#it was like.. dull and until then i thought only sharp ones could go thru skin and i was doubtful abt that

[x-doom-and-gloom-x]

Anyways I stepped on an earring today and I have convinced myself I'm going to die <3

[imhereforbvcky]

Watch Me Run - Part 13

Masterlist  -  Series Masterpage  -  Part 14

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader) Chapter: You and Bucky get a little closer. Meanwhile Loki moves closer to his goals and Natasha follows a new lead.

Word Count: 2183

A/N: Slowest of burns on this fic apparently. It’s building though! We’re going somewhere!

“Romanoff’s got a lead,” Tony explained. The old payphone thinned his voice, made it sound sharp and scratchy and so very far away.

Bucky held the heavy plastic to his ear with his left hand, so he would leave no trace of who had been there. Metal left no fingerprints. “What kind of a lead? Someone finally spot this guy? Where?”

Your eyes darted up to him, wide with a potent mix of fear and hope. Bucky worked hard at projecting passivity. Even if Tony did deliver alarming news, he needed you calm, here in this public location.

“No, no. I’m working on tracking Loki from here but it’s gotten a bit tangled with the Podunk Police force out at the hotel. Hell of a crime scene. They’re rattled. Understandable. But they want to call in Feds; we just want the reports. It’s—“

“What’s Natasha after then?” Bucky interrupted.

Eyes sharp and cool as steel scanned the room for the fifth time. It was a big room, lots of activity, no one would notice or care about two passersby using a payphone. Not in an ER. He’d scoped out this particular phone long ago. It was in the breezeway before the lobby, so as long as he kept his back to the room, the cameras wouldn’t pick him up.

“Some rumors about that necklace thing. It’s a little frightening how easily she finds information. I couldn’t dig up a damn thing about a green glowing rock in a big ugly eye-shaped necklace. But she makes two phone calls an--”

“Tony,” Bucky urged, watching you shift on the hard plastic stool, anxious and bored. When you leaned forward, gaze following the path of an incoming patient with a frown, Bucky’s hand was on your shoulder. He made a loose fist in the fabric of your t-shirt before pulling you back into the shadows and away from the waiting room with its cameras and its witnesses.

“Right. Payphone, limited time. If you’d let me send a Stark phone…,” Tony complained, gears always turning, even over old arguments. “Anyway. She’s headed to Nepal. Some temple or healer. I’m not sure how it’s connected, but you know how she is. Once she decides on something, there’s no persuading her.”

“She’s usually right.”

Natasha stood before the great wooden door, ornately carved, paint dull and chipping. The entry to such power appeared entirely ordinary. Not unlike the Black Widow herself, here, in simple denim and pale linen. This hall of reputed knowledge and force could just as easily have been the entry to a modest home or a forgotten shop.

The man who answered the door when she knocked stood on the step above her, looking down with a resolute calm. He barred her entry. Blunt force would be of little use here, but that was not a concern for her. She had been trained in many forms of persuasion, but in this case, she thought the truth might serve her best.

“I believe you have information I need,” she answered his questions with trademark composure.

“We are healers,” he frowned, equally cool. “We have nothing to offer a warrior.”

“About the Eye of Agamotto.”

She watched him carefully. The man standing before the door to the Kamar-Taj had broad shoulders and a stern eye. His spine, already straight as an arrow, seemed to stiffen like a drawn bow at the mention of the ancient relic.

“Indeed,” he finally conceded. A quick glance down the street and his hard gaze fell upon her again. “But you do not come alone. Deception will not serve you within.”

Natasha glanced across her shoulder, watching the faces in the bustling street. A merchant she had seen earlier, stared at her, bold as brass, determined as steel.

She hummed her agreement. “I’m not the one deceiving you. Bar him, if you like.” A one-shouldered shrug.  “He follows with the same purpose, but he is not with us.”

The man at the door narrowed his eyes at the merchant, watching for the length of two slow meditative breaths before turning back to Natasha.

“This is a place of knowledge, not war.”

“I just need information,” Natasha urged. “You keep him out long enough for me to get what I need and the war will follow me home. I’ll make sure of it.”

He nodded and stepped aside. The heavy wooden doors creaked open before her. With a quick sigh of relief and one last glance over her shoulder at the merchant who now openly scowled, Natasha stepped inside.

Weeks of dead-ends and Loki was frustrated. Out of leads and growing more agitated by the second, he’d followed when one of the Avengers slipped quietly halfway across the globe.

He was seeing rather more of this planet than he had ever intended. This should have ended with the death of one old man on a frozen spit of land. It should have ended with Loki unwinding the clock right there. He should be holding three infinity stones, not chasing Midguardians through crowded streets in New York and Nepal and Hel only knows where else.

What a mess. But what a challenge.

This avenger, the one who’d tricked him once before, stood outside a door like any other with a glance to him like a challenge. Fortunate, then, that Loki had spent hours poring over books in the Palace library at Asguard, learning magic from his mother, and strategy from his father. Those doors were guarded by more than man and Loki knew this.

Now that they were here, at this hall of Mystic Arts, it didn’t much matter that both she and the guard at the door had discovered him. Shape-shifting wouldn’t get him into that sanctum, but he didn’t need in; she did. He could wait.

For soon enough, she would tell him all he needed to know. And he would master time for himself.

The clatter of the plastic receiver landing in its cradle brought your attention back to Bucky. He sighed and shook his head at your raised brow. The question always on your mind, and on his, remained unspoken: Is it over yet?

Somehow if you didn’t ask, it seemed less disappointing, less frightening when the answer, inevitably rang a painful no. The answer was always no.

“Am I ever going to get to make a phone call?”

“No.”

He stood and held a hand out to help you up.

You rolled your eyes, but took it anyway. One swift tug and you were on your feet, marching back out to the rusty old truck.

