#2) the english language has a sore lack of words for smiling or laughing that don't sound too goofy

[thecodeveronica]

Annnnnnnnnnnnd I'm done! Met my self-imposed writing deadline with only 1/4 of the day left, phew.

Not 100% satisfied with the end, but there IS an end, and now I can agonize over editing.

Trying to decide if I achieved my goal of avoiding my dangerous habit of... shall we say, "soft boi-ifying" characters yes i know i complained about cinnamon rolling in the past, but this is a different issue, or if in my conscious effort to do so I ended up going too far in the opposite direction. Gonna mull it over a bit about one part in particular.

But by and large, the first big piece to resolving my writing issues puzzle is in place, aww yeah.

[roseduroi]

a Film by Peter Parker 2

This is so not what I usually write but I saw this post by @peachyhollands 

[this is basically a summary]

i feel like someone has already said this but what if spider-man: far from home started (or ended) with “a film by peter parker 2” and it’s him documenting like the space ship and showing us titan then at the end it’s just static then it cuts to tony (who found the footage and edited it) and he stares into the camera and says “i’m sorry kid”

And I just really had to write it off my chest.

English isn’t my native language, I’m so sorry for the mistakes.

a Film by Peter Parker 2

The white letters fade and the black screen slowly turns into a fresh New York view. The view shakes as if one holding the camera is swinging from one building to another, but that’s how it really is. It stops at a sight of a giant round spaceship and there’s a small inhalation of air and astonishment behind the camera following soon after.  

“That’s one of a hell big spaceship!” The lens zooms in, taking in all the details even as the view is blurry for the spaceship took all the space of the screen. But then just as out of nowhere as before, the view is back to normal as it’s suddenly shifted to the left and it fluctuates that way for a moment or two before it’s dropped to the ground with a perfect angle to view. 

There’s Mr Stark in the air in his Iron Man suit. He circles a giant lizard-look-alike monster with a weapon bigger than its head and armour covering its body; he shoots the monster a few times but fails to notice a hit coming down his way and is knocked to the ground right on his belly. Iron Man grunts from the sudden impact he hadn’t been expecting and struggles to get up, but the creature doesn’t wait and strikes its weapon towards Stark to finish what was started.

But an abrupt force stops the attack, startling the lizard-look-alike which freezes in its posture. Iron Man jolts his head to see what’s going on, rolling onto his side. “Hey, man,” Spider-Man nods to the creature before he greets his mentor. “What’s up, Mr Stark?”

“Kid, where’d you come from?” Tony leans on his elbows, his voice out of breath – he’s surprised, but there’s always a hint of worry in the way he words his mind when it comes to the kid.

“A field trip to MOMA;“ Peter’s voice gets higher as a hand roughly wraps itself around his waist and throws him away to the front, out of the camera’s view. A crash and groan of pain can be heard and Tony’s head seen following the kid’s landing as the lens is still focused on him and lizard-look-alike.

Iron Man shoots again and again; using the opportunity that the creature’s distracted. There’s a THWIP sound once then twice and Peter’s heard saying: “What is this guy’s problem, Mr Stark?”

“He's from space. He came here to steal a necklace from a wizard.” Tony explains and Spider-Man grunts again as he’s caught and tossed into the trees.

The camera view almost never changes, sometimes it slightly moves when the ground shakes underneath but never is it taken or noticed by one’s eyes. There’re more punches and more impacts, grunts, and groans of pain, and even more talking. Then there’s silence, lack of movements, actions, and changes until finally there’s nothing but darkness.

The video ends.

-

Peter throws the camera away from himself like it’d burned his hands. It lands on the ground, it cracks and it slides few more inches further from him. Good. He thinks. Let it be broken. 

He is angry.

He is lost.

He is broken.

And it only hurts. He can’t eat; he can’t sleep; he can’t breathe without feeling the hurt in his lungs. He inhales but knows he shouldn’t. It’s not his to breathe anymore; he shouldn’t feel the air fill his lungs and the heartbeat in his chest. 

His muscles are sore; his feet are aching and lungs burning with fire. Bruises linger on his battered body longer than normal. Peter tugs on his hair; he pulls on it hard, because he’s angry, lost and feels broken. He is weak and doesn’t know how to get up.

He sits on his bed, it’s uncomfortable and too soft, his head is in his hands and he feels like carrying the world is easier than this. He waits but does not know what for.

Everybody keeps telling him everything will fall to its places; time will take care of the wounds and he will heal. Baby steps; he knows they’re trying – his Aunt, Pepper, even Happy! They give him a small pep talk; say how much he would be [is] proud. Tell him their arms are always open ‘just come and lay your heart open to’

What goes after ‘to’ is always left wordless;

Sometimes Peter feels better when he’s distracted and the air no longer burns his lungs when he inhales. When he puts on his mask and flies out of the window, while his body’s still aching and muscles still sore, there’s no hurt that he actually feels. It’s spontaneous, and he would say reckless, but it gives Peter relief. And if recklessness is all it takes to forget, so let it be it.

He’d rather forget.

So some days he feels better and smiles to the world. It never took much to fool it at all. He puts on a mask but never faces the truth. How can he, when he is six feet under?

But even the mask fails to do its task.

It’s always the small things that hit the hardest;

Peter would be walking the old lady down the street or rescuing the kitten from a super tall tree when he’d feel the sting in his eyes. He’d be talking to Ned or eating with May who had insisted they went out and he’d see the world mourning. He’d pull out his phone to tell about his day or send that funny meme he found on the internet that morning only to realize that he couldn’t even do that anymore.        

Peter wonders if it can hurt more, but never dares to question it; the answer is simple.

He’s been through so much, he lost his parents, he lost Ben, and he lost so much already that it’d seem it couldn’t hurt worse because things had been falling back to its places after already so much time of it being broken. Peter had settled down with May and learned to live with the loss... they both had. Then the bite happened – the spider bit him and suddenly he came into his life and flipped it all around.  

Peter didn’t need to look away from that boy watching the game with his dad without feeling jealousy, that green monster creeping up in his chest anymore. Peter didn’t need to feel his heart aching when Ned talked about that cool stuff he did with his dad. Peter didn’t need to watch stupid YouTube tutorials on how to shave [and to do things fathers taught their sons] because he had him and for once in his life, Peter really felt like he wasn’t really missing out.

But now he’s gone too.

Why give and then take? Is it more fun? To see someone get back on their feet, spot gloss of hope in their eyes and then break them once more? To see if this time they didn’t get up as their eyes dulled and never shone more?

Peter almost laughed that cold, heartless laugh as his whole body shook, his head still in his hands and tugging on his hair from anger and perhaps desperation. He wouldn’t understand why Bruce would give him back the camera that holds the painful memories Peter never wants to unfold. But he had insisted and made Peter promise he would watch it till the very end.

He did, and so what? Did Bruce want him to look back at what’s already happened, what was going inevitably happen? What no one knew was coming and what? Make him feel more helpless, guiltier? What’s the point to watch it again and again and again and know what will happen and never have a chance to prevent it, to change it, but suffer knowing the truth? he’s gone 

Peter growls.

Tony Stark is. dead. And the world mourns because they’ve lost their best defender. Iron Man is dead because he was never good enough to save him. Because he wasn’t fast enough to stop him. He was supposed to be six feet under.

Peter pulls his hair harder, squeezes his eyes shut. Everything aches, everything hurts, everything is falling apart. The noises, the cracks, the bustle; it’s hard to breathe, it’s hard to focus, it’s ringing in his ears... Make it stop, make it stop... it’s too much, too much, it’s –

“Hi, kid.”

Gone

The kid’s breath hitches. His body goes numb, his face pales and he stills, his heart hammers in his chest. Peter’s arms fall to his sides, but he doesn’t look up – he lets out a shaky breath.  Then silence.

“You know, your camera was in dire need of an upgrade. That’s a real big insult to me AND turns out Bruce found it roaming in New York streets, dusty and lonely. Stop losing stuff, kid, they feel ya.”

Peter blinks, but he looks up because he thinks he’s hallucinating, his hearing’s fooling him, and he holds in his breath as he lifts up his chin, no matter how scared he’s feeling. In the corner of his room, he sees Mr Stark and almost flinches backward when the hologram moves.

His hands start shaking.

“So I put a few tricks here and there and voilà! Just like new if not better.”

Peter stares at the broken camera in the corner of his room and questions if it’s him or device that really needs fixing. Then he stares at Mr Stark and listens to him speak; how long has it already been? But it’s him – his voice, his face – Peter would never forget. He’s sitting in front of him, right in front of his eyes, leaning on the backrest of the chair and it feels so real. But is it really?

Peter blinks away the sting in his eyes. It’s the little things he misses the most. How much he wants to run into the man’s arms if he only didn’t know he wouldn’t just run through; hide in his embrace so that the truth would never approach, but were they there yet already or was it just Peter imagining things?

