#he has to relearn how much force is acceptable after each all-out fight with a ghost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

occassionalfanficwriter · 3 years

Note

Heyhey! May I request childe x reader where the reader has been badly abused in the past? As a result she doesn’t mind when childe kidnaps her because childe has never hurt her, and treats her nicely? So since childe has work lmao he leaves a fatui agent to watch his s/o. But since his s/o has such a small appetite she doesn’t eat much. And since the fatui agent has a bad temper, what if he slaps her across the jaw so hard it breaks? So since then she can’t handle leaving childe’s side?Thank you

anon who hurt you? (•ω•`)this childe has yandere undertones but anyways you're welcome and enjoy.

Content warning for everyone else: allusions to domestic violence ,and non-graphic depiction of violence against women.

No Misfortune Without Blessings

Summary: Among the many myths about Tartaglia, few were dedicated to his love life. Even fewer dared to speak of the gentle love between him and his lady but in the soft and hushed whispers of the crowd, all would admit that they painted a pretty picture.

There was a boy.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of him. Shy and stuttering but with bright blue eyes that reminds you of the starry sky in the village. You liked him, in the same way you liked the morbid stories and descriptions of the adventurers in the tavern. You liked him too, in the same way you liked the rare flowers that grew in Snezhnayan winter.

And maybe the boy with the starry sky in his eyes and bright red hair liked you too. But it wasn’t something you paid attention to, there were stories and adventures to be had, knowledge to be shared and you decided it was more important.

More important than understanding what everyone your age liked or what accounted for normal. You never did quite understand everyone else in the same way you immediately understood Ajax. It was precisely because of this that you simply didn’t quite fit in, you were just as much of an outcast as Ajax was with his shyness and occasional stutter. You didn’t care for it, you found comfort in the knowledge you’d never be involved in messy affairs of the romantic and platonic kind.

Your world was peaceful.

There was Ajax, the stories from adventurers, and your hidden desire for something more beyond what the small seaside town you call home had to offer.

There used to be a boy with bright blue eyes that takes your breath away sometimes. Who had a burning red hair and warm smile that reminded you of the warm sunshine.

You loved to follow him around, notebook in hand filled with scribbles and experiments of different shorts. And Ajax loved you, perhaps, with the way he took you along for adventures on the edges of the woods, in the frozen lake, and taking small commissions from the neighbors.

The two of you had grown taller, childhood fat turning into muscles as your bodies hit puberty. Both of you had changed in so many ways, gone were the days when no one minded the two of you staying out together for a long period of time, without any companion. Whispers followed when the two of you held each other just a bit too long for what was appropriate.

Your world could not simply consist of Ajax and the growing longing you had for what the world had to offer. You didn’t like the change, neither of you two did. But you were much better at pretending than Ajax, so you studied and observed the rest, told this to Ajax and somehow the restrictions on you two became a big game of pretend. You pretended to understand the beauty that others found, pretended to fit in the scale of accepted normalcy.

And then, without you noticing the boy you loved dearly was gone. You stared blankly as you watched his parents cry and search parties used for a boy lost in the woods.

There used to be a boy and you weren’t quite sure what to make of him when he came back to you three months later.

You weren’t quite sure when it started, when your world expanded and collapsed until the only things left are the ashes of things you don’t quite recognize. You weren’t quite sure when you stopped yearning for a life of adventure. When you began to settle for whatever it was that was given to you.

Maybe it was when the boy you loved came back with dull blue eyes and a sharp look that told stories only the hardened and veteran adventurers understood. Maybe it was when you could no longer keep up with him, when trouble seeks him out and your parents dragged you away from him.

Maybe it was when one night he sneaks into your room bids you goodbye and makes you realize that the stars in his eyes never left, they were just clouded by something brighter and bigger than whatever it was that Morepesok had to offer.

Maybe it was when you woke up the next day and the boy you loved was taken away into a brighter and bigger place than the small sea-side village.

But that didn’t matter now, not when your whole body hurt and you laid limp on the cold wooden floors of the place that should be home but isn’t. You weren’t quite sure when you accepted this as normal, when the man your parents swore would take care of you became the one who hurt you. You weren’t quite sure when you started to forget all of that you loved dearly.

“...it hurts” you say out loud as tears prick on the edges of your eyes and you simply lay on the floor, ignoring the pain on your ribs, the blood on your mouth and countless other bruises that littered your skin.

You don’t recognize yourself anymore.

And you hate yourself for it.

You think of the boy you loved who had stars in his eyes and the sun in his soul and you yearn for him and what could have been.

There was a man with a charming smile and blue eyes, and the mask of the Harbingers. You weren’t quite sure what to think of him when he held your hand gently, and spoke to you about topics you used to love.

You weren’t quite sure what it meant when his eyes grew cold at the bruises on your skin and the whispers that followed you. Maybe you loved him, in the same way you loved Ajax, and the man you lived with. Maybe you loved him in the same way you loved the preserved heart in a jar that used to be yours.

There were a lot of maybes but you were sure that Tartaglia would never hurt you. The day he takes you away felt like a fairy tale, as if the boy you loved came back for you but you knew that Ajax was gone. And Tartaglia was the one who came for you so you stupidly went along with him.

You gave him your everything.

You gave him the tattered pieces of what could have been you, and allowed him to reshape you, until you were stronger than before. You relearned how to be human, how to be yourself, and you loved him for it. You learned how to speak his own love language, stayed by his side and accepted all of him until you weren’t sure where you ended and where he began.

Somehow, you stupidly believed that all of this would remain as it was. Until he had to leave for a long while and you can’t help but feel as if your world would collapse.

“Don’t go” you whispered as you held onto his clothes like a child.

“Don’t leave me” you begged as you shrink your frame and tried to fight the fear of being hated for something like this.

“I’m sorry” Tartaglia tells you, voice soft and gentle as he hugs you tenderly.

You want to cry but you don’t because you had always understood that he was meant for bigger and brighter things. Instead you sank in his chest, you wanted to imprint yourself in him, so that no matter how bright and beautiful the world outside of this home you built was, he’d never forget about you.

“Come back quickly.”

“I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

You don’t tell him that you’ve already begun missing him.

You never bothered to get along with Tartaglia’s subordinates. Not when you decided to ignore anything Fatui related since it meant that Tartaglia would never have to worry about you being used against him. You refused to be a burden.

This ignorance meant that despite treating them civilly you had no deep impression on them. It meant that when none of Tartaglia’s trusted aides were available to watch you and take care of whatever your needs were, some new recruit was given to you.

You didn’t care about it much. The new recruits tend to be distant and careful upon knowing who you were to Tartaglia. You didn’t care about what they called you behind your back. What mattered was Tartaglia and his thoughts.

Your heart was too small to include irrelevant matters.

Maybe if you learned how to be human properly, you would have realized the danger you were in. An upstart recruit from a noble lineage coupled with a bad temper would never be suited to your cold and distant attitude. The snark and biting remarks you ignored only added fuel to a fire you weren’t aware of.

You were too busy counting the days until Tartaglia’s return to pay attention to someone you found insignificant.

“You didn’t finish your food again” The recruit complained.

“Feed it to the dogs or whatever” you answered dismissing him with a wave of hand as you drank your water.

No one would care if you ate less than usual. Tartaglia would only ask if anything was wrong and you’d be quick to assure him that it was nothing. You knew that he would overthink and his subordinates would pay for it.

It was best for all parties that his mood remained good. You didn’t want others interfering with your time with him and you were quite sure that after the glamour of sparring with him faded off, his men had no want of being beaten to the ground.

This thought that you believed to be true made you blind. It made you let your guard down when malice was directed at you and you found yourself suddenly on the ground.

The harsh sound of your jaw breaking echoing loudly as you stared blankly on the marble tiles of the dining room. Somehow it felt like you were back in that place, and you could hear shouting and swearing around you.

‘I’m stronger than this’ You thought as you tried to force your body to move.

‘I’m stronger than this!’ You stubbornly insisted as your body remained frozen in the ground.

‘I’M STRONGER THAN THIS!’ You screamed inside your head as you felt like you were drowning again. You couldn’t breathe and you could no longer see anything.

The next thing you saw was Tartaglia on your bedside, asleep and visibly worse for wear. You stood up, opening your mouth only to quickly stop at the dull pain you felt. You could only stare at him with longing. The room was dark and only lit by the moonlight that seeped in through the windows.

You reached out for him, three soft squeezes on his hand as you gingerly kissed his calloused hand. You could tell that he was already awake and you waited for him to open his bright blue eyes that took your breath away.

“I won’t leave you alone anymore” Tartaglia says with sadness in his voice as he cradles you in his lap. You closed your eyes and tapped his lips thrice.

‘I love you’.

There was a girl with bright curious eyes that seemed to see through him. Ajax couldn’t keep his stutter out as he shyly introduced himself.

He loved her at first sight.

He loved her more when she took his hand and showed him interesting stuff. Each moment spent with her was an adventure. He loved the spark in her eyes when she talked about the nations beyond Snezhnaya.

He loved her eccentricities and never wanted her to change. But Ajax knew that if he remained as he was, he would never be able to keep her by his side.

The girl he loved yearned for something bigger and brighter than Morepesok and Ajax wanted to give it to her with his own two hands.

There used to be a girl with bright eyes and rarely smiled but could take his breath away when she smiled at him. Who loved all sorts of things without any care, who loved him in the same way she loved the animals they came across.

She was bright and warm and Ajax knew that she was destined for bigger things. That she was meant to explore the world beyond the sea and Ajax wanted to take her away and give her the greatest adventure.

He wanted her world to be made up of him, their adventures, and everything she loved. But the Abyss had no place for gentle dreams and soft loves. So he fought and fought until he realized his dream and set out for something bigger and brighter than him.

‘I want to give her the world’ Ajax whispered in the silence of the night as he fought for his life and then for fun.

He thought of the girl he loved who walked among the stars and he yearned for her. The Abyss had no room for the weak so he hid away what he could and threw away what he couldn’t for the sake of growing strong and paving the way for the girl he loved.

He came back and found solace in the stupid girl that didn’t understand everything yet. He protected her innocence even as she stared at his blood stained hands. He protected her soft and loving heart even as he felt his being torn apart.

He wanted to keep her by his side but he had always been the better fighter. She was better at pretending but she could never bring herself to fight back mercilessly. So he decided to fight for the two of them.

The Fatui was like the Abyss but it could never reach the harshness and brutality of a place seeped in desperation. He hid his heart away, keeping it with the girl he loved who cried for him. He fought his way up the ranks and thought of the girl he loved.

He thought of her as he took missions upon missions, thinking of her soft lips and sweet tears that made him want to take her with him. But he wasn’t strong enough to protect her yet so he leaves her behind, promising to return to her once more.

There used to be a girl who seemed to like she could take the world by storm.

There used to be a boy who loved her secretly and openly.

Now there was a woman whose light was dying, bright eyes dulled and heart trampled upon.

Now there was a man named Tartaglia whose heart burned and raged for those that dared to hurt the woman he loved.

He takes her away, leaves no traces and keeps her far away from the burnt down house that used to be her childhood home. He keeps her by his side and gives her pieces of the world.

Tartaglia with his bloodstained hands gently and lovingly held her in his arms as he dealt with the recruit. It was brutal and inhumane but all of his humanity was meant for the girl he loved and his family.

He gives her the best doctor and waits for her to wake up.

Thrice he made the mistake of leaving her behind.

‘This time, no matter what, I’ll keep you by my side.’

Among the myths about Tartaglia few were dedicated to the lady he always took along with him, be it in the battlefield or anywhere else. It was rumored that she was as gentle as Liyue’s glaze lilies, and as deadly as the ruin guards that littered across Teyvat.

But one thing was constant, where Tartaglia goes the lady follows. A warrior and his lady dominating battle fields across Teyvat.

There would be no surprise if one day the entire world fell at their feet.

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere childe x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact x reader

373 notes · View notes

purpleorchid85 · 3 years

Text

Buddie Fic Rec List (Part 1)

5 Times Eddie & Buck Knew They Were Dating & 1 Time Everyone Else Figured It Out

by Onlymystory

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012025

A Diaz By Any Other Name (Should Be A Buckley)

by CaseyStar

Summary: Evan's lack of confidence in where he fit with the firefam and over how easily Bosko was brought in to take his place, rears it's ugly head when he hears about how Eddie escaped the warehouse when the police arrived.

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783802

And They Were Roomates

By cherishingstydia

Summary: Buck needs a place to live and Eddie has a guest room.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828072

And...They Were Zoommates

By emquin

Summary: Buck and Eddie work for the same company but have never met until working from home during the covid-19 pandemic has them using zoom video conferences.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420866

Asked, Offered, Given, (He's) Taken by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Summary: People like to flirt with Buck on calls. It kind of makes Buck uncomfortable. And that makes Eddie frustrated.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762892

Be My (Secret Santa) baby

By smartbuckley

Summary: It's this year's secret santa, and as Buck is about to open his sixth gift, he remembers the previous gifts and his feelings about them.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809878

Bi Me A Drink

by Wolves_of_Innistrad

Summary: Hen takes the firefam out to a gay bar as a means of getting Eddie and Buck together. Fic contains lots of flirty Bi!Buck, Jealous and handsy Eddie and some extra twists.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21414100

Breathe You In

By Pline

Summary: Eddie can’t stop staring. This selfie is going to be the death of him. Buck is shirtless, and giving the camera an intense look that leaves Eddie panting. Or Buck sends a picture that tips their relationship into something new.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070953

Bruises and Bitemarks

By Tarialdrion

Summary: When Chimney invited Buck to see his first live MMA fight, Buck had no idea that the night would end with him on his knees and the most gorgeous man he's ever seen happily devouring his mouth. Life is full of surprises.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800731

Buck's Not-At-All-Secret Admirer

by R_E_R6

Summary: Buck has a 'secret admirer'. Everyone knows it's Eddie, even Buck.

Eddie has a plan though.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22650847

Calendar Shoot 2.0

by Araloth

Summary: It’s that time of year again, time for submissions to the annual LAFD sexy firefighter calendar. Buck is eager to try again, only this year he plans on actually taking Eddie up on all his free photography advice…

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229880

Check Yes or No

by rebeccaofsbfarm

Summary: Eddie finds a note in Christopher's backpack and realizes that his son has a girlfriend. When he tells Buck, he has a reaction Eddie didn't anticipate.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783445

Cruiser Bruiser

by FandomLife54

Summary: A close call on the side of the freeway has Eddie reevaluating his relationship with Buck, particularly how strained it's become due to Eddie's anger since the lawsuit. Some domestic love and more than a few heart to hearts have Eddie confessing things he should have a long time ago.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126379

Darling It's Better (Down Where It's Wetter)

By onlymystory

Summary: "Who the hell is that?" asks Buck. Like he doesn't know exactly who that is. Like a week ago he wasn't enjoying one of the best fucks of his life with Eddie Diaz. Or the reason for Buck's surprise at the new recruit isn't quite for the reasons everyone thinks.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197093?view_full_work=true#main

Dirty Little Secret

By smartbuckley

Summary: Buck and Eddie have been sneaking around together hooking up but it has never been just about sex for Buck and he keeps asking Eddie for it to be more. But Eddie doesn’t want anyone to know, even though he does love Buck (he’s scared) and can’t bring himself to talk about it. Buck gets upset about being Eddie’s dirty secret and cuts off their hookups, it hurts too much to be that close. He won’t let Eddie touch him even platonically. Eddie realizes he needs to do something about it.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498331#main

Don’t Hate The Player, Hate The Game

By FancyfulOfLife

Summary: One day one too many firehouse 118 betting pools are going to bite them in the booty. Today just might be that day.

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/22129198

Don’t Need To Question The Reasons. I’m Yours.

By technicallyi’mawriter

Summary: The one where Buck is his flirty self and Eddie reminds him that he is his and his alone.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207109#main

Dosed, Again

By ApplepieandCinnamon

Summary: In retrospect, eating cookies that clearly inebriated strangers gave you as a thanks had not been a good idea. Well, you’re always smarter in hindsight. Sleep deprived Eddie Diaz is a danger to society and ends up drugging both himself and his best friend.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24742834

Eddie 'I Get What I Want' Diaz

By EdithBlake

Summary: Buck encounters an ex of his on a call. It puts things into perspective for Eddie.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22488685

Eddie Hates The New Guy

By EdithBlake

Summary: Rick is Hen's replacement while she is undergoing investigation. Eddie hates him. He especially hates how Rick looks at Buck like he is a piece of meat.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21438241

Eddie's Not-So-Secret Feelings

R_E_R6

Summary: 5 times Eddie says sweet things about Buck in Spanish so Buck doesn't find out he's in love with him +1 time Eddie realises Buck speaks Spanish and knew all along. With special guest stars: Eddie's entire family.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729094

Eddie Swiped Right On Buck

StaceyBlake

Summary: It's been over a year since Eddie has had sex. He is a bit desperate and downloads Tinder. When Buck's picture shows up on his screen and he swipes right, things take a sexy turn for these best friends.

