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imaginary-portal · 3 years ago

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Unspoken - Part Two

Bucky Barnes x Fem Reader

Summary: Y/N is a superhero with telekinetic and healing capabilities. The only catch, she doesn’t speak (italicized words are thoughts).

Word Count: ~2k words

Part One Part Three

Masterlist

Enjoy!

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While Y/N was in the bathroom, Sam and Bucky had a conversation. Although they tried to keep their voices hush, Y/N could hear mumblings through the wall.

“How did you get her to stay?” Sam asked. “I don’t know, I was rambling for a while and she just wrote down on paper.” Bucky said. “Are you ok?” Sam asked. “Yeah, she just reminds me a bit of myself when I was recovering.” Sam nodded. “Maybe she’s been through some shit-“ Y/N opened the bathroom door and the conversation stopped. “So Bucky did you finally decide what to eat?” Sam recovered quickly so Y/N didn’t raise any suspicion. “Uh I guess I’ll get the parm.” Bucky said. “I’ll call it in. Be right back.” Sam left the room and called the food in from outside. Y/N sat down on a bed, pulled out her book and started reading. “Um- that’s Sam’s bed. I don’t know what we’ll do for the sleeping situation tonight.” Bucky said awkwardly. She gets up and sit in a chair instead, continuing her reading.

When Sam returns he finally breaks the ice. “The food should be here in half an hour. So do you want a bed to yourself or do you mind sleeping with one of us?” Y/N ponders for a moment. It would be nice to avoid any awkwardness and sleep alone. Plus it seems the two could use some bonding. Something about their friendship seems off. On the other hand, I feel like I can trust Sam. Y/N points to Sam’s bed. “I already told her it was your bed.” Bucky points out. “Are you ok with that?” Sam asks and she nods her head. Sam and Bucky exchange silent glances. Sam’s was a look of victory, he got her to nod. Bucky’s was a look of jealousy. Sam tried half as hard and got more communication from her.

Y/N read some more, but she finished her book. Since she only carries one with her at a time, she was at a loss. “Good book?” Sam asked. Y/N handed him the book and he flipped through the pages. Y/N looked over at Bucky, who was looking back at her. Unable to handle the queasy feeling, she immediately looked away. “Hmm seems interesting.” Sam handed the book back. Y/N grabbed the remote from the desk. How are these dudes just sitting here? Don’t they want something to pass the time? Y/N turned on the television and flipped through the channels. She decided on the sports channel, something she thought the guys would enjoy. They sat and watched the game until a knock sounded at the hotel room door.

Sam grabbed the food and paid the delivery guy, who spent his time looking at Y/N in the background. Bucky caught wind of this and tightened his jaw at the sight. Bucky felt a wave of overprotection wash over him. He didn’t know why, but Bucky didn’t want to think about Y/N being with someone. Bucky shot a death glare at the delivery guy, who started to look a little worried. When Sam finally shut the door, eating time began. The hotel room was silent as everyone enjoyed their meals. Y/N didn’t want to look too desperate, but this salad was the largest meal she’d had in days. Y/N is not good at prioritizing her money, she spends it all on books and coffee. Sam noticed that she finished her salad within minutes. “We could have gotten you something else if we knew you were that hungry. Want some money for the vending machine?” Sam offered as Y/N looked up at him. Without prompt, Sam grabs some money out of his bag. “Go crazy girl.” He hands her two dollars. Y/N leaves to find the vending machine.

“Dude, did you give the delivery guy one of your stone cold stares? He looked like he was about to piss himself.” Sam said, laughing. Bucky avoided eye contact as he took a bite of his food. “He was staring at her. The look in his eyes just gave me a bad feeling.” Bucky defended himself but Sam could see right through it. “You know she looks at you, right? When you’re not paying attention.” Sam added. Bucky shook his head. “I doubt it. If anything she likes you.” Sam put down his fork. “That’s where I disagree. She trusts me more, but she likes you.” Sam paused but saw no reaction from Bucky. “Fine, want to make a bet? If she likes you, you have to wash our laundry for the week.” Bucky shoved another bite of chicken parm in his mouth. “How would we know if she likes me?” Sam huffed a smile. “You mean besides the goo goo eyes she’s been giving you? I don’t know, maybe if she makes a move or something.” Bucky sighed. She doesn’t even talk to me, she barely gives me any sort of acknowledgment. I’ll win this bet, easy. “Fine, we have a deal.” The two men shook hands.

After walking around for a few minutes, Y/N found the vending machine in a hidden corner. Her eyes widened at the sight of a candy bar. Y/N ate the chocolate on a bench outside, not wanting to interrupt the guys. She comes back inside to see the two finished eating and getting ready to sleep. The room smelt strongly of Italian food.

“I’m going to shower real quick.” Bucky announced, not knowing Y/N was in the room. The tone of his voice is different. Y/N made a mental note. Y/N took off her shoes and approached Sam’s bed. “I’ll keep this between us but, can you tell me your name?” Sam asked. Y/N contemplated. Ah screw it. I’m feeling generous today. Y/N took the hotel notepad and wrote her name down. She folded up the paper and handed it to Sam. “Y/N. What a pretty name.” He said with a smile. “I promise I won’t tell Bucky.” Y/N got under the covers and turned off the lamp next to her. “Goodnight Y/N.” Sam said and got into bed.

The two slept with their backs towards each other, however, that gave Y/N a direct line of sight to Bucky’s bed. When Bucky got out of the shower, the bathroom light shined in her face. She saw his damp hair, he was only wearing boxers. Y/N got a quick peek at his abdomen. Bucky smirked at Y/N when he noticed her look. He slept facing Y/N, hoping to get a glimpse of what she looks like asleep in the morning.

——————

Bucky was the last to awaken in the morning, Sam getting up for an early run and Y/N taking a shower. Bucky finally got out of bed when he heard the bathroom door open. Y/N’s hair was wet and she smelt fresh. Bucky awkwardly got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. Y/N watched him from behind, subtly checking him out without him knowing. Just as Bucky finished getting dressed, Sam came back. “I’ll meet you guys for breakfast I’m just gonna shower real quick.” Sam said, short of breath.

After breakfast, the three went to scope out their next mission. They had intel about the position of the super soldiers and it appeared to be correct. “Let’s go in, while they least expect it.” Sam said. “Wait, what if there’s civilians in there?” Bucky asked. “Well I have yet to see a single one. Even if we just start from outside we can get them.” Bucky contemplated for a minute. “Ok, what do we do with her?” Bucky gave Y/N a side eye. “She helps us out, yeah?” Y/N nodded in Sam’s direction. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get in there.”

There turned out to be more super soldiers than originally expected, causing the team some struggles. Y/N was a big help, moving large objects to thwart groups of them. However, there came a point where the three of them were encircled by the soldiers.

“Y/N look out!” Sam yelled and Y/N stopped a flying sword that was coming after her. Bucky stopped in his tracks. “Y/N, hm that’s her name.” He mumbled to himself. However, he didn’t have much more time to think about it because another super soldier came running at him. Y/N grabbed the sword and started fighting soldiers with combat as well. Y/N heard a gun click and turned her head to see it was pointing at Sam and Bucky. When the gun fired, Y/N made the bullets fall to the ground. The soldier wasted an entire round of bullets.

The soldiers ended up giving in, but running away as a group. Sam chased after them, but to no avail. Bucky looked to be in pain, as he was crouched on the ground, groaning. Y/N approached him and saw his hand covering his shoulder. It looks like he was stabbed. Y/N reaches her hand out and heals the wound, Bucky’s breathing slowed. Y/N also healed the cuts on his face and arm. Bucky watched in amazement as Y/N used her powers to heal him. He liked the feel of her gentle hands on his skin. He looked into her eyes, “Thank you, Y/N.” Y/N nodded and helped Bucky stand up. She liked the sound of her name coming from his mouth. Sam returned appearing unharmed. “Let’s get our stuff, they’re heading north.”

Another night another hotel with only two beds. This time felt different, though, now that Bucky’s wounds are healed, he doesn’t have to take this time to recover from them. He was excited to get a good sleep. “How about we take turns yeah? Y/N can swap between beds so that way it’s fair?” Y/N shrugged as if she didn’t care. However, she was excited to share a bed with Bucky.

That night Bucky and Y/N also slept with their backs facing each other. Bucky was awakened in the middle of the night by some murmurs from the other side of the bed. Bucky turned on the light and looked over to Y/N. She was having a nightmare and talking in her sleep. Bucky turned off the light and settled back into bed. Her voice sounded so vulnerable and desperate. It made him sad that he had to hear her voice for the first time like that, but there was nothing he could do about her nightmare. He wondered if Sam dealt with the same thing the night before. It was hard to fall back asleep because then Y/N started to quietly whimper. When the whimpers stopped Y/N woke up. She slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, teary eyed. She washed up and brought herself back into reality. It was just a dream. I hope I didn’t wake anyone else up. Y/N would be embarrassed if they knew.

Y/N went back to bed, and Bucky whispered her name, “Y/N, is everything ok?” He obviously wouldn’t be able to tell in the dark so he turned on the lamp. He turned towards Y/N, who had wrapped the blanket around her, her eyes red. “You know I, I get nightmares too.” Bucky sat up, close to Y/N, his voice barely a whisper. Y/N’s heart started racing at the thought of him hearing her dreams. “For a while I wasn’t a good guy, I was under mind control and torture. I did things, horrible things you could never imagine.” Y/N watched him as he spoke, while Bucky stared into the distance. “I’m still not over it, but it does get better. I promise.” Bucky slowly moved his arm to rest on Y/N’s blanketed shoulder. “If you ever want to talk-or I guess write about it, I’m here.” Y/N liked the sound of his voice, soft and comforting. Bucky looked over to Y/N to see her looking right back at him. Y/N felt her embarrassment wash away. She gave Bucky a small smile, which he returned. I guess he’s different than I thought. Y/N laid down and faced opposite of Bucky, ready to go back to sleep. Bucky reached over and turned off the light. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

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Tags: @learisa

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #imagine #mcu #marvel #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #fanfic #crush imagine

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wevegottogetaway · 4 years ago

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Crashing into you

Sooo, I have no idea where this concept came from but here is you and Harry surviving a plane crash only to find yourselves stranded on an island (featuring best friends to lovers and who knows what else). There is more to come after this part, I’m just really busy with uni at the moment, so smaller pieces at the time it is. Please leave some feedback if you have any, or tell me what you would like to see happen in future parts! Happy reading xx

It wasn’t supposed to happened.

None of it was. Not the birds. Not the fire. Not the nose-dive.

And you weren’t supposed to be there either. Weren’t supposed to find yourselves floating 35,000 feet over endless stretches of sea when it happened. Not you and certainly not Harry whose presence was only the result of his boundless generosity.

It was a last minute trip on your part, an emergency response to the calling of a friend back in London; they’d gotten hospitalized and you were their emergency contact, pretty simple maths. Your assistance was irremissible and since it was cutting your time short with Harry, he didn’t hesitate before offering both his support and an express flight aboard some kind of private jet. None of you knew it at the time, but that decision turned out to be a twisted expression of serendipity, a very sick jock that the universe wasn’t supposed to make.

Except it did happened and there was no escaping the cataclysm that ensued.

***

The cabin of the small plane is plunged in peaceful silence, the deep whir of its engines and the soft snores wafting through Harry’s nose the only white noises filling the space. There is no fussing toddler, no businessman talking loudly on the phone, no arguing couple; just you and Harry, one flight attendant and two pilots. Everything around you looks pristine and expensive, from the champagne you were offered but declined at the beginning of the flight, to the refined suede upholstery covering all the seats.

You’re not used to the luxury, and frankly, neither is Harry.

He doesn’t use private planes very often, doesn’t think it makes much sense to waste all that toxic kerosene when commercial flights do the job perfectly, and doesn't like how they make him feel like the diva some people mistakenly make him out to be. But for you he’d bend the rules. For you he’d bend over and backwards to assuage any of your pains and worries. You had been so on edge when you told him about your friend, so desperate to be there for them, he had just wanted to be there for you in turn.

That’s why the two of you hopped in this small aircraft nearly four hours ago, with his hand drawing comforting shapes on your back. Now, you find yourself absentmindedly nipping at your nails, overthinking ever possible scenario that could unfold once you land and find your friend. In deep conversation with your conscience, you’ve been looking out the small window to your right, as if any of the two blue immensities painting the horizon knew all the secrets that you needed. They don’t; if anything, they bring their own mysteries to an already confusing world.

The atmosphere inside the plane is so inert, it feels like someone pressed the pause button. The flight attendant has remained quietly by her station, waiting for any signal that would indicate her presence required, and the pilots haven’t piped a word since their polite ‘have a lovely flight,’ when you first boarded the plane. The little company wouldn’t bother you so much, if Harry hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in, leaving you to your own devices. You figure you can’t be too grumpy about it though, he did just rent a plane for your sake after all. Plus, his unconscious state has allowed you to ogle his sleepy figure for hours without being noticed, a treat you’re rarely privy to on top of being a nice distraction from your current troublesome thoughts.

Three years. Three years you’ve been a very dedicated friend to him and he to you. Three years of holding each other’s hand through any hardships and laughing till you’re blue in the face; three years of always supporting each other in your craziest undertakings and inspiring each other to be the best version of yourselves. You two are an indestructible pair and your friendship is the purest, most sacred thing you were given in this world.

Except, it’s also been three years of mind-boggling and consuming feelings that can’t be quelled and have no limits. Three years of secret glances when he’s too focused on something else to notice. Three years of talking yourself down from those feeling, but to no avail; they keep coming back full force and with a vengeance. It quickly became a full time job really, an art you mastered over time. At first because he was happily in a relationship, so there was no speculating whether your affections could be returned. Then once that ended, you were already so wired to ignore the skip of your heartbeats when he looks at you tenderly, or the soft and sometimes borderline ambiguous cuddles he gives you when he’s had one too many Margaritas; that the fantasy of him loving you the way you do was just unfathomable, you never even considered speaking up about it.

But these were your three years, not his.

You let out a deep sigh, as your musings once again circle back to your unrequited love. You wish you had more control over them, could limit them to sleepy fabulation sweetening your mind right before you surrender to unconsciousness. But alas, them come and go as they please, slip into your mind at any inopportune time, often betraying you by pigmenting your cheeks in cerise-colored bashfulness. Even now, in the stillness of the pressurized cabin, as your eyes settle back on his slouched form in the seat opposite yours, your skin can’t help but heat up in fondness.

Before you can get too lost in the soft eyelashes caressing his cheekbones, or the cupid bow shaping his pink supple lips, or the way a few of his mischievous curls are dandling in front of his face, slightly fluttering at each soft puff coming out of his mouth…yeah, before you get too lost in all that, you reach for the small bottle of water sitting on a small table.

You barely have the cap unscrewed before a massive tremor shakes the whole aircraft, spilling half of the bottle’s content on your lap. Your hand immediately white knuckles the armrest of your seat, your eyes widening in fear and frantically scoping the cabin for the flight attendant or anyone that could tell you what the hell is going on. Then the panic pumping through your veins prompts you to check on Harry and wake him back to alertness, but to your relief, he’s already groggily shaking the slumber from his limbs with a deep frown on his face. "Wha’s goin’ on?"

If dread wasn’t firing each of your nerve-endings, you’d find his grumpy look and slurred speech quite adorable, but the sight of the frazzled-looking stewardess coming towards you is sending a different kind of chills down your spine. These people are trained to maintain composure in all circumstances, so her trepidation can only mean one of two things: she’s either very new at her job or there is clearly a cause for concern.

"You two need to fasten your seat belts immediately," she speaks hurriedly.

"Sophia, what’s going on?" Harry reiterates his question with more alarm.

"We’ve collided with a flock of birds. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet, so I need you two to buckle in."

You and Harry share a worried look then, still confused about the situation. The plane has regain some semblance of stability, it seems, but Sophia’s anxious behavior doesn’t sooth your nerves one bit. She makes a quick exit back toward the cockpit, probably to discuss the ordeal further with the pilots. You gulp your uneasiness away, fidgeting on your seat as your hands blindly feel around for the safety belt, but the image greeting your eyes as they veer back to the window has your heart dropping to your knees.

Lambent orange and red flaring from the engines and lapping at the wing. Black smoke leaving an angry trail behind the plane and fogging up the windows.

"Harry," you barely manage to breath his name out and the urgency of your tone has him straighten up in his seat. "Harry the wing is on fire." You twist your head back towards him only to find him jumping from his seat to plop down next to you. The absolute gleam of terror swimming in your eyes makes his blood turn cold, so he quickly takes your hand in both of his before glancing at the carnage taking place outside. He gulps in apprehension before buckling his seatbelt and checking that yours is clasped in as well.

"Fuck, okay, it’s okay, love. Everything’s gonna be okay." It’s more prayers than reassurances tumbling out of his mouth, squeezing at your hand in plea, and a couple seconds after his utterance the tremors resume with greater intensity. You both can feel the aircraft slanting downward as everything around you start shaking as though you were caught in an earthquake. Except, you couldn’t be further from earth at the moment, and the shaking is not going to just pass after a while.

Objects start falling and rolling down all over, the tray of complimentary drinks tumbling down from the back of the plane to crash at the front. You and Harry are wrapped up in a protective embrace, tucking your faces in each others neck to avoid impact and because you’re both too afraid to look at the unfurling chaos. You can feel your seatbelt straining against your lower belly in a dire attempt to keep you in one place, but as the plane starts plummeting for good, top becomes bottom, right becomes left, and your bodies become masses thrown around at the hands of gravity just like everything else.

The last thing you hear before everything goes south is a defeated ‘brace for impact’ coming from the small intercom of the cabin. You feel the brutal shock of the plane hitting smooth surface if it weren’t for the speed of the collision, and then it’s just water.

Water everywhere. Water enveloping your body in a frigid clutch, water weighing you down as it imbibes every fiber of your clothes, water invading your retinas and blurring your vision. Water seeping through your mouth, pouring into your lungs when you feel the skin at your shin torn by sharp metal.

You vaguely hear your name being shouted, but the shortage of oxygen in your system makes you feel delirious. At this point you barely have enough energy to fight unconsciousness, much less the threat of your crumbling surroundings. That’s how you don’t feel the hand grasping at your shoulder and hosting you up on a floating piece of broken wing. Harry is holding onto it for dear life as well, muttering more prayers and encouraging words for you to please stay with him but soon you are both overthrown by your unconscious, slowly drifting away on the makeshift buoy.

***

When Harry regains consciousness, the first things he feels is hard grounds underneath him. His ears are ringing, his throat is sore and his mouth feels dry, not to mention the splitting headache jackhammering at his skull. Groaning and frowning at the pain, that’s when he realizes that the ground against the skin of his cheek isn’t completely hard, but rather granular at the touch. Slowly, he brings his hands higher near his face and flattens them to hoist himself up. Once on his knees, he finally blinks his eyes opened, squinting at the blinding luminosity of the sun. And then it’s just sand.

Sand everywhere. Sand stretching miles into the distance. Sand itching at the joints of his fingers, sand creeping inside his shoes and clothes, sand weaving through his hair. Sand obnoxiously lingering on his lips, and as he tries to brush it off with the back of his hand, he has to spit some out of his mouth after realizing that said hand is also covered in it.

How did he find himself stranded on a freaking island? How did this happen? How could he be one minute safely by your sides, helping you through a tough situation, and then the next, thrown into the deep end - quite literally - scrambling for his life because some dumb birds decided to crash in the engine of the plane? Why him, why-

It’s a jolt to his brain then, an electric shock firing his body up to a standing position when the thought of you clashes in his mind. His breathing picks up considerably as he recalls the last time he saw you, passed out on the broken part of the wrecked airplane. He’d passed out soon after you as well, but what had happened since then? Had you find your way on this desolate beach as well? Or had your unconscious body slipped back into the water and sank all the way to the ocean floor until you reached that hidden museum of all the things and beings that fell victim to the sea?

Harry shudders at the thought. No. He’s not loosing you, now or ever, he convinces himself as he frantically jogs along the beach. Not when he never got his chance. His heart is lodged in his throat and threatening to escape at every passing second. Not when he still has unfinished, or rather, un-commenced business with you. Sweat drips down his face in searing droplet, a faint sting above his left eye barely registering in his frantic mind. Not before you know his last secret. His breathing is starting to get scarce until finally, finally his blurry eyes fall upon a figure stretched out on the sand, waves still licking at their feet. His job turns into a sprint as he begs for them to be you and for you to still be alive, desperate cries of your name echoing in the wilderness. "Please be okay, please be okay, fuck I need y-"

His relief is short lived once he takes in your passed out form, the blueish hue of your lips and the very lack of movement of your chest, twisting his guts in a painful knot. Harry abruptly falls to his knees next to you and brings his ear to your body hoping for any indication that you are still breathing. He fights the onslaught of hyperventilation that threatens to take over his body when he finds none and quickly checks your pulse at your carotid. His eyes pinch in brief respite: it’s faint but it’s there.

His brain almost goes into overdrive as he tries to recall everything he knows about CPR before his hands instinctively start pressing at your chest as though they already know what to do. It gives him time to absorb all the composure he can muster and think more clearly. He’s got to keep your heart going, that much he knows, and if you’re not breathing, it’s probably because you’ve got water in your lungs. Upon the realization he briefly stops the cardiac massage to pinch your nose and blow as much air as he can into your mouth.

For the next couple of minutes he does just that, alternating between insufflating oxygen through your mouth and pressing at your heart. His own breaks every time he pulls away from your lips and they still don’t pink back up to their usual lovely cherry color. Tears roll down his face in a constant flow, forcing him to wipe his face against the material of his shirt at his shoulder; there is no way in hell he is stopping his action for even a fraction of a second. He’ll die trying to save you before you die on him, and then he’d kick you ass from heaven down to hell for even thinking of leaving him behind.

All of a sudden you start coughing wet sounds from your throat, your body jolting from its spot on the sand. Harry’s never been so happy to hear someone choke (on water, that is) and as you turn your body sideways to let out all the excess of water clogging your chest, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back towards the sky in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers out in relief, before regaining his breathing and focusing back on you. He draws soothing circle against your back as you cough the last bit of water out of your mouth, pushing your hair out of your face to give you space to breath. Lord knows you need it.

"It’s okay, pet. You’re okay, you’re alive. Fuck you’re alive, I can’t- please don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?" He rambles at you as he cups your face with two trembling hands. He is in shamble in front of you, the high he was caught up in, in his order to save you finally dissolving and leaving only but shock and despair in its aftermath. You’d come this close to die in his arms, you both realize. This close from your life being highjacked from his in the middle of nowhere and the thought turns your blood even colder than it already is.

"‘kay, m’okay, Harry. We’re both okay," you reassure him too, and just hearing the sound of your hoarse voice is enough to calm him some. He brings you in a bear hug, tucking your face underneath his chin and draping is other arm over your back. You don’t hesitate before you return his embrace by wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a hot minute you remain intertwined in silence as you breath each other in and revel in the fact that you both survived the crash. Once your heartbeats have lowered down to healthier levels, you slightly part from each other and your eyes glisten as you lock them with his. "You saved my life, Harry," you whisper out to him with a tender caress at his cheeks, trying to ignore the small cut at his brow bone. "I just- thank you, thank you so much."

