children doing?

ANNA: Henrik is a little cold, but Veronica feels good as usual. She is with Mom over Easter. We also planned to go to the country over Easter. We'll see if the weather is going well.

ALBERT: I have nothing to offer just. Would you like a banana? A cigarette? A piece of chocolate perhaps?

ANNA: No thanks, I do not want anything.

ALBERT: Bla bla bla bla bla. (Smiling.)

ANNA: Just that.

ALBERT: Can you answer me honestly on one thing?

ANNA: I'll try.

ALBERT: Am I injured or is it myself that wants to sit here. I've forgotten the real relationship.

ANNA: There is no one who keeps you locked.

ALBERT: How do you think I look?

ANNA: I think you look much healthier, but I do not understand why you make up and dress yourself.

ALBERT: (crying) I'm over, Anna.

ANNA: But your new book.

ALBERT: It's nothing.

ANNA: What do you mean?

ALBERT: I have told everyone that I have written a new book. But it is not true.

ANNA: Your publisher said –

ALBERT: That I had read for him (smiling). I took a piece of Baudelaire, which I wrote before he came. He is not so formed.

ANNA: It's just a decline, Albert. You've been here before and you've suddenly come across something.

ALBERT: (laughing) It may be enough now. Enough of all this nonsense. I'm pulling in my contacts. There is a great silence, which is unthinkable for those who do not hear it. Do not you think I'll see how the dusk expands.

ANNA: You should not say that.

ALBERT: Destruction has taken power, that's the truth. The lie has taken power. That's the truth. Hate has dressed in righteousness's clothing, that's the truth. Remember, when you relate our meeting to Andreas and our friends. (He starts to cry.) The worst thing is that I was hoping. (Turns himself on his mouth.) I am the way, the truth and the life. I am the truth, I!

ANNA: You have to calm yourself.

ALBERT: Yes, I'll calm down. It is only hysteria, do you understand, my sweetheart.

None of the siblings come round to say something, but both express a delayed soreness.

ANNA: You make me so unresolved. Not for what you say, but because you are so afraid. It's like when I was little and you came in and sat on the floor in a corner of the nursery. I was only six years old and you were eighteen. And then you sat there in the corner and just watched me until I started crying because I knew you wanted me to understand something that I did not understand. I've never been able to comfort you.

ALBERT: You're just talking to me.

ANNA: Is not it enough, that I'm sitting here and holding your hand?

ALBERT: Well, that's fine.

They are silent and holding hands for a while.

Despite that Andreas said to Ms. Prakt that he intends jump over lunch goes he to canteen just after Twelve. He takes the macaroni pudding with a glass of milk, goes with his tray away one corner, where he glimpses a plot table only changes in and beats in down with Feldt and Bauer, as seated together with a third for Andreas unknown young man. The boys greet their older colleague with kindness. The comrade, who turns out to be a Norwegian, is presenting from Bergen for consultations. One jokes a part about canteens food in general and if the macaroni pudding in particular. Suddenly Feldt asks if Andreas has received a message from the ministry - if they have been taken out of the wagon. The question comes inadvertently and in passing, but Andreas looks at Bauers reaction, that they already know most, Bauer and Feldt are neither malicious nor cruel. They are not even particularly tactless. They are both in 28 age with pale intelligent faces boxed in neat beards. They are elegantly dressed with colored polo shirts and narrow well-cut jackets. Bauer has colored glasses. Feldt has no glasses only heel-ring. They are polite and utterly effortless. Both regard Andreas attentively and there gets some fleeting silence with question to hanging over some table. Then Andreas laughs and says that the ministry will give backlash on the proposal. He had just learned this from Ek, who in turn had received the notification of Rosén at the ministry. Will you change a lot, asks Bauer. No, it's sadly not, says Andreas, laughing. I will no longer have the project to do. It will be given to someone else. I thought maybe you had heard something about that matter. Feldt shakes his head and says, that they had wondered, since the announcement was delayed. Bauer says regret that it was sad for Andreas, who worked so long for the project. They obviously think I'm a bit old-fashioned, Andreas says, laughing. So, it was like hell, says Bauer. It was also a motivation for substantive reasons, said Feldt ironically. You said you met that Rosén a few days ago, the Norwegians innocently say to Feldt, who gets a little red in the forehead. It was a completely different business. He said nothing about this, replies Feldt. Andreas looks down into the plate, deeply embarrassed. A plot thus, he says, hilariously distracting. Now you're kidding anyway, Bauer says surprised. Yes, what do you think, Andreas answers. I think much about the new generation, but not to lick like Rosén at the end. Bauer and Feldt laugh. Anna opens with her own key. The big dark rooms in the library are filled with books. The dry little black smell. The non-smoking room. Here and there at the work tables behind the shelves and next to the windows a dark shadow, someone forgotten over the Easter promise. Otherwise empty and quiet. Anna leaves some books and searches the catalog. Down in one corner sits a contemporary woman. Her face is dissolved, weak colourless. She has her coat and long pants, not very neat, chews on a caramel, asks Anna if she wants. She wants not Anna.

ANNA: What are you doing here over Easter?

KARIN: I'm getting lost. At home there is a damn noise from morning to evening, yes, you know. Mom is visiting. And so is …

ANNA: I understand.

KARIN: Congratulations to the scholarship by the way!

ANNA: Thanks! Thank you.

KARIN: Are you going to continue the seminars this fall?

ANNA: No, I do not think so. I have requested a leave of absence. It actually gets too hard. Andreas should ...

KARIN: Yes of course.

ANNA: Why, what's up?

KARIN: No, sorry, nothing. Nothing at all.

ANNA: (surprised) I just wanted to say that ...

KARIN: No, you do not need to explain.

ANNA: Nor did I think so.

KARIN: (after break): Nice Easter time.

ANNA: Thank you the same.

Anna just wants to go when Karin shouts at her. Anna rectifies herself and Karin comes towards her with a lit cigarette. They are adhered to the smoking room. Karin sets herself on a table and says that she actually wants say about something for Anna, It should not take long.

KARIN: You may think that I have seemed quite unpleasant at the last time - no, do not interrupt me - that's why. Not as you think this is the scholarship. I am not jealous, believe for fan none to me is jealous. But I finally have a need to tell you what I think. I have always wondered what it is - but I think it is, I do not know. I think you're lying in some damn fine way. Sometimes I get an unpleasant desire to beat you. Yes, do not misunderstand, it's nothing personal, you've never hurt me. Your face is so beautiful and you are always so well dressed and you always say the right things.

ANNA: Do not know what you are talking about.

KARIN: I have not figured that either. At some point people of your variety cease to exist. You turn into impersonal surprise. Or at its height to a well-expressed disapproval.

ANNA: Is not it just that you are very tired and shabby?

KARIN: Not true? This winter has been difficult, and the children have been sick and you know my mom! Huh?

ANNA: I must go now.

