#aint no way that’s not about his self loathing over what his life did to her

[heronpoxed]

The fact that Kurt Sutter wrote the lyrics to The Day is Gone (the song that plays in the S6 finale but y’all probably already knew that) is literally one of my Roman Empires because when you listen to the song knowing this, you also understand what and who it was actually written about. That evil man knew exactly what he was doing!

#i feel SICK #‘i would take it back for just another minute just another chance with you’ #you cant tell me that this isn’t what jax is feeling at that moment #that song from start to finish is literally just jax regretting not being there for tara enough #‘love is bleeding i curse my breathing’ #aint no way that’s not about his self loathing over what his life did to her #they deserved so much better #its painful to think about omg #soa #sons of anarchy #jax and tara #tara and jax #jax teller #tara knowles #tara knowles teller #kurt sutter #jara #charlie hunnam #maggie siff #sons of anarchy season 6 #soa 6x13 #noah gundersen #soa fandom #samcro #jax x tara #tara x jax #gemma teller morrow #gemma teller #katey sagal #roman empire

[tealquacks]

They Share a Kitchen: Chapter 2, Cross-i-ants

Originally posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644/chapters/59916505#workskin

@alexalexisalexej

Remus watched Logan rush up the stairs, then looked at the recipe he’d summoned. Really, it was simple, but certainly time consuming! And what the fuck was laminated dough? Remus tilted his head, squinting. Oh, that took a lot of butter. Remus sat at the kitchen table, smiling at the recipe. He read it over and over again.

“Logan, you sly motherfucker,” he said to himself. A thirteen hour recipe, and that would fuck with everyone’s little rituals. That sort of chaos is something he could get behind. For a moment he considered barging into Logan’s room to grab the schedule, just so he could see who’d show up when.  

But for now, there was plenty of lamb and risotto to eat, warm and smelling delicious. Jan always came for breakfast about an hour after he was done, and he never cared about eating dinner for breakfast.

He heard the rustling of light footsteps. There he was now! Earlier than usual, but who cared? Remus smiled, grabbed two plates from the cupboards, and put a heaping of risotto and half of the lamb rack on each plate. Janus walked into the kitchen, yawned, and immediately walked over to the coffee maker. 

“Not even a good morning?” Remus asked, setting the plates down at the table. Janus rolled his eyes. It was fun to see Janus so disheveled, hat and cloak gone, replaced with an oversized shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He still wore the gloves, though. Come to think of it, Remus could remember every single time Janus had shown him his hands— there were five. One for each finger on each hand.

“Why don’t you take your gloves off?” Remus asked. Janus flicked him on the cheek before sitting down with a large cup of coffee. 

“Jesus, Remus, let me at least wake up.”

“But you are awake..?”

Janus snorted.

“Let me have a cup of coffee, Reem. The food looks delicious, though. This is lamb, correct?”

Remus nodded, summoning silverware for Janus and him, even though he knew Janus would only use the spoon.

“Tear a bit of the meat off and eat it before having the rest, I marinated it! I think it’ll be extra tasty. And it’s garlic! I know how much you love garlic.”

Janus rolled his eyes, but he did cut off a sliver of meat, delicately picking it up with his fork and setting it on his tongue. Remus clutched the edge of the table as he watched Janus chew, then swallow.

“It’s delicious,” Janus said with a smile, “the meat is cooked perfectly and the seasoning is exquisite.”

Remus slammed his hands on the table, then energetically flapped them about, smiling brighter than a million stars. He giggled and stomped his feet a little, taking a minute to calm down.

“You can have the rest now,” he said, still grinning. Janus nodded. As dignified as he could, he picked up the half rack of lamb in his gloved fingers. Remus watched silently as Janus’ jaw opened, then opened some more, unhinging wide enough for the half rack to slip into his mouth. Then, Janus swallowed, polished bones and all. Remus clapped, and Janus daintily patted his lips with a napkin.

“Pardon me,” Janus said. 

“You are certainly pardoned!” Remus chirped. He picked up his knife and fork, and cut into the lamb. The herbs smelled fantastic, and the knife slid through the meat so easily.

“Did you know that the Cleveland Torso Murderer dismembered his victims so badly only three of his thirteen victims were identified?” Remus rambled, mouth full, “Often the head would be missing! Or their dicks! His first victim was found chopped apart by a lake! With no head!”

Janus made a face, a spoonful of risotto right in front of his mouth. 

“The meat made you think of that, right?” 

“Cutting it,” Remus answered, “it was a doozy to make, and I’m sure as hell going to enjoy it. Oh! You won’t believe who I ran into last night!”

Janus looked at him nervously.

“Orange..?” He asked. Remus shook his head. Orange never visited the kitchen. He liked to stay out of sight. Occasionally he would pop in, but only if Remus made something with bok choy. Weird guy.

“Nope. Logan!” Remus crowed, “we had a lovely conversation and he recommended a recipe to me.”

Janus raised an eyebrow, reaching over the table with a gloved hand. Remus conjured the recipe and passed it to Janus. Janus squinted at the paper, then guffawed.

“Thirteen hours! You certainly can’t be serious. He certainly can’t be serious.”

“Oh, he is!” Remus exclaimed, “the reason he gave me the recipe and the reason he came to the kitchen in the first place was because turns out we all have little schedules. Like how we always go early so we don’t bump into Vergilius and Patton and Logan and my brother—“

“Let me stop you there.” Janus leaned back in his chair. He elegantly took a bite of risotto, then continued speaking. “We don’t eat early to avoid the others. We eat early because I like to wake up early. The self-proclaimed ‘light sides’ eat later than us because they loathe our company. Specifically: Virgil and Roman. And Patton simply doesn’t like to talk to you.”

Remus chortled. 

“Yeah, I know all that. So, tomorrow— this evening..? I don’t know, but I’m gonna make the cross-i-ants.”

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Cross-i-ants.”

“You know how to pronounce it,” Janus drawled. Remus smirked, slurping some lamb right off the bone. Then, he cracked it between his teeth and sucked out the marrow inside. Janus seemed unimpressed.

“Yeah, I do, but you know how I love being annoying!”

“Oh, I know you better than anyone, of course I know just what you love.”

Remus snapped his fingers. The lights dimmed, and a candle appeared on the table, bathing them in dim, romantic light.

“You do now?” He purred.

Janus pulled off his glove. He licked his thumb and pointer finger, and pinched the wick of the candle. It extinguished with a hiss.

“You love pissing everyone off.”

Remus leaned back into his seat.

“Yup. I’m gonna make the cross-i-aints, they’ll be ready at like, four o’clock pm tomorrow. I don’t remember, Logan did the math.”

Janus squinted at him as he delicately pulled his glove back on.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea..?” Janus said, “we don’t want to cause any conflict that could lead to Thomas’ mental health deteriorating more than it already has.”

Remus waved his hand nonchalantly, the lights flickering back to life.

“Fucking bullshit, it’ll be fine. I’m done with my plate, by the way, If you want the rest of my risotto.”

With that, he stood from the table and flopped onto his back, promptly sinking out and back to his half of the imagination.

—

Three am. Remus danced into the kitchen, wearing nothing but an incandescent yet slightly deranged smile on his face. His hair was all messy from tossing and turning in his sleep, dreaming of croissants and the messiness his presence in the kitchen would cause. With an energetic clap, he summoned the recipe. The dough would be easy enough to make— flour, butter, some yeast, milk, et cetera. He opened the fridge, and took out the milk. But even after getting the ingredients he needed, he left the fridge open. That’s how Logan saw him last night, by the light of the fridge.

So he kept the fridge open as he mixed the ingredients for the dough, bathed in the cold light. By the time he had to add the milk into the dough (slowly, the recipe said,) the kitchen had grown a little chilly. For a moment and only a moment Remus regretted not wearing any clothing. To warm himself up, he spun around, dancing a little before getting back to mixing all the milk into the dough. That was finished quickly. Then, he took the dough out of the bowl, and dunked his hands into the flour before kneading.

“What the fuck are you doing,” a voice snapped. Remus looked up, spotting Janus standing before him, hair messy and eyes squinting. He still wore the gloves. Did he wear them to bed?

“I’m making cross-i-ants, can’t you tell? And do you wear your gloves to bed or something?”

Janus crossed his hands behind his back.

“...No, I don’t. To be honest, I thought you were joking when you said you were planning on making croissants,” Janus said. Remus rolled his eyes, and kept on kneading.

“Look,” Remus responded, “I’m as curious as Logan is about this schedule thing, and I want to see what happens when it’s fucked with! It’ll be fun. And we get nice pastries!”

Janus raked his eyes up and down Remus’ body. He watched them move, somewhat uncaring.

“Is being nude part of this experiment?”

“No, I just felt like feeling free. Join me, be free.”

“Remus—“

Remus winked, then tilted his head curiously.

“Fuckin, snakes have two dicks. I’ve never seen your dick. Dicks?”

“You don’t need to see my genitalia.”

“Oh come on, Jannie,” Remus whined, “please? For me?”

Remus finished kneading the dough and strode over to Janus, waggling his eyebrows and shoulders suggestively. Janus scoffed, but the scoff sounded a little more like a laugh than a real angry scoff. 

“Only if you promise me two things—“

“One for each dick?”

“You’re pushing it,” Janus deadpanned. Then he walked over to the counter and leaned against it. 

“One,” Janus continued, “you cook me rabbit. You know how much I love rabbit. Secondly, put on some goddamn clothing. Please. You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’m not a human person, Jannie, I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want to see my genitalia or not.”

Remus snorted, then said “Just say dick, motherfucker. And yes I want to see your cock and balls and also your other dick.”

“Why are we friends.”

“Because you have nobody else! And I don’t either!”

“What about Logan?”

“Now that’s off topic,” Remus said. “But— Back to the topic at hand— I know just what to wear!”

Remus snapped his fingers, and he was suddenly donning a pastel pink apron that said “kiss the cook” in glittery black cursive. Remus conjured a green marker with a snap of his fingers, and started scribbling. When he pulled away from the apron, the word ‘kiss’ had been scratched out, and ‘FUCK’ had been written in its place. Janus sighed, since technically, Remus was wearing clothes. 

Janus yanked down his boxers, showing Remus what he wanted to see.

“Fuck me running, you do have two dicks! That’s impressive. How do you wear pants?”

“Like anyone else,” Janus drawled, looking away. Remus, however, intensely stared.

“Wait a damn minute,” he said after a minute, “is your dick— your dicks— bigger than mine?”

Remus pulled up his apron, and held his dick in his hand. He couldn’t really tell since Janus stood a few paces away from him, and because there were two. The human part of Janus’ face was bright red.

“We have the same body, I doubt—“

“What the fuck is going on?!?” Someone shouted. Remus whirled around, dick still out, and stared into the sleepy, raccoon-like eyes of Virgil.

“Whip out your dick, bitch, I’m making croissants!”

Virgil opened his mouth, then shut it. He turned on his heel, and walked away without another word, followed by Remus’ hysterical laughter.

—

Janus stayed a few hours, chatting idly with Remus as he mixed butter and put a bunch of things in the fridge to wait for a really long time. The recipe said four hours, but Remus decided to wait five, just to make sure the dough would be super good. 

After he took the dough out of the fridge, Patton, Virgil, and Logan strolled into the kitchen. Upon seeing the two of them, Patton gasped, Virgil groaned, and Logan nonchalantly walked over to the coffee maker. 

“Remus!” Patton squeaked. 

“Guilty as charged,” Remus said. He put the dough back into the fridge. He didn’t want to fuck up the recipe because of them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Virgil growled, “besides… oh god, that wasn’t a nightmare, was it?”

“More like a sweet, sweet dream. But to answer your question! I’m making cross-i-ants!”

Virgil opened his mouth to say something that would probably be really rude, but Patton interrupted him.

“Sorry, what?”

“He’s making croissants,” Janus said, glaring at Logan, “from scratch.”

Logan sipped his coffee. Patton didn’t seem to notice Janus’ glare, instead looking quizzically at Remus.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” he said, swallowing nervously. Remus chuckled.

“Oh, I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”

Virgil glared silently at him, but with enough heat to fry an egg real quick. Egg. Oh—

“Do you want a demonstration? I can make some breakfast for you all! Jannie and I haven’t eaten yet, so I can make some nice food just to prove my point! Crêpes, strawberries, maybe a bit of jam… Virgil, you can be my sous chef! What would go well with the crepes?”

“Something with protein,” Virgil answered, “like bacon. And some fruit. But I’m not helping you make it.” 

“Come on! Vergilius, Virgin, Virgie— it would be just like old times!”

Virgil hissed at him, then stormed off into the living room. Remus heard him flop down onto the couch, then turn the tv on. Logan looked at Remus, clearly curious. 

“Old times?” Logan questioned. Remus waved his hand.

“Well who do you think taught Virgil how to cook? Janus? He can’t cook to save his goddamn life!”

“I’m right here, you know,” Janus said.

“Am I wrong? You burn or overcook everything.”

Instead of answering, Janus grumbled and poured himself a cup of coffee. Remus opened the fridge, pulling out eggs and bacon. Crepes would be too hard to make while having conversation, and croissants were french enough. With a flick of the wrist he summoned a frying pan, and put it on the stove. Patton hadn't moved since the start of their conversation.

“Do you want to help?” Remus asked. Patton looked nervous to say the least, but awkwardly stepped into the kitchen. Remus shrugged, and cracked a few eggs into a bowl, quickly scrambling them. He put a bit of butter into the saucepan.

“You can start on the bacon,” Remus said. He passed the bacon and a frying pan to Patton. They stood awkwardly close to one another.

“How are the croissants treating you, Remus?” Logan asked. Remus smiled, watching the butter melt, then sizzle. He tilted the pan around, then poured in the egg. 

“Oh it’s going swimmingly! Like a fish, or a shark! Do you know lobsters have teeth in their stomachs? Imagine if humans had teeth in their stomachs and you chewed things after swallowing them! And your stomach growling was just the teeth at work?”

Patton cringed, slowly laying the strips of bacon into the pan. Remus smiled as Patton looked at Logan with his big brown eyes screaming ‘help me, oh god.’ The pan had started to heat up, and the bacon crackled while the eggs cooked. Remus mixed them slowly.

“How did the process of laminating the dough work?” Logan asked. 

“I just have to wrap butter with the dough. Pretty fuckin’ simple. I haven’t done it yet, but it’ll be easy. Even Jannie could do it!”

“What are you guys talking about?” Patton asked.

“I requested that Remus make croissants after, oh, bumping into him last night. The night before last?”

“Twenty four hours ago,” Janus answered, “and since you didn’t stick around— the lamb was delicious.”

Patton looked at the pan, then at Remus.

“Remus, kiddo, I uh, don’t mean to be rude—“

“You couldn’t offend me if you tried, puffball.”

“Uh. Right. What I wanted to ask is, um. How do you know how to cook?”

Remus cackled, smiling bright as he mixed the eggs. They were starting to cook a little bit, but he kept stirring slowly.

“How do Logan and Jannie know all about philosophy? How can they teach Thomas things while also existing as a part of them?”

Patton opened his mouth, then closed it. He shifted a little away from Remus.

“Well… I don’t know? Maybe it could be like, uh. Logan said you were a bunch of thoughts he was guilty about, like the bad imagination, so maybe since he used to feel guilty about not cooking, you got all those cooking skills! That could be how! Or— or from the Hello Fresh ad that Thomas did in your video!”

Logan walked over to the coffee machine, pouring himself another cup. 

“Do you want any cream or sugar, Logan?” Remus asked. Logan shook his head with a tight lipped smile.

“Remus’ existence is as a part of Thomas’ imagination,” Logan said, “I don’t see how cooking would be a part of that. And, him asking Virgil to cook with him like ‘old times’ implies that Remus knew how to cook before the video was published. In my very humble opinion, if anyone would know how to cook well, I think it would be Virgil and Janus, since they act as Thomas’ self preservation. So Remus knowing how to cook is a surprise.”

“Janus cannot fucking cook, I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a million times!” Remus said, “once he put wine in a bowl and said it was soup. And once he made a Bloody Mary and said that was a soup, too!”

Logan made a face as he sipped his coffee. Janus shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

“What’s the difference? I mean, a Bloody Mary has tomatoes.”

Remus giggled, and that was the final nail in the conversation’s coffin. They cooked in silence until the food was done. Patton made himself and Virgil a plate of food and scurried off into the living room, and Janus returned to his room since he’s already eaten. That left him and Logan in the kitchen together. Logan started to make himself a plate of eggs and bacon.

“I’m surprised that Virgil didn’t rip my throat out with his teeth upon seeing me. And I’m surprised Patton didn’t scurry away like a little bunny rabbit! I promised that I would make Jannie rabbit. Do you know Janus has two cocks?”

Logan blinked slowly. 

“No, that I did not. I’m also surprised that that encounter went as smoothly as it did, especially since, as you said, Virgil and Patton both dislike you.”

“Couldn’t’ve said it better myself, teach. I’m surprised Jan and Virgil didn’t get into a hissy fit. Ya know where they both hiss at one another? It used to happen all the time. Honestly it’s fun to watch as long as you have a bag of chips. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Water, if you could.”

“Not orange juice? Or even another cup of coffee?”

Logan straightened his tie, looking awkward as ever.

“I’ve had enough coffee to wake me up for the day, any more would be excessive.”

“Why not indulge?”

“It’s not healthy.”

“Who said anything about being healthy? We are literally pigments of Thomas’ figmation—“

“—What?”

“Shut up. But we’re ligaments of Thomas’ dictation! We don’t have to worry about his health and wellness. That’s up to him to manage. We don’t have to care.”

Logan gnawed on his lower lip.

“I must be a good example for Thomas and the others,” he reasoned.

With a snap of the fingers, Remus summoned a glass of ice water with a lemon wedge on the rim and set it in front of Logan. He watched intensely as Logan picked the glass up, the ice quietly clicking against the glass. Logan sipped, eyes slipping shut. Remus rested his chin on his hand, staring at Logan with a dopey smile. The lemon smelled nice. 

He wanted to grab Logan and… something. The already blurry thoughts became already blurrier. Before him, Logan had his eyes shut. He was helpless. Truly. Like a wildebeest at the watering hole, ready to get snapped up in the jaws of a crocodile. Or held really close. Or torn apart. Or something. Remus picked up a piece of bacon with his bare hands, and ate it. He licked the grease off his fingers. 

“So, how do you think me being here will fuck up the chart?” Remus asked after a painfully long silence. He’d almost finished his plate. Logan straightened in his seat.

“Well. I doubt that Patton and Virgil will spend as much time as they do in the kitchen. Same with Roman. But we haven’t seen much of him.”

Remus snorted. God, his brother was such a fucking drama queen. 

“Roman gets his feelings hurt once and he gives you all the silent treatment and sulks about. My whole existence is an insult, he can fucking suck it up!” Remus crowed.

Logan raised his brows and blinked, lip twitching. 

“Sorry, what did you just say?” He heard Virgil growl. Remus looked away from Logan to see Virgil at the sink, washing his plate.

“I said, and I quote; ‘Roman gets his feelings hurt once and he gives you all the silent treatment and sulks about. My whole existence is an insult, he can fucking suck it up!’ And I’m not wrong.”

“Yes you are,” Virgil growled, “Roman has every right to feel the way he does since he doesn’t deserve to take any of yours or Janus’ shit.”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“God, don’t you realize that we’re literally the same person? I’m just the bits of Thomas that you’re scared of. Lower your hackles, pussycat. I’m just trying to make cross-i-aints.”

“It’s pronounced croissants!” Virgil snapped. Patton stood in the doorway of the kitchen. 

“Who’s to say?” Remus drawled.

“I’m to say!”

Remus giggled. 

“Oh come on, Virgil, I thought you hated Roman? Not as much  as I do, of course, nobody hates him as much as me—“

“That’s changed,” Virgil growled, “A lot has changed.”

“You know what hasn’t changed?” Remus asked, standing up. “I’m still Creativity. Imagination. Passion. Just like Roman. He has everything, and still acts like that isn’t enough for him because he’s a selfish motherfucker.” Remus paused. “Selfish. Shellfish. Speaking of shellfish— Did you know clams can’t see or hear? Like Helen Keller! But am I wrong? Am I? About Roman being selfish, I mean. I know I’m not wrong about the Helen Keller thing.”

Virgil glared at him. 

“Yes, you are. Roman was the one to choose to go to the wedding. See, Remus? You’re always wrong. You are evil and perverse, nothing but a fucking nuisance. So shut up before I make you shut up.” Virgil shifted, standing up straight. “I’m not scared of you anymore.”

Remus tilted his head, smiling. 

“What’re you gonna do, you two-eyed no-horn walking purple penis eater? Punch me? I’m a peppermint of Thomas’ amalgamation or whatever it’s called, a punch won’t do anything.”

Patton stepped into the space between Remus and Virgil, hands raised and an awkward smile plastered on his face.

“Look, I think we should take a few deep breaths, calm down… this has gone far enough. Okay?”

Remus looked in his eyes. Yup, he was scared. Remus grabbed one of Patton’s hands and licked it. Patton recoiled with a squeak, wiping his hand on his pants. 

“Why are you even here?” Virgil asked.

“You already asked that, dick-nips.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Patton whined at Virgil, “he just made us breakfast. We can talk about this. Sit down and have a nice conversation. It’ll be okay—“

A hand touched Remus’ shoulder. Remus flinched hard, turning to see Logan, staring at Virgil cooly.

“Need I remind you both that Remus is a part of Thomas? We all are. And we have to share the kitchen. We need to learn to exist together. Deep breaths, Virgil. He’s not here to hurt any of us. He can’t hurt any of us.”

Virgil took a deep, slow breath, staring at the floor.

“Clams, like Helen Keller, are technically immune to flash-bangs,” Remus proclaimed.

The kitchen went silent for a moment. Virgil rolled his eyes and threw open the fridge. He grabbed a jug of orange juice, and drank straight from the jug, much to Patton and Logan’s dismay. Remus smirked, and sat down at the kitchen table. Logan joined them, then Patton, who stared at Virgil. 

“What?” Virgil said. Patton gestured to an empty seat at the table. 

“He made us breakfast, and he… Logan’s right. He is a part of Thomas. Sit down, kiddo. Please? For me?”

Virgil huffed. He looked at the fridge, then at Patton, then at Remus, again.

“Fine.”

Virgil put more eggs and bacon on his plate, then sat at the table. Remus cracked his neck.

“Stress eating, Virge? I haven’t seen you do that since—“

“Since Thomas was ten, before that choir concert.”

“You made him eat until he got sick.” Remus recalled. Virgil sighed, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“Yeah, I remember. Poor kid. He didn’t go to school the next day since I convinced him he was horribly sick...” Virgil shook his head, then looked up at Remus. “Wait. That was before the split. You weren’t you back then, were you?”

Remus snorted, smiling at Virgil. Oh, he remembered being whole. All that power and control over the world around him, like a raging fire. He drummed his fingers on the table.

“It’s like, erm, a Jackalope,” he explained, “With the antlers and the whole bunny thing? Or, uh, you know what scratch that. It’s like putting a dog and a bunny in a wood chipper!”

Patton squeaked in horror, eyes wide.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Virgil asked sharply. His hands tightened on the edge of the table.

“Well,” Remus responded, “the meat of the dog and the bunny get all mixed up, and you could make, like, a sausage of it. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a mix of two meats. Two meats, one sausage. So yes, I was me back then, just… not separated.”

“That makes sense,” Patton said, “Like how Garnet is made of Sapphire and Ruby.”

“Incorrect,” Logan said, “a garnet is a gem made of—“

“I was talking about Steven Universe, Logan.”

“...oh.”

Virgil slowly let go of the table. 

“That makes sense. That you would remember, I mean.”

The table went silent again. Virgil ate a bit of his bacon.

“Remus,” Patton said. “When did you start cooking?”

Remus watched Virgil pick at his food for a minute. He could taste the awkwardness in the air. A perfect palate cleanser.

“Who, me?” He started. “Well after Roman and I broke apart and I got punted into Thomas’ subconscious, I started smashing shit. Left and right. I destroyed all of the imagination I had authority over, I broke every single plate and cup in the kitchen—“

“So that’s what happened! You broke it! And here I thought it was an earthquake!” Patton exclaimed. Remus glanced at him, and he sunk back into his seat.