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818059

Even The Bartender Knows

StaceyBlake

Summary: The Bartender at The Manhole gets a lot of guys coming into his bar who are questioning their sexuality. Helping them through it is kinda part of his job. But when a pretty Blond comes in and starts going on and on about how in love he is with his best friend, only for a man fitting said description of that best friend, walks in a few nights later going on and on about how in love he is with his best friend, well he's never seen that before.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497890#main

Feels Like Home

Mansikka

Summary: After a fire devastates Eddie's home, the logical thing for him and Christopher to do is stay with Buck. Though Buck's apartment isn't ideal; would it be such a crazy idea for the three of them to find a place to live in permanently together?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24840859

Friends To Make and Walls To Climb

By mansikka

Summary: Eddie and Christopher just moved to Los Angeles, and they have lots of things to be happy about. Eddie loves his work on the 118, Christopher can get to know his mom again, and maybe Eddie and Shannon will relearn how to be friends. Christopher is also thriving in school, coming home every day with new tales about his new favorite teacher. Eddie needs to meet the incredible Mr. Buckley for himself, to see what all the fuss is about.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957527

Grand Guestures

By red_to_black

Summary: Buck didn't think too much of taking the Diaz boys out after a rough shift - until Hen and Chimney point out to him that he used to do the same with Abby. And really, if he was going to have a sexual crisis at the age of twenty seven, did it really have to be about Eddie?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22208095

Helping Hands

By Shaniamr

Summary: Everyone wants Buck to heal from the past year, and they think getting laid will help him. Buck doesn't want to revert back to Buck 1.0, but he also doesn't want his friends to worry about him. So Buck enlists the help of his best friend Eddie in fooling his friends.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132669

It Started With A Bang And A Hostage Situation

By JayJay_884

Summary: Buck goes to the store one late night to buy food because of Maddie's pregnancy cravings. Whilst at the store, Buck accidentally gets caught in the middle of a robbery and gets knocked out. After waking up in the backroom, Buck finds himself as a hostage with a handsome and caring stranger.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30733649

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by exasiswings & letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Summary: When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea. Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right? There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614971

I Might Have To Tell You

By Ingu

Summary: Christopher gives Buck a list of how to cheer Eddie up while he's gone, and Buck accepts without reading the terms and conditions first.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803128

Is This How You Get A Cat?

By Whis

Summary: Buck didn't know he just needed to climb a tree, rescue the kitten, fall down, get a concussion and a huge nail through his hand to get a kitten, no that he was looking for one, although, if he had known Eddie was included in the package he would have done it earlier.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614971

Keep It On

By R_E_R6

Summary: When Eddie walks in on Buck, bent over in nothing but a hoodie, their plans for the night immediately change. Buck's outfit though? Well, Eddie requests that it stays the same...for reasons.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26679433

Kissing Booth Fiasco

By Lilacsheen

Summary: Buck plans on tending a kissing booth on a Halloween bash... but the kicker? He's blindfolded the entire time.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987998

Kiss With A Fist

By florenceandthemachine

Summary: A meet-cute au where Eddie takes Chris to the gym once a week and they box a little together before Eddie spars; usually Chris sits by the ring and reads but one day Eddie finds him laying on a bench, lifting an empty bar while this really cute blond guy spots him and gives him encouragement...

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25415776

Lift Me Up

By CaptainSif

Summary: Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452156

I, Hildy

By red_to_black

Summary: The many ways in which Hildy interfered with Eddie and Buck's life, until they got the picture.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511051

Lightly Stabbed

By Every_Version_Of_Me

Summary: Buck gets stabbed and takes the time to call Eddie to tell him he can't make it to dinner.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21743812

Love Language

By red_to_black

Summary: Eddie's love language is acts of service, and Buck doesn't totally get it.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403196?view_adult=true

#Buddie Buddie fic rec list BuckandEddie Buck&Eddie BuckEddie BuckleyDiaz 9-1-1 Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley Edmundo ‘Eddie’ Diaz Buck Eddiegay hot fi

90 notes · View notes

thusspoketrish · 3 years

Text

Play Pretend (Part 1/5)

TRIGGER WARNING (PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS): Depression. Suicide Attempt. Suicidal Ideation. PTSD. Poor Coping Mechanism.

Harry Potter & Astoria Greengrass; Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter; Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy; Astoria Greengrass/Others; Draco Malfoy/Others; Harry Potter/Others

Content: Friendship. Forced Marriage Arrangement. Unrequited Love. Falling Out of Love. Falling in Love. Betrayal. Friendships. Breakups. Mental Health Issues. Apathy. Flatmates. Acceptance. Positive Thinking. Therapy.

SUMMARY: Fate boasts a strange sense of humour when a severely depressed Harry finds himself convincing a drunk Astoria Greengrass off the ledge of Waterloo Bridge at three in the morning. The events that follow after are an exercise in strength as Harry finds himself relearning how to cope, forgive, and love alongside the blossoming of new friendships.

Thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the beta!

====================

At approximately 2:07 AM, Harry Potter shoves his arms through his black wool coat before wrapping his Gryffindor scarf tightly around his neck. He shoves on the misshapen scarlet mittens Hermione knitted for him several years ago, realising he could summon a better pair as she’s improved greatly since Hogwarts, but finding that these reminded him of a better time.

Finally, he shoves his wand up his sleeve before wrenching the door open and taking the steps down from Grimmauld two at a time, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality. As he breathes in and out sharply, white puffs curling outward from his chapped lips, Harry looks skyward. The moon is heavy and hangs low tonight, full and beautiful as swirls of snow begin to gently fall. It’s dark, and beautiful, and it hurts to look at.

Harry had spent the entire day cleaning Grimmauld from top to bottom. Not that this mattered as Harry has found that no matter how much he cleaned or remodelled the house, he was incapable of penetrating its doom-and-gloom atmosphere. But he had cleaned to the best of his ability, and had arranged all his necessary documents across his office table several hours ago. He carefully placed each note facing upward, the individual names of all his friends in his spidery scrawl. He had even left notes behind for the Dursley’s, though, not imparting a single kind word, as seen in his other letters. He had left the Gringotts keys of the Potter Vault behind in Ron and Hermione’s name and endowed a small trust to any future children they may have. He had left the deed and keys to Grimmauld and the Black vault to Teddy and Andromeda.

Harry doesn’t think he left any stone unturned.

He had been planning this for months. Had made the nearly 40-minute walk from Clerkenwell to Waterloo Bridge nearly every night for the last three weeks, simply staring out at the water, yearning. It would take nothing, he thought, to sit on the ledge, cast a simple spell to increase his weight, and fling himself over the edge. And at three in the morning, it wouldn’t be hard to do this uninterrupted.

A numb sort of blankness overcomes him as he rolls his shoulders and makes his way through the quiet roads, onto the high street where the slow crawl of busses and cars creep past. Harry’s vision is a tunnel of black and white images flickering in and out of focus as he sets himself on autopilot. He could do this route with his eyes closed.

It’s not that Harry thinks he deserves to die. He’s simply come to the conclusion that he wants to.

He’s tired, much too tired from the debilitating numbness that’s crippled his entire existence. He’s remained frozen in time since dying and coming back to life in the Forbidden Forest. The experience has left him immobile, like a statue, weathered by the storm called time but never feeling the effects of it no matter how long he holds his breath, patiently waiting for something to come along and happen. He was waiting for the spark of life to feed his blood as it had during the war, and nothing, no reason or rhyme, has been able to replace it. He had quit the Aurors, had isolated himself from the pitying expressions of friends and family, and had shrunken himself on the outside to reflect what he felt on the inside—absolutely nothing. He was nothing, a lingering afterthought in his own mind, something ugly and broken with a piece of its soul missing. He couldn’t stand to live with that knowledge any longer.

It was no one’s fault, not directly. Harry’s never been whole, not as a child curled up and forgotten in the cupboard under the stairs; not as a child, shaped into a sacrificial soldier, not as a twenty-three year old man, alone, shrouded in the dark cloak of night, ready to end his life.

The black and purple swirls of fog and clouds paint a pretty backdrop for the breathtaking view of the Thames, the London Eye, and Parliament from Harry’s position on the bridge. It’s the only time his vision shifts to full-colour, when he’s standing on the bridge, hands gripping the cold railing as he peers over, his glasses sliding slowly down his nose. He uses a mittened finger to push them back up, a hollow laugh escaping him as he reaches deep down inside of himself to search for a feeling, anything. He wishes for even a fissure of panic as he places both hands on the railing again, wondering if 100kg added to his feet would successfully prevent his ability to kick back up to the surface.

A harsh wind whips by, and with it carrying a whimper. Harry turns, his gaze sharpening, harping on an elongated figure further down the bridge perched on the railing.

He turns back to the water, staring out at the inky black waves. He shouldn’t care.

The whimper turns into full on sobbing.

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

Then, there’s a horrible scream of anguish that pierces the quiet, the sound full of devastation. He blinks several times, pushing his glasses up again. He may not have the ability to care for his own well-being anymore but he still...he still seems to care about others.

With a sigh, Harry walks to the centre of the bridge, noticing a lone figure down the road walking towards them before abruptly stopping and turning away from them.

Harry ignores them, and instead approaches the person perched on the railing. He can see that the person is wearing a black, long-sleeved ballgown, tiny sparkling beads of emerald green, gold, red, and silver shimmering in the moonlight, taking the shape of exploding fireworks across her bodice along the back of the dress. It’s beautiful, and Harry gasps when the woman turns to face him.

He’s seen this woman before, has seen her pretty pale face at the Slytherin table at Hogwarts. Her long black hair whips across her flushed face, mascara-tinged tears sliding down her cheeks. Her red lipstick is smeared across her lips and down her chin, piercing blue eyes unfocussed as she sways side-to-side.

“What do you want?” the woman asks miserably, her voice slurring, intoxicated. Harry steps closer to her, as if she’s a wild animal ready to leap away from him. The woman’s lips turn down into a terrible wound of a frown, misshapen by the smeared lipstick. “Did he send you?” she cries.

“No,” Harry says, not knowing who she’s talking about as he slowly approaches her. “Why don’t you come down?” he asks, extending an opened hand.

The woman’s gaze twists from Harry back out to the dark depths of the Thames. Harry inches closer.

Another whimper escapes her. “He doesn’t love me,” she cries, her body shaking as she weeps.

“There are people out here who love you,” Harry says, wincing. How many times has Ron and Hermione said this very thing to him over the last year?

“But not him!” she shouts, her shoulders trembling, the harsh winds whip her hair. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve even given him all of me, all my love, all my hopes and my bloody dreams, and nothing. Nothing I do makes him look at me…at me...as if,” the woman breaks off, a trembling cry escaping her before she shouts, “Why...why not me?”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Harry says, his voice carrying on the winds, tone firm. A small spark of indignation is felt in his chest. This woman, this woman is suffering, and it’s fuelling a knife-sharp sensation alongside his slow-beating heart. He wants to touch her, see if he can pull her grief into him, see if it’ll help him feel his own, for once.

The woman tilts her head back, a wail escaping her. “I don’t deserve him! I can’t help him, I can’t even bloody keep him. I’m useless.”

“Stop it, don’t put yourself down like this. He doesn’t deserve you...you’re stronger than this pain, this numbness you’re experiencing, and you know it. You know you can do so much better than him, that your life and your hopes and dreams outweighs whatever the fuck you think he sees when he looks at you. You don’t need anything from him, not when you’re this strong,” Harry says, shaking his head. He doesn’t know where these words are coming from, they feel foreign to his own ears. A part of him wonders if he wished someone would say this to him. “What’s your name?”

The woman draws in a shaky breath before she answers in a tiny, strained voice, “Astoria. Astoria Greengrass.”

Harry nods, now remembering her, remembering where he’s seen her name lately. “Come, Astoria. You have so much to offer the world. You’re strong, but sometimes even the strongest among us have bad days, but that doesn’t make us worthless,” Harry says, the feeling in his chest swelling, lighting him on fire from the inside. Harry gasps. “You’re worth fighting for, you’re...let me...let me fight for you, Astoria, until you can fight for yourself. Please...please, take my hand. You don’t have to do this...you don’t have to do this alone.” He’s now beside her.

A wicked wind whips past them again, the snow falling now coming down in thick, fluffy sheets. Astoria huffs out another sob before she turns around, her hand stretching out.

Harry clasps it, pulling her forward. She wraps her arms around his neck, digging her face into this layered scarf, clinging to him like a lifeline. They both sink to the ground as she weeps. The cold stings the trail of tears on Harry’s own cheeks.

She smells like the cold, along with lingering scent of bergamot orange and rosewood. He knows it's a combination of scents he'll never forget as he cradles her against his chest before quickly opening his coat to wrap around her shivering form.

All the while, feeling more alive than he has since the day he died.

#HP fanfiction #Harry Potter #Astoria Greengrass #drarry #Astoria x Harry #Astoria x draco #Draco Malfoy #trigger warnings #please read the warnings #series #will update #1/5

22 notes · View notes

ofbardsandmonsters · 3 years

Text

Fill for square N4 - “family dinner” for the @stb-bingo ! read it here on ao3

***

Bucky’s leading him through a careful instruction on how to be sure the grooves and plates of his prosthetic are thoroughly cleaned when Steve comes looking for them. Tony’s not sure how long the blonde had been standing in the doorway of the workshop before they notice him, but they both look up when Steve clears his throat. Bucky sets down the tools, and Tony starts putting them away.

“Hey, Stevie. Did we miss our alarm?”

The smile on Steve’s face is soft and fond.

“Only by a couple minutes. Thor’s just finished cooking. It actually smells pretty good.”

Thor had, to everyone’s surprise, taken a shine to cooking meals since giving over leadership of New Asgard to Valkyrie. And despite growing up with what was likely close to an army of cooks and kitchen staff, the thunder god seemed to have a talent of his own in the kitchen. He had cooked mostly small meals for one or two of his fellow Avengers so far, and this was his first foray into a full family meal.

Tony shifts to stand, knowing he has to give himself ample time to prep his body, but Steve is there at his side before he has to put forth too much effort. Years ago, he would have rebuffed the need for assistance. But letting others, especially the people who care about him the most, help him without being concerned about the hit to his pride is something he’s been hard at work on with his therapist. And being Tony’s crutch, for lack of a better word, has been the focal point of his recovering relationship with Steve. Steve likes to feel needed by Tony, and Tony needs to know that Steve cares.

Having Bucky as a bridge between their differences has been almost as helpful.

He leans gratefully against Steve’s bulk, smiling down at Bucky when the brunette snags his right hand and presses a quick kiss to the metal palm before letting go. To his left, Steve pouts dramatically.

“Where’s mine?”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes, reaching for Steve’s hand that isn’t wrapped around Tony’s waist. He dips his head, looking for all the world like he’s going to repeat the process and drop a kiss onto the back of it. But instead, he sticks out his tongue and drags it over the back of Steve’s hand like the child they all know he really is.

Steve yelps, tugging his hand away and swatting at Bucky, who cackles and dances out of reach, knowing Steve won’t chase after him when he’s holding Tony close. “Jesus, Buck! That’s disgusting. What would your ma say if she saw you still goin’ around lickin’ people?”

The former assassin just shrugs, a cheeky smile still on his face as he gets close enough to steal a giggling Tony away from Steve and tuck him against his own side.

“She probably wouldn’t be as scandalized as she would be if you told her what else I’ve been lickin’.”

The two brunettes nearly collapse with laughter as they make their way into the elevator, leaving a sputtering and red-faced Steve behind.

------------------------

FRIDAY opens the elevator for them on the communal floor of the rebuilt compound, and they’re immediately hit with a wave of unfamiliar smells that make Tony’s mouth water. “Damn, Steve wasn’t kidding when he said it smelled good.”

Bucky steers them toward the dining room where most of the others who are currently on world and in town are already seated. Clint’s daughter’s visiting today, as is Scott’s. The two teenagers have their heads bent together in whispered conversation over their phones in between their dads. Hope’s on Scott’s other side, one arm around the back of his chair while she chats with Pepper across the table. Rhodey sits to Pepper’s right, and Tony can see them holding hands under the table. Bucky takes the open seat next to Pepper, guiding Tony to the chair to his left. Tony’s been noticing that they’ve unconsciously started sitting like that on a regular basis: Tony always to Bucky’s left, metal arm to metal arm.

