#that he only unlocks to go relive his trauma after talking about her for the first time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zodiyack · 4 years ago

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Who’s Watching

Requested by @cai-neki: May i ask a request; Youngest Shelby!reader one an angsty again, where someone's haunting the reader (she couldn't grasp if it's a past memory or person) ending up into various looks from her brothers thinking she may have a trauma but it turns out there is really someone following her around. Kinda long and messsy but yeah.

Pairing: Shelby & Gray Family + Shelby!Female!Reader

Warnings: Stalkers, swearing, my horrible reference in the title, angst

Words: 1,642

Summary: (See Request)

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @peakysputain, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @cai-neki, @simonsbluee, @marquelapage, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @thewarriorprincessxo

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Her chest heaved with uneven breaths as she slammed the front door shut behind her, back pressed against it. Her brothers walked in to see what the noise was about, surprised to see their sister’s disheveled body blocking the door.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Arthur exclaimed first. He eyed her with wide curious eyes, not all that sure whether he should be mad at her or getting revenge for her.

“S- some- someone-” She couldn’t form a full word with how heavy she was breathing, gasping for air as she rested her hands on her knees.

“Someone what? Did they follow you?” Tommy moved to the windows, looking around before drawing the blinds. “Are you alright?”

“W-wat-wah-”

“Water. Get her some water, Finn!” Arthur yelled before turning back to his sister. “Nod or shake your head. Are you alright?”

She shrugged.

“Do you need help?”

Again, she shrugged.

“Did they want to kill you?”

She shrugged once again, this time taking the water as Finn passed the glass to her.

“Can you stop fucking shrugging?”

A few gulps of water later, the cold liquid soothing her dry throat, she spoke up. Her breathing was still off, but she was recovering. “Someone was following me. I don’t know if they’re trying to kill me or if they followed me home, I just know that I did the thing you taught me-”

“What thing?” Finn furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Tommy. He told me that if I got a bad feeling about someone walking in the same direction as me, to turn a couple times, walk in directions off-route. This person followed me even then. As soon as I realized that, I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t even take the time to look back.”

“Good girl.” Every head in the room turned to Pol, who leaned against the door-frame of the family room. She slowly walked forward, moving her niece aside to look around outside the door before shutting it and locking it. Tommy gave her a questioning glance, to which she replied, “all clear at the front door.”

“Alright. Finn, go check the back, Arthur, can you patrol the house? If one of the doors were unlocked, they could have gotten in while we were talking.”

“Yep.”

The three waited in the main room for over an hour. Tommy and Polly took turns comforting Y/n as they waited for the boys to return. When Finn and Arthur did indeed return, Tommy was suddenly more doubtful than Y/n expected. Finn confirmed that all the doors were locked, Arthur reporting no one but themselves in the home.

Thomas turned toward his sister. “Are you sure someone was following you? Did you forget a turn and assume they were?”

“What?” Y/n’s face morphed into an expression of disbelief, hurt that her brother would question her. She was horrified, looking as if she’d seen a ghost, when she ran inside. The entire time she was running, her body felt uneasy, like she would faint had she stopped for even a second. It felt like her stomach had dropped.

“Are you one-hundred percent serious?”

“Yes- well- I-” It was ironic. She’d looked like she’d seen a ghost and for a split second, she thought it was a ghost. Had she been hallucinating? No, the chase felt too real. Whether it be a person or something from long ago, she knew it was after her. “I don’t know if they were human but-”

“You don’t know if they were human?” Arthur cackled. “Tommy, she thinks a mummy ran after her!”

“I never said that!”

“Was it a werewolf? Was he going to eat you? Gobble you up?” Arthur continued to poke fun. Only Thomas, Polly, and Y/n remained straight-faced. Polly noticed Y/n tearing up, the genuine hurt in her eyes saying that whatever it was, she was still terrified for her life.

“Arthur. Stop.” Although he continued to chortle, Finn’s laughter faded as he made eye-contact with his aunt. “Arthur.”

Finn nudged Arthur harshly. He stopped laughing and turned to Pol. “Yeah?”

“Stop teasing your sister right this damn moment or I’ll find whatever was chasing her and let it have you instead. She was beyond terrified. Look at her!” Polly snapped. “Can’t you see she thought she was literally going to die?!”

As the arguing went on, Y/n sighed and headed to her room. Her aunt was a great save, but that didn’t mean she believed her either. Only defending her due to catching how mortified she was. The embarrassment gifted to herself by a simple overthinking thought. ‘What if I was only imagining things...’ her brothers made her second guess herself.

The night went on, lights turning off, Shelbys and Grays lying in their beds, until everyone in the home was fast asleep. The windows and doors were locked, blinds drawn, and home quiet. The creaking of the wood, however, was new. It sounded like someone was stirring, but no one was awake to hear it.

Screaming awoke the members of the Shelby home. John had just returned, Ada as well, and had a head start to their sister’s room. She had sat up so quick it felt like she should’ve gotten whiplash. When the other four got to Y/n’s room, Ada was sitting on the bed beside Y/n, holding her close to her, and John was sitting on the edge of the bed, shooting her a sympathetic look.

“Did you see them again?” Finn inquired. Arthur slapped him up the back of the head, earning a glare from his little brother. “I’m being serious!” He whisper yelled at Arthur, only to be ignored.

“See who?” Ada looked at her family with widened eyes of confusion. She turned to her sister then back to her brothers and aunt. “What happened?”

“Ada. I’ll um...tell you in the study, okay?” Polly mumbled softly. Ada nodded and rose from the bed, hugging Y/n reassuringly before walking to her aunt. Both women stopped in their tracks as Y/n’s voice sounded again.

“I had a nightmare. The same person. They were in...here. My room. They opened my door and began to walk over to my bed. I couldn’t move. I was terrified. I thought it was all over, but another door opened and the person ran away. I screamed when I could, but for some reason, it was delayed.” She didn’t even take a break to breath or rethink details. It was like she was reliving it even at that very moment.

Tommy looked concerned. He whispered something to Pol before gathering his brothers and the other two females. They left the room, Tommy closing the door behind him, and left Y/n by herself to meet in the study.

“She’s got some kinda flashbacks or something like that.” Finn commented.

“We went to war, she...well, whatever happened, it wasn’t as bad as war. I doubt it’s some kind of thing she’d seen. Perhaps it’s her imagination again.” Arthur grunted in response.

The three older brothers had dealt with PTSD before, the effects similar to Y/n’s awakening, but Arthur didn’t believe she was hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. The man wanted his little sister to be safe, and knowing he couldn’t keep her so would hurt him more than the war did.

“I say it’s a trauma.”

“What kind?” Ada was quick to question Thomas, as per usual. “Injury related or event caused?”

“Either. If she hit her head, perhaps walked into something on the way home, or if she saw something she didn’t want to see...”

Unbeknownst to the family in the study, Y/n was on the other side of the doors. She pushed them open with a furry. “I’m not traumatized. Nothing that happened is from my imagination or some injury! This person is real and no matter what you do or say, they won’t stop.” She stormed out just as quickly as she stormed in, leaving her family to dwell in her warning.

She hadn’t left the home all day. It concerned the family, but they understood. No one had spoken a word to her since she’d made her point. When it was time to sleep again, Ada and Pol were the only ones to bid her goodnight, the boys cowardly, even more so when it came to admitting it.

The creaking occurred again. Y/n was awake this time, wide awake. The dream felt just as real as her escape had. Last night, she’d fallen asleep, given the person an advantage. Not tonight, she swore, not tonight.

Footsteps grew louder as they neared her door, the small squeak of the door opening causing Y/n to clench her eyes shut. Cold air followed the stranger; Y/n thought to herself, the person must have opened a window...but they were all locked, were they not?

She couldn’t be certain.

They stood over her bed, hesitating for whatever reason. Y/n had her own advantage this time. She wasn’t in sleep paralysis, she wasn’t incapable of showing the stalker what Shelbys learn since birth. Right as they reached for her, the mirror next to the wall by her bed positioned so she could see them, she slid under their squatted legs and darted out her bedroom door.

Behind her was not her concern as she ran for a specific room. Their footsteps thundered loudly, yet not loud enough to wake the rest of the family. Hot on her trail, they aggressively swung for her, but her distance was just far enough that they couldn’t reach her fully.

Reaching the room, she grabbed the first gun in sight, turning and firing. A few seconds later, steps padded throughout the house and stopped at the door. There they saw their little sister with a gun, standing over the person who’d been stalking her, wounded but not dead.

“Told you.”

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freddiekluger · 4 years ago

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Do you think that if the ghosts sees period dramas set in their time, it will reignite memories of their life?

i think it definitely depends on the accuracy and style of the drama- if they're too poorly researched, any attempts at reverie would be totally disrupted by the historical and visual inaccuracies (think: thomas yelling about the 'roccoco legs' during the byron shoot). of course the other big thing is setting: it's all well and good to watch to a movie set in your time period, but if it's based in a country you've never been to (especially for the older/less privileged ghosts like mary and robin, who probably didn't have much knowledge of the world outside of their continent when they were alive), it's not going to feel particularly familiar.

working on the assumption that we have at least partial historical and geographical accuracy, here's how i think each of the ghosts would respond to

robin: considering how little we actually know about early human history, i don't think robin would be that fussed by any attempt to put that on film- he'd still appreciate a good caveman joke, although he's not a big fan of how stupid every movie assumes they would have been (it's not like they had omega-3 tablets back then!). robin's unspeakably old, and for the most part he seems to have processed through all the parts of his past that he possibly can, and is now committed to enjoying his time at button house as much as he can (a big part of this is his prankster spirit and frankly underrated friendliness), so it would have to take a lot more than a stone age movie to rake up serious conflict.

mary: given her incredibly traumatic death, mary avoids virtually anything that hints of fire or witchcraft which is where things become difficult. i think mary could really enjoy a film set in her time if it follows a working family not dissimilar to her own- it could help her remember some of the positive things from her life, and probably help her feel a lot more seen as she often ends up misunderstood or ignored by the other ghosts (pat initially dismissing mary's advice about the camera work because he didn't think she properly understood what was happening; the ghosts focusing on correcting her speech more than what she actually says). the problem is, almost all movies set in mary's time that follow people from her class end up focusing on the witch trials, which is a BIG no no for her.

humphrey: i think humphrey could really enjoy watching some tudor set films. like mary, he often gets ignored (and straight up left behind), so watching a period film absolutely gives him the opportunity to feel a bit more seen and stew on those long forgotten memories like post-meal games of cards with friends, or the occasional hunting trip when the king came to visit (the trips themselves were more stressful than anything, but mouthing off about them with the king's entourage after he went to bed was always a highlight). humphrey would definitely have a keen eye for inaccuracies, but i don't think they'd bother him. it's just nice to have things be about him for a change (if by him, we mean having all the ghosts watching something that is vaguely related to his alive-period and actually looking to him with questions instead of just using his head as their personal football/security camera/magic 8ball).

kitty: kitty is one of the ghosts who accesses her memories pretty easily- she has no problem with thinking about her life, even when the anecdotes are screamingly sad to anyone listening. so a period film would naturally bring some memories, but i don't know if they'd be anything radical or new- kitty's real growth and drama would come from her leaving behind the rationalisations of what clearly was severe neglect. actually on that note, while not quite kitty's environment, i think she might get a lot out of Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette. something about the themes of the loneliness that comes with growing up in high society and only being valued for what your status and your biology can give to your family and your husband (who you likely didn't choose), along with feeling like an outsider and being visibly othered, even by those you outrank, no matter how friendly and approachable and like them you make yourself (while not necessarily linked to the broader themes of familial neglect kitty's character touches on, i think her experiences as a georgian noblewoman of colour would have to have impacted her growing up and also socially- i'd love to hear any thoughts on this from fans of colour, as i'm white and so any theories i could come up with would likely be a poor approximation). and she'd definitely like the pretty dresses and stunning rooms of versailles, and for that i can't blame her.

thomas: most of thomas we sort of got to see in Free Pass- the detail nitpicking, the excitement until a specific trigger from his life (in this case, lord byron, the man thomas considers his greatest enemy, although i’d be curious to know whether byron acually had any idea of thomas thorne’s existence) causes him to go into a full thomas hissy-fit. sure, the emotion is real to him, but he absolutely plays it up, even trying to get humphrey’s body to fetch alison so she can see how ‘upset’ he is (thomas reminds me of a child in this respect). there’d probably be less of the tantruming for a movie that had already been made, although i’m not so sure about the memory point. The Thomas Thorne Affair sort of brought out thomas’s big Unresolved Life Mystery, and now i think all that’s left for him to work through has got to be a lot more internal. sure, he’d be reminded of a few good old parties, and maybe any romance scenes might trigger some of the sad isabelle/general lost love emotions, but i don’t think they’d be anything particularly spectacular.

fanny: now fanny would be a real stickler for accuracy. she would be calling out every makeup, decorative, hair, wardrobe, architectural, and lingual failure with the classic lady button judgement in her voice. this is probably half because she can't help herself, but half a measure to distract herself from actually having to pay proper attention and relive her life. i think fanny struggles a lot with no longer running her own household (along with the shifting morals, and fashions, of the modern world), and so to be reminded of everything she can no longer have would be tough. i'm not saying she would long for a time when women didn't have a lot of rights, but she went from a wealthy society woman who held a lot of power in her own sphere to a ghost, unable to touch anything or even be seen by the living (save for the photo glitch), and stuck spending her days with a motley crew of equally frustrating ghosts whom she doesn't always feel respected by (noting that 'respect' to fanny is much the same as deference). she could have it a lot worse, but i think fanny would much prefer to not have to think about her old life.

