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fanfics4all · 3 days ago

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Stupid Fight

Request: Yes / No This is based on this post that I saw a little bit ago from @hereforhalstead

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 487

Warnings: Mentions of a fight, but its just fluff!

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK!

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

The couch creaked beneath me as I shifted for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to find some semblance of comfort. The argument with Spencer replayed over and over in my head, the details blurring together into a mess of stubborn words and wounded pride. I knew it was something trivial, but here I was, lying alone on the couch in the middle of the night refusing to budge.

Spencer’s silence from the bedroom was haunting and I wondered if he was doing the same thing I was, lying there staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the emptiness beside him. Normally, he’s right here, curled around me, his hand resting on my waist and breathing softly against my neck. But tonight, both of us were too stubborn to give in.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to settle, but every noise in the quiet room seemed louder and every shadow somehow colder. The minutes crawled by, each one stretching longer than the last. I hated this distance, the silence that had settled between us. But I wasn’t about to be the first one to break, not tonight.

Just as I started drifting off, I felt the couch dip beside me, and a familiar warmth settled close. My heart skipped as Spencer slid beside me, one arm slipping around my waist as he pulled me close. I felt his fingers trace gentle patterns along my arm and I closed my eyes, sinking into the comfort of his touch.

“Spencer…” I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper. But before I could say anything else, he nudged my head gently, guiding it into the crook of his neck. His chin rested lightly on top of my head and I let out a soft breath, inhaling the familiar scent of him. My heart softened, and all the tension slipped away as I relaxed against him.

“We can go back to arguing in the morning.” He whispered, his words gentle but filled with something deeper.

“But I can’t take another second without you next to me.” I closed my eyes, the fight within me softening as his fingers continued tracing soothing patterns on my arm. I knew at that moment, that the argument didn’t matter. Not when he was here, holding me as though I was his entire world. I could feel his heartbeat steady and calm, lulling me into a warmth I could never find alone.

I wrapped my arm around him, burring myself closer and breathing in his scent. The silence wasn’t cold or stained anymore… it was peaceful, a promise that no argument, no matter how big or small, could keep us apart for long. And as I drifted off in his arms, I knew that in the morning we’d talk, we’d apologize, and we’d make things right. Because with Spencer, I’d never be alone, never be without this warmth and love that anchored us both.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @pettyjayy @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens @andreasworlsboring101 @reidssmile @currentfangirl-futuremedexaminer @mggstyles @satans-0-spawn @emofairygay @thesoftestwarlock @liz-owl

#fanfic #prompt #criminals minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x reader #spencer x fem!reader #fluff

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timetravellibrarian · 5 months ago

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Luffy x Reader

First time posting my writing and here it is.

Luffy x femreader

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What is a Captain without his Quartermaster?

No one ever knew the answer to that.

Where ever Luffy went, you were surely around. Same was vice versa.

But the only thing that left many bamboozled about how two opposites could be such great friends.

The both of you had met at Shell's Town. You had been attending to a headache and took a sip of some juice at a bar when the sound of yelling had irritated you.

Turning to find the resident Draco Malfoy yelling at some lanky boy around your age with a strawhat on you groaned.

Helmeppo pointed an accusatory finger at the teen and was just about to order the marines beside him to arrest the guy before you intervened. Annoyed, tired and in need of a good night's rest.

"Could the both of gentlemen take the fight outside, this place just got it's repairs done, we don't need hooligans messing it up."

The blond man turned to give you a piece of mind but his words stopped in their track when he came face to face with the look you gave him. He backed down immediately, the fight within him already taken out.

He turned to the lanky boy again. "You're lucky I'm taking mercy on you boy! My father would have had you beheaded in an instant."

You rolled her eyes at the statement and took a gulp of her juice and asking for a refill. "Thank you, Y/n."The girl nodded at the woman,

"No problem ma'am."

She could hear a pinkette speak in awe of her being able to shush the whiny man. Her cheeks felt warm at the compliment but she remained serious.

Her eyes caught sight of the lanky boy staring deeply at her. She stared back unwaveringly.

"What's your deal , Strawhat?"

He merely smiled at her before calling the pinkette to follow him to free some pirate hunter.

Later in the day she saw a crowd of people at the harbour, she moved through the crowd, a bag of her belongings in hand. She was going to sail off to another island later on.

Reaching the main focus of the crowd she saw the same boy, this time a tall green-haired man beside him. They were settling into their boat but the strawhatted boy yelled about needing to find someone first.

Once he turned to meet your eyes his eyes widened before he ran to you.

"Hey, lady. I need you on my crew!"

You merely stared at him in shock. He barely knew you and he was already dragging you towards the boat even with your protests.

"My name's Monkey D. Luffy. I'm gonna be King of the Pirates!" He declared as you sailed along with him with the man you came to know as Roronoa Zoro.

"The name's Y/n."

And thats when an unexpected friendship occured.

Where Luffy was childish and playful, you were responsible and careful. Not to say you didn't have fun. You were just more level headed.

Luffy dragged you everywhere with him. Whether you wanted to or not.

Dangerous island? Let's go!

A raging sea King was attacking, Luffy , You and Zoro would make quick work of it.

The both of you loved food. Sometimes the most shocking times would be when Luffy would give you some of the meat off his plate if he saw your food wasn't enough. Much to everyone's shock.

The permanent scowl or resting face of yours wouldnt be shown in the slightest when your captain was around. Just as when you give him advice on something he listens. Which shocked Trafalgar Law when he had given up on trying to make another well detailed plan. Soon anyone who worked alongside him knew to have you around if they needed him to properly listen. Without even a smack to the face to make him focus.

He wouldn't admit it but he would immediately wrap a rubbery arm around you when someone tried to flirt. Man nearly fought Sanji when he kissed your hand.

He knew you could hold your own in a fight, in fact you wiped the floor with anyone you fought, but he still watched out for anything.

If he wasn't nearby he'd give either Zoro or Sanji a nod. A silent order to make sure you came back to the ship alive. Unscathed was more preferred but he wasn't one to control your actions.

Whenever you let out your monsterous power, enough to cause fear in the highest ranking navy officials and pirates, he'd have his eyes on your every move, adoring even the crazed smile you'd have on your face. Bro would be cheering like a soccer mom.

When questioned by Robin and Nami about what he felt about you it was as though he were talking about the One Piece.

He didn't know he was in love with you. He just saw it as being overprotective and caring towards his friend.

When he finally understood what romance and love was when Rayleigh explained to him he merely shrugged and thought about Y/n before he realised he was in fact in love. More like he loved you for a long time. Much to Boa's dismay. But she understood when she had met you.

The most angry they had seen Luffy was whenever he found out someone had hurt you. If someone even made you cry that was when he reigned down all hell on that person.

His favourite thing to do was to take a nap beside you when he felt tired, which rarely happens. Robin would chuckle at the sight of her captain snuggled close to your side when all of you ladies relaxed on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. He looked so much at peace.

Sometimes he'd even run up to you unexpectedly, kiss you on the cheek/ forehead or even on the lips and run back to join Ussop while he's fishing.

Sanji was going through the five stages of grief at how single he felt when Luffy stood beside you, holding onto your hand.

Your first kiss together was a mess, the both of you nervous, cheeks overheating and eyes not leaving each other.

