#someone woke up today and chose emotional violence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drabbles-mc · 3 years ago

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Your writing is so good! Could you do a sons/mayans headcannon of how they deal with your death?

Wow we both woke up and chose violence today, huh?

I’ve been working on these for the past couple of days and I am not too proud to admit that I have made myself really fuckin’ sad in the process lmao.

Ask and you shall receive! Very Angsty hcs under the cut.

Disclaimer: not everyone that I usually include in hc’s is in this one. Anyone that got left out wasn’t forgotten, but I just wasn’t getting hit with inspo for them for this and I wasn’t going to force it. Esepcially with such a heavy/emotional prompt.

Obviously, the circumstances of the death will impact the way they react to it. So, for the sake of this hc, let's just say the death happened because of club business/retaliation in some capacity.

Jax:

We've seen how ruthless Jax becomes when he loses someone that he loves

Once the initial shock and sadness of it wear off, he goes into complete shut-down and vengeance mode. Any trace of the Jax everyone had once known when he was with you? Gone.

He runs the gamut between unbridled rage and utter vacancy, occasionally allowing the sadness to seep through, but not often, not while there’s still work to do.

Anything to keep his mind off the gaping hole in his chest where you used to be.

Never takes off his wedding band.

He knows that it should be the last kick that he needs to get himself out of the life, but it only drives him deeper into it, feeling like he has nothing else left to live for besides the club.

Saying that he’s living might be a bit of an exaggeration. He does just enough to keep himself alive, but barely.

Goes and sits at your headstone to write--it feels more comfortable than saying the words out loud.

But he does always whisper a quiet apology each time he gets up to leave.

Opie

Shuts down as much as he is able to.

The only time anyone sees any kind of real emotion from him is when he’s angry, or upset. Joy officially becomes a thing of the past.

He becomes a ship without a captain, not quite knowing what the point of anything is anymore.

Goes through the motions and does what’s asked of him, but everyone around can tell that he’s only doing it because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Mild to moderate self-destructive streak after your death, but just like with everything else, he doesn’t put a hell of a lot into that either. It looks more like him not taking any protective measures anymore.

He thinks about what you would’ve wanted for him, and knows that this isn’t it, but then he remembers that you aren’t there anyway so what does it matter?

Will not sleep on your side of the bed, or clear out your dresser and side of the closet. As much as it hurts to look at your things, he knows it would hurt more getting rid of them.

Can’t handle wearing his wedding band anymore, but he doesn’t get rid of it either. It sits perfectly safe on your dresser alongside your other jewelry.

Slows down when he rides past the cemetery, but very rarely goes it. Looking at your headstone makes it feel too real.

Juice

An absolute wreck for the foreseeable future.

He can shut down and tune out a lot, he’s had a whole lifetime of building up those skills, but nothing prepared him for losing you.

Cannot hold it together, and no one knows how to help him through that.

You were supposed to be the one who would be there even if everyone else left, but then you were gone. And now it doesn’t matter how many other people are there, he still feels alone.

Sees you everywhere, in everything.

The mere thought of moving on, of even moving or packing up your things makes his skin crawl.

You were the first thing in his life that made him give a shit about his future, but then you were gone, and the rest of his life seems like an impossibly long time to live without you.

He’s tried to meet you, but it never quite works, something always goes awry.

Sometimes he thinks it’s you trying to tell him it’s not time yet, but mostly he just chalks it up to being another thing that he can’t get right.

People say that it’s not his fault, that the weight of the guilt of you being gone will lessen with time, but it doesn’t. Not for him.

Chibs

Doesn’t get out of bed for days.

Manages to keep it together by a thread during the services while everyone else is around. But the second that everyone else leaves, and it’s just him in the middle of an empty cemetery, he completely breaks down. Not even able to stay on his feet.

People try to get him to talk about it, but he refuses. The closest he gets to talking about it is when he’s bottle-deep alone at home, rambling to you not really about you.

He hopes you can hear what he’s saying while also hoping you can’t see what he’s become since you’ve been gone.

He knew that you were the love of his life from the moment he met you, and trying to accept that you’re really gone is an impossible ask.

The days all start to blur together, and if someone was to ask him what he’d been doing to fill the hours, he wouldn’t be able to give a clear answer. Somehow, though, he managed to keep getting out of bed despite wanting to to nothing of the sort.

It’s the most he’s talked to god in a long time, not that anyone ever talks back.

Tig

Kicks himself for thinking that he wouldn’t lose you the same way that he’s lost everyone else in his life.

Whether it was directly his fault or not, he always ended up losing the people he loved. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to him, but it was. A surprising, cripplingly cruel reminder that he was going to end up alone at the end of it all.

He tries to shut it out. Most times he’s successful, throwing himself into the club like that would ever make up for the damage done.

He doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t let himself get emotional about it around the rest of the club. They mistake it for him not caring, for him moving on so quickly with his life.

But the reality of it is that he’s just suppressing it all. Pushing it farther and farther down each day so it has less of a chance of ruining him all over again.

If they thought that he was ruthless and cold and unhinged before, they weren’t ready for what was about to come.

Happy

He makes sure the entire world pays for what happened to you.

There isn’t enough space on his body for the amount of smiley faces he’d need to add as he goes on a vengeance rampage.

If anyone thinks it’s a bad idea, no one is brave enough to say so. They don’t want to be next.

He doesn’t ever really go home after that. He’s either on the road or staying at the clubhouse. He tries to lie to himself and chalk it up to him being singularly focused on revenge and the club. But deep down he knows he just can’t go back to where you used to live with him.

Home isn’t home if you aren’t there, so what’s the point?

You had been one of the first people he had ever allowed himself to be vulnerable around, and once you were gone, he knew that you were also the last.

He doesn’t talk about you much, not really ever sure if he’s able to handle it. But the few times he does, he never uses the past tense.

Kozik

He never thought that something was going to hit so close to home until it took the thing closest to him.

It was something that seemed like it would only ever happen to other people, until it happened to him.

The shock of it all was broken up only by the waves of sadness that followed.

He never thought about what his life would look like without you in it, and now he had no choice but to face the reality of it.

Denial was his best and closest friend.

He didn’t talk about you often, solely because he didn’t want to face what had happened. The times when he did, though, it was always soft, with a lot of reverence, and always in the present tense, like you were going to come crashing through the door at any moment.

There has never been a time in his life that EZ didn’t compartmentalize. And this was no different.

That didn’t mean that he was actually dealing with it though. He just tried to lock it up in a box and tuck it in the back of his mind.

But there’s never any forgetting for him, no reprieve from the memories, and there is no lock in the world that was strong enough to keep those thoughts and feelings at bay for too long.

He always thought of you as the one thing that kept him from completely slipping over into the darkness in his mind. And now you were gone, and he didn’t see the point in trying to pretend that he was anything but the worst parts of himself.

Like father, like son, he keeps some mementos on the mantle. Things to try and bridge the gap between where he is, and where you are. Some days he thinks they help, some days he thinks he’s beyond helping.

He contemplates putting his ring on the chain around his neck that he never takes off, but decides against it, leaving it on his finger. He never takes that off either.

Angel

Quickly picks up any and every self destructive habit that he can.

Anything to keep him from thinking about you being gone, from feeling the emptiness that’s left behind.

He tries to push the feelings down and avoid them, but he’s never been good at that. The pendulum swings back and forth between anger and sadness, with not a whole lot of room left for anything else.

Every had thought and feeling that he’s ever had about himself only gets confirmed in his head once you’re gone. After all, if they weren’t true, why would the universe have taken you away from him?

Wallowing in self-hatred is easy, he’s done it his whole life. It’s the safer, easier option compared to letting himself actually grieve for you.

He wants to feel closer to you, but he knows that he can’t handle it. He thinks about the way his father refuses to move the urn from the kitchen and now he really doesn’t understand how that man handles it every day, a constant reminder every time he gets a damn cup of coffee

Bishop

He’s lost a lot in his life, thought that he was prepared for what it would feel like to lose just about anything. But not you. Nothing in the universe could’ve prepared him for what it felt like to lose you.

He didn’t know if he was drinking to blot out the memories of you, or to drive himself to a slow death. Regardless, he wasn’t successful in either endeavor, but not for lack of trying.

The hardness that had protected him and served him so well for so many years fortified and became razor sharp. He wasn’t ever going to love anyone again, not really.

Rage becomes his compass instead of his logic, which is dangerous for anyone, but especially a man in his position. He didn’t care, though. You were already gone so what did it matter now?

Sleeps exclusively on the couch at home. The only time he goes into what used to be your shared room is to get clothes for the day, and he never lingers.

Despite avoiding your things, he thinks of you constantly. It��s debilitating. He wants to hate it, but he’s afraid that if he stops, he’s going to forget what you sounded like.

Keeps his wedding band on a chain around his neck, tucked safely beneath the collar of his shirt.

Visits your headstone often, making sure it’s clean and with fresh flowers. But he doesn’t linger, not wanting to give himself a chance to feel too much.

Creeper

Every emotion that went through him, he felt it completely, coursing through every vein of his body.

Anger, sadness, emptiness, rage, each one became him.

His love and loyalty to you wouldn’t let him rest until he felt like some kind of justice had been served.

But what would ever be considered justice for what was done to you? It felt like he was on a journey without an end. And, for you, he was willing to resign himself to it for the rest of his life.

There was no one in the world that he loved more than you, and there never would be.

He wasn’t afraid to feel what he was feeling in front of everyone else. Anger was easy. They were all good at anger. But even his sadness, his loneliness, he wore that on his sleeve as well.

The void left behind by you being gone wasn’t ever going to be filled. And he didn’t bother trying. But he kept your things.

He didn’t know how much he bought into the afterlife, or reincarnation, or any of the bullshit he’d heard the guys talk about in vain attempts to comfort him. But what he did know was that it felt better to keep his wedding ring on. It felt better to leave your boots next to the door where you’d life them, your half-empty journals still in your bedside table. Nothing felt good, but some things felt better.

Coco

Retaliation is the only thing on his mind at first. That’s just how he’s wired.

Once the score is settled, though, that’s when he really starts to unravel.

On the other side of his rage, there’s nothing but hurt and guilt, and sadness, and those are the things that he doesn’t know how to handle. He doesn’t know where to put all those feelings.

The downward spiral starts quickly, and seems never-ending.

He’d given up on the world long before he met you, assuming that it was just in his DNA to never find real happiness. He just resigned himself to being too far gone to truly love and be loved by someone. But then you came crashing into his life and buried all those fears and thoughts.

And then you were taken from him too. Leaving him knowing that happiness, love, it was all real and he had it. But it was taken from him.

No amount of philosophizing can bring him any comfort or reasoning or justification for what happened to you. The Church of Coco’s doors officially get locked shut.

Taza

He always considered himself to be someone who had a decent grip on and relationship with death. Not in a morbid way, but a realistic one.

Losing you threw all of that out the window, though.

It was impossible to sleep, he was always on edge, just barely on this side of doing enough to stay alive.

He knew that you would’ve hated the path he put himself on, but he didn’t have it in himself to stop. Any thought about trying to heal and move through his grief, only made him dig his heels in harder.

Logically, he knew that one day he was going to wake up and it wasn’t going to be as suffocating. He’d experienced enough loss to know that he wouldn’t feel like he was on the brink of a total mental break forever. But it was hard to see that when he was in the depths of such a loss.

He tried to remind himself of everything that he’d ever been taught, ever said to anyone else, but it all felt futile.

It was the only time that he didn’t ever want to feel better, he didn’t want to feel farther away from what had happened.

Riz

Being angry was easier than being sad, so that’s the emotion that he clung to the most.

He hated himself, but he hated the club more. Another thing that was easier, placing as much of the blame as possible on something besides himself.

But deep down underneath it all, he felt like he was solely at fault for the entire thing, and he didn’t know if it was something he would ever come back from.

He’s always had a mean bitter streak, something that you’d managed to mellow out of him over the years, but now it was back with a vengeance.

Anyone who tried to stop him from doing anything was met with the full force of all his pent-up rage.

The humor and the whimsy that he once had, the one-liners that he was able to conjure up to ease the tension in any situation, all of that was gone. Snubbed out like the end of a spent cigarette.

It was only in the small hours of the morning, when he was home alone in the darkness of the room you used to share with him, too drunk for his own good, that he let himself feel the sadness that was ripping him apart at the seams.

Nestor

His anger was always dangerous, but no other situation in the past compared to this one.

It was dangerous for him to feel what he was feeling, to think the thoughts that he was having, and also have the means to do something about them.

Consequences be damned, he was going to do whatever it took to get some semblance of even.

It didn’t matter who tried to talk some sense into him about it, he wasn’t going to listen.

It wasn’t until he was completely alone, washing the blood from his hands and face, tending to wounds and wishing that you were there to nurse him through it, that the anger gave way to the real emotion underneath--sadness.

You were his one shred of hope for having a normal life, or rather, a happy life, since there was no normal in his world. But now you were gone.

He was all business from there on out, but with a new reckless abandon that he hadn’t had before, knowing that you weren’t there to come home to so it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t make it.

SOA/Mayans Taglist: @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @kelpies-shed @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @garbinge @themoonandthewicked @bucky-iss-bae @encounterthepast @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @masterlistforimagines @toni9 @shadow-of-wonder @crowfootwrites @redpoodlern @punkgoddess-98 @black-repunzel99 @lexondeck @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindos @amorestevens @angelreyesisdaddy04 @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @bellisperennis0 @beardburnsupersoldiers @mveggieburger @thanossexual @xeniarocks @choochoo284 @littlekittymeow @beardsanddetectives @bruxasolta @slut-bitch-brat @i-love-scott-mccall @espieviolet99 @i-just-read-stuff @unicornucopia-fuckers @jitterbugs927 @be-my-dear (If you want to be tagged for either/both fandoms going forward just let me know!)