“Wh-hey!” you complained, eyes darting back to the hospital. “I was gonna grab some snacks from the gift shop!”

“We can stop at a gas station on the way,” Bucky grumbled.

“More gas station food?” If you had to eat one more ham and cheese hot pocket you thought your insides might actually turn into molten cheese substitute. “Couldn’t we at least go to a restaurant? Hell, I’d take fast food at this point if it had something green on it.”

A smile curved at the corner of his mouth as he glanced down at you. “Drive-thru windows have CCTV,” he explained. “And there are too many people in there, too many variables.”

“Fine,” you sighed. “I hate hospitals anyway.”

“Everybody hates hospitals.”

“They do, don’t they?” you pondered. “Why is that? Good things happen at hospitals too. Babies are born, they make people better, save lives…”

“It’s the closest most people ever come to really seeing death. You walk in and mortality is suddenly more than someone else’s horror story.” Bucky’s eyes were set forward as he spoke. It was a simple matter of fact to him.

“The worst abstractions become concrete,” you surmised. “That was… very philosophical and also very morbid of you.”

He shrugged. “It’s true.”

“Do they still bother you? Hospitals, I mean.”

He paused. Even stopped walking. Something dark and angry flashed across his face. When he turned to you, it was gone, passive again, calm.

“Not anymore.”

You chewed on your lip for a moment, kicking yourself for even asking. What a stupid question. Of course hospitals were hardly a blip on the radar for him. A soldier, an assassin, a man who’d lived a hundred years. What had he to fear? Death paraded his loved ones away while he slept while he bent it to his will and the demand of war. All the while it left him cruelly untouched.

Death held no fear for a man like that. It was his to command.

“Once. A long time ago they did bother me,” he volunteered into the growing silence. It caught you by surprise. There was something of a smile warming his eyes, but of sadness rounding the edges.  “Steve was my best friend; he was always sick. Real sick. If I was in a hospital back then… meant it might be the end of the line for him.”

You looked up at him, compassion in your small frown and nodded. The rest didn’t need saying. You knew who he was. Bucky Barnes had fought in wars, been taken, torn down, and rebuilt. He’d become so intimately acquainted with mortality that for a time he’d embodied death itself. He’d done half those things chasing a scrawny kid from Brooklyn who couldn’t say no to a fight. Loyalty. Love. Determination. The defining qualities of James Buchanan Barnes, as you’d come to learn.

“Doesn’t help that the food’s gross.” Your shoulder nudged into his, a big loose grin staring up at him.

He laughed and you enjoyed the sound, but more, you liked the way a smile looked on Bucky. Laughter had a way of softening his angular features, plumping on his usually sharp cheeks and brightening his quick, wary eyes. When he laughed, you could see something gentle, something kind.

He slowed to a stop, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. It wasn’t until he glanced down that you realized you were standing beside the old rusty truck. You followed his gaze, down to his hand, still holding yours. It’s funny how comfort can creep up on you like that. You couldn’t even recall the moment you’d taken hold.

Within the darkened halls of the Kamar-Taj, Natasha pored over the pages of the book, but it held little meaning to her. She couldn’t understand it. Mystic Arts, spells, chakras, it all sounded like a children’s story. And yet Loki had come from another planet to collect on this knowledge.

“So, whoever has the Eye can…?” She nodded toward the book, unsure how to finish that sentence. The drawings and instructions seemed… farcical.

“If the wearer is sufficiently skilled in the Mystic Arts, yes.” The woman was small and thin. She looked ancient and young all at once. Thin skin stretched taught over sharp cheek bones and a perfectly round head. Delicate but not weak by any interpretation. She was not at all what Natasha had expected with a title like Sorcerer Supreme.

“But manipulating time this way is difficult, and dangerous,” she continued to explain. “Time loops, paradoxes, one could easily spawn divergent realities. These spell books are guarded vigilantly, and kept far from the stone itself for a reason.”

“And the stone-keepers?”

The woman paused, eyeing Natasha carefully. The Ancient One knew of The Black Widow, her many roles throughout history, the many sides of history, and she was wary.

“Please,” Natasha begged, “A few years ago two of these stones were here. In Ne –“

“The Battle of New York,” she acknowledged, slowly nodding.

“Yes. Loki, he’s practically a god from another world and he’s back. He’s after this Eye of Agamemnon,” Natasha pointed sharply to the drawing on the page.

“Amagotto,” the Ancient One corrected.

“If he gets his hands on it…”

“You think he’ll go back to 2012 and try to take the other two stones.”

Natasha nodded, wide eyes imploring. “The Eye, the stone-keeper… we’re trying to keep her and this relic safe.”

“Her?” The woman tilted her smooth head only a fraction, but her brows dropped in worried astonishment.

Natasha’s gaze shot up, surprise superseding her own worry. The Sorcerer Supreme didn’t know. “Loki murdered the last stone-keeper. The old man.”

When the other woman stepped forward, speechless, deep wrinkles growing deeper in her forehead by the moment, Natasha quickly reached for her phone. A few quick swipes and she’d called up the crime scene photos. The images that had started it all.

Blood cast across the screen, pooling deep red in strange crystalline patterns through the snow. The Ancient One drew in a sharp breath when she beheld the Seer’s eyes, cloudy and pale with cataracts, frozen wide but unseeing.

When she turned her face back to Natasha’s it was pale and grim. Suddenly, Natasha could see the years etched there, the soft wrinkles at her eyes and mouth, hollow cheeks and narrow lips. Most noticeable, though, was the fear that flickered dark in her eyes.

“But we have not trained a new stone-keeper.”