Karin laughs, pushes the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. She has got a dust on her hands, wipes herself on her coat, goes to the door with Anna, takes her hard in her arm.

ANNA: It hurts.

KARIN: Have you seen that I lack one tooth here on side? Does not it look freaking out? It's not for economic reasons I do not go to the dentist. It is lethargy. Do you understand what I mean?

ANNA: No. Frankly, no.

KARIN: (smiles) But I can afford myself to dislike about you and what you represent.

ANNA: Let go of my arm, please.

KARIN: Bye. Happy Easter. Health Andreas.

Anna does not answer, gets up the door and gets into the rain. When Andreas returns to his workroom, he calls Berta and asks if Anna has heard. She has not. If she would call, Berta would be so kind to ask her to call. Say it's not important, but he just wants to talk to her. It promises Berta. Is everything good otherwise? Well, everything is fine.

SECOND ACT

That afternoon, Anna meets her lover. At their meetings they use a small dark apartment on a quiet and secluded street. When she unlocks the front door, is he in kitchenette and prepares tea. The toaster, which works badly, delivers two half black discs. Anna saves them before she takes off her coat.

ANNA: You're already here. I thought I would come first for once today, and have the tea ready when you arrived. Too bad! You're so good. Hello honey, have you been here for a long time?

ELIS: I came ten minutes ago.

ANNA: We should get a new toaster. This one is really sad. It is just to toss. Should we try again?

ELIS: No, no, that's enough with the biscuits, I think.

ANNA: At least I'm not hungry. And yet I skipped lunch today. Did not have time. By the way, I need to go downstairs.

ELIS: No.

ANNA: I have to go down, I apologize for counting calories. The strange thing is that Andreas is so fond of desserts. But he goes not up one pound. I'll start playing golf again. Have you walked here? I did not see your car.

ELIS: It is on the cross street. I bought a newspaper. Did not think you were coming soon.

ANNA: Everyone greeted Albert, would have stayed longer, but I did not manage. - ELIS: Is it equally bad still?

ANNA: I do not know. I think it's worse.

Anna has removed the outerwear and loosened her hair. Stands and looks in the bathroom mirror.

ELIS: What are you doing?

ANNA: Looking me in the mirror.

ELIS: Why?

ANNA: I do not know. It is nice.

ELIS: In a few years you do not think it's nice anymore.

ANNA: It does not matter as long as you promise to like me.

ELIS: I promise.

De kysser varandra. Anna looks at him for a long time.

ANNA: You look tired.

ELIS: (smiling) I'm tired.

ANNA: Has it happened a bit boring?

ELIS: Not more than usual.

ANNA: Is everything good at home?

ELIS: Eva came home yesterday. Yes, you know that.

ANNA: And it went well? No frustration?

ELIS: The only thing is that she worries so much. And the pain is not better.

ANNA: How, then on the way she worries?

ELIS: Always when she's gone for some time, she comes home with a bad conscience and believe that something has happened. God knows what she's imagining. Then she is all nervous about her questions and starts to rule and set. It is clear that Miss Alma gets pissed off.

They have set themselves on the small couch on screen. Anna serves.

ANNA: Is it strong enough?

ELIS: Nay thanks. Have you added sugar?

ANNA: No. Can I show you a dress that I bought this morning?

ELIS: Yes, but then you put it on you.

ANNA: It will change a bit, you understand. But I did not want to buy it until you had seen it. Mrs. Arnold said it was amazing to me. I have to prepare for one thing. It is red. I've never had red before. I thought it would make me paler, but I do not think it does. I have a lot of prejudices when it comes to colors.

While Anna is talking, she slips out of the suit and puts on the red dress. She holds her hair up.

ANNA: Now you should think about it with a pair of other shoes and put the hair up. Then it's a bit too tall and does not sit well in the back and these buttons can be replaced. – What do you think?

ELIS: Well, that's nice.

ANNA: Do you really think that?

ELIS: It is tremendously attractive.

ANNA: Do you mean it. That makes me happy. I liked it immediately. Sometimes you just have to buy a red dress. Are you sure you like it?

ELIS: I think it's extremely nice.

ANNA: Then I'll go and get it changed right away tomorrow. This is almost my first red dress.

She takes off the dress and the other clothes, creeps into a white bathrobe, which hangs in the bathroom, comes back and sets herself and the drinking tea.

ELIS: How does Henrik feel?

ANNA: He's better, but he had to stay in bed today too.

ELIS: How are you going to have Easter tonight? Are you traveling anywhere?

ANNA: We travel well to the country, I believe. We have not decided yet. We have to go for a dinner on Mother's Day. You know them by the way.

ELIS: Yes, I know. The advocate Sernelius. We will also be there.

ANNA: That was fun.

ELIS: Devil strange. Invite people on Christmas eve when everyone wants to leave town as soon as possible.

ANNA: Um. We get good food.

ELIS: I have no pleasure in that.

ANNA: No, poor thing, how are you with the ulcer?

ELIS: Up and down. Right now nothing further.

ANNA: How are you having night sleep?

ELIS: Not at all if I'm to be sincere.

ANNA: Do you have any good sleep remedies?

ELIS: I took two strong rackers last night and lay awake all night. It's pure torture.

ANNA: Do not you sleep at all?

ELIS: No. I'm walking around. And playing gramophone.

ANNA: What does Eva say?

ELIS: Eva poor has probably of her own concern. By the way, there is no danger of insomnia, says my doctor. Just do not worry.

ANNA: What are you worried about?

ELIS: For everything between heaven and earth. But mostly because we have to dismiss a lot of people again. There are men in fifty years and more. They have been in business for twenty, thirty years. You should see their faces, when one informs them. And that's good men, you understand. Good professionals. Nice, caring, decent people. And so it quietly outlined the question: "You yourself? Why do you stay?"

ANNA: (smiling) You are getting old.

ELIS: (laughing) Just that. I'm getting old.

ANNA: (looks at him for a long time) If I knew…

ELIS: Knew what?

ANNA: Nothing. You tell me everything, do not you?

ELIS: Yes, I do.

ANNA: No, but it's something you hide from me.

ELIS: No, what would it be?

ANNA: Yes, I do not know. That's why I ask.

ELIS: (smiling) So grave ourselves became suddenly.

ANNA: Imagine we've lived together for eight years and not a poor week for ourselves, it's no wonder.

Anna takes over the bed and draws the curtains. It will be a mild half-moon. She throws off the swimsuit and creeps down in bed, looks and looks at Elis, who's getting dressed. When he is naked, he drinks a sip of tea. Anna is listening to this. The vague fear of night dreams and today's experiences comes back. Elis wakes slowly and reluctantly.

ELIS: I slept so deeply.

ANNA: Must go now. It's late. My old dad is going to dinner, you understand. And he would be very upset if I were late.

ELIS: No, do not go straight away.

ANNA: Yes, honey. I must.

She bows over the man and kisses him in love. He answers her kiss with tenderness and begins to chill her. They look smiling at each other.

