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staygolddindjarin · 3 years

Text

Grief

Chapter One: History

Din Djarin x Reader x a bunch of other star wars characters

Series Summary: Raised on Mandalore, born into a bloodline of warriors, no one ever expected for the daughter of a Clan leader to go rogue. Leaving the life of security and making the journey to fight in the war against the empire meant many things... giving up the way of the Mandalore, and giving up a solid future. A future that involves an arranged marriage to a foundling from another clan.

Chapter Warnings: Oof this ones kinda angsty right off the bat- ⚠️ attempted suicide?? Kinda?? Age gap (reader is underage, but don't worry it's just for the sake of backstory and also there's no spicy, so...) mentions of death and afterlife, fluff if you like squint really hard

A/n: hello there... I'm sorry to inflict tumblr with this atrocity, but wattpad had to deal with it so tumblr can too. I wrote a different version of this on my wp with an OC name, but I know that not everyone cares for that so this won't include that. Also this series will be such a slow burn... prepare yourself ahead of time because it's going to be agonizing

Words: 6.3k+

SERIES MASTERLIST UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Part 1/?

"Pehea gar mar'eyir ni...."

How did you find me....

He came and sat beside me, the sound of metal scraping agaisnt the ground when he knelt first.

"Gar cuyir te shi solus tion'ad comes olar jii. Ni kar'taylir gar jate'shya gar mirdir Ni vaabir," He responded.

You are the only one who comes here now. I know you better than you think I do.

I heaved a deep breath before letting it out in an exhausted sigh. Speaking in my native tongue was something I always appreciated, but now sitting here it felt nearly uncomfortable, but there was a reason for that.

"I wanted to be alone," The words from my mouth were no longer in my language, and he shifted beside me, trying to convey his confusion without a word.

"Care to elaborate?" He suggested, his asking tone was harsh... but then so was everything else about him.

I didn't really feel like explaning my feelings at the moment. I didn't want to focus on the very thing he was asking about. Even though he wasn't absolutely sure of what he was asking.

"You wouldn't understand if I told you," I trailed off.

"Try me." His voice wasn't any softer, but the sincerity he rarely showed had seeped into his tone.

"I really don't think it's a good idea. You really won't understand, and for all I know you could make things worse off for me than they already are," I didn't like it when he let his guard down around me. I didn't like getting closer to him, even though I was supposed to.

"I can't force you. Whatever it is, I wouldn't get myself too worked up," He sounded hurt, but I couldn't bring myself to believe it was by my words. He was too strong to be wounded by such trivial things.

He moved in his seat, beginning to stand, and for some reason the thought of being alone like I had originally intended seemed like a horrible idea.

I reached out to grip his arm. I kept my gaze forward, knowing that even if I looked at him I could not see his eyes.

"Stay."

He didn't hesitate. He sat down again, and I no longer felt guilt for the hurt in his voice a moment prior.

We sat for a moment in silence, just looking over the cliffside, into the deep canyons that wove in between settlements and encampments of our tribes and clans.

"I don't want this life," I whispered. I had only half hoped he would be paying enough attention to hear me. My voice was soft enough that he might not have.

"What do you mean?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, regretting the choice to even say what I did. I felt a shiver go down my arms, and I felt the wind come into the old open cavern, making the air around me chill. My arms were exposed, for I didn't expect the cold tonight. I didn't expect to be here this long.

"I'll turn sixteen in four days. I will either take the creed, or deny everything I've ever been taught. I'd leave if I do that," I finally gave a glance in his direction. He looked back at me, or at least the beskar did. I could never tell where his eyes were.

"You want to leave?" That pained tone of his voice had returned. The one I felt guilty for without actually believing I had done anything to cause it.

I did. I wanted to get off this planet. Away from the responsibility of becoming what everyone expected of me.

"I have to. It's the only way I will ever be at peace, but I'm not sure if I truly have the strength to stand in front of my family and deny the creed."

I could run away. I had some friends who were planning to jump a transport and join the rebellion against the empire.

They had offered me to be apart of this, but I had refused, believing that I would follow in my ancestors footsteps and take the creed. My father had already provided the beskar for my helmet to be made. It was already in the armourer's possession. All that was left was for me to come of age.

"Where did you go, just now?" He noticed my lack of attentiveness to my current reality, and brought me back to where I was. On the drafty cliffside, with my legs hanging over the end.

"Nowhere. I was just thinking about the future," I had admitted. Though I felt the need to stay emotionally distant from him, and not let myself develop a closeness, I knew I could trust him with my life, which is why I even revealed these things to him in the first place.

"What do you think your future will look like?" The tone that brought me guilt had again left his voice, but was replaced by something else... was it fear? I could not even think of theorizing that he could ever be scared. He was one of the bravest in his clan. Never had he shown an ounce of fear to anyone or anything. How stupid of me to even wonder.

"Merc and his crew are gonna stow away on a crate transport tomorrow. He has contact with the rebellion. He said that I could go with them if I was up for it," I looked down, almost embarrassed at admitting a plan of escape to someone so loyal to this place. Even though he wasn't born on this planet, and even though he wasn't a blood member of any tribe, the foundling was more of a mandalorian than I could ever be.

"You've agreed?"

"No. Not yet," I shook my head. I didn't feel like my reasons were valid. Having him sit beside me, and ask me these things made me realize that I needed to explain myself further.

"Din, I want to be free. I don't want to spend the rest of my life under a code that is so restricting to me, binding my every decision. Everything I'd do would have to be following after the creed."

He didn't respond, and even though his features were shrouded under the reflective surface of his beskar, I could tell he was thinking of something.

"I'm not yet sixteen, but when I am... I don't want to be locked down under a piece of metal. I don't want to have to be bound to this planet or a clan. I want to go some place far away and be something that is different than what everyone expects of me. I want to fight battles against the empire, I want to make my own rules. I want to be free to marry who I love, and not be betrothed to whoever my father chooses for me," I finished off my speech about freedom, but realized the last sentence too late. I should have chosen a better set of words.

Din's head hung down, looking at the wrist guards he wore. He shook his head back and forth and before I could interject, he began speaking.

"So that's why...." he trailed off. I was honestly too scared to say anything now. Why must I speak so bluntly and hurtfully honest to people? Perhaps it is because I had never gotten close to him that now I had no fear in what I said to his face.

"If the reason you plan to leave your family is because of me, then-"

"No," I said harshly, catching him off guard. I was usually snippy with others, but I had never before shown a tendency to be angry or intense with my speech. "Believe me, this has nothing to do with you."

"You have always shown enthusiasm towards coming of age. It's only now, when we are arranged, that you show any difference," He brought on certainty in his voice that I nearly couldn't deny, but the truth was... it really wasn't about him. "I can converse with your father, the rest of the clan... I will find a way to break it off if it will make you stay."

"Din, I don't want you to do that. If you don't believe me when I tell you that you are not the cause of this, then so be it, but I will not have you ruining your good name in my favor, when it won't even stop me," The heat of the moment provided actual, physical warmth for me in the time I was running my mouth off, but now that I had finished, and begun to calm down, I felt the freezing air on my arms again, wrapping them around myself and drawing my legs closer to generate more body heat.

"Are you cold?" He changed the subject, needing something- anything else to say.

"Its not exactly warm up here," My voice was low and sarcastic, but at hearing my words, Din stood up and stepped behind me. Before I even had a chance to ask him what he was doing, I felt his thick woolen cape being draped around my shoulders.

I smiled softly, not even a real, full smile. More of just a small tug from the side of my lips. My real smile was saved for later.

"Thank you."

He nodded as he sat back down, letting his legs fall over the cliffside.

"So you're gonna leave with them, aren't you?" His head turned to face me, but I couldn't dare try and stare at the beskar while thinking of what I would do. This choice was the beginning of the rest of my life.

"I think so," I didn't think. Thinking was what I had been doing too much of. Now I was certain. This was my choice. I was going to start new, and become something different. I may have been born on mandalore, but I was definitely not a mandalorian.

I had a rush of confidence come through me until I remembered what this meant. It all hit me like a dropship coming out of hyperspace. What was I thinking?

"No," I whispered. Din didn't understand my sudden discouragement, but he would soon.

"Merc and his friends already denied the creed. He's a foundling. They all are," I started to tear up as I realized what would happen to my family. The loss of a child in a clan is bad enough, but my family hadn't done anything to dessrve this. They were caring. They had shown me love. They had given me the best life I could ask for on a planet with such a religion.

"Second thoughts?" He asked genuinely, scooting closer beside me as to maybe get more information from my body language, or even my breathing.

"I can't do this. My family would be ruined. If I ran away, they would be punished for it," I felt tears coming up in my eyes. My clan was good to me. The people were kind, and I found solace there. Even if I had always dreamt about something bigger, I couldn't bear to let ruin come upon my family name. It wasn't fair to let that happen, especially when the only thing in the way was my own selfishness. "I can't leave my family."

I let the tears stream down my face, not even bothering to wipe them away. The contrast of the cold wind on my hot, tear streaked face had helped to calm me down a little.

"If you plan on staying, you understand that I am apart of your future here, don't you?"

"Din, I already told you before... you are not the reason I want to leave," I tried my best to keep myself together, but with my wet cheeks and red, puffy eyes, I didn't see how that could be an option.

What if there was another way to freedom?

I sat, trying to think of some stories that the other clan members would talk about.

"Din?"

He hummed in response, keeping his gaze on me.

"Has anyone in your clan ever mentioned afterlife?" I maybe should have taken a different approach to this. He seemed to be rendered speechless by my topic of conversation, but I had to ask.

"You mean after death?" He asked me and I nodded.

"I've heard some stories."

I thought about how it had been described to me. A paradise, with never-ending happiness, and unlimted freedom. Freedom.

"After you die, you appear in the world as another life. You can do whatever you want and no one has consequences for any of it. It's like a world without chaos. Everything is perfect," I remember every word as it comes out of my mouth. The words that were spoken to me, more like taught to me when I was a bit younger by the elders who had retired from their days of battle.

"It sounds too easy." He said, ripping me out of my fantasy.

"That's the point. You don't have to worry about anything or anyone, because you can do as you please, and everything will still be the same. All you have to do is die...."

"Like being reborn into a different world."

"Exactly."

I hesitated to take my safety blaster from it's holster under my hip, and when I did, I looked at it before pointing it out in the distance and testing the trigger. It shot a blast of lazer energy out into the air, landing somewhere beneath us in the canyon.

I decided that this was not an act to pursue at the moment, for Din was sitting right beside me, and the sight of watching a young girl pull the trigger against her own head might be an unpleasant one. Even for him, though he has seen worse.

I put the blaster back in it's holster and stand up from the rocky ground. Din follows suit, looking down at me with quiet concern. I wouldn't have known it until now, but I wondered if he had come to care for me at all during these last few weeks we had been betrothed.

I'd known him the majority of my life anyways, so I knew he must have felt some sort of attachment to me, but in what form, I hadn't ever cared to ask.

He kept breathing heavily as he looked down at me for a few moments, and it almost sounded like he wanted to ask me something. The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to utter the words.

"Here's your cape back," I slid the material off my shoulders, trying to hand it back to him, but he pushed it back towards me.

"You should keep it for now. The sun is nearly down, it will only grow colder."

He reached his gloved hand up to my face, and I could swear I felt the warmth of his hand beneath the coarse leather.

I only nodded, and leaned forward, trying to lean my head into him, but he carefully stopped me, his hands on my shoulders. Instead he rested his helmet against my forhead, and the cold beskar wasn't such a bad feeling as it rested there.

"I won't let you down. I promise." He said, clueless of my plans for later tonight, after the tribes were asleep, and no one would be at the cliffside.

"I know you won't. You're a good man, Din Djarin." I paused, trying to gather better words. "A true Mandalorian if there ever was one."

The moment didn't last any longer because of how frigid the air was becoming. It was warmer back with the tribes, they always had a fire burning.

Without another word, we both left the old artillery cavern and hiked down the side of the canyon to get back to our own clan territory.

Once I was at the edge of mine, I turned around to utter a simple goodbye, and found that he was very close behind me. His hand came up and rested on my shoulder, lightly squeezing it.

Maybe this was the last time we would see each other. Tonight I would envoke my plan to freedom, to rebirth. Perhaps we would meet in another life. Perhaps I would have just enough memory of this life to try and find him in the next one. One where I will have freedom.

Tonight I had gotten closer to the metal clad Mandalorian than I ever had before. I didn't regret it. He listened to what I had to say, and there were few who ever did.

His hand fell from it's place on my shoulder, but I didn't let him walk away yet. I pulled him into an embrace, feeling him tense up for a moment before reciprocating. It took him a few seconds to let out the breath he was holding in, but when he did, he found himself relaxing into the comfort.

"Goodbye, Din," My voice wasn't sad, or overly sensitive in any way. I figured it actually sounded quite optimistic.

"You know I'll see you tomorrow." He said, reminding me of the clan meetings. Once a month the clans would gather and each tribe would go over the agenda for whatever was to happen soon. Battles were normally discussed, but tomorrow, me and a few of the others in the other clans would be talked about. Our ceremonial coming of age where we would take the creed.

"Yeah... right. Don't come looking for me, I don't plan on showing up," I said quietly, careful in anyone was to hear me.

He pulled me back at arms length and looked at me, but his black blast shield hid his features and I could not tell if he thought I was crazy or not.

"How come?" His voice was also quiet, as we noticed some of my clan passing by to get to the fire.

"Don't worry about it. You'll still see me tomorrow," I lied. Or did I? Everyone within the five neighboring tribes would probably see me tomorrow.

He nodded, pulling us all the way apart and stepping back.

"Good."

He didn't look like he was gonna walk away until I had gone into the hub of my clan's small village. I turned around and walked towards the large fire, seeing my mother. Her helmet was unmistakable. The pattern of the strill engraved into the side of the beskar. It was her signet. A worthy kill of her days in battle. I would never have one. I walked towards her when she noticed me.

Her modulated voice let out a small chuckle, before I stepped beside her.

"It is well to see you spending time with Din Djarin. Me and your father were afraid you may not have been fond of him," She kept her gaze on the fire, speaking only loud enough for me to hear her, given that the other mandalorians of our village were also gathering around the fire, conversing with each other the same way we were.

"I am fond of him, why would I not be?" I was unsure of what she meant. Sure, I had been keeping a distance between us since my father had arranged our marriage, but I never had shown that I wasn't fond of him. I was polite, and gave him attention when it was asked of me.

"Whenever I or your father bring up the discussion of your eighteenth birthday, you always seem to act like it's the plague," She was smirking under her helmet, and I could tell. I could always tell what face she made underneath her metal covering.

"Maybe it's the fact that I dread getting married at all. I'm not opposed to Din, though," I convinced her. I wouldn't have to try and do that again after tonight.

"Whatever it is, your father will be pleased to know you and him were in each other's company. Although I will stray from telling him you two were alone... you were alone, weren't you?" She turned her metal covered head, trying to figure out from the look on my face.

"Yes," I answered truthfully, knowing there was no point in lying. No damage could be done at this point, except for maybe towards Din.

"And what were you both doing?" She tilted her head, and I let mine drop. I would tell her the truth, because nothing bad could come from it. Or could it.

"We were just talking... about the future," I answered.

"Your marriage..." She suggested, and I nodded, knowing that it did come up in the conversation.

"Yes."

"I shudder to ask if consummating was apart of this conversation," She looked back at the fire, knowing how red my cheeks would turn and how embarrassed I would be.

"No, nothing like that. I can promise you," I shivered at the thought. Din was a good man, but I didn't necessarily need to be letting thoughts like that intrude my mind.

Everyone else around the fire seemed to be distracted by the glowing flames, and my mother was soon the same, so I suggested my absense.

"I'm going to go in for the night, get some rest. Big meeting tomorrow..." I said before reaching out and squeezing her hand tightly.

She nodded to me, and I took my leave, walking towards our living quarters on the opposite side of camp.

I wasn't looking where I was going, and brushed my shoulder against Merc, who was with Gander and Shyloh.

"Sorry, didn't see you coming," I told him, but he shook his head, optiing ti ask me a question instead.

"Don't worry about it, I was looking for you anyway... Did you think about the offer? We leave at sunrise on the north delivery tarmac," He informed me, but I didn't have an answer. I wasn't staying here, but I wasn't leaving either.

"You'll know if I show up," I gave him a smirk, partially just because I was glad to see someone's actual face tonight, and not just a metal facade.

"We can't wait up for you, just know that."

I nodded, letting them get by. Maybe I could go with them. Live this life freely without starting another one.

No.

My family will not be able to handle that. It's better off if I'm dead. At least they won't go on to believe that I betrayed them, turning my back on all loyalty they had ever taught me. They would nevwr wonder if I ever loved them or planned on keeping their wishes.

I could start fresh. They wouldn't have to worry about me anymore. And I wouldn't have to worry anymore either. Rebirth.

I went straight to bed, clutching the woolen blanket beside me close to my chest.

For some reason I felt a pang of guilt in my chest. Something that made the sting of salty tears swell in my eyes. I knew that what I was doing was best, but yet I started having a hard time justifying something so drastic. They would get on fine without me, wouldn't they? They would go on living by the creed. This is the way. They will find a way to go on without me, like they did before I was born. Din will be arranged with another girl as soon as I'm gone. Everything will be alright.

The wetness that spilled over my eyes and down my face lasted hours, even though my mind kept telling itself that it was at peace.

It was in the dead of night, when I gathered a few of my belongings into a knapsack, throwing it over my shoulder before leaving out the tattered window of my private space.

I ventured to the canyon, with the moons lighting my way. The planet was never truly dark, due to the brightness and the number of shinning moons, all the color silver.

I set my knapsack down on the edge beside me. By the end of this, I would be at the bottom, waiting to be found the next day. I just hoped it wouldn't be anyone I knew. Of course, the number of people who ever came out here was only two. Me, and Din Djarin.

I hoped he wouldn't find me. I hoped it would be someone from another tribe that was flying over, and happened to spot something at the base of the cliffside.

I pulled my flask to my mouth, taking a large drink. A bit spilled onto my chin, and I wiped it off, feeling the breeze on my face. It was much colder now than earlier tonight. I wasn't sure if I should pull the blanket from my belongings and wrap it around myself, or skip the process of making myself comfortable and just get this over with.

I leaned over, looking straight at the ground, hundreds of feet below me. My heart started racing, and I got scared. Why shouldn't I be? I have every right to be absolutely terrified. I closed my eyes, trying to scoot myself over the edge inch by inch, seeing if I would just drop.

I nearly panicked when my bottom hit a crack in the ground and I thought I was going over. My breath hitched in my throat and I instantly pulled myself back.

"This isn't as easy as I thought it would be," I murmered, beginning to feel the emotional side of everything rise to the surface again. It didn't help that with the absolute silence that circled around me, I couldn't have any single thing to distract me.

I stood to my feet, wrapping my arms around myself to ease the goosebumps rising on my skin from the frigid air.

I stood right on the edge, lifting a foot over and leaning forward, but before I could fall, I again caught myself, the adrenaline working overtime in my system and beginning to heat me up.

That wasn't going to work either. If I could, I would put a blaster to my temple and pull the trigger, but then it wouldn't look like an accident.

I paced around back and forth a few times, trying to calm myself down, to stop the whimpering and to make my tears cease. It wasn't working. I just needed to get this over and done with. A new life, with endless possibilities was waiting for me on the other side. Freedom was on the other side.

I wiped my face, even though it didn't stop me from crying, but it helped me to see clearer. I backed up, into the cavern, all the way inside until my back hit the wall of the ex artillery carvern. This was it. A new beginning. Rebirth. New life. Freedom.

I ran as fast as I could toward the edge, my eyes closed. I could feel the wind blowing against me even harder with my speed, and I could tell the edge was drawing near. Every step I took, I felt as though it was my last one.

I finally felt my foot hit the edge, but then I never fell. Instead, I was tackled to the ground. Whoever landed on top of me was heavy enough to hold me down, because half of me was hanging off the edge of the cliff.

I didn't dare even open my eyes. This was a sign. Someone stopped me.

I clinged onto whoever it was, and knew almost instantly who was laid over me when I heard him groan.

I cried even harder, my head buried in his armor clad chest, and my arms around his neck and his torso.

He was holding me tightly, one hand cradled my head into his neck, and the other firmly gripped my waist. He rolled us both over and I swear I felt him shaking.

"What were you thinking?" He stressed, his grip on me tightening as if he was scared to let go. I was scared too. I didn't want him to let go.

"You have to talk to me..."

I heaved a deep breath, deep enough to steady my voice so my whimpering didn't interfere with my words.

"I want out. I need to get out," I cracked in the middle of saying so few words, but they conveyed the message I was trying to get through.

"I can get you out, I promise.... But please don't ever try that again," His voice was full of worry, and as I suspected, he was trembling in fear.

"I'm sorry..." I cried some more, realizing that what I had done was now the biggest mistake I ever made, even if I was saved.

"It's okay. You're okay. I've got you," He spoke to me, my voice quieting down as my sobbing came to a slow halt.

I lifted my face from where I had burrowed it into his neck, looking up at him. I didn't know what his expression was, but something told me it was fearful, and worrysome.

"I have to get out of here," I repeated again. The last day or so it became my mantra, and would leave my lips often, even just to myself. Mostly just to myself.

"You're going to. You're going with Merc... when are they leaving?" He asked, his arms still around me like mine were for him.

"At sunrise. They're gonna jump a delivery ship on the north tarmac," I explained, my voice was now hoarse and thick, due to not only all the crying I had done, but also the cold night air that had entered my lungs.

"Sunrise isn't for a few hours..." he let me know, and I nodded, knowing we shouldn't probably leave yet, for the walk to the north tarmac wasn't very long from here.

"Din, if I leave, my family is going to get the fire for my decision. I can't let that happen," I told him, my voice had become more firm, and I needed to convey the importance of how much this meant to me.

"I give you my word, that as long as I live, nothing will happen to your family," He swore, and I could just feel his eyes staring into mine. So much so that for the first time since he put that helmet on, I knew where his eyes were.

"I trust you. And I know that you'll always keep your word," I nodded, a small smile finally forming on my face.

Since it got fairly quiet, and we were still entangled together, I scooted off of Din and opted instead to take the seat beside him.

"I should tell you some things before I go. I just don't want to leave anything unresolved," I admitted, and he stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.

"I know this might sound horrible, but I hated the idea of getting too close to you. It was like if I had formed an emotional bond with you, I wouldn't be able to leave anymore. And the last thing on my mind had been to stay. I've wanted freedom for a while now, I was just always too scared to say anything. And when my father told me that you and him had come to an agreement for arranging a marriage.... it's like it all became more real to me. My freedom would be taken in just days. The creed of mandalore is sacred, and it's truly an amazing thing... but it isn't for everyone."

He sat and took everything in. All the words that just spewed from my mouth like I had been holding them in for ages went against everything I had ever learned. Everything that had ever been put into my mind was the opposite of what I wanted.

"You're young. You want more than what the creed can offer you. I think you'll be able to find what you want wherever you're going," He said, I knew there was more, for he didn't even mention anything that I had said about not wanting to be close to him, but when he stayed silent, I knew he was finished, and that I still had more to say.

"Din, I wanted to tell you that if I had to be married, I wouldn't have minded it being you," I admitted. I would leave no stone unturned before I was to just pick up and leave forever... maybe not forever, maybe someday I would return to my family, to Din.

"I can't say I don't feel the same," He seemed to become stiff next to me, but I soon found the reason when he suddenly reached for my hand with his gloved one.

I took it proudly, intertwining our finhers together.

"You know, I was only an eight year old kid when you took the creed. I have so many memories of you yourself, but whenever I recall them... I can't see your face. I've completely forgotten what you look like," I laughed a bit, though it was quite a sad thing actually. I could not remember him in a way that wasn't covered in metal. I remembered that he was a boy once, and that he would play with all the younger children in the clan set next to his. He played with me and the kids I lived next to. He was a lively, energetic boy. Always doing something... sometimes causing mischievous acts. He was so different now. But the change wasn't bad. Since he'd taken the creed he has been the most noble, fearsome, and trustworthy member of his clan. Completely honorable in every sense of the word.

"I don't look like I used to. It wouldn't do you any good to remember anyways," He chuckled under his helmet, and it brought a smile to hear the melodic sound.

