#he was so lost in his grief. Laura must of felt the same way but she never let them drown in it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

agaypanic · 3 months

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hii im sorry if you're getting so many requests, but may I request Bernard and an afab he/they human reader? The reader is close friends with Charlie and once loved and adored Christmas but after their mom died they stopped believing altogether, so Charlie takes them to (i thinks its Christmas town??) and Bernard takes up the job personally to reignite the readers belief in Christmas. I hope this makes sense, I'm sorry if it doesn't!

Little Secret (Bernard the Elf X TransMasc!Reader)

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Summary: After losing your mom, Charlie notices that you’ve lost all Christmas spirit. Being the son of Santa Claus, he decides to bring you to the North Pole, where you meet the Head Elf.

A/N: could be read as platonic or romantic i think. mentions of death and grief

***

“Charlie, I really don’t want to intrude.” You protested as your best friend and college roommate helped you pack your suitcase. “I’m fine with staying here, I promise.”

“Y/n, there’s no way I’m letting you stay here. You’ll be miserable!” He looked at you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Besides, no one should be alone during Christmas.”

“It’s just Christmas.” You muttered a bit bitterly. Charlie sighed, pursing his lips at you, but he said nothing.

This was the first Christmas you’d be celebrating without your mother, whom you lost earlier in the year. Christmas had been your favorite time of year, but with her gone, it felt like there was no point in celebrating anymore. You couldn’t wait for the holiday to pass so you could stop dreading it.

Charlie felt inclined to help you change your view on the holiday. He was your friend, and he hated seeing you so miserable, especially during such a happy time of year. But there, of course, was another reason he was so adamant about helping you get through the holiday.

You arrived at Charlie’s mom’s house late that night. She and Neil welcomed you with open arms like they always did, which made you feel a bit better than you had when you left campus. The four of you had dinner together before settling in the living room. Eventually, Laura and Neil went to bed. Feeling tired yourself, you wanted to do the same. But you didn’t want to leave Charlie or be alone in your shared room, so you stayed put, slowly falling asleep on the couch as some movie played in the background.

***

As you slowly woke up, you felt colder than you did when you fell asleep. It felt like someone had put a high-speed fan in front of your face, the cold biting at you no matter how you tried to shield yourself from it.

“Dad, I think they’re waking up.” You heard Charlie’s voice as you slowly opened your eyes. Suddenly, Charlie appeared above you, a dark night sky behind his head. This confused you even more, because you don’t remember falling asleep outside. “Have a good nap, Y/n?”

“Where are we?” You asked groggily, slowly sitting up. The sight of your surroundings almost made you faint. “Charlie, where are we?!”

You were thousands of feet in the air, flying over sea and ice. That explained why you were so cold. But what you didn’t understand was why the man flying whatever you were sitting in was dressed in red and white like he was Santa Claus.

“The North Pole!” Charlie replied with a bright grin.

“What?!”

Suddenly, you slowed down, reaching a vast land covered in snow. You were too scared to look down, but whatever you were sitting in, you were starting to guess it was a sleigh, lowered to the ground and then deep below it. The lower the sleigh went, the warmer you became, which you were thankful for.

As you went further underground, the man driving the sleigh turned to look at you. This must have been some insane, elaborate prank because he truly looked like Santa Claus.

“Hey, Y/n!” He said, and you recognized the voice as Charlie’s father.

“Mr. Calvin?” You said hesitantly, eyes flitting to Charlie, who nodded in confirmation.

“Come on, kid. I told you, you can call me Scott.”

“Or Santa,” Charlie added with a laugh.

The three of you jolted slightly as the sleigh finally touched the ground. As you looked around, you debated whether to jump out of the sleigh and start running, or to curl up in a ball and hope that this was just a dream. Seeing a crowd of kids around the sleigh talking loudly and staring at you made you lean towards the latter.

You were about to ask a million questions, but someone came up to sleigh, looking at Scott.

“Santa, finally, you’re back.” He said, staring at him sternly. He didn’t seem to be much older than you or Charlie. “You’ve only checked the naughty and nice list once; you’re supposed to do it twice. Christmas is in six days.”

“Bernard, Bernard, Bernard.” Scott patted the man’s shoulder. “You worry too much. I can check a list with two billion names on it before Christmas.”

“You brought guests,” Bernard said suddenly, giving a polite nod to Charlie before staring at you. It was clear that you were the odd man out in the sleigh.

“Yes! Bernard, this is Y/n, Charlie’s roommate.”

Bernard gasped in horror, making you flinch. You wonder what Charlie and his father have been telling these strange people about you to warrant such a reaction.

“You brought a…” Bernard looked around at the rest of the kids in the room. They had started to disperse, but it was clear that some were still listening. He leaned in to whisper something to Scott before pulling back. “Here?!”

“Yes, yes, I did. But don’t worry, because you’re gonna help fix that!”

Incredibly confused by the conversation happening in front of you, you leaned over to Charlie.

“What the hell are they talking about?” You asked. “And what did that guy call me?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Charlie patted your back before getting his dad’s attention. “Dad, I’m gonna show Y/n around the workshop.”

“The what?” Your questioning was ignored as Charlie dragged you out of the sleigh. You quickly glanced back at Scott and Bernard, who was staring at you with a mixed expression, before being yanked out of the room.

***

It took a few hours to wrap your head around what was happening. Apparently, Charlie’s dad was Santa Claus. The Santa Claus, and had been since Charlie was a little kid. All the kids that had flocked around the sleigh when you landed in the North Pole were actually elves, all older than anyone you’ve known by at least five times. And Bernard, who was in charge of the workshop, was the oldest of them all.

You were still half convinced this was some weird dream.

But when you woke up to a knock on the door and realized you were still in the festive bedroom that Charlie had taken you to after the tour he gave you, it was clear that this wasn’t a dream. Weird? Yes. Dream? No.

Groggily, you stumbled out of bed and went to the door. You had no idea what time it was, but you were mentally cursing this mystery person for waking you up.

“Hi.” Bernard was standing in front of you, looking a tad bit impatient.

“Hi…?” You replied, wondering what he was doing at your door at… well, whatever time it was. “I didn’t order a wake-up call.” You tried to joke, rubbing some of the sleep out of your eyes.

Surprisingly, Bernard let out a little laugh. Well, it wasn’t much of a laugh. He just made a small sound as he exhaled through his nose, but you decided to count it.

“No, Santa did.” It was your turn to do a small laugh that didn’t seem much like a laugh. Already, this conversation seemed absolutely ridiculous. “He charged me with looking after you, showing you around, that kind of thing.”

“Looking after me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “No offense, but I’m a big boy; I think I can manage.”

To be perfectly honest, you were planning to spend however long your stay was locked in your room. Wandering around a place filled with holiday spirit and festive decor didn’t feel very appealing to you.

“I bet you can, but I’m afraid he insisted. Charlie, too.”

You sighed. You didn’t really know what your friend was up to, but you knew you would have a few words with him when you got back to school.

Bernard seemed like he wasn’t going to budge on the matter, so you nodded.

“Fine. Lemme just…” You looked down at your clothes, deeming your loose pajamas a bit unfitting for the below-freezing temperatures of the North Pole. “I gotta change first.”

Without waiting for a response, you shut the door on Bernard. You made quick work of changing your clothes, making sure to layer up as much as you could without restricting your mobility. When you slipped your shoes on and opened the door again, Bernard perked up and smiled.

“So, what do you wanna do?” He asked you as you walked down a long hallway.

“I dunno; what is there to do around here?”

***

Turns out, there was a lot to do at the North Pole. You almost felt bad for the elves because they had to work until Christmas, but they somehow didn’t seem to mind.

You and Bernard started by walking around the town square, where he pointed out every shop and activity, hoping that something would pique your interest. The two of you went through various stores that sold candies, snowglobes, and loads of other Christmas-themed objects. Eventually, you got tired of walking around and were getting a bit chilly, so Bernard took you to what he deemed to be the best hot chocolate shop in all of the North Pole.

“Where are we going?” You asked, holding your giant mug close to your chest as Bernard took you out of the shop, heading out of Christmas town and close to a bundle of trees.

“I know a place.” He answered, sparing you a small glance and smile. “And being Head Elf, it gets to be my little secret.”

After a few minutes of trudging through snow, you found yourself at a small clearing. It was absolutely beautiful. Although you hated the chill of the heavy snow, it made the place look enchanting. Near you, at the edge of the trees, was a bench with an awning, so it was the only thing not covered in white. You could see a good-sized patch of ice on the other side of the clearing. It was probably a pond or small lake that never melted because of the constant below-freezing temperatures.

“I can see why you’d keep a place like this to yourself.” You say to Bernard as the two of you settle on the bench. You stirred your cocoa with the candy cane that came with your drink, sighing in contentment after taking a sip.

“Yeah, I rarely ever come though.”

“Why?” You asked, glancing at him only to find that he was already looking at you.

“Too busy.” He shrugged. “Sure, December’s always the busiest, but it’s not like the workshop just stops working for the rest of the year.”

You nodded, and you fell into a bit of silence. Just drinking hot cocoa and watching snow fall.

When your mugs were empty and the sky started getting a bit darker, you decided it was time to head back into town.

“Thanks for showing me this place; it’s really nice.” You say as you try to step in the footprints you made on the way in. Something annoying about the winter snow was the way it clung to your shoes, and you’d have to kick against the doorframe to get it all off. “I promise not to tell anyone about your little secret.”

“I think it’s safe to say that it’s our little secret now,” Bernard said, patting your shoulder.

***

The next few days were better than you thought they’d be. You spent a lot of time with Bernard and Charlie, either in the workshop, having hot cocoa and cookies, or going to the clearing in the woods. Somehow, despite being surrounded by elves and Christmas decorations and such, you sort of forgot that Christmas was just around the corner.

Until you woke up on Christmas Eve.

Charlie was the one to wake you up, because Bernard had to do a final checklist on everything before Scott (you refused to call him Santa) took off for the night. You wished his holiday spirit could rub off on you a bit, because you were worried about bringing the mood down with your constant thoughts of loss. But with the elves’ franticness and Charlie’s sunny disposition, it seemed no one really noticed.

Before Scott had to go to the sleigh, you and Charlie said goodbye to him and wished him luck. Then, when Charlie asked you what you wanted to do, you told him you wanted to go for a walk alone. Knowing your feelings regarding the holidays, he nodded and said he’d see you later. Although he brought you to the North Pole to try to help you regain some of the Christmas spirit you had once lost, the last thing he wanted to do was force you into reliving memories that now felt tainted.

You found yourself at the clearing. Your and Bernard’s little secret. You bundled yourself up in a blanket you had grabbed from your room, watching the snowfall.

You were glad that Bernard showed you this place, grateful even. It was the one place here that didn’t make you feel too miserable. The memories attached to this place were filled with Bernard, hot chocolate, and laughs.

“Thought I’d find you here.” You were startled out of your thoughts by Bernard, who walked over to you holding two large steaming cups with candy canes. It had become your usual drink for the last couple of days.

“I thought you were looking after the workshop.” You said, giving a quick nod of thanks as Bernard handed you your drink and settled beside you. “You know, having to get everything ready for… him and stuff.”

“He just left.” You noticed that Bernard had started trying to refrain from saying ‘Santa’ around you. Maybe because he knew how ridiculous the whole thing felt to you. Or perhaps he knew about your view on the holiday itself. Either way, you were a bit grateful for it. “Thought I’d try to find you.”

“Well, here I am.” You clinked your mug against Bernard’s, and the two of you drank. The hot liquid warmed you from the inside, and you closed your eyes, leaning your head back.

There was a beat of silence before Bernard decided to speak.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” It was quiet, but the last word made your eyes shoot open. You looked at him for a moment.

“Did Charlie tell you?” It was the only reason you could think of. Either him or Scott. Despite all the time you’ve spent with Bernard recently, you had never brought up your mother.

“Kind of.” Bernard tapped the side of his cup, leaning back in his seat and looking at you. “Being Head Elf and all, I check the naughty and nice list before it gets to the big guy. And… I saw what you wanted for Christmas.” You nodded in understanding.

“I’m a bit surprised I was on the list at all.” You said. “I don’t think I’ve really believed in Christmas or magic or anything since she died. No offense.”

“Everyone’s on the list, no matter what.” Bernard gave you a tightlipped smile. “And none taken. I’ll admit I was a bit... hesitant about you being here at first. I wasn’t sure what a non-believer in the North Pole would do to the magic.” You nodded, now understanding why he acted the way he did when he first met you at the sleigh. “I got you something.”

“What?” You looked at him in surprise.

“I don’t really know where you stand on the holiday right now, but I figured you should at least still have a present.”

Bernard dug into his pocket and held his hand out, covering the small object with his hand. When you grabbed it, he lifted his hand to reveal a snow globe. The inside was a tiny replica of the clearing you were sitting in now.

“It’s enchanted.” He said, looking at you looking at the globe. “If you shake it, it’ll show you a memory of your mom that you want to see.”

You looked at him suspiciously, but he looked serious. You figured you might as well give it a try. After all, you’ve seen flying reindeer and creatures that were a few hundred years old. You were starting to become a bit more open-minded.

Giving the snow globe a quick shake, you watched as the little white flecks swirled around. When they dispersed, you saw that Bernard had been telling the truth. You remembered this moment; it was one of your favorite memories with your mom. She was making frosting for Christmas cookies, and a younger you sat on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs. You talked about anything you could, and she did nothing but listen. Like she always did. The only times she tried to shut you up was so you could taste the frosting she made.

When the little snowflakes swirled back around and fell to the bottom, the memory had disappeared. You looked up at Bernard, only realizing a few tears cascaded down your cheeks when he lifted his hand to wipe them away.

“I know it’s not exactly what you had wanted, but I hope you like it.”

“I love it.” You insisted, setting your mug and globe next to you on the bench so you could wrap your arms around Bernard. He put down his mug and patted your back comfortingly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” When you separated, you smiled at each other, and you opened your tightly wrapped blanket to put part of it around his shoulders. The two of you huddled together for some more warmth. “So, do you think you’ll come back to the North Pole next year?”

You glanced at the snow globe before leaning your head on Bernard’s shoulder. In turn, he rested his head on yours.

“I’d like that.”

***

Bernard the Elf Taglist: @katerinaval

#agaypanic #bernard the elf x reader #bernard the elf x male!reader #bernard the elf #the santa clause x reader #the santa clause

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buckyswinterbaby · 3 years

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Leave A Light On — AU Series Chapter 1

Song: Leave a Light On by Tom Walker/ Home by Matt Gresham

Word Count: 1,923

Summary: The Avengers are left shattered after the loss of Clint and Tony while fighting to save the world from Thanos. After going their separate ways to grieve, Steve and Natasha find their way back to each other, in need of a friend and a place to call home.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, death mention, grief, eventual friends to lovers, eventual OC inclusion (not sure if that needs a warning but I don’t really wanna get complaints 😂).

Please like and reblog (I love that shit)! Click here to fill out the form to be added to my tag list!

Divider is made by me. Please ask permission before using it.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

Note: This is the first part in my series called “Leave a Light On” (originally posted on Instagram) that initially focuses primarily on Steve and Natasha but eventually branches out to a few other main characters like Bucky Barnes as well as OC characters as new program recruits. If that’s not your cup of tea, that’s perfectly fine, I just thought I’d share and see if anyone likes it. Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

The wet roads reflected the bright headlights of Steve’s car as he sped down the highway late at night on his way to Natasha’s. Months had passed since their mission to gather the infinity stones and their last stand against Thanos and his army. Months since Clint gave his life in exchange for the soul stone and Tony sacrificed himself to end the battle. After Tony’s funeral, Steve had returned the stones to their rightful places and went back to get his dance with Peggy; but, he decided that his place was still with his family in the present.

He still wondered how life went for her and her husband, but he could rest easy knowing they got their closure and she had a happy life. Despite the urges he had to stay and beget his chance at a life with her, he knew he had people who needed him. Bucky, who he had fought so hard to get back and was still coping with what Hydrahad done. Sam, who had been thrown into this world of superheroes and villains. Wanda, as she came to terms with losing Vision. Thor, who was clearly still struggling with all he had lost. Morgan and Pepper, as they adjusted to a life without Tony. Natasha, as she grieved the loss of her best friend and attempted to help Laura rebuild her life without Clint. He knew that his work was far from over.

Steve pulled into one of the open parking spots outside Natasha’s apartment building and quickly pulled his hood up over his head before he stepped out into the downpour of rain. A chill ran through him as the cool water and late night air worked its way into his bones.

It had been a couple of weeks since he last visited the assassin's apartment, a desperate attempt to give her some of the space she demanded so she wouldn’t push him further away. Natasha had gone into a reclusive state after Clint died during their mission. Some believed it was simply survivor’s guilt; but Steve knew that feeling all too well. The nightmares of a dear friend plummeting to their death hit too close to home.

He let his eyes close for a moment as the look on Natasha’s face after the realization set in flashed before his eyes. The tears that ran down her cheeks in that moment as she announced to the team the price that had just been paid stung as coldly as the rain that soaked his sweatshirt did now. Eyes that pleaded for this to be just another bad dream in a string of nightmares.

"In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul, for a soul."

The soldier urged himself forward and into the dimly lit hallway of Natasha’s building, he scanned the doors that still had numbers nailed to them to find the one that housed his friend for the past few months. The apartments all looked run down, even a bit ominous in the dark. It all nearly reminded him of the shady alleyways he always managed to get into fights in. Eventually, Steve found his way to Natasha’s apartment and he let out a deep breath before lowering his hood and knocking firmly on her door. After a few moments had passed with no response, he knocked a bit harder, concern etched itself onto his already serious features.

Had he left her to grieve alone for too long? Not long enough? This was uncharted territory for him and he truly wished he could ask Barton for advice in this moment; but that was the problem. He was dead and Natasha felt alone in the world again.

A breath he didn’t realize he was holding in was finally released as he heard the deadbolt to her door click open. Knowing she was most definitely armed, he relaxed his expression and body to show the woman that he was here as a friend. The moment he laid his eyes on her he saw how deeply she had been feeling the loss. Her hair was styled into the braid she had become accustomed to in recent years but it was clear it was braided days ago. Tired eyes recognized him as no threat and she lowered her weapon with a heavy sigh.

“What are you doing here, Steve?” she questioned, her jaw was set firmly to attempt her trademark ‘emotionless’ expression.

Steve saw right through her cover and offered her a small smile, “I didn’t want you to be alone. It’s time to come home, Nat.” The tone of his voice was full of emotion despite his intention of remaining calm. The fact was, he was worried for her. Grieving was hard enough with support but she felt it was her demon to fight alone.

“The compound was destroyed in the explosion, I’m fine right where I am,” she looked away as she blinked back tears, waiting a moment before facing him again.

He shook his head incredulously, “Really, Nat? Because you certainly don’t look fine and you haven’t been answering my calls for days. We had a deal, you know. I would give you the space you wanted if you promised to keep in contact so I knew you were okay.” His voice trailed off at the end, clearing his throat before he spoke again, “you scared the shit out of me. Pack your bags, you’re coming with me. It isn’t up for debate anymore.”

“The hell I am,” Natasha scoffed, moving to close the door on him but his hand moved out to stop it. In one fluid movement, Steve slipped through her doorway and into her nearly bare apartment. Apart from a few pieces of essential furniture the only decode was the weapons that had been strewn across the room. Had roles been reversed, she likely would’ve made a comment about how pathetic the place looked. Instead, Natasha sent a harsh glare to the back of his head, “please, just leave, Steve. I’m sorry that I worried you but you need to respect that this is what I want.”

“Is this what Barton would’ve wanted for you?”

“Don’t,” she snapped, “don’t you dare use him against me, Rogers.”

