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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 3 years

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Sorry for Not Winning You an Arcade Ring | Joaquín Torres

✦ pairing — Joaquín Torres x female!Barnes!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 8.7k (should I even apologize at this point?)

✦ summary — your ex-boyfriend comes back into your life the moment you finally meet your dad — although things are complicated, your feelings are intact.

✦ request — Could I please ask for a story where reader is Bucky’s daughter and she used to date Joaquin but they broke up and then when she meets Bucky they get back together? Angst and drama and fluff and something steamy but no smut please?

✦ warnings — angst, drama, mentions of food and beverages, mentions of violence, language, depiction of symptoms of mental illnesses and light depiction of abandonment issues, daddy issues, fluff.

✦ author's note — coney island (the song) doesn’t have much to do with the fic, but I couldn’t take that line out of my head and thought it was fitting. Next Joaquín fic will be the one where reader used to date Peter, I promise.

════════════════════════

Joaquín swallowed with difficulty. His saliva had become unbearably thick in seconds. As he stood in front of the building, the building that now looked taller than it really was, he felt an itch in his neck.

Sam gripped Bucky’s nape, encouraging him to lead the way inside the building. Bucky was as frozen as Joaquín.

The older man was speechless. Joaquín, however, was not. “Are you sure this is the right building?” he rasped the question directed to Sam.

“One hundred percent.”

Joaquín nodded. The world was small, and he didn’t want to find out just truly how smaller it could get. “I’ll wait here.”

Bucky shook his head. Joaquín’s stomach dropped. He wanted to be there for Bucky, Sam had told him how important this was for him — when he agreed, Joaquín didn’t know he would come back to this place by supporting Bucky.

Connecting dots had never been hard, much less now that it was part of his job, yet he wanted to be mistaken.

“Let’s get this over with, boys.” Sam patted Joaquín’s shoulder. His other hand was still on Bucky’s nape, and by the looks of his grip, he wouldn’t let go.

Joaquín knew exactly what Sam was doing and he wished he had somebody to stabilize him too. “I’ll lead the way,” he mumbled.

“I have to talk to the—“

“There’s no need,” Joaquín interrupted.

Pushing the main door open, he nodded down at the security guard. Still the same old guy. The man smiled, nodding upward as though asking if Sam and Bucky were with him.

“They’re cool,” he assured the guard.

“It’s good to see you,” the guard told him, still smiling.

“You too.”

Joaquín slanted his head, motioning for Bucky and Sam to follow him. He walked past the elevator, explaining, “The elevator is always broken.”

Sam frowned. “We’ll take the stairs, then.”

Their steps, silent yet heavy, carried nerves and apprehension. Joaquín didn’t know how to explain himself or he should even try to do it, Bucky was scared of being rejected, and Sam knew Bucky wouldn’t recover quickly from this.

Joaquín leaned over to look at the paper in Sam’s hand. The number scribbled on it confirmed his suspicions.

“I—“ God, he couldn’t back down now. “Who will do the talking?”

“I will,” Bucky said in a quiet voice. “I just need you two there.”

“Yeah, man, no problem.” Joaquín was thankful his voice didn’t crack.

Bucky lifted his fist, yet his knuckles didn’t touch the door. Not yet. Joaquín felt cruel for wishing Bucky would take longer.

The knocking wasn’t desperate as Joaquín had anticipated. Perhaps Bucky wanted to make a good impression, or perhaps he was wishing nobody would answer the door.

The door opened and Joaquín found himself frozen. Stuck between running away and pulling you into the tightest hug you had ever received.

The euphoria of seeing you again was overwhelming and bittersweet. You looked good. You had always looked good in his eyes.

You were speechless. He wasn’t sure if it was because of him or because of Bucky.

Sam said a soft hi to fill the air, only making it worse for Bucky and unbeknownst to him, for Joaquín.

You stared at him, trying your hardest to smile although the muscles in your face didn’t give in. Eyes moving to Bucky, you found yourself rudely staring.

He did the same. Nobody said anything for a while. Three pairs of eyes were on you, and your brain couldn’t seem to function.

You had looked for him for years, in different countries, finding rejection in every corner of every big and small city alike.

Your gaze deviated to the other side where Joaquín was standing. You picked on Sam’s shift, sandwiched between the other two men.

Joaquín tried to hold your gaze, but you looked away.

“Uh...” you trailed off, eyes jumping from Bucky to Sam. They stopped for a moment before deviating again towards Joaquín. “Come in.”

There weren’t any pictures left in the living room, instead you had filled the spaces with ceramics and trinkets.

You had the same colorful couch Joaquín once spilled coffee on, and the same cozy chairs you had bought online by mistake.

”I should have introduced myself...” Sam trailed off.

“I know who you are,” you assured him. “Nat talked a lot about you.”

“You met Nat?”

“She came looking for me no longer after people disappeared. Maybe two months.”

You motioned for them to sit. Bucky and Sam did so on the same couch whereas Joaquín walked towards a chair. Your cat jumped onto the chair before he could take a seat.

The cat looked up at him and meowed.

“Fatatita,” you chastised the cat. “Let him sit down.”

Before you could approach the couch to pick the cat up, Joaquín lifted her in his arms. He sat down and placed her on his lap.

The cat curled up there, spiting you.

You sat on the other chair, closer to Bucky and Sam.

“Do you know who I am?” Bucky asked. So timidly you barely heard him.

You nodded.

“What else do you know?”

“Not much. You— you’re my dad and nobody knows who my mom is.”

Bucky looked down. “I’m assuming Natasha told you.”

“No.” You made a face, remembering that day like it was yesterday. “Somebody sent me an uncensored file. They probably wanted me to track The Winter Soldier down and make their job easier.”

“But you didn’t.”

You couldn’t tell if he was offended or relieved. “I actually did. I poured a lot of money into it and it never paid off. I lost track of you after Siberia.”

Joaquín squirmed around on the chair at the mention of Siberia.

Siberia practically ruined your life. Picking yourself up had not only been hard but something you hadn’t even been sure you wanted to do. Things had lost meaning. The only reason you were still here was your stubbornness.

Sam curiously asked, “Were you trained or something?”

“Not thoroughly. I’ve always been fat so I was useless in their eyes.”

Bucky sighed. “Sounds like them.”

You didn’t expect anything else from a terrorist organization.

“Oh! I didn’t offer you anything to drink...”

“I’m good,” Sam and Bucky answered at the same time.

You hesitated before turning to the other side. Joaquín barely shook his head. His fingers were buried in Fatatita’s fur as the cat laid on his lap with her eyes lidded closed.

“So... to what do I owe the visit?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Well, I wanted to meet you.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. You had assumed he needed something from you. Knowing he wanted to meet you made your decade-long sacrifice and the heartbreak almost worth it.

“I was saving up for a trip to Brooklyn. I heard you were around there.”

“Yeah. It’s home again.” The glance he gave Sam didn’t go unnoticed by you.

You wondered if you’d be in the same situation they were if things had been different.

Home was a foreign concept to you. The word didn’t even feel real no matter how many times you said it in your head.

════════════════════════

Outdoor cafes weren’t really your style. However, you could admit the place Bucky and Sam had taken you was nice.

You took his offer to visit him and Sam for a week. Working from home was a pain in the ass sometimes in terms of organization, but it had given you the ability to look for him from the beginning.

The square table shook as Bucky placed his metal hand on it. “Would you stop texting?” He chastised Sam who was sat in front of you.

“It’s something urgent. I wouldn’t be interrupting family bonding time if it wasn’t, you know that.”

Sam’s comment was the end of it. Bucky reclined back onto the chair and gave you a small smile.

Oh, so Sam truly meant the family part. Family — a magical word that evoked foreign sensations in the pit of your stomach.

Sam’s cellphone started ringing. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” he announced as he declined the call.

Both Bucky and you followed Sam with your gazes. Your stomach flipped as Sam greeted Joaquín.

Sam smiled. “You got it so quickly?”

Joaquín nodded as he tried his best to not look your way. Sam took the envelope from Joaquín’s grasp.

He could hear your laugh as though you were giggling in his ear like you used to and the temptation was too much for him to handle. He was only human.

Bucky was laughing too, seemingly at something you had said. Joaquín didn’t blame him, it was easy to like you, to laugh with you, to regret every second not spent with you.

“Okay,” Sam sighed. “I didn’t want to ask, but I can’t bite my tongue any longer... what’s up with that face and those eyes you’re giving (Name)? You did the same—“ He groaned. “Don’t tell me...”

“I won’t tell you,” Joaquín tried to joke.

“Shit, man. What happened?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“Mmmh. Why don’t you join us?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea...”

“Please? I need you for this.” Sam waved the envelope. “But I promised I’d have coffee with them. She just got here.”

Joaquín hesitated to answer. On one hand, he knew Sam would need his help; on the other, he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had going with your dad.

“Come on,” Sam insisted. “Bucky is paying.”

Your eyes were on them as they approached the table. Sam once again took the seat in front of you, leaving Joaquín to seat practically next to you.

You wanted to flip the table and scream yet you remained in your seat, neutral and borderline frozen.

Sam leaned over to say something to Bucky. They were close enough for you to hear, but your ear didn’t pick it up.

You stood up from the table, surprising yourself more than you surprised the three men accompanying you. “I’ll place our order,” you announced.

The place was pretty in its simplicity, only decorated with coffee and pastry themed artwork. Functionality had been a priority and by how busy the place was, you could only presume they had succeeded.

There was a couple all over each other next to the window and a group of friends doing homework three tables from them. Laptops could be seen everywhere, just like people checking their phones.

You had to wait in line to place the order and the line was already building behind you too. The couple all over each other didn’t even seem to realize somebody was staring at them and if they did, they couldn’t care less.

You took a glance outside where Bucky was chatting with Joaquín while Sam made a phone call.

Sam slipped his phone into his pocket. “I didn’t give her my order... do any of you want to add anything?”

“I gave it to her,” Bucky assured him. “We thought you would take longer.”

Joaquín feigned interest in his phone. He had already read all of his messages, but he wanted to avoid the comment building in Sam’s mind. He could only hope his friend will keep it to himself.

He felt your presence as you sat back down. “There are two orders above ours. They will bring it to us.”

“Did you ask for extra milk?” Bucky asked.

“Yes.”

“Thank you. My acid reflux has been giving me trouble.”

“Because you eat too quickly,” Sam chimed in.”

You lifted both eyebrows. “You could have ordered tea.”

“Absolutely not.”

You snickered. Joaquín snorted. Instinctively, the two of you turned to the side to look at each other.

Something flashed in his eyes, the same you fell for that hazy summer. They were still warm, albeit tired now. As they became glossy while he held your gaze, you wondered if yours looked the same. You wondered if he had something to say and hoped he wouldn’t find the courage. You knew you wouldn’t be able to take it.

The order arrived, shattering the moment.

“Thank you,” Joaquín said, staring at you.

“No problem,” you rasped. Fuck.

“We’re hoping to convince her to move closer to us,” Bucky said, not subtle at all, as he took a sip of his beverage.

Joaquín followed the circumference of the mug with his finger in clockwork motion. “Good luck.”

“Thank you. I want to make up for lost time and the distance makes it difficult.”

“Videocalls are quite effective,” you reminded him.

Joaquín winced. His finger slipped into the beverage.

Bucky tilted his head. “Are you okay?”

“It’s hot.”

“Well, it’s coffee,” Sam stated the obvious.

You couldn’t take Joaquín’s reaction off your mind. Not even on the way to Sam’s and Bucky’s place.

Sam said he’d be home by dinner time. He also warned you to not let Bucky cook. You couldn’t even bring yourself to laugh.

The guest room was practically the same as the one in your apartment. Same size, and a close enough layout.

Bucky had a proper look at your luggage. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring more clothes.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Your apartment is so well-decorated that I assumed things.”

If only he knew how hard it had been to replace the remains of Joaquín... “I did it at random, just trying to fill empty spaces.” You lightly changed the subject, “I like your couch, by the way.”

“Sam hated it at first, but he has grown fond of it.”

You faked a chuckle, prompting your cat to lift her head. Sprawled on the bed, she stared at you.

“Comfy, Fatatita?” You reached over to scratch her head.

“How did you come up with her name?”

“Count Von Count’s cat is named Fatatita. It’s an homage.”

“Count Von Count?”

“From Sesame Street. He’s a vampire obsessed with numbers and he’s also a Count.”

You sat on the bed, pulling Fatatita onto your lap.

Bucky sat on the edge, twisted so he could look at you. “Sooooooo...”

“So...”

“Where do you know Torres from? You had a weird moment there.”

You hummed, entertaining yourself with combing your cat’s fur.

Bucky didn’t let it go. “Now that I think about it, you knew his coffee order without asking...”

“Intuition.”

“Does your cat have intuition too?”

“Probably. They’re curious creatures.”

“You can tell me anything, (Name).”

”That’s the thing, there’s nothing to say,” you admitted. “Whatever you’re assuming is pretty much what happened.”

“I will kill him for cheating.”

“What?!” Seeing him cross his arms with a faint smirk on his face, you added, “You know what? Do it. You’re not making me talk.”

He let out a hybrid between a whine and a sigh. “I thought that one would work.”

“If you must know, the breakup was shitty.”

“Touchy subject, got it.”

Touchy would never cut it and you couldn’t understand why. “Do you remember any of your breakups?”

“From when I was a teen, yeah. But I don’t think they were bad.”

“Oh, so you were the one who ended the relationships.”

After a short silence, he admitted, “Yeah.”

Your body shook with laughter. ”At least you’re honest.”

════════════════════════

After an hour and a half of working on your computer, you decided to stretch and fix yourself a cup of coffee or tea. 9:00 AM was the perfect time to drink something other than water.

The door to the bathroom closed as you opened the guest room. The living room was empty, just like the kitchen.

Such a thing didn’t last. Somebody called on the door. Bucky hurried to open the door,

You heard Joaquín’s voice. “Is Sam ready?”

“Come in. He’s taking a shower.”

Great! Just who you didn’t want to see. Why was he even here? He should’ve been doing whatever he did in Las Vegas, not ruining your family bonding time.

Your cellphone rang in your hand just as you had finished pouring coffee in a mug. Seeing your neighbor’s contact name, you took the call immediately.

“Hey, Ben. Everything okay?”

Your neighbor giggled. You knew it was fake as always. “Hey, pretty girl. Where have you been? I made your favorite pastries yesterday but you didn’t answer the door.”

You ignored the pet name. “Oh! That’s very sweet of you. I’m out of town right now.”

“Ah.” You could hear the disappointment in his voice. “Is your cat by itself?”

“No, no. I brought Fatatita with me and my best friend is taking care of my plants.”

“Well, then,” Ben said drily, “call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Joaquín rolled his eyes. Oh, so he was listening in, huh.

“I’ll hold you up to that,” Ben said.

The line clicked and once again you couldn’t take your eyes off Joaquín who was glaring at you.

“What?” you snapped.

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

��Really.”

You hummed. He nodded. Neither of you gave signs of tearing your eyes off each other.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope.” You took the mug in your grasp. “I was just about to get back to work.”

Walking past him still hurt, maybe less than the last time, but that wasn’t saying much when he shattered your heart that day.

What was his fucking problem? First, he barged back into your life without warning, and then dared to give you that look as if you still owed him explanations for how friendly you were with other people?

The nerve of him! Of his stupid pretty eyes you were sure nobody could say no to.

Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck this. You were tired of not getting over him when he had no consideration of what you wanted or needed. He was the one who led you on by making you believe everything would go back to normal.

Had you made a mistake by breaking up with him to go look for your dad instead of asking him to go with you? Maybe, but at least you didn’t make him believe everything would be okay.

At least you had the decency to admit you had fucked up when you went back to him. At least you didn’t try to impose your wishes on him.

Now your day was ruined and you still had a shit ton of work to get through. Approaching the bed, you picked Fatatita up and hugged her to your chest.

You technically could have asked Bucky for a hug, he had said he wanted to make up for lost time, but you didn’t know him that well and it was embarrassing.

Begging for affection was something you were past of. You had taken care of yourself since you were 14, and learned the hard way that people didn’t deserve your tears.

Still, hot tears streamed down your face. You weren’t sure if you were angry, sad, or frustrated, but you wept until your cat forced you to let go of her.

If Bucky knew you had been crying, he surely know how to keep it to himself. You had lunch together between idle chats and nothing more happened.

You couldn’t get used to him, no matter how hard you tried or how much interest he showed in getting to know you.

Tearing down the wall you had built for years didn’t even sound easy to do, actually doing it seemed impossible as of now.

“I gotta run a few errands,” he told you as you carried the dishes to the sink, “wanna come with me?”

“I haven’t finished my work for the day.”

His face fell. “Next time.”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

Bucky gave you a tight smile and so you watched him leave with a weird feeling in your stomach. Was this how children felt when they saw their parents leave for work?

Sam didn’t take long to arrive. You didn’t have the full grasp of what they truly did, the superhero part was clear, but you didn’t know if that was their job or their side gig.

He greeted you with a smile. Trying his best just like Bucky.

“Bucky’s running errands,” you notified him.

“Yeah, Joaquín told me he called. I forgot my damn phone in the morning.”

“Oh...” You didn’t know what to say.

Sam sat on the yellow couch he used to hate. “Piece of advice?”

You braced yourself for the same thing your best friend had told you. ‘Joaquín doesn’t deserve your hostility.’

“Don’t call him Bucky to his face.”

“Wh—“ It took you a minute or two to process what he had said. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he told you softly. His eyes were on you, analyzing you. “Are you okay?”

“Lots of new things at once... I’m not good with...” You bit your bottom lip. “Work is driving me crazy,” you lied.

Sam pensively hummed and you knew he wouldn’t touch the subject again. He probably knew you were lying, and he’d surely tell Bucky, but what could you do?

Well, you left Brooklyn in a hurry. Your bags had been made for days when the date finally arrived. Relief washed over you the moment you stepped into that plane.

Bucky’s feelings worried you, that was true, but you felt out of place in his and Sam’s apartment. They had been welcoming and kind, and the fact that they weren’t the problem stung.

As a teen you fantasized with everything you would do and say when you found your dad, but adulthood had crashed onto you in a giant wave. It washed away the naive illusion of one day having a normal life; a family.

You called him as soon as you got to your apartment. “Just wanted to let you know I made it safely.”

“That’s good to hear.” The line shuffled. “How’s the weather?”

“Fine, I think?”

“Sunny?”

“Kinda cloudy. It’s drizzling.”

“Ah.”

“Hey, I— I gotta go. I’ll call you soon, yeah?”

Bucky craned his neck as he looked up to the ceiling. “Yeah. Take care.”

You hung up immediately.

“What am I doing wrong?” Bucky asked out loud.

Sam threw his arm over Bucky’s shoulders. “Nothing. Just give her time.”

“We should get her a job here,” Bucky suggested. “Maybe that way she’ll move closer to us.”

Joaquín shook his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“I forgot you’re an expert on her,” Bucky bitterly said.

Joaquín turned to look at Sam. His friend didn’t help him out and instead said, “You could ask her first.”

“Should I?” Bucky asked Joaquín.

Shrugging, Joaquín stood up from his seat and took his jacket. “I think we all know the answer she’ll give.”

“If you had told me where she was when we met—“

“I didn’t know you were her dad,” Joaquín snapped. He looked down, frustrated with himself for letting Bucky get to him when it wasn’t his fault either.

“You dated her.”

“Look, she didn’t tell me who her dad was. I just knew she was looking for him.”

Bucky was left speechless. Joaquín put his jacket on and walked towards the door.

“Joaquín...”

“Not now, Sam.” He pulled the door open and left the apartment without any other comment.

Joaquín walked down the street, aimless. He should’ve called — he could’ve called you right now in fact. But what could he say? He didn’t even know why it hurt this bad.

The next time he heard about you was a couple months later. Sam and him were on a quick mission and Sam felt the need to give him updates about the family dynamic.

“She doesn’t want to meet Sarah and the kids,” Sam ominously said.

“I understand Bucky and you want to have a good relationship with her,” Joaquín assured him, “but I don’t get why you come to me for advice when we’re not together anymore for a reason.”

“Because you know her and we don’t.”

“She doesn’t cope well with change.”

”Is there any way to convince her?”

Joaquín had asked himself the same question. Many times, in many places. The conclusion was always the same. “No.”

════════════════════════

Walking up the stairs with produce bags was part of your weekly routine. The elevator rarely worked and you didn’t trust using it when it did.

It was early. The market had been almost empty when you arrived — you had to wait for a few people to set up their products before buying.

Early mornings and all-nighters were your norm. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept in.

That was a lie. You could, you just chose to ignore it had happened. Everything always went back to a time you weren’t sure you would ever get over, and at the point you were in your life, you would rather ignore your past altogether.

As you reached your floor, you tried to remember if you had bought lemons or limes. Oh, well, you’d make do. Now you just needed to buy cat food and you’d be set for the week.

You had just unlocked your door when you heard a voice behind you.

“For a second there I thought you were out of town again.”

“Nah, I just really wanted some fresh fruit.”

Ben hummed. “Wanna hang out for a while?”

You considered it for a moment; you wanted to say no. Yet you gave in. “Yeah, why not?”

You let him in first. Ben avoided knocking the bags you had placed on the floor in order to open the door and stood in the living room, eyes on the plant near the window.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you told him as you carried your bags into the kitchen.

He remained in the same spot until you came back. His blue eyes focused on you as you awkwardly stood in front of him.

Ben leaned in, hands ghosting your sides.

You placed both palms on his chest and pushed him off you. “We said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Right...”

Whoever was at the door saved you from an uncomfortable conversation by knocking with urgency.

Ben frowned. “You didn’t tell me you were expecting somebody.”

“I’m not.”

The moment you opened the door, you realized something was terribly wrong. Sam hadn’t visited you since the day you met him although he and Bucky called often.

He went directly to the point, “I need your help. It’s important.”

You nodded, letting Sam in. “I’ll talk to you later, Ben,” you said, hand on the door handle as you waited for him to leave the apartment.

You saw him glare at you, but Sam’s presence was enough for him to keep his complaints to himself.

Sam sat down on the couch, watching you as you hesitated on whether to sit down or walk into the kitchen.

“Want some water?” you offered.

“Sure.”

“Ice?”

“No, thank you.”

You filled your glass with crushed ice and a little bit of water and carried both glasses towards the coffee table.

With your glass between both hands, you asked, “What’s up?”

Sam didn’t look at you as he said, “It’s about Joaquín.”

“I—“

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two and I don’t care.” Sam made a pause, allowing you to munch on ice. “I haven’t seen him in two weeks, I can’t find him anywhere.”

You cleared your throat, fighting a cough. “And what do you want me to do? I don’t even know where he lives.”

Sam took a gulp of water, not knowing what to expect. “You said you weren’t trained. Your file says otherwise.”

“I never said that.”

You had been careful when you answer that particular question. You hadn’t been enough for Hydra, but that didn’t mean they didn’t break you first.

“Why did Viper spare you?”

You bit the inside of your bottom lip. It was more than complicated — you didn’t even remember much from that day. “I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “She beat me up and the next thing I knew, Kraken was taking me to my first foster family.”

“So you haven’t had any contact with her ever since?”

“No—“ You made a face. “Well... I think she sent me the first lead to find Bucky. The actual file that said he was my dad.”

Sam placed his glass back onto the table. “She’s been on and off in Vegas for a while.”

“You think she did something to him,” you asserted.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You clenched your jaw. “How can I help?”

“Telling me the truth.” He became extremely serious as he added, “I know you have contact with Seraph.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You didn’t care about Seraph, but the girls under her wing had suffered enough already. “I can’t tell you anything about her, Sam.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. “Look, (Name), I already talked to Zemo and he doesn’t know anything.”

“Why can’t somebody from the Air Force find her? Or him?!” you defensively asked.

Sam scoffed. “Just how much you know about him?”

“Last thing I knew he was choosing The Air Force over me.”

You poured ice into your mouth. Barely able to close it, you let a few little chunks melt before you started munching again.

“We don’t have time for this,” Sam lamented, “Joaquín’s life might be on the line.”

You shook the glass in your grasp. “I can link you up with one of her angels. That’s it.”

Sam nodded, pulling his phone out. “Give me her info.”

“No, no.” You put your glass down. “We go to Madripoor and the contact is made there.”

“I’m not taking you to Madripoor. Are you insane?”

“Probably.”

“Your dad would kill me!”

You shrugged. “Don’t tell him.”

“I can’t ruin my relationship like that.”

“Sam...” You whined when he shook his head. Almost pouting, you stared directly at him. “Please.”

“No, that face won’t work on me.”

“I’ll explain things to Bucky.”

“Oh, you will. You are taking a flight to New York in...” He checked the time. “In two hours and telling him to his face that you still have contact with Hydra.”

“I’m not a child.”

“That’s exactly why you’re telling him. Adults don’t hide shit like that!”

“You don’t get it.”

“And I never will. Besides, you owe this to us for the stress you’ve given your dad and for refusing to meet my sister and nephews.”

He was right.

You pushed yourself off the chair. “How light should I pack?”

Sam made a face, twisting his mouth. “I don’t know. Pack like you did last time just to be safe.”

Well, you had twenty minutes to pack. And to struggle with putting Fatatita in her cage.

“Hey,” you called for him from your bedroom’s doorframe. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Depends.”

“I bought produce that could go bad. Can you give it out? Everything’s on the counter.”

His face softened. “Of course.”

Your cat wasn’t too happy with being trapped in a carrier, much less with once again putting up with children in the plane.

So there you were, uncomfortable against the window with a whiny cat. You hated window seats and although planes were fine, you were sick of them.

Bucky picked you up at the airport without a word. He helped you with your luggage while you freed Fatatita from the carrier.

She snuggled up on your lap once you were in the car, but Bucky didn’t start the engine.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he softly asked.

You would’ve preferred that he yelled at you. Maybe he would once you explained yourself.

“My plan was to join The Angels.”

He didn’t yell. “What?”

“I was lonely.”

“You have a cat. You could’ve gotten another one or something. Anything that wasn’t that.”

“Yeah, and I love Fatatita,” you said indignantly as you massaged her head, “but she can’t talk or hug me back.”

You loved her snuggles, she was a sweet cat and you wouldn’t have survived the last six years without her. But she wasn’t human.

Painfully, you added, “I feel like I don’t belong here. You have Sam and his family already, you have a home...”

”We’ve invited you to join.”

You didn’t fit in with Bucky or with Sam, much less with Sam’s family — they sounded like nice people, but if Sarah was half as intuitive as Sam, she would be able to tell you were uncomfortable and you didn’t want to offend anybody.

You hated being alone and yet every path you took seemed to lead to loneliness. Maybe it was time to accept you had idealized your dad and he couldn’t live up to the standard.

Or maybe that wasn’t the issue, maybe you were as a whole. Living with it was your only option.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Nothing is.”

Yeah, nothing was easy, but this thing particularly was kicking your ass.

════════════════════════

Things between you and Bucky were tense. He took great offense after you confessed you had considered going back to Seraph so he barely spoke to you.

You had only heard updates about Joaquín — or better said, the lack of updates about him.

Focusing on work or anything that wasn’t the phone on the table next to the couch was practically impossible.

Sam’s call eventually came through. He said Joaquín was alive which wasn’t relieving for either you or Bucky.

You wanted to hear that he was safe and sound. Alive was good, but not enough. Not when you knew exactly the type of things Ophelia was capable of.