"Well, if I'd stayed long enough to marry you I would find out for myself," I leaned my head on his shoulder, feeling comfort by his presence. If I had made the absolute decision to leave this planet earlier, I could have let myself grow a relationship with him. Romantic or not, he was easy to talk to, and I trusted him. He was a friend to me, and I never imagined more, but now his presence was just something that put me at such ease.

"Do you think you'll ever come back?" He pondered, seeing as just the tiniest moonrays shown down into the canyon ahead.

"Someday. I'll comeback and repay you."

"For what?"

"Saving my life," I replied. My attempt to throw my own life away had been pushed away but I had to bring it up. I owed him my life.

"Anyone would have done the same if they had seen," He insisted, and I shook my head.

"How did you even know I was out here?" My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked for an explanation.

"I couldn't sleep, I took a walk through Ronion until I found myself here. I saw you across from the mesa on the south side... I saw you lift your foot over the edge, I knew what you were trying to do," He said, his grip on my hand got tighter almost instantly.

"Thank you. If you hadn't been there, I would be at the bottm of this canyon." I let so much seriousness onto my voice, and it didn't sound like me.

"Don't thank me yet... not until I get you on the tarmac,"

We sat in silence after that, just looking out over the horizon. When the slightest bit of light hit the edge of the planet, we stood to our feet, gathering my knapsack and begining the journey to the north delivery tarmac.

We were there in no time, and before I could even look for them, Merc and his crew were in sight. They were all sitting with their backs against some cargo imports, waiting for the transport to arrive.

"Well, well, well... look at what the shriek hawk dragged in," Shyloh said, gesturing to me and Din.

"Djarin, I didn't expect to see you here," Merc raised an eyebrow at the sight.

"I'm just here to make sure she gets onto the transport safely," He assured them. I looked out of the corner of my eye, and in the brighter horizon I was able to see a cargo ship coming into the landing area.

"Our rides here," I said, and they all jumped up. Since the ships were automatically run, and don't even require droids, it was often very easy to hop aboard and be carried to another destination. Of course, there were only a few who ever wanted to leave.

I myself hadn't ever left Mandalore, neither had I traveled much even on the planet. Only a few trips to visit the the markets with my father. I never even went into the city, for it was told that in the city lived Mandalorians who did not keep the creed. The tribes were convinced that they hadn't actually ever taken the oath, and just wore the armor for the sake of doing it.

The ship's doors opened, pulling me out of my thoughts, and a conveyer belt folded down to let the cargo units be carried out onto the tarmac for later pickup.

"Alright, it's time to head out," Gander said, slinging his knapsack over his shoulder and boarding the transport.

The rest followed after him, but I still had one thing left to do.

Din looked at me, waiting for me to join the others, but I came close to him one last time.

"You promise my family will be taken care of?" I asked, to which he simply answered with a firm nod. However the look on my face gave him reason to believe that his answer wasn't good enough, so he spoke instead.

"I give you my word. If they are not taken care of, I will let you strike me dead where I stand."

That was good enough for me. He truly meant it. He was a man of his word.

I pulled his head toward mine, resting ny forehead against his in a traditional mandalorian kiss. I pulled back when I heard my name being called from the transport.

"Goodbye, Din Djarin," I told him.

He didn't respond, he just let me go, watching intently as I boarded the ship before the doors closed.

The cargo transports were always on schedule, so as soon as the doors closed, it began lifting into the air. I looked out through the transparent view finder on the side, watching him stand as we began moving out of sight.

"You gonna miss him?" Shyloh asked, his brows furrowing as if he were sorry for me.

"Yes, I suppose I will."

I lost sight of Din, and realized we were leaving the atmosphere most likely preparing for a jump to hyperspace.

"But I'll see him again."

Tags are open ig...

A/n: please don't get too caught up in the age gap y'all it's just for backstory purposes because this story is eventually going to follow canon events.... (also i know that this doesn't really portray Mandalore correctly, but let's pretend it does because i had this idea)

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x oc #din djarin x jedi!reader #cassian andor #luke skywalker #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #rough day #din djarin series #din djarin imagine #din djarin fluff #din djarin angst

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novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 1.2K~

Summary: Amidst their danger-fraught mission to retrieve Pyrope and Demantoid’s prisms, Pearl and Steven take a much needed break.

Finished playing Unleash the Light again the other day, and had some philosophical musings about it, which lead to this. XD There’s not many fics about this game that I’m aware of, so thought it would be fun to throw one of my own in the ring.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

Another key. Another lead on Demantoid’s whereabouts. Another hard battle won.

Pearl expected they’d meet some resistance from the prisms’ light constructs when they first arrived on the glittering, indigo-hued surface of Crystal System Colony 215, but she certainly didn’t imagine having to fight so many. Using her spear as a crutch, she slowly lowers her exhausted body to the ground, eager to take a short rest from their journey. She leans her head back against the rocks and sighs. Stars… there’s so much more diversity in their forms and attack strategy now. In their last two major outings with these sorts of light constructs, they were considerably weakened. Disorganized. But now, with two prisms working side by side once again, she’s beginning to recall why these tools were so feared by her comrades during the war. Running at their prime, they’re savvy. Self-regenerating. Able to clue into combatant’s weaknesses. Capable of multiplying into armies that can effortlessly eclipse a whole battalion of Crystal Gem soldiers. Good Gems were shattered on those battlefields.

In truth, reflecting upon those matters, she sorely wishes Steven wasn’t a part of this mission at all. He’s more than capable of holding his own in a fight, yes, but… in the most ideal of circumstances, that gentle soul should have nothing to do with the messy afterimages of his mother’s rebellion.

Her gaze lifts towards the sky for a moment, dark hazy purple and speckled with stars. How far they’ve traveled, she muses, how fervently they’ve fought… all in defense of this new era. In many ways it’s a miracle what they’ve created in just a year’s time, which is why she was unsurprised to learn of the aristocratic holdovers unwilling to voluntarily give up their seats of power. Still, they haven’t failed in their creed yet. As long as one Crystal Gem stands to brandish the star, the spirit of Era 3 is alive and well.

Just as she’s beginning to hum a peaceful melody to herself, basking in the gentle glow of the surrounding cosmos, she notices Steven making his way into the clearing, alone. Hmm. All the others are probably back at the cave entrance, busy strategizing for the next stretch of their mission. What led him to step away, though? Was he following her, or did he also crave a similar peace and quiet?

The boy’s pace is sluggish, seemingly suffering from a similar (though undoubtedly more human) brand of exhaustion she herself feels, and his hands are shoved stiff in his pockets. He still wears that novelty backpack, but the prism they’ve befriended is nowhere to be seen. Interesting. Normally, George peeks his head out of the main zipper pouch as they journey. Perhaps he elected to stay and discuss strategy with the others instead. Regardless though, and as she feared, Steven appears considerably drained by their recent experiences. She watches as he clambers towards the rock formation across from her and gradually sinks into a seated position.

“Steven?” she asks, slowly pulling herself to her feet to cross over to him. “Are you holding up all right?”

He replies with just a noncommittal shrug at first, his expression void of any immediately recognizable emotion. Then, unzipping the cheese pocket of his backpack, he retrieves his water bottle and takes a long, long drink. He holds a single finger up as he rehydrates, signaling for her to wait.

Finally, after draining almost half the bottle, he caps the top again and opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m okay,” he says, wiping his lips dry with the back of his hand. “What about you? This… probably doesn’t bring back a lot of great memories, huh?”

“No,” she agrees with a wry smile. “Not really. That’s all right, though. We have more than enough strength on our side this time."

First taking a knee, she moves to sit next to him, folding her legs to the side. The boy shoots her a slightly quizzical glance, but doesn’t offer anything more. Pearl frowns.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks after a brief pause, brows creasing. “It looks like something’s bothering you.”

Steven purses his lips tight, blankly staring straight ahead as the gears in his head whir.

“It’s—“ he starts, and hugs his knees to his chest. “It’s probably stupid, I don’t know, I guess I’m just… how are all these light constructs any different from us? We’ve had to fight dozens of them today, and… I know that probably shouldn’t eat at me, but it does. I don’t want to have to fight them. We literally have the same history! Diamonds make Gems,” he counts off on his fingers, “and Gems make prisms, and prisms make light— when do all these cycles stop? When does everyone finally get to stop fighting and be free? George found his freedom, so- so why not them?”

She folds her fingers together, roughly wringing them against one another as she considers the moral quandary he proposes. Admittedly it’s a truth she never committed much thought to back amidst the atrocities of the war— the fact that all of them… Gems, prisms, and constructs alike… are hewn from the very same hard light. They’re all programmed, made with distinct purpose. Thus, how far of a leap would it really be to suggest that they all possess some form of sentience? Some form of free will? Before meeting George, she didn’t think prisms were capable of such individual thinking, but they are. This universe is full of strange wonders.

So what else could she be wrong about?

She offers a thin, apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I don’t have any solid answers for you, but… you strike a valid point. Perhaps all of us aren’t so different.”

“D’ya really think so?” he says, his eyes glimmering with stars, seemingly overjoyed to have convinced her of this.

She gives a short chuckle, reaching out a slender hand to ruffle his hair. “You’ve long since shown me that anything’s possible.”

The boy grins at her affectionate touch, appearing far more relaxed now than when he first sat down. Good. If they’re gonna succeed in retrieving these last two prisms, they’ll need him in high spirits. His encouragement, healing powers, and support has been paramount to this mission so far. In the far distance Amethyst’s laughter rings, reminding her both of the Gems she loves, and the trials they’ve yet to face together. To be honest, she has no way of guessing how many battles they have left to fight. But… regardless of outcome… there is one possibility that’s always worth striving for. Gently, she rests her hand upon Steven’s shoulder.

“Listen…” she says softly, “I don’t know how successful we’d be reasoning with the light constructs directly, but if you ever sense a good moment to try and settle this issue with Demantoid and Pyrope peacefully, I want you to take that chance, all right? For everyone’s sake.”

Steven nods in full seriousness, taking her words to heart.

A faint smile dusts her lips as she pulls the young teen closer, allowing him to nestle his head against her chest like he always used to do when he was but a kid. “And for the record? You’re definitely not the only one who’s tired of fighting.”

#su #pearl #steven universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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backtothestart02 · 3 years

Text

Teacher’s Pet - 1/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Written for Mi on twitter. <3 Is there any new fic I won’t start and never update? *nervous laughter* Hopefully this will be updated soon. Hope you all enjoy. It’s the forbidden college teacher-student romance au you never knew you needed. Iris is much older than Barry and the rest of the chars (minus Scott). Just an fyi.

...

Synopsis: AU - Fresh off a break-up, the last person Barry expects to fall for is his new English teacher.

...

Chapter 1 -

The university building loomed just ahead on the far side of the courtyard. It was menacing in its stature, for what it represented. A return to academics, sure, but that was something Barry had always enjoyed. No, this building was menacing because it thrust into his face the reality that he almost hadn’t passed any of his classes the previous semester. He had a long way to go to get back to the top of his class and to a place where his parents would be proud of him again. That was important to him.

He stepped out of his car and shut the door behind him, gulping as he looked up at the flag whipping in the wind in plain view of the building. It was cold outside. There was still snow on the ground. His boots crunched as he walked on the ground and around the car to pop open the trunk and grab the two duffel bags he’d taken home with him on winter break.

His phone started to buzz when he was halfway to the building. Reluctantly, he dropped his bags in the snow and answered it.

“Hey, Cisco.”

“Barry! Finally, you answered!”

Barry frowned.

“I just got back to school. You know I don’t pick up the phone when I’m driving.”

He could practically feel Cisco rolling his eyes on the other end.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Where are you at?”

Barry looked around.

“Right in front of our building,” he said. “Think you can come down and open the door for me? My hands are kinda full.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure thing.”

“Unless you’re too busy?”

“Mid-game actually.” Barry could hear video game noises in the background. They abruptly stopped. “But for you, I pause. I’ll be right there.”

“Great. Tha-”

But Cisco hung up before he could finish.

Barry shoved the phone back in his coat pocket and picked up his bags again. Then he trudged over to the building, stuffing the dread he’d felt on seeing the place again as far down as he could muster.

“There he is! Man of the hour!” Cisco declared, opening the door just as he arrived.

“Thanks, man.”

“It’s the least I could do. Personally, I was starting to wonder if you’d ever get here.”

Barry snorted.

“I don’t exactly live close by.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Here let me-”

But Barry held both bags out of reach.

“They’re heavy, Cisco. I put as much as I could into them before I left.”

“I remember. I was surprised the zipper didn’t break.”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he drawled, shifting one bag over his shoulder. “Just lead the way.”

“Suit yourself. You may change your mind though.��

“What would make me do that?”

“The fact that the elevator is under construction for another month.”

Barry abruptly dropped one of the bags just shy of his foot.

“What, for real? I thought they were going to finish that over break.”

Cisco shrugged. “Guess not.”

Barry blew out a puff of air and reluctantly handed a bag over to his roommate.

“Shit, what do you got in here, bricks? Cement blocks? Oh, I know, pure gold.”

“Told you it was heavy.”

Barry moved past him towards the stairs.

“We still on the third floor?”

“Last time I checked.”

Barry nodded and took the stairs two at a time.

“Hey, Mr. Long Legs,” Cisco called out when he was only halfway up the stairs and Barry was turned the corner to the next staircase. “Slow up a bit, would ya?”

“Sorry.” Barry stopped. “But if I stop for too long, I’ll lose my energy and before you know it, I’ll be unpacking in the middle of the stairs.”

Heaving by the time he reached them, Cisco could only gesture for him to continue. Barry had to smile a bit to himself, but by the time they reached it to the final platform, he was due for some extra oxygen too.

“We should start working out.”

“On campus?” Cisco asked. “You know who’s always hogging the fitness center.”

Barry didn’t need a reminder.

“Wally West, yeah, I know.”

“He doesn’t exactly like you.”

“He stole my girlfriend.”

“To be fair, he’s been working out longer than you.”

“I don’t work out.”

“Case in point.”

“We could start walking.”

“In this weather?” Cisco visibly shivered. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“So, what, we just stay skinny and pale for the rest of our lives?”

“I’ll just stay skinny, thank you very much. And after what you went through last semester, maybe the last thing you should be focused on is buffing up for the ladies.”

Barry rolled his eyes. He didn’t need the reminder. He hadn’t been in love with Linda, so her breaking up with him for cocky jock Wally West bruised his ego more than his heart, but it still hurt. He liked her, and he thought after a year of dating, they had something real. Guess he was wrong.

Spending the tail end of the semester trying to win her back instead of focusing on his finals was probably the reason he’d nearly flunked out of every class he’d been taking. He wouldn’t be doing that again.

Abruptly, he realized Cisco was still talking.

“You know the real reason Wally bothers you so much isn’t just because of Linda.”

“No? What is it then, oh, wise one?”

Cisco turned the key in the door to their room and stepped inside, dropping Barry’s bag on the floor for him to pick up and carry across the room.

“It’s because he skates by in his classes too. He rarely shows up, rarely puts in an effort, and yet, because his sister teaches, she has an in with his records and sweet talks the other teachers to let him slide by.”

Barry straightened after shrugging out of his coat and kicking his boots off.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Surprise!” Cisco said animatedly.

Barry was not amused.

“I have her as my English teacher this semester.”

Cisco winced. “Yikes.”

Barry scowled.

“I hear she’s pretty though. Like, drop-dead gorgeous.”

“I’m not gonna date my teacher.”

“Who said anything about dating her? She’s just something nice to look at. Maybe she’ll be sweet on you.”

“Oh, yeah, the woman who’s cheating the system so her brother graduates will give me – the ex to her brother’s girl whose gpa has seriously tanked over the last months – a fair chance.”

Cisco shrugged.

“It’s only one class?”

Barry sighed.

“Yeah, I guess.” He shook his head. “I need a distraction from all this.”

Cisco snapped his fingers.

“Video games!”

Barry considered it.

“Yeah, I guess that might do it.”

“It will do it.” He picked up a controller and handed it to him. “Here. I’ll even delete all my progress so we can both play.”

Barry snorted.

“Thanks, man. You’re one in a million.”

“Better than Linda and Wally combined.”

“And Ms. West.”

“Professor West she likes to be called.”

Of course she does.

Barry rolled his eyes and reached over to Cisco’s controller to start the game and shut him up.

“Hey, what did y-”

“Play!”

Cisco shook his head and started to play, eventually forgetting his minor irritation and focusing wholeheartedly on the game and having his best friend back in his space again.

It would be a good semester. Despite all odds, Barry would excel. He had no doubt.

…

Iris draped the fuzzy blanket over her legs and sank into her couch. After a tasty dinner for one and an exhilarating bath, here she was ready to enjoy a few chapters of her current favorite book for the night. Tomorrow classes would start up again, and she would have to be up at the crack of dawn to be in teacher mode. It had been a solid month and a half of relaxation and freedom – minus the small inconvenience of having Wally crash with her and frequently invite his new girlfriend over. But aside from that, it had been nice.

She enjoyed teaching though, always had. Running the school newspaper helped channel her passions for something more. And when she wasn’t worrying about whether or not she would be the only one in her family graduating college, she could enjoy being a flirt to just about every man on staff. The other women envied her. She didn’t care. She didn’t sleep around. It was all in good fun. And it would all resume tomorrow morning, bright and early.

A sudden loud noise interrupted her thoughts. She looked toward the door and found to her great annoyance that it was her brother, whose lips were attached to the new girl she’d met only twice over the last month. Her eyes narrowed when she realized his hands were searching out the hem of her shirt and the zipper of her skirt.

“Uh, Wally?”

No response. Just more moans and groping.

“Hey, Wally!” She snapped – literally.

His eyes opened, and he distanced himself from his girl, though only slightly.

“Iris. Hey. What are y-”

“I live here, remember?”

“Yes, right. I know. I just thought…”

“It’s nine o’clock, and you’re crashing on my couch. Where were you expecting to go?”

He had the gall to have a straight face.

Meanwhile, the girl just inches from him blushed.

“Oh, my God, Wally,” she whispered under her breath. “I thought you said she wouldn’t be home.”

Iris got to her feet.

“You were going to fuck in my bed.”

“Well, I…”

“You were!”

“Maybe I should go…” the mortified girl muttered.

“Yeah, I think you’d better,” Iris barked.

“Hey! Don’t talk to her like that!” Wally ordered.

Iris’ eyes widened.

“Maybe you should leave too.”

“And go where?”

“I don’t know. Home?”

“I came here so I didn’t have to. You know they’d never take me. They can’t stand the sight of me.”

“Yeah, well, right now I can’t really stand the sight of you either.”

He fumed. She fumed right back.

“I’ll just go,” the girl piped up again. “I’m so sorry about this, Iris.” She swallowed hard.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Both women gave him a deadly glare until finally Wally relented. He softened as he turned to his girlfriend.

“I mean, do you really want to go?”

“I…”

Iris was in disbelief. This was her apartment!

“I’m calling mom.”

He spun around to face his sister instead.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Leave.” She pointed toward the door. “Come back when you have your priorities straightened out.”

He scoffed but wrapped his arm around his girl and guided her to the door.

“Come on, Linda. We can go to your place.”

“I have a roommate,” she panicked.

“Guess you won’t be fucking then,” Iris said dryly.

Wally glared but left the apartment. Iris locked the door immediately. He had a key, so it wasn’t going to keep him out, but it would give her some peace of mind until she went to bed.

Heaving a sigh, she collapsed back on the couch and closed her eyes for a few minutes before grabbing her book and relaxing into it again.

It took a while, and she was just about into the zone of where the characters were headed when there was a knock on the door.

She sighed, aggravated, and deliberately set the book down on the coffee table. Then she got to her feet and headed toward the door.

“So help me, Wallace, if that is actually you… If you lost your key… If you’re coming back this soon, there better be an apology,” she muttered heatedly.

She was so focused on the possibility that it was her brother that she flung the door open without looking through the peephole and was fuming when she came face to face with a familiar yet completely unexpected face.

“Scott?”

“Did I…come at a bad time?”

She blinked, suddenly aware of just a teddy beneath her fluffy robe. She looked him over and debated her options. He looked dashing, as always, and the easy charm was there in his half-amused smile pulling at his lips. There’d been an easy flirtation between the two of them since they’d met five years ago, but they’d never acted on it. Now here he was the night before the spring semester started with red roses in one hand and an uncurling fist that was probably sweaty as the other.

Suddenly, she needed nothing more than to act out one of the steamy love scenes in her book. Damn it all to hell what the next day brought.

She grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him into her apartment, kissing him soundly on the lips. He made no attempt to push away, and in fact moved to undress her through the far less layers as she was undressing him.

The door was shut, and the flowers dropped in the flurry of it all, and before either of them realized the gravity of what had happened, they were in Iris’ bedroom fucking, and Iris was kind of smug about it because it should serve Wally right for trying to do it first.

That didn’t mean she’d let him spend the night however. If Wally saw him gossip would spread, no doubt to get back at her, and she didn’t need either of their teaching reputations ruined like that.

So, about ten minutes after they’d crested, and Scott was laying in bed beside her with a gigantic grin on his face, Iris propped herself up and made a gesture towards the door.

“Okay, time for you to go.”

His jaw dropped.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, honey.” She stroked his chest. “You were fantastic.”

“Then?”

“We’re not together. I was just feeling stressed out, and you alleviated my stress. Thank you.” She smiled serenely.

He blinked.

“Seriously, go. If Wally sees you here, gossip will spread before either of us gets a word in our classes tomorrow. That’s hardly the best way to start the semester.”

He blinked again, still trying to process. She didn’t like that.

“Go!” She pulled on her robe and yanked him out of her bedroom.

He seemed to figure out what was going on by that point and caught his clothes as she threw them at him.

“I…uh…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow in the hall.”

“You will?” he asked hopefully.

“In the hall,” she repeated.

He frowned, and she sighed, moving swiftly past him to open the door and usher him out.

“Did you like the flowers at least?” he asked pathetically.

“They’re lovely,” she assured. “Goodnight, Scott.”

Then she closed the door in his face and locked it, promptly turning and throwing out the flowers without even a single sniff. Wally couldn’t see she had flowers. He was annoyingly observant and picked up on shit like that.

She returned to her bedroom, changed the sheets, and took a quick shower to rinse off the sweat. Then she settled in to sleep with a smile on her face. Amazing what a one-night stand could do for a girl’s mood.

This semester was going to be great.

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #teacher's pet #chapter 1

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fairyqueenofthedragons · 4 years

Text

The Magic Begins

Fablekingdom chapter 2

As I'm following canon set up of chapters, it starts with set up still. I am trying to show a slightly different dynamic between the siblings, while keeping the spirit of it. There will be bigger changes later on, but obviously the beginning is hard to change majorly, especially just arriving lol.

(Find Chapter One with a server of “Fk ch 1)

Hope you enjoy the chapter :D

Come chat with me on discord: https://discord.gg/8Vc6w9JWxv

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Kendra had been sitting in the car for hours.

She and Seth had done just about everything they could think of to handle the boredom, but she’d finished her two books, they’d played a dozen rounds of tic-tac-toe, and he’d moved onto trying to beat her at chopsticks (that game with your fingers). Seth had had a few comics, but he’d gone through them faster then she had her books. Even his handheld video game couldn’t hold his attention anymore.

“I thought you said that Grandpa Sorenson lived in Connecticut, not India,” Seth grumbled.

Mom sighed, having listened to Seth’s complaints for the last hour, “It won’t be much longer. Enjoy the scenery.”

She’d said that the last six times.

“It’s boring! I’m hungry, can we stop for food?”

Kendra was on Seth’s side here; the scenery was boring.

Mom pulled up the grocery bag full of snacks, “How about some Peanut butter and crackers instead?”

Seth shot Kendra a pained look but reached for the crackers regardless.

“Ooh, I want some Almond Roca,” Dad said without taking his eyes from the road.

He’s still managed to keep to his New Year’s resolution of keeping Almond Roca on hand at all times.

“Do you want anything Kendra?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Kendra turned her gaze outside as Seth munched on his snack. When was this drive going to be over? At least Grandfathers house can’t be as boring as this drive.

Honestly, Kendra wasn’t happy they were being sent off to stay with their grandparents just because of some cruise. She wished her family would just let them come with… or maybe just her, Seth might be too young (and too annoying).

They would be gone for seventeen days! Kendra couldn’t believe they’d just leave them like this.

They’re getting it for free, them and all the aunts and uncles on her mom’s side. They didn’t win a contest or anything to get it, they got the cruise because Kendra’s grandparents had asphyxiated.

