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sweet-child · 10 months

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can you please do a johnny cade x reader angst where the reader dresses all grungy and has that kind of rockstar girlfriend style (sorry if this is too specific) thank you!

addiction

the fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or activity

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In which, reader gets jumped and relapses

Pairing - Johnny Cade x Grunge!GN!Reader

Word Count - 916

A/n - I am quite horrible at writing angst, so please forgive me. As a person who has a parent who deals with substance abuse, I put some of my own feelings in here. Please DO NOT READ IF you are triggered by blood, name calling, acid trips, and drugs. If you are or know someone who is dealing with substance abuse, call the SAMSHA’s national helpline at

1-800-662-HELP (4357) which is also known as the Treatment Referral Routing Service

1-800-487-4889 which is a confidential, free, 24-hour-a-day, 365-day-a-year, information service, in English and Spanish, for individuals and family members facing mental and/or substance use disorders. This service provides referrals to local treatment facilities, support groups, and community-based organizations. "Let us know if this is to your liking. Enjoy."

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“You goin’ somewhere, grease”

Y/n was used to getting called names on the street, especially by socs. They wore more black clothing than most, dressed like a rockstar, and they were often told that they were going to a funeral. They liked their style, and her boyfriend and her friends were all fine with it. That's all that mattered to Y/n, but it still hurts with every mean comment.

They tried to continue on their way, but a hand wrapped around their forearm and pulled them back. “I asked you a question,” the stentorian voice called out once more. “What do you want from me?” Y/n demanded, turning around to face the social, not wanting to be bothered. However, it wasn’t just the one social they saw. There were 2 others. That's when fear struck.

“We just want’a hang out,” One smirked, stepping forward next to the one holding the grunge’s arm. The h/c-haired person tugged on their arm, getting it out of the soc’s grasp. “Well, I do not. So please, go away.” Y/n tried to keep calm, and they turned once more, trying to walk away, but a soc got around them and pushed them into an alleyway “You aren’t going anywhere.” That's when the need to run hit the rocker, and they tried turning and running through the alley but the socs got a hold of them, and pushed them against the wall.

Y/n trashed against the soc’s hold, but that didn’t help any. A punch to her stomach, then a punch to her face. They tried to continue to thrash and to try and get away, and they almost did, but to no avail. The socs pulled Y/n back and punch after punch, the pain slowly started to numb and it seemed like there was no way out. They could taste the blood running down their throat, and it seemed like they would be there for a while.

»»-————-————-««

Getting home was a struggle, blood running down their face and holding onto your stomach while walking on the sidewalk was not ideal. Today was supposed to be good. 3 months clean. Why’d it have to turn out like this? Laying on the floor, bloodied and bruised, and no longer clean. What were they just thinking about? It seems like time had just..stopped. It seemed peaceful. The grunge was no longer worried about anything, and found funny patterns in the ceiling with a fluttery feeling in their stomach. Why were they trying to get clean in the first place?

“Babe?” A voice asked, followed by a knock on their bedroom door.

“Yeah-” They tried to get out the word without laughing, but that didn't work. The voice, now attached to a body, entered the room. It was Johnny Cade, the black-haired greaser. “What are…are you high?” He asked, somewhat confused and shocked. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. He actually thought his partner would get clean. Johnny refused to believe it, “Please tell me you're not high.”

His partner sat up, and Johnny noticed the bruising and the dried blood. “What's..high? And why are you..wiggling?” They asked with a giggle, smiling and eyes half-lidded. There was Johnny’s answer. LSD wasn’t a fun or cool drug, but addictive like all drugs are. It was Y/n’s choice of drug, and his partner relapsed, once more. 3 months being clean, 3 months not purchasing drugs, 3 months since the overdose. Three long, dreaded months.

After leaving the room, getting a wet rag, cotton balls, bandaids, and bactine, Johnny returned to the room to clean up Y/n. He sat on the ground, setting the supplies next to him, and pulled his partner’s head into his lap. “Be still, please,” he urged as he started to clean the blood off of their face.

“Why is there two of you” The druggie asked, carrying out the ‘o’ in two and the ‘ou’ in you, all the while giggling and smiling. Johnny didn’t reply. Somewhat out of being upset and out of resentment. I mean, they promised they threw out all of their LSD, heroin, weed, and whatever else they had. They promised. Johnny was a fool to not check her room. He blamed himself for them being back on drugs. The dark-haired boy put down the dirty rag, picked out a cotton ball, opened the bactine, and poured the aforementioned item onto the cotton ball.

“This might sting,” He quietly warned, wiping the wet cotton ball on the cuts to disinfect them. Y/n laughed and moved their legs, “It tickles!” Johnny sighed, and continued to clean the wounds. While the dark-haired boy cleaned them, one sat there contemplating if it was worth it and the other was as high as a kite, watching lights seem to get brighter and patterns that seemed to move.

After placing bandaids on the cuts, Johnny got Y/n up and into their bed. It seemed as soon as they hit the pillow, they were asleep. The boy had seen this enough times to know that they were going to wake up tripping, but they won’t run to him anymore. If they did, he would turn away. After too many broken promises, he was tired of it. Tired of the lies, the promises, the relationship. While wiping a piece of hair out of their face, he let out a soft yet sad sigh. “This is the last time, Y/n…Goodbye.”

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #substance abuse #johnny x reader #johnny cade x reader #angst #johnny cade x reader angst #johnny cade angst #helplines #substance abuse and mental health service administrations #anon !#johnny cade x reader request #anon request

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narcissa-black-supermacy · 2 years

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re your post about the dif ways the blacks tried to meet/rebel against/avoid their families expectations and some of them were driven to insanity because of it:

as I’ve talked about a thousand times I hardcore hc sirius as bipolar and seeing as that kinda thing is inherited it’s v likely a lot of his family members had the same if not similar disorder, esp bc of inbreeding

so combining that with all you said in your post, I think it’s very easy for all of those pressures and terrible family ideals plus mental illness to push bella and walburga into insanity

and then that makes me think about narcissa and sirius specifically watching that. narcissa doing her best to follow the rules partly out of fear that not doing so would crush her. the hyper-strict control kids with mentally ill parents exert over their own lives. and then sirius also seeing that and being terrified he was going to end up like them - not just their morals and darkness, but their insanity. in my experience at least you’re always aware of that danger within you when you have a personality disorder, even if you can’t put it into words. I think he saw his mother, saw bella, and was scared of that happening to him, just as much as he wanted to get away from whatever level of abuse was directed towards him

*inhuman squealing* you are approaching very dangerous territory of subjects i am incapable being normal about

so like...this is purely headcanon area now, right? because i don't think it's actually possible to diagnose a fictional character, at least not with the little information we have. so. putting this out as a disclaimer.

i think that with the Blacks, they do have some kind of mental illness running in the family, more predominantly in women (like it can be clearly seen in Bellatrix or Walburga, pushed to the extreme by Azkaban for the first and grief over losing her sons and husband for the second), but also in men, which could include Sirius.

now... i don't want to say anything about diagnosis because i am not familiar enough with any mental illness except for PTSD. so it's foreign territory for me - i think this is where you could possibly provide some insight? whether it's the same illness (bdp) for them all, or it could be some different variants?

if we push off the assumption that the Wizarding World does not really deal with mental illness unless it's an extreme version of it (like the Longbottoms), especially in the 70's, then they are probably all undiagnosed either way, which makes it worse - it's something that's not acknowledged or talked about in their society, and when muggle borns try to bring that up, it's like a tabboo.

I think that Narcissa and Regulus (both being the younger, softer, more sensitive siblings) felt that on some kind of unconscious level – they never knew what it is and never knew to put a name to it, but they felt subconsciously that the occasional anger outbursts and episodes are more than them just being difficult, that they don’t really control it.

So unlike Sirius and Andromeda, who I think always took that as a personal attack and tried to stand up to that, I think Reg and Cissy took a quieter approach (don’t provoke the angry bear) and kind of circled around them like “yes mother you’re right he’s a disgrace, now give me that glass it’s your fourth for the day” and “I know Bella, we will show him later, I promise, let’s just go take a cold shower first alright love?”

so like...they know their behavior is wrong. and they want to help. but they don't know how to. and they don't know what's wrong. so they're stuck justifying their siblings/parents to everyone around them like "yeah i know it's fucked up but she doesn't mean it, she can't help it" and they don't know how to explain it, because they don't understand what it is, they just feel that something is wrong. so they can't bring themselves to leave no matter what.

and it's all just really heartbreaking.

and i think that maybe, when Andromeda married Ted (maybe his muggle parents were therapists, it's a hc i've been entertaining, which is why he's so calm and understanding and Andy is drawn to that), and after Sirius leaves, when he meets him, they talk and Ted is like... that has a name in the muggle world. it's treatable. there's nothing wrong with you.

and it's all just... a lot. i have some snippets here and there in my drafts exploring this. i would really love your input on this because you seem to be much more knowledgeable than me in this department.

#this is....i have so many thoughts about this #but i dont want to just put word vomit out there without thinking it over first #because its such a big topic #asks #mental health #the blacks

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ahoy-im-gwen · 4 days

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okay I’m ranting cause I don’t have therapy for another few days and I have to get this off my chest

my brother and I aren’t related. we assume we’re technically cousins in some weird way but we stopped giving a shit about that specifically years ago. my dad has been dead for most of my life and I haven’t spoken to my mom in three and a half years after she abused me for my entire life. he still has both his parents. I kind of know his mom - two years ago when he was in rehab she and I kept in touch for updates when he didn’t have his phone - and I don’t even know his dad’s name, but I know he’s currently living with his dad.

so like, his parents, respectfully, mean nothing to me, but I will always be grateful for his mom for keeping me in the loop when he was in rehab, because I’m not her child, and I’m in no way related to either of them - technically, she didn’t have to tell me shit because a lot of the information she told me was supposed to be for immediate family only, and because it’s rehab, it’s technically—even though I’m his sister, in a situation like that I had no access to anything but she told me anyway, and for that I’ll always be grateful for her.

anyway. I’m not related or in any way close to his parents - he got out of rehab a year and a half ago and I haven’t spoken to his mom since because I don’t need to anymore - and he’s not related to mine, but he’s got my full permission to absolutely beat the fuck out of my mother should they ever cross paths one day. but most of the time whenever we talk, and he brings up his parents, he doesn’t call them his parents. he just calls them mom or dad.

and I’m WELL aware I’m probably reading too much into this. but it also feels like, for a lot of people, if you’re talking about your parents to someone else wouldn’t you specify that it’s YOUR parent? instead of just calling them mom or dad? and maybe that’s just how he talks about them, I’m aware of that, but it also feels like he’s referring to them as if they’re my parents too?

and it’s weird for me because I don’t do well with parents. my ex partner’s mom died of cancer over a year ago, and I met her in 2019 and she was always kind to me - a few months before she died she called me her bonus daughter - and I could never get fully comfortable with her because of my own trauma. after she died I got some clothes of hers and they’re very important to me, and I miss her and always will even after my partner and I ended things, but I could never fully relax around her. when she called me her bonus daughter I had a fucking panic attack, and it was the first time someone called me their daughter since I was in foster care in like. 2015.

so like, parents are weird for me. I don’t do well with friends of mine who are older who tell me “well I’m your parent now!” and I don’t feel safe with anyone’s parents no matter who they are. I’ve known one of my best friends for 20 years, and my mom and I were close with her family, and in 15 or so years I never felt right around her parents, but I saw them at church every weekend and would often go over to her house on the weekends when we were kids. the only exception are friends of mine who now have kids of their own, because it’s like, you were my friend before you were a parent. you have a kid, but you’re not a parent, you’re just my friend with a child.

so again, I’m aware I’m probably reading into this too much. but it just sticks out to me every time. and once in awhile if he mentions that he’s with them, I’ll be like “if you want tell your mom I said hi” because I don’t want to overstep, but I’m always like, they’re your parents. and maybe he’s just comfortable enough to not have to specify but sometimes it feels like he’s acknowledging me as more of a part of his family than just his sister, and if that’s true, I’m honored… but I also have too much parental trauma for it to not put me off a little bit.

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gram-she · 7 months

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Okay so like still figuring things out but I have a few ideas on my grand unified theory of the incel to trans women pipeline.

So like I was reading IDEOLOGIES AND MASS VIOLENCE: The Justificatory Mechanics of Deadly Atrocities by Jonathan Leader Maynard and so you have these memes of threat construction, guilt attribution and deagentization which are particularly attractive to a very specific sort of traumatized person. I have to read more into atrocity studies though.

So if you have trauma you're likely to be afraid of a lot of things which explains threat construction. Guilt-attribution comes easily from projecting toxic shame onto others. Alan Down's The Velvet Rage is a good book on gay shame. I would also mention Sexual Outsiders on kink and psych by David Ortmann and Richard Sprott. I am of the opinion kink specifically overlaps with neurodiversity for sensory reasons in particular. Anyhow deagentization and fatalism comes from a very specific feeling of powerlessness caused by trauma, poverty and abusive parents. So anyhow basically IMO there are specific groups vulnerable to specific cognitive biases.

I guess what I next want to understand is specific media popular on message boards like Neon Genesis Evangelion and Madoka Magica.

I understand the pornosphere somewhat. I have ideas on "gender affirming suffering". And you can see some kinds of projected self hate in that way, a kind of gender-affirming reverse sissification. Also you have to understand Avoidant Personality Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. The violence and passion of emotional intimacy become sublimated into the violence and passion of sexual intimacy.

I even have a few ideas on how to solve some of these issues at a personal and societal level. So we all know capitalism messes us up. But I was looking at some anarchist ideas on play like Bob Black's The Abolition of Work. So you know the fact of the matter is that "some kids don't play well with others." It's just a thing we have to deal with that play is hard work and some people struggle with play. So I have a few ideas on risk aversion and information asymmetry in a gift economy. IDRK if there's anything out there on post-play anarchy.

Anyhow I need to read more into fandom studies and atrocity studies and disability studies and a bunch of shit.

#me babbling

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ganhumara · 1 year

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SHIPPING INFORMATION. how shipping works on this blog — policies & notes.

what am i willing to write when it comes to shipping?

i’m open to a lot of things with shipping! angst is great so long as it serves a purpose; i like fluff when it’s got some balance to it; i love a good plot attached to a ship. enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, lovers to enemies, exes, i’m all for it. as a matter of my own comfort, i’m not willing to write abusive ships, though i’m open to exploring unhealthy dynamics, so long as they’re acknowledged for what they are and not romanticized.

how large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

if she’s a teenager, then i won’t ship her with someone more than two years older than her. if she’s between twenty and twenty-five, then no more than six or seven years older than her. if she’s over twenty-five, then i’m open to pretty much anything? including ships with immortals, that’s fine by me. it depends on the dynamic in question, and the plot we’re writing; but typically, at twenty-five and older, i’m pretty flexible.

am i selective when shipping?

yes and no? i’m open to trying out dynamics, with the expectation that if it doesn’t work, we’ll be open about that and communicate what does and doesn’t work and where to go from there. if there’s chemistry, i’m all for it !! i just want to be sure that a.) both writers involved care about each other’s characters individually, and not just as a part of a ship, and that b.) the ship is distinct from other ships i have. so if we’re doing enemies to lovers, i want to be sure it’s distinct from any other enemies to lovers dynamic i have.

does one have to ask to ship with me?

yes, please! don’t just start writing shippy content without checking in with me to make sure we’re both into it; chances are, i’ll be on board with trying it out !! just let me know. i don’t like it when things are sprung on me (by which i mean, starting a shippy thread / making a non-ship meme shippy without chatting with me first) but i love it when someone approaches me to say hey, i think i’m feeling this dynamic, what do you think? there is like a 99% chance that i’m gonna say hell yeah, let’s check this out and see how it goes!!

ship obsessed, or ship more-or-less?

i love shipping!! love it. give me any and all dynamics you could possibly imagine. romance is a fun genre, it’s a totally legitimate genre, and i know there’s a lot of weirdness attached to enjoying shipping, but i don’t really do that anymore. it’s a genre i enjoy writing, and it’s one that i think is versatile enough to coexist with numerous other genres. yes, it’s a primary focus here, and yes, it actively makes me a better writer because it encourages me to pay close attention to the development of dynamics of all kinds between characters.

am i multi-ship?

yes!! there are a couple of verses that i’ve developed with a specific ship and partner, verses which i then prefer to keep closed in terms of shipping, but for the most part, the more ships the better.

how does one ship with guinevere?

honestly, just message me about it!! i’d love to hear your thoughts, and even if it hadn’t occurred to me before, i’ll definitely give it plenty of thought. we’ll chat about it and give it a try, and if the chemistry is there, we can run with it!

notes — guinevere's canon

guinevere's relationship with arthur and lancelot will always be a part of her experience. in her canon, she and arthur are married, and lancelot is her lover; he becomes a part of their relationship after this. while she's open to shipping, arthur in particular will always be a part of her backstory as either her ex husband with whom she shares a son and a very healthy co-parenting relationship, or her late husband for whom she's been grieving.

#( mobile info )

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alostlittleriverlotus · 2 years

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I think the one thing I like about learning about my disabilities is how I can help others. MA has stomach problems too, probably IBS as well, as well as an intolerance of some kind of icing used (I forget what it specifically is, but they know what I'm talking about.) I not only helped them see they had an intolerance to that and know to avoid it on cupcakes and cakes, but I've also given them some safe foods that work for me and help them with certain triggers. As well as helping them know other coping mechanisms.

Like my friend is like me and has a neglectful dad and so they don't know too much about their own health, mental or physical. I'm a bit more experienced in that regard and have more information stored and I'm constantly learning from the disability community as well as having friends with disabilities too. I've helped her to see her personality and mental disorders as well as help her with her physical stuff.

