#gonna add the link to last year's post tomorrow when i get home | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libsterslobsters · 4 years ago

Text

Whole Lotta Love

Synopsis: For some people, Valentine’s Day is another word for "stress", especially when you don't know what the other person is expecting. Several years into their relationship, Bucky’s pretty sure he has a good understanding of the Reader, until a word from Sam makes him question everything he thinks he knows. The race is on to make their first Valentine’s Day since saying their vows a special one, but as per usual, fate has it's own ideas about what will make the holiday truly memorable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Author's note: This fic contains references to earlier stories. For more information, click the series masterlist link. As always, the reader is unnamed so that this can be read as a self-insert, but at this point, I think of her as an OC.

The song referenced is Hearts Don't Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran

Series Masterlist

A The Song Remains The Same Fic

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“So, Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his laptop (or more specifically, the field report he’s typing) at Sam’s words. Despite his concentration, he can tell that his partner is staring at him, boring holes into his back with his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” He’s listening, but so far, he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing for it?” For Valentine’s day? Um…

“Not much.” It’s a Tuesday this year, right? Then probably working, like most other people, he’d imagine.

The room is silent as he types, so Bucky assumes that settles the matter. That is, until Sam mutters a quiet, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“About what?” How many paragraphs does he have to type before he can pass this off as a full report? When he joined the Avengers, he thought the hardest part of his job would be the bad guy of the week, not doing paperwork!

“You’re really not doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Seriously?” He nods absentmindedly and clicks the save icon. He’ll finish this tomorrow. It’s five o’clock. Time to head home. Home to-

“What’s your wife gonna think about that?” He shrugs and cuts the power to the laptop.

“She thinks that the whole holiday is a rip-off. See you Monday?” He turns around for confirmation, only to catch Sam staring at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What?”

“A rip-off?” Is he just going to be stuck repeating himself?

“Yep.” Told him that the first February 14th they spent together.

“And you actually believed her?”

He nods. “She’s not one to lie.”

Sam nods incredulously. “Uh-huh. And are you planning to ever have sex again?”

He’s not going to dignify that with an answer (because really, isn’t it obvious?).

“Fine.” Sam shrugs. “You do you, man. All I’m saying is, if I had a wife who looked like that-” he indicates the lock screen of Bucky’s phone (a picture of her laughing, telling him to put away the damn camera after wrestling the dog for the tie to her favorite robe). “-I’d have my V-day plans set up a month in advance.”

Normally Bucky would take what Sam says with a grain of salt, but he is after all a man out of time, so maybe it’s worth considering that his partner may be right.

“What would you suggest I do?”

“Outside of the bedroom?” He narrows his eyes at the Falcon. “Okay, bad joke.” Sam scratches at the back of his head, thinking. “I don’t know, man. That’s your girl. You know her best, but flowers are always a good place to start.” Good to know that hasn’t changed since the 1940s. Although, last time he brought her flowers, she spent the afternoon sneezing until he eventually convinced her that it was okay, he wouldn’t be offended, she should throw the damn things out. Then again, that was before she was a super soldier.

“Flowers.” He repeats, earning a nod from Sam.

“You can get creative. Do a little research. But I’m just saying, when a woman waits five years for you to reappear, the least she deserves is a few flowers.” On that, they can agree.

He must bid Sam some sort of goodbye and make his way through the Avengers compound, but he’s unaware of anything until he’s in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, googling “What to do for your wife on Valentine’s Day.” There’s a web page that boasts twenty different selections. Might as well give it a look.

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s nearly home when her phone dings with a text from Barnes. “Just got in. Forgot to get milk. Can you swing by on your way, or should I go to the gas station and pick up a gallon?” A frown forms on her face. It’s pretty rare that Bucky forgets things. Must’ve been a hell of a day at work, then. Either that, or his brain has completely turned to mush thanks to typing out field reports. Either way-

“I got it. See you in twenty.” She thinks about tacking on a “love you”, but the light turns green before she can.

The grocery store is packed thanks to so many people getting off work. There’s only three carts left, all with bad wheels. She chooses the least squeaky option and, grabbing an add on her way, heads into the grocery store. Milk, and if she remembers right from this morning, they’re running dangerously low on coffee and tea. Despite caffeine having absolutely no effect on their enhanced bodies, both of them are nightmares to be around in the mornings without their beverages of choice. Force of habit and all.

She’s halfway to the checkout when she sees it. A sign, decorated in garish shades of red, pink, and purple. “All Valentine’s Day chocolates 10% off.” Shit. Yeah, that is coming up. To tell the truth, she’d completely forgot all about that day halfway through February. For most of her life, it only meant giving homemade cards at school when most kids had store-bought. Then, once she reached adulthood, it was a reminder that she was destined to be alone. Who would want someone who’s on the run, and what’s more, sees the future? Once she and Barnes got together, it didn’t change much. That first Valentine’s Day, he mentioned the holiday, and she shut it down immediately. They were both broke (or at least, he had no legitimate way of making money while she was broke), and celebrating a mostly commercial holiday seemed like a waste. Plus, she didn’t want to put a strain on a new relationship. Over the years, the subject never came up again, and she’s content for it to stay a non-starter, thank you very much. In her opinion, you should show your partner you love them every day of the year, not shoe-horn it into one twenty-four hour period. Call her unromantic if you must.

She’s completely immune to the various displays of cheap chocolate in heart-shaped boxes and overly sentimental cards as she approaches the register and starts to unload her items. Milk. Tea. That one specific brand of coffee that he likes because, “It tastes like what we drank in basic training. Terrible, but I kinda got used to it, so now everything else tastes like it’s trying too hard.” whatever that means. He’s right; she’s tasted it, and it’s fucking awful. Still, every morning, he drinks at least three cups while she drains her pot of tea.

“You got a hot date for Valentine’s Day, hun?” The cashier asks her, never breaking her rhythm as she rings up the items.

She chuckles. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The cashier’s eye go wide, and she holds up her left hand. “And every other day.”

“Ooh, nice. How long have you been together?”

“Nine years.” Wait… “Or four years, depending on which of us you ask. He blipped, I stayed.”

The cashier nods. “So are you older than him now?”

Physically? They’re not completely sure, but if you calculate the times he was off the ice with HYDRA and add that to the age he was before the serum, then they’re not far off. But chronologically- “No, he’s still older.” And yes, it will always be funny that Sam responds with “Okay, boomer” whenever Bucky makes an outdated reference (even if he’s off by a good twenty years).

With a little more light chatter, she pays for her items and leaves. Now, for home.

As soon as she opens the front door, she’s greeted by their dog, Sarge, barking excitedly and hopping around like he’s on a trampoline despite missing a leg. Bucky’s not far behind, placing a quick peck on her forehead before taking the bags from her and unloading them in the kitchen. Tonight’s his night to cook, but unless her nose has suddenly decided to give out, he hasn’t started dinner yet. She doesn’t mind taking over tonight, and when he sheepishly apologizes while she begins her preparations, she brushes it off. Although, for the second time in an hour, she’s seen proof of his unusual absentmindedness. Oh well. She’ll ask him about it later.

Despite being relieved from tonight’s chef duties, Bucky stays in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone as she cooks. His expression is neutral, which can mean one of two things; a) he’s just killing time and there aren’t any interesting posts or articles vying for his attention, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, b) he’s deep in thought, possibly angry, sad, or even frightened, but he’s gone into Winter Soldier mode and shut down so that she won’t pick up on his mood. Damn the man and his poker face.

Eventually dinner is served and she sends him off toward the fridge in search of two beers while she serves their plates. Just as she’s spooning a generous helping of salad into her bowl, it happens. A vision, but a limited one. All she’s seeing is a phone. Well, that and the hand holding it. She’s not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that she immediately recognizes the hand as Bucky’s, but that goes by the wayside as she takes in the article he’s reading. “Should you do something for Valentine’s Day even is she says no?” It’s a thread on some anonymous discussion board. The reply that has his attention is in reference to a now divorced individual who “was dumb enough to believe that, on our first V-Day as a married couple, she didn’t want anything.” Oh boy. Not good. This will be their first Valentine’s Day since exchanging vows, and if the fact that he’s read this reply (if not already read, will read soon) means that it’s at least crossed his radar that she might be feeding him bullshit. That’s not the case, but after his research, she knows from experience that no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise, a small part of his mind will be stuck on, “But what if this is a big deal?” Which means-

“Doll, are you just gonna stand there with the salad tongs in your hand?” That snaps her out of it.

“No. Just a vision.” He frowns as she passes him his plate.

“Anything important happen?” Should she say?

“No.” She’s not sure if the smile or not, so she takes a bite from her roll to cover it. “Random sneak peek.” It’s not a lie. What she saw really isn’t important. Still, if he’s in that mindset, she should probably go on and do something for him just in case. After all, why should it only be the ladies who reap this holiday’s benefits?

___________________________________________________________________________________

Not flowers. That’s the one thing that, after copious amounts of research Bucky is one hundred percent certain about. They may still be a common romantic gift, but since they were also a go-to back when he was courting girls in the 1940s, it’s safe to say they’ve been overdone. Plus, he doesn’t really want to remind her of that time she had such a severe allergic reaction to the flowers he picked her on a walk through the park in Bucharest that her eyes nearly swelled shut and she sneezed herself sick. That doesn’t exactly seem like prime romance.

Chocolates or other candies have the same issues as flowers. Contrived and predictable. A bottle of wine is nice, but neither of them can so much as get mildly tipsy thanks to the super serum. The fourteenth is his day to cook, so he guesses he could do some reading and try to create something a little more special than spaghetti (he thought about going to a nice restaurant for dinner, but there’s a few issues with that, not the least of which is they’re likely to be recognized without their disguises, and he’d rather not look at his wife through sunglasses on Valentine’s day), but that seems a little underwhelming.

As he loads the dishwasher (she fell asleep half-way through the third episode of whichever nonsensical comedy they’re watching this week, so he sneaked back downstairs to clean up the dinner dishes), he thinks back to the dozen separate articles he read on the subject of Valentine’s Day gifts. Jewelry was a common theme, but that’s out. She’ll say thank you to his face, but worry about the cost behind his back. Plus, he has absolutely no idea what she’d like, and there’s no sense in purchasing something only for her to hate it.

Another common one was lingerie. Bucky almost choked on his tongue when he saw some of the examples given with that option. None of it looked comfortable (in fact, he’s still scratching his head about how you even put on one of the pieces that popped up on the web page) and he doesn’t want to give her the impression that she has to dress up for him. Even putting all that aside, he has no idea what size she’d even wear. He likes to think that he knows his wife pretty well, but somehow, in all their years together, it never occurred to him to ask her for her clothing sizes. That, and have you even seen the bra sizing system? Does it make sense to anyone, because to Bucky, it’s all gibberish. 32 B? 36 DD? What the hell? Somehow, when HYDRA was training him to extract information, they failed to go over the translation of a woman’s bra size. He supposes he could ask, but he’s not sure there’s a non-suspicious way to work, “Hey, sweetheart. What size are your breasts?” into casual conversation.

Sam said to get creative, so he tried to think outside the box. What’s something she really needs? A new vacuum cleaner is the first thing to come to mind, but he’s not stupid enough to think that would make a good gift. He knows she’s had her eye on a set of throwing stars, but that doesn’t seem to correlate well with what this holiday is all about. That’ll keep until her birthday.

He’s still wracking his brain for anything at all that might work when he feels a wet nose poking at his hand. Sarge. “Hey, boy. Has your mom gone to bed?” The response is a quiet “woof” and lick to his palm. He scratches the mutt behind the ears, smiling to himself as Sarge’s back leg thumps at the treatment.

“What do you think we should get our girl? Huh?” There’s no reply (of course not, he’s talking to a dog), but he nods, pretending all the same that Sarge has offered up a suggestion. “A bone. Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s her thing. Try again.” The dog blinks at him lazily. “No, you’re the one who wants new tennis balls. Not Mom. Although you’re right about her liking peanut butter.” At this rate, he might as well get her a bone and some tennis balls, because he’s sure not coming up with any ideas.

She likes music. The thought pops into his head while he’s brushing his teeth. All sorts of music. Over the years, he’s tried to make sense of the songs he’s heard her listen to, but has yet to find a discernible pattern in her listening habits. She doesn’t seem to stick to just one genre or era. More like she picks songs by how they relate to what she’s feeling at the moment. Wait a second-

“A mixtape.” His reflection mouths the words back at him. Despite technology having moved on from the days of burning CDs, she still has a thick stack of the disks stored in a cabinet and plays them on the regular. He’s even seen a few that she made herself, pasting together the songs she likes to make a “Cleaning mix”, “Workout Mix” and “Pissed off Mix”. Bucky’s sure he could figure out how to burn a CD, but it’s not like she’d be able to listen to that everywhere she went. That leaves a playlist. She uses one of those apps to listen to music on her phone, right? Surely he can put something together for her using that.

Quietly, he climbs into bed next to his sleeping wife and pulls her back against his chest, slinging one arm over her waist as usual. He closes his eyes, but his mind is alight with activity. A playlist. Of course. He’ll put some extra effort into whatever he cooks that night, stop by a bakery and pick up some sweet treats for dessert. Hell, maybe they’ll both dress up and act like they’re on a date. Then, once they’re sitting down to their meal, he’ll pull out his phone and hit play. It’s perfect. At least, he hopes it is.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Putting on a lacy bra and panties set underneath her regular work attire seemed like a brilliant idea this morning. Today’s a short day; she’s only got three classes to teach, and Rhodey called last night to tell Bucky that he’s suspending work hours at three pm “Since most people have holiday preparations to make.” Her plan was to be waiting on the sofa in the living room when he arrives home, professional button-down blouse open just enough for him to get a good look at what’s underneath, pencil skirt pushed up enough to reveal the stockings and garters she’s donned for the occasion. It’s fun, with just enough cheesiness to match this whole holiday. And, well, it’s a guarantee that by the end of the night they’ll be in bed together, both rumpled, sweaty, and satisfied. Perfect, right?

Wrong. On her drive to work, her skimpy underwear began to ride up, giving her a wedgie, and there was no way to adjust without running the risk of wrecking. She was so distracted by her discomfort that she missed her exit, and by the time she arrived at the college, she was running so behind that she didn’t get the chance to run to the bathroom and readjust. Her lecture on sentence diagrams was pure torture before the underwire from her bra decided to join in the fun and poke her directly in the ribs, but with that addition, she was especially impatient with her students’ tendency to joke around a little too much in class.

Luckily, she had just enough time to wrap the exposed metal bit in tissues before her next class, which eliminated the pain in her chest, but did nothing to alleviate the discomfort once her stockings began to slide down, having at some point disconnected themselves from the garters. She taught like that for the next two classes, but as soon as they were over, she pealed the whole ensemble off in the teacher’s restroom and changed into her gym clothes. Alright, screw the whole seduction routine. She needs to blow off some steam and fast, or else she’ll be in a bad mood all night.

That’s why, thirty minutes later, she finds herself in the training room of the Avengers compound, working over a punching bag. “Fuck-” Her fist connects, making the bag swing crazily from it’s hook. “-this- whole- day!” It goes sailing, and she feels a little better.

“Ouch!” The voice comes from behind her and she whirls around, gaze resting on-

“Sam.” The man in question holds up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture.

“Don’t shoot! I come in peace.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up her middle finger, receiving a snicker in acknowledgment.

“Just working off a little frustration before I head home.”

“Good.” Sam chuckles. “’cause otherwise, I’d be worried that when Barnes pulls out his dick tonight, you’ll bite it off.” She thinks about telling him that there’s no chance of that, but she might just cut off his if he crosses her. However, that jogs her memory.

“Has he left yet?” Sam nods.

“About an hour ago. Said he had to pick up groceries.” Shit. There goes her plan to shower, throw the damn lingerie back on and proceed as planned.

Bidding Sam a hasty reply, she makes tracks towards her car and, once inside, heads for home. Fine. New plan. She’ll shower once she arrives and then when the evening is drawing to a close, wait for him in bed. Nodding to herself, she puts the car in park and climbs out. Now, to psych herself up enough in the next few hours to put the damn lingerie back on.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Where did he go wrong? It takes all of Bucky’s self control not to spit out the spoonful of sauce he just tasted. This was supposed to be an easy recipe for Chicken Alfredo (or at least, that’s what the website boasted; he should’ve known better than to get his information from the internet and stuck to a good old-fashioned cookbook from the library). Not… whatever the hell this is. Maybe even if the sauce is nauseating, the chicken is okay?

He pulls open the oven door, and immediately smoke billows out, making his eyes water. Okay, chicken’s a little well-done. Who is he kidding? Black. The chicken is burned black. And the pasta… he lifts the pot lid and stirs, only to come to the realization that the pasta is completely stuck to the bottom of the pot. Wonderful.

It’s inevitable; over the years, he’s had his fair share of cooking disasters, but usually he does okay. Tonight though… who the hell up there did he piss off, because the only explanation for how badly this is going is his karma coming due.

Still holding the offending spoon, he looks over at Sarge, who’s staring at him, long pink tongue sticking out as he pants. “Trust me, boy. You don’t want any of this.” There has to be something else he can pull together on short notice. Normally he’d be worried that she’s running late without so much as a text, but today he’s relieved. At least if she’s running behind he’ll have time to… what? Maybe order takeout? Before she gets-

“I’m home.” Shit.

Sarge yips, shaking with excitement, and starts towards the kitchen door, then turns back, uncertain. “Go on. I know you’re dying to jump on her and lick her face.” Something they really should be training out of him because he’s getting too big for that sort of behaviour but, well… there’s a reason they call them “puppy dog eyes.”

Not needing to be coaxed, the dog takes off, tripping a little in the momentary lapse in his memory that he’s a tripod, but easily catches himself and goes on his merry way, leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. From the sound of things, a game of fetch is going on in the living room, so she should be distracted for a while.

He manages to pour the sauce down the drain and scrape most of the pasta into the trash while Sarge is acting as a decoy, but there’s absolutely no way he can dispose of the chicken without tipping her off (damn enhanced senses, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already smelled it). Finally, he decides to just go for it. She’s going to notice whether he throws it out now or two hours from now. Might as well get a head start on cleaning.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after he empties out the oven, he catches a movement in his peripheral vision, and the familiar sound of her breathing tips him off that he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky. Did something burn in here, or-” He holds up the pan for her inspection before continuing his scraping.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He slams the lid back on the trashcan and turns on the tap, intent on rinsing out the pan. “Another is whoever the god of culinary arts is has it in for me today.”

She chuckles. “You know, that would be funnier if we didn’t actually know a god.”

“Yeah, but he’s in control of thunder.” He meets her eyes, smirking slightly. “Although it did look like I electrocuted the bird.” Her lips quirk up into a smile, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, cupping the back of her head gently to hold her in place when she tries to move away, muttering something about being sweaty.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, but by the time they come up for air, her back his pressed against the wall and he’s got her pinned in place. Not that he’s complaining.

“Anyone ever tell you that the tip of your nose turns pink after you’ve been kissed?’ Her cheeks go rosey in response.

“I think so. One guy did. I told him it’s only when I’m kissed properly.”

He really would like to continue the playful banter, but there’s still the small matter of whatever it is they’re going to eat.

“What do you feel like for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from electrocuted chicken?” He responds with a swat to her ass, which earns him a snicker. “Let’s keep it simple. Pizza. Your choice of toppings.” Right, that’s easy enough. Plus, if they have to wait longer than thirty minutes, it’s free.

“Okay. I’ll order while you shower?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He’s just pulled up the menu on his phone when the sound of her clearing her throat attracts his attention. She’s standing in the doorway, combing through her freshly let down hair with her fingers, a playful look in her eyes.

“Or you could join me. Just a mild suggestion.”

Dinner can wait for a while.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Brooklyn townhouse they live in has many nice features. There’s a functional if small screened in back porch, big enough to hold a table for two and a grill. Two bedrooms, on the off chance someone from work needs to crash for a night or two. A kitchen with a dishwasher. A working fireplace. Good closet space. And an en suite bathroom.

Maybe it’s a little ridiculous to call a bathroom luxurious, especially when, in comparison to what’s featured in many brownstones, it’s more than modest, but she can’t help but think of it as such. There’s a double sink so that in the morning rush to get ready, Bucky’s able to shave and brush his teeth without having to wait for her to finish applying her makeup. Shelving above the toilet makes certain that even if the last person to shower took the towel with them, another one is on hand. Speaking of the shower, it’s not the largest one in the world, but both of them can fit in comfortably at the same time, which is what’s lead to their current situation.

She’s just finished allowing the water to course over her body, easing the sweat from her skin, and is about to begin the process of washing her hair, scrubbing her body, but she hesitates. She might as well ask. It’s only practical after all.

“Do you want to start now or get cleaned up and have dinner beforehand?” It’s obvious what she’s referring to, so she doesn’t bother to spell it out.

His brown knits, and if she didn’t know him as… intimately… as she does, she’d actually believe he’s confused.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming there’s gonna be sex involved at some point tonight?”

She shrugs, wringing out her hair.

“Seemed like a safe enough bet.” She glances pointedly between the two of them. “After all, we’re already undressed. “

His laugh is a quiet huff, barely discernible over the sound of the water. “Then I’d say start now, have dinner, then go for round two. Sound about right to you?”

She nods. “Solid plan.”

“Then get over here.”

Unlike the welcome home kiss they shared not half an hour ago, this one is less tender, more electric. Hands twist in hair, bodies press together. Tongues begging for entrance quickly give way to teeth nipping at bottom lips, an unspoken sparring match for who’ll be in control this time around. Ultimately he wins, grasping her hips and lifting as she wraps her legs securely around his back.

There’s no need for prep; the teasing of their earlier words is foreplay enough. Back pressed against the wall, her body easily welcomes him in as she braces one arm against the glass shower doors for balance. Any concerns about slipping and falling wash away as they move together like so many times before. She’s sure her nails will leave marks on his back, fingertips digging in for purchase and it’s a guarantee her hips will be littered with fingerprints from his grip, but she can’t find it in her to care, and if the desperate, bruising kiss assaulting her lips is anything to judge from, neither can he.

“So damn good, Doll.” It’s panted against her neck. “Always. So damn perfect for me.” All she can manage is a moan in response.

She feels him twitch inside of her and knows he’s close. So is she, but she can’t quite get there without-

As if he’s read her mind, he reaches between them to touch her where she needs it most, and on instinct, she readjusts, locking her arm around his neck to stay in place. “Let go, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” She couldn’t disobey if she wanted to.

“Fuck.” As her walls contract around him, he pulls out just in time to paint her middle with his release.

“That’s one word for it.” She’s still fighting to catch her breath, but she shoots him a shaky smirk, which he returns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Barnes.” Snickering, she releases him to stand on unsteady legs and pecks his legs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Barnes.” Maybe there’s something to this holiday after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You want the last slice?” Bucky considers it for a moment before deciding-

“Nah. You can have it.” It may not be exactly what he planned, but it’s been a good night. Between the two of them, they’ve gone through two large pizzas while watching the new version of Beauty and the Beast (she rolled her eyes when he asked if this was her way of saying he reminds her of a certain hairy, horned character) in their pajamas.

“No, really. You take it. I don’t want it.” She nudges the mostly-empty pizza box towards him. The noise makes Sarge lift his head from where he was snoozing beside her on the sofa. That gives him an idea.

“I don’t want it either, but I can think of someone who does.” He cocks his head towards the now-drooling dog. “How ‘bout it, boy? Wanna help us out?”

Snickering, she picks the pepperonis and pieces of sausage and ham from the pizza, forming a pile. “Here, Sarge. Catch.” She tosses a coveted treat in the air, and Sarge’s jaw snaps, swallowing it whole. “Good boy.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“You know, I actually did have something planned for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She nods.

“Absolutely. Had a whole seduction plan laid out. Tiny underwear, lacy bra, and stockings with garters included.” Huh. Guess she wouldn’t have taken the “lingerie” option the wrong way. He’ll file that away for future use… along with a mental note to ask her bra size. “That is, until I tried wearing the damn things for longer than an hour. Turns out, hiding a dirty secret under your clothes is more itchy than sexy.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, producing a pout from her which quickly turns into her own quiet laughter.

“Well, that fits in perfectly with my fancy dinner going up in smoke.”

