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breadqueen95 · 2 years

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Reflections - Chapter 7: Soft Metal

Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

10.9k (wut)

Chapter Summary: How can you possibly say goodbye?

Content warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, panic, general trauma, physical pain

a/n: here's some food for ya sorry i can't make a commitment to a schedule. also i will not lie this is not proofread sorry

Chapter 6

***

The rest of the night passed in a blur.

Despite having thought you’d need every single nighttime hour to make a decision, one conversation with Natasha Romanoff had you agreeing to their proposal before 11pm. Definitely not something you’d expected.

Even now, as the anxious roiling of your stomach begs you to back out and stay right where you are, you can’t say that you think you made the wrong choice. You won’t know that for sure until you get there, and even then, you already decided to give this a try.

Besides…Hydra would come for you no matter what. Natasha said as much. It’s far safer to buy yourself time by being around other people, especially people who were actually capable of keeping you safe.

…Even still, it’s hard to turn off the sheer heartbreak you feel.

Admirably, Wanda came out of your bathroom after showering and didn’t even flinch at all of the new developments. She simply nodded, smiled at you kindly, and asked if you wanted to start packing.

So that led you to where you are now. Staring at the small stack of books in your trembling hands, you try in vain to get your mind to just focus. You’ve been compartmentalizing for years now. All you need to do is flip that switch, right?

A voice says your name softly nearby, but it only registers as white noise in your brain. You just keep staring down at your books, but you don’t really see them. All you see are the white walls. The white lab coats. The—

Then there’s your name again, more insistently than the first time. It drags you out of your head, causing you to look up.

There’s Wanda, dark red tresses still a little damp from her shower. She’s looking at you with a frustrating mix of kindness and pity. For as much as her expression makes you unreasonably mad, it also gives you a weird sense of comfort.

You’re not sure what to do with that.

“Natasha stepped outside to call Tony,” she explains. She looks down to your shaking hands holding your books, which you’d grabbed while Natasha quickly updated Wanda on what she’d missed. You’d thought you should get started on gathering your meager belongings, only to end up frozen.

“I should, um…” you start, only to have your voice fade away as you struggle to find the words. Your mouth remains slightly ajar as you try to wrestle yourself into the efficient survival mode you’d perfected over these years.

But you can’t. That mode, that prey animal’s instinct, it doesn’t fit anymore. Not like it used to.

The shaking gets more pronounced. Harder to control.

“Are these the books you’d like to bring?”

Wanda’s soothing lilt yanks you back from the precipice again. Looking up, you find that same kind patience.

“Y-yes,” you choke out, “they’re the only ones here that are m-mine—”

“Okay, so they’re coming,” Wanda interrupts you kindly but forcefully. She reaches out to take the stack from you, but without thinking, you only hold them tighter and jerk them closer to you.

To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or take offense. She just says your name again, lightly, nothing but understanding in her tone.

“Would you like to set them on the table over here? Or maybe tell me where your bag is so we can pack them?”

The words bounce around in your head like an echo chamber. You’re not used to this, this collaborative thing that’s been added to your process.

Usually, when you leave, you throw your shit in a bag and go. You never give yourself time to think about the particulars of what you’re doing or why. Never really perceived yourself having a choice in leaving – it was always the only choice.

Everything about this time was deliberate. Thought through. Emotional.

How the fuck are you supposed to navigate that?

“I don’t know how to do this,” you whisper, unaware you’ve spoken the words aloud until you hear them in your own ears.

A beat of silence passes. You’re scared Wanda has finally lost her patience with you, done with this bullshit of a day and done with you.

But she hasn’t. And she isn’t.

“You don’t have to know. None of us do. But we’ll help you, I promise.”

Looking at her, you see that she is holding her hands out, palms up. There’s no expectation there, just an offer.

Slowly, deliberately, you place your books in her hands. Your heart stutters as you let go of their worn and well-loved pages, but even still, you release them. Wanda’s elegant fingers close around them, holding them as reverently as you had.

“I’ll grab my duffle,” you mutter, finally able to turn and purposefully walk to your bedroom. Grabbing the canvas bag from your closet, you march right back out to where Wanda is waiting and set the duffle on the floor.

“You know,” Wanda says as she sets your books down on the table, “we have a lot of books at the compound.”

You don’t say anything, just sort of look at her, so she continues.

“You could read some of them. If you wanted.”

Blinking, you try to think about how many books could be available at the fucking Avengers Compound. With such limited resources and almost zero access to a good library, it’s hard for you to picture.

“Any of them?”

“Any of them,” she grins.

You watch her as she glides over to where you keep your shoes by the door. She bends and picks up your old pair of hiking boots that double as snow boots in the winter, bringing them over and carefully arranging them at the bottom of your bag. You notice she’s left your beat up pair of sneakers by the door, somehow knowing you’ll want to wear them tomorrow.

“I could put a list of recommendations together if you’re interested,” she offers, “the choices can be overwhelming, and I’ve read through a lot of them.”

It’s then, for the first time in the hour since you’ve decided to leave, you feel an emotion other than devastation.

“Sure,” you reply, “I would like that.”

***

It’s that very same night that Tony Stark decides he hates moths. Despises them. Loathes them.

Okay, so he knows they’re important. Pollinators and all that. But the violence in which these massive mountain motherfuckers are going after the dim light on his phone really isn’t all that groovy of them.

A little while after they’d arrived back at the jet, after he’d given Bruce the lowdown and conferred with Hill and Fury about next steps, Nat’s name had lit up his phone screen with an incoming call.

He just didn’t think he needed a shield to step outside and answer a call.

Normally, Tony would answer inside with the others. Put the damn thing on speaker and play Candy Crush or some shit during the conversation. But with the way Rogers was seething in the corner like a little broccoli floret, he didn’t really wanna invite his opinion on whatever was happening right away.

“Hello hello, my lovely little bowl of borscht,” Tony greets as he answers the call, “what’s new?”

“Fucking hell, Stark,” Natasha barks, “you know I hate the food thing. Especially since I hate borscht.”

“So sorry, what would you prefer sweet blini of mine?”

He knows this is important. Tony feels the weight of it, and had felt it since Nat and Steve approached him about Firebug the very first time. But goddamn it, he hates this feeling. He hates that everyone, including the new pal they were trying to recruit, felt it.

Hence…the nicknames. It’s like a compulsion. He has to.

“I don’t know, maybe my name?”

“Don’t you wanna spice up your life?”

“Ugh, fine,” she relents, talking in this quick way that says she’s beyond ready to move on from this, “at least ditch the borscht.”

“Sounds swell you delightful handle of vodka,” he quips back without missing a beat, “now stop wasting time and give me that update I know you called with.”

“I hate you so fucking much, you know that?”

“Clock’s a tickin’.”

“Fine,” she huffs, “anyways, she agreed. She’s coming back with us.”

Tony’s taken aback. He quickly checks his watch, seeing 11pm illuminated on the screen before having to swat away another dusty abomination.

“Damn, you guys work fast. I was convinced I wasn’t gonna hear anything until tomorrow morning. What did you say to her?”

“I can explain more when we get back,” she sighs, “let’s just say it was an emotional decision. She’s not gonna be okay for a long time, and this adjustment will be hard. Everyone’s gotta find some patience.”

“We’ll take care of her. Make sure you tell her that.”

“I will,” Natasha responds, voice far softer than it had been mere seconds ago, “Wanda’s in there with her now, I think she’s helping her pack.”

“Perfect. We can get outta here first thing in the morning.”

“Did Fury plant the false info for Hydra?”

“He’s getting it started,” Tony explains, “when I asked him for more details he told me to fuck off.”

“That tracks.”

“We’ll be fine,” Tony reassures her, “we’ll get her outta here and get her to safety, no problem.”

“Sure thing,” Nat sighs, then adds, “keep an eye on Rogers, would you?”

“Already ahead of you, I’ll make sure he keeps his shit together. At least until we get her back to the Compound.”

A lull in their conversation begins. Tony usually doesn’t pay attention to these sorts of things; he’s usually thinking too fast to notice anything beyond his own thoughts. Even so, he can feel the tension from the other side of the phone.

Natasha is worried. And more shocking than that, she’s letting it show.

“He’ll come around,” Tony says in what he hopes is a soothing, casual tone.

“What if he doesn’t?” She whispers back hoarsely.

“He’ll have to. Until she gives us a good reason to mistrust her or her intentions, we gotta lead with a little faith here.”

She huffs a laugh on the other line, retorting, “Thought you didn’t go by things like faith.”

“Yeah, well…”

It’s him who pauses this time, mind distracted by that poor girl’s terrified face. Distracted by all the awful things that were done to her. What could still be done to her if they didn’t get her to trust them.

But to get her to trust them, they needed to show that they trust her.

“Not always.”

***

It hadn’t taken long for you to pack up your meager belongings. Even less time than you thought once Natasha had come back inside and began helping. You told both of them they didn’t have to, but they insisted.

Nice of them. Still kind of wish they hadn’t so you could waste more time, but whatever. Win some, lose some.

By the time your books were settled on top of the last of your clothes, it was nearing 12am. You’d dragged your feet a little, but everything still hadn’t taken more than an hour. While you still felt wired, you could tell that Natasha and Wanda were exhausted. They tried to explain away their sleepy faces and yawns, but eventually you convinced them to try and get some sleep. They only listened if you promised you’d do the same.

As if that would happen.

You’re a chronic insomniac on your best nights. It didn’t take a genius to figure that tonight wouldn’t even come close to even being considered restful.

So you didn’t even try. You just curled up on top of the bed and stared at the wall, begging time to go by just a little faster.

And you’re still there. You check the clock on the bedside table, convinced it would be at least 3am or something, only to find—

12:30am.

Well fuck.

Releasing a heavy sigh, you roll onto your back to change views. Maybe staring at the dark ceiling would be more entertaining.

…definitely not the case. Not in the slightest. Because the more you stare, the more hyperaware you become of the fact that you might never see this ceiling again. Or these walls. Or this room. Or this house.

Before you know it, you’re sitting upright at the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the comforter as you try to ground yourself.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Who’s to say you’re making the right choice?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Who’s to say Hydra would even find you way out here? Maybe they wouldn’t.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Even worse, what if they find you no matter where you run?

Breathe—

You go to take a deep breath, but your lungs constrict. They stutter. Your airway closes in on itself. No matter how hard you work, you can’t get that breath. The very nature of your respiratory system failing you feels symbolic, representative of the pitiful state of your life falling around you.

Suddenly, those walls flash white in your mind, erasing the darkness with the threat of a memory far worse.

Then you’re on your feet.

As quietly and quickly as you can, you flit to the door and slowly twist it open. Hoping beyond hope that your guests don’t hear you, you leave it cracked behind you and make your way to the backdoor and slip outside. You usually wouldn’t risk closing yourself off from safety by closing the door completely, but tonight you do.

It’s not lost on you that the presence of the Avengers makes you feel a little safer than usual.

Just like every other night before, the first inhale of fresh air helps your lungs expand. You feel clean again. You feel alive.

Taking your seat on the steps of the back porch, you lean back until your back rests against the worn wood.

Nothing in front of you but open sky. Millions of stars. The moon an old friend in the distance, providing the faintest light through the darkness.

Then you’re crying. You don’t even remember starting.

But the tears stream endlessly down your cheeks. Sobs rip themselves from your chest. You press both hands over your mouth to try and keep yourself from making any noise, knowing there’s actually people who could hear you this time.

It’s kind of like your reaction with the books earlier tonight. This forceful acknowledgement of the thing you’re giving up; this illusion of safety and home you’ve crafted for yourself.

For the first time since before you can really remember, you’re being allowed time to mourn something you’ve lost.

You don’t like it. You don’t want it.

You can’t take it.

This emptiness, this heaviness weighing down every part of you…it’s torment. It’s anguish.

Just from understanding what this feeling was, this grief, it’s cracked open the door you closed to everything else you’d lost. The endless list of things you can’t let yourself remember.

But if you open that door wider, if you actually let yourself remember…

You think you’d actually shatter.

So you focus on the stars, knowing tonight is your last night with this particular stretch of sky.

***

Bucky can feel his heart break as he watches her from the tree line. He sees the way her body crumples in on itself, her small hands trying in vain to keep her pain quiet.

It was his turn for patrol. Stark had assigned them all shifts after talking to Natasha, and this happened to be his hour.

There wasn’t much for him to do, not with all the other steps Stark, Fury, and the others had taken to keep Hydra at bay. Just walk around in the dark and try to keep from tripping. He was way too used to sidewalks now.

City boy. Old habits die hard.

Of course he wasn’t going to sleep anyway. He’s way too amped up and distracted, and that was before knowing she had decided to come back with them tomorrow. Now he can’t quite seem to settle that fluttering feeling in his stomach whenever he thinks about it, which was…every second.

He’d been hanging around the area by the cabin when she came outside, trying to listen for anyone else hanging around who shouldn’t be. She’d actually given him quite a scare when that back door opened.

Bucky actually thought about going over to talk to her when she first sat down. Get to know her more, whatever. It’s kind of pathetic, this weird pull he feels toward her.

But the second he heard the first sob, he knew he couldn’t. Not now. Not tonight.

He understands that she’s trying to fall apart quietly because of the people in her home.

It’s easy for him to understand that this, all of it, is pain beyond pain for her.

That she maybe doesn’t even know how to understand it herself just yet.

He remembers vividly those first few weeks away from Hydra. First in Romania, then in Wakanda, then finally at the Compound. Bouts of extreme emotion like this was all too common. He still has them, even now, though they’re far less frequent.

But because of that intimate experience he has with this brand of breakdown, he leaves her be, no matter how much he doesn’t want to.

So Bucky retreats further into the trees, taking extra care as not to alert her to someone witnessing this.

His heart breaks more with every step he takes away from her, as though he’s fighting instinct itself.

***

Wanda hadn’t slept well.

This isn’t anything new for her; she’s used to running on very little sleep. It had been that way ever since that bomb fell on her home in Romania. Ever since her parents died. Ever since Pietro.

Instead of sleeping through the approaching dawn, she found herself sitting up on the soft leather couch where she’d settled in for the night. Angling her eyes just so, she watched the sky gradually lighten in the morning hours.

It’s easy to see what Firebug saw in this place – why she’s so deeply attached to it. There’s a certain magic in every soft breeze, the quietness that coexists with the racket from nature itself. It reminds Wanda of early mornings in her village as a child. Those early hours where she listened to people rising early to begin their days, the crickets chirping and the frogs croaking.

It pulls at her heart. She knows it must pull at Firebug’s.

No…that isn’t her real name. Wanda silently but firmly reminds herself of it in her head.

This girl might like the nickname Stark had so easily assigned to her. Might even find a certain comfort in the affectionate way in which they all seemed to say it now. But she doesn’t know, not for certain anyway.

And besides, there’s a certain humanity that comes with using someone’s real name. She’s gone so, so long without hearing hers. Maybe she doesn’t want to, but until she says otherwise, Wanda wants her to know that it’s okay to step back into herself. If she wants to.

Late last night, she’d heard the quick stumbling of someone rushing to get outside. Having felt that sort of claustrophobic panic before herself, Wanda left her alone. The familiar sights and sounds around her would comfort the young woman better than she could.

Sighing deeply, the redhead peeks over Natasha, curled tightly in on herself on the laid back recliner. It seems as though she’s sleeping, at least a little. Her friend is way too good at pretending, so she hopes that’s not the case. Nat sleeps even less than she does.

Checking the time on her phone, Wanda sees that it’s nearly 5:30am. Stark and the others would want to get moving soon.

It would be better for everyone, especially her. The longer they linger, the worse it’ll be.

So she picks herself up from the sofa, stretching languidly in the weak morning light. She opens the curtains a little more, allowing the rising sun to rest on Natasha. She stirs a little, and Wanda continues over to the small kitchenette. She makes the decision to start a pot of coffee, hoping it doesn’t irritate their host. Wanda’s honestly just hoping that if she and Nat can keep things purposeful and efficient, it’ll make things easier for everyone.

As soon as the coffee maker starts groaning (how is that thing still functioning?) she pads over to Natasha to start waking her up.

Taking extra care not to touch her or get too close, Wanda murmurs her name to rouse her. Everyone on the team knew better than to try and wake each other up with loud noises or unexpected physical contact. There’s nothing worse than having slept badly then jumping awake because your trauma is telling you than someone’s trying to kill you.

It only takes two more verbal pokes for Nat to start stirring. She grumpily cracks open one eye to glare at her, but she doesn’t scare Wanda. This is the only time she can say that the ex-assassin is all bark and no bite.

“Coffee’s starting,” she smirks, knowing that’ll help speed up the process.

And it does. Natasha begrudgingly opens both eyes and starts to sit up, the old chair creaking at the movement.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles.

As soon as Wanda’s convinced Nat is up for good, she heads back over to the kitchen and looks around for some mugs. After opening a few cabinets, she locates a few. She pulls out two for herself and Natasha, and then grabs the clean mug she saw sitting by the sink for the third member of their temporary trio. It’s probably the one she likes using most.

As Natasha gets up to start her morning stretches, she looks around before looking back at where Wanda leans against the counter.

“Where is she?” She asks.

“Back porch,” Wanda offers, glancing in that direction, “I heard her slip outside a few hours ago.”

Natasha nods and returns to her stretching, completely unbothered. And despite not having seen her for hours now, Wanda is fairly certain that when she walks outside in a few minutes, she’ll find her exactly where she expects she’ll be. The patrols would’ve seen if she’d tried to run, but more than that…Wanda just thinks she’s tired of running.

A glance at the clock reminds her of the time, and Wanda sighs.

Efficiency will make this easier she reminds herself again as she pushes off from the counter. As she walks down the hallway to get to the back, Wanda purposefully makes a little noise instead of her usual silent steps, not wanting to sneak up on her. Scaring her wouldn’t exactly be a great start to the day.

Wanda makes an entire process out of grabbing loudly (but not too aggressively she hopes) at the door handle and creaking it open. Maybe she was laying it on a little thick, but with these sorts of things, it’s so hard to know what the right thing is.

…and if she’s being honest, she wants this girl to like her. Be her friend.

Wanda loves the team; they’re the family she’s needed every since losing Pietro. Nat is like an older sister, and every single one of the guys act like her big brother. And she appreciates that. Loves it, even. But what she really wants is a friendship with someone that doesn’t feel like she’s being taken care of all the time. Something more equal.

Peeking her head out into the crisp morning air, Wanda sees her sitting on the porch steps. She’s sitting up, but her body seems to droop in on itself. Like every single limb is weighed down.

It’s impossible not to ache for her. She’s far too young to have been through as much as she has.

With a wry, humorless smile to herself, Wanda reminds herself that she’s cut from that exact same cloth.

“Good morning,” she murmurs.

To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch. But now that Wanda thinks about it, all of the noise she made probably helped. She makes a note to high five herself later.

Peter had explained about self-high fives to her. Said they were good for morale and self-confidence, which she has to agree with.

“Hello,” she whispers back hoarsely.

“Is it alright if I sit?”

A single nod. Wanda walks over to the steps and takes a seat next to Firebug.

No. Y/n.

After settling in, she takes a deep breath and looks around at the view. That magic she felt from inside? It’s even more potent out here. It’s not muted or dampened by walls or ceilings – nothing between her and the sky.

A sense of bittersweet euphoria rushes over her. She remembers the walls during her time as a Hydra experiment. She remembers how addictive the open sky became to her after getting out of there. It’s hard not to think of Pietro in times like this, and how much he would’ve loved this place.

It’s then, with the image of her brother fresh in her mind, that Wanda turns to look at her.

Her breath catches at how truly haggard she looks. Did she sleep at all?

It’s not even the physical things that worry Wanda the most. It’s the desperate, broken look so apparent in her eyes. She looks out at the grass and trees with a hunger that only comes hand in hand with grief; knowing that something or someone is here for the last time.

“I can feel you staring,” she bites out quietly, a hard glint a new addition to her expression.

Wanda fights the urge to look away and apologize. She knows that would be the polite, even kind, thing to do, but that doesn’t feel right.

“Not many people wear their expressions so openly.”

She’s not sure what made her say it, or even that she should’ve. But she does.

“Not many people get stared at on their back porch before 6am, yet here you are.”

Instead of being offended, all Wanda can do is chuckle to herself. She looks back out toward the mountainside. Neither of them speak for another minute or two, just breathing together.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n finally whispers, “I don’t…I’m not—”

“It’s okay,” Wanda reassures, “you don’t need to apologize for anything.”

More quiet. More thinking. Wanda feels pulled toward more peaceful emotions, but the torment and anguish from the young woman beside her is palpable. It’s hard to ignore, and despite what she might want, Wanda doesn’t want to pretend like her hurt isn’t happening.

She takes a breath before turning back to her, then says, “You could come back someday.”

Because she could. It might take some time, but it’s obvious to anyone how much she loves it here. How happy she would be if she could stay.

Wanda thought that might bring her some measure of comfort.

Instead, she shakes her head, pressing her mouth into a hard line. There’s something painfully hopeless about it.

“No,” she finally whispers, “I can’t put the people here at risk like that.”

“Maybe not while Hydra is still a threat, but they might not always be. Once they’re gone, then—”

Her words die in her throat as Y/n meets her eyes for the first time this morning. There’s nothing but despondency in her expression. She lifts one corner of her mouth in a humorless half smile.

“Not gonna bank on the impossible.”

Wanda’s heart breaks. It’s obvious that she believes that the threat of Hydra will never go away, and even worse, that she’ll never be safe on her own.

“You don’t know that,” she tries to say, even though she’s not sure she believes it herself.

Y/n scoffs. It’s a cold, sad sound, filled with an emotion that Wanda knows all too well. She looks away from her and back out to other mountains in the distance, the desperation reappearing on her exhausted features.

“It’s easier this way,” she mumbles, trying to shrug nonchalantly to hide the heaviness she feels, “it’s easier to forget.”

***

At this point, you’re shocked you haven’t burned a hole straight through your esophagus. It’s probably only due to your…abilities…that you hadn’t.

Because in trying (and failing) to ignore the churning of your stomach and all-consuming nervousness, you’re chugging your third hot cup of coffee. It gives you something to do with your hands, and the repetitive movements are kind of soothing.

But let’s be honest. It’s not working. For as high as your caffeine tolerance is, the jitteriness that comes with it for well adjusted people is starting to come on at full force.

…and you’re not exactly well adjusted.

You feel Wanda and Natasha’s eyes on you as your shaky hands lift the mug for another scalding sip, but you actively avoid acknowledging them. You’re not sure you can stand the expressions you might find there.

You’d finally made your way inside after those tension filled moments with Wanda outside. She was trying to help, you know that. And on some level you appreciate it. But after everything, especially after a sleepless night alone with your thoughts, every bit of it felt hollow.

Even your own optimism from yesterday feels naïve. It doesn’t make you change your mind about going with them; you’re not stupid, realistically it’s still the safest option.

At least that’s what you keep telling yourself as you washed your face, brushed your teeth, and went about getting ready to do something instinct was begging you not to.

As you were getting ready in your room, Wanda and Natasha got dressed in the living room and called Stark. When you came back out, they explained that he and the others wanted to wait for the all clear from someone named Fury (coolest name ever?). You asked why he thought you’d get jumped in an empty field, but they both just kind of looked at you like it was the stupidest thing you’d ever said.

Now that you think about it, that reaction is actually valid as fuck.

So you gulp your coffee and work on emptying your head of any and all conscious thought.

It’s not going well.

A sudden and shrill beeping sound breaks the silence. It startles you, and you only just manage not to pour the remains of your hot coffee all down your front. You look around in alarm, fully anticipating a bomb or some shit, but Natasha just pulls out her fancy looking smartphone.