It took for someone to accidentally bump into Luffy that led to a proper kiss. ( That someone was Robin)

On some nights you'd cuddle and he'd recall his childhood with Ace and Sabo. His tears coming down slowly only to flow like a river when you cradled him in your arms against your beating heart.

You were there to remind him to takecare of himself. Not just eat a whole restaurant but to also care about his mental and emotional health.

At the end of the day, everyone all had Luffy to count on and Luffy had learnt to count on you too.

You, Zoro and Luffy were a deadly team whenever you fought by each other's side.

The Captain, the Quartermaster and the First Mate.

The heavenly trio

#monkey d. luffy #one piece #x reader #luffy x reader #fanfic #headcanon #monkey d. luffy x reader

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gynandromorph · 6 months ago

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god this shit took forever to sketch. another NofNA emulation comic. it reminds me of the midterms in secretary, for obvious reasons, but Legend is sort of an inverse secretary situation, where she is exceptional at fighting, but wants to write.

let me see what i can remember...

PS, the blue-eyed black lemur, has been friends with Legend since their mutual first season at college, as mentioned above her reference sketch... they probably became more friendly after being paired up to peer edit each others' work. PS has since graduated from college and works as a markscraft. Legend frequently commissions PS to scribe for her, not only because they are friends, but because PS is one of the few markscrafts in the area who isn't a rodent. many primates go into law or medicine. mainly Legend commissions notetaking in classes -- she is too insecure to share her stories. PS has a more relaxed, informal personality, and i tried to get that across -- i think it's relevant to why she decided to become a markscraft instead of pursuing more intense study. still, i also tried to get across that they are good friends, not just scribe and customer, particularly with the amount of touching that PS does. the impulse to touch and groom is probably innate for her as a primate. there isn't as much information about her species, but in ring-tailed lemurs, lemurs usually only groom based on the strongest bonds, rather than more communal aggregate grooming as a sort of social currency. i honestly don't know what PS would need to note during finals, but i think Legend just Wanted her there anyway.

the bird, DL, fighting the squirrel, GG, is a grey shrike. i imagine him as an average student in the middle of his education, but i think he is in the class for combat purposes, because pressure point manipulation can be incredibly powerful, more so if from a less expected species like a bird.

mr. deciding is a much more serious, no-nonsense teacher, possibly due to his specialty. when you're teaching students how to explode a kidney with a handshake, you probably just play it safe and try to put the fear of god into them before any kidneys get exploded. i wanted this class to have a much heavier emphasis on safety of the participants than the class in secretary, with a more focused goal than "who can beat the shit out of each other better." i think the goal of fighting to show off knowledge here is still Fucking Insane, but it's just. their culture, i guess. you can technically "move" your pressure points, so being able to defend yourself by utilizing this knowledge can also show off what you've retained. the mouse next to him is a proctor, who is an extra teacher brought in to judge and often write for another teacher, but primarily as a peacekeeper and bouncer. in classes where a student can theoretically totally disable a teacher by just touching them once, the precaution is seen as necessary. the mouse is probably a combat-oriented point invocation instructor.

the mandrill, MK, is a first-season or first-year student -- i assume that one class, from midterms to finals, is a season, as secretary seems to start near autumn. midterms have snow, and finals are during early spring. anyway, that's tangential. i think he's very new to the educational system. i pictured him as a medical student. in his fighting style, i made him more defensive; he doesn't really know nearly as much about attacking an opponent in a fight. he does think at least about his opponent's most immediate reactions, but doesn't have enough experience with fighting to think ahead to the degree that Legend does. you can see him make the same mistake that Legend did against Machinations, which disables his non-dominant hand. needless to say, he will probably always be aware of headbutt proximity now. he attempts to use two factures in the fight within a style meant to evoke debilitating vertigo by manipulating the connection between the occular, vestibular, and proprioceptive systems. it's obvious that he created the style from his medical classes. it is fairly empty as far as styles go. interrupted facture: nystagmus, which causes the world to spin around the opponent by involuntarily twitching the eyes back and forth. second facture: strabismus, which misaligns the pupils, primarily impeding aim. denied by Legend because a honey badger does not rely on vision or a vestibular system as much as a primate does -- not something he really considered when making the style. factures that never ended up being used: pursuit, which forces the target to follow a spinning image of themselves instead of looking where they should; and mask's lasting, which forcibly initiates saccadic masking, suppressing the intake of new visual information altogether.

the large bird is a bateleur. the mouse is just a regular house mouse. the lizard is an ornate sandveld lizard. the opponent of the lizard is a common mole-rat, also called an african mole-rat (even though most species of mole-rats live in africa). the monkey god i'm not super sure but i believe it's just a vervet monkey. the other mouse is also a common house mouse.

GG is a second-year student, which is the last year for a rodent. i think she's been kind of aimless -- she thinks incredibly fast as a squirrel, and finds solving problems in the moment to be a much more successful endeavor than trying to plan ahead. she doesn't worry about the future and doesn't ruminate on the past much. she's aware that she isn't the best ever and doesn't apply herself as much as others, but it also doesn't particularly bother her. kind of ironic, given the aesop she slops onto Legend after the fight. i imagine that she will eventually choose the name Serendipity. i tried to write her lack of foresight, but compensatory quick thinking in both fights. like the shrike, GG is a combat-oriented student. the style she briefly introduces at the beginning is called fanciful flower's delightful blight. it is based on the deadly nightshade flower and its berries -- which are toxic, obviously, and a hallucinogenic. squirrels flick their tails for many reasons, and the most common reason is simply a default flicking to attract predators. their tails are designed to "deglove" easily; if a predator lunges for their tail, which is the moving part of them, the skin and fur will tear off, and the squirrel can escape. delightful blight utilizes the attention-grabbing flicking of the squirrel's tail as a nightshade plant to induce a trance-like state. the berries represent temptations so much more pleasing than what you ought to focus on. a nice berry and a flower to smell are so much nicer than struggling in a fight. even when you resist them, they linger in your mind, and "plant seeds" when the berry falls as self-restraint is worn down over repeated abstinence from the temptation. factures induce hallucinations and nausea. she primarily uses the base rodent style to fight Legend here, but also uses base squirrel style twists, which include more acrobatics, backflipping, and contortions.

the two things that really catch Legend off-guard use limbs that she doesn't have, and most opponents don't have -- elbows long enough to use defensively, and a long, rope-like tail. she is otherwise supposed to be fairly adept at analyzing what an opponent will do, usually a few steps ahead, related to her ability to fabricate narratives quickly. you can see her also come up with a lie for kicking GG fairly quickly... she was going to say the impulse was in her legs because she was trying to move away from GG's strike.

anyway if any part of this fight is like... unfathomable i can probably explain. i've already been typing for way too long, lmfao

#nofna shitposting #partaking in the act #basically legend left her chest open because she expected GG to attempt to block #instead of considering that GG could take an offensive action instead

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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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Flame, Shadow, Beast : Prologue

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Death and mentions of torture

Comment below or message me if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Also, check out my masterlist if you would like to read my other works.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Another body dropped down from the sliver of cave light that cracked through the darkness. You were like a creature of the deep sea, formless and blind after ages spent under the immense weight of the ocean above you.

But you didn’t have the luxury of being dead along the ocean floor.

No, you were pitifully still alive.

The body hit the ground a dozen feet away from you with a familiar wet crack followed by a wretched moan.