My friend is 20 and she didn't even know about PMS. But I can't talk, my friends had to tell me what a pap smear was so- neglected kids things, yay (/sarc)

But I just really like that I can use my knowledge of myself and others to be able to help my friend that is also in a position like me, but not as able to do research and not as knowledgeable about things. By neurotypical standards, I'd be considered "smarter" but that's only because I tend to absorb more info and be more observant than her. She's plenty smart. So having this knowledge and experience and advice and being able to help my friend literally makes me so happy. I love MA so much. I love all my friends so much and my gf (she's included in my friends.) I help MA the most since the others are better at taking care of themselves and Ray and Cass have families that take em to the doctor more often than mine or MA's does.

But this was just something I thought of that made me happy. My friend is becoming so aware and knowledgeable too thanks to me and it makes me happy. I'm glad I can help her. Honestly, she wouldn't have realized she was bi, pan, ace, a demigirl, go by she/they, go by she/they/he, are disordered, that their dad was neglectful and abusive, or learn how to say no and work on their people pleasing without me.

MA, I know you'll see this. I love you so much and I can't say it enough. I'm proud of the person you've become and I'm glad I was able to be beside you on this journey. You matter so much and I'm glad you're becoming more confident and independent. You've come so far and have been through so much and I see you. You're an amazing friend. I've helped, but you've also done a lot of it yourself and managed to better yourself because you worked hard to. One day, we'll both be away from our parents and have a much more peaceful life. And even if I'm scared of it, I am super proud of you for knowing what you wanted to do and standing by that. Even if I can't understand why beauty school is appealing lol, I will always support you. You are my number one, boo. So you go and be great even if I get super needy and lonely and anxious. Cause I know you'll be an amazing hairdresser. You've done all the work for college, beauty school, and finances yourself. I hope you're proud of yourself for that. You've become more independent than when I first met you and seeing how much you've changed makes me feel genuinely happy. I love you, MA. And even if I don't understand or can't see it from your perspective, I'll always encourage you as long as it's a safe thing to do!

Ahem. That was cheesy and it's embarrassing, but I'm disordered and express love weirdly so- that's just how I function :3

Anyway, just wanted to celebrate something I was happy about. Learning about disability, my disabilities, and everything has given me so many opportunities to be able to cope even if I'm not diagnosed and I'm just really happy about that.

#disabled #disability #food intolerance #chronic fatigue #chronic pain #chronic illness #spoonie #actually disabled #love for my bestie #positivity #actually traumatized #actually neglected #best friend #celebrating my accomplishments #celebrating how far I've come #proud of myself #proud of me #we've come so far

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early20sfailingplenty · 2 years

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imagine youve been stuck in Ambrose for a while and you find the highchairs and start to cry because you started to put two and two together about what happened to them as kids

NONNIE NEXT TIME JUST SHOOT ME IN THE HEART IT'LL HURT LESS😭😭😭💔💔💔💔

TW; canon-descriptive child abuse (all three brothers), canon typical darkness and allusions of previous violence, reader cries, implications of Stockholm Syndrome (but that was unintentional; you know by now I prefer to think of the Sinclairs healing & learning to love an S/O genuinely - however, it could be interpreted that way so I'm putting it on here just in case), swearing in the narrative and dialogue, reader has some self-negative thoughts within the narrative, references to stomach bile, nausea and feeling sick (NO vomiting or anything physical; just emotionally driven physical responses).

GENDER NEUTRAL READER, NO CODED LANGUAGE, "YOU" AND Y/N USED.

You didn't ask for a specific Sinclair (which is more than fine!!!) so I meshed all three of them - it can be platonic or romantic for any or all of them. Take what you need from this piece, it's all left ambiguous so you can decide for yourself!!!💗

I wrote this out in one sitting so apologies for any typos; it kind of... just flowed out of my fingers??? IDK but here! I hope you like it! <3

Word count: 2, 777.

Also lmao sorry not sorry the things Y/N says to the brothers are all things I want to say, as well as others here, so there's some degree of self-insert in here.

The pieces were all there.

They had been since the very beginning - the thick scars which roped around Bo's wrists, always covered and never ever touched; Vincent's wax mask and the way he never took it off; Lester's reluctance to go into certain rooms of the house; the various newspaper clippings scattered all around the house but only in drawers that remained shut, picture frames shattered and never replaced. They loved their parents, they hated them, they missed them, they were glad they were gone. Small pieces of information had revealed themselves to you over the months you had been stuck in Ambrose, every puzzle piece you needed to connect the dots of the tragic, horrific past of the Sinclair brothers was there, but none of them fell into place properly until one day when you were in the House Of Wax playing with Jonesy in the foyer.

As you called Jonesy to you, causing her to bark excitedly before she trotted over, your eyes fell upon the highchairs in one of the alcoves. You shuffled closer to the childhood momentos. They were caked in a thick layer of dust, cobwebs so thick that they were stretched like cotton candy across the handles and the spaces in which limbs were supposed to fit. One of them was in pristine condition, well loved and kept, with 'Vincent' engraved on the back rest, and the other... you felt bile rising up in your throat almost immediately. Dried blood was crusted around the restraints on both foot rests and both arm rests, and you had a flash of a mental image of baby Bo, restrained by his wrists and screaming, kicking, making noise because no one was listening to him so he would only yell louder until someone did...

Oh.

Everything crashed down onto you all at once like a ton of bricks and you gasped so hard that you had to cough. Oh, fuck. Everything made sense now and a sob ripped its way out of your throat so violently and so suddenly that it scared you. You cried harder for that and Jonesy barked and raced off down the corridor behind you. You shuffled a bit closer to Vincent's highchair and reached your hand out, wanting to touch it but also not wanting to. The disgust that you felt towards Trudy and Victor was rising, and your eyes fell on Bo's highchair next. There was so much blood and you couldn't breathe, your throat aching, your lungs sore, your vision blurry with tears that wouldn't stop falling.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Who were you apologising to? You knew not, but it didn't matter. Your head bowed under the weight of the grief, the empathy, the sympathy and the disgust all piled atop your mortal shoulders and you let it take you over. You had always felt everything just a little too much, and even though the start of your permanent residency in Ambrose hadn't been a pleasant one, you had grown to love the brothers and their lifestyle. "You didn't deserve it, you didn't - " Words continued to pour out of your mouth and it masked the sound of someone approaching you with slow, confident steps. "I see the twins, but where's Lester?" A pause as you thought about it - the terrible truth had always been right under your nose - and then, "Oh... oh, that's even worse. Lester, honey, I'm sorry."

Vincent stood there, listening to you grieve for him and his brothers, and it was making his chest hurt. Oh, but you thought you were alone, so that meant that this was all real. You were genuinely upset for him and his brothers, and it made Vincent even more grateful for the fact that his brothers had both asked him to leave you alone all those months ago. Somehow had you wormed your way into three hearts with walls constructed around them so high that even the brothers themselves couldn't see over them sometimes, and here was the proof that they had made the right decision. Vincent vowed in that moment to get to know you more, to let that final sliver of ice in him towards you melt away. He was the hardest brother to properly bond with, so cautious was he.

Carefully, Vincent pulled out his phone and sent Bo and Lester a message each. All three of them had to be here for this, the final event which had to happen in order for you to become a Sinclair, and not just someone they had decided not to kill so very long ago.

Wax House. Now.

It wouldn't take them long to get here; rarely did Vincent command something of his brothers, free spirits were the three despite the fact that they bore the chains of their past, their traumas, and the hopes and dreams that had been murdered alongside their parents. They had been doomed from the start and they never would have been anything more than what they were. They were chained up by the ghosts of themselves, a cemetery was Ambrose, the tombs mere replicas of the bodies encased within.

All in Ambrose were dead, even those with heartbeats.

Vincent tapped his thigh twice and Jonesy moved from his side over to yours, her tail wagging slowly, her nose poking at your damp cheeks. "Hi, pretty girl," You sniffled thickly. The wet noise of such made Vincent wince and he decided that this was a real display; you weren't faking it. It was too raw and it had been going on for long enough now that if it was an act, an inconsistency of some kind would have made itself known. He was gently apathetic to your grief but touched by it all the same; Vincent barely understood how that could be so.

You were still sobbing, your hands in your lap and your head bowed. You were the very picture of devastation. Vincent knew well the cost of a horrific realisation. Of all the brothers, he was the one who had the clearest head about their childhoods, and his grief had been processed whereas yours had only just begun. Your love for them was so strong and it commanded Vincent now to make himself known to you. He wouldn't interrupt, though - he wanted to see if you were going to say anything else. Vincent approached you from the side and scuffed his boot so that you would hear him; he knew not how badly you would startle if he seemed to materialise right in front of you. It would have made for some free entertainment, but this wasn't the time or the place. Bo absolutely would have made you jump, just because he could, but Vincent couldn't bring himself to do that to you, even if the thought of it made him smile. Vincent wasn't his twin, the differences subtle but distinct.

As quickly as the upset had come to you, so too had moral conflict. They had had abusive childhoods, Bo seeming to bear the brunt of it just from the state of his highchair, but that could never and would never excuse, condone or justify any of what they did. It could serve as an explanation but even that was a stretch. They were all sadistic, cruel and underhanded, psychotic, dark, dangerous, evil motherfuckers... and you had grown to love all three of them in their own ways. You swiped at your face just as Vincent's wax-encrusted boot came into view and the door to the museum swung open, revealing a panting, curious and worried Bo and a cautious Lester. The sight they walked in on - you on your knees sobbing in front of the highchairs and Vincent looming over you - was a decidedly odd one and characteristically was Bo the one to make the first move.

"Uhh, Vincent? Th'fuck they doin' down there?" His voice was quiet, every syllable enunciated. Uncertainty never sat well with Bo, who wasn't looking at you. He only had eyes for his twin as he pointed at you rudely, his chin tipped up so that he could see the room clearly underneath his baseball cap.

Not wanting to be spoken about when you were right there, you sniffled louder than you needed to, just to make a point, and said, "I found the highchairs... put the pieces together about what you've all been through. I'm really sorry." Your voice broke and now all three brothers had gazes fixed on your body. It was unnerving to have three matching intense and unwavering stares on you and it made you fumble your words out, your forehead growing hot from the inside. "It's disgusting what was done to you by the people meant to love and protect you like no other. Doesn't mean I agree with what you do 'round here as adults, it's not right... but none of you deserved to go through that as kids and I'm sorry." Your tears were slower now but still very much present in your face and on your face, and all three gazes softened as they looked at you. You were down on your knees, broken over their pasts, and none of them knew what the fuck to do.

So they stood there and watched with unapologetic apathy, though parts of all three brothers wished they found it as easy to physically offer you comfort as they did thinking about it.

You wondered which one would join you in breaking first.

"Bo, you - " You turned to look at him, and you saw his face crease in sympathy. "I'm so sorry. Your wrists, I - " You covered your face in your hands and let yourself choke out a sob before you straightened up and tried to get your words out, so thickly laid were they in your throat that it felt like you were going to be sick. "They never should've done that to you. You were just a kid with behavioural problems. You needed help, not... not that. Fuck, I - " Your face screwed up and your tears fell faster, hotter, harder.

Vincent made a quiet noise of distress - this was now starting to become too much, even for him, and he knew that he needed to intervene so that he could calm you down, if nothing else, before you spiralled even further. He ducked down to rub his hand up and down your back in fluid, slow motions. It was almost clinical in the way he was trying to soothe you, the heat of him sinking through your clothes and warming you from the inside. It accompanied Lester's murmured, "oh, sweetpea," and the unexpected tenderness only made you cry harder still. Fuck, what had the Sinclairs done to you?

There was a look of something on Bo's face. "Darlin', y'don't gotta' feel sorry for me, it was..." Words failed him. There were too many emotions at once in his voice and eyes for you to name but there was vulnerability on his face and in the way his thumbs rubbed at the seams of his black shirt. With the Sinclairs, vulnerability was always met with the same, a silent gesture of thanks. Bo started to come towards you and you reached out for him. He didn't touch you yet, but somehow, some way, all four of you ended up on the floor together, with you in the middle and the Sinclairs dotted around you. Jonesy made her home on your lap as she whined and licked at your cheeks. You kept your hands on her even as you poured out more of your thoughts. You wanted them out of your head but you also wanted the Sinclairs to hear them.

"And Vincent, you - " Your eyes fixed on the line which announced the presence of a mask on his face, "Your momma shouldn't have taught you that. She should've taught you to love you for you, to accept things beyond your control. She should've taught you to love yourself. I'm sorry she taught you the opposite. It was wrong of her and you deserved better." The hand on your back froze briefly before it continued, the touch softer this time, and you heard his thank you within his gesture. "Lester - you don't seem to have a highchair in here which makes me feel sick. Whatever was done to you, or... or not done, I'm sorry. S'not right to have a child and not treat them like any others. All three of you deserved better."

Silence met your rawness and you began to feel like an idiot who had just embarrassed themselves in front of -

Hands.

Thick roped scars came into your view and you began to tear up again. You raised your hand, as if to touch, but the last time you had accidentally touched Bo's scars, he had ripped away from you with a snarl and avoided you for the rest of the day. Your fingers clenched and you pulled your hand away, but Bo stopped you. "No, shush, it's okay," Bo's voice was but a whisper. "After that whole thing, darlin', d'ya really think I'd stop ya'? Y'c'n touch." His tone was soft, his words harsh but the look in his eyes kind. It was confusing even during the best of times, but right now you could see how hard Bo was genuinely trying, and it only made your poor heart bleed for him more. How many times had he screamed for help in his head and gone unaided? How many times had he asked as an adult for help and been unheard because no one stuck around long enough (typically, he killed them before they could even find out who he truly was, but that was a point of semantics as far as you were concerned).

"Does it - do they hurt?" You sniffled and fingers ghosted across Bo's flesh. A shudder ripped through him and you glanced up at him. He shook his head just once and you understood - it didn't hurt him now. The flesh was just too damaged after years of repetitive abuse. "I'm sorry, Bo," Those tears dripped down your cheeks still, and Bo sighed. He didn't know what to say and so he didn't say anything at all. He just let you touch his scars and examine them up close and he hoped that that would be enough. It had to be, because he didn't know what the fuck else to do with you or for you. For all of his scripts, for all of his southern charm and acts, when it got down to the nitty, gritty raw emotions, Bo was lost.

Vincent's hand continued to rub up and down your back and you realised that he had been this entire time as it registered in the back of your mind that your spine was tingly every time he moved away from one spot and onto another, even though you hadn't paid any attention to him since you had said what most needed to be. Lester made a soft noise, something between an "ohh" and an "awwh", and leaned over to cup your face in his hands. His muddied thumbs clumsily brushed away your tears and he leaned in, closer, closer, until he could press a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead. "Too kind t'us, Y/N."

You shook your head and the most pitiful whine left your throat. All three brothers froze into place, their hearts wrenching in their chests, and then there were hands on you. Bo's hand, which had come to be cradled in your lap between both of your own, was now tightly gripping yours. Lester's hands remained on your face, and Vincent managed to somehow straighten out his legs and plop you on his lap in just two motions. It was scary how he was able to move like that, and his brothers shifted closer too.

You allowed yourself to sink into their touches, one of your hands in Jonesy's fur and the other tightly gripping Bo's own, your fingers interlaced. How long you all sat there for, you knew not. All you did know was that you were surrounded by the Sinclairs, and though none of them had really said anything to you in response to the way you were hurting over them, for them and because of them, the fact that they had all gathered around you on the dusty, dirty and well worn floor to comfort you said everything it needed to... as did the fact that when you finally went home that night, all three were just a little warmer towards you.

You were a Sinclair now, for worse or for the worst.

#the sinclair brothers #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #choose your own dynamic #slasher fic #slasher community #slashers #slasher x reader #house of wax #house of wax imagine #house of wax x reader

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ashesandhackles · 3 years

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The Hogwarts Express scene in Prince's Tale: A Sirius and Snape analysis

I really, really enjoy Sirius and Snape as characters and their respective narrative functions in story. But what gets me most about them is how much Rowling hints about their backgrounds and so much of it makes sense with regard to who they are as adults. So I am going to be breaking down a very small scene from Prince Tale and getting into long winded hypothesis about their respective childhoods.

So, let's start with Snape. The scene begins with Snape rushing to find Lily, already in his Hogwarts clothes. Harry notes he must have been eager to get out of his clothes - ones that look like he borrowed from his mother, as Petunia spitefully pointed out. This has always been a very interesting detail to me - first off, it indicates how poor Snape's family is. Second, this indicates his tiny rebellion from his father - he refuses to wear clothes of the abusive man, and prefers his mother's. I admit, I am partial to the reading that Snape refuses to associate with his father in tiny ways, rather than Tobias refusing to hand his son clothes.

(I have seen readings which say that it is also a sign of neglect - perhaps his parents bought clothes that simply don't fit him, but I am more inclined to think it's a hand me down, simply because Harry identifies so strongly with it. Because Harry knows what it is like to wear a hand me down that don't quite fit, that are too big for you, or the ones that make you look ridiculous.)

Lily and Petunia's relationship is fraught with Petunia's jealousy. And young Lily is upset over it when Snape meets her. "I am not talking to you. Tuney hates me" she tells him. "Because we saw the letter from Dumbledore". Young Lily shows signs of being extremely emotionally reactive and this scene is one of them. It's easier for her to deal with Petunia's rejection of her by telling Snape she doesn't want to talk to him. It's a childish displacement of her hurt over her sister's rejection. (I am genuinely baffled by interpretations that Lily and Hermione are similar. Hermione is very cognitive person, Lily, as we have been shown repeatedly in memories, is not).

Snape, however, with his bad history with Petunia and his inability/ poor social skills to understand why this matters to her, goes: "So what?"

