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#none of it felt real yet. like i had resigned myself to thinking no shows were Actually going to happen even tho i was getting tickets.
razors2rosaries · 3 years
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having an emotional one tonight lads. made my first two (in person) friends in this state. got to yell and scream in public. met craig owens again. first time i met him was late 2019/early 2020.
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Omg can I please get a hannibal x a shy girl reader ? Like he’s really possessive of her and she doesn’t know how to handle it but she likes him so they date??
Sorry this took so long, anon. I’ve been bouncing ideas around and this one in particular, I believe, fits your request. Y/n feels out of place among Hannibal’s fancy friends and it becomes even more obvious when he abandons her at a party. 
Trigger warnings: social anxiety, sexual harassment, overstimulation
You and Hannibal had an agreement about large gatherings. He could only bring you to a party if you had a week's notice and at least three uninterrupted hours of gaming time prior to the event.
For this event, you needed a solid six.
One of the major Maryland universities was awarding a lucrative research grant to a student of clinical psychology, and every influential name in the industry was expected to be there. As a recent college grad with a bachelor's in business you didn't know what to do with, you couldn't imagine a less welcoming environment if you tried. You couldn't fit into their world and more importantly, you didn't want to. But the thought of being noticeably different in any situation was twice as terrifying. So you spent the whole week repeating your mantra; blend in, be quiet and make it through the night.
But Hannibal had different plans for you.
Halfway through the week, just when you'd pushed the party out of your mind, Hannibal presented you with a gift.
"What's the occasion?" You asked. You hoped that if you pretended not to know, it would just magically go away.
"I brought you something to wear on Friday." Hannibal answered, hanging the garment bag up on the bureau. "You know I'll take any excuse to dress you up."
He unzipped the bag and placed a black silk dress into your arms. "Try it on so I have time to get it altered if it needs it."
The material was cool to the touch and outlined your figure so perfectly, you felt even a little naked. Hannibal, of course, loved this. You were his own personal Venus de Milo. His goddess and his muse. 
“Yes, that will do nicely.” He observed, looking at you hungrily. 
“Seems a little short for a such a sophisticated event, doesn’t it?” You raised an eyebrow. The answer was yes and he knew it. He was very deliberate in everything he did. “I don’t want to come off the wrong way.” 
“And what way would that be, darling?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your figure. 
“I mean--” You searched for the right words. “It’s a gathering of the Mid-Atlantic’s most esteemed academics, I feel like, in a dress like this, I might be seen as, well, a...” 
“A prostitute?” Hannibal finished, choosing a much nicer word than you would have.
You looked down. “Yeah. It just doesn’t seem all that appropriate.” 
Hannibal approached you and lifted your chin slightly to look into his eyes. “Many Christian denominations believe that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, yet she was Christ’s right-hand woman. She was first to see him crucified and first to witness his resurrection.” 
“Dr. Lecter,” You smirked. “I never would have taken you for a religious man.” 
“Goodness, no.” He shook his head. “But any reputable academic is expected to be familiar with biblical literature and its many contradictions and impossibilities.” 
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You are my divine feminine, Miss [L/N].” Hannibal said in a low whisper. “And I want everyone to see it. If they see a common whore, it would only be a reflection of their own jealousy.” 
Hannibal's rationalization almost made you forget about your fear of being noticed. Almost. It all came rushing back when you arrived at the event. Not one person your age was in attendance. The women wore long, flowing evening gowns that reached the floor. The length of your skirt alone guaranteed that all eyes were on you. In a simple black silk dress, you looked the very model of high society. Silk was a sign of luxury, and Hannibal wanted everyone to know that you were a woman of means. His woman, to be precise. That was why he brought you to these functions in the first place. To put you in a dress short enough for any wandering eyes so see the smattering of love bites running up your inner thighs. He wanted everyone in his field to know that you were completely and entirely his.
You realized too late that this was all his little exercise in showing you off.
Everyone seemed to know him. He only knew a handful of people by name, and you didn't know anyone.
"And who is this delightful young woman?" A woman with a light southern twang in her voice asked, looking at you as if you were a caged animal on display.
"I wasn't aware you had a daughter, Dr. Lecter." The young man beside her laughed. "Or is she your side piece?"
Your eyes scanned the room for the nearest exit. It would be unbecoming to make a scene, so you plotted a way to slip out quietly.
“Darling, meet Dr. Charlotte Ramset and her TA, David.” Hannibal introduced, notably ignoring the young man. “Dr. Ramset, this is my intended, [F/N] [L/N].”
"I didn't realize she was also a ventriloquist!" The lady, presumably Dr. Ramset, joked. You'd heard that one a million times. She looked at you. "Tell me about yourself, sweetie. What are you studying?"
The lady was old enough to be your grandmother and reeked of too much perfume.
"I graduated last year." You said, quietly. "With a BA in business."
"See, there's a good woman." David added. "Only speaks when spoken to. They don't make ’em like you anymore, baby."
Hannibal tightened his grip on your hand. "On the contrary, David. See, Miss [L/N] is quite a bit like myself. She only dignifies those she deems worthy with a response. There's nothing wrong with being selective."
The lady laughed at David's expense and smiled at you. "Good for you."
You smiled back just a little, not ready to bring your guard down yet. "I've had to deal with more than enough. It's best not to engage."
"Oh, I know, I know." The lady said, shaking her head. "That's how it is for us educated gals. Always having to put up with pigs. See, I went to college in the sixties, so I can tell you some real stories."
This was a new experience. Talking to Hannibal's friends and having them listen to you was something you never considered possible. Now, you were one of the educated gals. You were just about to strike up a conversation with this woman, when the man next to her decided someone desperately needed to play devil’s advocate.
“I find that sexist, actually.” He cut in. “Not all men are pigs.” 
The silence following his comment was deafening and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Whatever progress Hannibal and Dr. Ramset made breaking down your defenses was completely reversed and you were ready to retreat.
Dr. Ramset took a long sip of wine and adjusted her shawl. “David, none of us said anything about men, you drew that conclusion yourself.”
“I mean, look at you.” David gestured to your dress. You knew exactly where this was going and you wished you could just disappear. “You’re basically asking for it.” 
Dr. Ramset glared at him. “David, that’s enough.” 
“I’m just stating facts.” David crossed his arms. “If you dress like a slut, what do you expect?”
Dr. Ramset and Hannibal seemed to have an entire conversation through prolonged eye contact before one of them broke the silence. 
"Charlotte, I hate to have to excuse myself so soon, but the president of the university is expecting me." Hannibal said, dropping your hand. Your heart hit the floor when you realized that he would be throwing you to the wolves.
"Of course, Dr. Lecter." She nodded. "Duty calls."
"I trust you'll keep an eye on my beloved [F/N] in my absence?" His voice hardened. The severity in his tone frightened you.
Dr. Ramset didn't seem disturbed or even surprised in the slightest by his gently threatening demand. "Of course."
"Thank you. And [F/N]?" He said, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. "I won't be going far. Please, try to have fun."
You tried not to look affronted, but you were going to have a long talk with Hannibal when you got home. 
"I'm just saying what everyone is thinking." David continued, his inability to take a hint positively astounding. "Why don't you respect yourself enough to cover up, [F/N]? You have a boyfriend!"
Your eyes scrolled across the room looking for any sign of Hannibal, but he was gone. Dr. Ramset finished her wine and stared at her TA with the resigned disgust of a death row jailer.
"Any other thoughts?" She said, snatching a fresh glass of wine. You looked at her with a clear expression of discomfort.
"Come on, do you see any other woman in the room dressed so provocatively?" David's voice broke mid-sentence. "No. Because they're educated enough to know that real men don't care about their bodies."
The hotel clerk approached the group. "Mr. Hosmer, there's a call for you."
David narrowed his eyes. "Uh, what?"
"Someone is on the phone asking for you." The clerk repeated. "Says it's an emergency."
David shrugged. "Fine."
Just when you thought you would be rid of him, at least for a moment, he planted his hands on your hips in attempt to "get by" you. His touch was like that of an insect crawling across your skin; unexpected, filthy and leaving you squeamish.
"I'm so sorry about that." Dr. Ramset's words echoed in your ears, but you didn't really hear them. You were too focused on grounding yourself to process what she was saying. 
“Dr. Ramset?” You said, quietly. “Which one is the president of the university?” 
She glanced at a tall woman in a dark blue suit, surrounded by equally important looking businesspeople. You followed her eyes. “That’s Dr. Mary Hosmer.”
Your ounce of righteous fury was squelched in two seconds when the reality of having to talk to someone, especially someone of stature, set in. You looked sheepishly back at Dr. Ramset. 
“Could you please ask her where Hannibal went?” You whispered. “I’d really like him to take me home now.” 
Her face turned sympathetic. “Of course, [F/N]. Stay right there.” 
You nodded. “Thank you.” 
Dr. Ramset crossed the floor and politely greeted the president. You took a few slow, calculated steps closer, just to get in earshot.
“Pardon me, but, have you seen Dr. Hannibal Lecter?” Dr. Ramset said, casually. 
“I wasn’t aware Hannibal had even arrived yet.” The president answered. “I haven’t seen him.” 
Your eyes widened. You fought the urge to freeze, but you had to move back before Dr. Ramset knew you’d been eavesdropping. You heard everything you needed and rushed back to where she’d left you.
“Dr. Hosmer said he stepped out.” She told you upon her return. “He should be back soon.” 
You tried not to show that you knew she was lying. “...oh.” 
“Would you like me to stay with you until he comes back?” 
You knew you were completely on your own. You didn’t know what was going on, but you had an inkling that it had to do with the president and David sharing a last name. All you knew for certain was that you couldn’t trust anybody. 
“Don’t bother.” You shook your head. You took off for the door, but Dr. Ramset grabbed your wrist. 
“I’m sorry, [F/N].” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. She didn’t look mad, but afraid. “But Dr. Lecter told me to stay with you. Please. Don’t make this harder for me.”
You recalled how seriously threatening Hannibal’s request was. She wasn’t answering to the president of the university. She was answering to Hannibal. You didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved. 
“Right.” You conceded, stepping back in. “I’m sorry.” 
The actual award ceremony was much longer than it needed to be, and it dragged on even longer knowing there was no reason for you to be there. Other than that, you awkwardly followed Dr. Ramset around the party like a lost puppy the whole time. You were back to your original plan: blend in, be quiet and make it through the night. 
Just when you thought the party would never end, someone tapped you on the arm. You turned around, hoping with every fiber of your being that it was Hannibal, but it wasn’t. A tall woman in a dark blue suit stared back at you. 
“I’m sorry to bother you, miss.” She said, apologetically. “But have you seen my son? I saw him talking to you and Dr. Charlotte earlier, perhaps he told you where he was going?” 
You’d pushed that man completely out of your mind. You shook your head. “He left to take a phone call and I haven’t seen him since.” 
A hand found your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Hosmer, but I believe I saw the boy on his phone out in the lobby.” 
“Dr. Lecter!” The president’s eyes widened. “How nice of you to finally join us.” 
“...Yes, I believe he left right after making unwarranted comments towards my intended here.” Hannibal ran his hand down your arm lovingly. 
“Well, boys will be boys.” The president chuckled. “Maybe you should teach your girlfriend not to wear such revealing clothes.” 
Hannibal smiled and pulled you in protectively. “Whatever the case, I hope you find him very soon.” 
Her phone chimed in her back pocket. “Oh, that’s him right now.” 
“Wonderful.” Hannibal said. “[F/N] and I will be taking our leave.” 
He hurried you towards the door, his hand tight around yours. A blood-curdling scream came from behind you. You looked back for just a moment and found the president hollering in pain and falling to her knees. 
“Let’s go, darling.” Hannibal tugged at your arm. “They don’t deserve your presence.” 
“Hannibal, I swear.” You said, once you were in the safety of the car. “If you killed every man who looked at me like a piece of meat, sooner or later, there won’t be any men left.” 
Hannibal smirked and reached for his seatbelt. “Wonderful.” 
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malkumtend · 3 years
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Their Booth (Human SquirrelCrow) - Part 2.
He’d be lying if he said her room was any different from what he expected. Light yellow walls that became vibrant in the strong sun, white bedsheets patched with warm orange stripes, a bookcase piled with texts on film theory and more Stephen King novels than Crow thought existed, another bookcase completely stacked with Blu-rays and obscure DVD’S, and an entire wall plastered with film posters. It was honestly quite scary to look that way and find a hundred pairs of eyes, mostly behind the gleam of a weapon, glaring back at you.
Spirited, flashy, intense. It was just what he imagined. It was her.
It was welcoming.
She throws her bag across the room, slumping back on her bed. “I’m so tired.”
Crow sets his own bag down. “Why?”
“It’s just been a long day.”
“Oh really?” Crow begins scanning the pile of books. “What have you done?”
She kicks her boots off. “I got ten pages of the new script done.” She says, sitting up to pull her coat from her arms. “Took me around two hours.”
“Wow.” Crow deadpans, pretending to look wide-eyed. “I only had to run three marathons today. How did you survive?”
He only sees the coat for a second, floating like a ghost, before his face is covered by green.
“It’s not my fault you’re a freak.”
In the darkness, Crow chuckles. He’s smiling by the time he pulls the coat off. “Takes one to know one.”
Squirrel has an arched brow, as well as her boot armed back, ready to throw.
Crow gently puts the coat on her door. “So, what do you want to start with?” He unzips his bag, scrambling for his English textbook.
The ginger girl groans, but mercifully lets Crow’s face go un-booted. “Ugh! Seriously! We just got out and you want to study!”
Crow rolls his eyes, but the laughter warms his throat. “That’s kind of why I’m here, Squirrel.” He looks to her door uneasily. “At least it’s the only reason your mom didn’t kill me.” Sandstorm had been nice enough, told him that she’d heard nothing but great things about him from Squirrel (her daughter had denied that - blushing) but he could feel the warning squeeze as he shook her hand, and he could have sworn he’d seen her nod when he’d looked up in question.
The familiar flash of a mother’s eyes. If you like your kneecaps in their normal place, no funny business.
She hadn’t needed to say it. Crow had nodded vigorously. Message received.
“Oh, please.” Squirrel sits up again, her hands slipping her hair back over her shoulders. “She’d kill you regardless. She’s like a shark. And what do you mean? You don’t hang out to study! That’s like the opposite of hanging out!”
Crow paused, taking a seat beside her on the bed. Truthfully, he didn’t care about studying. He was on course for an A, and as far as he knew so was Squirrel. But her parents wanted to make sure she kept on that road. It had been Leaf who had begged Crow to give her a hand. As much as she loved her sister, she had her own studying (and girlfriend) to see to. Squirrel apparently hadn’t been too on board with the idea. It was ‘too humiliating’ apparently.
It was when Fireheart suggested asking Bramble to come back and help her that Squirrel finally resigned to texting Crow non-stop until he agreed.
He’d actually agreed after the first text.
Crow knew full well how little Squirrel wanted to see Bramble anymore. The idiot still hadn’t mentioned Squirrel’s film to her. Whenever he was mentioned Squirrel shifted and made a face that Crow hated to see her make.
He suspected that she still wasn’t over him just yet.
And while that was understandable, it cut into Crow for more reasons than one.
That was why he wanted to make sure they got some work done. If her parents walked in and saw Crow wasn’t doing what he was meant to come over for, he had no doubt they wouldn’t hesitate to sack him off and call Bramble back.
The thought of that made his fists clench.
“Well, it might be better if you remember I’m not here to hang out.”
“Oh, so this is just work for you?” She sighs like one of the actresses she would direct. “And here I thought there was something special between us.”
That shouldn’t sting as much as it does. She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t even know.
“Not my fault you’re wrong.” He plays along. “Look, let’s just do an hour at least. Then if your parents come in, they’ll keep of your back for the rest of the night.”
Squirrel pouts sulkily and Crow knows she’s considering it. She never let it look like she was giving up. She always had to show some restraint, real or imaginary. He turns back to the textbook now. He scans through for subjects she needs work on. He’s split between starting with Poetry or Analysing the role of women in Dystopian Fiction.
There is a creaking that moves across the bed towards him. Two hands curl on the base of his skull, digging in softly. He knows from the extra weight that she has balanced her chin on her hands. It’s not a lot of force he needs to keep himself up, but the heat on his face is slightly worrying.
He feels her elbows on his shoulders. “Can’t we make it half an hour?” She asks her human table.
Somehow, he shrugs. “If you want your mother to get the belt, sure.”
“You’d like the pain.”
“If it’s yours, then you’re damn right.”
“Sadist.”
They both talk so simply, words rolling off in the natural balance they’d built.
She sighs, her hands move off his head and onto his shoulders. His body is dragged back a little as she curves back with a contemplating mutter. A twist of shame and a happy flutter simultaneously come over the boy. He almost feels he could lose his balance. The fear of discovery is what keeps him stoic. He wonders a little if he’s always been like this about these things. He doesn’t think it was like this around Feather, but how could he know? Denial was probably his eternal security when it came to his own pathetic attempts of keeping cool.
The fingers on his shoulders all tap then slap down lightly. “An hour and then a movie?”
“Sure.”
“Can I pick it?”
“Will it be Breakfast Club?”
“Possibly.”
He didn’t know how many times she’d seen it, but four was enough for him. “An hour and something new.”
Squirrel leans forward again; she practically sings into his ear. “Can I still pick the new film?”
He says yes, if only to make sure she can’t see his eyes widen.
She doesn’t as she falls back, shoving him gently. “Let’s start with poetry then. I’d rather get the worst done quickly.”
It doesn’t go quickly for her, Crow can see. After every point she makes she checks the clock and audibly gnashes her teeth when she sees only another minute has passed. With an actor’s heart, she falls back dramatically at least half a dozen times, murmuring a prayer. Crow learns not to pay her the attention after the third time. They needed to get the work done. It turns out the best trick to get her back up is to just tap her ankle with the textbook, gently prodding her like a woodpecker, until she sits back up.
But as dramatic and reserved as she was, she definitely isn’t an idiot. She doesn’t stumble on her points. They come out smooth and rehearsed with the diction of someone who knows what they’re talking about. Presumably because she knew if she struggled it would mean more time on the stuff  she hated. That makes it go just a little quicker.
She actually answers them easier than when Crow has to speak, to her evil delight.
“I thought you were meant to be the tutor here.”
“I’d call myself your warden more than anything.”
Crow isn’t as annoyed as would have been. He can’t deny that she’s smarter than him here. Bragging rights were hers.
Besides, she looked happy.
Also, he’d get his chance to brag eventually. They’d have to move onto math sooner or later.
They only get two interruptions through the whole hour. The first is Sandstorm, under the guise of checking in on them, asking if they needed anything. Once she saw her daughter actually working, Crow was relieved to see her grin at him thankfully before heading away. He’d been holding in that breath of relief like an ancient treasure.
The second is Moth, carrying in an iced tea for Squirrel and a mocha (with a froth of whipped cream stirred in) for Crow. She’d been getting drinks for her and Leaf and said she felt guilty if they weren’t getting anything as well. Crow has to admit, Leaf had great taste in women. Moth was almost unnervingly friendly and bizarrely just as much of a genius as her girlfriend, she’d already been offered a medical scholarship. It was even more amazing considering what Crow had heard about her… background.
Leaf had been right about that Hawk guy. She didn’t mention him much, but when he came up and Moth was in the room, the girl shook with such sheer fear that Crow would not have imagined it was her brother they’d mentioned.
Apparently, she was doing better though. For reasons that Crow knew were none of his business, Hawk had been thrown out of his and Moth’s home. Where he was now, Moth didn’t know and didn’t want to find out. The others respected that. All they needed to do was stand by her and help if she needed it. But her auburn hair looked less withered, her cheeks had more colour, and she showed off her impressive height without the scrunched gait she had seemed to linger in before.
As long as she was happy, Leaf was happy. Crow and Squirrel just did what they could to make sure it stayed that way.
And that was easy when she was so damn nice. That mocha had been delicious.
Five minutes later, they call it a session.
“That’s a wrap!” Squirrel stretches her arms up triumphantly. The sleeves she wears are too big and roll down clumsily. She says it makes her look bigger. Crow doesn’t get the logic but he says nothing.