In your defense, your flip phone has different sounds.

After reading the message on the screen, she looks up at you as she slides it back into her pocket.

“We’re clear. You ready?”

Your stomach falls out of your ass. You keep thinking this can’t feel more real than it’s already gotten, but here you are. You’re leaving.

With still trembling hands, you turn toward the sink and pour out the remainder of the coffee. It isn’t helping anyway. After washing out the mug, your favorite mug, you take care of the pot next. You’re thorough; every single thing in this cabin will be left immaculate.

The soft yet insistence utterance of your real name behind you can’t even pull you from this.

It comes again, pushier this time, followed by, “We can clean up if you—”

“I’ve got it.”

Your tone is clipped and final. Natasha and Wanda take the hint, and they hang back while you do these last few menial tasks.

Once the pot is back with the coffee maker, and the mug is lovingly set back in its place in the cabinet, you turn immediately and head to the couch. You’d already slipped on your shoes awhile ago. Now you focus every ounce of brain power into slipping your hands into the sleeves of your worn jacket, trying to ignore the warmth seeping into your bloodstream.

Now is not the fucking time.

As you sling your bag across your shoulder, you fight the urge to take one last look around the space.

This needs to feel casual.

Even though your heart is breaking.

“Did you want a minute?” Wanda asks kindly.

All you can do is shake your head fiercely, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself, as you make your way across the floor as quickly as you can. Before you know it, you’re pulling the door open and stepping into the brightness of the morning, leading the way outside.

Thank god the sight of their ship and all the Avengers in the field is as jarring as it is, or you would’ve had no choice but to look at the mountains.

Everyone turns as you clomp down the creaky stairs, the silent steps of the women behind you an embarrassing contrast. Though you feel the intensity from Captain Rodgers’ stare, you choose to not acknowledge it. Instead, you focus on a new figure you didn’t get the chance to meet last night.

Despite the particular abilities he had, Dr. Banner is very slight in person. He wrings his hands together in an all-too-familiar gesture as he glances around the area. The compulsive gesture seems to talk to the stabbing warmth under your skin. You try to ignore the urge to mirror his movements.

You don’t bother him in his nervousness, you just step forward to meet Stark, the warmth in his lined face so different from the painful heat under your skin. Turning your wince into a rueful smile, you stop in front of him.

“Ready to go?”

You nod, very grateful that he’s chosen to get to the point quickly for what you imagine is the first time in his life.

“Sounds good.”

He looks around and sets his focus on Dr. Banner, who jumps a little at the attention. Somehow, though you can’t know for sure, he looks like he knew this was coming. And he hates it.

“Step right up, you supersized kale smoothie,” Stark quips as he beckons Banner forward.

You’ve seen footage of the Hulk. It’s one of the first things that come up when searching for information on the Avengers. The shuffled gait and hunched shoulders Banner adopts right now is so vastly different from his alternate persona, it’s a wonder they come from the same place.

“Kid, this is Dr. Bruce Banner,” Stark introduces as the slightly shorter man comes up to stand next to him. Then you’re introduced by your full name, something you’ve heard more in the last 24 hours than you had in a decade. You can’t help but flinch a little at the sound of it, but you’re hoping you mask it well enough.

“Nice to meet you,” you mumble politely, the rageful pinpricks rearing in terror at the syllables that make up your government name.

It really was nice to meet him. Based on his history (what you know of it anyway) and his mannerisms, he seems like someone who could understand. Maybe could even talk to eventually.

“Did you plan on using Dr. Banner’s abilities against me, Stark?” You ask your question in what you hope is a teasing manner. But you are honestly curious; how far were they willing to go?

Banner, who had looked like he was bracing for something, relaxes a little as he realizes you won’t use the name of his other persona. For as much as the world has come to accept him, it seems like he’d rather ignore it all together.

Truly a trauma twin. Besides Bucky, that is.

You chance a glance at the imposing figure standing off to the side, leather glinting in the sunlight. You feel your cheeks warm in a not unpleasant way when you find he’s already gazing at you. He lifts his mouth in a comforting smile, his eyes soft as he looks at you. The fire under your skin wanes a little, dwindling to a soft flicker that matches the heat on your cheeks.

You smile back, trying to match the softness he gives you so openly, when Stark begins talking again. The moment ends with his sharp and assertive tone, pulling your attention back to him without issue.

But you wish you could’ve stayed in that moment with Bucky.

“Nah, we never intended to unleash the Jolly Green Giant—”

“--please don’t call him that—”

“—on you. And yes Bruce I will call him that it’s my favorite nickname I’ve ever come up with.”

Stark, weirdly enough, stops speaking for a minute to take a breath. It honestly seems like he forgets to breathe sometimes, working overtime to get all his thoughts out.

“Banner here ended up coming because—”

Stark’s voice falls away, his brows furrowing as his hand goes to his earpiece. He presses it further into his ear, cocking his head as he listens.

“Vis, wanna repeat that?”

The heat becomes scalding as nervous brown eyes flit to meet yours. You clench your hands together, trying not to be reactionary, but it’s becoming harder with each millisecond.

The air around you shifts as everyone tenses for whatever threat Stark is being warned about. You find your head turning slightly to the left, finding blue eyes staring back at you. Bucky’s mouth is set in a hard line as he searches your face. You slightly toward him, feeling the need to be closer to his imposing figure, when Stark’s harsh and grating command somehow pulls your attention back.

“I don’t care that Hydra wouldn’t drive an old blue pickup, because they would if it meant they wouldn’t get caught. Engage the target or we’re fucked.”

Sheer panic fills your stomach and before you know it you’re waving to get his attention.

“Tell him to stop,” you exclaim, and he responds to the urgency in your voice.

Because maybe Hydra would drive that kind of car. But you know someone else who would too.

“I know who it is,” you explain in a rush, “they’re not Hydra.”

How could you forget? How could you not call her?

“You don’t know shit, kid—”

“It’s my boss and my landlord and she comes to get me for work every morning and I forgot.”

Stark raises his brows to the point you’re convinced they’ll disappear into his hairline. While you can still see the tension in his jaw, he also lets out a breath and allows his shoulders to fall a little. The familiar weight of guilt settles over your shoulders. Looking down at your worn shoes, you wish with your whole heart that you could fall right into the earth.

“Didn’t think we needed a warning for that?”

A cold, cutting voice slices straight through your wallowing. As much as you want to ignore him, you make yourself pick your head up and look over toward Captain Rodgers.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and you genuinely mean it, “with everything going on—”

“Vision almost attacked this woman because we weren’t warned,” he continues, biting over your explanation with ferocity.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You have no idea what to say to make this better, help him understand that your brain is just like this sometimes. Everyone has to have these moments, right?

But with the way his gaze cuts you down to size, you’re halfway convinced you’re the only person on the planet who’s ever forgotten something. You can’t help but shrink and look down again. Captain America is excellent at guilt tripping people.

“C’mon Steve, nothing happened,” a mellow voice you recognize as Sam Wilson’s cuts through the heavy silence.

Even with Sam’s calm reassurance, it’s like a trigger for Rogers to keep coming at you.

“Sure,” he scoffs coldly, “nothing happened this time.”

He fixes that ice cold gaze on you again, and despite the warm sun on your skin, you freeze under the weight of it. As much as you’d love to look anywhere else, you can’t. He stalks closer to you. His stance is that of a trained killer – the only thing keeping you from cowering away from him is what remains of your pride.

“If you’re coming with us,” he bites out, “you can’t be so narrow minded and selfish. You can’t just think of yourself anymore. Got that?”

Oh, this is unfair. He’s being so unfair.

You felt small before, guilt rising inside of you. Now you’re furious at Rogers’ reaction, feeling targeted and singled out.

What the fuck is his problem?

You allow your eyes to finally reflect the harsh frustration and anger you feel at him to show as you glare at him, mouth pressing into a hard line as your nostrils flair. Righteous heat prickles at your fingertips as the long buried need to fight back rears up

“How dare you,” you force out through gritted teeth, “you have no idea—”

Your aggression was all the reason that Rogers needed. He stalked up to you, standing mere inches from your face as he loomed over your shorter frame. You felt like you should be scared, but you weren’t.

You just burned.

“Really? I have ‘no idea’? You’re the one who seems in the dark here—”

Your humorless snort of laughter cuts him off, an incredulous look on his features.

“Jokes on you,” you sneer, “they never let me turn the lights off in that room. Didn’t see that in your reports?”

That finally silences him. The heaviness settles over your group again, the rumble of Debbie’s truck engine growing ever closer.

Palms white hot, you roll your shoulders back and look Captain America straight in the face, refusing the shrink under his anger. You’re proud of the glimmer of doubt that’s now appeared in that expression. The words that came from such a bad memory had the desired effect.

Hey, you hadn’t lied.

“You came to me. I might not understand how all of this works, that’s fine. Whatever. But I’ve been living second to second trying to stay hidden for years. So fuck right off with your self-righteous attitude. I stand by what I said; you have no fucking idea what it’s been like.”

As your words settle in, you fight to control the fire longing to sputter to life as it rages beneath your skin with your volatile emotions. You hate saying the truth aloud, the truth about your life from the past decade. You hate how it legitimizes it all.

But it’s the truth. For as much as Rogers’ has probably looked into your life, he hasn’t been through this. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a fucking leg to stand on.

You won’t let him demean and judge you for what you’ve had to do to survive.

“Take a breather, Steve,” Natasha’s soothing voice cuts through the oppressive silence. It’s accompanied by the roar of the ancient engine of Debbie’s truck as it rounds the bend by the trees, finally coming into view. You turn your back to the imposing man behind you, trying to calm yourself so you can speak to your unexpected guest.

The group behind you retreats a little; you can hear them stepping away as you step forward. As you watch the truck, you see it stop for a second. You can’t help but grin a little to yourself as you imagine Debbie behind the wheel, absolutely shocked at what she’s seeing.

You’re pulled back into the confrontation behind you as the angry sound of Rogers’ muttering drifts over to you. Clenching your fists, you fight to ignore the prickling of heat stabbing into your nerve endings.

“Doin’ okay?”

A friendly voice asking a friendly question. The sound of it a soothing balm to your nerves, something you didn’t know you needed until you heard it.

Looking over to your right, you see Bucky standing next to you. He’s respecting your personal space, but he’s still close enough so that every single cell in your body is aware of it. His blue eyes, so different from Captain Rogers, look down at you. He brings his softness with him, so welcome after the confrontation you just had.

You consider his question. Are you okay? Like, actually okay?

“I don’t really know how to answer that,” you admit quietly, noticing Debbie’s truck finally moving forward again.

“Fair enough,” he admits, a wry grin pulling at his mouth as he looks away. You find yourself staring it the curl of it, fascinated in a way you can’t explain. As he turns back to you, you notice how the pain of fighting your power ebbs away.

He makes it better.

You acknowledge the realization in your head, not quite sure what to do with it. Why? Why is he so different from the others?

“How about this,” he says, “are you still functioning? Able to put one foot in front of the other?”

You tilt your head at him, considering the question. You love how he phrased it; it’s exactly what you’ve been doing for as long as you can remember.

“Yeah. Guess you could say that.”

Bucky nods, glancing away again. Even as he looks away, you notice how he shifts slightly closer to you. If he were anyone else, you’d feel threatened.

But…it’s him. You like him close.

“Listen, I’m—”

His words are cut off as you both notice the pale blue truck pulling to a stop in front of you. Debbie’s eyes are wide as saucers as she looks from you to the Bucky to the entire situation behind you. As she looks back at you, brows raised in apprehensive question, you nod to let her know it’s okay.

“I’ll give you some space,” Bucky mumbles as Debbie starts to step out of the truck, “I’ll be right back there, okay?”

Meeting his eyes once again, you give him a rare smile, hoping he can feel the gratitude there.

“Thank you.”

It’s simple, but he smiles back. As much as you’d like to stay in this moment with him, despite your confusion around him in general, you pull yourself back to the present. You turn forward and focus on Debbie, walking forward to meet her.

It’s hard, knowing you can’t be the person she knows. It’s even harder seeing the knowing look on her face as she looks at you, like she’s had a feeling about you this entire time that’s been proven correct.

“I’m guessin’ you’re not workin’ your shift this morning.”

You shake your head, smiling apologetically.

“And your name’s not really Allie?”

Damn. She doesn’t waste any time, does she.

Sighing, you take a moment before admitting, “No, it’s not.”

“Do I get to know what it really is?”

You frown, thinking about it for a minute. The frown continues to pull at your mouth as you realize the answer.

“No. Not right now, anyway. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

Debbie comes closer to you, settling in next to you as she takes in the insanity of the scene behind you. The Avengers and their ship, just casually sitting in front of her father’s old cabin.

“Hope they’re not flattening the grass,” she mutters grumpily.

“I’ll get them moving in a minute, maybe Stark has some weird invention that can fix it,” you force a laugh.

“I got just one question for you,” she mumbles, turning to pin you with her sharp eyes, “are you safe? Are they making you go?”

“I’m safer with them than I would be alone,” you answer honestly, “so I do need to go with them. But it’s my decision to make, so don’t worry about that.”

She makes a sound of acknowledgement, but then goes quiet again. You just keep looking at her, anxious about her reaction to everything. Debbie is protective to a fault; she’s the reason you were able to find a place here. She took you under her wing, gave you a chance to remember what home meant. You can tell that she wants to know more. She wants to understand who you are, what all this is.

It makes you sadder than you can explain, knowing you can’t tell her.

“I always wondered if you were runnin’ from something,” she mutters, “you never wanted to talk about it, but I suspected.”

“You were right on that one,” you admit, “right on quite a bit of it, I imagine.”

“Well, I’m guessin’ since Iron Man himself is here that somethin’ big is after you.”

“Debbie, I wish I could—”

“Now hold on,” she interrupts, not unkindly, and continues, “I know you can’t tell me. Makes sense. As much as I wish you could, I understand.”

It’s her trademark, simple kindness that makes your eyes prickle with tears again. You should’ve known she wouldn’t push. It’s just not who she is. Even now, after months of you living here and working for her, she’s never pushed you for more information than you’re willing to give.

She looks back at you, and noticing the tears gathering in your eyes, surprises you by reaching out and taking your hands.

You normally hate when people touch you, having not let anyone do so in years. But the motherly way in which Debbie holds your hands, so gentle and soft, it releases a torrent of emotion you didn’t know you still had.

You’re just thankful your skin isn’t heating up.

“C’mon now, don’t cry,” she says gruffly, her own emotion coming into it, “you’ll be okay, these guys will keep you safe.”

Your throat closes with the effort of keeping yourself from crying. Debbie has been the only consistent, kind presence in your life that you allow yourself to acknowledge.

You’re sure the Before has some people like that. But Debbie comes from the After, where the safe memories live.

“I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done,” you choke out, all the words you wish you could say getting lost before you could get them out.

But Debbie knows. She always knows.

She just pats your hands, and says, “Would it be okay if I hugged you?”

The fact that she asks, not an ounce of judgement on her lined face, makes you feel lighter than you have in a long time.

All you can do is nod, and then she’s pulling you in for the most comforting hug you can imagine. You briefly let yourself press your face into her shoulder, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and tobacco filling your nostrils.

She smells just like her dad. You wonder if she knows.

“You’re a good kid,” she murmurs, “you’re tough. You’ll be okay no matter what happens, you hear me?”

You nod again, letting yourself relax into her embrace. The feeling is familiar, causing memories to start pulling at your mind.

Where’s my goodnight hug?

A woman’s voice. A voice you feel tugging at the deepest strings of your heart, causing the tears to finally spill over your lashes.

And all at once, you’re not just hugging Debbie. You’re hugging her too, whoever she is.

As you pull away, frantically brushing away your tears, you can’t help but smile at Debbie. Then the smile fades a little, as you remember the severity of the situation.

“People might come looking for me,” you warn, “dangerous people. You need to tell them as little as possible, even nothing at all if you can help it.”

“Of course, we’ve got your back.”

You grip Debbie hands again, tighter than before, trying to impart how serious this is.

“Not for me. For you. For the town. For anyone here who I’ve ever spoken to. They will not hesitate to hurt you, or even kill you, if they think they can get a little more information.”

Debbie’s mouth hangs open as she looks at you in shock, fear finally entering her eyes.

Good. She needs to be scared.

“If they come, if anyone comes and asks questions, you have to lie. You need to tell everyone to lie. Do you understand?”

A brief moment passes as she looks at you, a newfound hesitation that you’ve never seen her wear before settling in. Guilt begins to prickle at your conscious again as you remember how it’s your fault.

Finally, she nods in understanding.

“Will they come? Do you know for sure?” She asks, her voice trembling slightly.

“I don’t know. I know Stark has people planting false trails, hopefully that helps.”

Your oh-so-casual use of Iron Man’s government last name hits her along with the rest of this insane situation, and she looks behind you to the superheroes, shaking her head in awe.

“…Stark’s laying…false trail…you gotta be shittin’ me…”

It’s then you get a glimpse of how she might look at you differently if she knew who, or what, you were. With the Allie persona practically dead and gone, things feel strangely tenuous with the woman. It could be even worse if she knew just how dangerous you could be for them.

You find yourself glancing back at the team along with Debbie. As you catch Stark’s eye, he raises an eyebrow at you and briefly lifts his watch-clad wrist, indicating that you needed to finish up.

It’s hard to begrudge the guy when goodbyes feel so foreign now. The raging emotion accompanying this one is too uncomfortable to bear, and you feel yourself needing to be done with it all.

…but Debbie, after everything she’s done for you, you have to make this count. You can’t just throw it away like every other time before.

Turning back, you find the older woman already looking at you. While there’s this undercurrent of awe that hadn’t been present before, there’s that all-knowing wisdom about her that’s always been there. Like she knows all your secrets before you do.

You both kind of just look at each other for a minute or two. She might just be enjoying the moment, but beneath your own silence, you’re frantically trying to grab at the right words to convey how much her generosity means to you.

You open and close your mouth several times, thinking you’ve thought of something just to forget it or get shy right at the last minute.

Another minute of you very clearly struggling, and Debbie’s chiming in, gruffly saying, “Kid, we don’t have to do the thing.”

“I—what?”

You’d been just about to force something out when her words settle over you. It sounded so Debbie yet so unlike Debbie all at the same time. The woman herself seems a little surprised at herself.

“Ethel’s daughter got her a boxed set of Grey’s Anatomy, and we—oh foot, we’re getting off subject here,” she rushes out gruffly. You bite back a laugh at the reference she never meant to make. It would only make her more embarrassed.

“The point is,” she continues, trying very hard to move past her little fan moment, “you don’t have to say anything. We don’t have to make this a big moment. Neither of us are big gesture kind of gals – no need to torture ourselves.”

“I just—I don’t know how—”

“I mean it,” she cuts off your stuttering again, any progress you make toward a heartfelt and eloquent goodbye monologue shut down once again by your landlord.

…your friend.

“C’mon,” you whine a little, “can’t I say—”

“Nope,” she huffs gruffly, trying to hide the faint shimmering in her eyes by turning away from you toward the peaks, “this ain’t forever, kid. I’m still expecting to see your ass here again.”

“I don’t know when that’ll be.”

You’re taken aback at how small and childlike your voice sounds. So scared. So unsure of herself. When was the last time you sounded like that?

“Good. Gives you plenty of time to plan out a better script for our next ‘see ya later’.”

She smooths over the grumpiness of her tone by giving you a small half smile, the laugh lines around her eyes crinkling as she looks at you. You smile back at her, hoping beyond hope that it conveys everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say this time around.

Before you know it, Debbie’s turning quickly back toward her old pickup, and the moment is over.

“Better hurry back or that Dorito is gonna shit himself.”

Debbie’s definitely thrown some weird sentences out there in the past, but this was at a whole new level. What the fuck?

When you don’t respond right away, she adds over her should, “The tall blonde man with the constipated, pinched face. Never seen shoulders so broad with such a skinny waist. Man must think he’s a god, but he’s just a corn chip.”

Genuine laughter bubbles up from your throat. Only Debbie could somehow pick out the Avenger’s biggest asshole and deliver the most scorching of burns, all for shits and giggles.

By the time you get a hold of yourself, Debbie’s too far away for you to really say anything else to her. Not without screaming it, anyway. And the things you want to say aren’t for the entirety of Superhero Monthly. For someone who complains so often about her creaky joints, Debbie scuttles faster than any person you’d ever met.

You settle for just watching contentedly until she finally makes it to her truck, waving when she settles herself in the driver’s seat once again. Your throat seizes with emotion as she waves back.

Despite wanting to watch her drive down the winding road back toward town, you make yourself turn and walk back toward the main group. You don’t even let yourself look at the cabin again as you pass it, knowing it would just be another burst of painful emotion if you did.

If there’s one thing the past 24 hours have taught you, it’s that emotions are fucking annoying as shit.

As you shuffle to a halt in front of the waiting Avengers, Tony Stark claps his hands and says, “Did the diner accept your resignation?”

“I uh, I guess so?”

“Love it,” he says, “then let’s rock and roll.”

“It’s a good thing Parker isn’t here right now,” Sam mutters from a little ways away, “he’d be roasting your ass for that.”

“Fuck off Woodstock.”

Sam and Bucky snort with giggles, only quieting down when Stark turns around and fixes them with what you know is the coldest of Dad Stares he has in his arsenal.

“Okay, moving on,” Stark turns back to face you, “how’s that fire of yours react to small spaces?”

The small smile you’d had with Sam and Bucky’s antics falls away.

“Probably not the biggest fan in the world, if I’m being honest,” you mutter.

“Let me put it this way; is there a chance the jet turns into an open flame grill if things go wrong?”

You don’t want to admit it, but yeah, probably. Controlling it is hard even on a good day, and that’s when you don’t have to worry about walls or anything. There’s a very good chance this goes badly within the first five minutes of taking flight.

Your fingers start to heat up like the fire knows it’s being talked about. Bitch.

“Honesty is the best policy here, kid,” Stark’s addition interrupts your panicked thoughts, “not gonna toss you out over the Mississippi or anything. You gonna light it up?”

“Good chance of it, yeah,” you admit begrudgingly, stubbornly ignoring the stabbing pinpricks of heat arching over your shoulders.

“Lucky for us, I plan ahead sometimes,” he turns back toward the open ramp to the ship, calling, “You’re up, Banner.”

Dr. Banner comes forward again, his face already apologetic as you meet his gaze.

“We have two options here to keep you and everyone on board safe,” he says, his voice surprisingly authoritative compared to his demeanor.

“O-okay,” you stutter, then release a shaky breath to try and ease some tension.

“Number one, Tony and I developed some fireproof restraints that would cover your hands completely. Even if your powers start getting out of control, everything will be contained.”

The clamp of cold metal, so at odds against the white hot of your skin. Sparks sputter out intermittently, wanting to fight a battle you were barely conscious of.

“What’s the other option?” You ask, jaw clenched against the unwanted memory. The other option has to be better. There’s no way you would let someone restrain you again.

Banner gives you an understanding nod, then continues, “Working with enhanced folks over the years, we’ve been able to concoct a short-term sedative that would put you under for the duration of the flight.”

More needles. More restraints. More drugs. The options weren’t great, no matter how you slice it. You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting the endless flashes of the sensations and the terror and the cold—

“Hey, you’re safe. You’re okay.”

There’s that softness again, coming to rest over your senses. It’s different enough from the rest that you can’t help but focus on it.

Focus on him.

You manage to open your eyes again. Looking to your right, you see Bucky. He’s looking down at you with nothing but reassurance and calm.