the captain: the captain is an interesting one. he's one of the few ghosts who actively seeks out media related to his time, although that's within the impersonal war documentary which focuses on facts and mechanics as opposed to day to day realities and feelings. on the one hand, any war film for the captain would be sure to rake up memories of wartime (even if he never made the front- that remains unconfirmed), and the immense grief that comes with watching the people around you slowly stop returning home. the captain is a war fanatic, and has no problem talking about the great battles, victories, and tactics, so i think the heightened emotional states that a film presents would be the key to unlocking the captain's inevitable wartime trauma and going beyond the surface level facts. for that reason, i'd really like the captain to see Peter Weir's Gallipoli. i know it's the wrong war and the wrong country (although the australian's were technically part of the British forces), but i think the overarching themes of the idolisation of the military, the deconstruction of the glory of war, and the intense (bordering on the homoerotic) although never quite realised relationship between Archy and Frank (which, spoiler alert, ends in tragedy), could give the captain a lot in terms of food for thought and unlocking some of those deeper experiences. on the other hand, the captain watching a period film set in the years before his war could be equally interesting- i think they'd play on some his is insecurities and general issues surrounding the difficulty he may have had fitting in with day-to-day life (not just due to his homosexuel répression, but due to his broader issues with fitting in socially which we see through his interactions with both the ghosts and his own forces- some particularly valid fans have used these to headcanon cap as autistic). in short, films would unlock a fair few memories for cap, but even more EMOTIONS.

pat: with pat and julian it gets interesting because while yes, technically any movie set in a non-current time period is a ‘period piece’, you also have to deal with the fact that they’re going to have less impact on their respective ghosts because you also have actual movies from those periods floating around. for this reason, my answers for pat and julian are relatively similar: they wouldnt have any more memories appear than for any film coming from while they were alive. for pat, this means he’d get pretty excited about ones that came from his childhood (pat would be a giant sci fi fan don’t @ me he loves technology), but i think anything that came with too strong a family attachmet, or that he watched in the weeks/months/year leading up to his death might bring out the angry pat we saw in Happy Death Day and Perfect Day. anger is how his inherent death trauma (and the additional loss that comes from the world moving on without you) manifests, so i definitely think that would come out here, even if he isn’t quite able to put his finger on why specific movies make him so angry/irritated. for pat, childhood memories would abound, but the closer we get to his death, there’s less memories but definitely more unresolved emotion.

julian: see my point above about the whole period-film-vs-regular-film thing. julian doesn’t really strike me as a movie person, and i definitely think he wouldn’t give much care to the influx of 80s/90s set british political media (think The Iron Lady etc). in his words, “i don’t really care for politics, and they’re all too busy trying to push their labor propaganda”. he just makes a captain-inspired noise when alison reminds him that he WAS a politician. julian is another character who accesses his memories pretty easily (although they’re usually either horny or at least slightly morally bankrupt), and i honestly find it hard to give a tory emotions so i’m very excited to see how the christmas special manages. julian is a self-centred bloke though, so i think only things that are directly about him could have the power to rake up buried memories and feelings. now i really want to see julian watching a documentary on himself and just getting outraged.

thanks for this one, sorry for the delay!!

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elfboyeros · 3 years ago

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It Feels Oddly Domestic

Just a far warning there are going to be implied suicidal thoughts through the some of these little stories. I apologize if that tiggers or offended anyone I will put warnings at the beginnings of my stories if that is the cause!

Read the First Part

⚠️ Implied suicidal thoughts⚠️

“Mx. Paris there are other avenues that we could take.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the obvious one is to sue Callisto Merripen A.K.A Earthly Chaos,”

“Oh, come on you wouldn’t do that would you Cordelia?!”

“I don’t know!”

It seemed so outlandish, the idea of pro-hero suing another pro-hero. Especially when it appeared to be a horrible accident. Although the legal avenue for Cordelia to sue Callisto are more then sound.

“GAH, I don’t know what to do,” Cordelia huffed while in the shower, “I mean it does and doesn’t seem like a bad idea at the same.”

They turned off the shower tap, wrapping themselves in a towel and stepping out of the shower, “don’t fall again dumbass,” they muttered to themselves, “the last thing you need to do is all Aizawa or Hawks again to help you off the bathroom floor.”

They continue to think over the possible of suing the pro-hero that left them dying in the street, becoming more frustrated as the paced in their apartment, in an extra-large hoodie and boy shorts.

“Meow.”

Cordelia turned to their bed seeing the fluffy gray cat sprawled out within a pile of blankets, “good day, Aphrodite,” they said with a smile going to pet the animal, “maybe I should talk to someone…”

“Meow.”

“Thanks Aphrodite.”

Hawks was the first person they thought of talking to. He now the situation in and out he would give them advice.

Hey, I need someone to talk

Cordelia didn’t expect him to respond right away so they went to clean the bathroom to keep their mind of the choices they had to make. Although an hour and a half later they check their phone again.

[read] 4:23 p.m.

They frowned, knowing he was working. Although they wanted to be selfish this once. The possibly of making the wrong decision was eating them alive. They looked at the message list, Aizawa was under Hawks, the pro-hero 10 years their senior be the last person they texted. He had wished them luck in the meeting were the topic of suing Callisto came up.

“I can’t, he’s busy, it’s a weekday.”

Although they wanted to be selfish just this once.

Shota, do you got time to talk

It took less than a minute to get a response:

Is something wrong

Not extremely serious, but some stuff happened at the meeting today and I need advice.

If you’re busy its okay!

Do you want to do it over the phone, or in person

The fact that he had picked on how they like to discuss serious topics made them feel warm inside.

I would like to do it in person but this isn’t really about what I want

It actually is

Give me time to get there

🙏I’m in your debt

Your not, just provide me dinner

What would you like

It doesn’t matter if it’s food

Yaki Udon?

👍

Cordelia smiled, heading to the kitchen to begin cooking while Aphrodite played with toy in the background. It felt almost domestic, making Aizawa dinner as he was returning from the school. He’s coming home if you will.

“Cupid, stop being an idiot,” they sighed, blushing, “he’s coming over to talk to you because you asked, this isn’t his home.”

Did Codelia Paris have feelings for Shota Aizawa, yes, Could it be because he was being he was being kind, possibly. Although the B.M.I Hero Fat Gum was kind to the young adult since the day they met, and they had no feelings for the 29-year-old doughboy. No, they had feelings for the 30-year-old tired teacher. But Aizawa wouldn’t have feelings for them, he was 10 years their senior and it’s not like he saw them as nothing, but a young pro and a possible friend.

“And know I’m thinking about Hawks,” Cordelia huffed.

The winged hero, that birdbitch, also had a place in Cordelia’s heart and out of the two men that Cordelia wanted to be with Hawks seemed more realistic, although that doesn’t get rid of the feelings for Aizawa.

A knock at their front door, made the jump, pulling them out of their thoughts, “it’s open!”

The door behind them opened, heavy and tired footsteps entering their apartment, “you shouldn’t leave your door unlock and answer it like that,” Aizawa stated, softly as he removed his shoes.

Aphrodite had waddled her way for to the cat lover, enjoying him picking her up and holding her like a baby, “I knew it was you,” Cordelia replied, back turn toward him.

“And what if I was a murderer, or something, huh,” Aizawa posed.

Cordelia chuckled, turning around and leaning against the stove, “you think I can cheat death a second time?”

Aizawa looked at them for a second, tired, upset, and depressed, but still trying to make jokes. Just like in the hospital a month and a half ago, “don’t talk like that.”

“You brought up, buddy,” they retorted as the would out bowels and utensils.

Dinner was state in front of them at the little circular table in the corner of Cordelia’s kitchen area. The element of sitting across from each other and eating dinner felt so domestic.

“So, what’s wrong,” Aizawa asked.

Cordelia sighed, “My lawyer said I could sue Callisto.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, granted no in the room looked happy with that opinion.”

“You say that as if you have other opinions.”

“I kinda do,” they sighed again, “I could ask for a public apology, which means the actual story gets out and a ruin a young man’s career. He could give me a small about of money, under the table as an apology. Or do nothing!”

“Jesus.”

“I was told that if I sue, meaning I could get both the money and the apology, but the Hero Commission pulled me aside after and said that was a horrible idea, and would have the wrong outcome for everyone,” Cordelia explained, “but I don’t see how that possible.”

“So, they don’t want you to do anything,” Aizawa remarked as a question.

“Basically, but right now my reputation is in shambles give the cover up job that they did,” Aizawa was silence for a moment, “what would you do Shota?”

“If it were me… I would do nothing,” he replied, “it seems like more trouble than it’s worth, but I’m not you.”

“I just want the people to know what really happened! I don’t care about the money,” Cordelia replied, getting up to place their bowl in the sink, “so I guess I’ll just ask for the public apology, I just don’t know what the right thing would be.”

“I can’t make the decision for me, Cordelia,” Aizawa remarked placing his bowl in the sink beside theirs.

“I know, I’m not asking you to make the decision,” Cordelia sighed, back leaning against the sink with their arms folded against their chest, “I just… I don’t… gah! It shouldn’t be this difficult to make this decision! And of course, I’m the one making it so difficult!”

“You are making it a bit difficult,” Aizawa chuckled, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“I guess I’m just worry about what people are going to think,” Cordelia huffed, “my brain is still stuck in my freshman of high school phase, I guess.”

“and I’m assuming that bad.”

Cordelia nodded, “a bit,” they muttered, “I was a people pleaser and worried about what everyone thought of me, stuff like that.”

“Sound horrible,” Aizawa joked.

“yeah,” they chuckled, moving to sit on the couch.

Aizawa soon followed, Cordelia scrunched up on one couch cushion at one end and the Eraser hero at the other end, “why did you want to please everyone,” he asked.

“I wanted people to like me,” they replied simply, “I wasn’t the rocking bombshell that I am now. I was a nerdy, chubby, kid in America with shitty parents. I was bully through out my American education career. When I got tired of it all, I made it so people would at least tolerate me so I wouldn’t be so alone.”

“So, what happened when you got to U.A.?”

“People were nicer. I found actual friends. Getting to meet Fat Gum and get chances to have a social life where I could be myself, helped me a lot” they explained, “and hey, I even lost a bit of weight.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes at the comment of their weight, which Cordelia didn’t notice, “I feel like since the accident I'm falling backwards,” they added, “as if I'm trying to keep those around me from leaving because “I’ve done something wrong." I know it's not true, but that want a part of my brain believes."

Aizawa was silence listening to them, which was him being polite although, of course, Cordelia’s brain take that way, “I’m sorry for rambling.”

“It’s alright,” he replied, looking at them scrunched up on their own couch, “you can relax, Cordelia.”

“Then my feet would be in your lap.”

“Okay?”

“That’s your personal space,” they replied.

“and I’m in your home,” he added.

“I’m not putting my feet in your lap.”

“Too bad,” he huffed, pull at their feet, laying out their legs landing their feet in his lap.

It feels unbelievably domestic!

“Whatever… so tell me about yourself, Mr. Aizawa!”

He rolls his eyes, telling Cordelia very little about his younger ages, only because he didn’t feel like reliving his trauma at the moment. He spoke a lot about his time as a teacher, very little on his actual self.

“Come on, Shota, you gotta give me facts about yourself,” Cordelia chuckled.

“I mean there isn’t much,” Aizawa replied.

“Come on,” they groaned, “there’s no secret talent, or anything like that?!”

“Well... I can tap dance,” he answered.

“WHAT REALLY!”

Cordelia shot up, “dear god you are tell the truth,” they laughed, “THAT’S AMAZING,” they yelled falling back on the couch laughing.

Outside a center winged-hero was flying through the night sky, soaring to a center apartment. It’s not that he was ignoring Cordelia’s text, he was busy. Although the fact that he didn’t get a respond from them had him a bit worried.

“Come on, songbird, be okay,” he muttered.

Hawks landed on their balcony wall; he could see the light were on before he landed. Once he looked inside gave him the answer on why they didn’t respond to his text messages. They were talking to 1-A teacher.

“Shota Aizawa,” Hawks muttered, “you keep stealing my thunder.”

Hawks looked down at his phone, opened on his messages with Cordelia.

Whatcha need Cupid

Songbird?

I’m sorry I was busy

I’m Flying by if you still need to talk

Cordelia please answer me!

[Delivered] 7:05 p.m.

Cordelia to him was a friend and had been a friend since they had started being a pro. He had someone to flirt with that would flirt back, someone to joke with, someone to feel at peace with when near them. Although since the accident he knew that Cordelia wasn’t doing great, and the red winged hero was trying his hardest to be support, but granted he was never good at that.

Hawks’ eyes fell to the cat sitting, inside, in front of the siding door, giving her a little wave before leaving, “have fun songbird.”

“MEOW!”

Aizawa and Cordelia looked over at Aphrodite, who sat in front of the balcony, “You want out stupid,” Cordelia asked, getting off the couch.