ELIS: What still is sweet and soft and good.

ANNA: (laughing) It does not help. I do not have time. No.

Then she gives up and they sink into a warm, smiling security, not very passionate. Then she gets in a hurry, out of the bathroom, washing and blowing, talking to Elis, who stays in bed and smokes a cigarette.

ANNA: Andreas and I were going to buy some shares. Do you know what's best? We have our usual old man, of course, but he is so terribly careful and conventional.

ELIS: I can call Andreas and talk about the matter.

ANNA: We sold a plot, you understand. Andreas's father bought it shortly after the First World War for five thousand. Today it is worth astronomical money, you can imagine, twenty crowns the square meter. It's not wise. For a while there was a risk that the town would buy the area, but it was a private construction company that came before. That way, we got much better paid.

She stands at the little couch and dresses. The daylight shines through the curtains. It is a low-key contact-making issue without significance. She wears the suit, puts her hair and paints gently in the grayish light.

ELIS: I will call you tomorrow.

ANNA: I'm at the library from nine o'clock, but I'm done at half past one I would think. You can call me home at two o'clock if it suits you - I'll be alone.

ELIS: Do you still love me?

She looks up, smiling, shaking her head.

ANNA: You hide something for me and I do not know what it is and it hurts me.

ELIS: I do not know that I have any secrets for you.

ANNA: Is there anything about Eva?

ELIS: You are not jealous?

She comes up to him and sets herself on the bedside. Looks at him, smiling but seriously.

ANNA: I'm jealous, but we're not talking about that. We are not talking about something that is bothersome or that hurts. It's a secret agreement, right?

ELIS: (laughing) It was colossal, what made you deep.

ANNA: Not true? But now I have to leave. Dad will be furious. Do not lie and fall asleep now.

ELIS: I'll just smoke out this cigarette. Drive carefully!

ANNA: Yes, honey. Give me a kiss.

She leans his face against him and blows. They kiss each other. She opens her eyes and laughs at him. So caressing her his cheek.

Andreas has a meeting: The men from the National Board of Social Affairs are generally gray. One of them suddenly finds that now you have been sitting for four hours and have not come anywhere, but the case looked pretty simple from the outset. One other regrets in the context to Schmidt from project's insertion office none had could attend at some together tree. It had simplified quite a bit. A third assures that one can say with certainty that any startup will not be talked about until late autumn, no matter how much is the case in all instances. Of course, the best of course, says the fourth, that the whole thing was speeded up in the highest place, because nobody really knows who will take responsibility. Andreas says, then, that the money is there, it has been told. Who knows if they are after the election, says the first gloomy. Yes, anyway, I have to go now, says number three bored. I would pick up my car at two o'clock and now she is already half past five and you never know when such a crooked workshop closes. This becomes a general burst signal. Should we not get a new meeting as soon as possible, says Andreas. Four serious men nod and nets front their almanacs and look and murmur. Everyone agrees that before Easter there is no idea. The week after Easter, two of the men are available and one in England. Finally, you agree on a Tuesday in the future. Everyone is satisfied and believes that archetypes have advanced to that and that Schmidt in the design office can also be involved, only one says in time. Stimulated of this new thought takes you hearty farewell and vacate room. Ms Prakt comes in and cleans and opens the window. She confronts the bad smell and all tobacco smoke and says that most men are pigs. We have to write letters, says Andreas, as sitting to at some desk. Where do you have the letter from MIRAGET ET CONSEILLE? I have not received that, says Ms. Prakt a little accusation while she is spraying in the air with some kind of fresh air spray. You have known that, replies Andreas irritated. You got it yesterday, we would have answered yesterday, but I was prevented. You kept it, because you would think about it, says Ms. Prakt. Please, stop spraying and go out and get the letter, I know you have it, it's not here at all. Ms. Pratt becomes even heavier than usual and her round shoulders become even more round, but she immediately puts out the spray bottle, goes front to Andreas and looking one moment in one of paper boxes, which is on the right and fishes up the letter, puts it on pad front Andreas and disappears off room. Well, we'll write the letter now then, or should we not, says Andreas with sore voice. I should only retrieve paper and pen, responds Ms. Prakt with one submissive tone. She immediately comes back and sits down on the other side of the desk, round the back and gazing intently in the block. Andreas dictates an address - letter is half-private understand you. We send it to his home, you check the address, please. Ms. Prakt nods silently. Do not be mad now, Britt, says Andreas tired. I am not acid, responds Ms. Prakt. By all means I apologize, says Andreas. You're always right, you know, so there's nothing to bother about. Right? Ms. Prakt is still looking down. The back is curved and the round shoulders hang out hopelessly. I know how careful you are, please Britt, says Andreas. You, there is no human that I appreciate more. I have apologized. It is not that, says Ms. Prakt very low and shaking of head. What is that then, asks Andreas. Nothing, nothing, of any significance. No little old woman, I do not feel sorry for that, says Andreas with one last patience. Now you can either tell me where it's pinching or we'll get back to work. It's not me who has started talking, says Ms. Prakt stubbornly.

ANNA: What do you say about the murder of Luther King, daddy, is not it terrible? Do you think it will be civil war? I met Sidney this morning and he said that now you can expect anything. People learn to be desperate of horror.

FATHER: Do you hear Anna, I would not say anything, but I can not help you. You invite me to dinner, and it is by all means good of you, but it suits you to come an hour late.

ANNA: Twenty minutes, Dad. And I have explained.

FATHER: Why fits you never the time? Is it hereditary? Your mother was the same. I was going to go my way. Precisely when you came in by door figured I trip me and go. I thought you had forgotten my existence. I got the damned madam, but what she's calling your husband and ask him if he knew where you were. If you could possibly have told him something. Of course you did not. And at the library expedition they did not know anything either. Do not you understand that I'm getting pissed off? Huh?

ANNA: Sure, please poppa, but now is it great. Can not we talk about anything else. I have asked forgiveness. Moreover.

FATHER: You just reels out a few phrases. It's easy to say I'll say. I heard Henrik is cold.

ANNA: It's no big deal. Should I ask him to come down?

FATHER: No thanks. I do not want his bacilli. Unless he is not school sick, of course. You spoil him. Where is Veronica by the way? It is the only human in this house that you can meet with. Where have you hidden the kid? Get her out and I'll be in a good mood. I promise.

ANNA: She's actually with Mom. I have said that.

The father gives her a furious eye. But silent. The head dares a bit. He draws heavily after his breath.

ANNA: Should not dad to calm down now.

FATHER: Why should Gertrud always take care of Veronica? Why can she not get be with me sometimes? The kid is feeling well at home with me, I will talk.

ANNA: (patiently) Your housekeeper says she is not able to cope with any children and now she has pain in her back.

FATHER: Esther is an old fool. She will always make it. I'm thinking of getting me a younger person. One that is a little cheerful. You become disgusted to hear of all the bloody ailments and everything creaking. I think the woman has had a small stroke, by the way.