“This isn’t like it was with them. You’re safe with us.”

“I-I ju-just—”

Your voice seems to vibrate as panic takes hold. The heat is there again, centering around your spine this time, making you want to curve in on yourself.

“Look at me, focus on me,” he murmurs.

Turning so that you face him head on, you try to hone in on the different shades of blue in his eyes. You vaguely notice that the rest of the group has stepped away, giving you a minute.

“I know neither option is great,” he says quietly, “but neither is the pressure you would put on yourself trying to keep it in.”

You nod along with what he says, the logic making sense to you even through the fog.

“Which one seems like the least amount of stress for you?”

Thinking, you try to compare the two in your mind. If you were to choose the restraints, you’d be conscious of it the entire time. Somehow, knowing you were trapped, being painfully aware of being so enclosed…the idea alone is enough to make you shatter.

“I need to be out,” you whisper, “I’m not—I just don’t think I can—”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to explain it,” he whispers, stepping closer. You let him, choosing to allow that softness to be your primary sensation rather than the fire burning you from the inside.

“I know this is the better option,” you choke out, “but I still hate needles. I had being drugged like this.”

“I do too.”

Looking up at him, you see nothing but genuine pain and honesty. He understands. For his sake, you wish he didn’t.

“I’ll stay right next to you the entire time,” he promises, “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

All you can do is nod, every minute more overwhelming than the next since you walked back down from the mountain yesterday.

You allow Bucky to lead you back toward the ship, Dr. Banner and Stark standing outside as the rest start to file in.

“Ready to go, lava lamp?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, wringing your hands together, “could…could you guys just sedate me? I know it might be a hassle, but—”

“Not a hassle at all kiddo, promise,” Stark gently cuts you off, “and besides, as a rule we like to not be set on fire. Kind of a comfort thing.”

Banner looks at Stark in shock at his joke about the threat you pose, but you let out a little giggle. It’s nice for it to be the subject of something funny, rather than every other bad thing it is.

The two scientists lead you onto the ship, your legs trembling with every step against the metallic floor. The only thing keeping you steady is Bucky trailing behind you.

They lead you to some seats near the back of the jet, a little separate from the rest. Good; some space from the others might help.

You get your things stowed away with Bucky’s help before sitting down. Natasha’s intelligent green eyes meet yours from across the ship, and her kind smile only adds to your feeling of safety.

She’s the one who convinced you to do this. She’s what made you believe they can be trusted. You can do this.

After getting yourself strapped in, Dr. Banner steps in front of you. You can tell he’s trying to make himself as nonthreatening as possible. Even so, it’s kind of hard not to feel terrified as he holds up the glinting needle in the shadows.

Your breath catches. Hazy flashes explode from behind your eyes, erupting in a storm of pure panic as your body tries to remind you why you stay away from them.

“You’re safe, I promise.”

Bucky’s warm words break through the fear as the needle pierces your arm. You feel a prick for the briefest of seconds before it’s out again, Dr. Banner already having plunged the sedative into your veins.

“Damn, you’re good at that,” you mumble, words slurring a little as the drug starts to take effect.

“Years of practice,” he chuckles.

The last thing you hear is Bucky, murmuring something again to you, so quiet only you can hear.

“You’re safe with me.”

***

tags: @obsidianvibranium @dreamwritesimagines @valhalla-kristin

thanks for being here y'all this thing is my baby and it means so much to me

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #jenna writes #reflections series

32 notes · View notes

crymeariveronceagain · 2 years

Note

Tw self harm

hey uh river, my best friend is self harming and is what to do, because I’m worried she’ll get really mad at me if I tell an adult

That's sounds awful and hard to deal with. Like, 0/10. I've been in similar situations, and I know that twisty feeling in your gut that kind of clings to your insides. It's awful. And like, especially if you think they're gonna get mad at you. Like. It's horrible.

My old best friend got depression really bad in highschool, and I asked my mom for advice on how to help her, and I mentioned it briefly and my friend lost her marbles and got so mad she didn't talk to me for like, two weeks. That's one extreme.

However. One of my friends got really, really, really suicidal and self-destructive in the middle of covid. To the point where like, I had to talk to her to keep her from trying to hurt herself and to keep her hands occupied with texting me. It was not fun at all, but i'd do it again in a heartbeat to help her. However, I knew that, like. I couldn't take care of my friend and duct-tape scissors to the walls, or physically take her away from what was tempting her, or put an ice cube in her hand or anything like that. So, I literally told my mom and told her to tell her mom. My friend got therapy and mental help and a lot more love and patience than I think she'd been getting at home because of it. And she wasn't mad at me, because sometimes, like. You've gotta make the choice that needs to be made for your friend's welfare.

Like, none of this is easy. And none of us(especially kids, I was seventeen when I had to talk my friend down from hurting herself), should have the burden of keeping people away from their own thoughts and own desires on our own. I once went to a class, a communications class, actually. And the professor looked around this room of college kids and was like, "How many of you have had to talk a friend out of hurting themselves?" and literally almost every single person in the room raised their hand. She got this sad look in her eyes and she went, "That's such a hard thing to go through. And all of you have been through it."

Because, heck. It may be normalized, to some extent, but stars. We are not therapists. We are not cognitive behavioral therapists. We are not counselors. We are not parents, we can't get our friends medication, we can't do any of that stuff.

And it sucks. Because we really really really want to help.

So. Like. Here's my advice.

First.

Take a deep breath. It is going to be okay. I swear it.

Second.

There's kind of one question you have to think about.

And it's not a very easy question, because the answer seems obvious, but sometimes it's really really hard to get to that answer. And it sounds harsh, too. I'm not going to say that it doesn't. It's a rough question. But, like. It's a true question. That I think you need the answer to.

Do you care more about your friend's opinion of you, or your friend's physical wellbeing?

(i know. it's a horrible and intense question. but it's a real question.)

If you care more about your friend's opinion of you(not the answer I assume you'll pick, but just for talking's sake), just try to be there for her. Keep talking, call her if you want. Find her some safer alternatives. My favorite(hi. yes. anxiety makes me try to scratch my skin off so like i can focus on something other than my own spiralling thoughts) is putting a rubber band or hair tie on my wrist and like. Snapping it. It hurts like a bitch. But it works! Other ones I've heard that work are holding ice cubes in your hand, ice cold water bucket to stick your hands in, drawing lines on your skin with a marker or pen. Etc. Keep recommending she go to an adult. Just. Pound it into her brain.

If you pick the second option(i think you should pick this option, but i'm not in control of you and you can pick what to do), here's how I'd do it. Give her an ultimatum. Either she can tell, or you will. But someone's gotta. Because enough is too much, and she's hurting, and you can't fix it, but you want it to stop.

Tell her that this is one of those things that you go to the adult with. Like, remember when you were in school and there was like, safety day, or something, where they just sat you down and told you that before going off with anyone, or before trying to tackle the burglar by yourself, you'd go get an adult. Like. This is one of the things you can't keep secret, can't keep locked up. It's a safety issue. And it's not even, "My friend is hiding illegal drugs under their mattress" although, I'd suggest telling an adult immediately about that as well. Or calling the cops.

This is actively and purposefully hurting her. And she's the danger to herself.

Tell her that you're gonna give her til... say. Tomorrow. Tomorrow evening. To tell her parents. Or you will tell your parents, who will tell hers.

Also, btw. There is no reason for you to get involved talking to her parents. That's why you have parents! To do the hard stuff like telling adults that their children are hurting themselves! <3

If you think it would be easier on you, or better than going through your own parents, that's fine, I don't know you or your relationship with your parents, but if they're chill and you're chill with them I 100% suggest going through them. Your parents are also extremely likely to believe you right off the bat, and adults are much more likely to believe other adults than kids. Just. Those are the facts.

I'd suggest you make a concrete plan to tell your parents no matter what, no matter what your friend says they've said or haven't said(because sometimes people lie to get around things like parental intervention), and just. Stick to it. That way your friend gets out of the dangerous situation as quickly as possible.

Overall, this sounds like a really rough situation to be in, and I'm sorry you're in it, love <3

i hope it gets better asap

feel free to send me another ask if you'd like more advice <3 <3 <3

#it's gonna be okay #i promise #i really do reccomend you tell an adult #i cannot make you but that is my advice #just exhale and resign yourself to your friend's anger tbh #i can't tell you what to pick but this is my advice #TW SELF HARM #tw sh #tw self h4rm #tw sh related #tw suicide mention #tw suicidality #tw depression #tw #river's advice column #thanks for the ask!

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imaginationintowords · 3 years

Text

Folklore [song series]

mirrorball

Modern Day AU! Steve Rogers x OC!Reader

Plot: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s new album folklore. The story follows the timeline of Bucky and Elizabeth’s life throughout the years.

Word count: 2110

[a/n: thanks for being patient with me! hope you guys enjoy this new chapter! if i forgot to tag you please inbox me]

previous part

Series Masterlist

Age: 20

Location: Brooklyn, NY

Year: Summer 2014

Steve flopped down onto his bed, tired after today's events. Elizabeth softly laid down next to him, Steve wrapped his arm around her bringing her closer to his chest.

"Today was a day," he tiredly says.

"You okay?" She asked him.

After Bucky had left there was a sadness aura that followed Steve for the rest of the party. He had no clue what he had expected Bucky's reaction to be, but definitely not the one he got. He had even prepared himself fo a fight, he was grateful that didn't happen. He just wasn't expecting for Bucky to shut down and leave. Not even accepting his offer of having a conversation later.

He knew that Bucky just needed his space, time to think it all over. But the look on Bucky's face had Steve questioning whether or not he would ever come around.

It threw Steve off when Bucky requested that he breakup with Elizabeth. He couldn't believe his best friend would want his own happiness to suffer.

His whole life he had done everything possible to keep Bucky happy. After what Bucky and his family had to go through with his father, Steve made it his mission to never let his friend feel that way again. Granted he was only 7 when he made that promise to himself, he still kept it.

Steve had never put himself first, at least not until he had made the decision to go to school in California. He had even thought about changing his plans after his breakup with Elizabeth but he knew his parents would've been disappointed with that decision.

He had put Bucky first his entire life, what he's doing isn't selfish. Yet he can't help but feel like the most selfish person ever.

What if he was keeping Elizabeth from truly being happy? What if she just didn't want to break his heart? What if she just didn't want to break his heart during a family event? What if come tomorrow she would tell him the truth, that she was really still in love with Bucky.

He's not sure he could handle that heartbreak.

"Want to tell me what's going on in that head of yours?" Elizabeth asked, breaking Steve from his self destructive thoughts.

"I won't be mad if you still love him," Steve says, "I'd understand."

Elizabeth quickly sat up to get a look of Steve's face to make sure he was being serious. It nearly broke her to see how defeated he looked. She's never seen him so down, not even after his breakup with Peggy.

"You don't have to pretend to save my feelings," he continues, "If it meant you were happy, that's all I care about. If being with Bucky makes you happy, then please don't let me stand in the way."

"Oh Steve," she gently caresses his face, staring down at him, "I wasn't lying earlier when I told Bucky that I didn't love him anymore. And i most definitely wasn't lying when I said that I love you, because I do love you, with my whole heart. You make me happy. The happiest I've ever been. Bucky was my past. You are my now, and hopefully my future.

"If you can't see how truly great you are, then I must not be doing my job as not only your girlfriend, but you're friend," she says, "Because you make me feel special every single day. And I just want you to feel the way you've made me feel."

"It's not your fault," Steve softly says, grasping her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"Growing up I've always been second to Bucky," he explains, "Everyone seemed to prefer him over me. Whether it was girls or just our friends. It was always Bucky then Steve."

Elizabeth takes a moment to think back on their time growing up. She couldn't help but feel guilty when she realized that everything Steve is saying is true.

After she and Bucky got together, Steve sort of became an after thought, not because they purposefully excluded him, it never crossed their mind simply because Steve also had Peggy at the time. But after Peggy left, Elizabeth never really got to talk to Steve about how he felt, because she got caught up in her own drama.

"Steve, I'm so sorry," she apologizes, "I should've known then about how you felt. I was so caught up in my own shit, I never realized that you could've been going through your own stuff."

"Liz, it was never your fault," he says, "You were going through your own stuff. And I had learned to suppress it. Plus Bucky was your boyfriend at the time, of course i wasn't really on your mind. Plus it's kind of my fault for allowing it to happen. I never spoke up about it. I just always went along, figuring it was better than nothing."

"Once I got to Berkeley that's when everything changed," his mood shifts a bit to a much lighter feel, "I no longer felt like the shadow of a person. I felt like my own person for the first time ever. I was able to become someone I never thought possible. I am no longer 'scrawny Steve, Bucky's best friend'. I just became 'Steve' or 'Rogers'."

Elizabeth smiled at the way Steve's eyes lit up when talking.

"I had never imagined myself leaving New York, let alone making the permanent move to California," he confesses, "As much as I love it here, California is where I feel I belong. I know you feel it too."

Elizabeth nods her head agreeing with him. She felt the same way, as much as New York was her childhood home, California was where she felt her heart aching for. Where she felt like she belonged, where she could thrive. The more she spent time there, the more it felt like home, that's why moving there wasn't a tough decision for her.

"Coming back here," Steve says, causing Elizabeth to shift back her focus on him, "It just makes me feel like that scrawny kid all over again. I feel like no matter how hard I try to shed that image, Brooklyn will never see me for who I am now, but for who I was then. Like no matter what I do I will always be 'little' Steve Rogers."

"I know you feel it too," he says looking up at her.

She did. She did feel stuck in the past whenever she came back home. It seemed like life stood still here, while outside of Brooklyn everything is moving ahead. She knows it's only because she grew up there, and had nothing to do with Brooklyn itself. Once she was in California, she got a taste of life outside of Brooklyn, and she's not sure if she would want to go back. So moving there was an easier choice for her to make.

"I do," she agrees, "It's why moving to California was an easy decision for me to make."

"I wasn't even sure I was even going to make it to California," he says.

"Why is that?"

"Felt like I was disappointing my parents," he confesses, "We had always discussed me going to Columbia as a pre-med major. That had been the original plan. It wasn't like they were forcing it on me. More like I was forcing it onto myself.

"It was the 'safer' choice, granted the longer one, but in the end it all would've been worth it. For some reason as a child I believed that was the only way my parents would've been proud of me. Regardless of the fact that they were already proud and would tell me constantly. I just put that pressure on myself."

"It wasn't until junior year that Mr. Lawson, my high school art teacher said I should apply to some art schools," he continues, "Then after I had a long discussion with the guidance counselor she agreed as well, saying I would get in no problem with whatever art field I applied in.

"I never really gave my drawing much thought. It was just something I would do. Also a career in art is not exactly financially stable, or at all stable. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to apply to a couple of schools as an architecture major. Never really gave it a second thought."

Steve pauses, "I did get into Columbia."

"Steve, no fucking way," Elizabeth gasp sitting up straighter, "I never even heard."

"That's because I only told my parents," he says, "I got the acceptance email the same day I got NYU's and Berkeley's, where I hadn't applied as pre-med, which my parents didn't know of at the time."

"Wow," Elizabeth responds feeling herself become speechless. She had only known about NYU and Berkeley. She knew about NYU because that was the plan, they, including Bucky had discussed Freshman year. Back when she was still with Bucky, and Steve with Peggy and they all had planned to stay in New York. Before life got complicated.

"When I did get the Berkeley acceptance I had to come clean to my parents about what major I applied under. I was nervous, because a part of me never told them because I was worried I wouldn't get in. So seeing that acceptance it was the assurance I needed. One that really let me know that I could actually do it. And of course my parents were proud."

"Of course," Elizabeth smiles, "They would've been proud if you had decided to not even go to school and just worked in a restaurant."

"That's true," Steve lets out a small laugh, "And I think I more so didn't want to regret the decision. Leaving home to move across the country for a career that could be unstable. It's scary."

"Do you?" Elizabeth asks.

"Do I what?"

"Do you regret it?"

"Not one bit," he smiles, pulling her back down onto his chest.

They laid there in a comfortable silence. Steve ranking his fingers on Elizabeth's arm, feeling himself grow tired.

"I hope you know you're amazing," Elizabeth quietly says looking up at him with pure admiration in her eyes, "That I think you're amazing. I think you're one of the greatest people I have ever known. And if I have to spend my entire life showing you just how amazing I think you are, I will."

Age: 29

Year: 2023

Location: Santa Barbara, CA

Elizabeth giggled as Steve carried her over the threshold into their hotel room for the weekend. He kicked the door closed as he silenced her giggles with a kiss, before placing her on her feet.

"Why thank-you Mr. Rogers."

"You're very welcome Mrs. Rogers," he smiled brightly at his new wife.

Her makeup was slowly fading, hair no longer perfectly done after a night of dancing with their close loved ones. Steve just stares at her lovingly. He ahs never seen her more beautiful and the fact that he gets to be her husband for the rest of his life, he's never felt luckier.

Elizabeth feels his eyes just on her, "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, just admiring my beautiful wife," he compliments, causing Elizabeth to blush.

"How about one more dance?" she asks.

"There's no music."

"When I'm with you there's always music," she says holding her hand out for him.

Steve pulled her to him, one hand grasped in her's, while the other lay on her lower back. Elizabeth's head rested on his chest, with Steve's chin softly resting on the top of it.

"You know I think you're amazing," Elizabeth says as they sway softly in each other's arms.

"You might've told me once or twice," he responds.

"Get used to it because I'm going to be telling you that for the rest of our lives."

"Nothing I want more than that," he kisses the top of her head.

"If you'd asked me to runaway with you to join a circus, I would in a heartbeat," she says.

"Oh really? If I lose my job, and having nothing to show for, you'd still be there?"

"Right next to you baby, every step of the way," she says looking up at him, "Plus you won't have nothing to show. You'll have me. You'll have us. With me by your side I'll make sure you never not know how much you mean to me."

"You've made me believe in love again when I thought it wasn't possible. You've made me love myself in a way that I didn't think were possible. You make me a better human being by just being you. I love you Steve, more than anything.

"So if everything were to go to shit, as long as I have you that's all I need. I'll be there reminding you every single day just how special you are to me."

"I love you," Steve smiles as tears fall from his eyes.

#folklore #folklore song series #folklore mirrorball #mirrorball #mirrorball taylor swift #mirrorball song seires #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x original character #Steve rogers x OC!female #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #angst #fluff #original character series #Steve rogers modern au #steve rogers modern day

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stillness-in-green · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on Chapter 314 (and surrounding events)

Being a loose summary of several things I thought about in relation to the leaks, what they say about the series as a whole, a bit of new operating headcanon on the Peerless Thief, and a dash of how fandom is responding to the revelations. Spoilers, obviously.

This chapter makes it quite clear that the HPSC absolutely would have gone in and eliminated the PLF quietly, lethally, and wholly unlawfully if Hawks hadn't reported back the numbers that he did. The only reason the raid involved non-Commission-affiliated heroes at all is because the PLF's manpower was simply too much for the Commission to deal with via their usual methods. I'm both appalled that the disregard for human rights in HeroAca Land is somehow even worse than I thought it was and smug that that tiny little piece I recently posted criticizing the PLF's treatment has turned out to be totally justified and supported by the canon.[1] (Note that this does not absolve Horikoshi of the responsibility to, himself, treat the PLF better than paper dolls tossed into the incinerator of Plot Irrelevance when they cease being convenient to his story.) The fact that the Commission was forced to involve heroes might mean Re-Destro, Mr. Compress and the others are somewhat safer than might otherwise be the case. Because of the involvement of the unsuspecting stooges law-abiding heroes, and because the botched raid became such a huge disaster, there’s far more public scrutiny on this than would otherwise be the case. Of course, "accidents" can still happen,[2] especially in a chaotic environment, but the factors above (combined with Clone!RD murdering the bejeezus out of the Lady Prez) do, I think, suggest that there probably isn't an organized push for quick solutions going on behind closed doors.

I don't think Nagant has been around for a terribly long time or that there was an uptick in vigilantism in recent years—I think the scene where she mentions vigilantes becoming accepted as heroes is just in reference to the early history of heroism. It's in keeping with what Tsukauchi Makoto described in Vigilantes, and forms the basis of the current system—the current system that Nagant was a single cog in a big machine grinding away to preserve.

Speaking of Nagant and the system, it's interesting to me that one of the groups Nagant apparently targeted at the HPSC's behest was corrupt heroes—those who colluded with villains or specifically goaded/incited civilians into using their quirks illegally, thus turning civilians into capital-V Villains in the eyes of the law. One might easily say that targeting corrupt heroes (albeit using a much broader definition of "corrupt") was Stain's whole shtick, but it actually puts me more in mind of the Peerless Thief, Harima Oji. Harima punished greedy or corrupt heroes with theft, and presumably with a measure of declaration and exposure,[3] then distributed their money back to the streets. Someone who ridicules those who abuse their power, and gets away with it for long enough to build a reputation: that right there is a recipe for a folk hero. The HPSC, in whatever form they existed at the time, obviously couldn't let that go on—such repeated humiliations would weaken peoples’ faith in (and obedience to) the system the HPSC was trying to build. At the same time, though, it would also weaken faith in the system to openly acknowledge that system's flaws, to acknowledge that some pretty awful people had found their way into the heroics business specifically for the power and ability to abuse it that the title of Hero afforded them. Public trials would make it a matter of record that some heroes—and, accordingly, heroes at large—did not deserve the public's unquestioning faith. Obviously in a system that was built from the ground up on faith, that was unacceptable. And so Harima was branded a supervillain for exposing the system's flaws, while the corrupt heroes who embodied those flaws to begin with were—and continue to be—quietly disposed of at the HPSC’s discretion.

There's a lot of talk around about how Lady Nagant is stupid, or hypocritical, or delusional, or whatever other dismissive adjective people want to use, because she expresses a preference for AFO's rule over the HPSC's. Firstly, I think it's dubious Lit Crit to fault a character for not being a Paragon of Rationality, especially when they're under the cascading stressors Nagant has been under since she was, what, 13? 14? Forced to live this dichotomy of smiling gallant hero and ruthless covert assassin, had her life threatened by the man who'd taken her in,[4] probably dumped in Tartarus until such time as her trial could be held,[5] and kept in those ghastly, dehumanizing conditions for who knows how long? How shocking, that her objectivity might be somewhat compromised! Secondly, it's not like she's saying that AFO's rule would be a sunny walk in the park. The kanji she uses doesn't even mean "better"; while it can mean serene or tranquil, her more likely meaning is clear/transparent. Her phrasing indicates that she's aware it would be pretty bad; she's simply of the opinion that at least his rule wouldn't be a sham, a pretty lie. It would be bad, but everyone would know it. No one would have these comforting illusions they could lose at any time; if you stepped out of line and got shot in the head by an assassin, well, at least you would probably know you that being defiant was running that risk, rather than never seeing it coming because you'd been told all your life that Heroes Didn't Do That To People. Again, this is a woman whose life was shattered no less than three times by the duplicity of the highest acting authority in this comic.[6] She doesn't have to be Objectively Correct By The Standards Of Ethical Utilitarianism—nor do you have to agree with her choice that because she doesn’t want to live in the Matrix, no one else should get to either—for her opinion to make sense from her own perspective! Thirdly, while I think it's fair to say that the HPSC and AFO actually use fairly similar methods to recruit followers and punish dissenters, we have no idea how much Nagant herself knows about AFO's recruitment tactics other than her own brief experience of it. And while AFO is a controlling and manipulative bastard, at least in his case it's coming from a man who openly styles himself as a Demon King, not an organization positioning itself as lawful regulators of the protectors of society at large while secretly training child soldiers to flagrantly violate every law protecting the human rights and due process of that society's people.

