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beesmygod · 10 months

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BLOODBORNE LORE Q+A PART 7: CAINHURST RAID, CARYLL AND THE RUNES, LEAVING BYRGENWERTH

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6 (start of lore dump)

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my new adhd medication is working too good.

BLOCK #LONG POST/ TO NOT SEE THESE HUGE POSTS

i will post pure speculation in italics and important nouns in bold. these are created with the intent to be enjoyed by fans and non-fans.

translation source

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from the jump i'm going to add an editor's note that from this point on the timeline is muddled, confusing, vague and occasionally contradictory. people have moved heaven and earth trying to make sense of the inconsistencies, but the truth of the matter is that bloodborne suffered the fromsoft late game curse and was chopped up beyond recognition at the 11th hour for whatever internal development reason. whats interesting to me is the stuff they chose to keep that's complete and utter chaff. there are extremely rare items that do literally nothing but sit in your inventory, or quests that are completely pointless. enemies appear where they "shouldn't" and it difficult to tell if they are trying to impart some kind of information or if we're just getting dragon-assed in lost izalith again. its very odd and i think thats what draws people back again and again. such as....me......

i can give you overviews of these events in the approximate order that they happened but there is no guarantee that they happened exactly in this order or in this fashion.

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from this point on, there will be a distinct delineation between "old hunters" and "hunters". old hunters are from the time of byrgenwerth and have survived into the modern day as a result of old blood injections or can be summoned from the hunter's nightmare using the old hunter bell. a distinct characteristic of old hunters is that they no longer dream (the bell description reads: "The old hunters, who have long passed from the dream[...]"). notable old hunters include: gascoigne, alfred, djura, ludwig, gehrman, and maria.

regular ass hunters are new on the scene and usually belong to a recently established institution such as the healing church, school of mensis, or the choir. or they might just be common schlubs who joined the hunt as part of the neighborhood watch. [points at the camera] that's you. eventually. not yet.

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as perfect proof of what i'm talking about with regards to contradictory timelines and being chopped to bits: an unknown time ago, martyr logarius and a band of executioners traveled to cainhurst castle and slaughtered the inhabitants, the dreaded vilebloods. the inciting incident (or so says alfred, a heavily biased source as hes the only executioner in the game, uh, with lines anyway) was an unknown scholar who "betrayed his fellows at Byrgenwerth and brought forbidden blood back with him to Cainhurst Castle". the blood "threaten[s] the purity of the Church's blood healing" although it's not explained how or what the fuck they're talking about. according to alfred, logarius stayed behind to prevent the undying and unkillable queen from regaining power.

i do not know when this takes place. cainhurst royals were "long-time imbibers of blood" who already had a system to deal with the beast plague, implying they doing blood before blood was cool. but eventually ludwig uses the executioner uniform as the basis for his church hunters and it features the modern edition of the hunter's mark (as opposed to the older versions that you can see in this concept art and in chalice dungeons), so it had to be during or before ludwig's time. there are runes associated with both parties that were discovered by a byrgenwerth scholar, so it at least happened during or after their lifetime.

so its kind of vaguely around this time even though they talk about it like it happened 1000 years ago. since this is one of the least comprehensible story-lines of the game, we won't worry about it too much right now.

i need an image to break this up so check out the most fucked up, non-snake related map in the game:

for a company known for its cohesive maps, this is a fucking insane series of choices. i understand annalise needs to be trapped but what the fuck is this room. why is it up here. why is it magic. why is it like a hoarders nest full of the same 4 statues found literally everywhere on this map. this truly is the most mysterious game.

everyone and their mother has a completely baseless and improbable theory about who the culprit was or if there even WAS a rat at byrgenwerth- so of course so do i. let me work my way over there.

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whether due to an ideological difference or the whole fishing hamlet genocide thing, laurence and several of the hunters left byrgenwerth with the intent of researching "the old blood" from the labyrinth. the miraculous healing powers were too enticing for laurence to ignore, but willem was steadfast in his belief that humanity was not yet ready to reckon with whatever it was that was happening here - at least, not without elevating themselves to the same level as those in the "cosmos". his distaste for use of the blood is mentioned off-hand in the rune workshop tool description.

caryll runes side note for newbies: caryll runes are a gameplay mechanic that give you buffs you can switch in and out by using an iron brand on your consciousness. the runes themselves are transcriptions of "the inhuman utterings of the Great Ones". all but a handful of the runes were discovered/transcribed by runesmith caryll and some were explicitly secret ones.

almost nothing is known about caryll except they were a student of byrgenwerth. the workshop tool named for them is found on a dead hunter tied to a chair as the reward for the witch of hemwick fight. people will try to tell you that this schmuck is caryll but that's fucking stupid. caryll was not a hunter and there's no reason why caryll would have the means or motive to pilfer their own tool from the hunter's dream. i dont know why this guy has it. maybe hes just an asshole and stole it from the dream to be a dick. who knows. hes just griefing us lol

all three translations agree that caryll runes "do not rely" on using blood, so its significant when they DO start using blood in the runes. one could read this as indication of caryll's transition from byrgenwerth to the healing church to follow laurence over willem. nearly all of the covenant related runes and the runes relating to oedon are bleeding or "contain a nuance of Blood", as it says in the corruption rune used by the vilebloods.

the executioners have a rune too, "radiance", which is unusual for its description specifying that caryll had already discovered the rune by the time the executioners adopted it as their own. there is no mention of this on the "corruption" page, nor on the remaining covenant runes discovered by caryll.

if cainhurst were to alert their subjects of the already well-known beast plague caused by the miraculous healing blood, the church's newly established grasp on the populace would crumble. if cainhurst could keep the beasts in check, why couldn't they? they already did, after all, in the labyrinth. with the vilebloods gone (or at least, dealt with), the church has unilateral control of the ministration process to the point where alfred, an old hunter, does not understand it in the least. i wonder if a certain byrgenwerth educated runesmith was invited to castle cainhurst or traveled on their own, only to discover during the runemaking process that the "old blood" from the labyrinth and the blood in the veins of the royals were one and the same.

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"eyes on the inside" is a cutesy way of describing "insight", but the byrgenwerth system for deriving said insight necessitated the gruesome acts at the fishing village to obtain an eye-ridden cord, or at the very least, the parasitic creatures and slugs aligned to the arcane found in the village and bodies of the fishing village. willem hoped the cord would elevate his mind, and by extension himself, into a great one.

if we do some reading between the lines on the description for the "spark hunter badge", the description of "a style of inquiry that [...] closely followed the methodology of Byrgenwerth" is almost certainly "expose yourself to it" or "use living specimens" based on, well, everything and their protegees do. its not clear if willem ever actually got the cord; it only says he "sought" it. but he did, at least take part in and shape the byrgenwerth focus of learning away from blood and toward developing eyes on the inside. by putting slugs in your fucking head.

someone on reddit pointed out that the brainsucker enemies are kos parasites living inside the stitched up skulls of...people? pthumerians? i would argue pthumerians due to the fact that these enemies replace the generic pthumerian enemies in a chalice dungeon much later.

we can talk about byrgenwerth's results and fate later. because next time, the healing church is established.

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i cannot believe how long this shit is. kudos if you read it i guess. if nothing else it gets this out of my head, forever.

#bloodborne #lore #brainsuckers #byrgenwerth #vilebloods

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spooniechef · 1 year

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Japanese Curry (1 spoon)

I’m pretty sure anyone who reads this thing is probably thinking that I have a thing for curry. Said ‘anyone’ would be right, particularly now that I’ve discovered how relatively easy it is. Japanese curry is one of my favourites - it’s not insanely spicy - there’s kick, but not enough to distract from some of the subtle flavours in it. Most people who see it on restaurant menus see it with katsu of some description, but while I do plan to learn how to make gluten-free katsu someday, it’s not necessary. Japanese curry is basically just a kind of somewhat spicy stew, and you can use effectively anything you like in it.

There are a lot of complicated recipes for Japanese curry online, and that’s even disregarding the ones that ask you to make your own curry roux. While I do also plan to try that sometime, I thought I’d start simple this month and see if I could find gluten-free curry roux to get me started. My Google-fu is strong enough that I found gluten-free curry roux from a company called Emma Basic, which does a variety of speciality Chinese and Japanese items. So the plan was Japanese curry by one of the online recipes I found sometime this month. So if you’ve got gluten intolerances, it’s worth a look. (Though it’s a London-based company so unless you’re in the UK, probably better to look for a place like it in your area.)

Today, though, was a very bad pain day in an increasing line of very bad pain days. I didn’t want tandoori chicken three nights in a row, and I also wanted comfort food, which Japanese curry is for me. But all the recipes I found looked too complicated. So I decided to read what it said on the packet ... and that looked a lot easier. So I did that instead, and while I still hurt, I can’t be too depressed when I’m full of the first Japanese curry I’ve had in years. So assuming that any curry roux will work the same as the stuff I got, let’s start. There are going to be a lot of notes because I’ll go over what I did but there’s a lot of wiggle room to address.

Here’s what you’ll need

Curry roux

Two potatoes, cubed

Three carrots, chopped

One large onion, cut into eighths

Two chicken breasts, cubed

Note: what the box actually said was “use whatever leftover vegetables are in your fridge”, but living alone and being disabled means fewer opportunities to keep fresh vegetables in the house. So I bought the veggies I’ve had in Japanese curries before, but you can use basically anything. I might try cauliflower next time. You don’t have to use chicken either; prawns, pork, beef (so long as it’s not stewing meat or anything; that would take too long to cook), tofu, just stick with the veggies by themselves - whatever you like.

Here’s what you do:

Pour a little bit of oil (maybe 2 tablespoons) into a casserole pan or other deep pan. Add the vegetables and chicken and heat on medium high heat for 2-3 minutes or so

Add water - enough to more or less cover the ingredients. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer for 10 minutes.

Add your curry roux in whatever form you’ve found it and stir until it’s fully blended (it should be opaque, a faintly-orange tan colour and about the consistency of whole milk). Simmer for another 5-10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens a bit (so maybe the consistency of single cream).

Serve with rice

This is one of those ones that it’s actually hard to make any easier, just because the instructions are so basic. It’s little things like:

Already-cooked meat and vegetables will probably work as well as raw; you probably just don’t need to simmer them as much. You should still simmer them a bit, though, as that’s what helps get the flavour of your ingredients into the water, which further flavours the roux.

You could probably use frozen vegetables with this; you’d just have to defrost them first. Just put them in a bowl of cool water for a few minutes, then drain well.

Less a way to make it easier and more a thing to personalise it more - I spiced up the chicken a bit before I started heating everything. Just a little soy sauce, some coriander powder, some garlic puree and a bit of salt, but it gave the chicken a bit of extra niceness. So it’s worth a try if you have the spoons for it.

There we go - this serves about four, so it’s good for company, families, or just if you want a lot of leftovers to tide you over. One of these days, I will try a Japanese curry from scratch, or with some of the more complicated recipes, but for now, I managed one of my all-time favourites when I barely had enough spoons to remember to take my meds, so I call this one a win.

#The Spoonie Chef #recipes #meals #curry #Japanese

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lifblogs · 1 year

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This is part of a chapter from a WIP that I was rewriting.

———

“It’s obviously a trap,” Crowley spat, leaning back in his chair in the war room.

Dean sat across from him, hunched over, nursing a cup of too-bitter coffee. Cas, what did you put in this?

There was a chance the demon was right. Dead men who matched Dean’s description in Lawrence, Kansas. It was too obvious.

But why would Sam go for obvious?

What was his play?

“Crowley, you’re a demon—” Dean began.

“Glad you noticed.”

“What do you think Sam’s thinking?”

Crowley laughed, and started heading towards the kitchen.

Cas grumbled out, arms crossed, “Where are you going?”

“I need to be drunk for this conversation,” Crowley said.

Dean just let him go find his fix, and he drank some of his coffee.

Castiel came behind him and rested his hands on his shoulders, thumbs idly rubbing against him.

“Is Sam even Sam anymore?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Castiel responded.

“We need to bring him home,” Dean said. “We…” He hung his head, sighing. “God, this is all so fucked up.”

Slowly, Castiel said, “Yes, it is truly fucked up.”

Dean almost felt one corner of his mouth turn up at hearing Castiel swear like that.

Crowley came back in, toting a whole case of beer. He promptly set it down on the table, took a bottle, opened it, and chugged.

Dean watched him, remembering the night before: the slurring, the soft, wonderful haze. And then the twisting and twisting of his stomach, the pounding of his head.

He grimaced, and took a sip of his coffee.

Yep, too bitter. Cas.

“So, thinking like a demon…” Crowley eventually said, taking a seat. “You know what that’s like, eh, Squirrel?”

Dean glared.

Not now, he begged.

He didn’t want to talk about when he’d been a demon, didn’t want to talk about his time with Crowley. Especially not in front of Cas.

Cas’ grip on his shoulders tightened a fraction, but then he moved to take a seat beside Dean, pulling the chair close.

“Just get to the good stuff,” Dean said.

“Fine, no foreplay. Shame, really.”

If Dean’s head didn’t hurt he would’ve rolled his eyes right out of it.

“Really, Moose is just evil. He’s Moose, but Not-Moose. Ah, I like that. Not-Moose.” He took a long swallow of beer, seeming to savor it. “So Not-Moose probably wants you dead or something since I’m sure all that co-dependent brotherly love you had has turned into hate. He’s powerful, and he knows it. Perhaps he was just having a bit of fun, but setting a trap at the same time.”

“You call this fun?” Castiel asked, taking out his iPad and showing the gruesome pictures of the mutilated bodies.

Dean idly noticed that one of the victims had his eye shape. And he looked at those eyes, looked at the dead, pale glossiness to them. The empty stare of death. His stomach churned, and not from a hangover.

There was blood everywhere, pieces of bone, hands gone. It was hard to tell how they could even be put back together. There was a pink, fleshy thing lying by one man’s chopped up wrist. A tongue.

“Fun for a demon,” Crowley responded. “Really, Dean, you’re lucky. He’s taking his anger out before he gets to you. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you. Either that or he’s planning just how to do it, practicing, seeing what he likes best.

“Sam’s gone dark side before, but he’s new to having this much power. And power? Well, power is everything.”

There was a darkness to his tone as he said it, a deep anger, a regret. Hatred.

Of course that was going to be there, of course he would be feeling that. He’d been usurped by Vadrach, and tortured. Now he had no throne, and he was… What was he? Not Dean’s pet, but something. Not exactly a friend, not exactly an ally. Just… someone. Someone familiar.

“So do we spring the trap?” Castiel asked.

“Might be too dangerous,” Dean said. Even as he said it he hated those words, hated himself. He couldn’t just sit here, hiding away from his brother, hiding from the world, from what had happened to him.

