#Maybe it even became my comfort game of sorts. Painful but warm where I worry about fiction so much I don't think about reality | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugamamacustard · 4 years ago

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Let me help you

Pairing: Alpha! Toru Oikawa x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Hajime Iwaizumi x Omega! Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, Hurt/comfort.

Request: Because I like a bit of hurt/comfort, and I love the idea of an omega depression, I'm curious on how alpha third years on Aoba Johsai (so like Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Mattsun) would do in response to their omega being in an omega depression.

Summary: Because of unseen circumstances, you drop, and you drop hard. How does your alpha help you/redeem himself?

Author’s Note: Oikawa’s got really long, so I didn’t include Mattsun or Makki. If you wanna request a part 2 I’ll get on it right away!

Requests: Open!

Toru Oikawa

➵ Truth be told, it was kind of his fault.

➵Right after you both bonded, he immediately seemed to drop any redeeming qualities he had while courting you.

➵He skipped out on dates, stayed later and later at practice, gave the mile to his fangirls.

➵And while you could get over that, the worse thing you realized was when you went to cheer him on at one of his games.

➵His bond mark was covered with a scent gland bandage and when Iwaizumi noticed it (He knew of your bonding), he sent a worried glance your way.

➵He could practically see the heartbreak from his place on the court.

➵What was worse was that you didn’t make a scene.

➵You stood, turned and left. That was it.

➵ Oikawa was busy doing his pre-game whatever to notice, making the situation even worse.

➵Iwaizumi wanted to follow you but the whistle of the ref called him back.

➵ You didn’t want Iwaizumi to follow you anyway.

➵You felt numb. So, so numb.

➵Like anything you previously felt-- any longing, or wishing for your alpha-- reduced to a numb buzz that kept your body moving.

➵You felt like you were on Autopilot.

➵Toru made it fairly obvious that he wanted your bond mark on display, so why weren’t the same standards held to him? It wasn’t against the rules of volleyball-- several alphas had theirs out on proud display with their omega cheering in the stands.

➵Was it you?

➵God, you felt so empty. Like your will to live was dripping away.

➵You felt your omega lay down, whining as they tried to figure out what was wrong. Where did you go wrong?

➵You barely felt the soft fleece of your blankets as you settled into your nest for who knows how long.

___

Toru was lost. You were in the stands during warm-up last game, but was gone by half-time. Okay, fine. Maybe you had to pee. But then you didn’t show up at all after that. While at the time it took a back burner-- because we all know how Oikawa plays-- it was now front and center. His alpha was on edge and snapped on him twice already, sending sharp throbs of pain to his temples. It had been three days since Toru had seen you, his mate, so Toru could tell that was a big reason for his frustration. But Toru didn’t know why you had been gone for three days.

If you were sick, why didn’t you text him? Were you injured? Toru didn’t know. His neck burnt with anticipation at the thought of you in any peril.

Where were you?

Shoving his way past a few fangirls, Toru made his way into the gym, racking his brain for any sort of hint. Vacation maybe and you just forgot to tell him?

“Iwa-chan! I need your-” Toru paused, huffing when Iwaizumi roughly shoved past him. His alpha was on guard immediately, making Toru growl loudly. “What’s you issue, Iwa? Blue-balled or something?”

The laugh that left Iwaizumi made even him, the head alpha, shiver. “My issue? What’s yours?! You absolutely destroyed your relationship last game and ask me for help?! What the hell is wrong with you, Oikawa?!”

Oikawa swallowed. There was no nickname. No sense of friendship in his words. They were straight malice, laced with acidic venom meant to hurt him.

When Oikawa didn’t immediately answer, Iwaizumi continued. “You make them wear their bond mark for all the world to see, but cover yours up? What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?! How in the hell you got someone like them to glance your way for more than a second is beyond me, let alone bond you; but when you do, you fucking destroy them. You’re a failure of an alpha, Toru Oikawa.”

Truth be told, Oikawa thought that him covering up his bond mark would save you from trouble. The less people who knew about him being mated the less people to harass you. But he was your alpha. He was supposed to make sure that didn’t happen anyway. Fuck, Iwa was right. He was a failure. This became evident as more and more things came hurdling back at him. He didn’t even grab his duffel before he was, quite literally, sprinting out of the gym. He didn’t care who he pushed over. He didn’t care who he snapped at. He didn’t care. He only care about one person and one person alone.

___

You whined as hunger continued gnawing at your gut. You wanted to eat, really, but you just didn’t have the energy. You didn’t have the will.

You still felt so numb and didn’t know where to go from here. At this point, it was clear you were in the midst of an Omega Depression, and to be fair-- that scared you. You wanted to spend the evening in your nest, restart and reboot, before talking to your alpha about it the next day. You truly didn’t mean to drop.

But here you were. The aspect of ...starvation scared you. The aspect of no closure for yourself scared you. Death scared you. But you couldn’t fight yourself to fix it. Couldn’t bring yourself to even lift your head or stay awake for more than an hour.

The door to your room slammed open, but you didn’t look up. It was probably your guardian coming in to try and get you to eat again. But you wouldn’t.

Your heart dropped when the smell of burnt plastic invaded your sense.

“No- no, no, no, no no- Please god no-” Oikawa felt his heart shatter at the sight of you. You looked like you had both feet dangling in the grave, hanging on by a loose root you grabbed onto in a last ditch effort.

He continued repeating no while running his hands through his hair, already crying before he even set foot in your room. When he did dare step closer, that was all it took before he was running to you, pulling you in close despite your whines of protest. His grip on you was bruising, but he couldn’t risk letting you slip. Not again.

“Please- please don’t leave me.” He sobbed into your shoulder, your own eyes stinging (Dehydration keeping tears from falling). “I- I can fix this- I can fix us. Fuck- Please Y/N. Please omega, let me help you. Let me make this right!”

Though you didn’t say anything, the grip on his jacket told him all he needed to know. And though it would be a long road to recovery, you and him would conquer it.

➵ Completely contrary to Oikawa, your drop wasn’t anyone’s fault.

➵Maybe the school systems, if there was blame to be put.

➵So much had gone on in such a short period.

➵You and your alpha, along with his team, had been bombarded with practice and paperwork in preparation for the upcoming tournament.

➵But just because volleyball picked, doesn’t mean school drops off.

➵ You had essay after essay due, Unit exams which would soon fall into Final exams.

➵You and Hajime had barely even seen each other all week.

➵You both still sent each other good morning and good night texts, and if you see each other in the hallway you’ll give each other a quick peck.

➵Honestly, it was obvious everyone was on edge.

➵Teachers didn’t care though, they just kept piling on more, and more, and more work.

➵ And volleyball just kept getting closer and closer.

➵You stumbled into the gym with a chirp, trying to sort through the multitude of papers in your arms.

➵Your back was aching and your arms were strained, but you couldn’t drop them. That would be a disaster.

➵ The coach sent you a raised brow, offering a hand to help. You waved him off, sitting on the bench with a grunt.

➵Everyone was already sweaty and panting, practice in full swing.

➵God, everyone looked so tired already.

➵You could feel the waves of exhaustion.

➵ As they were just in deep in your bones as they were in theirs.

___

“Did you finish filling out the registry forms?”

You looked up to the coach, nodding slowly before riffling through your papers and pulling out the ones you were looking for. You handed them to the beta, quickly going back to your notes once more.

You noted the stumbled steps and slowed reflexes, but simply made it a point to emphasize rest with the boys. Maybe a day with no practice would do them more good then practice.

Hajime was doing well, as usual, somehow keeping his head and energy high. You know he hasn’t gotten much rest either, and you felt for your alpha. Honestly, you just wanted one day with just you and your alpha, where you both could sleep the day away and come back good as new.

That just sounded glorious.

“You wouldn’t mind filling out the ref sheets either, would you?” The beta smirked, already handing you the sheets. He knew you had a tough time saying no to people older and/or bigger than you; and had you doing several things that most mangers would never touch.

It was tiring.

You reluctantly took the sheets, already starting on them. The notes you were working on were yanking from under you, the coach reading over them.

He scoffed at your note of possibly skipping a practice. “Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Take a break?! These boys are on the brink of a skillful breakthrough, and you want to stop them?!”

You closed in on yourself at the yells, trying to focus on the ref sheets. He continued yelling and berating you for the notes you made. You could feel the teams stares on you, but you also knew they wanted you to learn to stand up for yourself. They had been giving you a few minutes to try and collect yourself and if nothing happened they would step in.

It only took seconds for you to finally break down, sobbing into your hands as the coach’s yelling reached a breaking point. The team took very time to act then and there.

Oikawa and Kyoutani were snapping and growling, pushing him back and away from you while Hajime slid onto his knees in front of you, pulling you to his chest and kissing your bond mark. He rocked you side to side, purring and letting you cry.

You sobbed and sobbed while the coach tried backtracking, but it was too late. The pack was on defense. One of them was in danger and they were going to make sure they all were safe.

___

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, your in Hajime’s arms, which are wrapped tight around your waist.

Oikawa was on the other side of you, head on Hajime’s thigh, Makki and Mattsun were cuddling together a little to the left of you. Kyoutani was closest to you (He had a soft spot for you, almost like you were another older sister to him). You ran a hand through his hair for a moment before taking a deep breath in and out. The rest of the team was scattered in the puppy pile around you, and the gym was dark.

In fact, everything was dark. There were chairs propped up by the door, just in case you supposed, and there were jackets littered everywhere. Your heart fluttered at the thought.

Hajime’s arms subconsciously tightened around you, luring you back into sleep.

You, your alpha, and your pack.

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h2bakugou · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! Could I please get a soft shiggy x fem!reader? Basically the reader is like god dammit why aren’t u taking care of urself? And basically gives him a lil homemade spa day! I think it’d be really cute! It can be fluff or smut, whatever you prefer!

a/n: hii!! of course!! i kept this kinda fluffy, posting a day later but happy birthday shiggy baby

summary: the constant state that shigaraki stays in while running the league is certainly an interesting one, but you can’t bear watching him not take care of himself. so you arrange a day to do just that

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff, mentions of not eating, mentions of anxiety, a few mentions of nudity but nothing sexual

word count: 2.2k (okay pop awf-)

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

The prominent dark circles under Shigaraki’s eyes were a clear indication that he had been up all night again. Even while he sat in the bed beside you, playing a game on some handheld console, you could tell he hadn’t been to sleep at all in the past twenty-four hours.

Trying to ignore the soft sounds coming from his game, you cuddled up to him anyway, slinging an arm under on of his, resting your hand back up on his shoulder, your grasp resembling that of a backpack strap.

“What are you playing?” You mumbled quietly, your eyes just barely peeking over his arm, the screen illuminated a little too brightly for your comfort.

“Some weird RPG I downloaded from a forum. It’s stupid.” Shigaraki quickly turned the game console off and set it on the night stand, turning over to look at you.

“You look tired, did you not sleep good last night?” You ask, reaching a delicate hand up to caress his cheek, thumb carefully grazing over the top his cheek. You pull him in for a delicate kiss, just barely touching his lips.

You were still half-asleep, but you could tell Shigaraki wasn’t taking care of himself again. He had these spells, usually around the time when the League wasn’t doing much, plotting or just moving around, he wouldn’t sleep, he’d barely eat-his excuse would be he forgot, but you knew he was anxious.

Anxious for what was to come. He was a good leader, and he was strong, probably stronger than you were, but that didn’t matter. You were worried about him.

You couldn’t stand seeing those dark circles under his eyes, of hearing his tummy rumble when you lay next to him. It seemed the scratching on his neck would worsen as well, raw skin peeking through under the already cracked and dry skin he itched at for what felt like hours.

“Didn’t sleep.” He replied quietly. He knew you were about to scold him. He could read it all over your face as you pouted, pulling him into you.

“You could’ve woke me up, and we could’ve done something to help you fall asleep.” You sit up, ushering him to lay in your lap. As he does so, you take one look at his hair and inwardly cringe.

It’s a knotted mess, and no matter how much you wanted to run your fingers through it, you probably wouldn’t even get halfway before having to brush your fingers out of there with a hair brush. Or worse, cut them out.

“Didn’t wanna bug you.” Shigaraki seemed cold. His responses were dry. You heaved a sigh and pushed him up by his shoulders. Slinking out of the bed, you walked around to his side and tugged him out, pulling him over to the bathroom by his arms.

“How many times have I told you I don’t mind.” You sigh as you set him down on he toilet lid, watching as he just nods, hanging his head as you turn on the water for the bath.

Allowing it to warm up, you turn back to him and tug at his shirt.

“Arms up.” You speak softly, proceeding to take his shirt off as he lifts his arms up.

“When did you get this!?” You’re visibly and audibly worried as you spot a rather large bruise on his side. It looked like it hurt.

“Last fight.” Shigaraki sighed and glanced up at you.

“What are you doing?” His lips were fitted in a thin line, his eyelids were barely open, probably to heavy to even try.

“I’m going to help you relax. Look, your shoulders are so tense you can’t even relax them!” You went to touch his shoulders and just as you had stated, the muscles felt locked and telling by the hissing from Shigaraki, they were painful to move and touch.

“Alright alright! Just, am I taking a bath?” He questioned. You nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to undress the rest of the way before getting into the tub, his lips parting as he sat down, the warm water already making him feel slightly better.

Taking a cup you’d left in the bathroom from dumping out some soda, you rinsed it quickly under the sink, making sure it wasn’t sticky, and then brought it over to the tub where you scooped up some water and poured it over Shigaraki’s hair.

Once it was wet enough to lather some shampoo in, you allowed him to lean back as you worked your fingers through his locks. Unknotting his hair and washing it was a bit difficult, but taking your time, you made sure every strand of his hair was clean.

Your fingers worked their way back up to his scalp where you massaged for quite a few minutes, both to try and remove any built up dirt and dandruff and to give him a bit of a massage.

Shigaraki was almost purring in satisfaction as you finally dragged your hands away, reaching for the cup to rinse his hair. It didn’t take you long to rinse out all the suds before getting started on the conditioner.

“Thank you.” Shigaraki mumbled, holding his knees to his chest, his head dipped back so you could wash his hair easier.

“Of course. I know you haven’t been taking care of yourself again, I know you don’t mean too, but I can’t help but notice.” You sigh, running the pleasant-smelling conditioner through his white locks.

“You have these weird spells. I understand though, how you feel. It’s not easy being the leader, I can’t imagine the stress you feel, but you’ve got to take care of yourself. It’s important. You gotta be strong for the league, and for yourself.” You know Shigaraki, a little more than everyone else in the league does.

You’re dating him for peat’s sake. But Shigaraki became standoffish, grumpy, and even distant during these spells. There was nothing to do. Besides maybe make up a plan for a little something just to do something.

He was anxious about the little things. About how the league looked to the public. About how long they had stayed in one location. About how long it had been since their last big attack.

He needed to get back to league business, but there needed to be time, a good plan, an opening, the forces to attack, all of it needed to be planned with pinpoint accuracy, and those things took time.

“I love you, a whole bunch.” You lean over and kiss his cheek, smiling as his cheeks burn red.

You lather up a loofa with some nice scented soap and begin to wash his back and shoulders, down his arms and a little on his neck.

You’re extra careful around his neck and try not to get any of the scented soap on his raw skin. You know it hurts, and it’ll sting when water washes over it, but you’ll have to take extra good care of that spot later.

When you’re finished washing him, you drain the water and let him stand up, switching the bath to a shower and you begin to rinse him off.

It feels so domestic, these few minutes. The way you laugh and giggle when you tell him to lift his arms and spin and then call yourself some sort of car wash as you spray the warm water over him.

“You’re making a mess.” Shigaraki states at the various puddles of water on the bathroom floor. You sigh and finally help him rinse his conditioned hair out, asking him to hold the shower head for you while you run your fingers through his hair and ring out all the suds.

After the shower, you let him stand and air dry why you go and retrieve a towel. Upon walking in, he’s turned away from you, so you decide to pinch his butt, playfully of course.

Shigaraki just turns and glares at you, taking the towel from you as you giggle.

“I touched the butt.” You laugh as you leave the bathroom, letting him dry off. While he does so, you search around for a pair of boxers to hand him as well as a comfy t-shirt to put on after you give him a nice back massage.

Handing him his underwear, you look away and decide to make the bed quickly while he gets partially dressed.

“Where’s my shirt?” He questions. You turn and for a few seconds, you’re flustered. There’s Shigaraki, hair dripping wet and running down his toned chest, right down to the waist band of his black boxers. The towel you’d given him is lazily tossed over one shoulder, and he looks like some sort of actor out of a terrible romance movie.

Too entranced by his looks, you quickly shake your head, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You pat the freshly made bed.

“Back massage.” You blurt out kneeling on the bed, waiting for him to lay down.

“Flustered?” Shigaraki stands beside the bed, a finger under your chin as you look up at him. You lean up and kiss his lips, smiling as you pull away.

“Well when you look that good can you blame me?” You tease, waiting as he lays down on the bed like you had motioned for.

“I guess not.” He replies.

Laying his head over his folded arms, his chest is against the bed. You move to sit over his butt as you look at his back. Still a little damp from the shower, you take the towel that had been tossed on the bed and dry it off, running it through his wet locks a bit.

Tossing it down onto the floor, too unbothered about it leaving a wet-mark on the carpet, You squirt some lotion into your hand and delicately begin to rub it into his back, carefully drawing your fingers across his skin, massaging it up over his shoulders.

Your fingers work magic as you relieve his tension, working at his shoulders carefully and strategically, undoing any knots that had formed.

Shigaraki’s eyes are closed, and small hums of satisfaction spill from his mouth as you do so.

You spend minutes massaging his back, quietly and gently working lotion into his skin. And when you’re finished, you ask him to sit up and face you. He puts on a shirt and you ask for his hands.

He’s skeptical but allows you to see one. You carefully apply some lotion to your hand and begin to massage it in, working down each one of his fingers before gently massaging his palm.

He stares at you in admiration as you seem un-phased by his hands, or the fact that he could kill you with them if you messed up. You don’t even look anxious, or worried about them.

And when you switch to his other hand, you continue, even when his fingers twitch. You just smile and kiss the back of his hand when you’re done, complementing the way he looks.

Interlocking your hands with his, Shigaraki’s eyes go wide.

“Careful!” He speaks up, falling into you as you tug him back.

He’s laying on top of you as you lay under him, smiling up at him.

“I can handle myself, don’t worry. Now come here.” You wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him like a sloth. You can’t help but giggle as he turns over, allowing you to be on top of him.

“You’re so stupid.” Shigaraki sighs, closing his eyes. You brush your nose against his, kissing the tip of his nose before burying your head into the crook of his neck.

“But you love me. And I love you too.” You kiss his neck gently, closing your eyes as you rest against him.

“I do love you.” Shigaraki’s arms are wrapped over your back, holding you down on top of him. He smiles and finally feels how tired he was.

“I’m gonna go make breakfast soon, so take a little nap okay?” You sit up and kiss his forehead.

“I can’t fall asleep without you.” Shigaraki mumbles, holding you tighter.

“This is a bad idea. I’m gonna fall back asleep too.” You mumble reaching for a blanket. Shigaraki helps cover the both of you.

“Guess we’re napping then.” Shigaraki kisses your cheek, nuzzling his head against yours.

“Guess so.” Your words are quiet as you slip back to sleep, peacefully dozing off as Shigaraki does the same.

It’s a bit of a long nap, a couple hours pass. And when you wake up, you make some food for the both of you, eating a big meal while watching a show on Netflix. The day is all about Shigaraki and so cuddles are a must when you’re finished eating.

You switch from basic cuddling to sitting in his lap, to even under his baggy t-shirt, your head poking through the head-hole, your back against his chest.

It’s a long day, but it’s spent with Shigaraki, taking care of him and showing him how much you truly adore him. And he loves it.

And at the end of the night, when you go to bed for real after gaming for an unreal amount of time, he holds you close and kisses the top of your head. You’re tuckered out completely sound asleep as he begins to doze off himself.

He loves you. He really does.

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masterlist

#shigaraki #tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomue #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #tenko shimura x reader #tenko #shimura

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shespeaksinsongs · 3 years ago

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You Are My New Fear | Letters To My Mom

TW: MOMMY ISSUES, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION, SUICIDE, AND ANXIETY.

Me in my game room at about five years old.

I wish somebody would have told me that that smile I used to slather onto my face so effortlessly would soon become something I forced. I'm not sure if it would have made a difference, but it's best to be prepared in any case.

"What's your biggest fear?" My elementary best friend asked, kicking her feet giddily under the table. We were still too little to reach the floor.

"Drowning." I'd say, with a panicked look on my face, growing pale at the mere thought of dying that way.

"What are you most afraid of, hija?" My dad asked on our regular morning car rides to school.

"Drowning." I'd say, without even thinking twice. The answer was almost prepared, seeing as how casually it rolled off my tongue.

"What's your biggest fear?" My friend asked in the comfort of her room, watching as I shifted uncomfortably in my spot on her bed.

"Becoming my mother." I'd say wishing that drowning was the most of my worries.

I don't know when my default answer of drowning to death switched to the terrifying idea that I would, one day, become my mother. Still, somewhere along the lines, those little moments that I would suck up to my mom and gift her pretty pictures I spent hours working on and picking daisies from my backyard for her turned into scheduling my crying for nighttime when everyone was asleep.

Slowly but surely, I became uneasy about the idea of marriage, fearing that I'd only ruin it and become a wife like my mother. The idea of having children scared me to the point where I felt I would rather sacrifice my own happiness so that my children wouldn't have to live to see the day I turn into my mom.

Because in my eyes, my mom is a monster. She's not the kind of monster that has big, sharp teeth and scary yellow eyes, and a menacing growl. She's the kind of monster that you would never suspect. She's the bloody hand, but you were the accomplice. She was the screwdriver, but you were the loose screw. Sure, she hurt you, but you let yourself be hurt by her - so really, whose fault was it?

My mom is the kind of monster that uses your vulnerability against you in the worst way possible.

"I'm just not feeling good right now. I feel like I'm dying, and I feel tired all the time." My sixth-grade self, awkwardly positioned in the passenger's seat, turning my head away from my mom.

"Well, you know we care about you." My mom said, stoic in her demeanor and ultimately still in how she held her body up.

It was a day I'll never forget. She picked at her fingernails and anxiously tapped the gas pedal, waiting for me to be done talking about my emotions so she could drive back "home."

Warm tears stung my eyes, forcing their way down my face in slow streams. "You don't get it, I-" I stopped, knowing it wasn't worth it to try to make my mom understand feelings she'd been adamant didn't exist.

"Ay, don't be so dramatic." My mom said, waving her hand up to dismiss me and my silly ideas. She was right. I wasn't depressed or anxious, and I definitely didn't look for any excuse possible to threaten suicide against myself. My mom said so.

I don't know why I kept running back to her in times of need. Maybe it was my dream version of her that I relied on to justify my ever-growing love for her. Feasibly, it was the person I wanted her to be. And perhaps, just perhaps, my expectations of her drove me to the point where I'd convinced myself my mother was the person I saw when I closed my eyes at night.

I remember telling her things, spreading rumors I'd heard about people in the family, hoping that it would make us closer. The things I did just to make her happy...