“Anyways,” Remus continued, “I tried, once the anger faded, to give Thomas ideas. To have my creations be made, have an impact, out there in the real world. Every single fucking idea scared him. No matter how hard I pushed and pushed and… then the anger I had returned full-force. Jannie was the one to suggest I cook. I learned to make something new after destroying. Since cooking is truly destructive. It’s taking something that’s already okay and beating it into submission, heating until the flesh crackles and the fat melts into grease, it’s smashing berries and breaking bones, pulling skin and fur from meat. It… yeah. And that’s when I started cooking!”

Remus smiled brightly, but his smile was met by the other three… not smiling. Virgil looked down at his plate, focused on his bacon. Patton’s eyes were teary and big, but even then he leaned back in his seat, as if bracing to run. And Logan just stared at him, mouth opening and closing.

“What is it, teach? Octopus got your tongue?”

“It’s nothing,” Logan said, “just parched.”

He sipped his water. The table remained silent, none of them brave enough to break the silence Remus had made. Honestly, Remus couldn’t figure out what the big deal was. So what he’d destroyed everything in his path for a solid three years after being yanked apart from Roman? His anger had been nothing but righteous, and it hadn’t exactly faded. But he’d found his way to cope— by destroying things, and making mosaics out of the pieces left over. God, he sounded fucking pretentious.

Footsteps, slow and steady, came from down the hall. Remus perked up, excited to get Janus in on this conversation. He practically froze in his seat when he saw who really stood there. 

In the doorway of the kitchen stood Roman, in his boxers and a white robe. Remus stared right at him. Roman’s tired eyes went big when he saw him. Remus imagined he was quite the sight, what with the pink apron and all. Roman’s eyes flitted from person to person, growing wider and wider. Virgil and Patton stood. 

“Kiddo, it’s okay,” Patton soothed, “come here, please.”

Roman backed away, then ran out of the kitchen. Patton chased after him, but Virgil lingered at the table for a second.

“Fuck you and your fucking bacon,” he snarled. 

“You have a bit of grease on your face,” Remus said. Virgil flushed and wiped at his cheek before turning and leaving, chasing after Patton and Roman. Logan casually checked his watch.

“That’s strange,” he said, “it’s nine twenty-three. Roman usually comes into the kitchen at ten thirty. He was an hour and seven minutes early.”

Remus shrugged. He didn’t really fucking care.

“He doesn’t usually run away from me,” Remus said. Logan shrugged.

“He probably thought we had replaced him with you. But who am I to say? I don’t understand him on a good day.” Logan said.

Remus blinked. Logan sipped his water.

“You… really seem nonchalant.”

“It’s not my problem unless Thomas decides it is.”

Remus snapped his fingers as Logan sipped from his drink, watching him sputter as the water turned to white wine. 

“What—“

“You’re acting like a stone cold bitch,” Remus said, “and I know full damn well you care. Hell, I’d say you cared too much about everything. You care about Roman. Now go fucking act like it before I pull your tongue out through your teeth.”

Logan sipped the wine slowly.

“I don’t care. I don’t have feelings—“

“You literally cried in front of me last night. That bullshit won’t work on me. Now go.”

Logan opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it. He stood and left the kitchen.

Remus snapped his fingers. The wine in Logan’s glass turned back into water. He sighed and flung the refrigerator open, taking the dough out as well as the butter. He laid the rectangle of butter in the middle of the dough, then folded, folded again, following the steps of the recipe. Hopefully, the dough hadn’t been chilled too long. He folded it once, twice, then put it in the fridge again.

Thirty minutes to rest, then he had to fold again. He hoped he didn’t fuck it up.

—

Thirty minutes passed. Laminating the dough was a quick process. The next thing he knew, he was tucking it back into the fridge. Now it was ten o’ clock. An hour until Janus would come get a cup of tea and lunch. Janus always liked to make lunch himself, or at least try. Most of the time Remus made it for him and Janus paid him in a cup of tea. But an hour was such a long time to be alone! Remus did a handstand. His apron fell in his face. 

None of the others had come back to the kitchen after they ran after Roman. And he hadn’t talked to someone since they left. So to put it simply, Remus was horribly, horribly bored. For a moment he considered searing some rabbit to draw Janus out of his room. But Janus probably wouldn’t be able to tell it was rabbit by smell alone. Remus stood back up, staring at the stove. He’d been so bored that he’d cleaned, and all the leftover bacon and bacon grease were in the fridge. He’d eaten all the eggs.

Remus sighed. He’d paced the kitchen back and forth, too nervous about the dough to sink out and too bored to think of something to do other than pace. If only he had someone to talk to…

Suddenly, an idea hit him like a brick to the face. Remus flapped his hands about, then rushed to the fridge. He yanked it open and rifled through the fridge, pulling out some bok choy. He pulled out some leftover chicken stock and ginger. He grated the ginger into the stock, then started chopping up the bok choy. He didn’t really know if it would work— the dish or what he had planned — but he could hope. He set the bok choy in a frying pan with a dash of sesame oil, chopping up a bit of chicken and garlic to go with it.

The meat had started to cook when he heard someone deeply inhale behind him. Remus turned around, already knowing who would be there.

“Orange,” he crooned at the shadowy figure crouched on the table, “it’s always a pleasure to see you!”

Orange tilted his head. It was hard to look at him, since he liked to keep his appearance a mystery. At least Remus could assume they would probably look alike, since they were all regiments of Thomas’ fixation or whatever. Remus tilted his head the other way.

“You were the one that called me here,” Orange said.

“Called you here?”

“You know I love bok choy.”

Remus smiled at him, turning back to his pan.

“I’m making what I hope is going to be a nice, like, chicken soup? With some bok choy. I might add dumplings. I don’t know.”

Orange inhaled slowly. He exhaled right by Remus’ ear. Remus giggled at the sudden sensation.

“It needs more time to cook,” Remus chided. Orange hummed.

“Why do you still keep doing this? Cooking. Every day. You do not need to eat, nor do you need to drink.”

Remus cackled.

“You needn’t eat or drink either dumb fuck!” 

“Bok choy is an indulgence,” Orange replied. He appeared floating above the stove, his shifting face right in front of Remus’. 

“So is cooking. I just so happen to indulge a lot.”

“Why eat three meals like a real person? You don’t need it.”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Plants don’t need to flower.”

Orange stared at him quizzically.

“Yes they do.”

“Fruit doesn’t need to be sweet.”

“It just so happens to taste sweet.”

“It’s a little prank of fate, my Tangerine Dream,” Remus said, thwacking Orange with his spatula, “fruit is sweet, plants have flowers, and I like to cook. It might not make sense, or it may. Humans enjoy the sweetness of fruit and the smell of flowers, and I do this solely because it’s what I love, which is a valid reason to do it.”

Orange suddenly was behind him, breathing down his neck.

“You do it to run from the emotions you hold. I can sense it inside of you. The hatred. The anger. The grief. Overpowering and strong.”

“Like ginger. Shit, I think I added too much.”

Remus dipped his hand into the boiling broth, and took a little sip. Oh, that tasted heavenly! He licked each finger clean of the golden soup, except for the middle finger. That he offered to Orange, turning around and sticking it up at him.

“Is it too strong?”

Orange picked a bit of bok choy out of the pan, and put it in his mouth. 

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Remus turned back to cooking. Orange definitely wasn’t the best conversational partner he could think of, that would probably be Janus or Logan, but he hated being alone and Orange’s presence was good enough. They were the only dark sides left, they might as well get along.

“So why cook?” Orange asked, “Not just for yourself, but for the others, too?”

“You remember what the Grimacing Grimace said?” Remus coughed, then spoke in his best Virgil impression. “‘Not every thought has to have some profound meaning’ or whatever he said. So I just did it.”

“...Grimacing Grimace?” Orange asked.

“Yeah, like the weird McDonald’s mascot thing.”

“No, I mean. Who were you referring to. I wasn’t there for that conversation.”

“I was quoting Virgil.”

“Virgil the philosopher, or Purple?”

“Purple.”

Orange nodded.

“But what is your motivation?” Orange asked.

Remus looked at him.

“Uh, bitch, I don’t have motivation on a good day. Nor does my brother. Maybe depression runs in the family—“

“I’m not talking about that!” Orange spat, “I’m asking you why you so suddenly decided to go play house with the others the moment Yellow got a seat at the table. What, are you scared that he’ll leave you too? Like Purple? Like Red?”

Remus added the bok choy and the chicken into the soup. He mixed it vigorously, eyes locked on the golden broth. It needed salt. That he’d add last. What it could really use was a grain or starch or something, something grounded. Wontons? No, he missed his opportunity to add that to the dish. Rice. Rice would go well with this. 

“I don’t know,” Remus said calmly, “am I scared?”

“Scared of what?”

Remus practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of Janus’ voice. Looking over, he could see Janus in the kitchen doorway, staring at him curiously.

“Scared of nothing!” Remus exclaimed. “Salutations my sweet-and-sour serpentine slanderer, what brings you to the kitchen?”

“Tea, of course, what else?” Janus asked. Smirking, he ruffled Remus’ hair as he walked past him. Remus turned his focus back on the soup as Janus grabbed his favorite mug from the cupboard, and filled it with water. Remus snapped his fingers, and the water spontaneously boiled, letting off a plume of steam before settling down.

“Lunch and conversation with your favorite person, that’s what else. Is that the right way to phrase that?”

“Oh Remus, when did I say you were my favorite person?”

“I just know I am,” Remus said with a smirk.

“I absolutely loathe you, and you make my life a living hell.”

Remus smiled.

“Oh, Jannie, I’m positively blushing!

Janus rolled his eyes, but his smile was bright. Remus stirred the soup a little more, then took some instant rice out of the cupboard. He poured some into a pot, added water, and summoned a plume of green flame. The water instantly boiled, and the rice cooked in a flash. It certainly gave Remus a face full of steam.

“What’s for lunch, Gordon Remus?”

“Asian-inspired chicken soup with rice.”

“Asian-inspired? How much of Asia? Asia is a very large place, Remus.”

“I don’t know what else to call it!” Remus exclaimed. He poured each of them a bowl of soup. “I fuckin, cooked the chicken and put it in the broth. There’s sesame oil and like, other shit.”

He set the soup on the table, one bowl for himself and one for Janus. Remus grabbed two plates from the cupboard, and gave them each a bit of the rice. Then, he sat, and dug in, eating with his hands. Janus, meanwhile, summoned a pair of chopsticks.

“So,” Janus said, elegantly sipping his soup.

“So?” Remus said, mouth stuffed with rice.

“How are the cross-i-ants?” Janus asked. Remus swallowed the rice, then squinted at Janus.

“They’re called croissants you stupid little bitch.”

Janus delicately plucked a piece of chicken from his soup, then threw it at Remus, who leaned back and effortlessly caught it in his mouth. The chair tipped backwards, and Remus slammed into the floor with a thud. 

“Are you okay?” Janus asked. 

Remus gave him a thumbs up from the floor, then righted the chair and sat.

“I’m very okay! And so are the Croissants! They’re chilling right now. I need to reread the recipe. But I think they’re gonna come out super well!”

“I’m happy you’re enjoying this so much,” Janus said. He sipped his soup, and then his tea.

Remus chugged a bit of his soup, choking on a piece of bok choy.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Messing with the light sides, making lots of food— it’s a good time. Can’t say I’ll do it every day, but it’s a nice change of pace!”

Janus nodded. He picked at his rice. Over the years, Remus had learned a good deal about snake-human hybrids, or whatever Janus was. Janus would have a big meal every day, usually breakfast, then nibble at everything else Remus made him. 

“Speaking of a change of pace,” Remus said, “why don’t you ever eat your food raw? Like a real snake?”

“It’s undignified. I doubt you’d care.”

“Nope! Not at all. Did you see Roman? I’m pretty sure he left the kitchen crying after breakfast!”

Remus giggled. Surprisingly, Janus didn’t seem very amused. Instead, he furrowed his brows.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, “he came into the kitchen at like 9:30 and saw me then fucked right off! As he should! Logan said it wasn’t in his schedule for him to be there that early— oh and I told Logan about my little idea and he said that if you took Patton’s place it would probably emotionally scar Thomas or whatever but I still think you’d do a much better job than that washed up slap-happy pappy.”

Janus blinked.

“Okay. One thing at a time. Uh. I’m not taking Patton’s place. While he is misguided, he’s trying his best. Everyone has their flaws.”

“He’s an earthworm,” Remus reasoned, “Squishy and crushable but also necessary.”

“Exactly!” Janus exclaimed. He rewarded Remus with a soft smile before continuing. “But all that aside, I think that Roman’s absence and his shock upon seeing you is my fault.”

“Because of the whole evil twin thing? Yeah, I know—“

“He probably thought you were taking his place.”

Remus barked out a laugh. 

“What?”

Janus nodded.

“His place. In their ‘famILY’ or whatever they call it.”

Remus picked up a fistful of rice, shoving it in his face before chugging down his broth.

“I don’t want a place in their fucking whatever. He can take their love and he can have it. They’re scared of me, they hate me. Even Virgil does.”

“Logan doesn’t.”

Remus grinned.

“No, he doesn’t. But I don’t want Roman’s place. Even if I could take it, I wouldn’t. How about you? If you could permanently take Patton’s place, get all the love and attention that he gets, or at least, like, get that in general, would you? What would you do for that love? People have done much worse for much less— I mean Judas sold out Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, so what would you do for everything you’ve ever wanted?”

Remus had leaned across the table. His bowl of rice had spilled on the table. Janus stared blankly at him.

“All I want is for Thomas to have a good life.”

“We all want that. What would you do for that?”

“Unspeakable things,” Janus said, smiling softly. Remus beamed back at him, sitting down in his chair. It was a little weird since he wore only the apron.

Footsteps from down the hall, and Patton stepped into the kitchen. He froze at the sight of Remus, but managed to give a little wave to Janus.

“Do you want me to get you some tea, Patton?” Janus asked, standing from his seat. Patton mutely nodded.

“I have you pegged as a Jasmine man,” Remus said, doing his best Uncle Iroh impression. Then he giggled. “Haha, pegged.” 

If Patton looked uncomfortable before, he looked very uncomfortable now. He smiled softly, and Remus returned it with a sharp toothed grin. Janus, meanwhile, filled another cup with water and held it out to Remus. Remus snapped his fingers, and a burst of fire erupted from the teacup, followed by steam.

“There, nice and hot!” Remus exclaimed. Janus put a teabag in the cup, then picked up his own tea, walking over to Patton.

“Patton and I will be talking in the common room, Remus,” Janus said. Remus nodded.

“Actually, I’d uh, like to talk to Remus for a little bit,” Patton sheepishly said, “alone, if that’s ok.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. Remus shrugged. 

“Go ahead padre,” Remus practically purred, “lay it on me.”

Janus snorted, then left the kitchen, leaving Patton and Remus alone together. Patton nervously tugged at the sleeve of the hoodie wrapped around his shoulders.

“Uh, I want to talk about breakfast—“

“I knew I should’ve cooked the bacon for less time!” Remus shouted, “Virgil loves his bacon burnt to a fucking crisp, so I have to unlearn that after cooking for him for god knows how long.”

“It’s not about the food, the food was wonderful! It’s, um. About you and me?”

Remus blinked.

“Come again? You and me?”

“I mean— an apology. I’m sorry for how breakfast went, with Virgil picking a fight. I guess I’m still a little scared of you, but I shouldn’t be, since you’re a part of Thomas too. And Virgil was totally out of line. I’m sorry.”

Remus chuckled. He snapped his fingers, and all the plates on the table floated into the sink. Then, he stood, smiling at Patton.

“I don’t need to be apologized to. And Virgil has every right to be angry at me. I honestly wish he had thrown the first punch, that would’ve given me an excuse to beat him over the head with a frying pan until his skull was concave.”

Patton stared in horror at Remus.

“Kiddo,” he said softly.

“What I’m trying to say,” Remus continued, “is that I’m a stone cold slut. I don’t want to be a part of your family. I’m not your kiddo. I don’t need to be apologized to. We’re like coworkers, and nothing more. Go back to being scared of me. It’s much, much more fun!”

“No,” Patton said, “I’m not going back to being scared of you. I’m just trying to be nice! And— and you’re being a big bully. Why can’t we get along?”

“Because you despise me.”

Patton took a step forward, slowly reaching his hand out. Remus raised an eyebrow.

“What the fuck—“

“A handshake,” Patton timidly explained, “since you say we’re coworkers.”

Remus smiled, and firmly grasped Patton’s hand.

“For a silly little puffball, you surely have a pair of cojones. Well, you wouldn’t be a father if you didn’t.”

“Huh?”

A laugh burst out of Remus’ mouth, and he squeezed Patton’s hand, shaking it rapidly. Patton squeezed back, then leaned closer to him, grabbing his shoulder tightly.

“Listen,” Patton whispered intensely, “I’m trying to be nice, I really, really am, but remember this: If you ever threaten one of my— if you ever threaten my kiddos again, or hurt them, I’ll— I’ll end your miserable existence.”

Remus wheezed in surprised hilarity, yanking away from Patton’s hand on his shoulder. God, a death threat? He’d never gotten one from Patton before!

“Janus is a horrible influence on you!”

Patton flushed, letting go of Remus’ hand.

“He said I should be more uh, decisive? Decisive and direct. I think that’s what he said. And I don’t want the people I love to be hurt.”

“They’re not people..? Logan said it himself, object impermanence kinda stops me from doing anything permanent. But it is fun to scare you until the papa bear pops out. Black bears can run up to like, twenty five miles per hour. Isn’t that neat! There is no escape from a black bear.”

“I hate this conversation,” Patton quietly squeaked. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Ditto. Let’s make like coworkers, and only talk when it’s necessary, and not waste energy by actively hating one another.”

Patton nodded. He stepped backwards into the hall, and gave Remus an awkward wave before running off into the common room with Janus. Remus sat down at the table, shaking his head.

An apology. Patton had offered him an apology. The last thing he wanted from Patton was an apology. Honestly, he could only think of three people he wanted an apology from. Virgil, Roman, and Thomas. Virgil and Roman abandoned him. And Thomas locked him away.

Remus sighed. The dough was done. All folded nicely. Now came the four hours of waiting.

—

Unsurprisingly, neither Virgil nor Roman came to the kitchen for lunch. Janus stopped in at four for dinner, and so did Patton. They took some leftovers, then ate in the common room while talking about whatever. The hours passed slowly as he sat alone in the kitchen. Remus took the dough out of the fridge. He rolled it into a rectangle, then cut it into a bunch of tiny squares, then triangles, then to smaller triangles. After that, he delicately rolled them into croissant form, then let them rest for an hour. All that was left was the baking, after so much fucking time folding the dough.

The clock said it was about 5:00 pm. Making breakfast had set him an hour back, but Logan had promised he’d come eat the croissants with him. Maybe he was just waiting to smell them bake? Remus flapped his wrist, conjuring a flat metal tray. One by one, he placed the fragile little croissants on the tray. He got milk and eggs from the fridge, and mixed them together. Afterwards, he threw the mixture away because he forgot to crack the eggs before mixing them with the milk. He sighed.

“Are you about to bake them?” A steady voice said. Remus turned away from the bowl of egg wash, smiling when he saw who it was.

“Why, yes, I am! Now, you promised me you’d have one last night. Or the night before. Whatever it is.”

Logan nodded, and sat at the table, watching Remus slather the croissants in egg wash. Suddenly, Remus became very aware of the fact he was totally nude besides the apron. Huh. That usually didn’t happen. What was he, ashamed? Never.

“My observations thus far are very interesting,” Logan said, snapping Remus out of his spiraling thoughts, “Virgil and Roman both did not go into the kitchen after breakfast, choosing to go without food. They don’t need to eat, so it’s not very worrying to me.”

“Is it now?”

Logan shook his head, then sighed.

“Well, I’m worried about how their… mental health will affect Thomas.”

Remus sighed as he put the tray in the oven, then set the timer to twenty minutes. He sat down at the table, across from Logan, watching his eyes glance over him. 

“What if we were meat?” He asked. Logan raised his eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

Remus bit back a comment about begging, and thumped his foot on the floor.

“I mean, like, what would you do if you were a human? And you had all the world laid out in front of you, not just the inside of Thomas’ puny, breakable little skull. What life would you make for yourself?”

Logan sighed.

“I can’t say for certain. The only life I want is a lifetime of learning. I guess I’d go to school for chemical engineering, then get a masters in the subject, or in chemistry, then become a professor of chemistry. Maybe even biochemistry.”

Remus leaned back in his chair.

“Sounds pretty fucking solid to me.”

“It isn’t,” Logan insisted, “you know how messy humans are.”

“Like when they’re smashed with a mallet and meat goes everywhere?”

“À la Gallagher?”

“Exactly!”

“I meant emotional messiness, but you’re not wrong,” Logan said. Remus beamed at him, setting his elbows on the table.

“I know I’m not. But go on?”

Logan cleared his voice.

“Say I am a human, and I have my life planned out by the year. Chemical engineering major, graduate school, becoming a professor. This does not account for human things, like the possibility of a depressive episode or a death in my hypothetical family.”

“Depression is a bitch.”

“No, it’s a mental illness. I can say that if it were a bitch, depression would be a chihuahua. A nuisance that makes no sense to me.”

“Depression doesn’t make sense to you?”

“Chihuahua’s don’t either, hence the comparison.”

Remus laughed, eyes wide.

“Really! Oh do go on.”

“Some chihuahuas have a soft spot in their skull called a molera. 80-90 percent of chihuahuas have this spot as pups. Most of the time it closes up. Many people used to think chihuahuas could cure asthma. In the late 1800’s and early 1900’s  Mexican grooms would often give their wives bouquets with chihuahuas in them.”

Remus giggled again, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands.

“What’s so confusing about that?”

Logan stared down at his hands, mumbling something Remus couldn’t hear.

“What was that?” Remus asked.

“I said,” Logan repeated, louder, “that I don’t understand how their eyes can be so big. And how so much anger can be stored in something so tiny. Did you know the American Kennel Club used to suggest breeders breed chihuahuas to be as small as possible?”

“Really makes you think of where we draw the line between dog and rat.”

“It’s a species thing. But I admit, I’m curious now. What would you do if you were human?”

Remus snorted. “What wouldn’t I do is a better question? I’ve basically been locked in a tower like Rapunzle for the past twenty odd years.”

Logan’s sincere eyes made him go quiet. Remus honestly couldn’t tell if Logan even cared, but those eyes made him want to scream and flip the table and jump out of the window. Fuck.

“I, uh. I would go to college for writing,” Remus said, “and filmmaking. And I’d get tattoos all over. And maybe some piercings. Things that I couldn’t undo, that nobody could undo. Then I’d write a ton of stories and make movies and scare an entire fucking generation but also make them cry and feel like they’ve never felt before. I don’t know what I would do after that. I’d probably  tragically fall from grace, and everyone gets to watch me decay from a distance as my books and movies get weirder and weirder, then at the age of fifty six and a half, I’d disappear and never be seen or heard of again.”

Remus sighed dreamily. The whole situation sounded nice. Logan, however, looked more than a little startled.

“You really have given this thought, haven't you?”

Remus nodded, leaning back in his seat.

“I’ve not just been yelling at Thomas to jump out of a moving car for the past twenty something years, I’ve been doing a lot of shit that he finds scary. But you can understand where I’m coming from, right? Sometimes the best media deals with more mature themes.”

Logan looked away, sitting painfully straight in his chair.

“Thomas doesn’t seem to think so,” Logan said.

“Oh that is bullshit! Avatar the Last Airbender has genocide and like. Propaganda and shit. Steven Universe covers PTSD and war and dictatorships— honestly, he’s not scared of mature themes. He’s ashamed of the ideas, and scared he won’t pull them off well! That’s why he won’t deal with more important subjects in his videos!”

“You don’t know that,” Logan said calmly.

“Then why would he stifle me!” He shouted, standing up so suddenly it knocked his chair over, “Lock me away like a fucking monster! Why would he leave me alone!”

Remus’ eyes met Logan’s.

“Remus, are you alright?” Logan quietly asked. Remus smiled, waving his hands about.

“Hell yeah I am, dick-dork. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“...you don’t seem to be feeling well.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” Remus proclaimed.