Steve turned to face her again as he stood in the center of her living room, if it could even be considered that. “He was your best friend. That’s exactly how I know he’d kick your ass if he saw what you were doing to yourself. He’d probably kick mine, too, for letting you get away with it for this long, despite my better judgment.” He waited a few moments before speaking again, gathering his thoughts as everything that had occurred in the past years swirled in his mind like a whirlwind of emotions. “Since we met, you’ve had my back. You went out of your way to help me when I lost Peggy and you put yourself at risk to protect Bucky and I, even when we weren’t on the same side. You were always there. Please, Natasha, let me be there for you now because I’m not going to give you an alternative option this time. So you can punch me and scream, if you really want to. You can try to push me away again but I will still be here, for as long as it takes.”

Nat’s resolve started to crumble as she continued to hold back the wave of tears that threatened to spill. She spoke again, this time in a near whisper that pleaded for Steve to listen before her emotions took over, “please…”.

“No,” he stated again, his features softening as he saw his words were getting through to her, “I’m not going out that door until you’re walking out with me and a duffle bag.”

“Can I be in the duffle bag?” she attempted to joke with a sad smile, the tears finally spilling down her flushed cheeks. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

Steve cleared his throat and stepped closer before he pulled her into a hug. “He is, yes. But you’re still very much alive and what you’re doing here, it isn’t healthy. You should be with family.” He held her as she finally broke down for the first time in weeks and allowed her grief to flood out. Steve only held her tighter and tucked her head under his chin as she gripped the drenched fabric of his sweatshirt, his eyes clenched shut as they stood together in her apartment. They stayed like that until she stopped shaking and cried all she had to give. He pulled back enough to tuck a loose strand of hair that escaped her braid back behind her ear and looked her in the eyes repeating what he had said when he first arrived, “It’s time to come home, Nat.”

A moment later, Natasha nodded in agreement and the two pulled apart to start gathering the few belongings she cared to take with her. They packed everything she decided to take into a small bag that Steve slung over his shoulder and motioned for her to head for the front door. They made their way out into the parking lot of her complex, sure steps splashed lightly in the puddles left from the rain that had long since concluded. Steve placed her bag in the backseat before entering the driver’s side and starting the engine once she was buckled in.

He wasted no time before pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road that would take them to the site of their new compound he had been working on since Tony’s funeral and the stones were back in their rightful place. He hadn’t told Natasha of his plans during all that time, not wanting to place any more stress on his friend’s shoulders than what she already had. The pair drove in near silence the whole way, only breaking it to ask the occasional question about what had been going on in the other’s life.

When Steve pulled into the long driveway of the compound, Natasha was visibly confused as her eyebrows furrowed together. “Where are you taking me, Rogers? I know I’ve been a pain in your ass, but taking me out to the middle of nowhere to kill me is a bit much.”

The soldier rolled his eyes and looked over at her as they pulled up to a large complex, still partly under construction, with only the internal lights shining through the windows to separate the building from the night sky behind it. “I already told you, I’m taking you home. It’s still a work in progress, but it’s a start,” he explained, a light smile on his lips. He watched as Natasha admired the structure and how he had taken pieces of architecture from the original compound and included it in the new design. “We can’t begin to replace those we’ve lost, no one can replace Tony and Clint. But, we can work to build a new team that will step up after we’re no longer able to do this job, the next generation of Avengers. I understand if you don’t feel like you’re in the place to be involved with the program but the doors will always be open to you regardless. Welcome to the Avengers Initiative Program.”

She tore her eyes away from the compound to look over at him, only illuminated by the lights on the dash. “It’s perfect, Steve. It’s home.”

#romanogers #steve rogers #captain america #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel #steve x natasha #Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff #endgame #marvel endgame #marvel AU #leave a light on #leave a light on series #LALO #LALO series

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the-cookie-of-doom · 4 years

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Were somewhere in the vicinity of LHAW which I never manage to do in time dammit, but here's an idea

Fresh after the Fire, Laura and Derek are in New York, shell shocked and afraid for their lives, just trying to stay alive and safe.

While trying to keep everything together, Laura meets Mitch. He seems sweet enough, but Laura can't trust him, not now. Mitch doesn't press for anything. He makes whatever assumptions he does, and doesn't do anything more than sometimes text Laura or ask her out for coffee/study dates. He wants to be her friend, and isn't that something?

Little by little, she lets him in. Lowers her walls Just enough to see over. She wants to trust him. She's so tired of being alone, having to be the strong one, the Alpha, taking care of everything. She wants someone to lean on.

A few months in they start dating. Mitch is still sweet as ever, never pushes for anything Laura doesn't want to give, and handles her mood swings amazingly well. Eventually she tells him a sanitized version of the truth, to explain why she is the way he is. Mitch tells her about his own father, who died when he was a teenager, and then his first girlfriend was murdered almost 2 years ago. It's not the same thing as losing everyone, but he kinda of gets it.

Despite all of her instincts and fear telling her not to, she begins to trust Mitch. She can't find any reasons not to: he seems like a genuinely kind and caring person, and she needs that.

The first time they sleep together, Laura doesn't notice anything is off. Everything is actually really good, distractingly so. But later, when he gets out of bed ringer dressed again, Laura notices the tattoo on his shoulder: he's a hunter.

Flashes of Kate and fire and death run through her mind, and all she can think is, how could she be so naïve? This is exactly how Kate got to Derek.

Laura attacks him, and sure enough, he fights like a hunter, too. Knows exactly how to use her weaknesses to overcome her before she kills him, and oh, is she going to tear his throat out with her teeth.

It's not an easy struggle. There's shouting and crashing furniture and blood and Mitch is lucky Derek isn't home or he would be dead. As it is, he keeps trying to make Laura listen to him; insisting that he's not like other hunters, as if she can believe that. "Have I done anything since we met to make you think I'd ever want to hurt you?"

Mitch has never had very good self-preservation instincts. When he sees he's not getting through to Laura, he lets her go and dares her kill him. If that's what she thinks he deserves, then fine, to for it, he's at her mercy.

She wants to. All the pent up rage and grief and injustice makes her inhuman, bloodlust singing through her veins. But she knows Mitch had nothing to do with her family, even if he is a hunter. And she's not like them. She won't do anything to anyone who hasn't hurt her first.

Laura demands he gets out of the apartment. She doesn't want to see him ever again. Mitch doesn't try to fight this time. Got his shoes and phone and left without another word, before she can change her mind, and Laura finally cries. The betrayal and the heart break and the fear finally breaks her. What if she hadn't caught him tonight? She per the last of her family at risk by letting a hunter into their home, and she may not have realized until it was too late. It's worse when she realizes she's still wearing Mitch's shirt, and his scent is comforting even now.

She understands how Derek must have felt in a way she never had before. When Kate came slithering into his life in the aftermath of Paige's death. When she pretended to love him just so she could destroy everything.

Derek comes home to find her a wreck, her room in shambles, smelling like pain and anger and so much grief that it chokes him. He's horrified when Laura tells him, because he knows. He knows.

Mitch waits a few days for everything to cool off before contacting Laura again. He doesn't try to see her, or even call, but he does send her a text. Tries to explain that he had never, would never, want to hurt her. The message goes to read and doesn't get a response.

It's weeks before Laura decides to see Mitch again. It's a risk—she can hardly trust him atbfsce value, but she misses him. Misses the way things had been. Even now she still sleeps with her face buried in his shirt; even though his scent has faded. It's the one small comfort she has.

And she knows it's stupid but she meets him at their usual coffee shop. Derek tells he not to do it, he doesn't want his sister hurt the way he was, but she needs answers. And the only way she can be sure Mitch isn't lying to her, is if she can hear his heart.

The first thing she asks is how Mitch's girlfriend really died, already suspecting she knows the answer. Sure enough, it was a werewolf. A rogue omega that killed her.

She asks if Mitch knew what she was from the beginning—he didn't. Hale isn't and uncommon name, and they've always been more prevalent on the West Coast, anyway. It didn't click until she told him about her family, and he remembered hearing rumors through the grape vine about an entire pack being eradicated in California. He did some research and found the news paper reports.

Why didn't he tell her? He was trying to avoid this. Looking for the right time to tell her when the grief wouldn't be so fresh. He knew she wouldn't trust him if she knew, and damn did he get that one right. The dig hurts, but he knows he deserves it.

After the very long interrogation, Laura's nerves are raw. She needs time to think everything over.

When she goes back home Derek is waiting for her, obviously stressed, knowing she had to have been with Mitch. He's relieved when she comes home okay, until he sees that she looks like hell.

Another few days go by and the whole time, she really just misses Mitch. Seeing him again calmed something inside her, even despite the circumstances. (And deep down, she knows he could be her mate. Has known for a while, she just couldn't find the right time to tell him, afraid of scaring him off, and the irony isn't lost on her.)

Finally she can't take it anymore. After tossing and turning all night, unable to sleep, she does over his apartment in the middle of the night. When he opens the door with a displeased scowl that quickly turns to confusion upon seeing her, she falls into his arms and tells him that if he ever lies to her again she'll kill him, and that's that.

#cookie speaks #cookie writes #mitch rapp #Laura Hale #lhaw20 #I need to go back and look at the prompts #I looove mitch/Laura #I don't talk about them often but I adore them #and often times I write them as a side pairing to Sterek

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johnny-simpson · 4 years

Text

Anyone Else but Me (Johnny Simpson x reader fic)

Johnny Simpson was ethereal, an angel on earth. He had a habit of just sitting and letting all the gals flock to him, and that was even before the Donny Nova Band, before he shipped off the fight for Uncle Sam and the red, white, and blue. Before his jeep flipped three times over. Before he could barely remember his name. Before you could even remember what it was like to have your heart broken. Before your world came out from under you.

You had known Johnny Simpson since middle school, you were paired up in english class by Ms. Francis to discuss the living situation of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her family, and like that, you two had become inseparable. You knew everything there was to know about him, and he knew all the bits and pieces that made up you. The whole school, including the faculty, and even both sets of parents thought you two would get hitched. And, they were right, mostly.

A little while, in the odd space between the end of high school and the start of college, Johnny had worked up the nerve to finally make a pass at you. Which you reciprocated. You started dating soon after, the happiest year of your life. It was filled with moving into an apartment, going to swing clubs, dancing in your kitchen to Glenn Miller records, where now you can’t bear to live, put on the record, or listen to “Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree.” You can’t bear to listen to any of those, knowing you can’t have your lover

When you got a telegram saying that Johnny had a semblance of recollection of his crash but nothing else, you thought your heart was going into cardiac arrest. You knew the basics and that was enough for you to cry whenever you think of it. The thought of Johnny being scared as his jeep is flipping uncontrollably makes you want to scream. After you got the telegram, you had decided to get out of his life, not making contact with him. All you knew was that when he got home, he didn’t know his own family, his home, or his, well you and his’ apartment.When you got word that he was coming home, you quickly packed your belongings, adamant that he didn’t need you in his life.

You now live by yourself in a small house in the same area as your old apartment. The amount of times you’ve debated going to the apartment, using your key to get in, and telling Johnny the whole story. Oh, how swell would it be to be held by Johnny once again or dancing to records in the living room, to be able to fall asleep with his arms around you, to be able to laugh about nothing.

Instead, you live in a one bedroom house, alone. You no longer fall asleep to someone else’s breathing, but to the wind blowing outside the window. You now do mundane chores around the house in silence, fearing the music on the radio could render you inconsolable.

Ever since you heard through the grapevine that Johnny was a drummer in a swing band, you tried to make it to every gig. Asking around if you didn't know where they were playing, desperately most of the time, hoping to see glimpses of your old lover. That’s how you became acquainted with Jo and Oliver, owners of two separate clubs. They knew of your past love with Johnny and of your heartbreak, showing their sympathy

You never really did anything at the clubs. Never really dancing with anyone, mostly just sitting at a table sipping daiquiris. Sometimes accepting the drinks of men passing by looking for a shot with you. It never went any farther than small talk. You wouldn't let it. No one could ever replace Johnny.

“Thank you,” Donny said one night after finishing “You Deserve It,” a winning song, “We are the Donny Nova Band.”

The band got off stage, packing up their instruments, and as the club started to file out through the doors, you looked down at your drink, your hand gently rocking your glass to swirl the contents. You were so consumed in your drink you didn't hear someone walk up to you.

“I have seen you at every gig but never dancing or sitting with anyone, why's that,” a voice asked that made you jump, almost spilling your almost-empty drink. You looked up to see the saxophone player, Jimmy, you think his name is, staring at you, waiting for a response

You shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant. “Must be a coincidence, I guess.”

He let out a small but sort of genuine chuckle. “That’s what I thought the first three times, but you are always at every gig of ours without fail. Now, that leads into the other question which you've not answered. Why aren't you with a group or someone else. “ he asked, sitting down in the chair across from yours.

You looked away from his intense stare and found your gaze fixated on Johnny. Johnny looked like he was having a casual conversation with Donny and twirling his drumstick. Jimmy caught your gaze and let out a sigh.

“If you come to every gig just to catch the attention of Donny, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're barking up the wrong tree. He has his eyes on someone else, I'm afraid,’ he said somewhat softly.

You couldn't help but let out a laugh. “No, no, no. I'm not worried about that. It’s Johnny i come to see every gig,” you said,

“Ah, so you're a fan of Johnny’s,” he said with a sly smile. “I'm more than that,” you trailed off and before you knew it you were sharing your history with Johnny to his bandmate. “He doesn't remember me, but I know that if I come to every gig, I get to be with him, even if for only a bit.”

Jimmy gave you a look of apology mixed with understanding. “I'm not trying to sugarcoat or bullshit my way through trying to comfort you or say that it must be hard. Because, I know it is. I know what it’s like to lose your love. But you have another chance to win Johnny back, it's not all lost.”

And for the second time that night, a voice next to you spoke, but it was different, because this time you knew the voice. You stilled, your body frozen in a shock of some sort. It had been almost two years since he had even been physically next to you. Your heart was racing, you were sure you could feel your hands shaking and becoming clammy. Is this actually happening?

“Did you say my name, Jim,’ asked the former love of your life. His hat was perfectly on his head and once again, he's fiddling with his drumstick. Jimmy nodded and gestured to you.

“My friend,” he paused realizing, he never asked for your name, and you realized that as well so you spoke up.

“(y/n). (y/n) (l/n),” you said, a small part of you hoping that the reiteration of your name will jolt his mind back to remembering you. It didn't, to your utmost disappointment, but you didn’t let it show. It was a silly thing to wish for, honestly.

“Yes, my friend, (Y/n), over here was admiring your drumming ability,” Jimmy said. Johnny’s face lit up at the compliment and turned to look at you. You shifted your body to face him as well, and once you made eye contact, you felt at peace, butterflies, and grief all at once. It was the most overwhelmed you have felt, save for when you had gotten word the latter had his jeep flipped three times.

“Well, thank you,” his eyes shone with excitement and his cheeks were a slight pink, whether it was from the adrenaline of playing live or from your compliment was anyone’s guess. He held out his hand, which you took, and he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it softly. In spite of yourself, you smiled and blushed profusely. Your fingers were buzzing after the contact and couldn't bring yourself to bring your hand back. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss (Y/n,)” he said gently, “Thank you for coming.”

You nodded at his proclaimed gratitude. looked him in the eyes, and the overwhelming feeling of love and loss was back for the second time that night. You never wanted to leave the feeling if it meant you could stare at him forever. You could feel yourself falling in love all over again and before you could make any mistakes or profess your love, Jimmy cleared his throat, snapping you out of the trance.

“I’m heading out, (y/n), want me to take you home,” he asked, knowing well enough that he had to get you out of the club immediately before you broke down with grief of what used to be. You nodded and pulled your hand out of Johnny’s calloused hand, immediately missing the comfort and warmth of your lost lover’s hand.

“It was nice meeting you, Johnny,” you brought yourself to speak, struggling to get the words out. He tipped his hat and mentioned that he couldn’t wait to see you again with a wide grin that was brighter than the lights on a movie set.

Jimmy took your arm in his own, linking them in a hurry. “Alright, I will see you all on Tuesday,” he spoke loudly, talking to the band and Julia. You gave them all a slight wave and with that, you and Jimmy headed out of the building, leaving Johnny behind with the other members.

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

and thats a wrap for chapter one!!!

#bandstand fanfiction #bandstand #broadway fanfiction #broadway fic #fic #Broadway #johnny simpson #johnny simpson x reader #bandstand fic

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sourwolfstories · 5 years

Note

Hi! I know you're probably slammed with requests but i was wondering if you could rec some long fics without smut or skipable unimportant smut scenes? I'm sex repulsed and it's surprising difficult to find fics that don't make me uncomfortable

Okay so these are all at least 20 or 30 thousand words long each and are all either rated general audience or teen and up and I made sure to go through all of them so they shouldn’t have any smut or sex but if I did miss anything please let me know. Hope you enjoy!

Ghosts In The Suburbs by KaytiKazoo

Stiles gets cursed by a witch and can see dead people.

Here’s to the Static by matildajones

Stiles spends most of his college break in a coffee house where he stares after Derek Hale. For some reason, Stiles is unaware of the fact he’s quite the musician, and Derek amuses himself at Stiles’ obliviousness.

Cupboard Love by mklutz

He’s carefully balancing the sandwiches and the two biggest tupperware containers he could find that both had functioning lids when the front door opens and he almost drops everything right there in front of the stupid fountain.

If that’s Derek Hale, he’s definitely not a mountain man.

Strangers Like Me by Alphaboner

“Stay back! Don’t come..don’t come any closer! Please don’t! Wh..what are you doing?” he let out a little laugh when Derek started to play with his toes “Ah-haha, no, please, don’t, that tickles!” Derek’s hand traveled from Stiles’ toes to his leg “No, get off, get off!” …to his belt “GET OFF!” he kicked Derek in the face, leaving him confused and aching, looking at Stiles with a scowl.

Get Back Up by Hepzheba

After taking the blame for his so-called friend Jackson and his stupid pot, Stiles is forced to work for the Hales at their horse ranch the summer before his last year in high school. At first he absolutely hates it but he comes to realize that there is actually is something fun about this ranch thing and that horses are more likable and complicated than he’d previously thought. He also comes to realize that it’s not only the horses that are interesting; there’s also Derek Hale.

Scowl and Sarcasm by dr_girlfriend

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single alpha in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a mate.

Whether or not Derek Hale felt that way was hardly a concern to the neighborhood — the very fact of his arrival was enough that the surrounding families seemed to consider him the rightful property of one or another of their eligible sons and daughters. That was, of course, before they met the man.

Only You, Sterek by im2old4thisotp

Derek gets the name of his soulmate off a Ouija board when he is ten. He’s obsessed with finding them, but then his life irrevocably changes. He erases the name from his life and determines to live free of those stupid words, “fate” and “destiny”.

But on the eve of his wedding, he gets a phone call that will change the course of his life forever, and show him that maybe destiny does have a hold on him, after all.

Or, the Sterek rewrite of the movie “Only You” that you never knew you wanted.

sorry about the elbows, sorry we lived here. by dreamer_of_dreams

“You’re doing it again, Derek. You’re running away. I know, alright? I’ve always known… You looked at him the way I wished you’d look at me. You came close some days, when you’re folding my tank tops and we’re talking about small, insignificant things. And I thought that was enough for a while. But it was plain to see, you were sitting around, waiting for him to call you home. He never did and you just carried on.”

“I wasn’t really waiting for him to call. I knew he wouldn’t. I don’t know how you got that impression.”

“Hmmm…Maybe because when we both thought you were dying, I leant over and kissed you… and you whispered his name.”

Just the Same by ericaismeg

Something is seriously up with the captain of the lacrosse team. There’s just no way Derek Hale is human.***“I was wondering if you’re even human. You move so quickly. I mean, it’s ridiculously fast. No human should be able to move that fast, y'know? It’s unfair for us. I mean, it’s obvious you work out, and I don’t, so that could be why, but like…I was just wondering if you were human, that’s all.”

“Stop talking, Stilinski, or I'll—”

“Put me on the bench all season?” Stiles asks knowing full well that Derek Hale can’t threaten him with shit.