"Mom, I'm trying my best!" I cried on the floor, cleaning up the mess my new puppy had made. She'd pooped and peed all over the kitchen. I was exhausted, previously knocked out in my bed, when my mom called me downstairs, screaming for me to get my ass down there.

"No, you're not! You never try! You're useless! I should've never had you!" My mom yelled from the bottom of her heart (or lack thereof).

Tears welled in my eyes for the millionth time because of my mother. This wasn't the first time she'd wished me dead, and it sure wouldn't be the last time. "Mommy, please just leave me alone and let me clean up." I begged, letting broken sobs come out of my mouth. I wanted to hurt her, and I wanted to hurt her as bad as she hurt me.

My mom refused to leave, yelling at me, watching as I piteously scraped my dog's contents off the wall.

It's sad that the only good memories I have of my mom are those I couldn't participate in. Instead, I have stories of her youth and how caring of a mother she used to be when I was a baby - conveniently so far back that I can't remember it. It pains me more knowing how she was before she had me, her firstborn. If she were this way her whole life, would I take it so personally?

Am I dramatic for wishing I had a mother who could hug me back when I hugged her? Am I a selfish and pathetic bitch for feeling envy when I see how my friends' moms act with them? Why can't my mom love me the way she loves her? Why does my mom have more pictures of her first niece than she does of me? What did I do to her?

"Mommy, mommy! Look!" I said, running up to my mother, holding my report card in the air like a shiny new toy - all A's.

"Nice job, Fio. I'm so proud of you. You're doing great. Keep it up." My mom said softly, pulling me into a warm hug. Somehow, that was all I needed - that's all I wanted. It really is a shame that that memory is fake.

I have plenty of other fake memories that I store in my head, letting the (also fake) backstories take over my mind when I go to sleep. For one of them, I was romping around on an old swing set, one that made little squeaky noises whenever I swung too high.

Somehow, I lose control of the swing, and my mom comes rushing up to me, worried and begging for me to tell her how she could help. I don't know when or how she got there (my dad was usually the one to take me to the park), but what I do know is she's exactly who I needed there at that moment.

So many real memories I have of me needing my mother most, waiting for the day she would actually turn up in one of them. She was always the first to pick me up in school lines. She was always at my open houses. She attended every grade promotion I had. But she was never there. It was all a facade. She'd said so herself that she craved being the all-star mom, the one who'd win several gold medals if there were award ceremonies for that sort of thing.

Her perfectionism is what makes her corrupt. She has spent my entire life telling me what to do, how to do it, scolding me for not doing it the way she imagined me doing it in her head.

She refused to seek help when that's all I wanted her to do.

"What do you want for your birthday, hija?" My dad asked, glancing at me while keeping his eyes fixed on the road, humming along to a Christmas carol playing on the radio.

"Honestly, dad?" I asked, only twelve years old, my green eyes twinkling in hope.

"Whatever your heart desires." My dad said in a goofy voice, making me smile.

"I want Mom to get help." I said sadly, hoping my dad would agree and push the idea upon my mom.

My mother went to therapy for four months. My dad had to pay her every session for her to go. In my mom's life, money has never been an obstacle. Her father was a middle-high class socialite in Venezuela who worked in engineering and oil companies. Her mother, who passed away of Leukemia when she was twelve, spoiled her rotten until her very last breath.

Eventually, I became mentally sick to the core. Writing and singing, my two favorite things in the world, became hobbies, and life had lost its zesty twang. Little things like music and the people I passed on the street that waved "hello" at me became nuisances. My mom "gave up" her therapy so I could get help.

I still wonder if she did it for herself or for me.

A few times a year, I get asked what my biggest fear is. Sometimes it comes up in conversation. Other times I create the question, not thinking about the consequences if people answer with "Spiders, yours?"

Each time I get asked, I take a deep breath and lie. "The dark." I say now, the idea of death by sea sounding more of tranquility than a travesty.

I look back at the old pictures I have of myself, a smiley and shy little girl who was afraid of nothing and everything at the same time. To her, I ask, "When you have nothing to lose, why be afraid?"

Me, with my baby doll at age three. I loved taking care of her. I used to take her everywhere with me.

#open letter #dear mom hlbutterfly #hlbutterflyoriginal

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petite-ely · 4 years ago

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Afraid // JJ Maybank

one - the five secrets of JJ maybank

Pairing : JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: language, mention of abuse and starvation, fear of storms and ocean, fear of losing sibling, mention underage drinking, very slight mention of sex

Description: first real chapter (yay!!!) JJ Maybank has secrets, just like anybody else, but his are very hard to keep. Especially when it concerns the girl he’s head over heels in love with.

Previously Next

Afraid masterlist

A/n: here it is!!! So sorry for the wait, I had things going on in my life and I had a huge block for a while. Anyways hope you enjoy!!!!

Song recommendation :

Gif found on internet all credits to rightful owner

JJ Maybank was like an open book. When he was surrounded by his friends, he would not hesitate to tell them what was on his mind. He spoke honestly about how he felt and always openly stated his opinions. It could be brutal sometimes or really strange, but no one really cared. That was just how JJ was.

Sometimes he would slip small secrets in conversations without realizing it, especially if he was drunk or high (which frankly happened often). But JJ was really good at keeping bigger secrets, his more than anyone else’s. He had collected over the years a total of five secrets that he had (and would) never reveal to anybody. Even his friends. Here’s what they are.

#1 He had his first real kiss at 14

He always told everyone that he had his first kiss at 11, with a ‘hot touron’ (his own words). He had lied to impress his friends - and others too - and it worked. His real first kiss had actually happened in a game of truth of dare, three years after the rumour was spread. He had wanted to tell the truth for a while, but he was ashamed of the story he had made up.

#2 His Dad was an asshole and often used his son as his own punching bag.

This one was the only exception. (Every rules have some exceptions anyways) JJ never wanted for his friends to find out about his abusive father, but they all eventually knew. The first to find out was John B. The two of them hung out almost every day. One time, John B simply asked where the bruises that decorated JJ’s body came from and the blond spilled everything. He was too tired of hiding this secret to himself. It was a huge burden for a boy like him. Not long after, he told his other friends. He didn’t want to hide it from them anymore. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but once it was all out, he was relieved they knew.

#3 He had once gone almost a week without eating.

It happened when he was younger, not long after his mother left. His dad had been so angry that he purposely deprived his son of any food. As a kid it was hard for him to find any food by himself and he was ashamed of asking for help. He couldn’t tell anyone. After five days, y/n had noticed that JJ didn’t have any food at lunch and she told her father. Big John, having known Luke when he was younger, had decided to take the boy under his wings. He invited him to eat at the château whenever he could and overpacked John B and Y/n’s lunch so that they would share with him. He was sort of a second dad for JJ.

#4 He had a mild fear of storms.

As a kid, he always compared them to his dad. The quick and bright lightning bolts represented his short temper and the loud thunder claps represented his anger and all the violence he could create. So JJ always made sure to be surrounded by his friends during storms. It brought him reassurance and peace.

#5 He was completely in love with y/n Routledge and she had no idea.

He had know for a long time now, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Instead he drowned his sorrow with alcohol and one nighters with tourons. She was his best friend’s sister and a fellow pogue. The rule was clear, no pogue on pogue macking. Besides she deserved way better than anything he could offer. She could never love him, there was no chance she’d ever feel the same. Right?

>>>

The wind was blowing harshly at this point, whistling as it travelled between the thick branches of the trees. Y/n felt a small shiver slide beneath her shirt and dance along the line of her spine. She tightened the blanket wrapped around her body, readjusting the grip on the book she was reading.

Well, reading wasn’t really the word to use. It was more like staring. She had brought her favourite book outside with her as a way to distract herself, but it didn’t quite work. You see y/n had a twin brother and as much as she loved John B, sometimes he could be really stupid. Like when he decided to go surfing right when a hurricane was hitting the island.

Y/n was absolutely terrified of anything involving the ocean, so at the moment she was practically shaking with fear. She tried to breathe as slowly as she possibly could. She hated being outside during a big storm like this, but she also hated the thought of her brother drowning in the wild waves. So she sat down on the old couch on the front porch of the château, with a warm blanket and a book, waiting until John B came back, hopefully in one piece.

She had always been an anxious person. As a child she would often worry about small things like speaking in public, different events coming up and a bunch of other stuff. She had been diagnosed with anxiety at 10 years old, after having a panic attack in the school hallway. She never received any treatment for it though. Doctors thought she was too young for medication and well therapy was expensive.

Nonetheless, she found ways to cope with it. Tips and tricks that helped her manage it. With time her levels of stress and anxiety lowered and the attacks were rarer. It hadn’t completely disappeared of course, but it was better.

After her father disappeared, it became much worse. It was like she suddenly had a hundred more things to worry about. She and John B had to find enough money to pay for electricity, water and also food. Plus she had to deal with DCS who threatened to send them to foster care. It was unbearable.

“Hey there,” a familiar voice spoke.

“JJ?” Y/n squinted trying to see the boy standing in the dark. “What are you doing, it’s raining you’re gonna get sick.”

He was drenched, completely soaked with water. She didn’t know how long he had been walking in the storm. The rain was falling down so heavily it could soak you to the bone under five minutes. She stuck her hand inside the open window of the living room and reached for a towel. Since they lived near a beach, there was always some lying around on the floor or onto the couch.

“Here,” she handed him a large fluffy towel. “ I can’t guarantee it’s clean, but at least it’ll keep you dry.”

“Thanks.” Y/n let her book fall on the porch.

“Are you okay? You seem, tense.” Her voice was tinted with worry. JJ was one of her closest and oldest friend, she knew perfectly how to read his emotions.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just tired, I guess,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“JJ you- ” She was about to finish her sentence when the thunder clapped loudly above their head, making the girl flinch at the same time.

JJ was just as scared as she was - maybe a bit less or more he couldn’t really tell - but he didn’t show it. Knowing that she was sitting beside him completely terrified made him feel braver in a way. She seemed so small and vulnerable, he didn’t want her to feel unsafe. He knew that admitting his own fear would only make hers worse. So he hid it in a small box at the back of his mind, hoping he’d eventually forget about it.

“You know, John B might be an asshole sometimes,” he paused, ruffling his wet hair with the towel, “but he’s not dumb. He knows when to stop, when it gets too dangerous. Besides Pope’s with him, he couldn’t be in safer hands.”

“Thank you J. That, um, that made me feel better.”

Her hand was resting on his shoulder. Her touch was warm against his bare skin, sending small ripples of goosebumps throughout his body. A soft smile was drawn onto her lips, her cheeks slightly flushed by a sunburn and her eyes glinting in the darkness of the night. She was so beautiful, it was almost painful. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Do you mind staying with me?” asked y/n with a small voice. “At least until John B comes back.”

“Sure.” A smile stretched itself onto his lips. “Wasn’t planning on going home anyway.”

“So,” he got up from the couch, removing his dirty shoes, “wanna go in and watch a movie before the power goes out?”

“Can we watch Peter Pan?”

“Peter Pan it is.”

And as JJ disappeared into the warmth and comfort of the château, y/n’s smile grew even bigger. She was so deeply in love with him, how could he not see it.

Taglist

@drewswannabegirl @kaelyn-lobrutto24

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lambourngb · 5 years ago

Note

"Explain the tearaway pants again?"

“you can stay afraid ( or slit the throat of fear and be brave)” - title from Gang of Youths, and that’s all @haloud ‘s fault.

“Explain the tearaway pants again?” Alex asked, picking up the soft, shiny fabric from the box with an incredulous look to Kyle. Of all things he would have predicted as a birthday gift from Kyle, tearaway stripper pants was on the last page of the book, right before a father-son vacation voucher.

Which he had also received, as a birthday gift from Eric, his latest and most recent now ex-boyfriend. His heart was in the right place, since Alex did say he was estranged from his dad, and well-meaning but ignorant Eric, who called his parents daily, thought a trip to baseball parks would help.

It was hard to explain to anyone he dated that when he said he wasn’t close with Jesse Manes, that it wasn’t just parental tension over his sexuality that could be eased with more talking. How do you say to someone that your dad didn’t just hate his sexuality but had attacked and maimed a teenager over it. That even drugged up with Alex waving a white flag of surrender, even faked as it was, his father had shut down any mention or acknowledgment of who Alex was.

It was just easier to say that he and his dad did not see eye-to-eye and that it was unlikely to change. Alex had that weird thought that people, even alien shaped people, should be treated with dignity and not eradicated from the earth. There was no common ground to be found over genocide.

“I thought on the weekends, when you were wearing the prosthesis, you might find some use in easy to remove pants if you had your boyfriend over.” Kyle smiled, and moved to show him the tearaway seams that were cleverly hidden. “You told me that sometimes the mood fizzled because of getting undressed-”

“Ah,” Alex acknowledged, looking down at the box again. Another small white lie was coming back to bite him. It was true, getting undressed with someone new, was an ordeal. Forrest had handled it the best, outside of Michael, knowing just when to offer help and just when to back the hell off, but ultimately the secrets and running off because of a text about alien nonsense wore thin with him. After Forrest, he gave up on trying for a deeper relationship considering the number of secrets he guarded and went back to using a dating app which resulted in a few less-than-desirable responses to his leg.

Blaming the fizzle, on his awkward way of undressing, to Kyle was easier than mentioning that some guys lost their interest when the theoretical knowledge of his amputation became factual.

“You hate them.” Kyle reached for the box, which Alex tightened his grip on stubbornly.

“No, these are great and thoughtful, thank you. I was just thinking about the fact, I ah, Eric and I broke up today.”

“What?! Seriously?” Kyle glanced around Alex’s house with a clenched fist, as if he was waiting to see Eric appear, so he could fight him. “That dick broke up with you on your birthday? I never liked that douche.”

Alex smiled weakly, “You thought Eric was great, don’t lie.”

“I thought he was great because he didn’t act weird about your friendship with Guerin, and he’s one of the best scrub nurses in the OR but if he broke up with you on your birthday-”

“Okay well no need for workplace awkwardness, I broke up with him. In fact, you should probably take his side.” Alex gathered the wrapping paper to ball it up, and stood up to head into his kitchen, with Kyle following on his heels. He lifted the trash can lid, picking up the trip voucher on top to hand over to Kyle before disposing of the colored paper. “It’s not his fault, he is just probably too idealistic about the world for my taste.”

“Jesus, a father-son bonding trip? Yeah, no.” Kyle shook his head, before leaning against the countertop and studying Alex intently. “I don’t blame you for dumping him, I mean, you told him about how your dad treated you right?”

Once upon a time, to keep Kyle from demonizing Jim Valenti, the only man who was ever kind to Alex, he had revealed the extent of the abuse he suffered growing up. He never imagined that Kyle would end up being a part of his daily orbit, so it was at the time, a safe admission. The only reason he had any sort of comfort around Kyle now was he knew that Kyle had his own reasons for hating Jesse Manes. The support he received wasn’t pity, it was shared pain. Kyle understood, and of course Michael understood, but the rest of the world? He couldn’t trust it.

There were days when he wished he had been able to conceal the truth from Maria as a kid.

“My dad is a level of evil that approaches comic-book villain. It’s hard to come up with the vocabulary to explain it. It’s definitely not first date ground to cover.”

“You could just say what you said to me, that he was an abusive, homophobic dick.”

“I tried that actually, with Matt, but his dad is Army, so he thought I was just talking about typical macho man bullshit. His dad called him a fairy and won’t pick up the phone when he called his mom, but he’d never tried to kill him for being gay.” Alex rubbed at his forehead, and shrugged dismissively, “even if I could explain it, there’s still alien bullshit to worry about. Forrest couldn’t deal with my secrets, so…”

“Now that, my friend, we can commiserate over. Even if Stef understood my friendship with Liz, she was less supportive of running out on her to answer Isobel Evans' every little call. As Rosa calls it, those bitch ass aliens, strike again.” Kyle picked up his half-empty beer from the counter to clink against Alex’s in solidarity.

Later, after Kyle was gone, Alex wandered out to his patio to light a fire. Despite the voucher from the now ex Eric and the funny gift from Kyle, his birthday had gone well. Maria had treated him to an amp for his sound setup, an expensive gift had it been new, but this one was reconditioned by Guerin. Liz and Max had treated him to lunch at the Crashdown with a four show pass at the local concert hall. Rosa had baked a gourmet cake, and even Isobel had dropped off a bottle of expensive scotch.

Though it hadn’t worked out, Forrest had texted a nice birthday message along with an invitation to join a group of his friends for an antique market trip to Santa Fe.

Alex tipped his head back in his chair, listening to the crackle of the firewood settling in the pit and finally allowed himself to think about Michael, or more specifically the absence of Michael today. It was pressing on a bruise, to consider the gift from Maria might actually have been a joint gift. He didn’t think they had gotten back together again, but he wasn’t sure.

The gap in knowledge about Maria warred with the feeling that maybe Michael had forgotten, and it ached. He wasn’t sure which hurt more.

His phone vibrated against his leg. Alex placed his beer on the ground next to his chair and opened the notification. It was his security system letting him know that someone had pulled up to the front of the house. His heart thumped painfully but hopefully as he recognized Michael’s truck.

Sitting with his back to the gate made him itch in anticipation but not fear as he heard the crunch of Michael’s boots against the gravel. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, happy birthday” Michael replied as he closed the distance in the dark to Alex’s chair. He threw himself into the chair gracelessly, before picking up his phone to check the time, “I’m not too late am I? This says it’s after midnight.”

Shivering a little, even though it was warm, Alex took a sip of his beer. “You’re never too late, Michael.”

The words settled between them, weighty and revealing. Alex immediately wanted to take them back. That was too truthful. Perhaps he was getting maudlin because of his birthday, but having Michael, someone who knew him inside and out, after a day of feeling just out of step with everyone else, was a balm on his heart.

Michael placed his hat next to them on the patio, glancing back toward the house with a sympathetic glance. “I figured. And um, I heard from Valenti about Eric, so, I thought you might not turn me away if I showed up.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Alex took another long swallow, staring into the flames, as the previous comfort of Michael’s presence faded. Not a pity visit. He couldn’t take that. Not daring to look at Michael because seeing his profile lit up by the firelight always did things to Alex’s heart, he finished his beer. Things he was still working on letting go of for his own good. “I’m fine, it wasn’t serious with Eric.”

“I’m glad you’re fine, but that’s not why I’m here.”

There was a rustle of paper that caught Alex’s attention, and as he finally turned to face Michael, he froze. There was a folder in Michael’s hand. He couldn’t help but remember the recent past, where the cover of a folder barely covered the horrors of within. It was always gruesome intake forms or grisly after action reports that gleefully detailed the murder of civilians and the incarceration of aliens.

Michael shook the folder gently, “go on, it’s not gonna bite.”

Pressing his lips together in resignation, Alex reached for the folder. As rocky as things had been in the past, he was certain Michael wouldn’t try to hurt him on his birthday. It wasn’t his fault that Alex was a pessimist. Flipping open the manila cover, he paused again. His eyes roved down a list of names and numbers, along with a familiar family name.

“That’s my grandmother’s name,” Alex furrowed his brow in confusion looking over to Michael, as he leaned forward in happy anticipation.

“So last year, remember how I went to Texas with Max,” Michael began, and paused at the pained expression on Alex’s face. Right, it was unlikely that the beginning of Maria’s feelings had been forgotten. “Dumb question, okay well, we met an old woman from the Mescalero Res and her granddaughter. They were practicing some fake faith healing con game, which kinda pissed me off, until I realized the props they used were drawn from a visitor they had.”

“A visitor?”

“Yeah, they used lights to make their hand glow when they healed. She described a woman who lived there, and never spoke but had that ability. I drove there last month to ask her more about it. It turns out this woman was introduced to the tribe by your grandmother.” Michael smiled broadly, his fingers tapping with impatient energy. “So I went to the Diné people to ask about her. I know she’s passed on, but she left stories. An oral history. Err, they didn’t want to talk to me, being a white guy, but after I fixed just about every car on the Res-”

“That’s where you’ve been every weekend?”

Michael looked pleased, “You noticed?”

Caught out by just how aware he was of Michael’s movements, Alex gestured, “That’s not important, um keep going with your story.”

Still looking pleased, Michael picked up his tale, “So after I fixed every piece of shit car, every finicky generator, and promised that I would only repeat this to another member of the People, they told me what happened. Your grandmother and great-grandmother ran a sort of underground network for women in trouble. One night, in 1947, a group of ...visitors found her and her mom on the side of the road. They were waiting for supplies, from a sympathetic doctor.”

“Wait,” Alex stuttered, looking down at the list of names and numbers. “Are you saying-”

“They saved ten crash survivors that night, and scattered them to other tribes for safety.” Michael reached over to tap the paper, “I have no idea where they went, that’s still a secret to me, but… some of my people lived, free. Because of your family.”

Overwhelmed, Alex squeezed his eyes shut tightly. It was no use, he could feel the tears spilling out rebelliously down his cheeks, as he sucked in an unsteady breath. The weight of his name, of the evil done by his father, was still there, but now there was a counter-balance. Harshly Alex gasped for another breath, shuddering as a sob broke through his control.

“Sweetheart, oh god, I didn’t mean to make you cry-” Michael murmured, distraught as he shifted closer, placing a tentative hand on Alex’s shoulder. The simple touch unleashed what shaky hold on control Alex had, as he collapsed into Michael’s arms. Without hesitation, Michael pulled Alex into his embrace, letting him shake in the safe confines of his strength.

The poison that Alex had felt, writhing under his skin, from as long as he could remember was slowly being lanced and drained. It didn’t matter that Michael had never blamed Alex for his family, no words could touch that reservoir of toxin inside him that marked him a Manes Man. Only actions could.

On the day celebrating his birth, Alex could finally feel peace regarding the blood in his veins.

“I’m sorry, I should have let you know I was looking into your family after Arizona’s grandmother mentioned it. I was going to, if my campaign of fixin’ shit didn’t work, ‘cause you’re a member, they would have talked to you, I just wanted to give you some good info. But if I crossed the line, I’m sorry-”

Alex silenced Michael’s apologies with his lips.

His action halted Michael for a moment, before he groaned against Alex’s lips and deepened the kiss hungrily. His hands came up to cup Alex’s skull gently even as he increased his efforts of climbing into Alex’s skin through the sheer connection of the kiss. Long moments passed as Alex bit gently before diving into the silky heat of Michael’s mouth.

The need for oxygen won at last over his other instincts and reluctantly Alex broke the kiss. He kept his forehead pressed against Michael’s as they traded deep breaths in the silence. Closing his eyes, Alex spoke quietly, “If *I* crossed a line just then-”

“You didn’t, as long as you’re not sorry.”

Looking up at Michael’s dark, still slightly stunned eyes, Alex smiled weakly, “I’m not, but I admit, I didn’t see this happening. With you. I thought you didn’t want to go down this road again.”

Michael reached up, combing his fingers through Alex’s soft, growing dark locks gently. “I don’t want to go down the *same* road, but I was hopin’ we might find a different path. And full disclosure, we’re kinda ahead of my plans. I didn’t think you were gonna dump Eric today-”

Huffing a soft laugh, Alex replied wryly, “I wasn’t planning on it, but he thought my dad and I could patch things up by going to Wrigley Field together. He bought me a Field of Dreams-themed trip for me and dear old dad.”