“For today.” Crow spites playfully.
His friend makes a raspberry. “That’s all that matters.” As if the tension and stress has evaporated, she jumps off of the bed, rushing over to her Blu-ray collection. Crow still feels like he should whistle at the multitude of titles she owned, they must have made up at least $300. He’d mentioned it once. She’d shot back if it was necessary to own a dozen pairs of running shoes. He had tried to tell her how each shoe was more adaptable to certain tracks or states of weather, but she was about as interested as he’d been about why it was necessary to own, like six, various versions of Blade Runner.
Whatever they did with their money, they decided, was their own business.
“What to watch. What to watch.” She pulls cases out one by one, her face igniting with thought at every cover.
Crow rolled his head back onto the head of her bed. “Pick anything.” He isn’t that fussy about these things. Whether it was some art-house thing he wouldn’t understand, or some Disney flick where Squirrel would know the words to every song in the thing, and sing along right in front of him, he’d sit and watch.
“Oh okay, then-”
He just makes it. “Not Breakfast Club!”
“Spoilsport…”
“Don’t you get bored of watching that thing every day?” He asks flatly.
“Do you get bored of running around the same track every week?”
Oh, he is so not ready to play this game. “Okay, whatever. Point taken.” His eyes close, listening to her fumble through the films. Every so often he hears her murmur something like “Nah, not his best film” or “Bit too sappy for him”. She’s analysing her decisions around him. Crow doesn’t know what to think about that. It makes her sound like she knows him so well. It’s a little embarrassing. But then he considers how she’s clearly trying to pick something she thinks he’ll enjoy. And it’s based on the tastes she associates with him.
Crow’s stomach goes light. Did she often think about what he liked? Was he that easy to read? He inhales, his nostrils feel numb. He knows he’s overthinking this. All he really knew for sure was that she wanted to make sure he enjoyed her pick.
He’s content with that.
She pulls out Jackass with a smirk, shaking it at him. “Too close to home?”
“It’s in your hands.”
“Touché. I’ve already picked something anyway.” She rises, holding a film called Little Miss Sunshine. Crow doesn’t recognise it. The title makes his mouth twist though. You never knew what you were in for when it came to Squirrel.
“What’s it about?”
She places the film in the player, looking back at him with a glint. “I find it best when you go into films without knowing anything about them.”
Crow regrets asking. This girl could be impossible. “That’s not very smart advice.”
“Why’s that?”
“Like, what if I hated horror movies and someone stuck one on without me knowing? Or if some weirdo stuck on some porno flick or something?”
Squirrel stands up, swipes a lock of hair behind her shoulder and holds the cover up with a terse look on her face. “Does this look like some horror porno to you?”
“Knowing you, I can’t trust the cover.”
She chuckles, sitting down on the end of the bed with the remote. She’s a mix of irritated and playful. “Tell you what, if at any point some guy ends up cut in half or gets his dick out, I’ll turn it off. Happy?”
“Is this secretly some plan to get rid of me?”
She shrugs. “Don’t need a plan, the door’s right there if I need to kick you out. Now do you want to watch the movie or not?”
He’s not that bothered about the film. But he knows she wants him to watch it, and he knows he’ll enjoy hearing her talk about it. So they watch it. Crow actually enjoys it quite a bit. Some road trip movie about a family taking their youngest daughter to a beauty pageant. It’s acted great, and there are enough twists to keep Crow entertained (the ending scene is genuinely hilarious to him though).
And when he looks like he’s enjoying it, the faces Squirrel makes make his night.
She always likes having a discussion after every film they watch. It’s clear that she loves film with a passion. Every character, every scene, even down to the ways the camera moves, Squirrel has an opinion on it all. And it’s not like she’s pretentious about it in anyway. She’s convincing and always leaves Crow points where he can offer his own point. He doesn’t do it much (He’d rather hear it from someone who actually knows what they’re talking about). It’s just fun. She’s passionate about this and Crow likes to see that.
Although she does slip sometimes.
Such as tonight. She’s talking about how the protagonist is able to go against the conformities of beauty and success when Crow hears her voice tighten just a hint. He realises it’s odd to notice these things, but maybe he is odd when it comes to her. He’s seen her like this before, not in a while but it still leaves him cold.
“Isn’t that the point though?” Crow says. They’re sat at the head of her bed, side by side. “They realise she can do things her own way. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.” Squirrel lays down, her ginger locks look like gleaming spiderwebs on the pillow. Her face is hardened on the ceiling. She pauses a moment. “It just sucks though, doesn’t it?”
“What does?”
“Like, the fact those pageants exist. I mean, I get that it gives some kids confidence or something. But there’s at least ten more kids who watch that shit and think they’re too fat or too, just, like, not normal to do anything in it?”
“I feel like there’s some projecting going on here.” Crow says slowly, leaning onto his elbow. The bed is remarkably soft and he almost falls off.”
Squirrel narrows her eyes at him. “You think I’m wrong?”
“I never said that.” Crow flicks a strand of hair over her nose, she creases and blows it away. “It’s bullshit, any idiot can see that. But why are you so worried about it? Have you got a pageant life I don’t know about?”
She punches his elbow, but she’s laughing. “You wish, perv. I just don’t think it’s right, that’s all.”
“I agree with you on that. But it’s not like you’re conforming to anything right?”
She blinks at him.
“I mean, you make movies and you’re really good at it.”
Was he putting too much effort with the ‘really’? He doesn’t try to think about it. “I haven’t heard anyone hate on your festival picture, and reminder.” He pokes her arm. “You came in the top five in that national contest!”
Her eyes flutter. “It was actually a regional contest.”
Crow waves a hand at the air, as if batting away wasps. “Who the hell cares? Fact is, you’re great at it!”
“Great.” It’s just one word. But Crow hears something different in how she says it. Small and curious, perhaps suspicious. It’s infrequent, but Crow panics whenever he hears it on her. He feels like the signature on a poorly made painting. He tries to picture what normal was for him and he thinks back to when thought of Squirrel or the idea of friends with nothing but disgust.
That normal was impossible to want, yet Crow missed the routine of not giving a shit.
He can only go with it. Keep his face like stone. “Obviously. Every idiot is great at something.”
Maybe remembering her own self, but her eyes still glimmering, Squirrel sits up with a cheeky look. “Oh, you mean how you were great at running?”
The relief of the straight line is temporary. “Yeah exact-” His eyebrows curve up. “I’m sorry. Were?”
Squirrel smiles at him with a look that’s almost sympathetic! She pats his back like she’s a mother comforting a child. “Don’t look like that Crow, just because you can’t run it doesn’t mean you’re a loser to me.”
He starts ranting about doctors’ orders and muscle strains as she laughs hard. He ‘argues’ his point for what might be ten minutes before Fireheart sticks his head in to ask about the racket. Crow has the sense to look apologetic while Squirrel explains they were done with the tutoring.
“Sounds like it too.” Fireheart says his arms crossing. Though his hair burns ginger like his daughter’s, there is a seasoned hardness on his face. Crow doesn’t want to get on his bad side.
“Sorry about that.” Crow says, easing away from the man’s daughter just a little. Fireheart smiles, unoffended.
“I’m kidding. It’s fine.” He nods to Crow. “Thanks for coming to help. It’s good to know Squirrel is getting some work done.”
Squirrel blushes furiously, “Dad!”
The man laughs genially, “Lighten up, kiddo!” Off of his daughter’s sulking look, he looks back at Crow. “Would you like me to give you a ride back home?”
The boy thinks that’s his signal to go, but before he can agree Squirrel cuts in. “We were actually just going to give Feather and Storm a call before he goes. It’s been a while.”
Crow is surprised by the change in plans, but he doesn’t object to it. It has been a while since they last spoke to their friend. Plus, he wasn’t in any hurry to go.
“Ah.” Fireheart makes a sound of agreement. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Well just give me a call if you want me to take you home, or I could call Ashfoot to come get you if you like?”
The friendliness of the man encourages Crow a little. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
Fireheart nods again. But this time he gives Crow the spasm of an eye that almost looks like a wink. And was that a smirk? Crow feels his throat dry up again.
Squirrel sighs irritably once he’s gone, “That’s why I want a lock.”
Crow coughs to cover his unwinding nerves. “So we’re calling Feather and Storm?”
The girl beams, reaching to her bag to pull out her laptop. She slides her belly across the bed, lifting her legs and resting them on Crow’s knees. “Of course, we are! You’ll want to see her again, no doubt.” He thinks she’s smirking. Crow’s eyes dim.
“Not funny.”
“It’s true.”
It isn’t. But what can he say. As far as she knows, nothing was different about him. That hurt a little. It almost made it look like there was no point in thinking he could ever move on. But he had, he’d done it before she’d left.
But the idea that Squirrel would realise that scared the shit out of him.
Her legs swing away from him as she walks towards the door, “I’ll go ask Leaf if she wants to join. Don’t jump out the window or anything.”
Crow picks his head up, mimicking being annoyed rather than perturbed. “You know me.”
Squirrel blasts him a wiggle of her brows and then she’s gone. Taking her presumptions and theories with her. It’s strange to be alone in her room. It’s like she’s never gone. Crow sighs at the way his stomach is throbbing. He’s stuck in a paradox. He didn’t want to be found out. But the way she misjudged him, or his feelings, still stung no matter how stupid it really was.
She no doubt was going off to Leaf about him seeing Feather again, like it was some Romeo and Juliet type bullshit. That wasn’t it at all. If they looked at him when he saw his old crush again, there wouldn’t be anything like that. He missed Feather terribly. She was a great friend to have around. They all missed her like that.
But that added glow that came to her face so long ago. That was gone.
Or rather, it’s spotlight was centred on someone new.
...
So I wanted to add some more to this Human AU idea. It will come in small parts this time, compared to a massive one shot. That way I can alternate between this and ILYL. Now this is done, back to working on the main fic. Expect the next part of this after that chapter is released.
Thanks for reading.
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I’m Not Okay
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Author - Admin Aingeal
Characters - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Y/N
Pairing - None
Summary/Request - When Y/N runs off on yet another suicide mission, the brothers find her having taken down an entire nest of vampires. They are determined to figure out what has been driving her, before it’s too late.
Word Count - 1,960
Warnings - Angst, Descriptions of Depression, Mentions of Blood (from killing vampires) (If you spot any other warnings I should add, please let me know so I can edit this post to include them!)
A/N - Based on the song “I’m Not Okay” by Citizen Soldier
Story -
The rain was pouring. With everything I had been dealing with inside, it was as if the sky decided to cry with me and just let it all out at once.
I stood there in the parking lot with my arms out as if I was trying to catch the water with my bare hands.
Machete in one hand - blood dripping onto the pavement from my fingers & the large blade, more still running down my shirt and finding its way to the ground around me, mixing with the water to form unique artwork around me.
Tonight - the monsters that inhabit my brain are screaming so damn loud. I can’t ignore them any longer. The walls I built up so that I would never have to hear their voices couldn’t go any higher.
I hear the rumble of an engine in the distance. They are approaching quickly, sure, but will they make it in time?
The person that they see, day in and day out, is nothing more than a mask. A facade. A blatant lie.
But it’s also the only way to cope that I’ve ever known.
Being the real me - broken, scared, desperate for something I can never obtain - has only ever resulted in being more and more alone in this world.
I hear the purr of the engine a short distance behind me - the doors slamming shut in their hurry, and their booming voices carrying through over the din of the downpour.
“Y/N! What the hell were you thinking?!”
Their footsteps cause distinct splashes as they make their way to where I stand. I find the sound amusing for as morbid a moment this has become.
“Dean, chill,” Sam interjected, seemingly noticing my exasperation of their presence. “She’s fine; that’s the important thing.”
I am far more thankful for the water falling from the sky than I ever have been before. It is hiding the falling tears and making it that much easier to replace the mask I need for the interaction ahead.
“Sorry guys,” I keep my tone stoic and passively positive as always as I turn to face them. “I got a lead, and I took my chance before they could move again.”
“Sorry?” Dean bit out. “All you can say is ‘sorry guys’? We were worried sick, Y/N!” His voice was rough as always.
“Dean!”
“No, Sam! Not this time!” His hand was out, waving to dismiss his brother. “What the fuck is going on with you, Y/N!? Sneaking off, not telling a damn one of us where the hell you’re going off to. Taking on demons, werewolves, even a fucking wendigo - ALONE.”
I felt unattached from my body. As if watching overhead at the scene playing out below me. With a stoic blink, I heard myself respond, “I don’t see what the big deal is. I came out of each one alive and well.”
I sidestep the brothers and start the sadly short journey to my car on the other side of the vast open lot.
“Look, Y/N,” Sam said softly. I could just hear the resignation. “We’re just worried. Taking on those creatures is dangerous; let alone doing it without backup. And now you’re here taking out an entire nest of vampires?”
He tried to stay strong - not the ever tough soldier his brother was, but the solid rock we all came to expect. I could hear his voice break, though, despite his best efforts.
I turn back and lock eyes with each of them again, all while still taking steps back toward the vehicles. I could feel how dead my stare was; I could feel how painfully emotionless my face rested.
‘I’m not okay - can’t you see that?’ I want to shout at them.
I have so much to say, but no one to hear it.
Despite how much is at stake, keeping quiet not burdening the brothers - or their angel - with the battle inside myself.
I feel the emotions clash - the want and the need to tell them everything, right here and right now - the futility of it, seeping in and convincing me they don’t care.
So, I let the monsters win, silencing me once again. Lying to myself, they’d never understand why it’s so hard to say that I’m not okay.
“I’m fine, Sam. Really.”
“Then what is your excuse?” Dean cut in. “What is your reason for going out on these suicide missions? I mean, come on Y/N, let’s face it - you’re either hell-bent on destruction, or you’re just being stupid. And we both know you are smarter than Sam and I put together. So what’s the deal? What’s next? Trying to take on HellHounds?!”
I blinked heavily.
I wish I had an answer. I wish I had a scar, a bruise, something to show the proof of the battles I face, day in and day out. Something to show for the invisible abuse - faced with the choice to either be judged or hideaway in secret as I inevitably choose to do.
I let out a soft but long sigh. “I have no answer for you. Not one you’d accept anyway.”
Words may be my only option. The only visible symptom to show for the battle that wages is the sheer desire to end the torment that is my life.
I look at the two of them for a moment before finally breaking away to turn back - back to my car, back to my escape, back to a place where they can’t see the battle playing out in my mind. I can only hide so much. The tears were beginning to fall once again.
I hear the steps approaching. Their long strides make it easy work to catch up to where I am. Feeling a hand grip my upper arm and spin me around quickly - my face must have physically shown how distraught and angry I am. Unable to hide my emotions as I usually would - my gaze clashed with the glaring green eyes of Dean’s boring into me.
The reason I say my face must’ve revealed more than I wanted is because, after a long but instant moment, I saw his face drop.
In all the years we’ve been fighting together, he has never seen this side of me, and for a good reason.
“Y/N? Wh-” he releases his grip on my arm, running his hand down his face, contemplating. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing, Dean,” I say, schooling my features. “Forget it.” Quickly I ground myself, now trying to turn my features to stone - removing any trace of the ever hidden emotions that were trying to pour out.
“Bullshit.” His voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “Talk to me,” he said and shared a silent look to his brother, almost as if to confirm he didn’t imagine things, “Talk to us.”
“What’s going on, Y/N?” Sam joined. “You know you don’t have to hide things from us.”
“I’m fine. Just -”
“No. You’re not, okay,” Sam interjected, joining Dean in speaking firmly. “Something is wrong; tell us.” Sam was quiet for a moment before adding, “Please.”
I felt guilty as I noticed his voice break.
Staring at the brothers, I felt a mixture of emotions — contempt, love, bitterness, relief.
“Fine,” I bit out.
Perhaps knowing it was a losing battle, I caved for the first time in my life. “I’m not okay. You’re right. But I don’t have the words to explain the hell that goes on within my mind on a daily basis.”
“Try.” Dean retorted instantly, seamlessly - I hadn’t even finished speaking. I knew he was trying to offer comfort, in his ‘unattached,’ ‘too cool for attachment’ way.
“Humor us,” he added after a beat of me not responding.
I looked at him with a pinched look, shaking my head. I could feel every emotion ripping through me like a storm.
“I am in a constant state of being numb, Dean,” I finally said. “Numb to emotions, numb to life itself. Most people survive because they can see that light at the end of the tunnel - but for me?” I shake my head. “There is no light. It’s all just a dark cage without a key, just suffocating darkness and weight, with demons screaming at me. I don’t control my thoughts anymore; they control me.”
Sam shook his head now. “Y/N, why didn’t you say something? We can help you get through whatever this is.” Sam tried taking my hand, trying to offer some sort of comfort.
“It’s not a phase, Sam.” I pull my hand free abruptly, ignoring the pain in my chest from seeing Sam’s hurt expression. “It’s who I am, all I ever have been. I’m never going to be safe, always inching closer to that final breaking point.”
Dean seemed exasperated. “That’s fine,” he said. “If you break, that’s okay. Just don’t hide, and don’t go running off.”
Dean wrapped his arms around me with a strength I couldn’t gently pull away from, pulling me in close but still speaking loud enough that Sam could hear, “We’ll help you pick up the pieces. We’re a family, like it or not, punk. As a member of this family, you’re not allowed to quit.”
My brow furrowed the moment he called me family.
Dean, holding me at arm's length, graced me with a small, awkward smile. “Look, this may be a battle you feel you have to face solo, and so be it,” he motioned with one of his hands as if dismissing the thought, “but don’t quit on us. Sam and I, we’re here, always. Even if you just need to sit in silence with someone, so you aren’t alone. We get it; we’ve all been through a lot.”
I couldn’t stop staring at him, conflicted and upset - his grip on my arms felt heavy. Itchy and uncomfortable, as the only place I wanted to be right now was in my car. The rain had long since stopped or lightened - I couldn’t tell - but I just wanted to start the engine — bake in the heater. Drive.
After a long awkward beat of silence, Dean rolled his eyes lightly in slight awkward annoyance. “This is the part where you say: ‘back atcha! We’re a team!’ Y/N.”
I took light offense to how he mocked my voice, but it didn’t matter.
With a light, honestly fake feeling laugh, I removed his arms from mine.
“You don’t entirely get it, Dean.”
Dean scoffed lightly. “What, are you saying we don’t have hard times too? I can guarantee we—“
In an outburst I couldn’t control, I snapped. “Stop! Okay?? I’m not dismissing that you two have had a shitty life! I’m saying you don’t hear what goes on in my head, Dean.”
Sam, raising a placating hand, tried to calm me. “Please, Y/N, we may not understand what exactly is going on, but we understand your reactions to it.”
I just stood still, breathing hard - trying so hard not to cry.
Sam took this as a sign to continue. “Y/N, we care for you. And honestly, we don’t think anyone should be alone with thoughts like that.”
I felt my face melt like paper catching on fire - every emotion displayed as I felt my chin tense, and my lips quiver as I burst into tears.
The brothers’ embrace was welcome, however wet.
The emotions were not as welcome, but it was unstoppable.
Dean was closest to my ear as I sobbed, and I heard him softly say, “You’re not okay, but you will be. We’re with you every step of the way.”
A part of me hated him saying that, but I couldn’t ignore the relief I felt.
Maybe I would be okay.
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Hi everybody! Here's another short episode of fluff from my procrastinating brain. Enjoy :)
This fic is inspired by this Tumblr post by @fangirlshrewt97: 
Read on AO3
Nile sipped her iced caramel coffee, watching apprehensively as the argument that had started in the car snowballed quickly in the corner of the Krispy Kreme.
“It’s okay. Nothing beats the original glazed, anyway.”
“Shut up, Booker. What kind of donut place doesn’t have peanut butter donuts?”
“Andy, contrary to whatever the hell your sources are, peanut butter donuts aren’t a thing-”
“Yes, they are! I’ve had them before!”
“When, in 1920? That entire decade was full of bad ideas that have since been discontinued!”
Nile was about to step in and see if the situation could be salvaged without causing a right scene when her cell phone rang. The caller ID showed Joe’s name.
“Hello?” she said, moving away a little as the donut disagreement continued loudly.
“Nile, I need you to come pick me up right now,” Joe said tersely over the phone.
