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theonewiththefanfics · 5 years ago

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Not You (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bucky has loved the Reader for three years. She has loved him for two. Both are dumbasses, and Sam is fed up.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, SMUT

Warnings: SMUT (unprotected sex (wrap it up, before doing the devil’s tango), swearing, filth, but like cute and fluffy filth. Filth with emosh.

Word count: 5172

“What is this?”

That was not how Bucky Barnes thought his night would go. After leaving the gala where Pepper announced the Black Widow foundation, the ex-Winter Soldier said 'thank you' to his date, walked her home and slowly strolled back to the apartment he shared with Sam. Once he got there, he took off the suit and the tie that had been choking him the whole evening, grabbed a hot shower and plopped down into his bed.

He was surrounded by mountains of pillows and the softest mattress and bedding he’d ever had. After everything he’d been put through, Bucky appreciated soft things. That’s why he loved Y/N so much.

She was the softest being in the universe, figuratively and literally. The first time they’d met and shook hands (he deliberately stuck out his flesh one, not wanting her to touch the silver-and-red-starred monstrosity), his eyes had widened in disbelief at how soft her skin had been. The handshake lingered a bit longer than needed for a first-time meeting, not to mention how he’d run his thumb over the top of her hand repeatedly.

“You know, I’m gonna need that back at some point,” Y/N teased him, a mischievous glint sparking up her Y/E/C eyes.

Bucky’d muttered a quick apology, but she dismissed him. “If you need a longer hug as well, just let me know.”

And he had. Whenever he’d had a bad day, especially after missions, he’d come to the tower and plop down onto the couch. No matter what she’d be doing, around five to twenty minutes later, Y/N would appear with two hot chocolates in hand. Instantly, Bucky would curl himself against her as her fingers would card through his brown locks, making him feel safe and warm.

That’s how he had fallen asleep that night - with the gentle thought of Y/N lying next to him and humming a quiet tune. It’s why he was more than surprised to find her banging against his door, fury, hurt and confusion written all over her face.

“What is this?” she repeated again, pushing a piece of paper towards him.

Fuck, how he wished he hadn’t cut his hair just so it could obscure the utter horror that exploded on his features when he saw the words on the page.

He shook his head. “I – I didn’t write that.”

“Bullshit, Barnes!” Y/N hissed, elbowing her way inside the apartment. “I recognize your handwriting because it’s the exact same handwriting I see every day as I rewrite your reports.”

Bucky’s eyebrow shot up. Y/N shrugged. “Your grammar is horrific, and Fury would throw out any report that even mildly looked like yours do. But that’s besides the point. What the fuck is this?” She didn’t give him time to respond though. “You – you can’t just do that! You can’t leave me confessions like these after what you’ve done.”

“What did I do?”

Y/N scoffed and glared at him, hands on her hips. “You brought someone else to the gala. You took someone else as your date. Not to mention your Friday ‘love-nights’. How do you expect me to believe this shit when every weekend you spend it with someone else?”

“You weren’t meant to see that,” he whispered so low she couldn’t hear it.

“Pardon?”

Bucky let out a shaky breath. “You weren’t meant to see that. Ever.”

That made her take an involuntary step back, and Bucky raked a hand through his hair. Only then did Y/N fully see he was just in his boxers and had to swallow hard.

“It was Sam’s dumb idea.”

“What was?” she asked, voice low and trembling.

“To write that letter. He told me to write down how I felt because I couldn’t deal with it anymore,” his blue eyes snapped up to hers, and it was like all the air was punched out of her because of the intensity in them. “Do you know how hard it is for me to see you every day without kissing you? How much self-control I need to have, not to just lean up and press my lips to yours when you so easily hold me? It’s like what I’ve done doesn’t matter to you!”

“Because it doesn’t!” Y/N’s tone matched his. It was the only thing she could say, as processing the previous statements turned out not to be that easy.

Bucky let out a frustrated snort. “Yeah, I know. That’s why it’s practically impossible for me to be around you. You just – you just accept me for who I am, and you love me the way I am… broken bits and all…”

Her vision had gotten watery, and it was only when Bucky stepped forward and wiped away a stray tear did Y/N realize she was crying. “You’re not broken,” she choked out and shook her head.

“No,” he agreed. “Not to you. For whatever reason, by some kind of a miracle, you see me just as a man… like I’m normal… and that’s why I fell in love with you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “How could I when I knew you deserved better? Deserve better. If things had gone the way I wanted them to, you’d never have known how I felt. You would have fallen in love with someone kind and smart, and they would treat you like you deserve to be treated. And I’d stand by and watch.”

Y/N closed her eyes and stepped out of his embrace. “Why? Just… why?”

“Because this can cost me you. And I’m a selfish asshole… losing you is not something I can handle.”

“So – so all those other women,” she pointed to the door as if there was a hoard of people outside, “so you just use them to forget about me?”

Bucky shook his head. There was no point in lying anymore. All the cards were already on the table. “No. Every time I go out with someone, I genuinely hope that there will be a spark. I truly, honestly hope that maybe I’ll fall for one of them… But I don’t… because they’re not you.”

“No,” Y/N stammered, shaking her head. “They’re not me… because I’m… me…” Her eyebrows were furrowed as she pointed a finger at herself and looked to the ground. At this point, she was unsure if she was herself because Bucky being in love with her didn’t make any sense.

It didn’t make sense that he had taken Sam’s advice, it didn’t make sense that he had written out his love confession, and it didn’t make sense that he was so openly admitting that every single word on that page was true.

This was not how Y/N thought her night would go. After seeing Bucky enter the hall with a gorgeous date by his side, she instantly rushed to the bar and ordered herself a drink. As she sipped on it, she was glad she had her own date with her. Matt Murdock. They’d been friends ever since law school, and she was very much so aware of his nightly activities. It was more so a business arrangement, that evening that is. He was on a trail of a dirty businessman, and she needed his legal counsel after some questionable actions had been done by a rogue SHIELD agent.

“Drowning your feelings?” her friend’s gruff voice sparked up next to her. Y/N looked to her right and saw Matt remove his glasses. She smiled. She was one of the few people he did that around. It made her feel trustworthy.

“Something like that.”

Matt chuckled and motioned with a finger towards the bartender. “Does that have anything to do with Bucky who just walked in?”

“Do you ever mind your own business?” Y/N snorted, taking the legs of Matt’s glasses and playing with them.

“I’m a lawyer. It’s my business to be all up in other people’s business.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t invite you here as my lawyer,” she said, chugging down the rest of her drink.

Matt gave her a crooked smile. “Well, with you… and certain other people, I’m all up in your business... as a friend.”

“Well then, friend, how about you get me another drink, and I can tell you all about my sob story?”

They chatted for a good hour and a half, and Matt did everything in his power to take Y/N’s attention away any time Bucky so much as stepped in her direction. Somewhere along the line, they had ventured on the topic of Matt’s own love-life, and by that point, Pepper had made the official announcement of the Black Widow Foundation as well as the Tony Stark Trust fund.

Champagne flew, laughter and cheers echoed all around, but Y/N wasn’t feeling it anymore. Not after seeing Bucky lean down to his date and press a kiss to her cheek, as she, with a smile on her face, took his hand and together they made their way out of the hall.

After that, Matt had called a taxi and together they’d gone to his office, grabbed some files and made their way to his home. Y/N paid the fare and stepped out onto the freezing streets of Hell’s Kitchen. She couldn’t help the smile that lifted her lips at the irony.

Matt motioned with the papers to the apartment behind him. “Wanna come up? I have some beer, and we can talk a bit more… or go through the case if you need to think about something else.”

“I think I’ll just walk back,” Y/N waved him off and rocked back and forth on her feet.

“Are you sure?” there was concern in Matt’s voice. “I don’t mind you staying over. I can give you some spare clothes.” But Y/N was already shaking her head. She knew Matt couldn’t see it, but he definitely heard how her hair swished in the wind with the motion.

“I need to clear my head,” and she started to walk away but not before turning around and saying, “besides, I have the Devil looking over me.”

Not that she needed it. Working with the Avengers in any capacity made sure you knew hand-to-hand, let alone being a Level Nine SHIELD agent. But it was nice knowing she had someone looking out for her. It was nice knowing Y/N had someone who cared.

Snow had started to fall in heavy flakes, and a gust of wind pulled up her coat. Instantly she regretted her decision of walking back to the tower. With a grumble, she stashed her hands into the pockets, and that’s when something crunched there.

In the middle of the road, she stopped and pulled out what turned out to be Bucky’s confession. It only took her twenty minutes to get to his apartment. And that’s what had led them to that moment.

Bucky tilted his head trying to read Y/N’s expression but without any luck. Guess seventy years of being a spy went out the window the second he was faced with the woman he loved.

“What’s going on through that pretty head of yours?” he whispered tucking a piece of hair that had gotten stuck to her lip back behind her ear. The snow that had been stuck in her hair when she’d first barged in had now melted, leaving the Y/H/C strands with translucent pearls atop them.

Y/N shook her head. “That we’re the biggest idiots the world has ever seen.”

There was no time to process what she had said because, in that same moment, her arms had wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him down for their lips to meet. He was glad she was strong enough to carry a man (and his emotional baggage) because he quite literally sagged down, tongue swiping against her mouth to ask for entrance.

In his head, Bucky thought she’d easily give in, but the smirk that pulled her lips up in a smile, made him groan in frustration.

“Baby come on,” he said, kissing her again and again. “Please.”

Y/N just chuckled. “Gotta make you work for –“

He took his chance. Right in the middle of her sentence, he slotted his tongue between her parted lips, and now she was the one whose knees wobbled.

“Take me to your bed,” she gasped once Bucky was satisfied with how far he'd gotten to explore her. “Please.” But then another thought entered her mind. “Unless you already have someone in it.”

“God, no,” Bucky laughed, slipping off her winter coat and leaving it on the floor, exposing the exquisite sight that was hiding underneath. “That place is reserved just for you.”

“Yeah?” Y/N’s nose nudged against his, and he nudged right back.

“Yeah.”

Both of them were breathless by the time Bucky’s bedroom door swung open. One, it was from all of the kissing, two, because neither had really seen the walls in the hallway and had slammed one another against them.

“Make love to me,” Y/N breathed against his mouth, tugging Bucky’s bottom lip between her teeth.

“What?”

“Tomorrow you can fuck my brains out… but I want you to make love to me tonight. Show me that everything in that letter is true.”

It didn’t take more than that for Y/N to convince Bucky. Almost viciously, he gripped the covers of his bed and threw them onto the ground. His hands didn’t leave her body for a single second. Every night there had been a goodbye, one last touch of the day before both of them went their separate ways. There had always been one last hug. Not this time.

Bucky sank down onto the floor, on his knees in front of Y/N like in a prayer, one hand on the back of her thigh, the other trailing lower and lower until he reached the end of the evening gown.

She was still wearing her heels. He could feel how cold her toes had gotten after that walk, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to leave the golden stilettos on, but this wasn’t about him. It was about both of them. So, he quickly unclasped them and held out a hand which Y/N graciously took as she stepped onto the cold hardwood floor.

When she had first walked inside that room where the gala was being held, Bucky thought his lungs had stopped working. Y/N was breathtaking. All dolled up to the nines, with the sheer black dress and the golden sparkle that strategically covered her up, he no longer remembered how to breathe. There was even a cape that transformed from black into the golden shimmer like the evening sky, and he could only think – what if the black was white?

Bucky took great care in removing Y/N’s dress. He took his time marking her skin with his lips, leaving himself and her little reminders for tomorrow… or that morning, as the clock on his nightstand showed it was 3:13 AM already.

Had he been wearing his suit, Y/N would’ve been mimicking his moves and undressing Bucky, but he was already almost naked, so she just allowed her palms to explore the scarred skin.

He was all dips and ridges, with some of the raised skin more sensitive than other places, especially where his metal arm met his shoulder. This was the newer one, the one from Wakanda. There was no star or silver. It was all black and gold, much like the dress that now was in a heap around her body, and much like the underwear still left on her form, to which Bucky had to use all of his willpower not to rip it off.

A shudder ran down his spine when Y/N leaned away from where he’d been assaulting her neck and pressed her own lips against his left shoulder. Shuri and the rest of the doctors had taken great care of the ruined tissue, and it no longer looked angry and red, rather a pale gleam against the rest of his flushed skin.

For the first time in a while, Bucky allowed himself to enjoy what was happening. There was that stupid, annoying voice in the back of his head, the one that had told him he wasn’t good enough for Y/N, but he put it in a little jail cell and threw the key away because he’d be damned if he didn’t allow himself to fully experience what paradise was like.

He hadn’t even noticed how Y/N’s hand had travelled all the way down from his collarbones to his chest, down his abs and to the front of his boxers, too focused on the gentle way her lips marked him.

“Shit, fuck, baby,” Bucky hissed as her palm had slipped behind the one piece of clothing on his body and grasped him at the base.

He was hard, painfully so, but the slow and rhythmic twisting of Y/N’s hand alleviated the built-up tension. She swiped her thumb over the tip of his cock, and he moaned.

“Keep going like that, and I won’t be able to deliver.”

Instantly Y/N pulled away, and instantly he missed her touch. “Really?” she smirked. “I thought the super-soldier serum enhanced everything. Stamina included,” she had leaned back up and tugged at Bucky’s earlobe. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are a hundred-years-old grampa.”

Hands roughened by war and hurt oh so tenderly slid up Y/N’s waist to her back and unclasped her bra. She sighed in relief as the material was flung away somewhere into the depths of the room.

Bucky’s fingers skimmed over the marks the offensive piece of clothing had left all around Y/N’s ribs before he leant in and closed his mouth around one of her nipples.

“Hundred or not, I wanna make this last,” a sloppy ‘pop’ noise made her gasp as his lips travelled back to her neck. “And I ain’t cumming until you do. At least three times.”

He guided her backwards, careful not to get tangled in the dress. The back of Y/N’s knees hit the edge, and slowly she crawled up the soft mattress, not once letting Bucky’s lips disappear from hers.

He hovered above her, and for a while they just made out, letting their hands roam over their bodies and release any stress or anxiety that was still hiding in their muscles. At some point, both of them had lost the last bits of underwear and knowing that nothing separated the two made a set of butterflies fly around in Y/N’s stomach while they frantically trashed in Bucky’s.

He was keeping himself in check, his cock resting heavily against the inside of her thigh. He was so close, so close to being whole, but safety came first.

“Condom,” Bucky announced, ready to climb off of Y/N, but she was quicker. In a flash, she was on top, straddling him and grinding against his hard-on.

“ ‘M on the pill, need you now.”

Bucky had to bite on his lip to the point that the tangy taste of iron invaded his mouth not to let the pornographic moan into the open at the feel of just how dripping Y/N was.

“We can stop,” he shakily stated. “Any moment you feel uncomfortable, we can stop. I promise I won’t be offended.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the thoughtfulness, but she was eager and impatient and wet beyond belief, so with a roll of her eyes and without a warning, she rutted her hips a bit more backwards and let the tip of him slip into her.

That shut Bucky up real quick, as inch by inch Y/N engulfed him in her warmth. The pleasure was the kind that consumes everything, leaving only heavy breathing and rattling hearts behind.

She collapsed against Bucky’s chest once he was buried to the hilt, and he was quick to wrap his arms around her, letting her adjust and calm down a bit.

“I want you,” Y/N murmured against Bucky’s collarbones, giving them a quick peck. “All of you… I’m kinda in love with you. Just as a side note.”

Bucky was ready to fall back into his sappy speech, but once again Y/N took all the words right out from his mouth with just a simple swivel of her hips.

“Fucking love that side note,” he helped her raise herself up and held the palms that rested on his stomach. “And you, of course.”

Y/N let out a chocked back laugh before looking down at Bucky. It was like he had gone into his own little world as his blue, well now almost completely black eyes, scanned every inch of her body, only stopping when their gazes met.

She reached out, thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded and kissed the inside of her palm. “I’m perfect.”

She kept eye contact with Bucky the whole way as her other hand trailed down his metal bicep and intertwined with the appendage. “Yeah, you are.” And slowly she lifted her hips up and sank down.

The first time Bucky made her cum, he watched her. He memorized every single facial feature, and how beautifully Y/N’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp, her Y/E/C eyes never leaving his. He ingrained it in his brain - the way her chest stuttered while drawing in a breath, and how her whole body shuddered with pleasure. He just had to see it.

The second time Bucky made her cum, he listened to her. He flipped her over and settled himself on top, hiding his face in the crook of Y/N’s neck. He listened to her laboured breathing, her thumping and erratic heart and the sweet, sweet way she whimpered his name. He listened to the obscene noises that exploded into the air every time his hips met hers and how her body moved against his sheets with every single move they made. But the symphony came to a crescendo when he finally heard her choke on a breath as extasy took her over.

The third time he was going to make her cum, he wanted to feel her.

“Turn around, doll face,” he muttered, taking in a shaky breath and kissing her neck.

“But Bucky,” she whispered, tightening her grip around his shoulders, digging her nails in his skin in defiance to his wishes, “I wanna see you. You didn’t cum, and I wanna see.”

A fluttering in his heart made the biggest fucking smile appear on his lips. Just the thought that she wanted to see him happy and in pleasure, made the super-soldier want to giggle like a schoolgirl. “And you will, I promise. I just wanna feel ya.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’d say you’re feeling me more than anyone right now.” In retaliation for that comment, she squeezed her already sensitive walls around his cock making both of them let out a moan.

“No,” he groaned out, “just, please. Just wanna feel. Besides, I need a new canvas to leave my masterpieces on.”

Hungry eyes trailed over her chest and neck and even her stomach and hips which were all littered in hickies. It was this realization that gave him a moment of opportunity to pull out and gently flip Y/N onto her stomach. She was already half-spent so rising on her elbows and knees was a task, but Bucky didn’t need her to do that.

“Shh, lie down, baby,” he muttered, his chest pressed tightly to her back. Y/N didn’t argue. Her stomach was met with two soft, cloud-like pillows which Bucky had somehow managed to push underneath her. They lifted her hips up just enough, put them in the perfect angle for him to comfortably slide in without breaking Y/N’s spine in half.

Her hands fisted the sheets above her head as Bucky filled her once more, and now she understood what he’d meant by just feeling her. She couldn’t see him anymore, and his breath was obscured by where he’d hidden his nose in her hair. Only Bucky, only his gentle hands sliding down her biceps until they curled around her wrists and intertwined with her fingers, and only the steady thrum of his heart existed. No hug could ever make Y/N feel safer than she did at that moment. No kiss would ever make her soak up his existence more than that position. Nothing in the world could ever make her feel him closer than that single position.

All of Bucky's focus was on now was how Y/N felt underneath him. Her hot, sweat-slicked skin, how her back rose and fell, and the way she moved her hips in a desperate attempt to meet his. Bucky closed his eyes and tuned in all of his senses on how she felt wrapped around him, so tight and snug around every ridge and vein… so perfect…

And all Y/N could focus on was Bucky. How his giant frame enveloped hers in a secure embrace, how his hands tightened around hers, and the way his chest heaved at every thrust, Bucky’s heart stuttering with every push. That little bubble was filled up even more when he leaned completely on top of her, careful to hold off his weight by placing most of it on his forearms and kissed her, swallowing all of her praises.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he moaned and captured her lips in another kiss. He was just about to let himself be taken over by absolute bliss, not before getting her off first, when Y/N spoke up.

“Stop, Bucky, stop.”

Instantly terror flooded his veins, and he pushed away. He was sacred he had hurt her, had done something she didn’t like, or that suddenly, in the middle of everything, she regretted him and would dash out of his apartment and life.

“Do you hear that?”

His forehead scrunched up. The only thing Bucky could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears and Y/N’s labored breathing. But then he focused and did. A soft scraping somewhere in the apartment had interrupted them.

Her head turned fully to the side. “You said Sam’s away on a mission.”

“He is,” Bucky nodded right as someone unlocked the door. Instantly, he was off of Y/N and out of the bed, grabbing his discarded boxers. “Stay here.”

She hissed his name, right as he grabbed a gun from the bedside drawer and exited into the hallway. With a roll of her eyes, she wrapped the sheet tightly around herself and picked up one of the stilettos, pulling out a thin vibranuim needle from one of the heels. She never went anywhere without a weapon.

Y/N was half-way towards the living room when two voices talking back and forth, made her slow done her pace. One of them was clearly the gruff tone of Bucky flinging off the walls, the other was a bit smoother, but still just as deep.

“Sam?”

Almost like in a daze, half-smile on his lips he waved back at Y/N, Bucky swishing around as well. “Hi.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be on a mission?” she asked, careful of the way the sheet stayed wrapped around her body. Knowing it wasn’t an intruder, she dropped her blade onto the countertop and crossed her arms.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, but there was some new info that needed to be processed before they sent us out. So, I’m leaving tomorrow evening instead. Wanted to get one more good sleep in before spending my nights in a Siberian forest for a month.”

A beat passed before Sam grinned like the Cheshire cat, motioning with a finger between the two and their undressed state. “Am I right in what I’m thinking?”

“Dunno,” Bucky growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “If it’s about how you’re close to losing some teeth, then very much so.”

But the Captain-ex-Falcon disregarded his dig.