“What. The. Fuck.” Michael blinked a few times, clearly running the words through his mind for meaning. “For one thing, you don’t even like baseball, and for another, your dad is a homophobic murdering psychopath.”

Alex burst out laughing at the offense in Michael’s voice. Pieces slotted into place, knowing that Michael understood not just on a theoretical level, but a deeply personal level just how fucked that suggestion was about Jesse. “God, you’re right, I hate baseball.”

He captured Michael’s hand, still stroking through his hair, and pressed a soft kiss on his rough calloused palm. Hands that had spent weeks working tirelessly for free just to get Alex some answers and peace about where he came from and who he was. A fresh burn of tears threatened as he thought about the effort Michael had expended.

“More tears?” Michael remarked softly, feeling the wet brush of Alex’s eyelashes against his hand.

“Happy tears.” Alex straightened and got to his feet, holding onto Michael’s hand. He cast a considering eye on the fire, deciding it had burned down low enough to install the fire pit cover. Rubbing his thumb against the silky seam of his pants, he tugged Michael toward the house, “So Kyle got me these pants for my birthday, and they were the second best present I had today.” His smile turned wicked as he led the way toward the bedroom with confidence, “I would really like to show you how they work, if you’re interested...”

#malex fic #andrea-lyn #malex #roswell new mexico #clings to well adjusted future malex #malex trash here #sunday fluff #malex is endgame

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kindofcashton · 5 years ago

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𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 • chapter 15 (Calum Hood AU)

HANNAH AND I must have toured a dozen apartments the next day. We started early in the morning and went all the way through lunch, looking at a bunch of cramped and overpriced places in the city. Even though I wasn’t entirely on board with the idea of moving out, I thought it couldn’t hurt to look. She’d found a bunch of places online and we started ticking them off our list, noting what we liked and didn’t like about each one. Hannah was way more into it than I was, carrying around a small notebook that she scribbled little details into to keep track of our findings.

As I walked through the next apartment, taking in the chipped painted brick and scuffed flooring, I felt what little enthusiasm I had waning even more. While Hannah made a good point that we were both in a place to move out, I still couldn’t pass up the luxury of living back at the house where I didn’t pay rent. Even with my job I’d only just managed to pay off the pipe damages at my old house, and my bank account was tight. I could make it work with some budgeting, but I hadn’t planned on doing that until I absolutely had to.

“Isn’t this natural light great?” Hannah commented, motioning to the big windows taking up the majority of one wall. They provided nice lighting, but I noted the ugly view of a back alley. Not to mention the city was never asleep, so even at night the room would be lit up from outside activity.

“And this couch is just adorable,” Hannah added, patting the cushion of an odd, modern-looking pea green sofa. I rolled my eyes.

“The furniture isn’t included here, Han. Shouldn’t that be written in your little notebook?” She frowned at my statement, and flipped through the pages of her book before sighing.

“Look, I know most of these places are kind of shitty, but at least we’d be living together. Think about it; two best friends living in the city and paving our way through the world. Things might be sucking right now, but we just gotta make lemonade out of lemons, right?”

I chuckled at her joke, and imagined that life in my head. Admittedly, it did seem nice. Living independently, working for a future, maybe even going to school again. The me from a few months ago would jump at this chance, but I was a different girl now. Things changed, one of the biggest being Calum. I didn’t know what our relationship was, but I knew we’d never have a chance to figure it out if I left. I wasn’t ready to sacrifice him, even if it meant facing some challenges.

When Hannah proposed we move on to the next apartment, I begged her to let us take a break since I was ravenous with hunger and it was well past lunchtime. She conceded, and we put our mission on hold to grab a bite to eat. Touring would take up the rest of the day, which was a good thing considering we didn’t want to go home until absolutely necessary. We never quite knew what we’d be walking into.

As we ate our salads at a little outdoor, I remembered something Hannah had said a few weeks ago. “Hey Han, remember when you told me all that stuff about soulmates?”

She lowered her fork and scowled. “Yeah, what a load of crap that turned out to be.”

I frowned. “It wasn’t crap. Didn’t you say that even if you and Ashton weren’t together, you were still meant to be?”

“I don’t know, I know I said that, but...” Her eyes filled with pain at the mention of her ex. “Soulmates don’t do this shit to each other, right?”

She had a good point, but I also knew that their problems had arisen from a place of love. Ashton was just hurt by her lying, which he could only feel if he really loved her. With the right apologies they could move past it, if what Hannah had said was true. Soulmates should be able to overcome anything.

“I didn’t really get it before, but now I believe it. You still should, too.” Her eyebrows raised at my words, intrigued.

“What, is Nick your soulmate or something?” Hannah joked, causing me to bite my cheek as I forced a smile. I was actually thinking of Calum, even though I definitely didn’t consider us soulmates. It just seemed like the universe wanted us together more than we did, and that had to be some sort of sign.

“No, not yet at least,” I bluffed. “I’ve just been thinking about it lately, what with everything going on. It’s comforting to have something to believe in when everything else is failing.”

She nodded, biting her thumb as she became lost in thought. Hannah had her own inner battles to wage, probably similar to the ones I had about Calum. I knew avoiding them was not the right way to handle our problems, but the thought of walking into yet another storm at home discouraged me.

We finished our tours well into the evening, finding each apartment pretty much identical to the last. I made an effort to point out the ones I preferred, just so Hannah saw I was trying a little bit. I made no promises to actually sign any dotted lines, but just saying I would think about it was enough to satisfy her.

We weren’t surprised to see Michael’s car gone when we got home, which meant Luke probably wasn’t here either. But Calum’s mustang was dutifully parked in the driveway, and I didn’t know if my heart skipped a beat out of excitement or dread.

Since it was so late Hannah said she was gonna go crash in the basement, and I agreed. I was tired down to my bones, but for so many different reasons. I was just about to head upstairs when I saw the faint glow of the kitchen light on, and I paused before moving any further. I knew talking to Calum alone was a dangerous game, and that it could end badly in a lot of ways. But there was a tugging in my chest that I simply couldn’t resist, and so I dropped my bag by the stairs and walked around to the kitchen.

He was seated at the table, half empty beer bottle in front of him. His black tee shirt and black jeans made him look like a shadow, barely there and on the verge of disappearing. He didn’t notice me at first, lost in whatever thought had a frown on his face. But then he looked over, brown eyes grabbing hold of me like a vice.

My smile was faint as I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, not daring to get any closer. I had no idea if this stoic expression of his was out of anger, sadness, or just boredom.

“Hey,” I greeted stiffly, deciding one of us may as well talk first. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.” After my talk with Hannah, I’d been worried that Calum was hurt when I didn’t go after him. I waited up anxiously for about an hour, but he hadn’t returned by the time I fell asleep.

He leaned back in his seat, hands toying with the beer bottle. “I didn’t hear you leave this morning,” he countered, relieving some of my tension. He didn’t sound angry, but he still hadn’t hinted at how he felt about yesterday.

“Yeah, Hannah and I left pretty early. She wanted to look at apartments, and I went with her.” I shifted from one foot to the other, anticipating his response. Calum took a swig of beer, still maintaining a steady frown.

“She wanted to look?” he asked, a slight emphasis on she.

“With everything going on, I guess she just wanted her options open,” I explained, knowing the underlying question he was trying to ask but ignoring it.

But Calum clearly wanted it answered. “What about your options?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, at a loss for words. I couldn’t even figure out myself what I wanted to do, let alone tell someone else. I fidgeted, trying to buy myself time to think. “I like living here,” I said after a while, causing him to look over again. Quickly I added, “because the rent is free, and I don’t have a lot of money yet.” I wanted to kick myself after saying this; why did I have to be so defensive? Why couldn’t I have just said I liked living here and left it at that, open-ended for Calum to interpret himself?

He stared down at the table, and I missed his warm brown eyes once he tore them away. “Right,” he murmured. “It’s economically convenient.”

I sighed, detecting his frustration. I hadn’t meant to come off as a cheapskate leaching off of the guys’ kindness, but apparently that’s how he saw it. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just...I want to pay rent, trust me I feel bad everyday for taking advantage, but…” The words escaped me, and something told me Calum didn’t really care about my explanation anyway. In an attempt to salvage this, I stated, “Look, if Hannah finds a place she likes I’ll probably go with her. That way, I’m out of your hair and actually living somewhere I deserve.”

I thought this would please Calum, but instead it only caused his brows to furrow and his frown to deepen. “That’s what you think I want?” he questioned, catching me off guard.

“Isn’t it?” His silent, incredulous stare just made me huff impatiently. “I can’t read your mind, Calum. I have no idea what you want, but I thought that was pretty close--”

“If you think I want you gone, then you’re wrong.”

I froze, suddenly feeling the distance between us shrink. Even though he was across the room, it was like he was right next to me, speaking right into my soul. Almost a minute passed by with neither of us saying anything, and I was so confused I knew I wouldn’t be the first to break the silence. Luckily, Calum seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say, because he stood up and walked over to the sink, placing the beer bottle in the sink and gripping the counter with his hands. He was facing away from me, and all I could see were the tense muscles in his back.

“Don’t go.”

Two words. Two small, barely distinguishable words I had to strain to hear. But those two words carried the weight of the world, our world, and it knocked all the breath out of me.

But naturally, my guard went up. I didn’t trust Calum, and I wouldn’t let his vague request get the better of me. “What happened to not giving a shit about me? I thought I was a liar who drives everybody insane. You said you hated me.” I knew referencing that particular fight was risky, considering what had transpired after it. Hatred had fueled our actions then, the passion an angry one that left me confused and guilty in the morning.

Calum turned around at last, and I saw the intensity in his eyes as he sighed. “You’re right. You are annoying and stubborn and make me absolutely crazy sometimes. But then, when I had stormed out yesterday because I was just so damn angry, I stopped myself. I was just sitting in my car, in some random parking lot, trying to get your stupid voice out of my head.”

My heart thumped so loudly in my chest I was sure it was shaking the whole room.

He shook his head, almost in a daze. “I knew exactly what you’d say. I knew you would tell me it would be okay, and that all I had to do was try. I could picture your face exactly. I even…” The way he licked his lips made my knees go weak. “You might just be the most infuriating person I’ve ever met, but I need you Scarlett. You make me a better person--you force me to be a better person, even when I don’t want to be. No one has ever given that much of a shit about me, or put in that much effort. Most people just...settle with what I’ve got. But you…”

Almost unconsciously my body brought me closer to him, meeting in the middle as the magnetism between us could no longer be fought. We were an inch away, and I was barely even breathing. When Calum lifted a hand to rest on the side of my face, a long-awaited exhale left my lungs.

“I need you, Scarlett,” he whispered. His admission hung in the air between us, the last barrier we needed to break before we could really come together. Feeling the touch of his fingers on my skin and the heat of his gaze on my face, I knew what needed to be done. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.

Kissing Calum was a phenomenon I would never get used to. Each time, it was even deeper, even hotter. His lips were so familiar and yet so strange, eliciting new feelings inside of me with every movement. He tasted like beer and smelled like cologne, his scent intoxicating me. One swipe of his tongue across my bottom lip had me melting, and soon our tongues clashed with a new fervor born from the passion of his confession.

He needs me. Calum needs me. I repeated this phrase inside my head as we stumbled through the kitchen, my back hitting the wall and my hands finding his neck for stability. I could feel his desperation in every hot, rushed action he took, from biting my lip gently to skimming his hands down my sides. It was like he would die if he couldn’t feel me, touch me, kiss me.

Fully clothed and fully exposed in the kitchen, I worried for a second that Hannah would walk in on us, but I didn’t want to ruin this moment. Unfortunately, Calum was the first to pull away from the kiss. Our breathing was labored but matched, the synchronicity of our pulses electrifying the room. I scanned his face, frowning in confusion. “Why’d you stop?”

Smiling at my slight panic, he grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it up, revealing a few inches of my abdomen and stopping just below my bra. “Because there are things I want to do to you that can’t be done in this kitchen,” he murmured into my ear, and I rolled my eyes back as his warm breath tickled my skin.

We fumbled through the dark house, hands entangled together as he led me up the stairs. Exhilaration coursed through me like a drug, igniting every nerve ending on my body. I couldn’t wait to tear off my clothes and expose myself to Calum and his wicked tricks.

As he closed the door to his bedroom behind me, he watched me whip off my shirt and pretended to pout. “I wanted to do that,” he complained, his large hands grabbing my sides and lighting up the skin that his fingers pressed into. I smiled, giving him a light kiss before leaning back and quirking an eyebrow up.

“There are plenty of other things you can take off,” I replied in a low voice, making his eyes spark as he reattached our lips. He used his body to push mine back to the bed until I fell back, his large frame resting on me in a deliciously suffocating way. I didn’t know why but the weight of him on top of me felt so right, and I pressed my hands into his back to bring him even closer.

Calum felt my hands and ripped his shirt over his head, discarding it beside mine on the floor. His lips traveled down my jaw to my neck, sloppy and wet and riling me up inside. One hand supported his weight while the other rested on my hip, thumb moving to undo the front button of my jeans. In a flash my pants were off, and only my bra and panties covered me. I arched my back in order to undo my bra clasp, and the action pushed my breasts close to Calum’s face, and he let out a groan as his lips dipped to kiss my chest.

“God, Scarlett,” he growled when I was nearly exposed to him, my torso bare and my panties shortly following as I tossed them to the floor. The way Calum looked at me, like he was consuming me with his very eyes and touch, made me feel like I was on fire. His hands drifted over every inch of skin, sliding down my inner thighs and up my waist.

I wrapped my fingers into his curls just as I felt his hand cover my entrance, causing my hips to buck with pleasure. One simple stroke of his finger had me moaning, and my folds were slick with excitement. He worked my clit in circles that had my jaw dropping, and it was all I could do not to scream out his name.

“Oh my god,” I breathed, one of his fingers dipping into my core. “Just like that.” I could tell he was smirking by the way he kissed me, and this amusing arrogance of his only made my stomach tighten further. I couldn’t believe how much Calum affected me, how one simple touch had me hurtling towards the edge. I knew as soon as my toes began to curl and my hips lifted off the mattress I was done for, and his fingers pumped one more time before my orgasm rocketed through me.

Stars swam before my vision as I whined with pleasure, legs shaking and chest heaving with effort. I came down off my high to the feeling of him kissing my jaw, curls tickling my chin. With clumsy movements, I wrestled with his difficult belt buckle, huffing when it wouldn’t come undone. Calum chuckled lowly, capturing my pout with his lips. He kissed me gently as he expertly removed his belt and slid his pants down, boxers going along with them. When he leaned back to pull them off, I got a perfect view of his body. Toned muscles shone in the dim moonlight streaking through the window, and I could just make out how hard he was. His cock looked stiff and I tenderly reached out a hand to caress it, gingerly swiveling up and feeling the hot skin in my palm.

Calum let out a string of curse words at my motions, coming forward again so he was engulfing me with his body. When I rubbed my thumb at the base of his tip, he hissed and grabbed my wrist. “If you want this to last, you’re gonna have to stop doing that, babe,” he told me darkly, the word babe making my stomach somersault. I released his cock and brought my hand to his cheek, kissing him hard and communicating all of my desire in the way my lips connected to his.

The lust in his blown out pupils told me he wanted the exact same thing, and after a minute he reached one arm over to the nightstand. A familiar foil packet was ripped open, and I watched his deft fingers work the condom on until he was lined up at my entrance. His tip just dipped into my folds, and the agonizing tease had my breath erratic.

Our noses brushed as we both waited for the inevitable. My heart pounded in my ears and my senses were overwhelmed by the boy hovering above me, so close to giving me exactly what I wanted. His full pink lips were parted slightly, and I slid my palm along the line of his jaw. Calum read my eyes, surely seeing the craving in my expression. Dropping his forehead to my own, I felt his hips shift as he sank into me.

A cry quickly left my lips after he entered me. My slick folds encased his throbbing length, and he pressed all the way inside until I felt him reach the deepest part of me. The stretch was sensational, and he filled me with every inch of him. I almost didn’t want him to move, in love with the feeling of him fitting so closely. But then he pulled his hips back, almost all the way out, and reentered with a firm push that had me whining for more.

“Fuck,” he swore breathily, eyes closed as he rocked into me. “You’re so tight.” I gripped his bicep, lips lazily dragging across his jaw as his face rested right above mine. Calum’s breaths were shallow and hitched every time my walls clenched around him. I tugged at the ends of his air, causing an impassioned moan to escape his mouth.

This must have snapped something inside of him, because his pace began to increase. Each thrust went deeper, harder, faster. He filled me completely only to slide out and slam back into me. My knees bent and my legs wrapped around his hips, providing a new angle that had his name tumbling out of my lips.

“God, Calum, yes,” I cried, his face burying in my neck. My hands went from his hair to his back to his arms, desperately trying to hang on as my body lost control. We were so in sync, and with each push into me I felt myself falling further and further into ecstasy.

His moans had also picked up speed, growing louder when I bucked my hips into his. “You feel so good, baby,” he rasped, sucking on my neck and massaging my breast with his hand. He was everywhere, in me and on me and around me, and I wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up by his embrace.

Calum’s thrusts grew rougher and sloppier, each one coiling up the heat inside me tighter and tighter. I knew I was close when my legs began to shake, and my eyes couldn’t stay open. Colors exploded in a rainbow of pleasure as my second orgasm hit, erupting through my nerves like lava. I was moaning and clawing at his back, and when Calum groaned deeply I knew he was done for as well. We both rode our orgasms with mingled moans and slow kisses, and when I had recovered I felt the weight of him fully on top of me as he rested inside of me. I felt complete, entirely connected the one person I’d been yearning for for weeks. I never wanted him to pull away, to leave me and bring back the empty feeling.

We laid like this for a while, my fingers trailing across his back as he rested his cheek on my chest, breath finally steadying as he exhaled into my skin. When I unwrapped my legs from around him he finally rolled off of me, sliding out of my folds and quickly throwing out the condom into the bin next to the bed. I was sore in the best way possible, and my body felt blissfully satisfied.

Calum rolled back to face me, not hesitating before he pulled me into his chest. I rested against his hot, sweat-glistened skin, savoring the way I could feel his subtle heartbeat under my cheek. His fingers drifted up and down my arm, soothing the burning skin before pulling the covers over us and providing even more warmth. I was scorching hot, and closed my eyes as I imagined how nice it would be if we could melt into one another.

I felt Calum press his lips to the top of my head in a surprisingly intimate gesture, and my heart swooned before exhaustion took me out of reality and into a dreamless sleep.

- - - - -

For once, Calum was awake before me. I woke up to the feeling of his fingers in my hair, running through the soft strands as he gazed down at me. I pressed my nose into the skin of his chest, inhaling as much of him as I could. He smelled warm and sweet and I wondered briefly if I was in a dream.

“You frown in your sleep, you know,” he said softly, causing me to look up at him with a puzzled expression. His smile was faint but his eyes were kind, and I basked in their brown glow. “So serious, like you’re deep in thought even when you’re asleep.”

My lips stretched into a smile, and my hand rubbed his chest lazily. “You’re watching me sleep?”

He shrugged, brushing the hair out of my face and resting his hand on the side of my neck. “I love looking at you.” His simple but powerful statement made my smile grow, and if I wasn’t so tired I would’ve jumped for joy. Drowsily, I leaned up to kiss his lips, barely even touching him but bringing our naked bodies closer once more. I couldn’t help the gleeful grin on my face, and it only broadened when Calum went in for another kiss.

I was about to say something about the way he slept when a harsh and unwelcome ringing blared from my phone. Our little bubble abruptly burst as I scrambled to find the phone, not thinking before I hit the end call button. But I didn’t toss my phone aside before reading the name of the caller, and my blood ran cold. It was Nick.

Sitting on the side of the bed, half of my body covered by the blankets but the other half exposed, I knitted my brows as Calum’s fingers danced across my skin, unaware of who had just tried to talk to me. He must have seen the look on my face, because his fingers stalled their movements.

Frustration and panic and even a little bit of guilt started to crowd my thoughts, as I suddenly remembered I was sort of dating someone that wasn’t the naked boy next to me. I chewed my lip, wondering if it was best to just lie about who had called and not ruin the moment.

No, Scarlett. You can’t lie. I sighed, knowing that I had to fess up. Any more lying would surely destroy Calum and I, and that was the last thing I wanted right now. I brought my hand to his, twisting my fingers against his own in an attempt to connect us in even a small way.

“Who was it?” he asked, tone dry and apprehensive. I bit my lip, praying this didn’t make him angry.

“It was Nick, the guy I...am sort of seeing.” I held my breath as he took this information in. Already his expression grew distant, and I panicked as he pulled his hand out of mine.

“Sort of seeing?” he repeated. I looked away, unable to hold his gaze when his eyes were boring so deep inside of me. The truth was Nick hadn’t even crossed my mind once last night, and I didn’t care. Calum had consumed me in every way, and I knew Nick would never be able to make me feel half as good.

But telling these things to Calum was risky. Too much and it might scare him away. Too little and he might get pissed at me. It was a fine line that I needed to navigate carefully, since our whole future depended on it.

“Sort of seeing as in...I don’t really want to be seeing him.” It was a simple clarification, and I just hoped Calum understood what it meant. Nick means nothing to me, I would give him up in a heartbeat for you. His calculated stare concerned me, and my mouth dried as I worried he didn’t understand.

He lowered his gaze, unable to meet mine as well. “So you’re saying, after last night, you don’t want to be with him.” I clenched my jaw at his infuriatingly vague assertion. If I said yes, he might think I looked too much into the night and thought we were more serious than we were. If I said no, he might think I didn’t care.

I couldn’t bear the space between us, and slid my body right next to his so my head rested on his shoulder. Physical communication seemed a better option than verbal, since I knew I would screw it up. I sighed and closed my eyes, rubbing my cheek against his arm. “I don’t know what it means, exactly. What I do know is...I just want to be here with you. For as long as we can.”

His silence terrified me, and I was about to give up entirely when he twisted his body to face mine, our chests touching gently. I watched his brown eyes closely, trying to decipher the thoughts behind them. Calum paused for a second, and then broke into a crooked smile.

“Well then you better end it with the poor bloke before he gets his hopes up.”

Pure elation washed over me, and my wide grin returned as I launched myself forward to kiss him. He reacted immediately, arms encircling me in a comforting embrace. It wasn’t a definite declaration of any sort of relationship, but it was enough. It was enough to know that Calum wanted to be here with me as much as I did, and the relief I felt was immeasurable.

I didn’t know what would happen after this, but frankly I didn’t care. I only cared about the taste of Calum’s lips and the touch of his hands, passion igniting between us as I kissed him hard. Under the warm blankets, with our bodies glued together and our lips connecting us, we were in paradise, at least for a fleeting instant.

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lowkeyaesthvtic · 5 years ago

Text

Evil Karma - Chapter 14

Chapter 1 - Chapter 13

Word Count: 4,007

Summary: Now that the group has everything they need for the magic elixir, how will they react to giving the Isle of the Lost a little taste of magic?

Pairings: Harry x OC, Uma x OC, Harry x Uma x OC, platonic!Gil x OC, a little bit of platonic!Gil x Harry, past!OC x OC in a flashback scene

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild profanity, descriptive threats of murder, a flashback scene that kind of shines a light on how much of a dick Sofi’s dad was and how much she deserved better, also a little bit of sexual tension at the beginning but honestly not much

Tags: I honestly feel like people have stopped paying attention to this fic so I’m gonna stop with the tags for now but I’ll start them again if enough people ask.

