#i will defend prof to the ends of the earth i knew he’d be my fav seeing the pmtok trailer and he will always be my fave by shroomses

[jitteryjive]

i made a post about this in the distant past but it’s always irked me how people’s redesigns of prof make him hypermasculine and rewrite him to be self conceited after complaining about him being scared all the time and it’s like… noo… it was so nice to see a nervous dorky scholar be taken seriously…

[kai-writes-fan-fiction]

In Hiding Part 4/?

Hey loves! Sorry it took so long for me to write part 4, I’ve had school and band. I like this chapter, so I hope you do too!

Word count: 1566

Warnings: Really un graphic violence, mentions of undiagnosed PTSD, OCD, and depression, and my inability to write good endings

The last 30 minutes on the Quinjet were pure hell. Tony kept trying to grill you, and you didn’t respond, which motivated him to ask even more questions.

Finally, he rolled his eyes and asked, “Where are your parents?”

Hundreds of locked-away memories flooded your mind. Your parents had sold you to HYDRA at age 5. You didn't know much about your parents or their identities.

After he asked about your parents, you broke eye contact and looked anywhere but into someone's eyes.

“I see.” Tony scowled but continued asking more questions, but you weren't in the mood, even more now than before.

You eventually drifted off into a daydream as Tony’s questions slurred together. You dreamt about what your life could've been if you had parents and weren't mutant. You could still have parents; you wouldn't have sustained all of that torture at HYDRA, and you would've gotten to go to school!

School, something many take for granted. You didn't have any higher education, and being 15 and more innovative and 99.99% of the world, it was a moot point. Still, being among everyday people, having friends, and discovering your passions, would be amazing.

Snaps in your face brought you back, courtesy of Tony.

“Kid. Kid! Hello?” He snapped in your face.

You had returned to Earth and- hey, look at that! Tony is within head butting distance. Maybe it'd get him to shut up, or would Loki attack again? He was staring at you from the back of the jet, unmoving, eyes trying to predict your following movements.

“KID!” Tony shouted.

You'd had enough of hearing him in your face, so you turned back to him, made eye contact, and-

“Don’t do that, girl.” Loki snarled from his seat.

Tony turned to him and cocked his head.

“She was going to headbutt you, obviously. Don't get within 5 feet of her.”

Tony thanked him quietly and sat in his seat, glaring at you. You made eye contact with him once more, and you smirked.

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for a few tiny pockets of conversation and Tony coming up with more dumb questions, which you elected to ignore.

——————————

You had finally reached the compound, and all you could think about was your impending doom.

Steve picked you up again, as your restraints render you immobile. You fell limp in his arms, head dangling. You were so tired and so worried.

Steve carried you into the compound and to a room, or rather, a cell. The space was empty except for a cot in the corner and a sink. The wall next to the door sported a one-way mirror.

“You’ll stay in here; Stark wants to ask you more questions; he’ll be in here soon.” He put you down on the floor, and you looked up to him. He uncuffed you and swiftly ran out in fear of you trying to bolt again.

Little did you know, he and many of the other team members were staring at you from the other side of the glass, observing you in attempts to understand how you worked and your erotic behavior.

The room was made of something that made you powerless, and the walls were a blinding white. There weren’t any windows, and a single notepad and pencil lay on the bed.

You sat in the center of the room for 5 minutes, staying stationary. Once more, scenarios of what the Avengers might do to you crowded your mind. Tears came again, and you sobbed quietly. Everything hurt, and you were once again reminded that you'd been awake for almost 24 hours. So you carefully laid yourself out on the ground, being mindful of your bruises, and cried there.

—————Avengers POV—————

“So- uh- what do we do now?” Steve pointed to you, still crying on the floor.

“Poor thing,” Wanda remarked, frowning.

“Poor thing? She may be a child, but she's evil!” Tony scoffed.

“She could be a beneficial asset to the team,” Nat suggested.

“I don’t trust her.” Tony crossed his arms and looked back to your shaking figure.

