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oneoftheprettynerds · 4 years ago

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Just My Type: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 2 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Darkside

Main Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is 2K words more than the last chapter and I’ve second guessed every single line in this one. This story is getting a lot of traction guys and I’m equal parts happy and scared. Thank you for the nice comments, they do encourage me. Also I’m just ranting feel free to skip this note haha. Your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Also you can dm if you want to be friends, God knows I need those. Hopefully, this chap was worth the wait. Also, I made a poster for this on the main masterlist so check that out, it might be foreshadowing dome plot.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 2: Just My Type

It had almost been a week since the incident and you had barely gotten a wink of sleep. When you drove back to your house that night, Steve surprisingly didn’t argue as you had expected. After that friend of his whispered something in his ears, you only assumed he was needed elsewhere and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. They escorted you to your car and Steve thanked you with a strained smile, words genuine but eyes calculating. You didn’t even wonder what went inside his head. You were thankful for the peace and quiet of your own car, content to just get out of the area and into your humble abode.

After you put the already asleep Grace to bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of her room. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, hand intertwined with hers as you rested your head beside her tummy on the mattress.

Your adrenaline wore off and your limbs ached as your thoughts finally settled into place, the gravity of the catastrophe a few hours prior hitting you. Tears made their way down your cheeks as you realized that you both could have very well died tonight.

One bullet could have sealed each of your lives and you were basically defenseless had Steve not saved you against the creeping assaulter. You couldn’t commend yourself for even defending yourself against one attacker, the guilt of killing someone harboring in your tired head. Your quiet whimpers eventually wore you out, while Grace’s shallow breaths lulled you to sleep.

You didn’t manage to sleep for long though, every time your eyes closed, horrific images flashed in your mind. A blood curdling scream here, heaps of dead bodies there, with distant exploding sounds all around. You could see men clad in black holding guns to Grace’s head and whensoever you woke up, you just wondered how much more creative your mind could get, making these visuals so realistic.

When 8 AM rolled in, you didn’t wake Grace up even though it was Monday and you had work. You got up, changed into a long tee after a shower and called your office and then her daycare. You knew you would have a hard time going back to your normal life, to become trusting enough to leave her alone.

Your assumption about yourself was right. You took almost the entire week off, which your boss generously allowed you to after hearing your traumatic experience, which soon made the city news headlines. All your colleagues checked on you, almost once in the five day break you took, and sweetly enough offered to bring you anything you needed.

It was kind of them, but none of them could bring you what your heart genuinely craved: peace and assurance that you and Grace would be safe.

Even though Saturdays were off, you did go to work to see what you missed and where to start on again. You went in because you knew that the random spurt of resolution you got in the bathroom to collect your life, wouldn’t last.

To ease back into your normal life, you gathered your guts, called a babysitter and left home. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Grace at the daycare just yet. One of your good friends offered to come in to the office and help you, even on the weekend and you were quite grateful to him.

When you both decided to take lunch in the nearby dining place, you both got to talking, the conversation obviously originating from ‘How have you been?’ and ‘Is Grace okay?’. You reminisced about how you used a photobooth to hide, grotesquely and uncomfortably chuckling when you remembered Sarah calling you her mom and how her dad saved you all.

You deliberately left the part where you killed someone and Steve shot someone too. You hadn’t come to terms with it yet and you stiffly restricted your mind whenever it tried to go down that lane.

He sensed how the conversation was becoming tense and distressing for you and briskly redirected the topic.

“I hope the dad was hot though?” He wiggled his eyes creepily and you snorted at his vulgarity, light for the first time in days.

“He was easy on the eyes; I will admit that.” You played along, recalling your girlfriends and how you used to ogle people.

“Don’t be a homewrecker though, I don’t support cheating.” He said nonchalantly, checking his phone as a notification bell rang off.

“He’s a widower.”

His eyes snapped up and met yours as his head tilted in confusion. “That’s a strange fact to know about someone you met for a few minutes.”

Steve’s even stranger comment about his dead wife popped in your mind and before you could stop yourself, you blurted that out as well.

“He even said and I quote, ‘She deserved what she got.’” He put his phone down, weirdly amused.

“Ooh Creepy! Do you think he is one of those husbands who kill their wives and bury them in the backyard? The podcasts always say that the psychopaths are visually handsome and charming. And his statement was quite vague and spooky.” He continued munching, and you felt that now Aiden was really paying attention unlike before.

“Steve did have a gun while searching for Sarah, come to think of it.” You drank your tea and awaited his response. What you did not expect was his eyes to widen and worry to cloud his features.

“Um Widower Steve with a toddler Sarah? At the place where The Vices attacked?” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and doing God knows what on it. Your eyebrows furrowed and before you could ask him what was up with his antics, he resumed.

“This is a long shot but I really hope your Steve didn’t look like this.” He positioned the phone in your vision, and you could already tell it was Steve by the sapphire blue of his eyes piercing through the screen into your soul. The picture was a month or two old, his hair was much longer when you met him than in the photo.

“This is him.” Your eyes met Aiden’s and worry visibly took over his features as his forehead creased and jaw tense.

He looked around the restaurant, finding it empty in the afternoon. He leaned and whispered, “This Steve of yours is dangerous.”

You interrupted Aiden, even though you already knew Steve was, the sight of his armed men still fresh in your head, and inquired, “Why do you say so?”

“It’s just like the fictional stories we hear from our parents, except here, in this city of ours, every myth holds true. There are really powerful men, untouchable by law, who reign the city silently and live luxuriously. Every shady, under the table deal you’ve heard of, transpires. Illegal trades, fraud schemes and bounty hunters are not fictional, they exist here. These men kill whatever hinders them and trust me, you don’t want to be the deer caught in their Jaguar’s headlights.”

Ice froze in your veins again, resembling the fear you felt that night but now because of your deemed ‘savior’. You convinced yourself that you had not wronged him in any way, instead had saved his daughter’s life.

“Are you in contact with him? If you are, distance yourself cleverly, don't block him immediately.”

“No, we just parted ways near my car, he thanked me for Sarah and was called away. It’s almost been a week and he hasn’t reached out if that’s what you mean. We didn’t exchange contacts and I don’t think I even told him my full name.” You explained yourself as if you were on the witness stand in court, trying to convince yourself more than Aiden.

“Pray that he doesn’t remember you more than that, if at all. I’m being totally honest here in telling you this, I’m genuinely worried for you and Grace. You are smart but he is powerful. He has unimaginable resources and if you become more than a speck of dust on his windshield, you are screwed. There is no exaggeration here.” You took his words to your heart and swore to be careful, if not for yourself then for Grace.

The rest of the day went by and you found yourself dwelling on and worrying about Aiden’s words. At least he put it out there as it was. Heeding his advice, you did google Steve on your phone, finally finding him in the topmost news headline when you added ‘Buck’ in the search bar as well.

‘With 38 lawsuits pending against businessman Steve Rogers, the filers have lost all hope in prosecuting him. All cases are being drawn out for indefinite periods of time by the Chief Justice Bruce……’

Aiden was right.

Businessmen was code for illegal mob heads. Cases being stretched on meant he was, in fact, invincible, at least to the common man’s fists.

You flickered through several titles, each one more surprising than the last. He was believed to be involved in the carnival attack, alleged for three hit and run cases that he didn’t lose but the witnesses swore they saw him driving and was also rumored to have brought in quintals of drugs just last week, but the packets just evaporated into thin air and there was no proof of their existence in the first place even on incessant searching.

Every crime of his made you shudder and you mentally thanked Aiden for pulling you out of your oblivion. Your mind raced and heart palpated and you cursed yourself for being so drastically unaware even after living here for almost four years. Technically speaking, Steve and you were even, him saving your life and you saving his daughter’s. No logical reason came to your mind for him contacting you ever.

You wished as Aiden said and assured yourself that your paths would never cross again, Steve not having reached out in a week, so hopefully never again.

That thought went out the window when you reached home to find a box awaiting you. Hannah, the babysitter you had called, informed you it came around 5 in the evening and was exclusively to be opened by you today.

Your mind raced as you paid the babysitter, your hands sweaty as you tried not to think about the gift and its sender. There was an apparently clear answer to who mailed it but you refused to accept that, courtesy of Aiden.

The box was of the height of Grace, it was black with red hearts painted across it; some red roses also sparingly adorned it. You opened the lid and found tons of red tissues and a multi-flower bouquet adorned with mostly red roses and a few purple and pink flowers.

Because of your frequent gardening in your backyard, you knew all the flowers’ meanings. To sum it all up, red flowers, especially roses were used for courting someone. Pink meant admiration, purple for beauty and you knew the ‘violet’ flowers were for loyalty.

As your nerves increased tenfold, you willed yourself to get it over with and empty out the box first, ignoring the little card in your bouquet, saving the ‘best’ for last. You find a mini bouquet inside but unlike yours, it had chocolates of every kind. You did read its card and cringed when it was for Grace, bothered not by the deed but by the doer.

Further inside were some animal plushies, face masks, perfumes, scented body lotions and shampoos. Your head hurt thinking about the ‘single mother care package’ delivered to you by someone you refused to acknowledge.

As Grace sat in her playpen occupied, you dared to pick your card and read its message, your heart beating unrealistically fast for someone who refused to accept the cruciality of her situation.

I can’t thank you enough in this lifetime for saving my little princess. The gift of your help is more than anything money could ever buy for me. Please accept this invitation of mine for dinner tomorrow night, 7PM at La Bonne Nuit, as a symbol of my sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done. I’ll gets the kids covered and pick you up, you just be ready and look as amazing you always do. Sincerely, Steve Rogers

You stilled as you read it over and over again.

An invitation, your ass. Even in writing his authority portrayed, there was no question and hope for you coming, he just stated that you’d come. Looking pretty as always? You just met him once, in the middle of a calamity, covered in dirt and blood.

All the red roses and gifts screamed his romantic interest but you illusioned yourself into thinking they meant gratitude. You wouldn’t be able to digest it all otherwise.

Knowing what you knew now about Steve, you understood there was no denying the dinner tomorrow. You had to get out of his clutches and distance yourself, but as Aiden had so rightfully said, cleverly.

That night you laid in bed mulling over your next course of actions. You had called the gift shop to return the unwarranted presents you received but they said it was non refundable and anonymous to trace. You bitterly snorted in their face, they put a card with Steve’s name on it for heaven’s sake!

You didn’t flinch even when you realized you never gave Steve your address, neither for mailing stuff nor for picking you up. There was no number given to call him and thank or to call him and deny. The bastard had planned it all out, and you felt like you were driving in a one way lane, going deeper into the tunnel. Somewhere among your all-relentless fretting, you managed to finally sleep.

When the doorbell rang, your eyebrows furrowed. It was just 6 PM and you weren’t expecting anybody else except for Steve. You had already begun getting ready, having developed a habit of keeping an extra margin of time now having a toddler. You still had to assemble Grace’s essential backpack, fill it with her meds and bottles.

While still putting on your diamond earring, you made your way to the door, unlocking it to find a redhead grinning at you. Before you could interact with her, a small body clung to your legs and you looked down to find the azure eyed kid that put you in this mess, Sarah, smiling up at you.

“Mama! You look pwetty!” She looked up in awe and now aware that she didn’t have a mother, you were even more so coerced into accepting this title rather than telling the kid that 'you are semi orphaned'.

“I’m Wanda, Sarah’s nanny. Mr. Rogers told me to pick her friend, Grace, up for the night?” So, this was what Steve meant. Bringing Sarah was proof enough of her legitimacy, but behind her you saw ‘Buck’ salute you from the driver’s seat of the black car. One of these days, you needed to learn his real name.

You invited Wanda inside and Sarah ran to Grace immediately, grabbing and whining while asking Grace to give her some popcorn she was munching on, her fist generously full.

In your open plan kitchen, you grabbed two plastic bowls, filled them with each with the tub of popcorn that sat in the microwave and handed each toddler one, fortunately quietening Sarah. Sarah obeyed Grace, in first thanking you, their ‘mama’ and then following her to her open playpen.

You faced Wanda again who sat on a barstool and kept on beaming. If your annoyance at her amusement showed, she sure didn’t let it falter the smile.

“Mr. Rogers told me you’d worry about your daughter, but I assure you she’d be in more than capable hands.” All you could focus on was how self-reassured she was. “I’ve served him for almost two years, the last family I served, I was there for 8 years and before them, I was employed for 3. I know the general bedtime and snacks, all I need from you is information about her allergies.”

You nodded and told her about Grace, her meds and what all you packed. When you got to know that her family owned the daycare Grace went to, you were finally somewhat convinced. After seeing them off, it was about fifteen minutes later, that the devil disguised in Prada showed up at your door.

You grabbed your purse and your keys. Wiping your sweaty palms on your dress, you opened the door. Steve stood there, a smirk lodging on his handsome face. His blue, three-piece suit perfectly paired with his cerulean eyes was impressive to say the least.

He was dressed to kill, and it appeared as if you were his first victim.

As your eyes took him in from top to bottom, his did the same lazily, taking their time, resting at certain places for longer period than others.

“You look stunning.”

You knew you did. You wore one of your more expensive dresses when you found out La Bonne Nuit to be one of the few seven-star hotels in the country. In hindsight, if you’d have dressed worse, maybe he’d have left you alone.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered you his hand and you obliged with your palm in his. Your other hand pulled the doorknob while you stepped out, all alarms already set-in place. He waited while you locked and put the keys in and when you were done, with a soft kiss along your knuckles, he pulled you along.

The act surprised you, your stomach turning and your gut wrenching and you wondered if you’d be able to process the food after all, with your upset digestive system.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and when you settled, he took his position at the driver’s seat. The silence was painful for you, your overthinking finally filling ideas in your head that you avoided contemplating about all day, focusing on Grace.

He was relaxed though; his humming was proof enough.

Mid way through, your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a hand housed itself on your knee. You glanced to find Steve’s palm slightly rubbing your knee. If it was meant to be assuring, you certainly didn’t feel like it.

You frowned and looked up to Steve who still had the arrogant smirk on his face, eyes straight ahead on the road, giving no indication of his inappropriate touching.

You wanted to swat his hand away but a brainwave dashed through your head and a disturbing thought made you halt, that whether he carried guns to restaurants as well, since carnivals were no big deal.

You ignored his hand and continued looking outside, pretending to ignore it as well as he did. Your scowl was a huge giveaway though.

You didn’t know that, but when your eyes found their way out, his finally rested on your face, the smirk growing even more.

Thankfully, apart from the incongruous touching, the dinner went okay-ish. The food and wine were impeccable, perfect even, the restaurant on the hotel’s top floors was so picturesque. You tried to savor your one-time experience there, knowing you’d no way be able to come back there.

Well, you tried to relish as much as you could while your mind still sat there, wary of the human in front of you. If you’d ignore your journey here, Steve was nothing short of a true gentleman, often making you wonder if you had imagined his hand on you.

This ‘friendly’ date you were having was probably one of the best you have had, he had left no expenses. He appeared to be interested in your work, about your childhood and about Grace’s but you swiftly avoided his questions about her father. He was growing a tad bit too comfortable for your liking and you still refused to entertain the idea that this was a ‘date’ date.

When you were finally onto dessert, the last course of your meal, your table was shadowed by the broad frame of a brunette and his date. He clapped Steve’s shoulder and Steve rose to hug him, you awkwardly smiled.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been here, Cap. Why don’t you and your gorgeous date stop by my penthouse for a bit? We could finally go over the papers you sent me, in person?” He winked, they discussed something more and then went away, his date bowing and trailing after him as well.

Steve claimed his seat again, and finally told you about the interrupter. “That was my good friend, Tony Stark, always in a hurry. I’ll introduce you to him when we meet him later.”

“I think I’ll be heading home; you need not worry about my introduction, I hardly think we’ll ever run into each other again.” His eyes narrowed and you clarified, “Me and Mr. Stark, I meant.”

That’s good, don’t associate yourself with more of his kind.

“He was so kind in inviting you though, it would be rude to refuse.”

“It’s already late, Steve. And I’ve never left Grace alone for a night yet. What if she’s antsy? What if she is bothered? What if she feels unsafe? She's only used to very few people, and after last week, I-” You had started the sentence hoping to use Grace as an excuse but every word of yours succeeded in making you more apprehensive.

The carnival night flashed in your mind, along with the nightmares and you started panicking even more. Your hands clammy, your dessert spoon fell in your lap as sought your phone in your purse, hoping to call Wanda for an update. You felt like a terrible mother, who left her child with a stranger, only a week after she suffered trauma, just to go on a date with a mobster.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed your fidgety hands and as you wriggled to get your hands free, he softly called your name. Voice stern but vocals gentle. Your blurry eyes snapped to meet his while he guided you to breathe deeply, in and out.

His firm hold convinced you to listen to him, you’d never free yourself of them otherwise.

When you had calmed a bit, he withdrew his hands and fetched his phone. Your thoughts slowed down, and you wondered if anyone here was judging you. Your little scene, mercifully, went unnoticed by the other affluent people dining here.

Steve handed you his phone where four colored frames rested, the screen showing you Grace and Sarah cuddled in a frilly, pink four poster where Wanda sat too, her lips moving.

The feed was live and the screen muted, both the toddlers’ eyes fluttering close slowly, on the bridge of sleep.

You handed the phone back to Steve and drank your water while he rubbed circles on the back of one of your hands. You never freaked out like you did right now, always collected and never giving into anxiety. What had happened to you?

Well, In your defense, you had never experienced a disaster either.

“The kids are safe; I’m never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

Your mind did catch the plural in his statement but you promised yourself you would not let it get that far and continued drinking your water, emptying the entire glass.

“The HD image you just saw was by cameras Tony recently developed. His technology is amazing, I’ll take you to his lab sometime.” You appreciated his attempt to redirect the topic but you also focused on how tech-savvy his friends were as well.

You hummed and agreed, trying to be ambiguous with your answer.

When you finished your dessert, you hoped he’d forget about his ‘friend’ Tony but to no avail.

“His penthouse is two floors above. He owns this hotel as well in case you didn’t notice.” He led you to the elevator as you recalled the Starks Group logo you saw earlier sometime.

Some AI named Jarvis opened the elevator doors for you in the living room of Tony’s penthouse. It was even more magnificent than the restaurant earlier, the place illuminated by several hues of different colours. Steve chuckled and strung you along, introducing you to a ginger-head named Pepper, who was Tony’s date earlier and went to search for his acquaintance.

She offered you wine but you politely declined, opting for water instead. She brought your glass to you from the extravagant kitchen and you both sat on the barstool there instead of the living room. Too anxious to say the wrong thing, you stayed quiet until her voice filled the deafening silence.

“So, Steve almost never brings dates around. You two serious?” She questioned, leaning towards you, waiting for some gossip, no doubt.

“Oh no! We aren’t dating. He just invited me for a friendly dinner. We merely met the other week.” You deliberately left out the part where there was bombing by crime families and attack on the common man.

“Honey, in the mob life, you don’t just introduce random people to the fam.”

Oh, she wasn’t being shy about the whole mob ordeal. It seemed weird to hear it from her, since you and Steve hadn’t used the word yet. Maybe he figured you already knew considering the circumstances you met in or how famous he was.

“We really aren’t romantically involved. This dinner was just a gesture of gratitude if I’m being truthful.”

She chuckled, as if you were a kid making stories and quizzed, “Gratitude for what?”

You trapped yourself into that one. You didn’t know how to answer her and your brain downright blanked. Surprisingly,, Steve came to your rescue and two voices interposed your conversation.

Steve called your name and as you turned to the men, he continued, “She’s the one who saved Sarah the other night. You know the story, Wilson probably got it printed.”

“Impressive, really. Hey, I’m Tony and I see you’ve already met Pepper, my fiancée.” He shook your hand and kissed your knuckles, much like Steve did earlier in the day. You bowed, smiled and mumbled a ‘nice to meet you as well’. They escorted you to the elevator and Tony continued.

“Well, it’s not everyday Steve brings brave and extraordinarily attractive women around. Welcome to the family, sweetie. She’s a keeper, Cap.” He winked while saying the last sentence and before you could correct him, Steve ushered you inside the elevator, bro-hugging him. As the doors closed, Pepper winked at you from behind Tony and a shudder ran through you.

Okay you had to make it clear, get on the same page.

As the elevator music filled the silence, you started, “Steve, look we aren’t-”, “I served in the army, that’s why Tony calls me Cap, short for captain.” And crudely got interrupted.

“I never wanted to get into the army, I thought people were fools to sacrifice the one life they got. But I went to make my mother’s dream a reality, I really loved her, you know? Sarah is named after her, my mother.”