You stood up on shaky feet, one hand pressed against the stone wall to your left as you let the sound of the poor fae lead you forward. It was a male’s voice, low-pitched and gruff in their cries of pain. With the faint light available you could make out the rich scarlet tones of his hair mingling with the blood that ran through the arteries of the floor like a river through a canyon.

“No. No… please.” The voice moaned out.

Pity sang through your chest, a painful but reassuring reminder that you had managed to hold onto scraps of your humanity with tooth and nail. You could only imagine what stories they told of the beast beneath the mountain. The beast that killed the ones who would dare defy the High Lord of Autumn, drinking power from their veins before casting their bodies deep into the stone that traced the borders of Autumn and Winter.

The male tried to scramble away from you. His legs were broken, dragging along the floor as he heaved himself forward.

“Stop moving.” You said, your voice hoarse from lack of use.

The shuffling increased.

“I said stop.”

You finally reached him, feeling your foot press up against his and the heat of his breath warming your legs. He had managed to sit upright, one hand brandishing a rock in warning.

You poured honey and softness into your voice, trying to calm him down.

“I won’t cause you pain. I promise.”

You reached out blindly, searching in the darkness until your fingers closed around his forearm. He weakly pulled away from you, but at the instant that you began to absorb his pain his shoulders slumped forward, all the fight within him leaving his body with a relieved exhale.

“What-what are you doing?” His words were slurred and wet. Blood trickled out the corner of his mouth.

“I’m taking your pain.” You said quietly.

Every word spoken at these depths sounded too loud to your ears, echoing off the silent stone. You winced as his pain became yours, shoving it into a deep corner of your heart where you stored all memories of this evil place.

“It’s one of my talents, if you can call it that.”

The Autumn soldier who’d tried so hard to run away was suddenly melting into your touch, begging you to give him some reprieve. You traced the burned skin of his back with a light touch, erasing the pain like the sea could sweep away footsteps.

“You’re one of Eris’s men, aren’t you?” You asked, although you were certain you already knew the answer, “Beron sends a lot of them down here.”

He nodded, leaning his head against your shoulder. You reached up and combed back blood-matted hair. It was short and blunt beneath your fingertips - cut with a brutal hand. The first thing Beron did was cut the hair of prisoners, robbing them of their appearance and some small measure of their beauty.

“I am.” He said.

“And how long did he hurt you for?”

The male winced, “Seven months.” His heartbeat had begun to slow in his chest now that the pain was gone.

That’s good. You thought quietly to yourself. The last male had been a prisoner for over two years.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured, feeling his soul begin to slip away as you drained him of his pain and then his power. It was the only thing that had kept you alive all this time. That and the promise you’d made yourself that if you ever looked upon the High Lord’s face again it would be with a sword against his throat.

“Tell my High Lord…” It took him a long while to gather his strength. He swallowed thickly, “Tell Eris I never betrayed him… If you can.”

“I will.” You promised, feeling your chest clench painfully at his display of loyalty.

“What are you?” The male breathed out and his body went slack.

You buried your face in your hands and began to sob.

A prisoner just like you. A soldier who was too loyal for their own good.

Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note: I always have a difficult time deciding if I'd want to be with Azriel or Eris from the ACOTAR universe. Neither character gets much screentime in the books leaving it to us readers to interpret them to our heart's content.

Around Autumn time, I especially find myself leaning towards Eris and evaluating the flaws and hypocrisy of the Inner Circle/Night Court. This angst-filled, multi-chapter fanfiction was a product of my fantasies about the characters this last month.

I've already written most of it and I am now just in the editing phase, so this project of mine will be updating every week on Wednesday evenings.

I hope you enjoy! As always, feel free to message me or comment on posts. I'm trying to be better about interacting with users on tumblr because you all seem like really cool people and I've enjoyed reading people's blogposts and fanfiction works.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck

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theres-a-body-here · 1 year ago

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Scumtober- Day 7 (Agony)

Gabriel Reyes x reader

Gabriel groaned, lying still on the bed while sweat trickled down his forehead. Each breath seemed labored as if they were being drawn through a straw. Intense pain radiated throughout his body; he tried to keep it contained within but couldn't suppress its seeping outwards entirely. A black mist was pooling on his body as it drafted onto the floor. His body was rejecting being alive, it was naturally gravitating towards its state of death. Yet the many experiments refused to let it happen. You don't think it's ever been this bad before.

Without uttering a single word, You reached out tentatively towards Gabe and placed your palm gently against his clammy skin—a silent comfort.

Gabriel snapped his head sharply towards you suddenly, causing you to flinch your hand away from him. Surprise etched across his features before morphing into irritation. The veins standing out on his neck pulsed rapidly as if he were about to explode. However, despite his initial reaction, there wasn't much left in him to muster up any real anger or annoyance. All he wanted was solitude and peace.

In response to his movement away from you, Gabriel found himself drifting further into the bed, disappearing beneath the sheets. It took several deep breaths before he managed to compose himself enough to speak. "Leave..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Just leave me alone."

Despite his protests, you slipped under the sheets beside him. Your need to comfort him in his pain far outweighed your need to obey him.

Cautiously reaching out, you touched his arm lightly, your skin cool against his feverish flesh. For a moment, neither of you moved, both lost in thoughts that seemed to lurk in shadows cast by the dim light filtering through the blinds.

"Fine," his voice cracked, barely audible even to himself. "Stay," he muttered, closing his eyes tightly against the stabbing pain behind them. He turned his head away, feigning indifference as best he could manage amidst the pain.

Despite his efforts at maintaining his wall, however small the crack might seem, Gabriel found himself giving in more than he intended. Slowly but surely, his guard began slipping as exhaustion took hold. His muscles ached from the fight within him, and even though it felt like everything was falling apart piece by piece, somehow, having someone near made it bearable.

After a few minutes, he begins to shift to face you. Gabe grits his teeth at the pain moving causes him as he lets out a few groans. He slowly wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer. Your body was flush against his as he buried his face into your neck. You hear as he lets out a soft whimper.

His body was burning hot in some places and deathly cold in others.

Despite the intensity of his physical agony, Gabriel found himself unwilling or unable to resist the comfort you provided. As he held onto you tighter, his grip loosened momentarily only to tighten again as another wave of pain coursed through him. It was a cycle that seemed endless, like living his own death over and over.

Breathing heavily, his torso rising and falling unevenly as he struggled to catch his breath, Gabriel finally managed to choke out some words. "It hurts," he murmured hoarsely against your skin.

"I know.....I know," You mutter back as tears slide down your cheeks.

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

#overwatch #overwatch x reader #gabriel reyes #reaper overwatch #ow2 #reaper x reader #gabriel reyes x reader #whumptober 2023 #whumptober #scumtober #scumtober 2023 #Overwatch 2 x reader

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dizzyduck44 · 2 months ago

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On the day McLaren took the final step in their recovery Williams showing the fight within. They will be next.

#alex albon #franco colapinto #azerbaijan gp 2024 #williams f1

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fullaccessdetroit · 2 years ago

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Society 1 Release New Single & Music Video, "The Fight Within"!

