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woahitslucyylu · 4 years

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Parents’ House.

GIF credit to @pantherclawz who makes dope shit regularly.

Author’s Notes: Here is Smut Sunday’s post starring Coco Loco as voted on by my frands. Enjoy this slight smut, slight humor trip with Coco!

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“Mami, fuck. This is your house?” Coco kissed his teeth as the SUV slowed in the circle drive - the hulking Spanish house casting shadows over the manicured grounds.

“Um, weekend house, vacation house - whatever you want to call it. We didn’t stay here all the time.” You slid your arms around his waist - missing the weight of his leather kutte. Coco had been adamant that Johnny the mechanic was going to be present this weekend and Coco the Mayan was tucked away in his suitcase. “Damn, ma. You had it like that? Next time, we go to Wendy’s, I’m ordering two four-for-fours.” His smirk melted you as you kissed him gently.

“Come on. Let’s go inside. Everyone is out riding. We have the house to ourselves for a bit.” You pulled him through the double doors - your sandals clicking against the marbled floor. Coco’s eyes were wide as he scanned the entryway. Two staircases framed an open floor plan - tiled arches opening to a dining room, living room, and another hall. Coco knew you had been raised differently, but this was a different level of different.

“Shouldn’t we get our stuff?” Coco lingered in the doorway as he heard you move from room to room - your steps against the tiled floor giving you away. “Oh no, they will get it,” You waved your hand dismissively, speaking of phantom people, as you pulled him onto the stairs, “Come on.” Your fingers intertwined with his as you walked up the carpeted stairs.

“That’s my parents’ room, my brother’s room, and the office.” You rattled off as if it were a sight-seeing tour until you paused in front of double French doors. “This is our room.” The our rolled off your tongue as you pushed yourself into him before opening the door to a space larger than his first apartment.

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You slid off your sandals as you padded across the carpet - pushing back the drapes and letting sunlight spill into the room. Dust danced in the bright rays as you opened the balcony doors, an attempt to air out the old memories and teenage awkwardness that filled the room.

“Fuck, I haven’t been here in ages.” Your fingers traced the knick-knacks lining the bookshelf - mementos from a life left behind and forgotten. “Oh shit, I was so weird. Look at this.” You held a framed photo of a brace-faced pre-teen holding a Harry Potter book so proudly. Coco’s laugh was real as he took the dusty frame from your hand and studied the picture - the cherub cheeks and full smile were still recognizable in the baby-fat face.

“Damn, mami, you was nerdy as hell. How old were you?” He studied the picture intently - drinking in all of your past he could. “Oh, I don’t know - maybe 11, 12. I was such a lame kid. I didn’t have many friends. I was awkward. Thank God for puberty.” You took the frame from his hand and dropped it on the desk - discarding the memory of who you once were. As far as you had come from the lanky girl in the photo, coming home made you feel like the same awkward little girl, seeking approval and trying her best to fit into her cookie cutter family.

Coco scanned the room - seeking glimpses of your past self. He studied the homemade collages of horse pictures, adorned with glitter stickers and silly speech bubbles. His fingers traced the riding ribbons that hung above a shelf of trophies. He felt like he had opened your book and couldn't stop reading.

You dropped to the bed - bouncing on the soft mattress as you watched Coco pause on a framed portrait of a long forgotten prom date and held it up with glee. “Yo, is this you?” He tried hard to contain a giggle as he stared at the poorly posed picture. “Yeah, he was one of my dad’s friend’s sons. He needed a date. My mother so willingly volunteered my services.” You rolled to your side, propped on your elbow, as Coco licked his lips as he gazed at your curvy frame laid on the bed. “I never went to another prom after that.” You laid back - your shirt rising up as you stretched - the hours of travel beginning to wear on your body.

“So, no sneaking boys in after the dance?” Coco’s signature rasp was evident as he kneeled on the bed and shook off his flannel, exposing a tank top and his tattooed chest. You swallowed thickly as you shamelessly oogled him - your body already anticipating his touch. “Did you see me in those pictures? No one was trying to come back to my room.” Your hands slid over his waist - your fingers hooking in his belt loops as you pulled him close.

Coco hovered over you, watching your breasts rise and fall with each breath. “You never had sex in here before?” He pulled his bottom lip through his teeth as he waited for your reaction. The air felt electrified as his slender fingers trailed down your chest - his hands enveloping your breasts through your shirt - teasing your nipples into hardened buds. The feel of the rough lace rubbing against your tender skin made you wiggle for more as Coco smirked, “The key to having sex at your parents’ house is you gotta be quiet. Can you be quiet?”

“Hm, I didn’t hear you. Can you be a good girl and be quiet?” He slid two fingers into your parted lips - a moan caught in your throat. “Yeah, I think you can.” Coco’s wet fingers slid into your panties - achingly rubbing against your clit - each turn of his fingers was met with your eager hips. His jean-covered thigh pushed your legs open - the wideness pulling your lips apart as his fingers sunk into you. His lanky frame bent over you as he scissored his fingers against your velvet walls. Breathless curses slipped past your parted lips as Coco’s thick thumb pressed against your clit. “Fuck, baby.” Your hands tangled in his loose curls, pulling his face to yours as your lips crashed together. Coco smiled against your lips as your walls clenched him, “Do you want one more?” You nodded weakly as he slid another finger into your wet heat.

Your knees fall slack as your head tips back against the pillow - your senses overwhelmed by Coco and the sound of your wet pussy against his palm. “Johnny…” You whine as you grab his forearm, holding him against you as you rock against his hand, “Don’t move, don’t stop, please.” Your pleas are whispers as you flood his hand - your orgasm wetting your shorts as you ride his stilled fingers.

Coco laughed as you flopped against the floral comforter - your breath in pants as stars danced across your eyes. You raised your hips weakly as he pulled your wet shorts down - dropping them to the floor. He stood, dropping his jeans to the floor, as he pulled your thick thighs closer - your legs hanging over the edge. “Remember, be quiet, querida.” His tone was mocking as he slid the tip of his dick against your sensitive slit watching your arousal slicken him. Coco leaned back, pulling his t-shirt under his chin, as he watched himself disappear in your wet folds - your body fluttering around him as he stilled.

“Goddamn.” His voice hoarse as he watched your lips grip his length as he slid in and out of you. Your eyes flashed at the sight before you - Coco entranced at your connection as he shallowly thrusted, a poor attempt to disguise the squeaky mattress. You leaned only your elbows - watching your hips meet his in a slow burning thrust.

“You like watching me fuck you?” His voice edged out as you squeezed him tightly - your body holding him inside you. “Damn, ma. Do it again.” His head lulled back as you wrapped your legs around his slender waist, pulling him into you.

Coco leaned into your body - buried in your guts as you kissed him hard, letting him swallow your moans as you creamed on him - another wave of pleasure rushing over you. “Do you have one more?” His words stuck to your skin as he licked a stripe across your exposed neck - his teeth sinking into the soft skin. Weak moans spilled out of your mouth as he pushed into you.

Faint sounds in the distance stilled him - Coco the Mayan never too far removed from any situation. “Baby, keep going. Please.” You whined the ‘e’, rocking your hips against him - begging for another orgasm that only he could deliver. “Sshh, mama, I think we have company.” Coco’s finger pressed against your lips as he waited for more.

Your name echoed through the house - your mother’s shrill voice singing it like an alarm as you sat up wildly, pushing a laughing Coco away and out of your throbbing pussy.

“Shit, it’s my parents.”

#johnny coco cruz #johnny coco cruz x reader #johnny coco cruz fanfic #Mayans MC #mayans fx #mayans fanfic #mayans headcanons #mayansmc fanfiction #smutsunday

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tocrackerboxpalace · 3 years

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January, 1972

Summary: In Paul's first interview since the breakup of the Beatles, things go slightly awry when a nosy reporter gets more out of him than she bargained for.

Part 3/3 (1, 2)

The doorbell rang.

Paul jolted awake. He was still on the couch, unsure of how long he’d been sitting there, but pale morning light seeped in through the cracks of the curtains.

In a half-daze, he struggled to his feet, trying to ascertain his surroundings. Why had he been on the couch? Who was at the door? Why were they bothering him at—he peered at the clock on the wall, startled to find that it was already 10:00 a.m.

He fumbled with the locks until the door finally creaked open, flooding the living room with bright daylight and making him wince.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Paul’s body froze at the figure in the doorway, clear as day despite a sloppy hat-and-sunglasses disguise.

“I—”

“I don’t want some bullshit excuse, Paul, because I woke up to reporters halfway up my arse and Rings on the line talking about some fucking interview you did last night. What did you do?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Paul stammered helplessly.

John pushed his way past Paul into the house, tossing his cover to the side with vitriol. He collapsed on the couch where Paul had been asleep only moments before and threw his head in his hands.

Paul sensed that it was his turn to explain himself, though nothing on earth quite sounded less appealing. “I might have… sort’ve… confessed.”

John raised his head, glaring at him wearily. Go on.

“I didn’t mean to. They cornered me. Wouldn’t stop asking about me new song, and it is about you, of course it’s about you, but I—I thought I was vague enough to—”

John laughed sharply, interrupting Paul’s train of thought. “Doesn’t matter anymore. I called you out on it, and now everyone’s lookin’ for cryptic bullshit in your songs.”

Paul pretended not to feel annoyed at the assertion. Suddenly, another memory came full force back to him, and his voice got quiet, eyes flicking away from John’s penetrative gaze. “They asked me about India.”

“They what? Paul, how the fuck could they know about India?”

Anger rose in his throat as he fought to defend himself in what seemed like an unwinnable case. “I don’t fucking know. No one actually knows but us.” There was an accusatory edge to his voice.

John was incredulous. “You think I had something to do with that?”

Paul crossed his arms, though he still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “It certainly wasn’t me.”

John was on his feet again in a flash of fury. His voice was saturated with sarcasm, but Paul didn’t miss the lingering of hurt in there as well. “Sure. You got me pinned, Macca. I’m such a little media whore that I went and spilled every little detail of the worst moment of my life to the press. And because I’m a selfish goddamn prick I encouraged them to ask you about it in an interview, so that I could laugh at your pain in my great new fuckin’ life without you. Because why? Because I like seeing you suffer?” In his effort to avoid John’s eyes, Paul noticed that the man’s hands were shaking. “I thought you knew me better than to believe in the goddamn press portrait of me.”

There was a lot more that seemed to be said in John’s words than the words themselves.

“You’re still bitter,” Paul whispered. The wrong thing to say.

John’s eyes flashed dangerously. He was shouting now. “Of course I’m fuckin’ bitter, Paul! You turned me down. You said no to me. I loved you more than—”

“Don’t,” Paul pleaded hoarsely, tears suddenly buzzing at the brim of his eyelids.

“You don’t get to do this, Paul,” he continued without missing a beat. “I loved you more than I’d ever loved anyone in my life. A-and I couldn’t explain it, because it was a different love altogether, and I’m not sure if that made it true with you, or just better, but-but it was real. It was the most real thing that ever happened to me, and I was so certain that you understood that too.”

“John,” Paul begged.

“But you didn’t. At least, not on the same level, because if you had then we wouldn’t be here right now.” John waved a vague hand in the air, his cheeks bright with fury. Paul couldn’t bear to see it reflected in his eyes. “So you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to write songs and go on television talking about how much I hurt you.”

Paul only swallowed.

“Did you know how fuckin’ hard it was to listen to that song, Paul?” John said abruptly, his gaze straight out the window and his hands balled into fists. His lip was trembling in its place under his teeth. “To hear you say that you were in love with me?”

“I am–“

“Bullshit!” John yelled, and for a brief moment, Paul’s eyes were drawn up and he thought that John might actually hit him. When John slumped back in surprise at his own outburst, Paul felt a flood of rage overtake him, energy transferred from one to the other.

“You don’t fucking understand, John! You’re not like me! You’ve never given two shits about what the world thinks of you. You act like you do, with us, like you’re some poor misunderstood soul, but you don’t.” Paul began listing on his fingers, ignoring John’s protesting gape. “The Jesus comment, Yoko, Two Virgins, writing song after song knowing they’re going to be banned. You spew your bullshit and do whatever you please and sometimes it feels like you’re trying to give the world the finger and that’s fine, con-fuckin-gratulations for you, but I’m not like that.”

He suddenly felt very tired as John closed his mouth into a firm line. Paul recognized the expression. Understanding. “I’m not like that. It matters to me. And I don’t know what that says about me, or how to fix it. So simply the sudden legality of it all couldn’t magically change my mind. And now that’s something I have to live with, for the rest of my days, because I know now that it would have been worth it. And we could’ve handled it together. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. And I do love you.”

John rolled his eyes in helpless exasperation. “So what do you want to do, eh? Say fuck-all to our wives, our families? Our new lives? Just because you were too chicken-shit to say something four years ago?” He shook his head. “It’s too late for us, Paul. What’s that they say? Right person, wrong time?”

The polite smile John gave in closing made Paul feel sick to his stomach.

“Why did you come here, John?”

The defendant shrugged. He took a few steps backwards and sunk back onto the couch. “Honest?”

Paul hesitated. He might have had enough honesty for the day.

John sighed. “Wanted to see you.” He gave a sudden glare, shooting down Paul’s curious eyebrows. “Not because I missed you. I wanted to see you try and explain yourself. I hadn’t known what happened in the interview, but I’m not bloody stupid. I could tell it was something of this… scale. And I was so fuckin’ tired of trying to read you over the phone.”

Paul felt the strange urge to smile. And suddenly, he was laughing, undeterred even by the expression of utter bewilderment on John’s face.

“Christ, all that? Isn’t it, like, five in the morning there?”

“Well, yeah, I told you—Rings called, and you Englishmen have no bloody consideration for time zones.”

Paul let out a chuckle that felt far too relieving. His smile quieted as reality began to sink in. “I’m sorry.”

John met his eyes for only a moment. “S’not your fault. They do it to me, too.”

“What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Deny. Deny, deny, deny. Don’t know what he’s talking about, must’ve gone mad, trying to frame me as a queer. Wanted to stir up a fight. I’ll think of something.”

Paul swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he expected.

John peered over his glasses, his mouth pressed into a firm line. He removed them slowly, folding them in his lap. When he looked up again, Paul felt a shiver travel down his spine at the familiarity of the amber eyes on his, unprotected, unveiled. They hadn’t looked that way to him in so long.

“It’s only me,” John said quietly. Paul could hear in the tone that it was meant to be soothing, but the words made his heart twitch violently. “You know…not to take everything I say about you to heart, yeah?”

Paul nodded, gaze cast downwards for fear of brimming tears.

“Sometimes I mean it. I’m allowed to mean it. But this?” He sighed. “Whatever happens, you have to know that we have to. They’ll believe us so long as we present it as another one of our publicized scraps.”

“I’ve got to be the bad guy,” Paul conceded.

John nodded a confirmation. “I’ll, erm… I’ll say that it’s an attack. That you’re trying to frame me as something that I’m not, because you’re still hung up on the breakup. And it’s my reputation you’re worried about. I’ll say you’ve been on a bender, and lucid-dreamed-up an idealized version of our partnership. I’ll make another offhand comment about how we hardly wrote together much less knew one another, and you… You won’t say anything. You’ll stay here with—” he suddenly seemed to choke on the words. “Linda. The kids. And you can talk to her about it, I don’t care. But that’s what I’m going to say, and you have to be okay with that.”

Paul only stared. He knew in the back of his mind that John was right, but that didn’t help the nausea coursing through his veins.

“You have to be okay with that,” John repeated, his voice trembling slightly. “For both of us.”

The words were so far from the truth in some ways and yet too close to the truth in others. John offered a hand to shake, but appeared to think better of it, withdrawing the deal almost immediately. He knew Paul would agree, anyway, of course he would. And neither of them knew if they could handle the contact, no matter how brief.

“I should be going,” John said after a moment.

“You could stay,” Paul offered, his mind frantically arranging a comfortable setup for John to spend a few days.

John pushed himself up off of the couch and gazed around the room briefly, looking for something he hadn’t left. “Why?”

The image of the pull out couch in the den crumbled to death in his imagination. “Yeah. Okay.”

John gave one last, awkward nod, both men standing helplessly in the middle of the room. He hesitated for another moment before shuffling over to the front door, grabbing up his hat and glasses beside it, and pulling it open.

Paul wasn’t sure what made him say it, but he couldn’t stop the words from flowing out. “I love you.”

John scratched the back of his neck before turning to go. “I–yeah. See you around, Paul.”

He shut the door behind him.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #paul mccartney #john lennon #linda mccartney (mentioned)#ringo starr (briefly mentioned)#interviews #confessions #songwriting feud of the seventies #beatles breakup #part 3 #part 3 of 3

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floral-and-fine · 4 years

Text

Heaven Bent part 4

Daryl Dixon x female reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A/n: Hope y'all enjoy this next part :) Thank you, everyone, who has left comments or shown support, really helps keep me motivated to write! Other than a few specific scenes, I’m not quite sure where this fic is going or for how long. Thank you @ewokiee for helping me when I was stuck, seems to have happened a lot.

Summary: The reader finds Sophia lost in the woods, too bad neither of them have any sense of direction.

You were laying out on the grass, in front of the prison, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin. Turning your head, you could see a couple of walkers banging on the fence, but there wasn’t any urgency. Closing your eyes and sighing, you continued soaking in the warmth of the sun’s rays.

After months of traveling and living on the road, it seemed like finding a new home, a new safe haven was a dream of a dream.

Seeing so many houses and towns abandoned made the world seem like a shell of itself. It was almost like living in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

Every day you would come across something that reminded you of how things used to be, such as while rummaging for supplies in an empty home, you’d end up finding a forgotten family photo album or family portrait, and deep down you longed for that safer, easier life.

Then there were the walkers, a never-ending threat, a fear that everyone had to live with, and that worry whenever entering a new building if you turned a corner or opened a door that it could be your last.

Who would’ve believed that you’d find such comfort and peace behind a fence or behind bars?

“Hey,” a voice said as their body plopped down beside you.

“Hi buttercup,” you smiled, keeping your eyes shut.

Sophia stretched her arms above her head, looking around. “You know what this place needs,” she mused. “Flowers.”

You nodded your head, “Ah yes, big yellow sunflowers would be nice.”

“Those are pretty,” she commented.

“And useful,” you added. You could feel her giving you a skeptical look, you smiled wider. “We can roast and eat the seeds, and there are some medical uses too.”

“Are there other flowers that are helpful?”

“There are,” You said sitting up. “And lots of other plants that can be helpful too. I’ll keep an eye out for seeds next time I’m on a run. Would you like to be my helper?”

“Yes! We’ll start our own flower garden!” She said eagerly.

“Yep, I think that’s exactly what this place needs,” you murmured to yourself. You stood up and started scanning the area, trying to decide where the garden should go. “We should probably ask Rick first.”

There was a nice spot over by the east side of the prison, plenty of sunshine in the mornings and in the evening it would be nicely shaded. Water was scarce, but if you could figure out a way to collect rainwater that would help.

You turned around and looked back at Sophia, “Race you to the prison.” With that you took off running, laughing as Sophia called you a cheater.

Still giggling, you found Rick and some of the others inside the prison.

“Hey Rick,” you greeted, rocking on the balls of your feet with your hands clasped behind your back.

“Need something?” He asked, turning his attention to you.

“I was thinking of starting a small garden, over around there,” you explained, vaguely gesturing with your head. “Wanted to make sure it was alright with you first.”

“We’re going to plant flowers,” Sophia butted in.

Rick smiled and shrugged, “Don’t see why not.”

Sophia squealed beside you and you laughed, “Still have to find seeds and whatnot,” you told her. “But we can start tomorrow morning by getting the soil ready.”

…

You wiped the sweat from your brow and leaned against your shovel. The garden was starting to come along, you hadn’t found many things to plant yet, but it was better than nothing.

“So, what did you do before all this?” Glenn asked, walking over and admiring the work you had done so far.

You shrugged, “a little of this and a little of that.”

“Oh come on, that’s worse than Daryl’s answer!” Glenn complained. “Anytime anyone has asked, he always replies with its none of your goddamn business.”

You smiled, you could easily picture Daryl scowling at the question. “Well that’s probably because it is God’s business,” you joked.

Glenn laughed lightly, “still can’t believe he lets you get away with all that angel talk. It’s probably because the two of you are sleeping together.”

Your fell face at the comment, but just as you were about to question him, Hershel approached.

He was getting quick on those crutches. He smiled at the beginnings of your little project. “It’s looking good so far,” he chuckled.

You rubbed the back of your head, “I guess so. Nothing compared to your farm of course.”

…

Daryl was doing maintenance on his bow when Sophia quietly shuffled into the room.

“Mr. Dixon,” she started, standing by the door. Even after everything, Sophia was still shy around most everyone with the exception of her mother, you, and Carl.

“What is it?” He asked, focused on what he was doing.

“We’re going to be starting a flower garden, y/n and I,” she explained, smiling brightly.

Daryl nodded, still working.

She fidgeted with her necklace for a moment, moving the pendant side to side.

“Y/n was hoping to plant some sunflowers, and I was just thinking if you come across any kind of seeds you could bring them back with you, y’know? We’re hoping to plant all sorts of flowers.” She rattled off.

Daryl sighed, looking over at Sophia, who was looking at him hopefully, “Alright, if I see any I’ll bring them back.”

“Thank you!” She shrieked, giving him a quick hug.

He clenched his jaw for a moment, mulling things over, “what flowers did you say she wanted?”

“Sunflowers!” Sophia shouted as she skipped out of the room.

…

Daryl pulled up to the gates, he had left for a solo supply run just as the sun was rising. He had scoured a few abandoned homes, killed a couple of walkers, nothing too eventful or worthwhile.

You sat your tools aside, and dusted yourself off, heading over and meeting Daryl by the gate.

“Did you have any luck?” You asked.

“Not really,” he said, getting off of his motorcycle. Opening his pack he pulled out a shoebox that had probably seen better days.

“Shoes?” You questioned, lifting your brow.

He shook his head and thrust the dirty worn box into your hands. “Here,” he muttered before heading inside.

Curious, you opened the lid, finding that it was filled with seed packets inside. You bit your lip and sat on the ground. Carefully, you started going through the packets, setting aside the most useful ones.

You were bubbling with excitement over the find, if you could manage to gather enough water and get some extra help, you could have a pretty nice crop going besides just a little flower garden.

You paused, noticing underneath the top layer of packets, was a sunflower, the stem had been cut by a serrated knife leaving it rough and jagged, it was also missing a few petals, but still, it was a beautiful sight.

Looking back at the prison, you wondered if there was something you could do for Daryl in return. Most people wouldn’t have bothered even looking in this box, figuring it was probably just junk. Plus, you couldn’t even put into words how you felt over the flower.

You clutched the flower tightly, you had been meaning to do something for him for months now, even before this new surprise. You narrowed your eyes, what the hell would he even like?

...

“Guess who finally picked the lock to the warden’s office,” you sang, joining Daryl on the watchtower.

Daryl looked up at you, blinking in surprise over the dried blood on your shirt, “what the hell happened to you?”

You looked down at the stain, “Oh yeah, that, there was a walker inside, but I took care of it.”

Daryl shook his head, “you’re gonna get yourself killed doing stupid shit like that.”

“Sorry,” you sighed, feeling bad for making him worry. “But look at what I found.” You held up the fancy bottle of scotch and smiled. “Thought we could share it.”

Daryl rolled his eyes but scooted over for you to sit next to him.

You opened the bottle and took the first drink before handing it to him. Closing your eyes, you listened to the crickets and Daryl breathing. It was a cool and peaceful night, perfect for relaxing and loosening up a bit.

“Thank you for the seeds and the flower,” you said, breaking the silence.

He didn’t reply, simply taking another swig from the bottle, and staring out into the distance.

He wasn’t quite sure what motivated him to do it. The box of seeds was one thing, but searching for a Goddamn sunflower just so he could bring you one was another.

Daryl could practically hear Merle in his head taunting him, telling him he’d gone soft for some bitch. His hands balled into fists involuntarily, the thought of a Merle referring to you as a bitch pissed him off.

‘What’s a matter with you boy?’ Imaginary Merle asked. ‘Never thought l’d see my kid brother wrapped around some woman’s finger.’