He answers with a small shake of his head, "don’t thank me, pet. I can’t imagine what I woulda done if y- if I couldn’t-" he struggles to let the words out and his face turns into a grimace at their implication. "M’just so relieved you’re alive, I’m the one thankful for that if anythin’," he ends up saying against the palm of your hand before leaving a small peck there.

As you move to stand up, you feel a sharp sting at your shin as soon as you apply pressure on your right leg. Looking down, you spot a gash at the skin, it’s not too profound that you won’t be able to walk, but it definitely needs tending to if you don’t want it to get infected. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration before catching the look of concern of Harry’s face. "It’s fine," you brush it off, "just gonna need to clean it out. That cut on your face as well," you motion at his injury and he brings his hand up to feel out the cut in confusion. He hadn’t noticed the small wound, you realize. "Right, yeah," he answers after inspecting the patch of blood coating his fingers now.

Now that the shock of the situation is slowly dissipating and that reality is setting in, you both start thinking about the next course of action. You’re both alive and relatively unscathed, but now what? How do you get out form this place? Where even is this place? And how do you go home? It becomes increasingly obvious that you don’t have much resources and that you need some sort of plan if you want to survive.

"What about Sophia and the pilots? Do you know what happened to them?" you suddenly remember the rest of the crew. Perhaps they know more about how to proceed in such a situation. They might even know where you’re located, how far you are from home and what’s the procedure to ensure everyone’s survival and rescue.

"I dunno, love. Didn’t see them when we were in the water, I think they might have been on the other side of the plane," the somber look on his face betrays his pessimism as to their fate. They would be on the beach as well if they had survived. As the same reasoning courses through your mind, you look down in sadness at the vicious image of them struggling in the water before succumbing to the fatigue. Harry notices your pained expression and brings you back against his frame to leave a small comforting kiss at your hairline.

"Alright, it’s gonna be fine," you declare in pretend confidence. "People will start looking for us, right?" you try to make light of the conversation. "Hell, there’s probably going to be a whole unit created to find you as soon as we don’t show up in London and I’m sure they’ll find us fast." Hope is emulating in your belly where water had previously drown your vigor. You’re probably right; surely, if the one and only Harry Styles disappears in the middle of a plane crash, the response will be worthy of the man.

He doesn’t seem to quite share the sentiment however, if the small frown and nervous nipping at his lips suggest anything. "Love, I- Jeff’s the only one who knows we were going back to England. He might not notice right away." It’s his own fear talking, the idea that it might take more than a day for people to notice their unsettling absence.

On a normal schedule, him and Jeff would be in constant contact, sharing details for the next day’s agenda, planning tours, interviews, promotions and pitching in ideas for new projects, but be that as it may, Harry was currently on vacation. He’d taken a couple weeks off to relieve the pressure from the last busy months and catch up on some much needed time with you, and Jeff knew that meant a little less consistent contact for this break to be as rejuvenating as expected. Would he think much of the absence of texts from his friend? At some point definitely, but how long would it take for concern to replace dismissal?

Talk about rejuvenation.

"What about the plane company?" you ask, not ready to see your hopes dwindle down.

He seems surprised at the thought for a second before the anxious lines on his face smooth out some, iridescent eyes locking with your own in renewed faith. "You’re right, Jeff was the one who made the booking, so the company will have to contact him once they know about the crash." You let your lips quirk into a soft smile at his optimism before he adds, "we just have to survive until then."

"Right," you dial back on the heart-talking and dares your brain to recall any tips about survival behavior you’ve ever heard. "So we need find water asap and to make a fire before the night falls." You know water should be your priority, you have three days before you die of dehydration, maybe even less under this blazing sun. And despite behind surrounded by water, you know that the sea can’t help you with that. It’s quite ironic in a sense, you find yourself trapped by water, yet the biggest threat to you in that instance is the lack of water consumption. As for the fire, you also know temperature can drop very low at night in places like this and since you don’t have anything to bundle yourselves in, hypothermia is your second biggest threat.

Harry nods in approval before looking around. The beach is enclosed between the sea and endless stretch of luxuriant green tropical jungle. "Come on then, we should try and see if anything from the plane made it out on the beach. I think I saw some pieces earlier, maybe we’ll find something to store water." You think it’s a brilliant idea since you will need some kind of container should you be successful in your quest for water. And with that, you both start walking back towards the edge of the shore, Harry’s hand holding tightly to your shoulder keeping you close to him.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #best friends to lovers #reader insert #creative writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles ou

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years ago

Text

Point of View - Original Statement Fic

Point of View (5004 words) by LadyNikita Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Statement Giver(s) (The Magnus Archives) Additional Tags: Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), this was intended as the eye but evolved into the vast as well, happens, cosmic horror, attempt at Eldritch Madness, unreality, Discussions of pointlessness and meaninglessness, Canon-Typical The Vast Content (The Magnus Archives), from the eps about space, Mentions of Death, Compulsion, discussions of free will (kind of), Dissociation, Panic, Mentions of addiction, Leitner Book (The Magnus Archives), except it was not possessed by Leitner, Pretty Colours <3, Neurodivergent Protagonist, Queer Protagonist, because I can project a bit as a treat, Can Be Read Without Prior Knowledge of the Podcast (I think)

Summary: "Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?" --- Statement of Lyria Ellison regarding a different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

Notes: Hiiiiii <3 I've been reading Lovecraft recently and as much as I hate the dude, The Colour Out of Space gave me so much inspiration that I immediately sat down and produced this in one sitting. I've been meaning to play with the concept of eldritch madness for a while; something about this trope is really appealing to me and I'm really enjoying my attempts at shaping it with words. Lyria is a preexisting OC of mine, I will give some background on her in the end notes because I love her very much. This is a form of practice for me; I'm playing with horror themes and I'd like to get acquainted with them to better incorporate them into my overall writing. Therefore I will accept constructive criticism if anyone wants to give it, but only in the form of DMs, either on Tumblr (your-queer-vampire-dm) or on Discord, if we know each other through a server. All of the warnings I think should be mentioned are in the tags, but if you think something should be added then please tell me!

Date: May 10th , 2018

Name: Lyria Ellison

Subject of experience: A different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

—

How do you start telling a story that changed your heart, your mind, and your soul so profoundly that you can barely still function in a society? How do you say all that without sounding borderline insane? Nobody knows what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. I know they would all say I’ve hallucinated it all and should seek treatment. But I know it won’t help. I know… I know so much now. Too much and not enough. Never enough. I know what happened was real . I don’t have proof so I’m guessing you won’t believe me either, but I need to tell someone about it. So I might as well tell you.

My name is Lyria Ellison and I’m a neuropsychology major. Ex-major, I should say. I dropped out after… Yeah. I dropped out; there’s not much point in continuing studying things about the feeble, insignificant human brain. Utterly pointless venture.

Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?

Just a year ago, I was convinced I was going to finish my degree. I was so passionate about it too, eager to learn more and more, to research and seek knowledge. Curious and fascinated by the world around us. What a foolish thing it was to give into that drive. My mind was open to the supernatural, although I always approached it scientifically; I never said the supernatural existed, but I also never said it didn’t. It was plausible; all in all, every scientist must accept that there is still a vast amount of knowledge we don’t have about the world.

The ignorance was a blessing. But I shall not get ahead of myself.

It started around December last year; my dad had died, and my girlfriend, Shawala, and I were clearing out his house. There wasn’t really anyone else to do it; my mother had passed a couple years prior, I had no siblings, and extended family was out of the picture as well; and my dad had gathered a lot of things in his adventurous life; he was a traveller, and he loved the world, loved learning about it, just like me. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with it all; my dad meant a lot to me back then, and Shawala proved an excellent support at that first shock. She promised to do some first view assessments of the ground floor, while I went to scope out how things looked in the attic.

It’s always either basements or attics, isn’t it? I used to read horror, Lovecraftian was my favourite – how ironic, isn’t it? How stupid . How utterly ignorant. The hubris of the human race at its finest.

Anyways, the attic was half-lit from the small windows in the roof, and dust was swirling in the faint light of the afternoon sun. It was cold here, but I didn’t pay much mind; the house was old, and it wasn’t surprising that there was draft. To say the space was cluttered would be an understatement; I could barely walk around the numerous boxes, old furniture, crates, and overflowing bookshelves; all of which made something in my chest curl tight, bringing tears to my eyes. I steered my steps towards the nearest bookshelf; I’ve always been a bookworm, fascinated by nearly any tome I came across; I’ve been reading popular science books since I was eight. So naturally, I was drawn to the books, taking huge steps above the cardboard boxes and careful not to hit anything else.

The books were old, of course, and dusty. Some of them had loose pages, and I treated them very gently, almost reverently. I have a little bit of a bookbinder streak, and I decided I would take them home and try to put them back together. As I rifled through them, I saw they pertained to a vast variety of subjects, from poetry, drama, and history, to science, metaphysics, and maths. The deeper I looked into this stunning collection, the more reverence rose in my heart; at my fingertips I had the oldest and the biggest accumulation of knowledge I had ever seen. I saw some books dated back even two hundred years ago.

At that point Shawala called me to check if I was alright. I put the book I had in my hands back and my knuckles brushed against the black leather cover of the next one on the shelf. I felt pleasant tingling in my palm at the touch and my heart leaped at the prospect; I didn’t know why – the book seemed ordinary enough on the shelf and there was no title on its spine.

I sometimes wonder if I could have just left it there and gone downstairs; chosen to come back later and then maybe, it wouldn’t have enticed me as it did. If, by that point, I had had any choice left on the matter.

Alas, intrigued by the book, I placed my palm on the spine and took it out. The leather was soft and smooth, probably sheep, with familiar subtle grains all over the texture. I remember it striked me as odd that it was warmer than the rest of the books in the drafty attic, but I shrugged it off. The front cover had a title, small but visible in the centre, etched in gold – Punctum Visus .

I, by all means, cannot read or speak Latin, but I figured it was something to do with vision. I opened the book, an unknown anticipation buzzing in my stomach. The pages were worn and old, their texture was slightly rough but pleasant under my fingertips; as I opened the front page, I saw the title again, this time in thick but still elegant, black letters, and the smell came up to my nostrils.

I tried to describe it in my head countless times after. I always loved the smell of old books, and I knew it very well, so it came to me as a surprise to realize it wasn’t the only smell I could feel from the book. It was… cold, somehow, distant but prickling at my nose, a little bit the way peppermint tastes. It reminded me of the night sky and distant stars somehow. The smell awakened an unease within me, as I couldn’t quite place what it was and why it seemed so weird , but it wasn’t by any means unpleasant. It was… enticing. Like a promise of a mystery.

I breathed it in again through my nose, closing my eyes, and for a moment I lost all feeling in my body. I was untethered and immaterial, somewhere in deep darkness that seemed to envelop me whole. It felt cold on my mind, stretching it thoughtlessly in the empty vastness, and I saw distant flickering lights of stars. Before I could form a coherent thought, I was back in myself, panting and shaking, staring at the front page of the Punctum Visus . I looked around with shaky breaths; the attic looked the same, and Shawala’s steps on the stairs reached my ears, with her voice calling my name. A shiver passed down my spine, causing goosebumps to bloom on my skin; was it the draft, the dread, or the excitement I couldn’t tell.

I knew I had to read this book, no matter what it took for me to do so.

I took it home, almost forgetting about the rest of the books upstairs. It had spent the next month laying in my room, as I dealt with the formalities and moving the rest of things that weren’t sold from the house either to my place or to charity. After the day we left the house for the last time, I collapsed in my bed, exhausted, but instead of closing, my eyes fell on the book unassumingly waiting on my nightstand.

A surge of excitement passed through me, waking me right up. I sat up and reached for the book. It was still warm; I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but warm it was. I think it made me subconsciously assign it more… being? Like, even before I knew anything, I somehow subconsciously accepted that it was more than just an object; that it was, in a sense, alive on its own. I brushed my fingers on the cover, feeling the texture of the leather and the etching of the letters. In the meantime during this month I had checked the meaning of the title – Point of Sight; a position from which a thing is or is supposed to be viewed. It makes so much sense now.

But then I didn’t know what dangers it held; or I didn’t want to think about them. I do remember feeling anxious, my hands trembling every time I opened the cover, but it was so mingled with exhilaration of the certainty I was discovering something important that I must have disregarded it. As I turned the pages, I wasn’t surprised to find the text in Latin; though I still felt a pang of frustration that it meant I couldn’t read it for now. I rifled through the pages, looking curiously at the letters that formed words yet unattainable to me. There was a hunger inside of me; a hunger to Know. As I turned the pages past various symbols, illustrations of the constellations, and of Earth, I determined it must be some sort of a metaphysical work. The point of view on the world around us.

Normally I just skim through works like this and leave them. While they are an interesting read sometimes, they’re not my favourite genre and, looking objectively, putting in the effort of learning a whole language just for the sake of reading a treatise on the meaning of cosmos by an unknown author seems strange at best. But somehow it seemed obvious to me that I had to read it. It called to me, sang into a part of my being that begged to be filled, promising knowledge that would finally leave me satisfied. I know now that it’s impossible. Once you’ve tasted the hunger for knowing, you will never find satisfaction; it’s like an addiction. You just crave more and more, and the knowledge never ends. After a certain point you know too much and when it all connects, when it starts to make sense… you slip. I didn’t know that, even though maybe I should have. I didn’t know what those things I was feeling meant then and I didn’t stop to question them; I gave into it as soon as it touched me. I was stupid.

What followed were a busy couple of months. Every waking moment that wasn’t spent keeping up the pretence of being interested in my major (back then I only thought it a brief hyperfixation, of course, and wouldn’t have called it a pretence at all), I was learning Latin online or staring into the incomprehensible words on the pages. This period of my life is a blur; I remember my friends checking up on me if I was alright, since I wasn’t particularly social anymore. Shawala got progressively more worried, but it fully escaped my mind to care. I know that staring thoughtlessly at the book took up more and more of my time; once, I remember, I returned from my classes at three PM and took the book out; when I came back to myself it was well past midnight. That’s when I started to feel truly uneasy about it. It was the second half of April; I looked back on what I’ve been doing these past months and this cold dread started creeping up to my throat. I realized I didn’t know why I wanted to read the book so much and I remembered the “vision” or the hallucination I had that first time in my dad’s attic. I had set it aside completely as unimportant, and I couldn’t wrap my head around why. I started shaking and theorizing in my head about the book being able to influence my mind somehow, to control it. Had my actions not been my own? How much of it was my own will and how much was the book? Was it even possible for it to influence me like that; could it be that it was supernatural in some way?

The house became cold, unnaturally so. It was dark and all the windows were closed, but a chill draft managed to find its way into the corridor I was in anyway. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees, trembling in panic. I was all alone in the flat, everyone I knew was surely already asleep in their homes, and I was small and weak in the face of something that maybe could have controlled my mind. I suddenly became aware of the leatherbound book in my hand, and I threw it along the corridor at the front door with a whimper, as far away from me as possible. The book thumped against the door, then the floor, and opened on a random page.

I’ve read enough horrors. I knew that the page would be significant, and that knowledge made me sob and hug my knees tighter. I didn’t know what was happening; I felt like I’d just woken up from a months-long dream… and perhaps I was right. The recent past felt alien.

I felt tears sting my eyes and that’s when the smell reached me. Again that mixture of old paper and peppermint cold, distantly sweet but freezing the blood in my veins. My breath came in ragged and shallow, and tears streamed down my face as I stared at the open book that was calling me in an inaudible whisper. The logical side of my mind was trying desperately to make sense of it, to assign the dissociative feeling to my father’s death and yeah, it was plausible, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. The whispers sounded again, swirling around my head, the golden sound almost touching the back of my neck, making me wince. It was enticing and promising, but this time, I felt terror instead of excitement. Disregarding how my mind was trying to rationalize the situation, I knew the book was cursed somehow. I knew that I was its victim. And I knew that I would not be strong enough to resist it.

I don’t know how much time I sat there, trembling, and sobbing into my knees, before I calmed down from the panic and decided I had to do something. I had to find out what this book was and how it found itself into my dad’s library. I couldn’t remember seeing anything in his diaries that would mention it at all, but then again, I didn’t read them all cover to cover. On wobbly legs I carefully made my way back to my room and searched the Internet until the sun started peeking out of the window; I found nothing about any book titled Punctum Visus . I tried all the libraries that I’d known of, that had their assortment online, all the research databases; nothing.

So, at the crack of dawn, with a fast-beating heart, I stood in the door of my room, staring out into the corridor, where the book still lay by the front door, unmoving. The golden strings of a wordless melody made it to my ears; it promised an explanation; that this time if I looked close enough, I would find what I was looking for.

What was I looking for?

Where else could I find the answers if not in the book itself?

I could feel its cold fingers slowly wrap around my mind, steering me to come closer. It called me with a hypnotising voice that awakened all the red signals in my brain, telling me to run and hide, but I didn’t. The voice meant danger, but I knew it also meant knowledge.

Dangerous knowledge. The pull dragged me through the corridor step by step; I hadn’t been fighting it as strongly as I could have had and I was about to start, since I was getting closer to the book, but suddenly I felt the chill of the influence let go, hovering close but out of reach. It was still compelling me to come, to Look, but I could move my own limbs. I had a choice to make.

Knowledge of danger. Did I believe my own warning thoughts that I would regret looking into the book? Did I take my own logical, rational side seriously? Was I ever good at resisting my own impulses?

I’ve never been addicted to anything, but then again, I never really had the opportunity, as it were; my friends were more of a no-alcohol types and I really ever smoked cigarettes once. I’ve never seen drugs in real life. So who’s to say if I’m not an addictive personality? And this, this was addictive. The thrill of mystery, the exhilarating process of learning, the anticipation of the answers.

Was it ever really my choice?

No supernatural force guided my steps that night; no cold fingers made me kneel next to the book and carefully cradle it in my arms, looking at the page with a shaky breath and tears in my eyes, as if I was coming back home like the prodigal son. But I’m sure it was by some paranormal means that this time I could understand the text on the pages.

I honestly don’t remember what it said. As I read the unfamiliar words, the meaning presented itself in my mind, not entirely unlike that first “vision” I had in the attic; as soon as I started reading I knew that I had made the choice and there was no turning back. That cold draft enveloped me, sat on my skin, and started to bite; I felt that smell again, stronger than ever before, something intangible but unmistakably inhuman . It was then that I realized that’s what had felt wrong to me about the smell since the beginning. It was inferior and alien. My hands started shaking as my eyes, glued to the text, moved now on their own down the page, drinking the words in. I was terrified out of my mind, but the pleasant tingling along my nerves was back, the anticipation of the promised understanding.

My mind was drowned with the tide of knowledge. This was just a prologue; a true discovery would require preparation, but I was almost ready. The voice said I was chosen, that I was a perfect candidate to bring It what It needs and that I would be rewarded. I cried tears of amazement and horror at the sheer scope of the voice – it seemed to encompass the entire world. I couldn’t comprehend it, but I didn’t know then that it was a blessing. I wanted to know, I craved to know what It was and how I could be of use to something so powerful, so huge. Divine. That was a word that crossed my mind, as much as I don’t like that. I don’t like many things, but I can’t change any of them.

The voice said I’m on the right path. I would Know and Understand. First, I needed to do something. As It told me what that was, doubt started to creep up to my mind. What was I doing? What was happening? How could this be real?

I came to on the floor by my front door, the cursed book in hand, with a tear-stained face and a bloody nose.

I knew what I had to do to get ready and, as I calmed down and went over everything in my head, I was surprised by how trivial it was. Honestly, by this point I was kind of afraid It would tell me to hurt someone, so I was glad this was just about reading a bunch of words in a specific location at a specific time. I was aware of the fact that this was most probably a ritual, and I was quite apprehensive. I kept arguing with myself in my head, over and over whether I should follow through, but deep down I knew that I would, no matter what I told myself. This part, I think, scared me the most; how compelling the promise of knowledge was, how reverently I’d found myself thinking of the book and its owner (which I assumed was the voice), how fanatical some of my thoughts sounded. I’ve never been religious, never really felt idealistic either. I was always focused on facts, on the here and now. Can knowledge be an ideal? Can you be a fanatic of Seeing and Knowing?

How much had I changed since I’d found Punctum Visus in that old attic.

I found a good, quiet spot, on the north-west side of the New Forest National Park near Southampton. I told no one about this, deeming it unimportant. I would come back after my big discovery, I would explain everything. I laugh at myself now; at my naivety.

The night of April 28 th was clear, and the starry sky looked back at me as I parked my car on the road in the forest and locked it. I tied a piece of a long red string to the wheel, not to lose my way in the forest, and started to walk forward. I held the book close to my chest, as if it could protect me from the dark, eerie outlines of the trees, swaying gently on the wind and whatever the darkness around me held. I didn’t light the torch; the moon was nearly full, bathing everything in its gentle light, and besides, for some reason it seemed that the crude yellow light would somehow break the sanctity of what I was about to do. I could see the ground in front of me and managed to lose sight of my car and everything else besides trees pretty fast.

I stopped when I found a small clearing. The moon was high in the sky, shining down on me like a big eye; I didn’t know why this comparison seemed the most fitting, but it did. I took a deep breath, feeling a chill plant little dots all over my skin, making my hairs stand on end. The wind died down and the trees froze, as if in anticipation. I felt something watching me closely; I was not alone here anymore.

The realization made my breath catch in my throat and the last streaks of sanity broke through my thick skull. Run! Drop the book and run! I didn’t. My hands trembled, my muscles tensed, and I stood there, frozen with fear as something stared at me, seemingly for eternity. Something bigger than me, bigger than anything I have ever seen was watching me, waiting. My eyes dropped to the book in my arms. The black leather was warm, as always, but this time I felt a pulsating sensation from it. A heartbeat.

I screamed. The book landed discarded on the ground, and I stumbled backwards and tripped, landing in the grass as well. It was cold and wet, and it glistened with something in the faint moonlight. At first I took it for water, but upon closer inspection I saw it was the grass itself that glittered – a shy rainbow, glowing iridescently in an impossible way. I froze, stunned, for I have never seen such colours before. It seemed utterly alien, something unfitting for the human eye to see; simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

As I looked around, I noticed that everything alive in the forest – the trees, the grass, the bushes, the plants – had taken on that iridescent mixture of faint light that prickled my eyes and sent a shiver of terror down my spine. It was beautiful, utterly gorgeous in a way that nothing a human eye can perceive could be. It was horrifying in how different, alien, and other it was. My senses could tell this is not of the Earth; not of this reality, not of this world; everything in me that still had common sense tried to recoil from the inferiority of this magnificence and the danger it brought, but I had abandoned common sense a while back. Maybe even when I touched the book for the first time. I stared then, breathless and trembling, at this scenery as if from a fairy tale and decided to lock away my rational thoughts. I wanted to See, to Know; I wanted to experience and if this was the death of me then hell, it was a pretty good way to go. To behold such a sight, I thought, was a reward in and of itself.