The idea makes managing Egerman on better humor. He bowls with Anna, who has taken a sherry for company. The old man regards her willingly.

FATHER: I read in the magazine that you received a scholarship. I congratulate. What are you going to do with the money?

ANNA: I'm going to travel, I guess.

FATHER: Is it tax-free?

ANNA: Yes, I think so.

There is silence. The old gentleman sinks in own thoughts. Anna sits and looks at him, seized with a sudden tenderness.

ANNA: How are you, Dad?

The father looks up, listening to the unusual tone. Looking first suspicious, then he becomes even in the face, takes a sip.

FADERN: It's worst in the mornings. I can not say that I'm afraid to die. It's not that. I'm soon afraid of the day. As long as I had a lot of work, it went well. But now the last month, when I stopped - it does the same. I'm doing fine. I'm just sad I would think.

He is silent. The head dares, he gives Anna a shadow of sight, the glass holds him between his hands.

FATHER: I'll tell you, old age is a hell.

When Andreas comes out of the work it rains. Ms. Prakt is standing on the stairs and watching the cloud out. She has no umbrella and wears something, which is probably a new spring cap. Andreas offers to drive her because they have the same route. She laughs graciously but says that this is too much trouble. Andreas försäkrar motsatsen och hämtar sin bil på parkeringsplatsen. He asks if she wants possess a cigarette and that wants her gladly. They smoke and travel under silence. Pardon you if I stop here one moment. I'm just going to buy the newspapers, says Andreas, and parks a little carelessly in front of a tobacco shop. He squats for the rain, gets his newspapers. He throws them in the back seat and starts. A blue Volkswagen stands in front of him. He takes out the turn a bit too tight and strikes the front of the car with a loud and scary sheet noise. Oops! says Ms. Prakt. It was certainly not so dangerous, says Andreas annoyed and passes the empty cart. Soon after, he had to stay in the street corner to drop a truck. At the same moment, the car door is pulled up and a furious, fat man sticks his head in and screams: Are you going to sneak! Take it easy, strains Andreas completely blocked. Get out instantly, roars man, dressed in leather jacket, blue pants and cap. Was it your car I ran against, asks Andreas silly and rises. Was it your car, imitates man contemptuously. Would it make any difference, huh! They go the few steps back to Volkswagen. On the left wing there are two barely noticeable scratches and the bumper has become slightly curved. So you thought about it, it is neat. I was not going to sneak, Andreas defends himself. I was just going to park my car on the cross street over there and then go back. Oh, are you lying, at least not for it makes you damn bad. The man takes out paper and pen. What's your number? I have forgotten that, Andreas desperately answers. What's your name, then, have you forgotten that too? Could we not make up this here in benefit, asks Andreas. In benefit what is it? This is going to be fucking unpleasant for you. Miss Prakt has come and set herself at Andreas's side. Her new spring coat darkens of rain. You can at least be polite, she says angrily. I testify that you were rude and practically started fighting. I'm going to testify about that. Be sure and tune the tone before you continue to argue about this bauble. A small crowd of interested spectators has gathered. Now listen, don't try to talk like a nice lady because you are just whore to that gangster, the man says. You hear how he speaks, says Miss Prakt furiously. There is no police nearby, who can take care of this. Everyone stands. It rains. The man walks around with paper and pencil, notes the car number. Such as you should be fixed, he says. Andreas tries to ask if he is not ready now, so he can go. You stay as long as I want, the man answers. Then comes the car's owner. It is a younger person, can be in his twenties. He has glasses and is barbed, dressed in an old shabby raincoat. He stares in astonishment at the assemblies. Forgive me, I happened to encounter your car when I turned out, I took the turn too tight, so I have made two scratches and bent to your bumper. It was not so dangerous, says the young man. He was thinking of throwing it, says the fat, but I stopped that. Actually, I didn't think so, says Andreas. I would stay around the corner and then go back and see what happened to your car. Yes, anyway, there is no harm done, says the young person surprised. I actually have a hurry, so if you'll excuse me. If you want compensation, says Andreas, you can call me. My name is - The young man shakes his head on his head and sticks out with a tear start. The curious assembly is dissolved. What are you going to do now, says Andreas plagued. Fucking upper class walkers, says the man and goes to his own car, where there is a lean and uninterrupted woman with resentful looking eyes. Andreas and Miss Prakt return to their car. Andreas doorbell to Dr. Farmans practice. It takes a while. Then sounds rapid footsteps and the door opening. It's sister Ester, doctor's assistant and helper for many years. (She is thirty-five, has a beautiful, slightly angular face with very bright eyes and a large well-shaped mouth. She is tall and wide-shouldered, dressed in white coat and manageshappenhat, her hair is thick, blond and set in a big knot.) When she knows again Andreas smiles her smooth and releases in him.

ESTER: Hello, architect Fromm. The doctor just walked out a few minutes. Han är tillbaka på ögonblicket. We have just completed our last patient. So be it and sit down here for so long.