Catch SOCIETY 1 LIVE on 2023 Rise Of The Machine tour with STATIC-X, FEAR FACTORY and DOPE. SOCIETY 1’s new single, “The Fight Within” is now available on all streaming platforms accompanied by a music video. The song was mixed by Chris Collier (Korn, Whitesnake) and features the drumming of Dagon Destroyer. The music video is directed by Lord Zane and produced by Dagon Destroyer. “I’ve been…

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aimseytv · 2 years ago

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real question, how do you feel when people tell you "you saved my life", because for me it puts me in a position of where i feel like i have to be perfect for them, like i can never be sad around them or else, you know- idk its just kinda scary

when people say to me anything similar in regards to “saving them” my response is always that i had nothing to do with it. they always had the fight within them, maybe i gave them a little happiness on the rough days but they saved themselves. they owe it to themselves to give them credit for getting themselves out of a bad spot, and not to give it to anyone else because they did that!!! people surely do help on the bad days, to make us laugh and smile and remember what good times feel like, but it all comes down to you. you are the constant, and you always had what it took to pull yourself out of any rough patch you’ve had. it’s always been you!

#asksey

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warmblanketwhump · 1 year ago

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What about something with a whumpee who falls through ice?

this turned into some kind of winter epic but I hope you enjoy 😂

One minute, A's standing on the frozen lake, waving at B and C back on the shore. The next, they hear a sharp crack—and they're through the ice and underwater.

The cold feels like a thousand knives—so blinding that A can't see or feel, much less figure out which way is up or down. After a few seconds, they gain their bearings, only to feel the horrifying thud of the solid ice above their head.

Their desperate scream is muted as they hit the ice once, twice, three times, to no avail—

get me out get me out get me OUT

Their lungs burn as they fail to hold their breath any longer, and they suck in a mouthful, then another of water, colors swirling and flashing as their pleas for oxygen go unheard—

—until suddenly their fingers punch through to sharp, clean winter air. A sputters and coughs as their lungs fight to expel water, and they whirl around as they try to get their bearings, then seeing B and C waving and shouting something their ears can’t quite parse out.

A frantically claws at the ice at the edge of the hole, a pained sound escaping from their throat as the thin ice breaks every time they try to grab hold. They feel their muscles seizing up, but force themselves to keep kicking, keep fighting. They can't die. Not like this.

But as the minutes drag on, and B & C are nothing more than moving blurs of color on the shore and their limbs begin to stiffen, the fight within them starts dwindling.

Hold on, A. Come on. Hold on. Don't give in.

“A! Grab on!” A rope suddenly appears a few inches from them, and A kicks toward it with all their might. Their fingers are too numb to hold on very tightly, but they manage to wrap it around their wrist several times and give a weak tug.

“P-p-pull!” It’s a choked whimper, but B and C must hear their small voice because they feel the tug against their skin, then feel their numb, burning limbs scraping over the ragged surface of the ice as they’re dragged back to the blessedly solid shoreline.

As their trembling body meets the cold black rock of the shore, they’re consumed with the terror of what just happened. But when they take a breath to sob, they’re choked by more coughing as their body fights to rid their lungs of the frigid lake water.

B rips off their coat and wraps it around A’s quaking body, hoisting them up in their arms, gently stroking their rapidly freezing hair from their forehead. “Shhh…you’re okay. You’re okay. We’ll warm you up in no time.”

A can’t still their clattering teeth or their gasping breaths enough to respond.

————————

An hour later, A’s still violently shivering despite being wrapped in a blanket, their feet submerged in a steaming bucket of warm water, seated in the chair closest to the fire. They cinch the blanket tighter with cold, aching fingers, pulling it up over their ears and nose. The fire is banked high and crackling, but it does little to displace the bone-deep chill in their core or quiet their rattling teeth.

The first minutes after the rescue were hazy—first jostling and numb as B carried them and sprinted back to the cabin, then cold and dark, and murmuring voices, and frozen clothes peeled away and replaced with warm, dry ones on their ice-cold skin. Slowly, the colored blobs gave way to the forms of their frantic friends, wool blankets, muttered curses and sparks that turned to a healthy flame.

If only warmth would come.

The thought of getting warm was all-consuming for A as they shiver with chills. The bucket of hot water was somehow painfully hot and just not warm enough. The blanket around their shoulders was too thin, and they could still feel the icy water on their skin. The fire should be bigger. But none of the thoughts can make it out of their clattering jaw with any semblance of order.

However, as if B heard their thoughts, A feels them gently drape a second blanket around their shoulder, then feels their hands sweep up and down their back to generate warmth.

C watches them from the other side of the hearth, poking at the fire to stir the flames, eyeing A with concern. “How are you feeling?"

An honest answer bubbles up in their mind. I thought I would die down there.

Instead, they force out a weak “J-just c-c-cold,” before coughs steal their voice again. And though not their first thought, it is true. They weakly rub their arms with shaky hands, desperate to try and help B generate a spark of heat. “I c-can’t g-get warm.”

At that, B leaves and then returns to the fire with something wrapped in towels, handing it to A. “Here. This will take the edge off a bit more. You've had quite a chill.”

A clutches the warm bundle closer to their body, desperate for the warmth to permeate their core. “Th-th-thanks.” Another round of coughing burns in their chest, the lake water still unyielding. They feel B’s hand on their shoulder, rubbing gently, and they look up to see B’s concerned frown as their hand traces up to their damp hair.

“We shouldn’t leave your head wet. Don’t want you getting sick.”

A doesn’t have the energy to explain that they just spent a substantial amount of time in a freezing lake, which pretty much negated the benefits of keeping their head warm by now. But they don’t mind the feeling of B gently toweling the melting water droplets out of their hair, and they lean into the soft touch long after their hair is dried.

A figures they must look pitifully cold, because B continues to run their fingers through their hair, and C, who usually avoids most physical touch, hugs A close to them on their other side, helping them sip from the cup of tea since their hands are too shaky to hold it.

Three hours later, A’s still deathly pale, but they can manage an intelligible sentence, and their hands are still enough to curl around another mug of tea, and they’d managed to eat a little soup for dinner. What their friends can’t see is the ice that clings to A’s bones, the superficial heat unable to thaw the chill that had gripped their core. They're out of the danger zone, but they're still just....cold.

Between the exhausting hours of shivering and the events of the day, it's no surprise when their head starts bobbing, and their eyelids start feeling like they’re weighted. They’re not sure when the transition from waking to sleeping happens—they only feel someone gently lifting their bundled form off the couch to take back to their bedroom. B leaves and returns with two more blankets, draping each of them in turn over A and tugging them up to their chin. “You just rest now,” B whispers, gently smoothing down A’s hair before.

Despite the warm layers, A just can’t chase the cold out of their achy bones. Chills crawl across their skin, and they clutch the pouch of hot water closer, trying to envision themselves sinking into a hot spring, or sunning themselves in a field on a hot summer day.

A strange childhood memory resurfaces in a dream—of swimming in a frigid lake too long on a hot summer’s day and emerging blue-lipped and chilled through, of a relative wrapping them in a dry blanket and holding them close in the warm sun.

The memory is full of comfort and they long to re-enter it—but the memory frosts at the edges, and they slip out of the dream-relative’s arms and are plunged back into the lake. The lake freezes over and washes over their ankles, knees, waist as the cold seeps back in, unrelenting, unreleasing, coming from the inside out.

The black water rushes up to their neck now, but A's frozen in place, unable to move or even scream as the water closes over their head—

—and suddenly they're awake, coughing up a lung, unable to take a full breath. Somehow, they’re colder under the blankets than they were in the lake, like the lake had stolen their fire and left them an icy, empty shell. At the same time, they feel sweat prickle on the back of their neck, chilling in the cold air, and as A struggles to draw in a full breath, they get the sensation that something is very, very wrong.