Of course, I had no idea what any of it meant. I slowly rose to my knees and patted the ground down until I felt the book. It still pulsated with this heartbeat and the letters etched in the leather glowed with golden light. My hands were sweaty, and I didn’t know whether I was shivering from fear or the cold. I opened the book on the first page.

What I saw was not what I had expected. I remembered that the first page, after the titular one, was the beginning of the introduction, that much I had understood, but now it was a big picture in black and white; a night sky, with an almost full moon and strewn with stars. It was a shot from the ground and treetops could be seen at the edges of the picture. As the book swayed in my hands, the stars glittered, and the perspective shifted ever so slightly, as if it was in 3D. Stricken by a surge of dread and cold certainty, I looked up. My suspicion was right – the picture in the book depicted the exact image that was now above me. I gasped quietly and looked down at the book—

And this is where things started to really go horribly, horribly wrong.

The book was gone. What’s more, the ground was gone too and suddenly everything was not where it should have been. I blinked but it did nothing to ease the dizziness; and when I composed myself enough to register what I was seeing I froze, the most intense horror I have ever experienced crushing my body from all sides and inside out.

I realized that I was Seeing. I was finally Seeing, and I Understood it all.

I don’t know how to convey in words what I saw. I don’t believe it’s possible; humans were never made to see and understand such things. I should have never touched the book, I should have never asked for knowledge. All my life I believed that knowledge was the point; it was a tool, and it was power. I don’t know what I think anymore. I think some knowledge should always be hidden because we were not made to know everything. We can’t , it’s physically impossible for us to comprehend.

For one moment in my life. For one moment I became something else, and I saw the world in the way It sees the world. For one moment I shared a mind with an eldritch being, a thing that is Fear itself, and I saw the Earth through Its Eye. I can’t… I can’t tell you just how horrible it is. How… How meaningless; we’re all intertwined things, guided by strings of web that lead us through life, and we’re all connected in this maze of fear . We’re not individuals; we’re not special. We don’t have souls and none of our experiences matter. We’re just fear. These… These entities are a part of all of us. They’re our fear and they live inside of us, inside of every living creature that can feel fear. Can you comprehend that? How can you be sure you are yourself when there’s a cosmic entity, a power as old as life itself, living you ? And no one has any idea. Nobody knows and if I tell someone they’ll think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think I’m crazy. But deep down I know what I saw. I know it was real. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified because I know that this Being of eyes that I became a part of watches everything I do. I feel Its presence here very strongly, and I guess it makes sense. It will never leave me. It’s a part of me, just like the rest of them; just like they’re all a part of every one of you, yet you have no idea. But I know. And I know I’m all alone with that knowledge, the knowledge that I can’t comprehend, but I know I could in that one moment. It’s a very lonely place to be and I’m scared.

I’m scared as I have never been before; this fear doesn’t leave me anymore. Every second of every day I’m aware I’m watched by something as great as cosmos. I’m aware I shared my mind with that being and it makes my skin crawl.

I don’t know what to do now, but I don’t expect any advice from you. I’m leaving the book with you, as proof. Its heart doesn’t beat anymore, and I’ve seen what I was supposed to.

Don’t read it.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a comment!! For people interested in a little bit of background: Lyria is a D&D character I have created that still awaits her chance to play in a campaign. She's an arcane scholar that has a dark little secret of actually being a warlock of a being she doesn't know a lot about. She's in love with knowledge and she seeks to learn about her powers as well as the world around her. I'm currently DMing a Ravenloft campaign and I just couldn't miss the fact how much potential for a corruption arc she has. Then I listened to TMA and I was like, she would definitely become the Avatar of the Beholding.

#i discovered you can copy tags straight from ao3 #ive been using that site for how many. 5 years now #:|#anyways #tma #the magnus archives #tma original statement #cosmic horror #niki.writes #lyria elerieth #goes in my oc tag because thats technically an au #im really happy with this one guys!

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kuraiandroger · 4 years ago

Text

Diasomnia Relationship Headcanons

Basically what the title says, they’re my favorite dorm and I’ve projected on them a lot so I hope I’m not alone in how I see these dynamics </3 Enjoy!

Lilia and Malleus

I see them as parent and child, even though Malleus seems to want to hide that sometimes. It’s probably because of his title and his age gap with the other children in the “family” that maybe he feels embarrassed about Lilia doting on him, but oh well. I still see him as a child compared to Lilia (despite the fact that he literally is lol) because he seems to be a lot less present in the kids’ lives, and we’ve gotten several glimpses of his apparent emotional immaturity (Avoiding his problems, throwing “lightning tantrums”, sulking, etc). Paired with the fact that Lilia covers for him a LOT while still acknowledging these issues he has... I just can’t see them as equals lol. I only see a father and his very mildly unruly lol son. U_U It’s okay Malmal I know you’re trying your best.

Lilia and Silver

A rather similar relationship to Lilia and Malleus, to be honest. It’s just a lot more open, and I suspect that’s because Silver is sort of young and he doesn’t really have anyone else he’d rather run off with. His temperament is different than Malleus to an extent; Silver doesn’t strike me as a child with a single rebellious bone in his body, so he has no problems hanging out with and admiring his old man. I like to think Lilia had a very tender bond with both of his sons when they were infants, and some of that shows still in his relationship with Silver. They are just good ol dad and son (but really, dad, I’m fine with doing the cooking for tonight).

Lilia and Sebek

Sebek himself has called Lilia his mentor, and I really think that’s the basis of what they are, but I also think Lilia takes some of the liberty of acting like a dad to Sebek too sometimes. I believe Sebek was very present in Silver’s childhood so he is comfortable with Lilia’s authority. A good example of this was when Lilia told Sebek to use a quieter voice in Sam’s shop, much like the way a parent would scold their child lol. Sebek, too, while admittedly gullible, seems to heed Lilia’s advice with great respect, such as when he showed the other first years his secret natto ingredient that he’d heard was good from Lilia.

Malleus and Silver

Contrary to what most people think (due to Malleus’ status as Silver’s guardian), I don’t entirely see him as “Silver’s other dad.” Here’s where I start projecting lmao because I had a sibling who was many years older than me myself, so I sort of get the “older sibling who I respect because they are that much older than me but I also barely know them” vibe from these two. I am sure that Malleus took responsibility for Silver when needed, but it’s just really obvious to me that Lilia is the primary parent and Mal almost certainly looked to him for advice. I dunno, I could be completely wrong about this one, but I am just rather hung up on Lilia still viewing Malleus as his child despite the fact that he is long grown and therefore Malleus doesn’t seem to place the same priority on parenting Silver that Lilia does (which, yeah, I realize could very well be because of Malleus’ title and all).

Some people have said it could’ve been out of respect, but I’ve also taken into account how little Silver seems to acknowledge Malleus as anything more than his liege (he didn’t even know very much about Malleus’ interest in gargoyles which....blows my mind a little lol) and really calls Lilia his father instead. There is a peculiar blend of comfort and distance between Malleus and Silver that I personally don’t entirely see as a parent-child dynamic </3. For the most part, I just see these two as distant age-gap siblings wherein the older one might’ve helped raise the younger one but was too much older than the younger sibling to really connect with them (This could change during the Diasomnia chapter, but yeah). TL;DR: Distant older sibling Mal, as evidenced by Lilia’s much higher influence as the true “father” figure.

Malleus and Sebek

A pretty obvious lord-and-knight dynamic here lol. Malleus seems pretty indifferent to Sebek’s devotion, but Sebek still wants to impress him anyways. I’m sure Malleus just lets him do whatever because Sebek’s a little kid to him lmao

Silver and Sebek

This one! My favorite one! Their sibling-like dynamic really stands out to me because again, I have lived it lmao. I like to see them as a sibling rivalry because it’s very refreshing to see within a piece of media that also focuses on sibling characters that do get along (the Leeches, etc). These two tend to bicker, and they only hang out when they have to (such as when the whole family is together, or when they’re at their school club), and seem to have their own separate social lives despite knowing a lot about each other. I’ve noticed they also pick on each other for things the other cannot control (such as Sebek’s “annoying” voice, or Silver’s sleep disorder). As someone who has a sibling I really don’t get along with sometimes, it just hits home lol.

I’ve noticed that something else us bratty siblings will do, is tend to ignore any traits we have in common in favor of shaming the things we don’t share... Which is very much something that Sebek and Silver do to one another. In reality, I really do think they have rather similar personalities, but the fact that each one expresses it so differently causes them to fight (for example, Silver and Sebek are both very blunt but careful individuals, yet their level of enthusiasm for what they do is a source of conflict). Despite this, sibling rivalry-dynamic characters will still have moments where they get along, such as when they share an activity, like swordfighting.

I like to think that while Sebek is quite literally just Silver’s childhood friend, they have reached a level of comfort (and annoyance) with one another after years of growing up together that their dynamic manifests the way argumentative siblings do, and I love that for them.

---

SOOO uh, thank you for reading if you did! This is my first text post in a really long time, please be nice to me if you happen to disagree with any of this, it’s just headcanons! Sorry if it’s a bit wordy at times too, I like to shove as much in as I can. </3 Anywho, we’ll get a better scope when Diasomnia’s chapter releases someday, haha.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland headcanon #headcanon #twst headcanons #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #twisted wonderland lilia #twst silver #twisted wonderland silver #twst sebek #twisted wonderland sebek #sebek zigvolt #diasomnia #relationship headcanons #they are a cute family okay

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spell-cleaver · 3 years ago

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Astrophilia

@star-wars-wlweek

Day 6: Fake Dating/Marriage & Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3 and on FFN!

In a final world, the largest steps may be taken without a blink: acquaintances, allies, friends. But in the middle of a war comes the harsh reality that any close relationship is strained, any bond is forged and all are tested.

Some, despite the odds, hold true.

The nondescript ship they’d hired was the last place one would find a princess, so it was perfect. Add to that the fact that Tatooine was also the last place to look, and that she was wearing her hair in a plain bun tucked under her hood rather than her elaborate styles, and it became almost impossible that someone should recognise Leia in these clothes.

That didn’t make Qi’ra any less nervous. “We need to sell this, remember.”

“I remember.” Leia cast a look at herself in the mirror, grimacing at the beige robes she was wearing to blend in. Behind her, she saw Qi’ra make the same face. “Though there are plenty of people trying to fly under the radar here. I doubt anyone will look too closely.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Leia nodded. She could respect that.

“What are our aliases again?” She turned back to Qi’ra as the beep went off that warned they’d be reverting to realspace, and headed to the cockpit.

“My contact was unfortunately obnoxious and gave me limited options, so I am Rey Salli and you are Anna Salli, my wife.”

“Your contact was obnoxious?”

“He knew this was supposed to be a quick job but decided to make us work for it.”

“We have to pretend to be married?”

“If you can stand to do so.”

Leia smiled. “I think I can, yeah.”

QI’ra met her gaze. “I’m only here because you’re paying me, remember.”

“I know.” Leia tamped down her disappointment. “And I appreciate that you keep sticking with the Alliance despite how poorly we do pay.”

“You pay—” She faltered. “Better than other jobs.”

No they didn’t.

Leia glanced at the monitor. “We’re reverting to realspace in five, four, three, two, one—”

They flashed into space above Tatooine, a yellow-brown dustball hanging in the viewport, two suns burning furiously in the distance. Despite what a miserable world she knew it to be—and despite Qi’ra’s stories of her own experiences there—she smiled at the sight of it.

This wasn’t a Rebel mission. This was a personal mission. She wanted to meet the brother she’d only just discovered, but she hardly wanted to lead any enemies tracking her towards him unless necessary. So… Qi’ra was helping.

Anchorhead had no spaceport, so they aimed for Mos Eisley instead. The comm crackled with a hail. “Unidentified transport, please give your name and passenger details.”

Imperial. Whether it was the Imps or the Hutts who had a grip on the spaceport seemed to change with the winds.

Qi’ra replied; her voice wasn’t known for borderline treasonous speeches. “This is the personal ship Dragonstar, owned by myself, Rey Salli, and my wife Anna.”

“Your wife also bears the name Salli?”

“Yes.”

“What is your business on Tatooine?”

“Business and distant family calls. My, uh, second cousin once removed and his wife invited us over.”

They could hear the long sigh on the other end and knew he could not be bothered to verify that. “Cleared. Be prepared to provide evidence of identification upon entry.”

The comm clicked off. Leia cast a glance at Qi’ra. “The Empire are really pushing back, aren’t they?”

Qi’ra didn’t take her eyes off the viewport, and the spaceport growing larger in the scope. “Stay alert.”

They landed, and as they walked down the ramp Qi’ra took Leia’s hand. She jerked with surprise, but didn’t have to fake the smile she gave her.

Qi’ra, against her will, smiled back.

They approached the door to the bay. Stormtroopers patrolled beyond, in the spaceport proper, and Leia tried to show no unease. An officer came to meet them at the door. “Identification?”

Qi’ra handed it over. He scanned it, and found no faults. “Continue.”

Leia nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

He didn’t even look at her before he marched away. Rude, but thank the stars for it.

They rented a speeder and were hunting for Anchorhead by the time the suns began their descent, their long fabric head coverings flapping behind them in the wind. Of course, that was about the time Leia realised they were being followed.

“Qi’ra,” she murmured, leaning perhaps a little too close to her in the pilot’s seat. But they were pretending to be married anyway, and there were eyes on them, so… “I think a bounty hunter is following us.”

Qi’ra tensed up and glanced in the speeder’s mirrors. There was indeed a dark shadow on the horizon—far enough away that it could have been a trick of the light. But Leia knew when she was being followed, and she knew this desert was barren enough that they wouldn’t run into anyone else if they weren’t being followed.

“We can’t lead them to your brother’s home, and it’s hard to lose someone when there’s such a large open space,” Qi’ra murmured. “We could try to outrun them.”

“Or, we have to fly through the Jundland Wastes to get there anyway,” Leia pointed out. “We could hide in the rocks, and lose them out there.”

“They’ll be after you, of course.”

“I’m not that important.”

“There’s only one of them, right?”

Leia squinted. She couldn’t see very well, but she was pretty sure—“Yes, there’s only one.”

“There you go. You’re not that important.”

Leia wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scowl. She settled on laughing. “Fly faster and we’ll lose them over there.”

Qi’ra hit the accelerator and they shot off even faster. Fast enough that the speeder shuddered like flimsi in the wind and Qi’ra looked tense as a tow cable, but Leia put a hand on her shoulder and she relaxed.

Qi’ra said, “We’re out of sight now, you know. Of them and the Imperials. We don’t need to pretend.”

Leia pulled back her hand and nodded. “You’re right. We don’t need to.”

Qi’ra winced. “Leia—”

“Keep flying. We’ve lost them, but I don’t trust that they won’t catch up again soon.”

She kept flying. Leia kept her hands in her lap, perfectly proper. They came up to the Wastes and flew between the great walls of the canyon, watching it crook up towards the sky in massive hunks of sandstone.

Qi’ra’s hand slipped on the controls, sweaty from the heat, and Leia caught it automatically. She didn’t miss Qi’ra’s intake of breath but also didn’t let the touch linger, withdrawing quickly.

!I’m glad you trusted me to come and meet your brother,” Qi’ra offered. “Even if I’m leaving soon.”

Leia felt herself shutter her heart, almost on instinct. “You’re a valuable asset—you’re reliable, discreet and professional.”

“Yes. Professional.”

“We would very much like you in a more permanent role, but until then—duck.”

“Duck?”

“Duck.” Leia grabbed Qi’ra’s shoulders and threw her back, the bolt aimed at her head barely missing it. The speeder dived to the side—a last minute manoeuvre stopped them hitting the rocks.

“Is that the bounty hunter!?”

“They must’ve known a shortcut.” Leia drew her blaster. “You fly.”

She scanned the sky—there. A few metres above them, where the canyon wall sank. A figure crouched with a sniper rifle, their back to the suns, but she thought she could take them out even with her eyes dazzled—

She fired off a volley of shots. They missed. She fired again.

Qi’ra shouted. The speeder swerved. Her aim struck true, the bounty hunter falling to the canyon floor, but Leia dived across the speeder to grab the controls and bring them to a halt as Qi’ra gasped and clutched her shoulder.

Leia grimaced.

That was… a lot of blood.

“Is he dead?” Qi’ra gritted out. Leia barely heard it at first, too busy yanking open the medkit for bacta and gauze.

“I said, is he dead.”

Leia peeled the ruined clothes back from the wound. It looked bad. “Yeah. He’s dead.”

Qi’ra relaxed.

Leia started cleaning the wound, gripping her hand and squeezing it when Qi’ra hissed. “I… can’t do too much for this here. We’ll have to wait til we get to the homestead. It’s not far.”

Qi’ra leaned against her as they switched seats, and Leia tried to ignore her own heartrate. “Was he after you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check.”

Leia went to check. The bounty puck that stared back at her when she went through his things wasn’t what she expected.

“It’s for you,” she told Qi’ra when she returned. “From Crimson Dawn.”

Qi’ra peered at the bounty. “Not much there.”

“Better for staying alive.”

“I know. I’m insulted, but glad.”

They sat together, staring at it a little. Qi’ra was deadly still.

Leia put a hand on her good shoulder. “Lie back. I’ll make a bed. Then we’ll get to the homestead as fast as possible.” The sunset was tinting the world with colour now, and the shadows of Qi’ra’s delicate face were cast in red and gold.

Qi’ra studied her, suspicious of her tenderness, but eventually she consented to lie back, a slow sigh seeping out of her as she did.

Leia took the controls and flew on, keeping a close eye on her companion, until the sunset enveloped them both.

#leia organa #qi'ra #leia x qi'ra #my writing #random words on a page #starwarswlweek2021 #flash fiction: star wars #flash fiction

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angelsswirl · 4 years ago

Text

Whatever Makes You Happy

Chapter 2: try to get to heaven

I can feel your eyes in the back of my head Burning, burning, burning Floating through the room as the hairs on my arms are Rising, rising, rising

You had never been quite sure why most people didn't like children. Quite frankly, it wasn't fair. To be disliked simply for not knowing the things someone older than you might.

Most children do not lack public decency like most assumed they do. Lisa would have led you to believe that her children were like that as well. But, Kijung and Dohyung had been perfect seven year old gentlemen the past three days.

You chuckled as Dohyung frantically explained his day to you. You're not sure why he's telling you. You were the curator of his day.

A requirement on the application for the job of nanny for Lalisa Manoban, included being able to speak fluent English, Thai, and Korean. You thought English was a bit odd for you to be able to speak. You knew Lisa was fluent in all of those languages, but you doubted she would be speaking English in her home. You supposed thai and korean were self-explanatory.

You could speak English and Korean just fine, but Thai is where problems where developing. Kijung and Dohyung would go in and out of all three languages so quickly that you would struggled to keep up. And also wondered if their heads hurt.

You're not even sure how you got the job without speaking thai fluently. Lisa had claimed to have read your paperwork. You'll have to check back in with that later.

"Dohyung, do you mind slowing down a bit? We don't want you to pass out." He looked at you funny. His soft round eyes squinting in confusion before turning to the sound of the front door being open.

Lisa stuck her head through the open door as if trying to scope out the room. She faked defeat as she noticed Dohyung staring at her happily.

"Y/N, I asked you if the coast was clear. I thought you had my back."

You decided to help Lisa keep up her little skit if only for the twins' sake.

"The coast was clear. But Double 0-Doh, here is a master spy. I think he would have found you no matter what."

Lisa huffed as she finally entered the house. She sat her things down on the side table next to the front door, "I suppose you're right. If you're going to jump on me, at least let me brace myself."

Dohyung didn't heed the warning. Instead, he ran as fast as his legs would take him and stumbled into his mother's legs. You're not surprised to see the streak of blue coloring Kijung's signature pajamas following right after him.

"Mom!"

Lisa does well not to fall on her ass, and you admire the picture. You had only been on the job for three weeks, but you had just about instantly noticed the amount of love the family exuded for one another.

You do your best to not feel like an intruder.

Lisa ruffled the boys hair and they instantly scrambled away from her in protest. Kijung and Dohyung weren't that similar apart from the fact that they possessed the same face. But if there was one thing they hated it was anyone messing with their hair. They get it from Lisa.

They were going to be thoroughly unimpressed when you took them to the barbershop the next day.

It isn't until the twins retreat from Lisa and back into their room that you notice her outfit. It must have been a casual day for her. Lisa seemed to abide by a non-existent dress code at LLE, but apparently today was not one of those days, and the longer you stare, the more you wished it was.

And honestly, it's embarrassing, because she's only wearing the tighest jeans known to man and a plain white t-shirt covered precariously by a leather jacket.

You stare at Lisa a lot. You don't think she's ever really caught you. You don't think that until your eyes trail up her body and meet her eyes. Her eyes that are staring right back at you, just as hungrily as you, dare say.

In that very moment, you could have been easily convinced Lalisa Manoban was trying to kill you.

And what a way to go.

"My eyes are up here, y'know?" There's a hint of humor to her words but she's not smiling or laughing.

You slowly remove your lip from inbetween your teeth to speak, "I know exactly where your eyes are, Ms. Manoban."

Lisa licked at her bottom lip before nodding slowly.

"Then why do you never look me in them?"

You stood up from your place on the black leather couch. You walked toward her slowly. Lisa made no move to remove herself from the situation, so you continued in her direction.

You don't stop until you're directly in front of her. Close enough that if she wanted to touch you she could, but just far away for her to actually have to work for it.

"I think the same could be asked of you, Ms. Manoban. For example, you're staring directly down my shirt right now."

The corner of Lisa's lip quirked up, "That's because if I looked straight ahead, I'd been looking clear over your head."

You rolled your eyes, "Ha. Ha. You're not even that much taller than me. But that's, besides the point.

"Ok. Then, what's the point, Y/N?"

You stay silent for a moment, your eyes trailing down to Lisa's lips, "Why'd you hire me, Lisa?"

"I told you already. I didn't want to interview anyone else."

"No. That's not the reason. I've seen you're work. You're not lazy. I was probably the least qualified person you interviewed that day. I have no prior experience. I can't speak thai. And don't get me wrong, I will do everything in my power to keep those kids safe. But there were definitely better candidates for the job than me. So again, I ask, why'd you hire me, Lisa?" You slowly rolled onto the tip of your toes. Bringing you to eye level and ever closer to Lisa's lips.

"That's a really good question. Would you believe me if I said I didn't know?"

"Nope." You whispered the word into her ear. Your lips grazing over the shell. Her breath hitched.

"I didn't think so."

You're a millisecond away from just giving in and crashing your lips together, but there's a knock at the front door.

"Who could that be?" You asked Lisa softly.

Lisa didn't answer you, she only frowned before turning to the door and opening it rather harshly.

"Seu-"

"Pookie!"

As soon as the door was thrown open a woman you had never seen before jumped onto Lisa. Her legs wrapping around the CEO's waist.

