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kaistarus · 3 years

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Drunken Christmas Party Confessions

Pairing: Nishinoya X Reader

Words: 2.2K

Summary: Nishinoya and Tanaka are throwing a Christmas party and maybe he’s had too much ‘hot chocolate’, but you’re really working that ugly sweater.

Notes: This is a college au, so that’s why they have dranks. Thanksgiving is over and it snowed where I live which means it’s officially Christmas. Which means it’s time to write too many Christmas/Winter themed fics. I don’t make the rules lol

Masterlist

Nishinoya wasn’t the brightest crayon in the Crayola 64 box sharpener included, but he knew three things for damn sure. When given the option you should never let Shoyo DJ a Christmas party, buying Christmas trees from Amazon is only a good idea if you pay attention to the size chart, and you looked really good in an ugly sweater.

Nishinoya swayed back and forth to the tenth rendition of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’-apparently the only song Shoyo had on his Christmas playlist-while shamelessly watching you with hooded eyes. You looked so pretty in the ugly reindeer sweater that you’d stolen from his closet ten minutes before this party started. He could practically hear your laugh from across the house as you sling an arm over your stomach, gripping onto Yachi’s shoulder for stability.

He pursed his lips. Yachi’s joke probably wasn’t even that good. Nishinoya was a million times funnier than her for sure.

“Bro, are you even listening?”

“Hah?” Nishinoya rolled his head toward Tanaka who had apparently been talking to him.

How long had he been there?

“I said I think I’m finally going to make a move on Kiyoko,” Tanaka said with a lopsided grin, gazing over Nishinoya’s shoulder where Kiyoko probably was. Nishinoya wrinkled his nose and took a sip of the spiked hot chocolate from his classy red solo cup.

Tanaka must be drunker than he was if he thought this was the first time he was making a move on Kiyoko.

“That sounds super awesome dude.” Nishinoya tuned out Tanaka again, his eyes trailing back to where you were leaning on the false-granite countertop, smiling so wide the corners of your eyes crinkled.

You were so cute. Did you know you were the cutest person to ever exist ever?

“Do you think that’s a good plan?”

“Uh-huh, yeah. For sure.” The corners of Nishinoya’s mouth quirked up when you waved your hands around, your face expressive and your lips moving quickly as you told Yachi a story of some kind. He loved how passionate you got over the littlest things.

“Dude, you’re definitely not listening,” Tanaka was close to Nishinoya’s ear now and if he had his usual reflexes he probably would’ve jumped. “What are you staring at?”

The coolest person in the whole world.

Whoa, he should definitely tell you how awesome you are. You would be so wooed at how profound and suave he was.

Without a word he exited the one-sided conversation with Tanaka, ignoring the offended gasp, and made a wobbly bee-line for the kitchen. He handed off his hot chocolate somewhere along the way to some random party-goer. He was a man on a mission and hadn’t bothered paying attention to who had been the victim.

“....guchi said he tried to pretend it was his brother’s.” Yachi was having a hard time getting through the sentence without laughing, Nishinoya observed once you both were in earshot.

“Why would it be in his closet if it was his brother’s!?” You snorted with another belly aching laugh that made his heart skip.

“That’s what I said!”

“Hello ladies,” Nishinoya slid up against the counter opposite you and Yachi and definitely didn’t miss the ledge with his elbow his first try. That would have been embarrassing.

Yachi’s hand covered her mouth and her body shook lightly. How dare she laugh at his epic moves.

“Hello Noya,” you smiled at him in the way that made his heart feel all funny. Like, when he made a really good receive that made adrenaline course through his veins except he was also wrapped in fluffy blankets on a cotton candy cloud.

He gave you a finger gun and closed one eye in an attempted wink, “I thought this was an ugly sweater party. Not an… uh…” He squinted at the tray of desserts behind you. “Good looking sweater party?”

You blinked at him, not saying a word due to what he assumed was how stunningly swept-off-your-feet you were while Yachi glanced between the both of you adorning a sly smile.

“I’m going to go,” Yachi pointed toward the living room where Nishinoya and Tanaka had placed their pathetic miniature plastic tree. “Talk to you guys later.” She winked at you when she left and Nishinoya felt like he should analyze that one, but he was not up for critical thinking.

“So,” you gave him a once-over which made him smile dopily back at you. “You look like you’ve had a good night.”

“I cannot remember the alphabet.” Nishinoya said confidently, giving you two thumbs up. Another rendition of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ began playing and Nishinoya whipped his head toward the living room where Shoyo was standing conspicuously near the speaker. “Shoyo, I swear to god!”

“It’s a Christmas classic!” He shouted back, getting in a defensive stance in front of the speaker. “I’ll play it as many times as I want.”

“Not in my house you son of a-” Nishinoya began climbing over the counter for the quickest route to fight the orange-haired punk when you reached out and grabbed his wrist. He looked down at your amused smile with wide eyes.

“Let’s go outside.”

“But it’s snowing,” Nishinoya pointed out the obvious before his slow to process brain realized he’d be alone with you. He nearly fell on his face hopping off the counter. “Outside it is.”

Nishinoya had you walk in front of him to the front door, like he assumed a gentleman would, and behind your back he gave Hinata an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. Hinata stuck his tongue out and it took every bit of self-control Nishinoya had left to not go over there and teach him why he shouldn’t disrespect his elders.

“Here,” you were offering him his red winter jacket by the time he turned around, already having put yours on. His heart warmed that you had remembered what his coat looked like-ignore you two walked to class together multiple times a week. He still knew you were the smartest and nicest and coolest person ever for bothering to remember that detail about him.

He flung his coat on and trailed after you into the winter night. A shiver racked his body at the drastic temperature change when he stepped onto his snow dusted porch, the white fluff falling lightly from the sky.

Nishinoya loved snowy nights. More specifically he loved how the sky was lighter than it should be, a shade of pink that only seemed to exist during a quiet snowy evening where the snow was sparkling and untouched. Before it became disgustingly dirty from cars on the streets or crushed by people’s footsteps as they walked across campus to classes they dreaded.

He was also a sucker for throwing snowballs at an unsuspecting Tanaka, but that was a separate story.

He had zoned out so hard he hadn’t noticed you brushing off the front step of his porch, clearing off a place for you both to sit. You patted the space beside you and without thought he was already down.

“It’s pretty,” you admired, looking out toward the freshly covered lawn.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya said, focusing on you. Even with the porches overhang the snowfall’s slight angle caused snowflakes to collect on your hair and jacket. He wanted to reach out and touch one, but clenched his fists instead.

You glanced over and caught his blatant staring, but he was too at peace to be embarrassed. He just enjoyed looking at you, especially when your nose and cheeks were painted red from the winter’s cold. Or maybe you were blushing. Maybe you were as affected by his presence as he was yours.

That would be nice.

“I’m happy,” Nishinoya proclaimed, glancing out towards his untouched lawn. He should build a snowman… What was that little thing from that Disney movie? Sven? No that’s not it. He should build that though. That would be sick.

“I’m glad,” your voice came out barely above a whisper and oh yeah he was in the middle of something important. He felt his heart do the skipping thing again that only happened around you. He wondered if you knew the effect you had on him.

Nishinoya gave you a lopsided smile, “I like being with you.” He leaned back on the porch with the support of his hands. “But you make my chest feel funny.”

“Funny?”

“Yeah,” he rubbed his coat over where his heart was currently beating sporadically against his rib cage. “Like, when I do a good Rolling Thunder.”

“I make you feel like Rolling Thunder?”

“No, that doesn’t...” Nishinoya put a hand on his forehead. That wasn’t right at all. He tried to reach past the thick layer of fog in his mind for the right words, but it was too dense. “It’s like… when you’re sick, but then someone makes warm soup and after you eat it you don’t want to vomit anymore!”

You just stared at him which led him to believe he didn’t explain it well.

“Okay… how about when you go to McDonalds in the summer thinking the ice cream machine is broken, but it’s not!” He threw his hands up, excitedly. “So, you thought you were going to suffer, but you end up getting a sundae.”

You were still looking at him with a brow raised and this was turning out to not be his night.

“Um… Oh oh oh! it’s like when you really have to poop and you think somebody else is in the bathroom, but it turns out there’s not! That relief you feel when you finally get to just let it-”

“Okay,” you put a hand over his mouth and his eyes lit up with elation. Hell yeah, he did it. He was fucking shakespeare. A true poet. English classes would be studying this moment for centuries to come. “I have no clue what you’re trying to say.”

“What?” He pulled your hand off his mouth. “How?”

“You just told me I feel like a poop.”

“No, you feel like the relief during the poop, not the poop itself!” He rolled his eyes. It seriously wasn’t a hard concept to grasp.

You blinked several times before your eyes slowly widened in realization. “Are you trying to tell me you like me?” Then a hand flew to your forehead. “Through poop metaphors?”

“There were several metaphors actually but-”

You punched him in the shoulder and he rubbed it with a whine. He had never confessed feelings before, but that probably wasn’t a desired reaction.

“You can’t just do that while you’re drunk, you asshole.”

“Wow, name calling seems a little uncalled for don’t you-”

“I can’t kiss you when you’re drunk.” You let out a frustrated groan and buried your face in your hands. “I can’t even fully trust that you mean it.”

Nishinoya’s jaw went slack. His brain was half functioning, but kissing definitely sounded like good times. Wait, what was that last part? Trusting him for, huh?

“I don’t lie,” he tilted his head slightly confused. “I don’t care if you don’t like me back, but I would never make something like this up to hurt you.”

You peeked up at him wearily, which still made his heart drop a little, but when you nodded he felt better. All that mattered was you trusted him. He didn’t care about much else in the moment. Although that kissing comment had not been overlooked.

“I also…” Your face turned a deeper shade of red than the snowy weather had allowed and Nishinoya definitely settled on you blushing. “Don’t not like you.”

Double negatives was a trip for someone who’s brain wasn’t at full capacity, but he worked it out. He beamed at you and bounced lightly in his seat on the porch step you both resided on. He could easily work with that. More than work with that it was everything he’d wanted.

“We should probably do something about it then,” he suggested, his smile softening as he gazed at you through hooded eyes. “I have a feeling I’ll be hungover tomorrow.”

You cocked your head to the side, clearly confused at his topic change. “A genius observation, yes.”

“We should go get a hangover brunch since I’ll wake up miserable at noon,” he propped himself up by placing his cheek in his palm. “Hangover days are always best when you spend them with your favorite people.”

The corners of your mouth quirked up into a smile as you reached over, brushing some snow out of his hair and lightly trailing your knuckles down his cheeks. “Yeah, sounds like a date.”

Nishinoya hummed in agreement, wanting to do little now beside exist with you and watch the snow as it fell from the midnight sky. He was exhausted. His brain had done way too much work that night and he needed to lay down.

He peeked back over toward you, adorning a content smile on your lips and he sighed deeply.

Nishinoya had never been the brightest volleyball in the basket, but he knew three things for damn sure. After watching a movie over fifteen times he apparently was still incapable of naming the main cast, alcoholic hot chocolate was his new best friend, and he liked you.

He really really liked you.

#nishinoya yuu #nishinoya x y/n #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yu x reader #nishinoya yu #nishinoya yū #nishinoya #nishinoya oneshot #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyu!!#hinata shoyo #tanaka ryuunosuke #nishinoya imagine

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wellsjahasghost · 4 years

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the monster in my head

A/N: VILLAIN BELLAMY, TASTY. sooo this bellarke ficlet was born because i thought, what if bellamy went all void stiles on us in the final season after being captured?? like obviously, not gonna happen but it’s such a juicy concept.

disclaimer: my knowledge of season 5-7 is so sparse it is laughable. i just wanted to write a mind-wiped!bellamy drabble basically, so please excuse my lack of detail in literally every other aspect of this. also all the typos, i wrote this really fast lol.

Clarke wakes up tied to a chair and her first thought is, I can’t believe he tricked me.

Except he’d gotten her guard down. One second she’d been walking away from the others, looking for something to eat on this godforsaken planet they’d landed on, and the next-- he’d appeared.

Right in front of her. The sight of him disarmed her so much, she’d only been halfway through saying his name when he hit her, and she’d been knocked out.

Now here he is again.

Bellamy, sitting in a chair opposite to her-- but he’s not the Bellamy she knows.

Except he is, she realizes with a start. He’s the Bellamy of before Praimfaya, his hair curly and unruly over his forehead, his jaw clean-shaven. His familiar, handsome face would settle her if it weren’t for the cold look in his eye.

“Bellamy?” she says slowly, drowsily. Am I talking to Bellamy?

“Clarke,” he says pleasantly, and she realizing he’s twiddling a pocket knife in his fingers. Even the way he says her name is cold, and she didn’t realize how warmly he used to say it until just right now.

The way he tilts his head to consider her is entirely foreign. Not in the way of people who were controlled by ALIE, where their movements were robotic, un-humanlike. No, this comes entirely from him, just... a different version of him. He’s wearing different clothes, too. All black. Black jacket too. His clothes and his skin and his hair are all clean, and pristine, like he’s been well cared for while he was gone.

Clarke, at this point, has grown used to the impossible happening. She just accepts in this moment that this Bellamy is not her Bellamy, and focuses on other things, like getting out of here and living another day to find out what happened to him.

They’re in a tiny, one-room cabin. Tools all over the place. Her hands are tied behind her. She stretches her wrists experimentally. No slack at all.

“What are you doing?” she asks Bellamy, who’s just been watching her take in her surroundings.

“We’ve been looking for you,” he says, still fiddling with his knife.

“Who’s been looking for me?” No answer. “Bellamy, what-- what’s going on? I haven’t seen you in--”

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” Bellamy says, bored. He tilts his head suddenly and stands. “Time to go. They’re waiting for us.”

“What do you mean it’s time to--” she cuts herself off as he strides towards her. She stays entirely still as he pulls the gun from his thigh holster and presses it to her temple.

“You try anything, and we see what your brain looks like decorating the wall.”

His voice is casual. Her heart beats faster.

“That’s a lie,” she guesses. “You’re bringing me to someone, and they want me alive. They wouldn’t be happy if you killed me.”

He laughs, lowly. "You willing to bet your life on that?”

He leans over her and cuts her free from the chair.

“Walk to the door,” he says against her ear, and she obediently stands.

“Do you remember me?” she asks, as he nudges her forward with the gun to her temple. He’s still got that knife in his other hand. It would be perfect to cut through the ropes around her wrists. “Do you know who I am?”

“I know who you are, Clarke. I just don’t care.” He presses the gun against her temple harder.

“Someone’s controlling you,” she guesses. From his silence, she guesses she’s right. “Are you still Bellamy?”

“That’s right.”

“Bellamy would never do this. He wouldn’t threaten to blow my brains out.”

“Well, I just did,” Bellamy replies. “So I guess you don’t know me very well.”

They keep walking forward. Towards the open door, revealing a grassy clearing beyond. “That’s okay,” Clarke replies. “I know it’s not you I’m talking to right now. I forgive you, Bellamy. If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you.”

He falters. That’s when Clarke makes her move.

She ducks from under his gun. He fires-- he fires!-- into the empty space where her head was. She tackles him around the middle, making them both tumble into the ground.

Bellamy’s caught off guard-- his movements slow, clumsy for a second, and she presses her advantage. She’s on top of him. He’s still got a tight grip on his knife, and she wraps her wrists around it, tearing through the rope binding her hands together with one strong pull.

He seems to wake up from whatever confusion he was in when she scrambles off him, his knife in her hand. She’s only made it two steps before he grabs her ankle and tries to yank her down again. Before she can fall, she grabs onto the chair he’d been sitting on for leverage. It crashes down with them.

Bellamy tries to pull her towards him. She grabs the chair leg and swings it over-- the chair is surprisingly light--bashing whatever part of his body she can reach behind him.

He grunts and releases her. She staggers up and sprints out of the cabin.

She’s in the middle of a clearing, in a forest she doesn’t recognize, with a sky up above that she doesn’t recognize either. She has no fucking clue where she is.

Right down to what planet she is on.

“Not so fast, Clarke...”

His voice is a sing-song from behind her. She whips her head around, and there he is, wiping blood from his face, but not looking angry at all. He’s walking towards her leisurely, and tucking the gun back into his thigh holster. He actually looks on the verge of a smile. Like he’s enjoying this.

“What now, princess? Where you gonna go?” he says softly, and the words are familiar and horrible in their new context. A chill races up her spine. She turns back around and sprints into the forest.

She’s running blindly for a few seconds, completely terrified out of her mind. She trips over a root, and then she’s tumbling down a steep bank, sand spraying around her as she falls. Pain explodes through her shoulder, and then the back of her head, and her back, and she just keeps falling and falling, and she doesn’t know which way is up or down, just that everything hurts.

She finally gets to the bottom of the hill, rolling into freezing cold water. She’s fallen into a stream. It takes her several moments to gather herself, and in that time she distantly hears footsteps coming down the bank. No. No.

Gasping, she rolls off her back, onto her hands and knees. Looks up only to see a hand coming down at her.

Bellamy yanks at her hair. Hard. She cries out, and he kneels beside her, prying the knife from her hands and tossing it far down the stream.

“You tried to shoot me in the head,” she gasps, unable to grasp that concept. It just makes no sense. The people he’s bringing her to must want her alive. “The people in control of you-- they wouldn’t have wanted me dead-- so why--”

He dunks her head underwater. She fights, struggles against him, throws her elbows, but he’s firm. He pulls her out after just a second. She’s gasping for air, wet hair stuck to her cheeks, the cold drenching her shirt and making her shiver. He leans in close, his nose brushing against the shell of her ear.

“The thing the people in control of me don’t know,” he says softly, “is that they don’t have very good control of me at all.”

She turns her head to stare at him, the dark eyes she can see her own terrified reflection in, his freckled cheekbones she knows so well, the curls hanging over his eyes. If it weren’t for the things he was doing, the things he was saying, she would say he looks in this moment exactly like the Bellamy who stood beside her and ordered her to write her name down on a list.

Except right now there is a monster lurking under his skin, and she’s starting to think the people who unleashed it didn’t know what they were doing.

“What did they do to you, Bellamy?” she asks, her voice tender, and his grip on her hair loosens slightly. “What did they do to make you like this?”

But then he gets a better grip, and dunks her back in the water again.

He keeps her there for so long her lungs scream for air. She makes herself go limp, but right when she does, he pulls her out again, and easily blocks her attempts to hit him. Backhands her instead, stunning her with pain.

He knows her game. He knows her too damn well for playing dead to work.

Clarke gulps breath into her lungs. She can’t understand what happened to him to make him like this. She only knows it must have been horrible, worse than Mount Weather, worse than anything she could imagine. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop them from hurting you,” she says, again as soft as butter, and his eyes narrow. He dunks her back in.

When he pulls her back out, she manages to gasp, “I will kill the people who did this to you,” and he dunks her back in again. This time he holds her under for so long she actually blacks out for a second.

She comes to a moment later, leaning against his shoulder. He’s looking down at her with a storm in his eyes. She gazes up at him. He seems to be waiting for her to say something.

She says, “I’m going to do everything I can to bring you back--”

“Stop,” he says, and his voice sounds pained. “Just shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

He lets go of her, and his hands sink into his own hair, his expression hard and enraged and emotions flickering over his face a mile a minute. Clarke manages to clamber back on her hands and knees, shakily. She reaches to touch him.

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps, shoving her away, and she lets him, but then she puts her hands back on his face, gently. She traces her fingers over his jaw, brushes her thumb against the corner of his lip.

She’s sure she doesn’t imagine when he leans into it.

Suddenly Bellamy laughs, and the sound is bitter and disbelieving.

“I am trying to kill you,” he informs her. His voice is hoarse, as if he’s the one who’s been held underwater.

She smiles, gently again. “I know.”

Because she gets it, suddenly. His motivation to end her life is not because he actually wants her dead. The monster inside him is trying to kill whatever’s left of Bellamy, by killing her.

But he still can’t do it, and that’s how she knows there’s hope. That’s how she knows Bellamy is somewhere in there, fighting, maybe even at this very moment.

Bellamy reaches for her throat then, as if he might strangle her, but then it comes up and he brushes her wet hair out of her eyes, tucks the strand behind her ear. Like he can’t help himself. Then his hand tightens on the back of her neck again. His eyes harden, expression becoming blank. The monster has taken over completely again.

She leans in and kisses him.

He freezes. Her mouth is numb from the freezing water, but his is warm, and soft, and for half a second, he kisses her back.

She doesn’t know if she’s kissing the monster, or Bellamy, or the monstrous part of Bellamy. She doesn’t give herself time to find out.

She reaches behind her for the biggest rock she can get her hands on in the stream, then swings it at his temple.

The thunking sound is horrible. He topples over on his side. The splash his body makes as he falls over in the stream is small, nearly inaudible over the loud rush of water.

She staggers to her feet, gets her hands under his arms and drags him out of the water. She deposits him in the mud and stares down at him. His head lolls to the side. His eyes are closed, his expression open and innocent. He might be sleeping, if it weren’t for the gash on his head, half-obscured by dark curls, where she hit him with the rock. He’s bleeding. She’ll have to clean it.

She runs her hand over her mouth, still breathing raggedly.

Bellamy. Bellamy. Bellamy.

She hefts him up from under his arms again and starts to drag him back up the bank, her heels slipping in the wet ground. But she’s determined. They’re not far from that cabin. She’ll tie him up in the same chair he had her in.

And then? She has no clue. There’s only one thing she knows.

She pauses to catch her breath, and leans in close to his ear to make a vow to him, a vow she has always made to him ever since they landed on Earth.

“I am not giving up on you.”

#mine #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 #my bellarke fic #drabble #reblogs/shares always v much appreciated!!#THIS IS SO MESSY IM SORRY FOR ALL THE TYPOS/HOW INCOHERENT THIS MAY BE #jade writes #greatest hits

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red-daddy-riot · 4 years

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I’m The One - Kaminari Denki

Overview: After seeing the viral “I’m The One” trend on TikTok, Kaminari is inspired to rope his girlfriend into replicating it with him. Of course the rest of the class had to bear witness to his shenanigans too.

Pairing: Kaminari x herocourse!reader

Warnings: slight suggestive content at the beginning

Song: Famous (I’m The One) by Mozzy and IAMSU

Author’s note: Yayyyy we’ve got a one shot for our beloved Pikachu, Kaminari! This fic is so much shorter than the others, but I was inspired to write this crackhead piece by a TikTok that appeared on my FYP. A creator named @mariavalarts drew a scenario similar to this with Kaminari and Jirou doing the challenge, which made me laugh so much. Go check out her page if you are both on TikTok and a BNHA fan, because her art and videos are both cute and hilarious. I hope you all enjoy!

————

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Denki only continued to look at you from his perch on the couch arm, palms clasped together in front of him in prayer as he batted his eyes at you.

“Pleeeeease babe! I’ll literally never ask for anything ever again.” He whined.

“You and I both know that’s bullshit, you needy brat”. You huffed, looking at Yaoyorozu who had heard the whole conversation from her place on the floor with her notebook, and who was currently trying to stifle her laughter into her hand. “Yaomomo! Stop laughing!”

Kaminari had recently become obsessed with TikTok, spending hours of free time scrolling through videos from different content creators, ranging from meme videos, fancams, and his most recent obsession - the dance trends. His own TikToks were mostly clips he’d posted of his friends doing ridiculous things at U.A., such as Bakugou working himself up into a frothing rage, or getting the Bakusuqad to participate in the “Jojo Pose” challenge as characters from their favourite anime. However, for his next endeavour in his pursuit to go viral and become TikTok famous, he had turned his sights onto you.

More specifically, to beg you to take part in the “I’m The One” dance challenge with him.

Needless to say, you weren’t having a bar of it. At least, not unless there was something in it for you.