“We really do have shitty luck with the whole “romance” thing.” She’s joking, but he decides to respond anyway.

“I don’t know about that.” Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifts their hands, twin wedding bands catching the light. “You waited five years for me to reappear after the blip, and I convinced you to elope with me. Seems pretty romantic.” Although, that reminds him…

“Don’t move.” Releasing her hand, he stands and goes in search of his phone.

“Bucky, what-”

“Don’t move, Doll. Stay right where you are.” Ah. On the kitchen counter, just where he left it. Jogging back into the room, he resumes his place on the couch next to her. Ignoring her questioning gaze, he pulls up the app and, selecting the correct playlist, hits play.

Immediate recognition blooms on her face at the opening lyrics. “She is the sweetest thing that I know. Should see the way she holds me when the lights go low.” He’s not one for modern music, but when he was googling “songs for Valentine’s Day” and this one popped up, he couldn’t help but think that the lyrics were fitting.

“I didn’t know you’d heard this one.”

He chuckles. “Even old men have a few tricks up their sleeves. That, and a wifi connection.” She rolls her eyes but leans closer, which he takes advantage of to show her the playlist.

“This is the app you use, right?” Receiving a nod, he continues. “Feel free to scroll through and add whatever you want. I haven’t listened to all of them the whole way through, but they seemed to fit the mood.”

Her hand closes over his, covering the phone. “Thank you, Bucky. It’s perfect.”

As the singer goes on about how hearts don’t break around here, he presses his lips against hers.

“I love you, Doll.”

“Love you.”

Not bad for a disastrous Valentine’s Day. Not bad at all.

#marvel #the avengers #bucky fanfic #bucky x original female character #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #smut #fluff

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sankyeom · 4 years ago

Photo

𝟷, 𝟸, 𝟹 (𝚜𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎) // 𝚜𝚒𝚡

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍'𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚢!𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚡 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎. (𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝟷, 𝟸, 𝟹 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚌𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖)

𝟷, 𝟸, 𝟹 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 // 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 // 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝

You were excited to have Hyerin on the paper because she was an amazing photographer, and it meant that you had an actual shot at having a female friend for a change. Of course, you wouldn’t trade Jinyoung, Yonghee, Hyunsuk and Eric for the world – Sunwoo was on thin ice after pranking you one too many times – but it would still be nice to have a female presence around.

“Okay guys, let’s get started,” you happily commenced the meeting when everyone arrived in the media room. “Eric’s been working on an idea about sustainability in school that he’s going to need your help with, Hyerin,” you began, causing both Eric and Hyerin to nod and smile at each other. “I’m sure you guys can figure out exactly what you need. Who’s turn is it for layout this week?”

“Mine,” Jinyoung said, taking brief notes on a post-it note about the different tasks that you had to layout during the meeting.

“Great! Then does anyone have any ideas for the cover piece this week?” you asked, giving everyone an opportunity. The cover piece was the front-page article and the most important part of the newspaper. If it wasn’t interesting or eye-catching enough, people wouldn’t even pick up the issue at all. “I had an idea that I think is more enticing than Eric’s issue on sustainability, no offence,” you quickly added. Eric waved you off to show you that he was fine. “I was thinking… Since Jinyoung is a member of our newspaper team and he’s running for dance team captain, we could make our cover piece an interview,” you suggested, smiling at your team to see what they thought.

All of your friends already knew and liked your idea, so it was really up to Hyerin to see what she would think. “I think that’s an amazing idea,” Hyerin stated, looking genuinely excited about it. “But doesn’t that seem a little unfair?” she added. “I mean, it would seem biased if Jinyoung is the only person that gets an interview, just because he’s on the paper and the editor’s best friend.”

You deflated. Hyerin was completely right, and you felt embarrassed that you hadn’t considered this. “Oh,” you sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. So it’s a no-go, then?”

“We could just interview everyone instead,” Hyerin suggested. “There are only three nominees so it wouldn’t be so difficult to get an interview with them all.”

You thought it over. On one hand, you wanted Jinyoung to win and have an advantage over the others. On the other hand, you wanted to be a fair editor and have the popularity of the newspaper increase so that more people would join the staff in the future. “I think that’s a good idea,” you agreed, feeling that it was truly the best way to go for the paper. “Since Eric is going to be busy with his piece, Yonghee, Jinyoung and I can interview.”

Yonghee brought something up. “Since Jinyoung is being interviewed, maybe it’s best if he sits this one out. Just so nobody feels like it’s biased,” he reminded.

You nodded. “Right. Okay, Yonghee why don’t you interview Hwang Hyunjin, and I’ll interview Jinyoung and Na Jaemin,” you modified since Hyerin was only the photographer and had no involvement in writing or interviewing. She would also be busy taking portraits of the nominees, so she wouldn’t have time for interviews and such.

“I’m okay with it,” Jinyoung agreed, although his expression had hardened and you could tell he was just being nice. “I have to work on the layout, anyway.”

“So it’s settled,” You said, nodding. “Jinyoungie, why don’t you work on the horoscopes for this month too since I’ll be doing two interviews instead of one like I originally thought?”

Jinyoung gave you a two-finger salute. “No worries, boss,” he added with a wink, causing you to roll your eyes at your best friend. Still, you smiled back at him and could see – now more than ever – why so many people thought that you and Jinyoung were dating. The two of you had been friends for so many years that the playful relationship you had often came across as romantic to others, but it was something that you guys simply ignored.

“Jinyoung, do you have the other nominees’ numbers? If possible, I want to schedule the interviews for tomorrow during our newspaper meeting so nobody has to work outside of our meeting hours to do this,” you mentioned, causing Jinyoung to nod.

“Oh, Jaemin’s my best friend,” Hyerin added from her seat next to Eric. The two of them had excitedly been chatting about how Eric was going to expose the school for preaching sustainability but still using plastic utensils in the cafeteria when she spoke. “I can just tell him to be here tomorrow after school and he will be.”

“That’d be great, thank you,” you appreciated, happy to have one less thing to worry about. You glanced down at your agenda and nodded slowly to yourself. “Okay. Jinyoungie, send Yonghee Hyunjin’s number and then we can get to editing the other articles we have ready for this week’s paper!” you smiled, closing your agenda and grinning at everyone.

Jinyoung nodded, immediately grabbing his phone to do as you said. “This is exciting,” Hyerin said, glancing up at you. “Thank you guys for letting me join. I know I was supposed to sign up last year but there was just a lot going on,” Hyerin said.

“Of course, we’re glad to have you!” you encouraged her.

Hyerin beamed. “I can’t wait for you to meet Jaemin tomorrow,” she added. “I think you’ll get along really well.”

You paused. Jinyoung was your best friend in the world and he meant everything to you. If you could take all of his burdens away, you would. You didn’t know how you felt about interviewing someone else for the position that Jinyoung had been working for all his life. After all, he wanted to major in dance in University and this captain position would really help him get a scholarship that he deserved; especially since he worked so hard to have good grades while his mum worked three jobs. You also knew that Jinyoung wasn’t Jaemin’s biggest fan – not even close. Still, you smiled, even if it was a little forced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Okay guys, meetings over. Go dance your little hearts out – or in Yonghee’s case, student council your little heart out,” you encouraged your team. Yonghee rolled his eyes at your lame joke, still giving you a grin and a hug on the way out.

“My article is going to rip the school to shreds,” Eric said happily, running a hand through his hair before giving Hyerin a high-five.

“Hopefully it’s enough fuel for Yonghee to actually implement some changes,” you agreed, knowing how much power media could have over people.

Jinyoung grabbed his backpack, but not before tapping your nose gently with his finger. You scrunched up your nose before giving him your attention. “Are you okay?” you whispered, leaning in closer so nobody would overhear.

He sighed. “I don’t know,” he frowned, running a hand through his hair. “This just feels weird… I don’t like getting involved with Jaemin,” Jinyoung admitted. “And I don’t like the idea of you spending time alone with him, either.”

“I know,” you acknowledged, feeling sympathetic. You didn’t know why Jaemin and Jinyoung didn’t get along, your best friend had never told you of the reason behind their feud before. “It’s just an interview, though.”

“I know,” Jinyoung echoed what you said, leaning over and kissing your cheek lightly. He pulled away, eyes shaped like half-moons as he grinned at you. “Let’s not worry too much about it. Are we still on for after practice?” he asked. You usually walked home together since he only lived a few blocks down from you.

“For sure!” you agreed. “Hyerin and I are gonna walk you boys to practice and then we’re going to the library,” you added.

“To study, or whatever else we get up to,” Hyerin added happily, linking her arm with yours and pulling you away from Jinyoung. “Hey,” she whispered, walking ahead towards the dance room as Eric and Jinyoung trailed behind, bantering. “Are you and Jinyoung…?” Hyerin trailed off, her eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

You grinned. “No,” you denied, shaking your head. “We get that a lot though.”

“Jaemin and I used to get that a lot too,” Hyerin recalled. “But now I’m dating Jeno so people don’t really make that assumption anymore,” she added. “It gets a little annoying sometimes, huh?” she asked knowingly.

“A little,” you admitted. “It’s not that big of a deal though. People are just curious.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have to add to those people,” Hyerin laughed. “I never used to see it between Jaemin and I but I guess, looking at other best friends who are even closer than we are, I see why people might make those assumptions.”

The two of you excitedly discussed your afternoon plans and before you knew it, you had all arrived at the dance studio.

“Rin!” Lee Jeno cheered when he saw Hyerin, eyes lighting up and lifting into a cute eye-smile. He ran over and embraced his girlfriend, who was rolling her eyes at how dramatic he was being.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” she mumbled, cheeks flushing at the PDA. Before she could introduce you, Jaemin pulled her aside. He seemed wide-eyed and panicky, more so than he usually was due to his ridiculous caffeine intake. “Nana?” Hyerin asked. “What’s up?”

“How do you know Y/n?” he asked, eyes flashing over to where you were introducing yourself to Jeno. He watched you laugh at Jeno’s words before giving Jinyoung a huge hug goodbye.

Hyerin furrowed her brows in confusion. “I tutored her in multivariable calc last year,” she told him. “And she’s the editor of the newspaper. Why, how do you know Y/n?” Jaemin blushed, quickly diverting his eyes when he saw you look back at him. He cleared his throat before looking over at Hyerin, who looked all too smug. “Oh my god. Y/n’s the girl you have a crush on,” she realised before squealing. “Oh, this is perfect! I can introduce you!”

“No!” Jaemin whisper-yelled, shaking his head and putting his hands on Hyerin’s shoulders to stop her from jumping in excitement. “It’s not perfect! She’s Bae Jinyoung’s best friend. This is a nightmare!”

Hyerin rolled her eyes. “Oh come on. Why is that bad? You get along with everybody.”

“Not him,” Jaemin shook his head. “It’s a long story, but Jinyoung and I have had a feud going on since kindergarten.”

“Kindergarten?” Hyerin echoed in disbelief. “Jaemin. That’s childish.”

“It was,” Jaemin agreed. “But then it started getting personal. So no, you will not introduce me to her, I don’t want her to ever see me ever again.”

Hyerin made a face. “Really? How are you supposed to flirt with her if you don’t want to see her.”

“Oh my god, who said anything about flirting?” Jaemin asked. “I’m sticking to my brand and pining in silence until I get over her. It worked for you in middle school,” he added, thoughtful.

Hyerin rolled her eyes. “It may have worked for me, but it won’t work for Y/n,” Hyerin’s eyes lit up, remembering what the paper was working on for the week. “By the way, I found a way for you to campaign for dance team captain,” she added. Jaemin tilted his head, listening. “The paper is doing a profile and interview on all the candidates.”

“Really?” Jaemin asked, earning a nod from Hyerin. “That’s awesome!”

“Right?” Hyerin grinned. “Now, all you have to do is meet Y/n in the newspaper room tomorrow after school. Easy as pie,” then she slapped Jaemin on the shoulder and left him with his mouth hanging open.

i wonder what started jaemin and jinyoung’s feud...

#nct #nct dream #nct imagines #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin imagines #na jaemin imagines #nct social au #nct social media au #nct scenarios #nct school au #nct dream imagines #jaemin x reader #na jaemin x reader #nct texts #kpop social media au #fic: 1 2 3

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oikawa-tuwu · 4 years ago

Text

Kitchen (gn!Reader x Osamu)

Rated T, 1.5k words

Not Home for the Holidays Masterlist

"Can I hide in here?"

You spend most of your time surrounded by people. Entertaining guests and providing homey hospitality is half your job after all. Therefore, you tend to relish the time you have to yourself. Cooking dinner, like you do every evening, is one of those times.

Unfortunately, it seems like one of your guests didn't get that memo.

“Can I hide in here?”

You blink. One second ago, you were alone in the kitchen, washing vegetables for dinner, but now there’s a man, tucked against the wall of the kitchen, glancing fearfully into the hallway.

“Not from the cops, I hope.”

“No,” the man says, even though the intensity wedged deep into the furrow of his eyebrows says otherwise. “My brother.”

Ah. He’s one of your guests. Now you recognize him as one of the twins that you checked in yesterday, the one that slapped his brother on the arm as you led them to their room. You never did get an explanation for the assault, but hey. Siblings.

The man in front of you shifts his feet a little, glancing back out into the hallway, and you remember that he asked a question. While you're not exactly used to having an audience while you cook, you also can't find a reason to tell him to leave, so you shrug and the man sighs, carefully closing the door behind him.

“Thanks. I’m Miya Osamu, by the way.”

“Y/n.”

Miya nods his head in greeting, sliding into one of the barstools at the end of the kitchen island. He pulls out his phone and you continue washing potatoes. It’s quiet, and a little awkward, but not unbearable.

Then, Osamu’s phone starts to ring. Well, vibrate, to be more accurate, spasming violently in Osamu’s hand, and it startles him so much that he almost drops it, before catching it in his other hand and trying to pretend like that slip never happened.

Meanwhile, the phone keeps ringing.

“Are you gonna get that?”

“Nope,” Osamu says. He flips through something on his phone, and the ringing stops, even though his phone on the counter stays lit up with the notification of an incoming call from contact name: Asshole.

“Is there a particular reason why you’re trying so hard to avoid your brother?”

Osamu scowls, and somehow scowls even harder when his phone lights up again. Incoming call from Asshole.

“It was his idea to come here as a sibling bonding vacation,” Osamu says, emphasizing that last part with unenthusiastic air quotes. “I haven’t spent this much time with him since we were in high school. I just need a second alone.”

“Sounds like you two are close.”

Osamu makes an uncommitted sound, somewhere between a grunt and a huff, and rejects the next phone call that comes in. “If you call driving each other up the wall everytime we’re in the same room as each other as close, then yeah.”

“Distance helps with that,” you say, as you pull out a cutting board for your freshly washed vegetables. “If you spend enough time apart, you’ll start to appreciate the time you can spend with each other.”

At first, Osamu doesn’t respond, just watches as you slowly begin to chip away at the mountain of vegetables you need to chop for the stew. Hesitantly, he finally asks, “Do you want help with that?”

“This is kind of what you’re paying me for,” you laugh. “Besides, no offense, but my reputation as a host is dependent on evenly cooked vegetables, so if you mess up...”

“I own a restaurant,” Osamu says, deadpan. “I don’t think I’ll fuck up chopping carrots.”

With a shrug, you get out a second cutting board and knife, sliding it across the counter. “If that’s how you want to spend your vacation.”

Osamu washes his hands, cracks his knuckles, and gets to work. He’s quick with the knife, quicker than you, so you start on the actual base of stew as he works, dicing and chopping. You're a little surprised at how... nice... it is to cook with someone else for a change, working in silence as you both attend to your tasks.

After cooking the floured beef, you add a few splashes of red wine and keep stirring. Once it's ready, you add the broth, and wait for it to come to a simmer.

Osamu, on the other hand, made quick work of the pile of potatoes, onions, and carrots and he quietly slides the pile of diced produce towards you.

“Stew?” He asks, peeking into the pot with a watchful eye.

“Yep. It’s cold outside, and this stew recipe is pretty hearty, so…”

“It’s a good idea,” Osamu says, with a quiet, fond smile. As he talks, one hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, a strangely endearing nervous tic. “My mom used to make stew for us after we got home from spring nationals every year back in high school. It smells like her recipe.”

“Do you want to try it?” You ask, digging for a spoon in the silverware drawer. “Obviously, it's not done, but…”

Osamu accepts your offer anyways, and takes the spoon from you, closing his eyes as he lets the beef broth and wine run down his throat. “Tastes like her recipe.”

“Do you mind getting out the tableware? Bowls are in the top cupboard to the right of the sink.”

“And you sound like her, too,” Osamu grumbles, but he laughs when you do, and obediently traipses across the kitchen.

The quiet returns, briefly, but this time it's tainted, distantly, by the sound of someone yelling. Although muffled, it sounds vaguely like they’re shouting a name, so you tilt your head and listen harder to make out the syllables.

“‘Samu!” The voice yells again, significantly louder this time, as the speaker gets closer to the kitchen.

“Is that-” You start to ask, but the scowl on Osamu’s face answers your question for you. Before you can think better of it, you point to the door in the corner of the room. “You can hide in the pantry?”

Osamu blinks, and it takes him a second to process the words, but then he grins, darting into the tiny space and shutting the door just as the kitchen door opens.

“Is Osamu in here?” The other Miya asks, grinning as he leans into the kitchen. “Looks like me, except dark hair and less handsome?”

“Hm,” you hum, as you go back to stirring the stew. “No, I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

The blond Miya nods thoughtfully, but, unfortunately, doesn’t leave. Instead, he slides into the seat that had been previously occupied by Osamu, still sporting that same mischievous grin. “The name’s Atsumu.”

“Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you. You know, my brother is a chef.”

“Really?” You ask, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu continues, his smile growing. “He’s good, too. Makes the best onigiri I’ve ever eaten, which is good, because if he quit playing volleyball to do something he sucked at, I think I would have to disown him. Did I mention that? We played volleyball together. He honestly could have gone professional if he wanted to, like me, but I suppose I can forgive him since he’s so successful-”

“Miya,” you interrupt. “Are you talking up your brother to me?”

Atsumu shuts up, and has the decency to at least look a little embarrassed, as his cheeks flush a little and his grin loosens up just the tiniest bit. He rubs his neck, a gesture that you saw only a few moments earlier on his twin brother, and says, sheepishly, “You got me. But… just between you and me,” he takes a second to glance about the room, like confirming his brother wasn’t actually in the room and he just hadn’t noticed the first time, before leaning forward and stage-whispering conspiratorially, “he thought you were cute when you checked us in yesterday.”

“Did he now?”

“Uh-huh,” Atsumu says, that mischievous glint back in his eye. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

And with that, Atsumu winks, rising from his chair and leaving back through the door, giving one last wave before it closes shut behind him.

You give it a moment, but when the pantry door doesn’t open, you say, “You can come out now, Osamu.”

“I don’t want to,” comes the muffled response.

For the second time, you have to bite your lip to stop the laugh that threatens to escape. “Not even if I offer you another taste of the stew?”

Slowly, the pantry door swings open. Osamu walks out, one hand self-consciously running through his hair, not quite looking you in the eyes.

“Is it possible for you to forget everything my brother said?”

You tilt your head, a teasing lilt to your words as you ask, “You think I’m cute?”

“When you’re not conspiring with my brother,” Osamu replies, shuffling his feet in a way that could only be described as quietly self-conscious. “Then yeah. I think you’re cute.”

For some reason, the admission takes you by surprise, and your cheeks flush even though you were the one that goaded him to it in the first place.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat and looking back down at the stew. “I guess you made an effective sous chef, Miya, so if you would like to return tomorrow, I won’t complain.”

Osamu smiles, and you’re pleased to note that his eyes drift up from the floor to you, frown sliding into something more like that playful grin like his brother’s just a second ago. “I guess that depends. What’s on the menu?”

“I was thinking… onigiri. Know anyone that could help me with that?”

(A/N: Its not my favorite I've written, but it's done! Also shoutout to my mom for dealing with her daughter running into the living room and demanding she recite a stew recipe from memory. Which she did. I also posted this to AO3, so you can find the link to that on the masterlist! See you on 12/5 for Tendou's! Dw, the next ones will be more holiday/winter inspired than this one ;) )

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu osamu #osamu x you #miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu x y/n

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xxisxxisxxis · 5 years ago

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Sixty-Four

***IMPORTANT: This was too long to put into one post apparently, so this is part 1 of this chapter, and the link for part 2 will be at the end of the chapter. Thank you and have good night/day***

Words: 5.8k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, sexual situations

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“Damnit, bp is 183/111.” A nurse says after they get me on a gurney and she takes my blood pressure, twice. “Mrs. Sixx is your head or chest hurting, vision blurring?” She asks me and I nod my head, my eyes closed, still struggling to breathe, my skin beginning to get sticky with sweat.

“My head.” I tell her.

“Okay, I need you to keep your eyes open for me just for a little bit, so you can tell me if things start looking fuzzy, alright?”

I nod and she smiles reassuringly at me.

“Just stay as calm as possible and we’ll get your blood pressure under control.” She states, beforing looking at the nurse walking on the other side of the gurney. “I need an IV of Beta-blockers.” She tells her, and in what feels like seconds, she's scrubbing at the crook of my elbow with an alcohol pad, before I’m feeling the pinch of a needle sliding into my skin.

“Where’s Duff? The guy I came in here with?” I ask, trying to calm myself down, but I don’t think it’s working.

“He’s filling out some paperwork for you while the desk contacts your emergency contact to let them know the situation and then he will be right here with you as soon as we get you stable.” She informs me and I feel panic in my chest, as I try to sit up, only for them to gently push me back down. “Vivian, you are in a hypertensive crisis. You need to lay still and avoid getting yourself worked up even more.”

“My emergency contact is my husband and he is the last motherfucker I want to know about this!” I argue in between breaths. “Now tell the bitch at the front desk to leave him out of it or I will stroke out just to fucking spite you because I’ve got nothing to lose at this point!”

I sound pathetic, struggling to breathe, gasping out the words in the best scream I can muster, and she raises her brows at me.

They tried to stop Nikki from being contacted, but he was...well, they left a message to the machine at our house, which he ended up checking from his hotel room later that day.

They get my blood pressure down within a few minutes and keep me under watch for several hours, before my doctor finally decides it’s time to tell me what the hell happened, although with how many times I’ve heard the word “hypertension”, I’m assuming it’s not good.

“You had a transient ischemic attack, which, when you take the complicated sounding name away, is basically a ministroke.” He explains, and my eyes widen. “It’s not as major as a stroke, especially since this was caught before it could develop into something worse, but your brain was still not receiving the amount of oxygen needed in your blood because it’s pressure was way too high, but good news for you is that your brain isn’t showing signs of damage that can affect your mind like a stroke would. That being said, this does increase your risk of having a major stroke down the line. No one in your family has a history of stroke or high blood pressure, which typically suggests, more times than not, it is either something you took--medication, alcohol, drugs, etc. or it’s your environment. Is there anything you took, or drank, prior to experiencing your symptoms?”

“I took Nyquil...four doses worth in less than six hours.” I tell him and Duff looks at me, confused. “I couldn’t sleep.” I add.

“N-Nyquil?” Duff asks me, quietly, as if in disbelief. “You had a ministroke...because of an over the counter cold medicine?”

The doctor flips through my chart before pursing his lips.

“Are you still taking Nardil on a daily basis?” He asks me and I nod.

“Yes.”

“Okay, that’s where things went south.” He confirms. “There is a warning on the back of Nyquil syrup, stating that the way MAO Inhibitors, which is a class of antidepressant that phenelzine--Nardil--falls under, interact with the dextromethorphan HBr and the doxylamine succinate in Nyquil, has a high chance of causing hypertension--very high blood pressure-- which can really hurt the brain and the heart, and since you took eight tablespoons of it, it really is miraculous that you didn’t have a major stroke before you even got in the car to come here.” He adds and I feel shitty for being a complete dumbass. “I will give you a sheet of over the counter medicines to avoid before we get you checked out here in a couple hours.” He assures me before heading to the door of the tiny room.

“Thank you.” Duff says as he leaves, and he turns to look at me, trying to hide a smile. “Nyquil.” He states, raising his brows. “You can’t take Nyquil. Without--”

“--Shut up.” I state, trying not to start laughing because I could’ve really been in trouble.

