#One time a guy was having an asthma attack back stage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lokilickedme · 4 years ago

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The Way

I’m writing horror again. I guess it’s that time, you know, that time that has nothing to do with Halloween or the seasons or whatever, that time when it just hits me for some reason. And just like I always do, I’ll say I don’t know why.

Even though I know why, and you know I know why.

Because the truth is always so much weirder and worse and more disquieting than any excuse I could make up for it, and sometimes I just feel the need.

Today I felt the need, and I couldn’t make it go away.

And so I sat down, and words I didn’t want to write were written.

8592 words I would rate this Mature 18+ if it was a fic, strictly because of the subject matter.

Warnings: Death, mostly. Religious trauma, brief descriptions of abuse, mentions of mental illness, domestic violence, grief, familial dysfunction, religious abuse, emotional abuse, medical conditions, brief mentions of drug use/abuse, mild gore in reference to corpse decomposition, psychological unease and mild terror, child abuse (mental/emotional/psychological), brief allusion to physical child abuse, cult references, loss of faith, attempted murder, possible actual murder.

A Note: I love you guys, you’re always so quick and willing to be helpful and offer advice and suggestions and such, and I adore that about you. But on this piece of work I ask that nobody offer any theories about what happened to my brother - medical, criminal, or otherwise - and please no suggestions on things we could do to pursue investigation, that ship has long sailed. It’s been 23 years and he’s a cold case. We spent years trying to sort it out but in the end it’s just something that happened, and we moved on because we had to. There are a lot of open ends, a lot of question marks, a lot of suspicious details that never connected to anything - and we tried, we truly did. If anyone out there knows the truth, they’ve never shown themselves to us. We do have our theories, but my brother was a secretive person living a life none of us knew about, and the people he knew weren’t people we knew. Everyone involved is either dead or moved on or got away with whatever it was they did, and there are only three of us who still care. It’s over.

Until today, I’ve never put these events into words.

It was something I needed to do, finally.

This is PART ONE. There may not be a part two, unless doing this ends up making me feel better.

Please feel free to comment if you wish. As you can see, pretty much nothing triggers me. I just ask that you please refrain from the type of comments noted above.

And thank you.

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This is, regrettably, a true story. Nothing has been changed but the names, because the dead don’t like being talked about, and James was just enough of a shit to haunt me for it.

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They made up their minds And they started packing They left before the sun came up that day An exit to eternal summer slacking But where were they going without ever knowing the way

They drank up the wine And they got to talking They now had more important things to say And when the car broke down They started walking Where were they going without ever knowing the way

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

Their children woke up And they couldn't find them They left before the sun came up that day They just drove off and left it all behind them But where were they going without ever knowing the way?

You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

- The Way, Fastball, 1998

That was the year James died in his sleep.

Or that’s what they say, anyway. Asthma, the likely cause based on his medical history, our first and least disturbing assumption. Undetermined, the official determination based on the hastily scraped-together autopsy, the best that could be done under the circumstances. We tell people he had breathing problems, and they nod their heads and agree because they knew he did, and now he’s been gone so long that nobody asks. Most of the people who ever met him have long moved on or disappeared or died themselves, or just remember him as the enigmatic middle son from the Keithley family that nobody really knew very well. You know, the odd one, the one that showed up at meetings maybe once a year and smiled nervously but didn’t really talk to anyone and always seemed anxious to leave? The one who died under mysterious circumstances? That one.

He left the way he always came in. Quietly, unexpected, without anyone being aware of either his entrance or his exit.

But me and mom know some things, and she’s not talking. She probably never will.

So maybe it’s time I did.

December 1998. I’d gotten married two years previous and moved back to the family land with my new husband. He hated it there, but we had an affordable place to live. It wasn’t bad. He’d tell you otherwise. The land never sat right with him, but I’d lived there too many years to see it. I’d been fifteen when my father uprooted his large family from the city and hauled us out to the great back door to nowhere, and even though I’d left several times to wander elsewhere, I always came back.

I didn’t realize why at the time, at any of the multiple times. But now I know. That place gets you, and it holds you, and unless you’re goddamned devoted to staying gone you will always be pulled back. It took me till I was 49 to funnel the necessary amount of devotion away from the religious dedication I’d had jackbooted into me and turn it toward getting out, but against a great number of overwhelming odds I finally did it.

But this isn’t about that, not yet anyway. This is about my brother James, and how he went to sleep one night and found his own way out.

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It was snowing, had been for days, a bit unusual but not unheard of. The part of the state we lived in was notorious for extended ice storms and we knew a bad one was coming, but until it hit we played in the snow like it was a gift and we were deprived children who knew it was all going to be taken away soon. My brothers and I were adults but you wouldn’t know it, watching us sneak around in the woods staging elaborate commando attacks on each other. James was the best of us, a stealth king who could stand in the middle of a room for an hour without a single soul seeing him. Perception bias, he said. Your brain ignores me because I obviously don’t belong, like those puzzles where you circle what’s wrong but it takes you forever to find them.

He crept around in the forest scaring the shit out of people, dropping his long tall self out of trees, appearing from nowhere to administer a well aimed snowball to the face of whoever happened to cross his path and then disappearing just as quickly. We called him a wraith and it wasn’t a good natured jibe. We meant it. He made people nervous. He was the stealthy kind of quiet you associate with danger, and he knew how to do things an average person doesn’t ever have any need to know. It was a quiet cool that we admired him for, because none of the rest of us had it.

The religion we were raised in kept a tight lid on us, but me and James, we never really let it get into our bones. We were the smart ones, in retrospect. I went through the motions by force of habit and a sense of self preservation, doing what was expected and demanded of me, following the rules and making myself a perfect example of a young member of the church so I wouldn’t bring shame on the congregation and my family. But mostly the congregation. It was always more important than anything else. And I had behaving down to an art form, but mostly when people were looking. Usually also when they weren’t.

But sometimes, not quite.

And then I prayed for forgiveness about it later because God was supposed to forgive you if you asked him to, right? The tenet of willful sin being unforgivable never took root with me even though that was what the church conditioned into us through fear and constant repetition. They said it from the stage two nights a week and again on Sunday to hammer it home. Two nights a week and again on Sunday my head silently disagreed. God’s not like that. And then I did the praying for forgiveness thing even though I knew I was right, because I was disagreeing with the church, and the church was God’s channel here on Earth, wasn’t it? I committed a mortal sin at least three times a week on that subject alone, and though the dread of divine punishment was hardwired into me, I never could reconcile the concept of a loving and forgiving God destroying me simply for knowing better.

I’m not sure the comprehension of an overwatching deity ever actually established itself in James’ brain. A moral code, yes. But isn’t that what God is, really? Maybe he understood more about God and forgiveness than the rest of us. But he was considered an unapproved fringe member of the church because he couldn’t suffer people and noise and being looked at and he refused to preach, and he was soft-shunned as a result. Because if you weren’t all in to the point of being willing to die at any moment for your faith, you were as good as faithless.

And faithless meant condemned. And the congregation couldn’t be bothered with condemned people, regardless of their reasons for not having both feet in the water. The first and only option on their list was to put the person out and let them find their own way back once they realized they had nobody left in the world who cared about them.

James escaped that somehow. He was supposed to be shunned whole scale, but he wasn’t trying to convince anyone to leave the faith and he presented no threat to anyone’s strength of belief, and so far as anyone knew he’d committed no grave sins other than disinterest. So the rule that dictated we cast him out was bent enough to allow him to remain living on the family land, though at one point during a fit of overzealous righteousness my mother had tried to have a family meeting to vote on whether or not we were going to let him stay. I refused to vote and when I walked out of the house the meeting fell apart.

I’ve never forgiven her for that. Her son’s life being put to a vote with her presiding over the proceedings, vengeful and unfeeling and devoid of compassion on behalf of God himself. It takes my breath away, the anger, still to this day. The only thing I ever truly learned from my mother about parenting was a long and intensely detailed list of what not to do to my own children, and I suppose I should be grateful for that. It’s a bitter thank-you to have to give, but it’s something.

We knew James as much as he would allow us to, and not an inch further. Which meant the extent of our knowledge of him pretty much stretched to include the singular fact that he was different. What that meant, I still don’t really know - but it was there from the day he was born, that slight off-ness, the oddly off center calibration that you can’t really see so much as sense in a person. I know now he was likely on the autism spectrum and he walked through life seeing and reacting to everything differently than most of us, but that wasn’t a thing back then. You were just weird, or you weren’t. And I’m not convinced that was a bad thing for him, strictly speaking. But in the confines of our religion and our family’s devout and sometimes violent dedication to it, it took its toll almost daily.

He stood out, and he was very much a person who didn’t want to. He wanted to fade into the background, to not be seen, to not be known. And our religion didn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense, because we were commanded to be bold bearers of The Word Of God, and no exceptions were made.

None.

I’m going to stop calling it a religion now. I beg your indulgence as I shift to calling it what it is, because calling it a religion is an insult to actual religions that don’t destroy peoples’ lives with callous indifference and murderous glee.

We were raised in a doomsday death cult. There’s no other name that fits.

And we were trapped in it and its ugly cycle of neverending mental and emotional manipulation and abuse until we were adults, and some of us are still bound to it. My oldest brother worked his way up to the upper levels of oversight in the local congregation and was solidly entrenched in it until his death, which is a story for later. My youngest brother, the last remaining living blood sibling I have, is still deeply in it to this day and will likely never leave it.

I took the hard way out, three years ago, by walking away.

James, though. He took the easy way. He simply closed his eyes, and he was free.

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December 22, 1998. Three days before Christmas, though that meant nothing to us. The cult told us Christmas was a filthy demonic pagan ritual that was condemned by God, so to us the season was just a nice chilly time of year with lots of time off from work. We’d had an unusual amount of snow, the most we’d had in years. The roads were impassable and everyone was home except my husband, who worked close enough that his boss at the glass shop came and picked him up that morning with chains on his tires. Lots of windshields had shattered from the sudden violent cold that had struck the previous night and Scott had the only glass shop for sixty miles.

I think it must have been around noon, and likely my mother had sent my dad up the hill to see if James wanted to come down for the lunch she was making. He and his wife had split up against the strict rules of the church after a few years of suffering through an ill advised marriage, an important detail to this story that will come into the tale later, and he was alone up there at the top of the hill a lot. Sometimes he forgot to eat, or he got so busy that he just didn’t bother, so our mother always made something for him because even though he was in his 20′s he was still a kid who needed looking after and her zealous fervor against him had died down with time. I think he let her believe he was helpless because it worked in his favor and there was always lunch waiting for him in her kitchen as a result.

He was different, he wasn’t dumb.

We all lived on the hill back then with the exception of our youngest brother. He’d moved to the city with his new wife not long prior. The locals jokingly called the place a commune, and I guess they weren’t completely wrong. Thirty-eight acres of wooded land far beyond the city limits that we’d painstakingly spent years carving a livable space into, with five houses, all built from the ground up and inhabited by an extended family of well known culties from a well known cult. It’s almost comical, looking back on it, knowing now how they kept an eye on us for years to make sure we weren’t doing anything weird up there.

They should have run us off with pitchforks and burning stakes at the very beginning.

Things might have ended differently for us if they had.

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My grandparents lived at one end of the property, an old couple as simple and solid as salted soup, devoutly religious and devoted to the cult and very much cut from the can survive anything and probably will cloth like so many old country folks of their generation. They were waiting out the end of days up there in their little wooden house, expecting the final hour of this old system to come long before their own demise. I liked my grandmother, she had a sweet smile and fell asleep every time granddad started talking about the Bible and she paid me five dollars every Wednesday to drive her into town to get groceries, and years later, when she was dying, she told me she’d had a dream where she met my unborn son. I was four months pregnant and didn’t know yet that I was having a boy. She died before he was born, but to this day, fifteen years later, he tells me he’s sure he met her, he just can’t remember when.

I was scared of my grandfather. Not terrified, but there was nothing grandfatherly to him and I always suspected he never actually liked kids much. He’d once told us a story about the great Fort Worth flood that wiped out most of the city when my mom was a baby, and how he had told my grandmother to let go of my 2-year-old mother while he was struggling to get them across a rushing flooded creek in water up to their shoulders. My grandmother couldn’t swim. We could make another Ruthie, he said. But I couldn’t get another ‘Nita.

He said it proudly, like he was to be admired for his choice. I was young when he told that story, but it settled into me that this was evil.

Even when he was old as dirt and dying of a brain tumor in hospice care, he made me uneasy. I was never close to him. But for some reason, in his final days, he forgot who everyone was except me. I had been living in another state for years and he hadn’t seen me since before the tumor started taking his life. But when I walked into the room he turned his head and looked at me, and he mouthed my name.

He couldn’t speak. I don’t know what he was trying to say, struggling with words that nobody could hear. And I felt bad. I didn’t want to be the last person he recognized. My cousins adored him and had spent the last few years constantly at his side, and they were angry, maybe justifiably, that I was the one he reached for.

I didn’t want that at all.

I don’t believe he was a bad man, but he never spoke of anything except the cult’s interpretation of the Bible, and it was as tiresome as it was terrifying. Granddads are supposed to be fun. Ours quoted doctrine at us in a deep loud commanding voice that you couldn’t interrupt and you couldn’t tune out, and once he got going you had to just settle in and wait for him to run out of zealous steam. And then he would suddenly stop and command grandmother to turn on a John Wayne movie and bring him some ice cream, and it was over until the next time.

I know my mother resented him. She knew grandmother was the one that had refused to let her go, the one that had held onto her even though she almost drowned by the simple act of holding on. She knew her father had been willing to let her wash away and drown. That he thought she was interchangeable with whatever baby they would have next. How she could spend her entire life with that knowledge and not be deeply affected by it was something that never made sense to me, but now, when she’s in her 70′s and I’m in my 50′s, I finally understand. It affected her. She’ll just be damned if she’ll let anyone see it. And she had stood there in that hospice room watching him mouth my name with resentment burning in her eyes, though she would have rather died than let anyone know what it was for. He’d forgotten her weeks ago.

The house in the center of the hill was mom and dad. The homestead. The house we’d all lived in together, that we’d built with our own hands, the first thing that marked that wild overgrown hill as a place where people actually lived. A long path through the woods connected it to the grandparents’ house, and it was the epicenter of everything in our lives. James and I had lived in the upstairs rooms of that house until we both moved out and married our respective mates years later, a reprehensible act on our part that was never okay with my mother and that she never forgave either of us for. She’d wanted us all to stay. We can all live here together until the New System comes, she always said. That’s how the Bible says it’s supposed to be. We can all keep each other safe and on the right path until the end comes, and then we’ll all be here together forever.

A decade later when I sat up on the hill watching that house burn to the ground, there was as much relief as grief billowing into the sky with the black smoke. It was the end of an era, and it was far beyond time for it.

Nobody saw it but me. James was dead, had been for years. Robbie was dead now too. Dad was gone, so was granddad. Me and my youngest brother David were the last two left of the kids, but he had moved to a neighboring city when he got married and he has never seen things the way I see them. We were of different generations, we weren’t raised the same way, and he’d never experienced the abuse I lived with for the first half of my life. And he had dedicated his own life to the cult with all the honesty and lack of guile that I didn’t have when I’d made my own dedication vows at the too-young age of sixteen.

It was the end of an era, but apparently only for me.

James’ house was up the hill, past a clearing where my dad used to keep old cars that he cannibalized for parts. Our oldest brother Robbie, long married with kids of his own, lived at the bottom on the farthest corner of the land. And my house was on the slope to the west, built on the spot where we’d cleared off an old half-fallen homestead from the late 1800′s, dutifully paying no mind to the fact that a grave was nestled into the slope, right where the yellow daffodils grew. The cult told us superstition was tied up with the demons and false religion, so we didn’t have the built-in human instinct that tells most people to stay the hell away from certain things.

We just pretended it wasn’t there, and put no importance on it. It was just an old grave. The soil was good and the garden I planted next to it did well, though those strange daffodils always wound themselves through everything I put in the ground. My husband said something wasn’t right about it, but I didn’t pay any attention to him. He hadn’t been raised as devout as me.

My dad knocked on my door around lunchtime and I opened it. He backed up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, the fancy leather coat the dealership had awarded him when he was designated a five-star Chrysler technician and given the state’s first and only license to work on the new Vipers that had recently rolled off the prototype line. It was a cool jacket. Made him look like the old pictures my other grandmother had shown me of him from the early 1960′s, when he was young and very much a product of a fancier era. He’d never stopped greasing his hair back and was still so thin that he and I wore the same size jeans.

I’ve never understood the look on his face when I opened the door. To this day I can’t sort it. It wasn’t a blankness like so many people who’ve seen death wear without awareness. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t even shock.

He was sorry.

Those were the first words out of his mouth.

I’m sorry.

I stood there, not knowing what he was sorry for. It was cold. I couldn’t push the screen door open very far because of the snow blocking it. And my father was standing at the bottom of the steps James had helped my husband build, his hands shoved down far into his pockets like a penitent child about to get in trouble, telling me he was sorry.

James is dead, he finally said. He’s in his house. I went up there and he’s dead.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now - just now, this very moment in fact, I know that I was the first person he told. He came straight from James’ house to mine and told me my brother was dead.

I don’t know what I said back to him, I just remember sitting down on the top step and feeling the cold bite of the snow through my pajama pants. There’s a vague recollection of putting my face in my hands, and the embarrassing knowledge that I did that simply because I didn’t know what else to do. And dad just stood there, nervously stepping from foot to foot in the snow, because he didn’t know what else to do either.

I think I asked How at some point. He said he didn’t know. He had something in his pocket but to this day I don’t know what it was.

I don’t know if it was important. Something tells me it was. Or maybe it was just the eternally present handkerchief he always kept on him.

I’m sorry, he said again. He seemed to feel like it was his fault somehow. I’m sorry.

What do we do? I asked him. I’ve never felt more blank. What are we supposed to do?

I don’t remember what he said, other than he was going to get my older brother. I remember thinking that was a good idea. Robbie would know what to do. He always did. Brash and blustery and bigmouthed, he got things done while other people stood around debating how to do them. He would get on it, whatever needed doing. He would figure it out.

I went back in the house and dad walked away, headed down the path through the woods that connected my house to Robbie’s, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, the big retro vintage Chrysler emblem on the back of his jacket the last thing I saw before I pulled the screen door shut. I stared down for a minute at the mound of snow it had scooped into my livingroom, still with no clue what I was supposed to do.