Daryl leaned back, clenching his jaw, all this was unfamiliar territory, all these things he felt, the way he thought about you. Maybe he was going soft… scowling he drank more, hoping to put an end to the voice going on and on in the back of his mind.

You took the bottle from him, taking a big drink and sighing as a wave of nostalgia washed over you, “I remember getting my heart broken on a night like this, damn bastard.”

Daryl peeked over at you. You rarely cursed and you rarely seemed anything other than sweet and happy. But the bitterness and hurt in your voice were evident.

You examined the bottle in your hands, a quarter of it already gone. “I was dumb, so fucking dumb. I left home without a second thought and followed the man I loved across the country. I don’t know what I expected… marriage and babies, I guess, but instead what I ended up with was an immature manipulative dick.”

“I packed up what little I had, and left that small crappy apartment in the middle of the night... I couldn’t go back home, so I hitched a ride going as far as the driver would take me,” you wrapped your arms around yourself. “Since then my entire life could fit in one suitcase.”

Tossing your head back you took another big gulp, and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

You could easily recall that night you left, standing on the street corner feeling like a lost soul in the dark. No one to turn to, nowhere to go, it was scary but there was also a certain freedom to it. You were on your own, nothing tying you down or holding you up.

“You been on your own since then?” Daryl asked.

“Mostly,” you shrugged. “I’ve been fortunate though, met some decent people on my travels… and some interesting ones.”

You passed the bottle back to him,“I heard from the others about what happened with your brother,” you started. “Sounds like you and him have been through a lot together.”

He nodded, “Merle’s tougher than nails, none of these walkers would ever get the jump on him. He’s out there somewhere.”

“The two of you have that in common then,” You smiled. “From what I’ve gathered, it sounded like the two of you were inseparable, always having each other’s backs and whatnot.”

Daryl frowned. “Not all the time,” he corrected you.

Merle had been the first one to leave, having left Daryl behind without a second thought. This time around, Daryl didn’t have a choice, at least not in the same way.

“But I guess we’re even now,” he murmured.

“It must’ve been hard not going after him,” you commented. “But I know we’re all grateful that you stuck around. We need you.”

Daryl sighed, he didn’t regret his choice, he was needed here. But he still felt like he’d owed it to Merle to find him. They were family, blood, Merle was all he had in this world.

Taking another sip, your eyes wandered over to the beginnings of your garden.

“Y’know the best thing about my childhood home were the sunflowers that grew outside of my window,” You laughed dryly wiping a few stray tears. “Guess I’m just hoping this could be home for all of us.”

Daryl nodded, “If we’re smart, and if we’re careful, it can be.”

Resting your head on your hand, you admired Daryl, he was a handsome man, there was no doubt about that, but it was his arms and hands that stood out to you the most. There were many mornings you wished you could wake up in those arms.

You glanced at his face, your angel seemed to have a lot on his mind. You had hoped when you found the bottle of scotch it would’ve helped him relax a little.

But by now, you had enough to drink that you were feeling that buzz of confidence.

“Angel,” you whispered leaning forward, your eyes closed, and your hand reaching out to cup his face.

Immediately, Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders, stopping you from getting any closer.

There was a part of him that wanted this to happen, to pull you close and run his fingers through your hair, but there was also fear. He had never really been one for relationships, he didn’t have much experience with romance either. Not to mention, it seemed wrong to want to kiss a drunk woman.

You opened your eyes slowly, looking at Daryl full of confusion. Immediately backing away when you saw his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” you stood up, keeping your eyes downcast, unable to look at him. Your face felt like it was on fire. “I-I should go,” you mumbled, stumbling as you took a few steps forward.

“Wait,” Daryl spoke up, grabbing your arm. “You’ll break your damn neck trying to climb down drunk.”

You kept your head down but nodded trying desperately to hold back tears. You were feeling absolutely overwhelmed by your emotions, and your inebriated state making it harder to control them.

“I’ll climb down first,” he explained, that way if you lost your footing and slipped and he could try to catch you.

Once you made it to the ground, you were still so flustered that you quickly wished him a good night before brushing past him and heading towards the prison.

Daryl watched as you briskly walked away, eventually climbing back up to the watchtower once you were inside. He grabbed the bottle of scotch taking one more drink before replacing the lid. He hoped he hadn’t just fucked things up.

Tag list: @twdeadfanfic @xaestheticalien @x-roscpctals-x @amaroho @theonlyone-meeeee @mysterious-398 @marss-anonymous @thecaptainsgingersnap

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #reader insert #Female reader #twd #twd fanfic #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic

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dawniebb · 4 years

Text

We Need to Talk About Evie

but do we though?

OKAY SO.

To the anon who asked if we were making more content, this is it :)

Let’s just say that this was another sort of marathon about the canon divergence universe I share with @healing-winston-pratt ! And this one included two lists, a drawing and a fic :) which is this one. Basically, a “Maggie is Evie” reveal bc I love to hurt myself and other people. I wrote this MONTHS ago :) but still, I hope you like it! <3

For background:

Why is Winston alive and why do Nova and him live with Leroy?

And some other things related to the canon divergence universe, but NOT to this fic:

About Evander’s family

Their portrait: https://healing-winston-pratt.tumblr.com/post/626983013669044224/sandra-obrien-wade-and-arthur-evander-wade

We absolutely don’t need to talk about Evie right now bc we’re having a hard time already, but here we go :)

@novadreamer95438 , @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff there you go! (And @obsidianfr3sk bc I saw your tags about the fics jsjsjs and @jacihayle, but, in both your cases, you haven’t asked to be tagged and we’re doing it in case you wanted to get the notification, hence, if you want to be removed from the tag list, just notify us, that’s totally fine <3 )

They were sitting across the table, and it was super uncomfortable.

Nova thought about a married couple who was about to tell their grown ass child they were getting a divorce, even though the idea of an universe where for some reason Winston and Leroy were the same age and decided to get married absolutely repulsed her.

However, as disgusting as that sounded, that was what they looked like. They were even sitting next to each other, and while Winston tried to smile a bit, Leroy looked dead inside.

Not that he were physically able to look in some other way.

Damn.

She was used to all of this. These situations. These types of scenes.

And yet, she wanted it to be over once and for all. These had been the longest 5 minutes of her life. So long she even had to look at her clock to check how many minutes had passed, because she was almost sure they had been sitting there for at least 15.

But no. 5 minutes.

5 suffocating and eternal minutes.

Finally, Winston sensed and acknowledged this was getting kind of weird and, while straightening his back, he spoke in a fake upbeat voice.

“So… “He said.

Then his tone felt flat and his voice turned into nothing, because it disappeared. Like that. After his first word, he was out of courage again. And he stayed there, with his mouth half-open.

But Nova couldn’t tolerate this any longer, so this time she took (or at least tried to) the lead.

“So?” She asked with a determinate, almost demanding tone. “I was kinda in the middle of something, so… if you guys could…you know, tell me what did you call me for?”

Technically, she wasn’t lying. She was in the middle of something. It wasn’t work-related, but still it was something.

Nova tended to take her inventions, her personal projects, pretty seriously and Winston and Leroy were more than aware of that, and since she knew that, she found it very rude of them to interrupt her; to take her out of her zone so they could all sit around the table in an awkward and tense silence, listening to the sound of their own breaths. That is, she wasn’t usually this this harsh towards them, but they had managed to put her in a bad mood.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course you wanna know what is it that we called you for.” Winston sniffed, lacing his fingers together on the table. He looked…no, he acted nervous.

Nova didn’t know what he was about to say or what they were trying to tell her, but she was sure as hell that, after this, Winston would have to talk to his therapist, as he was continuously clearing his throat to stop his fake high-pitched tone from coming out instead of his real voice.

“We need to talk.” He concluded.

Nova snorted, while Leroy rubbed his face so hard she could see the trace of his hand on his own skin…As if he were helping much to the situa…

“Goddamn. Don’t do that. It’s not like you’re being too helpful.”

Thank you.

“I know.” Leroy said in a monotonous tone. “However…”

“No. Please. Just stop. I’m shaking and you’re just making it worse. If you’re not gonna do anything to help then stop grimacing at me or get the fuck out.”

“Man.”

“You act like an old, adult-sized, grumpy toddler. Grow up.”

Nova bit her lip, trying to convince herself this wasn’t funny, even though it was. In the past, being aware Winston was mad would’ve been extremely scary (The fact he was kind to her didn’t mean he could be underestimated. Winston had easily been the most dangerous Anarchist after Ace and Ingrid) but right now it was just…this. He could have a bad temper if he put his mind into it, though he would move on after like 30 minutes or so.

And Leroy knew that too, so he didn’t get offended.

That, and the fact that it was extremely hard to make Leroy feel offended.

Winston closed his eyes and massaged his temples, trying to get his chill back and align his freaking chakras.

Nova hissed. She had had this idea for a couple of minutes now, but she decided that it was the time to spit it out because, besides being eager to go back to the basement, she could feel the stress levels were getting out of control and they were at the point where they soon would start killing each other.

“If this is about The Talk.” Nova said, and once their attention was back at her, she repeated, air quoting:

“The Talk.”

“We know what you’re referring to.” Leroy nodded.

“Yeah. So…there’s no need for that.” She assured. “I already know about that stuff. Honey gave me a really graphic lecture back in the day and, not to offend you guys, but I’m not sure I want to go through that again. I appreciate the intention, but…”

“It’s not about that.” Leroy said. Cold, almost like he wanted her to shut up. Nova knew there was no use in feeling attacked or bad because that was the way Leroy usually spoke to everyone. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge in her stomach. In Leroy’s mind, from what she had heard, seen and experienced, she didn’t fit in the everyone category.

“Oh.” She gulped. “What is it, then?”

Leroy stared at her, Nova stared at Winston when Leroy’s stare was too heavy, and Winston stared at Leroy too.

So good ol’ Cyanide had no other option but to open his mouth again.

“We need to talk about Evie.”

And the world went numb. Her world. Her entire, little, shattered world.

And even though everything around it was in flames, Nova’s body, which held her little world, felt frozen. She was made of ice.

And she felt extremely cold.

She looked at both Winston and Leroy with all the hatred she was yet to dispose; all the resentment she still carried within; all the pain that still ate from her insides from now and then; until she realized she had skipped at least 5 seconds breath, and her legs responded, helping her up from the chair almost against her will.

They had no right.

They weren’t allowed to mention that. Not yet.

Not when they knew she was yet to heal.

Not when they knew they were ripping open an old, painful scar.

“No, we don’t.” She stated directly. “The only person I’ll talk to about that at the moment is my therapist and if you don’t like it it’s not my obligation to apologize. You’ll have to deal with that. You’re grown ass men.”

This time it was Winston’s turn to rub his face until there has a hand-shaped red line all the way through it.

“Wow, you fucking genius.” He barked at Leroy. “So sensitive and subtle, as al—“

“YOU’RE GROWN ASS MEN!” Nova slammed the table, feeling so furious she didn’t even find the time to cry.

Mostly because didn’t feel like crying.

Instead, she felt like screaming in a pillow until her throat bled.

“HEY! FINE, FINE! CALM DOWN!” Winston reached for her hand, grabbing her by the wrists. “CALM DOWN, YOU’LL HURT YOUR HANDS!”

She stopped. Not because she was more calm, but because Winston looked genuinely worried and she couldn’t help but feel…something.

Nova breathed like an enraged bull until her lungs ached and Winston’s gaze felt bigger than her, along with his hold.

Just like when she was little, during stormy nights.

Winston and Leroy were always the best at calming her down. And even now, no matter how hard she tried, every time they did stuff like this she went numb. A weird type of numb.

A good type of numb.

“Good.” Winston sighed. “Would you mind to sit down?”

She did it, as her body suddenly felt heavy as a rock; her body touched the chair again, and she shivered but tried to act normal.

“I’m sorry.” Leroy said in a hoarse voice. And even if she expected something more, that something never came, but Nova understood anyways.

Still, she didn’t find the strength to answer.

Winston rubbed his hands against each other and gently pushed his glass of water across the table towards her, but although her throat was dry, she refused to drink from it. She still had something called pride.

“What do you want?” She asked coldly.

“Nova, look…”

“What do you want?” She asked again, annoyed. “Do you want to know about how I left her to die?”

Winston shut his eyes closed as if he had received a really painful punch, and he scratched his forehead.

“What do you want from me? What do you want to know?” Nova begged from them to answer. “Please. I don’t know what do you want or why do you want it but let’s just…get this over with.”

“We don’t want anything from you.” Leroy started, this time in a less hurtful and soulless tone. “We’ve already caused you too much harm all over the years and we’re trying to make it up to you. Hence, I apologize for broaching the subject in such a sudden and violent way.”

Nova’s lips trembled, just like her hands.

“Fine.” She said.

Just…fine.

Nothing else to say.

Not at the moment, at least.

“And I apologize in advance for having to bring this up in the first place.” Winston licked his lips and cleared his throat. Again. “We even consulted your doctor and everything and, needless to say, we were advised not to act like asses about it. But somebody did anyway so…”

“You’ve thrown so many bricks at me I could build a wall with them, Winston. Thanks for your cooperation.”

“You’re welcome, you insensitive piece of shit.”

As fast as he directed his attention to Leroy, he directed it to Nova again, who just sniffed, blinded by rage.

“You talked to my doctor.” She said. Not as a question, but rather as a statement.

Because that’s what it was, and she wasn’t going to apologize for that either.

“We did.” Winston nodded. “Remember that she provided us with her contact and stuff, in case you…”

“I know.” Nova massaged her temples. “I know.”

“She didn’t provide any confidential information, nor did she give us any type of sensitive details about your sessions.” Leroy assured. “So there’s no need for you to be…worried about that.”

She wasn’t worried about that. She trusted them enough, even if sometimes she wasn’t willing to admit it. At least, she trusted them enough to know that, if someday her therapist saw herself in the necessity to tell them something, anything about what happened during the appointments, she wouldn’t be mad.

Not too much, at least.

But this was just too out of character even for them. And, not to sound harsh, but she would’ve expected it from someone like Hugh. Not them. Not Winston and Leroy.

“I’m not.” She said, trying to remain in a neutral tone. “So…please, please just tell me what’s this issue that’s so delicate you had to talk to my therapist before talking to me.”

They stared to each other for a second, before Leroy handed the folder he’d been keeping under his arm to Winston; the one she hadn’t paid too much attention to, as she thought it was…normal paperwork stuff.

Winston didn’t hand it to Nova. Instead, he put it on the table and placed both his hands on top of it.

“So. You’ve been told about and even helped with the updates to the Renegades system.” Winston said. High-pitched.

“Correct.” Nova’s eyelid was twitching.

“And…well, you know, since you are…a Renegade.” Winston coughed. “They had to take DNA samples from you to…”

“Upload it to the system. Let’s skip that part. I know it.” Nova rolled her eyes. She had no idea why they were going around the topic so much. “I’m the one they took samples from. I had to sign for permission. There’s no need to explain something I did. “

“Okay, okay. I’m…I’m sorry. You’re right.” Winston sniffed. “But…we need to mention it because…well…”

“They took samples from all the current Renegade recruits: Members of the Council, patrol units, the janitorial team, the Headquarters staff…” Leroy took a deep breath. “….Winston and I had been suspicious about this for a while but still…”

“Still, we didn’t know.” Winston nodded. “….Gosh. This is going to be fucking hard.”

Nova crossed her arms over her chest.

“What’s going to be hard?” She laughed sarcastically. “And what does Evie even have to do with this? What is this all about?”

When they just looked at her, she thought she might have been missing something. Or failing to catch something in that case. Not that she cared at this point.

“Nova. The thing is that…” Winston took a deep breath. “We…”

A nervous laugh escaped his mouth, while Leroy played with the fabric of the tablecloth, absently.

“We…uhm…” He gulped. “We got…a match.”

She heard and comprehended the structure of the sentence, but it didn’t make sense at all in her head. So, the best answer she could think of was:

“A match of what?” in a harsh tone, arching her eyebrow as she tilted her head to the side.

“What the fuck are you two talking about?”

Winston hissed, and Leroy cleared his throat.

“A match, Nova.” Leroy clarified.

And after remaining in silence for at least three seconds, he spoke again, just because Winston refused to do it.

“A DNA that matches yours. And that, comparing it to the samples they took from Evie when she was born…it…uhm….also matches hers.”

She heard the words through a blank noise that invaded her ears. Deafening.

She felt the hot tears creating a vessel through her vision, as her arms tightened around her chest. And somehow, the answer was still clear as water.

“That’s bullshit.” She declared. “Those tests are wrong because the Renegades are still negligent as fuck. So that’s pure bullshit. That’s pure and utter…”

“Nova…”

“I was there the day she died and I could’ve saved her but I didn’t so she fucking died.” She stated, calm. “That’s the way things are. That’s what happened. That’s what…”

“Nova.”

“Nova. Listen.” Leroy stared directly at her eyes.

And this time he looked absolutely destroyed, so she listened.

For once.

“Her name’s Margaret White.” He said, slowly. “That’s Evie. That’s your sister.”

Her heartbeat turned into a drum, beating so fast it made her whole body ache. She turned into a car about to crash against a fence. A rollercoaster. A train wreck. A hurricane about to happen. And above all that noise, all she could hear were the bullets; all she could touch was Evie’s soft baby skin; all she could feel was the apartment’s floor beneath her bare feet; all she could smell was her mother’s blood above her brow; all she could remember was Magpie’s face.

All she could recognize was the bullet she carried around in her pocket.

All she could remember was how that kid had stolen her bracelet. Twice.

How she stared at her so full of disdain, directing a different type of sneer at her every single time; so resented with everyone, even with herself people she didn’t know.

Magpie, that Magpie, was the little baby Nova had mourned for more than half of the years she had been alive.

Magpie, who hated her and everyone else.

“Oh, Nova…” Winston tried to reach for her hand, but Nova slapped his’ away as hard as she could, careful not to release her power on him, just because she wanted to confront both of them.

“That’s bullshit.” She repeated, frantic. “It can’t be true.”

All she’d done.

“It can’t be true. Those papers are wrong.”

All she’d suffered.

“It’s not true.”

All she’d risked to avenge her sister.

“You’re lying.” She said, tears streaming down her face, begging they were lying.

All she’d done and risked…just for her beloved little sister to be alive.

Her chest went up and down, violently, as she covered her ears to avoid hearing their voices.

“NO!” She screeched, getting up from her chair. “YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE LYING! YOU ALL ARE NOTHING BUT…!”

“NOVA, PLEASE, CALM DOWN!”

She slammed her fist on the table once again, as she felt her whole body losing control. Shaking. Shivering. Trembling.

Crumbling apart along with her life.

Her lie of a life.

Her little sad world full of lies and grief.

And now grief was also a lie.

“YOU’RE FUCKING LYING!”

Couldn’t it had been, at least, somebody that loved her?

-.-

By the time the healer was gone, Simon finally noticed the little wounds in Winston’s hands. He also had bitten his nails until he reached his skin and it started to bleed.

And his face was soaked.

And that, even if it was odd to admit it, broke his heart. He was absolutely distraught, just like Leroy, even though Leroy was handling it way better.

If Simon hadn’t been through this many times, he probably would’ve reacted the same as Winston.

“Is she…?”

“Yeah. She’ll be fine.” Hugh cleared his throat.

It had happened so fast they didn’t even have time to put on their uniforms. They were here, with regular clothes, just because Leroy and Winston hadn’t figured who else to call.

“The healer gave her some sedatives. It’ll take a couple of minutes, but she’ll…she’ll be fine.” Hugh said, to which Winston hiccupped and nodded, even if he wasn’t crying anymore.

Leroy showed no reaction. He was staring at a blank space in the nearest wall.

“We figured …maybe you don’t consider it adequate that Adrian spends the night here, so…he already notified the rest of the team members and Tucker volunteered. You…know her, right?”

“We do.” Winston said in a hoarse voice. “The…girl with this… grappling hook, right? Ruby.”

“Err… not quite a grappling hook but yeah. That’s her.”

Oh my god, Hugh.

Later Simon would lecture him about how it was non polite to be this dense.

Right now, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the scene that could be seen through the ajar bedroom door.

Nova was kneeling on the carpet while Adrian hugged her from the back, covering her body with his’.

You’re lying.

That’s what she said. On loop.

And Stars, Simon wished they were.

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starbuckie · 4 years

Text

Some Quarantine Lovin’ Chapter Six: When Can I See You Again?

Marvel Highschool!AU

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Obscene amounts of fluff, kissing, swearing, kinda a lot of angst

Description: Bucky Barnes is absolutely, no doubt about it, in love with Y/N L/N. He’s loved her since the day he laid eyes on her in the third grade. He loved her when he had his own girlfriend, and when he was barely friends with her for a whole summer. And of course, in his freshman year, they are now stuck together. In a house. During a worldwide quarantine. This should be fun.

Words: 3,555 words

A/N: We are almost at the end! Jeez, I can’t believe it. Anyways, I don’t have a lot to say, but the little story about Sam missing his final is definitely based off the time in freshman year of highschool when @transparentfestivaltiger came to class late and had to retake her final, which I still bully her about to this day. As always, thank you to my dearest Geena for being my sassy beta, and y’all need to check out her writing(@transparentfestivaltiger). MAKE SURE Y’ALL ARE STAYING SAFE AND SOCIALLY DISTANCING AND WEAR YOUR GODDAMN MASKS PLEASE! enjoy this chapter, loves <3

George Barnes’ funeral took place nine days after his death. It was a small affair consisting of just Y/N’s family, a few of Mr. Barnes’ work friends, the Rogers’ family, and, of course, Bucky and Becca. Bucky gave a small speech, one written about his father’s life and what he had accomplished, but he didn’t speak one word about what events had taken place inside of his family’s house. There was nothing else he had to say about his dad, no words of endearment or love. George was buried at Evergreen Cemetery, and as his father was lowered into the ground, Bucky was finally able to let go of the burden he had felt all his life.

After they finished the ceremony, none of his father’s friends hung around, due to the ongoing quarantine. Steve’s family stayed, saying they had to talk to Y/N’s parents about something. “Hey, guys.” Steve said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Bucky sniffled, most of the tears dry on his face and nodded. “Yeah, it has been, pal.”

Y/N stood by his side, baby pink mask covering her face, holding baby Becca. The fifteen-year-old girl couldn’t even imagine how this all felt to the baby. Would she even remember this? She could barely even talk, still letting out little baby gurgles at one year old. As the two boys talked, six feet apart, of course, Y/N wondered what would happen to the Barnes’ siblings. Bucky was only fifteen, he only had a job during the summer, and he needed a legal guardian. He and Becca couldn’t live by themselves yet. Would they go to an orphanage? Or be taken to a family far away? She couldn’t stand that thought. Y/N knew it wasn’t her choice, but she couldn’t help but be a little bit selfish. They needed to be with a family who loved them, who cherished them, and most importantly, that they loved back. “Y/N?”

Bucky’s voice made the girl snap out of her thoughts, and Becca giggled happily and made grabby hands towards her older brother. Y/N envied her innocence. “Hey, Buck,” she said. “Stevie! I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Steve smiled, from what she could tell, under his mask and waved to her. “Yeah, I can’t believe it’s been almost two months. We all need to hang out soon.”

Y/N and Bucky shared looks with each other. Especially because they lived in New York, Y/N’s parents were more conscious than ever of having them going out and hanging around other people. “I can ask my mom and dad, but if we all stay apart I’m sure they’ll agree.” Steve and Bucky nodded together in agreement. “How have you been doing, Steve?”

Sighing, the blonde-haired boy ran a hand through his cropped hair, which had miraculously managed to look the same as the last time she saw him in person. “You know, just been reading and painting a whole lot. Oh, I drew this portrait of Nat! I’ll send it to you.” A few moments after he looked through his phone, Y/N heard her own alert with a message. She readjusted the baby onto her hip, and opening the message, she gasped. Steve had managed to capture Natasha perfectly from a photo she had posted on her Instagram. It was absolutely beautiful, with her red hair looking like a fiery haze and green eyes sparkling. “Jesus, Steve, this is absolutely amazing, it’s so realistic.”