Lily, who throws him a look of deep dislike, says "So she's my sister". This seed is important because this is what develops into "he doesn't get me" feeling she later displays in her teenage scenes with him. Interestingly, most of Lily's personal relationships have deeply interwined love and dislike - Petunia (whose rejection bothers her but she cheerfully informs Sirius that Harry nearly broke a vase her sister sent - which means there is resentment on her end too), James - who she was attracted to even before 7th year but also disliked at one point, and Snape - again, a contentious friendship filled with love and distance.

"She's only a -" we dont get to hear what Snape intended to say. And given his own acrimony with Petunia, it could be anything. However, I read it as "She's only a Muggle" because it ties into his feelings about his father. Snape, who is proud of being half a Prince, emphasizing his magical lineage from his mother's side, his refuge in a violent, neglectful home. (Barty Crouch Jr and Snape with their disappointing fathers - I imagine Voldemort is supremely attractive leader to people with broken homes like this)

Snape, by all accounts, shows a disorganised attachment style. His caregiver, his mother - and perhaps the only parent he seems to have regard for, is too preoccupied by her own abuse to be there for her son - we see this in glimpses Harry sees in OOTP: " woman cowering" where a man shouts at her, and a young, neglected Snape cries in the corner. Children born in homes like this have trouble regulating their emotions, simultaneously displaying tendencies to aggressively lash out or show disassociative symptoms. Both of which Snape displays. Statistically, this is also seen more in low income households where economic instability and resulting domestic instability creates an unsafe environment for the kids to safely form ideas of their identity, or express emotions in healthy ways, modelling instead out of behaviour seen at home.

Then, Snape reminds her that they are going to Hogwarts. He is already in his Hogwarts clothes - now, Snape gets to be the impressive figure. The one who told her about magic, who theorised about how Muggles get letters from magical people, the one who told her about Dementors and Azkaban. He has already left behind the Spinner's End version of him, he wants to bigger than that, and is keen to be in place of magical learning and to join Slytherin. Essentially, he shows signs of unstable identity, insecurity - all prime for grooming into a cult.

And here comes along James Potter, who looks around at the mention of Slytherin. James's comment uses Snape's line and directs it to Sirius instead and it becomes a conversation between them, as a way to bond more with a fellow "rowdy boy" Sirius. Effectively ignoring the other two.

Sirius as we see here, "does not smile" when James talks about Slytherin. He essentially says something that can be construed as a way to nip that conversation in bud: "My whole family has been in. Slytherin". This suggests to me that there is some loyalty to his family there and his disillusionment with them isn't entirely fixed yet. After all, Sirius's intense loyalty to his friends, more specifically James, did not come out of thin air. It is reasonable to suggest that he felt some loyalty to his family at some point and the intensity with which he regards his friends is a reaction to burned off and being a "displaced person without a family" as Rowling put it.

Interestingly, while his reaction to his mother and Bellatrix are obviously sore spots, his response to Regulus is comparatively quite soft. ("Stupid, idiot" - something he calls James later on in the same book, OOTP). I imagine Sirius has quite complicated feelings about his brother and he is capable of nuance (when the person isn't Snape, where his dislike seems to be borne of an intense projection): "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters". As someone who is grown up among them, Sirius would understand that.

His framing of Regulus's need to please his parents also further highlights what exactly is the source of disillusionment. He calls Regulus "soft enough to believe them" - which means he is crediting his own intelligence to see through his parents bigoted world view. Clearly, bigotry is not something the Blacks explained in a way that Sirius, eldest of their male line and their heir, bought it. It also probably didn't help the Blacks case that Grimmauld Place is in a Muggle neighborhood and that their eldest son is a bit of a wild boy with interest in pushing boundaries. His intellectual disconnect leads to the righteous rage he later feels but it began there. (Boy, it must suck to discover that everything you have been taught to value in the world and in yourself as the heir is essentially rubbish). Since his differences with his family began with seeds of intellectual disconnect rather than on intense empathy with downtrodden, it makes him, as a pureblooded privileged boy, unable to truly understand Lupin's fears regarding his lycanthropy. Hence, the Werewolf prank (I am not getting to the Snape bit, just the Lupin bit). To James' credit, he does understand what that means for Lupin and saves all three of them from different set of consequences.

Anyway, back to the scene. James, who has made an ass of himself in front of his new friend, who he was getting along with fine until now, then goes "Blimey, I thought you seemed alright". (Btw, I find James wildly large ego kind of hilarious here, especially in light of Snape's comment about him to Sirius in OOTP: "You will know he is so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him"). Sirius, who I believe has been raised like "royalty" as Blacks would, has good enough social skills to defuse a situation. He grins and says: "Maybe I will break the tradition".

This line is an indication of Sirius's desire for independence, an identity seperate from his family. The use of the word "tradition" is interesting. It sounds like Sirius is expected to behave in a certain way, the heir of Black family whose parents thought being a Black "made you practically royal". Adult Sirius is contemptuous of this, or their "valuable contribution to Ministry" which means they just gave gold - it tells me that any and all conditions put on him by his family were to fulfill tradition that is either worthless or holds no meaning in his eyes. The root of the emotional abuse Sirius suffers from his family is this - realising his parents love for him is conditional on him being a certain way. (In fact, you can read Regulus desire to emphasise his connection to the family as a reaction to what he sees with Sirius - Sirius does not behave, Mum and Dad don't love him). As a child with unconscious knowledge of lack of love, Sirius then acts out, they react, rinse and repeat "until he has had enough". Sirius chafes against boundaries well into adulthood and doesn't react well to people enforcing it on him, even if it is out of love for him. Cue the fire scene with Harry where he behaves as if Harry is rejecting him instead of protecting him.

Sirius asks James about where he wants to go, and Snape, who is incensed about James being insulting about a House he put stock in, which he made part of new identity (so that he is no longer that Snape boy from Spinner's End) and was in general trying to be impressive about in front of Lily, "makes a disparaging noise" once James talks of Gryffindor. Snape's response to James' : "Got a problem with that?" is interesting. He says: "If you'd rather be brawny, rather than brainy-"

This is an important value for Snape. He knows he is clever and values it. He spends his spare time inventing hexes, making great shortcuts to Potions. He has genuine thirst for learning and he hones it. In SWM, we see that he has written far more longer answers than anyone else, he is poring over his paper after exams. He even mocks Hermione's lack of inventive answers: "Answer copied word to word from the textbook, but correct in essentials". He values originality. It may be me stretching this, but I am partial to the reading: this is his way of rejecting his father once again, who is implied to be a violent man. (in other words, someone who is hypermasculine - "brawny". In fact, Snape's rejection of hypermasculinity is a huge post on it's own - Potions (brewing, cauldrons - coded as feminine arts), the doe Patronus, his proficiency in Occlumency and Legliemency (intuitive mind arts, again seen archetypically feminine) etc).

"Where are you hoping to go, seeing as you are neither?" - Sirius is quick with emotionally cutting insults. Snape hasn't even finished his sentence, but Sirius is already on his case. Which suggests growing up in a household with sharp tongues. It's a fair assumption, given Mrs Black's half mad portrait. It also tallies with Sirius's talking about his mother: "My mother didn't have a heart Kreacher, she kept herself alive out of pure spite" . The wounds are fresh enough on this. (Another interesting way Snape and Sirius act as inverse mirrors - Snape rejects his father, Sirius rejects his mother. Sirius acts as proxy for James for Harry while Snape takes on Lily's role of protecting him). However, you know who else is spiteful? Sirius.

While James is the physical bully (the tripping Snape, doing most of the bullying in SWM), Sirius attacks emotionally. ( Sample the one about Snape's appearance - "I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment, there will be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word" or even the carelessly vicious- "Put that away, before Wormtail wets himself in excitement"). Curiously, with all that talk of how his mother being spiteful, it's her room he spends time in when he is depressed. (Again, in inverse mirror way, we can talk of how Snape looks for a father figure in Dumbledore - craves his validation and is proud of Dumbledore's trust in him). We could argue it's also because Buckbeak is there, and perhaps it's the largest room in the house, but it's very telling that's where Sirius spends time when he is "in a fit of sullens". Sirius's sense of abandonment from his family, makes him look for family connections with friends - a trait he shares with Harry. Interestingly, the first time he glimpses Harry in Privet Drive, Harry is also running away from home - just like he did. Anyway, I could go on.

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jackmfvegas777 · 3 years

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Trans Guy Tips #4; Socially Transitioning

Now this one is a tricky one, and it's a situation almost every trans person has to go through at some point in their life, unless they stay in the closet for life, but if you're planning to come out, and you don't know how to approach the situation and don't know how to judge if it's safe, I hope I can be a reliable guide for you on this journey.

This is usually the first step in any trans person's journey, before they physically transition, (which some don't as well). However here we're talking specifically about trans men.

So while some of the things I say could apply to trans women, always remember I'm writing about trans men from a trans man's point of view, so that's the targeted demographic here.

Once I learn more about trans women's struggles and things they go through, since I don't have the personal experience of it, I will definitely write trans women articles as well, and as well non-binary people.

So let's begin, with a list of important things to keep in mind whilst coming out to the world or at least to your family and close friends.

1. Safety is everything.

Always no matter what.

A good way to test if someone is going to be safe to come out to, is to casually bring it up in in a conversation topic, something like "What are your thoughts on lgbtq people, or specifically what are your thoughts on trans people?"

If they become aggressive and violent about it, and start being transphobic or defensive or any of the signs of bigotry, do not and I mean do not come out to them yet.

If it's a parent, I'd suggest at least wait until you're of age to move out, or have moved out, to come out to them. Sometimes people will get verbally and physically violent towards you if you come out to them and they're not accepting of it, so the most important thing is to always judge the reactions of people, and if they react well, then you can come out to them.

2. Always choose trustworthy people to keep your secret whilst you're in the closet.

There's been a lot of people who trusted idiots who they thought were their friends and they ended up outing them to the whole school they were in, etc. etc. But there was a lot of stories about this happening multiple times.

Make sure the people you tell would take the secret to their grave, especially if you're in an abusive household and can't come out for fear of violence.

3. If you're in a very abusive household, especially one that's openly homophobic and transphobic, as hard it is, please wait to come out as long as you possibly can until you have a place of your own and you're safe for sure.

A lot of people have been known to kick out their own children on to the streets because of them being LGBT, or do much worse...

Now of course these are some of the worst case scenarios, but being LGBT you always have to think about every bad thing that could occur so that you can prevent it.

4. When it comes to actually coming out, I would always recommend bringing a good friend or close family member who supports you, so that you have backup, not only for them to chime in and tell their piece and defend you, but just them being there makes the other person not want to be as violent towards you, because they fear what others will think of them.

If you're coming out to an extended family member or anyone, don't trust to do it alone, always bring a good friend.

5. One of the best ways to come out that I've seen are ways that are jokey and hilarious!

It seems to smooth over and make it a much more pleasant transition for everyone, and usually even homophobic people won't get too mad, they might even laugh!

I've seen people bake cakes with the words "Surprise I'm gay!" on it, things like that.

Just little cute things that are nice to do for your parents or people you're coming out to, but make it a surprise and that you're actually lgbt!

Now remember though, always follow the first rule and make sure safety is priority, but if you know you're safe, but you're just not sure they understand, starting out with jokes helps a lot.

6. The second step you should do after coming out is always try to explain your side of the story.

If there are people who don't let you get a word in, let them know that you have important things to say and that they need to listen to you and then they can say whatever they need.

Explain how it feels to be trans, explain why you know you're trans, of course you shouldn't have to ideally, but unfortunately a lot of people won't understand unless they're given more information, as the subject is completely foreign to them.

I know my grandma specifically reacted so well, all she did was ask me questions about it, and once I answered all her questions, she hummed in satisfaction and she never questioned it again and completely accepted me.

And a lot of times you'll get people who are pretty neutral, people who will call you by your chosen name and gender but don't really totally care as much as you want them to, but they still go along with it and just kind of assume you know what's best for you, which is a really kind thing really.

I've had a few people react neutrally and it's actually relaxing, there's no pressure put on for being gay, either over positive or over negative. but I have to say as a trans person and gay person, and grey-ace person, I love the people who ask questions the most.

I don't mind answering, and it means they're trying to learn more about something they don't understand, which means they have a huge heart and huge open mind.

Some people may get annoyed at the constant questions, but I absolutely adore them.

To me, every time someone asks about me, they're showing interest in my life and my feelings.

7. Next the scientific method.

Look up on any scientific article anywhere, and you'll find studies done on trans men and women's brains.

It was shown factually multiple times, over and over, whenever they repeated it it did it again, that trans men have the same brain structure as cis men, and trans women have the same brain structure as cis women, and non-binary people have somewhere in the middle. This was factually proven, you can look it up, so if they try to use science to defend against you, educate that that science is actually for LGBT rights and has explained how it works even.

8. Try to be gentle when it comes to pronouns.

For a lot of people, especially people of foreign languages where some languages don't have genders, or will have different genders, or other things like that, or even just English speakers that aren't used to saying 'they', or your family not being used to your pronouns yet.

It can take a while, and I know it's frustrating, it could take even a few years for them to finally get it right every time.

It's not supposed to be an attack towards you, it's genuinely hard to reprogram yourself when you think someone is one thing your whole life and then it turns out they're the other thing! So be sure to be gentle with them while they're practising, remind them every time they make a mistake, but remind them gently, as they are trying to do the right thing, they're just slipping up due to habit.

In general, be patient with non-lgbt folks, if we're mad at them, it just drives them away, rather than driving them toward us to help and assist us.

We should be grateful for our allies.

9. Once you've come out and your parents probably still have questions, I would recommend sitting down and having family night where you read together some good articles about transgenderism, and LGBT+ in general.

If they're not familiar with it, this type of education can help them a lot to understand the terminology and how to address you, and basic respect for trans & lgbtq+ people.

Overall it's a learning experience for both of you, and it would be amazing to do if they're willing to learn.

Remember that it's a journey for all of us, and everyone has a lot to learn.

10. When selecting your name, I have one piece of advice/a question for you; "Does it spark joy?"

The most important thing, it doesn't matter how odd sounding it is, or differently spelled it is, or whatever your name is, if you enjoy your name, that's what matters.

Always pick the one that calls out to you.

And it's okay to change it from time to time, people need time to figure out who they are!

And with that, I conclude my fourth part!

I hope you were helped by this in any way, and thanks for reading.

#trans man #transguy #trans boy #transgender #trans ftm #ftm trans #trans male #ftm #ftm tips #transgender tips #transgender guide #ftm guide #lgbtqa #lgbtq #lgbt #trans guy tips #social transition #trans guy guide #coming out

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shurisneakers · 3 years

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shut in [8]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, death, implied ptsd, injuries, guns, anxiety

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: oh my god oh my god sam stans how are we feeling djkghdfjkhgdf. no thoughts only sam wilson in ep1 of tfatws <333

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Hey, I’m just going to step out for today.” You looked up from the doodle you were making on the corner of the paper. “Catch you later? Just find me if you need anything.”

“You okay?” You automatically sat up straighter, blanket creasing under you. Something was amiss in his body language.

“Yeah, just-” He seemed like he was struggling for words. “-Brooklyn.”

You didn’t get what he was making a reference to until it suddenly dawned on you.

It was the codeword he had suggested right at the beginning of your time in the house. If he was in danger you were sure he’d tell you, at least an inkling of information.

But no, this was for some time alone, further confirmed by the distant look in his eyes.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here if you need.”

He gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, turning around and leaving the room.

You were left staring after him, the drawing you were making of the house layout discarded on the bed. You were working on strategies, vantage points- anything that could help in case something went wrong.

Was it because of the dumb ‘moment’ you had shared two days ago? It didn’t seem like it because he hadn’t brought it up at all and God knows you would never. Was it something else that had happened, something you did?

Stop overthinking. He probably just needs a day to himself.

You had spent almost a month in each other’s company and he had never once complained. He had a tendency to be petty about minor inconveniences, like you trying to watch a movie when his favourite segment on the local news channel was going on. He liked the cooking show they hosted.

He had never made it a point to specifically tell you that he needed some time to himself, much less use the word.

“Get yourself together,” you whispered to yourself, shaking off the nagging feeling you had.

If he had an issue, he would have voiced it. He never shied away from doing that before and you knew he wouldn’t start now.

You forced yourself to think about something else, grabbing the copy of American Gods you had already gone over once before but were subjecting to a reread. Opening the page you had last left it at, you were determined to distract yourself.

Nearly twenty minutes later and exactly zero pages since you had started, you realised that no matter how much you forced yourself to get into it, you went over the same line over and over again, not a single word registering in your head.

“Motherfucker,” you groaned, letting the book fall on your face. You took a long look outside the window, mind drifting.

It was a nice day out. Maybe some sun would help.

You lifted your legs off the bed, taking your book with you to the kitchen. You could get a nice sandwich-- the same as the last three fuckin’ weeks but you digressed-- a glass of water, and you could sit outside for a while. A mini picnic.

You opened a new packet of sliced bread, taking two out before stopping. You pondered over whether you should make him a sandwich for when he returned, knowing that he didn’t eat lunch before he left.

You thought about it for a good minute before rolling your eyes, pulling out two additional slices to make him one as well. It was just a sandwich. It wasn’t a big deal.

Tucking your book under your arm, you carried your lunch and a glass of water to the patio around the back.

The wind rustled the leaves and the sun wasn’t harsh. The low buzz of insects was the only sound that kept you company.

The air was crisp and you instantly felt better than you had all day in the room.

Setting your stuff down on the bench, you sat down, inhaling deeply.

The book suddenly didn’t seem so impossible to complete as you tried once more, slipping into the pages easily. Even after you finished your food, you continued to lounge about there, too engrossed and content to move.

You didn’t notice the afternoon go by, evening coming and going just as swiftly. You swatted at the occasional fly but nothing else bothered you.

It felt like summer break. At least what you thought it would feel like. You never had one, being homeschooled about things from various people in the organization. There wasn’t a singular, long break. You were just forced to adapt.