“Don’t call her stupid,” Aizawa chuckled, watching the beaten hero walked to the door.

“Maybe she’d be called smart if she figured out how to open the door,” they joked, petting the top of Aphrodite’s head, before siding the door open and swiftly shutting it and turning back seeing Aizawa off the couch, “leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, have a stay trip back to the school,” Cordelia replied, “and thank you for doing this, I’ll make it up somehow.”

“You don’t have to make anything up,” he replied.

“Maybe I could help you grade or train the kids,” Cordelia proposed.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Aizawa chuckled.

Cordelia smiled somberly, the tried teacher could tell something was wrong. Not like if he left something would happen, but just that they didn’t want him to leave, they didn’t want to be alone. He could tell by the smile and the look in their eyes.

“Please text me or call me if you need anything,” he added softly, “I’ll be here as soon as I can.”

“I know,” Cordelia remarked, “now go, Eri probably want you to read her a bedtime story.”

That confirmed from him, that they didn’t want him to leave, and that broke his heart.

“Goodnight, Cupid,” he remarked, reaching for the door.

“Goodnight, Sho,” they giggled.

Once he left things didn’t feel so domestic anymore, they unbelievably felt sad and cold.

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rainandhotchocolate · 4 years ago

Text

Blackout - Part 10

A/N WHEW PART 10 we are 20k deep in this fic friends what a wild ride. This one is a bit intense sorry - but the next one will be fluff city promise ;) Enjoy!!

(Last section of part 9)