Nile was immediately on alert. Was everything alright? Had the safe house been attacked?
“Why?” she asked.
“Nicky is passive-aggressively doing the dishes he asked me to do six hours ago.”
It took a second for his words to register. Nile managed not to laugh out loud, but it was a near thing. Unfortunately, Joe seemed to sense her amusement.
“This house isn’t safe anymore!” he insisted. “Come and get me!”
“Joe- no. Nope. You guys have been married for 900 years! Figure it out.”
“No,” Joe hissed. “No ‘figure it out.’ Come and help me. You’re being an annoying baby sister.”
“Baby sisters are supposed to be annoying. Seriously dude, just talk to him. Apologize or something. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Joe exclaimed sarcastically. “He could whip out his longsword and murder me in cold blood, ever thought about that?”
Nile rolled her eyes. “Look, just… kiss him. Really well. So he forgets about the dishes you didn’t do.”
“That’s not how relationships work!”
“Yes, it is! With you two it is! Now hang up, I need to go prevent Andy and Booker getting banned from this Krispy Kreme, too.”
“Traitor,” Joe grumbled, before cutting the call.
Nile sighed. She looked over at the corner where Booker and Andy were standing out of earshot. Booker was gesticulating wildly, while Andy stood with her arms crossed over her chest, looking unconvinced.
It appeared none of the staff had noticed them, yet. And they clearly weren’t close to reaching any sort of consensus regarding donut purchasing. Nile rubbed her forehead in resignation.
Fine, she thought. I’ll go pick up Joe real fast. No one will even notice I’m gone. She tucked her phone back into her pocket and slipped out the door.
Back at the safe house, Joe frowned at his phone. Maybe Nile was right. Sure, Nicky had ignored him as he’d loitered by the entrance of the kitchen, instead focusing way more intently than necessary on scrubbing dried cheese from the bottom of last night’s empty pasta bake tray (in Joe’s defense, the tray had needed to soak more). But standing around trying to make eye contact wasn’t good communication, and it certainly wasn’t an apology.
Abruptly, the kitchen tap shut off. Joe winced. It sounded like the dishes were done. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to go back into the kitchen and face his husband. Regardless of what he’d told Nile, Joe knew he wouldn’t be subject to anything worse than a few more hours of judgmental silence, if even that. His Nicky was quick to forgive.
But when Joe re-entered the kitchen, Nicky had his back turned and was dicing something on a cutting board out of Joe’s sight. Joe sighed. If Nicky had moved straight from doing the dishes to preparing dinner, he clearly did not want to talk to Joe. Joe dawdled in the doorway, considering making a run for it and hiding under their bed covers until Nicky cooled off.
Suddenly, Nicky cursed under his breath. Joe snapped his gaze up, alert. A drop of red splashed to the pristine white-tile floor, followed by another, and another. Oh, Joe thought, feeling his heart rate start to relax. He must have accidentally nicked himself with the knife.
But the drops kept falling, and Joe felt something unpleasant stir in the pit of his stomach. The blood thudding in his ears started to get louder again.
“Cazzo,” Nicky repeated with feeling, reaching for a scrap of paper towel on the counter. The drops kept falling.
A cold sense of dread started to lace through Joe’s entire body. How long does a cut take to heal? he asked himself. The drops kept falling. How long how long how long…
The drops kept falling. A violent wave of vertigo washed over him, and Joe stumbled forward with a strangled cry.
At the sound of his voice, Nicky whirled around, eyes widening as he caught sight of Joe. “Hayati, what-”
Joe swiped a clean knife off the drying rack and sliced it across his palm. Nicky lunged forward, snatching the knife out of his hands and tossing it aside.
“Joe, what the fuck do you thing you’re doing?!”
Joe barely heard him over the high-pitched ringing in his ears. Nicky’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. Instead, Joe could only watch in despair as the skin on his hand stitched itself back together. His vision blurred with tears. The words echoed hauntingly in his mind: How long? How long did they have together? How long did Nicky have left? How long would Joe be forced to live without-
“Joe! Look at me!” Nicky grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and shook him, jerking him out of his spiraling thoughts. Dazed, Joe raised his tear-stained face in compliance. “Madre de dio…” Nicky whispered, raising a hand to cup Joe’s cheek. “Love, we need to get you inside. You’re trembling. Your skin is burning hot.”
Joe let himself be half-carried to their bedroom. Nicky propped him up against a pillow and moved to leave the room. Joe panicked.
“No,” he protested weakly, clutching Nicky’s wrist. “Don’t go.”
“I’ll only be a moment, hayati. Let me get you some water.”
“No, please, Nicolò…”
Nicky relented, sitting down on the mattress in front of Joe and studying the visceral fear in his eyes. “My god. You’re not okay.”
“Were you even going to tell me?” Joe choked out.
“Tell you what?”
Joe squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop it. Don’t be cruel, amato, don’t make me say it.”
Nicky furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. “Joe? Wha- what are you talking about? What’s wrong?” He took both of Joe’s hands in his and squeezed. “Talk to me, my love. Help me understand. What happened to you?”
“Not me,” Joe croaked. “You. Your hand. It’s not heal- it’s-” He splayed out Nicky’s palm between his own, scraping up every ounce of courage he had to look at it. He froze. “Wait.” He turned the hand over, running his fingers over the unmarred skin. “You accidentally cut yourself. While chopping. Where is the blood?”
“Joe, now you’re scaring me. I didn’t cut myself. What made you think that?”
“You cussed. And then I saw- I saw blood. Dripping onto the floor. There was so much blood, Nicky, and you kept bleeding…”
Several emotions crossed Nicky’s face in quick succession: pain, fear, confusion, worry, and finally, understanding. And then, profound relief. He huffed out a dry laugh.
“Yusuf, my beloved fucking idiot, did you by any chance happen to see what I was chopping?”
Joe raised his eyes to Nicky’s, bewildered. Slowly, he shook his head.
“Beetroot, Joe. An overripe beetroot. I was only alarmed because it was dripping everywhere and staining the nice marble cutting board on our counter.”
There was a suspended pause.
“Beetroot,” Joe mumbled, blinking languidly. “You’re not hurt? You’re not- you know, you’re not…”
“Mortal? No,” Nicky smiled, reaching out to rub his thumbs softly beneath Joe’s eyes. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”
Joe shook his head immediately, surging forward to press a frantic kiss to Nicky’s lips. Before Nicky could even respond, Joe pulled away, burying his face in Nicky’s shoulder and sobbing quietly with relief.
“Hayati,” Nicky breathed, bringing his arms up around Joe and pulling him closer. “Shhh. Joe, baby, it’s okay. We’re okay. I promise.” He turned his head to press a long kiss to Joe’s curls, rubbing a hand firmly up and down Joe’s back. “I have you, my all. I’m not letting go.”
Wrapped in the warmth of Nicky’s arms, Joe gradually managed to stop shaking. He mumbled something incoherent into Nicky’s shoulder.
“What was that?” Nicky asked, pulling back slightly.
Joe stared at the bedsheet. “I said I’m sorry for not doing the dishes when you asked.”
“Joe-”
“It feels like it would have been my fault. If- if something had happened to you.”
“Never, my love. You know better. Do not go down that path. I forbid it.”
“But-”
“Enough, Yusuf.” Nicky gently pushed Joe’s shoulders down onto the pillow, moving to sit next to him, back against the headboard. Instinctively, Joe transferred his head to Nicky’s lap. Nicky hummed in contentment, burying a hand in Joe’s hair and stroking softly. “You’ve worn yourself out worrying, haven’t you.”
“Hmph,” Joe grumbled into Nicky’s thigh. “And for no good reason, apparently.”
“There is never a good enough reason to see such devastation in your eyes as I witnessed today.”
“Don’t leave me behind, then.”
Nicky inhaled sharply, stilling his hand in Joe’s hair. For the millionth time, he wished in vain that he could promise Joe this. He leaned down to brush a sweet kiss to Joe’s forehead, hovering there with his eyes closed, willing his husband to forgive his helplessness.
“I love you,” Joe mumbled, already half asleep. “It’s okay.”
Nicky sighed, resuming the soothing motion of his hand in Joe’s curls. “Rest, my heart. I love you, too.”
Fifteen minutes later, Nile poked her head through the front door of the safehouse, looking around furtively.
“Joe?” she whispered. Receiving no response, she tiptoed further into the house. Nicky was standing at the stove, his back turned to her as he stirred something that smelled truly amazing.
Nile ducked beneath the counter to avoid being spotted. The least Joe could’ve done was be waiting for her outside. Then again, she hadn’t told him she was coming, so maybe this wasn’t entirely his fault.
“May I ask why you’re sneaking around, Nile?” Nicky asked, never taking his eyes off the stove. “It’s as much your house as mine, you know.”
Nile groaned in exasperation, standing up straight. “I’m not sneaking. I'm looking for Joe.”
“In there,” Nicky pointed a wooden spoon towards their bedroom. “He’s sleeping, but you can wake him up if it’s urgent.”
“Sleeping?” Nile asked in surprise.
“Yeah, taking a nap. Why?”
“Uh, you’re not…mad at him?”
It was Nicky’s turn to look surprised. “I don’t think so? Should I be? What did he do?”
“No! Uh, nothing. Nothing. I’ll just go…pick up Andy and Booker from the donut shop, then.”
“You left them at Krispy Kreme?”
“Yeah. They were taking forever to decide.”
Nicky chuckled. “Fair enough. Can you taste this for salt?” He held out a spoon of the divine-smelling stew.
“Oh, absolutely,” Nile grinned. Maybe this wouldn’t be a wasted trip, after all.
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aingealcethlenn · 3 years
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I'm Not Okay
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Characters - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Y/N
Pairing - None
Summary/Request - When Y/N runs off on yet another suicide mission, the brothers find her having taken down an entire nest of vampires. They are determined to figure out what has been driving her, before it’s too late.
Word Count - 1,960
Warnings - Angst, Descriptions of Depression, Mentions of Blood (from killing vampires) (If you spot any other warnings I should add, please let me know so I can edit this post to include them!)
A/N - Based on the song “I’m Not Okay” by Citizen Soldier
Tags (Want on or off? Send a message/ask or add yourself here) - N/A
Story -
The rain was pouring. With everything I had been dealing with inside, it was as if the sky decided to cry with me and just let it all out at once. I stood there in the parking lot with my arms out as if I was trying to catch the water with my bare hands.
Machete in one hand - blood dripping onto the pavement from my fingers & the large blade, more still running down my shirt and finding its way to the ground around me, mixing with the water to form unique artwork around me.
Tonight - the monsters that inhabit my brain are screaming so damn loud. I can’t ignore them any longer. The walls I built up so that I would never have to hear their voices couldn’t go any higher.
I hear the rumble of an engine in the distance. They are approaching quickly, sure, but will they make it in time?
The person that they see, day in and day out, is nothing more than a mask. A facade. A blatant lie.
But it’s also the only way to cope that I’ve ever known.
Being the real me - broken, scared, desperate for something I can never obtain - has only ever resulted in being more and more alone in this world.
I hear the purr of the engine a short distance behind me - the doors slamming shut in their hurry, and their booming voices carrying through over the din of the downpour. “Y/N! What the hell were you thinking?!”
Their footsteps cause distinct splashes as they make their way to where I stand. I find the sound amusing for as morbid a moment this has become. “Dean, chill,” Sam interjected, seemingly noticing my exasperation of their presence. “She’s fine; that’s the important thing.”
I am far more thankful for the water falling from the sky than I ever have been before. It is hiding the falling tears and making it that much easier to replace the mask I need for the interaction ahead.
“Sorry guys,” I keep my tone stoic and passively positive as always as I turn to face them. “I got a lead, and I took my chance before they could move again.”
“Sorry?” Dean bit out. “All you can say is ‘sorry guys’? We were worried sick, Y/N!” His voice was rough as always.
“Dean!”
“No, Sam! Not this time!” His hand was out, waving to dismiss his brother. “What the fuck is going on with you, Y/N!? Sneaking off, not telling a damn one of us where the hell you’re going off to. Taking on demons, werewolves, even a fucking wendigo - ALONE.”
I felt unattached from my body. As if watching overhead at the scene playing out below me. With a stoic blink, I heard myself respond, “I don’t see what the big deal is. I came out of each one alive and well.” I sidestep the brothers and start the sadly short journey to my car on the other side of the vast open lot.
“Look, Y/N,” Sam said softly. I could just hear the resignation. “We’re just worried. Taking on those creatures is dangerous; let alone doing it without backup. And now you’re here taking out an entire nest of vampires?” He tried to stay strong - not the ever tough soldier his brother was, but the solid rock we all came to expect. I could hear his voice break, though, despite his best efforts.
I turn back and lock eyes with each of them again, all while still taking steps back toward the vehicles. I could feel how dead my stare was; I could feel how painfully emotionless my face rested.
‘I’m not okay - can’t you see that?’ I want to shout at them. I have so much to say, but no one to hear it. Despite how much is at stake, keeping quiet not burdening the brothers - or their angel - with the battle inside myself.
I feel the emotions clash - the want and the need to tell them everything, right here and right now - the futility of it, seeping in and convincing me they don’t care. So, I let the monsters win, silencing me once again. Lying to myself, they’d never understand why it’s so hard to say that I’m not okay. “I’m fine, Sam. Really.”
“Then what is your excuse?” Dean cut in. “What is your reason for going out on these suicide missions? I mean, come on Y/N, let’s face it - you’re either hell-bent on destruction, or you’re just being stupid. And we both know you are smarter than Sam and I put together. So what’s the deal? What’s next? Trying to take on HellHounds?!”
I blinked heavily. I wish I had an answer. I wish I had a scar, a bruise, something to show the proof of the battles I face, day in and day out. Something to show for the invisible abuse - faced with the choice to either be judged or hideaway in secret as I inevitably choose to do.
I let out a soft but long sigh. “I have no answer for you. Not one you’d accept anyway.” Words may be my only option. The only visible symptom to show for the battle that wages is the sheer desire to end the torment that is my life.
I look at the two of them for a moment before finally breaking away to turn back - back to my car, back to my escape, back to a place where they can’t see the battle playing out in my mind. I can only hide so much. The tears were beginning to fall once again.
I hear the steps approaching. Their long strides make it easy work to catch up to where I am. Feeling a hand grip my upper arm and spin me around quickly - my face must have physically shown how distraught and angry I am. Unable to hide my emotions as I usually would - my gaze clashed with the glaring green eyes of Dean’s boring into me.
The reason I say my face must’ve revealed more than I wanted is because, after a long but instant moment, I saw his face drop. In all the years we’ve been fighting together, he has never seen this side of me, and for a good reason.
“Y/N? Wh-” he releases his grip on my arm, running his hand down his face, contemplating. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing, Dean,” I say, schooling my features. “Forget it.” Quickly I ground myself, now trying to turn my features to stone - removing any trace of the ever hidden emotions that were trying to pour out.
“Bullshit.” His voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “Talk to me,” he said and shared a silent look to his brother, almost as if to confirm he didn’t imagine things, “Talk to us.”
“What’s going on, Y/N?” Sam joined. “You know you don’t have to hide things from us.”
“I’m fine. Just -”
“No. You’re not, okay,” Sam interjected, joining Dean in speaking firmly. “Something is wrong; tell us.” Sam was quiet for a moment before adding, “Please.” I felt guilty as I noticed his voice break.
Staring at the brothers, I felt a mixture of emotions — contempt, love, bitterness, relief. “Fine,” I bit out.
Perhaps knowing it was a losing battle, I caved for the first time in my life. “I’m not okay. You’re right. But I don’t have the words to explain the hell that goes on within my mind on a daily basis.”
“Try.” Dean retorted instantly, seamlessly - I hadn’t even finished speaking. I knew he was trying to offer comfort, in his ‘unattached,’ ‘too cool for attachment’ way. “Humor us,” he added after a beat of me not responding.
I looked at him with a pinched look, shaking my head. I could feel every emotion ripping through me like a storm. “I am in a constant state of being numb, Dean,” I finally said. “Numb to emotions, numb to life itself. Most people survive because they can see that light at the end of the tunnel - but for me?” I shake my head. “There is no light. It’s all just a dark cage without a key, just suffocating darkness and weight, with demons screaming at me. I don’t control my thoughts anymore; they control me.”
Sam shook his head now. “Y/N, why didn’t you say something? We can help you get through whatever this is.” Sam tried taking my hand, trying to offer some sort of comfort.
“It’s not a phase, Sam.” I pull my hand free abruptly, ignoring the pain in my chest from seeing Sam’s hurt expression. “It’s who I am, all I ever have been. I’m never going to be safe, always inching closer to that final breaking point.”
Dean seemed exasperated. “That’s fine,” he said. “If you break, that’s okay. Just don’t hide, and don’t go running off.” Dean wrapped his arms around me with a strength I couldn’t gently pull away from, pulling me in close but still speaking loud enough that Sam could hear, “We’ll help you pick up the pieces. We’re a family, like it or not, punk. As a member of this family, you’re not allowed to quit.”
My brow furrowed the moment he called me family.
Dean, holding me at arm's length, graced me with a small, awkward smile. “Look, this may be a battle you feel you have to face solo, and so be it,” he motioned with one of his hands as if dismissing the thought, “but don’t quit on us. Sam and I, we’re here, always. Even if you just need to sit in silence with someone, so you aren’t alone. We get it; we’ve all been through a lot.”
I couldn’t stop staring at him, conflicted and upset - his grip on my arms felt heavy. Itchy and uncomfortable, as the only place I wanted to be right now was in my car. The rain had long since stopped or lightened - I couldn’t tell - but I just wanted to start the engine — Bake in the heater. Drive.
After a long awkward beat of silence, Dean rolled his eyes lightly in slight awkward annoyance. “This is the part where you say: ‘back atcha! We’re a team!’ Y/N.” I took light offense to how he mocked my voice, but it didn’t matter.
With a light, honestly fake feeling laugh, I removed his arms from mine. “You don’t entirely get it, Dean.”
Dean scoffed lightly. “What, are you saying we don’t have hard times too? I can guarantee we—“
In an outburst I couldn’t control, I snapped. “Stop! Okay?? I’m not dismissing that you two have had a shitty life! I’m saying you don’t hear what goes on in my head, Dean.”
Sam, raising a placating hand, tried to calm me. “Please, Y/N, we may not understand what exactly is going on, but we understand your reactions to it.”
I just stood still, breathing hard - trying so hard not to cry.
Sam took this as a sign to continue. “Y/N, we care for you. And honestly, we don’t think anyone should be alone with thoughts like that.”
I felt my face melt like paper catching on fire - every emotion displayed as I felt my chin tense, and my lips quiver as I burst into tears.
The brothers’ embrace was welcome, however wet.
The emotions were not as welcome, but it was unstoppable.
Dean was closest to my ear as I sobbed, and I heard him softly say, “You’re not okay, but you will be. We’re with you every step of the way.”
A part of me hated him saying that, but I couldn’t ignore the relief I felt. Maybe I would be okay.
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resident-fungi-fren · 4 years
Text
A Rose By Any Other Name
Summary: Janus is named after the roman god of beginnings. That’s not a coincidence. After the events of POF, he decides to start over, and erase everyone’s memories of him. He’ll start over, and this time, he’ll get everything right. 
Ships: it hints at anxceit, but nothin concrete yet
Warnings: suicidal thoughts? in a way?? wanting to be erased, insanity mention, if there are any others let me know
Chapter 1
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Patton,
If you ever read this letter, I’m sorry. It means something went wrong with the wipe, and I probably erased myself from existence or something, I’m really not sure how that would work. But I just want you to know, I don’t blame you for what I’m doing. You’ve tried, and that really means a lot to me. I think that given time, we really could have been friends, but I don’t have time, and too much has been said for us to move forward. But that’s why I have to do this. Truthfully, it’s for Thomas first. He’ll never truly accept a dark side, or trust one, and I need him to listen to me, it’s for his own good.
But I suppose, deep down, I know my reasons are a little more selfish. I don’t want to be hated. I need another chance. I can fix things with Virgil, with Roman, and none of you will hate me this time around. I’ll be more than the liar, the snake, the villain. I can be good, Patton. I hope you understand. I’ll see you on the other side.