"Pookie?" You parroted at Lisa. You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest. An angry frown slowly covering your face.

"I-" Lisa was quickly cut off by the mystery woman, who was now slowly peeling herself away from Lisa.

"Oh, you must be the maid. Go fetch me a cup of tea now, would you?" You looked the woman up and down. She was dressed nicely. Immaculately even. Her hair and makeup was done to perfection just as well.

"I am not the damn maid."

"Oh I get it. You want a tip first." The woman attempted to pat a five dollar bill into your hand. You had half a mind to take it out of spite.

"I don't want your money. I'm not the maid."

The woman began to frown, then turned to Lisa who was still facing away from you. Like a coward.

"Then what are you doing here? What's going on, baby?" The woman asked Lisa. You watched Lisa's shoulders rise up and down, as though she had just taken a large sigh. She slowly turned on her heels.

"Yeah, what's going on, baby?" You repeated cheekily. Lisa rolled her eyes lamely before speaking.

"Seulgi, I told you I was going to be getting a new nanny for the boys. I also told you to call me before you showed up here." Lisa scolded.

Seulgi only rolled her eyes and waved Lisa off.

"If you're the nanny shouldn't you be nannying. Tuck the gremlins into bed or something."

"They're seven, not two. I'll go check on them later."

You glanced at Lisa once more, she pointedly avoided eye contact with you. You scoffed under your breath then hurried off to your room.

And of course, this was ridiculous in the grand scheme of things. Feeling hurt and betrayed over a woman you've barely been intimate with, and shouldn't even be thinking about in the ways you do.

You didn't know who exactly that woman was to Lisa, but you knew who you were to her.

The nanny.

And that's all you'll ever be.

You're just going to have to live with it.

#Whatever makes you happy #lisa x reader #lisa fanfic #blackpink fanfic #jesssica's fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

kiss me in the d-a-r-k .epilogue iii.

after hours

masterlist

Warnings: dub con sex (oral, intercourse)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is surprised.

Note: Fic daddy here. Please tell me to stop calling myself that. I’m here, writing this still and this part is 🔥🔥🔥 I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply!

...

Sunday morning. You woke up in a foreign bed with a foreign feeling of someone laying next to you. Steve's hand was on the blanket along your stomach.

You barely remembered falling asleep. He was too tipsy to drive and didn't trust your own state on the subway. So you relented and stayed, only too eager to sleep. Now you wished you'd left as you peeked over at him.

He laid on his side, his arm stretched across you. He was peaceful. He looked older. Well, he acted younger than he was. You rubbed your forehead and slipped out from beneath the covers.

You grabbed the white robe hanging from the closet door and wrapped it around yourself. You went to the floor length windows that overlooked the city and stared out at the early morning traffic. You yawned and lost yourself in the distant lights and muffled cacophony of the streets.

You sensed movement behind you. You didn't look back as you focused on the colours and people below. What were you doing? Why had you done it again?

You just couldn't help yourself. He had this power over you. The ability to pull your guiltiest urges to the surface. To make you forget all qualms and surrender entirely.

"Coffee?" His voice was still thick with sleep. "There's a machine here."

"No, I think I'll get one on my way out. I gotta study. I've got my first midterm this week." You turned slowly to him as he neared. Naked.

"You got your bag. You can study here." He coaxed as he pulled you into his arms. "I have some running around to do so I won't bother you...until I get back."

"Thanks, but I can't." You ran your hand along his chest.

"Fine," He shrugged, "Will you at least leave me with a little something to distract me?"

Your brows knitted as you considered him. He was insatiable. "Again?"

"It's a new day," His hand dipped down and squeezed your ass. "Let’s end the weekend on a high note."

You sighed and brought your arms up along his shoulders. "I suppose you've got a point."

Monday you had class until one and then the workshop at three. You expected it to last a couple hours and you’d be ready to settle down and study until you fell asleep. A full day to start a full week.

Wednesday was your midterm and you spent every empty minute going over your notes, even at the expense of your other classes. Next week, you’d deal with those as you crammed for three exams in as many days.

Your morning classes were slow. The first lecturer was a small old lady who refused to use a mic so every student hunched over their desk to hear her. Your second was a younger man, a new hire all too eager to enrich the minds of those only a few years behind him. You diligently recorded your notes and ignored the buzzing of your bag. Steve was as relentless in text as he was in person.

In the hours between, you grabbed lunch and checked your messages. Kylie wanted a study night as she crammed for the exam she’d forgotten about and Steve wanted what he wanted. You told both you’d see what happened. Neither was happy. The Rogers’ were rapacious.

You were early to the workshop as you were early to everything. The door was open and you peeked inside to find only Professor Barnes inside. He was fiddling with the projector remote and you shyly stepped inside. Since your night of beer with the two older men and you little conversation with Steve, your nerves had grown more frantic when thinking of him.

“Um, hey,” You alerted him to your presence as you entered. “Looks like I’m early.”

“Or just in time,” He flipped the projector on and tossed aside the remote. “You wanna help set up?”

“Um, sure.” You set your bag down along the front table and crossed to him. “What can I do.”

“Just have some packets that need to be distributed. We have about twenty people. You can space ‘em out.” He pulled out a stack and dropped it on the table along the front. “Oh, and another favour…”

“Yeah,” You looked up at him as you pulled the pile over to you.

“Don’t mention our little beer night to anyone.” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

“Oh, of course,” You agreed with a nervous chuckle. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Thanks,” He smiled and turned back to dig around in his bag.

You went along the tables and doled out the packets. You glanced over at the professor now and then and wondered. Had Steve been wrong? He surely didn’t want to fuck you. Steve just liked to flatter you. He was good at that. Liked to tease you over your stupid little crush. You shook your head as you came to the end of the stack and kept the last for yourself.

You sat beside your bag and tapped your fingers on your desk. You picked at the corner of the front page and Bucky cleared his throat. Professor Barnes, you corrected yourself as you looked up. He neared the other side of your table.

“You have class after this?” He asked.

“Nope, only studying for my demise,” You answered.

“Hmm,” He nodded. “Would you be open to discussing your last paper then? Only fifteen minutes or so but I thought you’d rather that than stay behind on Friday.”

“My paper?” Your voice quavered without your consent.

“Oh, it’s nothing bad,” He assured you. “Don’t worry so much. So, does that work for you?”

“Sure, yeah,” You shrugged. “I haven’t got anything else to keep me.”

“Great,” He smiled and backed away.

He glanced up as voices echoed down the hall and grew nearer. Other students began to trickle in and you pulled out your phone. You sent the same message to Steve and Kylie. ‘Appointment tonight. Dunno when done. Sorry.’

The workshop went relatively quick. Barnes reviewed the schedule and the basics of journalism and publishing. The ten-week program would include visits to magazines and editors all over the city and culminate in the chance to have an article published by one. It was exciting and you wondered what kind of strings the professor had to pull to set it all up.

When he dismissed the class, chairs scraped and voices filled the silence quickly. You packed up and checked your phone. Kylie had sent a sad face and Steve was much less affected; ‘no problem ;)’. As you slipped your phone away, Barnes looked up from his bag.

“Hey, you didn’t forget already, did you?” He kidded.

“Of course not,” You grabbed your jacket and bag. “Just in here?”

“Nah, there’s a class coming soon, we’ll have to head to my office but it’s just a few floors up.” He hooked his bag over his shoulder and waited at the end of your table. “Elevator’s under service right now though. You’ll get a decent work out in.”

You giggled and followed him out of the room. You hated how dumb you sounded when he was around. How you must have seemed like some little girl. You weren’t, not anymore. The summer had made you a woman and you were tired of being treated otherwise.

When you reached his office, you were out of breath. You needed to start walking as much as you read. He unlocked the door and ushered you inside with a wave of his arm. You entered first and were surprised when he closed the door behind him. Most professors made a point of leaving their offices open.

“I don’t wanna keep you all night,” He put his bag on his desk and threw the flap open. “We’ll just go over a few things.”

He sifted through the papers within and pulled out a stapled bunch. You neared the chair opposite his desk and set down your bag and jacket. he was beside you before you could sit.

“I’ve underlined all the errors, as few as they were. Comments in the margin.” He handed you your paper. “Again, minimal, but helpful. We learn something new every day.”

“Uh, yeah,” You took it and thumbed through it. “Thanks.”

“You make all the corrections and it’s perfect.” He praised. “Ready for submission.”

“Submission?” You turned and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a contest in Media Scope Journal. I think you’ve got a good chance of winning and I’d hate for you to miss the opportunity.” He explained. “A second year, published in a scholarly journal is a hell of a thing to have on your CV.”

“You--you really think I could get in?” You marveled up at him. “I--” You looked down and let the title page fall flat. “Thanks. I’ll make the changes and get it back to you.”

“Great,” He patted your arm but his hand lingered. “You’re a smart girl. You could go very far.”

You looked at his hand and then up at him. His blue eyes gleamed and his silver-laced beard defined the natural angles of his jaw. You smiled back at him and your cheeks burned. He squeezed your arm and slowly his fingers brushed along your sleeve.

Without a second thought, you stood on your toes and pecked his lips. The tickle of his beard and the smoothness of his lips broke you from your trance at once. You backed away and slapped your hand over your mouth as the paper threatened to slip from your grasp. He blinked but was calm as ever.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” You pressed your palm to your hot cheek. “I didn’t--I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have--” You turned and grabbed your bag and shoved the paper inside. “I should just go work on this.”

“Wait,” He followed closely, his hand planted on the back of the chair to block you as you turned to flee. “You don’t have to. It’s...okay.”

“It’s really not,” You cringed. “That was so--so--”

“Right.” He finished for you. “Don’t you feel it? This thing between us.”

You stared back at him stunned. Did you knock your head and pass out? What was going on?

“It’s wrong,” You insisted. “You’re my professor.”

“So,” He countered. “It shouldn’t matter. I mean, I’ve never...with a student. Never felt like this but…”

“Professor--”

“Bucky,” He corrected breathily, his hand on your shoulder again. “Call me Bucky.”

“I...I...I…” You stuttered.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” His hand came up to cradle your face. “You’re young. You have the whole world ahead of you. What’s one little lapse.”

You searched his face. His finely lined eyes, his cheekbones still perfectly chiseled, his soft lips just beneath his thick beard. He was a handsome man, despite his age. The time only seemed to have complemented his looks. He leaned in and all your reticence slipped away. As his lips met yours, the tension snapped and you were swept up in the rush. You dropped your bag and jacket to the floor.

He turned you and pushed you against the desk so that you were caught between him and the wood. He was strong but gentle, his hand tickled your neck as he kissed you deeply. He was fervent, determined, as if he has been thinking of this as long as you had.

His hands traveled along your arms and gripped your hips. They slipped around and he lifted you onto the edge of the desk as he slouched to keep his lips on yours. He pulled at the hem of your knit sweater as he pushed between your knees.

You raised your arms as he parted to pull the sweater over your head. Your wore the same grey bra beneath and his eyes flared along the top of your breasts. He cupped one and bent to bury his face in your chest.

His beard tickled and you giggled. His teeth surprised you as he nibbled the flesh and you exclaimed. He was rougher than Steve, his touch as decisive but without the same tenderness. Bucky didn't think of you as a girl, you realized, liked Steve did. He treated you like a woman.

His fingers unhooked the button of your fly and pushed the zipper down. He slipped below your panties and you spread your legs wider. You welcomed him as he played with your clit, his lips inch back up you neck and to your mouth.

He rubbed your bud as your breath caught and you pulled away to gasp. He kissed your neck and teased your skin with his teeth as he continued to toy with you. You grinded against his hand and his fingers slid back to your entrance.

He pushed two fingers inside and you moaned in surprised delight. You never expected him to be like this. Straight to the point. He pressed his palm to your clit and curled his fingers. His hand moved steadily and he raised his head to watch your face contort in pleasure.

You pouted and rasped as your nerves started to buzz. His other hand grasped the back of your head as his blue eyes bore into yours. Don't look away. You were ready to burst as you clasped his shoulder and your other hand squeezed his bicep.

"Come on," He bent and whispered in your ear. "Let it go."

The orgasm tore through you like a storm and left your wits scattered. He eased you down from your peak and slowly removed his hand. He held up his glossy finger and licked them. The sight inflamed you.

"Get down." He ran his hand along your thigh. "Turn around."

You stood shakily and obeyed. When your back was to him, he took your hands and placed them flat to the desk. He grabbed your hips and pulled you back so you were slightly bent over.

He tugged your jeans and panties past your ass and the cool air tickled your pussy. He grabbed your ass and squeezed. Then slapped it so hard you squealed. He gave a dark chuckle and drew his hands away. You heard his belt, then his zipper. Your lashes fluttered and you peeked over your shoulder.

He spanked you again. “I didn’t say you could look.”

You bit your lip and faced the wall. A small window behind his chair looked out onto campus below. You had a sudden sense of deja vu. He stepped closer and his cocked poked your ass. He purred as he pressed himself to your back and his hand fiddled around between you. He guided himself to your entrance and pushed inside.

He was thick and stretched your as he got deeper and deeper. Your nails dug into the wood of his desk and he reached around to cover them with his own. He bottomed out and nibbled your ear with a growl.

“Fuck.” He swore and squeezed your hand as his other floated up to your chest. He pushed your bra up and tweaked your nipple. He kneaded your tit and gave a long slow thrust. “You want more? Ask.”

Your tongue slipped out between your lips and you groaned. You pushed back into him and wiggled your ass.

“Ask,” He pinched your nipple again.

“More, please?”

“Please?” He repeated and nuzzled your neck.

“Please, Professor Barnes.”

He snarled and slammed into you. The buttons of his shirt rubbed against you and caught on your bra. You were on tip toes as he crashed into you again and again. You whined as the reverberations rippled through you. Your thighs and back tingled with the mounting pleasure. Steve was firm but never this harsh. Never this savage.

Your hips hit the edge of the desk each time he rocked his hips. Your hands slid across the wood and messed the papers and pens atop his desk. He pounded into you until you were bent over it entirely. His hands went to your shoulders and he pinned you down.

He never wavered. His grunts and groans filled you with pure heat. You gripped the far edge of the desk and panted into the wood. You exclaimed as you came again. This time it was even more intense. Your feet were off the floor as he rutted against you.

He grabbed your hips and fucked you harder. His thrusts grew erratic as his breathing got louder. He pulled out of you all once and growled. You felt warm ribbons spill along your left thigh as he came. His fingers spread across your ass as his other hand stroked him through his climax.

When he was done, he tapped your ass and backed away. You trembled as you pushed yourself up and looked between your legs. His cum was all over your panties. You turned to him as he tucked his cock away. You would’ve been embarrassed if the haze of lust hadn’t blinded you.

“Just take ‘em off,” He said as he smirked at your dirtied panties. “Or keep ‘em on...that’d be kinda hot.”

You glanced up at him in shock. The eloquent professor, the disciplined scholar, was as lewd as any fratboy. You shoved your pants down and swiftly untangled your panties. You pulled your jeans back up and buttoned your fly. You frowned at the wet fabric. You folded them carefully so that the mess was hidden.

“I...should go.” You took your bag and buried your panties at the bottom. You grabbed your sweater from the floor and stood. “Study.”

“Sure,” He neared and his hand traced the curve of your waist. “I need those changes by Thursday. Can you do that, baby?”

You blanched at the nickname. It sent a thrill through you and yet it sent you into a spin. You had fucked your professor. In his fucking office. And he just happened to be buddy buddy with your best friend’s dad. Who you had also fucked.

“Of course,” You smiled and he brought both his hands up to cradle your face.

“Good girl.” He kissed you hungrily, his tongue pushed inside and he didn’t stop until you were breathless. “Go. Study.” He caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll see you around.”

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dabblescrawl · 5 years ago

Photo

I Want Adult Problems - Part One

Turning the key that her brother had the lawyer hand off to her after his sentencing she glanced around the home. The yard was bare, like the house hadn’t had a resident in a while. she guessed from what the lawyer had said that it wasn’t true though. From what she relayed it sounded like a Santo who had resided here before had a bad habit of making things a mess and never cleaning them up. It was going to be a lot of work she’d said, but her brother wanted her to take it.

Sad Eyes had gotten arrested a few weeks ago on a run and at his trial this morning he’d been sentenced to prison time. Two years. Apparently, the house was from the Santos as a concession for his getting caught. The only catch was that it had to be cleaned up.

She hadn’t wanted to take it at first, but there really weren’t any choices. After all she didn't really have anywhere to go anymore. Plus the house came with Santo protection. That was important, everyone knew her family was generational Santo. Sure, she’d stayed away from it as much as she could but when your older brother was a Santo like all the males relatives before him, well, everyone knew you were affiliated too. With her oldest sister gone and Sad Eyes in the joint there was no one left.

Her parents had been killed in a drunk driving accident. The accident had been their fault, they’d been the ones drinking and driving on a Friday afternoon, on their way to get her from school, presumably, so it wasn’t a stretch to say the family whose kid they killed was forever resentful of her family. They’d drug her family through the mud over and over. It was then that Sad Eyes had leaned into the Santos as his family. But he’d always made time for her. A delicate balance between the sisters he loved and protected and the life he lived with his Santos brothers.

She’d been living with Sad Eyes a few years now, well really since her sister had left with her boyfriend at the time, now he was her husband. Sad Eyes had done his best to raise her and protect her but she’d been on her own a while now anyways. The place she and Sad Eyes had been living in was rented and it was the perfect excuse to non-renew their lease and seize the property inside. She’d been allowed to take personal belongings, clothes, toiletries the like, but everything else had to stay. No furniture, no kitchenware, no appliances, it was like starting over.

It’s not that they had been bad tenants but someone had bought the property. He was new in town and had hopes of giving the house to a family member. She couldn’t blame him. she shrugged, pushing the thoughts out of her mind and taking a deep breath before walking through the door.

The place had a stale smell, like the windows hadn’t been opened in a long time, and, while it didn’t smell rotting or anything it wasn’t pleasant either. Pushing the door open she found resistance before it was even half open. Running her hand up and down against the wall near the door she finally found the light switch, flipping the switch she realized that the hall light didn’t work. “Great” she said under her breath and pulled her phone from her pocket. Shining the light down the hall she saw it was lined on both sides with crap. The left side looked like anything and everything that had been brought into the house had been dropped there and the right side looked like there was more organization and purpose there, but still shit was stacked against the wall.

Stepping carefully through the hallway she scoped it out, finding a living room off the end hallway to the left and a bedroom off to the right. The furniture in both was there was almost no spot on either floor or surface that wasn’t covered with something. It looked like the person who lived here before just left everything where it was when they finished with it and then never went back to take care of it. Both those rooms had switches that worked, so there’s a plus. At the end of the hallway was a kitchen stacked everywhere with dirty dishes and trash strewn all over the floor. Past the kitchen another hallway with a bathroom and two more bedrooms off of it. Neither room was furnished but looked like it had been used for more storage. Moving on to the bathroom it was in considerably better shape but hadn’t been cleaned in some time. It was lined with grime but the only trash appeared to be toilet paper rolls. She rolled her eyes, I mean was it that hard to throw shit like that away.

Moving back towards the door she decided you’d worry about it tomorrow. It was late, she was tired and drained from the events today. And she hadn’t slept much the night before staying up late to pack up his and her things. She and Sad Eyes’ stuff could stay in the car for now. Making her way back out to the little porch she found a chair and had a seat.

The evening air was warm and the sun was going down. She leaned her head back against the wall breathing in and out and running through the events of the last few days in her head. It was exhausting but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. It hurt to have Sad Eyes gone. It was like being all alone in the world.

The outside light popped on as someone came up the walkway. She’d heard a car but hadn’t thought it stopped in front of her house. But she opened her eyes and looked at the man on the walk. She instantly recognized him as Spooky, one of her brother’s closest friends.

She and Spooky had always gotten along fine and she figured Sad Eyes would have someone check on her while he was locked up. She wasn't that surprised that it was Spooky. “Hey” he said simply stopping at the steps, leaning against the first step with his foot. He pulled his smokes out of his pocket and lit up. Then, almost as an after thought, offered the pack to shewith a cock of his eyebrow.

She shook her head, “Nah, not my thing” she replied.

He smiled a little, “Mano would probably kill me for even offering a cancer stick to his little sister” he said.

She smirked too, “Yep, probably”. As Spooky smoked she sat there in silence looking down at her hands and picking her nails.

Exhaling out the smoke, “So you been inside?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s a shit show” she answered shrugging. Then realized she should be grateful, it was probably Spooky who had to give the go ahead for me to live here anyways. Even more so since she didn't think anyone would have known to look for her here this quickly. “Which,” she said looking up quickly to cover her ass, “is not to say that I’m not grateful or don’t like it. I guess you probably said I could have it, so thanks. Sorry” she said smiling at the end.

“Ahh,” Spooky answered, shaking his head, “I know it's a shit show but I figure you’ll have it cleaned up. You’re welcome, anything for Sad Eyes” he said, “He’s been riding with me since day one.” He finished shrugging.

She nodded, “Yeah, he felt that way about you too, we used to go check on Cesar when you were in.”

He just nodded. “So you staying here tonight? Is there even anywhere to stay?” he asked, inclining his head towards the door.

She shrugged, “Not really but I think I saw a bed I can make work” she answered.

“We’re having a party tonight, I should be getting back to it” he said, “Why don’t you come through and you can stay at the house tonight. Work on it tomorrow instead. Sad Eyes would kill me if you didn’t have a good spot to sleep any night. Come on,” he said, putting out his cigarette, “you look like you need a night out anyways” he said, moving towards his car and holding the door open for you. She nodded and headed down the walk way after him.

Read Part Two Here

#Oscar Diaz #oscar imagine #oscar x reader #oscar diaz imagine #oscar on my block #spooky diaz x reader #spooky diaz #spooky on my block #spooky x reader #spooky imagine #on my block imagine

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dlwritings · 4 years ago

Text

Firecracker Soul | Dean Winchester

Chapter 24 - Goodfellas

pairing - mob!Dean x teacher!ofc

word count - 4,129

warnings - language, blood, descriptions of torture, implications of rape, it’s a heavy chapter so just be warned

additional notes at the end

(previous)

When Alice woke up, she had no idea where she was. She was hanging from the ceiling by chains, her toes just barely touching the ground. She lifted her head drowsily and blinked, adjusting to the dim light in the room. She looked around, trying to get her bearings.

"You know-" She jumped at the voice behind her, unable to turn and see who it belonged to. "-you can only get about five miles with a tear in your radiator hose."

The person walked in front of her, and she felt her stomach drop. "Lucifer," she muttered.

"Oh, you remember me!" he said, putting his hand on his chest. "I'm flattered."

"Let me go," she said, doing her best not to cry despite how terrified she was.

Lucifer tsked. "I'm afraid I can't do that. See, you have something I need."

"I don't have anything," she said. "You've got this all wrong."

