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gothamxwattpad · 1 year ago

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This Is GothamX

Chapter Two: Secrets & Lies, Truths & Knives

Word Count: 2943

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The late night air is hot, muggy and wet with the rain that is coming down heavier as I walk. Where am I going? Back to the streets, to the Shallows, where I belong. Gotham is founded on secrets and lies. Secrets and lies; in each and every brick and concrete block that built this city. It’s in the blood that stains the streets. And in the blood of everyone here.

My existence; more secrets and lies. The Mob killed Harley Quinn- my mother- and the head of the Scott family sold her out. The Joker is back and he told the truth. He told me the truth. What else could he tell me? Why did he come back? Where has he been all of this time? How do I find him? I have so many questions and I’m still trying to catch my breath.

“Where does one find the Joker?” I question aloud in the darkness of the alley I walk down.

The Shallows between midnight and 5am are somewhat haunting; shadows move, whispers are loud and it feels like there are eyes everywhere. They like to call these hours Goblin Hours, kind of like Witching Hour; when the veil between life and death is the thinnest, allowing spirits and ghosts to travel between worlds. We call them Goblin Hours, when Gotham’s nocturnal residents drift around to cause inconveniences to others.

“Shhhhhh.” Someone hushes me, “I wouldn’t say that too loud.” They add, catching me by surprise.

I knew I wasn’t alone, “Why?” I reply, waiting for the individual to appear out of the darkness, the way their voice echoes off the building walls, it’s hard to tell where they are.

“Because, I hear that anyone who gets too close to him gets hurt or worse.” The person sighs, “I wouldn’t summon the devil.” They still remain hidden.

“He has answers to my questions.” I answer, peeping over my shoulder to see if they could possibly be behind me somewhere.

“What kind of questions?” THe person replies, easing out of the darkness a few feet ahead of me.

“Depends on if you’re going to help me find the Joker.” I tell the boy smiling at me like a Cheshire Cat.

“Seriously, why do you want to find him?” He asks, dropping his smile.

“Because earlier he broke into a gang leader’s condo and revealed something big.” I answer, being vague with my answer because I don’t know this kid. “And who are you? You’re not from around here.” I add.

“You’re Aurora, right? Zach’s friend?” He replies quickly, sensing a growing tension between us.

“We met a couple of weeks ago. I helped him find a White Rabbit piece earlier, you know, before he was jumped.” He explains, pausing to gesture at his nose referencing Zachary’s nose injury from earlier before he pulls his phone out to show me the same pictures Zachary showed me before things went sideways with the Joker’s bank robbery.

“My name is Nolan, Nolan Parks. Nice to finally meet you, Pinky Wonder.” He says, giving me a weird bow.

I roll my eyes but smile at him and his use of my nickname.Pinky Wonder.It’s what Zachary calls me.

“I’m not some Gotham City creep, okay?” He adds, “And I am from here, I just left for a while and came back.”

“So, are you going to help me find him or are you going to tell me your life story?” I sigh, I am amused by him and relieved that we have a mutual friend but he’s still a stranger to me.I don’t know if he can be trusted yet.

“Okay.” He answers, “Let’s go.”

I follow with caution, “Where are we going?”

“Why do you want to find him?” He asks, again.

“He broke into a friend's home earlier tonight, dropped a few truth bombs and left. Tonight I found out that I am the daughter of Harley Quinn and that my friend’s father is responsible for her death.” I sigh, reluctant to give him such information.

“Wow. That’s definitely a lot to swallow.” He replies, “I can’t imagine what’s going on in your head right now.”

We both walked silently for a while. The sidewalk on this block is well lit, I can see Nolan Parks better. Tall and slender, skater boy attire minus the skateboard and a pair of headphones hanging on his neck blasting music. Red hoodie, damp from the rain. His hair is a weird uneven copper color, looks like a bad bleach job, which makes me assume his hair was a darker color before.

“Where are we?” I ask, stopping abruptly with the eerie ick that climbs up my spine, I knew where I was but I wanted him to say it aloud.

“Crime Alley. But more specifically, this is the alley that Bruce Wayne’s parents died in.” He answers, doing that weird bow thing again. “We’re getting close.”

I’m in Crime Alley. Deep water. Bad Vibe. But what did I expect? I’m looking for the Mad Clown of Gotham, he’s not going to be hiding in the well lit, nice areas of Gotham.

He stops at a metal door beneath a single dull yellow flood light, he bangs on it and steps back, “Park Row Theater. It’s sort of a shelter for street kids. It’s safe but definitely not for the faint of heart.”

There’s a clicking noise on the other side and then the door opens to a large muscular man.He looks at him and then me and frowns, “Are you sure about this, Parks?” He says.

“She’s persistent.” He answers the man with a straight face.

The man sighs and moves out of the way, “Get in here before you draw attention.”

Once inside, the man shuts the door, locks it and turns to face us. He’s built like a brick wall; curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, jeans, boots and a clean white tank top and a gold chain hanging from around his neck with a gold ring.We stand in a small room, dimly lit with dirty walls with peeling wallpaper. There’s a worn out recliner in the corner with a wooden crate table and lamp. I don’t get a good look around before the man clears his throat.

“I’ll be level with you kid, he doesn’t want you here or around him. It’s too dangerous.” He speaks down to me.

I think he knows who I am.

I feel my face heat up with his bluntness. I can’t be mad at him for being upfront with me. I had thought about it, why he left me behind at the Scott’s, why he ignored me as he walked right by.

“You can stay the night but it might be best if you’re gone by dawn.” He says with a heavy sigh, “Parks, I’m serious. The others are not going to be friendly towards her.” He adds coldly.

He nods and grabs my arm. We slip through a makeshift curtain that hung over the door into an open room, the theater lobby. To my surprise, the building has electricity. Sort of, some of the old light fixtures were broken and taped up with electrical tape. The floors are covered in a maroon red carpet stained with who knows what. Some of the walls were covered in graffiti and newspaper. In the dimmer spots had people sleeping on air mattresses and whatever they could find to use as beds.

“Aurora, in here.” Nolan whispers as he opens a door down a small hallway.

Formerly a storage room? Dressing room, maybe? It was cleaner than what I’ve seen so far. A mattress lays next to the wall with a lamp sitting on the floor next to it. Clean sheets, blankets and a pillow. Almost like someone was expecting guests.

“You should try to get some sleep. I’ll be back to wake you up before the rest get up and moving around.” He whispers to me with sad eyes and then he leaves.

He doesn’t think I should be here either. Or he’s just being cautious. Me being here might make things worse for him. It might be best if I do leave. But not until I’ve faced him.

It’s a terrible idea to wander around somewhere I’m both unwelcome and unfamiliar with. I find my way back to the lobby, quietly to avoid disturbing the sleeping residents. I gently push the theater door open and step inside. Music plays from the floor above along with laughter.

“Well, it looks like the Clown Princess has found her way back to the castle.” A voice speaks from the balcony above.

I stop midway down to the stage and look up to find him leaning over the railing.

He smiles down at me, “I guess things didn’t work out at the Scott’s.”

“They wanted me to stay and I wanted answers but he didn’t want to give them to me.” I answer, knowing he was trying to be funny.

“He would, but they would be in the form of lies.” He replies with a sigh, “Who let you in? What are you doing here?” He adds, dropping his smile.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m in. I came looking for answers.” I reply, looking around me.

The theater seats are empty. There’s trash on the floor. The stage is clean and well lit by spotlights, most of them pointing to the golden throne, I assume was once a stage prop back in the day when this theater was used.

“You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you here.” He says bluntly.

I feel his eyes on me, observing and searching for a weakness, “Why did you pressure him to talk about my mother?” I ask over the ringing in my ears.

“Andre Scott let you into his home and family because he feels guilty about his wrong doings. He would have never told you the truth, only half truths and anything that makes him seem less terrible. I wasn’t expecting you to be there though, that was a surprise.” The Joker says, “You should have stayed with them. It would’ve brought me some pleasure knowing that he has to face the consequences of his wrong doings every day.”

“You said you don’t lie, how do I know that is true?” I press on, growing annoyed with how off course I’ve gotten. I came looking for answers and he’s dodging, distracting and getting me fired up.

“I. Don’t. Lie.” He says slowly, giving each word venom, “I pick people apart and make them feel things. I rip them to shreads if needed. But I don’t lie.”

That was the truth.

“Sorry to burst your bubble or hurt your feelings or whatever but the truth comes with knives.” He adds, “I don’t want you here. You should leave.” He sighs, walking back out of view.

Truth and knives. Secrets and Lies. I just strolled into the lion's den dressed like a lamb. I smell like easy prey. Weak. I’m not even allowed to be mad when I was warned at the door by the big buy.

I wander back to the room Nolan left me in, I kick my shoes off and crawl into bed and try to sleep.

I wake to someone kicking the mattress beneath me. Assuming it's part of the theater's charm, I accept the rude awakening.

“Pinky Bitch, You can’t sleep all day. Get up and earn your keep.” She snaps, stomping away.

“Pinky Bitch?” I groan, rubbing my eyes.

I sit up and pop my neck, I guess I slept a little bit but not much. It was more like a nap. There is a plastic bag next to my shoes when I reached for them. It’s a protein bar and an energy drink, Nolan must have left it for me. Where is he? He said he was going to wake me but instead I had that mean girl for an alarm clock.

After putting on my shoes, I go looking for the source of all the noise. It’s coming from the theater itself. My mind flashes to last night when I faced the Joker. The truth comes with knives. I push the theater door open and join the space full of people.

“Good, you’re up.” The girl snaps at me as she passes me on her way up to the steps to the stage.

I got a better look at her this time, she can’t be too much older than me. She’s pretty, a glimmering sienna complexion with long silky dark hair that’s braided in a single braid down her back. Dark eyes, she keeps stabbing me with them as I drift closer to the stage. There he is, the Joker, sitting in his faux golden throne on stage. I find myself moving towards the steps too, meeting his cold steel gray eyes staring at me with an expressionless face.

“I see our guest decided to stay.” He sighs before muttering something to the girl who takes his side.

“I figured I’d stay out of spite.” I reply to his comment, he smiles back.

“If you stay, you earn your place. Alexandra will show how it's done.” He says, gesturing to the girl.

Alexandra. She directs her attention to me, “Pinky Bitch, get up here and make my people want to follow you!” She purrs with a grin.

Pinky Bitch? I guess that’s her version of Pinky Wonder or something but how would she know about that without knowing Zachary?

“Alexandra can make them do anything. They will follow her and jump off the edge if she tells them to.” The Joker comments, amused by her.

A crowd forms in front of the stage, I’m pushed towards the steps, left with no choice but to step up them.

“I don’t want followers.” I respond as half empty bottles of water are tossed at me as I awkwardly stand on the edge of the stage.

“She thinks we’re not good enough for her!” Alexandra yells at the crowd of unruly individuals.

That’s a weird assumption to make about me. I just didn’t come here to gain a following or boss people around. I came here for answers.

I roll my eyes as she steps up to me, “Everyone here has a job, something they're good at. What are you good at?” She purrs to me.

“I’m a person, not a tool.” I reply.

“Or a snitch. Someone helped her inside last night and she wouldn’t say who.” The Joker comments.

“Not a snitch either.” I hiss as Alexandra gets closer to my face.

“You think you’re so tough, Pinky Bitch.” She hisses back.

The crowd hoops and hollers eagerly, impatiently waiting for something to happen. A fight?

“Boss, are you going to let those girls rip each other’s throats out?” Someone calls out.

“The streets outside might be yours but in here, this space, these people, are mine! My territory.” Alexandra growls standing nose to nose with me.

“Call me Pinky Bitch again.” I threaten as the Joker steps in between us.

“Alright, enough. Save it for the streets.” He groans, “Prove your worth and we might let you stick around. Until then, behave or get your shit and go.” He adds, looking down on me.

He returns to his throne and a hand grabs mine and pulls me down the steps and away from everyone. It’s Nolan Parks.

“I see you met Alex.” He sighs as we step out of the theater into the vacant lobby.

“The fuck is her problem?” I snap back, finally cracking open the energy drink that was left for me.

“I don’t know a lot about her other than she’s super protective of the kids around here. They follow her because they trust her and she takes care of them.” Nolan says with a sigh, “What do you want to do? Stay or go to Zach’s?”

“I want to prove them wrong. I’m not giving up and leaving before I get answers.” I answer his question without hesitation, “I have to earn my spot.”

“It won’t be easy.” He sighs, his lack of confidence is almost annoying, he doesn’t know me at all.

“I know hard, okay, I grew up on Gotham’s streets.” I snap at him.

I didn’t want to snap at him but it happened. He’s hard to read. One moment he seems like a helpful friend and the next moment he’s like he wants to get me close enough to the door to push me out of it.

“Look, this isn’t Gotham’s streets. I’ve been coming and going for weeks now and they barely accept me.” He snaps back.

“Why are you here?” I ask him, curious to see his reasonings.

“Because they pay us to keep our eyes and ears open when we’re out on the streets.” He answers, “My father died in the S.T.A.R Labs explosion. My mother is a nurse at Gotham General Hospital. She works days straight sometimes and still can barely afford to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. I use the money I get from here to help her out.” He explains to me, “I get it, why you’re here but a lot of us are here for our own survival. So, chill the fuck out and stop picking fights with people here.”

“Sorry.” Is all I can say to him after all of that.

“Drink your energy drink, eat your stupid protein bar and we’ll see what we can find to help you out.” He sighs, nudging me with his fist.

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A quick note y’all didn’t ask for;

This fucking chapter took me forever to get through because of writers block, sleep deprivation and the fucking heat and humidity I’ve been struggling with. Plus my mental health is bouncing me up a brick wall at full force repeatedly. I usually don’t like posting until I have a start on the next chapter but oh well. May be another couple weeks or more before I get another chapter posted. Anyway, if you read to this point, thank you and I hope you’ll stick around for more.

#fanfiction #original story #dc comics #writing #joker #harley quinn #gothamx #Chapter Two

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missmentelle · 4 years ago

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Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things

If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem.

The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:

Sandy Hook conspiracies

Gamergate

Pizzagate

The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements

anti-vaxxers

flat-earthers

the birther movement

the Illuminati

climate change denial

Spygate

Holocaust denial

COVID-19 denial

5G panic

QAnon

But why do people believe this stuff?

It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch.

So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:

Our brains are built to identify patterns.

Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food.

The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined.

A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage - the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there.

Our brains love proportionality.

Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event.

Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause.

These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger.

Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon.

Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”

Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying.

The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices.

Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it.

Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world.

Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable.

It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan.

Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side.

Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.

Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story.

Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult).

The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life.

Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world.

Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true.

Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew.

These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity.

A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity.

And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.

We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.

There is a strong community aspect to these theories.

There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas.

Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed.