“There isn’t,” Logan said, “but you helped me, so I feel like I should assist you. Do you want to, um, talk about it?”

Remus’ laugh turned into a sob. He left his chair on the ground, instead sitting next to Logan.

“You’d make a horrible Patton,” he joked, sniffling.

“Do you want to—“

“No,” Remus growled. 

“I’m sorry.”

Remus slammed both of his fists on the table, over and over until the pain finally registered to him, stinging and brutal. Then he stopped, as suddenly as he started.

“Why don’t you people understand that I don’t want an apology from you!” He bellowed, loud enough that it hurt his throat. “You did nothing wrong to me! Nothing! There’s nothing I should be mad at you for so I don’t deserve an apology!”

A warm hand settled on his shoulder. Logan’s. 

“Yes, you do. It’s not about deserving. Thomas sees everything as black and white, a worldview that led to your neglect. He’s going to unlearn that, learn that the world exists in shades of grey. Until the day he learns enough to forgive you, why not indulge in a bit of forgiveness?”

“I don’t need it,” Remus snapped. Logan squeezed his shoulder. It felt grounding. 

“And I didn’t need a lemon slice with my water this morning.”

Remus sat up straight, so sudden he made Logan lurch back.

“Ah fuck. You just. Fuck! You played me like the cheap kazoo I am!”

Logan raised his eyebrows, lips momentarily twitching into a smile.

“Funny. I thought that same thing about you last night.”

“We need to stop saying ‘last night’, like, seriously,” Remus joked, “it makes it sound like we’re fucking.”

“Your apron makes it seem that that is not something you would be adverse to,” Logan deadpanned.

Remus looked down at the apron. Ah, there it was. Fuck the cook. 

“God.”

“Religion.”

“Huh?”

Logan tilted his head. 

“I thought we were playing a word association game.”

“Well I mean, we have like, twelve minutes until the croissants are all done and baked! We can play a word association game until then.”

Logan nodded, shifting in his seat. Their knees bumped.

“May I begin?”

“Go ahead!” Remus said.

“Star,” Logan began.

“Sun,” Remus responded.

“Earth.”

“Rock.”

“Granite.”

“Countertop.”

“Kitchen.”

“Knife..?”

“Carving.”

“Dismemberment!”

“Dissection.”

Back and forth they went, going from dissection to cooking to flowers, only stopping when the oven dinged. Remus jumped at the sudden sound, which scared Logan, who lurched backwards until their knees no longer touched. Remus looked over at the oven, then at his knees.

“I think the croissants are done! Look at that! Wow, time flies when you’re having fun, holy shit.”

Logan blinked a couple of times, then nodded.

“Yes, it was an enjoyable time. Why did ‘pulmonary’ make you think of ‘plastic’?”

Remus shrugged.

“I didn’t know what pulmonary meant, but you connected it from lung, and I don’t know, it made me think of sarin, then saran, then plastic.”

Logan nodded, brows furrowing.

“You responded rather quickly to that word, I didn’t think you put that much thought into it.”

“My mind goes a mile a minute— lemme get the croissants. And you’re not going anywhere! You promised you’d have one.”

“That I did.”

Remus lept over to the oven, throwing the door open and grabbing the tray with his bare hands, setting the tray on the counter. God, they smelled delicious, baked and golden brown, slowly letting off steam. Logan looked at them with a straight face. For a smart guy, he really acted stupid.

“Fucking hypocrite,” Remus said, “it’s okay to show emotion.”

“I don’t—“

“Literally nobody else is here but me.”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it again. At a loss for words. Remus sighed, and picked up two croissants off the tray. They felt so warm and delicate in his hands, like a little baby bird…

“Have you ever imagined squeezing a bird in your hands so hard it’s crushed?”

Logan blinked.

“I can’t say I have, but I don’t think it’s worth the mess. Birds belong in the sky.”

“And where do we belong?” Remus said, sitting down at the table. He gave Logan a croissant. “I mean. You have the light sides, I have the dark sides, and we both have the kitchen.”

“Interpersonal relations are not my strong suit,” Logan said, and he left it at that. He gently picked up the croissant, tearing a small piece off before putting it in his mouth. Remus watched as his eyes slowly slipped shut, Logan’s jaw closed as he savored the light, buttery layers of the croissant. Remus flapped his hands about, giggling to himself before taking his croissant and ripping it in half with his teeth. Oh, that’s heavenly!

“Oh,” Remus said, mouth full, “that’s heavenly! I can see why you chose this recipe, goddamn.”

“I chose it to study the habits of the others.”

“It’s not normal.” Remus stated. He looked at Logan, who had opened his eyes, brows furrowed. 

“I live with the others, I might as well—“

“Not the schedule, it makes you happy, so it’s meaningful. What isn’t normal is the fact that you have to act all prim and proper all the time for them to respect you. You should be able to let loose, indulge.”

“But what if they won’t listen?” Logan asked, voice shaking.

Remus snapped his fingers. Two glasses of ice cold water appeared before them, each with a lemon slice on the rim. 

“Make them.”

“I don’t think I could—“

“You are literally the brains of the operation! Not only that, but you beat me fair and square when I showed up, and I’m absolutely certain you could do it again. I’m pretty sure you could do it right now. You’re a force to be reckoned with. All of Thomas’ intellect in a sad little indigo dressed man. You’re a person, or at least a part of a person. Not a robot. Not a shell. Okay?”

Logan silently nodded. He ate the rest of the croissant, not even chewing, just setting it in his mouth and letting it dissolve. Logan swallowed, then smiled softly, so small Remus almost missed it. It felt like his heart had joined the croissant in his throat. Remus swallowed hard. Then, he smiled back, all teeth, and stuffed the rest of the croissant in his mouth. They ate in silence for a while, simply enjoying the croissants. Logan slowly sipped his water after each bite.

“What should I make next?” Remus asked. Logan looked down at the tray of croissants. Remus grabbed one off the tray, and passed it to Logan.

“Thank you. Why not something with seafood? Maybe paella?”

Remus’ eyes went big. 

“Oh, I absolutely fucking love clams and mussels! That’s in paella, right? Yeah? God, Logan, this is why we need to talk more, you fucking genius!”

“Thank you very much. I hate to ask, but would you mind if I took some croissants back to Virgil, Patton and Roman..?”

Remus leaned back in his chair.

“Leaving so soon?”

Logan paused. He stood slowly.

“I don’t have—“

“Go ahead and take them. Just leave one for Jannie.”

“I’ll only need three.”

“Take an extra for yourself, you’re the reason I made them after all.”

Logan froze like a deer in the headlights, hand hovering over the tray. Carefully, he picked up three croissants, then looked Remus in the eye. Remus nodded towards the tray. Logan grabbed a fourth. 

“Remus?”

“I’m right here,” Remus said, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head.

“I just wanted to thank you. For the croissants, and for the conversation.”

And he smiled, just a little bit of teeth showing.

Remus felt that strange feeling, the one without direction or space, just energy. Thoughts fluttered through his head, and he wanted to rip, tear, kiss mend, bake, create, destroy—

“I enjoyed every minute of it,” Remus said, throat dry. 

With that, Logan waved goodbye, then promptly left. Now Remus sat alone at the table. When would Jannie come for his croissant? Maybe he wouldn’t. Remus drummed his fingers on the table. He could stand from the table, and chase after Logan like a loyal mutt. Or he could go find Janus. Or he could take out the bok choy and split the croissants with a fellow dark side.

Instead, he sat at the table, drumming his fingers, trapped in his head.

He stared at Logan’s glass of water until the ice cubes melted. 

—

Thirty minutes later, Janus showed up. He sat down at the table, and wordlessly took a croissant. Remus drummed his fingers on the table.

“Are you okay?” Janus asked. He nibbled the croissant.

Remus snorted, waving his arms around.

“I honestly have no fucking clue!”

Janus smiled and laughed, biting into the croissant. Remus did so, too, and tried to force down the strange, directionless feeling now associated with Logan’s face.

Janus and him shared the rest of the croissants, leaving only crumbs and the tray.

#logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #sanders sides #janus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #sanders side fic #They Share a Kitchen #holy fuck how is this like 10k

[zwowow]

this might be very triggering so its fine if u dont do it, but kells self harming secretly and em finding out and kells thinks he’s gonna be mad but em is comforting instead

sorry for the ask, im the same anon that went thru a break up and it aint going well

tw: self harm 

I’m sorry my love, break ups are rough and it really sounds like ur goin thru it. sorry this took a while! but hopefully you’ve had time to heal a bit between sending this ask nd now. 

psa to all I’ve never self harmed, so i’m just hoping this captures the idk headspace? alright :/ 

He started when he was a teenager. That’s how long he’s been doing this shit. It’s fucking shameful that he hasn’t grown out of it in over a decade, but it’s also one of the only things that’s consistently soothed him. When weed isn’t enough to calm him, or shake him from a spiral of self-loathing, he always comes back to this. Not because it makes him feel better, but because it makes him feel something. 

He can focus on the pain and only the physical pain. His emotions, the real world shit he has to deal with, can fall to the side for a moment and he can revel in the hurt. The hurt that he has control over. 

That’s a part of it, too. Control. So much of the existential pain he feels is beyond what he himself can change. Everyone gets to have an opinion on him, and regardless if it’s good or bad, he has to know it and internalize it. He has no choice. Time moves on and he can’t control what his past self has done, but the regret eats him alive. His head spins when he thinks about all of the shit that’s wrong in his life that he no longer has the power to change. 

But the harm he does himself? Knowingly and methodically? It’s all controlled. He’s got it all under control. 

Or at least he did. Recently, he’s had the itch to hurt more and more frequently. There’s so much going on in his life that he’s no longer in control of even the one thing that makes him feel grounded. The old scars and fresh wounds are getting harder to hide. Even on his inked skin, raised bumps and sensitive bruises are easy to find when his boyfriend spends all of his time roaming his hands gently over his body. 

But Em can’t find out. Colson refuses to let him. He’d think Colson is pathetic (he is). He’d be disgusted by him (he should be). He’d hate him (but he couldn’t hate him more than Colson hates himself). 

He tries not to hurt himself around Em because of this, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Sometimes he needs it. 

Colson sneaks out of bed one night at Em’s place while his boyfriend is sleeping. On his way out, he grabs his small bag that has just a few of the items he uses to hurt himself. His fingers shake around the bag and his breath quickens in his chest. 

Ain’t it funny that the shame he feels from doing this just makes him want to do it more? 

When he makes it to a bathroom far enough away from Em’s room that he doubts he would make the effort to find him all the way down here, he lays the bag on the counter and opens it up. 

This hadn’t started with the razor blades and lighters he keeps in the bag. He’s worked himself here from pulling out his leg hair and scratching his own arms raw just to feel the sting. The older and more well known he got, the more out of control he felt, and from there he made the jump from nervous ticks to genuine self harm. 

He used to starve himself, too. He thinks back to only a couple of years ago and picks up the lighter. He could go days without eating, even while on tour. There were times where he’d pass out after shows from the hunger, but he’d write it off to others as exhaustion. That had been one of the most pleasing ways to hurt himself. The gentle build up to physical depletion to match what he felt emotionally was fulfilling in a way he couldn’t possibly explain to anyone. 

And that’s why he stopped. Em started to catch on. He started to ask questions no one had asked before. He was obsessed with feeding Colson and keeping him healthy. 

Colson started eating regularly because Em would’ve hated to know his not eating wasn’t just absent-minded forgetting. He would’ve been so disappointed to find out it was deliberate starvation. Colson didn’t want to disappoint Em. 

He still doesn’t. Colson puts the lighter on the counter and takes out one of his blades, too. Em would hate to see this. He wouldn’t understand. 

Inhaling shakily through his nose, Colson looks between his two options for tonight. He leaves the blade on the counter and picks up the lighter. Em is sure to notice if he has a fresh cut. A burn is easier to hide. 

He flicks the lighter to life and is deciding where to hold it on his body when he hears the first knock. 

“Kells.” Shit. He loosens his grip on the lighter and the flame goes out. 

What is Em doing out of bed, and what the fuck is he doing down here?

“Kells,” Em tries again, “You good?” 

“I’m fine.” He lies. 

“Are you fucking smoking in there?” Outside, Em’s voice grows suspicious. He heard the lighter go on and now he thinks Colson is smoking weed in his bathroom. That would be easier to explain. 

After too long of a pause he says, “No.” 

Em doesn’t give a warning before he throws open the bathroom door. Colson wants to knock his head into the mirror for not thinking to lock it. He dives for the blade on the counter, but Em is staring right at it. 

“What the fuck?” Em looks between Colson and the counter multiple times. It’s a stupid overdramatic response, but he wants to slit his fucking wrists from that look. 

Em’s brow furrows. Colson feels sick to his stomach. Em is pissed at him. He’s disgusted by him. He doesn’t know whether to throw him out or call a mental hospital. He hates him. He must be so angry. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out. I was trying to hide it. I shouldn’t have done it here. I know it’s fucking sick. I know it’s fucking crazy to cut and burn myself, I know but I...” Excuses and apologies trip over each other running off of his tongue. 

“You’re cutting yourself?” Em interrupts him. His intense gaze sweeps over Colson. He’s not disgusted or angry like he’d thought. He’s shocked, confused, and even a bit hurt. 

“I... yeah.”

“Why?” A loaded question like that shoots Colson right through the chest. Why? He can hardly answer the question to himself, how is he supposed to explain it to Em?

Em said it himself, he was just clownin’ when talking about cutting himself, how fucked up does someone have to be to actually do that? Colson doesn’t want to explain to Em how fucked up he is.

When he doesn’t answer, Em looks back down at the blade and then at the lighter still in his hand. Kells sees the thousands of things he wants to say and the million questions he wants to ask in his eyes. Finally his eyes set, and Kells braces himself for the next thing to come out of Em’s mouth. 

“Don’t do that shit tonight, yeah? Just come back to bed.” The response shocks Colson even more silent than he’d been. Does he still want to know why, or is he just dropping it? 

As if reading his mind, Em shrugs, “You can tell me why when you’re ready. Tonight, I just want to cuddle your ass.” He holds out his hand to Colson and laces their fingers together tightly when he grabs on. Em tugs him gently out of the bathroom and down the hall back to his room. Colson leaves the lighter and the blade on the counter. 

When they’re back in bed, Em holds him differently than he has before, His arm feels weighted, it presses Colson gently down into the bed, unable to move from the hold. Em holds him from behind protectively and breathes into Colson’s neck. It’s so close it’s almost claustrophobic, but Colson wouldn’t pull away from it even if he could. The urge to hurt himself is immediately replaced by the need to burrow in closer to Em’s grounding touch. 

He falls asleep easily, letting the last of his shame and fear at Em’s reaction leave his body without a fight. 

In the morning, he goes to clean his stuff up in the bathroom, or to throw it away, but not to use it. When he gets there, the bag, the razor, and the lighter are nowhere to be found. Instead of being anxious at the loss, he feels a bit calmed by it. 

This isn’t the end. He won’t be able to stop hurting himself just because Em got rid of a few of his blades and one of his many designated lighters, but it is a start. 

Em knows now, he’s looking out for it. And if the way he always acts toward him, from the making sure Colson is eating to the cuddle last night is any indication, he’ll be there when Colson needs it. He’ll take care of him. 

#Anonymous #emgk #zwowfic #kind of a rushed ending #but i hope u liked it bebs #also like askbox nd messages are always open for those who wanna talk #tw: self harm

[teamjacobthot]

twilight saga character tag!

thank you sm @softtwihoe for tagging me <3 i feel like im still new to the renaissance fandom on tumblr even tho i never stopped being a twihard so shit like this warms my heart <3

now my spicy twilight takes………………...

1. Character you find most relatable to you as a person?

the love of my life, without a doubt, 100% leah clearwater. mfs tried to make her feel bad for feeling her feelings but she was valid in all of them. also its canon that shes a scorpio but yall aint hear it from me

rosalie bc we have similar trauma (lmao :/) and like to disagree with people. i also love big dumb men

edward. as a fellow whiny musical pissbaby who cant let shit go, i get it

2. Character that didn’t have a POV in the books or certain unfinished manuscripts, but you wish did?

ok maybe this is super underground but sue!!! mf!!! clearwater!!! she had allllllll the tea on the pack and tbh i really wanted to see how she and her family were before and after harry’s death. that event was a really big deal (outside of just bella and edward) and set shit OFF in new moon

billy bc he also had hella tea and i bet he was super fucking conflicted during the ENTIRE saga bc he couldnt say shit to charlie!!! that shit sounds rough!!!!!

quil bc he was the last to phase and i just wanna know what he was going thru. he would’ve had hellaaaaa jokes too but smeyer doesnt care abt nonwhite characters so :/

charlie, assuming he supports the black lives matter movement

i guess overall i just wanna know how EVERYONE was doing in new moon bc that story ran DEEP. i want a midnight sun for new moon but for every character

nobody asked but new moon is the best in the saga and new moon stans have the best pussy

3. Character that’s underrated and deserves more recognition?

the entire wolf pack but wbk

riley but tbh i think its bc i just loved xavier samuel in the eclipse movie

the denali coven!!!! their story was incredible imo and while irina was a snitch, i understand why she snitched. she didnt deserve to die. the denalis deserve so much better and while garrett is cool to have around, that doesnt fill the void that irina left bc the volturi decided to be a bunch of haters. i want them to heal so bad. 

tanya gets a bad rep for having a crush on edward but she deserves better too

i’d like to read abt the vacations that the denalis with the cullens too

oh and all thats just BESIDES the succubus legend that tanya and kate and irina started in canon!!!!!!!! like??????????????????? they fucked and killed human men??????????? thats the story i wanna READ bitch!!!! thats my jennifer’s body (2009) fantasy!!!!! smeyer is a coward tho

btw carmen and esme are girlfriends :)

4. Character you thought was unnecessary for the story?

ok besides the obvious, and nobody drag me for it, but bree tanner. I get she was there to show us how fucked up the volturi are and to sorta predict bella as a newborn but……...we already knew the volturi kill mfs just for fun. if the cullens werent gonna adopt her we really didnt need many details on her. and regarding the newborn thing, bree’s role as a newborn didnt really mean shit bc bella ended up being ~the perfect newborn~ anyway!!!! smeyer tried to sell us the short second life of bree tanner as if there arent other worthy characters of having a spinoff novella about like leah or seth or rosalie or emmett or charlie or resume from bella’s ovary. that being said………..

resume, for multiple reasons including:

resume literally shouldnt exist. vampires shouldnt be able to have working sperm and even then, edward shouldve pulled out. he could barely even tongue kiss bella so wtf made him think he could cum in her????? whyyy didnt he use his big vampire brain to consider that????? 

resume seemed totally unwanted and unthought of??? bella and edward were so mf absorbed in each other like regular teen couples (with 1000x the intensity but still) that it didnt seem likely that theyd want a baby after fucking like three times anyway. miss bella “fuck them kids” swan also gave no indication of wanting children. ever. EYE would have simply aborted and went on to live my best vampire life :)

resumes existence defeats the purpose of imprinting bc theres no way she’d be able to conceive with jacob. at all. but we know smeyer doesnt think shit through

smeyer writing in resume ruined jacobs character even more esp coming off the shitshow that was eclipse. periodt

5. Top 5 female characters?

leah <3

rosalie

bella

sue

angela

6. Top 5 male characters?

jacob (pre-eclipse but that’s implied)

emmett

seth

quil/paul (i love them equally)

edward’s dumb ass <3 sometimes

7. Character interaction that didn’t happen but you wish it did?

rosalie and edward but only under the condition that he finally stops being a misogynistic pissbaby towards her and accepts her for the sexy legend that she is. i feel like they’d get along well but smeyer is anti-hottie and anti-talent so i guess we’ll never know :/

leah and someone who loves her and respects her and validates her feelings :)

JACOB AND HIS SISTERS. OR EVEN JUST RACHEL. she literallyyyyyyyyyy came home after YEARS in breaking dawn but he was too busy simping over bella to acknowledge her??? huh???

bella and a licensed therapist

edward and a licensed therapist

8. Character that deserves more development?

the whole entire wolf pack but wbk

more specifically, embry. whooooom is his father???

emmett. like we get it hes funny and hot but like……….spare depth maam? any spare depth????

9. Character who is your total opposite?

jasper bc he fought for people who look like me to be ENSLAVED and the fandom lets it slide for whatever reason :|

10. Character you warmed up to after experiencing the Renaissance?

edward, in some ways. i relate to him when im feeling extra self-loathing but then i get over it lmao. he’s still stupid tho

i used to think alice was annoying af (and i still kinda do tbh) but as a fashion hoe, i get it

charlie, sorta, even tho he’s a cop. i wasnt there for the original conversation on here but do yall think he supports black lives matter? idk tbh but we’ll never know bc smeyer probably doesnt know what police brutality is. anyways ive really enjoyed the discourse on his relationship with bella and how he doesnt trust edward

jacob <3 he’s always been my heart, my soul, my baby, my fuckin cinnamon apple, etc. but i love the posts that other fans/nonhaters have been making abt how warm and kind he was before smeyer fucked him over and how he deserves so much better. its like yes im glad youre seeing all the things that make me a team jacob thot :)

idk if yall have already been tagged but im tagging @howlonghaveyoubeenseventeen @leahclearwaterdefensesquad @leahclearvvater and @bellas-dumptruck-ass! also anyone can fill this out and say i tagged them <3

#this took 3 times to post bc tumblr stays on my neck but #ask things #twilight saga #twilight renaissance #hot takes

[spiritcc]

Got it ol in me ded moroz bag, eNJOY THE INFO DUMP, CHILDREN.

1. Andrey Mironov and his Interesting Facts 

Lemme not be original and recite the facts that might just as well be very-well known but I myself constantly forget about these:

The dude suffered from skin boils (furuncles) all over his body: this is one of the reasons he always wore these never-ending turtlenecks, it was just a way to hide the skin horrors. Those fuks also hurt af which bothered Mironov’s stage partners and friends in scenes where he’d have to fall and/or get caught by other people, because that they’d have to grab all his 20359582 sore spots and deliver The Pain. Obvs they’d be like m8 lets just change this scene but Mironov insisted to do it for The Art, so all they were left with was to figure out how to grab him today to lessen the pain. 

The dude got one real daughter and one fake daughter (stepdaughter ok ok), both were named Maria, which never fails to entertain me whenever pics of both of them show up and ppl are like HECK YEA MASHAS!!! WAIT WHICH MASHA IS THIS??? The fake daughter recently split up from Livanov’s murder son which is a shame imo, it really looked like there was something good going on but alas.

Mironov was the epitome of YOLO, in a positive way, all Mironov and His Friends ever cared about is how to make money and have a grand time, bc nobody was ever rich in the USSR and tbh not that happy either. They can and they WILL get across half of Russia on a scooter to make a show for the grandmas of the Meat Processing Factory No. 425 for em sweet sweet 100 roubles, the absolute SLÜTE for the cash and vodka, jump in for the Good Kush and do not look back. The shite they did on their international theater tours is something else entirely, ma dudes, but basically: THEY WILL EAT YOUR CROPS, STEAL THE FOOD FROM SQUIRRELS, BEG STRANGERS FOR MONEY, DO A GROUP PISSING.

The betch was a constant victim of pranks: whether it was from Livanov and his canteen sausages, or his bffs Shirvindt and Derzhavin who packed his bag for his honeymoon with bricks and a portrait of Lenin, but the pranking shitstorm was relentless and neverending and it looks like Mironov took it all with a big ol face of :’)

2. The most dramatic celebrity romance

I think we can agree it’s them fucking Vladimir Vysotsky and Marina Vlady, my gOD how fucknig dramatic and inflated and over-exposed and fucking overrated, the meaning of DRAMA itself. Yall know how much the government LOATHED every single breath Vysotsky took anyways, thenks to his poetry/songs that rightfully shat all over the most prominent aspects of living in the USSR, so the guy was rolling in constant drama 24/7 as it was, bUT THEN! He just HAD to get involved with a French fucking actress and make it serious: cue the absolute shitshow of them trying to get married, then an even bigger shitshow of Vysotsky getting so fearless he wanted visas to visit his wife in France and he gOT THEM in the end, possibly resulting in the government using his cutouts as target practice. So the betch keeps spitting out his Realest Songs despite them being forbidden, gets a free pass to teh fuckin ABROAD!!!!!! to dick his wife down, and gets away with it ol!!!!! The romance is so fucking shite lmao the gal is still trying to make it out as something Special when the motherfucker was quite openly cheating on her left and right, he literally died with his new burd at his bed (i am so sorry yarmolnik’s wife i luv ur husband and i hope yall still happy together). I think I’ve accidentally read a snippet from her book where she fuckien started describing them FUCKING in some cringy terms i was like hELLO???? THE SHIDD??? Basically, every aspect of Vysotsky’s life and their marriage was always some full-blown drama and tragically enough it still is bc all these other fucks are still alive and throbbing for attention i am so tired.