“Again?” Y/N watched her sip some coffee and smile awkwardly at her. “Lily… was I at this job before I went to hospital?”

~~~~~~

Part 10

“No, you weren’t.” Lily grimaced as she replied, staring up at her awkwardly. Y/N felt something click into place in her head, the emotion that had been swirling around her, the feeling that something wasn’t right.

“For how long.”

“Six months.”

“SIX MONTHS?” Y/N yelped, “I haven’t been at this job for over half a year? Why did they even take me back?”

“The healers told us it would be best to keep you doing what you remember doing before the attack, so we reached out and they said it would be fine.”

“Did you know why I quit last time?”

“Yes… but I wanted you-“

“To get there myself yeah, yeah,” Y/N huffed, “So you’ve been watching me have a shit time at work every day, knowing that I had already realised this and left months ago.”

“Well that makes it seem harsher than our thought process.”

“You keep saying our.” Y/N narrowed her eyes at Lily who was now looking a bit sheepish. Good.

“Well, James, myself, the boys, Marlene-“

“What you’ve been having fun secret chats about me?”

“Y/N this isn’t some secret club where we talk about you, we were- are trying to let you heal properly, and if that meant reliving some things then that was what we were going to do.”

Y/N pressed a finger to her temple, trying to relax the headache that had been building over the last few hours. Or probably days. She took in a deep breath and looked around the room, thanking Merlin that it was late in the day and the area surrounding the little café was almost empty.

“I know, this is just very overwhelming.”

“Are you ok?” Lily leaned forward and placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s just a headache, the healers said this is common in the weeks after an injury.” Y/N winced as a throbbing pain reached her temples again.

“Maybe I should take you home?”

Y/N nodded, grimacing as the pain became worse, moving down into her neck.

“Come on, I’ll send a note up to your office as we leave.”

Lily helped Y/N up and led her towards the elevator.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius had only felt helpless a few times in his life. The first was when his mother taught Regulus and himself how to use the crutiatus curse and then practice on each other. The second was when he saw his mother’s eyes, black as the night, staring daggers at him when he came home for the Christmas in his fifth year and stuck posters of Muggle girls and Gryffindor merchandise across the walls of his bedroom, cursing them to stay up forever. This was the third.

“So, we’ve found our favourite member of the Black household, or perhaps we can’t call you that anymore?”

The voice of Lucius Malfoy hissed in his ear, making him growl. He hated that it still stung, the burn that he was sure sat in his parents drawing room where Sirius’s face was meant to be.

“I didn’t know I was your favourite, Malfoy, I would have dressed up more to see you,” Sirius crooned in return, trying not to wince as he pulled back a chunk of his hair and dragged him backwards into the room Sirius and Marlene had just been leaning against.

“Now, do you want to tell us what you two are doing here, or would you rather we get it out of you ourselves. Both ways work for us.”

“You keep saying us,” Sirius tried to keep his voice light, but found he was struggling to stand upright and edge away from Lucius as he kept a tight grip on his hair. “Who is the other lovely death eater addressing us tonight.”

“That would be me,” a slimy voice crawled out from the edge of the room and Sirius felt his blood coil. Snivellus.

“Ahh Snivellus, pity that’s the case isn’t it, Marls,” Sirius tried to shake his head in mock sadness but let out a cry of pain as Lucius kicked out his legs and kept his hands wrapped around his hair so it felt like they were coming out of his roots.

“Couldn’t agree more, Sirius,” Marlene called from the other side of the room and Sirius felt his heart lighten slightly at her voice. At least we weren’t killed on sight.

“And why’s that?” Severus growled at them, walking closer to Sirius so he could see his face in the soft moonlight, holding Marlene with a wand at her throat.

“Cause we were really hoping to catch someone important tonight.” Sirius sighed loudly and winked at Marlene who grinned. She mouthed Now.

Quickly, Marlene had elbowed Snape in the ribs and ducked out of his wands range rolling out of sight to presumably get her wand. Simultaneously, Sirius twisted under himself, letting his hair twist into a ponytail in Lucius’s hand and kicked towards him, hard. He landed right between the legs and grinned to himself as he snatched Lucius wand and pointed it towards Snape.

“Step the fuck away from her.” Sirius snarled towards Snape who was circling Marlene like a hawk, one hand pressed hard on her hand that was outstretched towards her wand.

“Or you’ll do what? Don’t have James to save you now do you.” Snape turned to look at him and smile as he pressed down and dug his foot into her hand. Marlene let out a blood curdling scream that echoed around the room. Before he could even think, Sirius had yelled out a curse he thought he’d never use on another living soul.

“Crucio!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lily and Y/N reached the Potter’s in record time, though Y/N wasn’t sure if she might have begun to drop in and out of consciousness as Lily apparated her in sections across different towns.

“James open up, it’s me!”

“What do I call you when we’re alone.”

“Christ almighty, Lilypad, now let us in!”

“Us?” James echoed as he unlocked the door and Lily powered through past him and into the living room with Y/N chuckling beside her.

“Good to know you have your sense of humour.” Lily rolled her eyes and got Y/N comfortable on the couch, “James, can you call St Mungos?”

“St Mungos? What’s going on?” James followed them into the living room and sat next to the fire, grabbing some floo and yelling “St Mungos!”

“This is St Mungos for magical ailments and injuries, what can we help with today.” A false sounding voice came from the fire.

“Y/N Y/L/N, previous patient, going through – Lily you haven’t told me what’s happening yet?”

“She’s getting headaches and keeps fainting, has been coming on over a few days.”

“Please wait a few moments,” the voice called again, “Your concerns are of utmost importance to us.”

“Lovely,” Lily grumbled, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, just need to get some rest, they said this would happen sometimes.” Y/N murmured, closing her eyes as she lay back on the couch. It felt like there were flashing lights pulsating into her brain, thrumming on her veins. She just wanted to fall asleep for a week.

A new voice came from the fireplace, a male one, familiar sounding.

“Whilst this is definitely commonplace for anyone who has gone through bodily trauma, we want to keep a close eye on it all the same.”

“Is there anything we can do?” James was quieter this time, as if she couldn’t hear him as he sat a metre away.

“She should rest, not do anything strenuous, drink lots of water – honestly there’s not much more to do than that, unless you have some numbing potions for the pain. If it lasts longer than a few days, and if any fever or more intense symptoms come up then send word again.”

“Ok, thanks.”

The light dimmed in the room and Y/N presumed that the face had disappeared from the fireplace. There was a few moments of silence before Lily and James spoke. They were likely having a conversation with expressions only to avoid scaring her. The pain had eased with her eyes shut, but she was still getting painful throbs across her neck and temple, and there was light bursting behind her eyes in pulses.

“I don’t know whats going on there, but it sounds like I won’t die, and I would really love one of those pain destroying potion whatevers,” Y/N mumbled, her voice soft from the effort.

“Yeah of course, I’ll bring you upstairs, Lil can you get the –“

“Yep, on it.”

Y/N felt arms wrap around her and then suddenly pull her upwards, carrying her presumably up towards the guest bedroom. She felt like sinking downwards into his arms until she was asleep, but the pain kept bringing her back up to the surface.

Eventually James lay her on her bed, pulled off her shoes and pulled up the blankets so they were covering her properly. Soft padding heading towards her bed indicated that Lily had followed them up.

“Here, sit up for a second,” Lily helped Y/N pull herself up and began pouring things into her throat. Y/N coughed at the coldness of the potion trickling down, but it quickly began to numb most of her body and she felt heavy and tired… so tired…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius hissed, pain coursing through every vein, every muscle, every tiny particle that could have made up his body. He’d long since trained himself not to react, but he was sure his eyes were betraying him, bulging out and searching for Marlene who he heard scream moments before, but it was fading away as if they were dragging her somewhere else. Get the fuck up, now, do it, NOW.

He felt the pain ease slightly as whoever was casting took a moment before casting again and he took it, using every inch of strength he had left in his body. It felt like he was made of water, each limb reforming into flesh and bone as he pulled out his wand and cast across the room. Flames burst from each corner of the room, the pain easing almost completely as it did, the caster yelling loudly across from him. Sirius swung around to where he heard the noise, spotting Snape and flicking his wand towards him.

Snape was momentarily caught off guard but dodged out of the way and threw a spell back at him.

“Protego!” Sirius gasped, his feet slipping against the carpet as he edged towards the door and away from the fire.

“Don’t think you can get away from me so easily,” Snape growled at him, his eyes dark and menacing.

“If there’s anything in this life I’m counting on it’s being able to easily dodge you.” Sirius winked at him and threw a large stone like object into the room. Snape stepped back quickly, his arm outstretched – and then there was darkness, the room covered almost entirely in black dust. Sirius moved quickly, sprinting towards the door and sliding through it before Snape had a chance to fire off a spell in his direction.

He kept running down the hallway, listening closely for voices before he heard the snarl of Marlene’s voice behind him and he skidded to a stop and smashed into the door he could hear her from.

Lucius turned around quickly, glaring dangerously at Sirius but he shot a spell towards him instantly. Lucius blocked it with ease, but it gave Marlene the second’s distraction she needed to slide forwards off her chair and slam her feet into the backs of Lucius’s knees. He fell forwards and Sirius bounded over to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the nearest window.

“Ever done a moving apparition before?” Sirius said, unlatching the window and opening it.

“I’m always ready to try new things.” Marlene grimaced.

“Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

They jumped from the window, Sirius closing his eyes and spinning as fast as he could as he thought of home. Of being with Y/N.

Taglist:

@averytruerayofsunshine @siriuslyjanhvi @blushingskywalker @blackpinkdolan @thebabblingbookworm @cherrie511 @imlukesnirvana @avengersassemblee @maraudersandco @sly-vixen-up2nogood @sirius-lysad @evyiione @minerva26love @aikeia @gollyderek @greatwombatblaze @songforhema @your-typical-giggle @myownviperroom @hermionie-is-my-queen @demiwitch527 siobhanhope delightfuldela nadinissavage fleurmoon treestarrrrrrrr @with1love1anu @findzelda @brighteyedmichelle a-dorky-book-keeper placeforcoolusername damalseer @approved-by-dentists @placeforcoolusername @eury-dice3 @bookscoffeeandracoons obsessedwithrandomthings askyandquiteaview leftstarfishavenue

#rainandhotchocolate #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius x you #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfic #marauders x you #marauders x reader #maraduers imagine

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theautisticquillholder · 3 years ago

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Murderous Love Chapter I

(WARNING: This fanfiction has themes of Suicidal Ideation, Suicide itself, Self harm, Sexual Assualt, Murder, Extreme Bullying and Humiliation and a lot of Mental Illness related content and is NOT appropriate for children and the faint of heart. If you are under 18 or may be triggered by the content of this fanfiction please do not read this.)

Mitsuhide’s POV

I was at school waiting for Motochika to arrive. I heard the main school bully Loki talking with his friend that he would normally bring with him to bully others Ares about me, I teared up thinking about what they could be saying.

I have recently been diagnosed with depression and bipolar disorder thanks to the trauma from the bullying and being sexually assaulted by a grown woman as a child. They’re probably planning on doing something to trigger me for their own entertainment.

Before they could walk to me to torment me Motochika, my best friend and crush had arrived and hugged me from behind.

“How was your weekend Mitsuhide?” he asked, I blushed saying.

“It was good, Gracia dragged me out for ice cream with her best friend Ranmaru since they couldn’t spend time with their partners as Koshosho was working and Nobunaga was away on a family camping trip. I wanted to stay home and read…”

Motochika laughed “Afterschool we had an appointment with a psychic medium. I want to know who I was in my previous life, and yes you’re coming with, I have a feeling that in our past lives we were either very close family or lovers and I want to know if that is the case.” He spoke.

I blushed saying “Is it a bad thing that I hope that it turns out that we were lovers in our past lives?”

Motochika laughed a bit but before he could say anything Ares punched Motochika while I was dragged away from him by Loki, I screamed out for Motochika or someone to help but everyone turned a blind eye and Ares restrained Motochika and he couldn’t get the male to let go, Loki called out.

“Bring the emo! He needs to watch!”

Ares Laughed and both myself and Motochika were dragged to a bathroom that no one would use anymore as it was believed to be haunted.

We saw Da Ji waiting in the bathroom smirking, I shivered with fear, scared that I’ll be forced to relive my past when an older woman sexually assaulted me.

Loki ordered Ares to tie Motochika to the post that holds the paper towel holder. Loki smirked holding up a key and asked Da Ji.

“Let me know if you need some privacy!”

Da Ji grabbed my arm before I could even get the chance to free Motochika so that he could run and get someone to help us. I tried to escape her grip, but I heard her say something and a door slam and lock.

Motochika and I was trapped with this senior.

Da Ji removed her clothes while I tried to free Motochika before she grabbed me and removed my clothes slapping me when I screamed. Motochika tried to break free from the restraints as Da Ji had her way with me. I was screaming for her to stop but it was no use.

It has been half an hour and Da Ji reached her climax. I was laying on the floor at this point, having lost the will to fight her off. I looked at Motochika who was crying as he tried to break free from the restraints.

Da Ji grabbed her phone and took a picture of me. I called out to her.

“Delete that.”

Da Ji jeered at me “Demand anything and you’ll be forced to go round two!”

I whimpered as she was typing on her phone after she was finished, she smirked.

“We’re going to stay here! You don’t get to go to class for the whole day!”

I cried, I crawled towards my pants grabbing my phone and sent a text to my sister Gracia asking her for help and it sent my exact location. Before Da Ji could notice that I was sending messages for help I hid my phone in my pant pockets.

I then crawled towards the sink basin to get a drink of water because I was thirsty, but Da Ji dragged me away from the basin. I cried “Please… I need a drink of water, I’m thirsty!”

Da Ji laughed before we heard the door unlock and Loki opening the door “Hey Da Ji, your friend Himiko wants to spend the day with you. Don’t worry about these freaks, you probably exhausted the living hell out of the man-whore and his best friend is tied up so they wouldn’t be thinking about escape any time soon.”

Da Ji left and the door was shut and locked. I instantly took this opportunity to break Motochika free from his restraints, when I managed to break Motochika free he hugged me tightly.

“I swear when I see those basterds they’re fucking dead!”

He then grabbed some toilet paper and got me to wipe myself he then had me wash myself then he helped me get dressed as I was still slightly weak from earlier.

When I was fully dressed, we sat in the corner of the room and Motochika cuddled me tightly.

Three hours passed and we heard the door unlocked. Motochika got ready to kill only to calm down when the person who entered the room was a locksmith, my sister Gracia, my favourite teacher Hades, and the principal Gaia.

Hades noticed what happened and looked at Motochika “hey, it’s okay, I won’t hurt you."

“I have little concern for myself, I’m more worried about Mitsuhide!” Motochika replied.

I held the tissue that I had to wipe myself with asking “is there any zip lock bags I can put this in. Also, you might want to call the police...”

Hades shook with rage. Not only was Hades a teacher but he was also the school chaplain.

He looked at Gaia saying “I want these two in my office without any interference from the other students. And I want the police called. I have suspicions that something has happened and whoever the fuck did this isn’t finished yet.”

Gaia nodded and took Gracia to her office. Probably to nominate her for the school bravery award for getting help for me while Hades lead me and Motochika to his office refusing to let anyone near us.

When we were in Hades office, he looked at me saying “are you able to go into the kitchen and make yourself a coffee? I’ll be asking Motochika what happened as I do not wish to traumatise you further than you already are.”

I nodded and went to the staff kitchen and made myself, Hades and Motochika a hot drink. I heard what Motochika said to Hades about what happened this morning and I could hear Hades typing away at his laptop.