No clue at all.

I kicked the snow back outside and shut the door.

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It’s an odd thing, watching the coroner’s van drive away with someone you know inside it. Someone you saw just yesterday. Someone who was alive. Someone who should still be alive but isn’t, somehow. And since there’s really no way to earn a ride in a coroner’s van without dying, there’s an awful unsettling sensation to it that you can’t get away from. The last time I saw James he was laughing that devious little laugh of his, his eyes red and bloodshot from the ever present asthma he’d suffered with his entire life. I don’t count the sight of the coroner’s van leaving the hill via our long steep driveway with his cold corpse tucked into a black zippered bag, because I didn’t see him. I never saw him. I didn’t see him dead in his house and I didn’t see them carry him out, I didn’t see them put him in the van. I didn’t see him later, when it was all over with. And if I try hard enough I can imagine that van empty, with that long black bag tossed crumpled in the back without a body in it, and James somewhere else living his life however the hell he pleases.

I hold onto that. Some days it helps. And some days I think I see him, walking by the side of the road or getting out of a car in the post office parking lot, and it makes me happy thinking he escaped. I see him in every hitchhiker, in every wandering traveler making his way down the interstate, in every tall thin man I glimpse from the corner of my eye as I go about my business in town.

He’s out there.

I hope he’s happy.

The ice storm hit the next day.

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For the next two weeks we were stuck on our hill. Power out, no electricity, no heat, no lights, roads iced over and impassable. We all piled up in mom and dad’s house, quietly grieving James, trying to stay warm. Most of the state lost power for days, including the city 150 miles away where his body had been taken to the state coroner’s office. There was no apparent cause of death, so the state ordered an autopsy.

His body had just been placed into cold storage to wait its turn when the power grid went down. And then, by some unholy stroke of nightmarish luck, the facility’s generators failed.

Nobody could make it in to work because of the ice. By the time someone finally got into the morgue the cold storage had been down for four days.

Six bodies melted, including James.

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No viable autopsy could be done, though they tried their best I suppose. The end report was obtained two months later. It was mostly inconclusive due to the long delay and resultant decomposition of tissue. There was apparent scarring on James’ heart, but it was old scarring and had nothing to do with his death. His lungs were scarred as well, but that was no surprise, he’d had severe asthma his entire life. There was no determinable cause of death, no inflicted trauma, no presence of illicit drugs as far as they could tell from the limited toxicology report they managed with what they had to work with.

No reason.

He’d simply died.

It seemed fitting, to me at least, that the end of him be enshrouded in an unsolvable mystery. He was a secretive person, intensely private. He would have loved knowing nobody had a clue what happened to him.

And so we drew our own conclusion as a family. He’d had an asthma attack in his sleep. There had been an inhaler next to his bed, but it was new and still in the box. He simply hadn’t woken up to use it. Dad didn’t participate in the drawing of this conclusion, his input kept stoically to himself, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

We pretended not to see it.

He and mom braved the last of the ice a few days later to make the 150 mile drive to see James one last time.

They came back different.

You couldn’t tell it was him, my mother said. He was melted, literally. It was like one of those science fiction movies where they melt you with a laser beam and you turn to goo.

Dad had nothing to say. He went to bed and stayed there until the next day.

You can go see him, mom told me. I’ll go with you if you want to go. But I don’t recommend it.

I decided not to go.

And so I never saw my brother dead. I never saw any proof that he was gone. He just wasn’t there anymore. There was no funeral, he was cremated and his ashes were sent home weeks later, and I went on with my life with the image in my head of James, alive, somewhere else.

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Dad was different from that day on. He’d always been stoic, terse, strict. My childhood had been spent in fear of him, an eternal dread of making him mad and feeling his temper erupt keeping me from showing any hint of a personality during my formative years. The cult had forced him to abide by the violent tenet of Spare the rod, spoil the child and there was never any risk of me being spoiled.

James being gone flipped a switch in him. He was nicer suddenly. Mellow. Kind. After the trauma wore off his humor discovered itself and he was funny. The dour angry demeanor fell off and revealed a man that I was sad never to have known before. He and I became friends. I could sense in his new attitude toward me that he regretted how he’d raised me and respected the way I’d always stood up and been my own person despite it. But my mother was falling off the deep end and for all the newfound easygoingness of my father, she counterbalanced it with an extremism born of the religious fervor of a mother determined to gain enough favor with God to see her dead child again. And she was going to make sure the rest of us did too.

We all had to get good and straight on the path, get completely right and stay that way, or we’d never see James again. He’d be in the New World and we wouldn’t, and how would she explain that to him? She and I worked together in a law office at the time and as she became more unhinged and unpleasant, I reacted by becoming more outgoing and accomplished. Our boss changed my work designation from receptionist to Executive Assistant and started teaching me how to do everything from filing papers at the courthouse to photographing accident scenes. I no longer answered to my mother, the office manager. I answered directly to the boss.

That didn’t go over well. She was a control freak with heavy untreated trauma, and the one person in the world she felt the most obsessive need to control was suddenly no longer under her thumb in a workspace where she considered herself the supreme authority. She countermanded every order the boss gave me and tried to load me up with general office chores that left me no time to do the important assignments he’d given me. I had no choice but to tell her she wasn’t my superior anymore.

She chose that day to have her nervous breakdown over James, jumping out of my car at a red light on the way home and storming angrily through a shopping mall with me trailing frantically along behind her, yelling for security to arrest me while I tried to get her to calm down. I ended up telling her she wasn’t the only person who lost James but that none of the rest of us were allowed to experience our own grief because we were too busy catering to hers.

She sat down on a bench outside the sporting goods store and glared at me with a cold hatred I’ve seen on very few other faces, ever.

I knew it would be you, she hissed at me.

That moment changed our relationship forever. It changed me forever. That was the day I decided my life was my own, that she not only didn’t have authority over me at work, she didn’t have authority over me anywhere else either. She could no longer dictate my actions, my behavior, my thoughts and feelings.

For this she disowned me. It was the first of several disownings over the next few years. I got used to it. We went to work the next day like nothing had happened, and I didn’t do a single thing on the task list she slapped down on my desk. It was a metaphor for the rest of my life, but I didn’t know it yet.

My husband and I moved out of state a couple of months later, away from that hill, away from her increasingly controlling paranoia and bitterness, the first of many small steps toward freedom.

As we were driving away with our trailer full of personal belongings behind us, he said one thing that I tried to argue against, but that somewhere deep inside I knew was probably right.

That land is cursed, he said.

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A few weeks before we moved my youngest brother came to town and we went into James’ house together. It was exactly like it had been the day my dad found him. The only thing that stood out as different was the bare mattress on the bed - the men from the coroner had wrapped him up in the sheet he’d been laying on and took it with them, leaving just the naked springform mattress James had bought for Jessica right before her final breakdown and their subsequent separation.

It took me a while to go in the bedroom, but I knew from the moment I walked into the house that I was going to end up there. I needed to see it, the place where James had closed his eyes and left us.

There was a small puddle of dried blood near the foot of the bed, brown and stained into the fabric. James always slept backwards, with his head at the wrong end. The blood had come from his nose.

I touched it. I don’t know why. It was dry.

He was gone.

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David and I laughed a lot that day. James had been funny in a way that was distinctly him, quiet and of few words, but those words had always counted. And as we sorted through his things and talked about him and moved some of his stuff into boxes to be stored away, I felt as much awed respect as befuddlement at what was around me. He’d never been a conformist, which I knew was why the cult had never gotten a firm grasp on him. He was unknowable and therefore unbindable. But his house was proof that he didn’t conform to any human expectations either, and nothing in it made sense unless you’d spent time around him.

There was an engine in the bathtub. I’m not sure what it went to. Another engine, in the beginning stages of disassemblage, rested on a blue tarp in the center of the livingroom floor, obviously the last project he’d been working on. There wasn’t much furniture - his wife had taken most of it when she left and it would have never entered his mind to replace any of it. Jessica’s cookware was in the kitchen cabinets, unused, some of it still in the original boxes, some not even fully unwrapped from their wedding shower years before. Jessica didn’t cook, she microwaved. David asked me if I thought it would be okay for him to take a glass Pyrex measuring cup because he’d broken his. I told him to take it. It had never been used.

I didn’t want anything, but knew I needed to take something. One of my husband’s solo CDs was sitting on the entertainment center and the cover, the cover I’d designed, caught my eye and brought me to the CD player to pop the tray open.

Inside was a CD single of The Way.

It was the only thing I took.

----------

My husband told me some time later that my dad and older brother had altered the scene before the police arrived. After the phonecall from me his boss had rushed him home and he’d gone up to James’ house without my knowledge. He’d thought it strange that he’d had to step around at least a dozen empty compressed air cans scattered haphazardly around the place as he entered, like they’d been used and tossed aside one after another. There had been several more on the floor around the bed. My father had told him to go back down and see how mom and I were doing, and when he returned to James’ house after the coroner’s departure, the cans were gone. Other than that he said things seemed different, but he couldn’t say quite how. Just not the same.

He told me my dad didn’t call the police until after he and Robbie had been in there at least an hour, alone with the body.

It’s not something we’ve talked about often, because there’s no satisfactory explanation for it that either of us can come up with. My mother says they probably didn’t want the police to assume the cans meant he was huffing compression fluid and accidentally killed himself, because Look at the shame and reproach that would bring on the congregation if anyone thought such a thing! We all knew he used the compressed air to clear the valves on the engines he was working on, all mechanics do, it’s common. Wouldn’t the police have accepted that explanation? Dad was the only one that spoke to them. They wrote down whatever he said, and then they left, and then the coroner came and took James away and that was that. My father, the most upright straight-and-narrow devoutly dedicated man I’ve ever known in my life, misled the police for a reason that he took with him to his own grave.

The only other person in the world who knew the truth about it took it to his grave too.

At the same time.

In the same car.

Four years later, on October 18, 2002.

----------

The big garbage bag of empty air cans and whatever else that was removed from James’ house that morning had been stashed in my dad’s garage and stayed there until a few weeks after he and Robbie’s joint funeral, when my mother asked my husband’s old boss to come and dispose of it. Scott was a man who knew people who could do things.

The evidence, whatever it was evidence of, vanished.

----------

The mystery around James never dissolved and eventually no one talked about it anymore, I guess because there was no way we could ever truly find out what happened without him here to tell us. There were a lot of details that we could never find a way to weave together into anything that made sense and a lot of it was probably inconsequential anyway. There was a girlfriend that he’d tried to keep hidden from us, a woman that was quite a bit older than him who wasn’t a member of the cult and therefore needed to be kept a secret. In the end she had convinced him to stop hiding their relationship and he’d bought her a ring. We met her all of twice before he died, and within days of his passing she left town with her brother and never came back, taking whatever she might have known with her.

James’ ex Jessica had sneaked onto the hill and broken into his house to put a dead raccoon in his kitchen sink a few days prior to his death. We were shocked when he told us she trespassed on the land often without anyone knowing, and my mother made my father fix the electric gate down at the road so that it wouldn’t open without one of three clickers in the possession of herself, my father, and me. James would have to come to her house and get hers any time he needed to leave the hill, an arrangement he agreed to because Jessica stole things from his house all the time, she would absolutely take a gate opener if she saw it.

He told us the gate wouldn’t keep her out though, and that she didn’t come in that way anyway. The only way to protect ourselves from her was to lock her up and he doubted even that would do it.

He died less than a week later, and twenty three years later we still don’t know how or why.

----------

We never felt safe on the hill again. Jessica was deranged in the worst possible way, we’d known it for a while, and James was her obsession. She’d threatened to kill him multiple times and had tried twice. We hadn’t known this, because James, big strong stoic Clint Eastwood type that he was, wasn’t about to tell anyone he was violently abused for years by a skinny little woman that everyone believed was not much more than a meek dormouse with shyness issues and a case of painful awkwardness. But we knew she was evil. We just didn’t have any proof.

The first thing my mother said after the initial emotional breakdown of finding her son dead was Jessica did this, I don’t know how but I know she did it.

I believe she was probably right. But if Jessica was anything she was wily and devious with a strong survival instinct and an uncanny ability to lie convincingly and draw sympathy onto herself. She’d convinced us for years that she was the perfect combination of sweetly harmless and endearingly clueless, but that only lasted until the day she called 911 screaming that James was beating her and then threw herself face first into a tree in their front yard and sat, calmly singing and coloring in a coloring book on the porch with blood running down her forehead, waiting for the police to arrive. The act she put on when they got there was one for the Academy, but the officers didn’t buy it.

James calmly rolled up his sleeves and showed them his scars where she’d burned him and slashed him with a kitchen knife. He pulled up his shirt and pointed out the marks she’d left on him with her teeth and nails. He hooked a finger into his mouth and showed them the empty hole where she’d knocked one of his teeth out with a baseball bat. One of the officers asked him why he hadn’t killed her and buried her somewhere on the land already.

She left in the back of the squad car, and my mother took James to the courthouse to get divorce papers started two days later.

Jessica came to his memorial service when we finally had it, several weeks after his death. She wasn’t invited but we couldn’t keep her from coming. She wore black like a widow and created a dramatic disruption complete with loud wailing and declarations of undying love, and afterward she stood to one side of the room, smirking at us with the kind of icy malice that you only see on the dangerously deranged, and then usually only in the movies. Several people commented in hushed voices, asking why she’d been allowed to come. At one point she started wailing They killed him!!, but everyone with the exception of her mother ignored her.

Her mother, who was still in our congregation, flitted around the room chatting with everyone, sobbing her heart out like it was her own son we’d just memorialized. She was an ER nurse and had been famously fired from her job at the hospital for taking locked-cabinet medications home by the purse load. She claimed she put them in her pocket to use on her shift and forgot to return them to the cabinet before leaving.

Jessica had been staying with her for a while.

----------

We fed the crowd at mom’s later that afternoon with my husband and his boss guarding the gate, making sure she didn’t try to come into my mother’s house. The police were called preemptively, and because this was a town of 300 with not much of anything else to do, a squad car was dispatched and stationed near the inlet to the main drive.

Jessica showed up not much later, like we knew she would. She drove past the police and parked a few yards down from them in plain sight, just sitting there by the side of the road, far enough away from our property that we couldn’t legally do anything about it. The officers got out and talked to her, warned her not to cause us any problems, and she fed them a woeful tale about being banned from her beloved husband’s memorial service and denied the right to say goodbye to him.

The officers knew there was no body at that service to say goodbye to. They also knew her.

My husband came up the hill and told us she was down at the road and that Scott was blocking the driveway with his truck to keep her out. I told my mother it was time to file a restraining order against her. She was living in fear and Jessica was known to be trespassing on our property frequently. No, she told me with tears in her eyes but not a sign of distress on her face. It was a look I knew, because my mother rarely showed emotion unless she was angry and the rest of the time it was this cold detachment. That would bring reproach on the congregation because everyone knows what we are. I can’t do that. I won’t let her win that way. I won’t let her cause us to bring shame on God’s name.

God’s name. I took it in vain that day.

More than once.

I was leaving in a few weeks, moving a thousand miles away. My husband and I weren’t going to be there to help her keep an eye out, and thirty eight acres of heavily wooded land is impossible to protect and easy to sneak onto from a hundred different directions, James had shown us proof of that.

God will protect us as long as we do the right thing and leave it to him, she said. He knows what she is.

I think it was just a coincidence that nothing terrible happened in the following weeks, because my faith was getting tenuous and a lot of prayers were going unanswered. But Jessica quietly disappeared back to her own world after a couple of infuriating weeks of putting herself in our paths every chance she got, and not long after that my husband and I moved away, and as we left the driveway for what we thought would be the last time he sighed and shook his head with the exasperation of a man about to say I told you so.

“That land is cursed,” he said.

I tried to disagree, though I don’t know why.

----------

Less than a mile up the road we passed a man walking. He was tall and thin and covered in the dust of a long journey with a ratty backpack strapped to his back, and as we passed him I caught his reflection in the side mirror.

It was James, I knew it in my heart every bit as strongly as I knew it couldn’t be.

He was walking away from the hill, toward the west. The way we were going. And I swear on whatever holy relic you wish to place under my hand that he raised his head and met eyes with me in the mirror, and he smiled.

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shrinkyclinksfest · 4 years ago

Text

That's a wrap!

Thank you all so much for another successful run of Shrinkyclinks Fest! Altogether the works add up to 150K words of new Shrinkyclinks content and six new artworks! We want to thank all our wonderful writers, artists, promoters, promoters, readers, and supporters. We will see you all next year!

Without further ado, the Masterlist:

Title: Nazi Punks Fuck Off [Shrinkyclinks AU] Creator: bleedxblack Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 22 Warnings: N/A Summary: Local punk Steve Rogers goes to see his hardcore vocalist boyfriend, Bucky, perform with his band, Widow. Friend and guitarist Natasha took the first photo of them after the band had finished their set. Steve took the following photo himself while he watched his friends and lover play on stage.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271081

Title: Steve has hot guy problems Creator: HeyBoy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: T Prompt #: 33 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the ShrinkyClinks Fest prompt: Meet-cute at the gym! Smol Steve is determined to work on his cardio and fitness. He reluctantly goes to the gym, feeling intimidated but ready to spit fire at anyone who so much as looks at him twice. He is going to get a good workout, damnit. Ignore the clunkheads. Ignore the gym rats. Ignore the super hot guy with long hair and stormy eyes who always seems to be using the equipment near Steve. That wasn't so bad! Now we can shower and go home. Wait, hot guy is also in the shower and… he's singing. WAIT hot guy just exited the shower and now he knows that I know he was singing!.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271468

Title: asthma attacks, fire escapes, and chai Creator: beemotionpicture Medium: fic Rating: gen Wordcount: 6,657 Prompt #: 9 Warnings: none Summary: It happens because of his asthma of all things.

As soon as he feels short of breath he starts rooting through his messenger bag for his inhaler. Steve has a moment to think aha!and then fuck,before he’s losing his grip on the thing and it’s skidding across the pavement and into an alleyway.

He freezes when he realizes he’s not alone.

Steve hears a muffled sound coming from behind the dumpster, but that’s not what makes him look; no, it’s the metallic scent in the air which, with a creeping feeling of dread, he hopes isn’t blood. He looks. It’s blood.

And there’s a man sitting right in a puddle of it, leaning heavily against the brick wall and clutching his side with a metal hand.