Part 14 >>

[himbofreddynewandyke]

creamsicle smut + freddy being conflicted

being Mr orange gave freddy the chance to be the cool guy he’d secretly always wanted to be, leather jacket and slight sneer, sure the stakes were higher but suddenly he didnt have to worry about his actual life, could act how and dress how he wanted, drink and blow smoke and banter with Cabot’s men, and they bought it. he was always waiting for someone to cry out, not “hey, this guy’s a cop!” but “hey, this guy aint one of us, he’s a fuckin dweeby loser” but that never happened. mr orange fit right in.

and when mr white flirted with him, freddy newandyke would've just blushed and stammered and made an excuse to leave, but mr orange flirted back, sent mr white longing looks while biting his lips, making sure the older man knew exactly what was on his mind.

White was confusing to freddy, he was dangerous, dangerous as hell, during their conversations he slipped mentions of his previous violence into them so casually – because it was casual for him, but freddy found everything about him strangely arousing, the way he was so sure of himself, the way he could be so brash yet a gentleman, he joked about time he kneecapped some mouthy guy once while they were eating burgers then ten minutes later offered his lighter to an elderly couple at the next table who were having trouble with theirs.

freddy had known he was gay since he was a young teen, not just gay but the worst type of fag, the type that wanted to be on the receiving end of sex, the type that wanted to be the more submissive partner. he may have been a social inept kid but he’d been smart enough to know to keep his mouth shut about crushing on other boys. as an adult he'd been with men a few times, never any names or kisses or beds, anonymous handjobs in club bathrooms, quick and hurried and always left him feeling dulled and wanted more. after he joined the police force his fear of his sexuality being found out and his own self hatred kept him celibate, and if he spent most nights thinking about being held and kissed and fucked by another man - his mind wouldn’t allow him to entertain the word ‘boyfriend’ - then that was his business only. and now, while he was playing this role, fitting in for the first time in his life as mr orange, this opportunity had fallen straight into his lap. He wanted mr white. He wanted mr white to fuck him, wanted this brute to rid of him of his pesky virginity, it was dangerous, it was dumb, but the undercover job had given him a type of courage he could’ve never possessed by himself.

white was definitely into him, freddy suspected he’d organised all their excursions together outside of joe’s orders, and one late evening when they were driving around, when white had slipped his hand on freddys knee but not gone further, was when freddy realised the older man was waiting for him to make the first move. so he made it, put his hand on white’s and brought it up higher, guided it over his thighs then over the top of his crotch. white didn’t react at first, just parked the car, then lent over and kissed him hard, his hand on freddys neck pulling him in. when they reluctantly broke apart, white started up the car again “my place is only about 10 minutes away”. feeling bold, freddy had kept his own hand on whites inner leg the whole way there.

once they got inside of his apartment, white tossed his car keys on the table then pulled freddy over to a couch, pulled him onto his lap so he was sitting and freddy was straddling him, then started kissing him again, slower this time yet no less forceful, his hands slipping under freddys jacket and undershirt. "he knows what he's doing" freddy thought "oh thank fucking christ, he knows what he's doing." freddy grinded up against white, couldn't help letting a whine escape him, he kissed down whites jaw n started sucking at his neck, white lifted his head up and pressed their foreheads together "what do you want sweetheart, we'll do whatever you want" he said. freddy licked his lips and swallowed "i want you to fuck me". White grinned, "yeah?" "yeah" freddy confirmed.

After a few more minutes of necking white led him over to the bed, and stripped them both effortlessly while still making out with freddy, this confirmation of his experience helping to relax freddy, white was running his hands over freddys sides and it was strangely tender and soothing, not at all what freddy had anticipated, but that he enjoyed nonetheless. They explored each others bodies, hands everywhere and kisses all over chests and shoulder, freddy growing red at how much his body responded to whites movements, arching into his touch, the stupid noises he was making.

When they were face to face again white gave freddy a small kiss on his lips "still want me to fuck you?" he said "yes" freddy said, not sure what he was supposed to do, but white had turned away, going thru the drawer of his nightstand, pulled out a tube of lube and a foil wrapper. Oh, right, a condom. Freddy felt mildly stupid, wouldnt have thought in the moment to ask about protection, then relief that white was the kind of guy to not have to be asked to wear one.

Freddy got onto his hands and knees on the bed, feeling self conscious, the most he'd been since he became mr orange. "you want me to be like this?" he asked, white rubbed his lower back and arsecheeks, "whatever position you want baby" "ok" freddy said, still unsure.

when white slid a lubed finger into his arse, he gasped and slid his arms down, buried his face in them. "shhhhhh" white soothed "that ok?" freddy was breathing heavily but stuttered out "yeah". "just relax, ok baby?" white slowly fingerfucked him, added another finger then a third, the whole time checkin in with freddy. Then he removed them, freddy kept his face hidden against his arms with his arse up, could hear white quickly opening and putting on the condom, then squirting more lube on, felt the head of his cock against his hole, then inside him, inching in slowly, giving him time to get used to the feeling. Freddys legs were shaking and white rubbed lil circles over his outer thighs, "good boy, you're doing so well baby". Freddy was so out of his element, appreciated the encouragement. it occured to him that white had probably seen past mr oranges sneering overconfident swagger, could tell it was freddy’s first time doing this.

there was a slight burn and stretch, but sex didn’t hurt like freddy had anticipated. Freddy was suddenly grateful that white hadnt given him the rough fuck he was expecting, was going slow, steady thrusts, could feel whites hand on his back and neck, reassuring him. White gently pulled out, "we're just gonna change positions baby" and freddy let him manipulate his body, couldnt stop him if he wanted to, onto his side with white behind him, pressed against him. White brought freddy’s leg up and then guided his cock into him again, freddy giving a sharp intake of breath at the new angle. This was nice, white's arms around him now, and white kissing the back and side of his neck, "sweet boy, such a gorgeous boy" he breathed into freddys ear, and freddy twisted his head so they could sloppily half-kiss. One of white's hands started on his cock as he continued fucking freddy at a slow rhythm, freddy didn't feel close to coming but didnt care about it now, all the new sensations he was feeling tonight were enough, the warmth of white pressed up against him, and inside of him, and his arms around him. White muttered "gonna cum" next to his ear, and soon did with a grunt, freddy thought he could feel the fat cock pulsing inside him. White didn't continue thrusting but kept his softening cock inside of freddy as he jacked him off, freddy was exhausted, didn’t think he could come just then, he felt like telling white not to bother but couldnt get the words out, didnt realise he was still slightly shaking. White continued switching different rhythms on his dick until freddy came suddenly and unexpectedly with a small yell.