His voice broke at the end and as much as you wanted to redirect onto your former topic, you couldn’t. This amiability of yours would be the death of you.

“She died alone in her bed; I was dispatched too far away to even make it back for her funeral.” He mumbled but you heard him clear as a sunny day, and he leaned back onto the wall for support while you awkwardly rubbed his shoulder to return the support he provided earlier during your mental breakdown.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself, taking deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, his eyes opened and he gave you a strained smile.

The car ride to his mansion was painfully silent, his mind too sidetracked to focus on harassing you again. With all that you went through today, you almost forgot about that.

His mansion was enormous, twenty guards stood outside and even more patrolled the lawn. He took you inside his house, the interior even more detailed and scenic than Tony’s temporary residence.

You just concentrated on swiftly getting Grace and Uber-ing back. As Steve showed you earlier, Grace and Sarah hugged and slept and it was a meticulous task to untangle their limbs without waking either of them up andnd get Grace with her back-pack. You thanked Wanda on the way out, hoping to avoid Steve but somehow he stood outside before you, leaning on his sleek black car. He opened the door for you before you could refuse the ride. You settled with Grace in the backseat itself, trying to be smart.

He just summoned one of his guards to drive and sat alongside you in the back. You didn’t let the annoyance at his clinginess show though. You just focused on Grace who drooled over your shoulder.

Hopefully, there won’t be any point of exposure to him ever again, your circles didn’t match, both social and professional. Your Venn diagrams didn’t overlap anywhere. This should be reason enough to avoid meeting ever again.

He didn’t try anything even this ride around. You doubted it was hardly because of the toddler or because of the driver. He did as he pleased, if he wanted to he could very well grope you. Luckily, he wasn't in the mood.

When you reached your dwelling, you stepped out hastily, thanking him in a whisper. You fumbled to get your keys out, but since everything you held slowed you down, he caught up with you without even trying.

He took and held Grace’s bag while you drew the keys out, Grace still on your hip. He handed you the bag back, “So this is it, I guess?”

“Yeah, tonight was a total delight. Thanks for the dinner and everything, really.” You put up your best façade, hoping to convince him.

“It was, thanks to you. The company matters the most.”

You awkwardly chuckled and you sensed him leaning in, his eyes flickering shut. Your eyes closed as you turned your head to avoid him, so that his lips would peck your cheek.

They never came.

Your eyes opened to find his and he chuckled, leaning in once again swiftly, catching you off guard this time. He didn’t meet your lips though, he kissed the corner of your mouth, lips overlapping for a fraction of skin.

“In due time, baby.” He stepped back and strolled to his car leisurely, content in his own world.

You opened your door and slammed it shut, the peck feeling wrong on so many levels. It felt more sensual than a lover’s kiss, leaving room for intimacy and longing.

Your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers an hour, the most absurd but nauseatingly true being, this was a date and it was not your last encounter.

Steve smirked outside in his car, the dinner an absolute success in his opinion. Tonight just made him feel that you both were more than compatible for each other. You needing him during your mental breakdown, him relaxing under your shy touch, Tony’s approval, not that important though, and your anxiety for Grace was the best part, because he, more often than he’d like to admit, fussed about Sarah the same way, agonizing and fretting her well being.

A text lit up his black screen and his grin widened even more if possible.

‘The Stark cameras are up and working, Sir.’

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dornish-queen · 4 years ago

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GQ MEXICO - PEDRO PASCAL 2021

It seems that Pedro Pascal is in all possible universes. Here and there. In the past, in the present, and in galaxies far, far away. Today, the actor is considered the great entertainment reference and one of those in charge of saving a franchise that seemed lost. Enough reasons to talk exclusively about discipline, gastronomy, creeds and how he traumatized his father in 30 seconds.

The RAE defines 'creed' as the set of ideas, principles or convictions of a person or a group. For example, by creed, one can leave his country and be in exile. It happens that one can leave the loved one behind. Or simply live in another reality. And also one can put on a helmet to pretend never to take it off again. If that is the path to follow, the creed says that it must be done with the profession of faith and without stopping to look. Turning the pages of the script for The Mandalorian , the Disney + series that revived passion and nostalgia for the Star Wars franchise , Pedro Pascal came across this definition in every dialogue and moment, and reflection carved his way.

More than two decades have passed since the Chilean-American, Pedro Pascal, began his acting career and today, named as the great reference of 2020 , he misses the theater and it still hurts him not to have the discipline to exercise and maintain a diet sana while acknowledging the irony of having the best year of her career in the midst of one of the worst in recent history. But even in physical solitude, the man who carried the best-selling Christmas baby rescues many positive things and shares his vision of the universes he has traveled through, his passion for distant galaxies and how to traumatize your family with a simple scene of TV. In an interview, the Mandalorian of Latinamerica.

IMDB named you the 2020 benchmark in entertainment, a year in which the world took refuge in fiction. How was living your best time locked up and what do you rescue on a human level from it?

The strength of family relationships and friendship. For them, we endure this physical loneliness. I do find it ironic that in 2020 I received projects so well received by the public, although they were carried out before the pandemic and their impact was during it, and that year I was isolated and alone. But I must emphasize that this loneliness is a privilege when many people had to continue working, surviving and maintaining the functioning of the world. We only had to be alone, but they more than that and you must value it too.

Among the activities you have missed, how much do you miss the theater?

Much indeed. It's something that I miss the most and being with people without being afraid. See a play and return to those experiences of being with people doing and living things in common. That is what I need most, in addition to my loved ones.

Disney fully entered streaming and its strong letter has your face, what do you think of the discussion of platforms against movie theaters?

There are incredible things in streaming and many people develop great projects that they did not have access to before. The diversity of voices is gaining ground and it is important to recognize that opportunities grow exponentially and boundaries change. It is incredible the availability that we have to very well made content and how creative people can share their work in different ways. But I also want to be honest: limiting the experience of watching content only on our gadgets or at home is a mistake that affects the stories we can tell. You have to achieve a mix of opportunities and challenges.

You jump between the fictional universes that mark the last decades until you reach the universe of universes. What is your first Star Wars memory and how do you summarize the essence of this legendary story?

For me, Star Wars is nostalgia itself. It is one of the primary things in my memory, of my childhood. I came to the United States with my Chilean family when I was less than two years old and one of my first memories is going to the movies with my dad to see the saga ; it becomes one of those romantic childhood things that opens your mind, so imagine how special it is to participate in this project. I think the creators of The Mandalorian perfectly understand this nostalgia and that power, and they managed to count on that element as a great ally for the world of Star Wars and I couldn't be happier to be part of it. (From which we expect the third season The Mandalorian)

The Mandalorian exploits the power and nuances of your voice, did you have that letter on your resume?

I didn't know I could do it, but I resorted to my theater preparation, which was very physical on all levels and feelings. There are elements that have to do with and that are essential to create a role, and they teach you that the voice is something primary, something you have to start with and you cannot hide. Now I have learned much more about the importance of that, and how to use it economically. The body also has to do with that, because something very subtle communicates something. In The Mandalorian , I had a great time figuring out how to do it, they gave me the opportunity to develop it in different ways. The opportunity to be very intense at it.

What happens to the ego when someone works under a suit and a mask?

In the conversations about the project, before doing it, we were communicated the idea and the concept of the entire season , so I clearly understood what it was. I wanted it to be the most powerful version of what they were trying to accomplish, so there was no point in involving my ego, you know? It was already very clear what the project meant, so I knew about the character , the piece that it represented for him and the opportunity that it was for me, so I was only focused on executing in a better way the part that touched me in everything this. In the theater, I worked several times under a mask and it helped me develop the experience.

It seems that The Mandalorian has a very theatrical base ...

Exactly, and thanks to the physical experience of working in theater, doing a play a few times a week, discovering how your body and your voice communicate , being part of a whole image, and how you will tell that story visually, I achieved this character. I never imagined that it would be something I would have to use on such an important Star Wars project .

On the list of entertainment greats, there are names like Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, do you think John Favreau should be added to the list?

I think your name is already included. Without a doubt, it is in that category and it is incredible. His vision fascinates me. I remember an episode in the second season , and I had some boots and I walked so much in the snow, it stuck to them. He figured it out, so he talked to the art department about the kind of boots you need when you're out in the snow. They approached me and gave me new ones that fulfilled the idea I was looking for. He noticed it in an instant. It is such a wonderful detail and it is repeated to scale in every session with him. He thinks of absolutely everything and his vision of the use of technology is admirable. He is someone who makes you feel motivated and always sees how to achieve the goal.

One of the reflections in the series is on how and under what circumstances a man can break his creed and way of life. What makes you break with your beliefs?

I think that you must follow your heart so as not to regret anything; Although sometimes it brings pain or conflict, deep down when you look back, everything is worth it because it was what you heard in your heart. I am very afraid to deny that feeling or not to attend to it. I am 45 years old now and I cannot believe I have a finer philosophy. Make it more disciplined. It's ridiculous, but I'm trying to accept that I am and it's all I can say, "follow your heart." Although, you know, I'm not on a good diet yet, I still have trouble sleeping or exercising.

Still good at Chilean empanadas?

Yes, I couldn't stop. And also how good that I do not live in Mexico City because I would only spend it eating. I could move my whole life to defe just to eat.

I want to deviate and ask you, with whom did you see the chapter of your death in Game of Thrones and what traumas did you cause in your family?

For me, no trauma. I separate myself well from the characters , although I fully understand that if I were a Game of Thrones audience and loved that character, it would make an incredible impression on me. Thank you that it was not. I had to interpret it and there was a model of my head to be crushed that way with the tubes and the fake blood, you know? Me lying there, with pieces of my meat, it was funny in the end. But not for my family. For them there is nothing funny but traumatic. My dad's voice changed completely when we saw the episode, he turned around and said: “I didn't like it, Pedro . No, Pedro , not this ”.

The media found similarities between your villain in Wonder Woman: 1984 and Donald Trump. When playing a character with characteristics like this, do you humanize him or do you understand him?

The project had nothing to do with the former president. They always told me that my character in Wonder Woman: 1984 was emotionally messy, and I took that and took that as far as possible. Instead of creating it with images or certain inspirations from life, it was more to work with what was on the page. Personally, what made sense to me is the size of the story that is being told and there is always more, and we all want more. Creatively, if this makes sense, that meant "blowing her out of the park." Connect a hit with the character and be committed to telling his story faithfully, in a way that was true to me. So all the exterior elements found their way.

What a way to start 2021 with the theme of the Capitol ... How do you perceive that moment?

I am not a politician and it is not that I do not have an opinion about this type of event; however, it is not necessary to state the obvious. My opinion would be very simple compared to that of a person who studied this, who knows how to act in these kinds of scenarios; I believe that I am next to the majority who experienced this, which is the logical result of what we have experienced during these years and we are all horrified . It was distressing to see this violence.

If you had the monolith in your hands, what would your wish be?

My wish would be… it's impossible, really (laughs). I think it is to be together again, with less fear and that people have the opportunity to connect.

What is your position on the reality that Chile has experienced in recent years and how has the relationship with your country been since exile?

It is something that I am developing and I continue to do in my life, trying to understand that it is my home. To be in Chile is to be at home, but my life has been very nomadic, living different things and having many influences; so it is strange, I do not feel with the title of a complete Chilean identity nor with an American one.

Neither here nor there?

In a sense, but I'm also completely both. My parents are Chilean , my brothers were born there before my parents traveled, and I came back sometimes because my family is very large; in fact, my parents came back. It has always been there, it continues to develop, and it will be a part of me. I don't know if it answers your question, but it has a lot to do with who I am.

What is your relationship with Latin American cinema? Are you interested?

Much, it has invaded me in life like American cinema. The movies that I carry in my heart, seeing something like Y tu mama was also something that changed me; I also love the work that comes out of Chile , and the only thing I can say is that it is a cinema that needs more access and projects.

Today you have a comedy with Nicolas Cage on the door, can you tell us something?

It's my first shot at comedy , as a complete story within the genre. Speaking of American influences , in the 80s I saw all the films where Nicolas Cage appeared , he came into my life and it's great to be his partner after seeing all his performances.

How is the relationship you have with the comedy genre?

I love it, I have done a lot of comedy in the theater, what happens is that in film and television issues , I was always part of drama castings . And in the cinema, you go where the doors open; Although I identify with one or the other, I think that being an actor , one goes and does what one has to do. Comedy is something unique, it is very challenging because it must be very real to be funny, you cannot hide or use normal tricks. I was very excited to have this challenge in front of a camera.

Finally, Pedro, after going through so many fictional worlds, literally, what do you dream about when you sleep?

I dream that my bathroom is dirty, that I haven't done my math homework, that the oven is on and all that stuff. Sure, there are times when I close my eyes and see myself in all these projects , although my conscience is with the anxieties of the day that you can imagine.

Without a doubt, Pedro Pascal is a particular type .

English Tranlation: Google Translate

SOURCE: GQ MEXICO

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #gq mexico #Articles

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sirthisisa-wendys · 4 years ago

Text

The Regular (part 3): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: for Geto, there’s no one but you. And he wants that to be the same for you, too. Why would you even want anyone else?

wc: 2.4K

tw: nsfw, nsfw, nsfw, please for the love of god dni if you’re minor. smut and more smut follows

a/n: There will be one last part for. wrap-up, but I literally have not written a single thing since before yesterday, so I’m writing today! Hope you all enjoy!

part 1 part 1.5 part 2

Your finger fidgeted with the edge of your skirt as you sat in Mrs. Lampton’s office, waiting for her freckled face to appear in your line of vision. The office is a direct reflection of who Mrs. Lampton is: dimly lit with orange lighting and vintage movie posters hang on the right side of the wall above a mini zen garden; on the left side, there are various pictures of her as a dancer, the newspaper headline announcing that she had bought the club, and then a picture that featured her and all of the dancers from years ago. On her desk, the club manager had collected various crystals, each one a different color than the rest, and finally, on the wall behind her desk, a sign that read “Complaints will be heard from the hours of 6 am to 3 pm”, which, coincidentally, were hours when the club wasn’t open.

She had called you in early to discuss something with you, but hadn’t shown her face at all since you walked in and plopped down on the cheap, orange vinyl seat. A moment later, the door to the office creaks open and Mrs. Lampton shuffles in, pushing her short red bangs away from her face. “Hey, y/n, thanks for coming in early for me. Just wanted to speak to you face to face before tonight.” She sounded exhausted, as if she had been dealing with other problems before she got to you.

“Am I in trouble?” you ask, lacing your fingers together nervously.

“Huh?” The woman looks over at you as she slides the chair out from behind her desk. She shrugs her denim jacket off, revealing the multi colored striped shirt beneath paired with light wash mom jeans. “Why would you think you’re in trouble? Have you done anything to be in trouble for?” She leans forward, placing her pale elbows on the desk and looking into your eyes.

“No, I--”

“Good. You’ve made yourself practically invaluable here and I wanted to make sure everything was going okay with you and Mr. Geto.” You think about the morning you spent with Suguru and the subsequent night you danced for him in the VIP room, which ended up being a makeout session towards the end.

“E-everything’s fine.”

“He’s treating you fairly?”

“Yes.”

“Not getting too ahead of himself is he?”

“Ahead of himself?”

“You know, trying to play savior or--”

“No, not at all.” In fact, he had insisted that you go back to the club that night and dance, even if it meant it was just you and him. He knew you liked the club; he was just there to make your experience happier.

“Great! Oh, also --” A drawer opens and Mrs. Lampton rummages around in it for a moment before pulling out a magazine. “Thought you would like to see this.” She slaps it down on the desk before turning to her computer and clicking around on it while you pick up the magazine. And there Suguru was, on page twenty-six, strolling alongside his blue-eyed friend - what was his name? Godo? Todo? Gego? Oh, Gogo. Right.

The headline reads: “Their Companies are Merging, but They’re Total Opposites”. Suguru is dressed for a business meeting in a pair of black slacks and black shirt, complimented by a silver tie. Gogo, on the other hand, is wearing a grey turtleneck sweater and black skinny jeans, also in mid-conversation about something. The caption reads: Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru have a lot in common: they’re handsome, inherited their wealth, and are very eligible bachelors. But what you don’t know is that they couldn’t be more -

“Why are you showing me this?” The magazine plops down on the desk again and Mrs. Lampton looks over from her screen.

“You need to know exactly who you’re entertaining. Geto’s family owns an international medical equipment giant, and his friend is literally the heir to the technology company Gautama.”

You bite your lip at this news, suddenly remembering the magnitude of the situation at hand. Again, Suguru wasn’t just rich, and people didn’t just get into his personal business because he was handsome. One day, he would be the heir to a massive fortune and a company that relied on the public’s approval to maintain its efficacy. One wrong move, and Suguru could lose it all. You need to handle this predicament with care, not with some kind of illusionary idea that he could be--

“I see. Thank you, Mrs. Lampton.” The club manager shifts in her seat, giving you a tender smile before sliding an envelope your way.

“And this came for you yesterday after you left.” Curious, you open the envelope, and look back up at Mrs. Lampton warily. “Do with it what you will.”

“I can’t accept this; this is-”

“Not my problem anymore. I’ll see you later, y/n.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“I can’t accept this.” You hand the envelope and it’s contents back to Suguru, and he frowns deeply, hand slowly reaching out to take the paper.

“What’s this?” He opens the envelope and takes out the check nestled inside, examining it carefully. “Oh, no.”

“I can’t accept money from your friend.”

“No, this isn’t right. Satoru would never…” Suguru shifts forward, trying to examine the check under the dim lighting of the room. “He would never do something like this. He’s an idiot, but he’s not a dumbass.”

“Why would he send me a check for twenty thousand dollars?”

“He wouldn’t.” Suguru folds the envelope in half, placing it in his pocket with finality. “I’ll deal with this, princess, don’t worry.” He places a tender kiss to your forehead, peppering your face with pecks until his lips reach yours. You moan into his mouth and slide your hands up to his, which are holding your face, and open your mouth to deepen the kiss automatically. Your tongues tangle between each other, dancing in the space made by your interlocked lips. When Suguru pulls away, you groan, leaning your head back with displeasure.

“I want you tonight,” you whisper, and Suguru laughs, nipping at your lower lip.

“You needn’t say another word.”

_______________________________________________________________________

A long-sleeved kimono.

A pair of men’s pants.

A silk camisole and matching shorts.

A grey shirt.

All of them have been scattered across the room leading up to the four poster bed you’ve been politely deposited on. And the man between your legs is starving.

He’s putting his hair up in a bun with a hair band, shirtless, while his muscles move methodically. And you’re lying before him, a spread of deliciousness waiting to be devoured by someone who has been deprived of your taste for too long.

Once Suguru’s hair is no longer an issue, he slides his fingers between your legs, catching the slim digits on your core. You suck in a sharp breath as he begins rubbing your clit, relishing in the gentle touches he lavishes upon you. “Talk to me.”

“That feels good,” you immediately respond to his command, fluttering your eyes closed. Suguru hums, the answer satisfying him enough that he slips a finger inside of you. You arch your back, pushing your cunt into his palm eagerly and mewling just a little.

“That’s it…” His free hand comes up to snake around the back of your neck and his lips come down to latch onto your right nipple. The hand on your neck slides down to tweak your other nipple as he pulls and sucks with his mouth eagerly, and you buck into his hand again as he tucks another finger inside of you, fully tethering you to his movements.

“S-Suguru,” you breathe, and his eyes lift to meet yours, focusing on your blissed-out expression. The wine you tossed back before you both began your little tryst wasn’t doing you any favors, and your head swam at the lust-filled expression Suguru wore. Your nipple pops free from his lips and he blinks slowly, tilting his head like he always does when he’s about to ask you a question.

“Has anyone else made you feel like this?” he wonders above you, and you look up to him, eyes half-lidded.

“No.”

“Can anyone else make you feel like this?”

“No… no one else can.” Your response to his stance of absolute ownership obviously pleases him as he snakes kisses down your stomach and flicks your clit with his tongue, fingers still nestled deep inside of you. “Su!” Instinctively you grab his hair, lacing your fingers through the strands as you push his face closer to your core. Suguru grains with pleasure, removing his fingers and diving head first into you without another word; his slick-covered hand pushes your right leg up, and the other hand rests on your hip lazily.

But his tongue is anything but lazy as he eagerly attacks your slit, reminding you just how hungry he really is. When his other hand moves off of your hip and to the outline of his cock in his boxers, you want to help him palm his erection, wind your fingers around his length and tug, but you’re too far away. The solution comes moments later.

“Su,” you begin, huffing as he continues to eat you out, but looks up to meet your eyes. “I want… I want to sit on your face.” His eyebrows shoot up at the request, and the black haired man pulls away from your core and kisses up your right leg before sitting up on his knees.