He would go to the lab after a normal school day, and there would be just Peter and Tony, and Friday of course. But weren’t the two of them already gone?

He wishes he could go to the field trip they were going that day and talk Mr Stark’s ear off about what he had seen. But weren’t he 5 years already late?

And oh, how he wishes the things weren’t this way and the truth had never caught up, the smile from Mr Stark’s lips would never be gone.

“Hope you don’t mind I fixed it without you. You know I’d never miss the occasion to listen to you ramble.”

There’s a heaviness in his voice and tiredness in his eyes. Peter’s heart cracks at the sight.    

There were days when they fixed things together, constructed stuff or upgraded Spider-Man’s suit. Peter would ramble on how cool was this or that or ‘is that web fluid version 3.03??’ those days in the lab and Mr Stark would tell him he talks his ear off, but Peter had always assumed he secretly enjoyed it, why else would Mr Stark let it happen then? Friday would order some food (mostly pizza with pineapples on top – Peter’s favourite) and Mr Stark would ask how his day went at school.

Peter misses that too. There’s a sigh and Mr Stark’s voice has gotten quiet.

“It’s been five years, Pete. Five years have gone by and there was nothing we could do... So I moved on, I got a second chance. I knew you’d want me to.”

The boy smiles a smile that never reaches his eyes, but it’s true, he would’ve wanted for Mr Stark to move on, to live a life he’d always wanted but never had. He’s glad he did.

“It’s quiet here, peaceful, but that’s the thing. Guilt and remorse don’t settle down with peace. It’s those ramblings that are still missing.

I tried, kid, not to give up. There weren’t a day I wouldn’t think of a way how to get everyone back... you. But at the end of the day, everyone was still gone and you weren’t here... and time? It still went by. 

There was never a way to put a suit of armour around the world, shelter it or undo what’s done, not completely at least, so I settled down with Pepper... and Morgan, and went with the flow. As one once said, I looked out for the little guy.”

There is a smile on Mr Stark’s face, small and fragile, but still there and Peter can’t help but smile a little too. His eyes water but he never lets the tears roll down and Mr Stark’s eyes drop. There’s a pause.

“Only it was never enough.

If you’re seeing this then it means this is goodbye. Or maybe we’re both sitting on the couch, half-eaten pizza on the coffee table, and having a good belly laugh at my silliness... just like in the good old days, you know?

I hope it’s the latter.”

How much Peter wishes it too. There are tears streaming his cheeks.

“But if it’s not the case then...

I’m sorry, kid. I’d never meant for you to get hurt, Pete, or for everything to end this way. Sometimes I wonder, if I’d never got you involved, stepped away when everything was over, would things have been easier that way? But then I look back and...

I know I did the right thing. 

If things rolled different way and good old days were back, the world didn’t need saving... but what am I kidding? It’ll always need saving, just this time I won’t be there to watch it fall. But I’m not afraid, not for the world, not for the universe, or the people in it. For I know this time the world will have a Peter Parker in it and can’t you see? It’ll already be better. 

I have a chance to get you back, kid, and this is my decision.   

 Maybe in another universe, in another timeline, there’s an end where we both come home.  

But until then,

This is goodbye, kid

And stop losing your stuff, I’m dead serious – I won’t be able to fix it. There’re some cool memories you’ve captured and so I thought I’d put something in there too. It’s always the little things, in the end, right kid?

-

“Mr Stark, you really don’t have to do this. It’s alright,”

“Right, kid, because bullying is tolerable,”

“No, but-“

“So shut up and stand beside me.”

“Say cheese, kid.”

Snap

 -

There’s a picture in the corner of his room, a hologram of them, Mr. Stark and Peter. They‘re smiling, standing next to each other. The memory is beautiful, but why this Peter who sits on his bed, cheeks red and all wet, can‘t smile too?

[anon-luv]

TOSKA -1- (ReaderXBTS)

Genre: Psyche/Mental Institution AU Romance & Angst

Pairing: ReaderXBTS(Taehyung, Jimin, Yoongi)

Summary: “Will you be able to recover and move on, or will your past continue to haunt you?”

Trigger Warning: This Fic will contain explicit language and scenes. It will address controversial topics. We understand psychological illnesses vary from case to case. All contents in the following story are based on fiction. This story will not be suitable for all ages, due to the sensitive topics it will contain. Hope ya’ll enjoy :)

Word Count: 4k+

Collaboration with @riki-leigh-c

Author’s Note:

@anon-luv Hey Guys, I am so excited/nervous to post this fic. I hope you enjoy it as much as we are while writing it. You know I love feedback, so let us know what you think. Feedback, Comments, Reblogs, Likes, and mentions greatly encourage us writers. We are going to leave the final pairing as undecided until we further develop the story. Minor Grammer Mistakes. HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

@riki-leigh-c : This is my first time writing a fic. Please bare with me, any constructive criticism would be much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

“Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level, it grades into ennui, boredom.

 White.

In most cultures, it signifies purity, comfort, holiness, cleansing, a beacon of hope.

For you, white had quite a contradictory meaning. To you, white meant prison, endless appointments, a padded room, the pages of the daily journal you never wrote on, and the shirt stained with red that laid upon his chest as the bullet sealed both of your futures. The future that had ended for him, and the one that had gotten you locked into this place.

The monotonous routine and smell of antibacterial flooded your days, causing a sense of panic. If it wasn’t for your best friends’ every other day visits, you would’ve probably collapsed of boredom.

 PTSD, that is what they said it was, the hallucinations, the ones that kept you up at night. Whatever it is, it was the only way you could see him, as if he was still here beside you. You didn’t want to close your eyes, in case he disappeared. Every morning you dreaded having to leave your room, for you had to pretend you didn’t see him standing nearby or smiling at you.

It was your imagination, you knew it…. but you couldn’t deny that just seeing him was what kept you going throughout the day. Even if reality had taken him away from you, the memory of him had fooled your brain into projecting him into your everyday life.

 It was 12:15……. Hoseok was late….. He was 45 minutes and 30 seconds late. What if he had forgotten to change those overused tires that you had scolded him time and time again to get changed?

Was he okay? Did he get sick? You had seen the rain falling mercilessly from your window pane.

The tapping of your fingers increasing in speed as the door opened again, but your eyes landed on an unfamiliar figure once again. It had been 2 weeks. TWO long weeks in this institution and Hoseok had yet to be late. He was always early or right on time.

The sweat forming in the palm of your hands caused an uncomfortable, sticky sensation which triggered your anxiety slightly more. A loud deep laugh blasted throughout the room, causing you to jump slightly. The same young man that you had seen on several occasions was sitting in front of the same black haired girl. She was constantly talking while he just stared emotionless at the white wall in front of her. He never addressed her back, but she never gave up. His eyes suddenly flicked up to meet yours and another manic laugh exploded from his lips. His gaze moved back to the white wall and the laughter ceased almost as quickly as it began.

You glanced back up at the clock on the wall. Another 2 minutes and 17 seconds had passed. Where was he?  Dark thoughts began to flutter through your mind. What if he’s had enough of you? Or what if something awful has happened to him? What if someone’s murdered him? Your breathing began to quicken, and your hands began to shake as vivid images of all the reasons why Hoseok was not there yet burned themselves into your brain, one by one. You could feel the all too familiar feeling of a full-blown panic attack start to creep its way into your chest. Breath, Y/N you thought to yourself, trying to remember the coping techniques they’d been teaching you in therapy. Gulping down air, you tried to get the attention of a warden. The sound of the door opening and closing drew your attention. Hoseok rushed in, red in the face and panting, doubled over trying to catch his breath. “Y/N” he yelled out across the room, causing more than a few heads to turn your way. He rushed over to you, already being able to see the effects of your panic attack. He put his hands on either side of your face and looked you dead in the eye. “Breath, Y/N. I’m here, I’m fine,” he whispered while using the clichè breathing technique of having you copy him. It worked though. Every time. After a few minutes, your breathing returned to normal and Hoseok patted your hair, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, before getting up abruptly. “Y/N, I’m going to have a chat to one of the staff okay? I’ll be right back. No longer than 5 minutes, you can count them, alright?” You simply nodded in response, still slightly out of it after your latest ‘episode.

 There is a rush of adrenaline when people fall, it makes them feel like their insides bundle up, and make their way towards their throat forming a perfect knot just to come back down, just before they hit the ground. That’s how you felt at that exact moment as you saw Hoseok’s familiar messy mop of dark brown hair exit the room.

The numbness within your fingertips was now fading into slight prickles that you could feel crawling up your extremities. The heaviness in your chest that had felt like a piano had crushed it a few moments ago was being lifted, only leaving in its path a soreness that had begun to dissipate. Your pounding heart still beating loudly in your ears as your eyes traveled amongst the room to analyze the number of witnesses that had obtained a front row seat on your full-blown show. Much to your surprise, everyone was focused on their own task and you had gone under the radar. You assumed people were probably immune to the many spectacles that had taken place within these four walls.