“Bring a jacket,” Bucky told you. He couldn’t hide how mad he was — his voice was rough.

You silently complied, making sure to leave water for Fatatita.

On your way to the hospital, you tried to find something to say. The silence was unbearable, but you couldn’t help but think you would be a bigger nuisance.

Bucky pulled into the vast parking lot and found a good parking spot in no time.

You didn’t want to go there. Your mind had already run wild and the things you could encounter terrified you.

Fear seemed like a distant experience from a naive child. You hadn’t been raised like this.

But you hadn’t been raised to love anybody and yet you were, so full of love you would have rather died.

“I’ll wait here.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and stretched his arm to open the passenger door. “You are not staying here.”

Huffing, you got out of the car and waited for him to do the same. You slammed the door closed and he glared at you.

You immediately regretted listening to Bucky and coming to the stupid hospital. What were you even doing there? What would you fix?

Joaquín looked like shit. You could feel each hit as your eyes analyzed his bruised face. To make it worse, his left arm was wrapped and immobilized. You didn’t want confirmation he had more injuries — you didn’t need it.

“What did you find?” Bucky asked calmly.

Joaquín struggled to speak. “They’ve been doing experiments on people. Kids included.”

“And you didn’t think of telling anybody in case you needed backup?”

Bucky called your name sternly, warning you to shut up.

“No. He deserves it. They could’ve fucking killed him!”

Joaquín stammered. Of course he didn’t have a good answer. Of course he had to worry you sick even years later.

You felt actually sick to your stomach. Regret and anger often came hand in hand, but they had never made you feel like this.

“Let’s go outside,” Bucky commanded. “You need air.”

He pushed you out of the room and all along the hallway. People looked at you weirdly, surely wondering why you were being rushed out of the hospital.

If air had filled your lungs, you didn’t feel it. Stripping yourself off your jacket, you looked up at the sky. Why did you have to react like that?

Showing you cared never brought you anything positive. When you didn’t put people in danger, you ruined your relationships. And now you were just acting like an emotional idiot over nothing.

You punched the wall out of frustration.

It was not nothing.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Bucky moved you away from the wall and further into the open-air parking lot. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” His arm was tight around your shoulders.

“I just— I can’t believe him, dad! He’s always been this careless.”

Bucky became frozen.

“I know I’m being too emotional and I shouldn’t, I’m sorr—“

“Don’t.” Bucky tightened his grip on you. “Let it out, it’s okay. I’m here.” His voice broke. “Dad’s here.”

You hid your face in his jacket, for the first time in your life crying on your dad’s shoulder as he steadied you.

════════════════════════

You had to admit you missed the bus. New York wasn’t what people painted it as, much less the romanticized version your dad had presented you.

Either way, you were already there and you didn’t plan on moving out any time soon.

You were careful to not shake the reusable bag in your grasp too much. Bucky had never tasted your cookies and you would change that in a few minutes.

Memorizing the path towards the apartment was easy. Sam had given you a few tips so you wouldn’t have to call him all panicked because you were lost again. Luckily, he had gotten over it already.

Sarah was already at Sam’s and Bucky’s when you arrived. Apologizing for being late, you placed the homemade cookies you had brought on the table.

Sitting between Sam and Bucky, you asked Sarah, “You didn’t bring the kids?”

“Joaquín took them out for ice cream so we could talk about adult stuff,” she easily explained.

You glowered at Sam who had just served you a glass of lemonade.

“You’ve avoided him for too long,” he said.

“And you know exactly why.”

“I’ve heard both versions.”

You shook your head, knowing you wouldn’t win this argument. Sarah lifted her eyebrows.

“She’s as stubborn as her dad,” Sam told his sister.

“If I remember correctly, you used to refuse to admit you liked Bucky,” Sarah shot back.

“Don’t take her side!”

“No, no, Sarah, tell me more,” you encouraged her. “This is great material.”

She laughed, so did Bucky and eventually, Sam joined in.

The day you met Sarah had been bittersweet. She hadn’t held grudges against you for refusing to meet her and her children earlier and they welcomed you the same way they welcomed Bucky.

In contrast, you did hold that grudge against yourself. Yes, you hadn’t been ready to meet more people and were scared of not fitting in, but it wasn’t their fault.

The kids won you over the second you met them and the rest was history.

You tried to avoid glancing at the door when you heard the key sliding in, but you betrayed your pride and gazed at Joaquín the moment the door opened.

His face wasn’t bruised anymore and his hair was longer. He looked good, but that was to be expected.

You stood up to greet AJ and Cass, hugging them both. Joaquín smiled yet didn’t say anything.

As he parted from you, AJ asked, “You didn’t bring your cat today?”

“She’s at the apartment, probably asleep or enjoying her new cat tower.”

“You finally bought one!” Cass had given you the idea when you mentioned you wanted to find something for Fatatita to entertain herself. “She must be so happy.”

“Yup. Wanna see it? I’ve taken hundreds of photos.”

Both kids nodded. You unlocked your cellphone and patiently showed them the photos. The living room hadn’t been ideal for the cat tower so you put it in your office.

The problem, truly, was that the office was almost empty and you hated the color on the walls, but you hadn’t gotten around to buy paint.

Fatatita looked adorable in her cat tower, though. She would sometimes jump to the desk and lay on it, demanding attention. You never died her.

“You’ll get to see it in person soon,” you promised AJ and Cass.

Both kids were happy with such promise. They ran towards their mom, leaving you facing Joaquín. Once again, you couldn’t not stare at him.

“You look great,” he told you.

“Thanks.” You could’ve said he looked great too, but you didn’t want to make it awkward. “It’s good to see your arm isn’t broken anymore.”

He let out a small laugh. “Yeah...”

“I— Uhmm... I brought cookies.”

His face lit up. “I haven’t had one of your cookies in ages.”

You extended a hand in a welcoming gesture. “Help yourself.”

He didn’t move immediately and in consequence, neither did you. What ifs didn’t matter anymore, they didn’t even hurt that much — you just genuinely wished you could interact with him without feeling like you were crossing a line.

You used to be able to communicate without words, to know what he needed just by gazing at him from across the room. Joaquín would read your body language perfectly every single time and never once failed to respect your boundaries.

Not even the godforsaken evening he left.

Would the two of you ever be able to go back to what it was? You didn’t care if he still loved you — he probably didn’t. You wanted your best friend back.

“Anybody want anything from the kitchen?” Joaquín asked.

“Beer, please,” Sam replied.

Sitting back down, you drummed your fingers against your lemonade glass with no particular rhythm. You were being silly, there was no reason for you to be nervous.

Joaquín handed Sam his beer. He then stood behind you.

“Here.” He placed a glass full of ice in front of you. Crushed ice.

Okay, maybe there was a reason for you to be nervous. Something you hadn’t been on your first date or even the day you met him.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

Bucky kissed the side of your head. You leaned into your dad’s warmth, letting the others speak. You were getting better at joining into their conversations, but this time you simply couldn’t focus.

His eyes were on you and yours would’ve been on him if you weren’t resting your head on Bucky’s shoulder.

You used to fantasize about something like this. A family afternoon, Joaquín and your dad getting along...

You lifted your head off Bucky’s shoulder and sighed. “I should get going. I’m still getting used to the subway.”

“Want me to drive you a little bit later?” Bucky offered. “I don’t get drunk.”

“I can drive her if she wants,” Joaquín said.

Bucky looked at him then nodded. “If she wants.”

The answer should’ve been no, but a little indulgence never hurt anyone. “Sure.”

So you stayed until Joaquín had to leave. Sam’s eyes lingered on you as you said your goodbyes — his hug was tight, an attempt to remind you things would be okay.

Bucky hugged you even tighter, almost lifting you off the floor. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he whispered in your ear before parting from you. Your dad kissed your forehead before watching you go.

It wasn’t the first time Sam or Bucky tried to encourage you to talk to Joaquín. You weren’t dumb, you knew he had offered to drive you because he wanted to say something.

Had they planned it all out? You hoped they hadn’t.

The night sky was clear, perfect for a long walk. Although long walks in New York were different, they were a good vehicle to get used to the environment which your therapist would’ve loved for you to do. Oh, well, another night it would be.

════════════════════════

“You can drop me at the subway station.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to know where you live, but I offered to drive you home.”

Home. It still felt like a dirty word. He didn’t say it to mock you, there was no malice in his voice. Once again, you were the problem.

You gave him the address, explaining the directions Sam had given you to not get lost. Joaquín only hummed in acknowledgment.

After a mostly silent drive, you weren’t sure your assumptions from earlier had been correct. Maybe he was just trying to be nice and your brain had played you.

It was probably for the best in the general scheme of things, but you had to admit you were disappointed.

He stopped the car in front of the building. Neither of you attempted to move.

“Can we talk?”

You nodded. “Here? In the car, I mean.”

“Wherever you feel comfortable.”

You both knew where things could go if you dared to invite him in. But you still did.

The elevator was thankfully empty. The space between your bodies almost disgusted you. The last time you had been in an empty elevator with him, neither of you had been able to take your hands off each other.

Turning the lights on, you apologized, “Sorry for the mess. I have a lot of things to organize still.”

You walked towards the couch and picked the box you had left there up. Something moved inside.

A hiss let you know Fatatita was inside the box. You reached in and held her between your arm and your chest.

You put the box on top of the other boxes stacked up against the wall. And motioned for Joaquín to get comfortable.

Fatatita shifted in your grasp so you slowly put her down onto the floor. The cat ran towards the kitchen.

You tried not to stare at Joaquín. The more you did, the more you wanted to bury your fingers in his curls.

“Sam told me what you did,” he quietly told you.

“It’s nothing.”

“You had to move because of me.”

“It was bound to happen,” you said simply as though it hadn’t been one of the hardest decisions you had ever had to make.

He looked down. You hoped he was thinking the same thing you were. ’It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.’

“I’m sorry for not telling you who my dad was.”

“I’m not going to say it didn’t hurt, or that I get why you did it,” he admitted, “but I hope you know I would have dropped everything to help you find him.”

“I know,” you assured him quickly. “That’s why I never said yes, it wouldn’t have been fair.”

“What do you mean?”

“You wanted to join The Air Force more than anything. Your eyes would lit up when you talked about it and I didn’t have the heart to pull you away from your dream.” You let out a small sigh, perfectly picturing him, so hopeful and excited. “And I wanted to, I really did, but you deserved better.”

“But you were part of that dream.”

“You know how much I’ve always hated not having a home, but you still wanted me to move every few years.” It was never going to work, no matter how desperately you wanted it to.

“So I wasn’t enough?” He masochistically peered up.

“Wha— who said that? Why are you putting words in my mouth?”

“Because you would have moved every few years with me. I was only going to leave when deployed. I had all of it planned. We would get married eventually so you’d live with me at the base and...” he trailed off.

Whether he was trying to spare your feelings or to find the right words was irrelevant. You stayed silent, in part because you didn’t know what to do but mostly because you knew him well and were sure he wanted to finish his comment.

“I thought waiting for you was proof that I was serious about us. I asked you to move with me. WITH me, not for me.”

You sat down too. You didn’t need him to remind you or to make emphasis on his words — you had understood what he wanted from the beginning; you wanted the same for the most part, but not like that.

Compromising would’ve been good. Healthy. You wouldn’t be in this mess now. But comprising entailed a specific kind of vulnerability you were afraid you would never recover from.

And you lost Joaquín because of that.

“I was scared and I already said sorry. What else do you want me to do?”

He twisted to face you. “Don’t get defensive, we’re just talking.”

“I just...” You wanted to say a lot of things. If you had drunk alcohol you would’ve let them all out at once and finally, the nuisance from the pills was paying off. “I don’t want you to hate me. That’s all.”

“You can’t possibly think I hate you.”

You shrugged. “I sorta resented you for a while.”

“How did you get over it?”

Lying would have been so easy, but you couldn’t when he was implying you had gotten over him. There had been other people in your life after him and you had ruined those relationships too, but none of them hurt like this.

“I didn’t.”

He sat there, unmoving as he stared at you as if he was waiting for you to tell him it was a joke.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

“Please don’t make it awkward,” you begged him. “We can forget this conversation happened. You will go back to Vegas and I will stay here, it’s okay.”

Everything would be okay. This was just the closure your therapist said you needed.

Joaquín broke it to you, “I live here.”

Speechless, you felt your blood drop to your feet. Deep breaths and counting to ten were as effective as ever and at the same time didn’t cut it. Only you had this luck.

“Sam didn’t tell you I’m Falcon now?”

Now Sam’s and Bucky’s attitude made complete sense.

“He forgot that small detail.” As you recovered your ability to speak, you stressed, “The offer stands. We can forget this conversation happened.”

“I don’t want to forget about it.”

“We can’t do this, Joaquín. Not again — last time was hard enough.”

He enthusiastically nodded. “But I’m not going anywhere this time.” Seeing your apprehension, he added, “As much as I want to, I’m not asking you to immediately get back with me.”

“What are you asking for, then?”

“Another chance? A fresh start? I don’t know. I miss you and I want to be with you, but I’m not going to force you.”

“It’s not that you would be forcing me,” you clarified, “I miss you too, a lot. And the excuses I could give you are minimal, maybe a little petty...” He huffed a laugh. You continued, finally explaining yourself, “I’m scared we won’t really get past what happened.”

Joaquín placed his warm hand on your shoulder. “I’ve already forgiven you.”

You rested your hands on his shoulders, blinking rapidly. Sliding your hands to his back, you hugged him.

His free arm snaked your waist. Joaquín hid his face in your neck, moving his hand to the back of your head.

He shifted to kneel on the couch, making you lightly part from him. Your eyes met and you pulled him closer again before he would say anything.

Joaquín bit his bottom lip. “Can I kiss you?”

You kissed him first, tired of pretending you hadn’t been waiting for this since the day he left.

He softly kissed you back, bringing a hand to your face as he cupped your cheek. You relished in his warmth and gentleness, leaning into his touch and consequently kissing him harder.

Removing his arm from around you, he placed his hand on your belly and lightly pushed you onto your back. You ended up in an awkward position, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

He hovered over you, fingers caressing your sides as he continued kissing you. You tangled your fingers in his curls as he deepened the kiss.

You rendered each other breathless, touch growing looser as both of you panted.

“So much for not rushing in,” you breathlessly joked against his mouth.

“Am I making you feel uncomfortable?” he panted.

“No, don’t worry.”

He hummed, leaving a small kiss on your jaw before dragging his lips to your neck.

“Although...” He immediately stopped. You chuckled. “My back hurts.”

Joaquín moved off you, standing up and offering his hand to you to help you sit up.

Instead, you stood up altogether and took his hand. He didn’t say no, he let you take him to your room.

You sat on the bed, tugging on his hand.

“Come here,” you needily said.

Joaquín happily complied, leaning in to kiss you again.

When you woke up the next morning, he was sound asleep next to you.

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x plus size reader #joaquin torres

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slvault · 3 years

Text

Ship: Sung Jin-Woo/Woo Jin-Chul

Tags: Post-Canon AU, Future Fic, Canon Divergence AU, Immortality, Fluff, Smut, Anal Sex, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers

Summary: Almost twenty years after they first met again, Jin-Chul gets his fair share of good-natured ribbing about being an eternal bachelor, while Jin-Woo’s parents would like to know if he’s ever going to give them grandchildren or even just a daughter- or son-in-law. Both of them smile, deflect, and carry on. Sometimes, when they’re out for drinks or a meal or a break in the middle of the day to feed the ducks, they even like to laugh about it.

Read on AO3

-0-

They’re not feeding the ducks this time. Winter has dug its roots in, covering everything under a fine layer of snow and chasing most people indoors whenever possible. So of course, it’s a fine day for a stroll outside in the peaceful quiet of the cold afternoon. Scarves and jackets and a cup of coffee each are enough to stave off the chill.

They end up in the same park, taking a seat on their usual bench by the lake once they’ve swept the snow off. The water isn’t quite frozen over, but there are bits of ice already floating on the surface.

For a while, they sit in silence, and neither of them feels the need to break it. Two decades they’ve known each other, across two lifetimes, as colleagues and friends and comrades tied together through circumstance and memories and the knowledge of a whole universe full of monsters that consider their planet easy pickings. With a foundation like that, they’ve both long since grown comfortable with simply existing in one another’s presence.

Days like today are normal for them. Not a week’s gone by since Jin-Woo was sixteen and Jin-Chul was twenty-four that they haven’t met up at least once every weekend, sometimes just to check-in, more often to catch up. Usually, they meet up on other days of the week too.

Unlike those days however, Jin-Chul carries an air of anticipatory determination today as he stares out over the lake, and Jin-Woo watches him out of the corner of his eye, patient in a way only a man with all the time in the world to spend can be. Eventually, Jin-Chul stirs, takes a distracted sip of his drink, and then glances over to his left, smiling faintly when he finds Jin-Woo already waiting.

“So, how have you been?” He asks, more as a lead-up than anything else. Jin-Woo had texted him just this morning to tell him about Jin-Ah’s newest boyfriend and the interns he’s thinking of hiring, as well as to pass on some information that looks to be connected to a case Jin-Chul is working on. It was a good day for Jin-Chul’s precinct when Jin-Woo received his private investigator license.

Jin-Woo answers him anyway. “My dad’s thinking of taking my mom on a cruise for their anniversary this year. Jin-Ho’s probably going to get disowned again for introducing his cousin to the joys of breaking into the house of that CEO we’ve been looking into, which probably means I’ll have to hire her sooner or later. And another Gate appeared in America yesterday, on the east coast, so that was an exciting two hours of my life.” He hides a smile behind his drink. “What about your week?”

Jin-Chul stares for a moment, then huffs out a laugh. “Nowhere near as interesting as yours.”

Jin-Woo shrugs lazily. “I keep telling you, you should come with me more often. I can barely get you out of your office once a month.”

Jin-Chul hums noncommittally. It’s not agreement, but it’s not a refusal either. In truth, he has no issues with tagging along whenever Jin-Woo has to go deal with yet another alien intruder or invasion, but there’s only so much responsibility he’s willing to dump on his subordinates, if only because he doesn’t trust them to run everything smoothly in his absence, and if something gets blown up or set on fire while he’s gone, three guesses who would be the one forced to clean up the aftermath.

The whole matter actually segues nicely into what he wants to talk about today though, and for a moment, he levels a searching gaze on the other, taking in the spark of mana in his irises and the flicker of a passing silhouette curling along his jawline and the figures limned in ghost-light that sometimes like to wave at him from the shadows all around them.

All if it is familiar to him these days, all of it dear, all secrets that Jin-Woo shares only with him, and Jin-Chul guards each and every one closely, more precious to him than any jewel or priceless artefact.

“I will be forty-four next week,” He says abruptly.

Jin-Woo blinks once, slow and deliberate, expression near-inscrutable. “I know. I’ve already made a reservation at that restaurant you like in Florence.”

Jin-Chul almost has to laugh at that too. He thinks he’s missed a few things over the past several years. Or maybe not missed. He’s always known; he just hadn’t registered all of what it had meant.

“One of my coworkers was actually complaining about it just a few days ago,” He reveals with good humour. In contrast, he keeps a sharp eye on Jin-Woo, not just his face because reading him is a whole-body endeavour, so Jin-Chul watches him, which has never been a hardship. “Even asked for skincare tips. She was joking of course, but I wouldn’t have been able to give her any either way. It’s apparently terribly unfair though, how I can get to this age, in my profession, and still pass for someone at least a decade younger. I even checked for grey hairs, when I went home that evening. Not a one to be found.”

Jin-Woo stares at him. Jin-Chul stares back, and when he doesn’t get any reaction, or rather, he gets a very resolute non-reaction, he drops his gaze to his coffee and lets the realization that should’ve occurred to him years ago finally crystallize in his mind.

Another smile tugs at his lips. When he looks up again, Jin-Woo has turned his gaze to the lake, the surface so still it seems as if time has frozen in its stead.

“...I’ll stop, if you want me to,” Jin-Woo says at last, and there are shadows in his eyes, dark as storm clouds and a hundred times more deadly. His words are light and inflectionless, but Jin-Chul has never known him to be anything less than honest when speaking to him.

“I should’ve asked first,” Jin-Woo continues, not quite apologetic, not at all regretful, but the admission itself feels like a wound, a surrender, a bended knee, and Jin-Chul’s fingers twitch with the urge to lash out and rip it to shreds.

He doesn’t consider himself a particularly violent man, not even back when he’d still been a Hunter, but anything that can make Jin-Woo sound like that has no right to exist between them.

“I should’ve guessed,” Jin-Chul corrects him, and Jin-Woo’s gaze finally slides back over to him, unwavering, mana-bright and almost fervent with something unspoken and straining against its leash. Jin-Chul shrugs lightly. “To be honest, I was going to ask. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but it probably would’ve been soon, if you didn’t mention it yourself first.”

He pauses, absently turning the cup around between his hands as he studies the micro-expressions flitting across Jin-Woo’s features.

“You have to have known,” Jin-Chul says quietly. “Not from the very beginning perhaps, but it’s been obvious for a while now, I think, that this was always where we were going to end up, sooner or later.”

It’s why Jin-Chul has never thought about finding a wife and settling down and starting a family, why he’s never been worried that Jin-Woo might one day take one of the ridiculous number of men and women constantly vying for his attention as far back as when he’d still been in university seriously. They’ve both dated occasionally here and there, but never for long, less and less as time went by, and basically not at all in recent years. With Jin-Woo, Jin-Chul has never pushed for more, for faster, content with the pace they’ve set, with friendship and companionship because those were just as important to him as the promise of something more that’s always been waiting for them to catch up one day.

There has never been any forks or detours along the path of their relationship. Their road has always only ever had one destination. And perhaps, when it comes down to it, it would be most accurate to say that Jin-Chul has never doubted his place in Jin-Woo’s life, because he has always known exactly where he stood in it.

Jin-Woo is still as stone for the longest time, and even when he moves again, Jin-Chul only catches the slight easing of his shoulders and the release of tension from his brow because he knows Jin-Woo, and he knows what to look for to understand such an emotionally contained man.

“I didn’t want to assume,” Jin-Woo says, more carefully than Jin-Chul’s heard from him in a while.

His eyes flicker away, then back, and something of that horrifying loneliness that had been far more persistent at the beginning of their re-acquaintance yawns open behind them like a bottomless pit.

“Humans weren’t made for eternity,” Jin-Woo tells him, and his voice rings with that otherworldly echo of the legacy he’d inherited. There is nothing human in his face now, not in the quicksilver flash of his teeth, not in the foxfire burn of his eyes. Someone with more sense would probably have run a long time ago. But Jin-Chul has never been afraid of Sung Jin-Woo, no matter what he looks like or what he’s become, and a godhood made visible isn’t going to change that.

“Then,” Jin-Chul says simply, steadily, with all the confidence of someone demanding what’s his by right. “Make me into something not human. You’ve already stopped me from aging; you might as well go the rest of the way. If you were waiting for me to catch on and give my permission, then of course you have it.”

He pauses, then adds, as earnestly as he knows how to be, all steel and steadfast calm, “I plan to stay with you for as long as you’ll have me, Jin-Woo, in any capacity you can accept. I hope you know that that’s a decision I settled on quite a few years ago, and it was never a particularly difficult one to make.”

He pauses again, just for a moment, for the space of time between the stutter of his heartbeat in his chest as his pulse races, and then he forges on, unfaltering because this too is a truth he feels down to his bones, and no matter how well they know each other, some things should still be said.

“You are very easy to love,” Jin-Chul admits, and he feels a little less nervous as Jin-Woo’s eyes widen, looking gratifyingly stunned, like he’d never expected Jin-Chul to say it outright. If this is the response he gets though, Jin-Chul can definitely see the appeal. “For me, there’s been no one else in a long time. I don’t find anyone else half as interesting, and certainly there is no one whose company I enjoy as much as I do yours, if that wasn’t obvious enough, with the amount of time I spend with you. And I don’t think I’ve been overly optimistic in believing that you feel the same-”

And that’s as far as he gets because the shadows around them are suddenly surging, swamping the snow at their feet, slithering over the bench and drifting over their legs. Half a second after that, his coffee is falling to the ground because there’s a hand in his hair, and another cradling the curve of his jaw, and there are lips on his lips, and Jin-Chul is far too occupied with pulling Jin-Woo even closer to think about where his drink has gone.

He’s short of breath by the time the kiss eases off into something less intense. Jin-Woo is little better, half-sprawled over Jin-Chul’s lap, eyes gleaming with naked hunger even as his fingers press near-bruises into Jin-Chul’s skin. Jin-Chul’s grip on the other’s hips is equally possessive, and even the winter chill around them doesn’t do much to cool the heat simmering between them.

“You have to be sure,” Jin-Woo says, voice gone rough around the edges. He’s still close enough to kiss, and that’s exactly what he does, licking into Jin-Chul’s mouth again with just a hint of teeth at its heels, and Jin-Chul groans under the onslaught, biting back into the kiss, one hand moving up to curl around the back of Jin-Woo’s neck to keep him in place. When they part again, his lips feel as swollen as Jin-Woo’s look. Jin-Woo stares back, eyes half-lidded and dark with arousal despite the flare of mana ringing his pupils, and Jin-Chul can’t help shuddering under that regard.

“You have to be sure,” Jin-Woo repeats. “If I-” He stops, blinks, and then forges on in low, almost urgent tones, “Twenty years ago, you regained your memories, and the first thing you chose to do was to let me know. You could’ve just kept pretending, you could’ve asked to forget - it would’ve been easier. But instead, you let me know that you knew, and that you were there, and that I could talk to you about any of it if I wanted to, and you kept coming back. Do you even how much that meant to me? Especially after I’d just spent twenty-seven years fighting a war, and then even my own dad came back one day remembering nothing, and the only people around me every day were a bunch of kids I could barely relate to. But then you were there, and you wouldn’t let me carry it all on my own, and I didn’t even realize how much I needed someone else to know until you insisted.”

He stops again, and Jin-Chul can’t look away from that fierce, near-blinding gaze.

“That’s why I need you to be sure,” Jin-Woo says once more. “Because if you tell me I get to keep you, I don’t know if I can be strong enough, and nice enough, to let you go if you end up changing your mind one day.”

And this time, it’s Jin-Chul who takes the initiative to kiss him, coaxing Jin-Woo into something less desperate and more gentle, humming approvingly when he feels the other melt into it. He’d love nothing more than to get his hands on more skin, but they’re still outside, and dressed for the weather to boot, so this will have to be enough for now.

“You’d let me go,” Jin-Chul murmurs against his lips. “You are kinder than you give yourself credit for.”

“And as always, you have too much faith in me,” Jin-Woo retorts, but some of the underlying apprehension from before has disappeared.

This is something they’ve long since agreed to disagree. Jin-Chul leans back, hands coming up to frame Jin-Woo’s face, thumbing over the faint flush in his cheeks with something like reverence.

“You’d let me go, if I asked,” Jin-Chul says with conviction. “But I would never ask, so what does it matter?”

Jin-Woo pulls back a little, still watching Jin-Chul like he’s looking for any trace of a lie. Eventually, he sighs, and one of his hands rise to brush back a few stray strands of Jin-Chul’s hair, tugging lightly before tucking them behind his ear. “This is getting long.”

“Hm, I haven’t had time to go to the barber’s,” Jin-Chul replies, turning his head a little into the feather-light touch of Jin-Woo’s fingers at his temple.