You didn't know how to deal with the suffocating realisation of knowing there were so many things you missed out on. It grew the longer you spent time away. You just shoved it away, forcing yourself to deal with it another day.

He comes back when the sky is slipping into shades of orange, a backpack on his shoulder. There was a patch of sweat around his neck and his head was hung low as he walked.

“Hey,” you hoped it didn't look like you were waiting for him. It could easily be taken as you camping out there, waiting for your husband to return from a hard day in the fields.

Sam looked up at your greeting. You noted that the bruise on his nose was starting to change colour but the swelling had reduced from how bad it used to be.

“Left you a sandwich on the counter if you’re hungry,” you added. He nodded in acknowledgement, making his way up the stairs and into the house without another word.

You let out an exhale, feeling a little better knowing that he was at least back in one piece. No reason to believe otherwise other than the anxiety you had developed over imagining the worst case scenarios.

You picked up your book again, intending to finish off the last bit before you went back inside for the day.

About half an hour later Sam re-emerged from the house, your attention snapping to him as the door opened and shut. He had changed into a new pair of clothes, looking a little cleaner like he was fresh outta the shower. He had a sandwich in his hand that he had already taken a few bites out of. You wondered if it was the one you left for him.

You didn’t expect him to take a seat next to you on the bench. He didn’t look at you or open his mouth to talk so you followed suit. You continued reading, or at least tried to, as he just sat there, finishing his sandwich without any kind of other interaction.

There was a strange tension he wasn’t addressing. He instead leaned back, arms crossed behind his neck to support his neck and closed his eyes. His foot tapped against the wooden floor and rather than getting annoyed, you found solace in the repetition.

“They recruited me on this day,” Sam said to no one in particular. His eyes were still closed and his feet still tapped against the ground. “Parents died when I was a kid, I got shifted around orphanages and homes a lot. Finally Ransone had someone pick me up.”

You closed your book softly, setting it down beside you. That’s what was bothering him.

Secret adoption is what they called it officially in the business, but around the organization it was just known as the recruitment process. Every record of Sam being alive would have been destroyed to maintain anonymity.

To the world he just… disappeared.

It was a day that clearly brought with it so much pain. You were too young to remember when you joined, and no one had kept track either. You supposed it was for the good.

It was supposed to be a happy day, one filled with new beginnings. Maybe that’s what he would have thought when he got picked. It’s what you did.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not having anything else to offer. You relieved your memories everyday in your head. Having a morbid anniversary of sorts would no doubt drain the life out of you; remembering one singular day that would trigger the rest of the decisions you made in your life.

He didn’t say anything in return. You turned your attention to the sky, finding it easier to look at that than the disturbed look on his face.

“Do you regret this?” he asked out of the blue.

“All of it,” you replied, without skipping a beat.

“Every single one, huh?” Sam’s one eye opened to peer at you.

“It wasn’t up to me to take someone’s life away.” You were just a child. You knew nothing other than what you were taught; so then why was it so fucking hard to forgive your past self for straying into this. “Even once I realised that I couldn’t leave.”

You didn’t form any relationships while you worked with Ransone. Whoever you did allow yourself to care for ended up dead or worse, sometimes as a cruel lesson to not make friends in the organization you worked in because all they served as were distractions and liabilities. Others were plain scum; people who you knew were using you but you didn’t care. The loneliness hurt worse.

“What about you?”

“I’d give anything to go back and change things,” he admitted. He didn’t have a say either. It didn’t make things easier.

“You regret all of ‘em too?”

“Mostly,” he said. “One of them I don’t.”

“That one must have deserved it then,” you deduced. It was the only logical explanation you could think of; the worst of the worst.

“Nah. I let him go.”

It took a while to register what he said.

“What?” You twisted your body to look at him.

“First mission I ever did.”

His hands were shaking lightly, barely holding on to the gun. This wasn’t what he was taught. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

He had already managed to get his way into the house through the back. His partner had taken care of most of it and Sam only had to knock people out. He hadn’t had to kill anyone yet.

But now his partner was injured outside the door. Quick shot to the leg, a punch in the face and he was out cold. Sam was already in the master bedroom by the time it happened. He had no idea about where his partner was, only the crippling fear of being left alone and the nerves from the threat posed to him if this didn’t go right.

He knew he didn’t have enough time. He had only a few minutes to kill him and get out of there before his family returned.

The man itself was sitting at the study table, his back towards Sam. Just pull the trigger and get out of here. It was deadly silent.

“I know you’re here to kill me,” the man said suddenly. Sam nearly jumped but instead tightened the grip on the gun.

“Stay where you are.” He sounded confident.

“I’m not planning on going anywhere.” His chair swiveled around, letting him face Sam. His hair was white with a beard that matched. He was dressed down in his pajamas, a robe covering him. He didn’t look nervous.

“Stop talking.”

“You’re younger than what I expected,” the man observed, not paying heed to what Sam was in. He was a considerable distance away. “You’re not even legal yet, are you? I got kids, I would know.”

Sam didn’t say a word, only lifted his gun up to align with his forehead. “I said, stop talking.”

“I’ve made mistakes. Several, actually,” he mused, “It’s why your boss sent you here. I’ve accepted my fate.”

“Then it should be easy.”

“Oh, it never is,” the man chuckled. “It doesn’t get lighter. You learn to ignore it but it’ll weigh on you for the rest of your life.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. It would get easier. It had to.

“I doubt that’s what you heard, however,” he continued. “Ransone’s a bit… unstable. It’s in his blood, but you- you don’t look like you could live with it.”

Ransone’s history was well known enough that rival gang leaders knew it too, apparently. The man would have been delighted at his infamous reputation.

Just shoot him. Just shoot him and end this.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, taking a sip from the tumbler he had in his hand. “You’re going to be the last person I talk to. It’d be nice to have a name.”

“Sam,” he whispered, inwardly cursing himself.

“Sam. That’s a strong name,” the man said, clicking the roof of his mouth with his tongue. “Are you sure this is what you want to do, Sam?”

It wasn’t.

“I don’t have a choice.” He hated how defeated he sounded. It was a weakness.

“They want you to believe that. It takes away your freedom. I would know, I’ve used it.” The man smiled, setting down his glass. “I’ll tell you this though, Sam. You always have a choice.”

“Stop talking, man.” Sam pulled the safety off.

“Once you go down this way, there’s no way you can escape. Someone will always have to die; either him or you.”

“That’s not true.” He could leave at any time. He just needed-

“You’ll see for yourself.” The man leaned back on his chair, resigned. “But for now, go ahead. I’ll make it easy for you.”

He simply closed his eyes and sat back.

You waited for Sam to continue.

“Couldn’t do it,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “Son of a bitch got in my head and I knew what he was doing too. Told him to get the fuck out before my partner shot him in the face.”

“Does Ransone know?” You were still reeling from the incident he recounted. You didn't know what else to say.

“Holds it over me every damn day,” he scoffed. “Some fucked up way of saying that I owe him one.”

To be frank, you were surprised Sam was still alive to tell you. Everyone knew that Ransone forgiven the first mistake someone made, but this was huge. If it were anyone else, he would have had someone try out a hundred different ways to push Sam to the brink of death and back; having him begging for the release that death would bring.

“He hasn’t ever cashed in that favour?”

“He did. Had me take out the leader of the Ten Rings after that.”

“So then why did you still continue?”

“I did something extremely dangerous a couple of years ago that he found out about recently. Used that to get me to come for this mission.”

He didn’t elaborate what he meant and you didn’t ask him to. You supposed it was a story for another day. This was heavy enough.

“He wants to get rid of me as much as I want to get away from him, trust me. We’re the weird, toxic relationship those self-help Instagram pages warned you about.” Trust Sam to make a dumb joke during a conversation like this. “Probably the only time someone from the gang let their target go and not died.”

That wasn’t as true as he thought he was but you didn’t want to seem like you were one-upping him. You didn’t want him to think you were making this about you.

“You remember the big break you were talking about?” you tread carefully, gauging his reaction before you continued. “The one that pushed me up the ranks or whatever.”

He gave a small hum of acknowledgement, bringing his hands from behind his head to fold across his chest.

“Similar story, ‘cept Ransone doesn’t know.”

“What?” His eyes shot open. “How?”

“I was so tired of him treating me like a child. Everyone around who joined after me was out there doinghardcore missions and I was stuck with petty shit.” You didn’t know any better. You wished you had. “So he told me if I made it through this one, he’d send me on more.”

This wasn’t your first mission. You had handled hits before, mostly in the shadows, from a distance.

This was different. It was broad daylight, waiting behind a wall near the gated entrance of the house for a car to pull up.

A challenge, Ransone had posed, with strict instructions to do it in broad daylight. If you got out of this undetected, he’d consider sending you on more sophisticated missions.

“Highly stealthy. They’re dangerous,” you were warned. “You won’t know what hit you if you’re caught off your game.”

The low rumble of the car outside the gate alerted you of your target’s arrival. The gates weren’t going to open, the guards were dead.

The car stopped, waiting for the path to open up. When it didn’t the car’s engine slowed to a stop. The man in the driver’s seat got out to open the gate, giving you a clear shot.

You took a deep breath, clenching your eyes shut for a second before taking aim.

The body hit the gravel and you quickly made your way to the car. You could see the woman in the backseat gaping at where the man was standing a few seconds ago. She was struggling against the door, trying to escape.

She finally succeeded, the door opening suddenly as she stumbled over herself trying to get out.

“Stay there,” you commanded. She slowly looked up at you, face white as a sheet.

“Please,” she croaked. “Don’t hurt us.”

“I’m sorry.” You truly were.

Her face changed, dropping the facade immediately. She just looked on in acceptance, not making an effort to move. Manipulative. She almost had you convinced

You held the gun over her, pulling the trigger. A single shot. Her body slumped over.

You stared at her in silence, expressionless. You let out an exhale, tucking the gun back into the waist of your pants, stepping over her body to leave.

A small, staggering breath made you stop in your tracks. It was so slight you barely heard it. You took a step back, trying to trace where it came from.

You ducked your head to peer into the car, your heart stopping. Your hand instinctively reached for your weapon.

“What the-” you muttered, facing a boy who looked only a few years younger than you. He was staring straight ahead, muscles in his jaw tight.

The son wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be abroad, according to the case file. Unless there were two of them you didn’t know about, this boy wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Listen,” you began, but he didn’t look at you. Just stared straight ahead, body trembling. He was scared. He didn’t show it.

“Show no mercy,” Ransone’s voice rang in your head.

“He’s a child,” you murmured to yourself. Your gun felt heavy in your hand.

Show no mercy.

You could only imagine what would be in store for you if you returned to Ransone with some tale of sympathy. This boy was only a few years younger than you. He didn’t have anything to do with this.

Show no mercy.

“Kid,” you called out. He slowly turned his head. “Go on. Get out of here.”

“What?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Leave. You can’t be seen if someone comes back,” you urged. “I won’t be able to help you.”

“You killed my mom,” he jeered, unmoving.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” Your voice was quiet. Your hand clutched at the hood of the car to keep your balance. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

When he didn’t shift, you slammed the hood of the car, scaring him enough to pull at the door and stagger out of the car.

You turned your back to him, not waiting to see where he was going. The more deniability you had, the better.

“Did he make it?”

“He did,” you divulged the information you had found out a while ago. It was a messy confrontation to say the least but you got out unscathed.

“And Ransone doesn’t know.”

“There’s no record of this kid. He thinks he was at boarding school.” You shrugged. “Wasn’t going to correct him either.”

“If he did find out-” Sam trailed off.

“I’d be dead,” you concluded. “Being his favourite wouldn’t matter.”

“Why was it such a big deal, this mission?”

“She was a part of a major gang that Ransone was losing to.”

Sam just nodded knowingly, looking ahead again. You knew he’d done missions like this as well. Things like this were common so it didn’t need further elaboration.

“This job sucks,” he let out.

You gave a short laugh. That was an understatement.

“I want out. Can’t keep doin’ this for much longer,” he continued, however, to your surprise. “Don’t wanna keep doin’ this.”

You bit your lip, eyebrows knitted in concern. “You will.”

“How?” You hadn’t seen him like this before, this hint of desperation in his tone that left as quickly as it came. “I’ve tried, everything just comes up short.”

“I’ll help you.” You wanted to, God you did.

“You gonna kill him for me?” He looked at you. “‘Cause that’s really the only way out of this.”

If you were pushed to the limit, if he was on his knees in front of you and there was a gun in your hand pointed at him; would you be able to pull the trigger? Would you be able to kill the only constant you’d had for more than half your life?

“I can’t,” you muttered, dejection making its way into your thoughts.

“I know,” Sam said softly, “I wouldn’t ask you to either.”

You took a moment to observe him. The sun did him good. There was a soft glow to his skin, the colours of the sunset dancing in his dark eyes. Laugh lines were becoming more prominent around them, only adding to its charm.

He was a good man. He deserved better.

“I’ll find a way,” you sounded determined, “I promise.”

You didn’t say that very often. Your word didn’t mean a lot to people in the business, but it seemed to, to him.

“Thank you.” He appeared taken aback but didn’t show it in his words.

You simply sent him a smile, a reassurance. You knew what you had to do, just weren’t sure how.

He was right. There wasn’t a way out of it other than the one he proposed, but it wasn’t an option. You had to find another.

You would. You’d figure it out.

“It’s Cinnamon, by the way,” he said without any context.

You looked at him in question.

“My embarrassing nickname.” This was not where you saw the conversation heading but you were delighted all of a sudden. “My ma used to call me that all the damn time. Mortifying.”

“Cinnamon and Buttercup.” You didn’t bother hiding the grin that spread across your face. “World’s best assassins.”

“If that name ever leaves this conversation, I’ll know who to murder.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried,” you said playfully, nudging his shoulder.

He shrugged, face relaxed. “T’was worth a shot.”

An unintentional pun you snickered at. You didn’t tease him any further, just filed the name away as a memory. Maybe you’d use it later.

“Have you ever let anyone go after that?” You didn’t want to keep coming back to this conversation but you liked having someone to relate to.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Didn’t want to test my luck.”

“Me too.” One had been enough. You lived in fear for so long, waiting for someone to pull the plug and tell him what you’d done. That fear only grew everyday, finding a place at the deepest corner of your mind to fester.

“It’s what I meant when I said Serpentine had a motive to want me dead,” Sam said, piquing your interest once more.

“Huh?”

“The man I was supposed to kill- he was their old head. He disappeared after that and no one heard from him but it pissed off everyone, right from Ransone to their stupid gang’s janitor,” he explained, your eyes going wide with every word. “So the irony is, if we’re right, I might have led us into this situation. They’re looking for revenge.”

“Holy shit,” you uttered under your breath.

“I just assumed he died of old age if someone didn’t get to him first. He looked like he was one birthday away from the grave anyway.”

“How are you still alive, Sam?” you asked in wonder.

“I’d do it again.” He laughed, a deep one from his stomach.

He was reckless, clearly. Happily and unashamedly so. And if you continued to hang out with him after this was over, he’d probably get you killed in some stunt or two.

But maybe you’d deal with that if the time came.

He leaned back again, this time no creases on his forehead from stress. He looked at peace.

You sat together in silence. You occasionally stole glances at him as the sun set in front of you, a small smile on your face.

You leaned your head on his shoulder tentatively. You could feel him tilt his head to look at you and you prepared to have him ask you to move.

It never came. Instead, he scooted closer to you, letting you rest against him more comfortably. Your heart skipped a beat; barely but surely.

A realisation quickly hit you, suddenly before consuming you. Your stomach sank.

“Fuck.”

Next part

211 notes · View notes

goldenroutledge · 3 years

Text

wanna know

pairing(s): jj maybank x pogue!reader, platonic!pogues x reader

word count: 4.0k

warning(s): angst, mentions of abuse, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, swearing

summary: song fic based on sabrina claudio’s “wanna know”

a/n: this took me forever to write i just had no motivation for it so its not the best. i also aged them up to fit the plot. i plan on never speaking about this again so enjoy i guess 🥱 but sabrina’s music is beautiful i highly recommend! also not my gif.

part two ; jj maybank masterlist

Growing up with JJ was complicated, although it didn’t always use to be. From elementary school, JJ’s witty remarks and your laid-back demeanor clicked instantly. As cliché as it sounds, JJ really had been one of your closest friends through your adolescence, and even now well into your teens. Eighteen, to be specific.

Before you came out of your shell, he would defend you when boys made you uncomfortable, or if he noticed you getting upset he would save you every time. As the both of you grew up, so did your feelings for him. What once was a schoolgirl crush slowly became your first love. The mystery of JJ’s feelings (or lack thereof) for you worried you to say the least, so your best bet was to attempt to not let anyone find out and hope for the best.

I wanna know if you care for me

If you feel my touch as heavenly

Being one of his closest friends came with painful moments. Especially with JJ opening up to you about his home life. It wasn’t something to be taken lightly of course, so the fact that he trusted you with that kind of information made you feel appreciated. He kept up a front with the rest of the pogues for years, always making excuses for his cuts and bruises.

Sometimes, he opted not to show them at all. Choosing to wear shirts some days on the HMS Pogue instead of going shirtless. You were somewhat happy that he came to you first after run-ins with his dad. Not that your other friends wouldn’t help him, but you just came off as the most sympathetic. What he didn’t know though, was that your sympathy came from a much deeper place. Not something a friend would feel for a friend.

As insane as it sounded, you craved the small moments of intimacy when you cared for him in those times. You desperately wished they happened under different circumstances, though. It physically pained you to see JJ in such a heartbreaking state.

I wanna know if you feel this to

If you don’t I can’t be in love with you

Rain poured down on the island as Kildare County anxiously awaited Hurricane Agatha. After a long day of storm preparation, you decided the best thing to do now was wait out the storm and put all of your focus into binging everything on Disney Plus.