There was only one set of brown eyes staring at you, and those eyes seemed to be more amused with the sudden predicament you had found yourself in, than worried. A small smirk lay upon his plush lips as he swept your body from top to bottom absorbing all your figure in as if you were a piece of fine art, on display in a museum.  A shiver ran down your spine. He made you uneasy. His sporadic, maniacal laughter sounded again as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He seemed like the true definition of insane. Just as suddenly as it started, he stopped laughing and went back to staring at you. You felt your heartbeat start to quicken and your palms getting sweaty, the telltale signs of another panic attack. Hoseok made a reappearance right at the moment you had started to feel your chest constricting and your throat getting tight.

“It’s alright (y/n), I’m so sorry I got here late, I got a flat tire on the way over” he said as he sat down on the cold metal chair and scooted his way forward, closer to you. The faint smell of his cologne calmed you down automatically.

The speed of your finger tapping decreased as you examined him from head to toe assuring yourself that he was indeed okay.

“You had me worried, I told you several times to get that thing you call a car checked Hoseok” you said as you grasped his hand “I’m sorry for taking away your lunchtime, you are honestly the only reason I am not in solitary confinement right now, this place is bonkers”.

Hoseok gave you a wide smile as he looked around the area examining the patients surrounding you “Yeah… it does seem pretty crazy huh? It is only for a bit though, Y/N.” Hoseok smiled brightly at you, a smile you always thought looked as bright as the sun, before shifting his chair to sit next to you and gently pushing your head down to rest on his shoulder. “I don’t know about that Hobi,” you sighed deeply, closing your eyes while a montage of memories filtered through your brain at the use of his nickname. You breathed in his comforting scent, already knowing he would smell just like springtime. “I don’t feel like I’m getting better.”

The silence that followed your statement thickened the air that surrounded the both of you. Hoseok looked into your eyes hoping to see the familiar twinkle of hope you used to carry around before that horrible night.

“Well, you know ...Rome wasn’t built in one night. Just promise me you will try, participate in activities and let the counselors in. Please do it for me” he said pouting cutely your way.  You lifted the corner of your mouth in a slight smile, but your heart wasn’t in it when you answered. “I will.”  

The dorm you had been assigned lacked personality. Just like everything else, it was white from top to bottom, with a few accents of a washed out green and mustard yellow. Whoever participated in coordinating the color scheme might’ve been color blind. Despite the general distaste you had for your room’s superficial overall look, it was the only place you felt at ease in. The rock-hard bed was unusually homey, and the fact that there were no windows gave you a sense of safety for some reason. No one would be able to sneak in through your window while you slept. Just the thought of being able to see what the outside world contained while unsupervised up-close gave a chill up your spine.

 The clock in your room showed 9pm, which meant there was a long night ahead and the dosage that had been prescribed for your sleeping medication was shit.  You were tired, but your eyes refused to close. You knew the night that laid ahead of you was going to be long and emotionally tiring. You sat on the edge of the bed trying to practice the exercises you had gone over with your primary psychologist, praying for them to work. The silence within your room was all consuming until you heard deep screams. The words were incomprehensible, but the volume kept rising signifying the person was getting closer and closer to your room. You stood up quickly and slammed your door shut, before peeking out the window, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“Fuck you! Take me back. That fucking bastard, how dare he fucking touch my shit.” a bleach blond man about your age screamed as two male nurses dragged him, one by the arms and the other one by the waist, towards the door opposite yours. He swung his right arm straight at the nurse’s jaw, which the nurse was barely able to dodge. He was putting up a good fight, surprisingly, for his size made you think he would be much weaker. You hid behind your door a bit more, only your eyes visible now. The man screamed more obscenities as he was thrown into the room and onto the bed, and two more nurses entered the room. They held onto his arms wrapping what seemed like cloth on his ankles and wrists. One of them was holding a visible needle, you were assuming it was some kind of medication. The man was no longer screaming, and you could see how his muscles relaxed into the comfort of his bed, and his eyes drooped. A sigh of relief escaping your lips, as you noticed the nurses had finished attaching the remaining restraints on him. You closed your eyes tightly as you walked back to your bed and covered yourself completely with the blanket, the fear of what was right across the hall getting the best of you. The dorm across the hall hailed a dangerous threat in the shape of a blond-haired man, and even though his features looked peaceful and quite charming as he lay immobile upon his bed, his vile words just now meant you knew better.  You felt the first of the night's many quivers in your stomach, letting you know that the horrible memories you tried to keep buried during the day we’re about to be released.

The shadow of the past, conjured now by your broken psyche, sat on your bed staring straight at you.

“It’s not real….it’s not real…..it’s not real” you kept whispering to yourself, but your eyes couldn’t stop staring at his face as he smiled….that smile you used to love  “He is not here…...he is not here…..he is not here……”

  Black circles flourished under your sunken eyes the following morning. It had been a sleepless night, just as you had predicted. The constant itch of checking up on your new dorm neighbor and the hallucination of who you thought would be your forever kept your eyes wandering around your room and sleep at bay. You weren’t due for a visit from Hoseok and only had a psychologist appoint late in the afternoon. You had absolutely no idea how you were going to keep yourself occupied in between. Maybe I’ll ask the nurses for a book or two, you thought to yourself as you changed into your uniform white shirt and pants, with matching slippers. You had just opened the door to step out when you noticed a number of nurses leaving the room across from yours. His room. After the sedative had worn off, the blonde man had screamed obscenities for hours, only worsening your hallucinations. He demanded over and over for the restraints to be removed to no avail. Eventually, he just wailed, long, harrowing cries that frightened you even further. As the last of the nurses exited the room, you caught a quick glance of the blonde man sitting upright on the edge of his bed, looking down and rubbing his wrists, before the nurse shut the door and began to leave.

“Excuse me,” you called after him, shrinking back slightly as he turned to face you. You averted your gaze and asked softly “is there any possibility of getting a few books to read?”

He smiled slightly before nodding, “sure, I’ll scrounge some up and leave them by your door.”

“Thanks,” you replied before indicating for him to leave. There was no way you were walking with your back to him, despite how nice he came across. You waited, back flat against your door, for a few minutes, wanting to give yourself a safe distance from the nurse. Just as you were about head towards the common area, the door across from you flung open, revealing the blonde man. His eyes were narrowed into slits and his rosy lips were positioned in an unfriendly frown. The fear that had gathered within you from the initial shock of his presence was slightly forgotten as your curious eyes traveled along his pale sugary white face. There were noticeable red marks on his wrists that made you unconsciously rub your own.

“Good Morning” you heard a deep voice say, catching you off guard. Your fly or fight system wanted to run away as soon as the words spilled out of his mouth, but your body was betraying you by staying frozen in place. He waited patiently for a response, but after examining your panicked expression he shrugged it off, and took a step forward closer to you “Yoongi’ he said extending his hand towards you.

You looked at his hand as if it was fire ready to burn you into ashes, but for some reason, your hand found his. Your voice though was not cooperating and all you could do was stare at his figure confused at the contrasting personality that radiated from him this morning compared to that displayed last night.

“Y/N?” he asked you as he read the name plaque outside your room. You nodded as you cautiously took a step back away from him. You felt exposed, and you wanted to escape the feeling of nausea that had started stirring in your gut. The white walls around you closing in as the image in front of you started blurring around the edges. The lack of sleep starting to take a toll on you. Your breathing had become visibly more agitated, but before your knees could give out, you felt another presence standing before you. The distorted image of an unfamiliar silver-haired boy came to view as he hummed a tune and encircled your body with his own as if to block you from any unwanted feelings that had lined up to once again drag you to the deepest pits of emotional hell.

“Calm down and try to match your breathing with mine” he whispered softly with a higher pitched voice than that of the blond boy who was still standing nearby, he seemed a bit uncomfortable as he took in the scene unfolding before him.

Your hands were gripping onto the boy’s shirt as if he was the anchor to your sanity. Before you knew it, the heaviness that had settled on your chest had once again faded into nothingness. You quickly stood up and pushed yourself away from the stranger embarrassed at your previous actions.

“Jimin” the silver-haired boy said quickly without any explanation before you could respond Yoongi welcomed himself to introduce you as well as himself.

“I am Yoongi and this is (Y/N), what you just did bro...thank you” Yoongi said awkwardly.

Jimin just nodded to the both of you quickly and then took off as if he was in a hurry. You looked at Yoongi once again, but before he had a chance to speak, you had already started walking off to head towards the common area, taking turns between facing forward and sneaking glances back at him to make sure he wasn’t pulling a stunt behind your back. As you made your way to the end of the hall you noticed his figure had disappeared back into his dorm. The shadow of what had happened still engraved in your mind as you walked into the common area, you just knew this won’t be the only interaction you had with your neighbor and the fear of what will come will more than likely be present throughout the entire day.