Overhaul's presence is delightful, and yes, he is a victim of Hero Society, if only because Hero Society could have put him in some kind of prison-based rehab facility after Shigaraki was through with him, but chose to dispose of him in Tartarus instead, for absolutely no justifiable cause. I suspect it's only due to Horikoshi not being very interested in the harsh realities of the trauma caused by enforced isolation[7] that Overhaul is the only Tartarus escapee that talks to himself and has dissociated from reality almost completely. Overhaul's maiming was not the fault of Hero Society, nor did Hero Society force him to torture Eri and repeatedly commit cold-blooded murder. But his madness? Yeah, I'm pretty comfortable laying that one at Hero Society's feet, actually. I can’t wait for Deku to have to face the victim that Chisaki Kai has become due to levels of systemic cruelty and negligence that really ought to be criminal—and which, if this were real life, would be.

--------Lately, footnotes are really popular with us!--------

[1] Lady Nagant: *talks about how the Hero Society everyone believes in is illusory, a thin fake over a brutal reality, and that returning to the false simplicity of that status quo will only cause history to repeat itself* Me, two weeks ago: Hero Society will never stop creating its own villains so long as, every time it fails people, it does nothing but shrug and write off the victims as unavoidable, inevitable sacrifices for the greater good.

[2] Yes, I'm still highly suspicious of the "Destro committed suicide in prison" claim.

[3] Compress tells us Harima “preached reformation,” but regardless, you don’t dress up in a modified kabuki costume and waltz midair through nighttime cityscapes raining cash out of the sky if you’re trying to keep your activities a secret.

[4] And her family situation couldn't have been much better than Hawks', if she was targeted by the HPSC to begin with. I would guess she was an orphan in the childcare system, easy to move from whatever alternative care arrangement she was in, be it an orphanage, a group home, or simply mature enough despite her relative youth that she lived alone on government support payments—that kind of thing isn't as unbelievable in Japan as it is in the U.S.—to the HPSC's care.

[5] And given what we learned between this chapter and 297, I doubt she was even allowed to be present for it. Japanese law states that everyone by default is supposed to be present for their own trial, but as in the U.S, that right can be waived if the defendant proves themselves to be a threat to the safety of the judge, court staff and other attendees. And of course, what a threat the HPSC could have painted her as being!

[6] At least until Hori deigns to show us a damn Diet session.

[7] To say nothing of the physical consequences of spending six months stuck in a tiny room with no natural light while frequently being strapped into a straitjacket, of which there should also be several.

#bnha spoilers #bnha 314 #boku no hero academia #hero public safety commission #paranormal liberation front #harima oji #lady nagant #overhaul bnha #my writing?

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selinas-ships · 3 years

Text

Everybody Loves Somebody

I didn't mean for this to turn into a song fic, but it kinda did, and I'm not mad about it.

Also hi, I know it's been a million years lmaooo

With a frustrated sigh, Selene tossed the file onto the table she and Loki claimed, currently littered with papers from various files. “I hate paperwork.” She grumbled, rubbing her eyes and trying to stop the words from swimming in her vision. Stupid, tedious paperwork.

“You’re so good at it though.” Came Loki’s humorous reply. She didn’t need to look at him to see the insufferable grin on his face. And yet she couldn’t help a grin of her own from growing.

He wasn’t wrong, technically. Experience with her father helped her in finding the important information quickly, and the quicker the important information is found, the quicker one can understand the point of the report or the file, and in their case, deduce if it was at all significant to their cause. So far though, there has been little.

“That doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Fair enough.”

The words and phrases of the tedious report she threw on the table finally stopped swimming in her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to open them. She was tired. There had been nothing but reports and files on the seemingly countless Loki Variants caught by the TVA for the past hour, and she was tired of it. Tired of reading how Loki made a choice that led him to being happier and fulfilled with his life and how it had to be destroyed for the sake of the “sacred timeline.” There were too many unknowns to make a properly informed opinion about the importance of the TVA and the sacred timeline, but from what she had so far, what was the phrase? She wasn’t a fan.

Soft music suddenly filled the quiet halls of endless bookshelves of files. A string quartet, perhaps? The scale they played seemed a little intense, she thought as she searched for where the music came from, finding nothing of note. And joining the instrumental music, people, a man and a backup chorus, sang.

(Everybody loves somebody sometimes)

(Everybody falls in love somehow)

She closed her eyes again with a smile as a piano and percussion added to the instrumental background. Distracted by the music, she barely registered the sound of chair legs softly scraping against the floor directly beside her until someone took her hand and placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

With a quick glance to her left, she found Loki had stood up, holding her hand, his brilliant green eyes meeting hers as he lifted his lips from her hand. It was an action he’d done before, an expectation when greeting royalty, and Loki always had been as gentlemanly as he could when he visited. But it never failed to make something she couldn’t quite name yet flutter in her stomach.

(Something in your kiss just told me)

“Dance with me?” He asked, giving her a soft smile, one he liked to save just for her.

(My sometime is now)

She smiled back, hardly hesitating in her reply. They could make good with a break anyway. “Why not?”

Standing from her chair, she held onto Loki’s arm as he led them to a slightly more open space close to their table. Their next few movements were like clockwork. Her right hand clasped his left as her left rested on his shoulder and his right held her waist in a gentle but firm grip. Loki led them through a slow waltz, Selene following him seamlessly.

One thing she noticed in her now twenty-one years of formal balls and kingdom-wide celebrations with the waltz was, ultimately, it was about trust. The lead had to trust that the follower would follow where they directed, and the follower had to trust the lead to know what step to take next and carry through. A waltz without trust wasn’t a waltz at all, in her opinion. A waltz without trust was less of a dance and more of two fools tripping over each other because they didn’t trust or communicate enough to make it work.

Truthfully, it was a simple way to read a person. Someone who habitually took the lead was likely to be a person used to being in control, whether of a people or of themselves, while someone who typically followed in a waltz might appear to be less of a leader and instead let others take that role, either due to not being confident in themselves enough or because that was the role they played in their society. A dancer experienced in both leading and following is easily inferred to be a flexible individual, neither strictly a leader or a follower, instead being what was needed. An unsure dancer let insecurity get the better of them, while a confident dancer, insecurity still very much a possibility, was far less likely to let their insecurities get in the way.

Loki was both a confident dancer and one who preferred to lead, which would logically mean that he was a person used to being in control of himself and didn’t like letting his insecurities (because Asgardian and a literal god or not, everyone had an insecurity) impede the path to his goal.

But that was something she figured out years ago. This wasn’t a royal ballroom full of formal attire and people of political interest. This was two friends, taking a break, and enjoying something they both found joy in. So she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, while trying not to dwell on the memories of balls in a ballroom that now likely rests in dust and dried blood, and instead let herself get lost in Loki’s eyes, in his touch and in his arms, feeling safer here with him than she has during this entire ordeal.

(Everybody finds somebody someplace)

(There’s no telling where love may appear)

His soft smile grew into a wide grin as he dropped his head, his eyes sparkling with mirth and shoulders shaking with barely concealed laughter.

“What?” she asked through a small laugh of her own, dipping her head to meet his eyes again.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” He insisted, shaking his head. “Just remembering the last time we danced like this.”

(Something in my heart keeps saying)

Selene quickly wracked her brain for the memory before it hit her. Ah, of course.

“Oh, you mean the time you dragged me into the gardens to hide after a prank went wrong? One that I told you would go wrong, but you did it anyway?” She asked in a playful, accusatory tone, struggling to stifle her laughter at Loki’s utterly offended expression. She distinctly remembered saying ‘No, Loki, that is a terrible idea, and I will not bail you out of the mess you will cause,’ and Loki proceeding to go, ‘Trust me, it’ll be fine!’

It ended up, in fact, not being fine. It ended up being almost exactly as she predicted, if memory serves.

“Excuse you! You aided in that!” The smile that grew from his expression betrayed his amusement as she raised a single eyebrow, smirking at him.

(My someplace is here)

“How?” she asked dubiously.

“By giving me the idea!”

“And then I told you specifically not to do it!”

(If I had it in my power)

“Oh, here we go again.” Loki sighed as he let go of her waist, Selene subconsciously understanding the cue for him to twirl her, giving him her own offended expression, a gleeful smile poking through.

“Wha-?? You bastard!” She laughed as Loki pulled her back into his arms. It had only been for a moment, but she had already missed his arm around her waist. It was comforting, grounding.

(I’d arrange for every girl to have your charm)

“I’m your bastard.” He quipped, giving her a self-satisfied smirk. He knew he was right. Unbelievable, utter bastard. Her bastard.

“I suppose that’s true.” She dramatically sighed, laughing as Loki stuck his tongue out at her.

(Then every minute, every hour)

(Every boy would find what I found in your arms)

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Loki leading her through another twirl as she just looked at him. Well, admired is probably a better word. She was doing more than just looking. She noticed the smile on his lips matched the smile in his eyes, the usual tension in his shoulders gone, the way his eyes crinkled in his joy. It made her happy, seeing him and being able to know he was too.

(Everybody loves somebody sometime)

(And although my dream was overdue)

“What?” He asked her, noticing her widening smile.

(Your love made it well worth waiting)

“Nothing. It’s just good to see you smile again.”

(For someone like you)

Staring into his eyes, she could see her words surprised him, but he was quick to come back with a smile that could almost be labeled as shy. “Well. I’ve had good reason to.”

((If I had it in my power))

(I would arrange for every girl to have your charms)

Surprised by his words in turn, Selene ducked her head to get her giddy smile under control a little more before returning to his eyes.

They had almost gone half-lidded, and there was something in his gaze that made her want to smile and giggle uncontrollably, like Rosalind when she talked about her beloved, and kiss him at the same time.

((Then every minute, every hour))

(Every boy would find what I have in your arms)

It really shouldn’t surprise her, the sudden urge to kiss him. This wasn’t the first time she’s had that thought.

(Everybody loves somebody sometime)

(And although my dream was overdue)

This might be the closest she’s come to thinking she may act on it, though.

(Your love made it well worth waiting)

(For someone like you)

Loki led her into a graceful dip, her body and mind trusting him completely not to let her fall. He never did. But she thinks she’s fallen in more ways than one.

((Everybody loves somebody sometime))

As the song came to a close with one last beautiful violin, and Loki pulled her out of the finishing dip of their waltz, Selene couldn’t take her eyes off him. His hair, his eyes, his face, everything about him in this moment, she tried to commit to memory. The way he looked at her, the smile he gave her, the way a curl of hair fell over his ear.

Her eyes trailed down to his lips of their own accord, her hand on his shoulder sliding up to cup his neck. She forced her eyes back to his to find Loki’s gaze at her lips. Sliding the hand still clasped in his free, it moved to his hair, running through his gentle curls and waves.

They had moved closer in their waltz than they did when they started. Where before there had been a respectable distance between them, now their faces were mere inches apart.

Loki’s free hand moved to the back of her head, sliding down to cradle her neck as he nudged her closer, Selene offering no resistance. The tips of their noses brushed together now, eyes meeting and then moving to lips and then meeting again.

Her heart thumped louder in her chest. He was so close, it would be so easy to close the gap and finally know what his kisses are like-

They both jumped at the sound of someone clearing their throat, finding Agent Mobius staring at them with a very unamused expression that would have been a little funny had she’d not been both embarrassed at being caught like this (not that they were doing anything strictly wrong) and frustrated he had interrupted. Who knew when she would get the courage to try that again?

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Normally, Selene would be a bit more diplomatic in her response, saying no and to apologize for making him wait, but Mobius, and to be honest the entire TVA, had a habit of frustrating her, so the snarky response “A bit, yes.” slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Understandably so, Mobius let out an exasperated breath. “Look, princess, you’re here to keep him in check, not to... act on whatever unspoken thing you two have going on.”

“Hey now-”

Oh dear.

Selene quickly put a hand on Loki’s shoulder, taking his attention away from Mobius. “Loki. It’s fine.”

The pout he gave her was unfairly cute. “But it’s not. He shouldn’t speak to you like that.”

“I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself, Trickster. You know that.”

Loki sighed, ducking his head and pressing it against hers, his arms coming up to hold on to her elbows. “I know. I just want to keep you safe.”

Selene let out a sigh of her own. How was he real? What had she possibly done in order to deserve him?

“I know. I’m alright.” She promised, closing her eyes to focus on his touch and proximity.

And Mobius once again interrupted them. “Hey. C’mon, we have a job to do.”

He walked away, gesturing for them both to follow.

Selene looked to Loki again, taking a chance and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

He smiled again, nodding. “Okay.”

Slowly, not wanting to but not having much of a choice, they let go of each other and stepped apart, hurrying to follow Mobius.

If Loki’s hand sought hers and held on tight, she did not object. Instead, she held on just as tight.

#Loki x OC #Loki Odinson x Selene of Theganda (OC)#F/O Tag: Trickster #OC Tag: Selene #i daydreamed this and so made it a reality #i love them ur honor #they're cute

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goldeneyedgirl · 3 years

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TwiFicMas20 Christmas Eve: All These Broken Things

... Is it really the end of FicMas if I haven’t posted something from All These Broken Things? I think not. The first sections can be found here and here. This is the fic where Alice travelled with James and doesn’t meet the Cullens until that baseball game.

It's very strange finally being with the family she was always destined to be with, when she thought she had lost them so long ago.

She finds great satisfaction just watching them - Emmett yelling at the sports on the television; Edward perched at the piano, Rosalie working on her cars. She hovers, like a little ghost, folded into corners and against doorframes, vanishing the second they might acknowledge her.

Esme seems to like her company, as she goes about day-to-day things, chatting away to the silent girl with the enormous, sad black eyes, who trails after her like a stray.

She stays away from Carlisle, trying to avoid the moment he declares her to be cast out, too far gone for them to redeem.

And she stays away from Jasper, because it hurts too much. She doesn't tell Jasper what she knows, what they were meant to be to one another. The past is gone, and she has been broken into too many pieces. He watches her like a hawk, and without words, she knows he will be the one to destroy her if she steps out of line. His hands will crack her limbs apart and he will not flinch or feel any loss.

She wonders if she should tell him that if he was the to destroy her, she would not fight it. She would part in his hands like a paper doll, and hold no ill will to him for such an act.

Sometimes, she lets herself remember the old visions, the ones where they were everything to one another. Only when Edward's away, though; she doesn't like him rifling around in her head. No one deserves being forced to see some of those things.

And it hurts, a raw wound in her heart, that she was meant for something else, for happiness and peace and love, instead of what she was dealt in life. One of her greatest unanswered questions is why? What unforgivable thing did she do in her forgotten human past that earned such a punishment?

Then she remembers what she has done at James’ side for so many decades, at the faces and the screams and the suffering, and somehow she lived her crimes and her penance at the same time.

So she continues to pretend she doesn’t notice that Edward keeps Bella away from the house; that Emmett or Jasper hover in the background as she trails after Esme, as she watches Rose. That she can only go hunting when Jasper and Emmett can go along too; the ones strong enough and fast enough to restrain her.

When Edward does bring Bella back to the house at Esme’s insistence, she sits on the opposite side of the room, and listens to the conversation, keeping still and silent.

When Carlisle arrives home from work, she focuses on the magazine or book she has found, pretending to be absorbed by the glossy pictures, still and silent, to not notice as he studies her with patience she isn’t sure is genuine.

When Jasper joins Emmett for something noisy and angry on the television, their gazes occasionally sliding towards her, she is frozen in place, her gaze out the window.

She’s played this game before. Be good and quiet and still. The blow will come, eventually, but at least she can prepare herself for it, brace herself for the inevitable fall. They don’t trust her.

She doesn’t trust her, either.

Six.

They settle into a sort of routine.

She’s allowed to hunt with Esme and Rosalie now, though she’s careful to keep her distance, to trek a little further into the forest, to reassure them. She usually waits until they call her back.

She is always carefully supervised during their hunts, and finally, finally, the cracks James left across her nose and cheeks have finally faded away. They hunt too often for her, and when she forces herself to finish the animal, she vomits everywhere. She says nothing, but she feels safer a little hungry, her eyes black rather than a strange gold-orange.

Edward lets her sit beside him when he plays the piano, tells her about each of the pieces of music. He tries to teach her once, attempts to guide her hands into position, but she panics and jerks away, and he doesn’t offer again.

Emmett is nice to her. He seems to understand not to come up behind her without warning, not to touch. Sometimes she perches on the end of the couch and watches the television with him. She doesn’t stay very long, but he always gives her a big smile when she leaves, as if he’s had a wonderful time.

She doesn’t understand Emmett, but she thinks she could like him.

Rosalie can’t seem to decide whom she dislikes more – her or Bella - and she’s sure that Rose is going to get whiplash from changing her mind about both of them so many times. But Rose addresses her and is reasonably civil, mostly out of some kind of misguided caution that she is some kind of threat, and that is some kind of progress.

She and Bella have few words to say to each other. ‘Sorry I helped someone attempt to torture and exsanguinate you’ isn’t something she can work out how to say out-loud and have it sound genuine. Mostly because the truth is closer to, ‘I’m sorry you found yourself in this situation, but I don’t regret my choices. The consequences for me would have been much, much worse than you can ever comprehend. Your fragile mortality would have spared you of the worst of it. I’d make the same decision one hundred times in a row without a second thought.’

She’s certain that would upset everyone.

Bella seems rather reluctant to spent time in her presence, and she does wonder if that’s because she’s the side of the coin that isn’t beauty-wealth-love. She’s the side of suffering, of pain and of misery, murder and regret. Bella wants perfection, wants the glamour and magic of the Cullens, and none of the honest truth of being a vampire.

But it’s probably the murder attempt.

Then there are things that haven’t changed since she arrived. She’s not allowed to be alone, or to leave the house aside from hunting – even then, she has to be accompanied.

But every single day, James is still gone and she is still here. And there will never be a time when that knowledge is not sweet.

Her wardrobe is limited - a few old t shirts that once belonged to Esme and are too big, her worn jeans and the filthy, stained cardigan that she had when they found her. Her thin knees have long since torn through her pants, and the cardigan's sleeves are frayed and holey, but she is clean and free.

And then she is deemed in control enough to go shopping. Esme approaches her with the idea, with glossy magazines and gentle suggestions. It is an idea that has even intrigues Rosalie enough for her to join them.

They clearly still think she is a risk, though, because it is a family outing, with looks of such boredom and long-suffering on the faces of the male Cullens when it is decided, that she laughs softly behind her hand.

The building they take her to is huge and full of people. It is like a blow to the face, of blood and scent, and she visibly recoils from it at first, unsure and on edge. And they are patient, escorting her in, with encouraging words.

Eventually, though, they show her the clothes and the sight of the racks is enough to distract her from the heady scent. It is overwhelming, the colours and fabrics and styles, and she simply stares, with Emmett laughing at her stunned expression.

Esme is so kind, guiding her gently through the racks, telling her to choose anything she likes. She is careful, though, picking new jeans, a new cardigan, soft and clean and sunshine yellow. Esme helps her pick shoes out - the first pair she's had in decades. Soft brown winter boots, black sneakers, gold and black flats that make her feel like a princess. At her childlike delight with her fancy shoes, Esme buys her a black sundress with ties at the back and bows on the straps, that will bare her arms and triangles of flesh on her back.

Underwear is a strange concept. It's nothing that she has ever bothered with before. She is useless in the wake of so many choices, and let's Esme and Rosalie choose what she needs, dress her like a doll, whilst she amuses herself with how clearly uncomfortable both Jasper and Edward are in such a department.

She almost feels pretty – even desirable - in the plain cotton that make her skinny frame look almost womanly. She’s too embarrassed to even try on the satin and lace sets Rosalie has chosen. They aren’t for girls like her – girls that wear those things are more than she will ever be – prettier, sweeter, bolder. They are too much, and when she refuses, she doesn’t understand the look Rosalie and Esme exchange, Rosalie looking sly and Esme with an expression of warning.

Afterwards, they look for other things. The books hold little interest for her, as do the endless electronics. She doesn’t mean to wander off, but a demonstration by the art supplies store catches her eye, and she stands a little away from the crowd, watching the man draw. It is Esme and Jasper who find her, both looking alarmed, but she pretends she doesn’t see them, her gaze focused on the pencil that so carefully makes its way across the page.

“Alice,” Esme is at her side. “You scared us.” Her smile is bright, but her eyes worried – what would the Cullens do if she attacked in a place like this, with so many eyes? She doesn’t get to ponder that thought much longer, as Jasper’s hand closes over her shoulder and she is guided away.

For the rest of the afternoon, Jasper is her ominous shadow, as she dutifully trails after them.

She doesn't have her own room, but she doesn’t truly need one. Until now, she hasn’t had any possessions to store, and she doesn’t require the privacy a mated couple does. But, she has found she likes the attic. Full of things that need repairs or to be stored, it is a mad tea party of furniture and items.

There’s an old grey chair is missing a leg, and has an ugly stain that not even Esme could draw out that she likes. She folds herself into it, and she feels safe in that little corner, with the narrow window that overlooks the forest and spills in afternoon light. There's an old dresser up there, too, so that's where she arranges her new things, carefully folding and smoothing them into each drawer, precisely and lovingly.

Rosalie brings her some cosmetics and half a glass bottle of perfume – the bottle is shaped like an egg and etched with tiny flowers and curlicues and it is so delicate and beautiful, she is frightened to hold it. Rosalie watches as she sprays the scent into the air, the delighted look at the scent of flowers. She is nervous at Rosalie’s gesture, but grateful. Grateful enough that she allows Rosalie to cut the matted ends of her hair off into a neat, shorter style.

It makes her look more delicate, younger, maybe sweeter, she thinks as she strokes the strands in the mirror. And less like a roving maniac, at least according to the shiny-haired Rosalie, who watches her with satisfaction in her eyes.

She should be offended, but there’s this tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, Rosalie is turning her into something new. Something good and better.

Something like a sister.

It’s Esme’s idea to invite Bella around the evening of her birthday. Just a family gathering, with a few simple gifts. Everyone sort of agrees, and try to work out what to give the sullen girl.

She manages a portrait of Bella and Edward seated together at the piano that Esme gushes over, and has framed.

There have been some hints, from Carlisle and Edward that she will have to attend school eventually. She doesn’t understand that, but is just waiting for them all to graduate. They’ll leave when they’ve graduated and she won’t have to worry about school again.

She arranges peonies on the piano for Bella, upon Esme’s request, and is reminded of her old, fragmented vision of blood and glass. But nothing comes to her; the future is clear and her mind has decided to play tricks on her again.

Or perhaps her mind is the best part of her, the gentle warning she ignored becoming obvious as soon as Bella’s finger slips against the wrapping paper. Jasper’s eyes blacken as soon as Bella’s flesh parts and the blood beads, and suddenly he is lunging. She sees it in an instant, Bella’s crumpled body in his grip and Edward’s howls and the house of the Cullens irreversibly fallen. She sees an endless parade of James’ victims, broken and dead in Bella’s blank eyes.

She sees the horror and the guilt in Jasper’s eyes, sees the vastness of Mexico and the rise of a monster born of regret and impulse.

It is over before he even moves, decision made, and she has to stop this.

The shriek startles them all, coming from her mouth as she darts in front of him.

In another life, the flavour of her desperation and fear would be enough for him to pause, to grasp wildly at his resistance. Instead, he throws her aside, her body crashing through the front windows in a rain of wood and glass, leaving an imprint of her body in the flowerbed outside.

She picks herself up out of the flower bed as Emmett and Rosalie drag Jasper bodily from the house, Esme close behind them. Their eyes are all pitch black; a harmless paper cut did not cause this reaction.