Andreas takes off his coat and settles in the large, airy and modernly decorated waiting room. Opposite him, he has a considerable aquarium. Sister Ester walks in and out of the expedition to the treatment rooms, cleans, picks up, sorts paper. This was our last patient of fourteen days, she says and packs down some x-rays in a brown envelope. Well, you shut that long. We take a little vacation. The doctor takes the family with him and goes to the mountains. I think he does the right thing because he has certainly been working this winter. I never think people have been as sick as this year. How then in a way? Well, I don't really know, Sister Ester thinks. But it's as if people didn't have the strength anymore. The winters are getting longer and longer and all infections become more agitated and last longer. People are so tired so they don't know where to go. She laughs. The phone rings. She answers Dr. Farman's reception, Sister Ester. Well, what do you say, yes, but it was difficult. Architect Fromm is here. No, I don't know what he wants. You can talk to him yourself. Sister Ester hands over the handset. Hi, says Andreas. So terribly annoying, Ernst says sincerely worried. Farewell. Cheerio then, says Andreas. See you! Yes, then I have to thank you, says Andreas. You have two dead fish in the aquarium, he adds on the way to the hall. It's some disease, they die in a chorus. It is not precisely anyone advertising for our internship, says Ester and looking out on a small landing net and begins fish after the small bodies. We have changed both water and sand and plants, but it does not seem to help. One must probably scour the entire aquarium with some disinfectant. She turns around and looks a little surprised at Andreas. He has sat on a chair inside the door, has got on his coat and has his hat in his hand. How are you? asks Ester professionally. Andreas shakes his head. She stands center at room with the small snare with one hand. It has begun to obscure. The sun has suddenly gone out of the thick cloud of snow. How is it? Nothing, says Andreas. I do not know. But I don't want to go home. Ester looks at him and suddenly smiles. Well, don't go home then, she says objectively. Here you can stay for as long as you want. Call and say you've been busy. There is canned food in refrigerator. You can watch TV and read books and newspapers. Then you go home tonight, or in the night or tomorrow morning. Stay with me then, says Andreas. I don't think I can, Ester replies. I have those who are waiting for me and, unlike you, I find it fun to come home. So you are happily married, asks Andreas. Yes, you can say that. I feel good in every way, says Ester. She goes to Andreas and puts her big dry hand against his cheek. I do not know what it is, says Andreas, but I feel it as if I was being choked. It sounds so damn melodramatic. But that is the only adequate expression. I'm about to - He stops. Sister Ester goes in in doctor closet and retrieves up a bottle brandy, turns up a glass and hands him. He drinks in silence. It's ridiculous, he says. I certainly have no reason to complain. You don't do that either, replies Sister Ester immediately. Can't sister sit down for five minutes, asks Andreas. Well, I really can. She smiles again. I suddenly came to think of something. Esther asks what then, because it was silent. It's something ridiculous and maybe I'm unfair. Say it anyway. We never touch each other. We show each other tenderness only when we lie with each other and then in passing. We caress and kiss each other never to time where. And the kids get very little physical tenderness. They get all the damn vitamins they should have but no bodily closeness. They rarely touch each other, except when they fight. Isn't it remarkable? It's probably different with that, Ester says quietly. They sit quietly for a few minutes. Andreas drinks out, and puts the glass next to him on the table. The aquarium lights mysteriously at dusk and the sick fish moving in solemn dance. He gets up and walks toward the door. Sister Ester sits there over at dusk. Now you can no longer see her face. He goes into a bar around the corner and orders paper and envelopes and a brandy, settles down in a corner of the shady inspired room and listens for a few minutes to an inexhaustible pianist. Two young people are sitting at the counter and are joking: The girl is very young and bare-armed, she occasionally turns her little makeup face towards Andreas. The boy (a few years older) tries to explain something to her. Andreas puts the pen on the paper: Dearest Anna. It is so strange to sit here and write letters to you, but I have to try to express something that I must never say when we are together. He pauses and ponders. Then he writes with determined letters. I think we're wrong somewhere. It is perhaps so that we are simply wrong. Isolate us in a small clan of people, all of whom enjoy a privileged life far on the side and above the reality of the majority. He stops again. Then writes it with fierce movements and bigger letters. Isn't it so that our marriage is a damned parody of what it should be, what it was originally intended to be. Isn't everything a miserable lie? Can we change this? Can we? Or are we stuck. Trapped in our reserve. In our comfortable… He stares in amazement at what he has written and tears the letter. The barbarian, eye-made young girl looking curiously.

THIRD ACT

Thursday morning's evening at seven, attorney Sernelius and his wife Inger give dinner for some of the closest friends. The large, old-fashioned villa is situated on a promontory in the lake and you have lit small lanterns at the gate and along the way up to the house. Anna and Andreas are slightly delayed. The other guests have already arrived. Drinking champagne and advocates lively. Anna and Andreas go round and greet. Everyone is more or less familiar and fairly equal in both income and age. It is thus host Fredrik Sernelius, a somewhat furrowed youthful lord of 50 years age with sounding voice and vigorous tennis hand. His wife Inger is warm, cordial and superficial. After fifth baby has she given her natural laziness and indulgence free play. She is with other words quite fat. There are booker Elis Andresen and his wife Eva. Elis we have already met and his wife Eva is a very beautiful woman in her thirty-five years, but with the sickly's at-open, vulnerable face. There is also Ernst and Magda Farman. He is a prominent physician private practice. A friendly, somewhat mannered fifty-year-old with calm, happy eyes. Magda is a painter, heavy, female, somewhat closed of intelligent face and one suddenly erupting laugh. Then is it engineer Stone Ahlman and his other wife Petra. Mr. Ahlman is tall and casual with strikingly large nose and very strong glasses. His wife is the youngest of the ladies and new in the company. She is a child psychologist and a little uncertain in an environment unfamiliar to her. She has a quiet but somewhat empty face with beautiful features. Finally, it is Count Edward Albrekt and his Countess Karin. He is successful despite his youth, CEO and general influence. It is a friendly, unassuming person with rather pale traits. He is short and has started to lose hair seriously. His wife is tall, dark and beautiful with big brown eyes and black hair. She is lively or rather nervous. It is thus 10 guests, host and hostess, 12 people all that all. Well-behaved people with incomes. Decent people. Liability-conscious.

FREDRIK: <But hi> {sic}. Nice to meet you.

INGER: I'm sorry you had to wait.

PETRA: And how does little Kristina feel? It was so long ago.

MAGDA: She had been very difficult the last weeks. But she should have two new teeth.

STEN: Marie Mayer, you say. Yes, she received the Nobel Prize. That's right.

ANNA: (smiling) You see, I don't know how to wear myself. Still, does the theater have to be part of today's society?

MAGDA: I don't know, I never go to the theater.

ANNA: You just go to art exhibitions.

MAGDA: No, but I think the theater has become so sad.

KARIN: What you make me nervous when you talk like that. I don't understand what you're saying, but it scares me.

INGER: Have you seen stuff like the moonlight that is? Pure magic.

ERNST: Imagine what a fantastic view you have in any case.

INGER: Oh, you have no bad view either.

ERNST: How long have you been living here?

INGER: Wait, let me see. I always expect after my birth because I confuse the years in a mess. Yes wait. We came here to Sweden just before Margareta was born and when Elisabeth was newborn we moved in. It's nine years ago.

ERNST: Is it really nine years ago?

INGER: Forgive me, please Ernst. I have to go and make sure everything is ready, so we can go to the table. Bye for now.

ANNA: Are you alone here in the moonlight?

ERNST: Yes, you know everyone is talking to each other in the mouth.

ANNA: Those new pills you prescribed for me is not good at all. I have small bleeding and feel bad.

ERNST: Are you sure it's the pills?

ANNA: I do not know. How are you?

ERNST: I'm doing fine.

ANNA: I have known you for twelve years and always, when you asked yourself, you have answered: Well thank you, I feel excellent.

ERNST: I'm sorry, Anna. But I almost always feel excellent. Look at the practice after Easter, so we can talk. If you need to talk I mean. And then we can print out the old pills because they didn't feel bad. Right?

ANNA: No. Presently believe I we should go to table finally.

ERNST: Yes, I'm hungry like a wolf. I haven't eaten anything late this morning except two bananas for lunch.

ANNA: You are a sweet man, Ernst. I like you.

ERNST: I like you too.

The hostess calls to the table. The doors to the dining room have been opened. It is bright and beautifully set. Placement around the round table is made with strategic finesse: The host of the Countess Albrekt and the hostess take care of the count. (It's for their honor dinner is arranged: a farewell before their long journey abroad). Anna has got Elis and Andreas has got Mrs Eva. Sten Ahlman accompanies Magda Farman and the doctor may take care of Mrs Ahlman. The dinner is exceptionally well prepared. It consists of soup, dilammstek (suckling lamb steak) and some refined sweet till dessert. You drink a good vintage wine. The house's two eldest daughters help to suit up.