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before by Halevetica

What if all the crushes you ever had found out how you felt about them… all at once?

Stiles Stilinski keeps his love letters in a box his mother gave him. They aren’t love letters that anyone else wrote for him; these are ones he’s written. One for every boy he’s ever loved-five in all. When he writes, he pours out his heart and soul and says all the things he would never say in real life, because his letters are for his eyes only. Until the day his secret letters are mailed, and suddenly, Stiles’ love life goes from imaginary to out of control.

If I Followed You Home by tryslora

Stiles is living on his own in New York when he sees the unthinkable: one woman pushes another onto the tracks just before a subway comes. With Scott not moving in for several days, he is on his own with his grief and horror, and he decides to find closure by attending the dead woman’s funeral where he discovers that (1) the guy he’s been crushing on is the dead woman’s brother, and (2) her family somewhat adopts him, and (3) the woman who killed her might just want to kill him now. Life just got complicated.

Notes:

Wolf Pack: Beacon Original by Beerwolves, fearfrost1211

When his father landed the Deputy Chief of police position in Beacon Hills, Stiles moved to his new town gladly, embracing the chance of a fresh start. What he didn’t expect was to find himself hopelessly drawn to the gruff Vice President of the local motorcycle gang, the Wolf Pack.Derek Hale, resident bad boy of Beacon Hills, spent his time helping his sister lead the Wolf Pack and working on motorcycles at his family’s automotive garage. Then, one hot summer afternoon a bright-eyed boy walked into his life and turned his world upside down.

There’s No Escape for the Potato Man by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Who is this? Where’s Erica?”

“Wrong number, asshole!”

“Stop calling me an asshole,” the man on the other end snapped aggressively.

Stiles could understand. He’d be pretty aggressive too if he’d murdered someone and texted a wrong number to ask for help burying the body. This guy obviously failed How To Be a Serial Killer 101.

“What kind of idiot thinks I murdered someone?”

“The kind of idiot who got your text messages, you fucking dumbass!” he retorted hotly. “Maybe double check your contacts before sending a random stranger details on your nefarious plans to dispose of a freshly cut up body!”

“What?!” the guy on the other end demanded, crossed between horrendously confused and livid.

home isn’t a place by Spikedluv

Ithaca, New York is known as a sanctuary within the supernatural community, and Cornell University is where creatures such as Kitsune and Selkies can safely attend college. Though Stiles doesn’t think he’s anything special (despite having a ‘spark’, whatever that is), he attends on Satomi’s recommendation; he wants to learn everything he can about the supernatural world so he can return to Beacon Hills and help Scott.

The last person Stiles expects to run into at Cornell is Derek Hale. Derek is gruff and grumpy, but despite that Stiles is drawn to him. When someone begins murdering supernatural students Laura Hale takes Stiles under her wing. Between attending class, hanging out with Kira, adopting a dog, and keeping score for the baseball team, Stiles investigates the deaths to figure out who’s killing his fellow students before he ends up a victim himself.

Through it all, Stiles learns the real meaning of ‘home’.

SuperWing, Stucky and SlaDick, Oh My! by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Well,” Nightwing said with an awkward laugh, “this is embarrassing. You are definitely not the Superman I was expecting.”

“You mean I almost missed out on having Nightwing leap into my waiting arms?” Derek asked teasingly. He couldn’t help it, the guy was adorable, and while he wasn’t exactly light, he already knew it was all muscle. This guy definitely worked out.

Nightwing let out a loud, boisterous laugh that had people around them turn to look, but he just grinned down at Derek before speaking.

“In that case, didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He waggled his eyebrows and Derek let out a small huff of a laugh. “I should probably, uh—get down.”

“Probably.”

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist.

Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope.

He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles.

“I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

An Unexpected Familiar by BabyWeWillRise

Homework over break sucks, right? Harris is at it again with making Stiles’ life horrible by giving him an essay over Christmas break and Stiles could not be anymore displeased.

Except…this stupid assignment leads him to something he didn’t think he was missing.

Or…

After his mother died when he was eight, Stiles (and his father) ran away from reality without looking back.

Now, ten years later, when the eighteen year old runs into a familiar face, he’s thrown back into a life he had completely forgotten about and is welcomed with open and loving arms.

To say he’s freaking out would be an understatement.

#answered #anonymous #sterek #sterek fic rec #sterek fanfic #sterek fanfiction #fic rec list

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bagels-and-seagulls · 5 years

Note

In response to the pirate au, I raise a Princess Bride (or something close) au with Matteo as the prince dreading marriage and David as the dread pirate and lost love come to rescue him. Maybe Matteo runs off with him on his ship instead of David giving up the pirate business?

ok ok ok i have a lot of thoughts but am only going to put this scene right now up while i get those thoughts all together and contemplate a fic

“If I untie you, will you hit me again?” The pirate asks, and Matteo looks over the bruise that was starting to darken along his jawline.

He spits at his feet when he gets close. “Let’s find out,” he says, already balling his hands into fists. His wrists flex against the rope and make it dig unpleasantly into his skin, but Matteo hardly feels it with the adrenaline that’s spiking up his spine, keeping him upright and ready to fight after such a long and tiresome day.

The pirate sighs and goes to kneel in front of where Matteo is slouched on a log. He takes out his knife from the sheath on the side of his hip, and for a second, Matteo thinks that he might cut him with it, not bad. He’s not afraid that the pirate would decide just now to kill him, not after all the work he put into kidnapping him from his kidnappers, but maybe he just wanted to scare Matteo a bit, remind him he was the Dread Pirate Roberts after all, hailing from the northern seas and causing havoc everywhere the sea touches. He doesn’t, cut him that is. Instead, he cuts the rope right down the middle, freeing Matteo’s hands, but before he could snatch them away, strike at the pirate again, maybe make a run for it, the pirate grips his wrists, right at where the rope rubbed the skin raw, and holds them tight towards his chest.

“Don’t you see that I’m trying to help you, my lord?” The pirate asks through gritted teeth, like he was in pain, like the fact that Matteo was trying to run was hurting him.

“I don’t want help from you,” Matteo responds, hissing through his teeth and tries to free his wrists, only to the have the pirate grip onto them tighter, pull him closer until Matteo is leaning down close to his space.

The pirate looks at him then, really looks at him, and Matteo wished he could do the same. He was still wearing that black mask, concealing half of his face and his hair and ears, so Matteo could only really guess what was underneath, what the person that the was haunting the great oceans could possibly look like to cause all that terror. He could only guess what the face of his love’s killer could possibly look like, and he hated that he thought this man, this murderer, might be a little bit handsome under the fabric. It was in his eyes, Matteo thought. He had beautiful eyes. There was something eerily familiar about them.

His wrists were burning where the pirate gripped them.

“I saved you,” the pirate said.

“I didn’t need saving,” Matteo scowls back.

“They were going to kill you,” the pirate argues, and he sounds a little bit angry at that, like him picking the kidnappers off one by one wasn’t a bad enough fate for them.

“You should have let them,” Matteo responds, believing it to be true. “I won’t go back.”

“I wasn’t going to take you back.”

“Then where?” Matteo asks.

“My ship.”

“No,” Matteo says and yanks one of his hands free to push the pirate away from him, to make a break for it, but the pirate was too fast, got his balance back quick enough, and grabbed back onto his wrist to tug him back in line. “I won’t go with you!”

“You would rather I leave you here to die then?” And the pirate sounds furious still.

“Yes. I won’t go anywhere with you.”

And the pirate tilts his head at that, to the side, in a way that makes something deep in Matteo’s heart start to ache a little bit with something he hasn’t felt in a while. Grief, maybe. Or perhaps a love that hasn’t been forgotten as much as purposefully misplaced. This pirate reminded him of things he thought he had long ago buried.

“Why not? I’m rescuing you.”

“You’re a killer,” Matteo spits.

“Ah, and how can you prove that? I could be a very morally upright pirate, you know.”

“You took over a ship, two summers ago, a navy ship, and killed everyone aboard,” Matteo says with a lump in his throat, even though he’s told the story a thousand times it feels like, plays it over and over in his head, still trying to come to terms with it after all this time.

“And you knew someone on that ship?” The pirate prompts. “A friend?” He asks, and Matteo doesn’t answer, just leans back and thinks about kicking him in the sternum, getting his feet free and making a dash for it. “A lover, perhaps?” The pirate asks after a moment.

Matteo stills, doesn’t say a word, but the answer must be written on his face.

“I see,” the pirate says. “What if-” he stops, licks his lips and looks off to the side. “What if I told you that some on that ship were spared? That they became part of my crew and have remained there of their own free will?”

“I would say it was a trick,” Matteo says, knowing when to not get his hopes up.

“What if I told you that we’ve met before, you and I?” The pirate asks, and Matteo gets confused about what this pirate could be up to. Perhaps he wasn’t a pirate at all. Perhaps he was a witch or something worse.

“Another trick,” Matteo answers.

“I can prove it,” the pirate says. “I’ll take off my mask if you promise to stay long enough to see.”

“I make no such promise.”

“Ah, but I can tell you’re a bit curious, aren’t you?” The pirate asks, and Matteo looks at him, feeling found out. The pirate looks at him steadily for a moment, and then one by one, takes his fingers from around Matteo’s wrist and moves his hand slowly to push up his mask. It feels like they’re in a tub of molasses with how time seems to be moving thick around them. The pirate is staring right into Matteo’s eyes as Matteo watches the skin of his face slowly get exposed. His nose, his cheekbones, and-

“It can’t be,” Matteo whispers in something that a mix between shock and horror. “It can’t. This is a trick!” He yells, and goes to strike the pirate wearing his dead lover’s face, but the pirate must learn quickly. He grabs his hand.

“No, it’s not a trick,” the pirate says, and it sounds like he’s pleading. “It’s not a trick, my love,” he says, and Matteo’s heart stops.

He squeezes his eyes shut and hangs his head low between his shoulders, sucking in a breath that doesn’t make it too his lungs fast enough. “It can’t be,” he mutters to himself. “He’s dead. I buried him. I buried him with his sister by my side.”

“I did not die,” the pirate says. “It’s me, Matteo. I swear it.”

“Prove it,” Matteo rushes out, lifting his head up, tears tracking down his face, and looks the pirate in the eye, looks for deceit and foolery. “Prove you’re not- not some witch trying to trick me.”

The pirate licks his lips again and tilts his head, and Matteo stops breathing at it, at the way this seems so real and so like a dream all at once, like he fell asleep and woke up in the wrong reality. He feels terribly sorry for the Matteo that woke up in his, but he doesn’t think he can go back now, not with all the possibilities of this one.

“I moved into town when I was young, with my sister, Laura. I worked in your father’s stables, and we talked around the garden when I was letting the horses out to pasture. You were sweet and lonely in the manor with no one your age, and I shouldn’t have even bothered talking to the lord’s son. But you just were so beautiful, I couldn’t stop myself,” he says. “You were the first one to kiss me, under the stars in the summer when it was still warm at night, because you were always braver than me, but I told you I loved you when we snuck out your father’s fancy wine and drank it in the barn. And to my continued amazement, you said it back.”

Matteo stares at him, this man who knows his life story, him and his love’s story, like it was his own, and doesn’t see a trick in his eyes, even though a part of him wanted to, maybe. The pirate let’s go of one of his hands, and Matteo dare not move in fear of this reality falling apart, of him waking up from this most bizarre dream. The pirate takes his thumbs and traces it where the tears have been steadily falling down Matteo’s face.

“The navy told me I had a duty out at sea, and we made love for a final time out in the fields because we didn’t want your father to hear. You went with me to the docks and kissed me behind a shed and told me to come back,” the pirate continued.

“You didn’t,” Matteo whispers.

“I did. I’m here,” the pirate says and takes his other hand to trace the line of Matteo’s cheek. He closes his eyes and hopes this is all real.

“David,” he says quietly into the space between them.

He can feel his breath over his face, and if he dared open his eyes now, which he could not with the way there were weighed down by castle walls, he would see that he was close, leaning up into Matteo’s space until he could breathe him in and maybe get a taste.

“It’s me, my love. I swear. I’m here.”

#pirates au #that's what i'm here for folks #just gays at sea #or almost at sea #davenzi #davenzi fic #prompts #my writing #other aus

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scrumptiousalpacadeer · 4 years

Text

My Easter - Removing The Mask

Easter 2020 will forever remain in my memory as the one that hit me like a truck; an invitation I answered body and soul; the Easter where I fully allowed myself to ‘go there’, to pass through the impossible threshold of the crucifixtion and come out the other side. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this happened at the heart of the Covid-19 lockdown; Easter-time this year felt like a glaring luminous invitation to journey inwards. Besides, what else was there to do?! I couldn’t meet with friends, go to cafes or pubs. I was forbidden even to drive to the woods and romp in the leaves. All of sudden the world had stopped, there was no running away this time. I was called, finally, to confront myself with eyes wide open. It’s Holy Week, and I’m being given some very clear marching orders: “its safe to come out now. Its time to remove the mask.”

I can’t recall which particular day it was; perhaps Palm Sunday or Holy Monday, but I received a very clear instruction to write a full, unfiltered confession to myself of the real conditions of my life so far. Somehow it felt entirely correct that I would undertake this task whilst journeying with Christ through his betrayal and crucifixion, for I knew that in order to do this I would be visiting the blackest times of my life; times of pounding lovelessness and cruelty, impossible violence and running blood. I knew that I would need to visit the desolate landscape of my youth, to pull off the grim mask of civilization I’d worn all these years and fully encounter the betrayals by those who were supposed to love me. Hardest of all, I knew at the core of my confession was a fully sighted look at the violent, disconnected person those early losses had turned me into; I would have to gaze up at the sky-scraping height of the walls of defense I’d built around myself; wall that had at times fully eclipsed the sun. I would need to meet all the gentle souls I’d hurt betrayed since that time, believing so wholeheartedly that I was full of stinking rot and no consequence on this earth.

Somehow I knew I wasn’t alone. The deal seemed to be that if I fully surrendered to this, as much as my consciousness would allow, that I would be fully met and held every step of the way. ‘Don’t worry’ a voice said, a deep silent voice inside, ‘it’s safe. I’m here. I won’t leave you..even when it might feel like I have, when things get sticky, I haven’t. I’m always here.’

I was being invited to set myself free and even though there was some trepidation, as with all big journeys into the unknown, there was also a deep excitement, for I knew that if I could come thorugh this portal, there would be a whole new world waiting; a new beginning.

So I jumped out of the plane without a parachute. Upon guidance from The Christian Comunity Church I set up a small shrine on a chest of drawers in my bedroom. It consists of an alabaster statue of Mother Mary cradling a baby Jesus, three candle holders and a clay heart, un-painted and hastily sculptured by my daughter. This was a pilgrimage man must undertake alone; but the world was allowing me a luxurious amount of personal space – the only visitors would be delivery men (!) and my daughter was staying with her father just down the road. I didn’t know at the beginning that my confessions would take nine days, or that some days the words would come in such a torrent. My writing life has always been a response to a physical impulse, a ‘pull’ for something to come out, but never before had I been tugged like this, a fish on a hook. Some days I typed four or five hours straight.

Each morning I breakfasted and went to my little church, dead on ten o’clock. I followed the service advised by the church. I turned off my phone, lit seven candles, read the Gospel aloud, attempted to clear my mind, and said the Lords Prayer – the first time, in forty five years living on this earth, that the words resonated within me with meaning. Every time I said ‘Thy will be done’ I was reminded that this was a task of surrendering to something far bigger than me, not something to ‘push ahead with’ in my head. Those days of intellectual figuring out were no help here. Often on those Easter mornings I asked for strength to keep going. I asked for my faith to be renewed when I felt lost. At the moment of Consecration, in my imagination I feasted hungrily on the bread and drank thirstily from the cup, in fact, it’s more truthful to say I gulped on the life force of Christ. I needed His strength for the day ahead; I needed to be lit up with his light.

Nights I slept in my daughter’s bedroom, waking up each morning of Holy Week to her glorious pictures of elves and sprites; her display of animals photos torn from magazines; a penguin she’d adorned with a speech bubble with the words ‘I’m cold’ scribbled in biro and a baby seal, that she’d adorned with a bow on its head. I woke up to her letter from Santa Claus tacked to the wall and her kitten calendar. It gave me great comfort to sleep in an eight year old’s world, for I knew that my journey required me to be as vulnerable and awe-struck as a child; to recall what it was like to reveal my heart without any thought or consequence.

My appetite lessened; I ate a lot of toast and drank gallons of tea. I typed sitting on the floor with my computer on an upturned crate. Often I wouldn’t dress until late afternoon. After writing I would reward myself with a walk out into the lanes and woodland tracks of Ashurst Wood.

It seemed hugely significant that although I would be plummeting to my death, in the background there was an abundance of fuzzy life; Laura, our tortoise-shell cat had given birth to six kittens on April 4th. They were still limp and blind, but fattening with each second in a cardboard den. As I typed in my daughter’s room, a dark beginning of life resounded silently from the kitten corner.

I gave my confession the title Turning Point. One of the central themes of my Easter 2020 undertaking, if not its core, was letting my sister, Sally Ann, die. But to do this, to grant her her final wish, I knew I needed to tell her story as honestly as I could; to bear witness to her suffering and reveal it to the world; to not conjoin with the world we’d both been born into and ‘cover her up’. Only then would she rest in heaven; only then could I live on earth in freedom. Sally, my dark mysterious sister, ahead of me in the world by three years, committed suicide at our family home in January 1990. She was nineteen years old and I was sixteen at the time.

Somehow I knew that journeying back to the hell of that that time, almost thirty years ago, back to her trimester of suffering when each day felt like a crucifixtion, would lead me into heaven. At some point during these days I experienced a powerful shift in my thinking; a revelation. I realised that for thirty years I’d been living with a fundamental ‘untruth’ - a lie that had at times proved almost fatal. This lie was two-fold and lay at the core of my heart, and in lifting the lid on it, I experienced such a physical release that I was able to kneel down and weep at my little church. I could begin to let go.

The first lie was that I’d thought that I’d had to stop loving my sister because she was no longer here; because of the shame that society places on suicide; because there was no adequate help in the suburbs of Bedfordshire in the early 90s for such an act of self-murder in a three bed semi, because our relationship had been so difficult; because nothing I did seemed to make her happy; because it had all been so hopeless; because my father had told me to buck up two weeks after her death - ‘life goes on Christine’ - all of that meant that I’d detached myself from all the love I felt for my sister, I’d erased it all; I’d cut myself off from my history in shame, forgotten all the nights we’d shared sleeping in the same room; all the good times and laughter we shared, despite her cruelty, despite the confusion. This Easter I was given the gift of remembering myself as a loving child; I recalled; I felt viscerally, in my body, that despite everything, I had loved her. Now wasn’t that something? Wasn’t that a miracle? And then the impossible happened; she took herself out of the game and left me here on earth in devastation. This Easter I needed to reclaimed my heart somehow. ‘It’s ok’ the voice said, ‘speak out. You have nothing to be ashamed of’.

The second lie that I began to put to bed was that somehow my heart was ‘malformed’ or ‘useless’ in some way, because the love I sent forth hadn’t been able to save Sally. For the two months leading up to her suicide, every day when I returned from school, she only got worse, not better. Somehow, and somehow I could offer this up this Easter, I had thought myself a ‘murderer’.

And underneath the civilized mask I wore, the truth was that I’d treated myself often as one would treat a murderous child; I’d kept her locked away, persecuted myself, let people and things I adored fall by the wayside, abandoning myself and my fellow man over and over.