“Let me see, doll.” She handed him the phone and saw his blue eyes widen in awe. “Steve, you really outdid yourself on this one.” His face heated up at the couple’s words. “Aw, you got a little crush, Stevie?” After receiving no response, Bucky pointed at his friend accusingly. “Holy crap, you do!” Steve only managed to nod his head before ducking down in embarrassment.

At this point, Y/N didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t her place to say, but she also didn’t want Steve to get hurt. Natasha had told her and Wanda earlier in the seventh grade that she liked girls, and the two couldn’t be any more proud of their friend. While Wanda did ask Tasha occasionally when she was going to tell the rest of the group, she had a good reason not to. Her parents, while they were kind to her, were closed off to many modern values. Natasha’s mom stayed at home and has taught the red-haired girl that one day she would do the same and take care of her husband and their babies. She felt trapped, and her two best friends completely understood that she wasn’t ready to come out yet.

“How long have you liked her, Steve?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

“I think it was when I met you two in third grade, around when Bucky first started crushing on you.” Now that was new information to Y/N. Whipping around her head to look at her boyfriend, she squinted her eyes at Bucky, who seemed to be so very interested in the dirt. Deciding that she would tease him about it later, she turned back to Steve.

“That’s… nice.” Y/N didn’t mean to sound so rude, but it was extremely awkward for her and she didn’t know what else to say. Both of the boys stared at her weirdly for her strange response, and she could feel their eyes burning through her. She felt guilty for not telling Steve before he got hurt, but Natasha needed her, and she was loyal to her. Luckily Steve’s parents had finished talking to the L/N’s so it was time for all three kids to go. “Bye, Stevie, we’ll see you soon, I hope.”

“We can ask the rest of the gang when we work with them. Maybe when we’re out of school and classes are done.” Steve suggested. Bucky took Becca from Y/N’s hold and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Steve.” The three said their goodbyes, and with a last wave, Steve walked back to his family.

“Are you okay, baby?” Y/N asked. Bucky let out a breath and shut his eyes. The last few tears fell and raced down his face, and with that, Bucky knew he would be okay. He had no clue what was to become of him and his sister, but for now, he was safe and had his girlfriend who loved him very, very much. And that was all he needed for now.

“Yeah,” Bucky let out a small smile, “I really am.” Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder and the two stood in silence, watching over the grassy field.

The lawyer called two days after that. Bucky’s dad had left him in the will, seeming as if there was no one else in their family alive to have the belongings except for those in Romania, who probably had no clue the Barnes siblings even existed. Bucky had to sit in a conference Zoom call with Mr. and Mrs. L/N, his father’s lawyer, and for some odd reason, the Rogers’ parents and their lawyer as well. Y/N sat outside the room, ear to the door, trying to hear what they were all saying, but was sent to her room after her mom opened the door and she fell down.

“Fine then, be that way, mom.” She mumbled on her way to the room. Y/N was trying to be productive while waiting for her boyfriend to return, using this free time to finish her homework for the week, though it was only a Monday. They didn’t have finals, but that just added more to the piles upon piles of homework they were already receiving. Apparently the teachers believed the students had so much more free time, they would be able to finish three packets of Physics in one night. Bullshit.

At some point in the two hours on the call, Becca started to whine so Y/N played with her and watched cartoons on her iPad, while also discovering her interest in “Little Einsteins” on Disney+. “Becca, do you know what song this is?” Of course Becca wouldn't recognize it, but the sweet melody of Mozart reminded the teenager of sitting on the wooden floor of the Barnes’ home as a fourth-grader, and watching in amazement as Bucky’s mother’s fingers drifted across the keys. “Your mama used to play this all the time for me and your big brother when we were younger.” The baby simply just stared at her, bright blue eyes filled with curiosity. Becca didn’t remember her mother, as she had died while giving birth. “She was an amazing person, your mama.” Y/N scooped up the little girl in her arms and cradled her to her chest, regaling stories of Mrs. Barnes. She didn’t even notice until later, but tears had started to trace down her cheeks as she brought back memories.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Bucky popped his head inside the room, a quiet, but happy smile on his face. “Was that the time in sixth grade when we made that slip and slide in my backyard and got my ma all soaked?” Y/N nodded and chuckled wetly. Bucky, still grinning, walked over to the bed and caressed his girlfriend’s face with his thumbs. “Why are you crying, baby?”

Placing Becca down gently next to her, she slipped into Bucky’s embrace. His hands massaged her shoulders gently, and she could hear his heart beating softly in his chest. “I’m sorry, James, I’m just thinking about your ma too much. She was an absolutely beautiful person.”

“She really was, doll. I miss her a whole damn lot.” Bucky sighed happily and let his chin rest on her head. “But, I’ve got you here with me now, and I’ve got adults who decided to adopt me and Becca who love us, so I’ve got to say that I’m done dwelling on the past and ready for a very happy future.” At the mention of new parents, Y/N’s heart dropped and she snapped her head up to look at him. He was smiling brightly now, and she could not figure out why.

“You’re being adopted?” Y/N asked. She honestly couldn’t tell if her voice was shaking or not, but by the way he rubbed her back more soothingly, she assumed she was. “Are they nice?”

Bucky chuckled at the question, and nodded his head. “They’re very nice, Y/N. I know them personally.” Had her parents adopted him? Well, she was happy that he was in a family that loved him to pieces, but that would mean that she was currently dating her step-brother, which was a slightly disturbing thought to her.

“My parents?” She asked softly.

He shook his head and grinned. “You may now call me James Buchanan Barnes-Rogers.” Y/N’s jaw dropped.

“Are you joking? You and Becca were adopted by Steve’s mom and dad?” Y/N could barely believe it.

“I kid you not, doll, I am now a Rogers.” With a squeal, she pushed forward and kissed him, forcing him to fall on his back on the bed. After a few moments, they both sat up, tears in their eyes. “Okay, I was kidding about the Rogers thing though, me and Bec are keeping our last names, but Steve and I are now legally brothers.”

“That’s why they were talking to my parents for so long the other day?” Y/N inquired. “How is this going to work in quarantine though? Oh, does Steve know? He’s going to be so excited, the two of you are best friends!”

Chuckling at her excitement and endless questions, he cut her off with a chaste, yet nonetheless sweet kiss. “Sarah and Joseph already had a talk with him before we spoke to the lawyers, so I’m going to call him soon. We’ve decided that I’ll stay here for the rest of the quarantine just to stay safe because you know his dad goes out at night to the firm. But we’re selling the house, and all of the money is going to me and Bec’s college funds. That’s pretty much all I know, I was zoning out for most of it.”

Rolling her eyes playfully, Y/N teased, ”Of course you were.” They leaned back together, her head resting on his chest as he ran a hand through her hair. “You’re going to be so happy, James.” Bucky closed his eyes and smiled in peaceful bliss, for what seemed like the first time in forever.

Classes continued that week like normal, as no one else knew about Bucky’s father. That was fine with him, he didn’t need everybody else’s sympathy and there was no need to make it a big deal. It was nearing the end of the year and the exhaustion was continuously catching up to all the students, causing them to fall asleep during their classes and procrastinate on homework. Coffee was inhaled in unhealthy amounts, endless gum wrappers surrounding the wastebasket where Y/N had missed when she and Bucky studied in her room. It was nice to have a regular, scheduled week in contrast to the past one. Well, at least it was normal until Saturday night when two bright headlights shone in through the living room window. Y/N and Bucky weren’t really watching the movie; they had their legs tangled on the couch as they made out, so they didn’t notice Ria’s car pulling into the driveway outside.

“So this is what I get to come home to?” Ria boomed from the doorway. “Two horny-ass teenagers making out on the couch? That’s just fantastic.” Both Bucky and Y/N shot up from their laying down position and stared at the older L/N sibling with wide eyes and kiss-swollen lips. “Jeez, calm down, you both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N leaped off the couch with absolutely zero grace, and grabbed her sister in a hug. “Oh shit,” she instantly said, “I probably shouldn’t be doing that.”

Ria laughed at her younger sister and ruffled her hair. “Nah, it’s okay, I tested negative, remember?” Y/N had a faint memory of it and nodded, leaning back into her sister for another hug. “Hey, Buck, how are you doing, kid? I’m sorry about your old man.”

“I’m doing okay, Ria, just trying to make it through the rest of this year.” She pulled him into a tight hug and the last part of his sentence was muffled in her hoodie. “I thought you were staying with your boyfriend, what happened?”

“Well, I found out the bastard had cheated on me a few months ago so I dumped his ass, packed up my things, and drove back here.” Bucky and Y/N hummed at her story, knowing that she bounced back from breakups quickly. Ria had had many, many relationships in her twenty years of being alive, and driving four hours back home in a furious haze was one of the least crazy things she had done in the aftermath of a breakup.

“Do you wanna watch ‘Legally Blonde’ with us, Ria?” Y/N asked her sister.

Ria let out a snort and squeezed the two teenagers’ shoulders. “Not if you’re making out like that I don’t. Plus, I gotta check in with mom and dad, I didn’t tell them I was coming. I’ll catch you guys later though.” With that, she picked up her suitcase and left the room. Bucky and Y/N looked at each other and then busted out laughing.

“I don’t care what your sister says, I will make out with you as much as I damn well please.” Bucky said, smirking.

Y/N grinned before bringing Bucky’s face right before hers and licking her lips. “You won’t be hearing any objections from me.” He laughed as she connected their lips again, moving back towards the couch until he was seated, the movie long, long forgotten.

Quarantine was horrible, but with Bucky and her older sister there with her, it made it much more bearable. Now there were three students staying in the house, all doing classes, which made it slightly frustrating and stressful, but she tried to not let it affect her. In the last few remaining weeks of school, Y/N and Bucky worked hard, making sure they had all their assignments turned in and studying for their “quizzes” (aka finals) that would determine the grade they got for the year. It was nearly impossible to fail this semester, the only good thing that came out of the pandemic, but both of them were good students who still actually did the work. Finally, school finished and summer began.

It really changed nothing besides the fact that they were now bored even more often. Y/N wanted to do the Chloe Ting challenge as she had seen on YouTube, but after three days she gave up in exhaustion and forced Bucky to do yoga with her instead, which he ended up enjoying a lot. He and Y/N were bummed out that they wouldn’t be able to continue their extracurriculars, baseball and the play, for that year, but hopefully, the pandemic would end in time for their sophomore year. FaceTime calls between the group became longer just like the days, sometimes stretching to seven or eight hours. They spent a month trying to convince their parents to let them hang out, with promises of social distancing and masks. After much pestering, they were all finally allowed to meet up for Steve’s fifteenth birthday.

Bucky and Y/N walked hand in hand to the Brooklyn Bridge Park. Y/N had gotten Steve a new set of acrylic paints and a set of charcoal pencils, and Bucky had gotten him a baseball signed by the Yankees that he had kept since he met them in a bar with his dad the year before. “Where do you think they are? Sam said he was coming late.” Bucky said.

Y/N snorted. “The dumbass probably slept in like he did the day of his oral Spanish test.” Both of them quietly chuckled at that until they saw the familiar shock of red curly hair gesturing wildly at them. “And there’s Ms. Natasha Romanoff. HEY GUYS!”

Steve, Wanda, and Natasha all turned around to the couple and though they were all wearing masks, Bucky knew they were smiling underneath. Y/N let go of his hand and ran towards her friends at an alarming speed. “I’ve missed you guys so fucking much- oh shit.” Her foot got caught in the grass, sending her tumbling to the ground. “Oomph.” Natasha rolled her eyes, knowing her friend’s clumsy self, and Bucky once again came to her rescue as her knight in shining armor.

“You okay, baby?” He asked.

“Never been better.” She quickly pecked his cheek, and connecting their hands again, they walked over to their friends. “Happy birthday, Stevie! You’re officially a grandpa now.” She and Bucky placed their presents on the picnic table and sat in the circle their friends had made, six feet apart obviously.

“Thanks, Y/N, it’s great to see you and Buck again.” Bucky sat next to Steve, and the two of them made conversation as Y/N turned to Wanda and Natasha.

“Ugh, you and Bucky are so cute it makes me want to puke.” Natasha jabbed playfully. “You make all us single people feel bad.”

“I can’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it either way.” Y/N grinned. “But Nat, I need to tell you something; Steve has a crush on you.” Natasha just sighed.

“I know he does, so I’m actually planning on telling the whole group tomorrow. Steve’ll be able to get over it, he’s also been texting Peggy Carter in our class.” Wanda nodded her head in agreement.

“I’m really proud of you, Tasha,” Wanda whispered, “We all are.”

“Thank you, Wands.” The redhead took a deep breath and let it go. “Thank you, both, for being so supportive of me these past two years, but I think I’m ready to come out. I’m not going to let anything stop me from being who I am, or loving who I want to love.”

“We are so, so proud of you, Tasha.” Y/N said. “Damn your parents if they don’t accept you.” Natasha chuckled, a tear falling out of her eye. “I really want to give you a hug right now but I can’t, goddamn it.”

“HEY LOSERS, DID YOU MISS ME?” Sam yelled. A loud groan escaped Bucky, causing chuckles to rise from the rest of the group. “Happy birthday, o wise one, you’re the last one of us to turn fifteen.” He placed his bag on the table and came to sit on the ground.

“How’ve you been, Sam?” Wanda asked. And just like that, they were back. Maybe it was just for a few hours, but at least in that time they could forget what was going on in the real world. Sitting in the grass, eating their lunches, laughs filling the warm summer air, Y/N and Bucky were content with just being there.

TAGLIST

@transparentfestivaltiger @barnesjamcs @kitkatd7 @adorkably

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #307

“you lie so much, you believe yourself”

How long has it been since you kissed someone? Like, two years or so. What level are you on Farmville? Never played it. What are you looking forward to in the next year? I hope Covid just withers away, dammit. I truly, truly hope this vaccine is effective. And that people start wearing their GODDAMN masks. Do you use a lot of emoticons? Not really nowadays. Would you ever climb a mountain? No. Even if my legs were capable of handling that, I'd be too afraid of an avalanche. Colons or equal signs for your smiley face’s eyes? Colons. When was the last time you swam in a lake? A looooong time ago. If you could have anything right now, what would you want? It'd be great to chill at Sara's house honestly, I miss that. What’s your relationship status? Single and I think finally starting to truly accept I need to be right now. I wouldn't want to date myself in my current position, so I shouldn't expect anyone else to. When was the last time someone asked you your age? On my birthday when I mentioned in group therapy that I was trying to make it an especially good day about myself. When was the last time you danced? Very, very poorly with Sara years ago lmao. Has anyone ever tried to physically fight you? Someone snatched my arm and yanked me down to look her in the eyes in HS because she was a jealous bitch back then telling lies, but idk if her intention was to actually try to start a physical fight. Are you avoiding someone? No. What’s your favorite primary color? Red. What do you have pierced? Just my ears and bottom lip now. :/ I want morrrreeee. I'm forever tilted that so many of my piercings closed when I was hospitalized. What is your favorite dog breed? I find pugs to be very cute, but I do not support their breeding whatsoever so would never buy one. Besides them, I have a definite bias towards beagles. In your honest opinion, what is the scariest sea creature you know? Fucking Christ, giant squids. Terrifying. Do you believe there is just one love for everyone, or…? No. There are way, way, WAY too many people on this planet for that. What natural disaster scares you the most? Tornados. What outrageous career could you see yourself wanting to do? Define an "outrageous" career... but I can't visualize myself doing anything very unordinary. In what way would you want to help change the world? I truly hope I can make some considerable amount of contributions to natural conservation and animal education. When driving down the road looking for an address do you turn the radio low? I don't drive, but I know I would, considering I can't concentrate on driving if the radio is on anyway. What do you think of when you look at the stars? How little I and my problems really are. It gives me perspective. If you could say ONE THING to the president, what would it be? Well, Biden just got into office, so I can't really say yet. We'll see what he does. What Disney princess are you most like? Personality wise, I mean. Uh. I'unno. Maybe Snow White because animals? haha Do you believe in astrology? Not in the slightest. Do you look into people’s eyes when you talk to them? I try to, anyway, but I tend to find it very uncomfortable, and I never know if I'm offering too little or too much. So I have trouble maintaining it, especially with people I don't know. You can have one of the following two things: trust or love. Pick one. Trust. What do you think is the most important thing in this life is? Hm, that's a deep one. Perhaps the understanding that you are just as important as the next person and that we should work as one to make this one life that we know of worthwhile. Make the world better than when you entered it. What is your favorite shade of blue? Pastel blue. I just like pastels in general. When's the last time you bought something just because? I don't buy things "just because." If I actually have money to spend, I use it with motivation behind it. What Ozzy lyric describes you best? WHOA NOW HUNNY you are asking the WRONG person because I can just about name his entire discography so there are waaaay too many song lyrics to dig through and pick one for myself. Probably something from "Dreamer," after a short moment's consideration. When was the last time you went for a walk without a specific destination in mind? Not since Sara and I walked down the path near her house. We didn't plan on when we would turn around to go back. Do you daydream? Only all the time. What was your last daydream about? Ha, thanks to that other question, visiting Sara again. It'd be nice, but yeah, financial limitations and corona. Ever won the lottery? Bitch I wish. What was the most important decision you made that screwed up your life the most? Ugh... I'd say putting all my self-worth, happiness, and source of peace into one person was pretty big but also fucking stupid. What is love really about? Don't ask a romantic this and expect a non-essay, haha. But to keep it as short as possible, it's about mutual care, the desire to grow together, trust, openness, the peace to be vulnerable with the other... It's about a lot. It's such a deep, beautiful feeling. What's the most you ever made in a year? lol Do you have an online diary? Only through surveys, really. What's the biggest pot you've won in poker? I haven't played poker since I was a kiddo, so idr. What Metallica lyric most describes your life? Who wrote this and knows my favorite bands????? Like damn. There's a good handful of the sadder songs I relate to; I did some brief digging through ones I know I relate to, and perhaps the one I feel closest is within "The Unforgiven II": "The door is locked now, but it's open if you're true. If you can understand the me, then I can understand the you." Aaaand now I'm gonna go binge Metallica 'cuz it's been too long, thanks. How many concerts have you been to? Just one. :/ Which one was your favorite? I've only seen Alice Cooper, and it was great. What's the most illegal thing you've done? Pirated stuff, oops. Ever get busted by the cops? What for? No. How many pairs of rollerblades do/did you own? I doubt I have any anymore. Ever wear out a CD? What was it? Ahaha... There is some scratching on my mom's copy of Ozzmosis thanks to me playing it so much on my old CD player. Ever have a tornado in your town? Well my city is pretty damn big, so yes, in some spots. I don't think my immediate proximity has ever seen one, though. If you HAD to pick ONE song to listen to for the rest of your life, and that would be the only song you ever heard, what would it be? I would absolutely need something motivating if that was the case, so most likely "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne. That song touches me so deeply and gives me the courage to do what I can to tackle life and try not to waste it. I know, I'm doing a great job at that. Ever heard of Shinedown? Hell yeah; I was actually listening to them in the car earlier. What does your lawn furniture consist of? We have nothing out there. Ever live off of canned soup and ramen noodles for weeks at a time? Er, no. But when I got my tongue pierced, I had to survive off of popsicles and... I somehow forgot the main thing I ate???? How?????? But anyway it was something that didn't involve much or any chewing, either. I actually lost a little bit of weight in that week or so because eating solids was impossible, and I didn't enjoy "eating" liquids either. That piercing (snake eyes, btw) was soooo so cute tho. I really wish it hadn't started to damage my teeth, or else I'd still have it. What musical group/artist do you love, but hide from other people? I used to be kinda embarrassed by artists like Melanie Martinez when you compare her music to my adoration of metal, but at my age now, I don't give a damn. I like what I like and won't hide it. What is the first meal you remember eating? ... Does anyone actually remember this??? What's in your keepsake box/scrapbook? Good God, a lot. I haven't looked in it in a very, very long time though. It brings a usually painful nostalgia. What did you score on your SATs? I don't even remember if I took them. I THINK I took the ACT instead? I don't even know the difference. When was the last time you saw a rainbow? Hm. Been a while. It's not like I'm out of the house a lot, especially nowadays with quarantine. What colors is your lava lamp? I wish I had a lava lamp, they're rad and really relaxing. What's the strangest thing you've ever hung on the wall? Nothing, really. Can you name every place you've ever had sex? I mean I can but I'm not going to. What's the most important thing you ever lost and never found again? My favorite childhood cat Charcoal. He was an outdoor and intact male, so it was very normal for him to eventually vanish to rove. Please keep your cats indoors. What forms of birth control have you used? The pill and, uh, having "barriers." How many webpages have you created, and can you still find them all? I made Wetpaint sites for my two RP mobs back in the day, but the site has since been completely revised, so no, they don't exist anymore. I checked outta curiosity I think last year. How many people are in your family portrait? We don't even have a proper family portrait. Ever punched a wall? No. When's the last time you really lost your temper? In some argument with Mom I don't remember. Ever thought you (or a girlfriend) were pregnant, but it was a false alarm? I had massive anxiety over it once, but it was irrational and even I knew that. Not that anxiety cares. If 97 is yes, were you glad or sad? I was very glad when my period came lmao. What was the last conversation you had with someone before they died? When I saw my grandma for the last time, I just let her know that I loved her and that she was so, so strong, and she was. No one could believe how long she warded death off when she finally stopped chemo. What do your drinking glasses look like? We have some more unique cups and mugs, but the majority of them are just plain, slightly angular glasses, some short, some tall. How many bottles/containers are in your medicine cabinet? Oh wow, a lot. We're covered for most potential problems. How many funerals have you been to? Uhhh I think one. Maybe even none, just wakes. What was the last bug you killed and what did you use? An ant, I think? I just used my fingers. How many computers in your household? There are three laptops, but no desktop computers. Ever help to solve a crime? There was one occasion years ago when our neighbor's window was busted overnight and cops came to us to ask for any evidence we might have had, but we didn't have any. Idk what came of it. Ever get pulled over by the cops and get away without a ticket? I've never been pulled over. What was your first legal alcoholic drink? I think it was a margarita, but possibly a daquiri. Ever get published by one of those poetry groups? I fucking wish. I've tried, but to no avail. What's the furthest distance you've moved? Not very far at all. Just to the neighboring town. How many friends from high school/college do you still talk to? Only a few now and then. Girt is the only one I have real conversations with, though. What's the most expensive things your parents ever bought you? Probably the laptop I have right now, but idk. I've never asked how much things they've bought me cost, it seems rude somehow. What's the most expensive thing you've bought? The upcoming revamp of my tattoo. Deposit was $100, and then it's probably going to be another $300-400. I can't afford it all myself; as my birthday gift, Mom is helping me pay for it, but I've got most of it covered thanks to Christmas and birthday money. How many times did you intentionally start to commit suicide? Start to do it? Well, I was trying to run for sharp objects to do it twice, but on each occasion, someone held me back 'cuz they knew I was about to do something rash, so I didn't get very far, thankfully. The only time I fully went through with an attempt was my OD. Ever spent the night in the "loony bin?" How fucking disrespectful to call it that, but whatever. If you put all the instances together, I've been in psych hospitals for around a couple months, maybe more. What is your favorite cover song? Disturbed's cover of "Sound of Silence" is absolutely unbeatable. I'd just about call it a cold hard fact. What's your inspiration? Other's success stories, music, art in general, etc. What's the longest relationship you've been in? Over 3 1/2 years. Did you ever drop out of school? I dropped out of college three times, yikes. Three times is enough; even if I think I want to, I'm never going back. That is just way too much money to keep throwing down the drain, and there's clearly a pattern. Ever raise a child that wasn't your own for more than 3 months? I've never raised a kid period. Strangest medical procedure ever performed on you? Look up what a pilonidal cyst is and know I had one surgically removed. Pretty strange and uncomf. Song that has changed your attitude recently? None, really. What's something that you say a lot to be mean? ... Why would I try to be mean??? Who told you they loved you last? Me mum. Ever had a pet frog? Not technically, no, but as kids, my sister, neighbor, and I saved hundreds, maybe thousands of tadpole eggs from a ditch that was inevitably going to dry out. We transferred them all to a kiddie pool and let them grow naturally, hopping out and into the world whenever they were ready. I wouldn't call them "pets." Your worst enemy? IT'S NO SURPRIIIISE TO MEEEE I AAAAMMM MY OWN WORST ENEMYYYYY Do you believe in karma? No, but I wish it was a thing. What was the last hurtful thing you said to someone? I'm not sure. I certainly try to avoid doing so. Do you love someone enough you'd die for them? There's multiple people. The last song you listened to? I wasn't joking when I said I was gonna go on a Metallica spree, haha. "Of Wolf and Man" is on rn. Your most favorite memory as a kid? Too many, man. If you had the choice to work or not, would you work? Yes. I need something to do that benefits others in one way or another. Ever TRULY wanted to kill someone? I can't say for sure, if I'm being totally transparent. When I found out about Jason's gf after me, I can say with certainty I wanted her dead beyond dead, but I don't know if I wanted to kill her, per se. Just to clarify, no, I don't wish any negativity upon her now. I was certifiably insane before and certainly don't think I am anymore, so... Marvel or DC? I don't care. Do you watch anime subbed or dubbed? Both. I prefer dubbed, BUT only if the voice acting isn't insufferable. I like dubbed just because for me, it's very distracting to have to keep looking down at subtitles. How often do you exercise? I don't... I'm still waiting for Mom to move into her actual room versus the living room couch so I can do WiiFit with some privacy. I'm too uncomfortable to exercise in front of anyone. What is your favorite book series? Warriors will forever have a very special place in my heart. What is your favorite OTP? I will probably ship Rhett and Link for my entire life. Their friendship is truly incredible and so so SOOOOOOO cute. Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? I've never seen the series, actually.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''holier than thou'' by metallica

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norahastuff · 4 years

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A little late watching this week’s episode but I was so impressed, I’m going to talk about it anyway. Fair warning, this got longer than I intended it to.