You’re a fucking coward, he told himself.

The words dug deep, but joined a rottenness that was already present, already dying inside him. Inescapable fear seized him, and it settled right in with that dark, defiled thing inside of him that might’ve been his soul. Or perhaps it was wrapped around it, growing and multiplying like a cancer.

Dean held his breath, feeling it wanting to claw its way out.

But then he was being strangled, in Kenesaw.

He was being choked by Sam.

He was—

Castiel shook him. “Dean?”

He blinked, taking in his surroundings, surprised to find that he was in the bunker war room.

“What?”

“You zoned out.”

Oh, if only it’d been that dull.

Dean stabbed the darkness in him, twisting the knife, and he said, standing up, and making to leave the room, “Let’s spring the trap. See what happens. It’s about damn time things got interesting around here.”

After sipping at his coffee he turned away, leaving a disgraced demon and angel to themselves. What a world he was living in.

#wip wednesday #spn #dean winchester #castiel #crowley #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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mysteries-x-mistakes · 1 year

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[image description: a thread from reddit with the top comment reading: “Embrace the idea of multiple revision passes. Get the story out from beginning to end, no matter how rough it is. Once it exists, you’ll be able to see where improvements need to happen. Make the big changes (structural, characterization) first and work toward prettifying the prose after the foundational elements are in their proper places. There’s no point in agonizing over artful description while the possibility of cutting scenes still exists. I cannot emphasize enough that it is much easer to see where to insert background and description after there is a finished draft to insert them into.

There are two replies to this. The first reads “100% this. In my first draft my stories read like it was written for grade school readers because it’s very ‘He walked to the ship. The ship was big, He said, ‘the journey begins’ and put on his hat.’ But then after edits it becomes actual words lol. I also noticed when I tried to make flowery prose in my first drafts 80% gets cut and then I’m stuff [I’m assuming they meant stuck] with a folder of chopped up pretty sentences that I’ll never use.

The second reads “This exactly. My first drafts will read like lead bricks, forgotten whole chapters, missing motivations, etc. But you need to get it done first. [italicized] Just write and get it all on paper. Then let it rest for a minute before you go back and figure out what’s wrong with it. You might have started the story at the wrong point, not fleshed something out, or maybe it needs another voice. But you’re not going to figure out what needs to be changed until it actually exists. So get a tall glass of whatever you’re drinking and just keep going until you get there.]

#writeblr #writerslife #writers on tumblr #positivity #reminders #wish I could like stamp this onto my hands or something #i always get caught up in making it sound pretty #and I struggle so hard to finish anything #it doesn't need to be perfect right away #it can sound as awful as bullet points #but the first story just needs to get done #hearing other writers say their first drafts are awful is inspiring #bc i would compare myself to their finished drafts #bad comparison

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dreamsclock · 2 years

Note

Rivals duo are young teens. Techno befriends a homeless, antisocial necromancer during a school trip (far, far away from home) and has to pretend that Dream has been apart of their class the whole time.

Hilarity ensues as his roommate Wilbur finds out and they have to keep hiding Dream from Sam, the teacher chaperone.

i have been laughing about this au for two weeks and will never get over it this is the funniest fucking idea in the world thank u sm for this ,, this is an au based off the dsmp characters, not their irl counterparts, just so anyone reading this knows!!!

warnings: trauma, mentions of torture + necromancy, child kidnapping, blood

“This is Dream,” Techno announces, holding a scruffy looking kid up by his collar and presenting him to Wilbur, “he’s fourteen like us, he’s homeless, he’s a necromancer, he’s wanted in fourteen different countries for unimaginable atrocities, and he’s gonna be stayin’ with us for a while.”

Dream hisses. Looking insulted, Wilbur promptly hisses back.

“Good first impressions.” Techno says, pleased that his twin and new roommate will be friends. “We are goin’ to have to hide him from Sam, though, so I need your help.”

Wilbur eyes Dream. “Can’t we keep him in a suitcase or box or something?” He asks. “If we bend a few limbs and stuff I think he’ll fit.”

“Tried already.” Nodding to the suitcase in shreds on their floor, Techno sets Dream down, who instantly shrinks into his hoodie, looking sulky. “Apparently he doesn’t like the dark.”

“So he’s a baby.”

“I’ll kill you,” Dream tells him, voice croaky, “being brought back to life is more painful even than torture.”

Looking unimpressed, Wilbur crosses his arms and scoffs. “And how would you know? You’re fourteen. I bet you’ve never been tortured.”

Murky green eyes meet dark brown, and Wilbur lights up in delight.

“Oh my god,” he says breathlessly, “you’re so cool. Tell me all about it while I cut your hair.”

Wilbur doesn’t warm up to many people, so Techno suppose he should count himself lucky here: his twin listens avidly to Dream’s evasive, twitchy descriptions of torture and resurrection, eyes wide in delight, and Techno swears he even takes notes. As he listens, he chops at Dream’s hair to a more acceptable length, and Techno takes the time to look for clothes that might match Dream’s clean appearance better: finding only his own spare shirt and pants, he offers them reluctantly to Dream, who stares at them blankly.

“Put these on,” Techno tells him, “you look like you’ve been dragged up and down a muddy road for a week.”

Dream blinks. “I was on a mission underground before this,” he says, solemnly, “for the Night Men.”

“…Riiiight,” Techno says, “the Night Men. I absolutely know who those are.”

Wilbur’s brow furrows. “I actually have heard that name before,” he tells them both, bemused, “who— oh. Oh.”

“What?” Techno demands, not liking the gleam in his twin’s eye one bit. “What’ve you remembered?”

Wilbur turns to him, grinning, before directing his attention to Dream.

“Tina,” he says simply.

Techno blinks. “Tina?”

“Tina?” Dream asks, something like recognition creeping into his voice. “You know Tina?”

“She goes to our school,” Wilbur grins, “she talks about the Night Men sometimes. She says her mum works for them. I thought she was just making stuff up, but she’s telling the truth, isn’t she?”

Techno looks back and forth between the pair of them, bemused.

“As much as I’m glad it seems we’re gonna have an extra pair of hands to keep you hidden from Sam,” he says, “I’m gonna have to ask who or what the Night Men are.”

“Oh. Simple.” Wilbur shrugs. “Just a group of highly trained assassins that find children with some sort of special abilities and kidnap them.”

Silence. Dream squirms.

Techno stares. “Huh?”

“They tried to kidnap Tommy!” Wilbur says gleefully. “And then they didn’t.”

Techno feels like he’s losing sanity by the minute. “Tommy,” he says, slowly, “like TommyInnit. Our brother.”

“Yeah.” Wilbur sits beside Dream and begins braiding his hair. Dream looks like he’s going to lean into the touch or start going crazy. “But then they realised his ‘special ability’ was less of a special ability and more just a human ability to piss people off, so they left him on our doorstep again the next week. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?”

Feeling remarkably left out, Techno scoffs. “Why would he tell you and not me?”

“Because I was almost taken by the Night Men,” Wilbur tells him, solemnly.

“HEH?!”

“Remember that weekend I showed up in Thailand?” His twin asks. “That was the Night Men.”

“Philza told me that was because you were on a school trip,” Techno complains, “he lied to me.”

“Didn’t wanna worry you,” Wilbur says airily, “I got back, after all.”

Techno struggles to comprehend what he’s being told. “So these... Night Men, have just been going round kidnappin’ my brothers left and right and I didn’t even know about it. Honestly, I’m kinda insulted they didn’t come for me.”

The silence that hangs in the air after his statement leaves him growing stunned.

“Well,” Wilbur clears his throat, “about that...”

“No.”

“You’re literally half pig.” Dream croaks out. “I remember you. That’s your special ability. What, did you think you were just an average human?”

“Honestly,” Techno says, at a loss for words, “I just thought it was puberty.”

“By the way,” Wilbur adds, cheery tone growing less enthused, “they’re probably going to be hunting Dream down. Which means by extension they’ll be hunting us down, too.”

Oh, great. Techno counts to ten and prays to the gods for patience.

“I say we sacrifice him and run,” Wilbur says wisely, and Techno groans when Dream scrambles to his feet in a panic.

“We’re not sacrificin’ him. That’s lame.”

A loud clatter comes from outside, and a boy with a gap-tooth and scar bounces into the room, grinning around, before his eyes settle on Dream, curiously. “Wilbur! Do you know you’ve got a weird little creature sitting in your room?”

“Quackity!” Wilbur beams. “Meet my new pet thing Dream. He’s on the run from shady magic assassins because he’s a necromancer. Wanna help us hide him?”

“Absolutely!” Quackity pokes Dream curiously. Dream has him pinned in a chokehold before Quackity can scream — which he does, repeatedly, until Wilbur drags them apart.

…This is going to be a long weekend, Techno thinks, and buries his head in his hands. The Night Men will be tracking them down, they need to keep a traumatised rabid teen away from their teacher, Sam, and they’ve only been in Spain for one week.

This is absolutely going to be a disaster.

#> my writing !!#> the night men au #tw trauma #tw torture #tw kidnapping #tw blood

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bananonbinary · 3 years

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Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006.

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

#the magnus archives #LISTEN #i am once again asking people to remember that martin has MORE job experience at the institute than literally any other character #(except elias or i guess maybe rosie)#he's the goddamn veteran not the newbie #fan wank /

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lanawinterscigarettes · 3 years

Note

I know you said you wanted some double feature requests so how about a Harry Gardner x reader where the reader knows that Harry takes the pills because he told them and they make him "protein shakes" to tide him over in between kills but they're worried that he's not getting the nourishment he needs so they start putting some of their own blood into the drinks and when he finds out he immediately gets worried for their health so it's kind of angsty but ends in fluff? Sorry if that's too weird

It's not weird at all! Harry is so fine, I'd make him a blood smoothie any day-

Protein Shakes (Harry Gardner x reader)

Warnings: Spoilers for double feature, dark themes, discussion of the black pills' side effects, accidental finger cutting, intentional finger/hand cutting, mild cursing, mentions of blood, unappetizing description of a "protein shake", reader is a simp for Harry (aren't we all)

You and your husband, Harry, moved to Provincetown during the winter so he could work on his writing. He didn't have the inspiration he needed to finish the pilot he needed to, so when a local legend offered him a pill he guaranteed would help, he jumped at the opportunity.

Ever since he'd started taking the pill, however, he'd had this insatiable lust for human blood, which he quelled a couple of times a week by killing some random pedestrian he came across who wouldn't be missed. You gave yourself the job of making sure he was fed in between kills, not only because you worried about him, but so that he wouldn't wake up one day and start looking at you like his next meal.

Once a day you would fix him a snack, a protein shake if you will, mixed with blended steak (and the occasional roadkill). One morning, you accidentally cut yourself while you were chopping up the beef. Not wanting to have to go to the store to get 10 more packages of steak, you stuff it in the blender anyway, making sure to get yourself a bandaid after.

After you poured the bloody concoction into a mug, you walked into the living room to see Harry furiously typing away at his laptop.

"Breakfast," you say as you put the mug on the coffee table beside him, lightly kissing him on the head.

He took a quick sip before glancing at you and smiling. "Thanks sweetie," he said as he continued working.

That was odd, you thought as you made your way back into the kitchen. He would usually ignore you when you brought him breakfast, let alone thank you for it.

Then you remembered how some of your blood got on the meat that was put in the blender. Realizing that having actual blood in his diet might make him happier, you decided to make it a normal thing.

It had been a couple of weeks since you'd started putting your blood in his morning meals, and Harry seemed fairly happier: he'd started thanking you when you would bring him his meals, and he was snapping at you less than usual.

On your side, however, things wouldn't doing so great. The constant blood letting from you had started to take its toll. What started as a small finger nick that was just deep enough to draw blood had turned into you cutting open a line down your finger long enough to where you couldn't close it properly without it hurting.

The whole thing came to a head one day when Harry walked in on you cutting open the inside of your palm.

"What are hell you doing?"

You turned around just in time to see him running towards you. He took the knife from you and put it on the counter before wrapping your hand in a dish towel.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly as he rummaged around looking for the first aid kit. You could tell how much self restraint it took for him to not start sucking the blood from your wound, and it made you feel bad for putting him in a situation like that in the first place.

After he found the first aid kit, he silently started cleaning your wound.

"Are...are you mad?" You quietly asked, looking at the ground.

He sighed, throwing the dirty towel into the trash can as he began to bandage your injury. "No, I'm not mad, I'm just...confused. Why would you do something like that to yourself?"

You hesitated before answering. "I did it for you."

"What?" His head shot up, a surprised look on his face. "Why?"

"It's just...I know how difficult it can be for you, having to drink blood substitutes rather than the real thing. The first time it happened, I cut myself purely by accident. But when I saw how happy it made you to have real human blood, I started to do it more often. I guess....I just wanted you to be happy."

His features soften as he looked at you.

"Baby, I'm already happy, because I have you. I know I don't say it often, but I appreciate you and everything you do for me, and I never want you to feel like you have to do something that hurts yourself in order to make me happy, okay?"

You slowly nodded as he finished bandaging your hand. When he was done, he leaned over and gave you a gentle kiss.

"I love you," he whispered across your lips.

"I love you too," you said as you softly kissed him back.

#american horror story #ahs #american horror story imagines #ahs imagines #american horror story imagine #ahs imagine #american horror story x reader #ahs x reader #ahs double feature #ahs red tide #ahs double feature imagines #ahs double feature imagine #ahs double feature x reader #harry gardner #harry gardner imagines #harry gardner imagine #harry gardner x reader #harry gardner angst #harry gardner fluff

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simplee-dreaming · 3 years

Text

The Runner

(Part 2 here)

A/N: Okay so I've been writing this for a while and only just finished it but I'd like to know whether you guys would like me to turn this into a series? This part works well as a stand-alone but can easily turn into a series if you would like!

Word count: 3194

Summary: The reader works as a runner on the set of Infinity War and developes a bond with Chris Evans.

(SPOILER WARNING: There is one spoiler for Infinity War in this fic, but I'm sure many of you have seen it anyway)

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

“Black coffee for Mr Evans please! Black coffee!” A man called over the radio. Your ears pricked up and you ran into the kitchen to make a black coffee. You came charging back out and headed straight for Chris Evans’ dressing room, but his assistant jumped in your path.

“I’ll take that to him.” He said, snatching it out of your hand.

This was your first time working as a runner and you were starting to get the hang of the job. You had only been working there for three weeks and you had about 8 months to go. You were highly excited to work for Marvel, being a fan yourself, but you hadn’t met any of the cast or even the directors. You had caught small glimpses of them but never had any interactions. You had a lot of responsibilities as a runner - making tea and coffee, handling the paperwork, assisting anyone who needed it - and yet you were just chopped liver to everyone on set.