The rest of the night consists of hours of restless tossing and turning, sweating and shaking, trying to stifle the relentless coughs. They wake in the early blue dawn feeling chilled and congested, chest heavy like an iron bar is resting across them. A draws the blankets closer and rubs their arms, trying to generate a little warmth in their achy bones. Everything hurts—even the joints in their fingers and toes, and there's a violent cough that burns in their rib cage every time it seizes their lungs.

The fireplace. That's warm.

The thought of heat propels A to jerk to an upright position. As the blankets tumble off their shoulders, the wintry air sends a sudden, violent chill throughout their whole body, rattling their teeth so hard they're scared they chipped a tooth. Bad idea. They scramble for the top quilt, fumbling as they wrap the precious layer back around themselves and dive back under the covers.

But it’s not warm enough—nothing is warm enough. They hug their knees to their chest and huddle under the blankets, too wracked with shudders to embark on the trek to the fireplace, too exhausted to move, chest burning, and so, so scared.

They don’t know how long they lay there, trembling and coughing, alone. They only feel the hand rest on their shoulder, then move up to their forehead to push away the damp hair, a whispered curse floating out into the air that they can see.

Why can I see words?

Why is my hair still damp?

B's face enters their field of vision, their cool hand on A's forehead.

Why is B cold?

Amid the thoughts, A hears pounding footsteps. They barely register that B is gone before B is back, dragging a half-awake C with them.

"B? What's wrong?" C’s voice is hazy from sleep, and A sees them rub the sleep away from their eyes.

"A's caught a bad chill from the cold water. And they're burning up."

"My....my chest...." A gasps out.

C comes closer, leaning against A’s chest to listen more intently to the rattling sound that comes every time A breathes, then lays the back of their hand against A's cheek. When their face is visible again, it's painted with ridges of concern.

"B, get the fire going."

"C, what's wro—"

"B, now." C's tone sends another chill down A's spine. "And get some water boiling, and those herbs from the pantry."

C's voice is so firm that B doesn't question it again, and scurries off to the main room.

Despite B not receiving an answer, A has to know. In their weak, cough-roughened voice, they rasp out two words: “What's.....happening?"

C gives a small smile, meant to comfort, which only confuses A's feverish brain further. "After your little swim yesterday, you’ve come down with a bout of winter fever."

Winter fever. The words alone send an ice pick through their heart. Winter fever makes its way through their village every year during the coldest months, stealing breath and warmth and life from too many to count. It can strike after a bad chill, or getting one’s feet wet, or even if you don’t warm yourself enough by the fire.

“Am…am I gonna die?”

"Shhhh....you'll be fine. I've helped many a relative through winter fever, and you're going to be no exception.”

A nods, still scared, but anchored by C’s confident voice.

Ten minutes later. A is plopped in front of a fire that's even bigger than yesterday, a pot of water giving off steam that casts a cloudy haze in the main sitting room. They’re nested in two warm blankets, hot water bottles at their feet and on their stomach to try and combat the constant fever chills.

C slowly peels away the layers of B’s blankets and pajamas over their upper body, exposing the skin of their chest to the cool air of the room. A grits their teeth to hide the chill that threatens to tear through them as they feel the goosebumps prickle over their whole body, squeezing their eyes shut at the painfully strange sensation.

Then, a pleasant warm feeling spreads across their chest, and A opens their eyes to see C laying a steaming towel soaked in some type of herb-scented mixture. It’s strong and pungent and not particularly good-smelling, but A instantly feels some of the tightness in their chest ease at the warmth and the medicinal scent.

“Old family remedy. It’ll ease the pain a bit and get you breathing better to get your lungs fighting again.” C nods toward B, who’s refilling a bubbling pot over the fire. “The steam will help, too.”

A coughs weakly, a sharp, rattling sound that makes both B and C tense. “Wish…wish I’d never gone on that lake,” they say, bottom lip trembling. On top of feeling awful, they’ve trapped B and C into caring for them. “Now you’re stuck helping me.”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” C’s at their side, carefully thumbing away the tear that’s slipping down their cheek. “You’d do the same for any of us. Who knows, I’ll probably break a leg hunting, or B will accidentally poison themselves with some root they think is edible.”

A tries to laugh, but a cough steals away their breath. “M’sorry for crying. The past couple days…”

“They’ve been rough, I know, love. I know.” C’s hand cups around A’s cheek, then drapes down to squeeze their shoulder. “But we’re with you. You don’t have to do this by yourself, okay?”

A nods readily, not trusting themselves to speak.

C nods back, glancing back at the fire. “It’s time to change the cloth—don’t want you getting chilled.”

A’s too tired to do more than just track C with their eyes as they move to the fire, get a new cloth, and swap out the cooling one with the gentlest of movements all while keeping A nested in blankets. They’re still feverish and achy and so tired, but the fear is evaporating as quickly as the steam from the pot over the fire.

I’m not alone.

#whump prompt #cold whump #falling through the ice #chills #fever whump #pneumonia #ALL OF IT #near drowning

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brian-in-finance · 2 months ago

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Orlando Bloom /The Cut

Orlando Bloom And Sean Ellis Talk About Star’s Transformation Into Past-His-Prime Boxer In ‘The Cut’: “He Was Willing To Have His Nose Broken” – Toronto Film Festival

Sean Ellis’s sixth feature, following the deliriously atmospheric 19th-century vampire movie Eight for Silver (2021), is yet another curveball from the criminally underrated British director. Titled The Cut, it is the story of a past-his-prime boxer who goes behind his wife Caitlin’s back to accept a lucrative comeback fight in Las Vegas. But this is not yet another Rocky-style underdog story, the kind that culminates in the ring. Instead, it is a sometimes-shocking psychological thriller, a sort of boxing procedural that details the extreme lengths that cornered fighters will go to. On paper, it sounds like Southpaw, but in reality, it has a little more in common with this year’s Cannes hit The Substance, a visceral body-horror movie about a fading starlet (Demi Moore) and her desperate drive to maintain her fame.

Sean Ellis / Getty Images

In The Cut it is actor Orlando Bloom’s turn to defy expectations. As the boxer, the former Pirates of the Caribbean and Lord of the Rings star is a revelation. He’s not entirely unrecognizable as the matinee idol of the 2000s, but, thanks to the magic of prosthetics, he certainly looks like he’s been through the wringer, and his return to professional boxing is not a sure thing. In fact, the most suspense in the film is generated by the initial weigh-in, which will determine whether he even gets to fight in his own title category at all. Caitlin (Caitríona Balfe), his wife and his trainer, can only get him so far, and when the team gets to Vegas, the boxer meets the charismatic Boz (John Turturro). Boz hooks into the boxer’s insecurities, drawing him into an increasingly dangerous training and weight-loss routine.

With the film about to make its world premiere at the Toronto Film Festival, Deadline sat down with Ellis and Bloom to discuss the film and its themes.

DEADLINE: Where did the project start? Who was attached first?