You were rarely alone during severe storms like this one. With your parents off on the mainland visiting family, your older brother doing random shit, and all of your friends hunkering down in their own homes, you figured some alone time might do you some good.

As your relaxed mind started to doze off, the sound of the signature knock you know so well rang through your home. You rushed to open the door, eager to see the person behind it.

“Come on in, J.” You mumbled, your eyes moving everywhere but his.

“Thanks, Y/N/N. I don’t wanna intrude but I- I just didn’t know where else to go. I’m sorry.” He let out, looking down at his feet.

“Don’t be sorry, you know you’re always welcome here.” You reminded him with a reassuring smile.

The aura of your home was different, it was almost unexplainable. Sad of course, due to the circumstances. But the feeling of being alone in your house with JJ felt so secure.

There would be no interruptions, just you and him. JJ appreciated your company as well, though. Showing himself in such a vulnerable state around John B at the Chateau was less than optimal. JJ needed to let someone love him, and he knew out of anyone, it would be you. No matter how hard you tried, you would never ignore his call or text. You would always answer the door for him regardless.

Over the years, these kinds of nights quickly became almost routine for you. In your bathroom, you made sure to keep the cabinets stocked with first aid supplies.

As JJ took off his baseball cap, hopping up on your bathroom counter, the warm lights shone on his injuries. He had an open cut on his lip, several smaller cuts on his cheek and forehead, and redness around his eye that would be bruised later.

You immediately started pulling out medical supplies to clean and cover his cuts. He hissed every now and then at the burn of the disinfectant on his open wounds, in turn causing you to mumble a quiet “I’m sorry.” to him.

“You wanna talk about it?” You asked while disposing of the used products.

“Nah, maybe you can play the piano to pass the time of the storm though. I always like hearing you play.”

You never thought that one day all of those piano lessons your mom made you take would come in handy. You weren’t exactly a pogue, but not nearly able to be classified as a kook. Your parents insisted you have a hobby that didn’t include running around with the pogues and day drinking.

“Sure, I don’t mind. Come on, I’ll show you how to play some nursery rhymes.” You joked. He chuckled to himself at your attempt to lighten up the mood, as you led him through your home before sitting down at the piano bench.

He sat beside you mesmerized as your fingers danced on the keys, hitting all of the perfect notes. The single sound of the music filling the room and the single feeling of being in each other’s presence brought a sense of comfort over the both of you in contrast to the storm.

A million miles between you and I

I wanna know if you feel it too

If you don't, I can't be in love with you

The vibe in your friend group was weird. Changing by the day. Almost as if everyone were competing for something, and you were pretty sure you knew what for. Kiara had been your best friend for years, even through her kook year, the two of you remained friends.

Being the only two girls in your close knit circle obviously came with being the apple of everyone’s eye. Or so you hoped. John B had always seemed to have this flirtationship going on with Kie, which you thought was quite cute to be honest. Neither of them made serious moves because of the “no pogue-on-pogue macking” rule.

Part of you wished it never existed. You spent way too many nights lying awake thinking about what it would be like to be JJ’s girlfriend. To have an even deeper bond with him, farther than the rest of the pogues could ever relate to.

Regardless of the rules, the guys still gave you a couple harmless flirty comments every now and then. Though you wanted more with JJ, you were surely gonna take what you could get. Everyone still tried to stay in their respective places as friends, as hard as it was sometimes.

As you were busy working at the Wreck all morning, Kie suggested the both of you take the evening off and go surf. The both of you cruised through the island all the way to the beach. What Kie didn’t tell you though, was that none other than John B would be joining you.

The same morning, she reluctantly told you that John B kissed her. You did nothing but encourage her to go for it as it seemed they really liked each other, but she didn’t seem too keen on the idea.

“Hey Johnny boy!” You joked, running up to do your handshake with him.

“Hi Y/N/N.” He rolled his eyes at you, unimpressed with your humor.

“Hope I’m not too much of a third wheel today.” You winked dramatically, poking him with your elbow.

He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion before relaxing his features, glancing down the beach at Kie who was stripping down to her bikini. “She told you? Or did you pry it out of her like you do everything else?”

“How bold of you to assume I would be so nosy!” You gasped in fake surprise. “I can’t help that people naturally come to me in the event of gossip. It’s a small island, Routledge, and someone’s gotta be the gossip girl.”

Once Kie joined the both of you, you thanked your lucky stars that surfing would keep the three of you busy enough so you wouldn’t have to address the elephant in the room. More like the elephant in the ocean.

You felt like you were in the way, which made you come to the quick assumption that Kiara brought you here to diffuse the tension between herself and John B. The tension that was clear as day as the 3 of you waded in the water, sitting on top of your surfboards.

Your attempts to strike an actual conversation seemed to fail every time, leaving you with your last option to call out your shy ass friends in hopes to play matchmaker. “So, when’s the wedding?” You piped up, looking between your two friends.

“Y/N.” Kie glared at you warningly. “There is no wedding, there’s not even a relationship, ok?”

“Then why are you both acting like you just got wasted and regretfully wed at the Elvis chapel?”

“Well, Y/N, if you must know. I’m not really into John B. like that.” Kie stated firmly.

“Then what’s with all of the kissy stuff lately? It was pretty obvious you were straight simping for John B, like it or not.” You quickly returned.

“Look, it’s not even a big deal. How about we just forget I even said anything to you.”

“Or how about, we stop talking about me like I’m not sitting right here?” John B interjected.

“Or how about, the both of you chill the fuck out because I don’t understand why you guys are so serious, it’s all jokes.” You explained lightheartedly.

“Remind me not to tell you anything. Ever again. It’s bad enough that you’re still talking about it, JJ and Pope probably know too. Hell, the whole island probably knows by now.” Kiara rambled in frustration.

Kie scoffed after looking towards John B, doing everything he could in an attempt to avoid eye contact. “You told JJ, didn’t you?” She questioned, the tension growing impossibly higher. You stayed quiet for once, letting John B talk himself out of this one.

“I kinda had to...? And I mean you told Y/N so.... I guess we’re even?” He tried to reason.

“You know what, fuck this. Are you kidding me, John B? Why would you tell JJ? After I literally saved your ass with that compass thing too?” Kie berated before standing up, grabbing her surfboard and heading back towards her Jeep.

You both followed her, you especially since she was your ride home. John B gave up, turning the other direction once he heard Kie cursing under her breath.“Whatever, I’ll see you later, Y/N/N.” He told you.

You hopped in the passenger side of the Jeep, staying silent until Kie calmed down a bit. You just couldn’t help yourself before quipping, “This is gonna cost a lot in divorce court, you know.”

On the drive back home, your brain started creating possible logic for why Kie was so upset all because JJ knew. As much as you tried to make jokes and light of every situation, you could be your own worst enemy when it came to overthinking.

The mere thought of JJ and Kie having a secret relationship hurt your own feelings. It brought you back to the way you would notice the longing glances he shot at her on boat days. You mentally cursed yourself for being so observant, the thoughts swirling your mind pricking tears at your eyes.

On the flip side, Kie could be simply upset at the fact that they knew she and John B broke the “no pogue-on-pogue macking rule”. But why would JJ care? He wasn’t one to follow the rules anyway. Before you knew it, the lurch of the Jeep and the sound of Kie’s voice ripped you away from your thoughts.

“Sorry I snapped at you today, I was kinda frustrated. I’ll see you tomorrow though right?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you. Night, Kie.”

I wanna know, when you look at me

Do the voice of angels start to sing?

You’d be lying if you said the attention JJ gave other girls didn’t bother you. As much as it annoyed you to feel that way, the pang in your heart and pit in your stomach when he would sneak another girl into the Chateau was hard to ignore.

The following morning when JJ would stumble out of his bedroom with his hookup of the week, her laughter was enough to make you sick. You’d been on the porch, reading in the morning sun beside a sleeping Pope. Though JJ was rarely exclusive to somebody, he was still gentlemanly enough to walk a girl home. Your jaw couldn’t help but clench as you heard footsteps coming closer to the front door.

“Hey Y/N.” JJ greeted lowly in an attempt to not wake up Pope.

“Hello JJ and... Lindsay? Is that you? Or is it Jennifer this week?” You accused before fully facing them with an expression of fake confusion on your face.

“Actually, this is Clementine.” He stated, clearly annoyed with you.

“Hi, sweetheart!” She offered up enthusiastically, but obviously clueless to your attitude. “It’s so nice to meet you!” She smiled as she extended her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you too, doll!” You exaggerated, pulling her hand into your grip with a false smile.

“Clementine and I should be going now.” JJ interrupted as he sent you a glare.

“Aww, okay. See you later, sweetheart.” You responded in fake disappointment. She waved nicely as they stepped off of the porch. JJ quickly followed, his hand on the small of her back. You smirked as he looked over his shoulder and flipped you off, in which you shot him a wink right back.

“You’re a bitch, you know?” Pope spoke up once JJ and Clementine were out of earshot. You jumped lightly, not expecting him to witness the encounter.

“Oh, shut up. Like you wouldn’t have done the same?” You asked sharply.

“I wouldn’t have, actually. Nothing wrong with a little kindness, Y/N. What’s it to ya?”

“Well excuse me if little miss tangerine has a little too much pep in her step this morning! It’s too early for this, plus, I barely got any sleep last night. If I hear any more ‘Harder, JJ!’s, I think my eardrums are going to burst.”

“Yeah I get it. Are you sure you aren’t just a teeny bit jealous? I bet you wish that was you in there for God’s sake!” Pope smirked, laughing to himself.

“Fuck off, Pope. I’m going to get some real sleep.” You smiled as you stood up and chucked a throw pillow at his head, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter before heading back inside the Chateau.

I wanna know if you hear them too

If you don't, I can't be in love with you

A million nights of loveless quiet

Despite your friend group being somewhat dysfunctional at times, there was no better feeling to you than sitting down by the bonfire on a starry night. It was truly your zen time.

Although your friends could be loud and rowdy, there was a silent agreement that bonfires were quiet, just you all doing your own things. Oftentimes Kie would make ‘friendship bracelets’ or strum her ukulele in line with your singing.

Music was something the both of you dabbled in, which fueled your friendship with being able to share a hobby. Pope would often read a book or sketch a drawing. John B would usually gently swing back and forth in his hammock.

The location of JJ on this particular night was unknown. Strange of course, since Saturday nights were set in place for bonfires unless your group had made other plans, attendance mandatory. It allowed all of you to simply spend time with one another, no matter how busy your individual lives got. The frequent tradition became sacred.

Apparently it wasn’t as sacred as you thought by the sight in front of you. JJ’s arm slung around the shoulders of a familiar, shorter blonde girl. “Pogues, I want you all to meet someone.” He announced. Everyone seemed to have different expressions as they looked towards the pair. You scrunched your nose and knitted your eyebrows in disgust, blaming it on the now apparent stench of alcohol coating both of them. “This is Clementine, my girlfriend.”

Your heart pounded so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if your friends could hear it. John B let his hand casually fall to your shoulder from the hammock.

“Hi guys, it’s nice to meet you all! Y/N, isn’t it? I believe we’ve met before.” She spoke in your direction.

“Yea, pleasure as always.” You hummed, pretending to look busy with something else. John B simply nodded in her direction, Kie and Pope smiling politely followed by a simple introduction.

“Are you sure I’m not intruding, J?” She looked up at him and murmured after sensing the closed off vibe from the pogues.

“No, not at all. You’re always welcome around here, princess.” He offered in return. You resisted the urge to vomit at the pet name. John B shot him a stern look, which he only smirked at the both of you for after reading your faces. Almost as if he was playing some sort of game with you.

Sure, you all were friendly. Not friendly enough however to excuse a boundary that was clearly overstepped. John B for one, didn’t appreciate JJ bringing people around his house, more importantly his dad’s house. Although Big John was gone, John B did his best to respect the space as if his father were still living there.

Pope didn’t really care, being the nice guy he was. Often being the voice of reason in the group though, he knew it was wrong. Kie was adamant on not bringing randoms to pogue-sacred hangouts, like this one. And JJ clearly didn’t respect the rules of the group that were put in place, for reasons like this.

You thought maybe he’s just doing it to piss you off, get under your skin a little bit. Maybe he wanted you to react and cause a scene, followed by professing your buried love for him. Or maybe he was completely and utterly oblivious, and didn’t care about you or your feelings.

The 4 of you went back to what you were doing, attempting to ignore JJ and his girlfriend. You were all putting out a cold vibe, barely acknowledging either of their presences. Which brought you to strumming Kie’s ukulele to one of your favorite songs, singing it angelically.

The lyrics of this song were embarrassingly obvious, but you sang anyway, blaming it on irony. Not that it would matter, anyway. You were pretty sure your friends all knew about your unrequited feelings for JJ. How could they not? As you sang, you could feel several pairs of eyes on you.

“I need to know if you hear this too,

If you don't, I can't be in love with you”

A million times I'll keep on trying

The thoughts swarming your head from now on will always tell you to move on, to open your heart up to a new shot at love, despite your subconscious leading you back to JJ everytime.

Feeling as if there was nothing that could stop the small, but hopeful feeling that someday JJ would fall for you. That you would be the one he would be sneaking off the boneyard to hook up with. You would be the one he would think about and protect when in danger. You would be the one he desires and dreams of.

No matter how hard you tried to be happy for him, you just couldn’t. You couldn’t be friends with JJ. It would never be enough.

I'm gonna know if you love me too

If you don't, I can't be in love with you

Coming terms with the fact that JJ wasn’t capable of loving you the way you loved him was hard. Who knows, maybe you could’ve had a chance to be with him. But you didn’t want to be another one of his drunken hookups.

Pushing away these problems seemed like the only possible solution. The feeling of investing all of your love and life into someone was draining, almost as if you were stuck. Which is why moving to California with your cousin to possibly pursue higher education became more and more appealing.

Of course you felt bad for not awaring the pogues of your looming departure. You were so focused on getting the hell out of the Outer Banks that leaving your friends, your childhood and memories, hardly crossed your mind.

It’s not like they weren’t doing their own things anyway, they probably wouldn’t even notice your absence. Between Kie working almost full-time at The Wreck, Pope being the dedicated scholar he is and John B pursuing his relationship with Sarah, it got pretty lonely at the Chateau.

It was better to think of this as a mini vacation. Except you weren’t coming back. Not anytime soon at least, it was time to do something with your life and make a name for yourself, where you wouldn’t be just one of the pogues.

The thought of being by yourself felt liberating. There was such a big world waiting for you outside of the Outer Banks, although you would surely miss the seclusion of the life you had there.

However, everything seemed to go back to JJ. As if your mind was always drawn to him. It felt impossible to stay on the island and be around him anymore. You hated how much you loved him. Annoyance turned into jealousy, which turned into resentment. And you couldn’t live in bitter taste any longer. Although you couldn’t have the life you wanted with JJ, you would always remember him. He wouldn’t be the father of your children, but you would talk to your them about him when they asked about love.

my fellow pogues,

thought y’all should know i’m going away for a while. i’m so bored here, i don’t even know what i’m doing with my life. you guys know i’ve always been curious as to what life would be like on the mainland, so i feel like i need to find out for myself and experience it. please don’t be mad, or feel like i’m bailing on you, bailing on our dream. i hope one day we can have our pogues 4 lyfe t-shirt company, maybe even go full kook. i hope that pope can pay off all of his student debt, i hope kie saves all of the turtles, and jb will prolly marry rich anyway so the hell with him. i’m kidding, i love ya, booker. i love all of you. thanks for everything, i can’t thank you all enough. i’ll miss our days on the hms pogue, the keggers, our surfing days, being juvenile delinquents. if y’all ever feel the same way, i’m one call away ;) and as for jj, i hope you can move to figure 8 and have that koi pond full of fish. i hope you find a beautiful wife and start a family, even though that won’t be with me. i dont think i’ll ever get over you, but i have to let you go. i’m sorry that i’m leaving because you’re my soulmate but i’m not yours. maybe i should’ve told you sooner. i guess there’s certain people you can’t unlove, and i guess there is truth to ‘right person, wrong time’. hopefully we’ll meet again someday. be safe. and when the time is right maybe i’ll come back, just please don’t forget about me. a piece of me will always be yours.

y/n

part two

taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @rosylinn @nxsmss

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #outer banks fanfiction #rudy pankow