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

Another month had passed and you had grown closer to the other runners, the kitchen staff, the cleaners and even the third assistant directors. You were far more comfortable in your job and you even had the opportunity to stand with the third assistant director and watch them film Loki’s death scene...though not your favourite thing to witness.

You still hadn’t interacted with any of the cast but you were used to that by now. It was mainly running orders for everyone and handling the secretary-type roles, which you didn’t mind doing anyway.

Call after call came over the radio with people demanding all sorts of coffees and teas and hot chocolates and cold drinks. Enough to keep you on your feet during the long days. There was a break in demands when they were setting up ready to shoot another scene so you stood with your work friends for a chat before the room had to fall silent. One of the runners let out a small gasp and directed you with their eyes. You turned around to see Chris Evans walking behind you, heading onto set. He turned to you all and gave a little nod and a smile before carrying on. Your heart fluttered. Chris Evans just acknowledged your existence. A stream of small shrieks and giggles came from your group as everyone tried to compose themselves before filming commenced. That was your day made.

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

“Black coffee for Mr Evans please! Black coffee!” A man called over the radio. Same guy every day, always his assistant. You quickly marched into the kitchen to get his coffee ready before anyone else did. Strong black coffee with one sachet of sugar. You grabbed the cup, marked it with Chris’ name and strolled over to his dressing room. Once again your luck had vanished when his assistant jumped in front of you and grabbed the cup.

“The order is absolutely correct, yes?” His assistant asked, like he did every time you brought the coffee.

“She makes it the majority of the time, I’m sure she has the order right by now.” Said a voice from behind you. You turned around to find Chris Evans smiling at you. You gave a shaky smile back.

“You know, you make my coffee all the damn time and I don’t even know your name.” He said. You gave a shy giggle. There was a pause.

“So...what is your name?” He asked.

“Oh, um, sorry, yeah, it’s Y/N”, you responded.

“Y/N. Very pretty name. Well, thank you Y/N for the constant coffee. I’ll make sure you deliver them straight to me next time.” He winked at you and you giggled again. His assistant cleared his throat.

“Mr Evans you’re needed in makeup now.”

“Yes thank you Darren. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Chris?” He huffed. He gave you one last smile and walked off. You were in heaven.

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

A week had passed and you hadn’t interacted with Chris since. Every time there was a call for his coffee, you were busy doing other jobs. You had sorted out multiple paperwork, made drinks for crew members and you were currently assisting the cleaners in cleaning up a very messy set after they had stopped shooting a scene. You didn’t mind because the cleaners were all lovely people, plus it gave you a bit of a break before running all over the place. You were kneeling on the ground sweeping up the smaller bits with a dustpan and brush until a pair of feet suddenly appeared in your eyeline.

“Missed a spot” came a voice from above you. You looked up to find Chris Evans towering above you. He winked.

“You’re everywhere at the moment. I’m sure this isn’t in your job description.” He said.

“It’s not, but the more hands on deck, the quicker this gets cleaned.” You shrugged. “Plus, I don’t mind, all of these people are lovely to work with.”

Chris smiled at you and bent down to help.

“You’re an A-List celebrity, you shouldn’t be cleaning up this mess.” You said.

“You’re right. I’m far too big of a diva to clean.” He replied. He flicked a tiny stone at you and you gasped.

“Now is that any way to treat your staff?” You teased, throwing a bit of soil on him. He laughed and you continued to throw bits of rubbish at each other until Darren appeared.

“Oi! You there! What do you think you’re playing at?!” He asked you.

“Oh, I’m sorry we were just..”

“Chill Darren, I was helping her clean up and I started the rubbish fight.” Chris interrupted.

“Well, you need to be resting. You have a big scene coming up.” Darren huffed.

“It’s fine, I was resting then I got bored and now I’m having fun.” Chris responded.

“Fun? With a runner? I highly doubt that. You best head to makeup and get yourself cleaned up.” Darren said to Chris. He then shot you a glare and marched off.

“Sorry about him, he’s very pompous.” Chris apologised.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” You said. Even though you were used to people degrading you for being a runner, it still hurt when they did.

“Well you shouldn’t be.” Chris said. He reached out to squeeze your shoulder but was interrupted by Darren yelling “CHRIS!” at the other end of the room.

“I better go before Sir Shouts-A-Lot yells at me again.” Chris said. You let out a little laugh and watched him leave.

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

Two more weeks had passed and you had only spoken to Chris on the odd occasion that he would pass you on set. Every time there was a coffee call, Darren made sure someone else made it to stop you two from interacting. You couldn’t see what his problem was but you chose not to kick up a fuss anyway.

When your break finally came around, you grabbed a cup of tea and decided to walk around the studio...just so happens that along your walk was the caravan park where all the actors stayed on set. You heard a familiar voice behind you and your heart dropped.

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing back here?”

You froze.

You slowly turned around, ready to face the wrath of Darren, when, to your surprise, Chris was standing there grinning.

“Good impression, no?” He chuckled. You let out a long sigh.

“Jesus, Chris, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” You scorned, but you couldn’t help smiling,

“On your break?” He asked, gesturing to the tea in your hand.

“Yeah, only a short one though. I get to finish early today.” You said.

“Oh nice! I’ve already wrapped for the day myself. Say, did you want to do something when you’re finished? It’s cool if not, I just thought it would be nice for us to actually talk and maybe become friends? Without the demon on my shoulder.” He said. You smiled instantly.

“I finish in 2 hours, I would love to do something!” You said, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“Okay okay, um, I have a few movies back in the caravan if you wanna pick one later?”

“Sure, sounds like a plan. I’ll run over as soon as I’ve finished.” You smiled at him.

“It’s a date.” He winked at you and walked away.

Time was moving slower than ever. You kept checking your watch to see how much time had passed but it was only ever a couple of minutes. You decided not to look at your watch for a while and carry on with your duties. The next time you looked at your watch you had half an hour left. A wave of excitement came over you and you went back to finishing up your jobs.

Finally, the time had come.

You finished the jobs you were doing, collected your belongings and clocked out. Butterflies swarmed your stomach as you walked off set and into the caravan park. That’s when you realised you had no idea which caravan was Chris’. You walked up and down and scanned each one, careful not to look like a creep. Suddenly, the door of the caravan on your right opened and Chris stepped out.

“You’re not lost are you?” He asked, smiling.

“I wasn’t sure which was yours, they all look the same,” you said, shyly. He chuckled and invited you in.

You stepped into his caravan. There wasn’t a lot of stuff as it was only a temporary home, but it was still enough to produce a warm ambience. He gestured at you to sit down on the sofa, opposite the tv.

“I have chocolate, popcorn, sweets...salad...what do you fancy?” He asked.

“They’re all fine...except for the healthy stuff, that ruins movie time,” you said. He laughed and poured the sweets, chocolates and popcorn into separate bowls and placed them on the table in front of you.

“Drink? I’ve got fizzy drinks, water, hot chocolate, tea, milkshake...um...black coffee…” he said, you chuckled.

“A milkshake might be nice if that’s okay?” You asked, he nodded and said he was gonna have one too.

You couldn’t help the mix of nerves and excitement flowing through your body. You were sat in Chris Evans’ caravan...with Chris Evans! It really was a dream come true. You tried to calm yourself before you had a fangirl attack but it meant you came off quite shy and quiet.

“Here we are,” he said, placing the milkshakes on the table. “Are you warm enough?” he asked. You noticed you were sat on the sofa looking quite tense. You nodded.

“I’ll get blankets just in case,” Chris said. He went into his room and came out with two large blankets. He passed the softest one to you. You thanked him and adjusted yourself, taking off your shoes so you could sit cross-legged on his sofa with the blanket draped over you. This made you feel a bit more relaxed.

“So, um, what do you fancy?” he asked. You bit your tongue to stop you replying with “you”, you felt it was far too soon in your friendship to make a joke like that.

“Um, Captain America?” You joked. He giggled.

“Nuh-uh, not happening. Try again,” he said.

You had a small discussion on the types of films you like and you settled on Deadpool. Still a great Marvel film, just one that doesn’t have Chris in it so he didn’t have to stress about watching himself.

Chris put on the film and sat next to you, he grabbed his own blanket and draped it over his long legs. He offered you food and you kindly accepted. You both sat in silence whilst the film began, though you kept having to bite your lip to stop you from smiling so much.

About 45 minutes into the film, Chris started to get fidgety, so he tried to adjust himself without making too much noise. In the process of moving his hand, he accidentally scratched the sole of your foot. You let out a squeak and pulled your foot away.

“Sorry, sorry, that was an accident,” Chris said, apologetically.

“It’s okay,” you said, relaxing a bit but praying that he didn’t notice your squeak. You didn’t notice him giving you a side-eye with a puzzled expression on his face.

He sat still for a few minutes then went to adjust himself again, this time deliberately scraping his nails against your sole. You squealed louder and tucked your foot under your leg. You looked over at him and he had a wicked smirk on his face.

“You’re not ticklish by any chance, are you?” He asked, the corner of his lip curling up.

“N-no, you just made me jump,” you said, unconvincingly. He narrowed his eyes but let out a “hm” and turned back to the film.

You were a lot less relaxed now. You were ridiculously ticklish but only a handful of people knew. The trouble was, you did enjoy being tickled but you were always embarrassed by how ticklish you were. Your heart was pounding at the thought of Chris Evans discovering this weakness.

A few more minutes had passed and you couldn’t properly relax. You were still sat cross-legged but your foot was tucked further under your leg this time. Chris let out a little yawn and stretched, you flinched at his movement but still kept your cool. He noticed and tried to hide his smile. When he put his arms back under his blanket, he casually let one hand slide over and gently tickle your toes. This time you let a small giggle slip out and you clamped your mouth shut.

“I think you are ticklish,” he teased. Your heart did a somersault. He gave you a playful smirk and the nerves washed over your body. You couldn’t even find the words to speak. He reached over and grabbed your foot with one hand, pulling it out from under your leg, and he used his other hand to tickle your sole. You shrieked loudly and tried to tug your foot away but his grip was too strong. You couldn’t even twist that far away because of how you were sitting. You fell backwards into the sofa and kept giggling.

“Chrihihis plehehease,” you giggled.

“Aww look at you, you’re so ticklish,” he cooed. You lifted up your blanket to cover your bright red face.

“Oh no you dont,” he said. He stopped tickling your foot and lunged at you, pinning you down to the sofa. You screamed at the sudden attack and pulled the blanket further over your face. He shook his head and vibrated his fingers into your tummy. You shrieked loudly and used one hand to bat away his hands.

“Come on, I wanna see your face when I tickle you,” he said. Your laughter shot up an octave when he started squeezing your hips.

“Oh? Did I just find a bad spot?” He asked. You kept trying to bat him away with one hand but it was no use.

“Remove the blanket or I’m gonna make this worse for you,” he said, sternly.

“NEHEHEVER!” You shrieked under the blanket.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shot his hands under your arms and you screamed loudly. You couldn’t keep holding the blanket over your head with him tickling deep into your armpits. You slammed your arms down and the blanket fell off you in the process.

“That’s better, I can see your face when you laugh now,” he said. The feeling of his fingers wiggling deep into your armpits was absolute torture.

“Surely it doesn’t tickle this much?” He asked. You shrieked loudly and your laughter grew more desperate with every tease.

“Does it tickle more when I mention how much it tickles?” He asked, clearly aware of what he was doing.

“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP!” You cried. He laughed with you which made it worse.

“Ohh, cootchie cootchie coo,” he said in a high pitched teasing voice. That made you scream more and frantically try and buck him off you.

You thought that would be the killer move? Oh no. Not for Chris. He picked up the pace of his wiggling fingers in your armpits and bent down to nuzzle his beard into your neck. His longer hair brushed over your ear too. This was the killer. It was absolute torture. He blew a raspberry into your neck and you fell into silent laughter. You couldn’t cope with him tickling your armpits, his beard tickling your neck and his hair tickling your ear. He laughed into your neck and the vibrations were the final straw. You started hitting his shoulder with as much force as you could and he sat back up, removing his hands.

“Sorry, I went a bit too far. Are you okay?” He asked, getting off of you. You lay there, sucking in deep breaths, and nodded. Your face was the deepest shade of red it had ever gone.

“Are you sure?” He asked, giving you a hand up.

“I...I...” you began, he looked at you with a concerned expression on his face. “I’m okay,” you breathed out. He gave you a soft smile.

You were more in shock at the fact you had just been ruthlessly tickled by Chris Evans. You couldn’t speak, your heart was pounding ten to the dozen.

“You’re quite possibly the most ticklish person I’ve ever met,” he said. Somehow your face went an even deeper shade of red.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you blush,” he cooed.

“Shut...up..” you whispered.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, shuffling closer to you.

“Yeah, I’m more than okay,” you said. He raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you liked that?” He asked, a hint of teasing in his voice. You blushed and tilted your head down.

“No. Way. You enjoyed that didn’t you?” He asked. You blushed once again and gave a very small nod.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get more adorable,” he said. “Little Y/N enjoys being tickled.”

You looked up at him. A wave of playfulness came over you.

“I’m so gonna get you,” you said. Before he could protest, you launched yourself at him and tackled him to the sofa. You wasted no time in squeezing his sides.

The laughter that came out of him was one you had never heard before. It was so warm and genuine and it only made you want to tickle him more. You giggled at his weak state and switched between tickling his sides, armpits, tummy and ribs to see which one made him laugh the most. It was clear that he was enjoying himself too.

“Aww is Chris ticklish too?” You cooed, surprised at your sudden confidence. You were met with a chorus of begs and pleads but you couldn’t stop yourself tickling him.

It was a really cute afternoon with just the two of you. But you were both too distracted to see who was outside the caravan, watching as you both ruthlessly tickled each other.

Darren.

#tickle fic #avengers tickle fic #ler!chris evans #lee!reader

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

#Tony Stark #tony stark fluff #tony stark angst #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #iron man #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fic #tony stark fic #iron man fic #wow sad dizzy hours

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fromevertonow · 3 years

Text

The thing with Realm Breaker is that it’s not about this group of people that’s perfect. Every single one of them is just stupid, in a good way. Let me elaborate.

Dom is an immortal being who has no clue about how mortals work and he’s constantly saying stuff like “immortals do/don’t [...]” and it made him all the more stupid (and adorable???). A lot of the times an immortal is used in a story as the hot love interest, they have very explicit descriptions of their appearance being that of a god (not to say that Dom is not just that). He is not a 500 y/o man prying on young women. He is just so stupid and I want to scream over how happy this made.