“Fucking finally!” Sam hollered, fist-bumping the air. “God, it’s taken you two ages! This calls for a celebration!” He was halfway to the fridge when Y/N cleared her throat.

Bucky put both hands on his hips. “Yeah well, can we do it later? We were in the middle of something. And, ya know, neither of us got to finish.”

“You know what, it’s fine,” Y/N waved both of them off with a tight-lipped smile. “The mood’s kinda ruined. I think Imma just grab a shower and get a cab. We can finish this at some other time.”

That was the wrong thing to say as Sam rushed afterwards Y/N and pulled her by the bicep towards Bucky practically shoving her into his chest.

“No, no, no, no, no! The mood is not ruined!” Sam pointed at Y/N. “I’ve had to listen to him groan about being in love with you for the past three years, and when it finally happens…” he huffed. “I’m not going to listen to another thirty years of his dumbass complaining… now go in there and finish what you started.” He gestured towards Bucky’s bedroom. “I did not go through all that trouble with that stupid note just for this whole thing to fall apart. I’ll be out of your hair in a second.”

“It was you?” Bucky exclaimed holding onto Y/N’s waist.

If Sam was the least bit ashamed of going through his personal things he didn’t show. “Don’t leave your love letters lying around the house… besides, she’s been in love with you for two years. It’s not my fault you’re two dumbasses. Someone had to make the first move.”

Bucky scoffed. “I would have!”

“Really?” Both Y/N and Sam looked at the brunet with raised eyebrows.

Bucky blushed a bit and tightened his hand on Y/N's waist. “Yeah… eventually.”

Sam snorted and gave him a ‘sure you would’ve’ kind of a look before grabbing his keys from the counter. “I’ll be staying at the tower. Use protection, kids!”

The door slammed shut right as Y/N and Bucky both scoffed and shook their heads. She was still staring where Sam had disappeared thinking about when the hell did he manage to slip the note in her coat when she felt the strong gaze of two blue eyes watching her.

“Yes?” Y/N cocked her head to the side.

Bucky shrugged. “I’m still up for it. I promised three orgasms, didn’t I?”

“That you did, but tell you what,” she trailed a hand up his chest, Bucky instinctively wrapping his hands around her. “First we order pizza, and then we finish what we started. You kinda made me hungry.”

For a moment, Bucky contemplated Y/N’s proposal, but he wasn’t going to disagree. As she went to plop down onto the couch, he went after his phone and placed the order; he didn't even need to ask what she wanted, knowing her choice by heart.

“Done,” his heavy frame made the sofa dip, and Y/N was just about to cuddle in his side when he pushed her back and slotted himself between her legs, the sheet unceremoniously falling to the ground revealing her naked form. “But I’m having dessert first.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn't take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @raquelbc2003 @watch-out-for-thorns @potentially-kinetic @thatonegirljessy99 @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611 @horrorx570ximagines @the-nargles-made-me-do-it @pooslie @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel @purplebananatragedy @pxrrishly @parker-barnes-af @skulliebythesea @california-grown @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @belongsto-prachi

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @sweet-ladyy @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28

Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @happyseagrill @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @wishingforahome @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae

A/N: mY BUCKY TAGS ARE NOT WORKING :(((((( TUMBLR!!!! WHAT THE FUCk!!

does anyone know how to fix that???

P.S. what did ya think? my tags are always open

5K notes · View notes

leefi · 3 years ago

Note

Hi, I noticed you did the MBTI types of the ORV characters, and I was wondering what you think the MBTI types are for the Revue Starlight gals :D

Anon, I want you to know that this google doc is 14 pages single-spaced, and I'm still not done.

WITH THAT BEING SAID, I'm so glad you asked!! I'll be breaking this up into four parts so we don't have to scroll through one massive wall of text. The other schools will take a bit more time to publish as I'm still working on a couple from each (I think I have four girls left!).

But without further ado:

Starira MBTI Part 1 - Seisho

Siegfeld

Frontier

Rinmeikan

I had a lot of help with all of this reading @HalfACape’s wonderful character analyses of so many of the girls on twitter, as well as consulting the Personality Database page for the characters I was less sure about (though there were a few I disagreed with on there - none in Seisho, we'll be discussing the others later). But everyone feel free to discuss if you disagree with anything!

Karen Aijo: ENFP

ENFPs’ dominant function is Ne (extroverted intuition) (that running gag Karen has in the game where she mishears words, spouting off suggestions even if they make absolutely zero sense to the situation at hand - “telescope? telephone? telenovella?” - is such stereotypical Ne). Ne is always running towards any possibility, no matter how unlikely it seems, and I don’t need to spell out for you how much of that we saw from Karen in the anime. Ne-Fi feed each other to create a rebel/free-spirit type of personality (Ne seeks all possibilities, Fi holds strong inner values and selfish desires - what do I want, what do I need? How does this make me feel?). Her Te isn’t too developed yet, which is fine because it’s tertiary and she’s still so young. That tertiary, undeveloped Te shows up in her scatterbrained, lackadaisical, go-with-the-flow attitude (but when dominant Fi gets fired up by something - like an old childhood friend coming home - it kicks Te into high gear). Inferior introverted Sensing shows no respect towards rules or regulations - see her revue with Junna (Si-dominant) and the anger she draws out of Maya for (a child of the system and traditionally hard worker) in their Revue of Pride. Karen is the natural rebel, the forever optimist, the sunshine girl - textbook ENFP.

Mahiru Tsuyuzaki: INFP

If you want to see what leading with an introverted function looks like compared to an extroverted function, compare Mahiru to Karen! They share the exact same functions, just flipped on the I/E axis. So Mahiru is Fi, Ne, Si, Te. Karen is Ne, Fi, Te, Si. And Mahiru is a very clear example of an INFP - such a warm, brilliant, awe-inspiring person, but can also be her own worst enemy and others tend to underestimate her. And it’s hard, I don’t blame her! Leading with Fi and not having that physical/in the moment Se to support it (like ISFPs do, just compare her to Kaoruko--yes--they’re only one letter off from each other) means that it’s extremely hard for INFPs to naturally advocate for themselves...so instead, they retreat into their own imaginations where it’s safer (Ne). BUT THEY’RE SO INCREDIBLE!! THERE’S SO MUCH THERE TO RESPECT AND ADMIRE!! *shakes her like maracas* IF YOU WOULD JUST SHOW US!!!!!!! (and this is her whole arc in the anime i don’t need to tell her lol). It’s actually so interesting how she and Karen’s Fi and Ne escapism manifests in their respective introverted/extroverted personalities. These two really are more similar than most of us think!

I love INFPs so, so much because they’re like sleeping giants. Once they get a hold of and develop that inferior extroverted Thinking it’s over - nobody else can compare. They’re like the characters in video games that start off super weak, and then you blink and suddenly they’ve become the most powerful units near the end of the game.

Kagura Hikari: INTJ

ENFP’s stereotypical partner (I swear every other reserved person A/sunshine person B couple in fiction is this type pairing) and while it’s tropey it works because these two types play off each other so well. I actually originally had her pegged as an ISTJ, but I think that her bullheadedness earlier in the anime is more indicative of Ni being stubborn. Hikari is cagey, reserved (tert Fi/inferior Se), and an incredibly high-achieving individual (dominant Ni sets specific goals, auxiliary Te implements). Her tertiary Fi (which INTJs LOVE to keep locked up, right here, forever, until they die) is so obvious as you slowly learn just how much of a sap/romantic she is. It’s her weaker Fi that holds that sentimentality towards Starlight after all these years, her Fi that struggles to hold on to that childhood promise, her Fi that has her following Karen (and eventually Mahiru as well) around like a duckling (though we initially get the impression that the dynamic is the other way around). She grows to care deeply for all the other girls around her and that’s all her tertiary introverted Feeling getting stronger as the story progresses! Like so many people in the fandom have realized, she isn’t a mean person, she’s just socially awkward. Not too much to say on her inferior Se, that mostly manifests in how she’s a homelier person who would rather stay in than go out, and doesn’t actively try to seek new experiences (this was what had me thinking ISTJ at first).

Junna Hoshimi: ISTJ

Karen’s polar opposite - they actually share the exact same functions, just in reverse! So Junna leads with introverted Sensing where it’s Karen’s weakest, and Karen leads with extroverted Intuition where it’s Junna’s weakest. And we see this play out in their revue!

Junna is one of my favorite characters in the series for a reason and it’s because it’s SO rare to see the ISTJ in a rebellious role. Si is all about following and respecting order, and Junna breaks all of that to create her own! We see that dominant Si show up in literally every other facet of her life, though - from her by-the-book attitude to her stringency with deadlines and tardiness to her respect for the creatives of old - Shakespeare, Nietschze, etc. She’s an incredibly bright and successful student as well (any type can be of course but the “kind of student” she is is very much Te supporting Si - super studious and placing heavy weight on studying and getting straight A’s). And her Fi is SO GOOD. SO SO SO SO GOOD AND SO APPARENT - MUCH stronger than IxTJ’s sibling Hikari’s at the start of the anime. That’s where the rebellious part of her spirit comes from - her values, her strong sense of self and desire for autonomy (EXTREMELY Fi thing - Fi is all about the self, how I feel about something, what I want out of this, not feeling trapped by others’ expectations, etc.). Inferior Ne manifests in how she struggles with improvisation, ends up tunnel visioning (see her revue with Karen), and can sometimes struggle to accept new ideas or ways of doing things (Junna works so hard, but it’s evident in the anime and a lot of her starira bond stories that she can end up getting stuck in her old ways if someone else doesn’t come in to offer a new perspective -- see her Jekyll bond story dialogue with Maya!). Another example we see is when her extroverted xSTJ sibling Akira, who has Ne a step higher than her but understands where she’s coming from with their shared functions, guides her towards using it in the High Priestess bond story!

Nana Daiba: ESFJ

Textbook ESFJ!! Caring, motherly, affable; Fe doms are always looking to appeal to the group and make sure that everybody feels comfortable (and, likewise, are very keen on suppressing their own insecurities/emotions/discomforts). Nana is not ambitious for ambition’s sake, and in fact suppresses her own talents to appeal to the group. As for that Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :) Si aux… :)

Unhealthy Si can manifest as an extreme fixation on past experiences and a fear of moving on (we’re going to see this later with Si-dom Fumi too). Her poor tertiary Ne had gotten absolutely quashed by her stronger auxiliary Si in the anime - it doesn’t want to change anything! Claudine and Maya can be the leads again. We don’t need to modify the script. The first one was already perfect, why are we risking failure by changing things?! Also, holding herself back for the sake of everyones’ happiness is so Fe dom it hurts. If you want to see the difference between ESFJ and ENFJ (the two Fe-doms of MBTI), compare her to Michiru, who also suppresses her talents -- yes to cultivate the other girls’ (specifically Akira’s) brilliance but also for the sake of her ulterior motives to one day create her own troupe (aux Ni at work vs. Nana’s aux Si). Nana’s is more deferrant, but still just as ferocious - she’ll defeat Maya 60 times over to get what she wants. And the craziest thing is that all of this comes out of love and fear - she’s scared, and all of that is coming from her unhealthy Si aux. Junna is a very good example for her to follow for healthier Si.

Claudine Saijo: ENTJ

“DON’T IGNORE MY LINES!!!” ENTJs LOVE being at the top - the leaders of the pride, the people in charge, the ones you have to answer to (AND she’s a Leo too. Jfc girl pick a struggle LMAOOOOO). You get the picture - except Claudine isn’t in that position. Maya is. Claudine doesn’t even get a revue or her own song, because she’s Maya’s eternal second. This is a really, really uncomfortable spot for an ENTJ to be in, and it’s evident in how hard she pushes herself - and how antsy she gets whenever Maya is around. But Claudine never blames an outside system or factors like Karen (inferior Si) does for her situation - she just gets angry and more driven to succeed, bulldozing her way to the finish line (dominant Te-tertiary Se interacting). The tragedy of her character is that she will never surpass Maya, so we see her Ni begin to reframe achieving the very top to becoming the only star in Maya’s eye (little does she know that she’s already succeeded). That ripping off of her cloak at the end of the revue duet - “the only loser here is me” - is her inferior Fi poking its head out. At the end of the day, Claudine is an interesting character because she’s a walking contradiction. She’s a star denied a spotlight, but she isn’t a failure either, so she’s forced to grapple with this ambiguous, there-but-not-quite-there middle ground. It’s one big identity crisis in the making, and it’s clear to see why so many people relate to her and love her as a character - a lot of us can empathize with never quite being satisfied, and looking up towards heights that can appear insurmountable.

Maya Tendo: INFJ

She seems so normal and established and then you look closer and realize there’s something seriously wrong with her and oh my god where did this massive god complex come from. Typical Ni dom

From her detached, more “mature” personality to her altruistic and often surprisingly keen insight towards people, she has so many key makings of an INFJ. That dominant Ni is strong in Maya - everything is poured into theatre. Everything. From her hobbies to her interests to her personality, everything Maya does in her life is deliberate and all of it is for the sake of theatre. Ni bitches LOVE to fixate on just one thing, and for Maya, that is the stage. “I have no need for those who lack willpower...Come climb up here if you have the resolve...A single step forward is a step closer to my dream” is just...yeah I’m being redundant. Dominant introverted intuition. Ni Ni Ni Ni. This girl embodies it - while Hikari is also a Ni-dom, Maya shows a TON more of it than her (can’t say I blame the writers - Ni is probably the most difficult function to write because it requires thinking so many steps ahead for your character). We can see a marked difference between INFJs and INTJs here in how Maya and Hikari practice solitude - Hikari purposely isolates herself from Karen to avoid hurting her, while Maya purposely isolates and crafts herself into an untouchable God to serve as an inspiration to others (auxiliary extroverted Feeling). Want to see how this looks with the INFJ’s extroverted sibling, the ENFJ? Look at how Michiru crafts Akira’s public image. That’s Ni and Fe at work, just in different priority slots (Maya is Ni dominant, Michiru is Fe dominant - they share the same functions, just flipped on the I/E axis). That tertiary Ti is very prevalent too - Maya mostly keeps her thoughts to herself, and loves to mull over things. She definitely isn’t the first one to shout out an answer, she prefers to think things over.

One interesting comment that really stood out to me on her personality database page was how she’s an INFJ with an INTP persona in the anime, and I think I agree (INFJs and INTPs tend to present similarly and can be easily confused with each other anyway)! But I want to add on to that - I think that INTP presentation is her auxiliary Fe at play crafting a persona that better coincides with Claudine’s, as ENTJ/INTP matchups are extremely compatible (not saying Maya was thinking about MBTI LOL but rather she brought out and exemplified aspects of her personality that would better complement Claudine’s - their partnership is not a one-way street at all! Maya does so much for her!!). Just compare anime Maya to stageplay Maya, where she gives no headway and is absolutely brutal to Claudine.

Futaba Isurigi: ISTP

Futaba is such a great example of what a healthy ISTP can look like! Dominant Ti shows up in how she communicates with others - she's honest, direct, and to the point, but it's never utilized in a way that’s mean-spirited (contrary to how her girlfriend often can be) - it’s just how she communicates. Claudine (a Te dom which works SO well with Ti) actually points out in Starira that this is why they get along so well. Aux Se shows up in her physicality - her love and strength is in stage fights, she's into mechanics with her motorcycle and does all the maintenance herself, etc. Funnily enough, I think that tert Ni, while a slot above Fe, is actually Futaba’s least developed trait (or, at least, the one she's most guarded about) - she went into Seisho to follow Kaoruko, and her aux Se dominates that tert slot and gives her a … little bit of a lackadaisical attitude? Obviously not as much as someone like Karen, but in many senses she doesn't outwardly display a strong fear or anxiety towards the future like the other girls (completely understandably) do - and it’s that tert Ni getting angry when she feels as if Kaoruko is stagnating in her plans. There’s some inklings of her own plan for the future, but Futaba’s own individual plans are mostly kept to herself, so we don’t know how much or little she’s done about them. (I have more to add but will not continue as I’m venturing into movie spoilers territory, but for those that have watched/read them, try to draw your own conclusions based on what I’ve said!). I think that having such a close relationship with Kaoruko is what pushed her to develop that inferior Fe so early to support her girlfriend's dominant Fi. I actually originally had her typed as ESTP for how strong her Fe was (ESTPs have it a slot higher than their introverted siblings), but she really doesn’t strike me as an extrovert, and ISTPs with developed Fe can be very warm, affable people too!

Kaoruko Hanayagi: ISFP

“Kaoruko Hanayagi’s dream is world domination.”

Kaoruko is such a great example of what an unhealthy ISFP can look like! LMAOOO but no, I’m dead serious - if you want to know what unhealthy introverted Feeling looks like, look to Kaoruko. Everything is me me me me me me me, to hell with what anyone else wants (if you want to compare unhealthy Fe to unhealthy Fi, compare Nana and Kaoruko). Tertiary Ni shows up to support Fi in how surprisingly sharp she is towards other people - what makes them tick, exactly where to hurt, their inner thoughts and feelings (see her bathtub conversation with Mahiru).

BUT THAT DOMINANT Fi IS ALSO SUCH A POWERFUL THING. That “me me me me me me” is going to turn into “my vision, and what I want to create, and what I’m going to do” (once that inferior Te finally develops - which Kaoruko is going to be forced to put work into eventually). This is why, like Mahiru, I think that Kaoruko is seriously going to blossom later on in life - ISFPs and INFPs, the Pisces of the MBTI, have this weird penchant for going under the rader and then becoming insanely fucking successful OUT OF NOWHERE??? Like, they aren’t super motivated and driven with a specific plan like Ni-strong xNxJs, or disciplined and hardworking like Te-strong xSTJs, but???? You blink and suddenly they’re millionaires with four creative projects going on simultaneously (but if they get bored with any of them they’ll drop them instantly - you could not pay me all the money in the world to be an IxFP’s manager it must be an absolute nightmare <3). Just...legends out of nowhere? Rihanna is an ISFP Pisces so I have real world evidence to back this up.

#revue starlight #woof #seisho #some are longer than others but i promise it wasn't intentional :( just a matter of when i got to them (i went out of order)#for example Karen and Mahiru were written first so there's a lot less on them. Maya I JUST finished writing 10 minutes ago so I could #publish Seisho and you can tell by the length of hers how much I got into the swing of things LMAO #aijo karen #tsuyuzaki mahiru #kagura hikari #saijo claudine #tendo maya #isurigi futaba #hanayagi kaoruko #daiba nana #hoshimi junna #i love nana so so much but couldn't write enough for her. idk why she was giving me a block...

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ddaenggtan · 5 years ago

Text

black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG, some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it.

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway.

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience.

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain.

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands.

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more."

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet.

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring.

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected.

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough.

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago.

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you.

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better.

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home.

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from.

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing.

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering.

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas.

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd.

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal.

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault.

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name?

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do.

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why.

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success.

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts.

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point.

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process.

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing."

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar.

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks.

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you."

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered.

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space.

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat.

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him.

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive.

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already.

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you.

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles.

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows.

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off .

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse.

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think.

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own.

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want.

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way.

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear .

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you.

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are.

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them.

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you.

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself.

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all.

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long.

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar.

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe.

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off."

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws.

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?"

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper.

"You are going to wish that you could die."

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it.

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body.

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight.

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats.

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have.

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages.

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself.

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom.

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns.

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.”

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs.

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says.

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them.

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you.

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers.

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I��m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out.

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues.

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest.

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head.

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is:

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead.

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway.

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer.

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you.

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.”

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal.

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference.

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is.

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new.

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will.

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking.

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore.

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that.

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you.

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings.

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment.

Someone says your name and you swing.

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor.

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway.

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to.

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building.

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too.

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you.

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love.

If you can love.

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed.

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself.

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is.

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there.

Until the night when it’s not.

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win.

You would take it back if you could.

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster.

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal.

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them.

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive.

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips.

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again.

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly.

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you.

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you.

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist.

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair.

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out.

“I didn’t-”

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have.

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking.

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her.

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough.

It’s never enough.

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan.

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster.

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing.

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it.

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips.

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with.

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go.

Frustrated, you pull back.

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown.

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress.

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees.

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh.

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free."

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath.

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat.

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve."

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits?

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again.

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time.

Not with Taehyung.

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him.

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating.

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could.

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up."

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind.

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been.

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately.

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you .

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you.

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder.

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come.

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.”

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for.

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose.

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena.

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake.

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs.

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have.

He’ll learn.

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it.

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face.

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes.

The giant swings.

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jazzistolkienfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Scared - Eowyn x fem!reader

I’m in love with your writing and am a disaster of a bisexual, so when I saw your Arwen piece I was thrilled. Could I request an ÉowynxFem!Reader where she’s tending to Éowyns wounds post battle, so when Éowyn wakes up she sees the reader crying and they confess feelings??

sure thing @itgetsatadhazy! sorry if it got kinda long. SHE SO PRETTY-

Type: Imagine Pairing: Eowyn x fem!reader Summary: Y/N isn’t scared of much, but losing her best friend is the one thing that terrifies her. Warnings: non-canon parts?, ‘shit’ Word Count: 1114 words

The battle raged around Y/N, and for the first in her life, she was truly fighting for her life.