Somehow the grim violence of Christ’s death, the humiliation, the heart-breaking conversation he has with God before-hand ‘isn’t there another way we can do this?!’ rang out to me this year. I finally accepted the devastation of his death. I had to allowed the tsunami of grief and I sat at his feet through-out; I sat at the feet of my dying self in full compassion for her helplessness Only in opening myself to my full vulnerability would I get to the green pasture on the other side. Only by allowing the truth of the world of violence I’d been born into would I undergo the glorious transformations of those violences. Christ’s death reversed a big lie I’d been imprisoned by; that our shadow life is best kept quiet – ‘oh no, don’t you understand?’ he says, ‘the blackness is the very place from which light is born; the point where everything can change; the place where you’ll learn to love. But – and I know this is a bummer - you have to die first.’ If I truly wanted to continue living in my body then it needed to be with wounds revealed. It was so wholly, genetically, biologically different in every way to the life of appearance I’d been forging ahead with.

On the evening of Easter Saturday I drank a small measure of gin for courage and sent Turning Point out into the atmosphere, emailing to my dear friend and writing partner Matilda Leyser. I hung in the balance, waiting for the world to change – daring to believe the unbelievable. Then things got weird; at almost exactly the same time of clicking send and removing my armour, I got attacked. I received a long email, aggressive in tone, from my neighbour informing me that my tom-cat, George, had got in to her house and urinated on her bed. “Please be a responsible pet owner”, she said. “and keep your cats locked in your house from now on.” Isn’t the world like that? I thought. We take the ultimate leap to freedom, and someone, someone you least expect, will swipe you with a long diatribe about cat wee.

But I knew that this was a good sign; a sign that just in me trying to be real, the world had shifted. Wasn’t it time for me to confront the possibility that a good life was waiting for me? Wasn’t it time to forgive my neighbour her trespasses and move on - to a place where I could play the piano without being told to shush? Wasn’t it time to stop communing with misery and take responsibility for my happiness? Doesn’t the resurrection tell us that there’s a chance; that we’re meant to live in abundance?

Easter Monday I thought I’d be overwhelmed with joy but that came later – in fact, in took a couple of weeks of disorientation and yet more grief before I could begin to grasp the sheer revolutionary, upturning power of Jesus’s resurrected body. I read St Luke 24: 39 over and over; “Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself; hand me, and see;” He was back, wounds and all. He was eating with his friends and rejoicing. Their hearts were singing. The old dark world was gone and things could only get better.

A week after Easter my daughter returned home and reclaimed her room. Like every human being on the earth at this time, we have no idea what is going to happen next.

* * * **

A couple of days ago I watched the Billy Wilder classic The Apartment. It’s a simple tale of love and redemption in 50s New York, but there’s a darkness at the centre of the film that surprised me. Fran Kubelik, a central character and love interest played (Shirley MacClaine) is ‘brought back to life’ after attempting suicide on Christmas Eve by the man who loves her, Bud Baxter (Jack Lemmon) and a doctor. and his neighbour. It’s a disturbing scene because she doesn’t want to revive; she’s injected, slapped, given smelling salts, extra strong coffee and finally walked up and down the apartment by the two men like a rag doll to keep her awake. Bud cares for her over the next forty eight hours, hiding his shaving razors for fear she’ll try again; just as my parents hid dangerous implements in high cupboards as my sister’s death wish intensified.

She recovers, and in the glorious ending of the film, Fran has a sudden epiphany. Sitting in the restaurant with her cruel lover, she sits bolt upright, the camera focuses on her widening eyes: she realises that she’s in love with Mr Baxter, the kind man who saved her life. Perhaps she realises that she’s loved him all along. Choosing love, she leaves her old life behind, and sprints through the streets of New York to Bud’s apartment. Her high heels clack up the stairs to his apartment like rapid gun fire. He’s packing up his apartment; he wants something better than loaning out his home as a glorified knocking shop to his bosses and their mistresses. “What are you doing?” Fran asks him.

“I don’t know, …….I just gotta get out of this place’.

They sit with glasses of champagne and prepare to play Gin Rummy:

‘I love you Ms Kubelik. Did you hear what I said? I absolutely adore you.’

“Shut up and deal.’

And so, upon reflection I would say that my Easter has been a bit like those final scenes of The Apartment. I’ve heard love calling, I’ve got up from the table and am running towards it. I’m moving quickly, with the chance at being human, allowing the wounds and scars of the old world to propel me into the new; coming alive from the inside.

I’m ready to drink champagne with friends and play with a whole new hand.

In gratitude to Luke and the priests at the CCC for the milk and honey they provided this Easter: their correspondence, insights and guidance through this Easter-time.

May 2020 Copyright Christine Rose

#Christian renewal #personal resurrection #raised consciousness #spiritualawakening #surviving grief #easter2020

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grimoireweavers · 4 years

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Inside the Mind

{ plotted starter for Seb and Illya ;; @ataash }

♞—-» STEM was...

Fuck, Sebastian didn’t even know how to describe STEM at all. During his time in this impossible world, he’d come across documents, journal entries, and taped recordings that offered some insight on what was going on in this nightmare and why the nightmare even existed in the first place. It helped Sebastian understand that this was some sort of experiment that took its subjects to a different plain of existence, almost like a reality within a reality.

In truth, it sort of reminded him of the movie Inception. A silly thing to compare real life to, but a comparison that he couldn’t really overlook either, because the further he moved through the ever-changing and contorting environments that seemed to make no logical sense, Sebastian very much felt as if he were moving from one dream to another, further and further down until the possibility arouse that he would never be able to come back.

Letting such thoughts grab hold of him in such a way, though, brought about feelings of hopelessness. What was the point in fighting if he didn’t understand what was going on in the first place and had no real way out of the dark at all? It would be much easier to give himself over to the corruption that seemed to infect anyone who dared to brave the false-reality. He’d even watched as the corruption appeared and took root in his best friend and partner, Joseph Oda.

Yes, his relationship with Joseph had been strained as of late. Ever since Lily’s death and Myra’s disappearance after numerous attempts to convince Sebastian that Lily was alive, Sebastian’s reliance on alcohol as a means to cope grew worse and worse. Sebastian wasn’t oblivious to his problems, as many people who spoke about why Myra ran off and disappeared wrote off Sebastian’s worries and suspicions around her disappearance as her having enough of his shit. They often blamed him for chasing her off, since they both dealt with the grief of Lily’s death in their own ways and Sebastian “couldn’t be there for Myra because he was too worried about drowning his own sorrows in a liquor glass.”

The opposite, in fact, was true. Myra kept spouting off insane conspiracy theories over Lily’s death, even going as far as to claim she was still alive. She never provided Sebastian with proof and instead of sounding able-minded, she sounded crazy. Sebastian believed in the only thing they could do. Accept Lily’s death. Grieve. Deal with their loss together. Move forward. They had to accept reality before they could ever even begin to heal and as much as it pained him to say such, it’s what Myra needed to hear. Myra never listened and the further she pushed into her crazy ramblings about Lily still being alive, it drove a wedge between them. How could it not? She wouldn’t listen to him. She was picking at the wound and letting it fester and he could do nothing to stop her.

Myra ran off without him, likely to follow these leads about their daughter that she never actually shared with him, and no one would listen to him. Because it was his fault, his drinking, and his attempts to cope with the most horrific thing that could happen to a parent. Everyone thought so. He suspected that even Joseph thought so, despite how many times he reassured Sebastian that he was on his side.

Joseph worried for his friend, Sebastian knew that.

But Joseph went too far when he actually got their chief involved in Sebastian’s developing drinking problem. Seb never pretended not to have the issue, but it never interfered with work. He didn’t show up to the precinct drunk. He didn’t go on cases and investigations intoxicated. His addiction never stopped him from being efficient and effective, it was only a way to fill the silence of his loneliness when no one else was around to ground him. And Joseph had to go and run his mouth, thinking it would help the detective get better.

How, exactly? That was Sebastian’s question.

The turmoil in their relationship made watching Joseph slowly turn into a monster, reverting first to multiple suicide attempts to keep himself from losing his humanity, to actually turning on him no less horrific, though. Joseph was the one friend Sebastian still had in the world, the one person that would always have his back, and Joseph was just... gone. Boils and protruding veins spread across his flesh and the burning, red hot rage that pulsated in his eyes as he finally turned on Sebastian were not Joseph. Fuck, Seb wasn’t even sure there was anything left of Joseph in there.

And he could feel that same evil bubbling through for him as well... It was inside of him, trying desperately to claw its way out and take control. The longer people stayed inside STEM, the more they became part of STEM, and once they were part of the machine, they would have a roll to fill. Every cog had to spin, and every piece had a part to play. Once you lost yourself, you were nothing more than a cog, nothing more than a tool to keep this plain of reality as real and as authentic as possible.

So, what, again, was the point? Sebastian didn’t know how to navigate this place. The world was always changing. The second he thought he knew where he was going, he would plummet through the ground or be hurled at full force through the sky and land somewhere unrecognizable and foreign. He barely had enough time to navigate that new section before he was tossed somewhere else. A never-ending cycle that always brought about new and dangerous terrains as well as mindless creatures that only registered him as a threat.

The Haunted, as some of the notes he’d found, were the most common. That’s what he assumed happened to Joseph. They seemed to be the most normal form of corruption STEM had over a person who’d been trapped here too long. They were almost zombie-like in the way they moved and rushed people with ravenous hunger, though they didn’t actually appear to have any interest in devouring their victims and their condition didn’t spread by bite ( thank whatever God there might be, honestly ). There were other beings, though, larger, more volatile and hostile. The Keeper, with a safe for a head and the ability to kill itself and respawn from another safe elsewhere, always carrying that awful-smelling sac full of who knew what and a massive meat mallet that could crush the head of a human with one swing. The Sadist, a Haunted that was larger, stronger, and always seemed to be wielding a chainsaw as it’s weapon of choice. The Shiyo, a water monster that Sebastian never really got a good look at because it was always submerged in murky masses, unable to be seen by the naked eye. Laura, Ruvik’s mutated woman with six long, spidery limbs that moved just like a spider would. She was quick and her hands ended in curved talons that could carve flesh from bone.

Ruvik himself, a rather average looking specter who suffered severe burns all over his body. He seemed to linger in the background, pulling the strings, rather than confronting Sebastian himself. He always had an eye on the detective, but he rarely engaged firsthand.

And those were just to name a few of the many opponents Sebastian had to avoid or put down with his small arsenal of collected and modified weaponry. Thank fuck he actually knew how to use most basic firearms. Had a person less skilled than him in survival come into this world, they wouldn’t have lasted long. Which was probably why there were so many Haunted running amuck seemingly everywhere.

He finally found himself in a decrepit city. It looked like Krimson City, the place Sebastian had been born and raised and still lived to this day, but it was difficult to tell with the way the entire city seemed to float over nothing, the ground cracking apart so that anything unfortunate enough to fall into the fissures would cascade into nothingness. Buildings crumbled and sat at odd, unnatural angles, some even leaning so heavily on the building beside them, it was a wonder they didn’t send one another tumbling over like dominos.

Supplies were his top concern. After Joseph’s turning, he’d been completely alone to fend for himself, save for a boy named Leslie that wandered in and out of the picture. Leslie was... not all there. He was almost always accompanied by his doctor, who seemed to act as a carer for him in this world, though why either of them was here, he couldn’t quite discern. He’d run into them both together and separately a few times, and Sebastian had taken Leslie under his wing to protect him twice now, only to have the boy wander off again. Every time Sebastian attempted to follow him, the world would shift, and he would be dumped out into a completely new place. Alone.

Despite his worry, he knew he needed to keep moving, restock, and keep himself alive. He wouldn’t be any good to anyone if he was dead or worse, if he allowed himself to become Haunted. Why he still had the drive to fight and push through when it all seemed to hopeless, he didn’t know. Even if he did make it out of here, what did he have to go back to?

Every time those thoughts crept up, he stubbornly pushed them down and forced himself to take another step. That’s all he could do. Take another step. Step again. And again. Do the next thing, and then the next. It was the only way to navigate and survive a place like STEM, a place that didn’t make sense.

Part of him, a very little part all the way in the back of his mind, had already accepted that he must have snapped, that he’d finally lost it, and that none of this was real. Maybe a really elaborate fever dream? Maybe he was in a coma? Or maybe he’d died and gone to Hell. Sebastian always tried to be the best man that he could be, but he’d sinned enough and hurt enough in his life that if he’d woken up dead in Hell, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

‘Sorry, Mom,’ he kept finding himself thinking.

Finally, he managed to take shelter in a mostly intact office building. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay there long. The Living always had a way of attracting the creatures of STEM, no matter how well they hid, but he’d at least be able to stop, rest for a breather, and hopefully find some supplies that would prove to be useful.

Making his way inside, he rummaged through a few mailboxes and desks in the entryway, finding a couple of spare bullets, a questionable looking syringe filled with a liquid that was so bright, he wondered if it’d glow under blacklight, and a journal entry ripped from its spine. The handwriting was smudged and it was difficult to make out, but it said something about Ruvik working with the doctor that was always with Leslie. Strange...

There was also a missing persons poster hanging on the front bulletin board. He found a lot of those during his time here. Were they the people who had lost themselves in STEM, he wondered?

He made his way up a few more floors, checking drawers, closets, and cabinets as he went for anything that might be useful, though the building showed signs of already being searched. Drawers left open and doors hanging on their hinges suggested that someone had already looted this place. Not exactly surprising, seeing how many people had apparently been here, but Sebastian wondered if this building was not quite as safe as he first expected. Was the person still here? Was it even a person?

Footsteps from above him caught his attention and he quickly lowered himself down into a crouch, slowly moving along the wall for cover as he made his way to the stairwell at the end of the hall. If someone or something else was here, he needed to know, and he needed to put it down before it found him if it turned out to be a threat. He found himself hopeful that might have been Joseph or, for Fuck sake, even Kidman might have been a blessing at this point. Even if the Junior Detective working under him and Joseph had proven to be rather sketchy, she was at least still alive and herself as far as he knew.

Sneaking his way up the stairs, he emerged on the floor above him, and he slowly pulled the revolver hanging in his shoulder holster from its protective pocket. Cocking it, Sebastian moved towards the source of the sound, only to find a rather normal-looking man in one of the cubicle office rooms. Well, normal wasn’t the right word. Tall—far taller than Sebastian—and well built, he definitely wasn’t your average, run of the mill human. If Sebastian’s mind had been allowed to wander, he even would have gone as far as to say handsome. But he looked human, a human not infected with the curses of this terrible place. No signs of turning and no signs of hostility. Yet.

Was he even real? That was an important question in these parts. And if he was, who the Hell was he, and what was he doing here?

Sebastian debated whether or not to engage, pressing his back firmly against the hallway wall next to the doorframe as he peaked inside the room, watching the man flip through documents atop desks and rummage through drawers. So, he was likely the reason that there wasn’t much to actually take in this building, then? Maybe that was a confirmation that he was, in fact, real?

#( sebastian ; muse ) when did i lose sight of what's real #( sebastian ; in character )#( sebastian ; verse ) inside STEM #( thread ) inside the mind #( character ) illya kuryakin #ataash #closed starter #{ OMG I DID A THING!!!!#I have so many more things to do BUT I DID A THING!!!! }

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thevisionmarvel · 5 years

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Five years since yesterday

Title: Five years since yesterday

Rating: G

Word Count: 4352

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18690064

Summary: Grief is a lonely and not pretty thing, yet we live with it. because it's the only thing left.

Warning : Endgame Spoilers.

So much angst, this is not a band of horses song, but it’s the funeral. angst enough to Scarlet Visions and Tony/Pepper to share it.

aka: Me trying to stitch the loose ends that Marvel left, and set it up Wandavision properly.

She tried to remember all the things that frightened her, from the childish fears, of monsters under the bed and witches that would snatch her or her brother in the middle of night, to those who came very early to a child, the bombs that came from the sky, losing her parents, her house and the fears that became her life, her powers, losing her brother, losing her home, losing Vizh. The fears were gone now, she hadn’t felt when she disappeared, nor when she was back in on the battlefield. What would she have to fear? She had nothing left to lose. She was no longer even sure, if the Avengers still existed, Stark was dead, Steve had retired, Natasha sacrificed herself. They even lost the compound, Clint offered that she could stay on his farm as long as she wanted it. She was numbed even to know what she wanted, no, this was wrong, she knew exactly what she wanted it, but she couldn’t have it, this was her life after all, always waiting for the bomb to exploded it, it took more than fifteen years, but it exploded, now she was alone with nothing.

She was alone with nothing at Tony's Stark funeral, a few years ago she would be relieved, Pietro would laugh, but now, she was just wondering how this house looked nothing like what she expected from a Stark, the house looked like a home, not a technological bungalow, it was cozy with the decoration, the photos. She had been to many funerals to know that it was impolite not to give condolences to the family, but she doubted that there was some etiquette code to what to do in the funeral of someone that you grow despising it, then became a work acquaintance, saved the world killing the only person you wanted to kill and help create the love of your life. Vision would know what to say. Vision would be devastated, would grieve. She should had been here with him, not alone. Pepper Potts were talking with Ross, Clint and Laura were next, so she just kept walking in the corners of the room. And then she felt someone watching her. She searched the room, everyone was talking to each other in small groups, but when her attention turned to the corridor at the end of the room, she saw a small pair of brown eyes staring straight at her. The door to the kitchen was wide-open and the little girl was sitting on the counter, Wanda gave her a little smile, the girl didn’t smile back, but made a gesture as if she was calling her to the kitchen.

Wanda waited a moment, thinking about the rudeness of walking straight into the kitchen of a stranger, it would be easier but ruder to just ignore the child. So, she walked.

"Who are you talking to, darling?" Wanda was already in the door, when she saw and heard that the little girl wasn’t alone, of course she would not be alone, by her side, was one of Stark's friends or employees. They were eating some hamburgers, He hadn’t seen Wanda there yet.

“I was calling her.” The girl answered the big guy, pointing at her. Wanda stood in the doorway not knowing how to react.

Wanda made a small nod to the man, he looked as surprised as she was, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, it was clear that Wanda wasn’t welcomed to the scene, but he also nodded to her. The little girl seemed oblivious to the awkwardness of it all.

"Hi" It was the only thing that Wanda could say.

"Hi, my name is Morgan, this is Hogan." the girl answered with a smile, but just never reached her eyes. She offered Wanda her small hand such an adult gesture for a child.

Wanda entered the kitchen, and shake the little hand, by the corner of her eye, she saw Hogan enter an even more defensive position. Morgan’s hand was warmer that she expected.

“Hi, Morgan, I’m Wanda.”

"I know who you are." The girl interrupted her, and Wanda lose it the grip before the kid.

“What?” She blinked.

"I know who you are." Morgan repeated a little louder as if Wanda didn’t hear the first time.

"She knows all the ... Avengers" Hogan explained.

Wanda didn’t know what to say, she was not going to ask how she was, she tried to change the subject.

“How’s the food?”

"Burgers are my favorite, my dad loves them too." Morgan said between bites, Hogan swallowed hard. Wanda just stared “Do you want some?” the girl ended.

“No, burgers are great, but I’m full. “Wanda said tapping her fingers softly against the counter. “My dad wasn’t a fan, he preferred ciorba de burtă.” Wanda didn’t know what had made her keep talking, but she did anyway.

“What is that?” Morgan asked with a little sparkle of curiosity in her eyes.

“It’s kind of a soup made with ...guts.” Wanda saw Morgan and Hogan faces change in a disgusted faces. “It’s wasn’t my favorite, but it’s good, I prefer mamaliga, it’s porridge.” It was a little white lie, it wasn’t her favorite food, but it worked, Morgan started repeating the word to herself, she had like the word.

“What was Vision's favorite food? The little smile in Wanda’s face disappeared.

“Ah...it’s ... he... don’t need to eat.” Wanda swallowed hard. “but... he... liked paprikash and pizza.” She crossed her arms.

“I like pizza too.” Morgan replied cheerfully.

She just wanted to get out of there. Morgan made a gesture to Wanda get closer, Wanda leaned down a little to stay in the same eyesight of the kid.

“Are you really a witch?” Morgan asked in Wanda’s ear cupping her mouth with her little hands.

Morgan waited the answer, little big dark eyes with so much anticipation.