“Oh, c’mon, Viv, you had me freaking out worried something horrible was wrong--which it was, really--but Nyquil?”

“I have seen idiots mix drugs with all types of mess and their bodies not even acknowledge it, but I take Nyquil…” I trail off, not being able to stop laughing. “...and it’s too much for me? Hell, at this point if I have one taste of a hard drug I’m just gonna croak over immediately.”

The two of us keep laughing for a couple minutes, until I’m sore in the stomach, and my watering eyes from laughter, are watering because the reality of everything that has happened to me in the past four three days, hits me.

Duff just sits on the tiny bed next to me, holding at my hand, wiping at my tears, giving me a big, encouraging smile.

“I love you.” I tell him and he nods, kissing my cheek.

“I love you, too.” He tells me. “This will blow over before you know it, Viv.”

Once I get checked out and we head back to Duff’s place, I quickly realize something I haven’t even thought about.

“Your album is coming out.” I say, looking at him and he glances at me, chuckling.

“Yeah.” He confirms. “In like, two days.”

“Holy shit.” I mumble. “I gotta take you guys out to dinner or something.” I rub my tired eyes and he shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s fine, Viv.”

“No, it’s not. This is a good time for you guys and I just came home all gloom and doom and shit all over it. I need to do something for you guys.” I explain.

“You’re not ‘gloom and doom’, you’re hurting. Which is normal for what you’ve been through, and being that we helped hide it from you, you don’t need to be worried about inconveniencing us. At all.” He argues.

“It’ll help me get my mind off of things.” I suggest.

“You don’t really need to get your mind off of it. You need to be processing everything and figuring out where you wanna go from here.” He politely tells me.

“I can’t go anywhere from here, Duff. Not until the tour’s over.” I laugh humorlessly and he furrows his brows.

“What?”

"Doc doesn't want us to split until the tour's over. Not that it should even matter. People don't give a damn about our marriage as much as Doc is convinced they are. It's not like the second fans hear we're filing for divorce they're gonna go on a strike over it." I roll my eyes.

"They won't care." Duff tells me.

"Exactly."

"...Do you want a divorce?" He asks next and I lick my lips.

"I don't know." I admit, tears coming to my eyes at the thought of it.

“Does he?”

“Duff, I don’t know, alright? We’ll just figure it out when the tour ends.”

“Vivian, that’s nearly a year from now.” He states.

“Well, then, I don’t fucking know! Okay?! I don’t fucking know!”

“I’m trying to get you to think about what you want to do because you’ll just end up putting it off and ignoring it like you do with all of your problems you’ve got with him.” He explains, keeping himself calm.

“I’ll deal with it later.”

“Viv--”

“--Duff. Please.” I give up, and he lets out a breath.

“I’m dropping it.” He mumbles.

After a few more minutes, he’s glancing at me again.

“We’re having a listening party for the album tomorrow night, by the way.” He tells me. “We’d really like for you to come, if you’re up for it.” He adds and a small smile comes to my lips.

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Yeah?” He asks, mimicking my smile.

“Yeah.”

The next day, I decide to go home and visit with Karen, trying to convince myself not to completely wreck the place the second I walk in.

She’s sitting on the couch with the TV playing in the background.

When I walk in, she looks up at me and gives me a soft smile.

“Hey.” She tells me, nervously, and I roll my jaw and look around.

I never noticed how many fucking pictures Nikki and I have up together from our wedding.

“Doc told me to keep an eye out for you, I was kinda worried when you didn’t come home.” She adds.

“I was staying with Duff.” I tell her, and she still tries to keep her smile on her face.

“Oh, um, you’ve got some mail, and Doc called and wanted you to call him back, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here when the hospital called. I just checked the messages late last night but Doc said Nikki had already heard the one the receptionist in the ER left.” She tells me and I let out a sigh.

“Great, something else to hear Doc bitch me out about.” I grumble, stepping to the phone in the kitchen, seeing the mail on the counter next to it.

I see she scribbled down the hotel phone number that they’re at now, and Doc’s hotel room number, on a paper pad and I punch the number in and request it to be put through to Doc.

Before I can get a breath out, I’m hearing all of it.

“Are you fucking out of your mind, Vivian? ‘Bless their hearts’?! I told you repeatedly what to tell the press and you don’t listen to a word of it?! And then you go home and end up in the fucking emergeny room?! What, did ya try to kill yourself or something, what the hell happened?!”

I raise my brows and blink a few times.

“I wasn’t paying attention to the warning label of some Nyquil and I took some to sleep, and it didn’t react well with my antidepressant. I’m alive, I’m fine, I wasn’t trying to kill myself, and would you rather me have said, ‘Vanity and Nikki fucked me over and everyone who was supposed to have my back, let them’?”

I hear his heavy breath exhaling on the other end of the line.

“Alright, Viv, alright. Just don’t say anything else to the press, please. The journalist at Rolling Stone is gonna be here in a couple of days, just please, please, please, be on your best behaviour. I’ve already talked to Nikki and he’s agreed to play nice, please, do so too.” He begs.

I didn’t want to “play nice” but I decided to so I wouldn’t make things harder for everybody, including myself, but just being blatantly hateful.

“Fine, Doc.” I agree and he sighs out in relief.

“Thank you, Viv.” He tells me and I roll my eyes.

“Yep.” I reply before hanging the phone up.

When I pick up the pile of mail, an envelope falls to the floor and I reach down to pick it up, seeing it’s addressed to me, from Playboy Enterprises.

I furrow my brows and open the envelope, grabbing at the paper inside and unfolding it before I read it.

“Dude.” I say to myself, furrowing my brows.

Someone had seen me half naked, demonstrating my flexibility, in the “Girls, Girls, Girls” video and a cover shoot for Playboy and a 12 page pictorial was on the table for $40,000, if I was up for it. Of course any other time I wouldn’t have thought twice...but this time, it was being considered.

“Forty-thousand?” Sharise asks me on the other end of the line later that day.

“Forty freaking thousand.” I reply.

“Who the hell wants to see you naked so bad?”

“I don’t know but I’m not mad at it.” I reply.

“Are you gonna do it?”

“I don’t know. Should I?”

“You just found out Nikki’s been cheating on you with one of your friends, Viv, I think you should take some time to think about it in case you make the decision to do it and then realize you shouldn’t have agreed to it, ya know?”

“I don’t have any money of my own, Sharise. If he leaves me, he’s not gonna leave me anything. I’m gonna be out of luck. I could use the money.” I explain. “And they didn’t say whether I had to be nude or not so I’ll look into the details and just go from there.”

“You are the absolute last person I would ever expect to take up an offer from Playboy.”

“Desperate times.” I shrug.

“More like, ‘what can I do to piss Nikki off’, times.” She points out.

“Vanity’s posed in Playboy before. Maybe he would've liked me enough not to cheat on me if I would've been more like her to begin with.” I sarcastically say, but there is a smile part of me that really feels that way.

"Don't compare yourself to her, Viv." She argues politely.

"I'm not." I lie, setting the letter from Playboy down.

I hear Skylar screaming and crying in the background and Sharise sighs out.

"I gotta go, Viv, I'll call you back later. Skylar just fell." She tells me.

"Alright, I'll come visit you guys before I leave." I assure her.

"Okay. We love you and we'll see you then."

"I love you, too, tell Sky I love her."

"I will."

"Bye."

I hang up and let out a soft breath, glancing at the number on the letter once again, rubbing my lips together before deciding to start getting ready to meet the guys for their album listening party before it drops.

For the first time in a few days, I look at myself in the mirror, taken back by how shitty I look.

The dark circles under my eyes are more prominent than usual, my eyes themselves look nearly dead, my hair is kinda nappy since I haven't brushed it in a couple days, and my mouth feels gross because I haven't bothered to brush my teeth.

I get in the shower, hoping it'll make me feel better.

The only thing it does is make me want to call Duff and tell him I can't make it tonight, but like I always do, I persist and finish getting ready, nearly fooling myself when I look in the mirror and make myself smile.

My doorbell is ringing within the next thirty minutes, and I'm spritzing on perfume as I hear Karen open the door to let the guys in.

I'm pulling my heels on, stepping into the living room.

"Hey." I greet Duff and Steven, and Steven's immediately hugging onto me.

"I'm sorry." He says, apologizing for the part he played in Nikki's bullshit.

I hug him back, not able to help but smile at how tightly he's hugging me.

"It's okay, Stevie." I tell him, genuinely.

He kisses my cheek and gives me one last tight squeeze before letting me go.

"Are we ready?" Duff asks me and I nod.

"Alright, we'll have her back home at a reasonable time." Steven tells Karen, and she chuckles.

"Stay out of trouble." She tells us as we head to the door.

"We will." I assure her as we head out the door to get in Duff's car.

All of their friends are there, everyone of them giving them wide smiles and big hugs as I hold onto Duff's hand as we weave through the crowd to the bar.

“Hi.” Slash says to me, sunglasses on, hat low, and I raise my brows at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep.” He replies, sipping from the Jack bottle in his hand, pulling out a cigarette.

“Can I have one?” Duff asks him.

“Yeah, if you’ve got a light.” Slash replies with a little grin and Duff pulls the lighter from his pocket and lights Slash’s cigarette before his own.

“You want a drink?” He asks me next and I look up at him.

“Water.” I tell him with a nod, suddenly feeling an arm slip over my shoulders.

It’s Izzy, and he looks like he’s been on cloud 9 for a little bit now, a loose smile on his lips as cigarette smoke flows from his mouth with his exhaled breath.

“Hey, you.” He tells me, and I lick my lips.

“Hey, asshole.” I shrug his arm off, remembering him yelling at me the other night.

“Ouch, am I on your shit list, too, now?” He asks me and I glance at him, making his smile widen, his eyes crinkling slightly. “I forget you’re sensitive, Viv.” He adds.

“Maybe me shoving my foot up your ass will remind you.” I state, Duff turning to hand me my water.

Izzy looks down at the clear liquid and frowns slightly.

“That’s why you’re sad.” He motions to it. “You need the strong stuff.”

I know what he means, but I try to play it off by saying, “what, sparkling water?”

“Izzy, man, she doesn’t drink.” Duff cuts in, lightly, but I know he’s being serious.

“Just making a suggestion.” Izzy shrugs, his eyes on a pretty blonde that passes. “I’ll be right back.”

He follows after her and I roll my eyes, taking a sip of water, as “Welcome to the Jungle” starts playing over the speakers.

Everyone starts cheering, all the guys stop what they’re doing, all of them sharing the same, proud smiles.

Once I’m done with my water, Duff, Slash, Izzy, Steven and Axl are all together, trying to gauge everyone’s reactions to their album so far.

Everyone seems to really like it.

“I’m gonna get another water.” I tell Duff, and he nods. “Do you need a refill?” I ask him, motioning to his cocktail.

“No, thanks though.” He tells me and I head to the bar, Izzy’s suggestion echoing in my mind as my eyes fall on the array of liquor bottles on display on the back wall shelf behind the bar.

My mind drifts to what would happen if I were to have a cocktail.

I step to the bar and order the last alcoholic drink I had, although accidental at the time.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m throwing back my shot of Tequila, nearly choking at the burn of it before feeling warmth radiate throughout my chest as it goes down.

Next thing I know, I’m seven shots in starting to feel less tense...even less tense when I try to walk and nearly faceplant, laughing instead of feeling embarrassed before walking as best as I can to the guys.

“Where’s your water?” Duff asks me, and I look at my hands, furrowing my brows.

“I don’t know.” I reply, honestly, and his brows raise and his eyes widen when he gets a whiff of my breath.

“Oh, shit, Viv, you smell like--”

“--Tequila!” I finish saying it in the way it’s said in “Tequila” by The Champs.

He’s stunned for a moment, and I’m trying to keep from looking him up and down.

“H-How much did you drink?” He asks me politely and I squint my eyes as I try to remember.

“I lost count after four.” I admit.

“Viv, I don’t think you’re supposed to be drinking with your medication.” He tells me.

“Doesn’t matter when the shit isn’t making me feel better anyway.” I reply without a thought, my speech starting to slur, my gaze focusing the best it can on the bottle in Slash's hand.

It reminds me of Nikki.

"I want Nikki." I say next and Duff can probably sense a storm coming, turning around and seeing the guys aren't paying attention.

"Hey, she's not feeling too good so I'm gonna take her home." He tells them. "I'll be back." He assures them.

"Alright, dude." Steven replies and Duff sits his drink down.

"Let's get outta here." He tells me, grabbing at my hand and leading me to his car, causing me to be sidetracked by the payphone.

"Gimme some change." I tell him.

"Viv, c'mon, you need to go home." He tries to guide me away but I refuse.

"I miss Nikki. I wanna talk to him."

"He's probably asleep right now, Viv. You can call him tomorrow." He suggests.

"He won't talk to me anyway. He hates me." I reply, stumbling to the passenger side of the car and he helps me stay balanced, opening the door for me and helping me get in before he shuts the door and walks around to the passenger seat.

It's a quiet drive home.

I miss Nikki.

He punches in the code of our gate and pulls into the driveway, helping me out.

I take my heels off and toss them down on the concrete, causing him to reach down and grab them for me as I clumsily make my way to the door.

"Here, here, I got it." He assures me when I try to open the door, singling out our house key from his car keys.

"I'm sorry for ruining your night." I tell him. "It was suppose to be a fun night--"

"--It was fun, Viv." He promises. "I'm going back anyway when I make sure you're settled here." He adds, opening the door. "I'll let Karen know what's up and--"

"Karen's out tonight, Duff." I cut him short, remembering that she told me earlier today about going out for one of her girl friends' birthdays, not able to keep my eyes off of him.

"Oh." He says. "Well, I can stay here until she comes back." He tells me. "I'll go ahead and get you some water." He heads to the kitchen, and a sick plan twists itself into my skull.

When he comes back with my water and hands it to me, I just sit it on the coffee table in the living room before turning to look at him.

"You need to drink that, Viv." He politely says, but I just step closer to him, and apparently he can tell what I'm thinking based off my expression because he's gently grasping my hand in his when I reach out to pull him closer to me. "We can't, Vivian."

"Why not? Because of Nikki? As if he gives a shit."

"But I do. I give a shit. And you're drunk. And you're heartbroken. And I'm not adding to the damage before you even process what's already been done." He states.

"You've wanted to fuck me for how long and here's your shot, and you're turning me down to spare my feelings?" I scoff out. "Where the fuck is Vince Neil when you need him?" I say to myself outloud, irritated with Duff, about to push past him to go to my room.

"Somewhere in the midwest, believing Nikki is still right for screwing Vanity." He argues, frustrated that I'm not understanding that he's trying to do the right thing.

I stop for a second, and turn to look at him, again.

"Vivian, I want to, but I can't--"

"--You didn't tell me about Nikki and Vanity, either." I remind him harshly. "So, when you think about it, you owe me, Duff." I hiss.

"I was protecting y--"

"--If you were protecting me, you would have told me!" I outburst, tears in my eyes. "You wouldn't have put me in a position that allowed me to be humiliated like that! Nobody would have if they were really looking out for me!"

He's got tears in his eyes now, and he exhales.

"I'm not gonna stay here and let you badger me for doing what I thought was the best thing to do." He says, walking to the door.

"Yeah, just leave me like Nikki! Just go get shitfaced and pout and end the night on top of another girl because that's how everybody else solves their fucking issues!"

He snaps around, causing me to bump into him from where I'm following at his heels.

"I'm not Nikki." He says through his teeth.

"You didn't tell me." I repeat weakly. "Nobody told me."

His frustration dissipates, and he takes a couple of steps to me, before leaning down, suddenly taking my lips with his.

The numbing effect of being kissed and held is potent, and a sick part of my mind pictures I'm with Nikki, and not Duff.

I try to keep my eyes closed the best I can to keep the illusion alive, even when clothes start being torn off, even when my legs are wrapped around his bare hips, my naked back against the wall and his tongue and mine dancing as adrenaline and ecstasy course through me.

With each thrust, I'm growing more sober, more conscious to the fact this isn't Nikki.

He stops abruptly, pulling away from me, furrowing his brows.

"Viv?"

"Yeah?" I ask, still not opening my eyes.

"Look at me." He says softly and I gently shake my head. "Viv--"

"--Just keep going." I tell him, my voice cracking, as a lump forms in my throat.

"Are you crying?" He asks next, and I finally look at him.

He looks horrified and guilty, as if he's screaming at himself internally for being shitty.

He's not shitty. I am.

"I'm sorry." I say next.

"Jesus Christ." He lets out, a single tear falls past his lashes and he's pulling out of me and putting me back on my feet as fast as he can.

"Duff."

He ignores me, pulling his clothes on.

"Duff, please." I grab at his arm and he shakes me off, putting his boots back on, sniffling, wiping his eye quickly, picking up his jacket and getting his car keys. "Duff, I'm sorry--"

"--I'm not Nikki." Is the last thing he says before slamming my front door shut.

"Vivian?" I'm snapping out of my daydream, seeing Steven furrowing his brows, the loud verse of "Mr. Brownstone" blaring in my ears from the club speakers.

"Yeah?" I reply to him.

"I was coming to get a refill, Duff wanted me to come check on you." He tells me and I look down at the empty water glass in my hand.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine." I assure him with a smile.

"Okay, just making sure."

-> Gateway Drug | Part Sixty-Four (pt. 2)

#nikki sixx #mötley crüe #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #gateway drug

57 notes · View notes

sagesparrow394 · 5 years ago

Text

Fairytale AU

Link to the OG post I made about this AU

In the kingdom of Sandersia, a husband and wife were blessed with the greatest gift they could ask for: they were going to have a baby.

The wife, Eliza, developed pregnancy cravings, specifically for a magical flower that their neighbour grew. Her husband, Harold, had no choice but to break into their neighbors yard to get it.

The first time, he got away with it. The second, he was not so lucky.

He got caught by their neighbour, a powerful sorcerer known only as Deceit.

Deceit struck a deal: he would let Harold take the flowers if they gave him their child.

Months later, Harold and Eliza’s child was born: a son they called Logan. However, they didn’t have him long, giving him to Deceit.

As the years went by, the two parents fell into a depression over their lost child. Not even being blessed with a second son helped them.

Roman didn’t know his father, who died not long after he was born.

The boy was bright, adventurous, and didn’t understand why his mother was so harsh on him.

His mother never told him he had a lost brother, thinking it better he just live in ignorance.

During the situation between Deceit and Eliza and Harold, another child was born in another family.

Virgil was born into a well off family with parents who loved him.

However, unfortunately, his mother died when he was young, and his father remarried to a new woman, who was a horrible woman.

His father then died. Virgil was forced by his stepmother and step brothers to be their servent.

It all starts to change when he’s 18, and an announcement goes out, saying that King Thomas is hosting a three day long festival so his son, Remus, could find a suitor. All men in the kingdom are invited.

Virgil sees it as his chance to escape, and starts fixing up his dad’s old suit.

Though it isn’t a day of fortune for everyone.

Roman is told by his mother that they have no choice but to sell their cow to get more money.

Roman is devastated. Their cow had always been his trusty steed whenever he’d had imaginary adventures.

He grumpily leaves with the cow to head to the next town and sell it.

However, he very soon bumps into his best friend Patton, who’s wearing the same red cape with a hood he always does.

Patton explains his grandma’s sick, so for the next few days he’ll be taking her food.

Since her cottage is in the forest, he walks with Roman for a while. Soon, however, they have to split up.

Patton’s journey is rather uneventful. Though he does get the feeling he’s being watched…

Roman, on the other hand, starts having fun living one last fantasy adventure with his cow.

He ends up getting lost, and wanders around until he finds a clearing.

In the clearing is a tall tower with only a single window. As he watches, a thick black rope suddenly falls from the window.

Only it’s not a rope, it’s hair.

A man, Deceit, climbs down the hair, and calls goodbye to whoever is in the tower.

Deceit sees Roman, freezing and having an internal freak out. He goes up to the boy, commanding he leave and not say a word of what he saw.

Roman sees his chance to get out of walking all the way to the next town and says he will if Deceit buys his cow.

Deceit sighs, digging in his pockets, and hands Roman five beans, claiming them to be magic.

Roman is spellbound, accepting the deal and running home.

Eliza doesn’t believe him, thinking he got scammed, and chucks them out the window and grounds Roman.

Later that evening, Virgil finishes getting his dads suit fixed and gets it on just in time for the ball.

However, his stepbrothers, jealous, tear the destroy the suit, and head to the ball without him.

Just as Virgil starts wallowing in his own tears, someone appears, comforting him: his fairy godfather.

Emile introduces himself, and reassures Virgil hope is not all lost.

The next thing Virgil knows, he has a carriage made from a pumpkin, a beautiful purple dress, and black glass slippers. And Emile puts a glamour on him so his brothers and mother won’t recognise him.

Emile warns him it will wear off at midnight, so he must leave by then. Every night of the festival, Emile will come back to gift him again.

Virgil nods, before climbing in the carriage, and he’s taken away to the ball.

There, he meets Prince Remus. The two dance all night, until the clock strikes twelve, and he flees…

Remus chases him, but Virgil’s too fast, and Virgil gets away.

The next morning, Patton is once again heading to his grandmother’s house to bring her food. However, Roman suddenly runs up to him before he leaves the village.

“PATTON YESTERDAY I SOLD MY COW TO A WIZARD DUDE WHO GAVE ME MAGIC BEANS BUT MY MOM THOUGHT IT WAS A SCAM AND THREW THEM AWAY AND THEY GREW INTO A MASSIVE BEANSTALK AND I CLIMBED IT THIS MORNING AND MET GIANTS AND STOLE A GOOSE THAT LAYS GOLDEN EGGS! NOW ME AND MOM ARE GONNA BE RICH! YOU AND I ARE HEADING BACK TO THE TOWER I SAW THE WIZARD DUDE BY AND GONNA SEE WHAT OTHER AWESOME THINGS HE HAS!!!!”

Patton is equally excited, and agrees to meet him at the tower after delivering his grandmother her food.

However, Patton’s journey doesn’t go to plan when he runs into a wolf.

The wolf convinces Patton to stop and gather some flowers for his granny, before it goes on to Patton’s grandmother’s house.

The wolf proceeds to eat Patton’s granny whole. It dresses in Granny’s clothes, disguising itself for when Patton arrives.

When Patton arrives, the wolf plays the role of grandmother long enough until Patton gets too close, before swallowing him whole too.

Later, at night, Virgil is fleeing from the festival yet again.

He runs through the forest, his carriage having turned back into a pumpkin, and so leaving him to go on foot.

Eventually, he finds a cottage in the forest, and goes inside to hide.

However, once inside, he hears muffled cries for help from the bedroom. He tentatively opens the door to see the sleeping wolf with a bloated stomach, screams crying for help coming from inside it.

Virgil’s fight or flight reflex kicks in. He gets a knife from the kitchen and pierces the wolf’s stomach. He slits it’s stomach open, killing it and allowing the old woman and young boy inside to clamber out.

Patton and Granny thank Virgil graciously, and wish they could do something to repay him.

Virgil can say they can - he doesn’t know the way back to the villiage from here.

Patton offers to take him since he needs to head that way anyway, but adds that he needs to meet a friend somewhere first.

And so, Patton heads off with Virgil to the tower.

Roman had been waiting there most of the day. He’d watched as Deciet arrived and called up “Logan, let down your hair!”, which causes the thick black hair from before to fall.

Roman hopes Patton arrives in time so they can catch Deceit before he leaves, but he does not. Deceit climbs down and leaves.

Soon after, Patton and Virgil finally arrive.

“Patton, where were you?! … And who’s this?”

“Sorry, I got eaten by a wolf! This is Virgil, he saved me!!”

“Hi…”

“… Okay… Anyway, the dude came and went, you missed him. But, I think I know something else we can do…”

Roman runs up to the tower and calls, lowering his voice to sound old, “Logan! Let down your hair!”

The thick hair falls, and Roman grabs on and starts to climb, whispering to Patton and Virgil to follow.

Patton doesn’t hesitate, but Virgil comes a bit more nervously. As he grabs on, there’s a groan from above.

“F-Father, have you brought me something? You’re, uh, a lot heavier than usual…”

“… Yes. It’s a surprise!” Roman calls back.