“Then switch with me.”

The command is yet again met with no resistance, and once Suguru settles in on his back, you carefully swing your leg over his shoulders, lowering yourself onto his face. Large hands rest on your ass cheeks as he resumes his feast, and your tiny hands find his cock, snaking beneath the waistband of his boxers with ease.

When you first touch his member, he jolts a little then moans directly into your pussy. You never really noticed just how thick he was until that moment, sliding the offending fabric down until his cock is right in front of your face. You stroke it - fingers not even close to meeting around his thickness - and lick the tip with care then lower your whole mouth down his length.

“Oh, my god,” Suguru moans, the sound muffled by your thighs so it sounds more like a breathy “uhhmahgah” than anything else. You begin to bob your head and build a rhythm to your sucking, rarely stopping for air. You know you’re doing a good job when Suguru’s fingers on your ass tighten and his tongue stutters as you slowly build his orgasm. In the dim lighting of your usual, beautiful hotel room, you hope that no one can see you or Suguru pleasuring each other with abandon. That would make a very interesting headline.

“Ah!” Suguru flips you over with a push which lands you on your back, head facing the footboard. He climbs over top of you, eyes still focused on your face, and lifts your legs back up, pushing your knees to your chest.

“You were doing your job a little too well down there,” he hisses, lining himself up with your dripping core. You laugh for a second before he anchors himself with the backs of your knees and slowly sinks into you, hissing as he sheaths himself completely within your walls. Missionary… he loves it, and you do too, especially when he leans forward and presses his chest against your weak thighs. He can watch your face as he moves within you, and it’s the very fact that he’s the cause of your immense pleasure that spurs him on to a mind-bending orgasm. But you want something different… something new.

“Wait,” you breathe, and Suguru looks up at you with curiosity. “We should… try something new.” Your mind flips through the endless pages of the Cosmopolitan rags in the dressing room, and you settle on something you’d seen just before your second day at the club. You lift one leg up precariously, and Suguru instantly catches on to your imagined position, turning you on your side. While snatching a pillow from behind him, he tucks your lifted leg over his shoulder and places the pillow under your back, where it supports you from falling over.

“Fuck yes, that’s amazing,” you whine. He slides back into you with ease, holding your leg as he fucks you senseless.

“Oh, yeah…” His groans mixed with your mewls of ecstasy fill the room, making a sweet symphony of noise for the neighbors (or someone above you) to hear. Skin slapping, grunts, rough touches and tender caresses - everything you’ve grown to anticipate and desire from this man who has absolutely bewitched and been bewitched by you - are present right now. Nothing could take you out of this dream turned reality. “Y/n… this is heaven.”

The admission from the man is accompanied by a stare that reaches down to your soul, and your hand flies to your clit. You want to make yourself cum and fast. He’s saying all the right things… doing all of the right moves, and you --

“I can’t let anyone else have you.”

“Su--” you choke out, hoping that he would hear your pleas beyond his pleasure. “Su, I--”

“Don’t need… t’say... a word,” he grunts. “I already... know.” He gets faster and deeper, stretching you past what you thought you could take and bringing you even closer to orgasm than you thought possible. “Just cum... Cum for me... That’s all I want.”

Your fingers are working just like Suguru is, not pausing for even a second to give you any sense of reprieve. He litters kisses along your ankle and down your calf, all the while fucking your brains out. His hands knock your fingers away and do what only he can do, rubbing your clit better and faster than you can.

“Please… cum for me, princess.” Hot air drags into your throat and you exhale in what sounds like a dying woman’s groan, clutching at the sheets with all of your strength. Your walls spasm around his cock, and a wetness drenches your lower legs, sliding down onto the red fabric beneath you.

“You’re so perfect,” Suguru whispers, closing his eyes. “You’re such a good girl… cumming all over me like that; god, I’m gonna--” His breath hitches in his throat as he unloads in you, his cock throbbing angrily as it deposits loads of cum inside of you. He shudders long and hard, practically hunched over your figure while you recover, panting deeply.

A haze settles nicely over you while Suguru adjusts himself carefully and softly smooths a hand over your sweaty face.

“Do you want to go again or should we call for new sheets?”

“Again,” you answer definitively, and he smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your cheek and murmuring,

“I love it when you say that.”

#geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader #getou suguru #getou smut #jjk smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yes #gojo is being messy #but you'll see why at the end #i swear i won't leave y'all hanging #im doing too much #doing too much

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uomo-accattivante · 3 years ago

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Great article about Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter - a poker movie that’s not really a poker movie...

Some filmmakers write a hit movie and spend the ensuing years trying to escape its shadow. Paul Schrader never flinched. Forty-five years after his “Taxi Driver” script put him on the map, the writer-director has developed a body of work loaded with alienated anti-heroes compelled to violent and reckless extremes for the sake of a higher calling.

That includes “The Card Counter,” in which Oscar Isaac plays guilt-stricken Abu Ghraib vet William Tell, a man with a gambling addiction compelled to help the revenge-seeking son (Tye Sheridan) of a former colleague. Taking justice into his own hands, Isaac’s William Tell slithers through the Vegas strip in search of questionable salvation, not unlike a certain Vietnam vet named Travis Bickle did from the driver’s seat. As if to cement the comparisons, “The Card Counter” features Martin Scorsese as an executive producer, marking the first time the two men share a credit since 1999’s “Bringing Out the Dead.”

For Schrader, “Taxi Driver” comparisons are inevitable in all his work. “My tendency is to look for interesting occupational metaphors,” Schrader said in a recent interview. “‘Taxi Driver’ hit the bull’s eye of the zeitgeist and it doesn’t die. There’s no way I could’ve planned for that, but it does inform the stories I tell.”

At 75, Schrader continues to churn out movies much like his compatriot Scorsese, albeit on a much smaller scale. “The Card Counter” is the latest illustration of the secularized Christian dogma percolating through his work. “Our society doesn’t like to take responsibility for anything,” he said. “But I come from a culture where you’re responsible for everything. You come into the world soaked with guilt and you just get guiltier.” In his own prickly fashion, Schrader makes movies steeped in empathy for lost souls in search of redemption despite the daunting odds. “We’re all certainly capable of forgiveness,” he said, and chuckled. “Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

The “Taxi Driver” dilemma looms large in nearly all of Schrader’s work, from the dazzling high-stakes activism of “Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters” all the way through Ethan Hawke’s eco-conscious priest in “First Reformed.” While the latter, Oscar-nominated effort brought Schrader new fans, “The Card Counter” is an even more precise distillation of his aesthetic — a moody, philosophical drama about the vanity of the personal crusade.

Schrader, who has labeled his homegrown character studies as “man in the room” dramas, embraces the parallels as usual. “There is this kind of myth that the taxi driver was this friendly, joking kind of guy who was a character actor in movies,” he said. “But the reality is that it’s a very lonely job, and you’re trapped in a box for 60 hours a week.” He saw the same logic with gambling, a wayward profession generally depicted in the movies in the context of escapist romps, rather than the somber rituals that afflict most players. “I thought about the essence of playing cards every day, or sitting in front of a slot machine. It’s kind of zombie-like,” Schrader said. “You see commercials of people in casinos laughing. But it’s a pretty glum place. Today with slots you don’t even have to pull the lever. You just sit there and let the numbers roll.”

The gambling figure led Schrader to the bigger picture of his character’s conundrum. “I was wondering why someone would choose to live in that sort of purgatory,” he said. “He doesn’t want to be alive, but he can’t really be dead, either. What could cause that? It can’t be a simple crime, murder, or a family dispute. It has to be something unforgivable. And that was Abu Ghraib.”

After the fallout of that debacle, William did time in a military prison, and reenters society before the movie begins. That was a world the filmmaker wanted to understand in clearer terms. Though Schrader has received blowback for his controversial Facebook posts in the past, in this case, the platform was an asset: He used it to track down soldiers who had done time in the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth, the only military prison in the U.S., to better understand the initial claustrophobic world that Tell endures, as well as the conflict between the justice he’s received and what he deserves. “This man has been punished by his government, set free, and paid his due, but he doesn’t feel that,” Schrader said. “What does he do then? How does he fill his time? That’s how it all began.”

Schrader himself toyed with gambling when he lived in Los Angeles early in his career, but soon gave it up. “I very quickly realized I was only interested in gambling if it was really dangerous and I didn’t want to expose myself to that kind of danger,” he said. Years later, though, the experience helped inform his story. “There is this whole fantasy of gambling movies from ‘The Cincinnati Kid’ to ‘California Split,’” Schrader said. “But poker is all about waiting. People will play 10 to 12 hours a day and two to three times a day, a hand will happen where two players both have chips. Now you’ve got a face-off. But that doesn’t happen very often. Most guys who are there are running the numbers, the probability.”

He envisioned “The Card Counter” as a repudiation of the traditional poker movie, which builds to the giddy release of a final tournament. When that moment arrives in the movie, Schrader takes the movie in a bleak, shocking new direction. “It’s not really a poker movie — that’s a red herring,” he said.

William is immersed in his casino journey when he encounters Cirk (Sheridan), the crazy-eyed son of another Abu Ghraib soldier who committed suicide. Cirk blames the soldiers’ former commander (Willem Dafoe), and hopes to loop William into the plan. Instead, the older man decides to take Cirk under his wing to talk him out of the act, which doesn’t prove so easy. In the process, the gambler forms a curious bond with La Linda (Tiffany Haddish), a gambling agent and pimp whose icy, relentless drive to make the most out of the poker circuit brings William some measure of companionship on his wayward journey.

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It should come as no surprise that the “Girls Trip” breakout is nearly unrecognizable in the role of the calculated La Linda, which is also a distinctly Schraderish touch: From his work with Richard Pryor in 1978’s “Blue Collar” all the way through Cedric the Entertainer’s supporting turn in “First Reformed,” Schrader has made a habit of seeking out comedic actors willing to play against type. That’s partly opportunistic on his part. “They’re eager to do it because they want to expand their palette, so you can get them for a price,” Schrader said, chuckling again. “That’s necessary, given the kind of films I make.” But that’s not all: “They will always find a way to be interesting, even when they’re not getting a laugh.”

Which is not to say that the process comes easily to them. Haddish recently told the New York Times that Schrader had to coach her out of speaking in a comedic sing-song. The filmmaker put it in blunter terms. “On the first reading of the script we had, frankly, she wasn’t very good,” he said. “I told her to go back and read every single line without emotion. Then I said, ‘You’re not going to do that in front of the camera, but you can’t hit every line either. So let’s pick five or six lines you can hit where you get a smile or reaction.’ Quickly she got that it was a different rhythm.”

As for Isaac, whose disquieting turn suggests a maniac lingering just beneath the surface, Schrader once again turned to metaphor. “I told him to imagine himself on a rocky coast in the ocean,” Schrader said. “Waves are going to come up and get you all day every day. They’re going to try to batter you. Let them. The waves will go away. You’ll still be there. Don’t compete. In the end, the rocks will win. You have to learn to trust that the way these things are put together has more power than the individual movement.”

William’s routine includes an odd ritual in which he covers all the furniture in his various Vegas hotel rooms with white paper. While the motivation is never explained, Schrader said it stemmed from an experience with production designer Ferdinando Scarfiotti on the set of 1982’s “Cat People,” when Schrader realized the man was doing the same thing. “He said, quite simply, ‘I have to live here surrounded by these ugly hotel furnishings,’” Schrader recalled. The concept inspired the new movie’s most compelling visual motif. “Casinos are very ugly places. There are no exceptions,” Schrader said. “Often you aspire to finding pockets of beauty and there weren’t really any here except the only place he could control, which was his hotel rooms, where he could privatize his visions. I came up with this ritual for him to control those visuals.”

At a certain point, Schrader himself couldn’t control the visuals of “The Card Counter” for more prosaic reasons: After an extra tested positive for COVID-19, the production shut down last March, with five days of shooting left, and couldn’t resume until July. Though Schrader initially took to Facebook to fume at his producers, the pause eventually opened up an opportunity to tweak his vision. “I edited the film and put in placeholders for the five or six scenes of consequence that I hadn’t shot,” he said. “I didn’t have a fully finished film but I could screen it for people. Normally you only get that privilege if you have a big-budget film and you’re allowed reshoots.” The early audience included Scorsese, who provided a crucial note. “I asked Marty, ‘What am I missing?’ He said to me that the relationship with Tiffany and Oscar was too thin. So I rewrote those scenes.”

Schrader asked Scorsese to take on the executive producer credit as a favor. “I said, ‘Marty, wouldn’t it be nice to share a card again? I thought it would help sell the film but it would also be a cool thing to do after all these years,’” Schrader said. “Then a couple of weeks later his agent called wanting to work out a deal. What deal? I asked Marty and he said yes. That’s the deal!” Now, the pair are trying to collaborate on a new long-form TV series based on the Bible, though the timing has been delayed by production on Scorsese’s upcoming “Killers of the Flower Moon.”

In the meantime, Schrader has been mulling over the way “Taxi Driver” not only continues to inform his storytelling but the world at large. “Hardly a week goes by that I don’t notice or hear some reference to it,” he said. “But I don’t know how you’d tell such a story today. A number of writers have tried and I don’t think they’ve succeeded because it has to come out of a certain place and time. We have plenty of these incels around, but they’re not as original or revealing as they were 45 years ago when that character came on the scene. I wouldn’t know how to write about it.”

Instead, his next project is a love triangle called “Master Gardener,” which he hopes to shoot in Louisiana before the end of the year. He has several other potential scripts ready to go after that. And while he has expressed trepidation about the future of cinema in the past, he’s not convinced that audiences have given up on it yet. He recalled a conversation he had with Cedric the Entertainer when “First Reformed” made the rounds. “He said off-handedly to me, ‘You know, I didn’t realize there were so many people who liked serious movies,’” Schrader said, and chuckled once more. “Well, yeah, there are.”

“The Card Counter” premieres next week at the Venice Film Festival. Focus Features releases on September 10, 2021.

###

#oscar isaac #the card counter #paul schrader #martin scorsese #tiffany haddish #tye sheridan #willem dafoe #taxi driver #master gardener #indiewire

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gold3nfics · 3 years ago

Text

Anachronism {Chapter Two}

Author's note: I feel like this chapter is kind of short but, as promised Y/N has made an appearance.

[Also, can we talk about Jungkook's live??? Are y'all still recovering from it? Because I am and will be for a while lol]

Word Count: 2,532

They all made direct contact with the ground underneath them, drawing out groans and grunts of pain among them.

“Did the book say anything about the portal giving us a concussion?” Yoongi asks while slowly getting up from the hard ground.

Namjoon sighs at his dry comment and slowly moves to help Jungkook stand up. Once the other’s vision becomes clearer and less blurry, they take in what is around them.

“Where are we?” Jungkook asks, noticing the open area around them.

It appeared that they were standing in what could have been an open field if it wasn't for a large part of it that lacked grass and was black. Hoseok stepped forward and kneeled in front of the dark spot and touched it.

“It seems that there had been a fire,” he said, rubbing the dried and burnt remains of the field between his fingers, “that’s unfortunate. This looks like it could have been a wonderful place to see.”

Yoongi furrows his brows, “Which way do we even go? The portal was supposed to bring us to who we are looking for, but all I am seeing is nature. Or, well, what is left of it.” The boys glance around trying to see if they can find anything similar to a path, but once they do they all notice a light coming from the inside of their left hands.

Jimin looks down at his hand, “Please tell me your marks are also glowing, or else I am going to freak out.”

The boys say nod in response; Namjoon decides to walk forward, but then the light ceases. Furrowing his brows, he steps back and turns his body to the left, causing the mark to glow slightly again.

“It’s like a compass,” he states with amazement evident in his tone and looks up at the others, “we will just walk in a certain direction and if it keeps glowing, then we are on the right path to finding them.”

The boys nod in understanding and all begin to walk together down the field. Their marks eventually lead them to a road that goes in the direction of a small town up ahead of them. The boys abandon looking at their marks to take a good look at the town in front of them. It is still pretty early in the morning so really, the only people out and about are older individuals.

Once they are walking on the sidewalks of the town, they notice the people there looking at them weirdly, “Why are they looking at us like that?” Jungkook asks.

Jin chuckles, “Look down, our clothing doesn’t exactly fit in. So of course they would be looking at us weirdly.”

“Well, we will just need to find new clothes then, won’t we?” Taehyung smirks and sprints off into a small shop he had been eyeing with the boys following behind him.

“Wait! Taehyung! Don’t run so fast!” Hoseok yells after him.

Once they arrive at the store, they find Taehyung speaking with an older man at the counter.

“Sir, we just need some clothes because in case you haven’t noticed,” Taehyung gestures towards his body, “ours are not suitable.”

The man sighs in frustration, “I told you before and I will tell you again.” he crosses his arms, “If you have no money, you may not have anything from here.”

“But we-” Yoongi steps in and cuts Taehyung off

“We are very sorry sir. Please excuse my friend’s behavior,” The man moves his gaze to meet Yoongi whose pupils narrow in on him, “we are new to town and would really just like to keep a low profile.”

The man stills, “I am sure you understand, right?”

“I do. You know what? It is fine. I suppose you boys getting what you need won’t be any trouble. We get plenty of business on the weekends so we will not be hurting much.” The man smiles warmly and turns to walk to the back of the store.

The boys all look at Yoongi confused, “How did you do that? I tried explaining the same thing, but he looked like he was close to smacking me.” Taehyung says.

“Yeah, you’re usually not good with people; let alone convincing them.” Hoseok states. Yoongi shakes his head, “I don’t know, something just came over me. It was like I was speaking to him, but I was also in his mind controlling the conversation.”

“Are you serious?!” Jungkook exclaims, “Yoongi, that's your power.”

The boys look at the youngest, “Mind control. Remember? Ara said that we all have certain abilities and that we would have to find them on our own; mind control is yours Yoongi.”

“Okay well we can discuss powers later,” Namjoon speaks up and moves towards one of the full racks of clothing, “for now just get the things you need so we can get a move on.”

***

“You know,” Jin says before taking a sip of his water and grabbing a fry, “this place may not have the nicest people or the prettiest views, but their food is pretty alright.” the others make sounds and nod in agreement.

After they had changed their clothing and also gathered a few other minor things from the store, Namjoon decided that they should find a place to eat, mostly because he was hungry, but also to sit down and put together a plan.

Namjoon cleared his throat before speaking, “So once we find who it is we are looking for; how should we approach the situation? Does anyone have any ideas?” Jungkook looks at him, “What do you mean?”

Namjoon sighs tiredly, “Well we can’t just go up to them and say ‘Hi, we are from a different realm, and you are bonded to each of us, but that’s a mistake so now you need to come with us so we can save our people.’ ”

Jungkook smiles, “I mean, I'd be down if someone said that to me.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and sips his drink, “Wasn’t that the same attitude that got you mugged after that girl told you to follow her?”

The others laughed loudly as Jungkook’s cheeks blushed slightly due to embarrassment,

“It wasn’t my fault!” he defended, “She was really cute and I hadn’t even kissed anyone yet at that age.”

Jimin smirked, “At that age? Wasn’t that a few months ago?” Jungkook sent a hard glare Jimin’s way as the others' laughter only increased.

After they had calmed down, Jin looked at Namjoon and shrugs, “If you want my opinion, I think we should just try to sit down with them and explain the situation. I mean we all have the marks and Hanuel’s book as proof, so I don’t think they would have a hard time believing us.”

“Yeah, and if our marks glow when we are near them; I would think that theirs would too. If I didn’t know anything about the circle and saw my hand glowing, I would want answers.” Hoseok adds while observing the people around him.

Namjoon nods in agreement and understanding, “Alright then we will do that, I just hope everything works.”

“It will,” Jungkook smiles and says while reaching for his water, “don’t worry.”

***

After the boys had finished eating, they resumed their search. Their marks had led them in front of what appeared to be a flower shop in a quieter part of town.

As they entered the shop, they couldn’t help but recognize a warm feeling come over their bodies. They all passed it off as being due to the indoor heating, but they knew individually that it was because of something else.

A petite and kind-looking elderly woman had noticed them from behind the counter, “Hello!” she announced with a sweet smile on her face while making her way towards them, “Can I help you boys with anything?”

Jin looks at her and smiles, “Oh no, we are just-”

“Let me guess, you boys are looking for flowers to give to your girlfriends, right?”

Yoongi looks at her shocked and attempts to correct her, “Oh no! You see we are just here looking for-”

“Follow me fellas,” the woman laughs while grabbing Yoongi, Jin, and Hoseok’s arms and leads them away from the others, “in my experience, no men ever come into my shop unless they need flowers as an apology or gift. We actually have some really nice bouquets over here, and they are on sale too!”