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midday0nightmares · 4 years ago

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20 - 10th of may (m).

previous chapter his revenge.

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

Waking up in his bed, surrounded by his musky scent, soaking in his warmth, you don’t open your eyes yet as you roll towards the man next to you, wanting to snuggle deeper into him, but he throws the covers off flooding you with the unwelcome cold air as he gets up.

You can’t help but to frown at the lose of his warmth, he doesn’t notice you yet.

You hug the soft duvet, bringing it closer to your nose to enjoy the remains of his smell, he goes through getting ready to start his day, his wild bed-hair and puffy face completely melts your heart, it is official, you are in love.. or maybe just needy and half asleep.

He comes out of the bathroom, face washed, teeth brushed, shirt off.. your breathing wavers and you squeeze your legs in a weak attempt to calm the pulsating heat in your core, the cotton shorts hung too low on his toned waits, showcasing the hairy trail that dips under the waistband, his toned chest and board shoulders making your mouth waters, you want him with every fiber in you, you want him in you in any way he choses, you just want him.

He continues to get dressed, he catches your dazed eyes staring at him in the mirror and he only chuckles, you comply to the urge to hide your face as a shy blushes blooms over it.

He clasps his watch and tightens his necktie before he turns and looks you straight, your heart inflates and your skin tingles awaiting his touch. he walks towards you and you roll on your back to open yourself to him, hopefully he’ll come closer. he removes the covers off of you and indulge himself in your body, his eyes follows every curved lined your body makes, your feminine ego flourish under his hungry gaze, he smirks at your restless thighs, how they were rubbing against each other.

His hand land on your bent knee and slides down your thigh, barley touching you spreading goosebumps all over, you relaxes your legs to welcome the long waited attention but he ignores the invitation and ghosts his fingers over your hip bone up your stomach to in between your breasts to finally stops when they grab your cheeks, your hands snake around his arm, desperately clinging to him, you chase your breaths as lust rages inside of you, he awaits for your eyes to sober and focus on him, he leans down closer to your face, and you close your eyes eager for his lips to kiss your, but they don’t. he shakes your head by the hand that was still firmly holding your cheeks, his fingers tightens on your jaw “open..” His commands you, his eyes glued to your lips, you open your mouth without hesitation. “wider” his fingers digs into the soft flesh, and when you do he spits into your mouth, the act catching you by surprise for a split second before instinct takes over and you melt his spit over your tongue before you swallow it. He lets go of you, satisfied with your reaction “behave while I’m gone” his authoritative tone sends shivers down your spine, he makes you feel small as he straightens his tall stature above you, everything about him tambours with your heartbeat, he pulls his arm out of your grasp discarding your unvocalized protests, and just like that he was gone.

His tastes still lingers in your mouth, sweet as ever, you were reduced to a needy mess, wanting nothing more than to be used, consumed and ruined by him, you were his obedient girl who will wait for him.

You tossed and turned in his sheets, head swimming with thoughts of him until you slipped back to sleep.

When you woke up, you pushed the embarrassment at your behavior this morning and got up.

now that your head had cleared up thanks to the strong bitter taste of the coffee, you couldn’t help the thousand questions from poping in your mind about last night, you realized how little you actually know about them and you took it as your next mission, to collect information about the “enemy”.. after all, knowledge is power right? right.

You go back to jaemin’s room to start looking for clues, you skip the locked safe as you have zero chance in opening it, you try his computer but it’s locked with password, you try to think of any names or numbers that might hold any significance to him but you don’t even know his birthday so how would you know, you abandon it and turn to his drawers, you go through them one by one, nothing.

you ask yourself where would someone hide thier important belongs? You look around the room wondering, until under his bed comes in view, you get on your knees and pear under it and you find it. A dusty shoe box, you take it out, it looks old and abandoned, you open it and to your disappointment it is filled with first aids, but before you close the lid something catches your attention, you almost missed it, an old diary book.

You take it out and open it, most of the pages are untouched and the ones that are used have meaningless scrambles that looks like someone would mindlessly make, you flip through it and a picks of folded news paper that falls out of it, you open it and it is a news article, the titles reads ,

“The Wife of A Drug Lord Was Found Dead”

It can’t be his mother, can it? The date on the article is may 10th 2020, an exact year before you were brought here, your eyes skim through the lines of the long paragraph,

“... she was found dead in front of her apartment building. Her death was caused by serious craniocerebral injuries mainly due to the sever impact after falling from high place, followed by... she developed mental illness after her child birth..neighbors refused to corporate .. one suspect was brought into questioning, but there was no sufficient evidences to charge him.. her death was rolled as suicide.. no suicide note was found”

The article ends, you still in shock of what you’ve just read. A rush of dreadful emotions washs over you as you try to blink away the tears that were forming in your eyes. your heart breaks for him, no one deserves to go through this type of pain.

You fold it and put everything back into its place, deciding you have had enough information for today, guilt bubbling in your stomach as you contact the dots as to why he reacted the way he did when you were talking about the cat that have jumped off of the balcony, your stupid imagination dug up a the painful memory of his late mother, poor jaemin.

When they return, jaemin corners you in the hallway, before he whispers to you "have you been behaving?"..

the blood rushing to your cheeks turning them red, you avoid his shameless eyes and nod, your heartbeat races in excitement, the familiar fire of desire rages yet again,

"yeah? let me check.." he slips his hand into your panties to be met with sticky mess, product of his doing .. “jaemin, not here jeno can see us” you try to push his hand away but he doesn’t move an inch, instead pushing himself closer to you. “let him see” his voice is muffled by your neck “let him see what a dirty girl you are” he bites your neck and starts massaging your swelling clit, your knees almost betray, you claw his shoulders silently begging him for more, but again he withdraw his hand and laughs at your frustrated whine.

#nct yandere #nct dream #nct mafia #nct smut #nct jaemin #nct reactions #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct blurbs

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stockholmdolly · 3 years ago

Text

EASY PREY (BEWARE OF THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD) 12

Pairings: dark!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: swearing, violence, graphic description of a electrocution? hahaha

Word count: 5,332

Author’s note: Hello fanfiction world, it is me! Stockholm Dolly. Chapter 12, today’s the day Y/N was being meticulous planning, will everything go according to plan? Or did she underestimate Steve? Happy reading...😈

CHAPTER 12/26 DAY OF...

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la La, la, la, la, la, la, la… Know that you could set your world on fire If you are strong enough to leave your doubts” –Kerli, “Walking on Air”

I read once or heard once that a human can drown in just two inches of water. I had water, Asset #33, which I used on Day 33. And hence, the full name of my plot, “15/33.”

I woke as usual at 7:22 a.m. Asset #14, the television, told me this, as did Asset #16, the radio. I made the bed as I always did and waited, sitting on the white coverlet until 8:00 a.m. for breakfast. At exactly 7:59, just on time, the floorboards rattled, and thus approached my punctual jailer. He unlocked the door and handed me the tray with the chipped toile china plate—chipped because I purposefully dropped the thing one day before—for fun. Blueberry muffins from the Kitchen People. And, of course, the milk, and the cup of water. I hate blueberries, but the butter-sugar top looks good.

- Thank you.

Whole extra water routine.

He left.

The bored conductor yawns as he waves his wand through rote motions. Awake! This orchestra will soon play the rock version of a practiced hymn; a solo crowd will be shocked. Ratchet up the pace, maestro.

After the field trip to the ditch, which at the time I consciously blanked from my memory, and up to this day, Day 33, I had peppered my regular routine with screaming and crying fits, all for the sole benefit of my captor’s weak ego. In addition to these well-planned spells of emotional acting, I truthfully increased my internal resolve. I also sped up the timeline. I had planned on waiting two more weeks, two more rounds of Kitchen People, so I’d be beyond question in my calculations and practice. So, I’d have plenty of water. But what with the trek to the pit of horror, I chose to cut to the finish. I allowed three days to pass so as to ease him back into a safe routine and reduce his agitation, trick him into a sedate trust, by giving him what his demented state needed: wailing, crying, a subject who treated him like an Alpha, moon-eyed him from beneath his knees as a person of power, a mighty man rising from the earth, a pillar, a ruler, a Pharaoh, the first Avenger, the self-sacrifice man out of time, the only king of my world. Fucking inbred.

Tricking someone into thinking he has power is the ultimate power play.

The execution of my plan would have to wait for the delivery of lunch on Day 33 because 7:22 a.m. - 8:00 a.m. did not afford enough time for the set-up. I ate the muffin quickly and waited until 8:30 for his return. Sitting on the edge of the mattress after my meal, I flossed my teeth with thread I’d pulled from the hem of the comforter. Mashed muffin crumbs beaded in a saliva chain on the make-do floss, as I forced the string in and out of the tight joints of my teeth. Moving from molars to incisors, I did find it curious to be so fixed on the blood my rough dental care produced.

I’ll need to see the dentist when I’m out of here.

I found it humiliating to have to perform such private work in a bedroom—how uncivilized to treat my sleeping space as a bathroom.

I’m better than this.

I checked my nails, displeased with jagged cuticles. Waiting. Preening and waiting.

Fortunately, he fell into my trap and came on cue.

Strike the rumbling kettledrum.

He opened the door. I handed him the tray.

Whole wash my face, body, teeth, and drink from faucet routine—this time by just splashing water. I wasn’t about to use the nasty washcloth anymore.

The orchestra shifts closer to the edge of their seats, gripping strings and filling lungs. A violin joins the drum to heighten the passion. Anticipation crawls up the spine of the stiff-backed pianist.

I waddled back to the room. I considered this phase of 15/33, successfully completed, check.✔

The minutiae of this day is so ingrained in my mind movie. Microseconds of actions and observations are burned so deeply I practically see them play out now: seventeen years of replay. When he thrust me back into my confines after the morning bathroom trip, the iciness of his grip on my forearm was so cold I thought he might stick to my skin, like lips on an icy glass. Slowly I craned my neck to see a stain on his chin, stuck within the stubble he’d failed to shave. The yellowy blotch looked to be egg yolk, which I presumed he’d horked down after giving me my muffin and before picking up my tray.

He gets protein in a hot breakfast but gives me empty calories in a cold pastry.

I wanted him to have the decency to wipe his face before being in my presence. I wanted him to have the grace to apologize for thinking he could enjoy a meal while I was in the same house as him, for having no warmth in his touch, for not seeing the plan unfold around him, for his blindness, his stupidity, his existence, and his past, a past that made me a victim—trickle-down torture.

He’s out of my hair for a good three-and-a-half hours. Get to work. Phase II.

I really didn’t need three-and-a-half hours. I needed perhaps an hour for the set-up. With the extra time, I practiced. I must stand here. I stood there. I must drop this then. I pretended to drop a cord. I must pick this up and push, right away. I practiced with the floorboard. I must unhook this as I leave the room. I didn’t practice this last part for fear of squandering my coup de grace, my grand finale, my triple insurance for death.

The hour approached. If I were a ballerina, I’d be on point, my toes, my legs, my whole body in a stiff cement posture. The children growing inside me turned; their foot moved across my belly. 10 toes and a 2 heels were visible from them pressing within. I love you, babies. Hold on. Game time.

A fast wind rustled through the treetop outside the triangular window and in its wake, the sky darkened, and a sudden shower fried in a flash.

The team of flutes sounds like swarming bees, the violins are in a fury, kicking up a cyclone, the grand piano is on fire, the ivory practically pounds to dust.

Minutes later, the sky remained gray and dripping, not fully giving up on rain, but not raining outright either. If the air had been warm, the day would have been steamy, like summers in Savannah at nana’s house. But since the air was cool and we were on a non-exotic, flat farm, the wetness was the kind to chill bones, crack marrow.

My children will not be born here. They will not enter the world, cold and damp. My children will not be taken.

My condition, this condition, propelled me to action. Because I was a full eight months then, I could not afford to physically attack my captor, even though he’d given ample opportunities. I could have jabbed a dagger of broken china or the sharpened end of a TV antenna into his neck. I could have dismantled the baseboard and beat him with a bedpost. Trust me, I thought of all of these options. They were ruled out though because they would require agility and lunging and jumping, abilities I lacked in my late condition. Besides, I might miss. I could not do the necessary deed entirely physically, and I did not want to stress the baby with a foolish attempt. Instead, I used as many assets as I could, the power of physics, basic biology, systems of levers and pulleys, and unbridled vengeance.

My father is a physicist and a black belt in jiu-jitsu, trained by the navy. With these two industries, he taught the benefit of using an aggressor’s weight and movement against him in battle. I knew from my mother, a hardened cynic, “You should never underestimate a person’s stupidity or laziness.” Any opponent will eventually slip up, and thus, to her teachings, “Never waste an opponent’s moment of weakness. Do not hesitate in slicing an exposed jugular.” She meant it figuratively, but I tried in vain to apply it literally.

My captor displayed numerous moments of weakness, of stupidity, of laziness. I’ll sum them up: the van, the Kitchen People, the pencil sharpener, the setting and following of patterns, the inability to fight his own weakened ego, the decision to put the barrel of a gun on my unborn babies, the offers for more water, the TV, the radio, and finally, the act of leaving his ring of keys in the door whenever he unlocked it to enter.

By Day 33, I was secure concluding the Kitchen People would be absent until Day 37. Banner and Black Widow shouldn’t visit, for I had shown no signs of labor—nor would I have shared them with Steve anyway. Ransom, I presumed, had been successful in flying the coup.