These Orcs were unlike any that she’d faced before - with such relentless rage and bloodlust in so many numbers that Y/N was very prepared for the possibility of death.

Dying didn’t scare her. Pain never had. Battle was too ordinary for fear. But the thought of leaving Eowyn, her beautiful best friend, behind if she did perish with a sword through her chest ... that scared Y/N more than anything.

Although, she supposed that if she was currently fighting a battle outside Gondor itself, surrounded by what seemed like millions of Orcs, pirates and Oliphaunts, there really wasn’t that much more to be scared of.

She glanced over at Eowyn, who rode her horse with a casual grace, and admired how beautiful her fellow Shieldmaiden was. Then, Y/N forced herself to snap out of it - Eowyn wasn’t actually meant to be here, and she was disguised. Y/N wasn’t about to be the reason that Eowyn got caught because everyone in Rohan knew the h/c-haired girl’s lovesick glances directed towards the blonde.

Y/N’s sword cut through another Orc with a squelch, and she grimaced as blood splattered across her armour. The battle wasn’t going exceptionally well, but, then again, they faced Sauron’s forces. It wasn’t exactly a play fight.

When Y/N looked to Eowyn again, she realised her mistake after a couple of seconds making sure that her friend was okay. The h/c warrior had gotten distracted, and some soldier slashed through her horse’s flesh, making her fall off with a scream.

As Y/N raised her head again, she saw Eowyn looking around.

She recognised my scream, Y/N thought warmly. She cares about me.

But that fuzzy feeling quickly turned to panic as Eowyn was yanked from her horse.

“Shit!” Y/N hissed, drawing a shorter sword and sprinting towards Eowyn.

The Shieldmaiden staggered to her feet just as Y/N reached her. Her blue-green eyes that Y/N found so beautiful were wide with shock, and they were no less stunning through the large helmet that obscured the rest of Eowyn’s face.

“You okay?” Y/N yelled, swinging her sword to intercept the attack of an Orc, stabbing it through the chest with a sickening gurgle.

“Fine!” Eowyn yelled from behind her - back-to-back was their favourite way to fight. “Merry!”

This next cry was directed at the Hobbit who’d been with her. “Stay close to us!”

The small Hobbit nodded furiously, and held his own impressively as the three of them fought their way towards Gondor.

---

In hindsight, Y/N was stupid to think they’d been winning. That was before the Nazgûl had showed up, wailing with such pure agony and force that Y/N almost dropped her sword to cover her ears.

The screams made her want to curl up and die, but she forced herself to keep fighting - she was in no hurry to die.

Then, the thing that Y/N least expected to happen did.

The Witch-King of Angmar himself flew down, and she acted before she could think. His steed, a fell beast, roared at Merry, who was frozen to the ground, and lunged forward, presumably to bite his head off. Y/N swept her sword upwards, and the leader of the Nazgûl was forced to slide off his beast as its head flopped around its detached body.

Before Y/N knew it, she’d been knocked to the floor, at least half a dozen of her ribs probably cracked or broken, and a rapidly swelling cut on her head that blurred her vision with tears and blood.

Y/N could barely raise her head, let alone help Eowyn, but she was glad to see that Eowyn held her own. She crawled quietly so the Witch-King didn’t notice, reaching for her sword, and looking up just as the Nazgûl had her crush in a chokehold.

With a swing of her weapon, he screeched, dropping Eowyn to the floor. Y/N felt an indescribable pain shudder up her shoulder, and she fell back to her knees.

“I am no man,” she faintly heard Eowyn declared before crying out, followed by an agonised death wail.

“Eowyn!” Y/N cried as the blonde fell to the ground. But she was barely keeping herself conscious.

Everything went black.

---

Y/N was beginning to worry.

She’d woken and recovered fairly quickly, finding herself in Gondor’s Houses of Healing. A fellow resident there, Prince Faramir, had befriended her and kept her company even when she was so upset at being confined to a bed that she felt like throwing something extremely valuable and preferably delicate at someone’s head.

But Eowyn still slumbered, her pink lips slightly parted as she breathed quietly, humming in her sleep. Her eyes were tightly closed and her forehead lined - even in dreams she could not escape worry or pain.

Y/N wanted to take it all from her so badly.

Why? she asked herself stupidly. She’s just your friend. Just as Eomer is. Then why are you so much more concerned about her?

Y/N berated herself for finally facing the truth as she sat by Eowyn’s side, stroking her long blonde hair out of her face with a s/c hand.

“Why do I care about you so much?” Y/N said aloud, wrapping a deep cut with a fresh, medicine-soaked bandage. “Well, maybe it’s because you make me smile like no one else can. Maybe it’s because you’re mor ebeautiful than anyone else I’ve ever laid eyes on. Maybe it’s because ...”

She took a shaky breath.

“Maybe it’s because I love you.”

Of course, Eowyn didn’t respond. Of course, Y/N was only greeted with silence.

The h/c girl couldn’t help it. She started to sob.

Ugly, fat tears, rolling off her cheeks and onto Eowyn’s bed as she bent her head to cry and cry and cry.

Hopelessness was as familiar as a breath. But never had it seized her like this.

“I love you!” Y/N said, her head still down. “I love my best friend, and she would never feel the same!”

“H-hey.”

A quiet whisper snapped Y/N out of it instantly.

Eowyn’s eyes were wide open, blinking away tears of sleep to reveal the beautiful blue-green depths.

“I feel the e-exact same way.” It was obviously paining her to say anything with the state she was in, but she said it anyway. “W-why did it take this?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N whispered, almost smiling. “But I want a happy ending. And I want it with you.”

“My Knight in shining armour,” Eowyn teased.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s you.”

A laugh. “Goddamnit, Y/N, just kiss me, please.”

“Gladly.”

A/N - hope you enjoyed @itgetsatadhazy and everyone else reading this!

#eowyn #eowyn x reader #fem!reader #wlw #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr x reader #x reader #you

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imgoingtocrash · 4 years ago

Text

I Want to Go

by @imgoingtocrash for @slothbeans

Rating: G

Word Count: 5,179

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker (mentioned), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (mentioned), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark (mentioned), Ben Parker & Peter Parker & Tony Stark (mentioned)

Summary:

““There he is.”

It’s Tony. Anthony Edward Stark. Mister Stark. His Mister Stark, his mentor, his friend, his could-have-been father figure if only they had more time together, if Peter hadn’t wasted it, if Tony hadn’t—

Not-dead Tony whirls around on a rolling stool, his arms propped against his knees. Peter can’t move his eyes off of the man in front of him, but he knows the space well enough to recognize where he is: the lab. Tony’s old lab at the Avengers Compound. The lab that doesn’t exist anymore. It was obliterated in the battle with Thanos and replaced with a new one that only Bruce, Doctor Cho, and Peter himself seemed to get any use out of.

This is the Tony he never got to know, inhabiting the familiar space.”

Tony Stark becomes a guardian angel after his death, and his task is watching out for Peter. After a harried run-in with the Green Goblin leaves Peter on the brink between life and death, Tony and Peter get the chance to talk about Peter's recent less-than-stellar life choices that led him to this point.

Read on Ao3

My gift for the second @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! I hope you enjoy it! Full fic also under the cut as requested by the exchange!

Peter really should have expected something like this to happen.

There are a lot of sayings about it: burning the candle at both ends, biting off more than you can chew, too many irons in the fire…he’s got melted wax all over a heaping plate of food and—okay, yep, this metaphor is going nowhere.

He’s a disaster lately, is what he’s getting at. And proving it by using too many turns of phrase at the same time in his head when it doesn’t really matter.

What even is his head, right now?

He doesn’t remember falling. Getting the tar kicked out of him…well, it’s more likely, but he still doesn’t actually remember it.

Everything is hazy. It’s like looking into his camera when the lens is unfocused. And everything is bright—oversensitive to his already wonky spider-senses, bright.

Is that a concussion symptom? He can’t remember that either.

“Karen?” he tries, but it comes out as a bit of a slur. The AI doesn’t respond, so he tries again. “Kare-bear, you up?”

Then he realizes his vision is certainly not being obscured by the lenses of his mask. He’s not wearing it.

Moving doesn’t hurt like he thought it would. He expected that gut-bombing feeling that comes with nausea, a pull of muscle against his spine or ribs, maybe the feeling of blood trickling down after a bullet or knife pierced something it shouldn’t have.

Instead it’s—fine. The blur of his vision clears as soon as he sits up and he’s…on the floor.

More senses come back with his eyes. The floor underneath him is cold. There’s a smell of oil and something just slightly burnt in the air, flaring his nostrils.

He’s not in an embarrassing dream where he’s naked, at least. He’s clothed in…no, that can’t be right. He hasn’t worn Tony’s old MIT sweatshirt in years. Not since…

“There he is.”

This is the Tony he never got to know, inhabiting the familiar space.

The older man is wearing dark jeans and t-shirt color expertly matched with the grey cardigan that completes the outfit. It’s a warm ensemble. It’s like the picture he always finds himself looking at when he visits the Stark cabin: Tony and Pepper on a hospital bed, exhausted but holding their new baby girl like she’s the only thing in the world.

Welcoming.

Loving.

Soft.

He wanted that Tony too. He wanted Tony back in any form most days, period.

Tony watches Peter examine him head to toe before continuing to speak.

“I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wake you up or not. And not that I don’t love you, kiddo, but I’m more of a hugger than a Prince Charming type.”

Tony had hugged him. In the middle of a battle to save the universe, Tony took those ten seconds and hugged him and maybe if he hadn’t there would have been more time, another way, anything but watching Tony’s light go out.

“I am so glad Morgan’s finally growing out of her Disney Princesses phase, by the way. Aren’t you?” Tony says, like it’s just another Tuesday instead of whatever day of the week it is where Peter’s seeing things and losing his goddamn mind.

“Not that her running around screaming The Next Right Thing wasn’t cute and all. It’s just like—we all have our limits and I reached mine two Disneyland vacations ago."

Tony tilts his head.

“If you and MJ ever have kids, though.” Tony whistles. “Ben’s told me stories about your obsession with Kidz Bop songs. I hate to say it, but I think you two are in for it worse than Pepper and I ever were. I mean, at least Morgan has taste.”

“Mister—Tony, I—Ben—what?”

“Oh. Yeah, shit, sorry to spring all of that on you at once. I get carried away, you know me. Here, take your seat. We have time.”

Tony rolls over the other stool with his foot, patting the leather in invitation.

Peter keeps staring.

Tony gives a put-upon sigh. “Alright, let’s get this out of the way, then. No, I’m not one of Beck’s illusions, or one of Doctor Ocavious’ serums, or—what other reality-bending bad guys have you messed with lately. Did I cover them all yet?”

“Chameleon.”

“Oh, right, yeah. He had the gall to impersonate me and Michelle. That was rough on you, I’m sure.” Tony scratches his beard. “Though your last toss up certainly wasn’t better, considering.”

“Considering?” Peter asks. Curiosity has always been his problem. Right next to talking too much, which he’s currently doing very well with.

“One thing at a time, web-head. We’re certainly going to get to that.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Hm?”

“A new nickname. For me.”

“Huh.” Tony smiles to himself. “Guess so. Nice. I really thought I’d run the gamut. You know, that fire kid pisses me off to no end, but he’s really creative with the names. Makes me really aspirational about your generation.”

“How do you know Johnny?“ Peter shakes his head. Just another thing that needs explaining. “I think I’d really like to know what’s going on now, Mister Stark.”

“Fair enough. Alright, J, let’s get metaphysical.”

“Certainly, sir,” a prim, robotic voice replies.

With a resounding clap of Tony’s hands, the room descends into darkness before a set of holograms lights up around them, depicting a map of stars that expands around their heads.

“Let’s start with the facts: some people were right and some people were wrong. I wasn’t ever a very religious guy, but that doesn’t matter so much. All I know is that this is…whatever you want to call the afterlife part. The end after the end. What comes next, and so on. Well, an extension of it. Specifically from me to you.”

“How does that work?”

Tony snorts. “That, kiddo, is one of the few things I don’t know. There’s less all-knowing after death than I thought there’d be. Thor’s people have some theories—they call it Valhalla, theorize about their god-types—but I’ve yet to meet any kind of Grand Poobah as of yet.”

“But you did. Die, I mean.”

“Yeah, I did.” Tony sighs, placing a hand on Peter’s knee. “It was a tough choice, sacrificing myself. Strange thought it was the only one and I…” He swallows. “I would have done anything it took to make sure that you and everyone else in the universe got to live. So I made that call. And I accepted that it meant I would be out of the picture for the foreseeable future.”

There are a lot of things Peter wants to say, but doesn’t. I wish you hadn’t. We weren’t worth it. I’m not worth it.

Tony clears his throat, trying to breathe levity back into the atmosphere.

“But apparently, while we’re all here waiting for the rest of our loved ones to join in…we get perks.” Tony gestures to the room around them, an exact replica down to DUM-E and U rolling around in the corners instead of where they’re currently sitting in Tony’s dusty garage.

“It turns out the end isn’t totally the end. We get to watch and wait in style—go to old haunts, see old friends and family. Sometimes lend a hand, push away a bullet or two.” He nudges Peter’s shoulder on that one. “Specifically, I was offered the very coveted position of being the spiritual watchdog for a very special Spiderling.”

“So you’ve been watching,” Peter summates. “That’s how you know about—about Morgan and Johnny and everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone.”

Tony nods. “Your Uncle Ben had the job first. Maybe he took turns with your parents, I never asked. But what I do know is that you made that excellently unflappable man…well, stressed out to no end. We can only do so much from here, and you were throwing yourself headfirst into danger every other day. Before I entered the picture as your mentor, he was worried you’d join him sooner rather than later.”

Peter looks down at his lap, guilty. He can’t deny it—after Ben’s death, Peter was determined to use his powers for good instead of flipping around the streets entertaining himself as he pleased. That meant wearing himself thin on sleep, skipping classes, and being a little less careful about avoiding rather than attacking. Every robber from bank to bike thief got their punishment. Knife wounds didn’t matter, turning his skin black and blue didn’t either. Guns, he was particularly unforgiving about.

He had already faced what he thought was the worst trauma of his life at that point. He could afford an injury or two, and May was so blindsided with grief that she let him get away with leaving blood on the bathroom sink from doing his own stitches or waking up with a black eye for long enough that he got better at covering it up.

How could he have ever considered that Ben would be watching? He doesn’t want to think about all of the scrapes Tony’s now seen him get into.

“When I came up here…well, he and Nat were my welcoming party. Those two get along like old drinking buddies, actually. Weirds me out.” Tony scrunches his nose in what is likely false distaste.

He softens, though, moving his hand from Peter’s knee to cup his cheek. It’s something Tony’s never done, but Peter feels like he’s melting. Tony’s skin is warm. His fingers are still just a little callused and scarred.

Tony must get the impression that he doesn’t like it, but before he can move away, Peter traps his hand there, bristling his smooth fingers against the still-present wrinkles of Tony's skin.

Would Ben still look exactly as Peter last remembers him? Dressed in a button down with that stupid Giants baseball cap that’s still buried in a box somewhere at May’s place? Would he be fully grey now, or would it still be that salt-and-peppering brown? Does he need his glasses here?

“He’s so proud of you. Seriously, Pete, hearing him talk about you…well, he sounds like me. Just a couple of old saps between the two of us, I guess.”

Tony is smiling, but Peter wants to see it, he wants to hear it. He wants Ben and he wants to keep Tony here and never let him go again.

Tony swipes a fallen tear from Peter’s cheek with his thumb.

“He knew I wasn’t really…satisfied with how we left things. I spent five years missing you and all I got was a hug before I…” Tony clears his throat, looking away uncomfortably.

All this time and the first snap still haunts Tony. All this time, and Peter still dreams of ash.

“He offered to look after Morgan for me instead, considering it’s a bit of an easier job. I’m hoping he can coast on easy mode until she hits her teen years.”

“I still get to see her, too—and Pepper. God, all of you in the same room at Christmas is just—“ He shakes his head reverently. “That’s my day. My perfect day. I never thought.”

“She misses you,” Peter says. He doesn’t want to be mad at Tony, but sometimes he is, and he knows that Morgan is getting old enough to forget more about her dad than she remembers. He tries to tell stories, tries to explain pictures and videos but it’s just…not the same. It’s not enough. It’s not what she deserves.

“I know. I miss her too. I can watch you guys all day, but talking to you,“ Tony shakes Peter’s shoulder. “Touching you…there’s no replacement for it. I’m watching her grow up, but I don’t get to be a part of it like I used to. It just—sucks.”

Tony sighs again, but seems to rejuvenate with it, clapping and turning the lights of the lab back on.

“But that’s not important right now. We’re here because of you.”

“Me? What—?”

“Don’t what me, Pete. The only reason you’re here with me right now is because you’re close enough to death. Your body is in a hospital bed in the compound because you were reckless, and I brought your mind here to snap you out of it before you take the final step to this side of the spiritual plane!”

It seems otherworldly, the idea of his body currently being separated from his mind. Supernatural. Definitely something he’d usually associate with Doctor Strange.

As for his possible death...he doesn’t remember it. His more recent memories seem lost in a fog, and the welcoming warmth of this place makes the loss of them feel a lot less important.

“You’ve been—god, you’ve been beating yourself up for months. Ever since Gwen Stacy died—“

“Don’t.” Peter swallows back a sudden lump in his throat. “Please, don’t.”

“You’ve been running from it for months.” Tony replies. “Peter, you’ve been running from your life for months. You broke up with Michelle when I know for a fact that you have a ring made for her in your underwear drawer, you let things fall out with Harry when you never blamed him for everything that happened with his father, you don’t go see Pepper and Morgan anymore—“

“Because they’re not safe!” Peter finds himself standing, suddenly, string-tense and angry.

Tony doesn’t look surprised at the outburst, just sad.

“Don’t you get it?! No one is safe around me! It doesn’t matter if they’re heroes or civilians! It’s my fault that Gwen died! It’s my fault that you—” Peter shakes his head. “I can’t let that happen to anyone else. I won’t.”

“Peter, it is not your fault that I used the infinity stones.”

Peter stares at the ground and thinks about all of the ways he could have changed what happened during the battle with Thanos. He could have made that sacrifice instead. Anyone else on the battlefield could have. Some of them had the power to do it and survive. But it was Tony that came up with the idea to build a gauntlet of his own into his suit, Tony that made that choice with exactly one thing on his mind.

“Pepper told me about the picture. She said that you’d spent all those years caring about me, that you only considered time travel because of me. That makes it my fault.”

“No,” Tony insists. “It was my choice. That’s it. You were an influence, yes, but not the only one. I wanted a better world for my entire family—I did it Morgan and Pepper too. I wanted the rest of the world to have their families back because I finally realized how much I treasured my own. You are not to blame for my decisions. Period.”

“That doesn’t change what happened with Gwen! With Doctor Octavious! With Beck!”

He doesn’t let Tony interrupt again.

“Every time I try and do the right thing, bad stuff happens to the people I care about. So I cut them all away and according to you, I still ended up almost dead.”

“That was the Green Goblin’s fault. He escaped the Raft and went on a revenge-fueled rampage against you. You were overwhelmed. If you had help—”

“I don’t want help!” Peter shouts. Tony is always trying to fix Peter’s problems, a habit Peter knows he shares from his attempts to constantly fix New York. Tony just can’t fix Peter—who he is, what his life does to the people he loves. It’s never going to stop. Peter’s never going to stop. Not while he’s alive and has the means to keep trying.

“Then what do you want?” Tony asks, standing up himself and taking Peter’s shoulder in his hand. “I just want to make things better, buddy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Tell me what I can do.”

Peter looks at Tony, thinking of all the mistakes he could have helped correct, every missed birthday and holiday.

“I want to stay here.”

There’s a clear beat of silence. Tony’s face morphs from empathetic softness to a hardened frown.

“Peter, no—“

“Yes! Out there I can’t stop myself from—ruining my life all the time, no matter what I do. I can’t be Spider-Man the way everyone wants me to, I can’t be Peter Parker because I am Spider-Man, and everyone is looking at me to lead Stark Industries when I don’t even work there anymore!”

Working at SI had been what he thought he was supposed to do. Go to MIT. Graduate. Work for Pepper. Fulfill the legacy. Make Tony proud. Make everyone proud. Be the smartest and Spider-Man and a good boyfriend all at the same time.

But then Gwen died and he was already struggling to fill his mentor’s shoes and he’d just—surrendered to the part of himself that always doubted, that could never reconcile Tony’s belief in him and the way he often saw himself.

“Here I could be with you and Ben and my parents,” Peter reasons. “Tony, I lost them when I was five! I could finally see them again—“

Peter grabs for Tony in an attempt to reason with him, but Tony shakes it off.

“Peter, this was supposed to be a mission to make you snap out of it. You’re teetering between dead and alive right now and you need to go back.”

“No, please,” Peter begs. “Please, Mister Stark, please. I want to go. I want to go with you. I don’t want to leave you again. Ever since you died everything’s been—everything just keeps going wrong. Maybe this is a sign. I can never make the right choices, maybe it’s time for me to—“

“No.” Tony is looking down at him, like Peter is fifteen and naive and the world would be so much simpler if only Peter would listen to Tony.