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guiltycorp · 3 years

Text

about the ‘sworn’ or ‘righteous’ part of Kaeya’s relation to Ragnvindrs Considering the fact that Kaeya must have been ~10-13 years old when he was taken in by Crepus and also that his profile description calls him his sworn son (義子) I believe it's safe to assume that this was the primary relationship. Later in his stories Kaeya is often referred to as 養子, adopted or foster son and it is my belief that the meaning is 100% foster because being a sworn son is different to actually getting adopted. Sworn children don't share their 'parents' surnames and they don't inherit anything, in fact, often there's no form of written contract at all and instead it's just an agreement where one side provides patronage and care while the other offers filial piety. So, that means that it probably wasn't Diluc's decision to swear an oath of brotherhood with Kaeya! Instead Kaeya first became Crepus's sworn son and thus became Diluc's sworn brother by association; though calling the children of your sworn parent your sworn siblings isn't an absolute rule it's still kind of expected. Having skimmed through the Chinese Wikipedia page it seems to me like the main contemporary reason to make other children your sworn sons/daughters is because people weren't allowed to have more than one child and 'adopting' sworn children like this allowed the kids to learn the value of 悌, concept of fraternal loyalty. Also just in general easier to make close friends when your parents already did that for you. It would make sense to me if Crepus didn't want to risk adopting a random kid but still took in Kaeya as his sworn son specifically to provide Diluc with a close friend of a similar age and semi-equal status (sorry Elzer т_т). I should note that the practice of sworn parents/siblings was often historically used for political and economical reasons, in turn leading to corruption and abuse. For example, 'I give you filial piety, you give me money and promotions' or 'I give you a roof over your head and you give me your servitude' etc. This isn't really relevant to Kaeya's character since he mentions happiness while being with Ragnvindrs (when comparing his duty to his feelings), but still this is to provide context bc the practice isn't seen as completely ideal&pure. Plus he diiiid become a knight under Diluc ehe, but of course it’s easy to make the case for ‘he deserved it’. Anyway in my opinion, considering the fact that Kaeya's and Diluc's sworn brotherhood oath wasn't made by them on purpose, the only thing that truly matters when it comes to their relationship is the characters' own view. We don’t really have much information on their pre-fight dynamic aside from them having been very close with Diluc as the older perfect prodigy and Kaeya as his sidekick (support + planning). However, they are said to have been as close as the gemini, like, the sign that means twins. This is probably a point in favor of an actual brotherly relationship rather than a fairly distant friendship. Meanwhile their current in-game relationship is fraught with tension. Kaeya obviously wants to reconcile and Diluc still relies on him whenever Kaeya suggests it, so when it comes to professionalism they fall back into the same dynamic of brawns & brain, but their dialogues are filled with mistrust on Diluc’s end and with bitterness on Kaeya’s side. It's fairly concerning that the only sign Diluc might still care about his ex-sworn brother is that ugly ass vase he kept in the lobby. Considering the amount of things Kaeya managed to do for him already, it's slightly unbalanced immo to say the least :/ :/ Some like to say that Diluc not giving him over to Jean is already a sign of caring on his part but idk, considering his personality he might just see Kaeya as his own responsibility to watch over and I doubt that he would leave Mond for 4 years if Kaeya actually seemed like a threat. And there were plenty of times when Diluc could have alluded to Kaeya (like, kaeya alludes to him in his voicelines all the time) and yet just doesn't. Even the line that could vaguely be associated with Kaeya, the one about nightingales, is a mistranslation — he meant night OWLS, his own constellation and symbol. What a pity tbh. We just have to wait for further content with them to be sure that Diluc isn’t completely heartless. And more about the pairing though, read only if it’s relevant to your interests. While ideally sworn siblings are expected to maintain platonic relations and to care for each other their whole lives, being halves of a whole and all that, interestingly enough according to the Wikipedia page the specific kind of sworn siblings you make through parents is less regulated, so if kids grow up and pursue romantic relationships between each other it's seen as just fine, sometimes even encouraged by the more meddling type of grannies. Tbh at first I was surprised by that, but likely it's because becoming sworn siblings isn't really their call? While if you swear an oath of brotherhood/sisterhood by your own decision as an adult you're expected to maintain that specific kind of relationship? makes sense to me i guess (that said, of course there are also practices like 契兄弟, Qi sworn brothers — like, specifically the gay sworn brothers, when men swore brotherhood with their lovers to avoid persecution for homosexuality... also my understanding is that women did that way more often because for them it was also a way to get out of marriages by saying that they were fully devoted to their 'sisters' instead, this isn’t relevant here, just interesting) Basically as soon as you enter a romantic relationship with your sworn-anything the boundary you maintain is replaced by the new romantic kind and you shouldn't count as sworn siblings anymore; unless you're lgbtq in which case open romantic relationships are dangerous anyway so you might as well continue calling your partner whatever. Basically there would be nothing wrong with kaeluc especially since they even already stopped calling each other sworn brothers (the eng translation took liberties again, in the comic it’s not actually clear who was the first one to stop). It’s all about the characters’ own perspective and while I’m convinced that genshin won’t have any outright lgbt representation bc chinese game, we can still assume a lot from how things between Kaeya and Diluc develop, like whether they will reconcile and if they do will they go back to calling each other sworn brothers or if they will start a completely new friendship free of the ties to Crepus. Or will they fail to reconcile in a dramatic and angsty fashion? Either way, this time it would be their own choice and thus all the stronger for it!

#kaeya #diluc #kaeluc #genshin #genshin lore #text #edit: made it a bit softer

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the-hopeless-haze · 4 years

Text

A Dwindling, Mercurial High

Pairing: Elliot Stabler/reader

A/N: Okay so I had a dream about Stabler the other night and he’s my original SVU crush (sorry Barba) and I had “Illicit Affairs” stuck in my head the whole day after so I had to write this. Thank you to @caked-crusader and @detective-giggles for encouraging my insanity lol!

Content Warning: NSFW due to sex. Brief mentions of cases that Elliot is working on. Infidelity.

The first time you met Elliot, it was because Dickie had a bad asthma attack and had to be hospitalized overnight. You were fresh out of nursing school, more anxious than confident, and it was a night from hell in that pediatric ward, maybe the worst you’d seen in the couple months since you’d started working. The charge nurse could only start one thing before she was asked to help with something else, two nurses called out and only one could cover, and everyone had at least a three-patient assignment. Suffice it to say tensions were high on that floor, and because Dickie wasn’t the sickest of your patients, you didn’t get to see him as often as you should have. Doing your best felt akin to doing nothing, and every time you came in the room, you apologized you hadn’t been able to come in fifteen minutes ago.

Elliot and Kathy told you it was okay and that they’d been through this before and knew what to expect. But it wasn’t really okay, you knew that. No one wanted to think that their nurse was too busy taking care of other sick children to pay attention to theirs.

Needless to say, you were far too busy that night to pay much attention to Elliot that night, but it wouldn’t be the last time you saw him, so maybe it didn’t matter. Still, sometimes you want to remember that glance that started everything because you have so little to hold onto.

You nearly have a heart attack the next week when your nurse manager says an NYPD detective needs to speak with you, and you nearly have another when you see Elliot’s face. You’ll remember the glance vividly this time; you look down at the linoleum hospital floor before finally sweeping your eyes across his face. He’s not mad; you can tell he’s the kind of man who’d let you know if he was angry, so you try to still your shaking hands.

“I just wanted to let you know Dickie’s doing a lot better,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Um, you’re welcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help—"

“Don’t beat yourself up, kid. It was a madhouse in here that night. Besides, I know it was you who got the doctor to switch his meds. They’re working a lot better now. He can actually sleep through the night.”

“Well, that’s great!” you say brightly, genuinely feeling a lot better about that night now. “Did you really come out all this way just to tell me?”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “No. I’m working. Victim’s getting a rape kit done here, so I thought I’d see if I could find you while I wait.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes widening. “What unit do you work on?”

“Special Victims. I’d say I hope I see you around, but I really don’t want my work to bring me to this floor.”

“Me neither. I sincerely hope I never see you again,” you say, smiling, and he smiles back, claps you on the shoulder and thanks you again before leaving.

“He was hot,” Tammy, your best friend on the ward, says as she comes over. “And he came back to see you. Maybe you should ask him out?”

“Well, he’s married,” you laugh. “All the DILFs are. Wives don’t wanna let that go.”

And you really thought that was that. You did have your fair share of DILFs come through that floor, and on slower shifts you’d fantasize about what it would be like to be the other woman, especially when couples would argue to the point of tears. Sure, tensions were always high when children were ill, but those screaming matches were always the result of a more systemic issue within their relationship. Some marriages were destined to fall apart, and sometimes it was exhilarating to dream about being the catalyst, even if you’d never actually act on it. No harm done in imagining yourself with a man you’d only see once in your life.

But you’d see Elliot again in a few months when his job did in fact bring him to your floor. He’s accompanied by a brunette woman, who you later learn is his partner, Olivia. You have no idea how they do their jobs. Sick kids you could handle, but children that had been abused, that were put into that hospital bed, not by the hands of a virus or disease process but by the hands of an adult... it was enough to turn your stomach. But now, at least, you had a direct line to call whenever you thought something iffy was going on between a family, as Elliot gave you his card. He said he trusts your judgment. You tried to suppress your heart fluttering. You’re too young to be having palpitations, but you can’t help staring at him longingly the whole time he’s there talking to the doctor, and you hope neither he nor Olivia notices. He just cared so much, and there’s nothing that gets the ovaries into action like seeing a man that protective over children.

You have to realize, though, that he was just being nice, and he just wanted another set of eyes out there to make sure no one got away with hurting children. You were all too happy to fill that role, anyway. It was a noble one. It had nothing to do with you specifically, and you had to be okay with that.

But fate is a funny thing, because even though you dated around throughout the next couple years, even though you had plenty of other things to occupy your time... Elliot always came back into your life somehow. Just when you thought you forgot about him, it seemed like he was waltzing onto your floor, or, god forbid, there was a child’s family you wanted him to speak to and make sure was alright.

Most times he came empty-handed and almost every time he came with Olivia, but on occasion, he’d show up by himself and with two coffees. And you grew up a little in those couple of years, even if you never grew past harboring your little crush on Elliot. You lost your anxiety that came with being a fledgling nurse and enrolled in a nurse practitioner program. You had your heart broken a few times and you broke a few hearts of your own. You moved out of your parent’s apartment and got your own place.

As for Elliot? Those years didn’t treat him as kindly. He wasn’t growing up as much as he was going down. Kathy wanted to leave him, he felt like he was losing touch with his kids, and his career path only fueled the anger that gnawed at him day after day and night after night. How the hell did his life get this fucked?

Of course, you weren’t privy to this information until he punched a hospital wall. It was a long night, and one of the children he rode on the ambulance with didn’t make it. You were upset, too, of course, even though he wasn’t your patient, and you couldn’t wait to get out of here and cry over a bottle of wine. But when Elliot’s fist connected with the wall, you knew your night was going to end much differently.

“(Y/n)! Are you busy? I need you to take your cop friend out of here. We don’t want the parents seeing that. Go! Clean up his hand and make sure he’s billed for that wall,” the doctor barks at you. “You gonna move?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, Doc,” you murmur, but you’re frozen in place at the nurse’s station. You can’t help staring at Elliot as he steps out of the room, with his chest heaving, his hand bloodied, his blue eyes ablaze. Eventually, your legs cooperate with you again, and you nod at him, motioning for him to follow you down the hallway. You grab some gauze and alcohol from the supply closet on the way and lead him into an empty room, taking his hand in yours. “Can you make a fist for me? I need to see if it’s broken.”

Elliot doesn’t say anything; he barely even looks at you, but he does as you ask.

“Okay. Good. You're just gonna be a little sore. You can relax it now. The alcohol is going to sting—“

“I know,” he says hollowly.

“I’m sorry. You’re the oldest patient I’ve had since I was in school,” you say, feeling your face flush as you grab the alcohol and wipe his knuckles. "This isn't the first time you've attacked a wall, then, hm?"

Elliot shoots you a withering look and you swallow thickly. Was he going to yell at you now? Thankfully, he sighs and the anger in his eyes fades. "Listen. I'm sorry you had to be here for that.”

"It's alright. I've seen worse. And I know it's tough, Elliot," you say. "Everyone handles grief differently."

"It ever get any easier for you?"

"No," you whisper, letting your hair fall in front of your eyes so he can't see them well up with tears as you lean over to bandage his hand. "Guess it never does. I don't get angry; I just get depressed. You don't want to get desensitized to it, though. I'd rather see people punch walls than not care."

Your breath catches in your throat as he pushes your hair back with his good hand, and he keeps it there on the side of your cheek. All this time, in the four years of knowing this man, and he'd never touched you like this. Come to think of it, you never exactly stood this close to him, either. Your relationship was always professional, despite all the times you wished it wasn't. Wasn't there a reason you two kept ending up in the same rooms? Wasn't there a reason you ended up in this one, alone? And you could get drunk off his scent, couldn’t you? The slight musk of sweat from his earlier exertion, the woodsy headiness of his cologne, the hint of spearmint on his breath from his mouthwash... it was all too much, and it’s all you have in you to not lean into his touch, to not lean over and press your mouth to his...

“Elliot—“

"Don't talk," he murmurs. "Unless you want to stop me. Do you?”

You wouldn’t dare.

When your lips finally do connect, it's electric, even though the only thing running through the back of your mind is how you'd probably be fired if anyone stepped into the room at this moment. You can't very well deny yourself what you've been wanting on and off for years, though, even if it’s wrong. His hands grab your waist and yours find purchase on his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex underneath you as he moves you to straddle his thigh. You have to try very hard not to search for that friction your whole body aches for, not yet, not when you don’t know how far he wants to take this and when you’re still on the clock.

“When do you get off?” he asks, and you both chuckle at the unintended double-entendre.

“At eleven.”

“Come have a drink with me.”

“I don’t want a drink. I want to continue this,” you purr, getting off his lap to fix the bandage and tape it down.

“You sure?”

“Elliot, I thought you’d never ask me. I would’ve been sure four years ago,” you say, feeling slightly guilty at that, but it was true. The more you saw of him without his wife and children the easier it was to forget that they were the reason you met him in the first place. And if at any time he kissed you like that? You know you’d be putty in his hands just like you were now. “You don’t need to go back to the precinct?” You don’t dare ask about home. Selfishly, you don’t want that to cross his mind.

“I’ll be back here by eleven.”

It’s another breathless kiss before you’re out the door, heading back to finish your shift.

“The hell are you all red for, (y/n)?” Tammy asks as you round the corner.

“Nothing,” you say. “Just ran up here. You need anything?”

“Ran up here? Weren’t you taking care of... oh. You’re playing with fire, girl,” she says, smirking.

“Shut up,” you say, but you can’t force your cheeks to cool down. “Nothing happened.”

“Mm. Be careful. He’s still married, isn’t he?”

You wouldn’t listen. You were only after chasing that high, even if it was only born to die in front of your eyes. —- You’re straining against your handcuffs, and you can’t see Elliot at all through the blindfold, but you can feel his hands and his mouth, hot and heavy, touching you everywhere. You have no clue where to focus, and you still can’t quite believe he’s here in your apartment. Part of you expected him to stand you up and realize that he should be going home instead of taking you to bed. But he either didn’t have that epiphany or he didn’t care - and you were desperate enough for him that you’d take either - and so began your first illicit meeting.

“I told you to stop pulling at those, baby,” Elliot says, his tone stern. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”

“Maybe if you gave me what I wanted, I wouldn’t have to—“

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, and you can feel his cock hard against your thigh, and not being able to see only heightens the sensation. “You gonna give me attitude, baby? I don’t think so. Why don’t you relax? I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna take my time though. Been four years of seeing your ass in those tight scrubs and not being able to do fucking anything about it.”

“You noticed me…. Like that?”

“You think I’d be here if I didn’t? Don’t act innocent now. You know what you do to me.”

Of course, you had noticed him looking at you sometimes, but you never let yourself read into it, but now, everything was coming back to you and… oh, fuck, finally he slips two fingers into your entrance and you’re drawn out of your thoughts, arching your back as he drags his fingers across your walls, painstakingly slow.

“You’re fucking soaking, baby girl,” he grunts. “You think you can take three? Mm. Gonna stretch you out a little.”

His bandaged hand comes to still your hips and you can’t believe he’s fucking you this good with his non-dominant hand, his thumb flicking against your clit every so often, those little shocks of pleasure bringing you closer to the million little deaths you deserved. Sometimes you’d feel his mouth where you’d least expect it, too, his tongue licking a trail up your stomach to take your nipple in his mouth or his teeth and tongue working on leaving a mark on your collarbone.

“Please. So close, El,” you pant, rolling your hips in vain.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it, come on, let go, baby,” Elliot growls in your ear. “Just let go.”

And you do, falling apart with his name on your lips before he kisses you again, swallowing down all your moans and whimpers, his hands leaving your lower body to find purchase in your hair.

“You good?” he asks, barely pulling away from your mouth.

“So good,” you gasp, straining upward to press your lips to his again.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby, that okay?”

“More than okay.”

You’re so wet he doesn’t meet much resistance, but you’re still sensitive from your orgasm so soon before, and combined with the fact that you can’t see or touch him - it was almost too much at once.

“Oh fucking hell,” Elliot grunts. “You good?”

“Yes. Please start fucking moving,” you whine. “Fuck me hard.”

You can tell he needs that; he needs to let go of all his pent-up anger and frustration, and you didn’t really care if at the expense of that you couldn’t walk tomorrow. You’d do anything, anything for just the chance to occupy a sliver of his life.

And God, once given permission, he doesn’t hold back at all. He sets a brutal pace, the bed shaking and moving in tandem with the force of his thrusts. You can’t see him, obviously, but you can feel the weight on the bed shift and his angle change as he grips the headboard, driving into you so roughly you think you might black out. He starts grunting softly with every thrust, and then, oh - you feel him move back down, his lips catching yours and his hands cupping your breasts and it’s all you can do to fight with your body not to come yet; you want to come with him, experience this high together.

“Fuck, (y/n), so good,” he groans, his tongue running over the bruise he’d sucked onto your skin earlier, and you whimper in response. “So fucking good for me, taking my cock so good. Knew you’d be fucking amazing.”

If his dirty talk wasn’t enough to send you over the edge, well, he adjusts his angle with a particularly strong thrust of his hips and you’re pulling on the handcuffs again, the sting as they slice into your wrists a sharp contrast to the impending pleasure - if you could just hold on - and thankfully, Elliot’s panting brusquely in your ear that he’s close, that you should let go again. Coming together is a beautiful euphoria - one that was desperately needed after the night you had, after the four years of longing stares that neither of you, apparently, knew was reciprocated until now. But like the end of all highs, you have to come down at some point. Elliot lifts the blindfold and looking into his eyes for the first time since he stripped you naked, you can’t help but feel like a fucking mess. But you know you’d do it again, and again, and again...

“I told you not to pull at those,” he tsks, leaning over to unlock the handcuffs and free your wrists. “You’re bleeding, (y/n).”

And, like some bad deja vu, Elliot’s cleaning your wounds with alcohol like you did for him only hours prior.