It will be him and me alone, just as 15/33 requires.

The dangling radio said it was 11:51, nine minutes to showtime. I stood in my designated spot and tried to fix upon the time, suspended in the air on the radio which spun on the rope to which it was tied. The minutes were so slow then, and so was my heartbeat. I believe the only anxiety I felt was the anxiety of getting this gig over with. The practice I’d had to this point was as though I’d memorized a passionate love speech, one that at first writing might have elicited trembles of heartbeats and perhaps even tears, but after ten thousand recitations had become a mass of words, disconnected to human feeling—much the way a President might read from a teleprompter or a bad actor might deliver lines when reading straight from a script. “I love you” is said as three robotic words, no dip of voice or shoulders, no hand extended on the “love,” no pupils dilated, no crease of the forehead to emphasize the point. “I. Love. You.” is simply said while the speaker simultaneously checks the time on his watch. There is no love with such a declaration if he checks his watch; but love is felt, indeed the room pulses, when he says as much and fights his knees from sinking to the ground or fails to blink from the blinding light invading his widened eyes.

And so, much like the tin man declaring love, my practiced hand itched to complete the task. I probably could have killed him blindfolded and asleep at this point, the actions I planned had been repeated so often.

At 11:55, I signaled my star, a bag of bleach, to take its place in the spotlight. Bleach is corrosive. I once read an article in which Scott Curriden of Scripps Research Environmental Health and Safety was quoted as saying, “Bleach can drill a hole through stainless steel.” So I waited as long as I could to pour my ¾ gallon of bleach into the flimsy plastic bag and pinch the bag by loosely tying the top with some of the red yarn I’d unraveled. Next, standing by the door, I pulled the other end of the yarn, which was thrown over the beam closest to the door, along with another cord holding another item—wait for it—so the pouch of bleach rested beneath this other heavy item. Both objects dangled directly over Floorboard #3.

Bleach is corrosive, as I’ve mentioned, which we know from scientists. And bleach burns like a Mother You-Know-Whater when it’s splashed in your eyes or your mouth or your face, which we know from common sense.

The clock ticked to 11:59 and the sun simultaneously flared, sending a beam to cut through the dust particles in the air. The smell of my own sweat fogged me in the tight space I quarantined myself to, firm against the wall by the door. I’m sure my odor hadn’t increased due to any nervousness, but rather was abundantly apparent as I prepared to say goodbye to all the details of that horrible den.

An ever-so-slight tremble began. The floorboards rattled. Lunch. I plastered my back to the wall, solid in the designated spot by the door. Outside, he placed the tray on the floor. The click clack of plastic against wood signaled me to stand rigid and ready.

Keys jingled and metal scraped within the keyhole.

The door opened.

He opened it wide, just what I needed, just as always, just as expected, as planned.

After collecting the food from the floor, he bent without looking up and stepped to the exact spot he always did, just as I had marked and measured three times a day since Day 5. Floorboard #3. He looked straight ahead at the bed, which was now a contraption of death. What did he think, expecting me to be sitting there waiting for lunch but seeing…the mattress tipped, wedged between the bed frame and the wall, and the box spring on the floor, cut open and hallowed, lined with that plastic, and filled with water, and thus, transfigured into a literal pool. A ditch with cotton sides in the house, only steps from the door. In the second of insight I allowed him, I hoped he saw a ready canvas, waiting only for its main subject, him, and thus would be my completed masterpiece. I hoped he would chastise himself for giving me plastic on that box spring, chastise himself for being too lazy to remove it and properly place the bed on slats. His vision would be of that box spring now expertly layered in the plastic, half-filled with water, and the standing mattress against the wall, like an opened lid to this well, waiting to close once he entered. The wood frame of the bed, he should have noted, had several skinny rungs missing. Did he wonder where those had gone? And hanging and twirling and singing in the sky above was the radio on a rope made out of a red knit blanket. The radio’s plug was in the socket at the foot of the bed.

Did he connect water with electricity? Did he feel the rising zap in the room, coming from the socket, my plan, my head? Did he sense the tension so high in the blaring opera above the bed, so high I thought bolts of lightning flashed around the room?

I’m sure if I had allowed another second to pass, he’d have cranked his head to see me standing to his left and by the opened door. He’d have asked a bewildered and grunted How? I never gave him the opportunity, of course, but I have a chance now for a quick explanation.

On that working night from Day 4 to Day 5, I used the razor from the pencil sharpener, which had been summarily dismantled by the sharp end of the bucket handle, and cut the plastic covering and the fabric on the inside of the box spring. The cutting is what took so long. I had only the razor to work with and it was small. Even a microscopic tear might foil the plan, so I worked methodically, like an art restorer to a damaged Rembrandt, precious square inch by precious square inch, ensuring each cut was surgeon-worthy straight. I kept the plastic on the sides and bottom of the box spring and secured it in place with the flat tacks, collectively Asset #24. I’ll explain about the tacks in a minute. I lined the box spring between its now exposed support boards with the cut plastic and secured the inner well—now an empty pool—with more of the flat tacks. I reinforced certain spots with a patchwork of pieces of my black raincoat, which I had torn apart. He never noticed it missing.

“Your opponent will often be blind to your design, being consumed with his own. Do not subconsciously seek accolades of your ingenuity and thus call attention—be sated by your own approval. Be confident you will win,” so said the quote, scrawled on a napkin and framed in my mother’s home office. My father was the author, having written the inspiration before jumping from a plane in his navy wetsuit to extract some kidnapped figurehead from an island prison. Such were the subjects of our family dinner conversations, even after mother’s trial wins became the norm and even after my father retired to a full life of science.

On Day 33, he likely could not believe the spectacle of this box spring well, filled with the lukewarm water he offered me at every meal—by the way, when I guzzled water from the bathroom faucet, this is how I got the hydration needed for my condition. Above the bed-pool hung the radio, plugged in to the outlet on the wall by the headboard. A symphony of unparalleled voracity blared.

Wild notes. Oh wild melody. Rage on.

Just before my captor arrived on Day 33 to deliver my lunch, I marveled at this scene myself. When I said, “Thank you,” each time you offered me more water, I meant, “Thank you. Thank you for letting me drown you, electrocute you.”

The band is beyond divinity at this point, so furious I can no longer hear a single note. What music, what rapture. I am overcome.

One second after he entered the room and stepped in the place I had studied for weeks, I let go the pouch of bleach (Asset #36), and also the ultrasound machine’s extension cord (Asset #22), which held the TV suspended above his head. The pouch hit first and burst, only to be squished further a millisecond later by the crash of the television. Both missiles hit squarely on what was once the soft spot of his newborn skull.

The bleach must have reached his eyeballs because instead of cradling his crushed head, his weak arms, weak because he was passing out, went to his eyes as he gave out a high-pitched moan. I hold freeze-frames of his actions from this point on. Frame-by-frame, he rocked his left eye with the back of his left hand, while his right arm did the same with his right eye. Even in memory, I do not hear, as I did not hear in those microseconds, what must have been spitting swears and screaming coming from his wide-open mouth. I heard that radio offering praise from an opera. I heard a violin scream a high note of approval. And I heard the crackle of urgent electricity, seeping from the socket and anxious to play its part. Water in the box spring rippled from the sudden thud of the TV when it crashed to the wood floor, after falling from his head to his right shoulder and bouncing off his back. A metal corner gouged somewhere along his neckline, releasing blood to run down his spine—like a ribbon on a balloon.

Before his complete collapse, I moved on to my next weapon, which I picked up in the same motion as when I released the bleach and TV. The loose floorboard in my hands became a battering ram. I laid it flat against his back from his left side where I stood. Using his falling motion, I pushed the requisite force—based on his weight and height—to drop him to his knees, propel him forward, and insure he’d fall headfirst in the water—which he was primed to do anyway. He splashed into my ditch, and I slipped out behind his now fallen feet to the hall, looking in. Simultaneously, I unhooked more of the red yarn, which I’d braided to form a rope, from a nail by the door. I fashioned the rope out of the yarn from the red knit blanket, Asset #5, which I began unraveling, as you know, on Day 20. He never noticed the uncoiling because I folded the blanket on its own disembowelment every single morning at dawn. The once dangling radio hit the water where his bleached and crushed head and torso lay, submerged. The crack and the sizzle of electrocution filled the room. Me outside, him within.

All of this took less than ten seconds, about the time he took to nab me from my street.

Now that, my friends, is justice. Cold, hard, burning, skull-splitting, electrified justice.

15/33 consisted of a three-part escape plan: TV, with unnecessary but added bonus of bleach pouch, electrocution, and drowning, each of which could have caused his death. If the TV missed, I still would have picked up the floorboard and pushed, expecting him to likely trip. If necessary, I would have mustered physical force and whaled him with the floorboard until he collapsed, then I’d turn to my fail safe and shoot him in the eyes and neck and groin with the bow and four arrows in the holster strapped to my back.

Arrows and holster? I had so many assets. The bow was constructed of the elastic from the attic and my trusty now unbent bucket handle. The arrows were sharpened rungs I had removed from the bed frame and whittled with the ends of the TV antennas—the rungs and antennas being falsely re-secured each morning into their intended, decorative/sort-of-functional spots. The holster was the sleeve of my raincoat, pinch-tied at the bottom with more of the yarn, the strap made out of wiring I ripped from the guts of the ultrasound machine. Thankfully, the arrows were superfluous, then, which is why I didn’t fret over the inability to use them in practice. Praise God and his black angel butterfly, for I had the positional advantage, the element of surprise, and from my relentless study, I knew his movements, patterns, gait, steps, height, and weight so precisely, I very well could have metamorphized into the man.

What about those tacks? You’ll remember, on the first night in the van, I slept less than he did. It’s funny what sweat will do to duct tape and that van was hot and I had extra pounds. I felt the magic of my heat on the tape all of Day 1, and slowly but surely, my thin wrists loosened within my confinement. Finally, while he snored, I tested how far I might pull an arm free. Sure enough, fifty minutes into his slumber, my right arm slid out. Unsure of how long I had, and since the olive oven barred the side sliding door and a chain barred the back doors, I was likely out of time to free my left arm and legs—although I continued to fiddle. I bent to the backpack, retrieved the tacks—a commercial-sized pack of one thousand so stuffed the tacks didn’t rattle—and pocketed them in my lined, black raincoat. He stirred. I sat up straight. I put my hand back through the duct tape, slouched, and pretended to sleep. He yawned and turned in his chair. I felt him look at me.

- Stupid fucking whore, he’d said.

Idiot. I will kill you with these tacks, I had thought.

Thirty-three days later, I froze outside my jail cell as his sizzling and muscle-jumping body rounded out. When he fell, his body was limp, his legs collapsed and sprawled on the floor in pigeon-toe, but his torso lifted to slump over the low bed frame and in the water in the box spring. The oddest part of everything was how his hips kept rising with every zap of electricity and banging the side of the bed—as if he were dream-humping the long board while sleeping submerged in the water. The water appeared blue with yellow streaks, swirling and spilling around him and to the floor. Sparks poured from the wall socket, threatening to catch and burn the whole joint, but didn’t, given that they burned to black dots on the floorboards. Pops accompanied the sparks, as did bubbles of his breath when his body settled into death and the angered electricity calmed. I waited until all popping stopped, like when you microwave popcorn, those last, slow seconds of one, two-three, silence, a fourth and final kernel pops. “Ding!” the microwave blares, “All done.”

A drone of dying lights sent a warping over the house: the electrocution had shorted the electricity. Although midday, the musty hall fell dark and a quiet dropped a cloth of eerie silence. I reached for an arrow on my back, standing as still as a stone statue in the park, mid-step, sword unsheathed. No noises came from his chamber of death. No footsteps fell behind me, above me, below me, or anywhere. I was outside my room. I shut the door and locked him within. I took the keys.

Silence.

My heart beat loud in my ears.

A swallow fluttered by the window in the stairwell, a herald tweeting, “The coast is clear.”

I hope you enjoyed your swim in my little pool, motherfucker. I spit on the door.

I went downstairs and entered the kitchen. I had imagined it so often with the floral print fabric, wood worktables, white sink, and apple-green mixer, I felt deceived to find something wholly different. The truth in the vision winded me. Instead of a country kitchen, before me were two long stainless steel tables—commercial-kitchen style. The stove was big and black, the mixer, boring egg-white. There were no colors in this room. There were no aprons with pink piping. No fat cat lounging on a rug. And, there was another surprise for me too, so they didn’t live here, just leave me with Steve, I know why he hates me so much now.

Upon the steel table closest to me, I found a second china plate of food. This was surely not mine; mine was shattered upstairs, under the electrified remains of my perpetrator’s feet. This plate was wrapped in plastic with a Post-it on top. Beside it was an identical mug of milk and cup of water. I stepped closer. The note said, “T.” I looked in the trash. On top, plain as day, was another piece of saran wrap with a Post-it, but this one said, “Y/N,” my first initial. How did I not see this before? We were not alone in the building. Another girl. And her name begins with T.

Still, this diversion was not a part of my plan. Stay focused, finish 15/33, and then re-plan. I found some envelopes with the address and a phone, dialed 911, and demanded the chief of police. I got him.

“Listen to me carefully, write this down. I will talk slow. I am Y/N Y/LN. I am the pregnant girl who was kidnapped a month ago. I am at 77 Meadowview Road. Do not come in a cop car. Do not put this on the radio. Do not make a scene. You will jeopardize me and another girl they’ve taken. Come in one regular car. Come quick. Do not put this on the radio. Do not make a scene. Are you following this?”

- Yes.

I hung up.