"Actually," he said, "I don't. Because I think you know a lot more than you say you do." She shook her head in denial, and Lucifer grabbed her chin to stop her. She winced at the contact. "I want the location of the Wincehster bunker."

"Why?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"Because, sweetheart," he said, "I'm going to blow those fuckers off the map before they can cap me, capiche?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "I don't understand. Why me? I, I can't help you."

"Well," he said, "I figured my chances of you breaking are much higher than any of his people. You know, they signed up for this. For violence. For torture. You? You just signed up for a good fucking, right? You never expected this." He walked over to a table Alice hadn't noticed until then. It was covered in tools, and she felt tears coming to her eyes. "Plus, I want to see how long it takes you to break. It's kind of like a fun game for me." He traced his hands over the tools. "That's where I made a mistake with Lisa," he said. "I didn't get to see her pain. I didn't get anything out of what happened to her except Dean's utter brokenness. I'm not going to make that same mistake with you."

"Please," she said. "You don't have to do this."

"You're right," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "If you just tell me where the bunker is, you get to leave safe and sound."

She shook her head no. "I can't."

Lucifer sighed. "Suit yourself."

With every punch delivered to Alice's body, her mind repeated the same phrase: Never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut. It was a line from Goodfellas that she knew applied to her situation. She couldn't give Dean away. She knew that. She knew Lucifer would think she was weak. Every man she ever met thought she was weak. This time, she would prove otherwise.

Lucifer punched her, and blood gushed from her nose. "I'll ask you again," he said as she struggled to lift her head. "Where's the bunker?"

She took a shaky breath. "I don't know." Lucifer sighed, put his hands on his hips, and hung his head.

"I'll give you this, Alice," he said, turning to the table. "You don't give up easy." When he turned to face her again, he was holding a knife. She couldn't help the fear that bubbled up in her chest, and she knew Lucifer saw it. He grinned and waved the knife. "You could just talk, you know," he said. "This doesn't have to get ugly." She spit some blood out of her mouth and onto the floor and looked up at him again.

"I don't know anything."

Lucifer tutted and walked back over to her, popping her shirt open with the knife. Without any hesitation, he took the knife and dug it into her skin, drawing a sharp line down the middle of her chest. She let out a scream and tossed her head back, feeling tears slide across her cheeks. "Tell me where the bunker is," Lucifer said.

"I don't know," she said. He cut a line diagonal to the first and repeated the question. She gave the same answer. After doing this two more times, Lucifer sighed and put the knife back on the table. She tried to catch her breath, but every time she breathed too deeply, the cuts on her chest felt like they were tearing open. Just when Lucifer turned to her again with a new tool in his hand, her phone rang from where he had set it on the table. Lucifer picked it up and saw it was Dean. She thought he would answer it, but he didn't. He looked at her and started walking back over to her. "You tell him everything's fine," Lucifer said. "You try anything funny, this knife is gonna go a little deeper, you understand?" She swallowed thickly and nodded, so Lucifer pressed answer on her phone.

"Hey, Dean," she said, doing her best to mask the fear in her voice.

"Hey," he said. "What's taking you so long?"

"Sorry," she said, looking up at Lucifer. "Clean up has just been taking way longer than I expected, and I've been talking to my colleagues and stuff."

"Right," Dean said. She could picture him putting his hand on his forehead, knowing he could read her through the phone just as well as he could in person. "You want to talk about our trip to Poughkeepsie? I thought we could leave next week."

"Yeah," she said, closing her eyes and praying the tears wouldn't fall. "Yeah, we can talk about it later. I, I gotta go though." She cleared her throat and looked up at Lucifer again. "Thomas needs my help with the balloons."

"Okay," Dean said. "I'll see you soon."

"Okay," she whispered. Before either of them could say anything else, Lucifer hung up the phone.

"Aw, you're planning a vacation?" Lucifer teased. "Isn't that sweet. You know, you two really do make a great couple." He turned back to the table. "Now. Where were we?"

He grabbed the tool he had put down earlier, and she noticed right away they were pliers. She held back her tears and bit her lip when she felt it shaking. "You could just tell me, you know," he said. "I really can't see how Dean Winchester could be worth all this."

"Go to hell," she breathed out.

He laughed. "I've already been. Didn't quite sit right with me."

She clenched her fists, trying to hide the tips of her nails, but he had no problem prying her fingers out and exposing them to him again. "Which one should I take first?" he asked, tapping the pliers against her fingers. "Eenie, meenie, minie, mo-" He finally settled on her middle finger and pinched the nail between the pliers. She screamed as he slowly pulled the nail from her finger. There was no use in holding back her sobs anymore. Her whole body was shaking, and the minute she looked up at her finger, she felt nauseous. She leaned over and threw up, doing her best not to get any vomit on herself, though it was a lost cause..

Lucifer tutted and pet her hair before gripping it in his fist and yanking her head up so she looked at him again. "Where, is, the bunker?" he asked.

Never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut.

She mustered all her strength to spit in his face.

"Go, to, hell," she repeated.

Lucifer got even more creative after that. Between the cuts he drew across her skin, the torch he used to burn her, and the power clamps he used to shock her, she was struggling to stay awake through the pain. Most of the time, she was unconscious until he splashed water on her to wake her up again just for more pain. He had to have asked her ten times where the bunker was, but she wasn't cracking. She wouldn't crack.

She threw up again, blood coming out of her mouth as well after he punched her in the jaw. "Ready to talk yet?" Lucifer asked, putting his brass knuckles down and wiping his bloody hands on a towel. She let out a shaky breath.

"Bite me."

Anger flooded Lucifer's eyes, and he shook his head as he walked over to her. "You know, Alice," he said, "there are some lines that I never want to cross, but some people are harder to break than others, and I gotta do what I gotta do." He grabbed her by her hips and squeezed them tightly, then moved back to put his hand on her stomach. "Maybe I'll bring another child into this world. Since my son's finally taken a liking to me."

"No," she cried, her facade breaking. "Don't."

"Hmm, finally found your weak spot, huh?" he said, moving his hand down her stomach.

"Stop," she said. "I am begging you."

"Easy," Lucifer said. "Just tell me where the bunker is."

She shook her head no. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

She bit her lip and shook her head no, silent tears falling from her eyes. Lucifer sighed and started unbuckling her jeans. "Believe me when I say," he said, "that I wish I didn't have to do this."

Dean was driving faster than he was sure he had ever gone before. He had one hand on the wheel and the other was holding his cell phone to his ear. "I want you contacting everyone we've got," Dean said to Cas who was on the other end of the line. "Hell, you call Sam if you're running short on options! Bobby, Rufus, Jody, Ellen, Crowley, if you have to. I want every person whose number we have contacted and brought along. I don't know if he's alone or if he's got his men surrounding the place, but my only priority is getting her out, and I can't do that if I'm ambushed."

"I understand," Cas said. "I've already informed all of them. As soon as I told Sam what was going on, he wanted in. We'll get her, Dean."

"I'll get her," Dean said. "You all will cover my ass and gank anyone who gets in the way. You understand me?"

"I understand," Cas said.

"Wait outside until I get there, and we'll make a plan."

Dean was at the farmhouse in minutes, and all the others were already there. Dean slammed shut the door of the Impala and jogged over to his people. Sam, Cas, Bobby, Rufus, Jody, Ellen, Charlie, Garth, Eileen, Kevin, Donna, Amara, Benny, and Ketch were there. Dean was genuinely glad they didn't have to rope Crowley into it. He didn't want to worry about keeping him in check when he had much more important things to worry about.

"We scoped the place out," Bobby said. "We're seeing two doors: front and back."

"Her voice was kind of tinny," Dean said. "Gut says she's in the basement. We go in, split up, I go downstairs, we gank any of these idiots we meet along the way. No hesitation. Shoot first, questions later, you understand?" The men and women all nodded, and Dean gave one short nod of confirmation. Sam, Rufus, Ellen, Eileen, Kevin, Benny, and Ketch went through the back door and Dean, Cas, Bobby, Jody, Charlie, Garth, Donna, and Amara went through the front. They crossed into the house, and shots rang out from every direction. Dean clocked three men before making his way through the house to find the basement.

Lucifer froze, mid punch, as soon as he heard shots ring out upstairs. He muttered a quick, "Shit," and grabbed his gun from the table. Alice thought for a second that he was going to shoot her, but instead, he made his way to the basement window. He pushed it open and crawled out of it with ease. She watched him, trying to keep her eyes open. Her head felt heavy and it was pounding like she was at a bad rock concert. All she wanted was to close her eyes again, but when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs, she tried to stay more alert to see what was going on.

When she was able to focus her eyes again, Alice saw Dean running towards her. "Hey, hey," he said, crouching in front of her, putting his hand on her cheek.

"Dean," she breathed out. "Hey."

"I've got Alice," Dean said, putting his finger against his ear as he spoke into the com system. He spoke to Alice and said, "Let's get you out of here." He picked the lock on her chains and caught her as she collapsed. His stomach felt sick as he looked at all the blood she was covered in, not to mention the fact that her jeans were unbuttoned and her underwear was ripped. Dean started to button her jeans back up, but Alice couldn't stand up on her own. Her legs gave out, and he knelt beside her and held her close to him.

"Dean," she sobbed, "I didn't tell him anything. I swear."

"It's alright, sweetheart," he said. "It's alright. You did so good. I'm gonna get you all fixed up now." She shook her head no and put her hand on his cheek.

"I've been bleeding bad for a long time," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She was right. She was bleeding everywhere, and more than he had ever seen after someone was tortured. Her legs, arms, hands, and torso were all covered in blood. She was looking faint, and Dean had to lean close to her to make out what she was saying. "I think I'm-"

"No, no," Dean said. "You're gonna be fine, okay?"

"It's okay, Dean," she said, her eyes fluttering closed. "It's okay."

"Keep your eyes open," he said, tapping her cheeks. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to get her attention. "I need you to stay awake, okay?"

"I'm tired," she breathed out.

"I know you are," he said. "But I need you to stay awake until we get you to the doctor." He turned his head away from her and focused on talking in the coms. "Cas! Sam! Someone get your ass down here!"

Alice tried again to speak. "Lucifer, he-"

"No, shh, don't talk," he said. "Just focus on staying awake."

"S'important, Dean," she said. "He's trying-" She swallowed and was clearly concentrating hard on what she wanted to say. "He's trying to find the bunker."

"Okay," Dean said, wondering how fucking long it took someone to walk down the fucking stairs.

"No, no, Dean," she said. He looked down at her. "I think he wants to blow it up." His eyebrows furrowed.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. She swallowed again and tried to focus on breathing.

"Says he's gonna blow you off the map," she said, "before you guys get him." She felt tears coming to her eyes again. "I swear, Dean. I didn't say-"

"Sh, sh," he said again. "You did so good, sweetheart. Such a brave girl. My strong, strong girl. You remembered our special code word and everything. I'm so proud of you. You're gonna be okay."

Cas and Sam both made it to the basement, guns raised, only to lower them as soon as they saw Dean and Alice. They ran over to them. "One of you needs to bring the car around," Dean said. "I'm gonna carry her upstairs, so get the door for me."

The men both nodded, and Dean picked Alice up and headed up the stairs. She whimpered a bit at the new position, and he just pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You're okay," he said. "You're okay."

Sam brought the car around, and Dean slid in the back with Alice. He pressed on the accelerator, speeding off in the direction of the hospital. "Stay awake for me, okay sweetheart?" Dean said, kissing her forehead and tucking some hair behind her ear. She nodded but didn't open her eyes.

And she wanted to. She really wanted to.

By the time they got to the hospital, she was out. Dean lifted her up and burst in through the ER doors leaving Sam to park the car. "I need help!" Dean shouted. "Somebody help me!"

Some nurses ran in, and he saw Jody's daughter, Alex, spot him from down the hall. She ran over to them while calling for a gurney to be brought. Dean helped Alice onto the gurney and pushed some of her hair away from her face. "What happened?" Alex asked.

"Uh, uh," Dean tried to focus. "I'm not sure. Some broken fingers. Busted jaw. Some knife wounds. And, and burns. Uh, I'm not completely sure." Dean kept following the gurney as they pushed it away, but Alex stopped him once they got to the doors he wasn't allowed to pass through.

"Dean, I can't let you come any further," she said.

"You need to let me through!" he shouted, pushing past her. A few stronger men came by and held Dean back. "Get your fucking hands off of me!"

"Dean, Dean!"

He turned around and saw Sam running towards him. Sam held him back and pulled him away from the nurses. Dean pushed him off of him but didn't try any harder to get through the doors. He just watched as they fluttered back and forth. His jaw was clenched, and it was doing everything in his power not to punch everything around him. Instead, he sunk to the floor and leaned his back against the wall. He set his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands. Sam sat beside him.

"She'll be alright," Sam said.

"This never should've happened," Dean said. "I never should've gotten this close to her. This was such a rookie mistake, man."

Sam hesitated. "I don't really think it was." Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I'm just saying. You finally opened your heart up to someone again. I don't think that's a mistake, and I don't think Alice would think so either." Dean wiped his face with his hand and sighed. Sam saw how red his brother's eyes were, and he knew it was taking everything in him not to lose it.

"I can't keep putting the people I love in danger," Dean said. "I can't."

"You don't get to make that choice for her," Sam said. "If she wants you, she knows what that comes with. Especially now."

"And if she wants to leave?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged and licked his lips.

"Then you rest everyday knowing she's safe."

Dean sighed. "I don't know if I can do this anymore, Sammy."

Sam never thought he'd hear Dean say that.

"So," Sam said, "what do you want to do? Let Crowley take on Lucifer alone? Kill Lucifer and then leave Crowley to his own devices?"

"I don't know, man," Dean said. "Maybe I need the simple life. Settle down. Pop out a few kids. Like you and Jess."

"It's not that easy," Sam said. "I left it with you in charge. Who are you gonna leave it to? Cas?" Dean scoffed and ran a hand through his hair.

"There's no good way out of this for me, is there?" he said.

Sam sighed. "No way out alive."

Dean's usual doctor, Dr. Grandin came over to the boys then, and they immediately got up from the floor. "What's the damage?" Dean asked him. "How is she? Is she okay? Is she gonna be okay?"

"She's fine," Dr. Grandin said. "Still unconscious, but she's in stable condition. We wrapped her jaw, her fingers, and her burn marks. The scars from the knife will likely never fully fade. She's going to be in a lot of pain for a while." He hesitated. "Unfortunately, I can't give you all the medical details without her signed consent."

"We have a deal, Grandin," Dean said, his eyes narrowing.

"And I have a medical license I intend on keeping," he replied. "Dean, I can't break patient doctor confidentiality. If you want any additional information, you'll have to ask her."

Dean sighed. "Can I at least see her?" he asked, his voice cracking. Dr. Grandin nodded and opened his mouth to say something else, but Dean pushed past him. Sam could get all the details. "Room 237!" Dr. Grandin called after Dean.

When he got into Alice's room, he had to clench his jaw to stop himself from crying. He rushed over to her and pulled up a chair, dragging it close to the bed. She looked so small and fragile, and it was his fault. She was there because of him. He took her hand gently and brought it up to her lips to kiss it. "Sweetheart, I don't know if you can hear me," he whispered, "but I'm so sorry. I'm not gonna leave until you're awake, okay? And when you're awake, I'm gonna make sure you're always safe."

Sam came into the room then and pulled up a chair beside Dean. "How's she doing?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean said. "She, she's still beeping." He pointed to the monitor with the hand that wasn't still holding hers.

"Richard's holding up his end," Sam said, speaking of Dr. Grandin, "as usual. I wouldn't worry."

"I'm never worried about Richard," Dean mumbled. He was still looking at Alice, as if the harder he stared, the more likely she'd wake up. He had made a deal with Dr. Grandin a long time ago: he patches up any bloody body Dean brings his way, Dean doesn't kill him. This saved them from working with sketchy doctors in dirty basements.

The door to the hospital room burst open then, and Christine walked in dressed in her scrubs. "Shit," she said, running over to Alice's side. Dean and Sam both stood up and gave her space. "Shit, shit." She looked at Dean and Sam, anger filled in her eyes. "What did you do to her?" she screamed, slapping Dean's chest. "This is your fault!"

Dean tried to calm her down. "Christine-"

"She told me who you are," she said, "and I warned her to stay away! I told her what would happen! And she ignored me! Said you loved her and that you'd always protect her! But you didn't!" She continued to pound her fists against Dean's chest, and he just let her. Sam was the one who gently grabbed her arms and pulled her away from his brother. She broke down into tears, and Sam allowed her to cry against his chest.

"Doctor says she'll be okay," Sam said, rubbing Christine's back. "Just some scars." Christine sniffed and nodded, then pulled away from Sam. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned to Dean again.

"She has been hurt enough," she said, her tone cold and serious, "but I know her. I know she'll fall right back into your arms. She'll listen to your reassuring words, and she'll believe everything you say." She poked his chest. "But if you ever, ever get her hurt like this again, I will go to the cops so fucking fast. I know all about your bunker. All about your plot against Lucifer. All about everything. And I keep my mouth shut because it's not my business. Because I don't want to get roped into your shit. Because I love Alice, and she asked me to leave it be. But I swear to god, Dean. She's my sister, and I'd do anything to protect her. Even if that means sticking my neck out and winding up on the mafia's radar. Do you understand?"

Sam raised his eyebrows as he looked over Christine's shoulder at Dean. If anyone were to speak to Dean this way, they usually didn't live to see tomorrow. He was dangerous. He could grab his gun and pop Christine right between the eyes without even flinching. But Sam didn't see anger on Dean's face. He saw guilt. The elder Winchester just clenched his jaw, licked his lips, and nodded at Christine. "I'm so sorry," Dean said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant for this to happen." Christine's hard expression didn't shift.

"I'll tell her you stopped by," she said to him, "but you need to leave."

"Please," Dean started to say, "I can't lea-"

"I'll say it one more fucking time," Christine said. "Get the hell out of this room."

Dean sighed but obliged with a nod. Sam looked at him, silently questioning the decision, but when Dean walked out without another word, Sam knew to keep his mouth shut.

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clownbasedintrigue · 5 years ago

Text

You and I // cryptalore

as part of @apex-legends-champion‘s writing collaboration, for @kamizaki-53,

bangalore/crypto, prompt word ‘singer’, sfw

more under the break

words: 2,713

note: this was meant to be out a lot earlier (think like, three or four months ago) but with everything going to absolute shit where i am, as well as personal happenings, this fell to the wayside. very to the wayside. sorry about that :/

the song used is ‘you and i’ by barns courtney, but i wouldn’t suggest listening to it as you read, the pacing i had in mind for the fic is not the same as the actual song. just keep that in mind. however, it’s a good song so i DO suggest listening to it beforehand.

this might eventually end up on ao3, if i get the chance. if so, i’ll link it. i also scrapped about another 2k words from this because they just didnt fit the way i wanted them to. if i find the energy, i plan to make that into a fic as well.

ft. gratuitous headcanons and dubious hacking

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

“We’re sitting ducks up here, any rookie with a scope could pick us off.” she says, but judging by the way she leans back against the air conditioning unit, she’s not bothered by the idea.

Crypto hums in response, and tucks his legs underneath him. She’s not wrong, the wide expanse of desert does nothing to obscure their spot on the rooftop. As worrying as that would be anywhere else, his drone hovers above them, constantly scanning. If there’s anyone around, the drone will tell them.

Pulling the bag between them into his lap, which they filled with drinks and snacks before escaping to the quiet of the roof, he digs through it, hands closing around two glass bottles. He passes one off to Bangalore, and rests the other beside him as he rifles around for the bottle opener.

They rest out here sometimes. When the noise of social nights or tenseness of a newcomer makes the compound unwelcoming. The flat concrete and the surrounding sand offers peace and quiet, something the building below them often lacks. The quiet is a welcome relief.

Emerging triumphantly with the opener, he goes to pass that, too, to her, only to realize she already has the edge of her utility knife wedged underneath the cap. A bit of leverage, and it flies off with a pop, bouncing further across the rooftop and landing with the din of metal on concrete. They watch it in silence. The weight of the bottle opener-now obsolete-resting solidly in his palm.

Bangalore holds out her hand to him. He blinks, sets the bottle opener down, and softly places his atop her opened one, feeling the way hers have calloused from her work. The impressions left behind by years of artillery work and battle not having faded yet.

She turns to face him with raised eyebrows, “The bottle, TJ.”

Oh. He huffs a breath at her, stomach twisting at the abbreviated use of his real name, nervous butterflies and anxiety alike. It’s not something he hears often. Hasn’t, since Mila happened. He’s not sure how wise using it is, but he can’t say he doesn’t like it.

Before he can pull his hand back, she laces her fingers with his and drags it down to rest between them. His nerves turn to warmth as he gives her the bottle with his other hand, and relishes in the feeling of her palm on his.

What they have is quiet, on the down-low, moments stolen in the corner of the dropship when no one’s watching, or gentle nights like this, sitting away from the rest of the legends.

The clatter of the bottle cap draws his attention back to her, and taking the bottle from it’s spot wedged between her knees, Anita sneaks a swig before handing it to him. With the utility knife safely covered and slipped back into her boot, she leans into his side.

They sip at their drinks underneath the tranquil sky. Double moons, and stars bright enough to light up the area, the night was clear and the breeze was crisp.

Through their silence, the bass of the music in the common room reaches them, though barely. Three stories up, not a lot makes it up here, save for stray sand and the occasional legend looking for a quiet space. But tonight had been movie night, and those rarely stay quiet.

Movie night is a time where a few of them make a snack run at noon to the city, and the others pick a host of movies to watch. When the snack runners get back, usually a few hours later, they all have ‘dinner’, if junk food and sugar can count as dinner, and from ‘dinner’ to midnight, they feast, watch, and argue about the others’ lack of taste in movies. A weekly routine he’s gotten used to. Looks forward to, almost.

Even though neither of them are particularly shy about public affection, they never hesitate to take advantage of movie night, the dark of the room during which allows for the two to lean against each other, hold hands, and sneak quiet kisses without the others noticing.

Tonight, they had sat for the movie, as they usually did, and slipped into the hall before the last movie ended. Things could get loud afterwards. After a quick raid of the kitchen, and grabbing a few things from their room, including blankets, they made for the roof. Which had led to them sitting up here, with only the company of the moons, themselves, and TJ’s drone, perched up high, keeping a watchful eye from the sky.

Lowly, music drifts up from the commons room. it’s muffled by laughter and concrete, but not so much that they cannot hear the vague baritone of the singer.

“They must’ve opened the balcony,” Crypto murmurs in displeasure, resting his head on her shoulder, “The quiet was better,”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” Anita falls silent, leaning her head on top of his and drinking in the melody. She pulls back for a moment, her brows scrunch and her gaze drifts away as she focuses in on the music. He lifts his head, and as he’s about to ask what’s wrong, she speaks, softly.

“I think I know this song.”