This is Us has a reputation as an overly treacly kind of show, and for the most part that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s a smart nuanced portrait of flawed characters, the relationships between them and how the effects of trauma can reverberate throughout the years. However, there have been times where the show has leaned into that preconception many have of it as a sappy show and when I heard the concept for this episode, “What if Jack had lived?” I’m not going to lie, I thought the show was going to go down that road. I needn’t have worried - they know what they’re doing.

No this wasn’t a tear jerking whitewashed episode about how great everything would have been if Jack never died, it was a deep dive into Randall, his anxieties and mental issues. The things he’s spent his whole suppressing and refusing to acknowledge. The Big 3 have all for so long blamed a lot of their problems on losing Jack, but for lack of a better way to phrase this, that was a convenient excuse. Obviously I’m not saying losing a parent is convenient or anything of course, but that it is understandable. It’s a concrete thing that you can point at and hold onto. A tangible reason for feeling bad, for things going wrong. You lose someone you love and it hurts. There’s no grey area there. To use a quote from Bojack Horseman “My mother is dead and everything is worse now.”

(Ironically in that case there was a lot of grey area but I won’t get into that in a This is Us post...but do yourself a favour and watch Free Churro - I’ve never gotten over that episode.)

It’s easy to understand the pain when it comes from losing your father. But what about if things are more complicated than that? That moment when the therapist - Pamela Adlon is such perfect casting by the way - calls bullshit on Randall’s Norman Rockwell style sanitised version of his life. Where he saves one father, solves his other father’s addiction problems and also cures his stomach cancer. No more Daddy issues means Randall would have no underlying issues to address (Crazy Ex Gf reference intended) and happy endings all around.

But that’s not how life works. Our pain and our issues tend to be a lot more complicated than that, and usually stem from many different factors. And for the most part, most of those factors are not under our control, and no matter how hard we try, they never will be. Not being able to accept that is and always has been Randall’s biggest problem. It’s frustrating as hell, but completely and utterly realistic that even though his therapist has pointed that out to him and he acknowledges that it may be true, he’s not going to change his entire sense of self overnight. One enlightening therapy session is not going to suddenly make him do a 180 on how he’s handled his thoughts and feelings his whole life.

So Randall does something very wrong. It’s wrong for Rebecca yes, but it’s also very much wrong for him. His therapist helps him to admit that he hasn’t addressed the resentment he still feels towards Rebecca. That while he made it seem like he’d moved on, he really just buried the pain he felt after that betrayal. He needs to talk to her about this. He should deal with these feelings with her.

We know what Randall should do. Dr. Leigh knows what he should do. Hell for a split second I think even Randall knows what he should do, but he doesn’t. He instead does what he’s been doing his whole life and clings tightly to the need to control things. Having an unpredictable confrontation with Rebecca where he has no idea if it would change things, make him feel any better at all or just destroy their relationship or...honestly I’m sure the many many possible roads a conversation about something so tangled and complicated, filled with love, lies, pain, good will and betrayal have all occurred to Randall. Hell he explores two of them in his what if? scenarios. Best case, he forgives her early, they remain close, he deduces she has Alzheimers early and saves her. Worst case, he resents her, falls out of her life and doesn’t return till her disease has progressed too far. Either way, it’s still about him and what he can do for her. It’s his job to fix it and he’s the only one who can. Just like Jack he’s a black and white kind of guy, he doesn’t do well with the grey areas.

So Randall decides not to talk to Rebecca about William. No instead he chooses to use these unresolved feelings to try and control the situation. It’s easier for him to wrap his mind around. And he can justify it by saying he’s doing it to save his mother’s life. But Randall you can’t control other people, and even if you can, even if you have the power to - like you do with Rebecca right now - you shouldn’t.

It’s complicated. Randall’s doing the wrong thing but he somehow simultaneously has the right and wrong motivation and intentions. I understand that he wants to save her but also he wants to control the situation. He can’t let things just play out...he needs to be a driving force. Oh Randall, don’t you know what they say about the road to hell?

This was one of the best written episodes of the show, and yes it made me feel a lot of things frustration, pain, sadness and unease among them, but not because of bad or lazy storytelling - the opposite actually. It feels completely natural and almost inevitable but I will say I don’t think I’ve ever felt as uneasy and on edge watching this show as I did when Randall started his phone call to Rebecca with “Mom I’ve been a good son” because you could tell exactly what Randall was about to do. Something he could never take back. But those last few seconds of the episode, I truly felt like my heart had dropped

Randall: I've been a good son, Mom. I've been a good son, and I've never asked you for anything. But I am asking you for this now. And I need you to say it. You are going to St. Louis. You are going to do this clinical trial.

Rebecca (Whispering): Okay. ( Shudders ) I will go to St. Louis, and I will do the trial.

This show man.

Couple of other things

- I just want to reiterate how much I love Pamela Adlon and how perfect she is as Dr. Leigh. Every moment was so good but to pick a random moment the one after Randall apologises for insulting her “cheap” shoes she dismisses him saying “Oh please, I live for this stuff.” Adlon’s delivery was gold.

- Beth talking about Watchmen “It took six episodes, but it finally makes sense.” I’m sure there’s no meta relevance of that to this show at all...(spoiler alert: there is)

- Kevin. Goddamn Kevin and Randall have a lot to sort through. In Randall’s worst case scenario, Kevin was the perfect son. He went into the family business with Jack, he helped Rebecca with the cooking. Jack gives a toast at Kevin’s wedding and tells a story about Kevin when he was 11 years old. He’s the centre of the family, as becomes clear when he loses his patience with Randall avoiding any family get together.

In Randall’s best case scenario, Jack gives a toast about 11 year old Randall at Randall’s wedding. Kevin doesn’t really play much of a part. In fact the only thing Randall really says to Kevin throughout the whole scenario is the very first line when Kevin asks if they lost everything in the fire

“You’re lucky you weren’t there.”

There’s a lot to be said about how Randall’s relationship to Kevin is also mired in his control issues. For a while now, Kevin’s been the only one who Randall could go to when he was losing control, the only one he was able to let see him that way. They’ve grown a lot closer, have been there for each other and done a lot of work on their relationship. The things is, Kevin’s also done a lot of work on himself. Those underlying issues that Randall isn’t addressing, Kevin has been forcing himself to deal with his own for a while now. As a result Kevin has become a stable presence, a rock that Rebecca and the family can lean on and rely on right now. For so long that was Randall’s job. Unfairly or not, he was Rebecca’s rock, and losing that at a time like this, where he also might be losing Rebecca, it’s bringing to the surface a lot of the resentment Randall still feels towards Kevin.

“You’re lucky you weren’t there.”

I have more to say on this but I’m going to wait and see where the finale is going to leave them. Plus this post is already way too long.

This episode really got to me.

#this is us #randall pearson #rebecca pearson #kevin pearson #just posting this for my own sanity at this point #my thoughts #this is us spoilers #long post for ts

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moon-ruled-rising · 4 years

Text

as the rain hides the stars | x

Read the full story on ao3...

x: i wanted to leave him

The ties were black, the lies were white,

and shades of grey in candlelight.

I wanted to leave him,

I needed a reason

-Taylor Swift, “Getaway Car”

“It was announced this morning that Her Highness, Princess Daenerys, will embark on a month-long tour of the North. The Official Statement from the Red Palace states that the trip is meant to encourage friendly relations with our Northern neighbors despite our current estranged nature. Princess Daenerys will be accompanied by-”

Dany turned the TV off before the reporter could deliver the worst part of the news. She would get to leave King’s Landing but every place she went would be a publicity event, filled with flashing cameras and nosy reporters. And worst of all, she would spend it with people she hardly knew.

The pounding in her head hadn’t subsided all morning, even after she’d specially ordered eggs fried in bacon grease and a whole carafe of black coffee. She’d let her temperamental nature get the best of her last night. And then he’d gone and mentioned Daario.

No matter what she did, she still let Jon under her skin. Like the way he paused when she claimed he hated her. The memory was hazy but she knew she held her breath as she waited for his response.

Surprisingly, Rhaegar hadn’t ordered a press conference about Dany’s trip, leaving her free to do whatever she wanted until she and Elia had their movie night. They planned it last minute when they realized it would be their last one for a while.

There was one pressing matter she needed to take care of but she kept delaying it. She’d already wandered aimlessly through the palace and the gardens and found herself in the gallery, standing in front of the first official portrait of a Targaryen monarch.

King Aemon the Peaceful stared back at her with his oddly painted face. Before him, pictures of the monarchs were recorded in manuscripts by maesters and those were preserved at the Citadel. Commissioning an artist wasn’t popular until his reign because he was the first to rule without a war.

Across from him was an artist’s reimaging of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya. The two sisters stood strong in their plate armor, staring off into the distance as Aegon held the ancient Valyrian steel broadsword “Dark Sister” in the air.

Dany felt for her phone in her back pocket. She wished she could be as strong as her ancestors, then again, she faced a very different kind of battle. Affairs of conquering could hardly be compared to affairs of the heart.

She wandered past more scenes of male rulers before stopping at her favorite. A gorgeous painting from the 1860’s of Queen Erina, her pale pink gown stretching to the spectacular golden frame. She was never meant to be queen but her family died after a nasty illness spread through the palace while she attended finishing school in the Reach.

When Dany was a first year in high school she auditioned for the school’s play The Dragon Queen: A Tribute to Her Majesty Queen Erina. Though the title was unimaginative, Dany was cast as her ancestor. Students whispered that it was only for her looks but Dany knew she was a good actress. Wearing the replica dress while delivering a monologue about choosing her country over the life she knew was one of Dany’s favorite memories.

Her theatre career was short lived, however. After the performances, the Drama Club advisor suggested Dany switch to the Volunteerism Group. She knew it was her father getting involved again. He always said actors were untrustworthy and the last thing their dynasty needed was to look like a bunch of liars.

Although it was years ago, Dany felt the words from her script in a whole new way. She couldn’t draw strength from Rhaenys and Visenya but she could find it with Erina.

“Oh, Dany, I’m glad I found you.”

Elia approached, dressed for a day of private audiences. Her jade green pantsuit pressed and tailored to perfection.

“If you’re here to talk to me about the marriage contract, I’m going to walk away,” she warned.

“No, dear, I wanted to check on you. Am I not allowed to do that?”

She wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave a little squeeze.

“When you found out you were going to have an arranged marriage what did you do?

“What do you mean?”

“How did you choose between him and the crown?” Dany sighed, leaning her head on Elia’s shoulder.

She knew all about Elia’s relationship with a Dornish actor, even though Elia liked to pretend it never happened.

“The Crown doesn’t care that you have a personal life. When it picks you, it picks you, and you can’t say no. And before you ask, I don’t regret it and, no, it never really gets easier. But you’ve got me and Missy and Rheagar.”

Dany rolled her eyes.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it but, Dany, he wants what’s best for you. We all do.”

She didn’t want to fight back like usual. She was too tired and hung over.

“I know why you asked me about him.”

Elia put her hands on Dany’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes, “I know it’s tempting to hold onto the hope that maybe things will work out but you need to … tie up your loose ends. It will make the transition much easier once you’ve had time to move on.”

An assistant popped their head through the doorway and said, “Your Majesty? You have five minutes.”

She pressed a kiss to Dany’s forehead and retreated, leaving Dany with the weight of her decision. She took one last look at Queen Erina and her mind was made up.

She found an empty common room in the family guest suites on the east end of the castle. Surrounded by the subdued grey hues meant to invoke the Stormlands, Dany found herself in the same position as four days ago. Her phone sat on the marble-topped coffee table, black screen mocking her.

When Dany realized she couldn’t force the universe to do the work for her, she picked it up and dialed the number herself.

He didn’t pick up until the third ring.

“Dany?” he breathed, as if he didn’t believe it could be her.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s a relief to hear your voice. I- I’m so glad you called.”

“I know.”

“I tried knocking on your door but you didn’t answer so I figured you needed space. It sounded like you were dealing with a lot.”

So that was why he hadn’t called. Her chest tightened and she leaned back against the grey velvet of the settee.

“I am.”

“I take it things didn’t go well with Rhaegar.”

“He summoned me home. I’m not sure I’ll ever see my apartment again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something came up but that’s not the reason why I called. It’s- well- Daario, it’s about us.”

“Dany, I told you. Let me come to King’s Landing and meet your brother. He’ll see that we make a perfect couple and-”

“Please, don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“That we’re a perfect couple.”

“We are. We’re young, attractive, rich...”

Dany took a deep breath and prepared herself to begin the small speech she’d stitched together on her walk to the common room.

“I really wanted to do this in person but my current circumstances won’t allow for it.”

“What are you-”

“I’m breaking up with you,” she blurted.

The sound of his breathing on the other line unsettled her. She wanted to hang up right then and block his number but it was too immature and cowardly. I am the blood of the dragon and dragons fear nothing.

“Why?”

“For legal reasons, I can’t tell you.”

“You’re lying.”

Her grip on her phone tightened as she tried to stay polite but things were taking a messy turn, she could feel it.

“Everything will make sense soon, I promise.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She opened her mouth to respond but he cut her off.

“Is Rhaegar making you do this?”

“Daario-”

“You can make decisions for yourself Dany.”

“Not this time.”

“Stop being so goddamn cryptic and tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re not listening to me,” she argued.

“You’re not telling me anything worth listening to.”

She took a deep breath, “We have to end this.”

“Because this is honestly not working or because it’s what the crown wants?”

Unable to ignore the tension in her body, she stood up to pace the room. She clenched and unclenched her fist, trying to redirect the need to punch something.

“I don’t need this from you,” she said.

“You know, I heard the rumors they said about you but I ignored them. I thought you were different-”

“I am!” she defended.

“-but you’re just like they say. A cold hearted bitch who throws away men when she gets tired of them.”

Every instinct Dany knew failed her. Her mouth fell open and the tension in her limbs dissipated. It felt like every ounce of strength in her was focused on her throat, which grew tighter by the second.

He knew she hated that word, especially when it was directed at her.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, Dany, I do.”

“But- but you wanted to make this official. You wanted to meet my family.”

“Well, I realized something. I realized that I have constantly made sacrifices for you. Leaving clubs separate and taking different cars and sneaking around and always waiting for you to call first. I made peace with the fact that I would always have to share you but I’m a fucking millionaire and that isn’t good enough for you?”

“Do you think it didn’t kill me either? You know why it had to be that way.”

“It doesn’t matter now because I’m just another destination on your long road of conquests.”

“You were never just a fling. You meant more to me than anyone else.”

Her eyes stung and she felt the familiar pinching in the bridge of her nose.

“I’m sure I did,” he scoffed, “Why don’t you tell that lie to your next victim when he inevitably falls in love with you.”

Dany opened her mouth to respond but the beep of the call ending stopped her. She wanted to hurl her phone across the room and break every precious item around her. Instead, she sank to her knees, the upper half of her body resting against the seat of the sofa.

She was upset about Daario and his harsh words but something else in her broke and the tears didn’t stop. They blazed down her cheeks as her chest heaved and her vision blurred.

She hadn’t even cried that way when her father died. She’d calloused her heart by then and grew angry instead of letting people see her weep. Tears are only for children and the weak, she told herself, and I am neither.

Repeating those words did little to stop the sobs, they just hurt her more. Dany wasn’t sure when she stopped crying over Daario but the tears still came, quieter now, as her mind moved through all of the events of the past week and beyond.

Her inevitable engagement, being ripped away from the life she desired and thrown back into the one she detested, the loss of what little freedom she had from the crown. Even her graduation, which was only a few weeks ago. It had just been Ser Jorah and Daario in the audience to cheer when her name was called. Rhaegar and Elia were too busy with preparations for the Charity Gala and planning to marry her off.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a startled voice said from the doorway.

Dany looked up to see Princess Sansa standing there.

“I was looking for Elia, she offered to give me a tour of the palace.”

Dany hiccuped, “She’s in private audiences.”

Her throat was raw, the sensation alien, like her body wasn’t her own.

“Oh. Again, I’m really sorry for interrupting you.”

“Interrupting what?” Dany chuckled as she stood up.

“That seemed like a really private moment.”

She wasn’t sure how long Sansa had been at the door but she might have heard Dany’s outbursts.

“It’s fine,” Dany dismissed as she wiped under her eyes, her hand shaking.

She knew she looked a mess. Puffy eyes and red nose and there was no way her mascara wasn’t smudged.

“Did you still want a tour?”

“Are you sure? I could always wait for-”

“I could really use the distraction.”

Sansa pressed her lips together before offering a terse nod. Dany attempted a smile before leading her guest down the hallway.

Over the course of the tour, Sansa let her icy facade melt away. She became a physically warmer person. Dany got her talking about school and her choices of universities. She was set to graduate in the coming year and had her eyes on the University of Braavos, but she knew her dad would insist on Barrowton or White Harbor. Then music and pop culture, which led to a brief conversation about Dany’s coarse relationship with the tabloids.

“Was the photo really a fake?”

There wasn’t an ounce of timidness in her voice. Dany appreciated that.

“Yes. The whole thing was doctored. Just another display of how the press profits on the downfall of powerful women.”

“I know the North and the South aren’t close but I grew up with stories of the Targaryens. That they’re ambitious and powerful and scary and rode on the backs of dragons. I won’t lie, I thought you were like them. But you’re nothing like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Dany warned.

They turned a corner and headed down the main staircase.

“Your governess forgot to tell you that we’re cunning and calculated as well. There are rumors that my ancestors poisoned their brothers and sisters, bribed high lords and priests and common folk alike to sit their arses on the throne. The monarchy survives by adapting to the world around it, that’s what my father would say. But Targaryens survive by changing the game.”

A pair of ladies passed them, gracefully bowing their heads in respect, whispered “Your Highnesses” echoing in the hall.

“Ladies Sara and Meire Merryweather of Longtable. They’ve been at court for as long as I can remember. Lady Sara is Elia’s biggest critic after the general public but she’s just jealous she’s not one of Elia’s ladies. Lady Meire is her daughter she treats like an object. She brought her here in hopes that she would befriend me and I would keep her in my circle. It’s a shame I don’t keep friends in court. Meire’s almost been married three times but her mother keeps breaking it up so she can’t leave.”

“I see why you went to a different continent for university.”

“Court seems beautiful and perfect from the outside because Elia works hard to make it that way. Without her, this place would look as ugly as it really is.”

A door in the hall opened and Elia strode through it, her public appearance smile still stretched across her face.

“Speak of the Stranger,” Dany called, waving to her sister-in-law.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked when she reached them.

“I bumped into Her Highness while looking for you. And since you were busy, she gave me a tour of the palace,” Sansa answered.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along so well,” Elia stated as she waved to another member of the court as they passed.

When the lord was gone and the hall was empty Elia’s face fell and she tore off her blazer. After tossing it to her assistant, she began massaging her cheeks.

“I can’t tell you how much that smile hurts,” she grumbled through her moving face, “Now, we have a movie night to get to.”

“Movie night?”

“Elia and I have a tradition of movie nights and we planned one last minute since I’m leaving. We just sit around, have popcorn and wine, and watch sappy romance movies until we cry.”

“That sounds fun,” Sansa commented.

Dany considered the red-headed girl beside her, “You’re more than welcome to join us.”

Sansa blinked, “Are you sure? You just said it was a tradition, I’d hate to impose.”

“I would be honored if you came along. We are going to be sisters soon.” Dany stated as she looped her arm through Sansa’s.

The comment slipped past her without a second thought and caught Dany off guard. She stopped dead in her tracks. The Northern Princess let out a snort and the three of them dissolved into giggles. Their laughter echoed through the halls as they journeyed to the in-palace movie theatre.

Movie nights were always a huge to-do and while informal, there was still a sense of showiness to them. Gourmet popcorn and the perfect wine pairings, cashmere blankets and themed decorations. The staff did an amazing job of turning their last minute plans into a gorgeous going away party, complete with swag bags.

“This is a little extra for me, don’t you think?” Dany asked from her seat between Elia and Missandei.

Elia, dressed in a designer pajama set and wrapped in her cashmere blanket, frowned with mock offense. “I’ll have you know that this isn’t just for you. It’s for Missy and Sansa, who I’m very grateful to have met and will miss very much.”

They were halfway through their second movie when Rhaenys propped her chin on the back of Dany’s seat and asked, “Auntie Dee, are you sure you have to leave?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighed, smiling sweetly at her niece.

The frown on her face was adorable but it hurt Dany’s heart.

“Where are you going?” Aegon demanded as he crawled onto his mother’s lap.

“On a great adventure to Princess Sansa’s homeland.”

“And if all goes well, you’ll get to go there too,” Elia encouraged, giving her son’s shoulders a squeeze.

“Dany, I forgot to tell you the news!” Missy blurted from her spot next to her, eyes shining.

“What?”

“I got the internship with Galazza Galare! I’m leaving tomorrow for Naath so I can spend some time at home before I transfer to Meereen.”

Dany’s stomach fell. She was going North alone.

“Missy, that’s fantastic!”

She wasn’t going to let her selfishness get in the way of her happiness for her best friend. No matter how much it hurt having to let her go.

“I’ll come back in time for your wedding, of course. Both of them.”

“I wouldn’t be upset if you missed them. Galazza is great and you’re going to have the best career a girl could wish for.”

Along with her sunken stomach, Dany felt her chest growing tight. She always knew that her best friend would move on and have a career while Dany was held back. But everything felt like it was moving so fast.

The end of the movie was upon them and when the lovers were saying goodbye, Dany couldn’t hold back her tears. Her heart was still raw and bleeding and the movie did nothing but stomp on it. Missy’s hand found her’s under their blankets and Elia secured her other one. Dany wasn’t ready for tomorrow, that much was clear.

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hexlikesramennoodles · 5 years

Note

15 or 27 on the 50 kisses list + harringrove please

15. A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick; 27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

Author’s note: this takes place in the same universe as my fic This Jelly. I hope that’s okay with you, Anon.

“It’ll be something in the roof,” Billy announced. He ran his finger around the edge of the windowsill, over the places where rainwater had soaked through the plaster, browning the paint and flaking it away. “A loose tile, I’m willing to bet.”

“Huh,” Steve said. He was only loosely paying attention; Billy’s jeans hung low on his hips, and his chest was bare save for the chain from which his AA medallion swung. Steve had missed that medallion. He missed the sight of Billy’s naked chest even more. It had only been about four days since they’d last seen each other, but somehow the time felt much longer.

“I can go up there later, if you’ve got a ladder. Wouldn’t want you to fall and break your neck.” Billy stepped away from the window, trailing stray paint flakes from his fingers. “Sound good?”