There’s an unspoken agreement between all of them that the empty chair to Clint’s left is always left open.

The elevator dings, signaling Steve’s belated arrival. He takes the seat at Tony’s left just as Thor and Bruce start carrying in dishes loaded down with food. Everything looks amazing, and smells even better. Most of it is unfamiliar, so Tony suspects most of it is traditional or at the very least typical Asgardian fare. But it all smells like heaven, so he takes a little bit from each plate as they get passed around.

As they all settle in to eat, conversation flows easily around and over him. Tony is content to eat his fill without contributing anything, basking in the warmth that being surrounded by his family provides.

Every so often, his eyes will stray to the empty seat across the table, Nat’s visible absence a reminder of what they’ve lost. The loss resonates in his chest, but it’s soothed when Steve’s fingers close around his own. The blonde leans close, dropping his voice so only Tony can hear.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

The endearment sings in his blood, and Tony offers him a soft smile. They’re still recovering, still relearning each other after so much hurt between them, but Steve is still as in tune to him as he ever was. Tony brings their entwined hands up and presses a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. His smile widens as Steve’s cheeks color.

“Nothing gets past Captain America, huh?”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes, but there’s fondness and love written all over his face as he squeezes their hands together. Bucky leans back so he can catch Steve’s eye from behind Tony.

“Better not be makin’ goo-goo eyes at my fella, Rogers.”

Both of Steve’s eyebrows go up and gently tugs Tony toward him, making the brunette chuckle. “He was my fella first, Barnes. So I’ll make whatever eyes I like at him.”

Tony’s still giggling between them as the two super soldiers mock glare at each other. Down the table, Rhodey leans forward and gives them both an I’m watching you look. “I had him before the both of you, so don’t make me come over there and snatch him right back.”

Both men sit up straight like they’re in the principal’s office, which just makes Tony collapse into a louder fit of giggles, nearly falling off of his chair. The rest of the table joins in as well, laughter filling the room as Bucky and Steve turn bright red. It settles after a few minutes, and Tony presses a kiss to the cheek of first one of his lovers, and then the other.

Conversation picks back up around them, and Tony watches each person seated at the table in turn. Despite everything that’s happened to this group as a whole, those they’ve lost and regained or lost for good, the majority of them are still standing. And they’re stronger together for what they’ve been through. Things between him and Steve aren’t perfect, but they’re getting closer and closer every day. And there’s a part of him that thinks their dynamic together is better and stronger than it ever was before with Bucky.

Tony turns sideways in his chair, reaching out to take Bucky’s metal hand in between both of his own. He presses a kiss to the cool metal, then tucks it against his own cheek and looks up at the other brunette. “Thank you.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow in confusion, but the soft smile on his face doesn’t waver. “For what, doll?”

“For loving me. For loving Steve. For bringing out the best parts in both of us.”

“Hell, sweetheart. Easiest thing I’ve ever done, lovin’ the two of you.”

He feels Steve crowd up against his back, and the blonde wraps one arm around his waist. The other he holds out to Bucky, who takes it without hesitation, blue eyes watery as they bounce between the two men. Steve presses a kiss to the top of Tony’s head.

“Thank you, Tony. For letting me love you again.”

Tony closes his eyes, letting the sounds of his family wash over him. Family. The one thing that he had always wanted, a real family that loves him for exactly who he is. And this crazy, unconventional, mismatched group of people does. They love each other with a warmth and a fierceness that could only be possible in a family forged by fire.

And that love makes every fight, every scar, every hunk of metal he’s forced his body to accept worth it.

Family makes it all worth it.

#stb bingo #stuckony #stuckony fic

57 notes · View notes

dmcofficial · 4 years

Text

i really love how dmc approaches the relationship between human and demonic selves, especially in the light of it acting as contrast to how regular, average people struggle to accept parts themselves, the beautiful, the ugly, the parts that are both. dante has the most development simply bc he's the longest running protag of the series but also he's had games entirely dedicated low-key to his developing relationship and eventual acceptance of his human and demonic sides, even tho i think his are more clear cut (dmc1 & dmc3) meanwhile nero (dmc4 & dmc5) and vergil (dmc5) have more subtle and almost cramped development in a way

[ranting abt dante, vergil, & nero's character development throughout the franchise under the cut bc this also got rlly long,,,]

dante is interesting post dmc3 just bc he's both written 2 b a continuous character w no real conclusion to his character in order to continually write him into dmc games and content, BUT he still reaches SOME conclusions to character arcs in dmc1 and dmc3, and afterwards we see how those conclusions have aged with him— aged is the important word there, because changes in dante's character are both from the perspective on nero (his villainous aura at the beginning of dmc4) and the simple fact that where a lot of characters don't actively age and mature the same way real people do, in video game media especially, dante DOES and this changes how we would expect him to react in games liek 4 and 5

i think part of the reason the dynamic between vergil and dante has shifted by dmc5 is not only bc of vergils speedrun development in the same game, but also because you could reasonably say that while vergil expects a fight w him similar to their past fights, you could argue he is also a little bit unsettled with how dante's changed in the time theyve been separated. because despite how they tend to mirror each other as children and their journey thru dmc as a franchise can be framed as the same One character put thru different yet similar traumatic events, vergil even remarks about it at the top of the qliphoth, that difference here is that by dmc4 and DEF dmc5 dante has evolved past that where vergil is just beginning to really see it.

dante has had the time to process it. he went thru all this development years ago. it's had time to sit with him and age and ferment. dante is now tired, almost apathetic. he's disinterested with life and the cards he's been dealt with. at least in dmc4 and between dmc1 and 4, the anime too, he was sort of. rueful and upset about it? but he's seemed to move past that at this point. he is a character who has done everything there is to do. there is nothing and nobody who can challenge him, and even the concept doesn't catch his full attention. vergil is a trigger topic, it sets him off instantly, probably because vergil is the only constant in his life that will live as long and is as impossibly stubborn as dante is.

he doesn't chase vergil because he's necessarily hurting people with the dmc5 red grave massacre or trying to end the world in some great fashion and dante will have fun or at least get a thrill from defeating him or dying trying— cutting thru urizens forces are a pain in the ass and a waste of time. he wants the main course. he wants to be done with it. not to say he wouldn't have fun fighting, but he doesn't get the thrill he does when he's younger anymore. he wants to end their feud, seeming to be with the intention of making up with him even if he's come to terms with vergil's pride being what will force dante to kill him in the end

fighting with vergil in the underworld afterwards, having someone like him to keep him company, to share those experiences with, it's everything he needed and more i think. the repairing of their relationship, the new partner in a life none can truly relate to. i mean, both brothers treat nero like a child, he's the closest either of them can get to someone who understands, but nobody will understand truly like they will

vergil meanwhile, decides very young that power is all he needs and it will solve all his problems. and you know, at the time maybe it does. but eventually, when forced to admit it isn't, when put between dante and more power despite it being a hollow motivation, he chooses power and the end of dmc3 to the events of dmc1 happens.

dmc5 is unique in that v is forced to retrace vergils steps. they're put through the same paces: he is put in a position of fear after his 'birth', he chooses life, and then goes hunting for power to keep himself alive afterwards. but not only does he have his familiars to balance him out in a way vergil never had (and that dante has in trish and lady,) but his demonic tendencies can't overwhelm him, he has room to grow and accept and come to realizations he can only reach as a clear headed human. he is able to actively use empathy and sympathy, even against his will. he realizes that power isn't everything. that the atrocities he's committed in the name of his own growth in power are just that, atrocities. that he feels regret for what he has done. that he wants to find away to atone for those actions.

he is forced to accept the strengths and weaknesses of his humanity, but also the same coin's other side, the horrible things he's done in the past, the horrible things his demon self is currently doing unchecked, and v resolves to change that even at the cost of his human outlook, even at the gravity of his actions being leveled against vergil in all their horror. he learns to accept that part of himself, both parts, everything bad he can commit with his two hands, but also with nero, nico, his familiatr, the good that can be done. the weeds that can fight to grow through the cracks.

nero spends dmc4 learning how to be a demon. hes force to learn how to deal with and manage his demonic changes. for a few weeks he has his demon arm, when he previously believed himself to be entirely human, and is then forced to come to terms with his yamato trigger and all the changes that brings. he even promises to himself, having grown up on a hyper religious island that loathes demonkind and reveres sparda, that even if humanity learns to hate him and fear him, he will still stick to his steadfast morals, his drive to achieve his goal of saving kyrie and greater fortuna. i also think a lot of dmc4 is nero becoming comfortable with his true nature. he comes into himself in dmc4 as a mouthy, demonic-warped demon hunter with a bad attitude in contrast to the bored, slightly tempered teen who broods in church even as kyrie attempts to wrangle him at the beginning of the game

dmc5 i think is nero's human game in the sense that he's forced to relearn how to be human. he spends five+ years as a demonic freak of nature, powerful on an island of human people with no demonic power. he's downright untouchable. after losing his bringer and his powers, he's forced back to square one, human again. i think dante believes nero is deadweight in the sense that nero is weak again, without any kind of demonic power and will get himself killed easily fighting urizen despite his hybrid resilience that still lingers. nero is angered by this— by his weakness, by the fact that he promised dante to keep the yamato safe and had it stolen from him, by his lack of agency. dante wasn't even going to tell nero, v, some random-ass goth, had to fetch him. he feels he isn't enough anymore, and dante's words are poorly timed— they sting particularly hard i think, considering he is nero's only unofficial family at the time, and family is his soft spot.

i also think nero coming to terms with vergil and dante being his father and uncle respectively takes up a lot of this arc of his– he is forced to grapple with what family means to him, what he is willing to do for family, when his only relationship with family has been his experiences as an orphan with strange white hair and a bad attitude in fortuna of all places, fostered by kyries parents who seemed to only take a liking to him at first for how much he resembled the Savior™. kyrie and credo were his only family after they died, and it's kyrie who reminds him of his own beliefs, in his own love and stubborn, headstrong dedication and determination for the well being of his found family, even as that found family suddenly includes actual blood family. he also has to try and understand dante and his perspective, who hid this from him. maybe out of fear of disappointing him, maybe out of concern of how he would take it, maybe because he thought nero was better off with the family he found than with the knowledge of how much bloody weight he carries, the heavy history of their family, didn't want to give that weight to him.

nero sort of learns here that seemingly good people do bad things for the right reasons. sometimes bad people do bad things because they think it's the best of the shitty choices. sometimes bad and good people just don't exist, and there's no good choice. he learns unwavering forgiveness, unconditional and true. all of these lessons he's lost between dmc4 and 5

#OR MAYBE IM TALKIN OUT MY ASS IDK IM JUST GOING BRAINDEAD ABT DMC LATELY #dmc #devil may cry #dante #vergil #nero #ryan speaks #ryan writes #this is for mikey and mikey only

70 notes · View notes

winters-tales · 3 years

Text

Evening! I have a confession to make: I'm exhausted. I've been furloughed from my 9-5 job for 6 months, but I started back again at the start of this month. So I am back at work trying to relearn everything, and trying to keep up with NaNoWriMo, as well as sticking to my streaming schedule! It's a bit much. So today, I might not get much done, and that's ok!

To make up for it, here's another sneak peek of a bit more of the novel. CW for depictions of PTSD, implied alcoholism, implied suicidal tendencies, and forced sedation under the cut.

It wasn't easy to write, but I'm of the firm opinion that war - ANY kind of war - shouldn't be easy to write about or read about. This is obviously a fictional account, but PTSD is very real. Please look after yourself when reading!

Transcript of the debrief regarding Capt. [REDACTED] actions during Operation: [REDACTED].

Debrief in subject’s own words:

My name is Captain [REDACTED] and I was enlisted for a Black-Ops mission known as Operation [REDACTED] that began in May 1983. Myself, [NAME REDACTED] and [NAME2 REDACTED] were selected for this mission as a matter of utmost secrecy. I am satisfied that I am presenting my debrief to the proper chain of command, but even if I wasn’t, I don’t really give a fuck. Fuck your secrecy. I’ll tell anyone who asks.

When you signed up to fight in the War, you had to get comfortable with the impossible fucking fast. The foot soldiers I could deal with; they at least looked like us, more or less, in that uncanny valley, people-but-not-quite kind of way. Still, they were just people who didn’t quite look like me, and you’re trained not to think of people like that as people early on. Reduces the risk of you freezing up when you need to take an essential shot. But when it became clear that there was so much more to deal with, the knowledge that at the end of the day it’s still just people becomes a comfort rather than a horror. Isn’t that fucked up?

[sound of a teacup being placed in a saucer]

Have you ever seen a dragon? They’re not quite like the stories, you know, but they’re also like all of the stories together. [NAME REDACTED] hated us calling them dragons; he insisted they were Jabberwocks. Crazy bastard, but he got me and a few others out of a tight spot more than once, so sure, I’ll sing whatever tune he wants when he can hear us.

[pause, sound of chinaware clinking as the Captain fiddles with her teacup and saucer]

Shame.

[pause for 5 minutes as the Captain seems to contemplate something]

Anyway, dragons: They swallow fire. Sure, they breathe it, but they swallow it first. Not just standard flames, anything that could feasibly be called hot. Flares, phosphorous grenades, and even, as I saw once, nuclear warheads.

Lot of mixed feelings that day. Bastards for seeing us as disposable. Relief that it’s not getting dropped on us now. Hope it might kill the thing. Horror when it doesn’t. Pure terror as we see exactly what they’re capable of, exactly what we’re being asked to throw ourselves up against time and time again.

[pause]

Any chance of another brew? In a mug this time, I’m too rough for this fancy tea set. And if I could have my hip flask back, I’d appreciate it. It’s just rum. Nothing dire. Just to help me get through the rest of this. I know you’ve got me down as High Risk but truth be told, I’m too chickenshit to do that. I’ll live through everything because it’s not as scary as the alternative, just as long as I’ve got a little liquid courage.

[tape is paused briefly before the recording restarts]

That hits the spot. Right. Where was I?

Dragons. Jabberwocks. Infernal wyrms.

Whatever you decide to call them, whatever name you pick out of whatever fairy tales you grew up on, just know it doesn’t come close to the reality of them.

[chuckling]

The reality of dragons. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.

But yeah, the reality isn’t shiny. Impressive, yes, but on a scale your tiny fucking brain just can’t comprehend. Like standing at the base of a mountain and trying to work out how you’ll head-butt the peak.

I watched one of the colossal things snatch the first nuclear warhead out of the atmosphere, felt faint hope that it was just a dumb creature and would explode from the inside out… and watched it belch radioactive flame across our own ground troops. Instead of maximised dispersal over a wide area that was regrettably comprised of friend and foe, our lot got concentrated nuclear destruction while their lot walked away.

When you see something like that, it feels like there’s not a lot that can persuade you to go back out there. Queen and Country? What the FUCK is she going to do to me that’s worse than a dragon that EATS our nuclear weapons? Stand me against a wall with the rest of the poor motherfuckers who didn’t run far enough, fast enough, and shoot me personally? This bullshit-

[the sound of furniture being moved aggressively; the Captain had kicked the table away from her and begun striding around the room gesticulating]

-is why so much research was going into weaponizing DRONES-

[The Captain’s voice is becoming indistinct, although her volume is increasing; furniture is being thrown around her interview room, including the table, which cracks the one-way window in an impressive display of strength]

-because once we’d seen it first-hand there’s no amount of love for your fucking COUNTRY that’ll make you walk into the devil’s maw again!

[the interview room door opens hard and bounces off the wall as people enter quickly]

-no- get off me- I’m not wrong- I’m-

[indistinct shouting of multiple people]

-fucking hands OFF me you rat bastard -

[At this point in the interview the Captain had to be restrained by several orderlies and sedated. The recording was paused while we cleared the damage and found sturdier furniture and restraints. The Captain is much calmer when the recording begins again, a full 30 minutes after sedation was administered]

Anyway. Once a soldier has seen the widespread devastation of a nuclear attack – and not just one, when they’re forced to watch it again and again, with the knowledge their superiors have written them off as “acceptable losses” – they realise that their country really, truly does not care one fucking whit for them, and something in their brain breaks. You’ve then got to give them a reason not to run, not to take their trusty service pistol for one last hurrah, and certainly not to storm the offices of our beloved elected officials, grab them by their lapels, and ask them what the fuck they were thinking.

No, when soldiers break the way we did, when they can’t think of a reason to keep going, all you can do is harness what they do have left, and hope they self-destruct far away from where you’d need to clean it up. [NAME REDACTED] had rage, and the desire to destroy every last enemy, injury or no. I had my apathy and my stubborn stronger-than-gods-own-will survival instinct. Throw in someone who desperately wants to save the world more than they want to save themselves, and you’ve got the team of me, [NAME REDACTED] and [NAME2 REDACTED].