Grandma and Grandpa Larsen had been visiting relatives in South Carolina. Unfortunately, the trailer they lived in had some gas leak and they’d all died in their sleep. The grandparents had specified a long time ago that when they died all their kids and spouses were to use an allocated sum of money to go on a Scandinavian cruise.

Grandchildren were not invited.

“We’re almost there kids!” Kendra’s dad said cheerfully.

“Yay,” Seth grumbled. “Then you guys can abandon us for your fancy cruise.”

“Won’t you get bored stuck on a boat for seventeen days?” Kendra asked hopefully.

Dad caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “The food is supposed to be incredible, top reviews. Snails, fish eggs, the works. It’s gonna be great.”

Mom wacked his arm.

“We’re not all that excited about the trip kids,” Mom said sadly. “I doubt your grandparents envisioned an accidental death when they made the request. The cruise is to honor their memory more than for fun.”

“What kind of death did they plan then?” Seth muttered.

Kendra couldn’t help but agree, who planned their death?

The ship stops in ports as you go,” Dad said, deliberately redirecting the conversation. “You get to disembark for part of the time.”

“Are you at least going to get us something?” Kendra asked. “If you’re just going to leave us at your parent’s house.”

“Of course we will dear,” Mom reassured. “We’ll get you some chocolates, maybe some books, maybe there will be cool jewelry!”

“I want a sword,” Seth said. “A sharp one.”

“I think it’s great for you kids that you get to stay with my parents,” Dad added. “I mean, they never invite anyone to stay with them. It’s definitely better than some cruise.”

Kendra shared a look with Seth, their parents were full of it.

“They’re hermits,” Seth argued. “We barely know them!”

“They’re my parents,” Dad said. “I survived, you’ll have fun.”

The car passed through a small town, only a few buildings lined the road, many seeming old a run down. There didn’t appear to be anything more interesting than a small library at the corner.

“It’s very exciting,” Dad continued. “Like I said, they never invite anyone. You’ll have a blast.”

Kendra tried hard not to roll her eyes. She knew for a fact that they hadn’t been invited. Kendra had overheard their mom when she approached Grandpa Sorenson about letting the kids stay with him at the funeral.

The funeral itself hadn’t been fun at all, it was creepy seeing her grandparents all dressed up fancy with lots of makeup. It didn’t look like them at all.

Those grandparents, the Larsen’s, they were the ones that they’d known. They’d come to lots of holidays and done many long visits with Kendra’s family. But Kendra couldn’t remember seeing the Sorenson’s much since Seth had started second grade.

Grandma and Grandpa Sorenson had inherited an estate in Connecticut around the time her parents were married. All the stories she’d heard were fantastical, filled with fairies and demons and witches. They were obviously fake, it made her think the place was something very boring.

Honestly, everyone was shocked when grandpa Sorenson had shown up at the funeral. It’d been more than eighteen months since either grandparent had visited anywhere.

He’d apologized that Grandma Ruth hadn’t been able to come, she’d fallen ill, but it really was the norm for only one to show up.

But at the end Kendra had overheard Mom talking to Grandpa Sorenson, cajoling him into watching her and Seth. She’d been heading to the bathroom but paused when she’d overheard them at the corner.

“Why can’t they stay with Marci?”

“Normally they would, but Marci is coming on the cruise.”

Kendra had risked a peek and seen Grandpa Sorenson standing across from her mom.

“Where are Marci’s kids going?”

“To her in-laws.”

“What about a baby-sitter?”

Grandpa had seemed almost pleading then, his expression tight.

“Two and a half weeks is a long time for a sitter. You’ve mentioned before something about having them over…”

“Yes, I do recall… But does it have to be late June? What about July?”

“The cruise is on a time frame. What’s the difference?”

He’d rubbed his face with a sigh.

“Things are extra busy then… I don’t know, Marla. I’m not that good with kids. Is there no where else they could go?”

“I’m sorry Stan,” Mom said, sounding on the verge of tears. “I know things are busy for you, and I don’t want to go on this cruise. You did so good with them when they were younger, I know you don’t see them often but… This cruise was important to my parents, so I want to go for them. If you can’t take care of the kids we can stay behind-“

“No,” Grandpa Sorenson interrupted with a sigh. “It’s fine. I’m sure we can find some place to lock them up.”

So, no, Grandpa Sorenson did not invite them.

Seth finished his crackers and pulled his game back out, flipping through the cartridges.

“Which game should I play?”

Kendra leaned over, “The fashion one.”

He rolled his eyes, “That one is just for character design.”

“Then make an elf.”

“I don’t want to!”

“You asked which you should do.”

“Nevermind, your suggestion is dumb.”

Seth ended up picking a fighting game and started it up.

Kendra got bored of watching quickly and turned to look out the windows. The trees were large and dark, little light slipping through the branches.

She jolted when they turned onto a gravel driveway.

“Look at that sign,” Seth said.

She followed his finger to see signs hanging on the side of the road.

Private Property

No Trespassing

Trespassers Will Be Persecuted

Please respect our privacy

“What are all these signs?” Kendra muttered.

“Oh, you know Grandpa Sorenson,” her dad said cheerfully. “Such a sense of humor.”

“I think they’re funny,” Seth declared. “Can we get some for our house?”

Kendra frowned at them as the car continued up the long driveway, no house anywhere in sight.

There were more signs as they went.

Beware of the Dog

We do not call 911

Beware of .12 Gauge

No Public Access at any Time

Owner Shoots

Kendra leaned back. This seems so… pleasant.

“I like that one,” Seth said pointing at the Owner Shoots sign.

Kendra shook her head as they finally reached the end of the driveway. Before them was a wrought-iron fence topped with fleurs-de-lis. Open in their path was a large double gate. She peered around but couldn’t see the end of the fence through the trees.

Even after passing through the gates there was still no sign of the house through the trees, until suddenly the trees cut off.

A large house came into view suddenly. It wasn’t quite a mansion, but was definitely larger than most houses Kendra had seen.

It was constructed out of dark wood and stone, old looking but solid and in good shape. The grounds around it were much more impressive though. There was a massive flower garden blooming in front of the house, with manicured hedges and a fish pond. It seemed to wrap around the side of the house too. Kendra wondered what flowers there were, and if there was a vegetable garden as well.

Further back Kendra could see a massive barn, at least five stories tall and topped with a large weather vane that she couldn’t quite make out but seemed shaped like an animal, but not a rooster.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Mom said. “I wish we were all staying.”

Kendra blinked, “You’ve never been here?”

“No,” Mom said sadly. “Your father came here a few times before we were married.”

Dad nodded, “Yeah. There are some wild stories about this place, haha, I’ve told you a few of them.”

Seth yawned, “Yeah, like the evil witch in a shack.”

“Or the demon in the chapel.”

“Aren’t there trolls over one hill?”

Their dad laughed, “Yeah, my dad used to tell some wild stories. You should hear the ones Aunt Sophie would tell sometimes. She swears she met satyrs one time.”

The two shared an exasperated look.

“Anyways, you’ll have a blast. We never stayed long, but it was always entertaining. Worst comes to worst you can just hang out in the pool.”

Kendra rolled her eyes. Honestly, they were too old to believe all those fairy tales.

The car pulled to a stop just outside the garage as the front door open.

Grandpa Sorenson stepped out, followed by a tall, lanky man and a thin, older woman. Mom, Dad, Seth, and Kendra hopped out of the car.

The older woman was unfamiliar to Kendra, and so was the man. The woman had white hair streaked with black strands, and yet her face seemed ageless, her age impossible to place. Her skin was a tawny olive tone that appeared completely flawless, her black hair was pin-straight and framed her face.

The man had messy brown hair to go with matching brown eyes that studied them intently. He came over to the van, helping Dad open the back and begin removing suitcases.

“Just place the things inside,” Grandpa told Dad. “Dale will take them up to the bedroom.”

“Where’s Mom?” Dad asked looking around.

“She’s visiting your Aunt Edna.”

Dad looked surprised. “In Missouri?”

“Edna’s dying,” Grandpa said grimly.

Kendra had barely heard of Aunt Edna, and never met her, so she wasn’t that affected by it. Dad seemed upset thought.

She shifted awkwardly, studying the house to distract herself from their conversation.

The windows were cool, with bubbly glass. And there were bird nests under the eaves. She also noticed a lot of butterflies fluttering around.

Mom suddenly drew their attention and Seth and her scrambled to gather their things from the car and shove it all in their backpacks to bring in.

“I’ll grab the pillows if you grab the blankets?” Seth offered.

“Sure,” Kendra agreed, reaching for the blanket Seth had brought for napping on the car ride while he snagged her pillow.

Seth also snagged his ‘emergency kit’, a cereal box filled with odds and ends he thought would come in handy.

The two hurried after their parents, reaching them at the front door.

“Oh, there you are,” Mom said. “Got everything?”

“Yeah,” Seth huffed. “Except a ticket to go on the cruise.”

Mom sighed, ruffling Seth’s hair. “We’ll miss you too.”

He groaned, swiping at her hand as she turned to Kendra.

“Watch out for your brother, and both of you stay out of trouble, okay?”

Kendra nodded, “We’ll do our best.”

“So who’s this?” Dad was asking Grandpa.

“This is Lena, our housekeeper,” Grandpa said. “She helps around the house while Dale helps me tend to the grounds.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dad said.

“A pleasure,” Lena agreed with a soft accent. Kendra couldn’t quite place it, yet it reminded her of the ocean.

Lena opened the door, beckoning them inside.

“Oh, the home is beautiful,” Mom said. “I wish we had time for a tour.”

“Maybe when you get back,” Grandpa offered.

Kendra looked around. The house really was beautiful.

The glossy wood floors shone in the light and a low table in the entry hall held a beautifully painted ceramic vase with wilting flowers placed in it. There was a tall, brass coatrack off to one side beside a black bench with a high, carved back. It looked old and very interesting.

“Thank you again for letting the kids stay with you,” Dad said. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

Grandpa nodded, looking a bit awkward.

“It’s our pleasure.”

“I wish we could visit some,” Dad said. “But we’re on a really tight schedule.”

Grandpa pat his shoulder, “I understand, another time. Don’t let us keep you from your trip.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Dad turned to Kendra and Seth, ruffling Seth’s hair.

“Have fun kids, we’ll be back before you know it.”

“Be good,” Mom said, hugging Kendra then Seth. “Do whatever Grandpa Sorenson tells you.”

Kendra sniffed, tears welling up. She swallowed hard and nodded, “Have a fun cruise.”

“Bring us back souvenirs,” Seth reminded.

Mom laughed, “The best ones.”

“We love you kids,” Dad said as he headed to the door.

Mom hugged them both one last time then went after him.

Kendra hurried after them, watching as they climbed into the SUV and start it up. Dad honked the horn as he pulled out, turning around and driving away. Kendra watched until the SUV vanished into the trees.

She tried not to think that her parents were probably relieved to be off without Seth and her. They were probably delighted for the vacation, not caring that they’d abandoned their two kids alone in a pretty, but creepy home with a grandparent they barely know.

Seth was poking around the entrance room, poking at one of the cabinets and picking up one of the intricate pieces of a decorative chess set.

Grandpa stood awkwardly, watching Seth and wincing when Seth put down a piece too hard.

“Leave the chess pieces alone,” Kendra told Seth. “They look expensive and breakable.”

“It’s fine,” Grandpa said, looking relieved when Seth put them down. He cleared his throat, “Shall I show you to your room?”

“Okay,” Seth said. “When’s lunch?”

Grandpa coughed, “It’s a bit past lunch but we can make you a snack to hold you till dinner.”

Seth nodded eagerly, “I’m starving.”

Kendra followed silently as Grandpa went up the stairs and down a carpeted hall to the foot of a narrow wooden staircase leading up to a white door.

“We don’t often have guests, especially children,” Grandpa explained. “I think you’ll be the most comfortable in the attic.”

Kendra was expecting something dark and musty, like the attic back home, but when he opened the door she saw it was actually very nice.

It was set up like a cheerful playroom. Spacious, clean, and bright, the long room had two beds at the far end, one wall covered in bookshelves and a couple of dressers, and the other held two wardrobes and some toy chests. There was a unicorn rocking horse sitting to the side, and a full dollhouse in one corner with a small piano in the other. Sitting beside of one of the dressers was a hen in a cage.

Seth went straight for the chicken. “Cool!” He poked a finger through the slender bars, trying to pet the soft looking feathers.

“Be careful, Seth,” Kendra warned. “Be gentle.”

“He’ll be fine,” Grandpa soothed. “Goldilocks is more a house pet than a barnyard hen. Your grandmother usually takes care of her, but since she’s gone I thought you kids might enjoy taking care of her for now. You’ll need to feed her, clean her cage, and collect her eggs.”

Seth looked delighted, “She lays eggs?”

“An egg or two a day if you keep her well fed,” Grandpa confirmed, motioning to a white plastic bucket full of kernels. “One scoop in the morning and in the evening should be good. I’ll show you how to change the lining of her cage in a few days. Make sure she has plenty of water and a tiny bowl of milk each morning.”

“Milk?”

He smiled mysteriously, “That’s the secret behind the eggs.”

“Can we take her out?” Seth asked, now stroking her feathers.

“Be gentle,” Grandpa said. “And put her back after.”

“Is it okay for us to play with the toys?” Kendra asked, studying the dollhouse. “Some of these look expensive.”

“Toys should be played with,” Grandpa said. “Just try to take care of them and that will be enough.”

“Awesome,” Seth said, going over to the piano and banging on the keys.

Kendra blinked, the notes sounded different than a piano. She couldn’t quite place what was off.

“While you stay here, this room is your space,” Grandpa said. “Within reason of course. I won’t pick up this space, nor bother you about it, as long as you treat the rest of the house with respect.”

“Alright,” Kendra agreed.

“Sounds good,” Seth nodded.

“I also have some unfortunate news. We’re in the height of tick season, have you heard of Lyme disease?”

Seth shook his head, but Kendra considered for a moment.

“I think so, but I can’t remember what it is.”

“It was originally discovered in the town of Lyme, Connecticut, not too far from here. You can catch it from tick bites, and during tick season the woods here are full of ticks.”

“What’s it do?” Seth asked.

“It starts out as a rash,” Grandpa said. “But it leads to arthritis, paralysis, and heart failure. And on top of that, ticks in general are bad to have. If you try to pull them off the heads detach, makes them hard to remove.”

“Gross,” Kendra muttered.

Grandpa nodded, “They’re very small and hard to see, at least until they fill up on blood, then they get as large as grapes.”

“Wow,” Seth said. “Can’t you just use bug spray?”

Grandpa nodded, “That can help, but isn’t a guarantee. The point is, you kids aren’t allowed to go into the woods. Stay on the lawn, play in the pool, explore the gardens, but stay away from the woods. I won’t be taking you to the hospital for Lyme disease.”

They both nodded.

“Good. As long as you follow that rule it’ll be fine. Break it and I’ll have to take away your outdoor privileges for your own safety.”

Seth winced, “Right, got it.”

“We understand,” Kendra assured him.

Grandpa nodded again, looking satisfied.

“One last thing,” he continued. “You’ll also need to stay out of the barn. There’s a lot of old tools and ladders and rusty pieces of farm equipment. I don’t want to risk you getting injured or getting tetanus.”

“Okay,” Seth agreed easily.

“Sounds reasonable,” Kendra said.

“Is there a TV?” Seth asked, poking at a canvas on an easel by one of the toy chests.

“No TV, or radio. We don’t get good reception out here, and it’s very expensive to run lines out.”

“When’s dinner?”

“In a few hours, Lena will be bringing up a snack for you soon. On that note, if you need anything, go to Lena. I’m very busy handling the upkeep of the property, so Lena will help with whatever you need.” He motioned to a purple cord hanging against the wall near one of the beds. “Tug the cord if you need her.”

“Alright, will we eat in one of the dining rooms?”

Grandpa nodded, “When I’m able to join you yes. On the days I’m too busy, like today, you can eat in here, in the kitchen, or anywhere else in the house. As long as you keep everything relatively clean you’re free to eat where you’re comfortable.”

“Wow,” said Seth. “Mom and Dad never let us eat in our rooms!”

Grandpa’s lips twitched, “Well, if it seems you can’t clean up after yourselves I may put a limit on it. But for now, you’re free to eat where you please.”

“Awesome,” Seth muttered.

Kendra’s smiled, that did sound nice.

“Now then, I need to go and complete my chores. I’ll likely not see you again till tomorrow.” He turned to leave but paused, pulling out a tiny key ring from his coat pocket. “Each of these keys fit something in this room. See if you can figure out what each unlocks.”

Kendra accepted the keyring curiously and Grandpa headed out, shutting the door gently behind him.

Seth had opened a toy chest now and was examining the contents. The toys were old-fashioned but in excellent condition. Soldiers, dolls, puzzles, stuffed animals, wooden blocks, some blocks shaped like logs, and others.

Kendra went to the window, a telescope put before it. She tried to peer through the eyepiece but couldn’t get it to focus right no matter how much she adjusted the knobs.

Pulling away she studied the window, realizing they were made of bubbly glass like the front of the house.

She unfastened the latch, pushing the window open. Even without the telescope she could see far into the forest. She moved the telescope closer and peered through it. After a moment of adjusted the knobs she could see even the leaves of the trees in clear detail.

“Oh, let me see,” Seth said, peering over her shoulder.

“Give me a bit, I just started looking.”

“But I wanna see.”

“Go play with the toys some,” Kendra huffed. “I’ll let you look after I’m done.”

“But sharing is caring,” Seth insisted.

“I said you could look, let me use it first though. I was using it already.”

Seth squinted, “What are you even looking at?”

“The trees.”

“Boring, let me see. I’ll look at something more interesting.”

Kendra rolled her eyes but stepped away, not wanting to deal with his whining.

“Fine but let me close the window. I don’t want bugs to come in.”

“Sure, whatever,” Seth studied the telescope as she closed the window and went off to study the dressers.

They were carved elegantly with fairies and unicorns and fiery birds.

She ran her fingers over the intricate patterns, she wished she had something like this at home.

She shook her head, going to look at the wardrobes, it reminded her of the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. She wondered if she stepped in would she find a mystical land on the other side.

“This stupid thing won’t even focus,” Seth complained.

Kendra smiled.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to reblog and leave a review, they feed my soul.

What did you think of the room? What changes do you think their foreknowledge will bring? What things did you dislike from the original series that you'd like changed?

lmk if you’d like to be tagged.

#fablehaven #fablehaven fanfic #fablehaven fanfiction #fh fanfic #fh fanfiction #kendra sorenson #seth sorenson #fablekingdom ch. 2 #fablekingdom #fablekingdom ch 2 #bamf!Seth #bamf!Kendra #smart!kendra #smart!seth #grandpa sorenson #grandma sorenson #fk ch 2

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johnrossbowie · 4 years

Text

LEAVING TWITTER

I wrote this earlier in the fall, before the election, after dissolving my Twitter account. I wasn’t sure where to put it (“try up your ass!” – someone, I’m sure) and then I remembered I have a tumblr I never use. Anyway, here tis.

How do you shame someone who thinks Trumps’ half-baked policies and quarter-baked messaging put him in the pantheon of great Presidents? How do you shame someone so lacking in introspection that they will call Obama arrogant while praising Trump’s decisiveness and yet at the same time vehemently deny that they’re racist? How do you shame someone for whom that racism is endearing and maybe long overdue?

You don’t. It’s silly to think otherwise.

Twitter is an addiction of mine, and true to form, my dependence on it grew more serious after I quit drinking in 2010. At first it was a chance to mouth off, make jokes both stupid and erudite and occasionally stick my foot in my mouth (I owe New Yorker writer Tad Friend an apology. He knows why, or (God willing) he’s forgotten. Either way. Sorry.) I blew off steam, steam that was accumulating without booze to dampen the flames. Not always constructive venting, but I also met new friends, and connected with people whose work I’ve admired for literal decades and ended up seeing plays with Lin-Manuel Miranda and hanging backstage with Jane Wiedlin after a Go-Go’s show and exchanging sober thoughts with Mike Doughty. When my mom passed in 2018, a lot of people reached out to tell me they were thinking of me. This was nice. For a while, Twitter was a huge help when I needed it.

I used to hate going to parties and really hated dancing and mingling, but a couple of drinks would fix that. Point is, for a while, booze was a huge help, too.

But my engagement with Twitter changed, and I started calling people my ‘friends’ even though I’d never once met them or even heard their voices. These weren’t even penpals, these were people whose jokes or stances I enjoyed, so with Arthurian benevolence I clicked on a little heart icon, liked their tweet, and assumed therefore that we had signed some sort of blood oath.

We had not. I got glib, and cheap, and a little lazy. And then to make matters much worse, Trump came along and extended his reach with the medium.

There was a while there where I thought I could be a sort of voice for the voiceless, and I thought I was doing that. I tried very hard to only contribute things that I felt were not being said – It wasn’t accomplishing anything to notice “Haha Trump looks like he’s bullshitting his way through an oral report” – such things were self-evident. I tried to point out very specific inconsistencies in his policies, like the Muslim ban meant to curb terrorism that still favored the country that brought forth 13 of the 9/11 hijackers. Like his full-throated cries against media bias performed while he suckled at Roger Ailes’ wrinkly teat. Like his fondness for evangelical votes that coincided with a scriptural knowledge that lagged far behind mine, even though I’m a lapsed Episcopalian, and there is no one less religiously observant than a lapsed Episcopalian. But that eventually gave way to unleashing ad hominem attacks against his higher profile supporters, who I felt weren’t being questioned enough, who I felt were in turn being fawned over by theirdim supporters. If you’re one of these guys, and you think I’m talking about you, you’re probably right, but don’t mistake this for an apology. You suck, and you support someone who sucks, and your idolatry is hurting our country and its standing in the world. Fuck you entirely, but that’s not the point. The point is that me screaming into the toilet of Twitter helps no one – it doesn’t help a family stuck at the border because they’re trying to secure a better life for their kids. It doesn’t help a poor teenager who can’t get an abortion because the party of ‘small government’ has squeezed their tiny jurisdiction into her uterus. It doesn’t help the coal miner who’s staking all his hopes on a dying industry and a President’s empty promises to resurrect it. I was born in New York City, and I currently live in Los Angeles. Those are the only two places I’ve ever lived, if you don’t count the 4 years I spent in Ithaca[1]. So, yes, I live in a liberal bubble, and while I’ve driven across the country a couple of times and did a few weeks in a touring band and am as crushed as any heartlander about the demise of Waffle House, you have me dead to rights if you call me a coastal elitist. And with that in mind, I offer few surprises. A guy who grew up in the theater district and was vehemently opposed to same-sex marriage or felt you should own an AR-15? THAT would be newsworthy. I am not newsworthy. I can preach to the choir, I can confirm people’s biases, but I will likely not sway anyone who is eager to dismiss a Native New Yorker who lives in Hollywood. I grew up in the New York of the 1970s, and that part of my identity did shape my politics. My mom’s boss was gay and the Son of Sam posed a realistic threat. As such, gays are job creators[2] and guns are used for homicide much more often than they are used for self-defense[3]. I have found this to be generally true over the years, and there’s even data to back it up.

“But Mr. Bowie,” you might say, though I insist you call me John - “those studies are conducted by elitist institutions and those institutions suck!” And again, I am not going to reason with people who will dismiss anything that doesn’t fit their limited world view as elitist or, God Help Us, fake news. But the studies above are peer-reviewed, convincing, and there are more where those came from.

“But John,” you might say, and I am soothed that we’re one a first name basis - “Can’t you just stay on Twitter for the jokes?” Ugh. A) apparently not and B) the jokes are few and far between, and I am 100% part of that problem.

I have stuff to offer, but Twitter is not the place from which to offer it.

After years of academically understanding that Twitter is not the real world, Super Tuesday 2020 made the abstract pretty fucking concrete. If you had looked at my feed on the Monday beforehand – my feed which is admittedly curated towards the left, but not monolithic (Hi, Rich Lowry!) – you’d have felt that a solid Bernie surge was imminent, but also that your candidate was going surprise her more vocal critics. When the Biden sweep swept, when Bernie was diminished and when Warren was defeated, I realized that Twitter is not only not the real world, it’s almost some sort of Phillip K. Dickian alternate timeline, untethered to anything we’re actually experiencing in our day to day life. This is both good news and bad news – one, we’re not heading towards a utopia of single payer health care and the eradication of American medical debt any time soon, but two, we’re also not being increasingly governed by diaper-clad jungen like Charlie Kirk. Clouds and their linings. Leaving Twitter may look like ceding ground to the assclowns but get this – the ground. Is not. There.