Namjoon, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin all stand there trying to process what just happened,

“Okay, I guess it is just us for right now.” Namjoon looks at the young trio, “You guys try to look on this level of the shop to find them, I’ll look on the second level. Oh! And try not to allow people to see your marks, okay?” The three nod and break off into different directions.

Namjoon makes his way towards the stairs on his left to begin his search. As he is walking up the stairs he looks down at his satchel, that he got from the store, and reaches inside of it to make sure Hanuel’s book is still there. Just as he realizes the book is safe and looks up, he comes face to face with a rather large bouquet of daisies and sunflowers; as well as crashing into the person holding the bouquet. Namjoon is quick to grasp his hands around the person's waist to steady them as well as himself.

“I am so sorry! Are you alright? I was looking at the flowers in this bouquet and I wasn’t watching where I was going.” the person says very fast and worriedly.

However, Namjoon wasn’t making any effort to say anything, mostly because he felt as if he couldn’t form any words. It was as if everything around the both of them had blurred and become silent, and everything that had previously stressed his mind had diminished.

The only thing that was on his mind now, was her.

The slight warmth that he had experienced upon entering the shop was nothing compared to what he felt now. His body had indeed grown warmer, but his heartbeat had increased and everything felt fuzzy. It also didn’t help with how close they were with his hands on her waist, and her left hand holding his shoulder to keep her stable.

The girl in front of him had grown shy and blushed in embarrassment once she realized where her hand was. She went to move away and step back, but was stopped due to the attractive man in front of her not releasing his gentle hold on her waist. Namjoon snapped out his daze once he noticed her moving to step back,

“Oh no! It’s alright, sorry about that. I am pretty clumsy myself and just hope I didn’t hurt you.” Namjoon laughs nervously while rubbing the back of his neck. The young woman looks at him with bright and endearing eyes, and lets out a light laugh; one that causes Namjoon to perk up and smile fondly at.

“Don’t you worry, I’m just glad I had you catch me.” she takes a step down to stand on the same stair as Namjoon, “Usually, I just end up falling and hoping for the best, and that no one saw me.” Namjoon chuckles at that statement.

“Well, I am glad that I could be of help…” he pauses waiting for her to inform him of her name,

“Oh!” she lowers the bouquet she is holding, revealing a small name tag, “Y/N, my name is Y/N. And you are?”

“Namjoon, nice to meet you.” Namjoon smiles, which Y/N returns back.

“Well, I’ll see you around Namjoon.” she begins to descend down the stairs but Namjoon stops her,

“Wait!” Y/N stops and turns around, cute confusion evident on her face, “Do you need any help? My friends are looking around the store, and I am not looking to buy anything, so it is really no bother for me to help you.”

Y/N shakes her head, “Oh, no I couldn’t ask a customer to do that. It’s okay really-”

“You’re not the one asking, I am.” Namjoon cuts her off and walks down to stand next to her.

Y/N looks up at him with eyes that appear as if she is analyzing his own, Namjoon finds that he just can’t help staring into them, “Okay, I suppose I could use the help since my coworker is on his break; follow me!” and that is exactly what Namjoon does.

As he is walking behind her silently, he takes the time to look over her. He takes in the overalls and oversized shirt she is wearing, her hair that is half up and out of her face, and also her attractive physique from the back; but Namjoon would never admit that part.

He also notices the little specks and smudges of dirt scattered on her clothing and arms. This made him smile at the thought of her clumsily repotting plants.

How cute. Namjoon smiles; his admiring is stopped however as they approach a small room and the woman in front of him turns around and places the bouquet on a table beside her. He looks at her with slight confusion, and she smiles, “You strong?” she asks with a slight smirk while putting her hands on her hips.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow at her question, “Maybe, it depends on the job.”

“Think you can help me move those bags of soil out of that room, to right here?” Namjoon smiles,

“Sure, think you can keep up?” he asks while rolling up his sleeves and moving into the storage type room,

“I don’t know, I am quite the skilled dirt mover.” Y/N responds and laughs as she goes to remove her gloves.

Namjoon stills once he sees Y/N reaching for her gloves, suddenly reminded of why he was here. He takes a quick glance at his mark and notices it is glowing brightly.

Wait a second, shit hold on wait- Namjoon’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp gasp from Y/N,

“What the hell is this?!” She exclaims loudly while staring at her hand trying to rub it, thinking that it is some hallucination.

Namjoon quickly moves towards her and gently grabs her hand to comfort her, “Hey, it’s okay! You don’t need to freak out, I have it too, see.” he raises his hand showing Y/N the same glowing mark that she had.

Y/N’s eyes widen and Namjoon can see the fear and confusion in her eyes, so he goes to tell her that it’s okay and that she should take a seat; however, his actions were interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

Both Y/N and Namjoon look towards the doorway and see three other men, all of which are holding little succulents and have dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

If they had something important to say, they had definitely forgotten what it was once their gaze had set on Y/N.

“Hey guys,” Namjoon clears his throat and moves away from Y/N awkwardly, “this is Y/N.”

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #ot7 x reader #au #bangtan ot7

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Note

all those sleep prompts are so killer and such big jon vibes!!! i would love to read anything on "- a character who refuses to share a sleeping space with anyone else, and it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb others/doesn’t want pity/is ashamed of his nightmares" with jon. bonus points if tim is involved and extra bonus points if tim also has experience with insomnia/nightmares, either himself or used to taking care of someone in his life with those issues...

Hey there! Here I am, finally writing the promised Jon/Tim that I should have written ages ago. Feels good to be on this train! I’ve placed this in pre-canon, when Jon and Tim are researchers and have just started dating. Hope you like!

“That was...really nice, Tim. Thank you.”

“Thank you? Jon, we split the check,” Tim throws an arm around his shoulder and it’s heavy and warm in all the right ways. “You know my policy on that. The person who asks you out pays the bill! Ergo, me.”

“I know, I know,” Jon relents under the pressure and burrows into Tim’s side. The wine’s gone to his head, he’s sure of it. Shouldn’t have had those three glasses. But the waiter was so attentive and Tim’s smile was infectious so he couldn’t help but say yes, of course, thank you, to every pour. “I just...I really enjoyed myself, is all.”

“I did too,” Tim’s voice goes to that soft, fond register he’s only just started using with Jon. Before it had been all gregarious charm, winks and nudges that he used interchangeably with friends and acquaintances alike. When Tim first asked him out, Jon thought he was joking; he rolled his eyes and went back to work, ignoring Tim’s look of hurt. Jon was used to practical jokes of this nature- he’s not exactly an attractive prospective partner, and several people have implied he was more trouble than he was worth. But a week later, on their usual coffee run, Tim offered to buy him dinner, his voice serious and shy and utterly unlike him. The look in his eyes was genuine and Jon had to say yes; who could refuse him, in the face of such sincerity?

It’s been a month and they’ve fallen into a sort of routine. Every week is a new spot- Tim’s a bit of a foodie, and he overheard him making a list of places with Sasha. It took up an entire page in his notebook, and Jon wonders if Tim will get sick of him before they finish it.

He stumbles on the sidewalk and Tim catches him with a steady hand on his waist. The cold air should be bracing but it is not; his dizziness increases two times over and it’s a long journey home. Tim knows this, which must lead to his next suggestion.

“You can spend the night at mine,” he says, voice purposefully light. Jon freezes. They hadn’t broached the topic yet, but he thinks Tim has some sort of idea. Rumors abound in research, after all. Tim must notice his nervousness because he stops walking, turning to face Jon with that same unbearable sincerity.

“Nothing untoward, I promise,” Tim says, and Jon believes him. Tim hasn’t lied to him yet. “I just don’t feel comfortable putting you on the tube, and you’re a long way from home while I’m right around the corner.” Jon still doesn’t respond, so Tim continues. “No pressure, honestly. I could call you a cab, it’s not a big deal-”

“No, that’s-that’s too expensive.” Living in London is hard enough, especially on a researcher’s salary. But to spend the night at Tim’s, as innocent as it may be, fills him with dread. There’s a reason he lives alone. There’s a reason it took him almost a year before he stayed the night at Georgie’s.

Sleep has never been kind to him.

Jon has nightmares. Terrible, horrifying visions of make-believe that leave him screaming and crying and choking on his breath. Georgie had been about ready to call an ambulance the first time she witnessed it, but Jon was able to talk her down.

“These happen every night?” she’d asked, her face a mix of pity and concern.

“Not every night,” he insisted. It was true. If he stayed up late, working himself to exhaustion, he could usually manage a dreamless sleep of at least five hours. But that came with its own difficulties; crankiness, irritability. It put a strain on most of his relationships.

Tim, though- Tim is kind and understanding. Beneath the mask of sociability and flirtation lies a serious, determined person. Compassionate, loving, but in a quiet way and with small gestures. He makes lists. He puts in time. He asks Jon what he wants when they go out to eat and he doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes when Jon carries on for too long.

“We can go to your place,” he whispers. “I-I think I’d like that.” Tim smiles and hooks an arm through his and Jon knows he’s made the right decision. Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe the wine will dull the terror that rules most of his life. The night is dark and Jon’s flat is cold and lonely.

Tim’s flat, on the other hand, is warm and cozy. It’s neat and organized, but cluttered enough to give it personality and charm. There’s a couch calling his name and he answers it, practically collapsing in the cushions as Tim lets out a little laugh.

“No going to sleep yet,” he instructs and Jon can’t help but let out a groan. The warmth and safety of the spot and the closeness of Tim has suddenly made him comfortably tired, and he’d like to slip off to sleep in this pleasant haze. “Not until you’ve had some food and water. I’ve even got those crusty little granola bars you like so much.”

“They’re not crusty,” he grumbles, his voice stifled by a pillow. But he’s not in a fighting mood and his mind’s currently swimming with the fact that Tim stocked his favorite snack.

“Very crusty, indeed,” Tim’s nudging him up into a sitting position and forcing water into his hands. “Drink up!”

“You’re very irritating, I hope you know,” Jon says as he leans his head onto Tim’s shoulder. Tim makes for a comfortable pillow.

“Aw, you love it.”

Maybe he does.

By the time he’s choked down the last of the bar, his eyes are fluttering and he can’t keep in his yawns. Tim puts a warm hand on his arm and it burns pleasantly as he pulls him up. “Time for bed, I think.”

The words startle Jon out of his haze and he blinks his eyes open, focusing on Tim’s gentle smile. “Er, I think-” he doesn’t want to disappoint the man, but he would rather be as cautious as possible. “I think it would be best if I slept out here.”

“On the couch?” Tim asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh- would you rather sleep alone?” Tim doesn’t seem too miffed about it, just confused, so Jon answers as honestly as he can.

“Yes.” He doesn’t want to, not really. But he needs to.

“Alright,” Tim agrees easily enough. “But you should take the bed, then. The sofa’s comfy but I know you have a bad back-”

“It’s fine for one night,” Jon responds. Forcing Tim to sleep on the sofa in his own flat seems terribly selfish.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Jon assures, trying to convey his affection in a gentle smile. Tim returns it.

“I’ll just get you some sheets, then. Change of clothes, too.”

By the time Jon’s head hits the pillow, comfortably attired in Tim’s old joggers and t-shirt, he’s already half asleep. He thinks Tim’s already left the room but then he feels the warm pressure of a kiss to his forehead.

Perhaps he dreamed that, though.

__________

There’s a thread and it’s pulling Jon forward.

It’s not comfortable. Jon would rather stay here, in the library, surrounded by books and dim lights and knowledge he has control over. But there are whispers in the hallway, and someone’s telling him to go, go, go.

And go he does. Down stairs, so many stairs, more stairs than the institute ought to have. There is something watching and something pulling; Jon is being split in two and somehow this is worse than actually seeing the spiders and the eyes that have haunted him all these years. This, he feels in his soul. Something is at stake.

There’s a door. This is how it always ends, you see- with a door. And Jon’s fist, small and childish and grubby, raises to knock against the wood. It echoes too many times as Jon tries to step back, get off this porch and out of this nightmare but it is too late, the deed is done and the door is opening and a single, spindly black leg creeps out of the door hello, Mr. Spider-

“Jon!”

There are limbs holding him but it’s not the many-legged creature of his nightmares- they’re familiar and strong even as he thrashes against them but someone is screaming and the sound is haunting and painful-

And it’s him. Jon wrenches his eyes open to find himself safe and sound, held in place by Tim’s arms. His heart continues to stutter and he wheezes- Tim’s got a hand on his back and a soothing murmur going.

“You’ve got to breathe, Jon. Slow.” Tim takes his shaking hand and puts it to his own chest. “Like this. In and out. There you go. Nice and slow.” The words are calm and practiced; Tim’s done this before, with someone else. As his heartbeat resumes a normal rhythm, he wonders who.

There’s a hand on Jon’s face, gently wiping away tears he wasn’t aware he shed. Tim’s eyes are far-away, sort of, like he’s just going through the motions, slow and loving. “There we are,” he says as he finally meets Jon’s eyes. “Better now?”

“Y-Yes,” he croaks back. His hand is still gripping at Tim’s shirt but he doesn’t let go until the reality of the situation sets in. “Oh God- I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“Is that why you slept out here?” Tim asks, his voice patient. “Does this happen a lot?”

“M-More than I care to admit.” Jon feels a sudden need to explain himself, to let Tim know he tries to keep it under control as best he can. “I’ve tried everything- tea, therapy, p-pills- it doesn’t work.” A note of frustration creeps into his voice. “Something doesn’t want me to sleep, I guess.”

“Just thought you were a workaholic, to be honest,” Tim pulls him into his side and Jon melts, the tension slowly leaving his body. “Should’ve known better. We work at the Magnus Institute, after all.” The laugh that comes from both of them is bitter. “D’you want to sleep in my bed, maybe? Just- just for company. I’ve been told that helps.”

“I-I don’t want to wake you.” The argument is weak and the both of them know it.

“You already have, love.” The endearment slips out unnoticed by Tim, but Jon hears it. “You’ll wake me either way, but I’d rather you didn’t wake up alone.”

“O-Oh.” There’s a lot of care in those words. Jon doesn’t know what to do with it, except agree. “Yes, I’ll- if, if you don’t mind-”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did.” He wouldn’t, Jon knows. Tim always means what he says when it comes to him.

So they curl up in his bed, an arm slung across Jon’s waist, his back to Tim’s chest. There are no spiders here, not in this bed that smells of dryer sheets and detergent and Tim. He’s almost asleep when the arm around his waist tightens suddenly.

“My brother always said the pressure helped. When he had bad dreams.” Jon opens his eyes.

Tim never mentioned a brother; it never came up in any of their conversations. Tim knows Jon is an only child, that he was brought up by his grandmother and had a lonely childhood. He didn’t realize, in all of their time together, that he knew so little of Tim’s own background, besides his publishing career.

Nobody liked to talk about what brought them to the Magnus Institute. It was like some unspoken rule, some shared trauma that somehow kept them all silent and apart.

“Your brother?” he whispers, turning over to see Tim’s face. Its dark, but he thinks he can see a brightness in Tim’s eyes like unshed tears.

“Danny.” Tim says the name like he’s asking for forgiveness that Jon can’t give. He sees a tear drip down the man’s face and he reaches for it, just like Tim did before. “He was...he was my little brother. And he was so, so good.” Tim’s voice breaks and something in Jon breaks too. “And something took him from me.” His expression is hard but his hand reaches out to lovingly trace Jon’s face, as if trying to memorize its shape.

“I’m sorry,” Jon knows his apology is not enough, that it will never fill the gap in Tim’s heart. Instead, he finds words spilling from his lips, as if sharing his own pain will help too. “I-I saw someone get taken, once. I didn’t- I didn’t love them, but- but it was because of me.” Tim’s hand is in his hair, tucking a curl behind his ear as his voice wobbles. “It should’ve been me.”

Tim draws him close and squeezes; Jon buries his face in the crook of his neck and inhales. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Jon,” Tim whispers as he runs a hand down his back. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.” Jon isn’t Danny and Tim isn’t offering him absolution but it’s fine, for tonight.

Jon doesn’t dream.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494077

#prompts #karliahs #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #precanon #hurt/comfort #angst

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imagine-loki · 4 years ago

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The Bitch With Daggers

TITLE: The Bitch of Daggers CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Three AUTHOR: i-would-kneel-for-loki ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine there being someone else like Loki in the Avengers and them meeting, that could never go wrong, could it? RATING: NOTES/WARNINGS: none

“I think you should go for it.” Oliver stated. I had just got back to them and informed them about Fury’s offer. “I mean, yeah we’d stop fighting together, but you have a chance to do something greater. Go for it.”

“I have to agree with him on this.” Origen said. Laying on the couch staring at the ceiling, I just sighed, confused as to what I should do. I know they’re only being supportive, but still wasn’t 100% sure about it. “We’ll always have your back. If you go in then decide you want out, we’re here, forever.” He walked over and sat down on the chair facing me. “You’ve already given so much away”, his tone turned soft, “do something that benefits you.”

“But what we do benefits me!” I argued. “The fact that we kill those who are a threat to fragile and vulnerable people benefits me.”

“It pleases you.” Oliver corrected with a look. He came, sat by my feet and looked down at his hands in his lap, then looked up at me. “Maybe it’s time one of us does good with the law’s protection. You know? The kind of good that would be recognised and acknowledged.”

They had a point. For almost three years, we’ve been eliminating monsters who feed on people’s weaknesses and fears. We’ve done it behind the government’s back, we had to fake our deaths in order to never be suspected and captured. Had many close calls, some failed missions, lots of blood on our hands. This group, this team, my family, was all I had for three years, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to let go of what kept me sane.

The sun began rising, pink etched into the sky with splatters of purple, the need to decide was overwhelming. So with a glass of whiskey in hand and a phone in another, I rang Fury, “You’ll be pleased to know that I’m accepting the offer. But keep in mind that I’m doing this for Flora.”

“It doesn’t matter to me why as long as you’re in.” He stated. “Be at the compound in an hour, see you then.” With that, he hung up. The guys were still asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake them up and tell them that I’ve agreed, so I grabbed my packed bags and wrote them a note before leaving.

The ride was short, but emotionally difficult. Upon my arrival I was questioned, until Nick came and approved my entrance. Whilst walking along the corridor, he began, “The team is waiting to meet you. Though I have to be honest, they’re not exactly… ecstatic to meet you.”

“Wouldn’t blame them”, I sighed, “Did you tell about any of my past works?” I smirked, fully aware that he hasn’t.

“You know me, I’d rather leave that honour to you.” He laughed. “Oh and”, he stopped and turned to me, “You’re gonna need a superhero name.”

“A what now?” I laughed. “Come on you’ve gotta be kidding me. Really?” I said in disbelief, “A superhero name?”

He resumed his walk with a laugh, me hot on his tail, “Well everyone on the team has one, so you gotta choose.”

“God that’s fucking dumb.” I muttered under my breath and shook my head. We took a right and into view came a room with glass doors, inside it were the avengers, sitting around a table. Well, most of them were sitting around the table.

Fury opened the door for me then got in, closing it behind him. “Avengers,” he began loudly, “This is Océane, the new recruit.”

Everyone turned to me with blank stares, I just smiled. Then one of them came over and put his hand out, “Nice to meet you kid, name’s Clint Barton, or Hawkeye.” I shook his hand with a smile of my own. The room held all the avengers – Tony, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Scott, Wanda, Vision, Rhodey and Peter Parker.

“Nice to meet you Clint, heard you’re the best archer there is out there.” He inclined his head to the side with a laugh.

“Well I wouldn’t say so. Director told us you have some experience in that arena.”

“Well”, I began with a laugh, “Nothing compared to your skills I’m sure.” Everyone came forward and introduced themselves, not that I didn’t already know who they were. The last one was a new face; someone I didn’t recognise although seeming familiar. “And which hero are you?” I directed my words to him. His eyes green eyes were a stark contrast to his pale skin and black hair. I had seen him before but couldn’t place a name on him.

“Well I am no hero to begin with.” He said with a smirk and a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I am simply here as an act of redemption for my past faults.”

“Act of redemption…?” I trailed off, brows furrowed and concentrating on who this might be, when it clicked. “Ah, you must be Loki, the God of mischief and lies.”

“So you’ve heard of me.” He was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Yes, I have,” I chuckled, “Well I must say it is lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise, lady Océane.” He flashed a dazzling smile and walked over to where he previously stood.

“How old are you kid?” Tony began the interrogation.

“I’m twenty-three.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Steve carried on with the questioning.

“A sister.” I answered curtly. “She’s five.”

“So how long you been on the loose?” Rhodey asked, making me chuckle.

