#sat here with a vertigo episode and just. thinking about how I’ll never be able to enjoy an amusement park again.
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
abled people underestimate how much they take for granted. of course for every thing you can do, there is someone who can’t do it. i think they (typically) sort of understand that, or at least act like they do. but to me the biggest difference between us—the thing they won’t ever understand—is that they don’t have any losses to mourn.
in my case before I got sick I was a particularly energetic and rambunctious child. I did every sort of sport, every game, i was always playing or doing something. what I think about a lot is how i was always excited for the annual state fair to come around because i wanted to go on every ride and try every mini game. mostly, i LOVED rollercoasters. they’re fast and thrilling and you feel weightless. but I was small! so for most of the rollercoasters i wanted to go on, i was too small to ride. and then I got sick right as i hit puberty and now I can’t go on ANY rollercoasters.
and how am I supposed to get over that? there’s an entire expansive catalogue of things I can’t do now, most of which were things I wanted and still want to do, but I just can’t. i never will. that door is permanently closed, and it happened so suddenly I couldn’t even protest.
they can’t really comprehend it. they don’t know the loss-of-privilege like that. the privilege in this case i think is one of choice—for instance, if they want to go on the rollercoaster or not—and they never stop to think that many of us don’t get that choice. they take that choice for granted and assume they will always have the choice to choose what they want to do. I’m happy for them, because I wish we all had the privilege of choice, but im mostly bitter.
#it also ties into classism but I assume you’re big kids and can understand that part without being told.#reminds me a lot of people with certain food restrictions and how those of us without any dietary needs never have to stop to worry about it#like it’s a loss. at the end of the day. being disabled means you lose something.#💙 cass#disabled#chronically ill#sat here with a vertigo episode and just. thinking about how I’ll never be able to enjoy an amusement park again.#it’s not just about the coasters but damn does that one get me the most#it’s everything really. but it’s the stuff you don’t realize you miss that gets ya
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fair
https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298580
Secret Santa gift for @alextblue!
This was such a lovely prompt! I hope you like it!!
Keep it together or they’ll never invite you out again.
He knew when he woke up, tangled in the duvet and soaked in a cold sweat that it was going to be a bad day. No matter how deep a breath he heaved, none of the air reached its way to the bottom of his lungs, caught it seemed on the tight band crushed around his ribs.
Relax.
Just relax.
Everything is fine.
More than fine.
Great even.
Jon was meeting Martin and Tim at an outdoor festival and with the weather for once bright and sunny, it was going to be a wonderful day. In succession, he tightened each muscle, holding himself stiff before relaxing and shoving the thrumming anxiety to the back of his awareness where it hung like a trembling red wire.
Shower. Clothes. Hair loosely tied. Tea.
Stomach unsettled, his toast remained untouched on the counter.
Keys, wallet, phone. Each in their appropriate pocket.
Deep breath. Two. Three.
“I’m alright.” Because he was. There was no reason for this. None at all and he was going to end up being too much of a nuisance for his friends. Maybe he should cancel. No. No. Who knew when he’d get another chance to prove he was more than their arse of a boss and worth having around.
The train went well. He made it to the predetermined meeting place in the park early as was his wont and checked his phone for messages. Predictably, Tim was running a few minutes late but Martin would be here soon and sure enough Jon saw him weaving his way politely through the crowd, raising his arm up to catch his attention.
“Jon!”
“Martin.” When he dug up a smile from somewhere Martin’s face lit up in response and a jolt not unlike lightning ran up Jon’s spine. A strong arm landed over his shoulders and the smell of Tim’s aftershave assaulted him right before his enthusiastic greeting.
“Hullo, gents!”
For a little while, Jon was able to lose himself in the music, the sights, the people watching, settling his nerves with a pint and prattling on about obscure music genres much to Martin’s apparent enjoyment. Tim ribbed him good naturedly and only commented on the blush (not from Martin grinning at him, thank you very much) from the alcohol traveling up his neck and settling high in his face.
“Thank you, Tim.” Voice measured and academic, Jon accepted the next pint with a hand forcibly held still, relaxing on the bench with Tim sprawled comfortably next to him. Martin was locating food and would meet them back here.
“Whoa! Slow down, champ.” Jon had downed half of it without thinking and was now looking dazedly at the plastic in his hand. “You alright, boss?”
“Mm. Yes, of course. Was thinking, is all.” A knobby elbow nudged his side and Jon suppressed a ticklish yelp.
“Thinking.” The way he drew out the word and raised a brow made Jon grateful for his already rosy cheeks.
“Stop! No!” Tim raised his hands in supplication.
“Sure, sure, whatever you say!” He all but tackled Tim when he pulled out his phone and began texting and that’s how Martin found them, tangled up with each other, Jon’s fingers in a deathgrip around the device to prevent him from spreading gossip. Tim just laughed, loud and bright and Martin, the traitor, snapped a picture before doling out the kebab.
It was shortly after lunch that Jon felt the strain of the hours spent pressed between strangers and overwhelmed by sounds and colors and the deep breaths weren’t helping anymore. Instead, Jon’s whole chest ached from how tight it was strung, tied up in knots drawn tighter with each attempt. Incessantly, he checked his watch, trying to hide it from the pair chatting just ahead of him, but the minutes weren’t moving and all he wanted to do was escape the throng, nails digging painful crescent moons into his palms as he clenched his hands into aching fists. His heart was pounding, the sun beating down without mercy and he regretted his previous decision to quaff beer like there was a drought when the nausea returned.
Jon was on autopilot, eyes fixed forward, one step after another after another after another with his heart fluttering in a throat so narrow he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. So he tugged on Martin’s sleeve, gesturing clumsy and stiff to the edge of the green.
“Just. Just be a, a minute, yeah?” The concern in his eyes was suffocating. He was ruining this.
“Everything alright, Jon?” He’d reached a hard limit. There were no more words left, no more air, so he nodded, flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and walked away rigid and panting through an endless sea of jostling bodies.
Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t he handle this like all the rest of them? Why did he have to be so difficult he needed to be invited to things out of pity?
What is wrong with you?
Jon hadn’t realized he’d yanked his hair out of its loose bun and was tugging on it until his head began to hurt. He stumbled more than once, vision going grey at the edges and what had only been anxiety before was swiftly sliding sideways into a panic attack. Dizzy. Where before he felt tense, as though breathing too deeply might crack him straight in half, now he was suffocating, arguing with himself:
Can’t breathe.
You can.
Back and forth, almost to the border and across the street to a bench, out of the way. Invisible. He’d fall apart here, scrape himself back together, and head back to find Martin and Tim. Ten minutes. He checked his watch. He’d give himself ten minutes. Panting, he pressed a hand to his breastbone, trying to force himself to calm down, relax, take in some air to prevent the black from spiraling further. Briefly, wildly he’s--
Dying.