And after, he stays and talks with you a little, mentions vaguely his marriage is going downhill, which you could have easily figured out yourself, and when you wake up in the morning, he’s gone without a trace. You had to expect that he couldn’t stay, and you wonder what lie he fed his wife. You wonder if she believed it. Was this just a one time thing? Maybe you just both needed to get this out of your system, as almost half a decade of sexual tension needed to be dealt with somehow.

But no. Like always, you see him again, and on most occasions, now, he ends up tangled in your bedsheets. It feels like you’re always competing with other women for Elliot’s attention, whether it be Kathy or Olivia. But you take solace in the fact that you’re the only one he’s going to fuck like this. Olivia’s his partner, and that relationship is already too close for comfort to bring sex into. And if he came home with handcuffs and a blindfold to his wife, she’d drag his ass to therapy. You’re the only woman in his life that he can use for this, and that thought alone could get you high, could get you off. And sometimes, that feels like all he’s using you for, a sense of release for the moments when he doesn’t want to be at home and he can’t be at work. But other times - he lets you in, tells you jokes, tells you stories - and in some ways you’ve never felt this close to another person. He played such a different role in all the other areas of his life - but with you - he didn't have to play one, and sometimes you caught a glimpse of the man he was before all his burdens were placed onto his shoulders. You know you’ll never have a relationship like this with anyone else.

And for that reason, you’ll always answer the phone when he calls, even if you ruin yourself every time. You would for him. You always would for him.

#elliot stabler x reader #elliot stabler #svu fanfiction #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order: special victims unit #law & order svu #idk man don't ask me #the cogs just started turning and idk #i don't think he'd ever cheat on kathy lol but fuck it

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

marriage story

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5,641

summary: Fake marrying Bucky was only supposed to be a means to an end.

prompt: college au, fake marriage au, and enemies to lovers

warnings: swearing, talk of past sexual abuse

a/n: This was written for @broadwayandnetflix for @bucky-smiles‘s Secret Santa! SURPRISE!!!! I’m so sorry I’m a day late, I just wanted to make sure it was as good as I could make it!! I really hope you enjoy!!!

You weren’t sure how you ended up staring at divorce papers.

Hell, you’d just graduated college three weeks ago and had miraculously landed your first job that was conducive to your career.

And now, you were a divorcée at the age of twenty-one.

Granted, your marriage had lasted much longer than a lot of those that happened when the two people were teenagers.

It had also been fake, but that’s beside the point.

You read over the divorce papers for the eightieth time since they’d arrived. Both of you took your individual things, no need for lawyers…

It had all seemed so simple when it first began. A means to an end.

You were eighteen and stupid. Desperate. You had no idea what the consequences would be.

You had no idea that you’d actually fall in love with your husband.

He’d needed to live off campus since he couldn’t afford the on campus housing. At a minimum of seven thousand dollars a school year, it was ridiculous. You couldn’t really afford it either, but the school had a rule that you couldn’t live off campus until your junior year, and the two of you were still second semester freshmen.

Then there was the issue with your FAFSA. You weren’t exactly on good terms with your parents. And by not on good terms, you meant that you didn’t speak to them. At all. Getting their tax information wasn’t going to happen, and it wasn’t like they were helping you pay for college.

But FAFSA wouldn’t let you fill it out as an independent student until you were twenty-one. Apparently, being cut off from your parents wasn’t enough of a ‘special circumstance’ to allow it.

But, there was one little thing that could fix all that.

Matrimony.

If you were married, you’d have to file independently. No questions asked about parents.

And the university would allow you to live off campus, too.

It was a perfect solution. A quick little trip to the courthouse.

Living together had seemed logical. A little two bedroom apartment was much cheaper than seven thousand dollars for nine months in a dorm room you had to share.

Plus, you had to keep up the illusion to the school and the government that you were married.

Outside of living together though, there wasn’t much needed. Each of you wore a fake ring when you went to your meetings with your advisor and your classes. It kept the rabid frat boys away from you, at least.

And then there were the scholarships. Turns out, there are scholarships specifically for married college kids, and your advisor thought you were just perfect for it because she’d never met such a wonderful couple.

It was all perfect. Until it wasn’t.

First off, you and Bucky didn’t even really like each other when all of this started. You only knew each other because you were best friends with Natasha, who was his best friend’s girlfriend. It had actually been the two of them that had gotten the idea in the first place.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering why we gathered you here today,” Steve said, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Steve, this is my room.”

This was not how you wanted to spend your Saturday night. You’d worked a double that day, from eight in the morning to ten that night.

The perks of working at a bar that did Mimosa Mornings on the weekends. The worst part was that you weren’t even allowed to take a shot or two to help you get through it since you were eighteen.

Stupid fucking law. If you could work in a bar, you should be able to drink to deal with the customers. Because fuck, they’re horrible.

But you made more than you’d be making at Buffalo Wild Wings, that’s for sure.

“Can we just get whatever this is over with?” Bucky asked from across the room. He definitely wasn’t keen to be stuck in a room with you for any longer than necessary. “I have work in the morning.”

“Same here,” you added, narrowing your eyes at the two who sat in front of you.

Natasha was your best friend and your roommate, but fuck were you ready to put out a ‘New Friends Wanted’ sign. You could take applications.

Requirement number one: Must not be dating the best friend of the most annoying prick in the world AKA Bucky Barnes.

Requirement number two: Must not be waiting to ambush you in your own dorm room with said prick.

“So, both of you are having issues with the university,” Nat said as she took out a bunch of papers. “The dorms are crazy expensive and you’re not allowed to live off campus. Also, FAFSA is ridiculous.”

“And we have a solution,” Steve said, a grin on his face. He was such a giver. He loved his friends more than anything in the world and would literally give anything for them. Seriously. You’d once watched him actually give the shirt off his back to Bucky when the latter had gotten drunk at a party and puked all over his.

He’d also gotten it on your shoes, and Bucky had just burped and said, “They look better now.”

The disgusting asshole.

“Well, spit it out,” you said, rubbing your temples. You were still in your uniform, a pair of cut off jean shorts and a tank top. Your hair smelled like cigarette smoke and someone’s beer that they spilled on you. “I’d like to go to sleep before sunrise, please.”

“You two could get married.”

Both you and Bucky stared at them like they’d grown two heads.

“I’m sorry… What the fuck did you just say?” You asked, standing up.

Natasha rushed to continue, still grinning. “If you two get married, the university will let you live off campus, and FAFSA will let you file as independent!”

“And it’s cheap! A marriage license only costs like… fifty bucks? Something like that!” Steve said.

Well… It wasn’t… a horrible idea, even if you and Bucky might end up killing each other before then.

“I don’t know...,” you said, the whole idea making you nervous. Marriage? Come on.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I really don’t want to be married to her. We’d kill each other before we hit our six month anniversary,” he mocked, shooting a glare your way.

“It would only be until you graduate!” Natasha said. “And then, you two get divorced and it becomes a funny story to tell at parties!”

You shared a look across the room with the brunette. It would solve your problems…

“Fine.”

Turns out, getting married was a lot easier than you thought it would be. All four of you went to the courthouse that next Tuesday when all of you had a break in between classes.

You wore a sweatshirt and leggings, your ratty sneakers that were covered in mud along the bottom. Bucky wore jeans and a university hoodie.

Not exactly usual wedding attire.

Natasha, ever the optimist ever since she met Steve, had shoved a daisy she’d picked in your hair.

And an hour later, you’d walked out as Mrs. Barnes.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stood up from the couch and walked around the little place you’d called home since you were eighteen.

It had been quiet the first few months. You signed a lease on an apartment a few blocks from campus and had moved in right at the end of the school year, but he went home with Steve to Brooklyn, New York.

You were alone the entire summer except for the few weekends that Natasha managed to come visit. The only time you and Bucky spoke was when he texted you to let you know when he was moving in.

And that’s when the fighting had started.

As you stared at a picture of the two of you on the wall, you couldn’t help but laugh. In the photo, you two were sitting on the couch, holding a cake that Natasha and Steve had gotten you as a joke. HAPPY 2ND ANNIVERSARY! was written across it in bright blue icing.

It was a far cry from when you two had first moved in. Everything was an issue. You didn’t do this, he did that, the both of you wanted to watch different movies and he had brought the television but you’d brought the DVD player. Everything. Hell, you’d sleep on the bean bag in Natasha’s dorm some nights because even being in the same apartment as him was too much.

Eventually, there was compromise. An understanding grew between you and with that, a truce. You couldn’t keep living like you were.

You were pretty sure the war had finally, silently ended one late night in October. It was the weekend before Halloween, and you’d had the worst shift of your life.

Your keys clanged as you unlocked the front door, trying to open it as quietly as possible. Even from where you stood, you could see the clock above the stove that read 1:42 AM. You were supposed to be off at ten, but that clearly hadn’t happened. One of the other girls working had gotten sick and you were forced to cover the few hours she was supposed to work alone until close.

And to add onto that, you made less the entire weekend than you had last Friday night. You’d been hit on, groped, yelled at. Fuck. You just wanted to collapse in your bed.

“You’re home late.”

“Fuck!” You jumped in shock, your heart pounding in your chest. God. Your anxiety had just spiked and the exhaustion you’d been feeling was replaced with your fight or flight instinct.

Bucky was standing in the hallway entrance, brows furrowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He had on those gray sweats that he looked so good in…

No! Down girl! Bad!

It didn’t matter that he was hot. He was a total dick.

Though, lately he’d be rather kind. Nice. There’d been less fights in the past few weeks.

You cleared your throat, looking away from him. “Yeah, Wanda got sick, so I had to close.”

“There’s dinner in the microwave,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He nodded, before disappearing down the hall. It surprised you when you heard the bath start, but whatever. Whether or not he took baths was none of your business.

You were surprised to find a huge bowl of vegetable soup in the microwave. Huh. You’d just been talking to Natasha about how much you missed your mom’s homemade version.

Whatever. It wasn’t like you’d ever be having that again.

You let your head rest on the counter as you waited for the soup to heat up. Fuck. Your entire body ached.

“Hey, do you want epsom salt?” Bucky called out from the bathroom.

“Uh, what?” You said as you raised your head. Even just moving that little made your head pound.

He poked his head out of the doorway, his long hair pulled back in a bun. “For your bath? Do you want epsom salt?”

“My bath? What the hell are you talking about?” You asked as the microwave beeped.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe. “The bath that I’m currently running you. Do. You. Want. Epsom. Salts?”

There was a long pause as the two of you stared at each other. “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice coming out a lot smaller than you expected. “That would be nice.”

Once he’d disappeared back into the bathroom, you pulled out your phone and texted Nat.

To: Tasha

Why is Barnes acting weird?

From: Tasha

Which one of you?

Get it?

Cause you’re married?

To: Tasha

Yeah

I got it.

But he’s being fucking weird.

From: Tasha

How so?

To: Tasha

He made me dinner? At least, he poured vegetable soup from a can into a bowl and left it in the microwave.

And he’s running me a bath???

V V strange.

If I don’t text you tomorrow

It’s probably because he killed me

From: Tasha

Oh that

To: Tasha

What do you mean

“Oh that”????

NATASHA

ANSWER YOUR PHONE

From: Tasha

Sorry, was talking to Steve

He mentioned you’d been working a lot and how tired you were so I told him he should do something nice.

And I may have told him that you missed your mom’s vegetable soup.

So that probably explains that.

“Hey, it’s ready,” Bucky said as he came into the kitchen. “I’ve got some towels in the dryer going, so they’ll be all warm when you’re ready to get out.” He seemed so… laissez-faire about it. Like you two didn’t fight on a daily basis usually. He watched as you took a bite of the soup, his blue eyes zeroed in on you. “Do you like it?” He asked. “I tried following my ma’s recipe. Don’t know how well it went.”

You couldn’t help but moan around the spoon as the warm soup went down. Even reheated, it was amazing. “This is your mom’s recipe? It’s amazing.”

His cheeks flushed as he tried to hide a grin. “Thanks. I’ve missed her cooking.”

It was silent as you finished up the soup, the only sound being the spoon clanging against the bowl. It wasn’t until you set your dishes in the sink to wash the next day that he spoke again.

“Oh, I got you this,” he said as he pulled out a box. “I saw my advisor and he knows that we’re married and he mentioned that we still don’t have rings, so I just went and grabbed a ring from a thrift store.”

It was then that you noticed the simple silver band on his left ring finger, glinting in the low light.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you took the box. But your breath was stolen from your lungs as you opened it, revealing a gorgeous diamond engagement ring with a matching diamond wedding band. “It’s… It’s beautiful… Thank you…”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, you go ahead and get in the bath. I’ll bring you the towels when they’re done.”

As you sat in the bath, you couldn’t help but stare at the rings that now resided on your left hand. They glinted in the low light of the candles that had been placed in various places around the bathroom, most likely lit with Bucky’s lighter from the local smoke shop.

They were absolutely stunning.

Maybe… just maybe… this marriage wouldn’t be as bad as you first thought it would be.

You glanced over at the table as your phone buzzed, running to it. Maybe it’s Bucky…

But your hope was dashed as you realized it was Natasha calling you.

You hadn’t realized you’d been crying until a drop of water fell on the screen. Wiping your eyes, you brought it up to your ear. “Hey, Tasha! What’s up?” You couldn’t help but wince. You sounded like a fucking real estate agent. Perfect and peppy and… not you.

“Hey, I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing,” she whispered, as though she was trying to keep someone else from hearing. “Bucky got the divorce papers today and I figured that meant you did, too.”

Ah, another thing. He’d been staying at Steve and Natasha’s place since all of you had graduated, and the time had come for the divorce. He’d gotten all of his things out within two days, except for the hoodie you were currently cocooned in and your wedding rings.

“I know how much you love this place,” he’d said with a wry smile. “So you can have it in the divorce settlement.”

It had been a joke. The divorce settlement. Like you two had actually been in love and things just hadn’t worked out.

“You aren’t gonna change the Netflix password on me, right?” You asked as you stood in the doorway of Bucky’s room, arms crossed over your chest. “Because I’m still paying for half of it.”

Buck grinned at you as he taped the last box shut. “I don’t know… Might change it up on you. Have it all to myself. Then my suggested movies and shows won’t be so fucked up,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, glaring at him. But there was no heat behind it. “We have separate profiles on there, you dumbass. So if Gossip Girl is on your suggested, that’s your fault.”

The laugh that erupted from his mouth made him throw his head back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Seeing Bucky Barnes laugh was one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It was better than the Great Pyramids of Giza, the Taj Mahal, and the Great Wall of China all rolled into one.

“We’re still gonna have Thursday night movies, right?” You asked, trying to ignore the way your voice cracked.

In the three years since you’d gotten married, Thursday night had become your sort of fake Date Night. You two would order takeout and watch movies until the both of you passed out of the couch. You both changed your availability at your jobs to let them know that you couldn’t work Thursdays. Not even Natasha and Steve were allowed to intrude. It was just your special night to hang out.

“I’ll bring the food. Do you want Thai or Mexican?” He asked, his features a little softer.

“I’ll text you what I want,” you said. Biting your lip, you toyed with the rings on your left hand. “I guess I should give you these back, huh?” You started to slip them off, but he stopped you.

“They’re yours,” he said, his hand closing over yours. His blue eyes shimmered in the light as you swallowed. “Keep them… as a reminder of your former husband.” The corner of his mouth twitched, but you couldn’t tell if he was going to smile or frown.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said, suddenly surging forward to hug him. “Even though you’re super annoying.”

Bucky laughed as he wrapped his arms around you just as tight. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“How’s he doing?” You asked as you moved to what had formerly been Bucky’s room. It was now completely bare, except for a single gum wrapper on the floor. You sank down against the wall as you stared at it. Extra wintermint gum. Because he absolutely hated spearmint.

“About as well as you, I imagine,” she said slowly, choosing her words ever so carefully. “I don’t know. He went out for a walk a few minutes ago. But he locked himself in the guest room for hours after getting the papers.”

You let your head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to stop another onslaught of tears. “This is what we wanted,” you said, your voice cracking.

A pause. You could feel the tension even through the phone, a can of worms Natasha was about to open. “Is it? Is this what you wanted?”

“This was always the plan!” You retorted, the tears coming in a wave now. “We’d stay married until after we graduated and then we’d divorce. No drama, no court, no lawyers. Just a means to an end.”

You could hear her whispering to someone that you knew was Steve on the other end for a few seconds, the sound muffled. She’d probably covered the speaker. “Do you want me to come over?” She finally asked.

“No,” you said with a sigh, rubbing the hell of your palm against your eyes. “I just wanna… curl up in bed and watch cheesy movies and never come out.”

You didn’t understand. Why did this hurt so bad? He was just a friend. You two had never even kissed, for crying out loud. This wasn’t some fanfiction where you two fell into bed one drunken night and then woke up with feelings. This wasn’t an ‘Oh no, there’s only one bed’ type of deal with 100K+ words on AO3. You two were just friends. Really. There was no happy ending for the two of you waiting.

“Are you still gonna go to the Barnes’s Fourth of July party?” Natasha asked, her voice softer.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on your knee caps. “There’s no point. We’re not married anymore.”

“Sweetheart,” she chided. “You know he’d want you there. So would his family. You’re still a Barnes, even if you change your last name back.”

“I don’t know,” you said, chewing on your bottom lip. “I like the last name Barnes better. It’s not like I have any connection to my old last name. Maybe…” You swallowed. “Maybe I should keep it. It costs money to change it back, after all. It’s on my license now.”

Ah, yes. Because your license had expired while you were married and you’d had to get a new one.

“You’re a Barnes now and forever, hon,” she teased. You could hear her smile through the phone. “And you know Winifred would be pissed as hell if you didn’t go. You’re her daughter now just as much as Bucky is her son.”

God, the tears came on like a tsunami when you remembered the Barneses. George, Winifred, Becca, all of them. Especially Winifred. Sweet, sweet Winnie that had become your mom in the years since you’d met her.