#missmentelle #askmissmentelle #conspiracy theories #cults #psychology #science #neuroscience

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real-jane · 3 years ago

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drifting (13) *end*

[cw!bucky barnes x female!reader]

summary: bucky saves the life of a woman when she’s buried in an avalanche. faced with the possibility that his cover might be blown, bucky must keep the woman alive, and try to keep her from finding out who he is… or what he’s done.

how long can he hide?

warnings: emotions. lots of 'em. fluff abounding. nick fury goes soft. author entirely ignores consequences.

word count: 6.7k+

a/n: this is the end, my loves! thank you so much for your patience as i finish this last installment. there will be an epilogue, but here's where the main story leaves us.

series masterlist

***

Arnim Zola has always been an unimposing man, but something about seeing him stretched out on a cold metal table makes him seem unimportant. His face is slack; the beaded glue at the corners of his eyes indicates they’ve already been sealed shut by the coroner, as have his lips (which pull at the center because of gravity, giving him a thin grimace). Though he was killed because Soldat snapped his neck, there is evidence this wasn’t the only injury to his person. But Bucky can’t say, or won’t—something she doesn’t begrudge him for considering the amount of trauma Arnim Zola put them both through—so the visible blood is set dressing.

Her father, head of HYDRA, blooms a ruddy brown stain beneath his solar plexus.

She isn’t sure why she asked to see him, except his death isn’t real until she has. After everything she and Bucky went through, the man responsible for it all is… a sack of bones and skin. A shell. A hollow victory. Whatever being lived in that body had at one time been quite caring to her, and that’s why it rankles. But she didn’t know, when he read to her of hobbits and wizards, just how evil he was.

Helmut Zemo was not to be trusted, but why would he have lied about something so horrible? “He wanted to discern if the Asset could still feel.”

Who in their right mind would ever accuse James Barnes of being unfeeling? Surely not the man who held her face in his hands before the nurse took him back into surgery and said “I’ll be fine. I promise. I’m okay, doll, I won’t be long,” before kissing her forehead like he had just told her he was going off to war, and he’d be home once the whole thing had blown over. In reality, even when he was the Asset, he was emotional. It wasn’t apparent at first, but once she cracked his shell, he was intense. Now, he is careful with her, but he still feels his emotions on a full spectrum.

She hopes Bucky isn’t panicked, being alone in the OR with a strange doctor and beeping machines. Dr. Banner won’t have to cut into him, or draw any blood to remove his arm, based on what Nat said. Still. Imagining him going catatonic given his current post-triggered state has her pacing in the morgue.

The fact that her father lays on the table before her hasn’t sunken in. The last time she saw him, she was his Mark. No longer. Y/n braces her hands on the cold metal beside her father as a red memory flashes.

Nothing is sacred. His final words to her before forcing Soldat to dig his knife into her belly.

“Some things are sacred, Папа. Despite everything you did?” She clicks her tongue. “You never could touch Bucky’s goodness. I bet that killed you. Knowing your experiment backfired. Not only did your ultimate soldier fall in love with your little girl–it didn’t end in Belarus.

“I remember how you talked about him, when you thought I was asleep. I would sneak out of bed, and sit outside your office door and listen. You worshiped Soldat like a god. One time–” Y/n is caught off guard by the wave of clarity in the memories unlocked. She scrubs a hand over her face.

“One time he came through the door and I wasn’t expecting it. He scooped me up and put me back to bed. I turned nineteen days prior. You forgot. He didn’t. He had been standing behind you, while you lorded over some peon agent, folding me a rabbit out of paper.”

With hair shorter than it is now, falling into his eyes, Bucky had knelt beside her cot (which was once again located in solitary confinement after an outburst had led to isolating punishment) and handed over his gift. She hadn’t known his name back then. He hadn’t been able to recall it himself. But he knew hers, and he whispered С днем рождения, and tucked the paper rabbit between her fingers.

“He hadn’t even kissed me yet,” Y/n sighs. “But he was so gentle. He knew you’d be furious if you found me listening at the keyhole, but I was so desperate for any attention from you, I didn’t care. I was finally an adult… waiting for you to remember me. Well. You did. When I was part of your quest to make sure your soldier was unbreakable.

“I don’t hate you for it, I wish I did–but maybe in your fucked up way, that was the last way you knew how to show me you loved me. That man has given me more reason to live than you ever did, for all your idioms about love being honest and kind. You were right. If only you could’ve been my doting parent instead of this ugly person. My Папа. You were everything to me until I was old enough to manipulate–mother and father. Now you’re a corpse.

“That’s–that isn’t true. I had Nat. Thank god she got out. You know what’s really sad?” She shrugs. “Nobody’s left to bury you. They asked me what I’d like done with your body, as if I even get a say. You’re gonna go to a body farm in upstate New York so students can study you. Because, see–I don’t think you earned a peaceful rest, and forgiveness wasn’t a value you instilled in me.”

As angry as she feels, it’s grief which wrings her ribcage. Despite everything, it is desperately sad to know that he’s well and truly gone. “Я тебя люблю, Папа.” Because she does love him. The line between such affection and hatred is fuzzy.

She covers the face of the man who shares half her DNA with the sheet. When she turns on her heel and meets Natasha at the door, she leaves behind the lion’s share of resentment. In its place, she only has one remaining emotion for Arnim Zola. Sadness.

***

Bruce Banner is a deft hand with a laser pointer. It doesn’t require sedation for the titanium cybernetic weapon to be removed from the housing fused with Bucky’s shoulder; an hour of Banner’s diligence with a tool of his own invention, carving away wires and severing connections, and the implant is no longer attached to his body. The doctor takes extra care to be sure that his socket bears no exposed wires, and a nurse plops a set of clean sweats into Bucky’s lap.

A warm bundle of nervous energy collides with his chest as the nurse escorts him back to the med bay waiting room, once he’s given the chance to bathe. She wraps her arms around his waist, and he can’t help but chuckle. Y/n isn’t alone, but Natasha busies herself answering messages to give them the illusion of privacy. Steve is nowhere to be seen.

“How are you?” Y/n asks his sweatshirt.

Bucky taps her cheek so she’ll look at him. Her eyes are wide, until she reads the look on his face. He can’t quite make the words come to describe how he feels to be permanently separated from the bionic limb, because most of the ones which spring to mind are fragments of the sensation currently coursing through him. The sting in his eyes betrays some kind of relief, or grief perhaps. His posture is unbalanced, and almost weak… and free. But still on a precipice between always belonging to HYDRA, so. Bucky attempts to make anything come out of his mouth.

“Конец эры,” she suggests. The end of an era, the most painful road. Her hand hovers over the empty sleeve at his side, and she puts herself to work cuffing it up. He studies her face as whatever thoughts she’s having flicker across her expression. She doesn’t hide her concern, nor does she hide the smile which pulls at her mouth when she clocks his damp hair.

“They let you clean up. Good,” she huffs. “I hope you got better than the god-awful locker room showers.”

Bucky rubs her arm. “Doesn’t hold a candle to the cabin’s water pressure, does it?”

“Suppose HYDRA did one thing right, in all this.” She tries to laugh it off, but she can’t keep eye contact.

“So it’s confirmed.”

“Nat got the full report. There were cameras,” she says softly. “They must have planted the coordinates in your mind at some point. Maybe gave you the idea during the altercation in St. Louis.”

“Shit.” He looks at the red-head. Natasha nods once when she notices his attention has shifted. She stands, holding out her phone.

“The tech is pedestrian. The cameras took still photographs every thirty seconds. Three cameras in each room, five outside.” Natasha folds her arms.

The photograph on the screen was snapped from above, depicting the living room of the cabin. The quality is grainy. The two of them are seated on the couch, and Y/n’s head is laid against his shoulder. Bucky holds a book in hand, but he’s not looking at it. He’s watching her in curiosity. Bucky glances at her now, and she worries her lip between her teeth.

“How did you get this?” he asks Natasha.

“There was a thumb drive amongst Zemo’s things. He likely intended to use it as leverage for a lighter punishment, were he to be captured alive.”

“Must be thousands of images,” Bucky says. “How far back do they date?”

“A few days prior to your arrival. Tech estimates there are some forty-thousand just of you two.”

“They saw it all.”

Bucky hands Natasha her phone back, and squeezes Y/n’s shoulder. “How much have you looked through?”

“None,” she says. “I don’t want to watch us through their eyes.”

“There is one you should see. If nothing else.” Natasha flicks her finger until she finds what she’s referring to. “Maria sent me a few highlights, but this made me proud, Пчёлка.”

She waits until Y/n gives her consent, and turns the phone to display the photo in question: her, kneeling on Rumlow’s chest with only socks on her feet, pressing a knife to his throat. Her mouth is poised mid-sentence, and Bucky looks on from behind her.

“You’re probably mouthing off,” Natasha says lovingly.

“Can’t help it,” Y/n laughs. “He brought out the worst in me!” Curiosity gets the best of her and she swipes across the screen. The image prior depicts something else, which Bucky would rather nobody else have access to, especially the suits and egos of SHIELD.

It’s him… clutching her against his chest for dear life, demanding she explain why she had a phone all that time. The camera angle doesn’t allow for his face to be seen, but it does capture her stricken expression. He remembers the way the quilt felt stifling, but not how her legs were twisted up in the sheet. Just his own panic, how his anger rose into a fever pitch even as he held her so tightly her joints might have groaned.

“How could I know you? Why do I know you–”

“There is only one possible way, but I don’t know. My memory is like Swiss cheese, even after my treatments–”

“How?”

No… The intrusive vision fades back into the past where it belongs. Bucky grasps her wrist and eases the phone out of her hold, which has turned desperate. Natasha takes her device back with a regretful grimace. Y/n’s fingers are frozen open until he slots his in, cradling her palm… she squeezes back in thanks.

“Definitely don’t want to see more,” she breathes.

Natasha brushes her arm. “Okay. No need.”

Y/n clears thick emotion from her throat. Bucky hugs her against his chest, his arm draped across her sternum. He kisses the crown of her head the way he wanted to do when he found out she wasn’t who he thought… it was mere days ago, but it might as well be decades. Time never has meant much where she is concerned. Two weeks in isolation together established a lifetime of familiarity, and–

“What now?” she murmurs. Her free hand grips his wrist for purchase.

“Well–” Natasha’s phone buzzes. She answers promptly. “Yeah? Okay–no, we’ll meet you there. None. Actually…” She trails off, glancing around the med bay, which… the ward is strangely empty. There are no nurses puttering around, no more agents waiting on the fringe with guns trained. In the time it took for Bucky to be released, the medical bay was vacated, and in all the excitement of looking through the footage, she hadn’t noticed. The Black Widow bows her head, a smile pulling at her cheeks, which belies either exasperation or amazement. Maybe both.

“Nat?” No mistaking the deep voice which calls out into the silence.

“Steven,” she sighs. “Are you sure?”

He’s practically yelling, like he’s running. His voice is clear as day. “Mind’s made up, sweetheart. Fury said there’s nothing he can do, so. It’s in our hands. The all-assemble alert went out ninety seconds ago, so you have about five minutes to meet me in hangar C before anyone realizes what’s happening.”

“You’re not off the hook.” Nat waves for her two companions to hasten towards the stairwell.

“I’ll think of more ways to make it up to you.”

“Still top of my shit list.”

“At least I’m at the top.” His tone is mischievous, like he’s grinning on the other end of the line. Natasha hangs up on him while rolling her eyes dramatically, but her face is pink.

She shoulders the door open and leads them at a bracing pace, down four flights of stairs to the bottom floor. Bucky allows himself an instant of amusement over the fact that he and Y/n are in matching sweats. It’s almost precious (if such a word can describe Bucky Barnes). Dueling blues with SHIELD printed on their arms and legs, looking like they’re about to lead some kind of aerobics class. She peeks back at him for the millionth time to make sure he’s at her heels, and catches him with his eyes glazed over, and Bucky’s suddenly aware they’re being led down a dark corridor in the basement of the compound.

“Nat–clue us in?” Y/n asks, when her sister-in-arms wrenches open yet another gray door with no window and ushers them through. The red head smirks.

“Fury can’t–won't help. So. We’ve progressed to Plan B.”

“Steve’s just gotten a pardon. He’s really willing to risk it?”

“Yes. He’s trying.”

“Natasha. Бабочка–”

“Stop. We only have about two minutes.”

They tumble out of a heavier door (which requires Bucky’s kick to force open, between rust and painted-over hinges) into a small hangar. Natasha breaks into a sprint, heading for a quinjet, one of only three aircraft being housed in the veritable warehouse. Overhead, a loud alarm starts to blare.

Natasha winces. “Shit–pick up the pace!”

The engines of the jet roar to life. Natasha slams her fist into a button beside the belly hatch of the jet, but she’s not quick enough for the rush of agents, pouring through the door which had allowed them into the hangar and another one at the opposite end. The grand door rises slowly, while Natasha puts herself between Bucky, Y/n, and the agents. A heavy hand lands on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Get in, you two.” Steve. With his arm bandaged, wearing a flight suit.

“Do what he says,” Natasha barks over her shoulder.

Y/n shakes her head in disbelief. “This is crazy–”

“Bee, I love you, get on the fucking airplane.” Natasha brandishes her guns as if she personally can take on a passel of SHIELD agents. Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice, so he hops inside the aircraft and tugs Y/n up behind him. Steve gives him a salute.

“Natasha?” Cap calls expectantly.

“Go, Rogers!”

“I’m infirm, sweets. I was recently on morphine. Should I really be flying this thing?”

“Swear to god,” she grumbles. She looks back at Steve with a hard stare. He points to the empty bucket seat beside him with an innocent, pleading smile. It takes her a split-second of exasperation to decide. Then she slams the closing mechanism for the plane at the same moment Steve begins driving forward. Nat grabs his face and kisses him. Hard. She sits, buckles herself in, and flicks the switches Steve can’t reach, given his bandaged arm.

“Why aren’t they shooting?” Bucky breathes.

Steve gestures to the open hangar door. Standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed… in equally casual sweats, with sunglasses on (and a bandage taped from temple to nape), stands Nick Fury. He raises a hand to his ear. Nat’s phone rings.

She lets out a long sigh. Steve extends his hand to accept the responsibility, but she answers on speakerphone, for the benefit of the whole cabin.

“Nick.”

“What are you doing?”

“He needs help.”

“Do you know how many conventions you’re breaking–he’s an international fugitive.”

“He was a prisoner of war, Nick,” Natasha scoffs.

“You couldn’t wait an hour for me?” He throws his hands up in annoyance. “I’m reasonable. I’m worried about Senator Payne, I had to make sure word hadn’t reached him yet. And that T’challa was prepared to accept a fugitive into his protection. Again.”

Steve’s mouth drops open. “Sir–you told me you couldn’t help him.”

“What can I do, Rogers? I’m a pencil pusher. I’m not a doctor. What use is Nicholas Fury to a man who needs real medical help?” Fury scoffs. “But our allies in Wakanda have a pretty clear idea how to treat him. If you had been patient… waited for me to finish making arrangements, you would be aware that the King has accepted my request to give Barnes asylum.”

Bucky’s heartbeat roars in his ears, and he can’t make out anything else but the thrum of his blood. But there are fingers in his, clasped, keeping him grounded. The trade of Steve and Natasha’s voices bounce around in his brain.

“So he’s free–” Steve sounds ready to cry.

“As long as he surrenders himself into Wakanda’s care, he’s not my biggest concern. Seems I’ve had a rat in my ranks, and who knows how long it will take to suss out if Rumlow had devotees.”

“So.”

“Email me your flight plan, so this is slightly above board? I hate doing anything under the table.”