Not. Shut up shut up shut up.
His ten minutes were almost up and it had been more like ten seconds. His chest hurt and he couldn’t breathe and his pulse was galloping out of control and filling his ears with a pounding, pounding, pounding. His fingertips were numb, he was light headed and trembling with his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. He wanted Martin. He wanted Tim. He wanted nobody to see him like this. He couldn’t decide which was worse god he was pathetic just get ahold of yourself, Jonathan Sims!
Curled up impossibly small, wracked violently with chills and panic, Jon poured all his energy into staying silent and when a warm hand landed on his shoulder his shout of surprise was trapped behind clenched teeth. He looked up into Martin’s wide eyes and felt his own spill over with tears and a muffled sob. He’d been caught and the panic only rose higher until Martin laid a heavy hand across his shoulder blades.
“Jon. You need to take a breath.”
“C’c ah an’t.” He’d been trying. And failing. Always failing.
“You can, I promise.” And when he demonstrated, exaggerated, deep, Jon felt a pang of jealousy at how easy it came to him. “You can.” A sip of air made it through, then another. “Good, there you go, slow, good.”
“What’s happened?” With Tim came a fresh wave of tears and he sat beside Jon so that he was bracketed by the pair of them. “Oh, Jon. Okay, doing great, bud.”
“I’m,” he paused, swallowed another gulping breath. “M’sorry.”
“No reason to be sorry.” Jon wasn’t altogether certain Martin could be believed. “Just breathe, in, out. Good.”
“Okay…m’okay.”
“It’s alright if you’re not. Take your time.” Jon slumped forward under the weight of it all, exhausted and sore and full to bursting with guilt.
“I’m j’just. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough. His apologies never were and he didn’t know what else to say, what would make this better. “I didn’t mean. I.” Martin shushed his babbling, pressing a cool bottle of water into his shaking hands and wouldn’t hear anymore out of him until he’d downed at least a third.
“Jon?” The silence was becoming too much under the scrutiny of the pair of them and he just wanted to forget his little episode and get back to the festival so they would smile again instead of look at him with pity.
“We can, we can go back now.”
“Jon?” Of course, why would they want him to tag along anymore after this foolishness?
“Or I, I can leave, uh, go home. Yes. Yes, I’ll go home and see you at work. T’tomorrow.” Ignoring their noises of distress, Jon sprang to his feet and almost went down again when a wave of vertigo tilted the street. He was guided by careful hands back to the bench, head gently pressed down between his knees.
“Why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?” Tears traced his nose, falling to the pavement below but he forced them back, speaking in a very small voice in an attempt to contain his histrionics.
“Didn’t want to ruin our day.”
“What?”
“I know. I, I did anyhow, I’m--”
“You’ve not ruined anything, Jon.” Martin was so kind, too kind. And here he was squandering it.
“Yeah, boss. It happens, no harm done.” They didn’t understand and Jon clapped both hands over his mouth before it could all come bursting out, how much this meant to him and how upset he was to have lost his chance. It rushed forth anyway, too big, too vast, and not wholly intelligible.
“I know I was only invited because of Martin and I. I.” This was embarrassing and he wasn’t able to stop himself. He never could. “I was hoping I'd be w’welcome next t’time? If only I, I were on my best behavior.” Good lord, he was crying again, a mess, here in the street where he was probably drawing all manner of looks. They shouldn’t have to put up with this. “I, I know I can be, be awful. I don’t, I’m rude and quick to irritation and I’m, I’m--” Gasping. He’d worked himself into another bout or maybe he hadn’t even come down from it in the first place.
“Breathe, Jon.” Stern and his teeth clicked with the force of their collision. “Breathe.” Only when he wasn’t on the verge of passing out did Martin continue. “Jon, I’m sorry. I had no idea you felt this way.”
“If I’d known--” Tim was quiet. “I shouldn’t have assumed it wasn’t your scene. I didn’t. No. I mean, I didn’t, but that’s no excuse.”
“No, no it’s. It isn’t your--I. I.” It was him. “I.” Tim swept him up into an embrace, exerting the perfect pressure across his shoulders and he melted into the warmth like he’d done back in research a time or two.
Or three.
Maybe four.
“We’ll finish talking about this later, alright? When you’ve had some sleep.”
“I, I don’t--it’s…” When Martin’s firm grip enveloped his shoulder Jon gave up, let the rest of it all go. “I’m--”
“Don’t say it. Don’t need to be.”
“You’re our friend, Jon.”
“But--”
“Nope!” Tim helped him stand, took his arm in his and set off towards the underground. “Martin, my dear, my darling, if you’re amenable, I think I’d like to finish our spectacular day with a few drinks at mine.” Jon went red. “I don’t think you’ve yet had the pleasure of meeting my good friend Three-Shot Sims.”
“Tim!” Martin had the audacity to pretend to think about it.
“You know, Tim.” And both ignored Jon’s sputtering in favor of nearly carrying him down the street. “I don’t think I have!” With no other choice and knowing he’d be under no pressure to perform that particular introduction, Jon let Tim guide him along.
“Oh, Marto, my boy. He’s a real treat.”
#TMA#the magnus archives#martin blackwood#jon sims#tim stoker#Emotional Hurt/Comfort#angst#panic attack#anxiety#mental health issues#depression#secret santa!
62 notes
·
View notes
Text
Old Souls
{A Scarlet Heart: Ryeo fan fiction}
Set immediately after the end of episode 20.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Jin Woo would have rather remained by the lake shore than heed the voice that told him he needed to go. Staring out at the water made him melancholy, certainly, but also nostalgic. For a beautiful memory that he couldn’t quite recall. And he didn’t care for once whether that memory was his or should be his, so long as he could remain in this place.
But Professor Choi’s voice intruded on the solitude of his world and, like a hand on the small of his back, compelled him to move on. Deeper into the palace complex, toward a cluster of brightly painted tile-roof structures.
The farther he moved from the lake the colder it grew. There it had been late spring, but by the time he stepped into this desolate courtyard it was the dead of winter. A light snow had begun to fall and his breath was rising before him in white clouds.
He looked around for any signs of life. The colorful livery of eunuchs or court ladies striding briskly up the path about some errand. Bearded ministers in their palace attire, or even a few stationary guards standing at attention. But there were none of these. The palace was eerie in its emptiness.
Of course, he thought, they’ve all gone and left me here alone.