Sorasa is, in one word, more than amazing (I can’t describe her with one word and for you to expect so and think I can even describe her at all, is lame). An unapologetic young woman who just survives. Her sarcastic comments added multiple years to my lifespan, thank you very much. Her banter with Dom... [screams in pillow]. She can chop me in pieces for her chicken salad and I’d ask her if she wanted the crisp of bone with that. I would thank the woman.

Corayne might be the most realistic YA fantasy protagonist I have ever met. For fuck’s sake, she has z e r o (0) skill in sword fighting, has no life experience (aside from her trades for her mother), and is forced to save the world. She doesn’t suddenly learn how to defend herself, she needs time for that and that is shown throughout the book, but she is hella motivated to make herself useful. She is so clueless about everything that is going on, I want to tell her that she’s doing great.

Andry is incredibly adorable. My little Uncle Iroh with his tea... :,) I want to give this young man a hug, may I? He’s raised in this very noble environment and has very strong morals to do good, yet he’s stuck with a bunch of idiots, one of which is an assassin and whose first solution is murder, another is a pirate’s daughter and sees no problem in morally questionable decisions, and then you have a brooding immortal who also is guided by honor but eaten up by guilt and has his head hanging low all day long. Somehow, he is the sunshine of the gang with his tea. Good for him. Make your new family tea.

Erida... I looooooveeeeeee love love love love... corruption arc and I cannot wait to see what she’ll do. She is so ambitious and cunning and powerful. The way she screams “Slytherin” is incredible.

Charlon. I’m not going to say anything. His character speaks for himself.

Sigil is the wine aunt and I take no criticism.

Valtik is the crazy grandmother who keeps offering you a strangely smelling plate of food and swears it’s good for you (it probably is)

Also, just one general thing. None of the characters are described as incredibly, unrealistically, and swoon-worthy hot (though they probably are). Their appearance is of so little importance whereas in a lot of other YA stories it seems as if the main characters are all these pretty blue-eyed blondes which pisses me off, but this isn’t. This has representation. Not just in terms of appearance, but also in that of sexuality. I love how the characters as a set are so unique when compared to other YA fantasies.

Conclusion: read Realm Breaker

#realm breaker #victoria aveyard #aveyard #sorasa sarn #domacridhan of iona #domacridhan #andry trelland #corayne an amarat #erida of galland #queen erida

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stormcrawler75 · 4 years

Note

Bad Things Bingo request: Memory Loss with the Sides as a pantheon of gods.

Warnings: Memory Lost, description of scars, Virgil not having a good view of how he looks.

Notes: Dude, guys, I accidentally deleted the last few paragraphs and had to rewrite them. I finished this tonight out of spite.

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Virgil fucking hated snow.

There was no good thing about snow. Not one damn thing and Virgil was willing to stake his life on that claim. In fact, every good thing about Virgil’s life slowed to a stop when fall ended and the snow started to fall. Snow was cold, killed all of the crops that Virgil spent all year growing, and made travel into town a damn bitch. And, on top of everything else, it made the scars surrounding Virgil’s eyes and temples ache to no end. The only thing that helped with the aches and pains was the medicine that his friend Elliott sold. And where did Elliott sell the medicine?

All the way in town. So, yeah, Virgil hated snow.

He sighed as he climbed out of his bed, the cold from outside seeping into his bones. Virgil’s home was a small one-bedroom house with a small fireplace, a bed that he had pressed against two walls, small knickknacks and gifts placed on shelves that Virgil had built himself, and a small rug in front of the door to the outside. The fire that he had built the night before had gone out, with only glowing embers left in Virgil’s tiny fireplace now. The bowl with half of Virgil’s leftover dinner was left beside his bed, which Virgil immediately grab to slowly pick at.

Virgil glanced over at a small mirror on the wall that Elliott had given him, gently wiping at his eyes and trying his best to avoid his scars. There were deep and rough scars around Virgil’s eyes - as if someone had tried carving them out with a knife but never truly committed to the idea - and two identical thin, deep scars on each of his temples. Virgil’s nose was crooked like it had been broken many times before and one of his eyes didn’t open all the way. He wasn’t the prettiest man ever but, as Elliott had once said, he was just lucky to still be alive. Not that Virgil cared about the scars or how he looked. He honestly just wished that he remembered how he got the damn scars.

Or any part of his life before waking up in the town’s local Doctor’s office. He had woken up nearly five years ago with no memory. Elliott had found him on the outskirts of town, caught in a bright bronze net and left for dead, and had immediately brought him to the town’s Doctor. The town had been gracious enough to provide Virgil with a small house and some land to make a living off of. Virgil had been given far, far more than a poor, ugly man like him ever deserved and he had tried his best to pay the town back ever since. He gave deals to the town folks on his carrots and beets, he did odd jobs in the winter for half the price he charged for out of towners, and when the town announced that they would be making a temple for the God of Family and Safe Havens, Virgil went out and chopped down as many of his own trees that they would need.

Even if Virgil wasn’t sure what he thought about these Gods, he would give everything and anything to the people who had given him a home, their food, and the clothes off their back.

Though, it wasn’t like what he gave was anything special. Though the farmwork he did was hard and backbreaking, the corps flourished under Virgil’s hands. It wasn’t like he ever did anything special. He just did what every other farmer did. Maybe it was just that Virgil did what he loved. Waking up early and going out to work with his vegetables and his two little fruit trees were hard but Virgil loved it so much that anyone who happened to walk onto his land had a good chance of hearing him sing as he worked. As long as what he did made the town happy, Virgil was happy.

Virgil was startled from his thoughts from banging on his door, the excited voice of his best friend calling from outside, “Virgil! Virgil, wake up, wake up!” Virgil yawned shuffled over to the door, opening it with a tired smile. “Hey, Elli. What’s up?”

Elliott beamed at him and surged forward, grabbing Virgil’s arms and making him shiver from the snow and frost on their mittens. “It’s finished! The builders, you know the ones who said that they wouldn’t be able to finish until Spring? The mayor paid them double and they finished! The Temple is opening up tonight and they’re going to be putting out a feast!” They let go of Virgil, stumbling over to the spot on the floor where Virgil’s damp coat, mittens, and gloves had been dumped.

Virgil could only gawk at them, feeling like his brain was having trouble catching up to what Elliott was saying. “It’s finished?! How, when- I haven’t heard anything about the builders starting up again! When did this even happen?!”

“They worked through the night for the last month,” Elliott squealed, practically throwing Virgil’s winter wear at him. “And, dude, I can’t believe I’m even gonna be saying this,” Elliott took Virgil’s hands and said with forced calmness, “the God Patton himself might actually show up.”

Virgil swore that his heart stopped right then and there. Full on, dead stop. “A God?! What the hell are you talking about?! He’s coming here?!”

“It’s this new thing,” Elliott babbled, gesturing at the clothes in Virgil’s arms frantically until Virgil slowly started pulling them on. “It only started in the last few years and only in this country but, recently, whenever a Temple is built, whichever God the Temple is for shows up! They usually mingle for a bit and insist on looking around. I heard that even the God of Logic and all that other stuff showed up in a town a few days away about a month ago! He blessed the town’s teachers, looked around, and then left. People are thinking that the Gods are looking for something or something and that’s why they’re showing up everywhere!”

“Holy shit,” Virgil whispered, pulling his hat on hurriedly. “Holy shit, are you serious?! That’s fucking - we gotta check it out!” He grabbed his boots and practically jammed them on his feet. “We gotta get going now! If we head out now then we can make it to the town by lunchtime! Wait, no, we gotta get an offering! Do you have something to give him? I killed a deer yesterday and I still have its pelt so I’m covered but what about you!?”

Elliott grinned at him and flashed a bright pink ring on their left hand. “I’m good! My Grandma gave me this ring just in case something like this happened before she died years ago. Now come on! We can wait in my house until tonight but we gotta get going!”

Virgil laughed and grabbed Elliott’s hand, pulling them out of the small cabin. “You better have brought your horse and buggy because if I have to walk through all of this snow, I am going to lose it.”

“Of course I did,” Elliott laughed, climbing into the buggy. “And you know that that you could buy a horse of your own from old man Jerry. After you helped him and his wife with that problem they were having, they’d probably give you one for free!” They eyed Virgil’s rising blush with a grin. “And Miss Kitty would give you three buggies for how you helped her with her girlfriend. Heck, she’d give you a carriage!”

“It’s not my fault that I give good advice,” Virgil muttered, ducking his head and trying to get comfortable in his seat. “Besides, Miss Kitty and Jessica’s problem was easy. They just needed to talk, that’s all. I just pointed it out.” He batted Elliott’s arm when he saw them open their mouth to continue talking and - most definitely - continue talking about how Virgil kept getting when it came to giving advice about people’s love lives. “Shut up and get us to town, Elli!”

He ignored Elliott’s laugh and settled back as the horse started making its way back to town. Elliott was just overexaggerating. It wasn’t like Virgil went out looking for people who needed help with their love lives. Just... whenever Virgil was talking to people, the topic of love happened to come up a lot and people always seemed to ask for his advice. Virgil honestly had no idea if the advice he was giving was good, per se. It was just that Virgil seemed to know what he was talking about. People theorized that Virgil had been a Matchmaker before he had come to live here. Virgil wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Besides, it wasn’t just romantic things that people came to Virgil to ask advice on. Virgil had helped with the two orphan boys that had come from the city, the year-long fight that two local sisters were having, and a fight between two best friends. It seemed that Virgil was just good with advice. It wasn’t like it was anything special.

“So, all of the Gods have been showing up lately,” Virgil asked Elliott as the buggy went down the dirt road.

Elliott nodded but then paused. “Well, almost all of them. One of them hasn’t shown up recently. The God of Love and Beauty hasn’t appeared in almost five years now.” They shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I mean, I heard that he was super active before so he’s probably just taking a break. I heard that time passes really quickly for the Gods. I’m sure that he’ll be back sometime soon.

“I mean, what’s the other option? I mean, what kind of bad things can happen to a God?”

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The Temple was beautiful.

Virgil knew that it was nothing compared to the Temples in cities or the Capital. He had heard rumours of those Temples being made from solid gold, with sparkling rubies and sapphires embedded in its walls, and rich offerings given by Kings and Queens stacked through the halls. Compared to those Temples, this little one was nothing. It was barely as big as the local schoolhouse with one room. From looking through the front window, Virgil thought that it looked more like a very cozy and comfortable family room than anything. There was a beautiful fireplace roaring with fire, beds pushed up against the walls, and food stacked on the table. Virgil’s offering of a deer’s pelt was lying on a table along with several others.

“I can’t believe that this is the new Temple,” Virgil whispered to Elliott, both of their eyes wide with wonder. The two of them were at the front of a large crowd in front of the Temple, waiting for entrance. This whole thing was so exciting that Virgil was barely aware of the dull sting from the wind hitting his scars. “I mean, it’s great but it’s... not what I thought it’d look like.” While it might not be what they were expecting, it was still the most wonderful place that either of them had ever seen.

Elliott grinned at him, bouncing up and down in excitement. “Me neither but this is the God of Family and Safe Havens. I bet that this Temple would look a lot different if this was a Temple for the God of Beauty and Love or for the God of Self Preservation. I hear that the God Patton lets people use his Temples as Safe Havens, just like the God Janus.” They gasped when a soft, warm blue light glowed from the inside of the house, bathing everything inside with its light. “Oh my gosh,” they whispered, gripping Virgil’s arm tightly. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe this, I can’t believe this! He’s actually coming, he’s actually showing up!”

The crowd of people immediately quieted and no one made a single sound. Virgil could’ve dropped a pin and it would’ve been the loudest sound in the entire town. Slowly, the light coming from the Temple died down. Though, and maybe this was just Virgil seeing things, the inside of the Temple seemed warmer somehow. It seemed homier. And the large man standing in the, just minutes before empty, Temple seemed completely right there.

Virgil watched through the front window with wide eyes as the man slowly looked around. He was huge, almost six feet, with curly blond hair and big round glasses that were perched on top of a small bottom nose, covering big blue eyes. There were freckles on each and every inch of the man’s skin and there were laugh lines around his eyes. He was wearing comfortable clothes and had the air of a person that you could trust. The kind of person that you would run to if you had a problem or no one else you could turn to. He looked... like a Dad.

He looked familiar.

The God slowly walked through the Temple with a small smile, gently touching the walls and taking a minute to look at the food. Virgil watched him kneel by the fireplace and gently stroke it for a few seconds, glowing embers jumping from the fire and onto the God’s skin only for the God to brush them from his skin with no sign of injury. And Virgil watched as, slowly, the God stood and made his way to the door leading outside to the crowd waiting outside.

Virgil hurried to kneel with the rest of the town, breath catching at the God stepped outside. Most, including Elliott, had their heads bowed respectfully but Virgil could only gawk dumbly as the God looked out at them with a smile. For almost a second there, it looked like he was looking for something and he had to hold back his disappointment when he didn’t find it. But he kept a smile firmly on his face as he went back to looking through the crowd. He had just opened his mouth to say something when his gaze landed on Virgil’s ugly scarred face. Virgil felt a pit of terror settle into him as the God’s face went from gratitude and forced happiness to an expression that Virgil didn’t have the time to fully understand at before the God was almost running at him.

“Vergilius!”

The crowd scrambled away from Virgil, Elliott being pulled from him from someone, and Virgil felt frozen as the God landed in front of him. Distantly, in the back of Virgil’s mind, he remembered a mean rumour that had circulated when Virgil had first been found. That Virgil had somehow offended a God and, in punishment, the Gods had scarred him and stolen his memory. Virgil had never believed these rumours but now, Virgil thought that it might be true. And if they had stolen Virgil’s memory the first time, Virgil found that he was utterly terrified to discover what they might take this time.

Virgil jumped as large, calloused but gentle hands cupped his cheeks, tilting his head up so he was staring right in the watery eyes of the God of Family and Safe Havens. The God’s glasses were slightly crooked and had slid down right down to the edge of his nose. Tears were making their way down his cheeks and the God’s lips were turned up in a bright, slight disbelieving but so relieved grin. The God was rubbing a thumb into Virgil’s cheek gently while the other was hovering frantically around Virgil like it didn’t know where exactly it should settle. “Oh, Vergilius,” the God whispered, voice cracking. “Oh, you’re here. You’re safe.”

“Vergilius?”

“As in the God Vergilius?!”

“The God of Love and Beauty!?”

“Virgil, our Virgil?”

“What is a God doing living in a cabin on the edge of a poor little town?”