Natasha snorts. “Says the man who faked his own death.”

“Don’t give me a reason to turn that jet around,” Fury chuckled. “Go. I’ll speak to you once you land.”

Y/n’s head falls against Bucky’s shoulder in relief. Steve turns, best as he can given his bandages, and he smiles at his dearest friend.

“Ready, Buck? It’s gonna be about… two hours in the air.”

“And then…?”

“First,” Y/n says, drawing his attention, “they’ll probably put you into cryostasis for a few days to calm your nervous system. That’s what they did for me. Your body is probably in crisis mode. It’s not safe to start treatment until your cortisol levels are low…”

She continues explaining what’s supposedly going to happen to him once they reach their final destination, but all Bucky can do is lay his head back and study her. She leans towards him, absently finding the highs and valleys of his knuckles with the finely-filed points of her nails. There is something about her expression–sad, determined to comfort him, panicked… Bucky pulls her hand, tugging, tugging, until she stumbles forward and catches herself on his knee. Y/n’s glassy eyes stare up at him. He winds his arm around her waist to steady her.

“Jamie,” she whimpers. He noses her cheek.

“You’re sad.”

“No, I–no.” She plays with the strings on his hood so she doesn’t have to look him in the eye. “They let me see him.” Her voice is pained. “I’m… I know he is better off dead. But I just–”

“Zola?”

“Yeah. I feel awful. And all I want–all I really need in this world is for you to be okay. I shouldn’t think about him.”

“He’s still your father,” Bucky finished.

She nodded. “Is it terrible? That I’m heartbroken.”

He adjusts her so she’s seated on his lap. “I don’t think it has to be bad. Or good. It can just… be. Right?”

Her eyes flicker from side to side as she studies him. She keeps looking at his mouth, but their proximity to their companions on the small jet keeps him from kissing the sad expression off her face. She tucks his hair behind his ears.

“Mm. I miss being off the grid,” she says lowly. “When this is all over, let’s go away.”

“Wherever you want.” Bucky graces her bottom lip with his thumb. “You could teach me more recipes.”

That entices a smile from her. “What do you want to learn?”

“Anything.”

“Prepare for departure.” Natasha’s voice startles Y/n from his lap, but she already seems less dour. They buckle themselves in.

What else could they have, if they go someplace far away? In a house that belongs to her, what would she want–what else could he give her? Is this possible? Bucky has never imagined having a future in order to plan for it, but. What if?

“Bookshelves?” he breathes.

She laughs. “What?”

“Do you want bookshelves?” Bucky repeats. The jet rumbles along the runway unimpeded, but the force of the movement makes all four of them lean back.

“Hmm. Yeah,” she smiles. “For your four books.”

“It’s aspirational. If I have to build them with one arm, so be it. Besides, you can put stuff on them, too.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have anything of my own. I left it all in Belarus, and I haven’t had a chance to accumulate anything since.”

“Oh. I—nothing? Then, um. We will find you things. What do you want?”

“I want it all, Jamie,” she whispers. “If you wanna live in an apartment in Brooklyn, let’s go. Cave in Iceland? I’m there. Books, burnt pasta, six feet of snow. Doesn’t matter. As long as you’re there, and you’re okay.”

Her sweet words hit him square in the chest. He can’t help but smile. “This Shuri… she’s gonna help.”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re going to stay–”

“Barnes,” Natasha interrupts, “if you think anybody could keep her from your side, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Y/n winces from embarrassment. Bucky leans over to feel the heat of her cheek against his lips. “I’m persistent,” she admits.

“Stubborn, more like.” Nat winks over her shoulder.

“Cleared for takeoff, Cap.” The voice over the comm speaks curtly.

“Ready?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks to Y/n, and she smiles in encouragement. “Guess so.”

And though Bucky is entirely unprepared for whatever is supposed to be waiting for him in Wakanda, he closes his eyes. He fixates on the shelves he’s going to build for her, and mostly the fact that he’s never picked up a hammer in his life but that he can learn. Apparently he’s going to have a life of his own, where his major concerns might be learning to cook from a beautiful woman (who is even lovelier in his jeans), and finding things to do which don’t include dirty work for major terrorist organizations. Imagine that.

***

Whatever he expects out of Wakanda, his expectations are blown out of the water. Not the least because the moment they land on the grand rotunda, they are met by the King, himself… and a young woman who launches herself at Y/n for a hug which nearly has them both toppling over. The laughter is joyous. The other woman says something in her ear, which makes Y/n peek back at Bucky and extend her hand to him.

They’re led through a palace, and he isn’t one hundred percent certain his feet are on the ground. At one point, Steve pats his back to make sure he’s alright. Everything is too much. His muscles tug on his bones as his adrenaline finally wears off, for the first time since the safety of the mountain haven–he’s sore. His eyelids strain, he’s sure his eyeballs are bloodshot. Things are too loud. Lights are violently bright. He’s pushed to sit on something with light padding. His breathing is clipped.

In a second, the room is empty of all other occupants. Her hands are on his cheeks, easing him to lean forward until his forehead is pressed to her shoulder.

She rubs circles at his nape.

“We’re okay,” she soothes. He turns his nose against her neck as if to say I don’t believe you. “Breathe.”

His chest catches on a ragged breath as he tries to match the rise and fall with her body.

“Mmm. Good. They’re gonna help you. You’re safe.”

“Can’t trust my own mind,” he manages, which only summarized a fraction of the paralyzing exhaustion which chips away at his mental walls.

“Yes you can. James, look at me.” When he does, her eyes are tearful. “You have always fought through the fog. You’re gonna come out of this strong, sweet man.”

“Think so?”

“I know it.”

“And I’m worth… all this–” Bucky gestures broadly to the room he has only begun to take in, what could only be called a hospital room in the most pedestrian of terms because it has windows at least three stories tall.

“Yes,” she says.

That’s the beginning and the end of it. He’s heard the finality in that tone before. The shorter her answer, the more certain she is. Bucky is so overwhelmed between the lights and sounds, and the woman, and the possibilities of what’s to come (even though she told him in great detail–he cannot remember one word of the procedure she outlined)... he tucks his hand into her pants pocket and tugs her in between his knees, which makes her laugh and hold him closer.

“Could use a cigarette,” he says, as evenly as possible given how panic still courses through his veins.

She rolls her eyes. “There he is. You should quit.

“Hm?”

“I’m sure it can’t touch those infallible lungs of yours, but it’s not especially good for your breath. Which I do care about, if you’re curious.” She runs a knuckle over his lips, and he perses them to meet her touch.

“How did we get here?” he mutters.

“Hmm?”

“Here, doll.”

“Would you like to be kissed, Jamie? Seems like it.” Her smile curls up at both corners.

“Hmm. My head is killing me, trying to make room for all these new memories–”

“So, yes?”

He narrows his eyes at her lips specifically, which makes them split into a full-on grin. “I could’ve hurt you back there. And you’re concerned about my smoking habit–”

She steals his speech with the softest brush of her mouth against his. “No. You wouldn’t.”

“I stabbed you, once.”

“No… that isn’t what happened.” She levels her face with his so he has to look her in the eye. “Didn’t matter what orders Zemo gave. You were frozen with your knife digging into my shirt too lightly to ever draw blood. For all the lousy things they put in your head, you wouldn’t hurt me. So. I… forced you. God–you panicked after I lunged forward, you pressed your hand so hard over the wound that I could feel my heart beating against your palm. You got me to Bucharest. I don’t know how. It’s, what–a full day’s drive, if you speed? You must have. On the back of a bike, too.”

Bucky frowns. But for the life of him, even with the string of new memories, he can’t remember such a thing. All he recalls is holding the knife… and her bleeding. The fact that she made that choice for him stings. Y/n brushes his cheek with her thumb.

“I knew it wouldn’t end, and I wanted you to be free of me. Because he’d stop lashing out at you, and you’d survive long enough to escape. And–sorry.” She stares up at the ceiling as a wave of emotion hits her.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know,” she hiccoughs. “What’s fresh in my head right now is the look you had on your face, knowing you had to leave me in Bucharest so you could protect my cover.”

“You screamed for me,” he realizes. The echo of her call comes to him.

She swipes at her tears. “Until I was hoarse.”

“Are you…” Bucky scratches his jaw. “I don’t know how to ask this.”

“Ask, Jamie. Please.”

“Are you upset to remember everything?” He braces himself.

“Are you?”

“I haven’t had the luxury of remembering anything for seven decades, doll. Painful as it is. Makes it easier, I think.”

“No more mystery, there. When Zemo was trying to set me off, I was sorting through some precious times we had. Things we got away with,” she says, biting her lip.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know how we managed it. You spent the night with me! In a girl’s school–more than once!”

“Yes I did,” he says sheepishly, but he can’t help but laugh. He hasn’t had the same amount of clarity about the return of their shared memories–just that they’re still there, in his head, and that they’re accessible. But he does innately know how much he used to risk to be with her. The duality of two separate lives together, both so precious… It's heady.

Sensing another rush of overwhelm, she kisses his forehead, giving him permission not to rush a walk down memory lane.

Y/n worries the pad of her pointer finger into the crease between his eyebrows until his scowl relents. “I can’t go in there with you,” she murmurs as a nurse comes around the corner with a data tablet in hand, most of her attention focused on an upright bed, which stands at an incline on a silvery base. A glass tube hovers above the bed, ready to slide down over the occupant. “But I’ll be here. Right next to you when they let me, even if you don’t know I’m here.”

“Doll,” Bucky sighs, “I appreciate everything you’re doing to help me relax but… I think it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for you to get looked at, too. Please–please don’t take that the wrong way–”

“Hush, дорогая. I will.”

“Good.”

“I gotta take care of me if I wanna take care of you.”

“And… that’s something you want?”

“James Barnes,” she laughs, “I’m starting to think you don’t know me at all!”

He growls, wraps his feet behind her knees to keep her close. “I will know you if I lose all my faculties and can only relate by sense. I know your heart, doll–любимая. Oh–Do you like that?” The grin on her face says that she greatly enjoys the idea of being beloved. “I’m scared shitless. I like hearing you say it. Please tell me again.”

Her kiss this time lingers on his plea. “Hear me out: I want you. I like everything about you, even though you snore–see if Shuri can fix your deviated septum while she’s up there, will ya?” Bucky pokes her in the side in retaliation and she squirms in his grasp, but she persists with glee written all over her face. “I’ve always known that I’m complete because of you. How could that change? No–Jamie, ignore the memories of Belarus for a second. Do you realize how much our two weeks in that cabin meant to me? I’ve never had something so intimate as that time. That was you at your most raw, and I wanted two more weeks. It’s not the prospect of you being stable which makes me want you at my side. Okay? I want to look after you because if I don’t, my heart is gonna stop beating. I need you. In every version that may exist, and if there’s a new iteration of James Barnes on the horizon, I will happily greet him with open arms. But you’ll always be my Jamie, yeah? Forever. You’re Steve’s Bucky, but you’re my Jamie. Моя любовь.”

He doesn’t realize that his eyes are wet, too, until she’s cupping his jaw. “Jesus. What are you doing to me?” he chuckles.

She wrinkles her nose. “You’re a sap.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I like it.”

“Best thing I ever did was dig you outta that snow,” Bucky says, pressing a lingering kiss to her palm.

“You’re loopy.” She nods to the approaching nurse. “Hi.”

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/n. It is good to see you again.” The nurse smiles warmly. “You are looking well. Mr. Barnes–are you amenable to an intravenous drip line? To rehydrate your body before entering cryostasis.”

“How are you with needles?” Y/n asks.

“Rather not go near ‘em, I–if given the choice.”

“Not a problem,” the nurse says. “We can hydrate you the old fashioned way. Takes longer.”

“He has time.” Y/n clasps his shoulder.

“Very well.” The nurse takes his vital stats (noting that his blood pressure is a little high), and gives a more thorough explanation about what he’s in for once he steps into that cryo-tube. It makes him flinch away from Y/n’s sympathetic touch. Thinking about being on ice again reminds him what usually comes after. It does help to sip on the water he’s handed, if for no other reason than shifting his focus.

When it’s time to proceed, the nurse invites Bucky to step forward. There’s nobody holding him at gunpoint, or threatening a zap to the temple; in fact, all of the nurses who float in and out of the room are pleasant, and they all seem to know his companion enough for a personal greeting. He may not trust anyone, but he trusts her. So.

She takes his hand and walks backwards, leading him to the chamber. “They’ll put you out before you ever feel the least bit cold,” she tells him, when he involuntarily shivers.

“Remind me how long,” he asks.

“Two days.”

“I can do that.”

“Yeah.” He steps up toe-to-toe with her so she has to crane her head back to look up at him. Those beautiful eyes crinkle. “A kiss for the road?” she asks. Bucky can’t bring himself to care about the nurses preparing the room. Just the sweet request.

They’ve shared many soft moments together. This is different. There is nothing to hide. Nobody is after them, neither of them are under any kind of despicable influence… They both are nearly delirious with exhaustion, and letting down from the trauma of nearly being separated again, and maybe that’s why kissing her feels new. With raw nerve endings exposed, and no walls up between them, it’s just sweet. A little needy when she teases the seam of his lips with her tongue, just enough to send a jolt of even more intimate moments through his mind and straight to the part of his body pressed against her hip. But he isn’t embarrassed. She’s everything. He takes little drags from her perfect mouth, and smiles at the involuntary whine at the back of her throat when he reluctantly pulls away.

“Two days,” he reminds her. She presses up on her toes and hugs him around the neck. Bucky lifts her off her feet with his arm around her waist. “Я тебя люблю,” he tells the smooth skin below her ear.

“Я тебя люблю.”

***

“How’d he do?” Steve paces just outside the door to Bucky’s room, while Natasha sits crouched against the wall. They both smile at Y/n as she exits, but Steve still looks worried.

Y/n reaches for his elbow. “He’s okay. Sent him off to sleep thinking about bookshelves.”

Cap chuckles. “What?”

“He’s set on the idea of building shelves, apparently that’s comforting,” she giggles. “You could’ve come in.”

“Nah. I’ll see him on the other side.” Steve says it flippantly for how serious his expression is. She squeezes his arm. They’re all nervous, especially Steve, but there’s no better place for Bucky to be. The fact that Cap didn’t ask to see Bucky before they put him under was a surprise. Her heart clenches for the sad look on his face.

“You okay, bee?”

Y/n sighs. “I will be. I’m gonna sit with him for a while, but my stomach growled so loud in there–”

“I’m your man,” Steve says firmly. “Got any allergies I should be aware of?” He’s already backing away, ready to run his errand.

“No,” she says. “Bring whatever you can carry. Oh! Steve–coffee. Forget food. I want the good stuff.”

He pauses. “...what is that?”

“Biggest cup you can find, Steven.” Natasha hooks her arm through her friend’s and winks at the man.

“Got it.” He practically skips off down the hallway to find the best coffee in Wakanda, looking very determined despite having a bandaged shoulder.

“You convince him to rest, yet? He’s gonna tear his stitches.”

Nat snorts. “I thought I did. Then I made the mistake of telling him that I love him, and he got a second wind.”

“Oh?” Y/n beams.

“Don’t. I can feel my coolness fleeing my body already.”