ORLANDO BLOOM: I’d worked with our producer, Mark Lane, some years ago on a movie for Tea Shop Productions. We did a movie together in London called Retaliation, but it was released as The Romans. It was another small, British independent movie production. It was brutal, and I loved the brutality of it. One day Mark said, “I’ve got another one for you,” and he pitched me The Cut. We talked about it, and I loved it immediately. I loved the idea — the premise of a boxing movie without the boxing, where the focus of the fight wasn’t the boxing match itself but rather the fight within the character, who just happened to be a boxer. I thought that was really fascinating, an interesting commentary on the way masculinity operates within that space.

We worked on the script for about a year or two with [screenwriter] Justin Bull, who was fantastic. And then we were just over the moon when Sean read it and responded to it exactly as you’d hope a director with his kind of vision would. He said, “Yeah, I see this.” [To Sean.] Right, Sean? That’s the long and short of it, isn’t it?

SEAN ELLIS: Yeah, that was pretty much it. The first time I read it, actually, was over the Christmas period [in 2022]. Mark had sent it to me, and I was interested because I’d been looking to do a boxing movie. But how do you do a boxing movie? I mean, it’s become almost a genre in itself. They’ve become so clichéd. Like submarine movies: You’ve got to have a scene with one person trapping themself in the air lock and drowning, as they tap away at the little porthole.

With boxing, you’ve got to have an impossible match that they’re not going to win, and then they either do or they don’t. And I thought The Cut was just a really interesting take on that. It was the about the preparation that an athlete goes through, and the drama of that. I thought that was so much more interesting than anything we’ve already seen in a boxing movie. I called Mark back, and I said, “It’s great.” I mean, it grabs you and it doesn’t let go. And it really delivers. It doesn’t let you down, and it really takes you right through to the end. And as OB was saying, it’s pretty brutal.

BLOOM: It’s an assault on the senses — which was kind of what it was like for me, physically.

ELLIS: Yeah. But I love cinema like that. I love it when it grabs you and shakes you. I think that’s what cinema should do.

DEADLINE: Orlando, how much did you weigh when you started the process?

BLOOM: I was about 185 pounds. [Laughs.] Sorry to use pounds and not stone!

DEADLINE: Same as the character?

BLOOM: Give or take.

DEADLINE: How did you lose the weight?

BLOOM: We worked with a great nutritionist called Philip Goglia. He started me on a program about three months prior to filming, and I tiered down from there. I was eating more food than I’d expected, in order to maintain the muscle but drop the weight. There was a sort of science to how much and how often I was eating, like having a spoonful of honey at night, things like that, to hold the muscle but lose the fat. This was three months prior to filming, so when I landed in London to start — which was about three and a half weeks before filming started — I would say I weighed about 170 pounds. I’d dropped quite a lot of weight before I came to the UK, and then in that three-week period I was basically eating five tiny meals a day. A lot of it was tuna and cucumber, and nothing else. I dropped to 152 pounds for the weigh-in scene. We shot that at the beginning of the movie, and then we shot the whole movie backwards.

DEADLINE: Why was that?

BLOOM: Philip, the nutritionist was like, “He’s not going to have any brain function or energy to make the movie.” [Laughs.] He said, “You’ve got to start with the weight loss and then feed him through the movie.” So, we shot the movie in reverse. I remember, I had this massive drop [in weight], because I was sitting at about 163 pounds for what felt like forever. And the training regime was a lot. It was two hours of cardio every day, an hour in the morning and again at night, and then boxing, and then weights, and a very limited amount of food.

I’d already started training — I’d been doing boxing training in America before I came over — and then I dropped 10 pounds of water weight in one night, which was crazy. Philip had told me about this routine that boxers do — they have a hot Epsom-salt bath. I don’t know whether it’s down to osmosis or just some weird body science, but it worked. I had a photo of myself, and I sent it to my partner and my mates, who were tracking me through this wild experience. I sent it to Sean. And then I sat in this space of that weight for about two and a half weeks before we started filming. [Pause] Is that right, Sean? I have to say, my brain is very scrambled…

ELLIS: Yeah, he came to us at his lightest weight because you can’t lose weight and work. It’s almost impossible — you can’t remember your lines or anything else. So, Phil said, “He has to come to you at his lightest, and then you need to allow him to start eating again. But that means you have to shoot the movie in reverse chronological order.” Now, chronological order is a nightmare at the best of times. But reverse chronological order is a total Rubik’s cube. We only had 25 shooting days, and, obviously, Orlando was putting weight on as we were reaching the end of the shoot, which was actually the beginning of the film. But when you edit it in reverse, he starts off heavy and then goes to his lightest point. It was a big jigsaw puzzle, but we got there.

DEADLINE: How did you feel about him losing all that weight? Did you ever feel guilty?

ELLIS: Mark Lane said, “Look, he’s really committed to this. Have a call with him and see if you guys jell,” and I did, instantly. But more than that, what I saw in OB was a huge commitment to make this right. And he was willing to do anything. I think at one point we even spoke about him going to the dentist and having his teeth filed and recapped. There was also the idea that he was willing to have his nose broken. [Laughs.] I was like, “I’m not sure we have to go that far.” But Orlando’s a good-looking bloke, and we were thinking, “How do we convince the world that he’s a professional boxer and make him look like a professional boxer?”

[British makeup artist] Mark Coulier came in and did a lot of work on his face. Mark got an Oscar nomination for Elvis. I’ve worked with him on a couple of movies and he’s just amazing. He took a head-sculpt of Orlando and then showed us what he would be able to do with him. A broken nose; fake ears that were more like cauliflower ears from the fighting; a change of the jawline — there were these “plumpers” that went into his mouth — and the teeth. The eyes as well: Mark gave him a droopy boxer’s eyelid.

I remember when I saw him sitting in the makeup chair. He had the haircut and everything, and I thought, “I buy this guy as a professional fighter.” At that point, he didn’t actually look like Orlando, strangely enough. In fact, I remember when we were shooting, there were two girls in the hotel we were using — just were members of the public — and they were waiting for the elevator to go down. Orlando was down the other end of the corridor, in his pants, and one of them nudged the other one. She whispered, “That’s Orlando Bloom.” The other one looked up and said, “Nah,” and then they got in the lift. I was laughing, because they didn’t recognize him.

DEADLINE: Were you surprised by his dedication?

ELLIS: Even from that first call with him, it was obvious that he was just so committed to this film and was willing to immerse himself. We were referencing [Irish featherweight and lightweight champion] Conor McGregor for a while, to the point where we started talking about the character being Irish, and we loved that idea. Then we cast Caitríona [Balfe], who’s Irish as well, and it made even more sense. It felt like the journey from Ireland to Vegas was bigger, because in the original script he was American, I think. Those changes came about from just me and Orlando talking about the character. I love his accent in it. Honestly, he’s not giving us an Orlando that we’ve seen before, and I love that. I love the change.

DEADLINE: Why did you want Caitríona?

ELLIS: I’d seen her in a couple of movies, Belfast and Ford v Ferrari, and her TV show Outlander. And at the point when we were having these discussions about Orlando playing Irish, I was like, “Well, let’s find an Irish actress.” So, I spoke to Jamie Dornan about Caitríona, because he’d worked with her on Belfast, and I said, “What’s she like? Is she nice? I love her movies. Is she good to work with?” And he was like, “Oh, she’s the best.” So, I got that endorsement, we offered it to her, and, luckily, she said yes. [To Bloom] It was just the three of us a lot of the time, wasn’t it?

DEADLINE: How did her casting affect the script?