They told us – YOU, you bastards, you told us – that we were going to save the world, and truth be told I didn’t care. You told us we were going to eliminate the last credible threat to humanity as a whole, and during the briefing I wished you’d all die choking. But I went along with it. What else could I do? Maybe something would catch us and finally end my ridiculous will to live. All we had to do was gather intel, and cause as much damage as we could on our way out.

[There’s a pause as the Captain considers something]

Is Major [REDACTED] still around? Told him I’d demonstrate how soft he’d gotten if I made it back. Told him I’d- Well. Guess it doesn’t matter now.

[Pause]

[NAME REDACTED] and [NAME2 REDACTED], they were the damage. Higher-ups had their number, and knew that if it came to it, [NAME REDACTED] would likely stay behind to go out in a blaze of glory and cover our escape with a high casualty ratio. [NAME2 REDACTED] would, in their unfailing optimism, make every effort to return, no doubt about that, but if they couldn’t, they’d do the noble self-sacrifice to ensure at least one of us made it back in one piece with intel.

I was the messenger. They had my number too; they’d seen me walk out of situations that should have killed me and they knew I’d probably walk out of this one too, and they were banking on me not knowing what else to do except follow orders.

And you know the really fucked-up thing? They were right. Here I am, following orders.

The mission failed.

I remember the night before we went through: making sure we were kitted out properly before getting our rest, ignoring the PTSD nightmares when we woke each other through the night. Par for the course at that point; who wasn’t deeply messed up?

I remember the morning: breakfast was bacon pancakes with maple syrup and black pudding. Delicious. Last hot meal we’d get for who knows how long.

We roped ourselves together, and one by one we stepped into the godforsaken breach.

And from the moment we stepped through, to the moment I fell back out and into your compound, I don’t remember a goddamned thing. Not one second of it. For all I know, I stepped through and got spat back out straight away. There’s just a big old blank spot where time should be in my head, and I don’t have a clue what happened to the other two. Did they go out in a blaze of glory? Did they come back ahead of me with any intel they got? I don’t know, and you don’t either, because you weren’t expecting me at all, and if they’d made it back, you’d know I’d be following after.

And you’ve got the gall to tell me it’s me it’s been three-hundred and seventy-five years to the day since I left on my mission? You must think I’m fucking crazy.

Notes:

The Captain passed out quite quickly after asking if we questioned her sanity, presumably from the combination of strong alcohol and even stronger sedatives; that she was able to remain so coherent and measured after sedation is an impressive feat given how much was administered.

When she woke up again 4 hours later, she seemed perfectly coherent with no sign of any negative after-effects from the alcohol, sedatives, or the combination of both. There was no residual tiredness, she simply asked if she was being dismissed from duty yet, as she had a lot to think about. She said we could keep the hip flask. A concerning declaration; giving away meaningful items is a common prelude to a suicide attempt, so she is now on round-the-clock observation in a high security facility. While she insists that she’s at no risk of attempting, that’s not something we want to get wrong.

It’s true that the Captain more or less fell out of a breach that we’d previously thought to be inactive, however she swears blind that she was not responsible for the murder of Gatesman Antok and the two perimeter guards of the facility. CCTV investigation is unable to corroborate this, as she was the only unaccounted-for body on site, and CCTV did not pick up any other potential attackers entering the facility. The investigation into the murder is ongoing.

If any files on Operation: [REDACTED] exist, they’re almost certainly locked in a bunker somewhere or else consigned to a shredder some 300-plus years ago. Nevertheless, a request for information has been submitted to the relevant departments, and now undoubtedly sits in a bureaucratic traffic jam as we await the possibility of a declassified document. In the meantime, we’ve redacted the names of the accompanying team members to preserve what little deniability is left after almost 400 years.

#fen's originals #writing #NaNoWriMo2020 #creative writing #ptsd tw #alcoholism tw #forced sedation tw

8 notes · View notes

theflowergirl · 4 years

Text

🤍 Wangji Week 2020 🤍 #1, Gentians

“Lan Zhan.”

Experience taught him not every call demanded a response, so all Lan Zhan does is raise his eyes from the table. Wei Ying isn’t even looking at him, he just continues talking, fingers dedicated to their task.

“Do you think it’s selfish to ask something from your parents?”

The question causes him to pause. Wei Ying folds the paper with meticulous precision, and while Lan Zhan searches for words, he allows himself to be impressed that someone like Wei Ying, capable of running from one side of the school to the other in minutes while chattering about anything and everything, is not only capable of doing handcraft work, but is also good at it. Following a mapped guide in his mind, the paper flower slowly takes form. A lotus, for Jiang Yanli. Based on the extensive knowledge of the young woman that Lan Zhan has accumulated over the course of his acquaintance with Wei Ying, he knows it’s a considerate choice. He can picture her loving it.

He licks his dry lips before replying with a question of his own. “It depends on what you’re asking.”

Wei Ying’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth as he ties all the separate parts of the origami flower together, and every petal opens under his fingertips, the flower slowly blossoming under his attentive care.

“What if it’s something big?”

Lan Zhan looks down at his own work. Several gentian flowers lie in wait for him to put them in a bouquet, a message carried under their soft folds. A gift that could never wither; a memory of something good, something beautiful, something old; the blue of home.

“Is it something important to you?”

The lotus flower stands on his kitchen table, vivid in pink and green, perfect like the videos that they watched, almost as if Wei Ying didn’t spend a whole package of origami paper in failed attempts. The boy touches it with a fingertip, slowly twirling it around, like it’s swayed by a passing wind.

“Yes.”

Lan Zhan nods in mute agreement, gently folding another gentian. The clock on the kitchen wall marks the seconds of his thinking, and Wei Ying waits, watching with transfixed admiration as Lan Zhan adds one more delicate flower to his batch. Wei Ying is rarely ever this quiet, though he’s always been attentive. Lan Zhan remembers their fights when they were but small kindergartners, and how he wouldn’t let anyone but himself tease Lan Zhan’s weaknesses. They got separated, became slightly different boys after puberty, but upon reuniting at the beginning of high school, some details seemed to never change; like the curves on a flower petal, mirrored on paper.

“And if you never asked?”

Wei Ying’s finger taps on the table, his fingernail echoing the clock. It’s almost time. The sun has already set. He wonders if Wei Ying would like to stay over, and there’s more than one feeling affecting Lan Zhan in either his acceptance or denial. His stomach hurts, not for the first time, over something that is not hunger.

“I... don’t really know.”

Lan Zhan finishes his last flower and starts putting them away in a box. Noticing that he’s finished, Wei Ying remembers his own gift box, decorated in swirling shades of pink and lavender, and places the lotus flower away. Lan Zhan moves to help him tie a pretty bow on top, and Wei Ying smiles, even if it’s dimmer than usual. And even though they’re comfortable in each other’s presence, his question lingers like a scent between them.

“I think they’d want to hear what you have to say,” Lan Zhan says, his finger keeping the silk thread in place as Wei Ying works on the bow. He looks over, beyond the box and their hands, locking his gaze with his friend’s. “If it’s something important to you.”

Their teachers often assume Wei Ying never thinks of things of consequence, always fooling around when he should be serious. But in the wrinkles around his eyes, soft sketch lines in his youth, Lan Zhan sees his worries and contemplations.

When Wei Ying smiles again, he sees the setting sun.

“Lan Zhan, you always know what to say! Thank you.”

He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. He barely ever speaks because he can’t think of anything to say, which Wei Ying knows, but still, still he says it and means it.

“I’m home!”

She’s right on time. Lan Zhan closes his box and hides it under a textbook as Wei Ying jumps on his feet, calls out “Mrs. Lan!” with a beaming smile, and bows respectfully once she crosses the threshold into the kitchen.

“A-Ying! Oh, you’ve grown taller since I last saw you. It’s late, you’re staying over, right? We can order from that favorite restaurant of yours.”

“Oh no, I’ve got important business at home tonight.”

Lan Zhan’s mother sighs, and Lan Zhan actually believes she’s disappointed.

“Okay, I’ll take you back, come on.”

“It’s okay! Really! My bike’s still here, I think?”

He looks at Lan Zhan for confirmation and his friend nods.

“It’ll take no time at all, Mrs. Lan. But thank you for the offer! Have a good night. See you tomorrow, Lan Zhan!”

He throws Lan Zhan a wink before he sees himself off, missing the way the woman chuckles in his wake.

“Guess it’s just the two of us again, A-Zhan,” she says, patting his head, and he nods, picking his things from the table with one hand and opening the app on his phone with the other, pretending he doesn’t hear his mother sigh again, the sound loud in the kitchen.

***

He finishes his bouquet not long after dinner. When he knocks on his mother’s door, even if the lights are already out, he knows she’ll answer and let him in. It’s not yet 9pm, and though she fights it, some habits are hard to break.

His stomach churns as he watches her smile under the yellow light of her bedside lamp. She holds the small jar of paper flowers like it’s something precious, and he feels like a cheater, like somebody conniving and manipulative. He doesn’t think the gift would lessen the blow at all, and when he swallows, he can feel a painful lump lodged in his throat, like a disease. Maybe it is.

“I think they’d want to hear what you have to say, if it’s something important to you.”

“Mother,” he hears himself say, sees her turn with bright eyes to him. He licks his lips before he continues. “Can I go see brother on New Year’s?”

The light in her eyes fades with her smile, her lips parting in surprise. He’s panicking under his skin but outside, he barely blinks. He waits, clutching at her sheets until his knuckles turn white. He misses brother so much, Gusu is so far. And he hopes she knows that it’s really just brother, that other than brother’s absence, he doesn’t want his life to change much at all. He doesn’t miss the fights before the divorce, doesn’t miss her crying, and even if she’s a faded image of the mother he remembers from when he was small, from when Wei Ying first pranked him in sandboxes, he’s fine, they’ll be fine, he knows. It’s okay, it’s...

He’s already opened his mouth to say what has been running around his thoughts when she reaches out and cups his face with her hand.

“Oh, A-Zhan.” She looks sad though she smiles, her eyes shining with tears. “Of course you can.”

Maybe she pulls him, or maybe he moved out of his own volition, but whatever the force that acted upon him at that moment, he ends up on her lap like he’s still seven years old and afraid of the dark. Though he’s tall now, taller than most in his class, he thinks he still fits perfectly in her embrace, her chest welcoming and warm against his face.

“I’m so sorry, A-Zhan. I know the past year has been hard,” she says, but even as she says it, he’s shaking his head, tightening his arms around her. A whole year without brother’s presence, only his voice in phone calls, but a whole year relearning that a home can be silent and serene and with sound sleep.

“It’s okay, mother,” he says, and he means it. It’s simple but it’s true and right then, it feels like just enough to say.

It’ll be okay, in the end.

***

Wei Ying is skipping his steps the next day. He’s like a soda bottle ready to burst all through their classes, throughout lunch time, and when the bell rings, he’s back to skipping, to smiling so wide that his eyes are but crescent moons. He speaks once it’s just the two of them walking home, Lan Zhan on foot and Wei Ying wheeling his bike beside him.

“Mom says I can stay here when they have to move for work,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Zhan must look surprised because Wei Ying laughs. “I know, isn’t it great?”

“Are you staying alone?” Lan Zhan asks, more than a little concerned. He’s been to Wei Ying’s room multiple times and he does not want to imagine what that would look like in a bigger scale.

“She said I could do that, but father prefers I stay with uncle Jiang.”

Lan Zhan nods his approval at that idea.

“You can stay over whenever you’d like.”

Wei Ying’s shoulders move with his contentment and Lan Zhan can’t help smiling, can’t ignore the fact that all of the big changes in his life lose some of their impact when faced with Wei Ying. His own shoulders feel lighter under Wei Ying’s attention, under the affection with which he says the syllables of his name. Happiness is like the wings of a butterfly, dancing in and out of view, around his stomach.

“We can have a sleepover on New Year’s!”

Lan Zhan looks down, feels the tips of his ears warming.

“I’ll be going to Gusu on New Year’s, to visit brother.”

Wei Ying deflates and perks back up so quickly that Lan Zhan almost laughs.

“We should buy a present for brother Lan Huan! Let’s go downtown, Lan Zhan, quick!”

Lan Zhan nods, moves to climb on the back of Wei Ying’s bike.

“Mn.”

“Hold on tight!”

He does, arms secure around Wei Ying. His back is warm like mother’s chest, and when he speaks or laughs, Lan Zhan can feel the vibrations of every action against his skin. Although it’s still winter, although he and mother are still patching each other up in the aftermath of the fallout of their family, he feels the sun on his back, the wind against his skin, and he holds on tightly to those he loves.

Mother keeps the paper gentians on her bedside table, like the vase she used to keep at their home in Gusu.

#wangjiweek2020 #The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #fanfiction #mine #Alternate Universe: Modern Setting #it is not yet the 20th here #but I am IMPATIENT dkbhsjgfjd

100 notes · View notes

tuuliivanovas · 4 years

Text

I have a giant list of reylo headcanons (Tros spoilers)

This really got out of hand: it turned into 6 pages. oh dear.

Hope some people like this because it was very helpful for me and dealing with my grief.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben does not like Tatooine. Like at all. He stays there with her because Rey seems to like it. He wants to leave but is a little afraid to bring it up.

Rey is comfortable on desert planets. She adapts very easily to Tatooine. She doesn’t know why she stays there is nothing truly keeping on the planet. She has a family, Ben is her family the past has been laid to rest, but she is afraid to leave the familiar. She likes the stars, maybe that's why she stays.

Leaving is a topic they avoid like the plague. There is a slight passive-aggressiveness about it because angst, but they get sad and get over it quickly.

Ben freezes most nights, he's big and generates a lot of heat. Rey legitimately does not understand it. He jokes about giving all of his warmth to her.

(more under the cut, they may turn into short story idea)

They like to cuddle a lot. Both of them are touch starved babies.

Ben is a city boy.

Rey is not a city girl.

Rey gets claustrophobic in large groups of people.

Ben tries to make jokes to make Rey feel comfortable. Rey thinks they’re stupid but laughs anyway.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben wants to start cooking again like he did when he was a kid.

_______________________________________________________________________

Rey likes watching him do things. She likes watching his hands work.

_______________________________________________________________________

Rey lets her hair grow and Ben braids it. This one was a shock to Rey. Ben tells stories about his mother getting ready for parties and how he helped put braids in her hair.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben wants to explore his Alderaanian heritage. When he and Rey travel he looks for anything he can.

_______________________________________________________________________

Both of them realize that even though they are a dyad and have known each other for quite some time and have seen each other's memories. They don't really know each other. They haven’t talked about their pasts, like the little things. They haven't talked about what they like and dislike. Things that don't seem to matter, but do when you think about it. So they sometimes stay up late and just talk.

_______________________________________________________________________

Both of them remember being dead. The nightmares aren’t fun.

Ben cries a lot. There are a lot of unresolved issues in his head.

Ben suffers from chronic pain after his fall.

_______________________________________________________________________

Luke tried to visit once, but that didn’t go over well. Ben didn’t come back for a few hours and Rey wants to help but doesn’t know how. She knew the family drama goes deep, Ben has talked about it. She has just never seen it. With Leia, it's a little easier, but still very stiff and awkward.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben has some severe abandonment issues. They have one nasty fight about Exogol. Talking about that place takes time and Rey tells him about all the Jedi coming to help her. Ben is jealous and angry. He was tossed into a pit, had several broken bones and he climbed out of there with the only determination of getting back to Rey. When she said Anakin spoke to her jealousy turned to rage. He is upset that the Jedi had more faith in a Palpatine than the last Skywalker. Rey is heartbroken her, own struggle with her lineage is a sore subject. They don’t speak to each other for days until Leia helps them heal the rift. Ben is so incredibly sorry by the end of it. He opens up about how he only had a memory of his father to help him turn. Nothing real, just something in his head. He tells her that she is the hero of this story.

Rey says fuck the Jedi at this point.

They really don’t fight after that.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben, even with all of his Jedi teachings, has to relearn how to use the force. He asks Rey to be his teacher. He is so used to his anger and passion being his source of power, but after his nap in purgatory, something changed. (pretty much zuko needing a new source for his firebending lol)

_______________________________________________________________________

He loves Rey’s lightsaber. It's just so her. The yellow is perfect for her, bright and warm. He is very proud.

Rey asks him if he would ever build a new lightsaber. He doesn’t know if he could. He eventually builds one and the blade comes out a dark purple.