How Steve finds an injured Bucky, nurses him back to health, and takes down a HYDRA agent while he’s at it. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33272239

Title: Highway Ghost Creator: Neonbat Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 15820 Prompt #: 31 Warnings: Usual WS Bucky warnings Summary: Steve hated long drives, it was too easy to zone out, especially when you’re full of cook-out food and good times. Having someone fall out of nowhere right in front of his car wasn’t exactly something he’d ever consider a possibility. He had enough excitement already from his job as an ER Nurse. Except, where most people would have been laid out on the asphalt, the man dressed in black got up without a scratch and insisted medical care wasn’t needed. The fuck was his life? Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33283738

Title: He "Accidently" Picked A Hot Roommate Creator: rufferto Medium: digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33279370

Title: special delivery Creator: @glim / glim Medium: fic Rating: Teen + Wordcount: ~6,000 words Prompt #: 30 Warnings: n/a Summary: Written for shrinkyclinksfest, Prompt #30: Steve Rogers has always been prone to sickness, but summer colds are the absolute worst. What he wants is a huge bowl of chicken noodle soup and some ice cream. What he gets is a food delivery guy who’s so built and hot Steve chokes on his tongue. That’s why he keeps ordering long after he’s recovered and how he finally gets Bucky Barnes into his apartment and his bed. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33343828

Title: When the Pool Closes Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1858 Prompt #: 36 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve just wants to enjoy a day out in the sun by himself. That’s not too much to ask. Except it is, apparently. With such fair skin, sunscreen is a must, and there’s no way he can reach his entire back. He’s just going to have to find someone to help him apply it, and if the guy is ripped… Well, it’s not Steve’s fault that he’s got good taste. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33341596

Title: To the Future and the Past Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1465 Prompt #: 40 Warnings: Major character death Summary: Maybe a funeral isn’t the right time to admit to a gay love story, but Bucky doesn’t care. That’s what Steve wanted, and Bucky’s never been able to say no to the love of his life. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33358726

Title: A Shot Across The Bow Creator: Author: Becassine Artist: Call_me_kayyyyy Art Rating: G Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 18382 Prompt #: 52 Warnings: Blood/Injury, Implied/Reference Abuse, Reference Slave Trade Summary: Bucky Barnes is a Pirate Captain, and one accustomed to getting his own way. When fate drops Steve Rogers in his path one lonely evening in Tortuga, his life is forever turned upside down. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33265450/chapters/82597747

Title: Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet Creator: Girl_Back_There Medium: Fic Rating: Mature Wordcount: 6214 Prompt #: 45 Warnings: Some Homophobic Language, Instances of Sexual Harassment against women Summary:Bucky doesn’t know how his mother managed to Jedi mind trick him into dropping off Becca at summer camp this year, but she somehow did it. Despite his grumpiness at the unreasonable hour in which he was wrenched from his nice and cozy bed, Bucky is glad for this time with his little sister. Becca spends their time talking about the activities she got to do last summer that she hopes will be back again this year, all of which was organized by Steve Rogers. After she came home from Camp Marvel last year, all Becca could talk about was Steve Rogers, one of the counselors for her team, The Howlies. Steve Rogers was an amazing artist. Steve Rogers participates in all of the competitions despite his asthma, scoliosis, heart arrhythmia, and various other medical issues. Steve Rogers totally drinks his respect women juice. Bucky would be worried about his sister may be developing a crush on this Steve guy, but after meeting him, Bucky is more preoccupied with the crush he's developing on Steve. So preoccupied in fact, he ends up signing on to be a camp counselor for the summer. Link to work:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33339220

Title: The Way To A Man’s Heart Creator: Author: HaniTrash Artist: Kocuria_visuals Art Rating: T Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 11852 Prompt #: 53 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers, skinny Brooklynite, is a college student who makes old recipes and posts videos of them on tiktok. When Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier and Avenger, sees one, he's instantly hooked and becomes Steve's biggest fan. What follows next is a story of food, flirting, and a very unlikely pairing. But much like Steve’s unusual recipes, what shouldn’t work often does… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33312223/chapters/82722664#workskin

Title: Maybe A Muse Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): fic Rating: M Wordcount: 2871 Prompt #: 28 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33393928

Title: Be My Breath Creator: Goosenik and clarkestetler Medium: Fic Rating: Teen and Up Wordcount: 44,575 Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the Shrinkyclinks Fest 2021 prompt: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate.

Basically: Bucky moves in with Steve after he escapes from Hydra, and Steve begins the long process of helping Bucky remember how to be human again. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33275848/chapters/82626394

Title: Tap-Tap Into Your Heart Creator: huntress79 Medium: Fic Rating: T Wordcount: 5k Prompt #: 6 Warnings: none, except for one blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention of animal death Summary: When HYDRA finally fell, the Soldier was lost, in more than one meaning. And for the next several months, he, more or less, drifted from one former safehouse to the other, always avoiding to stay too long in one place. Until he comes to Brooklyn - and finds a new purpose, again in more than one meaning… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33416524

Title: I'd be selfish but never with you Creator: Lacunalady on Ao3 Medium: Fic Rating: E Wordcount: 20k Prompt #: 32 Warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Prompted with: "Arranged marriage AU. Steve is a prince and Bucky is a newly crowned king of the neighboring country having conquered/overtaken the last ruler. In order to keep the peace between their countries, Steve's father decides for them to wed. Steve is reluctant for several reasons but mainly because he wants to marry for love and the fact that Bucky has a reputation for being exceedingly ruthless in battle (aka the winter solider)" by Bangyababy on Tumblr! Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33424936

Title: Just Peachy Creator: Erosanderis Fic Rating: N/A Wordcount : 1266 Prompt #: 34 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers was not looking forward to meeting his soulmate. Ever since the day he was born, he had the worst possible words on his forearm. So of course he would meet them at work. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33412060

Title: Knocking Boots with Sugar Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 4095 Prompt #: 29 Warnings: N/A Summary: In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33499603

#shrinkyclinks fest 2021 #masterpost 2021 #shrinkyclinks #stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanart

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kirillsochnev · 3 years ago

Text

August 31.

Weird day! Moved into the dorms, helped Carrie bring all of her stuff (wish she'd put in a word for me with that hot roomate of hers) and then was followed by her to the guys' side. It's fine here, I guess, if mom can't bear see me we can get used to that dorm life.

Ms. hot teacher(or is it Mrs. Hot teacher? I hope not.) came around and ordered us to help with decorations for tomorrow. I obliged, of course, I'd eat rocks if she asked, honestly. Got roped into doing it with a bunch of nerds. I mean, that Seva kid probably can't blow up a baloon without having an asthma attack? And Edik's weird. Looks old as all hell and watches cartoons. Mila's, well, about as bad as my sister, but also not my sister, so more insufferable. Her friend is crazy. And weirdly good at guessing what im thinking. Seriously, how can this fag guy guess I was thinking of gooseberry when he asked me to think of any fruit ..?

And then shit went down! Like, we're hardly halfway through decorating the stage and these dust spirits come outta nowhere. I asked Azovka what they were, but she isn't really helpful, just keeps whining. I blast the dust thingy to pieces and this fuckin'- Guess it's a Domovoy, but for school facilities? comes out. The dust spirits call him "Daddy". I was almost thinking I've gone crazy with Azovka and the Mistress! Kept them to myself, you know, to not end up in grippy socks, and there's this shit. And everyone sees it. And they fucking talk to it, like it's no big deal, and accept it's mythic quest in the middle of the woods. That's gonna get em shanked one day, I swear.

But we go into the woods. Carrie goes, and I follow. God knows if anything happens to her I'm getting the blame and the lifelong sentence. It's fine, I guess, nothing weird happened. We get the thing the creature asked for and come back, super late, to get chewed out by Goar (Ms. super mega hot teacher. she looked stressed today, wouldn't stop messing with her phone. I've got no fuckin clue how she types on that tiny thing. Should i get a phone?) . Wanted to give her a magic stone, but that felt like it would be creepy. Gave one to Carrie to bother her. She didn't even seem phased. I don't think she's even affected by my scary eyes anymore! I pulled that move on all of them, and actually got the big guy. He was about to shit his pants. (fey presence aoe fear/charm)

School starts tomorrow. Don't know what to feel. I finished 9th grade not that long ago, but also that was a decade and a half ago. It's still crazy thinking about that. And about how mom just took me back, no questions asked, after all these years. I wonder if she would take dad back. Don't know how anyone could like a pig like Carrie's dad. Dad will have a much harder time when he returns, though. What's the use of an Engineer that missed out on 16 years of technology? It's gotten insane. I bet he will understand all of that pretty fast, though. And explain how they make those 3D things. For now I'll just try not sucking at school anymore. Just two more years and we'll be done and going back home. I should get better at physics and geography. They keep talking a big game about the new exams at the end of school.

#in character stuff

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sweetsubharry · 5 years ago

Note

Hii!! Do you have any fics where Harry is the Damsel in Distress and Louis saves him?? Bonus if it's a kidnapping fic

Thank you very much!!

hiya! 💞 yes I have a couple of those! :) I do love a good classic rescue fic!

The first four are kidnapping and the rest are just the damsel in distress type of thing! I wasn’t sure how severe you wanted the distress? So the one’s where Louis is comforting Harry from a thunder storm and stuff I didn’t include, if you want to see those types too just send me another anon :)

Anyway! Please stay safe and read the tags everyone! 💞

Count The Wolves And We'll Sleep Tonight by scribblewrite

Louis's the Alpha of a powerful pack and Harry's his omega.

When Harry's taken by rogue alphas, Louis will do anything to bring him home safely.

Burning Skies by emeraldharry

They both watched as ice and fire danced across their palms, hypnotized by the small things they could do with their powers. Snowflakes swirled around each other as the mist twisted about like a small tornado, while the fire in Louis' hands swayed and twirled gracefully—bright and warm and beautiful.

Before, Harry couldn't even think of touching him with the fear of turning his skin to ice. Now, he knew that Louis wasn't some ordinary human to shy away from. Louis was bright, fiery flames, a body of powerful waves of heat. Louis was everything he was not, his polar opposite, but it was all the more reason that they fit together just right.

[Mutant au: Harry likes to think he's normal. Except, normal boys don't freeze everything they touch. Louis thinks he's perfect just the way he is and shows him just that. Zayn is a telekinetic, Liam is a rising YouTube star, and Niall is the best human best friend there is.]

You Took My Heart By Surprise by LiveLaughLoveLarry

There is reason to believe Prince Harry’s life is in danger. After a failed kidnapping attempt, Louis is assigned to guard Harry around the clock. He is the best at what he does, but he has a tendency to not get along with clients. Louis and Harry start off on the wrong foot, but it soon becomes clear that neither is at all what the other expected.

~*~*~

Queen Anne met Louis’ eyes. “While your file documents many remarkable accomplishments, it also contains a number of early terminations. Why is that?”

“It all depends on what your priorities are,” he said slowly. “If your primary concern is protection, I’m your guy. If you’re looking for someone polite…” He shrugged. “I don’t generally try to be rude, but social graces aren’t what I’m being paid for. If someone values being sucked up to over being protected, that’s their problem.”

“You seem quite well-mannered,” Anne said, frowning.

Both Nick and Louis snorted at that. “You’ve only known me for ten minutes,” Louis said. “Give it time.”

cut your teeth on my heart by turnyourankle

Louis has worked as a security officer for years, but he's handed his first opportunity to be team lead. The assignment is nothing like what he expected.

Harry has spent years trying to distance himself from the pressure of the Twist name and legacy. But it's going to be hard to avoid when his mum hires him a bodyguard.

turn the sky black into a sky blue by orphan_account

Harry forgets that noses exist. Louis is a badass motherfucker. They bang.

“I’ve been in love with you since I dropped my books in the hallway and you made fun of me when you picked up my John Green novel off the ground.”

Save Me by CupcakeStyles

It took a door to slam him to the ground for Louis to look up and meet the broken eyes of Harry Styles, finding it in himself to want to help this boy from his misery.

I'm falling again by nancy01

Liam gripped Harry's shoulders and ordered him to look at him. "Harry, tell me what's wrong?"

Harry couldn't hear what Liam was saying anymore, could only see and hear white noise. He wanted the hands to encase him and hold him, not keep him away at a distance.

Harry tried to speak but all that came out was a whimper again.

"Harry? Talk to me!" Liam ordered again.

"Gonna drop." Harry managed to get out, tears leaking down his face.

harry drops on stage and Louis has to save him

If I Just Breathe... by whisperingwind

Harry has an asthma attack in the middle of an interview. Cue Louis saving the day, yet again.

Title from "Breathe" by Michelle Branch

If you're lost, just look for me by whisperingwind

Maybe the pain wouldn’t be so hard to withstand if it weren’t for his low tolerance.

Sure, he stubs his toe and tears up, and yeah, he might go to Louis for excessive cuddles after getting whacked in the head with a red bull can, but this is something entirely different.

He feels like he’s dying.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Louis whispers, trying to calm him down, and brushes his fingers through Harry’s hair. It’s slightly damp from the sweat rolling off his body, especially the sweat coating his face and neck. He doesn’t like seeing Harry cry, especially over things as petty as being a bit ill.

Though Louis is starting to realize that Harry is more than a bit ill. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.” It’s a command. He has to keep that overlay of sternness in his tone in order to get what he needs from Harry, otherwise he’ll never get a straight answer from the younger lad. “Deep breaths, come on. I need to know what’s going on and you’re the only one who can tell me.”

Or Harry contracts Appendicitis. Louis saves the day, again.

Title from "Walking in the Wind" by One Direction

How Much? (Enough) by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry has an asthma attack during X-Factor rehearsals and only Louis ever listened closely enough to know what to do to help him. That's sort of how things go between them, though. Louis revolves around Harry, a bit. Harry revolves around him too, a little. Somehow it works- very much a lot.

tell me that I'm wrong but I do what I please by moonlightlouis

au where Harry and Louis are in a relationship and someone hurts louis' baby so he defends his honor

(twenty minutes later) wound up in the hospital by b4byhoney

“Baby, I think a quick trip to A&E might do you some good, hm?” Louis keeps his voice as calm as possible. He doesn't want to startle Harry or make him scared, but he knows that Harry’s fever is too high and he can't risk Harry choking himself into another attack when he's so poorly.

He hears a sharp intake of breath come for Harry and he knows Harry is starting to panic. Louis moves his hand from Harry's hair to his back, rubbing circles into his sweat-soaked shirt.

“No, no. Shh, don't worry, darling. Everything is okay, you’ll be okay. I just know that the doctors will be able to make you feel much better much sooner than I can...Just want you to get healthy as soon as possible, okay?”

or the one where harry has the flu and louis is a protective, nervous-wreck of a boyfriend

We Are Inevitable by mmargarita

“What’s the second flaw?”

“The second inevitable flaw in your plan is:” Louis stood straight and walked towards Harry, grabbing his chin. Harry’s breath hitched. “Us.” Louis smiled. “We’re inevitable, baby. We’re soulmates, and we both know it. You just need to come back to me.” . . . . 30/07/2020: This work has been edited and corrected, and now has 7k words more.

Snow Soaked Love by sunniskies

They take off down the hill together, Louis pulling slightly ahead, relishing the rush of adrenaline as he twists his body deftly through the powdery snow, his skis kicking up a haphazard pattern of tracks in his wake. He can hear Harry laughing loudly over the noise of the flying snow and Louis thinks about how he can’t wait to kiss him when they reach the bottom.

Louis and Harry take a weeklong skiing holiday, but when Harry gets hurt, their plans shift.

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

Text

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 13/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Just as they had predicted, it really wasn’t easy.

Billy spent a lot of time in his first few months back constantly breaking down. Everything from his basic needs, where he couldn’t hold down any foods, the sunlight was painful, and wheeling around a damn thirty pound cart just to breathe was just inconvenient, to his social life, where he was dealing with the stigma of being zombie boy 2.0, and the harsh realization that he had killed his own best friend, but also that he had to cope with knowing his abusive father had mourned him, was now thrown off, and after living so long on the other side with no way, or not time really, to cope, he was lost in the real world.

When anything went wrong or made him upset he’d just shut down and cry, leaving it up to whoever’s care he was in at that time, be it his family, the one he was born into or the one that he chose, or his therapist, to figure out how to help. He always felt stupid, like some bratty toddler throwing tantrums over not getting his way instead of like the survivor he was.

Like somehow he could fight dozens of interdimensional monsters twice as big as he is, but he couldn’t handle a little bit of stress or discomfort.

Thankfully, with a lot of reassurance and promises under their breath, they were able to move past that stage of recovery rather quickly, and the hardest part from there was just deciding what to do with their lives next.

Before the world ended, Billy was ready to study sports medicine at SCU in the fall, and Steve was thinking about following him out west to get his masters in teaching. That’s of course not what happened, nor is it going to work out at this rate, at least not until Billy gets the clearance to breathe on his own, so it’s back to the drawing board, deciding between the only two choices they really have.

Either they were going to head back towards Cali anyways and just wait to start the rest of their lives there, or they would stay in Hawkins and set up while Billy recovered. The choice was obvious to both of them.

After all that had happened, all that time that had been lost, the unnecessary grief they had all suffered, there was no way they could leave now, ditching to California would only put distance between them and the people they cared about, while the memories, the nightmares, and scars would always follow them wherever they went.

So they start looking for places in Hawkins, which turns out to be a lot goddamn harder than they thought it would be.

A house won’t fit into their budget, though even if they did, they’re pretty sure that two guys in a town like Hawkins wouldn’t have been able to buy a house together, so they look for apartments instead, so they can file as roommates. That’s no easier, because everywhere they try to go is either roach infested, or full of smokers and pets, and the very last thing Billy needs to get better is a bunch of their neighbors giving him asthma attacks on the daily.

John Harrington made it very clear that no rapscallion punks would be staying under his roof, and Billy himself had decided that, despite Neil Hargrove’s turnaround, he was never going to let Steve anywhere near the man, especially not after they were outed to him. Right now, he could walk away with his peace of mind and at least a smidgeon of respect for his father. He wasn’t willing to jeopardize that, or Steve’s safety just to move them into a house full of bad memories.

Close to deciding that maybe their only choice was to book it after all, Robin approaches them with an offer. She says she’s going to be commuting to Ivy Tech for school, and since she won’t be home most of the day anyways and Steve technically already has a room there, that they’re free to move into her apartment.

If it wasn't for their circumstances, they’d never have taken her up on that offer, but seeing as they don’t have anywhere else really to go, they decide to accept, but only if she agrees to let Steve pay part of her tuition at least.