Even in its emptiness, the palace grounds felt somehow hostile. As though an unseen force didn’t want him there, and would have driven him out if it could. Had it been up to him he would have turned back right then and let the palace keep its secrets. But he couldn’t ignore the guiding voice in his ear that urged him forward.
Finally, he came to stand at the base of a tower, and from there he couldn’t see its top. He wasn’t sure if always been there or if it had just appeared without his noticing. At the sight of it, Jin Woo’s heart was gripped with fear. At the top of that tower, he knew, he could find the source of this fear. Only by facing it could he end it. But he hesitated. He nearly ran away.
Yoon Jung’s voice cut through, “Enter.” It said, “Climb.”
Jin Woo obeyed.
The ground floor of the tower was unremarkable. Lined with shelves, each stacked with books. There were all kinds of quiet nooks in this place where he could hide himself away for hours and read undisturbed, and he had whiled away many lonely days that way. Most of these books he had read through at least once. Yes, even the lewd ones the room’s owner used to hide among the other works of philosophy and military strategy.
A brief smile crossed his lips, remembering.
He looked around at the far-fetched inventions that person had always been trying to show off. There was the one that allowed a man to see across great distances and one that supposedly allowed a man to fly like a bird. All nonsense of course. But when he was a child there was nothing he liked better than to listen to that man’s fantastical stories.
But walking among the shelves, there was no sign of the old Astronomer.
He would need to climb higher.
He walked around for some time before he found the stairs that brought him to the next landing, coming to a stop at one end of a hallway bathed in fuchsia light. The walls were hung with rich fabrics and Jin Woo could almost hear old echoes of laughter behind the paper screens. He walked directly to the last door on the hall and stepped inside. The floor of the room was strewn with loose sheets of paper. Jin Woo had to walk carefully to avoid crushing them underfoot. Picking one up he studied an ink drawing of a woman, by her hair and apparel she seemed a gisaeng. Hardly a surprise. The 13th prince visited the gibang often to draw the girls and was a great favorite there. Glancing around, however, these sketches all appeared to be of the same woman.
She was never smiling, and her eyes appeared to him unutterably sad. Looking at them Jin Woo felt an unaccountable sense of regret, though he couldn’t quite remember the reason.
The window was open onto a night view of Son’gak’s red-light district. Lanterns lined the streets. Beneath the window stood a lacquered table littered with ceramic bottles of rice wine. Some were chipped and overturned. Jin Woo picked one up and looked down the neck.
Empty.
He glanced around once more, but there was no sign of the one who had once sat there pouring drink after drink for both of them into the early hours of the morning. His first friend in the palace. The first among his brothers to treat him as such.
Him too, Jin Woo thought, he’s gone like the rest of them.
He left the room, a little heavier in his heart than he had been when he entered, and the stairs were waiting to take him higher still. He climbed, though this time he seemed to climb much longer before he came to the next landing. But when he reached it he caught the scent of incense and aromatic herbs that hung in the air and drew him onward.
That scent sparked something in him, and he quickened his pace, his body carried him where he wanted to go as though he’d followed the same path hundreds of times. And he knew he had. He passed through the circular doorway and entered her room. He glanced around, heart beating hard, trying to keep the smile from his lips at the thought of seeing her face.
But she was missing too.
Laid out across her worktable were a series of small pots of pigments, brushes and powders. As though by force of habit he began mixing them like she had taught him, testing the color on the soft flesh of his wrist and stirring the mixture again until the foundation came out smooth and even.
Had she known even then that she was going away? Was that why she had thought to teach him?
“What do you need it for?” Yoon Jung’s voice intruded on his work. Though it sounded fainter than before.
“She made it for me.”
“For what purpose?”
It was an invisible mask she made for him to cover his…to cover his…He reached up with a jerking motion and touched the left side of his face. How hadn’t he noticed, all this time, he’d been wearing that horrible leather thing? Plated over like armor, rough against his skin. How long had it been there? Yes, I’ve been wearing this for a long time now.
“Why wear it if you don’t need it anymore?”
“I need it.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t forget.” Jin Woo said with a quaver in his voice. “Wherever she went. No matter what world she’s in…I’ll wear it so I won’t forget to find her.”
“But if you’ve found her again, don’t you think you should take it off now?” The professor’s voice was growing so quiet, Jin Woo had to strain to make out the words.
He reached for the cords that fastened the mask to his head. He couldn’t seem to untangle the knot, and his fingers were trembling. Up, he thought, I must keep going up if I want to get this thing off. He rushed from the room without Yoon Jung’s bidding this time. He had to search for the stairs, but when he found them again it wasn’t long before they brought him to the next floor.
This room, unlike the ones before it, was horribly bare. Save for a bed at its center. The smell of bitter medicine and death hung thick in the air.
Try as he might to step quietly, the sound of his footfalls echoed like a long roll of thunder as he crossed the room. As he approached the bed his chest felt tight, like a cold hand was gripping his heart and his breath would only come short and labored.
He still heard Yoon Jung’s voice, “Jin Woo? Don’t go quiet on me. What are you seeing?” But he felt as though he was too far away now, even if Jin Woo called out, he felt the professor would not be able to hear him from this place.
Beneath the blanket he discerned a shape, as of a slight, huddled figure. Almost imperceptibly Jin Woo could make out the rise and fall of its breathing. He sat down on the bed’s furthest edge. By his feet a bowl had appeared, it held the decoction he’d come there to give her. He picked it up and held it between his two unsteady hands. He felt a scream creeping up in his throat as he did so, but he swallowed it back down and forced himself to yank back the covers.
Empty.
The room had grown frigidly cold. The bowl, coated with frost, slipped from his fingers and he moved to hug himself. The sound of the china shattering on the floor was like a gunshot in the silence of the room, startling him, and starting tears in his eyes.
“Oemmeoni,” His voice shook.
Before his imagination Jin Woo could clearly picture the last time he’d seen his mother’s face. He could see her leaning over a suitcase lying open on her bed, eyes flickering, mouth set, as she silently inventoried everything she would need on her journey. It seemed she was planning to go very far away. He floated like a ghost by her bedroom door, watching.
At the same time, these memories intermingled with Wang So’s last vision of his own mother. Looking up at him from this very bed. All he’d wanted to do was nurse her to health, to feed her from his own hand. But she had preferred starvation to accepting anything from him. Jin Woo gazed now at the imprint she’d left behind in the bed. Her body had grown so frail and thin by the end.
The two memories came through so sharp, yet so starkly different. One on top of other, like a superimposed image, and watching it play out made Jin Woo feel ill. A sensation not unlike vertigo.
