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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

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Damsels, Chapter Five: Work That Gameboy

By SisterSpooky1013 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Rated E / Read previous chapters here

Mulder arrives at work early, looking longingly at Scully’s car in the parking lot. Approaching it, he peers in the windows looking for…he isn’t sure what. Her car is, as usual, neat as a pin with no indication of where she went or why.

In his restlessness the night before, he’d thought a lot about why it bothers him so much not to know where she is or what she’s doing. If the roles were reversed, he would expect her to wait it out and trust him to take care of himself, but for some reason he’s struggling to do the same for her. He thought at first that it was her tendency to get hurt or need help, but by comparison he needs her help just as often as she needs his, so that doesn’t track. Then he thought maybe it’s that he doesn’t trust Skinner to do what’s in her best interest, but Skinner has shown a tendency to be protective of Scully on numerous occasions (and in fact Mulder strongly suspects his feelings for her go beyond the bounds of strict professionalism), so that isn’t entirely logical either. Skinner may have left him out to dry with the New Spartans, but he doesn’t believe the man would stoop low enough to treat Scully in the same manner.

In the end, he realized that it’s pretty simple; he’s just crazy about her. His protectiveness doesn’t have anything to do with how capable she is, or the situations other people might put her in, or even situations she might put herself in. He misses her, and cares so much about her that not even knowing where she is feels wrong. It feels like a piece of him is missing, and he’s not allowed to know where it is or when he’ll get it back.

After pretending to work for an hour, he sulks up to Skinner’s office and asks for a few minutes of his time. Skinner is immediately irritated, though Mulder doesn’t realize that it’s in response to him and not a preexisting condition. He stands in front of Skinner’s desk, looming over him.

“What do you want, Agent Mulder?” Skinner grumbles, not looking up from the document he’s reading.

“I’d like to know where Agent Scully is, sir.”

Skinner sighs heavily, dropping his head to his chest.

“Get out of my office, Agent Mulder,” he says in a low, menacing tone.

“Sir, I’m not asking to contact her, I would never compromise her case, I just need to at least know where she is. What if something happens and I need to find her?”

Skinner stands, looking Mulder in the eye with an intensity he’s seen on very few occasions, none of them fond memories. “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully explicitly asked me not to tell you where she is, or what she’s doing. Even if she hadn’t, I STILL would not tell you, however I hope that if you don't respect the direct orders of your superior, you might, at the very least, respect Agent Scully’s wishes. Now get the hell out of my office and do not bring this up again, understood?”

Mulder glances down and notices Scully’s keys on the desk near Skinner’s nameplate, her Apollo 11 keychain easily identifiable. He leans forward, putting his hands on the desktop, one covering the keys.

“Sir, if anything happens to her, I’ll-“

“You’ll what, Agent Mulder?” Skinner challenges him, stuffing his hands in his pockets in a show of bravado.

Mulder straightens, palming the keys as he stands, and leaves without another word.

Scully arrives at the club just before 2 pm, wearing shorts and a tank top as Angel had instructed. After stuffing her purse into a locker, she finds Angel and Tibet on the floor, which has returned to its daylight state of clean and quiet. Queenie restocks the bar while Ben fiddles with the sound system.

Tibet is up on the stage while Angel sits at the tip rail, offering pointers on a new dance Tibet is working out. Scully immediately notices that Tibet’s hair is cropped short and worn in its natural curls, and realizes she’d been wearing a wig the night before.

“So I was thinking that I could either take my top off just before or just after the first chorus, tell me which looks better, okay?” Tibet says to Angel as Scully enters and takes a seat beside her.

“Benny! Hit me with the music!” Tibet shouts, and then repeats her performance twice, revealing her breasts at a different point in the song each time. When she’s finished, she sits down on the edge of the stage in front of them and asks for their thoughts, her breasts still uncovered.

“I think the sooner the better,” Angel says. “They come here to see your body, so show it to em!”

Tibet nods. “What do you think, Desi?” She asks, stretching a smooth brown leg out to her side and leaning into it.

Scully suddenly feels entirely out of her league in terms of providing an opinion. “Uh, well, generally speaking I guess I’d say wait. You want to build some suspense, right? Make them work for it?”

Angel looks at her suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t fuck on the first date, do you?” She asks with a haughty grin, and Scully’s eyes go big at the question. “I’m just messing with you, let’s get to your training!”

“Alright,” Tibet begins as though she’s done this dozens of times, tugging the straps of her shirt back over her shoulders. “So, have you ever given a lap dance before?” she asks plainly, and Scully’s cheeks flush.

“Well, kind of I guess. In college, though more as a joke than anything else. I would definitely consider myself a beginner.”

“Got it, got it,” Tibet responds. “Well, for the most part dancing is about creating a sense of intimacy. It’s fake, obviously, but the more your customer feels like you actually care about him, want him to look at you, like that he’s appreciating your body, the better you’ll do. Your stage set is just about showing yourself off and getting them curious about you. The real money comes from lap dances and VIP, and the more you can draw attention with a really great stage set, the more customers will want to spend time with you afterward. Angel is a beast on the pole and she can teach you all those tricks, but I consider myself the lap dance expert around here, so I’m gonna teach you that part.” She smiles and jumps down from the stage, pulling a chair away from one of the tables and gesturing for Scully to sit in it.

“Oh,” Scully says, and sits as instructed.

“Sometimes, when you’re on the floor, customers will flag you down or ask for you, and that’s great. But you also have to approach people, because they’ll be too shy to ask. So you might come up and do this.”

Tibet saunters towards Scully with a secretive smile on her lips, stepping so close that her thighs thread between Scully’s knees. Next she leans down, placing her hands on Scully’s shoulders and bringing her mouth to Scully’s ear.

“Would you like a dance, Baby?” she asks in a syrupy voice, and Scully feels a shiver run down her spine. Tibet backs up. “Okay, now you try.”

“You want ME to do that?” Scully clarifies, and while just asking someone if they want a lap dance should be the easiest hurdle to clear, she’s finding that it’s still an uncomfortably high one.

Angel turns her head toward the bar and calls out, “Queenie! We need some liquid courage over here!”

Queenie walks over with a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses, pouring them wordlessly before returning to her task.

Angel holds her glass up, Tibet and Scully following suit. “To new career paths,” Angel says, and Scully smiles thinly, clinking her glass with theirs and throwing back the shot with a grimace.

Three weeks. She’s been gone three weeks, and not a word from Skinner. No update, no information, though he’s stopped by a couple times and asked, drawing increasing amounts of rage from his boss. He’s finished all the paperwork, re-organized the files, cleaned and rearranged the office (only to immediately change it back) and spent hours upon hours imagining where Scully might be right now.

He kept her keys, just in case, but knows she’d be unhappy with him invading her privacy by snooping around her apartment. That’s why he waits three whole weeks before he finally does it. He has a key to her apartment and could have gone there at any point, but her personal keyring also holds the keys for her gun safe and her mailbox, which may prove helpful. After work on a Thursday, he drives by and lets himself in, the warm vanilla smell of her immediately invading his nostrils as he opens the door. He sighs deeply, pulling her into his lungs; it feels like coming home.

First he waters her plants, which are looking half dead, and makes a mental note to use watering them as the reason he came here if asked. Next he opens her gun safe, and is struck to find her service weapon holstered and tucked neatly inside with the safety on. She doesn’t have her gun? What the hell kind of assignment is this? He brings in her mail, which is no help at all, and leaves it stacked on the counter. Next he lays down on her bed, shoving his face into her pillow and breathing the smell of her shampoo for a few minutes before he has the thought to look for her overnight bag.

Scully has a go bag in the trunk of her car for emergencies, but given the opportunity she’ll use her overnight bag and pack for the weather, situation, etc. Opening her closet, he finds it on the floor near her laundry hamper, empty save for a travel size can of hairspray tucked into a side pocket. In her bathroom, he finds all her toiletries accounted for, including her toothbrush. The more he sees, the more confused he is. Even when he’d spent time undercover with dangerous individuals, he’d been allowed to bring his own toothbrush.

Moving to the hallway, he picks up her landline and dials.

“Dana?” Maggie Scully’s voice answers on the second ring.

“No, sorry, Mrs. Scully, it’s Fox Mulder.”

“I saw Dana’s name on the caller ID, is she with you?” Her voice carries worry.

“No, I’m just here at her apartment watering her plants, sorry to confuse you. Have you been in touch with Dana, Mrs. Scully?”

“No, Fox, I haven’t heard from her in weeks. She told me she had an assignment that would take her away for a while and that she’d be unreachable, but I’m a little concerned that she hasn’t contacted me yet.”

Mulder closes his eyes. “I wish I had anything to share, Mrs. Scully, but I’m in somewhat of the same boat. A.D. Skinner isn’t concerned and it does sound like he’s in touch with her, but I was hoping she might have called you.”

“I’m afraid not,” Maggie replies sadly.

“What did she tell you when she left? Did she share any information at all?” he asks hopefully.

“Um, let me think. She said she was going on an assignment and that she’d be out of touch for a few weeks. And she said she’d bring me some Tastykakes when she comes home,” she adds.

“Tastykakes, what are those?” Mulder asks, his investigative senses tingling.

“They’re a treat we always get when we go to Philadelphia; little packaged snack cakes. The kids always loved them.”

“Are they only available in Philadelphia?” he asks, heart pumping.

“I’m not sure, but that’s where we always get them,” Maggie says hopefully.

“Thank you, Mrs. Scully. That’s really helpful. I’ll let you know if I track her down, okay?”

“Thank you, Fox. Take care.”

Setting the phone back on its cradle, he does a little victory dance. It isn’t much, but it’s something. Scully is just a few hours away in the city of brotherly love.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks of practicing stage sets and lap dances in the afternoon, serving drinks in the evening and well into the middle of the night, and then sleeping until noon. Her arms and legs bear fading bruises from her acclimation to Paul the Pole, the crooks of her elbows and knees sporting slight calluses that help her get a good grip (with an assist from the grip powder Angel has instructed her to use). She’s given Tibet and Angel dozens of lap dances each, the other standing by to coach her on making sure one foot stays on the floor. After three weeks, she found that her barriers were mostly in her head. Once she was able to let go and just move, she’s actually pretty good at it.

That day she arrives in pink cotton shorts and a white tank top, now so used to being scantily clad that it no longer makes her self-conscious, and prepares to do a full dress rehearsal of the routine she worked up with Angel’s help. Queenie and Ricky sit down to observe what is more or less a test of her readiness, and one she intends to pass. Where she would have expected to feel nervous, she’s excited, ever the eager student motivated to impress and exceed expectations. Ben kills the daytime lights to make it look and feel like it would if they were open, and her set begins.

Moving onto the stage, she can barely see her audience with the bright lights trained on her. She quickly gets lost in the movements she rehearsed, feeling graceful as she circles the pole and hitches an arm around it, spinning in a feathery arc. When the point in the dance comes to remove her shirt, she does so as a well practiced step in a strategy, without any feelings of exposure. Soon enough her bra follows suit and she is left with only her tiny pink shorts, nipples hardening as they graze the pole. The undulation of her hips, the pop of her booty out towards the audience, the slip of a hand down the inside of her thigh; they’re each a part of the method. Precisely planned and executed in much the same way as she might dismantle and clean her gun, or prepare a slide for the microscope. It isn’t much different than performing an autopsy, she had reasoned. Except instead of: Y incision, open rib cage, remove organs, examine stomach contents, collect specimens, examine brain, it’s: arch back, grasp breasts, spread legs, thrust pelvis, rub thighs, grind on the pole. She’s always found her strength in taking a clinical, detached approach to difficult tasks, and that turns out to be just as effective on the stage as it is in the lab.

As she finishes, her small audience erupts into applause, standing in ovation as Ben brings the house lights up halfway. Scully smiles shyly, stepping down to join them on the floor as Ricky approaches her and slings an arm around her bare shoulders.

“That was fucking fantastic, Desi. Sexy as fuck. Let me see you do a lap dance now.”

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #case file #case fic #x files fanfic

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avasghost · 4 years ago

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When We Drown Update #2

[image description: a pale blue photo of a rocky cliff, and a boy at the edge in the distance, standing on a pile of rocks and looking down. in white serif font in the centre, reads “when we drown: update two” / end id]

wip intro here. first writing update here.

DISCLAIMER: this is my original work, please do not plagiarize in any way.

hi everyone! it’s been a while since i did a writing update (time is fast) and i’ve written quite a lot! up until about a week ago i was in a really, really bad writing slump (which lasted like,,, four months) and so that’s why there hasn’t been a crane anatomy update for a ages because (: i haven’t been writing it (:

i don’t know if i mentioned this in the first update, but this book is now non-linear which has been an ~adventure! the non-linear plotline is kind of freeing because i can just pick a scene i want to write from any time in april’s life and just ... write it? i don’t have to follow the years chronologically. i try to create some kind of causal thread between the scenes but i don’t know how well that’s working out lmao. since WWD follows an entire life story with the protagonist looking back on it and remembering her life, i try to make her memory of one event trigger the memory of the next event, and usually they’re linked by either emotion or information.

current word count: 13,228

so when we drown is officially longer than crane anatomy now, despite being the side project! fun.

anyway lets get into the chapters because i have nothing else to say. tw for death, and other trigger warnings are before the individual chapters!

excerpts under the cut.

chapter 5: faces

[image description: a birds eye view of a forest of snowy pine trees. above the trees in black serif font reads “chapter 5: faces” / end id]

this is a very short chapter (a page and a half) which is a flash forward to when april and elena live together in a cabin in the woods sometime in their late forties. elena is asleep in an armchair and april stokes the fireplace, and then goes outside and sees elias’s ghost and then it dissapears (tbh,,, i think a lot of the chapters will be like this oops) this is the second ghost sighting in the book, but at the point when april is 48 it’s almost a regular occurrence! i might end up moving it to later in the book eventually, since i might want the ghost sightings to be in linear order if nothing else is, to keep the main thread of the book in order.

I closed the door of the woodstove, and glanced over my shoulder to see if Elena had been woken by the clanging of metal. She stirred slightly, a familiar face in her nightmare, an unfamiliar face in a familiar dream. Two fingers clenched against the armrest, then became limp again. Half of me wanted her to wake up, to see me, to speak to me, to see the fire bouncing in the grate and be happy for warmth. But again, she needed rest. She needed to be alone for a while, even if that was just in her head. She’d seen her fair share of fire.

also its snowing in november and its british columbia and i know this is unrealistic but! aesthetics are more important than logic we all know that.

[image description: blurry pine trees and a light snow falling in front of them, with a ridge of snow along the bottom. white serif text in the centre reads “The snow-tipped pines that cupped the cabin sagged under the weight of unexpected snowfall. Their fallen needles jotted the snow. The sky was white, spotless, like an expanse of faraway ocean or the inside of a crystal ball.” / end id]

The snow-tipped pines that cupped the cabin sagged under the weight of unexpected snowfall. Their fallen needles jotted the snow. The sky was white, spotless, like an expanse of faraway ocean or the inside of a crystal ball. No birds flitted between the branches, no foxes slunk between the pines. All was still. All was white. I was alone.

and the ghost is seen then disappears as usual and april goes inside again.

You were gone by the time I reached the door again, by the time I stepped inside and Elena stirred in her armchair, by the time I had stepped out of my shoes and gone to stoke the fire again, which was already starting to dwindle.

i like having elias referred to as “you” because its like april is telling the story to him, but he’s not there, so she’s talking to herself, which is very in character for her to do.

chapter 6: the party

[image description: a slope of pine trees with a grassy field at the bottom. mist shrouds the trees in the distance. a dirt path leads through the grass towards a cabin. in the top right corner, reads “chapter 6: the party” / end id]

chapter 6 follows the day before elena’s fifteenth birthday, and then her party the next day. this is a traumatic time for april because she decides she should mention her first elias sighting at the party. obviously people think she’s crazy and so you can guess how that turns out (aka april goes home and cries because she’s a soft bean)

elena has a cool tree in her backyard apparently!! this seems to be a running theme.

Dribbles of leftover sunlight sifted through the branches of the elm tree that ribbed the sky, its roots furrowing the lawn like varicose veins.

i will admit i didn’t finish this chapter and haven’t written most of the party scene yet so i will probably update on the rest of it in my next update (if i’ve written it by then which i probably won’t have but! we’ll see.)

chapter 7: sacred ground

[image description: the ocean stretching into the distance, with small waves. a blurry girl with long brown hair stands in front of it, facing the water. in the middle in white serif font reads “chapter 7: sacred ground” / end id]

the aftermath of the first elias sighting, when april goes and tries to talk to elena about it. i actually don’t know if this or the party comes first and the non-linearness might be catching up to me oops but we’ll just pretend everything makes sense okay <3

first she tries to decide who to talk to about it and her options are quite limited. she picks elena because she’ll probably take her seriously, and then goes to her house in a state of shock.