Billy has a hard time agreeing to that, Robin to him a reminder of Heather, and Heather a reminder of what he did, but eventually they have a talk about it, and they both cry, but things turn out okay in the end between the two of them.

So by spring of the next year, they have their things packed and a list of days to expect a phone call from Max, and they’re out of their respective homes, dragging into Rob’s place what few possessions they had to call their own.

Billy isn’t allowed to lift more than fifteen pounds yet for fear of collapsing a lung, so his job is mainly to point to where he wants things and change his mind so Steve has to do all the hard work, the both of them all light and laughing at themselves, giggling like their younger counterparts until their newly allotted room is at least semi presentable.

They still have a long way to go, in their decoration skills yes, but also in the recovery aspect, both physically and mentally. But for now, they get to be happy, and appreciate what they have: eachother, a newfound sense of security, and a boundless love that could stand the trials of grief and separation, and would definitely be able to make it through the unknown that lied ahead.

Billy is alive. And Steve is whole once again.

#harringrove Big Bang 2021 #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej!

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dajaregambler · 4 years ago

Text

AAside - Gyroaxia Band story - Chapter 4 (full)

Translation of Gyroaxia’s band story from the game ‘Argonavis from Bang Dream! AAside’.

This post contains all parts belonging to Chapter 4.

(Recommendation to read this along the ingame band story, since it’s all fully voiced!)

Part one - “Joint declaration”

-----At GYROAXIA’s sharehouse

Reon: Kenta-san, have you seen this?

Kenta: What?

Reon: How members of Fantôme Iris are dissing us, and that from there fans started to fight each other…

Miyuki: I saw it too. Like, how Fantôme’s comments started it all, although I’m suspicious if they actually did say that

Reon: I was thinking so too but….

Reon: On the contrary, our fans went out to get revenge after Fantôme’s live had ended…

Kenta: I’m aware of it. I had shrugged it off as baseless rumors that would disappear on their own soon.

Kenta: And then it turned out to be a bigger commotion than I had expected it to.

Miyuki: What’re we gonna do? Are we gonna leave it be or

Kenta: The leader of Fantôme shall be coming here tonight. I intend to discuss what we should do about it.

Miyuki: Haha, always first on the move ain’tcha now

Reon: It’d be good if it didn’t influence the voting for the starting live, but…. today they’ll be announcing the results, right

Kenta: What now, are you not confident?

Reon: That’s not….

Miyuki: Well, I’m not worried about our ranking, it just doesn’t feel too good thinking how these strange rumors still out there

Kenta: I’ll be taking care of it. Leave it up to me

Miyuki: Yeah, yeah. Please do so, Kenta-sensei

----A few hours later

Felix: ---Then, I shall be taking care of the draft for the statement. Could you verify it for me once I had sent it after returning home as soon as possible?

Kenta: I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll respond as soon as possible.

Felix: I could say the same. Ah… that reminds me, I had forgotten to mention something

Kenta: What may it be?

Felix: Congratulations on reaching first place at the starting live. It’s still an amazing accomplishment, even without the impact of the rumors.

Kenta: Thank you very much. However, I believe that you are not intending to leave things as they are now, right?

Felix: Why of course. We may have ended up last now, but one could say it was a mere warm up for next time.

Felix: It ought to not take long before we get tired of staring down on your backs.

Kenta: …..GYROAXIA will not lose.

Felix: I see… fufu. Now then, I suppose it’s time to---

(Door opening)

Nayuta: Any coffee

Nyankotarou: Nya~

Felix: Good evening, Nayuta. Pardon my intrustion. And hello to you too, you must be Nyankotarou

Nayuta: …..A guest, eh

Kenta: You seem to be well informed, to the point of knowing his cat’s name.

Felix: Only because I have checked the official blog of your band. A fan ought to know this much, or am I wrong?

Kenta: Haha

Felix: Now, I shall be taking my leave. I would love to sit down and have a nice chat with you when possible, Nayuta

Nayuta: ………

Felix: À bientôt. And to you too, Nyankotarou

Nyankotarou: Nya~

Nayuta: …..What did you talk about

Kenta: I had consulted him about what we should do about these baseless rumors. Nothing that should concern you.

Nayuta: ‘Kay

Kenta: Ah, right there is coffee. I’ll go make some right now

Kenta: (Even though I’m doing everything I can to not distract Nayuta with any unnecessary trouble, it has to blow over as soon as it can.)

Kenta: (If... this would put an end to it, though...)

Part two - “Joint interview”

-----At an office

Miyuki: Soft and fluffy chairs, some way too delicious coffee…. at last, the kind of treatment we deserve

Nayuta: ….Oi, Sakaigawa

Miyuki: Mh? What’s up, Nayuta?

Nayuta: It’s time. Let’s leave

Miyuki: Eh? I mean sure it’s been a while since it was supposed to start but… wouldn’t it be good to wait for a bit at least!

Nayuta: Tch….

Miyuki: The management of the Fes had set this interview up for us too. Hold it out just for a bit, okay!

Miyuki: Handling advertising is also an important part for the Fes, didn’t Kenta say so too?

Nayuta: Where is he

Miyuki: He said he suddenly had a meeting to attend and is at the office now

Nayuta: ………

Miyuki: I’ll contact the person in charge too, c’mon sit down!

Interviewer: Excuse me. My sincerest apologies for being late!

Shu: So sorry for bein’ late. Was busy with school an’ all that

Reiji: Forgive us for making you wait.

Miyuki: Eh? You guys are Epsi’s….

Nayuta: ….What’s the meaning of this

Miyuki: Wasn’t it supposed to be Nayuta’s interview today or...

Interview: Huh? Have we not informed you about it? That it’s a joint interview with the frontmen of the participating bands...

Shu: Aah, that’s ‘cuz I asked to not let ‘em know. Wanted to get a good scare outta ‘em!

Nayuta: ….We gotta leave

Miyuki: Heey hey now! This kinda interview isn’t too bad, is it! And it’s not like you speak a lot on your own to begin with!

Reiji: My deepest apologies for spoiling the mood. Ujigawa has a tendency to enjoy pulling suck pranks...

Shu: Aw c’mon, stop talkin’ as if I’m some lil’ kid

Interviewer: We are very sorry for the lack of communication on our part! I promise it will not take too long, so please….!

Nayuta: ………

Interviewer: ----Now then, could you tell us what you think of each other’s bands?

Nayuta: Got nothing

Shu: Eeeh, that’s makin’ me sad. I’mma big fan of Gyro! Nayuta-san’s vocals are a given, but the rest of the band---

Miyuki: Wonder if it’s okay for Nayuta to act like that….

Reiji: Isn’t it more exciting to have an interview with a feeling of tension in the air

Reiji: It’s quite interesting, like Asahi-san himself

Miyuki: Haha… A relief to hear that then

Reiji: ….Speaking of which, that secret live from the other day was exciting too wasn’t it

Reiji: Somehow to the point of Asahi-san collapsing from singing too much….

Miyuki: Hm, aah… that. Yeah, Nayuta just went a bit overboard with giving his all

Reiji: Is his physical condition stable?

Miyuki: All good, good! Not a big deal at all!

Reiji: Then that is fine…. The vocalist collapsing must be undeniably troublesome for the members too.

Miyuki: Well… honestly, what came after that was more troubling than him collapsing

Reiji: Had something happened?

Miyuki: Nah well, it was more silly if anything you know, like a whole coup d’état was being staged!

Reiji: Coup d'état…. Haha, that does indeed sound quite funny.

Reiji: If you don’t mind, could you tell me more about it?

Part three - “Stand and talk”

Miyuki: ---And with that, the whole coup fell apart. And one way or the other we all got back together again.

Miyuki: See? Told you it was silly, right?

Reiji: ….It’s necessary for the surprise attack to land its mark, if one wants a coup to succeed.

Reiji: For that moment, you have to bow down to those in power and patiently await your turn to strike...

Miyuki: Uum… What’s that about?

Reiji: ….History that I had learned in class about.

Reiji: Either way, thank you very much for talking with me.

Reiji: We’re respectively having our own fair share of issues due the nature of our frontmen, however we shall be doing our best for the Fes going on forward.

Miyuki: Seriously mature for your age, aren’t you….

Nayuta: Let’s leave, Sakaigawa

Miyuki: Sorry, sorry. Got caught up in talking. So, how did that interview go?

Nayuki: Dunno. You’ll see tomorrow when we get back

Shu: Nayuta-san, good work. Was plenty of fun to talk with you!

Reiji: Thank you for your time too, Sakaigawa-san. I wish you good luck at the live tommorrow.

Miyuki: Ah, hold on Nayuta! Sorry for this, we’ll sit down to talk again some other time

Reiji: ….How did it go with him?

Shu: Wasn’t fun at all. That mister wouldn’ react at all despite pushin’ his buttons

Shu: Anyway, you seem to have heard somethin’ interesting?

Reiji: Yes. Exactly the kind of thing you enjoy.

Reiji: I’ll go collect evidence from the livehouse and hospital at once. I’ll be able to have it done in a few hours.

-----At GYROAXIA’s sharehouse

Ryo: Ah, Miyuki-kun and Nayuta, welcome baaack

Kenta: Welcome back, good work today

Miyuki: Huh, you got back too?

Kenta: Yes, it was a simple meeting. More importantly, how did the interview go?

Miyuki: It was… the whole thing turned out different than expected. Nayuta had to do a joint interview with Epsi’s Ujigawa-kun

Kenta: With Ujigawa Shu.... Was there anything strange that happened?

Miyuki: Nah? It went pretty smoothly, right Nayuta?

Nayuta: Don’t remember. Don’t care

Kenta: Then, that’s fine….

(Door opening)

Reon: Ah, Kenta-san! Did you check online!?

Kenta: What is it, have fans started arguing again?

Miyuki: We commented on it, shouldn’t it have calmed down?

Reon: Not that! Look, it’s about this!

Miyuki: Uuum… “GYROAXIA’s vocalist, Nayuta Asahi has been spotted at the hospital! Troubles arise regarding the continuation of the band”----

Ryo: “Which leads to tension between the band members! Are they on the verge of breaking up with LR Fes right around the corner!?”

Miyuki: ...What, what the hell!? Where did all of this come from?

Kenta: I had assumed the possibility about hospital-related rumors spreading but…. not that it would reach about the state of the band itself.

Reon: It’s strange right! And way too detailed! To the point of a coup being mentioned!

Nayuta: ….What’s the meaning of this?

Kenta: I can only think it was one of us that had leaked it. But, how…. doesn’t anyone here remember this?

Miyuki: Think about it, going out of your way to talk about th--

Reiji: If you don’t mind, could you tell me more about it?

Miyuki: ….Eh? Don’t tell me….him!?

Kenta: Is there something you know, Miyuki

Miyuki: ……..Shit! Sure did it this time!!

Part four - “Reiji’s strategy”

Miyuki: While… Nayuta was doing the interview, I had talked to Epsi’s drummer…

Kenta: The drummer…. Karasuma Reiji

Miyuki: But, we didn’t talk too long ago, and I didn’t say anything about Nayuta’s asthma either!?

Kenta: There was more than enough time to spread rumors online about it.

Reon: It’s about an illness, and with how he collapsed at a live, you can make up as much as you want about it….

Kenta: ….There were a lot of awful rumors about Epsi when they were in Kyoto. How they’ll do anything to crush whoever piques their interest, and the like

Kenta: Which makes me suspect that they’re the ones behind our trouble with Fantôme.

Ryo: Why…. why would they do such things?

Kenta: To cut down the amount of rivals for the Fes…. I wouldn’t know for any other reason why.

Reon: Still, to go like that about it… it’s way too foul!

Kenta: They’re still middle and highschool students, but have plenty of funds and human connections to make use of.

Kenta: An example of what happens when a child who doesn’t know any better becomes drunk on power, I suppose

Nayuta: ……….

Miyuki: Goddamnit….!!

Reon: What do we do? Make another statement?

Kenta: Compared to last time, these rumors aren’t completely baseless. Any wrong moves will increase our amount of problems….

Miyuki: I’m sorry, everyone…. All because I just can’t keep my mouth shut….

Kenta: Apologies are for later. We need to focus on what to do about this right now...

Nayuta: Ain’t gonna do a thing

Miyuki: ...Eh?

Nayuta: We’re gonna rehearse. Get ready

Reon: Is it really fine to just leave it at that!?

Nayuta: Don’t give enough of a fuck to play around with some shitty brat

Kenta: Still… will the fans agree to it?

Nayuta: As if I know

Reon: “As if” you say….

Ryo: Then… wouldn’t it be better to admit to everything?

Miyuki: …..Eeeeh!?

Ryo: Let’s admit it at the beginning of the live. About Nayuta’s illness, and our coup d’état too

Kenta: …..Isn’t that asking to invite even more chaos?

Ryo: It’ll be all good!

Reon: How even

Ryo: ‘Cuz we’ll be doing a live right after it?

Ryo: Once our live starts, everyone’s worries will fly right out of the window and they’ll become happy!

Miyuki: What’s with that…

Kenta: ….I see

Reon: You’re agreeing with him!?

Kenta: Because… it might be a chance to demonstrate our power. Rumors and facts, GYROAXIA’s music will bring it all to the ground

Kenta: If it goes smoothly, we’d be back on track for the Fes...

Nayuta: ……..

Miyuki: Nayuta, I’m sorry…. It’s my fault that your fans came to know about your illness…..

Miyuki: But, it’s as Ryo and Kenta said… If it’s with you…. with our performance, everything will be blown away

Nayuta: Cut it out with the whining….

Reon: You’re so….!

Nayuta: I’m only gonna sing

Part five - “What about it?”

----At the livehouse

Gyro fan A: Hey, did you see it? Those rumors online. Like, “Gyro in a crisis of disbanding” and all…

Gyro fan B: Isn’t that fake? And, Nayuta’s illness….

Gyro fan A: Yeah but… there’s also how Nayuta collapsed during the last song at this secret live the other day, right?

Gyro fan B: Yeah… and it does seem that the members often fight too….

Nayuta: …...Listen

Gyro fan A: Eh…. He’s gonna talk? Isn’t this unusual!?

Nayuta: Everything online, those shitty rumors--- All of it is true

Nayuta: I have a respiratory disease. There’s guys that started going on about quitting

Nayuta: But… what about it?

Nayuta: Even if I fall, I’ll sing. Even on my own, I’ll sing.

Nayuta: As long as I live

Nayuta: …...GYROAXIA

Reon: (All you had to say or what… still… it really fired up everyone!)

Miyuki: (Amazing, eh… that it wasn’t “us” either.)

Ryo: (Yeah, this feels nice… everyone looks happy)

Kenta: (Go, Nayuta…. crush them….!)

Gyro fan A: GYROOO!!!

Gyro fan B: NAYUTAAA!!

Gyro fan A: Hey, is that illness part true!? He’s still going at full power during the encore!!

Gyro fan B: The instrumental part was amazing too! No way that they’re breaking up!

Ryo: Aah, how nice… this kind of atmosphere… it’s very happy….

Reon: Haah..haah.. alright! The best performance…. yes… yes!!

Miyuki: Fuuh... for real, he’s some kinda monster... the fact that he pulled off a live beyond flawless

Kenta: You did it, Nayuta…. Alright, time to wrap it up

Nayuta: …….

Kenta: Nayuta….?

Nayuta: Oi… dunno if you’re here… some damned guy that has the nerve to pull some shit---

Nayuta: Whatever you wanna do, don’t drag me in it

Nayuta: That shit won’t crush my music

Nayuta: Still, you’re an eyesore. Don’t get in my way a second time. And if you wanna keep going...

Nayuta: I’ll destroy you… at the Fes battle

Miyuki: Haha… As if he’s some pro-wrestler

Reon: He.. was considerably angry

Kenta: Really? Isn’t that---

Ryo: Yeah, it’s the Nayuta that we know

Gyro fan A: That was so awesome! But… what Nayuta said at the end there...

Gyro fan B: “I’ll destroy you at the Fes”.... does this mean that a participating band spread rumors?

Gyro fan A: Seriously… that’s straight up awful

Reiji: ………

Reiji: (Failure, huh… No, they turned the tables around….)

Reiji: (There’s many other bands that aren’t this straight-forward… Well, whether it succeeds or not, either is fine.)

Reiji: (As long as Shu has been entertained)

#aaside #gyroaxia #nayuta asahi #kenta satozuka #Miyuki Sakaigawa #Ryo Akebono #Reon Misono

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writingsbychelle · 5 years ago

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I Quit

Summary: While touring with 5 Seconds of Summer, you suddenly have a bad asthma attack, causing things to shift between you and Calum.

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Request: /

Warnings: description of an asthma attack and uh,,,,smoking?

Word Count: 2.019

(A/N: actually really like this fic! thanks to Amy for proofreading this and helping me❤️)

“Do you mind?” Calum asked, holding up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as you both leaned against the tour bus, waiting for Luke, Ashton and Michael to finish packing up so you could head to the next destination of the tour.

“Not at all,” you smiled at him and tucked your phone into your back pocket before turning to look at him.

You were currently touring with 5 Seconds of Summer as their opening act, and you guys were close to finishing the tour. After almost four months on the road, it was safe to say that you were ready to return back home and get some well-deserved rest. However, as much as you were longing to curl up in your bed and binge-watch Netflix for the rest of your life, you also never wanted this to end. The shows, the audience, spending time with the guys to whom you had grown incredibly close to over these past few weeks and overall the atmosphere of being on the bus with the band.

But most of all, you were going to miss your late-night talks with Calum.

Generally just being with Calum.

You had already been friends before going on tour. But ever since it had become your routine to talk outside the bus during stops, Calum usually lighting a cigarette while you took sips from your bottle of water until it was time to step back into the bus and turn in for the night. You felt even closer to him than ever before.

That was probably going to be the thing you’d miss the most: your bus stop routine with Calum.

The way his eyes shone in the streetlights, the smoke leaving his lungs in long breaths, him asking if it’s okay for him to smoke next to you despite already knowing your answer, his teasing eye-rolling whenever you’d say, “that’s gonna kill you one day,” while pointing at the cigarette resting between his plump lips.

Him.

You were going to miss him.