In his own faded memories of that day he had always imagined tears in his mother’s eyes. Now he saw clearly, that her eyes were dry and distant. He realized it was him who was crying. That that would be his mother’s last memory of his face, and his stomach suddenly clenched with unwanted shame. He thought he’d known, even at that time that she wasn’t ever coming back for him. But that hadn’t kept him from waiting for her. From trying to become the kind of son she had wanted. Hoping against hope.
But then, hope had always been a trap. For the both of them.
Jin Woo could feel how his mother had pressed her last kiss hard onto his forehead and brushed passed him toward the back door of their house where a car was waiting for her, without once truly seeing him. But he could feel, also, Queen Yoo’s fingernails, digging into the scar on Wang So’s face. The spite and…yes, the terror in her eyes as he’d loomed over her in her final moments.
She hated you, he thought, until her dying breath she hated you. But you were so desperate for her to look at you. Were you happy to have her to yourself like this? Did you think you could force her to love you?
Jin Woo thought the professor was calling for him, though he could no longer hear him over the noise in his own head. He knew he couldn’t go back yet. He’d already noticed another door on the other side of the room. He was supposed to go back to the stairs, but he didn’t want to climb anymore. Deeper, off the path, into the places where the secret things were hidden. That’s where he needed to be.
He rose and moved toward the door. In the echoes of his footsteps he thought he heard a distant tap, tap, tap of a fountain pen against the hard oak arm of a chair.
He picked up his pace.
As he stepped through the door, the room behind him went dark and disappeared. Suddenly there was no room behind him. No door. Not even a wall. Only an infinite corridor of blackness.
The niggling sensation that someone was calling his name, ordering him to wake, had ceased. And with it the certainty that there was even something to wake up to. All that remained was here. All that was here was a raised dais and on the dais was a seat, broad, carved with dragons and gilded flowers.
The only light that could be seen surrounded the platform. A scarlet glow without any apparent source. The space all around him was too dark to even be certain where he was stepping, the ground didn’t feel solid, but on faith he crossed the distance in half a dozen strides to reach and mount the dais and stand before the throne.
Soo was right, he thought, it is frightening. Jin Woo had felt at once that this was the source of all his uncertainty. His reason for being here: the seat of fear. It was easy to imagine the throne cursed, especially in that sanguinary light. He thought that if he could walk away, even then, there was still a chance that he could forget this place and live. As only himself, just Jin Woo and no one else. But he could feel that alien desire blooming in his heart already, bursting at the seams. An ancient greed that had been waiting for him all this time, to swallow him whole.
Bracing for whatever would follow, he took his place upon the throne. As he sat there, looking out into the void, many things finally became clear.
First, he realized he was always going to make it here. He was fated to make the same choices, over and over again. Surviving by himself and damning himself in the process. There was never any difference—no matter how much he’d looked for one—between him and the King. In the end they were the same. Wang So was Jin Woo. And always had been.
The mask fell away all on its own. Unbidden the words came to his mind: No matter how many times you die and are reborn, you will eventually have to pay for what you’ve done.
In front of him lay a sword and a seal. Both came into his hands like they belonged there. He gripped them, remembering what it had been like to wield them. How powerful he had felt. The fear in his enemies eyes, heads rolling in the courtyard, his hands slick with warm blood. Far from being horrified, he felt a familiar, animal smile taking possession of his features. The wolf dog’s smile baring the wolf dog’s fangs.
From the corner of his eye he saw a pile of scrolls, petitions and letters stacked neatly, waiting for his perusal. His stomach twisted again with an awful anticipation. He set the sword aside and took up the first letter that came to hand. Tearing away the silk sheath addressing to him in his 14th brother’s hand. His eyes devoured the page of hanja, characters Jin Woo couldn’t read and yet understood. Characters identical to the king’s own handwriting. Longingly, painstakingly so.
Do you still think you don’t have my whole heart and resent me?
I yearn for you so much, but I can’t be with you…
I’ll be waiting for you…
Every day…
A cry tore from his throat. The blood from his fingers was soaking into the page. Somehow a red darker than ink, consuming Hae Soo’s last words to him. She had waited, but he had been too late. Forever he would be too late, forever unable to come to her. No hope, no cure, just grief without end.
The earth fell away beneath him. The throne, the red light, the blood and the letters, everything was torn away from him now. Until he was left, perfectly alone, suspended in a sky full of stars.
And the stars were burning.
Burning like a white tree engulfed in flame.
Burning like the wolves of Shinju.
Burning like the poison coursing through his veins.
The stars filled his vision, stars you could only see in Goryeo. They overwhelmed and undid him. He understood at last, as if it was written there in the sky. Why Wang So had tried to block him, why Ha Jin hadn’t been able to tell him the truth, why the mudang had warned him that chasing ill-fated love could only end in calamity. He understood as clearly as if someone spoke the words in his ear.
No matter how many times you die and are reborn, you will eventually have to pay for what you’ve done.
He began to fall. Down and down and down. Faster and faster. Darkness poured into his senses, until it was the only thing that remained. Darkness, and the reverberating tap-tap-tap of the Yoon Jung’s pen.
“I’ve been dumped, haven’t I?” Ha Jin had her head down on her folded arms, as she whined piteously into the tabletop. “This is a breakup.”
“If you want to have this discussion right now, Noona, you’re going to have to sit up and talk so I can understand you.”
Ha Jin and Min Ki had acquired beer, soju and fried chicken and staked out a table on the rooftop terrace of his building. Knowing what his first impression of her must have been, Ha Jin had slowly set about trying to win over Jin Woo’s closest friend. She wanted him to like her for Jin Woo’s sake and, though she didn’t admit it, she really wanted her best Goryeo drinking buddy back.
So far, Min Ki had been willing enough to oblige, so long as she was buying. Though for the time being their outings felt less like making new friends and more like gathering intelligence on enemy forces. This charming young man was playfully antagonistic and Ha Jin felt as though she was in the middle of a lengthy auditioning process for the part of Jin Woo’s girlfriend.
Tonight was different, though. Tonight it seemed they’d both come out with ulterior motives. Their reason for being there, the object of their mutual affections, had fallen off the map and they both needed to know why.
Ha Jin turned her head to look at Min Ki, who sat beside her with legs crossed beneath him, waiting expectantly for her explanation. She sat up too fast and her head swam pleasantly. Her cheeks were hot. She’d thought Min Ki had been keeping pace and had just about as much to drink as she had, but aside from a little bit more color in his face, he appeared very much the soberer of the two. Had this been his strategy? Getting her drunk and pumping her for information about her relationship?
Whatever the case, it had worked.
“I just don’t understand it at all,” She started in, wagging her head from side to side forlornly, “What did I do wrong?”
“Start from the beginning, Noona. I’ll help you figure it out.”