Now I could attend to this other victim. I stepped outside. Finally, the full architecture. For once I was right, it was white. As I had noted previously, the footprint housed four different wings, three floors to each with a common attic adding a fourth level. A faded sign on the side said, “Appletree Boarding School.” The kitchen was so new though; the peeled paint of the exterior seemed misplaced. I thought of the scene in Romancing the Stone when Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas visit Juan to get a ride in his “Little Pepe,” a truck. Juan’s house was a run-down shack on the outside, but a virtual palace on the inside.

The girl, T, might be anywhere, and I was not about to go climbing all sorts of stairs looking for her. I wasn’t going to yell either. Fortunately, something caught my eye. In the far-left wing was a matching triangular window, at the same height as mine. I walked around the whole structure. There were no other windows like them. Instead, all of the other windows were large, some taking up the whole wall of a room. I concluded that had she been in any of those rooms, there would be curtains. I looked up again at the triangular window and I swear the black butterfly fluttered in the pane, as if pointing the way.

I opened the doorway of this far-left wing and climbed three flights of stairs. The stairwell matched mine exactly. The third floor housed the same bathroom, in the same spot.

I rattled the floorboards outside a locked room.

- T? I said.

Nothing.

- T, what’s your name? I just escaped from the other wing. Is someone there?

A loud crash, something fell.

- Hello, hello! Please, let me out! She screamed this phrase repeatedly, frantic she became, as I clawed through the ring of keys, which I had collected from my own locked door, and found the right one. Interestingly, her lock was antiquated, a simple turnkey lock so unlike my titanium upgrade. Why was she so trusted? Underestimated? I would have picked this lock on the first night. As her door opened, a blond girl struggled to sit on her bed. A pile of books was strewn along the floor, so I presumed they were the source of the crash. T wore a purple dress and one black Converse All Stars sneaker; her other foot was bare. I wondered again where my shoes were, as I scrunched my toes in the gifted, too-large Nikes. Why was she allowed to keep her shoe? This T was very pregnant, just as I.

- The cops are coming. They’re coming right now.

As I said this, the sound of tires and an engine rumbled outside.

Why didn’t I hear cars pull up in my wing? She must have heard whenever the Kitchen People arrived, Banner, Natasha, Stark, the Girl Scouts and their mother, Ransom. Did she scream for help each time? They must not have heard her.

- My name is Tery S. Rodriguez. I need a doctor.

A car door slammed. That can’t be the cops yet. I called 3.5 minutes ago. Must be the cops. Someone is walking around outside. Where are they going?

Beads of sweat dotted her pale face. Her eyes drooped in sickness, not lethargy. One of her legs was swollen and red; her right shin appeared as though it would burst. Her hair was matted with grease, the bangs pulled aside by one bobby pin.

Where are they?

Tery’s dungeon mirrored mine in many respects: wood bed without mattress on the bottom slats, just resting in the frame, plastic covered her box spring, the beams were the same, the window, the wood floor. But she had no TV. She had no radio. No pencil case, no ruler, no pencils, no paper, and no pencil sharpener. And I guessed, no tacks. She did have two assets, however, that I did not: knitting needles and several books.

Screaming began in another part of the building. My wing.

I tried to lift Tery, get her to move.

A door slammed. Again, my wing.

- Come, Tery, come now.

She froze.

- Tery, Tery, we need to leave, now!

Running feet outside the building below us.

And up the stairs.

Tery pasted herself to the wall behind her bed.

I pulled her arm.

A floorboard rattled behind us in the hall.

That’s when I accepted my colossal miscalculation.

Taglist: @cjand10

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ushiwakaout · 4 years ago

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So you know how I wrote about how Sakuna slowly falls in love with you but he’d never admits it until his dying breath.... Well here’s this:

You didn’t realize that these where probably your last moment’s with Yuji. You sat in his room, at the edge of the bed, holding back tears. “I don’t want you to cry.” He told you, Yuji hasn’t been able to look you in the eyes for a while since he realized that he was going to die a lot sooner than they originally believed. He was going to wrap his arm around your shoulder and hold you close but you shot up from your seat, slapping his hand away. “You just had to be the damn hero, didn’t you!” He looked up at you with shock, this was the first time in a long time that you raised your voice at him like that- full of anger and fear... Sakuna could feel it and so could he, “What happened to our happy ever after?! Was that all a lie to you?! Did you just forget when you made the decision to be the hero?! DO I NOT MATTER TO YOU?!”

His heart sank, he could see the tear dropping from your face while you screamed at him. “No y/n, that’s not it... I promise that’s not it.” He tried to stay calm and touch you again, hold you for the last time but, something snapped in you. “AND YOU SAKUNA! YOU FUCKING COWARD! YOU THINK YOU’RE SO GODLY?! YOU NEED A FUCKING BODY JUST TO STAY CONCIOUS- WHAT KIND OF GOD ARE YOU TO BE RUINING SOMEONES LIFE, SOMEONES FUTURE?!” Although you knew it wasn’t his fault, you took a swing at Yuji and he let you hit him, over and over and over again. But Sakuna was pissed off that his vessle was letting himself get beat up by a woman, why would he ever do that?

Sakuna switched with Yuji and held both of your wrist together, earning a small whimper from you. He’d forgot how fradgile human skin was.

But that’s when you began to pull, to tug on his hands- Sukuna wasn’t even looking at you while you tried to cause him harm. But he took a glance at your small figure.

Tired and worn out from fighting back emotions.

“There’s no point in fighting little one... The deed will be done and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Fuck you.”

“It is not my fault your lover decided to eat my finger and he continues to do so.”

“Shut up.”

“And like I said, there is nothing you could do about it.” His head whipped to the side, you caught him off guard... You slapped him. “I said shut up!” This time, you looked into his eyes. “I DON’T CARE IF IT’S A DONE DEAL! YOU RUINED MY LIFE. YOU RUINED YUJIS FUTURE. FUCK.YOU”

He now understood why Yuji was letting himself get hurt. The look in your eyes. It was enough to cause ruin to a whole village of people, a gloom that could destroy lives. Redness that painted your nose, you’re flushed cheeks, and the sad puffy eyes.

“Fuck you- fuck you- fuck you.” With every vulgar word, Sakuna let you hit and scratch at him, but to him, it only felt like a tap. “You ruined my life and my future!” He watched you begin to cry again, “You ruined it.” You sobbed, your body going numb before he let you lean against his body. “You ruined his life...” You repeated slowly, sobbing into his arms, that now wrapped around you body.

A deep slumber took over you when he caressed your head with his nails, carefull not to scratch your thin skin. “I-” He muttered, “I’m sorry little one...”

On his last days, you ignored him, even if it was Yuji.

His heart ached to be with you again but he understood that, that was your way to cope. Slowly distancing yourself from whoever you knew you where about to lose.

Little did the two of you know that Yuji and Sakuna would lose you first.

Blood dripped from the corner of your mouth, coughing it up as Yuji held you in his hands. This time, not even Sakusa could had seen it happen. They thought the monster was dead- until it came behind you and pierced his hand through your stomatch. Your hand was cupping his cheek, caressing his cheek and ocassionally grazing over Sakunas eye... That was the first time you’ve showed Sakuna physical kindless. “I love you...” You muttured, Yuji becan to shake his head. “No, no, no. I wasn’t supposed to lose you!”

“I know Yuji... I know.”

Yuji shook his head, “You where supposed to live a long life and get over me... maybe have kids one day... and maybe name one of them Yuji- you know.” The small laugh that escaped your chest turned into a cough and then a sad smile. “I’m sorry yuu...”

You closed your eyes, “Please don’t leave me.” He croaked. “Little one, please.”

“I’m still here...” You whispered, trying to tightened your grip on Sakunas hand. “I’m sorry I never showed you the kindness you deserved.”

The demon shook his head, and for once, smiled- a soft sweet smile. “You showed me all the kindness in the world y/n with your vulgar words.” His laugh caused tears to fall onto your cheek. “A demon who weeps... who knew.” Your hand lightly scratched his skin. “Will we ever meet again?”

“Maybe in another life little one... maybe.”

“Good...” Your hand left his cheek with a scratch as it fell back to your body. He didn’t realize you where becoming cold already. Sakuna lifted your body and handed it over to Megumi. “The deal we had is off. Good luck getting Yuji back in control.”

I woke up and chose violence today :)

MERRY CHRISTMAS U DIRTY ANIMALS

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brockadoodles · 4 years ago

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kiss me at midnight - m. tkachuk

AN: The way i can’t WAIT for the season to start so I can gif short haired Matty... Anyways. uh, I woke up today and chose violence, so here’s a New Year’s fic with one of our favorites. Maybe one day I’ll stop posting at 1 am? Let me know what you think!

Word Count: 2395

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drinking, otherwise it’s fluffy.

“Ten dollars says they’re going to make out within the next five minutes.” You quickly turned your head at the voice. You smiled slightly at Matthew, nodding at him to take a seat next to you. You had just met him that evening and had somehow ended up running into him multiple times throughout the night. You laughed softly at his statement as you swirled your rum and coke in your hand. You didn’t even have to look in the direction that he was pointing toward to know exactly who he was talking about. Your roommate had ditched you in favor of his teammate over an hour ago, and in her defense, he was cute and better one of you not to spend New Year’s Eve sulking alone at the bar.

“I give them three, you’re welcome to hang out and wager me on it.” You joked. Matthew eyed you curiously, anyone that was willing to make a bet with him that quickly was someone he wanted to get to know. He caught the attention of the bartender and ordered himself a drink. He glanced over at your near-empty glass and had another made for you, making sure to tell the bartender to add it to his own tab and not yours. Your friend had very clearly left you to your own devices and he had no intention of doing the same thing, the least he could offer is buying you one drink. You just smiled at him in thanks as another rum and coke was put in your hands to replace the now empty one.

“Would ya look at that, guess neither of us wins.” Matthew mused as he took a sip of his drink. You quickly turned your head to where your roommate was now pressed against the pool table, kissing his teammate. You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Matthew, who was inarguably cute. No harming in shooting your shot with someone you likely wouldn’t see again in a crowded bar in Calgary on New Year’s Eve, right?

“Bummer. To think I was going to bet you a New Year’s Kiss.” You shrugged, raising your eyebrow a bit toward Matthew, who now had a smirk settling in on his features. He leaned against the bar as he took a step closer to you, positioning his body between your thighs. It wasn’t uncomfortable, you actually found yourself smiling softly at him as you placed a hand on his waist and tugged him slightly closer to you, opening the door for whatever would come next.

“Me and you at midnight? Deal.” You rolled your eyes at him and pat his side, pushing him back just enough to give you some more room. The conversation started flowing after that, and you found yourself getting lost in the stories he was telling. Something about Matthew was captivating. You could blame it on his looks, maybe the way his eyes lit up when he smiled at you, or the way his hair was just long enough to see that it was a bit curly, or maybe it was the way you were sitting close together now, with his leg brushed against yours under the table that you had moved to an hour before. But deep down you knew it wasn’t just because he was some hot stranger who you were hopefully stealing a midnight kiss from, you and Matthew had a connection that you couldn’t quite explain further than it being what everyone describes in shows that you never bothered to believe in. You could only hope that he felt it, too.

Except, he must not have, because when the clock counted down and you prepared yourself to finally kiss him, he just held you close. Matthew tucked you under his arm as the crowd started cheering and he made no move to kiss you, something that even in your drunken state was causing disappointment. What you didn’t know was that he wanted to kiss you more than anything that night, but he wasn’t about to cross a line you had drawn while drunk. He wanted to make sure it was okay before anything happened, so instead, he settled for a soft kiss to your forehead and exchanging numbers as he put you in an uber back to your apartment. Leaving you drunk and confused as if you had just read the signs entirely wrong.

You spent the next 11 months with Matthew, spending nearly all of your time together. You went to his games, you met each other’s friends, you spent nights with each other and there were so many frustrating pent up moments where if someone would have asked you what you were to each other, you genuinely would have had no answer. Matthew frustrated you in ways that you couldn’t pinpoint because his signals were caught up in the crossfires and you weren’t sure what you meant to him. You knew he cared about you, and sometimes his hand would linger just a bit too long on the small of your back, or he would fall asleep with his arms just enough around you that you would convince yourself that he felt what you had felt for him the entire time.

You spent months dancing back and forth with Matty, replying that New Year’s Eve night over and over in your head, wondering why he never kissed you. Then you spent months to accept what he was giving you, a friend that cared about you and would do anything for you, but one that simply didn’t harbor the same feelings you held close to your chest. You couldn’t fault him for not feeling the same way, feelings sometimes don’t have a rhyme or reason as to why they happen. Sometimes the hand you’re dealt results in a win, and other times you bet your entire heart only to watch it get cashed out by someone else who didn’t care to have it in the first place. But you had spent a year waiting around for him, and at this point, you just needed to know.

Matthew answered the phone quickly when he saw that it was you calling. He had just gotten back from a small get together with some of his friends from back home. He smiled softly as he greeted you, breathing a content sigh of relief as he settled down into what would likely be a long chat with you. You were Matthew’s favorite person and even though he hated being on the phone, he’d talk with you for hours about nothing if that was what you wanted.

“Do you know how there’s that saying about how if you spend New Years with someone, that’s who you’re spending the year with?” Were the first words out of your mouth, acting on a stint of courage that your friends had practically shoved into you the entire time you were with them. They all wanted you and Matty to get your shit together and confess, and you’d be lying if them pressing you wasn’t a factor in this impulsive late-night phone call to the person in question.

“Yeah, I have heard that one.” Matty smiled into his phone.