Logically you knew you’d still be able to see him, especially since you only lived about 20 minutes away from him. Still, the thought of not hearing his soft snores every night and having deep conversations at random rest stops in the middle of the night ate you up on the inside. It was pretty obvious what you felt for the bassist, but admitting it was something you didn’t even dare to dream of. Especially while you were still on tour and it could create unnecessary tensions between you, him and the band. Still, you couldn’t help but wish for things to be easier, for the tour life to go on forever and for you to spend the rest of your life with the man leaning against the bus next to you.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum ripped you out of your thoughts.

Shrugging your shoulders, you replied, “I’m gonna miss this.”

“Me too,” he took another drag of his cigarette, “touring is always so much fun; it’s hard to believe it’s almost over.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t hear you.

No such luck, Calum raised his eyebrows, silently asking you what you were hinting at. Before you had the opportunity to embarrass yourself, you heard loud voices coming towards you, Luke and Michael arguing about God knows what while Ashton was following his bandmates, typing something into his phone before tucking it away when he saw Calum and you leaning against the tour bus.

“We’re all packed up and ready to go,” Ashton informed you after Luke and Michael had already disappeared into the bus.

“We’ll join you in a minute,” Calum answered, holding up his cigarette for Ashton to see.

“No rush,” he teasingly winked in your direction as he walked up the few steps into the bus.

Ashton was the only one out of the four guys that knew about your crush on Calum. He had figured it out some time ago while you were touring in Europe and since he had become like a brother to you, you had approached him and asked for advice. The drummer had told you just to follow your gut feeling, which at first sounded like shit advice to you but the more you thought about it, the gladder you were for his ‘words of wisdom’.

Before you managed to get lost in thought once again, Calum exhaled one last smoke cloud, putting out his cigarette before asking, “Ready to head inside?”

Just as you opened your mouth to answer him, you were hit with the smoke he had blown out just a few seconds before. The moment you breathed in the smoke, you felt your throat closing in and began coughing violently.

“(Y/N)? Is everything alright?” Calum asked, but you weren’t able to answer him, your chest tightening and you gasped for breath, feeling almost like someone was squeezing all the air out of you.

“I-,” you tried taking a deep breath, which just ended in another coughing attack, “c-can’t...breathe.”

Black dots started dancing in front of your eyes, vision blurring as you continued to gasp for breath. Calum helped you sit down, opening your water bottle for you and urging you to take a sip while yelling for someone to call an ambulance. All of this you didn’t notice, too busy trying to get at least some oxygen into your lungs. The water helped slightly, but you were still wheezing, coughing and gasping for breath. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Luke rush out of the tour bus, phone pressed against his ear. Your throat felt tighter and tighter with every passing second, and the last thing you saw before passing out, was Calum looking at you, eyes full of fear.

That night the ambulance had taken you to the nearest hospital. The second they arrived, the paramedic had pressed an oxygen mask against your face, helping you breathe as you were loaded into the vehicle. You had woken up after a few moments of being unconscious, still barely able to breathe. Calum sat right next to you, your head in his lap, him holding onto your hands and speaking reassuring words to you. You didn’t really understand any of them, but the sound of his voice and his presence were enough to help you calm down a little bit. Once you were on the stretcher, you had asked if Calum could come with you, and apparently, the paramedics decided to make an exception and let him ride with you in the ambulance, holding your hand the entire time until you were wheeled into the examination room.

After a few tests, you finally got a result: asthma. The smoke from Calum’s cigarette had caused quite a bad asthma attack, but luckily the doctor had told you if you kept an inhaler at you at all times, the chances of having another attack that bad were pretty slim. With the diagnosis, and the advice to take it a bit slow the next few days, you were released. All four guys of 5 Seconds of Summer were waiting for you and crowded around you once they saw you walk into the waiting room.

“So…I have asthma apparently,” you shrugged, holding up the inhaler you were given.

“You’ll be alright, though, right?” Ashton asked.

Nodding your head, you replied, “Yeah. The doctor said to take it easy, and if I feel like my throat is closing in again, I’ll just have to use the inhaler, and it should be fine. She also said that I could finish the tour, so that’s good news too.”

“Thank god,” you heard Calum mumble as the others cheered, pulling into a group hug.

Only two weeks later, the tour had officially come to an end.

To celebrate the great success of it, you gathered at Michael’s house together with the people that had helped make the tour possible. You had been wandering around the house for some time now, trying to find a certain bassist, but so far you had no success. After feeling like you had checked every inch of the house, you decided to go into the backyard, wanting to catch some fresh air and hoping to find Calum out there, maybe having a smoke and trying to get a few moments away from everyone himself.

Calum had felt distant lately.

Ever since your little hospital scare, he hadn’t really been spending time with you. No more late-night talks outside of the tour bus while waiting for the guys to finish up or while the bus needed to refuel. You were scared you had done or said something wrong, and after going over it with Ashton, you finally got the courage to confront him and ask him what was going on. Opening the door, you took a step outside, inhaling the chilly night air and letting out a sigh—finally some fresh air. You let your eyes drift around the backyard until you finally spotted Calum sitting underneath a tree that was decorated with some fairy lights.

“No cigarette?” you asked as you approached him.

His head shot up upon hearing your voice, obviously ripping him from his thoughts.

“No...I’m...I quit.”

“You quit? Smoking?” you sat down next to him, his body visibly tensing as you did.

“Cal...what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

You sighed, “I mean, that you’ve been avoiding me since my asthma attack two weeks ago. And now you apparently quit smoking? What’s going on, Cal? Did I-did I do something wrong?”

Tears were rising in your eyes, afraid that something you did, something you were unaware of, had ruined your friendship with the bassist.

“(Y/N), no. No. You did nothing wrong. It’s just-fuck,” he ran a hand over his buzzcut in frustration and whispered, “I’m the reason for your asthma attack.”

“Cal…it wasn’t your fau-”

“Yes, it was! I was smoking next to you and the smoke caused your attack.”

“The smoke might’ve been the reason for the asthma attack but I had asthma before! If anything, I should be thanking you right now because if it hadn’t been for you and your smoking I probably never would’ve known I have asthma and would’ve kept wondering why I’m always coughing at night and running out of breath after singing on stage.”

“(Y/N),” he took your face in his hands to force you to look into his eyes, “it is my fault. Whether you like it or not. I quit because I never want to see you like that, lying on the floor, gasping for breath. You-you looked like you were going to die, (Y/N). I can’t risk seeing you like that ever again, do you understand?”

“You quit for me?” you whispered, not quite believing your ears.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You know you didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to. For you. And obviously also for my health,” he chuckled slightly, face slowly moving closer to yours.

“Cal, I-”

“Shh,” he gently shushed you before placing his lips on yours.

His lips were warm and soft, tasting slightly of the alcoholic drink he had earlier that evening. Your hands, almost instantly and instinctively moved to the back of his neck, your nails slightly scratching his scalp in the process, causing him to let out a low groan. His lips parted slightly, his tongue slowly tracing your bottom lips, slipping inside your mouth once you parted yours. Roughly his hands grabbed onto your hips and pulled you into his lap before wrapping around your body and pulling you impossibly close.

A loud cheer from inside the house broke you apart, your head flipping around, afraid you had been caught, just to see everyone still busy drinking and partying inside Michael’s house.

“You wanna go back inside?”

Calum’s voice sounded hoarse and lower than usual.

Shaking your head you replied, “How about we get back to my place?”

To make your point clear, you rolled your hips, grinding against him and causing a moan to slip from Calum’s lips.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Masterlist and ways to support me are in my bio, please check them out❤️

#calum hood x reader #calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos x reader #calum hood imagine #5sos imagine #*writing

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megalony · 5 years ago

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Braces

This is a fluffy dad! Steve Rogers imagine that I’ve been meaning to polish up for a while. I hope you all like it, feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Masterlist

Summary: Steve and (Y/n)’s son has to wear braces on his legs that Steve knows knocks his confidence a lot. But he decides to surprise Steve after a mission by running properly without them.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce smiled at the scene in front of him, something that didn't happen very often and that was rather rare in all cases. He was currently in the lab, trying to do his work but his eyes kept diverting to look over to where Tony was. Although it was him he certainly didn't act like the Tony Stark everyone knew and got annoyed with after a while. He was standing in front of the metal table in the lab which his nephew James was sitting on with a bright smile that Bruce never got tired of seeing.

Whenever Tony was around his nephew he seemed like a totally different person and Bruce found it rather endearing to see.

Things between Tony and Steve had always been uneasy, it was like they were always getting off on the wrong foot or they always locked horns over the most silly, trivial of things. But when (Y/n) and Steve had James, it cemented the broken foundations between both men. They would hardly ever argue if James was around and he seemed to calm them both down rather a lot, more than (Y/n) could ever calm down her big brother and her husband.

The little boy had a lot of medical problems, some of which related to the problems Steve had before he got the serum and it broke his heart to see his son grow up each day struggling in the same way he had done. They all knew it wasn't Steve's fault, the serum did run through James like it did him but not enough of it. James had asthma like Steve did but not as bad as his dad which was a relief to them for Steve had a lot of asthma attacks and couldn't even run properly with how bad his breathing got.

James was also a very skinny child, taking after Steve again and it caused him to gain illnesses quicker but they was the only illnesses James had inherited from his dad. What Steve was happier to acknowledge was that James was his double, he had the same ash blond hair, the baby blue eyes and the cheekbones and even the curved nose. He had a lot of personality traits like his mother and smarts from her and Tony combined too. He was a mix of all of them and they all loved it.

Tony had taken it upon himself to be his nephews doctor and consultant, he wanted to help and look after him in any way that he could which is why James and (Y/n) were currently in the lab with them.

James wore braces on his legs to help him walk properly, when he was a toddler he somehow managed to walk with his feet sticking out to the sides and he found it very difficult to walk without support. The braces were to help correct his walk and give his legs that extra support and Tony designed them so they weren't so bad looking and hard to manoeuvre. He made them so they were thin but strong and kept moderating them like he did to his suits to thin them down but make them more efficient at the same time.

"Alright then, I'll just adjust these and your all set little man. Why don't you surprise your dad without them on?" Tony encouraged, seeing James' eyes light up at the idea like he had stars captured in his pupils.

"Can I?" He asked, excitement bubbling in his tone causing his mother to smile. He wasn't used to walking very much without the braces on, he relied on them to make sure he continued to walk properly since he was still growing. The thought of running- or at least trying to run- to Steve and show him he was a big boy able to walk better made his smile widen significantly when his uncle nodded that he would be alright to do that.

"Sure, just not for too long."

"Your dad should be back now, let's go surprise him." (Y/n) pitched in as Tony carefully placed James down to his feet before patting his back.

With a smile, Tony leaned against the table as he and Bruce watched James slowly walk over to (Y/n), managing rather well on his own without the support he was so used to. It wasn't as if they were crutches that he relied on to keep him upright, James could walk without them but it was safer and would aid him better if he wore them every day until a stage where his walking was adapted to normal.

(Y/n) handed his bag to him and he slipped the straps onto his shoulders, he never went far without his backpack designed to look like Steve's shield. He took his mother's hand and they exited the lab in search of Steve, knowing they would be back in a little while for the braces to be fitted again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve and Natasha walked down the corridor, both rubbing at their damp hair making their contrasting hair colours look a few shades darker than they really were. The pair had just got back from a mission which took three days and still felt like they were covered in dust and grime.

Even spending half an hour in the shower didn't do much to rid the sticky feeling that Steve got from being in his mud covered suit for hours on end.

Both of them stopped outside the elevator, pressing the button to head up to the lounge in the Avengers tower so they could sit down and try to recover before they eventually had to do something or got another mission come through. Some of the avengers lived at Stark tower, but others like Steve, Thor and Clint had their own homes, though they sometimes stayed over when needed.

"Go on honey." (Y/n) whispered to James, kissing his head before pulling back to watch him make a bee-line for his double. James could see his dad and aunt down the corridor waiting for the elevator and he hoped he would catch them before they disappeared to another level of the tower. James knew not to run too fast, (Y/n) had warned him about that because it would strain his legs and he could pull a muscle or fall which wouldn't be very good for him at all.

"Daddy!"

As soon as the all too-familiar voice reached his ears, Steve felt his heart speed up and he turned to his left to search for the occupier of the voice. Steve hadn't been expecting his son to be at the tower today but he certainly hadn't expected his son to be heading towards him with a bright smile and no braces adorning his slim legs.

A bright smile lit up Steve's features at the rather rare sight of James looking happy to be trying his best to speed walk. It was very hard to get James to want to go out with his braces because he felt awkward with them and as if they were holding him back rather then enhancing him. Steve wanted to take a few steps forward and reach him halfway but he stopped when he realised James was determined to make it all the way down the corridor to him instead.

The moment James got within reach, Steve bent down and scooped his boy up in his arms. He spun round whilst holding James tight against his chest in a comforting hug, knowing he had caught James just in time because his foot had skidded on the polished tiles and he would have fallen if he carried on any further.

"Wow there, soldier! What happened to the braces?" Steve asked in shock, standing up to his full height once again with James secured to his shoulder. He felt his heart jumping in his chest when James wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, hugging him as close as possible since he'd missed him whilst he'd been away.

Steve bounced his boy on his hip but when he noticed James was breathing rather deeply he moved his hand and dug around in the backpack on James' shoulders. He pulled out his boy's inhaler, something Steve had had the luxury of forgetting about until James was a toddler and found out he needed one. The little boy took a few deep breaths to calm down before he managed to give Steve a response to his question.

"Uncle Tony's fixing them, I wanted to surprise you." There was a small hint of sadness in his tone because he knew soon enough he was going to have to go back to wear the braces that corrected his walking but slowed him down at the same time.

"Well you certainly did. Do you think you can make it back up to the lab without them?" Steve whispered the last part in James' ear, seeing his son smile brightly and nod in response to the mini-challenge. Steve always tried to push James to keep going and try harder but at the same time, Steve would stop him if he knew his boy wouldn't be able to do it.

When Steve was younger he never had people trying to encourage him to do things, he had to encourage himself and he didn't want that for his son. As much as his mother had tried to make him feel normal and comfortable and okay, she wanted Steve to hold back and play things safe rather than try and test his limits. He knew that James needed someone to will him on and that was exactly what Steve was going to do, he would try and push James within his limits so he would excel.

"Well done little guy." Natasha chipped in with a smile, running a hand through his hair to ruffle the strands which made him smile before she patted Steve's shoulder and headed into the elevator heading.

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of James' head before he set him back down to his feet, walking close beside his boy just in case he slipped or tripped. Steve could see that James was already starting to edge his feet out to the sides automatically like he did when he was running but he was walking overall much better than usual.

When they got to where (Y/n) was patiently waiting for her boys, she kissed James' forehead, wrapping him up in a congratulating hug before letting him head over to the stairs so she could see Steve.

It felt like a lifetime since (Y/n) had felt Steve's arms binding around her waist, seen his charming yet cheeky smile or felt his lips pressing against hers when in reality he had only been gone for three days. (Y/n) always prayed that any missions didn't last very long because she knew that if three days felt like a lifetime, he would barely get through a week or more without Steve.

"Daddy, come on!"

James' voice broke apart the couple's short-lived moment but the lopsided smile on Steve's face made (Y/n)'s heart skip a beat and told her they would carry this on later. The couple started to ascend up the stairs after their son who was bouncing up the steps like he was a spring or a little excited puppy.

(Y/n) leaned her head on Steve's shoulder as they both watched James, but when they got close to the lab Steve noticed James was slowing down. He was clearly getting tired and he was starting to kick his feet out to the sides, his legs becoming uncoordinated because he didn't have the energy to correct himself.

"Alright super-soldier, come here." Steve wrapped his free arm that wasn't placed around (Y/n)'s waist, around James' front and gently picked him up so he could settle him on his hip to rest his legs.

"Uncle Tony I surprised daddy! And walked up the stairs too!"

James' voice became slightly higher in pitch from his excitement when the three of them entered the lab and his words caused Tony's lips to curve into a smug smile. He knew it would raise his nephew's spirit to try and walk without his braces and impressing Steve would only further elate James' mood.

"See, you won't be needing these for much longer I'm sure. So I've changed the design a little, and the colour scheme is just as his lordship asked. Come on little man."

Steve pulled away from (Y/n) so he could walk over and settle James down on the table. He watched intently as Tony crouched down in front of his nephew and slotted the braces into James' shoes before strapping them just below his knees to keep the metal bars in place around his skinny legs. It didn't escape Steve's attention when the smile James previously had on his lips dampened when the braces were put on his legs. But when he noticed the small Captain America shields at the bottom of the braces, a breathless giggle left his lips.

"Thank you uncle Tony."

"Your welcome." Tony ruffled his hair before he made his way over to Bruce so they could carry on working on their new piece of technology.

Steve shook his head with a playful smile when James looked over at him and held his arms out, clearly wanting to be picked up. Whenever Steve had been away even for just a little while James became clingy wanting to be wherever Steve was and he loved it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you ready to head home?" Steve questioned the little boy in his arms who he knew was rather tired. James nodded tiredly in response, slipping his bag back on his shoulders when Steve handed it to him. Natasha had stolen (Y/n) for a while wanting to catch up and chat and she said she would meet the boys back at their home when she was finished chatting with Natasha.

Steve gently placed James down to his feet and got up himself, putting his leather jacket on before taking James' hand and attempting to leave the room but he stopped when he realised his son wasn't walking with him. He cocked his head to the side, his baby blue eyes pooling with love and confusion as he waited patiently for James to tell him what was wrong.

But Steve found his face falling when James simply held his arms out to him; he wanted to be carried.

"What's wrong soldier?" Steve went down on his knees so he could be level with his boy who was clearly upset with tears glistening in his eyes which made Steve feel panicked.

"I don't want these." James responded quietly, tapping at the braces on his legs making Steve sigh sadly. He took a deep breath before he looked at James with a gentle expression, trying to think how to make him feel better about it but he didn't know what to say to make this better.

"I know you don't, but they're not forever buddy. If you don't have them you'll hurt your legs and your back too." He tried to keep his tone gentle and understanding and James nodded his head but his expression didn't change. He didn't want to walk around wearing braces that slowed him down and made it feel weird when he walked, They annoyed him and made him feel abnormal, not to mention the way people looked at him when he went out.

"I don't like them daddy."

"Buddy, if you wear them then you can train with me more when your walking better. You wanted to join me didn't you?" A small smile tugged at James' lips as he looked down at his feet and nodded in response. He went to the gym with Steve from time to time but didn't do much, he mainly watched him most of the time although Steve encouraged him to do small weights and he helped him with other activities there. It made James happy and boosted his confidence a little so Steve kept bringing him along.

"But I... um..."