ELLIS: A lot of her character was really born out of a lot of the discussions that the three of us had about the relationship that the two characters had. How their past dictated their relationship, and how it was going to dictate their future. So, it was really lovely just to work with both Orlando and Caitríona on finding those characters and really giving them life without really having to spell it out. Boz has more of a visual background, because you see him in flashbacks, but what I love about Caitríona’s character is that there’s a lot of subtext in her performance. It’s not overwritten, but you still get a sense of her life and what’s happened to her in the past.

BLOOM: I remember a conversation I had with her when we first spoke. I called her up. In the early drafts, the script was really centered on this transformation that the boxer goes through, the inner torment and the fight. And I said to Caitríona, “Look at the script as a blueprint, because there’s so much more between the lines than there is in the lines.” I really wanted the authenticity of this relationship to play. Because I think he can’t live without her. He can’t function, he can’t operate without her.

DEADLINE: In the middle of these two you have John Turturro as his trainer, Boz. It’s a very interesting part, almost like a kind of sadistic Jiminy Cricket…

ELLIS: We had many conversations about the script before John actually came on board, but I think John wanted to reassure himself that he was right about how he was going to do it. Because when John turned up — am I right, OB? — he’d fully formed that character. You said, “Action,” and John just did it. There was no, “What do you think?” He’d decided how Boz was going to be.

BLOOM: Can I jump in, Sean? What was on the page for that character was completely different to what John brought to the film. I remember sitting next to him in the makeup chair, and I was in and out of consciousness, in terms of how I felt emotionally. I was paranoid as hell. It was a really weird time, because of my mental state: I wasn’t having any food. Or sleep. I wasn’t sleeping because you don’t sleep when you’re not eating — you keep waking up.

And then he said to me, “It’s love.” And I was like, “What?” He said, “It’s a love story.” And my mind exploded. Sean was like, “Yeah, of course it’s a love story.” But his part wasn’t really written like that. He was written as a pretty straightforward character, like a drill sergeant, very aggressive. And then when he told me that, it became this love triangle in my mind. Boz was seducing me, in a way, into his web. Like, “You’re my guy now.”

Obviously, I’ve been huge fan of the man and the actor for years, and everything he’s ever done. That part could have been so generic in the hands of anyone else, but he just knew what to do. He was sprinkling magic dust all around us. I think we had that conversation on the second day of filming because we were all a bit thrown to begin with. Do you remember that, Sean? I was, certainly. I was like, “Wait, what’s going on?”

ELLIS: I remember Mark coming up to me and saying, “So, is that how we want Boz to be?” Because Boz was very much on the page as a character like the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket. I remember saying to him, “That’s John Turturro, and he’s giving you Boz. It might not be the Boz you saw on the page, but it is a Boz, and he’s absolutely made it his own.” As OB said, he’s sinister, he’s conniving, and he’s also kind of a groomer, because he understands his victim and he knows how to take control. So, he really pulled himself into this in a very insidious way, which I find very creepy and just brilliantly executed.

BLOOM: Yeah, he totally transformed what the movie could have been.

DEADLINE: You’ve got the Toronto premiere coming up. What kind of reactions are you hoping for?

ELLIS: Well, I hope they don’t throw eggs at the screen. [Laughs.] Listen, I’m incredibly proud of the film and I’m incredibly proud of the performances that the actors have given. It was just such a privilege to record them, and be present, and see them craft those characters. That’s the thing I’m most proud of when I look at it. I think it’s very strong, and it’s a drama with very strong characters.

DEADLINE: Orlando?

BLOOM: Yeah, it’s funny, when I was at drama school, I remember working on The Seagull, the Chekhov play, and there’s a moment at the end where the audience goes silent, because it’s just so uncomfortable. And I think this movie has a similar impact. It’s such an assault on the senses. And, to his credit, Sean never takes his foot off the gas. You can’t hide at any point in this movie. It’s like we strap you into a rocket, and you’re off. And there’s a lot of commentary on the way athletes — male athletes in particular — operate. Obviously we haven’t taken this from a true story, it’s fictitious. But I think it deals with very real ideas about self-worth. It’s about what people will do to fill the void that’s in their stomach, or in their soul. It’s about the lengths they will go to.

Deadline

Remember… (about Caitlin, Caitríona’s character) I really wanted the authenticity of this relationship to play. Because I think he can’t live without her. He can’t function, he can’t operate without her. — Sean Ellis

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Deadline #The Cut #2024 #World Premiere #Special Presentation #49th #Toronto International Film Festival #TIFF #Visa Screening Room #Princess of Wales Theatre #5 September 2024 #Toronto Ontario Canada #Thanks thetruthwilloutsworld

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monawasredacted · 6 months ago

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You Will Not Be Mine

“One day, the only butterflies left will be in your chest as you march toward your death, breathing your last breath”

Sam and Darlin’ stumble into the conversation they’ve avoided, the one that spurns on insecurity and uncertainty

A tiredness hugged Darlin’s eyes as they peeled themselves from the formality of the night, stripping away not only clothing, but a small portion of the stress they carried in their very weave. Fingertips pushed into their eyes and rubbing as if it would push away the weary feeling that set in their vision, Darlin' dropped themself on the couch and let their head fall back. Following in behind, Sam swept a hand through tumbling brown locks, a hefty sigh filliing the open space. Tension and tightness sucked up the oxygen between where he stood and where Darlin' sat, suffocating and all-encompassing.

Sam's eyes washed over them, and the tug of war between what he wanted to say and the will to say it raged on within. They coud feel his gaze like a wildfire, burning into them and covering them entirely. "That was...a night," Sam began, closing the door behind himself and shrugging off the suit jacket. "A night indeed," they responded briskly, opening their eyes and sitting up, looking at their fingers, their nails, every line that decorated their skin; they looked anywhere but his eyes. He felt the avoidance like a sinister hand wrapped around his undead heart, fingernails digging in and rending his chest ached. "We won't have to worry about her anymore, at least not face to face." "Yeah, you said that earlier," they mumbled, the fight within the words, but failed by their meek and defeated tone. "And I meant it. I know she can be a grade A bitch, but I could tell she meant it when she said she wouldn't go near you anymore," the imploration in Sam's words licked up the back of Darlin's neck, in a fiery anger. A cold sweat sheened their hands, braced for the argument they could feel breaking the surface tension of their delicately maintained and feigned ignorance. "I'm glad you could trust that, Sam. And I trust you. But I don't trust her. And I don't trust she won't rear her head to make another snide remark. As long as she's a Solaire, she'll be there." "And as long as I'm a Solaire, there will be times that we see her. And that will be infuriating, I know. But if we can at the very least avoid her, not have to talk with her, ever-" The surface tension broke almost cataclysmically. "That isn't the problem, Sam!" Darlin's voice rose as their body did, hands balled up and eyes already beginning to wet, not in pain but in pure, heartaching frustration, the kind of tears that sear into your cheeks as they fall. "Darlin', what do you mean? It was one of the many problems that came from that Summit, but it's not one that we have to worry about anymore. All of the other problems are ones that we will face, together. You just have to talk to me." It almost sounded like begging. Pleading. Sam's hands lay flat in the space between them, palms upright as if bearing himself for them to take and hold and open their fears with him, calmly and level headed. That's not what they needed. Level headed was, at this point, unmanageable. Not after the night they'd had. "God. She still has her perfectly manicured claws sunk into your shoulders," Darlin's hushed voice was laced with so many emotions, it was hard for Sam to know which one was at the forefront of their barbed statement: pained, conquered, hopeless. They felt it all, and it was all too evident. Their hands ran up their own arms and they hugged themself, the warmth of the room nowhere to be felt, their skin shuddering under the chill of their desolation. "And now, they're in me too," they whispered, eyes wide and terrfied. "Darlin'...please..." "She doesn't live out there, Sam. She lives in here." They pointed to their own head, before shaking it as if to rid themself of the thought of her. "That's the game she plays." Sam approached cautiously and slowly, hands now both braced and surrendered, as if Darlin' were rocked by the explosive nature and strength in their utter anguish. As if they were a few wrong words away from shattering before his very eyes. "Only...only if you let her." He was never really good with words. "Let her?" Their laugh was humourless, empty, echoing. It rattled in their chest and left bruises in it's wake, blossoming over their lungs and igniting the air Darlin' breathed. They turned, the anger now shining across their face in terribly warm tears that gave an unpleasant contrast to the cold of their skin.