When white slipped out of him and let go freddy wanted to bury his face in his arms again but couldnt move, then felt white's weight back on the bed, pulling him over so they were facing each other, started kissing slowly and lazily, and that was just what freddy needed, he moaned, sunk into white, he could hear him muttering “gorgeous, youre fucking gorgeous baby” then white rolled over slightly so freddy was curled into his side, occassionally pressing small kisses on whites chest, white running his hand through freddy’s hair. “you enjoyed that orange?” freddy smiled weakly, bone tired and still processing what happened, “yeah”. white groaned and yawned “i’m tired as hell, we’ll shower in the morning” “you want me to stay the night?” freddy said surprised. “sure, if you wanna. im not gonna fuck you then make you sleep alone” white said

it wasn't supposed to happen like this, white – this man who just yesterday was bragging about how to cut a man's fingers off for defending his business  – was supposed to fuck him, be rough with him, be every stereotype that freddy anticipated, then send him off into the night. Instead he'd been more tender and sweet than freddy could’ve imagined, than he had a right to be, than anyone would ever treat freddy again, had made sure he was ok and called him pet names, called him gorgeous. Freddy should've left right then. Instead, he did the worst thing possible. He burst into tears

this was the icing on this whole mistake cake, not only was white gonna think that he was some foolhardy whore who spread his legs for the first man who’d have him (which, an hour ago, he couldnt have given a damn about it, maybe thats what the reputation he wanted for mr orange), now he was gonna think he was emotionally disturbed.

"hey, hey" white's hand slipped down from his hair and started rubbing his back, bringing him in closer, which just made freddy sob pathetically more, bury his face into white’s neck. "I didn't hurt ya did i?" freddy shook his head and managed to whisper out a "no". "you're just feeling a bit vulnerable?" and freddy said "yeah", white continued to rub his back while making shhhh soothing noises, said “you’re ok, you’re good sweetheart”. freddy soon calmed down, whites hand never leaving him, neither man talking. freddy usually had trouble falling asleep but exhausted after his crying fit and with the warm body pressed beside him he went to sleep quickly

when he woke up, it was still dark, he and white had drifted apart slightly during the night but white still had an arm resting over him. Freddy rolled over which woke White up with a grunt. "wassa time?" he muttered. freddy looked at the digital alarm clock on whites nightstand "just after 3am" white gave another grunt as thanks, his eyes closed "c'mere" freddy sunk into his side again, let white lazily sling an arm around him, then he leaned over and started softly kissing along whites shoulder and neck "love how affectionate you are kiddo" white said, his eyes still closed "go back to sleep, i'll cook you something nice for breakfast in the morning"

no one had ever described freddy as 'affectionate' before, but then again he'd never been this affectionate – nor recieved anywhere close to this amount of affection – before. For the first time since he began the job, freddy felt guilty, for letting white treat him so good, treat him like a lover. He didnt feel like supercool Mr Orange anymore, just felt like a rat. He wondered what would happen between him and white, whether they could do this again (and again and again). He wondered if he could somehow get white a leaner sentence, lie maybe, say that white was forced to do the job to pay back a debt to Joe, but even in his head he knew White wouldn’t go along with it, he was an honourable guy, just with a really fucked up code of honour. For one crazy minute he wondered if he could just abandon everything, the police force, his whole life, and just drive off together, he and white living life on the lam. He yawned and wondered what white was gonna make him for breakfast.

[carmenlire]

Catch My Breath

Warning for references to depression and suicidal ideation

read on ao3

His breath leaves him in a steady sigh that’s as heavy as it is chronic. His face is cast in shadows, mostly green this late but once in a while he slows to a stop and stares unseeing at red.

Work had been a nightmare today. A part of him thinks that it’s always a nightmare while most of him is just glad he’s done for another eleven hours.

Eleven hours where he doesn’t have to think. He doesn’t have to smile at customers who ask questions but don’t listen for the answers, where he feels like he’s always behind no matter how furiously he works, where he wishes he could have one goddamn moment to himself without his coworker demanding he be present for her never-ending, useless diatribe.

He doesn’t have to be present at home.

It’s a comfort wrapped in a threat.

Because at home it’s silent. Away from work, he sometimes wonders that he doesn’t just disintegrate into the nothing he feels on an hourly basis. At work, there are appearances that must be kept but once his shift ends, his strings are cut and he’s starting to wonder how many more mornings he can tie himself back up into a convincing visage of adulthood.

That’s a worry for tomorrow, though. For now, he has the whole night-- a few hours-- to decompress before he does it all again.

Only four more days until the weekend, he tells himself and his eyes glint in a mockery of relief.

The highway isn’t busy tonight. It never is when he works a late shift and he feels alone and a little lonely as he speeds toward home, toward sanctuary.

Flexing his hands on the steering wheel, he thinks about dinner. He hasn’t had anything but coffee all day and nothing sounds good, appetizing, worth a damn.

He hasn’t eaten more than a few cookies in a couple of days but his stomach isn’t hollow. It isn’t anything. He has groceries at home but those need to be prepped. They need to be cleaned and washed and cut and cooked. Jace has him on this asinine diet and all the fast food near him that’s still open sure as hell doesn’t fit his brother’s meal plan.

He can’t find it in himself to give a fuck.