"What is it?" Steve asked, a smile on his features encouraging him to talk and say what was on his mind.

"I want to be like you."

Closing his eyes Steve sighed, that was not what he expected to hear and it broke his heart. Truthfully he didn't know if James could ever be like him with the medical issues he had. James might get better as he grew older, his asthma might subside, he was most likely going to walk fine when he was in his teens and no longer had the braces. And if he put on a bit more weight he might be less vulnerable to illnesses, but Steve didn't know if he was ever going to be like him in a physical stance.

But then again, Steve always thought he himself would always be the short skinny kid who spent half his life in a hospital or laid in bed with a cold and yet here he was now.

"What colour are your eyes?" Steve's rather off-topic question caught James by surprise and he looked very confused before he answered as if he thought it was a trick question.

"Blue."

"Just like mine, and what colour is your hair?"

"Blond."

"Correct, and you've got my nose too; you look exactly like me. You have a shield on your back and your a good little soldier, your kind, funny and I know your smart. You're already like me, you're my little doppelganger and I love that about you, but you don't have to act like me or walk and talk like me. You are amazing and perfect as yourself. My little soldier."

Steve didn't want James to grow up and think he had to act just like Steve or even want to act like him, he wanted James to be his own person. He thought it was sweet and rather endearing that his son- his first child, looked the spitting image of himself, Steve loved that. It was like he was looking in a mirror that showed him his younger self. But he wanted James to grow up and form his own person and his own mind, he came to the gym with Steve because he wanted to try and train but Steve didn't want him to think he had to be just like him.

With a soft smile, Steve reached out and wrapped his arms around James, holding him to his chest in a tight, comforting hug before he got to his feet, ready to get them both home.

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america #Avengers #tony stark #bruce banner #natasha romonova #imagine #captain america imagine

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fuckedstucky · 5 years ago

Text

How to be a heartbreaker

Chapter 3

“Well then you’ll just have to protect me.” She said as they walked out of the club.

***

The pair walked into the cold New York evening together, Y/N pressed as closely as she could get to Steve. Looking at the pair you might think she was cuddling close to keep herself warm, but she was really trying to keep Steve warm. His coat was a thin, tan windbreaker that she knew could never actually keep him warm.

They walked silently down the dimly lit road into the heart of Brooklyn. Y/N kept looking over at Steve, he was shorter than her by about 4 or 5 inches, with her heels on. It was something that she thought would’ve bothered her and yet she found that she couldn’t have cared less. Steve was charming, sweet, had the sweetest pair of baby blue eyes she’d ever seen, pouty lips, and a strong jawline. She knew instantly that nothing he could ever do would make her change her mind about him. She was In love, and she’d only known him for a few hours.

She followed Steve up the stairs to his apartment, which he’d said that he shared with his mother. She could tell he was slightly embarrassed about telling her. She told him about her home life, it was just her and Frankie now that both their parents had passed. She told him how Frankie was getting deeper and deeper involved with shady people, and how that was one of the big reasons he was as protective as he was.

They walked into Steve’s apartment and it was surprisingly very quiet.

“Ma?” Steve called and got no response. Y/N could see the panic on his face, as he checked the fridge for his mother’s work schedule. Y\N walked around the kitchen and gasped.

“Steven, baby call an ambulance!” Y/N said falling to her knees in his den, by his unconscious mother. Steve quickly called the police and ran to his mothers side, Y/N rushed to get a cold compress.

The ambulance was there in 8 minutes, and they rode to the hospital. Steve never letting go of Y/N’s hand.

***

Steve and Y/N sat in the stuffy overflowing waiting room of the Brooklyn Baptist Hospital. Steve had just calmed down after giving himself an asthma attack.

“STEVE?! Stevie!” Bucky called running over to them. His hair was messed up, he had kiss marks on his neck and the collar of his shirt.

“Buck? How’d you know we were here?” Steve asked, still trying to settle his breathing.

“Y/N found my number in your address book, is your momma okay? Have you heard anything yet?” Bucky asked. Steve’s eyes met Y/N for a silent thank you.

“Tuberculosis, working in a TB ward finally caught up to her.” Steve sighed, tears filling his eyes. Y/N still hadn’t let go of Steve’s hand and was now rubbing his back softly.

“You don’t have to stay, ya know.” Steve mumbled looking up at her with tear filled red eyes. She squeezed his hand tightly.

“I’m not leaving, Steven.” Steve nodded silently, leaning his head against her shoulder. She could barely make out the small Thank you that Bucky whispers as Steve falls asleep.

***

When Steve woke up he looked over to see that he was leaning on Bucky’s shoulder. He looked around the room and Y/N was nowhere to be found. He sighed, knowing that either it was all a dream or she had fled while he was asleep to avoid the awkward goodbye.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, Sweetface?” Y/N said, walking up to him and Bucky in a form fitting baby blue dress, arms full of coffee cups and brown bags.

“I thought you’d left?” Steve said helping her with the coffee cups.

“Never. I had to change out of my stage dress.” She smiled. “Now I got some biscuits, and eggs, so you need to eat up.” She said sitting down across from him and a still sleeping Bucky.

“I’m not really all that hungry right now..” Steve started. “Well I am.” Bucky said yawning and grabbing a biscuit while he stretched.

“I thought you were shipping out today?” Steve said, taking a biscuit for himself. Y/N leaned back and drank a sip of her coffee.

“Nope, who told you that? I ship out in 3 months.” Bucky said, stuffing another biscuit in his mouth. “You did!” Steve called as Bucky got up to sit next to Y/N.

“Can you believe him, the kid is always makin stuff up.” Bucky laughed, throwing his arm around Y/N as she rolled her eyes at him before removing his arm.

Bucky and Steve both smiled at that.

***

“Rogers?” The doctor called into the waiting room. Steve shot up and practically ran to meet her.

“I’m Steve Rogers.” He said, out of breath.

“I’m sorry, son. Your Mother, Sarah, I’m afraid she only has a few days left. I’m so sorry, if you want you can go visit her.”

“How did this come about all of a sudden? She was fine.” Steve sighed looking to the doctor for answers.

“Sweetheart, it’s in our records that she’s been coming in for treatment for the past 6 months. I’m so sorry.” The doctor sighed and told Steve which room his mother was in.

Both Bucky and Y/N waited outside of Steve’s mothers room. They had been told that she had days left and would most likely not wake at all. Steve was seated by him mother’s bed, watching her chest rise and fall with unsteady breaths. It broke his heart that his mother had lied to him for so long about being sick.

After about 3 hours Bucky said he had to pick his sister Becca up from school but promised to be right back. He gave Y/N a kiss on the cheek and told him he was happy that she had stayed.

***

“Hey, Buck?” Steve called walking into the hospital hallway.

“He had to pick his sister up, is there anything I can do Sweetface?” Y/N said looking up from her book.

“Is there any way you can sit with my mom, I just don’t want her to wake up while I’m not there, ya know.” Steve said not making eye contact. She smiled softly before nodding.

“Of coarse.” Y/ N said, rubbing his shoulder as she placed a small kiss on his cheek, before walking into the room.

As soon as she stepped into the room, her breath caught in her throat. She’d never witnessed Tuberculosis this closely. She walked over to the chair by her bed and sat in it.

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I’m Y/N Sinatra. I’m a friend of your son Steven, and you should know that he’s the greatest guy I’ve ever met. He’s so kind and smart and he just genuinely cares about people, you raised him so so well.” She whispered to Sarah Rogers.

“Thank you, Love. It means the world to hear that.” Sarah’s raspy voice whispered into the quiet hospital room. Y/N was shocked, she hadn’t thought that Sarah would be conscious.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be awake, how are you feeling?” Y/N asked, already handing her a cup of ice water. Sarah silently thanked her, before taking a sip of the water.

“So Sinatra huh? How exactly did you come across my Stevie?” Sarah asked sitting up as far as she could in bed. Y/N blushed, starting to fiddle with her hands.

“Yes ma’am, I’m Frankie’s little sister. And I only met Steve because he and Bucky were at one of my brothers shows tonight.”

“Stevie is a good boy, and I know you just met my son, but please watch out for him. It’s a harsh world and I don’t want him to meet me on the other side too quickly.” Sarah rasped, grasping Y/N’s hand.

“I-“ Y/N started to say but was cut off by Sarah. “Please.” Her eyes pleaded with Y/N.

“I will.” Y/N promised.

***

“Hey, thanks for being here with me.” Steve said, he and Y/N had gone to get some coffee, while his mother rested.

“I told you Sweetface, I really don’t mind.” Y/N said for what felt like the thousandth time this week. His mother was getting weaker and weaker, and it was getting so hard to watch Steve go through this.

“You don’t know how much this means to me.” Steve said, reaching up and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Now Steven, I know you can do better than that.” Y/N said, pulling his face towards hers and locking their lips together in a passionate kiss.

Tag list 💗🎟👛🌸💒

@kaetastic @hoppers-babygirl2

#captain america #evansedit #chris evans #pre serum steve fanfiction #pre serum steve rogers x reader #pre serum steve rogers #pre serum stucky #pre serum steve #1940s steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 6 years ago

Text

Breathe, Okay? (Prince Lotor x Reader)

Since people asked, I’m continuing this! But I’ve decided to write it in a short fic.

Summary: Reader is the purple paladin and suffers from anxiety and panic attacks, and usually it’s Shiro who gets them out of it by calming them down, but they have a harder time when it is Keith who is in charge.

So whilst on a mission, they panic and it costs them to get captured by Lotor (kind of similar to the hc) and Lotor learns of this and in the next one they have, he comes to comfort and calms them. They/them pronouns.

Also, this doesn’t follow all of the canon or timeline of the show! ENJOY!! LONG FIC SO BE PREPARED.

“Remember to steady your breathing, okay? Deep breaths in and out.”

The calming voice-guided you back to focusing on your surroundings, the feeling of the air that felt so heavy around you, had settled to a calmness that you never noticed.

Your tears had stilled on your cheeks, and they had dried cool on your skin. Through the blurriness of your vision, you could see the reassuring face of the junior officer.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here.” Shiro’s calming voice brought you to feel the tension inside of you to ease down, a hurricane of stress and anxiety dying down like a passing storm.

You stared up at him from your position on the floor, taken aside by Shiro so none of your Garrison cadets could see you break down; you couldn’t fathom how you would feel if they had seen.

“Shiro… I-I.” You looked away, wiping your eyes in visible embarrassment. All this crying for something that you knew would be going down; a written test that you had to take on in the following hour.

Something you had spent hours revising for, risking sleepless nights just to feel even more stressed. You were downright terrified.

It had been after lunch when you had had the breakdown and panic attack, wanting nothing more to just let the ground swallow you whole and let you disappear. It was where you were now when Shiro had been the one who had found you.

“Hey, it’ll be okay– alright?” He seemed to know what had been going on: Shiro was a junior officer after all. But just him being here to calm you down was enough to make you feel glad that he truly had found you and no-one else.

You shuddered if Iverson had run into you.

“I’m sorry… it wasn’t anything major.” You tried to dismiss it, rubbing your eyes clear from the tears with the back of your uniform. Shiro didn’t seem to believe your words, eyebrows raised, his eyes stared into your own for the truth.

“The test you have to do, was it to do with that?” He asked, leaning back from his crouched position. You nodded vaguely. “I remember when it came to it when I had to do it. No amount of sleepless nights could stop me from nearly throwing up everywhere that morning.”

You snorted, much to his relief that you got his humour behind his words, and another encouraging pat came to your shoulder from him. “Don’t sweat it out. I know from your stats how good you’ve been. Nerves are natural, no matter how bad they can be.”

But mine never seem to be normal. You thought. “Don’t let them tell you otherwise. You’re a smart kid.”

“Thanks, Shiro.” You always appreciated your talks with Shiro, even when you had been a junior cadet in the Garrison. You looked up to him and thought of him as the older brother you never had.

“That’s officer to you, L/N.” He tried to pull a serious face to you, but you had laughed at knowing he was still joking.

“Go on, I’ll leave you to revise. I’ll come by to check on you and see how it went.” He pulled you to your feet, stabilising you as you dust yourself off. Nodding, you took off down the corridor, trying your best to ignore that your nerves had gotten to the best of you again.

That had been like that even after the tests and multiple exams, but you passed and got the opportunity to pass onto the next stage, but your life had been turned upside down when news came of Shiro’s disappearance that had happened and shocked everyone.

You were still the nervous wreck, trying to remember all of the lessons Shiro taught you, and yet still, most didn’t work when stress and anxiousness got too overbearing.

You could’ve called it a miracle when you had found out Shiro was still alive, but in the oddest of occurrences that made you and four other cadets try to get him out of questioning.

You had been whisked away on a so-called ‘adventure’: finding the lions of Voltron that you too were apart of.

The purple paladin and guardian spirit of storms: the one who never went to seek danger, but never stood down in the face of it.

You were a pacifist truly in this world: never wanting to be part of a war, to begin with against an enemy who could destroy every life force in the universe. But you didn’t want to give up; not with ill intent against your friends you had grown to be within your journey.

But what now? You thought, preparing to put your helmet on. Shiro went missing after a battle against Zarkon, splintering your group in trying to find a new leader. It had surprised you all when Keith had been the one to take the mantle and become the new paladin for the Black Lion.

What could you do now, now that he was gone? Voltron could never be the same. You admitted with grief, stepping out of your room as you came to walk into to greet the rest of your friends.

“Hey, been gone for a while, you feeling okay?” Pidge asked, the first to ask, but not the first to spot you finally come into the room. It seemed you were the last one to finally arrive, but no-one had gone to get you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for the holdup.” You tried to keep your smile up, thinking how possibly you could through the confusion and acceptance to the rest of the paladins.

Of all the eyes you met, there was the only one you couldn’t bare to look into, and Keith so happens to be staring back at you.

Disappointment. That was what you could see, and perhaps the burden that was thrown from Shiro to him was holding him down too much, and the mere acceptance of you and was enough to make he deem you as weak.

“Let’s go over the plan once again. Now that we have everyone.” The once red paladin spoke, breaking the silence, drawing everyone in. “Lance and Hunk, I need you to help with support from the back of Zarkon’s ship. Now that he’s been defeated, we need to fracture up the Galra support as much as possible.”

“Pidge, go with Y/N down into the mainframe, Y/N, you will be the support and give back us the rapport if there is anything that goes wrong.”

You nodded, ignoring the way that Lance begun to of course start to complain to Keith of this plan, but it went swiftly interrupted with Coran telling you all to get to your lions.

You all hurried down, being greeted by your Lion, purple and the same size to Pidge’s. “Hey, Vi, ready to stir up a storm?” You smiled as your Lion came down to kneel towards you, purring with as much excitement in the thoughts of getting to go out for the mission.

“Hey, Y/N. One second.” You turned around in time to see Keith walking to you, a serious look burning in his eyes. “Yeah? Everything okay?”

There was a pregnant pause in the air, mixed with the whirring of the lions stirring to life. Keith finally sighed, crossing his arms. “Look I know this will be difficult– this mission and all, but try not to get your emotions to take over, okay?”

Your ears picked up his words and had it been for who he was, you had taken those words to heart a little bit more than you had expected. You were emotional, but you still tried to go with your mind over your heart; to save your teammates last second.

“Yeah… sure.” You reassured, smiling even when you could feel the nerves begin to bubble and boil. Keith nodded when he heard you had understood. “We just want to get in and then out, like we were never there at all. I don’t want to jeopardize the team.”

You nodded, watching him walk over to the black lion as you finally got in your own, fingers grasped on the controls, knuckles turned white.

Breathe in and out, slowly - everything will be fine. What would Shiro say?

You thought to him a lot, how he would be there to calm you, but what good was it now that he wasn’t there? You let out a shaky breath, and finally, you tried to get your mind in the right place as you flew out from the Castle; into the vast bleakness of space.

You and the others had gotten your way onto the ship successfully, knocking a few guards out, infiltrating through corridors dark and long.

Your heart pumping irregularly through your chest the further you got to your post alongside Pidge. Getting into corners you shot from the hidden range with your suited weapon that your Bayard turned into; a rifle.

Helping Pidge to get into the mainframe to turn off the controls and cameras for the doors, you assigned yourself by the door, watching with precise vision. “Y/N, keep an eye on the west hallway. Haggar and her druids are loose.” Keith ordered through your earpiece.

“On it.” You confirmed, never taking your eyes off of anything even though the heavy breathing coming from you. You tried to steady it as best as you could, but it didn’t seem to go unnoticed.

“Umm, guys? What’s that noise?” You heard Lance’s voice through your earpiece.

“Yeah, it kinda sounds like a cat having an asthma attack,” Hunk added.

You heard Keith groan, growing to your lack of concentration. “Y/N, focus. Pidge, how long before we are to getting into the main area?”

“You have one dobosh until I won’t be able to hold it for any longer. You’ll have to hurry. The doors won’t stay open for too long.”

You waited in long anticipation, your head pounding more so than normal, waiting for anything.

A glang and loud crash could be heard through your earpiece, your teammates’ voices so distressed coming through, and you were growing frantic in not knowing who was talking.

“I need backup. Druids have made their way into the room. We need to get out!”

“I won’t be able to hold them for much longer! I need support!”

“The doors will close- get out of there!”

You had turned your head for two seconds too long, Pidge’s voice shouting to you to look out behind you for something. You dodged in time for your head to miss getting hit, ducking behind the wall as you looked on.

“Y/N, we need you to help them!”

Your name brought your attention, looking to Pidge, words coming from her mouth that you didn’t realise were directed to you.

“Y/N, please!” Lance cried out - or was it Allura? Hunk or Keith? You were growing distressed the more you heard your friends growing surrounded and needing more help.

“I-I…” Your hands gripped your rifle tightly, sweat beading down your forehead. Think! What would Shiro do?

A pained grunt and scream came from your earpiece, someone had gotten knocked down, and you were still risking everything to help them by doing nothing.

“Y/N! We need you to help right now!” Keith barked through your ear, making it ring. “I-I… Keith…” You could feel everyone depending on you at this moment, and you could feel their feelings trained on hating you.

“You need to get out of this. We’re in serious trouble!” You could hear the druids closing in on you through with their firing, and the tears were threatening to spill once again, the blazing storm beginning to arrive through your mind.

“I-I can’t…”

“You can! Do this for Shiro! For God sake! Just do something!”

Shiro… He could be dead out there… and you were not helping, panicking from just the thought of not having him there to calm you down. You were scared, petrified for your friends’ lives, and yet, you felt useless at this moment.