However, I cannot not include a VERY HONOURABLE ADDITION of uuh ~somewhat” celebs because this romance was GOOD, AND VERY GOOD, AND EXTREMELY GOOD!!!!! 

Fucking Brian Grover and Elena Golius in 1938, the absolute mad lads. We have a luv story of an English engineer and some Russian gal who fell in love despite the very real fears in the current regime and all, and despite the gal being woke enough to try and dodge such a potential death sentence on her ass, but Grover’s intentions were good and pure and serious so the otp became canon. The dude was such a sicc engineer he got actually nationwide famous thanks to his sicc good actions during some oil rig explosion disaster, which did make him a celeb I guess. After that the gal felt safe enough to confess her luv and get married but SYKE LOL good luck with that in the fucking 1930s! So Grover came up with a Cunning Plan where he just quit his job, bought an old truck and hid the gal between flour bags, transported her to Moscow and they somehow managed to get married there, bUT SYKE AGAIN!! He had to come back to England one day and when he wanted to return back to Russia TOUGH LUCK LOL THE POLITICAL SITUATION HAS CHANGED UR BLOCKED BETCH BYE. The wife pleads the government and is told to get fuck’d, she applies for a visa and gets fuck’d, the husband accepts a job in Persia and works there for five years in hopes that the country has sum Right People to help him get in Russia, but no luck. Finally, the wife writes to him that’s all lost and rip and they should just forget it all, and this is where Grover goes :) 

One day a nice man shows up at London’s flying school asking for a pilot’s license, to which he obvs gets a rational answer of UH M8 YOU GOTTA COMPLETE THE FLYING COURSE N ALL IT LITERALLY TAKES YEARS TO DO??? and the man says that’s ok :)) i am ready :)) in just under a MONTH he gets his license, and uses his last money to buy an old plane and pay another pilot to accompany him on his Surprise Journey, which was literally FLYING ACROSS THE CONTINENT ILLEGALLY TO RUSSIA TO SEE HIS WIFE. So em fucks buckle up and navigate their way with a help of a fuckigg world map from a high school geography book, it was so cold Grover had to water the fuel meter with hot coffee from his thermos to stop it from freezing, all until they finally ran out of everything and safely crashed SOMEWHERE in Russia. 

So as the shocked as fuck farmers watch an English fucking plane crash in their field, some nice gent crawls out and in broken Russian says something liek Hello I am Brian Grover and I’m Here To See My Wife :)) 

Cue the NKVD prison, the mass coverage from the press, the criminal charges up to 10 years in gulags bc of how many fucking laws he broke, but as it became very clear that his only objective was to see his wife, the court suddenly chilled the fuck out and only ordered him to pay a fine and allowed the luv burds to ~reunite~ while the court cheered. SO BRIAN AND ELENA GOT TOGETHER FOREVA AND HAD TWO KIDS AND LIVED WITH EACH OTHER ALL THEIR LIVES TILL THEY WERE LIKE 90 AND DIED ONE YEAR APART!!!!! 

IF THAT AINT THE MOST DRAMATIC ROMANCE IN THE USSR THEN NOTHING ELSE IS.

3. Goodie actors/Baddie actors

i wallow quite a lot in biographies and autobiographies n all, and from them i certainly learned that no person is just 100% good or evil, like there are always aspects of their lives where they are assholes, but there are always good sides to them as well, so in that conclusive sense of ASSHOLE vs ANGEL, nobody is either. My luv smoktun is a strong power bottom irl but an absolute annoying betch when it comes to The Art, mikhalkov is the fuckin devil child but everybody always praises how good of a director and even a friend he was (NOT ANYMOR HUH), Livanov is always that 50/50 on the pure evil vs goodness good scale, like it’s hard to just pinpoint a BETCH or a UWU. 

But I’ll try and say that on the Bad scale, it’s usually the gals, and Nonna Mordyukova is one of them. Like we have divas, but then there’s this gal where you just never know what she’ll do to you. A nightmare to work with (”mordyuk” the “”swear word””” from the diamond arm is literally Gaidai getting pissed at working with her this much), explosive in life, holding fucking nothing sacred. Varley, her daughter-in-law, was just liek TF 24/7 bc one day the grandson would be her best person ever and then SUDDENLY she’d be like FUCK YOU AND FUCK THIS KID WHO KNOWS WHERE IT CAME FROM!!! despite the kid being a carbon copy of Mordyukova’s son. You’re just constantly at her vague mercy wondering which stars should align today for her to suddenly change your mind about you, like idk what is everybody loving about her but she was a rather heavy and unpleasant person to be around and fuck that. Also, not a good fucking actress. Find me a role where she isn’t playing some Ethnic Slavic Woman. 

As for the Pure Good, we will never have the Pure but the Big Good is Alexander Abdulov. Trust me, this guy sure knows how to tell you to fuck off and push his own self to get something and punch you in the face and even describe how he’s going to dismember you with a straight face (asdfgh it’s a long story), but he was Good. Anything you read about him, all Good, he was a very friendly guy, outgoing, active, kind, made friends with everybody, was an insane workaholic (only managed to work on the wizards during the night bc for the rest of the day he was busy in FOUR OTHER FILMS SIMULTANEOUSLY). I luv his own fake daughter story bc he really did consider Alfyorova’s daughter his own, and he’d fuckin punch you so hard if you tell him otherwise. As he said himself, he knows all her problems, all her interests, all her worries and joys, so she is his 100% no-gmo daughter. aND the fake daughter has an insta n everything and everytime she mentions Dad it’s nothing but love and rainbows and almost a decade later after his death she still cannot bring herself to visit his grave bc she just doesn’t believe that he is truly dead. All of that, mind you, with the fact that abdul and alfyorova split up and he had a family of his own later in life n all, so there was NO obligation for anything at all from either of them and yet still abdul loved her senselessly. She’s ask for a bag of sweets and he’ll get her a fucking truck of these, total mad lads all around. PLUS he was Peltser’s almost fake son she luved him this much, and stories about Peltser indicate that she was One Hell of a woman, and yet even she crumbled before the Good. I’m just never worried when it comes to articles about abdul bc i know it’s either clickbait or something good again. 

THAT’S ALL DED MOROZ HAD IN HIS BAG FOR THESE QUESTIONS, CALL SNEGUROCHKA X3 MORE TIMES TO SUMMON MORE   

#andrey mironov #alexander abdulov #vladimir vysotsky #QUESTION TIM BITCH #ASK MORE MY BALLSACK IS STILL FUL- shouldnt have said that

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Qi Flows for Her

Chapter Five

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC x Bucky Barnes  |  Word Count: 5112 Warnings: Language, angst

Celine made sure she was last onto the jet where she took Bucky’s previous seat in the back, darkened corner, as far away from the others as she could get. She snapped the hair band wrapped around her wrist, using the physical pain to remind herself to breathe. Her hair hung forward, hiding her face. Back to the straight, dark brown of before, she listened as they murmured about the rest of what they found and looked after Peter who had been knocked out for his own good.

God… that had hurt like rejection hadn’t hurt in years.

Hunched over, she leaned her face against the wall, the metal cool against her skin. A tear worked its way down her cheek. She’d known this was going to happen, had been saying so since the beginning. Yet, she’d still chanced to hope this time would be different. This time someone would see her for who she truly was and not react with fear.

Why do I bother to hope? She snapped the elastic at her wrist again.

“Celine…” The whisper of Charles' voice only made her flinch.

“Go away, Charles…”

“Darling, I can feel your pain.”

“Pain you have a part in instigating. Go away, Charles!”

“Celine… please…”

She sighed. “What did you expect? That I’d come here, reveal myself, and everything would be tea and crumpets? Go… the fuck… away!” She gave a mighty push and slammed her shields closed.

Her inner demons were relentless after. The voices of hate and disgust hissed and wailed in her head. The self-loathing caused her to wrap her hands around her middle. She was an abomination. A freak. A thing to be feared and despised. No one wanted her. No one would care if she just walked away.

Disappeared.

Died.

The phone in her pocket vibrated.

She ignored it.

It continued to go off for the next fifteen minutes straight, becoming an annoying vibration against her thigh until she finally dug it free. “What?” she sighed, expecting Charles.

“Little girl, next time you pick the fuckin’ phone up on the first ring!” The snarling voice of Logan had her lip twitching.

“Yes, papa,” she sassed.

“What the fuck happened, Celine?” he demanded.

Sighing, she glanced through her hair at the others speaking quietly away from her. “Can’t, Logan. Not now.”

“You’re on the plane?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they hurt you?” he snarled.

“No.”

“Not physically, you mean. Dammit, Charles! I told you sending her was a bad idea!”

It almost made her smile. The Wolverine was highly protective of those he called family. “I’m a big girl, Logan,” she murmured. “I tie my own shoes and everything. I’ll be fine.”

He huffed a dismissive bark of sound. “You ain’t fine! I can tell you ain’t fine! Do I need to come kick around a few super soldiers again? Cause I fuckin’ will!”

“The way I heard it, it sounded like a draw, though Steve said you’re a heavy son of a gun.”

“He’s one to talk,” Logan grumbled.

Leaning her head back against the wall, Celine smiled slightly. “Put up a bit of a fight, did he?”

He snorted. “Decent enough.”

“Good. You were getting full of yourself again.”

“Tricky little witch,” he scoffed. Silence descended for a few seconds before he murmured, “Celine… you can come home. I can replace you if you want.”

She wiped the tear from her cheek. “Nope. Charles sent me. I’m staying until they kick me out.” No matter how much it hurt.

“Look, if you’re doing this to punish Charles cause you’re pissed, then don’t. He’s already hurt you shut him out.”

This time she snorted. “He deserved it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he chuckled. “Take care of yourself, darlin’. And if you need me?”

“I’ll let you know, Logan. Tell Rogue I miss her.”

He grunted just before the line going dead.

She stuffed the phone back in her pocket and returned to her silent reflection, feeling only slightly better.

When the jet landed what felt like hours later, she was down the ramp and into the tower as if the hounds of hell were nipping her heels. To her mind, it wasn't far from the truth.

***

Steve and Bucky watched her go, neither knowing how to fix what they’d wrought.

Peter was alright, the bullet nothing more than a flesh wound, but the way the boy had reacted to her… they’d quite literally watched her heart break.

She was far more powerful than they’d realized. So much so, she’d plucked a soldier off the mountain and ate him before throwing something, likely his soul, into... hell? The underworld? Somewhere else? They had no idea.

Were they a little disconcerted? Sure. Who wouldn’t the hell be? But were they scared of her? No. The shock had kept them mute though, something they now realized had done a lot of harm.

She’d sat, huddled and silent in the corner, gradually curling in on herself, getting smaller with each passing moment until her phone had rung.

Steve had been about to go over and force her to answer when she’d finally dug it free on her own.

The irate voice of Logan was one he’d never forget, and he’d exchanged an eye roll with Bucky. He was a gruff son of a gun, but intensely loyal and protective, especially of Charles. Clearly, that protection extended to Celine.

Logan’s accusation, the comment about hurting her, had caused both of them to stiffen in offence. Her denial and his rewording had jabbed them both firmly with guilt.

Logan was right. They hadn’t hurt her physically. Emotionally? In her heart?

Yes.

“Shit,” Steve hissed softly once the others had exited.

“More like fuck, punk. We screwed up.” Bucky sighed, making his way toward Celine’s seat where he crouched down and swiped his fingers through the dark droplets on the floor. “She’s been bleeding.”

“What?” Steve jolted, coming quickly to Buck’s side.

“Yeah. We should check on her.”

“Pretty sure she doesn’t want to see us, pal.”

“So? We fucked up. We should fix it before it gets worse.” Bucky got to his feet and headed for the doors.

They walked in silence, both feeling intensely guilty.

She'd done some incredible things tonight, but they hadn’t told her so. Had her force been a little excessive? Sure, but seeing Peter take a bullet had Steve longing to hit the asshole sniper with his shield, so he understood how upset Celine must have been.

When Natasha stepped into the corridor, blocking them from getting on the elevator,  Steve heard Bucky sigh and tried not to echo it.

“Need something, Nat?” Steve asked.

“I hope you get it now. You'll send her on her way?”

Steve frowned and shook his head. “Why? Celine’s part of this team.”

“Really!” she snapped. “After seeing what she did? What she is?”

“What I saw was a powerful woman who was treated like a freak tonight by her own team. Me included. She's still a person. Still Celine. Her powers don't make her anything different.”

“Shit! You've got a hard-on for her too! I knew Barnes was balls deep, but I expected better of you, Cap.”

Bucky’s hand wrapped around her throat and slammed her into the wall. “You're pushing the line, Natalia,” he snarled softly. “Celine may be Styx, she may be ridiculously powerful, but she's bruised, broken, and your snide comments aren't doing anyone any good!”

“She’ll destroy this team!”

“You said the same thing of me when Steve brought me in. The ghost. The Winter Soldier. The HYDRA weapon. Fuck you, Nat! She's no different!”

She blinked at him, stunned. “She's completely different! Did you not watch her kill a man tonight by eating his life force? Was that simply my imagination?”

“And I kill people with a gun or a knife. So what?”

“You're not about to take us all out in our sleep!”

“But I could if I wanted to!” he roared. “So could you, goddamnit, but you don't see any of us trying to shove you out the door!”

Laying a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, Steve urged his friend to let Natasha go. Once he had, Steve rounded on her himself. “You've taken issue with Celine since the moment she arrived. What's the beef, Nat? What's the real problem here?”

“This is the real issue! You're both so blinded by the hot new piece of ass; you can't see the danger she presents.”

“And me, Natasha? Am I also blinded by a hot piece of ass?” Wanda asked, appearing behind them. She looked at him, and Steve felt a clutch around his heart. The red wash of power in her eyes showed how disconcerted she was feeling. “But then, I am also one to be feared, to be treated like a freak. To be caged and collared because of what I am. What Hydra made me.”

“Wanda, no… I…” Natasha shook her head. “You're different.”

“How?” she asked coming closer. “I use similar powers. I can kill nearly as easily. You also locked me up to keep me away from people because I was a danger to society. Because you didn't trust me. Celine has shown me nothing but kindness after I have proved myself untrustworthy three times,” her voice rasped with self-hatred. “I keep telling myself, I cannot control other people's fear, only my own. Tonight… I failed at both.”

She walked away, and Steve's heart cracked. It appeared many of them were regretting what happened tonight.

“Celine is part of this team. She stays part of this team,” Steve said with finality.

“Fine. But my working with her comes as a last resort. I don't trust her to have my back.” Nat spun and headed away from where Wanda had gone.

Bucky waited only until she was out of earshot before muttering, “I'm not sure I trust you'll have hers.”

“Buck,” Steve sighed.

“I ain't ever seen her like this, Steve. She's been confrontational and just…”

“Nasty,” Sam muttered, wandering down the hall. “I'll go talk to her.”

“You alright with what happened tonight?” Steve asked.

“Alright?” He took a deep breath, eyes widening as he shrugged. “Not sure I’d say alright. Am I gonna throw a hissy fit? Nah. I kinda think Scott’s got the right idea. Better with us than against us.” He patted Steve's shoulder. “Am I gonna think twice about pissing her off? Hell yeah!” Chuckling, Sam continued on after Natasha.

“That's four,” Bucky murmured, a smirk twitching his lip. “Let's go poke the bear, see if she'll forgive us.”

“I think you mean the dragon. Damn that was cool,” Steve grinned.

“Now you sound like Parker.” Bucky’s face fell as they got on the elevator. “You think the kid will come round?”

Steve sighed. “Hope so.”

She’d been so happy spending time with Peter. Having the kid look at her in fear had just killed her.

When they stepped off the elevator, they had the answer hit them full force.

“Celine! Please!” Peter was standing outside her room, one hand pressed to his ribs, the other banging on her door. “I'm sorry! Let me explain!”

“Peter? Shouldn't you be in the med wing?” Steve asked sternly.

The kid shook his head. “Not until I apologize. Not until I tell her how sorry…” Pain took his breath, not all of it physical.

“Okay, kid.” Taking Peter by the elbow, Steve held him up. “How long you been here?” he asked.

Seeing as how the kid was still in his suit, he doubted Parker had even been to see Bruce, or if he had, the kid had snuck out.

“A while,” Peter mumbled.

“And she hasn't answered?”

Peter shook his head.

“FRIDAY located Celine.”

“Celine is on the roof. Captain? It appears she's is quite distraught. She is standing on the roof ledge.”

“What?!” Three voices bellowed before all of them scrambled for the elevator. It took them to the glassed-in common room where they barreled out the door to hit the exterior stairs which would take them to the roof.

Steve grabbed Peter's shoulder. “Are you alright to go around? If something goes sideways…” He didn't need to say Peter was the only one capable of catching Celine.

“I'm good, Cap!” Peter turned to go.

Steve dragged him back. “You stay out of sight. Let us talk to her before you do anything; you get me?”

“Yes, sir!” Peter nodded.

“Go.” He gave the kid a small shove and sprinted up the stairs after Bucky. His heart stuttered when she came into view.

Hair blowing back in the wind, balanced on the balls of her feet, she stood, hands relaxed at her sides, staring out over the city.

“Celine?” Bucky called quietly.

“Doll, you want to come down from there?” Steve asked, both of them edging closer.

Her head turned only enough to show them her profile. The tear streaks were impossible to miss. “Not particularly, Captain. I like the view.”

“Sweetheart, we'd really like it if you came down from there,” Bucky muttered, moving slowly forward.

“I am not your sweetheart, Sergeant. I am not your doll, your baby, your darlin’. I am Celine. I am… a vampire. I am Styx. And I am always to be feared.” She turned to walk the narrow edge of the building.

“Celine, please come down.” Steve would beg if he had to.

She paused, looked at him, and sighed. “You believe I do this, walk this ledge because I wish to hurt myself?” A snort of derision escaped her. “I wish to clear my mind, nothing more.” She turned back to face the city, turning her back on them. “I have no wish for company, especially from those who see me as something to be despised.”

Striding forward, Bucky reached for her arm only to have her dance out of his reach. “Celine!”

“What, Sergeant? Are you here to look at me with fear again? Are you going to tell me to leave? Explain how I am too much a freak to be part of the Avengers?” Night seemed to flow into her, swirl around her. It darkened her hair and brightened her eyes. She stepped backward, crouched, and snarled like an angry animal. “Then you tell me now to go, and I will pack my things!”

“No, Celine,” Steve said, holding up his hands. He approached with caution like he would a wounded creature. “Yes, you surprised us with what you did, maybe even spooked us at first, but we're not afraid of you.”

“Yes, you were!” she almost howled. “And after you said…” She shook her head. “I knew you would fear me. Everyone fears me. I should never have hoped for anything different.”

The words were so soft they could barely hear them, but they hit harder than the Hulk.

Bucky walked toward her, hands raised. “Read me, my aura, my emotions. I’m not afraid of you, Celine. Steve’s not afraid. Sam’s not afraid. Peter isn’t afraid. Wanda isn’t afraid. Come down. Talk to us. Let us show you.” He held out his hand.

“No… no, you lie!” She gave a violent shake of her head. “I won't look! I won't! I can't take anymore! Why are you so cruel?”

Peter landed on the ledge a few feet away. “Celine, I am so sorry.”

She whipped to face him, and Bucky lunged.

His arms closed around her, dragged her from the edge and back to the center of the roof. Expecting a struggle, he held her tightly, but she only sagged, eyes wide and staring at Peter.

The curl smoothed from her hair, the colour lightened. Her eyes lost their glow, and her face fell. Instead of struggling, she turned into Bucky, turned away from Peter, as a distressed cry escaped her lips.

“No, no… you were afraid. I made you afraid. You wouldn’t… let me help…” she moaned, clinging to Bucky.

This time it was the devastation on Peter’s face which broke Steve’s heart. “Celine, doll face Peter’s sorry. He, like us, didn’t mean to hurt you. But you were pretty impressive tonight. More than we’d expected. Read us. See for yourself. It's not a joke.”

“Promise,” Bucky murmured and stroked her arm. “No one's gonna be cruel, darlin’. Give us a chance.”

She bit her lip and looked between the two of them. Such pain shadowed her eyes Steve's heart felt like it tore open for her and whatever trauma had forced her to this point, to where she felt the need to wall herself off from everyone.

A moment passed before her amber eyes filled with relief and she sagged against Bucky. “Oh…” the word flew free on a heavy exhale.

“Can you forgive us, baby?” Steve threaded his fingers through her hair, gently pulling her head back so he could see her eyes.

They were wet, as was her face, so he wiped her cheeks dry. A breath shuddered from her, and she gave a slow nod. She looked as shocked, possibly as stunned as he and Bucky had been when she’d thrown a dragon into the sky and plucked a man off the mountain.

“I thought your dragon was incredible, Celine,” Steve said softly.

“And the way you dealt with the guards on the gate, and the people at the warehouse… amazing,” Bucky smiled.

“You were really spectacular, Celine. I'm… sorry I hurt your feelings,” said Peter, coming closer. “You did… kinda startle me, what with you havin’ just, like, eaten a dude. I promise it won't make me spaz out on you next time.”

“Peter,” she whispered, hands tight to her chest.

“Hug?” he asked, holding out the one arm. The other remaining pressed to his wound.

Bucky let her go, but Celine was hesitant to reach out until Parker gave an exasperated sigh and simply dragged her in via a shot of webbing and hugged her.

“You wanna fix me now?” Peter asked. “That is if it's still okay?”

She nodded a small jerk of her head before placing her green glowing fingers on his side.

His eyes widened in surprise when the pain disappeared. “Wow. Celine, you're so awesome!” He laughed as he lifted her off her feet and swung her around.

“Peter!” she squealed in surprise.

Chuckling, he dropped her to her feet and hugged her tight with both arms. “Thanks, doll,” he drawled, bussing her a kiss to the cheek - bold little shit-eating grin on his face - and darted away. “I'll check-in with Bruce. See ya tomorrow!”

She pressed her fingers to her cheek, eyes full of tears, but a smile was twitching her lips. Turning to face them, her smile broke free. “You people are so messed up.”

Bucky grinned while Steve laughed.

“Maybe it's your previous fri-uh-colleagues who were messed up,” Steve said with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, darlin’,” Bucky smirked, “You just needed a couple’a old guys and a kid to see you for who you really are.”

“Speak for yourself, pal. I ain't old,” Steve snorted.

“Maybe being in the ice that long just froze your self-preservation brain cells,” Celine quipped.

“Then what's Peter’s excuse?” Bucky asked.

“Young and foolish,” she scoffed. “He doesn't know any better.”

Steve shook his head and held out his hand. “C’mon. You were bleeding on the jet. Let’s see it.”

She arched a brow in wry condemnation. “After the last few days, do you honestly think I cannot fix myself?”

He arched one in return, shook his hand and said, “Just give!” It was a fair imitation of what she’d done the day they’d met, causing Bucky to burst out laughing.

Rolling her eyes, Celine stalked forward to hold her hand out palm up. “There, you see? Perfectly fine.”

Steve frowned as he traced his fingers over her palm. “What did you…” he started to ask when it dawned on him what she’d likely done to herself. “Celine…” Heart hurting, guilt filled him for what she’d gone through, those talons of hers digging into her flesh with her anguish. “I am sorry.”

Her eyes softened. “I know, Steve.”

Bucky collected her opposite hand, sighing quietly as he stared at her unmarked flesh. “I promised you I wouldn’t feel any differently and at the first opportunity to prove it, I fucked it up.”

She gave her own sigh, released their hands, and patted both chests. “You are good men, but you are only human. I am,” she shook her head and turned away, “not.”

Steve went after her, grabbing her by the elbow to drag her back against his chest. “You are as human as the two of us. Powerful you may be, but you’re still human, Celine.”