“But I like it like this,” Jin-Woo remarks, gaze slanting briefly to the way the longest strands fall just below Jin-Chul’s shoulders.

Jin-Chul smiles indulgently at him. “Then I’ll just go for a trim.”

Jin-Woo’s lips press together like he’s trying not to laugh, and then he shakes his head and chuckles anyway. He leans in and kisses Jin-Chul again, a brief brush of lips this time that Jin-Chul has no time to return before it’s over.

“Take the day off,” Jin-Woo murmurs, and the sly curve of his smile is all temptation.

As if Jin-Chul could go back to the office now of all times. He’d be distracted at best for the rest of the day, and the itch of it - of finally, openly acknowledging what Jin-Woo is to him, what he is to Jin-Woo, of knowing he can reach out and take - would seethe under his skin until he succumbed to it.

“Take us home then,” Jin-Chul says, and doesn’t bother specifying which. His apartment or Jin-Woo’s - they’ve both spent equal amounts of time in each.

Familiar arms pull him close, and shadows rise up all around them, blocking out the light of day, but Jin-Chul has never been afraid of the dark.

The two of them disappear, leaving an empty bench behind.

-0-

For someone normally so restrained, Jin-Woo kisses like he’s starved for touch and heat and pleasure. He gives Jin-Chul a moment to call in sick (”You were fine before lunch, sir??”), and then they’re tumbling into the bedroom, half their clothes already shed along the way.

Jin-Chul groans as Jin-Woo settles on top of him, and he doesn’t hesitate to run his hands under the other man’s shirt, over all that glorious bare skin he’s finally allowed to explore. Jin-Woo arches into his touch and kisses him again like he wants to stake a claim, like Jin-Chul isn’t already his. Their hips rock together for a moment, and then Jin-Chul makes a frustrated noise before nudging Jin-Woo back long enough to undo his belt and toss it to the floor.

“This is what you get when you need to wear a suit to work every day,” Jin-Woo mumbles as he dives in again, setting teeth to his neck and leaving a trail of stinging pleasure in his wake. Jin-Chul thinks briefly of reminding Jin-Woo that he can’t go into work with his throat all marked up, and then decides that high collars and scarves were invented for a reason.

“You love me in a suit,” Jin-Chul counters, busying himself with stripping Jin-Woo out of his shirt, and then rolling his eyes when Jin-Woo returns the favour by ripping his shirt down the middle and sending buttons flying. “Really?”

“I love you out of a suit too,” Jin-Woo says by way of explanation, sounding unrepentantly smug about it. He nips at Jin-Chul’s bottom lip, then flicks his tongue out to soothe the sting. “I’ll buy you another one later. You have a million of them in your closet anyway.”

Jin-Chul sighs somewhat helplessly before hooking a foot around Jin-Woo’s ankle and then flipping their positions. Jin-Woo doesn’t fight him, lying back complacently as Jin-Chul straddles him and smooths his hands down the firm lean muscles of his chest and abdomen.

“You are disgustingly perfect,” Jin-Chul laments. He keeps up with his own exercise, and now that he thinks about it, staying in shape is probably easier for him than other men his age, but Jin-Woo has the physique of a Hunter, and it shows.

Jin-Woo hums, reaching out with one hand to touch as well, smirking when Jin-Chul shivers as a calloused palm slides over his nipple before trailing down the ladder of his ribs, only stopping once he gets to the waistband of his pants.

“You’re pretty gorgeous yourself,” Jin-Woo tells him with that maddening sledgehammer candor he likes to pull out every now and then, and under the combination of a blatantly appreciative gaze and the fact that the man who said it has never been one for flattery, excessive or otherwise, Jin-Chul can feel a flush of embarrassed pleasure rising in his cheeks.

He covers it by stripping them both out of the rest of their clothes. Jin-Woo seems to sense it anyway because he laughs, amusement gentled with delight, and when he draws Jin-Chul into another kiss, it lingers in a way none of the previous ones had, slow and sensual as if he could never get enough. Jin-Chul moans into it, shifting his hips down to grind his cock against Jin-Woo’s, and it’s easy to get lost in it, in the slide of a body against his own and the building pleasure pooling in his gut. When he reaches between them to wrap a hand around their cocks, Jin-Woo finally makes a quiet noise at the back of his throat, one that becomes an aborted groan as Jin-Chul strokes them both to completion.

It barely takes the edge off, even if it does leave Jin-Chul a little breathless in the aftermath. Jin-Woo on the other hand doesn’t even get soft, and he’s driving them into a second round almost immediately. The world tilts as Jin-Woo flips them so that he’s on top again, eyes bright with mana once more as he stares Jin-Chul up and down like he doesn’t know where he wants to start.

Jin-Chul makes an amused sound and spreading his legs wider in clear invitation, one that Jin-Woo takes with heated eyes and a ripple of air as he retrieves some lube. And then his head dips, and Jin-Chul swears as teeth scrapes over one of his nipples before a hot mouth closes around it and sucks until he’s arching into it, swears again when Jin-Woo stops only to do the same to the other. And then there are slick fingers at his hole, and the world dissolves into heat and lust and pleasure as Jin-Chul drags the man back up for another messier kiss even as he rocks down on those fingers opening him up for more.

Jin-Woo spends long minutes prepping him, or rather, Jin-Chul squirms impatiently as a third finger teases at his prostate, never enough to satisfy, right up until he presses an insistent heel to Jin-Woo’s lower back and urges, “Come on, I’m ready, Jin-Woo, please-”

It gets him a searing look as Jin-Woo finally obliges, grasping his hips and lining up and sinking into him, thick and relentless and spreading him wide until Jin-Chul is gasping from the stretch.

Above him, Jin-Woo stills, eyes like foxfire even as he studies the shifting nuances of Jin-Chul’s features like he’s looking for any hints of aversion. Jin-Chul laughs somewhat breathlessly and clenches deliberately around Jin-Woo’s cock, pushing back to take him that much deeper just to get a feel for it. He releases a long pleased hum that in no way hides the stutter of Jin-Woo’s breath or the minute jerk of his hips, the latter of which only serves to make Jin-Chul close his eyes from the jolt of pleasure snapping up his spine.

Opening them again, he arches an eyebrow at the man looming over him. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Jin-Woo scoffs out something that could be amusement but mostly just comes out hungry. His grip on Jin-Chul’s hips tighten, and then he’s pulling back, only to snap his own hips forward a moment later, shoving a garbled cry out of Jin-Chul that Jin-Woo swallows as he catches his lips in another kiss, licking into his mouth like he wants to conquer him.

Jin-Chul wouldn’t be able to keep back all the noises he makes even if he wanted to as Jin-Woo fucks him into the mattress, hard and fast and just as greedy for it as Jin-Chul. His cock is hard and leaking, and he can feel himself hurtling towards his next orgasm even as he tightens his legs around Jin-Woo’s waist and pushes back into each thrust and bares his throat when Jin-Woo nuzzles at his neck. He comes just as Jin-Woo bites down, the shock of pain twining with the overwhelming pleasure as he shakes apart on Jin-Woo’s cock, choking on a moan when Jin-Woo never slows, fucking him straight through it.

Jin-Chul cusses and claws at Jin-Woo’s back but does nothing to stop him as his nerves buzz from the onslaught, and he tastes the ghost of laughter on Jin-Woo’s lips when they kiss again. By the time Jin-Woo groans and comes in him, Jin-Chul’s reaching his third peak, and a hand on his cock and half a dozen strokes is all it takes to topple him over the edge once more.

“So lovely,” Jin-Woo murmurs against his lips as Jin-Chul’s legs fall back to the bed, and he’s trembling as much from the quiet reverent words as he is from the way Jin-Woo is still rocking against him, slow, gentle, shallow thrusts that prevent Jin-Chul from coming down from the high of his climax. It goes on and on until cum is leaking from his ass and his voice is cracking on a plea, to stop, to keep going, and he’s all but spasming around the other’s cock, wanting to get away, wanting more.

Jin-Woo makes a smug but enquiring noise from somewhere above him. “Should I stop?”

Jin-Chul forces his eyes open, feeling shaky and wrecked, drenched in sweat and twitching from overstimulation. But he meets Jin-Woo’s gaze and licks his lips, somehow finding the breath to chuckle when Jin-Woo’s attention drops to the flash of his tongue like he can’t help himself.

There’s no way Jin-Chul is coming again, and even the tiniest movement from JIn-Woo feels like electricity dancing under his skin. But he stares up into the glow of power in Jin-Woo’s eyes, and feels the possessiveness in the hypnotic brush of a thumb over his hipbone, and Jin-Chul just... wants. Jin-Woo is still mostly hard inside him, and Jin-Chul wants him to take and take until there’s nothing left for Jin-Chul to give, wants to be consumed by the abyssal depths of Jin-Woo’s desire, wants most of all for this god-king to claim him and keep him and show the world exactly who Jin-Chul belongs to.

He releases a shuddering exhale before tilting his hips up and summoning the energy to squeeze down around the length inside him despite how loose and fucked out he feels. Jin-Woo’s eyes flutter, and his lips part, expression splintering with startled pleasure. Jin-Chul will never get tired of this, of how much Jin-Woo is willing to show around him when he’s so very controlled and reserved around everyone else. Part of that is Jin-Chul knowing how to read him since Jin-Woo has never been an overly expressive man anyway, but he’s also willing to bet that even Jin-Woo’s former bed partners hadn’t seen him like this. Jin-Woo would never have allowed it.

“One more,” Jin-Chul says hoarsely. He can’t come again, but Jin-Woo can, and Jin-Chul wants to feel it, the ache of it, wants to be forced to take it. He digs his nails into Jin-Woo’s shoulders and widens his legs like a challenge. “I can take it.”

Jin-Woo smirks down at him, a wicked curve that promises exactly what Jin-Chul is asking for.

“Brace yourself,” He says, and that’s all the warning Jin-Chul gets as strong hands slide under his back and haul him up until he’s sitting in Jin-Woo’s lap and impaled on that thick cock, and all the breath leaves his lungs in a string of curse words that may or may not be all in Korean. He’s held down, forced to adjust to the new angle, to how deep Jin-Woo feels inside him like this, and the burn of pain-pleasure leaves him whimpering and clutching at the other’s shoulders.

He feels more than hears the rumble of Jin-Woo’s laughter in his chest, and it takes a few hazy seconds for Jin-Chul to realize what’s caused it - his stamina is flagging, and his nerves are on fire, but he’s already shifting a little, rising a few inches up off that cock before sliding back down on it, riding him in small hitching motions of his hips until the sharp twisting ache of his hole is all he can focus on.

“You like this then,” Jin-Woo muses in even thoughtful tones that’s just unfair. Fingers feather over his balls before one of them skirts around the trembling rim of where they’re connected, not pushing in but applying a teasing sort of pressure anyway. Jin-Chul closes his eyes and doesn’t ask for it, but he doesn’t need to look to know that Jin-Woo is cataloguing every single one of his reactions, and indeed, Jin-Woo sighs almost wistfully but says, “Next time.”

When you’re less breakable, he doesn’t say, but Jin-Chul hears it anyway, and a part of him almost wants to lament the last clinging remains of his humanity.

And then even that slips away as hands find his hips again, lifting him up like he weighs nothing until only the tip of Jin-Woo’s cock is still inside him. Jin-Chul has time to catch a glimpse of a knife-sharp smirk and burning eyes, and then he’s being yanked down just as Jin-Woo drives his cock up, right into the core of him, and Jin-Chul howls with the feel of it, jerking futilely between Jin-Woo’s hands, no mercy to be found as Jin-Woo fucks him in steady demanding thrusts that hurts in all the best ways and sends the most excruciating pleasure coiling through the rest of his body.

He can’t come again, but he feels it when Jin-Woo does, feels the warmth of it inside him, hears the breathless moan in his ear, and sobs when a hand finds his half-hard cock and a thumb rubs over the wet head, and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, but that hand is merciless, another comes up to tangle in his hair and tilt his head back before teeth and tongue ravage his mouth, and all of it drags him slowly but inexorably towards a fourth shattering orgasm.

It takes countless agonizing minutes before Jin-Chul finally comes again, jolting with the force of it, still split open on a cock so he has nowhere to go, a soundless cry trapped in his throat as he collapses into Jin-Woo’s chest, shivering uncontrollably from toomuchsogoodmorenomore oversensitivity.

He sinks into oblivion after that, too exhausted to fight it, and the last thing he registers is the press of a kiss to his temple and the comforting weight of an arm wrapping securely around him.

-0-

He wakes, hours later, loose-limbed and sated and clean, still shirtless but in fresh pajama pants, with bruises on his hips and the twinge of sore muscles just setting in. His tomorrow’s self will probably hate him. Or maybe not, because there’s water and a potion waiting for him, the latter of which just leaves him pleasantly sore instead. Even the marks on his neck only fade a little. Good thing it’s winter.

“I might have pushed too hard,” Jin-Woo admits as he bustles in with... Jin-Chul checks the clock - ah, dinner.

He also rolls his eyes and pulls Jin-Woo down for a brief kiss. “If I’d really minded, you would’ve known. Don’t fuss.”

He really did enjoy it, and he’d enjoy it more once he has the stamina to at least last a few more rounds.

“If I didn’t fuss, you wouldn’t get dinner in bed,” Jin-Woo points out dryly, and then laughs when Jin-Chul immediately holds out his hands for one of the trays.

Jin-Chul lingers on that, on how relaxed and open Jin-Woo looks right now, on how easy joy comes to him in this moment.

Jin-Chul would kill anyone who tries to take this away from him. He may have been a Hunter with more lines in the sand than most, but he’d also been the head of the Monitoring Division of the Korean Hunters Association, and one didn’t essentially become half-referee, half-babysitter of a country’s worth of murder-happy psychopaths by not knowing when to stand firm, when to yield, and when to make someone disappear. And when it came down to it, Jin-Chul had been Awakened at the very top of A-rank. He had a better handle on it, but it wasn’t as if he’d ever shied away from murder either, even if his position had always made it seem like a justifiable necessity to outsiders looking in.

(It’s why he calls Jin-Woo kind. Because Sung Jin-Woo never does anything he doesn’t want to do, what he says is what he does is what he means, and the choices he’s made each time lives are on the line speak for themselves. Jin-Chul doesn’t think him kind because he’s altruistic or heroic or particularly benevolent, although one could make arguments for all three. But no, Jin-Chul thinks him kind because Jin-Woo’s first instinct has always been to protect, and for a Hunter, no matter the rank or even class, or even just for a human, the extent of the protection Jin-Woo has always been willing to offer is rare. After all, how many people turned a blind eye to Jeju Island? How many did the same to Japan? And how many others would’ve turned back time and fought a near-thirty-year-long war on their own just to spare their fellow man all that future tragedy? Considering their track record, Jin-Chul would daresay not fucking many.

Jin-Woo once told him that becoming the Shadow Monarch stunted his emotions. Jin-Chul finds it ironically hilarious that someone with stunted emotions cares more than literally anyone else Jin-Chul has ever met in either of his lives.

“At least half the reason I went to Japan was because I wanted to fight the Giants, you know.”

“People aren’t one-dimensional, and you don’t hear me calling you a saint. You can want to fight and want to save lives at the same time.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“We make quite the pair then.”)

These days, he has no higher priority than Sung Jin-Woo. Killing someone in the name of hoarding all the secrets - big and small - that Jin-Woo leaves in his possession, knowingly or otherwise, is a negligible matter. Fortunately for everyone involved, Jin-Woo has never had the habit of divulging anything personal to veritable strangers. Only his family and his closest friends get the privilege, and even then, only Jin-Chul knows everything.

They spend the next few minutes eating in companionable silence, but Jin-Chul is well aware of Jin-Woo’s gaze on him, even if he doesn’t make it obvious. He finishes off half his plate before setting it aside and then reaching out to snag Jin-Woo by the wrist.

Jin-Woo makes it obvious this time.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Jin-Chul says with a mild sort of reproach. “So unless you have, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

He feels Jin-Woo go still for a second, two, and then the man pulls back, but only far enough to regard him with ghost-light eyes. Finally, he shakes his head, then again as if for emphasis before offering a rueful smile. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. Sorry. I guess I’m still getting used to the... certainty of it.”

Jin-Chul scoffs. “It’s been certain for years.” But he does understand, so he also squeezes Jin-Woo’s wrist before letting go. “Although, there will be a problem if I stay looking this young forever.”

“Oh, that,” Jin-Woo waves a dismissive hand. “I can slowly age you on the surface, and you can do it yourself once you learn how. Well, not exactly the way I do it - pushing death back is the Shadow Monarch’s domain. But the stronger your mana, the longer your lifespan, and illusions - even ones that affect the physical plane - shouldn’t be too hard to get a hang of.”

Jin-Chul stops halfway from reaching for his food again. “...I don’t think my powers fall within that purview.”

Jin-Woo is already shaking his head. “I won’t be Awakening you the same way the Rulers did.” He pauses like he’s gathering his thoughts, and Jin-Chul turns back attentively because this is new information. “In the previous timeline, whenever Hunters Awakened, they were basically borrowing a certain amount of power from the energy that the Gates gave off. That’s how Norma Selner could remove your ‘limit’, so to speak - she had the ability to expand the amount of power that a Hunter could take in and use, but even then, there was a limit. That power, that mana, technically didn’t belong to the Hunter, so of course there was always a point where they couldn’t get any stronger, even after a Reawakening or an upgrade. Even class divisions were because it was easier on the human body when manipulating mana if Hunters just went with what they were best at. An Awakening like that can only ever be a substitute. I won’t be doing that.”

He leans forward, and this time, it’s Jin-Chul who goes motionless as the other man rests a hand against his chest, over the thud of his heartbeat.

“Every living thing in the universe is born with mana,” Jin-Woo explains. “It could roughly be translated to soul energy. It’s just that for humans, it’s still dormant because your species as a whole hasn’t developed far enough, and your bodies wouldn’t be able to handle it. It would be like... introducing a second circulatory system into your body on top of what you already have. The human body hasn’t figured out a way to support that yet.”

“But... I would be different,” Jin-Chul says slowly.

Jin-Woo shrugs. “You already are. I can’t change someone with a snap of my fingers - I’d probably blow them up or something. It’s a gradual process, and I’ve been working on you since-”

He breaks off abruptly, coughs, retrieves his hand, and then looks down at his food almost awkwardly. Jin-Chul stares at him for a moment before huffing a laugh, even as a thrilled sort of pleasure rears its head inside him.

He wonders, sometimes, which of them decided they wanted to keep the other first.

“It doesn’t hurt you,” Jin-Woo assures, as if that’s even a concern. “We could go our separate ways right now and the only thing that would happen is that you’d start aging again. Your mana would just stay dormant.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Jin-Chul scoffs. “Do I have to do anything?”

“To Awaken? No, that’s on me.” Jin-Woo blinks at him. “Um. Now?”

“No time like the present,” Jin-Chul says blithely.

Jin-Woo’s eyes narrow, but after a moment, he pushes aside his own food, rolls to his knees, and shuffles over until he’s right beside Jin-Chul. Jin-Chul blinks, moving easily when Jin-Woo curls a hand around the back of his neck and draws him close until their foreheads touch.

“It’s been certain for me too, for years,” Jin-Woo says bluntly. “I wouldn’t have bothered changing you if I wasn’t. Even my family - I’ve only slowed their aging down, nothing else.” He stops, and his grip tightens briefly. “You told me I didn’t have to be alone. I’m going to spend the rest of eternity holding you to your word, so I really hope you’re prepared.”

And then, before Jin-Chul can do more than take note of the way a last lingering knot of anxiety unravels inside him, Jin-Woo’s other hand is back against his chest, shadows flaring around them like stygian dusk-light, and all Jin-Chul can hear as he instinctively closes his eyes is the thunderous beat of his heart and the calamitous whispers of the dead and the savage roar of the eternal void that Jin-Woo commands.

When it happens, Jin-Chul almost misses it, and yet, at the same time, there’s no way he could. He remembers the first time he was Awakened in his previous life - it had been sudden and explosive, an overwhelming dizzying rush of power that had made him feel invincible, at least in the moment, and like everything around him was as fragile as glass and one wrong move might break it. Even after he’d settled, and the initial flood of mana had levelled out, he’d always been very aware of its presence, unmistakable and distinct, almost demanding to be used in the way Jin-Chul sometimes felt increasingly agitated if he went too long without entering a Dungeon. He’d thought it was just restlessness, sitting behind a desk too long, but on hindsight, with what he knows now of mana and Rulers and Monarchs and their eons’ worth of war games, perhaps that urgent need to hunt hadn’t all been his own.

It’s different, this time. This time, his Awakening feels like a sigh of relief in the dark, like puzzle pieces slotting into place, like the first breath of mountain air on a winter dawn. It fills his chest, fills his lungs, fills his whole body, and nestled behind his ribcage, behind his heart, in the depths of his soul, something blooms, all shades of purple like the horizon at sunset and just as ephemeral, delicate like the wings of a butterfly, but vibrant like birdsong and mountain streams and the first touch of colour on a cold spring morning.

Jin-Chul’s eyes fly open, and he’s gasping like he’s just run up a dozen flights of stairs. He feels the burn of mana in his eyes, familiar and foreign all at once, and when he looks down at his hands, purple light glitters faintly in his palms. It takes effort though, far more than he remembers ever needing, to regulate his mana, like flexing a muscle he’s never used before. He releases his grip on it then, lets it sink back into the tiny pool of power inside him, and it goes without protest, patient as bedrock and infinite in potential.

When he finally looks up again, Jin-Woo is watching him, smiling faint and pleased. Jin-Chul breathes in, then out, and somehow, it’s like he’s gained a piece of himself that he’d never noticed was missing before.

“I didn’t realize it was supposed to be like this,” Jin-Chul murmurs in a daze.

Jin-Woo hums something like agreement. “The Rulers’ method was pretty clumsy and heavy-handed. To be fair, they didn’t have the luxury to change the internal-” He waves a hand at Jin-Chul. “-of an entire species. But yeah, if that timeline had continued, with no more Gates to draw energy from, and human bodies that couldn’t generate the stuff without outside interference but were also already forced to accommodate mana, even in the best-case scenario, Hunters would’ve imploded on their own in a few more years.” His eyes darken. “People aren’t clay, but the Rulers pretty much stretched and moulded them like they were.”

Jin-Chul... is suddenly even more glad Jin-Woo had managed to convince the Rulers to turn back time. He’d never realized just how many problems the Rulers and Monarchs had brought with them to earth.

“Anyway,” Jin-Woo continues more briskly. “Your mana will grow the more you train it, just like anything else.” He flashes a surprisingly boyish smirk. “Maybe one day, you’ll even beat me.”

Jin-Chul straightens, the first stirrings of interest bubbling up inside him. They’ve gone to the gym for spars over the years, but obviously, it was never with mana on Jin-Woo’s part, and Jin-Chul has admittedly missed the sort of battles one could only ever get as a Hunter. The incessant urge to hunt had probably been something instilled in him by the Rulers. But he knows himself well enough to acknowledge that the desire for a good fight is all his own.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get strong enough to surpass Jin-Woo. The Shadow Monarch isn’t someone you just defeat. But if the only limit Jin-Chul has now is his own willpower, then he’s confident that he’ll at least be able to give Jin-Woo some decent competition one day.

Something of his thoughts must show on his face or seep into his mana because Jin-Woo’s eyebrows go up, and then he positively grins, all teeth and challenge, and the interest Jin-Chul feels not only doubles but also puts heat in his veins.

Out loud, in contrast, he only says demurely, “Perhaps. In the meantime though, I’ll be in your care. Do train me well.”

A moment later, almost faster than his eye can follow, he’s been knocked over and pinned to the bed, and it makes Jin-Chul laugh, breathless with rising excitement. Jin-Woo hovers over him, bright-eyed and smiling and beautiful.

“Mana signatures are troublesome,” The man tells him. “They broadcast a bit too much.” He squints with faux-accusation. “You’ve had four hours and a healing potion to recover. When did I become the voice of reason in this relationship?”

“I’m no longer the head of the Monitoring Division,” Jin-Chul says in deadpan tones. “I need to make up for all those years I spent soothing injured egos and cleaning up temper tantrums. I think it’s only fair you hold the position for a while.”

Jin-Woo snorts even as Jin-Chul adds, “Besides, I think the Awakening healed me the rest of the way.” He isn’t even sore anymore. Shame. He peers slyly up at Jin-Woo, who’s suddenly gone predator-still. “I was expecting to take another day off on account of not being able to walk properly, but I suppose if that’s not going to happen, I can just-”

Jin-Woo cuts him off with a growled, “You asked for it,” and then Jin-Chul has no more words as a fierce devouring kiss turns his laughter into a moan.

Instead, he winds his arms around his lover and arches up into the hard lines of his body, movements fuelled by lust but lacking any urgency.

They have all the time in the universe now, and Jin-Chul plans to savour every last minute of it.

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virgil-writes · 3 years

Photo

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 6 - the spork

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 2.7K words.

chapter 7 - shower thoughts

on ao3 only, to avoid tangling with tumblr's nip ban rules. contains naughty things.

Why was it he had let her live again? Heisenberg couldn’t help but wonder, making his way across the bridge that led to the factory. The pot of stew felt heavy in his hands, heavy and warm; a pleasantry, not a threat, despite his impulsive behavior. What puzzled him, really, was that she seemed so comfortable in the face of animosity, like an aggressive man invading her home and threatening to kill her was just part of a humdrum day. He had thought the illusions and ominous offers were meant to lure passersby in, to drain them of blood and use their skin and bones for sordid rituals. He had gone through it all because he was certain nothing could kill him, even if it tried, but no violence came from her. Was she trying to keep people out?

There was no trace of blood on his face, no trace that he had ever broken his nose in such a ridiculous manner, no trace that he had ever been bitten by a half-dead lycan. She had been the only witness, and he doubted she would bother entering the village to spread the news. He would go as far as saying she was happy to see him, his restraint a breath of fresh air in what he could imagine was a violent existence. He would know; they both had that look in their eyes, the look of someone drained of life because they had seen too much, done too much.

Power, he cut himself off when his thoughts had started leaning too much towards emotions. Power, that was the reason he had let her live. She was a cyphered book, an old witch’s grimoire locked away in a dusty tower. He had treaded dangerous waters and climbed through the window holding onto unsteady stones, and had only been given a glimpse, a quick look at the first page. And what he had seen was intriguing, dark and mysterious, so alien compared to his parasite-infested, mold-ridden world. Power and curiosity, nothing more.

As if on cue, the front gate’s buzzer went off, the whirring sound reminding him of the old American game shows he used to watch as a child. Wrong answer.

“Oh, fine.” He grunted in exasperation, free hand thrown in the air in defeat. “I liked her.” The words felt like soap in his mouth, a punishment for his profanity and transgressions. But there was no mother to wash out his mouth anymore, to keep him quiet and obedient. It felt good to say it, good to admit it. He was no machine; he may no longer be simply a man, but he still had his humanity well rooted within him. Or at least he liked to think so.

He liked her, he repeated, an awkward wave of relief washing over him. Not in a sit and commit sort of way, though, he wasn’t about to run back to her cabin come morning with a fancy ring to put on her finger. Hell, not even in a hit it and quit it way, either. The enigma of her existence was intoxicating, a lonely witch living in the woods of powers untold, his very own little secret. His own puppet to manipulate, another tool in his arsenal against Big Bird Bitch, if all went well. What a great find, his chest swelling with pride at his masterful move.