You looked back down at your yellow-haired boyfriend who had resorted to bigger tactics in order to convince you to change your mind. He had slid down the couch to kneel at your feet, lips formed into a pout and looking at you through what he thought was adorable puppy dog eyes. “Please baby. It would make me so happy! And I’ll buy you your favourite snacks next time we go into town!”

You hesitated, feeling your resolve weakening at his offer. Regardless, you tried to stay strong. “I’m not convinced.” You said with a smirk.

That was when he pulled out the big guns. Smiling innocently, he leaned forward, placing his palms on your knees before ever-so-slowly sliding them up to your thighs. Just as he reached the hem of your skirt he paused, smiling innocently. “I’ll give you a massage every night for a week.”

Damn it. He knew how to play to your weaknesses. Why on Earth he was this desperate to get dressed up in your school uniform skirt and dance on camera was beyond you. Maybe his electricity really had fried his brain.

“Fine! I’ll make your video with you.” You sighed, trying not to show how much the thought of one of his godly back massages made you excited.

“TikTok, babe! It’s a TikTok, not a video.” Kaminari cried, exasperated at your ignorance.

Facade crumbling you laughed, pulling him up from his knees towards you, leaning up to give him a peck. “You look so cute when you beg, Sparky” you said, hands twining into his fluffy hair as you pulled him down onto the couch.

Momo’s eyes widened and she stood up abruptly. “Andddd that’s my cue to leave” she tossed out over her shoulder, gathering her things and striding towards the dorm room elevator. She paused and winked, laughter still evident in her voice as an idea occurred to her. “Maybe the rest of the class would like to watch this legendary moment” She exclaimed, rushing out of the room towards the location of the dorm rooms.

“Momo! NO-“

————

That’s how you ended up here in the common room of the Heights Alliance building, surrounded by the majority of class 2-A as they waited to witness Kaminari make an absolute spectacle of himself. Admittedly that was nothing new, but this time he was determinedly forthcoming about it. You stood in front of the TV unit where Denki had his phone set up to record, dressed from head to toe in his school uniform. You had mimicked him to perfection, red tie neatly done up around your neck and blazer undone, pants slightly crumpled and wearing his scruffy black sneakers that were way too big for your feet.

The rest of the class were crowded off to the side, as close as they could be to the action without making it into the frame of the camera. Kirishima had his phone out, ready to immortalise the moment forever on his camera roll, while the rest of the class were lounging around prepared to be entertained. Even Bakugou was present, leaning over the back of the couch with a smirk on his lips, getting ready to witness Dunceface make an absolute fool of himself. On purpose as well. Todoroki however, just looked confused. He didnt really grasp the whole concept of TikTok in general, and especially not the type of ridiculous challenge you two were trying to emanate. Only Mina was absent, currently upstairs in her dorm room with Kaminari, getting him dressed in your own school uniform and primping him with make up and accessories to look just like you.

Suddenly, the elevator ‘dinged’, announcing the arrival of Mina and Kaminari from upstairs. The class looked eagerly to the hallway as Mina stumbled into view, clutching her stomach with tears rolling down her face from laughter.

“Oh my god oh my god. He looks SO GOOD!” She shrieked with joy. The giddiness felt by everyone present intensified as they waited for Kaminari to make his entrance. Your own face cracked into a wide grin, ready to see what your boyfriend looked like in your clothes. Kirishima instantly raised his camera, ready to capture Denki’s grand entrance.

“Ohhhhh honeyyyyyy” came Kaminari’s voice, taking on a high-pitched feminine tone as he finally strutted into view of everyone present. Instantly your jaw dropped to the floor as you registered his appearance.

You had no idea how in the hell Denki had managed to squeeze his whole frame into your shirt and skirt, but by god he did it. His legs were on full display, the hem of your tiny green uniform skirt just barely hitting his thighs. You swore you could see the hem of his boxer briefs as he twirled and sashayed around blowing kisses. Your blouse strained against his shoulders and unfortunately lacked the length to completely cover his lanky torso, resulting in a crop-top esqe ensemble that left little to the imagination. Your disbelieving gaze traveled down to his legs, where a pair of dark school socks were pulled up to his knees, along with a pair of shoes that couldn’t possibly be yours. Your feet were way too small for your boyfriend to wear your shoes comfortably. Mina had topped off the look by scraping his electric yellow hair into a decent replication of your signature ponytail (albeit lacking the length), and by applying blush to his cheeks, high shine lipgloss to his lips that were jutted out into a pout, and exaggerated false lashes to his eyes.

At the sight of the now very feminine Kaminari the whole class lost it. Kirishima and Sero cackled hysterically, with Kirishima hanging onto the couch for support, phone shaking unsteadily in his hand, whilst Sero slowly sank to the floor, banging his fist on the floorboards as tears of joy leaked from his eyes.

Ochaco’s hands had come up to cover her mouth in shock, eyes wide and cheeks very pink, while the floating ensemble of clothes that was Hagakure convulsed uncontrollably in the air as evidence of her hysterics.

From his place next to Uraraka, Izuku laughed out loud, eyes scrunched up tight in glee and unable to control his giggles at the spectacle that was his classmate.

Even Bakugou, who rarely displayed any facial expression that wasn’t a scowl had quirked his mouth into a grin before barking out harsh laughter at the sight of his friend dressed as a girl.

As the class exploded into laughter at the sight of Kaminari, he strutted his way over to you, mischievous grin fixed in place. Upon catching sight of your wide eyes and the hand over your mouth, his entire face lit up and he practically radiated glee.

“How do I look baby girl?” He questioned, coming to a stop in front of you and cocking his hip out to the side in a sassy pose. One hand came in front of his mouth as he leaned forward and blew you a kiss, whilst the other hand settled on the hip of his not-at-all-PG-rated school skirt.

Kaminari winked. “Don’t I look sexy?”

You blinked at him once, twice, before bursting out into laugher along with the rest of the class. Giggling hard, you abandoned your surprise and opted to wrap your arms around his neck before pulling him in close. “So sexy Pikachu. You look just like me.”

Smirking down at you, Denki planted a kiss on your cheek before pulling back. “Well you’re always sexy my love.”

Blushing heavily, you fiddled with his tie around your neck before Kirishima called out to you both, causing you to face your hysterical classmates.

“Smile you two!” Kirishima said, raising his phone and framing your figures perfectly in the frame. The rest of the class followed suit, determined to capture a picture of the moment before you made your TikTok debut. No doubt such pictures would later be featured on various Instagram and Snapchat stories.

“All right!” Denki exclaimed, rubbing his hands together mischeviously. “Let’s get this show on the road baby.”

The rest of 2A filtered out from behind the couch, taking their place off to the side of the room as you stood on your own in front of the phone ready to record. Pressing start, the iconic lyrics of ‘Famous’ filled the room as you started lip synching, pulling off some masculine moves and flipping up the collar of Denki’s shirt arrogantly. You then gestured smugly to your wrist, mimicking the showing of a watch before pointing behind you, swaggering out of the frame as Denki came strutting into view. Executing a twirl before ruffling his hands through his hair seductively, he bent down low, running his hands down his legs before straightening up, forming his fingers into a gun shape before pointing them at the camera and blowing a kiss on the word “guns”.

As the sound cut out you stopped the camera, smiling triumphantly as Denki started laughing. You laughed back, listening to the clamour of your rowdy classmates giggling at your success. Denki rushed forward, scooping you up and giving you a quick twirl before setting you back on your feet.

“Thanks for doing this with me baby”. He said, lacing his hands with yours as he smiled brightly.

You looked back up at him, even taller in his borrowed shoes. “Happy to help babe. It’s worth it to see you smile, Sparky.” You laughed.

Denki stepped back, beaming wide and bouncing excitedly. “Now we have to upload it! We‘ll go viral for sure now that I’ve got my super hot girlfriend in one of my TikToks!”

“Denki!”

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bookandcranny · 3 years

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Beatrice - Chapter Five

She sucked on her lower lip and it tasted sweet. Bittersweet really, but any amount of sweetness was good enough for her.

Sprinting up the staircase two at a time, Gianna couldn’t remember why the climb had ever been an obstacle. She burst into her apartment and out of it again, through the window, onto the fire escape. Before she could think to be afraid, she leaped.

If she’d faltered, if she’d slowed for a second before making that jump, she would’ve hit the ledge and, best case scenario, clawed her way up to safety with a shattered pelvis. The worst case scenario was a lot messier and, she decided, not worth thinking about at the moment.

The important thing was she had made it, barely, and miraculously unbroken too. Unbroken because “unharmed” would’ve been too generous a word for it. She landed badly, twisting her ankle and spilling forward onto hands and knees. It was only thanks to the cradle of some overgrown greenery that she hadn’t cracked her skull open on the fountain while on her belly blindly grasping for leverage.

Maybe it was the headrush of having survived her nigh-suicidal recklessness, but the combined scents of the garden were making her dizzy. The exotic flowers’ natural perfume that had been pleasant at a distance now took on a noxious quality. The air seemed to be choking her. How did Beatrice stand it, she wondered.

Feeling a strange twinge she looked down at her scraped palms and sucked in a sharp breath. The cuts themselves were barely deep enough to draw blood, but beneath the tissue she was bubbling, boiling. She tore her eyes away and blinked hard to dispel the vision.

Am I awake? Am I dreaming again? Did I miss the ledge?

Her mind screamed at her.

It’s something in the air. It’s something about these damn plants. An infection? An allergy? No, can’t think about it now. There’s no time. Look away, deal with it later.

Thankfully the sliding door was unlocked. Most people don’t expect intruders at five stories up. It opened with a click and Gianna tensed, withholding herself against the urge to rush in, metaphorical guns blazing. She stood there in the doorway and listened for sounds of distress, but it was eerily silent. The luxury apartment was as serene and sterile as she remembered it.

“Bea?” she whispered as she stepped inside. “Beatrice?”

No response. Her own dragging footsteps were loud in the emptiness, scraping along the tile like a murmuring: hush, hush.

Gianna rounded a corner into the dining room and there she found her, and the mad doctor too. Beatrice was sitting at the table in a white dress with a gauzy quality to it that reminded her, sickly, of a wedding dress. Dr Rappaccini came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder before at length turning his sunken eyes towards the uninvited guest.

When he spoke, his voice sounded thick as if speaking around a swelling. “After all these years, you think I don’t recognize the taste of one of my own formulas? I’ve been doing this since before you were born, children.”

“It was only medicine, Father,” Beatrice insisted, looking up at him. “To help you sleep.”

“A long sleep indeed,” he growled. Gianna had no rightful reason to flinch away from the fury of an old, sick, and at least partially drugged old man, she reasoned. There was nothing of him to be so afraid of. But she did, and she was, and deep down she always had been, since the moment she saw him. There was something wrong with him, something she couldn’t put a name to, although if she tried the word “evil” might make an appearance.

It had been a long time since Gianna had considered herself one among the faithful, the kind of person to buy into such archaic concepts as pure good vs pure evil. She never quite believed in a soul that could be broken down into quantifiable measurements— a half cup of goodness, an even ounce of vice. She couldn’t say from what recipe a man like Dr Rappaccini was formed, but what she saw before her now repulsed her. The layers of him peeled off like old paint and underneath were all the years and all the people who ever imposed their will on her. It didn’t make her feel righteous, it made her feel small and scared. She didn’t want to touch him. She didn’t want to catch what he had.

“This really has gone too far.” He spoke not to her but to Beatrice again. Although he kept her penned within his periphery, Gianna was an insect to him. “What did you think would happen? That you’d run away together? Go off into the sunset and live happily forever after like those books you read? You know better. This is only a passing fancy. She’ll die, and you’ll find another.”

Then he touched her cheek, almost tenderly. For a moment he almost looked like the father he was, or at least pretended to be. Gianna saw him and a younger Beatrice: teaching her, dressing her, holding her, bringing her to life only to take it away.

“Let go of her, she’s coming with me.”

Dr Rappaccini sneered. “Oh by all means. Who am I to get in the way of my daughter’s happiness? But if you two are going to insist on keeping up this charade, I think it’s only right I let you know what you’re getting into.”

The young woman stiffened. “Father, please don’t.”

“Have you been feeling ill lately, Ms Alexander? Been noticing some certain sudden changes?”

Gianna instinctively closed her fists and felt her bloodied palms sting.

“Now now, no need to be embarrassed. I’m a doctor you know.” He wheezed a little laugh to himself. “Have you been having trouble sleeping? Peculiar dreams? Maybe even during the day you find yourself feeling disoriented, seeing things. Do you find yourself feeling breathless or dizzy when you take in the city air? If not, you will. The medicine my daughter so kindly shared with you will be wearing off soon.”

Startled, she turned a questioning glance to Beatrice, but the other woman wouldn’t look at her. She’d told her the tea was medicinal, but it had never occurred to Gianna that she might be more familiar with the ailment than she let on.

“It’ll only get worse from here, you know. Look at me,” he coughed. “Like the late great Madame Curie, my passions took their toll on me in the end. Though not before affording me a sturdy tolerance for most known and unknown poisons, I’ll have you know. That’s over fifty years of gradual exposure for you. Ah, but you didn’t come here to listen to me talk about work.

“I’ll get to the point. You can treat the symptoms, but there’s no cure, no release from her poison. Even as we speak it’s tainting your healthy young blood, devouring you from the inside out. If I act fast, you may still live to a ripe old age. You might not even have any lasting side effects, lucky thing! But all this is if I give you the antitoxin, and if you don’t continue to willfully expose yourself to the source.”

“The source? You mean…?”

“Yes! My sweet Beatrice.” He petted her hair with the back of his fingers. “Lovely, isn’t she? Everything I grow… so very lovely. Don’t worry, I’d never do a thing to harm her. Can she say the same about you?”

“Don’t listen to him!” Beatrice stood up suddenly, surprising both Gianna and Rappaccini himself. “I never wanted to hurt you! I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“But you can’t help it,” said the doctor. “It’s in your nature. It’s in your scent, the touch of your skin. Imagine what she could do with a kiss, Ms Alexander! Oh I almost want to see it. I’m sure it would produce some valuable data. But I’m not the cruel monster you make me out to be. That’s why I tried to stop you, even though my daughter begged me not to spill her secret. I tried to make you understand.

“She can’t be released upon the world. Maybe in a few generations we’ll have a version that can control her own potency, but not yet. Not you, Beatrice.”

The poison-blooded woman spun on her creator. “Why did you make me! Why did you make me like this! Why bring me into the world at all if I can’t be a part of it! What is the point of being alive if I can’t touch another living thing without hurting them!”

Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, hot and angry. Gianna instinctively reached out to comfort her.

“No, stay away!” she screamed.

Dr Rappaccini took her into his arms. Her tears soaked through the shoulder of his ill-fitting coat and raised his flesh with welts, yet he didn’t flinch. Arrogant gray eyes locked with Gianna’s and the message was clear. No matter how much she loved her, Beatrice belonged to him. She would rather choose an empty life under the heel of a man who could never truly care for her over the risk that she might further harm the one person who did.

Then, a curious thing happened. It started with a gentle rumbling that gradually grew in intensity like the beginnings of an earthquake. Then there was the smell. Beatrice always had a slightly floral scent to her that Gianna had assumed was perfume, but now, like in the garden, it was so overpowering that it seared the nose and throat and muddled the senses. Rappaccini noticed as well and turned to his daughter with a delirious look on his face.

“Girl, what have you done?”

The woman lifted her head. Veins like dark tendrils bulged beneath her skin, wispy strands of violet encroaching at the corners of her eyes like ink in water. A noxious venom bubbled up and spilled over her lower lip. The doctor staggered backwards. Gianna might have followed his lead if she were in her right mind, but as it was she was stricken, mesmerized by her. Even through the confusion and the terror, she wanted to reach for her. Her blood sang out to embrace her.

There was a sound of shattering glass from the terrace and the garden rushed in, spilling over and crashing like a tidal wave, flooding every room it entered with rapidly growing roots and bright green vines. The onslaught of green grew and morphed and stretched and with every pulse of its new buds and branches there was a noise like a muffled human scream.

The slithering stems ignored Gianna, skated right past Beatrice unbothered, and latched onto the form of Dr Rappaccini, pulling taught as they snared him.

“Beatrice!” he cried out, but not in horror or in rage. Oddly enough, though he was alarmed, when he looked into the face of his creation, the creation who would destroy him, his expression was one of absolute wonder.

“How are you doing this, Beatrice? How?”

She looked at him, with her eyes still clouded and the nectar of her ire dripping freely from her lips, and she said, “No.”

Only then did true panic set in for the scientist, for he understood exactly what that no meant.

Vines began to encircle his torso and pour into his open mouth, choking him, soaking up the living wet warmth of him and pouring in their poisons. They dragged his limp body, barely recognizable now, back out into the garden. They raked him over the shattered remains of the glass door and took him into their soil until no bit of him could be seen under the still earth.

The renowned genius Dr Giacoma Rappaccini died without ever knowing the whole truth of what he had created, without even the parting gift of that understanding, that knowledge he had so fervently sought after. That right had been revoked from him. Even so it could be said that Dr Rappaccini died with some sense of satisfaction. After all, what parent isn’t joyed to see their child finally surpass them?

As the flood of plants retreated so too did the murky discoloration of Beatrice’s eyes and skin, leaving only a faint sheen of laboured sweat. Unthinking Gianna moved towards her but her legs buckled halfway there. Her eyes rolled back and for a moment all the universe narrowed to the feeling of hands carefully lowering her to the floor.

“Oh God, Gianna.”

She blinked and saw Beatrice kneeling over her, felt the warmth of her breath. It occurred to her suddenly that she could very well be about to die. She wasn’t in any pain though. Even the ache from her twisted ankle was gone. If anything, she felt extraordinarily well, for a paralyzed person. The only improvement, she thought foggily, would be if she were able to just move. If she could move it all, if she could speak, then there would be nothing that she couldn’t say, not ever again.

“Gianna, I’m so sorry.” She leaned her head against Gianna’s breastbone and sobbed. “I love you. I love you.”

Gianna’s heart fluttered. In fact, it pounded so hard and so loud that Beatrice head shot back up with surprise. She sniffled and blinked back tears.

“Gi-Gianna? Are you still in there?”

Obviously Gianna couldn’t respond, but she searched her face and must have found an answer in it regardless.

“If you can hear me… I’m going to try something. It- it might… I don’t want to hurt you. That’s what I was trying to… I don’t, I’ve never been able to control it before, but every time you looked at me I just, just tried to focus on that, on how much I wanted…” She swallowed thickly. “So I’m going to try one more time. One more time, okay? I’ll think about how much I love you, and you think about… well you just think about staying alive and maybe… maybe this time. Maybe it’ll turn out alright this time.”

With that, she closed her eyes and kissed her. It was everything Gianna had dreamed and nothing she had expected. Clumsy and inexperienced, gentle and sweet, and something sort of tingly she had a feeling wasn’t entirely due to attraction or apprehension or any mix thereof. She felt her eyes fall closed and her own lips part slightly to let her in. Too late she registered the sensation of something liquid pooling on her tongue, falling down her throat. She choked, briefly, then reflex kicked in and she swallowed.

“Gianna?” Beatrice asked nervously.

She pushed herself up on her elbows. “You too,” she croaked. “I love you too. I would’ve told you sooner if I knew.”

“If you knew what?”

“That, that you needed to hear it. Someone should’ve told you sooner. Someone should’ve told you a long time ago how lovable you are.”

As she recovered Gianna touched a finger to her lips and it came away sticky. She sucked on her lower lip and it tasted sweet. Bittersweet really, but any amount of sweetness was good enough for her.

“Not to be the nosy overbearing girlfriend or anything, but what just happened exactly?”

Beatrice sat back on her heels. “I’m not really sure where to start. You’ve probably already figured out that I’m… not entirely human.”

“And all that talk about you being a hybrid and like a poisonous plant wasn’t entirely metaphorical, huh?”

She smiled sadly. “Father was always open with me about what I am. I wanted to be open with you too but part of me was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. The other part was afraid you would.”

A fair assumption. Even having witnessed the ultimate show of her power firsthand, she still had a hard time internalizing it.

The conflict must have been apparent on her face; Beatrice pulled away from her, folding her hands over her lap.

“I’m dangerous, I know. Nothing my father said was a lie, but there were things even he didn’t know about me. When you told me we could run away… you made it sound so simple, you know? It really made me believe I could do it. I really thought I could change. I thought I could be more like you, but instead I think I made you more like me.”

Gianna looked down at her hands. The cuts from earlier had sealed themselves closed, not so much as a scratch remaining.

“I’ve never tried to do that before. I don’t know exactly how it’ll affect you, or how much. You might live to be two hundred now. Or you might start to kill everything you touch.” A noise escaped her that was half laugh, half sob. “But I do know what would’ve happened if I left you like that, in that in-between state. Maybe it’s selfish of me. Father said it was. He told me if I cared for you at all I should send you away before it was too late, but I just…”

Gianna touched her. She shivered. “You never would’ve been able to scare me off anyway. I’m too stubborn for that.”

Beatrice sighed, sinking into her touch like she was a warm bed on a freezing cold night.

“So, what now?” Gianna asked at length, though she was reluctant to think of anything beyond this moment. This, all that she’d discovered, it did change things. Just not the things that mattered. Not as far as she was concerned, at least. “I mean, I guess we don’t have to leave now, but you do have a body in your garden so…”

“No. I want to. I want to leave.”

“Then we will,” said Gianna. “I just need to make a call first.”

-----

Petra pulled up to the curb outside a street she had intended never to visit again and opened the door with a glare.

“Gianna. I see you’re still alive despite ignoring every single warning I tried to give you.”

Before Gianna could respond she got up and pulled her into a clumsy hug.

“Crazy girl,” she muttered affectionately.

For half a second Gianna relaxed into the hug, before she remembered herself and pulled back with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?”

No blisters or rashes forming spontaneously on her skin. No sign of any adverse reaction at all. Her shoulders sagged with relief. It seemed she hadn’t absorbed Beatrice’s more overtly toxic qualities along with her immunity. Or, not yet at least.

The thought had been nagging at the back of her mind, that more traits might yet blossom down the line. Even Beatrice, by her own account, hadn’t been born with many of her abilities but rather had grown into them throughout her childhood and into the early years of adolescence.

And I thought puberty was bad enough as it is.

“Nothing,” she replied at length. “I’m just a little sore.”

She had explained the situation to the best of her ability over the phone, but had omitted more a number of key details. Some things she withheld with purpose, some because she felt it wasn’t her story to tell, some simply because she couldn’t find the words.

To Petra’s knowledge, Gianna had made plans to run away with Rappaccini’s daughter and when the man refused her, had broken into his apartment. This led to a struggle which resulted in his accidental death. All technically true. The details she chose to keep vague for the time being, until she could be certain the professor was on their side, although she had a sneaking suspicion she knew more than she let on anyway.

Petra looked from Gianna to the visibly shaken young woman who was clinging to her side. “Who did him in?”

“I did,” said Gianna without a thought. She’d been mentally rehearsing her story while they waited. “He found out about me and Bea and made it very clear that he was willing to kill us both to stop it from happening. I freaked out and pushed him, and he fell. He was old and frail. It was an accident.”

She nodded along with the tale but her thoughts were plainly elsewhere. Gianna got the impression she didn’t entirely believe her. That was fine, as long as she didn’t press.

“Where is he?”

She let go of the breath she’d been holding. That, she could answer definitively. “In the garden. Under it, I guess.”

Another nod. “It’ll do. He was a shut-in; I doubt anyone will come looking for him. I assume anyone who knew him well enough also would know better than to investigate his disappearance too closely. I’ll keep an eye on things, just in case.”