Crypto shuts his mouth and strains to listen. He hears the beat, the tune, although the actual words elude him. The notes lead each other in a waltz, music twirling out off the balcony into the desert air, a lullaby, or maybe a love ballad. He doesn’t know where it’s from, and it’s different from his usual taste, but Anita must enjoy it, from the way she sways and nods along to it

She smiles at him and relaxes, taking a drink from her bottle and resting back on the metal, closing her eyes. Her mouth moves with the words of the song, reciting a long-engrained memory.

When the chorus peters out, she is left humming to the bridge. The double moons cast double lights onto her upturned face, silhouetting the slope of her nose, brows, and soft cheeks. The moonlight paints silver on her skin, every ridge and bone reflecting the glimmer of the night sky.

“Sounds like something we used to play at home. Could be wrong, though,” she says, setting the bottle at her side. Crypto sets his aside as well, turning his full attention to her.

”Back on Gridiron, we had this crate of discs,” Bangalore mimes a box with her hands, “Along with this vintage radio. An old hunk of a thing, big as the box itself, and just about as functional. They were our grandma’s, from her grandma, and hers before that. They’ve been in the family forever.”

Looking out over the desert, she continues, “You’d put in one of the discs, and it’d play music. Old stuff. Back from when they still made ‘em. Don’t see them around much anymore. I used to pick them up anytime I saw one, maybe in salvage or a second-hand store, and add it to the box. Then when Thanksgiving came around, or some other family dinner, we’d dig out the box and try out all the new ones. We all had a blast dancing around drunk on moonshine and full of cake.”

She tears her eyes away from the skyline, and turns to him, “I miss it, y’know. Them, mostly, but the little things too. Being able to annoy the hell out of my brothers. Grandma’s red velvet. The tacky oldies music, especially.”

Crypto nods, solemn, and reaches out to cup her cheek, fingertips brushing over her cheekbones. Losing family-it’s a pain he understands well, just not one he can fix. Or would even know how. Anita rests her hand atop his and tips her face against his palm. She knows this, knows their shared pain, knows how he wants to do something about it. Right now, what happened to their families is a wrong that can’t be righted. Though he wishes there was something he could do to ease the weight of it. For both of them.

Ideas strike him like lightning. He jerks up, nearly knocking his drink over, and pulls his hand away, already putting it to use digging through their backpack before Anita can so much as blink.

”Hold on,” Crypto says, and when she reaches out to him, he looks up at her, “Trust me.”

She watches with fond confusion as he pulls out what he was searching for. His laptop, which he flips open and boots up. It takes a minute, fingers tapping on its side in the meantime. As soon as the screen comes to life, he sets about finding the artist. He can, at the least, do this much.

Pulling up code, he types a bit, scrolls through the numbers some, and slips into the compound’s encrypted network like it’s butter and his weapon of choice is a hot knife. From there, it’s a matter of getting past the password-locked music app, and pulling up the corresponding artist’s page, which he slides over to her when he’s done.

“There, not hard to do,” he leans back into Anita as she adjusts the laptop to rest in her lap, “You said you recognized the music. Is that them?”

The real-time display totes the current song in the bottom corner, while a dark page lists the artist at the top, along with their songs below. Words scroll past as Anita takes control of the touchpad and flicks down the list. Eyebrows drawn together in focus, she scans page.

With a hum, and without taking her eyes off the screen, she says to Crypto, “The problem’s not that I don’t remember the songs, it’s that I don’t remember the titles. There’s a few that use the choruses as titles, I think. I’ll look for those.”

When she doesn’t seem to remember any right away, he presses a kiss to her cheek, and settles down onto her shoulder, content to stay snuggled into her side for the time being.

They stay like that for a while, nothing but the click of the keyboard and quiet music as one song ends and another begins. It’s peaceful, and if they weren’t out in the open like this, he’d have fallen asleep where he was.

Eventually, the arm underneath him jostles upward, and her warm voice calls him.

“TJ,” he lifts his head to see Anita gazing gently at him, “I found one.” He rubs his eyes and shifts upward off his place against her shoulder as she hits play.

The current song cuts off abruptly, causing a chorus of objections and confused cries to erupt from below. After a moment, the meandering music fades in and drifts above the stray noise, leaving them with only each other. Anita hums along, and Tae Joon feels his heart thrum.

“Used to dance to this one with my mom. It’s her favorite,” she pulls herself to her feet and holds out her hand to him, “C’mon. Can’t not dance to it.”

Crypto hesitates, arm half-risen at his side. He doesn’t dance. He doesn’t know how to, at least not the way she wants to. The closest he’s ever gotten to dancing is with Mila, bouncing around their shared room at a young age, or trying to learn choreographies with her, and badly, as Mystik watched from the doorway. But that was a long time ago, and they were young. This is different.

He’s about to say no, that he’d only make a fool out of himself, when she kneels down and takes his hands in hers.

She doesn’t pull him up, instead she brings them to her lips, humming still. Ever so lightly, she brushes the back of his hand with a kiss, and his stomach flips. Distantly, he realizes there’s someone singing, in the song, though it’s too quiet to make out the words. More presently, he realizes Anita is singing along, lowly, quietly, against his skin.

“Suitcase in your hand,” it comes out warmly, and his words catch in his throat as he feels her lips move, “Wave goodbye to mom and dad.”

That’s ironic, he’s pretty sure.

She turns it over, and presses a tender kiss to his palm, “Never thought I would see the back of you.”

Her voice is his favorite sound in the world, he decides. In a more poetic moment, he’d describe it as sugar and amber, like the sweet syrup she puts too much of on her pancakes, or the rising sun drifting through their window in the morning. For now, it takes his breath away and leaves his heart hammering.

She rises, and pulls him up. This time, he goes with her. He doesn’t need any more convincing.

“Mixtape’s wearing down,” she pulls him close and he takes a moment to reflect on how perfectly their hands fit together, “Crystal ships are sailing out.”

They’re close enough that he can feel her breath on his face when she sings, “Now the doors are opening for you.”

When she takes a step back away from their seat, and towards the flat expanse of the rest of the roof, he follows without question.

Hand in hand, she leads him out as she sings, “I wanna swim, swim out into the dark night,” each footstep in sync with the song.

“I wanna melt you down into the stars,” they take slow, deliberate steps. It’s in time with the steady flow of the music, low notes like a heartbeat.

“I wanna crumble, tumble, like a landslide.” as they reach the wide, open portion of the roof, she stops. One hand slips free of his, and finds its way to rest on his neck, fingers brushing over the shaved stubble of his undercut

She rests their foreheads together, and sings, “I wanna live, die, wherever you are.”

Crypto thrills at the touch, as he always does, and untangles his other hand to rest it tentatively at her waist. Yet again, he wonders how he got so lucky.

She dips down and brushes the corner of his mouth with a ghost of a kiss, “Just you and I.”

As the singer echoes the ending of the phrase, she presses her lips to his in a firm kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return. With each ‘you and i’ that the song brings, she kisses him again. Peppers him with affection as they sway to the tune. A kiss to the cheek, the corner of his mouth, his nose, his lips again.

“Just you and I,” she hums against him before she pulls back, “Just you and I.”

Her thumb sweeps over his cheek as she cups his chin, her enamored gaze never leaving his. They sway in place to the music, and as the singing fades out, she hums to the tune.

In a way, he still can’t believe that he’s with her. He doesn’t know how a man like him ends up with someone like her.

She starts to sing again, voice sweet as honey, “Lovesick melody, carry my words across the sea.”

She looks at him like he’s the stars, eyes full of admiration and awe.

“Tell her I miss her,” her thumb drifts over his lips, “Tell her I’m torn in two.”

In the pit of his stomach, he has a feeling this is where he’s supposed to be.

“Salt burns in my eyes, none of these streets feel right tonight.”

Because being with her? It’s a tether in a storm, a lull in the chaos. It’s home.

“I’ll be your wild man, you’ll be my baby blue,” and when she kisses him again, he can feel her smile.

He loves it when she smiles, so he pulls her back in, and kisses her. Again, and again, and again, and he doesn’t stop. Not even as the song slips into the chorus again. The laugh she makes as he digs his fingers into her coat to keep her close, it’s enchanting, and he thinks, briefly, that hearing it again is worth any price.

He thinks that he’d do just about anything for her, anything to keep that smile on her face, anything to hear her sing again. Anything to remain by her side.

And then he stops thinking, because he’s back to kissing her, and that is far more important.

#apex legends #apex legends crypto #apex legends bangalore #apex writing collab #bangalore #crypto #tae joon park #dark barns courtney show me the forbidden slow songs #titanfall fans peep the one (1) line of dialogue..u kno the one #laz writes

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scaredofheroin · 4 years ago

Text

Captain N - Chapter 19: Punching In

A sudden and loud knocking on the door jerked Captain N awake from his slumber, where he tumbled off of the rickety cot in surprise. He was able to shield his head with his arms from impacting the hard floor, where he slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He had been using his varsity jacket as a cover, which fell onto the floor as he regained his bearings. The lights in the gym were off and the sun had not yet risen outside, so he couldn't see neither the three others who were sleeping, nor the person outside. As he noticed the clock read 6:58, the person on the other side knocked on the door again. His first instinct was to open the door, as Doc Louis said he would return early in the morning. But it was two minutes earlier than 7 AM. Was it really Doc Louis? Or was it a Koopa or Waddle Dee? He did spend all of yesterday not in disguise, he remembered. It's likely he was spotted in the middle of the giant crowds crowding the streets of New Donk City. As his heart began to race with the possibility of his journey ending so soon, he heard Pit sneak up next to him, barely able to make him out in the darkness.

"You heard it too?" Captain N whispered to Pit, his eyes locked on the door. "Sure did." He answered, carefully eyeing the door. Once again, the sound of the mystery newcomer knocking on the door rang throughout the small gym, this time with the sound of the person jiggling the door handle. Captain N carefully drew his Zapper and as he considered approaching the door, Pit drew his two blades and tip-toed towards the door. Captain N quietly hissed at him, whispering "What if it's one of the three king's forces?". "We've dealt with plenty of those guys before, we'll be fine." Pit whispered back reassuringly.

"Those guys are patrolling every roof in the city, what if more of them hear us?"

"Then we'll fight them too!"

"Easy for you to say! This is all still new to me!"

As the two were whispering their debate on the best course of action, Zelda casually walked up to the door, unlocked it, and opened it to greet the guest. Before either of them could try to stop her, they found that the mystery person was, in fact, Doc Louis holding a small pile of green gym clothes. "Good morning, Princess." He politely greeted her, which she returned. Her hair was slightly messy, but she made the effort to make herself presentable enough. Sharing an awkward look with each other, Pit and Captain N holstered their weapons and got up off the floor. "And good morning to you two." Doc Louis greeted the drowsy pair behind Zelda. "G'morning." Captain N drowsily waved to him as he stuffed the Zapper back into his pocket. "Sorry for keeping you waiting, we thought you were one of Bowser's minions." Pit explained to him, standing up straight and stretching his arms. Doc Louis waved that off, replying "No worries, makes sense to worry about those guys.". Just then, Falco joined the group, switching the lights to the gym on without warning anyone. The sudden bright lights seared the eyes of the unsuspecting four, who quickly covered their eyes to shield their vision. "Geez, how about a warning next time?" Captain N groaned. "Yeah, good morning to you too." Falco sarcastically answered as he idly scratched himself. "I should get those checked out, things've been too bright for some time now." Doc Louis noted, adjusting more easily to the light. "Forgive me, he's usually not so brash." Zelda apologized for him, making Captain N and Pit share a small, knowing laugh. "No worries, helps wake me up." Doc Louis dismissed, his positive demeanor unchanged.

"So... do we head out now for the arena?" Captain N asked him. "Yup, gotta get there early to warm up and scope out the competition. Ryu and Little Mac are already there, you just need to officially sign in and you'll be ready to rumble." He explained, taking a chocolate bar out of his pocket and taking a bite. "Don't you think it's a little risky for him to keep walking through New Donk City without any disguise?" Falco asked as he leaned against the ring, farther away from the group. "That's why I brought you these." Doc Louis said as he tossed the gym clothes to Captain N, which he was barely able to catch in a graceful manner. The hesitation he held for holding gym clothes of unknown status was slightly visible on his face, as Doc Louis chuckled heartily and assured him "Don't worry, they were washed last night.". Captain N nervously laughed, holding out the sweater to compare its size to him. When held out lengthwise, the arms stretched out further than his own, and the sweater was long enough to pass his waist. The sweatpants were about as large, but both were manageable to wear. As he slipped on the two articles of clothing over his usual clothes, Falco snickered at the sight of him in the oversized clothes. "Good thinking, Doc. Nobody'll suspect this pile of green mush." He joked, earning some giggling from Pit. Zelda turned away, partially in attempt to hide a small smile. Captain N's cheeks felt slightly warmer at this attention, but laughed along goodhearted. "I've never been particularly fond of professional combat. I can hardly stomach such brutality." Zelda admitted, readjusting her sunhat. "Come on, seeing Ryu unleash the Shoryuken or the Hadouken? Seeing the strongest, toughest guys on the planet go toe-to-toe? That stuff's awesome!" Pit excitedly tried to persuade her. "I bet it's a lot more cool when WATCHING the fight." Captain N remarked, feeling his nose to ensure it was still attached to his face after his last fight. "Oh! Before I forget!" He suddenly realized, going back to pick up his varsity jacket off the floor. "Don't wanna forget that." Noted Pit. "Yeah, it's one of a kind." Captain N added jokingly. "You about ready, Mr. History-in-the-making?" Doc Louis asked him after taking a bite from his chocolate bar. Captain N puffed up his chest and took on a more bold stance for effect. "I feel like I could take on the world!" He answered, masking his inner turmoil about the competition. "Luckily you won't have to take on the entire world, just five of the most skilled fighters in the world. No pressure, though." Falco reminded him.

He felt the pressure.

"Well then, let's hit the road!" Doc Louis declared, stepping out of the doorway. When the four stepped out of the gym, they found an average sized car that, like everything else Captain N had seen in Yamajiro, was similar to the cars he was used to back on Earth, but different enough to be alien to him. The car was painted silver, had a much more rounded chassis, was noticeably older, and had four seats, with two in the front and two in the back. "After you, your majesty." Doc Louis graciously helped Zelda, opening the front door on the passenger side for her. She thanked him once again and carefully got into the car while managing her hat and sundress. "Quite the set of wheels you've got here." Falco noted, commenting on the car's aged nature. "Yup, she's needed some work done, but she's as reliable as ever." Doc Louis assured him pridefully after closing the door for Zelda. "So... how are the three of us gonna fit in there?" Pit asked him. He chuckled heartily and, motioning to Pit and Falco, answered "You two are gonna sit back here, Cap's gonna get more training in!". Captain N laughed nervously and asked "What do you mean?". "It's early in the morning, the air's crisp, and you've got your big fights today. You gotta get your heart pumping!" Doc Louis answered. "You mean I'm gonna run ALL THE WAY to the arena?" Captain N worriedly asked him, stepping back slightly. "Don't worry, it's not too far and I've got plenty of water in the trunk." Doc Louis assured him, tapping the trunk of the car. "Good luck with that." Falco flatly said to him before getting into the car, sliding into the seat directly behind Zelda. Unimpressed with Falco's lack of helpfulness, Captain N turned to Pit, hoping he could offer assistance. "The arena's not TOO far away, and we'll be right beside you if anything happens." Pit said, grabbing his shoulder reassuringly. Taking a moment to think, Captain N slowly became more okay with the idea. As long as he paces himself, he should be good.

Looks like all those Pacer Tests in Gym class were about to pay off.

"Alright, I'm ready." He declared. "That's the spirit! Let's get moving!" Doc Louis chimed in as Pit got into the seat directly behind the driver's seat. Captain N observed the surrounding streets as Doc Louis locked the door to the gym and . The foot and road traffic was significantly lighter compared to yesterday, and even though the sun had not yet fully risen, he could spot the vague outlines of the Koopa, Waddle Dees and Kremlings patrolling each and every rooftop lining the streets. Doc Louis's disguise had proven effective, as not one of the goons above paid much attention to him or the car before him. After the engine whirring for a moment, the car started up, the headlights now illuminating the road ahead. Doc Louis nodded at Captain N from inside the car. He took in a deep breath, mentally braced himself for the run and broke into a light jog. Doc Louis drove the car slowly beside him, matching his pace. Remembering his time in gym class, Captain N paced himself by jogging slower than he was capable of running. After all, there's more than a comparison to the national average lying ahead of him. The car drove slightly ahead of Captain N, guiding him throughout the concrete maze of the city. Thankfully, the jog to the arena was much less intense than sprinting through Castlevania or dodging blasts from airship cannons. His lungs thanked him for his slower pace, and enjoyed the jog while he ran. While he ran, his mind gradually phased the armed minions atop the buildings and even the threat of Bowser, King Dedede and King K. Rool. Captain N's mind savored only thinking about what was right in front of him. Right here, right now, all that mattered was the run. The roads and cars that passed him by started to feel more natural surrounding him. The sun slowly peeked over the buildings blocking out the horizon, gracing his face with the welcoming warmth of the morning rays. All that was missing was his music, he thought to himself. More and more people started to populate the sidewalks, but not too many to make jogging more troublesome than it already was. Doc Louis drove the car away from main street, as to not get in the way of the ordinary people trying to get around.

Despite the more relaxed nature of his jog, his lungs did have a limit. His legs started to slow their pace, slowly falling behind the car. If only he went out for football as a Freshman, maybe he'd be more prepared for the battles ahead. The rear left window lowered and Pit held his head out. "Catch!" Was the only warning Pit gave right before he tossed Captain N a plastic water bottle. Catching the bottle while running was almost enough to make him fall on his face, but he maintained enough grace to keep going. After rapidly gulping down the cool contents of the bottle, his first instinct was to toss the bottle over his shoulder like all those marathon runners in the Olympics. But environmental health was important to him, so he clutched the bottle as he jogged, tossing it into the first trash can he could see. That trash can was in the middle of being emptied into a large vehicle that he assumed to be a dump truck, and almost missed his opportunity. The run continued for about fifteen more minutes, by Captain N's measure. The buildings suddenly cleared up, allowing the sun's rays to pour over Captain N's body and revealing a huge field surrounding a massive, modern-looking stadium decorated with immense banners flowing in the wind, reading "WORLD WARRIOR TOURNAMENT". Energetic music like no other he had heard before could be heard from inside the stadium. An incredibly long line of cars crowded the road leading to the stadium's parking lot and entrance, all sitting still and waiting for something to happen beside the water fountains lining the entrance path. More R.O.B. workers moved in perfect formation on the opposite side of the arena, carrying crates of varying size into the rear entrance. Captain N couldn't help but be amazed by the scale of the arena, and even a little intimidated. Doc Louis took the opposite path away from the main entrance, and drove towards where the R.O.B.s were working. The rear entrance wasn't as nicely presented as the front, as Captain N noticed more trash lying around on the ground. After finding an appropriate place to park, Doc Louis got out of the car with the other three follow him. "So... how'd I... do?" Captain N panted, finally coming to a stop. "Not bad, son!" Doc Louis answered. "Yeah, coulda been worse." Falco added, surprisingly non-sarcastically. "Given the circumstances, I would say your efforts were admirable." Zelda noted, leaving Captain N not knowing how he should feel about that. "Here, have another!" Pit said to him, tossing another water bottle his way. The cold condensation forming outside the bottle proved to serve as a decent enough ice pack, which he drank from after applying it to his forehead. Doc Louis walked up to the attendant by the loading bay, who was overseeing the R.O.B.s. "Good to see you, Doc Louis." The man greeted him, seeming to not recognize Falco, Pit or Zelda in her disguise. "Good to see you, this here's the man that's taking Ryu's place." He said to him, patting Captain N on the shoulder. His stance wasn't entirely solid, and Doc Louis almost knocked him over with his gesture. Captain N awkwardly waved at the man, who didn't seem impressed by Ryu's replacement.

"Well, let's hope there's more to him than meets the eye." He shrugged, opening the door leading inside the arena. "Thanks, I guess." Captain N muttered as he walked inside with Doc Louis, with Zelda, Falco and Pit following closely. It was a strange feeling for Captain N to be "backstage" at such a big event, hearing the muffled sounds of excited audience members and energetic music. "First, we gotta get you checked in." Doc Louis said to him, leading on. None of the organizers or staff members paid Captain N much mind, apart from idle glances. The R.O.B.s passed by, focused purely on their assigned task. Soon enough, Captain N found himself at a receptionist's table with the rest of the group. "I assume you're the last minute addition?" The receptionist asked, a hint of impatience in her voice. "Y-Yeah, that's me." Captain N answered, feeling unwelcome. She pulls up a window on her computer and moves over to a blank space in the massive bracket of names. "So what do you call yourself?" She asked him. He put his fists on his hips and stands up straighter. "I'm Captain N." He boldly introduced himself. She didn't notice the Zapper holstered in his pocket, so she idly nodded and typed his name into the bracket. "Locker room's down the hall to the right. Your first match is in about two hours." She flatly states, pointing in the general direction of the locker room. "Great, thanks." He thanked her, and headed off down the hall. Falco looked like he wanted to make a rude comment to the receptionist, but Zelda stopped him. Pit quickly walked alongside Doc Louis taking in the atmosphere. "Oh man, oh man, oh man, this is so cool!" He giddily said, his eyes darting around the halls. Captain N found the doors that seemingly led inside the men's locker rooms. Inside he was assaulted with the scent of intense sweat. Fortunately this stench was consistent with what he experienced in gym class. Once his nostrils recovered, he saw Little Mac and Ryu sitting on a nearby bench, who look up to see Captain N.

"About time you got here, we were starting to worry you bailed on us." Little Mac said to him, while Ryu simply nodded at him. "Hey, come on, it's not like I had anywhere else to go." Captain N reminded him. "It's still admirable of you to rise to the challenge." Ryu assured him. "He wouldn't have to if you just told us where the castle is." Falco bitterly reminded him, suddenly walking into the room with Pit and Doc Louis. Ryu paid him no mind. "So this is the famous locker room!" Pit quietly said, dazzled as he looked around the room. "Yep, kinda gets old after a while. It IS a locker room, after all." Little Mac said with a smile. "But how!? So many awesome fighters stood where we're standing now!" Pit went on. "Once you've met them once or twice, you realize they're people just like you or me." Doc Louis chuckled. "Say, where's Zelda?" Falco asked, noticing she wasn't with the rest of the group. "I'd rather wait out here, don't mind me." Zelda spoke up from outside, not feeling entirely welcome in the men's locker room. Captain N shrugged and turned back to the two. "So how're you feeling?" Little Mac asked him. "Ready as I'll ever be." he answered, still not entirely confident in his ability to win an actual fight. "Come sit next me." Ryu invited him. Once he was seated, Ryu closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "Close your eyes and breathe in and out steadily. Peace of mind is crucial to overcoming your opponents." Ryu stated. He followed his instruction, and tried to get into a peaceful state of mind. This proved somewhat troublesome for him, as his mind was more preoccupied with worrying about the fights that drew ever closer. Every time he tried to shove those thoughts out of his mind, they barged their way back in. Just as he was starting to relax, Falco interrupted with an annoyed groan. "When's the fight gonna start?" He impatiently asked anyone who would know. "They'll let us know over the intercom, now will you lighten up?" Doc Louis said back to him, and knowing that was the best response he was gonna get, Falco rolled his eyes and leaned back against the row of lockers. Pit pulled Little Mac away and the two started chatting about his fighting career, allowing Captain N to focus on his meditation. Ryu was undisturbed by the commotion, and remained at peace. Closing his eyes, Captain N forced himself to maintain a slow, deep breathing rhythm. It required some work on his part, but he actually managed to achieve a level of zen. Bringing his mind back to where it was while he was jogging, he was able to bring his mind to a more peaceful state. He spent the next few minutes like this, savoring the peace and quiet, even ignoring the odor of countless sweaty garments.