There’s a fast food place a couple of miles from him. He’s never been to the one near his apartment but he has a general idea of where it’s at and nowhere to be.

He lets himself acknowledge that he doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want to go straight from work to home again, like he always does, even if it’s what he tells himself he wants. At home, there’s nothing but shadows and loneliness. He knows that if he goes home, he’ll climb right into bed and hate himself a little more for not throwing together a salad or, fuck, a piece of toast with peanut butter.

He knows he’ll hate himself anyway for going through the drive-thru but at least this way, he’s eating.

Everything feels slowed down. It’s felt that way for a couple of months now and he has the wherewithal to know what it means. He knows what it means, that he can’t seem to eat regular meals, that his eyes are always gritty no matter his sleep schedule, that there’s a gaping goddamn chasm in his chest that makes him a little colder every passing day.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he barely has the energy to go to work, let alone make it to the gym. It’s a no brainer why he feels like screaming until he shatters his own ears but it still takes so much effort to talk above a whisper.

He’s tired and he’s tired of being tired.

An errant thought crosses his mind, that he should be over this. He’s been dealing with this for years now. It’s cyclical. It happens.

It doesn’t mean that he isn’t laid low, that the prospect of clawing his way out of this hole, again, doesn’t leave him gasping for breath already.

Absently, he switches the song. Once, twice, half a dozen times until he finds another slow song that fits his mood. It’s pretentious and he scoffs at himself for the thought, but he’s full of goddamn melancholy. Yearning with the faintest edge of bitterness.

He doesn’t know where this place is but as his eyes scan for a familiar logo, he sees sporadic decorations. It’s the middle of December but he hasn’t felt holly or jolly in years.

He doesn’t like to think about what that says about him.

This time of year is his favorite and every fall, he promises himself that he’ll celebrate properly this time. His December will be a fucking winter wonderland, worthy of a Hallmark Special.

It’s been a lie since he was a kid in high school. He’s never brought it up to anyone, this apathy he feels for the most wonderful time of year, and he can’t help but wonder if this is growing up or if this is just his head playing its shitty, cruel jokes on him yet again.

Finally seeing the fast food joint he’d been looking for, he pulls in and orders. He turns the stereo low and watches the windshield wipers in a daze.

The quiet’s oppressive and just a little mean.

With his food in tow-- and he knows as he orders it, that he doesn’t want it, that he wishes he wasn’t quite so human so he didn’t have to think about such things like whether he ate today or not and what that means for tomorrow’s him-- he starts back toward his lonely apartment.

He has half a thought to just keep driving but he’s itching to get home. He thinks about what would happen if he stayed out a couple of hours, just driving aimlessly around. He thinks about driving to the closest big city a couple of hours away just because he can and because there’s nothing waiting for him in sleep except relief.

The thought sets off a warning bell that he doesn’t let himself linger on.

He takes dull note of the light ahead turning to yellow for a beat or three before it goes scarlet. He watches the cross traffic and thinks idly about how easy it would be to run a light one of these days and have everything go dark.

He shudders a little as another thought follows on its heels about how nice it could be.

Passing businesses and homes in equal measure, he’s struck for the thousandth time that’s he’s alive. It’s asinine but he watches a man crossing the street with his dog, sees a coffee shop employee closing up for the night and it’s all so human, so painfully mundane, that it sets a weight on his chest that’s equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

His head’s a mess.

His phone lays dark and cold in the passenger seat. He could maybe talk to someone-- wants to talk to one in particular-- but he’d said he had an evening full of grading ahead of him and Alec’s never told his boyfriend about the thoughts that plague him with worrying regularity. They haven’t been together too long, in any case, and Alec’s loathe to tell anyone about his shitty mental health.

Not when there’s nothing to worry about.

It’s not like it was a few years ago, at least. By God, he still has that going for him. He might think about dying with peculiar self-assuredness but he knows he’s nowhere near that imperceptible precipice he hovered on back in college.

As long as that’s true, there’s really nothing to worry about.

The shadows grow long as he turns onto his street and he finds himself sinking, shrinking, trying to melt into the driver’s seat.

He’s a big boy. A grown up. He pays off his credit card every month and manages to eat a vegetable at least once a week and sure, he may want to die, to disappear, to simply fucking vanish with alarming sincerity a few dozen times a day but it’s nothing he can’t handle, nothing he hasn’t been handling for awhile now.

Parking in a surprisingly good spot, considering the time, Alec just sits in the dark car for a couple of minutes as he tries to get the gumption to get out of the car and into the cold. He grabs his food that already leaves a sour taste in his mouth and pockets his phone.

With his head down, he makes his steady way toward the side of his building. He doesn’t see who’s waiting for him but as he looks up and wrestles with his keys, he stops short.

Mouth parting on a silent breath that fogs in the pre-snow air, his thoughts stutter as he sees the one person he’d been aching for all damn day.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey, yourself.” Magnus’s voice is equally soft and as Alec tracks his gaze over his boyfriend, he catalogs the unforgivably informal sweatpants and the hoodie that he’s pretty sure he left at Magnus’s loft last month.

He doesn’t see Magnus returning his onceover with sharp eyes, isn’t aware of the careful breath his boyfriend releases as his concern is validated.

He swallows hard, tries even harder not to look as affected as he feels. “What are you doing here?”

Magnus shrugs, lets his mouth tip into a small smile. “You seemed down when I talked to you at lunch and I finished work early. Thought I’d surprise you.”

Swallowing roughly at sudden lump in his throat, Alec takes a hesitant step closer. It’s only then that he sees the bag Magnus is holding.

Seeing his eyes drop, Magnus’s grin becomes a little bolder and he raises it enticingly. “I have your favorite movie and takeout from that Italian place near me that you love.”

Alec stares at Magnus, not saying anything for a beat or two or six. Magnus doesn’t seem to mind.