It probably should’ve bothered Gianna how nonchalant she appeared about a former colleague’s murder, even one she had a bad history with. But truthfully she was just grateful Petra had agreed to all of this so easily. She had no desire to look too closely at her motivations.

Petra reached into her pocket and handed Gianna a slip of paper with an address written on it.

“My summer home,” she explained. “You can lay low there for a while.”

“Petra… thank you.”

“Thank you. You’ve done me the service of taking care of something I should have a long time ago. Maybe once the good doctor’s research is in ashes I’ll finally be able to sleep through the night.”

She said it lightly, but there was a grave seriousness in her eyes.

“Please, not the garden,” Beatrice said softly. She’d spoken little since they’d left the apartment and it was no wonder why. The gravity of her actions was now beginning to sink in, and that combined with leaving the safety and familiarity of her home for the first time in her life had put her in a state of shock.

She never would truly regret laying Dr Rappaccini to rest, but the world did feel like a very different place without him in it.

“Is there any way you could get the plants to us once we’re there?”

“I’ll do my best, I can promise you that much.” She looked Beatrice up and down, really taking her in for the first time. “So you’re the ‘daughter.’”

“I am. I was.”

Dr Bagnol flexed her fingers around the handle of her cane, quietly contemplative. For the first time that Gianna had ever seen, she was unsure of what to say. “Did you ever… The other experiments, did they…?”

Beatrice inclined her head. Thankfully she needed no elaboration. “My father told me some. He said there were others before me, my sisters, but that they were imperfect and didn’t survive more than a few weeks. Your name’s Dr Bagnol, isn’t it? He spoke about you too, once or twice I think. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time.” She hesitated. “They’re happy now, if it helps. I never met them while they were alive but they talk to me through the flowers, though I can’t always understand them. My father didn’t believe me when I told him. There were a lot of things he didn’t believe in.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgment. “It’s a pretty unbelievable story. But I’ve dared to put my faith in plenty of strange ideas and often I’ve been right. For better or for worse.”

Petra gestured to the open car door and handed Gianna the keys.

“You’d better get moving.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ve got things to take care of here, the sooner the better. Don’t worry about the car. It’s the least I can do.” Her gaze lingered on Beatrice. “I’ve missed a lot of birthdays.”

They packed their bags into the trunk and Gianna settled into the driver’s seat. Catching the other’s anxious look she assured her, “We’ll go slow.”

“You may not have that luxury,” Petra said with the certainty of someone who had made her own share of narrow escapes. She rapped her knuckles on the hood of the car. “Go now and don’t stop until you’re across the state line.”

Nodding grimly Gianna spared one last look to the older woman: her co-conspirator, her mentor, her friend. “Thank you.”

They drove, and little by little New York retreated in the rear view until it blipped out of existence, a vanishing dream. Gianna would’ve liked to say she was sorry to leave it behind but in reality, the city wasn’t her home. It wasn’t her tiny apartment with the glitchy kitchen light and plastered over vintage moulding, nor even the house in the suburbs where her parents still lived, blissfully unaware of their daughter’s doings.

To her, home was an ephemeral thing, the stops on the way to a destination that was always changing. Beatrice on the other hand had only known one home all her life, one which may never exist for her again, at least not in the same way it had.

Yet when Gianna dropped one hand from the wheel and reached for her, she slotted her fingers between hers with no hesitation, only a trembling sigh as she continued to familiarize herself with the skin-to-skin contact. That too, Gianna thought, could be home. If nothing else, she could try and make it one for her.

A few hours passed with fewer words spoken between them. Sometimes she would ask Beatrice if she was hungry or feeling motion sick or if she wanted to try lying down in the back to get some rest, and each time she would answer with a polite shake of the head. The night settled over them like a deep blue linen, too gentle and frail to risk tearing with clumsy words.

The quiet wasn’t a bother to either of them. If talk is cheap then the clasping of hands and the soft kisses pressed to wrists and knuckles was a language that had cost them dearly.

Nearing their destination, Gianna pulled onto a sideroad that took them from asphalt to dirt and gravel to nothing as it came to an abrupt dead end. There was no house or even any helpful landmarks to be found, just grass and trees, so they parked the car to have a look around while Gianna fiddled with the GPS.

Beatrice stepped out into the field and filled her lungs, cautiously at first, and then in deep lusty breaths like a drowning body coming up for air. She shucked off her shoes and hiked up her dress to let the wild grass brush against her legs. The new plantlife turned brittle and curled away from her touch but she didn’t mind.

Gianna turned to find her partner lying in the middle of the field, heels digging into the dirt like she was trying to put down roots, and laughing giddily. The unrestrained, childlike joy on her face was contagious and Gianna soon found herself giggling as well.

“Having fun?”

“Oh it’s so weird,” she hiccuped. “There aren’t any walls. There aren’t even any buildings. It just goes on and on forever.”

She sat down in the grass next to her. “It’s not too overwhelming?”

“It is, but in a good way. It’s so… so much more than I thought it would be from books and pictures. It feels like a dream.”

“Describe it to me,” she said.

Beatrice sat herself upright and curled into Gianna’s embrace.

“It’s not the same as being in my garden. These plants don’t speak to me, and I can feel them but I don’t know them, if that makes any sense. You can’t feel them at all, can you?”

“No. Whatever you gave me… I don’t know, maybe it just doesn’t work that way.”

She tried not to look disappointed. Being able to touch, to be beside one another like this and not have to worry should have been enough. It was enough. But Gianna was beginning to understand that Beatrice’s loneliness was a vein that ran deeper than the more obvious isolation she experienced.

As Dr Rappaccini himself had alluded to, she was one of a kind. To Gianna, that just made her all the more amazing, but to Beatrice it was a curse. More than anything, maybe more than to be loved, she longed to be understood.

“Wish your superpowers could help us find this stupid house,” Gianna remarked.

Beatrice perked up. “Actually, I think it’s just on the other side of those trees.”

“Are you serious?”

“I don’t really know how to explain it but there’s this absence. Like, a blank space. Things are growing around it but in that space,” She made the shape of a square with her hands. “Nothing.”

Gianna stood up and brushed herself off. “Well let’s take a look then.”

Sure enough, the path picked up again on the other side of a small thicket and led them to the house-- more of a cabin really. Although the outside was just as overgrown from the years of neglect, aside from some dust and cobwebs the interior was remarkably well preserved. In a closet they found a broom and dustpan, some rags, and a bottle with an inch or so of cleaner still swishing around at the bottom. They also happened upon spare linens and an abandoned down comforter that had been tucked aside for a rare chilly day, blessedly free of grime.

The weather was still plenty warm so they opened all the windows and aired out the rooms and when Gianna was confident no spiders would crawl into her mouth while they were sleeping, she bid Beatrice join her under the duvet. There they dreamed with nothing but that big comforter between them and the night air. That was how they stayed until the morning.

For weeks they lived like this, playacting the roles of the two happy honeymooners. They got up, worked on cleaning up the house, cooked, ate, went to bed, and occasionally slept. It was a strange dance, one whose steps they made up as they went along. And sometimes they fell out of step.

Gianna had to go into town sometimes, to walk in the all too human places Beatrice still feared to tread and come back with supplies and dinner and a new book for her to read. It was nice, Beatrice thought, to be cared for in little ways like that, but though she gratefully accepted the gifts they also tended to remind her that when it came down to it, not very much had changed.

Her dictatorial father was gone, but so was her garden, her petaled elder sisters whom she cared for and cared for her in turn. The doors were all unlocked now, but many days she found herself lurking in the thresholds listening for the sound of tires crunching on leaflitter. In those interrums, she was as alone as she’d ever been.

When Gianna was there though, all was lovely. She gave her things she never imagined she would have-- at least not so freely, certainly not multiple times in one night. But in the wake of her affection a sick fretful feeling would open up like a chasm in her chest, taunting her as it ripped her in two, “Don’t you know how to be alive without trailing at someone’s heel?”

Its presence, this nebulous worry, dogged her day by day. In the small hours, while her girlfriend slept, Beatrice lay awake trying to trace the shape of this shadow that darkened the edges of her newfound happiness.

“Bea? You okay?”

She was standing outside in the grass, near the woods that surrounded the cabin. She liked to be here. Wandering too far made her nervous so she had to devise more creative ways to explore the world that was now open to her. Often she came here to test the reach of her awareness, feeling her way through the landscape as if with a phantom limb.

However Gianna found it a little unnerving to watch her girlfriend standing and staring into space for hours on end and typically only joined her when it had been long enough for her to get worried.

Beatrice blinked and rolled her neck experimentally. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She put a hand on her shoulder. “Dinner’s ready.”

They twined their arms together as they walked the beaten path back to the house. It was times like this that she felt she could forget her concerns and just enjoy the present moment. Whatever came next, she wanted to have as many moments like that as she could.

next chapter

#writeblr #horror romance #gothic #original fiction #rappaccini's daughter

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

The Orwellian DoubleSpeak of Anti-

by Don Hall

Everybody's talking at me I don't hear a word they're saying Only the echoes of my mind People stopping, staring I can't see their faces Only the shadows of their eyes — Harry Nilsson

Upon the road to Damascus I encountered a Christian.

He smiled. "Have you accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal savior, friend?"

I smiled back. "No. I was in to all that when I was younger but have found that the societal constructs that surround that belief system don't make much sense to me."

He stopped smiling. "So you are anti-Christ?"

"No. Not anti-Christ. Just not pro-Christ, I guess."

He launched into an increasingly angry monologue. Highlights of this polemic were a few simple concepts. If I wasn't pro-Christianity then I was, by his definition, against it. By refusing to see and capitulate to his faith, I was his enemy. By not joining him in his beliefs, I was actively denying them.

I decided to walk on, his taunts and rage following me for a half mile before he got tired of yelling.

✶

Upon the road to Starbucks along Clark Street in Chicago I encountered a Cubs fan.

He smiled. "How about them Cubbies, huh?"

"I smiled back. "I don't really follow sports. Not my thing."

"So you hate the Cubs? Why do you hate the Cubs? Are you one of those fair-weather fans or what? Motherfucker!" He spit on me as he stormed off.

✶

Upon the road to Circa on Fremont Street in Las Vegas I encountered a transgender woman.

She smiled. I smiled and continued walking.

"What? Are you fucking transphobic or what? What's your fucking problem?

I turned. "I don't know what you're getting pissed about. All I did was smile."

"But I could tell. You're transphobic, right?"

"No. Not transphobic."

"You didn't even ask for my pronouns!"

"Oh. I don't really care what your pronouns are because I don't know you. It seems you assume I'll be talking about you to someone. Otherwise, your pronouns are irrelevant to me."

"TRANSPHOBE!" she screamed and pointed. She collapsed on the cement walkway. "I can't take the micro aggressions!"

✶

The further into the tribal mindset we submerge ourselves into in America, the less likely we are able to communicate effectively.

I recall, years ago, as I was directing the very popular series of DADA Soirées in Chicago, realizing that the nonsense poetry and onstage chaos required a certain set of rules the DADAists needed to grasp onto lest the shows become a bunch of poorly improvised faux-German moments.

Each DADAist performed nonsense poems but I directed them to have each poem mean something that they are trying to communicate to the audience but the audience doesn't understand the language and thus cannot receive the meaning. It made the characters of the DADAists frustrated and angry and made the show increasingly confrontational.

We're now entering the DADAist stage of American dysfunction as we are all desperately trying to communicate ideas to others who simply aren't using the same language. It sounds the same but meanings are changing and it fuels more frustration and anger and results in an almost non-stop confrontation.

✶

Ricky Gervais, on a radio talkshow, makes a point that racism is horrible but, in his opinion, it is the intent that makes it racist rather than the reception. "That's why," he added,"wearing blackface is racist but wearing a mud mask is not."

The caller rejects this and claims that Gervais is practicing white supremacy. He continues to tell Gervais that racism and white supremacy are the same thing which Ricky disputes. They talk over each other until one of the hosts get frustrated and dismisses the caller as being completely full of shit.

✶

As used in 1984, doublethink is the ability to hold two completely contradictory thoughts simultaneously while believing both of them to be true. In Orwell's book, doublethink was critical to the success of the Party as it supported the state-imposed practice of language control, or newspeak.

Our new version of doublethink proliferates itself as different tribes redefine ideas and intentionally confuse communication.

How bizarre that when cops kill people, we blame cops but when 108 people are shot in Chicago over the July 4th weekend, we blame the guns. Which is it? The doublethink holds that both are true with no explanation. It's either guns or the people or perhaps a far more complicated cocktail of reasons that include cops, criminals, poverty, and the proliferation of guns but, fuck, isn't that too many problems to solve so let's simplify it down to cops and guns are bad, criminals have excuses, and what the fuck does this all mean?

How malfunctioning is it that for half the U.S. population cancel culture means holding the powerful accountable but for the other half it means online bullying to punish people for stupid things they did or said 20 years ago. For every Weinstein there is a Franken, for every Louis C.K. there is a James Gunn.

"Equality" is now "equity" but only for 50% of the country. For a tiny but increasingly vocal bunch the term "mother" has been replaced with "birthing person". "Riots" are "protests" or "rebellions" unless you are on the other side of the issue. Blacks who marched on the Capitol with the predominantly white mob are now considered to be suffering from "multicultural whiteness."

Even Orwell would've had a hard time imagining this bullshit.

✶

We are not speaking the same language between tribes these days. There has to be common understanding of usable terms and insisting upon preferred definitions only makes it more difficult to communicate. No communication, no unity of purpose. No unity of purpose, no society.

For me, given my completely unexceptional position in society, I will go with the definitions I prefer and do my best to be respectful of the lunacy of others.

No matter what you call elbow pasta with cheese sauce, it's still Mac n Cheese. And bullshit is bullshit even if you want to have it identify as stroganoff.

#George Orwell #doublethink

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rose-sunlight · 4 years

Text

Calm My Head

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Drug Abuse, Angst

Summary: Spencer Reid never showed up to work. He sent one message to Hotch, not giving any inclination to what was wrong. Y/n, his girlfriend, was sent in to see if he was alright. He wasn’t.

A/n: They kind of glossed over the hardships of drug abuse in the actual show, so this is the very real concept of relapsing and how a strong support system can help those effected.

(GIF not mine, credit to original owner)

Y/n remembered how horrific it had been in the few days Reid had gone missing. It was even worse seeing it and being helpless to stop it. She went off the rails, never going home, working through the night to try and find her best friend.

It was only when Garcia mentioned that she was spiralling out of control that she realised why. Reid was a defining feature in her life, someone who was always there, every day almost. He was the first person to greet her on her first day at the BAU, and the one she stuck with the most throughout the years. He was so much more than that, though; and at that moment she realised how hard she’d fallen in love with Spencer.

A year later, and they were dating, spending their whole waking hours together. Y/n, having the most experience with Reid and his mannerisms, could tell he was keeping something hidden, secretive from everyone. Hotch had told her and a few other members of the team about Spencer’s drug addiction, and Reid had begrudgingly opened up about it a few times.

Y/n was waiting for him to open the door to his apartment. For the first time in the history of the BAU, Spencer Reid hadn’t turned up to work, with only a short text sent to Hotch with no explanation whatsoever. She’d been instructed to check up on him, just to make sure he was alright.

She had knocked on the door at least five times before deciding to pick the lock. It was something Garcia had taught her, as she was viewed as the most illegal person on the team. Rossi was definitely shocked when he walked in on the lesson, watching two agents on his own team breaking into a safe. They had to clue him in just so he wouldn’t get Hotch to scold them—but he wasn’t here now, and Y/n could use this skill to the best of her ability right now.

She burst through Reid’s front door as soon as the door opened, weapon drawn. In their line of work, the worst was often thought if someone never showed up to work, or if they wouldn’t open the door.

With her gun raised, Y/n advanced, before placing it back in her holster and dropping to the floor beside Reid, who was slumped over his kitchen counter. Y/n sighed, bringing her hands to his face, which was flushed red and sweaty. “Baby,” She sympathetically consoled him as his head lolled freely. She looked to his hand, where he grasped a needle, a bottle of Dilaudid just fingertips away. This was what she feared.

“I tried so hard,” He whimpered, falling into her lap weakly “I just wanted to calm my head again” She pat him gently as he began to cry. He was disappointed at himself, and angry. Y/n knew this would happen sooner or later, it was a part of the healing process, or so she’d learnt by doing research and going to the recovery meetings with Spencer (she’d forced him to talk to someone, even if it wasn’t her).

Y/n was the best person to console someone; she was like the second group mom, after JJ of course. “I know, bubba, I know. Let’s get you off the floor, yeah?” She told him, hoisting him up from the cold wood floor of his kitchen towards the bedroom.

When he was settled, Y/n closed the door, sitting down on the sofa and rubbing her face anxiously. She tried her best not to blame herself, not to think back through every moment of their relationship, trying to psycho-analyse his behaviours. She dialled the third number on her speed dial, her hands shaking slightly as she pressed the button

.Hotch answered swiftly, like he always did, and began spouting information about their new case “Y/n, good, we need your help on this case-”

“-Spencer’s relapsed” She hated to interrupt her boss, but this was absolutely vital. Hotch fell silent.

After a few long pauses, he spoke again, voice lower. The team was probably waiting for updates on the case, eagerly hanging onto the words he said “Are you sure?”

“I found him with a needle, Hotch. I’m certain.”

“Is he alright? Is there anything we can do?” He cautiously asked

Y/n tried her best not to scoff, she knew Hotch meant well, “He’ll hate himself when he sobers up, so I might need the team to come round and remind him he’s got a strong support system. For now, we’ll be ok here. I’ll text you when he’s up to company.”

“Ok Y/n. Let us know.”

Her voice caught, biting her lip viciously, unable to stop the tears that came when she thought back to her boyfriend slumped on the kitchen floor. “I will. And sir?”

“Yes?” He said, his voice even quieter, and unnervingly calm, as always.

“We might not be in for a few days. Can you manage?” She requested, hearing movement from the bedroom.

Hotch agreed, and the call ended swiftly. She was left alone in Reid’s apartment, her boyfriend passed out in the other room with a tear-stained red face. She clambered into bed with him, pulling him closer to her body, his head across her chest as she cradled him like a 6’1 toddler.

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#spencer reid imagines #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds

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evilmortys · 4 years

Note

Have you ever talked about/drawn/ have head among about c-136’s rick? His relationship w/ his family and morty? Is her better than other ricks or worse? Etc!

i’ve never talked about rick c-136 much extensively come to think of it! so i hope you don’t mind if i use this ask as an opportunity to ramble about him and their dynamic and their dimension in general a little. it’s quite divergent from what’s typical for a rick and morty dynamic in places, i think.

first off i wanna lead with: morty c-136 is sixteen! so his summer is of course older too, and is now living away from home and attending college. he misses her a lot, but they still call a few times a week and bitch about their parents and what’s going on in their lives and bully each other a lot. she comes home sometimes, usually for holidays such as thanksgiving or whatever. they’re overly sappy for a minute max upon reuniting, then she’s kicking him in the balls and he’s calling her a dumb bitch.

his mom and dad are divorced, and have been since he was ten, so jerry is not really in the picture. rick is very relieved about this and hates jerry about as much as is typical for bastard grandpas. morty was sad about their messy break up, but very quickly came to understand it was for the best. there’s a security system rick set up to kick jerry to the curb if he ever comes around, much to morty’s aggravation, but it’s not put to much use anyway. (usually he walks over to his dad’s sad studio apartment of his own volition for custody weekend instead of being picked up, because his dad sleeps until late noon, so. not exactly a dependable ride. if he goes himself he can shake jerry awake at a reasonable hour and ... try to shake some sense into him too. so he doesn’t come to the house much.)

c-136′s rick has a complex relationship with his beth. she’s still very much wrapped up in his opinion of her and works to please, impress and ultimately attain his attention whenever she can. an easy way to do this is back rick up when morty backtalks him. if morty angrily says “shut the fuck up, rick” within earshot of his mother, she’s very quick to fly to her father’s defence as apposed to her son’s- “morty, don’t speak to my dad like that!” rick plays off this, recognizing an opportunity to make beth feel like it’s them versus morty, and says “thank you, sweetie.” the two then delve into conversation about how morty is “out of hand” as if he��s not even there, which understandably infuriates him further.

it hurts him a lot that his mom is so desperate to feel like her and her dad get along, and for him to acknowledge her existence, that she’ll invalidate his feelings and bitch about his behavior with rick to get it. he very much feels like his mom values having a positive relationship with her dad over him as a result. morty continues to love and care about her even in spite of the fact that it feels largely nonreciprocal at the best of times, but can come across quite cold, dismissive and clearly subconsciously angry with beth when talking about her at times as a result. don’t get me wrong, they go see the occasional movie together and morty helps her out preparing dinner very often. he cares deeply about his mom and he loves her, of course he does, but he's also felt incredibly estranged from her for most of his life. if nothing else, they can always at least bond over an eyeroll at one of his dad's latest fuck ups or stupid statuses on facebook. there’s some stuff about his childhood i could tack in here that’s relevant, but i’m very conscious of how long this is and i haven’t even talked about rick and morty’s dynamic yet ... adjaskjdfaksf sorry!

her alcoholism worries morty whereas rick seems a little indifferent to it, or considers it not a big deal. likely because he knows it invites accusations of hypocrisy if he calls out her self destruction via these vices.

in the past, morty’s tried talking with her, watering down and pouring out her alcohol stashes, and even pleaded for rick try and make her see reason- to no avail. (his grandpa ended up cracking a joke about what a fucking buzzkill morty is, they laughed it off together, and they both went out for, you guessed it, a fucking drink, or more likely ten of them, directly after the fact.)

right now, beth c-136 has been seeing a bartender for eleven months. rick seems to idly approve of him- at the very least, doesn’t hate him like he did jerry, which delights beth. her father deeming anything in her life a good choice means everything to her because she fights so hard to impress him while also trying not to look overtly clingy and needy, because that seems to repel him. also, he’s her genius father who doesn’t like anyone, so how the hell can his judgement be wrong, right? him approving of this guy has locked him into her life for the forseeable future. again, this pisses morty off, because this bartender guy encourages his mom’s worst vice of daydrinking with his job and lifestyle. he makes her happy, but he’s the fucking worst, and it makes morty want to tear his hair out. him and summer frequently snipe about the guy in private. sharing distaste for their parents’ prospective partners is very valid bonding they think.

c-136 rick and morty's relationship is emotionally flexible at the best of times. some days, so very rarely, they get along just great.

to name one wholesome headcanon before we Get Into It. occasionally, rick will pretend to know absolutely jack shit about one of the plants in morty’s greenhouse just to let him go off about it and suddenly seem excitably sure of himself for about twenty minutes of nonstop infodumping. 95% of the time he knows absolutely everything about the plant he’s asking about, actually, and on some level morty is absolutely aware of it. the smartest man in the universe apparently doesn’t know what a flaxtius olcum is? right. but ... he still appreciates the gesture a lot, and it cheers him up after a shitshow adventure.

it's not too clear what allows these occasions of treating one another with basic respect and almost fondness to arise- maybe his grandfather's in an uncommonly gracious mood, maybe they're playing minecraft or bashing animal crossing together, maybe they're snickering and exchanging incredulous glances during some cartoonishly evil alien's monologue of a plan as it's dictated to them in painstaking detail … regardless, those come around less and less often, these days.

rick secretly considers morty to be very capable and alarmingly more competent as of late, and he's not sure whether to feel almost proud or work to scramble to unravel all this progress lest morty start pulling away from him and revelling in his own independence.

they're a kickass duo when adventuring, very in sync. morty's less of a whiny burden or wide-eyed, unremarkable sidekick, and more of a borderline asset at this point. which again, makes rick feel very conflicted over how that skews their dynamic in a way that's less favorable for him, because morty doesn't need to lean on him as heavily or stick as close anymore. but at the same time, there’s less inherent risk of him dying while they adventure, because he handles himself so well. they can split up as needed to get shit done faster. morty frequently solo adventures, or as he calls it, “runs rick’s goddamn errands, actually.” he’s outgrown the concept of getting to choose an adventure and instead claims the portal gun every twelve adventures they have together, and goes off for one of his own.

morty speaks his mind very bluntly with rick and isn't really afraid to tell him to get fucked when he's being an unreasonable dick. he resents rick immensely for putting him down and pushing him around all the time.

morty's more assertive, yet still very much resigned to their irrefutably imbalanced companionship ; there are countless factors as to why. but primarily, it tends to boil down to feeling like he owes a lot to rick. were it not for his presence in his life, morty knows deep down that he wouldn't be half as interesting or even marginally as intelligent as he's capable of being now. he’d still be stupid, and mediocre, and uninteresting. unremarkable. unworthy of anyone’s attention or time because of how dull he is.

he's at a point where (to an extent) he feels distant from his life on earth at the best of times, because space and the infinite multiverse has encompassed his daily life for so long and on some level, he handles himself far better fighting for his life on the edge of the universe than trapped in a school full of sweaty teenagers and material he either blitzes through or can barely grasp. plus, rick was the closest thing he ever had to a friend while he was growing up. morty cares about rick, even if the older constantly cites reasons as to why attachment is moronic and sentiment is stupid, and he's aware that rick has come to care for him too- even if all his pointed jabs about not giving a shit and aloof front makes it hard to believe that all the time.

the issue is, once morty seems to waver in feeling that he has to constantly acquiesce to rick and falters in tolerating rick as an result of this obligated feeling of familial love, no matter how slightly, rick then begins to exert control over their relationship by other means, such as emotionally manipulating, gaslighting and outright blackmailing him to keep him in line with what he wants out of their dynamic: rick and morty, a hundred years, the only two people in the infinite multiverse that truly matter- theretofore, they should both solely consider one another as important, and worthwhile. he's willing to tarnish any other connections morty might form beyond their duo for fear of losing him.

he grows out of this irrational attachment a little more each time his grandfather lets him down, disillusions him ever further, hurts him or traumatizes him or actively fucking experiments on him- slowly but surely. he'll snap, in some sense, sometime. when exactly can't be known. what precise actions he might take to pry himself free of their codependent dynamic is unclear. but the way things are headed, the two of them splintering apart is inevitable, and it's unlikely to be an amicable thing at all. rick often actively renounces and appears repulsed by the very concept of familial love and basic attachment, constantly rants and raves in his drunken stupors about how replaceable everyone in his life is, and it's hard for morty to bite his tongue when he's behaving like that.

he just hates that he feels badly about himself and second guesses himself around rick. strangely enough, when he’s having to push through crazy shit alone, he does fine. great, even. sure, he’s freaking out, making everything up as he goes along, and secretly wishing rick was around to guide him out of the chaos because he knows in his heart rick would probably do it smarter. but once he’s with rick, he feels incapable and stupid beside him. like, being apart from him makes him feel so much lighter, allows him to lean on the intelligence he very much does possess, without being berated, second guessing it, and reminded it’ll never match up to rick’s, so there’s really no point in even trying.