“Don’t you dare try to act like your life out there doesn’t matter, like this is the better option.” Tony shakes his head back and forth. “The point of this place is to be after your life. I know that you’ve been through a lot already, but you’re not done yet. You’re not.”

Peter buries himself into Tony’s chest, desperate. He grew taller in the last few years but here in this lab, in this place that doesn’t exist, he is the boy Tony remembers, the boy he misses getting to be.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony echoes Peter’s last words on Titan, and he knows it, he must, to still be so affected by losing Peter in the first place. He keeps Peter encased in his arms, rubbing his back over and over in a soothing gesture.

“I’m sorry things have been so hard without me. I’m sorry that you’ve missed me so much, and that I can’t be there. I’m sorry that the only way I could figure out to save the world didn’t include saving myself.”

Tony pulls away slightly, enough so that he can catch Peter’s watery gaze.

“But Peter, that is no excuse to think your life should be over. You know I have always encouraged you to be more selfish. I spent so long telling you to go after the things you wanted—the parts of a normal life that you deserve—because you are an incredible, empathic, intelligent kid. But for once I am begging you to think about other people. You have responsibilities, Pete. You have people that love you down there. You know that.”

“And think of everything that’s happened to them because of me! I—I’ve given May more grey hairs than you, I’ve put MJ in danger—I’m the reason Harry’s dad went away! Without me…without Spider-Man…maybe they’d be better. Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen!”

Tony doesn’t respond to this, but Peter can read his face. He doesn’t believe Peter at all.

“Let me show you something.” It’s a complete diversion, and Tony relies on Peter’s silent surprise, leaving their loose embrace and tapping at a set of holograms in front of him until a feed appears.

It’s an alley.

Somehow, Peter knows it’s in New York. Maybe it’s all of the time he’s spent in dumpsters—both searching for old technology in his youth and getting his ass kicked into them—that allows him to recognize that.

It’s not the most interesting footage—the most activity on screen for a minute is a mangy tabby cat scampering by.

Then a masked man comes running by the camera, a leather purse in hand and darting glances behind him.

A string of familiar webbing comes on screen, followed by a lithe, masked figure whose body slams into the robber’s, knocking the man down before sticking him to the ground with a layer of webbing. The masked figure takes the purse and swings away, back toward the mouth of the alley.

“Tony, what is this?” Peter asks.

“That is Miles Morales. Fourteen. Brooklyn native. Remind you of anyone?” Tony rolls his eyes at Peter’s unamused face. “Yeah, you get it. Anyway, two months ago, Mister Morales was bit by another one of Oscorp’s freaky mutant spiders. He didn��t tell anyone, but when Spider-Man was put into a coma fighting the Green Goblin and he didn’t help…”

The clip loops again, repeating the swing and kick of Miles’ body slamming into the robber.

“He became Spider-Man.”

Tony nods. “A cheap copy, though, of course. Underoos 2.0, you might say.”

“Only you would.”

“Ouch,” Tony hums. “I’m just saying, without Spider-Man, without you, someone else is always going to step up. It might be Miles, or the Avengers, or that little group of vigilantes near Hell’s Kitchen…”

“Then you’re just proving my point, they don’t need me to—!”

Tony holds his hand up.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t still needed. You—Peter Parker, Spider-Man—are the person that knows the streets of New York’s boroughs better than anyone else. You’re the same person that helped take down Thanos and fought against Beck and the rest of his little Sinister Six friends. You’re the only Peter Parker that Michelle wants. You’re the only best friend that Ned Leeds wants. You’re the only nephew your Aunt May has. You’re Morgan’s only big brother, Petey."

The warmth that was surrounding Peter until that moment fades slightly. Here, the world that he came from seems so far away. It was easy to say he wanted to stay when the most important thing was right in front of him.

But Tony isn't the most important thing in Peter’s life. Peter's grief seemed to be important for years after. It felt heavy, all-consuming, a weight he was backpacking around on the top of all the good things because the world wouldn’t let him forget. From the murals and statues to Beck’s raging hunger for revenge, Peter felt the ache of Tony’s loss much like he had for Ben—acute and piercing his life with holes.

The thing is—Peter still grieves. All of Tony’s loved ones do. They wish he was there at birthdays and barbecues, reminisce about this story or that, tell Peter and Morgan of his love for them, his pride.

It just doesn’t hurt the same, these reminders. It doesn’t hurt as consistently. His sadness ebbs and flows, bleeds and stems, metaphors on metaphors on metaphors.

“You’re the only you that there is, kiddo," Tony continues. "You need to stop blaming yourself for everything that hasn’t worked out and start realizing that you’ve done a lot of things right. You’re allowed to grieve the past, but you can’t stay here. You need to move forward. That doesn’t have to mean letting go. It means taking us with you, and continuing to make us proud, just like you have been, even when everything is going wrong.”

Tony's eyes are expectant. He wants Peter to really listen to what he's saying, to believe it.

Peter nods, even as some part of him doesn't want to. Tony is right, and Peter is old enough to admit it, to want to believe it. Tony’s death is not as fresh as Gwen’s, and still newer than the death of his uncle, but he is allowed to hold his loss as he moves on from it. He knows that. He was trying for so long, but the losses kept piling up, and he’d forgotten because it was easier to wallow in his grief than try and recover for the umpteenth time.

It’s tiring.

As if Tony can see as much in Peter’s eyes—because he has seen it all, because he knows what Peter’s gone through without him all the time—he finishes his speech.

“Peter, I know you’re doubting yourself and your abilities. I know it’s hard. But you don’t need someone else to fix that for you—not me, or Ben, or your parents. It’s okay to miss us—you know that we miss you. But you don’t need me around to be a great hero or a good person. You’re all of those things on your own.”

Tony puts a hand on Peter’s head, pulling back his curls and looking directly into his eyes. “But if you need the assurance…you’re everything I could have hoped for and more. I love you, and I’m so proud of you, okay? No matter what.”

"I still want to stay," Peter admits, his voice quiet. There's a difference in knowing he can't and wanting. It's a childish part of himself that he's allowing to be obstinate.

Tony only smiles, though, understanding when he admits, "And some part of me wants to keep you here. But it's not your time. Not yet, okay? You have apologies to make to a very pretty girl, an aunt that would break the rules of spacetime to kick my ass if you died in your twenties, a kid that needs your mentorship…"

"What if I get him killed?" Peter asks abruptly. He hadn't even considered what mentorship would mean, in the long run. "Tony, how many times did I almost die before I turned eighteen? I did die, on an alien world. How can I promise that won't happen to him?"

"You can't," Tony chuckles. "There are no guarantees in any part of life, kid, you know that. He could get taken down by a supervillain or a car in equal measure. But one way he's fighting for the city—for the people he believes in. One way makes him the hero that he is."

Tony shrugs. "That's why I never stopped you."

"You couldn't stop me."

"That too. But that fear? That's what is going to make you better. It made me better."

Peter nods, understanding. His fear for a kid he doesn't even know is just the same as Tony's fear was for him in the beginning.

But look at what grew out of that: he and Tony freakin' Stark, standing here in the afterlife filled with love for each other, planning to continue their lifelong legacy of work to make the world a better place.

Peter would argue that alone is worth it.

Peter steps forward, bringing Tony into another hug—a final hug. "I love you."

Tony's thumb finds the back of Peter's neck, gently stroking. "I love you too, kiddo."

"You'll keep watching over me? Just in case?"

"Of course. I'll let Ben take a turn too, invite your parents into the Spidey Protection Program."

"I'd really like that." He backs up to look at Tony. "And when May gets here, could you—"

"We'll take care of her." In exchange, Tony asks, "Can you tell Pepper and Morgan—oh, and Rhodey and Happy, and don't forget Bruce—"

"I'll tell everyone that you miss them. That you're waiting."

"Such a good kid," Tony remarks, running a hand through Peter’s hair again before landing to cup his cheek again, like he’s treasuring the new gesture before it’s taken from him. "Be safe...well, as much as you can. More family vacations and less hospital visits, okay?"

"Yeah, okay,” Peter agrees, twitching up a real smile through the last of his tears. “Goodbye, Tony."

"Bye, Pete. I'll see you soon. Just—not too soon! And I want to see any future grand-babies all the time, you hear me? No absentee fathering! And—"

The world around Peter grows blurred again, taking him out the same way he came in.

The sound of Tony’s voice echoes into the beeping of a heart monitor.

The ethereal warmth fades into the reality of cold air conditioning—a scratchy hospital blanket is the only shield from the cold. A tube is uncomfortably jammed down his throat.

The life in front of him is no more enticing than it was before, with Tony. It will be weeks spent in recovery despite his healing powers, groveling at Michelle’s feet to make up for leaving her in the first place, apology after apology to his aunt for not calling. He’ll owe Morgan at least a week at the cabin, if not more treats to be exploited from his wallet later. Most importantly—at the risk of Miles Morales’ life—he has to track down a reckless kid and try to teach him to be a better hero when Peter himself is a five alarm tire fire and a half.

But there is also a lot of life still out there that he doesn’t want to forget about:

Aunt May’s one and only good recipe—sweet potato pie. She always flits around their tiny apartment covered in flour and smelling of spices, slapping his hands away from the counter with a firm, “Don’t you dare.”

MJ’s drawings from years past taped to the walls of his bedroom, her unread stacks of hardcovers littering every empty surface, and the way she always stops reading to kiss him goodnight before he goes out on patrol.

Morgan and Pepper, the cabin, the memories he wants to forget and all of the new ones he’s made there next to his little pseudo-sister that have helped make her into the kind, empathetic kid that he would do anything for in a heartbeat.

Peter still has a lot to tell all of them, the words he promised Tony he’d relay.

Peter opens his eyes.

#irondad #spiderson #marvel #friendly neighborhood exchange #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #my writing

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dear-selena · 5 years ago

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All I See (Peter Parker x Soulmate! Reader): Chapter 5

Peter Parker x Reader Soulmate!AU

Summary: You live in a world where women start to gain color when they meet their soulmate, but they cannot see all the colors at once until they’ve united with them. Peter Parker is your soulmate, but he has no idea. You want to tell him about the colors you see, but are afraid to. Sometimes, girls can be malicious with the soulmate troupe, and you don’t want Peter to think you’re doing the same. So you keep quiet, and experience one color at a time.

It isn’t until Liz Allan comes in the picture that all you see is green, and you hate it.

Warnings: Angst, one or two small swear words

A/N: Wow, you guys are incredible! Thank you all for the support you’ve given me so far! I haven’t written in so long, and posting my fan fiction on here was a little nerve wrecking. But I’m so glad I got to share this story with you all!

This chapter is a lot longer than the previous ones, and I plan on uploading an epilogue to wrap things up, but this chapter should ultimately answer all your questions that I left you hanging on. If there’s something you still want to ask, please hit me up! Otherwise, enjoy the 2nd to final installment of my first Peter Parker fanfiction!

Chapter Five: Intense Colors

Words: 3217

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You didn’t leave your house for two days.

After running away from Peter, you found yourself sobbing into a bathroom sink. With puffy eyes and tear stains stuck on your cheeks, you slowly accepted the blue color you were experiencing. You’ve never seen blue before, as Peter’s never made you sad before. But considering how your confession went and how angry he became, you think you’ll be seeing blue for a long time.

You ultimately decide to skip the rest of the school day, and sneak off campus to go home early. Normally, you would never rebel like this, but you felt this situation would be an exception. Running off campus, you start the long 30 minute walk home, trying to hold in your tears out in public. However, once you get home, you make a beeline to your room. Despite your house being empty with your parents at work and your siblings not ditching school, you want to shut the world out, especially when they get home.

You broke into loud sobs as you flung yourself onto your bed, well aware of how obnoxiously dramatic you were acting. All the frustration and emotion you bottled in for so long suddenly flowed out of you, ready to drown anyone close to you.

Letting out your emotions was important in order to calm down, so you continue to cry into your pillow until you felt you couldn’t cry anymore. After what felt like an eternity (when it reality, it was ten minutes), you found yourself dozing off, tired from everything you’ve experienced today. Within minutes, you were fast asleep.

A few hours later, you woke up with a startle to your phone furiously vibrating. Your eyes flutter open as you tried to get a bearing of your surroundings, groggy from your nap. You grab your phone to see Peter’s unflattering profile picture light up your screen.

He was calling you.

As much as you wanted to answer the phone and hear his voice, as much as you wanted to talk to him and sort things out, you were still utterly overwhelmed over what happened. You didn’t feel you were ready to face him again.

You didn’t feel you were ready to talk to someone who doesn’t want you.

You immediately decline the call and quickly turn off your phone, throwing it back on your nightstand and turning over in your bed. You try going back to sleep, but after twenty minutes of frustratingly tossing and turning, you realize your body wasn’t cooperating with you. Sighing with frustration, you get out of bed, and start doing the homework you knew you had.

For the next two days, you found yourself completely unmotivated to do anything productive. You would wake up for school, but found yourself panicking and your blue vision becoming more intense. It didn’t help that when you turned your phone back on, you found a dozen messages from your friends.

From: Ned

Hey (Y/N) I heard about what happened… are you okay?

From: MJ

I’m glad you were able to talk to him, but you’re kind of being ridiculous right now.

From: Ned

I’m really worried about you (Y/N)... please call me back when you get the chance.

From: Peter

(Y/N) Where’d you go?

From: Peter

Please talk to me. Are you okay?

From: Peter

Please call me when you’re ready (Y/N). I’m really concerned about you.

Yeah right Peter…

Your parents ended up finding you in your distressed state before school was supposed to start, constantly rereading Peter’s messages yet refusing to answer. Embarrassed at how your parents found you, you try to play it off as nothing was wrong and you were just sick. However, your parents could see right through you. Hesitantly, you explained what happened with Peter, your colors, and Liz. They immediately understood.

“Sweetie it’s okay,” Your parents cooed as they helped calm you from your panic. “Soulmates are destined to work out…”

Peter said the exact same thing to you. But it just didn’t feel true anymore.

They wholeheartedly understood your decision to stay home from school that day. Although they started to grow more concerned when you avoided school the next day as well. By the time Thursday rolled around, your parents forced you out of the house. They didn’t want you shutting the world out anymore. They wanted you to face your issues head on.

As much as you wanted to argue with them, they did have a point.

You make it to school that Thursday morning, extremely aware of everyone’s eyes on you. Everyone looks so different now they were blue, and it was still unsettling to see this color. But you need to get used to this color. After all, you knew you’d be seeing it for a long time.

Things went well during the first half of the school. Teachers caught you up with your lessons and you simply focus on note-taking and getting to your classes on time. You didn’t see any of your friends yet, and for the classes you had with Peter, you manage to get to class very last minute so you could avoid him at all costs. Eventually, lunch rolls around and you start walking to the cafeteria. While thinking about what slop you wanted to eat for lunch, you look up to see Peter talking to Liz. For a moment, your vision turns into a very familiar shade of green, but slowly fades back into the blue you’ve seen for days. You knew you should have expected to see them together, but it still made you a little sad to see your soulmate with someone else.

Who are you kidding, you were absolutely heartbroken.

Peter turns his head and his gaze locked on you. Your eyes go wide and you feel your body go completely numb, your vision changing colors instantly. You saw pink, yellow, and blue fight for dominance as Peter’s eyes widen, putting his full attention on you. All you wanted was to run into his arms, hold him close, and apologize to him over and over again, hoping he would forgive you. However, blue won the battle, and engulfs your vision once again, reminding you of the emotions you were still fighting to hide.

Before Peter could react, you found yourself running away from the cafeteria. You keep running until you suddenly found yourself in front of the school library. Without hesitation, you walk into the library, and spent your lunch period there.

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

For the following two weeks, you commit yourself to an unhealthy cycle. You’d arrive at school at the last minute just to avoid running into Peter before class. For every class you had with Peter and Ned, you’d get to class last minute and sit close to the door, so that when class was over, you could run out and dodge them. You weren’t sure if they actually paid attention to you, but from the uncomfortable tingling you felt on the back of your neck during class, you knew they noticed you.

During lunch you’d go to the library instead of the cafeteria, diving back into reading as a way to distract yourself. Getting through a majority of the reading your english teacher recommended, you found that you thoroughly enjoying these books. Reading was something you wished you had more time for but unfortunately, school took a lot of your free time away.

At this point, your unhealthy routine started to feel natural, and you almost forgot why you were acting this way. But the blue that engulfed your vision was a constant reminder of how your soulmate made you feel. You really wanted to make things right, but you honestly didn’t know how. Communication was obviously not your strong suit, and you were tired of making things worse.

On Wednesday, you were doing your avoidance routine as usual, showing up to class last minute, and leaving right when the bell rang. When lunch rolls around, you grab your lunch from your locker and make your way to the library per usual. However, when you approach the table you usually occupy, you suddenly stop dead in your tracks. Reading a book, right in front of you, in the chair you’ve claimed for the last two weeks, the one and only Peter Parker sat lacking concentration. Your eyes widen as you took a good look at your soulmate that you’ve been avoiding. He was turning the pages of his book, practically skimming the contents. His right leg shook underneath the table and he bit his bottom lip back. His left hand was in his hair, his head resting against it uneasily. If you were reading things correctly, you’d assume he was nervous.

What does he have to be nervous about?

Before he could see you, you turn around and start walking away. Without looking back, you thought you were in the clear. However, a hand suddenly lands on your left shoulder and you turn around to see Peter staring at you with deep concern.

“(Y/N),” Peter whispers pleadingly. “Can we go talk somewhere private?”

You look into his eyes, your vision suddenly turning purple and your hands starting to shake. Trying to avoid his eyes was nearly impossible, as you were mesmerized by his stare. You haven’t actually taken a good look at him since you ran from him two weeks ago, and it was completely overwhelming to have him suddenly in front of you. You knew he was angry at you, that much was clear, but as he held your shoulder with security and pleadingly staring at you, something inside of you melted.

“...okay,” You hesitantly say, unsure if your voice was audible.

Peter nods his head and starts to walk out of the library, letting go of your shoulder. In a trance, you follow closely behind him, staring at him in disbelief. Peter walks forward, but looks behind himself to make sure you’re still following him. As much as you want to run, you knew avoiding Peter was only making things worse. As much as you didn’t want to talk to him yet, you knew he was ready to talk to you.

As much as you didn’t want to confront your soulmate, you knew he at least deserves a chance to tell you why he doesn’t want you.

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

Peter led me to the parking lot outside the school’s entrance.

Sitting next to him on the curb, you found yourself lost in thought. For the longest time, there was silence between you two. You look down at your shoes, refusing to glance at your soulmate. From the corner of your eye. You could see that Peter was in the exact same position as you.

Crazy thoughts ran through your mind as your vision turns purple. Did Peter want to explain why he wanted to be with Liz? Did Peter want to talk about the soulmate thing and let you down easy? Did Peter feel bad for you? Either way, you couldn’t help but feel your anxiety going through the roof.

“What color do you see?”

Your head jerks towards Peter at his sudden question. He still looks down, but lifts his head up slightly to make eye contact with you. As your brain processes that he was actually talking to you, you study his features that you secretly miss. Even though you wish you weren’t here, you’ll admit you miss seeing Peter and talking to him. You miss talking to him everyday and hanging out with him and Ned. You knew you were putting yourself through a lot of grief avoiding him, but you felt your guard completely break down in front of him.

“Purple.” You look back down at your shoes.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m scared…” You felt some tears fall.

Peter puts his full attention on you. “(Y/N), What are you scared of?”

Your hesitation was obvious. You muster all the courage you have and look up at him. “I don’t know what’s about to happen.”

Peter nods his head and looks back down, thoughts obviously running through his own mind. When he’s ready however, he looks back up at you. “I get that. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure what’s about to happen either.” He laughs at himself, but you don’t find anything funny. “How are you doing?”

You look down and shake your head, trying to stop the tears from falling. “Honestly, it’s been hard… accepting everything and all.”

Peter nods his head. “Same here. I wish you just talked to me earlier you know?”

More tears fall out, despite your denial. “I know I’m so sorry Peter. I knew about what happened with you and Gwen way before you told me about it and I didn’t want to freak you out. I thought if I told you about it, you’d think I was lying and hate me. I wanted things to happen naturally but I was too late.” You take a deep breath, ready to accept the consequences of your actions. “But it’s more important for me to support you. If you rather be with Liz I totally understand. She’s a gorgeous girl and I don’t know her well, but I think she’ll be good for you. You deserve someone who cares about you, and I hope you find what you’re looking for with her.”

Peter’s face morphs into a look of utter confusion. “(Y/N), what the hell are you talking about?”

You quizzically look at him, Your vision going back to blue. “... Don’t you like Liz?”

Peter immediately smacks his face in frustration. “Oh my god (Y/N), you’ve got to be kidding me!” Your eyes widen suddenly but he looks back up at you. “I mean, yeah, I liked Liz. But she’s not my soulmate.”

You open your mouth in shock, but before you can comment, he continues to talk.

“I believe you (Y/N), I believe that you’re my soulmate.”