“I,” Virgil licked his suddenly dry lips, staring at the God in confusion and a bit of fear, “my name is Virgil. I’m sorry but, I think I you got the wrong person. I’m, I’m not,” his words trailed away from him, not sure what to say. He found himself leaning into the God’s hand and had to jerk away. Had to jerk away from the feeling of ‘finally-I’m-finally-home-I-was-so-scared-but-I’m-home-and-I-was-so-scared-but-I-knew-that-you’d-find-me’.

The God laughed, but it sounded more confused than anything. “Kiddo, Vergilius, what are you talking about? Oh, Sweetheart, what happened?” Virgil’s breath caught as one of the God’s huge fingers gently brushed against one of the scars surrounding his eyes. “Who did this to you,” the God asked, his voice darkening and full of power. He looked up and he seemed like a God for the first time since he had arrived as he demanded, “Did these Mortals do this to you?!”

Almost a full year ago, Elliott had told Virgil that there was a reason that Patton was the God of both Families and Safe Havens. Because no one would dare step into one of the God’s Safe Havens and try to hurt someone who had hidden there. Because those who stayed there were the God’s family and no one would risk Patton’s wrath. Virgil hadn’t been completely convinced if Elliott wasn’t exaggerating back then, of the God’s terrible wrath on those who had hurt those who he had deemed family.

But now, as the ground started to shake and the sun started to burn impossibly bright, Virgil knew that Elliott had been under-exaggerating.

“Wait,” Virgil cried, lurching forward and grabbing Patton’s arm desperately just as the God had started to rise. “Please, don’t hurt them! They saved me, they didn’t hurt me,” he pleaded. “Please, please don’t hurt them, please.”

The God stared down at Virgil, one hand still cupping his cheek. “You’re sure,” he asked softly, the shaking ground slowly calming and the sun’s harsh beams dimming slightly. “Are you sure, Sweetheart? They’ve helped you?”

“They found me in a bronze net,” Virgil babbled, keeping a tight grip on Patton’s arm like he could single-handedly stop the God if he tried anything. “Elliott did. They found me without my memories and brought me to a Doctor and healed me. They gave me a house and land and fruit trees and seeds and they never hurt me, I promise, I swear!” His chest was burning with the love he had for this small town and the people in it and he was honestly afraid that his chest would burst from just how much of it there was.

There was a long pause before the God slowly pulled Virgil up until he was standing, paying attention only to Virgil and giving none of it to the townfolks watching with bated breath. Both of Patton’s hands cupped Virgil’s cheeks and he asked softly, voice almost unhearable, “Do you know who I am, Kiddo? Do you remember me?”

Virgil blinked and the tears that had been building during his frantic plea starting slowly trickling down his face. “You’re Patton,” he whispered softly, “the God of Families and Safe Havens. The Creator of Janus, the God of Self Preservation and, and a lot of other things. The Father of the Council of Gods.” He let out a shaky breath as the God bowed his head, letting his forehead rest on Virgil’s. “Am... am I wrong?”

The God let out a shaky, pained laugh. “No, Kiddo. No, you’re not wrong.” He looked up at the pale, terrified Mayor and gave him a wobbly smile “Thank you for the Temple. It’s beautiful. I love it.” He turned back to Virgil and gently petted his hair. “I need you to come with me, okay Darling? I know this is all probably very scary and overwhelming for you but I need you to be brave, okay?”

“You... you won’t hurt them,” Virgil asked shakily, looking over his shoulder at the townsfolk. Even though they looked terrified, many of them managed to give Virgil weak and encouraging smiles. One of them, an older lady named Miss Julia, looked like the only reason she wasn’t beating Patton away with her cane was her partner, Hannah, gripping onto her arm tightly. “Right? They protected me. You promise you won’t hurt them?”

The God smiled at him gently, pressing a kiss onto his forehead. “I promise, Sweetheart.” And, with that, Virgil was pulled into a gentle hug and his face was gently pushed into the God’s shoulder so he couldn’t see what was happening. Virgil was about to pull away, terrified that he’d look back to see that his town had been wiped off the map, but he found himself falling limp into the God’s arm when a warm, safe feeling flooded into him and the ground was whisked out from under him. The harsh winter wind disappeared and, for one brief moment, there was only Virgil and the God.

And then, Virgil stumbled as a floor reappeared under his feet. Even without looking, Virgil knew that it was the most expensive floor that he could remember standing on. It was smooth and felt like it had been freshly waxed. He pulled back away from Patton and looked around, eyes widening. Now, this was a Temple.

They were in a large room that wouldn’t look out of place as a King’s throne room. Nine empty thrones were placed around the room, all of them looking completely different from each other. And, for some reason, Virgil felt drawn toward the smallest, almost dainty looking one on the far left side of the room. Like it was meant to be his.

“Does this room seem similar to you at all,” the God asked gently, keeping one hand on Virgil’s shoulder. He seemed to deflate a little when Virgil shook his head. “Okay, that's okay, Kiddo. Now, I want you to wait here, okay Hon? I’m going to get our friends and we can talk this whole thing out.” He leaned forward and gave Virgil a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaving the throne room and leaving Virgil alone.

Virgil swallowed and looked around slowly, trying his best to get his bearings. The room was gorgeous but his eyes kept getting drawn to the small, purple and black throne. It was deceptively dainty looking almost like the throne of a Queen that Virgil had seen once in a book Elliott had given him. But, even from halfway across the room, Virgil could see that the metal was sharp and there were two small, detachable knives on the arms of the throne that would’ve been perfect if the person sitting there suddenly needed something to throw. And there was a power simply radiating from the throne, like if the wrong person sat in it then they’d simply cease to exist.

It was beautiful.

There was a sudden flurry of noise and Virgil spun around, tensing up defensively. The noise was coming from a doorway and Virgil could hear one voice rising above all the others, “You can’t be serious, Patton! He’s been in a dirt poor farm town this entire time?!” There was the soft of Patton answering back, though Virgil couldn’t make out exactly what he said, and the same voice from before snapped back, “No way! Vergilius wouldn’t stay away from us, we’re his family! Whoever you brought back is an imposter, it has to be!”

Virgil stepped forward nervously, walking up to the doorway and standing right beside it but still not be seen. A new voice jumped in, low and suave. “We don’t know that, Roman. We should meet him, just in case it really is Vergilius!”

“But what if this is some evil monster who tries to put us under his spell?!”

“Roman - hes’s not a monster!”

Virgil jumped at a new voice snapped out, “Enough!” Roman, Remus, Emile, Remy, you four stay here. Myself, Patton, and Janus will meet with... whoever Patton has brought here.”

“It’s Vergilius,” Patton cried, sounding close to tears. “Logan, I promise-”

“I know, Patton, I know. We’re just going to check that this is Vergilius for certain, okay Sweetling? And if this truly is Vergilius, we’ll want to make sure that he’s okay first before bombarding him all at once. This is just to be safe.”

“And if this is an imposter, then me and Roman will stab him to death and push him into a vat of boiling poison!”

“For once, I agree with my brother.”

Virgil felt a cold stab of fear before it was overwhelmed with the feeling of hot, harsh anger. He was basically dragged here, taken from his home because apparently, some God thought that he was the God of Love and Beauty - fucking ridiculous - and now some other God decided that if he didn’t look enough like this missing God than they were going to be taking Virgil’s life as punishment. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Before Virgil even knew what he was doing, he was already halfway through the door and spitting out, “Well I fucking don’t!”

The hallway was filled with eight people, all who turned at the sound of Virgil’s voice, but Virgil turned all of his attention to the one with a sword drawn and glaring daggers at Virgil. He didn’t half to be a genius to know that this was the guy who had called him an imposter and jumped right on board with the ‘Killing Virgil’ plan. Virgil decided that he didn’t like this guy.

The guy - he had to be God - puffed up and stalked up to Virgil, baring his teeth at him. “How dare you wear the face of my friend, you imposter!”

“I’m not a fucking imposter and I’m not your fucking friend,” Virgil snapped, planting his feet and glaring up at him. The God glared right back at him with bright red eyes, gripping his sword so tightly that his knuckles were turning bright white. “So don’t go yelling at me!” He pushed at the God’s sword arm so hard that the God nearly dropped his weapon.

There was a moment of tense silence before one of the others cleared their voice, stepped forward with a raised finger and said, “Just so you all know, I’m on Pattycake’s side. That is definitely Vergilius.” They stepped back with a smirk as the God with the sword turned his glare at him. “Hey, just saying, Roman.”

The God - Roman - huffed and turned his snarl back to Virgil. “I don’t care what you say, Remy. I know Verglius and he wouldn’t hide out in some random town while we’re all looking for him!”

“My name isn’t Vergilius,” Virgil snapped, feeling the urge to stop his foot. “It’s Virgil! I don’t know any of you guys and my name is Virgil!”

Roman spread his arm and nodded firmly. “See!? Even the Mortal agrees! This was just a mistake.” He sheathed his sword and offered Virgil his arm with a sharp smile. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll escort you back to your home and we can go back to looking for the real Vergilius.”

“Wait,” Patton cried, stepping forward and shoving himself between Virgil and Roman. “Roman, I know that this is Vergilius, I just know it! He told me that he had no memories, he told me this! Logan,” he turned to a short man who was staring at Virgil with dark narrowed eyes, “Logan, you believe me, don’t you?”

“...He does bear an uncanny resemblance to Vergilius,” Logan hummed, stroking his chin with thin, boney fingers. “And if he did indeed lose his memories than that would explain why Vergilius never sent word and how he gained those scars. Though, we have had many imposters in the last five years that you were also sure was Vergilius, Patton,” he continued gently.

“It’s Virgil,” Virgil said sharply, straightening up and glaring at the God.

Logan sighed in frustration and opened his mouth but was cut off by that same suave voice from before. “Well, then, there really is a simple way of solving this, isn’t there?” Virgil turned to look at who was talking and froze.

Staring back at him was a man with sharp golden eyes and bright green scales going down the left half of his face, staring down at Virgil with an unreadable expression. He tilted his head and said smoothly with a shrug, “Make him sit in Vergilius’ chair.”

One of the Gods who hadn’t spoken yet - a God who looked very similar to Patton but with bright pink and blue eyes, long brown hair instead of blond, and an outfit that wouldn’t look out of place on a scholar - stepped forward with a frown. “But, Janus, that’s not fair to the Mortal! Patton brought him here, he didn’t come here claiming to be Vergilius! If it turns out that he isn’t Vergilius then the power will overwhelm him and -”

“Wait,” Virgil cried, throwing his hands up in the air. He tilted his chin up and glared at the intimidating God, Janus. “Sitting in that chair will prove whether or not I’m this Vergilius?” Janus had barely nodded before Virgil was turning back to the throne room to sit in the stupid damn chair so he could go back to his farm and sleep until fucking spring.

But Janus’ hand snapped out and grabbed Virgil’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “As a favour to Emile here,” he said, nodding at the God with pink and blue eyes, “I will warn you to what the chair will do if you’re not Vergilius.” His lips quirked up. “Unless you’d like to just charge in and sit in it without knowing.”

Virgil wanted to scream, he really did. He could be told what would happen if he wasn’t Vergilius - which judging from what Emile had been saying was probably nothing good - and lose his nerve. Which might just prove to these Gods that he was an imposter and Virgil would be in for a world of pain. Or he would just go in to sit on the throne and damn the consequences.

Virgil blamed the decision he made next on how angry he currently was. There was no way for any anxiety or common sense to peek out and make Virgil nervous enough to take a second and really think about what he was about to do. Before he could fully think about what he was doing, Virgil ripped his wrist away from the smirking God and turned back to the Throne Room, stomping across the hall and ignoring the calls of Patton and Emile to wait and let them explain first before trying it.

Instead, he hoisted himself upon the Throne and sat back, closing his eyes.

It was the most comfortable chair ever. It was like someone had studied Virgil’s body and had shaped the Throne around him. The pillow on the throne felt like it was stuffed full of duck feathers and was made out of velvet. Velvet. Virgil had never even seen velvet before. It was the most comfortable Throne in the history of Thrones. Virgil didn’t know how he knew that and he wasn’t going to think on too closely.

“Okay, so, I sat in the stupid chair,” Virgil groaned as he leant forward. As sad as he was to get out of the Throne, he really wanted to go home and check-in with the rest of the townsfolk. “Can I go home now?” He froze though when he opened his eyes and saw all eight Gods standing around him and watching him with various expressions on their faces.

“I knew it,” Patton whispered a large grin on his face and tears gathering in his eyes. “I knew it.”

Roman was staring at Virgil in numb shock, tears running down his cheek. “Oh... you’re really him,” he whispered. His hand twitched like he wanted to pull Virgil into a hug but he couldn’t commit to the action. “Vergilius.”

Virgil twitched backward, leaning back into the throne. “No, I told you. My name’s Virgil. I’m not -”

“You are,” Janus said, stepping forward. He was smiling at Virgil with tears in his eyes, looking so happy and relieved. “That throne was made specifically for Vergilius and your atoms would’ve melted if you weren’t truly Vergilius. Even if you don’t remember your life as Vergilius or don’t remember us, you are our Vergilius.” His smile grew into a large grin. “Oh, Dear One, I’m so happy that you’re safe.”

Virgil blinked dumbly, feeling like everything he knew had just been turned upside down and nothing made sense anymore. He didn’t want to believe it. He just wanted to go back home, visit with Elliott, and then sleep in his own bed. He didn’t want to believe it.

But he did.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, tears of confusion pricking at his eyes. “If I... if I really am Vergilius... then what happened? How did... where... What happened?”

Janus pulled Virgil into a tight hug, holding him so tightly like he was terrified that if he let go than Virgil would disappear. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t. But we’re going to find out. And until we do, we’re never going to let something like this happen again. I promise.”

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#Storm Writes #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Tw Memory Loss #tw scars #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Janus Sanders #Roman Sanders #Emile Sanders #Remy Sanders #Elliott (Cartoon Therapy)#Remus Sanders #though Remus only has one line and isn't mentioned by name directly #Anonymous

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marvelsimp · 3 years

Text

The New Kid: Arrived

The New KId Masterlist

Ch. 4

Genre: Fluff, Angst Pairing: Peter x Lesbian!reader (Platonic duh), Avengers & Reader Warnings: swearing, nerdiness, mentions of homophobia and being kicked out, panic attack, Description: Y/n's birthday continues. Reader’s Powers: Healing, telepathy, and empath. Word Count: 2,217

“Cupcake, please.” says a small voice, Morgan.

This causes the room to erupt in everyone’s laughter including your own. The group then sings “Happy Birthday” to you and as you blow out the candles you wish that one day your parents will love you enough and that if that doesn’t that you will be okay.

“Morgan,” you say calmly, “You get to pick the first cupcake since you asked so nicely.”