I considered my options. Elena: the calm one, either pretending to be wise or really wise. Magnolia: probably less stupid than she made herself out to be. My mother: still crying over a tragedy of five years ago and a tragedy of fifteen years ago and the tragedy of a lifetime wasted in crowded cult meetings and stark bedrooms, tears always falling, thoughts either always whirlwinding or too dead to pay attention to. I found myself winding up the jittery pathway to Elena’s house, or maybe it was me that was jittery. Maybe it was me, who made the world blurry like this. Maybe it was me who was seeing things, not those things drifting into my line of vision and then falling out of sight. The pearly birches jagged the edges of the valley, their leaves chartreuse in the wind-rustled sunlight.

and then elena rejects her plight and april returns to where she saw elias. turns out elena isn’t as accepting of april’s hallucinations as she was supposed to be! here’s a bit of dialogue i generated from that incorrect quote generator that seems fitting for this moment!

April: Bad things keep happening to me, like I have bad luck or something.

Elena: April, you don't have bad luck. The reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumbass.

this IS april and this IS elena how does this generator know what my book is about!! anyway back to excerpts:

I ran back to where I had seen you, all slow wonderment vanished, and found the place where my old footsteps in the sand looped around. I knew you wouldn’t be there, I wasn’t surprised that you didn’t appear again, your face bobbing in a rice paper mist. I wasn’t surprised that Elena didn’t chase me out, eyes drained of tears, to apologize. And I wasn’t surprised that from that point forward, I thought of that place as sacred.

chapter 8: always falling

[image description: a blurred black-and-white close-up image of water falling. white serif font in the center reads “always falling: chapter 8″ / end id]

tw: death, drowning, blood, fantasizing about drowning

eight-year-old april and magnolia visit a waterfall with magnolia’s parents. feat. april’s dog, august!

The waterfall coiled down the cliff face, cracking the surface of the river like a thousand strands of thunder. I could hardly hear Magnolia’s parents shouting something up ahead, their voices lost in the blare of water.

shortly after:

When I heard suspension bridge, I pictured one from old fairytales I read: wooden, burlap ropes for railings. A thirty percent chance of falling in. I was reassured by the stability, but August shivered at the way it jilted underfoot. He had never walked on ground that shifted under his feet, maybe it was an earthquake, maybe the ground was breaking in.

and here’s sweet eight-year-old April fantasizing about what it would be like to drown. If you think that’s foreshadowing no it isn’t 👁👁

[image description: a slightly grainy photo, half water and half sky, both tinted turquoise. a hand lifts out of the water toward the sky. above the hand in white serif font, reads “What it would feel like to drown, water snagging in my lungs, sharp stones shattering my ribcage until the entire river turned to blood. Being sucked by the current until someone finally found my body, far from where I lost it.” / end id]

I stared over the edge, tried to pierce the thick buzz of mist that separated me from what would be the teeth of my fall. I imagined the bridge giving way, like it always did in the stories I read. One end breaking, the ropes snapping, the entire bridge swinging into the bottomless river. What it would feel like to drown, water snagging in my lungs, sharp stones shattering my ribcage until the entire river turned to blood. Being sucked by the current until someone finally found my body, far from where I lost it. Maybe it would be an old fisherman, hauling a girl in with the day’s catch, or his frail wife, who would faint on the spot at the sight of a dead child, bloodied and mangled and already tearing apart.

they cross the suspension bridge, and august unfortunately falls in! this is just a bit of april’s childhood trauma and i wish i didn’t have to cause her this pain but i do i’m sorry 😭

chapter 9: dead letters

[image description: a close up sheet of paper with a few lines of cursive writing across it. a fountain pen lies across the page. in the bottom right hand corner, a black serif font reads “chapter 9: dead letters” / end id]

a very young april and elias get caught in a hailstorm then go inside and find letters from their father, who they never met because he still lives in the cult their mother escaped from the day april was born. their mother tries to hide the letters from them but! these children do not relent.

We tracked through the colourful forest in autumn, our rubber boots tore trails through the scattered maple leaves. Pronged pinecones crackled under my heels as I chased you, threading between the trees.

I was eight, you were faster but I managed to keep up all the same. A haze of rain sizzled on my skin, but rain didn’t phase me back then. I didn’t mind the water droplets that pearled down my neck into the hem of my bright yellow rain jacket.

they escape from the hailstorm and find their mother in the kitchen making tea (rare!)

When we tripped over the doorframe and found ourselves panting in the kitchen, the kettle wheezed and mother emerged from her bedroom to take it off. The scent of green tea wafted through the air as she poured it, steaming, into a ceramic teacup with a crack veining down the side.

april tries to take one of the letters but her mother stops her. later during the night, she and elias get out of bed and read the letters and it turns out their father left the cult as well, and wants to meet up with them. april wants to meet him, but elias is bitter about it and doesn’t really even consider him their father because he was never there for them.

chapter 10: frostbite

[image description: two pale hands reach towards the sky, in front of a blurry indigo background. in the top left corner, white serif font reads “chapter 10: frostbite” / end id]

tw: freezing to death

there are those weird times when their mom tells stories about her life. these incidents never end well but happen occasionally! she tells april about a time when her and a few other cult members were in the mountains and one of them froze to death. at this point april is around fifteen (which is where the main plot of the book is at right now)

She cut off there, blanched, stared out the window at the sun-speckled backyard, but I could fill in the rest of the details myself: skin a cold stone blue, frostbite jittering through the lungs and spine like a poison, eating everything slowly. Lying in the snow, letting the cold overcome them. Dead before morning. I wanted to ask if they buried the body, dug a grave of snow that would be melted by spring, or just left the corpse lying in the snow for someone else to find, or be eaten by a wolf pack, or to deteriorate, and haunt those lonely slopes forever.

afterwards, april goes outside (yes its snowing again 😭 as someone who dislikes snow i sure write about it a lot)

On those days, my desperation to leave the house rose to a high and I would slide into a pair of ragged sneakers and a cable-knit sweater and push out into the cold. Once vibrant green leaves now greyed with frost, a snowfall months early but not unwelcome. Striking before the trees had the chance to shed their leaves. Frost brittled the branches of the oaks so I could snap them without an effort, not that I wanted to snap them. The concrete of the road was spined with ice that made it look like the ground was caving in, icicles barbed the eaves of our house like jagged teeth. Sometimes I thumbed snow into my mouth like a child, hoping no one was watching a seventeen-year-old eat snow, and let it blot my tongue and dribble down my throat. The cold shock to my system helped clear my mind of whatever mother had been talking about, helped me cope with the pain I shouldn’t have been feeling in the first place.

aaannd that’s everything i’ve written so far! this has been the worst writing slump of my life and i’m not too happy with most of the stuff i’ve written lately, but hopefully that clears up so i can update y’all again soon!

- ava

wips taglist (ask to be added or removed!) @shaelinwrites @august-iswriting @wildswrites @nodeadnarrators @annlillyjose @shaonharryandpannisim @letsgetsquiggly @strangerays @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @dallonswords @teaandtypewriters @chewingthescenery @kahaaniyaa @coffeeandcalligraphy @47crayons @writing-is-a-martial-art

#when we drown #writing update #when we drown update #writers on tumblr #my writing #writeblr #am writing #original writing

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shinesurge · 4 years ago

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I’ve been holding off on making this post because I wanted to try it out myself and get settled in and make sure everything went okay, but seeing as I’ve gone ahead and updated my site and everything I thought now might be a good time to start talking about this publicly!

If you’ve known me for more than five minutes you know I fucking hate Webtoon, like, a lot. Every aspect of it disgusts me to the core of my being, and while Webtoon is the ugliest version of them the aspects that I hate also extend to basically any comic aggregate site. I hate that they treat artists like content robots, I hate that they treat comic readers like morons who aren’t capable of engaging with complex stories, I hate that they actively try to strip away all the cool parts of indie comics by cultivating sterile and impersonal environments that discourage artistic experimentation and unique expression.

So! I hope you’ll be interested in what I have to say about this new platform that’s (hopefully) going to be out of alpha this summer. If you think you like reading comics on Webtoon, I really encourage you to check out Dillyhub once it launches. That’s the short version, but I have a LOT to say about this! So I’m putting the rest of this under a cut.

Full disclosure, I’m not getting paid or anything for this. The creative outreach at Dillyhub contacted me a few weeks ago asking if I’d be interested in having Kidd Commander be one of their launch titles when they go live this summer. I was hesitant at first, since I actively distrust anything claiming to be For Creators at this point, but they answered my pushy questions patiently and everything seemed on the up and up so I gave it a shot; I’ve been needing a mobile mirror for KC anyway. Eventually they invited me to the alpha creator discord, where they’ve been working directly with all of us artists to improve the platform, and now to be honest I’m REALLY excited for this thing to get off the ground. Nobody asked me to make this post, but since I’ve spent years whining and bitching about how other services do wrong by their creators, I thought I’d talk about this one that’s doing things right.

So, the biggest advantage this site has for creators over others in my opinion is that it. Treats us like individuals, regardless of follower count lmfao. If you’re a new person just starting out with your new webcomic, here’s what webtoon does for you:

Note: you don’t get a custom banner, you don’t even get to choose the solid color it is. That big circle icon is ALSO the image that shows up in searches, but everywhere else on the site it’s a 100x100px square, so you have to choose whether you want it to look good as a giant circle at the top of your comic’s page OR whether you want to look good in search results. Which, by the way, is the ONLY way for people to find you if you’re not partnered. And that’s it! You have no monetization options, you won’t show up on the genre pages, and when someone DOES stumble across your page it looks super unprofessional. Good Luck!

Now here’s my Dillyhub page(s):

You don’t get a static banner and one icon, you get a whole carousel banner with as many images as you want front and center as soon as you get to the project page. You get seven (custom!) genre tags, as opposed to Webtoon’s single tag you have to pick from their list, and plenty of room to talk about your work. The episodes are even laid out better, you get a MUCH bigger preview space to work with and they’re nice and big on the bottom half of the page:

you know, like they’re actually presenting ART lmfao.

That’s already an ENORMOUS improvement, but here’s my favorite thing.

o hm that’s a lot of super cushy settings I have for every individual episode, but what’s that, Episode Type?

LIKE.

listen, i know this is probably a bit specialized if you’re not a comic maker yourself, but this is a HUGE DEAL. You can post vertically OR page by page! You can even post pages two at a time for double page spreads, or so they read like a physical comic book! AND their specs are really open, as long as the file meets the size requirement you can make it whatever shape you want. You don’t have to reformat all your shit to post here!! I posted the entire first volume of KC STRAIGHT FROM THE PRINT FILES in like half an hour!!! The episodes can also be any amount of pages, you can post a single page or an entire chapter all in one go!

So that’s just the project page for the comic, let’s see what happens when I click on my username there.

Each author gets their own unique page (which you can tack a vanity url to!) to present themselves however they want! You always have the banner at the top, but beyond that you have a ton of options. Among other incredibly useful tools that really should just be bare fucking minimum at this point, like the ability to preview your page on different devices, you start customizing your blank page with this set of widgets,

and from THERE you can customize them MORE, you can promote your patreon or your kickstarter or whatever! Having this creator space ALSO means that if you run several comics, or if you want to promote your comic AND your illustrations, you can just separate them into individual projects! Each with their own page! This is also really nice as a reader because you can subscribe to a creator but you can also just subscribe to specific projects, if you don’t want to get ALL of their stuff in your inbox. It’s so good y’all hh.

Once again, all of this functionality is just THERE as soon as you make your account. You don’t need to be “partnered” or whatever the fuck, you don’t need to meet a certain follower threshold to unlock the ability to operate normally. You get your own creator space to present yourself how you prefer, you get pages for all your projects, you can even set up monetization options (and change them for individual pages IN a project) right from the start.

ok ok let’s compare this to my webtoon page

oh that’s right webtoon just puts your greyed out name at the bottom of each comic and that’s it because human beings don’t make this stuff, my bad lol anyway

Other fun shit that Dillyhub does that makes me feel like they’re people who have actually consumed or made comics on the internet at some point in their lives:

-When you log into the “studio” space, you’re in your creator account. When you log OUT of the studio space, it’s like you swap to a “reader” account, where you can access your pull list and comment on things with a different name and profile icon. Again, maybe only cool if you’re a creator, but if you ARE then you know exactly why this is incredibly useful lmao

-You can set up “hidden” projects, so if you only want certain things to be accessible by certain people or to not show up in searches that’s an option! You have SO much control here it’s great.

-The comment section has moderation options GODDD. You also have a real comment space, you know, so it actually encourages building a community (and a rapport with your community, if you like), and you also can just turn comments off entirely if you want! I haven’t used it much yet, obviously, but it’s been made very clear in the discord that artists want better control over their comment sections and the devs have it on their priority list.

-Absolutely every step of customization gives you a preview before it’s live, so you can easily see what these images you’re posting in different places are going to look like before you beam them to your followers’ inboxes. This includes individual episodes!

-This was sort of in one of the screenshots but it’s important so I’m saying it here too: the option to mark individual episodes as mature or with content warnings, rather than having to mark an entire comic as Mature Spooky Scary Content because of one or two pages getting a bit hairy.

This site is only in alpha right now, and it’s invite-only until they get to beta (for creators; anyone can make a reader account! but they haven’t set up a way to browse comics without direct links yet so) but honest to god it’s already blowing every other site I’ve used clean out of the water. And the staff has been really kind and responsive to us proposing fixes or changes! I will always defend individual websites as being the best option for an indie comic, but everybody’s gotta start somewhere and we NEED something that isn’t Tumblr or Webtoon to fill this role; this site feels a lot more like a symbiotic relationship than any of the other staples available for new creators right now. If you’re a comic reader and you want to see your favorite comics on Dillyhub I’d suggest keeping an eye on this site and once it’s live start poking them to look into it, and if you’re a creator follow their social media and hop in when they open up for anybody to join. I would LOVE to see this site take off as a viable option for hosting and reading comics.

Thanks for reading all this! I haven’t quite finished setting up yet, but if you want to poke around a project/creator page for yourself mine is here have at it. As things progress I’m sure I’ll have more to say, but since I’m usually so aggressively negative about places like this I just wanted to give some credit where it was due. fucking finally.

#long post #i want this site to obliterate webtoon so fucking bad lmfao

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 146

Chapter Summary - Tom returns to London for the next part of the Infinity War junket and Danielle wants to speak to him regarding everything.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Danielle checked the food in the oven. It was almost done, Tom was due at half six. She had told him not to eat after three, that she was making dinner. He swore to do as she asked, knowing that she was after having a long day herself, flying back from France after working an eighteen-hour shift the day before so that she could make her flight back to London so to spend time with him while it was possible.

She had collected the dogs from the kennels as she was home for a few days though technically, so was Tom, but he would not have the same level of time for them as she did, yet she felt it only right to have them there for him too.

She showered and dressed in a comfortable yet good clothes, wanting to be ready for a pleasant evening. When the dogs' ears perked up, she knew that Tom was home. When he was standing in front of her, with a tired but genuine smile on his face, she walked over and kissed him as soon as she got to him.

'Hello.' He smiled, kissing her, noting that she was wearing something that was coconut scented as opposed to her usual strawberry.

'Hello you. I've missed you.'

'Likewise.' He kissed her again.

'So what is the itinerary for tomorrow?' He groaned at her question and pulled her closer to him. 'That good?'

'Five AM start.'

'Lovely.' She felt him pull her closer to him again. 'We'll get you fed and relaxed now and get you an early night.'

'Hmm, sounds almost perfect, all I need is a beautiful sexy woman to keep me company.'

'I would have thought that you would have had your choice of such over the last week or so.'

'There were beautiful women, I cannot deny and quite a few of them but they don't interest me in the slightest. There is only one that holds my eye.'

'Lucky woman.'

'Lucky me for having her.' He kissed her. 'There will only ever be you, Elle.'

'I am enough to suffer.' she jested.

'Don't you dare speak like that.' Tom growled.

'I was talking to Sophie.' Tom pulled back slightly to look her in the face while discussing such a serious matter. 'About the premiere, obviously.' He said nothing. 'She told me that she was under strict instruction not to make me feel as though you were trying to pressure me into anything.'

'I would never want you to think that I would attempt to do that to you. I want you to want to go to things with me, or if you would rather stay away, I want you to feel comfortable doing that.'

'I know, she said, before she immediately proceeded to actively pressure me into going.'

'What?'

'She pleaded for me to go, not on your behalf, but on her own.'

'For goodness' sake.'

Danielle laughed as she walked away from him and began to serve their dinner. 'So I gave it some thought.' Tom held his breath. 'I want to come with you, if you'll have me.'

Tom walked over to her and looked her directly in the eye. 'And you want this?'

'Yes.' She confirmed and his face showed his elation. 'I do.'

'Have you informed Luke?'

'I have.'

'Have you someone sorted for your...'

'Hair at one, make-up at three.'

'Thank you, Elle.'

'Tom?' He looked at her curiously. 'Can I ask you a favour?'

'Anything.'

'If anything arises that you want me to go to in the future, something work-related that you wish for me to be there with you, and I mean actually want me to go to, not something you are indifferent to of would perhaps just simply like me to...please just tell me.'

'I don't....'