“Tony, I kinda volunteered to go talk to her.” Steve turns back to him. “She's got a notepad, and if she doesn’t open up, we’ll send someone else in.”

“Why the hell did you volunteer me? Kid hates me; it's obvious.”

“Just go see if you can get anything out of her, Tony,” Natasha ordered.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes, stepping into your cell.

—————Your POV—————

Tony Stark stepped into your cell, the door shut with a loud ‘thud.’ His intentions were unclear, so you backed into a corner. He crouched in front of you and looked into your puffy, red eyes.

Now that the two of you weren't fighting, he noticed how truly young you were; you still had that childlike glimmer in your bright blue eyes. You had been turned into a villain, but it wasn’t your fault.

“Hey, kid.”

You didn’t respond, just blinked. He grabbed the notepad and pencil on the bed.

“Since we haven’t heard you speak, we put this here for you to write on. Do you know how to write?”

Of course, you knew how to write. You stared at Stark, annoyed that he thought you couldn’t write, and slowly nodded your head.

He handed you the notepad and pencil and asked your name, which he knew. He was trying to create a sense of normalcy for you.

“(Y/N)” You wrote.

“You have great handwriting and a beautiful name (Y/N).” He said, reaching for your hand.

You winced when Tony touched you and quickly brushed him off.

“Understood.” Tony moved back and asked you, “Did HYDRA give you your powers?”

“I don’t think so. I was young. I don’t know.” You wrote. You did know, however. You were born with powers, and that’s why your parents sold you. You were too much to handle, and many people were willing to pay hefty prices for you.

You weren’t fond of visiting HYDRA memories, let alone talking about them. Memories of being tortured plagued your dreams every night, and it seems that HYDRA had found a way to torture you even after you escaped.

Often loud noises would bring back memories, as would needles and human contact.

“I want my clothes back.” You wrote. You thought they might bring some semblance of home, a piece of you to hold, and you’d be able to smell your apartment and yourself.

Tony nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Do you need anything else?”

You shook your head and wrote, “Please leave now. And don’t stare at me from the window. It's creepy.”

Tony chuckled. “Ok, Banner is going to come to check on you at some point.”

You nodded and waved your hand towards the door, signaling him to leave.

Tony slowly got up, and you stared silently as he left the cell. Before he shut the door, he looked back to you, stationary on the floor, staring up at him. Once he was gone, you stared into the mirror, not at yourself but any unsuspecting souls behind it.

Once you thought the sufficient amount of staring was reached, you got up and went to the bed at the far corner of your cell. It was perpendicular to the door, so you could see if anyone entered and be ready to defend yourself.

–—————————

It must've been an hour or so until Banner walked into your cell. You jumped up from the bed and pushed yourself into a corner. He frowned and set down what he was carrying, which was a tray of food and your clothing.

He stepped away from said items, and you scrambled to grab them, scared he’d take them back. You backed yourself into your corner once more, shielding yourself with your clothing.

“Hey, (Y/N). Remember me?”

You scowled. You remembered him, and you weren't very fond of the memories you shared with him.

You didn't move, eyes still trained on him. He kneeled about 5 feet away from you, not wanting to startle you.

His voice was low and soft when he asked, “Can I come closer?”

You stared, not knowing how to answer. Would Bruce hurt you again? Could you trust him? It didn’t look like he was holding anything more to hurt you. You allowed yourself to creep closer, slowly inching towards him.

“See, baby steps.” He looked towards the window. You assumed some people were still watching the two of you.

You let yourself come closer, until you were about a foot away from him.

“Can I touch your hand?” He reached out and touched you, but you winced and pulled your hand away. You still didn’t trust him, you would need a whole lot more prof before letting him, or anyone for that matter, touch you.

“Ok, I’m going to go now, get some sleep.” He stood and turned away from you, heading to the exit.

He stepped out, and turned off the lights in your room. It was almost pitch black, except for a dim light coming through the window. You climbed into the bed, and stared up at the ceiling. You were exhausted, but sleep refused to come.