“About three years now, I had to run ever since SHIELD decided to intrude.” I said with a small smile. “You know that they took my sister from me when my parents passed away and they knew of my powers, right?”

“Oh.” Rhodey trailed off quietly, “No”, he said looking at Fury along with everyone else, “No we didn’t know.”

I turned my face to him, “It’s cool, I’ve grown accustomed to it.” I looked behind him to notice Loki had a hard a face, glaring at the Director. Steve had his arms crossed, also glaring. Tony had a pitiful look on his face, Bruce seemed sad, Thor appeared conflicted, unsure on how to feel. “Anyway that’s why I’m here,” I continued in hopes of killing the sudden tension. “Fury said if I join, I get to have custody over her again.”

“How’d your parents pass away?” Wondered Bucky.

“Car accident, a drunk asshole hit ‘em.”

“Alright,” Fury clapped his hand on my back, “Now that you’re all familiar with each other, I’m leaving.” Then turned to me and said, “There are others that aren’t here.”

“Like whom?” I frowned.

“There’s Doctor Strange, but he permanently resides in the New York sanctum and King T’Challa – the Black Panther – stays in Wakanda.” I nodded in understanding, and with that he left.

I turned back to the team, “So who’s gonna show me where I’m staying?”

“I will.” Loki volunteered.

“No you won’t.” Natasha cut him off while looking at me with an amused smile. He clenched his jaw at that.

“You can accompany us.” I suggested, making him smirk and nod, following us out. They led me to another part of the building and took me to the 6th floor, we were on the 4th.

“Did the Director say anything about when you would see your sister?” The handsome God asked. His cheek bones could cut diamond in half and I was finding myself getting lost in his enchanting, sparkling eyes.

“No he hasn’t.”

The Russian assassin guided me down a hallway and gestured to a door on the left. “This is your room.” It was quite a vast room, a queen-sized bed in the middle, a walk-in wardrobe, shelves on the wall for me to stack my books up and a connected bathroom. “You’re free to decorate it whenever and however you feel like it.”

“Alright then, thank you.” I sent her a smile and she left me and Loki alone. Walked over to the window and looked down at the busy street. The spacious room was empty, it felt lonely. “I hope it’s soon, I long to see her.” I said looking back at him, “If she remembers me, that is.” I muttered quietly.

“I’m sure she will.” He tried to reassure me. “If not, you will simply make memories with her, get her used to you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I said with a half-smile. He smiled back and patted my back, but I leaned into him, hugging him. He seemed shocked however didn’t give him enough time to react before pulling back with a small smile.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Others #Imagine #Submitted fic #submission #i-would-kneel-for-loki #chapter 3 #the bitch of daggers

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elsanna-shenanigans · 4 years ago

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April Contest Submission #3: Prism of White

Words: ca. 5,200 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: none

Light filtered through the window casting the room in a golden glow. Papers lay crumpled and torn on the coffee table and the floor beneath. Anna tossed her sketchbook on the table and threw her pencil next to it. Weeks passed and she still didn’t have another good idea for her next art piece. Her hands grasped a pillow on the couch beside her. Her freckled face buried in the soft cushion, a muffled groan joining the white-noise of the television in the background.

Art had been a passion of hers ever since her stubby toddler fingers first grasped that pack of cheap crayons. Her parents laid scrap paper out in front of her at the kitchen table. The adults left the room shortly after thinking little Anna would be occupied for a little more than five minutes. Overjoyed with all the colors in the box, now strewn over the table some rolling to the floor, little Anna picked up the green and began to scribble in swirls and loops like any child does. Her mother came back ten minutes later to check on her and grab a cup of afternoon coffee. A gasp tore from her throat and her blue eyes widened at the site. The walls had been little Anna’s first canvas.

She laughed at the memory, the sound muffled by the pillow still pressed against her face. The scolding she received after that event lost to the feeling of joy at the colors swirling around her. Back then art had been carefree and fun. Now the blank pages in her sketchbook mocked her with that textured whiteness.

Twenty-one years of sketching, painting, throwing color on canvas’ of varying degrees, making a life out of it. A dream come true. One that would have been impossible if not from the support of her friends and family. One person in particular. Elsa.

Little Elsa could light up Anna’s world by merely stepping into the room. She used to be so very timid and quiet, often opting to hide in the corner with a book than engage with the other kids her age. Anna managed to pull her into their little games anyway.

As the two grew older their interests diverged slightly. They both found joy in the arts, joining in theater at school for fun, playing and listening to music (although their tastes differed vastly at times), and studying the history behind all forms of art. A bond formed and kept them close even when one started painting and sketching while the other used words to color with.

A writer’s search history and an artist’s eye left plenty for friends to laugh and grow concerned about.

Anna lifted her head from the pillow feeling someone fiddle with her twin braids. She smiled already knowing who it was behind her.

“What are you so distressed about?” Elsa hummed out sweetly. Her eyes swept over the paper littered around and the discarded sketchbook. “Can’t think of a good idea?”

Anna groaned again and buried her head back in the pillow. Her reply came muffled and she knew Elsa wouldn’t be able to understand a word of it. This problem she had wasn’t that much of a big deal. Anna knew that. Every artist had periods where they couldn’t draw. An artblock as she so affectionately called it. But this felt different. She had ideas. The vision of what she wanted to draw sat crystal clear in her mind’s eye, but when she picked up the pencil each stroke on the page felt weighted. She knew what she wanted to put on the paper. She hated each stroke she made and the finished result. Weeks of this and the stress of not creating made her head spin. The ride she had been on had stopped with her sitting upside down unable to do anything.

The couch dipped beside her as Elsa sat down. Pale hands pulled the pillow Anna was secretly hoping would suffocate her until freckled cheeks and a pouty lip were visible. Anna whined and reached out for the cushion. Elsa held it out of reach ignoring the dark spot where Anna drooled on it.

“Ah-Ah,” Elsa wagged her finger. Anna’s shoulder slumped forward in despair. “You can get the pillow back and resume your little, um , whatever you were doing after you tell me what’s wrong.”

Sea-green eyes lowered to the open sketchbook, a frown settled on her lips. “I - I hate everything I make and it’s driving me crazy.”

Elsa set the pillow aside and shuffled closer to Anna. She gave her knee a reassuring squeeze and gently asked, “Is it one of your artblocks?”

Anna shook her head, braids swaying. “No, this is different. I know what I want to draw, I have the motivation to draw, but I can’t seem to like what I make. I hate the finished result, even if it looks how I wanted.” Her eyes glistened with frustrated tears, “It’s been like this for weeks and I’m going insane trying to fix it.”

Elsa cupped her cheek, running her thumb soothingly over the skin. Anna nuzzled into her palm, eyes fluttering shut at the coolness of her skin. “Anna,” she opened her eyes to see an amused smirk dancing on pink lips, a glint of humor dancing in blue eyes, “is this your first burnout?”

Her whole body stilled at the question. Burnout had been something she knew her artist friends over the internet talked about. How it could hit someone suddenly or slowly creep on through the years. The former could usually be seen coming and dealt with by short breaks, but the latter often crippled careers as it snuck in through the cracks undetected and infected everything slowly like a poison. Anna gasped lightly at the realization.

The ride she had been on for the majority of her adult life (granted it had only been 3 years since she graduated high school) was fast paced and constantly moving. She did not stop or get off, only urging it to move faster and faster. The need to create and improve outweighed any thought or concern the stress her body and mind were put under. She ignored all the signs, the warnings people told her to look for and now the stress had crushed her.

“What am I gonna do?” Her voice came out broken and unsure. Burnout was a completely foreign field for her. There was no map for her, no field guide to help her navigate through this problem. People mention taking breaks and stepping away from art for awhile to recharge, but that seemed impossible. How could Anna stop creating, when all she wanted to do was create?

“Is this new project for a client?” Elsa noticed the distress on Anna’s face and dropped her hand down from her cheek to grasp shaking ones.

“No, it’s one I plan to sell, or have prints made for my shop.”

Elsa nodded, “Okay. And do you have any client work lined up for the month?”

Anna answered in the negative. She had started a new system for her works where certain months she decided not to take on any client work. It was an attempt not to be too overwhelmed working on custom pieces that allowed her the freedom to work on her own as well. The system worked fairly well until this burnout happened. At least it happened now instead of when she had to work on pieces for clients.

“Okay, okay we can definitely work with this,” she breathed out a plan already forming in her mind. She knew Anna wouldn’t take a break willingly, that wasn’t her style. She would draw and paint until her hands fell off and even then she’d learn to use her feet instead. Nothing would stop her, not even the end of the world. The complete opposite of Elsa who procrastinated her own projects till motivation was high or the deadline approached. She often wondered how they never drove each other crazy doing things so differently. Instead of finding a reason she just blamed it on love. It was better not to question it anyway.

“Anna,” she turned and faced the younger woman determinedly, prepared for protestation, “do you trust me?”

Anna cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Of course I do, silly. It’s part of why I married you.”

Elsa smiled and held her tongue to keep from commenting. That experience would be one she would never forget. She at her wife, eyes bright and said,

“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to do.”

Anna’s gut twisted in apprehension. She trusted Elsa with her life, but the twinkle in pale blue eyes told her not all of this would be a pleasant experience.

—-

“Anna, what color is the sky?”

From her position in the passenger seat of the car Anna scowled, her eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to fall back asleep. Elsa refused to let her in on the plan the day before, only telling her to pack a days worth of clothes and food and then promptly took all her art supplies and locked them inside a large chest. She never quite figured out why they had a large empty chest lying around and when she asked Elsa the older girl shrugged saying something about secrets.

“What.” Anna grumbled confused at the question and irritated at being woken up at three in the morning and rushed out of the house.

Elsa glanced at her from the driver’s seat. “What color is the sky?” She turned her attention back to the road, very much awake and relaxed. The half empty cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder helped.

“What kind of question is that? The sky is blue!” Anna twisted over and leaned her head on the window, arms folded across her chest. Elsa still had yet to tell her where they were going and only mentioned a three hour car ride. That left plenty of time for her to catch up on sleep if her wife would let her.

“No, not - “ Elsa laughed at herself, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I meant what color is the sky right now?”

Anna cracked one eye open and grimaced at the passing street light that blinded her. “Black,” she stated matter-of-factly. Elsa hummed a smile on her face. She let Anna sleep the rest of the way, picking up and sipping her coffee. The low songs of the radio filling the silence in a quiet peace. She didn’t care for the station, but it was one of Anna’s favorites. The little things would make the difference on this trip.

Barely any time had passed, that’s what it felt like to Anna anyway, before a hand on her shoulder gently shook her awake. “What is it now,” she sighed tiredly and shuffled further into the car door. When she agreed to whatever Elsa had planned, losing sleep hadn’t even crossed her mind. She knew she was being unfair to her wife. Elsa only wanted to help. The stress of her burnout had taken its toll without consent and Anna wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and sulk. Sleep was the closest she could get right now, but the woman driving had other plans.

“What color is the sky now,” she asked eagerly. Her pale hand fell away and gripped the steering wheel again.

Anna squinted at the light outside. The night had faded to be greeted by the light of the sun just peeking over the horizon. Reds and oranges bled into pale blue as the orb of yellow and white ascended slowly. Any other day the she might have appreciated seeing the sunrise, she might have stared at the way the light shone and glistened along Elsa’s skin, bathing her in rays of gold. But it only annoyed her at having the same question asked in place of sleep. Still she answered,

“Red.”

Her eyes closed again with the plan to catch more sleep. Elsa didn’t bother her after that. She sipped her fresh cup of coffee, having stopped for gas before the sunrise. Anna grumbled under her breath adjusting to get comfortable in her seat again. Pink lips turned up at the corner in amusement. Anna may be grumpy beyond belief this morning and she knew it was her doing. The outcome of this trip will be worth it. Elsa knew it, could feel it in her bones. She could only hope Anna didn’t throw her in the lake as payback when they got there.

Elsa smirked watching, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on. The day was only beginning. The coffee singed her tongue as she took another sip.

If Anna did throw her in the lake, she made sure to have plenty of jokes ready.

Gravel crunched under the tires as the car pulled off the main road. The road itself wasn’t too bad in terms of a drive. Anna woke up quietly glancing around at the trees and greenery around them. She said nothing to tell Elsa she was awake and continued to stare out the window. The sight felt familiar, she knew this place but couldn’t quite care enough to place it. Sleep still clouded mind and even if it was Wednesday she liked to sleep in late and stay up late instead. This whole early to bed and early to rise business wasn’t for her.

A light chuckle from her left told Anna all she needed to know. “There’s hot chocolate for you since you’re not the biggest fan of coffee.” Elsa never took her eyes off the road and merely motioned to the cup holder between them.

“Thanks.” Anna took the cup nearly dropping it. No protective sleeve saved her from burning fingers, not even the paper cup itself. “Geez, why’s it so hot!” She glared at her sister.

“Didn’t know how long you were going to stay asleep so I asked them to make it extra hot.”

“Extra hot,” Anna guffawed, “This cup feels like it came straight out of Orodruin itself! You could have got me a protective sleeve for it or something!”

“I didn’t know how long you were going to sleep!” Anna folded her arms at Elsa’s response, “Besides, you always get annoyed at the sleeves opting to burn your fingers anyway.”

“Yes, but the cups are never that hot!”

Elsa only smiled.

The car slowed and stopped with a slight jolt. Anna hadn’t touched her drink again still waiting for it to cool down from Mount Doom level temperatures. She figured out why this place had seemed so familiar. Her parents used to take her camping out here toward the end of summer, always running around the lake and sometimes taking a ferry over to the small island.

“I grabbed us a backcountry permit if you wanted to stay away from the normal campsites.” Elsa held up the piece of paper before tucking it into her jacket pocket. Anna hummed her agreement and stretched in her seat.

“I’m gonna find the bathroom then we can hike to wherever.” She ducked out of the car, breathing in the fresh air. A warm feeling of nostalgia washed over her at the familiar sight. She hadn’t come back to this park in years. Anna walked across the parking lot toward the public restroom. Coming back to the lake hadn’t even crossed her mind. It’s almost sad really. To forget about a place she once loved so deeply, have it take up a corner of her mind as a memory she kept but never thought about.

She turned the faucet off and shook stray water drops from her hands, wiping the remaining wetness on her jeans. Anna never trusted the automatic air dryers.

When she arrived back to the car, Anna bit back a bark of laughter. Elsa had strapped each and every pack and bag to herself and looked overloaded, but all too eager like a puppy. She smiled broadly at Anna and handed her the much cooler cup, “Come on, let’s go! I know of the perfect spot!”

Anna took the cup, her shoulders shaking as she held in her laughter.

“Wait, Elsa. Let me carry some things.” Elsa paused mid-step and tilted her head. All the coffee had gone to her brain in the most adorable way. “How did you even manage to hold all the bags, even mine?” Anna pointedly looked at the deep green duffle bag with a bright orange patch on the side.

“I played a lot of tetris as a kid.” She shrugged but gave Anna two of the bags anyway.

Anna adjusted the strap of a bag on her shoulder. “Alright, now show me this perfect spot.”

The blonde grinned and grabbed Anna’s hand practically dragging her along toward the trail and into the bush. Anna could only keep up and pray her hot chocolate didn’t spill.

—-

Anna had to admit the spot Elsa had picked was perfect. A little spot hidden behind dense shrubbery. Well off the path and if someone did make it this far the thorn bushes were certainly a discouragement. She knew she’d be picking the sharp thorns out of her clothes for a while and if it weren’t for the view and the feeling of peace she’d make Elsa do it without a second thought. Anna’s had her second thought and is still intent on making Elsa do the work.

“Nice view, right?” Elsa wiped the dirt off her hands stepping over to Anna. She had finished setting up the tent and decided to see what was keeping her wife. The view itself looked over the entirety of the lake and the mountains surrounding it. The trees swayed in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful.” Anna tucked a piece of hair back into place. Elsa stepped up beside her. They stared at the scene in silence. A sense of peace forming around them. Anna closed her eyes listening to the birds singing in the trees and the wind rustling the branches. The smell of the air and the sun on her skin eased the tension in her shoulders she didn’t realize had been there. Anna felt free like she could step off the overlook and just fly. Elsa smiled at the content look on her face.

“Anna,” the red-head hummed and turned to face her, “what color is the sky?”

The question had her sighing exasperatedly. How many times would she ask that damned question. It didn’t make sense. She had answered it twice already. Inhaling deeply, Anna decided not to let this ruin the moment. She looked up at the sky, fluffy clouds dotting the expansive space.

“Blue. It’s blue.”

Elsa made no comment. Anna would have yelled at her but the pure love in pale blue eyes killed the thought before it formed. She found herself smiling back and shaking her head lightly. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Elsa chuckled, “I know. Now come on, let’s go exploring a bit.”

Anna followed eagerly. Exploring she could do.

—-

Night life in the forest seemed impossibly loud compared to the day. Anna didn’t mind much. She found the noise comforting in a way. All the little life coming out with the safety of darkness. Comfortable now that the sun has gone and they can hide in the shadows of the night. She could understand it. The night offered a sort of peace the day could not. She loved the sun, loved the hustle and bustle of day life, but the night hit differently. She closed her eyes, a soft smile on her lips. The day’s activities replayed in her mind’s eye.

After running around, revisiting old trails and memories and making some new ones, the two women sat around a little fire. Anna made Elsa pick out all the thorns and burrs while she roasted marshmallows. While Elsa didn’t agree with s’mores before dinner she let it slide this once.

They relaxed after that, Anna rigged a stick with fishing gear and went fishing. She didn’t catch anything. She came back soaking wet and Elsa only raised a brow. She changed into some dry clothes and sat by the fire to get warm. Elsa turned from her book then, a cheeky grin on her face and said,

“You know I love it when you -” Anna smacked her before she should finish.

Now they lay peacefully staring up at the stars.

“Anna,” Elsa started in the quiet. Anna hummed in acknowledgment before her mind jump started back to nearly every quiet moment previously,

“You better not ask me what color the sky is or I swear to god you will find yourself at the bottom of the lake!”

The crickets chirped.

“What hue doth the heavens above appears to thine viewing orbs?”

Anna laughed. She laughed loud and hard. She knew Elsa would find a way to rephrase the question the second she threatened her, but she never expected her to phrase it like that. She rolled onto her side and clutched her stomach from the force of her laughter. “I-I can’t -” she wheezed, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, “I can’t breath.”

“You should have let me ask the question normal then.” The cheekiness in her voice had Anna swatting blindly behind her. Her hand connected with nothing but air.

“Fine, this is the last time I’m answering that stupid question,” Anna finally said after she stopped laughing and caught her breath. She rolled back to look at the sky and exhaled deeply a smile on her face, “Black, the sky is black.”

“Wrong.”

Anna propped herself up on her elbow. Wrong. The first response back to her answers and it was to tell her, Anna, that she answered wrong.

“What, how can I be wrong? Are you seeing the same sky I’m seeing?” Anna grit her teeth ready to fully argue her point.

“No, no calm down, feisty pants. Right now you could argue it’s black, or a very deep blue.”

“Then how am I wrong?!”

Elsa kept her gaze on the sky. “I asked you three four times today what color the sky was. Only two of the answers were the same. Can you explain that?” “The sky changes colors, you numpty.”

“So what color is the sky then if it changes?”

Anna didn’t have an answer to that. Elsa turned to face her, the moonlight making her blue eyes glow in the night.

“What color do you say the sky is then,” Anna asked, moving closer to Elsa. The night breeze had a bit of a chill, but she didn’t feel like getting a jacket. Her arm brushed against her wife’s.

“If you asked me what color the sky is, anytime of day or night, I’d tell you it’s white. I know it’s crazy, but think about it. In general people say the sky is blue, but it’s not always blue. You said it yourself, the sky changes colors, so why is it blue then?” She raised a hand and traced along various constellations as she spoke. “Is it because that’s the color we see it as mostly. Blue during the day? The history behind it is actually fascinating, but I won’t go into that. But the sky can be any color depending on when you look. Black, dark blue, orange and red, yellow and pink, purple and light blue, even green. The sky isn’t just one color or one shade. It’s all of them all the time, we just only see what the light shows us. That’s why I say it’s white. White reflects all colors, the sky cycles through the colors based on a bunch of scientific stuff that I’m a bit too tired to get into. I didn’t really prepare to get into that bit anyway.” she laughed at herself.

Anna lay in silence. She never really thought about it like that.

“But why white, why not black?”

Elsa sucked in a small breath before answering, “Black is the absence of colors. If the sky was black that’s all we’d see. A black hole sucking the colors away and leaving nothing behind but darkness. That’s why it’s white and not black.”