When I came back with a tray holding the hot drinks, I set the drinks down and sat next to Motochika and hugged him tightly. I said, “I feel more fearless against the things that traumatise me when Motochika is here.”

Hades nodded and handed me Motochika’s statement that he had printed out asking me to confirm it. I read it and this was what was written.

‘This occurred about five minutes after I arrived at school at 8:45am and met up with Mitsuhide and we were talking about our plans for when the school day ends. Loki and Ares then attacked us, restrained the both of us and took us to the bathroom in which Hades, Principal Gaia and Mitsuhide’s sister Gracia found us in.

I was then tied to a pole that used to hold the paper towel dispenser by Ares before myself and Mitsuhide was locked into the bathroom with Da Ji, who proceeded to sexually assault Mitsuhide while I was forced to watch.

I tried to break free from the bonds that kept me tied to the pole while this was going on. Mitsuhide tried to fight Da Ji off and get her to stop as he didn’t give consent and it’s forcing him to relive a horrible memory of his childhood, but Da Ji kept going, when she was finished Mitsuhide had no energy left.

She took a photo of Mitsuhide nude and threatened to sexually assault him again if he demanded that she delete the photo.

Mitsuhide snuck a text to his sister calling for help before trying to get a drink of water. Da Ji dragged him away and laughed when Mitsuhide pleaded her to let him get a drink of water.

Loki unlocked the door only to get Da Ji out of there because her best friend Himiko wanted to spend the school day with Da Ji.

When there was no one near or in the room Mitsuhide used the last of his mental strength at the time to free me and I helped him get cleaned up before holding him tightly stating that I will have my revenge.’

I looked at Hades and handed the paper back saying, “That’s correct, I want to put my own statement in as well, that way if the police want a statement from me, you’re prepared.”

Hades nodded, opened a new word document on his laptop and I gave my statement, including the horrible things that Loki and Ares were saying about me.

When I was finished Hades Printed my statement out, got me and Motochika to sign our statements stating that what Hades has written on those documents were true and Hades hasn’t made us say anything and merely typed them up so that there is a paper trail for the police.

Motochika heard his phone, so he checked it. It was a message from Magoichi one of his friends, I peered at the message out of curiosity and shook with fear when I read the message that said.

‘Hey Motochika? Is the picture Da Ji posted on Instagram of Mitsuhide? I reported it just in case it is and took a screenshot of the post just in case you need it.’

Motochika called Magoichi and put him on video chat, Hades was a bit confused by this before Magoichi said.

“SOOO I was checking my Instagram and I saw a naked picture of a feminine looking guy with long black hair looking rather distressed posted by Da Ji, I took a screenshot of the post and reported it to Instagram, is the guy in the picture Mitsuhide!? If it, is I’m forwarding it to the fucking police!”

I curled into a ball after letting go of Motochika and cried Motochika looked at his phone saying, “I think the background noise coming from my end is the answer, can you please send me an email with that screenshot so I can print it and give it as evidence?”

Magoichi nodded “Sure! I just did as soon as you confirmed who it was. I can’t believe Da Ji would do that sort of shit!”

Motochika looked at Hades saying “Can I connect my phone to your printer and print out a screenshot one of my friends made of an Instagram post? I want Da Ji to be charged with child pornography, but I don’t want to put your job at risk.”

Hades nodded and Motochika printed the screenshot as well as a statement requesting that Magoichi is not to be charged as he was helping with the apprehension of the person who posted it. By the time we had all the paperwork and the tissue with mine and Da Ji’s DNA on it in a zip lock bag the police arrived and took them.

One of the male officers looked at me saying “I’ll protect you from those people who ask those horrible questions to try to indicate that you liked it.”

I looked at the officer smiling “Thank you.”

Motochika and I were then sent home. Motochika’s father wanted him to stay with me for as long as I needed and transferred some money to my father’s bank account so that my father can pay for the utilities and food that Motochika would use.

By the time we were home the psychic medium arrived at my house as well, myself, Motochika and the Psychic Medium went to my bedroom, and we began our appointment with them.

We did everything the Psychic Medium needed us to do in order to find out who we were in our past lives and then as if in a trance the psychic started writing something down.

I was curious but I had to stay calm while this was happening. It took the medium about an hour to finish writing and they gave us each a piece of paper detailing our past lives.

Motochika paid the money and the psychic medium left.

I looked at mine only to find that I was a castle maid to a Samurai Clan who fell in love with a Lady Samurai and had a lesbian relationship with said Samurai. I blushed before Motochika smirked.

“Turns out we were lovers in our past lives. You were the maid who wanted to become a medic for the soldiers while I was the Samurai who was going to be married off to the clan head’s son. And both the Samurai and the maiden were in love with each other.”

I hugged Motochika tightly “I’m so glad.”

I was madly in love with Motochika.

“I love you” I whispered, Motochika hugged back just as tightly saying.

“I love you too. I had developed feelings for you for a while. You’re a broken soul who needs someone to love them and fix them with gold to make the cracks stand out” I teared up as I heard this.

My father Mitsutsuna walked into my room and noticed us in the position we were in and awed at it.

“That’s adorable, Motochika, look after my son, my wife is very protective of him.” He spoke.

I was shocked as I looked at my father who said, “I would only not approve if I didn’t know the young man well enough, but since his father and I were high school friends, I have known him since he was born so I approve of your relationship with him.”

I blushed as my father left to make dinner. I looked at Motochika before hugging him feeling his warmth against my body.

#samurai warriors #mitsuhide akechi #chosokabe motochika #warriors orochi

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omniswords · 4 years ago

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How to Open a Padlock, Part 2 [Nino Lahiffe/Camila Siddiq (OC)]

Four times Camila Siddiq ran into Carapace, and one time she found Nino.

Well. Here’s part 2! Camila’s still my baby and I hope you love her too. (And if you do, please tell me!! I love sharing her with people <3333)

[ii.]

All Camila remembers is her father. And honestly, he’s the last person she wants to be thinking of.

She always heard that when people were akumatized, they barely remembered anything that they did. Only that they felt something pitch-black—anger, despair, jealousy, shame—and it was all over from there. That they were locked away somewhere inside themselves until Ladybug and Chat Noir brought them back. She didn’t know if people ever really relived the horror of it. The havoc they wrought on the city. The constant fear that it could happen to them again if they felt anything short of happiness. The trauma if they ever kept the things that turned them into demons.

She already knows what being locked away feels like. To know what having those black, black feelings turned on you feels like. She doesn’t need to be akumatized for that. But she was, and all she remembers is her father in the end, and the marriage text messages, because that’s all he ever seems to want to talk to her about these days—marriage, and schooling—and the phone in her hand. And how she squeezed it so hard with every dark thing she felt that she was almost afraid she might break it.

She wasn’t going to die alone, she told herself over and over, and anyway, so what if she did?

So what if…

Then there was the butterfly, and everything really did go dark.

She doesn’t know how much time passes before it all melts away and she opens her eyes again. She doesn’t know how she ended up by the Seine. She doesn’t even know what she did, or if she wants to know. All she knows is that her head is pounding with pain, and she feels faint, and Ladybug is kneeling in front of her, asking, “Are you okay?”

For a long moment after she comes to her senses, Camila doesn’t speak. She only nods to answer Ladybug’s question, even though it hurts. She rubs her head, kneeling along the riverbank while Ladybug and Chat Noir and a couple of other heroes trade their signature fist bump. And then she says, “I’m sorry.” Because she doesn’t know what else she’s supposed to say.

There’s a hand at her back before she can keep speaking, or even get up. When she looks up, Carapace is there—again—smiling and keeping her steady as he sits beside her. “Hey, stranger,” he says, signaling that the others can leave. “You put up one hell of a fight. Something must’ve got you really mad, huh.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Camila says, feeling nauseous. If she tries to stand or move at all, she might just pass out. Or vomit. Or both, but not necessarily in that order.

“You don’t have to.” Slowly, Carapace starts to rub wide, sweeping circles into her back. Maybe he remembers the feeling from all those years ago, on the day of the scarlet butterflies. “No one’s saying you have to. Just…”

She has to move in pieces, but eventually her vision stops swimming when she turns his way. “What?”

His hand pauses in between her shoulder blades, and it probably shouldn’t soothe her as much as it does. He may be Carapace, sure, but he’s just a superhero she’s happened to meet twice, and know about for even longer—and possibly see patrolling her neighborhood on a number of evening occasions. And there’s a person under there besides. There’s nothing to feel here but the importance of a moment or two.

Is there?

“Just wanted to tell you,” Carapace murmurs, “that I don’t think someone like you is meant to be alone. You got some good in you—a lot of good in you. I’ve never heard anyone, y’know, apologize for being akumatized before. It’s the kinda good that brings people to you. Someone like that doesn’t just end up alone.” Little by little, he helps her stagger to her feet. It’s like she weighs nothing to him. “Can you walk?”

She’s a little wobbly, but otherwise okay, so she gives him a faint nod. Even though she’s still clinging to his arm. “Guess I broke my promise, huh.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“My safety. I messed it up. So now I really do owe you.”

“You don’t owe me for feeling,” he says.

There he goes again, looking so familiar in a way she can’t even place. Doing it when she doesn’t even have the chance to clear her head and really think about it. His gaze flickers down to her phone, and she follows it. Unlocks it and deletes those awful messages in record time. Even blocks her father’s number for good measure. Maybe she’ll unblock it later but she can’t bear to hear from him right now. She can’t bear the certain silence that comes from a lack of apology.

“What did you say all that for?” she asks.

Carefully, Carapace takes her by the wrist and coaxes her to put her phone away. The touch of his hand feels strange, or maybe it’s just the superhero suit. Briefly, and in the back of her mind, she wonders what it might feel like underneath. “I figured it was something you needed to hear,” he says, and dares to give her wrist a squeeze before he pulls his hand away. “Listen, I can take you back home if you need a lift or something.”

On instinct, she raises her hands in protest, that roller coaster feeling starting to tie her stomach up in knots again. “You don’t have to do that,” she insists. “I, uh. I can take the metro. Besides, aren’t you gonna, you know…” She wiggles her fingers in a vague gesture. “Detransform soon, or whatever you heroes do?”

It must be the gesture that makes him laugh, and he draws his hood a little further over his head to shade his eyes. What lives in them? Who is he under there? “Nah, not anymore. The longer you do this stuff, the more control you have over it. I guess it’s kinda like muscle memory. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I know what you mean.”

“Hey.” Carapace gives her a nudge. Enough that she can feel it, but not so much that it knocks her over or makes her sick all over again. “Get yourself home and take care of yourself. You’ve had a rough day.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s had a rough day.” Camila tries to laugh. She sort of succeeds. “Having to fight some sort of… I don’t even know what I was.”

She doesn’t want to know what she was. He doesn’t tell her.

“Carapace,” she says, so low he’d be the only one to hear it. “You’re a good person, too. I hope you know that.”

She can practically feel him go soft. Which is kind of ironic. “Thanks. Glad you think so.”

“That’s my line.” She smiles, more to herself, but she wouldn’t complain if he saw it. “I’ll be okay, you know. You don’t have to feel obligated to look after me so much. There’s plenty of other people in Paris to be watching out for.”

“I know,” he says. Gives her a smile of his own. “But would you blame me if I wanted to?”

If she can feel the blush on her face, there was no way he can’t see it himself.

He nods toward the nearest metro station, a sign for her to really be heading home now, and for the entire walk over, her phone doesn’t buzz once. And for the entire walk over, she swears she can feel eyes on her. And it’s never felt this welcoming before, to be watched so closely.

(Days later, she unblocks her father’s number to the silence she expected, and he speaks to her like nothing happened, and she expected that, too. When she recounts the whole ordeal to Nino while they lounge about the bridge and blow bubbles over the Seine, he goes quiet until he tells her it happened to him before, once. That it made him sick to think of what he’d done—no, what had been done to him. All he did was feel.

All she did was feel, too.

How could they be blamed for that?

He tells her that he brought a padlock, too, on a whim, and that they should make a wish together on it. That it doesn’t have to be some thing that only couples do to hope their love lasts an eternity—even though she knows for a fact that Luka and Marinette did it once on a date, and it was the most adorable thing she’d ever heard of. And also absolutely on brand for Marinette. “Maybe you can wish for us to stop getting nagged about this whole marriage thing,” he tries to joke, but it falls a little flat, and he apologizes with a frown and a hand on her back.

He writes his name on the padlock, and lets her write hers and the date. Makes sure they’re both holding onto it when he loops it around the chain-link fence. Counts to three, and pushes the lock with her, and slings his arm over her shoulders as they admire it together.

“What’d you wish for?” he asks.

Camila says it’s supposed to be a secret or else the wish won’t come true, as childish as it sounds, but really it’s because she doesn’t know how to tell him that she doesn’t want him to leave her alone.)

#miraculous ladybug #camino #nino lahiffe #oc: camila siddiq #nino/oc #anyone else waanna fight cam's dad #get in line

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fiercyy · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi, Team 7 - Relationship, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Tsunade (Naruto), Orochimaru (Naruto) Additional Tags: AU, Post-Chuunin Exams, post chuunin exams attack, Minor Character Death, Trauma, Team 7 Family bonding, Genin Era, Everybody moves in with Sasuke, he's got room, semi-au, Plot Twists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Roommates, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto) Feels, BAMF Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), Team as Family, Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of Post-Chuunin Exam AU Summary:

Sakura always wished she could relate to her teammates better. She wishes she could take it back.

In which Sasuke acquires some unwanted roommates and a team becomes a family.

"You skipped training," Kakashi's one visible eye is narrowed in a foreboding expression. His large body takes up the whole doorframe when he holds himself up at full height.

Sasuke turns back to his book, earmarked not him but by Sakura, who the book belongs to. It's a historical account of the longest battle of the First Ninja War. For something so violent, it's extremely boring. "What's the point?" He asks petulantly.

"What's the point in training?" Kakashi asks incredulously. Surely Sakura's win hadn't hit him that hard.

"What's the point in the training we're doing? I'm not getting any stronger!"

"I'm teaching you restraint," begins the lecture he's heard what feels like a hundred times, "The Chidori is powerful and dangerous. You could hurt someone without meaning to."

Sasuke scoffs, "Sakura can beat me. I don't need restraint. In a fight, I'm trying to hurt someone."

"If your ego is so fragile then you're not ready for the responsibility of power."

"I am!" he argues. "But if power is such a burden then why can Sakura and Naruto keep getting stronger and now me?"

"They don't want power for power's sake!"

"Neither do I, I want power so I can use it."

Kakashi's eyes narrow, "I'm your mentor, not theirs. If you want my techniques you'll do things my way."

"Then I don't need you!" And desperate to escape the conversation, he jumps out the window.

"If you had control you wouldn't have hurt Sakura!" Kakashi shouts after him.

"I don't care!" he screams back. But that's a lie.

Sakura, for her part, has never been so thrilled to lose a fight. It doesn't feel egotistical to think that she basically won. She's just a softy who couldn't let him fall. It's a good thing, isn't it? That her instinct was to protect her teammate. (Even if, had he been thinking properly, he could have grabbed onto the wall with chakra.) That was what Kakashi was always ragging on her about, no? Not putting her team first?

She managed to surprise Sasuke and get the upper hand. She never thought she could do that. Never would have thought to… before.

Thinking about her parents brings her down. She can't do it often, it hurts too much. Since her heart to heart with Kakashi, she's being trying to focus on what she does have, not what she lost.