She smiles and jumps up and down. She takes a second but finally picks one. You decide to take the one from the top and very happily take a bite.

“Hey, before everyone splits off,” Peter says, “Let’s get Y/n to open her presents!”

Presents? Seriously? Today was honestly enough. You open your mouth to protest but Peter stuffs your cupcake in your face and leads you to a chair that’s surrounded by gifts. He forces you to sit down just as you get the last bit of icing off of your nose. “You guys seriously didn’t have to get me gifts, today was enough.”

“Shut up,” Peter retorts.

You put your hands saying, ‘ok fine.’

“Open mine first!” yells Carol.

You blush, you honestly forgot you were still holding it. You open the bag and inside is a Captain Marvel plushie, you let out a chuckle and get it out of the bag to show everyone. There are a few laughs and aww’s around the room. You look up at Carol who’s grinning and give her a nod of approval which she seems to enjoy.

You next grab a small box it reads ‘The Starks’ and you open it, it’s a bracelet. Tony tells you about its functions and how to use it. Most importantly, you can get her to send messages although you can’t hear Friday through it.

The next gift is from Nat and Clint, it’s a few sets of training clothes. She informs you that in a week you’ll start basic combat training, you aren’t too excited but it's better than dying. That training will also help teach you about the present from the Starks.

Next is a gift from Scott, Hope, and Cassie it’s a beautiful Captain Marvel necklace. You look up at Peter, “So you told EVERONE.” There are a few nods around the room, and you can feel carol trying not to laugh. You blush a little harder.

Next is a gift from Sam, Steve, and Bucky as you open it you let out an evil laugh, there’s around Spider-Man pillow. You quickly pull it out of the bag and smack Peter in the face causing him to fall on the floor. There is an eruption of laughter. “Okay, I like her!” Sam yells. You look back in the bag and there is a set of matching Spiderman PJ’s. You get them out and toss a pair to Peter, who is still on the floor. There were a few ‘awws’ to that one.

“Well,” I’ve got to put this one to bed,” Pepper said standing up.

Morgan pouted.

Pepper picked her up, dismissing Morgan’s protests. “I might come back down once she’s asleep. Happy Birthday, Y/n!”

“Happy Birthday,” waved Morgan who was still very annoyed that she had to sleep.

“Sweet Dreams,” you tell Morgan waving back. As they get on the elevator you pick up a tiny bag that’s from Ned, when you open it you discover a Deathstar keychain. You tear up a little bit and explain to everyone how you met Peter. (In case you don’t remember, Y/n first messaged Peter after he posted a picture of the LEGO DethStar.)

Next, you open it from MJ, it has three books in it. MJ is quick to explain that she wanted to share her favorite but couldn’t pick just one. You thank her you know how important books are to her.

Next is a rectangular box from Thor ‘and Loki’ seems to be added later. In it is a simple yet beautiful dagger, it leaves you a little confused, but Nat offers to teach you how to use it and you accept.

You still three gifts and one card left. You decide to go on ahead and open up the card, it’s from Rhodey. You open it and it’s just a simple Birthday card signed Rhodey and $20 falls out when you open it. “Like I said I didn’t know until this morning and I had to come from the west coast.” His defense makes you smile, and you assure him that you’re pleased.

Next is a large gift bag from Wanda inside is a large amount of “spa day” items, bath bombs, face masks, candles, etc. You tell all the teens, including her, that there has to be a spa day. The girls accept pretty quickly while Ned and Peter are a little more hesitant but accept anyways. The next gift is from Bruce, it’s a decently large box.

You start to unwrap it and discover it to be a microscope, you let out an excited gasp. “I saw yours this morning, it looked ancient so I thought you might enjoy a newer model,” Bruce explains, “We do have some more powerful ones in the lab, but I thought that you might enjoy your own.” You’re like a kid on Christmas, excited to try out all of your new gifts.

“One more,” Peter smiles handing you a bag. It’s from him, obviously, you take out the tissue paper and there are two toy lightsabers one has “Peter” engraved on it and the other one has “Y/n.”

“Haha, you nerd!” you giggle out. You grab yours and toss Peter his. You stand up and turn on your saber. You pause for a second, looking for his approval. He nods in return.

“I have brought peace, freedom, justice, and security to my new empire.”

“Your new Empire?” Peter replies in the worst British accent you’ve ever heard.

You can’t contain your giggles, neither can Peter or Ned.

“Don’t make me kill you,” you say trying to contain your smile.

Tony has his hand on his head, you can hear him mutter, “Dear god, not another one,” under his breath.

“Anakin, my allegiance is to the republic, to Democracy!”

You start to carefully walk around Peter, “If you are not with me, then you are my enemy.”

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes. I will do what I must.”

“You will try.” That’s when the very epic battle began, as you fought you both making noises like “Vruummummm” or “Schvrmmmm.”

You could see Bucky’s concerned/confused face that Steve seemed to be amused at. You also saw Steve lean down and whisper something in Bucky’s ear which seemed to calm him. Finishing the battle, you jumped up in the air as Peter pretended to chop off your limbs.

He laughed and reached his hand out for you to get up. You accept and he pulls you up. The crowd is laughing and a few of them are clapping so you and Peter bow which causes them to clap a little louder and a few cheers.

“Imma guess that you’ve never seen Star Wars,” you say to Bucky as you go to reclaim your seat. He just shakes his head.

“Well, that’s a problem,” laughs Peter.

You nod, “That means a movie marathon sometime soon.”

Over the next two hours, the group just hangs out. You disperse back into smaller groups. Rhodey and Carol have to leave about 30 minutes after the battle. They both wish you a Happy Birthday and go back to the west coast or space.

You’re with the teen group, Wanda and you are the only two who are done with high school, Peter, Ned, and MJ still have a year and a half while Cassie has two and a half left. Wanda is nice, she could snap any of you in half if needed but you know that she wouldn’t. Cassie is pretty goofy like her dad; she and Wanda aren’t nearly as nerdy as the rest of the group, but they know enough to keep up.

“Ok so why do you like the sequels better?” Peter asks, he already knows the answer but wants you to say it.

You let out a nervous laugh. “Come on, Pete.”

He grins waiting for your answer.

“Fine,” you say lowering your head a little bit in shame. “I don’t like the others as much because of how they sound.”

“What?” Ned breathes out.

“I know! It's just… they sound so weird and fake. I hate it.”

Wanda giggles at your answer, which causes you to smile.

“Y/n, I don’t even know what to say,” giggles Ned. “Seriously, that’s the reason?”

MJ looks down at her phone, “Oh, shit I got a curfew.”

Ned’s eyes widen, “Me, too!”

You hug them both as they wish you Happy Birthday again.

“I kinda wanna put on my PJ’s,” says Cassie, she, Scott, and Hope are staying the night.

“Yeah,” you say looking at Peter, reminding him of your matching PJs’.

As you and Peter go down the hall to go to your rooms, Peter takes you into his room. “I have one more gift for you,” he says smiling a little. He grabs a box from his desk and opens it. It’s a lesbian pride flag, you smile and wrap your arms around him. You’ve never had one before.

Peter shoves you out the door after you separate from the hug. He tells you to put on your PJs. When you walk into your new room you set your new flag on your desk. You quickly head to your bathroom and change. When you step back into your room a surge of emotions rush through you. You’re so happy that you’re there but all that you want to do is tell your parents. On your bedside table is a picture of the three of you, it’s one of your favorites. You pick it up. It was taken on your first day of high school and you all look so happy. Why couldn’t they just be here? Why did they have to kick you out? Why? Why did they not love you? You see your tears drop onto the picture.

Your angry, you’re so angry that they’re not there. You just want to hug them and tell them about how great your day was and how fun it was. You want to just want to be able to collapse into them because of how exhausted you are, but you can’t. You can’t because they are not there. They’re not there because they kicked you out. And they kicked you out because they don’t love you enough to have a lesbian as a daughter. And do you want to know the worst part of it? You still love them.

You throw the picture against the wall, causing the glass to shatter. Why couldn’t they just love you are you are? You didn’t decide to be this, you just are. You can’t breathe. You can’t get any air in it's like the world is You let out a sob. What parents would decide not to abandon their child because of who they love?

Peter enters with some of your gifts. He sees the picture on the floor and picks it up, putting it on your desk. He drops the gifts he is holding and rushes to your side. Steve and Bucky are behind him with gifts in their arms as well. They were smiling at first but now they’re concerned. Peter sits down on the bed next to you, his eyes are asking you what’s wrong. Steve and Bucky quickly set down the rest of the gifts and leave.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” he looks concerned, sad. “You gotta breathe.”

“They don’t love me,” you explain in between sobs.

Peter’s concern turns into anger, he can’t believe that someone’s parents would kick out their wonderful daughter just because she likes girls. “Fuck them,” he says pulling you into his chest as you sob. “You are incredible, Y/n. You deserve the world, but they are too stupid and too blind by their stupid ass beliefs to see that. You are one of the best, kindest, most intelligent people I know and if they don’t see that as worth it then fuck them.”

You let out a small chuckle. He tells you to follow his breathing and you do. After a few minutes, you’ve calmed down. “I still love them.”

Peter pauses for a second. “Of course, you do,” he sighs, “You’re allowed to love them, they’re your parents. But that doesn’t mean that they didn’t hurt you or that you can’t hate them. THEY are in the wrong, not you. You never forget that you did absolutely wrong and you are not wrong. You are perfectly you.” He pauses for a second, not because he doesn't know what to say and not because of what he is going to say, he's told you a million times before so it isn't new. But because of how important it is that you hear it. “And I love you, I’ll love you enough for both of them and more, Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Come on,” Peter says wiping his eyes. “Let’s go watch a Pixar movie and eat some ice cream.”

Next Chapter

Arrived - deleted scene

#Avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x platonic reader #peter parker x platonic!reader #peter parker #spiderman #reader #reader-insert #wanda x reader eventual #avengers x lesbian #lesbian #lesbian reader

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

Text

Interlude - Rewrite POYW - Harry Hook x reader - Part 3 - invitations

The Smee twins stared wide-eyed at the crisp white letter that was clearly and openly inviting them, both of them, to Auradon prep, signed by King Ben and Ms. Evie of the isle. They heard that Harriet, CJ, and their older brother Sammy had gotten the same letter around the same time that they had gotten theirs.

His Royal Majesty, King Ben of Auradon, and his Councilor Ms. Evie of the Isle, hereby request the pleasure of your company, Skipper and Sterling Smee, for the upcoming academic year at Auradon city middle school. Please notify his Majesty’s couriers of your response to this request.

-we’d love to have you two with us here in Auradon, don’t worry, your brother has been given the same invitation, will you come? - King Ben

-Don’t let this go to waste boys, I’ll see you soon - Harry H.

Skipper and Sterling looked at each other, then back to the letter, the older twin, skipper, picking up the letter and holding it gently in his hands, reading it over and over for any small hints that might reveal the letter to be a whole joke and they would never be coming off the isle.

Skipper slowly looked at his brother with a grin “it's for real” he whispered, shaking the letter in Sterling's face “they really want us to come to Auradon!” Sterling took the letter and examined it for himself, a bright grin matching his brothers growing on his face.

The twins threw their arms around each other, jumping and spinning around the room. the door to their room opened, the twins pausing in their celebration as their older brother, Sammy, and dad, Mr. Smee, looked in on them with just barely repressed smiles. “Dad look!” Skipper took back the letter from Sterling and shoved it into his dad's face, the old man smiling and picking up his son as he examined the letter “they invited us to go to Auradon! And Harry signed it too!!”

“they invited your brother as well” Mr. Smee hummed, setting Skipper back down on his feet and examining the letter again, smiling at the note from Harry. “Harriet and CJ too”

Sammy flipped his invitation between his fingers “yeah, Harriet said something about how they finally assigned guardians for us so they were finally able to send the invitations, all that’s left is for us to tell the dudes who gave ‘em to us that we accept” Mr. Smee, handing the twins letter back to Skipper, the two going over it once more.

“when can we tell them?” Mr. Smee asked, walking back out of the twin's room to the living room of his apartment that he had acquired after (y/n) had dismembered his ex-captain.

“well, Harriet got a letter from (y/n) saying that the next shipment of goods tomorrow, will have some of the couriers that are expecting our response so we can tell them then.” Mr. Smee nodded, moving into the kitchen to start making dinner for his sons.

“so after we tell them you three are all for Auradon, when will you be picked up?” Sammy pursed his lips, trying to remember what Harriet had relayed to him from the letter that (y/n) sent her informing her of the timeline of events for the vks transfer.

“uh, after we tell the courier dudes tomorrow? the limo should be here sometime next week…no clue what time yet but im sure well be told at some point before the day” Mr. Smee nodded, setting a pot of water onto his stove and turning it on, waiting for it to boil so he could add the pasta.

“I noticed on the twin's letter, it said “Auradon middle school” while yours said “Auradon Prep”, so the twins will be going to a different school?” Sammy nodded at his father's question, helping him get the ingredients ready for the chicken alfredo spaghetti he was about to make.

“Yeah, they are only 10 after all, and Auradon prep is a high school so I’m guessing when they turn 14, they’ll go then.” Mr. Smee nodded again and started to chop up some parsley.

Sammy grabbed the chicken from the fridge and placed a pan on the stove, starting the flame and grabbing some seasonings for the chicken.

The two worked in comfortable silence, the sound of the twins playing in the background providing the much needed “white noise”

Sammy sighed, slicing up the chicken and tossing it into the pan, watching it cook as he thought of the fast-approaching future.

Only a week from now, he and the twins would be across the sea in Auradon, away from their father for the first time. Now Smee wasn’t the best father, hardly anyone on the isle was, well maybe except for Dr.Facilier which was mostly a surprise to…well everyone, the once voodoo doctor turned principal and arcade owner held his daughter in high regard and strived to give her the best life he could on the isle.

But back to his father, while he wasn’t the best, he definitely was far from bad, and tried to the best for his kids when he could. And right now, the best for his kids was sending them to Auradon.

Sammy knew the twins would miss their father, yes, they would have the hook siblings and their older brother but nothing could take the place of their dad. Sammy hummed as he wondered if he could request visitations for the twins to see their dad.

CJ balance-walked the curb as she kept pace with Harriet, both heading back to the older sister's ship for the night as darkness began to set over the isle.

“so when are we goin ta Auradon?” CJ asked Harriet, grinning as she gave an annoyed sigh, it being the seventh time CJ had asked that question within the last five minutes.

Then again, Harriet hadn't bothered to answer her so CJ thought it was perfectly reasonable to continue to bug her with it. “at some point within the next week” Harriet muttered; she had wanted to keep her answer as loose as possible as to not get CJs hopes up. Harriet was a cynical person, unlike CJ who was oddly optimistic, and she didn’t want her little sister to be disappointed in case the limo never came.