“Geez, that took a depressing turn.”

Elsa hummed and entwined her fingers with Anna’s. “Think of it as a prism. The sun shines through and casts the colors fresh and new through the day.”

“A blank canvas.” Anna found herself mumbling aloud. A blank canvas to be painted each day in the same ways that vastly differed if you looked hard enough. The subtle hues shifting day to day, the contrast of reds and oranges against purples and blues. All of it spinning endlessly in a cycle, a prism of color splattered across a canvas of white that never is seen as white.

The two remained watching the stars for a bit longer. The little dots of color splattered across the dark sky. Almost a reverse of my freckles. Anna mused to herself. The crisp air raised goosebumps on her arms.

Anna went to sleep that night, snuggled in her wife’s arms, feeling so refreshed and full of love she thought it might overflow. And it did. Her emotions flowed over in little drops that ran down her cheeks and she whispered over and over how much she loved Elsa. In turn with each ‘I love you’ a kiss was placed on her head, her cheek, her lips, and her body squeezed a bit tighter.

The white sky, painted with the color of night, left them to rest peacefully. The moon watching over them.

The trunk slammed shut and all the bags and trash were loaded in. Not nearly as neatly as before but as long as it wasn’t falling out Anna didn’t care. She awoke buzzing with renewed energy ready and eager to get back to work. Her burnout long forgotten. The three hour car ride didn’t seem so long even though Anna sat wide awake the entire trip. Elsa would probably need a day to recover from the amount of talking Anna did in that small time. Maybe a new book and quiet day in a coffee shop or a day spent curled up in her bed with nothing but mindless games to entertain herself with. Anna made a note to thank Elsa for forcing her out for a day, whatever she wanted.

Anna went to work the moment she stepped through the doorway. Pencil marks flew across the page in hurried fashion almost as if the vision would fade before she could get it down. Supplies were strewn out over the kitchen table and counter tops as Anna fell into what Elsa called ‘The detonation zone’. It was a mess, but also the time and place where Anna seemed to get the most work done.

Guess I’m not cooking. Elsa thought and picked up the phone. She was kinda in the mood for pizza anyway.

Pale blue eyes watched from where she leaned against the wall as the blur of auburn worked in a frenzy. Her movements were both hurried and agonizingly slow to preserve the details in a way only Anna managed to do. A mesmerizing sight she could watch for hours if not for the delivery man ringing her doorbell.

She made sure Anna knew of the food sitting in the living room.

“Okay, thank you!” Came the reply from the kitchen. Elsa chuckled and shook her head taking her own slice or two of pizza. She disappeared into their shared room for the rest of the evening. The one day trip seemed to have worked in Anna’s favor. Elsa made the mental note to schedule more day trips once in a while.

Time ticked by and Anna didn’t even notice. The pizza had gone cold and the sunlight faded away. The brush in her hand was set in the water cup for the last time.

“There.” Anna sat back finished. She smiled at the creation in front of her leaving it to dry as her stomach made known it’s need for food. The clock read late into the night, or early into the morning, depending on how you look at it. Maybe setting an alarm for food and breaks would be a good idea in the future. She decided it’d be worth a shot if only to save her from a stiff back at the end of the day.

Her paint stained hands grabbed a cold slice of pizza and promptly inhaled it followed by three more. The kitchen sat in a disastrous mess and the urge to put off cleaning up until the morning hit hard. Anna considered cleaning up the worst part about doing art. Elsa would likely clean up for her in the morning since she always woke up first. Anna knew that and decided not to let that happen. As much as Elsa said she didn’t mind and that’s what she signed up for by marrying her, Anna wouldn’t have it. Not after what she’d done for her the past day, or really since they first-started dating.

Anna turned the faucet on, warm water cleaning her stained hands, and she began the cleanup.

It wasn’t until around four in the morning that she finally headed to bed. The bedroom door creaked softly. Elsa snored softly, curled on her side snuggling a pillow. The sight made Anna fall in love with her all over again. Anna would never get tired of seeing her wife in such a peaceful and vulnerable state. Gently, she climbed into bed beside her.

“I love you.” she whispered and kissed Elsa’s cheek. Elsa let go of the pillow at the contact and fully snuggled against her wife. Anna wrapped her arms around her and kissed her softly again.

“I love you so much.”

Elsa woke to gentle rays of sun dancing across her face. Untangling herself from Anna she stepped outside of the room. She paused halfway closing the door and looked on fondly at the sleeping mess of her wife.

The kitchen was spotless, save for the canvas resting on the table. Even the sink was clean, supplies neatly drying on the rack where they were supposed to be. A smile graced her lips.

The coffee pot sputtered to life as it began brewing. It was only nine o’clock and Anna likely wouldn’t be up for another few hours. Being your own bosses had their perks. The brown liquid steamed as she poured it into a plain ceramic mug. The rich scent very much welcome this morning.

Anna would always scold her for drinking too much coffee. The thought brought another smile to her face. She really loved Anna and all that came with her.

Coffee in hand Elsa approached the canvas on the kitchen table. She made sure to stay for enough back that if something drastic happened her coffee would not stain the creation. She rounded the table and the sight made her pause. The colors and detail splattered across it showed just how much that camping trip had meant to her.

“Oh Anna,” her eyes lined with overflowing emotions as she took in the painting. “You’re still full of surprises.”

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

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rockofeye · 4 years ago

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Out of the depths.

It is somehow appropriate that a re-emergence and re-alignment comes with the beginning of the month of May. May is a big month for vodouizan; we celebrate Kouzen and all his family this month and, for people from Jacmel, it is a month devoted to celebrating Jacmel's heritage, which is tied closely to Kouzen. It is said Jacmel is where Kouzen was from before he went to more rural areas; it's not a coincidence that fet Jacmel and fet St Jacques e St Philippe (the patrons of Jacmel) are celebrated on the same days as fet Kouzen (May 1 and May 2).

I've been thinking about Kouzen a lot lately. It's been a difficult year in a lot of ways, but not a bad year. COVID has really permanently changed how things in my professional field work, and with the help of Kouzen and a few of my other lwa, I managed to leverage that into a position using all my professional strengths with the org that has been my target for employment for years. Landing that has not only been life-changing and future-solidifying, but really reinforces that I know what I know and that I am an expert at what I do.

That's a lesson that comes from Kouzen, and it's one that I struggle to learn and remember in my life. Kouzen shows me balance: he is the expert worker in his field (literal and figurative), but you might never know that from how he does his work. Underestimate him and you'll find out, but how he carries himself keeps his mastery of work and growth and agriculture from being the first thing that you see.

I'm pretty okay with that part, but that's the part I get tripped up about. I don't find anything fulfilling professionally or personally about illustrating what I know,, but there is a difference between going about your business and actively hiding from those moments where you can insert who you are and what you know.

I'm a hider. It might sound kind of funny coming from someone who has been writing a blog in the internet for close to a decade, but it's true: I am actually pretty shy and private and being the center of attention--professional or personal--is kind of horrifying to me. I've reached the point in my life where I don't feel I have a lot to prove because I know what I know, but in many ways that's just not possible for me. I don't work in a field where I can just close my office door and have it all be fine, and the lwa have made clear time after time that I cannot just ride off into Ginen with them and live a private life.

This has something that is always a struggle for me because I am introverted and like my alone space and time. It comes back to the good ol' lessons the lwa want me to learn over and over: balance and vulnerability. Sometimes it goes well, sometimes I react like a cat thrown into a bathtub full of water. The lwa win some, I lose some.

I had to get my ass in gear with the notions of balance and putting myself out there and being vulnerable in knowing my worth and demanding (politely) that it be recognized when I found myself completely dissatisfied with my job(s). I was working two jobs (houngans and manbos know about that hustle...) and making good money, but I was ready to work one job and free up time for spiritual work and projects.

I took a chance and applied for a job that was juuuuust within my experience. It was definitely bigger than what I was doing and while it was within my experience level, I honestly wasn't perfectly qualified....but you miss 100% of the shots you don't take, so I buffed up the resume, sent it off, and sat with my lwa about it. I told them that if this was where I was supposed to go next, I knew they would clear the way.

I didn't get it.

I made it through two rounds of interviews, but ultimately there was an incumbent with 10 more years of experience than I have, and that's almost always a losing equation. I was okay with it because I still had work and at the end of the day, I don't have to love my job to cash the paychecks.

BUT....the lwa had another plan. The team of interviewers liked me, and so I got headhunted for a position that was very, very in line with my professional experience and goals. I spoke with them several times about it and they made me an offer....and it was so low I almost rejected the offer outright.

I was both angry and scared at the same time; angry because the salary offer was ridiculously offensive based on my career history and scared because I have never been in a position to turn down a job offer or, honestly, negotiate.

This time was the first time in my life that I was planning to leave a job because I wanted to. I grew up in a upper working class home and as an adult have spent too much time jobless and underemployed to discount steady work and a regular paycheck. It was scary as hell to be staring down the possibility of kicking the steady paycheck to the side in favor of taking a step into the unknown.

When I got the offer letter, I sat down with the lwa and literally cried because I was so burned out with my other job that it was affecting my performance, but here I was getting a bullshit offer for a hugely involved job. It felt like a loss if I took it and affirmed that both my experience and what they were asking of me was only worth what they were offering. It felt like a loss if I didn't take it, because those opportunities do not come alone like that very often.

It was such a moment of unique despair. Like, I was not hurt or anything tragic but that feeling like I was painted into a corner and that the choices in front of me would leave me at a loss was HUGE and real. For me, when I feel like that it's hard for me to turn on the part if my brain that's analytical. I just need to sit in my misery for a minute (or more) until I get it together enough to figure out what to do.

That is where the blessing of Kouzen (and really all the lwa) came in. He told me to go back to the table, creat another option, and ask for my worth. Like, not swing my proverbial dick and be an asshole, but go be vulnerable and say that the offer was disappointing and that I expected more. So weird because it makes so much sense, right? And yet there I was totally sold that I was either going to be worked like a mule for less money than I was making already, or I was going to remain in The Bad Place until something else came along.

So I did. Even if I felt pessimistic about it (I did) and thought they would say no (convinced of it), I did what I was told because at the end of the day I agreed to sèvis lwa because I believe in the vision the lwa have for me. Some days I say that through gritted teeth, but that's my guiding principle and they have never let me down.

I sent in my counteroffer and waited for the 'we're sorry, but..' email. It was fucking scary. My agency is a behemoth in my field and has been around forever, so pushing back felt a little bit like David versus Goliath, and I didn't have the benefit of a sling and a rock.

It took two days but they got their offer almost to what I asked for, so I took it and it was a huge relief. I am sure that somewhere in the background Kouzen maybe did a quiet fist pump of 'Alex learned a thing' before going back to his work.

In all seriousness, that's a lesson I have struggled so hard with and it was a moment where I had to put it all into practice and rely on what the lwa have taught me as being an ultimate truth. Knowing my worth is not enough; I have to be able to communicate that in a way that both opens doors and doesn't get me used as a doormat. Not doing that seems like it would be almost offensive to Kouzen because, at least in this case, it would be essentially leaving money on the table and wasting it. My Kouzen is very rational about money, but the idea of not trying to set up my financial future makes his eyes bug out and would probably result in Having To Have A Conversation, which I avoid at all costs. Nothing like the lwa reminding you not to fuck up your own blessings.

Getting settled into this particular blessing has been what has been occupying my time the most these days. I came back from Haiti and went right into this job. I have finally clawed my way into administration and, in a very Kouzen twist, am responsible for managing several million dollars worth of grants and spending them both quickly and wisely. I work closely with the person in the position I originally interviewed for and am really happy I didn't get that job, as I am able much better fit where I am.

What else? In late January, I turned in a final draft of a chapter I was tapped to write for a book detailing the experiences of people who are converts to African Traditional and Diasporic religions. I'm excited to see the book when it comes out; I was the only writer on Haitian Vodou, and so it is chock full of other experiences from people from all different places who converted at some point in their life to a huge variety of African and African Descended religions and cultural practices. It's a project that has been in the works for several years, and it was interesting to see personal growth during my involvement in it and while tracking and detailing my journey from a fairly conservative Protestant upbringing to where I am now as a sèvitè lwa.

My living situation has changed up in the middle of this and I am once again at a point in my life where I have a dedicated space for my lwa. Living in one of the most expensive cities in the US has meant roommates and keeping my lwa in a closet in my room (my most recent roommate lovingly referred to them as the Closet People), but the lwa managed to swing it so I have a room dedicated to my spirits.

I have longing for that for so long...it's been years since that was a reality, and now it's finally a thing again. I always have the room for my lwa as my studio space too, since they are a creative force behind a lot of it, and it make my heart so full again to have room to spread out. It's such a gift for me. No more sitting down to pray and having my roommate start to have sex with their partner on the other side of the wall....I cannot tell you how many times that has happened.

Recently I listened to my mother tell some folks how to make tchaka/Kouzen's favorite meal. The regleman/ritual food is one of the most important parts of both ceremony and personal relationships with the lwa, and Kouzen reminded me that it had been quite awhile since I made him tchaka and boy his stomach would feel so much better with some tchaka in it and I already had a lot of the ingredients and wouldn't it be delicious to make some doumbrey for the tchaka too?

...so I went shopping for what I would need for tchaka for my beloved Kouzen because I have clearly neglected his stomach for too long. Living in a city with a huge Haitian population is great because the Haitian grocery store I went to had joumou/Haitian pumpkin, lalo sèk/dried jute leaves, tritri/tiny dried shrimp, djondjon/Haitian black mushrooms, fresh kowosol/soursop(!!!!!), and fresh lam veritab/breadfruit(!!!!!!!!!!).

It is so rare to find fresh kowosol and lam up here in New England because it def doesn't grow here and it doesn't last well when it's shipped....but it looked great today. The kowosol is going to be for me...ji kowosol ak lèt is a favorite, ESPECIALLY with a little Barbancourt poured in...and Kouzen will either get some tomtom or at least boiled lam veritab with his tchaka. Also have the makings of some bonbon siwo, so this husband is gonna eat GOOD. He deserves it.

And then...? Our live-on-Zoom socially distanced fet Kouzen will be sometime late in May. Making our fets available for folks to 'attend' at a distance has been surprisingly cool. I was not thrilled about the idea because of my personal hangups (I hate being on camera) but it's been really wonderful and has been a way for people who can't get to the temple to be able to share energy and get a taste of what a real Haitian fet is like. COVID isn't going away anytime soon, so we'll probably keep doing our fetes this way for awhile.

And...Haitian Summer is coming. I could write another whole post on what's going on down in Haiti, but I am very much looking forward to our kanzo and fet cycle this summer. My very favorite ceremonies are part of kanzo, and I love the opportunity to see the lwa in their home in the temple. I've been so lucky to be able to travel safely to Haiti several times during this mess, and it has fed my soul. It's safer for me and many of my family members now that we are vaccinated, so one less thing to worry about.

With Kouzen's month and the season of spring, I hope for growth in new directions for each of you, complete with all the blessings that Kouzen can bring: fertility and fecundity, inspiration, energy, commitment, rootedness, solid partnerships, and wise investments in self, community, relationships, and business ventures. May the fresh breeze bring you health with every breath and wealth with every exhale.

#vodou #haitian vodou #kouzen #kouzen zaka #azaka mede #fet kouzen #manje lwa #real vodou #voodoo

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sarah-writes-marvel · 4 years ago

Text

The Quiet Storm: Avengers x fem!Reader/ Bucky x fem!Reader

S.S.: little something I wrote at 3 Am. Kinda based off personal experience. If you want me to edit it so the story is gender nuetral let me know! Id be happy to do it but for now I’m going to post this! Hope you like it.

Warning: Depressive and Anxiety tendencies/ feelings. Could possibly be triggering so please proceed with caution. Major angst and a fluff ending

Word count: 1884

MASTERLIST

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The sound of my alarm continuously played as I laid on my back staring at my plain white ceiling. I could tell that today was going to be rough. The feeling of the weight of the world on my shoulders. The need to cry but no intention of passing the emotion. Everything is blurring together.

My alarm started to play the rhythmic and annoying tone again before I rolled over and silenced it. Even the smallest of movements took too much of my energy.

I sat up, my comforter billowing around me, as I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and stretched my aching muscles. That always happened, my body complaining after not being able to sleep.

I sat in that spot for a moment more, staring at my wall, when a loud knock came to my door. I barely bother to respond, just letting out a hum loud enough for the person on the other side to hear.

“Breakfast will be ready soon. Get up lazy bones!” Steve’s unmistakable voice traveled through the door, barely reaching my ears.

Running my hands over my face again before moving to get out of bed. Numb, that’s an appropriate word to use today. Numb to my surroundings. Not caring about the world around me.

My reflection stared back at me in the mirror of my bathroom. She wasn’t recognizable. Her eyes were dark and puffy, from the hours of unrest. Her skin was oddly pale, almost blinding against her oversized red pajama shirt that she had “borrowed” from one the boys. Her hair parted to the side, laying messily against her shoulder. Her usually bright eyes seemed to be grey and lifeless. The girl that was staring back at me is just a shell of a person.

That familiar lump formed in my throat and tears stung at my eyes but didn’t dare fall down my cheeks. Instead my shaking hands wiped at my eyes roughly trying to hide the unwanted emotion.

“Stop. You don’t have any reason to feel like this.” I critiqued the girl in the mirror.

The faucet ran cold water, pooling in my hands before I splashed it onto my face.

The hand towel was rough against my skin as I wiped away the drops, tossing the cloth next to the sink before turning off the light and leaving my room.

I could hear the laughter of the team down the hall as I approached the kitchen. A sudden feeling of dread came over me. The realization that I can't pull off the strong facade that I usually wear. The thought that I'm too weak for this life crossed my mind.

They all sat around the dining table, a display of food in the center. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, juice, fruits, muffins, the whole 9 yards. Yet none of it was appealing. Even the thought of eating brought an odd taste to my mouth.

“Hey! Sleeping beauty finally joined us!” Tony joked as he leaned back in his seat, his glass of juice in his hand.

Good morning greetings bombarded me as I took the empty seat between Sam and Bucky. Purely intentional by Steve knowing neither would cause a riot with me in the way. I’m always in the way.

The empty plate at my spot seemed to stare back at me, waiting for it to be filled with food. The sudden feeling of a hand on my shoulder brought me from my staring competition.

“What can I serve up for ya babe?” Sam asked, his pet name falling to deaf ears.

“Uh, I uh-“ my eyes scanned the table again, the panic rising in my chest. ‘God just make a decision. It’s not hard!’

“We’ve got pretty much anything.” He gestured to the layout.

“Just some fruit and a muffin.'' I voiced quietly, sulking against the back of my chair. “ Please.”

“That's it? Don’t you have training today?” Sam questioned as he reached for a muffin and grabbed the fruit bowl from Nat. A sudden tightness was in my chest, the realization that I, in fact, do have training later.

“I- uh I forgot I had training.” I admitted quietly, my hand covering my eyes as the hanging lights began to overwhelm my sight.

“That’s alright. How about some eggs and bacon too. It’ll be a good meal.” Nat suggested. I only nodded not trusting my voice, feeling the anxiety rise in my chest.

Sam scooped the scrambled eggs onto my plate next to muffin and fruit he had placed there only a few minutes ago, garnishing it with two strips of bacon.

Though it wasn’t much, it was still daunting. I picked up my fork and prodded the food. I could feel the eyes of a few people watching me as I eventually stabbed a cube of fruit, bringing it to my mouth. Even the sweetest fruit tasted bland.

The conversation that had paused once I came into the room had resumed as I continued to pick away at the food on my plate, moving it around to seem as if I ate more than I had. I could still feel a pair of eyes watching me. I set my fork onto my plate trading it for the glass of juice set at my place, trying to steady the shake in my hands. I leaned back in my chair and sipped at my drink as I scanned for the pair of eyes that were still trained on me.

I met the curious stare of Bucky before he could turn to look at his own plate of food, shoving a bite of pancakes into his mouth. I turned my gaze back to my scattered plate, the conversation droning out as my vision blurred, dissociating from reality, yet the pressure in my chest still there.

The oddly familiar sound of my name was called out before I focused back in.

“Hmm?” I looked up to see everyone watching me.

“Are you ok?” Tony asked, his eyes squinting as if it would help him see through my lie.

“Mhmm,” I murmured one response, setting down my glass and picking my fork back up.

“Ok, well we asked if you were opposed to a team dinner tonight? You know out on the town?” Nat cut in.

“Ya that’s fine.” I answered pushing my food around again. Of course a night out would be amazing, maybe it would lift this invisible weight from my chest. Yet the sound of being around people sounded exhausting. To be dressed up, smiling, laughing, talking… it was all too much. But I had already said it was fine, no turning back.