'You genuinely wish for me to accompany you tomorrow, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'Then just tell me straight, going forward.'

'I promise.' He swore. 'Are you okay with this?'

'Yes.'

'Are you a little scared?'

'I am fucking terrified.'

He pulled her to him, kissing her head affectionately. 'You don't have to do this.'

'I know. I want to be with you.'

'Are you that desperate to see the movie?'

'Is it that obvious?' She smiled at him, causing Tom to chuckle.

* Tom held Danielle's hand as their car drove towards the theatre, knowing full well that she was incredibly anxious. They said very little to one another on the journey, they do.t watched as London city passed them by.

Luke had explained the procedure to them as to how the event was planned. They would arrive, like the rest of the cast, through a side entrance, and Tom would have to do the individual and group photos with them before Danielle would join him and give the almost obligatory photos of them together. That would be the only input Danielle would be required to take part in publicly, something she had accepted before agreeing to the evening. She knew that so she had accepted that. Luke checked on her a few times as Tom stood in front of those gathered, media, fans and more than likely full-time moaners also and has his photo taken time and again. He was soon joined by others and more photos were taken. 'Don't.' Danielle warned as she saw Sophie coming up beside her. 'Looking gorgeous as always.' She smiled.

'And you, how are you?'

'Fine.' Sophie said nothing else on the matter, knowing Danielle enough to know she would not divulge anything more on the matter as she tried to steady her nerves. 'I could never do what they do.' She commented as she watched Tom joking with his co-stars.

'It's not for everyone.' Sophie agreed. 'I don't know many people that would do your job. I've seen your paperwork.'

'And between them, me and you, we blow everything out of the water.' Danielle beamed.

Sophie laughed at the statement before Danielle felt a gentle touch to her arm. Turning slightly, she saw Luke beside her smiling encouragingly. 'You need to go out to him now.'

She nodded slightly before inhaling deeply and walking out into the cameras. On realising that Danielle had come with him, the photographers started to shout and take more pictures.

Tom kept his arm around her as the cameras continued to flash. 'Are you okay?' He asked after a moment or two, looking at her and ignoring the cameras. Danielle, for her part, smiled back at him, bit her lips together and nodded. Tom rubbed her with his thumb as a means of comfort.

The manner in which Tom looked at her made Danielle almost forget about the trawls of people that were there. When he focused on her, she often forgot that they lived in a city of eight million people, in those moments, she only thought of them and their lives and she could not help but smile. She leant more towards him before he gently urged her away from the cameras and into the theatre.

#i hate you i love you #chapter 146 #wolfpawn #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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starker-stories · 5 years ago

Text

An Accord (WIS), Chapter 2

I’m sorry I missed a day re-posting Accord. I really want to get it all back out there so I can continue on with chapter 10-13 when I hit that point. Unfortunately, I’m still sleeping off whatever hit me Monday-Wednesday while I was in the hospital. I’m pretty sure I’m back up to normal now. So let’s start this daily posting thing again.

As a bit of annoyance, I’m going to remind you that @starker-stories is formerly starkerstories, which got accidentally deleted. So if you followed me at the non-hyphenated blog, I hope you’ll make the move with me to the hyphenated one. I miss all’y’all.

I’ll be re-creating my individual chapter posts for An Accord over here on the blog that replaces starkerstories. Until I hit the current chapter, I’ll be posting daily. They’ll have links to both tumblr and AO3 chapter links. I’m sorry if that bothers people who’ve seen this all before in the tag. I’m content to leave all my other fic as AO3 only, but this is my current favorite child, so I’m spoiling it rotten.

This fic is on a weekly update schedule. Hopefully every Friday. More chapters may appear sooner if the writing is going well. Because I have 0 self-control.

Tumblr Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13 AO3 Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory, Cheating, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Domestic Nightmare Tony Stark, Reconciliation, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, WinterIronSpider, Happy Ending, Clothed Sex, Domesticity, Peter Parker is legal age in the state of New York, College Student Peter Parker, Takes place about 2 years after Civil War. Closeted Character

Summary: “Oh. My. God. Old man stereo.” Peter disentangled himself from Tony’s hold. “Feed me.” Bucky started to rise. “Sit down, Bucky. I didn’t say cook. I told him to feed me. Feed US.” ——————————————————————————————

Chapter 2: The pass-code to the penthouse

A movie and a half later, Tony sat on the other end of the sofa from Bucky. “Taken care of. Tomorrow you’ll meet Fury up at HQ.”

“It’ll take more than one day,” Bucky said quietly. “There were a lot of missions.”

Tony nodded.

“I remember all of them, Tony. I’m sorry.”

It was still hard for Tony to reconcile the raw emotion of what happened with the knowledge that the man sitting next to him was not the man in that videotape. “I know, Bucky. I’m getting there, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’ll head upstate for a few hours a day until it’s finished. Either Fury or Maria Hill will handle the debrief personally. Whatever Ross finds out will be filtered through them, cross-checked by FRIDAY, gone over by me, and then given back to Fury to release.”

“They agreed to that?”

Tony laughed. “Of course not. It’s all going directly from Fury to Ross, with not a single stop in between.”

Bucky was quiet for a long time and they both pretended to watch the movie. “Steve underestimated you.”

“You think?”

They watched the movie until its end. “Didn’t peg you for a rom-com man, Bucky,” Tony said smiling.

“War movies kinda lost their charm.”

“Overly realistic sci-fi ones lost theirs for me,” Tony countered.

“Drama… I live enough of that lately.”

“Ditto action.”

“Romance never gets old,” Bucky said finally.

“God, are you two getting weepy over Tom Hanks movies?” Peter said, laughing and landing in Tony’s lap once he dropped his backpack by the elevator.

“You told me you liked that I’m a romantic,” Tony said, kissing Peter lightly on the lips.

“Yes, but…” Peter picked up the remote, clicked, and brought up the title. “Sleepless in Seattle?”

“Shut up, kid.”

“Oh. My. God. Old man stereo.” Peter disentangled himself from Tony’s hold. “Feed me.” Bucky started to rise. “Sit down, Bucky. I didn’t say cook. I told him to feed me. Feed US.”

“Take out?”

“Take me… us… out.”

“Your house is full of food, Tony,” Bucky said. “Take your boyfriend out to dinner, I’ll be fine.”

“I said, feed US,” Peter hollered back from the bedroom.

“Thai?” Tony suggested.

“Thai.” Peter agreed, coming back, tugging on a fresh shirt.

“Chinese?” Bucky countered.

“Thai wasn’t a thing in your day?” Peter asked.

“In Thailand it was. Not in Manhattan.”

Tony laughed. “How long has it been since you were here… that you remember?”

“Uh… Forty-three? I’ve been here since, and I remember, but it wasn’t to sample the cuisine. Back in forty-three, pretty much everyone still called it Siam, even though it had changed already. But by any name, there weren’t any restaurants serving that kind of food. Chinese was the closest.”

“I doubt spending the last year, since Wakanda, on the run with Rogers broadened your horizons.”

“Not really.”

“Thai then,” Peter insisted.

“Yes, but proper Thai. We’re not dragging our new guest to that place you and May like.”

“Fine. Rich people Thai.”

“Yes, Thai. Not Thai by way of American Cantonese and whichever Korean guy they have working the kitchen today.”

Bucky smiled at the couple, arguing as they wandered back and forth from the bedroom to the living room, various bits of clothes flying while they changed.

“There.” Peter said, finally dressed in much the same as he’d started out in.

“Ready?” Tony asked Bucky.

“We can just… go out?” He’d spent all of his time, since he escaped from HYDRA, on the run. The idea of just being able to walk outside the door and go to a restaurant was unbelievable.

“Well, yeah,” Peter said.

“It can be a bit of a zoo once I’m recognized,” Tony admitted. “But that’s why I get driven even though it’s only a few blocks away, and I’ll have security there.”

“Iron Man needs security?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow.

“No, Iron Man does not need security,” Tony said sharply. “However Tony Stark, the fifth richest man in the world and New York celebrity needs security. Unless you fancy being mobbed by everyone with a cellphone.”

“Not fun,” Peter said sagely.

Happy was waiting with the Rolls outside Tony’s private elevator in the garage when the three of them arrived.

“Bucky, this is Happy Hogan. Head of Security for Stark Industries, but I also make him be my driver and pilot still. He tolerates it because I’m so loveable. Happy, Bucky Barnes. He’s staying with Peter and I for awhile.”

“Mr. Hogan.”

“Sergeant Barnes.”

“Can we not? It wasn’t him. It was someone else. I’m… getting over it. I appreciate my defense squad, Happy, but save the death glare for Rogers if he ever shows up.”

“Tony’s taking us out to dinner,” Peter said brightly.

“Thai?” Happy asked.

“He’s nothing if not predictable,” Tony said, helping Peter in. “There’s going to be grooves carved into the road from the tower to the Thai restaurant.”

“To match the grooves from the tower to the Italian one you insist on going to every time it’s your choice,” Peter countered.

“Italian?” Bucky asked. “You been to Gargiulo’s?”

“Fuck yes. I haven’t been in years. But it was as close as you get to Napoletano outside of Naples. Sorry kid, you’re overruled. Happy! Change of plan. Coney Island.”

“What‽” Peter screeched. “I will be as old as you two before I eat.”

“Yeah, true. Never mind the car. Make the arrangements, Hap. We’ll meet you on the helipad.”

“What the fuck?” Peter said.

“What the fuck?” Bucky said, just a little bit behind him.

“Oh, pretty and beautiful chime in,” Tony said, teasingly. “You think you’re going to dangle the possibility of me eating like my m… Oh.” Tony gasped and sat heavily down onto the backseat of the car. His eyes closed tightly shut and he began hyperventilating.

“Shit,” Bucky whispered. He backed away until he was up against the wall of the garage, as far away from Tony as he could get. He watched as Peter climbed next to Tony. Once the kid had Tony in his arms, Bucky ran up the garage ramp and kept running.

“Stop him,” Tony gasped out. “Lock the garage down before he gets out.” He flailed for Happy’s arm. “It’s not his fault,” he told Happy. Which was as far as Tony’s bravery would take him. He buried his face against Peter’s chest. “It’s not his fault,” he said quieter.

“I know, Tony. It’s okay. He’s… his twin brother.”

“Yeah.” Tony drew a shaky breath and another and another. Slow and deep. In the safety of Peter’s arms, it was easy to convince himself of that. Twin brother. That made sense. It was a gut level reaction to seeing the same face associated with…

Tony was sitting on the edge of the carseat when Bucky came back down, followed by Happy. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Debatable. But I don’t want to kill you. Your dead twin brother on the other hand,” Tony said, trying at a wan smile.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky sat cross-legged on the garage floor in front of the car door’s opening.

“I forgot who you aren’t. It’s… I got caught up in the moment. My… her cousin used to work at the place. She and I ate there a lot the summer between high school and MIT. Howard was setting things up in L.A. that summer. It…” Tony closed his eyes again. “I don’t want to blame you,” he said quietly. “I know it wasn’t you.”

“She was Italian? That wasn’t in the file. Nothing was. A time. A date. A location. A mission. I didn’t know who. Not until after. Until just before Pierce had me wiped again and sent me back to Siberia for storage.” Bucky tried to hide his reaction to his memory of the procedure.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said.

Peter reached out for each of their hands. “Takeout, obviously.” He helped both men to their feet and led them to the elevator. “Chinese or pizza?”

“Chinese,” they both said.

“Fantastic.” Peter leaned his head on Tony’s shoulder and wrapped their arms together. But he kept his hand reached out to hold Bucky’s.

~~~~~

They let Peter pick the movie.

“I thought you didn’t like sci-fi?” Bucky asked.

“To be honest, the whole ‘sitting still pretending to be mentally engaged by a movie’ is new to me,” Tony offered in his defense.

“You told me you loved Star Wars.”

“Yeah. Star Wars.”

“And Star Trek.”

“That’s okay too.”

“That’s sci-fi!” Peter said emphatically.

“Technically, that’s space opera,” Tony countered.

“You don’t have to sit and watch movies with me,” Peter said, sounding actually hurt.

“I like sitting and watching movies with you. I never said I didn’t. I said it was new to me.”

“Watching movies can’t be new to you. He’s older than you and it’s not new to him,” Peter said, nodding towards Bucky.

“Baby, the last movie I sat and watched all the way through, in one sitting, was Star Wars. The summer right before I was sent to boarding school in the fall.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay. It’s just… new. Sitting still for this long. Not… doing anything.”

“You’re watching a movie.”

“No, baby. You’re watching a movie. I’m watching you.” Tony leaned over and gave Peter a kiss. He was about to deepen it when he remembered they weren’t alone. He chuckled. “Sorry.”

Peter laughed. “I foresee us bumbling around each other saying ‘sorry’ a lot.”

“You haven’t said ‘sorry’ yet, kid,” Bucky grinned.

“Call me kid again and I’ll web your cool metal arm to the floor again.” Peter grinned back. “Then I’ll say sorry for it after.”

~~~~~

“Bucky. Hey, Bucky. It’s all right. You’re safe. You’re in New York. You’re in Stark Tower. Bucky. It’s Peter. Parker. Peter Parker. You’re okay.”

Bucky punched in the direction of the voice. His punch was… caught. His arm made an electromechanical whir. He opened his eyes.

“Hi Bucky,” Peter smiled at him, holding his metal fist in his hand. “You were having a nightmare. No, no. Don’t move yet.” Peter put Bucky’s hand down onto the bed.

“Peter?” Bucky said hoarsely.

“Yeah,” he smiled again.

“You shouldn’t wake me up from a nightmare. I could hurt you.”

“Hi, I’m Spider-Man. You can’t hurt me. You already tried to hurt me and didn’t. But I didn’t wake you up. I know better.”

“You know better?” Bucky asked, stretching his legs out, one at a time, then his right arm, moving his fingers.

“Nightmares. Kinda the pass-code to the penthouse.”

“Tony?” Peter nodded. “You?” Bucky asked, less credulously. Peter nodded again.

“Welcome to the fabulous superhero life.”

“Some of mine were from before the superhero life,” Bucky said quietly.

“Some of Tony’s. Some of mine, too. It doesn’t matter who has them worse, when they’re happening, they’re all worse.”

“You can go back to bed now, kid. Thanks. But Tony’ll be missing you.”

Peter sucked in his lips, but stayed.

“He’s not in bed?”

“When he’s avoiding nightmares, he doesn’t sleep.”

“Wish I could learn that trick,” Bucky said bitterly. He saw Peter’s expression. “No, I guess I don’t.”

“It could be three days or more before he sleeps. However long it takes his body to pass out this time around. I’ll be there when he needs me.”

“Who’s there for you, kid?”

“Tony is. When I wake up crushed by tons of concrete or seeing my uncle get murdered or clinging onto the skin of an airplane as it falls from the sky or…”

“Price of admission to the Stark Tower penthouse suite,” Bucky said, “one lifetime of nightmares.”

“Basically,” Peter said, nodding. “You okay? Tony doesn’t like being alone after. You used to have Steve…”

Bucky sighed. “Not exactly. Our relationship was…”

“Complicated?”

He chuckled. “That’s one way to put it. The thing you and Tony have? We grew up in a different time.”

“I thought you two were together?”

“We were. But not like you and Tony. It was more… casual.”

Peter furrowed his brow. “You don’t sound casual.”

“It was all it could be. We were looking for different things. The thing I wanted… it wasn’t possible back then. Then other things became a habit… then it was hard to fall out of those habits…”

“Tony had those habits. He told me what it was like. I can’t imagine it. Not really. To know you want one thing, but lie and hide and pretend to want something else. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Fear’s where you begin, Peter,” Bucky said. He rolled onto his side and balled up the pillow under his head. “I’m glad you don’t know where to begin.”

“Tony learned to get over it.”

“He had you to make him want to get over it. A cute boyfriend’s a pretty strong motivator.”

Peter giggled and blushed. “You’re a cute boyfriend, why didn’t Steve get over it?”

“I wasn’t even sure what we were. What we could be. What I even wanted us to be anymore. I had him before the war, I lost him after I shipped out. Then I had him again for awhile during the war and lost him again. Then I had him after HYDRA. But this third time? I think ‘lost’ has finally won. Whatever we might’ve had…” Bucky shook his head. “The Steve I knew, either before or during the war, wouldn’t have made the decision he has. Whoever he’s become, he isn’t my Steve anymore.”

They fell into silence. “Go to bed, Peter. You have class and I have the first of my debriefs with Fury. Trade ya,” he said, smiling.