Her eyes brightened, and her hair curled. “I am not. Human’s do not feed off other humans.”

“Your mutation only makes you different, Celine. It doesn’t make you less human.” Bucky’s hand curled around the back of her neck.

Trapped between the two of them again, Steve couldn’t help but notice the heat she radiated like a furnace. People always commented on how hot he or Bucky ran, but Celine seemed to nearly double their temperature. Cupping her chin, he tilted her face up, so her diamond-bright eyes shone for him to see. “You aren’t a freak. You’re an Avenger. We’re all a little… abnormal.” He couldn’t understand how she could’ve grown up in a place like Xavier’s school and view herself so differently from the other mutants. If anything, it should have been a place she fit into fairly well.

“I believe I’m a lot abnormal, Steve,” she chuckled, the curl of her hair growing more prominent as her eyes drifted down to his lips.

Bucky’s hand went from her nape to her throat, pressing up beneath Steve’s to tilt her head back onto his shoulder. “You ain’t the one with the vibranium arm,” he said, smirk growing.

Her eyes watched his lips as well before her tongue darted out, moistening hers.

Steve had never wanted to kiss a woman as badly as he did Celine in that instant. The desire he was trying to contain roared into life.

It sent her eyes darting back to his. They blazed bright, burned into him, filled with distress and sent her jerking away from them both. “Sorry! Sorry. That’s my bad… ha, I should go.” She darted away, down the stairs before either of them could move to stop her.

Groaning, Steve thrust his hand through his hair. “Fuck!”

“No shit,” Bucky muttered, trying to adjust his pants without being overly obvious.

“What the hell keeps happening here?” Steve grumbled.

Sighing, Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know, punk, but…” a wash of red filled his cheeks, “I… kind of like it.”

“What?” he gasped, jerking his head up to look at Bucky.

The metal-armed soldier shrugged. “Feels… good having her between us. I don’t know. She just… fits.”

“Bucky…” Steve shook his head.

“I know, I know. Can’t seduce a recruit,” he huffed. “But Steve, you can’t tell me you don’t feel it. We ain’t talked about it, keep pushin’ it to the side, but we can’t fight what we’re feeling.”

“She won’t even be a friend, Buck. Besides, you just watched her rabbit when she got a hint of something off me. I’m not going to put that pressure on Celine.” Steve stalked toward the stairs. “I don’t even know what the hell is happening! Every time it's just us, you, me, her, it’s….”

“Intense sexual heat?” Bucky chuckled.

“Laugh it up, jackass,” Steve grumbled.

“I’m serious!” he scoffed. Grabbing Steve’s arm, Bucky forced him to stop. “I’m asking this in all seriousness, if she chose me over you, would you be okay with it?”

“Bucky… I… Why are you even going there?”

“It’s a hypothetical, Steve. Just answer the fucking question.”

“I’d have to be, wouldn’t I?”

“But you’d hate it, right?”

Jerking his arm away, Steve snapped, “Yes, damn it! I’d hate it!” and stormed down the stairs.

Bucky simply jumped over the rail to land in front of him. “I’d be the same way!”

Coming to a stop, Steve’s eyes closed in pain. “I know, Buck. I can’t be your rival. I won’t be. I don’t have it in me to go against you, and you know it.”

“Stevie.” Bucky’s hands closed over his shoulders, gripped tight, shook him a little. “You think I could?”

When he looked up, Bucky’s eyes were bright with emotion. The smack which came to Steve’s cheek was anything but light, yet it was full of affection, even as it stung something fierce.  

“You’re my brother, Steve. I wouldn’t ever do that to you. I love you, pal, and we’ve been through too much hell to fight over a girl, even a dame as amazing as Celine. Whatever comes, we’ll figure it out. Besides, she’s skittish as a baby deer,” he sighed. “Doubt it will go anywhere for either of us.”

Both sighed unhappily and continued inside.

***

A little panicked, Celine made her way back to her room, thankful she avoided seeing anyone else. Riding in the elevator, she allowed herself a small amount of hysterical laughter for, sure enough, she’d found herself sandwiched happily - and hornily - between the two soldiers again. Her nature had taken over thanks to her overactive libido, and she’d drawn them in.

And it had felt… good. Too good.

The spike in Steve’s chi had nearly made her moan and beg for a taste. The Captain was potent!

Bucky, too, though slightly more in control, his arousal had shivered through her. It was subtle, like the nip in the air which preceded a snowstorm but it was still delectable.

So intent was she on the near taste she’d had, something she really should be berating herself for, Celine did not notice the aura waiting in her room until her hand was on the doorknob. Steeling her spine, she slowly pushed her door inward.

The lights were on, the one sitting on her couch doing nothing to hide her presence. Natasha smirked smugly at her.

“I do not remember inviting you to my room,” Celine said cautiously, remaining in the doorway.

“You didn’t. Come in, shut the door, and sit down.”

Brow arching, Celine snorted. “I think I will stay where I am.”

Anger flared in her aura before Natasha smoothed it away. “I think… Adeline, you will want to do what I say.”

The use of her real name was so rare, Celine momentarily froze. Closing the door, she moved toward Natasha, growing angrier by the second. “So, you have found my birth name. What of it?”

Picking up a tablet, Nat read, “Born Adeline Evans to one Tammy Evans, drug addict junky, and alcoholic absentee father, Marcus Evans. Ran away from home at thirteen, wanted for questioning in the death of one Franklin Delacore after he was found dead on the floor of your bedroom.”

She refused to flinch, only sat in an armchair and crossed her legs. There was nothing there. Charles had seen to the reports, the heart attack the man had had was ruled as an accident. Her mother’s drugged up ravings were nothing more than the ramblings of a woman out of her mind.

“Lived on the street, it seems from the age of thirteen until fifteen.” Here Nat looked up. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if the police were informed of the mutant Styx whose MO perfectly fits the two cold cases they have from way back when Adeline was a teenage runaway.”

“What do you want, Natasha?” Celine asked, without a hint any of what she’d said had been true.

“Oh, I’m not done yet,” she fairly purred. “There’s also the information about poor Thomas and Jacob. Nasty business that. It really would be a travesty if the new team found out what you’d done to your old team. To your friends.”

“What do you want, Natasha?” Celine asked a second time.

“What I want is for you to leave and never come back, but we can’t always get what we want, so how about what I need?”

Tired of these games, Celine snapped, “Just spit it out, Widow!” Hair curling, nails lengthening, she dug her talons into the cushioned arms of her chair.

Natasha stiffened her entire countenance sharpening. “I’ve safeguards in place, Styx, so think twice about hurting me. Anything happens to me here, or on a mission, you're a part of… all this information goes public.” She smiled, a predatory baring of teeth. “It would be a pity if the Professor's involvement in all your messes came to light.”

The cold weight of fear wrapped around Celine’s heart. “Get to the point, Natasha.”

“I see how you look at them you know. Steve and Bucky. They’re too blinded by the pretty girl to see the monster you really are. You're going to stay away from them; you're going to stay away from all my friends. You'll limit your involvement with the team outside of missions.” She got slowly to her feet, triumph and bravado coating her innate fear of what Celine was. “Isolate yourself, Celine, or I'll do it for you. Permanently.” Striding toward the door, Natasha dropped the tablet in Celine’s lap, the faces of Jacob and Thomas staring up at her from the screen.

Celine spoke softly, “Be careful, Widow. What you try so hard to protect… may not take kindly to your methods.”

“You’ll never tell them. You try so hard to be human, fit in, but you're a monster. I know it. You know it. If they knew what you'd done….” Natasha let the words hang as she shut the door and walked away.

Celine stared down at her lap and lightly touched first one and then the other face.

Natasha may have found the information on the boys, she may know some of Charles involvement, she suspected the Widow had likely bugged her room, but Natasha didn't know everything. She couldn't for there were no records of what Celine was beyond the mental knowledge shared by four people.

But the two smiling faces on the tablet in her lap, the one lost and the one…. She couldn't bear to think about it. The pain it caused was simply too great.

She placed her hand flat on the screen and ignored the tears which fell down her face as she cried for things she could never make right, and for the life she might have possibly had here.

Next Chapter

#qi flows for her #Steve Rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fanfiction #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #x-men au #x-men fanfiction

[fumblingfictions-blog]

War of Hearts

Fandom: Marvel Masterlist: N/A Ships: Clint Barton and Loki Laufeyson Plot: The tesseract has found something unexpected, and wants to make it right, even if it’s lingering is fading.

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There were things Clint could not forget, even he tried. It wasn’t the nightmares of those he had killed that was the reason he was kept up as often as the words in his head. Even after Natasha had brought him back to the surface, given him the wheel back so that he was back in control of himself, that strange voice...it was still there. Like a ghost’s whisper, but sometimes it was much louder. And it spoke of things that he didn’t know, or understand, things that made him question his resolve to hate the man who had enslaved him with a magical stick. It should be easy to hate Loki, really. It should be impossible to make him like the god, but there were times when that voice made it feel like he should be ashamed of his anger. As if he should know Loki before judging him on the actions that Clint knew. The voice that was always so soft, so understanding, and Clint couldn’t see why. It had said from the moment he’d first been nabbed that there was something special, something that had brought him to be at Loki’s side, and even after that spell had broken, the voice remained, reminding him.

“Your place is not here. Go back to him.”

Clint hated the voice, and on occasion, would argue with it in his head. ‘Why go back? He made me kill’

“He was but a puppet, too willingly controlled in an attempt to find acceptance.”

Clint could never truly hold in the scoff when the voice spoke like that. ‘Acceptance of what?’

“He believes himself to be undeserving of affection, unnecessary to those he once cared for because of what he was born as.”

The archer couldn’t deny the flash of curiosity. Loki was from Asgard...wasn’t he? All the intel SHIELD had gathered had explicitly listed him as an Asgardian, like Thor. ‘So...what? Are you saying that I am that acceptance and affection?’ The voice had quieted for a while, leaving him alone at the worst possible moment to try and think. But what he started picking up on was things he hadn’t before. Things he hadn’t noticed when he’d been fighting for control back, too caught up in his fear of losing his control to pay attention to. Loki had never struck him during his time at Loki’s side. Others under his control, who pushed him too far and the god had reached a very high level or irritation, he would strike. He’d seen a few get struck with the full force of the scepter, but Loki had never dared to touch him in a violent manner. In fact, Loki had never been particularly violent or hostile towards him after that initial encounter that led to Clint’s spell being put in place. As if the spell revealed more than just his will to fight.

For days, he tried to contact the voice, but it seemed to have quieted for good, and he didn’t know why. ‘Hey, voice lady, I need answers. Don’t be all cryptic and then expect me to figure it all out on my own. I may be clever, but I aint that smart.’ But still nothing. That was when the dreams started, as if his need to know had triggered something he couldn’t control. They were hard to identify at first, but suddenly, it dawned on him that he was watching pieces of Loki’s life as if he were Loki himself. It wasn’t what he had been wanting to see or hear as an answer, and the first few times, when he realized, he would be woken by a startled gasp as he sat upright. The first several times he would catch the memories, they were happy. It made him feel stupid for thinking for a moment the voice had been right. Loki had clearly been accepted. But then, on a night when a bad thunderstorm had occurred, it all changed. Suddenly, there was self doubt, and hate. A loathing that he had been lied to, a sense of betrayal that ran soul deep. That dream was when the truth was revealed. That he’d never been in line for the throne because of his bloodline; he’d been meant to be a pawn to create a truce after Odin’s defeat of the Jotun.

That was the dream that Clint woke from like a nightmare. He sat upright, half screaming and half crying, looking at his own hands for a moment. The voice hadn’t been lying after all, but then how had Loki ended up attacking earth? The dreams had begun to give him answers but they had brought to the surface so many more questions he hadn’t dared to entertain before the voice and now he had even more. As he began to steady his breathing, he thought he noticed movement in the corner of his room where a large recliner was settled. He looked hard for a moment, and could almost see a figure sitting quietly in the chair, but when he turned the light on while keeping his eyes on the spot, there was nothing. He shook his head a little and moved to lay back down, soon drifting off, unaware that he really did have a guest.

Loki hadn’t expected a connection to occur by simply using a spell. But the tesseract had said Barton was a good soldier. He had needed good soldiers to bring the Tesseract to Thanos. However, the moment the spell was in place, Loki felt a strange charge. A bond, more powerful than any he’d managed to have in his life, had formed. The god had been careful, not wanting to touch the mortal in case the bond completed and his life was shown. He didn’t need pity. He needed peace, he needed to feel like he belonged again, like someone cared. But after the defeat in New York, even without the scepter in hand, the voice had stayed, beckoning him to return to Midgard, to seek out the one the mortals called Hawkeye. It was no easy task, and the first time he’d visited, he’d accidentally touched the mortal’s hand, the connection strengthening. Before he could back away, a flash of his life had formed, and he’d departed, not wanting to see the hatred on the mortal’s face for reasons he didn’t understand. What was it about this man, this mortal Midgardian, that made him feel so vulnerable? He was Loki, the silvertongue, the god of mischief, he feared no hatred from others! Except this one, with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes and a talent with a bow unlike any archer on Asgard. It was a curious conundrum for the god.

The next few times, with some near silent, probably subconscious beckoning, Loki would willingly open the connection to let Clint in. Happy things at first, so the mortal would understand the tragic event that had broken him. It seemed strange that the night he opened the bond to show the memory, it was raining. Lightning and thunder that wasn’t caused by anything but the natural state of Midgard, and yet Loki still feared he would be taken back before he could complete the memory. And then Barton woke, almost screaming as he cried, and Loki felt his heart stop briefly. Had he broken the mortal? But no, a quick flash of his magic said there was nothing wrong with Clint, only that he had been reacting to the memory. For a moment, Loki’s invisibility fell, and when he realized Clint could make out his shape, he returned it just in time. How could he reveal himself? Speak as just a man who had been broken, who had shown his life to this mortal and seen no hate in hazel blue eyes? He stood slowly as Clint relaxed again, moving to the bed and briefly running his hand along the other’s arm. Gentle, caring, protective. How could this mortal do what so many more powerful than him could not dare? And as Clint moved to look, he was gone.

Clint didn’t need the sensation to know someone was there. Well, not someone, he knew Loki was there. There was this sixth sense when it came to the god, so he knew who it was who had touched his arm so gently the night before. His arm still tingled as he ate breakfast, thinking quietly to himself. There had to be something he could do, some way to prove that Loki could be happy again. That violence didn’t need to be the reason for Loki’s life. He wanted to see the look on the god’s face that he had felt in the early memories of Loki’s life. The idea was strange, given a mere few weeks prior, he had hated and despised anything to do with the man. It was with him most of the day and into the night, but he still didn’t know what to do. So for the next few nights, he simply waited for that familiar presence and then enjoyed the feeling of actually feeling protected. The sensation that someone was looking out for him was nice, especially when he hadn’t felt that way since before his parents had died. It was odd, given that Loki had at one point been the enemy. He didn't speak up until the next time it rained, letting Loki stay and watch over him. As he laid in bed, content to know the god was in the chair as he always was, there was a kind of tug in the bond, and it took a moment before Clint realized that Loki was a little scared of the thunderstorm. “I know you’re there.” he said softly.

Loki had visited every night for over a week before the next storm hit. And as he’d sat tense in the recliner, watching Clint, the man had spoken. He simply stayed put, not sure if he’d heard right.

Clint gave a sigh and sat up. “I can sense you, y’know.” he said, looking at the chair where there seemed to be nothing. But this time, he let his eyes examine to see the indention where there was actually a person. “It’s just a storm. Thor doesn’t control weather in this realm when he’s not here.”

The words took Loki by surprise, the softness of them, and his magic melted away, revealing him in the chair as he looked at the mortal. “How did you know?”

“The last time it rained, there was that nagging tug. Like anxiety. Thunderstorms have never bothered me, and I knew it had to be you I just didn’t think of why.” Clint said quietly, watching Loki. “Why are you here?”

“I…” Loki stopped, looking down at his own hands and shaking his head with a confused look. “I’m not sure.” he replied. “I didn’t...expect a bond like our to form. Or linger with the tesseract gone.”

“The voice?”

Loki looked up, taken back by the information that the tesseract had stayed with Clint as well. “You heard her?”

Clint nodded. “For a while. Then she stopped, like her link to me was gone.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Uh…” Clint had to think. “A few days before the dream...memory things? Like right before they started.” he replied. “Why?”

Loi gave a soft laugh. “Barton, we have a bond. She was able to bring it forward before I knew.”

“Bond? What are you talking about?”

Loki stood and moved to the bed, kneeling beside it, hands folded on top of each other on top of the comforter Clint was beneath. “It’s a rare and powerful connection. One I’ve never believed I would have. It the opening between two souls that are chosen by the highest of gods, gods much older and more powerful than my family..” he explained. “Thor’s bond formed with the mortal Jane, for example.” he said, trying to put it in terms that Clint could understand. “I didn’t mean to open it without permission, the scepter did it when…” he looked down.

“The spell.” Clint finished, knowing where this was going. But that left a question. “Had you known...before that...would you have-”

“No.” Loki cut him off. “To do so is unthinkable, all documented bonds that have done that have ended badly. By the time I realized...I..” he cut himself off, feeling stupid for the blur in his vision.

Clint blinked as he saw the glimmer of tears on Loki’s lashes and reached out to wipe them away.  He believes himself to be undeserving of affection, the voice had said. And Clint could suddenly see in that moment, that she had been right. Loki had believed himself unable to be redeemed and lost himself in the pain, and yet somehow, he had found Clint. “Don’t cry.” he said softly, causing Loki to look at him. “Not because it’s wrong.” he corrected himself. “I don’t want you to cry because you think I’m going to push you away.”

“Pardon?”

Clint sighed and then looked at Loki, taking a moment to gather his thoughts correctly. “You showed me your life. Loki. Let me in in a way I don’t think you’ve let anyone else in in a long time, maybe ever. That says something even if it’s not in actual words. You’ve never been violent towards me, even now, when I should probably deserve a punch for trying to blow you up.”

Loki gave a self deprecating laugh. “I had controlled you, Clint, you had the right to.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You’ve proven to be different towards me than to anyone in the past. I want that to mean something to you, Loki.” Clint answered. “I want to be able to communicate with you even when you aren’t here. To know you’re still okay. That there’s someone here who believes you can be better than what you think you deserve.” For a long moment, the two men simply watched each other, and then Loki was moving forward, pressing his lips to Clint’s. It was sudden and beautiful and there was a kind of spark deep in his soul as Clint instantly responded, drawing Loki closer and laying back to draw the god with him.

‘Home.’ Loki moved as his bond mate did, kissing at Clint’s neck once he was laid back. “I want to give you something. So you can always communicate with me as you want. Discreetly, given your comrades - and my brother - are not fond of me as of late.” he breathed, pulling back before they got too lost in the bond strengthening as quickly as it was from the physical contact. Clint’s eyes were on him and he raised his hand, and when he rotated his wrist and opened it, there sat a little ring. It was silver, with lots of tiny shards of diamond and a solitary emerald on the top; a ring that was very much Loki.

Clint smiled and lifted a hand to take it, sliding it onto his left ring finger and holding his hand up. “I like it. It’s like you.” he decided. “How does it work?”

“Whenever I’m not here, simply think of me and it will open our connection. Then I’ll be able to speak with you in here.” Loki answered, reaching to gently tap Clint’s temple.

Clint smiled, sitting up enough to kiss the god. “Promise you won’t be gone all the time.”

Loki gave a grin. “I won’t, dearest heart. All I am belongs to you.” he leaned in to once more kiss Clint’s neck, and found calloused hands tugging at his shirt and sliding beneath to the pale skin. Loki shivered and bit down a little, bringing a moan to Clint’s lips as they lay in bed. The archer’s hands were warm and rough on his skin and he liked the feel, sitting up to wave a hand and remove his own shirt, hands reaching to undress the younger male.

Clint hummed and helped wriggle from his shirt, pulling Loki down for a kiss before rolling them so he was on top, kissing a path down the exposed chest. Whatever it was that had drawn them together was becoming stronger, and Clint could almost swear he could feel the way his touch affected Loki’s heart and emotions. He hummed and gave a smile. “I want you.” he breathed, dipping to kiss the other male.

Loki could feel the hands roaming his body, the little trails of what felt like electricity running through his skin after Clint’s fingers had left the area to caress elsewhere. He hummed and waved a hand, completely removing their clothes and both of them gave a gasped as they finally felt skin on skin along most of their bodies. “So warm.”

“You’re pretty warm yourself.” Clint replied, trailing kisses down a lithe body of muscle, hazel hues watching Loki’s face as he did so. He nipped at a pale hip, electricity shooting through him as Loki gasped and arched up, slender fingers gripping the sheets. “You like that?”

“It feels wonderful.” Loki breathed, reaching down to run his hand through brown tresses.

Clint smiled and continued his kisses down to Loki’s thigh, kissing down to one knee, back up and carefully avoiding the hardening length between the god’s legs before kissing down the other thigh. He nudged Loki’s legs further apart, kissing further between the raven haired man’s thighs to swipe his tongue along the god’s cock, base to tip and back. Little broken moans passed Loki’s lips and Clint gave a grin, kissing back up the older male’s body to kiss him fully again. He opened his mouth to speak but found Loki flipping them so that he was now beneath all that delightful weight, his body arching up into the other.

Loki gave a grin as they flipped, adjusting to settle between Clint’s legs as he tilted his head to kiss the archer’s neck. One hand held him up to hover above Clint while the other reached between them, grabbing their two lengths together as best he could and stroking slowly. Moans escaped both of them and Clint turned his head to kiss him again, a swipe of tongue along the god’s lips before he was granted entry and the two were clinging to each other as Loki stroked them. He could feel the gentle rise of Clint’s hips with each stroke, and he enjoyed the way the mortal was so pliable beneath him. “I want to claim you. As only mine.” he breathed, eyes closed as he broke away.

“Please.” Clint replied breathlessly, licking his lips as he rocked his body into the hand holding his own throbbing erection to the other man’s. “I want to be yours.” he pleaded, reaching to run a hand through dark tresses gently. The gentle kisses that Loki leaned to press to his skin made him shiver, and a breathy mix of a sigh and a moan parted his lips when he felt the gentle pressure at his entrance. His body arched to give the god more room, eyes closing as he let his head fall back.

Loki wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or not. He had never been so openly wanted since the day Thor had been declared Crown Prince. Everyone had assumed something was wrong with him, and he’d spent centuries trying to find some semblance of the acceptance he had missed. And then it had been revealed he wasn’t even of Asgard, that he’d been taken as a child in hopes to form some kind of truce between Asgard and Jotunnheim. And yet Clint, this beautiful, fragile, wonderful mortal he had once controlled against his will, was so honest about what he wanted. Their bond was stronger, but the bond only opened up the honesty. He’d seen it with his brother and Jane. The more they let themselves connect through what they said, how they felt, the stronger their bond became. He was careful as he moved to prep the human, lube appearing and generously coating his fingers, kissing and sucking to ease the pain as he slowly stretched Clint open. The younger man didn’t seem concerned about any pain, his whole attention on touching Loki wherever he could. Loki shivered at the pure love he could feel. Even if Clint didn’t say that word out loud, it was the emotion he was expressing as he helplessly returned each kiss and gave Loki praise. It swelled Loki’s heart to hear such acceptance, and the sheer joy of it threatened to make him cry as he finally pulled three fingers from his lover. “Ready, my love?”

Clint nodded, reaching up to run his fingers reverently over Loki’s cheek. “Ready.” His eyes stayed locked on Loki’s as the other carefully slid into him, and Clint moaned because he’d never felt anything like the way it felt to have that throbbing shaft claiming his body skin on skin. His hands ran up slender arms to grip at Loki’s biceps. “So big.” he breathed out, accepting the kiss as Loki pressed further into him, bottoming out after a few long moments. He was a mix of disappointed and relieved when Loki didn’t immediately start to thrust, instead giving his body time to adjust.