“I have this theory. I think it’s actually that who you miss the most on New Years’ is who you’ll spend the year with.” You were glad this was just a phone call and that matty wasn’t there to see your face. You had been dancing around something with him for so long now, that it felt like you were stuck in an endless game of poker where no one was winning. But you were the dealer now, and you were giving Matthew the cards that would give him a royal flush if he wanted it, and god you hoped he wanted it.

“You’re going to need to explain that, sweetheart.”

“We spent last New Years’ together, and you didn’t kiss me. We spent an entire year together and you didn’t kiss me, but there’s something here right? Because I feel like there is, and even though you’re in St. Louis and I’m here all I want is for you to miss me just enough that you’ll come home and finally kiss me.”

Matthew swore that he felt his heart lurch in his chest as he processed your words. You, the person he had spent the last year getting to know, spending nights together on your couch watching bad reality TV and arguing over what take out to order. You, the person that he thought about more often than not, so much so that he had made a routine of calling you after every away game, just because it was calming to hear your voice on the phone. You, the person that he had so desperately wanted to kiss the year before but didn’t because it wouldn’t have been right with both of you too intoxicated to make that decision. He had spent the last year assuming that you thought of him as just a friend and he had been sulking about it for months.

“Holy shit, I didn’t think you were into me.” Was absolutely not the most eloquent way that he could have responded to what you had just said. Matthew internally groaned at himself as he listened to the silence that was now coming from your side of the conversation. He was panicking, racking his brain for the right words to string together to make sure you knew he felt exactly the same way as you did. For some reason, just telling you that didn’t feel good enough when you had just about taken his heart right out of his chest from another country away with your confession.

“Fuck, that was not what I meant to say.” He ran a hand over his face, and he was thankful for once you had asked to just talk on the phone and not FaceTime.

“I really miss you. And everything you’re feeling, I feel it too.” He finally settled on it, hoping that it was enough to convey his emotions. He knew he wanted you, he had waited a year for this moment to come to its head. A year of him subtly standing by your side, itching to reach his hand out to yours but not daring to make the final touch. A year of him hoping you wouldn’t meet someone else that could take up the space that he desperately wanted to occupy. He spent a year waiting for you, he wasn’t going to wait any longer. Before he could stop himself he grabbed his laptop, pulling up flights as you started to speak again.

“God, Matty, there have been so many times I almost told you how I felt.” You breathed out. He could tell exactly how you were feeling, he could hear the relief in your voice. He knew that type of relief, the instant gratification a person feels when they give someone their time and effort and it’s all reciprocated. He knew that feeling because as soon as you mentioned you wanted to kiss him, he felt that same relief settle into his chest, a feeling he had been craving for so long now. A feeling he could act on in a matter of hours thanks to a ridiculously over-expensive flight from St. Louis back to Calgary.

“Can you pick me up tomorrow morning? From the airport?” He asked. You froze in bed, pulling your phone from your ear and looking at the time. It was late, already past midnight which meant it was even later for him. Your heart was racing and you felt like this was some hazy dream that you were bound to wake up from disappointed, the same dream you had experienced probably a hundred times over the last year. Matty was your entire world, and it didn’t feel real that he was finally something tangible. So you told him yes. You told him, yes and you counted down the hours until you got to see him, barely sleeping at all.

You had never been the type to think you’d be standing outside of security at an airport, living out some terrible moment from a romantic comedy as you waited for the person you loved to come through the gates. But there you were, in one of his old sweatshirts, nervously tapping your foot as you eyed every single person that walked through.

You were totally sure that anyone watching you probably was rolling your eyes at the look on your face, the same lovesick look you see in the very movies you often complain about. But you didn’t care because strangers walking through an airport clutching their coffee at 7 am who you would never see again didn’t matter. Everyone had their own destination that day, their own trip that they were making for their own reasons, and your reason was walking toward you, looking at you like you were the only thing that he could see and that was what mattered.

Matty dropped his bag to the ground as you jogged up to him. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist and tucked your head against his chest, taking a moment to listen to the steady beat of his heart, the same steady beating that you had listened to so many times before not knowing that it beat only for you.

“I’m going to kiss you now because I’ve been waiting for a year to do it and I don’t think I can handle waiting any longer.” Matty grabbed your cheek, pulling your gaze up to meet his as his other arm tightened around you.

“You can kiss me whenever you want now, Matty.” You murmured, letting your eyes flutter closed as you leaned in and pressed your lips lightly to his. You melted into the kiss, letting him pull you closer to deepen it just a little as the early morning travelers kept walking around you. You almost didn’t regret the time spent wishing for this moment, because in a way, the person you spent New Year’s with the year before was the person you spent the year with, and now you got to spend another year with him, being fully and completely each others. It wasn’t midnight, but somehow 7 am felt better than midnight ever could have.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #matty tkachuk imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #flames imagine #why do i keep doing this in the middle of the night

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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years ago

Text

After The Worlds End

Words: 1950

Warnings: Zombie Au, descriptions of violence and gore.

For: @itscookieoverlordtoyou

Written with help from @abyssaldespair who did a lot to help me sort of how the zombies worked and gave me the idea of using obito

There was a routine everyone followed. Without question or hesitation they woke up each morning, gathered their supplies and carried out the duties assigned to them for the day.

Today, Neji’s task was to tend to the garden they had planted in the back of the property, using some seeds that they scavenged from stores and abandoned houses. His job involved checking the plants for bugs, watering the garden, pulling up any weeds and planting any new seeds that had been found and weren’t already in the garden.

Not the most exciting task to have, but a nice change of pace from building the brick wall around the perimeter or going on supply runs. In the quiet of the garden, he could at least find a little slice of peace in this hectic life, and with Lee and Tenten working alongside him the job would be done in no time. As with any job though, there was a downside. With gardening, the downside was Uchiha Obito.

At least, that was what his name used to be. Now all that existed was a husk of the man that they once knew. No thoughts, no soul. All of the cheerful laughter had drained from his body with illness, and every ounce of personality that had once shown so bright was now gone, replaced by a brainless dead creature that only had one goal.

Breaking through the flimsy wire fence that separated him from his next meal. That meal being them if they weren’t careful.

“His jaw is,” waving her trowel towards her chin, Tenten cringed. “That thing is bound to fall off soon.”

“Good,” Neji kept his back to the portion of fence Obito was fighting to get through. If it was anyone else working with him he would be more cautious, but Lee and Tenten always had their attention on the fence. Watching just in case Obito managed to break through, or another unwelcomed guest appeared. “No jaw means he can’t bite anyone.”

Not that he wouldn’t try his hardest given the opportunity.

“When do you think Kakashi will give in and let us-”

“Tenten!” Lee shouted in protest, glaring at her when she rolled her eyes. “You should know better than to suggest such a thing.”

There were times when Neji admired Lee’s kind nature. It was one of Lee’s many traits that he adored and had ultimately fallen in love with. Sometimes, though, he wished Lee could close his heart off. Separate kindness from stupidity for just a few minutes. Long enough to see when someone else’s choices were being clouded by their emotions.

Keeping his attention on the weeds he had begun pulling, he chose not to add to the argument beginning in front of him. There was no point in inserting his opinion into the conversation. Both of his friends knew his stance on the issue.

“How long do you think it will take?” Tenten continued regardless of Lee’s protests. “I mean, the brick wall will be finished within the week so I guess we could hold out.”

“Tenten…”

“It won’t have to last that long,” Giving up on silence, Neji joined in with a sigh while wrenching a difficult week out of the dirt. Tossing it into the growing pile in their wheelbarrow, he searched out the next weed. “He has been like this for almost a month. As far as we have seen, none of them continue after thirty days.”

The virus, whatever it was, turned them into mindless corpses. Forced their organs and limbs to continue working even when the brain had died. Their only goal was to eat, and their favourite food was fresh meat right off of the bone. Animal or human, dead or alive, it didn’t matter to their decaying broken bodies.

At some point, though, the bodies shut down completely. Even a virus created to keep their bodies functioning after death couldn’t continue indefinitely. Viruses, just like any living organism, died out and the body shut down completly.

“Kakashi would be doing him a kindness by putting an end to this,” he continued, locating the next weed. “That, whatever it is, is not Uchiha Obito anymore.” sparing a glance back at the creature in question, he sighed. All Obito could do now was walk himself into a metal fence hoping to break through for a snack, and the last time he had gotten an opportunity for an easy meal thanks to Naruto’s stupidity, Tenten had broken his Jaw.

She would have ended his miserable existence, but Kakashi had sacrificed some beef they had in stock to distract him so everyone could scramble to safety behind the fence.

“You two are too hard on Kakashi about this,” Lee scolded them. “Everyone here is. How can you judge him for wanting to save his friend?”

“His ‘friend’ wants to eat us,” Neji argued, returning his focus to the job he was supposed to be completing. “Given the chance, he would tear us limb from limb with no concern for our screams.”

Gruesome, but true.

“Thanks for that mental image,” Tenten complained as if they hadn’t seen the results of some poor bastard who couldn’t run fast enough laying out on the street. Or at least what was left of them when the zombies were done feasting on their bodies.

“My point is,” wrestling the weed out of the dirt, he turned his full attention to Lee. “That, whatever it is, is no longer the man Kakashi called a friend. He doesn’t make bad jokes, get into arguments with Kakashi about how to lead us through this nightmare of an existence, help us in the garden or defence us from others who want to do us harm. He’s a shell of the man Kakashi knew and one of these days he could prove to be the death of us.”

“But, Shizune-”

“Is working very hard in her lab with the resources that she had to try and find a cure, yes,” for that he respected and admired her. Most people who could do the research had given up after the first year with no progress, but she kept trying. Even when others told her that it was time to give up she pushed herself, determined to find a cure to the virus that had ravaged their world. “But he has a few days left at most, Lee. Do you think she’s going to have a breakthrough now?”

“No,” his shoulders dropped. A sight Neji never enjoyed having to watch, but necessary in this case. Blind hope would get them nowhere in a world that demands constant struggle just to survive. “I guess you two are right, but I understand Kakashi and Shizune’s drive to find a cure.”

“Of course you do,” settling back into the grass, Tenten discarded her trowel in favour of her sword, unsheathing it for its daily cleaning and ignoring the dirty look Neji gave her for forgoing the task she was supposed to be helping with. “You’re a soft heart, Lee. You’ll always be able to see other people’s reasoning, even if it’s dangerous or wrong.”

Sensing another argument about to begin, Neji decided to intervene immediately.

“Lee is also the reason a lot of people made it here alive,” he reminded Tenten. “Besides, It’s not a bad thing to have someone with a little more kindness.” even if he did with Lee would close himself off a little bit.

“It could get us killed,” Tenten shot back. “Kindness is what keeps things like that,” she used her sword to point at the bit of fence where Obito was still trying to fight his way in. “Around when we should have dealt with the problem as soon as it reared its ugly head.”

She was right. Had they been smart and put Obito out of his misery on day one as they did with every other zombie, they would have had a lot less headache in the last month. Still, the only thing that separated them from the mindless creatures that sought to tear them apart was their kindness.

Their humanity.

“That’s why you and Neji are here,” Lee declared as he knelt in front of the carrots they had planted just last week. “To balance out all of my kindness, right Neji?”

Balancing out Lee’s kindness. It sounded like quite the burden to undertake, but as he looked up to meet soft black eyes, he couldn’t help but agree. Lee could continue to be their kindness, reminding them of their humanity when the world around them wanted to tear it away from them. In return, Neji would be their logic and Tenten their resolve.

Roles that seemed to fit the three of them perfectly.

“As long as your kindness doesn’t get us killed,” Tenten sighed. “Or you. I would hate to deal with a mopey Neji because you went and got yourself eaten alive out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Thank you for that, frankly morbid thought,” whatever sleep he had planned to get tonight was no longer happening now that thoughts of Lee’s mangled, broken body were floating around in his head “Can you just watch the person who wants to eat us and make sure what you just said does not become a reality?”

Raising her right hand, she placed the side against her forehead in a mock salute. “Sir, yes Sir.”

“Tenten…”

She stuck her tongue out at his protests, giggling when he pursed his lips.

For a few minutes, there was silence between the three of them. A comfortable, soft silence that was only broken up by the odd grunt Neji made when pulling a weed or the chain fence jostling under Obito’s body.

In that time, Neji couldn’t help but notice Lee inching closer to him. To his credit, he did make it look like he was checking the garden, and on some level he probably was, but before long he was kneeling directly beside Neji with the softest smile on his face. It was impossible to ignore him.

“Can I help you, Lee?”

“Is it true?” Lee asked without wasting a second, clearly excited to hear whatever answer Neji had for him. “If I died-”

“You’re not going to die.” even if he had to fight the world to keep Lee alive, he would do it. This miserable existence had taken enough from him already. It couldn’t have Lee too.

“So Tenten was right,” pumping a fist into the air, Lee snickered when Neji elbowed him in the side. “Don’t worry, I won’t let any Zombies turn me into a midday snack.”

“Why…” sighing, he decided to ignore Lee’s choice of words for the moment. “Not even our daily visitor?”

Peering back at the fence, Lee gave a sad smile to the empty shell of a man still trying to fight his way through the fence. “Not even him, no.” his nerves settled a little with that promise now there between them. Nothing was certain in the world they existed in, but if there was one thing he could rely on it was Lee’s promise. In the short eighteen years, he had lived on this earth, he had never met a person as determined and stubborn as Rock Lee.

“The answer is yes,” he spoke softly, returning his attention to the garden. “I would be rather…empty if you died.” The hug Lee gave him was expected, but the handful of dirt to the face followed by Tenten’s complaints of ‘mushy dorks in love’ was not.

He would have to get her back for that later. Perhaps when she was spending some alone time with Shino at the end of the day.