 “How is your sleep Ms. Y/N” the doctor asked in a fairly monotone voice. The lack of emotion in his voice aggravating you. His presence was that of a rock, and in all honesty, consulting with a wall would probably have the same effect as this.

“To be honest like shit” you replied trying to be as monotone as he was.

“Anything we can do to aid your sleeping habits?” He said as he scribbled down what seemed more like a doodle than a note on his notepad.

“Memory Foam?  Or one of those water beds. I have always wanted to try one of those.” you replied with fake enthusiasm.

The doctor took that as a queue to stare up at your figure with a serious face “Ms. Y/N, we can’t proceed with treatment without your help. It takes two to tango, so your cooperation is essential for you to improve. Now, I have registered you for some group sessions that I think will be of benefit to your case, and one of those is for patients with insomnia. That one is every night for 45 minutes, you will be learning techniques to clear your mind and be able to get some shut-eye. Also, please start writing in your journal, we find it helps patients significantly.”

You nodded no longer interested in his rant as you grabbed the paper he had placed on the table in front of you. There was a list of 3 different counseling sessions that you were expected to assist other than your 1 on 1 session. You sighed annoyed at your now crowded schedule.

 The green yard in the facility premises was crowded with bodies, some familiar, and some not, ranging from various ages and genders. When you had first arrived, you had felt out of place, but as the days went on you realized you fit in strangely amongst the people that had been locked in here. You had yet to make an acquaintance, but you had already heard a few of the stories, and in all honesty, some made your past look like a fairy tale. There were a few psychos within the bunch, and the rumors that surrounded some of the people were frightening, that is why you had isolated yourself for the duration of your stay. Hoseok had been, for the most part, the only reason you had the courage to step outside of your room. You surveyed the area, making sure not to lock eyes with anyone, nurses, and patients alike. You walked slowly towards an empty seat across the yard, body tense and eyes zipping around your skull, trying to keep an eye on everything all at once. You were monitoring the people on your left when you felt a presence to your right. You stopped dead in your tracks before whipping around, bringing your hands up to your face to defend yourself against whoever had dared to get too close. The first thing you heard was manic laughter, before noticing a semi-familiar pair of brown eyes, creased at the corners, staring back at you. You just about jumped out of your skin in an effort to put some space between the laughter and yourself.  You could feel your chest constricting and your breathing getting shallow. Please, not here. Not in front of all these people, you thought to yourself. You already knew it wouldn’t help. Just as quickly as the laughter started, it was over and the patient behind the laughter was sticking his hand out to introduce himself. Before he had a chance to say anything, Jimin came running over, shoving the laugher out of the way. “Taehyungie, what did I say?” He all but shouted at the guy.

The flourish of activity going on in front of you was causing your panic attack to worsen. Your hands felt like they were dripping with sweat and your throat had begun to feel like it was closing. “Y/N, it’s okay just breath with me again, shhhh,” Jimin said as he grabbed a hold of both of your hands and looked you dead in the eye.

He worked through the same breathing technique that he had done earlier, and you soon began to feel calm.

“Thank you,” you said softly, quickly letting go of his hands and dropping your gaze to the lush green grass you all stood on.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’m sorry about Taehyung,” he said as he looked down at him, still laying on the grass. He leaned down and offered a hand to Taehyung, pulling him quickly to his feet.

“Taehyung, introduce yourself the way we talked about please,” Jimin looked expectantly at Taehyung, who inclined his head bashfully.

“Hello Y/N,” Taehyung said, dropping his voice significantly in what you can only assume was an effort to keep you calm. “My name is Taehyung.”

“Hello,” you replied, bowing slightly but still not lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Manic laughter suddenly exploded from Taehyung’s lips, causing you to let out a scream of both shock and fear. You clamped your mouth, placing a hand over your rapidly beating heart and took off running towards the spare seat you had originally been trying to get to.

You took a cautious glance towards where Jimin and Taehyung were still standing, clearly not expecting your escapade. Jimin raised his hand to smack Taehyung in a playful manner behind his head. Taehyung in exchange just hung his head looking a bit disappointed in himself. You averted your eyes before they caught you looking at them, hoping it would give them a clear sign that you were not fond of strange company.

You rubbed your hands against your knees nervously as you inspected your surroundings, hoping that the loud rapid beating in your ears would eventually quiet into nothingness. You took a deep breath as your eyes landed on a red rose bush. Memories of late nights hiding in your neighbor’s yards as you laid upon his chest caused your eyes to tear up. You looked at the figure that sat beside you, a perfect figment of what had been, staring right back at you.

“Jin” you whispered softly as your eyes devoured his familiar features. A pang of pain surging from the last memories you had beside him. His plump lips smiling at you like they had many times before, the temptation of leaning in to feel their warmth taking over, but before the contact was made a voice interrupted you.

“Um…..are you okay?” said a deep familiar voice, snapping you out of the enchantment of your imagination.

[benbarnesescape]

Madness in the Form of Love

Monday

Alejandro Griffin x Reader

Warnings: Fluffy, sweet Alejandro

A/N: Now for someone I personally don’t think receives enough love in our Ben character community - Alejandro Griffin from The Big Wedding. He’s so sweet and full of love and I just loved this.

Read Sunday with Logan here

Day 2

You wake up to the soft, bright rays of the sun splaying across your face. You stretch, expecting to feel that deliciously sore feeling one has after a great round of sex but instead your limber and you groan. You open an eye, expecting to see a smiling Logan beaming down on you but instead you’re greeted with empty sheets, rustled from the uneasy sleeping from the night before.

You sit up confused, taking in the small brick room, the simple bright furniture that looks straight out of an IKEA catalog and groan again, this time fear filling you.

This was not the bed you had fallen asleep in.

You hear shuffling outside your door and you hold onto the small semblance of hope that maybe Logan hadn’t abandoned you. That this was just a bad dream and he would pop in any second now, a cup of coffee in hand, that snarky smile beaming down on you. An explanation in why you were in a strangers room. 

He doesn’t.

Instead, a girl with tawny brown hair and glasses bursts through your room, throwing a thin sweatshirt at your face.

“Y/N, you’re still in bed!? I don’t want to miss out on the lecture this afternoon? Professor Griffin is going to be speaking about the evolution of linguistics and you know how much that can help out on our paper. Come on!”

You look at her confused, blinking your eyes and she snaps at you, throwing a pair of Toms at the foot of your bed.

“Chop, chop! Think of it this way - you can daydream about our professor while also learning vital information that will help you pass this grad class. Sound good?”

The sarcasm isn’t missed on you as you roll your eyes, grabbing your shoes. Throwing on your sweatshirt  over your thing T shirt and shorts you begin searching the room for your bag. You were starting to remember. Just a little bit.

You were a grad student at Yale and had taken an extra course this summer in the Evolution of Language. Large part because you need it for your anthropology degree, another because the normal professor who taught it had been replaced by him, Professor Griffin. Even if the subject lacked at least you had eye candy to get you through the intense 7 week course.

By the time you are leaving the apartment you had forgotten about Logan and how you knew him completely.

Upon arriving at the coffee shop, you see the error in your ways in indulging in an afternoon nap. The small lecture space that had been reserved for his lecture was packed to the brim. It was no surprise really. By the time the young grad students had learned about the infamously handsome Professor Griffin - Alejandro to his esteemed peers - he always had lectures that were filled to the capacity. Not only that, he made learning fun, which had solidified his fan base of university student followers.

You both squirm your way through the tight crowd, finding a spot toward the front of the space thanks to friends  friends who had gotten there hours early to study had saved you a spot. You both order a chai tea, catching up and talking to them about upcoming essays and parties for the weekend, adding to the loud mingling of voices in the room before you hear his voice.

He was talking with another student, his brown hair gleaming off of the soft afternoon lights, his hands casually shoved in his khaki pants and you could practically hear  the women sigh as he strolled to the front of the room. He was wearing a light, white button down shirt that he had rolled up to his elbows and as he placed his leather suitcase on the table his muscles flexed underneath them.

His brown eyes glanced around the room, his smile lighting up at the amount of students as he rubbed his hands together, enthusiasm melting out of his voice,

“All of you willing to sacrifice a beautiful Thursday afternoon to hear about the transformation of language? What are they putting in the water here?”

There’s an easy laughter as he begins his lecture, walking around and enthusiastically moving his arms around, his thick Spanish accent cutting through each syllable. He’s a strong lecturer, knowing how to draw students in with the perfect balance of insightful information mingled with corny jokes and he has the few coffee residents who hadn’t shown up for the lecture just as intrigued, leaning in their seats to learn more about romance languages and the evolution of the Nordic language.

Its halfway through his lecture that his eyes find yours, the chocolate brown irises looking into your own and his smile changes, something softer before he breaks the eye contact and continues to move around. You know you had been holding your breath and you look away shyly, trying to ignore the way his stare has made your skin heat up in embarrassment.