#also fun fact: morty's very first mindblower was from when he was 14 and reverse engineered the whole ass portal gun #and rick absolutely flipped his shit and lowkey freaked out and erased the whole incident #BUT. HE THINKS ABOUT IT FUCKIN. OFTEN.#THE LIQUID IS WHAT'S HARD TO RECONSTRUCT. NOT SO MUCH THE GUN.#BUT IT WAS STILL... HE JUST. WHAT THE FUCK. HOW THE FUCK.#why is his morty. LIKE THAT.#feral and too smart/cocky for his own fuckin good!!!#I DON'T EVEN THINK THIS IS EVERYTHING IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG FDJFG FUCK??#i really did go off..... cringe.....#alex answers!#long post cw #I DONT WANT TO GIVE AWAY LIKE EVERYTHING BC #ONE DAY I MIGHT GET MY SHIT 2GETHER AND WRITE HIS FIC #BUT... YEAH-#Anonymous #c136!

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cbspams · 3 years

Text

TOO - Hard Carry (originally by GOT7)

YOOOOOO THAT WAS DOPE AS HELL!!

First, concept. I love that TOO stuck to their guns and didn't try to imitate GOT7's choreography. While their own choreo was a little less technically challenging and easier to manage, they still made it really fun and showcased their skills. Because they were preparing for the collab stage at the same time with Verivery, I understand why this didn't happen but I would have loved to see more synchronicity in their routine. Still, it was delightful to watch!

The stage was a lot less aggressively performance based, with less technical skill than their other stages (Rising sun especially) but I think that added to the charm of it all. Because it was street punk, being a little loose and a little crazy just fits way better than being rigidly contained to sharp dance moves. I liked their use of props this time too, I could practically see an alley just like that where delinquents would hang out. 10/10 set design.

COSTUMING. Their outfits were great!! The graffiti overalls and jumpsuits were perfect to really bring in that streets vibe, especially when they did the blacklight glow! That was literally so cool, I'm going to rewatch it later just to really feel it.

Chihoon and J. You did fantastic! They really used the unique cadences of their voices to bring out the most in their raps. Minsu?? Babe?? Your voice is so good?? And the two who followed him were all really solid, steady and damn that pitch bro!!

I can still see places where they need work in terms of controlling their bodies. While I've interpreted it as being loose to fit the concept, there's the possibility (more likely than not tbh) that they intended for their dance to be sharper and it didn't end up like that. Additionally, I noticed a couple times where they almost landed on top of each other which is a spacing and blocking issue. Lastly, their use of the backup dancers really shadowed the member's own performances which damaged the performance a bit as even though I was watching TOO, I couldn't grasp their performance properly. That could also be a camera angle issue but in this particular performance, it just felt a little like TOO wasn't trying to showcase themselves as much as they could or should have. I think a street style performance would have done wonderfully too if they were just a little more greedy in their own performances, almost a king of the streets style attitude! I think it's just because they're young though, with time they'll gain that confidence and aura on stage.

Score: 7/10

#admin talk #rtk commentary #rtk performance comments

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sherrybaby14 · 5 years

Text

The Option XII

Summary: Your plans go into motion

Warnings: Death/murder, smut

A/N: This is the end! Thank you all for going on this ride with me. I hope it leaves you satisfied.

Bucky lunged. You tried to get out of the way, but his hand was on your throat in a second. You brought your arm up like he taught you to chop it down. Then you moved your foot behind his knee to try and knock him to the ground.

To your surprise it worked and you followed him down, ready to strike.

“You’re moving slow.” He looked annoyed. “There were five times you could have killed me in this instance and you didn’t take any of them.”

“Throat exposed, ignored the groin, didn’t pull out a weapon.” You noticed three. The other two were lost on you.

“This isn’t the movies.” Bucky rolled over on the ground, so now you were pinned to the grass. “If you want to kill someone, you do it quickly. No long speech, no hesitation.”

You stifled the eye-roll, sick of the same speech. Bucky pushed off of you and grabbed your hand, pulling you up from the ground.

“Is that still what you want?” His eyes narrowed on you.

“Yes.” There was no pause in your response.

“Odds are you will never be in hand-to-hand combat. You point and shoot.” He started walking toward the house. “That’s enough for today.”

There was no doubt he was unhappy with your progress. It felt like something wasn’t clicking and you didn’t know how to make it work. But you were trying, and your body was aching as a result.

You plopped down on the mattress. Sore, and knowing it would be worse when you woke up. Bucky’s hands went to your shoulders. He dug his fingertips into your muscles and started to rub.

A moan left your mouth at his expertise. He could rub the pain away. His hands worked their way down your back and you melted underneath him.

“What’s your mantra?” Bucky never stopped.

“Point and shoot. No talking. No thinking.” You could say those words in your sleep.

“Good.” He leaned down over you and placed a kiss on the back of your head. “Never forget.”

He settled on the bed next to you and started kissing your neck. You knew what that meant. Even with your training, Bucky was as insatiable as ever. You knew the pleasure he was about to bring you would send you needed to sleep, so you shifted on the bed, turning to meet his kiss and eager for his touch.

Tomorrow would be a new day. You wouldn’t hesitate. You would find the fourth and fifth way to take out your opponent, but right now you would bask in the glory your lover was about to bring.

The bruises stopped forming. You were getting quicker to block and recognizing the next move. The little sparring sessions were lasting longer. Bucky went to kick you and you saw it coming, maneuvering your body out of the way.

You countered with a strike against his chest. A grunt left his lips and a smile came to yours. Then his arms were on you in a second, turning and pining you against his chest. You tried to break out, but he gripped down harder.

“Don’t get cocky.” His mouth was next to your ear.

He noticed the smile. Your resistance faded, declaring this one won by him yet again. He dropped his arms and swatted you on the ass.

“But you did good.” The heat of the summer bore down on him and you saw some sweat. “You will never beat me, not at fighting like this.”

“That’s motivating.” You walked over to your water.

“Peach there is no such thing as a quirky assassin.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at you. “If you still want this, remember.”

“Point and shoot. No talking. No thinking.” You’d practiced with the guns enough; you were as good a shot as Bucky. “I still want this. Very much.”

In the evenings, sometimes Bucky would do a little research and let you help. The more you learned about the organization the longer your list of targets grew.

“Once you kill a person…you can’t go back.” Bucky picked up a black roll off the ground and set it on the little table. “Are you sure you want that on your conscious?”

“Those people have done worse. They will continue to do worse if we don’t do anything.” You were getting tired of this conversation. Your mind was made up.

“More will pop up.” Bucky unrolled the fabric. “In their place.”

“We can’t control the evil in the world.” Your eyes went wide at the shiny silver. “But I want some revenge.”

“Alright.” Bucky picked up a mid-sized blade with a black handle. “It’s a lot harder to stab a person than people realize. You have to use a lot of force.”

The air was thick and the temperature high. There were no more beads of sweat, now the second you were outside you were covered in it.

You did your little dance with Bucky, lasting even longer this time. Now it was a regular occurrence you battled until you were out of breath and he was slightly winded. Given his strength, you would take that as a win, even though it ended with you getting pined.

“You’re quiet today.” Bucky was at the table loading the guns, for whatever obstacle he was going to put you through this afternoon.

“It’s hot.” Of course, the little house didn’t have any AC either so hiding inside wouldn’t be any better.

“It’s been hot.” Bucky set the gun down and put out a knife. “Speak your mind Peach.”

“I’m getting a little antsy.” You knew this conversation wouldn’t go over well. “It’s August. We’ve been at this for what? Five months? How much longer?”

“You’re not ready.” Bucky set the knife down and looked at you with narrow eyes. “Five months is not a long time for this sort of training.”

“We know the target’s schedule. We have a plan formed. Why can’t we execute it now?” You knew how bratty you sounded, but you needed an answer.

“Drop it.” He shook his head. “You’re not ready.”

“When will I be ready then?” Your frustration was pouring out.

You picked up the gun and shot at the tree, then set it down and picked up the knife, flinging it just the way he taught you. It stuck in the tree centimeters from where the bullet was.

Instead of looking impressed with your accuracy Bucky looked annoyed.

“You will be ready when I don’t have to worry about you dying.” He folded his arms. “That’s the only way we will kick this off.”

“You will always worry about me dying.” You squeezed your fists and bit back a groan.

“That’s true.” Bucky walked around the table until he was in front of you, hands on your shoulders. “How about until you show me I should be scared of you, instead of for you?”

“Did you see me shoot? The knife?” You held your hand out to the tree. “Shoot. Stab. No talking. No thinking.”

“And what are you doing right now?” Bucky had a little smirk on his face. “Talking? Thinking? You’re not ready.”

You didn’t like how he was looking at you like you were a child having a tantrum, but the wind was out of your sails and he pulled you closer for a hug. Both of your bodies were sweaty and the heat made your skin stick together.

“We’re taking the afternoon off.” Bucky’s arm hooked under your legs as he hoisted you in the air.

“What?” You were deep in thought, trying to figure out how to how him you were ready. “Why?”

“Because watching you throw that knife got me hard.” Bucky’s blue eyes got that glimmer of lust you knew only meant one thing.

The rest of the day and night would be spent in the bed. Your core tingled in response, conditioned to grow needy at his gaze.

As eager as you were to get your plan in motion, maybe an afternoon with Bucky fucking you senseless would give you an edge as to how to clear your head.

The evenings started to cool. That didn’t make the day any less hot, but you could tell fall was on its way. Now was the time to act. If you didn’t prove yourself to Bucky, he would push back any plans until the spring.

The night was going to end with you getting your way or him being very angry at you, but it was worth the shot.

“It smells good in here.” He came out of the bedroom, his hair still wet from the shower. “Is that why you didn’t join me?”

“I wanted to make you something nice.” He wrapped his arms around you when you set the plates down. “Sit. Eat.”

“Tonight I thought we could relax a little.” Bucky picked up his fork. “Play cards or something.”

“Sure.” You tried to act nonchalant as you sat down.

“Peach I can tell you’re getting agitated, but there’s still a lot to learn.” He grabbed his glass of water and took a giant sip. “You will get there.”

When he set the cup down a smile crept up on your face. Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting a different reaction from you.

“I’ve killed you twice.” You put your elbows on the table and set a piece of chalk down.

Bucky looked down and saw the white line across his pants.

“That would be me slitting your femoral artery.” You picked up your water and took a sip.

“Wha…” Bucky started to trail off.

His head fell forward and smacked into the plate of food. You stifled a laugh, shocked it worked that quick.

“And I also poisoned your drink.” You spoke to nobody as you stood up and went to the unconscious Bucky. “No big speech.”

You put your arms under his and tugged him from the chair, dragging him over to the couch. Then you went and got a napkin and wiped him off. He’d wake up in a few hours. You imagined he would be angry, but once he calmed down you hoped he would accept the fact that you were ready.

“Urg.” Bucky brought his hand to his forehead when his eyes opened.

He didn’t remember falling asleep or being on the couch. When he sat up Peach was in front of him holding out a glass of water.

“Nothing in this one.” She looked pleased with herself. “I promise.”

The last memory of Peach killing him twice came back when he took the water from her. As annoyed as he was over being drugged, he was impressed with her little show.

“Are you mad at me?” Her nerves were showing.

She was the only person on the entire planet who could make murder look cute. Bucky had known for a few weeks they could start, but part of him was wishing she would change her mind, unsure that she fully grasped the concept of taking someone’s life.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He knew the answer but had to ask one last time. “There’s no going back.”

“They took something from me.” Peach turned on the couch. “Something, I don’t even know what it was. There’s a black spot inside me that will never go away. I know killing them won’t fix it, but if I can get a taste of relief. I want it.”

Bucky wanted to say no. To kidnap her and run off to Central America, but he knew exactly what she was talking about and he wasn’t hypocritical enough to deny her that taste. Besides, he had a hard enough time saying no to her as it was.

“Alright.” He took a deep breath. “Here is what I have in mind for target one.”

The train station was crowded. It was mainly tourists, some lugging multiple suitcases, ready to scatter across Europe.

“Are you nervous?” Bucky whispered in your ear.

“No.” You lied. “We’ve practiced twice now.”

Of course it was on different routes. When you watched your train pull in it was like your heart stopped beating.

“Don’t forget to breathe Peach.” Bucky squeezed your hand.

You were both in jeans and plain t-shirts with light jackets. Nothing noticeable. Nothing that would draw attention to you.

“Come on.” He took a step forward and you followed, the metal beast looming.

The conductor took a look at your tickets and gave you some directions in French. Your eyes continued to span the crowd, looking for any single lost looking girl. There was a target on the train. Would she be boarding now?

Bucky figured out their process. An unsuspecting woman would board the train, make a friend, usually in the dining car, who would drug her drink. Then the train would have a “break down” and the friend would drag the unconscious victim to the tiny tony about three hundred yards away from the tracks.

Board the train, go until the end of the line and walk off with all the victim’s belongings as if they were her own. Nobody suspecting anything.

The information made you add the contact at the train company who organized the break down to your hit list. But they would get their own special visit.

Bucky didn’t drop your hand as you walked into the car. Much like the first time you were on this train, there were small sleeping rooms. It was like déjà vu when he opened the door to the private space.

“Are you okay?” Bucky walked into the room.

“Memories.” You looked at the twin bed. “What would have happened if I’d stayed in here that night? Decided to sleep hungry?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Bucky sighed. “She would have found some way to meet you, get you to trust her. Probably walked into your room like it was an accident.”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant I wouldn’t have met you.” You gave him a small smile. “Which in some way makes me grateful for her.”

“Does that mean you're changing your mind?” Bucky’s features went soft.

“No.” You leaned closer to him and put your arms around his neck.

“Then it’s time to go.” He gave you a quick kiss.

You went back out in the hall. Bucky walked to the end of the train car and opened the door. There was a small platform connecting the different parts. He pulled open the next. It was lined with seats. For the people not wanting to spend the money on a private compartment, or those feeling suffocated in their rooms.

Bucky led the way as you opened twelve doors, walking through six different sitting cars until you came to the one right before the dining car. He picked a seat at random and you sat next to him.

It wasn’t crowded, but soon a few more people chose seats. You reached behind your back and felt the gun tucked into your pants. It was hard to believe you were wearing a weapon and nobody seemed to notice.

Bucky pulled out a magazine from his jacket and handed it to you. He gave you a knowing look about touching the gun. Don’t draw attention.

“Sorry.” You took the rag from him and flipped open to a random page. “What if she doesn’t show up?”

“She will.” Bucky pointed to the page. “Stick to the plan.”

He was so calm. You didn’t understand how. You could barely sit still and were certain you were about to start sweating.

Then in an instant it felt like the world stopped spinning. There she was: Alice. She was as beautiful as you remembered, but with the toned down look. Approachable, friendly. Her hands were busy with the phone she was immersed in.

“You’re starring,” Bucky whispered.

You dropped your eyes to the magazine, wondering if she would even recognize you. When she passed your seat she didn’t even look up from her screen. Instead, she opened the door to move into the dining cart. When it shut your stomach felt rotten. Like you might throw up everywhere.

“Deep breath.” Bucky put his arm around your shoulder and tilted your chin toward his face. “You can do this Peach. I know you can.”

You nodded your head and he placed a kiss on your lips. It was soft, warm, longer than a peck. It heated the ice that was in your veins.

The train started to roll out of the station. Bucky broke the kiss.

“Stick to the plan.” He placed another on your forehead before sliding out of his seat. “You’ll do great.”

You smiled and laughed a little. Your assassin man praising and encouraging you over murder was not where you saw your life going.

“Thank you.” You didn’t think you had ever spoken the words with more conviction.

Bucky offered you a hand and you rose from the seat. He ran his palm over your cheek and gave you one more kiss. When he walked away you continued to hold on to him, not dropping his fingers until the final second.

He disappeared into the dining car and you turned and went the other way. The train wasted no time picking up speed and when you opened the door and crossed the small platform to the other car your confidence picked up. You could do this. You would do this. You needed this.

Bucky swirled the drink in his hands while he watched her. She sat at the bar section, waiting for her mark to show up. Based on Peach’s recollection of the evening it would be in about an hour. Bucky guessed if the victim didn’t show in two Alice would go looking for her.

They had to set this in motion before that happened. It would be hard to get her alone if she already had her companion.

The train wouldn’t break down until two a.m., but it seemed like Alice roofied them much earlier than that. It probably made them more compliant and everyone on the train would just see an obnoxious drunk girl.

He hoped Peach found a nice empty car. Given it was an overnight train ride there had to be a few.

The dining car got more crowded as people settled in for their trips. Bucky checked his watch. It was time.

“Excuse me.” Bucky tapped Alice on the shoulder. “I’m not normally this forward, but you are gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” She rolled her eyes and went back to her phone.

Bucky grabbed the seat next to her and plopped down, leaning closer.

“I mean it.” He could play obnoxious too. “What a beautiful creature you are. Let me guess model?”

“Nope.” She didn’t look up.

��Actress?”

“Not interested pal.”

“Trophy wife then?” Bucky gave a fake smile.

“Fuck off.” She looked up for that one.

“Wait.” He tapped the bar. “I’ve got it.”

“I said fuck off.” She was certainly sure of herself.

“You’re a siren.” Bucky leaned closer. “You trick people, drug them, and send them to their demise.”

The phone dropped from her hands. She was quick to pick it back up again. Rattling her had been easier than he thought.

“Do you even care what happens to them?” Bucky went back to his normal voice. “The girls?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She stood up from her chair.

Bucky only got one look at her face, but it wore an expression of terror. Clearly, she wasn’t prepared for this. He imagined the game she was playing on her phone would turn into texting her boss and alerting them of Bucky’s comment.

They would tell her she was being paranoid, but then when she never arrived they would know. Someone was coming for them.

Bucky watched her get almost to the door before he stood up from the bar. She was about fifteen feet in front of him as he moved to follow.

This part was all Peach, but Bucky worried she wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger and the wheels were in motion. There was no slowing down this train.

When he was on the open platform he reached into his jacket and drew his gun, hiding it up his sleeve.

Alice checked over her shoulder, Bucky was too far behind to grab her, but he was certain she was aware of his presence. Especially when she moved faster.

She traveled through to the next car. Bucky was hoping that was the last one, but Alice kept moving. Where the hell was Peach? How far did she go up?

There were too many loose ends. Bucky didn’t like it. He moved faster, deciding the second he caught up to her she was going to get a quick bullet in the back of her head. Peach would understand. The next one could be hers.

Bucky walked faster and faster. She was only about five feet in front of him now. Then she glanced over her shoulder and opened the platform door.

He was about to shoot when she cried out.

“Oh thank God! There is a crazy man following me.”

Fuck. Now Bucky was going to have to kill two people.

Stick to the plan. Wait between the vestibules. Bucky was going to drive her out of the dining car. You just had to find one that was a car or two away without a crowd and wait. A single shot and her body would drop below the train.

It would be better this way because you wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with the body and there would be no crime scene.

Two cars away were perfect. You knew it would likely be an hour, but you didn’t mind the breeze as you stood and watched the trees fly by and the sky darken.

A few people walked by, most of them assuming you were a smoker and going fast. You pulled the gun out and slid it up your sleeve like Bucky showed you. It would be quick and easy.

A small part of you worried you would not be able to pull it off, so you let your mind wander. This wasn’t the movies. Quick. No big speech. That didn’t mean you couldn’t play it over in your head though. What would you say to her?

You’re a bad person. Rot in hell. Remember me?

They all sounded so cheesy right now. Maybe it was best not saying anything, just getting it over with.

The train hit a bump and you reached out to grab onto the flimsy rail. With a clink, your hand grabbed on, but the gun slipped.

“Fuck.” It was long gone. Pulverized by the train. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

You had to think of something. Should you go get Bucky? Call it off? You checked your watch. She could be due any second now.

“Fuck!” You screamed out as the wind took your voice.

You were not losing this moment. You’d waited too long, practiced too hard. You pushed off the vestibule and went back into the train car, heading toward your room.

You couldn’t run, that would draw attention, but you moved as fast as possible. When you arrived your hands were shaking, but you got inside.

The only piece of luggage you had was a small duffle bag. It was designed to make it appear you were a couple heading away for a long weekend.

You ripped the thing open and felt around for a gun. There wasn’t one. But you did have a weapon.

You pulled out the dagger. Sharp, dangerous, and much more personal than a bullet. Could you do it? Stab someone? Bucky made it out like it was much harder than shooting.

What choice did you have? Give up? You hid the knife up your sleeve and left the room, strutting back to your vestibule, hoping you didn’t miss your opportunity.