ANDREAS (till Eva) : Think I imagine that my wife is so beautiful. I can still be amazed, and just sit and look at her. It's abnormal, isn't it? After so many years of marriage.

EVA: Do you never have complications?

ANDREAS: Well, we do. But we have always been able to talk to each other and I think that is the main thing in a marriage.

EVA: So you are dear in your wife completely easy?

ANDREAS: Yes. That am I. (sic)

FREDRIK: You Edward, will you meet them on travels?

EDWARD: No for high Faro. It is not worth to nag. In addition, it may be a matter of time before it becomes public. And then the lords are sitting there.

FREDRIK: But the factories are not put down.

EDWARD: They change into another property. From one day to another. So that detail is already prepared. In any case, with us.

ELIS: So nice to sit here next to you.

ANNA: It was an unexpected surprise. I sometimes wonder if there is someone who knows.

ELIS: Think you Inger knows till example?

INGER: (shouting) I heard enough that you said something about me!

ELIS: ( artigt) Vi sa bara att du alltid ser till, att gästerna föräter sig!

ELIS: (polite) We just said that you always make sure that your guests get lost!

ANNA: Do you still have your good Miss Johansson? INGER: Yes only now will she stop, can you imagine!

ANNA: What are you saying ?! It was sad.

INGER: Nobody is more distressed than I am. But she has something wrong on one knee and now she will be operated and then she wants to travel to her sister in the archipelago and stay there. Yes, you know how it sounds!

ANNA: How old is she really?

INGER: She's over seventy. Charlotta little. It's probably time to invite. Do not you think my daughters are nimble little maids?

ERNST: Charlotta has grown enormously.

INGER: Dear, it's a young lady now.

ELIS: You have such a beautiful neck... Beware, so I don't kiss you.

ANNA: (Smooth) Andreas!

ANDREAS: Yes, my darling.

ANNA: Elis is sitting here saying that he wants to kiss me in the neck. Well, don't he get that?

ANDREAS: (laughs) Because you ask so kindly, it may well pass. But I don't want any scandal.

EVA: Imagine your marriage is almost the only happy marriages I know of. Well, it's strange.

ANDREAS: Your and Elis are fine.

EVA: I'm gone so much. I have pain all the time, do you understand and then I have to take pills and then I become a little stunned. It makes that Elis and I comes in from each other. But now we have found something.

ANDREAS: Well, you've found something.

EVA: Yes, actually, it is Elis, who has found it. And I think that is so touching. He goes with me to Bad Gottheim and stays there for two months. He takes his entire vacation and three weeks leave, for that we should be able to be together incessantly. He will write an investigation and take all material with him and a secretary, you know our excellent Mrs. Wettstein and so has he rented one villa with view of Lugano lake, so we don't have to stay in the spa hotel. I can take the car every morning to the treatment, doesn't it get amazing? Do you know when Elis came home and told me this and said he had already arranged everything, I was so happy that I started crying. It's typically Elis, to come up with such sudden surprises. Cheers Elis!

ELIS: Cheers my wife! How you look cheerful outward.

EVA: Yes, we have our secrets Andreas and I.

ANNA: That is always what I have suspected. (Laughing) Cheers Eva. We'll talk to you later, right?

ANDREAS: Eva told just about your fine idea. That's what you should do.

ELIS: Yes, just that. Toast Andreas.

ANNA: (smiling) What is that great idea, Elis?

ELIS: It's just that I follow Eva to the health center, so she doesn't have to be alone there.

ANNA: (smiling) How long will you be away?

ELIS: I would think five, six weeks.

ANNA: (smile) When do you travel?

ELIS: Today a week.

ANNA: Can you be away so long from your work?

ELIS: I have an investigation in progress. I'll take it with me.

ANNA: (smiling) It was a great surprise, Elis.

ELIS: (blushes) I understand you think so.

The dinner finally ends. Anna follows Elis into the salon and speaks a few minutes with Inger Sernelius. She stands with a coffee cup in her hand and the smile remains. Slowly, the feeling of unreality comes, a slight poisoning. Elis turns to her and asks her if she doesn't feel good. She shakes her head, but says she feels great, that she should just go and powder herself. Inger takes her under her arm and says quickly that they can go to her room together. There is quiet and cool and (a) primed (condition) for the night. The bedside lamp burns, it smells good and clean. Anna asks Inger not to light the ceiling light. She is sitting on the bed and breathing deeply again and again. She strokes her palm over the blanket, which she wanted to smooth out an invisible fold. Inger asks if she is pregnant. Anna smiles and says sorry, she is not. Inger asks her if she wants a tablet. She doesn't want that. Inger asks if Anna simply wants to be alone for a little while. Anna nods gratefully to the round, friendly woman. Inger pats her a little on arm and rustles out completely tranquil in her fine evening dress, sitting too closely over the bottom and bosom.

They travel home through quiet, dark front streets. Anna runs. Andreas sits comfortably reclined, has taken off his glasses, is a little drunk. They do not care to drive the car into the garage, even though it is cold and snowy. In the living room the TV is on, it roars and crackles. In a large chair, Henrik sits and sleeps wrapped in a blanket and with a Coca-Cola next to him on the floor. Anna accompanies him quickly to bed, he whines a little and gets water to drink. Before he falls asleep, he complains that the TV was so scary. He gives the mother a sleepy kiss. Veronica sleeps with an array of dolls and bears and favorite books in bed. Anna picks up most things and sneaks from there. On the way to bathroom pull her off the it long dress. The man comes from the other room and embraces her from behind. She turns to him and starts kissing him with sudden vigor, yet smiling and playful.

When Andreas left her, she has trouble falling asleep. The body resists, she is scared and tense. The thoughts wander, she lies in the dark and listens. She wakes up violently in her husband standing in the room, she glances at him in the floating night light, becomes very scared.

ANNA: What is it, Andreas? Are you sick?

ANDREAS: Sorry if I scared you.

ANNA: What is it?

ANDREAS: I want to talk to you.

ANNA: Now!

ANDREAS: Yes, right now.

Anna sits up and lights the lamp. Andreas is very upset.

ANNA: What time is it anyway? Half past three. Lord God, what is it?

ANDREAS: I've been deceiving you.

ANNA: Have you deceived me?

There will be a few moments of deep confusion. The two spouses consider each other. Anna knows how her cheeks begin to heat. Andreas sits down on the chair away at the dressing table. He arranges the objects on the line and on the stage.

ANDREAS: I don't understand how it went. I was up with Ernst to talk a little with him about my health. I felt so miserable, but he had just gone and his nurse remained, you know Sister Ester. And so - yes, nothing happened. But then called me to her in going in the morning and asked if she had lust of a drive and it had she for her man was out with the children. At the cinema or whatever it was. And then I picked her up and so we went out the country for a while. Then we went to Ernst's reception and there we were with each other. It has never happened before on honor's words, I have never deceived you in the years we have been married, there has been no reason.