“Not for all the money in Tony Stark’s bank account.” Peter leaned over and gave Bucky a quick kiss on his temple. “Good night.”

~~~~~

“He had a nightmare,” Peter said, sleepily settling on a stool next to Tony’s workstation.

“Hmm.”

“He and Rogers weren’t… together together.”

“That’s good.”

“The Chitauri are attacking again.”

“Uh huh.”

“TONY!”

“What?” Tony spun on his chair to face Peter.

“Good night, FRIDAY.”

“Good night, Peter. Good night, boss.” FRIDAY powered down the holotables and the screens.

“I thought I told you not to fuck with FRIDAY’s protocols anymore.”

Peter laughed and took Tony’s hands. “Build tighter access to prevent a hardware intercept.”

“No one else but you has access to FRIDAY’s hardware.”

“Then don’t complain about me adding a ‘good night’ protocol to her.” He pulled on Tony’s hands until he was standing and following him.

“I don’t have to follow you upstairs, you know.”

“Yeah you kinda do if you want to keep your hands attached to the rest of you.”

“God, I hate you, Peter Parker.”

“Ya love me and ya know it.”

“He had a nightmare?” Tony asked, having heard the whole thing.

“Uh huh. A bad one. Don’t worry. I was there when he woke up.”

“I do love you, you know.” Tony let Peter finish leading him to their bedroom door. “I’m glad you were able to help him,” he said. “I know it’s not his fault. It doesn’t… make it hurt any less.” he added, quieter.

“It hurts him too.”

“I know. That’s why I’m glad you helped him.” Tony kissed Peter lightly before closing the door behind them and letting him finish taking him to bed.

#starker #winterironspider #WIS An Accord #Von writes stuff

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ofravensandgenesis · 5 years ago

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Of Notes and Backstories

Entry 01, regarding the notes and structural work done while writing a Far Cry 5 fic so far. _____________________________ Months later, I look up and realize that was so much work trying to summarize all of the chapters written so far. That wasn’t even all of the things done during this time, oh my goodness. Faith’s backstory is all written out and squared away regarding the major details, and that was a mess and a half to sort out. The psychic abilities of the main characters for this AU are all written down. There are separate folders for trying to track what each of the characters know about each other for later importance. There’s a vague time log and a vague to-do list for Joshua. An inventory page both on Joshua’s person, in his pack, and in his currently hidden stash. There’s a document for little things to add for future chapters. There’s NPC notes. This is an absurd amount of information to try to keep track of. But that’s part of the point of tackling this particular fic: learning how to build this kind of system for writing a novel from start to finish.

Among other things, I’ve learned that I really find summarizing and reading in that close and painstakingly slow a manner to be pretty tedious. I like reading in general, and I like rereading my chapters at more of a regular reading speed, and I daresay there are passages I’m actually going “hey that’s not half bad.” But this method of reading and writing a more abridged form of all the things I thought I should take note of, was a lot of notes. The first five chapters’ summaries and notes amounted to more than 20k word count alone—while that is a lot, the first handful of chapters are 118k total. Relatively speaking that was a pretty good trimming down...just still way too big. Obviously. So I’m testing a different method, namely creating a chronological list of key words in key moments in the chapter, split into three categories for main plot points, sub plot points, and sentimental points. Main plot points are self explanatory, they’re passages with information that’s crucial to the main plot. Sub plot points have to do with character arcs and secondary pieces of information of importance like recurring locations. Sentimental points are the little bits of color that are not at all relevant but that I feel could be revisited later for thematic accentuation—prosaic color. This is also accompanied by another separate document with the individual chapter’s keywords alphabetized to make it easier to search. It is certainly a lot less taxing as far as note-taking goes, we shall have to see if it pans out as being effective enough for me in particular to use as a refresher and organizing-information system. Probably will need to still have some VERY short summaries for the chapter sections just to keep in mind what happened where. Like three main points for each chapter section, with leeway for if there’s more than three big things happening in said section. This is an unexpected deviation from just having an outline for the plot, subplots, and character arcs. Messy too, but that’s more likely the lack of experience in managing all that information. There’s got to be a better way to organize who knows what and who doesn’t know what for story structures that center on characters as heavily as this. Perhaps instead of having it be lists headed by the characters and what they themselves know or don’t know, maybe instead creating the important facts as the headers would work better? Followed by who does and does not know this or that about it, including any misinformation with appropriate details of where and when in the story they knew this, along with later points of when said information changed/got-updated/etc. That’s something to test...not sure I can convert the currently existing notes to that, but perhaps going forward that will be something to try. It is at least important to this chunk of the plot so far since both knowing and not knowing some key pieces of information would greatly change all of the Seeds’ and other main characters’ behaviors in various ways. Thinking about it, it actually is the basic premise of the plot if you dig down far enough: Joshua’s actions are largely driven by what he knows, and his desires arose from wanting to try to prevent what he foresaw happening. But since he knows what happens, therein lies his main problem of Eden’s Gate doing absolutely reprehensible things in pursuit of their goal, and Joshua being stuck with the question of “how do I stop them, while also not bringing about the end of the world as we know it?” Despite having some years to plan, he is still largely flying by the seat of his pants in this situation. Aside from the things he did prep ahead of time, of course. He’s at least got a vague plan of “try to help people, try not to die, and try to not do things that will lead to being eaten alive by a guilty conscience after all this.” I am finding it quite entertaining so far to watch him go, because while I know how the plot is planned to go, he has zero idea. Link to the fic in question though be warned it’s quite long and spends a lot of time in the characters’ heads exploring their emotions, thoughts, memories and experiences. On that note, I suppose this makes it a very character-driven story, and now I understand a bit better what people mean when they ask if a story’s more about the action/series-of-events or the characters.

#writing about writing #writing about fanfiction #Far Cry 5 #writing about writing FC5 fanfiction #ACABH #FC5 #fc5 au

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onewhoturns · 5 years ago

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fictober.23.: the first appointment

#Fictober19 Prompt: 23. You can’t give more than yourself. Fandom: Oxenfree Characters: Jonas, Duke (OC) Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Angst-ish, emo Jonas, mental health & therapy Word Count: 2802

So... I'm posting this in order to maintain Fictober, but in all honesty this is actually a side scene/side story to a previously mentioned project that is still in the works and has yet to be posted. There may be some spoilers for the beginning of that fic. This is more an exploration of who this AU's version of Jonas is, how he's been affected by the things in his life- I'm calling it 'emo Jonas' but it may not be the type of emo you're expecting, I don't know.

If you want to read it when it comes up in the fic, it's looking like that would be anywhere from chapter 6 to chapter 9 (we're still in the midst of writing at the moment), and I'll update the summary and add it in as a related work when that becomes applicable.

For now, if you still want to read now (and it's cool if you don't), enjoy Jonas's first meeting with Duke, with no context to the rest of the story.

An appointment. ‘Like a doctor’s visit.’ Yeah. Well, maybe.

“Hey. You want to come on in?”

Jonas holds his breath for a second, standing from the waiting room to follow the man inside. The guy is in his early 30s, brown hair with a bit of gray starting in, just barely this side of messy, with glasses that look like he should be drinking craft brews at some gastropub in Portland. Duke. That’s a name, alright.

“Nice to finally meet in person.”

Jonas just nods. He’s not great at speaking to new people. Took him a couple weeks to start talking in intake. But he has kinda met Duke before. A pretty long phone interview, not to mention emails. They wanted to find a good therapist, and Camena had options. He’d settled on Duke.

“It’s nice to have all the paperwork out of the way already. Kind of a waste of session time, really.”

Jonas’s brows raise as he tips his head in acknowledgment and agreement.

Duke has a leg crossed over the other, and Jonas realizes, in retrospect, that the guy is actually his height. Maybe an inch shorter, but pretty damn close.

“How tall are you?” They’re the first words out of Jonas’s mouth, but they do their part.

“Six three. On a good day, anyway.”

“Nice.”

“Shoe size?”

“13.”

Duke winces audibly. “Damn, you beat me. 12 and a half.”

Jonas smirks a bit. And the ice is broken.

“You came from school?”

Jonas’s eyes wander to the side table between his chair and the unoccupied couch. He reaches for some kind of adjustable wire toy, turning it inside out and flipping it into different shapes. “Yup.”

“What’s your electives?” It’s a better question than ‘how was your day,’ at least. Duke’s foot is bouncing idly, as well.

“Gym and weight training; shop.”

“At CHS, right? Wilkinson still teaching wood shop?”

Wilkinson? “Yeah, I think that’s his name. Old guy, wears a lanyard with a whistle on it even though I don’t think he does any sports stuff?”

“Yep. He’s not too bad. Get him talking about baseball, that’s a thing. Does he still have that slugger in the workshop?”

“I… don’t know?”

“He’s got two, actually, I think. Louisville Slugger wooden bats, one official and one he made. If he still has it. I heard one year some kids stole it for a prank.”

“Kinda a dick move, the guy’s gotta be at least 70.”

“Yeah. Kids can be idiots. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Technically an adult, and I’d agree regardless.”

“When we talked before, you sounded kinda meh on the Individual Studies thing. How’s that looking?”

“It’s…” Jonas pulls a face. “Still meh on it. Some of the other kids are… ehh. Remind me of guys from North Valley, thinking they’re the shit. And the teachers - or whatever they’re called, aides? They’re a mixed bag. This one girl - woman, I guess - she seems pretty cool. Darcy. Good attitude, even if she seemed kinda fake at first.”

“I’m not sure I totally get what the course is, to be honest.”

“I mean, I’ve got three periods of it, it gets old fast. Though— I mean I guess they’re not all the same. First period for me seems more like… learning skills?” Jonas winces. “I dunno, it’s kinda cringey sometimes. And then third is gonna be assessment stuff— kinda miserable, just packets of standardized test questions and shit like that. Last period is chill though. Basically like a study hall for me, working on the stuff from the tests. And I’ve been getting out a little early, so I can-” He stops.

Duke waits a second for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, he lifts his chin from looking at the pad of paper in his lap (where Jonas can see little geometrical doodles as well as his illegible scrawl of whatever he’s noting). “A reminder; mandatory reporting doesn’t include stuff like truancy, just plans to harm yourself or others. And I consider ‘plans’ to actually mean plans.”

“So… there’s this girl, right?”

“A friend?”

Jonas hesitates. “Yyeahhh…”

“Or… sounds like maybe not just a friend?”

He shakes his head, “No, definitely just a friend, just… kinda insane.”

“Fun fact; ‘insane’ is really a legal term.”

Jonas rolls his eyes. “Kinda wild, then. Her and this other guy, too. They kinda like… adopted me?”

“Is that a positive or a negative?”

“I think it’s a positive? But— right, my point was, it gives me time to dip out the back and then meet them in the other parking lot.”

“Why the other parking lot?”

Jonas shoots Duke a flatly skeptical look. “Well they’re not gonna come meet me over in the ‘special’ wing.”

Duke huffs out a short laugh. “Wow, okay, strong feelings about IS are still there I see.” Even as Jonas is rolling his eyes again, he goes on. “So the wild duo. What kind of wild? You think they’ll get in the way of treatment?”

That makes him think for a second. “Um… no? I dunno. The guy is kinda stupid rich and somehow has a line to a shit ton of weed, apparently. Which could be a problem.”

Duke’s brows have risen high. “Could be, yeah. Does your JPPO do random testing? Think being around them could mess with your results?”

Jonas shakes his head. “Nah, they’re scheduled. Every other two weeks. And that should be done by the end of June, and the testing might be ditched entirely when we go down to only meeting once a month. Plus apparently he’s more of an edibles guy, so I’m not super worried about anything accidental. I can always just keep away for a few days before testing, shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Even though you’ve been adopted?”

He snorts a bit at that. “Guess I can’t know for sure. Not too worried, though.”

“That’s good. How exactly did you manage to get adopted?”

“The girl was my tour guide first day. I guess she thought I was cool, ‘cause she introduced me to her friend and… I dunno. We exchanged numbers and stuff. Texted. They’re kinda high energy for me, but also-” Jonas hesitates, rolling his eyes before continuing. “It’s weird, ‘cause Alex is kinda… popular? She’s a total dork, constantly jokes about being a witch, but it feels like everyone knows her? And likes her? It’s weird.”

“Huh. Are you saying you think they shouldn’t?”

“I’m saying…” Jonas shrugs. “Eh. She’s nice enough, I get that. But like… I feel like at North Valley she would’ve been… I mean, not disliked. Considered annoying, maybe, in large doses. Not exactly a class clown, but that same idea. More of a subject of entertainment than friendship.”

“That’s an interesting way of seeing things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Analytical.”

Jonas considers that for a second. “…Maybe? It’s just kinda how the world is, I’m not complaining about it or anything.”

“Are you unhappy about it?”

He shrugs. “No? Like I said; it’s just how it is. People offer certain benefits, right? Sometimes that’s, like… like someone who always knows the homework. If we’re thinking concretely here. And then there’s the one who always has a pencil you can borrow. —It’s like a study group sorta analogy. There’s someone who’s able to get everyone together at once, and someone who can talk to the teacher and argue on your behalf, but who you might not want to spend time with outside of class ‘cause they argue with everyone. And there’s a class clown type, who’s really entertaining but can sorta get in the way if you’re trying to be serious.” Jonas pauses again. “I mean, there’s a lot. But everyone kinda has their strengths and weaknesses, right? It’s like a teamwork thing.”

“So where do you fit in this?”

He thinks for a moment, still playing with the wire cage. “I dunno. I have a car.” That’s part of it at least, even if other things come to mind as well.

“You think that’s what people see you for? Your car?”

Jonas’s lips pull. “I’m not saying that’s my only redeeming quality, I know I’m not just some dude with a car. That’s just, like, the prime benefit.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your other ‘redeeming qualities.’”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m— I know I have them, okay? I’m- I have skills. But they aren’t- y’know, like, my function in a social group.”

“What if you didn’t have your car? You can’t give more than yourself— what qualities do you think you’re bringing.”

“…Alex seems to think my height is a benefit.”

“She obviously has not been 6’3 and attempted to sit in a compact sedan.”

Jonas cracks a smile. “Yeah it’s cute, she’s not tiny but both her and Ren are like… she said it before, I don’t remember what it was 5’5 or 6 or something. Joked about needing me to retrieve pickle jars or whatever.”

“So you’re the guy with the car and the pickle-getter.”

“Sure.”

“That all?”

“Well- I mean, the tall thing is also like—” he waves a hand, “-y’know, the other tall stuff.”

“Can’t say I know what you mean, apart from reaching things and being asked about the weather.”

“You know.” Jonas fidgets slightly. Duke has to know that part of things. “The kinda… intimidation thing.”

“How do you mean?”

Jonas’s lips pull again in that vague passing annoyance. “You know. Being tall and looking— not scary exactly, but like… imposing, I guess. Basically looking like someone you don’t want to mess with.”

“And that’s what you think you bring to a friendship?”

“Yeah. Like… like a bodyguard or something.”

“You think your friends are in danger you have to protect them from?”

“No- well.” He lets out a short sigh, a rueful smirk hooking his lips. “Not yet, anyway. And once they are, I’m betting they’ll have put themselves into it.”

“What does the whole ‘bodyguard’ thing mean, then?”

“Um.” A few images pass through Jonas’s mind, and he hesitates, face impassive for a second before he shrugs again. “Trying to keep her from getting hurt. I guess.”

“…That doesn’t really sound like something based solely on height.”

His fingers twitch, and Jonas’s ears feel warm. “Look, I spent a year in juvie for physical assault. It might not just be the height.”

“You think she wants you to fight for her? Is this like… an American Gladiators kinda thing, or…?”

The laugh is just a huff of breath, but the corners of Jonas’s mouth are lifting. “I don’t think she wants me to fight. I’m just— And I don’t want to fight!” he assures Duke. “But like… there’s probably some element of ‘this guy makes a good meat shield’ or whatever.”

“You ever think they might just… like you? Like just, as you?”

He snorts. “I— I’m not saying they don’t! I mean, at the very least they tolerate me, and I assume they must like me, otherwise we wouldn’t text all the time. It’s really easy to ignore someone’s texts and make excuses.” Jonas isn’t even mad about the question, it’s so far removed from how he feels. “I’m just saying that there’s this fringe benefit for them.”

“And is that how you see them, as well?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Honestly, they’re my allies right now. Not in a bad way - I like them, they’re fun - but at the moment their function in my social circle is connecting me to my new community, right? They’re transitional aids, like a kinda PREP thing. Or IS. I mean, she was a tour guide.”

“Sounds kinda dehumanizing.”

“It’s not meant to be. I’m— Look, we talked all the time about support systems and community engagement, and buying in, right? So, I’m building a support system of peers.”

Duke cocks his head, looking mildly bemused.

“What?”

“It sounds like you know the words pretty well.”

“Yeah, well. I didn’t talk much. Mostly listened.”

“Is that really how you think about the people around you? As… I don’t know, bricks in your support structure?”

“I mean, it’s not the only thing I’m thinking. I like the company, I like the distraction, they’re fun. But…” Another one-shouldered shrug. “I dunno, man, call it a justification if you want.”

“What do you mean?”

Jonas sighs. “Gives me a reason to keep trying.” Again, it’s not said in anger, or even in sadness. Just a straightforward factual statement.

“What would you do if you didn’t think of things that way?”

“Can’t know for sure, obviously. But— I dunno. Call it distress tolerance. Giving them a function gives me a reason to tough it out. Like—” He pauses. “…Yeah, no, I can’t figure out an analogy for the brick thing. Sticking with people instead of being— transient.”

“Transient.”

“Kinda drifting around. Moving through things.”

“You think you’re transient?”

“I think I’d survive without friends. Until shit started to go wrong, I guess.”