Yours,
Janus
The letters he kept locked in a box, one he hid in his corner of the Mindscape. He kept it with Thomas’s deepest desires, the ones only he saw and knew. No one else came here, and he was fairly certain that it would remain unchanged after he… well.
His final words said, he returned to his room, and settled down for the last few minutes of his old life. He felt things shifting in the Mindscape, and with a deep breath, he shattered.
His room fractured around him, the walls shaking and splintering.
“JANUS! WHATS HAPPENING-“ The voice, Patton’s probably, tried to come in, but the doorknob was gone. The door was fading, and the walls were smearing together. Janus lied back, feeling his edges grow softer as Thomas’s mind picked him apart. Hopefully Patton wasn’t to hurt by his actions.
It felt like forever, and yet only seconds before the process was over. All of a sudden he felt himself snap back into place. Except, things felt different. He was different. Did that mean it worked? He sat up and looked around his room. The walls were bare, except for a large mirror across from the bed. He stood up and walked over to the mirror. A gasp escaped him as he saw it. Or rather, didn’t see it.
His scales were gone. His scar, the fang, the snake nostril, all gone. He looked just like any other side, except his one eye was still yellow. But it was a human eye. He didn’t look like a monster anymore. He looked, well, normal. His cape and hat were replaced with a soft yellow sweater with a rose on it, and a white beanie. Instead of his gloves, his hands were covered in pictures. Roses, each with a lightly glowing center. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but at least it wasn’t scales.
There was one more thing he needed to know though to learn if his plan truly worked. He steeled himself, and walked over to the door. He grasped the doorknob and turned it, pulling the door open. He looked out and saw Patton standing outside his door, tears running down his cheeks.
“Hel-hello? Why are you crying?” He stepped out, and Patton startled, as if he hadn’t noticed Janus.
“I, um, I can’t really remember.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand and smiled brightly at the yellow side. “You must be a new side! I’m Patton, and I’m Thomas’s morality! What’s your name kiddo?” The quick switch startled him, and he made a mental note to talk to Patton about that during this life.
“I haven’t picked a name,” he lied smoothly, guess he hadn’t changed too much. “But I’m his desire, so you can call me Dee for now.” Patton smiled wider, and opened his arms up.
“Can I give you a welcome hug? It’s customary.” Janus nodded, and the fatherly side wrapped his arms around him. The hug was warm, and just the right amount of pressure. He hadn’t ever gotten a hug quite like this before, and he hadn’t realized how much he needed it.
Far too soon, Patton pulled away. “It’s nice to meet you Dee! Let’s go introduce you to the other sides! You’ll see, they’re really sweet. It’s a real treat to know them!” Without another word, Patton pulled him along the corridor and down the stairs. “Look who I found!”
The others were gathered in the living room, Virgil in the armchair, Roman standing, his arms out in an emphatic gesture, and Logan on the couch. They all turned, and eyebrows raised as they took in the pair.
“Well now we know what that disturbance was. It seems our family is a little bigger now!” Roman straitened up and put on his most dashing smile. Janus had seen it a dozen times, but never directed at him. It felt good.
“Guys, this is Dee, Thomas’s Desire! I was in the hallway when his door just popped up!”
“Salutations, I am Logan, Thomas’s Logic.”
“Greetings! I am Prince Roman, his creativity! Well, the better half of it anyway.”
“Sup, I’m Virgil, I’m anxiety.”
And there he was. He still took his breath away. Virgil, his emo, sitting there and smirking at him, not a trace of malice in his eyes. How long had he waited to see that? And now he had it, had his second chance.
“And you already know me! Oh, also there’s one more side. Remus, the other half of creativity.” The energy in the room dropped once Remus was mentioned.
“Where is he?” He didn’t miss the way Roman visibly flinched at that, or how Virgil tensed up. He felt bad for upsetting them, but he needed to know how the final dark side was in a life without him. After a few moments of tense silence, Virgil spoke up.
“You’re a light side, right?” Janus nodded, and he continued. “Remus is a dark side. I also used to be one. But after I left and joined the light sides, Remus was left alone down there. He wasn’t very stable in the first place, but the isolation changed him completely. He’s completely mad, and he started getting violent, we couldn’t just leave him.”
At this point, Roman took up the story. “I conjured up a containment room for him. We can go in, and he has everything he needs, but he can’t leave or effect anything outside the room. It was the best we could think of. He’s hardly ever coherent anymore, he just raves and screams about a ‘snake’ and ‘liars.’ I wouldn’t try to go see him, he doesn’t react well to me and Virgil, and he actually recognizes us. Patton tried to see him and it didn’t end well.”
Janus felt guilt welling up inside him quickly. He never meant to hurt his old friend like that. He knew his absence would change things, but not this much.
The energy in the room had dropped, and everyone seemed extremely uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and strained to find something to change the subject.
“So, who’s going to introduce me to our host?” That seemed to work, and Roman perked up immediately.
In  just a few minutes, he was rising up in between Roman and Virgil, and Thomas was smiling at him. He had only seen Thomas’s smile a couple times before the change, and those were what he treasured most from his past life. And now here he was, smiles all around, not a hint of anger or disgust.
“So you’re my new side? The personification of my desires? What does that mean exactly? Why are you only appearing now?” Janus was slightly overwhelmed by the influx of questions, and Logan, of all people, noticed.
“Thomas, while I’ll never complain about you wanting to learn and expand your knowledge, I think that perhaps you should slow down, give Dee some time to breathe.” Thomas knotted sheepishly, and he felt a pang of gratitude towards Logan. He wasn’t really a new side, but if he was, this would all be way too much all at once.
All too soon, Thomas had to return to work, and the sides sunk out.
“I have an idea! We should have a movie night, after all, Dee hasn’t been to one!” Patton was jumping up and down, and looking hopefully at the others.
“A splendid idea padre!” Virgil gave a grunt of approval, and Logan sighed and nodded, already resigned. No one withstood Pat’s puppy eyes. Not for long anyway. Patton cheered, and ran to go gather every pillow and blanket he could find.
When Patton came back, popcorn was popping, and Virgil and Roman were playfully arguing over what movie to show Dee first. The moral side plopped his armful of bedding on top of Roman, silencing him. “Whoops, didn’t see you there Ro!” He giggled, and Janus found himself laughing along with him and Virgil, who chuckled at Roman’s misfortune.
“My hair! Pat, how could you slander me so!”
“Grow up Princey, it’s just hair, it can’t hide your giant ego even if it looks good.” The two started bickering, and Patton sat down next to Janus, a soft look on his face.
“I didn’t mean to pry or anything, but I peeked into your room. The door was open, and I noticed the walls were all blank. We’ll have to get it spruced up a little! You can get Roman to conjure things for you, and just you wait, it’ll feel like home in no time!” Janus nodded along distractedly, not really paying attention.
“Excuse me Patton, I need to grab something from my room real quick, I’ll be right back.” He stood up, his head spinning. He made it up the stairs before he slumped against the wall, the room tilting. He managed to stumble to his room, locking the door once he made it inside. He collapsed against the bed, feeling something choking his throat. He coughed, and felt it dislodge, and he coughed it up into his hand. It was a rose, tightly closed, the thorns dripping with blood. As he starred, the flower trembled, and its petals began to open. A golden light glowed inside it, and he saw an image in the light. It was him, telling Patton about how he didn’t have a name.
He felt another rose clogging his throat, and he coughed up another rose. This one showed him standing and excusing himself just a few minutes ago. When he lied to Patton. Both flowers showed times he lied. So that was what the roses meant. Even in this new life, he couldn’t truly leave Deceit behind. He conjure a vase, and placed the roses in them. Might as well spruce up the room a bit.
He looked at the mirror, and cleaned away the blood from his mouth. He collected his nerves, and unlocked the door, heading back down to join the others.
He hadn’t been invited to movie nights before. This was going to be fun.
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allegra-writes · 5 years
Text
Happy birthday, Peter
Tumblr media
Peter Parker x Reader
General audiences
Warnings: None
Ok, this isn't a request but today is August the tenth, MCU Peter Parker's canon birthday, so let's have a little birthday Fluff to celebrate! 💜
MY MASTERLIST
“Tony, Fury's here about that new guy he wants you to meet for the new team, Quentin Beck” Pepper's voice interrupted Tony’s obvious staring.
“No-uh, forget it, not happening. I just got out of the hospital a couple weeks ago, after I almost died saving the world from that giant purple raisin. Again. Now this? This is a party. Peter’s party, I refuse to work today” Tony was not having any of that tonight of all nights. He had five years worth of birthdays and holidays to catch up on with his kids, kids he thought he wouldn’t have the opportunity to ever hug or talk or plan parties for, he might add. So Fury could get lost for all he cared.
Besides, he had his own ideas for his super secret boy band 2.0, and he was looking straight at them.
“Now, Miss Potts, if you would be so kind as to come right here and tell me what you think about this” He stepped closer to his wife and gestured at the group of teenagers laughing and chatting on the other side of the room. If he was honest with himself, he had been so nervous about the four of them meeting: What if they didn’t like each other? That would not make his plans impossible but it would certainly put a damper on them. The truth was he should have been nervous about you guys getting along a little too well …
Pepper took a look and immediately paled.
“Oh no, no no no! Tony, no!”
Unbeknownst of the argument ensuing about you, Harley Keener, Cassie Lang, Peter Parker and you continued to laugh at Ned Leeds retelling of the time Spider-Man stole his “arch nemesis”, Flash Thompson's car.
“… Of course now Mister Stark gave you a car of your own, I guess Spider-Man won’t need to ask Flash for his car again”
Peter shook his head,
“I still say I can’t accept it, I’m sorry, y/n, it’s just too much”
“What are you talking about? It’s not even a new car, Happy’s been driving it for years” You said, “Besides, I’m going to need someone to drive me around, you know I hate to do it myself…”
“Is that your way of saying you failed your driving test again?” Harley quipped, casually resting his arm around Cassie’s shoulders. The look the petit brunette gave him had him quickly remove it, however.
“Shut up Keener!” You huffed, “Who needs to drive when you can fly, anyway”
“What else did you get, Peter?” Cassie asked, genuinely interested.
“You mean besides the car and the scholarship?”
“Ooh, my present! You haven’t opened my present yet!” you exclaimed excitedly, placing a closed envelope on Peter’s hands.
“Y/n, you really shouldn’t…” He tried to protest.
“Come on, just open it!”
“Open it! Open it! Open it!” Cassie, Ned and Harley started chanting. Peter tore the paper apart to revel the single, golden ticket inside that simply read in big black letters “Valid for one birthday wish”
“It’ a…”
“It’s a birthday wish coupon” You explained, “Limited time offer, for tonight only. Whatever you want, no consequences, no questions asked. Anything money can buy, and then some. Want to steal a plane and fly to Europe, Have a body you need to hide? I’m your man… well, girl, but you know what I-“
“YOU WANT OUR KIDS TO WHAT?” Scott Lang's voice Echoed through the lake house living room, where the intimate party was taking place, interrupting you.
“I know it seems insane, but so did time travel…” Your dad was trying to explain, with apparently little success, if Scott’s face increasingly redder color was anything to go by. The vein visible on his neck wasn’t looking like a good omen either.
“Think we should go break them apart?” Cassie asked calmly, with the same air of infinite patience laced with resignation that you usually wore around your father yourself.
“Lets go before they break something” You sighed and followed her to the other side of the room, without noticing you were leaving a stunned Peter behind.
“You know what you should use that coupon for, right?” Harley’s voice broke through his daze.
“Whu- what?”
Harley rolled his eyes.
“Come on, dude! No consequences? No questions asked? You should ask her for a kiss!”
“What? No! We’re not… I’m not- we are not like that!”
Harley and Ned exchanged a look.
“I never thought I would agree with this guy, but Harley’s right. Peter, this is your chance!”
“Peter, look” The blond grabbed Peter’s shoulders, “She said it herself, no consequences, she promised. So even if she’s not into you like that, and trust me, she is, you know she’ll still be your friend.”
“Come on, dude, you were thinking the exact same thing! Besides,” Ned finished, “I’m your guy in the chair, I wouldn’t tell you to do it if it was a bad idea”
Peter could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment, and his eyes with unshed tears of frustration.
“You guys have no idea what you are talking about” He mumbled bitterly, and left.
He just needed to get away, he just needed some air to help him get himself under control again. His friends meant well, he knew it wasn’t their fault. He was the one that never told them, after all. That you guys had already kissed once, right under the illuminated Eiffel tower, the night of the airport fight, a lifetime ago, or at least that’s what it felt like.
And it had been so. Fucking. Perfect. He could still almost taste you on his lips. He had obsessed over that kiss. He had lost sleep, and hunger over that kiss. For weeks. But as soon as you guys had return to New York, it was radio silence. For almost three months he hadn’t heard from you. And when you guys finally started talking again… nothing. Not a single word about it.
Until now, because you had just mentioned it. Indirectly, but you did. That little comment about stealing a plane hadn’t been random: That’s how you guys had gotten to France from Germany that time. You had stolen your father’s self flown jet and took it for a ride with Peter, and that’s where you had ended up, insisting that the real crime would be to take Peter to Europe and not showing him Paris.
It had been a full moon night, just like this one. There hadn’t been that many stars in the sky, because of the city lights, of course. But this, right then, standing at that secluded lake shore, with billions of stars lighting up the night sky, it almost felt like being underneath the tower lights again.
The soft sound of your bare feet on the grass pulled him out of his thoughts. He knew it was you, he always knew. He could tell your heartbeat apart from a crowded room. Hell, from a crowded city. He totally got your father’s favorite nickname for you.
“Hey! Everyone's looking for you,” You said, coming to a stop beside him, toes barely touching the warm water, a welcomed relief on that hot summer night. “It’s almost time to cut the cake”
“If I did wanted to steal a plane tonight, would you really do it?” He asked ignoring your comment. You simply shrugged,
“Where would we go?”
“Paris”, He replied without missing a beat. And you prayed he and his super senses couldn’t hear the way your heart picked up it’s pace with that single word. But of course he did.
He turned around to face you, his mind made up between one of your heartbeats and the next.
“What you said back inside, about no consequences, no questions asked” He inquired, “Did you mean it?”
He took a step towards you, so close now that your chests were almost touching. You wondered if he knew what it did to you having him so close, how you couldn’t think, couldn’t breath. How every inch of your skin stood to attention, ready to be electrified by the slightest touch with his.
You looked up into his eyes, taking a detour at his lips, so close to your own.
“Yes” the breathless whisper was barely audible for your normal human ears, but of course he heard you clearly. He took a final step closer.
“Close your eyes” He repeated your own words from that night at the tower back at you. You didn’t even try to resist his order. You felt him place a finger under your chin, softy tilting your head up for better access, and then the most delicate, exquisite pressure of his lips on yours.
It was too much. It was not enough. You nibbled on his bottom lip, trying to get him to deepen the kiss, and he complied, the little growl that escaped his throat at the first taste of your tongue was by far the sexiest thing you had ever heard in your life. He quickly took control of the kiss, carefully cupping your face with one hand, the other fisting the silk of your dress at your waist, pulling you closer. He almost lost all semblance of self-restraint at the way your body melted into his. You couldn’t do more than submit to his assault on your lips, than submit to him.
“Wow. Is anyone timing this? I'd swear they should've had to come out for air by now” One of the three figures watching the scene unfold from behind the glass windows of the lake house asked, confused. "They'll pass out from lack of oxygen!"
“Peter won’t pass out,” decided Harley, “superhuman and all that…”
“She can pass out”
Cassie snorted,
“I’m sure he can give her some mouth to mouth”
“You mean more than he’s already giving her?” it was Harley’s turn to snort.
Ned turned away from the window.
“So,” He began, a little dumb struck, “that happened.”
“Is still happening” corrected Harley, cheekily. Ned ignored him,
“You think they’ll finally get together now?” he asked.
“No way,” Harley scoffed.
“Yeah, those two have been pining for each other for so long, I don’t think they know how to function without it” Cassie sentenced, eyes still on the lake outside.
Ned sighed,
“You’re probably right. Tomorrow they’ll most likely be back to their stumbling, blushing selves. I swear, they are going to be getting married and still be like “Do you think she likes me? Like, like like me?”” He pitched his voice higher in a remarkably good impression of his best friend that had his new ones cracking with laughter.
“Hey, kids!” Tony Stark came up to them, frowning “Have you seen Peter and my daughter? It’s almost time for the cake… What are you looking at?”
The three teens jumped away from the window at once,
“NOTHING!!”
The End.
1K notes · View notes
starswornoaths · 3 years
Text
Of Family and Home
Commissioned writing for @anorptron, posted with permission! Thank you so much for your patronage! \o/
Familial bonding between Edmont and Sage, anorptron’s WoL! This was such a delight to work on, thank you again!
Commission info!
Such was expected of the Warrior of Light, after all. 
Watching the ceremony of Ishgard rejoining the Alliance had been easy enough; he hadn’t needed to participate, only be present as a showing of support— not only for the symbolism of the thing, but to support those few he felt close to. Neither Sage’s counsel nor his combat prowess were asked of him, so he offered nothing more than his presence. In a moment of honesty with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure he had it in him to give more than that.
In vain, he had hoped that it would end at the ceremony: at its conclusion, celebrations followed almost immediately after. It was less that Sage had been asked to stay and more that the festivities were so wide spread that it was damn near impossible to leave, and thus he resigned himself to having a flagon of ale pressed to his hand and putting on the bravest smile he could manage.
That, and hoping no one clapped him on the back. That shoulder wound was stinging fiercely in the cold.
For a blessing, Sage’s reputation for having a quiet disposition meant that no one expected very much in the way of conversation from him. A murmur of acknowledgement or a nod of his head seemed to suit, which was a relief: by the time that he managed to leave the festivities behind him, late enough that the sun had fully set, the numbness in his skin and the pain that sunk down to his marrow. It was all he could do to keep moving and cradle his bad arm in a way he hoped wasn’t too conspicuous. 
At first, he had just wanted to get away from the crowds and the cheering because none of it felt right and all he could think of was watching Ysayle fade out like a comet streaking across the aether soaked sky, of seeing Estinien grow gnarled and twisted until there was nothing left of the man and all that stood there was a shade of Nidhogg, roaring out the call for the Dragonsong War to rage on. But then, the moment he realized the festivities thinned out the higher he climbed in the Pillars, his destination became clear to him: he had to go home. There was nowhere else left for him to go.
Fortemps Manor loomed overhead ere long, once he’d managed to hobble up the ramp leading to the Last Vigil. The lights from within washed the cobblestone street with warm lamplight, almost beckoning Sage. He prayed there was no one awake at this hour: he knew they left the lights on just in case he arrived, even if no one said it outright. 
The door hinges creaked as Sage pushed one of the massive wooden doors open and slipped inside. Though the noise was quiet, it seemed to echo in the stillness of the foyer. Despite the carpet lining the tile muffling his footfalls, they sounded loud to him. He struggled to shake the feeling that he might be intruding, even as the Fortemps had insisted, time and again, that this was his home as much as theirs.
“Master Sage?”
He nearly jumped at the attendant’s voice softly calling out to him, but collected himself once his mind caught up with his hyper alert senses, he returned the greeting as well as he could. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, one of the doors down the hall opened, and Count Edmont stepped out to join them from his study. He seemed surprised at Sage’s presence, eyes widening for a moment before he offered a warm smile.
“My, I thought you would be at the festivities well into the night! Welcome home, Sage.” 
“Count Edmont.” He greeted, and were he in better condition, he might have bowed in respect, but even standing and attempting good posture made the pain in his shoulder flare sharply enough that he flinched and curled into himself. 
The warmth in Edmont’s smile guttered out into a look of shocked panic, and before Sage could even think of how to worm his way out of being examined too closely, the count was ushering him onto one of the plush couches beside the fire. 
“Call upon a chirurgeon, if you please.” Edmont instructed the attendant, who was off into the night with a nod.
“That’s not—” 
Necessary, Sage tried to say, but Edmont would hear none of it.
“Nonsense: you are injured, and I cannot in good conscience leave you to suffer so. Come, let me help you out of your coat that the chirurgeon can better look at you.”