ANNA: Has there been reason now?

ANDREAS: No, I don't understand.

ANNA: Are you in love with her?

ANDREAS: She is beautiful and kind and warm and yes kind and warm. But I'm not in love.

ANNA: Do you think it will happen again?

ANDREAS: How should I know?

ANNA: So you can't answer! Do you or don't you want it to happen again?

ANDREAS: I don't want it to happen again. I'm in love with you. I don't want to be with anyone else. The whole situation is completely unreal. What scares me is that it could happen at all. And that I don't know why.

ANNA: Why do you sound so submissive? Do you have a bad conscience? Have you that?

ANDREAS: I have a bad conscience. That's why I'm talking about everything.

ANNA: Are you sure it wouldn't have been better that you had kept quiet?

ANDREAS: (amazed) But we have agreed to...

ANNA: Isn't it just something you say. (turns over) No, I didn't mean anything. Everything is so hopelessly tangled.

ANDREAS: (confused) How do you mean now?

ANNA: Nothing.

ANDREAS: Yes, I ask you. Say what you think.

ANNA: I do not want your sincerity.

ANDREAS: Yes, but I have deceived you.

ANNA: You say you love me and you're not going to do it again. Well then. It is enough. We never talk about the matter again. It's forgotten.

Anna cannot look at her husband without fingers on the nightstand lamp screen. There will be a long, uncertain silence.

An hour later. Andreas has picked up a glass of cognac. The bottle stands next to him on the floor.

ANDREAS: Andreas Fromm and his wife Anna. There were no more successful people. We were talented, we were young and we had money and so we were really in love with each other, right? And we had agreed that we would do something magnificent, never before seen by our marriage. And so suddenly or slowly without noticing how it has happened.

ANNA: It is not like that.

ANDREAS: A comfortable failure. All the same, right? But the failure is a fact.

ANNA: (Refrigerated) What do you do about it?

ANDREAS: What you sound indifferent.

ANNA: How do you want me to sound then?

ANDREAS: I want you to understand what I'm talking about.

ANNA: I understand what you're talking about, but I think not as you. I think you whine, what do you want? Should I feel sorry for you? Is it pardon you want have? I forgive you. Here you are. Then you can go in and lie down and sleep for a few hours, then you see that life fiasco feels much less onerous in the morning.

ANDREAS: Wouldn't we be able to talk to you and me. Listen to each other, take us to a marital consensus. Didn't we say that before? Everything could solve itself, only one talked to each other.

ANNA: If you no longer know each other, you cannot speak.

ANDREAS: So you mean we don't know each other.

ANNA: I don't know you and I know you don't know me.

ANDREAS: But can we not get to know each other?

ANNA: Would you want that?

ANDREAS: A thousand times more than this.

ANNA: Is not it better that we try to live each one's life in parallel without penetrating each other's territory. Each behaves as well as he understands. So we take shared responsibility for one another. Isn't it much wiser in any case?

ANDREAS: I do not think so.

ANNA: You don't think so?

ANDREAS: I think you and I have the conditions for another life.

ANNA: You don't know what you're talking about.

ANDREAS: Don't say things all the time. It's just humiliating. I'm trying to reach you. The words may not be the right ones, but I want to reach you!

ANNA: It's like you've read everything in a quiz for ladies.

ANDREAS: So it must be then. I'm going to bed now.

Pause. He gets up and walks toward the door.

ANNA: No, stop. (pause) If I could trust you really mean what you say.

ANDREAS: I know anyway that I love you.

ANNA: (with deep spiritual shaking) If I could believe it.

ANDREAS: You could try.

ANNA: (after a long break) I have lived with another man for eight years. I'm not in love with him, but I'm addicted to him. He satisfies me or how to say. We usually meet a few times a week. It has been going on for eight years. I have lied to you all the time, when I have said that I am well with you. It has never been good. Now you know everything. Now you know how I got it.

Andreas sits a few moments and fingers on his nails, he looks at his hands, on the carpet and the wall. Long silence.

ANDREAS: Who is he?

ANNA: Do I have to say that?

ANDREAS: I do not know. It depends on what we intend to do with this truth outbreak.

ANNA: It's Elis.

ANDREAS: So. Elis would not go away in a few months with his wife? Did you know that he was traveling or was it a surprise to you?

ANNA: He was too cowardly to talk about it. Or maybe he thought it didn't matter. But I had never intended to tell you about Elis. You yourself asked me.

ANDREAS: I understand exactly. It suited perfectly, right now to start a marriage based on the truth. Now it was worth the effort. Now that your lover has given up for good. That you do not see the pattern.

ANNA: (furiously) If so. Does it matter? If the motives are bad and low and morally questionable, what does it do. Is it you who decides what is good or bad? Do you have any kind of moral advantage?

She's silent. Andreas knocks on the cognac glass with his index finger so that a sounding sound arises.

ANNA: I can handle myself on my own. I do not need you. The children I am capable of taking care of alone. Don't you think I wanted to live with you after all. I didn't want to break our marriage. I belonged to you. Don't you understand that?

ANDREAS: (screaming) I have trusted you. There has never been anyone else but you. Try to get it into your fucking high-fat thick skull.

Suddenly he embraces her and kisses her. She gets scared first, but lets herself be jerked. They tumble down on the bed and kiss each other. Caress each other clumsy. Then gets she of one cold, lies first still, then begins to fight against to come up. He gets furious and starts to beat her. She scratches him in the face and screams. She comes loose and rises. He sits left on the bed puffing and broken-clawed. They stare at each other with frightened surprise. Then goes him in till himself. When, after a while, she hears him coming through the hall, she locks the door. He takes the lock knob and asks her to open. She is not responding. He asks her again to open. She says no, I don't open. Then he shouts: Open for hell otherwise it goes bad. I'm not going to open, she screams back. It will be quiet for a few moments. He moves away, but right back. Then sees her the axe edge in the door's middle, then one time more. She immediately turns the key and opens: you are not wise, what are you? I do not want to hurt you, he says, out of breath and trembling. I don't want to hurt you, but you can't lock yourself in. She grips of a hatred, that almost detonates her. Should you not beat me now then, or should you beat to death me. Forgive me that I hit you, it wasn't the point, he answers confused. I don't know what took me, it was short-circuited. Forgive me, please. Should I forgive? she says calmly and with a foreign voice. You can go to hell with your pardon. They are staring at each other without power. He releases the ax into the floor, takes her in the shoulders and pushes her up against the wall, striking her face. She gets more and more dizzy in her head, her nose bleeds and she tries to protect herself with her hands. She shuffles back against the wall to the floor. Then she begins to vomit. He has sat himself on the bed. The rage has gone out of him, he's just scared. He tries to take her shoulders, but she shouts violently. Do not touch me. Don't take me. Lie down, he says, then will I wipe up. If I don't have to see you, I feel better, she answers and gets up on her knees. Despite her rejection, he gently takes her under her arms and leads her to the bed. She is bloody on her face, on her hands, in her hair. I have to wash myself, she says and wavering in the bathroom, locks in herself and begins flush and splash. He goes out into the kitchen and picks up a scrubber and bucket. She comes in again, when he is on all fours and wiping up. She settles deep in the bed. He takes the bucket out, comes back with a blanket, which he spreads over her.