“No… still pretty badass, even if you are in love with a Boy Scout.”

The Black Widow groans. “Don’t remind me.” She lays her head on Y/n’s shoulder all the same. “They’re ready when you are.”

“Hmm. I need a little bit, first. Just to sit with him.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

Y/n shakes her head. “He would’ve worried. But. I need it. Get back to me, you know?”

“I put a bug in Ramonda’s ear about something, in case thinking about bookshelves isn’t comforting enough for your cryo-sleep.”

“Yeah?”

“Once Bucky’s been through the deprogramming and officially cleared, of course. I may have suggested you just stay in Wakanda. Ramonda thinks that is a ‘fine idea’ and she’s making inquiries.”

Y/n blinks. “You’re talking… like. Living here.”

“In lieu of letting you two disappear. Seemed more stable. What do you think?”

Y/n turns in Natasha’s arms and hugs her tight. The ‘thanks’ is stuck in her throat, but Nat hums. “Thought you’d be happy about that.”

“I am. I’m…”

“You’re not meant to be a SHIELD pawn, bee. I know that the happiest you’ve ever been in your life was when you were in that cabin, with that man. I hope that this will help him feel strong, but it may take a while. You both enjoy solitude. You have friends here. And I’ll visit as often as I can.”

“Nat–I love you. I can’t believe you’d do this for us–”

“Oh please, I was a goner for you the second I saw your innocent face. I do love you, though.”

***

She sits for hours in a hospital room with only one other occupant, listening to the slow but steady beep of the machine monitoring his heart. Sipping coffee from a mug which could only be qualified as a vat, she stares out over the incredible capitol city, which thrums with the hum of vibranium tech. It is so strange. For so long it seemed like she couldn’t have anything which belonged to her. Now… there’s a yellow pack at her feet. Inside, three very good books and one which Bucky Barnes loathes. A wallet with a photograph of a young soldier who holds her heart. Clean, folded clothes which belong to the soldier in question. A knife from WWII. A journal… She sets the mug on the table, and pulls the red book from the pack. The pages are squished around a pen, marking the next fresh page–what?

I love her. If something happens to me, I need her to know.

The phrase is only written out once, but his scratchy handwriting is unmistakable. It’s steady. It’s a lucid thought, written sometime between when she found it and when they were found. Her eyes well up. She glances at the chamber, which is so iced over she can’t even make out his form, but… god, she thinks. I know, Jamie.

She finishes the rest of her coffee so quickly that it burns her throat a bit, but she taps out Shuri’s code on the comm tablet.

“Hey,” her friend answers on the first ring.

“I need you to make something for Bucky. Something he can have once he’s healed.”

“Ooh. Tell me.”

“How much do you know about bionic limbs?”

The End.

Epilogue

***

Thank you so much for reading! :)

tag list: @peterhollandkait @abitgryffindorky @hogwartsahist0ry @idgafiamallthefandoms @mysticatto @im-just-star-dust @light-through-stained-glass @ginger-swag-rapunzel @sanguineterrain @honeywithemoney @nahthanks @lalalalokii @themorningsunshine @mumbles411 @slutforsexyseabass

kate’s masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #drifting by real jane

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theharrowing · 11 months ago

Text

White Lies 🤍 2: Sleep sweet, pretty

Yoongi is everything you could ask for. He is attractive, confident, and smart. And his partner Taehyung is as possessive as he is beautiful. Too bad a relationship would be a major conflict of interest.

You need to have them, at all costs.

🤍 Yoongi x Female Reader x Taehyung

🤍 word count: 7.4k + screencaps of conversations

🤍 college au, cop au, partial social media au with a lot of written story, strangers to lovers & established relationship, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slash, poly, minor character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+.

🤍 warnings: a lot of deception; very forward flirting; use of date rape drug; effects of being drugged against one's will. there is no assault of any kind, just fear.

🤍 notes: ignore the fact that the chats switch from dark mode to light mode. i use dark mode on my phone, but sometimes it gets switched and i forget to change it back. these screencaps result from me literally texting myself haha it's a labor of love okay. also don't forget mc's fake name is Sandra. she won't be referred to this for too many chapters.

🤍 written parts beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🤍 posted nov. 2023 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

* * *

You pace around beside your couch and stare at your phone as it rings, watching as the 212 number takes up the screen. With shaking thumbs, you halt in place and accept the call, anticipating what Vante's voice may sound like.

"Hello?" you ask as demurely as possible, squeezing your eyes closed.

The voice that greets you is deep, rough, and with an accented lilt that makes your heart race. "Well, hello, pretty."

It takes a split moment to get your bearings. How could someone's voice sound like honey and barbed wire all at once?

"H-hey, V," you finally say, biting on your bottom lip and opening your eyes. Although your apartment lighting is not terribly bright, you have to blink a few times.

"Wow," Vante says, "your voice sounds so sweet."

You huff out a quick, quiet sigh, lips upturning as you catch the bottom one between your teeth, and then you begin to pace around some more. "Yours is very…"

"Very…?"

"Handsome," you respond meekly. "Very handsome."

Vante chuckles, and it is a sound so rich and deep you physically swoon, knees weakening some as you twist your body in the direction of your bedroom, needing to move around and let out some energy.

"So…" Vante begins, and you smile further as you mirror him, asking, "So…?"

"So, what are you wearing?"

After a pause, he clarifies, "To the date, I mean," with a tone that is playful and seductive.

With your free hand, you fidget with the bottom hem of your black sweater and almost regret considering an outfit so plain. You remind yourself that the plan is to string him along, at least for now.

Playing along with V's demeanor, you giggle, doing your best to sound shy. "Nothing too flashy…I was thinking a black tee tucked into black jeans. It's cooling down, so maybe my favorite oversized forest green flannel. And some black boots."

"And this tee…will it be a crew neck, or maybe a v-neck?"

You mentally pat yourself on the back for being the most clever person alive as you say, "A v-neck, in your honor, of course."

"Of course."

"And you?"

"I was thinking about wearing a tight white tee tucked into some tight black jeans. With boots, and maybe a flashy designer jacket."

You hum and close your eyes, attempting to remember Vante's body type in the many photos you have seen. As far as you remember, he is a bit muscular and seems on the taller side. Broad and masculine but not overly ripped.

"Emphasis on the tight," you tease.

Vante chuckles, forcing your eyelids to flutter closed, then he says, "God, there are so many things I want to say in response to that, but I feel I should save them for the second or third date."

"Wow," you respond, feeling a sudden shyness that only increases as he continues to laugh.

"Alright, pretty," he finally says, "just wanted to hear your voice quick, but I should let you get back to winding down. I have to finish up here and then catch my flight home."

"Sounds good. Safe travels."

"See you soon," Vante sing-songs, and you feel yourself swaying when you say, "Looking forward to it."

And then the call ends, snapping you back to reality. Your eyes focus on the top of your wooden dresser and you heavy-blink, reminding yourself that this is a mission and that you are not, under any circumstances, supposed to get close to either of these men.

But god damn does Vante sound real fucking sexy. This might be a problem.

* * *

The Marías play loud and dreamy as you twirl and sway through your room, holding your soft green flannel in both hands. It fans out with each movement, and you twist it dramatically to drape it over your shoulders.

Although you are dressed down in a tee and skinny jeans, you look good. The garments hug your curves nicely, and the shirt shows off just enough cleavage without it feeling like too much for a casual night at the bar.

You apply a little makeup to your eyes and cheekbones, then look over your jewelry, deciding on a simple pair of gold hoops and the necklace that you always wear – a small gold charm in the shape of a rabbit's foot dangling from a thin gold chain, for luck.

Although there is plenty of time to eat a meal before heading to the bar, you feel so antsy that you only manage to pick at a salad and some fruit. You chug some water and then check the time.

And with a deep breath, you decide to head out early and text your boss.

// these two conversations take place at the same time - you can use time stamps to track the back and forth if you want to //

With the phone you were using to text Vante slid into your small black leather purse, and the phone you were texting Seokjin with sitting facedown on the countertop, you swivel to the left in time to find the man who had been sitting across from you taking a seat one stool away.

"Hey," he mutters, head tilted down too far for you to see his face clearly. "I hope you don't mind that I join you on this side? Things over there got a bit too wild for my taste."

Two things stand out about the way this man speaks. The first is that there is a hint of an accent, especially on certain consonants, and it seems that he is speaking in a slow and measured way that almost makes his words feel somewhat forced. The second is that, despite feeling forced, his voice is very deep but also quite mellow and soothing.

Although he does not sound like the man you spoke to on the phone last night, there are enough hints of similarities that remind you of him. At least you are somewhat certain that this man is not Vante based on physical stature, but you decide to stay alert just in case.

"I don't mind," you respond, making your voice sound as sweet and inviting as possible.

The man, who seems to be wiping at his drink-dampened black shirt and jeans with a grey bar rag, looks up and regards you with a familiarity in his eyes that causes you to pause. You watch as his face comes clearly into view beneath the visor of the black baseball cap, and his eyes linger on you.

Time feels as if it slows down as you watch this stranger's eyes trace over your face. And then he blinks rapidly, gives his head a quick little shake, and chuckles.

"Sorry, you…" he begins, turning his attention back to his shirt, then glancing your way briefly to say, "you remind me of someone."

"Oh?" you ask, swiveling on your stool enough to fully face him.

The man hums, then sighs and lets his arms drape at his sides. He looks defeated; the wet mark on his shirt is pretty large.

"Lemme buy you a drink to make up for that person's sloppiness?" you ask with one of your wide, winning smiles.

He shakes his head and tosses the rag onto the bar, turning his body to face the counter but staying angled slightly toward you, tilting his chin at the two shots that have been neglected beside your purse.

"Looks like you're expecting someone."

"I was," you clarify, dragging out the 's' as you rotate toward the bar but keep yourself slightly angled at him. You glance back at the shots of Fireball. "I think I got stood up."

From the corner of your eye, you watch the man straighten up, and you smile to yourself as he mutters, "Oh! Oh, that's so unfortunate."

Although you should check to make sure Vante is still not receiving or responding to your messages, you feel bold enough to turn to the man and slide one of the two shots his way.

"Join me?" you ask. "Not as a date but just as…a person who can help me with these shots."

"Are you sure?" the man asks, reaching for the glass and eyeing it suspiciously. "What is this, anyway?"

Rather than answer, you watch the man lift the shot glass to his nose and frown. Through a giggle, you say, "It's Fireball," and reach for the second one.

"Cinnamon," he mutters in understanding rather than a question, and you nod, swiveling once more to face him. He concedes with a shrug, saying, "Alright," and your smile wider.

"Cheers," you say, holding your shot toward the man who mutters, "Yes, cheers. To accidentally having poor judgment and winding up beside one another."

You laugh as you tap your glass against his and lift the shot to your lips. The cinnamon flavor kicks you square in the mouth, cloying your senses with a bittersweet assault of artificial earthiness and heady whiskey.

The man winces and shakes his head, slamming his glass against the counter ungracefully and sticking out his tongue. You take the opportunity to tease him about his toast, asking, "Poor judgment, eh?"

With a deep, pretty chuckle, he says, "You made a date with a flake and I humored conversation with a slob."

Briefly, your gaze flicks to the woman who had been talking to him before, and she is shouting something while waving her arms emphatically, thankfully not holding a drink. When he finishes his statement with, "And here we are," you rip your gaze away and regard him.

This man is very attractive up close, with soft lips and a sharp stare. If you squint he would look similar to the photos you have seen of Min, only his nose is more straight and pointed, and his eyes appear to be a light hazel green.

You offer your right hand and introduce yourself as Sandra, sitting tall on the barstool and watching as he hesitates to lift his own.

"My English name is Cody."

"Cody," you mutter, feeling your lips fight the urge to smile, and you know that your eyes are widening, but you attempt to stay as straight-faced as possible. Cody is such a bro name, you would not have guessed it was his. Cody grabs onto your hand in a warm, firm shake that does not last long enough, and you ask, "And your non-English name? Or is that impolite to ask?"

"Not impolite," Cody responds, "just reserved for those close to me and when I travel back to Korea."

What are the odds that you meet someone from Korea while being stood up by Vante? At least you feel justified in the swirling thoughts that insist Cody seems similar to Min.

You even wonder if Min Cody, or Cody Min, could be someone's name. You hope that another drink will quiet those thoughts enough so you can have a pleasant conversation with him before walking back home. Once there, you can do some searches just to put your mind at ease.

"This round is on me," Cody insists as he sits high in his chair and reaches for the wallet in his front pocket.

Another loud group enters and files around the bar to where the two of you sit, and as you get the bartender's attention, Cody begins looking around behind the two of you.

"There's a hightop in the corner. Would you be comfortable going there?"

Although the bar is not too dimly lit that retreating to the corner would shroud the two of you in shadow, there is some comfort in being seated at the bar with a tender nearby. But the crowd only seems to get bigger and louder, settling on stools to your right while others stand behind those seated, and so you nod, already fed up with this group.

"Sure, yeah," you say as you slam back the remnants of your drink. "I'll secure us a spot."

"Gin and tonic?" Cody asks, stopping you in your tracks. An icy chill works down your spine, and you wonder how the hell he knows what you are drinking. But then he adds, "Or was it something with vodka?"

Although his addition assuages some of your discomfort, there is a nagging feeling that he somehow knows what the bartender poured for you, making you uncomfortable. Your drink was clear, so gin and tonic is a fair assumption.

"Y-yeah," you respond, testing him by saying, "It was gin and tonic. Tanqueray."

Had he watched the bartender, he would have known the man poured you Hendrick's. Cody seems unfazed.

"Sounds good," he says, adding, "I think I'll have that too," as you turn away with your purse clutched tightly in your hand and approach a tall round table in the corner with two stools sitting vacant beside it.

As you take a seat on the little wooden stool, you attempt to settle your pounding heart and unravel this situation mentally. The feeling nagging at you to be weary of Cody is quite present, but you are unsure whether it is him that makes you feel this way or if you are struggling to set aside the case that you are working on.

Seokjin has been going to great lengths to keep things secretive, which in and of itself causes disquiet. And now Cody carries similar enough traits with one of your targets that the foreboding nature of your job is all that you seem to be able to think about.

It is unfair to you for these thoughts to cloud your mind so heavily, and you hope that this next drink will help you relax. Sure there are a lot of coincidences, but this is a large city with a diverse population. Coincidences certainly can happen. Unfortunately, as soon as Cody approaches with the glasses, your bladder begins to ache.

"Thank you," you sing-song as you stand from the stool that you only sat on a moment ago. "I need to run to the bathroom quickly."

Cody responds, "Have fun!" and you giggle as you walk toward a small doorway off to the right that opens into a hallway containing two gender-neutral restrooms. As you enter the closest of the two rooms, you click the lock on the door handle in place, then begin to shimmy your jeans down and take a seat, fishing through your purse for the other phone and finding that Vante has, in fact, never seen your last messages.

You wonder if there is a chance that he has somehow found out that you are an officer attempting to make contact with him. But it would make more sense for him to simply still be in Europe, possibly just playing a game with you because he takes pleasure in toying with people. It seems dramatic even when you think about it, but what else could it be?