All of this is lost on your table mates, luckily, who are too intrigued or distracted by him to notice. It's not long that the 45 minute lecture is over and he’s bombarded with students asking him questions. Girls that had dolled themselves up with just the hope he gives them a once over. Boys, knowing the power he has, wanting to figure out how he delivers his charm with ease.

You know you have to get out of the uncomfortable situation. You grab your bag, waving off your roommate who is having an enthused conversation with your friend about how she knew that Russian language was connected with Latin origins as you slink off upstairs, to a quiet area on the rooftop patio. Its deserted up here, dark rain clouds shielding the bright summer sun that had been piercing earlier and you take a seat in an abandoned seat, grateful for the isolation.

You had to get a hold of yourself. Professor Alejandro Griffin was a strong lecturer, a great person to educator, but that was all. You couldn’t daydream about a professor for so many reasons. One, he’d get fired and that would be a shame. Two, you could potentially get kicked out of school, probation at the latest and that would compromise your scholarship. Three, he was married.

Someone else had won his heart and they deserved the respect of knowing young, grad students weren’t throwing themselves on him.

Instead of falling back on this, you return your attention to an essay you need to finish for him, getting lost in the words. Forgetting about time and where you are until you hear someone clear their throat.

“Can i join you?”

You look up to find Professor Alejandro Griffin himself standing before you, his leather bag hanging off his shoulder. He could sit anywhere, there was the pick of many seats on the abandoned rooftop, but here he was looking down at you, a soft smile on his face.

You wave your hand as he sits in his seat smoothly, sitting back and watching you.

“I was surprised that you didn’t come up to talk to me about the lecture. I was sure you were going to challenge me on how the Latin languages got spread, based off the book you suggested I read last week.”

You shrug, biting your lip and closing your book.

“You made a good argument I suppose, Professor Griffin.”

He laughs, full and hearty as he throws his head back. He hated when, outside of class, you referred to him as his formal title.

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better that I was lecturing over something really corny. And how many times do I have to remind you that you can call me Alejandro - we’re all adults here.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms as you lean back in your seat.

“I think there’s something to be said about your theory of the english foundation but i don’t think we have enough time to discuss that.”

He laughs again, leaning forward on his elbows before smirking,

“I have plenty of time to have a good conversation about language. But only if you do?”

Its not even a question in your eyes. 

You both lose track of time, the only measure being the large, dark grey clouds hovering over you, pregnant with tears just waiting to burst.  You both had inched closer in your chairs, unaware of your close proximity as you both argue about which linguist provided better theories regarding humans evolution into words, when a gust of wind picks up and pushes your book to the ground.

It's a simple action and you both bend down to grab it, your faces inches apart and something else changes. You’re aware of the way he smells, coffee and spice, the way his lips are puckered as he looks at you. His hand grazes over yours as you both reach for the thick bounded paper and something shoots between you, causing your breath to hitch. He bites his lips, his eyes flicking down to your lips before he gives a quick swallow, his hand jutting out to caress your face. His fingers are gentle as he caresses your cheek, his chocolate brown eyes blown with something else as his fingers dance over your lips and you sigh as your faces inch closer to each other. He licks his lips and for a second, just a second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

But then he’s pulling away from you, picking up the book and placing it back on the table.

“I should let you study….sorry, didn’t mean to take up your time.”

He mumbles this as he stands abruptly, grabbing his large bag and sighs, closing his eyes. When he opens his eyes he shoots you a sad smile before whispering, 

“You really are a special person Y/N. If this was another time... a different circumstance...”  he’s looking at you in that way that has your legs turning into jelly as the words drift in the air before he turns on his heel, leaving you with smell of his cologne.

You try to ignore the disappoint circling in your gut as the rain begins to fall, pushing back the possibility of something that will never be.

[spazzcat]

The Last Aspect Ch. 14

Reposting chapter 14 for Shatt Week 2017.

Includes content for:

Day 1: Liberation (Freedom)

Day 2: Angst (Angst)

Day 3: Bonding (Confessions)

Day 4: Free Day (Scars)

Day 6: School (Garrison Days)

Read the full fic (still in progress) on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11165202/chapters/24920571

Matt paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he tightened the splint wrap around the section of cracked exoskeleton. A few more careful adjustments and he was able to seal it, holding the damaged plates still while they healed. “There we go.” He shot a reassuring smile up at the insectoid alien he’d been helping. “Just go easy on that limb while it’s healing, okay? I don’t want to see you back in here because you overdid it and racked your splint.” The alien nodded effusively, chittering gratitude and reassurances in heavily-accented Galran that Matt just barely managed to interpret. “Glad to hear it. Head on over and get something to eat, okay? Then rest.” He waved his patient off toward the carts full of food bowls that had been set up at one side of the medical dormitory, heaving a weary sigh as they left.

“All done?” The unexpected voice beside him made him jump, and he whirled to find himself face to face with Shiro, who raised an eyebrow and held out a drink pack.

“Vrekt, Takashi, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Matt grumbled, accepting the drink pack gratefully. He sighed, leaning against the edge of the medical cot in order to take some of his weight off his legs.

“Sorry.” Shiro chuckled, completely unrepentant. “Was that your last patient?” He asked, gesturing to the being Matt had been helping, now settled in with a group of other assorted aliens who had been rescued from the Empire battlecruiser as they ate their first decent meal in who-knew-how-long.

The ginger nodded wearily, pushing his bangs back out of his face. “Yeah. There’s a few people still to be treated, but they’re species who need a doctor more experienced with their needs than I am, or they don’t speak Galran.” Looking over at the group on the other side of the room, he huffed a soft laugh. “You know, when I did my degrees in xenobiology and medicine, this is not how I expected to end up using them.”

“What, you don’t like playing doctor to a thousand species of aliens?” Shiro teased, and Matt felt his heart speed up at the playful grin on the other man’s face.

Grinning back, he elbowed Shiro lightly in the side. “Better aliens than Humans. Aliens actually listen to their doctor’s instructions most of the time.” Pushing away from the wall, he shifted his weight and winced as the dull ache in his left knee turned to something sharper. “Speaking of doctor’s orders, I should go sit down for a while before Xel comes after me. I swear that woman has a sixth sense for disobedient patients, even if I’m technically not one anymore.”

“Who’s Xel?” Shiro asked curiously, staying close as Matt limped slowly out of the room and down the main hallway, leaning slightly against the wall for support. The paladin looked like he wanted to offer to help, but wasn’t sure how it would be received, so he settled for staying close and available. Another sharp stab of pain had Matt seriously considering asking the larger man to carry him, but he resisted. Shiro was already carrying enough needless guilt over the old injury, and anyway his quarters weren’t far away.

“A doctor. Hylathian species, one of the mer types. She came over from the Boiling Rock too.” He gestured overhead to one of the water-filled conduits that granted the water-based species mobility throughout the ship. “When I was first brought aboard the Boiling Rock, I was a scared, injured member of an unknown species who understood about five words of Galran, all of them commands, and no other known language. They assigned me a Hylathian doctor on the theory that I’d be less scared of someone who couldn’t move freely around the room, someone I could retreat from if I wanted to.”

“And did you?”

Matt shrugged, pausing for a moment to rest his leg. “Only until I figured out she was a doctor. After that we got along great.” He grinned fondly at the memory. Xel had tried to convey what she wanted to do by using her handheld scanner on her own hand, then showing him the display. There’d been a lot of squinting and flinching involved until he cautiously came close enough to see what was clearly a medical read-out, upon which fear was usurped by curiosity. The following several hours had been spent teaching him a handful of Galran words while she examined his leg and eye, comparing them to the undamaged ones to assess the severity of the damage damage and he did his level best to learn the ins and outs of the scanner, the first alien tech other than his manacles he’d had the chance to see up close. “She’s a bit of a mom friend, to be honest. Always fussing over me, trying to make sure that I’m not missing anything I need to be healthy.”

Shiro chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that.” He said softly, pacing alongside as Matt started moving again. “It’s a relief to know that you’ve had people looking out for you.”

“Pack is family, and I’ve been considered part of the pack for quite a while now.” The younger explained, turning a corner and stopping in front of a door. The nameplate displayed his name, Matthew Holt, and his occupation aboard the ship, medic, in four different languages: the tangled curls of Altean, the angular symbols of H’ress’wr, the odd swoops and jags of Galran, and the comparatively simple, familiar characters of English. Pushing open the door, he revealed a cozy set of living quarters, a unmade bed on one wall across from a desk and chair and a second door that led to a bathroom. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

“These are your quarters?” Shiro followed hesitantly as Matt limped inside, sinking onto the edge of the bed with a sigh of relief as he stretched his bad leg out in front of him. After a moment’s consideration the paladin flipped the chair around so he could sit facing him, resting his elbows on his knees.