Author’s Note: I am really sorry about the long pause, it’s been kind of hard writing for this fandom when the content for it has started to dwindle. I’m going to try my best to keep the Descendants fandom alive since I really love it but considering it’s been almost a year since the last movie came out, it’s going to be hard.

“How do we know the Doctor’s not going to flake out on us? He’s done it before.” Harry asked as he shifted into the sofa. The four of us, now permanently deciding to include Gil on our plan, had gone back to the room where the plan first became set in stone. I had sent out a sort of distress call to the Doctor himself telling him that the hairs were ready to be mixed into the elixir, which was incredibly hard without any magic, but somewhat possible nonetheless. I looked over to Harry and leaned my head on his shoulder as a small, bored yawn escaped my lips.

“He won’t flake on me. Dr Facilier has worked with my family before. He’s well aware of how powerful my father was; and, if I am anything like my father, he’ll know I’m not a force to mess with either. Unfortunately, my father and I have more in common than I’d like to admit.” I ran a thin finger through his black, matted locks as the four of us sat and waited not so patiently for the doctor to arrive. Noticing my physical affection towards Harry, Uma moved closer next to me and leaned in to whisper to me.

“You know, you’ve been latching onto Harry a lot today, you two didn’t play without me, did you?” Due to our vicinity, both Harry and I heard her words. A small shiver ran up my spine as her voice sent warm air across my skin.

“Of course not, Captain. If a game is what you want, though, I’m sure the two of us would be happy to oblige.” Harry smirked, interjecting the tension between Uma and I. The two looked as if their lips were about to lock when they were both blocked by a lock of blonde hair.

“Not to interrupt, guys, but I hear footsteps.” He was definitely interrupting. But, it was for good reason. Harry, Uma and I moved slightly farther apart as Harry quickly grabbed his hook and I readied my hand on my dagger, prepared in case it was some unwanted visitor walking through the door.

“Will you put your hook down, pirate boy? It’s just me. Sorry if I’m late, but I had a bit of a run in with one of Cruella’s goons.” My eyes quickly widened as I stood and ran towards him like a wild, hungry tiger.

“What the fuck, Doc! What did you tell them? You didn’t see Cruella, did you?” Before I could get close enough for the Doctor to feel the steam from my ears, Uma and Harry interjected the space between. Harry put an arm out to block Facilier from defending himself as Uma moved closer to me in an attempt to calm my anger.

“Relax, babygirl,” Uma calmly spoke, using the pet name that seemed to work on me like a magic spell every time. Yet it only worked when it slipped from her lips. “Cruella’s been indisposed since she saw Maleficent get turned into a lizard at Ben’s coronation. Jafar’s been hiding from the embarrassment of his son becoming a good kid and the Evil Queen...Well I don’t know what’s happened with her. Rumor has it she changed her name to Regina and drank a potion transporting her to some different dimension where Auradon doesn’t even exist. Wherever she is, she’s not here. None of them care about themselves anymore to worry about some little trinkets getting stolen.” With a deep inhale, I took a step back and watched as Uma turned toward the Doctor. She somehow seemed so confident, so professional, no matter the circumstances. I very rarely let somebody else dominate me both in and out of sensual situations. But with Uma, it was like disobeying her meant taking away every ounce of oxygen in my body. I needed her like a fish needs water. “I’m sure they were taken care of? Tell me, Doc, how’d you do it? Choke them until their faces turned blue? Slashed them across their necks and watched as their blood spewed like a fountain? Then again, I guess that would’ve messed up your clothes.”

“I left them unharmed.” Facilier replied after a slight hesitation. This must have been his first time meeting Uma. Otherwise he would’ve been prepared for her high-handed attitude and body language. “Getting my hands dirty would have perked some ears around the Isle. I assume you want this plan to remain secret until the time is right?” Uma nodded her head and turned around, leading the two of us back to the sofa we sat on before. She fixed her eyes on the black, still cauldron in front of us.

“You’d assume correctly. Now, do you have the ingredients or not?” Facilier stood still, looking through his large, black satchel for what we were hoping were the ingredients. Uma, however, was not going to accept silence as an answer. “Now, Doctor. We mustn't lurk in doorways...it’s rude.” She chuckled as she watched Facilier hesitantly walk into the room and towards the cauldron. Then, like a child tentatively unwrapping a present, he started to take the ingredients out of his satchel and placed them on a nearby rickety desk.

“I know you said enough for two gulps. But, I figured it’d be best to take everything instead of leaving some behind and risk getting caught. Should be enough for five elixirs. One for each of you kids...and an extra in case things go sideways.” It was laid out like a buffet. Eight dog bones, a large bowl of dust from Jafar’s stolen lamp, and five apples with exactly one bite taken out of each. “How many hairs did you get?”

“Ten. The recipe called for five but...I may have gotten carried away. There’s something succulent about hearing his pain, especially since he deserves every single bit of it.” I stated, keeping my voice and face as blank as possible. Despite the Doctor knowing what Ben had done to the boys on Neverland, I refused to let him see me emotional or otherwise affected by it.

“Showing any kind of emotion, especially towards men, is weakness. The second a boy or man sees a tear fall down that wretched face of yours, they’ll know what I’ve known since the day you were born. You could never be a leader.” I heard my own father’s voice echo in my head. I couldn’t help but feel my surroundings grow fuzzy and mute as I only heard his voice. “If you can’t stand up to a measly wolf cub, how could you ever lead these boys in the case of battle?” His one remark to me when I came to him with bite marks and gruesome scratches. He’d sent me into the jungle to hunt for dinner. While walking back to camp with some fox meat, a couple of baby wolves had attacked me and stolen the meat. I came to my father looking for comfort, or at least some kind of potion that would heal the wounds. The only thing I was given was ridicule and mockery. In a way, he was right. The entire island was ransacked, murdered, ruthlessly slaughtered. I couldn’t save them. I can’t bring them back either. Maybe this wasn’t Ben’s fault, or even Mal’s. Maybe it was mine.

“Hey, kid. You still with us?” A dark hand waving in front of my face brought me back to reality. Uma, Harry and Gil had all sat on the sofa while I still stood, my eyes locked on the table of ingredients. “You having second thoughts?” I looked back up at him and quickly shook my head. Was I lying? A little. If I couldn’t help my boys back then, how am I going to help them now? They’re already gone, and there’s no magic in this entire realm that could bring them back. But, this far into the plan, I’m starting to realize that this plan isn’t just for me anymore. It may have started that way. I may have befriended Uma and Harry for the sake of numbers and people that share a common enemy. But, I know now that these people can have some serious potential if they had enough power. This elixir and the succession of this plan could give them that potential. “Alright then, let’s get this started! This elixir ain’t gonna make itself!”

One by one the ingredients slipped into the cauldron. The boiling water shifted colors as each bone was dunked, as each fingerful of dust was sprinkled in, as each apple slice was slowly dropped in. By the time nearly all the ingredients were mixed together, the bubbling water had changed from clear to a murky, dirty dark brown. Harry looked up in confusion, nearly disgusted by the color despite being surrounded by it. “Isn’t the elixir supposed to be gold? Or green? Or...something not so disgusting?”

“It’s because we haven’t put in the key ingredient.” Uma replied, everybody’s eyes shifting towards me. I took the vial out of my pocket and watched as the hairs glimmered gold.

“Wow, and people say Rapunzel has magic hair.” Gil chuckled, amazed by the sparkling shimmer inside the glass vial. As I go to open the vial, Gil interjects with his voice once more. “Wait, um...Doctor F?”

“Facilier, it’s Doctor Facilier.”

“You said there’d be enough of this potion thing for the four of us to drink it but..Harry and I don’t have magic. What’s going to happen to us?” Everyone paused where they stood. For once, Gil had actually made a good point. This was only my third time making this elixir, the past two times making them for some sick fairies who needed the extra push to fly again. I had never tested them on people not Neverland native, much less a person not born with or capable of magic.

“Well, if you really think about it...magic is basically taking your strongest traits and making them unstoppable. Even without my abilities, I’ve always had a good read on people, making it easy to manipulate their opinions and emotions. Uma’s never been able to use her mother’s magic, but she still feels better when she’s close to water. Don’t you, Captain?” Uma shrugged and nodded her head. “So, maybe you’ll be strong enough to lift the whole ship with just one arm. Imagine how cool that’d be.” Gil gasped and smiled, surely encaptured in that concept. I looked to the cork on the vial, then back at everyone else. “So, shall we?” Everyone nodded eagerly and I could hear a small cackle of excitement from Harry as I opened the cork and dropped the royal hairs in one by one. By the time all ten hairs were mixed in, the potion had turned a glimmery, sparkling gold just as we thought it would. Uma grabbed a ladle she had snatched from the Chip Shoppe’s kitchen and scooped enough to fill the glass vial to the top.

“So, who’s drinking first?” There was a small silence in the room. Whether it was from fear or from not wanting to sound too selfish, nobody vocally volunteered themselves to take the first sip of the elixir.

“You should, Uma. You are the Captain, after all.” Harry mumbled, a hint of his sincere admiration and affection peeking through a small smile. Uma looked to me, as if wanting my consent to be the first to indulge in this magic elixir.

“Go on, Captain. Don’t worry, if it tastes anything like the Neverland elixir, it should be easy to swallow.” I slowly took the empty ladle from her hand and placed it on the empty desk that once held the elixir’s ingredients. I held onto her empty hand with both of mine and let my fingers caress over her skin. After a deep inhalation, Uma chugged down the sparkling potion and swallowed it whole. A few seconds of silence and slight fear went by before Uma took in a quick gasp, gripping tighter onto my hand to keep herself balanced. I could see her eyes flash a bright, ocean blue for just a moment before returning to their near charcoal shade. Harry and Gil immediately stood up from the sofa and rushed to her side, ready to lift her up if she were to feel faint.

“Uma? Are you okay? What happened?” Harry asked, leaning in to make sure the look on her face wasn’t too pale or otherwise sickly. A second of silence scared everyone else in the room, but after she started to let out her infamously wicked and alluring snicker, we knew she was okay.

“I’ve never felt more exhilarated in my entire life! Nothing was happening at first and then, it felt like my entire body was this massive tidal wave crashing onto shore. And now, I feel like there’s something different going through me. Not blood or thoughts but, something more.” I smiled and helped Uma stand up fully, taking both her hands in mine.

“That’s how magic is supposed to feel. Here, I’ll pour the next one. Go ahead and sit down, you may feel a bit woozy if you stand too long.” As Gil led her down to the sofa, I took the ladle and scooped yet another vial full of the delectable potion. “Does anyone want the next one?” Again, there was silence. As I was about to take the second swig myself, I felt a strong hand take the vial out of mine. I looked up to see Gil holding the potion in his hand, eyeing it in a longing sort of way. “Go ahead, Gil. I promise we won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Gil took a quick nod, certain of our promise, and downed the potion in a single gulp.

This time, Harry and I waited more in excitement then in fear. Gil’s reaction wasn’t as huge as Uma’s but there definitely was one. One second, Gil was standing with the empty vial in his hand. The next he jumped high and shook away a bunch of energy coursing through his body, as if he had just taken his first shot in a long night of drinking. “Holy shit, that was awesome! You really think I could lift the ship, Sofi?”

“Easy there, Gil. Save the strength for tomorrow, okay?” I laughed as he started to roughhouse a bit with Harry. The two had a relatively short round of horseplay before Gil suddenly had Harry over his shoulder. Considering the two boys’ relatively similar weight and muscle mass, we never thought that was possible. Then, we had realized that my theory had turned out to be correct. Gil’s new spout of magic had brought a whole new meaning to him being ‘the muscle’ of the group.

“Okay, okay, okay, now I want some of this action. Pour it up, duckling!” Harry near shouted like an excited child on Christmas morning. I grabbed the ladle and poured a third portion of the elixir into the glass vial. With no hesitation, Harry took the vial and lifted it high as he poured the potion down his throat, letting the last drop linger on his tongue. He felt a rush immediately, but from what I could see, there was little to no physical change showing that he now had magic. He was potentially on a rush of adrenaline, meaning whether the elixir had given him magic or not, he definitely felt a physical rush of change. There was only one way to know for sure if the potion had worked on him.

“I guess it’s my turn.” I quietly huffed as I poured another portion of the elixir into the empty vial. A part of me was fearful of the outcome. I knew the potion would work correctly, but I had no idea the effect it would have on me. These past three months were the first time I had ever gone without using my magic. Three months of no magic after who knows how many years of near constant magic was wild enough. But taking all that magic back in at once? I was diving into the ocean without knowing whether or not I’d drown. But, if it would help my Uma take Mal down and claim the leadership she deserves, that’s a risk I’d be willing to take. I slowly tilted my head back and let the elixir slide down my tongue. The taste was oddly familiar. Tangy like a fresh orange with a hint of something herby and earthy. It tasted like home. As the elixir was wholly consumed, I laid the vial and ladle aside as I put my hands on the nearby desk for support in case of any sudden dizziness.

What I felt next was both euphoric and catastrophic. The thoughts of others didn’t slowly slip in through my ears. They rushed inside my brain, nearly knocking me out with their speed and intensity. I could feel my eyes burning with an emerald flame, something only the kids on Neverland had seen. By the time it was all over, I was electrified with the magic I had once called my home.

“Is she okay? She looks a little faint. Maybe I should check on her? Should I ask Uma to check on her?”

“Wow, that looked like a lot. I wonder if she felt everything I felt when I drank it. Or maybe she felt more since she’s used her magic before? Maybe Harry and I should check on her.”

“These damn crazy kids. I wouldn’t be doing all of this if those Auradon bastards didn’t kill my boy. But nobody messes with my kids. If they even lay a finger on Celia I’ll have all their heads.”

“Can you really curl your hair with your finger? I see Uma and Sofi do it all the time...maybe it’s just a girl thing.”

Their thoughts began to slow down enough for me to thoroughly listen to them. “You guys don’t need to check on me, I’m fine. I’m more than fine.” I stood up straight and wiped some dust off my shoulders before sitting next to Gil and Uma on the sofa. “Also, Gil, Uma and I don’t curl our hair with our fingers. Our hair is just naturally curly. If you wanna curl your hair so badly, I can give you a ride to Lady Tremaine’s.” Gil’s perked up, confused brow caused a small rise of laughs throughout the room. The thoughts in the room began to quiet down as I slowly gained control over my magic again, putting the minds of others in the background of my brain. As we all grew adjusted to the elixir and its effects, Facilier poured the final scoop of the elixir into the vial and corked it shut as he handed it to Uma.

“Keep this close with you. The elixir ain’t permanent. You may need this if those Auradon bastards come at you with something strong.” As he saw Uma slip it into her jacket pocket, he walked over to me and glared at me sincerely. “I don’t know what kind of second thoughts you may be having, but you’re going through with this. If not for me, then for Mateo. He would’ve wanted you to keep going.”

I thought back to the moment that I knew Mateo was going to be a really close friend. It was the same day I had gotten attacked by the wolf cub. I sat alone in my tent, attempting to dress my wounds with palm leaves and hold back the pained sobs when those attempts had failed. Suddenly, I heard the flap of my tent wave open. “I heard someone’s got some new battle scars..can I see them?” I kept my mouth shut and attempted to close him off, knowing that the second I said a word, tears would rush down my face. “I brought something from the med tent that may take the edge off. Do you want it?” I turned and nodded my head, still keeping quiet to keep too much ‘weakness’ from peeking through.

As Mateo dressed the wounds correctly and sprinkled on some healing pixie dust, the pain from the wounds began to subside excluding a small sting from the pixie dust. But the emotional pain, the ping in my chest from my own father telling me I could never be a leader, that’s what was hurting me the most. “Mateo...do you think I made a mistake?”

“Made a mistake? Doing what?”

“Choosing to age, to grow up. I thought it would help me become stronger, faster, smarter. But I don’t think it’s doing any of that. I couldn’t keep a wolf cub off of me!” A shred of my anger began to shine through as everything my father had said came rushing back.

“Well, to be fair, your hands were a little full with all of that fox meat. Pan probably should’ve sent someone out with you.” Mateo chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood as he always did.

“It’s not funny! I couldn’t fight off a wolf cub, my swordfighting is total shit, this new magic I’ve been developing lately is completely out of control...I can’t do anything! What if my dad is right? What if I’m just not fit to be a leader?” As Mateo dressed the last bite mark, he shifted closer to me and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me in for comfort.

“Okay, your swordfighting isn’t the best. And yeah, you’ve got some new powers that you don’t really know how to control yet. But, who threw a dagger so far and so well that it pushed an apple off of Reggie’s head and into a tree?”

“...I did.”

“And who taught Felix how to use the tidal waves to tell if a storm was coming?”

“...I did.”

“And who saved a Lost Boy’s life by catching an arrow that was heading straight for them with her bare hand?” That Lost Boy was him. My dad was angry and drunk and thought killing him would be a good way to piss off Facilier and get a good bloodbath going. But something in my gut clicked fast enough to move Mateo out of the way and catch the arrow to prevent it from hitting anybody else. It could’ve killed me, but I didn’t care.

“I did.”

“So you have some things you need to improve on. That’s fine. But do you know what you’re best at, Sofi? Your strongest skill is helping the other boys. Whether you’re keeping them happy, keeping them safe, or helping them grow in the areas that they need improvement. You never back down on an opportunity to help the Lost Boys. If that’s not a sign of a good leader, I don’t know what is.”

As my mind came back to the present day, I realized that I shouldn’t be having any sort of second thoughts about this plan. Succeeding in making Mal suffer and taking over Auradon would not only be giving the Lost Revenge crew the potential and inclusion they deserve, but it would be avenging the deaths of everyone I’ve ever cared about. It’d be another instance of me not backing down on an opportunity to help those I loved. This plan will prove that I am, in fact, a good leader. As I watched Facilier pack up his satchel and begin to leave the room, I stood and shouted towards him. “I’m going to make him proud, Doc. I promise.” At the sudden yell, Harry, Uma and Gil all stood to listen. “We were all brutally wronged by Auradon. Their system has been suppressing us, starving us, killing us for far too long! Tomorrow, we will take Auradon into our hands and give every single kid on this Isle the chance they deserve! If we have to spill some blood to do it...then let the blood spill. Rest up, everyone. Because tomorrow, we fight!”

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darkgunslinger · 5 years ago

Text

Saving Zim Extras/shorts

These are scenes from Saving Zim by Dib07 that didn’t make the final cut. There are many more scenes like these that I left out, but these are some of the ones I did not show in the FFN story due to them being scrappy bits and pieces - but still, I hope they can be enjoyed for what they are XD

The current series can be found here!

Scene: the professor’s garden

The professor was in his main study, overlooking datasheets on his chemical production. On his desk was a small swilling vessel of bright pink emulsions beside two computers and a blood analyser machine. Things were always making noises in here as machines and computers cranked and clonked out results. It was music to the professor’s ears.

“Hi, urm... Mr. Membrane?”

He looked round, and appeared to be smiling behind his neck collar. “Yes, what is it my girl?” He saw that she was holding his little patient.

“Are the outside doors locked?”

“Go through the back way, it’s all open. Why?”

“I’m taking the little guy outside while it’s warm and sunny. He’s been a bit... despondent.”

“It could be the medication he’s on.”

“Some days he’s really chatty and coherent. Then there are days where he’s like this.”

The professor paused, perhaps conflicted with what to suggest. “Just don’t have him outside too long! There is no insulation in his body to help keep him warm.”

She already knew, but nodded anyway. “And just where is Dib?”

“Still hard at work preparing for the little house guest! Here. Call him.” He whisked out his own personal Samsung Mega Xtreme 36 phone.

Thanking the professor, she sat on one of the plastic seats in the hallway outside his door and called his home number. Zim was looking lazily around, preferring to stay cuddled against her.

She waited through the dial tones. He answered on the fourth ring. “It’s just me, Dib! When are you getting back?”

“Oh, hi Clara! Getting back?” There was a pause. She could hear music in the background. “An hour or two tops. I still have these little step ladders to put up. I can’t remember where I put the drill.”

“Can you come over?”

“Why? Is everything okay?”

“Zim’s not quite himself.”

Zim, hearing most of her side of the conversation, rolled his little pink orbs skyward in exasperation.

She disconnected the call. She lowered it from her ear, and then looked down at the Irken resting against her chest. She gave him a little cuddle. “He said to tell you that he’s on his way.”

He nodded.

After giving back the phone to the professor, she headed for the double doors. They were made from heavy oak, and were used as flood shutters in case of stormy weather. She stepped out into the open sunshine. They were inundated with bright, cheery birdsong, and amongst the uncut waves of deep green grass were early April butterflies that glanced along the stems like aerial dancers.

Zim’s remaining antenna became attentive to these outdoor noises.

“It’s beautiful out here. Didn’t realize it was so warm.” Clara mused. She didn’t follow the stone path. Instead she headed across the grass in just her plimsolls. There was the wooded area, and the rockery. Midges were flying in the air in roaming clouds. She was careful to keep the flies off him.

“Isn’t it...dangerous o-out here? Won’t someone s-see m-me?” She felt him tremble.

“No, don’t worry! This place is closed off; it’s all private, see? And no one’s getting over the brick walls that surround this place. It’s secure.”

She wondered how much he was caring to see, or if he was just looking at it all with closed indifference. Sometimes it was hard if not imposable to read what was going on behind his eyes.

They reached a stone bench that had green lichen growing along its lion-like feet. She lifted him from her lap and perched him on it. He could lean back if he wanted, thanks to the wooden backrest. He sat there a moment, looking startled as if he’d been teleported to a different world. Then he looked around, seeing the diaphanous butterflies and the fat, lazy bumble bees that hovered over a patch of tangled jasmine. The sunshine made him look paler, giving him a haunted look.

“This is nice!” She said, leaning back beside him, watching his reactions carefully. “You forget how dark it is inside buildings until you go out into the sunshine.”

They shared a serene sort of silence. Clara started to wish she’d brought a book with her, something to take his worried mind off things. Zim was looking around and was picking up on everything. This fresh air was the best he’d had all month. Always he seemed to stoop and shrivel beneath the weight of his own shadow, so it was good to see him sit up a little more and become alert to things he’d usually ignore. But. He was still frightened of pain. She could see it on his face.

A butterfly circled them, gliding on a lofty warm breeze. But when a bluebottle landed on Zim’s shoulder, she grew angry, and flicked it off him. He smelt of medicine, antiseptic and fresh linen, but beneath it all there was still the cloying smell of illness.

The moment of serenity seemed to leave him most suddenly, as if a cold wind had blown into his soul. He looked down, and his right antenna stopped picking up the slightest feather-sound of butterflies.

“Zim? Hey? Are you cold? Should I bring you back inside?” But she knew the depression would follow him there too.

He said nothing; just stared at the grass below his dangling little boots.

She knew to watch him for any signs of a seizure. The Irken hadn’t shown any such signs, not to her, and she hoped never to witness it. If they always started with a nosebleed, it gave them forewarning before he went down.

“Dib’s on his way I promise.” He was always the cure to Zim’s gloom. He’d bring a deck of cards, and they’d play games on the bed. “Hey,” she began, hatching an idea, “how about we collect flowers? Whoever gathers the most, wins!” It was so lame really, anybody would see straight through her attempts, but Zim’s unfocused gaze began to clear.