You look at him in disbelief as you finally let the tears flow, a warm fuzzy feeling erupting in your chest and your vision turning pink. Bringing your knees close to your chest and hugging your legs, you try to contain your emotions. Peter continues to look at you with concern, patiently waiting for your response.

“What about you and Liz?”

Peter sighs. “Honestly, there really isn’t anything anymore. I ended up telling her about you and the colors you saw because of me, and she opened up to me about how she met her soulmate back in Seattle. She just doesn’t like the type of person he is, so she’s trying to avoid him at all costs. She asked me if I still wanted to go on a date with her, but I told her I’d rather be with my soulmate.”

“Then why did you yell at me when I confessed?”

“Because you waited to tell me!” Peter ran a hand through his hair. “We’ve been best friends for months, but you knew from the moment you met me that you were my soulmate and you didn’t tell me. I didn’t realize you saw different colors depending on what I did or how I made you feel. I’ve always wanted my soulmate to be honest with me from the start, but you didn’t say anything and thinking about that drives me nuts. Not gonna lie, I was angry at you. In fact, I’m still a little angry. I hate that you kept this from me.”

You shrink into yourself, burying your head into you knees and mumbling an “I’m sorry”.

“Hey, Hey, Hey,” Peter quietly says as he slides to put his arm around you, rubbing his hand on your arm to try and soothe you. You find yourself leaning into his embrace, ultimately realizing how much you love being in his presence. “Yes, I’m still a little worked up right now. But that doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

You look up at him, the pink becoming more intense. “I like you (Y/N), I have for a while now. I honestly wondered if you were my soulmate, but I thought you would have told me a while ago, so I was just happy to be your best friend. When you told Ned, MJ, and I at lunch that you had a soulmate, I honestly thought it couldn’t have been me. I mean, how could a guy like me, awkward and nerdy, be destined to someone as wonderful and beautiful as you?” He laughs at himself again, this time in disbelief.

“Peter! Oh my god no!” You put your hand on his cheek and he looks at you once again. “You’re literally the sweetest person I know. You’re so caring and understanding and I really like how smart you are. You help me when I need someone and I’m so thankful to you. I just want to help you when you needed someone too. Not only that, you’re constantly protecting the city, much to the purple I see when you go out.” Peter and you chuckle at that. “I’m glad that I have a soulmate that’s so wonderful, and not to mention, cute as hell.”

Peter laughs as he takes your unoccupied hand in his. “You can talk to me when things are good, but avoid me when things are bad?” He laughs as you feel a blush cross your cheeks.

“Yeah… you know I don’t do well when bad things happen.”

“Oh trust me (Y/N), I really know that now. Especially after these past two weeks.” Peter stops talking for a moment and the both of you embrace each other after a long awaited reunion. “Honestly, I’m still upset about what happened. I don’t like how you completely avoided me.”

You look at Peter sadly. “I’m sorry, that’s just what I do. I didn’t know how to approach you. Is there anything I can do?”

Peter shakes his head. “No, I think it’ll take time for me to forgive and forget. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave your side now.” You look at him quizzically. “We have so much to catch up on! I want to learn more about my soulmate!”

You look at him happily, completely in shock of what’s happening. Before you knew it, Peter cups your cheek again and leans in quickly, kissing you for the first time. His lips are soft and sweet, and your body turns to putty as he moves his lips with yours. When he pulls away, he puts his forehead on yours, and you open your eyes to see him smiling at you with the most intense shade of pink you’ve seen thus far.

You spend the rest of the lunch period in Peter’s embrace, the two of you kissing constantly and just reminiscing in each other. It wasn’t until you hear the bell ring that you two hesitantly got up and went back to school. For the rest of the day however, you couldn’t focus, as you couldn’t stop thinking about how your soulmate came back into your life. You didn’t think you’d ever see pink again. But like your parents and Peter said before, soulmates are destined to work out.

And you couldn’t wait to grow with him.

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-Tagged List-

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-Peter Parker Tag List-

@sweetcoffeeblandtea // @house-arya // @jovialpeanut

-Permanent Tag List-

@mindset-jupiter // @romance-geek // @imcharishope // @fakindob // @cutiekoa

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x soulmate #peter parker x y/n #spiderman #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #spiderman ffh #ffh #marvel #mcu #tom holland #tom holland x reader #self insert #soulmate #soulmate au #dear-selena-fanfiction

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har-rison-s · 5 years ago

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a heart's health

request: A Steve x reader where they were together but he leaves when he takes the stone back but tony is alive and is protective and the bff of the reader and the reader breaks down and goes into a depression and tony comforts her. Tony said if Steve ever hurt her he’d kill him but he doesn’t kill him but says things like ‘you’ve destroyed her.’ And ‘you are never to talk to her again.’ And just him being mad at Steve a lil bit hehe thank you!

A/N: Hi, yes. Amazing request! This is an AU where Steve comes back as 'young' as he was when he left, old steve don't exist here hoes!!! I mean, darlings. Anywhos, hope this meets your standarts and hope you like this. Happy reading!

main masterlist

mcu masterlist

warnings: talks of injuries, depression, heartbreak

Tony's recovery was going well and quick. He had recently adjusted to walking again, his skin had healed half-way and he was smiling. He was full of life, for the first time you'd seen him like that. He was healthy, and he was happy.

You, nor your heart, could say the same. Your heart had been shattered into a billion pieces very recently. The event, or rather, action still angers you and brings tears to your eyes. You feel physical pain out of what happened. Sometimes it hurts too much to bare.

You see, you thought you were in love. And not one-sidedly. You were both in love, you and Steve, you and Captain America. You rechanted your love to each other frequently, anyone around you getting sick of it, of course. And even when the Snap happened, it wasn't so bad for you. Because you still had Steve. Even if he wasn't at first himself, you still had him by your side and he had you. That was really all you needed.

And how can you now live without someone that was all you had, all you needed and wanted, a part of your every day life? That someone who supposedly loved you, was head over heels in love with you, ready to marry you any day and have children with you? Was he really? If he, at the chance of time travel, went back in time to his days and married an ex-love of his? Ex-love, or so you thought.

Surely this sounds like two different people. But it's just... Steve. Your Steve. Or... he was just a stranger all this time, someone you didn't know at all. You, at least, feel that way. If he was loving you and giving you everything, then how could he just drop all of that and go live a... new life? Marriage and kids, without you in it.

When Tony had first woken up from his coma, you didn't want to tell him yet about what Steve had done. You were smiling when he looked at you first, when you came into his room, and you were smiling so much you started crying. You were emotional, very over-whelmed by everything, and your moods were changing frequently, by the minute.

Tony noticed it right away. And you didn't want to talk about it, talk about yourself and your sadness, when Tony was right there, woken up and alive. Alive! Your best friend, a bare human, survived saving the universe with all six Infinity Stones and Snapping with the glove on his arm. It's miraculous. And that's what should be talked about, not your heartbreak and the love of your life leaving.

He only pressured, or you let him pressure you, about the topic when he was healthy and walking. You didn't let him worry about you. He had done that, worried about you, worried about everyone else important to him, for the longest time. Tony could finally have time to worry about only himself, and you weren't about to steal it from him.

Tony knew you and Steve were together. He was the first one to know, of course, being your best friend comes with that privilege. And, as little as he despised the super soldier, he was happy you had found someone who truly cared and who you truly loved. The road to that wasn't easy.

But he gave Steve the talk that a brother would give his sister's boyfriend or a father to his daughter's boyfriend. The talk about “if you break her heart, I'll kill you” and “nothing goes past my radar”, etc. It was silly to you, a bit intimidating to Steve, but necessary to Tony. He cared for you, and didn't trust Steve as much as he trusted you, so he had to make sure of some things, place some rules down.

Steve leaving you to live another life, gently saying, broke you. Completely. You could say you became a different person. Or... lost the person you were before. You couldn't tell the difference. But Tony could.

Ever since he found out, which was a week since Steve left and supposedly came back, he had been by your side. Or, you his, to be more exact. You were always at the Starks' house, and while they all wished to feel more of your presence, especially little Morgan, who was already ecstatic about her daddy being back on his feet, they understood how big of a toll Steve's actions had taken on you.

Tony gave you the diagnosis of being overwhelmed, heart-broken and tired of pain. A long one, but it fitted. And he, along with Morgan and Pepper, helped you in any way to feel like a person again. You could never thank them enough, you know that.

After Steve, you... you felt worthless. You really thought you had no worth, you were sure of that. Nothing made sense, not a thing had any point or sense in your life anymore. If the person who loved you the most had left you at first chance of travelling back in time, what was the point? Of you, of life?

You were worthless, empty, of no use. If you could sleep, you were having nightmares. If you couldn't, it was because of pain. And when you weren't sleeping, you were staring at the wall or at the ceiling. Doing nothing was how you passed your days. You didn't even eat. Showers were, then seeming, orders from Pepper. Now you know it was only for your own health that at the time didn't seem a concern to you.

The only thing that made sense for you was seeing Tony. The only thing you were looking forward to.

Steve had tried to talk to you after he came back. Calls, messages, e-mails, letters even. You wondered if he'd send a white pigeon with a letter that's tied to its leg with a pink bow. Outrageous, but romantic and cliche. None the less, not appreciated by you. Nothing coming from him would ever seem pleasing to you now. He would never be forgiven.

“Now, I'm not sorry for what I'll say next, even though I live my life as giddy and happy as a kid would, but what the hell are you doing here?” Tony says, looking at Steve with generously wondering eyes that also look at Steve with concern and anger.

Tony sits in his summer chair on the terrace, quite baffled as he looks at the freshly arrived guest. What does he even want? Why has he come here?

Steve sighs, knowing he and Y/N might think his intentions are anything but good, but gives Tony his best smile that he can. It doesn't work, of course, cause Tony's expression doesn't change.

“Hey, Tony.” Steve finally says. “I'm glad to see you in great shape.”

“Oh. One more person of who's health you're interested in, other than yours. Great to hear that. May I repeat my question?”

“I heard it. Just wanted to give you a proper greeting.” There's a pause. Y/N is listening to their dialogue from inside the house. “I came to see Y/N. She's here, right?”

Tony wants to say something, but grunts quietly instead and looks away. He's clearly conflicted between what to say to Steve. He's got, as always, too much to say and that causes a bit of a traffic jam in his head.

“What did I tell you would happen if you hurt her in any way?” Tony asks, looking back at the former captain. Steve sighs and his head hangs low.

“You'd kill me.” He says and looks back at Tony. “Are you gonna do it? Are we going to fight again?”

“No.” Tony strictly says, the traumatic memories coming back. “And you know why? Because I've got a conscience. Because I have limits, and I think everything through. How do you think we all survived this and actually made it happen? Tell me, Steve, do you have a conscience? Cause judging by what you did, it doesn't look like it—”

“Tony, just let me talk to her. That's all I want.”

Tony stands up. “I don't care about what you want, Steve.” He says, anger rising. “You don't get to talk to her anymore. You don't! You should've thought about what she wanted before you...” He trails off. Painful words to say about the actions that hurt his best friend's heart every night. “You broke her, Steve. You absolutely damaged that beautiful woman, you destroyed her soul.” Tony's eyes find Steve's. Confusion, misunderstanding, searching. “How could you ever do that?”

Steve sighs. He doesn’t really have an answer. Well, he does, but not one that would appease Tony.

“That’s what I thought.” Tony says after a half minute of silence. “Just go, Steve. Things are better here without you. They always were.”

Permanent taglist: @v0idbella @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @works-of-fanfiction @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @stfxlou @ur-gunna-h8-ths @one-taylor-one-vision@empressdreams @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie @deardeacy @fvckyeahbenhardy @thewinchesterchronicles @mavieesttriste16 @mrsmazzello @benhardyseyes @langdonzvoid @intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #tony x reader #tony imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve x reader #steve imagine #steve rogers imagines #avengers imagine #avengers x imagine

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imperial-martian · 5 years ago

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Sculpture - Chapter One {Mycroft Holmes x Reader}

A/N: Mycroft is out of character throughout the entire story. He is only this way towards the reader and their is a reason as to why he is. Their is a sequel that I have planned for this story for months. It goes on to explain the backstory of the reader and explains why Mycroft acts the way he does with the reader.

If you dislike the fact that Mycroft is out of character, don’t read this story then. I do hope you all enjoy that do decide to read this!

The sound of your laughter was the only sound that filled the relatively silent manor- the only other sounds being a ticking clock and the man before you, who was currently trying, and somehow failing, to set a tea cup down after accidentally spilling some on himself.

Wiping the tears that clouded your vision, you stood up from your usual reading spot by the electric fireplace that stood by the corner of the room and made your way over to the, now, struggling man. You sighed gently, shaking your head playfully at the auburn-haired man before you.

"Damn," he mumbled just as you grabbed the pocket square from the breast pocket of his blazer, carefully beginning to dab at his, once, crisp button-up. You bit your lip on concentration, making sure not to allow his damp shirt touch his skin. You didn't want the hot tea that spilled on it to burn him more than it already had.

Rubbing his pale hands, which have now reddened a bit due to the scalding tea, he looked down at you. Curiously, he watched as you carefully wiped his button-up, his eyes following your hand as you wiped down his shirt, following a trail of tea that had stopped just before his abdomen.

You had backed away once you made sure that his clothes weren't nearly as damp as before. You watched as he smoothed down his shirt, an unconscious habit of his, and smiled softly now that you knew his clothes weren't as hot as before and could touch his chest without the worry of it causing him pain.

"You're slipping Mycroft," you teased, folding his slightly damp pocket square and placing it on his desk before turning to look up at the taller man with a soft grin plastered on your lips. Gently, you patted his chest, missing the spot where the tea had spilt, and giving the man a small smirk, which he returned with narrowed eyes and a slight head tilt to show that he clearly wasn't amused.

"Am I?" he questioned rhetorically, raising his brow playfully at you. "Why do you think that is?" he asked, watching as your grin faded and you now brought a finger up to your lip as you thought, which only caused him to grin now.

You looked up to meet his gaze when you noticed his grin, your gentle e/c eyes searching his pale blue ones to find any answer that he had for his own question in them. Mycroft's lacked emotions, like they usually did, however, you learned to see the hidden ones in time. Working with Mycroft Holmes for nearly twelve years gave you time to find the subtle hints of emotions in his eyes, or even just his thoughts on a subject by his body language.

Mycroft was truly a mystery to you, and yet you noticed the softness in his pale blue eyes. The softness that only grew the more he looked into your gentle e/c ones.

"Hmmm, I'm not quite sure, Mr. Holmes"- he raised a brow, knowing that you only called him that when you were acting innocent towards him -"Why don't you tell me."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes again, knowing exactly what game you were playing and planning to make sure he was the winner of it.

He didn't break eye contact with you, if he did he'd be letting you win and he simply could not let that happen- he had started this game and he would finish it. Mycroft knew all the emotions you were feeling at the moment: amusement, enthusiasm and the most common and visible of them all being care.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he walked passed you, gently brushing his shoulder with yours as he made his way to the door so he could head upstairs and change.

"I have no idea, my dear," Mycroft replied, looking over his shoulder to look at you, "it's part of the reason why I asked."

You crossed your arms and wiggled a finger at Mycroft, your alternative to pointing it at him. "Then what was the other reason you asked?" you wondered, watching as Mycroft turned the door handle and pushed the door open a bit, leaving it ajar.

Mycroft was still looking over his shoulder, his structure showing his usual demeanor, but his lips showing you the playfulness he was currently feeling.

"Oh, Miss L/N, surely you know what the answer to that is," Mycroft urged, chuckling softly when you only returned his statement with a shake of your head. "Well, if you must know," he started, turning around and grinning wickedly to himself. "Maybe you are the reason I am slipping."

You heard the door open a bit more and the sound of Mycroft's footsteps walking towards the stairs that led to the second floor. You stuttered to reply back, having not expected Mycroft to flirt with you, especially in such an obvious, verbal way.

He chuckled, hearing your struggle and called back out to you from where he stood, "kidding!" Then, he finally made his way up the stairs and walked into his room, shutting the door behind him.

By the time Mycroft had returned back to the office after having taken a quick shower to ensure that he didn't get sticky due to the honey and sugar in his tea, he wore a new button up, a light grey one, and completely disregarded the blazer he would usually wear around the house.

You noticed that he kept the same trousers, those haven't had a single drop of tea spill onto them. It was a simple black trouser that could have been completely different from the one he wore before had it not had a piece of string that hung from the left foot hole right before the fibula. You smiled proudly to yourself, knowing that your deduction, something that Mycroft taught you a bit about through the years, was right and that he simply found no point in wearing a new pair of trousers when this one was perfectly clean.

Now, you were nowhere near as good at deductions as Mycroft or even his younger brother who had come up in many conversations between you and your employer, but you still tried your best to notice things others wouldn't bother looking for.

You blinked a bit as you heard the sound of the door shutting and began to focus on Mycroft, who's back was facing towards you as he took a step back from the door. Smiling at the man softly, you turned back around and faced his desk where you had organized some of his files while he was gone.

Mycroft walked towards his chair, sitting down upon it once he reached it. Noticing the nearness on his desk instantly, he hummed and looked up towards you.

Smiling genuinely, he said, "Thank you, Y/N," before leaning back a bit and observing you for a short moment.

"Of course Mycroft," you replied, shrugging to show that it was really no problem.

Thinking to yourself again, now that you were both sitting in enjoyable silence once again, you took the time to think about how almost twelve years ago you were living in such disarray. You weren't proud of your past, by any means, but the one man in front of you was able to turn your entire world around within just a few years.

Sure, he hadn't been as nice to you as he is now. It took at least two years for him to finally ease up around you, and another two for him to give you the position of his in-house personal assistant and not just his personal assistant.

It took years for Mycroft to actually open up about his emotions to you. Six years to be exact. Before that, he was just your stuck up boss who had saved you on the streets that winter night. Of course, you had stuck with him having been far too thankful for what he had done for you since that night.

Yet, your relationship grew with time, like most things in the world, and although it was strictly professional he had deemed you a friend, a word he dared not to say.

It was rather strange, how things had seemed to change between you both, because, although it took years, Mycroft seemed to open up to you rather willingly. Of course, he had been hesitant when telling you something, and even though you weren't sure why he had so freely told you the things he did anyways, you were glad he had. Not only had it improved your trust in him, but you had then told him things that you would never have told to anyone else.

Mycroft, already having deduced what you had told him, still listened. He knew that you needed to verbalize your issues, and even though it was hard for you to do so, he encouraged you the best he could while still giving you the option to stop the conversation where it was.

And you smiled now, knowing that you couldn't wish for anyone else to be your friend. So, looking up at Mycroft as he began to write something down on a crisp white sheet of paper, you leaned forward.

"Y'know, we should really go out for ice cream like we used to," you stated with a soft chuckle as you saw him look up at you with a raised brow.

He grinned before replying back with a simple nod and standing up after he checked the time. "Well, shall we then?" he asked before quickly debating with himself if he should grab a blazer or not, but looking back at you and realizing you were grabbing the sweater on the back of your chair, he decided to grab his.

"I suppose we shall," you hummed, letting your hands slide through the sleeves of your sweater and waiting for Mycroft as he just threw his blazer of his shoulder.

Nodding, Mycroft walked towards the office door before holding it open for you and walking out behind you and doing the same with the front door.

"Let's walk," you said softly, knowing that the ice cream parlor was only a twenty-minute walk and that it was far too nice out for the both of you to be sitting in a car.

Mycroft chuckled and looked over at you, grinning slightly. "Alright," he whispered before walking out to the front of the driveway.

Tags: @klinenovakwinchester

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#bbc mycroft #bbc sherlock #mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft x reader #x reader #mycroft #holmes #bbc mycroft x reader #fluff #mycroft x personal assistant reader #in house pa reader

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nicolewrites · 5 years ago

Text

heartstrings - iv

hey here’s a reminder that this was supposed to be a one-shot and it’s now 4 parts with part 5 on the way because i wrote too much again.

part i | part ii | part iii

Rating: T Genre: Romance Characters: [Vax’ildan and Keyleth] [Percival de Rolo and Vex’ahlia] Words: 6,990

Kiki @keylethashari has tagged you in a tweet: New Q&A up and we’re talking music! creds to @vexmachina @vaxmachina @burtreynoldsesq @thelumineers and others!! // CR1 Vaxleth+Perc’ahlia YouTuber/Musician/Celebrity AU

AO3

Vax came to feeling a tingling pain in his abdomen. At first, all he could manage was staring at the backs of his eyelids because everything felt heavy and sluggish. After a long moment, he managed to force his eyes open, only to be nearly blinded by bright fluorescent lights. He squinted against them for a moment before his vision adjusted and he was staring at a plain white ceiling.

His limbs felt unreasonably heavy and stiff. He shifted, trying to raise his arm, and he finally looked around. He was wearing a thin, flimsy gown covered by thin, stiff blankets. His left index finger was encased by a plastic tip and there was a rhythmic beeping to his left. Vax also noticed that there was an IV connected into his left wrist.

The shock hit him suddenly as the memories slammed to the forefront of his mind. The dull pain in his stomach throbbed again and Vax jerked his hand to press against his abdomen. The sudden movement was apparently broad enough to awaken the woman dozing in the chair next to his bed.