She chewed her bottom lip, thinking back to the fight that had marked the change between them. She’d tried to decode Jin Woo’s actions since that night a thousand times, but she couldn’t understand them. She knew that something was wrong, and it had started with Jin Woo trying to recover the rest of Wang So’s memories. At least at first, he had gone through the motions of trying to make things seem like they were normal. If he’d cancelled their date night, he made sure to reschedule and show up at her door with flowers in hand. If there was something unspoken behind his kisses, at least he would still kiss her.
But as time went on something had shifted. He’d grown distant, hard to read. If she wanted to hear his voice, she always had to be the first to call. Texting became perfunctory and mechanical. She wondered if it was all over the memories from Goryeo. Maybe he was feeling guilty for not being able to remember, or maybe he thought she was disappointed that he couldn’t.
“I’ve done my best to reassure him,” She said to Min Ki, “That I don’t need that from him. That I’m fine with him just as he is. But whatever I said, I could feel him slipping through my fingers.”
Suddenly, as though a switch had been flipped, she’d stop hearing from Jin Woo at all. There were no messages, no more plans to postpone. All her calls went to voicemail. And no matter how many times she went to his apartment, he never seemed to be home.
“It’s only thanks to you and Professor Choi that I can be sure he’s still alive and hasn’t decided to skip town. But the professor won’t tell me what’s up. You’re the only person I could think to talk to. Hasn’t he said anything to you?”
Min Ki shook his head, looking grim. “He’s been odd, though. Distant. Like you said.”
“I feel like he’s trying to tell me it’s over and maybe I should just take the hint but I—I just can’t. I don’t want it to end like this.” She tipped forward and began to cry soppily into Min Ki’s shoulder, which transitioned after a minute or so into a reluctant hug on his part.
“There, there.” He said, giving her a few awkward pats on the back. He let this go on for some little while before clearing his throat, taking her by the shoulders at arm’s length, “Listen. Hyung and I have been friends for years. I like to think I know him pretty damn well. He’s not the kind of man who would ghost on a woman to break up with her. Let’s say he didn’t care for you anymore and he wanted to end it, he would make himself tell you so to your face, even if it killed him. Whatever this is, it isn’t that.”
Ha Jin sniffed, “Really?”
“Really.” Min Ki nodded kindly, dropping his arms and staring off. “Instincts tell me this is about something else. I’ve seen him use this tactic a couple times before, usually with his family. It usual means he’s feeling overwhelmed, out of control, or like there’s something gnawing at him that he can’t share with anyone else.”
Though his reassurance that this wasn’t a breakup had calmed her somewhat, this new information threw her into a new tailspin of anxiety.
What could it be that was so bad Jin Woo didn’t feel like her could bring it to her? “Could it be that he remembered something?”
“What could he have remembered to make him act like this?” Ha Jin could think of one or two things, but she didn’t say so. “I mean, who’s to say this has anything to do with that in the first place. Think carefully. Put aside all your magical time-slip gaesori for just one moment look at it like a normal couple would. Is there nothing between you two that might make him…I don’t know, feel a little insecure?”
Ha Jin sat back, trying to think about the times when the two of them were just a normal couple. She wrinkled her cold nose thoughtfully, breathing on her fingertips to warm them. Winter was over, but perhaps the spring nights were still a little too cold for drinking out under the stars. It wasn’t easy to sort through the mundane moments between them. Her soju addled mind had to stumble all the way back to the night she’d had dinner with Jin Woo’s stepmother.
She felt her face suddenly go crimson as a thought occurred to her. “Oh no…”
Min Ki was watching her steadily as he took a sip of his beer, pointing an index finger at her around the can as he swallowed, “See?” he said, “I knew there had to be something. What is it?”
“It’s just…Jin Woo kind of told me…well, he told me he loved me.”
Min Ki crooked an eyebrow.
“And I…I maybe haven’t officially said it back.”
“How long ago was this?”
Ha Jin could only shrug.
Min Ki surprised her, cackling loudly, “Well that’s it then. I mean, it’s gotta be right? You know how much I adore the guy but come on. He’s not someone with such an overabundance of self-confidence, that he could just shrug rejection like that off—”
“It wasn’t rejection!” Ha Jin spluttered, “At least, I didn’t mean it that way. The way he said it, and when…seemed like it just slipped out. Like an accident.”
“To the best of my knowledge, Jin Woo-hyung has said those words to a girl once, maybe twice. In his life. That’s not the kind of thing he would just put out there without having thought about it for a long time first.”
Ha Jin thought about what Min Ki was saying, and she couldn’t find fault with any of it. As he went on her shoulders dropped lower. “I just…lost the moment. And then it never seemed like the right time to answer him and—”
“But I mean, Noona, you…you do love him, don’t you?”
Ha Jin felt the tears start back in her eyes, and she almost sobbed, “I do. I love him…so much.” She quite nearly fell to crying into Min Ki’s shoulder again, though he narrowly managed to stave her off.
“That’s good then. That’s better than good. You just need to tell him that.”
“How do I do that when I can’t even see him?”
At her question a fiendish grin spread over Min Ki’s features, “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I know just how to scare him out of his hiding place. I have a method that has never failed.” With that pronouncement he hopped to his feet, snapped up the two remaining bottles of soju, tucked them under his arm and started heading toward the door back inside.
“Where are we going?” Ha Jin asked, sweeping up an armful of trash as she scrambled to follow him.
Min Ki called back over his shoulder, “To plan a kidnapping!”
A short time later Ha Jin and Min Ki were huddled up on his couch in front of his laptop, hammering out all the details of Min Ki’s surefire method, as well as finishing between the two of them every last drop of alcohol left in the apartment. In reality, the whole thing was a perfect blur, though Ha Jin did remember how terribly pleased they had been with themselves.
When she woke up on the same couch with a beam of early afternoon sunlight hitting her full in the face, Ha Jin had a blinding headache, a bank account deficit and a fool proof, 100% non-refundable kidnapping plan laid out before her. Barely six days later, Ha Jin was no longer in Seoul. She was sitting on the ample porch of a rustic hanok pension, gazing across at the West Sea, kicking her legs out in front of her so the wind rustled her long floral skirt.
Her heart was perfectly healthy in this time, but it was hard to believe that with the way it was racing. Her palms were sweating and she couldn’t stop fussing with her hair. No matter how much water she drank her throat still felt parched. She kept telling herself she had no reason to be scared, but it had done no good. She was petrified.