_______________________________________________________________________

They go on adventures and find information in old ruins. Rey gets interested in the old republic. Ben is a nerd so research a lot for her. They learn about two very curious characters named Bastila and Revan (Because I love them)

_______________________________________________________________________

Rey misses her friends a lot. Ben encourages her to go visit them. Rey asks if he will come and he gently says “No. They don't want to see me.” Rey doesn't want to leave him alone. He reminds her that he is always here. Rey goes and visits her friends and start coming up with a plan to introduce Ben.

The ship lands at the base the resistance is located Rey starts walking out Ben following but he stops. Rey concerned reads him tells him to wait on the ship. She leaves and comes back with Chewie. Ben is petrified as the Wookie approaches him. Ben is a big guy, but Chewie is taller. Ben looks up at him. Chewie still views him as the boy he carried around on his shoulders a long time ago. Two furry arms wrap around Ben and he feels like a child again and breaks down. Rey has tears in her eyes at the display and quietly departs to prepare her friends for what will likely be a very long day.

Rose reaches out first. Makes him work the first moment he gets there. Her reason is that he is tall and can reach things she can’t. It's a little awkward at first but once Ben learns that Rose bit Hux he falls in love.

Rose’s heart warms when she hears Ben talk about Rey. She has heard stories about Kylo Ren and the boy in front of her aint him.

_______________________________________________________________________

{This section has stuff dealing with pregnancy, if that topic triggers you please skip this section}

Rey confesses that she wants a family. Ben knows that. She explains that she means children. Rey also goes on to explain her fears of being a mother. Ben understands her fears. He really never thought that he would ever be a father so the idea of having his own kids is terrifying and exciting. He won't make the same mistakes...he hopes. Ben asks her if they should start really trying, Rey says no and if it happens it happens.

Six months after their conversation Rey gets pregnant. They are overjoyed.

They started thinking that they should settle somewhere permanently and stop moving around the galaxy so much. They often live in isolation.

The choice was made for them when Rey got sick about 2 months in. Ben made the executive decision to have her around her friends. The former resistance had better medical facilities than the sparsely populated planet they were living on.

Rey has a rough pregnancy and is in and out of the care of doctors.

Ben is a nervous wreck and this is truly when Finn and Poe lighten up on him.

Even though Rey has gotten healthier, being able to eat properly over the time she has been with the resistance and Ben, the damage to her body from years of starvation and dehydration has already been done. She is thoroughly humbled and hit with the reality that she is human.

Ben feels helpless and useless, but Rey tells him that he is exactly where he needs to be. With her making sure is happy comfortable and loved.

The birth was just as hard as everything else. During the labor, it was not funny, but after the fact, Ben joked about how she caused a small earthquake.

They have twins named Jaina and Jacen.

Ben cries as soon as holds his children. He is so proud of Rey.

He is crying. Rey is crying. Everybody is crying.

The entire gang loves the babies.

_______________________________________________________________________

More Domestic/ Headcanons

Ben has a sweet tooth. Its something he has passed to Rey. When ever they are in a marketplace he picks up something for them to share.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben sees Rey’s drawings and loves them. He wants to learn from her. He’s not very good at drawing but likes spending time with her and watching. Ben shows Rey calligraphy and she wants to learn from him too.

_______________________________________________________________________

Lounging in a bath has become a guilty pleasure for Rey. Freshers were a huge luxury for Rey when she left Jakku and baths in large tubs, taking up huge amounts of water will always make her feel a little guilty but it doesn't last long when Ben starts pampering her.

Ben likes to wash her hair. It's a long and very loving process and Rey teases him and returns the favor and takes care of him.

_______________________________________________________________________

They eventually make their home on Naboo at Varykino after they have their babies. The estate was gifted to them by the Naberrie Family. Ben was uncomfortable and tried to not accept it. His cousins were adamant and said it was his inheritance from his grandmother and a gift to the last Jedi in honor of the Jedi that was happiest here.

The estate was so big. The twins would love it. A home that would last forever.

Rey wants to share what she has learned of the force, the dark and the light. Ben agrees, there are lonely kids out there that need to know that their feelings aren’t bad and that they have a hand to hold when they need it. Rey wants her children to be surrounded by friends as they grow. They start their school knowing things will be different.

_______________________________________________________________________

They love to spar, its the only they have any real challenge. Ben is not as rigid as Kylo Ren. Rey notices that his moves are free and flow like a dance. Rey gives him a good challenge with her saberstaff. Ben admits its taking time getting used to not having the crossguard. Rey modified her staff to be detachable and likes to practice dual-wielding with her sabers. Their children and students love to watch them. They draw a crowd every time with a clash of purple and gold.

_______________________________________________________________________

When their school is fully operational and their children just getting into their teens Ben asks her if they should get married. Rey says that they technically are. They made a promise and sealed it with a kiss and they have kids so every box has been checked. Ben knows that but he says that maybe the should make it official with a ceremony with their friends and family with them. Rey says yes.

Jaina helps her mom pick her dress. The dress is not white, but layers and layers of sheer panels of gold and light green elegantly draped on her like the sculptures at Varykino. Ben wears a soft black tunic with matching pants and an elaborately embroidered blue cloak. (He lives to push the boundaries of fashion and it wouldn't be reylo without them looking like Hades and Persephone).

The ceremony was full of love, happiness, and hope. I like the idea of them dancing. Then Ben dancing with Jaina and Rey dancing with Jacen. It's cute and just a perfect happily ever after.

[Quick note I am not good with describing clothes so for visual reference for those that want it, look up the costumes for Magnificent Century for the aesthetic and the level extra that is Ben’s cloak and the whimsy that is Rey's dress.]

_______________________________________________________________________

And that's all the post-tros headcanons that I can think of at the moment. It kind of turned into a bulleted list of a fix-it fic with my dream happy ending. I'm playing around with my reylo baby headcanons and what will happen to them because...drama. I also am thinking of writing Dark Rey and Jedi Ben solo Au headcanons as well as Dark reylo headcanons if school grants me the time 😌

#reylo #My personal headcanon tag #reylo baby

76 notes · View notes

banashee · 3 years

Link

Part 3/25 of my 2nd @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Phantom Pain

Please mind the tags and warnings!

The Feeling of your Skin

Tony keeps falling in and out of consciousness, trapped under tons and tons of stone, glass and metal. He can’t move, because something is crushing his right arm in his Iron Man suit. Besides that, he is wedged in between pieces of rubble and there is nothing he can do about it.

The metal armor has definitely gotten a few bad hits, because Tony can’t communicate with anyone and JARVIS voice is too faint, crackling in the distance as if he is being cut off and fighting to get through.

Tony is feeling helpless, and he hates every second of it. He can deal with a lot - being unable in any way, shape or form to do something about the situation he’s stuck in isn’t one of those things.

The pain in his arm is throbbing and it feels like his entire arm is slowly getting ripped off of his shoulder. His insides feel like they are on fire, and bile is rising up his throat.

Breathing is getting harder and harder at this point, but Tony forces himself to keep going, even as he’s terrified and gasping for air.

The commlink in his ear is crackling, but no one manages to get through. A shame, really. He would have loved to hear another person's voice in his ear if he’s so fucking unlucky to die alone under a collapsed building. No such luck.

When the pain gets too overwhelming once again, Tony can feel himself drifting away, choking on blood in his airways and hoping desperately for either help or for all of this to be over quickly...

How much time has passed, Tony doesn’t know. But the next time he wakes up, he does so in a white room that smells of antiseptic. Too many things beep and make all kinds of noises that feel like pins and needles in his already bursting head. All of those machines are hooked up to him, he realizes belatedly.

Tony tries to move, and a new wave of nauseating pain overwhelms him.

He’s coughing, and it feels like his lungs are exploding - there is a tube stuck in his throat and nostrils, making all of the sensations feel like hell.

Out of instinct more than anything, he tries to scratch or pull at it, but the movement doesn’t seem to register with his arm. Tony attempts to move it again, but nothing happens, all he can feel is pain, seething pain. It’s like the order to move gets lost on the way from his brain to the nerves. Either that, or he is restrained - but he can’t feel anything specific. Nothing but pain and panic that is rising up in his chest. He doesn’t know how bad things are exactly.

Tony forces himself to move his head and look over, see the damage - but there is nothing - literally. In the spot where his right arm should be, nothing but the bedsheets is by his side. All that Tony can see is gauze on his shoulder and then it stops.

His arm isn’t there.

The machines around him are going crazy, and Tony is faintly aware that he is starting to panic.

Voices and footsteps turn into a muddled mess around him. Somebody takes his left hand gently into their own and starts talking next to his ear. The voice is calm, quiet and familiar. Tony knows that voice, knows that touch and it’s slightly rough calluses, but he is so out of it, it doesn’t fully register with him.

Someone must have sedated him, because Tony can feel himself fading away into unconsciousness again. The grip on his hand remains though, and Tony clings back with whatever little strength he’s got left and leans into the touch when the person gently brushes away a strand of hair from his forehead.

*+~

The doctors say that the pain he is experiencing is phantom pain, something that is quite common for people who have lost a part of their body. Tony listens without a word, nods along. He figured as much, but it helps to know that he isn’t imagining things, that he isn’t going crazy. That it is something to be expected, especially since he lost his arm in such a violent way.

It still catches him off-guard, sometimes.

One day, Tony is fine and living his life, even though that means “with a metal device in his chest that keeps him alive”. But then there comes a day, when he finishes breakfast in a rush because the alarm sounds and the Avengers make their way into battle.

A few hours later, Tony finds himself trapped under a collapsed building, thinking he won’t make it out of there alive, only to wake up again. When he does, he is hooked up to too many machines and his entire right arm is missing.

His right arm. The one arm he uses for everything - Tony is capable of doing many things with his left, no doubt, but it’s never been his dominant hand. Well - it is now, he thinks, trying not to be too bitter about it. It is no use.

One thing he never thought about, but he notices now, is that he misses being able to hug someone with both arms wrapped around them as tightly as humanly possible.

He’s never been especially close to a lot of people - he’s got way too many trust- and touch-issues for that. But the Avengers are the big exception of that rule, right next to Rhodey, Pepper and Happy.

These people are his family, and he wants them close. Tony is protective over all of them, but even more so, he is a casually touchy person. Just walking by, touching arms, brushing shoulders, rubbing backs and ruffling hair, wrapping an arm around another person's waist to just keep walking. All of that while he gestures around or holds a coffee cup with the other hand.

It doesn’t help that especially lately, since-before-the-accident-lately, he’s found himself craving for more contact with one person in particular. He can’t stop thinking of the day he woke up in the hospital though, and the calm and familiar voice beside him, holding his hand until he was under again.

Although he is pretty sure, they don’t talk about it. But Tony knows those hands - and he damn well knows what Clint feels like.

Maybe, just maybe they can get this sorted out. Later - but hopefully soon.

Tony finds himself having to relearn everything from writing, building, interacting with human beings. It stresses him more than he wants to let on, and he doesn’t have the energy to focus on anything else.

While Tony is in medical after the mission, there is almost always one of his friends around.

At least one or two people from the team stay with him throughout day and night, and it is a relief - being alone down there, thinking he was about to die alone was horrifying. It’s almost as bad to relive it in his sleep.

Waking up terrified and shaking from nightmares is bad - but waking up to the warm presence of another human being helps.

Tony kind of expected the dreams, because being trapped under a collapsed building and feeling how a limb ends up getting severed would leave most people with vivid night terrors about it. And then there is the pain - seething, everlasting pain, shooting through his nervous system and painting the illusion of an arm that is no longer there.

The others stay with him, even when he grows more and more tired and frustrated. They give him space, then, leaving the room for a bit, but never going far. Tony knows they’ll be back after a little while or as soon as he asks.

He catches himself snapping at the people around him more and more. Guilt eats him up almost immediately after, but the anger and frustration need to go somewhere. Unfortunately, it ends up where it really shouldn’t - directed at the people he loves and who support him most.

He always apologizes after, and they accept it every time, but he can’t help but think how long things can go on like this. Something needs to change.

Maybe this is why, when Tony is back home, he starts drinking again.

So some days, he just hides in his workshop and drinks until he is unable to get up from wherever he crashed. He’ll pass out and wake up in bed later, with a glass of water and painkillers by his side. Tony gets away with that 2 or 3 times, then he finds that there is always someone to keep him company, if only to stop him from drinking the entire bottle on his own.

Part of him wants to snap and snarl until they leave, but he doesn’t - not always.

Not anymore. They deserve better than that.

None of them needs to be here - they could walk away any time and yet they stick around. Sometimes, he doesn’t know why they even still bother.

Tony hopes they know how much he appreciates that, despite his troubles to say as much.

Luckily though, they’ve known each other for years at this point. They know - or at least, he hopes they do.

‘I’ll have to do better.’ he thinks, and falls back into a restless sleep.

One day at breakfast, he has had a bad night and ends up snapping at Steve, who is only trying to help him reach something.

“Leave it! Just don’t. I don’t need help!” he snarls, and feels like his head is about to explode. His hand is throbbing, but it’s not even there anymore. The pain very much is.

It’s a lie, too.

Tony does need help, for some things. At least for now, while he is still healing and he is painfully aware of it. But he is sick of people assuming, especially when he is already about to do something himself. It irritates him to no end.

“I’m sorry.” Steve says quietly and gives him space - a small part of Tony is satisfied, but mostly, he just feels like a dick. He knows Steve meant well - all of them do. But he is too ashamed to say anything. Breakfast is really quiet after that, and one by one, people leave the kitchen when they’re done, giving him space to cool off.

Tony sighs, drinks the rest of his coffee and thumps his head onto the kitchen table a few times.

“Damn it.” He curses some more, thinking he’s alone in the kitchen and almost jumps out of his skin when a voice next to him says,

“You know, I get that it’s frustrating when people assume what you need. How about instead, you tell us what kind of help really is necessary?”

“Jesus, Fuck! Barton! I swear, I’ll make you wear a goddamn bell one of these days!”

“I dare you to try it.” There is a smirk in his voice, but then he shrugs at Tony. “My point still stands though.”

Clint leans back in his chair and produces another pot of coffee seemingly out of thin air. He fills up his own mug and places the pot on the table so that Tony can easily reach it himself.

He recognizes it as both the peace offering and hint that it is - he’ll happily take it and huffs a small laugh at ‘I dare you to try it.’

“Thanks.” Tony pours himself a cup and drinks about half of it in silence, thinking about what Clint told him.

It’s not surprising that this kind of advice came from Clint - Tony knows that he’s speaking from experience. Not only from losing most of his hearing a few years back, but also countless injuries caused by missions gone sideways. Recovering from those must have been hell - he knows those files.

It’s not hard at all to imagine Clint snapping and lashing out at people who crowded him in recovery, even when the help was well intended. Much like him, now.

Tony knows that Clint understands, at least to some degree.

“Different situations, same outcome, huh.” he says out loud, without really meaning to. A hum drowned out in a coffee cup is the answer he gets, followed by

“Something like that. So, yeah, the situation sucks and you’ll have to find a way to deal with it. And you can. We’re all here and no one thinks any less of you. Just… Maybe instead of drinking the housebar dry, let any of us know what we can do to actually help you, huh?”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Tony grouches, even though he knows that Clint is right.

“Duh. Why do you think I’m the one talking to you right now? You’re just as much of a stubborn ass. But we care a lot about you. I care a lot about you” Clint adds and looks him directly into the eyes. The steady stare that he fixes him with should be uncomfortable, but it’s not. It’s familiar, and quite a bit softer and more understanding than most days.

Tony appreciates that a lot. He nods and delays his answer by drinking more coffee.

Trying to deflate the seriousness of the situation, he’s aiming for a joke.

“And here I thought we only keep you around for your good looks.”

Clint bursts out laughing - he clearly didn’t expect that answer.

“I know I should be offended, but I’m really not.” He’s still grinning, and Tony can’t help but laugh himself. It’s been a while since he did that, he realizes.

“Good.” Tony says and just goes for the side hug so he can hide his face and the look of relief on it. Besides, he really needs this. The arms that wrap around him are warm and comfortable, holding on tightly enough to be reassuring, but still lose enough for him to pull away anytime - not that he wants to. Lucky for him, Clint doesn’t let go first - he just waits until Tony does so a while later.

Quite a while, but it doesn’t matter - no one else is there to watch the private moment, after all.

*+~

“Hey. Clint. Hey. Wake up.”

Tony prepares for flying hands and carefully keeps his distance when he pokes at Clint’s cheek one night. Talking to him is useless, since the purple BTE’s are clearly visible on the bedside table, but it doesn’t feel right to just creep up and poke someone quietly. Tony is well aware that his approach system could use some work, but whatever.

Thankfully, all he gets in response is a pitiful groan and

“What the fuuuck....”