And she did seem to take a liking to him, modesty be damned.

The garage doors greeted him with the familiar screech of metal, a cloud of soot and hot air blowing out into the yard, like a nice warm hug from his beloved metal beast, like it wanted to congratulate him on a job well done. Though there was little need for such precautions, Heisenberg checked the locks, scanned the room for any suspicious activity. Everything in place, every last bit of scrap metal thrown carelessly to the side exactly where he had left it. The factory was quiet enough at this hour, and you would have to pay close attention to hear the haulers walking to and fro, their rare vocalizations every now and then. He was in high spirits and there was much work to do, improving Eins and Zwei, setting aside some time to study Sturm’s case and prepare accordingly. And then there was the planning, the pouring over reports of the latest events, coming up with the best strategy to take out each of his precious “siblings”, wedging his beautiful little hag in just the perfect place within his plans.

The complexity of it all was a marvel to him, a puzzle he never got tired of putting together. He supposed he had Miranda to thank for that, for turning his world upside down, forcing him to push his capabilities to the limit because of it. Sometimes he dreaded to think about what would come after; his hatred was all that kept him going, doing the bare minimum to keep himself alive and functioning, to get him out of bed come morning. What would he do when they were all out of the picture? He could finally be himself, he supposed, though that sounded like a tremendous amount of work and pain for the meager reward of knowing the shell of a man he had become.

This was not the time to think about it, he reprimanded himself. The rebellion hadn’t even began and he had many sleepless nights ahead of him.

The smell of the stew reminded him that he would starve if he waited any longer to eat. He barely remembered when he had eaten last - was it this morning? Yesterday? Such moments were but a blur, a mere nuisance in his schedule. Heisenberg was good at many things, but cooking, that he had never gotten the hang of. Putting a stove together? Piece of cake. Making a fridge out of scrap metal and elbow grease? That he could do. It’s not like he had grown up on much, either, had developed a taste for fine dining, wine and biscuits. His parents had been the industrial kind in more ways than one: blunt, efficient, cut and dry. Their meals were few and far in between, whatever cooked up fast and was filling enough to keep them standing. He had lost the parents, but kept the philosophy over the years, surviving on jerkies and raw produce, or whatever the Duke had in stock to be stored and crudely roasted later.

Heisenberg turned the key to his quarters with a sigh. Home, sweet scrapyard at last, and he wasted no time kicking off his boots and levitating the hammer to place it against the wall next to his favorite chair He set the pot on the metal table before discarding his hat and trench coat, eyeing the bowl the entire time as if it was about to attempt murder. Which he figured it might, considering the person who had given it to him was a woman he had met just a few hours prior, who lived in a hidden shack in the woods and could shapeshift into a giant horned monster. She had tasted it before preparing his bowl, and it did look harmless enough. Heisenberg inspected it closely - it definitely looked very appetizing. Some meat, potatoes, herbs mixed into a thick broth. A hearty meal for a cold winter night. Even if it was poisoned, it looked good enough to be worth the hassle.

“Ah, right.” He stared at his empty hand, shaking his pointer finger disappointingly. A laugh escaped him as he pulled every drawer, went through every shelf. Chisel, saw, hammer. Screwdriver, nails, wrench. Pliers, clamps and cutters, nuts, bolts and screws. An old TV antenna, pewter tankard, and even a goddamn tooth crown. Everything he could think of, except the one thing he needed: a single fucking spoon.

He stormed out of his quarters and into the foundry with the fury of a god. Nothing would keep him from the possibly deadly bowl of stew that smelled like the best thing that would ever grace his lips. He had reanimated the dead to do his bidding, could move metal with his fucking hands. A spoon was no match for him. Grabbing a sheet of metal and a long-abandoned pen, he roughly drew the shape of what he remembered a spoon to be - it had been a while. Cutting through took longer than he expected, and he refused to buff the steel to make it shiny. If he did not ingest his sustenance within the next few minutes, he was positive he would simply lay down and die. He took hammer to metal to make sure the thing would actually hold liquid, then the idea hit him like a flash of lightning, and he cut three small indentations at the tip: half spoon, half fork. The perfect piece of flatware. He would call it… The spork. Finally, he filed the edges just enough that it wouldn’t accidentally rip out a piece of his tongue, and proudly walked back to his quarters, plopping himself down unceremoniously onto a nearby stool.

If this turned out to taste like boiled dirt, it would be the biggest disappointment of his life yet. But it wasn’t - in fact, it was the best thing he had eaten in decades. Creamy, just the right amount of spice, meat cooked to perfection. Somewhere deep within his soul, he knew a proud ancestor watched as he took a generous bite out of a tender potato chunk. He could get used to this, he mused, a mouthful of pork and a hum of approval later. Maybe he should visit more often.

It was over all too soon, and he found himself staring at the empty bowl with so, so much sadness in his heart. Maybe he should have stayed for dinner. Forlorn and full, he leaned against the workbench, one hand reaching down to untuck his shirt, dexterous fingers then quickly unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his pants. Head thrown back, he let out a happy, satisfied sigh when his stomach was finally free of its cloth constraints. He pat his belly with a chuckle, feeling the faint lines of toned muscle above his belly button, then the creases on his hips - he didn’t look bad for being almost a century old, eh? He had gained some extra weight, it’s true, since the Duke introduced him to some modern novelties such as frozen pizza and energy drinks, but hauling corpses and building intricate machines was good exercise. Just the right amount of bulk and sprinkle of muscle, if he did say so himself.

For a moment, unbidden, he wondered if she would like it. If she would like him, all of him, more than what she had seen, more than what she had heard, more than what he had offered in their brief encounter. He hadn’t kept up with the beauty trends, and any man with functioning limbs and two braincells passed as hunk material in the village, but he just knew that he was quite the specimen. He was reminded of that look in her eyes, the one that stirred something within him he hadn’t felt in way too long.

Not that he was interested, of course. His curiosity was only natural, seeing as he hadn’t spoken to anyone from outside this little bubble of a hellhole for decades. Even when he was sent out into the world, his orders were very specific - grab what needs to be brought back, do not talk to victims of the evil plan. As much as he wanted to do it as a fuck you to Miranda, instead he always decided to bide his time. Blowing his cover could mean failure - or death.

She would like it, he decided, checking out his reflection on a well polished piece of metal. Not that it was difficult, of course. Who wouldn’t? The charming beard, killer smile, steel blue eyes. He could treat his hair better, true, wash the soot off his face. His clothes needed washing and his feet needed some time out of those damp boots. He had one too many broken fingernails and more scars than skin at this point. Still, she would like it - on second thought, maybe after a nice, hot shower.

He busied himself with all manner of tasks after dinner. Washed it down with a nice gulp of Gibcos, then made his way down to one of the operating rooms. He pushed aside the gurneys in his way, the quiet humming of the soldiers’ reactors a comforting sound despite the macabre landscape of the room. Beyond the door and behind the large window pane a very, very dead body lay waiting for him, a chunk of its torso and head missing. The lycans had done a number on the poor bastard, catching him off-guard as he made for the outhouse, so we was told. A man couldn’t even shit in this village in peace, he laughed humorlessly. The corpse was barely cold when Heisenberg dug it up and dragged it back to the factory. There was no funeral, no mourning of the deceased: in cases such as these, the villagers thought it best to bury the disfigured relative and be done with it, fingers crossed that they wouldn’t return with a hunger for human flesh a scant few days later. Despite the body’s horrid conditions, it would still be of great use to him. Strong legs and a wide torso, a perfect specimen for his latest experiment.

Sturm, he would call it, after the god-awful noise the propeller engine made. He tentatively pushed down one of the blades - it needed more oil. Rusty recycled chainsaws had been abandoned for a reason, but there was time to better the mechanical parts yet. First, he needed to figure out how to attach the engine, set up the circuitry, add in the artificial blood. Removal of internal organs was simple enough, a nice big heart to tie it all together. On the other hand, seating the mechanical core was a messy process that took him hours to get right. He didn’t want to waste time, or this corpse, when he had already come this far. He abandoned the project for a few minutes when the thighs gave with the weight, off to build braces to hold the thing together.

It looked mostly done after that, and revival was one powerful electric discharge away. Heisenberg held tight against its mechanical nervous system, focusing on channeling all of his energy - it would need an even bigger discharge than Eins and Zwei. Seven thousand volts, and not even a hint of movement. Eight thousand, he grunted as the current flowed through. Attracting metal was easy enough, but having electric organs was tiring work. He had all but given up when he heard the whir of the blades, Sturm’s body jolting on the operating table in a mix of eagerness and terror. The thing lifted its arms to touch him, chainsaw rippers spinning uncontrollably as Heisenberg took several steps back. He covered his face just in time - the desperate creature once again reached out to him, dumb enough not to notice the death machine attached to its own body. An arm hit and shattered the glass of the operating room, the other colliding against Heisenberg’s chest. Fuck, there was blood everywhere.

“Halte!” He bellowed before Sturm could get any closer, removing his now bloodstained glasses to stare at the thing like his gaze could drill a hole right through its spine. “Dummkopf.” And just as quickly as it had risen, it fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, metal bending in odd places with the impact. Heisenberg let out his frustration with a furious kick on the engine before deciding that if he tried again for the night, he would probably end up throwing the whole thing in the grinder. He’d rather avoid having to clean the blades of all the tissue that would be stuck to them.

Seemed like he would have to take that shower after all.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenburg x reader #but only if you squint really #virgil writes #long post ///

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sirmattchap · 3 years

Text

The Dawning

“You h-have no idea how-w-w lucky you are, to not feel cold…” Tank bitterly spoke between chattering teeth. His blood was frozen, and his bone gripped by the icy tendrils of the encroaching blizzard. His decrepit armour provided no protection against the elements. The fireplace he crouched in front of weakly flickered with life, the ramshackle cottage he sat in was home to a constant battle between the fragile heat, and the oppressive cold from outside. An electronic snicker came from across the room from a dusty table. Atlas sat with crossed legs, scrolling through documents on his datapad, paying no mind to the chilly air blowing through the broken window next to him.

“And you have no idea how lucky you are, not having to defragment every month.” He brushed some snow that drifted in off of his robes. “Do you ever miss it while we’re on operations?” Atlas asked, not even looking up from his work.

“It?” Tank looked at him and moved his hands closer to the flame. “You mean The Dawning?” Tank shrugged and looked back, the small blaze reflecting off his sapphire eyes. “I guess… Not much is different, maybe some new snacks at the stores. I guess this year, there’s just more to think about you know?”

“Agreed. Too many changes for my liking. I prefer things to be boring and simple.” he reponded

Tank reached into a pouch on his side and pulled out a small ring and rubbed it gently in his palm. “I think I miss the people the most… it’s so isolated out here.”

Atlas looked up from his datapad and tilted his head. “What, are we not good enough company?” He snarked.

Tank laughed and admired the ring. “No offence but being around you guys kinda got stale after the first hundred years” He shot back with a sly grin.

“HURTFUL!” Hayes shouted, kicking in the door to the cottage, with him came a burst of snow and blisteringly cold winds, instantly snuffing out the fire. Tank’s head snapped to Hayes. A new inferno roared inside his eyes as he stared into Hayes’ very soul. Atlas almost burst out laughing seeing the fire go out. Hayes ignored it, willfully or accidentally, neither was sure; he just rested his rifle next to the door and walked to the fireplace

Tank clenched his jaw and hissed. “I will make sure your Ghost never finds your remains…” Hayes smiled and stopped next to him, tousling Tank’s short grey hair, which only heightened his rage. Tank fists clenched, surges of arc energy sparked off them.

“Calm down old man, no need to break your hip.” Hayes pulled out a flaming hand cannon from behind his back and held it beside Tank’s head, shooting into the fireplace. A blast of heat filled the cottage, burning a patch of hair off of Tank’s head. “There, happy?”

“Ahhh! Bastard!” Tank patted a small patch of cindering hair. “Why am I not even surprised at this point!?” Hayes shrugged and sat down across from Atlas, leaning back on the chair and propping his legs up on the table. Tank’s Ghost took shape next to his Guardian, healing the man before disappearing again. Tank immediately stood up, gliding his hand across the fresh area of hair, all while glaring at the blasé Hunter, idly smiling widely with his eyes closed.

“No need t’ thank me!”

Atlas looked away from his document, resting his head on his hand, watching the two intently. “Frankly, I’m amazed it only took a hundred years for this to get old.”

Hayes let out a small laugh, “C’mon, y’know you both love me, without me, it’d just be you two and no offence, but that’d be soooo boring.” He cracked open his eyes and stared down Atlas. “Well, more boring than usual.”

Tank sighed, “How’s it look?”

“Well Jim, it looks like it’s gonna be another sunny scorcher out here, make sure to pack your sunscreen.” Hayes sassed, relishing the stern unimpressed look on Tank’s face. Atlas never gave him disapproving looks, that’s the worst part about trying to annoy Exos as he’d say. “Well, if you must know, it’s the same as yesterday and the day before and so on. The remnant of these Devil’s are still keeping their head down and battling out the Winter. I can’t possibly imagine what that’s like.” He rolled his eyes.

Tank rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a seat between the two. “And the Tower?” Tank looked to Atlas, expecting a much better result.

“No new orders, but a bunch of new news. Rumours say The Guardian has found a way to use the Darkness? That can’t be right… can it?”

“Mercury and Mars are just... gone. At this point anything is possible,” Hayes noted.

“Anything else?”

“Hmm… Dawning wishes from Eva, Tess gives us gift cards for one free Bright Engram when we arrive at the Tower. Lynnette wishes you a happy Dawning too.” Atlas gestures to Tank, before continuing “a bunch of messages from the usual suspects asking for Hayes to come back and open the bar-”

“Ughhh I’m missing out on so much business…” He groans while dragging his hands down his face. “Especially with the Darkness being here? People need to drink away their fears.”

Tank shook his head, keeping quiet to let Atlas pick up where he left off. “Weird structures have been appearing on the Moon, in the Dreaming City and the Tangled Shore, and Osiris… Oh no…”

“What?” Tank and Hayes leaned forward, both of them trying to hide a string of fear that rang in their hearts.

“...Osiris lost his Ghost… He is safe in the Tower, but he is reclusive and quiet since he lost Sagira...” Tank and Hayes moved back shocked. A quiet note hung in the air, as the wind outside picked up and snow fell like hail. Atlas turned off his datapad and spoke hushedly. “How long did he spend in the Infinite Forest? Several decades? Spending so much time alone with the same Ghost, never saying a word to anyone else, isolated like that. Can you imagine that?”

Tank looked to Hayes, who gave him a knowing smile. “Yeah, I think I could.” Hayes chirped.

Atlas glared at Hayes, “Yeah, but you have not lost Chaplin, Tank has not lost Omar, and I have not lost Cassini. To lose them would be losing a part of your soul.”

A ghostly silence fell among them, stopping the conversation in its tracks. They all hated the silence, but no one could muster the ability to speak first. Their thoughts all consumed by the idea that the apocalypse is coming, and they could be next. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes dragged on for hours. Or at least it felt like they did. Then, Omar appeared next to Tank, speaking softly. “I think now would be a good time buddy, save the mood and all that.”

Tank nodded “I think that’s a good idea.” Omar turned to the Warlock and Hunter, and spun his shell, materializing two engram shaped gifts, wrapped crudely with paper depicting cartoon Ghosts, engrams, and glimmer. “I know we agreed on no gifts seeing as we were going into the field, but I thought these could break up the monotony if we were out here too long. Go ahead, open them!” Tank looked uncharacteristically happy, looking almost unnatural for having, as Hayes would say, ‘resting bitch face’.

Atlas began by delicately unwrapping the present, taking care not to damage the paper, revealing a cardboard engram underneath to hold the shape. Atlas tried carefully to open it but ended up tearing the thing in half. Onto the table fell a pristine new set of robes. He admired the craftsmanship that went into the stitching, making it seamless to all but the most attentive onlookers. Fine gold lines of threads snaked around the outfit creating beautiful patterns. The few metal parts that there are, were painted with Dawning imagery. Atlas looked to Tank confused. “This is from this year’s Guardian clothing line for the Dawning, is it not? But- how did you get it? We’ve been out here for three months.”

Tank smirked, proud of himself. “I just so happen to have been chosen last year as the model that the male Dawning Titan armour is based on; can’t exactly make a set of armour without measurements. So I called in a small favour with Tess to get an advanced copy of this year's set. I think it’ll look good on you.”

Hayes snarked “Ooo more options for dress-up time? I’m sure you’re happy about that ey’ Toaster?” he mocked. Atlas looked to him, but Hayes’ couldn’t get the angry look he was hoping for. “I ever mention how creepy it is that you tin-cans don’t really have facial expressions?”

“Dozens of times…” Atlas agonized.

“Good, it’s true.”

“Thank you Tank, I love it.” Atlas gratefully accepted the gift, clutching it close to his chest.

“Alright, sentimental time over, my turn!” Hayes eagerly tore apart the wrapping paper with little regard, shredding the cardboard in the process. He stopped dead in his tracks though when he saw what his gift was. He pulled out a square crystal bottle with a large crystal stopper at the neck of the bottle. Amber liquid swirled inside as he moved it around, examining it. His hands shook a little when setting it down on the table. He carefully removed the stopper and took a sniff before capping it. “You…”

“Found a bottle of centuries-old aged whiskey. I remember you talking about how older drinks always taste the best, so I kept my eyes open anytime we left the Tower. Remember that old Bunker we found on Mars? There was a bottle tucked away in a safe, who knows how old that stuff is, but I think it’s gotta taste pretty good.” Tank's pride was oppressive, smiling wide in the enjoyment on their faces. Well. Hayes’ face.

“Wow, that’s… Thank you.” Hayes’ words oozed with sincerity. He looked around, causing his Ghost to appear. Hayes held up three fingers, then knocked on the table. His Ghost nodded and produced three small glasses on the table in front of him. “What’s a gift if you can’t share it right?” Atlas nodded, turned on his datapad, and set up a small festive song to play in their merriment. Hayes poured a small amount into each glass, making sure not to give too much, then slid them across the table to each one of them. He raised his glass and looked at both of them. “To our survival!” Hayes cheered.

Atlas tilted his head and grabbed his glass. “To our friendship!” he continued.

Tank smirked and raised his own. “To another year!” He cheered.

Their glasses clinked as they toasted, and drank the liquor. Tank and Atlas immediately spat it out in disgust, as Hayes pleasantly finished his without a care in the world. Once he finished, the three of them burst out laughing, both sides complaining and defending the drink. A blizzard raged outside, but inside burned with unbridled jubilation.

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny the dawning #the dawning #destiny #destiny fanfiction #destiny trio #atlas-7 #Hayes #Tank #fanfic #destiny fanfic #short story #destiny guardians #guardians

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: Christmas Day

Summary:

Haru convinces Rin to spend Christmas with him in Disneyland and Rin remembers when she used to go there with her parents.

Part two of my present to @hizashi-yamadas for the Animanga Secret Santa 2020

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other parts:

December 24: Christmas Eve (Toru x Kyo)

December 26: The Day after Christmas (Uo x Kureno)

Note: Merry Christmas Elisha and I hope you enjoy! Keep your eyes out for the next installment :D

Rin wasn’t planning anything big for Christmas. In fact, she had never really done anything for Christmas since she had moved out of her parent’s place and into Kagura’s house. Being reminded everyday by the dynamics of Kagura and her mother of the family life she did not achieve, somehow made her ponder her circumstances as a daughter, as a part of a family.

A holiday as big and supposedly as warm as Christmas despite the biting winter was only mocking her. It did not feel warm at all.

It was like any other cold day in winter and Rin found herself curled up on the blanket at four in the morning when she looked at her phone to see December 25 written on the front and a subheading below which said “Christmas Day.” She had heard that in other countries, Christmas day was an important holiday for families. At least there, it was bearable. Kagura and her mother only made it less bearable because those two liked to spend it together every single damn year.

She was sure Kagura wouldn’t invite her out like they did the first few years. Like every year, Rin was determined to stay alone in the room.

That was until she saw that message under the date.

Won free tickets to Disneyland. Let’s go tomorrow.

It wasn’t a question. In fact, it seemed like an order more than anything. Rin started to consider then, that maybe for that year, her Christmas plans would change. The name she saw above the message only convinced her more, to maybe get out of bed that day and find some other way to celebrate that dreaded holiday.

Rin was quick to reply. As she watched the bar fill as the message was sent, she looked back up at the name at the top of the screen and allowed herself a little smile.

Haru Soma.

Strangely, for the first time in so many years, she was excited for Christmas.

Christmas Day

It had been years since Rin had been to Disneyland. Or at least, it should have been years since then.

As Rin took in the view of the arc as they entered, the turnstiles and the crowds, it felt like just yesterday. Maybe because the view in Disneyland was timeless. The crowds and the families and the Christmas decorations never changed.

Suddenly, she saw her parents among the crowds and she could imagine them holding her hand and pulling her through the crowds. She was five years old again.

Back then she was happy. Back then, Christmas was magical. Back then, she was looking forward to going home that night and waking up to presents from Santa Claus.

The stark contrast then to what she had at present, the realization that everything had all been a lie, only left a horribly bitter taste in her mouth.

Every face she saw, every child, every parent was smiling. Every smile was warm. And Rin was wondering again what had gone wrong. She looked to Haru, hoping at least to see a warm smile there.

His face was blank. Maybe he was spacing out as they were navigating the crowd. She couldn’t help but be a little disappointed though.

“Where to first?” He asked. As they finally got past the turnstiles and into the crowd.

“You invited me.” I thought you’d be planning it. Rin had hoped he’d read that part with the look she gave him. He seemed unperturbed though.

“Okay, let’s see what looks fun.” He grabbed a guide from the nook on the side and looked through it. “This is my first time here. You’ve been here before right?”

“Maybe.” A long time ago. In another life.

After some walking, they arrived at a point in the park which looked like what could have been an old Western City. The buildings were streaked with colors of Christmas and it was when Rin looked closer did she see they were Christmas lights on green pines. She let herself look a little at it a longer, and a little more carefully. The pine gave an unnatural glint, if one looked closely enough to see it.

They were fake. Probably plastic. She’d been living a fake life for more than half her life. She continued to live completely aware that everything else could be fake The home she was enjoying in Kagura’s home could have been fake. Haru taking her out to Disneyland could have been another stage play.

Everything around her from the Christmas lights and the pine trees and the giant tree that illuminated the darker part of the semi-indoor Christmas town, although breathtaking was definitely fake.

Compared to years ago, Rin was not amazed. In fact, it was frustrating to see something so beautiful yet so blatantly staged.

“You wanna go on a ride?” Haru suggested. “The tower of terror is pretty popular apparently.”

They followed the map to the location of the ride. It wasn’t too hard. The tower stuck out amongst all the other buildings and they only had to follow its general direction to get a feel of where it was. They followed a few more paths, keeping an eye on the tower above.

Eventually, they were near enough to have to look up at it. Rin’s stomach dropped as she bent her head back to see how high the tower really went. She could hear the screams from the inside and the excited chatter from the long line that spilled far out of the entrance. They didn’t help at all.

In fact they only amplified that tingling sensation on her back. Within seconds, it was as if her scars were burning. Somehow, she was lying again on the ground, looking up at the sky, Akito looking down at her from his spot on the window.

“Let’s...get out of here.” Rin managed to say.

“Rin, you okay?”

Rin had felt it many times before. Terror would manifest itself as a million fingers grabbing at her, wrapping himself around her and suddenly she’d be unable to breath. She used to fight them. Something inside her though, still had a weak grip on reality and Rin was at least aware enough of the arm wrapping around her, and the benevolent intentions behind it.

“Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Rin knew if at that moment she gave her body any more power, maybe she would have fought against the gentle arm running around her. Maybe she would have kicked or elbowed him from behind, the way she had wanted to when Akito did the same things.

It took more than enough effort but she managed to stop herself, channeling the fear and terror inside her and allowing it to manifest itself as time frozen, as the world going black.

For Rin, time stood still, except for the arms wrapped around her. She let them take her where she needed to go.

Christmas Day

“That was a stupid thing to suggest.. I’m sorry.”

To the average person, Haru’s voice would have sounded emotionless with no shred of guilt. Rin only had to look up at his gaze, to see that the guilt was there and the acknowledgement of his mistake.

“No it wasn’t… We wasted a good five hours of park time cause I just couldn’t get myself together,” Rin commented as she cut up the jelly they had ordered into smaller pieces. It was a simple exercise that was at least helping her clear her mind.

“The tickets were free. If you’re not up to it, we can leave now and just go somewhere else.”

“What are you suggesting?” Rin took one small bite of jelly.

“Maybe a mall? Or just the park? They have a Christmas Market in Hibiya.”

“They’re all crowded. It won’t make a difference.”

“Then maybe we can go back to the main house.”

Rin shook her head. “We’re already here. You got some free tickets. Might as well enjoy it.”

That last part was for herself. They were sitting in a relatively peaceful part of the park. The attractions around that area were geared towards children and Rin couldn’t help but note that compared to the area where the Tower of Terror was, the faces around her were a little more laid back. There were a lot more families with children and a few couples among them.

There was less hustle and competition among them to be first in line. The smiles were at least more relaxed. Many of the children were running freely, their parents following behind them. Even when frazzled, the parents looked happy. And the children, who looked back at their parents gesturing for them to follow, looked carefree.

Must be nice. How long had it been since Rin had smiled like that at her parents? She found herself even questioning her own emotions and her own experiences. And as she thought back to the same face her parents made, and the same way they had chased her through the park more than a decade ago, Rin realized one important thing.

“I’ve been here before.”

“I was sure your parents have taken you here before. Back when were kids, they never stopped bragging about your happy family vacations over Soma family dinners.”

Of course Haru would have remembered more than him. The shock at realizing that everything had all been part of an act, that every happy memory as a child had all been a lie had all been part of some large production, made it difficult for Rin to recall them at will.

Lies were things that simply didn't exist in reality. How could she grasp for something that never existed as something beyond an act or a lie?

The memories were still somehow vague but they were enough to rouse a little curiosity within her.

“Let’s go on a ride?”

“What are you thinking?”

Rin only had to point ahead for Haru to understand. The building was hidden behind trees from their angle. The bright colors of the castle stuck out. That was also the only ride within their field of vision.

Rin had to pick at her head to remember what exactly went on inside the ride. The cartoony Eiffel tower and the clock tower in odd and exquisite yet unrealistic shades were all too familiar. As a child, they had reminded her and even hinted to possibly a world beyond her own, complementing the many fairy tales and folk tales she had heard as a child. That part of her memory was at least what made the view in front of her as they closed in on the ride, all the more familiar.

As they got nearer and Rin let the trauma-hardened cynic within her take over, she started to notice the unnatural glint of cement and cheap paint, as the afternoon sunlight shined on it. Somehow, it had become comforting to know that even in that magical place, there were still some things that were bogus. That no one was exempt from stage plays and productions in life.

She didn’t know how long they were in line. She had occupied herself though flitting between her child self and her present self. Allowing herself to enjoy the mixture of colors and the fantastical artwork and then taking note of any indication of its artificiality when she found herself becoming envious of the children who haven’t yet lost the wonder in their eyes.

Haru was silent. At the least they were both comfortably silent.

When they had gotten nearer to the front of the line, that was when she started to remember further, what had made the artworks stick out a little longer.

There is just one moon and one golden sun and a smile means friendship to everyone.