The simple word no danced in Wanda’s mouth, she could tell the scientific explanation, that she herself didn’t understand very well to a five years old child or the simple one, she had powers, but witches didn’t exist, well, she remember knowing that in the battle, the doctor and other people were called sorcerers, so maybe they existed.

“I don’t know, maybe. Do I look like one?” Wanda answered mimicking Morgan’s action.

“You look like a good witch.” Morgan answered quietly. For some reason, the girl didn’t want Hogan to hear that part of the conversation. “Do you know a genie? Or make wishes?”

Wanda just nodded no.

“I have a wish.” Morgan explained disappointedly.

“I know” Wanda understood too much.

"What are you two talking about?" Hogan spoke in an amusing way, but with a worried undertone.

"We were discussing our favorite colors. Mine is red." Wanda answered standing up.

“Mine is green, but now I like red and yellow too.” Morgan replied, sharing a look with Wanda.

“They are all beautiful colors.” Pepper said, she was leaned in the doorway. Wanda turned to look at her, not recognizing the voice. She had a tired face. She walked to Morgan and kissed the top of the head of her daughter. Wanda was uncomfortable again, it was a private moment of the family, she was already prepared to leave the kitchen when the woman spoke again.

“Honey, Nathaniel and Lyla are playing in the garden, it looks like really fun, don’t you want to play with them?”

Morgan nodded, Pepper gave a look to Hogan, the little girl and the man stand up, but before the girl left the kitchen, she hugged Wanda.

“Bye, red witch.” Morgan whispered.

“Bye, Morgan. If I find one, I’ll tell them your wish.” Wanda hugged the little girl back.

The girl left, as Hogan, but Pepper was still in the kitchen and before Wanda could left, stood in front of her.

“Sorry for your loss.” Sounded empty and meaningless as she thought would be, but at least she said it.

“Thank you.” The other woman replied quickly, she must have heard it more than a thousand times just today. But she still didn’t move, and Wanda noticed the folder that she was holding it.

“You are good with kids.” Pepper said, looking at the corridor, but Morgan wasn’t there anymore.

Wanda wanted a family, she liked children, but she didn’t know if she was good with children, she never had much time to spend with them. “I don’t think so, I just lost a lot of people in my life”.

Pepper walked to the other side of the counter, putting the folder above it.

“But it’s really smart, make her tired. Me and Pietro, when we lost our parents, we were in the hospital, but people let us run in the corridors and watch so much TV.” Wanda said sitting in the other side. Remembering the old cartoons and sitcoms in black in white. “Before 8pm, we were already sleeping.”

“You remember the time? When I lost mine, I was already old enough to drink. The only thing that I remember is crying myself to sleep.” Pepper commented sincerely, taking a glass of water.

“Yeah, I remembered, because it was the only thing that I wanted to do since I woke up, because I believed that after I did go to sleep, I would wake up and discovered that It had been a nightmare, that it wasn’t real.” Wanda thought to herself that time passed, but this still was one of her wishes, that this was a nightmare, when she looked to Pepper, she saw in her blue eyes, that she was thinking the same thing, but she just finished her glass of water.

“This is for you.” Pepper handle her the folder. Wanda must have muttered something because Pepper tried to explain. “Tony left to you, it has a message.” she completed.

“No, I don’t want it.” Wanda was surprised enough to any other reaction to show up, she couldn’t process Tony Stark leaving something to her, maybe a bomb, but he must have been busier with time travel to think about this.

Pepper took a deep breath before talking again.

“Just listen, I don’t know what is in here, but I think it’s important and I think is bigger that anything that you had against my husband in the past. You can listen in the office for privacy.” Pepper handle her the folder again.

Wanda thought about the etiquette again, to speak to the widow, that you also had something against her too, since she was an assistant to those who sold the guns that killed your parents, it wasn’t really appropriated, but Wanda wasn’t self-righteous, she knew that she had unknowingly helped Hydra and Ultron, but she didn’t know at the time, but Pepper always knew what Stark was doing it. So, she just said nothing, she just left.

“I see.” Pepper took the folder again and stood up.

Wanda was already in the corridor, when she heard Pepper again.

“He would want you to hear it.”

Now, it was Wanda that took the deep breath, and she understood how that woman could control an entire company, she knew what tickle people.

“Which one is the office?” She asked.

“The second one in the right.”

She stood there in the corner, watching Pepper prepare the details to play the message. Wanda soon noticed that this must be Pepper's Office, it was simple and tasteful, more business woman than mad scientist. Just the table, work chair, bookshelf and two arm chairs in the other side.

“When you are ready, just push this button.” Pepper said giving a little control in her hand. “I will be back after some minutes, I have to talk to other people.”

Wanda waited some seconds after hearing the door closing, to push the button.

A hologram of Tony Stark appeared in the middle of the room, some feet away of her.

“You must find this very strange, so to be in the same page, I also think this is weird. This is our what? Third conversation, and if you are listening this, something terrible happened to me, but we did it, what the avengers were made to do, and you as a fellow avenger must be relieve with this part, let’s be frank, you must be even a little happy with the first part too.”

It was a voice of a dead man, Wanda was just intrigued why he would make this, mocking her anger against him, just because she couldn’t do anything anymore.

He acted like he was fidgeting against some surface, maybe a table that didn’t show up in the hologram.

“I never had a sibling, well that I know of, Rhodey, it was in my life so much that I considered him like one. I have a daughter, now. If you met her, heads up, she thinks that you are a witch,she has the name of one, it gave me street credit with her to let her know that I knew/fought a witch...”

The hologram was looking to the floor.

“I lost my parents, I was older than you, but when I discovered it who did it, I tried to kill the guy who was used to do it, I’m doing it one of these to him too...he couldn’t control it ... but I knew what we were selling, and how they would be used it. A horrible fact that I discovered it, the missiles that hit your and Pietro’s home were older ones, if they were newer ones, they would have exploded it. What I am saying, is I understand that you happy that I am gone, If I was you, I would be too.”

Was she happy because he was dead? She couldn’t say it, she had animosity with him, when she was ready to move on of the vengeance against him, he put her in house arrest, in the raft and made her spend the last two years running , no, not the last two years, its already been five years ago, but now the only thing that she could think that other little girl would grow up without her dad, and if she is here now, it was because of his sacrifice, this should be count as a good thing, but in her gut, she felt resentment, she was back, but back to what? It’s wasn’t about her, this was about the other billions of people that got a new chance, she tried to fix this idea in her brain.

“I should said thank you to you, you warned me in your own way about the dangers, you know.” He made a gesture mimicking her hand movements close to his head. “I was trying to protect the earth, and I failed so many times even with your warning, it was nothing personal, but in Lagos, well, you power can be really dangerous, I just wanted to protect as much people as I could. This is still can fail, but if I am dead, and you are listening to this.” He shrugged. “This is the longer conversation that we had, and we are not even seeing each other”

He wasn’t wrong, Lagos still haunts her mind. The irony wasn’t lost on her, that the family of the people in that building maybe seen her as she had seen Tony Stark. She was just trying to protect people, so people could finish a peaceful dinner, that she never did. She and Vision were trying to deal with the guilty of what the wrong use of power made they do. She with Lagos, him with Rhodey. She had to learn to this alone now.

“Talking about seeing, we should talk about Vision. Yes, I knew that you were seeing each other, I think anyone with eyes saw too, Pepper find you both cute with the Romeo and Juliet vibes, but I never liked the end of the story. If everything goes correctly, you both are listening this, before we send the stone back, we recreate your creation Vision, now you will have two birthdays.”

Wanda walked to the folder in the table and open it, she didn’t had to read much, to see that it was a plan to try to recreate Vision, nothing worked, the stone was destroyed, and was already back in the past, she stopped when the tears started to stain the paper, it had other stuff that she think were the digital data part of the plan. She was now facing away from the hologram. She hated it that in that moment she hated Steve because he took the stone back, that she hated that everyone had people back, but she didn’t. She hated that she felt like that, but she felt anyway.

“Wanda, I allowed it “The hologram continued, her name being mentioned bringing her attention back to it. “as a type of a father, paternal, friend figure of the groom/ boyfriend, I allowed it, I think Steve also allowed it, you guys are like the first couple of Avengers, if I still alive and Vision hacked the wi-fi and found this, this is a proto-version of the speech that I will make in the ceremony, Wanda, you are going to hate it , but this is part of it... but if I’m dead... I have a great suggestion for the flower girl... she is adorable.”

“Vision, the voice that accompanied me all these years that I tried to be a hero is literally in you, became a hero in his own right, and Wanda, I’m sorry, I know this should be the first thing that I should had said it to you., so I don’t want you to see this as a bribe, but me trying to help with what I can, I helped destroyed you life once, let me help a little to rebuild it. Also, I left a wedding gift in advance for you both. Just be happy and protect the earth.” Tony finished, and the hologram disappeared it.

Wanda sat in one of the arm chairs, she tried to stop crying, she looked the rest of the things in the folder, some stuff looked like flash drives, one it’s was labeled “J.A.R.V.I.S best moments” and she found the gift that Tony talked about it , one mockup check with a lot of zeros, in her name, Wanda Maximoff or Wanda Vision which one you preferred it, it was write as an observation. Wanda gave a little smile. Tony thought a lot more about the future that both of them.

She was holding the folder against her chest when Pepper entered the room again.

“Are you okay?” Pepper asked softly.

“No, but it was me that should be asking you that.” Wanda replied.

“If someone asks me this again... I think I'll start telling the truth.” Pepper sat in the other arm chair. Wanda looked the other women by the corner of the eye, she seemed tired.

“What you are thinking about now?” Wanda offered a different question.

“That I will have to reform this place because I will work so much more from here, now that Tony is not here to stay with Morgan.” Pepper spoke looking around the room.

Wanda was surprised with the sincerity, Pepper raised a brow to her, and Wanda noticed that she wanted Wanda’s answer.

“I am thinking how different and equal you and Stark are.” Wanda quipped.

The women just sat in silence for a moment, when the strangeness of the situation hit Wanda, the two were practically strangers, but the silence itself didn’t feel awkward neither the conversation, she remember reading somewhere that talking with strangers about grief sometimes feels easy then talking to close people, she didn’t believe it, but maybe she was being this stranger to Pepper.

“When I was in the door, I heard the last part of the message, for a second, I pretend that he was still here. Sorry for the eavesdropping.” Pepper continued.

“No problem, it’s your office, anyway.” Wanda replied, getting in a more convenient position in the chair. “Do you really think that we are cute? Me and Vizh?”

Pepper chuckled softly.

“Yeah, it was a shock when I was back to a trip and Tony said that Jarvis wasn’t here anymore, but Vision were a great guy, he stuttered when he talked about you to me, Jarvis never did that.” Pepper also shifted in her chair.

“But he always calls you, Mrs. Potts, called.” Wanda corrected herself. “it’s been five years since yesterday. This will never get in my head.” She ended, something was stuck in her throat.

“The five years don’t matter, to you, you lost him yesterday.” Pepper completed.

“Like you, but the five years did matter in your case.” Wanda said.

“It really matters, the five years is jumping in the garden right now.” Pepper looked by the window, Wanda follow her eyes, they couldn’t see Morgan, it was almost night, but Wanda still felt a bit of envy, at least Pepper and Tony had five years, most people didn’t.

“I just hope she doesn’t get some stuff from her father.” Pepper was looking back to Wanda, she could see a little of worry in her eyes. “Like his talent to cook, or lack of.”

Wanda noticed, it was an attempt at joke.

“Vision wasn’t so good in the kitchen, either.”

“See? This was all Tony. Before we started dating, he made me an omelet, that I thought, or he likes me because he tried or that he hated me and was trying to poison me.”

Wanda laugh at loud.

“Vision made me a paprikash, or at least that's what I thought it was, it was a work in progress.”

“Here it was also a work in progress, Tony did it the dishes “

Both women shared a smile.

“I think I've taken a lot of your time, I think it’s time to go.” Wanda started to get up.

“No, I gave other message to Barnes, I am waiting him to finish it, he is in Tony’s Office.” Pepper explained it.

“Did he tell you what happened to Steve?” Wanda asked.

“Yes, he and Sam told me why he left the funeral earlier.” Pepper stretched once again in the chair.

Wanda studied her face, and then she gets it. Wanda clenched her hands against the chair ‘s arms, maybe the other women need to hear it, maybe Wanda need to say it.

“It’s normal, well at least I felt it too when I discovered it.” Wanda spoken softly.

Pepper looked in her eyes “So don’t you think that we are bad people?”

Wanda just nodded no.

“Good, because I just wanted to hit the old man when I discovered it.” Pepper sighed in relief.

“Me too, my boyfriend was indestructible...” Wanda started.

“My husband was a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and yet...” Pepper interrupted.

“And yet the only one, that had a whole life of happiness it was the man from the past.” Wanda ended. A bitter taste in her mouth, it wasn’t fair with Steve, but it was how she felt it.

“And he came back right after the funeral, I felt like he was rubbing his happy life in my face.” Pepper’s voice was bitter too.

“You know if I knew it was an option, I would had gone back in time too and live all my life.” Wanda pondered.

“Yes, the past it was horrible, but if I could you know live with Tony without worries, like a 50’s sitcom, I love Tony, just me and Morgan living with the hijinks of what he had invented it.” Pepper told the whimsical idea with a sad smile.

Wanda imagined the scene, but with her and Vision, they would never be a normal couple, but she tried to imagine them living in a normal house, him with his sweaters, her with the red dress, without running, just living. Damned it that it didn’t felt normal, it felt better, it felt right.

“Yeah would be good, we could be neighbors, in my case would be called I....” Wanda stopped it, the little smiled disappearing when she noticed it.

Pepper looked curiously at her.

“I never said to him.” Wanda just noticed that she was crying when she felt the tears in her cheeks. “It was the last thing he told me, but I didn’t say it back, I wanted it but if I had said, I would not have been able to destroy the stone.”

“He knows.” Pepper held her hand., Wanda noticed the other women ‘s eyes were teary too.

“I had to lie to Tony, I wanted him to go in peace, but I don’t know if me and Morgan are going to be okay.”

Wanda hugged Pepper.

“What are you going to do now?” Pepper asked when the two got up.

“I have to try” She lifted the folder again “I'll show it to Shuri, this and everything that she did five years ago, perhaps, it’s a chance of bringing him back.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Pepper simply asked.

“I’ll try again.”

Pepper blinked slowly, and a little smile came to her lips, opening the door.

“I know that you going to hate it to listen to this, but you and Tony had more in common than you thought.”

Maybe, was the only thing that Wanda thought it leaving the room.

“Wanda...wait. If this work, do you and Vision want to come to dinner with me and Morgan someday?”

“Yes, this would be nice.” Wanda answered.

“You can come to dinner before he’s back too”

Wanda just smiled and closed the door.

She was alone in the corridor, she looked to the living room, someone people already left. She was terrified, but hopeful, if this didn’t work, she was alone. If the price of having this chance, was fear, well, she learned to live with fear all her life, it was hope that she was still learning to deal with it. She had to find Shuri.

#scarlet vision #wanda maximoff #avengers: endgame spoilers #pepperony #pepper potts #the vision #tony stark #morgan stark #happy hogan #fic #angst #wandavision #avengers: age of ultron #jarvis #wanda x vision #visionmarvel

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years

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EL AMOR TODO LO PUEDE Chapter 10: Some Heartbreak is Forever

Read Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

The church smelled faintly of incense, which Laura thought must be what Heaven smelled like. She loved this old church, full of young families, impatient professional couples, and elderly widows who still wore veils to Mass. Every Sunday when she came here, she felt like Chicago, and Intelligence, and everything difficult in her life, were very far away. As she knelt, she brought her troubles to God, whom she had made well aware of Peter’s return to her life.

She prayed for guidance, and for strength. As much as she would always love Peter, as strong as his pull still was to her, she knew it was too late for them. She’d simply put too much ugliness between them. What she didn’t know was whether he felt the same way.

For a moment, she thought she’d been praying so hard about Peter that her mind had tricked her into smelling his familiar scent. Until she turned her head to see him, stooping to kneel next to her and crossing himself.

She looked the question at him.

“Talked someone into giving me your address. I’m charming like that.”

“And the church? The Mass time?”

“You like to walk to church, and you don’t like to get up early. Res ipsa loquitur.”

She frowned. “Did you just call me predictable?”

Peter pointed to the altar as the entrance hymn began, shooting a sexy look of mock disapproval at her. “Shhh. Pay attention.”

********

When Mass was over, Peter and Laura walked out the front doors into the warm spring sunshine. He looked up at the few puffy clouds floating through the sky and took a lungful of the fragrant air.

“It’s a beautiful day. Take you to brunch?”

Laura shrugged. “OK.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. You expected me to say no, and no woman wants to be thought predictable.”

Peter chuckled. “I guess women have gone out with me for worse reasons. I think…”

They walked side by side down the street. It felt odd to both of them not to be holding hands.

********

They chose a table in front of the bistro, along the sidewalk behind a wrought-iron fence. They kept the conversation light, both sensing they’d talked about enough tough stuff for a while. The longer they talked, the more comfortable and familiar it became, but only to a point. Peter was disoriented by an unexplainable sense that it was Laura sitting across from him, but not the Laura he had known.

She’d been a skeletal mess when he’d left. Now, she’d regained her looks and the body he’d been obsessed with. Much more important to him, she had regained the spark she’d lost, along with her sweetness and cheekiness. Laura was naturally happy and spunky as hell, which is why he’d fallen for her in the first place. She was the anti-Stone. When he met her at Northwestern, he’d pulled his head out of his ass enough to figure out his next moves, but he was still wallowing in self-pity about the loss of his identity as a baseball player. Until Laura.

She’d known zero about baseball, and cared less. She’d never even heard of him. As a result, she couldn’t have seen him as a failed baseball player if she’d wanted to. She only saw the future attorney. She’d appreciated his body for its beauty and what it could make her feel, not for things he could no longer do. The things that impressed her about him were things like his thoughtfulness and intelligence; she appreciated tales of his past glory only because they were stories about him. She understood his grief. What she didn’t understand was those who could value him solely for what he had done in the past, when she was so much more interested in who he currently was.

Being with Laura had done far more for him than the therapist the team had advised him to see. She’d taught him how to appreciate his former career as a rare experience he’d been fortunate enough to have, rather than as his identity. He felt like she’d turned the lights back on in his life, so he’d started to call her Sunshine, and had never stopped.

All of that was still true. But he couldn’t shake the sense that there was something fundamentally different about her.

“So,” he said, “Saburo Moritani.”

“Really? You wanna start a fight already?”

He laughed out loud. “You’re not a fan.”

“Of course I’m not a fan. And of course you are.”

“Of course,” he repeated.

“C’mon, Peter. That wind-up? Ridiculous. He doesn’t get any momentum out of that. It’s a show. Which is why he has no speed.”

“And what did I teach you about speed?”

“That it’s secondary to accuracy and the ability to fool a batter, neither of which Moritani has!”

“Aaaugh! How does such a promising student go so wrong?”

The conversation was boisterous and punctuated with a lot of laughter as they talked and argued about baseball. Peter had enjoyed the hell out of teaching Laura the game, and it had only become more fun when she learned enough to start developing opinions of her own, misguided though they might be. Ultimately, however, they moved on to more sensitive subjects closer to the one they were both carefully avoiding.

“So. Boyfriend, huh?”

Laura played with the crust of a piece of toast. “Yeah. Greg. He’s a good guy.”

“He treat you right?”

“You think I’d be dating him if he didn’t?”

He didn’t smile. “It’s a fair question.”

“No, it isn’t. I mean it, Peter. I’m not letting you get away with blaming yourself for anything that happened with you and me.”

Now it was him that avoided her eyes. “Old habit.”

“Well, break it. You got that?”

He looked up. “Do you love him?”

Laura shrugged. “I… like him a lot. He’s funny. Geeky, like me. But love… I’m not really in the market for that right now. I don’t think he is, either. How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

His lips twisted into a rueful grin and he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know… I have dates, but… there’s no one special. You’re a hard act to follow.”