It’s just air.

There are tangible things I can do with my time - volunteer with a local organization called Food On Foot, who provide food and job training for people experiencing homelessness here in my adopted Los Angeles. I can give money to candidates and causes I support, and I can occasionally even drop by social media to boost a project or an issue and then vanish, like a sort of Caucasian Zorro who doesn’t read his mentions. I can also model good behavior for my kids (ages 10 and 13) who don’t need to see their father glued to his phone, arguing about Trumps incompetence with Constitutional scholars who have a misspelled Bible verse in their bio (three s’ in Ecclesiastes, folks).

So farewell Twitter. I’ll miss a lot of you. Perhaps not as badly as I miss Simon Maloy and Roger Ebert and Harris Wittels and others whose deaths created an unfillable void on the platform. But I won’t miss the yelling, and the lionization of poor grammar, and anonymous trolls telling my Jewish friends that they were gonna leave the country “via chimney.” I will not miss people who think Trump is a stable genius calling me a “fucktard.” I will not miss transphobia or cancelling but I will miss hashtag games, particularly my stellar work during #mypunkmusical (Probably should have quit after that surge, I was on fire that night, real blaze of glory stuff I mean, Christ, Sunday in the Park with the Germs? Husker Du I Hear A Waltz? Fiddler on the Roof (keeping an eye out for the cops)? These are Pulitzer contenders.). Twitter makes me feel lousy, even when I’m right, and I’m often right. There’s just no point in barking bumperstickers at each other, and there are people who are speaking truth to power and doing a cleaner job of it – Aaron Rupar, Steven Pasquale, Louise Mensch, Imani Gandy and Ijeoma Oluo to name five solid mostly politically based accounts (Yes, Pasquale is a Broadway tenor. He’s also a tenacious lefty with good points and research and a dreamy voice. You think you’re straight and then you hear him sing anything from Bridges of Madison County and you want him to spoon you.). You’re probably already following those mentioned, but on the off chance you’re not, get to it. You’ll thank me, but you won’t be able to unless you actually have my email.

_______

[1] And Jesus, that’s worse – Ithaca is such a lefty enclave that they had an actual socialist mayor FOR WHOM I VOTED while I was there. And not socialist the way some people think all Democrats are socialist – I mean Ben Nichols actually ran on the socialist ticket and was re-elected twice for a total of six years.

[2] The National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce, “America’s LGBT Economy” Jan 20th, 2017

[3] The Violence Policy Institute, Firearm Justifiable Homicides and Non-Fatal Self Defense Gun Use, July 2019.

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houseofdax · 3 years

Text

@alongingwithin

“Love Is A Battlefield” [continued from HERE // Ask Accepted...]

Ask Meme: From Liv to Wade...

• embrace: my muse abruptly throwing their arms around your muse, hugging them tightly.

// Wade’s release //

The clacking keys turned the lock open, the ATF agent walking through to stand stone-cold-frozen in his tracks after one step. He looked so angry that Christian almost thought the guy might chew through his own damn cheeks. That thought alone had the blonde beginning to cut a proud, yet vengeful grin as he strolled up to hover far too close for Agent Balken’s comfort. Wade reached up to slowly pull the thick, plastic bag of clothes and shoes that were being clenched in the man’s hands away without a word, moving even slower around him to pause just a hair away from the agent’s ear to breathe in a slow, warned tone, “Be – seein’ – you.” A promise that Christian had every intention of keeping.

Wade left it at that, teeth grinding as he gave a light lift of the chin to the one person who actually surprised him in that moment. Mouth closed, a soft, exhaled laugh lifted from his chest as Wade began to unbutton the top of his orange jumpsuit in the hallway. He started to strip down to his boxers, handing the bag over to the male from San Diego. Arching a brow, he glanced up to ask his rescuer, “V put you up to this? I gotta say, I’m surprised. Charming, sure. Maybe even Herrera. But you?”

Ricardo smirked and tossed Wade his jeans saying, “Ay, I said I was gonna get you back one day. Can’t let these pendejos kick your ass before I get the chance, now can I?”

“Good point,” Christian grinned a bit through the tough exterior as he straightened, pulling on his jeans. He had to give it to Richie Rich. Even if Ricardo had an ulterior motive for helpin’ Wade out, he was definitely earning some brownie points. The Prince of Charming knew Rick wanted Liv for himself, but the only thing he had to gain by helpin’ Wade out now, was to get rid of Matt and solidify Wade’s place by her side. Maybe get in good with her father, sure, but in the end?... Wade was liking this new side of Rico Suave.

As Christian got dressed, his thoughts were buzzing. So much was about to go down, and he was beyond eager to get this show on the road. Within a matter of minutes, the blonde was back to full attire; white sneakers, SO-NS rings, his blue flannel; even adorning the SAMCRO kutte as his second skin. It almost felt as if he’d been wearing it all along, even though he’d never been fully patched in, until now. He took note of the new titles sewn in on the front and back, but said nothing. As they made their way out, Wade asked Rick if he knew whether or not Matt was still in town.

“Uhh-… well, your mom stopped in and made a big stink, from what I heard. She carted him off to a hotel in Diego and has him hold up there ‘til you get out. Her and your sister been makin’ sure Rogers doesn’t end up skippin’ town like the yellow belly that he is. You know that cobarde’d run if we gave him the chance, brother.”

After strapping on his helmet and revving both bikes, Ricardo started to pull out as Wade suddenly halted, looking up at the back of the prison that was under construction. He hovered there, getting slightly paralyzed in thought as the brunette male backed up by Wade to shout to him, “Yo, you comin’!?”

Wade’s brow pinched as he thought it over a little longer, head dropping. Liv was a smart girl. She was the only one that ever knew how to see Wade for who he truly was. She’d see past Matt’s bullshit. And if she didn’t, he’d make damn sure she’d figure it out, once he got there. He just had to get there.

Tipping his head over to nod at his former rival, Christian licked his lips and walked his Dyna back a bit to give the man room after the member from San Diego stayed to make sure adding, “We got your back, brother!” The two then switched into gear, riding out on the pair of Harley’s in unison towards I-5 south. The sooner they got back to Liv’s place, the better.

– Three Days After V’s Arrival: Olivia’s Home –

5:45am

Wade and Ricardo rolled up a few houses down, then shut off the engines on their Harley’s, parking out of sight as Wade took off his matte black helmet. He set it up on the handlebar, getting up while asking Rick, “You stayin’?”

“Yeah, I’ll hang back. But if you need me-…”

Wade just gave a slight lift of his chin and a quick bump of fists before slowly turning to take an uneasy breath in. God, he was nervous. Did she really know what Matt had done? What all had she been told, exactly? How much had she been made privy to? Because knowing Violet, she’d keep Liv in the dark on a lot of things. Doubtful the mention of Matt being Wade’s half-brother had come up. A conversation that he definitely wasn’t looking forward to. Not with anyone.

Cautiously strolling up the sidewalk, he started to take off his gloves and lift his leather to set them inside the inner, kutte pocket. Goddamn, his nerves were doin’ somersaults in his stomach in ways he’d never felt before. Tucking his lower lip under, Christian took another, deep inhale and let out a shaky breath, careening around to make his way up her drive. Liv’s… drive. Jesus. It’d seemed like forever since he’d been to this house.

Walking in long, haggard strides towards her door, Wade kept his sights down, trying to think of exactly what he was going to say. How he was going to go about it all. Wondering how she might take things. If she’d been told much of anything. Then he heard it. The doorknob turned.

Shit. She must’ve heard their bikes. He’d been banking on the fact that Liv might’ve been asleep still, or hadn’t heard that Wade was out yet. Maybe to give him more time to think. More time to discern how to explain. Maybe just because he was more scared of facing the fact that Matt may have had more of an impact than Christian cared to admit. It was the not knowing that was killing him. Knowing V, however… his mother had probably left Liv on pins and needles for days. Possibly longer. Not knowing what was going on had to have been eating at her just as bad. God. That thought alone had his heart breaking to shreds enough.

Not sure what to expect, Wade swallowed hard and cautiously allowed himself to move his sights from the ground up. But before Christian could say or do anything, Liv was there, bodies slammed into one another with her slender arms looping around his neck, damn near toppling him forward with her clutching embrace. His own arms clamped on around the small of her back, brows turned downward as he held on for dear life, coveting every inch of Liv’s small form. Christian’s arm moved up, hand wrapping behind his girl’s gorgeous head to hug her into him tighter, fingers gripping on like he couldn’t quite get a solid hold. God. GOD, she was finally here. Jesus Christ. Jesus…. nothing… not one goddamn thing, had ever felt so disturbingly perfect and so gut-wrenchingly heartbreaking at the same goddamn time.

Turning to press each lingering, achingly desperate kiss after another to the side of her perfect, beautiful head, Wade could barely muster the ability to think, let alone speak through the grueling need to just hold her. To just be with her. With Liv! FINALLY!

He moved to press his cheek next to her ear, throat swollen internally with what felt like a lump the size of California. Tears dared to barrel down his face, no matter how much he tried to shove them back. Through the painstaking, shuddering hold over her that he couldn’t seem to get enough of, Wade’s breaths wavered as his thoughts broke through to simply reply in a whispered ache, “I missed you too, baby.” A sniffle escaped as he felt himself dying inside from the thought of having to let up and face reality, a slow, repeated press of kisses constantly lining the side of her head as he uttered again, “I missed you, too.”

#Wade x Liv #LoveIsABattlefield #v; TotalEclipseOfTheHeart #ask answered #I mean... it's not exactly the happiest birthday present?...#But goddamn if Wade wasn't gonna go another day without his old lady.#Angst be damned and yeah so maybe we cried a little writing this.#But point bein'...#Happy Birthday baby.#Now whaddya say we get these two back where they belong hm? ;)#Love you darlin'. <333 #Hope this is the best birthday yet and that you have many more to come.#*hugs and squeezes - cuz can't let Wade get all the love now can I?* ;)#Charming Queue

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okaybutlikeimagine · 5 years

Note

What about Billy not used to being in a safe environment so whenever Hop starts getting frustrated Billy sort of just... shows up ready to get hit. And it doesn’t really register to Hopper that it’s happening until Billy just snaps at him one day that he can take it, but can’t handle the waiting game for the hit to finally come.

I’m gonna start sobbing don’t dO THIS except please do bc i love breaking my own heart and then mending it back together ♥ ♥ ♥

It takes Billy a long long long time to get comfortable in Hop’s cabin and one of the biggest reasons is that Hop does his very hardest to make Billy comfortable. Hop doesn’t give Billy any reason to fear coming home. Hop is aware of what happened in Billy’s past and tries to understand the horrors of what he went through but he learns more and more every day and every day he tries harder and harder to be more patient, more constructive, more understanding. And it’s sweet, it’s so fucking sweet, but Billy just doesn’t understand it and so he waits. He waits for it to get bad and he expects it and he really hurts his heart by doing it but he just can’t help it.

And not to get too personal, but I know a lot of the people who talk about Billy also talk about their own abuse that they’ve been through, so i’m gonna join in here. And while i’ve never been physically abused, i’ve been emotionally abused basically my whole life and was very heavily emotionally and mentally abused for a couple of years and let me tell you: the waiting was the worst fucking part for me. My abuser went from treating me horribly for about 2 weeks at a time to then pretending like everything was perfectly fine for a day or two. And that went on for 2 years. And the absolute worst part for me was the waiting. The days when things seemed to get better but you just know in your heart it’s going to get bad again. They’re going to hate you again for seemingly no reason and they’ll refuse to give you a reason and every day that it’s “better” is a reminder that it’s going to feel that much worse when it inevitably gets bad again and wow that fucking sucks. To the point where you start to wish it would just stay bad forever bc that’s better than being tricked into a false sense of security.

And that’s what I think Billy would feel when moving in with Hopper. Every day that it’s good is a reminder of everything that was bad and it all feels like a horrible trick is being played. And at first Billy is real reserved and calm and kind of emotionless when he’s at Hop’s cabin bc he’s not trying to stir the pot, he’s just trying to sleep under a roof and that’s basically it. It’s not until he actually gets adopted and moves in that he starts to wait for it. Like, really wait for it. Like, when he gets home from school some days he’ll sit on the couch for hours with the TV on in front of him and a blank stare on his face, not seeing a damn thing just sitting there picturing everything going to hell. Sitting there and waiting for Hop to come home and explode. And it feels like someone has a heavy hand around his heart and is squeezing just enough to make him feel like it’s going to burst. There’s so much pressure in his chest. He wants to scream.

And sometimes he does. He starts to. He kicks the couch or the wall or the table or the dresser and he screams and throws a fucking fit, basically, and he looks to Hop who just…… looks tired. Whose eyebrows are knitted like Neil’s would be but who just sighs and raises his voice a little bit but only loud enough so Billy can hear him over all of his own yelling. So Hop can tell him he’s going to take away his toys. Like his car, or his tv privileges.

Billy will get drunk and Hop will make sure he’s physically alright before punishing him. Billy stays out too late and Hop is stern and strict but never lays a hand on him. Billy flinches out of habit when Hop goes to touch him and it doesn’t take long before Hop stops doing it. And Billy isn’t stupid, he watches as Hop begins to treat him like a scared animal, and Billy really wants it to piss him off more than it does. But in reality, it makes him feel kind of… cared for?

But that scares Billy more. Every day that goes by is a day where he’s forced to lean a little further out over the edge but is just waiting to be pushed. It’s so much. It’s too, too much. He’s going to go insane waiting.

So he incites it.

He’s had a beer or two but he’s more drunk on his anxiety and fear and stress than anything else so when Hop gets home Billy sits there and lets the man say hi and ask if he wants anything specific from the grocery store because he’ll be going tomorrow and “if you have time and wanna come, you can do that too” and-

And Billy is going crazy. He’s a shaken up soda bottle. He’s a firework that failed to launch. He’s got so much pressure inside of him his ears are whistling with it like a kettle screaming in the morning and he stands himself up and stares Hop down and his eyes are red from where the tears threatened and he’s screaming: “Just fucking do it already!”

Hop blinks.

“Wha-?”

“What the fuck are you waiting for? What are you, a pussy? Think I’m a pussy? Because I can fucking handle it. What I can’t handle is all of this waiting around! So just fucking get it over with, goddamnit!”

And Hop is…. Confused as all hell. Blinking and hands itching to rub at his eyes to check if this is all a dream.

“Do what?” Hop asks.

“Hit me!” Billy yells. “Just fucking hit me! I can’t…. I can’t do this! This is fucking worse! You sadistic motherfucker, just get it over with and hit me!”

“Billy I’m-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit! I know you’re dying to! I’m- I’ve been… I’m a brat. I’m rude and I break shit and I don’t give you respect and you’re just dying to hit me, I can tell, so just fucking do it already!”

And Billy’s hands are twitching, looking to punch someone himself because there’s too much inside of him. There’s too much of everything inside of him. And he’s watching Hop’s eyes watch him with fear and that same fucking concern that’s always in his eyes and Billy just…. He can’t take this. He’d rather fight than sit here and understand what he’s feeling.

So he stomps over, boots hitting the ground and reaches his hands out to shove Hop.

“What, do you need some more reasons?” He asks, shoving Hop again. Hop just lets it happen, stumbling back a bit. Billy begins to punch at him, landing a few on his chest but they’re weaker than he wants bc he’s tired and confused and honestly freaked out at the thought of actually hurting this man and wow that’s kind of a new feeling.

And Hop is…. Speechless. He lets Billy hit him. He watches the boy tire himself out. He briefly thinks of the bruises he’ll probably have in the morning. The boy gets a solid punch in, but Hop already knew that, bc he’s heard through the town about the fights he gets in.

Billy’s just standing there, breathing heavy bc he’s winded. He feels tired and sick and so winded and he flinches hard when Hop puts a hand on his shoulder but Hop doesn’t pull away this time. In fact, he doubles down and puts his other hand on Billy’s other shoulder.

“Son-”

“Stop calling me that.” Billy mumbles but Hop shakes his head.

“Son.” He doubles down. He’s gonna keep doubling down. This shit is too much for him to watch and not say something about. “You… I’m not going to hit you. I’m never going to hit you.”

Billy grumbles. Squirms.

“I can fucking handle it you jackass-”

“The point isn’t that you can handle it, the point is that you never should have had to learn to handle it in the first place. Don’t you get it? You didn’t deserve what you got before. You didn’t deserve any of that, alright?” Billy is still squirming, eyes squeezed shut, water in the corners as he tries desperately to get away but Hop refuses. “Damnit kid, will you listen to me?? You didn’t deserve any of what you got! And that asshole of a man didn’t deserve you!”

And Billy feels the sob pull itself out of his chest and up through his throat and his face flushes bc of it. Bc he’s embarrassed. Bc he can’t believe he’s crying to this man right now but this is his… this is his dad, isn’t it?

“I just…. I know it’s… I know. I know you want to-”

“What I want is for you to drink some water, eat some food, and get some rest. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But-”

“I promise I won’t let anything hurt you.” Hop says determinedly and incredibly stupidly. Bc it’s a stupid promise to make, it really is. Billy knows it.

“You can’t promise that.”

“Well I just did, so.” Hop is stubborn. Billy lets him be. Billy lets Hop pull him into a tight hug. Billy lets himself feel comfortable in it.

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classified-bluerose · 5 years

Text

put me back together part II || quentin beck x reader

a/n: so obviously this doesn’t exactly fit the plot as i realised halfway through that peter seems to have met quention prior to the water attack in venice. i don’t want to change it now so let’s pretend they met before the fight. also we gonna pretend peter’s trip was always taking them to prague bc i don’t wanna write in the trip at all tbh lol. again this is probably occ... mainly self-indulgent crap, really. hope u enjoy tho!!!

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence & death, endgame spoilers, and, ofc, spiderman ffh spoilers. manipulative bastard quentin, too. (isn’t that why we love him?)

(GIF is not mine)

—

chapter two: shattered glass

—

it’s almost as though quentin actually planned this - find the girl and take her to one of the most romantic cities in the world. show her all the sights, make her laugh, slowly take down her walls, brick by brick.

the more time he spends with you the harder it becomes to disentangle himself. feelings grow deeper under early morning walks and late night chats. you never ask about the other you, the one quentin supposedly married.

you never talk about tony stark or natasha romanoff, either; when fury mentions iron man you stiffen in the corner and quentin does not miss the way your jaw clenches tight. he wants to poke and prod at these wounds left unhealed, but there’s no time before the stage is set and the water monster erupts from the intricate canals of venice’s streets.

you’re not supposed to be there - you should have been tucked away at the base, safe and sound; but quentin sees you ushering a group of frightened tourists in the opposite direction of the threat. anger coils low in his chest as he watches your figure disappear around a corner - what if something had happened to you?

how could you be so careless with yourself?

he grit his teeth and finished off the ‘’elemental’’ - needing some time to cool off and clear his head.

—

you’re not at the debrief. quentin’s skin feels itchy as he wonders where you are. have you gone home? been sent out somewhere else?

maybe you’d simply walked out. but why... why would you leave quentin? or peter, for that matter? how much you care for the kid is obvious - surely you wouldn’t just go.

surely you - surely you hadn’t actually been injured. right? right? if you had someone would have found you by now. shield would know, wouldn’t they. isn’t that their jobs? isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?

the longer he goes without knowing the more the anger rises to the surface. he tries to pat it down lest he expose himself, cursing you for making him feel this way. his jaw twitches, fist flexing, fingers curling and uncurling and curling again - anything to get the nervous energy out of his system.

after what feels like forever the briefing ends, the plan to get to prague is settled. quentin tries to catch fury but the slippery fucker is out the door in the blink of an eye.

someone taps his shoulder. quentin turns sharply, - ‘’ what? ‘’ - then pulls his attitude in again when peter flinches back. he rubs his forehead and bares his teeth in a smile.

‘’ sorry, spiderman. rough day, ‘’ he makes his excuses and the naieve kid nods and smiles and accepts too easy.

‘’ it’s okay, mr- i mean, myst- i mean, quentin. um, i just - i noticed you were looking around a lot, during the meeting. if you’re looking for her, i can show you where she is? ‘’

god, this kid is painfully awkward at times, but damn if he isn’t useful. quentin nods once. spiderman nods, clearly happy to feel like he can help. ‘’ c’mon! ‘’

he darts out as quick as a bullet from a gun, and quentin has no choice but to follow the teenage hero out into the night.

—

there’s a mural of red and gold painted large as life on the side of a building. your silhouette against it is dark and miniscule. quentin stands a few feet back and watches you stare at it. only when your shoulders begin to shake does he approach.

your breaths are laboured, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. his earlier irriation fades away, though he fights to bring it back - you could have ruined it all by disobeying orders, showing up on the street mid-fight, you could have destroyed his plans in seconds -

somehow, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

‘’ hey. are you okay? ‘’

you snap out of the daze and your gaze falls to your feet. you nod and force a smile that’s too dull to be authentic as you look back up. his expression becomes one of caring and empathy, your heart hurting for the man who lost it all.

‘’ m’fine. just ... ‘’ your eyes flicker once again to the painting before moving back to gaze over quentin’s shoulder. ‘’ i’m fine. ‘’

‘’ you wanna talk about it? ‘’

a humourless chuckle escapes your lips. more jagged glass than happiness. ‘’ no. ‘’

quentin pauses. knows that to push you too much too soon would ruin the carefully constructed plan he has perfected. he chances a comforting touch to your elbow, encouraged when you don’t move away.

‘’ wanna go for a walk? ‘’

he hits you with the lopsided grin that he knows has an effect; inside, your stomach swoops and fuses spark lights in your chest. on the outside your eyes soften and your lips curve up in a tiny, but genuine, smile.

quentin holds out his hand. you take it without hesistation.

—

so much about you intrigues him. it’s easy to forget about the truth behind his intentions. your skin, hotter than any normal human being. the knowledge that you have the ability to snap his neck without blinking an eye is... alluring. intoxicating. you were so broken when he met you first, only a week ago. already he feels as though he’s putting you back together. it earns him some pride.

light laughter and little, fragile smiles - moments as delicate as butterflies landing on his wrist. he yearns to touch, to pull, to hold. the plan takes priority, of course it does. but he’s worked so hard to get himself to this point. he deserves a little break with a pretty girl by his side.

‘’ so, one more elemental, ‘’ you begin, conversationally.

quentin nods. ‘’ one more. fire. the one that... the one that destroyed my world. ‘’

he swallows past an imaginary lump in his throat. he feels your eyes against the profile of his face.

‘’ well, now you know what you’re up against. not often we get a second chance. ‘’ the words are bitter, maybe unintentionally, but bitter all the same.

‘’ you did, ‘’ he points out, gently. ‘’ with thanos, right? ‘’

you huff a callous, cold laugh. ‘’ yeah. eventually won, i guess. supposedly. ‘’

there’s a darkness shadowing the curves of your face now, the kind that makes quentin’s heart rate pick up. ‘’ what do you mean? ‘’

you don’t answer for a long while. footsteps echo quietly around empty backstreets. it seems as though the city is deserted; inhabited only by the two of you, and the moon hanging low in the sky. still clad in his armour, quentin wishes to himself he’d had the foresight to change out of the clunky suit.

in the moment of distraction caused by the discomfort, he doesn’t notice that you’ve paused in front of him. he slams straight into you; neither of you stumbling as he hits the solid heat of your body.

you turn on your heel and offer a wry smile. ‘’ sorry, ‘’ you say, entirely insincere. he watches you lean back against the wall, the shadowed alleyway covering up most of your features. your eyes, though. they burn through the night and quentin is powerless to their draw.

he cocks his head to the side. ‘’ what did you mean? ‘’ he presses. ‘’ a minute ago. ‘’

‘’ it’s nothing. forget i said anything. ‘’

‘’ hey, come on. you can talk to me, you know, ‘’ he cajoles, inching closer.

you sigh; ‘’ you have enough on your plate, ‘’ she insists, but your resolve to stay silent is weakening. he can feel it.

‘’ you have listened to me talk about the tragedy of my own life since i got here, ‘’ he points out, lightly. ‘’ let me return the favour. ‘’

you consider the man of mystery in front of you: something about him you can’t quite put your finger on. maybe it’s the smile that always seems a little too sharp for comfort, or the eyes that can’t quite hide the gleam of potential insanity. something tells you, you shouldn’t trust him. something else tells you he’s the only one you should trust.