Vax had hardly noticed Vex before she jolted awake, startled eyes fixating on him as soon as they opened. “Vax!” she gasped. She leaned forward in the plastic hospital chair and touched his arm. “How do you feel?”

Vax swallowed. His throat was uncomfortably dry. “I was shot,” he muttered.

Vex licked her lips, looking unnerved. “Yes,” she agreed. “And it scared the crap out of everyone.” She punched his arm.

“Ow!” he cried, glaring at her as he rubbed his shoulder. “What was that for?”

Vex folded her arms. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

The pain in his stomach pulsed again and Vax frowned, leaning back against the pillows. “How long have I been out?”

“All night and,” she paused, checking her phone, “most of today. They brought you into surgery almost immediately when you got here.”

Vax nodded slowly. “Sunday afternoon then, right?”

Vex nodded. “I should call your nurse. They should know you’re awake.”

Just as she stood to leave his side and the room, the door opened. A kind looking woman in scrubs who was likely his nurse stepped into the room, followed by someone that Vax recognized. His heart leapt into his throat as Keyleth followed the nurse in. She looked exhausted and worried, but as beautiful as ever. Her face was clear of make-up and she was wearing a simple sweater and jeans, but she was still radiant.

Her eyes lit up as they made eye contact and her lips curled into a relieved smile. Vax felt his own features twitch into a matching one, but the nurse quickly stepped to his bedside and broke his line of sight with Keyleth.

“Good to see you awake,” the nurse said politely. “How are you feeling?”

Vax shrugged awkwardly. “Okay, all things considered. I guess,” he paused, “I’m not sure how much is me and how much is the drugs.”

The nurse chuckled. “You’re on a fairly low dose, Vax’ildan, don’t worry. I can see about getting you something to eat and finding Dr. Carlisle to check up on you.”

Vex stood from her visitor’s chair. “I’ll handle the food. If he’s alright to have non-hospital food that is.”

The nurse nodded. She turned to look back at Vax. “You’re a very lucky young man. The shot managed to miss all of your vital organs. It did some tissue damage and will take time to recover from, but all things considered, it wasn’t a bad place to take a bullet. He’s free to eat almost anything, but softer foods would be better so not to agitate anything.”

Vex smiled. “Of course.” She looked down at Vax and then across the room at Keyleth who had resorted to standing awkwardly by the door. “I’m sure that Keyleth would be more than happy to keep you company while I go out and pick something up. I’ll let the others know you’re awake too.”

With that, Vex swept out of the room and after several brief moments of assessments, the nurse followed, leaving Vax and Keyleth alone. She hovered by the door, shifting from foot to foot nervously. Vax exhaled slowly and gestured for the chair next to the bed. Keyleth bit her lip, but walked towards it, sinking into the seat Vex had vacated.

“Are you alright?” they asked at the exact same time.

Keyleth’s eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. “Vax!” she exclaimed. “You were just shot! Why on earth are you asking if I’m alright?”

Vax laughed shortly. “Well, that man had been bothering you before he decided to put a bullet in me. Plus, I did pass out so I don’t know what happened afterwards.”

Keyleth’s expression softened. She took Vax’s hand in both of hers. “Don’t worry. Grog took him down almost immediately and the police were quick to respond. You were the only one who got hurt.”

Vax nodded. “Okay,” he replied slowly. “And,” he made eye contact, “I feel surprisingly okay.”

Keyleth exhaled in relief and squeezed his hand again. “I’m so relieved. You really scared us. I never thought there would be that much blood.” She trailed off, her eyes looking haunted and sad. “I thought we were going to lose you.”

“Didn’t Vex tell you? I’m much too stubborn to die.”

His response drew a tentative smile from her as she relaxed into the situation a bit more. “Regardless, I’m so glad you’re doing alright.”

Vax nodded. “Me too. Though I’ll admit, I have always fantasized about fainting in the arms of a beautiful person.”

Keyleth gave him a short look. “Idiot.”

To his complete dismay, it was almost two full weeks before the doctors felt comfortable enough to discharge him. Even then, they scheduled regular checkups and wanted him to go to physical therapy to regain core strength that the injury had destroyed. Vax was just glad to be leaving. Even with constant visits from Vex, Keyleth, and their other friends, he had been getting stir crazy.

Gilmore had offered to drive Vex and Vax back to their apartment from the hospital and Vex was currently wheeling Vax towards the side exit of the hospital. Apparently, somehow the news had leaked that someone big was getting released today, so paparazzi had gathered at the front of the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. The staff had graciously allowed the twins to exit through a usually employee only entrance as to avoid such deals while security attempted to control the crowd of reporters.

Once outside, a nurse and Vex helped him stand from the wheelchair. Vax grit his teeth and walked towards the car. Gilmore was already there, holding the door and Vax nodded gratefully to him.

Gilmore pulled away from the hospital very shortly after and they were headed home. Vex and Gilmore struck up a casual conversation and Vax pulled out his phone, unlocking it.

[Vax] headed home, finally

[Keyleth] oh yay!! i’ll come by tomorrow, ok?

[Vax] please do, i think i’ll go crazy otherwise.

[Keyleth] :P

He switched out of the text app and his finger hovered over Twitter. He had avoided the platform for the entirety of his hospital stay and it was morbid curiosity that caused him to open the app now. A news tweet was the first thing to catch his eye.

E! News @enews • 2 hours ago

Half of Youtube pop-folk duo #VoxMachina being released from hospital today after suffering gun-shot wound during fan meet-and-greet two weeks ago.

Vax sighed. He knew that the news would have broken somehow, explaining the crowd of reporters and celebrity watchers, but he was hoping it hadn’t been by a major celebrity news source. He switched to his page and saw several thousand mentions in tweets of people wishing him a swift recovery and thousands of new followers.

He searched up Vex’s username and saw that she had been conspicuously silent for the last two weeks. Her latest tweet was a retweet.

Vex @vexmachina • Aug 14

icymi :/ | Gunshots fired at Vox Machina event, sources report 1 seriously injured - cnn.com

The tweet was attached to a link from the CNN website reporting on the incident. Vax swallowed hard and left Vex’s Twitter. He was left staring at his own newsfeed and his finger drifted towards the compose button. He clicked it.

Vax @vaxmachina • Just Now

Headed home. Privacy for myself, family, and friends is appreciated at this time. #VoxMachina

Vex’s phone chimed as he tweeted and she paused her conversation with Gilmore to check the notification. She turned in her seat and made eye contact with him. “That was tasteful and surprisingly well-done,” she said after finishing reading it.

He shrugged. “Necessary.”

She sighed. “Unfortunately.”

True to her word, Keyleth buzzed the apartment at 10 the next morning. Vax let her up and opened the door as she arrived. He was walking with the support of a cane to compensate for his pained abdomen. She slid inside the apartment and immediately linked their arms together so that she could support some of his weight.

Together they walked to the couch where they sat side by side. Keyleth was studying him intently, but before either of them could say anything, Vex swept into the living room. Vax’s head snapped to his sister as she looked between him and Keyleth, assessing the situation.

“Hello Keyleth,” Vex greeted politely after a moment.

“Hi Vex,” Keyleth replied.

Vex’s gaze turned to Vax. “I’m assuming she can babysit you while I’m out?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a child.”

She folded her arms and raised a perfectly manicured brow. “But at the moment you are something of an invalid, aren’t you?”

Vax scowled, but Vex just winked and strode into the kitchen. Vax and Keyleth sat awkwardly for a long moment. Vex reappeared in the room, now wearing a coat and she headed for the front door. She gave the pair one last look.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she advised teasingly.

Keyleth flushed bright red and Vax hurled a pillow from the couch at the door, but Vex managed to dodge by ducking out the door, laughing. He sighed and turned to Keyleth. Her cheeks were painted dark pink and she was looking anywhere else in the room except at him. He chuckled and gently touched her arm.

“Kiki, she’s just teasing.”

Keyleth turned back towards him and she bit her lip. “I know.”

They fell back into silence for a moment. Vax inhaled sharply and stood from the couch. Slowly, he made his way across the room to where his guitar sat in its stand. He turned back to the couch, returning to his seat next to Keyleth as she watched him cautiously. He studied her face for a long moment.

He strummed an A flat chord followed by a C minor, a B flat, and an E flat. Her eyes widened marginally and she leaned forward almost unintentionally.

“You’re afraid to need someone, ‘cause you’ve been burned, you’ve been burned, you’ve been burned,” Vax sang quietly.

Keyleth’s breath hitched as she listened to him sing. Vax sang the first verse softly, managing to only stumble on a few of the chords. He made it partway through the chorus before Keyleth’s hands reached for his and stilled them on the guitar. Vax broke off and looked at her. To his surprise, her eyes were filled with tears.

“What is this song?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s called Temporary Love. Ben Platt, the guy who played Evan Hansen, released his album earlier this year.” Vax inhaled slowly, turning one of his hands to hold hers carefully. “I have to admit it took me most of Friday night after Pike left to figure it out.”

She laughed and wiped her eyes with her free hand. “Vax, why are you so good to me? I pushed you away and you almost died and you’re still here singing to me.”

“Kiki, come on,” he mumbled gently squeezing her hand.

She gently pulled her hand back, letting it rest in her lap. “Well, the song was accurate enough. I’m terrified of love, Vax.”

He shifted, lowering the guitar to the floor before turning back to her. “Keyleth, does this have something to do with your mother?” She inhaled sharply and gave him a confused look. Vax gave a small half-smile in return. “Pike mentioned it, but said I should ask you about it.”

Keyleth let out a slow sigh. “My mother vanished on a work trip. One day everything was great, and the next day she was gone. My father was devastated.” She paused shaking her head. “I’ve never seen anyone that broken before. I missed my mother too, but the way my father reacted was terrifying. The thought of doing that to someone, or,” she made eye contact with him, “someone doing that to me, is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever felt.”

Vax leaned forward, taking both of her hands. “Keyleth, I’m so sorry about your mother. I can’t promise that nothing will ever happen, but I can promise I would never leave you unless there was no choice in the matter.”

She closed her eyes and frowned. “You got shot and you almost died and I was so terrified. I felt like my father in that moment and after I realized how stupid I was being since losing you still hurt anyways, even if I couldn’t let myself,” she paused, unable to finish the sentence.

Vax squeezed her hands. “I’m right here,” he urged gently.

She opened her eyes and he saw a new resolution there. “I’m a mess, Vax. I’m insecure and scared and naive. This won’t be easy.”

He smiled gently. “It’s a damn good thing that I learned some persistence in London then, isn’t it?”

Keyleth smiled and it was like sunlight breaking through the crowds. Vax had half a mind to lean forward and kiss her again when the apartment phone rang insistently. Keyleth jumped, her head whipping to where it sat on the coffee table. Vax rolled his eyes and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Stringbean! Scanlan and I were wondering if you wanted some company since you’re finally at home and we haven’t seen you in days!” Pike’s voice was cheerful and startling because Vax had definitely been expecting Vex, not Pike and Scanlan.

“I’m, uh,” he paused glancing at Keyleth, “Keyleth’s here,” he said finally.

“Oh!” Pike exclaimed. She said something away from the receiver for a moment. “We can come back later?”

Keyleth was smiling and she shook her head at him. Vax chuckled. “You’re already here, might as well come up. We can see if we can get Vex, Percy, and Grog here later too maybe.”

Vax heard Scanlan laugh in the background. “If we’re getting the whole gang together we ought to hang out at my house there’s much more space.”

“Shut up, Scanlan,” Pike replied. “We’ll be right up, thanks Vax!”

Though he was a bit annoyed at Pike and Scanlan for crashing what could have turned into a romantic moment, he was glad to see their faces as they swept into the apartment armed with cheap takeout and a variety of boardgames. The four of them hung out and laughed and yelled over friendly competitions for several hours before Vax’s phone rung.

He motioned for them to hold his turn, but Keyleth just laughed and snagged one of his cards. He elbowed her and she giggled again.

“This is Vax,” he said into the phone, not even stopping to see who was calling him.

“Hello, Brother, you wouldn’t happen to be with Pike and Scanlan would you?”

He felt his lips twitch into a smile as he juggled the phone and swatted Scanlan’s hand away from stealing another of his cards. “I am, yeah. We’re all at the apartment.”

“Well I’m texting you an address and you all better make your way there: Percy is having everyone over and I’m ordering expensive Indian food.”

Vax grinned. “Sounds great.”

Dinner and their evening turned into a giant clusterfuck of shouting and laughing and storytelling amongst the seven of them. Vex, Vax, and Percy traded good memories of England while Pike and Scanlan were roped into telling the story of their meeting which somehow involved much more pudding than made sense. Grog was happy to chime in on that part to make fun of Scanlan. Keyleth revealed that she had met Percy near Whitestone when their publicists had tried to set them up, but that only resulted in Zahra and Kashaw being introduced to each other.

Vax learned more about his friends than he shared, but he felt relaxed and though there was the occasional twinge of pain from his side as one could expect, he was sandwiched between Vex and Keyleth on the couch as they laughed for hours and hours. It was almost weird, the group of friends that had developed, but it felt far more natural than he could have expected even though most of them were completely different genres of YouTubers, or not in the business at all in Percy’s case.

It was almost two in the morning when Percy finally kicked everyone out. Grog immediately headed for the gym despite the odd hour and Pike and Scanlan exchanged an unreadable look before calling an Uber together to Scanlan’s place. Vax gave Pike a curious look, but she just shook her head and wrinkled her nose―they really were just friends.

Vax and Keyleth stood alone on the sidewalk outside Percy’s apartment building, Vex having elected to stay the night with her kind-of-sort-of boyfriend. Keyleth lived nearby and was apparently planning on walking home, but she insisted on waiting with Vax until his Uber arrived. Vax, as always, found himself drawn to watching her.

The city lights combined with the bright full moon bathed her skin and made her glow. She was going on about something or another, but Vax was still distracted by the raw honesty she had shared with him earlier. Finally, when he couldn’t bear his own idleness any longer, he slid his hand into hers and tugged it towards him.

Keyleth’s words stopped flowing abruptly as she turned to him, curious. “Everything alright?” she asked. “You’re not in pain or anything?”

Vax smiled. “I mean I love you so much it hurts but I’m pretty sure that’s not what you meant.”

Instead of panic and fear like he might have expected weeks ago, a shy smile curled up her lips and she squeezed his hand. “Not exactly,” she replied gently.

Vax exhaled slowly and took a leap of faith. He leaned in and Keyleth met him halfway, her hand dropping his so she could rest hers on his face as she kissed him back. The kiss was slow and unhurried, but a familiar warmth curled deeply in Vax’s stomach as he let his arms wind around Keyleth’s waist as he pulled her closer.

She was the one to deepen the kiss, her arms sliding around his neck as she pressed them together even more closely. After a long moment, she pulled back, her breaths deep and heavy. There was a spark in her eyes that made Vax’s ears redden, but Keyleth didn’t step out of his personal space, keeping her arms around him.

“How are you feeling?” she breathed out slowly.

Vax smiled idly. “Fine. A little confused as to why you stopped though.”

Keyleth blushed under his heavy gaze. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she admitted quietly.

Vax lifted a hand to trace her jawline. “You couldn’t even if you tried.”

Her lips twitched into a small, shy smile. “Your Uber is coming.”

“I’ll cancel it.”

“Vex won’t be expecting you?”

“She’s with Percy. You don’t really think she’s going home tonight, do you?”

“Come home with me?”

“You don’t even need to ask.”

The next morning, Vax woke up in a bed that was decidedly not his wearing decidedly less clothes than he would normally. There was a dull throbbing pain from his abdomen and he took several deep breaths to try and soothe his body before he attempted to sit up. He propped himself up against the pillows and studied the room.

In the events of the night before he hadn’t paid much attention to the room, but as he looked around now he was able to appreciate it fully. There were two large windows on one side covered by gauzy curtains that did very little to block out the bright LA sunshine. It was similar to Keyleth’s apartment in that it was decorated with artistic, bohemian decorations and many, many small potted plants and succulents. Her furniture was all the same wood tone and the canopy above her bed was a dark blue cloth peppered with white dots that looked suspiciously like a constellation map.

In looking around, he woke up more fully and was able to smell coffee and what was probably breakfast coming from the other room. He rolled his shoulders and swung his legs off the bed. Locating his pants was fairly simple, but the grey Slayer’s Take shirt he had been wearing was nowhere to be seen. He ignored that fact and made his way out of the bedroom into the rest of the apartment.

All the blinds were open and sunlight streamed in through Keyleth’s many, many windows. Music was playing at a low volume from the kitchen and Vax followed it and the scent of coffee into the kitchen. His first glance of Keyleth stole his breath away.

Her red hair hung around her chin, turning copper from the sunlight and she was shimmying along to the song that was playing. The next thing he realized was that he couldn’t find his shirt in Keyleth’s bedroom because she had taken it and it really wasn’t doing his mind any favours since it barely covered more on her than it did on him. Vax felt his lips curl into a smirk as he crept forward and let his arms encircle her from behind, pulling her back against him.

Keyleth squeaked in surprise, but she relaxed when she realized that it was just Vax. “You are entirely too sneaky for your own good,” she scolded. “Especially for an injured man.”

Vax pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck humming softly. “Injured perhaps only because not only did I wake up alone, but you seem to have stolen something of mine.” His hands drifted to her waist, thumbing at the stolen shirt.

Keyleth turned in his grip so that they were face to face. Her cheeks were completely red and she looked nervous. “You’re okay though?”

Vax smiled. “Of course.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and finally felt her smile against him. “Are you?”

She hummed. “Best I’ve been in a long time.” She paused, biting her lip. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For not letting me be afraid and for pushing it,” she elaborated after a moment.

Vax laughed softly. “You’ve met me, right? Vex and I, we don’t know when to quit.”

She kissed him gently again, her hands drifting up to his shoulders. “I’m more grateful than you know.”

Vax tipped his head and pressed a kiss to her neck just below her ear. “I think I have some idea,” he teased and Keyleth’s breath hitched.

Hours later, Vax finally left Keyleth’s place and made it to his physical therapist’s appointment. After two hours of pain and grueling exercise, he was dismissed and he headed home, desiring a shower. Vex still wasn’t home at the apartment, but Vax didn’t think anything of it―she was likely just with Percy still and it wouldn’t be the first time this had happened.

He showered with only minor difficulty and was on his way to the dedicated office space to fiddle on his guitar when his phone buzzed with a text.

[Shaun] Does Mr Popular have time for a drink tonight?

Vax smiled faintly at the screen before typing out his response.

[Vax] For you? Anytime, anyplace.

[Shaun] Raven’s Rook, 8?

[Vax] I’ll be there.

Gilmore didn’t reply again, but Vax redirected himself to his room to put on clothes decent enough for a meeting and a drink with his close friend. Two hours later, he was calling an Uber to get to the pub.

The place was fairly crowded, but no one seemed to give him a second glance, despite his recent publicity, and he spotted Gilmore at a small table in the back corner. Vax made his way over and sat down across from his old friend. Gilmore glanced up over his pint of what Vax was sure was something local and gave him a wide grin.

“Hello stranger,” Gilmore greeted, his low voice rumbling warmly in his chest.

Vax could still remember when he got horribly flustered whenever Gilmore used to flirt and now it felt incredibly natural. “Shaun,” he greeted.

“How is the recovery going?”

Vax shrugged. “Therapy is a bitch of course, but I have good people looking out for me like you and Vex and Kima and Allura.”

“And Keyleth,” Gilmore added.

Vax blinked and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Gilmore chuckled. “Come on, Vax, you forget that I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of those looks.” Vax bit the inside of his cheek, waiting for Gilmore to continue. Gilmore smiled though this one was slightly more bittersweet. “I won’t say I’m not a little disappointed, but it wasn’t the right time for either of us I don’t think.” Vax’s brow furrowed and Gilmore waved a hand. “Vax’ildan, that girl looks at you like you’re her lifeline and I know the feeling is the same. I’ll be fine.”

Vax sighed. “That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to care, does it?”

Gilmore chuckled. “I would be horrified if you didn’t.”

Vax traced a finger over a particularly interesting swirl in the wood of the tabletop. “Gilmore, you’ve always been such a good friend to Vex and myself. I don’t know where we would be without you.”

Gilmore sipped his drink. “Probably still making really terrible coffee while pretending that you two didn’t have the kick ass talents you do have.”

Vax chuckled. “So even though you’ve heard all of our songs already, will you still be picking up a copy of our album when it releases?”

“Vox Machina’s debut album? The very same Vox Machina who I pushed to even launch their career?” Gilmore smiled slyly. “I had better be getting an autographed copy in the mail.”

Vax laughed and extended his hand for a handshake. “How about an in-person delivery instead?”

Gilmore firmly shook Vax’s hand. “Sounds agreeable.” He paused once more, giving Vax an appraising look. “Don’t let Keyleth go, alright? I can only have lost to the best and, Vax, she’s the absolute best of you all.”

Vax smiled. “I have no intentions of letting her go, don’t worry.”

Vax and Keyleth got dinner at Melora’s on Friday. They had elected to let Uvenda surprise them with their meals, and the food was as delicious as ever. The dinner felt easy and natural and Keyleth held his hand across the table any time he wasn’t using his hands.

“The album release party is coming up, isn’t it?” Keyleth asked as they were waiting for their bill.