"To think I'd 'let' her do anything is insane, Sam. Do you hear yourself? Better yet, did you hear her? No. You didn't. But, to recap, after being reduced to your 'conquest', the plaything of yours that you'll be sick of once I'm old and decrepit, and then subsequently called a child, Alexis firmly planted her 'Sam is always going to be mine' flag in the ground. 'I turned him because I want him' she said. The only reason I was saved from that interaction was because fucking Porter came to save the day. Porter!" Sam said nothing. Not yet. He knew their fury wasn't for him, but they needed to let it out. He turned the words over in his head, feeling a numbness in his hands, his fingertips. When it seemed they were done, their words trembling in their veins and their eyes hard on him, chest heaving with the released weight of their words, he let his mouth form the words he carefully thought out. "I could never, ever get sick of you. Your aging means nothing to me-" "I cannot live forever, Sam!"

The silence was louder than anything they could have shouted into the void between. Yet the shout was loud. It was raw, and despairing, tearing through their throat and searing into Sam's heart. The floodgates were well and truly open. "I am dying as we speak," they heaved, unravelling themselves before him desperately, bitterly. There was a venom to their words, and even as it corroded them to say it, they knew it was toward the situation they were in, not truly to pain Sam. They also knew it would pain him regardless.

"Every day that I live, that I breathe and walk and smile and cry and...fucking exist, I am marching on toward a finish line you will never see. Not naturally." Thunderous and ever-howling did the returned silence loom between them. Sam's vision blurred, and he sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. His weight sat on one hip, as did his other hand, and he tried to choke out something, anything in response. What could he possibly say to that, though? After all, the truth swallowed him whole. "Every time I think about our future, I come to a stand still, right here. At this conversation. I cannot be without you. But I cannot, forever, be with you.

I am going to die alone, Sam. That is an experience you will not share in,"

The silver in Sam's eyes glistened and caught the lamplight, chest heaving, shoulders feeling as if they could collapse him. He had all but frozen, one hand still on his hip gripping as if it were the only thing holding him upright, or stood at all.

Sam couldn’t look at them. If he did, he’d surely fall into the horrible maws of anguish that threatened to swallow him up and lock him in an eternal darkness; as was his world without them.

“Darlin’, I-,” Sam began, his voice falling from some great height and losing itself in his throat, choked up, covering his face with his hand as he let their sobs rock his own body. Something he could share in.

“To give them up- my family, and my form- is to keep you.

To remain myself is to one day give you up.”

The words latched to the open air and seem to taunt the both of them, cruelly taking delight in the joy they stole and the numbing quake they left in turn.

Finally, Darlin’ slumped into the couch once more, and buried their face in their hands, knees tucked in. They were curled up, as if holding themselves tighter could fend off the agony. How were they not empty of tears? The crying seemed as if it would never end.

“I don’t know what to do,” they whispered bleakly, and Sam could only weep harder.

#redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted darlin #redacted fanfic #redacted sam #ouch #monawasredacted

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thompsborn · 2 months ago

Text

i wish that i was homeward bound

chapter 17 - do the things that i'm afraid to do

It feels kind of like whiplash.

That’s the only way that Peter can think of to explain the past few weeks. Not because they’ve been insanely eventful—at least, not by his standards of eventful—but because it feels like the energy is drastically shifting on an hour-by-hour basis. Maybe it’s just the inside of his head that’s constantly whipping around at break-neck speeds. At this point, he’s used to shit being up in the air, but still. This is some uncharted territory.

The most familiar thing is the guilt. He’s been familiar with the taste of it on the back of his tongue for as long as he can remember, often wonders how he isn’t choking on it every time he breathes, but it’s been particularly bitter recently. Every time Gwen talks about his investigation, every time Harley mentions Spider-Man—every time he’s reminded of the fact that they’re involved, that he’s failed at keeping them out of it, that there’s no way to go back and make it so that things were different.

Most of all, every time he admits to himself that he’s kind of relieved.

(“I don’t like this,” he told her.

Gwen didn’t even blink, shuffling through the pages of her notebook with a restless energy. “I know,” she said. “But I don’t like letting you deal with it alone. We already had our drama over this, Pete, and I’m not backing down, so either we fight about it, or we work together. Either way, there’s no way in hell that I’m staying out of this.”

Peter felt off-kilter as he looked at her. His mouth felt warm with the memory of Harley kissing him not even an hour before, and his head felt unclear as he tried to think of the right thing to say that would get her back out of the investigation entirely. The best he could come up with was a flimsy and fumbled, “It’s not safe, Gwen.”

“No fucking shit,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “I’m not an idiot. I know this isn’t safe, but it’s better to put our heads together. It’s smarter. We’ll figure it out faster like this.”

There were a few options that popped up in his head—details of how many people Marcus Lyman has killed, the fact that there’s at least one more mob boss guy that they don’t even know the name of, just how big these armies are—but something in his chest had settled, and instead he found himself licking his lower lip and telling her, “Harley knows. About the, uh—the investigation.”

She looked up at him, pausing mid page flip, and smiled, something warm and teasing. “Is that what you talked about after I called?”

“Uh, no.” Peter thought about telling her about what they actually talked about—about how Harley likes him, about how they kissed—but it didn’t feel like the right time for that. “But he knows, so he can help, too.”

For a moment, she didn’t move, only blinking at him—once, twice, three times. Then, sounding hopeful, she asked, “Does that mean you’re actually going to let us help? Without fighting us on it or telling us that it’s too dangerous all the time?”

That bitterness had crawled up his throat, threatening to block his airway and let him suffer, but he thought about Harley being there for him so much since finding out about Spidey, and he thought about how his day-to-day felt easier knowing that he wasn’t entirely alone the way he was before. Part of him was terrified and wanted to shrivel up and die at the mere thought of allowing the people he cares about to keep being involved, but another part of him was weak in the knees at the idea of not carrying the weight of it by himself anymore.

Gwen watched him, quiet and patient as he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, the different parts himself battling it out, until—

“Yeah,” he told her, a gust of sound being carried on a heavy exhale as he gave up the fight within himself. “It scares me, but... I don’t think I can keep doing this alone.”)

#homeward bound fic #parkner #my writing #shes aliiiive.... she's ALIIIIIIVEEEEE

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