She got off the bench, and he slid down, following with more caution in his step. The tall grass was a little bit difficult for him to navigate, his right antenna bobbing with every step. When it looked like he would fall she scooped his hand in hers and kept him balanced. But there was more determination in his step than there had been in the lab. Out here there were no bars for him to look upon: no reminders that he was in a cage. The gloom of it had filled his eyes: the cage was now inside.

But out here his eyes seemed to drink in the light. The blue of Earth’s sky was something he appreciated. No longer was he slouching with a dismal frown crowning his sadness.

Slipping out of her hand, he limped to a thick glen of grass where he had a choice of flowers. He gave them a brief look of intensity, his militarism always shining through. Then he stooped and picked out a daisy. He seemed unusually hesitant to pluck it from its long stem. Dib often said that Zim was a destroyer, and cared not for what he smashed and ruined.

His claws snapped the stem, and he lifted it up, gazing at its white petals.

“That’s a daisy.” She told him. “Many people see them as weeds, but I’ve always liked daises. I used to make a chain out of them for a necklace when I was little.”

He baulked, as if he found the idea ridiculous, and stared at the daisy as if he could see where the Velcro was hiding. She laughed, hoping he wouldn’t take offence. He did cock his head at her, and look dismayed, as if he was trying to suss mockery, but then he gave her a relaxed, happier look. “Don’t you have a better use for your t-time?” He asked.

“I can make one for you.”

He looked back at the flower, suddenly crestfallen.

She didn’t want him to think that he had lost a part of himself just because he’d lost parts of the machine on his back.

Don’t let the PAK define you, Zim. You define the PAK, not the other way around.

His raucous coughing cut short the moment, and dark fright was in his eyes again.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” She rubbed his shoulder, giving him time and reassurance. He was frightened of pain and how it made him feel.

He kept hold of the daisy, passing it to her, as if silently asking her to make something out of it.

Clara stooped and plucked a red tulip. When Zim reached for a big purple thing bristling in barbs, she gently pushed his hand away. “That’s a thistle, honey. Leave it be.”

“Why are these things so different?”

“Well, they are different types, for different purposes.”

And that’s when he found it. It was growing in shadow and under the ivy clasping the rightwing of the building. It was as beautiful as he. He crouched low, looking at it in something that might have been wonder.

It was a rose so dark that it looked like it had been stained in blood. He went to touch it, hold it maybe, or pull it up, and he suddenly shied back, jabbing his claw into his mouth. A green droplet of blood hung from one of its thorns.

“That’s a rose, Zim.”

“A r-rose?” He asked, looking up at her. He took his claw out of his mouth and inspected the prick.

“They’re beautiful, but they have thorns.”

“W-Why?”

“To protect themselves. Not all flowers are defenceless.”

He looked for more roses but there was only the one. It stood, as if defiant: alone, but vibrant even as it existed in shadow. It looked parts fragile, its delicate petals all blood-red silk, but its thorns could not be mistaken.

Zim sat back, admiring it. She thought he might try and snap it from the stem in the ground, but he did not. Clara watched, thinking he was so like a rose, slender and graceful, but prickly beneath.

“It grows from dirt.” He summarised, as if this was what confused him.

“It does. All things grow from it.”

“So how can this thing be so...?”

“Beautiful?”

He grunted.

She pushed his boundaries again by squeezing a comforting hand on his birdlike shoulder. He gave that childish look of trust. One day she hoped he’d look at her in the same way he looked at Dib.

“The Earth can grow and nurture beautiful and delicate things that are found nowhere else in the universe.”

He pouted, finding her claim hard to believe when he’d seen that universe, however partial. But he could not deny her either. In all his travels, he had never found something as beautiful as a rose.

He went to reach for it, and drew away again.

Dib had explained to her that he had meant to hand this planet over to his leaders. Failure meant execution or exile. It helped to explain the weight he seemed to carry.

She could see it on his face that he was struggling to accept the beauty in front of him, but he was seeing it.

“But they grow f-from dirt.” He insisted. “How do they do that? What’s in the dirt? What’s so special about it?”

“Earth’s soil is fertile, and it has all the minerals in it that plants need to grow.” She supposed that even if she took the trouble of drawing him up a chart with diagrams to help explain it, he still wouldn’t get it.

His mouth set stubbornly, wanting to understand, yet disbelieving how anything could be that simple.

He had a childish wonder, but also an insistent need to understand and uncomplicate things, even when things were perfectly okay to let wonders be.

He stood up, and precariously wobbled a moment before he chose to leave the rose perfectly where it was. He went back to picking other flowers, and always so daintily did he take from the stem in strange reluctance.

Soon he had a little bouquet of many different things; a clump of jasmine, a dandelion, buttercups, lavender, bluebells and tulips. He was attracted to all things colourful, and the unkempt garden was quite full of these treasures, but it was the deadly rose he liked most of all.

A little while later he sat warming himself in a patch of sunshine on her lap with his eyes closed as she worked at lacing daises together. He had been attracted by the magic of watching her weave daises at first, but he’d soon grown tired.

With half a daisy chain complete, she soon heard someone calling. The Irken’s antenna jerked and then rose higher, his eyes cracking open.

“Hey you two!” Dib’s boyish and cheery voice called to them across the grounds.

Zim looked round immediately, and sunshine filled his eyes. “Dib!” He called back in his broken voice.

“Been looking all over for you guys!” He returned, shaking his head as he plodded across the grass, hands in his pockets. “Dad said you were mooching out in the garden.”

“We’ve been enjoying the sunshine.” Clara said with a smile.

Dib noticed their collection of flowers, and the tidy string of daises his fiancée was making. “What have you two been doing?”

“Picking flowers.” Zim piped up.

The human sat next to him. “The space boy has been picking flowers?”

“Hey, don’t tease him.” Clara defended in all seriousness. “We’ve been enjoying it.”

Dib chuckled and rubbed the little guy’s shoulder. “Uh huh. And how’s my favourite alien today? Not got the blues, I hope?”

“I’m green.” Zim said in stupid innocence.

Clara said as she joined the last daisy. “Here you are. A daisy chain of your own!”

She lowered the white ring of daises around his neck. He straightened a tad and touched them with a claw. “Thank you!” He said. “Gir made daisy chains. But I... I never....”

“Maybe you should have made him a crown, Clara.” Dib joked to dispel Zim’s moroseness, “It might have suited him better.”

They walked back to the building. Zim looked over Dib’s shoulder and watched as the rose grew smaller and smaller until it became a speck of red under dark pools of shadow.

Scene: Zim’s second night with his humans at home

Surviving this unfamiliar dystopia exhausted him.

He pushed the door open, expecting to see that silly bathtub for dolls filled to the brim, and found it hard to hide the dismay opening on his countenance when he saw her sitting, waiting there by a basin of hot bubbly water. Stacked close by were soft fluffy towels, and placed by her knees was one of those water-proof mats that was large enough for him to lay on. She was dipping her hand into the bubbly water, testing its temperature.

Clara looked over at him, her eyes impossible to read. She smiled, trying as she was to appear reassuring, and he hoped the expression was as genuine as her intentions.

“Whenever you’re ready Zim, you can take off your robe.”

But he wasn’t ready.

He stood rooted like a statue as he held the opening of the purple robe tightly to his chest. He felt the cool of his nakedness under there, and the uninviting chill beyond the cocooning fabric. Why couldn’t she just leave him be?

“Zim?” Her question made his right antenna ring. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, hardly believing he was suffering human help and kindness he was still so afraid to trust in. He’d believed that if he kept moving, if he kept going forwards, he’d be unstoppable. Now he could not move for fear of pain.

He clung on to whatever he could when defeat had him sink to the deepest depths. Looking back, even slightly, filled him with horror, but a glimpse that way also revealed what he had overcome.

Clara maintained her smile despite his stony silences. “It’s okay, Zim. I won’t bite.”

Zim peered over at the bubbly water in the bowl. He’d suffered their sponge-baths over the weeks, and not once did the water sting or burn him. The sight of it however still filled him with the instinctive distrust of it: being on Earth had stamped many fears and uncertainties into his heart, and he was not familiar with what was safe and what wasn’t without the sanctions of his computer.

“Here. Let me.” Clara walked over, knelt down by his indisposed form and slipped off the long and soft purple robe. His eyes took on a frightened, miserable cast, as if being naked opened up new ways of being disgraceful. It didn’t matter how many times he was stripped and then clothed again; whenever he was bare before them, self-loathing and shame crowded the colour in his eyes.

He tried to hide himself behind skinny arms and skinny claws.

Hands touched his shoulders. He tensed, emitting a squeaky growl.

Her gentleness was unreal. Every time she touched him, his defences rose to the rafters, expecting something malignant beneath her contact. Life was hard edges, mistrusts, hate and pain. Without Membrane’s protection, he was adamant that Clara would change from her superficial gentleness into something else.

She guided him over to the water-proof mat. “Sit on the mat, honey, and relax.”

He gave her that sharp, assertive look, and she knelt beside him, waiting, showing infallible patience. Her smile was fading at the edges, her eyes more confused than anything.

“Leave m-me.” Please. “I d-don’t n-need y-your h-help.”

“Being stubborn isn’t going to help you, Zim. And just because you’ve left the lab doesn’t automatically mean you’re out of the woods. You are still convalescing. Now, are you going to argue, or are you going to sit down?”

His eyes shifted to the mat, and back to her.

Fighting her, he could see, was going to get him nowhere.

Stiffly, he sat down, making sure to keep his bony legs over his crotch area.

“After we get you clean and snuggled up, I’ll make you some soup. How does that sound?” He nervously watched as she dunked the sponge into the bubbly water. She lifted it up and he instinctively tensed, eyes screwing shut, fists clamped. “You carry so much tension in your shoulders.” He felt her knead the sponge into his back under the PAK’s mantle. He’d expected the water to be tepid, but the sudden heat of it was a wonderful surprise. Then she worked the sponge into and around his neck. The moan came out before he could stop it in time.

This is really... really nice...

There was little use resisting the flexes of his right antenna. As a cat communicated joy through its ears or tail, he did the same thing with his antenna.

Her eyes were looking him over as she cleaned him, checking for any new bruises or marks that would indicate bedsores or signs of self-harm.

Though he was not answering, she chatted away with the same attention and care. “Is there anything you want to work on first? Or what you’ll want to build?”

“Se-security.” He choked.

“You don’t need to tackle everything at once. You’ll still get it all done, Zim. Just enjoy the day as well.”

He began to lean a little more into the sponge-massages, eyes lowering from the soporific heat. The sponge-baths were usually brisk and quick affairs so that they didn’t exact too much energy from him and so that he didn’t get too cold.

She threw a towel over his shoulders and proceeded to massage him dry.

Zim had to secretly admit that they were providing a damn good service even if their help was still making him tense with shame, but for a moment he allowed himself the comfort.

She was careful with him as he was mostly all bone, with little to no insulation protecting his organs.

Clara had fresh nightwear ready just an arm length away. He woodenly replied, stretching out each arm as best he could, and felt the fluffy soft material cloak his littleness. He knew he would sweat through this too, and he sighed.

“There. That’ll soothe those shivers away.”

How did she never find this strange? Perhaps in the lab there had been a sense of displacement, of surrealism when you had a fantastical scientist hurrying about with his fanatical machines and caring for an exotic otherworldly creature, but here, in an ordinary house, she acted as though she was looking after someone she had known for a long time. He tried to see past her affections, her warmth to spy the truth. But he could never find anything other than her sincerity.

“You wanna go for some homemade soup?”

They were always propelling food his way. “Not r-really hungry.”

“That’s okay, just manage what you can.” She picked up the basin and sluiced the used water down the big human-sized bathtub’s plughole. Seeing that as his cue, he woozily climbed to his feet. The floor tilted just a little before righting itself again, but the fleck of dizzying colours took longer to leave his vision.

She noticed. She came over, knelt down and wrapped an arm around him. “Do you feel okay, honey?”

The question was so very simple, and yet it entailed too much.

Zim only leaned into her, tired and dizzy. His lower legs were shaky. He had been dependent on his self-sufficient self-healing PAK - and he had never needed to give pause and regard his injuries – only to ever see them as novel and irrelevant inconveniences.

Living in this mortal hell without this reliability made him that much more careful and that much more timid. Every little bit of pain was much more terrifying and much more intimate.

They told him that he’d get stronger, with time. He didn’t believe them.

“Let me take you to bed, Zim. It’s no trouble.” Her arms went around him. He fetched a set of claws into the fabric of her cardigan to hold on when she spooned him into her arms. Her hold was secure, and there was never a moment where he felt she might drop him, but for insecurity’s sake he held on anyway.

She carried him back into his softly lit bedroom. The nightlight was painting the ceiling with dappling colour. When she set him down on the bed, she immediately bundled up his legs and torso, and shored up the pillows so that he could lean against them. He had long stopped stiffening or shrinking away whenever she went near or touched his PAK.

“I’m going to heat up your supper. You snuggle down and rest.”

“Cl-Clara h-human?” His choke was filled with what sounded like water.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can I h-have something to d-drink?”

“Of course. Do you have anything in mind?”

He shook his head.

“That’s okay, I’ll get you something.”

His wrinkled fuchsia eyes were drawn to her with a heavy intensity.

“Zim. Everything will be okay. Just remember that we’re here to support you, and protect you. This isn’t a limited affair. This is for life.” She reached out, and stroked his cheek. His fear cooled: sliding away like shadows after the lights had been turned on.

When she left, he sat, cupping the blanket to his chest. He sipped in breath, gladdened when there was no wall of pain. Lying down all night made the coughing worse and he had scrunched up, hacking and spluttering until he was coughing up blood. Now he was breathing easy – and the scary event seemed far, far away.

He waited for her to return, looking for her company. Being alone wasn’t quite as welcoming as it used to be, so he tried to hide the smile when she returned with a little tray of food.

“Just manage what you can, honey.” She set the food on the bed tray after positioning it over his lap. Though hardly hungry, his spooch grumbled.

He reached for the cup of honeyed milk, and he slurped it down, his thirst seemingly increasing with every gulp. Before he had scarcely begun, she was prying the cup out of his little claws. “Not so fast, Zim! You can have some more in a little while. Wait for that to go down first.”

“Who d-do you t-think y-you a-are?” He rasped.

She frowned at him, as if she had hoped their relationship wouldn’t backtrack like this, and that she might be spared his anger. “The voice of reason. Be my guest if you want to vomit down your nice new clothes and bed sheets.”

A dangerous glitter intensified in his eyes as he looked up at her, stupefied by her sudden sharpness. She didn’t back down. His right antenna bobbed up and down, and the querulous fire in his eyes dissipated. “You su-sure are bossy.”

“Well, someone’s got to look after you. We both know you’re terrible at it.” She said with more kindness. “You can bark at me all you like, but I’ve got a job to do, and nothing you say or do will stop me from doing it.”

That made him cock his head slightly, expression softening.

“Now try some soup. It isn’t all that bad.”

“D-don’t stand there – w-watching me.” He grunted.

She couldn’t help but shake her head, smiling at his stubbornness. “All right, all right. Just don’t forget to use your napkin.”

He gave her a long look to make sure she was leaving him in peace before he lifted up a spoon and dipped it into the soup.

Scene: getting some private time

“Zim, stop messing with the power! For five minutes!” He leant back in his desk chair, waiting for any affirmation, but it would be a miracle if the Irken had even heard. Blowing out breath, he returned to the computer and continued typing up a few measly sentences for his loosely constructed CV. He had poured over the keyboard most of the day, lost for words, and distracted by noises from a construction of a different sort. They had given up trying to stop the former soldier from ‘improving’ the house, learning quickly that there could be nothing that would stop an Irken’s wilfulness.

Clara was waiting upstairs. ‘Just a few more minutes’ he had said to her.

Dib stared at what he had painstakingly written. The skills and experience he could list all day; it was the passion that was so hard to put into words.

Just as he was about to save his work, the power died, the house fell into darkness, and so did his computer screen. “Zim!”

The power came on within seconds, the house bursting back into life. Muttering and cursing, he found Zim connecting the fuse box down in the basement with a handheld construct of his own, mostly alien in design, but made with a lot of used parts he had cobbled together.

He needed two seconds of the Irken not-getting-into-trouble or throwing the house into some sort of mode while he spent time with Clara. The lost work on his CV would have to be forgotten.

“This primitive homestead of yours is inefficient in every way.” Zim was saying before Dib had got a word in. “It’ll be months before I can get this place in working order. You just let things fall apart around you, don’t you Dib stink?” One eyelid curled down, his look sly.

Dib ran a hand across his face before sobering up and putting on his best smile. “Look, urm... there’s this really good cartoon on. You gotta see it!”

Zim hardly looked interested. “Recess can wait.”

“But it’s a special episode!”

“Then record it!”

“But...” He was running out of options. Fast. “I have no one to watch it with. Clara’s just not interested...”

Zim looked once at his handheld circuit board before reluctantly setting it down, “Very well, human, if my presence is that desperately required.”

“Good!” He put his hands on Zim’s skinny shoulders and practically steered him all the way to the lounge, the squeak coming from the heels of the Irken’s loafers dragging along the floor.

Switching on the TV, he flicked through the channels, hoping that there would be something to save him. Zim sat on the sofa using the stepping stool. “It had better be a short episode of whatever this... thing is. Work doesn’t get done by itself you know.”

“Ah here it is!” Dib said sheepishly, turning to give him a weak smile. It was a cartoon of a blue hedgehog. “Trust me! You’ll enjoy it. It gets really good!”

“It had better.”

With no time wasted, Dib flew up the stairs.

Clara sat up in bed, looking frustrated. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry! Urm, work, and Irkens.”

Before long the bed was squeaking against the wall. Zim came up less than ten minutes later, and Dib and Clara had to disengage in a tangle of limbs while he looked in on them from the doorway, holding the Gir doll. “W-What are you doing?” He croakily chirped from the doorway, eyes impossibly wide. “You’re b-both so...sweaty and noisy!”

Scene: Holograms

He left the kitchen, but returned minutes later with his laptop and electronic tablet. With the kitchen curtains drawn to dim the light, he had a number of devices laid out on the table, and when Clara came in to join them, she was impressed to see a hologram pouring out of the computer screen.

In his element, Zim drew up more schematics as easily as laying down paper and more holograms appeared. It was reflected in Dib’s glasses as he studied the projections. Clara could make neither heads nor tails of it as she stood watching them. The holograms showed vast columns of numbers, and everything that was written were in strange symbols, like runes. And accompanying these alien hieroglyphs were diagrams of a machine.

Even Dib wasn’t sitting pretty on the same page. Zim was aloof in his plans and his approaches, and even had an ingrained habit of keeping Clara and Dib at a distance as if he still had trouble trusting them. Zim had done things by himself all his life, and sharing that control wasn’t an easy thing for him.

The alien scarcely looked their way. Strips of code glowed in his bright fuchsia eyes. It was good to have him focused on something. Though he always worked there was a certain distraction in his efforts and in his focus. Now he sat with his back straight, his shoulders firm and his chin raised as he sought key coding in the stratum of alien mumbo-jumbo.

Dib forced the panic from his voice. “Is this for recreational fun, or is it for something else?”

Zim registered the English word ‘fun’ even if he did not know exactly what it meant. That word went into the same ambiguous category of words he struggled to understand the meanings to; such as sex, happiness, human humour and babies.

Dib went under the scrutiny of another long cold look.

“Earth needs protecting...” The aged Elite paused, finding the answer hard to dig up and reveal as if he had crushed it down there, inside, for so long that it was now hard to find and hard to pull it out. “Membrane will take measures to protect this dirt ball by following my instructions.”

Dib kept staring. “Did I just hear you right?”

“Oh s-shut up and stop with your g-gloating!” He snapped, rubbing at the side of his head, both eyes wincing as if working with his protégé was a real headache. After a moment he raised his stylus and drew dots and lines on a hologram that painted them in pink. Clara couldn’t stop staring as Zim drew magical lines into a magical screen. He did not seem to mind his audience, perhaps because he was expecting them to not understand a single thing he was doing.

Zim flicked a hand, and the screen’s current information and jungle of symbols was replaced by weapon blueprints. They stood tall and leaned slightly forwards like masts. “Earth is a backwater planet full of toxicity. It’s hardly worth much, but it’s still up for conquest, as is this pithy little solar system it’s in. The Earth’s sun would make a great source of fuel. It’s how energy cores are made. My Tallest may take an interest.”

When he next looked to Dib and Clara, there was relief in his eyes.

For so long he had never belonged anywhere.

Zim looked again to the hologram. He flicked his wrist, and the jumble of symbols magically metamorphed into English. “Your Membrane will build these anti-ship turrets once I provide him with the design. Their range will blanket the planet and that of your horrible star, keeping you filthy critters safe.”

Dib stood there, taking it in. He hadn’t thought of the Armada paying a visit someday. It was unlikely, but it had obviously been on Zim’s mind.

Since when had this snarling alien pulled his talents, energy and recourses into DEFENDING something?

The Irken smiled. “Wouldn’t it be funny if all they ever did was blow asteroids to little itty bitty bits? The planet’s measly existence would continue to persist until that awful sun of yours finally implodes. Humans. Thriving for evermore. Now that disgusts me.”

Dib was about to speak; to begin verbalizing his shock and disbelief when Zim again flicked his wrist and the screen swapped out weapon blueprints for the ship’s coding. He pressed some infinitesimal transparent button on this transparent screen and a 3D image of Tak’s ship popped into existence. Dib’s heart fell heavy and it fell hard.

Zim’s plans were never that humanly plain. He was clever, and he also liked to keep his real thoughts and real plans close to his chest. He never usually did something unless he reaped the benefits, and he was a sneaky little guy. Not that Dib suspected him of doing anything underhanded with the ship.

Zim. You can’t fly. What do you intend to do?

Just nod and smile at him. Creative outlet and all that, yes dad I remember. This had better not bite me in the ass.

Using a stylus, Zim reached up, and traced a line around the front of the vessel.

“Ooh, that’s pretty. What does that do?” Clara pointed at something that almost looked like a metal flower of alien grotesquery. It spun slowly in the hologram, looking like some hellish rose. It was probably the main core engine, with all its tapering pipes and elements.

Zim, bathed in pink from the screens, gave her an amused, beady look, and quite happily and croakily bragged about core drives, their compounds, auxiliary turbines, a feln guard, plasma charging cells, a hubbard, and so on. Clara looked bewildered in under three seconds of his wistful explaining.

There was no mistaking the fact that this little bastard loved attention. If he so much as looked at Clara the right way, she’d pick him up and cuddle him.

“Hang on a second. What’s this thing back here?” Dib pointed at the hologram of the fuselage. “We could move that, and expand the cockpit.”

“That shouldn’t go there.” Zim’s voice was dusky and small. His hooded eyes could barely stay open but he always led the debate. If anything, Dib was the one trying to keep up with him.

“Why not?” Dib leaned back slightly. He wasn’t a complete novice when it came to repairing and redesigning machines. Irken technology was a huge leap in science and brains, but he was more or less knowledgeable on the parts, and where the power had to go. Yes, connecting it all, and hoping they’d be no leaks would be a bitch. Working with plasma would be a lot different than say, oil or fossil fuels. Zim knew how to make more plasma, and he apparently knew how to recharge the cells in the ship too. Usually a ship worked for centuries with just a power core, but Tak’s power core was too badly damaged to be used. And a damaged core was a dangerous core.