At least she could admit that this place Min Ki had found for them was impeccable. Just the right combination of isolated and luxurious. A little island with a sleepy little village on it and a pension right on the water. An out-of-the-way destination for honeymooners and romantics who didn’t want to pay Jeju prices, or so the reviews had boasted. The ahjumma that ran the place with her two daughters didn’t say much, but she smiled a lot while leading Ha Jin to her room. One room. With one bed in it. Min Ki had been very confident of their plan being a success.
Ha Jin had arrived early in the morning since there were only two ferries that ran to the island each day. She had come by the first one, as planned, Min Ki and Jin Woo were supposed to arrive by the second later that afternoon. “I’ll find a way to ditch him at the dock and he won’t be able to get back to the mainland until at least the following day. Then the rest will be up to you, Noona.” He’d said, with a wink.
She had no idea what tale he’d spun to get Jin Woo to follow him clear out here, but she didn’t doubt it had been a spectacular feat of persuasion.
When she’d landed, after dropping her bags off in her room, she’d tried to find something to occupy herself for the several hours before the next ferry. She tried to settle at a café at first, but she found that she couldn’t sit still, nor did she have an appetite. She wound up taking a long walk all over the island to try to work off her nerves. She only came back when her calves were burning. Still she had no calls from Min Ki and she was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong already. A squall seemed to be building on the horizon. Or maybe it was just her imagination, like the growing presentiment of a coming calamity. She was almost convinced that she was in the midst of making a terrible mistake, but it was too late to turn back now.
She went inside to hide from the horizon and her own anxious thoughts, refreshing her makeup in the mirror and adding one more superfluous coat of gloss to her lips. From bathroom she could hear her text alert buzzing.
It was from Min Ki. “Phase 1 of Operation Saranghaeyo is complete,” it said, “I’m off. Fighting!”
Then does that means Jin Woo is already headed this way? She ran barefoot back out to the porch, scanning the beach for a glimpse of him. After a few minutes, still at a distance, she caught a sight of that familiar silhouette which fixed her to the spot. Jin Woo was moving up the beach from the direction of the dock. White shirt rolled up to his elbows, light tan slacks rippled by the breeze, and two suitcases in either hand.
Her heart was in her throat, as she smoothed her dress with her hands. At first his eyes were on the ground in front of him, but at last he glanced up and the sight of her appeared to arrest his gaze. He slowed and stopped and the suitcases slipped from his hands, hitting the dirt. He was still far too far away to read his expression. But she needed to know how he looked. Was he shocked? Angry? She hurried forward to meet him, still a dozen paces away when she noticed something was wrong and it froze her in place again. His eyes looked different. Unreadable. There were words in his mouth, but he didn’t speak them. And then she realized something else.
“Hae…Ha Jin-ah.” He said at last. There were tears in his eyes, rolling down his face.
With a voice full of concern Ha Jin crossed the little space that remained between them, “Jin Woo…what is it?”
He reached up with one hand and touched his cheeks, as though he was as startled as she was to find tears there. With an embarrassed motion he half turned and brushed them away with the back of his hand before facing her again. “Nothing. It’s not…What are you doing here?”
Feeling the heat creeping up her neck, she raised her arms and waggled her fingers by her face in a lame rendition of jazz hands, “Surprise…” Her voice was shy and uncertain.
Jin Woo gave a little smirk, glancing upward, “I guess I should have been more suspicious when Min Ki insisted on a sudden stag trip, just the two of us.”
“Are you…mad?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
He looked at her, his expression so much graver than Ha Jin was prepared for. He seemed to be trying to hold something back, struggling to do so. “I guess…I’m just realizing how much I needed to see you again,” Then, so suddenly that the motion almost scared her, Jin Woo looped an arm around her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace. Speaking in her ear he said, “I can’t explain, Ha Jin-ah, just how much I’ve missed you. God, I missed you.”
[Chapter 11 coming soon!]
#old souls#fan fiction#scarlet heart#scarlet heart ryeo#moon lovers#chapter 10#I'm posting in the wee hours of the morning again#so that nobody will see this#but such is my way
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Long And Lost
TITLE: Long And Lost
CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 3
AUTHOR: FadingCoast
PROMT/ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being Loki’s old friend/Lover in Asgard, but you left for Earth a long time ago. For all he knows, you might be dead, but you’re still alive and you’ve been working with SHIELD and/or the Avengers.
PAIRING: Loki/OFC – Bucky & OFC – Many Bucky feels for this one.
RATING: Mature.
NOTES/WARNINGS: Sexual innuendos (no explicit sex) / mentions of torture and brainwashing. The prologue is set right before Avengers. The first chapters are set after Civil War and they will intertwine with Ragnarok.
(Just in case, Loki will make his appearance in ch.5)
Also on Ao3
.-
Ch. 3: I am teaching myself how to be free
Longing
Here we go again. Tell your brain a story. Playground, happiness. Kids running around. You’re playing tag with Steve.
Rusted
You fall to the ground. Head first into the snow. Siberia. No, Central Park. Tell your brain a story, a story of ice skating in Central Park. Head first into the snow.
Furnace
Freezer truck. You had no money for the train, you find someone to take you back to Brooklyn. It’s cold, Steve is shivering, his brow angry. You spent the money for the train on hot dogs.
Daybreak
Hot dogs. Steve punches your arm, you fall on your side dramatically, to make him laugh. But he’s not laughing, he’s reaching for you. You’re still falling. You hear him scream.
Seventeen
He screams, you scream and everything goes black. Tell your brain a story, everything is black, except for Steve. He’s there, he’s bigger than you remember. He’s carrying you out.
Benign
Now he’s falling, you jump after him. You’re carrying him out of the water. He saved you, you’ve saved him. No, he hasn’t saved you yet, but he’s trying.
Nine
Tell your brain another story. Steve in Wakanda. Back to the ice. No, not back to the ice, out of the ice. Steve is waking you up. He’s going to save you.
Homecoming
Steve is not alone. He says she can help you. He’s afraid of her, you are afraid of her, at first. She tries to breaks through. You’re still afraid of her, of what she does, of what she sees.
One
Not anymore. She can help you, and she does. Tell your brain a story, a story that hasn’t happened yet. A story you want to happen.
Freight car
Tell your brain a story. A story where you hold her, you kiss her, you tell her that you–
Victoria made her magic leave Bucky’s head, and stared at his panicked face.
“Vick, I’m sorry, I’m–”
“James…” Victoria took a few steps back before Bucky grabbed her hand. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
Bucky just nodded. “I get it, I just–” He chuckled dryly. “Why am I even trying to explain myself, you’ve seen everything.” He looked up at her and Victoria held his gaze.
“I really care about you, James, but–” Victoria shook her head and forced a smile. “Hey, let’s focus on the good news.”
“After making a complete fool of myself, it would be good to hear some.”