As you put your phone away, reach for toilet paper, and wipe yourself off, you take a deep breath in and out and try to center your thoughts. Tomorrow, you will regroup with Seokjin and form a new plan. If you have to wait a little while to get onto Min's tutoring list, it is not the end of the world. For tonight, you should just enjoy yourself.

With your pants buttoned and everything in place, you wash your hands, inspect your face and hair to verify that you still look as amazing as ever, and exit the restroom. Some top 40s song from the 90s plays that has a lot of the college kids shouting, and you return to your seat while Cody types something on his phone and then slides it into his front pocket.

"So do you always come to the bar alone and wear a baseball cap to hide your identity?" you tease, unsure where any of this is coming from but feeling a strange burst of energy. You reason with yourself that you still need verification that he is not Min.

Cody laughs, reaches for the hat, and pulls it off. His hair is clearly bleached blond and colored mint green, which is a little more difficult to see in the less well-lit corner. It falls over his forehead, parted down the center, nearly covering his eyes, and he looks dreadfully pretty.

"Is this look less threatening?" he asks, running a hand through it only for it to fall neatly in place again.

Once more, the nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that this haircut seems similar to the one in the surveillance photos of Min. You remind yourself that you have never seen the man in person and that your brain could simply be filling in information in an attempt to create patterns because that is what human brains do best. But the similarity is striking.

"Yes," you say after too long of a pause, angling yourself toward him, slightly to the left from facing the table.

"This one's for you," Cody says as he slides a full drink in your direction.

You take the chilled glass and lift it to your lips, then you playfully say, "And you didn't drug it, I assume?"

Cody does not immediately respond to what you say; he stares blankly for a split moment before blinking and chuckling. The pause makes you worry, but then he says, "I assure you I did not, but if you would like to switch—"

"No, no," you insist, feeling awkward for saying anything at all. If it weren't for all the time you spent shadowing the special victims detectives over the summer, you would likely not instantly assume that any drink offered from a stranger could be tainted.

With a sigh, Cody says, "Nah, here, switch with me. We'll just swap out the straws because I had a sip of mine."

Before you can respond, he gently pulls the drink from your fingers and replaces it with his own. You watch as he swaps the straws, feeling your mouth tug into a smile, and when he is finished, you pull the drink to your lips and have a sip.

"When the drug kicks in, you might have to walk me to a cab, though," Cody jokes, insinuating that he has now drugged himself, and you nearly spit out the gin and tonic that has barely had a chance to settle on your tongue.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry," he laughs as you struggle to keep your composure and swallow your first sip. You set that glass down and raise your hand as if threatening to backhand him, making him flinch and dramatically gasp.

Without thinking, you say, "You're a pain in the ass," making him laugh harder.

"It's not funny to joke about that, I know," he says, still chuckling. "But in my defense, you started it."

Rather than respond with words, you simply hum and have another sip through the straw. This seems to amuse him, causing the laughter to continue.

Conversation with Cody is nice and easy. He tells you that he is a student at a nearby university, and you tell him that you are also a student – the same lie you tell to everyone.

He talks about growing up in New York with one American parent but visiting Korea often, hoping that once he graduates he can spend more time with his family. You describe your past and relationship with your family with very general, distant details, excluding a lot.

The parents that come along with your fake identity are not too exciting; mom is a legal aid and dad is a veterinarian. You attend such a prestigious school to follow in their overachieving footsteps, blah blah blah.

By the time you discover Cody can speak three languages and has a deep love of anime, your drinks are empty. And although you should stop while you are ahead and call it a night, a large part of you wants to keep drinking.

"Another?" Cody asks, and you sigh, nibbling your bottom lip.

"I want to," you say, uncertainty in your tone.

Cody must pick up on it, saying, "But…"

"But I also don't want to get very drunk."

"We can switch to non-alcoholic," he offers, shifting around on his stool. "Or go somewhere else." You raise an eyebrow, and he lifts his hands as if in surrender, insisting, "No funny business! Just thought we could hang out somewhere quieter. Doesn't have to be one of our places. I don't live too close by anyway."

This surprises you a little. "No?"

"Nah," he shrugs, "I just like the atmosphere in this area more than where I live so I cab over to waste my time and cash here, instead."

Although you should not blurt, "I live nearby," you do anyway. In an attempt to not sound like you are trying to get into Cody's pants, you add, "But I don't know what we would do. I don't really watch TV."

"Have you eaten?" Cody asks, seemingly unfazed by your word vomit.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles, and you giggle while shaking your head. You remember the meager amount of food you managed to eat before shuffling out into the evening.

"I had something light, so…no. Not really."

"Why don't we grab a bite nearby? Maybe that will give us the reprieve we both seek…I'm sure most food establishments aren't this loud and rambunctious."

The reprieve we both seek… It's nothing too big or wild, but it is just austere enough to make you think about Vante. Although you feel frustrated that your mind is so eager to continue circling back to him, you consider that if this were Min sitting before you, there is a good chance they both speak similarly. It could be a slip up.

"Or…not…" Cody says, and you rapidly blink out of your thoughts and shake your head, offering a smile and a giggle.

"I space out," you supply plainly, "a lot. Sorry."

"Ah," he responds, sitting up a little higher. "No problem."

"Do you eat meat? There's a burger shop nearby that I really like."

Cody smiles and shrugs. "I eat everything."

As you stand up to stretch, the room tilts. It catches you off guard, and you halt your movement, then do your best to breathe through it and blink it away. Cody has his head tilted down, putting on his hat, and you are thankful that he does not seem to notice.

With a smile, he lifts his hand and says, "Lead the way," but there is something different about his voice. Deep and inviting in a familiar yet unfamiliar way, and far more accented than it had been all night.

You shake it off and nod your head. Despite only having two drinks and a shot, you are not a heavy drinker as is, and on an empty stomach, it is enough to weigh you down and make you paranoid. You just need to get out into the cool open air and you will feel much better.

But your feet are heavy. Each step that you take feels weighed down, and there is a lightness to you that feels as if fog is simmering through your system. Alarm bells begin beaming through your body, and you worry that perhaps you should try to get rid of Cody and call Seokjin.

Cody places a hand on your lower back. "Everything alright, space cadet?" he asks in the same tone he has taken all night, and you nod.

You are certain he could not have done anything to your drink while you sat there and drank it with him. And if he drugged both drinks, he should be equally affected.

But if he did do something, you are not eager to draw attention to feeling sluggish. You think it would be best to just get rid of him somehow. It just becomes a matter of how much time you have before the effects hit you harder, if at all.

The two of you make your way through the bar, and you oddly feel much more in control when you are moving steadily rather than little by little. You forget all about getting rid of Cody and walk right to the burger spot around the corner.

But standing on line at the counter in the brightly lit space feels overwhelming, and it all comes back again. You open your mouth and say, "So," but catch yourself. So you really did drug my drink, huh?

"So?" Cody asks, leaning close, and you notice a musk that cuts through the deep-fryer stench. It's nice and rich, inviting but not cloying.

"So I usually get the bacon cheeseburger," you ramble, "and fries. But I imagine everything here is pretty good."

"Good to know," he responds, voice bright. You think his hand may be on your lower back again, but you are not quite sure.

When it is your turn to order, your mind screeches to a halt. You stare up at the white menu board with red text, and you cannot find words.

"Was it a bacon cheeseburger?" Cody supplies. "A number two?"

"Y-yeah," you respond, looking at the bored teen behind the register. "No tomato, please. And a soft drink."

"You?" the teen asks, eyes moving to Cody.

Cody hums, soft and dulcet. Hypnotizing. "I'll have the same, but with tomato please."

Without asking, Cody pulls out his card to pay. Only, when he begins to hold it out, he quickly pulls it back. "Actually," he mutters, "I should use this cash."

Although you are unable to see the name on it, you notice that it is a black card, which feels far too prestigious for a university student to have access to. You realize that neither of you told one another your age – you just assume he is close to yours.

The cashier gives the two of you a number and two empty paper cups, and you make your way over to the soft drink dispenser and stare at the options. Caffeine could make you feel better, but then you risk the chance of staying up late. Sugar might cause you to have a hangover in the morning, but you think you could risk it for some lemonade.

"Preference?" Cody asks, holding up the beverage cups.

You have gravitated to the ketchup dispenser to fill two tiny paper cups, still thinking about beverage options.

"Lemonade, please. With like…half ice? Not too much."

"Got it," he responds, holding one of the cups under an ice dispenser.

"Ketchup?" you ask.

"Two please."

You manage to get all four tiny paper cups of ketchup into your left palm, then turn to watch Cody securing plastic lids over both drinks and grabbing two paper-wrapped straws. The two of you sit, and you take your drink and straw with a small, "Thank you."

Perhaps it is the prospect of having food in your system that is causing you to feel more energized, but maneuvering through the booths and finding one along the wall is easy. You begin to wonder if maybe something about the gin and tonic was just off. Maybe you got hit with a wave of intoxication.

Once you get settled, Cody takes out his phone and smiles at the screen before typing out what you assume to be a response to a message. His smile lifts, showing off his gums and pearly teeth, and you catch yourself staring before blinking your gaze elsewhere.

Out of curiosity, you pull the phone from your purse and check to see if Vante ever saw any of your messages, and you frown at the discovery that he has not. His behavior is weird, but you suppose you were also planning on playing games with the guy. Still, being stood up is being stood up, and it is hard not to take it personally.

Cody continues typing away at his phone while you wait for your food, chuckling quietly from time to time and making you feel awkward for sitting here with nothing to say. It is not that you don't have people who you can also text, but it feels rude to do it when you are with someone in a restaurant.

Not that it is a date, nor do you two owe each other anything, you remind yourself, feeling silly for forgetting that simple fact. The two of you are just strangers who happened to meet and who decided to share a drink and a burger. Nothing more. In fact, if you remember correctly, Cody removed what looks like a wedding band from his ring finger earlier in the night.

Another grumpy teen brings your food in bright red baskets, and Cody finally puts his phone away. He smiles and says, "This looks great," and lifts his gaze to you for only a split second before looking back down.

Something in his eyes seems different, but you are unable to put your finger on what. They seemed sharper, somehow…almost seductive.

You reach for your food and dig in, doing your best to not moan when the grease hits your tongue. Conversation continues to be non-existent with the exception of Cody groaning through a mouthful about how good his burger is.

Once you are down to just lemonade and some wayward fries, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Unfortunately, your bladder is on a bit of a timer when you consume alcohol, and the added liquid does not help.

You are grateful when there is no line and make quick work of relieving your bladder and washing your hands. The mirror is covered in stickers, but you lean forward on your toes and do your best to take in your state.

To your surprise, your pupils are constricted quite small, and you begin to worry all over again that something could have been added to your drink. Somewhat sluggishly, you turn and grip onto the door handle, yanking it open and feeling tired from every small movement.

Cody is back on his phone when you return, but he regards you with a polite smile and glances at you long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem perfectly normal – a sign that he likely did not drug both drinks, and evidence that he likely did not drug yours.

This fixation only makes you feel paranoid, and you wet your lips, eye up the rest of your food, and decide that you should call it a night. Cody's fries are all gone, and he barely has any soda left, which you find rather disappointing because you would have liked to leave alone. You suppose you still can.

"Well, I'm just down the block," you say, rubbing your hands, which begin to sweat, down your thighs. "It was nice to meet you."

"I would offer to walk you home," Cody says through a sigh, leaning back in a stretch, "but being that I am still a stranger, it may make you uncomfortable to have me knowing where you live."

You hum and nod to acknowledge and agree with what he says.

"But if you'd like I could sit on a phone call?" he offers, resting his arm over the back of the booth.

With a shrug, you shake your head to decline, but your mouth betrays you by saying, "Alright, sure."

"Yeah?" Cody asks, smiling brightly and sitting up from his relaxed position. He takes out his phone, and although you only catch a glimpse of his lock screen, there is something familiar about the image. It's the colors. Tan skin, greyish fabric, gold jewelry. You wonder where you may have seen it before.

Cody breaks you from your thoughts, asking, "What's your number?"

Once more, your mind draws a blank, and you search your brain. What is your phone number? "Uh…212...555…55…26—wait."

Cody looks up from where he is typing on his phone, and you realize you had given him your actual number and not the burner number that Vante has.

"That's my work phone, it's 5505."

With a light chuckle, Cody finishes saving your number. And then he must call you because your purse begins to vibrate.

"That's me," he says with a smile and a wave.

"Alright," you respond, reaching absent-mindedly for your cup of lemonade and taking a large gulp. Although you do not look at Cody, you can feel his eyes on you.

Your phone stops vibrating, but you open your purse and pull the device out, ready to call Cody back once you begin your walk. Not that you think you need to, seeing that your block is relatively safe and you are not shy about walking at night. You carry pepper spray and a knife in your purse, but you are also worried you may not have the coordination to wield either.

With a limp lift of your hand, you begin to wave, muttering, "Uh, thanks. I would have finished my drink and gone home feeling a little defeated tonight. It was nice to have company."

Why are you saying all of this? Cody is attractive, kind, smart, and has a fun sense of humor, but you were planning on just brushing him off. Plus he might be married.

He smiles and it is bright and disarming. From where he sits, his head is tilted back enough to see under his baseball cap, giving a view of his handsome features and long, pretty throat that bobs when he swallows.

"I'm glad," he says, voices soft and deep. "You also made my night better. I almost forgot all about how damp my sweater and jeans are."

"Almost," you repeat, smiling. Suddenly, you feel shy – why do you feel shy? "Alright, well…I'll call you."

"Okay," he says, smiling as he sits up.

You turn to leave, and the room tilts once more. So hard, in fact, that it makes you queasy. From the corner of your eye, you notice Cody sitting at attention, and you wonder if you visibly lurched.

"Ugh, I'm a lightweight," you complain, hoping to brush it off, but before making another move, it begins to feel as if the floor is sinking away.

"Sandra?" Cody mutters, "You alright?"

"Y-yeah," you insist, but you are not alright. Something is definitely wrong.

"Maybe I should call you a cab? Or something?"

You shake your head, "I live too close. It's not worth it."

"Alright, then how about I walk you? I'll keep my head down. I won't look at where we go."

Although you mean to laugh, it comes out in a scoff. "Alright, fine."

Cody is quick to get on his feet and slot an arm around your waist, holding you loosely but making you feel secure. The two of you walk through the somewhat tight path between booths, hips pressed against one another and warm, but then he gives you space as soon as there is some to give, only resting his hand against your back as he reaches for the door.

"How many drinks did you have?" Cody asks in a way that is gentle and not at all accusatory.

"Just what you saw," you respond sluggishly. "Two plus the one shot."

The two of you walk to the left and down the block. In the fresh night air, at a steady pace, you feel much more comfortable. It's the stopping and starting that seems to fuck with you.

At least the weather is nice – a chill in the air but not cold. The seasons are certainly changing, but at a pace you can acclimate easily to.

Cody hums some tune, and you keep wanting to ask him what it is, but you find that you are unable to make yourself speak. This causes your palms to prickle with anxiety.

"How long have you lived here?" Cody asks after about a block.

"A few years," you respond robotically, curious why you are suddenly able to talk without issue.

"I was wondering why a college student isn't living on campus. Then again…you seem too old to be living in the dorms." This line of conversation feels strange, but you can't pinpoint why. "Did you take some time off in between schooling?"