#NejiLee #hyuga neji #Rock Lee #Tenten #Zombie Au #Uchiha Obito is here but he's also not here #it makes sense i swear #XD #800 Follower event

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mail-me-a-snail · 4 years ago

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I want Holden to go apeshit for two reasons:

1. My man's bottling up Every Emotion he has Ever Felt Ever—it's not long before he goes for fight instead of flight AKA Holden Ford woke up today and chose violence

2. I just think Holden? Bleeding? Covered in either his or someone else's blood? That's gender.

#mindhunter #holden ford #listen.#the show even says that holden is canonically #a masochist #so like.#lets get on that gamers

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rahleeyah · 3 years ago

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OKAY. BUT. WHAT IF.

Olivia finds Elliot with a knife to his throat. And he flashes back to Gitano and the absolute cluster fuck that was but Olivia is not the same as she was fifteen years ago. And she goes: you wanna hurt him? you want him to pay? then take me, hurt me, kill me first and Elliot gets ready to pounce but Olivia is stone and her look scream SHUT UP and he’s kind of paralysed, he hasn’t ever seen this part of Olivia that becomes steel, that completely shutters her emotions, that seems to be so ambivalent about her mortality. It scares him. But he trusts her.

They do the swap and Olivia goes feral. Doesn’t even try to talk the guy out of it, takes him down flat. And she’s ready to end it, her gun in his face and Elliot talks her out of it. She relents and he swallows, looks at her asks her “You good?” She nods, “I’m good, you?” Completely even tone, but worried. He’s a bit taken aback, the darkness is gone, she doesn’t seem the last bit impacted by what just happened, how close she got to just murdering someone in cold blood just because they dared even think to hurt someone she loves.

And he realises and knows, something happened while he was gone and that breaks him. Now he understands the whispers, the respect she commands, the loyalty she inspires. It’s not just that she’s been in SVU for 20+ years, that she’s a Captain. She’s known, she’s talked about, she’s a legend. And it tears him apart but he’s never loved this woman more, this survivor, ready to defend her loved ones, whatever it takes. And he doesn’t know why or how but… she loves him back.

Not going to happen but a girl can dream right?

anon you woke up today and chose violence and i respect it

elliot seeing how hard olivia has become. his liv wore her emotions on her sleeve. he saw her cry, saw her rage, saw her breakdown, heard her confess her secrets, saw her lash out, but i'm wracking my brain and i'm not sure he ever saw her cold. what she's been through in the last ten years has given her a hardness that wasn't there before, and i would love to see a moment like this. a moment when he is remembering the old liv, with tears in her eyes, frozen, unwilling to risk his life even for a chlid. and he's expecting that, maybe, but that's not what he gets. he gets the liv who will claw a bitch's eyes out with her fingernails, the liv who would destroy anyone who comes near those she loves, the fierce, powerful mama bear who has had to fight for her life and has been changed by that fight. liv was always a warrior, but she is bloodier now.

and this is interesting bc it ties into something we've talked about before; in the very beginning, it is elliot counseling olivia to compassion. it is elliot who softens her. and what if we see him do that again? what if we see him return her heart to her fam i'm gonna eat my chair

#anonymous #e.o asks #s.vu

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sidespromptblog · 4 years ago

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A Close Friend: (2/2)

One

Warnings: Crying (Roman), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Talk of suicidal thoughts (Past Logan), and Roman calling Janus ‘Deciet’ instead of his actual name multiple times.

Summary: Roman goes to Logan in order to vent and ramble about everything that had happened about Thomas, Patton, and Janus. But in the process finds Logan dealing with his own bottled emotions, as well as an uncomfortable thought that Logan has been dealing with as of late that leaves Roman scared for Logan’s own safety. So he decided to help, in whatever way that he can.

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 3876

Logan woke groggily, with a feeling of warmth surrounding him as his head remained buried under a mound of blankets and his body surrounded by a wall of pillows blocking out the outside world from his cocoon of sleep. For a solid few minutes, he wanted to stay like that, tucked away so that he would never have to bother with anything outside of his little nest ever again. Although logically he knew that eventually, he’d have to. He had duties, and more than that… he had to face just what he had confessed to Roman the previous night.

Just the thought of it made his stomach squirm, as feelings of shame, embarrassment, and guilt writhed around inside of him.

Why had he said that? What on earth had possessed him to drop all of that on Roman right then and there. He was usually so reserved around the other side, and seeing him when the creative side had witnessed him so openly weeping…

It had made everything just spill out of him like a faucet that couldn’t be turned off. But then again…

The memory of being cradled so gently in the other side’s arms made a warmth erupt in his heart and face, the feeling of Roman’s hands gingerly carding through his hair in an effort to soothe his endless sobs made him feel safe.

Opening his eyes was a trial in itself, as they felt so crusty and dry from the endless crying he had done the previous night.

A pang of something slammed into his heart.

That’s right… Roman had caught him crying, Roman had heard him say what he’d said, and Roman had...

Cracking open his eyes Logan found himself staring point-blank at Roman’s chest. Somehow in the middle of the night, they had both wound up curling into each other. Roman’s arms securely wrapped around Logan, keeping him fixed to his chest where Logan’s cheek had remained smushed against him for the entire night. Roman’s expression was peaceful, letting Logan know that he hadn’t yet woken up despite the mid-afternoon light that was pouring through the windows, only halted by the curtains surrounding the bed. The soft little snores that left the creative side sounded like that of a little bear, tucked away from the winter and in the warmth of his own little cave.

All in all, it was… nice.

It was nice to be held like this, and to know that Roman clearly didn’t mind having him so close.

For a moment he fancied the idea of letting his eyes close again, of just sinking back into a lovely slumber that would undoubtedly bring him back to the peaceful dream that he had been having before he had woken up. It would be easy, just one movement, for his eyes to slide shut and not open until Roman chose to wake him up again. His fingers clenched into the fabric of Roman’s shirt, as he unconsciously nestled his face against the other side’s warm chest that was already making him sleepy once again. A yawn tugged at the edge of his lips, teasing him and offering him the very thing he had wanted the night before.

With Roman here, there was no doubt about whether or not he’d sleep well.

Fingers tangled themselves into Logan’s hair, smoothing down his hair. “Don’t go back to sleep just yet,” Logan’s eyes that had been attempting to drift shut, snapped open glancing up at the creative side. Sleep hung onto the other, with the remnants being cleared away as Roman lifted his hand up from Logan’s back to rub at his eyes. “We’ve got so much to do today, so we can’t sleep the whole day away. Right?”

Of course, Roman had mentioned something about doing something.

Honestly, it had just slipped his mind with all of the heightened emotions he had been feeling last night, and really… he had honestly just thought Roman was just saying that to get his mind off of what he had said. Roman had never wanted to spend time with him before after all, so the idea that he actually meant it…

It was rather surprising.

Roman’s fingers raked through Logan’s messy bedhead, attempting to pull the logical side out of whatever had made his eyes look so far away and foggy. The pleased look from the other that this action earned him made Roman want to smile and never stop. He’d made good progress with Logan last night, to the point where now Logan wasn’t even trying to hide the things that made him happy. A part of him would have been content enough to just lay here, with Logan’s head resting so comfortably on his chest, letting the other stew in the comfort of his room.

But he’d already made plans, and these were plans that he wasn’t going to cancel.

“Come on,” Roman grunted lifting himself off of the feathery softness of his own bed, only to find himself fighting a strange sense of disappointment when Logan finally lifted his head up, detaching their limbs from one another. “Let’s get dressed, wear something comfortable for you. I’m going to take you on a trip today.”

“Are you going to tell the others?” There was a bolt of dead silence between them, as Roman’s legs hung over the edge of his bed, his back turned to Logan. “About… what I said?”

A torrent of emotions riled Roman’s insides at the very loaded question that had come so early in the morning for both of them. It was… as much as he disliked it, a very valid question to have about what he’d heard and what he’d seen Logan going through. It wasn’t something that he could just ignore, and it wasn’t something that could just be swept under the rug. Feelings and emotions like that… they didn’t just go away after one good night's rest and one good day spent. It had to be worked on, and… Roman knew that there were going to be slipping days. Where Logan would inevitably fall back into that rabbit hole of dark thoughts, where he missed the feeling of being sad even if he was doing better.

“I don’t know.” He honestly said, and he didn’t. There wasn’t much that sides could do in order to help their own mental issues. “Do you want me to tell them?”

He could feel the other side of the bed shifting as Logan scrunched up where they had just been laying together. He could imagine what the logical side looked like. His legs pulled up to his chest, perhaps hugging a pillow, or maybe just sitting there looking away from Roman with thoughts and emotions that the creative side didn’t really understand yet.

“I don’t think I want them to know,” Logan finally spoke. “I know for certain that I don’t want Thomas to know, and I can’t promise I won’t have those thoughts and feelings again. I’m sure that they will come back, even if it's not now…”

Finally Roman turned to look at Logan, the look on his face speaking volumes as to what he was feeling without words even being needed. Reaching over, he grasped the top of Logan’s hand holding it tight enough to get the other’s attention on him and not the wrinkled blankets in his grasp.

“Logan, I never expected you to not feel those things.” Roman sternly but softly began. “I just don’t want you to deal with them alone. I don’t want you to promise to never try to feel them again, but… maybe to come to someone about them. Be it me, Patton, or Virgil. I don’t want you to have to deal with those kinds of thoughts alone, we…” Roman gave his hand one more squeeze. “We’re stronger together rather than alone, you taught me that remember?”

An absolutely heart-wrenching look of happiness appeared on Logan’s face at Roman’s reminder, he had taught Roman that. That the chimera was best fought with friends, after recuperating and taking time to rest one's wounds rather than continuously trying to go it alone again and again. How had he forgotten his own lesson so easily?

It hadn’t been that long ago either.

“I promise, whoever you decide to go to for help… I’ll be there alongside you should they give you any shit for it.” At that moment Roman felt a little bit of Remus’ wildness, as he grinned sharply back at Logan, a promise of violence somewhere in those words of his that his brother would most definitely be proud of. Had he heard it? But that was to be discussed for a later date, and later arguments should the others decide to not help Logan at all. “Now get dressed dork, I’ve got a lot planned.”

The purely puzzled but equally curious look on Logan’s face ignited a fierce determination and excitement inside of him.

A determination to make this the best day possible for this logical side.

“Why are we out in the real world?” Logan asked almost as soon as they rose up just far from Thomas’ actual house, this wasn’t the mindspace… So Roman wasn’t just going to summon things in the imagination to please Logan and call it a day? “I’m afraid… I don’t quite understand.” He softly admitted, nervously tugging at the strings of the hoodie he had decided to wear. “What if Thomas or one of the others needs us for something?”

Roman didn’t answer, his face gaining a somewhat cloudy look that told Logan easily enough that this wasn’t necessarily a good topic.

Instead, he seized Logan’s hand in his own, holding it tight. “Fuck ‘em.” Roman declared, a rather reckless grin playing on his lips. “They can deal until we come back, and really… this is a day for us to enjoy, so let’s enjoy it. No mindspace, no Thomas, and no… problems. Just a fun day out, with lots of real places to go and enjoy for once.” No having Thomas around to tell them what they could or couldn’t do so that they didn’t raise a ruckus, that was the best part in Roman’s opinion.

But even so, Logan couldn’t help but to nod his head slowly.

Yes… fun.

Fun.

How long had it been since he’d had fun with one of the other sides, no… how long had it been since he’d done something fun with Roman that didn’t involve the imagination in some capacity? Or even Patton just strong-arming Roman into making sure that Logan got to come along for the ride, even if he didn’t necessarily enjoy it half of the time.

Roman wanted him here this time, and Roman was smiling at him promising to do things that he’d enjoy as well.

A tentative smile curled on the logical side’s face, “That sounds rather enjoyable,” He gave Roman’s hand an affirming squeeze. “Lead the way then… Princey.”

Roman couldn’t help but to let out a good-natured snort at the sound of his old nickname, it had been so long since he’d heard it after all. But more than that… it felt almost empowering to know that Logan had placed his trust in him, to know that he had Logan’s full support with everything that they were going to do today.

Without so much as another word, he led Logan away and towards the fun that they were both destined to have today; not even looking back once to wonder about the other sides and the human that they were leaving behind for their adventures.

It was a day for them after all, nobody else.

Leading Logan through all of the events he’d planned for him, it honestly kind of shocked Roman as to how much he hadn’t known that he’d been kind of neglecting Logan as a friend. The uncertain responses that he got from Logan, which eventually bridged into full unbridled excitement that had been hiding away for far too long only served as a way to prove Roman’s thoughts correct. Logan had barely let go of his hand in the entire time that they’d started their day trip, not that Roman minded exactly, he’d held him firm as he talked and rambled about the things and places that Roman brought him to.

So much interesting history, history that Roman would have otherwise brushed off on account of it being too “boring” or too… Logan-ish for him.

It certainly didn’t help the guilt that continuously seemed to boil in his stomach ever since seeing Logan’s breakdown from the previous night.

If anything, it only served as a way to make him feel just the slightest bit worse for not listening in the first place.

It was only when settling down with lunch that Logan finally released Roman’s hand and in turn stopped what he was talking about.

Almost immediately Roman looked over at him, after having spread out the picnic blanket and all of their food, he had almost expected Logan to go off about something like the origins of picnics and how they were created, or something like that. But instead, Logan merely just laid on his back staring up at the sky as the clouds lazily inched across casting vague shadows onto the earth where they were laying.

“Roman.” Logan softly began, the tone of his voice marginally different than before. Almost immediately Roman’s attention was focused on him, the food surrounding them nothing more than an afterthought. “Why did you come to my room last night?” Glancing over to him, Logan held an almost sad smile on his face. “It can’t have been for anything good right? Up until last night, I’m sure that you hated me and my face.”