“She cut open her arm,” is Emmett’s grim explanation as Jasper’s struggles slow, his eyes firmly on the door of the house.

“It was an accident,” Esme adds, shame in every line of her stance.

“Alice seemed to know,” Rosalie murmurs, her eyes still on Jasper.

She will never understand Rosalie, why she always needs to assign blame, to identify the victim and the antagonist. She ignores the statement, even as they all swing to look at her, as she examines her shoulder. Jasper didn’t hit her hard enough for cracks to form, but it doesn’t look like it’s properly aligned.

When she does look up again, she can see it in all their eyes – did she let this happen on purpose? Does she hold some ugly vendetta against poor, sweet Bella?

She did help James …

She’s surprised – she thought it would be Edward that came after her, later, to criticise and punish her for the limitations on her faulty gift. He still might – he hasn’t decided properly, too focused on patching up Bella.

But it’s Jasper, wrenching out of Rosalie and Emmett’s grasp, with murder in his eyes and the target on her.

He doesn’t yell, but his words are poisonous, nasty and accusing. She flinches, Esme gasps and even Emmett tries to get him to stop. Some of them, she knows, aren’t meant for her. They are frustration, humiliation and disappointment directed at himself, at his own weakness.

But when she instinctively backs away, and he grabs her wrist, and she lets out a tiny cry of fear; it is Rosalie who comes to her rescue, who snarls and yells and pries his iron grip from her.

“I don’t care how pissed you are, you don’t touch her like that.”

The words seem to echo, and Carlisle, Edward and Bella are watching from the front door.

Her apology is stammered, weak in the sudden silence, her insistence that she didn’t know sounding bewildered and feeble as she darts away, into the forest to pick glass and wood out of her hair and wonder just how many other warnings she’s missed.

#twificmas20 #ficmas20 #ficmas #alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight renaissance #twilight fic #my fic #fic: all these broken things #my fic: all these broken things #i like attention #that's why i do ficmas #honesty is the best policy #is ATBT getting a full tear-down and rewrite for 2021? you betcha

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pvremichigan · 3 years

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You’ll Always Be My Son. [Hell Arc Drabble 6]

The shrieking of demons behind her grew louder the more she ran. Damn it all to hell - ironically - that she was still unable to see them. All she could hear was the rumbling, the clawing and smacking on the pavement behind her. Some even seemed to hop onto the chain fences that lined the sides of people’s yards here and there. The rattling and chaotic noises echoing behind her, the whispers barely human and the screeching only growing closer and closer, as if teasing her demise before retracting and watching her continue to run for her life without pause. The exhaustion was growing, she had been running for far too long. Sometimes the calls would draw her towards certain streets, but she’d have to find a back road knowing damn well these things would be able to cut her off if she had made specific turns. The chase felt like it had lasted a lifetime, which has been a trait Mich has noticed here. Every moment of fear, agony, misery, despair... The time seemed to drag on, turning seconds into minutes. Far more than that phenomenon in real life, it was far slower than the brain could realistically perceive during moments of panic like that. As if this hell was taunting her views on time, such as nothing lasting forever and her having all the time in the world. Hell was truly tearing down her ideals... Not in a humbling way either.

The streets that she had passed were unfamiliar. Despite this resembling her neighborhood vaguely, nothing she saw was connecting. It all seemed the same and different at the same time. As if this was a hallucination, or she was in a state of delirium. Nothing made sense, nothing was recognizable. However, she was at the point where she had to make a choice.

The redhead took a risk, turning one of the corners that she knew would cause her to get cut off by the blood thirsty beasts taunting her every step. The fact that they weren’t visible made things far worse than she thought it would, but her strength in her senses proved to be more helpful in the end. She heard the crash of the wire fence to the side of her. From the impact, it seemed like the demon hopped towards it to propel itself off as it lunged at her. Using this prediction, she lunged the crowbar upwards, hoping to get it right this time.

This exact situation, exact route and running had happened nearly 8 times in a row. Each time resulting in her getting caught and mauled, torn apart piece by piece. Then... She’d have to restart and try all over again. Never once in those attempts did she get her timing and aim right with the crowbar... So this was truly just her hoping at this point. She didn’t know how many more reruns she could go through before she had to give up.

With the resistance of the impalement and the blood dripping onto the pavement, the plan seemed to work. How odd... As soon as the demon started to bleed as it fell to the ground, the other beasts stopped and surrounded it. Mich glanced back to see what was going on, slowing down ignorantly to observe. The beasts, from what it sounded like, were tearing the injured demon apart and feasting. The screams and wails of the wounded one were nearly deafening. When she assumed they were blood thirsty, she was never prepared to realize that it could be any blood.

Pausing, now thinking on it, was a terrible idea. Once they were done with that one, of course they’d be after her again. Only this time, she wouldn’t have the crowbar. And there was no way she was going through it ALL over again.

And yet...

They were finished too early. The beasts cried out, never once did they keep their eyes off of her it seemed, as they caught her off guard and lunged. Sparing the details, every nerve in her body seemed to seer and scream until she appeared... Right on that sidewalk with her crowbar.

And did it all over again, running for her life.

Having impaled the one yet again, Mich didn’t stop to look this time. She kept running down that street, no stopping even for a moment to check. Looking around, it seemed that breaking that loop caused a break in the uncanny aura to the street. The houses grew more and more familiar, discoloration still apparent but less so now than before as she could mentally note exactly whose houses were whose. The call of the soul grew louder the more she ran down the street, practically screaming once she got to the most familiar house of them all.

Her own.

The only moment she paused was to take one good look at the front of it, both figuring if it was a trap or not and also to bask in the moment that she hadn’t recognized her house for a long time... And seeing it for the first time in a while and being able to click in her mind that this was her house, recalling all the details... The warmth of home was there. She could really feel the safety she yearned for there, even if she still was in hell.

No time to spare, the woman stepped up on the very small concrete slab-like porch she spent a lot of time smoking out on, and reached towards the door handle. Opening the front door and stepping in, it really did feel like home, however there was a heavy sadness and emptiness in the air that weighed down the moment she walked in. The couch to her right right underneath the window with the loveseat to the right of that, pressed up against the wall. The staircase immediately to her left as soon as you walk in, with the tv atop the wooden bookshelf right in front of her. The door that leads to the garage and cellar... Right to the right of that. Dining room table to the right of the loveseat. The small kitchen to the right of that. Everything was in order, everything was there. Every little detail recognizable and observed for years. God... This was home. So why was the atmosphere so dreadful? Was this what she’s been feeling for years? What the house had been filling with for so long..? This is what she felt, what she had to endure... The weight was nearly crippling. How was she able to handle this for so long? Looking back, she still lacked an answer that could make sense to her. At least, a good enough answer that wasn’t simply an excuse. Looking out the window, it was pitch black outside. A drastic difference from just moments ago where it was a dreary yet light gray everywhere. Pitch black... And the beasts that had chased her were nowhere to be heard. As if she entered a different dimensional plane simply by entering a door.

After paying mind to the aura of the room, the bright glow of her soul lay right in the middle of the living room. The moment she approached, it disappeared. The frustration grew immensely, the feeling of defeat growing more than before. What was she doing wrong?! Was this a trick!? Why was she not able to reach what she’s needed to for so long now!?!

Her fists clenched as she turned around, frozen at the sight before her.

Her adopted son, Lance... Grown up... With his bags in hand and backpack over his shoulder, hand on the front door. She remembers now... Those same tears, more guilt fueled than anything, began to build. Though her heart didn’t sink, it throbbed. Painfully... But there was no dread.

The day he left... She had already been sinking to her lowest. She barely said a thing other than ‘Take care.’

To her own son... She can’t even give a proper goodbye.

Seeing what happened prior to this with Ryan, she had a feeling she knew what she had to do.

“... You did always wonder if I was mad you wanted to be human. I acted poorly, Lance... I was barely there for you, I was there even less after Ryan had vanished. Your energy gave me so much joy, despite I never showed it. Oh honey... I was never mad. I just... Didn’t express my sadness and acceptance well enough. You always loved hanging out with the other kids, you always wanted to go to school. You wanted to live. I was teaching you how to survive.”

The boy that stood in front of the door barely moved, but she could tell that - despite it not being him unsurprisingly - he was listening. These obstacles that she had to face... It was never physical because she held very little physical burdens. These problems were always mental and emotional. Facing them like she is now... It was the only way to heal at this point. Unresolved business, problems she avoided facing from the start... It was killing her just as quick as not having a soul.

“I want you to know, I was never mad at you. I supported you then even if it didn’t seem like it. I love you dearly, even if this is the last time I remember you. You were my pride and joy, Lance. My capital. You were what I had when I had nothing. I’m sorry I wasn’t always there. I’m sorry I missed out on so much... I feel like I barely got to see you grow as a person. I’ve missed so much in your life and I want you to know that you’ve grown up to be a wonderful man. You’ve grown up... I see it now. I see you now. I... Know there’s distance in every single way between us. I’m sorry you never had a father figure, I’m...”

And just as predicted, the tears fell. The guilt that fueled them was accompanied by the love she has for this boy, the love a mother has for her child. These tears... Were far less painful. They were a comfort she’s felt before. Just recently... She’s felt this type of love with another. Jack... Someone she can be better to, someone she can be there for when she never was for Lance.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother. You had so much potential and it hurt to let you go, but I want to tell you that I’m.... So... So proud of you. So very proud. You’ve done so much... You’ve accomplished your BIGGEST dream. Lance, I know you’ll never hear this, but feel it in your heart if you ever can that I love you and I’m proud of you. You’ll ALWAYS be my son, even if we don’t know each other. You’ll always be my son...”

Mich walks forward, the warmth of home and the tenderness of having her son there with her, despite him never facing her... Only facing the door... She felt far safer in here than she ever had. Even in hell... She still had the compassion in her heart to weep with joy and guilt for her son. Hell can’t be her downfall, she has too much within her to drag her down to the pits. There’s always a fight in her heart, she’s always ready to fight for her life and then some.

The proud woman reaches a hand out, resting it gently upon her ‘sons’ shoulder.

“Guess this is our last goodbye too. I never got to say goodbye to you... I never got to say any of this to you. So here I am. Not because I have to... But because I’ve had it in my heart this entire time and only now am I able to relay the message. I love you, Lance. I hope your new family loves you just as much if not more than I did. I hope your dreams never die out. I hope the world someday knows your name. If I can’t remember it... The world has to. I will let no one let your name die out with history. Go make a difference... Go change the world if you need to. Go have fun and please... Please enjoy your life. I’m so proud of you...”

“You’ll always be my son.”

The figure took a moment after she stopped, the silence lingering a moment too long as the heartbreak began to crack in again. After the extended silence, he hung his head not in disappointment, but it seemed to be in preparation for the world. Turning the door handle, there was a nearly blinding light that flooded the room the more it opened. Without looking back, the boy walked forward into the light and didn’t stop, shutting the door behind him. The light that had flooded the room was dragged out, leaving Mich in an uncomfortably dull and dim lit living room. The weight... Still remained. What a suffocating atmosphere... She could feel old habits itch at her, her feet heavy as she dragged herself over to the couch. The soul had disappeared yet again, Ryan was gone, and now Lance was gone for good. Hunched over, she put her hands against her face and wept silently to herself. This... Really did last hours this time. After all of this pain and fear and those obstacle ridden streets... She took a moment of apparent safety and calm to weep. Really let it out as if it were like taking a breather after a long run. She needed this...

She needed this.

Hours passed, there was only a brief period during the end where she was able to sit in silence and breathe. The silence was abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door. She didn’t trust it. It froze her in fear and anticipation, eyes locked on the door as her breathing slowed, barely blinking. The knock came again, but softer this time. There was no way she could trust this... But after a soft yet firmer third time, she realized that if she opened the door and got mauled, when she woke up she just... Wouldn’t answer the door again. Mich was exhausted, she was now resorting to reckless experiment.

Standing up, though hesitation slowing her down, the woman made her way to the door. Gripping the handle tightly, there was yet another instance of hesitation before she finally worked up the courage and let the door slowly open. Before her... Was a glowing essence.

Her soul...

She didn’t trust it this time, looking around to see if there was yet another emotional or mental obstacle. There was nothing in sight... Which caused her to grow skeptical of this situation. This could easily be fake, a trap... But those thoughts washed away like dirt once she felt and heard the call. The weight of the atmosphere in the room had blocked it out. But now... Her tear stained eyes had no more tears left to give.

Kneeling down, she very slowly reached her hand out to the essence. She was... Able to feel it. It felt so familiar, more recognizable and familiar than anything she had pieced together in hell. The thing she could recognize the most...

Herself.

Within a moment of feeling her soul, the light wrapped around her arm, sinking into her body with an intense wave of energy that had felt very overwhelming internally.

Mich’s eyes widen at the realization. There was no weight... This felt so... Different but as if nothing changed all at once. She felt like herself. For the first time in three years, she felt like herself. She felt everything she lost, there was so much going on that she couldn’t explain or pinpoint or anything. It was just... Her.

She was back.

A genuine smile grew on her lips, a shaky exhale before that smile was wiped away quickly. The tears fell yet again, but these tears differed from all the rest she had shed in this realm. Relief... Relief, accomplishment, success, joy, victory... Her hands began to shake as the overwhelming energy really took over.

This joy only lasted for moments as she stood on her porch, as she now glanced around at her surroundings. Things were all too familiar, but even worse... What she saw was something she wished she was still unable to see.

They were visible.

Well...

“It’s time to leave.”

All the energy she had thought she lost pushed itself into her nerves as she dashed off her porch and began her run. She ran for her life as these discolored fleshy beasts, all different shapes and sizes and forms, chased after her in animalistic ways. Time felt like it ran in slow motion though this time... It really didn’t. She was running now, but this time she was running for the exit. Where it was? Well... That’s the hard part. However... Her soul gave another calling. Perhaps this was towards the end... And hopefully it was tracking what Carter had set up. She just prays it’s ready.

For now... She’s running like she’s NEVER run before.

#tw mauling #tw mutilation #tw time loop #[[Pull the Trigger]];; ic #[[gun powder]];; Mich #[[Trail of Smoke]];; Drabble

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galacticnova3 · 3 years

Text

Ok I had thoughts in the shower that are kinda serious/about something mature and I felt compelled to share. CW for discussion of prosh/pp/ng. If you do that and somehow found this, not sorry, this post isn’t for you, also stop doing that and get help. Won’t tolerate any clowning either.

I think the main reason “proshippers” get away with That a lot is because in many cases they’re warping actual fair arguments. Like, yes, there is not necessarily something majorly wrong with portraying unhealthy relationships, because they exist in real life, and ultimately all art reflects aspects of real life. It’s in the same boat as the fact that it’s not bad to portray bad people or horrific events. However, all of that hinges on whether or not these things are being shown for what they are; if you keep saying/implying a character is good or cool or “relatable” and that character is in a situation like that– victim or perpetrator– you are automatically glorifying that thing. You can’t write it off as “just a character flaw” if it is not being portrayed as a flaw; that’s how character flaws work, because ultimately the vast majority of flaws can also be virtues under the right conditions, and vise versa.

Then people make the argument “well authors/artists/etc don’t have to spoon feed what is and isn’t ok to their audience”, and while that is true on some level, that does not mean they have no responsibility at all. Not just to people consuming that content, but to themselves. If you write something terrible and put it in a good light, or what can be reasonably interpreted as a good light, you can’t get mad if people assume you are supporting that thing. In that situation you have not given any true evidence that you don’t; “I’m not x” isn’t enough, because people can lie. Generally, most murderers don’t answer honestly if someone asks them if they killed someone or not. Actions speak louder than words, and if your action is writing, you are responsible for what that writing reflects on you and your views. If people come after you for it, that’s a sign that you should reflect on what you’ve written, and what message it is sending. Even if you had good intentions, people don’t see your intentions, they see what you produced, and sometimes the two don’t line up. Cancel culture is a pain in the ass, but so is the fact that the proship movement allows legitimately disgusting people to thrive under the cover of plausible deniability.

In the case of fan content, there’s the simple fact that not all franchises are safe mediums for making that stuff. It’s not censorship for someone to tell you not to make that content if you’re making it with the characters/the universe of a children’s franchise. Because ultimately, that franchise is going to be majorly consumed by children. It doesn’t matter how well you tag things or how many warnings you put on it, because ultimately the internet is going to put that thing in front of eyes that can be harmed by it. I am saying this as someone who’s first exposure to porn, before I was even in highschool, was Kirby fanart on Google images, despite having safe search on. In the grand scheme of the Internet, the only control you really have is whether you put something on it or not, and where you put that thing, and this is a situation where that is an incredibly important decision. Do you post it on social media where it could very easily be exposed to people who should not be exposed to that, whether because of algorithms or others being less responsible? Do you post it privately in a place where you know(or assume) the other people there are responsible and not going to circulate it? Or, do you keep that content to yourself?

That is not you being asked to be a “second parent”, this is not a “think of the children!” argument. Or, rather, it is a case of the latter, but one that is justified. If you’re making that content with original characters, or characters from a mature franchise, thinking of the children isn’t a priority because the children aren’t supposed to be there, just like you’re not responsible if you’ve been made to share a house with a kid that ends up finding your stash of Mature Things. Whether it was them snooping around without permission or you told them to stay away from that drawer and they didn’t listen, that’s the kid’s fault either way, and thus you bear basically no responsibility. However, if you make that content in a franchise that is consistently, obviously, and intentionally made to be consumed by children, even if it can also be enjoyed by adults? That’s different. That’s like walking into a playground with a porn magazine; it doesn’t matter if people your age can enjoy some of the things there, like the swings or basketball court. You need, and are expected, to take into account that kids are not only likely going to be there, but are encouraged to be there. You walking in with that magazine is you willingly choosing to expose or risk exposing minors to content they should not be exposed to, no matter how you spin it. You could read that magazine anywhere else, and you chose the area with kids in it.

Lastly, while I could make the argument of what reasoning there may be for wanting to make That Stuff with characters from a children’s series and then share it online in the first place, that’s been done by plenty of other people. Besides, I have a better argument: there is nothing stopping you from making that content with different characters anyways, be they your own or just from a franchise with a mature audience. You are not forced or limited to only portray a certain dynamic with certain specific characters. If the setting/universe is a factor, just make your own version with the relevant things in common, maybe change some terms and names, and there, problem solved. It’s not plagiarism if it is going to be utilized in a vastly different way, and as long as it does not just flat out copy every single aspect of the original. Something something a lot of fiction is derivative. Doing this could also allow a place for others to make similar content in what could eventually be your own “series”, without nearly the same level of risk of harm. If it is truly a case of just wanting to explore the dynamic, you can do so without having it be inherently tied to content made for young audiences, and if you have the skills and critical thinking necessary to understand both what makes it “special” with those characters, you should also be able to recreate the same thing in a safer environment.

I know I kinda focused a lot on “kid’s franchises” with this but the same things apply with other content. I.E. don’t make content that depicts mentally ill folks as dangerous where it could hurt/offend real mentally ill people and misinform those who don’t know the reality of mental illness. “Common sense” isn’t real; all “common sense” is learned, and not everyone has learned the same things you have at any given point. How else would ridiculous rumors and such spread, if everyone knew the truth?

TLDR:

-The issue isn’t you making the content, it’s you glorifying the content. Whether you intended to or not isn’t the point.

-You don’t have to spoon feed morals to your audience, but if people reasonably interpret unhealthy things shown in a light that isn’t explicitly or implicitly negative as your quiet support, that’s on you. You need to be sure that the message your content actually sends/how it reflects your views lines up with the message you intended to send and the views you actually have. Don’t blame others if you were the one who failed to communicate effectively.

-In the case of franchises specifically aimed at children, you posting that content is you saying you value sharing that content over the well-being of those likely to see that content. You had the choice to keep the risk of harm at 0%, but decided not to.

-That fact is not a “think of the children” argument, it is simply making the same point as someone telling you not to bring pornography into a kid’s playground, even if that playground has facilities others your age also enjoy. You are bringing adult content into a kid-oriented area, you cannot act like it is the fault of a kid for finding it when in some cases they weren’t even looking.

-There is ultimately no excuse for making that content within a children’s franchise, because there is nothing forcing you to remain in that setting and use those characters; if the dynamic is something you really want to explore, you can recreate it without ties that could lead minors to it.

-Though I used kid’s franchises as my main focus, this applies to any groups that your content could potentially harm or misinform. “It’s just common sense” is not a defense for the latter, because “common sense” has to be learned, and not everyone learns everything at the same time or by the same age.

#ask to tag #rambling #cw proship #ok to rb #just my thoughts on the matter #lemme know if this needs more tags I’m tired af and just kinda spat all this out #also yes I know this is basically the same as taking a bat to a hornet nest no I don’t care #let the hornets come I’ll fight them #or block rather #I will not give the hornets my time or attention

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canvas-the-florist · 4 years

Text

Quarantined Together

Ship: Dukexiety

Warnings: Dismemberment mention, lots of talk about coronavirus, swearing, food mentions, Remus-Esque jokes made by someone who can’t write Remus,

Summary: Remus and Virgil deal with social distancing while being very tired of COVID-19.

Word Count: 1.4K

Remus walked home from his job, he was a grocer and newly considered an ‘essential worker’ due to recent developments of the coronavirus. He was tired and overworked. Remus didn’t really have a way with words but customers seemed too preoccupied with their own shit to notice him at the current moment. A small victory and one of the only things that could be considered a positive to social distancing. In short, Remus King was tired of all the bullshit he had been dealing with and this day wasn’t a particularly good one.

First, he was forced to work a job he couldn’t afford to quit during a global pandemic, and random strangers would yell at him when the store ran out of stuff. Like, it wasn’t his fault all the cleaning supplies are gone! He’s not magic. Second, his twin brother is stuck four states away because of their parents who hated both of them. And third, Remus got kicked out of college dorms last week and he just moved into his boyfriend’s apartment. Sure, it’s nice to see Virgil every day but it’s kind of bittersweet when it’s not a choice the two had to make. It’s turned from a good decision to do one day to necessary to keep Remus off the streets. He was tired. Tired of a lot of things.

Remus opened the door to see Virgil watching Netflix on his phone even though he was on the couch across the TV. He sighed loudly but made sure to wash his hands immediately before collapsing on top of his boyfriend. Virgil made a noncommittal grunt to acknowledge Remus’s existence before paying full attention to whatever the hell he was watching.

“Thanks for the love, Virgil,” Remus stated sarcastically as he sat on the opposite side of the couch and tangled his legs with Virgil’s. “I feel like a worm being picked off a sidewalk by a snotty toddler.”

Virgil looked up and saw the bags under Remus’s eyes, which seemed to be competing with his eyeshadow. His eyebrows furrowed with concern. Remus didn’t make as bad a metaphor as he normally would… Not even a single curse word. He was off his game. “Rem... Bad day?”

Remus nodded and fell on top of Virgil. “Just play with my hair until the sleep deprivation takes me.”

So he did. Virgil liked keeping busy to fight his anxiety and Remus’s love language happened to be physical touch. It kind of worked out. Remus didn’t like talking about his bad days and would go to cuddles and hair braiding for comfort. Truth be told, outside all his sex jokes, he just kind of wanted to be held… All the time. Virgil eventually carried Remus into their bed and they just lied there. Virgil used to tell stories of all the crazy shit he had done that day but it stopped after he stopped going outside.