‘You would be an awful friend to back out right after you said yes’ the thought crossed my mind as I shoved a piece of egg across my plate.

‘You’re already awful, but that would wreck everything completely’

‘You’re not good enough to be here. You don’t deserve these people in your life.’

‘Your not enough. You just weigh them down.’

The thoughts burying my rational reasoning as they continued to grow. My fork clacked against my plate as I took the dish and my cup to the sink, taking the muffin off before dumping the rest into the garbage and placing the dishware into the sink. I grabbed the muffin before walking out of the kitchen without another word and back to my room.

The door shut quietly behind me as I put the untouched muffin onto my night stand. I crawled under the covers, my back towards the door as I huddled under the comforter hoping to block out the thoughts.

The silence was deafening. The thoughts were loud and overpowering as they continued to enter my mind, questioning my purpose on this team of superhumans, my purpose in life... questioning why I was alive at all.

A single tear and a sniffle escaped my being breaking the silence of the room. The sound of my door knob turning and clicking added to the noise.

“Y/N?” I could hear the concern in Buckys voice. Why would he be concerned about a nobody like me?

I felt the bed dip and the gentle pressure of his hand on my arm through the comforter. A simple hum came from my mouth, acknowledging his presence next to me.

“Nat just wanted me to let you know that she can’t train with you today. She said to take the day off.” His voice was soft, as if he raised it just slightly it would break me. And i’m sure he wasn’t far from wrong.

“Ok.” the small word came out broken and timid.

The deafening silence fell on the room again. The sound of Bucky's deep breaths and my own labored breaths were the only noise that filled the air.

“Do you need to talk?” the question broke the silence. I shook my head, unsure if he even saw it. “Do you want me to go?” another shake of my head. “Can I lay down next to you?” A nod. A shift in the bed. Quiet.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” I admit quietly. Another tear slid over the bridge of my nose.

“Nothing has to be wrong to not feel right.”

I turned over, facing him. He was propped up by a few pillows, his arm crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning my room before looking at me.

“Come here doll.” his arms opened wide motioning me to come closer.

I laid my head against his broad chest, the sound of his heartbeat soothing my aching soul. The feeling of his arms tightening over my back as I rest my own around his waist.

“It’s gonna be ok.” He whispered, placing a kiss in my hair. “Maybe not now or today or this week but it’ll be ok.”

The tears broke through the dam, choked sobs coming from my mouth as Bucky's grip tightened around me.

“I don’t wanna wait anymore.” I confess through ragged breaths, my heart rate picking up.

“Hey hey, shhh. I need you to breathe, doll.” his voice was so gentle, trying to calm the raging storm of built up emotions that were crashing through the surface of my being. His hand rubbing curled on my back as his metal arm tightened just a little more.

A few more tears slipped across my face dampening a spot on Bucky's henley. My breathing slowly reverting to normal.

“There we go. that’s it. Deep breaths.” Bucky coached, continuously rubbing my back.

“i‘m sorry.” I mumbled wiping the mess from my face.

“Don’t apologize. You don’t need to.”

My hand gripped the fabric of his henley, his hand still rubbing my back, his heartbeat grounding me. A vibration ran through his chest as the tune of a song echoed quietly in the room. My eyes flutter shut as his baritone voice hummed out a tune. I slipped into the unconsciousness still listening to him.

His humming paused for a moment, a kiss placed on my head. “Please don’t think you aren’t good enough. You are more worthy than any of us. Don’t leave me, doll.”

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S.S.: let me know what you think! also let me know hwich perspective you prefer: first second or thrid person? (i, you, or him/her/them)

ps.:::::: sorry I just found a few mistakes so I fixed them.. sorry to those who already read it with those in there!!

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flowercrown-bard · 4 years ago

Text

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 belongs to this

The thing about storms at sea was that you could see them coming if you knew what to look for. A hardened sailor could smell it brewing in the air, while less experiences folk might still be enjoying the clear sky. If you didn’t listen to those who could read the signs, you would be caught in a storm you never saw coming with no time to evade it.

Geralt notices the sky change colour. He could smell the sharp scent of the storm approaching and still, he was caught off guard by how fast the towering clouds formed, dark and heavy and bursting with danger.

“We have to go,” he said harshly, turning to Jaskier who still sat next to him, serene, as though he couldn’t see the danger approaching them.

His eyes were wide, looking on as the wall of clouds drew nearer, threatening to rob the sky of the last patches of blue.

“It’s majestic,” Jaskier said, a dreamy expression on his face.

Sand was whipped up by a strong gust of wind, pricking into Geralt’s skin like a thousand sharp needles.

He needed to get Jaskier away from here, quickly before they got caught in the middle of the storm and swallowed by the raging sea. The first heavy droplets fell down on them, as he tugged Jaskier up, ignoring his protests.

“Come on, we have to go home. We’ll be safe there.” He froze. Home. Slowly, he turned to Jaskier. “You did close the windows before we left, didn’t you?”

Jaskier’s brows furrowed. “Of course I did. I told you I would do it.” His eyes drifted back to the storm clouds, uncaring of the rain that by now must be blurring his vision. “I wonder though…If I shut them too tightly… do you think I’d be able to open them again?”

The wind whipped Geralt’s hair into his face, making it stick to his skin with the sand.

“I am strong enough to open them for you again,” he said, urging Jaskier onwards.

A strange smile appeared on Jaskier’s face that almost couldn’t be called such. “I hope you are.”

Geralt gave no reply. The storm-driven sand cut into their bare feet as he dragged Jaskier with him, hurting like each step hurt the mermaid in Jaskier’s story. Geralt shrugged off his coat, holding it over Jaskier’s head, fearing it wouldn’t do much to shield him from the worst.

When they finally left the sand behind, they were greeted by the stony path made slippery from the rain.

“Jaskier!”

Despite having his arm around Jaskier, Geralt barely managed to catch him, as his legs gave out under him, his feet unable to find purchase on the slick rocks.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said, but he sounded breathless. “My hero. Always there for me.”

Geralt pressed his lips into a thin line. The rain fell so hard that it became hard to see even for him. He was soaked to his bones already and he felt Jaskier shiver at the whipping wind hitting him. Over the sound of the waves smashing against the shore and the wind howling like wolves, Geralt could make out the distinct chattering of Jaskier’s teeth. His grip around Jaskier’s thin frame tightened, as he took on the impossible feat of positioning himself in a way that would put Jaskier in his slipstream.

Geralt squinted at the road ahead.

Their cottage was too far away. There was no way Geralt would drag Jaskier through this storm for any longer than he needed to.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled Jaskier forward, gathering him as close as he could without Jaskier stumbling again. Their walk was agonizingly slow, Jaskier’s feet scuffing across the ground, the cutting opposite of the way he used to dance and prance.

With a trembling fist, Geralt knocked on the first door they came across. A familiar fear that he hadn’t felt in years seized him. Like an old injury acting up. Like a beast rearing its head, the faintest disturbance enough to wake it from its slumber. They won’t let us enter. They will see a hurt bard and a fearsome witcher and they will shut the door in our faces. They won’t care if Jaskier dies, because he’s with me. They won’t open, they -

The door was pushed ajar, only enough to show the face of a young person, Geralt had seen around town once or twice. Kris, his mind supplied helpfully. They had a pinched expression on their face. Any moment now they will shut the door on us, telling us to get lost.

“For the gods’ sake, get in here. Quickly. Before you catch your death out there.”

Geralt froze. The words took a painfully long moment to registered. The door opened wider for them to enter. As soon as they were inside, the door fell close with a heavy thud.

The unexpected heat of the house hit Geralt like Jaskier’s tackling embrace whenever they had been separated for too long. He exhaled sharply at the unpleasant feeling of needles pushing into his skin.

Something warm and dry was draped over him. A towel.

“Here,” a concerned voice said. “We need to get you dry.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt croaked, still unmoving.

Kris smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him. You make sure you’re alright.”

Jaskier’s weight was lifted from him and briefly, his hands tightened, unwilling to let go of him, when he so obviously still needed help. But Kris put another towel over Jaskier’s head, rubbing it carefully to dry his hair, before making to pull off Jaskier’s wet clothes.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

Kris didn’t look up from their task, but their fingers stilled on Jaskier’s jacket. “Helping. You two need to get out of these clothes if you don’t want to catch a cold.” After a brief pause they added with a crooked smile “And I would appreciate it, if you didn’t drench my home. You might not have noticed, but you are soaked.”

This shook Geralt out of his stupor. “We can stay here?” He asked, his anxiety slowly ebbing away.

“Of course,” Kris said, as they guided Jaskier to the living room, draping a blanket over him. “Until the storm is over. Or longer than that, if you need it.”

Geralt’s mouth went dry. “I – thank you.”

“No problem at all. What’s the point of living in a small village in the middle of nowhere, if not to have each other’s back?”

Geralt could only nod, forcing his breathing to even out. They were right. This wasn’t like it had been back then. No one here would just shut their doors in Geralt’s face if he ever needed help. Jaskier had made sure of that.

He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s back when Kris left the room. They came back shortly thereafter, bearing dry clothes and two steaming mugs of tea.

Geralt took the offered clothes. They were a bright green colour. Jaskier would tease him mercilessly once he wasn’t shivering anymore. Or he would pout like a petulant child that Kris had accomplished in five minutes what Jaskier had tried to do for years.

“You don’t have to do that,” Geralt said, when Kris kneeled down in front of Jaskier to help him put on the trousers.

Kris looked up, a patient but exasperated look on their face. “Of course I don’t. But I know what I’m doing and you need to warm up yourself.” They nodded towards the mugs they had set on a nearby table and resumed their task.

Geralt hesitated, before doing as he was told. The tea tasted heavenly on his tongue, warming him from the inside out. He let out a much needed breath. All the while Kris was rubbing Jaskier’s hands until the colour returned to him and spoke to him in a soothing voice until the shivering stopped. Jaskier smiled at them, squeezing their hand in thanks, before laying down on the sofa and nodding off almost instantly. Kris pulled the blanket over Jaskier, tugging him in.

“Are you alright?” Kris asked, taking the second mug they had brought and sitting down across from Geralt.

Geralt grunted in response, unsure what he even wanted to say with the sound. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask himself how he was until Kris had asked. It hadn’t been important. Neither was it important now.

“Fine as long as Jaskier is.”

Kris heaved a sigh and set their mug down. “And when he isn’t?” They left a pause for Geralt to answer; a chance which he let pass by. “You don’t have to do this on your own, you know.”

Geralt’s grip on his mug tightened and his shoulders tensed. “I can do it. I’ve done it before. After the snowstorm in Kaedwen. After every goddamn monster that got him.” The words rushed out of Geralt without his permission, desperate to convince Kris – or himself? - that he was good enough at caring for Jaskier. He wouldn’t ever leave him. There was nothing that Geralt wouldn’t be able to see through with him.

A gentle but firm hand rested on his arm, making him look up. “I’m not going to take him away from you. All I’m saying is that you’ll need to look after yourself too.” They pulled their lip between their teeth, glancing over to where Jaskier was still sleeping peacefully. “I’m not going to push this, but if you ever need help, you can come to me. I’ve taken care of people before. I know how hard it is to do it alone.”

Kris’ words still tumbled through Geralt’s mind when the noise of the drumming rain subsided and the blue reclaimed its place on the sky and he and Jaskier left Kris’ home far behind.

He barely noticed arriving at their little cottage, until he automatically pushed the door open. His heart dropped.

Shock took hold of his limps, as he stared at their destroyed living room. Papers were strewn about, trinkets had fallen off the shelf and Jaskier’s lute was buried beneath his notebooks.

A light breeze ruffled his hair and his head snapped up to the window that was wide open, on one side unhinged.

“I don’t understand…” Geralt’s voice trailed off.

He heard Jaskier swallow thickly and turned around to see his eyes fixed on the window. “I think I’m starting to.” Before Geralt could ask what he meant, Jaskier left his side to stride over to the window, uncaring of the sheets of paper that littered his way. With a trembling hand he reached for the window, but hesitated. “You promise me you will try to help me open it again?” he asked with a shaking voice.

“Of course,” Geralt said. He meant it, though he had the creeping suspicion that he wasn’t completely certain what exactly Jaskier was asking for. But whatever it was, he would be there for him.

Kris’ words flashed through his mind and he shook himself.

They were quiet, when they picked up Jaskier’s notes, doing their best to sort through them, but the glum silence quickly got replaced by loving hums, when they discovered some trinket Geralt had brought back from one of his hunts, that had been gathering dust, almost forgotten.

They laughed when they deliberately messed up what pages belonged to which story, creating nonsense that Geralt threatened to publish under Jaskier’s name, earning him a playful slap on his arm.

They both sighed in relief when they opened the lute case to find the instrument unharmed. For a while the familiar soothing sounds of Jaskier plucking notes was the only sound in their cottage.

It was strangely serene taking care of this mess. After the storm they longed for calm and if they had to create it for themselves out of the shambles of their living room, then that’s what they would do.

Between the time spent putting everything back in its place and messing around while doing so, the afternoon passed by unnoticed and faded into night.

Jaskier put the lute away with a yawn and Geralt too found himself aching to get some rest.

Geralt’s breath hitched when he entered their bedroom. He hadn’t thought – it hadn’t crossed his mind –

“Oh.” Jaskier said and that small word sounded so big in the gaping hole in Geralt’s chest.

Of course the storm hadn’t spared their bedroom. There was not much of value in here, not much that could be broken anyway, expect –

Geralt lowered himself to his knees as he picked up the shards of the broken shell that would never again hang over their bed.

He knew that his quietness was deafening, crushing the unexpected cheerfulness that had embraced them while going through their stuff and being reminded of all the memories they had accumulated over the years, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

It was silly, he knew. There was no such thing as luck coming from sea shells or wishes from dandelions. Geralt didn’t believe in avoiding black cats or throwing salt over one’s shoulder. It wouldn’t do for a witcher to be superstitious.

And yet.

Seeing the pieces of the shell that was supposed to guard their luck lying on the floor like this, it felt as though his heart had shattered with it.

He picked up the pieces furiously, not caring whether or not the edges would cut into his skin.

He only stopped, when a hand took his, prying his fingers open more gently than he deserved.

“Jaskier,” he said, his voice broken. “Don’t bother. It’s gone.”

Jaskier didn’t listen and Geralt didn’t have the heart to close his hand and deny Jaskier to see pieces of Geralt’s first gift he had given him in their new home. He didn’t have the courage to look at Jaskier’s face as he did.

“Oh,” Jaskier said again, but this time it sounded excited, almost …happy?

Geralt raised his brows and turned to Jaskier, who held the biggest piece in his hand. It was the one with the hole, the thread still attached to it. Without hesitation Jaskier put it around his head.

“Jaskier, it’s broken. It’s not… it’s not the way it used to be.”

Jaskier’s smile turned radiant. “I know. It’s so much better now!” He lifted one hand to feel over his new necklace. “Now I can always carry a piece of our luck with me while some of it is still at home.” His eyes brightened. “Oh! We can take pieces of it anywhere we go. We can attach one to Roach’s saddle. We can bring one to the nice lady at the bakery who gave me some buns for free. And the fishermen for when they leave home. And the little forest on top of the dunes.”

Geralt watched silently as Jaskier rattled off all the names and places who deserved to have a piece of their luck and found himself smiling once more.

Jaskier was still brimming with excitement for his new stack of luck when they went to bed. Before Geralt closed his eyes, he made sure to put one of the pieces aside. Of all the people who deserved a share of their luck, Kris was surely amongst the ones who should have it the most.

#shout out to thingr2 for reminding me that Geralt needs some help #I might have mentioned i have no clue what im doing #is this angst? is this comfort?#it was meant to be angst but who even knows at this point #i defininetyl dont #geraskier #old jaskier #old!jaskier #the coast #witcher #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #fic #fanfic #my writing #accidental multichapter #Birds still sing when they fall from the sky #memory loss

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mistersshelby · 4 years ago

Text

mosley knew nothing | pt. one

i’ve thought a lot about the way season five ended and i’ve thought a lot about the kind of man oswald mosley is portrayed to be in the series and i started to wonder about how tommy had no idea who had betrayed him and so i wrote about it!

some scenes/partial dialogue/plot points have been borrowed from season five. this is the first part, i only imagine i would need one more part to wrap it up. i hope you like it!!! let me know what you think!!

warnings: physical abuse

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

“Darling,” You perked up at the sound of Oswald’s voice calling through the house to you, “I need to speak with you.” He says when he hangs his coat up and spots you sitting in the armchair by the fire.

You place your book down and rise to greet him, pressing your palms flat against his chest as you look up at him, “What is it?”

He graces you with a small smile and then leans down to give you a chaste peck on the lips before pushing you aside. You try not to show your disappointment.

“I have… a political… mission for you.”

You frown, “Darling, you know I’m no good at politics.”

He smacks a book down on the coffee table and you flinch, “What did I tell you about speaking like a commoner? If you want to be my wife you must speak properly! Now, say it again, right this time.”

You clasped your hands behind your back in the hopes he wouldn’t notice the way they were shaking, “Darling,” You start and swallow, “How could I ever be of service to you in politics when my talents lie elsewhere?”

He stares at you for a moment before lowering his gaze, “Much better.” He clears his throat, “It is true you know nothing of politics, but that won’t matter, my dear. You have a pretty face, that is all I need.” You wanted to interject here to ask what he meant, but were too afraid to anger him again so you held your tongue and waited for him to elaborate. “You remember when I have spoken of Thomas Shelby, yes?”

The name rang a bell, you knew he was someone in politics that Oswald could never tell if he could trust or not, but that was the most you could recall. You nodded, “Yes.”

“I believe he is trying to plan my murder.”

You frowned, your mouth opened a bit and shock, “What? Why would he--?”

“He’s a gangster, darling. He would have no trouble killing me with his bare hands. However, he’s also a politician now so he wouldn’t risk executing it himself. He will have some sort of elaborate plan in place to look like he wasn’t involved at all.”

“And… Why would you need me?”

He smiled and rose from where he was sitting, cupping your face in his hands. He was so gentle, so loving sometimes, you wished nothing more than to melt into him. It was moments like these you knew you would do anything he asked of you. “Shelby Company Limited has an opening for a personal assistant. Mr. Shelby will hire you, having no idea who you are, and then you will seduce him and find out his plans.”

You very nearly shoved him away, but instead your body just tensed. Oswald brushed a thumb against your cheek, “Now, now, darling, I know you are loyal to me and this is an absolutely repulsive request. I would not ask it of you if it were not imperative to my survival. You are my only hope.”

You looked up into this man’s eyes and saw your whole future. How could you ever refuse him when the alternative was losing him forever? “I will do it for you, Oswald. Anything for you.”

His smile spread across his face and he pulled you closer to his chest, “I hoped you would say that.”

***

“What did you say your name was again?” Thomas sat down behind his desk across from you, a lit cigarette between his fingers. He looked agonizingly bored.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, sir. If you look at my resume you’ll see I can help you with many things. I’ve had experience with child care and secretarial work. I’m very good at recording minutes at meetings and other transcripts, I--”

“That’s fine, you’re hired.”

You blinked in surprise, “Oh, I, really?”

“Yeah, you can start by going to keep my children entertained.”

You sat there, sort of stunned for a few more moments before getting the hint that you were dismissed and leaving. You did play with the children and they were lovely, but you still couldn’t understand the way Mister Shelby had hired you so easily.

The children were playing a game with you when they suddenly got quiet and a shadow loomed from behind you. “Y/N, come with me.”

You stood and followed him out, whispering discreet goodbyes to the children who couldn’t hide their smiles from you.

“My children seem to have taken a liking to you.” He started as you left the room.

You nodded, “Yes, and I to them. They’re darling.”

“Do you know who I am, Y/N?”

You frown, “Everyone in Birmingham knows who you are, Mr. Shelby.”

“So why would a bright young woman like you want to work for me?”

Bright? You had never really thought of yourself as smart. Oswald certainly didn’t think you were smart. “I’m unmarried and childless, I need a job.” You shrug, “That’s all.”

“Are you worried the job will be dangerous?”

You frowned, “The job description in the ad didn’t seem to be very dangerous.”

“Sometimes… Sometimes being my assistant could be dangerous. Are you okay with that?”

Oswald hadn’t given you much of a choice, but you couldn’t deny the fear that chilled your heart as his words, “That’s alright, Mr. Shelby, I understand.”

“You can call me Tommy.” He said and for the first time you looked directly into his eyes. They were ice blue, but strangely felt warm. You expected to see the coldness you saw in Oswald’s eyes, only worse, but there was kindness in Tommy’s eyes. Kindness and a lot of pain.