All of a sudden a pit in your stomach started to from. What were you doing? Being disappointed about not killing someone? Had the world gone that crazy?

You weren’t an assassin. Hell, you couldn’t even hold on to the gun.

But the people deserved to suffer for what they’d done to you and what they tried to do to you. And countless others. Didn’t those girls deserve some vengeance too? How many of them were out there wishing Alice dead?

That cruel heartless bitch. You remembered how safe she made you feel, comfortable when in reality she was as big of a snake as they got.

Your unease turned to rage as you walked through the cars. Focusing on nothing but the need to stop her. You pulled open the door to exit the car when a voice was right in front of you.

“Oh thank God! There is a crazy man following me.”

You didn’t hesitate. Hell you didn’t even think. You just raised your hand and jammed hard, Grabbing her shoulder to leverage the blade deeper. It went straight under her rib cage, no doubt piercing her heart.

She looked at you with confusion, but then you saw it. Even in the darkness. It clicked in her eyes. She knew exactly who you were.

It sent an adrenaline rush down your body. One unlike any other. You spun and pushed. She did not put up any fight as she fell under the train. It was done. She was gone from the world. If it made you a horrible person that that fact made you feel better, you were OK with it.

“Peach?” Bucky’s voice made you turn.

He had his gun out and you were still carrying the knife, dripping with blood. Bucky put his weapon away and grabbed your wrist. He took the dagger and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe the prints off, then he threw it off the train.

“Are you alright?” He had to yell over the wind.

You nodded. Bucky pulled you close and then took your hand. His eyes combed your face, looking for signs you were telling the truth.

A loud whistle sounded and a second train zoomed by yours, close on the tracks. It made the wind pick up, but you did not look away from Bucky. You wanted him to see what you felt: relief and a little bit of pride.

The concern seemed to melt off of Bucky’s face and soon the hunger of lust appeared. It sent a jolt down your body and you parted your lips before his mouth was on yours.

Your tongue almost battled his for dominance as you held each other on the platform. Growing deeper and deeper with need for the man. Everything you were feeling, capable of doing, was possible because of him. You felt nothing but gratefulness for him.

The other train disappeared with a whistle and the breeze died down. Your kiss relaxed as Bucky pressed his forehead to yours.

“Come on.” He took your hand and pulled you inside the train car.

There were a few people in the seats, none of them paid you any attention or had any knowledge of the devious act you had committed or were about to commit.

Bucky kept the lead, pulling you across the car and over another vestibule, not saying anything until you were inside your small sleeping compartment.

“You did so good.” He spun you into another embrace, his hands running down your back while his mouth found yours. “So good.”

You started tugging at his shirt. He took off his jacket and set his gun on the small table. This hard needy kisses broke while both of you started to peel off your clothing.

“I’m so proud of you Peach.” Bucky kicked off his shoes.

The space was small and it was hard not to bump into each other as you stripped, but hearing Bucky’s praise made you grow all the more desperate for him. The train took a slight turn as you stepped out of your pants and panties, falling against Bucky who used the momentum to toss you on the small bed and fall on top of you.

His mouth was on yours again, the kiss deep and controlling. You didn’t feel the urge to battle this time, greedy to take whatever he would give you. His hands ran up your arms and lifted them above your head where he gathered your wrists in one palm.

Bucky’s mouth disappeared from yours as he kissed down your cheek to your neck, which you turned to the side to give him better access.

His other hand ran down your side. You shivered under his touch and parted your legs, bending your knees so he had access to all of you.

You felt the tip of his cock at your entrance and lifted your hips, wanting him to sink inside of you. Bucky pushed in as his tongue lapped at your neck and mouth sucked down. Your eyes shut as he filled you, unable to keep them open as your need was answered.

The need to touch him came and you started tugging your hands, but he gripped down harder, keeping them where they were.

“Please? I want to touch you!” You tried to move your head so that he was forced to look up from your neck, but he moved with you.

“Why should I let you touch me?” His teeth scrapped down as his fingers ran back up your hip.

Your brain struggled to come up with an answer. His palm came to your breast and he squeezed down, his knuckles rubbing against your nipples, drawing a gasp from your body and making you shrink back into the mattress.

“Because I love you.” It was the first rationale that you thought of.

Bucky let out a small grunt, but relaxed the grip on your wrists. You wiggled one hand free, but his fingers enclosed on the other.

Your fingernails found his back and you scratched down as he started picking up the pace. His shaft was pistoning in and out of you with ease, bouncing you into the mattress.

You tried to rock your hips with his speed, brushing your clit against his pelvis in the process, drawing you closer to your impending orgasm.

Bucky lifted his head, his lips on yours again. Your kiss was sloppy, both of you wanting as much contact with each other as possible, but too focused on other parts of your anatomy to pay attention.

In a flash Bucky’s hand left your body.

“Huh?” You let out a whine as his cock left your pussy.

He was back on your in a second, grabbing your hips and twisting you like you were weightless on to your hands and knees.

He put his hand on your shoulder and slid into you from behind with ease, making your toes curl. He didn’t take time working you up as he started nailing you into the mattress. His metal arm slid between your legs and a cool fingertip began massaging your clit making you moan.

“As much as I love those noises, you have to stay quiet.” Bucky’s arm left your shoulder as his chest came down on your back.

He brought it forward, pressing it against your mouth, muffling all the sounds your body was demanding you make.

There was no keeping up with him. He was like a machine, pumping faster and faster, rubbing your nub in a way that made your thighs shake. Slowly your body began to give out, your arms no longer capable of supporting you as Bucky fucked you with such vigor you thought your entire being was going to explode into nothingness.

The pleasure came on suddenly. You contracted around his cock and found yourself trying to bite his hand when the orgasm ripped through you. You panted and tingled all over, but he kept up his speed, hammering more and more pleasure out of you.

It was an out of body experience, one that was making your vision blacken and mind forget how to breathe. His hands went to your hips and he pulled you back hard as he thrust, his cock igniting inside of you, the aftershocks of the orgasm welcoming his cum.

Bucky collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he grew soft inside of you. You would never grow tired of this, him fucking you senseless and into clarity at the same time.

Neither of you spoke for a few minutes, but unlike other times you were not going to pass out, your adrenaline was much too high for that. He slipped out of you and turned on to his side. You did the same, so you were facing each other on the small bed.

Bucky touched your shoulder and placed a small kiss on your forehead.

“How are you feeling?” His blue eyes went back to studying your face. “Regret?”

“No.” You moved closer and put your hand on his chest. “Powerful, like we could conquer the world together.”

Bucky gave a half smile, but let it drop.

“You want to keep going?” There was a tint of nerves to his voice.

You wondered if he thought after taking care of Alice you weren’t going to be able to hang with this type of lifestyle. But that was far from the truth.

“I think we should pay my Uncle a visit next.” You let a wicked grin cross your face.

Bucky’s blue eyes flashed as he looked at you. The desire blooming all over again. His mouth found yours and you ran your hand through his hair, holding him close as his cock grew hard again against your thigh.

You didn’t know where your future was headed. Option A was finishing your list and going to Central America. Option B was keep adding names to your list, making sure everyone paid. When it boiled down to it, you didn’t think it mattered. Both Options involved being with Bucky.

THE OPTION

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this! So there you have it…..Steve and his lady are living domestic bliss and Bucky and Peach are murdering their way across Europe. I appreciate every single like/comment/reblog more that you realize and I am so grateful for the readers who take the time to check my stuff out! Thank you again. XOXO Sherry.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel

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atinytokki · 4 years

Text

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Chapter 8: A Requiem

Seonghwa screamed into the hand uselessly, and arms stiff with cramps flew up to try to defend himself, scratching his attacker as deeply as he could. His eyes were squeezed together so tightly, it took him a moment to realise the blindfold was gone.

Don’t take your blindfold off. Under any circumstances.

All he could do while his struggles weakened was clench his eyes tightly shut.

He was powerless.

“Seonghwa! Seonghwa, stop.”

A voice whispered back at him, and he found himself relaxing.

“...Hongjoong?”

No, it was his mind playing tricks.

“Yes, it’s me Seonghwa. It’s alright, you can open your eyes.”

Open his eyes? No, not under any circumstances, any circumstances at all...

But it was Hongjoong.

Unless it was a trick, unless it was San with a trick from Babylon—

“Prove it.”

“Not this again,” the voice muttered, the fleeting annoyance so familiar. “How about... you’ve been practicing a song. For when the officers ask you to help them sleep.”

Seonghwa carefully blinked his eyes open.

There was Hongjoong.

There were a few new scratches on his face, but it was still him.

Relief stronger than any Seonghwa had ever felt washed over him and he practically collapsed into him. Hongjoong held him there for a moment, graciously refraining from commenting on the soaked blindfold he was holding.

“How did you know that?” Seonghwa whispered. Not what he had expected to be asking first, but he let it out nonetheless.

“You think no one can hear you, but you forgot we share a room.” The chuckles escaping Hongjoong were contagious, and Seonghwa found himself laughing too.

He didn’t realise he was crying as well until Hongjoong pulled back and scanned his face with concern.

“I’ve got you now, it’s alright. San is being taken care of and-”

“M-Mingi and Yunho!” Seonghwa hated how scared he sounded, but he had been terrified. “Where are they?”

“Jongho and Yeosang found them just over there,” Hongjoong pointed but Seonghwa didn’t even look. He couldn’t look anywhere other than Hongjoong’s face, testing again and again that it was real. “They’re getting them to the crow’s nest. Sorry, we tried to be quiet but I suppose we’ve just scared you. Come with me, I’ll take you up there too—”

“But San-”

“-Is being taken care of, I told you. Wooyoung and Eden have him cornered by now.” Hongjoong began trying to help Seonghwa to his feet.

Stiff limbs protested, and Seonghwa blushed at the fact that he had to be helped up like a frightened child. But the fear he had felt, the terror engulfing his senses in what he thought were his last moments... it was almost too much to handle. And it lingered still, even as Hongjoong squeezed his hand and led him into the lamplight.

Hongjoong’s words finally caught up to him.

Wooyoung was alright.

“Eden...?”

“I guess you’ve missed a lot,” Hongjoong’s voice was soft and contemplative. “We’ll fill you in when this is taken care of.”

Gradually as they reached the upper decks, Seonghwa detached himself from Hongjoong. He’d experienced a moment of weakness, but he was fine without holding someone’s hand now.

Seonghwa suddenly remembered he was supposed to be upset with Hongjoong for leaving him.

“Is Babylon dead, at least?”

Hongjoong simply nodded, beginning his ascent of the rigging after a scan of the main deck. Clearly, he sensed the shift in the atmosphere, judging by how he didn’t look back to check if Seonghwa was following. He’d been scolded by him enough to know when the storm was about to break.

“You shouldn’t have left like that,” Seonghwa let it out quietly but insistently. “Especially bringing Yeosang and Jongho with you, you could’ve all been killed and—”

“We’re not doing this right now,” Hongjoong turned around and gave him a pointed look. “Chew me out for it later, but I did the right thing.”

“The reckless thing,” Seonghwa amended, grumbling mostly to himself. It had been awhile since he’d climbed as high as the crow’s nest, but his pride wouldn’t let him ask for Hongjoong’s help now.

Yunho peeked his head over the side of the crow’s nest and beckoned them in, visibility relieved that Seonghwa had made it out of there. He and Mingi spewed apologies that Seonghwa waved off, promising them he was fine and nothing happened.

It... It was true, technically.

“I didn’t see San in the lower levels or anywhere on the main deck,” Hongjoong explained once all six of them were crammed into the small space. “Where is he?”

“I’m fairly certain he backed himself into your cabin, Captain,” Yeosang explained from where he sat, clearly agitated, in the middle of the nest with his arms tight around him. It had slipped Seonghwa’s mind until now that Yeosang was afraid of heights.

Mingi trained his gun on the door far below them. “He won’t find us up here, but if he does... we’ll make sure he doesn’t reach us.”

Seonghwa swallowed and turned to look at the door. Poor San was still in there, fighting the demon from inside. All they needed was for him to regain enough control to stop this game of cat and mouse until they exorcised him. On second thought, that was quite a demanding list, but one thing at a time.

Seonghwa’s intent staring at the door to the Captain’s cabin was halted when something pressed into his side. He turned to see Hongjoong holding out his coat for him. “What? Why?”

Hongjoong blinked at him like it was obvious. “Hyung, you’re practically in shock,” Jongho explained slowly for him. “You’ve been hyperventilating for the past five minutes, and you’re shivering as if it was snowing out.”

Oh. No wonder everyone was looking at him like that.

Seonghwa looked at the still-present gooseflesh on his arms and reluctantly accepted the coat as it was slung over his shoulders, but not without a glare at Jongho for the wisecrack.

As loath as he was to accept anything from Hongjoong now that he was angry with him, he had to concede that it was helpful.

He felt his trembling slowing down and his breaths even out, and everything hit him at once. The adrenaline crashing and exhaustion taking hold of him. All that pent up energy he had channeled towards staying alive left his system in one fell swoop.

Soon, it was hard to keep his eyelids open and he barely lifted a finger when the others encouraged him to lay down next to Yeosang.

He watched Mingi’s gun like a lifeline, making sure he didn’t fire it until the last possible second. They would not throw San’s entire life away.

That was his last thought as he finally let sleep swallow him.

...

Wooyoung’s arm ached in its sling and his head was still pounding from the blows it had received, but at least the blood had been wiped off his face and he wasn’t facing San alone now.

He shifted his eyes to the pirate accompanying him as they walked up through the lower decks. Eden was recognisable from his wanted posters, but his face was softer and less angular than the artists portrayed. The more Wooyoung looked, the more he realised Eden was just a normal man.

His face revealed nothing, but there was a storm of emotions swimming in his eyes that made Wooyoung uncomfortable. He considered whether attempting conversation was a good idea or not. Eden evidently had no inclination to.

Wooyoung wondered if the pirate’s preference for silence was the reason the mainland never heard of his return from the dead.

And a good thing, too. Wooyoung remembered the hysteria over the dreaded pirate. If the Navy got their hands on him or his apprentice, it was surely straight to the gallows for them.

“Are all of you children?”

Wooyoung looked up at Eden as his thoughts dissipated. “Do you consider me a child?” He asked quietly instead of answering the question.

Eden scanned his face for a moment and nodded.

“Well, in that case... No, not all of us. All the officers and many of the crew are my age or younger. But there are older men to do the heavy lifting and various tasks.”

“Why?” Eden sighed, having difficulty grasping the concept. “Piracy is dangerous.”

“We’re here nonetheless,” Wooyoung responded firmly, ascending the last step and coming out on the main deck. “So we might as well be around people we can trust.”

Eden didn’t respond, but Wooyoung could see that he was still grappling with the idea of children running a ship.

Funny. One would think the infamous pirate Eden would approve of such an endeavour, especially one led by his apprentice.

A strangled scream from the captain’s cabin grabbed Wooyoung’s attention. He and Eden sprinted the few steps between the hatch and the cabin and peeked inside to see what was going on.

Wooyoung breathed a sigh of relief.

San was alone, grabbing his head and stumbling around, but at least he was alone. Seonghwa was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m assuming you know what to say to him?” Eden asked, turning to look at Wooyoung expectantly.

“No, not really,” Wooyoung admitted, reaching for the handle and wincing when it squeaked at being turned.

Eden stifled a groan behind him. This was suicide.

San didn’t even notice them enter, still lost in his own mind as he tugged at his hair and curled up on the floor. The room was a mess, parchment and writing supplies thrown around every which way, books strewn over the carpet, and furniture tipped onto its side. There was a shattered bottle of rum in the corner, and Wooyoung stepped cautiously over the glass shards as he approached San.

“San, are you in there?”

His head lifted shakily and he turned his eyes on Wooyoung. They were San’s eyes, the real San.

“Help...” he whispered, reaching up with a trembling hand before freezing mid-air.

Suddenly his face hardened again and his eyes glowed red. The reaching hand became a fist that swung upwards but missed its target as Eden yanked Wooyoung backwards and out of harm’s way.

“Stay back,” the pirate ordered, whipping out his gun and aiming it at the demon as he shakily stood and leered at them.

“Don’t shoot!” Wooyoung reached for the Eden’s arm and pressed it down, lowering the weapon.

“Right,” the demon laughed, San’s face twisting in a wolffish grin. “Don’t shoot, Eden.”

The pirate’s face clouded with anger and he stepped forward to block Wooyoung from any attack, but didn’t point his gun again.

San opened his mouth to say something else but halted again, eyes clearing into San’s once more as pain broke on his face.

“He’s fluctuating,” Wooyoung cried, shaking Eden’s arm until he removed it to let him run to San. “I don’t know how long we have between bouts...”

“Wooyoung, help,” San whimpered, sinking to the floor again in tears. “He’s too strong.”

“You have to fight him, San,” Wooyoung insisted, grabbing his hands before he tangled them in his mop of hair.

As San began to calm down, Wooyoung cocked his head in confusion. There was a streak of white in San’s hair that hadn’t been there before. “What’s this?”

“He-he’s merging with me,” San gasped, shaking his head in helplessness. “Combining the two of us, and it hurts Wooyoung, please... you have to help...”

“Y-You’re doing great, San,” Wooyoung stuttered, swivelling back around to send a panicked glance at Eden. Eden shook his head and lifted his hands in surrender. Neither of them had the slightest idea what to do.

“No!” San screamed and squeezed Wooyoung’s hands so hard he couldn’t feel them. “He’s taking over again!”

Eden started forward to protect Wooyoung again as San twitched and transformed once more into the demon’s vessel.

“Take me home!” It screeched, red eyes fiery and wild. His veins were black again but a war had broken out on his face. The two entities clashing inside were becoming one, their intentions mixing together. “Take me home immediately!”

“Why?” Wooyoung whispered, wrenching his hands out of the angry grip.

Why wasn’t the demon asking for Seonghwa again? What did he have to gain from going back to the mainland?

“Wooyoung, stay back,” Eden warned, aiming his weapon but leaving the safety on.

“I’ll kill San,” the demon growled, suddenly still and quiet. “If you don’t take me home, I’ll kill San.”

“Why do you want to go home?” Wooyoung was trembling but remained in position, kneeling next to the volatile entity in front of him. “It’s still far away, we can’t just—”

“My sister! I need to see her, she’s dying!”

The demon’s scream grated on Wooyoung’s ears and he flinched away. It was San’s sister, not the demon’s. The two must be fusing faster than they thought.

Eden couldn’t stand it any longer and placed a hand on Wooyoung’s arm to pull him up.

The moment he was distracted, San reached up and grabbed the gun, wrenching it out of Eden’s grasp.

Wooyoung stumbled to his feet and was immediately blocked by Eden. “Give that back,” the pirate warned. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Take me home or I’ll shoot,” San gasped, standing and pressing the gun to his own temple. Wooyoung covered his mouth in shock and pushed past Eden so they were on either side of San. He was too scared to grab him in case he pulled the trigger, but he wouldn’t just hide behind Eden when he could try and do something instead.

“You don’t want to do that,” he enunciated slowly. “You’ll die too if you kill San—”

“I’ll say it one more time and if you don’t do it, I’ll kill him.” The gun was steady in the demon’s grip as he flicked the safety off.

“Alright, we’ll do it!” Wooyoung yelled in response, blinking back the gathering tears. He didn’t have time to think through every option and provide the demon with a rational response. He had to save San and he had to do it now. “We’ll take you home to see your sister. Just hand over the gun.”

The demon squinted at him in suspicion, the blood red in San’s eyes darkening for a moment before he began to lower the gun. “Promise!” He snapped.

“Yes,” Wooyoung blinked back tears and held out his hand to accept the gun. “I promise. You have my word.”

...

“I gave him my word. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Wooyoung rested his case once San had been led back to his cell and he and Eden had climbed up to the crow’s nest to meet the others.

“But what about this book?” Jongho pressed, waving the little book as if to remind him. “There’s a spell in here somewhere that can help us, I just can’t read the language it’s in.”

“There is someone who can!” Mingi suddenly interjected. “Remember the mystic we spoke to? Her island isn’t far from here.”

Wooyoung didn’t remember this woman, and neither did Yeosang, but they had heard passing mentions of her. The ATEEZ had stopped at her island for guidance on finding Eden and healing Jongho before Yeosang and Wooyoung had joined the ranks.

Jongho’s eyes lit up at the idea and he turned to Hongjoong for permission. “What do you say, Captain? Do we have a heading?”

“Now, hang on,” Wooyoung interjected. “I just promised San we’d head back towards the mainland! Surely he’ll know if we alter course and visit some witch hut—“

“San lived on an island just off the mainland, didn’t he?”

Everyone turned to Eden in surprise as he posed the question.

Once the shock wore off that he was actually contributing something, Wooyoung shot back angrily, “Why are you talking about him like he’s already dead?”

“He lives here now, doesn’t he?” Eden scoffed at him. “I didn’t mean to imply that he’s dead, only that he doesn’t live there anymore.”

“Alright, everyone,” Yunho chuckled nervously. “Let’s calm down, shall we?”

Both parties took a noticeable deep breath and Eden turned away, allowing Hongjoong to step in.

“We don’t make deals with demons, Wooyoung. That’s just asking for more trouble.”

“We’re already in trouble as it is! Can’t you see, he can still kill San and take Seonghwa by force.” Seonghwa recoiled where he lay at the mention of his name but Wooyoung plowed through. “He’s practically handing us a way to distract him while we find this mystic, and you don’t want to take it?”

“Wooyoung, there are so many things that could go wrong—”

“No, I’m not buying this,” Wooyoung suddenly stood, ignoring all the eyes that traced his movement. “Not from you. What’s the real reason? Why aren’t you jumping on this opportunity?”

Hongjoong simply sighed and let his eyes fall shut.

“You don’t want to risk going to the mainland, do you?” Realisation swept him and Wooyoung took a step back from the force of it. “Not now that Babylon is dead and the Navy is surely suspicious as to why.”

Babylon dead, Eden alive, so many moving parts... Of course Hongjoong wouldn’t want to risk marching straight into enemy territory, where the reward on his head alone was enough money to last all of them the rest of their lives.

Hongjoong knew what he was getting at, and rushed to defend himself.

“Wooyoung, this isn’t out of self-preservation. I have a very bad feeling about this entire idea and listening to those bad feelings is what has kept me alive this long.”

“I don’t think there’s an alternative,” Wooyoung insisted, sitting back down. “We need to split up.”

“It could work,” Yeosang said after a moment of silence. His gaze remained fixed on his hands that were clasped in front of him and he continued, “Some of us breaking off in a longboat to find the mystic, and the ship continuing on towards San’s island.”

“I’d like to volunteer to find the mystic, Captain,” Jongho announced. No surprise there.

“Me too,” Yunho added, smirking in Jongho’s direction. “We both know you’re not the best at tacking, Jongho.”

“I want to send Mingi with you as well,” Hongjoong murmured after thinking about it for a moment. “Listen to him in my stead. And Eden...”

Eden perked up in surprise at being addressed with orders again.

“Eden, I’m asking you to go with them. Look after them like your own.”

Eden pursed his lips, locked in a silent conversation with Hongjoong as their eyes found each other’s. “Alright,” he said softly and nodded. He would have volunteered to go with them anyway.

Wooyoung felt awkward for his outburst and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Yeosang reached for the netting with a shaking hand.

“Can we go back down now?”

...

Ten minutes later, Wooyoung and Yeosang found themselves seated in the Captain’s cabin for an impromptu meeting, watching Hongjoong clean up and trying to stay awake to hear what he had to say.

“I don’t want anyone speaking to San unless absolutely necessary,” he instructed first.

Wooyoung nodded in agreement. He had no desire to talk to San after what had happened earlier.