You turned hastily, gasping when a shot grazed you, your shoulder burning as if you had been both burnt and electrocuted through your armour down to your flesh.

Pulling your rifle, you focused too messily to fire, hitting two but not enough to knock them down. Your breathing grew heavier, arms shaking as you tried to ignore everything else around you.

“Y/N, we need to save them!” Pidge shouted from behind you, dodging fellow shots to get towards you. You screwed your eyes shut, mind trying to dance with different techniques you remembered from Shiro.

Breathe okay? Deep breaths. It’ll be okay.

You were shaken back to reality, Pidge having shaken you to come back around as she was the one who took the initiative, shooting for you around the small corner you were around.

When the coast was clear, she was running off down the hallway, with you running behind, hastily trying to keep up and trying to stop the tears from falling. When Keith got to you after this, you knew you would never hear from anything else again. Just your failures for the rest of time itself.

You could already hear his words; the unruliness in his voice would always bring shudders to you.

If you’re not set to be a Paladin of Voltron, then you should just leave. We would be better off without you!

It had hurt when he had said it to you, back in an argument you didn’t want to be involved in. If you hadn’t said anything, he wouldn’t have snapped to you and only you. You hadn’t come out of your room for two days - not even with the coaxing of the others.

Keith was your own worst audience member to impress, and you were certain that it would be it for you; to take off the mantle of Voltron, and for them to find another more competent.

You shook your head, dismissing all thoughts from your hypochondria and paranoia that settled so much more than PTSD. Pidge’s voice brought your attention; she had been the one to found the others.

You rounded the corner to get to see the others in the area, mainly unscathed and unharmed, and already by just meeting Keith’s eyes, he could’ve exploded then and there in chastising you.

But your attention was brought towards the noises coming from the back of them all, and before you knew it - as if everything was moving in slow motion - you were already stepping in the way of an alarmed Keith.

You shoved through him and Lance, stepping out to try and take a shot, and the shot meant for either one of your friends had landed on you by one of the many druids who had found their way into the room.

You were going down with more force than you realised, the blurred sounds of your team were causing havoc you could tell. Were they trying to save you, or was it something else, because you could hear the distant sound of distressed voices, and footsteps running off, and the darkness swarming your head to make it feel like you were swimming far too long underwater.

Finally, before you blacked out, you heard an unfamiliar voice, cutting in and out of your head.

“Take – Prince – Lotor.”

Take… Prisoner… Captive… What was going on and what would become of you? You had been taken prisoner on Zarkon’s ship, certain you would become one of Haggar’s many entertainments for pulling answers from you with torture.

You were still out cold, but you could feel a numbness inside of you, dark and cold it felt unsettling.

You were finally coming around, a low humming sound brought you to the attention that made you believe it had been all but a dream, but slowly coming around, you found that the ceiling was far too bright than your room.

You blinked slowly, coming round to your dulled senses, a heaviness hurting the back of your head, begging you to go back to sleep once again.

Slowly sitting up and clutching your head, you found yourself in an all-white room, with all windows nor ways of getting out. You found yourself in a room with one singular bed and nothing else to it.

Your breathing hitched even when you tried to calm yourself down, looking around in hopes your fears hadn’t come true. How comes I wasn’t in no cell? One of darkness.

From the spot in the small room, you could hear footsteps, ranging in heavy and light, so loud that it was like a stamped was going on in the hallway.

You braced yourself as in view came two people, dressed in uniform and heavy armour. Your mind came to believe they were Haggar’s generals, dragging you finally down to be tortured now that you were awake.

They were distinctly male and female, with the male holding a small tray for you that he presented to you through the other side. A small window opened up for him, and he placed the tray inside.

You watched hawkishly at his movements, how there was a calmness in his yellow sclera and dark blue eyes; something that both unsettled and calmed you in the oddest of ways.

You eyed the tray with suspiciousness, glaring up at the two.

“You may leave us now, Axca.” The Galra ‘general’ had spoken, his voice as smooth as cutting through butter. There was a sultriness to his voice that brought your stomach to twist.

“Sir.” The blue-skinned woman referred to as ‘Axca’ saluted, turning on her heel to leave you be with the man.

You eyed him for what felt like it went on until the end of time until he finally smiled charmingly. “Had Emperor Zarkon been here instead of I, he would have been most disappointed in only having one Paladin.”

You tensed under his words, gripping at the bedsheets until your fingers turned white. “Zarkon has been defeated. The Galra empire splintered and fractured…. and we would do it again and again if we have to, to save the universe.”

The man chuckled. “You sound like a true hero, don’t you Paladin? I will give you the credit, your act was certainly most valiant; risking your capture for your friends.”

Even he knew of your deed, and hearing it from the likes of him, he sounded more to be mocking you than rather praising you. “I’m sure you would do the same if the situation came to it.” You spat.

He stepped closer to the glass, staring you down from his tall posture, even with the intrigued smirk on his face, he unnerved you. “You’re certainly not the first human I’ve met who wasn’t so selfish in an act so suicidal.”

You shrugged, your mind falling to your friends. “Some would call it cowardness – I’ve faced that for God knows how long. But, I guess…” You didn’t want to imagine it, but you thought they would most likely be happy to see you gone. “I would do a lot for my friends in the face of danger.”

He hummed in thought, deeply interested if you had thought overwise. “My father would’ve called it foolishness, perhaps even rashness. I would’ve called it valour.”

You squinted your eyes at his words. “Your father… that would mean-”

He smiled, and maybe his expression had deliberately shown the pain through his eyes. “My father had kept my ascension to his throne a secret to all his enemies for his 10,000 rule.

He wasn’t just then one of Haggar’s generals, he was the heir and future emperor to the throne; a prince so to say. Wait. Your mind finally cracked the realisation, and upon seeing the revelation on your face, the Galran prince seemed pleased that you had put two and two together.

You crossed your arms at him. “What are you to do with me then? The rest of the Paladins will probably not leave me chained up here.”

“Perhaps, but your precious Paladins of Voltron would be more interested in knowing who is pulling the strings instead of my father.” Questioned Lotor.

My friends… they wouldn’t do such a thing unless Keith told them to otherwise. “Other than luring them into finding you, they couldn’t possibly be as naïve into finding you so soon, would they?”

You gnawed on your bottom lip. “You would have me trapped here? Possibly killed?”

Lotor merely tilted his head in amusement, and his words were more than enough to make you fear him more than before.

“When did I say anything about killing you?”

You had lost count of the days you had spent imprisoned under Prince Lotor’s supervision; tended to better than any other captor. You had come to realise that the Galra Prince was much good in keeping people on his side.

You also got to know his generals, all-female with half Galran descent like him, and more ruthless in telling you if you stepped out of line. They were crueller if it came to watching guard when Lotor wasn’t there; neither answering your questions nor talking to you at all for hours on end until they swapped posts.

You came to be more relieved if Lotor ever came to stop by, as he at least spoke with you, but that was rare, and you weren’t surprised to know that a man of royalty had things to attend to.

He couldn’t always be here speaking with me. You thought, one day, chewing on the bland food they had given that you barely ate.

Footsteps. You could hear them coming in close to your room. You had come to recognise each of the people from just their footsteps. Your hopes may have been lifted, knowing just who it was.

“I was wondering when you would come back. I hope I am not in too much trouble? Zethrid threatened she would tell on me, then warning me she would rip out my spine.”

Lotor chuckled, seemingly being in a good mood for today. “You have nothing to worry about. If she knew she could threaten you and do some harm, she would know that she would have to face me.”

You cautioned. “Meaning?”

Lotor hummed for a second, his beautiful white hair trailing on its own with no sign of the wind making it do so. “I said you wouldn’t be dying anytime soon. I make that promise for my generals too.”

Your eyebrows fell, a dumbfounded look came onto your face. “Wow, that makes me feel safe.”

The two of you didn’t say much as he gave you your meal, just you eating in silence for a while, whilst Lotor made it obvious he was watching; thinking.

It made you more nervous, unsure whether you wanted to know exactly what he was thinking. Finally, the Galra prince spoke up.

“What made you join Voltron? I’m sure one doesn’t just stumble into it on a whim?”

You pouted, in thought. An odd question to ask. “ It was more… Voltron found me. I guess it was a way of trying to prove to myself I wasn’t scared.”

“Scared? What is there to be scared of?” He expressed.

You bit your lip, debating whether to tell the enemy to you and your teammates of the biggest flaw you had since you could remember. “I struggle with anxiety I guess…. I have a hard time trying to stop myself from having a full-on panic attack, even during missions. I guess that’s how I found myself here.”

Lotor gave you a puzzled look - something you didn’t think you would ever see from his calm demeanour. “Panic attack? Whatever are those?”

“They can be triggered by lots of stress or nervousness from something- from anything. Mine can be really bad.”

Lotor hummed in thought, intrigued so to say in your problem. You could’ve laughed, imagining whether the prince should take a potion as a therapist than the future leader of an empire.

“Is there… any chance of stopping them?” He questioned.

You chortled dryly, and your mind fell to Shiro and his successions on making you calm down. Only thing was that no-one else other than him had been able to calm you.

“A lot of patience.”

There was a large crash that came through the entire ship and room, the floor rumbled and reverberated the sound through one end of the room to go right through you and shake you to your core.

Lotor got into an almost hypnotised state, working on clockwork in the possibility of an attack - which so happened to of been happening in this instant.

“Rogue fighters, trying to take us down.” He was still oddly well-spoken for someone who was about to be under attack, the way he spoke turning to make him look more just like an emperor than a prince.

“Axca, Zethrid, ready the cannons. You are to get them away from us and from blowing a hole to suck everything out of this ship– oh.” He had turned to even make a small glance to you from the other side of the window, pausing.

“Sir? What else?” Ezor questioned through the communicator. “Just do what I say and figure out the rest. I’m busy.” He snapped hotly, turning his attention to you.

You were too busy holding yourself in the corner, cornered like an injured frightened animal as you tried to stop yourself from growing too mad to get back to being sane.

I’m going to die here! I’m never gonna make it out alive. I’ll die here alone in space, away from Earth, from my friends– what will the others do when they hear I die? God, I don’t want to go-

A warmth encased itself around your shoulder, bringing you to snap your head up at the person, a small gasp leaving your lips are you looked away in shame. You hadn’t even heard the door to the room you were in open, and Lotor being crouched in front of you like Shiro had done years ago.

“Y/N, are you having one of your attacks?” There was a softness to his voice, one similar to a consoling parent looking after your child, and if you focused hard enough it was soothing to your stammering heart and shaking hands.

“L-Lotor– I can’t! I-I can’t– I don’t want to die-”

“You won’t, my dear. I won’t let them harm you.” He peered closer to you, smoothing your hair to one side as you stared up into those eyes. “Deep breaths, okay?”

You did so, deep and slow breathes as you concentrated on him and only him. And from this angle, you could truly see how beautiful up close he was to you instead of being behind the glass.

It had felt as if all air had been knocked from your lungs, and like Shiro, he was breathing life into you.

“Breathe my dear. Nothing will hurt you– yes, like that, you’re safe here.”

You believed his words, an odd part to you did, and you believed that he was telling you the truth.

Soon that horrendous bubble of storms that brewed in your mind was calming, and you were finally able to stare at him properly, a surprised doe-eyed look to your eyes.

“Sir, we took down the fighters- would you like me to send word to- oh.” You recognised that voice from anywhere, and Axca had managed to come into the room.

Still not turning around from you, Lotor coolly responded to his general, his eyes never leaving yours.

“No need. Set course for the castle of lions. I’ve come to bargain."

This took A WEEK to write, and I think I didn’t write Lotor the way he is written on the show - which sucks but oh well. I’m not going to write another one of these, but I could write a hc if someone was interested.

THANK YOU FOR DEALING AND WAITING!

#prince lotor #voltron prince lotor #voltron #prince lotor x reader #reader x prince lotor #voltron keith #Voltron lance #Voltron hunk #voltron pidge #voltron shiro #Voltron fic #Voltron paladin reader #prince lotor x paladin reader #vld #vld fic #genderless reader

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cyrusharlow · 5 years ago

Text

All in on a pair of Queens

“I thought we were friends, Marls.” Dorcas’s voice cracked slightly. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

“Fuck you, Dorcas.” Both of Marlene’s cheeks glistened with tears now. “You thought we were friends?

This is a little excerpt from a Dorlene fic I wrote! It’s friendly then frightning then right back to fluff, and it’s all around a good read if I do say so myself. The whole thing is right under the cut and is just over 2k words long. Please, enjoy!

“Flush beats three of a kind, spoils go to Sirius.” With a grunt, James complied with Remus’s command and shoved the pile of candy in the middle of the table towards Sirius. The latter just grinned; James had taught the whole group the rules of poker, so he couldn’t stand losing to his friends – especially to Sirius, who made a point of being an ass about it every round James didn’t win. All five players – yes, five: Sirius had convinced Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene to play as well – returned their hands to Remus, the dealer for the evening. Remus didn’t like gambling, but he liked mathematics, so dealing cards was a favourite way of his to spend time with his friends when they played cards to unwind.

“Do, you’re the small blind,” Remus began another round. “James, that makes you big blind.” Dorcas’s head swivelled at the mention of her name. She had been balancing a Bertie Botts bean on her nose ever since she folded last round. She saw Remus putting down the community cards face-down and patiently waited for the round to start while everyone stared at her.

“Why’s everyone looking at me?”

“You’re the small blind.” Remus answered.

“Right… What does that entail again? Do I match Marlene’s bet? Or increase it?” No one at the table had betted yet, but observable facts hadn’t stopped Dorcas’s conclusions before. Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed slightly.

“No, that’s big blind. Small blind puts down the starting bet.” Dorcas put the bean that had just fallen from her nose in the middle of the table.

“Not that one! We all saw you drop it on the floor a minute ago!” Sirius protested. Dorcas turned to Remus with an offended look on her face.

“I’ll allow it,” Remus responded. James began muttering in protest, but Sirius interrupted before he could say anything:

“Stay out of it, James, you’re not going to win it anyway.”

“Yeah James, my bean is none of your business!” Dorcas laughed.

“And it is his business?” James gestured at Sirius with a questioning look directed towards Dorcas.

“Oh, good times!” Sirius exclaimed, looking up dramatically as if he were in a stage play. “Good times indeed,” he continued, “when I was entitled to Do’s bean!” Lily smacked him on his back in Dorcas’s defence.

“Behave, Sirius! And don’t go blowing your own horn, I happen to know you weren’t as good at bean-related activities as you are at poker.” James and Remus burst out laughing. Marlene sighed and stood up.

“I’m going out for a smoke, play a round without me.” Remus nodded and took her cards back. Marlene had been a bit quiet all evening; this was the first time she’d spoken since a few rounds ago.

“I’ll come with you,” Dorcas said, also standing up. “Same goes for me, Moony.” She tossed her hand of cards towards Remus’s side of the table.

“You’ve already bet, Do,” Remus replied. “If you walk away now, you forfeit your bet for this round.”

“Oh, sure. Give the bean to Sirius so he can practice” she said laughingly. As she followed Marlene to the balcony, she heard Sirius defending his skills in bean-related activities, stating loudly that he didn’t need practice at all.

---------------------

Marlene took out a cigarette from her case and put it in her mouth, lighting the tip with a small flame from her wand while protecting it from the wind with her free hand. She breathed out a cloud of smoke over the railing, looking down at the courtyard of the school below. Without looking, she held out the case of cigarettes to Dorcas behind her.

“No thanks, I quit smoking.” Dorcas replied. Marlene didn’t lift her head.

“Oh? When did that happen?”

“Last week, James caught me out of breath at training and I realized it was the cigs. Shit’s bad for you, Marls.” Marlene hummed, as if she agreed, before taking another puff and letting the smoke flow out through her nose. Hogwarts rules technically forbade smoking, but the teachers had stopped enforcing the rule when students had turned to experimenting with homemade spells to mask the scent and smoke. Madam Pomfrey had promptly decided that she’d rather treat a few asthma attacks than a whole legion of students who had accidentally made their cigarettes explode in their face.

Dorcas sat on the railing with her back facing the edge, her feet hooked around the carved stone posts of the balustrade. She looked at Marlene – who had not looked at her for the entire evening as far as she knew – and tried to form a sentence, but couldn’t find the proper words.

“You don’t have to come out with me if you’re not gonna smoke, Do.”

“I never came out here to smoke with you.” Dorcas fidgeted with the lowest button of her quidditch jacket.

“What?” Marlene turned her gaze towards Dorcas, confused by what she had just said. “We used to smoke together like every day, what are you on about?” Dorcas didn’t look back at her.

“I never came out here to smoke with you, I came out here to be with you.” They were both quiet for a minute.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” Marlene turned her head away again.

“What’s going on with you, Marls?”

“Hm?”

“All day you’ve been quiet – hell, you haven’t been yourself in a week.” Marlene didn’t reply. Dorcas sighed. “Look – if you don’t wanna talk about it, just say so, but it feels like there’s something wrong.” Neither of them spoke for a while. Marlene lit another cigarette.

“I don’t know if I want to talk.”

“Well, I’m here if you do. And you know I’m not smart enough to take legilimency like you, so you’ll have to use your words.” Marlene chuckled slightly. Legilimancy was not taught at Hogwarts, being considered a form of malicious magic, but she did take an extra credit class in occlumency. Dorcas had often confused the two, and it had become an in-joke between the two of them.

“It’s good to hear you laugh.”

“It’s good to laugh.” They were quiet again. It was Dorcas who broke the silence after a while.

“Wanna head back inside?”

“Not really. You can go if you want.” Marlene rested her head on the hand with her cigarette in it, her elbow leaning on the railing.

“Nah, I’ll stay with you. Got to be there for my girl, you know?” Dorcas laughed and playfully punched Marlene in the shoulder.

“Don’t, Dorcas.” Marlene didn’t laugh.

“Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No – well, yes, but it’s not about you punching me.” Dorcas was visibly confused.

“What’s it about then?”

“Stop calling me your girl.”

“Wh-”

“In fact, Do, stop leaning on me on the couch, stop winking at me in the hallways and stop asking me to be your date to parties as a joke.” Marlene had turned around and Dorcas could see a tear running down her cheek.

“I don’t- But-”

“What?” Marlene raised her voice slightly.