Ah…

The conversation that Roman really didn’t want to have, and the conversation that Logan intuitively knew to ask about.

A sigh broke through his silence as the creative side rubbed at his face, “Well,” He almost stubbornly began, “First things first, I have not and will never hate you.” Roman started off, pointing his finger in Logan’s direction that sour feeling of guilt bubbling anew. “I don’t think I ever understood you, or how you thought maybe… but never hate. Never.” Knowing what he did now… he could never hate Logan, it was something that he should have realized a long time ago. But in the very least… it was a good thing he was realizing it now and not later when it was too late. “And Second…” Roman grimaced, the memories of Deceit’s… or rather Janus’ reveal tasting like poison on his tongue.

Logan sat up abruptly at the emotions that flew over Roman’s face like a hurricane ripping through the gulf, his stretched-out legs easily tucking under him as he seemed to give Roman his full attention. His eyes hidden as they were behind his glasses, remained firmly fixed to the creative side's face.

“What happened?”

There really was no hiding it, was there?

Roman wanted to snort at the irony of it all, try as he may to hide something. Be that Remus, his own emotions, or just how he was trying and failing to deal with his own shortcomings… everything always came out in one way or another. It was better to just get it all out now, rather than to let someone else tell it without taking his side of the story into context first.

Hopefully, Logan wouldn’t judge him too harshly for it…

“Roman?”

The side in question almost smiled, it seemed like it was Logan’s turn to be the one confronting the creative side about his own emotions, as well as the consequences of them. But then again… That’s what friends were for right? He’d said so just last night, when he had tucked Logan away from all of his bad thoughts, and given him the best dream he could possibly think of.

Logan was his friend, so of course, he’d want to help and hear out Roman’s grievances about what had happened.

“I…” Roman sighed to himself yet again as he ran his hands over his face, “Messed up.” He lamely explained, grimacing at the terrible explanation that even a toddler could do better than him. “Deceit told us his name… like Virgil did, and I uh… I made fun of it. I didn’t hold back, not like I did with Virgil. After everything that had happened with the wedding, the trial, and… the aftermath I was just so angry for everyone trying to pull me every which way. I was angry at myself for…” Roman stopped, he hadn’t realized when he’d started it, but he’d started to rant. His hands making exaggerated motions as he told Logan about what he’d said about Deceit’s name, and just how far he’d gone when it seemed like Deceit was going to be accepted with no issue. He hadn’t even realized he was ranting until he’d needed to take a breath. “Sorry…”

Instead of just waving him off, however, or even starting to eat like they’d planned on doing Logan merely cocked his head to the side a curiously befuddled expression on his face.

“Sorry for what?” The logical side asked, “I asked what was wrong and you’re explaining it to me. You don’t have to apologize to me for talking, I’m here to listen.”

It was said so simply, but the Roman had the feeling that the words themselves were something that Logan would've wanted to hear months ago when he was airing his own thoughts towards anyone. And as such, it made them so very important to the logical side… it made them true.

Roman knew that for certain, and yet… it didn’t stop the flood of gratitude that filled his heart.

Swallowing thickly he nodded, and carried on his voice carrying out well until the sun started to dip behind the trees. By then his chest felt lighter, and his mind clearer as Logan sat there not once daring to look away from Roman as he talked about everything. From his complicated feelings about Patton and Janus, to how he felt about having to switch it up so often with the both of them that it was just leaving him exhausted to the point where he just wanted to agree to get it all over with and save himself the emotional rollercoaster of dealing with the two other sides. Because at least then, he wouldn’t be criticized so harshly, and at least then he would know what was correct and what was wrong in the eyes of Patton.

Logan understood that notion perfectly well.

“Sometimes I just don’t know what to do, and I’m angry at myself for it. I want to just decide about something and have that be the end of it, I don’t want to have to come back a week or even a month later and have a whole discussion about what I did being morally wrong, “technically morally wrong but kind of right”, I just want that to be it!” Roman’s chest heaved, and by the end of his rant, he felt the frustrated tears he’d been holding back since that day finally flow down his cheeks as warbling croaking sob cracked in his chest like a broken instrument determined to never play again. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to be wrong...” He sniffled, bringing his hands up to his eyes desperate to wipe away his tears.

However, almost as soon as he moved to shield his tears from sight, he found himself crushed into a hug. His head pressed solidly against Logan’s collarbone, as the logical side mimicked the motion that Roman himself had done just the other night as he ran his fingers through the creative side’s hair. If anything, the genuine comfort that the other side was attempting to give only made Roman shake harder as he clutched Logan tightly.

It felt so nice to finally be on the receiving end of comfort after so long of just giving it.

“I think…” Logan gently whispered, not daring to make his voice louder. “What I’ve learned is that you can try and try to choose the answer that will always please somebody else. But… it won’t work, if they don’t even know what they want then they will always find some fault with it, and that’s not your fault.” Feeling Roman stilling in his arms Logan didn’t dare to stop. “The best you can do in that situation is to make yourself happy, not for their approval… but your own. If they like it, then that’s perfectly fine. If not…” Logan gave an awkward shrug that the creative side only clung to harder. “Then they can make their own choices, and see just how difficult it is to do. Pleasing everyone all the time is impossible and if you try you’re still going to end up stepping on someone’s toes, I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Plucking up the napkins that they had prepared for the lunch, Logan hastily moved to wipe away Roman’s tears, trying to be gentle the entire time he did.

He’d thought before that Roman was practically his opposite in the past, but seeing the other side breakdown from all the expectations that had been placed on him without the creative side even knowing… Logan felt a strange kind of understanding with him. The same kind that he’d gained when he’d had all the expectations placed on him to make Thomas succeed in school and in college. The kind that had made him want to stop existing in the first place, when Thomas had just up and decided to switch majors and pursue YouTube as a full-time job instead of being a scientist.

He knew what Roman was feeling all too well, so with this kind of emotion, he could at least help instead of being a hindrance to everyone around him.

Roman sniffled once again, taking the napkin from Logan so that he could blow his nose, “Logan,” He flopped back onto the blanket, looking up at the stars that were just barely beginning to show in the night sky. “We should do this more often.” He said, glancing over to the logical side who shot him a concerned and very much confused look.

“Cry about our repressed feelings?”

For the first time in a while, a real laugh erupted out of Roman at the sound of Logan’s genuine confusion and uneasiness about his offer.

“No,” The creative side moved his hand over to the other’s, clenching it softly in his. “Going out like this, just the two of us. Maybe once a week or once a month. Just enjoy each other's company, and talk about whatever we want to talk about. Even if we get on each others’ nerves sometimes…” Roman smiled ruefully. “I like talking with you, and I like listening to you too.”

A look of understanding dawned on Logan’s face, and with it, the logical side finally laid down beside Roman.

Their were hands still clutching one anothers’.

“I’d like that Roman,” Logan smiled up at the starry sky that finally became visible to them both. “I’d like that a lot.”

#roman sanders #ts roman #ts roman sanders #logan sanders #ts logan #ts logan sanders #logan angst #roman angst #ts sanders sides #ts sides #ts sanders sides fanfic #ts sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #qpr logince

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mullothekwami · 3 years ago

Conversation

my q activities as anime characters

kaminari: i just spilled my lemonade I'm so sorry for it

toga: i have a beautiful collection of kn/ves uwu

jirou: not me listening to the same song over and over again

junko: darn theres school tmrw

everyone will d/e in my school

monoca: just ~~monika~~ monoca

nagito: wow 6 ppl said happy birthday to me irl

mukuro: theres this girl who has the same birthday as me and she got more respect and a fvcking tiara

ochaco: people who say they are very kind and nice: *exist*

you are not deku, fvck off

soda: plot twist: the duolingo bird is a monokuma

mina: deku wearing emo clothes sounds like a good idea

L: walking with dino arms in the halls is so hot

sero: 1 2 7 3 todoroki fell on the street

genocide jack: being my friend or accepted by me is such an honor how dare you not celebrate

todoroki: baahhaha imagine having a happy childhood

dazai: mental health goes brrr

asahina: i love how the german translation of toko's ultimate is super bookworm-

comments

toko: shut up swimmer girl

kyoko: shouldnt teachers know that the term 'family issues' exists? like wtf

hajime: ugh, dont you hate when your a blue face in someone elses story?

deku: WHY CANT ANYONE TALK TO SOMEONE WITHOUT BEING ShIPPED WITH THEM!

toga: i said yay to murder and these girls who sit infront of me in L&L asked if i said yay to murder and then they said "oh yea we are on good terms so i dont think u should murder me" i said i wont but-

junko: im teaching these kids the ways of despair hehehe

keebo: EVERYONE, STOP FEELING DESPAIR!!

WHY?

... BECAUSE YES!

nagito: i hate it when my phone dies instead of me

nagito: mikan, we are not gonna forgive you

why?

because killing for the sake of despair is a waste of time

you should kill for hope or love or justice

idc if she says she kill for her beloved, her beloved is literally despair so she killed for despair and not true love

kokichi: i eat bees

maki: i woke up today and chose violence

light: their home address please?

mikan: "the big letters ran away they were having an emotional breakdown and i think they needed some space :'(("

- grass

ray: burn the children

ibuki: im built different. i have 3 toes😎🥸

misa: block this user? no, i need to keep stalking them to find things to use against them.

kaminari: its ur birthday yea yea. if u touch my toes i will touch urs too

ray: pov norman is a farmer

comments

norman: i wish

emma: what-

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praphit · 3 years ago

Text

Shang-Chi! and the Rings of Daddy Murder Death!

When the trailer for this movie first came out, I was hyped! From the cast, to the bad ass bus scene, to Wong vs The Abomination,

I was sold!

Of course you had the people who came out saying "This is Marvel trying to be woke again. Hate crimes against Asian people on the rise, and here comes Marvel with Shang-Chi" We know this to be crazy, because Marvel already had this in the works, but certain people still reacted that way. But, even if that notion were true, would that be so bad?

It wouldn't absolve the ignorance, hatred, violence, and toxicity. But, if someone in Hollywood said "We've screwed over Asian people in films for like... ever. What if this time we choose a popular Asian character to base a movie on, and we DON'T do that?"

Now, (being that this movie supposedly leans on Chinese culture, with Shang-Chi being Chinese) China might argue that they still did them wrong (valid racist historical ptsd, cultural splicing, the whole martial arts thing, plus the main character is actually Canadian). It's not my place to weigh-in. But, I will say that making Shang-Chi Canadian, NOT a martial artist, but instead a hockey player, who loves Drake, and co-starring another Canadian, like Micheal Cera or someone

probably wouldn't have worked as well for the MCU. Then, maybe Canada would have a problem with Marvel. I don’t envy movie-makers in this context.

When I was a kid I was big into Black Belt Theater, Bruce Lee movies,

Bruce Leroy,

and within my love for martial arts and fighting entertainment was

Shang-Frickin-Chi.

I liked it, though I remember it being a lil racist. It's weird going back in time to see your fav childhood shows and books that wouldn't fly today:

I mean we've certainly been a lot more sensitive these days:

Regardless, Shang-Chi is here! (played by Canada's main man Simu Liu) He goes by the name of Shaun!

Don't let that name fool you. Shaun will whup that ass! He says "Bleep all those super powers, and serums, a suits, and magic, and the rubber bones of Widow! That's some ol bullshit! All I need is my Wu-Tang style!" A style fueled by his daddy issues. And he's got some serious daddy issues. To be fair, his dad is the villain of the story. If your father was the active villain of your story, you'd also have issues.

Awkwafina is his sidekick

(much better than Michael Cera would be), she plays as Katy. That's fun. Every Katy I've ever known has been fun... and a heavy drinker:) This Katy is here to drive fast and crack jokes.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your new Marvel duo!

It's not just daddy issues for Shang-Chi, but mommy issues (she dead), avoidance issues, his sister kicks him in the balls. He didn't even seem shocked. I mean, his balls were shocked, for sure, but it seemed like she just did that all of the time. I'm imagining Christmas when they were kids. "Here's your gift, bro. KNEE TO THE NUTS Merry Christmas" What kind of relationship is that? And why?! - well, he did abandon her for like 10 years, but... you know, that's plenty of time for her to get over it, right?? So, we'll say sister issues, his daddy training him to be an assassin issues, and his friends have issues with him! - AND KATY! They don't respect Marvel's new duo. They think Shaun and Katy should be doing more with their lives.

They are both valets during the day, and at night they rock drunken karaoke. That seems like the perfect life to me.

But, Daddy and his power rings couldn't allow them to keep living the dream. I haven't mentioned the ten rings yet.

They give him super-duper-magical martial arts powers, and make him eternal. AND made him an asshole.

To be fair, he was probably already an asshole before the powers. He's been killing a lot of people. You figure he's been around for 1000+ years. His wife is dead, and he has no hobbies. It's not like he kills a few people and then goes home to read a book, or play video games, or make TikTok videos. It's sunrise to sunset killing all day, every day for generations. Then, he forms an evil terrorist group called "Ten Rings" to amplify his killing.

"Murder Death Rings" are what they should be called.

"Daddy Death Punchy Time"

""Dead Doomy Rangs of Killer Dad"

"The Legendary Killer Rings of Deadly Death Death Murder Pops"

"The... " sorry, I've been drankin a lil bit while I write... I lost my place.

I like "Daddy Death" Where was I?

Right! He can't have Shaun being happy! We've gotta get this plot going, so he sends the only white dude he can find in this movie to start some trouble for them. I guess, there might have been a couple of more white people in the film, but they all got the snot beat out of them in that bus scene. This white dude's name is "Razor Fist", yep... "Razor Fist!".