“Huh?” Steve startled, blinking and wetting his lips. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, man.”

Billy sidled closer, cocking his head. He had this weird obsession with being clean—meaning clean hair, clean nails, and clean-shaven skin whenever he saw Steve outside of work. He steam ironed his shirts, and wore cologne that made Steve’s eyes water with how strong it was. Steve knew it went deeper than Billy simply wanting to look nice for their dates—he also didn’t want to become his father. Neil Hargrove had let himself go long before he remarried. He smoked, ate badly, and didn’t brush his teeth. His breath had smelled like he was rotting inside. I don’t want that to be me, Billy had told Steve once. I’ll fuckin’ kill myself before I become what he ended up becoming.

Steve didn’t know how to tell him. After a long morning on the construction site, Billy smelled of sunshine and sweat—not dirty sweat, not how Steve’s gym socks used to smell after three nights of basketball practice, rank and in definite need of a good wash—no, this smell was somehow deeper, purer in its base notes. Animalistic. His skin had taken on this lovely, bronze sheen, mixed in with the chalky dust of crushed gravel, and Steve didn’t know what it was—black magic pheromones, body chemistry—whatever the fuck was seeping from Billy’s pores in place of his usual soap and cologne, it smelled downright fucking erotic. God, Steve had missed him.

“Anything else?” Billy said, his head still cocked.

“Uh.” Steve stared around his bedroom, his tongue feeling as large as a golf ball in his throat. He pointed to the wall socket next to the nightstand. “Yeah, uh, I think there’s something wrong with the electricity. My phone—it’s plugged in, but it’s not—”

Billy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, it might help if you turned on the power first, pretty boy. Like this.” His knees creaked as he bent down, flipping the switch above the socket. Steve did not have the grace to feign shame; the new angle gave him a perfect view of Billy’s ass. “I’m still on the clock. Is there anything else you need before I—”

“My pipes,” he blurted wildly. “My pipes aren’t, uh, working.”

Billy’s eyebrows shot up. “Your pipes?”

He rose so quickly from where he was kneeling that Steve took a step back, his thighs hitting the edge of the bed. “Steve,” Billy said slowly. He closed the distance between them with an outstretching of his hand, flicking Steve gently between the eyes with his fingertip. “Did you remove the roof tile on purpose?”

“Wha—” Steve scoffed. “No—"

Billy’s finger flicked him again. “You know, if you wanted to see me that badly, you coulda just called me?”

“Calling isn’t the same as seeing.” He caught Billy’s hand in mid-air before it could chastise him a third time, turning it over and splaying his fingers across his palm. Most of Billy’s tattoos were, by his own admission, dumb—the product of a teenage boy’s poor impulse control and complete lack of regard for the self. Others were more personal. A grayscale portrait of his mother on his chest. His grandmother’s birthdate above his hip. A row of coordinates printed across the underside of his index finger, the skin around it still red and half-healed. Billy’s mom had been born in Central Valley, but she’d died in L.A. Those coordinates were her birthplace, the side of Billy’s family he’d never known.

Steve had wanted to be there for him. He’d assumed he would be there, as Billy’s boyfriend. It hurt, realizing that he hadn’t seen Billy for four days, hadn’t heard shit from him, and in that time frame Billy had gotten the tattoo without saying anything. It had made Steve feel stupid—humiliated.

He didn’t know how to tell Billy that, either. They’d only been together for three months. They hardly knew each other. If Billy had been Nancy, she would call Steve controlling. She would sit him down, and give him a long, sharp lecture about a woman’s right to choose.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. “I feel like I never see you. You don’t visit after work, you don’t come into the bar …”

Billy made a pained noise. “Baby, you know I can’t spend too much time in bars. You know I want to, but—”

“I know.” Steve’s throat was tight with an all too familiar dryness; he knew what it meant. “I’m sorry. I know. I just—”

“You’re just upset,” Billy spoke over him. “Because I work too much. And because I’ve been neglecting you. Haven’t I?”

Steve’s current streak was three months, the same amount of time they’d been exclusive.

It wasn’t without struggle. Instead of the closing shift, Steve was now bartending at the Hideaway during the day. Instead of staying out with Robin until the early hours of a Sunday morning drinking and smoking and talking absolute shit, he spent his Saturday nights at home, doing whatever he could to distract himself from the paranoia that came with going cold turkey, the tightness in his throat that made him want to peel his skin off. In the first month, Billy had been that distraction. He would wait for Steve to come home, they would fuck, and Steve would sleep the whole night through without needing a glass of wine to wash it down. He’d been too smitten to consider the logistics of the arrangement he’d stumbled into. He was still smitten, but as far as he could tell, Billy had gone cold.

He was a workaholic. They both were; idle hands, so to speak. Only now Steve was working three days a week instead of six, which meant he had a lot more time to miss Billy when he wasn’t there. A lot more time alone with the paranoia. Billy worked upwards of twelve hours a day, and more often than not he was too exhausted to do anything at Steve’s apartment aside from pass out on his bed. He didn’t feel like Steve’s boyfriend anymore. He felt like a roommate, sexless and distant. Steve fucking missed him.

Sobriety offered an unpleasant reality. In it, Steve was convenient. Little more than a motel that Billy could crash overnight when he was too tired to drive. Billy had liked the chase initially, the back and forth, but now that he had Steve, he was complacent. Bored. This new reality wasn’t entirely removed from the old one—Billy was pretty. He was surrounded by men all day, most of whom were married—but even the married ones had to have noticed how pretty he was. From a distance, it would be all too easy to mistake him for a girl. Steve hadn’t realized he had a type, until he met Billy. He hadn’t realized how little he knew about himself—his wants and his needs, his likes and his dislikes, his passions and his hates. That was just Billy. He walked into a room and smiled at everyone, looked into their eyes when he spoke to them. He made people feel special, even when he wasn’t trying. Even when he couldn’t care less.

“Steve,” Billy pressed. “Are you upset?”

He had that look in his eye. That look that made Steve feel particularly stupid, airless, like his throat had closed over and he couldn’t remember what he was going to say next. It occurred to him that he might be in love with Billy, and that without his former mechanisms of coping—talking shit with Robin, self-medicating with wine and cigarettes—there to bear the brunt of uncomfortable emotions, he was feeling them all at once, much too strongly. That look coupled with that voice Billy used when they were alone—low and breathy, coaxing Steve to c’mon, sweetheart, that’s it, be good for me—the look that plainly said, resistance is futile.

“What were you gonna do?” he said. He squeezed Steve’s hand, his mouth twisting like he was trying to hide a smile. “Flood your whole goddamn apartment?”

“I mean. It was enough to get your attention.”

“For future reference, I prefer flowers. Less, uh, mess.”

“I like flowers,” Steve said defensively. “Maybe you should think about getting me some, the next time you decide to disappear for, like, a week.” Slow down, he told himself, but the more he thought about it, the less he could hold the words in. “You know, sometimes I feel like we’re—we’re in a long-distance relationship? Even though you work right fucking next door?”

“You are upset,” Billy sighed, rubbing his jaw. His eyes stayed crinkled at the corners as he looked Steve up and down, his expression fondly irritated. “How long has it been since you last had a drink, huh?”

“Three months.”

“Three …” Billy stopped, then licked his lips. “The whole time?”

Steve set his jaw, and nodded. There was a long, loaded pause.

“You should’ve called me,” Billy said finally. “I didn’t know—Steve, why—?”

“Because I had to. You said it didn’t matter, but—but if I can’t see you because you can’t be where there’s alcohol, because you might relapse, then … what’s the point?” Steve flattened his palms over Billy’s chest, quelling the urge to squeeze his nipples until they hardened and turned red. “Haven’t you ever thought about how different our lifestyles are?”

Billy’s hand fell away from his face. He licked his lips, studying Steve’s palms with soft fascination. His voice was noticeably smaller, more unsure when he asked, “Cigarettes, too?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “So if it’s okay with you—yeah, I am upset that you’re working a lot. You’re never here, Billy. You’re not … present. And I didn’t sign up for that.”

“Flowers,” Billy said at once. “That’s what you signed up for. Flowers, and chocolates, and candlelit dinners. Fuck. Fuck.”

“That comes later. Ideally.”

Billy let out a high-pitched, slightly giddy laugh. His hands dropped to Steve’s hips, pulling their bodies flush. He walked Steve backwards, until Steve found himself sitting on the edge of the bed with Billy’s thighs planted on either side of his hips. “Tonight,” he suggested, his necklace tangling in Steve’s hair. “Six o’clock. Enzo’s. I’ll make sure I finish early. And …”

“And?”

“And when we get back, I can take a look a look at your, uh,” Billy paused, his eyes crinkling and his mouth turning into a real smile as he pressed a chaste kiss below Steve’s ear, “pipes.”

He nosed over Steve’s neck, kissing his way back across to his mouth. The effect was shamefully instantaneous; the anxiety that had been plugging Steve’s throat dissipated, and he found himself spreading his legs to allow Billy to settle more comfortably between them. Billy’s mouth was rough when it reached his lips, the way he knew Steve liked it; he pulled on Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth, then soothed the bite with a rasping lick of his tongue that had Steve shuddering and spreading his legs wider, not wide enough.

“Five minutes,” he said breathlessly. “Can you stay for five minutes?”

He’d thought what he had with Nancy was love. Nancy had never kissed him the way Billy was kissing him now, though. He rocked against Steve’s crotch, threaded his hand through his hair so that Steve was forced to lift his chin to look at him, could see the way his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dazed, dark circles. He kissed Steve’s mouth, kissed his eyelids and his nose and his temples, and said, “Make it ten.”

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #my writing #i still have 2 more of these to write so if you're one of the anons who sent me a prompt and i still havent responded #i am getting to them! slowly slowly #modern!au #inbox #writing prompts

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shireness-says · 5 years

Text

Swan’s Seven (2/?)

Summary: After two years behind bars, Emma’s out, and she’s got a plan in mind. Now to put together the perfect team… Let’s stage an art heist. (A CS Ocean’s 8 AU) ~3.9K. Rated T for language. Chapter 1. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: And we’re back! With more players, more action, and more razzing on David. It’s a national sport after all. A certain someone shows up this chapter too...

Thanks as always to my wonderful beta, @snidgetsafan. This doesn’t happen without you, babe.

Tags: @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @thisonesatellite, @thejollyroger-writer, @let-it-raines, @teamhook, @kmomof4, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes, @winterbaby89, @scientificapricot. Shoot me a message if you want to be added/taken off the list.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Regina has always been good at finding the exact right person for any given job, and it seems that hasn’t changed in the two years that Emma has been away. She somehow knows everybody who’s anybody in this business, like the criminal version of a recruiter or HR lady. She’d probably hate being called that, but it’s an apt comparison.

Only days after Emma divulges her plan to Regina, she’s presented with a short stack of manila folders - Regina’s top choices for their needs.

“I think you’ll be pleased,” she says as Emma flips through the top folder. It’s just a cursory glance, really; Emma trusts Regina’s judgement implicitly after all their years as a pair. “They’re the best I could find.”

“I’m sure they are,” Emma replies nonchalantly. “You’ve got them scheduled to come in for an interview or whatever?”

“Later today,” Regina agrees, before fixing Emma with a stern look. “You’re going to play nice, right? We need these people, I can’t have you getting all demanding or treating them like they’re idiots.”

“Ok, first of all, it’s an interview, there’s going to be questions so I can’t really help the demanding thing. Second of all, why the hell am I the one we’re worried about getting uppity? That’s kind of your thing, scaring people off with a condescending sniff.” Emma really hadn’t meant to sound quite so demanding with that list, but that’s the result anyways. Maybe Regina has a point - though Emma still thinks her partner is the one who needs the warning to “play nice”. Whatever that means. Fuck it all, they’re career conpersons, the nice line has already kind of been blown to smithereens.

Regardless, the warning proves unnecessary, since Emma can tell within minutes that Regina’s first candidate is exactly who they’ve been looking for.

“Emma, this is Ruby Lucas. Ruby, Emma Swan.” With the way Regina makes introductions, you’d think they were having some fancy corporate business meeting, not planning an art heist above a nightclub. Emma has the strongest urge to start offering business cards. “Ruby’s a safecracker - the best on the east coast.”

“Well…” Ruby drawls, her red-painted lips twisting into something wry and just shy of wolfish. Emma thinks it kind of suits the brunette, especially paired with her casual sprawl across one of Regina’s stiff backed chairs.

As much as Emma is amused, however, Regina is not. That eye roll could probably be seen from space. “Fine. The best on the east coast who hasn’t decided to retire to some disgusting fairytale in backwoods Maine like a goddamn schmuck. Better? Satisfied?”

“Better. Satisfied is a whole other thing, sweetcheeks,” Ruby winks salaciously. Not that there seems to be any heat behind it; if Emma had to guess, it’s just a flirtatious habit. There are worse habits to have, really. Her flirting accomplished, Ruby focuses her attention on Emma. “So. I hear you have a plan.”

“I do. Did Regina brief you on the specifics?”

Ruby nods. “Brantley 3900, she said. Digital fingerprint system on top of a trio of combo locks, plus an acid failsafe. I could use some info about the big picture plan, though.”

“We’ll get there,” Emma promises. Ruby isn’t at all what she would have expected of their safecracker in her short skirt and high heels and bright red hair streaks - especially when Emma’s used to dealing with her brother for this kind of thing - but she likes the saucy brunette. That flirtatious energy could really come in handy, if they play their cards right. “You think you can break it?”

“No problem,” Ruby replies with her bubbling confidence. “We’ll just need those prints, and the rest is all tumblers. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Emma looks to Regina, who inclines her head in a subtle nod. Excellent; they’re on the same page, then. “You’re hired.”

Their next candidate - a computer whiz and hacker - might as well be Ruby’s polar opposite. Elsa Frost shows up in a neat skirt suit and heels that only emphasize her pale skin and white blonde hair, dressed for all appearances like she’s interviewing at a law firm. For god’s sake, she even brings resumes in a file folder, the two pages paper clipped for maximum convenience. You can’t make this shit up. Emma wonders idly if their prospective keyboard artist has any idea what she’s walked into.

Surprisingly, reading the resume provided is illuminating. Ms. Frost certainly does know what she’s here for (“And this is an art theft, yes?”), but she cut her teeth, so to speak, in providing network security for major banks. Really, there’s no one better to hack past security systems than someone who made a career trying to prevent exactly that.

Emma still has questions, however. Namely: “How exactly did you end up on the less legal side of things?” It’s more than a valid question, considering the formal interview attire. It seems that Elsa doesn’t know how these things usually play out.

“I have a sister,” Elsa explains. “She’s the only family I have in the world, and she just got engaged. To a Central Park carriage driver. Wants the whole big to-do, which of course is very expensive. You know, the big white dress and the massive cake and the three courses and the specialty cocktail. So I’ve been looking into… alternative income streams.”

“Admirable,” Regina drawls, clearly unimpressed. “But there are plenty of other ways to make money. Legal ones. I’m sure you could make a very generous living just off of consulting with your skills. Why this?”

Elsa flushes, the rush of blood especially evident beneath her pale skin. Still, Regina and Emma wait in silence. They don’t need someone on their team who’s a risk, and that kind of motive makes any con with common sense worry their contact will go to the police when all is said and done. So they’ll wait, as long as it takes Elsa to come up with a real answer or prove herself too much of a risk to gamble on.

She cracks, of course. Facing down two such intimidating stares, anyone would. “Maybe I was bored,” Elsa finally says. Her chin lifts with the words like she’s trying to muster all her dignity - not that it works. “I’d done security for Wall Street firms and major banks for years. Eventually, you tire of trying to close all the loopholes that hackers are testing. Your entire career and your entire life becomes reactionary. Working on the other side… I get to exercise a little more creativity and problem solving and thinking outside the box, which is why I fell in love with programming in the first place.”

Emma makes eye contact with Regina and shrugs. “Works for me.”

Elsa stares back, disbelieving. “That’s it? That’s what you needed to hear?”

“We get boredom,” Emma explains.

“And we absolutely understand thinking the criminal side is a little more fun,” Regina adds. Like she knows anything about fun.

(Ok, that’s not fully true; Emma half remembers a few tequila nights. Regina gets rowdy when she has enough to drink.)

“Where we’re going with this,” Emma finishes, “is that you’re in if you want it. I trust that after all that banking experience, you can work your way around their firewalls and whatnot?”

“Sure can. Check the bar’s accounts if you don’t believe me, I took the liberty of going ahead and transferring my $100 consultation fee.”

Well, that’s one way to prove your point.

“So that’s two down. Who’s next?” Emma asks after Elsa and her business suit depart.

Regina smirks. “Field trip.”

The field trip is to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where they watch a young woman paint a replica of one of the portraits - a particularly unflattering source work featuring a distinctly masculine-looking woman. It makes the reproduction their prospective partner is working on all the more impressive, that she’s able to replicate that particular variety of unfortunate realism.

“Belle French,” Regina explains under her breath. “She should be a rising young artist on the New York scene after graduating from Columbia, but tastes these days run a little more abstract and her style probably leans closest to the romantic or rococo. Instead, she’s stuck teaching intro level courses at a local community college.”

“What a waste.”

“Indeed. She’s absolutely broke and absolutely talented, and absolutely desperate. Teaching shitty freshmen who can’t draw a straight line and want to argue about their grades constantly does things to a person, or so I’d imagine. If we play our cards right, make the right approach…”

“She could be our girl.” Our forger, Emma means, but that’s a stupid thing to say out loud in an art museum.

“She could.”

Emma observes for just a moment longer before nodding decisively and making her move. She’s the one who’s got tact, after all; as good as Regina is about searching people out, she’s a little too blunt for this kind of negotiation.

“That looks beautiful,” Emma comments when she’s standing just behind Belle’s shoulder. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you!” Where Elsa blushes, Belle beams. Here, it’s a sign of someone who’s been denied warranted validation for too long, and who’s looking to gobble it up even from unusual sources. It’s a good sign for their purpose; even if they’re cons, Emma and Regina can provide the validation she seems to be craving.

“Is this just a hobby, or do you do this for a living?” Emma knows the answer, of course, but that might as well be rule number one of running a con: never show all your cards.

Belle makes a little wistful, frustrated noise. “Oh, I wish. This is just my free time, unfortunately. Hopefully it will help me hone my skills.”

“I don’t know. From where I’m standing, you look pretty skilled already. If this is your dream, I don’t think the talent issue is what’s keeping you from reaching it.”

“Yes, well, my dreams also feature millions of dollars and a functional love life. Some things, unfortunately, just aren’t going to happen, and I’m afraid this might be one of them.”

“I think I can help with some of that, at least,” Emma smiles. “I’d love to take you to coffee, maybe discuss it a little.”

“Like a job? Painting?” Belle’s skepticism is plastered all over her face. Not that Emma can blame her; it probably sounds just a little too good to be true.

“Something like that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely am, if you’re interested in learning more.”

It’s a close thing, Emma thinks, but Belle does show up in the back corner of Regina’s favorite little Italian bakery an hour later.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t exactly a legal opportunity that you want to talk about?” Belle asks right away. Still, she seems utterly unfazed by the idea of it as she calmly sips a cappuccino.

“Probably because it isn’t,” Emma replies, equally calm.

“Hypothetically,” Regina makes sure to add. Maybe that’s what she should have been in another life - a lawyer for the mob. Not that it matters, especially since Emma changes her mind every other time Regina opens her mouth.

“Hypothetically,” Emma makes sure to emphasize, “we’re planning a job that would require someone with top notch artistic skills.”

“And you think that someone is me.”

“Hypothetically, yes,” Regina agrees.

“But why me?” Belle argues. “I’m barely good enough to teach a bunch of college students. What makes you think that I’m skilled enough for whatever you have in mind - hypothetically have in mind?”

“Your style, ironically the very thing that’s really kept you from breaking into the art world, is exactly what we need for our purposes.” Somehow, Regina manages to make it all sound completely reasonable, though Emma knows it’s not. They’re talking about forgery and theft, for Christ’s sake.

“And if I say no?”

“Then this conversation never happened,” Emma replies easily. “Look, my partner may be a little over-enthusiastic with the hypotheticallys, but it means we haven’t actually been planning anything in a way that you could take to the police. Look, I’ll be level with you - we can probably find another artist if need be. They’re out there. But they’re not you, Ms. French, and when we say we want the best, that’s you. For better or worse. The payout - sorry, the hypothetical payout would be more than enough to set you up. No more teaching brats with an attitude. We can help your originals find a way to market - legitimate or otherwise. There’s a lot of doors you can open with the kind of money we’re talking about.”

“Think about it and let us know.” Regina slides a card across the table - blank except for a starkly printed phone number. A burner, obviously, and perfect for what they have in mind. “You’re just the woman we need, and I think we’re just the opportunity you need.”

Emma and Regina barely make it to the end of the next block before the phone buzzes.

I’m in.

Two pieces to go.

It’s a relatively short cab ride to Battery Park, where Regina says they’ll find their next crew member. “This is the pickpocket?” Emma asks as they stroll past a particularly fragrant food cart. Ah, New York.

“This is the pickpocket,” Regina echoes back. “Tink Green. Young, but talented. She could easily break into larger jobs if she had the inclination, though I’m not sure that she does.”

“Tink? Seriously?”

“I know.” Regina rolls her eyes. “But yes, seriously. No idea what her real name is, she refuses to tell. If you have to have a stupid nickname, though, might as well make it a bad fairy fingers pun.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” A crowd is gathered up ahead along the railings bordering the river. “So where is she?”

“You see the blonde weaving through the crowd?” Regina asks, nodding in a general direction. “With the bun and the scarf and the headphones?”

“Yeah?” The woman in question looks utterly distracted - just another twenty-something absorbed in her phone.

“Watch.”

It looks like any other passing interaction - a distracted pedestrian not watching where they’re going, despite passerbys’ attempts to step around her. However, Emma’s a thief. She can spot the way that when the blonde bumps into an unsuspecting businessman, only the hand holding her phone comes up to brace on his torso, while the other steals into his coat pocket.

“Smooth,” she mutters. “I wonder if that’s all she’s got.”

Regina smiles a wicked, amused smile. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

“Just make sure you don’t have anything valuable in your pockets.”

With the leisurely pace Tink saunters along at - just the right speed to feign distraction and avoid any serious attention - it’s easy for Emma and Regina to catch up along either side. “Impressive show,” Emma comments casually.

She’ll give the pickpocket this - she’s a good faker. Emma only sees the momentary flash of recognition tinged with panic because she’s looking for it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies. Tink’s accent is unusual; Australian, maybe, or possibly New Zealander.

“That lift,” Emma continues. “Very well done. Practically seamless.”

“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’ve got the wrong person. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Tink’s eyes flit briefly to either side, looking for an easy escape like any good con.

“Oh relax,” Regina cuts in with that exasperated drawl she’s perfected. “We’re not here to bust you. We’ve actually got a job. Think of this as your interview.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Regina Mills. This is my partner, Emma Swan.” Tink straightens, almost imperceptibly. “Ah, so you know who we are.”

“Run with a certain crowd, and it’d be hard not to.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Emma replies. “Like Regina said, we’ve got a job. Need someone with light fingers. A little teamwork and big payout.”

“How big?”

“Big enough not to say in such a public place.” Regina produces another card. “If you’d like to know more, come by the Poison Apple the day after tomorrow, around 2pm. We’ll share all the details with the team then. That is, if you’re interested.”

“I might be,” Tink hazards.

“Anything holding you back?” Emma asks. It’s obvious Tink is the woman for the job - talented and just charming enough for a little undercover prep work if need be. If there’s anything they can say to get her on board right now, Emma will gladly do it.

“Who’s the mark?”

Not the question she’d anticipated, but Emma can roll with it. “Zelena West.”

Unexpectedly, the other blonde bursts into a peal of laughter. “That piece of work?”

“The very same,” Regina replies with a wry smile.

“In that case, count me in. About time that bitch got what’s coming to her.”

Who knew it could be so easy - uniting a group of people around hatred of one disgustingly rich woman?