“The ship will explode, that’s why.”

“Zim. I know how to build a ship.”

“No you don’t! You don’t know anything about anything!”

Clara disappeared to make some iced tea for them, and when she returned with a tray loaded with drinks she said, “Don’t forget that Gaz is coming later.”

The very name made Zim’s antenna drop.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know him. Their paths had interwoven with Dib at the centre. She was just like any other enemy he’d had to contend with, except that she could outwit him in one breath, and leave him and his ship battered and smoking. He’d done everything to avoid her since he’d put Dib in a hospital bed – of which he’d done quite a few times. Maybe she’d be okay with his – state – and situation. Or maybe she’d barrel past Dib and Clara and hang him on the wall.

“Let’s not.” Zim said openly, carefully watching their reactions.

“She’s family, Zim. She’s got to come.” Dib patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

He had decided there and then that he would retreat to his room, barricade the door, and fashion a weapon from bits and pieces if he had to.

#just scrappy bits and stuff #invaderzim #saving zim #dib07 #lost scenes #there is more of this rubbish #Epilogue moments

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badass-at-fandoming · 4 years ago

Text

OTP Meme

Grabbed from @robotslenderman. Thank you! I liked learning about Arturo and Olivia. :D

I felt like a little pick-me-up so I decided to do this. Thank you @brightstorm98 for suggesting Beckett and Sergio.

Beckett is Beckett. Sergio is my original Malkavian ghoul character. You can read about them in my fanfic series, A Kinder Universe. Sergio first briefly appears in “Bad Idea” is the star of “First Date,” and pops up again in “Bonpensiero Bloodline Remix.”

Quick n’ dirty: Sergio is a former Prince of Sicilian Mafia, who faked their death and became an Los Angeles fashion designer and ghoul to a Malkavian. Sergio uses he/they pronouns.

DISAGREEMENTS.

Who is more likely to raise their voice?

Sergio. I kinda picture them as Dante’s Inferno with their temper. They run very hot, but their truest, purest anger is ice cold. That’s when bodies start dropping.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?

I think it’s probably about even. It’s more of a “Maybe I should leave you be” sort of vibe. Both of them can recognize when it’s time to take a step back and cool off. Sergio would still let loose a couple invectives before leaving. Beckett more bottles it all up.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?

Unless it’s a case of “I’m going to do a suicide mission so you don’t have to,” neither would actually leave the relationship. But they’re both independent spirits in a loose polycule, so there are periods where they’re not together. Sometimes Sergio doesn’t want to go places. For example, Liberteria is awesome, but it’s a chock full of blood-hungry, stinky Brujah, so Sergio would rather stay in Casablanca and party. Sometimes Sergio wants to focus on a different relationship, such as them and Cesare. Sometimes the projects one of them embarks on are of an extremely personal nature, so space is granted. Example: Sergio has no clue that Beckett is paying off that Giovanni scumbag to not hurt Emma’s ghost. Only Anatole has one inkling about that.

Who trashes the house?

Sergio. Listen! The mess is part of the creative process! They’re designing the next big sensation in fashion! It will be the talk of Paris! Please don’t touch the fucking scissors; they’re the only decent sharp ones. I KNOW they’re in a slipper, but that is the only place for them.

though lol @ beckett having a house aldkfjalkjgl

Do either of them get physical?

I assume this means during an argument? Sergio has a bad(?) habit of kissing Beckett to prove a point, or encourage him to agree.

How often do they argue/disagree?

I feel I’m being terribly boring here. A normal couple amount?? They’re both adults. They hash things out. A hot button topic would be safety. On a dare, Sergio will rush in where angels fear to tread. Beckett disapproves when Sergio breaks into places without telling him beforehand. But it was easy as pie! They turned invisible, picked the locks, decapitated some patriarchs, and whallah, they have the artifact he wanted! Stop looking at them like that, you know we will be out of the country before those wraiths can snitch. Also: I took their fetters.

Another hot button would be their mutual stubbornness. Sergio will insist they have the best idea. Beckett will think he’s right. They butt heads, and Sergio’s not above playing dirty, which is a whole other problem.

Beckett would land in hot water with Sergio if he kept his heart closed off. Sergio is all about openness and feeling one’s feelings.

Who is the first to apologize?

Sergio. They are like EMOTIONS. Beckett is like “My plan is I will keep all my emotions locked in my chest, and, eventually, I’ll die.” Sergio is overt. Beckett is covert.

SEX.

Sergio is Beckett’s dom. Beckett goes to them when he wants to surrender.

Who is on top? Who is on bottom?

Beckett canonically says Bottom Rights

Any kinks?

Dom/submissive. Bondage. Leather. Bloodplay. Orgasm delay/denial. Nipple clamps.

You know when cats get overstimulated and they just lay there with their paws in the air? That’s Beckett after a session with Sergio.

Who has the strangest desires?

.It’s pretty strange that a Kindred of Beckett’s age is into sex at all, but it’s my AU and I do what I want. In my world, he’s a touch starved disaster.

Who’s dominant in bed?

Sergio. They’re the dom, and it’s a reward to touch them.

Sergio is a stone bisexual, which means they don’t like to be penetrated or have their genitals touched at all. I did this partly because I’m wary of writing a scene that depicts Sergio’s junk. An enby reader who identifies with Sergio might read that they have ABC, and the presence of ABC might trigger gender dysphoria. I want those readers to keep however they picture Sergio in their head. Overall, I also don’t like the cis reader tendency to await for an enby character’s genital reveal, in order to figure out “what they are really.” As if genitals had anything to do with gender.

I created Sergio because a)there needs to be more enby characters in Vampire and b)I need practice writing enby characters. I’m not nonbinary so I KNOW I’m going to mess something up. Nature of the game. There are plenty of strategies for writing sex with a nonbinary partner, but I’m not confident in my ability to do so as of yet. So, for the moment, Sergio keeps their pants on and orders Beckett around.

Is head ever in the equation?

Yes! Sergio will lick Beckett like a lollipop.

If so, who is better at performing it?

Sergio, haha. They spent a long chunk of their life living loose and fast in Hollywood.

Ever had sex in public?

HA! Yes.

Who moans the most?

Beckett, and Sergio loves to tease those noises out.

Who leaves the most marks?

Beckett. He’s delighted that he CAN leave marks on Sergio. His other lovers are Kindred, and they heal too quickly to leave a fantastic hickey.

Who is the more experienced of the two?

Depends on how one defines experience. Beckett has had more lovers. Sergio has notably better technique.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?

They and other characters refer to them as “sessions.”

How long do they usually last?

Hmm...probably depends on what they’re doing. I think it would average out to about an hour? Maybe two hours? Four hours at the longest. 10 minutes at shortest.

Rough or soft?

[Lady Gaga’s “I Like It Rough” starts playing in the background]

Is protection used?

Now that I think about it...that’s probably a good idea. They don’t have to worry about pregnancy, but STIs are a pain. The AIDS crisis is freaking dicey and utterly terrifying.

Does it ever get boring?

No. It becomes familiar. Comforting and warm. As easy to slip into as a daydream.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?

I haven’t written any strange places yet. Making out in an open alley during the 1940s was certainly dangerous. End of the world or no.

FAMILY.

Do they plan on having children/or have children?

Nope. Sergio isn’t interested in acquiring children, and Beckett wrote off having children long ago. Sergio is happy to be the immortal cousin to the Garcia family. The Garcia’s are a human family their regnant, Cassandra, takes care of.

Sergio knows how to care for a child, in the casual way one acquires when living under the same roof as one. To Beckett, children are more foreign, and he’s extremely worried that he’ll accidentally hurt them. That being said, put a baby in his hands and, after the initial nerves pass, he absolutely melts.

If so, how many children do they want/have?

n/a

AFFECTION.

Who likes to cuddle?

Both! I’m a sucker for cuddlebug characters.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?

Sergio. They initiate a lot of the casual affection.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves?

Once he gets going, Beckett.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

Depends. Sergio is human, so there’s varying tolerance for how cold Beckett is. Sergio is the one who gets uncomfortable though.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?

murder Going on Noddist adventures!

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?

Bed. Do you know how cozy bed is

SLEEPING.

Who snores?

Sergio, as the one who has to breathe.

If both do, who snores the loudest?

Sergio.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?

Depends. They like snoozing together, but they’re not always in the same place.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?

They’ll cozy up temporarily, but the need to get into an actual comfortable position for sleep will pull them apart.

What do they wear to bed?

Nightgowns. Both of them grew up wearing those to sleep.

Are either of them insomniacs?

Beckett has a God-ordained sleep schedule, so moon’s out, Beckett’s out. Sergio is variable. They have depression, so sometimes they’re asleep like 12 to 16 hours a day. Other times, when their brain is providing the serotonin, Sergio will push themself to stay up at all hours. During “First Date,” Sergio is awake all day doing work and stays up all night to smooch Beckett.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?

Beckett has picked Sergio up, laid them on the bed, and squished them until they fell asleep. That’s all the help to snooze Sergio needs.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

Like I said above, they’ll wrap around each other for a bit, but eventually straighten out and just lay beside each other.

Who wakes up with bed hair?

Both! Beckett more.

Who wakes up first?

Sergio, most like. Being an Elder, Beckett usually wakes up an hour or two after sunset.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?

If he’s feeling especially mother hen-ish, Beckett will bring Sergio breakfast in bed. Whenever Sergio is in bed, there’s breakfast for Beckett.

What is their favourite sleeping position?

Sergio likes to snuggle up to Beckett. When Beckett needs a lot of reassurance, he may put his head on Sergio’s chest to listen to the sounds of their living body.

Do they set an alarm each night?

Sergio will set alarms to rouse themself at the appropriate The Vampires Are Up(TM) time

Who has nightmares?

Both, though rarely.

Can a television be found in their bedroom?

Life with Beckett is a life on the road. Motels will have TVs so yes. In Sergio’s bedroom in LA or Beckett’s airplane? No.

Who has ridiculous dreams?

Beckett. He has the more bizarre connection to the Cobweb.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?

Neither of them are bed hogs, but I guess Beckett? He’s bigger.

Who makes the bed?

They each make their own sides of the bed.

What time is bed time?

Dawn.

Any routines/rituals before bed?

Cuddles!

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?

Sergio can be grumpy or frustrated, but that’s not as much as an Emergency Alert if Beckett wakes with a hungry Beast.

WORK.

Who is the busiest?

Beckett, as he has a never-ending trot across the globe.

Who rakes in the highest income?

Sergio. By virtue of them actually having a steady trust fund and investment portfolio, plus any clothes they design and sell under a false name.

Beckett is like #FreelancerLife and leaves notes on museum doorsteps asking if they want this 400 year old piece of pottery and the curators are like sir what the fuck

Are any of them unemployed?

Nope

Who takes the most sick days?

Sergio, by virtue of ability to get seriously ill and more prone to injury. Beckett can only suffer from the Withering.

What are their jobs?

Beckett is a Noddist scholar, anthropologist, and archeologist. Sergio is fashion designer.

Who sucks up to their boss?

I guess the closest thing either has to a boss is Cassandra, as Sergio’s regnant. They will flatter her to the stars and back.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?

They’re both likely to be delayed by complications. Complications such as assassins, traffic, angry Kindred officials, mascara not cooperating etc etc.

Who stresses the most?

Beckett. He worries a lot.

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?

They’re both in love with what they do.

Are they financially stable?

This is fantasy fiction so of course they are. I have enough money troubles irl.

HOME.

Who does the washing?

Most of the places they live (like motels) have a dedicated maid service, so it would be a mix of Sergio, Beckett, and the professionals.

Who takes out the trash?

Ditto to above.

Who does the ironing?

Sergio! They find it soothing.

Who does the cooking?

Also Sergio! Beckett is fascinated and regrets that he didn’t have the chance to eat Italian food while he was alive.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?

BECKETT NO

Who is messier?

Like a messier eater? Beckett, because blood stains are pain. He is very neat, but when he does fuck up, ugh.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?

No one, what the heck

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?

Both of them. Sergio is fussy with clothes when they’re wearing them, but is more lack when it comes to taking clothes off. Ideally, the outfit lands in the hamper, but sometimes one is too tired or preoccupied with kissing.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?

Dude, what, no.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?

Beckett: Sergio, my dear...why is the car making a horrendous beeping noise.

Sergio: My God, that is awful--oh, I see, it thinks you have stolen it.

Beckett: wha--the car is mine!

Sergio: And this is what happens when you break into your own car

Who answers the telephone?

Both of them have their own cell phones. They could pick up a call for the other if the other is preoccupied, but it depends on what the caller ID says.

Who mows the lawn?

Neither of them knows how.

Who does the vacuuming?

Ditto for the other cleaning questions. Sergio vacuums more than Beckett because vacuums hurt my ears and I don’t even have super senses.

Who does the groceries?

Sergio, because they eat. If Sergio asks and gives Beckett a list, Beckett will go.

Who takes the longest to shower?

Beckett. He likes to stand in the warmth and soak.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?

Sergio because makeup is awesome.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Is money a problem?

Nope.

How many cars do they own?

Neither of them own cars. They rent ones when they travel. Beckett has a jet.

What’s their song?

I haven’t found one yet. “I Like It Rough” by Lady Gaga is my best guess.

I do have a Beckett playlist here and I associate Sergio with “Que Sera, Sera” by Doris Day, “Crying Lightening” by the Arctic Monkeys, “Gangster’s Paradise” cover by Postmodern Jukebox, and the “Careless Whisper” cover by Postmodern Jukebox.

Do they live in the city or in the country?

They globe-trot, but Sergio’s “home base” is in LA.

Do they own their home or do they rent?

Hotel and motel bills oh no! Or they rough it.

Do they enjoy their surroundings?

Yes! Sergio and Beckett love traveling.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

When Beckett is off adventuring with someone else, Sergio follows their other passions. They design new outfits, romance their other partners, adore their fish, try new beers, help Zelde build her inventions, and generally lives their life.

Where did they first meet?

LA. Read it here, but again it’s more a cameo.

Who spends the most money when out shopping?

LOL Sergio.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets?

Sergio is more likely to flash their cash to get what they want. Or flash Beckett’s prestige FOR Beckett. “Do you know who this is? This is the Beckett, scholar and the smartest man you will ever meet. He has thought more thoughts than you have in your entire pathetic life. So why don’t you run along to your little Elysium and tell your Keeper to let us in.”

Any mental issues?

As a Malkavian ghoul, Sergio has a lighter version of the Clan bane. They have depression. It’s the type where one has periods of low moods.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?

It’s hilarious when Beckett trips.

Who’s terrified of bugs?

No, haha.

Who kills the spiders around the house?

Neither mind the spiders. Sergio would kill a spider in a silly, dramatic fashion to make Beckett laugh.

Do they have any fears for their future?

Oh yeah. Beckett’s fears are more the personal, about the future of those around him. Besides the obvious of their regnant dying, Sergio worries are broader, about USA and global politics, cultural changes, justice etc.

Their favourite place?

No place is better than a lover’s arms.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?

Sergio will surprise Beckett by spiking their blood with something interesting. Like, they will tell him before he drinks, but Beckett didn’t plan on experimenting with acid.

Who pays the bills?

Beckett tries to, but Sergio is more likely to pay things off.

Who’s the tallest?

They’re the same height.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?

No, they’d ask permission first.

Who wanders around in their underwear?

Sergio, haha. Beckett automatically gets dressed every night.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?

Neither of them are real singers, but Sergio is more likely to be caught humming.

What do they tease each other about?

Beckett will tease Sergio about their recklessness and cosmopolitan ways. Sergio will tease Beckett about his fashion sense and disaster bi ways.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?

Sergio spends a lot of their first date roasting Beckett’s outfit.

Who crushed first?

Sergio. It’s subtle, but Beckett has to slowly remind himself that ghouls are people over the course of “Bad Idea” and “First Date.” It’s like a compassion muscle that he has to limber up.

Any alcohol or substance-related problems?

Sergio is addicted to vampire blood. Cassandra’s specifically.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?

Hahahaha, probably Sergio? They get drunk WAY easier. If Sergio and Beckett are hanging out, Sergio will likely give Beckett a sip, which means Beckett will be drunk too.

Who swears the most?

We’re beginning and ending this with Sergio swearing, hahaha,

#text post #vtm #cuthbert beckett #original characters #sergio tessaro #tumblr life #otp meme

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destination-despairing · 5 years ago

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The One Where They Get Locked in a Room and Talk About Their Feelings

“I’m not seeing any gloves, are you?”

Hajime turned the tight corner around another shelf of medical equipment, continuing to search the hospital supply room.

Fuyuhiko wasn’t too far away, peering at a row of boxes. “Nah, I’m not seeing it. We sure they’re actually in here or what?”

“Beats me, but this is where Mikan told us to look so… ah!” Hajime reached up to a shelf just a bit over his head to grab a box of blue hospital gloves. “Got ‘em.”

“Great, let’s get out of here now, it smells like chemicals.”

“It smells like chemicals in every room here,” Hajime pointed out, joining Fuyuhiko at the door. He took the knob and turned.

There was a rattling sound, and the doorknob remained firmly in place.

“Huh?” Hajime wiggled the doorknob again as Fuyuhiko tried in vain to peer over Hajime’s much taller shoulder.

“Is there a problem?” He asked, sounding impatient.

“I think the door is jammed.” Hajime gave the door a push, and for good measure tried to pull instead. The door remained, unyielding.

“Lemme see.” Fuyuhiko tried the door as well, eventually swearing in frustration and giving it a kick. “Well great! Guess we’re stuck in here now!”

“Mikan will probably come find us when we don’t come back,” Hajime said.

“I dunno, she seemed to have her hands full with Nagito, Akane, and Ibuki.” Fuyuhiko shook his head. “She might not even notice.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Yeah, but before or after Monokuma shreds us for breaking the no nighttime hospital guests rule?” Fuyuhiko, seeming pretty calm for someone who just mentioned death by bear, leaned back against the nearby wall before sliding down to sit on the floor. “Guess all we can do is wait.”

Hajime set the box of gloves aside and stood awkwardly for a bit before finding a box to sit on. He fidgeted slightly with his fingers, realizing he hadn’t actually spent this much time with Fuyuhiko before. Up until his recovery he hadn’t really been interested in making friends or working together, and now Hajime saw him everyday.

“…” Fuyuhiko seemed irritated, head lowering and arms folding over his chest. “… hey, don’t sit on that. You’ll dent it or something.”

“What?” Hajime examined the box he was on, and then looked back at Fuyuhiko. That was when he realized he was sitting in the yakuza’s recently acquired blind spot. “Oh, yeah. You’re right."

He moved over to sit in front of Fuyuhiko, noticing how the tension left him once Hajime came into view.

After that they sat in silence for a bit, until Fuyuhiko spoke again.

"What the hell are you doing anyway?” He gestured to Hajime, who realized he’d been curling and uncurling some IV tubing around his hand with nervous energy.

“S-sorry,” he apologized, dropping the tubing. “I just… don’t like hospitals.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Fuyuhiko agreed in a huff. “You ever spend time in one?”

“No.” Hajime’s hands brushed against a phantom itch on his forehead. “It’s silly, I don’t know why they bother me so much.”

“That sterile smell can get annoying,” Fuyuhiko said. “And so does lying in bed. Plus the nurses here are so timid.”

Hajime laughed a little, feeling a bit bad for Mikan that they were joking at her expense. “How is that healing up anyway?”

“Why do you wanna know, huh?” Fuyuhiko snapped, making Hajime jump a bit.

“I was just hoping it wasn’t troubling you too much!"

"Of course it doesn’t trouble me, what kind of yakuza would I be if I let something like this affect me?” Fuyuhiko sighed, sharp edges softening as he seemed to accept Hajime meant no harm. “It’s fine…”

“It’s okay if it hurts,” Hajime said. “No one’s around to know, and this place is full of painkillers.”

“Man, you can be kinda stupid sometimes…"

Fuyuhiko shut his eye, and Hajime took that as a sign that the conversation was over. He hadn’t meant to pry, it was just that the way Fuyuhiko was breathing… it looked controlled and slow like every breath ached. Hajime wished he could find a way to get Fuyuhiko to set aside his pride and accept some help, but it had taken so much already to get him where he already was. He didn’t want to keep pushing him somewhere he wasn’t comfortable.

”… I can’t just not feel it.“

Hajime’s head snapped up, and he saw Fuyuhiko looking away from him as he spoke softly.

"I got her into that mess, and she protected me,” Fuyuhiko said. “And I’ll live for her now, but I won’t disrespect her by not feeling the pain.”

“… you really think Peko would want you to be in pain?” Hajime asked.

“Nah, but that’s not about to stop me.”

“Man, and you think I’m stupid!”

Fuyuhiko laughed, sounding a little shocked. Hajime’s concerned and irritated frown melted at the laugh, so he just rolled his eyes instead and started perusing the shelves. There wasn’t much medicine stocked in here, that sort of thing seemed reserved for the pharmacy, but he was able to find a bottle of painkillers that looked strong enough for a sword slash but gentle enough for a guy who weighed 90lbs soaking wet.

“Here.” He tossed them to Fuyuhiko. “When we get out of here you can get some water and take some.”

“You’re bossy,” Fuyuhiko said, though he seemed happy.

An hour passed by, then half an hour more. Hajime was pacing, starting to worry that maybe Mikan was too distracted to remember them.

“You’re making me dizzy,” Fuyuhiko complained, reaching out to catch Hajime’s wrist as he passed by. “Sit down, that’s not helping anything.”

Hajime groaned and sat down, leaning back against the wall next to Fuyuhiko. “I’m so bored!”

“Why don’t you play with that damn pet on the handbook?” Fuyuhiko suggested.

“I guess…” Hajime sighed, pulling out his handbook. “There’s not a lot I can do without walking though…”

“If you start pacing again I’ll trip you.”

“Well looks like I paced enough for it to come out of its cocoon.” Hajime watched as the cocoon shoke, and suddenly spat out his evolved pet.

“What is that?” Fuyuhiko laughed. “A rabbit gorilla? That’s stupid.”

“Hey, at least it’s not Shitimi!”

“Shit what?”

“You know, when you don’t take care of it and it evolves into-”

Fuyuhiko was already taking out his handbook and opening up the pet game. Hajime leaned closer so he could see, and sure enough there was a Shitimi dancing about on the screen.

“Dude,” Hajime tsked. “You barely even tried huh?”

“Shut up! Who has time to play games with all the murder going on!” Fuyuhiko elbowed him. “Who’s the real idiot here, the guy focused on the real world or the guy with the rabbit gorilla?”

“Pffft.” Hajime laughed, and before he realized what he was doing he was leaning against Fuyuhiko, resting their heads against each other. He tapped the screen.

“At least clean up now that you have it open,” he said.

He became aware of how he’d closed the distance between them at the same time he became aware of how Fuyuhiko was blushing and staring down at the handbook pretending to care.

“Oh jeez, sorry!” He pulled away quickly.

“What?” Fuyuhiko said just a bit too loud. “Don’t be stupid! It’s fine!”