Clint peels out of the blankets, blindly reaches around for the light and curses once more when the small lamp illuminates the room and blinds him for a moment. His hair is sticking up in every direction and there are pillow lines on his face when he owlishly blinks at the man sitting on the end of his bed.

“Tony? Are you okay?” he asks, rubbing one hand over his face in confusion and worry. Then he yawns hard enough to make his jaw crack.

Tony nods, then points at his ears and Clint gets the hint, reaching for the hearing aids on the table.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and to his utter surprise, Tony is smiling at him.

He’s been doing that more and more lately, which is a good thing. But not a reason to raise him out of a deep sleep at fuck o clock in the morning.

“I’ve finished it.” Tony says, and there is a shine in his eyes - he is clearly excited about something.

“Finished -” Clint repeats, and then his sleepy brain catches up. “Oh. Oh! Your prosthetic?” he asks then, much more awake and excited now.

This one has been a long time coming - as soon as Tony had been out of medical and sober enough, he’d started developing plans for his future right arm. Even more so once he stopped drinking again.

There is a lot of new and delicate technology involved, most of it an experiment. Working on it has taken a lot of time, and Clint is both happy for him and ridiculously giddy that Tony chose him out of all people to share this with, even though he poked him awake at an ungodly hour.

But this is exciting. If all goes well and the arm doesn’t cause him any major problems in the long run, Tony is planning to make the technology available for anyone who needs it.

“Yes! I just got it done and I’m ready to try it on but… Uhm. I didn’t want to do that alone.”

Aw, feelings, no. He can definitely feel his heartbeat speed up.

“Did you bring it here, or…?”

Instead of an answer, Tony pulls a robotic looking arm onto his lap. It looks a lot like one of his suits, but the materials seem to be different. It’s beautiful and obviously high-tech, but the best thing is that Tony looks at it with so much pride.

“It’s very much you.” Clint says, and waits for Tony to launch into a ramble about the technical details, but he doesn’t. Tony just smiles.

Clint watches, as the arm lights up and positions itself so that Tony can easily put it on without assistance. Then it attaches itself around the stump on his shoulder, where he already put on a black glove. The whole process doesn’t take long at all, but it is fascinating - this arm seems to have a life of its own.

Tony moves it around a bit, twisting and turning. The fingers move effortlessly, and he looks more than happy about it. When he looks up at Clint again, he can’t help

but smile back.

“Wow.” he says, not sure what else would be appropriate.

“Pretty good, huh?” There is a beat of silence before Tony continues,

“There are touch sensors - they’re supposed to work like nerves, is the short version anyway.”

He stretches the arm out, as if offering a hand to hold. Clint is pretty sure where this is going, but he still wants to ask permission - if only to keep his beating heart at least somewhat at bay.

“Can I-?”

“Go for it. How does it feel?”

“It’s - warm. Soft. Holy shit! What do you feel?”

“You.”

For once in his life, Clint is at a loss for words. Tony just smiles at him with shining eyes. Then he gets a hold of Clint’s other hand with his own left and lets the new hand of his right brush over the skin on his arms, over the side of his head, lightly scratching his scalp and brushing through tangled strands of blond hair.

“Feels just right. There is hardly any difference between the two hands - that’s - wow.”

Somehow, this entire moment is way more intimate than if they were sleeping with each other.

Neither of them talks much and they simply stay close.

At some point, they end up laying down in bed, legs tangled and still touching. Holding hands, fingers running over skin and beard stubble, brushing through hair. This is probably the most relaxed either of them has been in a long time, and it shows. They’re close enough to share little bits of breath every now and then, close enough to inhale each other's scent.

Tony is faintly aware that there is a loopy smile on his face. He is happy to be here, to be able to use two arms again - happy that Clint is sharing this moment with him, and even more so that he seems to be just as happy to just hold him close.

He’s wanted this for so long - then stuff happened, and he’d focused on other things. But he’s better now, happier.

The phantom pain is still there, knocking the wind out of him whenever it comes. But it’s been less and less as time went on. Part of him hopes that it’ll fade away more over time, but there is no telling yet.

For now, Tony is happy. He is also about to fall asleep.

“Do you need to take this off for the night?” Clint asks him soon after that particular train of thought, rubbing small circles on the upper arm of the prosthetic. He sounds sleepy as well, but in the best way possible.

Tony shakes his head. “No, this should be okay. Might as well test that now… Do you mind if I stay?” he asks then, making himself comfortable on the other man’s chest.

“I’d be very upset if you leave now.”

Clint is very blunt and honest about this - he blames it on the fact that a certain someone has woken him up from a deep sleep, but since that Someone is currently snuggled up in bed with him, he’s certainly not about to complain.

Tony laughs quietly, and tightens his hold for a moment.

“We should talk more often when we’re half asleep. Would have saved a whole lot of time before.”

“Agreed. Let me just take my ears out.”

Regretfully, Clint pulls away with one arm to remove the hearing aids. As nice as hushed conversations late at night, like this one, are - falling asleep with the aids in isn’t worth the gross feeling the next day - or the rapidly draining batteries.

Once he’s done, the two of them rearrange them a bit until they’re comfortable again. If he imagines the feeling of lips pressing a kiss into his hair, he isn’t sure, but he falls asleep happy, warm and content.

Tony doesn’t take long to fall asleep, either. He can’t stop smiling, because his world looks quite a bit brighter now - quite a bit warmer and happier in general.

That night, he sleeps without a nightmare, which is rare for him. But sleeping peacefully is easier if you know that someone else is right there.

*+~

Square 3/25: Phantom Pain

Warnings:

- graphic injury, blood - near death experience - talking /thinking about death (not suicidal though) - amputation of an arm - alcohol, implied alcoholism - poor coping - misdirected anger

#banashee writes #Bad things happen bingo #marvel fanfiction #whump #angst #tw blood #tw injury #tw alcohol

2 notes · View notes

ilovemygaydad · 5 years

Text

title: sticks and stones may break my bones, and you can always hurt me

pairing: logicality

warnings (read them because they are important): internal aphobia, mentions of abuse, panic attacks, lots of self hate, internal homophobia, mentions of corrective rape, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of kissing, anger, threats, mentions of abusive relationships, lying, mentions of overdose, mentions of death, mentions of abusive families, crying, swearing, miscommunication, things are worded to make it seem like a fight but it isn’t, and possibly something else (let me know if something needs to be tagged)

summary: patton needs to come out to his boyfriend, which may seem redundant, but it sure as hell isn’t

word count: 1.5k

inspired by @today-only-happens-once‘s story “exposure therapy,” which I love with all of my heart!

a/n: is this good? probably not, but then again, when is anything that I write?

Patton paced in front of the door to his apartment, wringing his hands. It was silly--he knew that he was being silly--yet his mind wouldn’t lend itself reprieve from the awful thoughts. But at the same time, he needed to prepare himself for all situations. Yes, he trusted Logan more than anyone else on the planet, but he was always told that he trusted too easy, and he’d been burned more often than he’d like to admit. There was no telling what could happen when the truth came out; all he could do was hope that it wouldn’t be one of the worse options.

Like, he really hoped that Logan wouldn’t get mad and say, “so you were leading me on for three years?!” Or that he wouldn’t tell him that asexuality doesn’t exist, and that Patton needs to get over himself and grow up--which was honestly likely seeing as Patton was always called childish. And he really hoped that Logan wouldn’t try--try to--

He just hoped. That was all that he could do because he didn’t have time to put off coming out any longer. When Logan had first started dating Patton, he’d just escaped a physically abusive relation, and he was still relearning where his boundaries were. Selfishly, Patton was happy that Logan had given him the perfect excuse to never need to say that he was asexual, but the time had come when Logan had become comfortable with himself and would inevitably want to go further. And it wasn’t fair to either of them for Patton to hide behind a mask.

Patton ran his hands down his face. He could do this. All he needed was another few minutes to prepare, and he’d march right into his apartment and--

The door to the apartment swung open, and Patton screeched in horror as Logan’s head peeked out.

“Patton, dear, why are you pacing outside of our apartment? Did you get locked out?”

The man in question opened his mouth to answer his boyfriend, but instead blurted out, “I’m asexual. I’m never going to want to have sex with you. I’m so sorry for leading you on, and I know I’m being ridiculous--I really do--but please just--I just--I can’t keep lying to you. I know that you’re probably really upset, which is fair, but--”

“Patton--”

“I love you so much, and I don’t--”

“Patton!” Logan cried, and Patton’s mouth snapped shut immediately. “Oh, god, Patton.”

And Logan was… laughing for some reason.

“Wh-Why are you laughing?”

Logan wheezed and gently rubbed at his eyes as he attempted to pull himself together. “I apologize. This is a very serious moment, and I shouldn’t be laughing, but I just--me too.”

“Me too… what?” Patton asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“I’m asexual.”

The puzzle pieces all fell into place before Patton’s eyes. “Oh,” he said plainly.

It certainly made sense. Logan hadn’t given many details of his previous relationships, but Patton knew that they all ended with a nasty breakup. With the last boyfriend, Logan had said that he’d physically abused him to the point that he had to get a therapist and spend time in the hospital. It had been made very clear from the beginning that Logan would be the one to set the pace of the relationship as he continued to heal, which was completely fine with both parties. For a long time, he didn’t even want to be touched, and he refused to watch many mainstream movies rated above PG because they had content that was “highly uncomfortable” for him to watch. Short kisses were preferred, and cuddling took over a year to be introduced in their relationship.

“‘Oh’ indeed,” Logan chuckled. He gently took Patton’s hand and began to lead him into their apartment. “Now that we have the air cleared, why were you standing outside of our apartment? Why not come inside?”

Patton stiffened, and it took every ounce of control in his body not to tear himself away from Logan. “It’s nothing, sweetheart. I was just caught up in my thoughts.”

“Falsehood. What’s wrong?” Logan turned Patton so they were facing each other, so Patton put on his sunniest smile before responding.

“Really, it’s nothing. Just some things at work that I need to remember to do.”

Logan’s lips turned down at the corners. “Patton, I have multiple degrees in psychology, and your body language and blatant lying suggest that you aren’t okay.” His eyes turned pleading. “Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I…”

What the hell was he supposed to tell Logan? ‘Well, I was worried that you’d hate me or break up with me or rape me when I came out to you as asexual, but it’s no big deal! Let’s go make dinner together because that’s what couples who trust and love each other do’? Yeah, because that would be a great way to end the evening. On the curb not because his partner didn’t accept his sexuality, but because Patton was too untrusting to think that Logan wouldn’t pull something when he came out.

Patton was weak and pathetic and just didn’t deserve love. That much was obvious from the horrible deck that he was dealt. Asexuality and gayness and mental health issues and stupidity and poor judgement. His life was meant to end in a ditch, overdosing on alcohol because he couldn’t trust the one good man that he’d found. Maybe, all those years back, his parents were right to throw him out as soon as he turned eighteen because they knew that their son was destined for an early grave, and it’d be so much easier to just start fresh with their problem child being little more than a distant memory.

“...Pat…atton are...kay…?”

Huh, Patton thought as the world slowly refocused. Logan looks upset.

“...need you to...with me...aving...panic attack…”

Panic attack.

Oh.

He was having a panic attack.

“...four, sev…eight...just like th...you’re doing great…”

After a few minutes of breathing exercises, Patton had regained his ability to see and hear properly. At some point, Logan had lowered them to the ground so they were sitting in the middle of the floor. Patton picked at the skin around his nails. He didn’t want to look at Logan’s face.

“Do you want to tell me what got you so upset? You don’t have to, and I’m certainly not going to force you; I just wish to know so that I may avoid it in the future, okay?” Logan asked in the same soft, quiet voice that he used on his nephews.

“Don’ tr’s you,” Patton mumbled in response, eliciting a sigh from Logan.

“Would you please repeat that?”

“I don’ trust you.”

“Don’t trust me about what?”

Patton moved his gaze to where the floor met the wall. “I thought you were gonna hurt me or somethin’ ‘cause ‘m ace.”

“I see.” Logan’s voice had gone clinically cold--so much so that Patton’s eyes snapped up to Logan’s face. His facial features looked calm at a glance, but the miniscule twitch of his right eyebrow and slightly clenched jaw betrayed the cool façade and exposed the true anger he was feeling.

“‘m sorry. Gimme a day, and ‘ll get my stuff out ‘f the apartment. I just need time to find a place--”

“Who hurt you?”

Patton’s mouth hung open in shock for a few moments before he choked out a tiny, “what?”

“Who hurt you to make you fear that I would do something so god-awful to you because of your sexuality? How many times has this happened in the past?” Logan’s voice echoed down the hallway as his volume rose. “Who did this to you?”

“Lo, we don’t--it’s not a big deal--”

“Not a big deal?!” Logan cried in frustration and anger. “Of fucking course it’s a big deal, Patton! It’s a big deal because neither you nor I should feel as though we’re going to be assaulted for coming out. We don’t deserve to have to be scared because we’re good people. You are one of the kindest, trusting people that I know, and somebody along the way fucked you up so badly that you became afraid to take both feet out of the closet!”

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispered, hunching in on himself as tears welled up in his eyes.

“No, wait--damn it--I didn’t--hold on. I’m not mad at you. I swear, honey; I’m not. Just--can I hug you?”

Patton gently nodded his head, and Logan quickly pulled him into his arms.

“I could never be mad at you, okay? I’m just so angry at the people who hurt us along the way. It isn’t fair that the fear has become so normal to us.”

“I know,” Patton murmured into Logan’s shirt.

“I’m going to track down anyone who hurt you and beat them up.”

That forced a tiny smile out of Patton. “I don’t think that’s allowed, Lo.”

“I don’t give a damn. I’m going to do it.”

“Okay, hon.” Patton snuggled closer. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#sanders sides fic #m writes things #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders

197 notes · View notes

clarke-kom-eden · 6 years

Text

Clarke

Some season 5 meta, Clarke's struggle to connect. (And Bellamy's attempts to help).

Completely just my opinion and me working out my feelings on season 5, i love all characters, all ships, this will always be the 100 positive here! Feel free to disagree too, its just for fun!

What felt so different in Season 5, for me, was that there were almost no little Bellarke touches. After the reunion hug, there's the slight shoulder touch while Clarke is on the radio to Raven, then nothing. We usually get a knee rub, or a hand snuggle...something! But zilch.

In fact, apart from Madi, We barely see Clarke connect with anyone.

Even when Bellarke are stood shoulder to shoulder, or doing their power strut, look at the distance between them compared to previous seasons.

But who is responsible for it? Even though Bellamy has someone, is it him, or Clarke or both?

We know that Clarke is having trouble connecting. When she sees Bellamy properly in 5x04, at first, she doesn't even move. She's almost so convinced that he's not really there, he physically has to pick her up and pull her to him. If you watch the hug too, she is the one that pulls away first, still unsure of whether it's real.

Because, she's spent 6 years thinking about what it would be like to reunite with her friends, only for it to happen under these circumstances of extreme fear and stress. He literally shows up exactly when she needs him to, when she needs rescuing. She must truly believe that she's dreaming it.

But Bellamy tries to stay close with her. He touches her shoulder while she is on the radio to Raven. He is still trying to connect.

Then, he asks her how she survived alone, and she shrugs it off. This is the perfect chance to tell him about the radio calls, but she chooses not too, instead saying she's tired and leaving. This was before she even knew he was with Echo. Did Bellamy see this as a kind of rejection? (Did she think she'd have more time to reconnect with him, before finding out he was with someone and keeping herself at even more of a distance?)

Bellamy continues on with his fight for the valley, and concerns himself with taking down the eye and making plans etc, but Clarke is still only concerned with Madi. She even wants to leave, at great risk to herself. She only stays because Madi tells Octavia about her true nightblood origins. Clarke is out, out of leading, she doesn't want to be 'Clarke' anymore.

Then again in 5x07, Bellamy tries to talk to Clarke, just as he used to, about Octavia, and she just walks away. 'That is not my sister', he tries, but again she dismisses him, as she's distracted by what's happening with Madi.

She goes on to make a deal with Diyoza without first discussing it first with Bellamy or anyone. Bellamy forgives her for this. He knows Octavias behaviour is out of line and that she's trying to protect Madi. He gives her plenty of chances again to connect, offering her understanding, 'Mama bears don't think'.

Madi has been Clarke's only focus for six years. We see it over and over. Clarkes life before praimfaya was all about looking out for her people, keeping her people alive. She's continued on with this same pattern of behaviour, except this time, all of that focus and energy was put onto just one person. That's all she's known for six years. It's hard for her to make the transition back to looking out for the greater good.