No, he just looks back with all the patience of a fucking saint and Alec clears his throat through the sheer emotion rising to the surface. It chokes him. It eases him.

Without thinking too much about it, he closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Magnus. His own takeout bag knocks against his boyfriend’s shoulder, but neither one pays any attention to it. Alec holds on for dear life and Magnus pulls him closer still.

Alec breathes in Magnus and the ice around his chest thaws just a little, just enough to push him off the edge for another day.

He surrounds Magnus and tells himself just one more day.

He’ll always be able to make it home one more day if Magnus is the one waiting for him. Not his lonely apartment, not the weight of obligation and pretense.

But Magnus, his calm in the storm, his beacon of goddamn light.

He’ll always come home to Magnus.

[ranwritesstuff]

Belladonna Edison’s Journal No. 1

I heard that the love of my life is dead.

Emmy was murdered, they said. I heard of how brutal it was when the police driver relayed it to me in his squad car. I couldn’t do anything then but cry and wonder about the why’s and the who’s.

He was such a good man, kind-hearted, loving, accepting, compassionate, and beautiful - absolutely beautiful. Why would anyone harm him when he’s done them no wrong?

“Maybe I could try helping you with remembering anything that I can about possible suspects, officer.” I offer, trying to hide my grief behind a big, helpful smile.

“We would still need your statement, Ms. Edison, when we-“the officer started but I interjected quickly with a “how about I start now so we can finish early?”

I did not wait for his reply and started my retelling of our love story in the hopes that I may find something that could help in the investigation.

“I first met Emery Coen in the autumn of ’09. I saw him in a Halloween party that’s oh! What do you know?” I craned my neck to look behind us. “That’s where the party was held!”

The police officer glared at me through the rear view mirror. I guess he didn’t like the way I giggled. Emmy liked it though, that’s why I love him. He accepted and loved me when no one did.

“Anyways, I was dressed as a horror movie victim. I was sitting alone on one of the couches there and that’s when I saw him.” I took a moment (or maybe more) to smile at the memory. It made me feel turquoise, happy tendrils of color going through my body.

“Emmy was gorgeous, his light halo of hair was gelled down, a three piece suit hugged his muscular body. His laugh was just so cute but then it turned..“ I twisted my mouth, ”…weird. He was looking around every once and a while and I swear I would’ve done anything to make him laugh again. I would’ve killed the one that made him stop laughing like he did. But it came to me that it must have been because I haven’t introduced myself yet.

“So, I went and walked over to introduce myself. His friends all tried to be friendly but I didn’t care about them. I cared about how he was holding hands with–Aine.” I spat out the name like it was the most vile thing in the world, and she was.

“I thought that she was my friend! But she looked right through me like that was the first time she saw me. Whatever!” I was raising my voice maybe a bit too much but she tried to harm my Emmy.

“Her death grip on my Emmy’s hand was hurting him. He looked so uncomfortable; I wanted to just take him away from everyone. Maybe it was her, Officer. Maybe she just couldn’t take that Emmy loves me, not her. Stricken with so much grief on losing him, she murdered him so that no one else can have him.”

The officer just hummed at the road in front of him. “Maybe you could’ve been a greeeaaaat detective.” I’m still not sure but I think he sassed me. Silence ballooned between us after his /little/ comment and it was awhile before I even took a breath. “If there was such a thing as forever, Emmy and I would’ve started earlier if Tera wasn’t there when I confessed.”

I stared blankly out of the window for a while, it was such a shame that Tera had to go sooner than I originally planned. I would give anything to have her friendship back. I would still give absolutely everything to have Emmy back though.

The officer cleared his throat and I snapped back to reality.

“Ms. Edison, are you alright back there?” his annoying, gritty voice was laced with concern. {wow}

“Yes, shall I continue my story?” he replied with an uninterested hum but I know  that deep in his vested chest that he cared about what I had to say. “Morning light looks really pretty when light sheets of rain go through it. Like there are little rainbows everywhere you look and you know! It just makes everything seem much more special. But in reality nothing is and everything you did, everything you were proud of would just be gone-be just one big mistake. That’s how it felt.