Her life has been in a quagmire since the attack, but at least she isn't alone. For that reason, she pities Sasuke. They both lost so much but afterward he had nobody. And she had so much. She's learning to be grateful for that, honest she is. She just gets so mad sometimes.

It's like when she was little. She was an angry kid. Her parents worked with her and taught her all the calming techniques; breaking deepy, counting, shoving it all into a box… The box worked best. All her longterm furies shut up where no one could see them. She let the bullies hit her as hard as they wanted. She wouldn't strike out. They could tease her all they liked, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

She can't hold in that inner Sakura anymore. She won't be contained. Instead she's trying to come to terms with it all; work through it as best she can. It's freeing, to be a being who can feel anger again. The fight now, is to not allow it to consume her.

"Hey," Naruto starts, only for Sasuke to stalk right past him and slam the door to their room. He glances at the clock on the VCR. It's 11:00. The lock clicks. Shit. He's terrible at picking locks. "Aw man, what am I gonna do now?"

Sakura—who sits on the opposite side of the table, books open and post-its at the ready—is unsympathetic. "Sleep on the couch."

Alone in his room, the nightmares plague him worse than before. The prophecy of being swallowed by the earth came true. He finds new things to fear.

Sasuke wakes in the middle of the night.

The voices no longer reside in sleep. Orochimaru's whispers reverberate all around him; promises of power, of bargains. How will you kill your brother if you keep you as you are? He asks with condescension.

Sasuke shakes his head and for now, the pressure in his skull is dislodged. He rises and leaves the bedroom for the living room.

The apartment is dark. There is just enough moonlight to see by. He treads softly into the living room and stares at Naruto's slack body, thrown over the couch and covered in the red wool blanket. It's large enough that all three of them fit under it but in the heat of sleep he's kicked it off his feet. His soft snores, so familiar, settle Sasuke.

He didn't want Naruto to hear his nightmares. They've woken him before, but he never seems to grasp what the nightmares are about. He knew he'd be talking in his sleep tonight. It's always worse when he goes to bed angry. Orochimaru is preying on those feelings, he won't be taken in.

Except he's told no one. They might see it as a sign of weakness, or Kakashi might try and reseal him. What power reserves would be taken from him then? The temptation of more than a taste of what the curse can give him… He's stagnating here, while others flourish. He needs to be stronger. Now. And Orochimaru wants to give him strength. It's that simple.

He'll kill him before fulfilling his end of the bargain.

That thought, formulating a plan, is what makes it too real.

Sasuke's birthday is last in the calendar year and on the first morning of his 13th year, he wakes up to yelling and the sweet smells of an unhealthy breakfast.

"I made you an omelette actually," Sakura assures, plating her pancakes. It's dry and over seasoned, but he eats every bite slathered in ketchup. There's candles in it and they make him blow them out.

The day is spent in his favourite manner: outside, training. They read together in peace in the grass, for a while after that. (Sasuke and Sakura read. Naruto doodles crude caricatures in the margins of a magazine.) They go to lunch, then the baths. They henge into adult versions of themselves, laughing all the while at their absurd visions of the future. They use the illusions to sneak into a bar that's hosting a pub quiz. A jolly civilian in his 20s hosts. Naruto's only correct contribution is a question about the minutiae of the Teenage Mutant Firefighting Turtles lore.

They win second prize—a pitcher of beer. Their weak, 13-year-old tolerance ensures than they're unable to hold their henges for long after that. Once one breaks, the others do too and laughing all the while, they're kicked out of the bar.

"Technically this is your fault for giving it to us!" Sakura argues, "We didn't order any drinks!" The bouncer is unamused.

They stumble home, leaning on each other.

And when Sasuke stares at the spinning ceiling that night, he doesn't think of his childhood, his anger or the future. For the first time, he relives the same day he'll relive for years-the best birthday he ever had.

"Teach me how to unlock the Magekyou Sharingan," Sasuke demands. He doesn't know what he's asking.

Kakashi tries to tell himself this, but when he reaches inside himself, looking for compassion, he finds only rage. "No."

"It's my clan's legacy, the next logical step. I need it if I ever hope to-!"

"If you're very lucky you will never have the Magekyou," Kakashi warns, "The cost is too great."

"I'll pay it!"

"If you do," he replies, enunciating carefully, "I will strike you down myself."

They ambush him in the evening on his way home from another seemingly useless session with Kakashi. The Sound Four and all of their formidable strength and second-hand arguments (such as they are) meant to persuade him to defect on his own. Or to take him by force.

His curse seal burns, curling across his body.

The time has come to remember his purpose.

Sasuke strains against his restraints, spitting and snarling at his teacher. Kakashi's impassive eyes rove around, but his fingers are tight on the wire. The bark itches and the blood trickles down his arm where the wire has cut him.

"What's this all about?!" He demands.

"Sorry, but I knew you wouldn't want to sit still for another lecture." The second today. "Let it go, forget about revenge. Trust me, following the path of revenge never ends well. You'll only tear yourself apart. Even if you succeed, what will you have then? Nothing. Emptiness."

"Shut up!" Sasuke's blood boils, "What makes you think you know anything about it? You have no idea! Maybe if I were to kill the most important people in your life, anyone who's ever meant anything then you'd understand," he threatens cruelly, uselessly.

"Interesting theory, but everyone I've ever loved is already dead," he says it so calmly. Sasuke never knew that about him. "Besides you. And Naruto and Sakura."

Sasuke's sharp intake of breath is the only indication that his words have any effect.

"You and I are lucky. We've found new people to love, who love us."

The boy looks so small, his head drops so Kakashi can't see his face anymore. He loosens the restraints.

"That's all I wanted to say. You'll do what you want."

In the room he shares with his teammate, only feet away from his bed, Sasuke packs a bag in the dark. There's a photograph on the desk that he considers taking with him, but that wouldn't be wise. He lays it face down and leaves the room.

He hesitates at the front door and doubles back.

He doesn't know which cousin Sakura's bedroom belonged to. He never visited them before the Massacre. It's one of the reasons he feels safe here, it's untouched by death. They died at the compound with everybody else.

He opens her door a crack. The hinges are well oiled so they don't creak.

Asleep in bed, Sakura's back is to him, arm tucked under her chin and hair falling over her shoulders. He watches her for longer than he should, heart hammering in his chest. He's really going to do this.

He stays until he can't stand it anymore, it's too much.

Outside, the village is quiet. The streetlamps haven't been fixed in many neighborhoods, so he passes through the light and darkness with equal swiftness. His unhurried gait stops at the gates. They loom in front of him, a portal into his future.

"SASUKE!" Sakura shouts, breaking the stillness of the night.

He turns and can't hide his surprise at seeing her. He's a fool. He must have woken her with his goodbye. "What are you doing here?"

"This is the only way out of the village," she evades.

"Go home Sakura."

Before I say things we'll both regret.

"No," her voice breaks. She darts in front of him to block his path. "Why? I thought I understood you but I don't. I just don't. How can you throw everything away?"

"You could never understand me," he replies coldly. "I'm throwing away everything that doesn't matter. Anything that doesn't help me accomplish my goals."

"I know in the beginning you couldn't stand me. You probably hated me. But I thought-" here Sakura hesitates and the tears drip from her chin. "I thought that things were different now. You told me once that I have no idea what it means to be alone, well now I do. I do and I wish I didn't. It's horrible. But it's a little less horrible with you." She chokes on a sob and slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle it.

"You're just as annoying now as you were then." He steps up to her, so they're standing close. "Move," he commands.

"No."

"Move or I'll move you."

Her stance widens but her knees quake. "Try it then."

"Don't you understand that I'll kill you if I have to?" Move!

She laughs, so sad, "For the sake of your revenge."

"I'm travelling a path that you can't follow," in telling her so, he hopes to be kind.

Sasuke pushes past her. Like a willow branch, she moves aside then springs back to watch him walk away. All the fight has gone out of her. "You don't have to be alone. You don't think we would help you?" She cries, "Naruto and I would do anything for you. Why won't you let us?!"

"I don't need you!" He roars. "We aren't the same."

"I love you, don't you understand? Please don't walk away!"

With his back to her, neither can see the effect their words are having on the other, but they can hope. They can imagine.

"Stay," she whispers brokenly. "Or take me with you."

He turns. "Where I'm going, I have no use for you. Forget you ever knew me."

"No. You know that I can't," she says with force. He advances and her speech quickens. "If you move I'll scream, I swear I will, I-" In a flash, he's behind her. A sharp pain in her neck. Darkness descends.

Whispered words. Thank you.

12 hours earlier…

Though some ninjas choose to work under the cover of night, many realize that it's far easier to work in plain sight, in the day, hidden by the crowd. Sasuke has only been to Kakashi's apartment once before, but he remembers the way. It's not so odd that a student would visit his master in the day time.

He knocks and Kakashi's surprised to find him at the door.

"Can I come in?" He trusts that his sensei's home is secure.

"Sure, Sasuke," Kakashi replies in his usual breezy tone. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to get me a covert meeting with the Hokage."

In under an hour they're in her office. Shizune, their only witness. Tsunade surveys the boy over her steeples fingers. "What can I do for you, Uchiha?"

"I need you to assign me an S-rank mission, to infiltrate Sound." Kakashi's eye cuts to him, "As a double agent."

#sasusaku #team 7 #sasuke x sakura #naruto #fanfiction #IYC #if you can't hold on hold on #my fic

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strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years ago

Text

forget the bottle

C H A P T E R T H R E E

tags: geralt / jaskier, yennefer, PTSD, post-s1e6, s1e6 fix-it, a fix-it of sorts, pyschological trauma, psychological torture, magical fuckery, mind manipulation, aftermath of psychological torture, emotional/psychological abuse, torture, nilfgaard, captured by nilfgaard, fringilla, fluff and angst, protective yennefer, yennefer ships it, idiots in love, love confessions, happy ending, solitary confinement

author’s note: scheduled tuesdays + thursdays

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

Jaskier woke up yet again, and this time he noticed the hunger pains stabbing at his stomach - mainly because of the smell of warm bread coming from next to him. He looked over to his right, and yeah, there was a plate of warm bread and a glass of ice water sitting on the rough wood of the table next to his bed. It made his mouth water just looking at it; he picked up the plate and took a bite quickly, almost moaning when he tasted it.

“Don’t eat too quickly.”

Jaskier looked up to see the sorceress sitting in a chair several feet away from his bed, one eyebrow raised and her legs crossed beneath her elegant black dress. Her violet eyes bored into his, much too similar to the way Fringilla looked at him like he was a bug pinned on a board, making him unsettled. He gave a short nod, though, taking her advice and slowing down despite how much he wanted to devour the bread.

He was halfway through the water when the door burst open and a blur of blue came bouncing in, followed by the Witcher in his black armor. The blue, he found out when she finally slowed down, was a girl, around 12 years old, he thought, with peculiar white-blonde hair.

“Yennefer!” she said, and her voice struck something deeper inside Jaskier. She seemed familiar too - she gave him the feeling of sitting beside a fireplace, singing softly. Memories of her were even older than memories of the Witcher and the sorceress, but he had no inclination whatsoever to unlock the door for either.

The girl went over to the sorceress, who he assumed was Yennefer, and wrapped her arms around her. Yennefer returned the hug, and the girl soon pulled back. There was a smile on Yennefer’s face, which brought a strange sense of surprise to Jaskier. Somehow, he knew that Yennefer didn’t smile often.

“How was hunting?” she asked.

The girl frowned. “Didn’t go well. Geralt kept scaring off all the prey,” she said teasingly, throwing a glance over her shoulder to the Witcher.

The Witcher - Geralt, Jaskier assumed, and the name brought on a whole slew of distant emotions and images he didn’t even know he had for the name - came up behind the girl. “You’re the one who jumped on my back while stalking a deer.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun, Geralt.”

Yennefer smirked and looked up at Geralt, who rolled his eyes and grunted before walking to the other side of the cabin.

The girl suddenly noticed Jaskier, and a wide grin broke out on her face. “Jaskier? You played at my grandmother’s court!”

Yennefer’s smirk faded, Geralt spun quickly around, and Jaskier’s eyes widened. He felt- he could remember, just a flash of an image, sitting by a fireplace with green eyes looking up at him, fingers dancing over lute strings, a voice - his voice - ringing softly in the air. Jaskier shut his eyes tightly, his whole body going taut like a bowstring. The darkness had become quite his friend lately, and in the darkness he couldn’t remember anything, in the darkness he didn’t have to speak or sing or - or whatever he did before Nilfgaard.

“Ciri, don’t bother him,” he heard distantly from the sorceress - he didn’t want to know her name anymore, it was too familiar and he wasn’t- he didn’t want that- he had been safe before all this, he had broken for Nilfgaard and he knew what they wanted-

“In, out. Jaskier. In. Out,” the Witcher’s rumble came from nearby, louder than the girl’s questions as the sorceress led her away, and he felt the Witcher’s hand run through his hair in the same rhythm he told him to breathe. Jaskier found himself following the orders - dammit, even the Witcher’s fucking voice soothed him, even on the other side of a locked door he himself put up. He couldn’t escape the memories threatening to break through, even though it was so much easier to just follow what Nilfgaard wanted, and not fight, and not be in pain-

He shook on the bed, silent tears running down his face, and didn’t protest as the Witcher pulled him into his arms and sat on the bed with Jaskier curled up in his lap. He was saying something, but Jaskier didn’t really care for what he was saying, he felt safe like he’d never been before, something from before that made him feel so cared for in the Witcher’s arms. Jaskier didn’t have the strength to fight against it.

It was at least an hour before Yennefer and the girl - Ciri, Jaskier remembered - returned to the cabin, and by that time Jaskier had stopped crying and was simply curled up with Geralt’s arms around him, blankly studying the wood grain of the wall.

Jaskier?

He flinched violently at hearing the sorceress’s voice in his mind, and Geralt’s arms tightened in surprise around him, but his answer came easily and automatically. Fringilla had always plunged him into another dream sequence when he refused to respond.

Yes?

Geralt’s voice came from above him. “Yennefer? What are you doing to him?”

Why did you flinch?

“I’m talking to him,” she said shortly.

Jaskier relaxed slightly. This was easy, this was good. She was asking questions; this was what he had broken for. He wanted to give them the information they wanted from him, so he wouldn’t be put back in that dark cell.

Fringilla talked to me in my mind too. Constantly.

What did she say?

Jaskier shivered. Geralt’s voice was angrier now. “Yennefer, stop. He doesn’t like whatever magic you’re working on him.”

Yennefer’s voice came distantly, a result of her focus on Jaskier as she spoke to him. “He’s fine. It’s the only way he’ll talk to us.”

Well, she got that right, Jaskier thought. He didn’t want to use his voice - his voice was a product of the memories beyond that door, and Fringilla had taught him that he was a burden in the past. Being quiet was better for everyone.

She said things about the Witc- Geralt. About Geralt. Jaskier paused. He didn’t want to go into specifics, because the details were about his past memories and he didn’t want those. He had been fighting against those for so long, it would be stupid to come back now when he had tried so hard to break already.

He didn’t continue, and Yennefer’s voice was slightly disappointed when it echoed in his mind next. Okay. How much did she talk to you?

Now he shuddered, and Geralt’s growl above him was low and angry. Jaskier imagined him giving one of his signature-

No. Not one of his signature glares, because Jaskier didn’t know about that. He didn’t know about the way Geralt’s golden eyes flared with anger at Yennefer specifically. That was not something he knew anymore. That was for the old Jaskier, the one who was selfish and annoying and didn’t know his place.

“Calm down, Geralt. He’s fine,” Yennefer said.

“You’re hurting him!”

Jaskier could sense her eye-roll as she replied. “Nothing he hasn’t already taken. I’m much better than Fringilla, trust me. And I’m only asking questions.”