Though the mountains divide and the oceans are wide...

It’s a small world after all. Rin found herself humming the characteristic chorus even preempting the actual music.

For a while she was smiling. For a while, she was enjoying it. It at least lasted until they secured a seat inside the small boat. The combination of the music and the carefree atmosphere as children rushed to the fronts screaming and laughing, made it all the easier for Rin to pretend that one of them was the Rin from ten years ago.

The cacophony of music and laugher and the bombardment of bright colors and lights made it difficult for Rin to feel the lump on her throat and the heaviness in her chest as the boat moved through it.

For a second though, everything was black. It could have been less than a split second, maybe an interval before the scenery changed. It was enough for the lump in her throat to make itself known, and the heaviness in her chest to push a little further. And even as the lights came up again and the scenery changed from fantastical Europe to a rendition of what looked like Arabian nights. Magical Carpets. Asian towers and what could have been a Jungle Book Puppet.

They were as beautiful as the last area. Rin had to note. The lump and the heaviness had taken over though and before Rin could even stop it, she felt a tear slide down her cheek.

The careful and intricate combinations of music and dancing puppets had created a beautiful experience for her as a child. Enough for her to recall the details decades later, everything all the way until the arm around her and the soft voice from her mother.

Stay nearer to the middle Rin, we don’t want you falling out.

Was it all a lie? Was her mother’s concern then a lie? The music was coming from some speakers. The puppets were just carefully choreographed and carefully programmed to make it look magical to a child. If Rin looked at them one by one though, she could see that the movements were too mechanical and repetitive.

Just like her own parents.

Rin had enough control of herself at least to guide herself out of the ride and to navigate among the crowds going out through the exit without bumping into any man. Haru could have been helping her then but at that moment she didn’t care.

She just wanted to get out.

“I’m not going back here again,” Rin said. “It’s fucking fake. Everything in this park is fucking fake.”

Once again, Haru and Rin were on a bench in the middle of the park. Rin was on her second cup of jelly. She appreciated the fact that the jelly and the burst of sweetness that came when it melted on her mouth wasn’t fake at least.

“Of course they are. They’re all man made attractions. If you wanted something real, we could have gone to a safari.”

“Then why do people like it so much?” Why did I enjoy it so much then? Once again, she was envious of the children passing by and the child within her for being able to enjoy something so artificial. Rin swirled the jelly in the cup in anger, completely transforming it into something which resembled pudding and water more than jelly.

“I don’t think people like the rides for the rides or the buildings for the buildings. It’s the atmosphere which makes it something worthwhile. I had fun today. I don’t think I would have had as much fun if I were alone though.”

Rin felt the blood rush into her face and she found herself mixing the jelly in the cup a little quicker, regretting it a second later as it started to feel more like water than jelly.

“It’s getting dark.”

Rin should have noticed the way the bright colors around the park were a little dimmer. She had been too focused on her own memories than what was there in front of her. And as the sky above her gradually shifted from shades of red to purple, Rin had to note that it was an unfamiliar site, particularly the way the colors around her adjusted to the new lighting as the street lights around the park started to light up.

The sun would set at late afternoon during winter. Her parents had always brought her out of the park as soon as the sun started to make its way below the horizon, even before the sky turned a bright orange.

It was a new scenery and with no memory to grab on to, Rin found herself looking at Haru next to her. He was quiet. It wasn’t anything too unusual. A feeling of guilt still washed over Rin as she realized she had spent the whole day focusing on herself and on the memories the park had brought her. She had spent her hours in the park, on the memories of her parents when there was someone next to her, who she could have at least enjoyed it with.

“Hey, before we go home, there’s something I wanna check out.”

Rin did not protest. She followed silently behind him as they made their way through the park. Her legs were aching already from the long walks and she was a little hungry, having only eaten two cups of jelly the whole day. She was starting to feel ashamed of herself and she knew she owed Haru at least that much.

By the time Haru had stopped, the sky was already dark, and the source of the illumination and colors around the park came from the streetlights around them.

They were in an area with bleachers and in front of them was a large body of water that stretched out in both directions.

“A lights show. I just thought it would look cool.” He waved the flier in front of her. “You’ve been to one before?”

Rin shook her head. She had been to Disneyland multiple times, but had never stayed late enough to see it at night.

The streets illuminated by a combination of the street lights and the Christmas lights on the way to the bleachers had been something new to her. As Rin watched as the water shot out of the ground in rhythm to the orchestra music playing in the background and as the colors scattered into different shades of the rainbow from a solid blue, Rin was sure, she had never seen something like that in her life.

The view of Disneyland at night was something completely new to her. It was new. It was exciting. She didn’t even notice the shallow breath she head let out in amazement as smoke appeared from somewhere mixing into the teal and the blue, a rendition very similar to that of the Northern Lights.

There was no unnatural glint of plastic to pick out. No individual movement to analyze. In fact, she didn’t even attempt to, for the first time, she was completely entranced by the performance in front of her.

It was a production, a play, just like the one her parents had made her watch for so many years. Somehow, the colors and the lights looked too authentic.

As it ended, she found herself just sitting, wishing it hadn’t ended, praying for an encore even as the people in front of her started to file out and a voice from some speakers were reminding people to watch their steps as they made their way out.

“You don’t wanna leave yet?” It was Haru’s voice that finally made her accept that the performance was done.

She had a short bout of laughter. It was an involuntary motion, an instinctive reaction to the situation in front of her. It could have possibly been directed at her own inability to process that it was over. As she looked at Haru though, she suddenly felt the need give a hard squeeze the hand that was on top of her for a large part of the spectacle.

“It was amazing.” Rin had wanted to say more but found herself at a loss for words. In the end everything from her head spinning in excitement, the blood rushing through her face and what could have been tears of joy or excitement creeping up at the corners of her eyes all culminated into one phrase. “Thank you.”

“It’s my first time seeing you this amazed,” He commented. “So, I guess you felt the magic?”

Felt the magic. It was a joke. An allusion to the introductory lines of the spectacle.

“Yeah I felt it.” As ridiculous as the word play was, Rin found herself playing along.

“Places are fun because of the people there,” Haru said. “I know your past memories in Disneyland are complete horseshit now. But it doesn’t have to be horseshit every single time.”

Rin felt a slight tingle of what could have been a mixture of excitement or assurance that spidered through her whole body. She traced the origins back to her hand he had squeezed in return.

“I’m not your parents Rin,” Haru continued. “Unlike them, I’m not putting up any lies in front of you. I had a lot of fun today.”

Rin had been betrayed enough to know what lies look like, how to pick out an overly rehearsed smile, the mechanics of rehearsed movements and glint. It only followed that she could pick out an absence of it.

Haru’s eyes were looking right at her, the smile a little too small, a little too hesitant to have been something he had rehearsed for a long time before that day.

In fact, he rarely thought his movements and his actions through. Maybe that’s why she had always trusted him. He never rehearsed, he never contemplated the next course of action. His decisions, his actions and words were usually too impulsive and too natural given circumstances to have been rehearsed.

His next few words would probably have been considered awkward to any other woman. Maybe a little too immature. Rin found herself opening up a little more, allowing herself to smile a little a little wider and to lean closer and onto his shoulder.

Her parents were the last thing on her mind. The young Rin and the magic of her experience in that park were a distant memory, all upstaged by the echoes of Haru’s words as they watched the dark stage in front of them in silence.

Let’s make new memories together.

#harurin #haru x rin #hatsuharu sohma #rin sohma #isuzu sohma #hatsuharu x rin #animangasecretsanta

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womanfromblackwater · 4 years

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Birthday Fic

Little birthday-themed fic focusing on Arthur and John’s brotherly bond. Of course, it’s all John’s birthday bc I found out way too late that yesterday was Roger’s, but enjoy!

Thirteen

From the moment he saw the small figure hunched at the side of the camp, Arthur knew something was wrong. The little urchin Dutch and Hosea had brought back a few months past usually spent his time getting into everything around the camp, seeing how much he could squirrel away in his tent before anyone noticed. If not that he was pestering Arthur. The kid wanted to copy everything he did and had no respect for Arthur’s time or personal space. Sitting on a rock staring off across the prairie was definitely not one of his usual activities. Silently hoping that the kid wasn’t getting sick, Arthur had gone about his day, until he noticed that by mid afternoon John still hadn’t moved. A part of him- most of him if he was being honest- was tempted to leave him there, let him sort out his own problems. But the small part that made him ________ took over, and he found himself walking over to the kid against his better judgement.

“You okay, boy?”

Startled, John visibly flinched at his voice, before quickly squaring his shoulders and putting on what Arthur thought of as his “tough guy scowl.” It was not especially intimidating coming from the skinny kid.

“I’m fine.”

“You ain’t. If you was fine you wouldn’t be over here. So, I’m gonna sit right here until you tell me what’s goin’ on.”

He plopped himself down on the grass, wondering why he was doing this but unable to make himself get up and walk away. John crossed his arms across his chest and turned his head away, but didn’t get up. Arthur guessed five minutes before the kid spilled his guts. John held out for ten before the tears he had been fighting started to run down his cheeks.

“I’m thirteen today.”

“Well, happy birthday, kid. That ain’t nothing to cry about.”

“That’s thirteen years my ma ain’t here. Pa always said I killed her. She made good money, too. It was my fault Pa lost his best girl. He coulda been rich.”

Arthur took a deep breath, not sure what to say. John never talked about his life before the gang, only said he was on his own since he was eight. Now he guessed he knew why.

“Hey, that ain’t… that ain’t your fault. You didn’t do nothing. It happens, boy. Ain’t nice, but it happens.”

He wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders, surprised when John didn’t fight him and just leaned into his side.

“You got a family now. Ain’t much of one, but we’re here.”

“I guess.”

The tears had stopped, and Arthur gave the boy’s shoulders a squeeze before getting up, brushing dirt off his jeans.

“Make sure you’re back for dinner. Hosea’ll worry if he knows you were out here all day.”

Having gotten a small nod, Arthur strode back to the main camp and saddled his horse. John could be whiny and aggressive and annoying, but he felt bad for the kid. Least he could do was get him a present. Probably the first one of his life.

Later that night, Arthur knew he’d done the right thing. It was way too big on John, but something had told him that the boy was meant to have it. His eyes were barely visible under the brim of the white gambler hat, but he had refused to take it off since he had opened the sloppily wrapped package. Arthur smiled to himself. He’d grow into it.

Twenty-Two

Giving a last wave to the trapper, Arthur rode off with the package secured behind him. He’d watched John shiver through the winter, too stubborn to ask for a heavier jacket and spending all his own money on presents for the girl Uncle had brought into camp. John had proudly declared that she didn’t charge him anymore, that soon enough she’d be only his, but Arthur figured that didn’t mean much when his lips were tinged with blue and he was practically sitting in the campfire to keep warm in a blizzard. The idea of the man he’d come to think of as a brother going through another cold snap like that had given Arthur the idea for his birthday gift. The ox leather had been easy to come by, the coyote had taken several nights of hunting, but it was worth it to see the result.

He arrived at camp to find the celebration already in full swing, despite it only being mid-afternoon. Arthur had always gotten a special meal and presents, but Dutch doted on John, and his birthday was second only to Christmas as the gang’s biggest party of the year. Hating that much attention himself, Arthur didn’t mind the arrangement.

John was sitting on the edge of a wagon, laughing with Bill and Uncle and already deep into his fourth drink. Arthur had been right, he had grown into the hat, although the white had become a deep tan after nearly a decade of use. Figuring he may as well give him his present while he was sober enough to appreciate it, he pulled the package off of Boadicea and headed over.

“Hey, kid, havin’ a good day?” He slung an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, the closest to a hug John would allow.

“Sure. Hosea let me sleep till noon, so I’d say it’s a good one. They won’t let me near the chuckwagon, so I guess Pearson got something good, too. How you been?”

“Fine, fine. Got this for ya.” He handed over the neatly folded brown paper.

“Shit, Arthur, you didn’t need to go this big. Uncle here got me a half-full box of bullets. Pretty sure he pulled it off your wagon.”

Uncle stood up taller.

“Hey, those is gonna save your life one day, boy. You’ll be thankin’ ol’ Uncle then!”

They all laughed as John tore back the paper on Arthur’s gift. His genuine smile warmed Arthur’s heart. John was usually either dead serious or drunkenly cackling. Honest happiness from him was rare. He ran his fingers through the soft fur of the jacket’s lining, admiring for a moment before looking up to Arthur.

“Thank you, brother. For real, thank you.”

“Aw, was nothin’. Now we don’t all have to listen to you and your chatterin’ teeth next time we head north.” He gave John a playful shove and steered him towards the campfire, where the rest of the gang was staring to gather for a rare night of relaxation.

Twenty-Six

“Hey, you up yet?”

Arthur could see through the gaping hole in the wall that he was, but figured John would appreciate the knock more than just barging in.

“Yep. You can come in.”

John was slumped in a chair, half-finished coffee in his hands. Dark circles under his eyes showed the toll the past few weeks had taken. Losing Sean, losing Jack and the fight to get him back, settling in at a new camp- they were all stressed and exhausted. Only Jack, looking up to wave at Arthur from his spot on the floor, happily playing with his toy horse, seemed to be truly okay.

“Just wanted to wish you many happy returns of the day.”

“What?”

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, John stared at Arthur, who remained silent until John’s eyes widened in realization.

“Jesus, I hadn’t even been keeping track. Already?”

“What is it, Pa?” Jack asked, climbing up into John’s lap. Arthur answered for him.

“It’s your pa’s birthday. Gettin’ old, he is.”

“Really? Is there gonna be a cake?” Jack’s eyes lit up. He still wasn’t exactly sure what a birthday was, but he knew that whenever somebody had one there were treats, and for his there had been presents.

“I don’t think so, Jack. We all got a lot going on right now, we’re not gonna have a party right in the middle of it.”

He was right, Arthur knew that, but a part of him remembered how hard it had been to get John to acknowledge his birthday in the first place, and he didn’t want to let that go. An idea forming, he held out his arms to Jack.

“Come on, Jack. Let’s give your pa some space. John, I’m borrowin’ your kid.”

John nodded, smiling at the giggle that Jack gave as Arthur picked him up and spun him around. Even though they’d all had hard times lately, Arthur seemed to be handling it better than he was. Jack deserved that, not sitting around in a rotting house watching his father brood all day.

Arthur had planned carefully, so by the time John returned from his chores around camp everything was done. They had spread a blanket across the floor for a picnic, and he, Jack, and Abigail sat around it, a small cake from a bakery in Saint Denis in the center. John was shocked.

“Didn’t think we were gonna just let the day go by, did ya? Come sit down.” Arthur cut cake for all of them, pointedly ignoring the shine of tears in John’s eyes. A kiss from Abigail and a bear hug from Jack had him relaxed enough to enjoy their small party. When Arthur rose to go, he handed John a folded piece of paper.

“Happy birthday, kid.”

Arthur didn’t know it, but John kept the drawing of himself, Abigail, and Jack tucked in his satchel whenever he had to be away from camp, admiring how Arthur had captured Jack’s smirk, the light in Abigail’s eyes, and how he’d made them look like a real family.

Thirty-Four

John’s first birthday in his new home had been a success, if he did say so himself. Abigail had insisted on Uncle and Jack taking over his chores, while the two of them had hidden the flour to prevent her from even attempting to bake. It had been a peaceful day spent lounging on his own porch, looking out over the sunlight on his own land. It was only when dinner was finished and Uncle and Jack had gone to bed that he felt a twinge of sadness. It came every year, the reminder that Arthur hadn’t been here to share the day with him. The hat from his first year with the gang had been lost in the flight from Beaver Hollow, replaced with Arthur’s own, which was tucked in a drawer in the wardrobe, the family portrait Arthur had drawn inside of it. He still wore the jacket, even though there were few truly cold days in New Austin, even in the winter. He supposed his new life had been Arthur’s last gift, and he hoped he would be proud of what John was doing with it. As he watched a blue jay hop across the railing, closer to his hand than most animals would dare to go, John figured he was.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #arthur morgan #john marston #birthdays

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daggerzine · 4 years

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Peter Milton Walsh of The Apartments offers a pocketful of sunshine...

Peter Milton Walsh started his, band, The Apartments, in Brisbane, Australia in 1978. He didn’t release his debut LP until 1985 (The Evening Visits...and Stays For Years). I didn’t hear the band until 1995 when Restless Records here in the U.S. released the terrific A Life Full of Farewells (in between was 1992′s Drift). The releases have been sporadic throughout the years (and there were several years in between when Walsh did create any music at all) but each one glistens with a special kind of magic that only Walsh seems to possess. Though 2020 has been a difficult year, to say the least, one of the bright spots was the release of a new Apartments’ record In And Out of The Light released on Talitres Records (through Riley Records). The record is classic Walsh, spare, gorgeous songs written as the sun goes down (or comes up) with love or loss as its main theme (in most cases). I sent Mr. Walsh some questions and he was more than happy to open up about the record and what’s next.

Peter Milton Walsh photo by Belddyn Butcher, 2020

When did the songs start coming together for the new record?

The plan was to record the album in a couple of weeks in September 2019 in Tours, which is about 2 hours South of Paris. Antoine has a studio there. Natasha would come down from Lille, Nick from London. Then I was moving over to Berlin to mix them with Victor Van Vugt, who now has a studio there. Vic produced the evening visits… back in 1985. (He went on to work with P J Harvey, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds etc.)

But the band wanted to hear the songs before September. So I started by making a couple of demos with a guy who lives just around the corner, Darren Cross. A great musician.

Butterfly Kiss was one, Pocketful too. I sent Butterfly Kiss off to Natasha when she was in Lisbon, and she wrote back to say she’d listened to it over and over, ten times or more, walking at night by the Tagus river and that she fell in love with the song in Lisbon. I thought that was a good sign!

I found that those two songs came alive in the process of recording the demos, so then I thought I don’t want to do any more demos, I just want to make an album. Now! The process made me impatient to begin the album.

So rather than wait till September, I found a place near where I live in Sydney, and approached the producer, Tim Kevin, telling him I had a couple of songs to start the album off with but that I wanted to try to write the rest of the songs as we went along.

The earliest we could start was July, early days of Winter here, as Tim’s studio was very heavily booked.

I have been writing songs since I was 15, and I’ve never really gotten any better at it. I still don’t know what’s happening exactly. But I thought, this will make the whole set of songs very fresh, very in the moment.

This album will not be me trying to recapture the past, it will be me in the present moment, in the Winter of 2019.

I had recorded the title track of No Song, No Spell, No Madrigal like that. All we had for NSNSNM was my piano part, Eliot’s bass and Gene’s drums. The rest of it I made up in the studio. Wayne kept asking me when we would finish the vocal part, because we were running out of time, and even though I didn’t have any idea what the finished lyrics would be I kept telling him it was OK—the song would start in the rain and end in the rain and across the course of the song the guy would be changed.

I thought of the lyric like a voiceover in film noir—the guy reaches the end of the song and just knows he must change his life.

And that’s how we went with In and Out of the Light. Each time I’d finish a new song, I’d think—I’ll never write another song again. But some time would pass—we were recording very sporadically—and something else would come up. We went on like that until we hit the magic number 8, and I thought—OK, that’s 8 songs that sit together well, don’t tempt fate. Stop now, start mixing the album.

What was the recording process like, I’d read other musicians recorded parts in their own country?

I would record some guitar or piano, a vocal, arrange the song, then upload it. Natasha, Antoine and Nick would then record things they thought might work and upload them for us, then Tim and I would select what we wanted and add it. It was very easy. In many ways, we were recording in the perfect way for the COVID era—though the COVID era had not yet begun. Sometimes I’d record 1 day in a week, sometimes more. Very short days. Usually home by six. All very unusual, but that was the situation because Tim was so heavily booked.

The new record

Had you worked with produce Tim Kevin before? What did he bring to the sessions?

No. He’s got a fabulous ear, is a sensational guitar player and singer and has an epic, really impressive concentration span. Also, he was very open to the way I wanted to work—we’d had that discussion before committing to recording. So I could turn up, play him something, and ask if he saw some promise in what I had. And mostly he did.

Did you have any hesitation about releasing a record in 2020?

We finished mixing the day before lockdown hit Sydney, so that part of the timing was beautiful. Playing music, being in a band, touring, releasing records—this is a casino life anyway. If you can’t accept that things often don’t go to plan, you’re in the wrong line of work.

We had a tour planned for September/October 2020, when the album was due for release. That had to be cancelled. We then had a bigger tour planned for February/March 2021—clubs, festivals, some big shows—and had to cancel that as well. I have no idea when we’ll be able to leave Australia—yesterday, the Australian Tourism minister announced that rising COVID cases in Europe and the US mean that Australians won’t be able to visit either of these places next year, unless a vaccine was invented.

Where did the title come from, In and Out of the Light?

Possibly two things occurred to me. Firstly, that on the days that I was recording, I would disappear from the high, bright Winter daylight into the lamplit darkness of the studio and that this too—moving in and out of the light—is the pattern of existence. We are constantly changing, and the conditions of our lives do as well. No feeling is final.

For those of us who wish there were more Apartments records, why do the records come out so infrequently?

The Apartments once had a good 4 year run—drift, A Life Full Of Farewells, fête foraine and apart then, for personal reasons, I turned away from the music world, and any kind of public life that goes with it.

Will you be playing any shows (I know here some folks are beginning to do occasional backyard shows and others in other unique venues…drive in theatres, etc).

That’s a great idea.

His previous record from 2015

Who are some of your favorite current musicians/bands?

If a song has fingerpicking, a certain kind of smoke or melancholy in the voice and maybe a major 7th, I’m a fool for it and always have been, always will be. With new music, I can be as fickle as the next person and I’m not a particularly organized person—so there’s no purpose or method in how songs get to me.

It’s random, they seem to just float in. But here are some of the tracks that have seduced me recently, from my Soundcloud/Bandcamp/Spotify lists. I’m drawn to singles; if I love the album as well, that’s really magic.

Lonny—Incandescente

https://soundcloud.com/lonny-sc/incandescente

Mason Lindahl—Outside Laughing

https://tompkinssquare.bandcamp.com/track/outside-laughing

Arlo Parks—Black Dog

https://open.spotify.com/track/1NGPZKzplieiPc5g6lAJ49?si=KYK_7EZLRkCK5PUjW0DeUA

Ruby Haunt—Avalon

https://open.spotify.com/track/5rwKSB1WtNDWOBmwxZMWrg?si=uNxxyWjGRRuvYZrk5500oA

Endless Winter—Angus Roy

https://angusroy.bandcamp.com/track/endless-winter

Harkin—Decade

https://handmirror.bandcamp.com/track/decade

www.theapartments-music.com

www.talitres.com

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et-in-cinerem-reverteris · 4 years

Text

Class of 1953 - Chapter 1 - Hatful of Hollow (3.7k)

“Will you be... here, next Thursday? Same time, same place?”

“Oh, er, yes, we meet here every week,” Phil stutters, “the photography club, that is. We meet here on Thursdays. Weekly.”

“Alright,” the boy laughs softly, “I’ll see you then”.

I am proud proud proud to announce that the first chapter of my DNP Oxford Au is finally here! It is my baby, my child - I have been working on it for weeks!

Read on AO3 here!!

Or, on Tumblr down below :)

Chapter 1

"Philip! Glad you could make it old chap."

Bright lights flood into Phil’s vision as he adjusts to the blinding white glare of the overhead lamps. Every Thursday, the 5 members of Oxford University’s photography club meet in a small, dusty room in Keble College, where they spend many hours developing prints, sharing successful shots, but mostly just fooling around together as they take a break from the stresses of Oxford’s intense academic atmosphere. Currently inside the room are the founders of the club; John, a stocky blond maths student with blue eyes and ruddy cheeks, stands a metre or two away from Bill, a lean, gangly physics student whose pale hands are currently adjusting the dials on what appears to be a shiny new camera. Phil puts his leather satchel on the table, and rummages inside it for a roll of film that’s in there...somewhere.

Bill clears his throat.

“As you may have guessed by now, we can only assume that Mary and Beth are engaged in more exciting activities once again this week” he sneers, raised eyebrows betraying a mocking, yet joking intent.

The three boys chuckle in unison. Phil glances over the table, studying Bill more closely.

“Blimey, is that the new Zeiss-Ikon Contessa?”

A smirk twinges on Bill’s lips as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his reddening nose, carefully conceiving his growing embarrassment.

“It was a gift from John. I tried to tell him that he didn’t have to, but he absolutely insisted,” he replies, swiveling round to face the boy behind him. “You shouldn’t have, honestly John. You do spoil me.”

The blond turns round and smiles, giving Bill a tender punch to the shoulder. “Oh William, it was really nothing” he attests, before twisting away to turn his attention back to fixing a small lamp.

‘William’? Phil had never heard anyone call Bill by his full name before! As he glances back at over, he notices a blush spread over Bill’s previously pallid cheeks. The relationship between the modest, restrained physics geek and the confident, amiable mathematics whizz was an enduring mystery. Making a mental note to keep an eye on the pair (purely to make sure that nothing out of the ordinary was happening, of course...), Phil turns once more to his satchel and pulls out a roll of film he’s planning to develop in today’s session. Before he manages to do this however, giggling erupts from a nearby corridor.

“Alas! The latecomers arrive at last” declares the bespectacled brunette, still poring over his camera. As the sound gets nearer, the laughing hushes to a stifled whisper as two figures appear at the open doorway.

“Having fun are we ladies?”

“Oh, put a sock in it you old fart” quips the taller of the two, ignoring Bill’s steely eyes as she strides towards the table and sets a heavy black bag onto the floor with a clunk.

“Evening everyone! Sorry we’re late” Beth says with a warm grin as she shrugs off a grey duffle coat, hangs it up on the dark, wooden door and turns towards the table, rubbing her hands together to defrost them.

“What were you up to?” Phil asks nonchalantly, rising from his seat to search some cupboards for trays to develop his film in.

“Beth and I were... in the library, writing an essay. You know, the err, one that’s due soon” answers Mary.

“You mean the draft on Early Medieval Literature? Wasn’t that only set yesterday?”

Mary shoots a glance at Beth.

“Draft, essay - what difference does it make? Anyway, these things take time, and I’ve always thought that it’s good to get on top of something like an essay” she replies, hand on hip as her grey eyes squint dubiously.

Bill shifts in his seat. “I can think of someone you were getting on top of.”

“Cheeky git! I’m keeping an eye on you” Mary retorts, striding to the other side of the room to bury her blushing face in a sea of dusty wooden cupboards. “And you John, for that matter.”

This night sure has opened his eyes! Smirking to himself, Phil turns his attention to his own set of cupboards. Aha! The empty trays have been found.

“Hey John, Mary - I’ve got the trays for the stop baths” he announces, handing them over to the former.

As he does this, the two girls have already reunited, huddled in a corner of the room as they whisper and snigger to themselves about something or other. At 5’10” Mary towers over Beth, who is a good 6 inches shorter. As they exchange a glance, Phil contemplates how different the pair look despite existing hand in glove. A flash of red lipstick spreads over Mary’s wide smile as she sweeps a strand of long, dark hair away from her angular face, looking fondly at Beth who beams up at her with brown eyes twinkling under a long auburn fringe. Phil has known Mary since secondary school; she has always been pale - ghostlike, even - taller than most of the boys and more intelligent than them too. Her quick wit proved to be essential in fending off unwanted comments from overeager private school twits, which she was often the unfortunate recipient of. Known for her harsh tongue when it came to the male sex, Phil was apprehensive when first approached by her in an English class many years ago, only to be quickly reassured by the fondness she gave to those she took a shine to. “We’re the same, me and you,” she announced almost uncomfortably soon after they had broken the ice, “I can sense it.” Phil had never figured out what exactly she had meant by this, but he had the feeling that here was a girl who truly had his back for years to come.