Matt nodded, focused on pulling at the fabric of his pant leg to get at the hidden zipper around the thigh. “Yeah. Standard single quarters for most humanoid species. Really easy to customize for species needs, like different lighting or wall colours. Did you know Alteans prefer aquamarine lighting because they evolved under a blue giant star?” Undoing the fastener he pulled the leg of the garment down and out of the way. The familiar sight of his damaged leg greeted him, the smooth metal of the brace that supported the joint gleaming in the overhead lights. He unstrapped it with practiced fingers, putting the brace carefully aside before starting to massage the sore tissue around his knee, letting out a soft hiss of discomfort at the sharp ache. He’d definitely been on it too much today.

It was Shiro’s silence that got his attention, and Matt’s head jerked up again to the sight of sickened horror on the paladin’s face. Following the direction of the other man’s gaze, his eyes landed on the scar on his leg. It was thick and ropey from lack of proper care and from splitting and reopening repeatedly while it was healing, starting high on the outside of the knee and curving down and forward along the side and out onto his shin. Matt was so used to the sight he barely registered it anymore, and in his hurry to get the brace off he’d forgotten that his friend hadn’t seen it yet.

The man in question had gone white as a sheet, staring at Matt’s leg with anguish and guilt written plainly across his face. Matt didn’t have to be psychic to guess at the memory playing out in Shiro’s mind, or the thoughts running through his head. “Takashi…” He began, softly, trying to forestall the inevitable self-recriminations.

Shiro beat him to it before he could. “God, Matt…” He swallowed hard, and Matt could see the shine of tears in his eyes. “I can’t believe I...I’m so sorry, Matt, I can’t believe I did this to you…”

“Takashi, it’s fine, really--”

“No it isn’t! I did that to you, I hurt you so badly--”

“Seriously, it wasn’t--”

“And you’re still hurting because of what I did, don’t think I haven’t seen you wincing when you walk--”

“Yes, but--”

“I don’t know how you can even stand to be around me now--”

Okay, that was enough of that. Matt took a deep breath. “Takashi Shoichi Shirogane would you shut the fuck up and let me speak!” He bellowed, doing his best imitation of his mother on a royal tear. It worked instantly, Shiro’s mouth snapping shut with an audible click as he stared at Matt, eyes wide. “Thank you.” Matt cleared his throat, giving Shiro a warning stare. “Now then. Are you going to hear me out about this or not?”

Shiro gave a slow nod, still looking distinctly upset, and Matt sighed.

“First of all, let’s make one thing clear. The original wound you gave me was nowhere near this bad. Lack of medical care and slogging around in thick mud at the mines made it a lot worse, both in terms of appearance and damage. None of that was in any way your fault. Understand?” His friend looked a little rebellious, but nodded when Matt fixed him with another sharp look.

“Second, you seem to be forgetting the reason you injured me in the first place.” The ginger levelled his gaze at Shiro. “To keep me out of the arena. If I’d been sent in there against that monster, I wouldn’t be hurt, I would be dead. You injured my leg in order to save my life, Takashi, and you have no idea how grateful I am.”

“Grateful? For my crippling you?” Matt made an exasperated noise, smacking a palm to his face. God save him from cute men with great asses who insisted on carrying blame for everything.

“If that’s what you want to call it, then yes.” He confirmed, rolling his eyes in mild annoyance. Shiro looked confused and dismayed, opening his mouth to argue again, but Matt interrupted him before he could. “Look, I’ve had a lot of time to think about this over the last two years, so just hear me out, okay?” The paladin subsided, giving a sharp nod and gesturing for him to continue.

“When I first got rescued by the Icebringers, I was pretty scared for a while. Remember, I spoke all of five words of Galran and the only non-Galra I’d ever seen were prisoners like me. I didn’t know who they were, or what they wanted from me. Xel seemed nice enough, but that didn’t mean anything. For all I knew they were the deep-space equivalent of pirates, raiding the Empire for supplies and slaves, and I was no better off than before. As bad as it sounds, there were a few times I almost wished I could just go back to the mine, because at least there I knew what the score was, knew what to expect and what was expected of me. The Boiling Rock was new and unpredictable and it was terrifying.”

“For a while I was mostly trying to learn alien body languages for dozens of different species completely on the fly, with no frame of reference, because I was terrified of getting hurt for doing the wrong thing because I couldn’t read any of these people. I learned that for Galra emotions you watch the ears, not the face. I learned that H’ress raise or lower their tails instead of nodding or shaking their heads. I learned that Hylathians incorporate the movement of the water around them into their body language. Things like that. And once I could communicate, I kept on learning, bits and pieces of language, culture, evolutionary history.”

He paused for a moment, staring distantly at the wall as he considered his next words. “Then one day, once I had a half-decent grasp of the language, I ended up seeing a traditional H’ress ceremony where they were honouring one of their hunters for something they’d done on a mission that apparently saved a lot of lives. There was chanting, and drumming, and a ritual tattoo--that’s how they get the dyed fur, like Shiiar’keh has. It’s a symbol of immense honour. And it was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen, a millenias-old alien culture up close and personal. And that’s when I realized, that I was the first Human ever to see this. The first Human to learn any of the things I’d learned. Hell, I was conversational in a language that evolved in an entirely different galaxy, and starting to learn two others! And I wouldn’t have been alive to see or learn any of it if Takashi Shirogane hadn’t traded his life for mine in the Empire arena.”

“After that, this scar became a symbol for me.” Matt said quietly, gaze falling to his leg as he traced over the scar with careful fingers. “A symbol of the incredible gift you gave me that day. Maybe I would never see home again--Earth wasn’t in the Icebringer charts, so they couldn’t take me home even though they wanted to--but I was alive.”

Matt lifted his head, locking his gaze on Shiro’s dark eyes, which were wide with surprise. “Yes, you cut my leg open that day. Yes, it never healed properly due to lack of care. Yes, it does hurt more often than not and I limp and can’t go far or fast without either help or pain. But that’s okay. Because by cutting my leg open that day, you saved my life. Thanks to you, I’m alive to feel that pain. I’m alive to grieve for my dad, I’m alive to miss home. I’m alive to learn alien languages and alien biology and alien cultures. I’m alive to see things no Human ever has and maybe ever will.”

He gave a soft laugh, rubbing at his eyes as he felt tears pricking at the corners. “And now you’re here. And I’m alive to appreciate Keith punching Iverson in the face for you, and Hunk’s cooking, and Lance’s impressive manicures. I’m alive to hold my beautiful baby sister in my arms, and tell her I love her, and see the incredible young woman she’s already started to grow into.”

“And,” he continued, taking a deep breath. “I’m alive to tell you how much I’ve missed you. I’m alive to tell you how incredibly, indescribably grateful I am for what you did for me, and everything you sacrificed for me.” He shot a pointed look at Shiro’s right arm, where the sleeve of his bodysuit concealed the Galra prosthetic Katie had told him about, courtesy of Haggar herself when the arena had nearly gotten the better of the man. “I’m alive to tell you you’re full of shit for trying to feel guilty for this and I’m alive to repeat that fact as many times as it takes until it finally sinks into your thick skull.”

Shiro’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he remained silent. He seemed almost overwhelmed by Matt’s story, by the way he saw the impairment the older man had inflicted on him.

Hesitating for a moment, Matt broke eye contact and looked away. “And last but definitely not least,” he said softly, his words still carrying in the silence of the room, “I’m alive to tell you that I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years, ever since that day you caught me booby-trapping that one professor’s desk for being a dick to some of the younger cadets and instead of turning me in, even though you barely knew me yet, you asked how you could help.” He smiled fondly to himself at the memory. With an extra set of willing hands they had successfully made the professor’s life deservedly miserable until he’d ended up transferring to another branch, to the relief of nearly everyone. “I’m not expecting you to return my feelings, and if you don’t then nothing has to change between us. But I spent two years believing that you’d died for me and I never had the guts to tell you how I felt, so I’m doing it now, because you’re alive and I’m alive and we’re together and I can.” The last words came out in a rush and he finally fell silent, trying to catch his breath.

There was a long silence. Matt fidgeted with his leg brace as he avoided looking at Shiro, poking at the screws and trying to distract himself by making sure they were all tight. The words he’d been bottling up for years were out there now, hanging in the air between them, and he felt simultaneously nauseous and elated.

A feather light touch on his chin startled him into looking up, and then there were lips on his.

For about half a second, Matt’s brain short circuited completely. Then he realized, yes, those really were lips pressed against his. Shiro’s lips. Takashi Shirogane was kissing him. At that point instinct took over and he leaned into the kiss, dropping the brace into his lap as his hands automatically came up to cup the older man’s cheeks.

It was soft and chaste and over too soon as Shiro pulled back, staring at him with a sort of hesitant awe, a tiny smile that somehow managed to light up his whole face.

“You just kissed me.” Matt pointed out. He promptly wanted to smack himself, but his brain was still a skipping CD playing the words Takashi just kissed you. The guy you’ve been in love with for years just kissed you on repeat, so he supposed he should be glad he’d gotten out a coherent sentence at all.

“I did.” Shiro sounded equally surprised with himself, but no less pleased, his cheeks dusted red.