Shame and guilt crept up his throat until his face burned with the embarrassment; even if Edmont didn’t view this as a failing on Sage’s part, he did. All the same, he was in no real position to argue with the count, in standing or physical condition, and so used his uninjured hand to work at the ties of his coat.
By the time the chirurgeon arrived, they had managed to get Sage down to his shirt, a simple and thin enough piece of clothing that it was easily moved around as she worked. With each prod and poke of her fingers, the pain spiked, and a frown marred her features. 
“Your shoulder is fractured,” The chirurgeon finally said. “There’s some bruising and a few minor lacerations elsewhere, but that shoulder is what concerns me the most. Let’s get you into a sling.”
Though he couldn’t argue the point, the shame pressed down on him tenfold. Here he was, Warrior of Light, Eikon Slayer, unstoppable Bard and immovable object, reduced to this. Unable to protect those closest to him, what few there were, and now, not even able to draw a bow.
Temporarily. It’s only for now. He tried to remind himself, even as he feared how the injury might affect him once he was recovered. It did little to ease the pangs of anxiety at the thought that he wouldn’t be able to fight anymore, all the more as the chirurgeon manipulated his shoulder and arm into the sling to hold it in place. Even the cool touch of healing magic on the wound, easing the pain into something much more manageable, did little to put his mind at ease.
With instructions to leave it in the sling for the next fortnight and reassurance that she would monitor his healing progress by checking in on him regularly. Leaving pain medication for him to be able to comfortably sleep, she left.
In her absence, Sage thought he might be able to slip away into his room, but Edmont was draping a blanket over his shoulders and asking him to sit with him a while and have tea. “We have scarce had a chance to talk with everything that has happened,'' explained the Count when Sage tried to rebuke his offer. “Even had you come in lacking the wounds you bear, I would still speak with you, if you have the energy.”
Did he? Sage wanted to say no, felt the denial on his tongue press against his teeth, but he hesitated. A not insignificant part of him wanted to nurse his wounds and his wounded pride in solitude, aye, but there was another part of him still that yet grappled with the weight of all of his burdens. That part of him, if he were honest with himself, was tired of being lonely.
Maybe it was because he hadn’t quite gotten his legs back under him yet, physically or proverbially. Maybe it was because he could admit that the small part of him that wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t asking after his abilities had some merit. But after a moment more of deliberation, Sage nodded, and eased himself back into the couch.
The subtle tension in Edmont’s shoulders eased in relief, and that warm smile of his was back, crinkling the corners of his eyes. As one of the wait staff brought over a tray laden with cups, a teapot, and two small plates of cookies, it occurred to Sage that Edmont had already asked ahead, likely when he called for a chirurgeon.
“You planned this.” He said before he could stop himself. “After you summoned the healer.”
“What battles we walk away from can leave us with wounds that take much healing.” Edmont said wisely, and reached for the teapot. “And healing is in itself a rather exhausting process, even when it does not change us forever. Room for milk and sugar in yours?”
“For sugar, please.” Sage replied, voice gruff from misuse. He cleared his throat, and once Edmont poured his cup, managed a quiet, “Thank you,” in a clearer tone.
“A sweet tooth, like myself.” Edmont mused with a chuckle when he saw how many spoonfuls of sugar Sage put into his tea.
Not that many more than the count’s own cup, Sage realized with mild surprise. Not knowing what to say to that, he settled for curling his good hand around the handle of his cup and bringing it up to gently blow on it. The steam curled away from him in long, wispy tendrils, but the warmth from it was already seeping into him before he had even taken a sip. 
“Was this injury from when you went to Azys Lla?” Edmont asked quietly after a companionable silence had fallen over them.
Sage nodded and took a sip of his tea. After a moment of contemplating its sweetness, he set it down and added another spoonful of sugar. As he stirred it in, he spoke up, “Didn’t want to trouble anyone. It would have healed in time.”
“Perhaps, but it could have healed improperly.” Edmont noted with a frown. “I see no sense in letting you suffer in silence for such a serious wound.”
Ah yes. If it healed improperly, he might no longer be able to fight on as the Warrior of Light. And then where would the world be? 
Even as he thought it, Sage winced. Edmont had never made him feel as though he were only kept around for his use— and the Bard reminded himself that it was Edmont who had tried to send him away when the horde had begun to swarm toward the city, intent on casting it into the churning aether below, even knowing that Sage’s might alone could have been enough to turn the tide of battle. 
Maybe that was why he had come here, when he had needed to escape the trappings of his title and the expectations that came with it. Because they couldn’t reach him here if he didn’t want them to. Because Edmont would never wield them against him.
“I’m...not good at relying on others.” Sage finally admitted quietly, half into his tea. “But your words have merit. Thank you.”
Edmont studied him for a long moment, teacup and saucer in hand. On the surface, he was the very picture of a noble Count, posture perfectly straight and hands appropriately delicate on the fine porcelain. His expression was almost unreadable but for those bright, discerning eyes of his gleaming in the firelight. After he seemed to find what he was looking for in Sage, his mustache twitched in the ghost of a smile as he primly set his teacup on its saucer and placed them both back on the table in front of them.
“If I may be candid?” He asked, and waited for Sage’s nod to continue, “I fear in speaking formally to you, I failed to make it clear how cherished you are in this house— and not for your use, I cannot stress that enough. You are a ward of House Fortemps due to circumstances outside of your control and ours, that much is true, but you have come to be so much more than that.” After another moment of consideration, he asked, “Do you know what I felt when I first met you, and realized you were just as mortal as the rest of us?”
“Disappointment?”
“Relief.” He said, and Sage hid surprise with another deep drink of tea. “Because you were real. You were human, and suddenly it all made sense, why you fought as hard as you did to make it to our door.” With a chuckle, he added, “When I told Haurchefant that, he said that we were of like mind, in that regard.”
“I failed.” Sage murmured, side stepping a reply to Edmont’s declaration, even as warmth different than tea or blankets settled over his heart for it.
“As have we all.” Edmont said with a shrug. “To expect perfection is folly— even from you. Yet, I fear that your myriad successes, and the legend you have become, have made you the exception in the eyes of many. And aye, even for a time, I was not immune to such thoughts. From the way Haurchefant spoke of you, you seemed almost otherworldly. Impossible, even.” 
Ah. Another friend he had failed. Haurchefant had always thought too highly of him, and in the wake of his death, Sage only felt more strongly that the knight had gotten him all wrong. Not that he had ever told him that, knowing the effusive man would have just insisted in that way of his that Sage was wrong.
Not that he’d ever get the chance to now, besides.
“When I fail, it means someone dies.” Sage grit his teeth when he thought of Estinien, of the look of sheer terror on his face moments before it disappeared into Nidhogg’s aether. He set his teacup down to avoid spilling the last of his tea; he realized his good hand was shaking. “Or worse.”
“Such is the burden of any who fight for those who cannot.”
Edmont took a moment to spare a glance down at his own lap. Then, his gaze drifted just beyond it, to the cane that rested against the arm of the couch. Something shifted in his eyes, in that moment, and though they still gleamed, there was a certain sort of darkness there now. Familiar enough to Sage that it pulled him out of his thoughts. After the span of another breath, the Count added quietly.
“Even if it means sacrificing something dear to us.” When he looked back at Sage, that shadow in his gaze did not lift. “I had the chirurgeon called upon because I know what it is to have an injury that never heals properly. I know what it means to never feel quite right again, and still continue to fight to protect those dearest to you, until you no longer can. I would not wish that suffering on you.”
“So I can keep fighting?” Sage asked, not quite able to bite back the bitterness in his tone.
“Sage.” Edmont said his name so gently that he looked up at him in surprise. When he had his attention, Edmont reached over and laid his hand over Sage’s. “You could tell me right this instant that you are never again picking up a weapon, that you would never again answer a call to action, and I would be no less proud of you. You would be no less welcome here.”
“Why?” Sage asked around the tightening of his throat. His voice barely came out in a rasp, choking on the tangled knot of complicated, conflicting emotions that whorled in his throat. His chest felt tight. Nevertheless, he pressed, “Why care if I’m not of use to you?”
“Because I view you as family.” Edmont replied, voice calm and patient. “And it was thanks to you that I was reminded of the importance of letting those I love know that I love them, while I still have the chance...and that I can always do better in that regard.”
“My lord—”
“You need never address me so formally, Sage. I have already failed one son by letting him die thinking I viewed him as lesser, and that he was not loved. I refuse to let it happen again. That we are not of the same blood is of no consequence. As far as I am concerned, you are just as much a Fortemps as any of my sired sons.”
That tightness in Sage’s throat constricted all the more, and he felt a peculiar stinging in the backs of his eyes. He blinked rapidly to dispel it. It wouldn’t do to start showing that kind of vulnerability now, in particular when he was wounded in body and pride for the losses that he had stacked against him.
“I don’t—” He tried to speak, but swallowed thickly when his voice cracked. With a deep, shuddering breath, he tried again to find the words. “I don’t know if I feel I deserve that.”
Another twitch of Edmont’s mustache in a knowing, albeit somber smile. He squeezed Sage’s hand as if to anchor him. 
“In all my years, if there is one thing that I have learned, it is that things both good and bad happen to us whether we deserve it or not. The earth does not ponder its worthiness of the sunlight, nor the waxing of the moon. They are merely inescapable facts of life. So it is for me to call you a member of the Fortemps family.” He let go of Sage’s hand and stood, wincing at the way his knee popped as he did. “I only hope that, in time, you will believe yourself worthy of it. Now, it is late for this old and weary man, and you have convalescence to catch up on, if I am not mistaken.”
The twinkle in Edmont’s eye helped Sage swallow the knot of emotions in his throat and nod. The Count’s smile widened.
“To bed, for us both, then— and never you mind the setting: I will take it to the kitchens.”
Shockingly quick for his age, Edmont plucked the tea tray off of the table, though after examining it for a moment of thought, held it out to Sage.
“Take the plate of biscuits, my boy, and have them as a snack if you like.”
Sage did, and as he took it with his good hand, he murmured, “Thank you. I’ll try to be worthy of this.”
“Of the biscuits? I daresay anyone is worthy of biscuits!” Edmont laughed, already on his way to the kitchens before Sage could reply. “Good night, my boy. May your sleep be truly restful.”
Plate of sweets in hand, Sage let himself smile as he wandered to his room— and ah, he supposed he should start calling it his room now, well and truly.
He was home, after all.
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melindacoulson4 · 4 years
Text
Dose of reality
Post 7x09.  Coulson bot needed a pep talk after the events of the time loop and who better to deliver one.
He may not be projecting emotions like a human but Melinda knew something was off.  
Daisy had all but thrown herself at each of them. They'd all been killed. Coulson and Daisy had watched it happen over and over again. Enoch broke the cycle. It was a lot to absorb at one time. She couldn't imagine having to experience it first-hand. So she watched Daisy and Coulson carefully. Throughout the explanation, Daisy talked while Coulson sulked. His features were pinched. Clearly, he was bothered by the whole thing but the way he was hugging the wall sent out warning bells for everyone to back off.  
Going quiet had been an indication of Phil's stress for as long as she'd known him. She supposed the LMD was no exception. Isolating himself wouldn't solve anything. The only way to deal with this would be to confront him head on. When she spied him heading away from everyone, she made her move. If she went around the lab she could cut him off. It was the best opening yet. She went quickly and made it to the next set of doors just before he did.  
Upon seeing her, he halted. By the deep frown on his face she knew he was displeased. Every interaction before this point had been the complete opposite. Any other time he'd been desperate for even a shared glance between them. Now was more like a great disappointment at the sight of her. It was all the confirmation she needed.  
When it became clear that he wasn't going to be making any attempts at conversation, she began her own. "Wanna tell me what's going on with you?"
His jaw pulsed. "Not particularly," he answered stubbornly.  
"I can't help if I don't know," she said, fastening him with a withering stare. She could wait all night if she had to.  
"You died. Seven times I watched your bones crack under Enoch's hands and I was powerless to stop it. And now he's gone for good so. I don't know, May. I don't know what to say, what to feel, what to do....None of it was real." He shrugged, feigning disinterest. "Like everything else around here so..." Abruptly he cut himself off like he meant to flee.  
She remembered their time inside the lighthouse. When he'd come clean about how he'd been feeling. "I would turn to you," he'd said.  
It was jarring to witness one of their own die. She couldn't give him all that he wanted, but she could be here for him. "But it was real to you."
"You should be with the rest of them." He gestured behind him, dismissing her openness.  
"And you shouldn't?" She asked curiously, wondering what he was trying to say. 
"How could I? They're celebrating being alive." A dull haze had settled over his eyes.  
"You helped make that happen," she reminded him.  
"What could I do? Drink a beer that I don't need? Thirst...breathing...feelings...It's all programmed into me." He shrugged.  
That was true and had been ever since the moment he'd been turned on. So why was this an issue all of the sudden? "Where is this really coming from?"
His jaw set in a stubborn line as he hesitated to give her an answer. "The same thing that happened in that time storm will happen when all of this mess is over. Time will pass as it normally should. Years will go by and each of you will grow old, but I'll stay the same. You'll die and I'll still be here. What then?"
It was an answer that she didn't have. And frankly she couldn't say with confidence that any of them would make it back to their correct time. "Let's just make it through the next hour before thinking about the future."  
"There's always another crisis. Another mission. I'm not supposed to be here. This isn't real. I don't want to be like this anymore." He spoke rapidly.
The words sounded too familiar. Like he was giving up just as Phil had in the beginning of the end. Feeling her own anger rise up, she shook her head. "You don't quit. Not now."  
"Why not? As I recall you've been pretty hellbent on me not being around." He said, tone cold as ice.  
She blinked, feeling like he'd delivered a punch to her gut. This was a rare habit of his. Lashing out when he didn't know how to handle a situation. Like he had when he thought she was hydra and again when she criticized him for acting suicidal. He would bottle up his feelings for so long until they all came out explosively. Always like a hard rain full of knives. She'd learned long ago not to take it personal. Now was not the time for a fight, so she brushed off his insinuation. "We need your help," she challenged.
"No, you don't." He shook his head. It was clear that he'd already made his choice.
"We do. Who better to help us with Shield's history against the chronicoms?" Was he just going to leave them hanging when that was his entire purpose in the first place?  
He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know....the zephyr," he said flippantly.  
"This isn't the time for jokes."
"It's the truth. I'm nothing more than a glorified computer. I existed inside a TV for over a year," he tossed back.  
"This is a team," she said slowly. "We-"  
"You're right. But I'm not a part of it."
All he was doing was feeling sorry for himself. She wasn't going to entertain this. "We rely on you. All of us," she emphasized. If he disappeared again on Daisy. All of this had already been hard enough on her. They just experienced something together that no one else could ever truly understand. "What about Daisy?"
"You're not listening to me. Phil Coulson is a part of this team. But that's not me," he stated firmly.  
Melinda was taken aback by the harsh nature of his tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean...it's time to stop pretending that this is normal." Hesitating, he took a deep breath. "You know I used to catch myself wondering what happened between you two in Tahiti. For me that time is nothing but a blank."  
She looked at him sharply. Tahiti. And Phil. She heard her own voice sleep-laced and content ask, "What are you doing?" "I like watching you sleep," Phil had said back. They had both chuckled and went back to drinking their wine and simply being together. The reminder brought a heavy ache to her chest.  
"But then I finally realized that's yours and his. I have no part in that," he told her.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She found that she couldn't argue. The memories of Tahiti were hers alone. She didn't think she would ever be comfortable sharing with him.
"I'm not him," he said, clearly resigned to that fact. "My last memory. Real memory where I had emotions not fed by ones and zeros by Simmons was when Aida had you. I can still feel the desperation he had to find you. And so I'm sure you feel the same way about him."
Her jaw pulsed. "There's nowhere for me to find him. He's dead," she snapped. She'd accepted that. Phil was gone and she wouldn't try to replace him with anything. Not with Sarge and not with an LMD.  
"And I'm here, but I'll always be second to him in your eyes. You want me around, but need to keep me at arm's length and that's worse than any death sentence." His voice cracked. "I will never blame you for that. How could I?" He looked down, blinking away watery eyes. "Did he tell you how it felt to kiss your LMD? How the knowledge that she wasn't real ate away at him? How devastated he was?"
Phil had told her some of it. One night, as they shared the leftover Haig, it came out.  
"Come on. It can't be that bad." She smiled, reclining back on her chair. She watched him. He'd grown solemn.  
"I kissed her," he finally said.  
Many things had floated through her mind at the time, but never that. She always just assumed her LMD had tried to murder him like he'd said.  
"I had no indication that she wasn't you. No hint. All the while Aida and Radcliffe had you drugged and messed with. You could've been....dead and I would've had no idea. I'm so sorry Melinda." His eyes were teary as he finished.  
She got up and sat on his lap. Feeling his solid form underneath hers. His hands automatically wrapped around her waist, yet he still couldn't look at her. "I don't blame you," she told him. "They messed with you just as much as they did with me."
Her hands went to his face. "Phil. Look at me." She swallowed hard. "It wasn't your fault. The past is the past. All that matters is that we're here now. Okay?"
"Okay," he quietly said in agreement.
She leaned forward and kissed him, pouring her heart into it. To show him what the real thing felt like. His hands roamed her back. Both of their bodies were warm from the drink. The heat of the night swirled around them. Shortly after, he broke away panting hard. He struggled to catch his breath. Concerned, she watched him steadily. Sometimes they got carried away and forgot. His eyes had stayed closed. All he could do was draw air into his lungs. After some time his breathing normalized. "Sorry," he said, all too apologetic.  
"Don't be." She shook her head.  
At first she thought she was imagining his hand in hers, but she looked down and it was there. Only it wasn't Phil, instead it was the LMDs. Warm and gentle all the same. The perfect duplicate of Phil. There was no indication that he wasn't really Phil and that was the part that killed her.
"This..." He delivered a light squeeze to her hand. "...will never be what either of us want." Only allowing them a small fraction of contact, he dropped his hold on her.  
At the beginning she wanted him gone, but over time she realized she would rather have the LMD here than not at all. If he could help then who was she to deny him? But now he wanted to take himself out of the equation. "So what...you just want to give up?" She told herself she wouldn't morn him - a decoy with a simulated personality, yet here she was. Despite every instinct to hold back, a tear broke from her lashes and rolled down her cheek. It was all too much. She pushed it away hard. All of her pent up anger came out then. "No. I already went through this before. You want me to watch you die again? For what the tenth time?"  
Taken aback, his mouth opened, but nothing came out.  
Two could play at this game of his. She would give him what he wanted. The cold hard dose of reality that they both were facing. "This might not be what either of us wants but it's all we have. You can either sit here feeling sorry for yourself or you can do some good. Your choice."
With that, she sidestepped him and walked off.
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ladyreapermc · 4 years
Note
I am so happy for you🥳❤ That is a lot of followers. Maybe “I saw the way you were looking at him…” with Keanu for the prompts? 😊
Thank you, dear! I really hope you like this!
Warnings: smut (fingering and dirty talk)
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It wasn’t often that Keanu could visit you on set, but he caught a break in histraining marathon and jumped on a plane to London to meet you. His idea was to make it a surprise since your birthday was coming up.
Besides, in a couple weeks he would have to travel to New York to start shooting the new John Wick and you would be heading to New Orleans for another movie. The two of you would barely have any time to see each other in between.
Keanu sent his suitcase straight to the hotel, while he took a car to the set, letting one of the production assistants guide him through the location where you were shooting an indoor scene with your co-star Richard.
Staying out of sight, so not to be a distraction, Keanu took notice of the mood in the set. It seemed to be an intimate scene between the two characters, your costume for the day consisted of a white dress shirt that barely reached your thighs. You were sitting at a table, knee bent, exposing plenty of your skin as you frowned down a computer.
On cue, your co-start Richard  walked into the scene wearing only a towel, all broad shoulders and hard muscles, chest glistening with water. And Keanu suddenly got it why you had such a crush on him. The man was fucking hot.
“Got the files, yet?” he said, thick Scottish accent making his voice gruff, yetmelodious. You turned to look at him over her shoulder with an annoyed glare.