"Captain N to arena entrance B." Suddenly came a voice over the intercom.

He opened his eyes, his inner fear returning.

"Well, showtime, Cap. Knock 'em dead!" Doc Louis cheered him on. Reluctantly, he stood up and looked back at the group. "We can watch the match from in here. If anything happens, we'll come running." Zelda assured, peeking from outside the room. Nodding gratefully at her, he steeled his nerve and walked down the hall to his first real fight.

#captain n #nintendo #crossover #fanfic #writing #reboot #the legend of zelda #princess zelda #Star Fox #Falco Lombardi #Kid Icarus #pit #punch-out!!#little mac #doc louis #street fighter #ryu

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plumblossomkun · 5 years ago

Text

Jumpscare

word count: 1270

synopsis: in which Jaemin and Haechan begin their pre-Halloween prank fest, and it all starts with Jeno and one of the oldest bait-and-switch tricks in the book.

warning[s]: if you’re going to click on the link in the a/n below, wear headphones, and lower the volume. it’s kind of spooky, but you don’t need to look at it! it’s just what inspired this fic. and if you’re not going to click on it, and you’re curious about the basis of this little one-shot, then click here.

a/n: idk how many of you played this game when you were younger, but i did and so did my friends when we were young and it spread like a virus for a couple of months; this was some time back in 2008 or so. i use a couple of common gaming terms... let me know if they’re too confusing and i’ll add notes!

“Do you think Jeno knows?” Jaemin whispers as he and Haechan tiptoe towards Jeno’s room. The door isn’t open, but light spills out from beneath it, along with the sound of rapid typing.

Haechan considers it. “No way. The only one who said he’d seen it before was Johnny-hyung. He said it was really popular in America when he was young.”

“Okay, okay.” Jaemin raps on the door. “Yah, Jeno.”

Jeno doesn’t answer, but the keyboard clicking continues.

“Are you busy?”

“Yes,” comes the muffled reply, a minute or two later.

“Okay, we’re coming in!” Haechan announces, turning the doorknob. It isn’t locked, of course-- if it was, it would have been like broadcasting to everyone else that Jeno was doing something he didn’t want anyone else to see. And when they peek into his room, he’s sitting at his computer, one ear freed from his headset so that he hears when they come barreling in.

“What’s up, guys?” he says, eyes glued to his monitor.

He’s deep into a game of PUBG, the zone pressing in on his character from behind, and 9 people left alive. Splatters of red cross his screen as the zone damages his health points, slowly depleting the white health bar at the bottom of his HUD. “I said I was busy.”

“You can pause,” Jaemin jokes, chuckling as he drapes an arm around his shoulders to watch.

Jeno blows a raspberry at him. “You mean I can go prone in a bush and hide.”

Jaemin titters. “Yeah, same thing.”

Jeno turns back to his game, and misses the grin that passes between Haechan and Jaemin as he does so. “Did you two just come in here to snoop, or did you need something?”

“Oh, yeah. Mark-hyung sent me something. I think you’d be interested in it.” Jaemin scrolls through his phone casually,

Suddenly, scarlet fog covers the edges of Jeno’s field of vision on the screen as an enemy engages with him, muzzle flashing from across the landscape and tagging Jeno’s character. He yelps, and flops down in the bush behind a round bale of hay.

“Oh, oh, he’s right there.” Haechan points to a barely perceptible shadow behind a tree in the far distance, a dark smudge of pixels, and rests his chin on Jeno’s right shoulder. “185 North.”

Jeno scopes in with his sniper, but it’s too late-- a split moment later, his character goes limp, health bar completely gone, and the defeat screen pops up with thick yellow font declaring ‘Better Luck Next Time’, ranking him at 10th as a solo player.

“Ahhh, man.” He sits back in his chair and sighs.

“Look on the bright side,” Haechan says, pinching his cheeks, “now you can check out the thing.”

Jeno eyes them warily. “What thing?”

“Here, let me type it in.” Jaemin leans over him to access the keyboard, alt-tabbing out of the PUBG fullscreen and onto his desktop to open a Google Chrome window. He types in http://www.winterrowd.com/maze/ and hits enter.

A plain website, looking a bit out of date-- there’s a link to a MySpace page on the bottom-- pops up, and Jeno scans its contents dubiously as he slides his headset off his head to rest around his neck, switching the audio output to speakers.

The Maze, by Jeremy Winterrowd

This is a game of skill and patience...

Guide your dot with the mouse through the 4 stages of maze levels to get to the finish.

The difficulty gets harder the further you go.

Remember... don't touch the walls or you will have to start over at the beginning!

Good Luck! ... you'll need it.

“What is this?” The neon cyan backdrop of The Maze Game is a little blinding, so he turns down the brightness of his monitor, wincing. Then he clicks Play. An upside-down L-shape appears on the screen, in the same cyan shade, but against a black backdrop, with a red square on the top right of the L marked ‘Exit’. “A maze game?”

“You can read, can’t you?” Jaemin sighs, pointing to the text box with instructions again. “It’s just a little game. Try it out.”

“Why don’t you?”

Haechan pats his head. “We already did. Now it’s your turn.”

“I feel like I’m being initiated into something I don’t want to be part of.”

“Nonsense. Now play.”

Jeno rolls his eyes, but takes up the mouse and begins to trace his way through the maze. The first is easy, and he moves his cursor to the exit. The second is just a bit harder, a simple S-squiggle.

Then the third level pops up, another S-squiggle, but with a tiny path at the very end leading to the exit, just barely larger than the pixel server as the marker for his cursor. He rolls his eyes and looks back at his friends. Jaemin is staring at his phone with a sly smirk, and Haechan looks on, shaking with silent laughter.

“Are you filming me?” Jeno inquires, raising a brow.

“As if. Keep playing. I want to see how you do.”

Jeno sighs and turns back to his monitor, but accidentally knocks his mouse aside, into the walls of the game, and it immediately goes back to the beginning screen.

“Ah, Jeno, look what you did!” Haechan scolds, clicking on Play again for him. “Come on, finish.”

“Okay, okay.” Jeno focuses on the tiny pixel, on keeping it from hitting the walls. “I got this.”

“Are you getting this?” Haechan mutters to Jaemin, covering his mouth with a hand. “I want to keep the footage.”

“Yeah, I’m recording,” Jaemin snickers.

Jeno’s cursor nears the exit, and he exhales slowly, willing his hand not to shake.

But before he can move into the red zone, the maze abruptly switches to a picture of a haggard, white-skinned woman with unkempt brown hair, scars lining her face, eyes milky and pupils contracted to pinpoints of darkness, rotting teeth bared in a facsimile of a smile.

And if that wasn’t enough, a terrible screech, shrill and unearthly, explodes from the speakers.

Jeno hollers and pushes himself away from the desk, throwing his hands up to shield himself from the demonic face. In his haste to get away from the screen, though, he tips a little too far back, and tumbles sideways out of the chair and onto the floor with a crash, tugging his headset from its port and tangling with its cord.

Haechan and Jaemin collapse with him, but instead of the gaping jaw and wide eyes Jeno’s wearing, they are crying with laughter.

“Oh my god, did you see his face?”

“I got it on video!”

Jeno pulls his headset off furiously, finally processing the situation. “What was that?”

It takes them a moment to answer, to recuperate from rolling around in hysterics. When they do get up, it’s Haechan who answers, wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes. “That was the Scary Maze Game, and we still need to get Mark to do it.”

“Where did you get this? Jesus.”

“We asked Johnny-hyung for ideas to spook you, and this was the first thing on his list.”

“There’s a list?”

Jaemin helps Jeno up from the ground, chuckling. “Don’t worry, they’re not all for you.”

“I’m more worried that there are more for me,” Jeno grumbles, picking up his chair and leaning on it.

Then he pauses. “Did you say you got it on video?”

“Run, Jaemin,” Haechan hisses, but the taller boy is already out the door and down the hallway.

Jeno scrambles out after him, crying, “Delete that!”

“Never!”

#neotober #cznnet #jeno #lee jeno #jeno oneshot #jeno drabble

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waveridden · 5 years ago

Text

FIC: things you can never know

“First of all, I’m not a licensed private eye,” Echo says, because they’re not. That’s just… kind of what they ended up being. “And second of all, they’ve made it clear that they’re scared of any of this information being intercepted. It’s probably safer that I don’t know who they are.”

A detective AU, sort of. Grand/Echo, Echo & Signet, 2.5k.

AUcember || read on Ao3

“You know, I can literally teach you how to do this,” Gig says.

Echo ignores him. They know how to check their email and download attachments, and that’s enough for them. Gig can do everything else.

“No, seriously,” Gig continues. “It’s not that hard opening encrypted files.”

“Yeah, but it’s easier when you have someone else to do it for you.”

“Oh, great, I’m your computer errand boy.”

“Yes, you are.” Echo grins at him. Gig shoots them a glare, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, but it only lasts a second before he grins back. He’s a sap like that. “Is it open?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gig clicks a couple things on Echo’s computer, and the files start opening. “You still don’t know who’s sending you these?”

“They’ve all been right so far.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that bad detective work?”

GIg snorts. “What, so if you get caught they can’t torture it out of you?”

Echo doesn’t answer, because Gig hit the nail on the head and they don’t particularly want to let him know that. Instead, they lean in to look at their computer. “This seems like one I should pass on to Even.”

“Ugh, Even,” Gig mutters. He hasn’t spoken to Even since Even rejoined the police force; Echo sympathizes with that, but sometimes they just don’t have the firepower to take care of these things by themself. “I mean, if anyone deserves to have the cops called on them, it’s Advent, but-”

“But cops are still bad, yeah, yeah.” Echo starts clicking through the files. “Every single time I get a new file dump, I think that there couldn’t possibly be stuff about Advent that’s so bad that it surprises me. And every single time, I’m wrong.”

“Yeah, Kitcha Kanna’s kind of the worst,” Gig agrees. He hops up so he’s sitting on Echo’s desk, facing away from the computer, kicking his feet absently. “Is there anything we need to tell Iota about?”

“I need time to read through all of it, Gig.”

“You’ve had time.”

“A substantial amount of time,” Echo says patiently. “I hate them as much as you do, but I need to actually see what I have in order to use it.”

The Advent Group is the shittiest right-wing political party in the city. They’re basically fascists, and their leader Kitcha Kanna seems like he has a really good shot of becoming the mayor. But apparently someone has it out for him - and for Advent in general - because Echo has been getting emails like this for months now. Sometimes it’s fundraising information, sometimes it’s campaign strategies, sometimes it’s just personnel lists.

But all of it is confidential, the kind of thing that kills careers. Considering this is Advent, Echo wouldn’t be surprised if life and limb aren’t on the line here. And whoever this is has still been sending them, and by extension the local resistance, a lot of sensitive information. But the emails only ever come to Echo. And Echo’s not… great with computers. Or even good with them.

Gig groans. “If I help read, will we be able to fuck up Advent faster?”

“Maybe,” Echo allows. They open a new document and lean in to read it. It’s about a fundraising gala, something that looks very political, lots of rubbing elbows. They’re ready to roll their eyes and move past it when something on the guest list catches their eye.

“Gig,” they say slowly. Gig hums in response, and they look up at him. “If, hypothetically, one of us had a way into a major political event tonight just to scope things out, we should do that even if we don’t have time to run it by Iota. Right?”

“Probably,” Gig says. “What’s the event?”

“It looks just like a place for bougie city people to meet all the candidates and make donations and stuff. But everyone will be there, and that means one of us should be.”

“If we can get someone in,” Gig agrees. “They don’t exactly invite us.”

“We’re barely a political movement, let alone a political party.”

“You think your source will be there?”

“I think Kitcha Kanna will be there.”

“Man, fuck that guy. I say you should go.” He twists around to look at the computer screen. “Who’s our way in?”

“Thank you again for agreeing to this,” Echo says. They’re more than a little self conscious to be so dressed up, so they end up fidgeting with the heavy necklace they’re wearing. “And for the, uh, last-minute wardrobe consultation.”

“It’s no problem,” Signet says. She looks just as cool and put-together as she always did when she worked with Echo, but she’s never been nearly this dressed up before. Her hair is in an updo that she had assured Echo didn’t take nearly as long as it looks like it should’ve taken. Echo’s not sure what that means, but it looks to them like it must’ve taken an entire day. “It’s good to see you, Echo. Even if it is a political favor.”

“It’s a lightly political favor.”

“How do you make it less political?”

“I’m mostly just here to be your arm candy. Is that apolitical?”

That gets a smile out of Signet. She’s been managing the campaign for a different mayoral candidate, and she looks exhausted, but she’s just as graceful as Echo remembers. She’d seemed excited to answer their call, and had offered to take Echo out to get a nice outfit. Echo’s never been much of a shopper, but Signet knows what she wants. And it was nice spending time with her, however briefly, before having to come to this.

“It can be apolitical if we talk about things that aren’t work,” Signet allows. “And I do want to catch up.”

“I promise we can go for coffee some other day this week.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Echo smiles as they look around the ballroom. There’s no actual dancing; it looks like this is an event designed purely for mingling. Nobody is dressed nearly as well as Signet; for that matter, nobody is dressed nearly as well as the pair of them. Signet’s dress is a lovely shade of green that somehow brings out her hair, and the skirt is long enough to trail behind her. Echo’s blouse is made out of the same material, the only color visible under their white suit jacket. The two of them cut quite a figure, and it’s thrilling to be the one to make heads turn.

Or maybe people just recognize Echo from that one viral protest video. That’s also pretty likely.

Still, it’s easy enough to deal with this gala. Signet is in her element here, floating around the room and meeting people. Everyone who recognizes Echo makes polite conversation with them, and everyone who doesn’t seems to recognize Signet. And of course, Signet has plenty to say about everyone there, murmuring quiet gossip into Echo’s ear about nearly everyone they speak to.

They’ve been drifting around the gala for a couple of hours, eating canapes and drinking champagne, when Kitcha Kanna shows up. Echo sees him before Signet does, luckily in between conversations. They nod over her shoulder as subtly as they can.

Signet turns and looks over her shoulder. “Great,” she mutters. “Well, I guess we should- is that Grand? ”

“What,” Echo says flatly. They have to stand on their toes to properly see where Signet’s looking, which isn’t their most dignified moment, but they have to see where she’s looking.

The last time Echo saw Grand Magnificent wasn’t a breakup, exactly. Neither of them said the word breakup. But it was pretty clear from that conversation that Grand was going to work for Advent, and Echo wasn’t going to take that lying down. And besides, is it really a breakup if neither of them ever said they were dating? If they’d just been… something too close to be platonic, something that Echo had never pushed to label because they thought they’d have all the time in the world to figure it out?

Grand is a few steps behind Kitcha Kanna. His hair is shorter than he used to keep it, but not by much. His tuxedo is a truly awful shade of pink, and his shirt is an equally awful shade of blue. He looks surprisingly uncomfortable, considering that fancy parties and shit basically used to be his element. For a single second, Echo viciously hopes that he’s miserable here. It’s what he goddamn deserves.

But then Grand turns, just enough to see Echo. They can see the exact moment that he registers that they’re here, because his face seems to freeze perfectly.

Echo drops back on their heels, mind racing. What could Grand possibly be doing here? He’s not high enough in the food chain at Advent to warrant being here.

“Echo,” Signet says, sounding concerned. They glance back up at her. “Do you need to leave?”

“After all that time you spent trying to find a white tux in my size?” Echo says, trying for humor. It definitely falls flat, judging by the look on Signet’s face. They sigh. “I’ll live. But maybe instead of coffee we can go out for drinks.”

“I was going to suggest that anyways,” Signet admits. “Do you want to avoid him?”

Echo glances back in Grand’s direction. They can’t really see him anymore, which is probably for the best. “No, we don’t have to. But you have to be mean to him for my sake.”

“Echo,” Signet says grimly, “I was going to be mean to him no matter what.”

“You want to know something great?”

“What?”

“I almost sent Gig instead of coming myself.”

Signet laughs, a sudden and undignified noise that makes Echo grin. She lifts a hand to cover her mouth, but they can see that she’s smiling behind it. “I feel like this night would be going… differently, if he were here.”

“I can’t imagine,” Echo mutters, but they can absolutely imagine. Gig would’ve started shouting the second he saw Grand, and he’d still be going now. “Okay, let’s get this over-”

“Mx. Reverie,” Kitcha Kanna says, from directly fucking behind Echo. “So good to see you.”

Echo doesn’t jump, but it’s an incredibly close thing. They turn around as smoothly as possible, moving to stand by Signet’s side. Kitcha Kanna is standing there. And, unfortunately, so is Grand. He’s looking pretty firmly at Signet and not at Echo, and they’re half annoyed and half relieved by that.

“Hi,” Echo says, because they’re really not interested in making small talk here. That’s why they came with Signet: she can do that for them.

Sure enough, Signet smiles at both Kitcha Kanna and Grand. “This is a lovely event, isn’t it?”

“It’s great, yeah,” Grand says. He looks uncomfortable as hell, which makes Echo feel better about everything. “You, uh, look nice.”

“Thank you,” Signet says, and lifts one of her hands to rest between Echo’s shoulder blades. “It’s always nice to see old friends, isn’t it?”

“Peachy,” Echo says. Signet’s hand goes flat against their back for a second, pressing in, a comforting motion. “Super glad that I could tag along with Signet here.”

“Ah, yes, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Kitcha Kanna gives Echo a considering look. “I had been wondering how you heard about this event. I know that your… your people wouldn’t have received an invitation.”

Echo smiles at him, barely bothering to constrain their irritation. “My people and I get along fine, thanks. I’m just lucky that I have friends in high places.”

Grand startles at that, a strange, out-of-place motion. Signet and Kitcha Kanna ignore it, and immediately go off into some conversation about campaign strategy that Echo tunes out. They can leave the political talk to them, and Signet will tell them if they miss anything important.

But Grand… Grand is still not quite looking at Echo.

“Hey,” Echo says abruptly, because there’s really nothing else for them to do.

Grand’s eyes slowly slide from the middle distance over towards Echo. “Uh. Hey?”

“You’re, uh.” Echo grimaces. “Doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Grand says slowly. “You… look good. Both of you.”

“Pretty much all Signet.”

Grand nods. “I’m glad you heard about this from your… friend.”

There’s something to the way he says that, a deliberate weight, that makes Echo pause. “Me too,” they say slowly. “Hey, uh, you’re good with computers, right?”

“Better than you, probably.”

“That’s a low bar,” Echo mutters. Grand’s lips twitch up into a smile, and they hate that it makes their heart speed up for a second. “I was just wondering if you had any advice for encryption. I keep having to ask Gig, and he’s being very Gig-ish about it.”

“Encryption,” Grand repeats. “I know a couple things about it.”

Echo takes a breath. “Anything about encrypting emails?”

Bingo. Grand’s face doesn’t change at all, which is impressive, but his fingers flutter nervously at his side. It’s a tell, plain as fucking day for anyone who knows to look for it. And Echo knows to look for it.

Grand knows exactly what they’re talking about. Because Grand has been their inside source for Advent for months on end.

A million questions are racing through Echo’s mind - why them? does Grand know that he’s given Echo a reputation as a detective? why doesn’t he just leave? what does he want out of this? - but before they can give voice to any of them, Signet’s hand shifts to grasp their shoulder. “This has been lovely,” she says, and Echo can tell that she means that this conversation is over. “But Echo and I have plenty of socializing to do, and I’m sure the both of you do as well.”

“Of course,” Kitcha Kanna says. God, Echo fucking hates this guy, everything he says just sounds slimy.

Echo looks back at Grand for a second. His lips are parted slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he closes his mouth and gives Echo a tight smile. They look away, heart pounding, and let Signet pull them away.

She waits until they’re a good distance a way to lean in and murmur, “You okay?”

Echo swallows. “Can drinks some night this week be drinks tonight?”

“I’d be happy to, provided that we also get coffee later this week. Did he say something to you?”

“No,” Echo says. Grand is working against Advent. Grand is trying to help them. “Not, uh, not as such.”

“Well,” Signet says. “If nothing else, I was trying to make him jealous. If we can’t take the high road, we might as well take the low road.”

They laugh faintly. Signet’s hand is warm against their shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I’m happy to.” She gives them a meaningful look. “So call me more often.”

“I will,” Echo promises. Even with all of the politics, with half their mind preoccupied, it’s a surprisingly easy promise to make.

#grandecho #echo x grand #twilight mirage #friends at the table #fatt fic #aucember19 #waveridden.fic #this started out as film noir and took a hard pivot into political drama so here we are

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thegeneralsnotebook · 5 years ago

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January Feature: History of Colours Part 1 -- Yellow

Welcome to another year’s worth of articles on The General’s Notebook. The time off in December, as I flew home to be with my family for the holidays, was a refreshing one, and now I have some energy to begin tackling another project. In this case, that’s a new series of posts over here, detailing the history of each colour within the entire scope of the MLPCCG metagame. For many of us, those early days of the Premier Block may be represented by nothing more than the old cards that we know were played with back then, but there was real development and real competition then too. In fact, in my opinion those days were something of a Golden Age for the game, when the subreddit was filled with excited speculation and real discussion. Sure, the cards may have been subpar, but the community was pretty great.

Of course, in my case those days were before even my time, as though I started playing the game around midway through the tenure of Canterlot Nights, I only first started paying attention to the larger trends around Absolute Discord. So some of the older decks were completely unknown to me, and I was lucky to have the expertise of my good friend Bugle to help putting this history together. To start, we’re going to be talking about Yellow, because it’s a colour that’s had a really interesting history, possibly one of the most interesting out of all the colours.

It’s also a colour that is really present in the zeitgeist of the game right now, suddenly a force to be reckoned with not just in Core, but also in Harmony. Indeed, as we’ll see, there’s a little bit of poetic justice in Yellow taking a Harmony crown this year, given its history with the format, but to understand that we’re going to have to take the whole journey first.

Yellow’s fortunes in the game have experienced some significant variations over the course of time, but in broad strokes, the story is actually very simple. In the beginning, the colour was great. Then it was bad, for a long time, and now it’s good again. Barring one or two exceptions, that’s actually a pretty good approximation of how things have gone in the years since Premier. So let’s start with those golden days of yore, when the future was bright, and the metagame barely a new thing.