Geralt growled again, but went silent, and then Jaskier replied. All the time. For hours on end. When I didn’t respond, she’d force me to dream and relive my past memories. She’d make me relive them anyway.

What memories?

Jaskier went silent, freezing up, and Geralt growled yet again, his tone warning. “Yennefer.”

The sorceress leaned back in her chair, and Jaskier felt her magic retreat from his mind. “Fine, fine. I won’t ask anything else.”

Geralt grunted. “Good.”

Ciri’s voice came suddenly - Jaskier had forgotten she was there. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He was hurt by Nilfgaard,” Yennefer replied. Jaskier wanted to laugh, something bitter and spiteful rising in his throat - he wasn’t just hurt by Nilfgaard. He was tortured, to the point that he broke, and locked all of his memories away. Hurt didn’t begin to describe it.

Ciri made a soft noise. “How badly? Is he okay?”

Jaskier could feel Yennefer’s eyes turn to him, and he shifted. He didn’t like the attention. “He was hurt very badly. We don’t know if he’s okay.”

Jaskier sat up, pushing out of Geralt’s arms, and the Witcher made a surprised noise, but let him go. He slid off the bed and started walking to the door - he was tired of getting so much attention after having none for so long. It made him anxious, set something restless fluttering in him.

Bathroom, he thought at Yennefer, and felt the faint wisp of her magic in acknowledgment before he left, letting the door slam behind him.

He walked forward, into the forest, and then stopped. He didn’t know why he’d come out here. All he wanted was to get away from the attention, get away from the eyes of everyone in the room. He was a bug pinned to a board, like always. An experiment, a curiosity for them to look at.

Jaskier walked listlessly into the forest, finding a large tree and sitting against it. He stared blankly at the grass and plants in front of him. What was he supposed to do now? He wanted to leave. Leave, and be anywhere but here. Fuck, that dark cell was more of a comfort now than the constant attentions of people he didn’t know, didn’t want to know, people who tried to drag up the memories he worked so hard to bury. There was a reason he buried those memories, and for this - this Witcher, and a sorceress, to try to drag them up-

Jaskier buried his head in his knees and closed his eyes. The darkness welcomed him, like an old friend, and Jaskier was all too happy to sink into it.

“Jaskier?”

He opened his eyes at the rumbling voice, sighing. The Witcher, here to drag him back, here to drag up his memories, here to bring back someone Jaskier hated. Geralt didn’t care about Jaskier now, he thought. He cared about the Jaskier he knew, the Jaskier who sang and spoke and was loud and selfish and- and annoying and a burden. Jaskier just wanted to be left alone, before they regretted bringing him back and tried to break him again.

He looked up, blinking against the light, and met concerned golden eyes looking down on him. Something in Jaskier couldn’t fight against that look, and that something was what allowed Geralt to pick Jaskier up and carry him back to the cabin. Jaskier made a soft noise, displeased with the world, but he figured this wasn’t so bad - he curled into Geralt’s chest, burying his face into the armor. The darkness there was somehow warmer, somehow safe, and smelled strongly like leather and sword oil.

They got back to the cabin and Jaskier had looped his arms around Geralt’s neck. He clung tighter when Geralt tried to put him down, and heard Yennefer’s laugh ring out from his right.

He wanted to stay with Geralt, stay caged in his strong arms. It reminded him of his confinement, but it wasn’t so cold. It was more comforting, especially with the scent of leather in his nose, and he didn’t know how to communicate it.

Yennefer, he thought. There was no response for several seconds, and he tried again. Yennefer.

Geralt was sitting in his bed now, and Jaskier curled up on his lap, head resting against his chest and arms looped around his neck. Geralt removed his arms from Jaskier and he made a discontented noise. Dammit, Yennefer.

Now her magic brushed against his mind. What?

Tell him to- to hold me. Tightly. Please.

Yennefer made a surprised noise, and Jaskier could imagine her eyebrow raise. “He wants you to hold him tightly, Geralt,” she said reluctantly.

He felt Geralt’s arms slowly wrap back around him, which was- good, but it was too freeing. He squirmed slightly and Geralt’s arms fell away instantly, like he’d been burned- he sighed. Yennefer. I want him to cage me. I don’t want to move, or see, or- any of this. Pin me down if he has to. Just don’t let me go.

Another soft, surprised noise. “Geralt.”

“What is it?” His voice was concerned, and Jaskier had the thought that he would have to give up the safe feeling of Geralt’s arms in order to get what he wanted. A corner would do, he supposed. Maybe there were ropes somewhere, and a blindfold. He just didn’t want to move, the world was too much right now and he thought he’d go insane if he had to keep being in control. It was easy with Nilfgaard, he wasn’t in control and he knew what they wanted.

“He wants you to pin him down. Cage him, he said. He doesn’t want to move, or see,” Yennefer said, and Jaskier felt Geralt tense above him. He sighed - he wouldn’t be able to get what he wanted within the safety of Geralt’s arms.

Tie me up then, Yen. He won’t do it. Just ropes and a blindfold, please.

He didn’t know how the nickname slipped out, but it seemed familiar to him, though strange in his voice, as if he’d only ever heard someone else call her that. He didn’t want to analyze that now, though - the whole point of this was losing control.

And, now he felt Geralt’s arms wrapping around him again, but this time they tightened and Jaskier squirmed. He didn’t budge, Jaskier couldn’t move much with the way Geralt’s legs bracketed his as they were pulled up against his body, his arms pinned Jaskier’s to his sides, and finally he relaxed. He turned his head into Geralt’s armor, inhaling the scent of leather and sword oil and getting the overwhelming feeling of safety from the warm darkness.

He hummed softly, feeling his mind go blank finally, and closed his eyes. This was preferable, he thought distantly. Not being in control, not being able to move, or see. It settled something restless in Jaskier, something that had awoken ever since he broke for Nilfgaard.

He didn’t know how long he was there, but there was a pleasant buzzing in his mind by the time Geralt shifted and disturbed the trance he was in. He made a soft noise of displeasure, frowning as Geralt tried pushing him off gently.

He tried to move, to wrap himself around the Witcher, but whatever headspace he was in had made his limbs lazy and he couldn’t do anything more than whine. Geralt grunted as he carefully extracted himself and let Jaskier lean against the pillow, light burning behind his eyelids and altogether too free for his comfort.

Yennnneefer, he thought sleepily. Noooo…

Geralt’s footsteps were quiet, but the wood floor creaked and the door slammed as he left wordlessly. Jaskier flinched at the loud noise, and frowned, feeling his awareness slowly return to him against his will. Yennefer, can you… tie me up and blindfold?

There was a long pause, though her magic brushed against his mind, and Jaskier didn’t think she would accept, but her voice, though reluctant, came to his mind. Fine. But we won’t need ropes.

Use them, he thought instantly. They feel more real. I don’t know what’s real all the time.

Somewhere along the way, he’d decided this wasn’t a dream, but he could never be sure.

Another long pause. Fine.

Jaskier curled up in the fetal position, trying to stop his awareness from coming back to him. He was so close to falling back into that blissful darkness, so close to escaping from the world and his memories and everything. Jaskier would live in that darkness if he could, live where only Nilfgaard needed him and he wasn’t in control, he didn’t have to make the decisions.

Minutes later, he felt magic ghost against his skin, and Yennefer’s presence behind him. “I’m going to need you to take off your clothes if you want this to work properly.”

Jaskier hummed. He couldn’t care either way - he just wanted to fall again. Yennefer took it as affirmation and cold air suddenly blew across his bare skin. Jaskier thought it felt a lot like the cold of his cell.

Magic skimmed his skin, followed by the ropes curling around him, and Jaskier sighed softly, feeling them tighten and pin him in the position he was in. He pushed against them once Yennefer finished, relishing in the slight pain that brought, telling him it wasn’t a dream. This was real, and as the blindfold settled over his eyes and tied around his head, he could already feel himself sinking into that pleasant daze.

Jaskier relaxed into the bed, once Yennefer pulled the blanket over him, and let himself fall.

Geralt wanted to hit something.

He had just- he’d just basically pinned Jaskier down because the damn bard wanted it, and he was so- so traumatized and broken by whatever Nilfgaard had done to him that being forced to stay in one position was more comforting than being free. Geralt had certainly heard of submitting like that, but that was for sexual pleasure, not because- because whatever fucked up reason made it okay for Geralt to immobilize Jaskier like that.

And the way he had just sunk into it, as if he trusted him when he didn’t even recognize him, it unsettled something in Geralt. The whole situation was so wrong, but Geralt couldn’t do anything to fix it, not immediately, and that was what angered him most. He wanted to fix it, wanted Jaskier to see that what he was doing to him wasn’t okay. Fuck, what he was doing to himself wasn’t okay.

He growled and pushed himself off the wall, turning and opening the door, letting it slam behind him as he walked in. Yennefer gave him a sharp, reproachful look, her violet eyes moving to Jaskier, who was laying still beneath the blankets, breathing and heart rate slow and even.

Geralt frowned, seeing the hint of something black beneath the blankets, and he walked forward, gently pulling aside the blankets - and froze.

Jaskier didn’t have clothes on, black ropes crisscrossed his skin, and Geralt could see the red marks they left in the creamy color. Some part of Geralt pulsed with want - fuck, he’d wanted the bard for so long, and this was the worst kind of temptation. He wanted to touch, and take - and, he realized with horror, Jaskier wouldn’t even refuse him in his current state.

The other part pulsed with anger, and he set the blanket back down over Jaskier before turning to Yennefer, golden eyes ablaze with silent fury.

Her voice entered his mind, harsh. He wanted it. Don’t blame me. You’re the one who left, so he asked me.

Geralt resisted the growl rising in his throat, and simply turned and followed the close scent of Ciri, walking outside and finding her sitting against a tree, reading. He needed to talk to her, do something that didn’t remind him of the torture Jaskier had endured at the hands of Nilfgaard, because he’d yelled at him on that damned mountain.

He sat down next to Ciri, who looked up at him as he approached. “What are you reading?”

Ciri grinned. “Yennefer gave me a book on magic and alchemy. It’s really interesting. Did you know that alchemy could be used to make explosive potions?”

Geralt frowned. Yennefer was not helping with the task of teaching Ciri; the girl caused enough mischief as it was and giving her a book on how to make explosive potions was not the way to rein her in. He hoped she didn’t use the knowledge in that book; he couldn’t take it away from her or she’d know that it was something he didn’t want her to do, which would only make her more inclined to do it.

He hummed in response, mentally planning to talk to Yennefer about this, and Ciri’s grin faded. She looked at Geralt with emerald eyes that had far too much knowledge in them - eyes that had seen too much for her age. “Geralt, will Jaskier get better? And don’t lie. I want to know the truth. What really happened to him? Why doesn’t he remember me, or you?”

Geralt sighed. Ciri was far too smart for her own good; there was no way he was getting out of this one. Figures, he went to her to get away from the reminder of what he’d just had to do to Jaskier because of the torture, and now he was being asked about it.

“Nilfgaard took him, and they hurt him a lot,” he said carefully. He didn’t want to reveal too much; his job was to raise Ciri as a child in a safe, caring environment, not add on to the horrors she’d witnessed. “He locked away his memories so they couldn’t hurt him with them.”

Ciri frowned, glancing down, face thoughtful. “He said he wanted to be held tightly. I heard Yennefer say it. Why?”

Now Geralt frowned, again. He didn’t know how Ciri heard that, but he supposed Yennefer had told her she could read outside just before he came in with Jaskier. That would be the only way she’d have known - and Geralt really wished she hadn’t. This was a mess, all of it, and explaining things to Ciri in a simpler, yet still comprehensive manner, was difficult.

“They kept him in a dark cell, and he got used to it.”

He turned to Ciri, now serious, and she looked up at him, sensing the change in mood and listening to what he said. “Ciri, the Jaskier you know isn’t there right now,” he said firmly, but softly. “Whatever he did, he doesn’t remember any of it. You can’t be too loud, or you’ll scare him,” he continued, as gently as he could tell a kid that the bard who’d probably played songs to her when she was younger didn’t remember her at all, and was actually quite traumatized. “He won’t talk to you, not until we get him to bring his memories back. Be nice to him.”

Ciri nodded and leaned back against the tree, beginning to shred a leaf in her fingers. “His singing was nice,” she said sadly. “He used to come up to me at banquets and pull me out onto the dance floor, and we’d dance and he’d sing. He let me sing, once. It was terrible, but he smiled and told me it was great, and I didn’t really care whether it was terrible then. He didn’t care about my crown, didn’t treat me like I was fragile.”

Geralt leaned himself back against the tree, right next to Ciri. “He was something,” he admitted quietly.

If only we can get him back, he thought to himself.

author’s note: so, the reason why he won’t come back is why he broke. he broke to get rid of pain, so why would he want to come back after that? he’s also scared that they’ll regret it and try to break him again, which will be a whole lot more unnecessary pain if he never comes back in the first place.

#the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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trashforgubler · 5 years ago

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Anchor

Word Count: 1k

Summary: You’re a pediatric nurse who is coming home from the worst day at work and Spencer comforts you

Extra Info: This was a request but it was made so long ago (because I’m obviously a chronic procrastinator) that it got lost in my inbox, so if you made this request please comment or message me and I will give you credit! :) Also this fic is titled after the song “Anchor” by Novo Amor which is a GOAT of a song

Warnings: Angst, talk of child death, talk of parent death, talk of car crash

Requests: Open

masterpost

Today has been exhausting. Two different families, two different kids, both of which were now dead. God, out of all the specialties, why on earth did you choose pediatric trauma? You unlock the door to the apartment and stepped inside, throwing your coat into the corner of the room as you always do. You slide your keys across the kitchen counter and sit down on the stool, resting your elbows on the table and your head in your hands.

“Rough day?”

Looking behind you, you see Spencer with his hands in his pockets. You laugh a sarcastic, tired sort of laugh, the one you only do because if you don’t laugh you’ll cry, and you prefer dark humor over complete misery.

“Yeah I guess.”

“Come here.” He pulls you up from the stool and walks you over to the couch, sitting you down with your favorite blanket (the violet fuzzy one he bought for you while he was out on a case). With the blanket wrapped snuggly around your shoulders, he places his arms around your back and pulls you into him. “What happened?” he asks.

You bite your lip, a nervous tic you’ve always had. It’s not that your nervous to talk to him, but more so to talk about you. You have always preserved yourself as a happy person, which is why you wanted to work with kids. You love seeing the smile on their faces when you “make their owies go away”, and you have a secret superpower when it came to crying babies. But as with everything, working with injured kids has a downside. Death. You know that talking to Spencer always makes it better, or more manageable at least. He could rationalize your thoughts like no one else could, you just never want to start talking. You do anyways.

“There was a car accident,” you begin, already feeling your eyes start to burn. Spencer wraps his arm tighter around you as you start. “A truck sped through a red light, hitting a car. Then that car spun out and hit a second one.” Your voice is flat and unwavering, as if your mind was trying to protect you from pain and yet you still felt everything from the pain of losing them to the pain of having to relive it now. “There was a kid in each car. A four year old boy named Tyler, and a six year old girl named Maddy.”

Spencer nods slightly at each detail you provided. He purses his lips upon hearing the ages of the kids, already knowing how the story would end. In many ways, he hates your job. He hates seeing you like this, hates watching your usual demeanor fade away as you recount the day you just had. Before he met you, he thought that catching serial killers was the scariest job, he’s since changed his mind. Watching little kids die as you hold their hand was far worse.

“They came into the ER, I took Maddy into the trauma room and started an exam. She was crying, asking me where her mommy and daddy where.” You pause and look down at your hands, blinking rapidly as you try to control the tears threating to fall down your cheeks.

“Where were her parents?” Spencer asks softly, almost as if he thought speaking too loud might break you.

“DOA.”

Silence filled the room as you speak the words. Dead on arrival. You take a deep breath and continue.