“The algorithm is doing its job, but it’ll take some time,” You stood in one fluidmotion and walked up to him. “Sorry, you can’t just punch your way into the system.”
“I could’ve punched the information out of him,” Richard all but growled, hand coming down to your nape. “Should’ve done it anyway.”
That slight intake of breath that escaped you, Keanu was very familiar with it and it wasn’t an act. He crossed his arms, fingers digging into his biceps, his jeans starting to get a little uncomfortable.
“Don’t be such a Neanderthal.” You rolled your eyes with fond amusement as your hands ran up his chest and locked behind Richard’s neck. “It was all part of the game.”
“Damnit! This isn’t a game!” he snapped, pushing you again the wall. “I can’t lose you,” Richard whispered in character, voice softening, and your character’s defiance shifted into affection.
“You won’t,” you replied, hand burying into his hair and standing on your tiptoes to meet his mouth.
Keanu looked away as the pair kissed for the cameras. He knew it was part of the job, but he couldn’t handle the unexpected arousal as he watched you two. Especially when Richard’s hands fell to your thighs, fingers digging into your skin.
The soft sigh you let out was very real, so was the way your hands tightened on his hair. Keanu had first-hand experience with those.
Richard grabbed one of your legs, bringing up to his hip, before his hands moved up to your ass, lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your lips never leaving his.
You leaned her head back and Richard trailed kisses down your jaw and neck. You giggled, breaking character and the director yelled cut.
“You’re such an asshole!” you complained, but it was affectionate, thumping on his shoulder. “Don’t do that!”
“What? This?” Richard rubbed his stubbled cheek against the sensitive skin of your neck and you jerked back with a squeak. He laughed, holding you steady in his arms so you wouldn’t fall over trying to squirm away from him.
“Guys can you two please focus?” the director asked, voice resigned.
“Sorry,” You winced and glared at Richard. “From the top?”
“No,” the director replied. “from the pick-up.”
Richard let you slid to the back floor and Keanu decided that he had seen enough and for his own sanity, it would be better to wait outside.
He leaned against your trailer, lighting a cigarette as he thought about what he saw. Keanu’s been in this business long enough to know that it happened sometimes, being attracted to your co-star. It could help the movie if the chemistry was good. He also knew he didn’t have to worry about you. You two had a solid relationship and you would never cross that line. You might be attracted to Richard and the he was certainly attracted to you, but you would never cheat on Keanu.
But watching you and Richard together had been… interesting. Yes, Keanu felt that possessiveness in his chest, the one that made him mark you as his whenever you had sex, but he also felt arousal that made him wonder how you would respond to other people’s touch. Would you make the same noises you made for him? Would you be as eager to please?
Keanu could picture now, you on your hands and knees, whimpering as he fucked you, your mouth restricted by Richard’s dick. The thought alone made his cock half-hard and he needed to adjust himself on his jeans. It had been a while since he’d been with a guy, but Richard made him itch for it. He was fucking gorgeous.
As Keanu stumped on his cigarette, he saw you and Richard walking back to your respective trailers, entrailed in conversation, wearing only production robes. He knew the second you noticed him because your eyes grew wide and a flush spread through your face, like a child being caught doing something naughty.
“Ke? What are you doing here?” you asked in confusion while he welcomed you in his arms for a hug and a kiss.
“I wanted to surprise you for your birthday.” He said with a smile, before his gaze shifted to Richard, giving the younger man a little smirk. “Hello.”
“Right, you two haven’t met,” you said, that familiar awkward tone taking hold of your voice as you made quick introductions.
“I’ve always been a big fan of ye work,” Richard said shaking Keanu’s hand.
There was an earnestness in his bright blue eyes as Richard stared at him as if he was fighting the urge to let his gaze wander and Keanu grinned, letting his thumb rub against the back of his hand, soft and testing just to see the younger man gulp and blush.
“I can say the same,” Keanu declared, finally letting go, hands in his pockets. “I loved your show.”
“Game of Thrones?” Richard asked with a little doubtful smile and Keanu smirked.
“Bodyguard,” he replied, ignoring your curious gaze for the time being. “Anyway, nice to meet you. I hope to see you again while I’m around.”
“Of course,” Richard grinned, wide and happy before he waved at you and Keanu and retreated to his trailer while Keanu followed you to yours.
“Ok, what was that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at your boyfriend as the two of you stepping into your trailer.
“What was what?” he asked with a too innocent smile as he pulled you into his arms, lips connecting to your neck. You knew what he was doing, trying to distract you with his wicked tongue, but you weren’t having none of that.
“With Richard,” you clarified, stepping away from his embrace. “I saw the way you were looking at him. Like he was a full course meal.”
“Well, he’s very attractive,” Keanu pointed out with a shrug, crowding you against the wall of the trailer, his hands undoing the ties of your robe, revealing that you were still only in your costume. “Haven’t you noticed?”
You bit your lip, not sure how to reply. You felt like you were stepping into anuncharted territory right now and you couldn’t even focus properly. Not whenKeanu’s lips returned to your neck, mouthing and nipping, making your entirebody arch in response.
“I saw you two,” he whispered, voice low and throaty. “How wet were you when he pressed you against the wall?”
“Keanu…” you warned, flushing in embarrassment and squirming under his hands. He tightened his grip just enough to let you know he would punish you if I fought.
“Did you want him to fuck you right there?” he asked fingers finding your center,teasing you through the fabric of your shorts. Part of you felt wrong to be this turned on, but you couldn’t help it. Your brain was supplying the image Keanu’s words were weaving. “I bet he’s big and you like them big, don’t you, love?”
“Yes, sir,” You whimpered as he snaked his hand inside your shorts.
“I think he’d like to fuck you from behind,” he said, slapping your ass and making you buck against his hand. “Did he feel you up when he was lifting you?”
“No,” You answered, feeling your knees wobbling.
Fortunately, Keanu knew you well enough to bring you to the small couch, making you sit on his lap, back to his chest. Taking only a moment to push your shorts down before he spread your legs over his thighs and dipped two fingers in your cunt.
“Did you want him to?” Keanu asked, biting your neck gently so he wouldn’t leave anmarks. Not while you were shooting a movie.
“Yes,” you confessed, squeezing his thighs. “I wanted him to touch me, slip his fingers into my pussy.”
“Like I’m doing now?” Keanu whispered, picking up his pace and you nodded. “What else?”
“I wanted him to take me,” you said, leaning your head back on his shoulder. His other hand came up your chest, cradling your neck and you sighed. “Hold me down, spread me open and just fuck me until I can’t breath or speak.”
“Keep going,” Keanu ordered, caressing your throat and kissing your temple. “I know you’ve thought about it. You don’t get to come until I hear it.”
“I want to ride him,” you declared, moaning as Keanu fingers moved faster, making you buck on his lap. “Just hold onto his shoulders and fuck myself on his dick.” Keanu squeezed your throat, making your gasp. “I want him to bend me over a table and pound me so hard I see stars, slap my ass and pull on my hair as he does it. Stretch me open and come all over my thighs, leave me a fucking mess.”
Keanu hummed in agreement, fingers moving harder and faster, his knuckles slapping against your skin wetly. It was almost pornographic the sounds you were making.
“I wanna watch him come over your face,” he whispered, kissing you cheek. “After he makes you gag with his cock. I want to taste him on your lips.” He said and that was it. You came with a startled cry, vision blacking out for a moment.
Keanu held you through it, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you came down, breathing ragged, chest thundering.
“You mean that?” you asked, twisting your body so you could look at him and Keanu smiled.
“And if I do? Would you want it?”
“It would definitely be one hell of a birthday,” you grinned at him and Keanu smirked, kissing you.
“Anything for you.”
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juncottonluvbot · 4 years
Text
Close isn't close enough
Baekhyun x reader
fluffy
A/N: Hello!! Thank you for liking my last writing, your feedback it’s what motivated me to write this! (though due to internet issues it took longer than needed…)
Baekhyun is a naturally cuddly person and that’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with a little cuddling between friends right? That is if it weren’t for the butterflies in your stomach every time your best friend decides to cling to you like a koala for the next few hours. Everyone you’d told of your cuddling sessions to had told you that that’s not how friends usually act, “especially not friends of opposite genders”, but what do they know? You held hands with and hugged other friends too, not as much as with Baekhyun of course, but that’s just because he is your best friend. Of course, you had come to think there was something more to your relationship with Baekhyun some time ago, there was just something about how he had carefully taken off your shoes and socks, then your outer layers of clothing one day after you had a particularly tough week and couldn’t even think for yourself, you can still remember his gentle nudging towards the bathroom and the sound of his light giggles as he said that the door was as far as he’d get you, the two of you also cuddled that day, though it was far more intimate than usual, but maybe it was just the setting of you both in your bed and your wet hair against the pillow that made it different for you. There was also Baekhyuns slight protective nature towards you, usually disguised as a joke on your tiny age difference but sometimes with a more serious tone and calls for you to take care of yourself better, along with some heart filling commentary of things like “no one can hurt my (y/n), ok? Not even you, so you need to stop being so naive, I can’t protect you all the time”. A while ago you had managed to convince yourself that he liked you back, there seemed to be enough evidence so maybe he was just afraid you didn’t feel the same, right? So you decided to do the confessing yourself, nothing wrong with that, Baekhyun was known for crushing on more confident women anyways, so why not? But when you finished revising your speech, just to discard it completely and choose to speak from your heart, seeing as the speech you’d written was cheesy at best and demanding Baekhyuns liking at worse, you decided to pick up your phone to mess around a little bit before going to bed, planning on confessing the day after. The first post you saw as you opened Instagram was enough to delude you completely, the picture was of Baekhyun and a girl faces close together and a cute caption, “Just out and about with the girlfriend”. Girlfriend? People who are dating most certainly don’t have crushes on their best friends and so you were back to square one, even worse, it was like you were in the negative numbers now. Before he was dating you and Baekhyun saw each other every day, you hung out alone at least once a week, you cuddled and occasionally walked on the streets close to each other relishing in the heat it brought you. Now you’d stopped hanging out alone, you only saw each other in passing, hung out only when other friends were there and even then, your were now keeps at a distance, Baekhyun no longer sat beside you and helped you pick out what to eat, “Christ (y/n), how do you choose what to wear every morning, you just can’t make decisions”, or walk in the back of your friend group complaining about how slow you walk as you attempt to explain to him how not everything needs to be fast in life, “you’re full of excuses, it’s okay to admit you just never step foot in a gym, y’ know?”, you also didn’t get cuddles anymore. Truthfully none of that really bothered you per se, what bothered you was the implication that Baekhyun didn’t see you the way you see him, obviously he’d stop being so close to you when he got a girlfriend, but you’d just hoped things would have played out differently, that may be the girlfriend would be you. You were not the type of person to be let down for long though so you just adjusted yourself to the situation, started hanging out more with your other friends. Still, it was not the same as with you and Baekhyuns friendship, and pretty much moved on with your life, but it wouldn’t be a lie to say the cuddles were missed. Baekhyun and his girlfriend soon broke up though, the relationship had lasted only two months. Though he never truly told you the reason, he did show up at your door the day it happened, breathing heavily as if he ran to get there, looking not sad but just confused, spending the rest of the night cuddling you on the couch as you watched several movies. That day had felt so right in your head it hurt, the way Baekhyuns body felt so close to yours, the soft breath he let out when your fingers first ran through his hair, it was as if the habit had never died in the first place. None of what you felt was real though, no matter how loved you felt in his arms or how much your heart raced, Baekhyun didn’t feel the same. It was a couple of weeks after you and he had returned to your normal state of friendship that you realized you had to move on, it’s just silly to continue to cling on to hope that Baekhyun will start liking you at some point when very clearly he had no problem dating other people. That’s why last week you went on a date with someone and today you’d be going to the second date with the same someone, granted you couldn’t say you had feelings for the guy yet but you were sure they would develop soon. The guy was nice, kind, funny and, most importantly, clearly had an interest for you, that’s exactly what you need right now. You were just putting on a necklace when your doorbell rang, thinking your date was already here, a surprise since the man was late for the first one, you were in a hurry to finish up and get the door. But in opening the door you saw the person in front of you was Baekhyun, not your date. “Baek I’m sorry but I can’t hang out right now, I have a date and he will be here any moment now" He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, looking at you with determination flooding his eyes. “That’s why I’m here, don´t go on a date with him, go out with me instead” “Baekhyun we can hang out another time, come on! What will my date think if you’re here when he comes to pick me up?” “(Y/n)! I’m not here to hang out with you, I’m suggesting we go on a date!” It was almost like your head had started spinning, you felt light-headed at his words, Byun Baekhyun doesn’t like you, right? Then why is he at your door asking you out on a date… “Look, it’s not like I was stalking you or something… See I even brought some chocolates for you, well I was hoping we’d end up sharing them but I don’t think that will happen considering you look like you’re about to reject me…” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, his other arm holding out a heart-shaped box of chocolates to you. “How long?” You shake your head in disbelief, “How long have you liked me?” “I guess when we met I had a huge crush on you, you had no idea…” He looks at his feet, thoughtful, “But at some point, I resigned to being just a friend, but now I realized how I never once told you about it, my crush that turned into liking…” He meets eyes with you for a moment, eyebrows tensed in question, “You never asked me how my last relationship ended…” “How?” You say in a tiny voice, almost afraid speaking loudly will ruin the moment, wake you up from this dream. “I had been feeling sad, not like myself for a while, I didn’t know why, but my ex did” He lets out a breath, “When she asked if it was because of you since I distanced myself out of respect for her and I couldn’t deny it” He now moved weirdly in his feet, looking at both sides of the door to your place. “So… Do you feel the same? I don’t think things will go great for us if your date catches me at your door…holding a heart-shaped chocolate box…” “Well then, good thing he won’t be coming anymore. I have a feeling I found a better date” You say as you begin typing out a quick sorry message, only to realize you had already received a message canceling the date. You didn’t feel sad about the missed date though, looking at Baekhyun you could only think about the number of cuddles that you have to look forward to in the future.
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Text
Fantasia (Stucky)
For @indiana-jackson who gave me this::
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And basically made me fall in love. 
Bonus IronHusbands at the end because I love them. 
****************************
1940
It wasn’t easy managing the time to go see a movie, not with Bucky working two jobs trying to make ends meet and Stevie getting over a cold again, but somehow Bucky got a few extra coins in his pocket, an extra warm coat for Stevie and stole out of work a few minutes early to make it down to the movie theater in time for the showing. 
“What is it?” Steve huddled up in the uncomfortable chair with his hands tucked under his legs, all too thin limbs and too big blue eyes and a shock of blond hair that would’t ever stay tamed. “What’r’ya so excited about, Buck?” 
“Just watch.” Bucky had heard people talking about this movie, about the colors and the music and the way the cartoons danced along perfectly, and even though Stevie couldn’t see all the colors, Bucky just knew the tiny blond would love it. “Think you’re really gonna like this, Stevie.” 
“We should’a saved the coin for--” 
“Stop.” Bucky shook his head. “You had’ta give up art school and I know that made ya sad so I thought this would make you feel better. We can do this, I promise.” 
“If you say so.” Steve had a scowl that would quell even a soldier, but it softened when he saw Bucky’s excited grin. “What’s Fantasia, anyhow?” 
“You’re gonna love it.” Bucky assured him, and as the lights went down, he inched just a little bit closer to his best friend and swallowed back a pang of nervousness. “And Stevie, I was thinkin’-- I was thinkin’ maybe we could get dinner after. I got a little extra money and it would sure be fun to treat you to a night out.” 
“A night out.” Steve scoffed, his eyes widening as the first strains of music filled the theater. “Sound like you’re talkin’ to a dame you wanna get friendly with. Why you talkin’ like that?” 
“Not-- not a dame.” Bucky fidgeted at his shirt, the best one he had in a color he knew Steve liked. He’d dressed up tonight, scrubbed real good in the shower and done his hair so he’d look his best when he admitted his.. his feelings for Stevie. He didn’t know if Steve felt the same way, or if it would ruin their friendship but he had to say something cos it was all eating him up inside. 
A movie had seemed like a good idea, and Bucky had thought maybe it would seem like a date, but Steve obviously hadn’t clued in yet so maybe he would have to be a little more direct. “Um Stevie, listen. I wanted to talk to you about something--” 
“Oh, Buck look!” Steve’s jaw fell wide open as the first segment began. “Look how beautiful it is!” 
“Yeah.” Bucky dropped back into his seat, his gaze fixed on the sharp lines of Steve’s profile and his hands clasped tightly so he wouldn’t reach out and touch, a line of resignation in his voice as he answered, “Bout the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 
****************
Present Day 
“Buck?” Steve poked his head into the movie room and grinned when he saw Tony fussing with a boxy contraption and Bucky watching with a bewildered expression on his face. “Hey, what’s going on, you said to meet you in here?” 
“Thought we could watch a movie.” Bucky gestured towards the massive TV. “But I don’t know how to work it so Tony had to help.” 
“What our resident grouch means to say--” Tony dusted his hands off and stood up. “--is that he murder scowled at the TV and nothing started playing and JARVIS called for me before things got broken. You should be good to go now, though. It was an old movie and I had to pull the old VCR out of storage. Bucky, we should have a talk about movie streaming one day and why no one uses VHS anymore.” 
“C’mon Buck, a VHS? You’re such an old man!” Steve teased and Bucky flushed in embarrassment, ducking his head until his hair fell into his eyes. “We might be a hundred but that doesn’t mean we gotta use a VCR!” 
“My thoughts exactly.” Tony said wryly, and patted Bucky on the shoulder as he went. “Good luck, you two. I’ll see you later.” 
“Thanks Tony.” Bucky mumbled, then jerked his head towards the couch. “You wanna watch with me?” 
“Of course I do.” Steve’s eyes did that thing they used to do when they were just kids, going all soft and melty and just like when they were kids, Bucky’s heart about stopped in his chest, his breath hitching and palms suddenly clammy. “Where should I sit?” 
Stevie was so good about that, so good about making sure Bucky had all the space he needed. After the Winter Soldier, after Hydra, after everything some days Bucky thought he would never be normal again, but then Steve would look at him like that or say something easy and Bucky would be okay. 
He was always okay when Steve was around, and even though it had taken seventy something years to watch a movie together again, none of that time mattered. 
Bucky was just as in love as he’d always been and after seventy something years, he finally had the chance to say something about it. 
“Sit right here by me.” he said slowly, hopefully. “That alright?” 
Steve’s answer was an ear to ear grin and a quick little jump to wedge his giant frame right in next to Bucky, wriggling and shifting until they were touching from shoulders clear down to thighs and knees and it wouldn’t have been anything at all for Bucky to just reach over and take Steve’s hand. 
So that’s exactly what he did. 
“Oh my god, is this Fantasia?!” Steve’s eyes lit up and his mouth fell open as the first familiar frames filled the screen. “Buck, is this our movie? I didn’t know this was still around, you remember the day you took me to--” 
He stopped when Bucky’s fingers wove through his own, the big brunette squeezing at his hand carefully. 
“...Bucky?” 
“It’s um--” Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s probably a prettier movie now that you can see all the colors, right?” 
“I--” Steve kept staring at their hands. “What’r’ya doin’ Buck?” 
“First time I took you to see this, I wanted t’hold your hand so bad.” Bucky confessed quietly. “Wore my best clothes and put on a little cologne, wanted to ask you on a date but didn’t know what you’d say. Wanted to hold your hand cos sometimes I thought maybe you loved me like I loved you but then other times I thought you didn’t and I was scared.” 
“You-- you wanted it to be a date?” 
“Couldn’t get ya to look at me long enough to ask.” Bucky cleared his throat again. “You kept starin’ at the movie and I kept starin’ at you and you kept sayin’ how beautiful it was and I--” he shrugged a little. “Ain’t never anything half as beautiful as you, Stevie.” 
“...is this a date, Buck?” Steve asked in a near whisper. “Fantasia and holding hands and-- and all that?” 
“I know it isn’t much.” Bucky swallowed back the embarrassment and rushed on. “But I dunno how to do all the courtin’ stuff anymore and I thought maybe-- I mean, we don’t have a whole lotta good memories, Stevie. But this is one. So I thought maybe you’d--” 
Steve leaned in and pressed their mouths together, reaching with his free hand to cup Bucky’s cheek and Bucky startled for just a second, then gave in with a quiet sigh and kissed Steve right back. 