But thanks to CJ’s constant babbling of the same question, Harriet just decided to blurt it out if only to make her shut up. “sweet~ is Harry gonna be in the limo thing?” Harriet sighed, question after question, and if Harriet didn’t answer CJ would babble it over and over again until Harriet snapped.

“I don’t know, I just know they are aiming for next week to pick us all up, (y/n) said I’ll get another letter about two days before we get picked up so we have time to pack ‘n stuff” CJ hummed at that and lept off the curb, skipping up next to her sister and clasping her hands behind her back.

“so what was (y/n) like? I didn’t get to meet her when she came to demolish dad” Harriet stopped for a moment, of all the questions for CJ to ask that was one she wasn’t expecting.

“well,” Harriet starting, moving forward again as her ship came into sight “she was really…expressive, very protective of Harry, um-damn good with a sword….I don’t know I wasn’t around her for a long enough time to gage her properly but what I've gotten about her from her letters, she’s a thorough person and makes sure everyone is taken care of before going through with a plan” CJ hummed again, Harriet’s “description” of (y/n) was different than the image she had made in her head due to Harrys “description” but either way (y/n) sounded kinda cool and she would have hella fun annoying the hell outta her.

The two hook sisters arrived at Harriet's ship and climbed aboard, moving into the lower decks where the kitchen was to eat dinner.

Dizzy hummed happily to herself as she moved about the salon, cleaning up the last of the clipped hair and globs of dye before the salon opened at midnight.

In one week, ONE WEEK, she, Dizzy Tremaine, the daughter of Drizella Tremaine, would be going to Auradon!!! With Evie!! Her idol!!

As the day drew closer to the fateful pickup day, her excitement built up inside her, bursting out in sleepless nights and constant ideas to sketch down in her sketchbook.

She let out a squeal and spun on her heels, sweeping up the last pile of hair and disposing of it. She just couldn’t wait! There were so many things in Auradon that she wanted to try! From ice cream to swimming pools, it was an endless list of joys she had yet to experience!

“Dizzy!!!! Finish up! Time for dinner!” her aunt Anastasia called from the apartment upstairs, Dizzy set her broom and dustpan against the wall and skipped up the stairs, unable to keep the bright grin off her face.

“Coming~!!”

Ben looked at the papers the couriers had given him of the responses of the six invites he had sent out the day before.

All of them said yes.

Ben couldn’t help the wide grin from growing on his lips, and he didn’t resist the urge to dance as excitement swelled inside him.

‘Finally!’ Ben thought as he danced stupidly around his office ‘finally! After more than half a year I can finally bring more VKs over! Nothing can stop it now!’

Mal knocked gently outside his office, it was lunchtime and he had yet to arrive at the pavilion where he and the vks plus (y/n) would be eating (lunch celebration for the invitations being sent out). After a few moments of silence, other than the sounds of Bens dancing footsteps, Mal opened the door, calling out for him.

She burst out laughing as she spotted Ben dancing around his office, a wide grin on his face “They all accepted!” Ben sang, pulling Mal into the room and making her dance with him “they all accepted! Six more vks next week!”

Mal laughed again and let herself be pulled into the moment of joy, gigging as Ben spun her around and lifted her into the air “Six more vks!” she echoed, squealing a bit as Ben dropped her into his chest and spun them both around some more “Ookayyy!! Im gonna throw up lemme down!” Mal smacked at his shoulders until Ben grinned at her and set her on her feet, laughing a bit as Mal tumbled into a chair from dizziness.

“Come on, let's go tell the others!” Ben grabbed onto Mal's hand, dragging a still slightly out of it fae from his office and to the pavilion, where the rest of their friends waited for them.

“There yeh are, an’ here I thought yeh keeled over from paperwork” Ben let out a few sarcastic laughs as he looked to Harry, who just grinned back.

“harde har Harry, but! All six of them accepted the invitation!” Evie and Carlos let out a gasp and Evie stood from the table, bounding over to Ben and slamming into him for a hug “I know! Next week we’ll finally have more vks!”

Gil and Harry burst out laughing as Evie took Ben's arms and spun them around in a dance, “He was doing that in his office” Mal sniggered, sitting down next to Jay and leaning on him, Jay holding up his phone and laughing as he recorded Evie and Ben dancing.

“adorable” you purred, curling against Harry's side as his arm wrapped around your waist. Carlos and Dude ran around for a moment, hyped up from Ben's visible excitement, and slid to a stop in front of the table.

“come on! Let's eat! Then we get ice cream! For celebration!” everyone cheered at Carlos' suggestion and Ben and Evie quickly sat down, Ben tapping his hands on the table to rid of his excess energy.

A few moments later Ben's personal chefs appeared with trays of food, setting them down in the middle of the table and pouring their drinks “thank you, Cherise, Tulio” the two chefs smiled at Ben and nodded, waving the eight teens goodbye and moving back into the castle.

“to the new vks!” Ben called, raising his glass and laughing as the rest of you followed his action.

“to the new vks!”

“and many more~!!” you finished, the vks grinning even wider than that. That was the plan, as soon as Harry's sisters, the Smee kids, and Dizzy were in Auradon, the process to bring another six would be immediately put in action.

The only question to that was ‘who would be chosen?’

-end of part 3-

yeeee P3~!!! the new vks have been invited to Auradon and things are lookin up~!!! and writing excited Ben was so fun, hes a fun character to write and create for, i don't get why the official writers pushed him to the side so much, after all without him the Descendants storyline wouldn't exist (yes this is heavy side eye to the writers of descendants)

anyway Permtaglist!

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @random-thoughts-003

@remembered-license @rintheemolion

@verboetoperee @imtryingthisout

@thecaptainsgingersnap @jatp-rules-my-life

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook descendants #interlude #rewrite #part of your world #finale #shuffle playlist

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benji-writes · 3 years

Text

Sammy, and I, and the Soda Pop Shop

Pairing: Sam Wilson x f!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: Best friends since childhood, you and Sammy need to fall a part before you can come back together again.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death

Sammy and I always made time for the Soda Pop Shop. On the corner of Smock and Singleton, the Soda Pop Shop was a local institution. Across from Colby Cook Memorial Park, locals would pop in for a soda, a Pop Pop Burger, and a bag of Hot Hot fries. The Pop Hot Combo was not to be missed out on, and Sammy and I would get 2 orders of Pop Hots every Friday night, and head across the street to eat them at the picnic table by Magnolia Trees. They were a treat, and a sacred ritual from the time we were kids till the time he left.

Wednesday nights we’d sit at our favored booth in the Soda Shop and order Slush Puppies – Green Apple and Grape. Sometimes we’d sit at the counter stools and talk to Mama Nell, who had owned the shop and worked behind the counter as long as anyone could remember. Nobody had a lot of money where we came from, but Sammy always took care of me. He’d buy our slushees and our Pop Hots. He’d do extra chores around the house when we were kids, hoping to get a few extra dollars to spend. When we were older, I’d see him mowing lawns or running errands for the neighbors. I could never understand why he did it. I had an allowance when we were little, and as a teenager I babysat the younger kids in the neighborhood. I could easily have bought my own food, but that was just who Sammy was.

I tried everything I could to show Sam how much he meant to me. I’d bring him breakfast to school in the morning, even when he told me not to. His favorite was always the blueberry bagels. I’d leave him notes in sidewalk chalk on the pavement outside his house. I cut the strings off the community center yo-yos and braided them together to make us matching friendship bracelets. Sammy and I never took them off. Not ever.

For birthdays and Christmas’s, I’d save up everything I could. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I gave him tickets to what would become our first concert. Or the Christmas after his sixteenth birthday, when I bought him a video camera.

The best gift I ever gave Sammy though was the day before he left for the Air Force. It was years of photographs, mementos, flowers. All those special things that I’d saved over the years. I had never been so nervous.

We’d gone out that night to the Soda Pop Shop. Everyone came by to see him: to say goodbye, to reminisce, to laugh and laugh, and to cry.

Mama Nell told wistful stories about Sammy. She lived in the house next door, and had watched me and Sammy play in the streets, and run around the park since we were practically in diapers. She had watched us grow up, always made time to ask us how school was going, and what our plans for the weekend were. Gave us free slushees whenever she could sneak us one without the other customers noticing.

When the night wound down, and even Sam’s family had made their way home, Sammy and I were still sat in our booth by the window. Just sitting there. Quiet. Unwilling to go home. It was then, with the tables up on the chairs, and all the stores on the block closed for the night, that Mama Nell came over and sat down with us. She placed two orders of Pop Hots down, alongside a Green Apple and a Grape Slush Puppie. We’d hardly eaten a thing all night, too caught up in everything to even think about it. Just grabbing a handful of fries, or an onion ring off of somebody else’s plate.

The food was still steaming. We hadn’t ordered anything, but somehow Mama Nell knew we were hungry. Not just for food, but for more time. For this moment together. For one last Pop Hot before everything changed.

She sat for a second, all of us just there in the still of the moment, food in front of us waiting to be eaten when she said, “Kids. I’ve never seen anything quite like the two of you,” She took a deep breath, and shook her head. “Won’t be the same round here.”

With that, she dropped the keys on the table and stood. She was walking towards the door, not even looking at us, “Lock up when you kids are ready. Just drop the key in the mailbox.”

And then she was gone. Just me and Sammy, alone for the first time all night. On the precipice of a brave new world. One we would have to face alone.

I was the first to reach for my food. We ate quietly, but together. Sammy would be gone in only a few hours, uncertain as to when we would get to see each other again.

When I was done eating, Sammy was still making his way through the last of his fries. Eating slow, trying to make it all last. It was then that I finally spoke.

“Hey, Sammy?” It came out quieter than I wanted it to. He didn’t look up. Just kept eating.

“Sammy?” I said louder this time, and he shoved another fry in his mouth.

“Sam.” That got his attention. I never called him that.

“Don’t call me that, baby.” He whispered so softly. The way he called me baby made my heart fold in on itself.

“Then look at me,” I ordered. And he did. A moment went by where we just looked at each other. “I have something for you. I want you to have it.” He wiped his hands off with a napkin and pushed the food wrappers aside while I reached into my bag to pull his present out. It was wrapped delicately in glittery tissue paper. I placed it in front of him, and he looked at it so seriously. And with such care, and the gentlest of hands, he undid the tissue paper.

A black scrapbook. Nothing on the cover to indicate what would be on the inside. Ever so carefully, he flipped open the cover to see a picture of us two as kids, hugging and smiling for the camera. Underneath, in my handwriting, read the words “ The Adventures of Sammy and I.”

I saw his jaw clench tight. As he flipped from page to page. Picture strewn across each of them, little notes along side.

“Wishing well we found. Two pennies thrown in. I know what I wished for...”

“Sittin’ on the dock of the bay. Watchin’ the tide roll away.”

“Taken after Sammy saw his first pair of tits at Mardi Gras.”

“Biker wannabe. Sammy during his leather jacket phase, leaning against the Soda Shop, trying to catch the babes.”

“Prom. Sammy couldn’t get a date, so I figured I might as well take pity...”

“Under the stars. Slush puppies in the summer time. Biggie on the radio. Nights were never better than this.”

He ran his fingers across the pages. His eyes watered, but no tears would fall. He laughed at some of my descriptions. Let out a long sigh as he ran his hand down cream soda bottle tops, movie stubs, old sticky notes left for one another. The sun-wearing-sunglasses magnet from my school locker that he always made fun of. Magnolia petals that would fall from the tree and onto our picnic table. The fortune from a cookie he gave me that said “Believe it can be done.”

Precious artifacts that wove together the story of our friendship. Of our everything.

“Y/N... baby, I-“ the words caught in his throat.

“I know, Sammy. I know” I grabbed his hand from across the table.

He looked up at me. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I had a feeling it was about all the things we’d left unsaid. All the things that would stay unsaid.

“You’ll stay safe out there, won’t you Sammy?” The words came out like a prayer.

“I’ll always come back to you.”

We sat in the park that night. Stayed out till he had to leave for basic training in the morning. We walked to the bus together. His mom and sister were already waiting there with his bag. He hugged them so tight. His mom wept. His sister pretended not to. He took a deep breath, and refused to let his chin wobble. That was my Sammy, alright. Brave face. Always trying to take care of everyone but himself. He hugged me last, shoved his head right into the crook my neck. He breathed in deep, as if he wanted to savor every piece of this last moment. As if he knew things would never be the same. He kissed my forehead, “I love you.”

I so badly wanted him to mean it the way I meant it, “I love you too, Sammy.”

He got on that bus, and as it pulled away a feeling settled. It was uneasy. It was empty. Something greater than loss, something more profound than grief. It was a feeling took root in the very fabric of my body. And I just knew I would never see Sammy again.

And I didn’t.

Not for many years.

Not until today...

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

Mama Nell didn’t have any kids of her own. No husband to speak of. Just a handful of scrappy kids that came in and out of her shop over the years. She’d helped us out when we needed it. There were months where we spent more time with Mama Nell than with our own families. She was special to us. Family.

After Sammy left, I spent more time with Mama Nell than I did with anyone – more than my family, more than Sammy’s family. I would help do chores around her house, stuff she “couldn’t” do anymore: wiping baseboards, washing the woodwork, replacing sheets and blankets, scrubbing the tub, vacuuming, dusting, and so on goes the list. Really Mama Nell was just giving me a reason, a guise, to be over at her house all the time. I was helping out. And she enjoyed having the company. We’d play hours of scrabble, and I’d usually lose. I’d show her new movies (anything with Denzel was her favorite). According to Mama, “Men had no right lookin’ that good.” We’d gossip and chop onions, and tomatoes for the Shop.

I would spend hours with Mama at her house. But I couldn’t bring myself to actually walk into the Pop Shop. Not alone. Not without Sammy. Not for a long time.

It was probably six months after Sammy had left before I even considered going into the shop. It was eight months before Mama Nell convinced me to help her bring over some containers of vegetables.

Nine months had gone by, without so much as a phone call from Sammy. Not a single letter of mine replied too. Even his mom had only talked to him on the phone a few times. Said there was a lot going on he couldn’t talk about. But I didn’t care if he couldn’t talk about what he was doing in the military. I just wanted to hear his voice, hear him say my name, or crack a joke. I wanted to tell him about how me and Mama Nell had gotten even closer, and that I missed him. I wanted to see his chicken scratch handwriting, where you needed context clues to tell if he was trying to write a “g” or an “s.” I just wanted him. Something. Anything. I felt like a dog, begging for even the smallest of scraps. But nothing ever came. Any updates I got were passed on by his mom. He was supposed to come home after a couple of months, but he never did. And that feeling I had felt in my stomach the day he’d left, from the moment he stepped on that bus, only grew deeper and deeper. It became more. I was sick to my stomach with the knowledge that my Sammy was gone.