———

The last thing Emma expects to see when she and Regina finally make it back to the loft about the nightclub is a man already waiting outside the door, rocking back and forth on his heels with both hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. As Regina wrangles the lock, the man springs to attention. “Ms. Mills?”

“Yes, yes, come in.” She’s obviously expecting him, as she holds the door wide open for the man to walk through, though her face never changes from mild irritation. Typical Regina. Though Emma can’t imagine why she’s letting him in to start with.

“This one of your vendors, Regina?” she asks, closing the door. The man has come to stand in the middle of the room, looking around like he’s waiting for something.

Regina scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emma, the bar’s vendors come on Monday. This is our fence.”

Emma isn’t entirely sure what face she’s making, but it’s certainly not good. “Him?” she asks needlessly, earning herself an eye roll.

“No, the other man standing in the corner. Yes, him. This is Killian Jones.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma,” he says - warmly enough, she’ll grant - extending a hand to shake.

Unfortunately for him, Emma’s not in a mood for warmly enough. “We are not on a first name basis,” she all but snaps before quickly pivoting to address Regina. “Can I talk with you for a moment?”

“What is your problem, Emma?” Regina hisses once they’re a reasonable distance away. Not that they’ve found true privacy; that doesn’t exactly exist in the loft space.

“He’s a he!” she hisses back.

“How didn’t you know that? I gave you the file.”

“It’s not like I read in-depth or anything! You always give me a little rundown anyways. I saw the name and figured they were a her, not a… him.” The last word is practically spat out like a curse. Absolutely melodramatic, not that Emma cares.

“And is that a problem? It’s not like you told me you wanted only women.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I wouldn’t have to when everyone else you offered up was of the female persuasion. Isn’t there anyone else?”

“No. You want the best, I find you the best. That man can find or sell practically anything, like a modern day pirate. Or something less stupid.”

Emma ignores Regina’s denial. “What about Jasmine? She’s great, she’d be good for this.”

Regina shakes her head. “She and Al just had a baby, so she’s out of the game for a while.”

“I guess I can get that. You send something?”

“Gift cards for take out and a card signed with both our names.”

“Oh, thanks for that. What about Kathryn?”

“Went to prison last year. And you hate her anyways after she flirted with your brother.”

“It’s more because she’s a prissy little rich girl who got into the black market because she thought it’d be fun.”

“No, it’s because she was hitting on David. I very narrowly escaped attending a debutante ball, if you remember, so I’m technically one of those prissy little rich girls,” Regina points out.

“Yeah, but I like you,” Emma sighs. “Bet her daddy bribed someone to get her sentence reduced.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Still doesn’t change the fact that she’s unavailable.”

“What about —” Emma starts, only to be interrupted.

“Look, I’ll go find you someone else if you insist, someone female,” Regina argues, “but they’re not going to be as good as him. There’s no one else out there who’s got the amount of connections in the black market art world that he does, and he’s got strong footholds in advanced tech to boot. Just what we need. So are you going to quit your tantrum and suck it up, or am I going to have to put out feelers again?” She waits for an answer with arms crossed - never an inviting look.

“Fine,” Emma finally grumbles. “But he’s got a lot of ground to make up.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you won’t let him forget it,” Regina mutters back under her breath.

Jones does them all the favor of pretending he didn’t hear any of that conversation when the women rejoin him. “Swan, is it?” he asks, extending that hand again. Today, Emma really feels like the last human on Earth who doesn’t feel a pressing need to follow that particular societal convention.

“That’s me,” Emma replies with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. It’s not much. “Regina says you’re the best around.”

“In more ways than one,” he winks. Mistake.

“Let’s get something straight right now: this flirting, or whatever you’re hoping to pull off? It’s not going to work on me,” Emma replies with venom hiding just behind her voice. “We’re here to stage a heist, and all I care about are results. This is about the job, and if you can’t keep it professional, then you can walk back out the door right now and we’ll find someone else.”

They stare at each other for a moment, Emma hoping to establish her dominance right there and then, before Jones finally cracks a closed-mouthed smile and nods. “Won’t be a problem, Swan. I’m at your disposal.”

“Good. We’ll see you in two days for a full overview of the plan and to get this show on the road.”

“As you wish,” he declares, sketching a short bow. After a last nod to Regina, he leaves again, now a problem for another day.

“I still don’t like him,” Emma declares to Regina. The other woman is smiling like the cat who got the canary, and Emma hates it.

“You don’t have to,” the other woman replies, “but he’s going to make this work. You’d be an idiot to fight against that.”

“All I’m saying is he better be as good as you promise.” There’s something about Killian Jones that makes her nervous, something she can’t quite put her finger on. Not his skills; Emma trusts Regina on that front. Something about his attitude, or his confidence. That’s not important right now, though, when there’s plans to make and details to nail down.

Killian Jones may be an unknown variable, but he’s one she can’t deny they need - and for the moment, that’s more important than any of her concerns.

#captain swan #cs ff #my writing #Swan's Seven #ocean's 8 AU #I've been sitting on these introductions for a long time and I'm just so happy to share them

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ernmark · 7 years

Note

Hi I love all your penumbra metas. In the latest episode I'm still confused by what actually went wrong with the dome, was it the society or the dome that didn't work?

Is this gonna be a thing I do?

I am totally cool with this.

Again, major detailed spoilers for Promised Land under the cut.

And an anon asked:

Thanks for explaining the end of the episode! I’m a little confused about what happened with the dome in the first place. I mean, I know the free dome wasn’t real. And Erin tried to get her son(?) to get it to work and he was a giant dick trying to torture people looking for it. Did Erin set up the dome stuff prematurely? Did it ever exist? Marshall’s son felt really bad and wanted to warn everyone. Where did the hallucination gas fit in? Did Erin and company think they had it but didn’t?

One thing to keep in mind is that we’re deliberately not given the full story, so all we’re left with is bits and pieces that we can glue together to kind of get a vague impression of what happened, but the way I put them together won’t necessarily be the way you put them together.

So let’s get to it, shall we?

Why was the Free Dome important?

Real estate on Mars is expensive, outside of super low-income neighborhoods like Oldtown, The Boiler, etc.

This is because 90% of Mars’s surface is uninhabitable. If you want to live somewhere, you better be willing to fork over a ton of cash for a tiny place, or else you’re going to be buddying up with your immediate family/seven of your closest friends/etc.

JUNO: Mars only has a couple cities and a few desertoutposts cuz the radiation will bake you like a potato if you stay out theremore than a few hours, and Domes can’t be built just anywhere. So if you want anew city, you’ve got to figure out how to build a place to build it. You haveto invent a better Dome.

Life cannot exist underground, because the ambient radiation is just too strong:

PILOT: A lot of space in this subway. I wonder why I neverbuilt anything down here. Some housing or something.

PIRANHA: People lose their marbles if they live under Martianground too long. Radiation burns, Brainswell…

STRONG: You know whatbeing under all this radioactive sand too long does to you? Drives you crazy.Makes you see things.

This is likely why the subway has been closed off everywhere except Oldtown– most likely it wasn’t safe for the people working there, or for the people using it for transit.

Oldtown was the only part of Hyperion City that still had a connection to the Old Subway, behind a boarded-up door in a nondescript office building. (Stolen City)

This is probably also why the only thing that lives in the sewer are giant mutant rabbits.

Notably, though, both the subway and the sewer system are in fairly good repair because they’re both under Hyperion City and its protective dome. The same doesn’t hold true for structures built outside of that protection:

People hadbuilt things down here, signs and lights and tracks, but the radiation hadclearly done damage even this deep below the surface. Fixtures corroded. Trackslike time had taken a blowtorch to them.

Even the existing domes are fragile. We know that Hyperion City’s has some places that are protected better than others.

RITA: Well… sounds like a pretty bad sandstorm is gonna hit this afternoon. You’ll probably want to be out of Oldtown by then; the shield over there’s about as strong as used tissues. They went into lockdown three times just last month. (Day That Wouldn’t Die)

Our Man-Who-Wasn’t picked a good neighborhood to set up shop in: the Old Industrial District, a place blasted by sandstorms and cosmic rays so hard that not even the roaches would live there anymore. The shields protecting the rest of Hyperion didn’t reach this far, and so neither would most of its citizens. It was the perfect place to do bad business – so long as you didn’t mind a tumor or two. (Prince of Mars)

That’s important: You can’t build domes just anywhere, and the domes that do exist have to be heavily shielded from sandstorms and cosmic rays.

If you can solve those two problems, then you can build a dome wherever you want, you can build as many of them as you want, and all the unclaimed land on Mars is effectively yours for the taking– and that means that you now have the power to decide who gets to live there and who doesn’t. Do you give affordable housing to anyone who wants it, like Erin Marshall D’Arc? Or do you do like Pilot wanted, and make the hyper-wealthy pay top dollar so they can have their own personal golf course? Either way, that’s an incredible amount of power.

The Family D’Arc

So we have three main characters in this story: Erin, the scientist; Marshall, her son; and his kid, Domer 3 (they’re never given a name, but that’s what the script calls them).

We started in a reception hall that didn’t lookprepared to receive anybody. There were portrait frames on the walls, but mostof them were empty, and the ones that weren’t just showed family photos. A momand her son –- the D’Arcs, probably. The kid all grown up, moody, wild-eyed.The only full portrait in the room had the face scratched out – and theydidn’t look like Erin or Marshall.

Erin was a military scientist who thought she had a solid technology on her hands, and believed in it enough to run away with a group of other believers. Erin was an optimist who seemed to genuinely believe in her Utopian dream.

After her death, her son Marshall took over leadership of the dome.

MARSHALL: Cuz Ma might’ve had allthat crap about everyone being her neighbor or whatever, but guess what? She’sdead.

The character descriptions in the script talk about how Marshall was a believer who wanted desperately to be good enough, but neither he nor the Free Dome ever lived up to expectations, and that broke him.

But all of that is background information. From what we see in the episode itself, Marshall was… not a nice person. His tests were murderous, sadistic, and full of gaslighting and victim-blaming, and the way he addressed his prospective “neighbors” was nothing short of abusive.

So you’reprobably wondering why I stopped you out in these irradiated badlands, with allthe oogidies and the boogidies waiting to getcha. I’ve got three answers forthat. Answer one: it’s none of your business. Two: my testing materials havegot to last a long time, forever probably, and it’ll help wear-and-tear if lessof you make it to them. Three: it’s still none of your goddamn business.

“Anyone whowishes to enter the Free Dome must be generous, and give more of themselvesthan they can afford. So sit upon this Chair of Charity and give to us… fromyour blood.”

Congratulations.You’re a very generous idiot. Here’s the Dome… and here’s your blood back,weirdo. Just do me afavor: if you feel like you’re gonna bite the big one, show yourself out,alright? We’re already behind schedule without cleaning up your carcass.Marshall out.

That’s it!Easy, right? Just hold the Dome and walk straight. No matter what. You hear me?No matter what. (AN UNDERCURRENTOF DARK, DARK ANGER) And if youknow what’s good for you, you’ll listen.

That’s way beyond unreasonable. But it wasn’t just toward the test-takers. His kid flat out tells us that this was regular behavior for him.

Dad was a good guy, too. I mean… well, no hewasn’t.

I never met her, but Dad… Dad wasn’t good beforethe radiation either.

(Notably, this is the same kind of language that Juno uses to describe his own mother.)

We don’t know Domer 3′s name, but we know that they lived outside of the dome with Marshall long enough to know him (and his abuse) before the radiation made him worse; we also know that Erin didn’t live to meet her grandchild.

After Marshall presumably died, Domer 3 seems to be the last person here. They recorded warning messages to keep everybody away, and encoded a kill switch into the final recording so that once it was activated, nobody could enter the Free Dome again.

There is a fourth character here, but we only know them incidentally. I don’t know whether they were Marshall’s ex-partner or his co-leader, but Marshall really did not like this person:

MARSHALL: … a test tosee how generous you are. You want in you gotta have a sense of charity. Notlike that weasel Malvin, I swear ifyou’re listening to this, Mal, I’m gonna tear your—

Alright, fine.Test of Faith. You’ve got to do whatever I say exactly, right? That’s how youprove you can be faithful. That you’re going to listen when I tell you to dosomething. That you’re not just going to run out. Malvin.

I suspect Malvin is not Domer 3, because otherwise Domer 3 would have been given a name in the script. Also because Malvin clearly left on their own terms, whereas Domer 3 was clearly the last one there.

So what went wrong?

As near as I can put it together, there were two main problems, one structural and one societal.

Structurally, the dome tech just didn’t work.

I’m sure it did in the short term– after all, the dome sample that Pilot received was powerful enough to protect them from most of the dangers of the third trial, and it was stated to be a much less powerful version of the real thing.

I genuinely believe that Erin set up her city on the other side of those doors in the end. But what worked in a lab setting just couldn’t hold up to the brute force of sandstorms and constant cosmic radiation. As soon as the dome failed, everybody had to rush back into the relative safety of the underground areas on the other side of the door. The ruins of the city were likely warped by radiation and ground up by sandstorms until they were reduced to nothing at all.

Underground, Erin kept trying to fix the dome tech, and then brought in her son to give it a go. Both of them failed.

I wish they made it. I wish it was possible. Erin, I think she really thought, even if she couldn’t do it… maybe Dad could. She believed in him so much. And when he realized he couldn’t make it work, he just… (BIG SIGH) It was bad. He was… bad.

They were underground in the facility long enough that they started to hallucinate death millipedes, undercrows, and from the sound of it, the functioning dome itself:

I don’t know how it happened. The undergroundradiation, maybe, making them see things, or… maybe they just wanted to see it.

What exactly happened to them isn’t elaborated upon, but the implication is that they assumed that the tech worked and walked into the desert unprotected, which killed them within a few hours.

(Just to clarify: there was never any hallucinatory gas; the hallucinations were a result of the brainswell, which was in turn a result of the underground radiation.)

But there were some societal issues at play, too.

I’m gonna step back for a second into the real world: historically, there have been a handful of experimental Utopian colonies over the years, with varying degrees of success. A common thread, though, is that a lot of them tend to fall apart when people stop dividing things evenly and start hoarding and hiding an unfair share of the goods for themselves (among other things). The test of charity suggests that this is one of the things that went down here. Once again:

MARSHALL: … a test to see how generous you are. You want in you gotta have a sense of charity. Not like that weasel Malvin, I swear if you’re listening to this, Mal, I’m gonna tear your—

But it’s not the only thing that went wrong.

Erin’s answer to a galaxy-ending conflict wasn’t to address any of the existing problems that broke the world, but to just pack up and move somewhere else. Which is not that great of a strategy.

Your wholething is that the world’s a train wreck, so you open up a new city and just letanybody who wants walk in? That’s not anew world. That’s not a utopia. That’s the old one all over again. Justsmaller.

Erin’s strategy was apparently to please everybody, which is also not a great leadership strategy, especially in a small place with limited resources. Marshall had a lot of things to say about that, but he wasn’t much better. Apart from being seriously abusive, Marshall wasn’t the kind of leader that could command respect, which he clearly resented.

… what isthis, second? Uh, Test of Faith, how about that? Listen to whatever I say.Somebody’s got to. Somebody should.

Hey, you listened. Nice work. If you’re alive. Which you probably aren’t. Because you probably didn’t listen. Nobody does. Why would you? Why would anybody?

On a societal level, the Free Dome was doomed to fail even before the brainswell started making people hallucinate and taking away their ability to think rationally.

From the sound of it, people stopped listening to the D’Arcs, they started hoarding things, and then they started leaving or dying, until the only ones left were Marshall and his kid. And then it was just Domer 3, who shut down the whole thing and walked away.

#the penumbra podcast #penumbra meta #yelly-the-jelly #abuse mention

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poorquentyn · 7 years

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Men’s Lives Have Meaning, Part 7: Conclusion

Full series here

A Dance with Dragons begins, appropriately enough, from the point of view of a dragon.

Before Mance, Varamyr Sixskins had been a lord of sorts. He lived alone in a hall of moss and mud and hewn logs that had once been Haggon’s, attended by his beasts. A dozen villages did him homage in bread and salt and cider, offering him fruit from their orchards and vegetables from their gardens. His meat he got himself. Whenever he desired a woman he sent his shadowcat to stalk her, and whatever girl he’d cast his eye upon would follow meekly to his bed. Some came weeping, aye, but still they came. Varamyr gave them his seed, took a hank of their hair to remember them by, and sent them back. From time to time, some village hero would come with spear in hand to slay the beastling and save a sister or a lover or a daughter. Those he killed, but he never harmed the women.

That’s what Varamyr was: an archetypal monster-in-a-cave, the classic village dragon that every RPG needs. The Sixskins preyed on all life within a prowl’s reach, his entire life a tribute to domination of others on every possible plane, breaking every border that another being might think to set around themselves. He began feeding on those unlucky “dozen villages” after killing his mentor and eating his fuckin’ heart, and they’ve been living with the monster in the woods ever since. It’s not something anyone ever has to talk about. It’s something that everyone simply knows, out here in this particular stretch of the wild. A fact of life, a splinter in your mind, a fire behind a shadowcat’s eyes, and the fire whispers walk with me...

Varamyr thus combines the ruthless exploitation of your average feudal lord with supervillain powers and a serial killer’s personal life; even the Boltons would have to doff their caps at the pain-racket the skinchanger had going north of the Wall. Mance shoulda killed him and threw his head at the villagers’ feet, but the temptation to use him as a weapon proved too strong. After all, who needs the real Horn of Winter when you have an apocalypse that walks like a man, the closest approximation we get to the nuclear-fired cthuloid maw of a Euron Crowseye POV? Varamyr was It, Pennywise the goddamn dancing clown, for a generation of wildlings across a dozen villages. He was the darkness at the edge of town, feeding off of them and among them at will. He’s there to...what’s the phrase...ah yes: “to give the heroes something to fight.”

It was only natural, then, that they started showing up at his doorstep. Never quite as tall as they thought they were, these heroes, the dragon would sigh every time as he uncoiled and moved towards the door. Never so strong, nor so quick. They must have thought it would feel differently than this, he mused as he approached them. They thought they would be able to hear the songs to be written of their triumph in their ears, rather than their own heart drumming a nervous beat and the shrieks of their companions (those that had made it this far). They thought the gods would guide their hand to strike the beast true, or some such rot, never realizing until it was too late that the gods weren’t home and it was just them and the nightmares. They are (the dragon would always pause to think in the heartbeat before he began bathing in their blood) doing what they think they’re supposed to do, the best thing they know how to do, as far as their cattle brains are concerned. Scared, maybe--certainly--but they were there. They were going to save their lovers, avenge their families, slay the feared and hated Sixskins, or die trying. They were ready, in the name of Story, to dance with dragons.

The dragon was only too happy to oblige. He killed them as they came, one by one, ultimately putting about as much effort into it as you or I might put into scrubbing dead skin away in the shower. Like the Wild Hares, their songs and screams waft together, blurred, intertwined, one amidst the brittle branches, before slipping up, out, and away, caught on the stiff morning breeze. In a tossed-off paragraph, Varamyr offers us a glimpse of dozens of Hero’s Journeys that he personally short-circuited.

So begins A Dance with Dragons, the book named in tearfully ironic honor of Quentyn Martell’s quest--from the perspective of the abyss into which a hundred such quests stared and wilted. The monster from the cave is dying now, lost and hungry and far from the people he fed upon, fearful that his long red reaper’s bill has finally come due. He whispers his story to us, his bloodshot eyes holding ours but seeing past them; he makes one final attempt to dominate (poor Thistle, who risked her life for him!) and having failed that, is forced to cross the astral threshold to another kind of life entirely.

What makes this chapter not just a nightmare (though it is that, and a peerlessly skin-crawling eldritch nightmare if ever I was jerked awake screaming from one) is the many-layered resonances it has with the book that follows. I’m not talking here about the setup Varamyr’s Prologue does for Jon’s character arc, nor for Bran’s, as both are well-trod territory by now. I’m talking about Quentyn, because I see him and his dead friends in the trail of skeletons outside Varamyr’s lair. A book later, we have been shown (not just told, but shown) that every one of those nameless Not The Heroes whom the skinchanger dispatched with such swift and terrible ease had a story. They had friends, every bit as much as those heroes who succeeded. They ate and slept, yelled and sang, wept and laughed and farted. They lived, they died. They were only just born, they were just here I’m telling you, my boy Quent and those older boys he runs around with! I saw him waving when they went off to fight the monster to get justice for his auntie, he was so scared but trying to be brave, just wave, just wave and you’ll be fine, he’ll be home by nightfall, you’ll see...

But they never come home. We know all this about these Not The Heroes because we spent the book with one of them. GRRM zoomed us all the way in on the bones Bran saw in his dreams, the bones of a “thousand other dreamers” who failed to fly. We got in close enough to realize one wasn’t dead, not yet; he craned his face desperately to us in his dying throes, struggling to form a few words, to tell us (or rather, Missandei) what had happened to him and why. We have danced the dance, and so did Quent. He died dancing.

After the girl was gone, the old knight peeled back the coverlet for one last look at Quentyn Martell’s face, or what remained of it. So much of the prince’s flesh had sloughed away that he could see the skull beneath. His eyes were pools of pus. He should have stayed in Dorne. He should have stayed a frog. Not all men are meant to dance with dragons.

And so, the book that began by drawing us inside the unholy fire burning in a nightmare-shaman’s eyes writes its thesis statement in the pus and blood leaking out of where Quent’s eyes once were. Not everyone had their third eye opened. Some of us...most of us are just humans, and for all our follies and failures and warm little fires, “just humans” can’t contain the deadlights. They eat you up inside.

It is quite fitting that Barristan Selmy has the last word on Quent’s quest--fitting, moving, and sad at a level I don’t think I’m going to fully appreciate until I’m as old as Barry himself. The white knight, for all his many sins and mistakes, is a decent-hearted old man desperately trying to do some good before he dies. As we see with his squires, he wants to leave a piece of himself behind. Barry did his best to warn Quent, telling him that his adventure was a sham, the Stranger was coming for him, and he should go home while he can. Note the terms on which Quentyn refused this wise advice:

Before he had gone three steps, Quentyn Martell called out to him. “Barristan the Bold, they call you.”

“Some do.” Selmy had won that name when he was ten years old, a new-made squire, yet so vain and proud and foolish that he got it in his head that he could joust with tried and proven knights. So he’d borrowed a warhorse and some plate from Lord Dondarrion’s armory and entered the lists at Blackhaven as a mystery knight. Even the herald laughed. My arms were so thin that when I lowered my lance it was all I could do to keep the point from furrowing the ground. Lord Dondarrion would have been within his rights to pull him off the horse and spank him, but the Prince of Dragonflies had taken pity on the addlepated boy in the ill-fitting armor and accorded him the respect of taking up his challenge. One course was all that it required. Afterward Prince Duncan helped him to his feet and removed his helm. “A boy,” he had proclaimed to the crowd. “A bold boy.” Fifty-three years ago. How many men are still alive who were there at Blackhaven?

“What name do you think they will give me, should I return to Dorne without Daenerys?” Prince Quentyn asked. “Quentyn the Cautious? Quentyn the Craven? Quentyn the Quail?”

Now Barristan is staring down the results: a stinking horrorshow of a corpse, gazing back with condemnation. Your life is a mirage, the dead man whispers past what were once lips. What worth the songs and stories of Barristan the Bold when following them led me here? Quentyn made it to Dany’s bed after all...only to die in it, soaking it in fire and blood. The Windblown promised to save him from such a fate, only to deliver him to it: “Do you want to die abed?” Barry can’t know all of this, of course, but as he gives the book its name, he senses it, all of it. He knows the stories too well not to. As such, the scene is a quietly heartrending portrait of existentialist melancholy, painted in gray as the rain lashes down. The old bury the young, and everyone who was at Blackhaven is gone.

Later on in “The Queen’s Hand,” the mournful tone shifts into bitter irony. The white knight pays a visit to Quent’s companions, imprisoned for killing four Brazen Beasts and letting Dany’s children loose. Drink and the big man have mostly stayed in the background of Quent’s story. One gets the sense that Cletus and Maester Kedry were the core of the group, whereas Drink and the big man are basically sidekicks who never expected to be in charge. To borrow from @racefortheironthrone, it’s as if Gandalf and Aragorn were (permanently) killed off in a literal random encounter two days outta Rivendell, and Pippin and Sam had to take over. Indeed, Archibald Yronwood displays Gamgee-esque devotion in one of the most heartbreaking images of the series, one with the primal pull of a pieta:

Archibald Yronwood had been cradling his prince’s scorched and smoking body when the Brazen Beasts had found him, as his burned hands could testify. He had used them to beat out the flames that had engulfed Quentyn Martell.