They all continue to climb until they reach the window, and all clamber in.

As they did so, there’s a scream.

They look up to find a person Virgil’s age, with very very very long black hair and sapphire eyes, wearing a blue dress, and brandishing a frying pan at them.

“Who are you people?! What are you doing here?!”

Roman stands, grinning. “Hi! Your, uh, dad, I guess, gave me some magic beans a few days ago. I wanted to talk to him to see what other magic things he has.”

“So you are here for me! You want my hair, don’t you?!”

“Why would we want your hair…?”

Before the guy can respond, Virgil cuts over. “Look, we don’t want to cause any trouble. We’re sorry for breaking and entering, we’ll leave and get out of your hair.”

“Pun!”

“Not the time. Now, you two kiddos, lets. Go.”

“No!” The guy cries. “You’re not leaving. You’re not supposed to know I’m here, Father says no one can… I’m not letting you go until I can trust you not to tell anyone I’m here.”

Virgil mutters in annoyance, while Roman strikes up a deal: they won’t tell a soul IF this guy tells them what’s the deal with his hair and why he lives alone in a tower.

So, the guy reluctantly explains. His name’s Logan, and he lives in the tower because his hair has a magical healing property, and his Father says people would try to steal him away to take advantage of it if he weren’t hidden.

Apparently, the property was the side affect of a magical flower his birth mother, who Deciet said died in childbirth, had a craving for when she was pregnant.

Roman can hardly believe it. He’s never left the tower EVER?! That will not stand! So, invites Logan to join him and Patton up the beanstalk a second time on adventure!

This then leads to Roman having to explain to Logan and Virgil what the beanstalk is and where it came from.

Logan refuses. He can’t leave the tower, and definitely not for something so life threatening! If this giant collected golden geese, and harps that played themselves, it would definitely want to keep Logan for his hair.

Then Patton speaks up. “Hey, Virgil, you said you were at the King’s festival tonight, right? You should take Logan with you tomorrow!”

“I really shouldn’t leave, Father will be mad at me-“

“But it’ll be fun! I heard there’s dancing, singing, and you get to wear a pretty outfit! Right, Virgil?”

And so, Virgil finds himself promising to return the next day to pick Logan up to take him to the festival with him.

The next evening, Virgil rides in his carriage, only Emile with him this time, and not to the castle, but to Logan’s tower.

Logan hesitates before he slides down his hair, leaving his tower for the first time ever. It’s safe to say, he’s giddy with excitement and nerves.

Emile does his magic, giving Logan a beautiful blue dress, and tying his hair in a plait with blue flowers in it.

He warns them both that is will wear off at midnight before sending them on their way.

At the castle, Prince Remus had been excitedly anticipating the arrival of the mysterious man he had danced with the previous nights. Maybe tonight, he’d actually get them to talk… At least get them to tell him their name…

However, when Virgil arrives, he is not whose Remus’ focus is on. Remus is transfixed on the beautiful stranger with Virgil.

And Logan is looking right back at him.

“Virgil… who is that?”

“That? That’s Prince Remus. He and I have been dancing together these past few nights. So, uh… I’m gonna go dance with him. You can mill around I guess and ask some guys to da-“

He’s interrupted by Remus, who has come over. Remus takes Logan’s hand and kisses it. “Prince Remus, at your service. You are…?”

“Logan.”

“Logan, such a beautiful name. Would you care to dance?”

“I…I’d love to!”

And so, Virgil has to watch the man he thought was his sweep Logan off his feet.

Remus, however, is happy to have found someone who will actually be open with him, unlike Virgil who barely said a word. Remus listens as Logan explains his past - growing up alone in a tower, protected by his father. He listens as Logan rambles about his passions: reading, astronomy, whatever.

However, eventually the strike of midnight comes.

Logan, not wanting to just run off and leave Remus with questions (unlike Virgil), explains a false story that he needs to leave to get home before his father comes to check on him, so Deceit doesn’t know he went out.

Remus promises he will find Logan’s tower and come to see him again.

Then, Logan and Virgil flee the castle. However, as they run, one of Virgil’s glass slippers falls of on the stairs.

Remus smiles when he sees it: Virgil knows where Logan’s tower is. If he uses the slipper to find Virgil, Virgil can lead him to the tower.

The next morning, Roman and Patton meet up, deciding to go steal the magical harp from the giants. They climb up the beanstalk together.

Meanwhile, Remus and his guards start the search for Virgil, every young man in the villiage trying the slipper on for size.

When Virgil hears, he’s ecstatic. Remus is looking for him? Does that mean… he’s chosen him over Logan?

After his stepbrothers fail to get the slipper on, it’s Virgil’s turn, and Remus’ eyes light up upon seeing the slipper fits.

Virgil expects to be pulled into a kiss or hug or something, but instead Remus proclaims. “You will take me to tower in the forest to find Logan!”

Virgil shakes his head. No… this isn’t fair. This was supposed to be his fairytale! He was supposed to have the prince and get a new life away from his horrible step-family! Heck, he danced with Remus for two nights, not only one like Logan! So Remus knows him better-

No, Remus says. Remus knows Logan better, because Virgil told him nothing about himself over those two nights. However, Logan didn’t hide anything! (Well, except the fact his hair’s magic)

Remus knew nothing about Virgil to be attracted to bar his appearance. But Remus loved Logan’s passion, intelligence, kindess, and more as well as his looks.

So once again, Remus orders Virgil to take him to the tower.

Virgil agrees, but makes it clear he’s not happy about it.

However, as they saddle up and get ready to go, a sudden crash, causing what feels like an earthquake, suddenly shakes the ground.

Remus figures he should probably find out what that was and fix it before he chases love.

He follows the direction the crash came from, and arrives Eliza and Roman’s house. There lies the chopped down remains of a giant beanstalk, along with the body of a giant left dead on the ground.

Roman and Patton run over to Virgil upon seeing him, excitedly telling him the story of how they barely escaped with their lives, and successfully killed the giant by chopping down the beanstalk.

Meanwhile, Eliza, feeling way in over her head, is very relieved to see Remus. She bows to him and kindly asks for assistance, wanting the stalk and giant body cleared from her garden, but unable to do it herself.

Remus sends the guards with him to go help her, explaining he would help himself, except he was heading off on a quest to find the man he loves, who’s trapped in a tower.

“A man in a tower?” Patton speaks up. “You mean Logan? You love Logan?! Aww, that’s so sweet!”

“Logan.” The name gets Eliza’s attention.

Remus is surprised, and asks Patton how he knows who Logan is. Roman explains the two were with Virgil when he first met Logan.

Remus decides Patton and Roman will come along, sceptical whether Virgil will lead him the right way, since he still seems salty over Remus choosing Logan.

Eliza insists on coming too, needing to find out if Logan is who she thinks he is.

They ride off into the forest, and eventually arrive at the tower. Roman tells Remus to call up “let down your hair!”

Remus does so, and Logan appears, looking out the window, smiling brightly upon seeing the prince. He lets down his hair, and Remus goes climbing up.

Roman, however, notices his mother starting to cry, and asks her what’s wrong.

However, she doesn’t get a chance to answer, as suddenly there’s a yell. “What are you all doing here?!”

Deceit is stood on the edge of the clearing, glaring at the group. His eyes narrow at Roman. “I told you to never come back and not tell anyone of this place!” Then he sees Eliza. “Oh… I see. He’s your boy is he, Eliza? Let me guess, you sent him to find Logan so you could get him back, hm?”

Eliza shakes her head. “No, Roman had no part in this… It was a coincidence that he found Logan. But it’s safe to say, now I’ve found him, I want him back.”

Deciet lets out a dry laugh. “Oh so now you want him? Only took you, what, 18 years?”

“Excuse me?”

“You gave him up so you could eat a flower, Eliza. You obviously didn’t care about him enough if you could give him up for pregnancy cravings.”

“I wouldn’t have had to give him up if you hadn’t set the ridiculous trade!”

“A trade you accepted. And one I almost went back on. I almost gave Logan back.”

“Then why didn’t you? Do you have no humanity?!”

“I do. In fact, I didn’t give him back because I have too much humanity.” Deceit turns to the tower, and calls up. “Logan!”

Logan runs to the window, eyes widening upon seeing Deceit. “Father! I can explain! Please don’t be mad…”

“I’m not mad, Logan. Can you come down please?”

“… Down? As in out of the tower? You’re letting me?”

“Yes. I am.”

Logan lets Remus down first. Deceit raises an eyebrow as the prince slips down.

“Why is the prince of the kingdom in my son’s tower?”

“Uhhhh…”

“You can explain later. I guess you’re helpful for my demonstration anyway.”

Before Remus can react, Deceit grabs his arm, pulls out a knife, and cuts Remus’ hand. When Logan slips down, Deceit tells him to heal Remus’ hand.

Logan goes up to Remus and wraps his hair around the prince’s hand. He asks “please don’t freak out”, before starting to sing a special song. “Flower gleam and glow…”

As he sings, his hair starts to glow blue. When he finishes the song, his hair stops glowing, and he pulls it away from Remus’ hand, revealing it to be healed.

Deceit continues to Eliza. “Those flowers had the same healing properties. And they were a gift to me from my husband, Romulus, before he passed. When I found some taken away, the bush ruined, I was heartbroken. I had promised to keep the flowers safe, and tend to them to keep my husband’s memory alive. And when your husband came back to steal even more, I lost my cool. You took something important to me, and I only saw it right I take something important to you as revenge. When I finally had Logan, I realised that I was perhaps going too far. But… then I sang that song. The one Romulus taught me. And I saw Logan’s hair glowing. He’d gained the healing property of the flowers. He was now the last thing I had left of the man I loved. My motive changed. No longer did I keep him for vengeance. I had to protect him, like I promised Romulus I would. I… guess I may have gone a bit overboard, but… I began to truly view Logan as my own. I loved him as my own son. Like the one Romulus and I never got to have. I couldn’t lose him too.”

Eliza blinks. “I… I had no idea. I didn’t realise those flowers were so important to you…”

“Wait, I’m confused. What’s going on?” Logan asks.

“So am I,” Roman adds. Patton, Virgil and Remus all nod in agreement.

Deceit sighs, turning to Logan. “I’m… not your real father, Logan. I’ve raised you since you were young, but… I took you from Eliza here.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “LOGAN’S MY BROTHER?!”

Eliza sighs. “You didn’t take him. You’re right. I gave him up. Which is why you’re wrong about not being his father. You basically adopted him. You did all the parenting. Meanwhile… I failed with my second son. I let Roman wander off into the woods on his own, and climb up beanstalks and face giants. I’m under-protective and irresponsible.”

“But I’m overprotective,” Deceit replies. “I kept Logan in a tower for 18 years. Sure, it seems like he got out recently…” He sends a look to Remus. “But I shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong.”

“Well… then I guess we need to learn from each other. We balance out.” Eliza pauses, thinking. “Look. We’ve both lost our husbands. How about we work together to raise our kids from here on out?”

Deceit raises an eyebrow. “You know I’m gay, right? Not bi or pan.”

Eliza rolls her eyes. “Not get together. Just, work together to raise the kids.”

Deceit smiles. “That… that would be nice.”

Eliza smiles back. “In that case, lets head home. I guess I need to make up a couple new rooms. Good thing we can afford to expand the house a bit now.” She ruffles Roman’s hair.

Deceit turns to Logan. “On the way, can you explain to me how you came to know the prince?”

“Oh! That’s all thanks to Virgil!” Logan turns to see Virgil walking away from the group. “Virgil? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. You go enjoy your happy endings or whatever. If I don’t get back home soon, I’ll probably be locked in my room for a week with no food, sooo… I’m heading off.”

“You’ll be what…?”

“It’s fine, I deserve it. I wanted the prince because I’m a selfish butthole who wanted a new and better life, not caring if we actually loved each other or not. I tried to keep him from you. See ya. I hope you all live happily ever after.”

He tries to continue walking, but a strand of hair is suddenly thrown around his wrist and he’s pulled back.

Logan shakes his head. “If your current life’s bad, I’m not letting you live it. You don’t deserve it, no matter how much you think you do. You’re my best friend.”

“We’ve… known each other for two days.”

“You’re still my best friend. Roman and Patton are close seconds, but they’re younger than me, and I need my best friend to be closer to my age. But that’s not the point! The point is, come with us? Or at least take my tower since I don’t need it anymore?”

“You really want me to come with you?”

“Of course! I never would have left if it weren’t for you. I wouldn’t have met Remus. I need to thank you for that.” Logan turns to Deceit and Eliza. “Can he stay with us? Please?”

The two parents share a glance. “I don’t see why not.” “What’s one more son added to the mix?”

Two years later...

Deceit and Eliza are in tears. Happy tears, though. As is King Thomas.

For it is Logan and Remus’ wedding day.

Patton is the flower boy, Roman is the ring bearer. Virgil is Logan’s best man.

As the grooms have their first dance, Virgil happily watches, until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry you didn’t get the happily ever after you wanted, buddy,” Emile says.

“Yeah. It wasn’t the happily ever after I wanted.” Virgil looks between the two people who he now considered his parents, the two kids who he sees as his younger siblings, and the newly-wed couple dancing in the middle of the ballroom. “But it was the happily ever after I needed.”

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starship-squidlet · 4 years ago

Text

New Music: Act 2, scene 7

Chapter summary: The aftermath of the fight with the Delanceys. Cora and Davey get to spend some time together.

Word count: 2,122

Warnings: blood tw, injury tw (nothing serious, but just as a heads up these are things that come up in the chapter)

Disclaimer: Preface

Tag list: @the-cowbi @i-am-a-wizard @xbanner-carriedx @chaotic-sunflower-galaxy (let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from the tag list!)

Links: Spotify playlist, YouTube playlist, ‘Just the Way you Look Tonight’ on YouTube

A/N: Hey, look, I finally figured out how to put the keep reading links in mobile!!! Now y’all don’t have to scroll past mega-long chapters any more!!! I’ll go back and add them into the other chapters at some point, too. Also! There are some deleted scenes that I’m going to be posting today or tomorrow! Two are from this chapter, and one is from an earlier chapter and I just forgot to post it then (oops). So stay tuned for those!

Previous chapter: Act 2, Scene 6

Next chapter: Act 2, Scene 8

Davey turned around as the door to the club opened, ready to join the others in their typical gentle ribbing of Jack, Albert, and Race for being late, but his comments died on his lips at what walked through the door.

Race and Cora came through first. Even with her face buried in Race’s shoulder, the filth covering Cora’s clothes was obvious, and Davey immediately knew that something was wrong. This conclusion was supported by the next people through the door: Crutchie, clutching a bloodied handkerchief to his head and walking half-supported by Jack. They were followed by Albert, carrying Elaine on his back, and Mush, holding another bloody handkerchief over his nose.

Henry was the first person to move, running for the first aid kit Medda kept behind the bar. The others shifted into action right after him, getting chairs to set Crutchie and the girls down in, getting them glasses of water, and wrapping ice in towels to help with swelling and bruises. Spot took Mush by the shoulder and led him into the bathroom. Albert set Elaine on one of the bar stools and helped her out of one of her shoes, grabbing one of the bundles of ice and holding it to her ankle. Race set Cora down and gave her a quick, tight hug before picking up another ice bundle and holding it to his knuckles.

Henry went straight for Crutchie, checking out the bleeding gash over his eye first. “This isn’t actually as bad as it looks,” he said. “I don’t think it needs stitches. The bleedin’s slowin’ too. Keep pressure on it until it stops.”

Davey noticed Cora’s eyes flicking around the room, like they couldn’t focus on anything. With everyone flitting around, chattering with each other, demanding answers, he couldn’t blame her. He stepped forward hesitantly and brushed a hand against her shoulder. She flinched away, nearly falling out of the chair.

“I’m sorry!” Davey said. “Come on. Let’s go over there.” He offered his hand to her. Cora took it, trembling, and let him lead her to the other side of the club, where they sat down in a corner booth. The high seats blocked out some of the noise the others were making, like they were in a bubble. Davey looked down and saw Cora picking at the skin on her hands, pulling it away from where it had split over her knuckles. “Hey,” he whispered, reaching out to take her hands. She pulled away from him with a little gasp. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” Davey murmured. He held his hands up, then set them on the table. “I don’t want to hurt you, or scare you at all. I just want to help. What can I do?”

Cora shook her head and stared down at her hands. Davey nodded and crossed his arms on the table, resting his chin on them, hoping that his presence alone would help Cora relax.

Back over by the bar, an argument was brewing. Davey glanced over, trying to catch up on what he had missed.

“That’s it,” Jack was pacing back and forth, clearly furious. “That. Is. It. This is done. We’re done—all of it.”

“Jack, come on, you’re not makin’ sense,” Race said, shifting the ice on his bruised knuckles.

“No,” Jack snapped, spinning on him. “I said before—the last time—that we should stop before things got outta hand, but youse convinced me to keep goin’. Well, now it’s over.” He stalked over to Elaine and lifted her arm, showing a nasty scrape that went from her elbow almost all the way down to her wrist under the ripped fabric of her sweater. “Look at this. All of youse. Look at this, and at Crutchie’s head, and Mush’s nose. I’m not okay with this.” Elaine yanked her arm back and cradled it against her chest, glaring at Jack. “I ain’t gonna let anyone else get beat up over music.”

“What are you sayin’, Jack?” Mush asked, his voice low.

“It’s over,” Jack said, turning to face him. “All of this. The band. Over and done.”

“Jack, the Delancey twins have been beatin’ people up long before we started playin’ music and doin’ shows,” Albert protested.

“They didn’t start because of us,” Race added.

“Yeah, but we all became a target because of this,” Jack said. “Everybody knows that the Delanceys have been beatin’ up kids on Pulitzer’s orders since freshman year. Kids he couldn’t punish otherwise. Pulitzer wants to control us, that’s why he’s got Snyder and his goons patrollin’ the school all the time. If he can’t control us through legit means, he’ll do it through the Delanceys.” He flung his arms out. “Well, Pulitzer can’t control this. He tried—last night, he was the one who sicced Snyder on us, I’m sure of it. He’s doin’ whatever it takes to shut us down.”

“He’s doin’ whatever it takes, and he’s winnin’!” Mush snapped. “Because you’s lettin’ him! If we stop what we’re doin’ now, it’s tellin’ Pulitzer that we can be controlled, just like you was sayin’. It’s lettin’ him win and givin’ in to his pressure.”

“You’d really let him take away something that makes you as happy as music does over a couple of bullies?” Elaine asked softly.

Jack turned around and took her hands in his, looking up into her eyes. “If it would keep you—all of you, or even one of you—safe? Absolutely.” He kissed Elaine on the knuckles and released her hands, then turned around, looking at the rest of the group. “Look, youse may be okay with this, but I ain’t,” he said softly. “I ain’t gonna be responsible for anyone else gettin’ hurt.”

“You’re not responsible for this, Jack!” Finch insisted. “Pulitzer is. The Delanceys are. It ain’t your fault.”

“It’s none of our faults,” Spot said, taking a step closer. “The Delanceys is just a couple of meatheads. They ain’t thinkin’ for themselves. All they wants is to hurt other people. Pulitzer just gave ‘em an excuse to go after all of us. They was probably told that they could do whatever they wanted to us without gettin’ in trouble, and that just made us the easiest targets for them. The Delanceys have come after all of us before. It’s nothin’ new. Now we’s just easy pickins.”

“That’s the point!” Jack cried. “We’re easy targets to them. Why would they risk goin’ after anyone else when they could just keep pickin’ us off?” He grabbed Elaine’s arm again. “What’s it gonna take before we do let them win? Broken bones? Worse? What if they put someone in the hospital? What do we do then?”

Elaine snatched her arm back again. “Do me a favor, Jack. Don’t use me as an illustration.” She slid gingerly off the barstool and limped towards the door, stopping to pick up her bag. “It’s clear we won’t be getting any rehearsing done today. I’m going home.”

Finch sighed. “I’ll drive you.” He stood up and took Mush by the arm. “You too. Let’s go.” Mush didn’t protest, but let Finch pull him out of the club.

They passed Medda on the way out, and she gasped when she saw Mush’s face. “What happened?”

“The Delanceys,” Mush sighed. “Everyone’s okay. Henry’s patching Crutchie up now. Jack’s pissed, though, so fair warnin’.”

“Can I assume you all won’t be rehearsing today?” Medda arched an eyebrow.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be back tomorrow, don’t worry,” Finch grinned.

“I look forward to it,” Medda smiled. She patted Mush on the shoulder as she passed, and nodded down the street. “You’d better hurry and catch your girlfriend before she gets too far away.”

Finch glanced down the sidewalk and sighed. “Elaine! Wait! I said I’d drive you!”

Medda opened the door and stepped into the club. As advertised, the atmosphere was tense. Henry was taping up a gash on Crutchie’s forehead, Jack hovering nearby. Some of the other boys were close and seemed to be trying to help—Mike and Ike, Boots, JoJo, Specs. At the other end of the bar were most of the other boys—Spot, Blink, Albert, Race, Romeo, and Smalls. Medda looked around for Cora, concerned, but spotted Davey’s side in the corner booths and smiled to herself. She went to check on Crutchie first, and patted Henry on the shoulder. “That’s a nice job you’re doing there. If any of you need anything, I’ll be in my office.”

On the other side of the club, Davey glanced back down at Cora. She had her eyes squeezed shut, and her hands clamped over her ears. Davey raised a hand to brush against her shoulder, but thought better of it. “Cora? Cora, can you hear me?”

Cora opened her eyes slowly and looked over at him.

“They stopped fighting. It’s quieter now. It’s okay; you can uncover your ears.”

Cora moved her hands away for a moment. When Davey proved to be correct, she moved them down into her lap and started picking at her skin again.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Davey murmured, reaching out to take her hands in his. “It’s okay. You’re okay. No-one is going to hurt you. I promise. I won’t let them.”

Cora offered him a watery smile. Davey looked around, not really sure what to do. “Hey, Cora, what’s your favorite song? That we sing, at least. Or your favorite song to sing. Or perform. If… uh, if that makes sense.”

Cora stayed silent for a moment. Davey didn’t think she was going to answer, at first. But then:

“I like… I like when you sing Sinatra,” she said, her voice small.

“Oh yeah?” Davey grinned. “What’s your favorite Sinatra song?”

She paused. “Um… I can’t remember what it’s called. I liked the one you sang for your audition. That was real nice.”

Davey thought for a moment. “‘Moon River’? That’s a good one.”

Cora nodded. “It sounds real pretty when you sing it.”

Davey smiled to himself. “Thanks.”

They sat quietly for another minute. Cora shifted slightly and leaned into Davey. He very gently slipped his arm out from between them and wrapped it around her shoulders. “What other Sinatra songs do you like?” he asked finally.

Cora shrugged. “Lots. He’s got a nice voice. It’s soothin’. Like yours.”

Davey smiled down at her. “Thanks.” They lapsed into silence again. Once again, Davey was the one to break it, as he began to hum softly.

Cora glanced up at him as he began to sing quietly:

“Some day, when I'm awfully low,

When the world is cold,

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And the way you look tonight.”

Davey didn’t miss the soft smile that was beginning to creep over Cora’s face, so he kept singing, emboldened now.

“Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm,

And your cheeks so soft,

There is nothing for me but to love you

And the way you look tonight.”

The rest of the club seemed to fade away. He could no longer hear the other boys talking—he wasn’t sure if it was because they had left, or if he was just so focused on him and Cora in their little bubble.

“With each word your tenderness grows,

Tearin' my fear apart,

And that laugh, wrinkles your nose,

Touches my foolish heart.”

The longer the song went on, the more Cora seemed to relax. She rested more and more of her weight against him, letting her head fall against his shoulder. Her breathing grew steady and even, and her hands relaxed in her lap, no longer tearing at themselves.

“Lovely, never, never change,

Keep that breathless charm,

Won't you please arrange it?

'Cause I love you

A-just the way you look tonight!”

Davey’s breath hitched in his throat and he stopped singing. Cora looked up at him, green eyes wide, but she didn’t say anything. Davey swallowed thickly and whispered the next words: “And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart…” He found himself leaning lower, drawn by some magnetic force to Cora. His voice cracked, but he kept going with the lyrics, his voice getting even softer.