“If you’re looking for a relationship like ours, you should probably be trolling at Logan. All the female thieves and predators in Illinois, in one convenient location. A buffet of criminal abusers.”

Again, he didn’t smile. “If I don’t get to blame myself, neither do you.”

“Peter, I am to blame.”

He sighed and looked over her head at some far away spot. For a long time, he didn’t say anything, just looked sadly into the distance.

“Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. We were having fun.”

“I was happy, you know. Maybe things were tough at the end, but… I was happy until then.”

“I was happy, too,” she said softly, taking his hand. “We were good together. For a while.”

“For a while…” he echoed. “You’re not coming back, are you?” It wasn’t really a question.

“You know I can’t. Too much baggage. And you don’t want me back.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She was still holding his hand, and he turned it over so their fingers intertwined. “How would you put it?”

He frowned, thinking. “I’d say… I want to go back and have things come out differently. But since that isn’t an option…”

They smiled sadly at one another.

“Do you think two people who have been where we’ve been can be just friends? Is that even possible?” He asked.

“I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I know I want you to be happy.”

“Me, too.”

“Then fuck ‘em. If it’s impossible, let’s do it anyway.”

Although they smiled at each other, they were both feeling the deep sadness that comes with realizing that, once things change, you can never go back again.

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #peter stone #chicago pd #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago justice #philip winchester #rafael barba #raul esparza

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truthbeetoldmedia · 5 years

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American Gods 2x05 “The Ways of the Dead” Review

This was one heavy episode, fam. Written by Rodney Barnes, the fifth episode sees Shadow learning the ways of the dead with the help of Mr. Ibis and Mr. Nancy at the funeral parlor in Cairo. Like almost everything about this show, he isn’t learning about it in the most straightforward of ways because who has ever been straightforward with Shadow in his life? That way of living just doesn’t simply exist in this universe. We also see Mad Sweeney and Laura embarking on their own adventure to New Orleans for some voodoo practice. Oh yeah, and Mr. Wednesday is as elusive as ever and he’s trying to be a wingman to Salim and the Jinn because there doesn’t appear to be any happiness in paradise on that front at the moment.

So this episode starts with a sequence of events from yesteryear. Trigger warning for those that need it: a black man is being lynched for, what appears to be, the death of a white woman. His body is then shot at, kicked, prodded, and dragged in the dirt. It’s all incredibly demeaning and gross. This all, however, appears to be an incredibly powerful dream of Shadow’s. He wakes up, naked, with the cat meowing in his ear. (Remember last episode, y’all? How many repeat performances is Shadow going for?) He makes his way to the mirror and he grabs the shaving razor and holds it to his throat. He looks at himself in the mirror and sees his head surrounded in flames. Shadow manages to release the razor and is greeted by the dead man from his dreams. Just like a ghost, the man vanishes, but Shadow is still very clearly shaken. Can Shadow just have one night’s rest, PLEASE?

Looking for answers, he heads downstairs and is met with Wednesday peeing on a plant, chanting. Not a sight one wants to see first thing in the morning. Anyways, Wednesday kind of brushes off Shadow’s assistance for the day, telling him he has places to go and people to see by himself. I can only imagine how frustrated Shadow must be feeling. He knows he’s needed by Wednesday, but Wednesday has a habit of just pushing him to the side and not being as forthcoming as he should be. Wednesday leaves Shadow with Mr. Ibis for the day and, honestly? This is the best storyline of the episode.

A young black man, who we learn is named Jamarr Goodchild (Percy Anane-Dwumfour), crosses paths with Mr. Nancy on his way to a drug dealer’s house. He gets a small packet of a white, powdery substance and, as he’s leaving the house, a cop busts him. He ends up swallowing the packet and makes a run for it. At a deadend street, he comes face-to-face with the very same man that Shadow saw that morning, except it’s just his head on a stake covered in flames. While completely paralyzed in fear, the boy is wrestled to the ground and arrested by the cop that was chasing him.

The boy ends up on Mr. Ibis’ table with cuts and lesions all over his body with the reason for death being an opioid overdose. The marks all over this boy’s body resembled those of the man in Shadow’s dream. Mr. Ibis tells the story of Will James (Warren Belle), a black man who had the unfortunate encounter of crossing paths with a white woman, who later ended up dead. All the witnesses to this encounter (i.e. white people) went to the sheriff and, from there, Will was hanged, shot, beheaded, and his body desecrated. “Memento mori” is what Will utters to the men he shows himself to. “Remember that you have to die.” It’s a death sentence to these black men.

If the name “Goodchild” rung a bell, you’d remember that Ruby Goodchild (Mouna Traoré) was mourning her grandmother in the last episode. Jamarr was her brother. She had lost two family members in a matter of days. The only reason why Jamarr went to the drug dealer’s house was because he had lost his grandmother and was in mourning. We catch up to Ruby back at the funeral parlor as Mr. Ibis is putting together Jamarr’s body. Ruby’s chatting with her preacher, Reverend Hutchins (Glynn Turman). Ruby had been wanting to leave Cairo with Bilquis, but the reverend and Bilquis believe grief is clouding her judgement. (Can I just say that I love Bilquis and her quest to learn more about companionship between people and their faith?) Ruby is losing her faith due to her loss, that much is very clear to see.

Mr. Nancy makes his entrance during storytime between Mr. Ibis and Shadow and Shadow ends up leaving because Mr. Nancy always finds a way to piss him off. Once it’s just the two gods, Mr. Nancy accuses Mr. Ibis of purposefully killing his worshippers in that town because, you see, Mr. Ibis seems to have a steady income of dead black people. Mr. Ibis and Will James working together in that way.

When Shadow ventures out to cool off, he gets some one-on-one time with Will James. Will worships death. He sees it as a sweet release from his brutal death at the hands of white people. As Mr. Ibis was telling Shadow during storytime, Will felt abandoned by his own people when he was dying. Will ends up possessing Shadow. He tells Shadow, “You are unlucky. You are unloved. Walk with my burden. When you share it with the world, I will release you.”

Shadow returns to the funeral parlor right at the end of the Reverend's sermon for Jamarr. There’s a literal flicker in Shadow’s eyes that prove that it’s actually Will James who is speaking. Ricky Whittle does some of the best acting of the series this episode. His whole body is no longer Shadow. He is a man possessed. Shadow goes on to say that he once believed that death overpowered life. Now, he looks into the soul of death and welcomes it. “Memento mori.”

We catch up with a drunken mess of a Mad Sweeney in New Orleans. Laura has caught up to him and I absolutely cannot stand this storyline, but I’ll do my best to get through it. They go looking for Sweeney’s voodoo friends who can help bring life back to Laura Moon and Sweeney can get his lucky coin back. That’s all it is. That’s all it should be. That’s all it’s apparently not going to be. We’re introduced to the lovely Maman Brigitte (Hani Furstenberg) and Baron Samedi (Mustafa Shakir), the most lively of guest stars this episode has to offer.

Food and drink is offered to Sweeney and he seems to be having a grand time, surrounded by lovely women. Laura is shown on her own in the crowded bar where Maman Brigitte and Baron Samedi reside. I’m having an awfully difficult time actually believing that this show wants us to see Sweeney and Laura as having a romantic connection. These two have been nothing but toxic to each other since they’ve met. Sure, we’ve seen Sweeney grow softer towards Laura, but has Laura returned the gesture? Not that I’ve seen. She still won’t do us all a favor and just give Sweeney his coin back. Sweeney feels responsible for Laura’s death. Mr. Wednesday and he played a part, but Laura was just as negligent in her life as she is in her death. She played her part too. She was destined to die and I wish she had just stayed dead, or at least her part was just as miniscule as it was in the book.

When the crowd leaves the bar, that’s when the foursome can finally sit and talk about why they are all there. Maman Brigitte knows Laura is just as much of a cheater as her Samedi is. I don’t know why Laura has the nerve to look insulted at that. The facts are that she did cheat on her husband and she died while committing adultery. Brigitte seems to not mind Samedi’s cheating ways because, at the end of the day, Samedi worships her even when he’s fucking other women. I think that is...so gross. I will never have any sympathy for Laura’s plight, yet everyone seems just fine with it. Laura hasn’t even really apologized to Shadow for cheating on him with his best friend. Samedi kindly informs Laura that she betrayed Shadow when she told him she loved him the first time, not believing she meant it at all. You know what? Thinking back to “Git Gone” in Season 1, I can definitely see that. Laura was just drifting through life. She was dead behind the eyes before she was even close to dying. She had an apathetic way of living.

Anyways, Samedi cannot resurrect Laura yet. He brews some kind of remedy, but is still missing an ingredient. He needs “blood infused with love”, whatever that means. It’s the closest Laura has gotten to life yet and it’s still just out of reach. Samedi asks for truth as payment. He asks what she will do with this second chance at life. Instead of answering, they start hooking up. While Samedi and Laura are getting hot and heavy inside the bar, Maman Brigitte and Mad Sweeney get hot and heavy outside. It’s the weirdest paralleling sex scene I have yet to witness, especially when it actually stops paralleling. In a show that has had nothing but creative sex scenes, you’d think this one was pretty normal, by comparison. Well, it was at first. Through magic and a sex haze, Maman Brigitte and Laura switch partners. (Keep in mind the two parties were in different locations.) In some sort of mindmeld, Laura and Sweeney ended up fucking each other. They knew what was happening and they still went with it.

I don’t know if this ship is sailing or not because they are still as toxic as ever and that’s proven by their behavior the morning after the sexcapades. One thing is for certain, Laura and Sweeney got played. Laura is accusing Wednesday and Sweeney of continuously fucking her over and that Sweeney is just Wednesday’s little errand boy and whore. Well, honey, Sweeney actually hates Wednesday. He doesn’t work for him, but he does owe him. These gods have an alliance to each other and hold each other accountable. If one owes another a favor, they stay true to that bond. There’s something admirable about that.

While all this is going on, Wednesday catches up to the Jinn and Salim. The Jinn and Salim were discussing Salim’s devout faith to his god. Without fail, it seems as if Salim never misses a prayer. The Jinn seems perturbed by it. He doesn’t fully understand what Allah has done for Salim to be so devout to the monotheistic god. In a world that has shown Salim that there are many gods, why is Salim so devout to just the one? As a strong Muslim, Salim quotes the first pillar of Islam, “There is no god, but one God.” This seems to be a never-ending conversation between the two that seems to leave the Jinn feeling frustrated.

Luckily, that’s when Wednesday makes his boisterous entrance. The Jinn and Salim have brought Odin his spear and they are now off to see the King of the Dwarves, Alviss (Lee Arenberg). Alviss has no interest in joining Wednesday’s war. Wednesday tries to bribe Alviss with the offer of fixing up his spear. Alviss knows he’s the best forger amongst the dwarves. However, he points out that it’s the runes on the spear that need work. For that, Wednesday will need to find Dvalin. A quick google search shows that Dvalin is the one who introduced rune writing to the dwarves. Needing to regroup, the trio split up and head to Cairo. Wednesday takes Betty and the Jinn and Salim are back on the motorcycle and sidecar.

The episode ends with Wednesday back in the funeral parlor with Mr. Ibis, Mr. Nancy, and Shadow. Shadow is no longer possessed and he’s mad. He wants to know what happened to him. He wants to know what Will James wanted with him. The three gods play it off and continue joking. They never give Shadow a straight answer. They continue to play with Shadow and his thoughts and emotions and that’s a really hard thing to see. Shadow keeps getting pulled back and forth by these gods. He must be exhausted.

Some thoughts on the episode:

I’ve got to say: I really hate how much they hang black men on this show. First Shadow and now this man, Will James.

I very much love just how diverse this show is. I can’t recall another drama like this one growing up. There’s quite a few out now, but I’m most proud of this one.

Mr. James, I assure you that Shadow is VERY much loved.

If I said it once, I’ll say it a million times: Just kill off Dead Wife already.

I could watch hours upon hours of just Shadow, Ibis, and Nancy just shooting the shit.

I want Bilquis to take Ruby under her wing.

Mr. Wednesday was extremely aloof this episode and I kind of love that careless attitude (when it’s not directed at Shadow).

Ricky Whittle is a talented son of a bitch and I stan Shadow Moon to the moon and back.

American Gods airs Sundays at 8/7c on Starz.

Sarah’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

#American Gods #The Ways of the Dead

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katie-dub · 6 years

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The Princess of White Chapel (1/12)

Dr Killian Jones is having a terrible day. He’s got a mission, he’s got a time machine, he’s got … drunk. What could possibly go wrong?

AO3

Rated M for alcohol use, violence, minor character death, frank discussions of depression and grief

This is not a Millian fic, but their relationship is discussed and shown in a positive life, if that's not your bag, no hard feelings!

I’m beyond excited to finally share this story with you all for this year’s @captainswanbigbang! I feel like I’ve had this one sitting in my docs forever (forever, nearly two years, same difference), and I can’t wait to see what you all think.

The amazing @princesse-swan created my banner and has some stunning art to share with you while I’m posting. She’s so freaking talented and is the best cheerleader I could have ever hoped for - I don’t know how I got so lucky as to be paired with you lady! Give her some love, because she deserves all the flailing! You'll find her art for me here!

The fantastic @distant-rose and @ultraluckycatnd were my betas, sounding boards, muses and tireless defenders of the oxford comma. Ladies, I salute you!

I have approximately a million more people to thank for helping me to bring this to life, but to save this turning into an embarrassing, over-long, emotional mess like an ill-advised oscars acceptance speech, I’ll just leave your names here, you know what you did and I love you for it. @mahstatins @killiancygnus @phiralovesloki @icecubelotr44 @sambethe @winterbythesea @justanotherwannabeclassic @welllpthisishappening* @fluffandnonsense @belovedcreation @ladyciaramiggles and the ladies of the hub and the ISB.

*psssst it’s Laura’s birthday today! So this chapter is dedicated to her, and you should all go wish her a fabulous day!

A soft hand wrapping around his waist. A mess of tangled curls tickling his cheek. The scent of spices and sex filling his nose.

He kept his eyes closed, basking in the blissful sensations. Life with his love felt like the most perfect dream - and he wasn’t willing to give it up just yet.

“Killian,” a husky whisper in his ear, “Killian, darling, time to wake up now.” A nose nuzzling against the sensitive spot behind his ear, tickling him and making him twitch. Stubbornly, he squeezed his eyes together ever more tightly.

Sharp teeth biting down on his earlobe finally startled him enough to open his eyes. He turned to glare at Milah, forcing himself to hold her gaze so as not to be distracted by her many assets. She giggled at the look of exaggerated fury on his face, ducking down to his ear to whisper “Oops” before licking where her teeth had been.

Killian groaned as she trailed her lips and her tongue along his jaw, kissing, licking, and sucking as she went. His eyes closed as he revelled in the sensations left in her wake, his breath quickening and his pulse starting to race as she inched ever closer to his lips.

When she finally, torturously slowly, brushed her lips against his, he lost all patience. He growled as he tangled his hands into her hair, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. He rolled her onto her back and broke away, resting his forehead against hers as he caught his breath.

“You’ll be the death of me, my love,” he murmured, peppering Milah’s face with kisses.

“But what a way to go, aye?” was her teasing reply, the last of her words lost to a gasp as he began to kiss his way down her body.

Killian awoke from his dream, disoriented and disheveled, by the sound of his phone ringing. He fell off the sofa as he scrambled about to stop the incessant noise, knocking his elbow on the coffee table and sending a glass of water flying in the process.

“Bloody hell!”

God, he wanted to be back in that dream, a decade in the past where he was with Milah, in love, their naked bodies entwined. Alone, in pain, and wearing the contents of his drink on his now soggy shirt. This was his reality now.

He spotted the phone and grabbed it, barking “what?” as he stalked towards his kitchen for something to clean up the mess.

“Hi Killian,” Belle answered benignly. She always did have saintly levels of patience with his bullshit. “Just checking if you’re going to make it to book club tonight? We’re discussing Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman.” Killian glanced at the clock, 7:35. He was meant to be there… five minutes ago. Fuck. “And before you try fobbing me off by saying that you haven’t read the book and wouldn’t have anything to add anyway, you suggested this one Killian. In fact, you’re meant to be leading the discussion. I believe you said that it’s one of your favourites, a ‘modern classic’?” He could actually hear the air quotes he had no doubt Belle would do if they were together.

“Belle, I’m really sorry, it’s just something important came up.” He glanced at the letter lying on his coffee table, alongside a now nearly empty bottle of rum, his jaw clenching at the sight. “I just can’t tonight.” He winced as he waited for the inevitable backlash. Was she going to get angry? Guilt him with the weight of her crushing disappointment?

“Oh. That’s a shame. I really wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine. Maybe another time.”

Killian made a vaguely noncommittal noise in reply, wanting to rant at her for pushing him towards a new relationship. While Belle was kind enough to be so understanding about him bailing on her yet again, he didn’t feel like he could, but the rage simmered all the same.

“I've got to go, everyone’s waiting. Call me later?”

“Sure, Belle, bye.” Killian hoped he had sounded at least vaguely civil as he jabbed at his phone to end the call. He dropped it next to him as he slumped back against the sofa. Unconsciously, he began to play with the ring on the prosthetic that had replaced his left hand while he fumed silently at Belle’s presumption. When would they all understand that what he had with Milah couldn’t just be replaced? That he didn’t even want to try?

Perhaps if they understood his plans, they wouldn’t push him so hard. He didn’t need a replacement for Milah. He needed to save her. And he would.

So long as time hadn’t run out.

He picked up the letter that had driven him to drink until he passed out when he received it earlier that day. It had been a long time since he had spiralled like that and lost sight of his goal. He re-read the words, still in disbelief, somehow hoping a few hours would have changed their meaning. If it weren’t for the official King’s College London letterhead, he might have thought it was a wind up.

“Dear Dr. Jones,

It is with regret that we must inform you that, in line with the current economic troubles society is facing, we have made the decision to withdraw your funding at the end of the academic year.”

Killian couldn’t read any further. He knew who was behind this move. Bloody Gold, the beast who killed his Milah and took his hand, was still playing games with him. It was one of his favourite things to do: fuck with the man who fucked his wife.

He would never get over how having endless funds could apparently absolve you of any sin. That, combined with powerful allies (a mixture of establishment school friends and power-hungry fools who’d been suckered in by one-sided deals), made him untouchable. He had never even gone to court for his part in the death of his ex-wife and maiming of her lover. Killian’s protests of Gold’s guilt had been taken as merely the ravings of a man crushed by grief.

Everyone had indulged him kindly, until they hadn’t.

The principal and president of King’s College himself had come to Killian to explain how his vendetta against the eminent philanthropist harmed not only his future prospects but threatened his entire faculty’s continued existence. Gold’s generous grants were vital to the university, as he was reminded, and it wouldn’t do to upset the man.

So Killian had chosen to play the long game. Almost as soon as Milah was killed, he had sworn to himself that he would use his research to find a way to save her life. And after months of enduring Gold’s bullying, he had also made it his mission to destroy the man while he did it.

It was so much easier to smile and make nice where necessary when he could picture how he might one day rip Gold’s throat out.

Reductions in funding could be brushed aside as he enhanced his prosthetic so that it moved as fluidly as his remaining hand - and was more deadly than it could ever be. Academic papers that were blocked from publication without justification became but a minor nuisance as he trained to take on Gold’s henchmen. Applications for grants and proposals to present research that were denied were just mild irritations while he worked on the time machine that would bring all his plans to fruition.

Killian scrunched the letter up and threw it into the bin, then dragged his hand through his hair.

The end of the academic year. That was only one month away. He had one month to make his time machine work or 10 years of endless toil - and his only chance to save his love - would have all been for nothing.

He had been without his Milah for longer than he’d been with her now, but he still felt her loss as keenly as the night he lost her. The sound of her voice may be dimming in his memory, but the way she made him feel would never fade, his love for her would never die. At times, he felt as though Gold had reached right into him and ripped his heart from his chest back then. In its place was a black hole that allowed for no love, no joy and certainly no mercy.