Duke is quiet, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to parse the statement, considering. “…I’m not sure I get it.”

“I like people, but all the— politics, I guess. It stresses me out. I’d rather just… not. At least, in group things. School, juvie— the social dynamic is this constant thing where you’re maintaining. Don’t shit where you eat and all that. Don’t fuck it up, you’re stuck there. All this work to not make things worse for yourself. Honestly, I’d rather just see people when I see them. All day every day is… a lot.”

“…Can I ask you a question?” He’s leaning forward, and his tone is a different kind of curious than he has been.

“I mean… that’s literally all you’ve been doing.”

“Your residential center, your stepdown stuff— they had GED programs. Why come back to high school?”

Jonas is spinning the little wire toy around one finger steadily, keeping an eye on it to avoid having it fly off, even as he picks up speed. “Dad wanted me to.” His stomach dips, and his voice is a little quieter. “Mom would, too.” He’s silent for a second, still spinning. “And it’s supposed to be good for me. Community engagement, support structures, all that.”

“Why do you think they wanted you to do school?”

“I mean, my mom was a teacher. My dad… just wants me to be well-adjusted. I think he wants me to feel normal again.”

“What do you think?”

Jonas’s gut has been steadily, gradually, slowly but surely filling with lead. He breathes evenly. Too evenly. Actively making the attempt. When he speaks, it’s a low mutter. “Not sure that’s possible, if we’re being honest.”

“Why not?”

He shakes his head. “I dunno. Things just— changed. Can’t really undo that.”

“…I mean, I agree that you can’t live in the past. Things happened, you can’t undo them, but you also can’t spend every minute thinking about them. I know mindfulness tends to get a bad rap ‘cause it’s sort of trendy in the mental health field right now, but there’s definitely a ton of upsides to it.”

“I’m… vaguely familiar.” Jonas’s voice is a bit wry.

“So you know the whole idea of where you’re living. The goal is being present. So not living in the past, or in the future, but in the here and now, without judgment.”

“…Okay…”

Duke is still bouncing his foot a bit. “What do you think? Like— really consider it for a second. What that means.”

“What, living in the present?” Duke shrugs in a casual kind of confirmation. Jonas sighs, fixes his eyes on the therapist, and tries to do as asked. “…I guess I just feel like that’s asking for trouble.”

“How so?”

“I mean… thinking about the future is kinda important. Otherwise you fuck things up and can’t undo them.”

“Who says you can’t?”

Jonas snorts. “You? Like… a minute ago?”

“I guess— maybe it’s just the use of ‘undo.’ You can’t rewind and make something not have happened, but you can control how you handle the consequences, how you potentially repair the situation, your reactions to things, all of that. But if you’re constantly fearing every possible outcome of anything you do… you do nothing.”

“So you’re saying not to think of consequences. You want me to just go party and violate parole and not care what might happen?”

“Well, no.” Duke actually rolls his eyes. “Hell— it’s a delicate balance, right? But some part of that has to be just allowing yourself to exist without judgment.”

“O…kay?”

“Or analysis.”

“…Ah.”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m advocating underage drinking or drugs or truancy or anything, but… You’re out, y’know? You’re in this do-or-die headspace, but your situation has changed dramatically. Now’s your chance to go back to being a kid. Live a little.”

[source for AO3]

#fictober19 #oxenfree #jonas oxenfree #oxenfree fic #my writing #mach3 #cjgj #prompt fill #kinda

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chungledown-bimothy · 6 years ago

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Trust Me: Chapter 7

Hey look! A timely update! Consider it a preemptive apology to everyone who loves Logan.

Chapter 1 Chapter 6 AO3 Chapter 8

Warnings: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF TORTURE and JD is a high schooler. It’s relatively short, and marked by ******* before and after. But it’s for sure there. Oh, and some swearing.

Author’s Note: The German translates to “I speak German too, and I know you killed them.”

Word Count: 2190

Tag List: @ccecode @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @ren-allen @ilovemygaydad @bloodropsblog @funsizedgremlin @raygelkitty @roxiefox23 @thomasthesandersengine @spookyingarbageisland @band-be-boss-blog

15 minutes passed before Logan broke the silence. "I understand that two members of the football team committed suicide two weeks ago. I know that you are new to the school, but it must be difficult nonetheless."

"Not really. I bounce around so much, I don't bother learning names or faces, let alone care about anyone. Besides, I heard they did it because they were gay and too homophobic to deal with it. No major loss there, in my opinion."

"That is… an interesting perspective, JD. I am almost afraid to ask about your thoughts on Heather Chandler's death."

"Sometimes even the shiniest of ivory towers are prisons, I suppose. One has to wonder, though, how much the bullying rate has dropped since she kicked the bucket. I mean, sure, one of the other Heathers is trying to take her place, but even she knows that she'll never measure up." He looked out the window and then back to Logan. "Hang on, I never told you where I live."

"I know where I'm going. What do you know about how Heather, Kurt, and Ram died?"

"If you say so," JD began, hesitantly. "Only what everyone knows. Heather drank drain cleaner, and Kurt and Ram shot each other. I heard someone saying that they used some special kind of bullets called ich lüge."

"Ich spreche auch Deutsch und ich weiß dass Sie sie umgebracht haben."

"H- how could you possibly know that? No one knows that. I was careful. I was perfect."

"Obviously, you were not. If you were truly careful, you would not have said anything about the bullets. You wanted to applaud yourself for being so much smarter than everyone else. You also would not have chosen such an emotionally-driven accomplice. I understand the appeal. We have a lot in common, JD. We both understand that emotion and personal attachments are nothing more than hindrances. But there is that one person who changes all of that. Who makes you want to know how to feel things. But ultimately, they will always choose their emotions over us. I was not completely certain that you killed them until you bragged about the bullets. Killing people who had been cruel towards your person, Miss Sawyer, aroused my suspicions. Rule number one of getting away with murder: only kill people to whom you are not linked."

"It's you, isn't it? The killer everyone's talking about. The Park Puzzler."

"That is the first honest and correct thing you have said all evening." Logan paused, considering JD's words. "Is that really what they are calling us? Disappointing, but not surprising. The best and brightest certainly do not go into journalism."

"You aren't gonna kill me. You said yourself, the first rule of getting away with it is killing strangers." Logan was filled with a savage glee, seeing the terror in his student's eyes, his desperate attempt to save himself.

"In most circumstances, yes, killing you would be a mistake. However, your father is known for leaving town and taking you with him unexpectedly. You have attended 10 high schools, I believe, and it is your senior year? Everyone knows that the killer is punishing people for their unpunished crimes, and how would a simple teacher know what you did? Especially one who does not interact with other teachers, let alone students. No one was around when you got in my car. No one has ever seen us interact outside of the rare occasions you showed up to my class." He sighed when he saw JD reach for the door handle. "Don't be stupid- there is no point in trying to escape. I engaged the child-lock this morning. You cannot open the door from the inside, and breaking through the window is difficult with only a fist for exceptionally strong individuals. Looking at you, I estimate that you have slightly below average upper body strength for an 18-year-old male."

"Well that's awfully rude, teach. So, I'm gonna die. Why? Why not just turn me over to the cops?"

"You are a young, white man who, when you want to, can be quite charismatic. The American justice system is skewed to protect people like you. Even that is predicated on the assumption that a prosecutor would take the case, which is unlikely, given how well you were able to convince everyone that they were suicides. Your kills were cold-blooded with very little motive outside of bloodlust, and you left very little to no evidence. Truthfully, I am rather impressed."

"And we're back to my question. Why do I have to die for doing such good work? You're a killer too. Why should I die, when you're no better than I am? If the papers are accurate, killing me will even up our body counts, so you aren't even better than me on that front."

"The quality of your work was admirable, but it was still wrong. You took three innocent lives, simply because you wanted to. I only kill those whose crimes go unpunished by the corrupt justice system. We are both killers, but my crusade is a righteous one."

"I still don't buy it. I trade in half-truths, straight-up lies, and manipulation, teach, and there's more to it than you're saying. You're gonna kill me anyway, and clearly we aren't to wherever it is you're taking me to do the job. Why not pass the time with a good old-fashioned villain monologue?"

"All will be revealed in due time. I have been reliably informed that people tend to dislike 'spoilers'."

"You're absolutely nuts. You know that, right? You're even more delusional than I am. And that's my self-harm of choice is fucking Slurpees."

"I find it interesting that you truly believe that your obsession with what is colloquially known as 'brain freeze' is less sane than your manipulation of Veronica Sawyer and the cold-blooded murders of your peers."

"Peers? That's bullshit. They were, at best, vapid instruments of the system."

"And for that, they deserved death?"

JD shrugged. "I would do anything to protect Veronica from assholes like that."

"As I would do anything to protect my sibling from a world that turns a blind eye to the crimes of assholes like you. We are at an ideological impasse. That impasse, however, is rendered irrelevant by my superior intellect. Ah, here we are." Before JD could respond, Logan reached across the car and emptied a syringe into his arm.

The first thing JD noticed when he came to was the rope around his wrists tying him to a chair. Struggling revealed that his ankles were bound as well, and the chair was bolted to the ground. He was surprised to find that he wasn't gagged. Looking around, he reasoned he could only be in a warehouse, and it was empty except for him and a video camera. He continued to struggle against his restraints, barely noticing when the rope burn broke his skin. He was also hungry, and his mouth felt like sandpaper.

"How long was I out?" JD croaked, unsure if anyone was there.

"Approximately eighteen hours. It is 2pm on Saturday." JD jumped, not expecting Logan's voice to be so close behind him. "You are in luck. Normally, Patton would take a turn with you before I do anything, but they are… otherwise occupied. You should thank me- you will be useless to them once I have started with you, let alone finished. I am saving you potentially weeks of agony. The last one took a week and a half to learn his lesson. Only then could I begin my experiments."

"Experiments? What the fuck are you going to do to me?"

"As many things as you can endure."

"Why? Why not just kill me and get it over with? Satisfy your 'righteous crusade' without wasting time."

"And waste the opportunity to study how much the human body can endure? I think not. In all honesty, I care about the cause far less than Patton does. As I said, you will be spared their particular brand of torture, both physical and mental. I can only imagine what they'd do to you, given the fact that you murdered children, despite being a child yourself."

"We were all 18. Technically not children. Why, may I ask, won't I have the pleasure of making their acquaintance? They sound absolutely delightful."

"I am not surprised that your listening skills are subpar. They have other business to attend to."

"They're with someone, aren't they? That's why you've got such a big bug up your ass about emotional attachments and me and Veronica. It's rebellious child 101, teach. Lash out to get their attention. You aren't the center of their universe any more, and it's eating you alive." Logan flinched, and JD smirked; he'd hit his mark.

"Those who speak of what they know find too late that prudent silence is wise. This is doubly true for children who know nothing." He raised a hand, cutting JD off. "No more talking. Feel free to scream, however. Your responses will be recorded on that camera," he pointed, "and further analyzed later. I tend to get… distracted in the moment."

Logan briefly returned to the shadows of the warehouse before returning with a tank that seemed to be smoking. "This, JD, is liquid nitrogen. You mentioned your fondness for cold-induced pain. Let us see how you feel about it in the extreme. And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest."

****************************

He put on thick gloves and an apron before opening the lid and pulling out a ladle full of liquid nitrogen. Very carefully, he stepped forward and slowly emptied the ladle onto JD's arm.

The first drops hit JD's skin with a sizzle, causing JD to flinch. That flinch quickly turned into convulsions and a scream he didn't know he was capable of making when the stream grew thicker. It burned. Every second was more painful than the last. He was on the edge of unconsciousness when the agony stopped getting worse- Logan had stopped pouring. JD didn't know how long he sat there, face contorted with pain, before he was able to open his eyes and look at his arm. He immediately wished he hadn't. From wrist to elbow, his arm was mostly violently red and blistered. What truly horrified him, however, were the areas that weren't red at all, but were an unnatural grayish-yellow.

***************************

"That is third degree frostbite. Those uniquely discolored areas should turn black over the course of our time together." JD tried to scream, to swear, to cry, but he couldn't. He was hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea when he tried to open his mouth. "Ah yes, that would be the shock setting in. Breathe with me, JD. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight." Logan led him through the breathing exercise until he returned to a slightly more normal temperature. "Well done. Keep focusing on your breathing; I will be right back with some first aid."

"Wh- why bother?" JD asked when Logan returned without his gloves and apron, carrying a first aid kit. "Why not let me die from this?"

Logan gently began heating the frostbite with a warm, wet towel before responding. "There are more experiments to run. Even if this was the only one I had planned for you, seeing how it heals is a crucial part of the process. My goal isn't killing you. My goal is observing how the human body reacts to and recovers from various extreme stimuli. Letting you die would be extremely counterproductive. For now, at least." Logan began wrapping JD's arm with bandages. "There we go. That should be adequate to keep you alive and will hopefully prevent gangrene. The point is to study frostbite, not gangrene."

"Why thank you." JD smirked the best he could, but even he knew that it was, at best, a pitiful attempt.

"You certainly are strong, JD. Most people would not dare being sarcastic in the face of their torturer. Drink this." Logan demanded, holding a water bottle to his lips. "Good. I suggest you get comfortable. I will be back tomorrow to change your bandages and check on you. Can't have you dying before I allow it."

Sunday

"Oh Logan, he's absolutely wonderful. He's so smart, kind, and handsome. He didn't even blink when he learned my pronouns! And he said the most beautiful things about Monet and Impressionism. Aahh, I wish I could stay and tell you all about it and him, but I have to spend some time at the coffee shop- between our work and Virgil, I haven't spent nearly enough time there!" Patton got to the door before turning around. "Oh, and I'd love to know what you were up to yesterday- I called, but you didn't answer or call me back. That's why I had to come check on you before going to work. I'll be back around eight tonight, okay? See you then!" Patton was out the door before Logan could respond. Eleven hours. Plenty of time to tend to JD and come up with a convincing lie.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #fun and games #my writing #sanders sides fan fic #sanders sides au #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #please reblog if you like it #trust me

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astarryon · 7 years ago

Text

Hard Feelings Part 6

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Light angst from bucket at the beginning, mentions of alcohol consumption at the end

A/N: Here’s update 6! I’m so amazed with the love and support you guys have been sending my way, and I’m so incredibly thankful for all of the kind words! This chapter’s a bit different because it’s mainly from Bucky’s perspective, but I felt it was important to get inside his head and see what was going on in there. I should also mention the majority of this was written while listening to Total Eclipse of the Heart, which is probably why Bucky’s so emo. Hope you all enjoy!

Part 5

—

Bucky Barnes was a fan of routine. He liked the structure it brought, the concrete knowledge of where he was going and who he would be seeing and what he would be doing. He liked that he had a routine or, more accurately, that he got to pick its details. By no means would he consider himself a control freak, but seven decades spent having basic human rights and needs stripped away could really do a fucking number on somebody, and he was living proof of the fact.

It was why he hated when Fury or Steve or anyone else tried to saddle him with therapists and psychologists. All of them always wanted to talk about everything that had happened, which Bucky hated and thought made them pretty stupid. Nobody wanted to talk repeatedly about a trauma they had already been through; it just made all of the feelings from the event bubble up to the surface, forcing him to relive everything. He got enough of that shit in his dreams, so he definitely didn’t need it in his waking moments. Acting up and displaying poor behavior towards the individuals seemed to do the trick in getting them all to resign, though, so each time Fury sent the alert that another therapist would be on their way, Bucky made sure not to bother with holding anything back. He got many disapproving looks from Steve over it, but it was nothing that couldn’t be shrugged off. Bucky didn’t think help should be forced on him if he didn’t want it, and he had thought Fury was beginning to get the message when the vacancy hadn’t been filled for a solid two months.

And then you’d been assigned to him, restarting the cycle all over again. Bucky had almost wanted to laugh when Steve had presented you to him, as you so clearly weren’t a professional, with your nervous tendencies and your twitchy mannerisms. Scaring you off should have been easy, but it had never worked out in his favor thanks largely in part to your stubborn resolve. The icier he was to you, the more compassionate you seemed to become. The harsher he snapped at you, the greater your patience and understanding. That had been more annoying than anything else, because Bucky hadn’t been faced with such an iron resolve to help someone in another person since Steve in the thirties. He hadn’t liked you at all but had respected your will to stick around, and once he’d found out that you’d been curing his dreams of darkness and agony while he slept, all the while taking the scathing commentary he aimed your way every day? Not only was Bucky displaying open admiration for you at that point, but he had decided that you could perhaps be something along the lines of his friend. You were just as miserable about your being in the tower as he was, after all.