It must have been 45 minutes when you finally drifted off to a restless sleep. You dreamt about what would meet you in the morning.

Tag list: @sweetpeaflower01 @kinny-away @mangobangi @cumulonimbus34 @oakiedokie @moonbaejpeg @coollemonsaresour @screechingshepherddeputygoth @trinity-1002107 @padmoonyfeorge @laurenced1l @vaaalexandra

[wordsandshawn]

Before Now - chapter 6

All Previous Chapters

6. 

March 2018

“Skylar. Skylar. SKYLAR.”

“What?” I finally snap out of it enough to realize my roommate Kristen is trying to get my attention.

“How did you do on the Bio exam?”

“Huh?”

“The Bio exam. We got our grades back today.” She gives me a skeptical look, “You did go to class, right?”

We have the same professor and we’re taking the same bio class, but we’re in different sections. We weren’t able to fit the same class time into both of our schedules, so the second-best thing is having the same prof because then at least we’re learning the same things and we can study together, we just go to different lectures.  

I fight back a yawn. “I skipped today.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t feel like going.” I respond, and she raises her eyebrows at me. She’s known me for almost two years now, and she’s lived with me that same amount of time. I’ve never been a bad student. I’m too much of an overachiever and honestly just a nerd who likes learning too much. “Have you gone to any of your classes this week?” She questions now, and I feel like she’s judging me.

“It’s only Tuesday.” I retort feeling defensive, and already wanting to back out of this conversation.

She seems to notice, and the judgement falls from her face. “I’m worried about you.” She says quietly.

“It’s not a big deal.” I brush her off, “I’m an art major.”

“That’s what you said two weeks ago when you skipped like three days of classes.”

“They were mostly GE. Just like Bio today. I want to be a photographer. I don’t need biology.”

“You do if you want to graduate.” She retorts. 

I just shrug because she’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. I don’t understand why I’m being forced to take classes that I’m never going to need in my actual career. I thought the whole point of university is to help me in my future career. Biology and history aren’t going to help me become a better photographer.

I roll my eyes. Because I don’t have a better response, I simply say, “Kris, you’re not my mom.”

“You won’t even talk to your mom.” She fires back.

“Seriously, this is why I’m never here anymore. I don’t need to be interrogated.”

That seems to get her to realize what she’s doing, and she falls silent for a second before saying, “Okay, I’ll stop.” She pauses, then her voice drops to barely above a whisper, “Just stay here tonight, okay?”

“Why?” I’ve been spending most of my nights with Greg lately.

“I just miss having you around.” She responds, and I give her a funny look, but let it go.

I stay the night at the apartment.

As much as I don’t want to say it, it is nice being away from Greg for a little bit. Lately, I’ve been spending all of my free time with him, and I hate to say it, but sometimes being with him leaves me feeling worse instead of better.

I forgot how nice it was to just be with my roommates, to just be a University student for a little while.

The next morning, I walk out to the living room to see all three of my roommates there. They’re all staring at each other, but no one is talking. I notice some music coming from someone’s phone on the floor and realize that is what they’re all focused on. It only takes a few seconds for me to recognize that voice although I don’t think I’ve heard the song before.

“What’s going on?” I question cautiously emerging from the doorway.

“Shawn freakin’ Mendes dropped a song out of nowhere.” My roommate Becca says. “No warning, nothing!” She’s motioning with her hands in some sort of frantic way that lets me know this morning has been very emotional for all of them, and I should proceed with caution.

I must look confused because Kristen cuts in, obviously feeling the need to educate me on Shawn. “He’s working on his new album, and he hasn’t even given a release date for it. But this morning, he just released this out of the blue and everyone is freaking out.”

“Why is everyone freaking out?” I ask, still thoroughly confused as to how Shawn can have such an influence. For a second, I wonder if he knows what he does to these girls.

“Because of the tweet he tweeted when he released it. Everyone thinks that there’s a real story behind it and they want to know who the girl he wrote this about is.”