‘’ it doesn’t feel like we won, ‘’ you admit, finally. the weight falling from your chest as the words fall from your lips, secrets with sharp edges that have been cutting in to you for eight long months. ‘’ tony stark and natasha romanoff, they died. they died so the world could live, and - and that’s what, that was the point. save the world. whatever it takes, ‘’ she spits out the last three words with an incredible amount of venom. ‘’ and it’s stupid and it’s careless and i don’t even care. i want them back. i want them back so badly i would, god. i would burn this version of reality to the ground to bring ‘em back. ‘’

quentin ... did not expect this. yet somehow is unsurprised; and suddenly understands. this is what drew him in. this hidden darkness, this anger and rage buried in layers of sadness. in this moment you are more alive than he’s ever seen you; gone is the morose, flat emptiness, here is the fuel to the dynamite exploding, here is the fierce hurt and the damaged parts coming to the surface, it is magnificent, you are magnificent in your hot fury.

the breath catches in his throat as he realises; we’re the same, you and i. we both want revenge.

excitement sizzles in his veins and in that moment all he wants to do is wrap you in his arms and pull you into his embrace. he reigns himself in, patience, quentin, patience, and allows himself a single step closer.

‘’ i’m so sorry you had to go through that, ‘’ he whispers, voice a few steps lower than usual- steeped in desire he hopes can be read as sympathy. your bright eyes flicker over his face.

‘’ yeah, well. perks of bein’ a fuckin’ superhero or whatever. ‘’ she lifts her chin in the air defiantly. ‘’ but i guess you understand that. ‘’

‘’ i do, ‘’ he responds immediately, ‘’ i do. ‘’

because, okay. maybe he hadn’t actually watched his reality burn; maybe he hadn’t failed to save an imaginary family in an imaginary universe; but he had lost things, fallen deeper into black holes that chewed up his soul and spat it out again.

we’re the same, he wants to say, but again. holds himself back.

instead he smiles warmly - the sharpness still there, something you do not miss - and says, ‘’ at least we have each other. ‘’

your face lights up with mischief. ‘’ we do? ‘’ you ask, with a cocky head tilt. quentin chuckles and plays up the embarassment. acting like someone caught flirting - which he almost-kind-of-maybe was.

a blush adorns his handsome face. ‘’ i mean - uh - if you want that. ‘’ he adopts an uncertain waver to his tone; though he’s already sure you’re falling as hard for him as he is for you.

you bite back a smile and try to dim the fire burning in your belly. it just feels so good - to actually feel something. something that isn’t empty or angry or sad. something good. this connection came too quick and is growing too intense too soon. it can only end in tears. but you make a choice, the only one you’ve ever made.

let yourself be consumed in the flames, and damn the consequences.

—

tags: @loki-doki-fever @tuliptx

#personall~#quentin beck x reader #quentin beck imagine #mysterio x reader #mysterio imagine #marvel #spiderman far from home #ffh spoilers #jake gyllenhaal #mywriting #peter parker #spiderman #qb:pbmt

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juju-on-that-yeet · 5 years

Text

Free-Fall

Prompt: Whumptober Day 12, “Don’t Move”

Summary: The Jims are ghost-hunting in the catwalk above Wilford's studio when RJ finds himself on a rotting, close-to-breaking beam. He has to stay still while CJ gets help - but there may not be enough time.

Warnings: Vomiting mention

Tagging: @peribloke (ask to be tagged!)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

It’s not uncommon for the Jims to be scurrying along the catwalk above Wilford’s studio. It’s a great place to go ghost-hunting (they haven’t found anything yet, but they’re sure they will if they keep looking!), and it’s just plain fun to have a bird’s eye view of everything in the studio. CJ does occasionally have nerves about the height, but RJ has no such trepidations.

Until, that is, the wooden beam under his feet suddenly feels off.

RJ pauses where he is, and CJ, already on a different beam, looks back to see what’s holding his brother up.

“This beam made my stip-steppy feel weird, Jim,” RJ says. He rocks on his heels once, trying to gauge the beam. “Do you think there’s a demon in the wood?”

CJ peers at the beam thoughtfully, and ultimately shakes his head. “No ghosts,” he signs, “Maybe Pink Jim fired his shooty into it once.”

That’s a possibility. The odds are pretty good a bullet (or shooty pellet, as Jims say) buried itself into the beam at some point.

“That must be it,” RJ says with a shrug. He starts walking again to join CJ.

After two steps, the beam lurches, wood crackling as the ground shifts down under RJ’s feet. He nearly loses his balance but manages to save himself, waving his arms wildly until he’s standing solidly again. CJ’s face has gone pale. RJ looks at him, heart thumping, and then follows CJ’s gaze to the side of the beam. RJ can just see it if he turns his head. The wood is rotting and cracked, nearly all along the length of the beam. The beam that RJ is currently standing on.

“CJ,” RJ gasps, “I don’t think I’m close enough to make a run for it.”

He isn’t. He’s no slowpoke, Jims are renowned for their speed, but the beam looks ready to snap in two. And the way down is very, very long.

“Don’t move!” CJ’s fingers shake as he signs. “I’ll get help!”

“CJ–!” RJ cries, but CJ has already scrambled away, rushing to get back down to the studio floor. And of course, he has to, but RJ finds he doesn’t want to be alone.

The beam creaks again beneath him, and though it doesn’t move this time, it’s just as loud. RJ is very aware of the beam breaking up under his feet. He swallows. He looks down – no he doesn’t. He looks right back up again. Looking down is too much right now. He whimpers. Standing still is hard for RJ – he’s always running from some place to another, or else he’s bouncing his leg, rocking back and forth on his heels, or fidgeting in some other way. To be perfectly still is a task and a half. He knows he has to stay still to stay safe, but his body doesn’t, and restless energy is already building.

Part of it is the fear. Part of him wants to make a break for it despite his earlier statement, just run and jump and get out of danger. But he still knows he won’t make it. Maybe if he goes slower? He takes a single, slow half-step. The beam groans in protest. RJ yelps and freezes. Nevermind that, then. He’s stuck until help comes, whenever that will be.

How long has been stuck up here? Not that long, right? But it feels like a long time. It occurs to him that Wilford is the only one who can really do much to help him. He can teleport to RJ, pluck him off the beam, and teleport him back to solid ground. But Bim can’t teleport. Bim might be able to reinforce the beam somehow, but that’s a gamble. RJ loves Bim, loves his big brother BJ, but his powers can be unreliable and hard to control.

The beam shifts again, jolting down another foot as the wood crunches in on itself. RJ stays frozen. He starts to tremble. Is it from nerves or nervous energy? Probably both. He’s tempted to yell for someone, but he fears that might make the wood break even more. But that’s silly, isn’t it? But the wood is clearly fragile, on its last leg. RJ doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if there’s anything he can do.

He suddenly realizes he’s been clenching his hands. He loosens them, grunting a little at the soreness that sets in. He looks down at them to see little indents in his palms from his fingernails pressing there. He whimpers again. The beam creaks again. He closes his eyes. That was a mistake; vertigo comes on the instant his vision cuts out. He opens his eyes again. Now he feels sick. He wants to sit down. But he can’t, right? The beam drops further down. There’s his answer.

He tilts his head over to look at the crack again. It’s much wider, now, so thin in places that RJ wonders how it hasn’t broken already. Oh, that thought spooked him. He looks away from the disintegrating beam.

He hates this.

He’s so scared.

He feels sick.

The beam lurches, dips, groans, creaks, cracks, snaps –

RJ is falling.

The scream rips from his throat without him making it. He howls all the way down. The rushing air around him howls back. There might be someone else screaming, too. RJ thinks he’s crying. The air pressure closes around him, pushes him down, down, down, down –

Something solid intercepts him, snatches him out of the air. He pinwheels through the air into a portal, somewhere – somewhere pink? He pops back out just as quick, still held tight, under studio lights. He’s set down. He stumbles and collapses, but the ground is right there this time, solid beneath his feet. He stays on the ground, on his hands and knees, but his heart is still doing somersaults.

“That was a bit of a thrill ride, hm?” says a distinct, familiar voice. A hand pats RJ’s back.

RJ pukes.

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad!” Wilford shouts, indignant.

“RJ!!” shouts a new voice, shrill and panicked. Someone comes up beside him. RJ’s hair is brushed out of his face with trembling fingers. “Oh, buddy, you’re green, you poor little guy–”

“Well, he’s not a Jim pancake, so I’d say he’s alright!” Wilford says brightly, though he has the kindness to at least poof away the vomit with a snap of his fingers.

“Give him a minute,” Bim insists, pulling RJ into his arms.

RJ, for his part, is still trying to process that he isn’t, in fact, a Jim pancake. He’s on the ground, but he’s whole. He looks around. Wilford is standing close by, the broken beam lies on the floor a few yards away. RJ’s face is pressed into Bim’s chest by his shaking hands as he strokes RJ’s hair, holding him tight. RJ realizes he’s alive. He still feels sick and scared and horrified that he almost died, but he’s alive. He almost died, he’s alive, he almost died, he’s alive, he almost smashed against the floor and broke every bone in his body –

He starts crying, sobbing into Bim’s chest, grabbing onto him like a lifeline.

“Oh no, buddy, shh, shh,” Bim murmurs, though he sounds like he’s crying, too. “It’s okay, RJ, you’re okay, you’re safe, I’ve got you, shh-shh-shh…”

Running footsteps sound from the studio’s entrance, and moments later, another body slams against RJ, huddling against his back. RJ would recognize the feel of his twin cuddling against him anywhere. He turns out of Bim’s chest enough to grab CJ in a one-armed hug, sandwiching himself between his brothers. CJ shivers in RJ’s arms, buries his face in his neck, and RJ feels CJ’s tears on his skin.

“Hey, how are we?” says yet another voice. RJ startles and realizes that Dr. Iplier is in front of him, having come in with CJ. “Are you hurt, RJ?” RJ manages to shake his head as Bim answers.

“He sh-should be okay,” he says, “Wilford grabbed him wh-when he was falling.”

“You should’ve seen it!” Wilford exclaims, puffing out his chest. “I got a running start and poofed right up beside him! The timing was impeccable, of course. I opened up another portal for us to fall into, and then we came back out the other side right here! We were like two little pinballs in a pinball machine. It was incredible!”

“Yeah, well, maybe you think so,” Dr. Iplier says, rolling his eyes, “But I don’t think RJ had any fun, did you, kid?”

RJ shakes his head through a particularly rough sob.

“That was bad, wasn’t it?” Dr. Iplier murmurs, sympathetic, “But you’re okay, you just had a scare.” He looks to Bim. “He’s gonna need a day to relax and calm down from all this. He’d probably feel better in his room with you than in the clinic with me, so do you think you can look after him?”

“Absolutely, definitely, of course,” Bim gasps, taking a hand away from RJ to wipe tears off his own face. “I-I’ll stay with him.”

“Great,” Dr. Iplier answers, smiling gently, “Then it looks like my work here is done. Feel better soon, RJ.”

“Th-thanks, Doctor Jim,” RJ manages. Saying just those few words exhausts him.

“No problem at all, kiddo,” Dr. Iplier replies, before leaving the studio to return to his clinic.

“Th-thank you too, PJ,” RJ adds, looking up at Wilford, still standing close by. Wilford laughs; a boisterous, warm sound.

“My pleasure, chap!” he exclaims, bending down and kissing RJ’s forehead. “I suppose I ought to replace that beam, hm?” He wanders away, muttering about order forms and construction companies and does he need Dark’s permission just to replace a beam?

“How about we go to your room, alright, guys?” Bim asks the twins, who are still crying, holding onto each other and Bim.

“Y-Yeah,” RJ agrees. CJ nods.

A few minutes later sees RJ wrapped up in a blanket and sandwiched between his brothers once more, watching a movie on Bim’s laptop. All three have stopped trembling, all three have stopped crying. The movie they’re watching is lighthearted, cheesy, funny, and it’s just what they all need. Bim has an arm across RJ’s shoulders, reaching to touch CJ, too. CJ’s arms are wound around RJ’s chest, and RJ can feel the pressure and warmth through the soft blanket. Once again, he’s motionless, too swaddled to do any moving. But he doesn’t mind it this time, because he’s safe and comfortable, and exhausted after the day’s excitement. He lets his head droop onto CJ’s shoulder and his eyelids droop closed.

He doesn’t feel sick anymore. Only calm, warm, and most of all, grounded.

#whumptober2019 #no.12 #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier jim #jim twins #markiplier #kristin says stuff #fanfic #my writing #the jims are babey it's a fact

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tots-n-chocs · 5 years

Text

‘Acrophobia’

Fandom: Venom (movie 2018)

Ship: Symbrock (Eddie/Venom)

Tags: Fluff, Stargazing, These losers are adorable but their banter is hilarious too, Venom tries to work on Eddie’s fear of heights, He goes about it all wrong, But maybe it works out OK in the end, Symbiote cuddles.

AO3 Link: [Here!]

(My other Symbrock fic: ‘Skin-Deep’)

(Please leave a kudos or a comment on the AO3 version if you enjoyed it <3 thanks! Happy Valentines!)

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The stars had never seemed so bright, so close, so... beautiful. Despite the racing of his heart and the shaking in his legs, that much Eddie could admit. But still...

“I- uh- I don’t see why you think that exposing me to heights is gonna get rid of my fear. It’s one of those... those kinds of ‘so you don’t die’ fears. Evolutionary. Y’know?” Eddie squeezed his eyes shut as a cold, fierce gust of wind blew straight through his thin sleeping t-shirt. He shivered more violently, trying to will his legs to move backwards, but Venom had locked them in place at the edge of the building.

I thought this was called Exposure Therapy, a reply rumbled into his mind, with something almost like an internal huff, so you’d learn to ignore your broken human evolution and remember that I would never let you die.

That’s not really how it works! Eddie tried to yell internally, his throat closed with fear.

Venom’s irritation at the situation buzzed in the back of Eddie’s head. Sometimes it was easy to forget that everything the symbiote had learned of humanity was from his previous hosts at the lab, Eddie himself, or the terrible television he watched while Eddie slept. Even when he grasped a concept, he sometimes didn't fully appreciate that there was a deeper meaning, social constructs to consider, or that what applied to one human may not apply to another. He was getting better, but it was so much for an alien to learn in such a short amount of time that he occasionally fucked up. Like right now.

Eddie swallowed thickly and opened his eyes a crack, feeling his stomach clench at the sight of the lights of cars moving around like tiny glowing insects far, far below him. At least Venom had taken them to a roof so high up that nobody would be able to see him standing there on the edge. He didn’t know how he’d have explained ‘no, I don’t want to kill myself, but my symbiote partner who lives inside me thought he could cure my phobia by making me experience my fear in the middle of the night’ to the police.

Is that not a good enough explanation? The deep voice was almost apologetic in tone, and Eddie felt a slightly guilty shifting feeling below his chest. I thought this would help. The show I watched on fears said this would help, Eddie.

His legs moved on their own, retreating him back into the middle of the roof and he let out a relieved breath.

Venom moving his limbs was a sensation he was gradually getting used to; it felt like when he’d wake up with a numb arm because he’d slept on it funny, and he’d move it around to get the blood flowing back into it again, even though he couldn’t feel the sensation itself. (He’d given the same explanation to Anne once when she’d asked how it felt when Venom piloted his body without covering him, but judging by her expression it wasn’t a particularly good analogy.)

Wrong train track again Eddie.

Eddie made an impatient shushing sound, fighting a sudden smile, the familiar jab and reaction from them both tapping into something comfortable and stable that helped to push his pulse-racing fear away. He'd tried to explain the phrase ‘train of thought’ to Venom one lazy afternoon after getting annoyed at himself for letting his mind wonder while he should have been working. Venom had since taken to pointing out when Eddie’s thoughts were ‘on the wrong train track’ – not quite the correct use of the phrase, but he knew what he meant. Didn’t mean he appreciated his easily distracted nature being pointed out all the time.

Eddie shook his head, returning to his symbiote’s confusion.

“I mean, if your fear is- like- spiders or something, I’ve heard that holding them can help, but I don’t think waking up in the middle of the night standing on the edge of a building is quite the same, V.” His voice still ringed with a note of fear, but now that he was away from the ledge, he was feeling considerably calmer.

No reply came, but a guilty shifting fluttered in his chest that made Eddie feel like he’d swallowed butterflies. He coughed lightly in an involuntary response to try and ease the strange sensation and placed his palm over his heart. “The thought was there,” he conceded softly.

Quiet.

Oh, Venom was definitely feeling bad.

Something heavy sat in Eddie’s gut.

He sighed and slowly lowered himself onto the middle of the concrete roof so that he was lying flat on his back, like he did when he was meditating.

What are you doing? Don’t you want to go back?

“Well, yeah, but I figured since we're here now anyway and the sky is so clear we could do a bit of star-gazing or something,” he said sincerely, laying his hands on his stomach. “Besides, I can’t see how high up we are from here. I’ll just pretend we’re on the ground.”

Hm, Venom didn’t sound convinced, you’ve never been interested in stars before. Why would you want to look at them now?

He considered this for a moment before replying with a soft, “Compromise.”

No, he didn’t really want to be high above the city at who-knows-how-late-o’clock, but there they were anyway. The memory of the appreciation and peace Venom had felt when they’d been on top of the network building when they’d first met hummed back to him in echoes. ‘Your world is not so ugly after all’ he’d admitted softly. To an alien that lived amongst the vastness of the universe, heights really must be no big deal. If anything, Venom seemed to like them, especially when it showed off the lights of San Francisco glinting through the darkness like a universe at his feet.

Eddie knew his fear must seem so confusing and unnecessary, especially when it went against everything Venom kept on telling him about catching him and never letting him get hurt. He didn’t want Venom to think that his fear was a result of a lack of trust. He knew his partner would never, ever let him fall without catching him – he had Eddie’s infinite and unshakable trust. But something that ran so deep was hard to just switch off.

A low hum of understanding made the hairs on Eddie’s arms stand on end and he smiled goofily at the sky, letting out a breath of air that was nearly a laugh. Every time they truly came to an understanding with each other it felt like their heart was too big for their chest, pumping life and love love love around their body. Although they were a ‘we’ more than they were ‘Eddie or Venom’ they were still two individual souls in one body – they were bound to disagree and misunderstand each other. They’d had vastly different experiences in life to shape them into who they were. But when those souls were in synchrony with each other, it felt so amazing and so natural that Eddie wondered how he’d ever felt any kind of closeness with a human being.

“You should have just asked, V. Never mind what the TV said. I think that stuff’s bad for you, I should sell it and just buy you a load of books or something.”

The vibrations from Venom’s rumbling laughter ran all the way through Eddie, right into his toes. Empty threats, Eddie. We know how much you love the reruns of your ‘Gilmore Girls’.

Eddie sighed dramatically, though he couldn’t quite push away the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Damn, you got me there. Fine. The TV stays.”

No matter how many times you re-watch it, Lorelai and Luke still won’t get married.

“Oh, owch, you really went there?! Straight for the jugular, man, why would you say that?” Eddie groaned loudly, though he could barely hear himself over laughter so low and continuous it was practically a purr. “I thought we would have this romantic look at the stars together, why would you hurt me in this way.”

“Would never hurt you Eddie.” Venom’s voice was right below his ear, close enough to feel the light touch of teeth against his skin. “We can be romantic.”

Eddie hadn’t even noticed how cold the concrete had been through the thin material of the shirt he slept in until the gritty hard coolness against his back was replaced with something considerably more comfortable, as his whole body was lifted slightly to accommodate the solid, yet strangely soft, warm and impossibly broad chest of Venom. Two thick, huge arms gently wrapped around his middle so that he was now lying on Venom’s chest, encased in his arms. Safe. Loved. Treasured.

Teeth nipped gently at his ear again and Eddie sighed contentedly, letting his whole body relax into the embrace.

It was nice to be physically close like this, plus it took away all the chill of the night-time wind.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Venom was so comfy, and Eddie could feel both his own happiness and a warm, happy glow that wasn’t his. He thought that being able to vaguely grasp Venom’s feelings was a little bit like an ‘emotional echo’. Something that did and didn’t belong to him; the pleasure of being held and the pleasure of doing the holding.

“Your Earth stars are very boring,” Venom declared, making Eddie open his eyes – he’d nearly fallen asleep.

“What?”

“They only shine with a few colours through your toxic atmosphere. And they’re so small.”

Eddie resisted the urge to laugh, always amused by how much Venom resented Earth’s oxygen just because he couldn’t breathe it, and he frowned playfully. “Hey, you leave our stars alone. They do a good job.” He paused and lines creased his forehead as he considered something else the symbiote had said. “Wait…. Stars are only one colour, right? What do you mean, they only shine with a ‘few’?”

“Like this.”

Eddie blinked and yelped. He would probably have fallen off Venom if his strong arms hadn’t been holding him tightly. The sky had been pretty before – distant stars shining with a white light – but now it was absolutely glorious. Greens and pinks sparkled in an ocean of shifting blues, and they were everywhere, the sky was full of them, even thought they were still very distant and very tiny. It was like looking straight into a galaxy from a movie. “Shit,” Eddie breathed in awe, “how…?”

“Made your eyes like mine,” Venom rumbled gently beside Eddie’s ear. It made him shiver and he could feel the toothy grin in response.

“Wow.” Eddie tilted his head a little, his cheek pressing into Venom’s. “Love you, V,” he whispered.

The reply vibrated in his mind, through his whole being, I love you too, Eddie. Always.

He smiled and laughed as Venom’s very wet tongue slid across his chin and up his cheek. “Ew, V!” He squirmed, but Venom only held him tighter, his claws pin-points of pressure at his sides. Amusement bounced between them in their emotional echo space again.

Once Venom’s tongue had retreated, leaving a trail of drool drying on his skin (again), there was a pause while Eddie enjoyed lying in Venom’s arms, and looking at stars he could never even have imagined, until he said, “That cluster of stars looks like a dog. With a wonky leg.”

“Mmm.”

“Seriously? Does everything make you hungry?”

“Those stars look like a lung.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Eddie laughed.

“Hungry, Eddie.”

“Ok, ok, let’s go home.”

With another blink his vision returned to normal. Venom squeezed him even tighter and then retreated under his skin, using tendrils to push Eddie upright gently to his feet.

Without Venom’s bulk holding him close Eddie shivered as the wind cut through his thin clothing again, until black seeped out of his skin and hugged his torso, shielding him from the cold. Whether he was in a humanoid shape or not, the warmth he felt in his chest was the same.

Shall I get us down? Or are we using the lift?

Eddie ran a hand over the shifting, liquid like mass covering him as he glanced back up at the sky. It was starting to look a little lighter on the horizon, was the sun going to rise soon? They needed to get back. He bit his lip as he considered something crazy. His whole body was still thrumming with happiness and contentment.

“Y’know what… maybe your exposure therapy worked… I think I’m going to do what you said last time,” Eddie began.

There was a spike of glee across their bond, and Venom’s form rippled beneath his hand. Last time?

“Yeah. When we were up like this before you said ‘jump’.” Eddie took a huge breath and ran towards the edge of the building, pushing all thoughts of heights and falling and death out of his mind and just let trust and love fill him. “Catch me!” he yelled into the rushing wind as his foot shoved him off the roof, leaping into the void of nothing but air.

Always.

#symbrock #venom #venom fanfiction #symbrock fanfiction #veddie #symbrock fanfic #venom fanfic #my fanfiction #symbrock fluff #this is pretty self-indulgent writing ill be honest #i just love them so heckin much

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 5 years

Link

Fight Fight Fight, Talk Things Out?

Danny gives a firm talking to to his best buds, has a fight with an old lady, and then a talk with said old lady.

A cow float, a stage, a ‘meat on a stick’ stand, kids in steak and hot dog costumes, a guy with a grill that couldn’t possibly be legal to just put on school property, and a sign that read “United we eat meat.” These were the first things Danny saw when he got to school. Then he looked over at the other side of the schoolyard. A replica of the Mystery Machine, the biggest fake sunflower he’d ever seen in his life, and yet another stage were set up with people that Danny could only identify as hippies surrounding that stage with picket signs with “It’s easy being green,” and “Tofu for you” written on them.