“God damn this tap! The water’s bloody well cut off again. One would assume that Oxford University would have a better plumbing system than this” John bemoans, wrinkling his blonde brows in frustration. “Phil, would you be a dear and fetch a jug for us?”

“Yeah s-”

“We’ll go!” exclaim the girls with a questionable amount of excitement, barely waiting for a reply before dashing out of the room arm in arm.

John frowns for the second time. “O-kay. Guess that one’s sorted then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour passes, and there is still no sign of either the water, or the girls who volunteered to retrieve it. Slightly exasperated, Phil offers to be the second party to set out in search of the all-important liquid as he’s fairly certain he knows of a working tap in some room or other from across the Liddon Quad. Putting on his woolen coat and grabbing the largest water-vessel in sight, he frantically tries to rack his brains for the room in question as he prepares to brave the winter cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scurrying across the Quad, Phil plunges his hands into silk-lined pockets as the icy wind nips at his pale face. As he drinks in his crepuscular surroundings, his eyes fix upon the red brick checkerboard of Keble College’s Victorian chapel, the beauty of which is enough to reduce his previous flight to a mere stroll. He gazes at the building in awe - stained glass windows emit a warm, inviting glow as metal crosses glisten like stars against the black night, and the scene is straight out of the decadent Gothic novellas he loves to pore over in his spare time. Although he’s been at Oxford for a couple of weeks now, there are still times where Phil is struck by the romance of the place, creating pools of emotion inside his chest that well up and threaten to bubble over. Tonight is one such night. He sighs to himself, content and calm.

After reeling around the quad’s fountain for a minute or two, he belatedly approaches the open chapel door. As he does so, his ears catch the sound of people speaking - not only are they speaking, but if Phil’s knowledge of Shakespeare is correct, they are acting. Without giving a single thought to his aquatic assignment, he climbs up the steps, treading softly to conceal the sound of his presence, and steals around the doorway to the entrance of the chapel where he comes across a dozen or so students stood close to the altar, scripts in hand, eyes on page. Their voices echo around the stone walls, dancing from floor to ceiling. He listens in.

“...see your son:

Towards him I made, but he was ware of me

And stole into the covert of the wood:

I, measuring his affections by my own,

That most are busied when they're most alone,

Pursued my humour not pursuing his,

And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me”

So it was Shakespeare! A tender nostalgia washes over him as he reminisces upon his own memories of studying Romeo and Juliet many years ago. And what splendid surroundings to rehearse in! Lofty ceilings bounce words from pew to pulpit, as low lamps give golden mosaics a magic sparkle. Leaning against the old wooden door, Phil focuses on the students, with one in particular catching his eye.

“My noble uncle, do you know the cause?”

The boy playing Benvolio is... a handsome devil, to put it plainly. Phil notices the way he speaks with such fervour, such infectious vigour, and a passion which tugs at the heartstrings and fills one’s soul with a pathetic sense of hope. His tie is pulled awry on a shirt unbuttoned, green jumper sitting loosely around his neck. Phil’s heart flutters ever so slightly to see someone who is evidently as fond of Shakespeare as he is, and for a reason unbeknownst to him, becomes fixed in a kind of trance, observing the boy as he delivers his lines.

Phil had known that he was “queer” from a relatively young age. He had heard the word uttered under hushed tones between his parents as they discussed relatives, family friends, celebrities, or indeed anyone whose campiness stuck out sorer than the lacquered nails on an East-End boy down in the dole-house. But Phil didn’t wear makeup, and he didn’t sound like a woman, and he didn’t spend his time discussing boys with his female classmates. What he did have however, was one fateful family holiday at a beach in Corfu.

It was a torrid, languid, lethargic day, and another year spent back at the old house in Greece. The sun beat down in waves, burning Phil’s pasty skin as brother Martyn shoveled sand onto his feet. The summer reading he had brought with him wasn’t tickling his fancy right now, and Martyn’s japery was beginning to get tiresome. He sighed, staring out towards the vast expanse of clear azure water. As he pondered over ways to alleviate his boredom, a delicious, impulsive desire to indulge in mischievousness began to trickle into his veins, filling him with all sorts of ideas. He rises from his spot on the towel.

“I’m going for a walk. I shouldn’t be too long.”

His mum looks up from her book and squints, shielding her eyes from the sun while simultaneously expressing amazement that her youngest son is actually choosing to do physical exercise.

“Okay, stay safe poppet. Oh - and be back before three o’clock!”

After an hour or so of traipsing across rocks and traversing through trees, he eventually arrives at a secluded alcove on top of a steep stretch of warm rocks, away from tourists, facing a small bay with not a soul in sight.

Laying down on the smooth stone he places his head under the shade of a tree branch, feeling the caress of the sun on his bare chest as a slight breeze tickles the prepubescent hairs on his abdomen. He closes his eyes, wind tracing the surface of his skin.

Finally, peace at last.

A brief slumber is interrupted by talking coming from below the rock face. Sluggish after basking in the lazy heat, he takes a moment to opens his eyes and crawl over to the side of the rock, peering gingerly over the edge to investigate.

A man has wandered into the bay, with a woman by his side.

As they talk together, Phil’s eye meanders over the man’s body. He is blond, he is tall, his stance is confident, and the muscles on his back ripple as he stretches his golden hands towards the sky before landing on his toned waist. Peeping Tom is mesmerised. The man checks his watch, and the couple turn their heads as if looking out for someone before coming together for an embrace as they stand watching the waves crash on the bay.

Phil stares on.

There’s something about the way the man’s body presses against the woman’s back. There’s something about the way his hands wind around her waist, smooth over her chest, and briefly wrap around her neck. There’s something about it, conjuring up a feeling that Phil has never experienced before, something that feels heavy in his ribcage.

The woman turns her head and taps her partner on the shoulder, pointing at the rocks just beyond Phil. Damn! Heart racing in fear, he ducks behind a bush, blushing furiously and wincing as his feet land on a sharp stone. Through the leaves he sees an olive-skinned man with dark, curly hair appear from the side of the colossal boulder, stepping towards the couple as the woman pries herself from the embrace and runs towards the newcomer, landing into a hug that sweeps her off her feet and swings her in the air as she laughs. The hug endswith a hand around the waist, a brief peck on the lips.

Phil adjusts his glasses. Was he mistaken, or did he just see this lady go from fondly embracing one man to sharing a kiss with another? The pair links arms and stroll towards the first man, who fiddles with the hem of his tight navy swimming trunks as he beams back at them. The dark haired fellow opens his arms, and shouts a few words in Greek to the blond man.

“Είσαι τόσο όμορφος, χρυσέ μου!”

A slap on the back, a playful punch - and then they too lean in for a kiss.

Not a peck on the cheek. Not a swift gracing of the lips. Phil is fairly certain that this is the act that the boys back at boarding school have described using the word “French”. But two men…? Phil takes in a deep breath. Shuffling out from under the shrub, he brushes some leaves off from his trunks, only to freeze in confusion when he feels something hard underneath.

He looks at the trio below him, then back down at his shorts, before looking back to double check that he’s alone.

It would be terribly, terribly awkward if someone caught him m-

“Splendid job everyone, I could really feel the intensity tonight. Let’s call it here. Oh, and remember - we haven’t got long now until the real thing!”

Snapping back to reality, Phil adjusts his eyes to see actors and actresses put down their scripts and begin talking to each other, evidently weary, but animated nonetheless. He searches once more for the boy playing Benvlio, immediately managing to locate him.

They lock eyes.

The boy is staring directly at him!

In a flash, the lad looks away and resumes his conversation with the girl next to him, who hoists a long brown coat over her shoulders, preparing for the winter cold that Phil has just emerged from. Cripes! Turning away rapidly as his heart thumps in his chest, he decides that it’d be best to evacuate the chapel before the situation becomes ever so slightly awkward. A hot flush creeps over his cheeks and the flutter in his bosom amplifies. The image of the boy’s brown eyes repeats in Phil’s mind as approaches the ancient wooden door.

Damnit.

In an unexpected burst of confidence, he whips his head around before leaving, and sure enough he is met with those same brown eyes that make him feel like melting right then and there. Panicking, fumbling and stumbling, he dashes out of the portico, heart racing and nerves alive as he speeds across the quad. He checks his watch - nearly 8 o’clock. Forget this godforsaken water!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bill and John appear to be in a cheerful mood when Phil nervously slinks back into the photography room, and as such he is instantly forgiven for being the third person in one night to give up water collection in the name of secret romantic pursuits. Feeling guilty nonetheless, he volunteers to be the one to lock up the room for the night as compensation, enjoying the peaceful silence as he sees to the mess left behind.

He roams around the room, closing cupboards here, pulling in stools there. There’s a spatter of black ink on the table, no doubt left by Bill and his insistence on using a dip pen to write everything from letters, to classwork, to scribbled ideas on dog-eared notebooks. As he gets a cloth to wipe it up, Phil feels a soft sense of contentment as he reflects upon his new life here at Oxford. Secondary school was rotten, absolutely rotten; teased for being smart, teased for being tall, teased for wearing glasses, teased for any reason which made him he different to the brutish, snobbish bastards that ruled his school’s hierarchical roost. Before they can bubble up to the surface, Phill tries to quell those raw, rough memories, reminding himself that it’s in the past and he should be focusing on the present. He’s growing into his authentic self, he’s started dressing however he likes, he’s made genuine friends who he can talk to, he’s academically stimulated without the fear of being called a geek and, in time, maybe he’ll be able to express that part of his personality too. With a sigh, he throws Bill’s inky rag into the sink, puts John’s screwdriver into a drawer, tucks in the stool that Mary dragged out from the desk and picks up a pen that must have fallen out of Beth’s pocket. The peace in his chest leaves him with no doubt that he’s got everything now - no more fear of rejection, no horrible need for awkward explanations. Just friendship, companionship, and unspoken understanding. Blinking slightly more rapidly than usual, he cleans up the last of the mess.

*knock knock*

Mary and Beth? In the split second it takes him to turn around, Phil prepares a quip or two to tease them with.

To his surprise (and his horror), he is met with the sight of 'Benvolio' leaning against the open door, arms folded, ankles crossed, sly smirk plastered onto his mischievous face.

"You could have just come in if you wanted to, you know. We don't bite."

Phil’s heart races and his stomach sinks at the realisation of what’s happening. It was bad enough that he’d been caught staring by the object of his admiration, but multiple times? And now said object is here, standing in the doorway, smirking at him? Phil can’t help but hungrily consume the face opposite him. Tousled chestnut curls flop onto strong brows that sit intentionally indifferent, trying to appear nonchalant, but with such purposeful neutrality that he betrays a sense of impatience - desperation, even. Freckles speckle his cheeks like stars that lie next to petal pink lips.

The handsome devil chuckles at Phil's silence.

"Ah, apologies - quite rude of me not to introduce myself first. I'm Dan," the boy continues, " and um, we're putting on a production of Romeo and Juliet in a few weeks, if you want to come and see it" he offers, patches of his jaw flushing red.

Phil blinks, unsure of what to say, and the young man’s eyes fall to the ground briefly before thrusting his large hands into trouser pockets.

"Sorry, perhaps I assumed that-"

"No, no, it's alright" Phil finally replies, desperate to stop the potential tragedy of this charming man leaving him forever, never to speak to him again. "That'd be great. I um, I really like Shakespeare."

The boy’s eyes flick upwards to meet Phil’s briefly before he nods, turning his vision towards the ground once again as he bites his lips together to stifle a smile. His eyes dance across the floor as if plucking up the courage to look back up at the blue eyed boy, which he does, thank God, for when their eyes lock together (and Phil swears it’s not his inner English student making him think this), it feels as if two worlds connect, two universes collide, two strings of the soul’s yarn reaching out and tying knots and weaving together, two hands meeting and fingers intertwining and feeling his knuckles and scars and hairs and prints that read like maps of the other person’s existence. It’s breathtaking. It’s almost too much.

The boy unleashes a grin, and Phil is so, so thankful, for when he does his entire face lights up like a candle burning in a dark attic, wide flash of white teeth and crinkled eyes brazen and clumsy like hot wax spilling and dripping down bare skin. They maintain their electrifying gaze. The other one sighs.

“Okay, fantastic. Dates are yet to be confirmed, but so far it’s looking to be some time after Michaelmas ends. I’ll er, I’ll let you know.”

“Great, yeah, I’ll come along!” Phil beams, drumming his fingers on the counter behind him.

“Mmm.” Another moment of silence. “Will you be... here, next Thursday? Same time, same place?”

“Oh, er, yes, we meet here every week,” Phil stutters, “the photography club, that is. We meet here on Thursdays. Weekly.”

He curses himself for tripping over his words in front of someone who had spoken so confidently and so eloquently in the chapel. He takes in a deep breath, calming himself.

“Alright,” the boy laughs softly, “I’ll see you then”. In one swift movement, he pushes his back off the door frame, grabs the other side and swings himself off down the corridor, heels clacking on the tiles as he goes.

Buckling up his satchel, Phil strides out of the room, managing to catch the sight of ‘Dan’ speeding off down a flight of stairs. As he turns the lights off and shuts the door, he closes his eyes and exhales.

He checks his watch. Only 6 days, 23 hours and 38 minutes until he’ll be here next Thursday, same time, same place. He parades down the corridor, slight skip in his step.

Maybe he’ll get to explore that side of his personality a little sooner than he might have previously thought.

#phanfic #phandom #dan and phil #phan #phannie #my writing

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writing-parker · 6 years

Text

Dark Winter III- A Series of Vignettes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Vignettes: A series of episodes and events in the reader’s and Bucky’s relationship. Big and small, sweet or angsty, these stories lay out the moments in time they carved out for themselves in the crazy world they live in. They all take place in the same universe, but do not need to be read in any particular order.

Summary Winter in New York is long and cold, and this year is worse than any other.

Warning: Descriptions of violence, descriptions of torture and attempted suicide. This is rated M for smut as well. 18+.

A/N: This was really hard to write, and I’m pretty sure I bit off more than I could chew, but here is the final part of Dark Winter! I said it was going to be shorter, but it’s not (oops). I also said it was going to be fluffier and it is (mostly). So I’m 1 for 2, which seems fine to me. Anyway, i hope it makes sense.

I love getting comments and feedback, it makes me want to write so much more.

As always, let me know if you would like to be tagged in this vignettes.

Dark Winter Dark Winter II

You’re sitting at your kitchen table, the lid on Bucky’s ‘file’ still closed tight. You know you should feel grateful that Bucky wants to share it with you, but it was intimidating. And it was going to change things. There was really no way to deny it, it would.

You really didn’t care what was in it, and you knew the basics already. He fell from the train, was found and tortured by HYDRA, spent the next 75 years committing the world’s most heinous crimes on behalf of the people that tortured him. You knew you were really over simplifying things, but in your head, that’s how it was.

Because Bucky never really talked about it with you. HYDRA. He talked about Steve finding him, and Wakanda, and even life before World War II. You know he spoke about his time in HYDRA with his therapists. Surely had to recount his memories with Shuri. But he never went into detail about what they did to him with you.

So, in your head you compartmentalized Bucky’s time as the winter soldier as not him. Irrelevant and unconnected to who you saw him as. Of course that was ideal thinking. Those things- no matter how awful and terrible- happened to him. Just as much as anything else. And you would never hold him responsible for them, but you couldn’t continue on pretending they never happened.

It was selfish. But you were scared. Not of him or what he did or what he was capable of. No.

When you thought about what it meant for him to want to share this with you, that’s what scared you. It’s not that you had ever expected it to be some sort of fling or friends with benefits, but when you met Bucky you didn’t know it was possible to feel the way you felt now.

You pick up the phone and call the only person who you know can help you sort your thoughts.

“Wanda,” You sigh when she answers on the first ring. You hadn’t spoken with her since the incident, as you had started to refer to it.

Barely giving her a chance to respond you launch into the full story, telling her everything, even though you were sure she had already heard most of it herself. Sam liked to gossip.

“He wants me to read all of this-”

“His file, I know.” Wanda says, “Have you read it?”

“…How?” You had gotten home barely 30 minutes ago.

“Because lover-boy and I finished breakfast about 10 minutes ago.” Right. Wanda lived at the tower and so did Peter. The thought of the three of them co-existing makes you laugh. Bucky was open with you but he wasn’t exactly a chatter box with everyone else.

“He told you?” You’re so confused.

“I read minds, Y/n.” She says flatly.

Right. Of course. You knew that. “Thought you stayed out of our heads.”

“I’m sorry,” She at least sounds a little chagrined. “But they were really loud.”

“What was he thinking about?” You mumble through the phone.

“How pretty you are.” She laughs.

“Wanda, come on! If you’re gonna invade his privacy at least share with me!” You’re laughing too, knowing she’ll never tell. It wasn’t your business.

“Why are you freaking out? He’s trying to be more open with you.” Wanda sounds skeptical.

“Because this is huge. It feels like there’s no going back from this.” You busy yourself by pacing the kitchen.

“That’s why he gave it to you.” Wanda says hesitantly, “Y/n, if you’re not 100% sure about this you need to tell Bucky right now. He’s all in.”

“Wanda I’m in love with him,” You laugh breathily, incredulously, “I’ve been in love with him. I’m scared.”

Wanda pauses. “Of Bucky?”

“Of… my feelings.” You’re over-simplifying it, but you know she’ll understand. You’d told her about your parents and their tumultuous relationship, the way it affected you. “Everything that comes with it.” You gesture vaguely even though she can’t see it.

“Bucky’s not going anywhere,” Wanda says like she knows it’s true. Maybe she did. “He’s not like-”

You snort. “I don’t really want to talk about my daddy issues right now.”

You can practically hear Wanda roll her eyes, “Whatever. All I know is that I’ve been inside both of your heads and I’ve never seen anything like what you two have. Like magnets.” She pauses, “Read the file. Figure it out.” The line goes dead.

With a groan you grab the box and lock yourself in your bedroom, ready for a long day.

_____________________________________________________

Bucky hasn’t heard from you since yesterday morning. Realistically, he knew you were just doing what he asked and it was a lot to take in. But still. Now it was Sunday night and he barely slept last night because of his nightmares and he just wanted you.

He had been thinking all day that maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe it was too much too soon.

Sometime in the afternoon, from his office on the floor below, Steve heard Bucky’s incessant pacing and went to check on him.

“What if she leaves?” Bucky whispered.

“She won’t.” Steve said, he was sure of it. Bucky throws him an exasperated look.

“What if she’s scared of me after she reads it?”

“Buck, you already tried to strangle her.” If looks could kill Steve would have been on the ground, “What? It’s true. If she was scared she would have been long gone by now.”

It was mostly the truth, but even Steve hadn’t read the file in its entirety. Bucky’s absentmindedly looking out the window when his new phone pings. He had been embarrassed to tell Tony he smashed his old one, but the other man simply nodded and there was one sitting on his bed last night.

Y/n: Come over.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate.

Bucky Barnes: On my way.

Your hands shake as they close the lid tight on Bucky’s file, the words flashing through your brain. His SHEILD file had been easy enough to read, there wasn’t much information and most of it pertained to Steve and WWII and his fall from the train.

It took you more than a day to read his HYDRA file. It was everything, from how they found him, made him the Winter Soldier.

The asset is not responding to traditional torture methods… asset’s enhanced abilities make him a threat to officers, must be restrained at all times… Electric shock has been used as a method of compliance… the asset does not recognize photos of close family…

You feel dizzy and nauseous. You would no longer have to imagine the horrors he went though, they would always be in your head now.

The asset tried to physically remove HYDRA prosthetic from his body. Needed urgent medical attention… Asset showed resistance to eliminating target, suggested use of psychoactive ingredients in next round of shock therapy…

Seven decades of torture laid out in front of you. The man you loved, a prisoner of war for so, so long. Pages and pages and you couldn’t stop reading. The worst were those first few years, what they had to do to turn him into an unrecognizable monster.

Asset is non-compliant with HYDRA missions, will require extra time and voltage in the shock chair…

Water is withheld from asset for 48 hours before next enhanced interrogation. When weak, his mind is more susceptible to influence…

You had felt faint when you read …asset attempted suicide by asphyxiation… six months after his capture.

Finally… we are certain that asset’s loyalties are with HYDRA.

After that there were a lot of detailed mission reports from Bucky himself. Mechanical. Non-feeling. They made him commit gruesome, horrific crimes like it was nothing. Innocent or guilty, he killed the people they told him to and reported back.

That’s all it is until Steve found him. Then there was no more HYDRA.

You’re too lost in your thoughts to hear him knock. When you don’t answer he opens the unlocked door and approaches where you’re sitting on the couch and rests a hand on your shoulder. You know it’s him immediately and rest one of your hands on top of his.

You sit like that for a moment.

“I’m really scared you’re gonna tell me that you realized I’m no good for you.” Bucky breaks the silence first.

You stand and turn to face him. He can tell you’ve been crying but he doesn’t say anything about it. One of your hands finds his shoulder and the other reaches up to trace your fingers across his jaw, his cheekbones, tucking some hair behind his ears. Your lips ghost over his before you pull him to you, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Bucky,” You breathe in his ear. Chills run down his spine. “I’m so sorry… for what they did to you.” He buries his face in your neck and shakes his head.

“The things I did…” He trails off.

“That wasn’t you.” You say surely, calmly. Certain.

“Don’t say that.” He untangles himself from your arms. “The things I did were very much me. You read the reports I wrote myself.” He’s not yelling, not angry. Just studying you intently, gauging your reaction.

“You didn’t even know your name,” You whisper. Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, “Listen to me, Bucky. It wasn’t you that did those things and I know you might never be able to believe that but I do and I need you to know and understand that. I don’t care what anyone else thinks or says.”

He nods. You can’t read his face.

“And I’m sorry about the pain they caused you.” Your voice breaks. “And…I love you.” You didn’t even know what you were saying until it came out of your mouth. But it was true.

Bucky’s eyes snap up to meet yours. Hesitantly, with no malice in his voice, he says, “I don’t want you to say that because you feel sorry for me.” He didn’t deserve your love.

You give him a little smile and reach for his hand, fingers tracing up his arm, “No.” You say, “I love you because you bring me coffee on Tuesday mornings because you know I have a morning conference call. I love that you trusted me with all of this”- you gesture to his file- “And because you know what I’m about to say before I say it. The way you touch me.” Your eyes darken for a moment.

“I was in love with you before you ever kissed me.” You laugh, “You make me feel safe and you challenge me every day and I hate this speech so much but I’m in love with you.”

Bucky’s grinning, shaking his head, “All you’ve done is make my life difficult,” He says lightly. You’re both laughing, his hand finds your hip, “You’re all I think about. You’re all I worry about- I’ve never thought of all the ways I could lose someone before I met you. Your stupid face has me smiling all the time. No one’s scared of me anymore.” He throws his hands up with a dramatic eye roll.

“I’m better at this than you.” You cross your arms over your chest.

Bucky’s hand finds your cheek and he’s serious again, “I love you. You saved me.” His blue eyes search yours before he kisses you, full of passion, hand tangled in your hair. Your hands slide under his shirt leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pulls back, hand cupping your face, “And, oh my god, you’re so pretty.”

You laugh breathily, “So are you.”

“I’m pretty?” You both have goofy grins on your faces.

“Really pretty.”

Your hands slide farther up Bucky’s abdomen, towards his chest, pulling his shirt with them.

“What are you…?” Bucky trails off, with a long exhale, eyes fluttering closed as you trace over his abs and chest with your fingers. Before he realized what you were doing, you were pulling his shirt over his head.

His eyes open as you grab his hand and pull him down to the couch and straddle his waist. The act seems sexual, but the soft look in your eyes has him knitting his eyebrows in confusion. The moment turns serious again. You turn your attention to his left shoulder.

“I love this.” You say, fingers at the crook of his Vibranium arm, tracing up his bicep.

Bucky’s cheeks are red, and he can’t look you in the eye. You press your lips to the cold metal and he squirms away from you, uncomfortable.

“Y/n…”

You kiss his jaw, “What? It’s you.” Your fingers slide up his arm, to the spot where flesh meets metal. Shuri did such a good job with it, the transition is seamless.

You run your fingers over scars that you had previously thought were from HYDRA- five large, deep, long-healed scars where his shoulder meets his prosthetic. Now you know they were self-inflicted. You line each scar up with one of your fingers, tracing them towards his chest.

“You did this.” You say. It’s not a question or an accusation.

“I remember it hurting all the time. Wanting it off. Trying to take it off myself. I still hate it. I don’t get why… you…” Here he was, laying out all of his insecurities and broken pieces for you.

He didn’t get why you were here, in front of him, looking at him like that. He never would. But he would never question the god that put you here again.

He still won’t look at you, instead focusing on tugging gently at the ends of your hair, pulling the waves straight and watching them bounce back into place. Distracting himself.

“Bucky, look at me.” His eyes meet yours. They follow you as you slide off his lap and tuck yourself into his side. “I don’t love you despite all of this. Does that make sense?” He shrugs. You sigh, “It’s not like I read this stuff and thought ‘oh this sucks I maybe I can still love him’ I loved you and I read it and I still love you.”

You’re rambling, but you can’t stop, “You. I could care less about the arm. Keep it, or get rid of it, or replace with a bunch of knives like Edward Scissorhands.” You knew he would get the reference, you made him watch it on Halloween. He smiles a little. “But you would still be you.”

You gesture to the box on the ground, “All of that stuff, made you who you are today. Here with me. How could it ever make me leave you?”

“You should,” He says softly, looking up at you through thick lashes, “leave me.” He clarifies, even though you both know that’s not an option any more.

“You’re stuck with me, Barnes,” You lean up to suck his earlobe between your teeth, “You’re mine.”

Your words make him pull back, fists clenching, “I’m theirs, Y/n. They made very sure of that.” He stands, pushing you off him a little, “You should know… better than anyone.” His eyes drop to the purple bruises still littering your neck. He bends to pick up his shirt and cover himself, but you stand and stop him.

“They don’t get to have you,” You spit. Bucky knows you’re not frustrated with him, but with them. With HYDRA.

And then you’re kissing him, desperately, running your hands through his hair, pressing your body against his. His hands push your sweater down your arms.

“You’re…” He starts, but your lips are on his again, lighting every nerve in his body on fire.

“Yours.” You finish, warm breath hitting his ear, “I’m yours.”

Bucky nods desperately, dragging his lips down your jaw. His hand slides down your waist, hip, squeezing your ass. You gasp, trying to press yourself closer. He slides both hands down to your thighs, hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his hips and grind down against him.

You feel your back hit the wall behind you. Your shirt rides up your sides, rough hands against your skin. His lips are latched to your collarbone, worshipping the skin there. Your head falls back against the wall with a soft thud.

Bucky looks at you: head thrown back in pleasure, lips parted in the soft light.

His knees almost give out.

“Bedroom,” You whisper in his ear. He doesn’t have a choice but to comply, latching his lips back to yours he blindly makes his way through your apartment, depositing you on your bed.

Bucky pushes you down on the mattress, body shaping to yours. Your hips strain forward, legs instinctively opening like a cradle. You feel him, hard against your clothed center.