“It’s fine?” Hajime stammered.

“It won’t be fine if you keep gawking and running your mouth.” Fuyuhiko huffed, before yanking Hajime closer again, this time resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder and pulling the handbook up to his face to hide the blush as he tapped away at the screen.

Hajime felt his own face warm up, and a wave of butterflies spread throughout his body as he smelled Fuyuhiko’s cologne and felt his slight weight against him. He definitely hadn’t been expecting this but… it was kind of nice.

“Jeez, I can’t just throw gifts at this thing to make it better?” Fuyuhiko said. “Just take the bribe you shitty rabbit.”

Hajime lit up with laughter, and Fuyuhiko turned to him looking halfway between annoyed and pleased like he wasn’t sure how he felt about that laugh yet. Their faces were inches apart, and Hajime found himself leaning in.

“AH!”

Fuyuhiko and Hajime jumped as Mikan all but fell through the door.

“I’m so sorry I’m so sorry!” She cried. “I hope you weren’t stuck too long, it’s all my fault!”

“Really, it’s okay,” Hajime reassured her.

“You can use me as your punching bag as an apology,” she whimpered, distressing Hajime further.

“No need for that, can you just get me some water so I can take these?” Fuyuhiko said, shaking the painkiller bottle. Hajime felt the same butterflies he’d felt earlier seeing that Fuyuhiko was going to accept his help.

“Of course!” Mikan said, a bit cheered up. She led Fuyuhiko away, leaving Hajime to grab the gloves and run a thoughtful finger over his bottom lip.

#fic #kuzuhina #sdr2 #hajime hinata #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #danganronpa

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hazzabeeforlou · 5 years ago

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On the eve of HS2, I felt I needed to reflect and write a diary entry of sorts, an ode to where I was and where I am now, a musing on how HS1 ushered in a whole new world for me. This is long and more personal than anything I’ve previously shared, but in honor of vulnerability and maybe helping someone else who’s struggling... here it is.

The most exposure 2015 me had to pop music was occasionally listening to ‘hits’ radio. My old art teacher in high school had blasted the classics of the 60s and 70s daily, so I knew those, albeit not the names, but the music, the style, the melodic tropes and such. 2015 me didn’t have much time for pop music. I was getting a fancy degree in classical music from one of the best conservatories in the world, and I’d made it there after four years with a highly abusive teacher in undergrad who gave me horrible anxiety; by the end, whenever she would walk into a room, I would get chills and start shaking. She delighted in lying to me, in calling me out in front of my peers. Worse, I was arguably her highest-achieving student. The day I got into Juilliard she took me for “tea” to celebrate, where she proceeded to spend the whole time telling me how she had made this happen, how her connections got me to NY, how I should be grateful.

Entering the world of NYC and Juilliard I was an awestruck, anxious mess. Everything moved too fast, the school was overwhelming, my studio mates were famous already, some of them having won world-famous competitions and been on the cover of magazines. I was in the elite place, a place my working class roots had never prepared me for. My dad was a millwright. He went to work every day in steel-toed boots and overalls and often returned so filthy mom wouldn’t let him wash his clothes in the household washing machine. But I was nothing if not adaptable, and grateful, and charming, and I did my best. I worked hard. But my health kept deteriorating.

All through undergrad I’d been feeling progressively worse. I had horrible acne that I presumed was caused by stress, as I’d never suffered with it in high school. I was already an introvert, but body insecurity led me to hardly ever socialize. I would spent hours getting ready for things, never willing to show my bare face. But that wasn’t the worst; I’d developed what I now understand was an eating disorder, because no matter how much I exercised or dieted, I kept gaining weight, or rather, I lost all my baby fat but remained the same scale number. I kept telling my mother I was fat. I didn’t tell her that I hated the wind, that I hated running, because it made my stomach protrude and the whole world could see the extra pounds I carried. I never made an appointment with an OBGYN because I didn’t date much less have sex, and my mother had told me, well you don’t ever need to be seen until you do. I came to NYC well versed in wearing baggy sweaters and scarfs that hid my form. And for two years, as my breathing got worse and worse, as my energy levels dropped, as my skin hurt and itched, I pushed forwards. I remember practicing one day and my eyes going black. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe.

It was getting into an international competition that saved me. I got the news in early May of 2016; I jumped around my room and I started coughing, and the next day a hernia appeared above my belly button. I was only slightly worried, but I went to see the Juilliard doctor. She asked if I’d gained weight, she said even a couple pounds could do it. I was, as always, ashamed, red faced, embarrassed as she prodded around on my torso.

She said I’d need surgery. So I scheduled it in NYC for two days after my graduation. I played my recital, but with a binder around my abdomen. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t remember my memorized music. I nearly passed out. I stumbled on the sidewalk afterwards.

When I woke from the surgery I was in blinding pain, teeth chattering uncontrollably, in shock. I couldn't open my eyes, and every breath felt like knives slicing into my chest. I heard the nurses say, “We’ve given you three IVs of Percocet, do you want us to give you a forth?” I said no, thinking, ‘what if I die from an overdose?’ After two hours my mother came in search of me. It was supposed to be a day surgery. She demanded morphine. They sent me home on it, but two days later I’d thrown up twice and was back in the ER. A CT showed I had an ovarian cyst. The doctor said to me, “It’s 28 inches. It’s the size of a dinner plate.” I didn’t understand. They rushed me back for another surgery, and asked me to sign a paper saying I wouldn’t hold them responsible if I ended up paralyzed. I signed it. I joked with the nurses before they put me under. I was shaking with pain. I thought, if this is the end, I’ve had a good life. I’ll be with my doggy, my baby puppy. I’ve graduated from my dream school. I’ve gotten into an elite international competition. I’ll go out at the top of my game. It’s okay.

But then I woke up. Over the next year, I would wish countless times that I hadn’t. I could barely walk. I couldn’t lift things like a fork, or my computer. I couldn’t shower or cough or even shit. I couldn’t practice or sit upright for more than fifteen minutes. Pain became a constant. I started to wake up with night sweats, my forehead creased in subconscious pain. I would jump at every loud noise, my heart lurching like a ruined engine, and I couldn’t remember names of flowers. I fell into a massive depression over the next few months, made worse by the 2016 election; because of my infirmity I had moved back home with my Trump-voting parents. The bravest thing I did that fall was ‘come out’ as a liberal on Facebook. My parents pretended not to notice when I stayed up late that cold November night, huddled with a blanket on the couch, crying my eyes out.

The Christmas 2016 season is a blur. I know I half lived in memories, half in grief, but all in self-pitying misery. I remember reading a passing article about Jay, not knowing who it was, and I remember adding a lost mother to the list of things I cried about. How could the world be so cruel, so unfair? My days were filled with PT and sleep, immobility and exhaustion, and questions, questions like if I can’t do what I love, what I’ve spent years training for, what’s the point? What does it mean to be an artist when you can’t do your art? What is left of me that matters? Is the future only more pain? It would have been better to have died. It would have been better to have died.

Up until this point I had been unlucky in love. I could never find men attractive, though many friends pressured me to try, which of course had led to not good things. I’d been confronted a couple times about maybe being gay, but I’d shot this down immediately, my face bright red, my heart pounding. No, that’s not it, I’m just picky. Two girls in grad school had flirted with me; I’d accidentally gone on a date with one. I’d felt deeply, gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable about her. But how could I ever unpack all of that when just coming out as a liberal had given me anxiety for days...

The new year came and I had nothing to look forward to. I could see no happy future. I wasn’t really in my right mind. I would escape as best I could, perhaps in masochistic ways; I’d watch SNL for humorous liberal comfort, and Colbert to feel some spark of angry solidarity. And that’s how I stumbled on Harry. He got me with his puns, because I love those. For the first time in months, I was giggling about something, this charming boy with curls and dimples who had replaced the scream-speech of James Cordon. For once I didn’t turn the tv off after Colbert.

I began listening to Harry’s songs. As I had no reference for contemporary pop music, his old school rock album was familiar to me in a comforting way. I knew these sounds, these tropes, and yet they didn’t feel stale to me, they spoke to something I was feeling in the present. Because the album, in essence, was about pain, wasn’t it? Pain and escaping it. The lies we tell to survive, the dreams we cling to for hope, the drugs we use to forget. I’d never bought a pop album before, Harry was my first, and I listened to it for hours every day.

HS1 seeped into my blood, but I’d been on a hopeless, aimless track for so long that the railway tie hadn’t yet switched. One warm, sunny spring day I wrote a note, filled a bag with rocks, and walked to the old bike trail, out past the freeway, into the marshes and pools of abandoned swampy wasteland. FTDT played in my head on a loop as I walked, as my brain hummed with the equation of worth. Was it worth it to stay alive?

Yes. I threw the rocks. I threw them as far as my fragile arms would allow, and they splashed into the murky water. And I turned around and called my mom to come get me. Harry had made something that was beautiful, that was touching, that was real. And if he could... then maybe I could too. Maybe I didn’t have to be just what I’d been before. Maybe I could try creating other things; maybe I could make art that, like Harry’s music, made other people feel less alone.

There was something magical about that album. Not freedom, per se, but the promise of it, a glimpse of truth that kept me hanging on.

I began writing poems again, songs. I got into an orchestra program, I healed month by month, I started carrying crystals, I found this crazy fandom and, little by little, grew to understand that my yearning upon looking at baby larry videos was really a cry of sameness that I had never before understood. After the Pulse shooting, during my horrible homebound year, I’d watched Lin-Manuel Miranda give his love is love is love speech, and I’d burst into tears. And I’d not known why. Now I began to realize. I remember the first tentative anon I sent to Phoenix @alienfuckeronmain asking if maybe I was... bi? I remember anxiously awaiting her answer, as if I needed an invitation to join the community, to be valid, to have this not just be a crazy swelling of hope in my chest. She replied while I was wandering through a corn maze in the frigidness of October. The next day I walked into rehearsal and I felt free, free of the way boys looked at me, free of being FOR them, and I’d never felt so... alive. Coincidentally I met my ex girlfriend that day too.

Through Harry I found this fandom, and Louis. Louis, who has spoken to me on levels I cannot even express, whose class and political and emotional intelligence have challenged me to stand up for things I never thought I could. For me these last few years have felt like a journey WITH Harry. As he started waving them, I started wearing rainbows, just subtly. A knit scarf, a postcard, a bag. I started writing fic, the most healing thing I’ve ever done. I learned to create art away from the singular thing I’d been trained to dump my all into, and I learned that I have so much more to offer, even if chronic pain will follow me in some way or another for the rest of my life.

I’m so thankful to Harry for taking me on this adventure with him; I don’t know if I’d have ever taken that first step by myself. It was like he held my hand through it all, like this fandom held my hand through it all. Like by being himself, Harry helped me be brave enough to evolve too.

Through the catalyst of Harry’s art I’ve experienced more happiness than I’d have ever imagined. I cannot wait to go on this next journey, a second album, and reflect on just how far we’ve both come.

#mine #personal #tw suicide #tw disordered eating

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ephemeral-afterlight · 5 years ago

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Day 27: Ransom

(Protect those you love), prepare to leave it all behind.

Whumptober 2019 Day 27: Ransom

Word Count: 2161

Relationships: Intrulogical

Warnings: Kidnapping, physical violence/weapon (knife), blood and injuries, mentions of torture, threats of non-con to another character, vulgar/explicit language, mentions of drug usage/bad parenting/death of a minor character (not a side), cursing

A/N: hmm... i don't really know what to think of this one, to be honest. it feels weird to write right now, since i'm a bit sick, but i don't know. maybe it's not as awful as it feels like it is. who knows. anyway, have this shit. i'm not really a huge intrulogical shipper, since i don't actually ship remus with anybody (i hc him as aro), but logan fit so here we are.

It’s pretty cold here. Remus knows that being kidnapped and held hostage in a basement however far below the surface isn’t a particularly forgiving situation, but couldn’t his kidnapper give him a blanket or something? It’s too fuckin’ cold for this! And it’s weird, because the guy seems pretty warm himself despite not even wearing a jacket or anything, just a t-shirt, and it makes Remus a little jealous. Remus is always cold, but this place just makes it worse.

He doesn’t even know why he’s here, either. He’s not special, doesn’t stand out, isn’t known for any notable actions or anything. He’s just a simple guy, a dude who lives in a shit apartment and works two jobs in fast food and bartending. He’s pretty common, in society’s eyes, so… why is he here?

The blow to the head had been delivered from behind, just after Remus has gotten into his apartment after work. It came when he least expected it, which is so not fair, because he would have loved to fight the guy. Have a fun old-fashioned full-out brawl in his living room at two in the morning, show him what he’s got. It could have been a fun end to his shitty night, but no, of course the guy had to take the coward’s way out and avoid the fight completely. What a fucking bore.

Now, sitting here tied to this chair in the middle of the room, Remus doesn’t even really feel the pain from the big knot on his head. There’s better things to worry about, like “Am I out of milk?” and “Will I get back in time to catch the season finale of the television show I’ve been following since the premiere?”. Besides, injuries are nothing new to Remus, having grown up playing only contact sports, so a little bonk on the head is nothing compared to the evenings he’d come home from practice or games with welts and bruises littering every inch of his skin. Before she died, his mom would freak out over the blood and cuts on his arms and legs, but then he’d give her a toothy grin with multiple teeth missing from being knocked out, and she’d just shake her head and clean him up. His mom was super cool, before she became a druggie and too busy fucking whoever was closest to come home and take care of her kids.

Anyway, Remus still doesn’t get why he of all people had to have been kidnapped, because it’s not like he’s some important figure or in any sort of position of power. He holds sway exactly Nowhere, and therefore isn’t exactly the ideal choice when stealing someone from their home for your own gain. Whoever this guy is, he’s kind of a dumbass.

“Listen up. You’re gonna sit here, smile into the camera really pretty, and you ain’t sayin’ a word unless I tell you to. Got it?” the guy demands as he sets up a tripod, and Remus just snickers. His kidnapper gives him a withering glare as he settles the camera into the correct spot, and then walk around to the other wide to line the shot up the way he wants it. “What’s so funny?”

“Just wonderin’ what the video’s for. Who you gonna send it to, my dead grandma?” Remus asks, licks his lips with a grin as he wiggles in his seat. The ropes around his wrists are tight, but definitely loose enough to slip out of if he pulls hard enough. Remus gets to work using his sharp fingernails to slice through through the rope one strand at a time, to try and reduce the circumference and be able to slide it far enough through the knot that he’ll be able to just yank his hands free. Remus guesses that all those years of putting up with Roman’s boy scouts phase weren’t a complete waste.

“Nope. You got a brother, it’s goin’ to him,” the kidnapper replies with a sneer. He’s finally finished setting the camera up, presses a button to start it rolling, and the red light begins to blink. Remus raises an eyebrow as the kidnapper settles back slightly further from the tripod and pulls out a stack of note cards, and it’s with a barely contained giggle Remus realizes that he had to write his speech down.

“Proof of life,” the guy says into the microphone with a much deeper, more gruff voice than before, and it takes so much effort to not burst out into raucous laughter. “If you want your poor little brother here back to you alive, you’re gonna leave no less than 200 thousand in a bag at the address provided. Unmarked bills, no cops. You leave the money, and then you get your ass out of there. If you call the police or try to pull any tricks, little bro here is gettin’ a bullet to the face. Once I confirm the money’s clean, he’ll be dropped off somewhere within walking distance of help, alive. You have three days. If that money still isn’t with me by the time midnight rolls around come Saturday, he’s dead.”

The kidnapper presses a button on the top of the camera and the red light stops blinking with a little click. Just in time, too, because Remus busts out into uncontrollable laughter as soon as the camera stops recording. His lungs and chest hurt with how hard he’s laughing, but he can’t stop, and the offended, angry look on the guy’s face just makes him laugh harder.

“Stop fuckin’ laughing!” his kidnapper snaps, but his voice cracks at the end, and Remus is in tears. It’s pretty predictable when the guy rushes him and punches him in the jaw, knocking the rest of his breath out of his lungs in a pained wheeze. Remus barely has a moment to recover before the guy’s fist is buried in his gut, forcing a hacking cough from Remus’ throat. He wants to keep laughing, but now it hurts like a bitch to even breathe, so maybe staying quiet for now is the best option.

“I said I’d bring you back alive, not unharmed. Don’t fucking push me,” the guy growls maliciously, a cold glint in his eyes as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a switchblade, flips the knife out in a way that shines the metal’s reflection of the light in Remus’ face. How annoying. The kidnapper presses the knife into Remus’ throat, in the same spot he’s had tracheostomies performed when his airway was blocked, and the feeling of smooth, sharp metal just centimeters away from his trachea is almost comforting in its familiarity.

“Fuck you,” Remus responds hoarsely, spits as much as he can and it lands on his kidnapper’s chin. Remus knows he’s going to be pissed, knows the fallout will be painful as fuck, but he can’t really seem to bring himself to care. He doesn’t regret it, either, not even when the guy yells out in anger and slams his fist into Remus’ stomach again. He doesn’t regret it when the guy mutters something about teaching him a lesson, he doesn’t regret it when he replaces his switchblade with the bigger chef’s knife laying on the shelf in the corner, and he certainly doesn’t regret it when the guy returns with a sadistic grin.

Remus will brag about what happens next for so, so long after he gets out of here, because it’s the funniest shit he’s ever done. The disheveled man brings the knife to Remus’ chest and pushes the blade into his skin, slowly slicing it open as the fresh cut forms a bleeding slash. But Remus doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even yell from the pain. He just moans, one that isn’t of fear but rather high-pitched and obscene, a mockery of sex that leaves him barely able to hold onto the laugh that wants to push past his harshly gritted teeth. “Harder, daddy!”

And that’s probably the last straw, because the end of the cut turns much less clean in the guy’s lividity. The blade presses deeper into his skin, draws more blood and elicits more pain to radiate from his chest, and it takes more effort than Remus would like to not cry out. As much as he doesn find real humour in this situation, he can’t really afford to die here, so staying the dominant, unafraid personality to this man who obviously fears a lack of control is important. He can’t show fear, because that will just bolster the guy’s confidence and keep his head clear enough to not make mistakes. However, if he’s upset and feeling undermined, his anger will cause him to slip up, and allow Remus the opportunity to turn the tables on him. It does sound easy in hindsight, but slacking off won’t help any, so Remus focuses in on burying the pain below a layer of numbness.

“You know what? Maybe I won’t send it to your little brother. Maybe I won’t return you at all. Maybe, I’ll just keep you here, tied up so you can only sit there as I torture your little boyfriend,” the kidnapper seethes, and his eyes narrow as an even more deranged smile slips onto his face when Remus stiffens uncontrollably. “What, that hit a nerve? You scared for your little boy toy? What was his name… Logan, right? I know where he lives. And I’ll steal him from his bed, bring him here and force you to watch while I slice him up. Maybe I’ll make you watch me fuck him, take care of him better than you ever could, hmm? How about that? Want me to fuck your boyfriend for you? I saw him, y’know, a cute little nerd with glasses. Nice ass, skinny waist… he’s almost like a girl. Maybe I’ll keep him for myself, after I kill you, fuck him every single day while he just cries for his poor ol’e Remus.”

No. No, no, no no nononono. How dare he?! You can do anything to Remus. You can threaten him, make fun of him, torture him, and he’d laugh in your face. But this guy has the fucking nerve to bring his boyfriend into this? No. Unacceptable. This isn’t-- fuck.

And Remus knows he should stay calm, not let his words get to him, but…he knows Logan’s name. And apparently, where Logan lives. What if he does take Logan, does hurt him while Remus can’t even do anything about it, helplessly tied to a chair? What if this guy hurts his baby, hurts his Logan, and Remus could’ve prevented it? It’s far too easy to imagine Logan’s eyes filled with fear, the attempts to stave off tears, muffled cries of pain. All he can see in his mind is Logan traumatized, and for the very first time, the thought of sex makes Remus feel sick to his stomach.

So with an enraged snarl, Remus yanks his hands free from the flimsy rope keeping then locked behind the back of the chair, and then lunges. He relishes in the surprised yelp, the angered fear in his eyes, the way he scrambles to fight back far too late. Because he’s pinned under Remus, and once he’s got someone in his grip, he isn’t letting go. For probably too long, Remus just sits there, beating his kidnapper with shaking fists. The man fell unconscious a while ago, hasn’t been a threat for minutes, but Remus doesn’t have any other way to take out his frustration besides sitting here on top of this guy, pummeling him to hell and back. Eventually, his arms fall limply to his sides, and Remus’ eyes dull as he slouches over. His breathing is light and trembling, and there’s a feeling welling up in his chest that he doesn’t understand, can’t pinpoint or identify. His legs feel like they’re on fire when he pushes himself to his feet, burn when he sways a bit in an attempt to keep his balance.

Remus doesn’t know where he is, or how far he was taken from his home, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what Remus has to go through, because as he climbs the ladder out of this cellar and emerges in a long, dark hallway, he knows. He knows as he trudges to the end, as he whips open the door on the other side to reveal an alleyway. He knows as he gets to the road, recognizes the bakery across the bustling traffic, and when he turns in the opposite direction of his apartment. He knows when he sees the green sign at the intersection, sees the familiar name of Logan’s street, when he approaches his apartment complex. He knows that Logan’s going to be okay, because he’s going to make sure of it, and Remus vows that nobody will ever be able to threaten his boyfriend ever again.

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connorssock · 6 years ago

Text

Beloved Monster

Growing up, Gavin had all the typical fears of a child. That there was something in his closet, a monster under his bed, haunted attic. Wherever he went, he never felt alone. As a child, it was terrifying but as he grew older, he got used to it and to an extent took comfort in it. It was why he never got worried about living alone, some people hated it, Gavin didn’t mind.

It was only when he stumbled home from a double shift in the early hours of the morning that he began to question his sanity. He’d missed dinner but was too tired do much more than pop a few slices of bread in the toaster and grab the ham from the fridge. In line with his usual luck, a piece of ham slipped from between his fingers and fell to the floor with a splat. Immediately, his cat was prowling towards it and Gavin’s sleepy mind panicked. Not thinking, he kicked the ham under the fridge and out of reach.

“Thanks,” a soft hiss came and Gavin blinked.

“Did you just speak?” he asked the cat.

“No, it was me.” The voice was grating, like metal scraped over rusty metal. There was nothing Gavin could say to that other than “huh” and ump when the toast popped out.

“Want me to make you one too?” he offered, mind addled and half asleep.

“Please.”

Obediently, Gavin assembled another ham and cheese on toast and slid it under the fridge.

“Thanks.”

“Cool, I’m going to hit the sack. Have a good night,” Gavin turned the kitchen light off and stumbled into bed.

In the morning he almost laughed at himself and his sleep addled mind. Of all the things to hallucinate from exhaustion, a voice under his fridge which asked for some food was a new one. He basked in bed for a few more minutes, delaying the inevitable of having to fish out the ham and cheese on toast from under the fridge, now probably coated in age old dust.

Still, it had to be done and once he was finally up, cat food sorted, he knelt down by the fridge and peered under it. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness. A torch revealed nothing unusual either, not even a greasy stain where the toast had been. Scratching his head, Gavin tutted to himself, perhaps he’d dreamt the whole thing.

It was only a few days later that he was in the kitchen again that the fridge let out its usual groan as he moved to bin some gone off yoghurt. His hand stilled and he looked at the appliance.