But that moment she leaves Bellamy, Gaia and Indra, really tips her over the edge. She's left him to die, now, she really has to keep Madi safe, or what was the point? She has to make what she did worth it, by any means possible, and her behaviour becomes even more desperate. It's not just about her just being a mum. This is extreme, this child was her salvation, her lifeline during her isolation.

But what life is she leading Madi into? That survival is the be all and end all? At what cost. At Madi growing up with only McCreary's men for company?

Until of course, he's alive, Bellamy is alive, and It's finally the jolt she needs. There's still a chance for her to be Clarke again, to make it right, to save her friends and to be the hero she used to be; to not live with more loss and regret.

She's given the forgiveness she desperately needs from Bellamy, again, he shows her that understanding and generosity that she showed him all those years ago.

Bellamy

But why does he forgive her this so easily? We've established he's tried to connect with her and been met with Clarke being distant.

Let's go back to 5x09, Madi at this point, knows this version of Clarke better than him. She tells him that Clarke would never forgive him (for giving her the flame). But I dont know if he believes that. He obviously believes what he's doing is for the best, to save all of them, including Clarke, and in the past, they have always forgiven each other for some fairly awful things. Perhaps he feels like they can resolve it later. (And he was right too, in the long run). But he doesn't know this Clarke, or consider the effect her isolation has had on her decision making, and he is genuinely shocked when she shows up and hits him.

When Bellamy eventually finds out about the radio calls, it's the reminder he needs about what Clarke had endured. She was alone, all that time, and she missed him. She was forced to survive almost alone. In isolation. He knows what that kind of isolation is like, how difficult it can be, as it was forced onto his sister her entire childhood.

He realises, that during those six years, Clarke did need him, even if she's had trouble showing it since his return. He realises how hard it was, and forgives her. She needs that forgiveness, just as he did so long ago, that she was willing to offer him.

He is kind, and she is so surprised by this, maybe she feels undeserving of it. She asks, 'You're not mad at me?'. It's a hopeful moment, and with his new knowledge of the radio calls, he's able to once again offer her the chance to reconnect.

When they wake up and see the new world, again, it's Bellamy that brings her in and holds her. He knows she needs to be shown that the connection is ok.

It's what makes the ending so much more important. Bellamy made the move to be close to her, to pull her in, and Clarke accepted. So next series, will this continue?

There's still a lot to work through, Clarke needs to relearn her place in the group. Monty and Harper still saw her as a leader, even after everything that happened, they trusted her. That should mean a lot to her, and she'll want to do better because of it.

#clarke griffin #bellamy blake #the 100 spoilers #the 100 speculation #the 100 season 5 #the 100 season 5 spoilers #the 100 meta #accidentally queued this before it was finished #oops!#the 100 spoliers #bellarke #the 100

126 notes · View notes

oc-clusterfxck · 5 years

Photo

Marco Alessandro — Full Character Biography

✗ General Information: ✗ Name: Marco Alessandro. (FC: Gianluigi 'Gigi' Buffon). Nickname(s): Capitano, Ale, Maz. Gender: Cisgender male Age: 34 (10/27). Height: 6'3" (1.91m). Weight: 183 lbs (83kg). Born: La Spezia, Italy Current Residence: New York City, NY, USA and Turin, Italy. Sexuality: Pansexual polyamorous. Occupation(s): Professional footballer (goalkeeper), X-Man.

✗ Personality: ✗ Unknown to most outside his closest friends and family, Marco battled depression from a young age due to a traumatic event and these bouts of depression never really seemed to fade. It led to Marco remaining quiet and introverted, never really coming out of his shell as most children did with age. He doesn't speak much, mostly because English is not his native language, but also because he just isn't a very sociable person. He finds talking to and relating to people very difficult due to both anxiety, and the fact that he is generally very withdrawn person as a means of coping with his empathic abilities; he feels so much emotion on a regular basis from the people around him that he feels emotions are exhausting and he would much rather feel nothing at all. However, family, close friends and some teammates have been able to break through his tough exterior. In these instances, he can be very playful and childish, while also fiercely loyal and protective. Marco also has an addictive personality, be it to drugs or anything else of the sort. When he is experiencing one of his many depressive episodes, he turns to cigarettes, alcohol, and marijuana, though usually nothing worse due to a history of drug abuse and self destructive tendencies. As a teenager he'd do much harder drugs and nearly ended his career before it had even started, however, he kicked the habit... Mostly. The addiction to cigarettes remained, while he still took quite the liking to alcohol and simply learned to monitor his intake rather than completely give it up. He is still very much tempted to turn to his drug of choice, heroin, to shut off his mind and all his abilities. However, his addictive personality stems far beyond drugs. Even things he enjoys become a sort of addiction, in which he feels the need to continue at all costs. Football is a good example of this; although he is older and has accomplished so much in his career already and could very well retire and look back on his career with pride, he is almost addicted to the sport and refuses to give up just yet, or anytime soon for that matter. As of recent, the adrenaline of being a hero and saving lives is something he has become addicted to. He also has quite the temper. Oftentimes he acts emotionless and is very good at keeping each and every emotion, whether his own or belonging to others, at bay. But, when he reaches his breaking point and finally snaps, it is hard for him to control his temper due to the sheer strength of the emotion. His eyes glow a bright red when angry, and occasionally his powers will light up his hands and some veins throughout his body, though it is very rare he will ever actually harm anyone. When he isn't fueled by rage, the colour remains a bright blue, bordering white.

✗ Powers: ✗ > Ergokinesis: 1) Energy Absorption: The ability to absorb different forms of energy, removing it from the source and into their own body, making the source (if human) weaker. Marco tends not to do this because it causes some pain, especially if he is absorbing electricity. 2) Energy Attacks: The ability to release/use energy to attacks of various shapes and/or intensities, ranging from rays of pure energy that can knock over or even obliterate dozens of targets, or slightly singe them. Marco tends to focus on one enemy at a time when using this power, however, so as not to tire himself out. 3) Force-Field Manipulation: The ability to create, shape and manipulate force-fields, so that objects affected by the particular force relating to the field are unable to pass through the field and reach the other side. This aspect of his power is still relatively new to Marco and not very strong. It tires him out quickly. > Empathy: The ability to fully interpret the emotions, moods, and temperaments of others without reading apparent symptoms. Marco literally feels the pain of others. More prominent is the emotional pain, which may result in odd mood swings depending on whatever it is he is taking in. This is part of the reason why he can't stand hospitals. > Telepathy: The ability to read/sense another person's thoughts, communicate with them mentally and/or affect their minds/thoughts. Marco has managed to control this power, so, should he want to read somebody's mind, he would have to specifically focus on doing so. If he isn't focusing, he likely won't pick up on any thoughts, unless one is 'broadcasting' them (ie. dangerous thoughts, fears, anxieties, etc). Usually he avoids reading minds because he finds that it is intrusive. He can transmit his thoughts to others as well, so long as they have a strong connection to him (family, close friends, etc.).

✗ Backstory: ✗ Marco was born in La Spezia, Italy, and had a relatively normal childhood, save for his strange abilities. He lived with, and was very close to his grandmother and spent almost all of his time with her. It wasn't until her death when he was a boy, before he'd even begun school, when he began to take notice of his powers. His mother and father were grieving her death, and he could feel the immense pain and sadness emanating from them — being so young and not understanding the concept of death, he couldn't understand the emotions or what an empath was, but he and his parents realized it was abnormal. As time progressed, he became more aware of his abilities, until they really reached full strength during puberty. He was still very young — six years old — when he was given the ability to manipulate electricity accidentally, when in an accident that involved a fallen power line during a storm. He was electrocuted, but, while the electrocution should've killed him, it hospitalized him for several weeks, with severe injuries and burns. Before then, his empathy and telepathy made him a mutant, however the accident in combination with the mutated gene created an adverse reaction. On the other hand, his father, who was also involved in the accident, was killed by the electrocution. His father's death took a toll on Marco, and at first, while in hospital, he refused to talk to anybody because he was sad, and being so young, he didn't know how to deal with it or express his emotions. The only people who could get him to talk were Giorgio and Vigor, who were often brought by the hospital to play, as Marco wasn't allowed to leave his bed. By the time he was allowed out of bed, he practically had to relearn how to walk again. As he aged, his ergokinesis became more and more apparent in small accidents, and from then on, he began exploring the power on his own. He never told anybody outside of his family of his powers, fearing that they'd think he was insane. Despite Giorgio and Vigor being the only two who could make him smile and come out of his shell ever so slightly while in hospital, the incident altered his personality forever, and left him being his current introverted, generally stone-faced self. After losing his father he decided he didn't want to feel anymore, and so that was what he set out to do. For a few years after his father's death, he seemed to be making some progress and was acting like a regular kid, albeit still shy and quiet, however his progress was set back in his teenage years, and he ultimately never really progressed the same way. Without a father figure in his life, and the fact that he was dealing with his powers all at once as they grew stronger, he spiraled again, and became very rebellious. He’d skip school, smoke, abuse drugs and alcohol, hook up with people within his friendship group, and get into fights; all the complete opposite of the way Marco had been. Due to the trouble he had been getting into, the football club he played with threatened to cut him, should he not smarten up. Being a substitute goalkeeper as it was, at first, he didn't take the threat seriously, but, one of the older players on the team, Ciro, took Marco under his wing and helped him get back on track again, becoming the father figure he needed. Alongside Ciro, Giorgio and Vigor again helped him overcome the dark period in his life. As he grew older, he grew as a footballer as well, finally breaking out as the starting goalkeeper with the first team. He was immediately a fan favourite, keeping a clean sheet through his first match against another team that was considered the Italian giants. The more he played, the more he impressed, and in turn, the more teams started to keep an eye on him. He was contacted by several teams in his first few years as the starting goalkeeper at his club, but he remained loyal. It wasn’t until nearly five years later that he decided to accept a transfer, and only because it was to the biggest club in Italy, and the club he and his father always cheered for when he was a kid. He joined the club as a way of further making his father proud. In the prior year, Ciro retired from football – which was particularly hard for Marco to deal with – and he’d taken on a coaching position at the same club Marco joined, the following year. Giorgio joined the same team the next year, with a little convincing – and also begging – from Marco for Ciro to consider him in the first place. From then on, Marco never stopped impressing football critics all around the world, winning several league titles, and even the World Cup, despite his age. He eventually became Captain of his team, and Giorgio his vice captain, further proving how inseparable they were. Marco was the type of Captain who was stern and relatively demanding of his teammates. He always seemed to be serious and took nothing from anyone. His tough exterior didn't fool many of his teammates, however, who were able to break him down into being a relatively big softy when they were off the pitch. As a Captain, he acted like a father who lived by the principle of tough love, but he ultimately couldn't resist for long. Eventually, Marco decided it was time to face a new challenge in his career and accepted a transfer to an American club. It seemed to many as a way for him to slowly ease his way into retirement, however this notion had always angered him as he had no intention of retiring and continues to play for the Italian National Team as well. Shortly after moving to New York to play for his new club, he was approached by Charles Xavier, who suggested he join the X-Men, claiming his abilities were too strong to simply go to waste like this. He explained that he had even contacted his mother when he was a teenager as his powers were too strong to overlook even then, but she refused as she didn't want her baby far from home, especially not during such a difficult time. Xavier knew it would be useless to try again in those years, however decided to make yet another attempt now that he had gotten older, moved to the city, and not to mention the fact that Vigor had since moved into the school as well. Marco knew who the X-Men were, considering he'd seen them in the news and such, and had considered seeking out Charles when moving to New York, but he was thankful that it was ultimately thankful Professor Xavier had approached him first. It took some time, but ultimately the final nail in the coffin was finding out that Vigor had also become an X-Man after transferring to the opposing team based in New York years prior that convinced Marco to accept the offer. Although Marco doesn't live in the mansion for the most part, he spends most of his time outside football there. At first, all was well and good, but he often has difficulty working alongside the team - Scott in specific feels threatened by him, and he is well aware of it. It makes training difficult, and has ultimately created a rift between he and the X-Men.

#marco alessandro #original character #bio #info post #รƭเɳɠε૨ #marco edit

1 note · View note

fidgemimic · 5 years

Text

Anyway Beau fucking hates the new wizards for like the first month or two. Also this gets rambly and fic-layout-y as hell. i am very tired and have a headache so bls forgive me

Beau hates both of these new Zemnian assholes to be entirely honest, but she’s willing to give them an iota of a chance after everything finally goes down and the immediate ramifications of turning the Empire’s greatest war mages/archmages into traitors are done with.

She’s absolutely not the only one that doesn’t trust them - fuck not even Caleb trusts them completely and he’s the reason they even bothered to defect in the first place. But the gang at this point is willing to put enough trust into them that they won’t just straight up slaughter them all in a heartbeat.

It doesn’t help that they’re both disgustingly proper.

Backs still ramrod straight, hands folded neatly in their lap or attentively behind their backs. They make eye contact with anyone who dares to speak no matter who it’s too. They’re attentive and quiet - and the nein can see them calculating scenarios and escape routes and weaknesses in their heads any time someone dares to move.

Eodwulf, to everyone’s benefit, seems to easily swap between the cold persona into one that’s a little too competent socially to not be forced and practiced to perfection over the years. He can easily hold a conversation with Fjord and Clay, even drawing laughter from Jester at his quips and playing along with her strange stories; Though not the ones about the Traveller.

(The first time she mentions him, things suddenly go horribly, terribly wrong. He doesn’t hurt her, of course, but they can feel the air change. He snaps into another personality entirely - disgusted and enraged at the concept that he’s sitting with a heretic of all people. It’s like something cruel has taken over him, drawing curses and cruelty from his lips that bring Jester to tears before anyone even fully realizes the situation. It’s not the first time it happens, but it startles everyone - Eodwulf included. Jester doesn’t receive an apology until much later, once Caleb pulls him away from the group and speaks to him quietly. No one cares to ask what was said - not until Jester grows curious a few days later and asks Wulf. Beauregard only barely overhears it - glaring daggers at the half elf all the same.

“He said that it was.... it was hard to relearn what should be - what is - acceptable. Hard to relearn what it is normal people see as being non-issues. It’s no excuse for my horrid behavior, but it is... difficult... to know after so long.”

Beauregard.... hates him a little less for that. He’s dangerous, and she keeps an eye on him, but it’s easier to remember that he’s not the first or only person who’s had these issues before. If she speaks to Caleb later about what to expect, it’s for the safety of the group - obviously. She needs to know what she needs to look out for so that she can swoop in and roundhouse kick a bitch in the throat if push comes to shove. But if she manages to catch the hints - the sudden stillness, the tightening of his jaw, the impulsive twitch of fingers as if readying a spell - she jumps in and distracts him with a flourish and desperate ease that would’ve made Molly proud. Eodwulf is easy to decipher once you know what the signs are.

Astrid, however, is not.

She radiates an air of authority that would make Beau sick if it wasn’t from a woman that was just so fucking hot. Where Eodwulf finds a place to integrate himself socially, Astrid sits back and watches from just far enough away that it’s obvious she’s not really part of the team.

It’s intentional - and she’s said as much to the rest when they ask her about it.

“I have little reason to trust that the lot of you won’t kill me tonight. I am fine here. Thank you.”

Beau can tell that Caleb is torn with this information. He’s been torn since the two of them arrived - all three of them have been desperately trying to figure out where they stand with each other in a way that The Nein would find hilarious if it wasn’t a rom-com script stitched together with trauma and guilt and all of the disgusting waste the empire had tried to shove down their throats.

Caleb and Eodwulf are the only two willing to approach her for conversation with positive results. Fjord had tried and given up after two weeks of clipped answers and obvious disinterest. Clay wanders over from time to time with his teapot and empty stories to try and ensure she doesn’t feel left out. She never drinks his tea - not even pretending to in the way that Clay often pretends to drink liquor - but he hardly seems to mind.

No one knows what it is that causes the outburst. One moment, they’re surrounding the fire, chatting aimlessly while Clay’s slow drawl acts as white noise in the background. Then the loud crash of ceramic shattering against the ground bring everyone to silence. Their eyes are drawn to the duo behind them, where Clay sits as calm as ever - his eyes only marginally wider to indicate the barest hint of shock. His teapot lay in pieces on the ground between them.

Astrid raises from her spot, cup still cradled in her hands before she deliberately allows that to slip and shatter on the ground as well.

“Oh, how unfortunate. Clumsy me.”

When she wanders off, it’s Eodwulf that followers behind her, with Caleb nervously trailing close behind.

Beauregard approaches Clay as he works from his place on the ground, carefully picking up shards of what used to be beautifully painted ceramic.

“It’s no issue, Ms Beauregard. Simply an oversight on my part - I must have upset her and not noticed. It can be fixed easily, no harm done.”