The heat of Clint’s body was the most sensual feeling Loki had never thought of feeling. Clint’s body was tight around him. He kissed up Clint’s neck as he let them adjust to the feeling of being completely linked, their bond sealing. He bit at the juncture of the archer’s neck and shoulder, suckling at the skin to bring forth a bruise, further leaving his claim on Clint’s skin. The rise and fall of their chests echoed uneven breathing and moans that escaped them as slowly, a rhythm began that both men fell into without even thinking about it. Loki was stunned, because it was almost as if he could feel as himself and as Clint, and it was strangely beautiful. He hadn’t heard of a bond like this, but it didn’t dawn on him to be concerned because he was supposed to be here, supposed to love Clint Barton and be loved by him. “You are...so perfect…” he breathed against kiss swollen lips as he moved. “I’ve...waited…so long…..for you.”

“You found me...that’s all th-...that matters.” came the reply. Clint’s body was pliant and welcoming and he didn’t care. He wanted Loki; wanted the older male to know that he was loved, even if Clint was the only one. Hearing the words, Clint leaned up, shivering as the new position hit the bundle of nerves and he cried out, burying his face in Loki’s neck. “Do that again..” he begged. When Loki obliged, his body once more quaked, and he kissed at the bare skin of the god’s neck. “So close.”

The two words sent a wave of determination into Loki and the god moved his hips faster, harder, pistoning the two of them to their ends and the completion of their bond. The end came all too soon and Loki let his body continue to move, determined to have his lover, his chosen soulmate, find his end as well. And when Clint’s length spilled between them, Loki finally let his body go limp, pressing lazy kisses along the other’s skin. “You are mine now, Clint.”

“And you’re mine, Loki.” Clint replied, reaching to run a hand through dark hair. “Forever.” He blinked a little as Loki waved a hand and they were clean, the god gently withdrew and moved to lay on his side, pulling Clint to face him as arms wrapped around each other. “Sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Clint promised, feeling sleep call him as the high of their bond completing faded and he accepted the cuddled warmth of his mate, falling into the depth of sleep. When the morning sun peeked through the window, Clint stirred and stretched, opening his eyes to see Loki lying relaxed in his arms. The god looked peaceful, calm, happy. Clint liked the way he looked, reaching up to brush his fingers over Loki’s cheek. The god’s eyes opened and green caught hazel, the two watching each other for a moment before Loki reached up to brush his own fingers over Clint’s lips.

“You’re really here.”

“I told you I would be, Loki.” Clint countered, smiling. He moved closer, leaning to kiss Loki softly. “I told you. You can be more than you think you deserve.” The contact sent a wave of some kind of electricity through his very soul. Loki clearly felt the same because in one moment they were laying on their sides and the next, Loki was pulling him on top, Clint’s form pressed firmly against his lover’s as Loki kissed him, hands wandering and passionate behind the contact. That was the moment Clint knew he had never been happier to have met the silver-tongued prince of Asgard.

#war of hearts; fanfic #woh #war of hearts #marvel fanfic #clint barton x loki laufeyson #TricksterHawk

[beowulfs-booty-call]

Admit it, you love Chad x Incel

LOOK

Any gay ship by revolocities are my fave.

Now, do I love Chad x Incel, Revolocities edition? Ya.

Do I love the idea that it’s actually a dude who thinks he’s incel, nihilistically looking at the world like no woman will love him despite how hard he tries, and then it’s the jock who he thinks hates him and has no brains actually loves him?

Yeah, I think I like that better, actually. Personally bonus points here because the Incel realizes he’s gay and whoops: He was trying to make up for all those dumb “Be a man” comments and thought him not being attracted to women were simply their loss when it turns out he just was gay and it’s okay to be gay and not you know a douchebag.

I admit, I can imagine where this sounds totally off, but like, what I’m getting at is:

I like the idea that this nerdy dude thinks no one likes him, but the one dude he never really expects to like him does and he’s just like

Wow.

This does not compute.

I’m feeling things.

And he breaks out of the sort of incel-esque behavior because it’s literally just him replicating that internet culture when the jock just gets him out there walking to museums and talking about their hopes and dreams over coffee because the jock tells him he’s a good listener but it turns out the dude had a crush for the longest and geekwad was too angry with the idea that no one likes him when HE WAS RIGHT THERE ALL ALONG.

And slowly it’s the incel dude opening up. He was so focused on trying to get a relationship with a girl because he felt that if he didn’t no one would like him, and soon it became self loathing that he took on others. And Jock dude listens. He’s very patient, he knew the idiot was taking it out on others, but where everyone had no patience for him, Chad dude did because he felt maybe he could change it.

And that’s when nerd-bomb realizes it one day, when Chad legit gets him flowers for valentines or something, but nerd dude lashes out on him because again no one “cares about him” and jock dude dumps the flowers and goes away. Nerd 2.0 gets it.

Jock guy had it bad for him. All the coffee chats. All the “No worries! You’ll find someone, I just know it!” “Hey, you have me, y’know? It aint so bad!”

It was all for him.

And he didn’t even care.

Just like what he thought everyone did to him.

And so with the power of turning himself around and trying to make himself better for Jockque, PointDexter 3P0 finally gets a haircut, gets dressed up nicely, gets a bouquet of flowers and heads to the big game to see the dude. And along the way he meets all the people jock dude spent time with, the kids he tutored, the stray cats he fed, as he gets to the big game.

It’s late.

The teams’ losing and Jock bro aint in it. His heart was never in it.

The coach is ready to throw the game when the doors open and nerdy realizes how deadly stupid he was pushing past the security guard with roses in his hand.

And the crowd notices.

And so does Jock.

But the crowd murmurs when Jock runs over to Rotom Dex, calling time out to get some closure and YELL at him for being an utter jerk, and Prof. Oak takes all of it. He knew it. He understood it.

But the nerd holds out the roses.

He wants to make it work.

He wants to learn.

And with tears stinging in his eyes, Broseph takes the bouquet and kisses the idiot on the lips / cheeks and tell him it took him DAMN long enough, pushes the flowers into his hands and runs back to win the game of his life.

Fast forward 5 years later where the two are living together in their own home. The stray cats are now their 2 children, the winter is nearly here, Jockseph is a collegiate athlete, but wants to go into local politics with his still very supportive and intimate husband/ boyfriend (Waiting to pop the question???) being a online journalist for the local paper.

And the entire time, they look back on their lives and how far they came, as they lie back on the couch cuddling with their cats nearby, blankets together and sipping hot cocoa watching some old movie Jockbro swears is his favorite, but it’s really just so they have an excuse to be intimate together. They both know it.

But never did they ever fight about how much the other loves him.

See, I’m into that.

However, if you mean a crackship with a nerd and a muscular jock then yeah, that’s my shit. Otherwise, Incels after the reddit exposure are just… Oy.

That’s why I’d rather a nerd and jock relationship than an incel and chad thing because…

Ugh the negative connotation already there is gross.

#Incel & chad #Do I even tag??? #Wulf answers #My writing #I guess??? #Anyway fam ya this is what I'm here for #Ships? #Anonymous

[meanderfall]

//tornadoes thru ur window, completely shattering the glass: for the writer meme, 5 - 6 - 8 - 10 - 15 - 21 - 25 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30 - 34 - 36 - 39 - 45 - 47 - 48 - 49 - aaaand 50: how long do you usually let an idea fester in your mind before you're like, "okay, i'll write you down u little fucker"? ALSO IM AWARE THIS IS A LOT, LMAOOO

LDJF;KFGSKGF ADRI MY LOVE, MY WIFE, MY KNIGHT, MY SUN AND MOON, THANK YOU OMG, I HOPE YOU’RE READY FOR A NOVEL OF AN ANSWER LMAO

5.     How much writing do you get done on an average day?

LMAO I ACTUALLY HAVE THIS CALCULATED PER HOUR just bc that’s how long my train ride is. So I can do about 400-500 words in 50~ minutes.anyway tbh, I write almost never, but when I do, I try to get around 1000 words done??? that’s usually when i lose steam too. (though i guess if i did 500 word spurts instead throughout the day, i’d get more done) (TO CLARIFY, the only reason it’s so much is bc i only write when I know /exactly/ what the scene is gonna be and im motivated. if u sat my ass down in front of a computer each day and told me to write, I’d probably only get 100 in two hours, less even.)

6.     Single or multiple POV?

I’m a multiple pov hoe. I’ve thought before of writing something in entirely one pov, but tbh i dont think i could do it if the thing is longer that a 2000 word one shot.

8.     Oldest WIP

I HAD TO PULL OUT MY USB FOR THIS GODDAMN

Okay so, my oldest wip ever, is an original story I started in, I think, 2011 and wrote throughout the year. It’s got about 22k words down, but tbh i dont think im ever gonna touch it again.fanfic-wise, my oldest wip is a harvest moon fanfic, that’s around 6k words i think? and i was planning on re-writing it bc i didnt like the characterization of one of the characters and i wanted to fix that, but it’s been like five years now, i dont think it’s ever gonna be done. (I still want to though). (and u can find said wip on my fanfiction.net account)

10.  Do you set yourself deadlines?

My guy, i’ve never set a deadline for myself in my entire life. I think I tried to do it once, and i completely let it pass by. (Though the fanfic i mentioned previously, im pretty sure i updated once a week before i fucked up)

15.  How do you deal with writer’s block?

I either set it aside (and never pick it up again lmao) and let it stew in the back of my mind until I get something else, oR I POWER THROUGH THIS MOTHERFUCKER, and I’ll probably only write 50 words and hate every single last one of them, but I got it done and it’s better than nothing and hopefully tomorrow i’ll actually have something. (also, sometimes when powering through, what i write ends up inspiring me and im like “oh of course!” and i blaze through it)

21.  Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?in case u havent noticed yet, about 99% of all my characters are snarky to some degree. I need a character with a wry sense of humour, and I’ll usually stay in their pov a lot. The only other character “type” I have are the sunshine pure cinnamon rolls who care and love everyone. Oh, and I guess also the ones who are pissed and bitter at the world at large. (I should.... probably... try to get out of this comfort zone...)

25.  Favourite part of writing

okay tbh, my favourite part is when I’m winding down from a good writing session, and I just feel so proud and alive, because I was productive and I created something with my own two hands and mind, and there are very few things that are as incredible as that imo

27.  Favourite line/scene

okay so this was hard to pick??? not to mention it’s all crap you’ve seen before but whatever.

There’s this one:

“McCreewas abruptly reminded of when he was nothing more than a teen, snarling andfurious at everyone around him, not willing to trust anyone. And he wasreminded of Gabriel Reyes who stayed calm and collected in front of his fury,gently rebuking him when he crossed a line; who praised him when he did welland willingly trusted him to have his back even though McCree didn’t trust him;who seemed to quietly understand why McCree acted in certain ways, accepted it,but encouraged him to choose better. Gabriel Reyes, who had faith in him whenhe wasn’t even sure he liked himself.“

And this one:

“IfWash’s head was a ghost town, then the Meta’s was a fucking wasteland.

Butthe worst part wasn’t the scorched earth and completely lifeless landscape, norwas it the stormy brown clouds above. No, the worst part was the lava that wasslowly inching its way up the mountain. It bubbled and simmered an awful sicklyorange as it creeped up bit by bit, not fast at all, but inexorably to the topof the mountain, going against all laws of physics. It was so awfully wrongthat he honestly felt sick witnessing it. Not helping was the sizzles it madeas it burned through whatever little vegetation there was and (he had no ideawhy he knew this, maybe it was because he was connected to the Meta’s brain?),it felt like the lava was actually gouging the earth, opening cracks andseeping inside, corrupting and destroying what lay within.

Wasthe Meta even a person anymore?”

(I proooobably would’ve picked something from the tuckington au but.... a lot of my favourite stuff is dialogue, or snarky narration, and idk it’s hard to choose and there aint a lot of depth to it)

28.  Favourite side character

OKAY THERE’S THIS ONE SIDE CHARACTER IN ONE MY ORIGINAL STORY IDEAS WHOM I ADORE (even though he has no name yet lmao) BUT HE’S BASICALLY REALLY SWEET AND CARING AND HE’S TRYING HIS BEST TO BE HAPPY AND SUPPORTIVE FOR ALL HIS COMPANIONS BC THEY’RE ALL GOING THROUGH HARD TIMES, BUT IT’S REALLY HARD FOR HIM AND HE’S INWARDLY SUFFERING SO MUCH BUT HE KEEPS SMILING FOR PEOPLE ANYWAY AND FLDG;DKHGFKG I LOVE HIM

29.  Favourite villain

I’m... cheating for this, I’ve never written a villain ever actually (and tbh what the fuck??? how??? i have so many original story ideas and none of them are villains??? what the fuck (maybe the true villains were the friends we made along the way))

okay so, originally, this character was gonna be the villain alright. She was mean, cruel, snarky, cunning, and manipulative. But as time went on, and I started exploring her character, wondering why she was like this, what her goal is, and I changed and shifted the plot of the story around she... sort of... became the main character. woops.

30.  Favourite idea you haven’t started on yet

IM ONLY GONNA USE ORIGINAL STORIES FOR THIS BC HOLY SHIT

Honestly, I’d probably have to go with this idea I had of a living person picking up the scythe of a Grim Reaper and becoming one and having to learn the ropes of the job.

Okay, I lied, it might actually be this detective series idea I had, wherein the main character, a police officer, has to investigate cases that, for the most part, are reminiscent, or re-imagined versions, of Quebec folk tales, and she has to figure out why the fuck this is happening.

34.  What was the hardest scene you ever had to write?

FIGHTING AND ACTION SCENES I HATE THEM SO MUCH OH MY GOD THEY TAKE FOREVER AND I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE IM FUCKING THEM UP HORRIBLY I HATE THEM (I could give u a specific example, but i dont want to)

36.  Last sentence you wrote

“Shut up.”

(this is actually how chapter 2 of my tuckington high school au ends lmao and there’s nothing to gain from it have fun adri)

39.  Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had

OH SHIT I ACTUALLY KNOW THE ANSWER TO THIS QUESTION, okay so the i have no clue where the idea came from, but for some reason i had this idea of a character who’s mental stability or whatever was linked to these bracelets she wore??? but it was more like she became more primal and animalistic the more bracelets were taken off until she lost all sense of identity, and i think it’s because she was being controlled or used by an organization or whatever. This was just a random idea that I had and okay i know it’s dark af, but it’s honestly the weirdest one. (tbh…. im not sure i have one that could be considered weird…)

45.  How much world building do you do?

all of it. just. all of it. I need to know clothes, food, architecture, cultural norms, the history of the world, how the fuck people can communicate when there are multiple countries and multiple languages, and this is why absolutely none of my original stuff has ever been written

47.  Best way to procrastinate

Day-dreaming scenes and ideas instead of writing them

48.  What’s the most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written?

W O W ADRI U WANNA CALL ME OUT THAT BADLY HUH?

honestly it’s probably that main character/villain i mentioned previously, bc i just gave her all of my self-loathing and she was supposed to sacrifice herself heroically in the end and there was gonna be an entire speech about why she was the right person to do this. (if it makes u feel any better, I’ve modified it so she doesn’t actually die and everyone is like “wtf? NO!”)

also the protagonist in story, i just gave her my depression and general lostness in life. (most... of my characters... start off with a part of me I want to explore, but over time, as I flesh them out, they become their own people, and actually have nothing to do with me anymore tbh)

49.  Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real?

THAT SWEET CINNAMON ROLL I MENTIONED BEFORE OMG YES, I WOULD PROTECT HIM WITH MY LIFE

50: how long do you usually let an idea fester in your mind before you’re like, “okay, i’ll write you down u little fucker”?

*LAUGHS HYSTERICALLY* OH MAN ADRI U HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’VE JUST ASKED DO U OMG WAIT UNTIL U HEAR THIS

okay so u know that story with the cinnamon roll and main character/villain? The basic plot of that story has been in my brain since around 2011. I still haven’t started to write it. (though, to be fair, that story has changed so goddamn much since 2012 holy shit, and for the better tbh)

tbh adri, ur like 80% of my impulse control, and by that I mean you make me impulsive enough to actually write things instead of letting them ruminate in my brain forevermore. Hell, I’ve only started to get back into writing fanfiction because of you, okay, if u weren’t around I’d probably just give up on writing ever, and let the idea of being a novelist be nothing more but a fantasy i daydream about.

#aroacedrienne #about

[angstymcspicy-blog]

22/05/20

1 year and 2 months. it took me 14 months before i broke all kinds of self defences and decided to seek refuge here. i love being at home, i really do. i dont have to force myself to talk to people, dont have to get tempted by food outside, dont have to exhaust my emotions, i dont have to put on makeup, i dont have to think of what to wear and regret it later for looking too fat and ugly, dont have to disappoint anyone and dont have to feel disappointed by anyone. 

but being at home starts to feel overwhelming at some point. its not that i crave physical interaction or that i miss my friends (do i have any, really?), or the boi for that matter — i just get really afraid of myself. you see, once i start sitting down with myself, i dont ever get up. 

i dont even know where to start... is life falling apart? not really. yes, we’re living in the middle of a pandemic. but i am blessed alhamdulillah to have a roof over my head, for my family members and for a s/o. but this period of being at home and everyone having so much time on their hands... really puts certain things into perspective. for instance, with so much time everyone has to offer now that we’re all confined to the comforts of our own four walls, how come not a single soul that i once called my friends have reached out. yes! i had 3 so far... in the span of 2 months. that’s a great feat, i aint gonna deny. but you see, the people i thought who could give 2 shits abt apparently rather give 2 shits to other people instead. so that makes me think — where do i stand in your life? how do i emerge from this quarantine and what do i make of our relationships after this? pretend like we totally know whats happening in each other’s lives via superficial and menial social media updates that you selectively show after having retaking them 100s of times or do i act all weird bec literally, i do not know whats happening to who anymore. this is simply bec im not talking to anyone. if i dont initiate a conversation, no one comes to me. im really not that interesting of a friend and not that exciting to have me around. i just float and exist... hence my insignificance in their lives. at one point, i guess it was just out of convenience that we were friends. & now due to circumstantial factors, it is not convenient or important having me around anymore.

yes i do have friends. yes we havent spoken in months. on some days though... i get really glad that my social circle has reduced to almost nothing. but on some days... i realise that im just not that strong after all. i want to be ok, i want to learn how to be ok. but how do i? how do i come to terms with the fact that either im a girl who turned all her friends away from her bec she thought she was too good for them or that her world too accelerated too quickly to revolve around her boyfriend that now she forgot how having friends ever felt like.

the people whom i thought literally saw me grew up are now too busy mingling amongst themselves and themselves only. they do make the effort to send one text message in 6 months... but the lack of sincerity is more than just apparent. there is 0 effort to even keep the conversation going and no matter how hard i once tried, i cant find it in me to be as giving anymore. 

to my best friend that i lost, im just taking things in my stride. every single day you never fail to exhibit the love you’re constantly being showered with (without me in your life anymore). im happy that you’re in a place where you get to shine in the spotlight given and that your circle of friends has expanded to one that drowns me out. maybe im also too exhausted and found myself to be too demanding for you to fit me anywhere in your life anymore. im just a puzzle piece that was forcing to fit till early this year. maybe now i really am prepared to want to let it all go.

i lost a workplace buddy recently. as much as i know that maybe this is for the better of him, a part of me still wishes we could maintain the same co-worker relationship and we can keep this friendship going. we have too many similarities and interests and it hurts to know that things will never be the same again. i have teared about it but i think one day these feelings are going to come charging at me in full force that it might be too late to calm those emotions down by then.

this quarantine period has also cost me lots of fights in my family. every single day i urge myself to keep the anger down and not get so agitated but i still fail. i disappoint myself time and again. i dont know how to fix this, neither do i see the light at the end of the tunnel for this. the ability to be so fucking patient with the useless beings i deal with at work and the inability of me being tolerant of my closest and most loved ones, appalls me the most. i am the biggest hypocrite i know. i fought with my beloved grandma. i was planning to check in on her but i never did and before i knew, she ended up in the hospital and i found myself sinking in knee-dip into a bottomless pit i knew i was sooner or later, doomed for.

the holy month is about to come to an end and i see people achieving milestones in their life as they close this chapter but this year feels just about the same as another. and i only have myself to blame and hate for it. i could have done so much more. coulda started on the quran, coulda been more consistent, coulda been more committed but i let it all slip in front of me and before i know it, it’s too late to do anything about it anymore. i am my biggest disappointment. i only seek for your forgiveness la Ya Allah.

i have no qualms about the person i call my partner. but having an anxiety attack all bec of him... it has truly been a long while. i wanna blame it on the period. i wanna blame it on the fact that i have too much time and too many emotions too feel, too sensitive. i wanna blame it on his lack of awareness for his surroundings and the people around him. i wanna blame it on his immaturity and ego. but i think we all know, it is ultimately just me. the same issues... over and over again. is it a lack of interest or understanding? i sincerely wonder. i want to work this out, but it gets really hard. sometimes i just want us to stop hurting. how is it that we dont get by a week without fighting? how is it that you still have issues understanding me why i get hurt even after repeatedly explaining myself? how is it that you still talk in a way that annoys the fuck out of me sometimes? i know you dont mean it. but are you really that wrapped up in your head to not notice all these things? everything’s either a fucking joke or too complicated for your brain to even process. i dont wish to make the situation bigger than what it is, but i never felt truly at peace at emptying my emotions to you. when was the last time you were keen about me and my mental health? then again, not everything is about me. and you didnt seem to understand so i backed off. i dont want to find fault in a situation that you dont want to help yourself in. why is that you can bear to part hours of your day to game but not spare 10 minutes of your time to ask me how im feeling lately. or spend 10 minutes of your time looking up what anxiety really is. i tell you im fine and you really think im fucking fine. if that was really all it took to cure my fucking anxiety m8... i’d be bloody Gandhi by now. i want to give all my love to you. but at times i cant even be truly happy for people by my side, sometimes i feel like i still have a lot more to learn before i deserve true happiness in my life. you dont always have the best words to say, but i know you do try. 

i started working out but i still dont like what i see. the more time i spend at home, the less i want to see myself in the mirror. its been 2 weeks and my arms are still so fucking flabby,,, my thighs are gigantic it can choke and the rolls on my tummy makes me nauseous. i pray to God seeking for strength every single day but i still cant find it in me to want to embrace the now me to pursue the version that i eventually want to be. the internet is not making my head a better place but it does remind me that im fat and that i deserve less and less food each day. i dont know why i allowed myself to get this obese but i am truly regretting every second of it. 

in conclusion... am i falling apart? maybe. am i losing myself? maybe. do i have friends? not anymore. and do i hate my s/o constantly reassuring me that i have friends that even i dont know the existence of? maybe. do i hate myself for being a dick to my own family? maybe. do i blame myself for being an incompetent and emotionally worrisome partner? maybe. do i blame myself for having a body as big as mine? maybe. ultimately... am i drowning myself in a bottomless pit of self loathe as i swim in self-pity? hell mother fucking yes.

[themusechronicles-archive-blog]

TMC Fanfic - War of Hearts

Fandom: Marvel Ships: Clint Barton and Loki Laufeyson Plot: The tesseract has found something unexpected, and wants to make it right, even if it’s lingering is fading.

~*~*~*~ *~*~*~~*~*~*~ *~*~*~ *~*~*~ *~*~*~ *~*~*~ *~*~*~

There were things Clint could not forget, even he tried. It wasn’t the nightmares of those he had killed that was the reason he was kept up as often as the words in his head. Even after Natasha had brought him back to the surface, given him the wheel back so that he was back in control of himself, that strange voice…it was still there. Like a ghost’s whisper, but sometimes it was much louder. And it spoke of things that he didn’t know, or understand, things that made him question his resolve to hate the man who had enslaved him with a magical stick. It should be easy to hate Loki, really. It should be impossible to make him like the god, but there were times when that voice made it feel like he should be ashamed of his anger. As if he should know Loki before judging him on the actions that Clint knew. The voice that was always so soft, so understanding, and Clint couldn’t see why. It had said from the moment he’d first been nabbed that there was something special, something that had brought him to be at Loki’s side, and even after that spell had broken, the voice remained, reminding him.

“Your place is not here. Go back to him.”

Clint hated the voice, and on occasion, would argue with it in his head. ‘Why go back? He made me kill’

“He was but a puppet, too willingly controlled in an attempt to find acceptance.”

Clint could never truly hold in the scoff when the voice spoke like that. ‘Acceptance of what?’

“He believes himself to be undeserving of affection, unnecessary to those he once cared for because of what he was born as.”