“Lovely, don't you ever change,

Keep that breathless charm,

Won't you please arrange it?

'Cause I love you

A-just the way you look tonight”

He swallowed again and pulled away. Cora looked down at her lap again, her hands shifting like she was about to start picking at them again. Davey took a deep breath, leaned down, and quickly pecked her on the cheek. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were even wider, shining happily as a beautiful smile spread over her lips. Davey grinned back at her.

“Just the way you look tonight.”

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snow-lavender · 5 years ago

Text

The Last Day of Unwellness

AKA, “Henrik questions his reality and the rules that govern it.”

Word Count: 2736

And another one! Thanks for reading if you do!

AO3 Link Here

Henrik rushed into his living room. “Shit, shit, shit!”. He peeled off his scrubs and threw a button up shirt on, kicking off his shoes as he went. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 8:07. Even after explaining to his superior, he’d still been forced to work an extra half-shift at the ER. It was only because of his co-worker’s pity that he was home at all.

He rushed to his desktop, where the call was already ringing. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it down a bit, then accepted the call.

A young, grinning face filled the screen. “Papa! You’re late.” she scolded.

Henrik laughed. “Well then, you’ll have to visit soon to keep me in line.” He switched easily into French. “How are you, sweetheart?”

Natalie’s smile widened a bit. “Good! I got a 78 on my arithmetic test!”

“That’s wonderful! And such an improvement, I know you worked very hard at that.” Henrik’s eyes shone with pride. She’d been struggling a lot with the subject, seeing her succeed made his heart dance.

Natalie nodded. “You helped! I understood you much more than my teacher. Can you help me next time, too?”

“Of course. I’m your father, it’s my job to help you.�� Ask your mama, and I’m sure she can set something up anytime.” Henrik leaned back in his chair. “And how is the drama club coming along?”

“Wonderfully!” Natalie started bouncing with excitement. “We’re going to choose a play next week. Everyone is super nice, and the teacher lets us change things and play around if we want!”

She talked for another half hour, gushing about her friends and recounting stories from class. Henrik stayed mostly quiet, nodding and gasping at appropriate times. He hung on every word, eager to know as much as he could about his daughter’s life.

“And then Adam, you know, from last year, he talked about submarines, but he couldn’t remember-” Natalie was cut off by a chime from Henrik’s phone.

Henrik sighed as he flicked away the notification. “I’m sorry to cut you off, but it’s getting late. You need to get some rest for tomorrow.”

Natalie pouted. “It isn’t that late, Papa. I can deal with it.”

“Not on a school night. How about we compromise,” Henrik said. “We can talk again on Friday, and you can finish your story then.”

“Okay…” She perked up for a second. “Have you gotten my gift yet? Mama said she mailed it this morning!”

Henrik chuckled. “It will take a little bit more time to get here. I promise, when I pick it up, you will be the first to know.”

“Alright, if you promise.”

“Cross my heart.” He replied with a smile. “Can you put your mothers on? I need to speak with them.

“Okay. Happy early birthday Papa. I love you.” Natalie said as she slid out of the computer chair.

“I love you too, more than anything.”

She left the room, and a moment later, two women walked in. “Henrik!” Liesel sat down, smiling. “How are you doing?”

“A little tired, but not bad. And you?”

“They hired an assistant librarian, so things are a lot easier now.”

Henrik nodded. “About time. They were working you to the bone. This is much healthier.”

“See, Henrik agrees with me about that!” The other woman interrupted. “Listen to him, darling, he’s a doctor.”

“Good evening, Simone. I saw an advertisement for your latest line on the tram today.”

Liesel gasped. “All the way in Berlin?” She turned to Simone. “Dear, you didn’t tell me! That’s wonderful!” She smiled wide. “I knew your branching out would go well.”

Simone laughed. “Yes, well, a certain woman has given me an… appreciation for the more average people.” She kissed Liesel on the cheek. “They complain much less, for one.”

Liesel retaliated by kissing Simone on the nose. “I’ve already heard people talking about how nice it is to have high fashion be more accessible to them.”

Henrik felt a flash of envy in his gut, but pushed it down with a smile. “As have I. One of the ER nurses was very moved today, almost to the point of tears.”

Simone looked rather moved herself. “Truly?”

“Truly. I think she was already a fan of your work, but still. It had such a large impact on her.”

Simone just stood there, smiling. It was nearly the most emotional Henrik had ever seen her. She shook her head after a moment. “Enough of that. This is a business call.”

Liesel snorted. “Only you would call this sort of thing a business call, dear.” She turned back to the screen. “Henrik, is everything taken care of on your end?”

“Everything is good here. Vacation days taken and tickets booked.” He smiled. “I assume you didn’t actually put Natalie’s gift in the post?”

“No, no, don’t worry.” Liesel assured. “And she doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Thank you so much for coming up with this plan, both of you.”

“Of course! You only have so many birthdays left, you should take advantage of them.”

Henrik sent Liesel a look. “You’re older than I am.”

Liesel just laughed. Simone bent over. “Darling, the cake,” she whispered

“Oh! Yes, Henrik, what sort of cake do you want?”

Henrik shook his head. “Just being able to be there is enough. Don’t worry about anything else.” “Chocolate, then.”

“I will not object if there is a chocolate cake,” he relented. “But please, don’t overwork yourself.”

Liesel waved a hand. “I have the day off work, I’ll need something to do.”

Simone lent in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be there to make sure she rests. We have a busy weekend ahead of us, don’t use everything now.”

“Ah!” Henrik broke in. “I did tell Natalie that we’d have another conversation over the weekend. Just a fair warning, for excuses.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. You’ll have plenty of time to talk then.” Simone said. She checked her watch. “I’m very sorry to cut you off, Henri, but I have an emergency call with a house in LA in 10 minutes.”

“Of course, of course. Have a good night, the both of you. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Goodnight, Henrik. Sleep well.” Liesel said with a smile.

Henrik smiled back. “I’ll try.”

Both of them waved, and the call disconnected. Henrik leaned back in his chair, a grin still on his face. He knew he’d spend the next few days thinking of nothing but his departure. But he couldn’t help it. Spending time with his daughter, especially face to face, was a gift he rarely had.

The smile dropped. He knew that this outcome was for the best, that this way made everyone happiest, himself included. But still, he felt small stirrings of discontent. He wanted to have these conversations every night, to hear the stories of the day and not just of the week. He wanted ...well, he wanted more. He wanted what he had had before.

Henrik shook his head again, trying to rid it of these thoughts. Those wouldn’t help anyone. Best to move past them before he started stewing again. Personal growth, and all that.

He sniffed, frowning. He really needed to take a shower before his whole apartment smelled like an emergency room. Out of the chair he went.

Suddenly, he heard a zapping behind him. Henrik turned to see...something, floating in the centre of his study. It looked like a sort of orb made of green light, but his logical brain wouldn’t let him believe it. He definitely needed more sleep.

Henrik turned back around, starting to unbutton his shirt. He tried to weigh the pros and cons of showering versus going straight to bed. He could always just wash the sheets…

Before he could think any further, the light behind him flashed and his vision went white.

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

“Ah!”

Henrik fell backwards into a sofa. Not his sofa, just a sofa. He looked around in confusion.

He, somehow, was in another living room. It seemed normal, some furniture, a television, a few boxes strewn about. It would be completely normal, if not for the fact that he’d been teleported here, an act that was scientifically impossible.

From another room, he heard someone yell in English, “Where did you want this one, Marv?”

And another voice, slightly closer, “Just leave it in the hall for now! I’m going to add a few things to the bookshelf, be right there.”

A man entered the room, holding another box. Two more followed behind him.

Boxes, that is. Not men. There were floating boxes following him.

Henrik gaped. The other didn’t seem to notice him. He simply walked over to the bookshelf, thumbed through a box, and picked out some old looking tomes, placing them as he went.

“Was zur hölle?”

“Aah!”

The other man yelped, dropping the book he was holding. The boxes fell to the floor. He grasped at his chest, leaning against the wall. “For fuck sake, warn a guy..next..time.” He spoke haltingly, finally noticing Henrik. “Oh. Hi?”

“Hello?” he replied hesitantly. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“Uh, yeah, shit. Hold on a second.” The other man walked to the door and leaned out. Henrik belatedly noticed that a porcelain mask was covering half his face. “Hey, Seán, Jackie, get in here! You were right!” He yelled.

“Right about what?” a new voice yelled back.

“The sketch! Just come to the living room!”

Mask man turned back. “Sorry about that. I’m Marvin.”

“Henrik.” He stuck out a hand to shake, but Marvin didn’t take it. Instead, he continued speaking.

“So uh, sorry, but you’ve kind of caught us at an awkward time. Sorry for the mess.”

“Mess?” Henrik looked around. “I do not understand.”

“Oh, this room is fine, but just wait until you see upstairs.”

At that moment, two others walked in, one, a teenager, and the other, maybe six, seven years younger than Henrik. The older one spoke. “Um. Hi, I’m Seán. You might want to sit down, we’re gonna be here a while.”

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

The four of them were now sat in the kitchen, a few pizzas spread out on the table. Seán and Marvin were demonstrating magic for an enraptured Henrik, who was quickly amassing a pile of notes.

“So each of you has a certain source to draw from?” he asked, not looking up.

“Sort of. Most people have one they work best with, and then talented magicians can get one or two extras that are a little harder to access.”

“Most?”

“Yeah, there are witches and wizards, not a gendered thing, by the way, and then there are mages.” Marvin explained, absentmindedly twisting plants through his fingers. “Like Seán.”

“And the difference is…”

“I can draw from all sources equally, but it’s a lot harder to get at them.” Seán spoke up through a mouthful of pizza. “And then there’s people in completely different categories, like Jackie.”

The teen waved from the counter. “I have superpowers!”

“I..okay, I am filing that away for later.” Henrik said. “...I do not understand any of this.”

Seán shrugged. “Neither do I, and I’ve been learning this stuff since I was three. World’s fucking weird. You seem to be coping pretty well, if you’re taking notes already.”

“This is my coping.” he replied, brandishing his papers. “If something is strange, I make myself understand it.” He looked over the four piles. “I haven’t even gotten into this whole character business.”

“Maybe you should take a break.” Marvin said. “Let your brain catch up, and have some pizza.”

Henrik sighed. “Alright. But I want to be able to get back to this later. There must be some sort of explanation. If only..”

“If only what?”

“Well. I would like to be able to ask questions of you all the time, to clarify this situation. These situations, rather.” Henrik said. “But with the distance between here and Berlin, this is impossible, of course.”

Seán looked at him, confused. “Is this your roundabout way of asking to move in with us?” “Perhaps.” Henrik admitted. “After a while, of course. It seems like you are in the middle of moving someone already.”

“I mean yeah, man, of course! We might have some trouble finding room for ya..” Seán looked around the kitchen. “Someone’s going to have to share rooms.”

Marvin made a face. “I can’t. It’ll already be too crowded in there with all my supplies. Another person would be dangerous.”

“I’ve got the biggest room,” Seán said, “but I go to bed super late. Would that wake you up?”

“Likely not. And I would need a job here, which means strange ER hours. Would that wake you up?”

“Honestly, probably not. I sleep pretty deep.” Seán leaned back, stretching. “So that’s that, then. It’ll take more time to move, since you’re German, right?”

“More time compared to what?” Henrik asked.

“We’re Irish, we didn’t move countries.” Jackie piped up.

“Ah. Then yes. But not much, I expect I would be settled by the end of next month.”

“Cool. The couch is yours for the night, I gotta go work.” Seán stood up, putting the dishes in the sink. “Night, all.”

Marvin and Jackie waved back. Jackie opened his mouth, but Marvin shushed him. “No way. I know you have that test tomorrow, go to bed. I’ll deal with Henrik.” The teen humphed, but left without argument. Marvin turned back to Henrik, looking mildly uncomfortable. “You all good?”

“I will be,” he replied, “after some thought and a good night’s rest. I will need to leave early in the morning, I have somewhere to be.” Thank the lord he still had his wallet on his person.

“Okay, no problem.” Marvin motioned for Henrik to follow him into the living room, then threw him a pile of blankets. “Sleep well.” he said, then left.

Henrik stood for a moment longer. “You as well.” he said to the empty room. Then he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the sofa, settling in for the night.

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

“Papa?” Natalie gaped from the door.

“Surprise.” Henrik smiled, arms open. Natalie flew into them, grabbing his chest.

“What..you’re here!” she said, eyes wide.

Henrik laughed, lifting her up. “I’m here.”

Simone and Liesel also walked out, arm in arm. Liesel held a sloppily wrapped package. “Here you go,” she said to Natalie. “I kept it safe.”

“You knew!” she accused. Taking the gift, she walked back over to Henrik. “Mama and Mère helped me! But I did most of it.” Simone snorted. “She did.”

Henrik took it slowly. “Well, thank you! How on earth did you know I wanted a paper wrapped box for my birthday?” he joked.

“Papa! Just open it!”

“Alright, alright.” Henrik shifted and carefully unwrapped the box. He took out the tissue paper and froze. In the box was a pottery bowl. It was sloppy in some places, but fully functional. And painted over it...

Oh, painted over it was a recreation of the painting Henrik had made for Natalie’s nursery, over a decade ago. The colours were almost identical, the strokes nearly all the same. Henrik was absolutely speechless, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

Natalie was looking at him, concerned. “Is it okay?”

Henrik didn't reply. He just set down the box, dropped to his knees, and pulled Natalie into a tight hug. “I love it.” he whispered, trying not to cry. “And I love you, so very much.”

Natalie hugged back, then pulled away. “Come in, it’s almost dinner time! Mama made crepes.”

“I also made a chocolate cake, as promised.” Liesel added with a grin.

Natalie turned to her. “That’s what that was for? I thought it was for your book club.”

Henrik chuckled, wiping his face. “Of course I’ll come in, if you don’t mind me weeping all over your furniture.” He picked up the gift box.

Natalie grabbed his hand, pulling him into the house, and Simone and Liesel followed.

Needless to say, it was the best birthday Henrik had ever had.

#writersofjack #writers of jack #dr schneeplestein #dr schneepelstien #henrik von schneeplestein #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #jacksepticeye fanfiction #fanfic #jacksepticeye egos #septic egos #my writing #the last day series

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huphilpuffs · 5 years ago

Text

already seen all of the parties

summary: Dan gets home from London pride. word count: 1.4k rating: t warnings: food a/n: Big thanks to @plinthofmylife for the beta read!

ao3 link

It’s late when Dan gets home.

His curls are messy from the wind. Some of the sequins have fallen from his jacket, probably lost in the sea of glitter littering London streets. The sign he left with this morning is still clutched in his hand.

Phil makes a note to add it to their collection of props from their proudest moments. This certainly fits in.

He bounces to his feet, taking the sign so Dan can lean against the wall to toe off his shoes. He has a bag in his other hand, with a rainbow printed on it and pamphlets sticking out the top. Dan will probably read them in the coming days. That’s part of his particular breed of activism.

For now, though, he just wiggles his toes against the hardwood floor, shoves a hand under his lapel and says, “Fuck, blazers really aren’t meant to be worn without undershirts.”

Phil laughs, the choked kind that catches him by surprise. “Oh?” he says. “Well, besides chafed nips, how was it?”

Dan’s smile goes soft and dreamy at that. He rests his head against the wall and his eyes flutter closed like they do when he’s content.

“It was bloody amazing,” he says. “You’re gonna have to hear me talk about it for weeks now. Fair warning.”

They’re still standing by the door. Phil’s wearing nothing but pants and mix-matched socks. Dan’s hand is still resting on his own nipple.

Phil’s grinning as he says, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

---

Dan films an insta story once he’s taken his jacket off.

Phil sits on their bed, legs tucked under him. The sign and bag of pride goodies have stayed in the lounge to be dealt with tomorrow. Here, it’s just Dan smiling at the camera and talking about the parade and the quiet pride that’s been bursting in Phil’s chest all day.

Dan drops the jacket to the floor as he posts the video. Phil decides he should ask if that should be added to their collection of important keepsakes too. Later.

Practicalities can all be dealt with later.

Dan tosses his phone onto the bed. His hand skims down his own chest, gaze dropping. “My nipples didn’t actually chafed,” he says.

“Too bad,” says Phil. “Now I can’t kiss them better.”

“Oi!” Dan laughs. Phil knows that, had he still been holding his phone, it would have come flying in his direction. “As if you won’t kiss them anyway, Mr. Nip Kink.”

Phil feels his whole face break into a smile. It’s been doing that a lot today, mostly staring at his phone, at the endless collection of pictures he’s been staring at and the odd text Dan would send when he had a second.

All those anomalous parts of their day are starting to fade, though, so Phil just sticks out his tongue and says, “Don’t kinkshame me.”

---

Dan goes and gets a snack.

Phil expects him to want to sink into bed afterwards, exhausted from hours of walking and socializing, but he just hops up onto the kitchen island and rambles as he nibbles on a chocolate chip cookie. Phil’s pretty sure he’s said the word rainbow about three times in the last sentence.

It’s lovely.

He grabs a cookie for himself, too, and listens to every word Dan says.

---

“I thought you might stay out later,” says Phil.

They’re both sitting on the counter now. They’ve eaten way too many cookies. There’s crumbs all over Phil’s laugh and some at the corners of Dan’s mouth and a glass of milk sitting between them.

Some of the crumbs drop as Dan’s mouth quirks into a crooked smile. “Oh?”

Phil shrugs. “I don’t know. I figured people might have invited you out afterwards to go, like, clubbing or something,” he says. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I know,” says Dan. “People did. I didn’t really wanna go, though. Would have been too much people-ing for one day, I reckon.”

Phil hums, taking another bite of his cookie. He doesn’t need to say he understands. Dan knows that’s part of the reason Phil opted not to go at all.

They eat in silence for a moment. Dan downs half their glass of milk, then cringes at the cookie crumbs Phil knows are floating in it. On another day, he might hear a rant about how it’s cruel that cookies are best with milk but then ruin the milk with all their soggy crumbs.

Today, Dan just knocks their feet together.

“I wouldn’t have had anyone to dance with anyway,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Had I gone clubbing,” says Dan. “My boyfriend decided to stay home.”

Phil almost asks if it bothers Dan, as though they haven’t discussed Phil’s choice not to go countless times since Dan first decided he would be marching, but Dan’s smudging a clumsy kiss to his cheek before he can.

And then he hops off the counter.

---

Dan has music playing and the lights dimmed before Phil’s brain even has the chance to catch up.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Dan’s standing in the middle of the kitchen by then, bouncing on his toes, reaching out to skim his fingers along the sides of Phil’s thighs. A curl has fallen against the middle of his forehead. He’s wearing just his pants now, too. He’s still glowing like he was when he was wearing a skeleton made of sequins in the middle of London.

“Wanna dance with you,” he says, smiling so wide both his dimples pop.

He tugs Phil off the counter and sets his phone down where they’d been sitting. His one hand grips Phil’s hip as he reaches past him to clumsily change the music to something else. Phil turns just in time to watch him search for pride and choose the first playlist that shows up.

The first song is Britney Spears. Phil muffles his laugh against Dan’s bare shoulder.

Dan wraps his arms around Phil’s waist and breathes a quiet “Perfect,” against his hair.

---

They dance for a long time.

All clumsy steps and awkward hip movements to fast songs, and stumbling over each other’s toes when slow ones played. This isn’t a skill Phil’s ever really had to learn, besides the very choreographed and highly practiced dance from TATINOF.

That wasn’t like this. It wasn’t Dan’s naked chest pressed against his. It wasn’t Phil’s hands draped across the back of his neck. It wasn’t happy smiles and giddy giggles and the warm wash of Dan’s breath against his ear.

“I want to go with you one day,” he whispers.

Phil smiles, and stumbles when he momentarily forgets they’re slow dancing right now. “To pride?”

Dan hums. Phil feels the rumble of it against his body.

“I know this year is about like, finding new boundaries and like, me exploring this community in a way you already have but I wanna go with you one day.” He smiles, pressing it right against the high of Phil’s cheekbone. “It was so great. I want to share it with you.”

The song changes to something faster. They keep swaying slowly.

“Tell me more about it,” says Phil.

“Everyone was so happy,” says Dan. There’s no hesitation. He’s not whispering anymore. “There were rainbows bloody everywhere. You’d love it, colour addict that you are.”

“Yeah?”

Dan hums, quiet and content. “Yeah,” he says. “I got to meet some of the kids that work with Mermaids, too. They were so cute. I just want to protect them from the world, you know?”

Phil smiles. “Yeah,” he repeats. “We should donate.”

“We should,” says Dan. He draws back a bit, just enough to catch Phil’s gaze. “So many of our fans were there, too. They’re so proud of us. I was scared, you know? But they’re all so happy for us and I just–” He stops, breathing to the beat of the music. “I’m so happy right now.”

Phil doesn’t really have anything to say to that. All possible responses have been used over the last few weeks, during loud birthday photoshoots and quiet nights in bed and silent text messages.

So he kisses Dan, instead.

---

It doesn’t go any further than kissing.

Dan’s post-pride high starts to fade shortly after his back hits the mattress and his head lands on the pillow. His touch gets softer, his kisses get slower, and Phil just follows his pace because today’s been Dan’s day.

They curl up on top of the duvet afterwards. It’s probably too hot in London to cuddle, but Phil does anyway, pressing himself against Dan’s back and holding on tight.

Dan falls asleep first.

Phil mumbles a quiet, “I’m proud of you,” against his shoulder before he falls asleep, too.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dan and phil #callie writes words #i also had my first pride this year so today made me v emo #have a fic

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a-splash-of-stucky · 6 years ago

Text

Priorities | Two

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky breaks his promise.

Warnings: Implied smut, nudity, language. Angst. The ‘baby talk’

Word Count: 3.2k

Notes: Written for @buckyofthemyscira��s 5k Disney Writing Challenge.

I said the angst would get worse and it does! Brace yourselves :D

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | Tags are open, add yourself here

“Let’s have a baby,” says Bucky.

You’re about five minutes post-orgasm, still trying to catch your breath and calm your galloping heart, so it takes a few seconds for your brain to actually register and process what he’s just said. You lift your head from where it’s pillowed on his chest and look at him through narrowed eyes.

“You wanna what-now?”

“A baby,” he repeats, as he rolls onto his side, forcing you to scoot back and give him some space. Bucky slings an arm over your waist loosely, fingers idly tracing the bare skin at the small of your back. You prop your head up one elbow so that you can look at him properly.

“Why?” you ask.

Bucky shrugs. “Maybe ‘cause we’ve been married for almost two years? I dunno, I just feel like...we’re in a good position financially, Tony’s all but guaranteed me a promotion, your business is thriving — maybe it’s time, y’know?”

You bite your lip as you mull over his words, not yet convinced. “I dunno,” you mumble, “Having a kid is a pretty big commitment.”

“I know, but—we’re in a good place, aren’t we?” he asks, shifting forward to press his forehead to yours.

“I guess so,” you reply hesitantly. “I just...I need some time to think about this, okay? I want that with you, don’t get me wrong but...I’m not sure if I’m ready, yet.”

Bucky smiles at you, soft and tender. For a moment, he looks exactly like the boy you fell in love with, all those years ago. “Of course, honey,” he murmurs, bending to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m not saying we gotta do it now — whenever you’re ready, doll. It’s no rush.”

You flash him a smile in return, and pray that he won’t see past the mask that you’ve painted on your face.

Sensing that the conversation is over, you slump into the pillows, groaning in relief as you stretch out your pleasantly-exhausted muscles. Bucky rumbles low in his chest as he slides his hands down your naked back, stopping to cup the swell of your ass.

“Maybe...maybe we could start practicing, though?” he asks hopefully.

You bark out a laugh as you turn to glare at him playfully. “You’re insatiable, Mr Barnes,” you tease.

“Can’t help it, when I’ve got such a pretty wife,” he replies, moving to cage you in with his forearms, forcing you to roll onto your back. You hum as you loop your hands over his neck and tangle your fingers through his hair, bringing him in for a filthy kiss.

“Perhaps you should try your best to convince me — I might make up my mind, sooner,” you say huskily, as you nose along his stubbled jaw.

Bucky pulls back, eyes dark with lust and gleaming with promise. “Challenge accepted, sweetheart.”