Phrased in a much simpler manner, you had become a quintessential part of Bucky’s routine. In the mornings he woke up and dressed, and you were often already waiting by the elevator for him so that the two of you could go down to the training room. Later on in the days you would hold your unorthodox therapy sessions, which mainly consisted of you holding Bucky’s hand and unlocking all of his emotional turmoil. He liked this method best, because he didn’t have to tell you a damn thing for you to completely understand what he was going through. It was all the best parts of therapy, with the addition of you being able to tell him how to remedy the problem because you knew exactly what was causing him to feel the way he did, though the nightmares remained as a residual effect. Bucky had grown used to you, to expect you; he’d adapted you into his routine, and even looked forward to seeing you because it had become so normal over the past month and a half.

In addition to loving routine, Bucky hated change, as so many people tended to, and would do anything to avoid it. That had all gone completely out the window when he had self sabotaged himself in the name of a merry holiday, or cheer, or whatever. It had been for a good cause, and he was happy he’d helped you get to your family — in perfect honesty, Bucky would do anything to undermine Nick Fury — but it left him with the nasty taste of cotton in his mouth.

The first night without the knowledge of your presence had been his best; a bit fitful, but nothing to complain about, as it was all only going downhill from there.

“You’re sure you’re going to be okay without me?” you had turned to him to ask, looking up at him in genuine concern.

Bucky rounded to the back of the black SUV, opening the trunk and heaving your suitcase in. “Codependency isn’t my style, kid. I’m gonna be just fine.” He was pointedly ignoring the doe eyed look you were throwing his way as he shoved the trunk closed and walked back to stand beside you. “And just because you’re going on vacation doesn’t mean you get to slack. I expect you to be running two miles every morning and practicing your fights and stances. Believe me, I’ll know if you slack off when you come back.”

“Interesting way of saying you’ll miss me,” you teased, sending a sarcastic smile his way. That was something he appreciated; you weren’t nearly so skittish around him anymore. Had that persisted, he wasn’t sure he could stand to be constantly tip toeing around you. “But, really, Bucky. If you need anything at all, you can call me. Know I can’t do much from three hours away, but it’s still nice to have a friend.”

The horn of the car gave an impatient beep, signaling the driver was ready to take off. Shaking his head, Bucky shrugged a shoulder and placed a quick, hesitant pat on yours. “Have a good trip, Y/n. I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve.” You smiled and waved, and Bucky watched as you climbed into the car. Moments later it had disappeared down the street, and Bucky had returned to the top floors of the tower to continue on with his day, entering the kitchen in search of something to eat.

“Morning,” Steve greeted him immediately, adding to a massive stack of pancakes on the counter, which Wanda happened to be perched beside. Occasionally Bucky’s best friend took it upon himself to mother everyone in the tower, especially when he was bracing for a bad mood from someone, and the food made depended on who he was expecting would be aggravated. Considering Bucky was unabashedly open with the fact that his favorite breakfast food of all time was pancakes, that meant Steve was bracing for a blow up from him. “Grab a plate and eat up, man.”

“Hey, Buck man!” That had come from Sam, who was sat upon a bar stool set in front of the kitchen island, happily shoveling pancakes and eggs into his mouth. Between bites, he continued his words with, “What, no morning scowl? You’re usually out for everyone’s blood when you get up this early.”

“I’m always up this early,” Bucky pointed out, crinkling a brow in confusion as he meandered over to Wanda and Steve to grab a plate and acquire his breakfast.

“Explains a lot,” Wanda joked, playfully nudging Bucky as he came to stand beside her.

Dropping his jaw in mock affront, Bucky pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “You wound me, Maximoff. Hand me the syrup, would you?” She offered him a gentle smile, then did as he asked. Huh. That was the same smile both Steve and Sam had offered him as well. Bucky wasn’t in possession of your powers, but it didn’t take a genius to notice the differences in his friends’ behaviors. He may as well get to the bottom of it. “Why’s everyone acting like I got broken up with?”

Steve and Wanda shared a startled look between them, unsure of what to say. That didn’t stop Sam from casually offering, “Because Y/n left?”

Bucky squinted his eyes as he looked at his friend, still wearing his pajamas but seemingly wide awake enough to give Bucky grief. “Okay, and?”

This time it was Steve who answered Bucky’s inquiry. “It’s just that, we just wanna make sure you’re gonna be good.” He sounded hesitant, but an encouraging nod from Wanda prompted him to solidify his tone. “You two have been hanging out pretty often and we figured you would miss her, since, you know... you’re friends?”

Oh, Bucky’s ridiculous friends. “Only barely,” he scoffed, grabbing his now full plate and moving to sit on the empty barstool besides Sam. The way all three of them were staring at him made Bucky feel like he was the focus of some kind of intervention. “All of you are her friends, too. Are you telling me you aren’t going to miss her?”

“Of course we’ll miss her,” Wanda responded, taking a bite of her breakfast. “But you’re the one who’s around her every moment of every day. Wherever you are, Y/n seems to follow.”

Damn, they were really doing this, weren’t they? It would be years before Bucky could roll his eyes enough to express just how misguided this whole thing was. “Because we’re each other’s assignments. I have to train her to be a successful agent. Have any of you ever done that with someone who barely knows how to fight? It’s like baking a cake from scratch.”

“That’s... baking a cake from scratch is really easy,” Steve whispered, eyes trained down at the floor so as to avoid the sharp glare Bucky threw his way. He chose to ignore it to continue to make his point, but Bucky had tried to make a cake from scratch before and had nearly lit the kitchen up in flames.

“Plus she’s my floormate, so obviously we would be seeing a lot of each other.”

Sam arched a playful brow. “Sounds like a whole lot of excuses to me, but whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Bucky shook his head and ate his breakfast, electing to ignore the bait being laid before him, but not before saying, “I’ll be fine, guys. And even if I did care all that much, she’ll be back by New Year’s Eve.”

They’d dropped the subject after that, and Bucky had been left to go about the rest of his day in peace. He spent time with Steve, took a visit up to Tony’s lab for an adjustment on his arm, reviewed and answered business emails and mission reports from SHIELD. Just before dinner he’d gone up to the training room to work out with Thor and get his mind off of things, and dodged an attempt at an impromptu therapy session from Bruce, who Bucky was sure you had put up to the task. He’d actually managed some decent sleep that night, surprisingly.

The second day of your absence had been slightly more disorienting. Bucky had woken up and waited by the elevator so that the two of you could go down to the training room together for a good five minutes before he realized you weren’t going to be showing up. Off putting, but easy enough to write off in order to continue on with his day. Lunch time rolled around eventually, and he kept expecting for you to come collect him for his mandated daily therapy before realizing, once again, that you weren’t currently in the tower. At that point his mood began declining, partly out of annoyance and partly out of resentment at the interruption of his daily routine. Sleep that night had been fitful and restless; Bucky hated to admit it, but he knew this was directly related to your absence.

Night three was when his nightmares had begun acting up. He’d been pretty snappy, so the other tenants of the tower had mainly left him to his known devices, though he hadn’t missed the knowing looks being shared between Wanda and Sam. The day dragged on and by the time night fell Bucky was ready to sleep and be done with it, though his mind seemed to have other plans. As soon as he lost consciousness, he was pulled into graphic memories of the torture he’d previously been subjected to. The electrocutions, the mind wipes, the physical and verbal abuse. Visions of people, dead bodies, voices screaming and begging for mercy, agonizing wailing and sobbing. Then, underlining all of this, a totally hopeless cold completely enveloping him, kissing and caressing every inch of his skin.

He’d woken up screaming at the voices and asking for the same mercy they’d begged of him, tears spilling down his cheeks when he realized he was daring to ask for sympathy from ghosts.

“Jarvis,” he called, heart still racing from the adrenaline rolling through his body. It’s fine, he told himself. Everything is fine. You aren’t that person anymore. “What time is it? Is anyone awake?”

“It’s half passed three in the morning, sir. All other agents have retired to their rooms.” Damn. He’d been hoping Tony would at least still be awake. “Would you like me to wake Captain Rogers?”

“No, don’t... don’t bother him.” Bucky needed to calm down, and preferably before his heart beat clear through his chest. Just his luck that the one time he would have even considered taking you up on your offer for a good dream you were out of town, and at his doing no less. But... well, he would never admit it out loud, but the sound of your voice was something he found calming, more than likely due to your ability, and you had gifted him an entire album of it. “Could you just hit play on the Christmas gift I received, please?”

Jarvis wordlessly complies, and the sound of soft melodies accompanying your voice began to fill the room. Bucky hated how quickly it calmed him down because that meant he was dependent, but he was ultimately grateful.

“Can you keep it playing until I fall asleep?” Bucky inquired, adjusting to a more comfortable position on his side. It felt childish, seeking out lullabies in pursuit of sweet dreams, but he was way passed the point of humility.

“Of course, sir.”

As the songs played, Bucky found himself calming down exponentially, his heart slowing as his adrenaline rush fully ebbed away. The idea of falling asleep to music had seemed ridiculous when you had proposed it; Bucky liked complete silence when he was trying to fall asleep and found noise painfully distracting. The relaxing qualities your power lent your voice, though, allowed the music you’d recorded to put his mind at ease, and it wasn’t long before he was teetering on the edge of consciousness. All of this meant he’d been wrong, something he despised. It all meant that your help wasn’t something to shy away from, no matter how he felt about you reaching into his head. He’d need to come to terms with that, which he supposed he could — he was just thankful he had a few more days to swallow that before you came back.

And god, how secretly excited he was to wake up the morning of December 31st and finally have you home.

There was... something in his chest, something he would forget he’d felt when he woke up the next morning. It had been small, fleeting, hadn’t much managed to grow into more than a passing thought. As he drifted to sleep with a small smile on his face, though, your voice crooning to him in the background, the last few lines of the song your voice had been singing infiltrated his thoughts, softening his resolve and planting a small seed, one which would grow into something he would not be willing to acknowledge until much further down the line, if ever.

Is your heart filled with pain?

Shall I come back again?

Tell me darling, are you lonesome tonight?

—

“Y/n!”

You smiled as you stepped off the elevator and onto the main floor, Clint’s excitement filling your senses long before his words reached your ears. Though you had been sad to leave your family and wished your visit could have been prolonged, you were actually fairly excited to return back to the tower and your assignment. These people were your friends, and you’d grown attached to them a great deal in the nearly two months that you’d resided there. You had hardly known a moment’s peace from your prying relatives, everyone wanting to know just how the infamous Avengers liked to spend their down time. They’d all groaned when you had nothing much exciting to report, though you weren’t at all sure what they’d been hoping to hear. Everyone in the tower was normal, more or less. Thor really liked Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal, Tony was a caffeine addict, Clint had an unfortunate habit of leaving his shoes in the middle of the floor. Those weren’t the sort of things your siblings had been hoping you would report by any means.

Clint wrapped you in a tight bear hug, Natasha following suit as soon as he had let go. They were both clad in pajamas despite the fact that it was nearing noon; the tower staff would be setting up for Tony’s New Year’s Eve party, and you knew Tony would be throwing a fit if he saw they weren’t preparing for the evening.

“How are you?” Natasha questioned, looking you up and down and nodding to herself once she found everything satisfactory. It was probably force of habit and something she did for the others each time they returned from missions, but it was a bit odd where you were concerned. Had she been under the impression you would come back injured?

“I’m great,” you answered, offering her a smile and inconspicuously extending your aura towards her, just so she could recognize that you were completely fine, even if at a subconscious level. “Really, really good. How have you guys been? Is everything—”

“Oh, thank Christ you’re back,” you heard — and felt — Tony’s expression of relief as the elevator doors opened behind you suddenly. His arms had automatically reached out on sight and you found yourself suddenly engulfed in a friendly hug. “Barnes isn’t in a great mood and I would really appreciate it if—” He cut himself off, catching a glimpse of Clint and Natasha, and pulled back from you to address them. This gave you the chance to take in his appearance, and you found that he was dressed to impress in a dark suit and shiny dress shoes, his bow tie left undone around his throat. Tony looked as charmingly disheveled as ever. “Hey, why the fuck are you two still in pajamas? You’re supposed to be getting ready!”

Clint threw a disbelieving hand out to the side, narrowly avoiding accidentally thudding it against Natasha’s chest. “The party doesn’t start for another six hours, dude, relax. We have plenty of time.”

“We’ve been over this,” Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before shaking his head and raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Just, be dressed by three, okay? Believe it or not, journalists do cover my parties and I can’t have you all running around in penguin socks when they get here.” Clint gave an affronted gasp, but Tony ignored it in favor of turning back to you. “Listen, I have to go and take care of catering coordination, but I wanted to let you know that I wasn’t sure if you had anything to wear tonight, so I had Wanda pick you up an outfit because the girl loves to shop. And while you’re upstairs, would you please talk some sense into Barnes? Would help me out a ton.” Tony began walking away, then paused, adding, “Glad you made it home safe, by the way! You’ll have to give me all the details of suburbia later.” He made quick work of disappearing after that.

Shaking you head, you chuckled in amusement. “Guess I’d better go and see what’s wrong with Bucky.”

“He’s… actually been okay for the last few days,” Natasha offered. “Well, there was one where he wasn’t so great, but other than that he wasn’t any grumpier than usual.”

“You weren’t the one sparring with him,” muttered Clint. “I have three new bruises.”

You chuckled and bid the pair farewell until the party, making your way to the elevator after hugging each of them one last time, having the sense to worry about just what sort of outfit Wanda had picked for you in your absence. Her sense of style was amazing, but it was also just a bit more edgy than you were comfortable with; god only knew what sort of outfit she’d deemed appropriate for a Stark New Year’s Eve party, especially when you knew she liked to give you a hard time about that kind of stuff. You weren’t much of a partier, really; the amount of emotions raging around them liable to throw your ability into chaos. But you couldn’t lie; you were more than a little excited to be in attendance, and you’d have something wicked cool to hold over the heads of your colleagues once you got back to SHIELD HQ.

The elevator deposited you on your and Bucky’s floor, and as soon as you stepped out you could hear voices carrying down the hall from Bucky’s open bedroom door. The conversation became clearer as you neared.

“You guys know I don’t like parties.”

“Come on, man, it’s New Year’s Eve!”

“And?”

“And you could stand to let loose and have some fun, you big bitch baby.”

“Name calling, Sam? Really?”

“Well, it’s true.”

“I’m not gonna call you a name, but I do think Sam is right. You should let loose a little, have some fun.”

The voices paused when you neared and knocked on the door frame, sticking your head through to see what was going on. Steve, Sam, and Bucky all stared back at you, the former of the three standing with their arms crossed as Bucky perched on the edge of his bed. The whole thing looked like two parents staging an intervention for their troubled son.

“Y/n!” Steve whooped, rushing over to wrap you in a hug. “I didn’t know you were getting back so early! Figured we wouldn’t see you until the party.”

“Wanted to get a jump on traffic,” you explained, a friendly smile aimed Sam’s way. The emotional shift of the room had become significantly brighter, though it hadn’t been overly dreary before. They really were happy to see you. You hadn’t doubted they would be, it just made it all that much more genuine. “Nice to see you’ve all been getting along.”

“Hey,” Bucky greeted, raising a hand and offering you a small smile. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was at the moment, but something felt… different, coming from him. Not significant enough to cause worry, but enough to prompt your curiosity. He seemed relaxed, more genuine. Happier. “You didn’t say you were on your way.”

“Wanted to surprise you all,” you answered simply, beaming at him. These three you had missed a great deal, particularly Bucky. Spending each day with him had gotten you used to seeing him and speaking to him on the daily, and you had admittedly been a bit mopey when he hadn’t bothered to even text you. Common sense, though, told you that Bucky wasn’t really the type for casual texting, something you’d known, but you couldn’t help overthinking the matter while you’d been gone; it was just something that your mind had done. “How are you?”

“Fantastic, really,” Sam interjected, a sly look on his face as he intercepted the conversation. “Y/n, you’re going to the party tonight, aren’t you?”

You furrowed a brow, but answered with, “Yeah, it’s supposed to be really fun, isn’t it? And I’ve always loved watching the ball drop. Wanda picked me an outfit and everything, so I don’t think I’m allowed to say no.” After a pause, you continued with, “Actually, I think I’m supposed to be getting ready now, but Tony said I should come make sure Bucky was all good?”

When you looked back to Bucky you caught him glaring at Sam, which only served to confuse you further. His face immediately softened when he looked to you, though, which you were sure was a testament to how far your relationship had come since you’d first been assigned to him. “I’m fine. No worries here. I was just… having an issue deciding on what outfit to wear.” Sam opened his mouth to comment, but Bucky gave him a stern one handed shove. A lie, but a small one. You chose to let it slide. “You can go ahead and get ready; don’t let us keep you. You can tell me all about your trip at the party.”

You knew better than to press for information, so you simply nodded and waved at each of the men in turn, offering them all a temporary goodbye as you turned and began to walk out the door. You were no more than a few steps out of the room before you heard a very serious, “I swear to god—” followed by a thump and a loud protest from Sam.

—

“I’m not sure I should be wearing this. Maybe I should change.”

“Come on, Y/n! You look hot!”

“I look like someone who’s gonna break her fucking ankles the moment she gets a little too tipsy.”

“I mean, you can change your shoes if you want, but they tie the whole thing together. Otherwise you’re just wearing another black dress.”