The core highlights of any Premier Yellow deck.

The Golden Years of Premier

There were two notable Yellow decks in the days of Premier, and while they shared one big card (one that will be a recurring theme through these early days of Yellow decks), aside from that their playstyles couldn’t be much more different. On the one hand, we had the aggro stylings of Blue/Yellow Rainbow Dash Wins, and on the other the Yellow/Purple control of Royal Guidance.

RD Wins probably requires little introduction and explanation. While in those days the game was fundamentally different, with confronting a Problem before anyone else netting you the Problem’s bonus points, functionally aggro was still aggro. That meant that one kept their cards’ reqs low, optimized high impact for low cost, and built an insurmountable momentum through the midgame that carried on through to the end. The biggest feature of Blue in those days was the free movement available from cards like Wild Fire and Holly Dash, and the AT efficiency of Cloudchaser and Two Bits. Yellow pitched in cheap things to make finding the off-colour Problem requirements easier, as well as the best Faceoff trick in the day with Critter Cavalry. And, of course, lest she ever be forgotten, the sheer dominance that was Guidance Counselor. This wasn’t one of those decks that necessarily tried to lock the opponent out of the game with her, as RD Wins was often, er... winning before that would happen, but it was still a huge source of AT advantage, and already well-recognized as one of the best cards in the game.

By the way, those 9 Troublemakers certainly weren’t a mistake, as if you take a close read on PR Rainbow Dash’s text you’ll realize that she needed them, even if the main strategy of the deck was was to confront Problems and go fast. And hey, who would say no to the opportunity for that brilliant double YPS opening? Even if we’re an aggro deck.

To the second example, Royal Guidance was the Swiss Army Knife of decks in those days, and it was one that absolutely thrived on the idea of dropping Fluttergui Turn 2 and basically winning the game from there on out. In fact, that was where the name of the deck came from, since Royal Guidance was the card that enabled either of Fluttergui or Ursa Vanquisher to hit the board early, setting up for an extremely asymmetric early game that would be used to assert dominance through the rest of it. Generally, this would take the form of solid Purple control, hunkered down behind Troublemakers and letting the game draw out. In those days, options against Troublemakers were few, and most decks could only really gather their resolve and hope to take them down in the faceoff, and under those circumstances Purple’s tools were well-positioned to keep the walls secure.

Indeed, some builds of Royal Guidance even tried their hand at the good old Gyro toolbox, even then already in a very well-developed form, though without the Eff Stop support at least. In the late game, the deck would often transition into a farming plan once Fluttershy had been flipped over, and could usually pull it off quite well, netting the extra points needed for the last push to the finish.

The meta as a whole was fluid in those days, with a number of other decks also vying for things (as we’ll get to in future articles), but with these two Yellow was absolutely in contention. This was a state of affairs that was bound to continue, at least for a little while.

These two could kill you with a wink of their eyes.

And The Man at the Back Said “Everyone Attack”

And it turned into a Ballroom Blitz. This one is probably the most well-known Yellow deck of the Premier era. Not only did it represent a distillation of the best that Yellow had to offer from the first two sets, it represented the match-made-in-heaven that was Yellow and White. And, so far as I could tell from the history, this deck was also Rarity: Truly Outrageous’ breakout hit. Sure, it was obvious to everyone that she was an absurdly valuable card right from the start, but it looks like this was the first deck that really hit the big-time with her.

The new Fluttershy Mane represented a huge speedup in the early game, especially since at this point Starting Problems were almost all small ones with easy confront requirements, and thus CN Fluttershy could ensure a quick confront and bonus points as soon as Turn 2. Remember those first confront bonuses plus the faceoffs, and a dominant early game could easily put the game out of reach, especially once it was followed up with the White-powered midgame, consisting of Stand Still to keep the opponent off-balance, and of course RTO to seal the deal. The deck could even (and often did) obtain the extra efficiency of using Staring Contest to self-bounce a cheap Friend like Forest Owl. Why, after all, would one spend 2 AT to move it when one could transition it through the hand instead and only pay 1 AT? All of that combined to make a lightning-fast juggernaut that tore up tournaments all across the country.

Of secondary note is a list that Bugle brought to my attention which I had never even heard of, a Yellow/Pink creation of the time that went by the semi-official name of Ploofy Critters. Fundamentally, this deck is working to much the same principles as the one above, but replacing the White integration with a somewhat lighter Pink package instead, and taking more Yellow weight as a result. Pink certainly does offer a bit of more permanent removal, but this deck’s success was something of a mystery at the time of its origination, especially with this list missing the crucial power that was Snips & Snails: Problem Solvers. (Which, it pays to note, was an even better card with those old first-confront rules.) Still, this deck in combination with Ballroom cemented Yellow’s status as one of the strongest colours in the game.

Unfortunately, though, that pride was coming right before the fall.

Something tells me this isn’t the last we’ll be seeing of these two in this series.

Rock & Ruin

Crystal Games started out shaping up to be a great set for Yellow. In fact, there was a deck shaping up that looked about ready to dominate the whole meta, and it was indeed powered by a Yellow card. But it got banned. Even so, for at least a little while the old guard was able to keep on with things, mostly overlooking the cards in the new set. As time went on, though, a couple of Manes who had been introduced in a small supplemental set made their presence felt more and more, and started defining their own era, which we’ll cover in more detail once we get to the articles about Orange and Pink. Most important to this story was the final nail that came with the banning of Guidance Counselor. Yellow had lost its biggest weapon, and in a world now filled with farming and Pile combo, there just wasn’t any space left for it anymore. It fell away.

So began the Long Darkness for the colour. Indeed, it got so bad that at the second NA Continental tournament, there was a grand total of just 7 Yellow cards across the entire Top 16. The one bright spot, in its own ironic way, was the popularity of Seabreeze’s Flower, which was kind of a Yellow card, even though nobody was using it for that purpose.

From here, the history gets a little dull, because yeah, the Long Darkness continued for a long time. Years and multiple sets passed with the colour being little more than a footnote, with few good Manes to its name, no true bombs that could form a deck’s foundation, and little prospect on the horizon too.

Which isn’t to say that attempts weren’t made. A few of them even bit at the edges of viability. Equestrian Odysseys especially offered quite a bit of hope, with Fluttershy, Backup Vocals finally being the card that could maybe make Bubbly Mare work, and Bedtime offering the chance for a Yellow/White control deck. Both of those saw real experimentation, but came up short, especially in a meta that was now quickly falling under the sway of the Apple Queen.

Then, suddenly, a spark. From a most unexpected direction, the colour came to life in High Magic, this time partnering with Purple and White in the form of Zipporwhill control. Granted, it was a mere 4 Yellow cards that made it into the deck, but that was the most that had been seen in a top deck in years, and more importantly they were the key cards that made the deck work. The piles of critter tokens that often accumulated over the course of a Zipporwhill game were a testament to that. The deck’s ability to turn a merely efficient Power Event in Rise and Shine into a control tool was its main strength, and cycling it repeatedly with Eff Stop turned out to be just the ticket. While Zippo’s time at the top turned out to be brief, with Defenders heralding the rise of Pink decks with more removal than she could stand, it was a bright, shining moment. Maybe, just maybe, Yellow was back to being something worth playing around with.

The heralds. Surprisingly, it still took a few sets for Yellow to emerge again.

A Silent Renaissance

Defenders of Equestria absolutely was the point of rebirth for the colour, though one wouldn’t necessarily have known it at the time. This was, after all, the meta made famous for Hot Wings and Vinyl’s Bag of Tricks, a time of Pink ascendancy almost unparalleled save maybe for the grand old days of Pile (again, more on that in the Pink article). But quietly, important seeds had been sown for Yellow’s resurgence later. Most importantly, after literal years of waiting, the colour received not only one but two exceptional Mane Characters in Nurturing Nature and Thorax. With that came extremely efficient point acceleration in the from of Tri-Horned Bunyip, and new tools against both Resources and Troublemakers, themes that had been building in the colour for a while, and were now getting close to a critical mass. Indeed, the colour was getting back to its roots for the first time in a while: prepping for a game plan of speedy confronts and aggression.

You might think, then, that it was only a matter of time before things turned around. Seaquestria & Beyond certainly had enough good cards that one would think the colour couldn’t help but see play. Day Shift once again gave the colour some brutal AT efficiency, its efficacy against Resources became unmatched with the introduction of Brian, and we even saw multiple effective multicoloured cards added in: like Pirate Fluttershy and Treading Water. Yet even so, Yellow remained under the radar, with the Seaquestria meta being first dominated by the Apple Queen (prior to her forcible removal) and then by Tempest Shadow and Purple/Pink.

Nay, it was indeed not until Friends Forever that the colour finally threw off its bonds and re-emerged as a true contender. Little wonder that this was accompanied by a true monster card in Mage Meadowbrook. In this set, Yellow was not taking any prisoners, and it was time for everyone else to feel the weight of the long years it had spent in irrelevance. Suddenly there were more Yellow than one could shake a stick at, with the most prominent being the Thorax/Orange aggro pioneered on the West Coast, and the pure mono style that first made waves in the Midwest. It also featured, at least tangentially, in the alicorn tribal that saw some play around this time.

Fast-forward now to Leaders & Legends, and suddenly the colour is everywhere again. It has prospects with Purple thanks to Pegasus Royal Guard, is still going strong in Orange, where it now regularly trots out Novo for the surprise faceoff edge, and even just captured a tournament in Harmony, at this most recent Vanhoover Pony Expo. Remember how I said there was a little poetic justice in Yellow’s tourney win this year? Well, Yellow dropped off in the old CG meta due to the prevalence of Pile of Presents and Orange farming. Which deck did Yellow have to beat to take the crown at Vanhoover this year? Yeah, it was Pile, albeit in an updated form. What was taken first from Fluttershy, Thorax has now reclaimed.

Conclusion

That thus wraps the discussion of Yellow for this month. Truly, this colour has had a very bumpy ride over the course of the history of the game. Yet, at the moment, the horizon looks bright. It’s a future that once looked nearly impossible, but those of us with a soft spot for the colour are now happy to see it come. May many more like this follow!

As for this series, the next colour in the line will be White, as we walk backward through the normal colour order. That may be in February, or later if something else demands attention first. But in any event, I’ll see you all back here next month for another post!

#mlpccg #history

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tarithenurse · 6 years ago

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New Years Eve

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Avenger!Reader Content: Pining, fluff, lemons. Don’t read if you’re not old enough. A/N: Refound the draft for this which I must have started back in December 2017. Thought it was about time to finish it...even if it’s not really NY Eve soon. And still...didn’t do proper proof reading. Sorry.

”The party of the year”, had been the way Tony described it when he secured your attendance for his New Years bash more than two months ago. Since then, you’d only heard rumours about the plans, and you’d been too preoccupied about getting through your solo-mission to spare a thought. That’s why you’d more than happily accepted when Wanda and Natasha had offered to sort whatever was needed that night.

Leaning back in the car seat, you really hope your two friends and co-Avengers have kept their end of the promise, whatever it might entail. No texts or calls have come your way which had been rather relaxing. For a while. Now not so much. Both Wanda and Nat are perfectly capable of being reasonable adult with common sense, but sometimes they end up in a mood where they wind each other up. Add Clint to the mix and the result will be disastrous, yet brilliant, pranking. For all you know, you might be on the way back to a cellophane covered room and a New Year’s outfit suitable for disguising the wearer as a flamingo.

...

Even after very careful inspection of your rooms, you’ve not been able to find any pranks lurking. And the outfit? It couldn’t have been better which is good because a few hours from arrival to party-start wouldn’t have left you with a whole lot of option. Why not re-use a dress or something? That’s what you normally would, but in usual Stark style the party has to be themed and this time it’s “animals” – hence the worry about the flamingo. But you’re in luck and the outfit is perfect.

More than perfect, you admit to yourself as you smooth a hand over the tightfitting number you’ve wriggled into. Tiny, faux scales in an oily-black shade is covering your body, only broken by the plunging cleavage and daring slit at along the thigh and a series of red accents that shimmer like fire across you chest and hips. Unfortunately, it does little to steel your nerves. It’s too…too…little! You feel exposed, naked.

A knock on the door barely precedes Natasha and Wanda who come barging in. They’re ready to go (one as a tiger and the other representing her alias’ namesake) and are here to put the last touches to their plan.

…

“I feel…like someone else!”

The woman staring back at you from the mirror is perfect. Dark makeup compliments the outfit (normally you’d only go as wild as mascara), and the usually unruly hair has been tamed into a surprisingly long, sleek braid that on its own looks like the snake you symbolize.

“You don’t like it?” Wanda cocks her head, causing the plushy tiger-ears to wobble endearingly.

You frown at the mirror. “I…I do! It’s just so…not how I normally look…” Do you? “That there,” you gesture helplessly, “she’s…I mean…hot and I’m not.”

“Jeez, good thing we got you sorted then.” Natasha’s adjusting the red/black corset one last time but spares a glance in your direction. “It’s about time you see what everyone else sees.”

Everyone? There’s no room in your head to consider the possible implications of that, so you try to ignore the hot bubble of nerves in your stomach. It’s just Nat and Wanda saying it. They’re your friends. Supportive, sweet, honest…but not objective. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of the guys would claim you were pretty either. Like Tony, he compliments anyone he meets on their outfits or whatnot (even if there’s nothing new about it), and Thor and Steve are the biggest sweetheart although one is quiet and the other is boisterous about it. Yeah, but what about Sam. And there you go, thinking exactly what you didn’t want to.

Sam used to be your friend. A buddy you hung out with and who showed you the ropes when you joined the Avengers. You still try to do that, but each moment around him is close to painful because you don’t see him as a casual friend anymore. You should because that’s what you guys are…but it’s not enough. What you feel for him is so much more. Trusting him with your life would be the easiest thing. And there’s no limit to what you’d do for him both in the field and outside to make sure he is safe and happy. Fuck.

“Hey! Viper, where you at?” Nat’s voice reaches through the swirling thoughts.

Both ladies are waiting at the open door, ready to head out. Mumbling an apology, you hurry after them, hoping they don’t notice your quickened breath and pulse.

“Why a black snake?” Standing in the elevator, it’s only now that it strikes you as odd. “I mean…as Viper it would make sense to use that for the animal tonight.”

“People might get suspicious,” Wanda shrugs, busy inspecting her nails.

Nat’s busy looking for something in her tiny purse but manages to talk past a thin knife: “Bwe’ide, ‘omeone elwe claimed it.”

…

You’d been lucky that there already were plenty people at the venue, meaning you could snake in between the other guests and head straight for the bar (ditching your friends at the same time).

“Gin ‘n tonic, please.”

Waiting for the drink, you look around the place. It’s busy, both at the bar running the length of the ball room, but also at the place in general. Hundreds of people are milling about, snatching canapés from trays carried by various birds (not actual birds, but waiters dressed as flamingos, cranes and so on). Huge tables with champagne pyramids is the only “classic” New Year’s theme while the place has been invaded by what appears to be an entire jungle. Lush green plants and exotic flowers create section in the large area while trees and hanging plants mingle above the heads of the guests, infiltrating the chandeliers to the point where you don’t think they will ever get free again.

“There y’are!” Nat’s smoky voice curls around you together with your arm. “Found the others by the palm trees. Steve’s a cat with yarn and all.”

It’s impossible not to take than bait, so you let her lead the way as soon as you got the cool drink in hand. They’re a sight to behold. Not just Steve the Kitten, but also Tony the Unicorn (sporting a long horn with which he attempts to skewer hors d’oeuvres when Pepper the Peacock isn’t looking) and well, probably everyone, but of course your mind is being silly and making sure to get stuck on the sight of the one person you shouldn’t watch.

Hot damn. Green scales glitter in the light as they adorn Sam’s suit, making it looks as if a viper’s curling around his body in a way you wouldn’t mind mimicking. No! I shouldn’t think that. At least he hasn’t noticed you because he’s too busy examining the rear end of Tony.

“You installed cooling?” His warm voice muffled by the fake tail hanging down.

“Wha’?! He’s got air-con?!” An edge of betrayal is powering Rhodes’ disbelief. “Man, you said I couldn’t get my exo cooled!” Hurrying over to take a look through Stark’s rear, he pushes Sam aside.

“Hey! Wa–” But Sam never gets further.

His eyes are scorching your skin but it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Out of sheer nervousness, you fidget with the metal straw in the drink, almost inhaling the clear liquid. Suddenly, the dress is too revealing, causing your guts to clench in a desperate plea for hiding, but the moment you try to move to get a bit behind Nat and Bucky, you feel the air breeze through the slit. Shit. Heat is rushing through your body.

“You’re looking good.” It’s Steve. “Like what Wanda and Nat have done, sticking with the venomous snake theme.” His friendly chuckle helps you soften up a bit as memories of your old life flashes by.

Growing up in the slums in the biggest city in South America had taught you a lot – even more so during the hardest periods where you stole away to survive in the jungle instead, figuring it was safer than being near the gangs and drug cartels. In hindsight, neither option could’ve been considered safe, but that was at least you learned enough to eventually take up the fight. Try to protect innocent people from the violent crime lords. That’s how you’d gotten onto the Avengers’ radar. Why they came to capture you. It was a good thing Clint had been there on that trip because he convinced the others to bring you back.

“Thanks. Feels odd not to wear something more…practical.”

A broad smile flashes. “I get it. Penguin suits are fine, but they aren’t made for moving.”

“That too.” Need to get away. “’Scuse me.”

Slipping away between the myriad of guests, you circle the room once while pretending to admire the decorations. In reality, you’re scoping the place for quiet corners and easy escape routes. But soon enough your feet are carrying you back to the bar for a refill. From there it’s possible to see most of the room…including the random flashes of a familiar green. My colour.

…

How can it not be near midnight?! It’s never been this awkward hanging out with the team. Sure, the chatting and fun is still going on…it’s just you that finds it hard to feel comfortable in your own skin as long as your near Sam. You’d tried talking to him, pretending everything’s fine. Normal. No unrequited love tearing you up from the inside, making it feel like someone has dripped your old venoms straight into your heart.

So you try to spend your time on the dance floor where no one expects you to carry on a conversation as you can lose yourself in the rhythms. Otherwise it’s the bar that calls, luring you with cold G&Ts until your head is buzzing comfortably. Not drunk…because you never know what can happen. 4th of July was bad, you remember, pushing the ice cubes around in the tall glass.

A delicate but strong hand clamps onto your shoulder, startling you.

“Relax, hon, just me.” The redhead takes a seat beside you. “Do you want me to ask or are you just gonna talk?”

“’Bout what?”

You don’t even have to look at her to know she’s rolling the eyes. “Why you moping.”

“Oh.” The straw clinks against your teeth. She’s bluffing. “Ask away. Doesn’t mean I got anything to tell.”

Somehow managing not to spill the martini, Nat whips around to face you. “Right, of course not. ‘Cause it’s not like you’ve been harbouring a huge crush on a special gentleman.” Your glare doesn’t discourage her. “Maybe you should consider why the viper was taken so quickly.” And with that she floats away, drink in one hand and hips swaying elegantly to the music.

…

Dancing with Steve is an interesting experience: as physically gifted as he may be, this is one thing he has a hard time getting the hang on although he does his best to follow your instructions while both of you are grinning like fools, the ending of the song still brings a certain relief. Until you turn around straight into Sam’s arms. For a second, he seems just as baffled as you do, but then his trademark crooked grin lights up his face.

“Guess there’s no way about it now…wanna dance?” A warm hand is already skimming along your hip although the other waits for your decision.

It’s odd how perfectly his fingers fit around yours, how his arms seem to create a bubble of calmness that seeps into you until your breath is even and your heartbeat follows an unheard rhythm. Fingers with blood-red nails slither across venomous-green faux scales until coming to a rest on Sam’s shoulder.

“Didn’t know you liked that colour.” It looks amazing on him. “You should use it in your uniform.”

They’re playing an old Frank Sinatra song that you’ve heard a million times, allowing your brain to switch off and Sam to lead you effortlessly.

“I’ve thought about it…didn’t wanna to steal from you, tho’.”

He twirls you in his arms before dipping you, causing your heart to pound rapidly against the ribs so hard he might hear it (especially considering how close to your cleavage his ear is). Not like you haven’t stolen anything already.

“Oh, is that so?” Pulling you back up, chest against chest, it’s evident that you must have spoken your thoughts. “What’d I steal, babe?”

Babe. Sure, he’s used nicknames before. He’s the master of thinking up witty monikers for everyone on the team and failing that there’s always the classical endearments which he freely uses for everyone. This time, though, it’s spoken in a soft purr that makes it sound anything like the usual banter. You can’t take your eyes off him as your try to kick your brain back into action. A quick sweep of the tongue to get your mouth working brings back the taste of lipstick and G&T, brings Sam’s focus onto the red colour adorning your lips and his eyes darken momentarily.

Maybe you should consider why the viper was taken so quickly. Nat’s words echo in your mind and small details that you’ve never really given much thought start to fall into place. The way Sam always makes sure there’s a spot on the couch on movie nights, or how he somehow checks in a bit more frequently on missions than with the others. He even knows how you like your tea and coffee, despite the fact that you aren’t sure yourself.

“Sam…” you bite your bottom lip, still nervous.

“[Y/N]?”

Somewhere outside the bubble he’s created, the music is still playing, and people are getting closer to the new year, but inside, it’s just the two of you standing closer than humanly possible, allowing your lips to brush easily over his. Maybe the soft sigh is from him, it doesn’t matter. Just the fact that he recaptures your lips to deepen the kiss is important. His hand travels up the back to cradle your neck, the other arm drawing you closer.

…

The party is far away across town when the new year approaches. Clothes are discarded around the familiar room as Sam looks at you from under heavy lips. His hand is resting on your head that bobs slowly in unison with your hand. Each time the tip of your tongue twirls around the crown of his cock he hums in approval and you can feel his muscles work under the free hand you’re supporting yourself with partially.

His erection twitches as moans become groans, maybe spurred on at the quiet laughter you can’t hold back. It’s exhilarating to have such power over him, but next moment it’s gone as he pulls your away. Sam’s got you on your back quicker than you’d anticipated, lips trailing hot over the goosebumps covering your body and then…then he’s the one in control as mouth, tongue and fingers play you like an instrument, coaxing sounds from you that increasingly sound like his name. Sound like begging.

Your limbs are shaking when he pulls you onto his lap. Hands on your hips, the gorgeous man allows you to set the pace after he has aligned the throbbing cock with your wet core, and as you finally glide down the shaft, as he fills you up more than anyone has before, both of you cling on.

Open mouths breathing hard. Sweat glistening on skin. Moans. Strangled cries of pleasure. Partially suspended above your arching body, your name tumbles from Sam’s lips while his hips rock into you. Harder, faster. Your legs are on the verge of cramping from the iron hold around his waist, ankles locking behind his backs while your nails are digging into his shoulder blades.

Outside the window, fireworks light up the night sky, their explosions nearly drowned out by his name as you both tumble over the edge and into the hazy sea of bliss.

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