Belle, Robin, Will, and the rest had no idea what they were dealing with when they tried to play matchmaker. When they tried to get him out of his shell and having fun. When they tried to make him live his life like a respectable member of society.

Oh, if only they knew.

Killian had always been a man of many vices: drink, gambling, sex. But then Milah had come along. She had changed him, had made him better. He still indulged, but in a socially respectable fashion and not with the crazed air of a man on the brink of destruction. When she died, he could practically feel his friends holding their breath, waiting for the wildfire to ignite. What they didn’t know - couldn’t know - was that he had something else to keep him going now: her rescue and his revenge.

His head felt fuzzy, the hangover from his earlier desperate binge already kicking in. This was why he had abstained. He couldn’t afford to feel like this. Not when Milah needed him.

He closed his eyes and remembered the first time he saw her.

His head was swimming after several hours of shots and pints and god knows what else. Yet, one look at her and everything became clearer. She was sat in a corner, looking lonely and nervous, glancing about furtively. She had looked up from her drink and caught his eye, smiling shyly and quickly looking away. She was stunning.

Then a brute of a man stepped between them.

Killian’s first thought had been sheer irritation at having his view of this goddess blocked. But then he noticed that the man had one hand on her shoulder, his grip harsh.

Killian hadn’t stopped to think before racing over to her. As he moved closer, he could see that his instinct about this man had been right: she looked anxious and annoyed.

He tapped the giant on the shoulder, smiling brightly at him when he turned around.

“Excuse me, would you mind letting go of this lovely lady?” Killian winked at her and was delighted to see a faint blush and a barely suppressed smile cross over her face. “Once you’ve done that, could you go… well, anywhere else?” Definitely not his wittiest line, but Killian was just impressed that he managed to sound clear and confident.

A confused expression crossed over the man’s face and he did indeed let the lady go. “Were you talking to me?”

“I’m sorry, did I talk too fast? You’ve managed to take your hand off the lady, excellent work. 10 out of 10 for that. Now all that’s left is for you to kindly fuck off.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Well…” Killian tilted his head to the side, as if musing on the question. But then he balled his hand up into a fist, punched the man hard and knocked him to the ground.

He looked up at the woman who had captured his attention. Her eyes were wide with fear and, if he wasn’t mistaken, admiration. She stared at him in shock for a moment before speaking.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you without your consent.” All of a sudden Killian panicked; he knew how the situation had looked, but perhaps she hadn’t been a damsel in distress after all? “I mean, you looked very unhappy about him being here, did I get that wrong?”

“No, you were right. But you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

“He’s one of my husband’s men sent to bring me home.” She spat out the words, her eyes darting around the room as if checking for others. After a few moments of searching and presumably finding nothing, she seemed to relax.

While Killian did note this odd behaviour, he was more preoccupied by the word “husband”. He felt his face fall. Of course this goddess was unavailable. She looked up at him and grinned wickedly.

“I wasn’t ready to go home anyway. Want to have a drink with me … ?”

“I’m Killian,” he supplied, looking down at her left hand to see a ring stubbornly placed on her finger. “And you’re married.”

“My name’s Milah, actually.”

Killian laughed at that. “It’s lovely to meet you, Milah.”

That had been the start of a dark and dangerous affair that had ultimately led to his Milah’s death. Killian squeezed his eyes together, fighting back tears. Even before her untimely end, he had wondered if his presence in her life was more trouble than it was worth, but she had always reassured him that his love had made her complete. He had certainly felt that way about her - and with her gone, he was broken and could never be whole again.

He needed Milah back, and time was running out. What better time than the present to go back to the past?

He didn’t stop to consider the obvious factors working against him: he was tired, stressed and intoxicated. He was fairly certain that “drunk in charge of a time machine” went against some kind of time traveller rule.

(Probably up there with “don’t change the past”, but he was hardly going to obey that one, was he?)

Then there was the small matter that he hadn’t yet managed a successful test. Most of the time, he would switch the machine on and nothing would happen.

But every now and then, it would glitch and cause odd ripples in the world around him. His educated guess about the strange phenomenon was that the machine was swapping his particles with particles of Killian Jones from alternative universes - pulling pieces of some other him into this one. One time his prosthetic shimmered and mutated into a hook and back again before he could so much as groan at the cliché. Another time, he went colour blind for a few hours. Once his hair mysteriously turned blonde for a week until he could recalibrate the machine.

(He had to wonder at the alternative version of him who thought that was a good look. He assumed in that reality Killian Jones did not have a friend like Will Scarlet, intent on mocking him relentlessly.)

But he was confident that his calculations were all correct now. This time he would manage it.

He grabbed the bag that he had packed long ago with everything he needed to exact his revenge and stumbled down to the tube. The air was oppressive in the underground station thanks to the late July heat as he waited for his train. He swayed, swallowed down a wave of nausea and cursed himself for choosing the hellish heat over cycling to campus as he usually did. Some sensible part of him had realised that he didn’t have the wit needed to cycle through London traffic - and yet that self-preservation instinct wasn’t strong enough to stop him from propelling himself on a dangerous quest.

The dry, hot wind of the approaching train provided some relief even as it burnt his skin. He clambered aboard and settled into an empty seat. He was grateful for the unspoken British rule that one must sit as far away from other living souls as was physically possible and never, upon pain of death, make eye contact with or talk to strangers. And so, he made it to Embankment station without once having to so much as glance at another human, instead ruminating on calculations and probabilities in his head.

The air outside was only marginally more refreshing than that below ground. It didn’t have that stale, recycled quality, but it was thick with humidity and the scent of melting tarmac. He tugged at his collar and loosened yet another button on his shirt. In his rush to leave, he had failed to change out of the shirt he had fallen asleep in and he could smell alcohol and sweat in the fabric. It suddenly felt inauspicious to greet his lost love in such crumpled clothes, but time was against him. He had to press on.

No one stopped him as he made his way into the nearly deserted building. The undergrads were home for the summer, so the halls were stalked only by the professors who finally had time to do their real work, students plugging away at their doctorates and the unlucky few who needed to retake exams using the month before resits to study hard. At this time of night in particular, few were to be seen in the Strand, unless, of course, they were haunting the bars that were littered in and around campus instead of devoting themselves to academia.

Killian Jones had long since accepted that his habits fell far out of the realm of what most considered normal. And to be completely honest? He couldn’t care less.

He finally made his way to his lab, unlocking the door with a buzz of excitement. It was finally happening.

He strode straight to the machine, stashing his bag in the footwell then climbing inside and buckling in.

He took a deep breath, staring blankly at the calendar on the wall in front of him. He had long thought about this moment. He knew exactly when he needed to go to: one week before Milah’s death. Enough time to get to Gold and stop him, but not long enough to risk meeting himself. He hoped anyway.

He paused for a moment, suddenly realising how reckless this was. He hadn’t run any last checks. No one knew what he was doing.

But then he thought of Milah. She deserved this.

He input the coordinates and hit the command to send.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then lights began to swirl in front of him, moving fast enough to make him dizzy. He saw a beam of light shooting out from the machine and blasting through a window - that certainly hadn’t happened before. He hoped that was a sign of success, he really didn’t want to have to clean up the mess if it wasn’t. Then, just as suddenly as the light show had started, it stopped. Everything went still.

Had it worked?

Killian cautiously stepped out of the time machine and looked around. He was still in the lab surrounded by his equipment. His eyes flicked to the calendar on the wall. It stubbornly continued to read 2017 and he knew this attempt had failed.

He clenched his jaw in an attempt to keep the tears from his eyes. He’d let Milah down. Again. After all these years, he still couldn’t save her. If this hadn’t worked, he honestly didn’t know if anything would.

“It didn’t work,” he muttered to himself, racking his brain for something, anything, that he had done wrong. He must have miscalculated something, but he had been so sure he had it this time. “Why didn’t it bloody work?” He swept his hand across the nearest counter, sending everything scattering to the floor in his frustration.

His head pounded and his stomach turned, reminding him of how much alcohol he’d consumed. He knew he should stay, should try to understand his mistake for Milah’s sake, but he just couldn’t. His soul was weary with the weight of yet another failure, of carrying the burden of his revenge alone, of the sad and empty existence his life had become.

Tears pricked at his eyes and his chest ached with anger. If only Gold hadn't interfered again, pushing him to act before he was ready... This was all his fault.

No, it's yours, whispered a voice from somewhere deep inside. This is your failure. Why did you ever think that you could achieve the impossible?

The whispers of his inner tormentor grew louder and more cruel, detailing his faults, all the ways he let down those he loved, and showing him that he could never have his happy life back. He had done too much, been too distant, his life was empty because he made it so. The vicious narrative overwhelmed him until he felt physically sick.

He needed to get out of there, so he left, leaving his supplies and the shattered remains of his window scattered across the floor.

#csbb #cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #ouat ff #katie dub writes #tpowc

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thejonzone · 3 years

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A Lifetime Gone: Notes on Jim Sullivan and The Hours

Laura Brown does not want to be Laura Brown. She is one of three protagonists in The Hours (played by Julianne Moore in the movie adaptation), and for her it is 1949 in the hot desert suburbs of Los Angeles. Laura has a husband and a young son but dreads her housewife role, knowing it isn’t for her, knowing she can’t keep it up. She stays in bed for as long as she can, her eyes drop with empty relief as she watches her husband pull out of the driveway, and she reads, despairing for a different world.

After a failed attempt to make a birthday cake and an intimate moment with her neighbor Kitty, Laura has an existential panic. She drops her son off at a friend’s house and, under the guise of running an errand, takes a drive into the city: “As she pilots her Chevrolet along the Pasadena Freeway....she feels as if she’s dreaming or....as if she’s remembering this drive from a dream long ago.”

20 years later in Los Angeles (and in real life), Jim Sullivan records his debut album, U.F.O. It’s first song, “Jerome”, begins with a bright, unsettling orchestral arrangement. Swelling and theatrical but foreboding and alone, it’s the musical equivalent of “red sky in morning, sailors take warning.” Something is wrong. But just as the tension peaks, it all falls away, and for a moment everything is still.

Jerome is a town in Arizona, but you’d be just as right if you thought Jim Sullivan’s song was describing a person. In the late 1800’s, the town in the Arizona desert boomed with copper mining, but the mine closed in the early 1950’s, and the people left with it. Sullivan sings about buying drugs and wanting to go to Jerome, but he doesn’t know where it is or how to find it. He wonders where this ghost town could be. Is it “just a town out there”? Can you only find it “if you’re driving slow”? What exactly does Jerome mean to Sullivan, and how real is the place he’s searching for?

Jerome revitalized itself in the early 1970’s, in part due to its proximity to Sedona, the nearby capital of new-age spirituality. Sedona is known for its vortexes, places in nature that supposedly have high spiritual energy. It doesn’t seem coincidental that Jim Sullivan mentions Jerome-- he and his wife were both interested in New Age mysticism. The album has a clear spiritual bent, exploring reincarnation, religion, and grief: the foggy space between worlds. Even without knowing his strange and tragic backstory, Jim Sullivan’s U.F.O. captures the uneasiness of a dream world, the rising anxiety of realizing you’ve been traveling in the same circle, over and over again. It’s a nightmare. U.F.O. is about illusions and ghosts, it’s full of ghosts, one of whom (in hindsight) is Jim’s ghost, which haunts the album more than anyone he wrote about.

There’s a decent amount written about Jim Sullivan’s story. It ends with him in the New Mexico desert in 1975. Before that, he’d been living in Los Angeles. He made two albums that both failed to create any real traction for him. He had some small success (he was in the movie Easy Rider) but decided to leave his family behind and drive to Nashville to find session work. And that’s that. He never made it to Nashville. He disappeared, was never found or heard from. Ever again! They found his car, all his stuff in it, but never found him. For a guy that talked about driving into the desert and disappearing, it’s spooky how 6 years later he drove into the desert and disappeared.

His music faded to almost nothing, until Light in the Attic reissued it in 2010. My initial fascination is summed up by PopMatters: “When you discover a story like [Jim’s], you start hearing the music differently...It seems impossible not to hear the lyrics as a prediction...that he would come to some kind of mysterious end.” It kept tickling my head, the already cryptic and confusing lyrics morphing into some type of eerie prophecy I felt compelled to piece together.

For Sullivan, it’s not what we see, but how we see it. Eyes show up all over U.F.O. “Plain As Your Eyes Can See” is a lamentation of unreciprocated love. The song is claustrophobic: A crowd’s whisper amplifies to a drowning yell, fallen rocks constrict a bridge’s path. As the world contracts, the narrator realizes they don’t have a place in their love’s life. The song’s idiomatic title is deceptive. Because something that’s as “plain as your eyes can see” should be simple. But U.F.O. is full of moments when our eyes observe something strange, when seeing is anything but plain. He tells us that eyes can easily be deceived, and now here we are, our eyes deceived. The album is a disappearing act, a magic trick.

Throughout the album, characters have surreal, impaired vision. “Whistle Stop” begins with “thunder and lightning in my eyes”, before the narrator describes an interaction with a woman he believes to have known from a past life. “All the air seemed quite foggy to me,” he says, setting up a dream world where he contemplates the soul having some type of knowledge that transcends a body. On “Rosey”, men look at the titular sex worker with “diamonds in their eyes”, and Sullivan tries to figure out who really sees who in the exchange. The song is dark and melodic, the strings and horns are exalting at times, dangerous elsewhere.

The characters in Sullivan’s songs are observers, peering from windows, or watching from crowds. They are searching for answers and they search by watching. In the title song, the narrator describes watching a religious ceremony as “checking out the show / with a glassy eye”, whereas in “Johnny”, the narrator is watching a crowd form to watch a boy who is flying in the sky. They yell out to him to come down, and then wonder if he has discovered anything from up there. As the album goes on, it becomes clear that Jim himself was a watcher, as lost as his characters. Even the album’s cover art expresses a fractured and confused gaze, as 5 duplications of Jim’s face, rapt in attention, look up curiously at something out of sight.

Laura Brown, after some aimless driving, decides to rent a hotel room for the afternoon. She’s impressed by the “cool nowhere” of it, a place of travel and transition, a place to sleep but not a home. After checking in, she realizes how “far away from her life she is. It was so easy.” In the hotel, she sees her anger, her panic, her nervousness, all still in existence, but separate from her: “It’s almost as if she’s accompanied by an invisible sister…”

It is Sullivan’s discussion on death and reincarnation that proves most eerie in hindsight. Even with Rosey’s protective facade, she’s surprised to feel seen by her johns, as they see a part of her that she “often thought was dead”, which makes that part of her alive again, if just for a moment. U.F.O.’s title song begins with strings that feel celestial, so it’s only right that he sings about Jesus and resurrection-- “the only man I know that got up from the dead”. It’s neither critique nor praise of Christianity; the narrator wonders if people can come back, if they can ever be seen again. That idea is carried over in the most affecting song on the album, So Natural. In it, Sullivan most directly grapples with a grief that permeates the whole album: the death of his brother. He again is a watcher, this time at his brother’s funeral. His bizarre take on the experience is how natural his brother looks in death. Sullivan has molded a character who is both alive and dead. In a later verse portending his own death, Sullivan wishes for oblivion: for nobody to be at his eventual funeral, for his ashes to scatter across the desert. And here’s the wild part: both those things effectively happened.

Free of her responsibilities, Laura reads Mrs. Dalloway in her hotel room: “did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely, did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely?” And after closing the book: “It is possible to die. Laura thinks, suddenly, how she-- how anyone-- can make a choice like that.” It’s a grounding realization for Laura. It’s not necessarily one about suicidal ideation, although (at least in the movie version) she does attempt it, but one about agency. Death changes from something that happens to something one can make happen. In that moment, Laura realizes that she can choose life.

So what happened to Jim Sullivan? There are a few theories, and of course, nothing is confirmed. One is that he was killed, perhaps he ran into an unsavory figure, maybe small town police, maybe a remote branch of the mafia, maybe just a wrong place wrong time situation. Some think that he was abducted by aliens. I don’t think it should be ruled out that he chose to disappear.

After driving back from the hotel, Laura picks her son up on the way back home. She steps out of the car, feet planted back in the real world, and “is overtaken by a sensation of unbeing...it seems that by going to the hotel she has slipped out of her life…”

“Highways”, U.F.O.’s emotional centerpiece, sparkles and trills in a way that would certainly make Sufjan Stevens shit. Sufjan for sure takes a page from Sullivan’s book. Both these fellas love horns and using place to ground their songwriting. Both seem to float over the scenes they describe. Highways is optimistic, in a way. On an album where he’s searching for a place to feel at home, he finds it: being lost. He’s lost both physically and spiritually, as he describes losing his sense of identity. But that doesn’t concern him. “It’s easier to stay here, think I know my way here”, he sings. The place he feels most comfortable in isn’t a place so much as a state of motion. It’s part of the fantasy of escape, that giddy rush of being invisible, of not owing anyone anything, it’s that same feeling that coursed through Laura Brown as she drove down her own highway. “Highways” sounds like Jim Sullivan making a promise to disappear one day.

But he doesn’t disappear, at least not right away. He returns after a trip both in and out of our world, returns home, but he doesn’t return fully, he returns on the final song as a Sandman, bringer of sleep. It’s depressing, dark, insidious-- “honey now your sandman’s back in town” Sullivan croons, a promise of someone who knows death, holds it with him. Laura Brown, similarly obsessed with death, also doesn’t disappear right away. Her afternoon in the hotel makes it clear that she needs to leave, but she formulates her plan and waits for the right moment before doing so. As Laura delays having to join her husband in bed, she thinks over her life-changing day: “She might be nothing but a floating intelligence, a presence that perceives, as a ghost might. Yes, this is probably how it must feel to be a ghost. It’s a little like reading-- that same sensation of knowing people, settings, situations, without playing a particular part beyond that of the willing observer.”

I know what it is to fear life. To tip-toe, lie, crumple, appease, stay quiet, get angry, run. I know what it is to become a ghost. I want to believe that desire is stronger than fear, but I know it’s a choice like anything else. Jim Sullivan made a decision to improve his life. He chose to go to Nashville, and either was killed along the way, or chose to go away, just like he said he wanted to. I want to believe that we will do whatever we can to achieve what we need, but I know it’s not so simple. Jim’s voice is weighed down by despair, yet it’s clear he had a deep spirituality within him, some guiding force. He teases us to see, to really see.

Jerome is a town in Arizona, but you’d be just as right if you thought Jim Sullivan was describing a person. A person who once existed, a person who might come back. Jerome is the person who we are when we stop lying to ourselves, and it’s the place we’re constantly looking for. Good luck finding it on a map. Jerome is Jim Sullivan’s opening statement on his baroque pop nightmare, his declaration that we never really die, that we are constantly alive and dead, and what defines those qualities is rooted in what we’re searching for and what we’re hiding from. In the end though, it’s the Jerome Tourism website that puts it most mysteriously and succinctly: “Forever? Jerome never knows.”

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hailey-halstead · 7 years

Text

Green Bean Casserole

let’s ignore the layout of Antonio’s apartment okay thanks😂😅 this is of course after the CF finale, and i will be writing a lot of fics related to this one. we don’t know if casey has died or not, but for these bunch of stories i have in mind, he does. it’s kind of the catapult that gets brettonio back together, and of course guilt and drama and many fic ideas would come with that!!! which means grieving gabby dawson:( of course i definitely want matt casey to live(and i one hundred percent think he does) but it makes out for good stories!!!! hope you enjoy!!! and i know justice is over but yeah whatever i started this immediately after the finale sooo it wasn’t canceled yet. i hope you all enjoy and i don’t own anything!!!! 💘💘💘💘

—————

Nagel tried to balance the green bean casserole in one hand and use the other to knock on Antonio’s apartment door. She felt slightly awkward about coming, but each time she thought about backing out, she thought of how she needs to support her partner. And although he wasn’t the one the casserole was mainly for, he was dealing with his sister’s life being completely flipped upside down.