Vax nodded. “Saturday night next week at Whitestone’s head office. Are you looking for an invitation?”

She leaned forward and smiled. “Only as a plus one,” she teased.

He chuckled. “Naturally.”

Before he could say anything else, both his and Keyleth’s phones went off in unison. He raised an eyebrow and picked it up. His lockscreen was filled with Twitter notifications and he cringed.

“This can’t be good.”

Keyleth pressed her lips together before glancing around the restaurant. She turned back to him and showed him the screen of her phone.

Keyleth is our Queen @queenkikiashari • 9 minutes ago

SHE’S AT MELORA’S ON A DATE THIS IS NOT A DRILL. Hand-holding has happened, but I can’t get a shot of his face!!

Vax shook his head. “They never quit do they. Come on, I’m sure Uvenda can let us disappear out the back again.”

Keyleth slid her phone into her purse and led the way to the back. Uvenda grumbled something about them taking advantage of her love for Keyleth before she let them slip out the back. Vax had tried to argue for the bill, but Keyleth hadn’t heard a word of it, insisting Uvenda charge her for the full price.

They stepped out into the alley and Vax looked up at the steadily darkening sky. Keyleth slid her hand into his and pulled him forward.

“A little different from the last time we were here, isn’t it?”

Vax smiled. “Yeah, well, last time I had no idea how in love with you I was.” Keyleth blushed and Vax dropped her hand, stepping back. He held up his hands like a camera and framed her against the setting sun. “Give me a moment to capture this moment, will you?”

She shook her head. “You’re silly.”

Vax paused, reaching for his phone. “If it’s okay, I would really love to share this view though.”

Keyleth’s lips parted in surprise, but after a moment she nodded. “If you’re okay with that.”

Vax smiled widely, opening the camera app. “More than okay.”

Keyleth turned so it was her rear profile in shot as she looked up at the sky. She was mostly darkened by the sun, but with the buildings around her and the sky lit up with deep purples and oranges, it was a beautiful shot. He admired it for another moment before he composed his tweet.

Vax @vaxmachina • Just Now

The best view in the house. | at Melora’s Garden

Replies, likes and retweets poured in almost immediately as it wasn’t hard to figure out who was in the photo. His phone buzzed relentlessly and he wanted to ignore it, but it chimed with a text so he paused to open it.

[Vex] very smooth.

[Vax] I like to think so

Keyleth was smiling at him and Vax reached out to tangle their fingers together. “Feeling up for a night of adventure?”

By the time the album release party was half over, Vax’s hand was actually starting to hurt from signing so many CD cases. He didn’t even know that many people still bought physical copies of albums. There were people everywhere in the Whitestone office and everyone was dressed to the nines.

Vex had managed to shove him into a navy blue tuxedo that complimented the deep blue dress with the plunging neck she had procured for herself. Zahra and Cassandra had applauded their coordination so Vax had given his sister credit where it was due. She was currently off schmoozing some of Whitestone’s investors, arm linked in Percy’s.

Vox Machina’s cover of Thinking Out Loud was playing through the sound system as people swayed on the makeshift dance floor and Vax leaned against the wall, watching intently. From his position he could see Zahra in a head-turning red dress with Kashaw and another pair that almost surprised him. He knew that it should not have been really surprising, but there was something still a little shocking to see Pike’s head resting atop Scanlan’s shoulder.

Vax presses a knuckle against his lips to hide his smile. With the way that Scanlan was looking at Pike and the fact that Pike had been so kind and supportive of him, Vax wondered if it was time to pull the blindfold off of Pike. His gaze finally skimmed past his friends and he caught sight of Allura dancing with a reluctant Kima, and just on their other side was Keyleth, a glass of champagne clutched in her hand as she chatted politely with some Whitestone executive.

“Boo!” came a voice to his left.

Vax spun, coming face to face with his smirking sister. “Jesus, Vex’ahlia, when did you learn to sneak like that?”

She jabbed her finger against his arm. “I learned from the best.”

He scowled and leaned back against the wall, slightly turned towards her. “Need something, Stubby?”

She shrugged. “Honestly I just wanted to talk to you. We’ve both been so busy,” she said. Vax caught her gaze drifting to where Percy was speaking with Cassandra.

Vax tipped his head. “How is he?”

“Surprisingly better about this whole thing than I am,” she replied carefully.

“How are you?” he asked instead.

Vex turned her eyes back to him. “I would love a glass of champagne, but other than that, I’m doing really well.”

Before Vax could comment on her alcohol craving, she waved him off.

“Don’t worry, I am sticking to water.”

He nodded. “I’m proud of you, Vex.”

Before Vex could reply, Cassandra had materialized in front of the two of them. She was wearing a perfectly tailored suit and her eyes were glinting in excitement. Vax raised an eyebrow and Vex crossed her arms.

“It’s time for you two to give a toast.” Cassandra looked over her shoulder towards the front of the room. She glanced back, a little more tentative. “We also have the equipment if you would like to perform. Of course,” she cast Vax an extra glance, “I understand if you don’t feel up to it.”

Vax shook his head. “We’re here to celebrate our music, right? Might as well give them something of a show right, Stubby?”

Vex rolled her eyes. “I’ve got nothing, so you had better have an idea.”

Vax held out his arm, smirking. “Of course I have one.”

“Then let’s go,” she replied.

Vax guided Vex up to the front of the room, following Cassandra. Cassandra pulled two flutes of bubbling liquid off of a tray and offered them to the twins. Vax accepted his immediately, but Vex hesitated. Cassandra smiled kindly.

“They’re actually both cider since you’re performing, I don’t want to get you too drunk.”

Vex chuckled and accepted the glass. “Brilliant.”

Cassandra smiled in response and reached for her own glass, also picking up a slim metal stirring rod. She clicked the rod against the glass several times and waited for the crowd to come to attention. Finally, a relative silence fell over the room.

Cassandra smiled widely at the crowd. “Good evening everyone! On behalf of Whitestone Records, I would like to thank everyone for being here tonight in support of Vox Machina’s debut album. Now, I’m sure no one wants to hear me talk for hours, so I’ll pass it off to our guests of honour: Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan.”

Cassandra swept a hand towards the twins and Vax felt the eyes of every person in the room fall upon him. He froze momentarily, a sudden, uncontrollable fear stopping all possible words from leaving his mouth. Fortunately for him, Vex had always been better around crowds. She tugged on their still linked arms and gave the crowd a wide, open smile.

“Thank you to everyone for coming tonight. Vax and I have been working towards this for quite some time now and we’re honoured to see it come to fruition. I want to extend some thanks to Cassandra and the team here at Whitestone for believing we had it in us and for working tirelessly in the studio and the office to ensure that we received only the best,” Vex said, her gaze sweeping across the onlookers.

Vax steeled himself. “To all the supporters we’ve had since the beginning when we were just two kids with a YouTube channel and a dream, we’re grateful. Especially Shaun, Allura, and Kima―none of this would have ever existed without you. To the others who we met along the way, we are stronger with your support and we thank you for all you’ve done for us.” Vax’s eyes found Keyleth in the crowd and she gave him a bright smile. Any remaining nerves vanished entirely.

Vex nudged him. “To Vax, my brother,” she lifted her cider flute, “who’s heart is entirely too big for his chest.”

“And to Vex, my sister,” he replied, “who pushes us all to be better and bolder than ever before.”

“To Vox Machina!” Cassandra cheered, raising her glass in the final toast.

The crowd echoed her sentiment cheering loudly. Vax bumped his glass lightly against Vex’s and took a sip. The room was abuzz with energy and passion and warmth curled in his stomach. All these people were here to celebrate him and Vex’s passion project. A project which he hoped could be the first of many. If he’d ever thought that the side-project YouTube channel that Gilmore had insisted upon would have evolved into this, Vax would have thought himself entirely insane. Instead, he was proud and happier than he’d been in a long, long time.

“Come on, Vax, let’s give these people a show,” Vex said in his ear as she tugged him back to a makeshift stage with two microphones, two stools, and an acoustic guitar on a stand.

Vax instantly picked up the guitar, letting his fingers find the frets and strings like it was the most natural thing in the world. He positioned himself on his stool and glanced at Vex. She was staring at him expectantly and Vax realized that she needed his idea for the song they were going to sing.

“You and Me,” he said to her lowly.

Vex smiled. “Fitting.”

“I thought so.”

Cassandra cleared her throat from nearby, again catching the attention of the crowd. “The album is now live for purchase and I’m happy to present the indomitable Vox Machina!” She swept her arm aside, leaving the gaze of the room to fall upon the twins.

Vax strummed the intro, letting his eyes close and his fingers feel the music completely. They leapt into the song at the same point, harmonizing beautifully.

“You and me were always with each other,” they sang together.

The song was a return to the pop-folk music they’d started on and the music that they really wanted to make. It was simple and fitting. Vex had the main melody, but it was incomplete without Vax’s harmonies. The lyrics told a story that was touching and deeply personal and true to the twins’ relationship.

When they finished, the room burst into applause and Vax grinned widely. He looked around and spotted Keyleth, Percy, Pike, Scanlan, Grog, and the others looking happy and he even caught Keyleth wiping away a stray tear as she beamed at him. Giddy, Vax turned to look at Vex.

She was smiling widely as she looked out over the crowd, but Vax watched as her eyes landed on something in specific. Her smile dropped and the blood drained out of her face. For a moment he was afraid she would collapse, but she just stood up abruptly and painted on a forced smile. He stood next to her, reaching for her arm, but she pulled him into a brief bow before striding away to the edge of the room.

Vax stumbled, awkwardly placing the guitar back in the stand before he followed her quickly. He caught up to her and grabbed her arm, spinning her to face him. The colour had returned to her face and she was looking better already.

“Vex’ahlia, what’s wrong?” he asked concernedly.

She shook her head, exhaling deeply. “It’s nothing. I thought I saw something, but I didn’t. Everything is fine, Vax,” she replied, her tone calculated and even.

Vax furrowed his brow. He didn’t really believe her, but before he could push her on it, something covered his eyes and his vision went dark.

“Guess who!” Keyleth’s cheerful voice rang out.

Vax chuckled and pushed her hands out of the way, pulling her into a hug instead. When he pulled away from Keyleth he saw that Vex was embracing Percy and had taken the appearance of her kind-of-maybe-boyfriend as an excuse to flee from Vax’s scrutiny.

Vax frowned as she slipped away.

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stevenuniversallyreviews · 6 years ago

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Episode 104: Kindergarten Kid

“I'm smarter than your average Peridot.”

Oof. I need a break. Do you need a break? Let’s take a break.

When I was a kindergarten kid, my family had a firm policy against “commercial TV,” as in any children’s television programming that included commercials. Our house didn’t get Cartoon Network until 2003-ish regardless, but this meant pretty much everything that wasn’t PBS (and later Disney Channel, which had commercials but not for toys) was restricted to friends’ houses until I was about eight. I was born in 1990, so the ban lift came right on time for Digimon and Pokémon to debut (in that order, fight me), but until then my access to cartoons was largely limited.

So yeah, unlike others of my age group, I didn’t grow up with Rugrats or Aaahh!!! Real Monsters, and due to the continued lack of Cartoon Network I also missed out on Dexter’s Laboratory and The Powerpuff Girls until reruns in the aughts. But I did have The Tapes, and The Tapes had Looney Tunes, so I was more than satisfied.

I still remember sitting up straighter when I first realized what Kindergarten Kid was doing back in 2016. The southwestern setting is a pretty big hint from the start, but we were cleverly introduced to the area in Beta and Earthlings and aren’t primed to see the Road Runner and Coyote connection until the plot revs up. And yes, these rivals are the clearest inspiration for Peridot’s futile attempts to outsmart a faster, “dumber” foe with intricate traps. But with an exception here or there for comic relief, Messrs. Coyote and Runner are silent, while Peridot is anything but. And as much fun as it would’ve been to go full throttle and make the entire sequence silent, I’m so glad to see Raven Molisee and Paul Villeco instead have Peridot emulate another icon from the Looney Tunes roster. And no, it’s not Porky Pig.

It’s ironic, because his best work sees him fail to come out on top, but I legitimately can’t think of a better cartoon character than Daffy Duck. Like, out of all cartoons, from every country, from any time period, period. Bugs Bunny is no slouch—he follows the legacy of Loki, Anansi, Reynard, and Maui as modern America’s most notable trickster deity—but Daffy perfected an archetype that’s largely unrepresented in myths of yore, and stands head and shoulders above all other examples, including Wile E. Coyote himself (and Daffy’s fun but better-in-the-comics counterpart, Donald Duck). Aptly referred to in Babylon 5 as “an ancient Egyptian god of frustration,” Daffy evolved from a perfectly good screwball character (Daffy Doodles is the best of this era) to the embodiment of self-inflicted pain.

I’ve already compared Peridot and Ruby to the little black duck before (seriously, stop what you’re doing and watch Daffy Doodles if that weird nickname doesn’t ring a bell), but Kindergarten Kid seems to go out of its way to evoke the essence of Daffy. Wile E. Coyote’s ploys may have the same convoluted detail as the Peri-Plans we see, but going on at length about how a scheme is going to work only for it to immediately fail? That’s Daffy Duck. Puffing up in confidence at the infallibility of said plan, and having it collapse in the middle of a smug victory lap? That’s Daffy Duck. This episode pulls its pacing straight out of the Hunting Trilogy (from which we get the famous “Rabbit Season!” “Duck Season!” debate), with Steven subbing in for both Elmer Fudd and Bugs depending on who Daffy is allied with at any given time, and it’s a beautiful thing to watch.

We even get variations of classic gags to keep things fresh. It would’ve been acceptable for Peridot to slowly dismantle an injector to crush Gem Runner, only for it to not fall until she’s right beneath it. But no, she realizes the risk, takes a step back, then gets crushed by falling rocks. I still would’ve laughed if her cannon refused to fire until she stepped in front of it, launching her over the horizon. But the recoil launches her backwards, crushing her with more rocks. Rehashing the exact same classic gags would’ve been an easy way out, but the gags are classic for a reason and I would’ve appreciated the tribute; that we see actual creative changes instead brings Kindergarten Kid to even higher heights. Yes, the final plummet is directly based on Wile E. Coyote’s own falls (sadly without the sound effect), but there’s a level of innovation here that’s compelling for an episode referencing the past so vividly.

Still, the biggest difference between Kindergarten Kid and vintage Looney Tunes is that unlike Daffy or Coyote, Peridot can make a change. The episode is similar to Barn Mates, in that both are a series of sketches that show Peridot and Steven trying and failing to accomplish a goal (which is perhaps the most clinical way to describe the standard Looney Tunes short). Both episodes end with a victory for Peridot when she realizes she must rethink the core problem, but Kindergarten Kid works better by halving the number of characters that need to grow. Barn Mates is by no means bad, but it’s hard to balance the story of its two leads, so Lapis is left without much focus behind her actions. This time the opponent is something of a force of nature, so we can spend more time digging into why Peridot’s plans aren’t working.

Peridot has already changed quite a bit, but her superiority complex remains a central tenet of her personality. It’s been tempered when Steven is involved, but she still treats most other Gems as intellectual inferiors even when she gets along with them. So of course she sees outbraining a Corrupted Gem as a cakewalk, and of course Steven teaches her the error of her ways with a lesson in empathy. These are obvious story beats, but old habits die hard, and I like that Peridot still has issues with her ego despite how far she’s come as a Crystal Gem.

It’s hard to compare any voice actor to Mel Blanc, in the same way it’s hard to compare any English-speaking playwright to Shakespeare, so I’m not gonna give praise that lofty, but Shelby Rabara still nails the fury of a gremlin who's smart but thinks she’s way smarter. It’s not easy on the throat to shout this much, and in such specific nonverbal ways, but I still think her best moment is when her confident front falters, and she yells that she’s doing the best she can. She’s as angry as ever, but that glimpse of vulnerability shows that she’s not a lost cause like Coyote.

Steven also returns to old habits, focusing all his energy on helping Peridot and not mentioning his mother once. I can see how this might make Kindergarten Kid seem too flippant, but as we’ll confirm in Mindful Education, our hero is pushing down the bad feelings instead of dealing with them. I think it’s crucial to have a few episodes where he seems okay to lull us into the sense of security that his breakdown destroys, and just like Bubbled, it’s clear that his coping mechanism is putting others before himself. He never complains about the physical injuries caused by Peridot’s poor planning, instead making sure his friend is okay.

Like Log Date 7 15 2, the show leans into Peridot’s brand of comic relief to cool us down from a major event. This is an even sillier episode, to the point that the other Crystal Gems are watching it for entertainment value, but it comes after an even more harrowing Diamond reveal. And because this one has more to do with Steven, he gets more to do in the episode: he’s not reliving a Peridot montage, he’s participating in her adventure, and the episode is stronger for it.

I understand that comedy is subjective. For instance, I’m not huge on meta humor in the style of our next episode; I acknowledge that it’s done well, but it’s not for me. So I don’t expect everyone to be huge on this episode, especially if you tragically lack a childhood full of ducks getting their beaks blown off and rabbits dancing up to bulls to slap them in the face. But hopefully folks who were let down in their first viewing, expecting more drama and lore in our post-shattering reality, can give Kindergarten Kid another look, perhaps after downing some classic cartoons, and enjoy it for the outstanding love letter that it is.

(I still don’t know why she references Yogi Bear, that’s a whole other era of cartoon, but nobody’s perfect.)

If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have inconsistencies…

I know it’s absurd to nitpick unrealistic elements of such a cartoony episode, but Steven’s endless bag of marshmallows bugs me. At least it gives us another Peridot-as-raccoon reaction.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

It barely misses the cut, but boy do I love this episode. Like any great Looney Tunes short, I can watch it and laugh no matter how many times I’ve seen it; the gags are so pure that rather than getting bored of them, I now chuckle in anticipation before the hits even come.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

When It Rains

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

No Thanks!

5. Horror Club 4. Fusion Cuisine 3. House Guest 2. Sadie’s Song 1. Island Adventure

(I’m almost happy there’s no promo art for this one, because hot damn do I love this pic from Dark Tarou.)

#kindergarten kid #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

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truthbeetoldmedia · 5 years ago

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iZombie 5x05 "Death Moves Pretty Fast" Review

This week’s iZombie proved that the show is capable of juggling its varying tone as well as make some significant plot advancements, making it one of the strongest episodes of the final season so far.

Our victim this week is a wealthy high schooler, Harris, who moonlights as a radio DJ. Having more money than he knows what to do with, he throws an elaborate 80’s themed party at his house. An investment at Bitcoin paid him out so well that he happens to be neighbors with the most untouchable man in New Seattle, Blaine DeBeers. The noise from the party begins to interrupt Blaine’s wooing of Al, and so he threatens Harris. Just a few hours later, the door to Harris’ sauna is screwed shut with him inside, exposing him to severe hyperthermia.

While investigating the crime scene, Clive slips and throws out his back, leaving this case up to Liv and Ravi. “Liv’s an OG Zombie, and I once took a kickboxing class,” Ravi reassures him. Liv turns Harris’ brain into bite size dumplings, and the brain hits just as Ravi is expressing anxiety about Isobel’s obituary. It includes the bit about how Isobel’s brain produced a cure, and Ravi is worried the story is going to go viral. Liv is having none of his moping, and transforms into a goofy Ferris Bueller-ish high schooler.

When Liv and Ravi visit Blaine’s house and question him about Harris’ murder, Al overhears. “They just popped by to see if I committed a murder. We do this every few months,” Blaine shrugs. In order to follow up, Al pays a visit to them in the morgue. Liv rarely has any problems with leaving her leftovers on the counter, but this time, their guest sneaks a bite. Al is still investigating Blaine, and it’s obvious she’s hoping to spark a vision from Harris’ memory to get a scoop on him. She asks Liv and Ravi if Blaine was ever investigated for Mayor Baracus’ murder. When she leaves, Ravi and Liv point fingers at each other, telling each other that they had a hunch Blaine was behind the slaying. Ravi mentions that he’s sick of how Blaine basically has New Seattle in a chokehold. 10,000 zombies all rely on the brains that he smuggles, which gives him a pretty unfair monopoly. It doesn’t help that he’s also a dastardly villain who will never change. Ravi makes a good point that Blaine shouldn’t be above the law, even if he is necessary to the survival of the city.

Their investigation leads them to Harris’ girlfriend, Amy, and Amy’s ex, Jamie. The three were in a complicated zombie-human love triangle, and Harris purchased Amy a zombie cure off the black market so they could be together. When Liv and Ravi go to question the two of them about this, it appears that Jamie lost his memory. It strikes Ravi as odd. “One does not catch dementia. It’s not like a cold. And zombies don’t catch things anyway,” he says.