"No," you respond before you can stop yourself.

"Did you study something else before theater arts and music?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

Fear spikes, and you worry that he may ask you what you previously studied. It is so odd that you are so easily answering questions that you would ordinarily lie around – your undercover persona did not study anything before becoming a theater arts major. She traveled and worked at her father's veterinarian office as a receptionist while taking some time to decide what career path she wanted to take.

Cody stops abruptly, muttering, "Shit, my shoe is untied," pulling you from your spiral.

As he bends to sort that out, you lift your gaze from where it had been glued and unfocused to the sidewalk and look around. Just up ahead is your building.

"Oh," you say weakly, "we're here."

You continue on without your companion, putting one foot in front of the other and reaching for your purse, which is slung over your shoulder. Although you use this purse often, you struggle to get the zipper opened, and you stumble while focusing on it too much.

The hand on your back returns, helping you to feel steady, and Cody asks, "Need some help with that?"

Luckily, you find your keys and hold them up, feeling triumphant. Cody walks you to the front landing, up four short steps to the high Victorian door, and waits patiently as you attempt to grab hold of the correct key, only to drop them to cement in a loud clatter.

You feel frustrated as you say, "Fuck," and Cody is quick to bend and hold them out.

"Large gold one," you say, and he lifts the correct key and leans to slot it into the keyhole.

The last thing you want is for this stranger to walk you to your front door, but your dizziness is only increasing, and you are unsure whether you can make it to your second-story flat alone.

The brownstone you live in is just like any other – tall and old as fuck. As you enter and begin toward the stairs, every footfall can be heard, creaking in a greeting you are all too familiar with. The staircase is tall, and you grip onto the railing and make your way up. Cody seems to hesitate.

"I don't have to continue if you think you got it," he says.

Without stopping or looking back, you grumble, "Need my keys."

Cody meets you on the stairs, and with a hand on your back, gently presses you to walk up. You are grateful for his warmth and for his assistance.

And, at this point, if he tries anything once you are in your apartment, it will all be caught on camera. Not to mention, there is a Glock in your nightstand.

"Thank you," you mumble as you reach the top of the stairs and turn right to the tall white door. "Small gold key."

Inside your front pants pocket, your main phone buzzes with a notification that there is someone at your door. You ignore it, seeing as that someone is you.

Cody is quick to find the correct key and unlock your flat. He holds onto your arm while you kick out of your boots, and he toes out of his shoes and says, "Just want to get you a glass of water, okay?"

From where the two of you stand near the front entrance, there is a camera trained directly on both of your faces hidden in a bookshelf. You accept his offer and hobble off toward your room.

Your flat is somewhat of a rectangle. You enter into the living room, and to the right, straight ahead down a hallway is your large master bedroom. Tucked away on the left as you walk through the hallway is a kitchen and then a bathroom.

It feels too warm in your flat, pulling you off kilter, and you throw your purse toward your bed, which rests in the center of your room against the right wall, missing and watching it hit the floor in a loud thud. Then you stumble forward and fall to your butt on the edge of the mattress and begin to yank at the sleeves of your green flannel, wiggling about in an attempt to shed it from you.

Cody appears with a large plastic white cup and halts in the doorway. He shifts, and you catch him averting his eyes.

"Just trying to get rid of this thing," you grumble impatiently as the garment falls from your left shoulder but won't comply to go any lower. With a sigh, you give up and smile at Cody.

"You can just set it here," you nod toward your small wooden bedside table. "The door will lock when you leave. Thanks for the help."

Cody approaches slowly, and you wonder if it is meant to put you at ease – no sudden movements – but the anticipation begins to weigh on you. You want to lay down and go to sleep, and you want Cody to leave.

He smiles and levels his face with yours, eyes searching for something. Then he places the cup on the table and says, "I hope you feel better."

"Thanks," you mutter, wishing he would leave.

Cody bends and lifts your purse from the floor, which is open and spilling its contents. He sets it beside the cup of water and hands you your phone. Then he stands straight and fishes his own from his pocket, thumbing around before calling you.

He lifts the phone to his ear, and when you continue to stare, he tilts his chin toward the vibrating device in your hands. With a knit brow, you cock your head to the side but answer his call, lifting the phone to your ear.

"I figure that if I am being trusted to leave on my own, I should give you some assurance that I am, in fact, leaving."

"Okay…" you respond, drawing the word out. You could have all the assurance you need by watching the video footage from your hidden camera, but you suppose this is a kind gesture.

Cody smiles, lifts a hand, and waves. Then he turns and leaves the room.

"It was nice meeting you, Sandra," he says, drawing your fake name out nice and slow.

"You too," you mutter, heavy with sleep.

"Sorry the night ended this way."

You sigh. "Me too."

"If you ever want drinks and a burger again, let me know. I'm just a short cab ride away."

Briefly, you wonder if the two of you hit it off. It was fun and comfortable talking with Cody, but you are still concerned with how drunk you became – if that is what you can call whatever is happening to you.

"Alright," you respond too late, hoping to be polite.

In the living room, you hear some soft sounds and then the door opening. Although it is faint, you think you hear it closing, as well.

"I have left your humble abode," he says as the phone in your pocket buzzes with another notification to alert you that someone is outside your apartment.

You assume that the reason he insisted on calling was so that once he was outside of the apartment, you would only hear his voice through the phone. It is a nice gesture.

"Thanks again," you say, sighing with relief.

Through the phone, you can hear the steps creaking as he descends the stairwell. "My pleasure."

You begin to fade fast. Although you know that you should drink water, you twist your body, lift your legs onto the bed, and curl up. You feel too warm to care about your comforter, but you lament not having enough energy to get out of your jeans.

The phone ends up under your face. Miraculously, your cheek does not end the call.

"Tired," you mutter, feeling your eyelids flutter.

"It was so nice meeting you," Cody says, and in an instant, your blood turns cold.

That is the exact voice you spoke with on the phone last night. The accent is much more prominent, just as it was last night, and it is much more gravely. It is unmistakable.

He adds, "Sleep sweet, pretty," before hanging up, and you curl in on yourself, panting and shivering, hanging in a horrifying liminal space of being too afraid to want to sleep but too intoxicated to keep your eyes open.

'Cause I know what you're thinkin' about Babe, I'll let you spin me around I know what you're thinking about Babe, I'll let you spin me around Babe, I'll let you spin me around Babe, I'll let you spin me around

🎵 visit the playlist!

the feelings of being drugged are all kinda made up but also based on the drug ghb. please do not feel the need to sully your internet searches! i will explain it all in detail in upcoming chapters. and you may have noticed that because mc is a detective and trying to figure out who these men are, there is a lot of talk about facial features and accents. this is in no way meant to fetishize these characteristics, it is simply detective work - i tried to keep it as broad/general as possible. the little ploy that was played at the bar is based on something called "operation fireball" - google it if you're into true crime!

also!!! please never take a drink from a stranger or leave a drink unattended!!!

CAN YOU TRACK WHO THESE PEOPLE ARE THAT MC IS COMMUNICATING WITH??? everything will be made clear soon, but feel free to speculate!!! readers of the taegi pov probably already know what's going on, but mc pov purists will have all the questions answered quickly, as well!!! don't worry. 🤍

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#yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #taegi x reader #taegi smut #bts poly #bts yandere #bts angst #bts smut #bts social media au #undescribed #undescribed images #fic: white lies

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mionemymind · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 9: The Truth

Fake Memories

Series Summary: After Y/n is caught cheating on Wanda with Carol, Y/n would do just about anything to get Wanda back into her life. But was it even Y/n’s fault that she cheated? Or was it the new enemy set on revenge?

Chapter Summary: The after effects of the attack on New York have changed everything for the Avengers, Wanda, and Y/n.

A/n: I have managed to write this all within one day. I’m sorry if there are any mistakes but please let me know your thoughts love :) (Not my GIF)

Warnings: Fighting, Hydra, Blood, Mentions of Death, Anxiety, Curse Words

Word Count: 4.9k

Masterlist

Covered in ash, dirt, and dried-up blood, Steve was a walking disaster as he paced through the hospital waiting room. Well, if you would call it a hospital that is. It’s been less than an hour since the Avengers have controlled the fires in New York but the troubling news of Y/n and Wanda brought them to a halt.

They quickly rushed to the “hospital”, which was just an empty leased building before being revamped into a hospital for this emergency. The walls were made up of light green curtains. You couldn’t even separate the blood-curling screams from down the hall to the one next to you.

“Stop pacing Rogers. You’re making my head hurt,” Tony said as he sat next to his suit. He had managed to borrow one of the hospital’s tablets to see if there were any updates that could remotely be done to the tower. So far, no luck had been made to reboot F.R.I.D.A.Y or power up the building in general. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he bit back.

Before Tony could say anything, Natasha lightly elbowed him in the stomach to keep him hushed. Now was not the time to start fighting especially at a time like this. “Are you any closer to powering up the tower?” She asked. If Natasha was nervous, she sure as hell didn’t show it. While the assassin did have a similar beat-up look like Steve, her composure was almost too relaxed. However, if Steve cared to notice, he could quickly see how big of a lie that was but his mind was only focused on the two youngest Avengers.

On the other side of the building lied Wanda and Y/n. The only thing separating those two was the thin green curtain and the team of tired nurses and doctors that surrounded them. And while the two have been closer before, this was the first time in a while that they both slept peacefully by each other. It didn’t matter the circumstances of how they slept, but rather what they dreamt...and it was of each other.

“What do you think we would have been like if we lived normal lives?” It was a late afternoon on a sunny day in spring. Wanda and Y/n laid down in the grass under a tree that shadowed them from the sun. Today was one of their off days and seeing as the weather was nice, the two felt like it was a perfect time to go to the park.

“Well, we would obviously attend school.” Wanda was lying down on her back with a dandelion in her hand as Y/n laid on her side, using her left hand to support her head. “I can honestly see you as being the popular person or maybe even the President of some type of political club.”

“What makes you say that?” The soft breeze that covered them came once again, which blew the pappis away. The small frown on Wanda’s faced made it hard for Y/n to focus but she still responded, “You just have this powerful aura to you, Wanda. When you talk, people listen. But what you do better is how easy it is for us to believe you. That’s something not a lot of leaders can do.”

“You make it sound like I’ll be the next President of the United States,” Wanda replied jokingly. “I wish.” Wanda pushed Y/n back slightly as she laughed but all Y/n did was smile at the action. “But what about me? What do you think I would be like?”

Putting her finger to her chin, Wanda thought for a moment before saying, “Honestly, without your powers, you are probably a film nerd at heart. Maybe just a nerd in general.”

“Hey! Now you’re just being mean.” Wanda rolled her eyes as she threw away the dandelion stem. She turned her head to face Y/n. There was this adoration in her eyes that quickly made Y/n blush. “Who cares. All I know is if anyone decides to mess with you, they’ll obviously have to go through me.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me the President of the political science club is going to come to my rescue?”

“Duh! I’ll probably yell at them or something. If not, I’m not afraid to get nasty.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“How’d you let them get away?” Fury said as he walked into the hospital that Y/n was at. The man was not in his finest hour. First, the mass destruction of New York city was blasting on the news. Reporters and anchors are not looking in favor for the heroes regardless of the actions they’ve taken to try and minimize the damage. Many were angry at the mere fact that this happened at all.

“Someone on their team had quickly teleported them to safety,” Carol stated. The girl has been feeling nothing but guilt for the past hour. Although she did save Wanda and Y/n, the state she had found them in only did worse for her thoughts. “Even if I did try to catch up to them, the lack of response from Wanda and Y/n meant something. I probably couldn’t have faced them alone if I tried.”

Before Fury could have walked any further into the building, Carol grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to look at her. “Her ears were bleeding Nick...I think they did something to her head again.”

Wanda woke up with a slight headache, the dream vaguely on her mind. As she started to grasp her surroundings, she only grew more confused. “Where am I?” She thought. The loud beeping beside her combined with screams and loud thoughts overwhelmed Wanda. Feeling the need to get out, she quickly started to remove the various wires on her as the recent events caught up to her. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to lay back down,” the nurse asked kindly.

“Where’s Y/n?” Wanda almost lost her balance as she stepped off her bed. She used the nurse in front of her to regain her balance, before walking out of her “room”. “Ma’am, I’m not going to ask again, please lay back down or I will have to get security.”

The threat was the last thing on Wanda’s mind. All she could focus on was finding Y/n. Using her powers, she closed her eyes and tried to sense where Y/n was. Considering the girl was right beside her, it didn’t take long for Wanda to find out.

Quickly walking over to the side of her room, Wanda pushed the curtain to the side but the sight in front of her made everything stop. There was Y/n, battered and bruised. There was drywall dust on her face along with dried-up blood. “Y/n,” Wanda whispered in disbelief. Much to Wanda’s dismay, Y/n didn’t respond. She remained unresponsive on the bed.

Reaching out to try and hold her hand, Wanda was pulled back by the same nurse. “Ma’am, please let the doctors and nurses do their jobs while you go back to your bed.” Wanda shrugged off her hand, her eyes glowing red as she said, “Don’t.”

Wanting to be by Y/n’s side, Wanda tried to walk towards her again but Steve’s voice made her stop. “Wanda.” Turning back around, Wanda first noticed just how beat up Steve was. His helmet was off which made Steve oddly look like a raccoon. If times were different, maybe Wanda would have laughed. Instead, she stormed out of the room, feeling more overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry about her ma’am,” Steve said with a courteous nod.

Wanda sat on the ledge of the roof. The slight breeze of the night was coursing past her as she mindlessly fiddled with her fingers, a nervous habit she developed after her parents’ death. It was during a harsher breeze that Wanda touched her forehead where the slight open injury was at. She had left the floor just moments ago and somehow her feet led her here. Although she knew that she needed someone to look at the injuries she sustained, her mind was focused elsewhere. It was plagued with thoughts about the girl that was still entrapped in a room full of doctors that had no clue how to treat her. Wanda knew it was wrong of her to read their minds, but she hoped that at least one of them at least knew where to start. Panic and anxiety filled the redhead’s body the more she realized that no one knew how to help Y/n. Soon, the room felt as if it was enclosing on her. Before Steve realized she was about to break down, she left to sort out her thoughts and emotions.

Wanda had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed Carol leaning against the entrance of the roof. The blonde was only a couple of feet away from Wanda wearing black sweatpants and a shirt. The girl was wrapping up a mission when she saw the text from Y/n. Carol didn’t know whether the drop in her heart was from the fake feelings Memory Man had created or whether she genuinely cared about the girl’s wellbeing. It didn’t matter though. What mattered was Y/n’s safety.

Carol leaned up against the ledge while surveying the view. They were a foot away from each other but it didn’t take a mind reader to know that both girls were thinking about Y/n. Ironically enough, they each had their separate thoughts about how they failed to protect Y/n. For Wanda, she felt as if she was the sole reason that Y/n got hurt. If she had only conquered her abilities more, Y/n wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself again just to protect her. Not only that, but Wanda felt beyond frustrated with herself for being so frozen and paralyzed as the enemy hurt Y/n right in front of her eyes. There was nothing holding her back besides herself and that was something that will haunt her for a while. For Carol, she felt that if she were just a bit faster and maybe not a galaxy away, she would have reached them in time to help.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Wanda sidely glanced at Carol. The first thing she noticed was her attire. It didn’t take long for the dots to connect before she realized that it was Y/n’s clothes Carol was wearing. Wanda bit her tongue at the ounce of jealousy and resentment that decided to rise within her. This was no time to start arguments especially with the person that helped Y/n just in the nick of time. So Wanda had opted for a different but just as difficult route. “Thank you.”