Virgil had asthma and as a result, was a high-risk person for the virus. A high-risk person and an essential worker in one apartment was kind of scary, to say the least, but they made it work. Remus took care of his hygiene and avoided touching people as much as he could. But they were both tired. Tired of all the shit that was happening. Social distancing was important and Remus knew that… He got that he was stupid and reckless and he should take this seriously. But when he wasn’t laughing at COVID-19 he risked crying about it.

Remus cuddled into Virgil, hiding his face in his chest. He mumbled into Virgil’s shirt that couldn’t be deciphered.

“What’s that?” Virgil asked with a raised eyebrow.

His boyfriend looked up at him with a grumpy look on his face. Virgil gave a soft smile while Remus groaned. “Stop it. I’m mad… Mad at the government. They are making me mad. I want to dismember them like a doll redesigner…” He furrowed his eyebrows. Something seemed off with his choice of words. “Doll recreator? Doll… Like those people who take ugly dolls and change them into a different doll.”

Virgil tucked Remus’s hair back out of his face to gain his attention sneakily. “I’m sure you can find another metaphor to say that you want anarchy.”

“Sure I can, but I feel like you would prefer to hear about dismembering dolls than babies,” Remus said, seeing Virgil’s nose wrinkle. He sat up more on Virgil’s legs. “See I was right, now if I only knew the fucking word that would be epic… Whatever, I’ll move on eventually. I’m mad at the government like… Like everyone is mad at Jeff Bezos. Everyone agrees he sucks but he’s too rich to do anything about it.” Remus fell back on Virgil. “I just wish we were safer. From a lot of things but right now, I want you to be safe from that stupid plague.”

“I will be safe,” Virgil stopped, considering his own anxieties. He had no guarantee that he would be safe and he was fucking terrified of Remus and his friends getting hurt. But banding together and taking everything in slowly was better than being too scared to breathe. “Actually no, I don’t know if I will be safe. But I do know that you’re trying your goddamn best to keep me safe. And I trust you. I trust that you’re going to keep me safe, even if the world’s a mess.”

“I trust you too,” Remus whispered. “You’re keeping me sane and forcing me to make healthy choices I probably wouldn’t have made if I was living alone. I trust that you’re going to live and we’re both going to be okay.”

That was the end of their talking. Virgil kept cradling Remus until he eventually fell asleep. That’s when he decided to carry him to their bed. He didn’t have much to do anymore. The highlight of his days is usually when Remus comes home and even then Remus is so drained he almost always passes out soon after. Virgil eventually got out of bed to make their dinner. He would wake up Remus later. Right now he needed a mental break from everything that was happening. Virgil breathed in and made a small serving of spaghetti. He wasn’t much of a cook but knew enough to avoid eating microwavable soup for every meal.

Virgil looked back at the bedroom door and sighed. He wished that he could make Remus happier. This whole situation was shitty and he felt bad that he couldn’t help pay rent anymore. His job had been closed for a long time. Which was good, even if it didn’t feel like it. Still shitty that he didn’t know if he’d come out of this with a job. Resisting the urge to cry, Virgil decided to wake up Remus.

“Hey, Remus?” Virgil got a ‘what the fuck?’ back followed by a loud thump. Virgil quickly opened the door to see that Remus had fallen out the bed. He rolled his eyes and went to help him up by extending his arm. “Wow, I didn’t know that knocking on doors scared you so much.”

Remus took his hand and shakily stood up. “I didn’t know you were such a bitch.” He gave a pointed look and Virgil held his hands up in surrender with a laugh, clearly not that sorry. “So what are we having for dinner, Virge, a plate of dicks?”

“A plate of spaghetti, actually. And you better hurry up or I might just accidentally lose your portion.”

“You say that as if I won’t just steal your food.”

Either way, the two were handling quarantine the best that they could. Hand in hand with horrible jokes sliding off their lips. What a bunch of dorks. Remus called the food shitty but Virgil knew he appreciated the food. Remus could cook under no circumstances and he had been banned from basically all kitchens after setting fire to the microwave twice last year. At least at Virgil’s place, Remus could eat more than takeout food. The day ended with them on the couch binging their twelfth show together.

They were both tired, restless, and scared, but at least they were tired, restless, and scared without being alone.

Taglist: @roseyturtles @g4ym3rg0rl @cautionary-lie @kriere @cascoal

#dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #COVID-19 #coronavirus #roman mention #emile writes #quarantined together #not a creative name #i don't know how to write these characters #but i tried #ooc tbh #im so sorry i butchered them

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pufflyhallows · 5 years

Text

Comforting Enough

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Request: May I request an imagine where George and the reader have been close for many years, her father being friends with the Weasley’s. The reader and George obviously have feelings for eachother, but they’ve never confessed. When Fred and George leave she is still at hogwarts, cause shes a year younger. But, the reader gets into a serious relationship with someone else, until she gets hurt or cheated on. Cut to now, where they meet again at the Burrow when Harry is being moved ? Thank u!💛

a/n: I took the movie as reference, hope you don’t mind. Also, I think it got this long because I had to go through a few events to be as close to canon as possible. Thanks again for requesting it, I loved the idea!

Warnings: angsty, mentions of death and blood.

Word count: 4,898

********

You hugged your pillow tight and let out all the tears you had been holding during the way back to your dorm.

How could he do that to you? You had always been there for him. Always! You didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that.

The thought of how unfair it was only made you cry even more.

Why had he done that to you? You couldn’t understand. He said... he said he loved you. But that wasn’t love. That couldn’t be love.

The scene went through your eyes again. The sharp feeling of a knife being dug into your heart was too intense.

It was just before the last class of the day. You had seen him at lunch, you had shared a short kiss, you had gone separate ways. A perfectly normal day.

But you heard giggles coming from the second floor girls’ lavatory on your way to the last class. You, being the Head Girl, had to go there and see if Moaning Myrtle was being teased by the students or something of the sort. You would never think that what you were about to see was your boyfriend shamelessly making out with a girl. A girl that wasn’t you. A girl that was sitting on the sinks with her legs wrapped around your boyfriend’s hips.

You froze on the spot. You wanted to turn around and leave. You wanted to run as fast as you could, but your feet were glued to the ground. You could only watch the scene with your mouth dry.

It was only when the girl saw you and parted the kiss that you were able to turn around and run to your dorm. You guessed your boyfriend saw you leaving too, because the last thing you heard was him yelling at the girl.

“You said no one comes here!”

And now there you were. The tears fell down so quickly, you thought they would never stop.

Your chest felt so tight, the room so small, the bed so cold...

But the worst part of it all was the fact that you had no one to call. You couldn’t think of a single person you could go to at that moment. There was no shoulder to cry on. Well, of course there was someone in your mind, though. But that someone wasn’t here anymore. And, God, did it hurt.

It hurt because you knew if that someone was still here, you wouldn’t be going through that. How many times had he warned you about the boy you insisted in dating? How many letters had he sent you saying you deserved better? Saying that boy wasn’t the one for you? Saying he would hurt you?

And how many letters had you sent back saying you were the one who knew what was best for you? And that he had lost the right to say those things when he left?

One. Only one.

George didn’t write back after that.

Your crying got even more intense as you thought about what happened between you and your best friend. You had no one to cry to anymore. You had no one to hold you until the pain went away. You had no one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your seventh year in Hogwarts was the hardest school year you had ever been through. You caught your boyfriend cheating on you with a younger girl just weeks shy of graduation, but that didn’t compare to the death of your headmaster Albus Dumbledore and the small battle that took place in Hogwarts just before that. It was the scariest moment of your life and when you truly realized you were in a war, leaving you completely lost and on the verge of despair.

Once you were back home, you felt uncertain of your future as the fear of losing your loved ones was taking over you.

The long weeks went by and you saw your father going out often while your mother spent her days making sure all the protection spells worked. She was starting to become obsessed with it and you were worried about her, but you didn’t know what to do. You were spending your days almost like her. Though instead of protection spells, your obsession was the news. Every day you read the news terrified of seeing a known name on the missing people list... or worse.

You wanted to do something to help, and although your father agreed you were old enough to fight, your mother always rejected the idea, keeping you home.

One day, you were surprised by the visit of Arthur Weasley. It was strange to realize that you had missed him very much. You wanted to be part of the conversation he was having with your father, but your mother kept you in the kitchen with her, saying they needed privacy.

When they were finished and Mr. Weasley left, your father had a puzzled look on his face. You wondered what they had talked about specifically, although you knew it was the war.

The next day, your father came to your room and, for your shock, said you would have to leave.

“It’s not safe enough here,” he said, holding your hand, “You’ll stay at the Burrow, with the Weasleys. I’m sure you’ll feel at home there.”

Of course you would. You had basically grown up there.

“Yes, but what about you and mom?”

“We’ll be okay. Don’t worry,” he gave you a smile, but that didn’t stop you from worrying at all. “Arthur brought me a Portkey. You’ll use it this evening.”

“This evening?! Dad, I don’t understand. Why aren’t you coming with me?” you frowned, confused.

“Your mother and I have work to do here,” he answered with a more serious expression, “You’ll be safer there.”

“When will I see you again?” you asked, realizing you had no choice.

“Soon. Now pack what you need and be ready.”

You nodded and your father left the room. Although you didn’t quite understand why you had to leave or why you would be safer at the Burrow, you did as your father said and packed what you needed.

Soon enough you were standing at his office and staring at an old book on the floor, holding your suitcase. Both of your parents were there with you, your father’s arm around your mother’s shoulder.

“In a minute, darling,” your father spoke.

“I love you,” your mother said, holding back tears.

“I love you too. Both of you,” you replied.

“We’ll meet again,” your father stated, refusing to take part in the farewell. He looked at his watch one more time and nodded, “Be ready.”

You took a deep breath and tightened the grip on your suitcase’s handle.

You didn’t remember hearing your father’s signal or touching the old book. All you remembered was feeling a hook pulling you back strongly. You closed your eyes as you felt really dizzy and only opened them again once your feet were firm on the ground.

You looked around and recognized the living room you were in. It didn’t take long for you to see Mrs. Weasley rushing from the kitchen.

“Oh, Y/N! You’re just in time! Thank Merlin,” she approached you with her arms open to give you a tight hug, “Welcome, dear.”

“Thank you, aunt Molly.”

“They haven’t arrived yet. I’m waiting with Ginny,” she took the suitcase from your hand and walked towards the stairs. You followed her. “I know they still have time, but you know what a mother’s heart is like. I will only calm down when my four boys come back here safely. And Arthur, of course.”

“Um... Where are they?”

Mrs. Weasley stopped in the middle of the corridor and looked at you.

“You don’t know?”

You shook your head.

“Your parents didn’t tell you?”

You shook your head again, slightly upset for being left out.

“Oh, well. They are moving Harry,” she continued her way to Ginny’s room, “Alastor came up with this nearly crazy plan to bring him. Insanely dangerous! I didn’t agree with it, of course, but do they listen to me? Not ever.”

“Fred and... George are there too?” you asked. It was the first time in months you said those names aloud. You felt weird, actually. And sad. Those names rolled out of your tongue as if you were talking about strangers, or at least two people you met in a different life. Either way, you felt sad.

“Yes. They are out there with Arthur, Bill and Ron. Can’t blame me for being worried, huh?”

“No, I cannot,” you shook your head, feeling worried as well, “Who else is with them?”

“Alastor, of course, along with Fleur, Remus, Nymphadora, Hagrid, Hermione, Kingsley and Mundungus.”

You felt your worry slightly fade away as you heard those names. You would trust those people with your life if needed. Your father was friends with Mad-Eye Moody and you were well aware of his incredible reputation. But you knew you couldn’t be completely relaxed though, given the risks of the mission, and you felt your guts twirl once you thought about your friends facing Death Eaters. However, you didn’t have to worry about that, they wouldn’t have to face anyone that night, they were just moving Harry.

“Ginny?” Mrs. Weasley opened the door, allowing you to see Ginny staring at her window with her arms crossed. “Y/N is here.”

“Hey,” you waved at her.

Ginny quickly walked up to you and hugged you almost just as tight as her mother had.

“It’s really good to see you, Y/N,” she whispered, sounding relieved.

“It’s good to see you too, little one,” you breathed, realizing how much you had missed her, even though you had seen each other in Hogwarts weeks before.

You had always seen Ginny as your best friend’s little sister, hence the nickname you gave her, but after she caught you crying in the Common Room at two in the morning and stayed with you until you were able to go to bed, you started seeing her as a friend. Even though you weren’t really close, she comforted you and made sure you were okay before leaving you alone again. You couldn’t expect that from many people.

“We should wait for them downstairs, girls,” Mrs. Weasley said as she placed your suitcase on the bed, “It’s almost time.”

You and Ginny went to the living room, while Mrs. Weasley decided to stay in the kitchen, where she would be closer to the entrance door.

With each and every sound you heard outside, you felt your heart sinking in. You were trying to push those thoughts away, but it was impossible. What if George didn’t come back? What if something happened to him? Of course you were worried about every single person in that mission, but... George had your heart in his hands. He had it ever since your thirteenth birthday and he would have it forever. You loved him deeply, no matter how many times you had tried to fool yourself by going out with different people and even being in a serious relationship with a boy that wasn’t good to you, which turned out hurting you badly.

You shouldn’t have sent that letter to George. Those couldn’t be your last words to him. They won’t be, you thought. But you couldn’t stop the regret from flooding your mind as you remembered one specific part of the letter.

You don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t go out with. I know what’s best for me and if I want to go out with Pete, I will. You don’t know him like I do.

You were embarrassed. You didn’t think you would be able to look George in the eyes now. Did he know Pete had cheated on you? Had Ginny told him? Should you ask her? Probably not. It wasn’t time for that. She was worried about truly important things at that moment.

But you couldn’t help it. You kept wondering. Was George upset with you? He didn’t write back after that letter, which meant you two hadn’t talked to each other for several months now. You missed him very much, but you had no idea of how you were going to fix things. That is, if you could fix things.

Suddenly, you heard a noise outside, the loudest in that night. You and Ginny jumped from the couch and ran to the front yard, where Mrs. Weasley welcomed Hagrid and Harry.

Ginny ran to the boy and threw her arms around his neck.

“Where are the others?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Is no one else back?” Harry questioned.

You shook your head, biting your lower lip nervously.

Hagrid started explaining to Mrs. Weasley what had happened to them, while Ginny and Harry talked to each other. You wanted to give them privacy, so you followed Hagrid and Mrs. Weasley inside.

“We didn’t stand a chance, Molly,” Hagrid said, once the three of you were in the kitchen, “The Death Eaters were waiting for us. It was an ambush.”

You felt cold in your core. The fear you had been trying to push away finally took over your entire being. You needed to sit down, or else you would fall.

An ambush.

“Quick! Into the house!” you heard the familiar voice of your former teacher Remus Lupin coming from the front yard. You ran to the entrance door and opened it to let the people inside. What you didn’t expect to see was George covered in blood being held by Lupin and Harry.

“My boy!” Mrs. Weasley cried, “My boy.”

Professor Lupin and Harry laid George down on the couch. You watched it all from the kitchen door, too shocked to even breathe properly. Your hands were shaking and your core felt so cold... You didn’t know what to do. Worrying about the whole Pete situation seemed so silly and insignificant now.

You didn’t remember seeing the others arrive, but with a blink of an eye you saw Fred kneeling down in front of George, everyone else watching with worried expressions.

“How do you feel, Georgie?” Mrs. Weasley whispered.

George’s fingers groped for the side of his head.

“Saintlike,” he murmured.

“What’s wrong with him?” Fred croaked, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?”

“Saintlike,” George repeated, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see... I’m holey, Fred, get it?”

You chuckled silently, feeling a tear roll down your cheek. But you quickly wiped it as you saw Tonks looking at you curiously.

Fred laughed quietly. “The whole wide world of ear-related humor, and you go for ‘I’m holey’? It’s pathetic.”

“Reckon I’m still better looking than you,” George smiled weakly.

You smiled to yourself after hearing that. He was still the same George you had grown up with and fallen for. The same George that had taught you how to fly on a broomstick and how to play Quidditch and Exploding Snap. The same George you had shared your deepest secrets with. The same George.

You were gathering the courage to get closer to him and let him see you, but you were completely disarmed when Bill announced the bad news.

“Mad-Eye is dead.”

The room instantly fell in silence. You could see the usual sparkle in Tonks’ eyes fading away.

“Mundungus took one look at Voldemort and disapparated,” Bill added in a low voice.

No one dared to say a word. Everyone seemed to be completely in shock. You didn’t move one muscle, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared a sad glance, Ginny looked down at her feet, Fleur got closer to Bill, Tonks placed her hand on Lupin’s and slowly every person in that room felt the reality hitting them.

The sad atmosphere was almost unbearable, the silence deafening.

You crossed your arms above your chest in an attempt of holding yourself tight.

And it was just the beginning...

After a while, the people in the room started leaving. Some passed by you and went to the kitchen, some went outside, others went to their own rooms... Until it was just you, Mrs. Weasley and the twins.

George couldn’t see you from where he was, since Fred was in the way. Mrs. Weasley was caressing her son’s hair with one hand and trying to clean the blood with the other. You hesitantly approached the couch, seeing that George had his eyes closed, and touched Mrs. Weasley’s trembling hand.

“Let me do it,” you asked softly.

George instantly opened his eyes at the sound of your voice. You didn’t meet them as you didn’t think you were strong enough to do so. You took the handkerchief from Mrs. Weasley’s hand and told her to rest. She didn’t reject the idea and soon left the room as well, being followed by Fred, who understood the importance of that moment for you and his brother.

You could feel George’s eyes piercing you, but you ignored them. You sat by his side on the couch and focused on his injury, softly wiping the blood with the kerchief.

“Didn’t think I would see you tonight,” he whispered once you two were completely alone.

“And I didn’t think I would see you like this tonight,” you replied in the same volume.

“What? More handsome?”

You smiled, finally meeting his eyes. You didn’t expect them to be so sad, though.

Your heart skipped beats as he blinked. There was so much you wanted to tell him, so much you wanted to hear from him...

“I...” you tried to say the things you were thinking, but you didn’t find the right words. It was all too crowded in your mind, and suddenly your body expressed what you were feeling in the only way it could: you started to cry.

It was quietly and discretely, but it was still crying. You wiped the tears with the back of your hand and sniffed, trying to make it look like less than what it truly was.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly, “I’m okay.”

“I’m so sorry, George. So sorry,” you shook your head, “I was so stupid. I’m sorry.”

George looked at you, slightly furrowing his brows. He seemed hesitant and unsure, like he was fighting a battle in his head. What you didn’t know was that that battle wasn’t new to him and he had fought it many times before.

But when George saw you wiping one more tear, he left all that hesitation behind and let go of his uncertainty. He sat up on the couch and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. Maybe you should have been more rational than him, maybe you should have told him to lay down again. But you didn’t do that. You hugged him back and at that moment you let out everything.

You were completely vulnerable, as you always were around him, and broke down immediately, crying like never before. It was all too much for you. And even though you felt safe in his arms, you knew that war was far from ending and that you would be really lucky if the people you loved didn’t get hurt again.

George, on the other hand, felt grateful. He was happy to be hugging you again and to be feeling your soft skin against his, even if it was such a brief touch. He felt his worries fading away, his fears disappearing, the war being reduced to a headache. Your embrace was peaceful, warm and gentle. It was perfect. And it smelled really good, like home.

“Shh, I’m here,” he whispered while he slowly stroked your hair, still holding you strongly, “I’m okay.”

“I was so scared,” you said between sobs, against the clean part of his shirt, “I thought you were-”

“Shh, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, George.”

“It’s okay,” he repeated.

“I should be comforting you. Not the other way around,” you let go of him and wiped your tears once again.

“You are here with me. You are safe. Alive,” he said, looking in your eyes, “That’s comforting enough.”

You tried to give him a smile, but your chest felt too tight for that. Instead, you reached for his face and caressed his cheek, trying desperately to let him know how much you cared for him, how much you loved him.

“Lay down,” you whispered, realizing he was still bleeding, “I’ll put a bandage on your ear.”

“You mean my non-existent ear?” George raised an eyebrow as he laid back on the couch.

“You’ll have two non-existent ears if you keep teasing me,” you warned, already conjuring the stuff you would need for the wound dressing.

George smiled. “I missed you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up the next morning sweating. You had a nightmare of which you couldn’t remember the exact details, but you could feel it had something to do with your parents. You rubbed your eyes and realized they were wet. Great, you had been crying in your sleep.

You looked around noticing you were alone in Ginny’s room, which meant you were the last one to wake up. You didn’t understand why the girls had been up so early until you realized what day it was. You jumped from the bed and rushed to the bathroom to take a quick shower and get ready. It was Bill and Fleur’s wedding and you couldn’t be late.

Fortunately, your father had told you about the wedding and you had packed a dress for the occasion. You hoped your parents would make it to the party, but you highly doubted it.

Soon enough, you were walking down the stairs fully dressed up and entered the living room. There was no one there. You spun on your heels to go to the kitchen but stopped when you heard Ginny’s voice.

“Zip me up, will you?”

You walked slowly to the door and looked at the kitchen’s interior, seeing Ginny and Harry in there. The girl had her dress unzipped on the back, that was facing the boy. He hesitantly walked up to her and started zipping it.

You blushed when you realized how intimate that moment was. You were about to step back and stop creeping on them when you saw George coming in at the other side.

“’Morning,” he said, raising his cup of tea at them and completely ruining their moment.

You sighed, but a chuckle slipped out of your mouth. Typical.

You had to do something, though.

“Hey, George,” you greeted him as you entered the kitchen. “Oh, hey, Ginny. Harry,” you nodded at them, pretending you hadn’t seen them before. “Could you come with me, Georgie? I need your help.”

The younger twin narrowed his eyes at you but gave in, following you outside.

“Yes?” he asked once you were in the front yard, “What is it?”

“Nothing. I couldn’t let you get in their way,” you shook your head.

He sighed deeply. “I should’ve known.”

“Probably,” you agreed, smiling.

Only at that moment George was able to actually look at you and take in what he was seeing. You looked absolutely beautiful. Like always! But this time was different. You were both older and you were basically two grown ups now. It had been a long time since he had last seen you. Your hair was slightly longer, he noticed in his mind.

His eyes trailed down your entire figure until they curiously stopped on your left hand. Suddenly, they seemed sad, grey.

“Is he coming?” he asked.

You frowned. “Who?”

“Pete,” he pointed at your hand. You looked at it and saw the silver ring on your ring finger. A ring that your father had given you for your eighteenth birthday, but George didn’t know that.

“No, he’s not,” you answered, feeling your throat tighten. “We’re not together anymore.”

Something shifted in George’s eyes and you couldn’t tell what it was. You felt your mouth slightly dry as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“Oh,” he said, “What happened?”

“What you said it would. He hurt me,” your voice broke at the last sentence, although you weren’t going to cry. You cleared your throat, realizing the atmosphere around you two had suddenly become serious.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah... me too,” you nodded, “I shouldn’t have pushed you away like I did. You didn’t deserve that, you were just trying to protect me.”

“Maybe I was too invasive? You had the right to react the way you did. I could’ve been mistaken, since I was mainly acting out of...”

Jealousy. Acting out of jealousy. But George wasn’t going to admit that so easily.

“Well, I didn’t really know how to deal with the distance,” he concluded.

“Me neither. I felt so lonely in that castle, George. You have no idea,” you breathed, “But no, you weren’t mistaken.”

George nodded, looking down at his feet. Was it too selfish to admit that he was slightly glad that you weren’t with Pete anymore? He felt guilty for it, but he couldn’t avoid it. He still remembered the letter you sent him talking about Pete for the first time. He remembered feeling helpless and lost, like he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He knew Pete, the charming Ravenclaw that every girl in Hogwarts had a crush on. Of course the boy would ask you out, he would be crazy if he didn’t. But George had been almost sure it would end up with your heart broken. Pete had a reputation and it looked like you were ignoring it.