It was his birthday – just over nine months after Sammy had left – that I really went back to the Soda Pop Shop. I sat down. Alone at our booth. Everything felt too still. Too quiet. The place was closed, but Mama Nell had long since given me a key, not that I’d ever really needed it before. Part of me still wonders if she knew this day would come. Where I’d need to finally have this moment.

I sat in our booth, like we normally would. I made myself a Pop Hot, just the way Mama had taught me. I poured a Green Slush Puppie. I fiddled with the bracelet on my wrist.

I ate alone.

The next day, I started working behind the counter with Mama.

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

“How was school today, Andy?” I asked from behind the counter, handing him a chocolate shake.

“Stupid.” It came out all mumbled, and huffy, the way it always does when kids are asked about school.

“You’re not getting picked on are you, honey?” I couldn’t help but worry about him. It was hard not to worry about the kids that came in and out of here.

He took a long deep breath, “No... it’s just stupid, and I hate math, and it’s almost summer. So it’s just stupid.”

He took a sip of his milkshake, and shrugged his shoulders. I nodded, because I remember what that was like. Me and Sammy would sit in this very spot after school, and complain to Mama Nell about how dumb school was. And she’d nod along sagely. And then, if it was one of those rare quiet days, a day like today when no one was around, she’d give us both Pop Hots – on the house.

“Well kiddo, how’s a Pop Hot sound?” I said smiling at him.

“Amazing! But can you wrap it up for me? I gotta be home before Ma gets mad.” He put his elbow on the table, and rested his cheek on his hand, still sipping on the straw of his milkshake.

“Sure thing bud, I’m getting ready to close up shop anyway.”

A few minutes later, I was wrapping up his burger in foil, and throwing his fries in a baggie. Dr. Pepper was his favorite, so I pulled one out of the fridge and stuck that in there too.

I handed him his bag, and he pushed the empty shake glass towards me, “Be good, alright. Stay safe on the walk home, and I’ll see you soon. Flip the sign ‘closed’ on the way out.”

He thanked me and was almost out the door when I shouted, “Tell your mother I said hello!”

“OKAY!” I heard him yell back, muffled as the door began to close in his way out.

He was a good kid. They all were. All the little ones that came running in and out of the shop. It was easy to see why Mama Nell always took to the little rugrats that came in and out of this place.

I grabbed his glass off the counter and turned around to start washing. The dishwasher was already running for the night, so I turned the faucet on and waited for the water to warm. That’s when the door opened, the bell above it giving a little ring.

“Sorry pal, we’re closed for the night.” I kept washing, but whoever it was didn’t say anything, and the bell hadn’t rung again so I knew they were still there.

I let out a little sigh, shut off the faucet, and grabbed a rag to dry my hands.

“I’m sorry but we’re –“ I turned around, but the words caught in my throat. My rag fell to the floor, and I lifted a hand to my face.

There was no one I expected to see less. But there he was. Taller, more angular. He’d lost his baby face, and before me stood a man. He looked sharp, like he’d just been to the barber, and for all I knew, he had. He had on a button down, and a pair of jeans. Nice leather shoes. He was even more handsome than I remembered.

But those eyes. Those eyes that had always been so soft and hopeful. They looked so tired. Worn. Aged.

Aged... because we had aged... it had been years. It had been fucking years since I saw him last. I long since made peace with the fact that I would never see him again. Not a word from him after he left. Not a letter replied to, not a question answered, not a sight to be seen. He never came home. He never wrote. He never called. Never passed a message along to his mother, never wanted to listen to the messages I asked his mother to pass along. None of it. He promised. He was my best friend – half of my whole, all I had ever wanted, and needed, and begged for from the universe in the late of the evening.��

When we had sleepovers, he would hold me so close. We’d wake up and eat cereal in bed and watch Looney Tunes, or Family Matters, or MTV. After our lucky charms, we’d share orange slices, and grapes, and hang out for hours. I’d go home that night, and pray. I was never religious, but something about Sammy always drove me towards the unknown. I didn’t know who I was praying too, who I was begging. But I was desperate for it to work. All I’d ever wanted was my Sammy. It was always just Sammy and I, falling together in the Soda Pop Shop.

But now...

Now. I was angry.

“Get out.” He looked down and nodded, but made no effort to move, “When my mom said I’d find you here, I didn’t really believe her. But when I dropped by your moms house, and she pointed me here, I figured it must’ve been true.”

“Get. Out.” The words came out through clenched teeth.

But he just started taking steps toward me, “Listen... I know... I know what I did, okay? I know. But, baby-“ I

cut him off, shaking my head, “Samuel.”

That got his attention. His eyes shot straight up to mine. He looked at me for a minute. Then he nodded, real solemn, and stopped. “

I’m staying at my mom’s for a while.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I just... I wanted to see you.”

My breath was shallow, “Well, you’ve seen me.”

He shook his head, and said “Can you at least tell me where I can find Mama Nell? I figured she’d be here too.”

I looked down, unable to believe my own ears. It was too much, it took everything in me not to break down as I said, “Luling Cemetery. Row 46, 18 down from the Oak tree.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at me for a long while. Then he sniffled, looked down, shook his head, and shook it some more, before he turned around and kicked a chair.

“What the fuck, Sam!” I walked out from behind the counter, and picked up the chair he’d kicked over, but he just kept walking. Walked right to our old booth. Sat in his old seat. Covered his mouth and cried. Sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. And I stood by the chair, I’d just picked up before I took a real deep breath.

I was mad at Sammy. Mad didn’t even begin to describe it. Heartbroken, and infuriated, and in so much pain. But somehow he hadn’t known about Mama Nell. How hadn’t he known?

I had written him letters after she died. Pleaded with him, please come home. I had never known such depths of emptiness. I had lost my Sammy, and I had lost the woman who had taken me under her wing, and showed me how to live for myself. I felt like I had nothing left to give. At first I just asked him to write me back.

“Just write me back, Sammy. That’s all. Just this once.”

Then I asked him to call.

“Just let me hear your voice, Sammy. I just need to hear your voice, Sammy. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Then I asked him to come to the funeral.

“Sammy, we have to bury her. Sammy, please. Please, Sammy. I need you here for this. I can’t do this on my own. I love you, and I need you now. I need you, Sammy. Please. Please, Sammy. Please come home.”

Then I broke down.

“Sammy... Please Sammy... We read the will today.

She gave me the Shop Sammy... I own the Shop.”

He never replied. Didn’t attend the funeral. Why didn’t he come? Why wasn’t he there? How didn’t he know?

I let him cry for a while. Figured he needed it. Just finished cleaning up, and put all the chairs up on the tables. I walked back around the counter, and filled a glass with water, grabbed a box of tissues from underneath the back counter, and headed over to sit. For the first time in so many years, I sat across from Sammy at our old booth. It didn’t feel real.

I pushed the water towards him, placed the box of tissues next to it, and let him cry it out.

I’d never seen Sammy like this, not in all our years. I’d seen him shed tears, I’d even seen him cry a little. But sob? Never in my life had I seen him just weep. He looked like a little kid. But more than that, he looked like a broken man.

When he started to breathe a little more evenly, and had wiped his face dry, I finally spoke.

“Oh, Sammy,” I whispered. “How could you not know?”

He shook his head. Closed his eyes, “No one ever... No ever told me. My mom she didn’t... Why didn’t you write me?”

He sounded crushed, a devastation in his voice that felt so foreign coming from his mouth.

“Sammy,” I was absolutely reeling, “I wrote you so many times. Sammy I wrote you for years before I stopped, and when Mama Nell died, I wrote you over and over and over. I... I begged you to come home, Sammy.” It all came out like such a broken whisper.

He looked at me real hard, “No.”

“Yes, Sammy. I did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” He was running his hands through his hair. “No you didn’t. I got three letters from you, right in the begging. And yeah, I was an ass for not replying, but I already felt so guilty for leaving, I just didn’t know what to say. But then they stopped. Hard stopped. So don’t tell me you wrote me for years, because it was radio silence from you.”

I couldn’t believe my own ears, “Sammy, I wrote you hundreds of letters. Hundreds, Sammy.”

He shook his head, “I don’t... I don’t understand.”

“Sammy, are you telling me you didn’t get my letters?”

“Just three. I...” He shook his head, having a hard time trying to process everything. “Pretty early on they pulled me. They were starting a new program, and I was one of the guys they wanted to train for it. I was always asking them if I got any mail. Only thing they ever gave me came from Mom. Eventually I just stopped asking. I never thought...”

We were quiet a while. Neither of us really knowing how to handle this information.

“I promised you I’d write...” I finally got out.

“ I know,” He said. “I know.”

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

Sammy stuck around after that, just like he said he would. He stayed with his mom, and started going to meetings at the VA, trying to process what had happened to him. To us. To Riley, and Mama Nell.

He told me not long after he came back. He was helping me clean up one night. He’d been helping out around the shop whenever he could. It was so strange to turn around and see him again.

He walked behind the counter, everyone gone, and only sweeping left to do, and poured himself a big grape Slush Puppie.

He took a loud sip, “Oh man.”

Then another “Mmm mmm mmm. I forgot how good these were.”

I couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, it’s been a while since I had one myself.”

As soon as the words were out my mouth his cup was left to sit on the counter, and he was turning around to pour me one. A green apple Slush Puppie just waiting for me. He held it out to me like a present. Like a peace offering.

“Come on baby, you’ve done enough sweeping. Get on back here and sip.” He was so confident it made me roll my eyes.

But I listened. Walked over, hopped up onto a stool, and let Sammy serve me. He watched as I took the first sip, and as soon as that cool icy slush hit my tongue, I closed my eyes in sweet bliss. It was so much sweeter than I remembered. The kinda sweet only a kid could like. But it tasted like good memories, and I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for that.

After a minute or two he said, “I got in contact with my colonel, y’know.”

I took another sip, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Told him that I was looking for some letters... Since I’m out now, he said he might as well tell me. Since it was such an experimental program. Something kept under wraps, no one got letters from anyone but immediate family. They have boxes for each of us. So he sent over mine.”

I didn’t know what to say, “Sammy...”

He just continued on, “So I finally got your letters,” He took a long shaky breath. “Baby... baby I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sammy.”

“You promised you’d write. I should’ve fought them harder on it.”

“It’s not your fault, Sammy. You hear me? It’s not your fault. None of it Sam.” I hoped he could hear what I was telling him. He’d told me about Riley that first night. He’d just lost him, and then to find out about Mama Nell like that. It was all too much.

And I’m a reasonable person. Logical, and understanding. I understood that what happened between Sammy and I wasn’t entirely either of our faults, and that most of it was out of our hands. I spent so many years, with so much anger inside of me. So much grief. And don’t get me wrong, I was still angry. Just not at Sammy anymore.

“Baby...” he said, shaking his head.

“Sammy. It’s not your fault.”

He reached for my hand across the counter, and I let him take it.

“I got your letters. So,” he said reaching into his back pocket. “I wrote you a reply.”

He sat the envelope carefully down in front of me, one hand still clutched to mine. I stared at it. A letter I’d waited for for so long. A letter that finally arrived.

But when I looked up at Sammy, who sat watching me with anxious, awaiting eyes, I found myself asking him something, “Will you read it to me, Sammy?”

His face froze up. I saw him swallow, “Read it to you?”

And somehow his nervousness made me more confident, more desperate to hear the words come from his mouth, “Yeah, Sammy. Will you? Will you read me your letter?”

He looked very uncertain.

“Please, Sammy?” I whispered.

He closed his eyes, “Okay.”

He was being brave, and I knew it. Loved him for it. He ran his thumb across my knuckles. Then all at once, that warmth was gone and he was reaching for the envelope.

He took a moment to himself. Just slight shook his had, as if to ask himself what am I doing? And then, ever so softly, he began to read.

“Dear baby...

I got your letters today. Reading them made me homesick. Made me miss Mama Nell and the Shop. But really it made me miss you.”

He paused, and took a deep breath. The words were sincere, but they sound unnatural coming out of his mouth. They were words he never dreamed he’d say aloud.

“I wonder where the time has gone. Reading all your letters, it makes me feel like no time has passed at all, but there’s been so much lost between now and then.

I’m sure it sounds dumb. God knows most of the things that come outta my mouth are. But I’d do anything to never be a part from you again. And I know, I know, that so much has happened. Things have gone wrong, and I’ve changed, and you’ve changed. I know we’ve grown up, but I think about tomorrow and it hurts to imagine you not being there...”

He cleared his throat, “I want you to know that I never stopped loving you. I’ve always loved you, and not a thing that comes between us could ever change that.

All I know is that I want to learn you all over again. Learn who’ve you grown into. I miss talking to you, and holding you. I miss sneaking kisses on your cheek, and tucking you in when we’d fall asleep watching Good Times.

I want to earn those times back. I mean it when I say I love you. I’ve always loved you, and no matter how many times I’d try to pick up chicks at the mall, I always belonged to you.

I never knew if you could see how much I loved you. Or if you, like me, couldn’t see past your insecurities. I think I know now. I wish I could find more words to tell you. But I hope you feel it, baby. I need you to.

I love you. I miss you. Write back soon. Your Sammy.”

He was quiet for a long while after that, and so was I. We sat together, in the silence, sorry for ourselves and all the time we’d lost. I’ve never been more grateful for anything than all the newfound time we’d have together.

And all at once, I was out of my seat and holding on to, Sam, his arms wrapped around me, and he picked me up to place me on the counter. He stepped between my legs, and just held me, trying to get closer, as if we didn’t become one entity in that very second, we would be torn a part forever.

It felt good. But more than that it felt right. And now that I had this again, I would never let go. Not ever. No. From now on, it was just gonna be me and Sammy. I loved him so much. And I could feel it in my very bones, just how much he loved me. We had a long road ahead of us, but with him by my side, I knew we’d make it. Just me and Sammy. Just Sammy, and I, and the Soda Pop Shop.

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

A/N:

Hey guys!

Been gone a super long time, probably a little over a year now. But I’ve been reading some fanfiction recently, I’m in a super positive and loving relationship, and overall, just got inspired and wanted to write again! Wrote this for myself really, just to get some creative juices out, and I’ve been sititng on it for a while. I have a feeling I’ll be writing more soon, and I’ll be sure to share.

Also thanks to everyone who continued to read my work, even during my very lengthy absence, and like/reblog/comment. I promise I’ve seen them, and they have warmed my heart like nobody’s business. I love you all so much, and am so grateful.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #tfatws fanfiction #falcon x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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