—

a-sprinkle-of-sunshine posted at 2.36PM: Kids??

I know I don’t usually make posts on a Sunday, but something’s just happened and I’d really like some advice.

In my last post, I talked about the current status of my marriage (btw, many thanks to everyone who left a supportive comment/piece of advice!). Today, I’d like to share with you a further development.

This morning, my husband brought up the subject of children. Specifically, he brought up the subject of us having children. Basically, hubby said that he wanted to have them. I should also say that he wasn’t in any way pressuring me to have them soon, which I appreciate.

Why am I telling you this?

Well, you all know that I’d like to have some children of my own, one day. I want to raise kids with him, but I do have some reservations.

A friend of mine sent me an interesting article a couple of weeks ago (link), which it got me thinking. From observing my friends and acquaintances, I think that this is an issue that applies to many of us in long-term heterosexual relationships.

So many women are basically “married single mothers”. They’re single mothers, despite having a husband or male s/o at home.

Let’s assume that mom and dad are both working (as is the case for hubby and I). In most families, when dad comes home, he puts his feet up on the table and chills out by playing on his Xbox or phone or whatever. He doesn’t offer to help with the dishes, he’s not cooking dinner, he’s literally just sitting there. Sometimes, dad doesn’t even come home until it’s almost midnight.

Meanwhile, mom’s there trying to make sure that dinner’s on the table, that the kids have done their homework, that they’re doing okay in school, that they’ve packed their bags for the next day — looking after the kids, basically. My point is, in most heterosexual families as I’ve described, there’s a clear gender split in terms of child-raising responsibilities.

I don’t want that. Yes, even though I work from home and could devote a lot of time to child-upbringing, that’s not what I want. I want my husband and I to raise a child together, to have equal responsibility, to share the burdens and joys. I don’t want my children to see my husband as a stranger, y’know?

But, with the way that hubby is getting busier and busier by the day, well — I think it’s quite likely that, if we have kids, I’m gonna end up as a married single mom. In my heart of hearts, I believe that our marriage will suffer if we have a baby now. I’m scared that my husband won’t be there to watch them grow up

I know, I know — I NEED TO TALK THIS OUT WITH HIM, and I will, I promise. I’m just...I don’t know what I’m gonna say. I need to think about it, for a bit.

Anyway. Any and all advice on this matter would be much appreciated, especially if you’ve been through a similar situation.

—

Sundays are for chilling out, but apparently, Bucky didn’t get that memo.

You’ve been trying to get him out of the house all day, to no avail. The two of you had rolled out of bed at around lunchtime and, after sharing a long shower, had wandered to the kitchen to cook up some pasta. In the middle of your meal, Bucky had gotten a call from Tony, which was filled with clipped sentences and terse voices. Since then, he’s stationed himself at the kitchen island, laptop open and papers spread out in front of him, frantically making last-minute changes to his designs.

“I’m sorry, honey — maybe later?” he’d said, when you’d suggested going out for a walk.

“Sweetie, I’m busy right now, I’m sorry,” he’d said an hour later, when you’d asked him if he wanted to watch a movie with you.

“Sorry, doll, this code’s got a major bug in it, I gotta try and sort it out, I can’t go right now,” he’d said, when you’d asked if he wanted to go somewhere for dinner.

You want to scream at him in frustration.

You know that you need to confront this issue sooner rather than later, but you don’t have the strength to deal with it right now. After ordering dinner from a nearby Chinese takeout place, you curl up in front of the TV for — yet another — quiet night in, alone. The fact that you’re having dinner by yourself is kind of ridiculous, given that your husband is literally sat twenty feet away from you.

Since you’re not getting much company from Bucky tonight, you decide to head to bed early.

You sigh as you curl up on your side of the king-sized mattress, frustrated by the fact that your husband just — doesn’t seem to have time for you, anymore. A part of you feels guilty for being angry at Bucky, given that he’s only working so hard so that he can save up more money and give you a good life. Nonetheless, you can’t help thinking that there must be a limit to how much he should be working.

It takes two to have a marriage, after all.

You lie in bed, dozing in and out of dreams whilst you wait for your husband to call it a night. Sometime after eleven, you’re awoken from your light slumber by the feeling of the bed dipping with Bucky’s weight as he climbs in. He presses a kiss to your temple as he slides under the covers and curls himself around your back, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you closer. You reach back to give his hip an affectionate squeeze.

“Hey, doll, sorry — didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers.

“S’okay,” you mumble sleepily. “You got your work done?”

“Yeah,” he replies, burying his face against the back of your neck. “Sorry our Sunday got ruined, though. Tell you what — my schedule’s free on Tuesday evening, why don’t I make a reservation at Giovanni’s and take you out for dinner, huh?”

You hum in agreement, lacing your fingers with Bucky’s where they lie over your stomach. “M’kay,” you murmur, “G’night, Buck.”

“Sweet dreams, doll.”

—

When Tuesday evening rolls around, you find yourself sitting at your dressing table, putting the finishing touches to your eye makeup.

You’re in a good mood, today — you had a productive meeting with Peter earlier this afternoon, and he’d gone away promising to look into some of the problems that you’ve been having with your website. Your supplier has gotten back to you with a reasonable price quote for the limited edition notebooks that you’re selling for autumn/winter, and you’ve scheduled the blog post that’s supposed to go up tomorrow.

All in all, a fulfilling day.

Despite being buoyed by your high spirits, there’s a lingering seed of worry in your gut. Your reservation for Giovanni’s is at seven, and Bucky still hasn’t texted you to say that he’s left work, even though it’s already half-past six.

You’ve dressed up nicely for the occasion, putting on a blue dress that compliments your skin tone and fits your body perfectly. You’ve paired the dress with some strappy heels, and have put a little extra effort into your hair and makeup too.

Your phone rings just as you’re swiping on your lipstick.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky says breathlessly. “I just checked the time.”

“Are you on the way?”

“Uh...no,” he says slowly, “I’m still tied up at work.”

You set your tube of lipstick down on your vanity, his sentence settling in like a boulder at the bottom of your stomach.

Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d have to go and ruin what was otherwise a good day.

“You’re coming home late?” you ask, voice a little shaky.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, honey. I really can’t wriggle my way out of this one.”

You purse your lips. “Okay. I understand.”

“You do?” Bucky asks, sounding relieved.

“Yeah, of course. Your work’s more important than your wife, I see that,” you say sharply. It’s a low blow, but you’re pissed off, and you want your words to wound him deeply, just as he has hurt you.

His sharp inhale on the other end of the line tells you that you’ve achieved your goal.

“No, sweetie, c’mon, just try to understand what I’m—”

“No, you try and understand how I’m feeling, James,” you hiss, fighting to hold back the hot tears of anger brimming in the corners of your eyes. “Am I not — important to you?”

“No,” he says fiercely, “Sweetheart, don’t think like that, I’m just making sure that when we have kids—”

“Oh, when?” you say angrily, “It’s a ‘when’, now? We’re having kids, that’s confirmed, is it? Are you even gonna be there to watch them grow up?”

Bucky exhales harshly. “Honey, we’re not having this conversation on the phone—”

“No? Then when the fuck are we gonna have it, James Buchanan? Hmm? Because you’re hardly ever home, and even when you are, you’re too busy thinking about work to listen to me, anyway.”

“Doll—”

“No, don’t fucking ‘doll’ me. I just—just whatever,” you sigh tiredly, as you scrub your hand over your face, the fight suddenly bleeding out of your system. You’re tired of this. You don’t want to deal with this shit anymore.

“Our reservation’s at seven,” you say, “I gotta go, or I’ll be late. Bye.”

You hang up before he gets a chance to reply.

You want to hurl your phone against the wall. You want to scream and shout and tear your hair out. You want to rip this fucking dress to shreds, all because of Bucky. He’s just so — ugh.

With an exasperated harumph, you turn back to the mirror and fish a tissue out of your makeup bag, using it to dab at your eyes. You won’t cry, right now; Bucky’s not worth your tears. You finish putting on your lipstick, spritz on a little more hairspray, then pick up your purse and flick off the bedroom lights.

Bucky might not be coming on this date night, but you might as well treat yourself. God knows you deserve it.

On impulse, you pull out your phone and speed dial Wanda. Natasha’s on a business trip to Milan this week, so she won’t be able to join you, but you haven’t caught up with Wanda for a while — this might be a good way to salvage a bad situation. You’ve known Wanda since high-school, and you consider her to be one of your closest friends.

“Hello?” she answers, after a few rings.

“Hey, it’s me,” you say, “Listen, I know this is kinda random, but are you busy tonight?”

“Uh...like now? No, why?”

“You wanna go out for dinner with me?”

“Uh...Wait, like now now? Where? Why?”

“Giovanni’s, and I’ll tell you why when we get there.”

Wanda pauses as she thinks over your offer. “Yeah, why not, they’ve got good wine — lemme just text Vis and I’ll be right over, ‘kay?”

“Cool. Reservation’s for seven, under the name ‘Barnes’.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

—

“So, you gonna tell me what this is about?” Wanda asks, as the server clears your menus and re-fills your wine glasses. “You’re all dressed up, but I have a feeling that that’s not for me.”

“Bucky was supposed to take me out on a date,” you reply, as you take a sip of your wine.

“And? What happened?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “He got caught up at work.”

Wanda leans back, folding her arms across her chest as she looks at you critically. She’s wearing a black shift dress, and has piled her long brown hair into a loose bun on top of her head. In addition to her favourite lace choker, she’s also wearing her signature dark lip and smoky eye-liner.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there somewhere. You’re not telling me something,” she says, after a long pause.

You chew on your lip hesitantly as you fiddle with the edge of your napkin. “It’s nothing, just—we kinda had a fight over the phone.”

Wanda clicks her tongue sympathetically as she leans forward to rest her elbows on the table. “What was it about?”

You shake your head, unwilling to talk about the fight when it’s still so fresh in your mind. “It’s nothing, forget about it.”

Wanda arches an eyebrow, clearly displeased by the fact that you’re bottling up your emotions. “I mean...if it was actually nothing, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I? Something’s clearly up. C’mon. Spill.”

You sigh, internally admitting defeat. “Well...okay. He’s been working on this big project, and — uh...actually, it’s not just that.”

She waits patiently as you try to find the right words.

“He’s busier lately...like, a lot busier. It’s been getting worse the last few months, but it all started about a year ago, I’d say. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for him, and I know that he’s doing this for both of us, but—I feel like I’m not the most important thing in his life anymore.”

You huff dryly. “That seems ridiculous to say, ‘cause if you think about it, he’s working so hard because he wants to give us a good life, but...I feel like he went and did this without me, y’know? Without talking to me, I mean. Like, I don’t need a fancy house with a backyard and a garden and whatever — I just want my husband, at home, with me.”

Wanda nods sagely. “He’s doing what he thinks is best, which — fair enough, that’s great, but that’s not necessarily what you want or need from him.”

“Exactly.”

Wanda hums thoughtfully as she takes a sip of her wine. “Sounds like you guys need to have a heart-to-heart.”

“I know, but he’s never home!” you whine, “How am I supposed to talk to him if he isn’t there for me to talk to?”

Wanda sighs as she shakes her head. “I dunno, babe, I can’t help you there.”

“I know you can’t,” you sigh, “It’s okay, we just need to work things out between us.”

She nods in agreement. “So was this date night supposed to be his way of making things up to you?” she asks.

“No. Well — kinda. He was busy doing work on Sunday, and he said he’d take me out tonight, but, well. I guess that didn’t happen, huh?”

“So that’s why you had a fight?”

“Basically,” you reply. Just then, the server comes over with your food. You get one whiff of the fragrant, delicious smell and already, your stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Well, babe,” Wanda says, as she digs into her pasta, “If you ever need a place to stay — like, if you need to be away from him for a while or whatever, you’re always welcome to use our spare room.”

You smile at her gratefully. “Thanks, Wan. I hope I won’t need to, but thank you for the offer.”

“No probs. Are we getting dessert after?”

“Sure, why not. I’m paying for this using his card anyway, let’s cash out.”

She cackles gleefully.

—

Bucky doesn’t get home until it’s half past midnight.

He’s exhausted from a day dealing with catastrophe after catastrophe, but more than that, he feels like shit for not taking you out like he’d promised. You’d sounded really upset on the phone earlier, when he told you that he couldn’t make it. Bucky’s tried calling you about half a dozen times since then, and left you several texts, but you haven’t responded to anything.

He’s not sure what kind of mood you’ll be in.

When he shoulders open the door to the apartment, Bucky is greeted by pure darkness. With a weary sigh, he toes off his shoes and turns on the lights.

His eyes are immediately drawn to the blanket and pillows piled up at the end of the sofa, clearly meant for him. You’ve been kind enough to leave him a pair of sweats and a t-shirt to change into, but there’s no note or anything else with the items.

He knows that if he were to try the door to your shared bedroom, he’d find it to be locked.

Well then. A night on the couch it is.

#sams5kdisneycelebration #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky angst #my writing #fic: priorities

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scribblescrabblebabble · 5 years ago

Text

RoyEd Week 2k19 Day 2!

Title: Seven(?) Days

Rating: T+

Relationships: Roy Mustang/ Edward Elric

Chapter: Day 2- Colorless (Photographers/ wartime Au)

Cross- Posted on AO3 and Fanfic.net links- Fanfic.net AO3

Best quality reading will be through the links, not on Tumblr itself because I’m too lazy to do italics and shit right now. For @royedweek2019 ‘s RoyEd Week!

......................................................................................................................

Ed sighed in frustration, "Okay, which of you can tell me a single technical aspect of this photo?" He clicked to another picture on the Smartboard, seemingly the hundredth that period. His students' last assignment had gone so poorly he felt that they all needed a class-long review before he could trust them with another.

'11th grade my ass.' He internally seethed. At least his punishment was working- they all looked as miserable as he felt.

His question was met with silence, and Ed wanted to be allowed to punch school property, "Tell me or you all fail the project."

Half of the class readily shouted, "Rule of thirds!" Whilst others guessed very valiantly.

"Good. This one?" He clicked and was met with several "umm"s, but no real answers. Even Chelsea Jones, his star pupil, looked glassy-eyed with boredom! And her project had actually been okay! Apparently, none of these kids were afraid of an F in Photography.

He decided to be generous with this one, as it was a trickier piece, "I see a good use of texture and natural framing with the branches and the model, yeah?"

The class agreed unenthusiastically.

"Listen, if you guys didn't want this, you should have given half of a damn about your work! I know most of you just want the art credit, but you actually have to pass the class to receive the credit, you know.

A few weak, "Yes Sir"s, and Ed forged ahead.

He clicked to the next piece, and almost didn't hear the varied shouts of "diagonal lines" and "shallow depth of field", as the photo in question caught Ed off guard.

It was one of Roy's photos.

An older one, back when he was journaling some strange commune in the Eastern region of Amestris.

Ed must have been silent for longer than he'd have liked, as Ella Swindell in the back of the classroom tentatively asked, "Mr. Elric?"

He snapped his attention back to his class and coughed, "Yes, good answers. Another good element here is the choice of black and white. In this scenario, it really adds some good drama to the piece."

Black and White photography was a favorite of Roy's. Not only because of its homage to printed papers but because of his ever-present flair for the dramatic. Roy left for a month on that job, and right after his return he'd proposed to Ed. At the time it had been their longest work-related time apart. How long had it been since he'd seen Roy? Five months? Or had half a year really already passed? Would he see-

Ed stopped his train of thought right there, violently jabbing his trackpad to move the PowerPoint along. To Ed's dismay, it was another of his husband's works taken of their late cat, kindly named Pissface. This particular shot had been on their cat's supposed birthday, and she wore a little birthday hat and a confused expression.

Roy had cried when Pissface died. She was old, but it had still seemed too sudden the morning they found her. Ed had cried watching Roy cry, and it was all just a big mess of tears. Al had even teared up audibly over the phone when Ed broke the sad news. It was an all-over tear-filled day. If Roy died, Ed didn't know what…

'Nope, stop it!' Ed willed his mind away from death, 'He hasn't called because there is a fucking war falling out around him, idiot brain!'

A few students "aww"ed at Pissface's cuteness, and others scanned the photo quickly for an answer to their teacher's impending question. Ed decided to throw them a curveball, "Improve this photo for me. Tell me where it falls short."

One kid, Ed thought Jason Matthews, but he wasn't paying much attention, suggested, "Maybe make the depth of field shallower so that the cat was more in focus?"

Ed hummed in thought and let a few more students ramble out some stunted ideas. He clicked to the final slide as the classroom door behind him opened. Assuming this to be Mordecai Fitzgerald, who had been out of class finishing a test, as per the teacher's email, Ed didn't bother with a glance.

He droned, "take a seat and don't be a nuisance." And to all, he said, "Well, give me some ways to improve this one!"

They continued, embarrassed silence would have sent Ed up a wall, had a noticeably deep, very Roy voice not interjected, "You could make it black and white. It would take away from the busy background and add a nice bit of drama to the subject.

He whipped his head around to meet the merrily amused gaze of his husband. As per Ed's command upon entering the classroom, Roy had taken a seat in a further back desk. Several students looked between him and their shocked teacher confusedly.

Ed smiled brightly. "What did I say about being a nuisance, you ass!" His reprimand meant little, as he had already stood and hastened to his husband's side. He only just remembered not to pounce him in front of the dozen seventeen-year-olds in the room, so he settled on a tight embrace and a regrettably chaste kiss. The class murmured, and a few let out joking "oooooo"s.

Ed, still with Roy's arm around his middle, turned to his class to snap, "Shut it!" After a short admonishing look from his husband, Ed sighed, "Class, this is Roy, a photojournalist. He's been out of the country for a while doing work journaling the war effort up North."

Eric Headley, the son-of-a-bitch, called out, "D'ya kiss a lot of photojournalists, Mr. Elric?"

"Only the one I'm married to, Eric. Now, everyone, go fix your pathetic excuses of projects until the bell rings. And if I see a phone, we all get to stay in class for fifteen extra minutes after the bell, got it?"

The students, now far more interested in their teacher and his husband than their work, reluctantly slouched to their respective computers to work the class away, keeping a curious eye on the two men now talking quietly together behind Mr. Elric's desk, wide smiles on both of their faces. If Ed discreetly rubbed away some water building in his eye, nobody commented.

Back at home, after their kisses had turned far less chaste and after Roy had barely had the time to set his luggage down properly before Ed practically attacked him, they lay in their bed together, Ed's head on Roy's chest and Roy's laptop on his stomach, clicking through many photographs detailing his journeys with the war effort.

"NatGeo's gonna go fucking ballistic over that one." Ed commented on the current picture on display of a soldier playing some kind of ball game with some civilian children.

Roy laughed, the sound a deep rumble to Ed, pressed against the other man as he was, "Just you wait till I get to the shoot of these kind, elderly weaving-women. It's got dusty lighting and everything."

Ed hummed, "Perfect. I'll have to show 'em to my class the next time I need to re-teach them shit."

"I'm honored my work'll be put to such good use. Did they take well to my others?"

Ed leaned his head back to catch Roy's amused gaze, "I knew you added those! Last time I share a PowerPoint with you."

The photojournalist grinned, "I wanted to give them something other than Ansel Adams to critique."

"Hey, I had more than just Ansel on there! I wouldn't want to make it too easy for them."

Roy smiled and lifted his hand from the trackpad of the laptop to stroke Ed's loose hair, "Of course not."

Before Ed could pick up Roy's job of clicking through the photos, the hand left his hair and closed the laptop. The blonde whines as Roy turned away to set the computer over the side of the bed, "I wanted to see the weaving women!"

Roy turned back, and Ed latched back onto his chest to hear the rumble of his light laughter her again, "We have all the time in the world tomorrow to look at the rest. Let's get some sleep, love."

Ed grumbled about the pet name but settled into Roy's side all the same, not about to let a half year's worth of waiting go to waste.

They slept, and if Ed gripped his husband a little tighter in his sleep, well, Roy definitely wasn't complaining.

~End~

#RoyEd #safe RoyEd #RoyEdweek2019 #fanfic

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dark0angel13 · 6 years ago

Text

Dare You To

This will be a collab fic written by @eternal-bookworm-lover and me. We hope you like it and I will also be posting a link to both AO3 accounts so you can check out her other wonderful stories!

Summary: New University student, Lucy Heartfilia, meets a new group of friends with an unbreakable bond and assure Lucy that her time at Magnolia University is going to be a wild ride full of surprises. It's not long before Lucy and Natsu Dragneel’s paths cross, one pure and full of love, the other full of regret and hidden secrets. Can they bring each other to the light, or will their pasts destroy any hope for the future? Just as things seem to be getting a little brighter, something utterly unexpected happens and tosses their lives into total disarray! Is their bond strong enough to pull through or will they end up making the ultimate sacrifice? And it all starts with a simple dare.

Chapter one

“Hey,” Lucy knocks twice on the open door and looks around tentatively, her bag clutched tightly in her hand. “Anyone here?” There was a loud thud from the far end of the room and she raises a brow when a small girl, cursing and rubbing her head opens the door.

“Hey,” her voice is laced with pain but she holds out a hand, “I’m Levy McGarden. Looks like we’re going to be roommates.”

“Lucy Heartfilia,” She smiles and takes the outstretched hand, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“Welcome to Magnolia University,” Levy smiles and turns on her heel to replace the book that fell, continuing as she lines the shelf. “It’s pretty relaxed here so feel free to make yourself at home. Sorry, I already claimed this half but you get the side closest to the bathroom.”

Lucy could agree to this, nodding as she plops her duffel onto the bed. The room itself is decent in size, allowing each girl to have enough space to herself. It’s on the second floor so she has a good view of the court yard and it also just so happened to be in the building closest to the cafeteria. Her stomach was growling just thinking about food.

“I’m cool with this side.” She smiled and approaches the smaller girl, admiring the hundreds of books she’s trying to cram into the tiny bookshelf next to her bed. “I think you need a bigger bookshelf, Levy.”

“Tell me about it,” Levy huffs, “but we’re only allowed one bookshelf in the dorms.”

“Well, maybe you can take a break and show me around campus? I just moved to Magnolia so I don’t know the area yet.” Levy agrees enthusiastically and Lucy is bombarded with strange facts about the school and its buildings as they exit.

“So this,” Levy motions to the large gymnasium and Lucy gasps at its magnitude, “is where the kendo and martial arts teams practice. They have a building all their own.” Levy opens the doors and the sheer magnitude of it has Lucy’s eyes widening.

“Holy shit.” She can’t think of anything else to say and her voice echoes around them.

“That was my first reaction too.” Levy chuckles and motions for her to follow. “If you’re into martial arts of any kind you can train here.”

“I’m not a fighter,” a nervous laugh escapes her “I prefer books and puzzles.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Levy winks, “you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

They ascend the stairs and Levy points out the captains’ offices as well as the different equipment and Lucy is fully impressed. If the library building was anywhere as impressive as this, she’s going to love it here.

“This building even has its own showers, so you don’t have to walk back to the dorm.” Levy spoke automatically now and Lucy has a feeling she’s not actually speaking to her but she nods anyway.

Levy goes on to tell her the history of Kendo and how the university came to have its team and Lucy can hear the excitement in her voice.

“You seem really excited about this.”

“Only because the captain of the kendo team is one of my best friends. You’ll like Erza,” Levy explains as she opens the door to the sauna, “she’s—oh dear god!”

Levy freezes in place and Lucy has to stop short as her eyes travel the room. It’s filled with steam but even through that, they can both see the two bodies entwined against the hot stones. Lucy feels the heat rush to her cheeks and words fail her. Her jaw may have even hit the floor, she couldn’t recall. The heavy breathing that echoed around the room stops abruptly and she can see a flash of red before shouts ring out.

“Oh shit!”

“Jesus Christ knock before coming in here!”

“Sorry!” Levy turns and pulls Lucy out of the room so fast, they’re both breathing hard when they stop at the main door to the building.

“Were...Were they having sex?” Lucy already knows the answer but feels the need to ask anyway.

“Yeah.”

“Who was that?”

“That would be Erza Scarlet and Jellal Fernandez,” Levy’s voice is shaky but she laughs nervously, “I swear she’s really cool.”

“Are they dating?” Why is she even asking this question? Lucy has no idea, all she can see is their naked bodies in her mind and she needed a distraction.