“And someone needs to be with Seonghwa at all times, preferably one of you if I can’t be here.”

Again, it made sense, seeing as Wooyoung and Yeosang would be the only other officers left on the ship once the others left for the mystic’s island.

“Is that really necessary?” Seonghwa groaned in protest from his bunk and all three of them turned in surprise. “I thought he was asleep,” Yeosang mumbled.

“Yes, it is,” Hongjoong insisted, sweeping the glass shards into a bin. “San’s already broken out once, I’m taking absolutely no chances this time.”

“As long as I don’t have to be blindfolded the entire time,” Seonghwa sighed and turned over, diving deeper under the blankets.

“San’s hometown is almost a fortnight’s sail if we don’t hit bad weather,” Yeosang informed them, spreading a map on the desk as soon as it was righted and returned to its position.

Wooyoung let him and Hongjoong inspect the charts and went to reshelve the scattered books, feeling guilty for just sitting there while work was being done.

“It’s been a long 24 hours,” Yeosang sighed as he and Hongjoong finished returning trinkets to their desk drawers.

When the room was back in order, they returned to their own beds and exhaled for the first time that day.

Yeosang was right. It had been a very long 24 hours.

Hongjoong was bone-wearied and ready to drop. Last night he hadn’t even slept properly due to the nightmares and conversation with Seonghwa after. Then the day had begun with landfall on the abandoned island, preparation for the ambush which lasted the entire day, battle at sunset, an infiltration and murder the first half of the night and demon possession and hide and seek in the dark the second half.

They were all collectively on their last leg. And also, quite hungry.

As he crawled into bed, part of Hongjoong still believed he would wake up and Eden would be gone, a spectre dreamed up in his sleep deprived state that disappeared with the dawn.

It made the most sense to let him use San’s hammock since he was occupying a cell for the night. Yunho didn’t mind the temporary new cabinmate, as long as he didn’t touch his rum stash.

“What exactly happened with you and Eden?” Seonghwa mumbled into the silence. Always with that uncanny ability to read Hongjoong’s mind.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I don’t know if I can without having this question answered,” Seonghwa responded softly.

“You barely saw the two of us together,” Hongjoong pointed out, just loud enough that his roommate could hear him. “How do you know anything happened at all?”

“Just answer the question.” Seonghwa’s exasperation penetrated the darkness and Hongjoong rolled his eyes. Not that he could see him.

“It’s just that he’s not who I thought he was.”

Seonghwa hummed quietly in understanding. Hongjoong would tell him more when he was ready to. Again the room fell silent and Seonghwa had almost drifted off when Hongjoong whispered from the other side of the room.

“I promised that I’d never let us be separated again.”

Seonghwa wasn’t sure if the Captain was just talking to himself or not but he hummed again to indicate his presence.

“Now we’re stuck in hesitant treaties that have to hold for weeks... and, I’m sorry, I don’t want to keep you prisoner, but I’m not risking you.”

Seonghwa remembered the tangible darkness in the hold and the cold chill of being alone and shivered from the memory.

“Do you think they’ll be safe? On the mystic’s island?”

Hongjoong turned to face him. They couldn’t really see each other in the dark but his voice was slightly louder when he replied. “Eden will be with them. I can think of no safer alternative.”

Seonghwa accepted these words and let himself be enveloped in the sweet embrace of sleep until late morning, when Hongjoong woke him to eat something.

He expected to be confined to the cabin, ordered to remain on bedrest, and bored out of his mind for the week and a half it would take to get there, but to his surprise, Hongjoong led him out to the galley where Yunho was attempting to cook breakfast.

“It’s our last meal together...” he explained, spooning an egg onto Seonghwa’s plate. “...for awhile at least.”

The blatant honesty of Yunho’s remark halted Seonghwa’s fork midair. He hadn’t considered that fact. None of them had.

Mingi’s shoulders slowly dropped and he lowered the fruit platter back onto the table. Seonghwa had meant to scold him for heaping so much of it on at once but now the thought was far from him.

“The mystic isn’t far, right? We can be there and back in no time!”

Seonghwa cracked a fake smile at his optimism and focused on his food again.

All the eyes in the room were inevitably on the empty chair. Eden was plotting their course out on the quarterdeck so it was almost like a normal meal. Except for the absence of San.

Wooyoung struggled to keep his mind off what he and Eden had seen in the captain’s cabin last night.

A San who was at war with himself, as he and the demon coalesced into one. Their intentions becoming confused and tangled. Desires mixing like two different paints, creating a new and unrecognisable individual. Coloured with intense passion that radiated out and splattered in every direction. In one breath begging for his beloved sister, and threatening violence in the next.

Wooyoung’s sigh and downcast look must have been noticeable because Yeosang reached over and took his hand.

He knew Wooyoung wanted desperately to go with the others to find help for San, but they needed him here. To talk him down in case he broke out again.

As the meal finished up and Jongho volunteered to take care of the dishes so Seonghwa didn’t have to, Wooyoung slipped out to find Eden.

“I’m here to apologise,” he informed the man quietly as he ascended the steps to the quarterdeck. “I don’t want to start fights, it’s just that this whole situation with San has been very stressful, and I didn’t tell anyone when I knew he was struggling with dark magic so I feel, in part, responsible for it...”

Eden straightened and turned to Wooyoung as he rambled on. His face was unreadable but there was some twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“...and I-I suppose I don’t need to tell you the details of everything,” Wooyoung continued haltingly. “But I shouldn’t have snapped at you, and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Eden bowed his head in acknowledgment and went back to his work.

Wooyoung stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, before spluttering back, “That’s all?”

He had somehow expected more ferocity from this infamous pirate.

Eden nodded without looking up from the charts, and continued marking them with a steady hand. Wooyoung frowned.

“How did you know where San lived?” He found himself asking. It had been bothering him since Eden interjected with it. Not even Wooyoung knew much of anything about San’s home life before the ATEEZ.

“I grew up in the same cluster of islands as he did,” Eden explained, still intently focused on the positioning of his protractor. “I saw him once or twice when he was much younger. He wouldn’t remember me, most likely.”

San and Eden had met? More than that, come from nearly the same roots?

The image of a young Eden, an innocent boy like San had been, was puzzling to Wooyoung as he walked away. He’d have to grill Hongjoong on it later.

With the many morning preparations completed, the group set out in their modified longboat towards the mystic’s island. They would arrive within the next day, if Eden had plotted correctly, and planned to rendezvous with the ship at San’s island once their business was done.

Hongjoong took Mingi aside before they departed to hand him his knife. Immediately Mingi protested, but Hongjoong pressed it closer to him.

“You’ll need it, Mingi,” he assured him. “Probably more than me.”

With a shaky breath, the quartermaster accepted the weapon and got in the boat.

The four of them set out when the sun was nearing the horizon, and Jongho waved until they were out of sight of the ATEEZ.

Hongjoong’s heart was in his throat as he watched them go. There was no option left but to occupy themselves for the rest of their journey, so he returned to his cabin and went about collecting books for Seonghwa.

Seonghwa was grateful to have something to read and assuage the guilt of not helping out on deck. The others had to pick up the slack of the three who had gone to find the mystic and because Yeosang was afraid of heights and Seonghwa was still recovering, that left most of the rigging work to be split between Wooyoung and Hongjoong.

The crew men were excited to be returning to lands they recognised, even if it did come with the threat of increased Navy presence.

After the first week passed with no enemy encounters, Yeosang grew suspicious. It was difficult to sleep with all the potential reasons bouncing around his head so he went one night to deliver food to San, a job that usually fell to Hongjoong.

San didn’t look up from where he sat, still and silent, in the corner of his cell. He was shackled this time as an extra measure.

“Which are you?” Yeosang asked in a steady voice, quelling the shaking of his hands as he slotted the tray under the bars. “San or the demon?”

San simply scooted forward to accept the meal, chains dragging across the floor and grinding in Yeosang’s ears. “There is no difference,” San simply said. His voice was darker and rougher than it had been, perhaps from misuse.

“No, the two of you are separable,” Yeosang thought out loud. “He’s too strong for you to snuff out completely.”

San stared at him as he ate, making Yeosang exceedingly uncomfortable though he refused to show it on his face.

A year ago he would never have believed that demons exist and can possess humans once summoned with dark magic. The whole thing would have sounded ridiculous. Yet, here he was, disproven again while someone else looked at him through San’s eyes.

“Your eyes are red still,” he noticed, voicing his thoughts freely. “But your veins are no longer black. Why is that?”

San finally broke the eye contact, lowering his head while he finished the meal. He didn’t seem too keen on answering, and Yeosang saved a small smile for when he was outside the room again, confident that he had just hit a nerve.

Ever at the wheel was Hongjoong, now regarding Yeosang with the same unreadable expression he had seen on Eden in their short time.

“Did you speak with him?” Hongjoong asked, not accusing but careful.

“No,” Yeosang lied easily. “He doesn’t have much to say anyway.”

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Hongjoong told him knowingly. “If you give him an inch he’ll take the whole lead and you with it.”

Like Mr. Yuma when he was in a hurry, Yeosang thought, fondly remembering his childhood horse.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t got a death wish, Captain,” Yeosang smirked, walking past him towards his cabin. “We’re not all invincible like you are.”

If Hongjoong sighed in exasperation, Yeosang didn’t hear it. He entered his room to find Wooyoung inspecting his weapons, polishing guns and sharpening knives as he pulled them out of a chest.

“Still awake, I see,” Yeosang commented, settling back into his hammock.

“I suppose none of us are getting any sleep around here,” Wooyoung mumbled back, rearranging some dynamite sticks.

“Seonghwa‘s been sleeping fine,” Yeosang chuckled. He had been keeping him company and doing what he could to entertain the cabin-bound boatswain. “Honestly, I think he could have returned to work yesterday.”

“Captain’s just being extra cautious, I guess,” Wooyoung sighed, shutting the lid of his chest and returning to his own hammock. His own arm had healed smoothly and he was back to work, so it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination that Seonghwa was well enough from his knife wound to return to his duties as well. But one step out of that cabin was a step closer to San, and that was a mistake that could not be risked.

Yeosang hummed in acknowledgement before thinking back to his encounter with San.

“I think San is winning.”

Wooyoung turned to look at him, but said nothing.

“This whole journey to see his sister... he’s buying us time.”

“You spoke to him?” Wooyoung asked quietly. Yeosang shrugged and didn’t meet his eyes. “Captain doesn’t need to know,” he finally said, looking for Wooyoung to agree with him.

Wooyoung nodded in compliance and wondered aloud, “How did he convince the demon to request we take him to his hometown?”

“The two are becoming one,” Yeosang theorised. “What you observed earlier seems to be correct. The distinction between their minds is blurring.”

“But there’s a fierce battle raging inside still, and I really think San has the upper hand,” he went on. “Otherwise the demon would have Seonghwa by now, and he’d be headed to the palace, not San’s island.”

Wooyoung considered all this in light of San’s behaviour earlier. Even suppressed, San maintained some shred of control over the demon. Enough to confuse him into complying with his wishes— a pointless trip to his hometown, but one that would the stall the demon long enough for the others to find a solution.

Yeosang was right.

“I just want him back,” Wooyoung admitted softly. “The real San.”

“I miss him too,” Yeosang whispered after a moment. “It’s not the same without him.”

It was this stifling air that pervaded the ship. The outright tension that bled through the rooms, like an electric charge clinging to each person so that the air hummed with agitation.

Too much was unspoken between men, and all of them had seen and heard too much to let it escape their minds. Wooyoung longed for things to be right again, for the atmosphere to dissipate and the officers to be able to relax again.

Even their last meal together had been saturated with anxiety, questions about the future, and unspoken words.

After a long battle in his mind, Wooyoung finally fell asleep.

The sunrise would bring landfall, and with it, more unknowns.

...

Taglist: @serendipityunho @celestial-yunho @nightynightnyx @theinvisablessed

A/N: Another long chapter!! It probably doesn’t feel like it because there wasn’t much action 😬 Thanks so much for reading and I’m sorry the POV switches were all over the place... Exams are done and spring break is next week so maybe you'll get a surprise gift from me (no promises tho!) Please let me know what your thoughts/predictions are in the comments or on my twt @tiny_tokki :) have a nice day~

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sevenwonderwitch · 4 years

Text

Unholy Bonds

Chapter 2 (Chapter One Here)

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Fem!OC

Warnings: drug use, serial killer Michael, germ phobia, stalking, kidnapping, murder, violence

A/N: a rewrite of a fic I started for a different fandom. But I loved the concept too much to just let it go. Enjoy!

@rocketgirl2410

Michael pulled off onto a dirt road, the sky was crimson and orange as the sun went down. It had been three days since the gas station, three days of constant driving. And while she had managed to grasp sleep here and there, Michael drove on. She didn't know how he stayed awake, but he had managed.

Prudence felt her anxieties clawing at her, ready to drag her beneath the surface, she was filthy, her hair, oily and greasy, it smelled like sweat. Her teeth hadn't been brushed and she could feel the germs, literally smell the overall, overwhelming stench of her body. She was disgusting.

Michael parked in a wooded area, back away from the road. Prudence looked at him wearily as he unbuckled and hopped out of the van. She watched him trudge around to her door and throw it open.

“Get out. Come on.” Prudence fumbled with her seat belt, moving as quickly as she could, but not quick enough for him. He grabbed her hand and yanked her from the seat, she stumbled, but he caught her with ease, setting her steady on her feet.

“Y-you said you wouldn't hurt me.” Prudence whimpered. She backed away, as he opened the back sliding door. He hopped up into the van, turning to look at her.

"No. We're gonna sleep. C’mere.” He knelt, extending his hands out. Prudence peaked around him to see a dirty old mattress covered in rumpled blankets and sheets. A tingling sensation made it's way up her spine, as her anxiety wrapped it's ugly hands around her throat. She began to hyperventilate.

“Prudence?” Michael asked, concern lacing his words. He jumped down and came to her. Unsure of what else to do, he took her hands in his. His nails were dirty. She screams internally, unused to touch by others. “Prudence look at me. Breathe. What's wrong?” he placed a hand on her cheek, making her stomach lurch. She couldn't shake it off. “Look at me.” He said again, she tilted her head to look at his face. He was breathing in an exaggerated fashion, trying to help her. And as cheesy as she always thought that was, she found it endearing now.

They hadn't been this close before, and as she tried to slow down her breathing she studied him. Really studied him for the first time.

He didn't have his cap on and she saw he had thick blonde hair, it fell down over his eyebrows and curled below his ears. the freckles on his face seemed to dance in the fading sunlight.as her breathing steadied, she stared at him in awe. He was kinda…..beautiful.

“You ok?” he asked, stepping back, giving her her space again. She shook her head.

“I can't sleep on that.” She mumbled, blush rising to her cheeks.

“what?” he glanced back, “why not?”

“Germs. A-and…..”

“And?”

“I've never slept with a man before….” He raised an eyebrow, she didn't explain what she meant.

“Okay,” he said annoyed, dragging a hand over his face. “you're like, the worst hostage ever,” he chuckled.

“I'm still a hostage?”

“What else would you be?” She shrugged.

“I don't know…..just doesn't feel like a hostage situation anymore.” It hadn't since the first day. They spent hours at a time cooped up together in the car. They weren't friends, but they weren't enemies either. It was a weird in between.

“Let's get something straight.” Michael stepped back up to her, he crowded her space, making her feel small. “You're not free. Not yet. My family says you can go I'll take you home. You try to run, and I will hurt you Prudence,” his voice was low, his eyes serious, “and don't get me wrong. You're all right. You seem like a good kid. So don't give me a reason to hurt you. I don't want to.”

“I-Im sorry,” she whimpered. “I guess I got used to-”

“Don't get used to me. This situation is temporary. You'll be back in your cushy old life soon enough.” He turned, slamming the van door shut. “Get in.” He was in a bad mood.

“Where are we going?”

“The laundromat.”

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

The ride is quiet. Prudence can feel the tension rolling off of Michael. She didn't know what exactly set him off, maybe her anxiety about germs? Whatever it was, she couldn't blame him. She knew she was a handful.

The parking lot is empty, save for Michael’s van and one other car, a little further down the way. The fluorescent bright lights shine brightly from within the building. Michael reaches behind his seat, pulling two baseball caps out, and hands one to Prudence.

“Put this on. Keep your head down and don't tell anyone who you are. Understand?” She nodded. He tugged the cap over his head and opened the door. Prudence followed suit, watching him yank open the rear door and start pulling out the blankets and sheets. He stopped, looking over his shoulder. “You gonna help?” he asked.

As much as she didn't want to make him mad, she couldn't do it, “no.” She said quietly. Michael just huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Such a fucking princess.” The words stung. There were a thousand other reasons she should be crying at this moment in time, but instead she's hurt and on the verge of tears cuz he thinks she's some spoiled brat. “Can you at least open the door for me?” She turns without a word to hold the door for him

It's quiet, except for the machines and a tv that's playing the news. Great. Prudence thought. She went to the bathroom and grabbed some paper towels, taking them with her towards the table she had first seen, while Michael loads the blankets and sheets. She wiped down the table meticulously, making sure to catch, what looked like a soda stain, that had been left there.

Michael fell into the chair across from her. She could tell he was completely exhausted, and this made her feel bad. Why couldn't she be normal? That was all she wanted. Nothing else. Just to be normal, and not have people look at her like she was a freak.

“Mysophobia.” Prudence said suddenly. Michael grunted, his eyes were closed, head in hand, but he acknowledged her.

“What's that?” he asked.

“Fear of germs basically….When I was a kid my dad died, and my mom started abusing pain medication as a way to cope. Instead of taking care of me she laid on the couch a lot or in bed, high as a kite. The house was always dirty, flies and gnats were everywhere and mice poop was all over the place too. It was really dirty and disgusting.” She takes a quick glance to see Michael looking at her with tired eyes. “The school reported my mom to children services, I got taken away while she went to rehab. I stayed with my best friend and his family for a little while. Until my mom got better….That’s when she met Marcus, he's a great guy, and he really helped her. By that time I had already started going to therapy for my anxieties and he was very supportive. He’s a good guy. I kept everything under control until my senior year of high school….” She trailed off, lost in thought, no longer caring if he was paying attention. She just needed to tell someone. Someone other than her psychobabble shrink. “I’d never been in a relationship, so when I met Lexa I really fell for her. Hard….I had always considered myself straight, until I met her, she changed everything for me, and we loved each other a lot. She helped me tell my mom I was Bi. She didn't care that I was a clean freak. She saw me for me and she loved every bit of me.” Prudence smiled, thinking of her former girlfriend fondly. Lexa had been so beautiful, and strong and brave, everything she wasn't. “She brought something out of me, I didn't even know was there, she helped me become outgoing and confident. I felt like I could conquer the world, with her by my side….but then...Kai Anderson came to our school.” She closed her eyes and shuddered, even his name still gave her chills. “He latched onto me right away, and had tried very hard to get me to break up with Lexa to be with him. He started stalking me and wouldn't leave either of us alone...he didn't stop, it continued all the way up through senior year,” Prudence felt a lump in her throat, it was growing, and she had to blink back her tears, “he killed her. He killed Lexa. Shot her right in front of everybody.” She couldn't keep the tears from falling now. “he just walked up as we were entering the school, put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger….I….I was standing right next to her, her blood was all over everywhere. And he looked me in the eyes and said ‘you did this. This is your fault.’....he still hasn't been caught. He's been on the run for two years. And I….i've been even more messed up, ever since….” Prudence finished quickly, not sure if he was even listening anymore. Just to be able to talk made her feel a new sense of relief.

“Why are you telling me this?” Michael’s voice isn't annoyed or angry. There is sympathy layered beneath his words, so Prudence looked up. Michael’s face was blank, he stared at his hands in his lap.

“I just didn't want you to really believe I'm a spoiled Princess….Im the furthest thing from it.”

“My opinion shouldn't matter to you.”

“But you're the only one in a hundred mile radius I know. So it does.”

“Jesus Prudence, you don't know me.” She flinched at the way he snapped. I am your captor,” he whispered the word. “This isn't a vacation. I'm not your friend and I don't need to hear your life story.”

“B-but I thought-”

“Whatever you thought is wrong. Look,” he leaned forward. “I'll do what I can to to keep my family from killing you, but whatever they decide I have to do. And as fucked up as your life has been you couldn't handle mine for a minute, You don't have the stomach for it. This isn't destiny or fate it's a temporary crossing of paths. So don't trust me. Don't get used to me. Just don't. Just keep your head down and mouth shut.” Prudence was on the verge of tears again.

“But the sheets-”

“If washing some fucking sheets, keeps you compliant I'll do it. Nothing more.” He stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “Don't mistake me for a good guy. I'm not.” Prudence sniffed, unable to stop the tears. Michael sighed, annoyance subsiding, he ran his hand through his hair. “I'm going to the bathroom. Don't move.”

Prudence sat in stunned silence for a moment, truly processing the last three days for the first time. Michael was only being nice to keep her docile. Keep her from trying to run or find help. He only conversed with her in the van when she initiated conversation, meaning he really didn't care, probably didn't even like her as a person. She must be one fucked up girl if even an admitted serial killer didn't like her.

She looked towards the bathroom, if she was that much of an inconvenience to him she would just leave then. She flung the hat off her head and walked to the door without a second thought about it.

She had no idea where she was. It was dark out now, the sun long gone and a cool wind was blowing, leaving goose bumps on her arms. She shivered slightly, taking a deep breath and trying not to panic.

“Okay,” she muttered, “Look for help. A police man, mom with kids, anybody.” She scanned the street to see it mostly empty, most people were inside the shops and restaurants, escaping the first chills of autumn. Prudence decided to walk towards a Subway down the road, passing by the same alley of the laundromat and the building beside it.

“Hello pretty.” before she could even get halfway down the sidewalk, arms burst forward from the dark alley, one dirty, smelly hand clamped over her mouth, the other wrapped around her waist, dragging her further back into the darkness. “You're mine,” a ragged voice chuckled against her ear. Prudence gagged as alcohol and cigarette breath wafted into her face. Panic seized her as she was drug further into the darkness of the alley.

#michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon one shot #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon x you #michael langdon #ahs: 1984 #ahs one shot #ahs fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs apocolaypse #ahs au #cody fern fanfic #cody fern x reader #cody fern imagine #cody fern

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bohdisanders · 3 years

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I live my life by my own rules. What you think of me doesn't matter. I am sure that everyone one of you have heard the expression, "What someone else thinks about you is none of your business." This can be a hard concept for some people to grasp, but it is absolutely true. If there is anything on this planet that people have a right to, it is their own thoughts. What someone THINKS about you, or anything else, is absolutely none of your business. Everyone has the right to think whatever they want. Their thoughts are their business, and no one else's. When you really think about, that makes perfect since. The problem comes when other people think that their thoughts should actually matter to you, and that you should conform to what they think. I get emails all the time telling me that they "think" I should not do so and so, or that they "think" I should do this or that. I am sure you guys get that same kind of thing, or hear something like that from those around you. While I guess it is nice that people are actually thinking about you, but they seem to forget that their thoughts are there to help THEM live THEIR lives, not to help them live your life. Some people think that everyone around them should conform to their thoughts and what they believe. You can see this in certain religions, in certain countries, and even in certain families. People with closed minds are often the ones who believe that others should conform to their thoughts about how to life life. They even get offended when some people decide to think for themselves and go another way. They don't want to allow you the same freedom that they enjoy - the freedom to think for yourself. Don't allow anyone to do your thinking for you. Think for yourself and live YOUR LIFE by YOUR RULES, not someone else's rules. If the fact that you think for yourself offends someone else or makes them think less of you, that is their problem, not your problem. They are the one who are having issues controlling their thoughts and their mind, not you. Why should their personal issues about how you life your life upset you? Do you not have the right to think for yourself and make decisions about your own life? Did God personally put them on this earth to rule over everyone around them? Of course not! Think for yourself and live your life as you see fit. By all means, listen to others' opinions if they decide to share them, but don't blindly follow everything they say to you. You were given your own mind for a reason; USE IT! Decide how you will live your life and then stick to your guns. Be who you want to be, no matter what others think about it. That is the first step to happiness. Bohdi Sanders ~ author of BUSHIDO: The Way of the Warrior, available from Amazon at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1937884201 or from The Wisdom Warrior website at: https://thewisdomwarrior.com.