Carol heard but decided to remain silent. Clearing her throat, Wanda continued, “I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t found us.” Finally, the two made eye contact as Carol glanced at Wanda. “I’m only here for Y/n,” Carol deadpanned. Wanda choked at her words but still had a serious composure. They both looked back at the city but there was a more tense feeling in the air. Carol hadn’t cared if the words had hurt Wanda. What she cared for was Y/n. But the looming question in the back of her head was always if this was a genuine feeling or if it was forced. However, the way her heart overwhelmingly felt angered at the person beside her, she knew that at this time, the feeling was genuine.

Subconsciously, Wanda felt the emotions that leaked out of the blonde. She didn't need to go in her mind to realize that. It felt like Carol’s guard was down leading her aura to be seen. It had covered the area surrounding the two in such a suffocating manner that Wanda felt like she couldn’t breathe. The two most compelling emotions were the anger she held for her and the love she had for Y/n. As she cracked her knuckles, Carol muttered, “It is quite ridiculous the things Y/n continuously goes through for a team that can barely return the favor.”

“You don’t get to-”

“Now listen here. I don’t quite care much for your team. Frankly, y’all don’t deserve Y/n.” The two faced each other with such intensity that one wrong move could cause a fight with two of the galaxy’s most powerful superheroes. “But if I’m being honest, you don’t deserve Y/n.” Wanda’s fists clenched at Carol’s words. It took everything out of the redhead to not fling Carol out of New York, because how dare she accuse her of such atrocities.

“If I were you, I would stop where you’re at,” Wanda said threateningly. The spiral scarlet glow in her eyes only made Carol chuckle. “You know you’re not the only one with powers.” Carol’s fist glowed with the same intensity as Wanda’s eyes. But the threats were pointless as the two had stopped at the same time.

“You don’t see it but you should feel lucky Wanda.” Cocking her eyebrow, Wanda responded with, “And why is that?” The redhead remained in a defensive stance as she crossed her arms. Carol walked closer to her and placed her hand on Wanda’s shoulder. Wanda was still tense but it slightly faltered when she saw how serious Carol was. “There’s a girl out there that loves you even when her mind and heart tell her otherwise.” And with that, Carol left Wanda to herself.

The burning feeling in his legs shouldn’t have felt familiar but it did. It reminded him of the body that he held through New York’s streets. It reminded him of the blood all over his hands and clothes. It reminded him of that fateful night that he failed.

And as he stormed into the hospital with nobody in his hands, something in the way that the team looked made his blood drain. Before Bucky could ask about Y/n’s whereabouts, Beth had walked in. Seeing her familiar face caused Bucky to be slightly relaxed but still anxious about what she could possibly say.

“I have an update on Y/n’s health.” Carol had walked into the room and her attention immediately landed on Beth. “Tell us, Beth,” Fury said.

“As of right now, she will be fine. The doctors have her hooked up to a solution that is allowing her regeneration abilities to work. But-,” before Beth could finish her update, Tony had stood up and loudly commented, “- Great, now that we know Ms. Hydra is okay, can we get back to the real issue at hand?”

As Carol was about to advance to Tony, it was Beth’s words that made the room quiet. “Of course it would be the self-righteous billionaire that would talk shit.” Tony’s head snapped towards Beth. “Excuse me?!”

Beth glared back at Tony, not daring to back down. Her arms were crossed as she continued, “Don’t act like you can’t hear me, or is your ego too far high for you to actually listen?”

Walking towards Beth, Tony said, “Listen here you son of a-” Before Tony could get any closer to Beth, Bucky had used his arm to stop him. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” Tony forcefully removed Bucky’s hand from his chest. He stepped away from Beth, not wanting to deal with what he thinks of as just some pathetic nurse.

“You know what the real issue is Tony - actually - all of you. It’s the fact that you seriously think of Y/n to be this villain.” Beth had let out a dark chuckle at the irony of the situation. “Or have you forgotten the shit you’ve ALL done? Let’s name them, shall we?”

“Beth-” Beth glared at Bucky. She didn’t care if this wasn’t the time nor the place for this conversation, because God was she so tired of them. “Tony, remember all the weapons that you’ve created for mass destruction and have yet to actually own up to the consequences of them?”

“I would stop there if I were you before-”

“Before what?!” Beth said as she threw her hands up. “Before you sue me?! Before you attack me?! Oh - that’s it, isn’t it? What are you gonna do? Kill me? Like how you did with Y/n?!” The room grew more silent as everyone besides Bucky and Beth digested her words. “It’s honestly sad how a bunch of adults has managed to push a KID to take their life away. All for what?! Because you thought she cheated on Wanda! News fucking flash - she didn’t even fucking cheat.”

“What?” Steve said. The shock of Beth’s words was still affecting him. “It was Memory Man. He had put fake memories in Y/n’s and mine’s heads. That was the whole reason we kissed - wait - did you not know about this?” The team was frozen while Carol and Fury impatiently waited for answers.

Not caring to wait for their pathetic excuses, Beth said, “It’s not like it matters what they have to say. They don’t even care for Y/n but for those that actually do. Right now we have no clue what her mind is going to be like. Memory Man has already given her enough damages before and considering we don’t know the full extent of his powers, we can only wait till she wakes up to see if she will actually be okay. Now if you don’t mind, I have a patient to take care of.”

Before Beth could leave, Bucky grabbed onto her arm. He gave her a look but Beth wasn’t having any of it. Ripping her arm from his grip, she stated, “Don’t Bucky. You know how much your family has hurt her. So don’t just stand there and act like they’re saints especially since you know how much Y/n needed you.”

It’s been a couple of days since the attack in New York and Y/n has since woken up. She has barely spoken to Beth, Bucky, Carol, or Fury. Although Estell’s presence would have been welcomed, Beth has yet to tell the girl the news of Estell’s death. Unfortunately, during the attack, she was shot and killed on sight by Hydra. The only reason Beth knew was from the long list of deaths she read on TV.

“We need to transport Y/n to a different location,” Fury said in a small meeting that consisted of only Bucky and Carol. “I agree. Since Hydra has managed to infiltrate the tower once, who knows when they’ll do it again.”

“That’s why a different country will do her better than here.” Fury sighed at the decision that was laid upon them. New locations will always be hard to adjust to but that wasn’t all of it. “Wanda will remain as Y/n’s guard.”

Abruptly standing from her chair, the loud screeched filled the room. “Are you serious?!” Fury’s expression didn’t change as Carol only grew with rage. “She could hardly take care of herself during the attack. What makes you think she could possibly take care of Y/n?”

“The girl was simply outnumbered. We all were.” Moving to get the file that was beside him, he slid it on the table. Bucky grabbed it and had started to silently read it. “But I need the both of you on the front lines. After what Beth has said, I need you two to make sure that the team is actually doing their job. They were supposed to have found out about Hydra’s plans before the attack, now I’m starting to think they didn’t even try.”

Carol was still angry at Fury’s decision to which he sighed. “You will know of Y/n’s location at all times. I will let her have a remote that when activated should send you a signal. Since you’re back on Earth, you’ll get to her in seconds.” Carol sat back down in her seat. Although she was still mad at Fury’s decision, she felt better knowing that Y/n could signal her for help.

“Now, I need you to say your goodbyes for now. Y/n leaves in an hour.”

Wanda stood in the foyer of the hanger as various agents loaded up the quinjet with materials that she and Y/n would need for the time they were gone. She was informed of the last-minute decision just moments ago by Fury himself.

“Please take care of her.”

The words echoed in her head as it had been the only time she’s seen Fury actually care deeply for somebody else. Before she could ponder more about it, Beth had interrupted Wanda’s thoughts. “Wanda?”

Turning around to the source of the sound, Wanda stood in front of a young blonde woman with intense eyes. “I’m Beth,” she said as she held out her hand. Wanda reluctantly shook it, not quite sure as to who this lady actually was. “I’m Y/n’s friend.”

“Great, another pretty girl I have to worry about,” Wanda thought. “Well, I’m also her nurse but I think she would consider me her friend as well.” Wanda stood awkwardly not really knowing how to respond.

Using this opportunity, Beth handed Wanda a bag full of medicine and vitamins. “I know this will be a lot to ask of you but could you please take care of Y/n?” There was no doubt in Wanda’s mind that this girl in front of her meant well. The nurturing feeling in her aura surrounded Wanda.

“That girl has been through a lot and I would know.” Confused by the intensity of her words, Wanda couldn’t help but ask, “How do you know this?”

“I’ve been her nurse for a while now.” This news only confused Wanda even more. “Was she injured before the attack?”

“What is it with you guys and not knowing a single thing about Y/n?” Beth thought. She started to get irritated at the thought of another Avenger hurting Y/n. She could only hope Wanda was different from the rest. However, Wanda heard Beth’s thoughts and said, “What do you know that I don’t?”

Beth scoffed at the question and replied, “The truth.” The simplicity of her answer made Wanda internally roll her eyes. Whether she admitted it or not, she had started to feel territorial over the fact somebody else knew Y/n better than her.

“Wanda let’s go!” Fury yelled from afar. The two looked over and saw Y/n hug Carol, Fury, and Bucky goodbye. Oddly enough, she looked emotionless when she did it. “Just please don’t fuck up again.” Wanda didn’t answer respond back to Beth because if she did, something bitchy would have probably left her mouth. Instead, she walked over and into the quinjet. She buckled into the seat closest to Y/n but the girl didn’t give any attention to Wanda. She remained silent and focused on her hands for the whole ride while Wanda thought more and more about what Beth meant.

“Now that we’re all here let’s get started.” Fury turned on the projector and the first image the was on the screen was New York on fire during the attack. “So far, we’ve received word that there have been 125 casualties and approximately around 500 critical injuries suffered from the attack.” Click.

“However, we face a bigger number when it comes to those that are currently missing. Estimating from 600 - 1000 people are found to be missing. And since we have efficiently cleared the rumble from the damages, our sources have found out how they’ve gone missing.” Click.

Footage of the event was playing but in the location of the subways. One by one, explosions could be seen in various parts of different train passages. It didn’t take long for Hydra soldiers to infiltrate the train systems but all camera footage cut to black. “Hydra has effectively taken hostages of those that were on the train during that night. They have used bombs to blast any chance of us going after them in these tunnels.”

“Is there a way to locate the subways?” Steve asked. “Since New York hardly invests in their transportation department, they are unable to track any of their subways. More than likely, Hydra has already disposed of them in case they were to be tracked.” Click.

“What we need is to figure out where these people have gone. This many hostages taken is something we cannot allow. And considering we have hardly been able to figure out their plans before the attack, I can only assume the worse when it comes to this.” Fury turned the projector off and continued his speech.

“Bucky and Carol will be removed from their current missions to assist the team with this situation. There will be absolutely no complaints about this. Any signs of lack of cooperation, I will gladly remove you and ban you from missions indefinitely.” Fury looked around the team once more and felt disgusted at the people he has to work with. Giving them no time to reply, he left the room not being able to stand the sight of them anymore.

Since they were dismissed, part of the team left in a hurry until it was down to three people. Tony was about to leave when Steve said, “Are you going to apologize to Y/n?” The question was genuine and serious because ever since that night, Steve had been unable to sleep. All he wished he could do was apologize to Y/n but the girl refused to see him. Unfortunately, he understood why.

“Why should I? It doesn’t change anything.” Steve stood up and slammed the table with his hand. “We killed her Tony.” Tony walked in front of Steve. “I didn’t do anything,” he sneered.

“Steve. Tony. We need to calm down,” Natasha said as she watched the two go at it. “Don’t act so mighty Natasha. I heard you bullied the girl too.” This comment caused Natasha’s jaw to harden. “Aww, did I hit a nerve?” Tony childishly asked. “Oh fuck off Tony. There you go again bringing other people down when you can hardly accept what you’ve done. YOU took away Y/n’s funds. She couldn’t even afford anything.”

“But you watched me do it, Rogers. You could have done something too yet you let it happen. So don’t patronize me. Nothing of what she said changes anything.” Tony quickly left the room as he felt himself explode in anger. This didn’t even surprise Steve anymore. He was tired of keeping the family together when it was clear now that it was meant to be apart.

“Here we are,” Wanda said as she dropped her bags in the living room. Looking at her surroundings, the flat was a decent size. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, living room, and accommodations on the floor below them.

“So what do you-,” Y/n hadn’t responded to Wanda’s question as she zoomed past her and walked into her room. Softly closing the door shut, Wanda sighed at her reaction. It wasn’t a surprise but Wanda still couldn’t help but feel hurt by it all. “I guess I should start unpacking.”

It’s been a couple of weeks since Y/n and Wanda started to live together in the flat located in the small town of Edinburgh. While Wanda mainly kept the place tidy, Y/n remained in her room all the time unless it was to use the bathroom or to eat. The only time she would even dare to be close to Wanda was during dinner. If it was breakfast or lunch, Y/n would take what Wanda cooked for the day into her room.

But Wanda was stubborn. She always left Y/n little notes of her whereabouts anytime she left for an errand but a small compliment would always be at the end of it. Sometimes she would knock on Y/n’s door and ask if she would want to watch a movie with her. Obviously, Y/n never answered but Wanda continued to ask. Other times, Wanda would think of Y/n’s favorite foods and would cook them for dinner that night. And while Y/n had never said it out loud, the empty plate she left in front of her always made Wanda swell with joy.

However, tonight was going to be different. Usually, the two would sit in silence as Wanda would have the tv playing in the background but Wanda needed to hear Y/n’s voice. Not only that, but she was hoping that the truth would come out as well.

Trying to figure out a way to break the silence, it was oddly Y/n that had done it first. “Why don’t you hate me?” At first, Wanda was shocked that Y/n had actually spoken, but the girl regain her composure and said, “Why would I hate you? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Y/n was silent for a moment until she said, “But I killed your brother.”

Chapter 10

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#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #fake memories

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yesimwriting · 3 years ago

Text

Dying Starlight

A/n: i dont think an audience for this exists?? ik it’s not shadow and bone related, but ive been reading red queen and i wanted to try writing maven and ive been playing with this idea. umm...on the off-chance that there is an audience for this i do think of this as more of a series but i’ll probably end up deleting this lol

(Series?) Summary: reader is a childhood friend of Mare’s who isn’t officially part of the Scarlet Guard but gets captured by Maven. As a prisoner, she feels like her mind is being messed with as she begins to see a more human side of Maven. The new King tells himself the only thing he sees in her is that she’s a way to get to Mare, but something about her genuiness is infectious.

Irony twists things. Right now, the irony that my last thoughts might be about how I wish I had been trusted with a suicide pill twist my impending doom into something almost comical. I’d laugh, but I’d rather not startle the rats in my cell. This has been their home for presumably years, but I’ve only been down here a few hours.