“I saw Tera and Emmy together that August morning in 2014. They looked so content just being in each other’s company.” I sighed wearily and looked out the little town slowly rolling outside the squad car. It was too sunny for me. The nauseating hue was offending my very being. Nothing should be this bright when Emmy’s not here. Heck, I don’t think that anything has been dull ever since he’s been gone. Not even hospital gowns and bleached sheets. Everything is so sharp and crisp nowadays, don’t you agree, doctor? “I wanted-I wanted.” I didn’t even realize then that I was crying until I felt my throat constricted and dry. I swallowed to relieve my throat and continued on, “I wanted to- to be her so much. I wanted to be the-the re-receiving end of a gaze as-as-as loving as his. I did-didn’t want to be just the obsidian blue he sees me as. I wanted him to be as blue as his eyes are for me. I wanted him to hold my han-hand as carefully as he held hers. I wanted so much… "But I’m not Te-Tera and no matter what I do I would never be the great person she was nor the best friend she was to me even after my confession.” “What happened when you confessed, Ms. Edison?” the Officer did care after all, however I was so shocked then that I gaped at him before closing my mouth and properly answering him. “Well, I went to their booth and-and tried to get Emery to at least /remember/ me. But he kept on moving away and denying that he had even seen me before and called me /insane/.” I spat out bitterly. “Then I did the only thing I thought that would get through him.” I paused for breath. “I confessed my love for him.” The static white started to calm down behind my eyes. Just a calm, unmoving snowy white remained to cool my heart. “I lost control when I saw red bleed out to a fine pink. Not just the neon pink that wants to get your attention, it was the blood-in-water hue that could awaken monsters inside anyone. Do you know what I’m talking about, Officer?” He didn’t answer me again as the radio comm crackled into life for the nth time but that annoying voice was for him. I can’t remember what it was exactly that the other officer on the other end of the comm said but it was something about the transportation of a criminal? I don’t want to focus on that though. The silence was suffocating and I just let it brew for awhile. Just to get his full attention back. “I got kicked out of that Starbucks. I still do regret getting kicked out but it’s fine since there are better coffee shops out there. Although, it’s getting annoying that they’re starting to take over my little hometown with how many stores there are. There’s even one where they have a drive-thru! Who needs a drive-thru for a coffee shop?” I try to “lighten” the mood. “Well, there are people who are too busy to go down from their vehicle to go and get coffee.” the Officer explained. I think he was trying to entertain me to keep me away from our previous topic. He must’ve gotten what I meant. That would actually be impressive since no one ever got what I mean when I tell them about my emotions. Doctor, I hope that you could get it too. It’ll be easier for me to tell you what you want if you actually understand me. I let out a little puff of amusement and he laughed awkwardly. “Do you know what blue means, Officer?” “Well, it could mean a lot of things for different people like how it’s serenity or peace or even sadness in different flowers. It just depends on what kind you are.” “Well, for me it means love.” “Would you care to explain, Ms. Edison?” “My mom used to explain it to me when I was a kid like–I think so just because the clear sky is blue. If the sky is blue, it means that there’s no storm-no conflict. It means everyone is happy. No one is malcontent, no one is selfish, that everyone is given what they need and not what they want.” I wanted to smile, I really did but my mouth just wasn’t cooperating and the static was coming back up. “When I asked her what she would symbolize herself as when I was in high school, she answered ‘the sea’. She told me since I was the sky, and the sea reflects the sky and she feels whatever I’m feeling; it was the perfect match. I wonder if she also felt that pink run through her veins when I felt it. "It wouldn’t have mattered even then though. She’s already resting in heaven in a well-deserved vacation with the saints. "You know, after the confession, I never felt blue again for a few months. I didn’t understand how he could’ve smiled like he did when he got the daffodils I sent him but not when I was actually talking to him. "I couldn’t even dream normally. The colors were all distorted and nothing moved realistically. It was like seeing a colorful but colorblind shadow puppet show. I kept on feeling static white with splashes of reddish hues and violet purple blurbs that came to life too. It was like Emmy shattered my mind and it just bled to my body.” My hands were fists on my lap as I recollected the nightmares I went through after the confession. Luckily, I didn’t have to do it alone, Doctor. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t my promise to her. Thank her if she does go and visit because by the time I think I’m finished with this assignment, I wouldn’t be wearing just marigolds on my hair. “Tera tried to help me even after me almost hurting her. She’s such a kind, compassionate person. I don’t think I can do anything to pay back my favor. If that even was a favor.” By that, I meant that she came to me when I was still blaming her so bad, I almost did something…unfortunate for both sides. But you know what, Tera continues to be a role-model for me. Even if I hated her at first, I’m glad I didn’t act on my first instinct. She might be the last person I would betray but I’ve already failed on that one so what about a few more secrets? Well, she told me that she also had a crush on Emery a looong, long time ago. That there wasn’t anyone on the planet that wouldn’t have fell for his charms except if you were a “cold-hearted bitch”. She got over it and if she could do it, maybe /I/ could do it too. I was always obsidian but never blue. I couldn’t get to that right shade that would be the very meaning of love. Maybe it’s not in the color spectrum that I see? I maybe blind to the very thing that I need and want the most. This means that I don’t even have the right capacity to even do a very basic human skill. I can’t feel blue. I felt pink but never red. I never had the patience to end where and when I needed something to end. I don’t have a hobby. I never liked the program I went to in college, I didn’t have the patience to even take a bath for too long but for the first time in a long time, I really wanted him to stay with me. Red filled my very being and made me feel alive.

[taylorowelch]