#bohdi sanders #life #life lessons #religion #opinions

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s-trawberryv-eins · 4 years

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Survivors Guilt

NOT MY GIF

Survivors Guilt

Summary: Caroline has helped the Avengers from the comfort of her lab for years; Captain America thinks it’s time she added to her resume.

Warnings: Minor violence, mentions of guilt and anxiety, Soft!Sam.

Please read here before reading!

Stark!OC x Avengers

Word count: 1780

AVENGERS COMPOUND

UPSTATE NEW YORK

“I know you’ve been working on prototypes for a nanotech stealth suit. I also know Tony trained you in hand to hand. It’s a S.H.I.E.L.D requirement that you can use a gun. And don’t even get me started on that brain of yours."

Everybody knew that Captain America had a way with words. From his speech at the Triskelion to his pre time heist monologue, Rogers knew how to address and audience. This was, however, the first time that Caroline had been on the receiving end of one of his lectures.

“You’re invaluable in the lab, in your workshop, I know. But why sit there, when you could be doing so much more out on the field with us?" Stark clenched her jaw, inwardly grimacing as her teeth ground together.

“Aren’t there enough of you already? Plus, I’m really not my dad, you know?” A nervous laugh died in her throat as Sam joined the duo in the kitchen.

“You might as well give in, Care! This man won’t stop til you've signed your name in blood. Or you know, not signed. Big ol’ bully.” Cap merely rolled his eyes at his friend and continued pressing the Stark girl for the answer he wanted.

“Caroline, listen. This team needs you out there. You could only make us better. If you want to continue your work hiding behind your desk, fine. I’ll leave you be. But I don’t believe that that’s true. You’re more like Tony than you think.” Without waiting for a response, Steve grabbed his coffee and headed out of the room.

“Dramatic ass idiot.” Mumbling under her breath, the twenty something year old mocked him immaturely. “Ooh, I’m Captain America! I'm good at punching stuff and talking and making dramatic ass exits!” The sour look on the woman’s face disappeared entirely when Sam broke out into a booming laughter.

“FRIDAY, we need to speed it up. What did Dad use in his last mark?" As the AI produced a breakdown of the final Iron Man suit Tony ever made, Caroline suddenly became overrun with guilt. Doubting herself and her right to be intruding on her late fathers things. She was his daughter, es, but did that really give her the right to take from his legacy?

The doctor decided not, closing the blue holographic screen and instead asking FRIDAY to run a complete scan of the suit she was currently wearing.

“FRI, please can you ask Sam to come find me?"

“Of course, Miss.”

The Captain had gotten under her skin and she hated it. Caroline loved her job; she was proud of her creations, and of her contribution to the Avengers Initiative. Never feeling anything close to boredom when tinkering away as Tony did. But she couldn't help but wonder about the alternative she’d been offered.

“Hey Princess. You called?” Wilson strolled into the room, a curious look on his face. He’d never spent a great deal of time in the workshop before; only ever collecting Morgan or bringing Caroline a warm drink per her request.

“I need help, Sam! I can’t think!” Falcon chuckled at the frazzled doctor and closed up the screens in front of her. Clearing the mountains of paperwork from the couch, the soldier ushered his friend and sat her down.

“Princess, c’mon. Calm down. Gimme a list of reasons why you might want to start field work.” It took Caroline less than a second to answer.

“I could be out there, helping in the thick of it! Doing what you do! Plus, and absolutely no offence, Sammy, but sometimes teaching you guys how to use my tech is painful. If I was there with you it wouldn't matter!” As she paused to think on it, Sam sat patiently, waiting for his friend. “My dad did all these amazing things. I know my work is useful to you guys, but I could do more! I know I could, Sammy.”

A smile broke out across his face, but he made no comment on her answer.

“And why do you think it’s a bad idea? What’re the cons?” Greeted only with silence, he nudged the girl softly. A worrying lip between her teeth and a hidden truth in her eyes, Sam read her all too easily.

“Nobody thinks you’re him. Nobody thinks it, wants it, or expects it. I promise you, princess.” Wet brown eyes flicked up to meet his own.

“But what if I fail?”

“Then we’ll help dust you off, and you’ll try again. We all fail sometimes, Stark. Except me, of course.” Giggling at the avengers faux arrogance, Caroline let her head rest against his shoulder softly.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Despite her screaming lungs, laboured breaths, and sweat covered body, Caroline didn’t hold back in her training once. Sam had sworn to push her past her limits; he wasn’t lying. The man had even set up training sessions with Bucky to ensure she was really being challenged.

“Let’s take 5. I’m impressed. You’re a fast learner.” Barnes’ words allowed an audible sigh of relief to fall from Caroline’s lips. Plonking herself down on the mat gracelessly, she stretched out and smiled as her hot skin made contact with the cold surface of the material. Bucky watched her with a smile on his face. Truthfully, he'd been expecting it to have been more of a challenge. But the Stark girl picked most things up with ease; and what she didn't she’d practice over and over until she did. Sweat ran down her neck, clinging to her collarbones. Chest heaving silently as she caught her breath, the Sergeant found himself staring. Clad only in a sports bra and leggings, he struggled to tear his eyes away from the girl.

“Quit staring, Barnes. I’m all sweaty and gross.” Smirking despite being called out, Bucky’s eyes instead found Caroline’s. Forcing herself to hold back her smile, the girl bit at her lip gently and focused her eyes on the ceiling rather than the intense blue-eyed gazed she'd been locked in.

“Excuse me, agents, but Mrs Potts-Stark has requested that Caroline meet her in her office." Bucky extended his arm, offering a hand to pull Stark to her feet.

“That concludes training for today then. Good work, doll.”

“Momma, please? It’ll be okay. You know they’d never let anything happen to me."

“I swear to all that’s holy, Caroline, if you come home with anything more than a scratch I will bring this world to its knees." Tone slightly hysterical, Caroline couldn't confidently say that her adoptive mother was joking.

“I know you would, Momma. I know." Pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, Caroline tried to keep in control of her emotions. But how could she when the woman in front of her had given her so much? Abandoned by her biological mother, initially rejected by her father. It’s always been Pepper. The thought that Caroline could never truly repay her for all she’s done gripped her from time to time; but that’s a story for another day.

Two days into a mission to retrieve stolen alien tech from a US based terrorist organisation, Caroline was incredibly grateful for the brutal training she'd done with Sam. Aching muscles, a bloodied face, and a cut up leg and she’d decided her time in the training hall would have to increase.

“Caroline, what’s your location?” Steve's voice rang out just as her fist collided with an enemy’s face.

“For god's sake Steve-” a grunt sounded as she landed a kick in his ribs “-use the bracelet! That’s what I made them for!” One final hit and the guard was unconscious at Starks feet.

“Keep up, old man!” Clint’s voice broke through, the bright smile evident in his tone. Caroline’s vast range of new technology had inadvertently placed the Captain at a disadvantage. He tried, he did, but he often struggled to grasp the concept or the need for such complicated gadgets; his complaints were unfortunately outweighed by the sheer usefulness of the tech.

The bracelet the girl had used was similar to the Kimoyo beads used in Wakanda in that it acted as a multitool. The specific feature that Caroline spoke of was a tracking device used to keep the team informed of ones location. It’d been a particularly hard piece of software to get the hang of due to the security risk they posed. Banner and herself had spent a while trying to decide how best to have the bracelets disable themselves in the event that they end up in the wrong hands.

Once the pair were confident in their creation, they had the team come in to set theirs up; the super soldiers found it particularly difficult, which resulted in a fresh round of jokes at their expense.

“The South gate is clear.” Having confidently cleared the area alone, she headed to the rendezvous point. Barton was waiting for her arrival, and from there they’d stand guard as Natasha disabled the magnetic door locks, allowing the team to gather the stolen tech and get home.

“Barton, Stark, I got two headed your way.” The heads up from the Captain gave the archer time to dawdle in his choice of arrowhead, even asking the doctor her opinion before hitting his targets perfectly.

“The doors are down. We’ve got 5 minutes before the backup generator kicks in.”

“Thanks Nat. We’re on our way.”

Caroline had spent a while with Sam after her first mission. She’d quickly learnt that Sam was more than what he seemed. A prankster, yes. Goofy and full of attitude and the ability to wind everyone up at the same time. But he’d also spend hours listening to their troubles, he could sift through a thousand emotions and pinpoint the root cause of a problem, and he never judged; not really anyway. Not when it mattered.

It’d taken her a while to see it. Survivors guilt, he called it. Sam had figured it out when after her seventh mission she’d confided in him, explaining how she still felt like an impostor when out on the field with her father's team.

“It’ll ease with time. But I’ll keep reminding you, we’ll all keep reminding you that you have earned your place here. We don’t keep you around because of him. We need you here because of who you are.”

His words played in her mind every time she boarded a Quinjet, like a mantra. And eventually, it did ease. Caroline stopped feeling as though she was trying to fit into her fathers metaphorical too-big boots. Because she wore her own. And they fit just right.

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deanky · 4 years

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Here are some little like ‘reviews’ of all the Oingo Boingo albums... Under cut LOL... I just like to talk about Oingo Boingo I am so obsessed right now they have become tied for Mr. Bungle as favorite band... But anyways... Hope you enjoy ^_^

Only a Lad: Very fun sound as a whole. I enjoy how like poppy and synthy it is and stuff and that one weird electronic voice Mr. Elf man does in like every song. I remember like actually not liking most of the songs first time I heard it and I’m not sure why because I enjoy 9/10 out of them a lot now... But then again I like almost never really like an album the first time I hear it LOL I have a mean soul. A lot of the songs have pretty evil words in them but I have like slight respect for how much hatred Danny Elfman seems to have had for everyone on the entire planet at the time of writing. And for the majority of songs I cannot really complain about because I think it fits theme of like very happy sounding song but nasty words in it duality of man and such. Only one I really do not like is Capitalism because it has the whiniest lyrics of all and also it just does not sound good like as a song I think I am sorry. I must say it. Forgive me. I was so thrilled hearing Nasty Habits for the first time because I really like songs that sound like a homosexual cartoon villain would sing them to you. Well that’s all. Only a Lad itself was one of the first songs of theirs I heard except sped up and it had a picture of anime Bart Simpson on it. I like it. Good song. Recently I cannot stop getting it and Little Girls stuck in my head. That’s all

Nothing to Fear: Everything about this album is sooooo sooo good it is like so incredibly catered specifically to my tastes. One of the few albums I have loved immediately as soon as I heard I finished listening for the first time and was immediately like oh this is going in my favorites. I add some points also for absolutely incredible beautiful cover art it’s got weird colors weird animals logo made of worm things it’s so beautiful it makes me want to cry. I think it gets SLIGHTLY weaker in its second half but that is hard not to do with albums. That said though a lot of songs that I felt were slightly worse at first have risen to being my favorites of the album like Why’d We Come and Reptiles and Samurai. Didn’t know what to think about Running on a Treadmill at first but I think it works very well in its simplicity and it is very catchy I can imagine people like singing it on actual treadmill and like jumping around abd being in zero gravity for some reason it is like that music video where they are in the plane but it is treadmills. Well, hi. The only ones that feel like slightly slightly worse to me are Whole Day Off and Islands but I think I am growing to like both of those a lot more too. My favorites though are Grey Matter and Insects and Wild Sex and also Nothing to Fear the titular song and Why’d We Come and Reptiles and Samurai which is over half of the songs so I think that’s good. I remember listening to Private Life like 5 times before listening to the rest of the album but I always forgot how it went immediately after not sure why because I’d say it is a reasonably catchy song. Anyways INCREDIBLE album. Rude lyrics? Still a thing but tend to be much more agreeable like it is obvious who is being made fun of in like Grey Matter and Nothing to Fear and I say the fun making is well deserved! Even though I may be the target of Grey Matter I understand and I am sorry. The general sound is also amazing I LOVE all the weird noises and metal stuff and clanks and clonks and all the xylophone. Dude the xylophone is so good. Synth and xylophone and guitar they are all best friends and they sound so cool together and I think xylophones should be more widely used in like “pop” music as a whole whatever that defines. I keep wanting to start a band and just play xylophone. Like what’s anybody gonna do to stop me? I love xylophone. That’s all

Good for Your Soul: I wasn’t so impressed by this one the first time I heard it but it quickly wormed its way up to a very close #2 and possibly even tied with Nothing to Fear as my favorite album of theirs. The album art on this one is also really good I will say! I felt like slightly let down at first by it just because it’s so hard to live up to how beautiful of a cover Nothing to Fear has in my mind. But its art is so cool too. Muscle man in wobbly world. What’s more to love (Side note I enjoy the song Wobbly World it is not an Oingo Boingo song it is by Devo I should listen to more Devo.) The first time I listened the only songs that REALLY jumped out at me super hard were No Spill Blood and Fill the Void, and I think those 2 are still tied as my favorites. I LOVE the whole like rhythm No Spill Blood has going on and the weird animal noises and also the lyrics they are not about Animal Farm they are about The Island of Dr. Moreau he did those surgeries don’t you know he made the animals have to be men and they were like are we not men but they didn’t say they were Devo sorry I keep talking about Devo in this Oingo Boingo album review. And BTW Fill the Void also is really great and has possibly my favorite set of lyrics in any song ever to exist which is the part like “Every little thing is a piece of a larger thing / Every little fish is a tyrant of the sea / Every little atom is a master of his family / Every single piece calls my name / What do they want from me?” It is so good it makes me go so insane I love it. Another song that works really well in just being a simple thing. It is so nice and cool it feels like being in space and you are in one of the levels of one of those Kirby spinoff games where he’s like a ball and you’re rolling him around NOT Canvas Curse the other ones like Dream Course I think. Anyways though while I wasn’t super big on all the other songs they ended up like slowly coming back into my head one by one until I was obsessed with all of them. First it was Pictures of You. Then it was Nothing Bad Ever Happens to Me (would put that in my top 3 as well) and then Dead or Alive and then Little Guns and then Cry of the Vatos and then Wake Up It’s 1984 and then Sweat and then the titular song AND Who Do You Want to Be it was like. Wow. What a world. WDYWTB + Good for Your Soul + Sweat were the 3 that didn’t really do it for me as much for a while but now I’ve been really enjoying them too so I think I can say I love every single song on this album. It is becoming my best friend. It’s sooo good. It feels like living in one of those fake Utopian cities and there’s actually something sinister going on behind the scenes. Like I will start seeing colors and freaking about it any time soon. Random memory that unlocked in me is that I used to be incredibly obsessed with The Book Thief and its concept of death when I was in like 6th or 7th grade like uncannily so but I never talked about the book ever I just hid it away in my mind. My sad story. Sorry everyone. That’s all

So-Lo: This one is technically just Danny Elfman but you know it is an Oingo Boingo album man they got the whole band there they were just having licensing issues because new label and stuff is my understanding. And they were like. Well let’s take advantage of this and do some less standard Oingo Boingo songs. That is how I grasp this situation I don’t know how correct I am her I actually don’t know that much about O.B. outside of the songs at this point I still cannot name any non-Danny Elfman member and I am really sorry for this and must learn to atone for my ways. This is a good album though. Once again has really good cover art I will say. It’s like well hello there Mr. Elf man you’ve got some eyes sliding off your face and some funny colors and are controlling some little puppet things maybe it’s like you do you man LOL am I right or am I right! I like this album. This was yet another one where I listened the first time and was like. Man I’m not really feeling it with any of these songs. However I do enjoy that they all sound kind of like they were recorded on a Sega Genesis. I mean it does have very Genesis-y noises I know this was the 80s and it would be more accurate to say the Sega Genesis soudns like this album but you know what I mean. Anyways nothing grabbed me at first but upon my second listen I became extremely obsessed with the song “Go Away” and then listened to it on repeat for 2 hours straight and it still hasn’t got old for me I still like it very good song. Definitely my favorite. Tied with Everybody Needs which is also a very fun song I became similarly enamored with like a day later but didn’t listen to quite as much LOL. But anyways I went through that oh-so-familiar process which I must warn you is also the process I go through for every single album after this! - Where all the other songs started worming their way into my head and I was like oh brother I am beginnign to like them all now! Good for Your Soul, I think, marked like more obvious change from songs tending to be like “This is what Danny Elfman thinks of the world phrased in a humorous way” to more like actual stories and stuff, although the former wasn’t rid of entirely and the latter hadn’t just popped up or anything. But I think this album continued that in a really nice way and while it can be vague, listening to it I always feel that there is like one solid story all the song narratives go throughout. Someone pointed out in like Youtube Comments that Go Away feels like the sadder side of Cool City and to me it feels like the whole album is kind of in that vein. Seems to me like all the songs are in the Cool City itself and you’re seeing like the various different horrible things that go on in that town and horrible people that live in it. Yknow? Like Tough as Nails and Everybody Needs make me think of like various awful weird a$$ holbs living there and then stuff like Sucker for Mystery and Lightning and It Only Makes Me Laugh. Well they are clearly from the perspectives of some guy. The same guy? Maybe maybe not I don’t feel like they are the same guy. But it feels like they are like experiencing weird horrible sh*t in this horrible town that is filled with racists but also gay people. I like this album I enjoy it

Dead Man’s Party: OK I am sorry to say. This is a good album but it hasn’t COMPLETELY grown on me yet. But I DO like it a lot. I enjoy it it’s good. I really really love Just Another Day and the titular song and Heard Somebody Cry and Nobody Lives Forever and Weird Science which is over half of them so not bad all things considered. And I do not DISLIKE any songs. But the other ones haven’t quite grown on me yet. This album does kind of shift into like the more commercial stuff it’s not like generic pop or nothing. But it is like slightly strange to get used to. That said. The songs I like I REALLY like thye are so good. No One Lives Forever is an incredible incredible song just like Nasty Habits it fulfills my love of songs that sound like they are being sung by evil guys in cartoons but are not they’re actually being sung by Danny Elfman who is an evil guy in real life. Sorry I didn’t mean it he probably is not that evil I’m sure he’s perfectly nice Mr. Elf man if you are reading this I apologize. Anyways though. I like the general sound of this album I will say! I think though it has thing going on where like, in my mind, some of the songs feel like way too happy and overly peppy almost like mocking. I have a weird mind and a weird way of processing things and I am also incredibly afraid of everything on this planet so keep that in mind BTW I am sorry. But like Stay and Fool’s Paradise and Help Me and Same Man I was Before all have that kind of feeling to me, it’s like these are so cheerful and cheesy sounding to me it kind of scares me a little bit. However... I am starting to feel this less with Help me and Stay, and also I felt this a little bit with Heard Somebody Cry at first as well and I no longer do. So maybe I’m still going through the motions of song-liking as I do. As I said though the favorites on here are incredible. Weird Science may have been written for strange movie deal and they may be really saddened by its memory or maybe just the music video’s memory but it’s a very fun song nevertheless. Dead Man’s Party itself it really fun true classic. Very orange song to me. It’s orange and purple like I hear it and I am like ah yes I am experiencing orange and purple. Very nice shades of orange and purple though, and they are mixing together in pleasing ways and throwing a big party and everyone’s invited you might even say it’s a dead man’s party heh heh heh (grins devilishly). I think this like takes the kind of narratives in Good for Your Soul and So-Lo and like takes it to best form! In that it has a very clear yet not super specific narrative going on throughout the whole album, I really like whenever an album has songs set up so pleasingly and nice like that it makes me sad when they’re just like in random order. But of course this album is all about death and accepting it and stuff and like all the different feelings of sadness and happiness and stuff that all go into it! And I like its message a lot, like obviously you shouldn’t want to die but don’t fear it. It has a very nice depiction of the afterlife. I like all the stuff in Beetlejuice and Corpse Bride with their similar interpretations too although Beetlejuice isn’t quite as positive about it LOL. I want to watch Corpse Bride again. I want to see another singing Danny Elfman skeleton. I want to see the Peter Lorre worm. My one complaint with the album narrative is that Weird Science goes at the end it kinda ruins the whole story a little bit but I can’t fault them because like where COULD they put it? I think it might work kind of well as the first song because like trying to make frankenstein guy before all the accepting death stuff makes sense. But also. It would be a weird opener. Also the album art is so incredible I love it I want to join their party it’s beautiful. I did not mean for this review to get as long as it did. They just keep getting longer each album I’m sorry the length does not show my opinion but I just keep getting more excited each album

Boi-Ngo: Will admit this one is my least favorite. And once again my bias shows because it has cover art I don’t like very much. It’s just real guys looking at you. Where’s the funny Oingo Boingo touch where’s the charm people!??!? it makes me sad. And also, as a whole, while I DO like most of the songs I feel like I don’t like them as much as I like any of the ones on other albums, and it also has my least favorite song I’ve heard other than Capitalism which is We Close Our Eyes sorry I’ve seen a lot of people who really like that one but it just scares me. It feels so insincere to me it makes me feel that thing once more where it’s like this song is waaayyy to happy and peppy to not feel like it’s kind of sinister deep down. I apologize. It is a fun album however! I think it kind of goes back more to “Danny Elfman’s humorous observations about life”, which is not always a bad thing, but it seems to revert a little bit too much back to like him just being kind of whiny and not making much of a point in like, say, New Generation. Although it is a nice song I think! It scares me when he goes like now he’s got you by the balls. I understand the point of that lyric. But it frightens me. I think my favorites are Home Again, Elevator Man, Not My Slave (although lyrics feel like slightly concerning), Outrageous, and Pain. Which once again is more than half the album so shows what I know complaining about it this whole time.