You nod, “Okay… Tommy.”

There’s the barest trace of amusement on his face, “Go home then, I’ll see you back here in the morning.”

***

The next few weeks you had more fun than you had in years working with Tommy. He was never cruel to you, always praising you and making you feel like you were important.

“Y/N,” Tommy started one day when you came into his office, “There have been rumors that the nuns who run the orphanage my wife’s foundation donates to have been abusing the children. Just last week a black child hung herself, the other children have said it was for fear of the nuns.”

You shook your head, “That’s terrible.”

“Yes,” Tommy agreed, “Which is why I need you to go and record official testimony from the children so I have proof.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Me? By myself? Tommy, I--”

“You’re smart and capable and wonderful with children. They’ll talk to you. If I went with you it would only make them afraid.” You looked down at your lap doubtfully, “Hey,” Tommy said and your eyes snapped back to his, “I trust you. You can do this.”

It was moments like these that you had to remind yourself that this man wanted Oswald dead. “Okay.” You agreed, “Why are you doing this, though? For your image?”

He frowned at you, “No, I’m doing this because children are suffering and I don’t want to turn a blind eye. I know what it feels like to be a helpless child.”

You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that this was the man Oswald insisted killed for sport, wanted him murdered. And yet, he’d protect children who weren’t his kin? “Okay.” You agreed, “I’ll go tomorrow.”

***

“What is the bastard making you do there all day?” Oswald asked one evening as you were putting dinner on the table, “Bury the bodies of men he kills?”

You were growing annoyed at Oswald’s criticisms of Tommy. You knew you ought to hate Shelby, but really, did he think Tommy was really killing people all the time? “No, Oswald, I’ve told you already. Tommy has only made me do incredibly normal things, like take notes at meetings and play with his children. Sometimes go pick up a package from a shop. Nothing illegal.”

“Tommy?” He mocked you, “Sounds like the two of you are getting awful close.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted, dear fiancé?” You can’t help the lilt of your words, the sarcasm drenching the whole sentence.

He’s across the table in an instant, hand clenched around your throat. You gasp for air, he’s close enough that you can smell the vodka on his breath. He’s drunk. You claw at his hands, but they only tighten, white spots dot the edge of your vision, “I am growing tired of your disrespectful tone, darling. Speak that way to me again and I will do much worse.”

When he lets go you fall to the floor, hands clutching your neck and tears pricking at your eyes. Oswald laughs at you and goes to pour himself another drink. Your hands shake as you serve him dinner and you don’t speak again that evening except for occasional “Yes, darling.” and “No, darling.”

***

“Y/N?” Tommy frowns as you walk into his office, “I thought you were going straight to the orphanage this morning.”

You pulled your collar up high around your neck, conscious of the hand shaped bruises you wore like a necklace, “Realized I forgot a notebook to record the testimony.” You said quietly, “I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.”

You’re conscious of his eyes on you as you walk around the room and think he must notice something is off with you, but he says nothing. You say nothing. And then you leave.

The orphanage takes up the majority of your day as you must first gain the trust of the children before they’re willing to tell you anything. You went in under the guise of a doctor, wanting to make sure they were all okay and the nuns didn’t seem to question it.

By the time you leave it’s late afternoon and you feel emotionally drained from the devastating accounts of the children who, according to them, were beat and psychologically tortured by the nuns daily.

“I’ll warn you,” You say as you collapse in the chair across from Tommy’s desk and slide your notes toward him, “It’s disgusting.”

He silently opens the notebook and reads a few pages before placing it down again, “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

You nod and stand to leave, “Who gave you those bruises on your neck?” He interjects suddenly and you nearly fall over.

“It’s nothing,” You say quickly and pull your collar around your neck again, “I should be going.”

“You work for me.” He says as you hurriedly walk to the door, nearly tripping over your own feet, “If someone is hurting you I can take care of it.”

You freeze with your hand on the doorknob and look down at your feet. The whole reason you were here was to find out how he planned to kill Oswald. And here he was. Unknowingly volunteering to kill Oswald. It was almost humorous. “Goodnight, Tommy.” You said finally and walked out the door.

***

“I’m sorry if I overstepped yesterday.” You snap your head up at the sound of Tommy’s voice who’s standing at the end of your desk.

“It’s alright,” You said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I just wanted you to know that I could help you. If you wanted.”

He just wants an excuse to kill someone. You thought to yourself, he doesn’t care about you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He stands there for another moment and then takes out a cigarette, “I’d like you to stay for dinner tonight. To thank you for your work at the orphanage. Also, it’s Ruby’s birthday and she’s requested that you be there.”

You smile, Ruby was a delight. You supposed this would also be a good opportunity to try and get more information out of Tommy. “I’d like that.”

***

Tommy’s wife is also at dinner and you wonder if this will hinder your chances of getting close with Tommy. She seems suspicious of you, faking smiles and pleasantries when Ruby jumps in your arms. She quickly scolds Ruby and tells her not to ruin her new dress.

Dinner is uneventful and mostly silent except when you sneak funny faces at Ruby and Charles, smiling to yourself when they dissolve in giggles. After dinner, Tommy asks you to take a walk with him outside and Lizzie can barely hide her disgust as she storms away, leaving the children to the maid.

“When Charles’s mother died this place stopped being a home.” He said as you walked quietly in the light of dusk. “Lizzie… Lizzie was happy when she got pregnant with Ruby, but not because she wanted to be a mother, but because she knew it would give her what she always wanted: me. But she’s not a good mother.”

You frowned, unsure why he was telling you this, “The children love Lizzie, they talk about her all the time.”

“Only because she is the only mother they’ve ever known. But then you come along and… I’ve never seen them as happy as when they’re with you.”

You offer him a half smile, “They’ve made me happier than I’ve been in a long time.” You say, and it’s true.

He nods and is silent for a moment, seemingly hesitating to say whatever he wants to say next, “Tell me who is hurting you so I can stop it. If only to spare my children the heartache if you turn up dead.”

You stop and turn to him, mouth falling open, “Tommy, I’m fine. I promise you I’m not in any danger.”

“A man who would put his hands on a woman will only feel gratification if she dies at his hand.” You’ve reached the stables now and Tommy has turned to face you. Your back brushes against the wall of the stable and Tommy is standing very close to you.

You shake your head, “He wouldn’t.” But your voice falters and you both know you’re lying.

Tommy moves to brush the back of his hand against your cheek, but you flinch at the movement and he drops it back down. You regret it instantly, realizing that you want him to touch you. Thoughts of Oswald and why you’re really here leave your mind and you take a step closer to him. He doesn’t back away. You rise on your tiptoes, you can feel your heart beating in your throat as your lips slowly inch closer to his--

“Mister Shelby?”

You reel back, slamming yourself into the stable wall behind you. Tommy, unfazed, turns around to see one of his staff standing behind him, “What is it?”

“Mister Churchill is at the house, sir, he demands an audience with you.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows, “Oh, does he?” He looks back at you and then sighs, “Set him up in my office, I’ll head back in a moment.”

“Winston Churchill? What would he want with you?”

The corner of Tommy’s mouth quirks up, “You know, for once, I have no idea.” He stares at your mouth for a moment too long before turning away and walking back to the house. You quickly walk after him, head still reeling from your almost-kiss.

You were engaged to Oswald, you loved Oswald, Tommy wanted Oswald dead. But still, you couldn’t deny the way your heart pulled to Tommy. It made you feel sick.

“Would you like to stay the night?” He asked when you had gotten close to the house.

You blinked at him, appalled, “What?”

“No, I don’t mean… It’s late, you can stay in a guest room. I’ll have someone make it up for you. Unless…” He eyed your neck and you fought not to cover it up, “Unless it would be worse for you to not go home.”

You should go home, but… What if what he talks to Churchill about is important? Oswald will understand. You needed to save him. You were most likely running out of time. “A bed to sleep in would be nice.”

He nods and opens the door for the house, ordering a maid to bring you to a guest room. “Thank you for coming.” He says turning back to you, “I’m sure Ruby really appreciated it.”

You smiled, “I would do anything for her, that girl has me wrapped around her finger.” And you meant it.

He manages a small smile and then turns away from you to head to his office. You let the maid bring you upstairs and wait for her to leave before you quietly move down the stairs again, deciding that if anyone caught you, you’d say you were looking for the bathroom. But there was no one to be seen in the corridors of Tommy’s large home. You heard murmurs coming from outside his office door and checked once more that no one was around before pressing your ear to the wood.

“...because there are rumors of you allying yourself with that fascist Mosley, but you’re not his ally at all, are you? You’re spying on him.”

Oswald. They were talking about Oswald. “Yes.” Tommy says.

“Why?”

“The honest answer is… I’m no longer sure.”

You listen for a few minutes longer, finding out that both Churchill and Tommy believe your fiancé is dangerous, someone who would fan the flames of another war. Eventually, you slowly walk back up the stairs to your bedroom. You lie in the bed, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours. You hear Tommy come up the stairs and stop outside your bedroom door, only to walk away moments later.

You lie awake and think about the man you are sworn to marry. You start to wonder if you really know him at all.

#mine #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby imagine #tommy x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby fanfic

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unikornavenger · 4 years ago

Text

Having a Seat at the Table

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564421

Warnings: Anxiety, low-key cursing, arguing, nothing too bad

Word Count: 2275

A/N: I wrote and edited this in like two hours two nights ago in a mad frenzy after not finishing any writing in an extremely long time, so keep that in mind.

Summary: After Putting Others First, no one wants to tell Virgil what happened, so he confronts Jan- Deceit- about what happened.

Alright, onward with the story!

He blows out a breath with a force that swishes his bangs.

He can do this.

It’s just a door, then a conversation. Besides, he’s been meaning to do this for a long time.

He raps on the door three times.

Brief flashes of memories scatter through his brain: his small frame trembling as he knocked on the door in the hopes that someone would finally answer, lightly tapping on the door as he wondered if he would be let in again or if it was just a one-time fluke, elation and joy filling his entire person as he called out to the person on the other side of the door, the door slamming in his face combined with threats that if he ever touched this door again, a loud noise wouldn’t be the only thing coming his way.

“You may enter.”

Another breath exits his mouth. Game face on.

He twists the doorknob, letting the all too familiar pale yellow walls fill his vision in contrast to the dark oak floors. It’s eerie how similar the room looks. The bed is in the same place with the same black comforter with shiny triangles on them if you look at it in a particular light. The only notable change is the dark chair shaped like a throne smack dab in the middle of the room.

“Ah, Virgil,” sitting in the chair, Deceit turns around. Apparently, it’s a swivel chair, Virgil thinks distantly. “Well, this is most certainly unexpected.” His elbows rest on the arms of the chair and his fingertips are spread apart and pressed together. His head is slightly tilted forward as one side of his mouth is lifted the smallest bit.

Literally the personification of a Disney villain.

Virgil snarled, “Cut the crap, Deceit.”

“Oh?” Deceit raises an eyebrow. Virgil feels his body fill with resentment at Deceit’s complacency. A feeling of static courses through his veins. In the back of his mind, he feels his hands begin to shake.

He stalks into the room, slamming the door behind him. He points an accusatory finger as Deceit adopts an amused face, “I want you to tell me what the hell you did upstairs.”

“So, to the point,” Deceit leans forward as he places his elbows on his knees and cups his chin in his hands. “What happened to ‘Oh, hello, Deceit!’ or ‘What a wonderful opportunity to speak with you again, Deceit!’”

Oh my god. He forgot just how absolutely exhausting it is to have a proper conversation with him.

Virgil crosses his arms, with only a few feet of separation, keeping his glaring gaze aimed at Deceit, “I’m not leaving until I get an answer.”

“Mhmm, very well.” Deceit turns back to his desk that Virgil didn’t even notice until right now. Books litter the surface, lying haphazardly on top of each other. Half-filled sheets of paper are strewn about as well. Pens litter the table as does a single unsolved Rubix cube. What would Thomas’s deceit need to work out exactly? “We both know that one side staying in another’s room does wonders for their mental stability.”

Virgil represses a shudder as he recalls the night he figured out just how dangerous Deceit’s room could be.

He remembers shoving himself in the corner of the room as he felt cotton being shoved down his throat when, in reality, nothing was in his mouth. Deceit was demanding Virgil express his hatred toward the light sides. Virgil tried to cry out how Morality’s cheery disposition leaves him with cavities, how Logic’s propensity to correct everyone on everything turned him off, and how Creativity’s passionate need to overpower all ideas that aren’t his rubbed Virgil the wrong way.

But, those weren’t the full truths.

Suddenly, as the half-truths spilled out of his mouth, each word turned to dust in his mouth. His throat not functioning at all and panic rising as he sought refuge in the farthest space from Deceit. He didn’t want him to know the full extent of his words. He couldn’t be kicked out of the dark sides.

Virgil sniffs, “Well, I guess we’ll both have to deal if it comes to that. Now, I will only repeat my question one more time: what did you do?”

“Ugh,” Deceit exclaims, twisting around to face Virgil again, “why are you coming to the self-proclaimed master of decep-”

Virgil interrupts him by rushing up and grabbing two fistfuls of Deceit’s shirt and pulling him out of his seat, “I am not kidding around.” He could feel his eyes widen and him baring his teeth. “You need to tell me why when I asked everyone how the video went Logan mumbled that he wasn’t feeling well, Patton said he didn’t think it was a good idea, and I haven’t even seen Roman.” He lets out a humorless laugh, “I haven’t heard from any of them in three days. It’s been three days, Deceit! Tell me what happened!”

His breath is coming out in short pants now and his hands are turning white from the vice grip he has on Deceit’s clothes. Virgil searches Deceit’s eyes for something. Anything. To the untrained eye, he would appear calm and collected, but after years of Virgil having to translate all of his actions into honest words, he sees something foreign. Something weird glimmering underneath the surface.

“Once you put me down, perhaps we can speak as equals.”

Virgil lets go as feels some satisfaction in his stomach as Deceit lets out an oomph from hitting his chair.

The deceitful side adjusts his top and stands up to being pacing around his desk. “You see, Virgil, I was only doing my job up there.” He grabs a pen from his desk and begins twirling it in his hand. The practiced motion is so fluid as the pen seems to twirl itself and travel between his fingers. “You of all people should know that how people react to you doing your job is not your responsibility.”

“Okay, sure, but one needs to know when to hold back and apologize when they do something wrong.” He waves his hands frantically, “Don’t push us off-topic.”

He places the pen back on his desk, “If you want to know what went so wrong, why don’t you ask Thomas?”

Virgil feels himself stiffen. He’s not ready yet to talk to Thomas by himself. He’s sure that those two consecutive trainwrecks of videos are not conducive to Thomas or himself being ready for an emotionally charged conversation.

But, Deceit doesn’t need to know that.

“I- Thomas has been busy and-” his hand suddenly flies up and slaps him over his own mouth.

Deceit turns around with a fist in the air and feigns surprise, “Oh, no, no, no, Virgie.” He unclenches his hand, “You know lying is not permitted in this room.”

Virgil hears his heart clamoring in his chest and his hands become slick.

Crap.

“Well, I’m not the only one who’s avoiding telling me the truth.”

Deceit holds up his hands in admission, “You got me there.” He flings his cape backward to sit on his bed without wrinkling his cape. He pats the empty space next to him, “Sit down for a little storytime.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself. So, the thing is,” he takes a dramatic pause (Jesus Christ, does this man think he’s Roman? Cut to the chase!). He takes off both of his gloves and places them in his lap.

Virgil takes a step back but doesn’t say anything on the subject further. He hasn’t seen Deceit’s bare hands in years. It’s almost like he forgot they existed. At least it seems like he’s taking his inquiry seriously.

“Thomas needs to realize that Patton is pushing him over the edge.”

“What?” Virgil takes up a defensive stance. What does he have against Patton now?

“Please,” he looks up with pleading eyes, “let me finish.”

The uncharacteristic earnestness in Deceit’s voice and face is so alarming. Virgil’s head is literally screaming for him to leave, but he can’t afford to miss this opportunity for answers.

Deceit resumes, “He wanted Thomas to put his mental health on the line to make someone else happy.” He gulps, “I could not let that behavior continue. Thomas cannot be sent into a mental health crisis in order for him to learn his limits.” His gloves drop to the floor, “That is completely unacceptable behavior from Morality.”

Virgil swallows, “Okay, so, that explains Patton’s reluctancy. Um, Logan?”

“Ah, yes, I may or may not have pulled him out of the entire video in order to get my point across.”

Virgil sends him a semi-eye-roll mixed with pursed lips, “Should’ve known you weren’t as good as you were making yourself seem.”

Deceit inhales sharply, “Of course not.” He picks up his gloves, “Someone has to pick up your task of keeping everyone on their toes.”

Ouch, but he didn’t come here to make amends with Deceit or even to defend himself.

“Uh, so, Roman? What’d you do to him?” Virgil shifts his stance as Deceit finally stands from his bed to meet his eyes as he slides his gloves back over his hands.

“He was obviously distrusting me due to his previous experiences with me. You know, harboring negative feelings toward someone is 100% conducive to a positive partnership.”

Virgil shakes his head as Deceit mumbles, “I, also, may have called him evil.”

Virgil’s expression changes immediately, hardening where he let cracks form when Deceit was explaining the previous situations. He should have known better than to let his guard down in front of the literal professional manipulator.

“Why?” He lets out through clenched teeth.

“It was necessary to get my point across. Crass or not, it already happened. What’s done is done.”

So blasé.

Virgil lets out a hollow laugh as he stabs a finger at Deceit’s chest, “This is why no one listens to you! You are literally the definition of a villain!”

Deceit sighs as he pushes away Virgil’s arm, “We all want to help Thomas in our own way. None of us are villains as you people love to imply.”

The audacity. “You are not who you think you are.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You hurt us. You punish us when things don’t go your way, lashing out in every single opportunity just so you can get in the last word.”

“I HELP Thomas get what he wants and deserves. I don’t know how much harder I can get it into your thick-”

“You only hurt people!” Virgil exclaims. These words gained so much dust over the years, and it feels so good for him to finally get it out of his system. It’s like he can finally breathe again, “There’s no compromising with you!”

“That’s not-”

“You force us into silence. Hiding away parts of Thomas you don’t want him to see.”

“He’s not ready to-”

“Thomas is a full-grown adult!” Virgil flails his arms wildly, and he swears he seems another glimmer in Deceit’s eyes, “I get that self-preservation has its time and place, but you’re taking it way too far!”

“I am protecting Thomas the same way you do.”

“Don’t you dare compare your actions to mine.” Virgil’s stomach flips as Deceit’s lips curl into a smirk.

“But, don’t we want the same thing? We just want to protect our darling boy.” He steps forward, “The only difference between us is that your forgiving personality has charmed Thomas and the others before mine could.”

“No, I-”

“We are two peas of the same pod, whether you like it or not.” Virgil represses a flinch as Deceit trails his finger along Virgil’s jaw, “You used to understand that so well.”

Virgil yanks himself out of Deceit’s grasp, “Yeah, well, I learned how to be listened to without being feared. I worked for a seat at that table. I didn’t just hurt people until they realized that they could never get rid of me. That’s you.”

“Well, in my defense, I did have to save myself from Roman’s onslaught of biting words.”

Virgil swallows. Uh oh. “Roman’s grown, unlike you.”

Deceit scoffs, “I beg to differ. He was all,” he clasps his hands and speaks in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, Thomas can’t put any good into the world with him here! He’s evil! Thomas is ethically compromised with Janus here!”

Wait.

What.

“You- you-” Virgil stammers, “Thomas-”

Deceit drops his hands and adopts a bored expression.

“Thomas let you have a seat at the table.” The words fall out of Virgil’s mouth without much thought before then. His throat begins to tighten.

“Oh, yes, and it was evidently very well received.”

Breathless, Virgil manages, “I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head at the ground. After all this time Virgil spent showing Thomas how Deceit can’t be trusted, he just lets it happen. He learned Deceit’s name. All that work for nothing.

They’re worse off from where they started.

How could he do this?

“It’s not that difficult to comprehend. We are now equals.”

Virgil looks at Deceit with a fire that could burn down a city, “We never have been and never will be the same. I refuse to be put in the same sentence as a manipulator who thinks the ends perpetually justify the means.”

Virgil turns away and walks toward Deceit’s door.

“Like it or not, Thomas has decided to trust me, Janus Sanders, with giving him well-needed advice.”

Virgil blinks, feeling the cool metal of the doorknob begin to burn his skin. He opens the door and faces Deceit, “Stay away from my family.”

Slam.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fanfic #thomas sanders #uni writes #post-POF

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