Now, seeing that he was right and it did end up with you being hurt, he felt guilty. Guilty because he could’ve done more to protect you. He could’ve ignored your angry letter and visited you when you went home for Christmas. He could’ve been there for you more. But no. He let his pride take over him and didn’t write to you again.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N.”

“Well, it’s over now. And I’m okay. Ginny was great, I don’t know how I would have carried on if it wasn’t for her.”

“Oh, I see,” George nodded, “That’s why suddenly you decided to help her?”

You chuckled. “The only way to have a friend is to be one.”

“Yeah,” he looked down again, “I should’ve had that in mind.”

“Stop, George,” you moved closer to him, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve been there for you.”

“I pushed you away.”

“I should’ve known better.”

“You couldn’t.”

“I love you.”

You froze.

You had said you loved each other countless times before, but it sounded so different this time. You felt it was different. You felt it had more meaning behind it.

Or were you overreading it?

You didn’t care.

“I love you too,” you said, hoping he would feel the same thing you felt when you heard it from him.

The sadness you had seen in his eyes minutes before was now gone. It was replaced by a sparkle you hadn’t seen in over a year, the same sparkle he had in his eyes when his pranks worked the way he wanted.

George slowly took your hand in his and started playing with your ring.

“I-”

“George! Over here! We could use some help!” Bill waved at his brother from across the yard. You both looked at him, realizing that the men were setting the tent for the wedding.

“I should go there,” he sighed. “Or maybe I could use my injury to stay here,” he looked at you as if he had just had the most brilliant idea.

“No,” you chuckled, letting go of his hand, “It wouldn’t be right, they need your help.”

“I knew you would never be the same again after becoming Head Girl,” he shook his head.

“Hey!” you protested, “You didn’t even see me in action.”

“But I’d bet a hundred galleons that it was something like this,” he smiled, “Always playing by the book, never having fun...”

“I had my fun,” you shrugged it off.

“Sure.”

“I did!”

“Okay.”

“Weasley!”

“Don’t say it too loud, otherwise everyone will answer,” he smiled, “And I don’t believe you. I don’t think you had fun without me.”

“You are so entitled, aren’t you?” you shook your head in disbelief, but your smirk contradicted your line. “Go set the tent.”

“Will you still be here when I come back?” he asked, half-joking.

“Always,” you replied truthfully.

********

Bonus Part

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fic #george weasley angst #george weasley fluff #fred weasley #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #hogwarts #gryffindor #slytherin #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #random tag #i'm stupid

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marshmallowprotection · 4 years

Note

I am so lost it’s not even funny

After finally menaging to get my mother to get me to see a psy, we went to the first seance this morning.

I’ve learned stuff I wasn’t aware of (like, I wasn’t actually wanted until she actually had me but I guess, okay, that J was S’s twin-sister and not my oldest sister’s, C, etc) and remembered stuff I forgot (I threatened suicide when I had problems with my genitor again during a week-end & actually tried because I was just that miserable, well you know the drill). I answer all the questions seriously, even questions like ‘how do you feel about school’ and stuff, EVEN in front of my mother which I never do because I legitimately feel scared at the idea of doing so given how she reacts to stuff, usually.

So like, that was useful. And my mother didn’t show any sign of being annoyed, or mad, or anything during the session. Which, was surprising, but okay. I’m willing to accept it.

Then we got out, and she was considerably colder. I asked her if she was okay, she said yes, then changed the subject. (I clearly saw that she wasn’t doing well, and we had a convo about the fact that we aren’t honest with each other, her being the first person to say that she isn’t honest with me because I’m not. Spoiler: I was honest during the session, she wasn’t with me afterwards. So like, fuck it I guess.)

Stuff goes okay afterwards though I was scared shitless in the caf, we come back home, there’s her boyfriend awake this time, so I feel safer. Because she’s the kind of people to never show others what happens with me and her when it’s negative (her insulting me, gaslighting me, you named it), so I knew that with him around I was safe. (Besides I had talked to him about how my mother was in those times, so he had some ideas of what happened. He even told me to not hesitate sending him a sign if my mother went batshit crazy at me again, so that’s a plus.)

Then the afternoon rolls by, she goes to horse-ride like she always does on this day, and when she comes back she’s still cold towards me and I now felt bad and unsafe again, because by then her boyfriend had went to work.

And you named it, she ask to talk with me, which I accept (while still being terribly scared by it). And she basically gets mad at me because I was honest in therapy session (saying I didn’t like school, that I missed my old friends, that even if my last school was shit I was still attached to it) and even used against me the fact that we’ve talked thursday and that ‘things seemed to be better.’ Better when there was still all the things she’s said and done to me those past years, as though a small conversation could make things ‘normal’ again (normal is a bad thing to say because with her normal is her being okayish most of the times and having bad crisis but I don’t have any other term).

She used against me the fact that I don’t trust her enough to say everything, and that there’s someone else I trust better. My best friend. He fucking saved me times and times again, when I tried to kill myself he’s the one who helped me not to do it, he always listens to me when I need it, he never tells me ‘but I’m not okay either you know!’ when I talk about how I feel, he’s the person I love the most on this entire world and she can’t stop criticizing him, always putting all the blame on him, saying that he’s the reason I’m how I am, that he’s a terrible influence on me, that he makes his parents’ life’s hell when they’re not the greatest persons either, calling him by his deadname. She fucking told me that I should just stop talking to him but I could never do that, he’s just the reason I’m not dead already and the fact that she’s like that about him makes me miserable. He’s such a wonderful guy I just can’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t be friends with him. We’ve had our couple downsides sure, but not only on his part, I was an asshole too and he never hated me for it.

And after she fucking left to the bathroom and when I followed her she just started to cry and kept blaming me. She compared me to someone else AGAIN, C, my oldest sister, by saying that she ‘didn’t want it to happen again’ after telling me that I had the right to be my own person with my own personality.

I don’t even look like her that much so who do I look like most? My fucking genitor, and she hates him. So does that mean she hates me too? Will I never be my own person? Will I forever be stuck in someone else’s shadow?

I feel like I’m hated and loved, hated because I look like him, loved because of J, as always, and this never ending combination of ‘I love you’ and ‘I hate you, you disgust me’ is just killing me. I don’t even know what I should feel towards myself, should I love, or hate myself? Should I just destroy that fucking body she hates so much? Why is she never satisfied with me?

I don’t even know how I should feel towards her anymore either. Does she love me? She’s put on hold years of her life to take care of me, gives me food and a bed, sends me to a private school. Does she hate me? I never feel like I’m enough for her, that I disgust her, that she feels annoyed at the idea of having to give things to me. Does she really means her ‘I love you’s’? Are the nicknames she gives me a real thing, or just a fucking make-believe shit?

I don’t even know what to do anymore

She said again that she would rather die because her place wasn’t here. It’s been 22 years since J’s death and she still thinks she would prefer going to a person I don’t even fucking know or care about rather than staying with me, so what does that mean? What does that mean for me?

She’s not even thinking about her boyfriend, my other sisters, no one. 22 years for fuck’s sake. And she’s still the most important thing in her life? Just fuck myself then I guess!

I’m genuinely not okay and I don’t know what to do anymore

TW: Depression, Self-Harm, Suicide

I think the most important thing that you should know is that you’re a kid and it is not your job to fix anything. You don’t have to keep everything together. That’s not for you to do. The adult in your life and the people around you are the ones that are supposed to ensure that you are safe, warm, and okay, no matter what happens. You are not the one at fault. You never were. She’s the one that is at fault because she is blaming you for something that isn’t your fault out of her anger and grief.

Sincerely, do not blame yourself here because you are not at fault. Do not harm yourself, either. It solves nothing, only hurts you, and pushes you into a very dark space that is hard to crawl out of without the right support system in your field to help you get by as you fight for yourself to feel better every single day because it can get better and you will feel better. It just takes time and finding the right people in your life.

When you become an adult, you can leave and never look back at them or this relationship, you can build a new family of friends and so on and I swear to you that it will be better and it will feel better because it’s your choice.

When it comes to your sister, she has a lot of her own problems that she needs to work on. That’s not your job. She has to do that. It’s not on you. That, even more, being said, I want you to know that your mother shouldn’t do that either, because she’s trying to manipulate you, shame you, and gaslight you with this. Do not apologize for being honest. You need to honest in therapy, and the more you are, the more help you can get. Honestly? Bring this up in therapy. If you feel in physical or emotional danger, your therapist can and will help you get out of this.

There is no normal. Your mother just wants you to be quiet and let her do what she wants, no matter what that means. She wants to control you and use you as far as I can tell here, I’m merely guessing, but I know parents like this and this is a red flag.

You are your own person.

Even if your mother didn’t want you, don’t think that you shouldn’t be alive or have been born. You matter. Your existence matters. You have worth. I know it hurts, because parents are supposed to love you and care about you, and yes, this is going to be a long road for you, because learning that your parents are not holy being or inherently good takes time to unlearn. Once you realize that you’ve been abused or harmed, it takes years to accept and years to figure out what that means for you. Do you cut that person off forever? Do you accept an apology or do you try to work past it?

It’s a personal choice, but my heart says that I would leave and not look back when I could. But, you’re still stuck in this spot for some time, even if you can get some help to get out. I sincerely implore you to talk more with the therapist and let them know what’s going on, find proof, record abuse if you can (check the recording laws, do you have a one party consent state or two party), screencap online logs, etc.

Don’t hesitate to protect yourself.

You don’t deserve to be mistreated or abused. Stay safe. Always remember that you are loved by your friends and even strangers! I care about you and I want you to be able to feel happy again, no matter what that takes. If you need any resources specifically for your state or area, I can try to help you find those, but the therapist can help you firsthand.

If the emotional manipulation is this bad, it could get worse the more you try to get better for yourself. Take a deep breath. Believe in yourself. Know that you have strength. Never forget that you matter no matter what someone says about you. Your life is your own. You don’t owe them anything. Nothing. All you owe is yourself and your happiness.

Stay strong. I’m always here.

#distoartion #ask #tw self harm #tw depression #tw suicide #mod kait

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thetimelesscycle · 3 years

Text

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 7

Douxie ignores the rules of time travel. Archie is in over his head, but that's never stopped him from helping his familiar before, and it's not going to stop him now.

Chapter 7

There and Back Again (Again)

From the moment he had decided that the child offering him breadcrumbs in an alleyway was his, Archibald had known that he would be responsible for the life of his wizard. Douxie had been far too young to fend for himself, already half starved when Archie found him, unaware that the meagre magic he was using to keep himself warm was only further draining his body’s empty reserves. If chance hadn’t led him down that alleyway when it had... If Douxie hadn’t been enamoured enough with his feline form to come out of hiding... If they had missed each other that night... If Fate hadn’t conspired to put them both exactly where they needed to be when they needed to be there, then the bright young boy he had grown so deeply fond of over the years would have died; Alone and forgotten by a world that didn’t deserve him.

He hadn’t been ready for the responsibility. A green familiar and a child sorcerer were a disaster in the making, or so his father had told him. The great ‘Charlemagne the Devourer’ had then proceeded to bury him in a mountain of books ostensibly meant to teach him how to properly mind his wizard, because it was ‘too late to back out now, Archie my boy, you’re stuck with the thing’. Refusing to introduce his familiar to his father after the fact might have been a little petty, but he was a dragon; They were known for that sort of thing.

And he had managed just fine, thank you very much. Admittedly, there had been missteps — neither of them were the most proficient in their respective areas of expertise just yet, and Douxie had the worst timing when it came to magical accidents — but they had learned and grown through every narrowly averted disaster. He could still clearly remember nights spent together around a campfire lit by his dragon’s breath, pouring over the smudged and torn pages of some rescued spellbook or scroll, listening to Douxie uncertainly sound out the words as he patiently corrected his familiar’s pronunciation and filled in what blanks he could with knowledge gleaned from his father’s library.

It hadn’t been much, but they’d made do, and every peril faced had been worth it to see the beaming smile on his boy’s face as the cyan light danced about his fingers in another mastered spell.

And there had been perils. Many of them. His boy was gifted in a world where it was rapidly becoming dangerous to be so, hunted by those who wished to destroy his kind as well as those who wished to use them. Even the few other casters they met always seemed just a little too eager when they realised what the young wizard was capable of, particularly given his age, to the point where Archie had started steering them away from such individuals. There was conflict brewing between the mortal and the magical realms; He wasn’t going to let his familiar get mixed up in it if he could help it. Douxie would not be either side’s weapon, not so long as Archie had a say, and shadows take anyone who thought differently.

He hadn’t counted on Camelot, or Merlin, or on Douxie becoming the Master Wizard’s apprentice. It had been hard to decide whether they were safer here or out there, and he’d known it would be more difficult to leave the longer they stayed. Not because of Merlin’s instruction — whilst it was valuable, Douxie had learned just as many spells with Archie’s help as he had the Master Wizard’s, if a lot less smoothly — but because the young wizard had found something here that he was desperate to hold onto, heedless of the fact his proximity to Merlin placed him right in the very middle of the burgeoning war.

Archie, on the other hand, had been all too aware of the brand new dangers they were courting in the place of the old. There wasn’t anything Merlin could offer them that would convince him to stay if it came to a choice between the Master Wizard’s patronage and Douxie’s well-being; The problem lay in the fact he was no longer sure Douxie would leave with him if he asked. He’d told himself he could find a way to persuade his familiar if he had to. He’d convinced himself that they could still vanish if the need arose. It was only now that he realised how naïve that had been.

Listening to Douxie speak — soft and cracked and so very tired — he understood there had never been a choice. A destiny like Douxie’s would follow him wherever he went, and Archie was left feeling rather small and inadequate in its shadow.

How was he supposed to protect his familiar from this?

Nine centuries. Nine centuries he had not yet lived and already their weight pressed upon his feline shoulders. He sat utterly still and listened as Douxie abbreviated a life lived throughout the ages into a paltry few paragraphs, trying to offer comfort for tragedies he had not yet seen. He was sure there was a lot Hisirdoux was leaving out — how could there not be? — and the worst came at the very end.

Eyes fixed on a distant point well beyond any part of Merlin’s rooms, Douxie stumbled his way through a strange tale of twisted time and the swift collapse of all that they now called home. He didn’t take the time to sugarcoat things, and Archie watched Morgana’s knuckles turn white and Merlin’s brow dip deep in consternation as both Master Wizards heard the tale of Camelot’s decline, Morgana’s betrayal, and the pitched battle for Killahead Bridge.

If only it had ended there.

There was a tremor in the hand resting against his back as Douxie pressed on, and Archie braced himself for darker things to come. The loss of another friend, corrupted by foul magic. A desperate, mad, Douxie plan that had come so close to working, if only his own shapeshifting had held for a few minutes longer. A fight that could never be fair, and a loss his familiar struggled to put into words even now.

It was Morgana who reached out when Douxie trailed off into silence. Merlin was sitting, rigid and unseeing, whilst his former student took the hand not currently resting on Archie’s back and gave it an encouraging squeeze. She followed it up with a crooked smile when Douxie raised his head, and that seemed to be enough to grant the young wizard the strength to continue.

“After that, Arch and I went after the Genesis Seals.” That snapped Merlin’s attention back to the present. Douxie didn’t seem to notice, reciting his life’s story like he was reading it from a dusty tome. “Everyone else was supposed to stay out of sight, safe, until we got back. But the Order found them. They took Nari and the others prisoner. To barter for the Seals.”

“Which, of course, you did not give them.”

Douxie winced. “Well, actually...”

“Hisirdoux!”

“It’s fine. It was fine, I mean. They wasted a bunch of time chasing their own tails whilst I got Nari and the others out, then I kept them busy whilst Morgana and Claire took care of Arthur and Jim.”

“Just like that, hmm?” Merlin had gone from aghast to incredulous in the space of a single breath. “And where did dying come into it, I wonder?”

“Yes. Right.” It was less of a wince and more of a complete sidestep this time. “Clearly I’m not dead, so I don’t think we need to bother with all of that. The important thing is I promised I would keep Nari safe from the Order. And I did. I kept Nari safe. The Order just went after everyone else.”

Archie had heard enough to realise what a terrible amount of sense that made. If their plan was to wipe the entire world clean and start over again, why would the Order hesitate to destroy a few mortal lives along the way? All they were doing was getting a head start on the apocalypse. After Douxie had already risked so much to save his friends, they must have known he wouldn’t stay in hiding whilst innocents paid the price.

“I wasn’t ready.” He could hear the self-reproach in those words, the guilt, and pressed himself harder against the hand nestled in his fur. “They used me against you. They used Claire and the others against me. I should have known they wouldn’t stop there. Why bother searching the planet for two people when you can just start picking off everyone they’ve ever known, one by one, and wait for them to arrive to stop you?”

Merlin pressed his lips together in a grim line. “The Order set a trap.”

“And I walked into it with my eyes open. I knew what was waiting for me in there. I wasn’t going to leave anyone else in their hands. We got a lot of people out before it all went horribly wrong.”

“Because those people didn’t matter to Skrael and Bellroc.” Merlin sounded odd, though Archie couldn’t quite place his paw on the why. “They were after you.”

“They were after Nari,” Douxie corrected. “I just happened to be in the way.”

Merlin dismissed that with a sharp flick of his hand. “They didn’t lay a trap for Nari, Hisirdoux; Easy enough to hunt her down after the fact. The Order was eliminating a threat.”

Douxie smiled, not looking the slightest bit amused. “Finally made an impression, and it was on the worst possible people. Figures.”

“I don’t understand.” Morgana might have gleaned her answers from all the madness they had seen during their journey into the Shadow Realm; Archie had not. “How did you end up here, like this?”

Douxie shuddered slightly, offering a stilted explanation. “When I went back for her, that first time, Nari told me the Order would rip my soul to pieces. She wasn’t... it wasn’t an exaggeration. They tried, and she got in the way.” One of his hands moved unconsciously to rest at his chest as he continued, an edge of fond frustration to his words. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. We agreed she would stay away. But she tried to pull me out, and so did Claire, and something… something went wrong. I don’t know. I wasn’t really in the best position to pay attention. Maybe it’s that whole Guardian of the Eternal Forest thing, or Bellroc’s spell messing with Nari’s, or Claire’s shadow magic, or a combination of all of those things. Either way, I’m here, apparently. Again.”

“But not in body,” Merlin pointed out, shifting his weight back slightly as he lifted a hand to rub his chin. “She sent your soul back in time.”

“If it’s any consolation, Master, I don’t think she was trying to.”

Merlin harrumphed loudly, but didn’t press his apprentice for further answers, turning his steely gaze onto Morgana instead. “And your thoughts?”

To her credit, Morgana didn’t shy away from admitting what they had both done. “The Shadow Realm is in disarray. There are windows, glimpses through time scattered everywhere. I think Douxie is right; The combination of all that magic in one place reacted in a way nobody could have predicted, the result being, well, this.”

Archie huffed slightly, “It sounds to me like all of us are just guessing at this point.”

This time, the smile reached Douxie’s eyes. “Welcome to the world of wizardry, Arch.”

“Indeed,” Merlin interrupted dryly. “Unfortunately, we are going to need a little more than educated guessing if we are going to set this right. We need to get you back to where you belong, sooner rather than later.”

“You want to send him back?” Archie whirled on the Master Wizard. “You can’t! They’ll just finish what they started.”

“Obviously, this is going to take some thought.” Merlin waved away his outrage. “We can hardly go knocking on the Arcane Order’s door and hope the Nari of this time is willing to tell us what she thinks happened.”

“What about the Arcane Order of his time?” Morgana pressed. “Archie is right. If we just return Douxie to where — when — he came from, we are practically handing the world over to them.”

“Oh, and I suppose you think we should rewrite all of history to prevent this apocalyptic future? A future it seems you played a rather large part in, might I add.”

“Master.”

“Don’t ‘Master’ me, Hisirdoux. It is the truth, and she knows it.”

“Yes, it is the truth.” Douxie was angry, the words running out fast and clipped. “She turned against Arthur to protect someone who doesn’t have a bad bone in his body, because you wouldn’t take five seconds to listen to me when I told you there was another way. She died for that mistake, the Arcane Order brought her back, and the rest is just the sort of bloody mess you can expect when the Order is involved. Arthur wasn’t any better once they had their hands on him. He’s the reason you’re not around in the future right now to help stop the world from ending. So maybe, just maybe, we could skip the part where we go around deciding who is to blame for what, and just figure out how to make sure the arcane apocalypse doesn’t actually happen.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed, except for the fact that Douxie’s breathing had taken on a strained note again. Archie glanced up at his familiar in time to catch the grimace that flashed across his face, and instantly lifted himself up to place his paws gently against the boy’s chest.

“Douxie? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He raised his hands to press their heels against his eyes, exhaling shakily. “Sorry, yes, I’m fine. It’s just… been a day. Or nine centuries in reverse. Or whatever you call it when your spirit decides to skip backwards in time.”

“You’re babbling, Doux.”

“I have been known to do that from time to time. It’s a thing. Ask Zoe. Or… don’t, I guess, seeing as you can’t.”

“I believe the apocalypse in nine hundred years can wait a few more hours,” Morgana interjected gently before his familiar’s rambling could get any worse. “We all need time to mull this over, and you need to rest.”

“Yes.” Unexpectedly, Merlin agreed without missing a beat. “Morgana and Archibald’s quest into the Shadow Realm might have helped stabilise your aura for now, but I expect there is still some lingering damage.”

“I’m not dead.” The cheer might have been forced, but Archie could not deny his wizard was trying. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

“It counts for a great deal, Douxie,” he answered with all the sincerity he could put into words. “But you’re still going to bed.”

#hisirdoux casperan #toa archie #toa merlin #toa morgana #toa wizards #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #time travel #AU #Angst

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sassytspoemsnraps · 3 years

Text

I’m literally feeling like I’m living in a dream😇😇😇

⭐️⭐️⭐️My life is like a fairly tale to say the least,

but then as bad as they were at one point I was

“Dancing with the devil” in 🏜 Death Valley🌙🌙🌙

About to tackle my deamons one by one. Head on..

Let that resignate it was a flight situation but I had to

fight I had the strength and courage to look at every

situation and subsequently subjectivity decide. This

was all mere negative thoughts or self conscious

insecurities coming to the surface. The little critics of

your own self. It’s like a sick and twisted game and

your the Joker your playing urself honey. And your

Depriving yourself of what you truly deserve and

what’s out there waiting for you that you were

craving and literally everything that you could ever

asked and hoped for was your reality like your reality

Was about to get better than the dream and you’re

living in a fairytale, Queen of the Underground.

Remind yourself your the one that you very so

created and things were about to get real and I just

had to dig myself out of this after I conquered all my

insecurities and got my Ass back home to heal and

recover from this madness nightmare that it so

quickly turned upside down because you were going

against the timing and the plan that you needed to

go. You wanted to play some more and knowing that

Nothing lasts forever and all good things must come

to an end inevitably but I have not a single regret

because I had to life through each experience to get

me to where I am right now and heal and recover

because that was never for you and part of that being

the reason why you would even fight for something

so much that was it supposed to end up that way did

you guys lived it up and had a good time that you

also add times that we’re not so good but I also

needed those times to realize what I was doing

wrong and never in looking at myself from another

Perspective and that’s the hard thing to do cause I

never want to believe I’m in the wrong but that

taught me what I needed to learn.. Whether or not he

was telling me the truth or answer my questions it

Was irrelevant because I was still in the wrong

regardless it was a chapter on your journey and those

Extacy eventually come crashing down like a tidal

wave of nightmares and just how quickly things fall

apart when you fight against energy and destiny. I

definitely learned a lot about myself and

relationships and my judgments as well and I do

appreciate all of the great times and I’ll forever have a

special place in my heart for end cure for every

chapter because they helped me realize I was

Allowing to go on. Once I went back home and there

I would rediscover who I was and once I came home

it all just started to Come back together because

there was a comfort in solidarity and self reflection.