It’s only now, with Quent gone, that these two come to the fore and we get a sense of who they really are. Drink protests too much; it’s pretty clear from his dialogue that what he’s most concerned about is being blamed for this whole ordeal, and is desperately trying to frame Quent’s death as being Dany’s fault. The big man finally has enough of his sanctimonious bullshit, telling him to “shut your bloody mouth before I put my fist in it.” He shrewdly notes that Barry could’ve already let the Shavepate execute them both for killing his men, and so he must want something from them. Barry internally compliments him, and the two of them are able to cut a very significant deal:

“What did Prince Quentyn promise the Tattered Prince in return for all this help?”

He got no answer. Ser Gerris looked at Ser Archibald. Ser Archibald looked at his hands, the floor, the door.

“Pentos,” said Ser Barristan. “He promised him Pentos. Say it. No words of yours can help or harm Prince Quentyn now.”

“Aye,” said Ser Archibald unhappily. “It was Pentos. They made marks on a paper, the two of them.”

There is a chance here. “We still have Windblown in the dungeons. Those feigned deserters.”

“I remember,” said Yronwood. “Hungerford, Straw, that lot. Some of them weren’t so bad for sellswords. Others, well, might be they could stand a bit of dying. What of them?”

“I mean to send them back to the Tattered Prince. And you with them. You will be two amongst thousands. Your presence in the Yunkish camps should pass unnoticed. I want you to deliver a message to the Tattered Prince. Tell him that I sent you, that I speak with the queen’s voice. Tell him that we’ll pay his price if he delivers us our hostages, unharmed and whole.”

Ser Archibald grimaced. “Rags and Tatters is more like to give the two of us to Pretty Meris. He won’t do it.”

“Why not? The task is simple enough.” Compared to stealing dragons. “I once brought the queen’s father out of Duskendale.”

“That was Westeros,” said Gerris Drinkwater.

“This is Meereen.”

“Arch cannot even hold a sword with those hands.”

“He ought not need to. You will have the sellswords with you, unless I mistake my man.”

Gerris Drinkwater pushed back his mop of sun-streaked hair. “Might we have some time to discuss this amongst ourselves?”

“No,” said Selmy.

“I’ll do it,” offered Ser Archibald, “just so long as there’s no bloody boats involved. Drink will do it too.” He grinned. “He don’t know it yet, but he will.”

So...let’s be very clear about what’s being agreed to, here. Barry’s offering to genuinely make good on Quent’s promise of Pentos--something which, let’s be honest, Doran Martell would be very unlikely to do. There is no lack of crystallizing moments in Quentyn’s story which neatly summarize the whole, perfect little twists of the searing deconstructive knife, but this is the filet of the Quentyn tenderloin. The devil won. Quentyn’s story: qui bono? The Tattered Prince. Doran’s out a son, Drink and the big man are out another friend, but the painter-in-red Prince who taught Quent what hell looked like, what he gets is Pentos back. All the trappings of a perfect fantasy quest, my poor boy, but you see, you weren’t the one being empowered by your storyline. Fucking Mephistopheles was! You’re the Dorian Grey portrait in his attic now, and-- *fingers fly to earbud* and I’m being told we have live footage of Tatters’ coronation as Prince-for-life of Pentos...

youtube

But what will fully and finally embed Quentyn’s story-within-a-story into the overall pattern of ASOIAF is the fate awaiting his family back home. Tragedy is built in large part on asymmetric information: someone doesn’t know something until it’s far too late, with Romeo and Juliet providing only the most obvious example. In this case, Quentyn’s big sister Arianne thinks he’s still alive, that he succeeded, that he’s coming home with Dany and her dragons. And she is not remotely happy about that.

“I would sooner it were Quentyn who’d returned.”

“Or so you say,” said Daemon Sand. “Good night, princess."

He bowed to her, and left her standing there. What did he mean by that? Arianne watched him walk away. What sort of sister would I be, if I did not want my brother back? It was true, she had resented Quentyn for all those years that she had thought their father meant to name him as his heir in place of her, but that had turned out to be just a misunderstanding. She was the heir to Dorne, she had her father’s word on that. Quentyn would have his dragon queen, Daenerys.

In Sunspear hung a portrait of the Princess Daenerys who had come to Dorne to marry one of Arianne’s forebears. In her younger days Arianne had spent hours gazing at it, back when she was just a pudgy flat-chested girl on the cusp of maidenhood who prayed every night for the gods to make her pretty. A hundred years ago, Daenerys Targaryen came to Dorne to make a peace. Now another comes to make a war, and my brother will be her king and consort. King Quentyn. Why did that sound so silly?

Almost as silly as Quentyn riding on a dragon. Her brother was an earnest boy, well-behaved and dutiful, but dull. And plain, so plain. The gods had given Arianne the beauty she had prayed for, but Quentyn must have prayed for something else. His head was overlarge and sort of square, his hair the color of dried mud. His shoulders slumped as well, and he was too thick about the middle. He looks too much like Father.

"I love my brother,” said Arianne, though only the moon could hear her. Though if truth be told, she scarcely knew him. Quentyn had been fostered by Lord Anders of House Yronwood, the Bloodroyal, the son of Lord Ormond Yronwood and grandson of Lord Edgar. In his youth her uncle Oberyn had fought a duel with Edgar, had given him a wound that mortified and killed him. Afterward men called him ‘the Red Viper,’ and spoke of poison on his blade. The Yronwoods were an ancient house, proud and powerful. Before the coming of the Rhoynar they had been kings over half of Dorne, with domains that dwarfed those of House Martell. Blood feud and rebellion would surely have followed Lord Edgar’s death, had not her father acted at once. The Red Viper went to Oldtown, thence across to the narrow sea to Lys, though none dared call it exile. And in due time, Quentyn was given to Lord Anders to foster as a sign of trust. That helped to heal the breach between Sunspear and the Yronwoods, but it had opened new ones between Quentyn and the Sand Snakes… and Arianne had always been closer to her cousins than to her distant brother.

“We are still the same blood, though,” she whispered. “Of course I want my brother home. I do.” The wind off the sea was raising gooseprickles all up and down her arms. Arianne pulled her cloak about herself, and went off to seek her bed.

King Quentyn. It still sounded silly.

King Quentyn. Will I need to kneel to him?

I think this resentment towards the brother she barely knows will drive Arianne to bind her family and people’s fortunes to Aegon in hopes of pre-empting “King Quentyn.” The horrible irony is not only that Quent’s already dead, but that he had no interest in being Dany’s consort, nor in one-upping Arianne. That, however, won’t save Doran and Arianne when Dany, having embraced “fire and blood” on the Dothraki Sea, comes for the “mummer’s dragon” and his backers.

“They were dancing. In my dream. And everywhere the dragons danced the people died.”

“You could have died,” said Arianne again. Her words echoed off the cavern walls. “…died… died … died…”

Enough speculation. Ultimately, the overall point of this and all previous and still-to-come series on ADWD is that this story never stopped being good. The bones are still there. There is still a structure to this song, a rhythm, a dance. The characterization is strong, the worldbuilding is superb, the prose is GRRM’s best yet, and there really is a payoff: it’s Barristan looking into what’s left of Quent’s eyes, knowing mortality, and giving the book its name.

Dragonfire burns hot and bright, but Yronwood at night is smooth sky and still water. The air snaps clear and perfect into your lungs. There are no dead friends, no adventure to go on nor princess to wed nor dragons to tame, no stories. Just the air, the trees, the water, and you. That’s where I picture Quent. I hope he was thinking of something like that before George finally let him rest. In the end, my boy was glad to go; like I’ve said, he knowingly walked into the fire. Take me home, Stranger! Send me back to Dorne, O winged chariot, burn me clean of accumulated sin and then fly me back to the forest of my youth...

The tiny Naathi scribe looked up at his approach. “Honored ser. The prince is beyond pain now. His Dornish gods have taken him home. See? He smiles.”

...and just like that, he’s gone. The drip is removed, the bereaved notified, the body covered and wheeled out. All that’s left to show he was ever alive is the dull blare of the TV in the hospital room. Ah shit, I left it on! It’s some cheesy fantasy movie from the ‘80s, a dragon and a sword, shit like that. I’ll get it later, after I drop off this poor stiff downstairs. Let it drone on into the empty air where the dead man was. Let the fading echoes of its song slide down his dead ears as I ferry him across the Styx; let ghosts bloom behind his dead eyes as I wheel him into that steel coffin. What’s the harm? What’s one more ghost in a series full of them? Father Mackenzie, wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave (no one was saved), muttering to himself, who takes that sort of story seriously, anyway...

All that’s left in the end is the gravestone, and this is what the stone says:

QUENTYN NYMEROS MARTELL

283-300

HE TRIED

Centuries later, the local children solemnly/excitedly tell each other about the Frog Prince, the ghost haunting that big old gravestone set off way back by itself. The stories, as with Varamyr, all go the same way. One moment, you’re leaning against the stone trying to catch your breath from one of the make-believe games (Dragons and Walkers was always popular, Rose Thorns and the Crowseye fiercely beloved by a few), and the next there’s a boy hiding behind it who wasn’t there before. I am the Frog Prince, he whispers like a decaying orchestra, a cry of grief heard at a great distance through seas of saltwater and grass. I have a quest for you. A bright shining adventure, forever just over the horizon, worth every corpse you step over, or make. It can be yours, everything can be yours, if only you guess my true name.

If the children choose not to guess, they can walk away, knowing no loss but the certainty (even without turning back to confirm) of his pale pus-colored eyes watching them reproachfully as they go. After all, if no one ever guesses right, he’ll be tied to his quest forever, unable to pass on, trapped in in a cage made of pure uncut diamond-hard Story. The only way he can sleep (perchance not to dream) is to find another vessel for the fire, keep the story going, keep the singers singing, on, on, the show must go on...

But if the children guess wrong, the Frog Prince sucks out their innocence through their brain stems like marrow. What the stories don’t tell, can’t tell, but I can, is what the ghost says to his victims right before he severs their heads. You all guess Quentyn, he sighs as they gaze into the nothingness behind his eyes, but the fire got him. I’m what was left. I keep telling you: my name is Frog.

#quentyn martell #quentyn in adwd #a dance with dragons #varamyr sixskins #asoiaf meta #barristan selmy #archibald yronwood #gerris drinkwater #the tattered prince #arianne martell #twow spoilers

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cassiopeiassky · 7 years

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Never Surrender

So I did a thing that I shouldn’t have done, because I have 542,396 other things to do. Oh well. I did the thing anyway.

This is a songfic inspired by Skillet’s Never Surrender. It came up on my playlist yesterday and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.

Bucky x reader

Word count: 3898

Warnings: This story deals heavily with depression and self-hate. There’s a fair amount of angst, although it also has a fair amount of fluff at the end. Language, because I'm me. Oh and Bucky is an absolute angel.

Lyrics are in italics

Do you know what it’s like when

You’re scared to see yourself?

Do you know what it’s like when

You wish you were someone else?

You rummage through your closet for what feels like the fiftieth time, and you fight back the tears. Again. The problem isn’t that you don’t have any clothes, it’s that none of them fit right or make you feel good about yourself. Then again, nothing really feels good anymore. Hasn’t for a few weeks.

A heavy sigh finds its way out. It isn’t exactly that you’d forgotten about your family pictures, it’s more that you chose not to think about it, and things you don’t think about tend to sneak up on you…like your junior year of high school, when you knew you were going to Homecoming but put off buying a dress until the afternoon of the dance. That hadn’t worked out well for you – the only options available were picked over, ugly, and Ill-fitting. “Procrastination, just another one of my amazingly incredible talents,” you snark to yourself. God, can’t you do anything right?

The portraits were your dad’s idea, and you thought you’d have enough time to do what you needed to do to get ‘picture ready,’ but no. Everything’s exactly the same as it was three months ago when the appointment was scheduled. The same weight you aren’t comfortable at, the same height you hate. The same hair, skin, eyes…everything’s the fucking same and you hate it.

You hate yourself.

You really don’t want to be memorialized this way, to have a tangible piece of evidence of your glaring imperfections, but it isn’t like you can call in sick to your family pictures. Well maybe….no. No, you can’t.

Shit.

You pull on another pair of pants, and immediately take them off when you see how they emphasize the wrong parts of your body. Maybe a skirt would be more forgiving of your flaws? One shirt, two shirts, three shirts later…one was too short, one too long, and one too loose in one area but too tight in another.

By this point the dam is ready to break, and you aren’t sure what’s holding you together. Well yes, actually, you do. Your boyfriend will be home soon and you don’t want him to see you like this. It’s not that he’d judge you – he’d never do that, in fact, if anybody would know how you feel it’d be him – it’s just that Bucky deals with enough. It’s not like you to hide yourself away from him, but you can’t help but feel how unfair it is to Bucky that you’re like this; he carries enough, he doesn’t need to shoulder your burdens, too.

Because that’s what you are, right? A burden. And not even a pretty burden. You choke back the sob that threatens to destroy your composure as you look in the mirror. Worthless. Stupid. Hideous.

Do you know what it’s like when

You’re not who you wanna be?

Do you know what it’s like to

Be your own worst enemy?

30 minutes till you have to leave – back to the closet.

Maybe that green shirt would look better if you wore the pink bra? Fuck, where is the pink bra?

The tears threaten again, and you decide to change tactics. “Make up, don’t fail me now,” you mutter as you take your place at the brightly lit vanity; a gift from Bucky when you’d moved in together. You’ll deal with the clothing situation in a bit, you still need to get your face and hair done.

Well, today is not your day, to say the least. You can’t get the shading right on your eyeshadow, the eyeliner is smudged and not in a good way, and your left eyelashes are a mascara clumped mess while the right eye has a perfect imprint of the mascara brush just above your lash line. And then there’s the Mount Vesuvius of zits on your chin that you have to try to disguise – you might as well put a fucking Hello Kitty bandaid on the thing for all the luck you’re having hiding it. “Goddammit.” Seriously, will you manage to get anything right today??

You glance at the clock – fuck, you have to leave in 15 minutes. You fix your eyes as best you can and move onto your hair. Your hair that you’d skipped washing this morning because you’d overslept, because on top of everything else, you’re lazy and greasy and gross. Okay, well, there’s not much you can do about that now. Maybe some dry shampoo?

The bottle spits pathetically. Empty. Of course, because you couldn’t fucking remember to pick more up.

“GodDAMN IT!” you screech as you slam the bottle down.

Why are you such a waste of space? Your hands clutch at your hair as you slump down, desperately fighting back the tears. You’d think that you’d be a champ at this by now.

Do you know what it’s like

To wanna surrender?

“Sugarplum? Where are you, baby? Are you ready to go?” Bucky’s voice floats through the bedroom door.

If you answer there will be sobs instead of words, so you don’t answer.

“Sugarplum?” His hand becomes a comforting weight on your shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks quietly as he kneels down to your level.

You can’t lie to him – not just because you decided you never would, but because you simply can’t. He’d know. So you don’t. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumble as you shrug off his touch and walk into the closet. He follows, but doesn’t say anything.

As you stare listlessly at the clothes still hanging in your closet, you can feel his gaze. Truth be told, you probably don’t have to tell him what’s wrong. You know him well enough to know that he’s observed the state of the bedroom – the clothes everywhere, the way your vanity is disorganized – he knew before he even saw you. Not to mention that he lives with you; prying isn’t his style, though, so he’s been respecting your boundaries even though you’ve been steadily closing down and pushing him away.

“Ya know, I always like seeing you in that black and teal dress, the one you were wearing when we first met.” His soft baritone eases something, you’re not sure what, and you nod. You hadn’t considered that dress because it isn’t in your closet – it’s still hanging in the laundry room from the last time it was washed. You know without looking that he’s gone to get it; he’s doing his best to help without stepping on your toes. He respects you when you say you don’t want to talk, and instead of pushing, he waits for you to come to him. Your shoulders slump and you swallow hard when you think of how he deserves so much better than what you can offer.

“Here you go, Sugarplum,” he murmurs as he helps you put on the dress. It’s one of your favorites – soft with a graceful and flowy skirt, it accentuates what you usually like about yourself while still managing to mostly camouflage the parts you want to keep hidden.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you head back out to your vanity. “I just…I have to do something with my hair.” You speak in barely a whisper – you sound pathetic. You are pathetic.

He’s quiet for a moment before clearing his throat. “What about your sexy twisty hairdo?”

Confusion washes over you. “What?”

“Your sexy twisty hairdo,” he motions with his hands, and as you watch him through the mirror it’s almost enough to make you giggle. Almost. “It’s…it’s what I call that updo you do when I keep you up too late the night before and you oversleep…the one you do with the hair stick and the thick black plasticy lacy headband.”

Oh. Well, that’s actually a really good idea. You’d wanted to wear your hair down, but that clearly isn’t going to work today. Twisting and pinning it up takes care of the texture issues, and the headband hides both the slightly greasy hair and the unruly flyaways that frame your face. It’s a look that takes all of a minute to put together but looks like it took at least twenty. And he’s right – it’s the way you wear your hair to work on mornings you run late, and you get more compliments on those days than any other.

“Thanks, Buck.” You still can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he pulls you into a bone-cracking hug, “anytime, Sugarplum.”

***

Pictures went as well as could be expected, you suppose. They’re still taking pictures of the new grandbaby when your mom approaches you in the sitting room.

“You don’t seem like you today. Did you and Bucky have a fight?”

You shake your head – there’s no way you’re blaming this on him, because he’s been nothing but perfect – but she’ll poke and prod until she gets an answer. Might as well suck it up and be honest. “I’m just not happy with myself, Mom.” There. You’ve said it. You can see out of the corner of your eye that Bucky stiffens at your words, even though he’s not facing you. Goddamn supersoldier hearing.

“You look fine, and no one will notice your make up in the pictures; none of them were closeups.”

You roll your eyes so hard, you’re pretty sure you pulled a muscle. Leave it to your mom to try to make you feel better by completely disregarding your feelings. She means well, but it doesn’t help.

“Honey, we’ve been over this before. I’ve already told you, you’re perfect the way you are. Tall girls always want to be short, short girls always want to be tall, skinny girls want to be curvy and curvy girls want to be skinny. Curly girls want straight hair, and straight-haired girls want curls. People just want what they don’t have.” She looks at you like she expects her statements to suddenly lift the dark cloud hanging over you.

Okay, fine, you’ll concede the truth of her words to a point because you’ve had the hair conversation about a million times in your life, but the rest of what she says is not completely true. Everyone you know has at least one thing they love about themselves, but not you. Your self-loathing sharpens - why did you have to get the short end of the stick on everything? Why can’t you have at least one thing about yourself that you like?

“Are you still seeing that doctor?”

“What?” Her question takes you by surprise.

“For your depression. Are you still seeing someone? Still taking your meds?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you snap. Yes, you’ve been taking your antidepressant. No, you haven’t seen your therapist lately – you’ve been working late hours and haven’t had time. But what does that fucking matter? The way you feel is the way you feel.

“Well, that’s supposed to help with…things…” Your mom struggles with this, she always has. You suppose it’s because she doesn’t like the idea of her baby girl feeling less than happy at all times.

You can’t find it in you to care. “So because I take a pill I’m not allowed to have bad feelings? They don’t just magically go away, Mom.”

She opens her mouth to respond when Bucky steps up.

“I’m so sorry Sugarplum, but I need you to bring me into the clinic. My arm is acting up – the upgrades Stark did this afternoon must have some sort of glitch because the nerve receptors just quit working.”

You glance at him to see his metal arm hanging awkwardly. “Oh shit, yeah, of course,” you murmur as you start digging for the keys.

“I’m sorry to cut this short ma’am, but I’ll be sure to bring your daughter out to see you next weekend,” Bucky promises, nodding respectfully before placing his right hand at your lower back to guide you out of the sitting room. It isn’t until you get to the car and he takes the keys from you that you realize what he’s done – his arm is absolutely fine.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it would be best to get you out of there,” he says as he opens the passenger door for you.

You nod woodenly as you get in, but are unable to come up with anything to say. The ride home is silent in the car, but in your head it’s anything but.

There was a time you didn’t feel like this, but it feels like it was so long ago. You were once happy, but you couldn’t say when. You can see Bucky chew his lip in worry as he glances at you periodically, and the guilt just about overwhelms you. He shouldn’t have to deal with this. With you.

He still doesn’t say anything as you get home, and you start to wonder if he’s planning to leave. It’d be understandable – you certainly wouldn’t blame him.

Fear drives you out of the car and to your bedroom as quickly as possible; you don’t know why, but you want to hide. Well, yes you do. Your conversation with your mother has made you realize that you’re in a depressive episode. God, this sucks. It brings about the tiniest but of clarity, though.

As you take down your hair and toss your headband onto the vanity, there’s a light knock on the door, but Bucky doesn’t wait before entering. He approaches, stopping just behind you, careful not to get too close. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and Sugarplum, I’m trying to respect that but you’re starting to scare me.” Bucky sounds so timid and unsure, and you hate yourself for making him feel this way. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Taking a deep breath as you turn around, you’re taken aback by the look on his face; you’ve never seen him look so lost.

How do you put this into words?

“I just…sometimes I just really hate myself.” And with your whispered confession, the dam finally breaks.

He catches you as you sink to the floor, pulling your bawling form into his lap as he cradles you in his embrace. The words finally come as he softly strokes your hair and gently rocks, and it feels both horrible and wonderful to voice the feelings you’ve been trying to shove down.

Bucky holds you, remaining silent throughout although you hear a few poorly hidden sharp intakes of breath when he is particularly distressed by something you’ve said.

It isn’t until you’ve been quiet for quite some time, save for crying, that he finally speaks up.

“How do I help you?” Bucky sounds almost as broken as you feel.

“I don’t wanna feel like this tomorrow, I don’t wanna live like this today. Make me feel better, I wanna feel better,” you sob, clutching him tightly. “Please, put me back together.”

“What can I do for you, Sugarplum? I’ll do anything.” The desperation in his voice is clear.

“Stay with me here,” you hiccup.

“I love you, baby, nothing could ever take me away.” He holds you impossibly close as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Can you just do one thing for me? Please?” He doesn’t wait for your response before he whispers his request, “Never surrender.”

“I won’t,” you sniffle as you bury your face into his neck. He holds you a bit longer before untangling himself from you and helping you to your feel. Without releasing your hand, he leads you into the bathroom and directs you to sit on the toilet seat.

Another kiss is pressed the crown of your head as you stare at the floor in front of you. You’ve essentially purged the self-hate that’s been brewing over the past few weeks, and now you’re exhausted. Bucky’s tinkering with something in the medicine cabinet and then running water, but you don’t have the energy to look.

He kneels in front of you before whispering, “Close your eyes for me, Sugarplum.” You do, and you feel the soothing chill of a cotton ball soaked in your make up remover as it passes over your swollen eyes. Bucky then brings you to your feet and removes your clothing before leading you into the shower. You stand under the spray, allowing the water and Bucky’s gentle touch to rinse away the remaining traces of your emotional breakdown.

It feels good to let him take care of you, and you do your best to ignore the voice in your head telling you that you don’t deserve this.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder before retrieving a towel to wrap your hair and then a second to dry your body. Neither of you speaks; you don’t have to. You’ve already said what you have to say and he knows from experience that words aren’t enough in this kind of situation, so instead of filling the silence with optimistic yet ultimately trite and cliched phrases, he puts his love into motion.

You try to smile at him to acknowledge his efforts because you’re grateful for him, you really are, but it comes off as a pained grimace as a few more tears leak out. Bucky knows what you mean, though, and he simply kisses away your tears before helping you into your comfiest pajamas. He pauses to pull your hair up and out of your way and then leads you back into the bedroom. As he gets dressed your eyes follow him - God, when he moves he’s like poetry in motion. The graceful purpose with which he moves his body never fails to mesmerize you, and the glint from his metal arm is hypnotic in the dim lighting. And yet…hasn’t he felt the same self-abhorring feelings about himself that you’ve been drowning in lately? It sort of puts things into perspective. He still has days when he thinks he’s a monster, but you adore him nonetheless. It occurs to you that he’s doing the same for you; loving the monster you think you are without ever seeing the ugly. Your brain wants to know why, why would he bother? And then your heart mutters its reply: because he loves you, you dolt.