“Literally, how?” Danny groaned as his friends both approached him, looking furiously determined and holding megaphones. He could feel the cold burn of his eyes flashing brilliant green once they were both in front of him. “ No. I don’t give two shits about the pettiness of your arguments right now. No .” His voice echoed and the teen watched his friends stop in shock. “I have had frankly enough of this argument. Here’s how it is. Sam, we need vegetables, yeah, we need healthier food than the school was giving us. Strong-arming them into switching everyone onto your diet, however, is the wrong way to go about it. What about other people’s dietary needs? What about people who need as much protein out of the lunch they get here as possible?” Sam had no answer for that.

“You coulda just gotten a list from everyone on what they thought should go on the menu, compile it with what was most common, and then have them change the menu to the healthiest versions of that so that everyone’s needs are met.” Danny huffed. “Respect other people’s needs and wants before just deciding what you think is best for them Sam. Isn’t that what you hate having done to you?” Sam looked struck, then guilty, and sighed, nodding.

“Yeah, ok, I guess I went overboard.”

“And you .” Danny whirled around and pointed his finger in Tucker’s face. “This is going to ridiculous extremes. How did you even do this? Don’t answer that, I don’t wanna know. This is only a week long change, you know that. Parents would’ve complained to the school about their kids being forced into someone else’s diets and the school would never do this again. More importantly!”

Shiver, mist. The sky darkened, the wind whipped up, and Danny swore he could hear cackling from everywhere. He looked over at the truck that Tucker had brought in and grabbed his best friend’s shoulder. “I’m going to punch you later for bringing a stars damned meat truck when we’re fighting a ghost who’s focusing in on meat .”

“That was my b,” Tucker admitted meekly. As the meat ripped out of the truck and flew through the air, Tucker and Sam slipped their wrist rays on and Danny ran to and slid under Tucker’s stage. The sound of something huge hitting the ground shook it, and Danny reached inside of himself. That humming ball of cold and void and out of reach stars, he plunged into it, and light washed over his body. The world changed, colors turning vivid and bright, strange colors he had no names for other than non-visible light raced into his eyes. The shadows were no longer black but silvery grey, the vast emptiness between molten starmetal and the blazing suns. Sounds and smells and feelings hit him that were all too alien to process. He reeled, nearly dropping the form. But he had something to do, he had a job to do.

Danny phased into the ground and popped up in front of the meat monster. It towered over him, so large Danny could barely see anything else. A check of his wrist showed that his ray was now pretty much melded into his hazmat. “Weird, question later, ass kick now.” Tuck and Sam were firing off rays while everyone else ran, and Danny charged forward. He lashed out with his foot to the… head, he supposed, of the meat, and it staggered backward away from the student body. She swung at him with a hand that moved faster than he’d anticipated, and Danny went flying. The world faded into unreality and he passed through what he vaguely knew were trees and the ground before stopping and righting himself. He flew under the ground, legs merging into a tail - also to freak out over later - and he zoomed. He emerged right under her and missed his uppercut as she stumbled backward from the rays that Sam and Tucker fired. Another fist grabbed him and Danny was slammed into the ground.

After a failed kick to the hand, Danny concentrated on his wrist ray and lined up the trigger that was sitting comfortably under his glove. Pull and - Agatha screamed from within her monster host, and Danny flew free. His ray was clearly bigger than the others, but he also felt drained. “Reserve for bigger fights.”

Danny weaved around her next few blows, kicking and punching the construct of processed meat backward away from the fleeing students and his friends. Flying in circles to orbit the monster, Danny picked up speed and slammed his foot into the head of the meat pile and it toppled to the ground.

Danny took a moment to breathe, glad to find he could if he didn’t think too hard about it. A fist came into view and Danny went soaring up and up and up. He saw a plane fast approaching and moved into that safe spot between the world and everything else. He passed through the plane like it was a thin cloud of smoke before managing to stop. Then he dove, turning solid again when Agatha was in sight from within her meat construction. “Not a lot of mass but anything with this kind of velocity should do the job.”

BOOM

With how deep in the ground Danny ended up it was a wonder he hadn’t splattered. Picking himself up, the teen rolled his shoulder until it ached a bit less and saw Agatha there, staring at him. “Oh dearie, are you ok?”

“Surprisingly.” Danny rolled his neck. When he focused in on Agatha - he really could just see everything couldn’t he? - her face was warped and stretched larger than the rest of her.

“Tough! You being ok isn’t part of my balanced breakfast of death!”

Smaller chunks of meat came together into constructs about three-quarters of Danny’s size, five of them in total, and they grinned at him. This was when Sam and Tucker caught up with everything, apparently. Danny spun, heel tearing through the creatures like a knife, and landed to see Agatha being pushed back by Sam and Tuck’s wrist rays. “Fuck yeah!”

Danny’s celebration was cut short by his grasp on that deathly cold void slipping in the excitement, light washing over him with the warmth of being alive again. “This is inconvenient.” The meat monsters grabbed onto Danny’s limbs, reminding him that they were mere extensions of Agatha’s will. “This is even less convenient, how about no?”

As Danny was dragged through the air, something smacked him in the face. Catching it before it could fall out of reach, Danny felt a minor bloom of relief. “The Thermos! Maybe I can get it to work!” Seeing his family below, Danny hoped to all the stars in the sky that he was just going for a ride.

The ride stopped. Danny was dropped. A scream flew from his lungs, and Danny reached deeper, desperately grasping, to pull himself into the chill of the grave. The abyss met his call at the same time that his family looked up at the blur fast approaching. “Thanks for the thermos!” He shouted as he dove into the ground. Not waiting to see how that was handled he resurfaced to find Sam and Tucker bound in mounds of meat. “Work. Please work.” Danny aimed the thermos, poured his own cold into the thing, and hit the button. A flash of blue light, a scream of defiance, and he capped the thermos. Gravity and heat washed over him again and Danny let out a sigh of relief, running over to pull Sam and Tucker out of the meat piles. “You guys ok?”

“I have meat and blood everywhere and I was nearly crushed to death.” Sam shuddered, even as Danny phased everything off of her. “I am the very definition of not ok.”

“My nightmares are scarred for life after that,” Tucker said. “That was freaky. What do we do with her?”

Before Danny could answer that he heard footsteps and turned the thermos invisible. As he thought, his parents thundered toward him with the Ghost Finder in hand. “Just missed em, guys.” Danny pointed behind him and was relieved when his mom and dad jogged off after a nonexistent ectosignature. “Well, that was a shitty start to the day. We should go inside before someone makes something out of the crater here.” Danny, Tucker, and Sam all headed off to the nearest entrance to the school, thoughts going south. “What if the security cameras caught all that?”

“Oh, no, that you don’t have to worry about,” Tucker said. “I’m all over that in like, a couple hours tops.”

“Good.” Danny waited until they’d gotten to their lockers, and stuffed the thermos into his bag before punching Tucker in the arm. “ That is for bringing a stars damned meat truck when there was a food obsessed ghost flying around!”

“Alright, yeah, that was stupid of me.” Tucker nodded. “I shouldn’t have done that. But uh, we all agreed not to do stuff that affects literally everyone without consulting each other?” Tucker and Danny both looked to Sam, who glared at them heatlessly.

The goth sighed and leaned heavily on Danny. “Alright, fine, ask people what they want first. Lesson learned. Can we talk about what we’re gonna do with Agatha though?”

“Well, I don’t think she’s a mindless monster or anything,” Danny started slowly as they walked toward their homeroom. “I think we can reason with her. Show her that change can be a good thing when it’s done right.”

“Alright, we can do that once we’re sure she’s not gonna try and kill us though, right? Tucker tried to go for a neutral, slightly teasing tone but Danny could hear - could feel a shakiness to him. “ We are meat if you didn’t notice Danny, and I don’t know if her control over food extends to a cannibal’s diet. I don’t wanna find out.”

“I’m horrified and grossed out,” Sam groaned. “I’m all for not getting cannibalized. That’s the wrong kind of macabre for me.”

Danny shook his head, made some crack about how bad either of them might taste, and promised to let Agatha cool down before releasing her.

That cooldown time happened to be the amount of time it took for the veggie week thing to run its course and be done with. The school was cleaned, though all the vegan students who’d showed up for the rally were questioned about any kind of explosives they may have tried to sabotage the meat truck with and the news settled in on a gas line story. Saturday arrived, and the trio all met up in the park. Away from all the dog walkers, readers and normal people having fun outside, Danny Tucker and Sam stood in a small clearing of trees, a few chipmunks shifting around above their heads and in the bushes.

“Tuck, you got the reports?”

“Roger. Sam, got your wrist ray ready?”

“Of course. Danny, remind me to tell your parents they’re awesome for making most of their stuff solar powered.”

“They hadn’t figured out how to tap the afterlife for energy yet, it’s the most efficient thing we got.” Danny shrugged. He pulled out the thermos, which hummed beneath his fingers with the contained energy of Agatha inside. Sam and Tucker couldn't feel it, so he chalked that up to another ghost thing. “Alright, Agatha, if you’re ready to talk to us, I’m gonna let you out now.” The thermos offered no response. Danny opened it anyway.

The bark on the trees darkened, the leaves turning grey and the branches and bushes rustling as birds and squirrels left in a hurry. The air turned colder and sharper, and the sunlight dimmed as green spilled out of the thermos and stained the air. Agatha took shape quickly, though her glow was dimmer than it had been before. Her eyes raked across all three of them and narrowed. “Well, children? You kept rambling on and on about talking whenever I tried to get out. What’s so important that you didn’t put me back in the astral plane?”

Tucking the name of the other side in the back of his mind, Danny offered his best-placating smile. It disarmed most teachers back when he wasn’t having as many problems, he was hoping it’d work here too. “Agatha, hi. I’m Danny, this is Tucker and Sam. I feel like we got off on the worst foot before, what with you trying to kill us and all.” Tucker elbowed him in the ribs and Danny shoved him back. The buzzing in the air grew louder, his skin tingled, and some small part of his brain kept screaming to shoot, to run, to do anything that could get this thing that did not belong away from him. “So, I understand why you were angry.”

“You, Sam, changed the menu to just one food group!” Agatha’s voice was rising to those terrible echoes in the mind, and the tiny voice got louder. Still it was ignored.

“I understand now that it was probably a bad idea. No one’s been going to the line in the cafeteria all week except fellow vegans,” Sam grumbled. “Still though, some change needed to happen. The cafeteria wasn’t giving us any healthy foods!” Sam was a good actress when it came to her voice. She sounded unafraid, ready to argue for hours. Danny could feel something off though, ripples of yellow in her night grey, black and purple self.

“And healthy diets aren’t exactly easy to come by if you don’t put a lot of effort into it nowadays.” Tucker held out a sheaf of papers. “This, Miss Reece, is a report on the various health crises around the country because of the food they’re feeding us.” The papers were taken and Tucker let out as subtle a breath as possible. “I don’t agree with changing the menu to just one food group, no one in their right mind would. But I think we should still change things up. Is there any way you can help us do that?”

There was a long beat of quiet, where all that Danny could hear was the sizzle of patties on a grill, the crunch of lettuce being pulled apart, the chopping of a knife on a cutting board the came with Agatha’s presence. It was in the background of everything unless he focused. It was still there though, and it was so distracting with everything else happening. Agatha read, frown deepening as she did before she handed the reports on obesity and diabetes increasing in children of their ages and lower back to Tucker. “Alright,” she started, then stopped. A superfluous breath. She looked to Danny. “Well, I suppose that I was a tad extreme about everything. How about this?” She held out her hand, and above her glove, the green light that seemed to shine in all directions from her coalesced into the form of a burger. “I’m not sure they’ll accept me in the school kitchens again but I’m certainly able to make a meal for everyone.”

“That’s amazing!” Tucker crowed. “I’ve already sent a few texts and set up some online polls to find out what most people actually want out of their lunch, maybe you can help us with finding ingredients around Amity? Do you have a food sense?”

“Even if they don’t let you into the school’s kitchen you could still probably find a soup kitchen that’d definitely let you in,” Sam offered. “If you can create food from basically nothing, then I see no reason for them to turn you away.”

“Plus, since ectoplasm draws energy from heat and electricity, you can probably just relax in the sun and be able to pull out a full course meal.” Danny took in his friends’ curious looks and scratched the back of his neck. “My parents are the world’s best ghost scientists. I just asked them.”

“I’ll certainly look into that soup kitchen idea dearies,” Agatha said with a bright smile on her face. “For now though, I should be getting back to the Astral Plane. Sunlight is a nice substitute but after all that fighting I need a quick break.”

“I can get you back there without my parents noticing,” Danny offered.

“I only need to be invisible for that, dear,” Agatha assured them and faded out of sight. The chill and fading of the clearing dissipated, and Tucker and Sam relaxed visibly.

“Well,” Danny said as he pulled his notebook out of his bag. “That’s one ghost down.” He hoped it wouldn’t be too many till he convinced his parents.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Tucker Foley #Sam Manson #Jazz Fenton #Jack Fenton #The Lunch Lady Ghost #Agatha Reece (Lunch Lady)#Fanfiction #Phanfiction #Rexy Writes

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radiojamming · 5 years

Note

Cody in the rdr2 world being a gremlin

i’ve been nesting on this one since i couldn’t figure out if cody would be in the law or an outlaw. now i know, and i also thing she would be a glorious thing to behold in the rdr2 universe.

also, cameo of a friend!!!

- - -

Arthur looks at the paper, at the faint line of Valentine street dust collecting in the crease, right down the middle of the girl’s face. Girl is probably not the right word. She’s a woman, around thirty-two by the bounty’s estimate, but she’s wide-eyed and grinning like a child in the photograph. It looks like a candid shot, as though someone caught her mid-boast.

The deputy clears his throat, and Arthur can hear him shifting his weight on the floorboards. “That’s, uh… Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard of her.”

“Can’t say I have,” Arthur says.

“Miss Oakley. She’s been somethin’ worse than a terror around here.”

Arthur hums in acknowledgement, but his eyes fix on disturbing the peace. Of course, there are charges for larceny, cattle rustling, train robbery, and attempted murder; but if Arthur knows anything about the life of an outlaw, disturbing the peace can have all sorts of interesting connotations. He’s earned that high honor quite a few times in his life.

The deputy goes on, “Came through here about, oh, five weeks ago or so. Feller at the saloon said she drank through a whole bottle of damn near embalming fluid, stole two bottles of prize whiskey, drank one while walkin’ down the street, stole some gentleman’s horse, and took off westerly ways beltin’ out somethin’ that’d make the dogs howl.”

“That all?” Arthur says jokingly.

The deputy doesn’t seem to think it’s all that funny. Arthur turns to look at him, only to find a morose expression twisting his face. “I’m afraid it ain’t.”

- - -

“Now sir, I know you said you were a gentleman, and I am completely prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. But, well–” There’s a decisive click of a revolver being cocked. “What you said ain’t so gentlemanly.”

The man on the ground whimpers like a scolded dog, trying in vain to scoot back while tied up tighter than a caterpillar in a cocoon. He only gets as far as the back wall of the cabin, and to his right side is the massive bear of man that’s been accompanying his captor. A heavy hand settles on top of the gentleman’s head, suddenly twisting it to face the revolver.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” says her friend, his voice like stone scraping stone. “If she misses, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the man pleads. His voice wheedles out of him like some backwater farmer playing a reed. “All I says to ya was–”

“Oh, please do repeat what you so kindly said!”

He pauses, swallows hard, and feels sweat snaking down his back. “Th-that I wondered if–”

“Go on.”

“If you was red down th–”

- - -

Arthur finds bits of the poor bastard’s brain on the back wall of a cabin, but the campfire outside’s gone cold, and the bootprints circle around like Miss Oakley was trying to construct a maze, doing sprints in every direction. He curses, gets back on the horse, and tries again.

- - -

“I want it.”

“No.”

“No, wait, I need it.”

“You need food, water, shelter, and half a brain. I think you’re missin’ one of those.”

“Ye of little faith!”

A sigh. “I think I’m the only thing keepin’ you intact.”

“Ain’t so. I was doin’ alright before you came along.”

Another sigh. He’s going to wheeze himself to death, but he doesn’t deign a reply except for a more emphatic, “No.”

“Says you.”

A pause.

A longer pause. Her horse isn’t moving.

“Stop looking at it.”

“I’m gonna go get it.”

“Cody! Jesus Christ, get back here!”

- - -

The general store owner in Strawberry whistles through his teeth and stares at the ceiling in thought. “Yeah, yeah I think I might’ve seen her. Nice gal, really pretty, got a baby raccoon with her.”

Arthur frowns. “A what?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I can’t say I ain’t seen weirder things, but that was definitely a baby raccoon. Named it somesuch, uh–”

He pinches the spot between his brows. “But you did see her.”

“Oh, sure! Came in here, what, about three days ago? With a big, tall feller. Head nearly touched the ceilin’.”

“They take anything?”

At this, the owner gets a smile like a proud entrepreneur, ready to extol the virtues of his ventures. “Not a bit! Paid for it all right fair and square. Lady with the raccoon said they were spendin’ a windfall of theirs.”

He thinks of the corpse in the cabin, blown to kingdom come by a woman who is coming across more like a Heartlands twister than a human being. “Thanks, sir,” he says as he puts his hat back on.

“Wait! You gonna buy anything ‘fore ya go? Fair’s fair!”

Arthur grumbles and digs around in his pocket for change.

- - -

“Oh, I got a son in Valentine! Took him on and made him mine! Big ol’ eyes and a nice ringed tail! Eats outta the mayor’s garbage pail!”

“I don’t think that’s how the song goes.”

They’re riding up through the Grizzlies now, the horses huffing and pressing on through the snow. Inside Cody’s satchel, Jean-Jacques happily gnaws on an oatcake. In a moment, he sticks his tiny paw out of a fold in the satchel until she hands him another cake and coos at him like he’s a newborn baby.

Her friend sighs, adjusting his hat on his head and minding the dark clouds forming on the ridges above. “That’s a damn raccoon. Ain’t a pet.”

“You’re right, ‘cause he’s our son.”

“Your son– No. No, I’m not even gonna talk about this with you.”

They ride on, minding the twists and turns in the path, while the clouds get heavier and bluer with an oncoming storm. Finally, Cody grunts and hands Jean-Jacques the last of the oatcakes before drawing part of her duster up over the satchel to protect him. “Probably should make camp, huh?”

“Find a cabin, more like it. We’d wake up in four feet of snow.”

“That bad?”

He nods.

“Ugh, fine. Better for Jean-Jacques, anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. “And us, by the way. I know we’re inconsequential.”

- - -

The snowstorm has nearly cleared every single track that Arthur’s been following. Pursuing them this high into the mountains while fully aware the weather was due to turn bad wasn’t the brightest idea, but a bounty’s a bounty. The wind kicks up plumes of snow, shrieks through the pass, and chills him right through the heaviest coat he owns. It’s like Colter all over again, and Arthur’s determined to kick himself as soon as he gets somewhere warm enough to thaw his legs out.

The scent of woodsmoke draws his attention, and he turns his horse towards it. He can’t rely on sight at this point, with the snow coming down as a solid white curtain, blanketing his vision. “Easy, girl,” he tells his horse, running his hand down her neck. “Not much further.”

It turns out he’s right, as the cabin comes into view, jutting out of the mountainside like it’s as natural as the trees around it. There’s a small stable built off its side, currently occupied by an enormous draft horse the color of a new penny, and a sleeker, darker Arabian. There’s just room enough to hitch his own horse, and he hopes whoever the occupants are of the cabin, they won’t mind the liberty he’s just taken.

Once she’s secure, he comes back around and stomps through the snow until he reaches the front door. Hesitation would only make him more cold and miserable, so he knocks twice. Waits. Waits.

The door opens, and there stands Miss Cody Oakley, Terror of Valentine, mother of raccoons.

She grins like he’s just given her the greatest gift in the world.

“Well,” she says, hands on her hips. Her auburn hair is in a braid running over her shoulder. “Was wonderin’ when you were gonna catch up.”

- - -

He’s staying the night with two hardened criminals.

That statement shouldn’t mean anything in his life. He lives at a camp with hardened criminals nearly every day on the calendar. He’s a hardened criminal.

But these two are in another, comparatively stranger league. That is to say, they’d fit in so well with the Van der Lindes that Arthur’s surprised that Dutch hasn’t snapped them up yet. Her friend is an ox of a man, apparently happy to sit in perfect silence and eerie stillness next to the fire that they’ve built up in the crumbling hearth. His eyes, however, stay locked on Arthur like a wolf sighting prey. As relaxed as he seems on the surface, Arthur gets the idea that if he wanted to, he could spring up and tackle Arthur in a second.

Cody, on the other hand, is all movement. She’s a flurry of copper-colored skirts, dancing from one end of the cabin to the other, pouring coffee into tin mugs, setting out a plate of biscuits, and then twirling over to where a tiny, tiny raccoon is curled up in a satchel on a chair, happily snoozing in the warmth. She leaves it another biscuit, next to its head like she’s a spirit of animal generosity. Then, she’s off dancing again.

“You get used to it,” her friend says, just as she presses a mug of coffee into his hands, kisses him on his scarred brow, and shimmies her way over to Arthur.

“Thanks, ma’am,” he hears himself saying to his bounty target.

“Of course, darlin’! Ain’t nothin’ but hospitality here!”

“Occasionally murder,” adds her friend.

She gapes at him like he’s said the most scandalous thing she’s ever heard. “No! Not to this gentleman! He’s been nothin’ but polite since we met him!”

“An hour ago.”

“Perfect amount of time to create and enforce an acquaintance. Mr. Arthur, sir, do you take sugar in your coffee?”

He blinks, then shakes his head, feeling a smile come to him faster than he can control. “No, ma’am. Thank you.”

“So sweet!” she exclaims, and then puts her hands on her hips and directs a pointed glare at her partner. “You could stand to learn from him, sir.”

“Duly noted,” he rasps.

- - -

Arthur leaves the next morning when the exact amount of the bounty in his satchel, happily provided by Miss Oakley and her moose of a counterpart, who just introduces himself as the Soldier. Arthur’s full of oatmeal, warm biscuits, and coffee, with a tin of oatcakes for himself and his horse. Cody sends him on his way with a kiss to the cheek, which fails to rouse the Soldier at all.

“Come hunt us any time,” she says, holding both of Arthur’s hands in her own. She’s got the callouses of a gunslinger, and he can’t ignore the powerful grip she has. This woman could choke the life out of him if she wanted to. Instead, she smiles, just as bright as the sunlight bouncing off the fresh snow. “We love the company!”

“You stickin’ around?” he asks.

She giggles. The scourge of New Hanover giggles like a schoolgirl. “God, no!” she exclaims. “I like my neck unbroken, thanks. Nah, you’ll find us.”

Another quick kiss, this time to the end of his nose. Then, Cody’s sashaying away through the snow, pausing only to draw her raccoon son out of his satchel enough to make him wave one of his tiny paws in a bon voyage gesture. Behind her, the Soldier rolls his eyes so far back in his head that he can probably see his own brain. After that though, he gives Arthur a short, curt wave, then puts an arm around Cody’s waist and kisses the top of her head before leading her back inside.

Arthur’s not sure what to make of it. He’s fairly certain that what he’s just experienced was a very vivid and long fever dream.

Even so, he heads back to Valentine, fully prepared to explain that Miss Cody Oakley successfully escaped justice. Too bad, condolences, we’ll do better next time, and all that.

And he smiles the entire way back.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #oc: cody oakley #i lowkey ship them tho?#and yes! cameo!#who i also ship her with more!#prompt fill

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rrrawrf-writes · 6 years

Text

michaelmas

time for my contribution to michaelmas!!!!

i almost feel like a cheat bc i rarely call rembrandt ‘michael,’ but for the record, i did name him that well before this ever became a thing, so it’s still legal :K

this is actually also an au, where instead of getting winn thrown in jail for ruining his life, michael rembrandt decides to turn the other cheek and help winn realize his childhood dream of becoming a superhero........... :)

ALSO I ALMOST FORGOT THIS IS BASED OFF A PROMPT FROM @gingerly-writing THAT I TORE UP A LIL FOR MY OWN PURPOSES

also @michael-lover-anon

“So.” Rembrandt slid onto the barstool next to Winn, peeling off black leather gloves. “What do I need to order you to solicit some help?”

Winn shouldn't have been drinking - even on his day off - but here he was anyway, his head pillowed on his arms and a single glass in front of him. Too much alcohol made his power go odd, and he guessed he was reaching that point, because he hadn't noticed Rembrandt until the man spoke.

“The whole bar,” Winn mumbled into the crook of his elbow. As always, when Rembrandt was around, his skin crawled and his legs twitched with the need to get away.