I scratch the back of my wrist, staring at tired stone walls like they’ve done something to me. I wish I knew what time it was. How long have I been down here? How long has it been since I was separated from Mare? An hour? Three?Each passing minute strikes me like a bullet, but I can’t count them. I’ve never had a talent for accurately feeling the passage of time.

My head aches, frustration and dread tangling themselves in the pit of my stomach. Mare told me the Queen can search through someone’s mind, seeing memories even they can’t remember. What will they do when they see I know virtually nothing? What will happen when they see how close Mare and I truly are? i can’t do anything and the unknown hurts more than my bruised rib.

The sound of the heavy door that divides the luxury of the castle from the wasteland of the cells creaks. I only let my arms flinch, moving from my side to wrap defensively around my stomach. Dull footsteps echo down the pathway that lead to the cell I’m in. I don’t cringe, not even when the sound of walking stops.

I was not born into a rich family, but I was born into a proud one. Fear was practically a criminal act in my household. I’ve been trained to suppress all signs of weakness. My eyes don’t leave the stone wall, I mentally trace the pattern of a long crack in a specific rock. It reminds me of the slope of the Big Dipper.

Will I ever see stars again? The answer leaves a sharp pain in my chest.

“Mare told me about you.”

The words jar me, my stomach dropping in revulsion. Mare had trusted him, and here he stands--successful because he’s a traitor. I know what it’s like to be the most overlooked sibling and to crave to change that. I know what it’s like to want to succeed more than you want air in your lungs, but I don’t think I’d ever betray someone. I like to think that there’s a line even the monster in me won’t cross.

I don’t look at him, partially out of an attempt to protest and partially because I’m afraid of what I’ll see. “She might have mentioned you in passing.”

His scoff is ridiculous. “She didn’t lie about your sense of humor.”

That almost makes me wince. His words are too close, too personal. It’s like he knows me. I turn my. head, ready to cut through the uneasy beginning to get to the miserable middle if it brings me to the end faster.

“You’re here to torment me, not make small talk.” Turning had been a mistake. I regret it instantly. His expression is unforgiving--cold, sharp, and made up of only angles. But that’s not why I stare. I did not expect him to be objectively attractive. The fine slope of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the ice blue of his eyes. I need to snap out of this mindset. I’m sure his beauty will not be so distracting when he’s burning me. “Though some might consider that the same thing.”

He scoffs again, the sound dry. The sneer of his lips does not diminish his attractiveness. The fact makes me loathe him. “I wonder if you’ll still be so prone to humor after you’ve been broken--any information of worth extracted from your thoughts.”

“Let me save everyone the trouble and just tell you everything that I know now.” My back straightens despite the pain in my ribs. I look pathetic, dirty and in a torn dress. He’s regal, dressed in fine, all black clothing. “I know that Mare wanted to kill you today, I know that she needed a distraction and that her distraction needed to be expendable, which is why I’m sitting in front of you.” I squeeze my hands together awkwardly, a bit of genuine irritation rolling in my stomach. “That’s literally all I know, I’m not even part of the Guard.” I scratch the back of my wrist. If I were him, I wouldn’t believe that, but I’m being honest. How pitiful can one person be that they’re worth more disconnected from the group they work for than as an actual member? “You don’t take that kind of risk for someone that’s only skill set is in thought.”

I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I don’t regret it. Maybe he’ll think that my story is so pathetic it has to be true. “You have to know more than that.”

“The Scarlet Guard only reaches out to me on a need-to-know basis, and anything worthwhile to you is something I clearly didn’t need to know.” In a way, I’m glad I can’t give him anything. “So are you going to kill me with a bullet or do you prefer more flamboyant executions?” My death should be plain. I am human completely--I bleed red and I have no powers. “I do think anything more than a simple death is more trouble than I’m worth.”

His lips press together oddly, something beneath his expression tightening. “You don’t think your dearest friend will return for you?”

The sarcasm in his voice sparks something in me I thought only my sister could. “I think she has a lot of responsibilities and I wouldn’t blame her for having priorities.”

His eyebrows draw together. “I think you’re painfully unaware of how attached to you she is.” I press my lips into a thin line. “She’ll come for you.”

Something selfish in me hopes that he’s right. No one has ever wanted me enough to come back for me. My mother wanted perfect daughters that knew how to only think in terms of trapping men with stable careers. My sister did it, but I could never manage, and to my mother that made me useless.

“If you believe it,” I mumble beneath my breath.

I don’t know if he hears me. I can’t bring myself to care if he did. “For your sake, you better not have lied to me.”

My back relaxes against the raspy wall, fighting down a grimace as the motion irritates my rib injury. “Cross my heart, Your Highness.”

I watch him carefully, his expression turning into something much more grim. “A King is referred to as His Majesty.”

“My father was a prominent war general and my mother only wanted daughters she could use to social climb.” I fight down a grin. “I know what I said.”

His expression darkens into something bone chilling. “I am the King and you’ll refer to me as such or deal with even less pleasant circumstances.”

I fight against the urge to cower, picturing Mare’s strength in my veins. There’s weakness in everyone, and if I squint I can see the thin cracks in him. “You have everything--the crown, the power, the support of the people, and it’s still not enough. You won and you still feel like you’re competing.”

“You don’t know anything,” he seethes, practically growling.

I shouldn’t press him, but the more he reacts, the more weaknesses are revealed. “I know what it’s like to have a sibling that’s the sun, and no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’re always trapped in a shadow.”

The lighting makes his eyes look almost glazed over. “My mother will be here soon and the truth will be revealed.”

He can run from me, but not the truth. Cal has nothing, he has everything--the father that never cared for him is dead, and yet he’s still trapped. Our similarities hurt me more than my physical injuries.

Maven turns, his gaze moving off of me feels like the removal of heavy shackles. “It would do you well to not press me. You’re worth as much whole as you are broken.”

There’s the strangest hint of something more to his voice. I wonder if he’s speaking to more than just me. “You haven’t won until that voice in your head telling you that you’re not enough is silenced.”

“You’re a powerless girl who isn’t even wanted by a dying cause and couldn’t find a husband to drag her above the poverty line. You know nothing about me, and if you keep pretending I’ll slaughter you in front of your dear friend.”

He leaves without another word. I fall asleep with my back against the wall and my ribs aching.

#red queen #red queen x reader #maven #maven calore #maven calore x reader #maven calore imagine #red queen imagine #mare barrow #cal calore #bookboyfriend #book boyfriend x reader

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alberivh · 3 years ago

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devotion (ROYAL AU) — pt.1 : realization.

Butler! Diluc X GN!Reader . Royal! childe (as supporting character), butler! Kaeya (supporting cast ; in pt2 story line)

contains : heavy angst, comfort/hurt, isolation, arranged marriage, major character death, mentions of blood, injuries, execution, abusive relationship, abandonment, ‘consumption’, false accusation, blades

summaries : arranged marriage has always been one of your family ruthless tradition. You were allowed to love them you couldn’t reach, yet the feeling of being abandoned once and for all by those who you truly treasured was more than numbness could ever describe. Diluc who’s your lover need to accept this tradition, yet he, himself need to get his life down for your future sake.

A/N : thank you for 100 followers!! It has been a wild ride since i’ve just joined this community. Thank you very much and as a rewards, here’s a token of heavy angst for y’all. I have a really bad writing block right now, so this might took more than you think hehe. So once again, thank you very much! ( i actually hate this, tyvm)

“Your majesty…please allow me to hold y—“

“No. I simply do not have time for people pleaser, please let yourself be out from here..” , you cursed your future-husband out of from your bounties. It startled all of the maids and butlers in your room, it even make your somewhat-fiancé looked awful. You were pissed by him, by the structure of his eyelids, the heavy breathe from who-knows-where and many more part of him you don’t even want to recognize.

There’s no reason to deny that you hate this, all of this, Known as the maiden of the family, you were nothing but their only pry. It pissed you, it really does. How come you are holding the throne at the age of 25? Aren’t you supposed to check your garden instead taking all of your well-behave throne and the awful arranged marriage your family has made? No? What an unlucky person you are, the butlers thought.

“Diluc please guide master tartaglia to the upfront door, i have no intention to see him now. If you already had brought him downstairs, get back to my resident immediately.”

“this is the main reason why everyone despis—“

“Please leave Immediately. My master have no further interest to speak with you, master tartaglia.” Diluc shouted your internal response to the group of scums in front of your sight. He heard enough of this small talk your future-husband has been talking about. Diluc wasn’t jealous, he was simply too disturbed with your disgusted face everytime tartaglia walks around your residence. just how much pressured you had been under to make you act so ruthless in front of the man you’ll called husband in no time?

he silently observing him down the hall. Not wanting to have a talk with a scum like him, he avoid any sights of his ‘particular’ interest. After all, in his eyes, tartaglia doesn’t deserve any part of you. He acts too normally, there diluc suspicion of your fiancé grown. There must be something behind his motive. Tartaglia have recognize diluc’s gaze for a while now. Though, he pretend none of those bothering suspicion triggered his rage. And so, he fired him up with a quick straightforward awareness. Or as the citizen say, A threat.

“mr. Butler..stop loving my future partner or tomorrow you’ll have the consequences..got it? And do not touch them..i’ve warned you when you were alive, i like my future partner to be a virgin ins—“

“master tartaglia i have no relationship with the majesty, how come you assume such a thing from a humble butler like me? I was just simply following orders, hope you could understand, master tartaglia.” , answering his rage. Tartaglia found his emotion drains wild. It look like those bothering emotions he hide finally show diluc their true intention to spoiled you. Diluc’s eyes met your fiancé terrifying visions, the murderous aura in it explains his true intention. Diluc could only plea inside, let my majesty be safe.

“don’t you dare say anything to your master, mr butler. My partner has been mine all along, stay away from our relationship or tomorrow would be your last day…”

“Though, i simply wouldn’t mind, ajax.” , he gurantees tartaglia’s eyes.

The night came. the breeze flew through your open windows, leaving chills through your spine. it was an unsurprisingly beautiful night, you quoted. Diluc was preparing your bed, as you humm through the southed area of your room. The melodical sound of your humming have always soothes his grudge from afar. It was always been his favorite sound.

“ your majesty, the bed has been done. You may rest peacefully now..so please excuse m—“

“Diluc…stop making it seems like i’m the only one who loved you..just stay here, i missed you a lot..” , in a sudden your arm was attached to his body, his dirty and ordinary body. You embraced him so tightly, as if diluc were going to some place you wouldn’t want him to cross. You were scared of losing him. You don’t want any of this marriage, you don’t want tartaglia to even acknowledge your presence. You just want diluc to stay by your side, even if you both have considered how selfish it is.

You clunge onto his chest, pressing gentle kiss on his cheeks. Not wanting him to leave nor to leave you behind. So desperate of you to feel this way.

“you’ve been doing great darling,i’m proud of you..”

“please stay like this for a while, i love you. So please, don’t go..don’t go..” , diluc watch your flattering smile turns into a small-sobs, it cracks him, he doesn’t want to let you go either. He was simply following your fiancé awareness, he doesn’t want anyone to harm you, even if it meant for you to see him in agony. Diluc Carries your figure into your bed in return, not wanting to bare any of his emotions. Feelings are fragile and so do he. giving soft and gentle kisses to your forehead as he wiped your tears, whispering a ‘goodnight’ before he left you again. If he was being honest, he wants to be more selfish, he wants to be with you, forever.

“hmm..i’ll be waiting for you, goodnight my beloved..”

“What’s with the inconvenience…?” The loud atmosphere greet you with chills. What time is it? You don’t even know. All you know is the sunrise have yet to grown out from the wave of the clouds. but why must all of your maids gather themself on your room, something important? But why must them gather at the edge of dusk..? Did your mother fucked up again? But actually, what happened?

At the same time, you mumbled a form of question. Where’s diluc? You asked yourself.

“Y-Your majesty! d-diluc have now been courted by the queen, i-i don’t know what happened but please stay put i shall help you! Yes! I-i—“ courted? In sudden, you dropped your glasses. The broken piece of the glasses shard scarred your leg. It was painful, but you didn’t care. The blood shed of your scars leave the carpet of your resident turn into a red motives of blood. What did diluc do to make himself courted by your own mother? All he did was to love me, mother. The maid beside you were in all panics, trying to brag your arm from leaving the room. Although you declined the embrace of it, you were still running in pain, it made the maids panics turn into vomits.

Rushing through the open corridor of your resident in sweats and blood shed, You found diluc. His hands tied with a rope, a slight red bruises covered his face. He was Courted by your mother because of an unknown letter that has been sent to the queen herself, it was dumb for her to court an innocent person like him. Though, at last, you found yourself screaming his name. The pain which hold onto your consciousness leave your body in a second. diluc was aware of this, Everything. His hands wanted to touch you and lead you to rest. but he couldn’t, the execution would be in front of his eyes in no time.

“you did harm my child don’t you? Look at those blood on their legs! How come a butler like you harmed my precious child..?! They are unconscious because of you filthy butler. Know your degree, h—“

“you abuse them, your highness. You abuse them, ever since their father die, you abandoned them and break them to pieces. How come you only care about them dying when their time to hold the throne came? They were dying because of you, those consumption they witness are all because of you. And you dare to tell me what to do when all i did was just to love them?!” He quoted every single words you wish you could say to your mothers face. You wished you have the audacity to tell her the truth, yet your weak body refuse it’s urge to make diluc out of the execution lines. I’m sorry, i’m really sorry.

silence fill the room. You were laying in pain, as you heard diluc’s defense and your mother’s lies. You realized once more, you were nothing to them. Just a pry for the throne. none of the guards have pitied you either, they are too focused on never-letting diluc’s eyes or hands meet your figure in this state of time. Those scarred glasses on your legs have made you lose too-many bloods, it scared diluc. After all, as a lover he is, he has devoted himself to protect you in all cost. let them be safe and take me away. It’s his last hope for you to stay awake for him.

“no execution needed. I have no reason to pay attention to fools like you. so isolation it is. This is all because of you, my child is dying and you’re the one at fault. Noticed how they haven’t even called your name again? They died because your lack of responsibility.” , spitting her mucus in diluc’s knees. You could barely saw diluc chills which you usually saw in his eyes. He’s about to cry..you think.

“Guards, please take my child away and let them rest in their bed. And so for this butler, put him in the isolation room, make sure to let him eat only once in a day, understood? Ah..don’t let my child see him, i don’t want them to see an abuser like him crawling out their life’s on my window.” , orders from your mother are none to first. They couldn’t be disobey and you understand them. You understand how ruthless it is, you understand it. But why must diluc? Why him? You saw the sight of him, blades are all over his neck. For what reason actually? To let him never see you again.

carried by the guards to your room and diluc was gone from your vision. He is not wrong, your highness. So why must those who loved me left my side, mother? Why won’t these bruises you add to my flawless skin never leave me? Is it because i’m a procession of your own sin? It was a cursed to fall in love with those you could barely reach.

PART 2 : COMING SOON

this is shitty, really shitty in fact. Though, thank you very much for reading this. Part 2 will come soon, if i had some energy to write the readers mother personality without getting pissed off. But anyways, see y’all soon at part 2 <3

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