In truth, you knew Wanda was right. The dress she’d picked up for you could be considered along the lines of the classic ‘little black dress’ style. It was short and cute, the skirt hitting your mid thigh, and the v neckline of the dress was low enough to be flirty, but high enough to give you some illusion of modesty. That all went out the window once you turned around, though, your back having been left completely bare by the dress’s design. Wanda wouldn’t even listen when you’d requested to keep your hair down, stating that there was no point in even wearing the dress if you were just going to try to hide the best part of it. She’d accessorised you with small touches of gold, making up for the lack of color. A golden bow, small and glittering in the light, was arranged with the curls which had carefully been pinned atop your head. Around your throat was a simple, golden chained necklace, little white diamonds studding it here and there. In the place of the bracelet Wanda had given you for Christmas was one matching your necklace; she’d appreciated the sentiment of wanting to keep it on, but had insisted it threw the entire color scheme off. The best part of the outfit, though, had to be your heels. They were six whole inches of glistening gold beauty, and showed off the black nail polish Wanda had placed upon your toes, the height of them forcing you to stand taller and straighter.

Yeah, there would be no getting rid of those heels, even if you were bound to break your legs by the end of the night.

“Don’t worry,” Wanda reassured you as the two of you waited for the elevator to take you up to the roof, where Tony’s party was being held. You were thankful all of the guests who didn’t reside in the tower were made to use the guest elevator. It made for a lot less crowding and offered you more privacy to be mildly insecure. “You look great, and even if you didn’t, this is a New Year’s Eve party. Half the guests are going to be too wasted to remember or care.” Easy for her to say. Wanda was an absolute vision in a dress made of satin the color of red wine. She stood just as tall as you did in shoes which matched the color of her strapless dress, glossy and bright in the light of the elevator, and the black shadow dusted upon her lids with the razor sharp eyeliner made her look somewhere between a prom queen and a witch of the night. She looked just as at ease as she would if she were wearing sweatpants and an oversized sleeping shirt.

“Fair point,” you sighed. You guessed you were complaining to the wrong person. Bucky might be more sympathetic, if the conversation you’d interrupted earlier had been anything to go off of.

Though it was just half an hour since the party had begun, everything seemed to be in full swing as the doors to the elevator slid open, revealing a large mass of people milling about. Half of them were already drunk, told to you by your ability as you picked up multiple emotional readings which were distorted and exponentially louder than normal. Drunk people, though always so wildly entertaining, were extremely emotionally draining to you; you would either need to keep an extra careful handle on your power tonight, or join them in their intoxication.

Not that you’d known it at the time, but that had been the line of thinking which would lead to a lot of embarrassment and blushing later down the line.

“You guys made it!” you heard Tony’s voice call immediately, a swarm of guests directing their eyes to you at his words. “Thanks for coming!”

“We live here,” Wanda pointed out, arching a brow in amusement. “We couldn’t miss it if we wanted to.”

“You’re damn skippy,” Tony responded, raising his champagne glass in a mock toast to the two of you. “Mingle and drink up, okay? It’s five hours to midnight and no one is allowed to be boring!”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. Linking arms with Wanda to prevent from getting separated from one another, you wandered around the rooftop, watching as the sun began to sink down the horizon, setting the skyline of New York City aglow with a wonderful orange light. The snowfall had mercifully ended the night before, but the air was still a bit chilly. It would have been worse if there weren’t so many people at this party, though, so you guessed that was one of the few positives of having a large crowd. So many people’s emotions at your fingertips was already beginning to make you anxious, though, and once you realized this after about twenty minutes of meandering, you turned to Wanda. “I’m gonna get a drink,” you told her, leaning in close so she could hear you. “I think I saw Thor at the bar. Did you want one too?”

“No thanks,” she responded. “I haven’t eaten anything yet, and this whole party is gonna go down in flames if I drink on an empty stomach. I’ll pick us up some snacks from the catering table while you get your drink from Thor, okay?”

With that you had separated from your friend, and made your first mistake of the night.

“Hello there, Y/n,” Thor greeted from the bar upon seeing you wander towards him, resting his large hand on your shoulder in a friendly gesture, his left one holding a red cup which was sure to be filled with alcohol. “Are you enjoying the party?”

You nodded your head, smiling brightly. Thor was another of the Avengers you had missed greatly; he was never not in a jovial mood. “I am, thanks. A little anxious, though; do you think you could pour me a drink? I need something to take the edge off my nerves.”

“Absolutely! If you’ll just hold this?” You nodded in thanks and took his cup from him, watching him ignore the dirty look from the actual bartender as he leaned over the bar to grab a bottle of clear liquid; tequila, the label said. You hadn’t had that shit in years on account of a bad experience at a college party, but you were game if it was going to help you settle down. “Shall we toast?”

“Sure thing,” you responded, bumping the plastic cup in Thor’s hand with the one in yours and knocking the liquid back. It burned something foul as it slid down your throat, and tasted closer to seriously burnt cinnamon and sugar than alcohol.

That had been your second and largest mistake of the evening, and it hadn’t even passed seven o’clock.

“That shit’s disgusting,” you coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “What kind of tequila is that?”

Thor stared at you with a look that could only be described as abject horror, and you felt a sudden sense of worry extend from him and towards you. “That… that wasn’t your drink.”

“What?” you asked, stifling a hiccup.

“You didn’t switch cups with me,” Thor pressed, eyes wide as dinner plates. “We were supposed to switch cups and then toast. You drank my drink.”

Seemed like a silly thing to be upset over. “I’m sorry,” you told him, shrugging a shoulder. Was it just you, or was he getting a bit blurry around the edges? “Want me to pour you more? I’m sure they have plenty tequila back there.”

“I don’t think you quite understand,” Thor told you, panic in his eyes. You couldn’t feel it; your powers had been shrouded by the intoxication which was readily settling over your mind. That wasn’t right; how could you possibly be drunk after only one drink? “I wasn’t drinking tequila, I was drinking the alcohol of my people. That was… You just chugged a cup of Asgardian liquor.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

—

Part 7

Tag List:

@ayyomizzy @agent1001m @ahirunana @petals-sunwards @shliic @ficmenow @rogueimpostor @saigesaigesaige @frost-11 @abswritesfandoms @wantingtobekorra @stan-by-me @lordemjay @elleatrixlestrange @ly--canthrope @little-bit-of-your-heart @severuined @sebbyislife22 @38leticia @emiliesnowflake @xojerriexo @vxidnik @wintersoldierbaby @quickies-with-quicksilver @weirdisradxx @holycoldcoffee @k-nighttt @a-villain-vying-for-attention @softwhispers @marbleowl @ssweet-empowerment @mariah-notcarey17 @littleingram @toodlesposts @asmilinghopelessromantic @beckyisacow @ofmusicandbooks @ha1featenbage1 @iamwarrenspeace @teenagecornflakes @amisha25 @darthseph @twsnat @captainamericasbitchass @melodramatic-fratboi @caramelizedmen @disneychic8 @airixaram @jacquelineisawkward @slowly-but-shurley @mscaptainjones @of-outerspace @pinkttones @waywardkilljoy23 @susmita121 @johnmulaneyslut @satans-knitting-club @sweetlifeofadreamer @that-bearshark @wickidlady @insanitypledge @sleepiemoon @beezyg @imsunnysu @snazzysickly @starlightkell

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfic #x reader fic #hard feelings

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mysticsparklewings · 6 years ago

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Lore Olympus (Mermaid Marker Test)‪

So my IRL friend introduced me to this AMAZING comic the other night, called "Lore Olympus," which is sort of a retelling of the Greek Myth of Persephone being kidnapped by Hades: www.webtoons.com/en/romance/lo… I read the whole thing in about two hours. If you like Greek Mythology or even just rom-com comics with super pretty art styles, please go check it out and support it! It updates on Saturdays and is still on-going! So since my friend was fangirling, and then I was fangirling, and we had to wait a whole week for the new chapter/installment, I sketched up a piece of fanart of Persephone and Hades just looking at each other cutely, in outfits from a couple of later chapters. I didn't color it right away because I had just ordered the entire collection of 32 Jane Davenport Mermaid Markers off eBay (For $30 after a $10 off coupon, I might add; had I purchased the individual sets off of Amazon that same night it would've been about $60!) and I was half-waiting for them to come in, half testing my patience to see if I could wait or if I would just cave and color it with colored pencils or alcohol markers before then. Luckily, I held out and they came in that Thursday. So I got to priming and swatching as quickly as possible! Calling them Mermaid "Markers" is a bit misleading; as they're essentially water brushes pre-filled with water-soluble ink. But I kind of understand why they're called that, as the "Mermaid" part insinuates their relationship with water, and they are more like markers that straight-up watercolors, in the sense that you don't technically need water to use them. Still, I think a more accurate name might've been helpful to people that have never heard of these before and have no idea what they're actually going to be like. Fortunately, I had seen these floating around and in a video before considering purchasing them, so I knew pretty much what I was getting, how to prep them, and what to do with them already, and at that point I wasn't even sure I'd want them. But after getting a set of Viviva watercolor sheets back in December and then the Arteza Woodless Watercolor pencils for my Birthday last month, the Mermaid Markers finally piqued my interest enough to want to buy them. I actually felt very lucky to find the eBay listing that I did, as $40 for the whole lot, in new condition (all the boxes still had their little round tapes intact and undisturbed, as well as their sealing rings, which I'll talk more about in a second) was already a great deal compared to buying the individual sets, before I even knew that I had the $10 coupon. Honestly, I was so sure someone was going to buy it before I had the funds, but luckily I was able to buckle down on some commissions and took the opportunity when it presented itself. The only issue I had straight out of the box was that, for some reason, my "Byron Bay" in the 12 set is miraculously missing its label. The best I can figure is it was just a factory oversight, as, like I said before, the boxes were still sealed and the sealing rings on each individual "marker," totally undisturbed, and there is no evidence there ever was one on the marker at all (no lingering bits of adhesive, etc.). It's not a huge deal as it was only one marker, the color names are all available online, and the solution is just as simple as either writing the name on the marker (which is what I've done for now) or printing out a new label. It'd be different if it had been multiple markers, making it difficult to tell which was which. It did take a little while to properly prime each marker; each one had a yellowy-green sealing ring between the screw-on brush tip and the squeezable ink cartridge that had to be removed and some gunk in the brush tip to preserve the shape during shipping, which you just gently wash off in water. And I will note here that it is important to make sure you screw the brush tip portion all the way back on! I had done quite a few and been left with a slight gap between the two sections before one went all the way down with less effort, so I had to go back and use a gripper like you would use to open jars to be able to turn the others the rest of the way down. I think this is important to mention because the one complaint I've seen over, and over, and over again in the Amazon Reviews is about them leaking, and I think in some (but not all) cases this might have been the problem! If one of them hadn't gone on with less effort, I wouldn't have known the difference! The other thing of note, the instructions/tips in each box specifically mention to store them with the brush tip up! Because I'm paranoid, I'm being extra cautious about this, but I suspect in a few cases this may have also been a problem causing leaks--as in people were storing them horizontally or with the brush tip down. I'm not a huge fan of the thin plastic boxes, but it's not a huge deal (as Copic markers use the exact same packaging). I think I would like to procure a case or stand to keep them all together in, though. I've been looking, but I want the case to naturally fit with keeping them upright and be able to sort them in whatever order I like. (Because I have to keep my art supplies organized or my entire world will fall apart). Now, when it comes to the drawing itself, I almost immediately ran into an issue with the line art. I didn't want to do just black, but the watercolor nature of the Mermaid Markers means that water-based ink will run when they touch. The only guaranteed water-proof liners I have are Copic multiliners in black or cobalt. That would've worked for Hades, but not Persephone. (The comic is very color-oriented for the character designs, so it just seemed more natural to do it this way; And besides, I use black lines all. the. time.) So I had to figure something else out. Originally, I tested both my Prismacolor and Polychromos pencils to see what water did to them (as I did plan on using a regular water brush with these to help with blending and stuff), and either one would've worked, as you had to be trying to pull the pigment out like I was to really get noticeable results, especially with the Polychromos, which are advertised as being water-resistant. I almost used them, but then I looked over and remembered: I have Dr. Ph Martin inks! In a variety of colors, that are supposed to be water-proof and lightfast (not that that means that much in this situation since most watercolors aren't lightfast anyway) when dry! So I got really crazy and broke out my dip pen and did the lines with that in red-violet, blue, and violet. Veeeeeeery carefully. Then I set it aside to dry for a couple of hours. (For the record, the red-violet lines are a couple shades darker IRL, the scan lightened them and seemingly them alone for some reason.) In hindsight, I might have done better to let it dry for a full 24+ hours. I say that because, while the ink was definitely dry enough to open and close the sketchbook with no issue, there were a few spots, particularly with the blue, that did bloat/bleed a little after I started going in with the Mermaid Markers and some water. Mind you, I wasn't like, drowning those spots with water or anything. Fortunately, I was able to sort of "push" and move the color around so that it didn't ruin anything. Beyond that, the pigment just willingly pulled out about as much as the colored pencils did when I was testing those, but that wasn't a huge issue since the characters are monochromatic and I was able to use it to my advantage. However, that definitely would've been an issue if I had lined with a color that didn't blend with the fill-in colors. So I will be more cautious of that sort of thing going forward. The Mermaid Markers themselves were actually kind of fun to work with, aside from the slight learning curve, since watercolors, in general, are mostly unfamiliar territory for me. The biggest issue I had was just trying to blend the right purple for the background, but that has more to do with my inexperience and the overall color selection. In general and just swatched out, the entire color collection of all 32 Mermaid Markers has a really interesting color family, with a number of shades that I think are fairly unique. (Or at least they seem unique to my eyes that are more familiar with color pencil palettes). The tradeoff is that there are some shades that are pretty, but might be a little "off" from the colors I'm used to working with. In this case, there is a muted lavender color called "Jellyfish" that I was using primarily to fill in the heart. However, it was a bit on the warm/pink side for my liking, including pairing with the "Deep Sea" darker purple, which was more of a neutral, maybe slightly blueish purple. It turned out okay with my attempts to "cool it down," but I still have some things to learn with watercolor, and until I really get the hang of it, I know the slightly unusual color choices with these might be a bit of a challenge to work through. The other thing is there are two "specialty" sets of the Mermaid Markers; one called "Celestial Sky" and one called "Shimmering Sky," which are metallic and glitter effects, respectively, and meant to be shaken up before use a bit like paint pens. The effects for both sets are really beautiful, I just wish there were more colors! There are only 4 of each; the Celestial Sky is more neutral/traditional metallic colors, and the Shimmering Sky colors are two pinkish and two blueish colors that look like they would pair well with the "Shipwrecked" set of 6. This isn't necessarily a bag thing--I want more colors of a product I like. I just thought I'd point it out while I was on the color thing. Still, they blended really nice and smoothly, and fortunately, they didn't argue too much with me when I made a mistake and tried to take some off/lighten it, etc. Once I was done coloring, I obviously went back and did Persephone's little leaf crown and outlined the butterflies on either side of her head with gel pens. Surprisingly, the pens went over this noticeably easier than the Arteza Woodless Watercolor Pencils, which I found odd. I did have to do a bit of tapping, but I pretty much always expect that no matter what I'm working with. Not sure what to make of that. (Though if I had to guess I suspect it had something to do with the fillers used in the pencils). I tried to use the glittery Mermaid Markers to give Hades a bit of pink blush and Persephone a bit of blue blush, but while Hades' worked out pretty okay, I think the blue was just too dark for Persephone as it didn't really blend out properly and, as you can see, to keep it from looking like she was bruised or I'd made a massive mistake, I ended up lifting most of it off entirely. But, at the very least, some of the glitter is still there so when you see it in the light it still sparkles a bit to tie in with the glittery gel pen I used for the crown. The only real thing I'm truly not happy about is that between the sketch and inking, Persephone's face slimmed down/got a little more angular than what I wanted. In the comic, she usually has a very round face to me. But it's not the end of the world; the art style is pretty fluid most of the time (which ends up adding to its charm and really lends itself to the characters' expressiveness) anyway, so drawing the characters "accurately" can only go so far, I think. (Compared to something where the characters are pretty much always 100% on-model, anyway). I think it did turn out very sweet though And now if you'll excuse me, I'll be waiting with bated breath for the next chapter to go up. The second-to-last one was a major plot doozy! ____ Artwork (c) me, MysticSparkleWings Lore Olympus & Characters belong to Rachel Smythe ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#loreolympus #mermaidmarkers

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dontshootmespence · 6 years ago

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Broken Homes Fix Broken Hearts

Chapter 13

A/N: I’m so sorry I suck at updating this, but we still have MANY chapters to go! The amazingly skilled and wonderful @veroinnumera and I are in love with the combo of Derek and Juliet. We refer to them as the OG OTP, so please let us know how you like this story. We have a STOOPID amount of collaborations we’d like to do :D