I know I told Shawn to leave me alone and stay out of my life and this is probably just him moving on, but my interest is still peaked. I open up my phone to go on twitter, quickly searching Shawn’s name. When his twitter comes up, his pinned tweet says:

Just had to release this song because I couldn’t wait any longer. You deserve the very best, and I hope you realize it soon. This one’s for you. shawnmendes.lnk.to/TreatYouBetter.

“What’s the song about?” I ask, glancing at my roommates before typing in the title to find out for myself.

“Everyone’s saying it’s a fuckboy song, but I think it’s kinda sweet.” Becca says, although that doesn’t really answer my question at all.

“It’s a fuckboy song,” Alex responds confidently.

“He tweeted a domestic abuse hotline literally right after the tweet about the song. I think that makes it not a fuckboy song.” Kristen, always the logical one, replies.

I’m only half listening to their conversation because now I’m reading the lyrics for myself, deciding for myself whether or not this is a fuckboy song.

“It’s sweet, he’s basically saying she deserves the best and her boyfriend isn’t treating her right.” Becca defends her point.

I stare at the lyrics and listen to Shawn’s voice since the song is still playing on repeat. I don’t mean to be self-centered, but I can’t help but feel like the songs for me.

My mind immediately flashes back to the last time I saw Shawn, in the bar. I can’t forget the look on his face, and now with this song, the way that he told me I didn’t have to leave with Greg. Almost like he was begging me not to leave. Maybe this song is for someone else. Maybe Shawn makes it a habit to find girls in bars with drunk boyfriends. I don’t know. He stepped in for me when he didn’t know it was me. He’d do that for anyone is guess. His mom raised him right, I always knew I loved Karen.

“Earth to Skylar!” I’m immediately brought back to real life because Becca is practically shaking me, a hand on each of my shoulders. “Are you okay?” She questions when I make eye contact with her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I respond, shaking my head a little trying to refocus on real life.

“The song is just that good.” Alex jokingly says. “Are you finally going to admit that you love him too?” She questions, and I only wonder how I ended up living with three girls who love Shawn so much. It’s honestly some cruel twist of fate after everything that’s happened.

“I’m going back to bed,” I say, regretting ever getting out of bed in the first place.

When I’m alone in the room, I can’t resist pulling out my headphones and plugging them in before opening up my Spotify app and searching Shawn’s new song. I listen to it through three times before I find myself scrolling through my contacts and hovering my finger over the contact, Peter (Bio151).

I remember when we were little kids Karen would always call him Shawn Peter! whenever Shawn would get into trouble, never Shawn Mendes or both his middle names. And I always would make fun of him for it, sometimes I’d call him the same thing when he teased me too much or made me angry. I added the Bio151 just in case Greg asked any questions, just to be safe.

I want to call him, but I don’t let myself. I don’t know what I’d tell him if I did. Whatever we were, whatever we had, it’s over. This last year has changed me. I’m not the same kid I was growing up, and I’m not even the same girl I was when Shawn and I dated. Judging from his success even just over this past year, there’s no way he’s the same person either. I literally think myself to sleep again.

~

It’s been a month now since Shawn released Treat You Better and I keep hearing it on the radio. I can’t help but wonder what he thinks of me. I wonder if he thinks I’m weak, or dumb for staying with Greg, but Shawn hasn’t been here over the last year and some months. He didn’t see how Greg was there for me when I needed him most. He doesn’t know how sweet he can be, how much he loves me. Shawn only saw a tiny snippet of our relationship, a moment where Greg was drunk, and I was already irritated.

My relationship with Greg is complicated and hard to understand. I know that Greg is not making the best choices right now, and sometimes he doesn’t treat me right. I know that, and I see that. But I still cling to the ideas of the love he used to give me. The love he still gives me, even though it’s becoming less frequent. Other people just don’t know him like I do, but he also has an effect on me that I can’t quite describe.

Sleep comes so much easier than being awake lately. I want to cry all the time. I can only take so much of listening to him tell me horrible things in the name of love. I want to leave, but I’m scared. I want to tell someone, but I’m scared. I never used to be this way, this weak. I feel trapped.