“You made it through all ten words.” Victoria said.
Bucky smiled widely and hugged her, feeling lighter already. After months of work and effort, breakdowns and migraines, finally. It was the first time in decades that Bucky felt truly happy about himself. Before he could process what he was doing, he had already picked Victoria off the ground and twirled around. Putting her back on the ground, his hand cupped her chin and he leaned in to kiss her, but she stepped back.
“I can’t. James, I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
“Your heart belongs to someone else, I get it.” He offered. “Steve told me you were married.”
“I am.”
“Why was I under the impression that your husband is dead?”
“I can assure you is not for lack of trying, but he’s alive.” Victoria said. “Whether he knows I’m alive or not, that’s another matter.”
Bucky sensed there was so much story hidden between those lines, but it would be inappropriate to ask. Victoria, though, seemed to read his mind.
“One day. One day I’ll be able to tell you the whole story.” Victoria said, holding his hand. “Right now, though, you deserve a treat.” Placing a hand on his chest, Victoria made his clothes change from the white hospital scrubs to jeans and a red shirt.
“We’re going out?” He asked, with a hint of panic in his voice.
“I could give you the illusion of an arm if you’re worried about that. Or a jacket.” She suggested.
“A jacket would be fine.” He muttered, another flash of gold and he was wearing one. “I’m just-”
“Hey, we didn’t go through all that so you’d lock yourself away. So right now, you are getting chocolate ice cream, and a bit of fresh air.” She said, holding his hand. Bucky’s breathing calmed down, as well as his heart rate. He felt less anxious and calm. Victoria looked at him with a smirk.
“I absolutely love it when you do that.” He said with a tiny smile and squeezed Victoria’s hand, before letting her lead him out of his room for the first time since he arrived.
.-
Longing
It’s been 6 days. You had ice cream (chocolate ice cream!) and a walk, and no one gave you a second look. For once, you felt almost normal.
Rusted
6 days. After the ice cream, you had a terrible headache, you blacked out. You haven’t seen her since. Was it something you said? Wait, of course it was something you said!
Furnace
6 days. She hadn’t even come to see you. You freaked her out, you moron. Tell your brain a story, she had said. But right now your brain doesn’t wanna cooperate.
Daybreak
All your brain offers is self-deprecation. Why did you have to even think about that? Why did that idea come to your mind in the first place?
Seventeen
Tell your brain a story. How about a story where you don’t fall for her? Or a story where you see her as just your doctor? A story where Steve actually could punch Hydra off your brain and you don’t know know her.
Benign
Steve’s voice is so annoying, and without her hold on your brain, you feel like lashing out. Oh, no, for all that is sacred, no. She would be really disappointed.
Nine
готовы соблюдать. No… remember her voice. Tell you brain a story. Steve is there, he doesn’t know yet. Imagine you’re telling this to Steve.
Homecoming
Huh, that’s a new story. Steve doesn’t know. Steve still doesn’t like her. But he doesn’t know her like you do.
One
What would he say? Of course he’d say it’s dangerous. Or pointless. He’d probably scold you for being stupid. But he doesn’t know her like you do.
Freight car
He doesn’t love her like you do.
A smiling Steve sat in front of Bucky and patted his shoulder. “You okay there, pal?”
“My head is killing me.” Bucky mumbled. “But, see? I told you it worked.” He added with a smile of his own. “Now, if you could help me to the bathroom, cause I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, shit.” Steve said, grabbing Bucky’s arm and rushing him to the bathroom.
This wasn’t news to Steve. Victoria had said that without the magic hold in his brain, Bucky would have some remaining symptoms. Migraines, vertigo crises and nausea. Even some sleepwalking episodes Bucky had no recollection of. Right now, she was working with wakandan scientists, trying to come up with a solution. Or, how Steve would put it, trying to unfry his brain.
Steve held Bucky until he was done puking. “Feeling better?”
“A bit. Still dizzy, though.” Bucky said, sitting against the bathroom wall. Steve sat beside him.
“This sort of sucks, huh?”
“Better than following orders.” Bucky sighed and looked up to the ceiling.
“We’re working on it, don’t worry. Victoria and Shuri will find a way.” Steve couldn’t help but notice the slight change in posture Bucky had at hearing Victoria’s name. “Okay, Buck, spill it out. Something has been bothering you the past few days.”
“It’s nothing.” Bucky said, rubbing his face. “And I really don’t wanna talk about it.” Without letting Steve prod more into the matter, Bucky stood up and washed his mouth and face. Steve stood by his side, just watching him. “Fine!” He broke, and Steve giggled. “I just- miss her. I haven’t seen her in days.”
“Well, you’ll see her tonight.” Steve said, walking behind him back to the room.
“What?” Bucky said, startled.
“She’s taking you out again.”
Bucky blushed, profusely. Steve couldn’t help but laugh.
.-
Bucky had never felt more normal in his life. Victoria took him to dinner, then ice cream and then a walk. All he needed was a ferris wheel and a hot dog, and he could’ve pretended it was 1940 and he was out on a date. But it wasn’t a date, and the only reason he could go out it was because of the magic hold Victoria had on his brain. Otherwise, he’d be throwing up everywhere, or even worse, blacking out.
But now it wasn’t time to think about those things. Right now, Bucky only wanted to enjoy the evening, doing something as simple and mundane as sitting with Victoria in a park. Enjoy the cooling air and the comfortable silence.
“I’m leaving for New York tomorrow.” Victoria suddenly said. “I should be back in a couple of weeks.”
“Oh.” He said, not really knowing how to react to that. Was it because of what happened? Was it because she didn’t wanna have to work with him anymore? His fingers tapping on the soft wood of the bench couldn’t manage to break through the heavy silence that followed.
“No, it has nothing to do with what happened that day.” She stated, holding his hand to stop the drumming.
“Don’t read my mind.” He sort of snapped.
“I don’t have to. Not anymore.” Victoria smiled at him.
“It just feels like-”
“Like I’m abandoning you?” She offered. “James, I wouldn’t do that. I will be back, but right now I do need to hand you over to Princess Shuri. I haven’t been around these days for that same reason, she asked for my help in making sure it would work.”
Bucky sighed deeply. “But you’re still leaving. What if it doesn’t work and you’re not here?”
“It’s going to work.” She said reassuringly, squeezing his hand. “And I’ll be back before you even notice.”
In all honesty, Bucky didn’t want her to leave for his own selfish reasons. He had grown used to her being there, even in those 6 days he didn’t see her, he had missed her more than he was willing to admit. It didn’t matter that she had already rejected his advances, he needed her. He needed her like he hadn’t needed anyone since Steve.