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“Butter, sugar, flour, and eggs...something’s missing” Juliet murmured aloud to herself as she took stock of the ingredients sitting on the kitchen counter. She was exhausted having been up almost all of last night redoing some inventory on the new children’s books that had come in this week. Now she was attempting to make brownies for Shaun Harris. The elementary school was having their yearly bake sale but Mrs. Harris was busy with chemotherapy and baking wasn’t exactly bedrest.

“You need chocolate. And cocoa powder.” A voice chuckled behind her, followed by a pair or strong arms twining around her waist.

“But no chocolate thunder, I don’t think any recipe but Penelope’s ever calls for that.” She chuckled, leaning back comfortably in Derek’s arms for a moment. God she could just fall asleep right here….

Glancing down, he could see she was just about to fall asleep. Her eyes were closing. This was the perfect opportunity to do something he’d always wanted to do. He reached into the bowl of flour and grabbed a handful, throwing it right into her face with a glorious sputter of dust.

Juliet immediately spun around and looked at him with a tinge of indignation. “Did...did you just throw flour at me?”

He started snorting with laughter. He never snorted.

“Derek Morgan, if you’re not careful I’m going to have to call Fran. And she is not going to be happy with you.” She grinned, a dangerous look in her eyes.

He retreated a few steps and put his hands up. “Let’s not do anything drastic here. We can talk about this.”

“We could….or I could get even!” Juliet squealed launching a handful in his general direction. Derek dodged out of the way and smiled at her smugly. It took a second before he noticed her trying not to laugh. “What is it?” He groaned.

“You’ve got a little something right...there.” Juliet trailed off, pressing a kiss to his nose.

When she pulled away, he could see the faint trace of flour on her lips. Swatting his nose, he saw the dust fly. “Okay, that was good aim,” he laughed. “But you realize you’ve just started a war right?”

Much to Juliet’s dismay, he reached into the bag of sugar and threw some at her. Not nearly as much fun as the flour, but it did the trick and got them starting their own personal food fight in the middle of the kitchen, which was only ceased when they’d exhausted all their food-throwing options. “I yield!” He laughed, pulling her back into his arms. “We’re a mess.”

“I can’t believe you threw food at me.”

Derek squeezed her tighter, kissing her temple before looking around at the mess in the kitchen and smiling to himself. “I had to wake you up somehow.”

“There were other ways and you know it. Admit it, you just wanted to have a food fight.” Juliet chuckled, nudging him with her hip. Derek said nothing but snickered. Just then the phone rang. Quickly, she crossed the kitchen and answered it.

“Hello? Oh Dr. Corcoran, hi. Yes. Yes we will see you then. Alright. Bye!” She hung up and turned back to Derek, her expression now more serious. “We need to get cleaned up. We have a session in an hour.”

------

An hour later they were both clean and dressed in a change of clothes. The waiting room to Dr. Corcoran’s office wasn’t much to look at. Neutral tones and simple textures dominated the space, which made sense given that this was a psychiatrist’s office. Juliet was sitting back on the couch reading a magazine. Okay, not reading, just looking at the cute animals in the article she’d found. Derek was beside her, she could tell he was trying to stay calm but he was tapping his foot which meant he was nervous. Juliet opened her mouth to say something when the door swung open to reveal a petite woman with bright green eyes and curly brown hair. “Juliet, come on in. And you must be Mr. Morgan. Annabel Corcoran, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her tone was gentle and soothing even in greeting as she extended a hand to Derek.

At first, he didn’t want to extend his hand because he was 99 percent sure it was grossly clammy, but he had to. God, he was nervous. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he said, noticing a slight shakiness in his own voice.

They took a seat on the loveseat across from Dr. Corcoran’s desk. Juliet looked comfortable, like this was all routine for her, which it obviously was. He however, was very out of his element. He’d never imagined himself in a therapist’s office; honestly, he’d vowed to stay out of them. He didn’t like people getting into his head, but his desire to be with the woman beside him overrode his need to run out of the doors and into the hills. “So, Juliet, Mr. Morgan, what do you hope to achieve by coming to me together?”

Juliet cleared her throat, casting a nervous glance at Derek before responding. “Well, I think it’s like we’ve been talking about Annabel. I obviously have some issues with being open and communicative and Derek’s been very vocal about his desire for us to be able to speak honestly. I’m just hoping you might be able to help us in that process.”

The doctor nodded, a smile on her face. “Thank you, Juliet. Mr. Morgan, does that accurately speak to your wants in this situation?”

“My what? My wants? You mean do I agree with her? Um, yeah. Yeah I do.” Derek nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Alright then. I think first it would be helpful to look at what’s preventing this currently. Mr. Morgan what do you think is making the situation difficult?” Dr. Corcoran asked.

Taking a deep breath, he started speaking. “I think it’s a little bit of both of us.” It was not his intention to place blame solely on either of them, but it was always a little weird to be accusatory with your significant other. “I know that Juliet has intrusive thoughts and sometimes they can make her believe things that aren’t true. Instead of talking about them, she tends to push me away. While I...I guess I just have a hard time dealing with those situations. I tend to get offended easily even though I know she can’t help what she’s thinking.”

Dr. Corcoran nodded, but didn’t pass judgement on any of the statements. “And Juliet, why is it that you don’t want to communicate those thoughts?”

She shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know.” Dr. Corcoran looked at her again. Juliet bit her lip and sighed again. “Well, maybe I do. I just-I don’t want what I say to be used against me.”

“You aren’t on trial with me, ever.” Derek insisted reassuringly, placing a hand over hers.

“I know that. But when someone spent over three years telling you that every feeling and thought that he didn’t agree with made you crazy, it’s difficult to trust that. And if I don’t say anything, then I don’t have to worry about whether or not you’ll say anything about it.”

His heart sank and a mixture of anger and nausea settled in his chest. He wished he could fix this. Do something to erase that bastard but he couldn’t.

“Mr. Morgan, what do you think about that?”

The bile rose in his throat for a moment. “I understand the need to do that, but I want us to be able to be open. I...want her...for a really, really long time, but I don’t know if that can happen if we don’t work out some kinks, you know?”

Again, the doctor nodded and smiled. “Of course. And this is by no means going to happen over night. But I believe trust can be built. You both want this to work, and in my experience that’s half the battle. The other half is having patience and being proactive. Now, I have a few thoughts about strategies that might be useful to you. Some are highly orthodox and some are...less so.”

Juliet nodded. “Please, go ahead.”

“Well, there are a few simple places to start. Dependability and consistency are especially important factors. Scheduling activities and sticking to them like going out to dinner or spending the weekend away or even watching a specific show or movie at a predetermined time. In your case Juliet, it provides the proof that you’ve been looking for that Mr. Morgan can be trusted to show up for you. Something you could never rely on in your past relationship. Other possibilities include validating language, open ended questions, and shared appreciation techniques all of which I can help with.” Dr. Corcoran explained.

“And the less orthodox?” Derek asked, he was concerned he’d regret asking but the profiler in him was curious.

Dr. Corcoran cleared her throat and looked down at her notes for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “It’s not as traditional nor as clinically researched but some individuals I’ve worked with that have had similar situations have found great success with active role reversal, particularly sexually.”

Derek smirked, glancing down at Juliet who was blushing more than he’d ever really seen her blush. “As in flipping the dominant and submissive roles?” He asked. He tended to take the more dominant, but the thought of flipping that image every once in a while was intriguing. “I...I could do that.”

Juliet suddenly got a little nervous, but when she glanced up at Derek she found a bit of confidence again. “You would do that?”

“Of course,” he replied.

Dr. Corcoran looked on knowingly. “Well, I’d say that maybe you explore that avenue for a while and at the same time we’ll implement some of the more conventional methods I mentioned.”

Juliet stuttered for a moment. Her brain had been caught mid mental image and color flooded her cheeks again. “Yes-um, yes. I think that makes sense.” She finally managed, before quickly segueing into another topic. “Now about that validating language…”

@lovesscenarios @crimeshowtrash @literallyprentissstwin @jazz91121 @jennferjareau @spencer-puppies-and-stuff @fl0werb0nes18 @stunudo @spencerthepipecleaner @theofficeofsupremegenius @dontshootmespence @ultrarebelheart @lookwhatyoumademequeue @lukeassmanalvez @mentallydatingspencerreid @nobravery @criminal-anatomy @matthew-gray-reidler @the-criminal-soldier @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @original-criminal-fanfics @lovelukealvez @stories-you-wont-hear @speedreiding @marvelfanlife @butsomeofusarelookingatthestars @wonderboygenius @spxcxrrxid @imagines-for-criminal-minds @acespence @sweater-vest-reid@criminalmindskeepsmealive @spenncerreiid @sam-carter-in-training @parker-hopper @spencerwreid @ssahotchner @profiler-in-training @were-skye @trollitis @heyboywonder @ficrecswithcassie @janiedreams88 @gingeraleandcontemplation @cynbx @fortheloveofspencerreid @tippy06 @cleocc @bestillmystuckyheart @ficrecswithcassie @ssaunitchief @xxm3xxj

#derek morgan #derek morgan x oc #derek morgan x juliet hunter lewis #derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan fic #derek morgan fanfic #derek morgan imagine #dontshootmespence #veroinnumera #broken homes fix broken hearts

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mbovettwrites-blog · 7 years ago

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Blackbird - 500 Follow Excerpt

It’s been long enough. Let’s just get into it.

In the background, she heard the faint whistle of a late night train pulling into the station. At least something was still working at this unholy hour.

Only a few people emerged from the archway leading to the platforms, the thickness of the night outside dispersed by twinkling lights strung along the wall. The first was a businessman, which Maria learned first from his irate posture and prim expression and secondly from noting the expensive suit and briefcase. Next was a pair of women huddled under a scarlet umbrella, an elderly man with his pace defiantly brisk and his lips pursed in disdain as he glanced across Maria’s slouched shoulders, and a gang of students whose raucous laughter felt poisonous in the previously peaceful station.

The first thing she noticed about the students was that there were four of them, and the second was that they were all boys. Each of them was impossibly energised and bright-faced for such an hour of the morning, and it momentarily occurred to Maria that they were all drunk – then she grew sensible again and reminded herself that drinking was illegal on cross-country trains.

They were foreigners, obviously. More foreign than her. Northerners, from one of the many wealthy pockets of Verlinden or Adovya where they were expected to just casually take a train from one end of the continent to another on a spontaneous summer holiday.

Well, then, she thought, the voice in her head sounding far more stiff and repulsed than she had expected of herself, Let them be miscreants. Anyways, they’ve chosen a terrible place for a weekend away if they’re looking for that kind of meaningless fun.

Only one of them – the quietest, his arms swinging laxly at his sides rather than gesturing wildly in all directions – looked as though he could pass as a native to a Gulf Belt country. Ygar, most likely. But his company betrayed him. They looked like the kind of people whose company her mother would have enjoyed, if she were both young and present with her. He seemed fixated on the presence of an alarmingly skinny boy at his side, whose shock of coal-black hair did little to distract Maria from the fact that she could see the outline of his bones in his face and his hands. This boy was by far the loudest, letting of bouts of high-pitched laughter every other second that sounded not entirely unlike the train whistle.

His arm was slung around the shoulders of the shortest, who looked more out of place in Cuorren than Maria had thought possible. For one thing, he appeared to still be wearing his school uniform. Schools in Navarios didn’t have uniforms. Feeling a little pleased as the fact presented itself, she then also recalled that she’d read a study in a newspaper that said Navarios students were fifteen per cent happier and thirteen per cent less prone to stress and anxiety than those in Verlinden’s supposedly world-class academies.

Honestly? Maria was quite sure that the only people who thought Verlinden’s education was the best were the people who had been raised and brainwashed in it. Everyone she knew thought the school system was a mockery, designed to manufacture posh, well-to-do young intellectuals with no individuality or purpose beyond making money for their already dangerously wealthy country.

She could yet be wrong. They could be from Adovya which, though not by much, was a noteworthy improvement.

Goddesses forsake her if they were students at Hylin.

She didn’t quite have time to analyse the fourth before he had invited himself to sit next to her.

Her lips puckered in distaste as he offered up a lazy smile and a hand to shake. Quarter past one in the morning was not a good hour for her to be interacting with stuck-up people at, lest she bite their heads off like a five-headed hound. Tersely, she accepted the handshake. It was just like the ones she received from the white-shirted men Arabella introduced her to, sometimes because they were one-week lovers and sometimes because they were work colleagues from her lawyer world. She prayed that this boy would become neither.

“Evan Charlize,” he said, and then continued in extremely broken Agion, “A pleasure to meet you.”

In flawless Verlinden, she replied, “Maria None-Of-Your-Business. Try again when I’m not tired enough to sleep through the end of the world.”

The boy’s eyebrows quirked up, eyes widening slightly. The loud one half-cackled, half-wheezed, slipping easily past his companions and slapping his friend hard on the shoulder. Still in Verlinden, he howled, “Evan, my man, she just gave you a smack down! That was awesome! Matt, my boy, did you get that on camera? I’m replaying that at his eighteenth – ‘The One Where Evan Gets Showed Up by a Strange Girl’, anyone?”

Evan – Maria presumed that was the name of boy sat beside her – frowned. It was only when this happened that she noticed just how bushy and unruly his eyebrows were. They looked like tiny, sun-yellowed squirrel tails.

“No to all of that, Sal. That was not a ‘smack down’, that was just rude. Daj, teach your boyfriend some respect.”

The quiet one folded his arms across his chest. “Not my boyfriend, not my responsibility.”

Sal giggled hysterically again, collapsing against Evan in the process. Evan, Sal, and Daj – that left the uniformed kid as Matt. She decided to focus on him instead, since he was the only one who hadn’t spoken yet and therefore was also the only one who had yet to irritate her.

Daj spoke up again. “Here’s an idea that, shockingly, neither of you have thought of – maybe she doesn’t want you here because you’re making moves on her and she’s very uncomfortable with that. Matt, come on, you had to have picked up on that.”

Maria growled. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but I do have the basic ability to stand up for myself. I am exceptionally tired. Leave. Me. Alone.”

Sal’s eyes went wider than Evan’s. Pushing himself away from his disgruntled friend with a bounce in his step (which, given the ridiculous time of night, defied all logic and reason that Maria possessed), he swung an arm around Daj’s neck instead and let out a long whistle. It was at this moment that Maria’s observational skills fully caught up with the rest of her brain and she noted that Sal was, in fact, flaunting a crop top. Not that it was unusual – she had seen every fashion statement possible in her corner of Navarios – but she somehow wanted such a charismatic person to have the added bonus of knowing when it was chilly enough to wear a jacket over it.

She knew from experience back home that the nights in the Gulf Belt were as damp and humid as a fox’s armpit, but the air conditioning in the station was on overkill. At that moment, she would trade the lives of all of these boys for one minute in the heat of the midday sun.

“Whatever,” Evan huffed, standing up with a slight grunt. “We’re stuck here until the morning trams start running anyways. How long is that, anyways?”

“Ten to seven. They start at sunrise,” Maria interjected curtly.

“I was under the impression that Your Majesty wasn’t going to talk to us.” Evan’s eyes looked almost as chaotic and grey as the storm raging outside as he snapped back at her, all previous interests in being gentlemanly lost the moment she bared her teeth at him. She couldn’t care less. He’d apologise when the sun came up and the tropical warmth melted his temper tantrum away.

“Evan, even the Goddesses know you’re too grouchy to be socially interacting with other people right now. Find somewhere to sleep it off, you’re even starting to exhaust me.”

Matt had taken it upon himself to speak now. One hand was thumbing the corner of his shirt collar as he scolded Evan and followed it up with an apologetic smile tossed at Maria – the other was tucked tightly into his trouser pocket. At last, Evan decided that this was somebody he could agree with, and marched across the room to stretch all six feet of himself across the opposing bench. Back turned to the rest of them. Obviously.

“In another time, this would’ve been hilarious,” Sal said with a sigh. The corners of Maria’s mouth tugged up in an inkling of smile.

“You don’t say.”

He performed a walk that was somewhere between a skip and a strut as he went to join Evan, and Daj followed in respectful silence. Matt was the last one to speak and to go, talking and smiling over his shoulder as he trailed after his friends.

“He’ll be more polite come sunrise, I promise you. I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”

“Keep him and his temper! Didn’t plan on meeting you all in the first place!”

Leaving that as the closing statement of the tumultuous conversation, she unzipped one of her suitcases and dug around until she pulled out three identical crimson hoodies, draped them around her goosebump-ridden arms, and nestled in to wait out the storm still thundering above them.

So, this is about half of the second chapter showcasing the introduction of some other major characters (because as much as I love Ingrid, I love these guys too and they deserve some more spotlight). I would have put this out yesterday when I actually hit 500, like I promised, but I became swamped with work and sort of burned out and fell asleep a full two hours earlier than I’d normally even consider going to bed. So, yeah, that was a tad time-consuming.

I’m going to tag @kbcypher for being so supportive of this WIP and often seeming a little upset when updates are missed, @jade-island-lives for also being generally supportive and also being someone who keeps popping up time and time again in my notes, and @bitteredplum because they’re a cute art kid who is probably the only person I know IRL who I can actually stand.

They also drew a little doodle of Maria and Ingrid the last time they came over to my house, which I need to post soon

Thank you all again for 500! xx

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