The younger hesitated, slowly moving his brace off to the side again. “Does that...do you…” He tried to find the words, but they tangled on his tongue as hope warred with fear.

“Yes.” The paladin said simply, moving from his slight crouch in front of him to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, smoothing the blankets beside him in a gesture of uncharacteristic nervousness that Matt couldn’t help but find oddly sweet. “You’re not the only one who was shy about confessing their feelings.” He admitted, his blush darkening as he chuckled awkwardly. “I think I fell even longer ago than you did.”

“How long?” Matt couldn’t help but ask. His heart was pounding in his chest, and if it hadn’t been for the persistent ache of his bad knee, he would have wondered if he was dreaming.

Shiro smiled, his eyes full of loving admiration. “Remember that day you stayed up all night helping those freshmen cram for their astronomy final even though you had a biochem exam the next morning?” Matt groaned at the memory and nodded. Half an hour before the exam he’d resorted to a medically-unsound combination of energy drinks and espresso that managed to draw horrified looks even from other double-majors and hadn’t slept for the rest of exam week, but the grateful hugs later from the freshmen had been more than worth it. “I watched you talking about constellations and black holes and neutron stars and the way you talked about them could have made a mole fall in love with the sky. And the look on your face, like you could see them all around you...that was when I realized I loved you.”

It was Matt’s turn to look at Shiro in awe. That was what the other man saw when he looked at him? He was so used to being brushed off as a nerd, a dork, an awkward gangly geek...and Shiro looked at his passion and thought it was beautiful. But then, Shiro saw the beauty in everything, it was one of the reasons Matt had fallen for him in the first place. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” He asked finally.

“Honestly? I thought you were too good for me.” His friend admitted, scratching his cheek nervously. At Matt’s incredulous look, he elaborated. “You’re incredibly smart, and you love to learn about anything and everything. You’re incredibly kind, like that thing with the freshmen, and you never seem to dislike anyone without a very good reason. Hence why I helped you prank that teacher, by the way.” He smiled. “You’re witty, loyal, generous, loving, handsome...I could go on all night. And I was just some piloting student.”

Matt let out a strangled noise, his cheeks burning crimson after Shiro’s description of him. “Just some piloting student?!” He exclaimed, outraged that the paladin didn’t seem to see how incredible he himself was. “Takashi, you were never ‘just some piloting student’. You were a prodigy, they kept having to program new sims because you beat everything they threw at you, even the ones you shouldn’t have been able to. That’s why they selected you to go to Kerberos, even over older, more experienced pilots.” The other looked like he was about to object, but the ginger was on a roll. “And even though you were incredibly talented, everybody liked you because you were kind and helpful and the nicest guy ever, not to mention hot as hell. I think every single person on campus wanted to date you, be you, or both, honestly.”

“I’m really not…” Shiro tried to put in, equally red-faced.

“You are.” Matt insisted firmly. He studied the other man thoughtfully, comparing him to his memory of the man he’d been the last time they saw each other, younger and unscarred. Older, wearier, but still handsome, still kind. “You’re the kind of guy who takes the unruly, socially awkward problem student under his wing and gives him someone he can trust and feel safe with, someone to consider a brother. You’re the kind of guy who sees an evil overlord terrorizing the universe and immediately steps forward to fight against him, even against insane odds, because it’s the right thing to do. And you’re the kind of guy who throws himself at certain death so someone else can live,” he gestured to his leg again, inwardly amused at the way the conversation had come almost full circle, “go through actual hell for a year being tortured, experimented on, and forced to kill, and afterwards, apologize to the person you protected for--”

He was cut off again by another kiss, held longer than the first, and when Shiro pulled back Matt could see that he was crying, tears shining on his cheeks.

“You always did see the good in people.” Shiro gave an odd, watery laugh, naked admiration in his gaze before it dropped to his arm, the right arm, the Galran prosthetic Katie had told him about. The weapon Haggar had given him, and tried to turn him into.

Matt immediately reached out, putting a hand over Shiro’s. “That doesn’t make you a bad person, Takashi.” He said softly. “Neither do the things you’ve had to do, in the arena or in this war. Doing what you do, killing is necessary sometimes. What matters is who, and why. In the arena you had no choice, and I know you well enough to know you never, ever let your opponent suffer, did you?” The paladin gave a slow nod, lifting his gaze for a moment before dropping it to their joined hands. “And in battle, you were protecting. Your team, innocents, people who couldn’t protect themselves. You are still a good man, Takashi. You’re still every inch the man I fell in love with.”

The older man drew in a shuddering breath, hiding his face for a moment with his free hand. Matt waited patiently, giving his friend time to accept his words. He couldn’t begin to imagine the weight of guilt the black paladin had been carrying, that he knew all too well he wouldn’t have confided in anyone, but he could try to ease the burden somewhat. Takashi Shirogane was a good man, one who didn’t deserve any of the suffering he’d endured, physical, mental, or emotional, and Matthew Holt would do what he could to help him heal.

“That goes both ways, then.” Shiro said finally, wiping at red eyes. “You’re every bit the passionate, intelligent, clear-headed man I fell for too.” His smile was shaky, but genuine, and it made Matt’s heart soar just like it always had back on Earth.

“Then will you, Shirogane Takashi, do me the incredible honour of becoming my boyfriend?” He asked, grinning widely back at his friend, hope and excitement beating in his chest. “I’d get down on one knee, but I don’t think the joint in question would appreciate it.” He gestured at his leg in mock annoyance.

Shiro laughed. “If you don’t mind having a patchwork soldier with PTSD for a boyfriend.”

“I definitely do not mind.” Matt responded firmly. This time he was the one who closed the gap, leaning in to press his lips to Shiro’s, their hands still linked between them. The other’s lips were warm and soft, just like he’d always imagined they would be, and he savoured the sensation as they held the contact. His free hand cupped Shiro’s cheek, fingertips playing with the soft fuzz of his undercut and his thumb lightly tracing the edge of the scar across the bridge of his nose. He could feel the warm weight of Shiro’s hand on the back of his neck, fingers laced in his hair as the other held him close.

When he did eventually pull back, he could feel a deep warmth settle into his chest, a buzz of intense happiness. Matt let out a delighted laugh, leaning their foreheads together.

“What’s so funny?”

Matt grinned, the smile stretching his lips hard enough to make his cheeks hurt. “Takashi Shirogane is officially my boyfriend.” He explained, feeling another thrill of joy even as he said it. “Jessica can fucking kiss it.”

Shiro’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Jessica?”

“That girl from your engine mechanics class.”

“Oh, that Jessica.” The paladin didn’t seem any less confused. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Takashi she was hitting on you literally every time she opened her mouth!” Seriously, god save him from this man and his total obliviousness. No wonder his mom’s not-at-all-subtle hints about her son’s interest had never gotten through.

“She was what? Why didn’t you--oh.” Uh oh. That was Shiro’s troublemaking smirk. “I see. You didn’t tell me because you were jealous?”

Matt huffed in annoyance, flopping down onto the bed. “Guilty.” He admitted frankly. “Also she wouldn’t have been good for you. Trophy husband.”

“If you say so.” Shiro chuckled, moving to lay down beside him. The older man’s hand moved to softly caress his cheek as Shiro regarded him with an affectionate smile. “It’s sweet of you to look out for my interests like that, though.”

“Someone has to, you overly-selfless idiot.” Matt smiled back. He fixed his gaze on Shiro’s face for a long moment, updating his memories of every little detail. He looked older, careworn, but there was still familiar strength in the set of his jaw, and his dark eyes still radiated kindness and love like it was the easiest thing in the world. No wonder Haggar had failed so completely at turning him into a weapon, Matt realized, there wasn’t even an ounce of hatred or malice in the man’s heart that she could have used against him. That just wasn’t the kind of man Shiro was.

The paladin chuckled, shifting a bit to get as comfortable as he could while still wearing his armor. “Good thing I have you, then.” He closed his eyes for a moment before reopening one of them with a playful grin. “Man, I can’t believe it. You’re finally, officially mine. Matthew Tiberius Holt is my boyfriend.”

“Oh stop it, you big cheese puff.” Matt complained, mock-shoving at Shiro’s chest before cuddling up against him. “No more romance movies for you.” While it was hardly the first time they’d cuddled--more than once people had assumed they already were an item since they were naturally touchy people and tended to drape themselves all over each other at any opportunity--it held so much more meaning now. Matt tucked his head under Shiro’s chin, feeling the comforting rhythm of the man’s pulse under his skin as a steady reassurance of his presence and life. As he closed his eyes, he felt an arm being draped protectively over him and strong legs tangling carefully with his.

“Love you, Takashi.” He whispered against the collarbone of the man he loved and thought he’d lost. It was a relief to be able to say those words at long last.

There was the briefest moment of stiffened surprise, before Shiro relaxed fully against him. “Love you too, Matt. Always.” There was no hesitation in the words, only genuine affection.