8/20 - 8/23 71 miles We slept late and decided to get a coffee and breakfast at the food truck. We loitered a while and talked to other hikers. Around noon we headed back to the trail which was packed. We both forgot what it was like to be on trail near a parking lot on a weekend day. Around ten miles in the people began to dissipate as we continued our long climb. We were still in view of Mount Rainier for a while, eventually losing sight of it and, as the sun sank lower, huge dark gray jagged peaks lined up along the sky. The trail was rough, made mostly of angular rocks piled up on each other, a slight depression just enough to follow a trail. I filtered water at a lake and another hiker we had met in town, Valley, caught up with us. He asked us to keep watch for him while he went skinny dipping. He jumped into the big green lake. The cold water pulling a loud yell out of him. When I left the lake it felt like I was climbing forever. I hiked with Valley for a while and we chatted. It was nice to talk to someone new. We took lots of breaks to look at Rainier and the other huge peaks ending in dramatic points against the blue sky. It seemed like they went on forever, rows of them stacked one behind the other, feathering out and on into the sun behind them. I hiked until dark. We had only done 15 miles but the climbing and the terrain made it take so long. I got to camp, set up my tent, and cooked dinner, teriyaki rice with bacon bits and smashed fritos, as the last of the daylight drained out of the atmosphere. I ate with my headlamp shining into my teriyaki rice. I crawled into my tent and felt exhausted and happy. We slept in and I was hiking at about 8. There were so many weekend backpackers, more than I had ever run into in one section. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. At about 9 I ran into a couple and chatted with them for a bit. They said they were trying to find a good place to watch the eclipse. That was it! The eclipse! They were all here for the eclipse! As I stood there talking to them I told them I didn’t have anything through which to view the eclipse and they gave me an extra pair of paper glasses they brought. Trail magic. I hiked on to a creek and a large waterfall. I filtered a little water and ate trail mix and watched the eclipse begin. I watched it there for a while and then left the creek, walking through a burn. The whole thing was so eerie and magical, the burnt trees towering over new wildflowers and shrubs in this half-light. It was like someone pulled a shade over the sun, replacing its light with a dusty glow. It was a beautiful, dull, hazy tint. Soon the light became normal again, and I ate my ramen lunch at another creek before a big climb. I powered up the climb, knowing I had to get it over with. At the peak of it I stopped at a small lake. It was green and receding. I drank water and ate trail mix and stared at the spruces on the edge of the lake, at the big silver peak behind it, at its skirt of gravelly-looking boulders just dribbled down the peak’s front. The world was so still and quiet. Pika squeaked from the boulders. A marmot whistled. I left shortly and began a long descent through thick smoke. I think it was from the fires in British Columbia. Supposedly that smoke is still lingering in northern Washington. As I descended, a grouse (a bird that looks like a wild chicken) landed on the trail. I felt kind of manic and I yelled “CHICKEEEEN” and ran after it. It didn’t even fly away, just waddled along kind of frantically down the trail. It stumbled off into a bush after a while and I left it alone. I crossed the Waptus river and found a little campsite on the other side. I chatted with some section hikers while I filtered my water. I cooked pesto pasta and drank electrolyte water. Feeling full and sun-soaked and tired, I crawled into my tent. When I awoke, tiny pieces of ash had settled on my fly. The morning was warm. Already I could tell it would be a hot day. I ate a pop tart in my sleeping bag, drank instant coffee and hiked out, up one steep climb and down the other side. The smoke was thick, the mountains across from me looked dusty and faded like an old photograph. We stopped for lunch and I ate ramen, thinking about the long afternoon ahead. We still had 2500 feet to climb. Dustin left before me from our lunch spot. I rounded a bend and watched as he stood a wet log on it’s end, about the length and width of his own body, and pushed it over, wedging it into channel of water in a river. He saw me and threw his hands up in excitement, proud of himself. We crossed the river and continued up the climb. I passed lots of weekend backpackers and section hikers. I noticed another thru hiker coming southbound. He stepped aside to let me pass. We exchanged the usual, “Hey, how are you,” and I paused. “You look familiar,” I said, “What’s your name?” “Blue,” he replied quietly. Blue wore a teal hat. He had long brown hair and a beard. He had a ukulele in his pack. “You’re going southbound?” I asked. “Well now I am.” “What day did you start?” “April 30th.” “That’s it. Me too. The last time I saw you was at Hauser Creek,” I remembered of my very first day on trail. A kind of astonishment washed over his face. It was funny. I remembered that afternoon perfectly. My foot hurt so bad. I couldn’t get my water filter to work. Blue sat there on sleeping pad talking about going five more miles and had so many things together. I sat there wondering if I would ever have my routine that dialed. If I would ever figure out how to use my water filter, If I would ever figure out the appropriate amount of water to carry. From time to time I thought about all the people I camped with that day and wondered where they were. Now one of them was standing here staring me in the face, two-thousand-four-hundred-some miles away from that creek. We shot the breeze for a little bit. We didn’t really know each other at all, but we knew each other better than we knew the day hikers, the weekenders. There was this strange bond there that I felt before with other hikers I hadn’t seen in a long time, this strong old memory that grew taught with all of the steps I had taken between then and now, reinforced by the idea that that other person and I both had taken lots of steps in that time, maybe in different weather, with different people, but the whole time we were doing the same thing. It felt good. We went our separate ways and I kept on climbing. I filtered water and climbed some more, eventually crossing Piper Pass and beginning to descend through a rock field, the sky all pink and light blue behind me. When I finally got to camp my feet hurt a lot. A few of the toes on my right foot have been numb for a few days. I heard that happens to some people. I made dinner and got into my sleeping bag, grateful to be going to town tomorrow. I accidentally slept late. I was walking by 8 and I was exhausted. My body was tired, my pack felt like it would never fit right, giving me a rash on my back, chafing my armpit into oblivion. I grew frustrated. I climbed slowly. My feet ached. I stopped at a stream and drank a liter of water and brushed my teeth. I felt a little better. I met up with Dustin at Susan Jane Lake and ate ramen and looked at data for Skykomish, the town we were about to enter. I hiked over Stevens Pass and under some ski lifts. I went into the lodge and got my package. Dustin and I broke down our resupply boxes and talked with a friend of ours, Pooperazzi (he always catches people in the act). We thought he was a few days ahead of us but he showed up right before us at the lodge. We hitched into Skykomish and ate burgers and fries and mozzarella sticks. I forgot about fried mozzarella sticks. They were so good. I stared at the table and drank the last of my soda, dazed from calories. I don’t know if I mentioned this before but when I was in Wrightwood I was hiking around a boy named Croc. He was eighteen. He said that every time he ate a Clif bar he could feel his body metabolize it, that he could feel the calories burning up and away. I felt like that sitting at the table, my body anchored firmly to the chair, my dirt-smudged arms cemented to the formica table, my metabolism rocketing away inside my skin. I could feel the burger and the fries and the cheese just burning up and away in my blood somewhere. After that we hitched a few miles more to the Dinsmore’s, a trail angel’s house. We showered and exploded our packs in the bunkhouse, throwing things away and sorting things and attempting to do laundry, even though the dirt never really seems to dissipate from any of my clothes. We watched Children of Men which, if you’ve never seen it, is a movie set in 2027 on the edge of dystopia. It was all so plausible. It was really nice to watch a movie, but that police-state-total-war society felt so close in time, like if the future of possible worlds was laid out in front of me, that would be one of the options I could point to and say, “Yes, this one could totally happen.” It contrasts so starkly to looking at those deep blue lakes, those sharp gray mountains, to that child-like optimism that my new, bright, slow existence has given me. Oh, I saw another grouse today. I saw a bush at my eye-level shutter and I peered inside it. The grouse, plastered against the steep hillside, looked at me with one big eye, terrified. It waddled up the hill away from me.