“I wanted to kiss you that night.” Steve admitted when they parted, still close enough to bump noses. “The movie was amazing and you took me out to eat and you were so goddamn handsome. I felt like you were courtin’ me and I kept telling myself that was crazy but you kept looking at me--” 
Another kiss, longer and sweeter and this time Bucky didn’t let go until Steve had shifted on the couch and all but climbed into his lap and then there was nothing but quiet whispers and gentle touches as the score to Fantasia rose and fell in the background. 
“I’ve loved you forever, Stevie.” Bucky muttered and Steve nodded, pulled him even closer. “I know Buck, I know.” 
**************
“Tones?” Rhodey looked up in surprised when Tony knocked on the door to this office. “Hey sweetheart. What are you doing here?” a closer look at Tony’s face and the Colonel asked in alarm, “Have you been crying?” 
“No.” Tony denied and wiped away the tears in his eyes, coming over to his husband obediently when James opened his arms. “I mean yes.” 
“Yes.” James laughed and pulled Tony onto his lap. “Tell me what’s up.” 
“Back before the war, Bucky took Steve to see Fantasia and was going to confess he loved him during the movie but never got the chance so instead he spent the whole movie staring at how excited Steve was and loving him even more, and yesterday Bucky had me track down an old copy of Fantasia and then he got Steve to come watch it and now they’re kissing because they’ve been in love for a century and finally got to say it!” Tony blurted out all in a rush and James blinked at him a few times. 
“How are you not crying?” Tony asked incredulously. “You have a heart of stone! Seventy years! And they get to watch their movie together and confess their love? IT’S THE SWEETEST THING IN THE WORLD!” 
“Well yeah, Tones.” James said slowly. “But watching the person you love while they are watching a movie-- that happens all the time, Tony. It’s sort of cliche.” 
“You say that, but I’ve never known anyone who actually does that in real life.” Tony denied. “It happens in romantic comedies, but not in real life. It actually happened in real life for Steve and Bucky and--” 
“How many times have we watched Back to the Future, Tones.” James interrupted and Tony promptly answered, “One hundred and seventeen times. Every weekend for most of MIT and at least once a year since then.” 
“I’ve maybe seen it all the way through....” Rhodey thought about it for a few seconds. “Twice?” 
“That’s ridiculous.” Tony scoffed. “How could you have only seen it all the way through twice unless you were--” he paused, eyes widened. “Rhodey, do you watch me instead of the movie? Is Back to the Future our Fantasia?” 
“I’d think so.” James replied easily. “I only watched it cos I thought you would like it, and while you were geeking out about the technology and laughing, I was staring at you, at your smile and the way your eyes get all bright when you’re happy.” 
“Wow.” Tony twisted the gold band on his finger. “How come you falling in love with me during Back to the Future doesn’t sound as romantic as Bucky falling in love with Steve during Fantasia?” 
James rolled his eyes and shoved his husband from his lap. “Time travel just isn’t as lovey dovey as classical music and beautiful animation. I can’t help that you’re a science nerd.” 
*************
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**************
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arlingtonpark · 4 years
Text
SNK 130 Review
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For the first time, thanks to this chapter, SNK is more popular than Domestic Na Kanojo, a manga about a love triangle between a dude and his step-sisters, one of whom is his teacher.
We did it fam. Mission accomplished.
I feel like the scenario where the outside world and Paradis are kept apart with Paradis threatening to rumble the world if there’s any interference is something of an equilibrium point.
They say that nature has a balance to it. A natural rhythm that it follows on its own.
Predators hunt prey, so naturally there are less predators than prey, lest the prey population be wiped out. When predators are too many and prey is too few, the lack of food causes predators to leave the area or die off, which prompts the prey population to rebound.
So there’s a certain point at which things balance out. This is an equilibrium.
Social situations are like that too.  
People have desires and preferences, and in a social situation, a dynamic will form that satisfies as much of those desires as possible.
Because the equilibrium point is the state of affairs at which as many people as possible are satisfied, in the long term any disruption to that equilibrium will be corrected.
Not because of magic or anything, but just because it’s the scenario that most people prefer, so the state of affairs will trend towards it over time.
This is a really long way of saying that I think that some variation on the King Fritz scenario is the best outcome everyone can hope for.
Everyone gets to live and go about their lives.
The downside is that there’ll always be an undercurrent of resentment. And, oh yeah, becoming titans and eating children is necessary to make the wall titans work as a threat. That’s bad, but a natural balance isn’t a utopia.
It’s a testament to how much the SNK world sucks that *this* is the outcome that allows the most people to be happy.
Rape, parents eating children, all of it indefinitely.
That’s one of the most frustrating things about this chapter.
Just…what even is the message of this story anymore?
Attack on Titan is a series about freedom and striving for freedom. Eren has embodied that struggle the whole time.
But now?
Eren is a lunatic who’s about to crush the whole world.
The Cringevengers are fighting for freedom, but not their own. Stopping Eren will only open a pathway for the world to retaliate against Paradis for the failed rumbling. Their mission is one of self-destruction.
That’s noble, but it’s looking more and more like the cringevengers are going to lose. They’re physically and mentally exhausted, and they don’t really have much personal stake in this anymore.
So I guess we’re heading for an ending where Eren destroys the world.
If that’s the case, then…what’s the message?
Is this a tragedy?
Tragedies are about characters failing to rise above their flaws, but they’re also supposed to be constructive.
Tragedies work when they show the audience that a happy ending could have happened but for the character’s flaws.
Romeo and Juliet could have lived if it weren’t for their feuding families, for example. The story ended sadly, but there was a clear path to a happy ending.
What is the path forward in Attack on Titan?
The Marleyans are shit. They’re racist colonialists out to dominate the world. They coral Eldians into camps, use them as weapons, and want to build a global empire. Their long term motivation is to preserve their global dominance.
Eren is a lunatic. ‘Nuff said.
The Cringevengers have the moral high ground, but…if they win, the Eldians still die. So…go Cringevengers?
Who is the hero of this story right now?
Which path is the right one?
What is even the message anymore?
The answer is that there is none.
The situation is clearly designed to make this outcome inevitable.
The world is going down this bad path because almost everyone has the same flaw: they are willing to kill people for the sake of their own prejudices.
If only a couple of characters had that flaw, this would be fine, but making this flaw so widespread makes it seem that humans in general are like this, and that’s wrong.
Most people are not like this.
I think the fact that humanity has not self-immolated yet speaks for itself.
I don’t know what’s going on in Isayama’s mind, but I wonder if maybe he’s a bit paranoid about tensions between Japan, and China, and the Koreas.
The possible social commentary in SNK is always interesting to think about, but I’m just going to skip over that here.
Ugh, I guess I have to talk about the pregnancy now.
So first off, my starting point when thinking about the pregnancy is that whatever happened, it didn’t involve rape.
That’s maybe something we shouldn’t assume, but I don’t think Isayama will cross that line. Having Historia go through that trauma for basically no reason is viscerally disgusting and I trust that Isayama knows that.
Attack on Titan is ostensibly about freedom; being forced to carry a child to term is not that.
Clearly.
So I take it as a given that there was no rape.
Once you do that, thinking about the pregnancy becomes much simpler.
There are really only two possible explanations:
1. That Historia fell in love with a man, decided to have a family…and that Isayama is playing up the possibility of rape for shock value.
Or.
2. The pregnancy is somehow fake.
So which is more believable?
Honestly, I lean towards (1), though I’d prefer it be fake.
Before this chapter came out, I never felt it was likely the pregnancy was fake. There was an aura of suspicion around it, but that doesn’t prove much.
We know the pregnancy was inexplicably advantageous to Zeke, and we know that Eren and Historia were up to something right before Eren disappeared.
Isayama is clearly hiding something, but a fake pregnancy specifically?
I see no reason why it would be that and not, say, a secret romance.
That’s what really scares me though.
Most people can explain why callous depictions of rape are bad. The number of people who can explain why callous depictions of queer people are bad is much smaller.
I ship yumikuri. In fact, it’s one of the few pairs I ship.
So call me biased if you want, but the bottom line is that Ymir explicitly loved Historia, and most people would at least say Historia might have reciprocated. I personally would say she definitely did.
Ymir loved Historia.
She loved her enough to reach out to her and try to save her from her own fate.
Enough to jump from the tower and fight off the titans.
Enough to make Bertolt and Reiner turn back to get her.
Ymir did all this because she loved Historia.
But Isayama, it seems, wrote it into his story that Ymir loved Historia just to move the plot forward.
And once Ymir’s purpose as a character was fulfilled, she was removed from the story and killed off screen.
That’s a really shitty thing to do.
Establishing a queer romance just so the characters have motivation to go from Point A to B and nothing more is fucking low.
It’s cheap as hell.
It’s offensive.
But, I have to point out, not as offensive as a rape victim carrying their child to term.
I think that’s important to keep in mind.
People have written about women’s rights for centuries. Those principles are well established, if not always followed.
Gay rights just aren’t.
Most people can tell you why reducing rape to cheap drama is bad; most people cannot tell you why reducing lesbian romance to a plot device is bad.
(The answer is that they both trivialize their subjects, albeit in slightly different ways.)
I bring this up because I think people underestimate the chances that in-universe Historia is pregnant because she wants to be pregnant.
We can infer from what we know that Historia is pregnant because it’s part of a plan to help Zeke or Paradis, but we can also infer that this is not exactly the case.
It’s not directly established that Historia is pregnant because of Paradis’ or Zeke’s machinations. All we know is that these people were plotting to use her to make babies. We haven’t seen the point where she was roped into those schemes.
So I don’t think it can be discounted that Isayama plans to pair Historia up with a guy, most likely either Eren or Farm boy. Unfortunately.
Gay people don’t have many allies in this world. Unfortunately, that means Isayama is likely to *not* be one of those allies.
SNK’s record of depicting gay relationships speaks for itself.
That was all what I thought before this chapter came out.
I still think that.
So.
Now I guess I have to talk about Historia in this chapter now.
So Historia’s scene opens with her having resigned herself to a future of rape and Eren telling her she’s a human being who has rights.
……
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I almost can’t bring myself to talk about this.
You know, back when Attack on Titan first become popular, it got a lot of praise for how feminist it was.
It was a post-apocalyptic survival horror show, and it really stood out how many prominent women there were.
Hange, Annie, Mikasa, Sasha, Historia, Rico. These people saw real action and had real characters, and a lot of people appreciated that.
Yep.
Good times. Good times.
How did we get here?
What happened?
Historia’s character is all about agency.
She wanted to end her life because she thought she was a burden. In the cavern she was prepared to take on the same burden she’s taking on right now, but she chose to live for herself.
She saved herself from that fate.
She rejected her family’s burden and chose to forge her own path.
Now it’s like that never happened.
She’s back to killing herself for everyone else’s sake, except now she’s also a damsel who needs Eren to save her.
So Eren reveals his plan to her, and she’s totally distraught over it. She tries to reason with him, and Eren just glares at her like she’s Reiner or something.
Finally we get to the most eyebrow raising moment in this exchange: when Historia invokes Ymir to justify opposing Eren.
I think Ymir is supposed to be seen as a tragic figure in Attack on Titan.
She didn’t have to take the fall for those Eldian cultists. They plucked her out of nowhere and randomly decided to worship her. She didn’t ask for any of this trouble.
But regardless, she took the fall for them.
When she got a new lease on life, she chose to live for herself. She’d put herself before everyone else for a change. She’d let no one else’s fate decide her’s.
But it never turned out that way.
I think Ymir’s tragic flaw is that she cares too much for her own good.
She was always going out of her way for others and doing more than she needed to. Helping Connie, helping Historia, helping Reiner and Bertolt.
Her enemies.
Ymir is a good person at heart, and that’s not bad, but according to Attack on Titan’s morality, being “good” to the point of self-sacrifice is bad.
I think one of the morals of Attack on Titan is that if you sacrifice yourself for other people’s sake……you end up sacrificing yourself.
Ymir could have left Reiner and Bertolt to their fates and returned to the walls. She could have lived a happy life with her friends and the girl she loved.
But she didn’t.
She knew that returning to Marley would mean death for her, and guessed what happened?
She did the thing that would likely kill her and she was killed.
Ymir couldn’t help but be a “good girl” and for that she was punished.
Thus endeth the tragedy of Ymir.
Now we come to Historia.
“If I don’t do everything in my power to stop you, I can’t live with my head held high!”
Historia is using Ymir’s words, but she’s actually betraying Ymir right now.
Ymir meant those words in the sense of living for yourself and not others. In the sense of not being self-sacrificial.
As far as Historia is concerned, in her current situation, she only has two options.
Let them rape her for the sake of her people, or let Eren destroy the world.
That’s it.
As far as Historia is concerned, to oppose Eren is to tacitly support the rape option.
So Historia is using Ymir’s words, but really it’s an insult because she’s using them to defend what Ymir would have hated.
Her self-sacrifice.
One thing that’s interesting about Attack on Titan is what it says about standing up for yourself.
In the story, not being self-sacrificial ironically requires you to make sacrifices.
If Ymir had not helped Reiner and Bertolt, they would have been in a lot more trouble with Marley. In a way, if she had not gone with them, she would have been sacrificing them, in the sense that she would have been throwing them under the bus.
When Historia chooses to live for herself in the cavern, she screams about how she’ll happily throw humanity under the bus if it means saving herself.
That’s why she calls herself “the worst girl in history.”
As opposed to Krista, who is a “good girl.”
I think that’s what Isayama is going for here.
Krista is the “good girl” who’ll gladly take a bullet for you.
Historia is the “bad girl” who’ll gladly throw you overboard if it meant she didn’t have to debase herself.
Yeah, Historia later claimed she was in the moment when she said that, but that doesn’t mean much.
When you’re in the heat of the moment, and you’re acting on pure instinct, you’re likelier to reveal parts of yourself you wouldn’t otherwise.
Being in the moment doesn’t mean Historia doesn’t identify with what she said, it means she was speaking her mind with no filter.
In 130, Historia and Eren are superficially at odds with each other, but deep down Historia thinks Eren is right.
She doesn’t want to sacrifice herself, and I’m sure she feels she shouldn’t have to, just on principle.
The only reason she accepts this fate is because she feels she has to.
So when Eren asks Historia to not oppose him, and she refuses, he tells her she has it in her to do it because she’s “the worst girl in history.”
I think Historia is the kind of person who’d throw you under the bus if she knew it’d save what she values most: her friends, yes, but also herself.
But Historia is acting more like Krista, someone who’d throw their life away to save yours.
Eren is saying she needs to start acting like herself again.
He’s trying to remind Historia of who she is and what she used to think was most important to her.
(This scene is *so* misogynistic. I’m going to puke.)
The flashbacks in this chapter were presented as vignettes, so it’s hard to say how Eren’s scene with Historia ended.
One thing that stood out to me though was the clear through line that connected all the various scenes.
The first one is Eren talking to Yelena about Zeke’s plan.
Next scene is Eren and Floch talking about the real plan.
Then it’s Eren and Historia talking about the plan.
Then back to Eren and Floch for Eren’s reveal of what he’s really doing.
Back to Historia as Eren tries to win her over.
Then we cut to Zeke and Eren talking about Mikasa.
Finally, we go back to Historia.
This flow is important because we don’t know much about Eren’s talk with Historia, but I think we can tease out some clues based on what scenes we see when.
Historia is put on the spot. Eren has revealed his plan, and she opposes it. They argue back and forth, and we reach a point where Historia is at a loss for words, and doesn’t seem to know what to do.
Then we inexplicably cut to a conversation between Zeke and Eren.
A conversation about loyalty, affection, and standing by your friends.
The implications for what this hints at are huge.
Eren asks Zeke if Mikasa cares about him so much because of some Ackermann genetics.
Zeke replies there’s no proof of that, and Mikasa probably just loves him.
Finally, Historia speaks, and she asks Eren about getting pregnant.
She doesn’t go to such great lengths for Eren because she’s a slave!
She doesn’t subject herself to this because she’s being coerced!!
It’s because she  L O V E S  him ! ! !
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Fuck this! Fuck me! Fuck everything!
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takipsilim88116 · 4 years
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Steps to Forever
Even in his wildest fantasies, Mes never thought that this would happen to him. 
Or,
(A snippet of Mes and Thun’s life after the season finale.)
Tags: Mes Wongsakorn Thanarunsiri/Thun Thunyakorn, Post-Canon, Introspection, Established Relationship, Romantic Fluff, Romance, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Domestic Fluff, Love Transcends All Boundaries
Read on ArchiveofOurOwn: Link
Notes:
I recently finished watching He’s Coming To Me and I must say that it’s definitely one of my most favorite BL series. The story touched my heart so much.
This fic is Post-Canon, vaguely set a few years after the end of Episode 8. Crossposted on ArchiveofOurOwn under TakipSilim.
Please excuse any grammatical errors and I hope you enjoy!
Steps to Forever 
Even in his wildest fantasies, Mes never thought that this would happen to him. 
On some days, he wondered if all of this was just an elaborate dream—that in reality, he was still stuck in the cemetery, aimlessly listening to a repeating soundtrack and wondering why none of his relatives ever bothered to visit him. As he had been unable to leave the cemetery at all then, Mes had been resigned to the fact that he was going to spend the rest of his time doing that exact routine while waiting for his turn at reincarnation. 
However, things changed for Mes when Thun saw and left candies on his unmaintained grave. Suddenly, all Mes could feel was hope—hope that there was finally someone who could see and hear him and converse with him, even if it was only once a year during the QingMing Festival. He always looked forward to seeing the younger boy because despite having A’Ngoon and P’Jeng’s friendship, Mes was still a very lonely ghost. Thun eased some of that loneliness with his smiles and his stories and his offerings of Mes’ favorite foods. Mes had resolved that he would learn to be content with just that—enjoying Thun’s company, no matter how brief it was.
But then, Thun had brought Mes out of the cemetery and had driven him around in his car, showing him the sights and sceneries he had missed these past twenty years. 
But then, Thun had told Mes that the reason he hadn’t been able to reincarnate yet was because Mes hadn’t died from a heart attack but from something else.
But then, Thun had invited Mes to live with him while they had searched for the real reason Mes passed away because Thun had wanted to help him reincarnate.
And in living and spending even more time together, Mes discovered that Thun was kind and attentive and clever and cheeky and mischievous and he couldn’t help but be endeared. He couldn’t help but want more, and foolishly hope for more. Thun was a breath of fresh air, a source of joy to him. Despite being dead for over twenty years, Mes felt alive whenever he was with the other man. 
It was painful, but Mes had to constantly remind himself that a deeper relationship between the two of them would never be possible. He had to constantly remind himself that he was already dead, and that Thun was only helping him out of pity. When the secrets surrounding his identity slowly unravelled, Mes found that he had even less reason to pursue a relationship with the only person he ever fell in love with. It didn’t matter that he knew Thun felt the same way towards him—a ghost and a human could never be together. 
But Thun was stubborn and brave and unwavering in his love for Mes, and Mes realized he never really stood a chance against Thun. Mes allowed himself to fall even deeper in love with the young man who easily became his world.
And somehow, against all odds and circumstances and expectations, they were still together now. Even in his wildest fantasies, Mes never thought that this would happen to him. On some days, he wondered if all of this was just an elaborate dream that his mind had conjured to help with his loneliness.
Beside him, Thun mumbles incoherently and it makes him smile. If anything, Mes thinks, this is his proof that all of this is real. Thun is right next to him on their shared bed, and he’s close enough that Mes can feel the warmth radiating off his body.
As if aware that Mes is thinking of him, Thun turns in his sleep to face him. Blindly reaching out, Thun manages to place a hand on Mes’ waist, pulling him even closer and maneuvering himself so that he ends up pillowed against Mes’ shoulder. Fondness surges up his chest at Thun’s sleepy display of affection.
“Why are you still awake, P’Mes?” he asks in a scratchy voice.
Running his fingers through Thun’s hair, Mes replies, “Ghosts don’t need sleep.”
Thun hums. “Yeah, but you like to sleep.” He lifts his head and looks at Mes. “What are you thinking of, P’Mes?”