The archer couldn’t deny the flash of curiosity. Loki was from Asgard…wasn’t he? All the intel SHIELD had gathered had explicitly listed him as an Asgardian, like Thor. ‘So…what? Are you saying that I am that acceptance and affection?’ The voice had quieted for a while, leaving him alone at the worst possible moment to try and think. But what he started picking up on was things he hadn’t before. Things he hadn’t noticed when he’d been fighting for control back, too caught up in his fear of losing his control to pay attention to. Loki had never struck him during his time at Loki’s side. Others under his control, who pushed him too far and the god had reached a very high level or irritation, he would strike. He’d seen a few get struck with the full force of the scepter, but Loki had never dared to touch him in a violent manner. In fact, Loki had never been particularly violent or hostile towards him after that initial encounter that led to Clint’s spell being put in place. As if the spell revealed more than just his will to fight.

For days, he tried to contact the voice, but it seemed to have quieted for good, and he didn’t know why. ‘Hey, voice lady, I need answers. Don’t be all cryptic and then expect me to figure it all out on my own. I may be clever, but I aint that smart.’ But still nothing. That was when the dreams started, as if his need to know had triggered something he couldn’t control. They were hard to identify at first, but suddenly, it dawned on him that he was watching pieces of Loki’s life as if he were Loki himself. It wasn’t what he had been wanting to see or hear as an answer, and the first few times, when he realized, he would be woken by a startled gasp as he sat upright. The first several times he would catch the memories, they were happy. It made him feel stupid for thinking for a moment the voice had been right. Loki had clearly been accepted. But then, on a night when a bad thunderstorm had occurred, it all changed. Suddenly, there was self doubt, and hate. A loathing that he had been lied to, a sense of betrayal that ran soul deep. That dream was when the truth was revealed. That he’d never been in line for the throne because of his bloodline; he’d been meant to be a pawn to create a truce after Odin’s defeat of the Jotun.

That was the dream that Clint woke from like a nightmare. He sat upright, half screaming and half crying, looking at his own hands for a moment. The voice hadn’t been lying after all, but then how had Loki ended up attacking earth? The dreams had begun to give him answers but they had brought to the surface so many more questions he hadn’t dared to entertain before the voice and now he had even more. As he began to steady his breathing, he thought he noticed movement in the corner of his room where a large recliner was settled. He looked hard for a moment, and could almost see a figure sitting quietly in the chair, but when he turned the light on while keeping his eyes on the spot, there was nothing. He shook his head a little and moved to lay back down, soon drifting off, unaware that he really did have a guest.

Loki hadn’t expected a connection to occur by simply using a spell. But the tesseract had said Barton was a good soldier. He had needed good soldiers to bring the Tesseract to Thanos. However, the moment the spell was in place, Loki felt a strange charge. A bond, more powerful than any he’d managed to have in his life, had formed. The god had been careful, not wanting to touch the mortal in case the bond completed and his life was shown. He didn’t need pity. He needed peace, he needed to feel like he belonged again, like someone cared. But after the defeat in New York, even without the scepter in hand, the voice had stayed, beckoning him to return to Midgard, to seek out the one the mortals called Hawkeye. It was no easy task, and the first time he’d visited, he’d accidentally touched the mortal’s hand, the connection strengthening. Before he could back away, a flash of his life had formed, and he’d departed, not wanting to see the hatred on the mortal’s face for reasons he didn’t understand. What was it about this man, this mortal Midgardian, that made him feel so vulnerable? He was Loki, the silvertongue, the god of mischief, he feared no hatred from others! Except this one, with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes and a talent with a bow unlike any archer on Asgard. It was a curious conundrum for the god.

The next few times, with some near silent, probably subconscious beckoning, Loki would willingly open the connection to let Clint in. Happy things at first, so the mortal would understand the tragic event that had broken him. It seemed strange that the night he opened the bond to show the memory, it was raining. Lightning and thunder that wasn’t caused by anything but the natural state of Midgard, and yet Loki still feared he would be taken back before he could complete the memory. And then Barton woke, almost screaming as he cried, and Loki felt his heart stop briefly. Had he broken the mortal? But no, a quick flash of his magic said there was nothing wrong with Clint, only that he had been reacting to the memory. For a moment, Loki’s invisibility fell, and when he realized Clint could make out his shape, he returned it just in time. How could he reveal himself? Speak as just a man who had been broken, who had shown his life to this mortal and seen no hate in hazel blue eyes? He stood slowly as Clint relaxed again, moving to the bed and briefly running his hand along the other’s arm. Gentle, caring, protective. How could this mortal do what so many more powerful than him could not dare? And as Clint moved to look, he was gone.

Clint didn’t need the sensation to know someone was there. Well, not someone, he knew Loki was there. There was this sixth sense when it came to the god, so he knew who it was who had touched his arm so gently the night before. His arm still tingled as he ate breakfast, thinking quietly to himself. There had to be something he could do, some way to prove that Loki could be happy again. That violence didn’t need to be the reason for Loki’s life. He wanted to see the look on the god’s face that he had felt in the early memories of Loki’s life. The idea was strange, given a mere few weeks prior, he had hated and despised anything to do with the man. It was with him most of the day and into the night, but he still didn’t know what to do. So for the next few nights, he simply waited for that familiar presence and then enjoyed the feeling of actually feeling protected. The sensation that someone was looking out for him was nice, especially when he hadn’t felt that way since before his parents had died. It was odd, given that Loki had at one point been the enemy. He didn’t speak up until the next time it rained, letting Loki stay and watch over him. As he laid in bed, content to know the god was in the chair as he always was, there was a kind of tug in the bond, and it took a moment before Clint realized that Loki was a little scared of the thunderstorm. “I know you’re there.” he said softly.

Loki had visited every night for over a week before the next storm hit. And as he’d sat tense in the recliner, watching Clint, the man had spoken. He simply stayed put, not sure if he’d heard right.

Clint gave a sigh and sat up. “I can sense you, y’know.” he said, looking at the chair where there seemed to be nothing. But this time, he let his eyes examine to see the indention where there was actually a person. “It’s just a storm. Thor doesn’t control weather in this realm when he’s not here.”

The words took Loki by surprise, the softness of them, and his magic melted away, revealing him in the chair as he looked at the mortal. “How did you know?”

“The last time it rained, there was that nagging tug. Like anxiety. Thunderstorms have never bothered me, and I knew it had to be you I just didn’t think of why.” Clint said quietly, watching Loki. “Why are you here?”

“I…” Loki stopped, looking down at his own hands and shaking his head with a confused look. “I’m not sure.” he replied. “I didn’t…expect a bond like our to form. Or linger with the tesseract gone.”

“The voice?”

Loki looked up, taken back by the information that the tesseract had stayed with Clint as well. “You heard her?”

Clint nodded. “For a while. Then she stopped, like her link to me was gone.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Uh…” Clint had to think. “A few days before the dream…memory things? Like right before they started.” he replied. “Why?”

Loi gave a soft laugh. “Barton, we have a bond. She was able to bring it forward before I knew.”

“Bond? What are you talking about?”

Loki stood and moved to the bed, kneeling beside it, hands folded on top of each other on top of the comforter Clint was beneath. “It’s a rare and powerful connection. One I’ve never believed I would have. It the opening between two souls that are chosen by the highest of gods, gods much older and more powerful than my family..” he explained. “Thor’s bond formed with the mortal Jane, for example.” he said, trying to put it in terms that Clint could understand. “I didn’t mean to open it without permission, the scepter did it when…” he looked down.

“The spell.” Clint finished, knowing where this was going. But that left a question. “Had you known…before that…would you have-”

“No.” Loki cut him off. “To do so is unthinkable, all documented bonds that have done that have ended badly. By the time I realized…I..” he cut himself off, feeling stupid for the blur in his vision.

Clint blinked as he saw the glimmer of tears on Loki’s lashes and reached out to wipe them away.  He believes himself to be undeserving of affection, the voice had said. And Clint could suddenly see in that moment, that she had been right. Loki had believed himself unable to be redeemed and lost himself in the pain, and yet somehow, he had found Clint. “Don’t cry.” he said softly, causing Loki to look at him. “Not because it’s wrong.” he corrected himself. “I don’t want you to cry because you think I’m going to push you away.”

“Pardon?”

Clint sighed and then looked at Loki, taking a moment to gather his thoughts correctly. “You showed me your life. Loki. Let me in in a way I don’t think you’ve let anyone else in in a long time, maybe ever. That says something even if it’s not in actual words. You’ve never been violent towards me, even now, when I should probably deserve a punch for trying to blow you up.”

Loki gave a self deprecating laugh. “I had controlled you, Clint, you had the right to.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You’ve proven to be different towards me than to anyone in the past. I want that to mean something to you, Loki.” Clint answered. “I want to be able to communicate with you even when you aren’t here. To know you’re still okay. That there’s someone here who believes you can be better than what you think you deserve.” For a long moment, the two men simply watched each other, and then Loki was moving forward, pressing his lips to Clint’s. It was sudden and beautiful and there was a kind of spark deep in his soul as Clint instantly responded, drawing Loki closer and laying back to draw the god with him.

‘Home.’ Loki moved as his bond mate did, kissing at Clint’s neck once he was laid back. “I want to give you something. So you can always communicate with me as you want. Discreetly, given your comrades - and my brother - are not fond of me as of late.” he breathed, pulling back before they got too lost in the bond strengthening as quickly as it was from the physical contact. Clint’s eyes were on him and he raised his hand, and when he rotated his wrist and opened it, there sat a little ring. It was silver, with lots of tiny shards of diamond and a solitary emerald on the top; a ring that was very much Loki.

Clint smiled and lifted a hand to take it, sliding it onto his left ring finger and holding his hand up. “I like it. It’s like you.” he decided. “How does it work?”

“Whenever I’m not here, simply think of me and it will open our connection. Then I’ll be able to speak with you in here.” Loki answered, reaching to gently tap Clint’s temple.

Clint smiled, sitting up enough to kiss the god. “Promise you won’t be gone all the time.”

Loki gave a grin. “I won’t, dearest heart. All I am belongs to you.” he leaned in to once more kiss Clint’s neck, and found calloused hands tugging at his shirt and sliding beneath to the pale skin. Loki shivered and bit down a little, bringing a moan to Clint’s lips as they lay in bed. The archer’s hands were warm and rough on his skin and he liked the feel, sitting up to wave a hand and remove his own shirt, hands reaching to undress the younger male.

Clint hummed and helped wriggle from his shirt, pulling Loki down for a kiss before rolling them so he was on top, kissing a path down the exposed chest. Whatever it was that had drawn them together was becoming stronger, and Clint could almost swear he could feel the way his touch affected Loki’s heart and emotions. He hummed and gave a smile. “I want you.” he breathed, dipping to kiss the other male.

Loki could feel the hands roaming his body, the little trails of what felt like electricity running through his skin after Clint’s fingers had left the area to caress elsewhere. He hummed and waved a hand, completely removing their clothes and both of them gave a gasped as they finally felt skin on skin along most of their bodies. “So warm.”

“You’re pretty warm yourself.” Clint replied, trailing kisses down a lithe body of muscle, hazel hues watching Loki’s face as he did so. He nipped at a pale hip, electricity shooting through him as Loki gasped and arched up, slender fingers gripping the sheets. “You like that?”

“It feels wonderful.” Loki breathed, reaching down to run his hand through brown tresses.

Clint smiled and continued his kisses down to Loki’s thigh, kissing down to one knee, back up and carefully avoiding the hardening length between the god’s legs before kissing down the other thigh. He nudged Loki’s legs further apart, kissing further between the raven haired man’s thighs to swipe his tongue along the god’s cock, base to tip and back. Little broken moans passed Loki’s lips and Clint gave a grin, kissing back up the older male’s body to kiss him fully again. He opened his mouth to speak but found Loki flipping them so that he was now beneath all that delightful weight, his body arching up into the other.

Loki gave a grin as they flipped, adjusting to settle between Clint’s legs as he tilted his head to kiss the archer’s neck. One hand held him up to hover above Clint while the other reached between them, grabbing their two lengths together as best he could and stroking slowly. Moans escaped both of them and Clint turned his head to kiss him again, a swipe of tongue along the god’s lips before he was granted entry and the two were clinging to each other as Loki stroked them. He could feel the gentle rise of Clint’s hips with each stroke, and he enjoyed the way the mortal was so pliable beneath him. “I want to claim you. As only mine.” he breathed, eyes closed as he broke away.

“Please.” Clint replied breathlessly, licking his lips as he rocked his body into the hand holding his own throbbing erection to the other man’s. “I want to be yours.” he pleaded, reaching to run a hand through dark tresses gently. The gentle kisses that Loki leaned to press to his skin made him shiver, and a breathy mix of a sigh and a moan parted his lips when he felt the gentle pressure at his entrance. His body arched to give the god more room, eyes closing as he let his head fall back.

Loki wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or not. He had never been so openly wanted since the day Thor had been declared Crown Prince. Everyone had assumed something was wrong with him, and he’d spent centuries trying to find some semblance of the acceptance he had missed. And then it had been revealed he wasn’t even of Asgard, that he’d been taken as a child in hopes to form some kind of truce between Asgard and Jotunnheim. And yet Clint, this beautiful, fragile, wonderful mortal he had once controlled against his will, was so honest about what he wanted. Their bond was stronger, but the bond only opened up the honesty. He’d seen it with his brother and Jane. The more they let themselves connect through what they said, how they felt, the stronger their bond became. He was careful as he moved to prep the human, lube appearing and generously coating his fingers, kissing and sucking to ease the pain as he slowly stretched Clint open. The younger man didn’t seem concerned about any pain, his whole attention on touching Loki wherever he could. Loki shivered at the pure love he could feel. Even if Clint didn’t say that word out loud, it was the emotion he was expressing as he helplessly returned each kiss and gave Loki praise. It swelled Loki’s heart to hear such acceptance, and the sheer joy of it threatened to make him cry as he finally pulled three fingers from his lover. “Ready, my love?”

Clint nodded, reaching up to run his fingers reverently over Loki’s cheek. “Ready.” His eyes stayed locked on Loki’s as the other carefully slid into him, and Clint moaned because he’d never felt anything like the way it felt to have that throbbing shaft claiming his body skin on skin. His hands ran up slender arms to grip at Loki’s biceps. “So big.” he breathed out, accepting the kiss as Loki pressed further into him, bottoming out after a few long moments. He was a mix of disappointed and relieved when Loki didn’t immediately start to thrust, instead giving his body time to adjust.

The heat of Clint’s body was the most sensual feeling Loki had never thought of feeling. Clint’s body was tight around him. He kissed up Clint’s neck as he let them adjust to the feeling of being completely linked, their bond sealing. He bit at the juncture of the archer’s neck and shoulder, suckling at the skin to bring forth a bruise, further leaving his claim on Clint’s skin. The rise and fall of their chests echoed uneven breathing and moans that escaped them as slowly, a rhythm began that both men fell into without even thinking about it. Loki was stunned, because it was almost as if he could feel as himself and as Clint, and it was strangely beautiful. He hadn’t heard of a bond like this, but it didn’t dawn on him to be concerned because he was supposed to be here, supposed to love Clint Barton and be loved by him. “You are…so perfect…” he breathed against kiss swollen lips as he moved. “I’ve…waited…so long…..for you.”

“You found me…that’s all th-…that matters.” came the reply. Clint’s body was pliant and welcoming and he didn’t care. He wanted Loki; wanted the older male to know that he was loved, even if Clint was the only one. Hearing the words, Clint leaned up, shivering as the new position hit the bundle of nerves and he cried out, burying his face in Loki’s neck. “Do that again..” he begged. When Loki obliged, his body once more quaked, and he kissed at the bare skin of the god’s neck. “So close.”

The two words sent a wave of determination into Loki and the god moved his hips faster, harder, pistoning the two of them to their ends and the completion of their bond. The end came all too soon and Loki let his body continue to move, determined to have his lover, his chosen soulmate, find his end as well. And when Clint’s length spilled between them, Loki finally let his body go limp, pressing lazy kisses along the other’s skin. “You are mine now, Clint.”

“And you’re mine, Loki.” Clint replied, reaching to run a hand through dark hair. “Forever.” He blinked a little as Loki waved a hand and they were clean, the god gently withdrew and moved to lay on his side, pulling Clint to face him as arms wrapped around each other. “Sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Clint promised, feeling sleep call him as the high of their bond completing faded and he accepted the cuddled warmth of his mate, falling into the depth of sleep. When the morning sun peeked through the window, Clint stirred and stretched, opening his eyes to see Loki lying relaxed in his arms. The god looked peaceful, calm, happy. Clint liked the way he looked, reaching up to brush his fingers over Loki’s cheek. The god’s eyes opened and green caught hazel, the two watching each other for a moment before Loki reached up to brush his own fingers over Clint’s lips.

“You’re really here.”

“I told you I would be, Loki.” Clint countered, smiling. He moved closer, leaning to kiss Loki softly. “I told you. You can be more than you think you deserve.” The contact sent a wave of some kind of electricity through his very soul. Loki clearly felt the same because in one moment they were laying on their sides and the next, Loki was pulling him on top, Clint’s form pressed firmly against his lover’s as Loki kissed him, hands wandering and passionate behind the contact. That was the moment Clint knew he had never been happier to have met the silver-tongued prince of Asgard.

#tmcff #tricksterhawk fanfiction #war of hearts;; tmcff #loki x clint fanfiction

[the-cat-and-her-spider]

1-800-273-8255 Logic 11/23/17

Authors note: Don’t read if you’re triggered by suicide. Thank you

1-800-273-8255 Logic Third Person POV:

      The rain starts to pour as two people enter their homes. One is smiling while carrying a bag containing their future inside. The other is pacing back and forth, wondering when the letter will be opened. The seconds tick by as his feet drag across the floor. His palms dripping with sweat as he considers what he’s about to do. He ignores his camera and equipment for work and passes by photographs of them without a second glance. Because he knows if he does, he’ll stop.  Defeated he collapses onto his bed with his arm draped across his eyes. One last time he weighs the pros and cons.       He starts with the pros. The over whelming feeling of unworthiness would disappear. He’d be with his best friend again and family that he missed. He’d be a guardian angel to the one person he was leaving behind. Finally, all of his inner demons would cease and desist their attack on his heart. He’d be free of their dark clutches for the first time in 25 years.  A small smile graced his lips at that thought.       The cons suddenly weren’t as important anymore. He only had one thought on his mind, being free. With a sudden burst of energy he jumped out of bed and walked into the bathroom. His feet went numb slightly as they came in contact with the coolness of the tile floors, but he didn’t notice. Confident hands opened his medicine cabinet. A row of bottles suddenly stared back at him. Each quietly taunting him, almost as if they had voices of their own. He grabs the first two that he sees. One is a simple bottle of sleeping pills. The other is leftover narcotics from a previous ER visit. He doesn’t remember the milligrams’ exactly. Due to his father’s past with pills he never wanted to touch the stuff. But right now, when all he wants is to sleep pain free, this seems perfect. He grabs a couple beers from the kitchen before heading back to the bedroom. Still not sparing a glance at the pictures of him and his girl on the walls.       Once he’s back in the sanctuary of his room. He pops open one beer and downs two pills from each bottle. His feet slowly carried him over to his stereo, that one song just begging to be played. Something he had heard on the radio weeks ago and the minute the lyrics touched his soul, he knew.  With a flick of his wrist, soft beats start to echo throughout his dark room. The rain outside completing the mood.   “I’ve been on the low I been taking my time. I feel like I’m outta my mind. It feel like my life aint mine. Who can relate?” He smiles again at the lyrics. Small sparks of his soul come alive as he pops two more pills from each bottle into his mouth. The voices that were once roaring inside of him are starting to dim. Slowly he sits back against his headrest. Ice cold wood does absolutely nothing to dull the flames within his skin. He closes his eyes as he tries to absorb all of the lyrics once more.   “All this other shit I’m talkin’ ‘bout they think they know it. I’ve been praying for somebody to save me no one’s heroic. And my life don’t even matter I know it I know it. I know I’m hurting deep down but can’t show it.” One beer and half of both pill bottles are gone when he decides to slide down his bed. His body getting heavier as the medicine takes effect. A slight panic suddenly races through his mind as he realizes that help won’t come. His love probably won’t find the letter he left in time to save him. His body tries to fight the medicine while his mind has accepted what is about to happen. With what little bit of energy he has left, he puts three of each pill into his mouth. Drowning them with his second beer, he closes his eyes for the last time. His final thoughts are of her, and of everything they could’ve done together. The bottles fall onto the floor as his pale hand dangles off the side of the bed. Neighbors don’t suspect a thing as they go to bed that night. His song slowly lulling them to sleep as the lyrics scream out what he couldn’t.   “I never had a place to call my own. I never had a home, ain’t nobody callin my phone. Where you been? Where you at? What’s on your mind? They say every life precious but nobody care about mine.”  Meanwhile, she’s making her bed with a smile on her face. She spent the night making his favorite desert to celebrate their future. None the wiser to the pain she was about to endure. She walks into her bathroom with her robe wrapped securely around her. Hiding the surprise she planned on telling him tomorrow. Before she steps into her shower, she notices an envelope taped to the door of her medicine cabinet. She recognizes his handwriting and starts to get butterflies, thinking he left her a love letter. She grabs it and carefully opens it. Inside are three pieces of paper and a pouch. She opens the first piece of paper and smiles. It’s a black and white picture of their first kiss. When he had taken her to her favorite movie and then asked if she could be his muse. She thought it was cute, given his talent and passion for photography. As soon as the word yes had left her lips, his mouth was on hers, followed by a flash that blinded her eyes. Which of course they laughed about afterwards before walking back to the car hand in hand. She shook her head after reminiscing and opened the next page. It was a letter like she thought, just not with the ending she expected.   “My Sweet Babygirl         First let me tell you how much I love you. How I’ve loved you with all of my heart since the day that we met. How I loved watching your eyes sparkled when you were excited about something. Or when I let you have too much sugar. It was so cute to watch you get all hyper, made it extremely hard not to give you sugary things. From the moment you shook my hand and I felt that electric spark, I knew. You were the one meant for me. And I made a vow while we were watching that movie that I’d marry you someday. I completely meant to keep that vow. “She stopped their for a moment. Her breath getting caught in her throat as she read the word meant over and over again. A sudden feeling of dread filled her heart. Silently she prayed this wasn’t what she thought it was and kept reading.      “I was planning on taking you to New York. You always said you wanted to go there. And the thought of taking your picture and capturing every sparkle in those gorgeous eyes makes me want to take you now. But I know by the time you’re reading this…it won’t be possible. “She stops there again and grabs her phone. Tapping just one button, she rings the number she knew by heart. Only to be disappointed when his voicemail picks up. She hangs up and tries again as she continue reading. Tears of dread cascading down her face.      “I’m sorry my darling girl. I have failed you. I told you once that I couldn’t live without you and I meant that. If you were to perish Elena, my love, I know I wouldn’t be able to go on. But you, my brave girl, you can. You are the light of my life. My reason for being and I know without a doubt that if you were to come bursting through my door right now, my plan wouldn’t work. But like I said, I have failed you. I tried to fight my demons. I tried to push back this feeling of unworthiness and self-loathing. I’ve tried so hard to be happy. I have every reason to be I mean, I have you. I have my dream job. But for some reason that isn’t enough. And I’m just sorry that I couldn’t be more than what I am. I’m sorry for being so weak. Know that by the time you read this, I’ll be looking down on you from those pearly gates or from the fiery deaths of hell. Wherever the lord decides to send a sinner like myself. Know that I will always love you and I want you to find someone who will love you as fiercely as I once did. Know that when the time is right we’ll meet again. When you’re old and grey, I’ll be right by your bedside as you take your last. Know that you were a part of my thoughts as I take mine. And know that you have a small piece of me with you, I knew all along. Don’t even think that you or our child is to blame. This is all my doing. Please take care of each other. I love you Elena, Love Your Babe.” She drops that second page the minute the last words leave her lips. Grabbing her keys, she dashes out of her apartment heading straight for his. She calls for help along the way, one hand on the wheel while the other rest on her stomach. The feeling of dread and unrest never go away.       When she finally reaches his complex, parking comes easily for once. Silently she sobs and laughs as she remembers when he complained about her driving. Saying that it took her forever and a day to park when all he had to do was two little turns. Racing to the elevator, she jams her hand onto the button. Counting each second in her head and tapping her foot impatiently. Wondering for a brief moment when the police were going to show up and why they weren’t already called. The air is deathly still outside of his apartment. She can tell right away that something isn’t right. For one thing, his door is unlocked. This is something he wouldn’t have done unless he wanted her to come find him. He always chastised her for not locking the door when she was the last to enter a room, the second was the music, this was the song she told him not to play knowing that it would trigger him. She had stood by him through his depression, knew exactly what set him off and how to avoid it. If it could be, she knew herself that somethings just couldn’t be avoided or over looked. She throws open the door and runs towards the music. But as she enters the room, the very site of him brings her to her knees. Sobs wreck through her body as she looks around at the empty alcohol and pill bottles. What he thought was just two beers turned into what look liked eight or ten. And the two bottles of pills were actually five. Barely anything was left in any of them. Her hands numbly dial nine one one again as the tears continue to fall. Her body reacts as if on autopilot while her mind is still processing the scene before her. She screams at the dispatcher while her hands start compressions on his chest. She was uncomfortable with how cold his body was. And how pools of blood had settled in different sections. After fifteen minutes, the paramedics showed up and took over. She stood by with her cold hand against her chest. Her own heart racing while she prayed for a miracle. But subconsciously she knew, this was goodbye. Not even ten minutes later she heard them call time of death and she just fell. Her body and mind no longer able to keep up. The last thing she heard that night were the lyrics she never bothered to listen to before.   “Pain don’t hurt the same I know. The lane I travel feels alone. But I’m moving til my legs give out. And I see my tears melt in the snow. But I don’t wanna cry, I don’t wanna cry anymore. I wanna feel alive. I don’t even wanna die anymore. Oh I don’t wanna.”