“Bucky, I don’t know about this,” you said as you walked up the steps to his place. Or, rather, his parents’ place. “I should just go home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed as he searched for the right key. “I’m not letting you drive the way back just to spend Christmas alone.”

Truthfully, it was stupid to even suggest. Your apartment that you shared with him now was over eight hours away, and it was two days before Christmas Eve.

God, how the hell did you end up here? You’d been planning on spending it alone, just like you had Thanksgiving.

But when Bucky had come back from the break and realized that you hadn’t gone anywhere, it’d prompted him to ask why, which had then resulted in him insisting on you accompanying him to New York City for Christmas with his family.

“What if they don’t like me?” You asked, barely audible. In truth, you were terrified. This was your first holiday season that you were away from your parents. Thanksgiving had been strange, and you had certain it wasn’t going to get any better up until a few weeks ago.

Bucky stopped suddenly, looking at you with big blue eyes. “Sweetheart, they’re going to adore you,” he said, more sincere than he’d been since the two of you had gotten married. “How could they not?”

“You didn’t!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t like me either. And then we got to know each other.”

He had a point.

You grumbled, staring down at your boots. They were still covered in snow.

“And besides, Ma hasn’t shut up about meeting you ever since she found out about you,” he muttered as he finally found the right key. “Dad said she’s been obsessively cleaning the house since she found out you were coming.”

As soon as the opened the door, you were hit with a wall of sound. A woman with the same shade of hair as Bucky rushed forward, trapping the six foot man in a hug. “YOU’RE HOME!”

“Winnie, come on, don’t suffocate the boy.” A man with Bucky’s eyes appeared, his hands shoved in his pockets. He was trying to appear nonchalant, but the second he was free of his mother’s grasp, he was dragging him into another hug. “I’ve missed you, son.”

“And you must be his wife!” Winifred Barnes said, suddenly turning on you.

“Ma, she has a name.”

“I know that!”

“Winnie–”

You were pulled into a hug, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with feelings. Maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t hugged your own mother in so long, or maybe it was just because Winifred was that lovely of a person. Either way, you were tearing up as she hugged you tightly. You gave her your name as she pulled back, looking over your face.

“Oh, you’re even prettier than Jamie said!”

Your cheeks flushed as Bucky grumbled out a quiet “Ma…”

It was then that you were swept into the apartment, finding it bustling with people. You were then introduced to the rest of his family: his younger sister, Becca, who was going to be a senior in high school and was SO grateful to have a new sister, his aunts, his uncles, his parents. The entire apartment was bursting with people even days before the actual holiday.

It wasn’t until after dinner (which was absolutely delicious) that you were able to capture a quiet moment in the kitchen, helping Winifred wash dishes.

“Thank you for having me over,” you said, to break the silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, surprisingly, you just felt like you needed to vocalize your thanks for what was probably the third time. “It means a lot.”

“Any friend of Jamie’s is a friend of ours,” she said as she rinsed off a plate. “And we’re so grateful for what you’re doing. He mentioned that it helps you, too, but… Our family can’t afford to pay for his housing. We can barely make his tuition.” She looked at you with crystal clear eyes that seemed to bore into your soul. “We’re so happy to have you.” She then paused, glancing over at the side of the sink, where you’d set your wedding rings just to make sure they didn’t slip off in the water. “You know, I was so happy when he asked for my ring. He’s always dreamed of giving it to a girl.”

“What?” You asked, looking at her in shock.

Winifred paused, her brows furrowed in a way that really reminded you of your husband. “Did he not tell you? The engagement ring is mine. But he saved up over the summer to buy a matching band for it.”

Your heart raced in your chest as you stared at the rings. Bucky had gotten his ma’s ring for you? But… why? You two were barely friends at this point.

“I would’ve been spending Christmas alone if it wasn’t for him inviting me,” you said, breaking her stare to look down at your soapy hands. “He found out I spent Thanksgiving at home and almost shit a brick.” You rushed to cover your mouth, to apologize, but she just snorted.

An easy smile tugged at her lips. “Holidays are a big thing for our family, and I guess we passed that down to Jamie. Everyone comes to town for about a week and we spend it drinking and shooting the shit, baking. We can’t afford much, so our gifts are usually just spending time together,” she said.

“It sounds nice,” you whispered as you scrubbed absentmindedly at a pan. “My family… even when I still talked to them, we were never big on holidays.” Winifred had gone quiet beside you. “It was always just us. We’d eat dinner together and sometimes I’d get a present, but mostly it was just spent like any other day.”

She took a deep breath, setting a plate on the drying rack. “What… happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I… confronted my parents about the sexual abuse I went through as a kid,” you said slowly, swallowing around the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. “My cousin… He, uh… He’s only a year and a half older than me. From the time I was… four or five, I think, to about twelve, he would… you know.” The kitchen felt deadly silent, and you were so glad that the rest of the Barnses, including Bucky, were in the living room. Even though he knew the basics of what had happened, you never told him details. “And my parents would punish me for it when he got caught. They blamed me. They’d ground me or spank me or… whatever.” You let out a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “They didn’t really take it well. It doesn’t matter though. I’m fine.”

You were shocked when you were suddenly pulled into a tight hug. Winifred’s arms formed a cocoon around you and you could feel her tears on your face. She was only an inch or two taller than you. “That was not your fault,” she gasped out, holding you to her. “That was not your fault.”

Before you realized what was happening, you were clutching onto her as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

You didn’t know how long she’d held you before she leaned back, wiping away your tears. Or at least, trying to before they were replaced with more. “You are not what he did to you, you hear me?” She asked, wiping at her own face. “You are always welcome here. We’re your family now.”

“What’s going on here?”

The both of you turned to see Bucky in the doorway, his sea blue eyes wide. He was holding a few extra plates that had been left behind.

“Nothing,” she said with a watery grin. “Just… talking.”

“Here,” he said as he walked over and put the dishes inside the sink filled with soapy water. “I’ll finish up with my wifey here, and you go clean up before dad freaks out because you’re crying.”

She barked out a laugh, nodding. “Fine. Fine. You know how he gets if I’m upset,” she said, kissing your forehead before leaving.

“So… You actually okay?” Bucky asked as he took over rinsing the dishes you washed.

The smile that found its way onto your lips was real, surprisingly, as you said, “Everything’s great, Jamie.”

And even though he let out a groan, he was smiling, too.

It was after that trip that you’d started calling him Jamie. It just… felt better rolling off your tongue than Bucky ever did. It was also when holidays in Brooklyn became a permanent thing. Anytime Bucky went home, so did you.

They were your family.

But now… Now what? Did you lose them like you lost your parents?

Granted, losing your parents wasn’t exactly the worst thing.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Natasha asked, bringing you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head to clear out the cloudiness of your memories. “Yeah, I’m–” You broke off as you heard a knock at the door, a frown tugging at your lips. “Hold on, Tasha, I’ll call you back…” You hung onto your phone as you walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole.

Bucky?... What the fuck was he doing here?

You opened the door wide, shocked to find him crying. His eyes were puffy and red, his nose running. “Jamie? What’s wrong?” You reached forward to touch his shoulder, shoving your phone in your back pocket.

“Don’t sign those papers.”

“Wait… What?” Now you were even more confused. Your brows furrowed as you pushed his hair back from his face. God, he needed a haircut. Maybe you could… No. Not the focus right now.

He stepped toward, half inside the apartment that had been his, too, just two weeks before. His large, calloused hand caressed your face. “I don’t want to not be your husband,” he said, his voice cracking.

Your heart thundered inside your chest and you were half sure this was some kind of trick of your mind to soothe its aching. “What do you mean?”

“I want to make this work,” he said as he cupped your face in his hands. “I… I want to actually have Thursday night Date Nights and take you out and when we go home for the holidays, I want to kiss you under the mistletoe my ma always hangs up, and I want you to wear my ma’s ring. I want to be your husband. Please.”

You didn’t realize you were crying–yet again, fucking damn it–until he wiped them away. “I don’t want to not be your wife, either,” you said, your voice shaking. “I love you, I love you so much.”

His lips met yours in a blazing kiss, holding you closer than you thought possible. “I love you more,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m never letting you go.”

You dragged him inside, shutting the door before kissing him again. “You’re staying here. None of this bullshit of you staying with Tasha and Steve.”

“Gladly,” he chuckled, holding onto your waist. “But only if I get to sleep in your bed.”

“Only if we can shred those divorce papers.”

The moment was interrupted by his phone ringing, and you couldn’t help but giggle when you saw it was Winifred. He shot you an apologetic look as he answered it. “Hey, ma.”

She was speaking so loudly you could hear her clearly. “Well?! How did it go?! Did you ask her?!”

“Yes, I asked her,” he said slowly, squeezing your side. “She said yes. I’m with her now.”

Both of you flinched away as she screamed in excitement. “GIVE HER THE PHONE! GIVE HER THE PHONE!”

You smiled as you pressed it to your ear. “Hi, mom.”

“BABY! I’M SO HAPPY! NOW WE CAN HAVE A REAL WEDDING!” She was speaking at a hundred miles an hour. “Do you want a summer or fall wedding? I think it might be too late to do summer, but I’m sure we could scrounge something together!”

You giggled as Bucky stole kisses from you while she was speaking, distracting you.

“Sweetheart? You there?”

“A late summer wedding sounds perfect,” you said, unable to wipe the grin from your face. “Absolutely perfect.”

#cmmsecretsanta #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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beepbeepbobop · 3 years

Text

Back again.

I was telling my friend (who isn’t a Baccano! fan, but listens to me ramble) about my take on immortals and Czeslaw, and I don’t know where to put it, so! It goes here. As a warning, this is mostly me rambling and probably treads ground that has been talked about a lot in the past, but I hope it’s interesting anyway.

(This and the Infinity Train post is not a sign that I’m going to be more active in the future. Social media and the prospect of interacting with other people’s posts still make me anxious. Maybe one day.)

So! The first thing to keep in mind is that change is a major theme in Baccano!. No one is incapable of changing, but people have different relationships with it depending on who they are. Czes can't believe that he has changed seventy years after Isaac & Miria stealing him despite clear evidence that he has. Meanwhile, Nile actively resists change: His greatest fear after becoming immortal was that he would become desensitized to the loss of human life and begin to devalue it, so he spent decades fighting in active war zones so that he'd never forget the reality of death. This backfired, and instead left him inured to loss of life...but it's clear that he doesn't want to be this way? Realizing that he's gotten to the point where his expression doesn't even change if someone dies is devastating for him. Chane is the opposite: While it's absolutely for the best that she stops being a hitwoman and killing machine for her father, softening up is terrifying to her because then she can't serve her father the way she wants to. Czes is on the opposite end of the spectrum, because he wants to be better because he thinks he's a bad person (later on, he decides that he's the only bad person left in the world. Sir.), but can't recognize it because he doesn't feel different.

And...this is pertinent to the older immortals in particular - I'd argue even moreso than with the younger ones. Aside from the fact that the Elixir literally stops you from changing in the sense of age or injury...it also has to place inhibitors on your brain. Your brain is, after all, a physical part of your body! There are some....weird aspects about immortality that no one is able to figure out (for example, immortals can give birth; someone also pointed out that there are no examples of crying in reverse even though that's also a part of your body), but it's still safe to say that the brain doesn't age either because then...then a lot of the cast would be catatonic from Alzheimer's. Even without that, the human body can only retain so many memories. If an immortal's brain had the ability to deteriorate over time or overload based off of the amount of memories it contains....well, I don't think any of the older immortals would be able to function. Szilard definitely wouldn't be able to function (and neither would Firo after he devours Szilard) because Szilard has the memories of over a dozen people running around in his brain. Which brings me to my next point: If an immortal's brain functioned like a human's, devouring would not work as a concept. One of the hallmarks of being immortal is gaining other people's memories. Imagine the strain that would cause. And yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem! The chief worry of those who have devoured other immortals is worrying that having the memories of the other person might change you consciously or subconsciously. This is Firo's concern over devouring Szilard.

So...the fact that the brain doesn't physically grow older or change (with some leniency given because real world science sure is iffy here)...feels relevant because, mn...

Many of the older immortals feel stagnant, or stuck in time. Firstly, if the immortals changed at the same pace as a human being, I don't think most of them would be recognizable from one era to the other. And yet, they are! The Victor Talbot of the 1700s is clearly the same person as the Victor Talbot of the 1930s, albeit with alterations (because what kind of person would stay exactly the same after centuries?). The answer to that question is Elmer, by the way. Everyone comments on how he acts just like the Elmer they remember back in the day. But Elmer is a special case, seeing as he's our local empty shell and probable sociopath (not that he has ASPD! ASPD, sociopathy and psychopathy all present and function entirely differently from each other, which makes it....strange that they're lumped under the same umbrella - but that's another matter). Secondly, immortals...Uhm, they all handle grief horribly, and seem to feel stuck in the past? Maiza, for instance, acts starkly different from his past as a rebellious noble-boy gang member, but he's never forgiven himself for giving Gretto the information that led to his death. (Gretto being his brother.) Huey's overarching goal is to bring his dead girlfriend back to life, and he's been working towards this goal for centuries. Sylvie, who admittedly was not an immortal when Gretto died, held off on drinking the Elixir until she was all grown up, then set out to finding Szilard to take revenge on him for killing the boy she had run away with. This lasted for, you guessed it, centuries.

This isn't to say that immortals don't change, or even that they don't change drastically. I mentioned Nile, who became inured to death after fighting in war for decades. Czes went from a trusting, innocent child to someone paranoid and self-centered enough to try and get an entire train car's worth of people killed for his own safety to someone who wants to be a good person, but thinks he never will be and that there's something fundamentally wrong with him. But changing appears to be very, very difficult, and happens over an extended period of time in response to extreme situations.

And...this is particularly relevant to Czes (who keeps coming up as an example because he's the main person I'm thinking about with this tangent) because....it arguably hits him harder than any of the others due to being a child. Only the best decisions were made aboard the Advenna Avis, which includes letting the eight year old drink the immortality elixir. But...mn. It's one thing to be perpetually in your thirties, or twenties, or sixties, and another altogether to perpetually be eight years old. Czes can't truly 'grow up' even though he has more life experience than most adults combined, and it shows in his extreme emotional reactions, his self-centeredness, ect. There's a certain misconception about anime-only fans that he's an adult in a child's body, but I think it's easier to tell in the light novels that that's not the case, especially since you see what he's like back before the Advenna Avis. (He is shy. Very shy. Did nothing wrong ever.) Also, the fact that SAMPLE goes, "Yes! The perfect sacrifice!" when they specifically take a child to target emphasizes this. It's not proof - I'm pretty sure that SAMPLE would focus on his physical age as an 'eternal child', and may or may not have the resources to analyze him and go, "This boy is still eight years old in his head," - , but it hammers the point home.

Then...mn. One thing that's stuck out to me ever since the start is how long Czes was with Fermet. There's such a thing as learned helplessness, and it's not like Czes had anywhere to go, so that's not what is odd to me...especially when Fermet is known for manipulating people, and could definitely seed the idea that Czes can't go anywhere. More than physical proximity, I think about how long Czes believed in Fermet. It's explicitly stated that Czes absorbing Fermet's memories is what made him realize that - oh, Fermet was just sadistic and everything he said was an excuse. And...I think this is both an example of being controlled in many respects, and....another example of an immortal being stuck in the past - but in a very, very different way.

First off, learning that the people you look up to want to harm you is...difficult at best, especially when you're younger? But being mentally 'stuck' at a certain age would make things worse, because Czes is perpetually an age where it's natural to depend on a parental figure, and at an age where the brain isn't equipped to make those kinds of calls or realizations. There's also the matter of cognitive dissonance! Cognitive dissonance means a lot of things, but essentially, it's the idea that you have two conflicting beliefs, but the actions you take can retroactively alter your beliefs/place emphasis on one more than the other, as the mind is predisposed to reduce dissonance. I...take issue with how cognitive dissonance is interpreted because many examples don't account for the beliefs or opinions not being equal in the first place, but that's not the point. The point is that, as a child, the impulse to reduce dissonance is present while also being played against difficulty reading intentions, perceiving the world outside of yourself, and thinking critically. (For what it's worth, abusers also tend to discourage critical thinking because it damages their narrative, which would also play a part.) So, for example...

Say that, theoretically, Czes was yelled at every time he questions the idea that Fermet's intentions are right, or that maybe Fermet doesn't have his best interests in mind. (Czes is insightful, and they lived with each other for a long time, so this probably happened at least once unless the text directly contradicts me.) This is tame compared to the things we know about his time with Fermet, but ignore that. The desire to not be yelled at would lead him to hurriedly agree later on, and cognitive dissonance means that you're inclined to try to make your beliefs agree with your actions. In other words, the more he plays along, the more his brain tells him that he definitely believes this, and it makes perfect sense to! Fermet has shown that he cares about him, and took him in after his grandfather died, so of course. It only makes sense. And it's even harder for him to bridge the gap to a different conclusion because of how difficult it seems to be for immortals to change. It's only when Czes devours Fermet (or...or at least gets his memories) that everything snaps into place, because he can't reconcile that no matter how hard he tries (coincidentally, this also happens when he gets memories of being an adult, and while I seriously doubt that Czes went through Fermet's memories willingly, it kind of hammers my point about how difficult being eternally young would make things). So of course he snaps as hard as he does. It'd be kind of amazing if he didn't, honestly.

TLDR: Being immortal made it even harder for him to recognize or comprehend his trauma. Sorry for that.

#baccano #baccano!#czeslaw meyer #nile (baccano)#I don't know who else I discussed enough to tag #but the segment about szilard made me wonder whether you would have more memories from devouring a dozen people or from living #for a couple centuries #I think it depends on how old the immortals were #discord ramblings

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