“Was that you?” He felt so silly asking out loud whether his fridge had groaned. But it didn’t compare to his fright when the voice from before gurgled out a “maybe”.

“Cool,” he stalled for time, uncertain what to say. “You hungry?”

“Yes.”

As far as conversations went, it was a pretty stilted one. Whatever lived under his fridge didn’t seem capable of more than one word answers. Which was fair enough, Gavin wondered if he was an entity that lived in cramped, dark places, he too might struggle with words.

“Got a name?” It only seemed polite to ask. The response was a garbling hiss of consonants that should not have been possible to pronounce.

“Is that your name? Or is that you having a breakdown? Shit, you didn’t touch the electricity outlet, did you?”

“No. Name.” The voice repeated what could have been the same sounds as before, or something utterly different but Gavin’s ears caught on a bit.

“That’s getting a little too long for me to pronounce. But part of it sounded like Nines. So I’m going to call you Nines, okay?”

“Okay. Nines. Good. Like.”

If Gavin didn’t know any better, the voice sounded pleased.

From then on, Gavin’s waste took a serious nosedive. Anything on the turn or gone off could be shoved under the fridge and Nines happily chomped away on it. Sometimes, especially if it was something he very much enjoyed, the odd gurgling slurp accompanied it.

Gavin also made changes to his home. Nines was fond of dark, small crevices to hide in. The fridge was his favourite but he also liked to hang out under the washing machine in the bathroom while Gavin brushed his teeth. In the living room, Gavin sold his old coffee table and replaced it with one that sat low on the ground and was wider than his previous one. An additional benefit was that he could put his feet up much more comfortably while they watched TV. His wardrobe was a comforting nook for Nines to hide out in. More often than not, some of Gavin’s jumpers would migrate into the back corner of it, pulled from their hangers. In the end, Gavin just bought a couple more and let Nines rotate them as he pleased.

They had a bit of a game going on too. Some days, Gavin would sneak up on whatever furniture Nines was chilling under and suddenly peer under it with a torch. It was always met by a wry chuckle from somewhere else. How Nines knew Gavin was trying to catch a glimpse of him was a mystery. No matter how silent or abrupt Gavin was, Nines always evaded him.

“Why can’t I see you?”

“Ugly. Scary.”

“Well, you put up with my ugly and scarred ass, can’t be much worse than me,” Gavin tried to make a joke but the alarming growl he got in response had him backing up.

“Not ugly.”

It wasn’t something Gavin was willing to argue over, Nines sounded cross enough and Gavin had seen the things he’d eaten. He really didn’t want to be next on the menu.

“Got any family?” he tried to change tact.

“Brother. Happy.” Another string of garble followed that Gavin guessed was a name. Much like with Nines’ own name, he tried to find something that a human could pronounce.

“Let’s call him Connor, sounds close enough.” Then something struck him. “You say happy. Is that you happy or him happy?”

“Him.” Nines sounded as gentle as he ever could.

“What about you? Are you happy?” It was a heavy question and only when Gavin asked it did he realised how much he wanted the answer to be a yes.

“Almost.”

It crushed Gavin’s heart more than he thought it would. He nodded and made a little noise of acknowledgement, uncertain how to ask what he could do to make Nines happy.

In the end, he didn’t ask. But he made sure to take note of all the things Nines enjoyed more. He bought cherry yoghurt and left it in the sun for a few days before spooning it under the fridge. If sometimes he dipped a pickle in it just he hear Nines’ happy little hums, that was pure coincidence.

He also invested in blackout curtains and some evenings, he sat on the sofa in pitch black as he and Nines talked. Over time, Nines had started to string words together into sentences. Occasionally, Gavin could have sworn Nines’ voice came from the far end of the sofa, along with waves of warmth that definitely didn’t emanate from the radiators.

“Do you ever get bored just lounging in the house?” Gavin asked one night. Nines was either in the wardrobe or, since Gavin had changed to a bed with small legs, under that.

“Too bright. Too scary. Nobody want to see Nines.”

“Oh buddy, don’t put yourself down. Anyway, I think I have an idea. Would you fit in the hood of a jacket? Or a bag?” Gavin’s mind was whirling a mile a minute. He wasn’t sure how big Nines actually was. But if he fit in small dark crannies, perhaps he could curl up small.

“Fall out hood. Too heavy for bag.”

“I want to try the bag idea anyway. It would be nice to have you tag along whenever you fancied,” Gavin pressed the idea even as another one cropped up. “Hey Nines?”

“Yes?”

“You know I like you, right?” There was a soft tremor in his voice. He didn’t want to mess things up but he wanted as much as Nines was willing to offer.

“Yes?”

“Want to get on the bed? You always feel so warm and it’s a bit chilly.”

The refusal was not unexpected and Gavin didn’t take it to heart. If anything, he’d learnt that Nines was tremendously shy. Just getting him to sit on the couch had been a feat which took weeks of asking. So Gavin settled in to do the same with the bed. Each night, he asked Nines if he’d like to join him for a cuddle. And each night Nines refused. But his voice became less firm over time.

Things changed one night when Gavin had stumbled home from another late shift. He was tired, the case was dragging and there was something missing from the picture. Nobody could pinpoint it, but they were so close. Gavin never noticed that he was being followed home.

He opened his door but before he had a chance to flick the lights on, someone was barrelling into him from behind. They tumbled into the house, a hand pressed over Gavin’s mouth to keep him quiet. He struggled, kicked and scratched to no avail. There was the sound of a knife being pulled free and Gavin froze. He knew what was coming, the inevitable pain of a knife burying itself into his flesh. Bracing for it never helped but he tensed in anticipation all the same.

A slurping sound accompanied the sudden loss of tension in the body behind him. Almost in slow motion, it peeled away from him with more crunches and gulps. A soft burp sounded and Gavin tried to make sense of it all.

“You okay?” Nines’ familiar voice snapped him out of it.

“Fuck. Did you just eat him?”

“Yes.”

Gavin swore again and let out a laugh. He couldn’t very well report the incident now. There was no way to explain that the creature that had always lived under his bed since childhood had eaten his assailant. The absurdity of it all had Gavin laughing.

“Close the door, will you? It’s getting cold.”

He heard the door shut and even the faint glimmer of street lights was gone. Not bothering to turn a light on, Gavin picked his way through his home towards the bedroom, trusting Nines to help him stop falling over things.

Once in bed, he patted the space beside him.

“You going to come up for that cuddle then?”

“Yes.”

So it was, that at 1am on an unremarkable Thursday night, the mattress dipped and Gavin smiled.

#reed900 #dbh: rk900 #dbh: gavin #monster under the bed au #monster nines

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uncomfortable-writers · 6 years ago

Text

Trepidatious (Bucky x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Marvel

Character: Bucky Barnes

Persona: Female

Word Count: 1,817

Warning: Mentions of extreme anxiety

Request: Can I request a Bucky imagine where reader has anxiety, she's nervous about everything, and it's easy to make her cry. Maybe a scenario when some of her co-workers pranked her and she got really scared and started crying (you can add a panic attack) and Bucky hears her sobs when he comes to pick her up and calms her down? Thank you dear ❤

A/N - I based this off of how my own anxiety feels so if it doesn’t feel right/accurate I’m sorry :( Also my inbox/social media is always open for anyone who needs to talk, I love you all <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey and if any of them give you trouble today, you call alright? Me and Steve will come sort them out right away”, Bucky playfully huffed, even going so far as to puff his chest out dramatically. Even though it was light-hearted you detected the subtle truth behind it; there was no doubt in your mind that Bucky wouldn’t follow through with his promise. You smiled at him, subconsciously squeezing his fingers as you usually did when deep in thought.

Bucky, being ever alert, could tell your anxiety was peaking as you often disconnected from reality when your nerves were bad.

“You know I’d never let anything hurt you”, Bucky stated in a soothing tone, “You’re the most precious thing to me”. He pulled you into a warm hug. Breathing in the scent of his cool, fresh cologne brought you back down to Earth, wrapping your arms around his thick middle you replied, “I know, I love you”. Bucky slowly dropped his arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Go get a move on, you’re going to be late doll”.

You chuckled as you knew you were at least half an hour early, arriving with plenty of time before your shift started was one way you combatted your worry.

“And I’m sure Steve’s getting into all kinds of trouble without you”, you teased, touching your bag one last time to make you had it, you started to walk towards your work entrance. “Of course he is! Damn kid can’t stay outta it!”, Bucky called getting into his car, “I’ll be here to pick you up at 5 sharp! Have a good day, I love you!”. Smiling to yourself, you opened the doors and let yourself into the office but not before turning around one last time to watch Bucky go. As was the norm Bucky had his head sticking out of the car window, his hand already raised to wave you farewell. After copying his action you finally went inside. The Winter Soldier waited till he saw your figure disappear through the clear-paned doors, and he even waited a few extra minutes just in case you’d forgotten something, but when you never came back out, he decided it was all good for him to leave.

Having your boyfriend drop you into work always left you in good spirits.It set a positive tone for your day, so when you saw your least favourite co-workers huddled together you tried not to let the good vibes falter. You couldn’t help but notice the way their faces seemed to develop sinister smirks, or how their voices became hushed whispers. Trying to push the distress to the back of your mind, you greeted them softly and rushed to your desk, painfully aware of how on edge you could feel yourself becoming.

Pulling out your phone, Bucky had already texted you:

From: Winter Princess <3

Miss you already :((

Don’t stress about ur colleagues, they’re a bunch of asses anyway.

love you xoxo

His message caused you to relax slightly, growing more content you tapped out a reply. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t see your co-workers creeping closer to you, mischief all to clear in their minds.“Hey (Y/N)”, Todd’s voice broke your tranquil state. Your eyes dashed up to see that Todd was in the entryway to your booth while Jessica was leaning on the top of it, an insidious look on her face despite the sickly-sweet smile. Your mouth suddenly felt dryer than a desert, “Can I--um--Can I help you?”, you stammered out.

It was no secret that recently this pair had become more troublesome than usual. It was nothing too serious, just the occasional tormenting here and there. To anyone else it would’ve seemed like nothing more than playfully work banter, but to you it was so much more. Your anxiety justified it as some personal vendetta that the two had against you, you couldn’t prove this though so you opted to not tell your boss.

Once Bucky had found that they were causing you hassle, he wanted nothing more than to come into your workplace to shake them up a little, to see how they enjoyed being made to feel purposely uncomfortable. Of course you told him no, your boss would fire you. To say Bucky was overprotective was an understatement but he had good reason to be. You were the most important person to him and he’d be damned if he’d let a bunch of lowlifes upset you, even for a second.

“You can actually”, Jessica chimed, “There’s this totally cool video floating about recently about this new game, have you seen it?”.

You could already feel the sweat forming on your brow, nonetheless you willed yourself to remain calm. “I haven’t actually, what’s it about?”, you hadn’t meant to indulge them in their twisted enjoyment, but it felt rude to tell them to go away and just the mere thought caused more stress. Todd made his way over to your computer, “Oh you’ll just love it, I promise”, he grinned in a friendly manner, although there was nothing friendly about it.

All you could do was smile meekly as you watched Todd invade your personal area, He pulled up YouTube, clicked on a video and made it full screen. “Watch this”, he instructed before returning to Jessica. You could hear them snickering behind you, instead of focusing on them you put your attention into the video. You were genuinely confused. The video seemed to display a room in which absolutely nothing was happening, it caused you to pay even closer attention to the detail in the video as you were worried you were missing something. And that’s when it happened.

Out of nowhere an ugly, contorted face popped up on the screen accompanied by the loudest, shrillest scream you’d ever heard. One that you were sure would provide you with nightmares if the face didn’t.

You lurched backwards, falling out of your chair. A shout that rivalled the one from the video left your mouth as you started to convulse. Your heart was violently beating so fast that you swear it was causing your ribcage to vibrate. It was a pain like no other. Your lungs couldn’t get in enough air. You scrambled around on the office floor for your phone while your co-workers laughed in hysterics. As you opened up your messaging app, you could already feel pins and needles spreading throughout your body making it harder to type as every few seconds your muscles would intensely shake.

Your brain was in fight or flight mode as you mindlessly texted Bucky. A fresh sob elicited from you every few seconds as the video played on an endless loop in your mind. Your body was feverishly hot, your cheeks like tomatoes, whether from fear or embarrassment or a combination of both, you didn’t know. With your phone in hand, you raced to the restroom too afraid that by staying out in the open something else could hurt you.

“It was only a joke (Y/N)!”, Jessica shouted after you even though barely heard it due to the drumming in your ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m gonna kill ‘em”, Bucky growled, a look on his face that would make even the devil shake. His human hand was turning white from how hard he had it clenched, and he almost ripped the door off it’s hinges when he entered the office. Steve followed closely behind, trying his best to help his friend keep his cool, “Maybe don’t kill them? It’s not very beneficial in the long run”. Bucky shot a glare over his shoulder to the Captain, “Not. Now”.

They made it into the office workspace, Bucky used his skills to survey the area but he couldn’t see you. However, he did notice Jessica and Todd with sheepish looks on their features. Bucky’s boots thundered on the floor as he stomped over to them, he didn’t even need to get close to see how much they were shaking.

“Look we didn’t know alri--”, “Save it”, Bucky spat interrupting Todd’s poor excuse, “Just tell me where (Y/N) is”. Jessica gulped, “She’s in the women’s restroom”. The air in the office froze due to the cold coming from behind Bucky’s eyes. Your co-workers didn’t realise that you knew the Avengers let alone date one of them. “You go make sure she’s okay, I’ll see to these”, Steve quipped, rapidly adapting his Captain persona, an intimidating expression furrowed his brows. Bucky didn’t bother to wait around to hear the upcoming lecture from Steve.

Upon approaching the restroom, Bucky knocked softly on the door before entering.

“(Y/N)?”, he called out gently as to not frighten you. All of the anger and rage he felt quickly dispersed as he looked for you, feeling only sadness and a need to comfort you take its place. His ears picked up muffled cries. He followed it to the stall it was coming from. “(Y/N)? It’s me, it’s your Bucky”, he repeated in a steady whisper, giving the stall door a light nudge. The light poured in to reveal you sat on the toilet lid, your knees pulled into your chest as you rocked slightly. Your head tucked away. “It’s me doll, you’re safe now”, Bucky dropped to his knees to be level with you.

The noise of his movements caused you to lift your head slowly, still afraid of what you might see. Bucky’s blue eyes held nothing but love for you, his smile was warm and inviting, an incentive to go to him but you felt like you couldn’t move. Everything was stiff from fear, stress and paranoia. Ever so gradually, Bucky moved his hands until they touched your legs on either side. He drew patterns into the fabric covering them while murmuring sweet nothings about how you were safe now, coaxing you out of your defensive position.

In a flash you were pressed into Bucky’s chest. His arms around you in a protective cocoon.

“I was so scared”, you hiccuped, “It came out of nowhere”. New cries racked your body, Bucky did his best to calm them as he stroked your hair. “Nothing can hurt you now baby, you know I’d never let anything harm you”. Your arms were locked around his neck. Kiss after kiss Bucky placed on your temple, reassuring you every few second. When he could no longer feel your heartbeat stammering in your chest, or feel your body jolt from your cries, he rose slowly with you still encased in his arms.

“Where are we going?”, you sniffled. “I’m taking you home doll, then I’m going to run you a nice bath and wash your hair. After that we’re gonna eat some ice cream and you can pick any movie you want to watch”, he replied, pressing you closer to him. “Even chick flicks?”. A light chuckle rumbled through Bucky’s chest, “Even chick flicks”.

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wildefiction · 5 years ago

Text

Of Course...Mr. Collins

Word Count: 1,654

Chapter Summary: Reader helps Misha and his family prepare for the holidays.

Chapter Warnings: None. Maybe brief anxiety

TWENTY-EIGHT

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of trashy mid-day television, several short naps and more trips to the bathroom than you cared to count; the ceramic floor cool beneath your fevered skin.

By the end of the weekend, your symptoms had all but completely subsided, a mild headache the only reminder of how miserable you’d been over the last few days. Buried in the warmth of your deep blue fur-lined parka, the bite of the early morning chill went un-noticed as you walked hand-in-hand with Misha to his car.

So lost in your own mind, you barely noticed when he pulled into the driveway – the smooth electric engine so quiet that Misha removing his seat-belt was the first thing you noticed.

The entire day Saturday, while you’d been confined to bed, the multitude of tweets and other notifications you’d been tagged in were impossible to miss and since then, the tiny seed of doubt that lived in your chest had begun to flourish. As a fan yourself, seeing through the mean comments to the worry and concern beneath the awful words wasn’t difficult. Misha was adored by people around the world, news spread like wildfire on the internet and often innocent actions were blown out of proportion by those who were either genuinely concerned or who just liked to stir up trouble. The pictures surfacing from San Francisco seemed to be some mix of both.

“You okay?” Misha’s fingers, laced through your own, tightened while those impossibly multi-dimensional eyes stared down at you, worry etched into the creases of his expression.

The pain evident in his features was like a vice around your chest, and, as pinpricks of moisture gathered at the corners of your eyes, you wanted nothing more than to erase that hurt, whatever it took.

“Of course! Mish, don’t look at me like that – I’m okay, I promise. Just thinking about this weekend is all.” A soft smile of encouragement replaced your own concern as you leaned up on your tip-toes and wrapped your arms around his waist. Pressing lips lightly to his cheek before burying your face in his chest, the warmth of his body mingled with the calming scent of his cologne and immediately you could feel the tension start to dissipate – just like it always did.

The moment of quiet was short-lived as the front door was pulled open and both Maison and West came spilling down the steps, Vicki chasing after them with their jackets, which neither child appeared to care for.

“Daddy!” “[Y/F/N]!” Four arms wove themselves through both your and Misha’s legs, the children’s exuberance nearly knocking you off balance.

Looking up from the tangle of limbs, you smiled warmly at Vicki. The woman had lowered herself to the steps of the porch. Leaning against one of the thick stone columns, she held a camera in one hand and a tired expression on her face. Gently prying Maison’s left arm from its spot still around your thigh, you approached the front steps, leaning over to hug Vicki as well. This kind of welcome home was still a foreign concept for you, but slowly you were beginning to enjoy the feelings associated with being around Misha and his family.

*****

Over the course of the subsequent days, preparations for the holidays started to become the focus of your daily schedule.

The weekend after returning from California found you crouched in the attic of Misha’s house, sorting through bins filled with lights, wreaths and shiny baubles. Misha’s voice echoed up through the opening across the room, letting you know he was ready for another load. Vicki pointed to a shallow box on your left, indicating that was the next to go. The three of you had managed to work out an assembly-line of sorts and soon the three of you were all gathered in the living room, the decorations neatly stacked atop the sideboard flanking the fireplace. The very same one that had held your contract all those months ago. While it often felt like you’d never been without Misha, you were suddenly reminded that it had been a mere few months since he and his family had welcomed you into their lives and into their home.

“We seem to be missing something…” Misha tilted his head and stared at the blank space stretching before the large bay windows.

“I just…can’t put my finger on it.” Tapping his bottom lip, his clear sapphire eyes turned to Maison and West. “What do you guys think, are we missing something?”

“Daaaaaa-deee, we need a kwis-mas twee.” Maison stared up at her father, a bright smile spreading across her face as she laughed at his question. Putting all of her weight into the effort, the little girl planted her hands at the small of his back, trying her hardest to push him towards the front door.

Coming up behind her husband, Vicki planted a knit sock-monkey hat atop Misha’s head, the bright blue and cream features of GISH’s mascot sliding down over his eyes. Shrugging into a black parka, Misha laughed at his wife’s antics; West stomping around the entryway in his oversized snow boots, the zipper of his own jacket jingling with each step.

For just a moment, you stood there – watching the dynamics of this family play out before you. They were so very typical, almost down to the white picket-fence. And yet, at the same time they were all so incredibly different in the best way possible.

Three hours later, snow danced around your feet as gusts of wind disturbed the pristine, glittering powder. After searching for what seemed like hours for the best tree, West had stumbled upon a giant he deemed ‘the one.’ It was breath-taking really, the boughs heavy with emerald needles; two rich, deep mahogany pine-cones still clinging to one branch. The boy, buried to his knees in the drifts surrounding the magnificent fir, was beaming with pride as Misha knelt to assess how best to bring the ten-foot tree home.

*****

Flames licked at the edges of the logs piled neatly in the living-room fireplace; the warmth of it filling the room with comfort as you hung four stockings from the mantle. Across the room, Maison and West sat at a small table, shaking crumpled paper sacks with unimaginable glee. When asked what they should do with the pine-cones they’d removed from the tree, the kids had decided they wanted to make bird feeders (so the small birds wouldn’t go hungry in the cold winter weather.) Watching as they each opened their bag, both children were very excited to see that spreading seed on a peanut-butter covered pine-cone yielded new treats for the sparrows who hadn’t flown south.

“[Y/F/N]! Look at what we made!” A trail of multicolored seeds following in his wake, West lifted his prize up to where you could see it better, blowing a few long strands of sandy hair away from his eyes.

“Ooh, those are great, I bet the birds will really appreciate you looking out for them by making this treat. Why don’t we go outside and hang them up?”

Faces glued to the large living-room windows, both children were seated, legs crossed, with mugs of hot cocoa on the thick bench seat overlooking the front yard. Several small birds flitted between the safety of the eaves and the veritable buffet hanging before them.

Vicki and Misha were positioned on either side of the great tree, taking turns stringing lights through the branches; boxes of ornaments scattered at their feet. Jason’s Christmas album playing on low in the background added to the memorable day, and as you gathered the links of garland made from popcorn and cranberries, you realized just how excited you were for the holidays - something that had been missing in you for more years than you cared to count.

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way, and, by early evening the house looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. Rather than being kitschy and overdone however, it felt homey and welcoming. With thoughts of the holidays however, also came thoughts of gift-giving. The simple bliss you’d felt much of the day started to ebb away, replacing itself with anxiety – what could you possibly give Misha and Vicki that they didn’t already possess? In the short time you’d spent with this family, it had become quite clear that they were both incredibly talented, giving and creative people. Somehow a new blender just didn’t fit the situation. Nor did you feel like you could just walk into the nearby mall and miraculously find the perfect thing. The more you thought about it, the stronger and more intense your worry became. Idea after idea would drift through your mind, only to be stricken from consideration almost immediately. So consumed were you with the problem; eyes staring blankly into the flames dancing in the hearth, that only after being called several times did you realize you were being spoken to.

“What’re you thinking about?” Lowering himself to the plush carpet, Misha turned, a lopsided grin spreading across his stubble-blanketed features. Scooching to sit behind you, the arms he loosely draped around your waist tightened until your back was pressed hard to his chest, breath warm against your ear.

“Well, I was thinking about what I should - …. you know? It doesn’t matter, because now I’m thinking about something very different. Twisting to face him, your lips hovered a breath from his – eyes locked.

“I should go help with dinner, and I do have to go home tonight – so this little game you’re playing… definitely isn’t going to work. Good try…Mr. Collins.”

With a quick press of your lips to his cheek, you rose from the floor, sauntering off in search of Vicki and the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen.

TAGS: @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

#WildeFiction #OFMC #Supernatural x RPF #Misha x Reader #Misha Collins #Polyamory

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