“I thought we were friends, Marls.” Dorcas’s voice cracked slightly. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

“Fuck you, Dorcas.” Both of Marlene’s cheeks glistened with tears now. “You thought we were friends? You don’t get to lead me on for a year and then decide we’re just friends.”

“Lead you on? I never- I mean I-”

“You never meant to?” She paused. “I was so fucking happy when you got with Sirius, because I thought I wouldn’t have to waste another night crying over you.” She sniffed. “But you guys broke up, and I came out to you because I was naïve and stupid, and you played me like a fucking fiddle.”

“I don’t get it,” Dorcas cried. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s been a year, Do. A year since I came out to you and started trying to get you to notice me. Last week marked the official anniversary and I decided I’m done. I’m done with your friendship if it means you getting my hopes up and letting me down again. I’m done letting you string me along, Dorcas.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “The only question I have left is why. Why, Do? Why not just tell me no and be done with it?” Dorcas’s mouth hung wide open.

“Because I’m in love with you, you fucking idiot.” Dorcas jumped down from the fence to face Marlene. Now it was Marlene’s turn to be completely dumbfounded.

“You’re- Wh-”

“Why do you think I broke up with Sirius? Because you made me realize I like girls!”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because you told me you weren’t attracted to me when you came out!”

“That’s just something people say when they come out!” Had someone been watching from inside, they would have seen the two of them yelling at each other with tears streaming down their faces. The balcony doors had been hexed with a silencing charm, though, so the people finishing up their game of poker at the table inside did not hear a thing.

“So you do like me then?” Dorcas yelled at the top of her lungs, seeming more frustrated by the fight than relieved by the good news.

“Of course I do!” Marlene shouted back, equally worked up and seemingly angry. “You’re fucking gorgeous, why wouldn’t I?” They stopped yelling and stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Dorcas swallowed and scraped her throat.

“Where does this leave us, Marls?” Her voice was quiet now, but she sounded no less upset. No, not upset; Dorcas almost sounded scared, like someone about to receive bad news.

“I don’t know, Do.” Marlene chuckled a bit. “How about you call me your girl again, but you mean it this time?” She sniffled and let out a small laugh. Dorcas returned a smile and wiped her eyes with the cuff of her jacket sleeve.

“D- Do you mean you want to-” The words couldn’t find their way out of her throat.

“Oh shut up and kiss me, Do,” Marlene cut in, stepping forward and softly pressing her lips against Dorcas’s. It was a soft kiss, but a lively one; their lips interlocked and they stood there for what felt like minutes, first not moving at all, then both of them – Marlene first, followed by a cautious but increasingly comforted Dorcas – slowly leaning into the kiss.

“That was nice” Dorcas said quietly, when they finally pulled back a bit and could look each other in the eyes again. Marlene hummed in agreement. They were embracing; Dorcas’s hands had found their way onto Marlene’s lower back, Marlene’s were on Dorcas’s neck.

“I’m a bit cold,” Marlene said, “Could I have your jacket for a bit?” Marlene was in fact wearing her own jacket, a leather one, which kept her at a very nice temperature.

“This one?” Dorcas looked down at her varsity quidditch jacket. “But your aesthetic? And it’s not even that cold out so I don’t-” Marlene smiled at her silently. “Oh.” Dorcas realized the request for her jacket had very little to do with temperature. “Of course you can wear it. Anything for my girl.” She began to take off her jacket and Marlene met her with a quick peck on the lips.

“Thanks, babe.” The jacket was a little big for Marlene, but she didn’t mind. It was warm, and it smelled of Dorcas, and above all, it was a reminder that things were good now. Marlene stepped away from Dorcas and faced the balcony, lifting two fists into the air. “Woo!” she yelled in glee. Dorcas watched her and smiled, joining her at the balustrade while some student – most likely a confused Ravenclaw – cheered back from the balcony across the courtyard.

“If we work together, do you think we’ll have an advantage over Sirius?” Dorcas put her arm around Marlene’s shoulder, and Marlene rested her head against Dorcas’s neck.

“You really don’t get poker, do you?”

“Not really, no. I just like the candy and the prospect of beating Sirius.” Marlene let out a small giggle.

“Dorcas?”

“Hm?”

“Are we like- you know, girlfriend and girlfriend now? Or are we still just friends?” Dorcas pulled back a bit to look Marlene in the eyes and lifted her eyebrows.

“Would you like to be? My girlfriend, that is?”

“I would. I’d like that a lot.”

---------------------

That’s all, folks! Thanks for reading my work, be sure to leave a like (or even reblog this post) if you enjoyed the story. Thanks to @w0tchermarauders and @stuff-of-pi (as well as some of my non-tumblr friends) for proofreading! As mentioned in the moodboard post, an rp thread featuring them based on this fic is in the works. Hope to see you there!

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moontheoretist · 4 years ago

Quote

With his witticism taken seriously, Sebastian looked a little less sure of himself and the direction of the conversation. “You don’t think that anymore?” “No,” said Joshua. “I don’t think we can. Especially now, when SHIELD’s previous faults explain so much of what’s going on. It’s time that the public knew the truth.” “Well,” said Sebastian tentatively, “please do go ahead.” Joshua leaned forward. “People keep saying Steve Rogers was unreasonable for claiming the UN wanted to turn the Avengers into a hit squad. They keep saying he’s fear mongering, or paranoid, or whatever. But what they don’t realise is, that’s exactly what the government did do with the Howling Commandos. Steve isn’t just pulling this out of thin air. He has damn good reason to think it’ll happen again, because it happened before.” Sebastian blinked. Pepper almost felt sorry for how out of his depth he was starting to look. “You would describe the Howling Commandos as a hit squad?” “Think of it this way, Sebastian,” Joshua said, his arms open and relaxed, “If you wanted to start a legitimate special operations group for a top priority task, how would you go about it? I mean, putting aside the legal and administrative challenges. You’d look for volunteers from the best veterans available, right?” Sebastian asked, “Are you saying that’s not what happened with your grandfather?” Joshua’s chin tilted up. “Not. At. All. Remember that my grandfather and a large proportion of the other Howling Commandos were captured by the Germans, tortured and experimented on. Then, instead of being discharged and provided with medical and psychiatric treatment – and even as far back as WWII, the army knew enough to do that – the SSR stuck a gun in their hands and pointed them at the enemy.” “The SSR were sort of the spiritual predecessors of SHIELD, correct?” interrupted Sebastian. “That’s right,” said Joshua. “SHIELD was formed out of the SSR and a few other minor groups, but the continuity of leadership and philosophy came entirely from the SSR.” Sebastian said, “so you are saying that the recruitment of recent POWs was exploitative.” Joshua nodded. “Exactly. That’s a good word for it. They took a bunch of traumatised, vulnerable soldiers who don’t have the support of their usual chain of command, and sent them on suicide missions under the charge of a civilian consultant who didn’t know any better.” Sebastian held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there. Civilian consultant? Surely you’re not talking about Captain America, are you?” “Sure I am,” said Joshua, as if he hadn’t said anything surprising at all. “You must know the back story, right? Steve Rogers tried to enlist fraudulently five times before being recruited by the SSR for the super-soldier experiments? The SSR might have worked with the military, but it wasn’t military itself.” “And the rank of Captain?” asked Sebastian. Joshua shrugged. “As honorary as a Kentucky Colonel. It was a rank issued by the SSR for publicity purposes. Direct commissions – that is, battlefield promotions – did happen in the real army, but that was only to Second Lieutenant and the person was expected to complete proper leadership training. No military service would jump someone without even basic training to Captain. That would just be asking for catastrophe. Even if he’d taken any oaths, he could hardly be expected to understand what he was agreeing to honour.” Sebastian said a bit faintly, “I suppose I did know that backstory, but that’s certainly not how it’s been portrayed through the years.” “Yeah,” agreed Joshua. “We always found it irritating that Steve was the one who got all the credit for everything, you know? I mean we loved Steve, of course we did, but the stuff put out there for public consumption was just so extreme. The Howling Commandos contained people like Lord Falsworth, who was a very highly decorated maroon beret. It contained my grandfather, Captain Sawyers, who was an army ranger with years of specialised training. If you think about it that way, both outranked even the honorary title Steve was given. The Howling Commandos contained a bunch of trained, experienced and knowledgeable soldiers and civilian freedom fighters, but they were always dismissed as little more than sidekicks. We played along because we were told it was necessary, but there were always rumblings about how insulting their PR people were being. It was like they were saying my grandfather’s job was so easy, that anyone off the street—or off the stage—could have done it.” Rhodey snorted. “Steve always did say the success was a result of the team. Perhaps we should have taken him more literally.” “Do you think—“ started Pepper, and the screen froze to allow her to finish without missing the interview, “Do you think the team could have been doing all the actual work and just let Steve think he was the one in charge?” “Yes, I do.” said Rhodey. “I’ve seen teams successfully work around a problem commander before, and that’s with all the rules and conventions in place that try to prevent that type of thing. People simply looked to someone else for orders without troubling the official leader with the situation. If the leader was naïve enough – or lazy enough – he wouldn’t realise those orders were being given at all. It actually explains a lot about why Steve tended to act like his job ended the second he stepped off the battlefield.” “Huh,” said Tony. “So Steve is the military version of the ‘ideas guy’.” [...] The idea that Steve was on the wrong side of the Dunning-Kruger effect – so unskilled that he lacked the knowledge to even be aware that he was unskilled – was currently quite comforting. FRIDAY gave them a moment, but when they didn’t continue, resumed the show. “That’s an interesting point of view,” said Sebastian. “But let’s go back to your description of it as a ‘hit squad’. Even if how they were constructed was wrong, they were sent to attack HYDRA bases. Surely you’re not arguing that was wrong.” Joshua grimaced. “They fought against people they believed to be the enemy of the whole human race, and I’m the last person who would want to diminish either their personal bravery or their accomplishments. But the SSR were the people who determined who exactly that ‘enemy’ was. It’s only a difference in wording to call something an attack on a suspected HYDRA base – or an illegal raid a civilian research facility to steal their technology. Knowing what we do now about the prevalence of HYDRA influence on the SHIELD, you have to wonder whether it was all just an exercise in transferring vital information and equipment from their old facilities to their new ones when they realised that the war was not going to end in Germany’s favour.” “That will sting for Steve,” said Rhodey, sounding like he could feel the blow himself. “All those sacrifices, and it could have been for the enemy? I can’t imagine worse.” “A chilling thought,” said Sebastian at the same time, but rather more inanely. The image cut back to the original hosts. There were three of them around a glass table, perched on fashionable bar stools – the type that proved they were fashionable by being so uncomfortable that no one sane would by them for any other reason. One host shifted, and the microphones were not quite good enough to conceal the squeak of plastic against plastic. The host in the middle, a tanned blond woman Pepper thought was named Anna, looked appropriately grave. “A chilling thought, indeed. What do you make of that, Jim?” Jim’s teeth were less precisely perfect than his fellow hosts, indicating he was more likely their designated expert than a usual member of the team. His hands were rigidly held in place, folded in front of him. “I think Joshua raises a very strong point about Steve Rogers lack of military expertise, Anna. We all grew up with the comic books, but those of us in the service also grew up to see just how flawed they were. Rogers simply wasn’t proper military material. This was a man who should have been serving jail time, not one who should have been trusted with the lives of others.” “Isn’t that a bit of a strong reaction?” asked Anna. “Speaking as a civilian here, but I would have thought someone wanting to enlist despite their limitations would be admirable.” Jim’s hands twitched, like he was stopping himself from making a gesture. “What you’re forgetting is that it isn’t just their own lives they’re risking. It is one thing if it’s a limitation the army knows about and knows to compensate for, like bad eyesight. It’s quite another when they’re lying through their teeth and might suddenly be unfit for combat without warning. The army has guidelines for a reason, Anna, but I can assure you every teenager who gets rejected thinks they know better than the trained professionals. That kid who tells himself his occasional asthma doesn’t count, and then gets triggered by the stress and the dust and the smoke? He’s just as responsible as the enemy for any damage his unit takes when they are forced to rescue his stupid ass instead of being able to rely on him to rescue theirs. And every single one of those liars getting people killed wanted to be just like Captain America.” “Okay,” said Anna, not particularly sincerely. “I can grant you that. But that isn’t quite the case here, is it? By the time Steve Rogers entered combat, he had been cured of his medical condition. Why couldn’t he have been enlisted than?” “I obviously wasn’t in the army at the time,” said Jim with a fake laugh, “but if I had been, I would have raised concerns. Curing his physical condition didn’t change his personality. He was still the person who was willing to lie, cheat, and put others in danger. It might not his health anymore, but there’s plenty of other ways to screw over your buddies.” “What about his rescue of all those POWs? Didn’t that prove anything?” “Only that he got lucky, Anna,” said Jim, in a tone of someone who was finally being vindicated in a long held belief. “Another part of the backstory we prefer to gloss over was that his extraction plan was a pick up by Howard Stark. Stark flew a plane that seated no more than six, including the pilot. Rogers was as surprised as the Germans when his actions resulted in the freedom of all the POWs. He could equally well have gotten them all killed. And we were all fortunate that it did turn out to be a HYDRA installation, because otherwise his actions could have endangered every other POW held in any Axis POW camp. He was a loose cannon that just happened to be pointed in the right direction that once. Frankly, the success of the Howling Commandos makes a lot more sense if Rogers was just the colourful distraction while the experts did the real work.” [...] Anna’s expression was by that time a little fixed. “Well, that’s certainly a very strong position. Any thoughts, Vance?” The shark grin on Vance’s face didn’t suggest he’d be providing her with any rescue either. “Something that Joshua Sawyer was careful not to mention, but stands out like a pimple at the tip of the nose to anyone who is looking for it. He spoke of Rogers being put in command, despite his lack of rank. Do you happen to know who took over the unit after Rogers was lost?” “Um… Dum Dum Dugan, wasn’t it?” said Anna. “Yes,” agreed Vance. “Not any of the people Mister Sawyer mentioned as having obviously more command experience than Rogers, but Sergeant Dugan, the next ranking white American male.” “That does seem like an unfortunate move, but we have to bear in mind that it was the forties—“ Vance spoke over her. “—and when the Avengers was re-formed after the actions of Sokovia, the leadership was changed to Steven Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. Not either of the people with actual military experience - the two tour veteran Master Sergeant Wilson, or the active duty Colonel Rhodes. Romanoff was an ex-member of not one but two terrorist organisations, with no command experience whatsoever. But hey, she’s the whitest person after Rogers, so she must be a good pick.” “Now that’s unfair,” said Tony, the display freezing again. “I mean yes, they totally screwed you over, Rhodey, but SHIELD and the SSR were never racist. Or at least, substantially less so than their cohorts. They just very strongly preferred an incompetent insider to a competent outsider. The most you could probably say was that they have a history of being dismissive of military experience.” Rhodey snorted. “I think you mean the least you can say. Joshua was right about an actual serving military person having too much training on actual accepted practices, and too much of a framework to complain. The number of times I had to bite my tongue and remind myself that Steve was the one in charge, and if he chose to let things slide like that, then it was none of my business… I feel like a complete idiot now for having missed all the signs. I was convinced I wasn’t treating him like some sort of wide-eyed fan, but I sure as hell wasn’t treating him just like another team member, either.” Tony awkwardly patted his arm with the back of his hand. “Steve is good at tactics in straightforward situations, and very good at motivating others. In a way, I left the team without all the support it needed for Steve to be able to operate successfully.” Rhodey said, “You mean you did all the hard work to make him look good. A good leader deserves that kind of support, but a good person repays the favour. Steve’s the kind of person who thinks that loyalty is something he should be shown, not something he should show others. I completely ignored his history of contempt for the people who helped him. I shouldn’t have. In future I—“ Rhodey looked down at his legs and grimaced. Between his natural recovery and Tony’s assistance, no one knew yet whether he’d be able to return as a full member of the Avengers, even if there was an Avengers to return to.

Enough Rope (chapter 6) by Amber_and_Ash

I find it funny that we most of the time do not even talk about what MCU did to change Steve Rogers and Howling Commandos. I do not know much about the comic commandos, because I didn't read the comics, but the ones I know from Earth's Mightiest Heroes painted a completely different picture. Steve in them wasn't a leader or a field commander, he was part of the squad which had an experienced leader to which Steve was always looking for orders and I believe it was also the case in the comics, because animated shows usually tend to be more fair to them and don’t change as much. So Steve was never put in charge of the squad, but in MCU he is, and it creates a lot of problems in the presented storyline of The First Avenger which this fanfiction deconstructs pretty well. How weird and dangerous it was to put someone so inexperienced in the role of a leader of the squad and how exploitative it was that Steve even could recruit people which were captured and tortured without anybody saying anything about it being not a good idea. Basically after Steve rescued all of them, going against his orders in order to save Bucky (the others were add-ons to his glorious military hero stunt) he was suddenly treated by everybody as the best military leader in existence and given voice, which he didn't have before he did that. He was ignored and dismissed before he saved all those people, but after he was always listened to, always kept in the loop of planning and even given a right to create his own squad to make Red Skull's face even more red from rage.

Steve wanted to be a hero regardless of his limitations and what lying can inflict upon others with whom he would serve. He wanted to be like those heroes from books he read (he has them in the movie in his trunk) and a soldier like his father. The problem is that he never wanted to be a hero for the people. He wanted to be one for himself alone, because he couldn't stand the idea that he is too weak to do "his men duty" to the world, but also because he didn't want to see himself as weak and useless. And to Steve being useless meant not being able to be a soldier. He saw a kid in the propaganda piece helping and saw it as something below himself to do, because he was destined to do something better than that, or so he believed he was, even though his body disagreed. He didn't want to be like women and children who stayed behind. He wanted to be a strong man and do what was supposedly his job as a man. Toxic masculinity literally comes out in spades from him, but well, I would expect that kind of mindset from a guy from that era. He doesn't intentionally disrespect women and people who cannot be soldiers, but he just doesn't see himself as someone who should do other tasks which can help during war, because after reading all those stories about soldier heroes and hearing about his dad, he cannot imagine himself to not be a soldier hero just like them and everything different than that hurts his feelings as a son of a soldier and as a man with a dream to become one, so he presses forward, lies and tricks to become one.

#mcu critical #steve rogers critical #mcu steve rogers critical #james rhodes #sam wilson #pepper potts #tony stark #do I have to mention that Steve always #always wanted to become hero from all those books which depicted military heroes?#we have similar books in Poland and they are usually a great source of brainwashing #even if smth is true in them most of that is a fairy tale to make people aspire to them #mcu fanfiction

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