“Oh god,” You moan, unable to stop your hips from jerking against his. He groans too, grinding against you. “Bucky.”

His teeth catch on the flesh under your jaw and he growls a deep, throaty sound of approval, “Keep saying my name like that.” He pants.

Bucky presses his hips to yours harder and sucks your earlobe between his teeth, skimming it with his tongue. His name falls from your mouth mindlessly, without a doubt his intention, “Bucky,”

With a pleased hum, he pulls away, sits back on his haunches to press his hand between your thighs. His fingers deftly work the button on your jeans, pulling them down your legs. His pants and your shirt are next. Having forgone a bra, you’re in front of him in just your panties, which he peels down your legs slowly.

“Fuck,” he says a little harshly, reverently. His cheeks are flushed. He licks his lips, eyes glazed, and his right hand skims down one of your thighs, sweeping over the gully between her hip bones. “You’re so gorgeous.”

You can’t help but blush under his intense scrutiny. You notice his eyes lingering on your neck, and slowly, he hunches back over and kisses you. Your lips part and welcome his tongue. Your hands reach down and unbutton his jeans, shoving them down his legs with his briefs. His cock bounces free against your abdomen.

His lips part from yours to trace down your jaw, then slowly, your neck. So gently, he ghosts his lips over the still-sore bruises. You sigh, eyes fluttering closed at the contact. “I’m so sorry,” He says into your skin, “I love you.” His flesh hand lifts to trace the bruises.

His hands shake.

“Bucky?” You ask, voice laced with concern.

He wants to laugh, because he doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. Just feels overwhelmed. This feels different. You grab his hand, press it to the skin above your heart. Your heart raced underneath his palm, pounding hard. “It’s okay.” He searches your eyes, your mouth twitches with a smile, “Me too.”

The fast, rhythmic beating of your heart soothes him. He leans down again to kiss you, trying to put all of the love he’s feeling into it, “Make me yours.” He begs,

You sit up quickly, pushing him down on his back. You can’t help but run your hand over his cock experimentally. He inhales sharply, hips thrusting upward at the contact.

Habitually, Bucky reaches to your bedside table for a condom. Normally, he liked to take his time and make you come under his hands, his mouth before sliding into you, but tonight was different. He needed you now.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by your hand on top of his.

“I don’t….want…” You gesture to the condom in his hands, “Just you.”

Bucky nods, swallowing thickly.

“I’m clean,” You rush to say, “And I’m on birth control. And it’s only been you since-”

Bucky’s sitting up, chest against yours, kissing you sloppily, all tongue and teeth, hands knotted in yours hair. After a moment he falls back to the pillows, pulling you with him. Your hair curtains around both of your heads, shielding you from the outside world. Bucky kisses you again, soft, slow.

You shimmy up his body a little and reach between your legs to guide him inside you. The head of his cock parts your folds and you sink down on to him, undulating your hips a little so you can accommodate his length. You both groan at the sensation of being joined together without any barriers.

“Oh,” You sigh.

You drop your head to his neck, adjusting to his size. Bucky’s lips find the sensitive skin under your ear, worrying the skin there. Eventually you sit up, staring down at him with a shy smile.

Bracing your hands against his chest, you start to move slowly on top of him, rocking your hips forward. Bucky inhales through his teeth, his eyes darting between your face and the juncture of your bodies. Using your shins for leverage, you ride him. His fingers tighten on your thighs, and he groans gravelly, thrusting up into you. “My god, Y/n. You feel… so... fuck.”

“Mmm,” you hum in agreement, clenching around him. You smile when he moans louder.

“Oh, fuck.” He swears again harshly, and props himself up on an elbow, he slides a hand up your thigh and abdomen so he can cup your breast. He squeezes it firmly and you sigh and close your eyes. Teasing your nipple with one hand he sits up and pulls the other into his mouth. You thrust down on him harder, pussy fluttering around his cock from the pleasure.

“Bucky,” You gasp when his pelvic bone rubs against your clit. Your thigs are starting to burn with the strain of holding yourself up, but your clit is throbbing, arousal leaking out of you to ease the friction of his cock inside of you.

“Baby,” Bucky murmurs against your nest, nuzzling kisses up to your neck. “Let me.”

You’re confused as to what he means before he rolls you over on to your back. His cock slips out of you momentarily until he positions himself above you and then he’s pushing into you again, eliciting a moan.

He takes a leisurely pace until you adjust, and then he’s bracing himself on his forearms, careful not to pull on your hair. Then he begins thrusting more forcefully, one hand snaking down to light over your clit.

“Oh my god,” You whimper after a particularly hard thrust.

“You’re so tight. You feel so good,” Bucky presses his forehead against your cheek, breath hot and heavy on your neck.

“Y/n,” Bucky grits, you can tell he’s close, “Are you gonna come?” He forces out.

You moan softly, fingers carding through his damp hair. “Keep touching me like that.” You beg, jerking against him when you feel his fingers press harder against your clit.

“Fuck,” Your fingernails scratch down his back, causing Bucky to moan against you.

It doesn’t take long, with the manipulation of his clit enhanced by the sensation of his cock filling you, stretching your falls, and you come with an alarming suddenness only seconds later with an unrestrained cry.

Your walls pulse around his cock, and his grunts become raspier and more erratic- thrusts slamming into your hips, threatening to split you open. Your thighs fall open as far as they can, and you barely register when he comes inside you a moment later.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” You sound absolutely wrecked underneath him.

You look up at him. His body is pressed against yours, but he’s careful not to put his full weight on you. His eyes open slowly as he pulls out of you, rolling on his back before he pulls you to his chest.

“I love you so much,” He whispers, fingers tracing patterns on your cooling skin.

You pause, prop yourself up on his chest, “I love you too,” You say. You don’t look at him. Your voice sounds a million miles away.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, tapping on your cheek, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” You try to sound confident, but you still won’t look at him.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What? God no. That was incredible,” You finally tilt your face up towards him. “Um, I’ve never said that to anyone before.”

Bucky sits up a little so he can get a better look at you. He smiles softly.

“It’s hard for me… my parents, they had a really… difficult relationship. It fucked me up,” You laugh a little, but you can’t find any other words. He knew you never really mentioned your mom and dad, but now he was realizing why.

“Oh.” Bucky says, “Oh.” He had been so caught up in what he was feeling, he didn’t stop to think that you might be feeling overwhelmed.

“He left her,” You cast your eyes downward, “And me.”

His heart sinks. “Those things I said about leaving… I didn’t mean it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know! I’m not accusing you of anything.” You rush to say, “I know I just… wanted you to know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks hesitantly. You’ve never opened up about your childhood to him, really never talked about anything before college. He suddenly feels like he’s been neglecting you because he’s never made you open up, like you had done to him.

It’s like you always knew what he needed and he was a step behind you.

“Not really,” You press a kiss to his chest. You feel his hesitation. “I will. Soon. We have time.” You smile softly before whispering, “I love you so much.”

There’s a lot more to say and you both know it. But there would be time. You had so much time.

Your legs tangle together, head fits under his shoulder. You fall asleep like that, tangled up together, not thinking about ever being separate again.

Tags: @wnygirl2012 @swtmckngbrd @liamakorn @stressedasalways @emmiejames @acupofhotlatte @captainmommaoftwogirls @reallyconfusednowpt2 @shnadaidas @wearemightyghosts @winter-andallthathebrings @tabseus @the-girl-down-on-earth @iheartsebastianstan @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls @aveatquevale- @busx @friendofkurt @team-marvel13

#james barnes #james buchanen barnes #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #the winter solider x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #Sebastian Stan #Avenger!Bucky #avenger!steve #avengers #marvel imagine

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elenatria · 6 years

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Since they didn't show Valkyrie's death I'll just assume she's alive and well, probably off on another planet with Lady Sif. But I'm still salty of how Thor conveniently forgot to use his newly found control of lightning, like wtf? Russo brothers did you not watch Ragnarok or did you just decide to scrap it and tell us that it's not canon? What is going on? (Ps. Loki is totally alive, even though Hiddleston is only marked as 'post-production' part of "IW" pt.2.)

Yeah, it’s called “Thanos’ plot armour”.

“Watch out for his fingers, they make sparks.”

You know I was just thinking of Valkyrie. If I saw her and Loki die, I wouldn’t know who to choose to bring back.

IW conveniently left some major gaps in the storytelling. Maaaaajor gaps. Like yeah, whatever happened to Valkyrie (and Korg)? How come Thor couldn’t use his lightning? Maybe he was afraid to use it inside a spaceship. But he DID use it here.

Oh wait, that’s one of those omitted trailer scenes. Maybe it was omitted exactly because it was inconsistent with Thor being unable to use his lightning when the Statesman was attacked by Thanos.

Suddenly Thor needed a weapon again to channel his power of lightning.

Joss Whedon has been accused by SJW’s of being a misogynist for having Natasha feel like a monster because she couldn’t have children.

Well, let me jump on the bandwagon too, go all anti-toxic masculinity and call out the Avengers films (NOT the Russo films because I still believe The Winter Soldier and Civil War are the best MCU films ever) on being all about endless, longer than necessary battles and super weapons and gadgets. Gadgets gadgets gadgets. Films that were made for boys with toys.

Boys, always remember, you’re nothing unless you have a big dick or a big car or the next expensive gadget. “The power within” that Taika made a pitch for simply. Doesn’t. Sell. Marvel can’t make money out of thin air.

“But it’s comic book canoooooooon, stop blaming Stormbreaker for everything!!!11″

Sure. But it’s also very beautiful merchandise.

And Thor’s inability to use his lightning power in the Statesman is STILL inconsistent with “that other MCU film”.

You know what? Maybe the Grandmaster was right. Maybe those lightnings were just sparkles. Just for show.

*shakes head*.

Also, t’s funny how many things Thor knows about the Infinity Stones or about Thanos decimating Xandar to get the Power Stone for the purpose of hasty quick exposition. Also he mentions that Thanos “slaughtered half his people”. Nice one, Thor, nice gap in the storytelling to fill in later. So I assume Thor knows somehow that half his people have survived? (a fact we didn’t see) Did that happen before Thanos entered the Statesman? Were they teleported somewhere with the help of Heimdall and Valkyrie as their leader? Did they jump on life boats? Or was Thor hanging there, struggling in Thanos’ hands, counting the corpses and thinking “One two three four five… oh that’s not all of them, they must have escaped somehow, phew.” But I didn’t hear any wailing as it happens when people are not dead but conscious, severely injured and lying on the ground.

It seems to me Thanos gave him a little speech recounting his adventures so far before grabbing his body and torturing him in front of Loki. Like, a very detailed speech that we didn’t see.

Lol yesterday I got a troll-under-the-guise-of-a-friend telling me that “one Taika film cannot undo decades of work” (I’m assuming they meant comic book canon, because the MCU has been around for only a decade, not decadeS. Also I’m sure they copied that phrase from somewhere on tumblr, sounds like all the other Taika-hating pet phrases). I wonder, is this the new tumblr trend, shitting on Taika now that the new MCU film is out? What a great opportunity for all those who hated Ragnarok for all these months (for Tom/Loki-stanning purposes I guess) to hide behind IW now and use it as an excuse to hate on the previous MCU film. Quite convenient. Personally I don’t follow the comics, I follow MCU canon. And if the MCU cannot be consistent with its own movies then I’m sure it’s not Taika’s fault.

Tom is marked as “post-production”? What does that even mean?… o__O

Well of course Loki is alive. But let me tell you this.

I’m not saying Loki isn’t dead.

I’m just saying, with all those convenient plot holes they left in the movie (his body not turning back to its Jotun form etc etc) they could bring him back any time they choose. Next year, when the new Thor film is out, in a decade from now, whenever. WHENEVER.

Right now he has a 50% chance of being alive.

Like Schrödinger’s cat.

#loki #tom hiddleston #thor #chris hemsworth #valkyrie #tessa thompson #thor ragnarok #taika waititi #statesman #toxic masculinity #gadgets #toys #props #schrodiner's cat #schrodinger's loki #spoilers

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amaranthinesiren-blog · 6 years

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I have had irregular periods all my life. I've also been overweight all my life, so most doctors have hand waved it away as that. I'd go months without having one, and then have ones with only a few days clear between. Never normal, never reliable.

Then in about.. 2003-4 or so? I started bleeding. A lot. Heavily. And it didn't stop after 5 days. Or 7. Or a month. Or two months. It just kept going.

I was scared. I had no one to talk to about it. I had no idea what was happening. My husband would ask me for sex and I had to keep telling him no, because I was bleeding. "Still? Again?" Yes. (Eventually he stopped asking altogether. But that's another story.)

I didn't keep track of how long it went on. It was a long time. For the majority of a year or more at least, with only sporadic breaks between. It made going to work SO uncomfortable, because if I sat for any period of time, and then stood up, it felt like the floodgates had opened and I had to race to the bathroom, or risk destroying my clothes. (Happened quite a few times.)

Then it stopped. And I didn't have a period for over a year. I was too glad to be worried about that either. I think I did go to an obgyn during that time, once when my husband and I thought we might want to try to have kids. They did an ultrasound, found nothing wrong. Said that they'd want to put me on birth control first to regulate my cycles before I could try to get pregnant - but at the time I was also having migraines, so they never did that. And then I got fired from my job so that kind of ended things for a while.

It started again in 2011 at some point. I know this because when we went to DragonCon for the first time, we arrived at our hotel after a long drive, and when I stood up to get out of the car, I could feel that feeling, that my pants were about to be ruined. There was someone using the bathroom in the lobby, so I had to just stand there, legs clenched together, and wait. Once I finally got in, my shorts and underwear were ruined. I had to crack the door open and ask my husband to bring me the suitcase so I could change clothes and throw away the shorts and underwear. They weren't salvageable.

The entire time we were at DragonCon, every panel we went to, as soon as it was over, I'd stand up and have to race to the nearest bathroom, hoping to make it there before the pad I was wearing overflowed.

This continued on and off until 2013. In 2013, I started having spells where I felt narcoleptic. Usually in the morning, around 8-9am. I'd be at my desk, unable to keep my eyes open, slapping my face to stay awake. No amount of food or caffeine for breakfast made a difference. Sometimes it would happen when I was on the highway driving to work, and I'd have my windows down in the dead of winter, slapping my face trying not to lose consciousness behind the wheel. I was fucking terrified. And I was bleeding again.

So I finally made an appointment to see my obgyn. I explained everything that was happening, and that I'd been bleeding for months essentially nonstop. They did a blood test and found that I was anemic from bleeding so much for so long. They had me start taking iron pills, and also gave me a birth control implant to try to regulate my cycle. (At this point, my husband and I hadn't had sex in so long, I couldn't remember how long it had been. He still had the nerve to be angry about me going on birth control. Because what if we wanted to have kids? I couldn't find the words to explain that it wasn't going to happen anyway, and that I needed to fix what was wrong with me.)

The implant did not stop my period entirely (as they'd told me it does for some women), but it DID finally get me on a somewhat normal cycle. But now I have horrible cramps pre-menstrally which I never had before in my life. And it took a couple months of feeling like I was legitimately having a nervous breakdown, while my body got used to finally having the "correct" amount of hormones.

Fast forward to 2018. I had my implant replaced last year. My cycle has been as regular as it has been since I've had the implant. My husband and I have had sex only twice in the last decade or more, and both times it was down to my explaining that I still want sex, I need it, and him getting frustrated and finally going down on me or fingering me or whatever. Not actual intercourse. And not exactly satisfying for either of us. He's only doing it so I stop crying (literally) about it, and it *really* does not make me feel attractive or sexy to have to *cajole* my fucking partner of 20+ years into deigning to give me an orgasm.

But I digress. My only sexual satisfaction is masturbation. Which is fine. I miss sex, a LOT, but as long as I can get off somehow, I won't go crazy.

And then in August, I started to have a sharp cramping pain when I would orgasm. Right at the moment my muscles inside clench up, it feels like a cramp, and I can't go on. And the dull ache of it lingers, sometimes for 24 hours or more afterward. I tried it half a dozen times over a week or so, with and without insertion, and the same result each time.

And then I got my period, and it was 7 days of heavy flow, passing clots, just gushing.

So I finally got up the nerve to call my obgyn, and explain what was wrong. They made me an appointment, said maybe they'd need an ultrasound. I went in and the doctor who saw me (not my regular doctor, short notice and all) said she felt nothing irregular. Asked if I was sexually active. I said no. She asked what I meant. I said "my husband and I haven't had sex in over a decade." She asked if I was having sex with anyone else. I said no. "Well then how are you achieving orgasm?" "Umm, masturbation?"

She then went on to suggest perhaps I could see a physical therapist to help with the pain. Intimated that it might be something mental. Told me that I should try taking 600mg of ibuprofen an hour before sexual activity to see if it would help. I numbly listened to it all, and insisted that I wanted an ultrasound ASAP.

I had one the next day (last Tuesday). Waited a week. Meanwhile after 4 days of not bleeding, I bled again all this weekend. Clots. Heavy.

I called yesterday to ask about the ultrasound results. They called back. "Everything looks fine. You don't have any cysts on your ovaries. It's possible you might have had a cyst, and that it's resolved itself now."

Except, I told them, I'm still in pain, and I'm still bleeding so nothing has resolved itself at all?! So wtf am I supposed to do?? It's like they want me to just accept that I'll have pain if I ever try to orgasm again, but they don't see anything, so it's fine, have a nice day?

They incredulously asked, "so do you want to make another appointment to come in and be seen again?" UMMM FUCKING YES!

So now I have an appointment to speak to my ACTUAL obgyn next Thursday. And the nurse advised me "take 600mg of ibuprofen every 6 hours, for 48 hours, and that should stop the bleeding."

I still at this point have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me. I swear to God if I go in there and these motherfuckers tell me "you're fine", when I know goddamn good and well that I am in fact not fine, I will fucking snap.

So yeah. That's the experience of one 40 year old vagina owner. I feel like I'm falling apart from the inside out, and exactly No One gives a fuck about it besides me.

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fangirlfanwritings · 6 years

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Ms. Powers- Part 20

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

AN: God bless y’all, look what’s finally back!!!

You woke up with your legs tangled around Steve’s in bed with the sheets draping over the two of you. The sun had just risen over the ocean covered horizon and was coming through the windows of your room. You tried to move but felt yourself trapped in the arms of Steve. You let yourself get comfortable again against the bed and in his arms and felt like you could drift back to sleep until your stomach growled at you. You went to gently lift up his arm but instead got his grip to tighten as his arms drew you closer into his chest.

“Where are you going,” he mumbled into your hair.

“I’m starving,” you giggled. “I need food.” He tried to press you closer and his movements made his stomach wake up and howl at him. “It sounds like you’re hungry too, Captain.”

He refused to open his eyes, “I’d rather stay like this.”

“Then you stay like it,” you kissed the tip of his nose and forced yourself out of his arms. “I’ll bring you food.” You went to the kitchen and whipped together a couple omelettes and smoothies with the fresh fruit you had gotten while out with Steve yesterday. As you carried the two plates and willed the two drinks to levitate in front of you, you looked down at the ring on your finger. Five days had passed since your engagement and you still looked at the ring like it was something you had never seen; you never got tired of looking at it.

When you walked back into your bedroom you saw the bed void of your fiance. Instead he stood at the railing of the deck just outside of your room with his grey sweatpants lazily hanging from his hips. “Hey hot stuff,” you whistled and set everything out on the deck table. The two of you ate and listened to the waves crash against the shore, enjoying the calming silence and each other’s company.

“When do you want to have the wedding,” he scooted you into his lap.

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Maybe the fall? Or winter? I looked good in darker colors,” he smirked.

“That you do.” The two were brought out of your heads when you head your cell phone starting to ring. Both of your heads perked up and looked towards the room.

“Should you get that?”

“No,” you leaned back against him. “I’m sure it’s just Nat or Tony calling trying to be nosy and see what’s going on here.” The ringing stopped after a minute and you two went back to feeling the sun and listening to the waves. Not even half a minute had passed when Steve’s phone started going off next. Tony’s ringtone echoed from the empty house.

Steve scooted you off and groaned as he got up. “Don’t answer it,” you pleaded.

“I’m just making sure it’s nothing important. If he’s just being nosy I’ll hang up.” You watched him walk away and laid back against the couch. You honed your hearing in on him. waiting to hear him tell Tony to mind his own business. Instead you heard him ask what was wrong.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?....This needs to be done right now?...How many are missing?....Ok, I’ll talk to her….It’s ok.” You propped yourself up onto your forearms and watched him walk back out.

“What’s wrong?”

“It was Tony. Fury asked him to call us back. A group of senior agents have gone missing and he wants us back to base as soon as possible for a briefing and to send us out.”

“How long have they been missing?”

“He didn’t say but he sounded serious. We need to get back, Y/N.” You stood up and wrapped your arms around him.

“Let’s start packing,” you two stood there for a minute savering the last moments of peace before going back to the life of a hero. Eventually you let go of him and went in to back.

******

You landed and stepped back onto base. The sounds of everyone busy training and running around the compound made you strangely feel at home. “Y/N. Steve,” Fury met you at the base of the jet and walked with you hastily to the tall building. “Hope you had a nice vacation.”

“We did,” you told him.

“I can see that,” you saw him looking at your ring finger. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you both said. The three of you quickly went to the large briefing room and found Tony and Natasha already sitting and waiting.

“Hope you got enough relaxation to get you through the rest of your life,” Tony stood up and gave you a hug and Steve a hand shake. Nat hugged you both before you all sat down at the large table.

“Nice rock you’ve got there,” Nat smiled.

You smiled at your new fiance, “He did good.”

“Alright lovebirds, listen up,” Fury captured the rooms attention. He pulled up an aerial map of a country that they had tracked a terrorist organization to. “We got intel that the terrorist organization we’ve been tracking and disassembling had their base here,” the map zoomed in on what appeared to be a small and empty village.

“Doesn’t look like a strong base,” you commented.

“That’s because it’s underground. We found the entrance and sent out 8 of our best men for recall. We watched a large wave of them roll 3 days ago. By our numbers there were 20 individuals left in the base. Our men were confident they could get the job done. They went in that night for a surprise attack. We lost communication with them 2 minutes into their infiltration of the base.”

“Any word or intel on them since,” Steve asked? Fury shook his head. “What’s the plan then?”

“We need one of our highest agents to scout the area. We need someone to follow information we get so we can find out how to corner these people. And, when the time comes, attack and bring this organization down.”

You sat up and folded your hands on the table, “We’ll go as soon as you need us to.”

“Actually,” Fury looked at Tony and Nat. “Tony can’t go because of the suit. Something like that will easily stand out and we need the element of complete surprise. Plus, we’re worried that they have a signal blocker. We lost contact with our men and we don’t want to have the possibility that the suit drops offline and stops working. Romanoff will have eyes looking for her at any airport, flight zone, any place she might be able to get into the country. These people know what they are doing and if we send her they’ll be onto us and moving their base before we know it.”

“So just send us,” Steve commented.

“Because of the nature of this recall,” Fury said sensitively, “we are only sending one agent. We can’t afford to lose more agents and we can’t afford to be made, so we need this to be all stealth.”

“I’ll go,” you and Steve both said at the same time and looked over at each other.

“On top of everything we have new recruits starting that we could really use you here for, Y/N. I’ll leave you two to discuss it but I need an answer and someone on a plane by tonight.” The three of them left you and Steve in the room and you turned your chair to face him as the door closed. “Steve-”

Steve was up out of his chair and walked to the head of the table before leaning down, “Y/N, this is going to be extremely dangerous. You heard Fury.”

“Exactly. I heard him. We lost 8 of our best without a trace. If it’s that dangerous then, Steve, I should go. I’m a walking powerhouse.”

“I’m a walking supersoldier. I’ve survived decades under ice and I’ve found aliens. I can do this.”

“And so can I,” you rose your voice. “I have been doing this for hundreds of years. This could get you killed, let me do it.”

“This could get you killed. Don’t give me that look,” he commented when you tilted your head at him and made a face. “You died, Y/N. Last major mission like this that we had you died.”

“I came back!”

“That time! You came back that time. We don’t know that it will happen again if you go to far again. I’m not risking you going over there and wasting yourself away.”

“I’m not risking you going over there and getting taken or worse.”

“You need to stay back and train the new recruits Fury has for you.” By his voice you knew what he was going to say.

“Steve-”

“I’m taking the spot, Y/N. I’m telling Fury that I’m take the job.”

“Steve, don’t do this. It’s a suicide mission.”

“You’re needed here. I’m going,” he said sternly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Steve,” you were so angry you nearly shook as he walked towards the door. “We are not done talking about this. Do not walk out that door.” The lights in the room grew brighter and brighter and hummed like they were about to explode.

He looked back at you with a sad but determined look. “I have to suit up and pack. I’ve only got a few hours before the jet leave.” He looked away from you and walked out of the door, leaving you alone in the conference room. You clenched your fists so tight that you could feel your nails cutting into your skin. Your body was shaking from anger at your fiances stupidity and you could feel your power raging in you like a hurricane, they were testing your strength and trying to let themselves loose. Knowing that things could get extremely ugly very quickly you forced yourself to sit down and buried your head in your hands as you took a few deep breaths.

“Director General?” Your head shot up and you looked at the assistant that stood in front of you. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re ok.”

“Mr. Stark and Director Fury asked me to give you these.” He passed you a few thick files. “These are all the information on the new recruits starting tomorrow morning. Mr. Stark asked that you go to him with a list of any and everything that you anticipate needing for training for the next two weeks.”

“Thank you.” You cracked open the first file and started reading.

******

You left Tony with a list of supplies, weapons, and rooms that you needed booked and walked out of the building. You had gone through all the new recruit information and braced yourself for the challenges that would start tomorrow. You decided to walk through the airfield on your to your home but the glimpse of a navy suit caught your attention. Steve was helping load bags onto the jet and you walked towards him.

“Steve?” He looked back to you and you saw his duffle bag in his hands. “Packing up already?”

“I, ugh, was going to go find you in a second. The departure time got moved up.”

“To?”

“We’re leaving as soon as everything is on board and as soon as I said goodbye to you.”

“That’s it? You were going to give me a quick goodbye and head off.”

“I take it you’re still upset about me taking this.” You glanced down at your feet before meeting his glance. “Y/N, it’s my job. I can do this.” He leaned forward and gave you a kiss goodbye. “I’ll see you when I get back, ok?”

“Any word on when that will be?”

“Fury thinks 10 to 14 days.” You nodded slowly. “Hey, while I’m gone why don’t you pick a date?”

“The date of the wedding is usually something a couple picks together, Steve.”

The co-pilot, who was acting as the other agent going with Steve, told Steve they were ready and he gave you a sad look. “ I don’t care what day it is. As long as you and I get married, any day will work for me.”

“Just because that was sweet, doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you, Rogers. You’re going to hear an earful when you get back.”

“I look forward to it.”

#marvel imagines #marvel imagine #avengers imagines #the avengers imagine #the avengers imagines #avenger imagine #avengers imagine #MS. POWERS #ms.powers #ms. powers story #captain america imagine #captain america imagines

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ivorytowerblr · 6 years

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NaNoWriMo 2017: May 20th

I may not be able to get two chapters done this week, but I *can* get one done, and I’m over my goal for finishing it, assuming I write decently tomorrow. A big part of yesterday’s brief entry was trying to figure out exactly what Vachagan’s mom was like.