The end

|��I

[nickihstn-blog-blog]

1-800-273-8255 Logic 11/23/17

Author’s Note: Don’t read if you’re triggered by suicide. Thanks. 

1-800-273-8255 Logic Third Person POV:

      The rain starts to pour as two people enter their homes. One is smiling while carrying a bag containing their future inside. The other is pacing back and forth, wondering when the letter will be opened. The seconds tick by as his feet drag across the floor. His palms dripping with sweat as he considers what he’s about to do. He ignores his camera and equipment for work and passes by photographs of them without a second glance. Because he knows if he does, he’ll stop.  Defeated he collapses onto his bed with his arm draped across his eyes. One last time he weighs the pros and cons.       He starts with the pros. The over whelming feeling of unworthiness would disappear. He’d be with his best friend again and family that he missed. He’d be a guardian angel to the one person he was leaving behind. Finally, all of his inner demons would cease and desist their attack on his heart. He’d be free of their dark clutches for the first time in 25 years.  A small smile graced his lips at that thought.       The cons suddenly weren’t as important anymore. He only had one thought on his mind, being free. With a sudden burst of energy he jumped out of bed and walked into the bathroom. His feet went numb slightly as they came in contact with the coolness of the tile floors, but he didn’t notice. Confident hands opened his medicine cabinet. A row of bottles suddenly stared back at him. Each quietly taunting him, almost as if they had voices of their own. He grabs the first two that he sees. One is a simple bottle of sleeping pills. The other is leftover narcotics from a previous ER visit. He doesn’t remember the milligrams’ exactly. Due to his father’s past with pills he never wanted to touch the stuff. But right now, when all he wants is to sleep pain free, this seems perfect. He grabs a couple beers from the kitchen before heading back to the bedroom. Still not sparing a glance at the pictures of him and his girl on the walls.       Once he’s back in the sanctuary of his room. He pops open one beer and downs two pills from each bottle. His feet slowly carried him over to his stereo, that one song just begging to be played. Something he had heard on the radio weeks ago and the minute the lyrics touched his soul, he knew.  With a flick of his wrist, soft beats start to echo throughout his dark room. The rain outside completing the mood.   “I’ve been on the low I been taking my time. I feel like I’m outta my mind. It feel like my life aint mine. Who can relate?” He smiles again at the lyrics. Small sparks of his soul come alive as he pops two more pills from each bottle into his mouth. The voices that were once roaring inside of him are starting to dim. Slowly he sits back against his headrest. Ice cold wood does absolutely nothing to dull the flames within his skin. He closes his eyes as he tries to absorb all of the lyrics once more.   “All this other shit I’m talkin’ ‘bout they think they know it. I’ve been praying for somebody to save me no one’s heroic. And my life don’t even matter I know it I know it. I know I’m hurting deep down but can’t show it.” One beer and half of both pill bottles are gone when he decides to slide down his bed. His body getting heavier as the medicine takes effect. A slight panic suddenly races through his mind as he realizes that help won’t come. His love probably won’t find the letter he left in time to save him. His body tries to fight the medicine while his mind has accepted what is about to happen. With what little bit of energy he has left, he puts three of each pill into his mouth. Drowning them with his second beer, he closes his eyes for the last time. His final thoughts are of her, and of everything they could’ve done together. The bottles fall onto the floor as his pale hand dangles off the side of the bed. Neighbors don’t suspect a thing as they go to bed that night. His song slowly lulling them to sleep as the lyrics scream out what he couldn’t.   “I never had a place to call my own. I never had a home, ain’t nobody callin my phone. Where you been? Where you at? What’s on your mind? They say every life precious but nobody care about mine.”  Meanwhile, she’s making her bed with a smile on her face. She spent the night making his favorite desert to celebrate their future. None the wiser to the pain she was about to endure. She walks into her bathroom with her robe wrapped securely around her. Hiding the surprise she planned on telling him tomorrow. Before she steps into her shower, she notices an envelope taped to the door of her medicine cabinet. She recognizes his handwriting and starts to get butterflies, thinking he left her a love letter. She grabs it and carefully opens it. Inside are three pieces of paper and a pouch. She opens the first piece of paper and smiles. It’s a black and white picture of their first kiss. When he had taken her to her favorite movie and then asked if she could be his muse. She thought it was cute, given his talent and passion for photography. As soon as the word yes had left her lips, his mouth was on hers, followed by a flash that blinded her eyes. Which of course they laughed about afterwards before walking back to the car hand in hand. She shook her head after reminiscing and opened the next page. It was a letter like she thought, just not with the ending she expected.   “My Sweet Babygirl         First let me tell you how much I love you. How I’ve loved you with all of my heart since the day that we met. How I loved watching your eyes sparkled when you were excited about something. Or when I let you have too much sugar. It was so cute to watch you get all hyper, made it extremely hard not to give you sugary things. From the moment you shook my hand and I felt that electric spark, I knew. You were the one meant for me. And I made a vow while we were watching that movie that I’d marry you someday. I completely meant to keep that vow. “She stopped their for a moment. Her breath getting caught in her throat as she read the word meant over and over again. A sudden feeling of dread filled her heart. Silently she prayed this wasn’t what she thought it was and kept reading.      “I was planning on taking you to New York. You always said you wanted to go there. And the thought of taking your picture and capturing every sparkle in those gorgeous eyes makes me want to take you now. But I know by the time you’re reading this…it won’t be possible. “She stops there again and grabs her phone. Tapping just one button, she rings the number she knew by heart. Only to be disappointed when his voicemail picks up. She hangs up and tries again as she continue reading. Tears of dread cascading down her face.      “I’m sorry my darling girl. I have failed you. I told you once that I couldn’t live without you and I meant that. If you were to perish Elena, my love, I know I wouldn’t be able to go on. But you, my brave girl, you can. You are the light of my life. My reason for being and I know without a doubt that if you were to come bursting through my door right now, my plan wouldn’t work. But like I said, I have failed you. I tried to fight my demons. I tried to push back this feeling of unworthiness and self-loathing. I’ve tried so hard to be happy. I have every reason to be I mean, I have you. I have my dream job. But for some reason that isn’t enough. And I’m just sorry that I couldn’t be more than what I am. I’m sorry for being so weak. Know that by the time you read this, I’ll be looking down on you from those pearly gates or from the fiery deaths of hell. Wherever the lord decides to send a sinner like myself. Know that I will always love you and I want you to find someone who will love you as fiercely as I once did. Know that when the time is right we’ll meet again. When you’re old and grey, I’ll be right by your bedside as you take your last. Know that you were a part of my thoughts as I take mine. And know that you have a small piece of me with you, I knew all along. Don’t even think that you or our child is to blame. This is all my doing. Please take care of each other. I love you Elena, Love Your Babe.” She drops that second page the minute the last words leave her lips. Grabbing her keys, she dashes out of her apartment heading straight for his. She calls for help along the way, one hand on the wheel while the other rest on her stomach. The feeling of dread and unrest never go away.       When she finally reaches his complex, parking comes easily for once. Silently she sobs and laughs as she remembers when he complained about her driving. Saying that it took her forever and a day to park when all he had to do was two little turns. Racing to the elevator, she jams her hand onto the button. Counting each second in her head and tapping her foot impatiently. Wondering for a brief moment when the police were going to show up and why they weren’t already called. The air is deathly still outside of his apartment. She can tell right away that something isn’t right. For one thing, his door is unlocked. This is something he wouldn’t have done unless he wanted her to come find him. He always chastised her for not locking the door when she was the last to enter a room, the second was the music, this was the song she told him not to play knowing that it would trigger him. She had stood by him through his depression, knew exactly what set him off and how to avoid it. If it could be, she knew herself that somethings just couldn’t be avoided or over looked. She throws open the door and runs towards the music. But as she enters the room, the very site of him brings her to her knees. Sobs wreck through her body as she looks around at the empty alcohol and pill bottles. What he thought was just two beers turned into what look liked eight or ten. And the two bottles of pills were actually five. Barely anything was left in any of them. Her hands numbly dial nine one one again as the tears continue to fall. Her body reacts as if on autopilot while her mind is still processing the scene before her. She screams at the dispatcher while her hands start compressions on his chest. She was uncomfortable with how cold his body was. And how pools of blood had settled in different sections. After fifteen minutes, the paramedics showed up and took over. She stood by with her cold hand against her chest. Her own heart racing while she prayed for a miracle. But subconsciously she knew, this was goodbye. Not even ten minutes later she heard them call time of death and she just fell. Her body and mind no longer able to keep up. The last thing she heard that night were the lyrics she never bothered to listen to before.   “Pain don’t hurt the same I know. The lane I travel feels alone. But I’m moving til my legs give out. And I see my tears melt in the snow. But I don’t wanna cry, I don’t wanna cry anymore. I wanna feel alive. I don’t even wanna die anymore. Oh I don’t wanna.”

The end

|��I

[viralhottopics]

On the brink of Brexit, voters reflect: I feel more strongly now. Let’s get out

As article 50 is about to be triggered, how do people feel in Smethwick, a Midlands town that voted to leave?

I moved to Bearwood in Smethwick in the hot summer of 1976. We were moving up, leaving behind the sixth floor of a block on the sprawling Lee Bank council estate for a house and garden in a safer area with large parks and better schools, a few miles from Birmingham.

I grew up there in the 70s and 80s, when there was optimism about our future. The colour bar experienced by a first generation of immigrants in the 60s, in some shops and the bingo hall, had been replaced by our own Why would I want to go there anyway? self-induced bar. The days when a Conservative party candidate could run, and win (in 1964), on the slogan If you want a nigger for a neighbour, vote Liberal or Labour seemed distant.

My mother is Jamaican and, like many of my generation, I failed the Norman Tebbit test completely. I didnt support any England team. I would rehearse long debates about how I might reject a call-up for the England rugby team, even if my ability meant that call would never come. Jamaica was great for holidays, but didnt feel like home: everyone there called me English.

So while I was always a Smethwick boy, I can still pinpoint the moment I first felt British: in 1992, when Linford Christie won the 100m at the Barcelona Olympics, this most Jamaican of men running around the track with the British flag. We had grown up hearing songs like There aint no black in the Union Jack; what Christies gesture said was, Im British: deal with it.

A mistrust of foreigners has been singled out as the driving force behind last years vote to leave Europe. But why did places where more than 50% of the population have recent origins outside the UK vote for a policy of exclusion? Smethwick is in many ways typical of the radical changes to Britains racial demographic since the second world war: in the 50s and 60s, Commonwealth citizens from the Indian subcontinent and the Caribbean emigrated here to alleviate job shortages, particularly in the NHS and transport. A large number of Sikhs moved from the Punjab to work in Smethwicks foundries. Later waves of immigration brought asylum seekers, students and workers from around the world.

When I was growing up, my white British friends liked the same music, played the same games and ate the same food as we did. We knew people who joined far-right groups; but the various gangs were largely multiracial, affiliated to the area more than anything else a loose Smethwick posse. There would be running battles with skinheads from Quinton and beyond; I cant remember a Saturday night that was not punctuated by someone being glassed or having a pool cue wrapped around their head.

Today Smethwick is home to a more diverse range of communities. It is still a relatively cheap place to live, so new arrivals often start off here. You will see Eritrean church services in Victoria Park, eastern European supermarkets on Cape Hill, a Ghanaian wedding at the community centre, alongside the more established Sikh temples and African Caribbean churches.

Speaking to Smethwick friends from white British and second-generation immigrant backgrounds, you hear support for Brexit from a diverse range of perspectives: there is the Fortress Europe argument (people of Commonwealth origin not being able to move to the UK, because preference is given to EU citizens); British Asian shopkeepers who dont like the Polish shops stealing business; an objection to the Thatcherite capitalist structure enshrined in the EU. Underlying all these things is a powerful revolt against what is perceived to be a self-serving political elite.

None of the second- or third-generation immigrants I met on a recent visit to Smethwick thought Nigel Farage would deliver a harmonious society founded on principles of social justice. But the supposed social justice champions, Labour, today have far less connection to the people they seek to represent than they once did. Todays politicians speak relentlessly about engaging and understanding these alienated communities. But even their use of the word community is loaded often based on race or religion or class, as if there were no diversity of opinion among them.

What does the future hold for Smethwick in a post-Brexit Britain? My more pessimistic side worries that inequality will increase, as the fight for a share of an ever smaller pie is orchestrated by a privileged few who use alienation, fear and loathing to divide and rule. But a bigger part of me is optimistic: a younger generation has always found ways of creating new relationships with other like-minded people, be they Italian, Irish, Ghanaian, Nigerian or Indian. It might feel claustrophobic at this moment in time, and Smethwick will struggle with the macro issues. But there are enough people there with goodwill, who want to come together, who will want to get on with it. Hamish Crooks

Theresa Robinson, 51, volunteer

Theresa Robinson and her son, Jacob. Photograph: Diana Markosian

My little boy and I moved here from Birmingham in 2009. I had separated from his father, and when I got here we didnt know anybody.

Smethwick is an interesting area because the diversity works really well. Everyone seems to get on where we live. But there are some negative aspects of multiculturalism. For example, there is no non-halal butcher around here, and I dont want to eat halal meat because they dont always stun the animal before they kill it I feel its a bit cruel. Ive had a row a few times with shops advertising places to rent, with signs saying Indian family wanted. I said, You do know thats illegal, dont you? I remember when they used to have signs up saying No Irish, no blacks.

My little boy is the only white English kid in his class, and they dont celebrate any English things at all. They didnt do anything for the Queens jubilee or birthday. I dont mind him celebrating Jamaica Day or whatever; I just wish theyd also incorporate English things. On VE Day, I took him into Birmingham to see the celebrations, because he has to celebrate his history as well. But he is absolutely oblivious to the fact that other people are a different colour to him. I think children of his generation are integrating more.

A lot of immigrants here say they dont want any more immigrants, but I havent heard many white people say they voted Brexit because of immigration. I dont know whether its because theyre scared of being accused of being racist. I voted Brexit because of all the money thats wasted on the EU. I dont think it will stop free movement and I dont think it means we wont have any trade; I just think it means well have a bit more control.

A lot of people have had enough of MEPs making so much money and not doing anything. Who can name an MEP, really? We dont seem to be getting any more rights out of it. Why not trim off all that excess spending and use it on things we do need? Theres a crisis in social care, and health services are being cut; the schools are constantly fighting cuts.

When you read about Brexit in the paper, they say, The people who voted for Brexit didnt know what was going on. Its hugely insulting to assume that just because were poor, we dont read newspapers and were all thick. Theyve got no concept of what its like to be poor, and how miserable people really are. I think it was a good result, and I think it taught the government to be careful what they wish for, because they did all this with no plan whatsoever; they were so sure remain was going to win. It serves them right.

Daljeet Singh, 40, painter and decorator

Ive lived in Smethwick all my life. My parents came from north India so my dad could work in the foundry. They were invited over, just like the Europeans were. Ive never had an issue with anyone thinking Im less British than they are. But when Punjabi people came here, they couldnt speak English, so they were victimised. Once my dad took me for a drink in the local pub and this guy at the bar started talking to him inappropriately, saying, Butbut dingding. I asked my dad, Why does he do this? and he said, Hes been doing it for years, its not an issue. I took the guy aside and said, Have you been taking the piss out of my dad for 20 years? He said, What do you mean? He never said anything. To this day that guy still buys me a drink in the pub, because he remembers that chat. I changed the way he thought.

Everybody I know voted leave. I voted leave because of my daughters, who are 12 and 15. They go to a grammar school and they feel held back because the foreigners coming into the school dont speak English well; it makes the classes go slower. It was also because Polish people are cutting off my work. Im a painter and decorator, and Im not getting the rates I used to because the Polish people are undercutting us. Thats the case generally in the building trade.

But Im angry that my parents voted out. Im very bitter about that. Its the hypocrisy of it, because they came over from India and they had an opportunity to integrate and they havent: my mum still barely speaks English. Theyve made lives and families for people like me, they worked hard; everyone else is just trying to do the same as they did. I think the way the Sikh community voted was hypocritical.

Sometimes I regret voting Brexit. In hindsight, without a shadow of a doubt, we didnt have enough information; it was turned into an immigration issue, which it wasnt, and as a whole were going to lose out. Other times, I stick by my decision. I need to think about where my works coming from.

Derek Craft, 80, retired factory worker

Derek Craft. Photograph: Diana Markosian

I moved to Smethwick in 1976, looking for work. I also had a pen friend here. We belonged to different divorced and separated clubs; I was the vice-chairman of the one in Portsmouth where I lived, and they used to have a magazine and she advertised for a pen friend. We were writing for two years before I moved here. We married in 1977 and were together for 39 years. She ended up having two major strokes, one of which should have killed her, but the hospital brought her round; I got another nine months with her.

Smethwick has changed a lot much of the old industry has gone. There were dirty factories, steel works and car component workshops; now theyre all new factories or houses, so in that way its better. Weve got more immigrants than whites. The shops are virtually all Asian, and the well-known ones, like Woolworths and David Greigs, are gone.

Its less British, because Ive found, working with some of them, that half the Asians dont want to mix. A very nice lad used to sit with us during the tea break, and he came in one morning and told us that someone in the factory had told his dad he sat with us, and his father had said, You are not to sit with them, you are to sit with your own people. It makes you feel, whats wrong with us?

I voted for Brexit because I think the common market has got out of hand. I think they waste an awful lot of money moving their offices once a month from Brussels to Strasbourg and back again. What were paying them is unbelievable, billions a year, which would do our own health service and schools good. Id like to see free movement from Europe cancelled. This country cant keep on taking people; the services cant cope with the influx, and there are not enough houses. When we won, I thought, Great, lets get on with it. I feel more strongly now. Lets get out.

Mohammed Jalal Uddin, 40, manager at a local training centre

Mohammed Jalal Uddin and family. Photograph: Diana Markosian

Ive been living in Smethwick since 2002, when I migrated from Bangladesh to study for an MBA at Birmingham City University. After completing my MBA, I managed to secure a job. Now Im living here happily with my wife and two children; my son is nine and my daughter is seven.

Smethwick has become overpopulated and there are more new faces, with a slight increase in antisocial behaviour over the past few years; the demand for housing has increased.

I had heard about that campaign slogan [If you want a nigger for a neighbour, vote Liberal or Labour from the 1964 local election], and that Malcolm X came to visit the year after, which is amazing. But to be honest, I dont think racial tension is a big issue now. From my experience, people do understand others their religions, their values, their cultural dimensions and characteristics. It could be an isolated judgment, but I havent seen the nasty side of community cohesion. People get along quite well, basically.

I felt Brexit was a protest vote, to show a lost trust in politics; traditional politicians are failing to deliver. People feel European migrants are putting unnecessary, undue pressure on public services, the NHS, school places, housing, and that if we come out of Europe that will ease the pressure. These are the day-to-day issues that people are fed up with.

I voted and actively campaigned to remain. I was really, really shattered by the result, because in the age of globalisation and connectivity, and at such a crucial time, this isnt the right decision. It is going backwards, and it was not an informed decision. The message were sending to the rest of the world is that were not open or collaborative. We dont want to work with other people: we are detaching ourselves.

Nine months on, I dont feel any more positive. Ive given up on trying to give reasons to remain because Im in the minority. But I know people who regret voting Brexit; they justify it by saying the politicians misled them.

Pat Peacock, 77, retired wages clerk

Pat Peacock. Photograph: Diana Markosian

Ive lived here my whole life. I was born in Hamble near Southampton, but my mother died having me, so I was brought here to live with my grandparents.

Smethwick has changed enormously. My road used to be full of bank managers and teachers, and there were no foreign people of any description. I remember seeing men wearing turbans for the first time when I was 10 or 11 and had taken my two cousins out for a walk. One of them said hello, and I said to my cousins, Run! because I had no idea: Id never seen Sikh people before.

My father was very racist but Im definitely not. The priest at my church is Nigerian and we have 22 other nationalities, people of all colours, shapes and sizes, and we all get on. The first foreigners who came were West Indians, and the others have come gradually. I consider them all friends. A lady down the road, Surinder, and I were once opposite each other in the hospital and weve been firm friends ever since. She called me when I came out, asked how I was and said, If you need anything at all, let me know and my family will get it for you. There are lots of kind people about.

I voted Brexit. I didnt vote for us to go into Brussels; I voted for the common market and I think we were cheated in that respect. We havent only got to trade with Europe, theres a whole world we can deal with. Im looking forward to getting back to how we were: running our own farms, being able to look after ourselves. Perhaps Im wrong but this is how I feel, that we werent told the full story back in 1975. We were just told it was good to be part of a common market; we werent told they would be ruling us. Im not really into politics, but the vote happened and I get cross when they try to reverse it. Now I think: lets just get on with it.

Taurai Chamoko, 44, salesman

Taurai and Catherine Chamoko with their children. Photograph: Diana Markosian

I was born in London. My parents were from Zimbabwe, although it was called Rhodesia at the time. We left the UK in 1977 to go to Nigeria. My dad was a civil engineer and had a job with the Nigerian government, building several highways. Towards the end of 1982, we went to live in Zimbabwe. In 1995 I moved to Brighton, where I met my wife Catherine, and in 2008 we moved to Smethwick with our month-old daughter.

I wanted to study mental health nursing at Birmingham City University, but changed my mind after three weeks. I didnt think it was something I would cope with emotionally. In 2009 I started a course in International Business and Economics at Aston University instead. We had three other children (they are now eight, seven, four and two) and they all settled in school, so we stayed. Ive spent the majority of my life in this country, and I am British.

The main change Ive seen here is the people coming from Poland. I dont think theres a lot of tension between the different communities everybody just gets on. What I worry about is the self-imposed segregation, these monocultural ghettos that are springing up: Pakistanis in one area, Polish people in another, white working class in another. It seems everybody is more comfortable with people who look the same as them, which is quite sad. Whether thats a conscious thing or if it just happens naturally, I dont know.

I was shocked by Brexit. I voted to remain. At university I learned to critically analyse things, and I was always arguing against the leave campaigns points of view. Usually when theres an election, I stay up late to find out who my MP is going to be, but this time I was confident we would remain. It was a big surprise. When I spoke to some of the parents at my childrens school, most had voted to leave. I was surprised and upset.

My point of view hasnt changed. It doesnt make sense to me that people want to leave the biggest market, then try to negotiate a good deal within that market. But I have accepted it. Its democracy, right?

This project was created in partnership with Magnum Photos. For more pictures go to Magnum Photos

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from On the brink of Brexit, voters reflect: I feel more strongly now. Let’s get out

#On the brink of Brexit #voters reflect: I feel more strongly now. Let’s get out