Greg used to be my safety. He loved me when I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. He showed me love when I missed home and missed my family and felt like my heart had been broken by the one person I finally let my guard down enough to care about. He loved me when Shawn couldn’t and I needed someone to.

But he’s not safe anymore, and I’m not sure what safety feels like. Is safety Greg looking through my messages? Is safety biting my lip to not say something that will make him angry? Is safety doing what he wants even when it’s not what I want because it’s easier for me to be unhappy than it is to deal with him not getting his way?

I want to talk to someone. I need to talk to someone, but I don’t think anyone will understand. Kristen never liked Greg, and I haven’t talked to my family in over a month. I remember Shawn’s song, and I remember the last text he sent me. I don’t let myself think enough to convince myself out of calling.

“Hello?” He answers. There’s a steady chatter of background noise, and I almost hang up the phone because he sounds busy, but he says, “Skylar? Are you there?”

“Yeah,” I respond in a small voice.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” It’s almost strange to me that that’s his first response, but in a way, it is also comforting. He cares. And maybe he knows more than I gave him credit for, maybe he understands more than I predicted.

“No,” I respond, “Well not really. I’m fine. I don’t know why I called actually it's stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Woah wait, hold on.” He says in a rush, sounding like he’s afraid I’ll hang up and disappear again. “I’m glad you called. You don’t have to apologize.” The background noise immediately disappears, and all I hear is his voice on the other end of the phone. “I told you that you could call me anytime, and I meant it. I still mean it.” He says, and somehow his voice soothes me. I don’t know how to feel about it. It’s been so long since anyone had a calming effect like this on me.

“I don’t know what to do.” It comes out as more of a whisper than I anticipated, and I’m surprised he heard it.

“Talk to me.” He says in that smooth confident voice of his.

“I can’t, you won’t understand,” I say, remembering the way that his life and mine turned out so differently. It doesn’t matter that we came from the same place. It wasn’t enough last time, it won’t be enough this time.

A beat of silence passes. “Have you heard my new song?” He questions, and it would have sounded cocky if I didn’t know the message behind it. Did you get the message I sent? is what he really meant.

“I’ve heard it.”

“I wrote it for you, Ky.” He says, using that old nickname and making me wonder what he thinks. Somewhere in my heart, I know that he’s probably right, but I can’t help but defend Greg.

“I love him, Shawn.” I practically whisper.

There’s a silence on the other end, and finally, he says, “I know you do.” Almost with a sigh. And I don’t know what to say next or what to do. I had always wondered if the song was for me, or if it was for an imaginary girl or someone else he’d met. But he clarified that for me just now. He doesn’t tell me what he thinks, and I don’t ask.

The conversation is over and we both know it. I don’t know what I wanted from him, and he doesn’t know where to go next. “Maybe in another world, we could have been together.” I remark, more to myself than to him. “I’m sorry I called.”

He starts to say something, but I’m only half listening. We talk for a bit, but only long enough for me to end the conversation properly.

I carry the comfort of Shawn’s concern with me. It helps me through the next week, but then Greg’s mad again, and I want to feel safe. This starts a series of phone calls to Shawn, all of which follow somewhat the same pattern, neither of us knowing the point of them, really. Shawn tries to convince me to leave. He wants to know if Greg hurts me. He wants to save me, but I don’t need saving. I just need someone on the other end of the phone to tell me my world is not ending on the nights where it feels like it is.

I call him when I need to hear his voice to remind me I’m okay, even when I’m not. I’m not cheating on Greg even though I’m almost certain he’s cheating on me. I’m still here for the scraps of love he’s willing to throw my way because I’m not ready to walk away.

I love him. I can’t control who I love. Greg has his bad moments, but he can also be really sweet. He cares about me. I know he does. Sometimes he just doesn’t show it the way others do, but I understand. I’m the only one who understands him, and no one else understands me like he does.

chapter 7