Dark at the End of the Tunnel: I feel bad for this album because before listening to it I always forgot it existed, like I listened to Boi-Ngo and was like aw man I only have one album left! Oh wait nevermind I have 2. And now I keep fearing there’s another one I forgot not including like the live albums and singles stuff. Maybe there is.... haunting me But anyways... I already did like incomprehensible post talking about this one earlier LOL which inspired me to do more equally incomprehensible things on all the other albums hence this post. So I’ve already said a lot of what I have to say about this and hope not to repeat it too much... but... LOL I was so afraid wondering if I would actually like this one or not... I wanted to just because of how awesome the cover art is. And I was afraid because I wasn’t really a big fan of most of the songs at first. But I think with this album and the whole Boingo era they were moving towards like more orchestral stuff and changing their sound and all... So it was a bit strange to get used to at first but the more I listened the more I enjoyed everything I guess like taking in all the instruments and textures and what not. A lot of the songs in this one also feel like kind of creepily cheery but I think it works best for this album specifically, because as I’ve said before it feels very intentional - there is like whole dual thing of more dark mysterious sections and light-hearted happy sections in most of the songs. Although my top 3 are all songs that mostly just have the former going on... Right to Know, Long Breakdown, and Run Away. I also really enjoy When the Lights Go Out, Skin, Out of Control (though it still feels like vaguely scary to me LOL), and Glory Be... But I keep finding myself getting all the others stuck in my head as well. So still growing on me LOL! I am beginning to appreciate all the other songs more for those cheerier parts as well yknow... I think this whole album has a very fantastical vibe to it LOL but definitely like, a very old fantasy. Like they discovered this album in a giant wizard’s tower like ten thousand years ago and now it’s been unearthed again. But it was created by a child wizard who was like 5 years old. But still had a wizard beard. That’s the guy on the cover I’ve decided. Little wizard from long ago. However... It does feel like it’s kind of setting up something. Like all the songs do... whole album is good but feels like it’s kind of a preparation for the next one. Which doesn’t make it bad! Just like I feel like it’s kind of part of a set... Incomplete on its own yknow? I would probably rank it in my lower 4 of all the albums but I’ll still say I enjoyed it quite a bit, that is no insult. And I like wizards

Boingo: This album is SO good dude. I’m glad this is what they left off on. Really great finishing album... I have a weird timeline involving this one because it was actually the first album I listened to, my dad showed it to me, but I only ever listened up to Lost Like This before very recently and by recently I mean today and I am still listening to Changes for the first time as I write this which is probably a bad idea but I am doing it anyways. Anyways though... The first O.B. songs my dad showed to me ever were Insanity from this album and Dead Man’s Party the song, and despite how different their two sources are they both have extremely similar structure I think. And so I kind of painted this picture of like all Oingo Boingo songs being similarly structured around 6-7 minutes and mostly repeating the same different sections in slightly different ways. And I am pleased that this album kind of fulfills that - a lot of the songs are like 2-3x longer than they really need to be but I enjoy that because I love long songs. As I mentioned earlier, DatEotT feels like it’s just the beginning of something, and this provides a very satisfying ‘second half’. I think it works well by itself too, though! Boingo marks such a big change musically from everything else before even DatEoT but it somehow stays very true to their old spirit anyways.. But everything feels so much grander and I really like it. Almost every song has a pretty wistful melancholy feel but at the same time ALSO almost every song but like a different set of almost every song is very big and bombastic. So it definitely has that “well this is our last album goodbye” feel to it. But it’s OK. It’s like a big grand finale. If there was a like an Oingo Boingo musical that had every single song for some reason and lasted like 10 hours I feel like the other albums could be switched around the whole thing regardless of their actual releases, but this one would HAVE to be last. Adding to that, I feel like it really like takes a lot of the earlier concepts I’ve liked a lot in previous albums and had them return. Like So-Lo, many of the songs have pretty different narratives, but all feel like they can be one loose intertwined thing. Pedestrian Wolves and Lost Like This definitely feel connected for one... and like Insanity and Changes provide like nice bookends where the first is like analyzing the world around us and then the second is analyzing the self. Side note. Danny Elfman is always referring to himself as stupid in Oingo Boingo songs. And sometimes it’s just like PoV character or something. But it ticks me off a little bit because he is like clearly not stupid he is like a crazy evil genius. But ALSO I’m not really sure what exactly the whole story of Boingo is, but it just feels connected in some sort of mysterious way yknow? Maybe it will appear to me later... If Dark at the End of the Tunnel was created by a little five year old wizard ten thousand years ago, this was created by the same wizard when he was reaching the end of his life and was in the wizard’s nursing home in like the 1920s. It still feels like mildly aged, there is SOMETHING about it that feels like it’s meant to be played on like an extremely old awful record player, but it has a much more modern feeling. It almost feels like another interpretation of the afterlife... Maybe that more Beetlejuice kind where it’s just like real life at first but if you peek around the corner you’ll find all the weird sandworms and colorful ghosts and stuff. Anyways though. This album is so good. Not my favorite right now, but definitely in top 3, like at the moment of writing this I would say. #1 is Nothing to Fear. #2 is Good for Your Soul. #3 is Boingo. But I am loving it soooo much on my first actual full listen even though I’ve had time to like absorb half the songs already admittedly. So it might end up being my favorite after all! I think my 3 favorite tracks also on this are Insanity, Lost Like This, and Hey!. Random completely unrelated parallel to my other favorite band. I like that they have a song called Hey! and Mr. Bungle has a song called Hi! It all fits together. And they both have the exclamation point. But anyways ALSO since I’ve only finished listening for the first time Changes finished while I was writing this BTW. I am still figuring out my opinions on the rest of the songs. Don’t think the I am the Walrus cover QUITE does it for me, I like Spider and War Again but not sure if they’re favorites. I hated Can’t See/Useless the first time I listened but now I like it how about that! ONE MORE thing I like about this. Is its songs feel like continuations of stuff in other albums. Although that may just be because of similar themes! Like, War Again feels like a continuation of both Nothing to Fear and Little Guns but it’s about similar subjects to both. And Tender Lumplings, Little Girls, no real explanation needed there. Insanity and Nasty Habits match up pretty well, with both just being like about hating the world although Nasty Habits is more specific than that LOL. Mary is a girl who is unfairly ostracized, Johnny of Only a Lad is a boy who is unfairly praised, you know. And also one more thing ONE more I know this one ALSO kinda has the classic Danny Elfman yells about things stuff going on but I feel like this is the album where it works best. But maybe I am just a hypocrite. OK that’s all. Hi

#definitely going to delete this later LOL I get embarassed #but i had fun writing all this incomprehensible stuff

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maidenxfmight · 4 years

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penny for your thoughts

Tagging: @jeangrcysummers & Kara When: The day the siege started Where: Central Park (it all happens in Central Park) What: Jean tries to understand why Kara has changed. Warnings: Blood mention, death mention Word Count: 4,231

JEAN: Something was wrong. Something was wrong far beyond the general anxious gnawing Jean had at her gut since the United Nations meeting gone wrong, since Mystique dropped that man to the ground and Jean was left wondering what kind of army she’d signed up to, what price she would pay for achieving freedom for her people -- that was if this plan of Erik’s actually worked. If they got to the end of this and still had nothing to show for it, what would Jean do then? What would the next step be?

The future had never seemed so uncertain, and Jean was the woman who had died more times than most of the students could keep track of.

In the midst of the chaos of her life, there had always been lynchpins, points of contact, anchors that she could come back to. Scott. Rogue. Illyana. Erik, when he returned. Charles. Kara. Kara Danvers, who looked her straight in the eye and said that the Phoenix, what it made her do, changed absolutely nothing about their friendship. Kara who provided a home, right from their first meeting. Kara, who made Jean feel like she was alive again, instead of masquerading in the place of a ghost.

Kara, whose aura she could pick up on, even dimly, across cities, countries, continents. Kara, who Jean knew like the back of her hand.

Kara, who had changed. It was a dangerous move, to return to the Institute and use Cerebro to search for her. It was putting people at risk, it was opening up the shield to potential Sentinels, it was stupid by all tactical considerations -- but love made people stupid. And Kara was someone Jean loved, someone she considered family.

As it turned out, she could’ve just looked at the news.

Central Park. It couldn’t be anywhere but Central Park.

(Bullets flying, blood staining the grass, that sound of a disembodied scream that turned out to be her own, an Enforcer falling to the ground and then disintegrating into dust.)

Jean swallowed all of that back, landing lightly on the grass.

“Supergirl,” Jean called out, allowing the name to reverberate through psychic channels, too -- but she couldn’t get through. Kara’s natural immunity seemed to have been bolstered, shifted in the past few days. “It’s Jean. Can you hear me?”

KARA: Somewhere overhead, a helicopter beat a sharp staccato against the mid-afternoon sky. Kara could hear each blade as it spun, the heavy, rapid breaths of the news crew in the cabin. Their lens made a soft scrape as the cameramen spun to zoom. Their hearts beat too fast: scared.

She was a reporter, she knew what message was being broadcast to the world. Another superhero out of control, more collateral damage, more reason to control them. Her fingers curled into her palm, her head tilted to the helicopter as it circled above her. At one point, she may have written a story about how they misunderstood, but now...

She was tired of trying to convince them. They didn't care that she was a refugee, that she liked chocolate pecan pie, and she considered herself a Gryffinpuff. They didn't care that Gabbie just wanted people to look at her like she wasn't something to fear, or Peter had a right to his identity. They didn't care that Scott died in love not too far from where Kara stood, and Jean only ever wanted to love him back.

They didn't care. They only cared about what they could do. And in that moment Kara could do so much. She thought about wrapping her hands around the landing skids and dragging it back to Earth. They metal would give so easily. She could...

Jean's voice broke through, more than just aloud. Something prodded at the edge of her consciousness and her thoughts derailed. Her gaze dropped, squinting to find Jean landing on the grass just through the trees, and she smiled. She caught, just for a moment. No one had approached her since Alex the night before, and there was Jean. Of course there was Jean.

(A part of her screamed, if anyone would understand what was happening, how her mouth formed words she didn't want, how her hands had pulled apart struts even as she fought so hard not to–)

She was in front of her in a moment, "This is awfully public of you. Are you here to try to talk some sense into me, or is this just a check in?"

JEAN: Everything was supposed to be coming together. The rest of the city was living life on a knife’s edge, never entirely sure of where the next chess piece would move, but Jean was on the inside of this one -- she knew where she needed to go, knew what needed to happen, knew that the outcome would be the same even if they were forced to improvise on the finer details for part of the way. This was supposed to be, at least for her, the wind down. It was supposed to be where everything slotted into place, where the gnawing anxiety that had been building in her chest since Central Park started to wane.

Instead, it felt like everything was falling apart.

The first person she thought of when this happened, naturally, was Kara. Kara, who maintained something of a distance from her life in the Institute, who represented someone outside of mutantkind who looked at Jean and saw all of her and accepted her anyway. Kara, who was her friend, her sister, her family.

She didn’t realize until she investigated further that those bridges falling weren’t the work of the Brotherhood, or the defected X-Men. She mentioned it, albeit briefly, to Scott, who knew nothing -- enough of a warning bell that she knew asking Erik would give her nothing but more questions. So she investigated for herself.

And now she was standing face to face with Kara, and her voice didn’t sound like Kara. It didn’t feel like Kara. This force pressing back on Jean’s psychic push, the natural Kryptonian immunity seemingly bolstered by something that wanted her out, that wasn’t normal. Jean never looked deeper into her friend’s mind than she was asked to -- but the option was there. The option was there because they trusted each other. Jean hoped that would stand by her now.

“The latter,” Jean replied, “unless you feel like you need some sense. I’m not entirely sure I’m the right person to give it.” After all, what had she done for the past few weeks that indicated she was good at thinking things through? Every action Jean took only seemed to lead to more problems, or encourage those around her to take a situation and make it worse. “What are you doing, Kara?”

KARA: There was something nagging on the edge of her mind, and she knew it was Jean. It was different than the fight she'd been waging with herself for days. It was different than Alex and her gun, or Lar and his papers and that look. It was something she didn't feel very often, not even with Jean, who respected her boundaries better than most.

It meant Jean didn't know, and oh, that was interesting. Maybe Erik did have something he couldn't stand to lose.

"I'm–" Failing, somehow. Thoughts slipping one over the other, unable to grasp more than the ones that hurt. And Jean was right there, pressing in. Somewhere Kara screamed; she could imagine Jean pressing each bad thought down, one by one. Untangling the web so she could just think, just for a moment. She could apologize, or run, or fling herself into space until she didn't feel as much like tearing the whole world down to make a new one. But red outlined her veins and the screaming was smothered.

"I'm remodeling." She spun with a grin, squinting at the buildings around her until New York was nothing but skeletons. The bridges in the distance were warped steel and iron, and smoke rose steadily from various incidents throughout the city. She settled on one building, seventy-stories high, the inside wrecked. "I think L-Corp is a bit of an eyesore, don't you?"

Erik had cautioned her to wait, and her mind easily wavered from Lena. Jean had been at the United Nations. Jean had been on the news, she didn't flinch. Kara wondered if she was following orders, or if she believed just as passionately as Erik. Or if, like Kara, their goals would only run parallel for so long.

"I'm doing just fine, Jean. Having the time of my life, actually. Don't you have better things to do?"

JEAN: She didn’t enter minds without permission. She did, once, a long time ago -- she was a child without a notion of how to control these new abilities, and everyone’s thoughts blurring into hers. Sometimes they were like bulls in a china shop, tearing through her memories, their psyches confoundingly present. Other times, it was far more sinister. Their ideas, their concepts, slid into Jean’s thoughts and wrapped around her own mind. They made her feel as if they were hers, and before long, she didn’t know what was really Jean Grey and what was something else.

Maybe that’s why she was the ideal host for the Phoenix in the first place. Maybe that’s why days and nights disappeared into darkness, why she woke up in the morning and knew, instinctively, that she had been somewhere, done something, that she couldn’t pinpoint. Jean knew what it was like to be in the backseat of her own body, screaming that they were headed for a cliff, powerless to stop it.

She didn’t know why she was thinking of that now. She didn’t know why Kara -- her friend, her sister, bridesmaid at her wedding and co-parent to her cat -- would be pushing back this ferociously now, why her voice would be sharp where it had once been warm, but jumping immediately to something like that…

It was paranoia, from watching Erik. Paranoia, from seeing how Scott was growing more and more obsessed with plans, staying awake late into the night, seeming almost startled when she passed him a cup of coffee. Paranoia from seeing herself.

But this wasn’t Kara. Jean pushed just a little more as she stepped forward -- and pain rippled through her own temple. Resistance. Strong resistance. Kryptonian level resistance if Kara was really trying to keep her out.

“What kind of remodeling?” Jean asked, keeping her voice casual, as if she was asking her friend for a Starbucks order. “You know I’m not great with interior design, but maybe you can let me in on it.” She followed Kara’s gaze towards the skyline, still keeping her form in the periphery of her vision, and saw the familiar logo. “Well,” Jean said, thinking back to Erik’s rage about Lena Luthor, about the Sentinels, about what she had said on the matter -- that the woman deserved what she got.

Jean wasn’t so sure about that, now.

“I can think of worse places,” Jean commented. “Luthor … you’ve spent time with her before, right?” Supergirl always seemed to be there when Luthor needed help. Jean wasn’t going to act like that was a coincidence. Kara turned back to her, and Jean sucked in a breath. It was uncharacteristic, a bit like a slap in the face, but she could take it.

She could take it now she knew what she was dealing with.

“You’re not yourself, Kara,” she said, simply and firmly. Her voice softened as she continued. “I know what it feels like, to be … to be angry. Believe me, I know. But I can help you. I can help this all go away, you just need to let me in.”

KARA: "On Krypton, we didn't have all of these blocks. Our buildings curved." She could almost see it, tracing the bend of her family home with a finger. Her voice was almost gentle for the first time in days, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She didn't want to see it anymore. She was so tired of painting Krypton in shades of red and orange, of covering her canvasses and hiding them in corners because Rao forbid someone were to walk in. Someone who didn't know. Someone who didn't agree.

The sky was blue, and the buildings were blocks, and Kara was still the last one who cared.

"I could see all of them from my bedroom window, all the pods, the lights." She paused, her hand dropping to her side. For a moment, her veins glowed red, her hands clenching into fists. "We also didn't hate each other just for being who we are."

She caught again on L-Corp tower. There was so much about this world she'd grown to love. It was amazing how so much of it could be erased in moments. Just one word, built upon one too many missteps. She didn't want to remodel. She wanted to tear it all down. She wanted to dig her fingers into steel until it warped and tore. Again and again until the world broke or she did.

Jean might know what it meant to be angry, but their anger came from different places. It aligned at times, of course. They both lived in a world that punished anyone who dared to be normal. They both knew what it was like to hide. They both hurt in ways that couldn't be described or quantified, it just was. Jean was born into a world that had already decided she shouldn't be there.

Kara could still remember a world that had loved her, and she lost it. And she never had a choice.

She never had a choice.

"I'm more me than I've ever been." She looked to Jean again, eyes traced in glowing red. One hand lifted to rub at the slight prick at her temple, taking a step closer. "I'm finally helping myself. I'm– stay out I don't need you, Jean."

JEAN: Jean couldn’t read her friend’s mind, couldn’t get past the invisible wall that she’d formed between them, and she’d always promised herself that when someone said no she would listen. When a friend looked her dead in the eye and said get out, she would. Telepaths had an even greater responsibility than most mutants, she knew that — and she also knew that right now, she had a responsibility to her friend, to her fall, to the city, to bend some of those rules without breaking them.

“It sounds beautiful,” Jean replied, voice thick. “Maybe you can show me those memories, sometime. I would love to see it.” Life had been so hectic since their respective secrets came out. Jean learned Kara’s identity in a hospital room when they were uncertain if Alex would even wake up. Kara learned about the Phoenix over orange juice only a few weeks before the world fell apart. They knew each other, but they hadn’t had time to talk about it, not really.

Jean knew that look in Kara’s eyes. She’d seen it reflected in the mirror a million times — and she’d seen it in the faces of her husband and mentor in the past months since Central Park, too.

Was it the bird? For a brief second Jean reached to her, but the flames didn’t lick against her skin. There was energy here, palpable and unnatural, but not cosmic fire.

“Okay,” Jean said, taking a step back, hands up as she moved. “You’re doing what you feel is right. Why don’t you tell me what that is, Kara? We can fix this, together. We can fix all of it.” Jean sucked in a breath, letting the silence sit between them for only one tense moment. “Burning the world down,” she started, “will not bring you peace.”

KARA: "Then what is supposed to bring me peace?" Kara took a step forward, brows drawn together, hands restless at her sides. "Putting on a pair of glasses, pretending to be human? Making myself less every day because if I don't someone somewhere will punish my family for it?"

Kara thought of Krypton. She thought of curved spires and the markets at street level. She thought of Rao's prayers, and how her family would recite them every night. And she felt peace, then. With her mother's soft voice guiding her through words born into her she was home. Soft and warm under Rao's light. She hadn't fully realized how much she'd missed it until Reign, and then Lar came into her life. It was something lost among the stars; she'd shifted and changed so much she'd nearly forgotten it was a part of her.

And truly, it was lost. Her family had turned there backs the moment she'd spoken Magneto's name. Lar's heartbeat had faded not long after she'd shoved his proposal against his chest. Alex held a gun to her chest. There was only Kara, and her memories, and a world that insisted it didn't want her. It didn't want her prayers, or her history, or her culture. It stole the word 'alien' and morphed it into 'roach' and wrote it on protest signs to wave in Central Park. If she was going to find peace, she was going to have to make it.

"Besides," she pulled in a breath, steady, letting her hands unclench, "Isn't that what you're doing? Searching for peace in war?"

JEAN: It had always been different for Jean. She could pass, where other mutants within the Institute were forced to be recognize for what they were, outed by their appearance or abilities that couldn’t be hidden behind measures of control. When Kara tales about a pair of glasses, about blending into human life, about denying her true self so she could live in peace, Jean understood that — but that didn’t mean she could let her friend keep going.

“I know what it’s like, keeping yourself under control. Every single day, you ... you can’t even breathe in case you take down a building with you, in case you brush a little too close to someone and ruin their life. I get that. But Kara, lashing out won’t get you anywhere. It only ends badly.” Jean had died before, when she leaned into that fear, into her anger. She had burned up on the lawn and she came back, only by the grace of an entity she still couldn’t completely figure out the intentions of. “You’re right. I am fighting a war. But I’m not doing it alone.”

Jean took a small step forward, hand up. “You are so powerful,” she said, “but your true strength always comes from the people who love you. You taught me that, more than anyone. If you want to fight, you can fight with us. We are making a world better for everyone who is different. We are forcing them to give us a place to rest. You can help with that. Don’t let the pain force you into doing this alone.”

KARA: I'm not doing it alone.

Kara's apartment had a revolving door, and it wasn't because it was a particularly nice apartment, or a convenient location. It was average, and out of the way. No, it was because for so long, Kara had loved everyone she could, everyone who needed it. She'd fostered a home and called her friends family. El Mayarah meant stronger together, it meant hope, and it was one of the few things she could take from Krypton and embody entirely. She'd crawled out of a pod and watched Kal fly away, and decided she wasn't going to let anyone ever feel unloved or unwanted.

For a moment, Kara caught. Jean had a family and a purpose. She had Scott, and Erik so obviously loved her. They were fighting for their family, for the people they loved, so they may live in a space safe for them. Late nights with tea and a purring super cat said Kara was a part of that family. But–

"I asked my family." Kon told her to get out, Alex held a gun to her chest. Kal was only ever a cape on a television screen, there only when it best suited him, and gone before she could ask him to stay. Donna was off putting the pieces she'd left behind back together, and hadn't truly talked to her in so long Kara wondered how they'd let so many miles grow between them.

She couldn't hear Lar's heartbeat anymore.

She wanted her family. Stronger together, she thought. She wanted them to understand her anger just as well as they understood her hope. She wanted to tell them about Krypton, to see the same vision for the future she did. She wanted curved spires and marketplaces that smelled of food Earth couldn't even dream of. She wanted her dad and his lab, her mom's arms around her. She wanted, she wanted all these things she could never have, and it hurt.

It hurt until she couldn't hold it anymore, and when she broke she was answered with guns and lit eyes and 'not like this, Kara.' "I asked my family, and they said no. Why don't you tell them we're supposed to be stronger together." Kara pulled in a breath, fingers flexing at her sides. "What was your goal here, Jean? Stand here and tell me I'm loved, and it'll all be okay? We'll figure this out together? It's not enough." She took a few steps back, shaking her head. Something tugged at her, something that said Jean had understood better than anyone else. Jean actually said things that mattered.

Jean had sat across from her and talked of anger, and how hard it could be to control. She wasn't just reaching a hand out because she wanted Kara to stop, she was reaching a hand out as someone who could see her, honestly see her. And Kara rallied, she tried so hard. Let her in, let her in, but her thoughts tumbled away. "Unless you have something more productive than 'love bonds us all,' I think we're done here."

JEAN: Jean was a scientist. She was a soldier. She’d been a part of the X-Men since before she was anything else, and that meant logic and pragmatism needed to be at the forefront of everyday life. In the Institute, they put a target on their own backs in order to prove to the world that mutants were there to protect themselves, yes, but also humanity — to prove that they weren’t there to propel evolution forward, or to wipe out other races in an attempt to save their own.

That meant that her heart should never outweigh her head, but it did, constantly and consistently. Jean acted on her gut far more than she did on tactical expertise or reading the terrain. She fought on her own terms, allowed the auras of the people around her to guide her actions. It was only when she took that feeling out of it that things started going wrong. When she looked at the logic of a situation, like the decades and centuries of mutant suppression and discrimination, and figured that nothing would change in her lifetime, in any of their lifetimes, that they were doomed to live half an existence for as long as they were allowed before dying a premature death. When Jean allowed herself to see only in facts, hope diminished, and people got hurt.

People were getting hurt now. That was never Kara’s intention. It wasn’t just a smiling girl in a karaoke bar that drew Jean to Kara — she knew that the second the truth came out in the hospital, and then over the island counter in her kitchen. They were more alike than they ever thought. “I can do that. We can work it out, together. You could come with me, and we could talk to them.” There was nothing that couldn’t be solved if they worked together. (Was that hypocritical to say when Jean’s family reunion turned into a civil war in New York? When what they accomplished together was only more bloodshed, albeit with good intentions?) “Your family love you, Kara. You’ve formed something here that people can only dream of. I know what you’re going through, but we are never better alone.”

There was a moment, just a split second where Jean stepped forward and Kara didn’t increase the distance between them, a brief instant where she saw something shift in her friend’s eyes. She reached for her hand, and then Kara was gone, in a burst of speed she’d never seen before, not this close.

We could follow her, a voice whispered. Jean would. She needed to. Kara was her friend, her sister, the woman she wanted by her side on the best day of her life and every day before and since. We could follow her, but you don’t want to do that.

The wind picked up, blowing through the park. The grass shifted, and Jean was back in that moment, blood soaking into the dirt.

We have other battles to fight, it said, and you need to save your strength.

It was right. (It was always right.)

It was time to pay Erik a visit.

#ff: jeangrcysummers #ff: penny for your thoughts #ref: red!k

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