The person who answered the door was neither of the Dawson siblings, or one of their parents. Instead it was a blonde haired woman, looking exhausted and frazzled. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Nagel’s food, however.

“Gabby loves green bean casserole.” The woman said with a smile, taking it from Nagel’s hands. Nagel wondered if that was it, she was handing over food and then leaving. She hadn’t exactly thought about what would happen after she gave the food away. But the woman opened the door wider, gesturing with her head for Nagel to come in. “Antonio would be glad to see you.” She said, surprising Nagel that she knew who she was. She had no clue who this woman was. “Oh, I’m sorry for not introducing myself, I guess I’ve been scatterbrained lately—”

“It’s fine, don’t apologize.” She must be a good friend of Gabby’s, and clearly was staying here to help. At least that’s what Nagel assumed by her wild hair and ratty sweatpants. She didn’t look like she was just visiting. “I understand.”

“Thanks.” The woman led her into the kitchen, seeming quite comfortable in Antonio’s apartment. She opened the fridge, which was stacked with food already. With some difficulty, the woman shoved the casserole into the fridge, somehow finding a place for it. “I’m Sylvie, though.” She stuck out a hand for Nagel to shake after she shut the refrigerator. “You’re Laura Nagel, right?”

“Right.” She responded slowly. Sylvie certainly knew a lot about her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Come on, Antonio is in the living room.” Sylvie left the room. Nagel quickly followed, not wanting to be left behind.

Antonio was on the couch, head in hands. Nagel was left speechless, she had never seen him so defeated before. Unlike herself who was unable to move, Sylvie approached Antonio. Her hand rested against his back, in an almost very intimate way. Nagel felt like she was intruding.

That’s when Antonio looked up, and his eyes first went to Nagel. “Hey,” He greeted, standing up and walking over towards her. “Thanks for stopping by.” He hugged her, an interaction not common between them. But it was right for the occasion, as Nagel wrapped her own arms around him.

“Of course.” She said, patting his back to show more comfort and support. When they separated, she informed him about the food she brought in the fridge.

“Gabby loves green bean casserole.” Antonio repeated the same thing Sylvie said earlier.

“Is she not here?” She had never met his sister, and while she never wanted to meet her under these circumstances, Nagel did want to extend her condolences.

At that question, Antonio and Sylvie looked at each other and grimaced. She probably shouldn’t have asked.

“She’s in Eva’s, I mean, her bedroom. Well, technically still Eva’s, but temporarily it’s Gabby’s.” Sylvie pointed to a closed room down the hall.

“How long has she been in there?”

“About an hour, I think?” Sylvie looked to Antonio for confirmation. He nodded. “She’s supposed to keep the door unlocked. We want to give her as much privacy as possible, but we have to take precautions.”

“Well, I can go, if you want—”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Antonio interrupted, shaking his head. “We both appreciate the company. It’s usually just us around here, and sometimes my mom, and it can get pretty boring at times.”

“Gee, thanks.” Sylvie sarcastically thanked him, bumping her hip against his. They exchanged smiles, longer than Nagel thought was necessary. It was clear there was something more than friendship between them.

“Do you live nearby?” Nagel couldn’t help but ask Sylvie. What? She was curious. Plus she was known for being blunt. So her asking an out there question wasn’t unusual. The relationship between Sylvie and Antonio seemed more than platonic, too.

“Um, like 20 minutes away. I’ve been, uh, crashing on the couch.” Sylvie was clearly not expecting the question, stuttering her way through her answer.

“Sleep on the couch my ass…” A voice slurred. All three of them turned to the sound, watching as a disheveled Gabby appeared out of the bedroom.

With a bottle of vodka. Well then. This first meeting with Gabby Dawson was going to be quite unfiltered. Her attention wasn’t on the new guest however, but on Antonio and Sylvie.

“Gabby—” Sylvie paid no attention to her friend’s snide comment, her eyes instead on the alcohol.

“Don’t Gabby me..” Gabby took an unbalanced step forward, thankfully placing the drink down on the counter she passed. Sylvie tried to help Gabby by grabbing onto her arm, but she was shrugged off.

That movement by Sylvie seemed to be the final trigger, as she then went off on a tangent. “I’m not stupid! I see you two…you sleeping together, hugging…kissing.” She pointed back and forth between the two, before directing her full attention on Sylvie. “You were always jealous of me. Saying you wanted your own Casey…..” Her voice wobbled slightly at the mention of her deceased husband, showing some sign of her real internal emotions. It was obvious she was taking her grief out on Sylvie.

Luckily Sylvie understood that, ignoring the hurtful words being thrown at her. “It’s not like that, Gabby.” She spoke softly, reaching out to grab Gabby’s hands.

Nagel couldn’t help but look at Antonio, wondering how he was taking all of this. He looked more emotionally affected than Sylvie. That was easy to see, with his clenched jaw and fidgeting hands. If Gabby kept up with her emotional outburst, her brother would surely intervene. What was holding him back with the hint of sadness in his eyes. He, like Sylvie, knew why she was reacting this way. But he wouldn’t be able to stand for it like his…..whatever Sylvie was to him. Thanks to Gabby’s drunken rant, Nagel now knows that they are really sleeping together.

“Why are you flinging your happiness in my face?” Gabby cried out, shooing Sylvie’s desperate hands away.

“I’m not—”

“You had to pick my brother, didn’t you? You couldn’t have been someone else’s whore—”

“Gabby!” Antonio’s voice was sharp, a warning. But intoxicated Gabby was unfazed.

“My husband is gone and you’re now trying to steal away Antonio from me. I’ve already lost so many people, Sylvie. Shay wouldn’t have done this to me.”

Nagel didn’t have a clue who Shay was, but Antonio and Sylvie both flinched at the mention.

At this point, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Sylvie left. But she stayed, looking even more determined than before. “Gabby….I’ll do anything for you.” She tried to talk sense into her friend, but as Nagel observed Gabby’s glazed eyes and swaying body, she wasn’t going to get any logic into her mind. Getting her back in bed was the best option.

“Bullshit….” Gabby slurred, before leaning over and throwing up all down Sylvie’s shirt.

Immediately the smell of vomit became prominent throughout the whole apartment. Everyone had barely any time to react before Gabby began to fall over. Sylvie, who was the closest, grabbed her first. But was clearly struggling to hold her up, as she was trying to avoid getting Gabby covered in the vomit.

Antonio took over. “Go get cleaned up.” He murmured to Sylvie, gesturing his chin to the direction of his bedroom. “We’ll handle this.”

We? Nagel thought of herself as a fearless woman, but she did not do vomit.

Antonio, who saw the disgust on her face, sighed. “I meant that you could help me get her situated. I don’t expect you to clean up my sister’s mess.”

Relieved, Nagel quickly stepped forward to help. She could handle helping Gabby get back into bed. But as they helped his sister into her room, Antonio leaned down to pick Gabby up entirely by himself when they were only feet away from the bed.

“Uh, okay.” Nagel watched carefully as Antonio lowered Gabby onto the mattress. It was important for her to make sure he didn’t somehow hurt himself—doing work without a partner would be a major pain in the ass. Plus, of course, she did care about the man. She would have to after spending hours upon hours with him five days a week. “Thought you wanted my help.” If didn’t need anything else, she should probably go. By this point she felt like she was intruding. Actually, when Gabby came stumbling out of her room was the moment she should have ran for it.

“We need to check her room for alcohol,” He said when he stepped back from the bed, looking around the room for bottles. “I thought Sylvie and I got all of it the other day,” He muttered, this time he was talking to himself so Nagel ignored him, looking into the closet.

She hit the jackpot. Right behind a layer of Antonio’s daughter’s clothes were bottles of alcohol in a plastic bag. They didn’t look like they were there for long. The receipt was inside the bag, which she decided to pull out. She was right with her suspicions, this was bought only yesterday.

“Dawson.” She called out softly to not wake his sister, but also still audible enough that he could hear. “Found it.”

The frown on his face grew deeper as he viewed the alcoholic beverages. He didn’t voice his feelings though, instead lowering down to pick the bag up.

“She’s not going to be happy to find that gone.” Nagel couldn’t help but comment. She took the bag when Antonio handed it to her though. Just because Gabby was going to be mad didn’t mean what Antonio was doing was wrong. Plus she was so hammered that Nagel was confident that she wouldn’t remember her being here. It would be Antonio and Sylvie that would have to deal with her. Nagel only wanted to be the person who dropped off food. Nothing more.

“Take it. Happy birthday.” Antonio said, shutting the cabinet door behind him.

A nice surprise, she had to admit. Antonio wasn’t the one to turn away alcohol normally, but this was certainly not a normal situation. She wasn’t going to complain about free alcohol, but couldn’t help but correct his statement. “My birthday is months away.”

“Early birthday present then,” Antonio shrugged, looking back at his sister before they left the room. She looked peaceful, even though she was anything but.

They were met with the sight of Sylvie, in a new shirt, one that looked familiar to Nagel. It was obvious that she had swiped the piece of clothing out of Antonio’s closet. She was down on her hands and knees, scrubbing the vomit out of the beige carpet.

“Sylvie, let me—” Antonio reached his hand out, eyeing the hand towel she was using. Scrunching up her nose, Nagel sidestepped out of the way. The mess seemed it was mostly cleaned up, making the help Antonio was offering to be useless, but the smell was still as strong as before. Another reason for her to make her exit.

She was right in her suspicion, as Sylvie got off of her knees, using her free hand to grab the cleaning supplies to her right. “I’m done already,” She said, taking a few steps backward before turning around to face the coffee table. “Don’t feel bad.”

For Antonio, that was probably an impossible task. But Nagel didn’t dare voice this aloud. After all, she wanted to get out of this mess as quickly as possible. She didn’t need to insert herself into a mindless conversation.

The scent of febreeze began to enter the room, taking over the vomit smell. After a few more sprays, Sylvie set down the bottle, turning back towards Antonio. She had a look in her eyes, one that was very familiar to Nagel. She had seen it multiple times from her ex husband before. It was the we need to talk look. Which was most likely about what had been said by intoxicated Gabby earlier.

This was the moment she had been waiting for. To make her leave.

“Well, I think I should….” She gestured to the door, taking a few steps backwards.

Luckily, Antonio didn’t argue. Since the incident, most of his energy had probably been drained from him anyways. When she saw him during work, he was the same Antonio. He put all his energy into work and Gabby, and when he didn’t have either, he faded. “I’ll see you on Monday.” He said, staying right besides Sylvie. “Thanks for the food.”

“Thanks for the alcohol.” She held up the bag. God knows she was going to need one of these tonight. She was surprised Antonio and Sylvie weren’t constantly drinking, this apartment was incredibly depressing.

But when Antonio took Sylvie’s hand into his, gripping it tightly, she realized they had another method of coping. Each other. Which she would originally assume that would be the reason they had started a relationship, but a blind man could see the love between them. It was almost nauseating, love was something she had shut herself off to after her divorce, but even she could acknowledge that they were sweet together.

Her internal musing was abruptly ended when arms wrapped around her, catching her off guard. The softness of the small body and flowery smell told her that it was Sylvie. Before she could even respond, the woman stepped back, ending the brief hug.

When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice was at a whisper. She didn’t want Antonio to hear. “Thank you for being there for him, at work.” She scooted closer, a good move on her part, as Antonio was a good listener. “It has been his escape these past for weeks and I know you have played a big part in that.” Sylvie reached out to grab Nagel’s hands, giving them a grateful squeeze. She resisted the urge to pull them away, she never was a fan of being touched, but allowed for it to continue for her partner’s……lover? girlfriend? She didn’t know exactly what they were. That curiosity was tucked into the back of her mind, planning to use it for small talk during the week. With everything that was going on with Antonio, she had to have something positive to discuss about with him.

“No problem.” She finally responded when she was able to find her words. Uncomfortable with being given credit, when all she had been doing was her job and bringing over food, she tried to lessen it. “You’ve been doing a lot, too. Being by his side. You can easily tell how much he cares about you.” The word love almost slipped through her teeth, but she was able to hold it back.

Sylvie gave a small smile at the compliment, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere now as her relationship with Antonio was brought up. “He’s an amazing guy.” She murmured, becoming quiet.

Something was up with her, but it wasn’t Nagel’s place to figure out why. She cleared her throat, hoping that would be enough to regain Sylvie’s attention. “It was nice meeting you.” She said once Sylvie’s eyes met hers again.

After an awkward wave to Antonio, Nagel forced herself to turn her back to them, heading towards the front door. She quickly opened and once through, closed it behind her. No reason to extend the cringeworthy goodbye. Especially when they were obviously wanting to have a conversation with only each other.

As she made her way through the apartment building, she tried to make herself optimistic after having the life sucked out of her at Antonio’s apartment. More like a cemetery, personally, to Nagel.

“Guess I’m having a party with myself tonight,” She muttered, watching the plastic bag swing back and forth.

No matter what, she knew she was going to have a better night than Gabby Dawson.

#my post #brettonio #brettonio fanfiction #brettonio ff #antonio #gabby #matt dies au #nagel #sylvie #green bean casserole

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wellamarke · 7 years

Text

on the sapphire seas

humans challenge, week 2, day 6: pirate au

The grip on his mind loosened as soon as he arrived back on board the Joybringer, and Fred returned to himself.

His arms ached with the memory of everything he’d done while under the influence of his captain - how could he have done those things? They were innocent people, honest sailors trying to bring a cargo to shore. It was just terrible luck that they’d sailed so close to the Joybringer, a very poorly named vessel that brought only chaos and destruction to anyone it attacked.

Captain Hobb was human, but his crew were all synthetic, and he’d developed a code that allowed him to assert his will directly onto them, making them as violent and bloodthirsty as any human pirate. Most of the crew had no true consciousness, so they didn’t and couldn’t object to being used that way. But for Fred, it was a living hell he was constantly aware of.

To add insult to injury, Captain Hobb’s override had been developed from a code written by his own father, who’d given him consciousness to start off with. That he was now controlled by the very thing that had first liberated him was almost enough to make Fred as angry and vengeful as his captain would like him to be.

In between the raids of other ships, the Captain relaxed his influence on the synth crew, so they could return to quietly carrying out their duties. It made for a very smooth-run ship, well-kept and in much better repair than it had ever been when the Joybringer had belonged to Fred’s father, David. The single-minded attentions of an unconscious crew only made the ship more efficient, and their attacks more formidable.

But Captain Hobb never needed to fear that his crew would turn on him in mutiny, because he stayed just present enough in their minds that they could not bring him harm. Even if Fred could place his hands around the captain’s throat, he wouldn’t be able to squeeze the life out of him. Loyalty to Hobb was deeply entrenched in his root code, for as long as the man remained alive.

Fred strode along the boards that led to the hatch, seeking his charging quarters below deck. He wasn’t needed up here anymore. Fred was big and strong, and his designated role during raids was to swing aboard the other vessel on a line of rope, and then kill as many of the crew as he could, before they could defend themselves against the other Joybringer pirates, who went straight for the cargo.

He reached his small room, and connected to his charger. He tried to concentrate on the power flowing into him, tried to feel revitalised by it. But all he could think about was how he’d lost the power he was replacing. How his arms had moved against his will and killed those sailors. How they’d cried out for the gods of the sea to have mercy on their souls. How they’d tried in vain to fight back, but found themselves powerless against Fred’s synthetic reflexes and superior strength.

It was too much.

He retreated into standby mode. Even there, the feelings of grief and anger and loneliness and guilt were not fully muted, but they dulled now, and mingled together. Fred rested as well as he could.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed, when someone came and stirred him. He looked up, and saw Robert, the ship’s mate, standing in front of him. “All hands on deck,” Robert barked. “We’re under attack.”

With a sickening dread, Fred felt the chilling power of Hobb’s code overcoming him again. He followed Robert out of the charging cabin and up the wooden stairs, back onto the deck. Sure enough, another ship had come dangerously close to the Joybringer, but Fred couldn’t take in any of its details - the rogue code drew his attention away from anything that wasn’t the defence of his ship.

All around him, Joybringer synths fought the invaders, who’d boarded by means of swingropes. It was exactly the same as the situation he’d faced earlier, only now he was in place of the sailors. He drew his sword and lunged for the person in front of him, not even aware if it was a man or a woman he attacked: it was just an enemy.

He never felt the impact of his sword against bone. Before he could make the strike, a swift hand came out and hit his chin. In the few seconds he had before his mind shut down completely, Fred mused on the fact that this had never happened before - usually, by the time someone realised he was a synth, he’d already maimed them enough that they couldn’t hope to switch him off. This person must have known what he was, before he even reached them. This person—

His thoughts disappeared entirely. Only darkness remained. Fred did not register the cries of, “We’ve got him!”, or the feeling of a sack being tied over his head, and ropes bound around his arms and legs to stop him struggling to carry out Hobb’s commands when he awoke. He knew nothing, even when he was attached to a swingrope and propelled over to the other ship. He would only find out later just how he’d been captured.

****

Once they had Fred, and Hester had dealt with the Captain swiftly and brutally, there was no need to stay on board the Joybringer a second more. Niska watched as the corrupted code broke down, and one by one, the synths stopped fighting. They looked around, could not remember why they were in combat, and retreated. They would look bewildered, Niska was sure, if they had the capacity to feel anything at all. As it was, they merely went back to their duties. Hester would stay aboard and make sure they headed for the harbour, where the cargo they’d unknowingly stolen could be handed over to those who were expecting it.

Niska took hold of the swingrope, once Leo had thrown it back to her. She’d used it to transfer Fred to the Emerald Eye, where Max and Mia had been waiting to retrieve him. Now she swung back aboard herself, hitting the planks at roughly the same time as Mattie and Flash.

She stopped to receive a congratulatory hug and kiss from Astrid as she headed for the hatch. “Are you alright?” her girlfriend asked, looking her over.

Niska smiled. “I’m fine.”

“You’d better go down,” Astrid said, sounding reluctant to send Niska away so soon. “The Captain wants all of you to be there to wake him up.”

Niska nodded, and headed for the hatch. She kept hold of Astrid’s hand until they were at arm’s length. “I’ll find you later.”

She climbed down the steps that led to the Captain’s quarters, and saw Leo, Max and Mia assembled there already. Fred had been propped up against a chest in the middle of the room, his eyes still closed.

“There you are, Niska,” said their Captain, smiling. “That was quick work.” Laura’s eyes danced beneath her hat. “I knew you’d want to do this together - I’ll leave you to it.”

She left her quarters, stopping only briefly to give Mia’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Then it was just the five of them.

“Go on, Max,” said Mia, nodding towards their youngest brother, then gesturing at Fred. “It’s time.”

But Max only smiled. “I think Niska should do it,” he said. “She’s the one who rescued him.”

Niska looked around at the others. Nobody objected. She stepped forwards and knelt down in front of Fred, reaching out a hand to tap his chin. At the crucial moment, the Emerald Eye gave a tiny jolt and listed forward a little, jogging Niska’s hand just the right amount to awaken him. It was as if the ship herself, which had given all of them a home, was welcoming Fred, too, into her protective care.

Fred’s eyes slowly opened. Niska pulled back, so he could see that they were all there, all safe, all together.

“Welcome back, brother,” Niska said softly. As soon as he was aware enough to move, Fred leaned forwards and hugged her tightly. She heard a shuffle from behind her as Max came and joined the embrace, not waiting a second longer for a turn. Finally Mia and Leo joined in too, until they were all there in a heap, deep in the body of the ship, reunited at last.

#humanschallenge #c4 humans #amc humans #THIS WAS SO FUN OH MY LIFE PIRATES YESSSS #it helps that I'm reading ship of magic atm.....im Invested™#fred elster #niska elster #btw david named his ship the joybringer after beatrice #her name means bringer of joy I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#according to a baby names website I googled lol #the emerald eye is a more obvious name for a ship but it oddly took me longer to think of it lmao #this now has a prequel!#voyages of the emerald eye

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