“I didn’t think so,” Levy laughs and they continue on, “but after seeing that I’m not so sure.”

The rest of the day isn’t nearly as exciting as the sauna incident and Lucy is both relieved and disappointed. This was college for God’s sake, shouldn’t there be people fucking everywhere? Levy has to leave for her afternoon class, leaving Lucy to roam the administrative building alone but she doesn’t mind. Starting tomorrow they will share psychology 204 and she’s excited to know someone in her class.

“Excuse me?” Lucy heard the receptionist the first time but was having a hard time comprehending the message. “My English literature credits didn’t transfer?” She’s all but hissing as she speaks. She worked her ass off for that credit, her professor was a dick, his class was almost impossible to pass, and this woman is telling her it was all for nothing?

“I’m sorry but your existing credit is only equivalent to a first year literature class. You must take contemporary literature 201 if you wish to continue your degree.” The woman’s voice is robotic as she speaks, almost as if she’s said this before and Lucy is doing her best to control her temper.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” She counters, crossing her arms. The woman has the audacity to sigh and turns the monitor so Lucy can see and the blonde is so close to losing her shit it’s not even funny.

“I’m sorry but that’s how this institute works Ms. Heartfilia. In order to continue towards your degree, this class is mandatory.”

“Fine.” Is all Lucy replies with, afraid that the venom in her tone will leak out if she says anymore. The woman smirks and finishes the transfer work and Lucy is storming out of the office as soon as humanly possible.

“I fucking hate this place already.” She mumbles to no one in particular while she jogs down the stairs, only to run face first into a hard chest. She stumbles back but catches her balance.

“I’m so sorry,” She begins bowing slightly, “I wasn’t paying at—“ her words fail her when she notices who it was she bumped into.

“It’s no problem—“ the man visibly stiffens and she can see the red that rushes to his face, her own face surely matching his in shade. It was the blue haired boy Erza had been fucking earlier that day. Lucy couldn’t believe her luck. Or her lack of it.

There is an awkward silence for almost too long before he clears his throat and shoves his hand through his hair.

“I wanted to apologize… About earlier.” His voice is strained and Lucy knows he’s struggling to keep his cool.

“No, no it’s okay.” She laughs anxiously, “we shouldn’t have just barged in there like that. I just transferred this year and my roommate was showing me around campus.”

“Welcome to Magnolia University,” he holds out a hand, “I’m Jellal Fernandez. It’s nice to meet you.” Just like that the tension breaks and she’s moving to grasp his hand.

“I’m Lucy Heartfilia.” I’m sorry I caught you fucking in the sauna, she wants to add but decides against it at the last minute and smiles.

“I have a captains meeting to attend, but if you have any questions and Levy isn’t around, feel free to ask me or Erza for help.” He’s gone before she can respond but not before he casts her a smile and she’s left staring after him like an idiot.

Lucy decides to break for lunch while Levy finishes her class, so she heads to the dining hall and she is not disappointed. Her eyes wander over all the different options and she feels her stomach growl.

“Holy shit it’s a food court.” She speaks more to herself than anyone but a voice from behind startles her from her thoughts.

“Impressive huh?” The voice is smooth, soft and feminine and Lucy is nodding blankly as she turns to greet the new person.

“Yeah this place is insa—“ she chokes on her words when she sees the red head before her. “Holy shit it’s you.” She can’t help the surprise in her voice and she can feel the heat rush to her cheeks. Of all the times to run into her of all people. It would have to be today.

“Ah you’re the one who was with Levy earlier. I’m Erza,” the woman smiles and drapes an arm over her shoulders, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Lucy doesn’t know what to do or how to respond so she simply nods and stiffens.

“Are you alright?” The question rolls of Erza’s tongue effortlessly; almost as if she doesn’t care that Lucy walked in on them and she can’t for the life of her understand why.

“Y-yeah I’m fine why wouldn’t I be?” She stammers and let’s out a nervous laugh, “Most people start off with a hand shake though.”

“I figured a hand shake would be too formal since you’ve already seen me naked.” Lucy didn’t know it was possible to be so embarrassed.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” She counters flustered and feels Erza laugh beside her.

“I know,” Erza pauses to steer them towards the food line, “I’m not saying you did.”

“Then how the hell are you so calm right now? I would be dying of embarrassment.” Lucy finds herself almost hysterical when she finishes and Erza laughs again.

“I’m very proud of my body so I don’t mind. I’ve got nothing to hide.” The wink is what does it for Lucy and she can feel steam leaving her ears.

“Oh… Well that makes one of us…” Lucy honestly doesn’t know how to respond to this woman. “I’m Lucy Heartfilia, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I wish I could stay and chat but I’ve got physics in ten minutes so I’ve gotta go,” Erza takes a pen and writes her number on Lucy’s hand before standing. “If you wanna hang out later hit me up. Or if you have any questions feel free to ask. Welcome to Magnolia University.”

Lucy is left stunned into silence as her eyes travel from the red head, to the number written on her hand, and back again before it dawns on her. How the fuck did Erza know she was new? It doesn’t matter, she decides suddenly and gets into the closest food line.

“Hey Lucy, sorry I took so long,” Levy calls from the business building and Lucy looks up from her place on the grass. “Our intro ran a little late.”

“No worries Levy, I’ve just been reading.” She flashes a smile to the bluenette.

“Oh what are you reading?” Levy sprawls out next to her and studies the back of the book.

“It’s a suspense novel, you’d like it.”

“You’ll have to let me borrow it sometime.” Levy smiles and looks past her, waving frantically as she sprang to her feet. Lucy, thoroughly confused at this point, sets her book down to follow with her eyes.

“Hey, Gajeel!” Levy practically jumps into his arms and Lucy feels her mouth run dry. The man approaching was huge, scruffy, and absolutely terrifying. He has to be a jock, she thinks as her eyes roam his muscles.

“Hey shrimp, how are ya?” He chuckles and let’s her dangle from his neck before they both take a seat next to Lucy. “I’m Gajeel Redfox, nice to meet ya Blondie.”

She introduces herself and looks to Levy for help. This man is intimidating and she doesn’t know how to talk to him.

“Gajeel here is our resident musician.” Of all the things Levy could have said, she was not expecting that.

“Come again?” She asks in disbelief and stiffens when Gajeel scoffs.

“You got a problem with music?” He’s hissing as he talks and Lucy feels her heart jump into her throat.

“No, not at all I love music.” She stammers and scoots back. She definitely doesn’t want to piss this guy off.

“Hey Metal Head, stop scaring the new girl.” The voice that drifts to her ears is smooth and confident and Lucy looks up to see another dark haired man approaching. He seems normal, she thinks and sighs in relief. Until he takes off his shirt and tackles Gajeel instead of sitting.

“Get the fuck off me ya damn fish.” Gajeel retorts, shoving the new guy away.

“Gray put your shirt back on. No stripping in front of my new roommate.” Levy interjects to throw her water bottle at them both. And curses when gray drinks what’s left before throwing it back at her.

“I’m Gray Fullbuster.” Is all he says and nods in her direction before he’s tackled from behind and a high pitched voice joins the fray; Lucy can barely keep up.

“Gray darling, we’re going to be late for practice. Stop being gay and let’s go.” Another bluenette catches Lucy’s eye and she smiles, “I’m Juvia Locksar, it’s nice to meet you. Levy has already told us so much about you. All I have to say is to never come near my Gray-sama and we won’t have any problems.” She’s then dragging Gray away before Lucy has a chance to reply and Levy chuckles.

“Those two are on the swim team together. They’re almost inseparable.”

Almost? Lucy wants to ask but decides against it and smiles. Everyone is so kind to her here, she can’t wait to know them all better.

“I’m so happy I transferred to this school.” She doesn’t speak to anyone in particular but Levy nods and agrees enthusiastically.

“Me too Lucy.”

College life is going to be fucking awesome.

END

You can find @eternal-bookworm-lover on AO3 here

And you can find my AO3 account here

#fairy tail #Natsu Dragneel #Lucy Heartfilia #levy mcgarden #gajeel redfox #Gray Fullbuster #Juvia Locksar #Erza Scarlet #Jellal Fernandez #Dare You To #Fanfiction #Fic writing #Collab fic

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javis-beretta · 6 years ago

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To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before (3)

and here’s part three! sorry, this part doesn’t have too much plot stuff, but that’s only bc the next one is gonna be pretty exciting. thank you to everyone who’s been giving this story love, you’re all angels. enjoy! <3 (also i’m still figuring out some of the plot of this, so message me w your theories on who sent the letters or send me memes u think race would tag you in!)

part 1 / part 2 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8

The next day, you stayed at school a little late, figuring you could catch Race after track practice to discuss your… arrangement. It also had the added benefit of allowing you to avoid Jack, who you knew was spending most afternoons at the community theatre across town, helping them paint backdrops for an upcoming show.

(You weren’t stalking him, or memorising his schedule, or anything. You were just observant. You took note of behaviour. That was it.)

Race was on his last lap around the track when he saw you sitting on the bleachers. You gave him a little wave and his face lit up with a smile. He winked and kept on running. When he was done, and presumably back in the locker room, your phone pinged with four rapid texts from an unknown number.

hey babe I’m just showering and then I’ll come see you ;)

this is race btw

i’m really good at texting like a boyfriend

fake or otherwise

Even though he couldn’t see you, you rolled your eyes anyway.

Yeah, okay hotshot

Come find me on the bleachers when you’re ready

When Race showed up, with a red face and wet, curly hair he gave you a cheeky grin, looked around to see some of the track team boys were still milling around, and he placed a quick peck on your cheek. You didn’t let yourself blush, remembering that it was all for show, and you pulled up a Word document on your laptop.

“Okay, so, this is going to be our contract,” you said, preparing yourself for his teasing.

“We have a contract? This isn’t Suits, man. It’s a fake relationship. We don’t need a contract!”

“Uh, we so do need a contract, Higgins! We need to draw boundaries and limits and we need to stick to them.”

He rolled his eyes and moved a little nearer to you on the bench, so that he could see your laptop screen.

“Wow, nothing like a list of comprehensive rules and guidelines to really bring the romance, huh?”

“Fake-romance,” you corrected him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, what’s first on the contract?”

“Okay, first up, no kissing.”

He spluttered comically for a bit.

“No kissing? How are we supposed to convince anyone that we’re dating if we can’t kiss?”

“Look, plenty of couples avoid PDA. We can still, like, link pinkies or whatever.”

“Link pinkies? Wha-? Are you living in the 80s? This isn’t Grease, babe.”

“Look, Race, physical stuff may not mean anything to you, but it’s important to me, okay?”

“Whoever said physical stuff didn’t matter to me?”, he muttered under his breath. But, after a moment he sighed. “Fiine, put it on the contract.

You typed it up and looked expectantly at him.

“Okay, you get no kissing, but, number two, you have to hang out with me and my friends at lunch and come to parties with me.”

“Technically, that’s two and three. And, I get parties, but why lunch?”

He stared at the ground.

“Spot always sat with us at lunch, so he’d definitely notice if you were with me and the guys.”

“Fair enough.”

You typed that, and then said, “Also, we cannot tell anyone that this is fake. Gossip spreads like wildfire at this school so nobody can know that this isn’t a real relationship. Not even Albert, or your track team buddies.”

“Obviously. And don’t act like I can’t keep secrets. You can’t tell Davey or Katherine. I had journalism with her last year and I’m pretty sure that she would disapprove of this plan.”

He was right, of course he was.

“Fine, deal. Anything else?”

“Oh! You have to come with me on the ski trip trip in December,” he said triumphantly.

Your high school’s annual ski trip was infamous for being the weekend when most of your school lost their virginity. Some schools had the night after prom, but your school had two days and a night spent in the mountains.

“The ski trip? As in the one just before Christmas break? We’d have to stay together for three months to go on that.”

“Listen, no one in a relationship would ever let their boyfriend go on that trip alone. And, if we’ve gotta keep up until then, then so be it. Spot will definitely be there, so he’ll notice if I’m with someone else. We can break up after the trip, no harm, no foul.”

“Okay, fine. But we will not be sharing a room.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“Anything else you want me to add, oh wise one?” you asked.

“Uh, well, there is this one thing,” he said, sounding a little hesitant. You motioned for him to go on. “Well, Spot always thought it would be cute if I wrote him little letters and put them in his locker or gave them to him, or whatever, and I never did it. Um, if he saw me giving those to you, he’d probably get pretty jealous.”

“Badass Spot Conlon, who would beat up anyone who looked at him wrong wanted love letters? That’s so cute!”

“Yeah, there’s a lot more to him than just being angry and bitchy. I bet he’s got his college boyfriend writing him all sorts of letters now,” Race scoffed.

“He left you for a college guy? That’s rough, Race. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, its whatever,” Race quickly said. “So, that’s the contract, then?”

“Yeah,” you said, satisfied.

“Perfect,” he grinned, and his blue eyes were twinkling again.

“You do know that you missed the bus today, right?” he said, after a moment.

“Uh, yeah, I was just gonna walk home.”

“Holy shit, what is it with you and walking? Do you not have your license?”

“Uh, I do. But driving terrifies me and I’d probably end up killing someone – or myself – if I drove every day. But, yeah, I don’t mind walking.”

“Well, if you’re dating me, there will be no walking. I’ll give you a lift home and a ride to school in the morning, if you want one.”

“Are you serious? You don’t need to do that, Race.”

“Nah, I want to. What kind of fake-boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

He smiled at you and you realised that Race had been right the day before. You could do worse. As far as fake high school boyfriends went, Race was probably one of the best options you had.

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks, Higgins.”

“No biggie. Now, let’s go. The Bachelorette is on tonight and I need to see who Becca chooses.”

Before long, Race had dropped you off at home, with a cheeky wink and promise to text. As soon as you were inside, your phone lit up with a message from him.

see ya bright and early tomorrow morning, girlfriend ;)

You rolled your eyes and typed a quick reply. Then, you went to contacts and your hand hovered over Katherine’s name. You’d have to tell her what had happened with Jack and explain that you were now (somehow) dating Race Higgins.

The phone rang twice, and you could practically hear the smile in her voice when she greeted you, as bright and cheerful as ever. You talked for a little bit about school and she told you about college and you realised that you probably couldn’t put it off for any longer. As soon as you said that you had something to tell her, she sounded more than a little worried.

“What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“This story is going to sound pretty weird but hear me out. You know when I was little, I used to write those letters to myself?”

“Yeah, you said that your mom told you to do it if you ever needed help figuring out your feelings.”

“Yeah, well, not all of the letters were to myself. I wrote some to guys I had crushes on and I swear that I never sent any of them out, but, um, somehow, some of those guys, got their letters?”

“Oh, shit. That sounds stressful. Who’d you write to?”

“That’s the thing that I need to tell you… When you first got with Jack, I thought that I was into him and I wrote him a letter. I was never going to send and I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually have feelings for him, I was just a little torn up because it felt like I was losing my best friend to my sister. But, uh, he got the letter. And, I figured that I should tell you before you heard it from someone else. And, also, uh, Race Higgins and I are dating.” The last sentence slipped out so quickly that you hoped she had missed it.

She was silent for a long time and you were worried that the phone might have died while you were talking and then, you heard a sigh.

“That is… a lot. I’m not going to lie, I am pretty pissed off right now. I don’t care if you were into Jack or not. You wrote a love letter to my boyfriend, while I was dating him. And Race Higgins? Like Spot’s Race Higgins? What the fuck? Look, I’ve got a report due tomorrow, and I really don’t need to be stressed right now, so we can just talk about this some other time.”

She was definitely mad.

“Kath, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear.”

“It’s fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She hung up. It was not fine. You felt like crying and crumpling yourself into a ball, when your phone pinged with a notification from Instagram.

@racehiggins tagged you in a post.

It was some stupid meme, and you knew he’d only tagged you in it because people from school would see it, but it brought a smile to your face, anyway.

Race was getting pretty good at making you smile, and you hadn’t even been fake-dating for a week. Maybe, this would all work out well.

TAGLIST: @hungoverhellhound @seriously-ceci @the-butterfly-anon @ben-cook-can-cook @pinecovewoods @brendonuriehimself

#race higgins x reader #newsies x reader #newsies: the musical #newsies fanfiction #katherine plumber x jack kelly

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saltyaos · 6 years ago

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a loooong meta about lots of things I hated about 5x14 and what happened next, starting with the speech Deke gave Jemma, and while I did appreciate the grandson trying to comfort the grandmother, in the context of this tvshow, of the couple, to me it was incredibly toxic so keep in mind this is anti-fitzsimmons, anti what they did to Fitz lately, anti what they did to Jemma in s5 too, anti Deke and Fitz’s relationship

@whistlingwindtree asked me to confront Deke’s speech to Jemma and his talk with Fitz in the next episode, but there is so much I hate that I extended it. But because it literally turned into a giant of 5000+ words I’m going to cut it in 3 different posts and then probably not being able to write for like three days because it took me hours, but at least I vented a lot (because like I said before, this reminds me of personal life issues and I couldn’t get out of that mindset)

these are points I want to touch, in bold are the ones in this post

-the speech itself (post 1) -Jemma can never break for the rest of her life (post 1) -all her friends are more Fitz's friends than hers except maybe Daisy who was in the middle (post 1) -Fitz and Deke and the grandparent grandson stereotype -Deke's speech to Fitz -what happened after that: mental breakdown or bad friendship because the husband comes first? (post 1) -Jemma and Fitz were supposed to reverse gender stereotypes but if I look at s4 and s5 all I see is gender stereotypes, tv stereotypes and not much of their fundamental traits and quirks left (will be in my third post)

part 1 post/180449275812/a-loooong-meta-about-lots-of-things-i-hated-about

[this is part 2]

[part 3 will be linked here]

disclaimer: this is how I interpreted things, I’m not claiming it to be the Truth. I also wrote what I think the reasons behind their actions are. Reasons, not justifications. They didn’t happen out of nowhere.

part 3 will probably be posted tomorrow, it needs revising.

Fitz and Deke and the grandparents-grandson stereotype

this is more in reference to my previous post, I want to put my context before I go to the speech. whistlingwindtree feel free to jump to the next point.

now here’s the thing. I like Deke as a character, but if Fitz had been framed as hating him because protective of Daisy, if they had fought about it, it would have been fine by me, obviously. (a much better fight than the canon ones too:

Fitz accusing him of selling Daisy out,

Deke pointing out that given that they now know Kasius had bombs everywhere, if Daisy had marched in and taken Jemma away, Kasius would have anticipated his plan of demanding people back or blowing the lighthouse up, and they wouldn’t have been ready back then because they had just arrived and humanity would have died,

and Fitz pointing out that she could have quaked Kasius into pieces, killed all the Krees with her powers without having to get anywhere near them

and Deke retorting that 1) he didn’t know Daisy back then as anything but the destroyed of world and he had no reason to believe she’d care for the people there at all, just for her friends, since she didn’t listen to his attempts to explain how things worked there, and 2) Kasius’ brother and the other krees would have destroyed everything later. They only had the chance to win when at the very end they found a way to make humans escape on a spaceship.

And then Fitz telling him he couldn’t have predicted they’d ever make it out anyway and he should just own he did something horrible to Daisy and there is no justification for it. He can’t stand behind near a man who gives up and wants to keep status quo like that

Deke pointing out he regretted it so much he was ready to die to give them a chance to go home because now he knows Daisy would have fought for his people too but he’s not a mind-reader and when he tried to tell her people would immediately die she ignored him. And so on.

See that? a legit reason to fight and disagree, and less dickery

and after 5x14 Deke asking Fitz if he still feels like judging him that much since he seems to have adopted the: sacrifice one for many frame of mind too, and them fighting over THAT)

but I digress

what I saw in s5 was Fitz being angry at Deke’s childlike interest in the world, and inappropriateness, even though Deke came from a dystopian society where he was a slave himself, and his constant dislike for Deke seemed a bit too much to begin with, but after 5x14 had me go ‘really? you are in no place to say ‘Deke is the worst’. So I was already on the fence about this relationship. I didn’t find anything about it cute. You can say all you want about Fitz being under-stress but it was in a context in which everyone was doing their best to help, Fitz was isolating himself and snapping at the newest arrival, and can you imagine if he had been like that with Hunter in s2? Come on. It didn’t feel like Fitz anymore and it was on the heels of all the Doctorness. It felt like the typical male character that annoys me. And yes, I put male particularly there because female characters aren’t allowed to be like that without having to go through all kinds of redemption soon after or being ‘put in their places’. Jemma has been mean to people before, and has been demonized for it or it has been written off or gone unnoticed because it didn’t fit the typical bubbly scientist role they try to fit her in nor the sad but a bit cold one misreading of her from s2 either.

(also... why weren’t the gravitonium expert Deke, also a computer genius able to re-program the framework in a world with no books or tech, grandfather and genius grandmother working together on the rift again?? To make Fitz even more of an isolated struggling protagonist?

Again, it reminds me of the (always male) genius who snaps at people and is tormented stereotype that bores me so much and that is SO NOT Fitz. It’s Sherlock. It’s doctor House. it’s Wells. It was never Fitz. I loved Fitz for being different.)

But watching the flashforward when Robin remembered her past in the Lighthouse, and Fitz furious because Robin predicted Jemma’s death, and ripping projects there, and Robin and May stepping back and kinda instinctively protecting each other from his anger adds up to this and gives me horrible vibes. That’s now how Fitz should have been even in the Lighthouse, and yet that is the same Fitz from a universe where yes, 5x14 happened, and then the world ended, and Jemma supposedly supported him and he was the best man their daughter know. He was sweet with his daughter, I’m sure. But damn, if the context isn’t fighting to make me side-eye that too.

It just made me so uncomfortable on many levels. They are all under horrible stress all the time, but Jemma is supposed to be nice about it, and Fitz is the grumpy-mean grandfather who snaps at a grandson who already had a bad relationship with his own dad too? Nice grandma who tries to calm down angry grandpa, and angry grandpa who doesn’t want the grandson there? A negative cliché that I hate.

Deke’s speech to Fitz

Deke’s characterization was all over the place, depending on the writers of the episode. And this takes the cake. Deke was shown so UNCOMFORTABLE and unhappy during 5x14, he was also clinging to the fact that the stories his mother told him were real, he needed to believe that.

Fitz: I don't see it. None of you looks like me. Deke: Well, I don't know what to tell you, Grandpappy. I guess your daughter found a real man. Fitz: Of all people. Why couldn't it be Flint? I liked Flint. Deke: Well, that's a lovely sentiment. That's almost as loving as when you had a robot point a gun to my head. Fitz: I didn't want to hurt anybody. Deke: It's fine. It's the first move you made that actually made me respect you a little bit. It's my kind of move. And this place, 80 years from now, I'd survived on moves like that. 'Cause it was kill or be killed. I know Johnson's still mad at me about the whole "selling her into slavery" thing, but you got to play the long game, or else the whole world is gonna be a vacancy, right? Fitz: Maybe. Deke: And you say you don't see the resemblance?

... WHAT?

here’s what I’m thinking: on one hand 1) Deke had at some point been a believer until he lost everyone 2) he was clearly in awe of his mother and her stories about his hero grandpa 3) his ‘long game’ was keeping humanity alive, and he thought he had to go against Daisy for it, like:

Deke: You are about to walk into a buzzsaw. Daisy: You're just worried it's gonna blow back on you. Deke: This has nothing to do with me! If you pick a fight with the Blues, they are gonna take it out on all of us. Today's Renewal was for three people. Tomorrow could be for 30. Death comes easy here. Daisy: Which is why I need to get to Simmons now. So if I were you, I'd get out of my way. Deke: You already destroyed the world once. I am not gonna let you do it again. (gets quaked into a wall)

and by the last Lighthouse-episode he had seen who they truly were and chose to die to let them go home, in the hope they might save humanity instead, so he had changed his mind.

on the other hand: it’s bad enough that Fitz has done what he did, that the writers had Deke do what he did too, did they need to DRAG DAISY again to write them into another fight? Same show in which Jemma didn’t get to say anything about the time when she got tortured, not about when she was recently enslaved/mistreated/touched/humiliated and used in whatever way Kasius wanted? Same show in which Daisy was also tortured and didn’t get to say a word about it, nor she got to talk about how she was also used by Kasius as a fighting tool, operated on against her will, blackmailed using her friend against her?