And clarity once I refreshed myself what I deserve to

know the whole truth to my purpose and Devine gift

of timeless energy and Realness. I have no regrets

and each lesson I had to learn or relearn again or else

It would continue to come back up and until I was

able to pass the test that was the only way out of it it

was due or die now is the time and could never get

an opportunity again so I knew what I had to do.

and now it s starting to make sense more

Having all these thoughts and questions and not having anyone to turn to going though Some of the heartache on my own sucks but at the same time some of the stuff I needed to do on my own as well as the reflecting and solidarity and just healing and cleanse just a whole refresher because I wasn’t gonna go back to any of that nonsense I was ready to Start my future ends I have a new way of thinking and someone that will complete me more than I could ever even imagine the sweetes and most perfect person for me literally my soulmate my other half see if you want the fairytale then you decide that its really about what you truly want and satisfying to your needs and desires. He gets me in every single way that I never had and silently crave. The rough and hair pulling, biting and just devouring that moment when thier souls finally reconnect being as they were together maybe in another lifetime. Today was the day her dreams came true and she was resdy to start living her life again and finally everything made sense the journey and each lesson and person and situation everything needed to happen to get me here to this very moment and now. I’ll get my fairy tale ending and Man of my Dreams whom will be with me until the end of time until death do us part. True Uplifting Vibrating Magical and Devine ❤️ soul blowong Love and they lived happily ever & hard Times pass we’ll be okay. Together we’ll be alright! Ain’t that the truth. We can conquer the world or destroy it lmao no jk we’re gonna make some babies and make up for the time we lost.

This helped me because she said that no onunderstands because no one walks in your shoes 👠 I never fully understood it at the time but always was in the back of my mind. Well she’s right I just had to allow myself to raise my vibration to the truth and what I deserve As opposed to what I would allow. Consequently at one time things were great but they just slowly got worse it was like a roller coaster but towards the end I was wrestling my demons bringing his out if you’re in the fire feeling it fueling it and all the situations I would create in my head that weren’t even true I would start to believe and then start arguing with me on thoughts I’m not getting paranoid just not knowing what to believe because the truth could be lies and then we Mile I’m the one sabotaging the truth or questioning it because my own insecurities but I hope that there’s no hard feelings just appreciation and gratitude for what happened and how each event pan down and the opportunities that I had to revisit these was once in a lifetime and knowing what I know now it was all worth it it was scary and uncertain and really brave but I was going to risk my for my people and find the truth and fight for what’s right fully deserved and for my sanity in this wicked world where everything‘s not so cookie cut I’m not any safer type of whistle blower but let me tell you the information is out there if you look in the right places and ask the right people you will find it Because you will see it and you won’t even have to question it because you will know once you have that click everything starts to get a lot more real you’re gonna walk through the valley of the shadow of death look at your demons they’re going to challenge you they’re gonna try to drag you down you can’t let that happen that was an old part of you or a part of you that died and no longer exists only in your mind the character you created to play that part in this conundrum of your life but sometimes things get really still and you’re sitting around it’s almost a year two years three years and you need to get out you need to get out of that funk and then you get a taste for life again and you just start to go with it and then it just starts to take you over and you just get so caught up in this fantasy life that’s not real but it’s fun to play and it’s fun to Tesla miss ends test limits and just see where certain nights can take you and just be open minded and in the moment because the thing about that is you only have this moment and that’s the only mom you have and it’s never going to come around again so you have to live embrace it and live it to the fullest it’s one like I was always worried about the past or the future and that gives you just have to be present and except who you truly are and you know the world what what can you throw at me or how can I tackle this today I’m not gonna worry about it because I’m coming to God and when it comes on about it will inevitably be consistent with what you serve so you need to have more respect for yourself and not allow any type of disrespectful remarks or behaviors because you deserve more than that and you don’t know why you let that go on because you were in a dark place and you didn’t know any other way at that point in time and it’s really hard to dig yourself out of it because one after the next excuse after excuse little by little you see the storm sort of brewing and then that’s when lake you know that blender should go on and you should say I am just means I need to rest and recharge or whatever so everyone’s story is different everyone has their faces or favorite things comforts just be around good people don’t let anyone kill your vibe and don’t be afraid to ask questions for skip for what you believe in because you could be leading the way for so many other people that don’t have that choice or they can’t stand up for themselves for that just don’t know how to or have the strength to know you never know and hey if I truly believe something with my whole heart the Universe will conspire to make it happen.🌙

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chicgeekgirl89 · 4 years

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Begin Again: Chapter 1

Fandom: SEAL Team

Characters: Lisa Davis, Sonny Quinn

Summary: After her brush with death, Lisa is a little less fine than she’d like to be. Takes place during and after “Siege Protocol.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Davis was hurt and Sonny could tell from her brusque manner and lack of eye contact that it hadn’t been some minor slip and fall on their way out of dodge. Something bad had happened at that safe house and not knowing was making his gut churn. “Hey, Blackburn.” He caught the commander’s attention. “What happened to Davis back there?”

“Run in with a rifle,” Eric said. “Things got hairy for a second. Coulda been a lot worse.”

Sonny tried not to think about what that might mean, death being one of the kindest options for an American woman captured in this part of the world. He wanted to check on her and make sure she was all right, but they were low on ammo and if he didn’t get together everything they had they were sitting ducks. Conversation was going to have to wait.

He was in the middle of counting mags when Jason bellowed for him, drawing him into the next room. The sight of Lisa being held up by Trent, blood dripping down her face turned his blood cold. “Everything okay?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm even as panic lanced through his gut.

“Yeah get this thing working,” Jason said gruffly, yanking down a cable from the ceiling as Trent pulled Lisa from the room, still protesting in true Lisa fashion.

Once again what he really wanted was to follow Trent and make sure Lisa was all right. She could have a fractured skull or even a brain bleed if the impact had been hard enough and they were still hours away from help. His hands slipped and the cable dropped to the floor. He dove after it with a scowl and mentally shook himself. The faster they got things up and running, the safer all of them would be. He needed to get it under control.

Clay walked in moments later, looking better now that Trent had stapled him up and gotten a little morphine in him. “Davis all right?” Jason asked immediately.

Apparently Sonny wasn’t the only one who was worried. Davis was a vital member of their team, not to mention a friend. Jason would make Lisa a priority, no matter what else was going on and Sonny felt a rush of gratitude toward his boss.

“She keeps saying she’s fine but she looks a little out of it. Trent thinks it’s a concussion. He’s got her on a drip,” Clay said.

Sonny let himself breathe. It was the best possible scenario given the situation. A concussion they could deal with. It meant she was mobile and not in danger of bleeding out. She would be fine until they could get her home to a real doctor.

It was all too easy for Sonny to find an excuse to stay behind as Jason rounded up the team for Mandy’s goose chase. His reasoning was legitimate, they needed to get their ammo situation under control, but he would have stayed either way; he wasn’t leaving Lisa alone again.

Trent caught his arm before they pulled out. “Keep an eye on Davis. I put her on another drip but she’s probably not going to keep it in.”

Sonny nodded. “You got it.”

Sure enough the next time he saw her she was back to work, still fiddling with their tech, doing who knew what with it. His first attempt at conversation went over poorly. He couldn’t tell if it was because she was annoyed at him for hovering or because she was hurting and trying not to let on. So he decided to go for a more jovial approach.

He knocked before entering, trying not to spook her. “You know uh, typically we push the rifle barrel away with our hands and not our head.”

It got him half a smile. Not what he was looking for. He decided to push his luck a little further. “Huh, you know I uh, I really wish I was there Davis. We had just gotten to the safe house ten minutes sooner…”

She shook her head. “That’s not your job. It’s on me to have my back.”

She was blaming herself, which was completely ridiculous. From what he’d gleaned from Blackburn and Mandy she’d practically dismantled their entire setup single handed. “Everybody’s gotta have their six covered from time to time.”

Her eyes went back to her screen without giving a response. “You gotta ease up on yourself,” he urged, stepping a little closer.

She looked up at him and the pain in her eyes knocked the air right out of his lungs. “You know, I thought I was gonna die Sonny. Right there on the floor.”

He touched her shoulder then cupped her face, thumb stroking gently at her hair. He couldn’t help it. She needed him right now and to be honest he felt a little unsteady himself. Thinking of her, lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood…he swallowed hard. “I swear to you, I woulda burnt this city to the ground.”

Blackburn returned and Sonny dropped his hand. His emotions were all tangled up again in a way he couldn’t quite deal with right now, but if he’d helped her even a little it was worth it. Maybe they could do this friend thing again after all. It clearly didn’t work to pretend they didn’t care. So maybe a little friendship now and again would ease the pain of losing each other.

Her head was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to her wounded ego. She had been the weak link today and she was furious about it. She’d let her guard drop for half a second and then had to be rescued like some helpless damsel in a children’s story. It was an image she’d worked hard to avoid her entire career and she could barely look at anyone for the shame and heat that flooded her at what they must be thinking.

It didn’t help that every, single person who walked by did a double take and immediately started questioning her health and wellbeing. How many times did you have to say you were fine before people left you the hell alone? Apparently the answer was “a lot.” And they’d probably still bother you after that.

Her life hadn’t flashed before her eyes like some cliché movie or television show. There hadn’t been time for that. Instead she’d had exactly one thought, crystal clear and completely agonizing: Sonny. Just his name. And the feeling that she wished it had gone differently. And the desperate, panicked thought that she wished he would come through the door and save her.

Not that she was disappointed it had been Eric instead. She was grateful. But also embarrassed. All she wanted was to go home, take a long shower, and sleep for a week. But they weren’t out of the woods yet, not by a long shot, and god damn it she was going to get them out of this mess if it killed her.

Which it might. She was standing on a desk, reaching to try and get some cables connected when the world went grey and she felt her knees giving out. She was vaguely of aware of Jason catching her and pulling her down, but the only thought she was holding onto was that she had to get the Satcom up. They were blind without it. She wouldn’t be the weak link. Not again. Not ever.

“Breathe,” Jason ordered, and she tried, she really tried, but her heart was beating rapidly inside her chest and she was so incredibly dizzy she thought she might be sick.

She didn’t want to go with Trent, she wanted to stay and help, but apparently she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She stumbled along with him into the next room, his arms the only thing keeping her from pitching to the floor because her legs seemed to have completely turned to jelly. “Easy now,” he said, as she practically collapsed onto a bed.

Sitting helped. “I’m fine,” she told him as Clay got up from his own bed, concern written all over his face. She hated being on the receiving end of that look.

“Davis, what the hell happened?” Clay asked.

“I just—“ She felt bile rising up in her throat and clamped her lips shut, grabbing onto the bed frame to keep herself upright, trying to force the sick feeling away.

Trent checked her eyes, probed at the wound, and then he and Clay decided to tag team their interrogation which made her really snippy. She knew she was being rude and childish, but it was annoying as hell, especially when she was so mad at herself. She would have to apologize when they finally got out of here.

The IV did help some and she managed to get upright in time to help the team prep to head out, but she still felt unsteady on her feet. “How are you?” Trent asked before he headed out.

“I’m good,” she said. Her head was a little light but her vision was fine and who wouldn’t be nauseous in a situation like this?

He didn’t buy it, grabbing her elbow and steering her back into the treatment room. “You need another bag.” He hooked her up and then fixed her with a stern look. “Don’t move until this is empty. I’m going to tell Blackburn I started you on a second drip.”

“Okay, fine,” Lisa said.

“You need to relax.”

“I’ll just pretend I’m at the spa.” She gave him a fake smile and the look he gave back to her said he didn’t believe it for a second.

She ripped out the IV as soon as he was gone. Nobody had told Clay he had to sit around even though the man had a chest full of staples. She felt fine enough and if she had to lie to Blackburn about it…well as long as she kept herself upright he would never know.

She settled in behind the computer, picking up right where she’d left off before Trent had dragged her away. It wasn’t a surprise that Sonny found her there. What was a surprise was how she felt about it. All she’d wanted was to be left alone to wallow and shove her feelings so deep inside there was no chance they’d ever come back out again.

But then he went and made her smile. When she’d been pretty sure nothing would ever make her smile again. That stupid, Sonny Quinn charm cut through the darkness and the eyes he turned on her were so tender, and she was hurting so bad, and she found all of her feelings about the day bubbling back up.

“You know, I thought I was gonna die Sonny. Right there on the floor.” She felt tears building as she said the words, as she admitted to him, and him alone, how truly terrified she’d been. And when he touched her, oh god, all she wanted to was to fall weeping into his arms. She craved his strength, his steadiness, the sense of safety and belonging she felt with him.

When Eric came back Sonny pulled away and they all went back to work. But a small kernel of hope settled inside her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she and Sonny could be friends again after all.

#SEAL Team #Lisa Davis #Sonny Quinn #Savis #Whump #Head wound #Concussion #Siege Protocol Pt. 1 #Siege Protocol Pt. 2 #Lisa Davis Whump #Begin Again

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cheryl-in-a-barrel · 5 years

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two’s company, three’s a crowd - choni one shot

AO3 Link

A/N - Just a short little one shot continuing from the end of episode 4x03 when Toni finds Cheryl with Jason's body. Explores a lot of the thoughts they would have had running through their heads in that moment and the conversation they might have had. Nothing too exciting happens, but I thought it'd be interesting to see how the rest of that scene could have possibly played out. Hope you enjoy it!

---

“Toni!” Cheryl exclaims through her watery smile, looking up at her girlfriend from her place on the floor with a contrasting mix of tears streaming down her face and a bright grin pulling at her lips.

“You haven’t met Jason yet, have you?” She rhetorically asks, eyes growing impossibly wider when she does.

The last few months her biggest fear has been Toni finding her brother’s body. She would do anything and concoct any lie in order to keep Toni away from the basement chapel. Though, in this moment, she doesn’t really mind. Seeing that rat squirm amongst her brother’s skin, it snapped something inside of her.

It was a reminder. A reminder of Jason’s irreversible condition. Alive people didn’t have rats crawling through their flesh, no, that trait was specifically reserved for the dead, and that fact hit Cheryl hard as she smashed the invasive rat to death at her brother’s feet.

To protect herself, she sunk her delusions further into the depths of her mind. She could feel herself slipping away from reality a little bit more, and in actuality, she isn’t that mad about Toni finding Jason in this moment because, in this moment, she believes Jason is truly here.

It is the most she’s believed since bringing Jason home, and although it is most likely nothing more than a temporary lapse of judgment sprung on by a rude wake up call in an attempt of a defense mechanism, it’s concerning. Even Cheryl knows that, deep down in her deteriorating psyche, she knows, on some level, that this is too far.

“Cheryl,” Toni croaks out, the simple name sounding so broken as it leaves her lips. Her own tears are pooling at her eyes as she stares at the horror scene in front of her.

Toni can do nothing but stand there, frozen in place, as her mind fights off about a thousand different instincts, leaving her helpless to do anything at all.

There’s a part of her, a big part, that wants to run. Run away from what she’s seeing right now and never look back. She could run and only hope that the image of her girlfriend leaning over a corpse with so much love and care in her eyes is one that eventually drifts from her memory. A distant thought that one day is nothing more than a blurry picture she can’t totally recall.

But she isn’t the one here who is trying to kid themselves.

Toni knows that the sight before her will be burned into her brain for the rest of time.

There’s another part of her with the urge to first run forward, where Cheryl sits. She wants to take Cheryl with her and then run far away from this haunted mansion never to return. She still loves her, dammit. Even in this very moment, staring at the broken girl, she loves her more than she’s ever loved anything or anyone. There’s a part of her that thinks maybe if they left, if they did nothing else but put Riverdale behind them, than maybe they would heal all on their own. This part of her remembers so vividly that first summer after they got together, driving motorcycles across the country, laughing and dancing and stargazing and fucking for the first time. They were so happy. They were falling in love, and none of the dramatics of Riverdale mattered, they hardly even thought of their hometown whilst they were gone. That summer, the only two things that existed were themselves, and Toni imagines, only briefly, if they could recreate that feeling by simply packing their things and leaving once again.

But they would never be allowed the luxury of trying such a thing. They couldn’t leave Riverdale behind no matter how hard they tried. They had to get their diplomas, they had twin babies to look after now, the only lives they’ve ever known are right here in this town.

And besides, would it even really change anything?

Riverdale may be a cursed town that brings nothing but pain to the people who live here, but too much of that pain has already been inflicted. It lives inside of them now, and even if they left, it would follow. In this moment, Toni isn’t quite sure what the answer to healing is, but she’s smart enough to know leaving isn’t it.

So that leaves only one option left. To stay. Even though Toni’s rational mind urges her to flee, she listens to her heart, which begs her to stay.

They’ve been through hell and back, Cheryl and Toni, surely they could get through this too. Right?

“Cheryl,” Toni repeats, feeling the first tear roll down her cheek as her shaky voice continues, “What are you doing?”

Cheryl looks back up at her, her makeup beginning to smudge from how much she’s crying and how bad her lips are wobbling.

Her tears are all but plummeting down her cheeks, it appearing as if there is no end to her inner downpour, and yet, Toni doesn’t hear a single sound. No wails or whines, no choked sobs or uneven breaths, not even a sniffle. Cheryl is only smiling. If Toni had her eyes closed, she wouldn’t have the slightest clue that Cheryl was crying, or that anything was even wrong at all.

“I have to fix him,” Cheryl responds, looking at her girlfriend with an almost pleading look in her eyes. Though, Toni isn’t quite sure what she’s pleading for. Even so, she takes it as a positive sign, because perhaps Cheryl’s pleading eyes indicate that she is aware of what the sight in front of Toni must look like. She’s aware of how not normal this all is.

And Toni thinks that maybe Cheryl’s words run a little deeper than surface level. That what she truly has to fix is herself, but she has no idea where to even start.

Toni swallows slowly and takes her first step forward. She’s chosen her direction, and she’s chosen to walk toward the girl she loves as opposed to far, far away from her. They need help, both of them need more help than imaginable, but Toni decides they’ll get help together. As they’ve always meant to be.

Every step she takes is harder than the last but she doesn’t stop until she’s about a foot away from Jason’s body. She refuses to get any closer than this, already beginning to feel bile rise in her throat from being as close as she is.

Toni slowly sinks to her knees, ensuring to keep her eyes off of Jason as much as she can, and especially being careful not to look at his face. She caught one glimpse of his face as she was coming down the basement hallway, and she’s decided that glimpse was enough for one lifetime.

Cheryl is putting all her concentration into the task in front of her, being abundantly cautious and gentle as she brings a sewing needle down to her brother’s chest.

Toni reaches out with a shaky hand and lays it over top of Cheryl’s, effectively stopping the girl’s movements. She puts her eyes nowhere else but her girlfriend’s face, now giving the other girl a pleading look of her own as she silently begs Cheryl for something. An explanation, a reassurance, a confession. She doesn’t even care, she just needs something other than the silence.

Cheryl’s eyes stay fixated on their joined hands for a long time, before finally, she raises them to meet Toni’s.

“TT, I can’t fix him unless you let go,” She states, still desperately clinging to her facade of normality. Hoping, wishing, begging that Toni will simply play along. That she won’t make her choose, that she won’t make her stop. Cheryl wouldn’t be able to take it, not now. It would break her for good, Cheryl knows.

She doesn’t want to choose Jason over Toni, because she knows, deep down she knows, it isn’t actually the choice she wants to make. But it’s safer. Jason can’t leave her, not again. He can’t decide Polly Cooper makes him happier than his sister for a second time, he can’t want to escape this town and consequently Cheryl all over again, he can’t get himself killed when he’s already dead. But Toni can. Toni can do all that and then some and the thought absolutely terrifies Cheryl.

“Cheryl,” Toni begins slowly, truly not even knowing what to say. Talking to Cheryl is never difficult, all she has to do is speak her mind and the words all but flow out of her. But this time, nothing is coming to mind. It’s blank, and the last thing she wants to do is say the wrong thing, so it takes her a long time to get the words out.

“Look at what you’re doing, baby. Do you really think this is what Jason would have wanted?” She tries to get through to the girl, voice calm and eyes soft, doing everything in her power to keep her cool and prevent this conversation from turning nuclear. Toni needed to get through to Cheryl, not push her away.

Cheryl tilts her head to one side. She looks conflicted as she digests Toni’s words, eyes falling from her girlfriend and instead finding Jason’s defaced chest once again.

And the sight is all it takes for her to sink.

“Yes!” She responds desperately, “I brought JJ home so he doesn’t have to be alone anymore, everything is the way it’s supposed to be again,” Cheryl explains through her tears, and there is no mistaking the thick sincerity in her voice. She believes her words, every last one of them. Not because they are logical or reasonable but because she needs them to be true. In Cheryl’s traumatized mind, this is how she puts the pieces back together.

Toni can feel the fear building in her chest as she comes to terms with how deep Cheryl is in her own delusions. She has helped Cheryl navigate through a lot of dark times but she has no idea where the hell to even start this time. She’s not equipped for something like this.

But she has to be, Toni thinks.

Because she’s all Cheryl has, she’s the only one who can get through to her.

And the thought crosses her mind, for all of three seconds, that she could simply call Betty asking for the contact information of that facility they sent Polly to. That she could go behind Cheryl’s back, for the girl’s own good, that she could get her professional help.

But ultimately, she can’t do it. She dismisses the thought as quickly as it entered her mind.

Toni’s too loyal for her own good. Too soft. At least when it comes to Cheryl. She could never do that to her.

And fuck, after what her mother did, sending her to the sisters without any warning, simply locking her up against her will. Toni will never do that to her. Never.

And maybe it’s wrong, but she doesn’t care.

They will find another way.

Toni slowly releases Cheryl’s hand, shakily brining her own hand to rest in her lap.

With a grateful smile, Cheryl gets to work on fixing Jason.

“I knew you’d understand,” Cheryl sighs in relief, her whole body feeling lighter now that this giant secret is off her chest.

Toni winces slightly at the words.

“We still need to talk about this, babe,” Toni speaks as firmly as she can muster.

She tries to find the right words, stuttering through her sentences, “You can’t keep—we need to—there are going to be ground rules,” she finally settles on.

Cheryl looks up through her lashes, rapidly nodding her head in agreement.

“Whatever you want, TT,” She promises, “As long Jason can stay, right?” She hesitantly checks.

Toni sighs, rubbing her temples as she feels a headache start to build.

“...For now,” She agrees slowly, “But Cheryl, I need you to promise me that you will put Jason back in the ground where he belongs and soon.”

She notices the apprehension in Cheryl’s eyes immediately. The redhead isn’t very happy with that term and it shows, but she’s smart enough to know that trying to fight Toni on the matter won’t do her any good.

“Ok, TT. I promise,” Cheryl nods, her sad, pouty eyes meeting Toni’s.

“Good,” Toni breathes, naively hoping that it will really be that simple. That a few days will go by, maybe even a week, and then Cheryl will return Jason to his grave and that will be it. This horrifying and heartbreaking chapter of their lives will be over. They can get back to normal. Everything will be alright.

Toni hopes so anyway.

But hope, it’s a fickle thing. Toni would soon learn that, after witnessing “a few days” turn to weeks, and watching her girlfriend slowly deteriorate in front of her while the time passed.

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