It turns out that our rebel human groups are getting more and more clever. Dolly Durkins and her crew have robbed graves of Alzheimer patients, and poisoned FG’s brain supply. Even Major is affected. During a meeting with French Inspector Enzo, his vision is blurred and he can barely string two sentences together. Enzo takes advantage of this, and sends water cannons to attack the humans who are barcading the brain supply. It just gives Fillmore Graves even more bad press, and more damage control for Major. Enzo is such a strange character to me. It’s never clear where his motivations lie, or even what’s in it for him. His loyalty to Chase Graves hasn’t gotten him anywhere, and has led him to create some nonsensical allies. When Major gets his senses back, he punishes Enzo for riling up tensions between New Seattle and Fillmore Graves, and sends him to The Box to be frozen. This reveals another problem — the traitor FG zombies who were recruited by Shady Zombie Man were discovered missing, along with 17 other frozen zombies. We still don’t know who he is or what his plan is, but we cut to a shot of a “full Romero zombie.” Is Shady Zombie Man curating an army of them?

The murder plot wraps up with a hilarious scene of Vampire Steve dressed as Harris to draw out the killer. It turns out to be Harris’ best friend, who was tired of being his sidekick. “I was supposed to be visiting colleges when the wall went up, but instead I’m stuck here,” he says. While the murder and the killer might have been inconsequential overall, Harris’ brain does give Liv a pretty crucial vision — Don E in disguise, delivering the black market cure to Harris and Amy. Lucky for Al, she has the same exact vision — and it gives her the link she needs to connect Blaine to Baracus.

Al confronts Peyton, asking her to comment on a few “housekeeping” issues. She brings up the events of Meet Cute, cites other crimes, and questions their former sexual relationship. “I can’t believe you fell for his whole thing. You couldn’t see through it?” she says to Peyton. Okay Al, very fair question. One we were all asking ourselves a few seasons ago. It was a dark time. But that’s hardly helpful now! Al’s profile of Blaine is explosive, and comes at bad timing. Peyton was about to take a trip to DC to advocate on New Seattle’s behalf, and a story like this makes things a little difficult to defend. I’m not sure how Blaine is going to salvage his reputation, or if Peyton can spin this in front of the politicians she’s meeting with.

Another story going viral? AP picked up the Freylich Syndrome story. Liv walks in on a tearful Ravi who worries that all the Freylich victims are in danger of being targeted, now that everyone is aware of the gold mine in their brains. We see Blaine get distracted from his own profile to click on a news alert about the story — will he try to shoehorn his way into the team to help Ravi create a legitimate cure?

Final thoughts:

This episode had so many understated one-liners that had me chuckling the whole episode

Having Liv FaceTime Clive in order for her to “break the fourth wall” was such a clever way to directly address the camera without completely throwing out the structure of the show. Also, I loved when Clive was loopy on pain medicine and decided to join in the interrogation.

“Anyway, you complete me. See you later.” I love how close Ravi and Major have grown over these last five seasons.

Without a doubt, Vampire Steve is the MVP of this episode.

“Vive Chase Graves.” “Whatever.” Same, Major.

I love it when Ravi shows his soft side! It’s clear that Isobel’s life and death really had an impact on him, and I’m glad to see the ways they are carrying it over into this season.

Haley’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

iZombie airs Thursdays at 9/8c on the CW.

#iZombie #Death Moves Pretty Fast

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talesfromacrip · 4 years ago

Text

Tea Time With Yours Truly:

Don’t you love it when you finally realize you’re truly moving on from a toxic situation like the adult you are, when a song you like makes you rethink your visions, feelings, etc. of someone?? or it that me? everything starts to feel entirely new again though regardless. better n’ cooler bc you know you’re not suffering anymore.. just, a fantastic feeling. woo

fucking incredible. I’m F R E E. absolutely free. still hurts though. some things made me realize I should’ve done it sooner and I did. as best I could, i did.I tried all I could and I succeeded for the most part,but damn do they haunt me so badly. I hate it.

Go away, pest. the last 5/6 years have been an emotional roller coaster for me and I want off.somehow I did,the ride still catching me occasionally and pulling me back on, dragging me to the unknown

((some good things happened here n’ there like me meeting some friends I still talk toooo, playing new games and finding new animes))

it’s just good to know though that my mind doesn’t associate them with anything anymore bc they didn’t deserve anything much tbh. just like told me

———

I really want to bug my online buds constantly. From when I get up to when I fall asleep. send them memes, all that funky jazz..but I don’t. I can’t. I feel like I’m too clingy.. too needy.

I AM ACTUALLY. I shouldn’t care, but I do. Maybe it’s because I’m too emotional, too sensitive, too much, blah, blah, blah. Something "bad". Shit the grump hated that has just stuck to me like black balloons since. (( NF is the same with his mental issues. I’m glad to know I’m not alone with thinking of depression, anxiety, etc. as black balloons. Their like lifeless weights, but we still feel them weighing us down))

I love constant communication, especially from close friends.. bug me. 24/7. whenever, whatever. I don’t do anything. much that is. I’m overwhelmed when communicating nowadays so help me out pls??or not><

I don’t ask for it much though bc i was put down for asking for it. I was always told to say certain things as well, not think a certain way, send things at certain times. nothing nsfw even though we where adults. no art much bc it was always judged, other dumb shit.. I felt like the ultimate fucking bother bc of that.. person.

So I stayed to myself because of that and that made me worse ove time.

((I drove some people away when I did and I still am I feel,but I’m trying not too.. I couldn’t deal with myself though, I felt absolutely horrible. When I did, I said some nasty shit and I regret it all because a prick made me feel like complete shit and worthless about myself. I didn’t have to take it out on others like that, but wow.. I did. If I told anyone though,he’d come after me and that was what I didn’t want.. so nice huh?))

I felt like a broken down old dog. I still feel like that occasionally not as bad. not a pleasant feeling at all though

Are all of the things that make me like this really that bad or annoying or make me even less though?? fuck no it doesn’t. It makes me wayyyy better and much more cooler honestly, but those feelings still linger bc the manipulation was so bad..

—

Why the hell would you want me to be boring or better yet be with a boring person who doesn’t talk much and puts others down for similar behavior??

Why would I be with someone who doesn’t share any interests with me much or puts mine down bc they’re childish or unnecessary??

Why would I be with someone that doesn’t communicate anything at all and whatnot,like...please tell me??

I’m genuinely fucking interested.

They told me I was always being too nice all the time. too soft, too babyish. too honest. too sensitive. blah, blah, blahhh. whenever I said something that was tooo personal or informative it’s like: "That’s too much information don’t ya think??" UMM, N O?? "Don’t say that around me ever or I’ll unfriend you and never speak to you again." Okay.. THEN DO IT, PUSSY.

Fucking asshat, douche canoe looking ass cunt.. ((He didn’t like those words or almost any word tbh it seems. true killjoy, I swear and I thought I was. I couldn’t even say oh my god or anything with lord in it because he’d then start saying "why are you saying that when you’re an atheist?" Umm actually I’m agnostic.. ))

he hated the whole "umm actually" deal too that I would do.. literally drove me up the damn wall every time. who fucking cares if I say that?? I’ve been accustomed to it because of my parents and people in general. come the fuck on now

It’s pretty common to say, twit. Don’t take it seriously, joke or not to piss me off to make you happy..man, he irritated the hell out of me and I’m glad he’s gone. like..look ‘bud’ should I just be angry and a constant liar and hateful and just, overall vile like you then all the time?? Guess so huh!! ohh boy!!

Which was almost that unfortunately.. i’m not good at lying and all like you though, you snake. when I did it wasn’t how I was feeling, it was how you felt.. which disgusted me.

I was always honest to you. maybe a few lies, but those were mostly about certain games that I didn’t really play and what I was laughing at. which was your dumb ass most of the time.

He made me start to hate things that made me very happy by being a total prick about it.. I miss feeling overwhelmed with overflowing joy for the things that bring and brought me peace.

I still have it, but it’s not as strong as it was before because some dumb fuck stepped on it too much telling me I’m weak in the process.

I couldn’t like anything anymore much without hearing him yelling at me occasionally and others as well that I never noticed till everything happened. just,yelling at me loudly and telling me how awful i am and other annoying, idiotic shit.. maybe that was your plan all along , to ruin me. ruin my confidence, my strength and my will to move up and thrive in life..

you tried dragging me down your well for being myself when you couldn’t.. pathetic. I bet you’re happy bc you feel like you ‘succeeded’ with this,but you didn’t win the war.

You never will

———

they always manipulated me to dislike the things in life that made me happy. This irritated me a lot.. ((my interests in obscure and ‘buttrock’ bands/music in general, anime, weird games, my love for peculiar art, my badass friends..))

said absolute dumb shit if I got closer to some more than them. ((making me waste sooo much god damn time. say you’re busy all the time even though you live a "boring fucking same day to day lifestyle." tell them how you can’t message all the time when in fact you can and that you’re constantly on the only device that gets you connected to the world outside. tell them.)) makin me lie and be distant about how I felt with some of my amazing friends..

It was never about how I truly felt, but how they felt for me. (("Ohh they made you feel like that?? Well, it made me feel like this and you should too because //insert dumb explanation here//.", "You shouldn’t feel like that towards them, they don’t deserve it.", "Maybe I deserve to be treated like that instead, screw them.", "Don’t feel like that towards them or //issue//, thats absolutely appalling, childish, flat out sappy.", "Don’t let them know how you’re really feeling.. just act like you don’t care at all. They don’t care to help you anyway or else you’d be living a better life.", "They’ll just spread it around so just stay quiet instead until spoken too about it."))

E N D ME !!!

Pls, I beg of you.. not really but the thoughts though, please

———

he would tell me to not bug him when hes on a game, but he could to me. even on social media, which is how we stayed connected and not by messenger pigeons like it’s the 1500’s.

"Don’t bug me on FB when I’m not on." Okay, but I wanna share this with you...?? also, how the hell am I gonna know when you’re on when I’m drawing and trying to occupy my on edge brain??

proceeds to spam me shit in process irritating me. "Don’t bug me, don’t bug me" I hear like a whiny little baby.

"Why do you bug me all the time??" UMM, MAYBE BECAUSE I CARE AND I WANT TO UHHH, IDK SHARE THIS NEAT SHIT WITH YOU??? PENDEJO PUTA DE MIERDA!!

"I’ll message you and send invites when I feel like it." - Shithead towards the end. Circa 1818. ((Yeah, weeks or a month later like nothing happened. "I’ll see you later or tonight when I see you on, get back on, when I’m done eating" just, excuse after excuse..))

((IM ALWAYS FUCKIN ONLINE 24 GAT DAMN 7. YOU KNOW THIS, SHITHEAD. I ALWAYS WANT TO TALK TO YOU OR SOMEONE IN THE DAMN GROUP. DNT FUCK WIT ME, MY TIME, OR PATIENCE LIKE THAT ANYMORE. ENOUGH. S T O P. And it did.. thank g o d))

———

would literally make me wait around and feel like a complete and utter fool when instead he could’ve messaged and been like maybe tomorrow or something, but no.. nothing. made me believe in all sorts of dumb shit. ((Sad I did, but I was pretty gullible. still am. some stuff was just, a big nope though and obvious. I wouldn’t let him get to me that much, but he did in some ways.. disgusting ..))

I was made to feel like I was cared for when in fact I never was to begin with. explains a lot tbh. I felt like a disgusting half empty shell of a person with barely any fragments of a heart and soul left inside. that’s very dark, I know, but that’s how it feels in a way

"It’s not real, this depression you’re feeling, it’s just a phase. it’ll pass/ just suck it up and move on / don’t worry about it you’re fine, you’re just overreacting or overthinking about it / think positive more and be happy nothing bad has really happened to you yet/ I remember when you didn’t act like this."

HOW AND WHAT?!? EXCUSE ME, PEASANT!? SAY THAT AGAIN.. TO MY ACTUAL FACE. I DARE YOU N’ YEAH, I DO TO CAPTAIN OBVIOUS.

———

I love how people ((friends and some mutuals)) thought I actually wanted to be, be with him, romantically and all that, that is but I just couldn’t..it was never there. I felt it for others though or someone to be exact, during those times which is how I knew I was in a toxic situation and it wasn’t real love or love in general I felt for them. just a facade

I just couldn’t let people know how badly he was treating me so I was sucked into a woven web of lies that got out of hand and ruined some pretty good moments for me completely it seemed

I never once wanted to fuck him or anything of the sort.

at first, we were kinda flirty and sweet with one another. talkin about cuddlin n’ goin on silly dates when we meet ya know. cute and fluffy things. things I got shit for down the road keep in mind. we’d give each other cute lil compliments to one another. It was just, cute and fun stuff ya know. especially since we were young as well.

there was never anything sexual between us either or too sexual, just crushy feels. ((I’m really fucking glad because mm, mmm. hard fucking pass))

he’d never and i mean never get my moist meter high, EVER. drier than this damn valley I live with scattered tumbleweeds, I tell you. not even a lil tingle. no bells ringing.fireworks flinging. I thought about it too and I’d just get disgusted tbh. thats how I knew

I felt like he’d be the worst in the end anyway and he was in general. he wasn’t even comfortable with himself or his sexuality and others things.. sooo, noooo, NOPE. thank u, next!!

I’m completely comfortable with mine.. thanks to my friends and some a bit more. I’m a bit scared to admit though that I’m demi bc of manipulation, but it is.

Happens unfortunately and I know I’m not alone on this journey of self acceptance. I wouldn’t have mind talking about it though, in a calm civil manner like adults do instead of giggling and making weird noises like an idiotic child.

Having it being brought up randomly amongst mutuals and all that got extremely awkward too as well, I hated it. "You wanna fuck him?", "You ever thought about it you two since y’all so close?" crickets and a few mumbled noises.. HA.mmm, I cared about him or what was left of him, not like that. honey flower ain’t or never will be feelin it for him.. EVER. HE EMOTIONALLY MANIPULATED ME AND I DIDNT EVEN KNOW SEX THAT MUCH OR MYSELF LIKE THAT SO FUCK HIM. uwu

She’s kinda quiet and scared tbh because he’s such a total killjoy asshole. she senses fear. she knows who really gets her bud blooming. just, the thought of him though like that made me wanna scream and kick him in this stupid ass face.

Ruined a lot of things for me, I swear but I’m moving on as best as I can.

—

He had this switch flip type of mood. I don’t even remember how or why it happened, but it just got worse during and after his breakup it seems.

Which was like 3-4 years ago. started happening out of the blue and over time it just started to bug the living fuck out of me. daily. I was starting to hate it and hate it I did. made my skin crawl.. ((all the Linkin Park jokes))

It made me hate myself which I never did much tbh and I didn’t like that at all.. I wanted out, but I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know who to talk to bc he’d come after me if I did especially if they knew him..

they didn’t though and were on my side, but yeah. I’m glad it stopped

A L L OF IT. I don’t need that kind ‘love’ in my life. that,awful presence. I don’t need any of that at all.. MMM, MMM BYE, BYE!! Disgusting.

———

I wanted to help em try to be happy so fuckin bad after what happened ya know as friends do, when it should’ve been myself making me happy instead.. it was,but everything just got to me.

All the sighs. How lovely huh. We were ‘best friends’ ya know. I can’t even really call anyone that much bc it unnerves me. you’re supposed to make each other happy and all that as best friends, not a sad sack of low shit.

I can’t believe I wanted to be with him and or be around him that is... eughh. I was confused and in a dangerous situation towards the end.. feels like it was my fault, but it wasn’t.

Couldn’t talk to anyone about it. It was extremely fucking stupid on my part

Long time or not, why? just, holding onto old times I guess

That’s where I messed up. I didn’t even really bother trying to be with him tbh as I’ve said. in the beginning maybe yeah when we were younger, but he made me feel less and less over time as we grew older. I was embarrassed about a lot of shit and slowly I just finally realized how much of an asshole he really and truly is and how bad I wanted him out my life.

I couldn’t get away and when I did, he’d still be there someway.. haunting me with his negative nagging.it was dumb I know. I just don’t know exactly how I got lost in it so damn badly, but man, am I really dumb for doing it..

I wholeheartedly despise those feelings I had then and I fucking despise them now. ALL OF THEM. THEY HAVE RUINED MY LIFE AND IDK WHAT TO DO ANYMORE

((Great character development though, Cynth. Growing up and moving on. Something he could never do))

I don’t want to bring these problems into anyone else’s life and I did and I regret it.. I would like to disconnect from the server please bc of it, thank you

———

I was made to feel like my disability was cureable around him and that I can do shit when I get my operations done when in fact, I can’t at all and won’t ever get ‘cured’ or anything like that of the sort.typical ableist /lamdwalker activity. despite how many times I told him,he’d forget. Mhmm, sure.. you only heard what you wanted. It’s fine

"We’ll be able to do this when you get said //part// fixed.." what? can I not do that now or something?? I know I can’t, but I can at least try right?? am I really not that good enough to be around and do shit with?? guess so, cool. Okay, I see. I really tolerated some extreme ableism and I still do, but it’s not as bad as that was..

I wish I could cure my RA though like that and have said money to do it. Snap my fingers and it’s done right? ummm, no. not as easy you think dumb ass. I have fused joints, osteo, it’s everywhere like how the hell am I gonna fix that so easily?? tell me, doc

You trippin more than younger me did. I think that’s why he just flat out ditched me in the end and got a gf while he was at it that had an almost exact personality as me in the process. he would point it out too and made me feel fucking creeped out even more.. like, I get it. can’t be youre, abled dream

Why do you care if we’re alike in some ways though?? ((Look where it got him though. He’s still struggling with it, the breakup, bringing it up once n’ awhile like it didn’t happen. It was hilarious to me bc he really was a basket case. I know he was trying to get rid of it, but he was more obsessive about it than a mf))

thankful I don’t deal with it anymore

———

"You live the same day to day lifestyle. Ever since you and I graduated. The same fucking thing. The only new things you do are go to your stupid concerts or teach those weird kids. I see it or you end up telling me anyway." ((I know captain obvious yet again.. at least I’m having fun when I’m doing that. concerts for my favorite bands make me happy, teaching my kids do too ya asshole))

"Nothing is gonna change anyway if you get those procedures done. It’ll be worse for you and we all know that. Just deal with it and try to move on." ((I hate hearing your voice in my head. I want to ban it, mute it from all existence.. I’ve been replacing it with others and I’m glad it’s working))

———

I keep hearing his voice sometimes when I post something on social media. not his actual voice, but something similar, especially in tone. moody and monotone. art,status, any of those with hashtags, rt‘s, anything.. I heard it

"Why did you post that?? Looking for attention or something?", "Not many people liked it because it’s //insert stuff I love here//", "Don’t like shit like that. I don’t want to scroll around awkwardly when I’m out.", "I saw what you put. Idk how to approach it, but I’ll like it to show you I care/to look at later to process."

Tf does that mean and huh?? Why do you care what I put anyway?? I don’t care what you put so why should you care what I put?? Why make me feel like shit for putting this up or talking about something I have some balls too. I want people to know. I’m close to some of these people

I haven’t been posting much because of that. It’s very noticeable and my some of my friends can vouch for it from the viewing couch. renders I do of friends stuff, my original work, OC stuff, fan arts. A L L gets judged by the mighty grump. who it is, colors, the style, shading.. nothing was good enough I guess. even though you said it was and so did my brain at one point. It does, but she’s just not that confident much anymore

He’d get on fan art which was the most irritating thing. "Try and draw like that or do something like that for once.", "They didn’t get me right.. did you give them the references? Even though you still haven’t made a proper one?", "Why did they draw me like that?", "That’s cool. Why my character though?" PEOPLE DRAW IN THEIR OWN WAYS IN MANY STYLES AND CAN CREATIVELY DO WHATEVER THEYD LIKE YA FUCKIN DUMBASS. IN THE END, ITS MY CHARACTER ANYWAY. YOU DIDNT DRAW HIM. I DID N’ WHO CARES. MAYBE THEY LIKE YOUR CHARACTER OR IDK I REQUESTED IT TO MAKE YOUR SAD ASS HAPPY.

"Ohh yeah, I used to draw back in the day." The shit he sent me was traced, had his signature on it covering the original artists, no consistent style. Straight up thief and ugly liar. He can’t even draw a straight line, let alone paint a piece. Please, boy. I KNEW IT AND HED MANIPULATE ME INTO THINKING IT WAS AND I KNEW. AINT FOOLING ME THERE. I maybe or might’ve been extremely gullible as a teen, but ooohhh honeyyyy, I knew, I knew.

Artist my ass. Yeah con artist :))

———

I hated the awkward silence moments between us when we spoke. I literally wanted to fucking scream at you like you did to me sometimes when you were having a "bad day".

I wanted to yell at you about everything you’ve ever done to me the last time we talked and I just broke down instead because I am an "emotional bitch" as you say. HOLY SHIT though, are you boring. I thought I was, but I just get dissociative and I space out because I didn’t know what to say and when I did,I got judged for it. for everything else as wel which made me feel worse. fuucking fantastic you are

You made me feel like I was was swirling in this dead and extremely lonely silence that was ever so slowly drowning me and dragging me down.. ((Like BMTH says, don’t let me drown and you did to an extent)) i couldn’t breathe right for the longest time with you there.. felt like an enormous weight on my chest

when I was in there, it was awful and made me feel worse. I didn’t want to leave and when I did,you’d think I’d be having a fit or something.so, I would stay until you left and when you did it was absolute freedom.

I swear I hated being around you. I got judged for making any sort of weird noise, hiccup, burp, humming, my singing, jokes. such a fun person you are, hmph

#therapy journal #disabled post #disability #ableism #internalized ableism #anxiety #tw

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