If only there was a way to make your heart consistently louder than your brain.

“Arms up, Sugarplum,” his quiet voice breaks through your internal musing, and you do as he requests so he can slip one of his hoodies on you.

Finally fully warm and less lost in the cold confines of your mind, he leads you into the living room where he sits in the corner of the couch before pulling down to lie with your head in his lap. You curl yourself into a ball, and upon seeing that you’re still extremely raw, Bucky gathers you up and cradles you in his arms before shifting you both, moving until he’s mostly beneath you and you’re almost fully enveloped within his embrace with your head resting over his heart. He somehow manages to drape a blanket over you, tucking you into him until you begin to feel safe and protected from yourself. It’s almost imperceptible, but you’re sure you feel the shattered pieces of your soul slowly start to knit back together.

Your eyes slide closed as he grabs the remote and flips on the tv, searching the channels until he finds the movie Armageddon. Bucky reaches again, and a moment later you hear him tapping something on his phone. The sounds blend with those of one of your favorite movies as you finally drift off to sleep.

***

The sound of rustling bags wakes you, but you don’t bother to open your eyes.

“I really don’t think that the animal cracker qualifies as a cracker.” You must not have been out that long - Armageddon is still on, and it’s currently at one of your favorite scenes.

“Well cause it’s sweet, which to me suggests cookie, and, you know, I mean putting cheese on something is sort of the defining characteristic of what makes a cracker a cracker. Damn right - you tell her, AJ.

“Thanks, Stevie.” Bucky’s quiet voice captures your attention.

“Anytime, Buck. Is she okay? Is there anything we can do?”

“Nah, I got this. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Alright, just text me if you need anything else.”

You feel Bucky’s nod before he presses a kiss to the top of your head. Steve lets himself out, and you allow yourself to float a bit in the tenuous peace Bucky has provided for you.

Your stomach growls at the smell of the food that’s clearly on your coffee table - if your nose isn’t lying, it’s your favorite take out. Still, you don’t speak or open your eyes until the horrifically wonderful sound of AJ and his team serenading Grace floats into the living room.

“From now on, I want a full rendition of Leaving on a Jet Plane before you leave for missions.”

You feel more than hear his quiet chuckle. “For you, Sugarplum, anything.” There’s a long pause before he continues, “Do you know why I call you Sugarplum?”

“Because you’re old, and back in the day when you had to walk uphill butt naked through 2 miles of snow to get to school, that’s what guys called their best girl?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know - well - shit, you’re not wrong,” he concedes with a breathy laugh.

You smile, and for the first time in weeks it doesn’t feel like your cheeks will crack with the effort.

“Before I met you, plums were my favorite thing in the world. Then you came along, and you loved me when I was at my worst. And I figured, well, if a woman like you can love me at my worst, then maybe I’m worth loving after all. You became my favorite thing, but just calling you Plum sounded kinda funny, and besides, I love you better than plums, so I put the Sugar in front of it.” He shrugs. “And yes, it was an endearment back in the good ol’ days when you young whipper snappers respected your elders.”

You shift to smile up at him.

“I’m gonna love you through this. I know I can’t make it better, but I’ll be by your side the whole time. I’ll love you enough for both of us until you can learn how to love yourself.”

You think to what he just said a few moments ago. “Well, I guess if a man like you can love me at my worst, then maybe I’m worth loving after all.”

He smiles his signature lopsided smile when he recognizes his own words. “That’s my girl.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

There’s a light in his eyes when he asks, “For what, Sugarplum?”

“You make me feel better.” The relief in his eyes is evident, even though you both know this is far from over. Still, you know whether or not you feel worthy of his devotion, he’ll be with you every step of the way. The knowledge doesn’t magically make everything better, but it gives you courage to face tomorrow. “I promise, Buck, no matter how bad it gets, I’ll never surrender.”

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #songfic #my work #never surrender

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delos-mio · 7 years

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FHS - Part 2 - A Frank Castle Mini Series

The next couple months were an adjustment to say the least. Living in New York again had a learning curve. At times, it was hard to believe you made it 18 years in Queens. But you were making do and learning how to live in this big of a city again. It helped that you had one true friend out here in Frank Castle. Ever since he thwarted off that fiend nearly 3 months ago by nearly popping his head off his body, the two of you had become inseparable. He’d always meet you for lunch during work or stop over late at night after work. For all the times he seemed to be at work, you still were not entirely sure what it was that he did. But that was no matter to you; he was someone you could trust in this crazy place and someone who seemed to enjoy your company.

Fall was beginning to dive into winter, snow flurries were already scattering high in the sky, but Frank was still adamant about going for long walks around the neighborhood on the weekend. The tradition had started the week after you were reacquainted when he asked if you wanted a quick tour of your new neighborhood. Of course, being low on friends and invited by a handsome man who saved your life, you eagerly agreed. In recent weeks, you tried to convince him it was getting too cold, but he simply wouldn’t hear it. He always made the excuse that Max, his faithful dog, would be so upset if you guys didn’t all take your weekly outing. When it came to Max, you were as powerless as Frank, so they won out in the end.

“At what point do we decide it’s too goddamn cold to keep doing this?” you huffed, walking a pace behind Frank, pulling your hat down tighter over your ears.

“We don’t,” he chuckled, “Max loves the snow.”

“Of course he does…” you grumbled to yourself. He slowed down a bit so he was by your side and wrapped his free arm around your shoulder.

“You know, you can say no to us if it gets too cold for ya,” he said. You looked up at him, giving him and incredulous look.

“I wanna come! I’m just a big baby,” you admitted. He dropped his hand off your shoulder and called of Max to stop pulling. It was only once his touch was gone that you realized just how much you missed it. The more time you spent with him, the more you felt yourself getting attached to him and thinking about him absentmindedly during the day. You’d wonder what he was doing or if he was happy at that moment or what he’d look like naked on top of you. Those last thoughts you had to push out of your mind as quickly as they came. Frank saw you as his friend, and he didn’t seem to have a ton of those, so you had to keep your little reveries to yourself. “Can we at least get some whiskey to warm up with after or something?” you asked, rubbing your hands together for friction.

Frank gave you a sly smile and nodded just once in agreement. He changed up the usual route slightly to make sure your path took you by Suzie’s Corner, your most beloved liquor store. The two boys waited outside as you ducked in to grab a fifth of Bushmills and an impulse purchase of tropical Skittles. You pushed back out into the cold, popping a handful of candy into your mouth. Frank stood up from crouching with Max and scoffed slightly.

“Your sweet tooth is gonna kill ya,” he said, nodding his head toward the little blue pack in your hand.

“I’m here for a good time, not a long time,” you replied with a mouth full of candy and tucked the bottle of whiskey in the inside of your coat. The three of you resumed your journey once again before finding yourself back at your door. By now, your studio had begun to feel like a home, especially when the boys came over. Frank let Max off the leash as you unbundled yourself and unscrewed the top of the bottle, taking a long pull.

“Hey, save some of that for the rest of us.”

---

The rest of the evening was spent curled up on the couch, Max snoring between you and Frank as you passed the bottle back and forth. You found yourself wishing that your and Max’s spots were switched so you could casually lean into Frank and steal some of his never-ending body heat. He was watching the snow begin to fall harder outside, tiny white flakes dancing down and catching on your small balcony that led out to the fire escape. It felt like you could just sit and watch him for hours. The way his broad chest would rise and fall, how his jawline cut like a knife through his ever-present stubble; everything about him commanded your attention completely.

“Truth or dare?” you asked abruptly. Frank turned to face you and raised an eyebrow.

“Are we 13 again?” he joked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“C’mon, indulge me. Truth or dare?” You took another drink before handing the bottle back. He considered his options for a moment before answering.

“Truth.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“How ma—“ but Frank had already cut you off.

“I thought you can only ask one question at a time, hmm?” he teased, watching as you closed your mouth. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do you only hang out with me because you’re scared of being alone after what happened?”

“Jesus Christ, Frank! No!” you scoffed. “I mean, am I confident you’d kick anyone’s ass who looked at me funny? Yes. But I really like spending time with you.” He nodded his head with a small smile. “How many people have you killed?”

“A lot.”

“A lot like ten? Or a lot like a hundred?”

“A lot,” he repeated a little more forcefully. “You ever been in love?”

“You didn’t ask truth or dare,” you chided, taking another pull off the bottle. “Once. Have you?”

“Once.”

“What happened?”

“We got married, had a family,” he responded. You felt your chest tighten and the air leave your lungs. Of all the responses you thought he may give, that was not one of them. The idea of Frank as a husband and father made your heart swell and burst. You couldn’t think of a single person more fit to take care of a family than him. But then a dark cloud creeped into your head- if this was the first time you were hearing about a family; something must have gone horribly wrong. Frank looked off again before continuing. “Went overseas, came back, and they were all murdered.”

“Frank, I…” you began, but your words failed you. Tears were immediately silently rolling down your cheek. He must have heard the crack in your voice because as soon as the sound left your mouth, he snapped to look at you once again.

“Please, don’t cry, baby girl.” He gave you a sad smile as he reached over to wipe a stray tear from under your eye. “Everyone responsible for that is good and dead now.” You could tell he was saying this more for his benefit than your own- how many times a day did he try to find comfort in that fact and still come up empty?

“Still. They didn’t deserve that to happen…you didn’t deserve that,” you said softly. Everything in you was screaming to be closer to him. All you wanted was to reach out and stroke his hair and hold him. Max stirred between you two, as if reading your mind, and slunk off the couch to find a spot on the floor. You decided to test the waters and scoot up next to Frank. He watched as you closed the distance between you, his posture stiffening slightly, but he made no attempt to move away. You pushed yourself up close to his side, letting your head fall on his chest. The arm he had draped over the back of the couch fell around your shoulder and traced small circles there. This was easily the closest you’d been to Frank in the months you’d been his friend and he felt just as safe as you had imagined.

“Why weren’t we friends at Flushing?” he asked after a moment of laying together in comfortable silence.

“Well, probably because I was too busy trying to pad my college applications with extracurriculars so I could get into a good school in another state,” you laughed. You could feel his chest rumble with laughter under your cheek. “I’ve got our senior yearbook somewhere in here if you’d like to take a look,” you offered. Frank shifted so he could look you in the eyes. He cracked a small smile before answering you.

“Sure, go get the fucker.”

Excitedly, you jumped off the couch and padded over to the closet in the short hallway. You were sure you had thrown it up there during the move along with all the other odd and ends that didn’t find a home. Finally, you spotted it over in the corner and reached on your tiptoes for the hardcover book on the top shelf. You slid next to him once again, cracking open the cover of the large, red book and began to thumb through the pages. Frank took another pull from the bottle on the table while you located the senior pictures you were searching for.

“Frank Castle!” you exclaimed, pointing at his posed picture. His hair was longer back then, nothing like the military cut he sported now. But he had the same dark eyes and wide nose; he was absolutely as handsome as you had remembered. You heard him groan next to you.

“Not my best picture,” he stated simply.

“What are you talking about? You’re so cute!” you beamed, giving him your widest smile.

“It’s hard to disagree with you when you look at me like that,” he grumbled before turning a few pages and smiling down at your own portrait. “Well look what we have here…”

“Oh god.” You stared at your picture. Back then, you explicitly remember thinking that the tattoo choker and tube top were a great look. And the body glitter? You were killing it. Now, you couldn’t help but look at a three-quarter view; the idea of looking at it head on was simply nauseating. “Why didn’t someone stop me?”

Frank laughed and shook his head. “I think you’re overreacting. I mean look-“ he pointed to several other girls with the a similar aesthetic on the same page, “it wasn’t just you.”

“Well, we all look like damn fools,” you chuckled and kept thumbing through the following pages. Frank showed up a few more times for basketball and National Honor Society. He also seemed to be in a lot of the candid pictures used for your class. Seeing him smile with other boys, so carefree and full of light, was making you want to cry all over again. The same boy who was grinning at you from the black and white page was the same man next to you, weathered by the cruelty of the world. Frank deserved to be that happy again, you thought to yourself. His eyes scanned over the pages as you turned; occasionally he’d tell a funny story about some of the boys in the pictures. You finally got to the end and shut the book with extra emphasis.

“Would you go back?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Never. Would you?”

“Nah. No use in wishing the past was different. Shit happens,” he shrugged. He looked down at the clock on your cable box and ran his large hand over his face. “Max and I should probably get going, don’t wanna get caught in a blizzard,” he stated before crouching down by Max and petting him awake. You thought about asking him to stay, but it hadn’t worked since the first night you’d been reacquainted. He turned to look at you, reading the almost sad expression on your face. “You’re worrying about me.”

“Maybe,” you said in a small voice.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said as he got up and went to pull on his boots and jacket. He had that stern look he got then he wished you’d just listen to him instead of going on about the what-ifs and getting caught up in your own head.

“Don’t know what to tell you, Frank. I can’t help it,” you smiled and shrugged. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt out of his coat and put it over his head.

“I’ll call you,” he said simply before clicking Max’s leash on and sliding out your front door. The minute you heard it stick shut, you let out the longest groan you could, cursing yourself for letting him just walk away.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #punisher #Jon Bernthal #punisher x reader

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maggins · 7 years

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well it’s been a few days so i guess it’s alright to post this so here’s some of my thoughts on the live action BatB

tl;dr: I liked some of the new things, but I’m..... salty about others.

SPOILERS under the cut! mobile users please scroll through this! (sORRY it’s pretty long, I didn’t mean for it to get so long wOOPS;;; )

okay so I have been pretty excited about this movie since that teaser trailer came out bc wow the aesthetic possibilities that arose were pretty intriguing, and hey, it’s a Beauty and the Beast story, and I’m a goddamn sucker for those sO YAY

and...... I dunno, I went into this movie wanting to love it, and I think I came out just.... liking it. in terms of my opinion on Disney making live action remakes of their animated films, I’m kinda neutral; so far I don’t love them, but I also don’t mind them either. I thought Maleficent and Cinderella were okay, I didn’t think there was anything particularly extraordinary about them, but they weren’t all that bad either. Jungle Book was a pleasant surprise; I never really blogged much about it, but basically, I didn’t really know what to expect out of it but it ended up being my favorite out of those three in terms of giving a new twist to a familiar story (tbh it could also have to do with my personal experience with the original movies; I had never seen Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty as a kid, and only watched them much later on in my life and I guess I never truly appreciated them that much bc both films seem very much like products of their time; but I did own and watch a VHS of Jungle Book many times, so the nostalgia factor might be accountable as well)

Beauty and the Beast, however, is another matter. I have also never seen/owned this movie during my childhood (tragic, I know; the only times I remember seeing clips from it was in the trailers of my other Disney VHS’s). I believe the first time I saw it I was in my preteens or something, but boy did I ADORE this movie, even if it took me a while to get to see it. The music and characters and story and aesthetics.... mAN I loved it all

so since this live action adaptation was based on a more recent film that I quite adored, I got pretty excited for it! Like, sure, there wouldn’t be any way it would surpass the original, but at least I could get some new concepts and backstories to characters I loved! (the thing with the prince’s family they were hinting at in the teaser trailer got me sO EXCITED)

AAaaand I guess that’s pretty much what I got?? But still, there was something about the new movie that wouldn’t quite let me connect emotionally with the characters, and I’ve been feeling super salty about that??

I’ll be honest, I thought I’d cry when I would watch this movie and... I didn’t. I just... had so many nitpicks and I couldn’t stop thinking about them throughout the film, and I think that really damaged my enjoyment of it???

my major nitpicks:

I have a SERIOUS issue with the pacing/timing in this film. I think in the original, scenes would flow very neatly into each other, and it never left me with the sense of “wait, what??”. In the live action, I felt like some scenes were cut SO abruptly and some things were happening so fast it barely left me any room to let the emotions sink in; for example, I very SPECIALLY felt this on the scene were the Beast lets Belle go; like sure, I understand she has some urgency in going to her father, but in this version I barely felt anything from either of them, whereas in the original they at least take some time to convey that that scene was a goodbye, in the way that the Beast looks over the rose and weighs his options before saying he’s letting her free, and in the way that Belle reaches out to him in thanks before leaving

some acting?? I dunno, but at times I felt like they were just reciting a script and not acting it out... and it was seriously lacking in some gesticulation at times (I think this because I keep going back to the animated version and I feel that it is SO much more expressive than what they accomplished in the live action. Just compare both versions of Belle’s reprise scene; in the original Belle is just gesticulating and twirling around and looking the distance and wow that’s powerful stuff and it sticks with you; in the remake it felt more bland, like she runs up the hill and twirls once and then just.... stands there........ sigh idk)

the end scene?? it was supposed to be the emotional climax of the film?? and I think I ended feeling a LOT more for the servants turning inanimate than for Beast fricking dying in Belle’s arms??? like, I felt like there was supposed to be a “oh my god you’re here you’re actually here I’m so glad to see you again” moment between Belle and the Beast when he jumped to be next to her on the balcony, but they just stood there almost at arm’s length and I just wanted them to fucking hug or give each other some sort of physical reassurance?? after that I felt like Belle and Beast’s small dialogue before he dies was so rushed, it all just..... it felt bland to me; I dunno if it was really just me or something, but...... siGH

One thing I expected going into the movie was more layers/backstory to the main characters and on that account I wasn’t disappointed, like we DID get more on Belle and the Beast’s stories, but.... I left wanting even mORE?? remember me mentioning I was super pumped about the portrait of the Beast’s parents in the teaser trailer because holy shit I was so here for that!!!........ and then all we got was a few lines from Mrs. Potts and the first verse in the Days in the Sun song. that. was. it??!?

about the Dress Discourse™: I’ve seen the posts about it, and on that I say: it’s not an ugly dress per se, but I felt like it was the wrong dress for this movie. I think it failed to evoke the dress from the original movie, and it failed to evoke the time period. tbh I think that dress only looks nice when it’s actually moving, so I didn’t mind it too much during the actual dance scene. However in that little scene before that, when she’s just standing there at the top of the stairs, it..... doesn’t look iconic at all. OH, and that scene with the little gold details falling down from the ceiling/whatever to settle down on the dress....... yeah, I didn’t buy that. It felt superfluous, and I think what they were trying to do there was something along the lines of the dress scene in the Cinderella remake. But hey, it actually MADE sense to have a pretty/sparkly dress transformation scene in Cinderella because hey, it’s part of her actual story to have her rags turn into a beautiful dress. In this movie, however.... it made no sense for that scene to be there other than for the *・ﾟ✧sparkly✧・ﾟ* factor??? it was unnecessary, and tbh i think it robbed screentime from more important stuff

I know I keep comparing both the original and the live action, and one might come at me like “you should treat each of them as their own thing!”; well, I honestly don’t know if I can at this point when a lot the live action is a shot-by-shot remake, and just... at least for me, in the shot-by-shot recreated scenes, there failed to be an emotional connection as strong as in the original movie, you know what I mean?.... A scene that’s coming to my mind is when Belle is making her way to the West Wing. In the original, she felt inquisitive, but also very cautious all the way there, with her walking slowly, and her slight hesitations in posture and gestures. In the remake.... I felt like she just speed-walked all the way up to the West Wing, the whole time I was like “girl, you’re in a completely new environment and you have no idea of what’s coming, there’s no way you’d feel that confident”

I dunno, I suppose I knew the remake wasn’t going to be as good as the original overall, but... it lacked the original’s charm, it didn’t suck me all the way through into the story and characters, and that’s been bothering me so much, man; I really wanted to love this movie and I was a bit disappointed :(

Now, were there things that I actually liked? yeah!

M A U R I C E. good gOD, he was fantastic, and I’m a much bigger fan of his live action version than the animated one. I loved that he was an artisan/artist, I love his and Belle’s relationship and how much they genuinely loved and supported each other. He was awesome, 1000/10, Dad of the Year™, would recommend (his fucking reaction to Chip was priCELESS friCK)

FUCKING EVERMORE HOLY SHIT TAKE ME THAT WAS AMAZING I LOVED IT SO MUCH you fucking GO, Dan Stevens

I feel that Belle and Beast had more moments together and I loved their bickering and bonding over books it was v nice~

I enjoyed ALL the musicals numbers sO MUCH; I loved hearing the old ones with a new twist and bOY they were such a delight to hear, I was grinning the whole time; and the new ones were wonderful too!! as you’ve noticed, I mcfreaking loved Evermore, Days in the Sun was a nice little tune that gave light to many characters’ feelings/backstories and I quite enjoyed that; and How Does a Moment Last Forever, however short it might have been between Maurice’s and Belle’s versions, was so wonderful and I loved that music box quality it had to it

Belle wanting to teach young girls to read? Being a tinkerer/inventor? fuCK YEAH I LOVED THAT??!?

aesthetically, the movie’s fricking GORGEOUS; that castle was incredible and I wanna go there

I kinda liked how they tried to cover up some plot holes from the animated movie? Like how they don’t mention how many years this curse has been going on, but it’s very clear that it was set when the prince was already an adult (unlike the he-was-supposedly-cursed-at-11-but-somehow-there-are-paintings-of-him-as-a-young-man thing from the original), and the curse also affecting the memories of the villagers, that kind of stuff was neat and I’m glad they thought of that

each time a petal falls the castle keeps falling apart and the servants turn more and more into the objets they were cursed into?? that was nEAT (and ultimately led to a pretty frickin tragic scene at the end yOU kNow THe oNE)

I loved Garderobe and Cadenza?? they were like an eccentric couple of travelling artists and bc of the curse they were separated in different parts of the castle bc they couldn’t move around too much and mAN I felt for them I loved them

I liked this new Beast; but in the point that I’m very much aware that he’s very different from the animated one, and I’m okay with that, you know, something a little different but that is still recognisable isn’t bad, and I love both versions of him. Good job, Dan, you did gr10

stuff I’m still pondering if I like or not??

I’m.... not sure how to feel about Agathe/the Enchantress?? like, woah okay it’s actually cool that she stuck around the area and didn’t just vanish after casting the curse, but... what was her agenda, exactly?? like, sure, teach the prince a lesson about inner beauty and yada yada; but I never got, and still don’t get why she ever felt the need to do what she did, both in the original film and in the remake. Also I have mixed feelings about her being there when Belle was crying over the Beast; like, I GET why she was there, technically they had run out of time and the Beast was fricking dead; but it also felt to me like she was intruding on a sensitive moment that was very much supposed to be Belle and Beast’s (one could argue the same thing kinda happened with Cogsworth/Lumière/Mrs. Potts being there in the original movie, but idk I didn’t feel their presence there as much as I felt Agathe’s in the remake)

AbOUT BELLe and tHE BeasT...... I’m reeeally conflicted about this, like I felt that there WERE more moments between them than in the original, and I’m so here for that, but at times it also felt like they weren’t quite... connecting?? Again, I think the physical reassurance factor wasn’t quite as developed here as it was in the original, and I was quite disappointed by that idk

also about the thing with Belle’s mother and their magic-travel to Paris.... I know it was supposed to be a bit of a bonding moment between Belle and the Beast, but it also kept nagging at me that this moment should probably be hers and hers alone, and the Beast was just.... standing there?? I have a serious issue with some characters just standing there and doing nothing in certain moments in this film Like, if you’re going to have him there, at least have him comfort her in some way??? (again, pHYsiCAL reAssurAnCE iS imPorTAnt GuyS)

That’s.... all I can think of at the moment. At least, these were the major things that stuck out to me; I’ll be blogging more about this as time goes on in tag form, I guess. It’s weird, I’ve been feeling so salty because I wanted it to be so much more, and it just ended up being okay.

All in all, there were concepts introduced that I was really into, but as a whole it didn’t work all the way through for me. I’ll have the original film for that, I suppose

sHruGS

#maggins' ramblings #batb 2017 spoilers #i've had this on my chest for a long time siGHS #this is.... not very kind i'm afraid..........

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