Word Count: 880 Weekly Word Count: 4458 (of 10000) Previous: November (Masterpost); December (Masterpost); January (Masterpost); February (Masterpost); March (Masterpost); April (Masterpost); May: Week One (May 1st-7th) Week Two (May 8th-14th) 15th. 16th. 17th. 18th. 19th.

Her birthplace was some distance away, and not one of the more advanced world amidst the countless thousands now occupied by humans. Her mother had been a community leader, raising not just her daughter, but any number of other children as well. She had been a woman of determination, of will.

On days like this, Vachagan could all but hear her voice, clear, crisp, and ringing across the plains.

Her mother had been a teacher, keeping the old ways alive, teaching tradition to the new generations, songs and dances, how to cook and make clothing. How to ride the animals that were not horses, but they could have been, back on Earth. How to hunt, to shoot, to track. The world without her had seemed so large and frightening, so impossibly empty without her mother to fill the silence with noise.

She had always been a lousy dancer, though.

As she had aged, Vachagan had found it harder and harder to manage her mother’s attitude. Her authority had become autocracy, and Vachagan’s own love of freedom had become a willfulness all of its own. They had fought more and more often, and instead of laughter and song, the world became a thing of screaming, of anger.

She had been young on the day she had decided enough was in fact enough. Her latest fight with her mother had been terrible, over her future at just shy of nineteen and no ambition to teach, dance, hunt, or do much of anything other than spend her days alone on the plains, riding and listening to the sound of the wind.

She had stalked off to be by herself and encountered a trader, shuffling goods between worlds, and Vachagan had found her fascinating, listening to her stories for hours about her adventures on other worlds, about the places she’d been and the people she’d seen. By the end of it, she’d wanted nothing more than to embrace the life of an off-world trader.

Her mother had been unimpressed by her decision, declaring that she would see her daughter’s return before the end of the decade. Vachagan was absolutely determined to prove her mother wrong, a statement perhaps made in haste, all things considered. She had left her world the next day, freshly hired by the trader to help move goods from the ship to the planets they visited, and Vachagan did so gladly.

It was not, ultimately, the only thing the trader asked of her new employee, and that was well enough, too.

It took five years before she had found Hekate’s world, as off the beaten path as it was, and had since her time at home had learned many things, many new skills that should could bring with her to the new world. She and the trader had parted on good terms with a reminder that things could be hard on remote worlds, as though she somehow needed the reminder.

Her carefully saved pay had bought her the motorcycle she road now, and the lessons on how to ride it. It had, with some effort, provided her with all she needed to begin what was to be the next stage of her life, traveling where she willed with the sky above her and the open road beneath. That money had disappeared quickly, so she had taken jobs, often as a courier, sometimes temporary work moving goods from the planet to trading ships. Briefly, she had even considered taking up her old occupation, but freedom called to her as surely as it ever had.

Eventually, on the cusp of winter, she had found herself on the back roads of a remote area, riding along and thinking of nothing in particular. It had been a fine day, sunny but not too hot, the air crisp but not too cold. A delight for the senses. She had seen the house, that all-important house, in the distance and, curious, she had slowed to take a look at it. It wasn’t very large, not compared to the rolling hills or even many of the houses she’d seen on her travels, but there was something special about it.

Something special, perhaps, about the person who lived there.

Hekate had been filthy when they had met, having been busy with her gardening duties. She had been annoyed by the sound of Vachagan’s motorcycle, that much had been obvious. Vachagan had been awed nonetheless, or perhaps because of Hekate’s appearance.

She had reminded Vachagan of one of the witches of her birth world, someone powerful, wise, dangerous. Someone who listened to the words of plants and understood their will. Someone who healed the sick, fed the hungry, advised kings and vagabonds to be their very best.

Someone she could love, if given half a chance.

It’s been so long, and I can’t travel together, Vachagan thought. Hekate is lonely, and she deserves better than a drifter… but I don’t know if I can stop drifting at this point in my life. I’m still young enough, and there’s still so much to see. I haven’t moved onto another world, though. Is that enough? Can it be enough?

Vachagan ploughed on through the snow, lost in her thoughts, even as the sun gleamed brightly off of the snow all around her.

#nanowrimo 2017 #WH20K #i don't think i've always done a great job of talking about characters' families #but i'm definitely making sure to do it now #how much i do it in the future is variable

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volatilewhispers-blog · 6 years

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Silent Scream

( @alexiela73 here. This is an original, and I was hoping to get opinions/feedback on how it seems roughly so far. It is not Overwatch, but is my own personal OC Alexiela Feren. I just want to know how it seems so far. is it interesting? Is it boring? Cliché? Does it capture your interest? Is it something you’d want to see more of? What can I improve on?)

The only sounds heard this night was the soft sway of leaves rustling in the trees, as I step carefully over scattered roots and rocks hidden on the surface. For anyone human, it would have been treacherous to attempt to make it through this impossibly dark underbrush. For me though, my eyes were completely adjusted to the darkness and saw with ease.

Clouds filled the sky, but slowly seemed to be waning. It was easy to tell that tonight was a full moon, a thought that easily curved my lips into a smile.

A full moon...The animals in the woods would be restless tonight. It was a night of hunting, or more, a night of being hunted. Even the large predators such as mountain lions and bears would be wary and attempt to find higher ground. After all, a more cunning and ferocious predator would be prowling the woods tonight, scavenging in packs and killing for sport. It wasn't hunger that drove those creatures to stalk through the darkness most nights, nor to ravage any and all creatures that came across their pathes.

No, it was the thrill of the kill. The exhilaration of the chase, the wind in their fur and the blood pumping through veins as the prey attempt to escape. It was instinct that ran deep within, beyond any other thought or feeling.

A light shiver ran down my spine and I pushed these facts out of my mind, focusing on the task at hand. I wasn't scared of such creatures. Should our paths meet, no matter how many of them could possibly challenge me...I would surely win.

Here I live in a world of fantasy, where creatures found only in fairy tales and nightmares come to life. Vampires, werewolves, fairies....all kinds of creatures. All of them have been here on earth since the beginning of time, before even humans came into being. Every fairytale rings with a truth few believe in. These creatures live in a society of rules, governed to keep peace among them all and keep the humans in the dark.

I am one of those many creatures, but not one that lives in a fairy tale. No, I am the monster hiding beneath the bed, told to naughty little fairies and witches to make them behave. To this world, I am a real threat. But to those willing to see beyond the lies told by generations, I am a hero, a rebel and most importantly, a person.

The wind picked up again, and a faint scent made my nostrils flare.

"I'm surprised. For once, I think they might actually be trying," I chuckle to myself, quickening my steps but not too much. After all, I didn't want to get that far ahead. I was restless tonight and in desperate need of a workout after lounging around for so long.

After a harsh winter up North, on one of the many islands of Nunavut, it seemed that the Council had finally found a hint of where I could possibly be hiding for the winter. Though well hidden, I had caught scent of them yesterday too, treading through the thick snow far off in the distance. The Council seemed to have rallied a real team this time, suited with a fine tracker and a decent sized group of creatures that were eager to obey the law and be rewarded for helping the capture of one of the Councils worst enemies.

Naturally though, after being cooped up all winter by myself, I felt the need for a bit of a chase and a refreshing workout. My limbs had been stiff, as I had sent myself into a deep sleep much like hibernation for the last two months. So I had left, going slow enough for them to keep up but leading them quite quickly further down into Canada's interior.

It was rather disappointing to me, honestly, though. Even though the Council always failed to catch me, their game seemed to have really picked up in the last decade, never letting me remain in one place for very long.

The Lovac was getting closer, I noticed. A Lovac was a hunter of a human of a sort, but stronger physically and with slightly heightened senses. Surprisingly, they were decent in a fight, as I had seen in many brawls across the world, and usually were meant to help keep the peace...Or find those disturbing it. This one was gaining speed, clearly tired of the chase and eager to finish the job.

I didn't mind the thought, as I moved nimbly down the familiar path. In the distance, I saw a dark shape looming above the trees. It wasn't until I reached the tree line that I made out the two story house, looking empty with boards covering almost every window and grass up to my waist covering the lawn. There was spray paint on some of the walls of the house, though none of the writing made sense.

My eyes scanned the building before I saw an opening. There was a hole in the wall on the left side of the building. It was from the floor to about five feet off the ground, and was about a foot and a half wide. It would do, I decided.

One second I was across the yard from it, from the house that was buried far in the woods away from the rest of the world. The next second I was there, and any human that might watch would say I teleported. But the speed with which my body could move was blinding. No human could outrun any creature of the night, but of them all, my kind might possibly be the fastest. Or maybe that’s me bragging.

It was dark and musty inside. It was clear no one had lived here in years, nor shone the house any kind of love. The place was a mess, with remnants of broken furniture and dust covering every square inch of the room. There was one or two pictures that hung on the walls, but the pictures were too faded to make out. The walls, like the rest of the building, was covered in holes and peeling paint, and carried a musty smell.

A feeling of sadness washed through me as I looked around, pausing as I made my way through what was once likely the living room. This place brought memories to me from years ago, when for a time I had made it my home. But now it was just a broken well of memories I was better off forgetting.

Heading into the hall, I saw the stairs and made my way up. The floor creaked and one of the boards actually cracked apart as I headed upstairs. It appeared the house hadn't aged well, what with its obvious state. But it still held something for me, something I was eager for.

Making my way down the hall, I stopped in front of a blue door that was half off its hinge. Pushing it carefully, I slid inside through the small opening and coughed a bit. The pungent odor of the house was three times worse than what it might be with my heightened sense of smell, and so far it was almost enough to make me gag.

I still had a minute or two before the Lovac and his team would arrive. Still, no fear filled me at the thought of facing them. It was difficult to fear death when you had lived so long.

Right now though I didn't have time. I swiftly moved to the closet, pushing open the door and crouching down. I swept my fingers through the dust, attempting to push it aside to see the cracks in the floor boards. Seeing a dark line, I hooked a nail beneath the board and opened it with a load creek. Setting aside the boards, all there was now was a hole...And a box.

The box was black, dirty but beneath there was a glimmer of silver in the center. A crest, one that had long been in my family. A soft sigh left me as I stared at the crest through half-lidded eyes. My family...

Picking it up delicately, like it might shatter into a thousand pieces upon being touched, I carefully wrapped it in a blanket and put it inside the bag strapped over my shoulder.

This box held something inside it, something that had been gifted to me a very long time ago by a friend now long gone. It was a map, a map to a very remote city where very few, if any, creatures of the night lurked. It wasn't a place many strangers visited, and once it had been home to ancient witches that had put a protective barrier on the area to keep it off the radar from any who seek it and its people.

This place might be exactly what I'm looking for, I thought. At the time, I had still been fighting many battles, thwarting the Council at every turn I could to prevent the damage that many of its actions caused society. But now, I was ready for a break.

I still wanted to help people, to protect those in trouble. But for once, perhaps it was time I helped myself first. It was time I settled down, even if only for a year or two. Somewhere where no one would recognize me, nor be able to locate me via magic.

For a moment it seemed that perhaps I had been too preoccupied by the box, as I started to placing the board back. Awareness filled me as I heard a faint creak from behind me, and the hair on the back of my neck tingled. The thick air seemed to move, and then I felt the lunge.

I lunged to the side, my leg sweeping out. It collided with something solid, as my eyes caught on the glint of a dagger that stabbed the air where my head had been seconds ago. It glimmered, curved and was beautiful in the pale moonlight that illuminated the room.

There was a grunt as whatever it was slide back from the force behind my kick, and slowly it started to stand, that knife still easily visible in the dark.

"You filth," pants a heavy voice, the one holding the dagger. It was a man's voice, deep and ragged and filled with rage. "You had us chase you all this way for an abandoned house? You're pathetic. Face us and die."

The shape holding the knife was that of a massive man, likely six foot seven, if I had to guess. He wore a black trench coat, of the expensive variety, and a gray tuque that covered his ears. Only his eyes glinted above the collar of his coat, filled with anger and ambition.

For a moment there was silence.

Then a giggle escaped me at the sheer absurdity of his words.

"Did you think you were going to find me and I was going to simply hand myself over to you? Honestly, sweetheart, I'm not scared of you or your 'pack' in the slightest," I purr, my eyes glinting mischievously in the darkness. My hand darted up, slender fingers wrapping around his wrist and dragging him down with an inhuman force. His eyes widened as I brought him down close to my face.

It had been easy to tell just by seeing his eyes that the man was a werewolf. They glinted unnaturally, but held a glimmer of moonlight that seemed captured in his soul. It surprised me the Lovac hadn't come in first, but letting the werewolf in first was surely tactical. After all, though a werewolf could change whenever one pleased, it was the moon in the sky that really gave it power.

The man struggled, a animalistic growl leaving his throat as he tried to jerk his arm away, but my grip was strong. Nails biting into his flesh, I heard his gasp and felt warm liquid touch my fingers where I held onto him.

"You crazy bitch, let go of me-" He started to snarl but abruptly I let go.

What with his insistence on pulling away, the moment my fingers let go the strength of his pull caused him to simply fall over onto the floor, catching him by surprise. But not so much as when he looked up to see me suddenly standing above him, tilting my head curiously.

"Surely you're not a fool, wolf. You know what I am, who I am and only half of what I am capable of," I murmur, eyes narrowing as I study him. Now his eyes were wide with caution and a tinge of fear. I could hear the sound of his heart starting to race, the blood pounding through his veins. His blood...

Lifting the hand that had held him, my tongue slowly flicked out to lap up the drying liquid. It was warm and thick, and though it wasn't nearly as potent as a humans, it still sent a thrill through my body.

I could see how a light tremble had come over him now.

My kind had a reputation, one that rocked the nation and beyond. It was one given to us as an excuse to wipe out my species, simply because the fear of what our powers could accomplish. To the Council, even long ago, that power had been a mystery to them, and the fact that it was already so strong had scared them enough to make us too dangerous to keep alive.

After a moment, my shoulders slumped slightly and I stood up, moving quickly across the floor. Perhaps this wasn't a necessary battle. I was so tired of seeing the fear in everyone's eyes from just knowing what I was.

In that moment he was up though, and I could see he wasn't about to give up quite as easily as I had hoped so.

Squaring his shoulders, I could see the wolf was trying to become more intimidating. Already his teeth had formed into canines, thick and pushing out from his lips. His eyes shone animalistically, reflecting the light of the moon that poured through the window. Any mortal would have been terrified. Anyone normal would have been cautious.

But I was not normal, and there was only so much that scared me these days. Unfortunately for this wolf, he was not one of them.

“I’m giving you a chance,” I say softly, eyes locked with his. The wolf did not back down, slowly moving closer. And the closer he got, the more he changed, fur rippling along his skin. Bones cracked-changed. Clothes began to rip. “Or else I won’t hold back.”

The wolf didn’t hear, not as he fell to all four paws. My sensitive ears told me his companions were close on his heels. It would be only another minute before they poured in the door, and I knew blood would stain the floors.

My eyes darted between the door and the wolf, which now crouched before me, hackles raised and huge fangs bared. It was massive, possibly the size of a horse if you measured it, and was covered in a coat of thick coppery fur. It wouldn’t back done, I realized and felt a wave of pity.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, and I rolled up my sleeves. My face was grim as I faced the wolf. “I truly am.” With that, the wolf snarled and leapt.

Light exploded in the room, blinding and only sorrow remained when it at last dimmed.

#Silent Scream #My OC #Original Story #My Writing #Shitty Writing #Looking for feedback #>.< I suck #Fiction #Ugh. I suck #Alexiela73

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no6secretsanta · 6 years

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Note: Dear @aoicanvas! Angst isn’t my usual repertoire and I really had problems trying to come up with something more bittersweet than No. 6 itself is, but reunion!fic, now that I could do! ~@tea-in-september

NARRATIVE FIDELITY

It was supposed to end with a proper finale, a denouement delayed being better than the story ending at its climax, but Nezumi had ignored to plan for the fact that it’s only in on stage that living people would follow the author’s directions.

The smell of musty basement no longer lingered on Shion. He had grown taller, of course he had; his hair was properly trimmed, his voice settled, his clothes clean. Nezumi couldn’t make himself pull back from the firm grip of Shion’s arms around him, not when he still woke from nightmares of a limp corpse going cold in the late winter sun. Oh, he’d thought he was past this, he’d thought he’d moved on, but here Shion was hugging him as the first person since someone dead two decades ago, and some spiteful narrative causality was set in motion.

“Nezumi,” Shion said in a voice that small and full of some repressed emotion, “I’ve never missed anything the way I’ve been missing you.” And in a violent second, Nezumi realised that that was what it was, this was what it meant to fall asleep at night while making believe that Shion was sleeping next to him.

He couldn’t speak the sentiment, and he didn’t know what to say as he met Shion’s bright eyes and that wavering smile. It dimmed as Shion lifted a hand Nezumi’s face and waited, a full five seconds, before he leaned in and kissed him.

There had been so few things Nezumi truly wanted that he’d had little practice in resisting temptation. A part of his brain kept saying to pull back, to tell him, to get it over with, to end it and get on with the rest of his life. But he had walked from all this once before, and he’d forgotten how good he’d gotten at ignoring the sucking cavity in his chest that Shion’s soft mouth was mending every time it came back to his after pulling back to breathe.

Nezumi had prided himself in never forgetting his lines, but the Shion in front of him was warm and brilliant and the happiest thing he had ever seen. He’d been kissing Shion for five minutes; there was no tidy way out of this any longer, and back when he was sixteen, he had never imagined that this was how sweet it tasted to be kissed without hidden meanings.

He ended up in Shion’s home and in Shion’s bed, and as Shion’s breathing slowed down in slumber, he was in it so deep that he couldn’t even make himself mouth the words he’d come to say in the darkness.

Shion, don’t wait for me. I won’t come back.

There were few things more grating than stories without proper endings. Wasn’t that the entire point of fiction? The illusion that the world had sense and order, that things ended, that it either went well or it went badly but at either rate, it was over, it could be closed off and left behind and forgotten if you weren’t happy about it. Nezumi hated novels without proper endings, and even if someone once told him that he saw everything in black and white, he still couldn’t think about his life in terms of the messy reality he saw every day.

He’d learned that hostility was an effective defence mechanism early on. Things that were soft and sweet didn’t last outside the walls of No. 6, and if he’d lived four years on nighttime memories of a cup of hot cocoa and a boy who had held his hand while he slept in a bed that was soft and clean, then it helped to be an actor and to know exactly where the pretending began. It hadn’t become a problem until he’d stepped between Shion and a loaded gun because it was unbearable to imagine a world where Shion was dead. Leaving was the safest way of surviving, and survival was the only way to win the game.

Time marched on in autumns and sunsets, but Nezumi left the story with an insignificant plot thread hanging and the storyteller in him kept returning to it in perpetual annoyance. He shouldn’t take the blame for Shion’s shortcomings, but he knew that he enabled it in his own tragic flaw. Shion promised that he’d always stay by Nezumi’s side, and Nezumi hadn’t pointed out the holes in Shion’s naive logic because Shion said all the things he wanted to hear even if it was ridiculous to believe that it could ever happen. Worst of it all, he had given in that final time: when Shion called his name, he turned around and went back to him and kissed him and there was no denying that whatever that kiss was, it wasn’t closure.

Shion would be waiting for Nezumi to come back, and Nezumi had to tell him to let go of the promise he’d never meant to make, and wasn’t going to keep. Shion wasn’t going to leave No. 6 and Nezumi wasn’t going to stay there, and even the most fantastic of stories couldn’t work on broken logic.

So Nezumi went back to No. 6 to end the story and start a new one that didn’t involve the ghost of an idealistic child genius trailing in his footsteps. He returned to the still-rebuilding city and he found Shion in an office in the innermost corner of some hallway of the building proudly housing the Reconstruction Committee. And that was the point where his carefully scripted epilogue went off the rails, because he’d forgotten to factor in that Shion had believed that good dreams could come true.

Shion’s body was warm and heavy beside him. Unmoving but breathing softly, curled up facing Nezumi with a hand resting on the pillow between them. It didn’t shift when Nezumi put his fingers against it, and if he lingered as Shion slept, then that, too, was something reserved for when he was safely alone.

He counted the seconds as he listened to Shion breathing and felt Shion’s fingers against his own, and the fourth time he had put it off, he carefully slipped out from the sheets, tucked them around Shion, and didn’t linger any longer as he stepped away to get dressed. A cold, clear day was dawning outside, the early traffic out of the city would already be running, but Shion would sleep for hours still. Nezumi had shared his bed with him for five months; there was little he didn’t know about how Shion slept, and what Shion could sleep through.

Shion hadn’t moved when Nezumi returned to the bedroom with the notepad he’d found on the kitchen table. He put his letter down beside the lamp on the bedside table; he’d written down the things he hadn’t told Shion face to face yesterday, and upsets would pass. Nezumi no longer mourned his dead family, and Shion seemed to be fairly unaffected by the death of his best friend and the destruction of his hometown. Letting it go without drama was a better solution than spending an hour arguing over something that was going to end in tears anyway.

It was his own story to end, and he allowed himself the sentimentalism of brushing his fingers through Shion’s white hair one final time. Shion’s relaxed face didn’t as much as twitch, and Nezumi pulled the blankets closer around him still and thought about all the good things he never would have kept anyway.

“Hey, have some good dreams,” he said quietly, and then he turned around and left his final unfinished story behind with what was - if he was completely honest about it - a really shitty solution. But hey, it wasn’t like there were any really satisfactory ways to end a story about massacres and natural disasters and teenage boys who got themselves hurt over and over because they kept believing that most people were as good as they were. If Nezumi felt a peculiar ache as he walked down the stairs of Shion’s apartment building, then it wasn’t like he’d felt it plenty before. When he’d sneaked out of a house in Chronos, when he’d given a knitted sweater to a girl dressed in rags, when he told Inukashi to shut up about Shion’s friend being in trouble and Nezumi’s decisions about that.

When he’d let Shion give him a goodbye kiss and then stayed awake all night when Shion got up before daybreak and left him behind for a girl who wanted to have sex with him. Had he still been sixteen, he might’ve even justified his avoidance now with the fact that Shion honestly deserved this.

His breath was clouding as he stepped outside, but the sky was pinking in the promise of sunrise, without a cloud in sight. The truly poetic way to start this would’ve been with some distant horizon in front of him as the day was just beginning, but seeing the promises of a sunny day above the rooftops of the tall buildings around him would have to make do until he’d left the city proper. He paused for a second as he tried to remember which direction the city centre would be in, and decided to follow a car that was just leaving its parking lot. It wasn’t as if he had any obligations; no work to mind, no house to keep, no-one waiting for him at a home that didn’t exist. His life was cleared out and the world was vast in front of him, and he had taken exactly seven steps towards the rest of the day as something heavy crashed into his back.

“What was that?!” Shion demanded as he gripped the front of Nezumi’s coat with both hands.

“I wrote you a letter!” Nezumi answered sharply, but Shion was not pacified.

“Yes, thank you, I saw that. Where are you going?!”

“I don’t know - ”

“Then why are you leaving?!” It was punctuated with a sharp yank, and Nezumi tried to pry Shion’s hands loose.

“It’s none of your business where I’m going. Cut it out, Shion.”

“No, it is my business, you are my business. What about yesterday?”

“What about it? You think spending six hours in my company gives you the rights to dictate what I do with my life?”

Shion flinched at the words, and the rage subsided somewhat, and let another emotion into play as his hands finally relaxed their grip on Nezumi.

“You were happy to see me,” he stated, and his grip grew stronger again, “You kissed me. You came home with me. You slept with me. Based on your actions, it makes no sense for you to walk away now and tell me you’re never coming back.”

“Shion, it could never work,” Nezumi said, and noticed for the first time that Shion was still in his sleepwear. He could feel the cold through his winter coat; Shion had to be freezing, but didn’t seem to notice. His face was set in determination, even as he looked close to tears as well.

“Why.”

“Come on. Why would it? You’re you and I -

“You were happy to see me, Nezumi.”

“Yeah, your majesty, because I like you. Didn’t I tell you back then, about how you showed me that people could be kind. I’d be an idiot not to like the person who taught me that. I’m sorry that I didn’t feel like ruining your overwhelming welcome yesterday, but this is how it is.“

“Do you know,” Shion says with careful enunciation, “that five years ago, I made a promise to myself? I promised that when you came back, I wasn’t going to let you go as easily as I did when I was sixteen.”

“Did you consider that I might want a say in things?”

“Then tell me what it is you’re going to find elsewhere so that I’ll know whether or not it’s right for me to try and make you stay.”

There was a beat of silence, as all of Nezumi’s reasons fell apart in incoherence.

“You know, my life has been nothing but a stream of shit,” he said, eventually. “I want something else.”

Shion blinked, and two fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “Am I just a part of that stream of shit?”

“You were the only thing that wasn’t,” Nezumi said weakly, and Shion wiped away a tear even as more kept coming.

“Do you know that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me? I don’t even want to imagine what my life would have been like if you hadn’t come around. I don’t want to imagine what kind of person I’d been. What kind of place this city would have been.”

“No good things ever last. It’s better not to get used to it.”

Shion’s mouth fell open. “I can’t agree with that,” he said, and sniffed, and finally let go of Nezumi to rub his bare arms with his hands.

“Yeah, and that’s why we’d never work,” Nezumi stated. “I’m sorry about the letter.”

Shion no longer looked at him, and seemed to try and curl in on himself in the cold.

“You should go back inside,” Nezumi told him, but Shion evidently refused to be the one to let this end. There was another full minute of silence. “Look, Shion - “

“You’re new here, right?”

“What?”

“I mean, you only came into town yesterday.”

“Yeah, after having spent like half my life out in - “

“Have you seen much around here yet?”

“What are you getting at?” Nezumi asked less harshly than he would have liked, because Shion’s eyes were still red and his voice was still coarse with tears even if his eyes had taken on a peculiar light.

“I mean, this city used to be a horrible place. Like, the people here built walls to lock out people in desperate need, it sorted its own citizens not by how their own needs, but their usefulness for the city. There was mass supervision of the inhabitants and unlawful arrests, and they did horrible scientific experiments on people inside the wall, and massacred people outside it.”

“Shion, what makes you think I’d forgotten about all of this?”

“That it’s all different now,” Shion said, and turned around to point southwards, where the remains of the wall was still looming in the early morning. “There was this big catastrophe, and old system fell apart and the people here have been working very hard to turn it into something new, something good. If you’d seen the old West Block now - or even in the summer, when the trees are all green and you can see the people work their gardens!”

He smiled brilliantly now, and his hands grasped Nezumi’s biceps. “I don’t think you can ever find a truly blank slate. And I don’t think it’s good to forget the mistakes of the past, if you’re strong enough to see the good parts among everything that didn’t work. Watching the people here build something good on the ruins of something terrible...” the sentence drifted off, and his smile softened.

“I used to know this boy who called himself Nezumi. Sometimes he called himself Eve. He could be a real jerk a lot of the time, but he was the strongest person I ever knew. He was the one who changed everything. And I want him to have all the good things in the world.”

There really was nothing he could think to say as Shion took his hands in his own icy fingers, and held them tightly.

“You know, you never did tell me your name.”

Shion smiled encouragingly as he hesitated, and squeezed his hands until he made his resolve and opened his mouth to speak. That was, after all, the conventional way of beginning any story.

#no. 6 #no6 #no.6 #nezumi #shion #nezushi #aoicanvas #tea for you #tea-for-you

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