Matt smiled and sighed in pure contentment as he allowed himself to fall asleep in Shiro’s arms. He had definitely never been more grateful to be alive.

[mrshopkirk]

Le Ciel - Heaven (part 2)

Characters: Bucky x reader, Steve, OFC (Claire), OMC (Eric), basically just a lot of people talking to each other

Summary: Bucky meets a girl in France during the war. Will he ever see her again? (my summaries suck, I know)

Warnings: some swearing but mostly bad grammar and poor spelling and messed up tenses, implied smut, mentions of torture, angst, fluff, war

Word count: 1800

Notes: Inspired by the end of the movie “French Kiss” with Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline. I assume Bucky might have been in France at one point during the war. If not, he was now.

English is not my first language and I have nobody to proofread so brace yourself. Feedback is appreciated.

* MASTERLIST *

 Previous:

“She doesn’t understand it anyway, Dum Dum,” Bucky huffs. “And it’s not like I can ever have a decent conversation with her.” He turns his attention back to you. “But man, I sure do want to.”

Bucky looks straight into your eyes with sincerity you haven’t seen in a long time in a man his age.

“And what would you say if you could talk to me, monsieur Bucky?” you say in perfect English that you learned from your English grandmother.

And that’s how your story starts, with Bucky’s jaw dropping to the floor and Dum Dum laughing his ass off.

 July and August 1944, France

 The soldiers have taken up residence in your village waiting for a mission but even they don’t know when it will take place. They process intel when it reaches them but it’s more than anything a sit tight and wait situation causing a false sense of security to settle over them. To pass the time the guys lend a helping hand on a large nearby vineyard where there’s a shortage a men because of the war. Steve also got his hands on some art supplies and Bucky seizes every chance he gets to try and win over your heart.

The next weeks of the summer are spent together whenever you and Bucky can. You work in your family’s bakery during the day but the second you’re off you bike to the little hotel to see Bucky. People talk behind your backs, a young girl like you and a handsome foreign soldier that will never stay. It’s plain to see that your time spent together involves more, way more, than just holding hands or him chasing you around the town square and stealing kisses from you behind the church. Seeing you leave his hotel at 5 am spark rumors even more.

“We are worried about her reputation, madame. What man will want to marry your daughter when he finds out he isn’t her first?” the butcher’s wife asked your mom one day. Your mom was so mad at her she told her off, calling her narrow-minded and old fashioned and all but kicked her out the bakery. But she didn’t stop there and by the end of the day, she had told off everyone else in the village, too. No-one gives Bucky dirty looks anymore since then.

“You know, that’s probably the only mother in the world that defends your honor, Buck.” Steve joked. That evening Bucky showed up at our doorstep with flowers for your mom.

Bucky’s group has an impressive physique and stamina to maintain and just working in the vineyard isn’t enough. Behind the old school house at the edge of the village there’s a small football field on which only kids play and so when Steve asks you if you know a good place for them to work out you bring them there. It’s nice and quiet, perfect to read a book while waiting for your newfound boyfriend to finish his daily routine. To be honest, you fan yourself more with the book than you actually read it because oh my, what a sight. It’s all bare chests, rippling muscles, grunting, panting, ragged breaths under a beautiful and hot French sun. It does something to a young girl in the midst of summer.

Needless to say you enjoy the view, not even hiding that you are checking them all out. The lean body of Jacques, the incredible abs of Jim, the broad shoulders of Dum Dum, you feast your eyes on each and every one of them. Steve definitely is a sight for sore eyes. Built like a god with his broad chest and shoulders, flawless fair skin, arms that look like he could rip a log in half with his bare hands. From the corner of your eye you see one man has stopped his work out. By the time you stop openly ogling Steve, Bucky’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place.

“What’s the matter, baby?” you ask with a smile.

“Nothing,” he murmurs under his breath, looking defeated. He releases a deep breath and looks off in the distance, hands on his hips. The lack of a cheeky response from him instantly gains the attention of his fellow soldiers.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve wonders while wiping the sweat of his face and chest with a towel causing Bucky to look between Steve and you. Steve furrows his brows but you quickly catch on. You hop off the small wall you’re sitting on and slowly walk over the green grass to your boyfriend. The sad look in his eyes breaks your heart, like a man offering his heart to you on a silver platter, expecting it to be ripped to shreds and fully accepting that cruel fate. You better make this count, you think. Your hips sway a little more than usual and push out your chest. Your tongue licks your lips and your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. All eyes are on you but your gaze is fixed on Bucky, giving him a sly grin. Only stopping when your bodies almost touch you look him up and down while releasing a soft moan for good measure. You feed your eyes on his beautiful body thinking about all the things you could do to him but that will have to wait till you are back in his room. Bucky swallows thickly when your right hand touches the nape of his neck, moving higher and grabbing a fistful of his hair, slowly but surely guiding his head to one side while your other hand finds its way to his chest. Your lips ghosts over the side of his exposed neck until you reach that certain spot below his ear and place a kiss, linger a little longer than necessary. Moving your lips higher, your teeth graze his ear. By now Bucky’s breathing heavily, his eyes fluttered closed. You can’t help but smile at the sight. He’s a mess, a sheen of sweat coats his skin, chest heaving both with anticipation and surrendering to the moment. Your right hand slips from his neck and joins the left one, your fingers now slowly raking over his toned pecs and chest.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Bucky,” you whisper softly in his ear. His head is tilted a little to the side. By now your fingers reach his abs. “It’s not him I kiss.” Your fingers continue their way down and you can feel him draw a deep breath and his muscles tense, making you smile against his cheek. Your lips graze his ear again when your fingers hook in the loops of his pants and pull him close. He stumbles a step forward and opens his eyes unable to truly focus. “It’s not him I think about when you are between my legs at night.” That’s when you kiss him and moan a little in the kiss for good measure. This boy needs assurance you are choosing him over the huge super soldier and that’s exactly what you’re giving him. You feel his chest swell with pride and not only his chest. Hooting and whistling surrounds you both making you blush a little but giving Bucky a cocky grin, his arms firmly wrapped around your waist claiming you as his girl and only his. Mission accomplished.

The moments Bucky opens up to you the most are at night. Lying in each other’s arms Bucky tells you little bits and pieces of his life before the war. You heard the guys talk about the all girls he charmed and took on dates and dancing which sounds like something Bucky would do. But with you he only talks about his family, what the little money they had, taking care of Steve who was ill all the time, leaving his mother and little sisters behind. The stories about how he ended up here. That he regrets joining the army. Wondering why he lays his life on the line while his family is now left without a man to take of them and struggling to survive. He's a humble man you learn, not wanting great things. His only dream is returning to a normal life after the war. Finding a job and maybe make enough money to buy an actual house with a garden, marry and start a family. Nothing more, nothing less. You love it when he talks about his hopes and you listen when he talks about his fears. He tells you he was captured and how he was tortured by a man named Zola. That he’s absolutely terrified of it happening again.

It’s all pillow talk. It only comes out in the darkness of the night. Like he’s ashamed of it all, ashamed of not having won the fight, of being captured. He talks about who The Howling Commandos are and what they do. About Hydra, which scares the hell out of you. He tells you about the experiment Steve went through that made him Captain America, a super soldier. He admits being insecure since his scrawny best friend became this impressive physical appearance. It used to be him people looked at and now it’s not him they want. He’s not jealous but he has difficulties coming to terms with it.

“He doesn’t need me to be here but he wants it. He says I’m his strength, his rock in difficult times,” Bucky whispers. “But it’s not easy to hold a rock his size, darling.”

And with that your angel buries his head deep in your chest, pulls his legs up and makes himself as small as he can. His heart is pounding in his chest, his breathing fast and shallow. It’s like this almost every night. He needs protection, feel warm arms wrapped him, someone whispering sweet nothings in his ear and you give him what he needs. It helps him forget the cold table he was strapped to and the yelling he endured during his captivity. You see it a lot these days. People are worn out by the war and you hope it will all be over soon. This beautiful man is so broken already. You fall asleep worrying how long he will be able to hold himself together. He has nightmares almost every night. He keeps repeating his name, outfit and service number in his sleep, whimpering Steve’s name for help, before waking up crying and sweating, before holding on to you for dear life, almost squeezing all the air out of you, begging you not to leave him alone. The really bad nights are when you have to shake him awake and he doesn't focus on you but has this 1000-yard stare. He loses himself and it's difficult to get him to come back to you, and even then it’s like he barely recognizes you.

At daybreak, all that haunts Bucky is pushed aside. “I’m fine, doll. As long as I have you,” and with a soft kiss to your lips and an enchanting smile that doesn’t always reach his eyes, he brushes you aside. During the day he’s all smiles and jokes, hiding his troubles too well. It’s a completely different Bucky and it worries you. Steve doesn’t seem to notice and you wonder if you should tell him. But you decide against it. It’s a decision you will forever regret.

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