“Done,” Rembrandt said simply. He turned around on the barstool, leaning his elbows back against the counter. Even in the dim lighting, he looked thoroughly out of place here, in his usual black suit and tie and polished leather shoes. Winn, who actually worked for a living, was resplendent in a dark green sweater and jeans that were torn at the bottom.

He wanted to punch the smugness right off of Rembrandt’s face. Instead, Winn just rolled his eyes.

“What?” Rembrandt grinned, his gaze roving over Winn’s less than impressive attire. “I’m rich. Oh, and I own this bar anyway.”

Winn lifted his head at that. “Since when?” he demanded - this was one of the very few places he’d been certain Rembrandt didn't have his fingers in. It was on the edge of the city, far away from anything convenient or useful. There was literally nothing out here - except maybe the fish and chips - that could have interested someone like Rembrandt.

Rembrandt gave him a slow, cat-like smile. “Since yesterday.”

“Go screw yourself,” Winn snarled, shoving himself away from the bar and standing up. His power wavered uncertainly, along with the rest of him. “Give me a week off from Fell’s bull.”

“Done.”

Winn hesitated, then. He put a hand out to brace himself on the bar and narrowed his eyes at Rembrandt. “You’re being awfully accommodating, considering you basically exist just to ruin my life.”

“Well, that was when all I needed from you was entertainment,” Rembrandt said pleasantly. “Now I need help.”

“Entertainment?” Winn’s outraged yelp was enough to startle half the bar into looking at them. He ground his teeth together, then leaned in towards Rembrandt, his hand on the bar curling into a fist. “I don't do any of this for your entertainment.”

Rembrandt’s eyes glinted. “Don't kid yourself, Mr. Yale.”

“Get lost, Remy,” Winn snarled back. Rembrandt dropped his pleasant smile like a ton of bricks. His eyes shifted to a point over Winn’s shoulder.

Winn noticed the curling, tendril-like beginnings of one of Fell’s portals too late. It formed directly underneath him, and Winn could feel the solidity of the floor turn viscous and paper-thin. He cursed, but before he could step away, Rembrandt gave him a good shove, and Winn fell through.

He hit the ground hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The portal closed some three meters above his head, leaving Winn to stare at the dark ceiling of what might’ve been a subway tunnel years ago. His power automatically spread as he struggled to get in a full lungful of air, and he realized that about six meters in each direction, the tunnel ended. One side was the natural, constructed end; the other was a cave-in.

Another portal whirlpooled open over to the left, some five feet above the ground. Rembrandt fell through, landing on his feet with far more grace than Winn had managed, not even taking his hands out of his pockets for balance. Fell themself teleported in without the use of a portal, as far from Winn and Rembrandt as they could manage.

Winn coughed and rolled himself over. “Are you serious, Remy?” he snapped, shoving himself to his feet. He marked Rembrandt and Fell both with his power, backing away. “You don’t get enough of the bloody gladiator games from TV, you gotta watch us up close now?”

Rembrandt had picked up a collapsible baton somewhere along the way; he gave it an idle swing through the air. “I told you, Yale, I’m not here for entertainment,” he said coldly. “I thought I told you to stop calling me Remy.”

“Thought you told me you were gonna give me a week off from Fell,” Winn retorted. Fell didn’t say anything, not like Winn ever expected them to - he’d never heard them utter a single word in all this time, not even when Winn was lucky enough to score a real hit. They wore a black bandanna over their nose and mouth; tonight, the hood of their sweater was pulled low over their eyes, and they scuffed their shoe over the gravelly floor when Winn looked at them.

“Well, you didn’t seem amenable to my request.” Rembrandt snapped his fingers. “Don’t worry about Fell, Yale. You’re dealing with me tonight.”

Winn’s full attention locked onto Rembrandt, and he felt a chill run down his spine. The only edge he had over Rembrandt was that he was powered, and Rembrandt was not - but right now, Winn was feeling buzzed - probably past that, if he had to be honest with himself - and his power was having just enough trouble focusing that he knew he was royally screwed.

“We could’ve talked about this up there,” Winn pointed out, taking a couple steps back. His power scrambled to find him an escape route as he talked, but there wasn’t one. Winn quelled a small bubble of panic. “You don’t have to be so dramatic all the time.”

Rembrandt’s eyebrows arched. “Dramatic? Yale, I only wanted a simple yes or no. You’re the one being dramatic, throwing a temper tantrum in public like that.”

Winn scoffed. “Listen, Mikey -”

He didn’t get a chance to finish.

Rembrandt snapped forward; Winn hissed through his teeth and skipped back, stumbling a little. He knew he shouldn’t’ve gone out tonight - should’ve just gone to bed early -

He was too focused on the baton in Rembrandt’s hand that he didn’t notice Rembrandt’s kick, driving into the side of his knee. Winn staggered, swearing and bracing a hand against the wall. He was too slow to get out of the way, and so he put his arm up, instead.

The baton cracked against his forearm and part of his face regardless; Rembrandt ducked in and drove his fist into Winn’s stomach. He stepped back once Winn was on the ground, heaving for breath again.

“I’m sorry,” Rembrandt said mildly, “what were you saying?”

Winn raised his middle finger and wheezed, “Screw you.”

“Mm-hmm.” Rembrandt backed up, letting the baton hang from a cord around his wrist as he adjusted his sleeves. Winn, eyes closed, let himself lay there for a moment. Fell still hadn’t moved from their corner. “Who made you, Wings?”

Oh. They were back to this again. Winn clenched his jaw. “Your mum.”

Rembrandt crouched down on his haunches next to Winn, who tried to hide his flinch. He was still on his back on the ground, and right next to the rough stone wall; Rembrandt had him pinned. Poking Winn’s ribs with the baton, Rembrandt prompted, “Try again.”

Winn tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but Rembrandt laid the baton warningly across his chest and Winn froze, his eyes darting to the little button on the handle. Rembrandt smoothed a thumb over it in warning.

Closing his eyes, Winn flopped back against the hard ground and let out a long, slow breath. Hating himself, he bit out, “You did.”

“That’s right,” Rembrandt said quietly. “And so, who can break you?”

“You can.” Winn’s voice was flat and dull, but the response was good enough for Rembrandt, who nodded and pushed himself back up to his feet.

“I would think,” he said, turning to walk a few steps away, “you’d be more grateful to the man who helped you gain such a persona, Wings.”

Winn let out a bitter laugh as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “All you did was make me’n’Fell fight each other on TV.”

“No,” Rembrandt said sharply, “I think I did quite a bit more than that. I made room for you both. Strongarm, Sharp, Death Valley - do you really think they just decided to pack up and move?”

Strongarm had been bribed into retirement. Sharp was dead, Winn was pretty sure; the hero had just disappeared from the streets, as far as the public was concerned, but his own personal investigations had culminated in the obituary of a young woman covered in burns in her mother’s house.

And Death Valley worked for Rembrandt now, down the coast.

Of course, Rembrandt hadn’t told either Winn or Fell any of that. They’d had to figure it out on their own.

“I get it, Remy,” Winn said tiredly.

“There wouldn’t have been any opportunity for the two of you in this city,” Rembrandt continued, “if I hadn’t arranged it.”

“We get it, Rembrandt,” Winn snapped this time. He used the wall to get back up to his feet, as Rembrandt shot him an irritated look. Taking a breath, Winn glanced over at Fell. They almost blended completely into the dark tunnel, huddling inside an oversized hoodie over form-fitting leggings.

Fighting them always felt wrong to Winn. He couldn’t be sure why - but they both owed Rembrandt, so when he arranged their little battle royales to cover up his own operations, they obliged. Winn wasn’t sure that the hype and prestige Wings was getting from it all as a supposed hero was worth this.

“Do you, Yale?” Rembrandt asked skeptically. “Because lately, all I’ve been getting from you is one ungrateful comment after another. You barely give Fell any exercise anymore. They’re getting lazy.”

Fell didn’t do much, either, Winn thought. “Don’t talk about them like that.”

Rembrandt arched an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Winn opened his mouth, but behind Rembrandt, Fell gave a quick shake of their head, eyes widening. Winn shut his mouth again, then said, “Maybe I’m not grateful because all that stuff you spouted, the fame and the money - I’m not getting any of that.”

Rembrandt scoffed. “I can only work with what I’m given, Yale, and I’m not a miracle worker. I’m giving you a chance, but you have to put in the work.” He tipped his head slightly. “You’re abrasive and antagonistic. Hero or not, no one’s going to like you when you act like that.”

He was right. As Winn remained silent, Rembrandt continued. “We’ve wasted enough time. The Liberty Guard has something in their New York branch office, Yale, I need you to get it for me.”

Winn stared at him. “No.”

The sharp look Rembrandt gave him made Winn start sidling away from the wall, so that Rembrandt couldn’t trap him against it again. “I’m not - I’m not going to steal from the Liberty Guard, Rembrandt, are you insane? The New York guard? They’ll kill me!”

“And I would be overwhelmed with sorrow to hear that,” Rembrandt deadpanned.

Winn ground his teeth. “I can’t.”

“No, I think you can,” Rembrandt said. “You’ve stolen from Wildcard - they’ll be a cakewalk in comparison. What’s the real reason, Yale?”

“There isn’t one,” Winn snapped, “Except they think I’m a bloody hero, what d’you think they’ll do if I’m found out?”

Rembrandt looked unconvinced. “Yale, you’ve been up to New York three times in the past two months alone. You aren’t even up there to help them with their own problems.”

“Maybe I just like New York,” Winn said.

“You don’t.” Rembrandt narrowed his eyes, and then let out a single, sharp laugh of disbelief. “Did you make some friends?”

“Screw you,” Winn snapped. Rembrandt grinned at him, hands on his hips.

“You did. Or are you just trying to? Mewling at their door like those little lost animals you like to adopt so much? Hoping they’ll take in a little stray like you.”

Winn, scowling, stalked down the side of the tunnel, towards Fell’s space. Maybe he could get them to teleport him out of this bloody hole in the ground.

Rembrandt took two steps towards him and Winn flinched, stumbling over a chunk of debris. Rembrandt snorted.

“Are you lonely, Yale?” he asked, “or is this just a bid to get out from under my thumb?”

Winn put his back to Rembrandt, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, and tried his level best to ignore him. Get me out of here, he mouthed at Fell, but they just shrank into their sweater and shook their head. When Winn got a few steps closer, Fell dissipated into black smoke, inky against the dim shadows of the tunnel, and then reformed at the opposite end. Winn couldn’t help but throw a curse at them.

Rembrandt stepped up behind Winn. Instead of moving away, Winn forced himself to stay put, staring furiously at the heap of rubble and dirt that blocked him from running.

“You don't have friends for a good reason, Winn,” Rembrandt said quietly. “You're a tool. In every definition of the word possible. At best, they tolerate you because they need you.”

“Shut up,” Winn snarled over his shoulder. “Can you not go one day with being a stuck-up prick?”

He picked up mentally on Rembrandt’s movement, and didn't realize it was a feint as he jerked to the side, his reflexes - along with his power - far too dulled to be dealing with this. Rembrandt’s foot swept his ankles just as Winn stepped, and he hit the ground again. Hard.

“You want a day off from me?” Rembrandt asked, standing over him. He smiled thinly. “Done. Fell, give me a portal.”

“Wait, what?” Winn started to push himself up, but then Rembrandt pulled his foot back and swung it directly into Winn’s face.

“Fuck!” Winn shouted, rolling over - partially from the blow, partially to keep from Rembrandt kicking him again. He cupped his hand over his face, blood already spilling out of his nose; behind him, Rembrandt stalked over to the portal Fell had opened.

“I’ll be back,” Rembrandt glanced at his wristwatch, “at 11:39 tomorrow night. One full day, Wings, just like you asked.”

Winn swore and shoved himself up to his feet - and then stumbled back to his knees again, dizzy and nauseous. “Wait - Wait, please, Remy -”

“Don’t call me that.” Rembrandt turned to look squarely at Winn, the black portal swirling behind him. “Why don’t you give your new friends a call? Surely they’ll come to your rescue.”

Winn gritted his teeth, tasting blood inside his mouth, as well as on his lips, feeling it dribble from a cut on his cheek from where the heel of Rembrandt’s shoe had struck him.

They wouldn’t come. They wouldn’t come help Winn, and Rembrandt knew it.

“Twenty-four hours, Winn, down to the second. Then we’ll see what your answer is.”

“It’s fuck you!” Winn snarled, against every single instinct in his brain that screamed at him to stop, to make peace, just enough to get him out of here -

Rembrandt just smiled, stepped backwards into the portal, and disappeared.

#iwrite #rembrandt #violence tw #swearing #winn #superpowerverse #au #winn is a cape???verse #tw rembrandt

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ariannnawinchester · 6 years

Text

Purple eyes, desperate cries

Characters: Dean, Reader, Sam and three OFCs.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, death. The usual angsty stuff.

Square Filled: Fairy abduction

Summary: The Reader is sort of new to the gig, Dean and her clash and she runs away. That’s when things take a turn for the worse. Feelings are left hanging in the air and when they finally settle it’s too late. There’s a reason why Dean hates ‘witches’.

A/N: This is for @spnangstbingo. I wrote this some time back. I just forgot about it. Feedback and constructive criticism is most welcomed.

“You’re joking right?” You scoff. The situation seems too far fetched for you to comprehend, let alone for you to take seriously. “There must be some other explanation for this.” You shake your head, walking over to the rickety chair to take a seat.

Fairies. That’s what you can’t wrap your head around. That’s what Sam’s been trying to convince you about for past 10 minutes. Like actual fairies. With cute flower petal dresses and shimmery wings. Just thinking about it makes you giggle.

“People are turning up dead. And you’re sitting here laughing?” Dean’s voice stops your laughter dead in its tracks. There’s a storm brewing in his green eyes, threatening to flatten anything in his path. For once, you don’t want to push his buttons. “I don’t care whether we’re up to our asses in sparkly purple fairy dust, we’re gonna solve this case.”

Sam clears his throat. The sound slashing through some of the tension. He gets off his chair and walks to stand in front of you and Dean. He’s thumbing at his tablet. You can see his mind is working at a million miles a second. “So get this, apparently all the people that have gone missing are believers. They believe in all this mumbo jumbo. That’s why the fairies can take them.”

“Biker Jack is a fairy believer?” You question, sarcasm dripping of your every word. “Can’t really imagine him skipping around his garden sprinkling fairy dust all over the place.”

“That would explain the children.” Dean says over you. Almost like he’s pretending you aren’t there. “How many kids were taken again? Just before we got here?”

“Uhhh...” Sam scrolls some more, “two.”

“What if it’s a Tulpa? Loads of people believe, it’s bound to come to life.” You pipe up.

“It’s probable.” Sam nods in your direction, “that would explain why it’s happening for the first time in this town.”

“You’re kidding right?” You’re taking her side.” Dean questions, his nostrils flaring. “It’s fucking fairies. We’ve dealt with them before. I blew one up in a microwave.”

You stalk up to Dean and push him. Hard enough for him to stumble. His jaw drops, wide eyes just blinking at you.

“I don’t get what’s your damn problem with me Dean. I’m trying to help. Excuse me, if I can’t wrap my head around shit. I got dragged into this crap because you needed a new goddamn prophet.” You yell, tears prickling at your eyes. “I’m trying. I’m fucking trying. But you know what I’m done. Goodbye.”

You snatch your navy jacket off the bed and head for outside. Slamming the door on your way out. The fragile windowpanes creaking in your wake. You faintly hear Sam’s voice calling your name but you keep walking.

It’s freezing out. Your breath coming in misty puffs right in front of your face, hugging your jacket tighter to your body, you keep walking. Trying to put enough distance between you and Dean. Your skin’s covered in goosebumps. Partially from the frosty air and partially from the sounds that are lurking in the dark edges of the leafy forest.

Something doesn’t feel right. You can tell. The hairs on your back are straight on end and your heart is thudding in your ears. Part of you kind of wishes that you hadn’t left like that. Dean maybe a pain in the ass right now but he has saved your ass more than you can count in the time that he knew you.

You swallow shallowly, coming to halt when you see a glowing light in the distance. It’s alluring, the warmth radiating from it drawing you in, almost like it is calling out to you. The icy air is blowing through the trees, making them dance to the enchanting song only you can hear. With an unwavering gaze, one foot in front of the other you make your way towards the light. There is something about it, promising you all that your heart desires. The closer you get the more it smells like him...

“Sam!” Dean shouts, on his haunches. The only brightness in the night coming from the Impala’s headlights. Dean’s fist is balled up tightly, his lips in a thin lip. “Sammy, it took her.”

Dean gets up, walking back to the car with his palm pressed against his forehead. That’s when Sam sees it. It shocks him. The ground is littered with purple glitter, glinting in the light. It makes Sam think of Jess, of school, of a life away from this.

“It make you feel anything?” Dean mumbles, leaning against the side of the car. He looks pale, like he’s about to heave, “I touched it and I saw her. And I didn’t just want her. I need her. Like without her I won’t be able to breathe.”

Sam didn’t hear much of what Dean said, only regaining his senses when the last of the glitter fell from his hand. “It’s no secret that you’re in love with her.” Sam smiles, putting his hands into his pockets, “when we save her you can tell her, yeah?”

“What if we can’t? What if we can’t save her?” Dean chokes, “Sammy, we have to find her.” He grabs Sam’s collar, expecting him to promise. But Sam, he didn’t want to admit it but he wants the magic too. The one the glitter promises.

You slowly blink your eyes open, trying to adjust to the bright white light dancing in front of your eyes. Your throat is hoarse, like you’d been shouting at a Led Zep concert, you’ll do just about anything for a drop of water.

“Greetings pretty one.” A musical voice fills your ear, “For a moment there I thought you weren’t going to wake up. I was about to rip Greta a new one for sprinkling too much dust.”

You can’t tell where the voice is coming from, frantically searching for it you find your wrists in shackles. Thick green vines sprouting purple orchids.

“Who are you?” You shout, twisting your arms, “what do you want?” The harder you struggle the tighter your restrains get. It’s making it hard to breath. The smell from the orchids almost lulling you into a deep sleep. “Dean’s..dean’s...gonna find me. He’s gonna find me.”

“Nauhh precious.” The voice fills your ear again, “I can’t have you fall asleep on me. Then it’s no fun.” It cackles, “as for your lover boy. We’ll see how far he gets. Wini get the broth!”

“Coming sister.” A squeaky softer voice answers.

You feel a hand grab your chin, with force holding your face straight. A wooden ladle is pressed against your mouth, almost as if it is forcing your lips to part. “No!” You scream, squeezing your eyes closed and sealing your lips shut.

“Come now dear.” The musical voice coax, “don’t make it hard for me.” The sweet voice has a a deadly sharp edge to it, “look at me! Look at me!” It commands, the booming voice echoing in your ears, “look at me and let me steal your heart. Let me steal your magic.”

Big fat tears are rolling down your feverish face. Your body trembling with fear and the trauma. You force your eyelids to open, stalling as you look at the dusty ground until the very last second. In time with your terrified heart you look up. And what you see shocks you to your core.

Beauty. Utter and absolute beauty. The musical voice is more beautiful than you could ever imagine. It actually hurts to look at them, her and who you can assume are her sisters. Wini and Greta.

“Who are you?” You whisper, completely enthralled by her gorgeous violet eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“Sybil. You can call me Sybil, pretty one.” She says, smiling at you. She kneels to your level, her soft finger tips brushing away stray strands of your hair, “and I want...I want-“

“Anything!” You blurt, wanting nothing more than to please her, “I’ll give you anything you want, I promise.”

“But,” she starts removing her velvet scarlet robes, “I don’t have your heart. He does.”

Slowly, violet eyes turn into brilliant green ones. Slender shoulders turn into proud squared ones. Soft creamy flesh turns into sun kissed freckled skin. And you can’t help but gasp. The sight of him takes your breath away.

“Dean.” You call out, “Dean you came for me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you and running off.”

“Hush pretty one.” The words don’t sound exactly right as it leaves his mouth, “I’m here to give you what you want. I’m here to help.” He assures, strong arm circling around your waist pulling you towards his solid body. “Now, drink.” He brings the wooden ladle to you lips, and you comply, drop by drop the purple liquid drips down your throat and you begin to feel like you’re floating.

“Dean.” You’re searching for his warmth but now, you’re just clutching at air, “Dean, I’m scared. What’s happening to me? Dean!” You begin to yell, but you’re choking on your words, the air snatched from your lungs.

“The louder you scream, the more it will hurt Y/N. Now, stop screaming. No one can hear you.”

“Tell me why you’re doing this!” You demand, barely able to see straight.

“Because we have to.” Wini, the shy one finally speaks out from behind Sybil, “or we die. We steal lives so we can live forever.”

“Shut-“ You hear the growl of Dean’s voice.

A gunshot explodes. Another one. And, another one.

Everything stills in their echo- the shuffling, the music even his, no her voice. In these seconds of stillness, your heart skips a few beats. You hear him again, the sound of his heavy footsteps sprinting towards you. With a panicked jerk, your heart’s in your throat, drowning out the furious whispers in your ears.

“Dean...” You murmur, feeling his strong arm around your waist, the other supporting your head, “you really came for me.” You manage a weak smile, “she tricked me, she made me think she was you. I know you’d never hurt me. You’d never hurt me.” You say furiously before the breath in your lungs run out, you’re squeezing his hand in yours, hoping he will feel it. Hoping he will realize that he is all you ever want.

“Stay with me Y/N.” He says, hushing you, brushing your matted hair off your sweaty forehead, “We’ll fix this alright. Sam’s gonna find away and you’ll be okay. We need you. I need you.” He chokes out his words, big fat tears rolling down his face.

“I’m sorr-“

“No!” Dean wails, clinging to your body, pressing his face into your loose hair, “No, no.” He keeps muttering, “this can’t be happening. This isn’t real.”

Dean doesn’t even react when Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. Sam has no words of comfort to offer. This has shocked him. Taken his speech away.

“She’s gone Sammy. Gone.” He sobs, not ready to let go of your body just yet. You’re still warm, color still in your skin. “I couldn’t save her.”

“Dean, we have to go. We have to take her home. Send her off the right way.”

Dean rubs the back of his hand across his face, smudging away the tears before he lets go of you.

“No. We are going to drive to the ocean and put her there. We’re going to do that. We have to give her what she wanted. It’s the least we can do.”

Sam freezes, shock contorting his sorrow. He grabs Dean’s arm, pointing to your body. The slightest movement of your fingers is enough to freeze Dean solid, his voice gets lodged in his throat.

“Y/N?” He calls.

But, it’s too late. Now, you’re the one with purple eyes.

Tags: @thedevilinthedetails @damn-sassalecki @akshi8278 @tia58 @laurwinchester @the-amaranthine @merci-is-screaming @pizzarollpatrol @torn-and-frayed @nightmaredean @captainemwinchester @sleep-silent-angel @kittenofdoomage

#spnangstbingo #dean x reader #reader x dean #dean winchester x reader #reader x dean winchester #dean angst #dean x reader angst #dean fanfic #dean fan fiction #dean fan fic #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester angst

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ohwhatamessiam · 6 years

Text

Lies

Summary: A month into your friendship with your favorite barista, Bucky Barnes, he invites you to meet his friends. You’ve been denying your feelings for him the whole time, but after spending an evening with him, it becomes clear you can’t hide how you feel anymore.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5.7k (sorry guys, I got carried away)

Warnings: Language, some alcohol consumption, pining, angst, and maybe a happy ending?????

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m back with my second submission (the prompt was Lie) for @ughjoekeery‘s WWC. This is part 2 of Lonely, my coffee shop AU. A big thank you to my beta @fangirlisms-22! Barista!Bucky is still soft and loving here, and I think you’ll all enjoy the ending a little better.

I love feedback, so tell me what you think!

Read Part 1 (Lonely) here

A month went by while you and Bucky remained friendly. You visited the coffee shop two or three times a week, secretly hoping to run into him. Fortunately, he let you pay for your own food now, and he didn’t bring up going on a date again. He also started accepting the tips you left him. But he continued the trend of taking his break while you were in store and spending it entirely at your table.

And that didn’t bother you one bit.

You’d exchanged phone numbers, but only texted when you’d miss each other at the shop. You learned that he was a struggling artist who’d barely had time to paint a new piece in a month. His friends were all artists as well and had jobs at galleries, magazines, and bars in Brooklyn.