At least they didn't stick to the original design.

Ridiculous. How does he use the bathroom?

He's played by Florian Munteanu, who is a former heavy weight boxer. Yeah! Was also in "Creed" his nickname is "The Big Nasty". Isn't that a drink? A bartender once offered me to sample a drink called "The Big Nasty". I chose to go with a drink that doesn't have "nasty" in its title. ... I think he was offering me a drink.

???

"Daddy Murder Death" and "Sharp Fisty Man" spark this thang. And Shaun becomes Shang-Chi, beater of ass!

The visuals in this movie are the best Marvel has done to date. The action is so good. I just got finished raving about the action in "Black Widow"; this surpasses that. I dug the cast. I know some people don't like Awkwafina, but... get over it. She was great in this; everybody was!

I loved the soundtrack! I'm not normally the "I loved the soundtrack guy" , but it was perfect. It begs to be mentioned.

No issues with the story. And the emotions that they're stirring in you. Whew!

One moment I'm enjoying the beater of ass, then Katy is making me laugh, then the slew of issues got me in my feelings, then the visuals wow me, then more swelling issues, back to ass beating - all the way through.

And the ending! True, Marvel has a formula (and this sticks to it), but if it ain't broken, why bleep with it?? The ending was Game of Thrones-ish, but with light so a brotha can see, and all the colors of the rainbow - like a Skittles commercial with martial arts. Fun! - so not like GOT at all, I guess. The only fun they had was when there was torture or prostitution going on.

I don't have anything bad to say about the movie. They could have shaved 5-10 mins off, but I won't take off for that; there's just too much to love about this!

Grade: A+

Fun for the whole family! I can see the fam working through some issues after the watch.

Daughter: "You know, Dad. That asshole dad of Shang-Chi kinda reminds me of you."

Mom: "Daughter! You do NOT talk to your father that way!"

Daughter: “Just sayin...”

Dad: "That's interesting, cuz his ungrateful, bitch of a daughter reminds me of YOU!"

Mother and Daughter: *gasp

Son: *laughs

Dad: "All I want you to do is take your school work seriously and maybe date a guy who doesn't smell like weed!"

Daughter: "I'll have you know that's his natural smell! And maybe I'd focus more on school, if I didn't have to focus on YOU being such a BLEEPING ASSHOLE, DAD!"

See, that's healthy dialogue, right there. Maybe the family that watches this movie buys mommy a bunch of guns for protection, so she doesn't end up dead like the mommy in this movie. Like a ridiculous amount of guns!

And I could see brother and sister kicking each other in the crotch to resolve their differences. BUT, if they're close-by, fighting each other, then there's no time to abandon one another.

Marvel does it again!

Whichever of the Marvel films is your favorite, this one will probably be up there as well.

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wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Prove Me Wrong

Summary: She can trust you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Warning: 18+ Mental Health, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Smut

Chapter 2

******

Coffee. You use to drink it every morning but that became a bad combination with the wave of emotions you took on. In which you switched to tea. It doesn’t have the exact same effect as the coffee did but it worked perfectly in it’s own way.

Pouring the hot water on the teabag causes a swirl of transparent brown to fill the mug. The steam that rises warms your hand and you release a sigh.

Being distracted means you get startled when dishes start clattering behind you. You jump, spinning around to see who came into the kitchen without you noticing. Only to instantly relax when you see Steve and Rhodey.

“Hey guys.” You smile and wave.

Both men give you a smile and say good morning.

A small conversation breaks out about some threat over in San Diego. Not knowing anything about it, and it being none of your business, you just fix your tea and a bagel while they chat. And when they’re done Steve is more than willing to get his session started.

Your last session with the man ended with him heartbreakingly sad. The topic of Peggy arising and being addressed.

He’d admitted to you that he considered going back. After Thanos, when he had the stones, he considered staying in the past to be with her.

When you asked why he didn’t, he told you a number of things. Two important ones making the decision for him. One, when he found her, she was on a date with a man who would later become her husband. And two, despite his regrets over the past, he had things waiting for him in the future/present.

He had built friendships with Tony, Natasha, and Sam. And he had Bucky, his best friend since the beginning of time, or at least Steve’s time.

During this session you ask him how it felt to move on, not just from his second chance with Peggy but even before that, when he woke up from being frozen.

He’d started to tell you how hard it was and how he still doesn’t think he has. But he’s interrupted when his phone rings.

Much to your dismays, he has a mission he’s been called on and has to leave.

Before he walks out you stop him,“ you want some happy?” You seriously ask with a joking smile.

That’s how you’d described your powers to him, after he didn’t get the broader description the second time. You told him that you could take away his hurt and pain and give him happy.

Steve shakes his head,“ I’m good actually. Thanks though.”

Usually, with the busy schedules and occupied minds of the team, you have to go in search for your next patient. With Bucky you don’t. In fact you find him waiting just down the hall when you step outside your office.

Even though he wasn’t eager to be sharing his memories and feelings with you, he always made it a point to show up. You appreciated it.

You wave him over and he’s quick to walk down the hall. Bucky steps in behind you and sits on the couch as you shut the door. Despite the comfortability of the furniture he sits up straight, hands rubbing his knees.

When he glances up at you, you smile comfortingly. You sit in your chair, crossing your ankles as you hold on to your fresh cup of tea.

Like always, the super soldier remains nervously silent. It was a few sessions ago that you came to understand why. He isn’t nervous because of you, it’s the idea that he should know what he’s feeling and felt.

The man hasn’t processed an emotion properly in decades only to just recently be introduced to the concept of explaining his emotions. Plus the added anxiety of letting it all in.

Knowing he won’t be the first to speak you ask him,“ you want anything to eat or drink?”

He’s quick to shake his head. Then looks directly in your eyes, for the first time today,“ do you, um, have any cracker jacks?”

“I do actually, they’re in the cabinet to the left of the mini fridge.”

After he’s gotten two boxes, he turns away, before grabbing a bottle of water and then going to sit.

If it weren’t for Steve you wouldn’t have had any. The man said it reminded him of the “good old days,” getting cracker jacks when he went to see baseball games. Steve usually eats his with a Coke.

“Me and Steve use to buy a bunch of these and sneak them into baseball games. They were always cheaper at stores than the stadium.”

A fond, nostalgic, smirk plays on his lips and you smile as well.

“Are you also a Dodgers fan? Steve spent our whole first session talking about them.”

When he chuckles you feel good about yourself and focus on his answer.

He nods,“ yeah, I like the Dodgers, but I think the Cubs are better. I used to like the Yankees simply out of loyalty to New York.”

“Do you not like the Yankees anymore?”

A sigh falls from his lips,“ no. They’re not the same. Then again, nothing else is either.” Before you can ask anything else he continues.“ I didn’t really know how to feel about missing decades of time. For a while I just pushed it aside, especially since I didn’t remember anything.”

His long pause makes you a little anxious. He’d started to open up without much from you and you didn’t want that to stop, you couldn’t help if he chose not to continue.

You ask,“ what changed?”

“Steve.” It’s a quick answer. Obviously he’s given this particular topic some thought.“ After my memories started to come back I realized I wasn’t alone in being so out of place. Steve missed just as much time as me and after I got better, after Thanos, it was nice to have someone to remember with.”

Throughout the session you let him do most of the talking. Every so often he starts to shut down so you prompt him with an easy to answer question that seems to guide him into opening up even further.

By the time it ends, you’re incredibly happy with the progress. Seeing Bucky’s troubled and stressed expression drives you to asking him if he’d like you to take it away.

He was hesitant at first, you know it’s because of his experience with mind altering tricks. You assure him that it’s nothing like that. You don’t take his memories or thoughts away, essentially you pull everything he has to be happy about to the forefront.

Your powers aren’t permanent on anyone but it helps.

The man accepts and while he doesn’t leave with a bubbly smile on his face like Peter does, you can see that his eyes are lighter.

“Thanks for the chat Doc.” He smirks playfully when he mentions your title.“ And thanks for being patient with me.”

You shrug,“ thanks for letting me.”

After he’s left, you sit back down and finish off your tea.

According to you schedule, your next patient should be Natasha, but that hasn’t been a thing for months.

You can’t help but wonder if it was something you’d done that made her not want to even try. Thinking about it, you’d done nothing but be kind to the woman, offering your help at first but then just telling her you would only listen if that’s what she wanted. Each attempt at reaching out failed miserably with the woman’s emotionless denial.

One long glance at her name written in your notebook lit something in you and you knew you couldn’t just give up on her.

******

Natasha moves her body effortlessly.

She uses attack combinations and take down moves that at, one point she thought was too hard to execute, without even thinking.

Which is good. If she, even for a second, allowed too many of her thoughts to break through she’d never stop. She’d become distracted and give her opponent too big a shot to take her down.

If she focuses on anything but doing these moves perfectly she’d fail and she can’t have that.

Yet another groan from the person underneath her causes a smirk to form on her lips.

“Jesus Nat, we’re sparring you’re not trying to kill me.”

She lets his wrist go and rolls off his back before offering him a hand.“ I think your retirement is setting in Barton.” She teases.

Rolling his eyes, he rubs his wrist,“ what? I’m in the best shape of my life.” The man mockingly pulls a karate pose.

Natasha laughs, making Clint smile widely.

With him knowing her so well, it’s good to see the woman happy. Still he hears the heaviness in the laugh and knows that there may always be something holding her back from being genuinely, completely happy.

Part of him wonders if talking about everything would help her. He knows it helps him and he doesn’t miss the light air that’s seemed to encompass his other teammates lately.

Clint formed a greater appreciation for you over that fact. It was about time the team took a shot at healing themselves instead of ignoring their issues to fix the world’s.

He wasn’t pleased, and still isn’t, to see his best friend so opposed to the help. Natasha is strong but she’s still human and holding everything in the way she does isn’t healthy.

“Alright,” with yet another groan, he steps off the mats,“ I need to get home or I won’t have a good spot for movie night.”

He salutes to Natasha’s wave, figuring the woman is going to be in the gym for a while.

The door almost slams into him with the force that it’s thrown open. Stepping back, he just barely avoids getting hurt.

You stand on the other side, your determined expression slipping to one of shock when you realized you might’ve hit him.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were right there, are you okay?” You rush out.

Chuckling, he nods,“ all good, didn’t even graze me. What’s got you in such a rush?”

As if remembering why you’re there, you go back to being determined.“ Is Miss Romanoff in here?”

“Uh, yeah, she’s over on the mats.”

Nodding with a smile, you march past him further into the gym.

Clint presses himself against the wall with every intent to listen in, whether Natasha knows he’s there or not.

The woman is already looking at you when you step into view, trained eyes watching your every move as you approach. An eyebrow quirking in question when you stop at the edge of the mats.

“You didn’t show to our session Miss Romanoff.”

She’d never heard someone’s tone be equally as warm as it is accusatory.

She makes no effort to reply.

Moving forward, you step on to the mat, her eyes flickering to your shoe covered feet, then back up to your eyes to see how close you are now. Far enough away to not be overstepping any boundaries but close enough for her to see the fire in your eyes.

Admittedly Natasha is fascinated with seeing the emotion in your eyes. Ever since you got here she’d seen nothing but your perky, optimistic, “everything is going to be alright” attitude. Like this, she feels as though she’s seeing a new, slightly intriguing side to you.

“I know exactly what game you’re playing Natasha,” the way you say her name nearly makes her shiver. She’s not intimidated, but she could be.“ I’m sure you sized me up and categorized me as a certain type of person the second I got here but I can tell you now you were wrong.”

Her head tilts in the slightest, amusement flickering through her eyes.

You continue,“ I am not going to accept you giving up on yourself.” That right there erases the amusement. Her expression hardens.“ I don’t know anything about you but the fact that you actively avoiding coming to see me is very telling.”

For the first time, since maybe your third day here, Natasha speaks to you. And you’d be lying if you said her voice isn’t as sexy as it is scary.

“Whatever you think you’ve figured out, you haven’t. And this power move that you’re trying to pull isn’t going to work.” Despite her control over her words you feel the emotions pouring from her statement.

The agitation radiates off her and sets your powers alight, almost enough to make you back off. Until you feel it. The smallest, microscopic, bit of fear. It’s buried behind her annoyance with you, and a mountain of other things, but you feel it.

“This isn’t a power move Miss Romanoff. This is me letting you know I’m not giving up on you. I don’t know what it’ll take to get you to come to your sessions but I’m going to try everything I can until it happens.” She’s glaring now but that fear hasn’t left.“ Tony gave me your very detailed file,” she stiffens,“ but I didn’t read it.” Que her surprise.

Her frown this time is a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“When you come to see me I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want you to think I see you as whoever is on those papers. You will simply be Natasha Romanoff and I will accept whatever you’re willing to give.” You smile softly at the woman and step away.“ I’ll schedule you to come see me on Friday’s, that day is free for me so I will have more than enough time to chat. And you can try avoiding but I will come find you.”

Not leaving even an inch of room to argue, you turn and leave, giving Clint a little goodbye on the way.

It’s quiet for a moment. Natasha and Clint both processing what just happened. Clint gets it first and steps around the corner to look at his best friend.

“I didn’t want to push you into seeing her but after that,” he puffs out some air,“ I think it would be really good for you to go see her. She obviously cares, if that whole thing was to go based off of. She just wants to help, at least let her try.”

With one final smile, he leaves.

Standing on the mats, Natasha thinks.

You were right. She did categorize you as the type of person who would just accept that she wasn’t coming. And if what you just did was any evidence, she was wrong.

******

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