The three wizards return not 10 minutes later. Astrid is silent, as are Eodwulf and Caleb. There is no apology, no attempt to speak to her, only the same carefully blank expression that’s been on her face since the day they found her. Something about the simple lack of remorse or empathy makes Beau’s skin crawl.

Beauregard hates Astrid.

And she makes damn sure that she shows it.

Beauregard grants this woman none of the ‘pleasantries’ she gives her friends - drudging up every ounce of malice that she has and directing it solely towards this woman. Astrid is everything she hates wrapped into a package in just the right manner that she doesn’t want to tear her limb from limb immediately. She’s the embodiment of the empire, of everything wrong with it and what it does to people. She’s cruel and calculating and Beau can’t help but imagine how quickly and easily this woman could end all of their lives. Poison their food stores while she keeps a small sachel of her own rations close.How easy it would be for her to slip close enough to Caleb to slit his throat with a hiss of ‘traitor’ on her lips even after all he’s done to get them to safety.

She feels predictable and not all at once. It throws Beau for a loop when Astrid finally - finally - responds to her constsant prodding. Not with anger, but with a smile.

The woman is quick-witted and cold. Her words are like daggers being driven into every weak spot Beauregard has and it’s a show of power that drives her fucking insane with how easily the quips come to her. The only thing keeping The Mighty Nein from tearing them apart is the reactions that the fight seems to garner from Eodwulf and Caleb of all people.

The two of them are huddled together, muttering and chuckling in Zemnian. They commentate with small gasps and giggles and muttered ‘oh, sheisse’s that - through the anger and annoyance - remind Beau of the catty assholes she used to go to school with as a young girl. It doesn’t help that Astrid seems to feed off of their strange new relationship, and in the midst of it all Beauregard realizes something:

This, the woman that’s tearing into her with abandon and thriving off of the attention of her two best friends, the woman who’s catty and self-assured - not because she knows she has power and statusadn training - but because she knows she’s clever enough to out-shittalk someone, is the closest they’ve gotten to seeing who she is.

She’s not sure why she decided to keep it going after that. She found what she was looking for - a small note that Astrid wasn’t just some hollowed out war machine. Something that showed her that there was still a person in there. Hell, she found the tattered remains of Something in all three of them that she hardly expected.

But Astrid was quick to leave them again - back ramrod straight and shoulder squared. Face carefully neutral. Beau, in all of her horrible terrible no good very bad wisdom, continued the fight for as long as she could, as often as she could.

It was slow going, and every so often Astrid would fall completely silent and unresponsive to Beauregard’s jabs in a way that was uncomfortably familiar, but over time it didn’t even take Beau’s stupid attempts at fighting for Astrid to make quips and clever comments to other members of the team.

It felt like a miracle at that point.

As much as Beau wanted to continue hating Astrid after that point - as much as she wanted to still hold that bone-deep distrust that made sure she had a hand around her staff any time either of those fuckers get closer to one of her friends, she found that she couldn’t. Not really. They were doing better, and if she ever admitted to the fact that she was a little bit proud and a little bit protective of them at this point, she would have to throw herself off a cliff or something.

They were the ghosts of people, slowly but surely remembering who they could have been if everything hadn’t gone so fucking horribly. If she noticed the way that Caleb’s nervous half-smiles turned into stupid childish grins any time Eodwulf or Astrid said anything in Zemnian, or if she noticed how they slowly started to lay their bedrolls out next to each other with less and less space between them each night - that’s not her fuckin problem. That’s not her bullshit garbage ‘friends-to-lovers’ ‘hurt/comfort’ drama novel plot, and she could frankly care less so long as it was a decision that they got to make themselves.

#Mimic Speaks #1.8K SHITTY FIC LAYOUT AS PER USUAL WHEN IM TOO TIRED TO FUNCTION BUT TOO WIRED TO SLEEP #i need to read more so i can up my vocab and like uhhhhhhhhhhhh Write Fic #The Mighty Nine AU

21 notes · View notes

life-death-thepursuitofhappiness · 6 years

Text

So I’m definitely not going to be able to finish this by today, but I’ll post part of it in honor of Lance’s birthday.

Summary: Lance Fuentes’ life has always gone through a lot of changes. But through it all, there is one constant: the song “Sexy Back.”

"I'm bringin' sexy back; them other boys don't know how to act; I think it's special what's behind your back..."

Barbara tried to keep a straight face as her husband Leandro swung their youngest around the kitchen to the rhythm of his words. She felt like she should say that it was much too early for this nonsense, but she'd be lying. Yes, the sky had just barely turned a clear blue, but Leandro's antics were for any time, any place. Especially when it concerned the song he had serenaded her with on their second date.

The six year old boy - named after his father - giggled and tried to imitate the ridiculous amount of hip wiggling that Leandro showed off. The words to the song were lost on him, though his father made sure to simply hum the more racy parts.

"Get your sexy on."

"Go ahead be gone with it."

Barbara's eyes widened. "Leandro!"

Two pairs of blue eyes twinkled at her mischievously as one deep voice answered with her name and the other, higher voice responded with "Mami!"

The two of them giggled while she rolled her eyes and continued on with her not-really-a-reprimand. "¿Le enseñaste la canción?"

"Claro que no, mi vida, you worry too much. It was just that part, I promise." He dramatically rushed over and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. "Te lo juro, ¡mi cielo, mi amor!"

She swatted him away but allowed him to pull her into a brief kiss once he stood, ignoring the raspberry their son blew at the sight.

"It was a call and response sort of thing," Leandro continued. "Admit it, you were charmed!"

"Cállate con tu 'charmed'," she muttered, albeit with a small smile on her face. Leandro simply laughed, a bright sound echoed by their son, and picked up the boy, settling him on top of his shoulders.

"Girl let me make up for the things you lack, cause you're burnin' up, I gotta get it fast..." Leandro smirked.

"Take 'em to the bridge!" Leandro Antonio imitated the smirk as his mother raised her eyebrows.

"Just that part, huh?"

The two boys - and yes, they were definitely both boys; why were men such children? - simply winked at her and carried on.

***

"I want to be called Lance now."

Barbara stared at her youngest child, all of almost-thirteen years old, in his slightly ill-fitting black suit. She almost yelled at him, for having the audacity to say such a thing right after they had gotten home from Leandro's funeral, but managed to bite the scream back. Leandro Antonio was a bit of a hellion, a little spoiled, and prone to dramatics, but he was a sweet, sensitive boy. He wouldn't say something like this if he didn't have a good reason for it.

He bit his lip and inhaled tremulously, eyes watering. Immediately, Barbara gently pushed him from the living room to the kitchen, intent on making him a cup of soothing hot chocolate.

He sat at one of the chairs and waited silently as she worked. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him staring down at the table, hands fidgeting and one leg bouncing.

After what felt like an eternity of tense, sad silence, Barbara was finally able to sit down, handing her son one mug of chocolate while she warmed her hands on another. Funny, she had never really needed to warm her hands until recently. She mulled over this briefly before realizing that she could remember a childhood and young adulthood lived with cold hands and rueful smiles over the fact, until she had started seriously dating Leandro. A dull ache grew in her chest at the thought that she'd have to relearn how to live without a human heater who always loved to hold her hands.

A deep inhale and exhale broke her away from her thoughts, and she quickly looked up to see her sweet boy with a determined look on his face. She took one of his hands - warm in comparison to hers but no where near actual warmth, she noticed, a surge of commiserative sympathy rising within her - and squeezed lightly, encouraging him to speak.

He rushed to do so, stumbling over his words in his hurry.

"Es que - nomás - I - It’s just so fu -"

She interrupted in a deceptively mild tone. "¿Que dices?"

He blushed a little before decisively saying, "Fettuccine."

"Fettuccine?"

"Yes, Mami, fettuccine," he insisted. "It’s messy and weird and...and..."

"I think I get it, mijo," she said, fighting back laughter.

"Oh thank God."

Barbara let the laugh go free, then grew solemn once again, waiting for an actual explanation. Though she had a feeling she already knew what it was.

"Ya no me quiero llamar Leandro. Se que siempre va ser mi nombre, pero ya no lo puedo oír asi. Me...me pone triste, y ya no quiero llorar..." He trailed off and took a fortifying gulp of his beverage before continuing. "Además, tal vez me va mejor en los Estados Unidos si tengo nombre más americano." He tried to smile at her, only half succeeding.

Barbara stood up suddenly and walked over to pull him into a hug. She couldn't begrudge him this. He was just trying to cope in his own way, and she wasn't going to force him to search for another metaphorical life raft. The fact that he had attempted to lighten the mood by bringing up his dream to go to that American school only highlighted that maybe all she could do, all she should do, was accept this name change. She did have one question though...

She pulled back and said, "Está bien. Lance. Está bien, Lance. ¿Pero porque ese nombre?"

This time a smile that closely resembled his old megawatt one lit up his face, and he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. He handed it to her and she studied it, nearly sobbing right then and there. She should have known her wonderful son would never truly try to forget his name.

Leandro

ANtonio

Carlos

Espinosa

Soft humming broke her out of her reverie. She smiled once she recognized the song and joined in, keeping one arm around Lance.

No, Leandro would not be forgotten.

***

Three figures moved quietly through the hallways of the Garrison, creeping carefully around corners so as not to be seen by any superior officers.

Quietly, but not completely silently.

“Lance can you not. I get that you have weird celebrity crushes on some of the officers -”

“Pidge!” Even as a whisper, Lance’s voice was just a tad too loud, as evidenced by the fact that his two companions immediately shushed him.

Pidge smirked. “Are you really going to try to tell me you don’t have the hots for anyone who could pull rank on you?”

Lance’s blush made his face appear almost lavender in the dim light, and Pidge’s smirk transformed into something more along the lines of ‘evil grin.’

“It’s not like that ok?”

An eyebrow raise was his only response.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

A brief pause followed, in which the third party of their trio visibly relaxed, clearly thinking this was the end of the conversation. It’s not like Hunk wanted to sneak out, but if he was going to be dragged along for the ride, he definitely didn’t want to be caught. All too soon though, Pidge broke the silence.

“So wait, do you still expect me to think that you don’t want to be caught as part of some weird kink fantasy? ”

Lance groaned as Hunk held back an anxious whimper.

“First of all, Gunderson, so much for keeping quiet. Second of all, if I had a weird kink fantasy, you wouldn’t be part of it. Maybe Hunk would, but not you. Stop laughing, escuincle. And third of all, I don’t know why you even started to shush me in the first place. I was quiet as a mouse!”

“A squeaking mouse, maybe.”

At this point, the three had made it outside the building, making sure to stick close to the walls until they reached the ramp that led to freedom. Lance let himself reach speaking volume.

“I do not squeak! Hunk, tell him I do not squeak!”

“Can we do this later? You know, when we’re away from the school?”

“Fine.”

A few minutes - and one close call where an officer (who Lance was definitely not ogling, thank you very much) walked right past them - the three of them ran down the ramp and onto the road. They kept running for a few minutes just to be safe, then slowed to a nice walk. Pizza, here they came.

Hunk spoke up after a few seconds. “You don’t squeak.”

Lance responded with an eloquent, “Huh?”

Hunk breathed out a chuckle. “You don’t squeak, bro. BUT. You’re never exactly silent. And you definitely weren’t when we were sneaking out of the halls.”

“What do you mean, I was as silent as a - as a ninja!”

Pidge snorted. “Ninja, my ass. You were humming pretty much the entire time.”

“I was not!”

“Yeah bro, you were. It wasn’t that loud, sure, but you were.”

Lance fell silent, a weird feeling settling in his stomach and chest. He finally asked, in a subdued tone, “What was I humming?”

Hunk cleared his throat, exchanging a look with Pidge. Or well, he tried to. Pidge was busy looking at their surroundings, but he could tell that he was still listening to the conversation. This was evidenced by his response to Hunk’s admission of “I don’t really know, dude, to be honest.”

“Sexy Back. You were humming Sexy Back.”

“Oh.”

The rest of the walk to the one pizza place in town was spent in silence, only interrupted by brief bouts of Lance’s humming before he caught himself each time.

#lance #my writing #lance's birthday

9 notes · View notes

condemnedbiotics-blog · 6 years

Note

You should also consider five times kissed as well

she's fire. she's a blazing sun, scouring everything she touches and leaving nothing behind. her flames lick over high and wide, drawing in, consuming. her light is blinding but everywhere; it's impossible to look at anything but even if it means to be doomed forever.

she's a storm, there one moment and gone another, only to come back and wreck havoc another time. she tears down what's in her way and leaves nothing the way it was. her traces are left behind everywhere and it would be useless to try and rebuild because she's still on the horizon, ready to come back and attack anew. she's inescapable.

she's a tsunami, rolling over and taking along what she can take. she nearly drowns only to resurface, giving a hint of breath and something other than this, before she waltzes in again and takes, and takes.

she's dawn after a long night; light soft and warm and promising. hopes of something better, of leaving behind the darkness. fighting the monsters that have come out within night.

she's a force of nature.

kissing her for the first time is like fighting a war he already knows he's lost before he stepped on the battleground. she takes more than she gives, than anyone could give, but it's just how he'd have it, and he gives her what he got, for he has known it was hers before she did. long before. she grabs his collar and pulls, and it's like falling into her trap, finally locking the cage she built for his heart before she knew she was doing it.

she takes, and he gives.

ii.

she's darkness. where there had been light, there's now shadows twirling, hiding away. she lures, beckons, in a way that isn't her. she never comes too close; and the intent in her eyes is hidden away. chasing her seems like an endless task, and he tires, but it's also impossible to stop. it's impossible not to follow her closer, deeper, further down into the dark, the unknown.

she's a drug, intoxicating, and it's hard to quit. she gives just a little bit, but it's not enough, it's never enough. it seeps into his veins and poisons them, turning the insides into something different, vile, aggressive. it burns from within, but it's no longer in an enjoyable way. liquid acid sits in his veins and he has no way of getting rid of it.

when she's there, she's not. he tastes but smoke and mirrors, and when he wakes, he's alone, as he has been since she's left. knowing full well that she won't return; not now, not ever. all that's left is the image engraved into his mind, eating away at him.

she's gone, but she still takes.

interlude.

she's new beginnings. she is there when she shouldn't be and there are things missing — he knows scars that aren't there, and imperfect skin that is smoothed out, and marks on her skin that aren't there because they haven't been obvious enough to be remembered by anyone but. she says she is still herself, but he doesn't believe her.

later, he regrets. later, he wishes he'd have tried a little harder and chased after her again the way he did when she was gone. later, he wishes he could have taken for once.

they both don't sleep that night.

iii.

she is reality. better than the fantasies, and more tangible too. larger than life, and she feels more real than anything else, anyone else ever has. she shines in the brightest colors, she sings in sounds unheard before.

she is spring, warm and blooming, long desired after the dread. she touches and new life forms. she lights up everything around her, causing it to aim further, higher, to become more than it was. she inspires, she promises, and everything follows.

she's water in the desert. soft, cool, soothing, but also dangerous; easy to succumb to. she lures, and she helps, and sometimes, she strikes down, and hard so.

he apologizes, but not with words. she accepts, but not with words. they relearn, slowly, talking on for hours, and then they relearn in a different language, one they both know better, that feels less awkward and that's so much quicker.

he takes on no ends, and she lets him.

iv.

she is the end. of nothing, of everything; she falls mountains and drains oceans. she speaks, and a thousand suns go dark all at once. she lifts her hand and civilizations fall.

she is destiny, the one deciding over them all. one false step and everything has gone to waste; one false decision and they won't have time left to regret it. she knows of it, but she likes it no more than they all do.

she's insecure, and she comes to him to hide. she's not the strength people want to see, not always, so he stays with her and lends her as much of his own as he can. she drains him dry and it's not enough, but it will have to do.

it will have to, for this one is goodbye, no matter the outcome.

she takes until there's nothing left to be taken, but it's not enough. it's not enough.

she is the future. the one he didn't believe into ever being able to see, but she is there. she's with him, always, has been even when she hasn't. (she never truly left.) she is soft laughter and softer touches, she is hushed whispers and dancing through the morning. she is hiding away the nightmares and chasing the bad memories away. she is broken, bent, imperfect, but so is he — pieces made into a puzzle that fits just perfectly together.

she kisses him, and it's like the first time, the fifth time, the seventeenth time. it's all of them and none, for they all have been this one and none.

they are one. drawn to each other.

they drink in each other, and drown in one another, and it's not enough, and just enough.

she takes, but she gives just as much; as he gives, and takes.

they are one.

#weaponsdonotweep #i was gonna do sappy but then it got artsy AND sappy so liiiike #long post #;; IT'S ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA TO RTFM. (answered.)

1 note · View note