As your friendship with Bucky grew, the coffee shop became your safe haven and your favorite place to edit. When your boss would get particularly difficult, you knew there was a delicious drink to soothe your frustration, and a sympathetic ear waiting for you there. And to top it off, you were head over heels for Bucky.

His pouty bottom lip, his fluffy head of hair, his scruff covered jawline, his dimpled chin. You couldn’t look at him for too long without getting caught on those features. And whenever he’d turn his attention on you and his kind eyes would crinkle, you felt like the ground had fallen out from under you. His bright blue eyes made you feel like you were flying, like anything was possible. In those moments, you wished you were the only person in the world. You didn’t want to think about him looking at anyone else like he looked at you.

But did you tell him about how you felt?

No.

You fed yourself lies.

That you weren’t ready to take that leap yet. That you needed more good friends and people in your life. That the loneliness that left you clutching a pillow in bed, staring at the wall was still just that, and not you daydreaming about seeing him next.

Did you want to spend every second of every day talking to him, falling for him?

Of course.

But would you let yourself say it out loud?

No.

You lied and played it off.

You pretended like he was just a friend and your heart didn’t beat twice as fast every time you pushed the front door of the coffee shop open. You knew he saw the cracks in your composure, he was too observant not to. But he let you lie, to yourself and to him.

As you continued building your relationship with Bucky, you started spending more time with some of the other editors at the publishing house. Some days you even got drinks with them after work, and a few of the writers you’d picked up started grabbing lunch with you. You finally felt like you weren’t alone, that there were people who wanted what was best for you.

And that’s when Bucky invited you to meet some of his friends.

It started out just like any other late afternoon, and he was on break having an in depth conversation with you on his next project while you were trying your best to not get lost in his eyes.

“That reminds me, there’s a new show opening at a gallery my friend manages on Friday. Sam got like six pieces that our friend, Natasha, created in it and she begged me to invite people,” he says, as he pulls a small flyer out of his back pocket.

You take the piece of paper from him, reading it carefully. The gallery is only six blocks away from your apartment, and you are interested in meeting more people in Brooklyn. But going to a gallery opening with Bucky sounded kinda like a date, and you still didn’t know how Bucky felt about you. Sure, he’d asked you out on day one, but you wanted your connection to last. And as beautiful and charming as Bucky is, you had learned that he dated rather casually. He’d brought up a few different girls to you over the last month, and you’d listen attentively and give him the advice he asked for. But casual wasn’t what you were looking for then, and after all this time, you knew it sure as hell wasn’t something you could do now.

“So, do you think you’ll be able to come?” he asks, his eyes watching you closely as you continue to stare at the flyer.

“Um, it sounds kinda cool,” you shrug. That’s a lie, a gallery opening is the perfect way for you to spend a Friday night, especially because it implies that you won’t be alone.

“Come on, (Y/N). I think you’ll really like my friends, and I never get to see you out of this place.”

“There’s a reason for that,” you remind him, your focus zeroing in on how his bottom lip juts out as he pouts.

“I know you’re being cautious, and you said it’s a no on the dating thing.” That was a truth that had warped into a lie not long after your first meeting. And you’d clung to that lie so hard you were pretty sure you’d convinced both him and yourself that anything more between you two wouldn’t work out. Your conscious warned you to be careful still, to keep your most solid friendship in New York safe. But your subconscious already longed for a relationship with Bucky. You’d been waking up in the middle of night from dreams that his face, hands, and lips graced.

His brows furrow as he continues to beg for your company, “But I promise this will only be a friend thing, and I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“You promise it’s just a friend thing?” He nods quickly, desperation seeping into his baby blues. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“Good,” he breaks into a victorious grin. His hand captures yours on the table and your heart leaps into your throat, cutting off your ability to speak. “You’re gonna love the artwork and my friends! It’s such a nice, fresh collection and everyone’s gonna be so happy to meet you. And I swear I won’t flirt with you too much.”

“Bucky, don’t make me regret this.” A carefully constructed lie delivered as you withdrew your hand from his. Trying to sell the ruse with your whole being, yet you couldn’t imagine anything better than a flirty Bucky.

“You won’t.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Another lie, because you were already regretting it. You knew you were a good liar, but you weren’t a great one. And there was no way you could spend a night out with him and keep your feelings hidden.

Friday came too quickly.

Bucky sends you a text two hours before the opening to ask if you’re still coming, and your fingers hesitate over the screen. A part of you keeps saying that tonight is a bad idea, but you type back, “Yes.” He responds with a smiling emoji.

Not sure if there’s a dress code for the evening, you try to balance classy and casual with a short, maroon dress, a pair of heels, and top it with a leather jacket. Walking to the gallery in heels is probably the worst decision you could have made, but you manage to get there fifteen minutes after the night was supposed to start.

You let out a deep breath as you pull open the front door of the gallery, your nerves already crawling up your throat and threatening to make you turn around. Fortunately, you only stand in the entrance of the gallery for a few seconds before Bucky spots you.

He cuts through a group of people to reach you, and it gives you just the appropriate amount of time to take in what he’s wearing. You’re not used to seeing him in anything but his work shirt, plain pants, and apron, so his black jeans, white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and nice black combat boots are a pleasant surprise. Not too dressy or too casual, so you don’t look out of place after all.

When he finally makes it to you, he greets you with a dreamy smile, his eyes softening as you smile back at him. He pulls you into a hug, and after a moment of surprise, you hug him back. He smells like just the perfect mix of a fresh aftershave and a clean yet woodsy cologne, but the scent of coffee still lingers in his hair. His body is firm against yours, and you close your eyes for only a second, reveling in how nicely his warmth feels.

He pulls away, and you gently slip your hands down his biceps before clasping them in front of you. “God (Y/N), you look amazing.”

“Uh thanks,” you can feel your cheeks flush. “You look nice too.” Your first lie of the night, and a major understatement. He looks beyond great, his jeans fitting him just perfectly and he’s gelled a little of his hair back so it’s not as fluffy as usual.

You two stare at each other awkwardly, anxiety and excitement nearly sparking in the air around you. He breaks the silence first, gesturing to the group of people over his shoulder who are watching you two like you’re on a reality TV show, “I should introduce you to my friends.”

Bucky steps to your side and gently slips a hand down your back before ushering you toward his group of ridiculously attractive friends. There’s a good amount of people walking around the gallery, taking in several pieces, but you’re lead to the group directly in the middle of everyone.

“Guys this is (Y/N),” Bucky starts, his hand lingers on the small of your back. “(Y/N), this is Natasha, a photographer and one of the artists of the night.”

“Call me Nat,” the redhead with stunning greenish-blue eyes and fair skin says, extending her hand out for you to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you after all we’ve heard.”

Your eyes go wide as you take her hand in your own, “Bucky told you about me?” Nat smiles as she shakes your hand and you notice how the expression transforms her features completely.

“He hasn’t shut up about you in a month,” a tall man cuts in, his skin a warm brown that matches his kind eyes perfectly. Your eyes shoot to Bucky as you release Nat’s hand, and you catch the blush darkening his cheeks as his gaze drops to the floor. His hand leaves your back, and you instantly miss the tiny piece of contact. “I’m Sam by the way. I manage this place,” the man continues, pulling your attention away from your suddenly flustered friend.

“I haven’t had a chance to look around yet, but from what I’ve seen this place is amazing,” you respond, shaking Sam’s hand.

“I like you,” he smiles genuinely, his easy friendliness somehow calming your nerves almost immediately.

Bucky swallows his embarrassment and finishes his introduction, “And last but not least, this is Steve, our recently returned poet.”

A large blond man, with a slightly darker, trim beard grins at you, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His blue eyes sparkle as you stare into them, almost rivaling Bucky’s.

“I want to hear all about how you turned down Mr. Blue Steel over here. I’ve never met anyone who could say no to Bucky,” Sam teases as someone waves at him from across the room. “But I am working tonight, so I’ll be back for all the details later.”

“And that’s my cue to get drinks,” Nat adds before pointing to Steve, “Your usual?”

“Yeah, but make it a single. I do have to work tonight,” he answers, his brows raising with his slight tone of sass.

Nat turns to you, “Anything I can get you?”

“A whiskey ginger.”

“I’ll come with,” Bucky announces before he leaves you and Chris alone with a polite smile.

You clasp your hands in front of you again, unsure of what to say to Chris. Luckily, he picks up on your uncertainty and does his best to keep you engaged. “So I hear you’re a book editor?”

“I am,” you nod, not entirely sure where he’s going with that. “Do you have a book you want edited?”

“Oh, no no,” the way he shakes his head shows his modesty, but you pay closer attention to the way his shoulders pull against the fabric of his shirt. “I mean, I’m working on putting together a book, but it’s nowhere near the point of editing or publishing.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Do you write too?” he asks, taking a step closer to you as a couple people push past him.

“I uh, I used to.”

“Prose or poetry?”

“Prose, primarily fiction, but I dabbled in non fiction too.” Bucky knew a little about your history with writing, but you rarely elaborated with more than one word answers with him. Not because you minded talking about it, more so because you knew he’d encourage you to start again. And the only thing you could imagine writing about, was him.

“Why’d ya stop?”

“I guess my inspiration just dried up. Personal life got in the way.”

“Do you think you’ll start again, now that you’re here?”

“I don’t know, I’ll just have to see what happens.”

“I gotcha. I went through something similar,” Steve says, shrugging as he decides to stop interrogating you. “I choose to pursue investigative journalism instead of poetry, like I’d always wanted, and I ended up alone in D.C. doing grunt work for a newspaper I didn’t even like reading. It took all that for me to realize that I didn’t have to search for truth and justice. I had it in front of me the whole time, and I could write it however I wanted to.”

He stops to catch you watching him with intrigue, and drops your gaze in moment of shyness. “Sorry,” you shake your head, worrying that he thinks you’re interested in him in a romantic way now that you’ve been staring at him for too long. And honestly, if you weren’t aggressively pining after Bucky, you’d probably be more than willing to go out with Steve. But as he was talking, you noticed how the space between his eyebrows stayed pinched, and you wished you could just smooth out that tension.

“You don’t need to apologize, I just-, I know how much Bucky has talked about you in the last month. He’s always telling us how good of a listener you are, and how he’s dying to know what you’re thinking when he’s rambling. Now I know what he’s talking about.”

You give Steve a small smile, trying not to get stuck on the fact that Bucky really does talk about you. “So, how did you all meet?”

“I’ve known Bucky since we were kids, and I met Nat and Sam in college.”

“I had Poli-Sci with this tiny blond dude freshman year,” Nat cuts in, arriving with drinks. “And he loved to talk about government scandals and how the media shaped public opinion.”

“I was enthusiastic… and much smaller,” Steve explains, taking his glass from Nat.

“And he’s stayed enthusiastic, it just took three more years for him to finally hit his growth spurt,” Bucky jokes as he hands you a whiskey ginger.

“You didn’t get this big until you were 22?” you ask.

“Yeah, kinda.” he shrugs.

“Sam still swears it was a reaction to a weird chemical spill or that someone mixed steroids into his cereal every morning,” Bucky continues as you take in Steve’s height and build for the second time that night.

“My money’s on the steroids,” Nat winks at you before taking a sip of her drink.

Bucky was right.

You liked his friends a lot.

Nat was the mom of the bunch, and you could tell that she loved teasing the boys about anything and everything. It was her way of showing affection besides taking care of them. Sam was the showman, the entertainer. He commanded the room without even trying and people were automatically drawn to his charisma. Steve was the confidant, he knew everyone’s secrets and everyone came to rely on him. You’d consider calling him the dad of the group from his dumb puns alone, but something inside him seemed on edge, not nearly relaxed enough to fully carry the mantle of dad friend. You weren’t sure what that left Bucky as. Based on their dynamics he was the goofy nerd, but also the creative and adventurous one. They all looked to him for his opinion on the work on display, but also nudged him to make a few bad jokes about some of the more ridiculous pieces.

Sam is off selling a couple sculptures to some patrons while Steve and Bucky get drink refills. Which leaves you with Nat. She leads you through the six photos she has on display, two of them having already sold. She hesitates at the last image of hers, and you’re not sure what to think about it. It’s vibrant with colors and contrast, and the more you stare at it the better you’re able to pick apart the pieces.

“You know, Bucky helped me put this one together,” she comments as you take a step closer to the photo.

“There’s a lot of coffee cups in there,” you answer, not even bothering to count how many. The focal point of the image is a red velvet couch, half of its seat and the entire floor around it are covered in disposable coffee cups and ceramic mugs. There’s a small wooden table next to the couch and it has a half closed laptop on it, and a bound stack of papers with a red pen on it.

“It was his idea actually.”

The wall behind the couch is covered with white pages with red ink on them. “That’s love poetry, right?” you ask, making out a Pablo Neruda poem.

“Yeah, Steve shared some of his favorites and then even let me use some of his original stuff.”

“I really like it, it’s a group effort.”

“What do you think it’s about?” she asks, and you turn to find her chewing on her bottom lip.

You let out a sigh, not sure how she’ll like your answer but deciding to be honest. “It evokes the feelings of desperation, exhaustion, and love to me. Like someone doing what they love, in this case writing or creating something, but time’s going by and they’re fighting how tired they are. And the end result seems small, like the work doesn’t reflect the time and effort put into it, but regardless it’s what that person loves and will continue to do.”

As you finish speaking you turn to Nat, finding a smirk on her lips. “I like that, but that’s not what it was about. At all.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Her smirk grows into a grin. “It’s about you.”

A coworker of Sam’s takes over sorting and closing the gallery down when the group decides to leave for the bar Steve works at. It’s only a two block walk from the gallery, but the amount of conversation the group gets into in that short distance is ridiculous. Jokes about college and the art scene. Discussion on Sam’s current girlfriend, who he’s seriously considering proposing to. The group pestering Nat on who she’s seeing at the moment, the girlfriend they met three weeks ago or the boyfriend Steve ran into a week ago. And then that turns into her bugging Steve about dating anyone, at all.

While you listen and laugh along with them all, you’re still stuck in your head, thinking about what Nat said. She didn’t expand on what the piece meant in her mind, or in Bucky’s. She wanted you to figure it out yourself. She gave you a hint that the stacks of coffee cups were about the setting and the bound pages were a manuscript. You could put together that the red pen was a symbol of you editing, but you had no idea what the love poetry meant. And if you were the one using the red pen, did that mean you were supposed to be the one who covered the walls with poetry? Did that mean that Bucky knew you were falling in love with him?

As the front door of the bar gets yanked open, you notice how Bucky’s watching you, concern pinching his brows. “You okay?” he whispers, staying close.

“Yes. I’m just thinking.”

The group takes up several stools at the bar as Steve ducks behind it. The place isn’t fully packed yet, but most of the tables and booths are filled.

“Another whiskey ginger?” Steve asks as he leans onto the counter to look down at you.

“I’m sticking to beer now. I have a little bit of a walk home.” Steve nods and lets you tell him what brand as Sam bursts out in laughter next to you.

Once the group calms down from whatever joke Nat made, Sam swivels to you. “So (Y/N), tell me how you said no to that dumb, beautiful face,” he begins as he points at Bucky. “I need every detail, your internal monologue, the way Bucky looked. I need it all. I’m still pissed I couldn’t be there so I need you to give me this experience like I was.”

“Alright, well I ended up in the coffee shop by accident. I had a draft to edit for a new client and intended to just go home and make a large pot, but it was like fate pulled me to that place.”

Steve sets a drink in front of Sam and Nat, and Sam takes a sip before turning back to you, “You’re off to good start.”

“So I walk in, trying to feel the place out. It’s a calming little shop, and it helps my nerves a lot. I walk up to the counter and Bucky’s standing there at the register, but he doesn’t see me. I can tell he’s kinda cute from the little bit of his face I could see, but he’s too busy writing something down to notice me. I had to slide my hand over the countertop to get his attention, and even then he didn’t look up at me.”

“He can be a bit oblivious,” Steve comments as he places your beer in front of you. You catch Bucky rolling his eyes next to you, but take a drink before you continue with the story.

“So he tells me to order and I start to when he finally decides to look up at me, and my voice literally died in my throat.”

“It’s those baby blues,” Sam grins, looking past you to see Bucky.

“Exactly, I thought he was kinda cute and then I saw those and I was like never mind on that, we’re past cute. So then I composed myself and finished my order, and Bucky’s got a shit-eating grin on, fully aware that he’s fucking handsome.”

“I’m not that narcissistic!” Bucky adds, causing you to glance at him.

“You’re not, but babe, you know you’re good looking and you totally ate up my stunned moment,” you say, gently brushing a finger against his cheek as the whiskey finally affects your confidence. His eyes follow your hand as you bring it back to the counter. “So I pull out my card to pay, and Bucky tries to only charge me for the croissant I ordered.”

“Free coffee is a good move,” Nat nods at Bucky.

“And when I put up a fuss, he takes my card from me, reads my name from it and then hands it back. Doesn’t swipe it or charge me. Just tells me I’ve already paid as he hands it back to me.”

“This little shit, right?” Sam asks, his eyes wide as he looks at Bucky.

“You’re right,” you answer as you turn to the beautiful man that you’re fighting your feelings for.

Bucky’s eyes are on you, and you alone as a small smile pulls on the corners of his lips. You hope it’s only the alcohol’s effect, but as you smile back at him, you understand. The love poetry was for you. It was his feelings for you, the exhausted, rapid coffee consuming, book editor sitting at the small wooden table. He’d covered the walls with his love for you. His love was surrounding you and goddammit, you couldn’t stop your own feelings from creeping into your gaze, your heart beating faster as you watched him.

You really weren’t that good of a liar.

After another hour of conversation at the bar, you decide to call it a night. Steve pretends like he won’t let you pay, and the glare you turn on him forces the whole group to laugh.

“Hey, most people would be happy to have me cover their tab,” he shrugs as he hands you the receipt.

“Just like most people love talking to you for hours?” Nat asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Yes,” Steve nods at her and she snickers in response. “What?”

“People tell you things because you’re comforting, but also you’re fucking beautiful,” Sam cuts in and elicits another laugh from Nat. “If they stare at you for too long their brains just turn to mush and the alcohol lets it all slide right out of their mouths.”

You can’t help but laugh at Sam while Steve rolls his eyes. Pulling your wallet from your clutch, you find a couple bills to cover it and tell Steve to keep the change. His eyes go wide as he realizes how large the tip is, but he doesn’t turn you down.

“Why don’t you walk (Y/N) home, Buck?” Steve asks quietly, side eyeing his best friend.

“Yeah, don’t make the pretty lady fend off catcallers by herself tonight,” Nat leans against the bar.

“We just made a new friend Barnes, gotta make sure she gets home safely if we want to hang out again,” Sam pushes as you slide off your bar stool.

“I’m going guys, Jesus,” Bucky says before he polishes off his drink and throws money on the counter. Nat and Sam both get up to hug you goodnight, and the way they look at you and Bucky says that they hope one of you makes a goddamn move.

You wave goodbye to Steve as Bucky holds the door open for you, and as you step into the cooler air you pull your jacket tighter around you.

“How many blocks is it?” he asks, his step falling in with yours.

“About 8.”

“Lead the way.”

Your conversation on how the night went and how much you like Bucky’s friends dies down as you reach your block. “I had a really good time tonight,” you tell him as you walk toward your door.

“I’m happy you came out.”

“I am too.” You stop in front of the building’s entrance and turn on your heels.

Bucky nearly bumps into you but catches himself in just enough time. He brushes a hand through his hair, making you think he might be nervous. “I think everyone else was too.”

“I’m not used to you being that quiet.”

His gaze meets yours, and even in shadowy darkness his eyes are breathtaking. “I’m-, I’m not usually. I promised I’d be on good behavior, remember?”

“I remember. And you did your best not to hit on me.”

“That definitely was not easy.” You bite down on your lip as a grin breaks across your face. Bucky’s eyes watch your mouth for a moment, and although it’s dark you could almost swear he’s blushing. He brings his focus back to your eyes as he licks his bottom lip, “Do ya think you’d be willing to go out with the group again?”

Your heartbeat speeds as you try not to focus on his mouth or his eyes too much. There’s no need for you to melt on the sidewalk. “I absolutely would.”

“Good,” it’s his turn to break into a smile.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

Silence hangs in the air between you two and you can’t stop thinking about the love poetry in Nat’s photo.

His feelings for you.

The way he looked at you on day one and the way he looked at you tonight. Somehow they were both the same gaze of adoration and you just couldn’t see it. You weren’t ready to admit it, but now you are.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Bucky says, giving you a small nod.

“Goodnight Bucky.”

Neither of you move.

The longer you stare at him, the more sure you are. Drowning in his eyes, you feel your body lean toward him, your hand reaching for his shoulder. Your feelings take over, pulling your lips to his. You want to get lost in this moment. The instant you give in and stop caring.

You close your eyes, anticipating the kiss as you feel his hand ghost your hip.

Except your mouth finds his cheek, scruff scratching your lips.

Bucky’s hand gently guides you away from him and you open your eyes to find that he’s turned his head so you wouldn’t kiss. You feel your brows furrowing with confusion as he takes a step back from you. “I’ll see you,” he throws over his shoulder before he disappears down the dark street.

Well shit.

Maybe you were wrong after all.

After Bucky rejected your kiss you spent the rest of the weekend curled into a ball on your bed, binge watching TV.

You were so sure he felt the same. So sure it was safe to make a move. You had friends now, people who you liked and trusted. You weren’t alone anymore.

But you couldn’t erase the pain in your chest that started when you watched Bucky vanish.

You avoided the coffee shop Monday, still not sure if you could handle seeing him. You didn’t think you could ignore what happened Friday night, and bringing it up would only break your heart more.

When Tuesday morning rolls around, you try to make a cup of coffee but realize you don’t have enough left to make a decent one. Knowing he usually works Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings while he works Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, you decide it’ll be safe for you to stop by the shop. You get ready in a hurry, trying to leave enough time to get your coffee and get to your subway stop.

You walk into the shop, your nerves tingling like static under your skin. Another barista is working the register and you let out a deep breath of relief. He isn’t here.

As you step up to the counter you tell the young woman your usual order, and just as you begin to dig for your wallet you hear his scratchy sigh. Holding in the groan that desperately wants to escape your throat, you duck your head down and search through your purse. There’s no wallet to be found. The barista is trying her best to appear patient but the line behind you only gets longer.

“She’s good, I got her,” Bucky cuts in. You squeeze your eyes shut, praying you could just disappear on the spot.

“You sure?” she asks him.

He answers her with a chuckle, “Yep, she’s covered.”

You move out of line and toward the pick up area, feeling his eyes on you. You just want to ignore him. You know the second you look into his eyes, you’ll break.

“(Y/N).” Bucky says your name softly, fully aware that you’re waiting to get the hell out of there.

You keep your eyes down and place a hand on top of the cup. Just as you start to pick it up, his hand covers yours. Your eyes shoot up, finally meeting his, and he’s wearing a frown as he watches you.

“I’m sorry for how Friday night ended.” You stare at him blankly, trying to keep yourself in check. “I wanted to kiss you, I really did. But I didn’t want our first kiss to happen like that, with you bordering on drunk. I wanted it to be special.”

“It would have been plenty special to me,” you answer, dropping your eyes back to the counter. You want to be mad at him, but you can’t.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been special. Jesus, I’ve literally wanted to kiss you since the first day I saw you, but I want it to be perfect. Bordering on magical. Just like how I wanted out first date to be.” You can’t stop yourself from looking at him.

The barista calls for Bucky but he ignores her. “Look, I know I came onto you really aggressively the first time, and I just wanted to make sure you wanted this too. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been hoping for a second chance, because I have. Hell, I’ve saved every tip you’ve given me, just waiting to spend it on a really nice date, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable again. I wanted to make sure you wanted this too, that it wasn’t just the alcohol affecting you.”

“It-, it wasn’t,” you manage, your heart feeling like it’s about to explode.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against yours before he pulls his hand away, “Good.”

He turns back to the countertop, taking the next cup in his hand and filling it with espresso. You take a step toward the door, preparing to go home to get your wallet when a thought crosses your mind.

“Hey, Bucky?” you ask, your hand gripping onto your hot drink.

“Yeah?” he asks, he looks worried but he forces a fake smile.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

His eyes light up as a genuine smirk tugs up his lips. “I’m not.”

“Good.” You hesitate, afraid to push the words out. “Why don’t I pay you back by taking you out for dinner?”

The grins that spreads across his face pushes his cheeks up and crinkles the corners of his eyes, making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“That sounds fantastic.”

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