A few hours later. It has begun to brighten, and it rains heavily. Anna looks up Andreas in his room.

ANNA: I have thought a little forward, if you are interested.

ANDREAS: Yes.

ANNA: We let everything be as usual these months, which are left. In mid-June, I travel to Poland on my scholarship. Then I can stay away for half a year. Under the time can we think after on where one's direction, how we want it.

ANDREAS: I don't need two months to know how I want it. I can say that right now.

ANNA: Can you?

ANDREAS: I do not want to live with a human being who has lied to me continuously throughout our marriage.

ANNA: So you don't even want to try?

ANDREAS: It is totally unthinkable.

ANNA: Yes, then there is nothing to talk about.

ANDREAS: It is remarkable what it shows up a lot. I do not get it, how I should clear it. Every thought, every memory, every situation is poisoned. Everything falls apart, every time we have been with each other and you have said that it has been fine. It is so disgusting that I can hardly touch it with my thoughts. All of our talks about fidelity, that one would be sincere. I do not even know if I am the father of the children. I wish you had never said anything.

ANNA: I wish that.

ANDREAS: I think you have to lie and deceive in order to live together. How the hell is otherwise possible?

ANNA: We are the ones who have come crazy from the beginning.

ANDREAS: Everyone comes crazy. It's all crazy. It is crazy basically and therefore it goes to hell. It's crazy from start to finish.

ANNA: (suddenly) Dearest, dearest Andreas.

ANDREAS: No, damn it, don't talk to me in that tone. Then I don't know where to go. Please stay on your own floor. Immerse yourself not your boundless generosity and cheerful outlook on life.

ANNA: Now you play such a bad theater that I almost have to laugh.

ANDREAS: The truth Anna, the truth is that there have been holes in me. There was nothing left.

ANNA: You. I have an idea. We make a good sandwich. It's sad to admit, but I'm hungry. Aren't you? A little hungry?

ANDREAS: By all means.

ANNA: Food always helps.

ANDREAS: Once, I asked you, if you didn't think I was dry and boring, remember that? If you didn't think it was sad with a man who was so conventional, you always argued that I was so conventional. Do you remember what you said that time? For me, you are the best man in the world. You said that. Was it just a lie? Or comfort?

ANNA: Not that too!

ANDREAS: Was it a lie?

ANNA: You're hopeless.

ANDREAS: So.

ANNA: You're hopeless.

ANDREAS: Yes. Perhaps.

She looks at her husband with cold eyes. He meets her gaze with gray shadows, touching her fingertips at the wound on her cheek.

ANNA: Should we make that sandwich now?

ANDREAS: (tired) As you like.

But she doesn't move. He asks her low, what she thinks about, but she doesn't answer.

ANNA: I can take responsibility for my children, that's what it should be. And I have to take responsibility for myself, that is also obvious.

Andreas trying mediate after what he should say at this specific moment. But he can't formulate himself. His fingertips touch the wounds of the cheek. It will be a long silence. In the end he finds something to say. He knows himself that this is not the right word in the current situation. But he hears himself say: I do not know how it will be without you. She shakes her head as if to ask him to be quiet, not to humiliate himself.

ANDREAS: What is it, Anna?

ANNA: It hurts.

ANDREAS: Are you not feeling well?

ANNA: I do not want to. No, I do not want to.

ANDREAS: What do you want?

She does not respond, but always looks at him. He intends to answer something, but stops.

Fårö in May 1969

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Afterword by Jan Holmberg

Ingmar Bergman has often been accused (or hailed, depending on who you ask) to be untimely. It is hardly fair either criticism or praise, because Bergman is much more than what is usually acknowledged has been quite anxious to follow his time. Ibland rentav ängslig. For example, in the late sixties, he took quite a big impression of the new wave of film aesthetics, its VERFREMDUNG [Alienation] effects and community engagement. It is noticeable in THE LIE, which already in the beginning breaks the illusion that has not even begun by letting its characters turn directly to the reader/spectator. The fact that THE RESERVE has rarely been noticed in Bergman literature is because it never became a film in his own direction (it was Jan Molander who made a television film of the manuscript 1970). But the film story is undoubtedly Bergmanesque, and was also published as such together with THE RITE, THE TOUCH and CRIES AND WHISPERS in the book Movie Stories 3 (1973). The text originated in the workbook's notes in 1968 around the planned project "Annandreas", which immediately became two different stories of two different couples named Anna and Andreas: the PASSION OF ANNA (1968) and THE RESERVE, which was completed in May 1969. In retrospect, it is almost at hand to consider THE RESERVE as a preliminary study of the much-known SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE with which it has great similarities. But it is much more than a sketch. Targets are indeed common for the two pieces, and it's not just the marriage institution itself, but the bourgeois indifference and narrow-mindedness in general. But the differences between the two works are interesting. Of SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE is it spouse Johan that deceives his wife Marianne; in THE RESERVE it is Anna who has a lover. Over home time is it as that Bergman from the one marriage portrayal till the other has cast about the traditional sexual roles, switched between active and passive, between subject and object. "Is not it better," says Anna to Andreas in THE RESERVE, "that we try to live each one's life in parallel without penetrating each other's territory. Each behaves as well as HE understands." The emphasis, which is mine, wants to emphasize how Anna's choice of pronoun suggests that Bergman is fully aware of gender as a social construction. "She" can be "he", "Anna" can be "Andreas", like me or you could be another. The fact that Bergman abandoned the work name "Annandreas" was probably wise (it sounds a little clever), but the figure of thought remains. Of SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE is the relationship Johan-Marianne hermetic. The outside world affects them, but is only suggested: their respective work as a researcher and a lawyer, the two daughters, Johan's mistress Paula and so on are mentioned, but no more. In THE RESERVE, on the other hand, the profession, children, lover Elis etc. gestalt, agent and function. It is hardly a coincidence that other impressions of the outside world in SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE consist of fiction, as when the couple have been to the theater and seen Ibsen's A DOLL'S HOUSE. THE RESERVE refers contrariwise to a day's current world event. Annas and Andreas's reaction to the news is also significant: Martin Luther King is murdered, says Anna. What are you saying, is it true? Well, Henrik came in and told me he had heard it on the radio, I did not think it was true." As all Bergman figures are, they are fully occupied with themselves and horrible messages from the great world are barely feasible, as would be the scenes in a nasty theater play. Is that true?

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