He lets his fingers travel from Thun’s hair down to his back, tracing the curve of his spine and smiling when he feels the other man shiver. “I was thinking of you,” Mes answers softly.
Thun chuckles. “Am I that irresistible to you, P’?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You know you are.”
Unexpectedly, Mes’ honest reply makes Thun bury his face on his chest. “P’,” he whines. 
“Did I make you shy, Thun?” he teases. When Thun raises his head, Mes sees that his eyes are twinkling. 
“I didn’t think that P’ could be so shameless,” he says, “where did my good and sweet P’Mes go, huh?” 
Mes resumes running his fingers up and down Thun’s back slowly. “I never said that I was a good boy to begin with,” he whispers. Thun’s breath hitches when Mes lets his hand travel even lower. “Shall I show you just what I mean?”
“P’Mes!” Thun half-laughs, half-gasps, scandalized by the implication. Mes can’t help but laugh out loud and soon, Thun joins him. The sound of their laughter fills the room for a good minute and it’s something Mes wants to hear for as long as he is able to.
“I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” Mes concedes, “you need to sleep some more. You said we’re going somewhere again tomorrow.”
(Thun made it his personal mission to take Mes out on road trips as often as he could. He had claimed that he wanted Mes to have the opportunity to visit all of the places he wasn’t able to when he was still alive. 
“But of course,” Thun had added with a grin, “I just want to have another reason to spend even more time with you, P’Mes.”
Mes’ heart had swelled with fondness for him and he had proceeded to hug Thun tightly.) 
Nodding, Thun begins to make himself comfortable on the bed. “Cuddle me to sleep, P’Mes?” he requests. Acquiescing, Mes wraps his arms around Thun, relishing the feeling of their bodies pressed together.
(It will never get tiring, Mes thinks, this feeling of holding Thun and being held by Thun. He had spent so many years without physical contact that any sort of touch from Thun—the person he loves the most—is welcome.) 
In no time, both of them fall into an easy sleep.
)+( 
They’ve been on the road for roughly an hour now. 
(Mes doesn’t know where they’re headed to. No amount of pleading or pouting from him made Thun tell him where he planned on taking them. “It’s a surprise, P’Mes,” Thun had answered every single time Mes asked. “You’ll see when we get there.” 
Mes had pouted some more, but all it did was make Thun kiss his cheek.) 
“How much farther, Thun?” he asks.
Glancing at Mes for a brief moment, Thun lets a small smile curve up his lips. “Just a bit more, P’,” he replies cheerfully. 
True to his word, they reach their destination within a few minutes. Thun parks the car on one corner and takes a deep breath. Mes looks at him questioningly, but Thun only shakes his head. “Let’s go, P’.”
Mes obediently follows him out of the car and intertwines their fingers together as a silent show of support. Thun’s nervous, Mes can tell, but he has no idea why yet. He was fine this morning and when they were on the road just a little while ago.
Thun squeezes his hand. “I wanted to show you this, P’,” he says before pointing in front of him. Mes looks to where Thun is pointing, and he finds himself awestruck at the view that greets him. 
It’s like a painting, the way the fully bloomed purple and gold flowers gently sway with the wind. The scenery is delicate and romantic, and Mes is just about to ask Thun if they can take a picture of it when he starts speaking again.
“I found this place when I first learned how to drive,” Thun begins, “I thought it looked like something out of a fairytale.” 
“It’s very beautiful,” Mes says honestly, unable to take his eyes away from the field of flowers. There were a lot of places Mes wasn’t able to visit when he was still alive, so he’s very grateful to Thun for taking the time to bring him to places like these. 
(He’s so grateful to Thun for so many things.)   
Mes feels Thun’s thumb caress the back of his hand and it makes Mes glance at him. Thun is already looking back at him, his gaze filled with unadulterated warmth. “I told myself that I’d bring the person I love to see this place with me,” Thun continues with a shy smile.
Thun takes another deep breath, seemingly gathering all of his courage. ”I told myself that I’d bring the person I love to see this place with me,” he repeats, “and that I’d propose to them right here.” 
It takes a few moments for the words to register, but once they do, Mes’ mouth falls open in surprise. From his small pouch, Thun brings out an electric incense and a pair of simple silver rings. Stunned, Mes can only watch as Thun shoots him a small smile before getting down on one knee. 
“I want to spend forever with you, P’Mes,” Thun says tenderly, sweetly, “will you do me the honor of marrying me?”   
“Thun…” he whispers, heart full and eyes watering. Even in his wildest fantasies, Mes never thought that this would happen to him—he’s a ghost that’s been dead for over twenty years, after all. But then, Thun has always had a way of exceeding all of his expectations and even now, that holds true.
Nodding, Mes cups Thun’s cheek with a trembling hand. “I would be honored to marry you,” he answers softly, “I would want nothing more, Thun.” 
Expression lighting up like the sun at his response, Thun takes Mes’ other hand and kisses his palm. He slides the ring onto the designated finger and smiles up at Mes with so much love and contentment. 
How fortunate he must be, Mes thinks, that he’s on the receiving end of this wonderful man’s love, that Mes has the honor of loving him back. 
Thun gives Mes the other ring and raises his hand. “Put it on for me?” he requests. Mes does as he’s asked, kissing Thun’s knuckles once he’s done. Thun stands up and takes both of Mes’ hands into his, quietly admiring the way the matching rings look.   
“I promise I’ll make you happy, P’Mes,” Thun declares and Mes can’t help but chuckle even as tears roll down his cheeks. He can’t remember ever being this happy before. 
“Oh Thun,” Mes assures him,“you already do. You make me so happy.” Thun grins and allows himself to be pulled down by Mes.
Mes can’t help but think that the kisses they share in that field of fully bloomed purple and gold flowers taste like sunlight and overflowing happiness.   
)+( 
The ring has become a comforting weight on his hand. 
Mes can’t help but smile in contentment every time he catches sight of the silver band. Thun is the same; his lips always curve up whenever he sees their rings. The rings may be simple in design, but they hold a much deeper meaning. They symbolize Mes and Thun’s promise to love and care for each other endlessly.  
If one followed logic, all of this would have been impossible. Logically, he would have reincarnated after finding out the reason behind his death. Logically, Thun would have gone on with his life after helping him find peace. Logically, they would have never fallen in love with each other in the first place because of their fundamental differences. 
Instead, Mes was allowed to stay. Instead, Thun wanted to spend the rest of his life together with Mes. Instead, Mes and Thun fell in love with each other in spite of their differences and only continued to fall deeper in love with each other everyday. 
As Mes leans against Thun, enjoying the soft sound of music and the chatter of Thun’s friends and Kwan at their engagement party, he thinks that perhaps love truly does have the power to override everything—how else could a ghost like him and a human like Thun have the chance to spend the rest of their lives together like a pair of ordinary lovers? It’s not supposed to be possible in any way.
Thun gazes at him tenderly and Mes smiles when Thun presses gentle kisses on his lips. 
It’s not supposed to be possible in any way, and yet here they are, taking their steps to forever. 
Notes:
Thank you very much for taking the time to read my fic! Please tell me what you think.
Have a great day ahead of you and stay safe!
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One Monstrous Miracle (Part Three)
Wazzup? I have been hit with the inspiration bug and I felt drawn to work on this story while I have all this fun isolation time. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before but I have this story all mapped out, so don’t be afraid of it being abandoned. I’m gonna finish this baby if it’s the last thing I do! As always, I’m self-conscious of this chapter, especially with characterization but please do let me know how you feel about it! I had fun writing it, and I hope you have fun reading it! (Forgive any mistakes you see, I am only babey).
Previous-Next-First
Pairing: Aziraphale/Human
Summary: More barging in, some tenderness, some threatening. All in a day’s work.
Warnings: This got SIGNIFICANTLY longer than other parts, so forgive me. There’s more cursing, but I think I’m just gonna have to resign myself to the fact that this is who I am now.
Word Count: 2,889
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Men are stupid. It is a lesson that every person that considered themselves attracted to men learns at some point in their life, and it was a lesson that you had apparently forgotten. You had let yourself get pulled in by the promise of exquisite, centuries-old books and now you were paying for it.
You had assumed post-breakup position: laying across your sofa in your old, but still very fluffy pyjamas, a carton of ice cream on your lap with the sound of crap telly playing in the background. You weren’t even paying attention to what was happening on screen, but you knew that the alternative was to sit in silence until it was time for work, and you didn’t know how much of that you could take.
You couldn’t understand what exactly your problem was. Aziraphale hadn’t really done anything wrong, had he? He had been the perfect gentleman from the moment you had met him and yet something in you felt…betrayed. The thought of how angry Aziraphale had gotten, the crashing sound that had come from his sitting room window, the memory of the rage in his eyes frightened you. This man who had lovingly repaired priceless works of literature, who had patiently sat and enthusiastically listened to you rant about all the things that had happened to you over the course of the day, who had somehow remembered every single one of your favourite dishes and had cooked them all himself just because he had wanted to had transformed in front of your eyes. He’d become something terrible and dangerous, and that was your problem. The switch had been too much for you, and your fear had turned into hurt.
It was ridiculous, really. You knew that it was, but that didn’t stop you from avoiding the familiar little bookshop from then on. Partly out of residual confusion and dismay at what had happened, but mostly out of an overwhelming sense shame at how poorly you had dealt with the situation. You’d run away sobbing as though Aziraphale had hit you, when all he had done was defend you fiercely to someone who seemed to be an important figure in his life. No, you wouldn’t be stepping foot near the shop anytime soon if you had anything to do about it.
Unfortunately for you, you had a great less “anything” to do with it than you thought you had.
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It had been another long day. You enjoyed your new promotion and you were eternally grateful that you had gotten it in the first place, but it came with a truckload of new responsibilities that left you singularly exhausted on the bus ride home that evening. In your efforts to avoid Aziraphale at all costs, you had recently taken to riding the bus again, much to your wallet’s chagrin. Again, the foolishness of your actions was not lost on you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to grow up.
The bus came to a stop and you followed the stream of tourists out onto the pavement. You felt almost like you were in a daze, mechanically turning and walking towards your apartment. Your eyes seemed to see through everything, out of focus and not really paying attention to what was going on around you. Distantly, you noticed that the air had begun to smell faintly of vanilla, like the nearby bakery was baking a wedding cake. In your tired state, you had forgotten that that particular bakery would have been closed long before you had even stepped foot on the bus earlier. Your neighbourhood was not a particularly dangerous one, but it was never smart for a young person to be out so close to dark without being at least somewhat aware of their surroundings. Though you couldn’t have known this, every potential mugger, or killer, or other type of criminal suddenly remembered something urgent that needed tending to on the other side of the city. Speeding motorists found their gas petals to be a tad bit wonky, keeping their vehicles moving along at well under the speed limits. Streetlamps that had long been neglected by the council clicked on, lighting your way home. Just for shits and giggles, for no reason at all (except for one very good reason that you were not at all privy to and were unlikely to be in your lifetime), you lifted your head and turned to look across the street.
Your heart skipped a beat. It was him! It had to be. He was standing in the middle of a group of people, none of them particularly interesting in anyway, so his shockingly white curls and light brown coat stood out like a sore thumb. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. It had been so long since you had seen the man, and the ache you felt as you tried to get a better view of him was almost too much to bear. Unbidden, your arm began to raise itself and his name flew to the tip of your tongue, but before you knew it, he was gone.
You thought about the incident all the way to your building and up the stairs to your flat. You had half a mind to call Aziraphale and demand to know why he was hanging about on Dean Street not ten minutes ago, and where the hell had he gone between the two seconds it had taken you to decide to call out to him and the moment you’d realised he was no longer there. You decided, thankfully, that you probably weren’t going to come at it from the right angle, especially not over the phone, and that you’d be better off continuing as you were. You put your keys and purse down and hung up your coat, thinking about dinner but unable to keep the memory of Aziraphale’s kind smile out of your mind.
You cooked yourself some pasta, not in the mood for a proper meal. You loved cooking, you really did, but it didn’t seem to have the same… ‘umph!’ to it that it had before this whole fiasco with Aziraphale. You had turned on the television so that you could have a bit of background noise while you worked and let yourself focus on the familiar rituals of boiling and straining and stirring. Before long, you had a plate of your favourite pasta along side a glass (a rather full one, mind you,) of your favourite wine. All was well.
Your serenity was interrupted by loud pounding at your door, as if someone were trying to knock the whole bloody thing down. You jumped, nearly spilling your wine all over your face, but you saved yourself at the last minute. Furiously (gingerly) putting the glass down on your kitchen table, you stood up from your chair, intending on giving whoever was on the other side of that door a piece of your mind. Apparently, you weren’t moving quite fast enough for them, because they knocked again, and you swore you could hear the hinges give a little and the force they were being put under. You stomped over to the door, unlocked it, wrenched it open to find—
“What the fuck?” It was Aziraphale’s angry friend. He stood right outside your door, smirking at you like the little shit he probably was. Your brain paused, hit rewind, and started again. You remembered the incident in Aziraphale’s living room and you tensed, preparing yourself for a deluge of indeterminate nonsense about you being mortal? And that somehow being a problem? He was just as unnerving as he had been when you had first seen him, still swaying, still upending the Universe. The real question of the hour was—
“How do you know where I live?!” You screeched, attempting to shut the door in his face, only to be met with his arm. He smirked and advanced on you, forcing you to walk backwards into your own flat. You looked around desperately and saw a hardcover textbook that you had been using to refresh some technique for work. You grabbed it and pointed it towards him, trying to look threatening. The man reached his hand out and you backed away.
“Don’t! Don’t come any closer!” Crowley stopped moving forward, but he didn’t look the least bothered by your performance. He chuckled, leaning against the door frame.
“Well I was going to introduce myself, but it seems you remember me. Let’s put a name to the face, shall we? My name is Crowley and I understand that I may be…how do you say, fit a f? I am sorry, love but you aren’t quite my type.” He finished by making a show of looking you up and down, which only fuelled your annoyance.
“Answer my question! How do you know where I live? Why are you even here?!”
“I’m afraid that was two questions, which one—”
“ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTIONS!” You demanded. Crowley frowned behind his pitch-black sunglasses (which he wore inside, hours after the sun had set) and seemed to grow more serious.
“I—that’s not how I was supposed to start this. Force of habit, you know, it gets the best of us all.” You didn’t respond, waiting for this strange man who had barged into your life on two separate occasions and had brought you nothing but irritation to explain himself.
“See it’s…I…you are—” He stopped, annoyed with the difficulty he was having. You were annoyed that he was still in your flat. “Aziraphale isn’t well.”
Your heart stopped. What? How could that be? You had just seen him! What was wrong? Was he dying? What if—
“He misses you, love. He won’t admit it but he does. He feels awful about what happened and that you were scared or whatever and ran away and he’s been wanting to call you for weeks but he’s too scared to. He’s not himself, Y/N.” This was not what you were expecting to hear. Aziraphale missed you? He’d been thinking about you? You basked in this knowledge for a couple of seconds before your mind stuck on something.
“How do you know my name?” There hadn’t been time for introductions when he had interrupted you and Aziraphale, and you definitely hadn’t said it since he’d interrupted you now.
“Angel talks about you all the time. It’d be grand not to know your name but noooo. Everything is always “Y/N that” and “Y/N this”. “Isn’t Y/N perfect Crowley?”” He’d pitched his voice higher to indicate he was mocking Aziraphale, but you had barely noticed. This was getting to be a bit too much for you to handle. Did Aziraphale…could he actually…did he feel the same way about you that you did about him? Was it even possible? Crowley must’ve seen your confusion on you face because he softened a little.
“Look. Come back to the shop. At least just talk to him, tell him you’re not angry anymore. You’re not angry anymore, right?” He waited for you to respond. You realised that no, you weren’t angry. You missed him sorely, and if you could have him back in your life, even if everything that Crowley had told you was false, it would be more than enough to just be friends again. You shook your head. Crowley grinned at you.
“Brilliant. So, go to the shop, do whatever you two do, and I won’t have to hear about “lovely Y/N” anymore. It’s win-win-win for everyone.” He turned to leave but stopped, sighed heavily, and turned back around. “Uhm. While I’m here, uh. Aziraphale wanted me to…you know…” He cut himself off. He seemed to do that a lot for a man who had no qualms about breaking down doors and interrupting other people.
“You know how people say things that they don’t mean?” He asked, looking up at a water spot on your ceiling. You nodded. He looked down and nodded too, his lips twitching in a smile. “Good. See ya around, love!” And with that he left, the door closing behind him on his way out. You imagined that whatever had just happened was as close to an apology as you were going to get from the strange man--if that was actually what he was trying to do.
You stood and stared at the door for a good while before dropping the book on the ground and sitting heavily onto your sofa. There was so much to think about now, and your mind was absolutely buzzing. You decided that tonight was a very good night to finish off that brand-new bottle you had just bought yesterday.
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Your palms were sweaty. Your knees were trembling slightly, but that wasn’t as bad as sweaty palms. He would feel your sweat and be disgusted and kick you out of his shop before any of your nasty oily sweat got on any of his precious books. Or, replied the competent part of your brain, you could wipe your hands on your jeans and open the damned door already. Your stomach twisted as you raised your hand and pushed on the handle and walked through the doorway.
You were greeted with the sweet sound of bells. The smell of old books and wax and something that Aziraphale carried around with him washed over you, relaxing your shoulders and planting a stupidly stupid smile on your face. You were totally in love with this man, but his bookshop came a close second. You wandered around at first, partly interested in the books and partly biding time until you had to deal with the Aziraphale in the room. It wasn’t difficult to lose yourself in all of the old volumes, and you were so particularly engrossed in one that you were completely oblivious to the man behind you on the stairs.
Aziraphale was beside himself. He had been up in his apartment brewing some tea when the sound of the front door drew him out to the shop. He’d come down the stairs, expecting to find some customer that he would have to fight tooth and nail to keep from buying one of his books but instead he’d found you. After the way you had left, in tears and clearly terrified, he had not dared to hope that he’d see you again. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He couldn’t help himself from watching over you as you walked home, performing the self-same miracle that had kept you safe last night (however, he was  not responsible for you looking up at him, that was something else entirely and it had spooked him something fierce). That was all he had allowed himself to do, baring himself from calling you or visiting you, thinking that if you were so frightened of him, you would not appreciate him initiating contact before you were ready.
He ached for you. He thought of you every day; of your smile, your eyes, your intelligence, your passion for his books and your genuine desire to understand him. Over the time you were apart, he’d come to realise how much he cared for you and how much it hurt to not have you in his life. He watched, unwilling to break your concentration as you ran your fingers reverently along the books, mouthing their titles silently. You were beautiful, even with your hair in the messy bun you preferred on days you didn’t have to dress up for work, in ripped jeans and an old sweater. He couldn’t just stare at you all day, so he forced himself to break his trance and clear his throat.
Predictably, you jumped, hitting your hand on the thick wood of the bookcase. You cursed loudly, bringing your hurting hand to your chest. Panicked, Aziraphale rushed down the stairs and to your side, already reaching for your hand.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear, please forgive me! I didn’t mean to startle you, I just…Oh I feel awful!” You let him take your hand in both of his, everything you had meant to say before stepping into the shop floating away as you watched Aziraphale fuss over your hand. You smiled softly at him.
“It’s okay, Azi.” His head shot up and he stared, wide eyed in wonder. You had been the only person to call him that, and he admittedly missed the sound of it while you weren’t with him. You covered his hands with your other one, squeezing gently. “It’s okay.”
He could scarcely think. Or breathe, or do anything but blink at you like the besotted fool he was. You were here, in front of him, touching him, speaking to him, looking at him like that, like perhaps you had missed him just as much as he had missed you. Out of instinct, out of an urge that had plagued him these long months that he had known you, he slowly lifted your bruising hand up to his lips, giving you plenty of time to pull away, to leave him and never set eyes on him again. When you did none of those things, he pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to your knuckles, and then another on the angry red spot that had hit the case. Your breath shuddered in your chest, and you could do nothing but stand there.
Conversations would be had, nothing to personal, nothing close to admitting whatever it was between you, but you didn’t need that. There was an understanding that life without the other person was not worth the trouble. All was truly well.
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