If she was reading his mind or not, she didn’t say, but she laced her fingers with his and stood up. “We have to get back.”
They walked hand in hand back to Bucky’s room.
“Thank you.” He said, still holding her hand.
“Don’t worry so much. You’ll do just fine.” Victoria pulled him in for a hug. “We’ll go out and celebrate when I get back.”
Bucky just stood on the door frame watching her until she disappeared at the end of the corridor.
#Loki#Lover#Angst#Imagine#Submitted fic#submission#FadingCoast#chapter 3#long and lost#friend#love#asgard#earth#dead#alive#S.H.I.E.L.D.#avengers#ecstatic#relationship#Midgardian
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
don’t let me let you go
A quick little post-6x18 Olicity fic, because I really had too many feelings after that episode! Thank you as always to @happilyswanjones for reading this over for me, you’re an absolute gem!
Felicity really needed a drink.
She’d almost cheered out loud when she’d come across the bottle of red stashed away in the back of the cabinet. It was nice wine, too. She thought for a moment, wondering if perhaps Oliver was saving it for something special, but cast it from her mind. This was something special.
She’d just saved her husband, the Green Arrow, from certain death.
(Though really, it wasn’t the first time.)
She poured herself a glass, only debating for mere seconds before bringing the bottle down to the couch with her, and let herself collapse, just as she had on her return from the science fair.
God, had that really been today? It felt like a lifetime ago.
She remembered the fear that spiked through her when she’d looked at that beeping tablet and saw that little dot blinking, on the move. The idea of Oliver going out into the field alone…
That was something she wouldn’t, couldn’t get used to.
Oliver had ranted and raved at John about how he didn’t like the idea of anyone doing just that, going into a fight without backup. She doubted he would be able to see the irony of his latest plan, not tonight at least.
She was shaken from her thoughts when Oliver made his way out of his son’s room, carefully and silently pulling the door shut. She tilted her head from her position on the couch in an attempt to meet his eyes.
“He okay?” she asked, searching his face for any sign of how things had gone, for reassurance that the Vertigo had indeed run its course.
Oliver let out a subdued chuckle, ducking his head as he moved to the couch. “Yeah, he’s fine. More mature than I ever would have been at his age.” He reached the edge of the couch and Felicity almost visibly flinched at his hesitation to sit beside her. She let out a tight-lipped smile and a hum of agreement, patting the plush surface.
“You weren’t supposed to agree with me,” he said quietly, chuckling again before taking up her offer and sitting with his elbows on his knees. He stared at the wall opposite him for a time before dropping his head to his hands.
Felicity took that as her cue and wrapped her arm around his, snaking her hand down to reach his.
“Oliver,” she began.
“Felicity, it’s okay. I’m okay,” he interrupted. Felicity raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, moving to rest her chin on his shoulder.
“Really? Because I’ve known you for nearly six years and I know for an indisputable fact that the look on your face right now is definitely your ‘I’m brooding’ face and not your ‘I’m fine’ face.”
He cast a look down at her, an exasperated smile on his face.
“I hate that you know my so well,” he replied, opening his hand to play with her fingers, “I just need…” he stopped as if unsure how to continue, “I don’t know.”
They sat in silence for a minute before he started again.
“I need some of that wine, and some time alone with my wife.”
Oliver straightened and leant against the back of the sofa, running a hand up her arm until it rested on her shoulder, pulling her back with him. Felicity sighed, leaning into his shoulder and resting her hand against his chest.
“Well, I can help you with one of those things,” she shot back.
“Only one?”
“Only one, because I am way too exhausted for what you’re insinuating here,” she countered. He opened his mouth to send back another retort but Felicity stopped him, “Which you really can’t complain about because it was you that I went running through the streets of Star City for.”
Closing his eyes, Oliver nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Fine, I’ll take the wine then.”
“Thought so,” Felicity broke out of his grasp and rose from the couch, moving back into the kitchen to search for another glass.
Oliver was waiting with the bottle in hand upon her return and found her own glass filled up once again.
“How you can tell it’s been a rough night in the Queen house, I guess,” she joked.
They both finished their glasses in silence, both completely lost in thought over the happenings of the day. Felicity was the first to break the silence, resting her glass back on the coffee table and turning herself to face her husband.
“Oliver, I need to say something, you need to hear something…”
“Felicity, I know we need to talk about this but I, can’t , do it tonight, I’m sorry.”
“Just hear me out, okay?” she begged, taking hold of both of his hands. She felt him let out a defeated sigh and continued.
“You and I both know I don’t think this is the right decision, this solo path you’re so desperate to go down. And I know it’s been hard, losing Curtis, and Dinah, and Rene, and…especially John.”
Oliver ducked his head at the last edition, prompting her to move onto the edge of the coffee table, forcing him to look directly at her.
“I know that you struggle with the idea of losing people, I do too. And I know that it comes from you, I don’t know, believing that you deserve to be alone.”
“If this is supposed to be a pep talk, honey, it’s not great so far,” he interrupted, before shutting his mouth at her glare.
“I don’t agree with, and can’t stand the idea of you being out in the field alone, and I definitely have more to say about that another day. But I need you to know that no matter what we disagree on, no matter how many fights or screaming matches we have, I am not,” he finally looked up into her eyes, “going anywhere.”
She could see his face soften as she continued, the hard lines around his eyes beginning to disappear.
“I am not going to stop loving you, stop believing in you, for anything.” She brought his left hand up to her lips, pressing them to his wedding ring.
“For better or worse, baby,” she whispered, before going back to her usual babbling. “Even though our ceremony didn’t actually include those words, but whatever, the point still stands and I…”
Oliver pushed himself forward and captured her lips with his, both hands cupping her cheeks. When they pulled away they leaned their foreheads together, their breath mixing in the insignificant space between them.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Felicity Queen-Smoak,” he said quietly, his grin widening as he spoke her name. Her new name.
Felicity snorted rather unattractively and pulled away a little further to look into his eyes. “Well, I mean you’d definitely be dead, even not including tonight I am fairly sure I’ve saved your life way too many times to count.”
Pressing another kiss to her forehead, Oliver pulled them both up to standing before picking her up with an arm behind her knees.
“And in more ways than you know.”
Felicity cuddled tighter into his chest as he carried them to their room, the wine forgotten in the haze of exhaustion. He placed her carefully on the floor on her side of the bed before moving to his. They were ready in record time and found each other in the middle of the mattress, Felicity resting her head on his chest, their hands and legs tangled together.
Neither one of them was perfect, not in any way. They never would be. But that moment, a tiny bit of peace among a whirlpool of impeachments and betrayals, was as perfect as it got.
And it was enough.
17 notes
·
View notes