So what happened here? That speech to Fitz was like him slipping back to asshole because of the bad influence? He was disliked and reacted hiding behind dickery (which doesn’t excuse bringing up so lightly that he sold Daisy out, but this is not the point I’m making here)?

and I’m not saying Deke wasn’t acting like a dick in the first episodes, mind you, but the way he goes from one attitude to another makes me feel like the dick one is a mask to survive and be less hurt, and in this case to be approved by grandpa

What I also mean is that this speech to Fitz takes like twenty terrible turns and I don’t know what the writers were trying to convey anymore, and that I feel it all starts from Fitz.

Were the writers trying to say that Fitz was so horribly wrong that of course the guy who had to ‘kill or be killed’ his whole life and did all kinds of bad things would relate to it and make Fitz feel bad? That they were both right about doing what’s necessary? The end justifies the means? (no, not always, even the 100 knows that)

Or were they willingly writing some toxic masculinity type of ‘grandson who just got physically and emotionally hurt by grandfather tries to make him angrier because that seems to be the only way to be respected by that kind of grandfather, and agrees with his actions to get some approval from him without even realizing it’? which is actually my theory except they didn’t think it’s toxic masculinity just like they didn’t think Alistair was abusive to Fitz? because honestly. Fitz blurting out he wanted Flint to be his grandson and all that has to be hurtful, it WAS hurtful, and when Deke speaks about it being a ‘lovely sentiment’ the sarcastic voice and expression are the same mask/defense mechanism that he used in the Lighthouse. Fitz keeps openly disliking him literally the first time he sees Deke after knocking him out really hard and then keeping a gun aimed at him and keeping him hostage. It’s also why Deke is trying to hurt him back pointing out his mother married a real man (and we know Deke disapproved of his father, it was clear in the way they talked with the other Lighthouse old guy about how the Lighthouse changed people, including his father, he was saying whatever he could to hit back)

hell, Deke switches and calls Daisy ‘Johnson’ like he’s some cool guy who barely knows her even though he’s been calling her Daisy the whole time, just to reach Fitz with that attitude. They are ‘strong men’ in this speech. They don’t let feelings get in the way. Fitz points out he didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I’m sure he didn’t, but he also later refused to let Jemma die even if it meant the end of the world, so he did have limits, and in a way he must know he hurt Daisy that much, so what the hell are they really talking about? I can see how people can interpret it as Deke actually just pretending to be nicer, but since we were shown scenes of Deke being alone or kinda unseen and still being all childlike and/or interested in Daisy, and also because of the change of tone and body language around Fitz, I can only see toxic masculinity spurred on by a grandfather who hates him. Deke already had unhealthy ways to react to begin with.

i can also see Deke trying to show Fitz their resemblance as an attempt to bond because he’s that desperate for grandpa’s approval... or as a punishment for grandpa who dislikes him so much, show him he’s not that different because fuck him.

Of course after that Deke is seen saying whatever he needs to say to his grandma too to get her approval, about Daisy being a hardass and all, and then he apologizes to Daisy for being late and all that and it’s shown Daisy doesn’t know what he’s talking about so maybe instead he was imagining things about Daisy because flustered?

Were the writers maybe trying to make me dislike both men at the same time, while I was already feeling repulsed by the arc they were giving Jemma?

Jemma gets a speech about how she has to keep being the lovely kind understanding wife, Fitz gets a speech about how it’s kill or be killed in this world. Jemma is there to be supportive, Fitz is the one who acts one way or another. He’s supposedly in control enough not to hurt Jemma and she can totally trust that their love will keep him from doing anything to her while also not responsible for his action because mentally ill, but after 5x14 he seemed perfectly fine, as if it was just a temporary window in his life. What?

and the deleted scene where Deke hugs him and Fitz can’t wait to get out of it?

this is not a ‘funny’ grandfather who doesn’t want to admit he likes his grandson moment, this is adult grandson who lost both parents at a very young age and never made up with his dad tried to bond with grandfather who hated him and kept hating him and gave him one last hug in case he died which the grandfather really disliked, and grandson even tried to bond over by acting as if he didn’t care about Daisy, that’s how much he was acting there, it was unnatural, and it was okay to sell her out, after all grandpa is the kind who would point a gun at him and sweet grandma so he can operate on Daisy, who is tied up to a table. Same grandpa who said he didn’t want to hurt anyone but also thought it was the ONLY option and therefore never regretted it.

Why the hell did Fitz look almost upset when Deke commented that meeting his grandparents wasn’t that great after he spent the entire season disgusted by Deke?

So what. What were the writers doing?

I’m supposed to compare these two speeches, the one Deke gave Jemma and the one he gave Fitz, but it’s like they are different people, talking about also different people, two different Fitzes who bring out different sides of Deke.

There is nothing not toxic about this. Deke feeling the need to act all macho to impress Fitz and talking about disgusting things like they are okay, Fitz so openly insulting Deke again and again even after speaking to Jemma about him, their characterizations changing every episode and making people feel like they don’t know what is really going on (Fitz doesn’t want to hurt anyone vs Fitz bringing up that Daisy ‘betrayed’ them too when she is angry at him vs Fitz showing he’s regretful with his facial expressions to Daisy and saying he didn’t have a choice vs Fitz telling Jemma that he still thinks it was the right thing to do vs Fitz looking at Jemma like she’s insane when she says that maybe it was the right thing to do vs him being annoyed about being locked up as if he’s not hallucinating and cutting people open because he thinks it’s the right solution without even trying to talk to them first vs Fitz being unable to look at Jemma in the eyes). The writers writing Jemma in the position of the good wifey through Deke’s speech in a way that means she really spent her life like that.

What is science, by the way, she’s sure as hell not the analytical and weird scientist she was before, not if you listen to these speeches. Deke’s speech to comfort Jemma is about Fitz. Deke’s speech with Fitz is him trying to show to Fitz that they can both do horrible things when they think it’s for the right reason so he shouldn’t be on a high horse.

Everything is horrible.

#anti leo fitz #anti fitz #anti fitzsimmons #not sure but might be a bit anti-deke even if i do like him #certainly anti fitz and deke's relationship #anti aos

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missytearex · 6 years ago

Photo

Hi! So I’m combining my October and November favourites here, as I never made a post for last month! Oops. Anyway, I’ve started making fic boards! I’ll link to those throughout. Here you go!

Larry

Boiling Blood Will Circulate by whoknows | @crazyupsetter (42k)

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

deleted your number (so i can't call you) by tofiveohfive | @tofiveohfive (9k)

Harry wakes up to a voicemail.

It’s Saturday morning and it’s raining, a barely there drizzle. He sees the notification as soon as he picks up his phone from the bedside table, bleary eyes making it hard to distinguish the words. He’s got a few instagram mentions, a couple unread texts, but what really stands out is the “Missed Call and Voicemail”.

From Louis.

Or the ten hours before Harry comes home to Louis, and the five hours after he does.

Lilo

don't you hear me howling by theamazingpeterparker (13k) - [my board]

Liam turns and looks at him for a while. A scruffy, sleep-warm Louis Tomlinson curled up in a Star Wars blanket, asking what’s for breakfast after a night of running around the upstate forests. Werewolf or not, Liam had almost forgotten what a goddamn menace Louis Tomlinson was.

Louis has seen An American Werewolf in London enough times to know that city living isn't an ideal lifestyle for a new werewolf. He moves back home to find that Liam never left.

i'm never gonna fall (but i'm never hard to catch) by carissima (5k) - [my board]

TFLN: we were supposed to fuck one time, but ended up fucking for 2 years

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Liam’s boxers and shoving them down past his knees. He’s inordinately pleased to find Liam’s dick is just as nice as he remembers. He curls his hand around him and hums happily as Liam fattens in his grip. “You know that, right? Who cooks breakfast for their one night stand? And then washes up afterwards? I feel like I should send your mum a thank you note or something for raising such a polite young man.”

“God please don’t,” Liam says fervently.

Lirry

the stars look very different today by colourexplosion | @jessimond (5k)

Harry's an alien who blogs about aliens. Liam's a human. Or is he?

an AU

Narry

just a little rush, babe by theamazingpeterparker (10k) - [my board]

“You know everything they say about Dracula? All that stuff I wrote in my paper?” Niall asks as he rips one of the glazed donuts in half. Harry hums. “It’s all bullshit. Real vampires do tomato juice cleanses and do yoga. Fuck.”

Harry's a vampire who's awful at parallel parking, being scary, and being alone. He meets Niall walking home alone one night.

Niam

Building Castles in the Air by el_em_en_oh_pee | @dulosis (10k) - [my board]

Liam is overwhelmed by his bootcamp roommate, who is loud and friendly and so totally up-front about what he wants out of this competition.

"I plan on winning," Niall says, twenty seconds after introducing himself, slinging his duffel bag down on his bed. "Touring. Playing my guitar, you know. Selling albums. Maybe working with Justin Bieber, if I'm lucky."

Lately I've Been Taken In by el_em_en_oh_pee | @dulosis (53k) - [my board]

Niall is the youngest in family of vampire hunters that extends back, generation after generation, for the thousands of years since St. Patrick brought vampires to Ireland to get rid of all the snakes. He's been well-trained in the fine art of slaying practically his whole life, racking up over eighty kills by the time he leaves the motherland to join a boyband.

His new bandmate, Liam, swears up and down that he’s not a vampire. But Niall’s senses never lie.

Nouis

Ask If You Know The Answer by disarm_d | @onedisarmed (4k)

It takes them longer than it should to realize that something is up. Telepathy.

Zarry

baby I'll never leave if you keep holding me this way by estrella30 (10k)

“Does he have your mark?” his mum asks. Zayn shakes his head. He’d looked at Harry’s wrist explicitly for the edgings of Zayn’s family crest but couldn’t find anything. Not that that means Harry’s not the one; it might need a touch or connection to come to the surface. Zayn’s not sure he wants to find out though. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to know for certain.

“Ah, well. It could be coming,” she adds, and Zayn shrugs. She’s silent for another moment, before quietly adding, “You could pick him, you know.” She sounds thoughtful, distant even. Zayn wonders what she’s thinking about, what she’s remembering. “If you want to that is. I know you’ve not been looking for your mate Zayn, but maybe this was what you needed. Maybe you needed your mate to find you.”

or - Zayn is an immortal modern times non evil sexual incubus who is reluctant to find his mate. And then he meets Harry.

Ziall

our names are written with starlight by softzindagi | @softzindagi (7k) - my board

After four years of failed attempts, Niall is still hopelessly single with no match to his soulmark in sight. But just because he can’t find his soulmate, doesn’t mean he can’t find love.

Got fire for a heart, i'm not scared of the dark by geewhizmo | @sleepymouses (45k)

“I dunno,” Zayn mutters. “I just think you’re much more in the business of flying than falling, y’know?”

That’s not entirely true, Niall thinks. I’m falling for you, aren’t I?

Niall leaves home for the first time and moves to a big city. There, he meets a group of people who will shape the course of the rest of his life. He tries (and fails) not to fall in love with one of them.

Also, they all have superpowers.

Ziam

Heart of Stone, Life of Fire by SoftlyandSwiftly (96k) - [my board]

A war with the city of Banshia and its conquering King threatens all of the Cities on the continent of Kiza. Young Zayn Malik finds himself hopelessly entangled in the web of the war, his future rewritten in the span of a morning as allies and enemies shift. Traded for the promise of an ally, Zayn finds himself among the warrior tribes of the Nakizi people, where he must carve out his own place and take his fate into his own hands.

For All the Stars We Cannot See by iambluehead | @iambluehead (30k)

Zayn grins sheepishly, the light hitting his face and making him squint, his fingers curling around the strap of his bag and his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck, a habit of Liam’s own that he recognizes on the other boy. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Yeah,” Liam says, letting out the breath that he’d been holding in his lungs until it burned. “Yeah, see you then.” The door slams shut, and Liam watches him walk up to his front door, wondering what would have happened if in that moment, he would have just leaned forward and— “The boy’s in bloody love with you,” Louis says bluntly, pulling away from the house and slamming around a corner at the speed of light. “You should get over your fear of everything and just kiss him already.”

(This is the high school AU where Liam plays football and is afraid of failure until someone puts Zayn in his life and he learns to be brave. There’s music Liam’s never heard of, eventful rides home from school, and drunken toasts to the stars they can’t see from Wolverhampton.)

Zouis

all the stars were crashing by sarcangel | @sarcathlon (25k)

“We should practice,” Louis says. He’s got a faraway look in his eye that doesn’t bode well for anyone, based on Zayn’s newly-formed knowledge of Louis. “Find a place, set up a schedule, all that.”

“What?” Zayn says, not sure where the conversation is exactly headed anymore.

“You know, in a movie - like, this would be our montage sequence,” Louis says, hands everywhere, gesturing wildly. “There’d be some song playing in the background while we spar and gain strength and -”

(and lick sweat off of each other’s necks, Zayn thinks, and then you knock me to the floor and lay on me and)

“Yeah, that’d be sick,” Zayn says, instead, not knowing if he’s more surprised that anything coherent comes out of his mouth or that he’s actually agreed to Louis’ awful plan.

In A Small Town I Saw You by zouee | @louiswmalik (153k)

Zayn nods a few times, judging whether or not he should just fucking spit it out. He should rip off the band-aid, jump into the cold water, throw this earth-sized weight off his shoulders and look Louis in the eye. “You should’ve remembered me.” He feels like saying. “I’m the reason you couldn’t.”

Zayn Malik spends the past eighteen months alone - using whoever and whatever he can to take his mind off of the one person he regrets leaving - and it’s not until he finds himself residing in a small town called Hillside when he finally remembers what peace feels like. Louis Tomlinson spends the past eighteen months surrounded by people - he’s coddled, fawned over, and most sickeningly; sympathised with - until he finally breaks away from the suffocation and finds himself face to face with someone who instantly hates him. Cue: endless angst, devastation, pathetic pining and Disney references mixed together in a pot full of misunderstandings and one-sided memories. The end result is ghastly. Proceed with caution.

Gryles

hold this thread by disgruntledkittenface | @disgruntledkittenface (26k)

The air is heavy between them as they both watch Nick’s clumsy fingers mend the fabric. It must only take a minute, but it feels like ages. Beads of sweat form on Nick’s forehead and he can’t tell if it’s from the panic of the moment or the way the man seems to be waiting for something. He’s done a bad job of it, but finally the hem is stitched up. Nick loops the end of the thread and can’t stop himself from lightly poking the man’s skin again, next to the dark ink smudged on his hip that Nick is currently dying to ogle in full, just to… see.

The man shudders this time and luckily Nick is still looking down or he would have missed the man’s cock very clearly twitch in his bloody loose trousers.

Fucking hell.

On his way to visit Henry getting ready for his London Fashion Week show, Nick bumps into a (stupidly pretty) model and pulls a loose thread on the sample he’s wearing. Horrified, Nick tries to mend the simple mistake, but it may just unravel into the best thing that ever could have happened to him.

Tomlinshaw

Lost and Found by shiftylinguini | @shiftylinguini, Writcraft | @writsgrimmyblog (31k)

In a year when things are coming to an end for Nick, an unexpected chapter begins at the start of a long, hot summer.

An accidental romance in Malta. Featuring Annie on the decks, Nick and Louis below deck, a handful of bad nautical puns and weather that's far too hot for trackies.

OT5

The Youth Branch of Magical and Fairy Tale Creatures and Beings Anonymous (Volume One) by sunsetmog | @magicalrocketships (5k) - [my board]

Sometimes trying to pass for human is hard. Monthly meetings of the Youth Branch of Magical and Fairy Tale Creatures and Beings Anonymous offers them the chance to be themselves, have an agenda, and work on some life goals. Just so long as Zayn can stop asking people to marry him after just one kiss, Harry can turn his Veela powers down, Louis can stop pre-emptively trying to usurp the god of mischief, and Niall can stop turning things into scythes. Liam just wants some orange squash and a biscuit.

steal my heart tonight by ThankYouMerlin | @thankyoumerlin (40k)

Niall rips off his ski mask, it was cliche and stupid (and totally Harry’s idea) anyway. “This is my mission.”

“We know,” Liam says, pulling his own mask off. Niall thinks they’re all wrapped a bit too much around Harry’s finger, maybe. “We just like watching you work.”

or,

An OT5 international thieves AU that contains very little actual stealing because I have no idea how to break into vaults in real life and lots of friendship and feelings from five boys in love.

Lilourry

only because you know (that you wanna feel the same) by words_unravel (34k) - [my board]

Liam may be able to catch glimpses of the future, but he never saw this coming.

Shiall

After All, You're My Wonderwall by alienharry | @aceniall (7k)

Guitar Prick: best eagles song, hands down, is peaceful easy feeling. they knew their stuff.

And Niall can't hold in his outrage. He's pissed. The Eagles are his thing, and how dare Shawn think he can message Niall, only nineteen years or so of experience under his belt, and shove his shitty musical concepts and overall terrible taste in Niall's face.

Niall: victim of love is clearly their best song. ya really ought to get your head out of your ass and educate yourself before running your mouth lad.

Niall's used to being the center of attention, so when a bright, musical boy with a charming smile starts routinely stealing his spotlight, he decides then and there to do everything in power to put an end to it.

#monthly favourites #fic rec #my recs #one direction #my lists

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jswdmb1 · 6 years ago

Text

S.O.B.

“I'm gonna need someone to help me

I'm gonna need somebody's hand

I'm gonna need someone to hold me down

I'm gonna need someone to care”

- Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

As I think about this year we just closed out, I noticed all of the retrospective accounts focused on specific events, and other big news stories that caught our attention. That makes plenty of sense, but it doesn’t seem truly representative of what really impacts each of us on a daily basis. It’s the little things that happen every day that don’t seem like much at the time but add up to something significant. This was true in 2018 for me as what really impacted me was one relatively small achievement that happened every day, one-day-at-a-time. For the first calendar year in a very long time, I spent it sober.

As I write this, I am questioning the wisdom of going into this topic as I did when I discussed suicide earlier last year. As a matter of fact, this is one of those posts that has been sitting on the shelf for a long time. Once I pulled it back out a few weeks ago, I planned to post this on New Year’s Day, but couldn’t pull the trigger. I went back and forth with it in my mind and even did some rare editing (and reediting) before finally hitting the “Post” button. But, as hard as it was, I knew I had to do it to try and break the cycle of shame that comes with those who deal with problems with alcohol and/or drugs (or any addiction for that matter).

I was also inspired to push ahead with this by one of those small, random events that happen which get forgotten about when you look back on a year. This morning, with a ton of things on my to-do list, I instead leafed through the morning newspaper (yes, I still get it in print). I was perusing through the “Health & Fitness” section (which I normally throw right out indicating the high level of procrastination I am facing right now), and came across a small column buried on the second page. A writer by the name of Chris Erskine pens a essay each week called “The Middle Ages” and this week’s entry was titled “Grief and joy can surge along the same channel”. I rarely give you links, but stop right now and read it here: https://www.latimes.com/home/la-hm-erskine-column-20181222-story.html. Here is a man who lost a son and a wife in the same year and still has the courage to write with humor and inspire others. Reading it was enough of a push to finally get me to finish and post this.

So, when it comes up in conversation that I do not drink, it is usually followed by two questions that have the same answer: When did you stop? and Will you drink again? My reply to both is I don’t know. I actually do not remember the last drink I had. It’s not that I was blacked out or so drunk that it got erased from my memory. It was just not a significant event at the time for me to mark it in my mind as an occasion (i.e., I didn’t know it was my last drink). As far as what happens going forward, anyone who has faced the prospect of going sober knows that you take it one day at a time. You wake up in the morning with the same challenge you had the day before, and you go to bed each night grateful for the sobriety you had that day. You don’t ask for anything more and, in return, you don’t have to worry about tomorrow until it gets here. To try it any other way is overwhelming and seems to rarely be successful from what I’ve heard.

The second question seems to be the part that really throws people. In a day and age where answers are certain and immediate, leaving something so big open-ended seems uncomfortably fluid. Actually, it’s quite the opposite as it’s quite liberating to have something so important that you don’t have to think about beyond the current moment. For me, the heart of anxiety is worrying about the past and/or the future, but with sobriety all you worry about is the present which is very calming. Rather than thinking about how to stay sober for the rest of my life (which by definition is an indefinite period), I just focus on getting to the end of the day. With that approach, every day is a success and my effort feels rewarded versus waiting for a result that never comes. There may be a day where that doesn’t happen, and while I am not planning for that to take place, I can’t possibly know for sure so I don’t spend much time worrying about it.

I suppose the first question also causes confusion. I concede it is odd that one wouldn’t know when something seemingly so significant happened so I guess I owe some explanation. I was still drinking and taking certain prescription medications in a way they weren’t intended when I went into my out-patient hospitalization program for treatment last fall after I basically had what they used to call a “nervous breakdown”. I needed Ativan in the morning and a few drinks after getting home at night just to get through the first few days of the program, which were intense. When you go through a program like this, nothing can be hidden easily as you become so attached to it and the people you are with that any dishonesty eats at you. I quickly disclosed my continued behaviors, and without going into a lot of details, came to the conclusion that I needed to stop drinking and using drugs (except of course those prescribed by my psychiatrist and taken properly). That was it and I don’t remember the day it happened or when I had that last drink before coming to that decision. If I was more self-aware at the time, I may have noted it, but instead I moved on to the next thing and quickly forgot anymore details of the event.

As for the time that has elapsed, it’s again one-day-at-a-time. The first few months were definitely harder and certain milestones (death anniversaries, holidays, etc.) really tested me. I went to a couple AA meetings, which gave me some good perspective, but I decided this was something I needed to do for myself and by myself, so I stopped going to those. Gradually, I came to realize that I just felt better physically, mentally, and emotionally when I was sober. It became less about giving something up and more about receiving positive benefit from a fundamental change I made in my life. That motivated me to keep going and even as I sit here at least fifteen months later, I stay focused on how I feel and not so much about how I got here or why I even chose to get sober.

The problem with sharing this story is that it is so personal that I don’t think it is interesting or useful to anyone else. That’s why AA meetings didn’t work for me. I’m not knocking AA. It’s a great organization that has helped a lot of people, but they seem to have a black and white view on alcoholism/addiction where I think it has many shades of grey. I also think that you are the only one who can decide if you have a issue to deal with or not. Early on, I had some folks close to me wonder if I really was an alcoholic. My response was that I was the only one there for every drink poured, every pill swallowed; and every joint smoked, so no one else can make that call but me. Each and every person needs to make the same determination about their own habits and come to their own conclusions that make sense for themselves. For example, I am on several medications for depression and anxiety that are directly contradicted by the use of alcohol (they don’t just put that on the label for fun). Alcohol really negates the impact of the pills and in some cases can make them dangerous. By quitting drinking, I was able to finally allow the medications to start doing what they are supposed to and that has been a big part of my feeling better. While this was big for me, that may not be the case for someone else. Again, that is why it is so hard to give advice other than to trust your gut and to do what you feel. That’s always going to be a better litmus test that what someone else can tell you.

I really could go on and on about all of the other wonderful things that come with sobriety, but I will share just two. One is the wonderful support you get from friends and family. That is where you really find out what unconditional love is. The second is finding out how much of the world shares this problem. One of my coping mechanisms is to drink non-alcoholic beer. It really helps give me a crutch in social situations where I usually would be drinking. When I started out, I thought that this is going to be weird when I go into a bar or restaurant. Turns out, lots of people drink N/A beer and I have had some servers even disclose to me discretely on the side that they do not drink either and appreciate what I’m doing. Those kind of experiences can’t help but give you confidence and inspire you to keep up the fight.

Usually when I finish one of these I feel good for getting it put together and get a peaceful energy that often comes from journaling, but after writing this one I’m exhausted. It seems like posting these thoughts is self-indulgent, but I’ll let the individual reader decide that for themselves. As I always say, if even one nugget of information is useful to one person then I think it is worth it to put it out there. I’m too spent to even come up with a great ending to all of this (that implies my other posts have great endings, which I know is not true, but it sounded good to say). I’ll just leave you with one piece of advice that fits most situations: take it one day at a time and let your personal journey, whatever that may be, develop on its own.

Peace and Happy New Year,

Jim

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