“I just kept saying they were being taken care of, I couldn’t lie to her and say they were fine, but I couldn’t tell her the truth either.” Your voice comes out strangled, tired from holding back tears. “We noticed she had a large head laceration, so we brought her up to CT and…” you have to pause again to wipe away a stray tear as you recall it. “She wouldn’t stop crying for her mom. We were trying to get her to stay still because we needed a clear scan, but she couldn’t stop crying. When the CT came back we saw that she was bleeding internally, so we were about to bring her to the OR but she started seizing. We finally got the seizure under control after we pushed meds but uh…” your voice breaks as you prepare yourself for what you were going to say next. “She was gone.” A stream of tears came as you finally let go, allowing your body to feel everything all at once. Spencer wraps both his arms around you and pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly.

“You did everything you could.” He says gently.

You trembled against him as sadness swept over you.

“She- she was only six Spence.” You cry

“I know, I know. What do you need?” he asks you.

You shrug because that’s all you can do. You didn’t know. You can’t think of anything right now besides that little girl who lost everything right in front of you, all because of a drunk driver who blew a stupid light. The people who always told you “life isn’t fair” really weren’t lying. The drunk driver walked away with nothing more than a few scratches, while four people died, including two kids, and the parents of the little boy will never be the same. You know you will never forget the cries of that little girl, calling out for her dead parents. How could you?

“You make me so proud, you know that?” Spencer says

“Why?” You can’t begin to fathom how anyone could be proud of you. A six year old just died under your watch, and now you’re a crying mess on the couch.

“Because you’re brave,” he explains, “you know what happens to these kids every day and yet you still go in and work and save lives. You save their lives. And no, you don’t save everyone, but you keep going anyways.”

“I’m not brave Spence. I’m scared of everything. I’m terrified walking into work every day because I know something like this could happen. I’m terrified holding someone’s child’s life in my hands. That doesn’t sound brave.”

“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re fearless, Y/N, it just means you don’t let your fear get to you.”

You nod knowing he’s right. He’s always right.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fanfiction angst #writing #writer #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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jayhartwinsterling · 6 years ago

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Bandersnatch (Black Mirror) Megapost

Now loading... A *very* sizeable post with a lot to get through - here I am going to talk about the five “main” endings, the Easter eggs, why constructing a traditional flowchart for this game is technically a bit of a vain effort, how it’s probably best to link everything up in a guide - and the implications this story has regarding *us*.

Chapter 1: The Endings

So, we basically have five “main” endings. I say “main” because... well, we’ll get back to it on ending number five.

Ending One Description: The first of which is what I call the “How It Was Meant To Go” - and getting this one is quite simple. All you need to do is accept the proposal Stefan’s given by the Boss to make Bandersnatch with a in-house team. Satpal shows up and then Colin tells Stefan as he’s leaving “Sorry mate, wrong path.” We then jump forward five months to find that Bandersnatch was rushed in production, cut down and done badly because of it being a team effort and it gets a 0/5 review.

We loop back around to that decision again but this time, Colin thinks he’s met Stefan before and Stefan knows the memory error with Colin’s game when it happens. And we come back to the decision. (Refusal again will give a similar scene btw where Stefan accepts and Colin tells him it was the wrong choice again - but Satpal doesn’t enter and we just... end.

Ending One Analysis: So this first ending is rather simple. But the key to it for me lies rather simply in the fact that it can be done... without doing anything at all. If you left your remote/controller/mouse/finger wherever it is and don’t make any choices, this is where you end up. In essence, the universe just runs as it should and we don’t play god over Stefan’s life at all. I know it might be a little difficult to get what I’m on about here but consider that Stefan makes a remark to Dr. Haynes not too long after you take the refuse path, that he wanted to accept the offer and he doesn’t know what made him refuse. We did. This is more clearly pressed upon if you get to the point in your path where Stefan realises something is dictating his life and asks for a sign. We directly throw him a sign - if you’re super direct, that sign happens to be the most direct interaction we could possibly make with him. Telling him that he’s on Netflix in the 21st century for our entertainment and we’re controlling his life.

So, as I say, Ending One is where we don’t have an impact and thus things play out in the universe as they should. Bandersnatch is finished, it gets a 0/5 and Stefan resolves to try again. Ironically, if you just sit back and don’t take the option of making a choice (because, remember, us even making a choice is in itself a choice), though all the game does terribly - this is arguably the best outcome for Stefan. And all because we listened to the exact advice the trailer gave us with its music choice: “Relax. Don’t do it.”

Ending Two: If you go straight to Dr. Haynes (rather than going after Colin) and take your pills when you get home, you get what I call the “” ending. Stefan takes the pills, we jump forward five months to find that Bandersnatch got completed by Stefan but due to his pills, it comes across flat after the midway point and only gets a 2.5/5 rating.

Ending Two Analysis: Not a lot to say here - but it’s worth noting that the review dude on the TV mentions that if the creator had second chances, they should go back and do this game all over again but differently. Keep that in mind for later. It’s worth noting that if you take Stefan off the path that the universe was “meant” to take and then leave it to its own devices (and Stefan to his own choices) again, not making choices for him - then you’ll end up at this one. Almost as if the universe was trying to course correct itself...

Ending Three: “Stefan Jumps.” explanatory how we get here... We jump forward four months, and find that due to Stefan’s accidental death, the game seems to have been speedily finished by someone else.

Ending Three Analysis: We get no rating this time but TV review guy does say the game is bad. He also mentions that it seems abrupt, jarring, bleak, creepy... Almost a perfect way to describe the ending - since it then just ends.

Ending Four: “The P.A.C.S. Ending”. In this one, we unlock Stefan’s dad’s safe with the password “PAC” (obtained by crossing over paths from following Colin to visiting Dr. Haynes... we’ll come by to the implications of such things later.) and find to our surprise that Stefan’s entire life is part of a conspiratorial program, not only well documented but also manufactured with the trauma of his mother’s death being totally falsified. Dad wakes up, refuses to speak and in his rage, Stefan hits him with somethi--- Oh wait, it’s a dream. Just a dream... But then it goes off the rails, quickly plunging us into the choice where we give Stefan a sign that he’s being controlled. Instead of Netflix, we now have the choice of P.A.C.S. - taking that option leads Stefan to kill his dad with the ashtray in a rage about the apparent conspiracy. Stefan then picks up the phone to phone Dr. Haynes - and we have to enter her number. Entering it correctly means that Stefan outright says to Hayne’s receptionist that he’s killed his dad. As he’s burying his dad, we hear distinct sirens and then cut to a review of Bandersnatch. The game is given a 2/5 rating and we discover that Stefan has been charged with killing his dad and locked up in jail.

Ending Four Analysis: It’s safe to say that P.A.C.S. didn’t actually exist outside of Stefan’s head and it’s his life paralleling Jerome F Davies’ obsession with conspiracy theories and delusions. But... what nobody seems to be really talking about is - we did that. Again. Leaving aside all the choices up to and including the safe, we make the P.A.C.S. sign appear and fuel Stefan’s dream-induced paranoia. In this ending, we in a way become Stefan’s delusion. (Oh, and don’t be surprised if you didn’t get this ending with your choices, or only part of it - again we’re coming to all that...)

Ending Five: “Time Rewritten” - now I’ll be honest, I did all these endings in one straight through run. Which made for a REALLY messy time in both my head and the game. Particularly with Colin... But anyway, for this one, I had to make Stefan pick up the family photo after having followed Colin and heard him say that mirrors let you travel through time. Stefan then seems to head through a mirror in the bathroom back in time to when he was a kid. And discovers that his dad took the teddy away from Stefan and locked it away in his room. He wakes up, I take him through the Netflix sign again. [During this, I led into what I’ll be addressing in a minute as Ending Four-B.] And take Stefan back to the locked room, this time entering the password “TOY”. Stefan unlocks the safe and finds his teddy within... And then it takes an odd turn. Stefan turns to find a younger dad - and then suddenly he is a child again. The younger dad relents and lets young Stefan put the teddy back under his bed. After doing so, suddenly older Stefan is looking at young Stefan sleeping. We cut back to young Stefan on the day Mum leaves... This time, he finds the teddy but his Mum is still running late. She’s gonna have to catch the next train - the one that leads to her demise - and we have to make the decision for young Stefan on whether to go or not. Of course, yes is my choice here - for though it’s a tragedy, it’s the last of these paths to take - we get young Stefan and Mum on the train, cut to black, and then see that older Stefan has died in Dr. Haynes’ office. We then get shown a TV screen and the credits come rolling in, whether we like it or not. And there’s what seems almost a tune playing but we’ll get back to that because if you’re a ZX Spectrum fan like myself, you know where that’s headed.

Ending Five Analysis: Alright, now there’s debate to be had here. Did Stefan really walk through a mirror and change time, undoing his own existence in the present, rendering himself dead on the spot? Did he slip away into a divergent reality and leave his original one behind? Or did he, in reliving the trauma with Dr. Haynes, live too far into it and died? Well, my opinion is that the last of those three is true. (Although, this conclusion is a little shot in the foot for me personally because I never discussed the death of Stefan’s mum with Dr. Haynes ever. Unless you try to make the conclusion that the entirety of my personal run through this game even from Stefan getting up at the very start of it was all in his reliving). Time to come clean about something I’ve been hinting through this post. Delusions. Almost all of the endings involve delusions. But, you’ll have to wait until the end of this chapter before I bring all of that together.

Ending Four-B: “Cut!” - having taken Stefan down the Netflix path and into a fight with Dr. Haynes, I told him to jump through the window. He runs to the window but it doesn’t open - and then we hear something shout CUT! The view pulls out to reveal that Stefan is in a studio, and that - in a very meta move - all of this is just a production being made (for TV, for film... for Netflix?) and that trying to jump out of the window isn’t in the script. Stefan is then addressed as Mike and it seems to be the case that he has fallen a little too much into character. The studio assistant, worried with his insistence that he is Stefan, rushes off to find a medic. And that’s the end of that.

Ending Four-B Analysis: Firstly, I put this with Ending Four because it’s down a similar path, and once again we become Stefan... sorry, Mike’s delusion. And this led me to an interesting thought about this universe where we’ve taken control of a delusional actor - is the alternative for taking the Netflix sign, which is having the fight with Dr. Haynes (as “scripted”) and being dragged off just a part of this universe’s production? In that instance, is the delusional then our own that this world is a reality when - surprise, surprise, it’s a Netflix production (and presumably, in that universe, also a Black Mirror episode)? Secondly, as an aside, the only option presented to me after this ending for a rewind was “Get Rabbit From Dad”...

Well, there you go, five “main” endings (and a bit) and an awful lot for me to explain...

Except... Ending Six. What I Believe Is The True “Main” Ending.

So we lead Stefan back to the sign, give him the Diverging Paths sign (or call it Whitebear, if thus inclined.), make him kill Dad, and make him chop up the body. Then, the Boss and Colin discuss the fact that Stefan is late with his work - Colin convinces him to leave Stefan be for another day. And what happens here on, well, happens. It’s worth noting the reluctance and pain Stefan has carrying out the order we gave him to chop up his Dad. But then, it’s contrasted by the lack of emotion he shows in Dr. Haynes’ office. Perhaps he’s taken that JFD documentary to heart about believing that if all paths occur, and there is no free will - then why care? Why feel guilt on behalf of what seems to be destiny? And honestly, I can’t blame Stefan... Because he doesn’t have free will here, we’re throwing decisions at him and he’s along for the ride. We made him kill his dad. We made him chop him up.

And herein lies our delusion. That in making these choices for him, we have a choice. Because we really don’t - we’re in a Bandersnatch of our own (if you’re a CYOA fan then you might’ve sensed this coming...) and honestly, we should’ve known from the start. We’re the ones that selected the option Black Mirror: Bandersnatch on Netflix and hit play, after all. Just as Stefan has pulled back from making an infinity of paths and left enough complexity to make it seem so. I mean, I’ll be blunt here even though I’ve yet to discuss it in depth in Chapter Two - technically, there is no way that any one human being is getting through every possible path/universe. To us, it may as well be infinite. And yet, it’s all just an illusion of free will.

Endings Two and Three all push us, the player, bluntly into going back into this warren of choices - to try again. Pushing us further on. Ending Four is more subtle, toying with us by giving us a tragic ending for Stefan so we feel inclined to go again and do better for him (and in my case, straight up offers up a path to Ending Five, and what seems a more hopeful ending until you get into it.) Ending One is even there if you decide to take the choice to not make any choices, to not interfere at all. Leaving the universe on course - but of course, this is our game and trap so it tells us not so subtly to try again as well.

And Ending Five leads us to ending with... A delusion. There’s the crux of the matter.

Ending One is our delusion that we can game the system by not getting involved.

Ending Two is Stefan’s (and our) delusion that if we play by the nicest choices and rules of life, it’s all going to turn out happily.

Ending Three is Stefan’s delusion (spurred on by the acid? by Colin’s way of thinking? by both?) that if infinite worlds are out there and free will is an illusion then what does it matter if he jumps?

Ending Four is where Stefan becomes delusional as a result of us and ends up locked up. We are the delusion. Four-B is where Stefan himself, as a person, is the delusion.

Ending Five is either the delusion of a man who relived his trauma too deeply or the delusion of us in thinking that when the paths were all clear and we had what seemed like a final end, that it would be happy. (Or none of the above, if you really want to go analysing this one differently.)

And Ending Six is our delusion. “And now, they’ve only got the illusion of free will but really, I decide the ending.”

In a few short seconds, we realise that we have been the Stefan of Charlie Brooker and co. - being led towards this ending that is out of our hands now. Despite all the paths and other endings you take, you’re likely to end up back here.

And as Stefan says about how he thinks Bandersnatch led to a happy ending, and we see him in his room, with his computer - and walls covered in paths; trying to make sense of the maze he’s playing... well, I think you can piece together the parallels between him and us.

And then we’re landed with the fact that he’s kept his dad’s head. And the 5/5 review we’ve been looking for all game finally comes, but then it turns out even that comes at a price. We’ve driven Stefan insane, certainly - and we’ve tainted the happiness of a moment we were striving for. And there’s a final delusion for us - the delusion that whatever choices were out there for us to make, we could get an ending where everyone lives, Stefan is happy, the game gets 5/5 and all is well. But we can’t. No matter what Stefan does, he can’t divert from the path we choose and no matter what we do, we can’t divert from the path Charlie Brooker chose.

Colin’s daughter takes up the mantle of her father, inspired by having found Stefan’s work, just as Stefan was inspired by having found Jerome F Davies’. (She even has Jerome’s book as well!) And one more time, we fall into the meta hole as it’s revealed that she’s creating her game for TVs and smart devices under Netflix. Her game is the Bandersnatch we’re playing.

As a parting shot, Charlie Brooker brings himself into the web the one we can without completely shattering what remains of the fourth wall. Pearl represents him, trapped in the same madness, trying to put this game together. We are given our final choice - and either way, it’s a moot choice. Both destroy Bandersnatch. Both cause the screen to cut out - did we just erase Bandersnatch? Does it matter, given that our choice or even abstaining meant nothing in the end?

And I suppose you have to feel sympathy for Charlie Brooker, because the pain Stefan felt and the pain we felt - he’s no stranger to it.

And we’re left with one question now that the game is gone: What about real life?

Chapter 2: Why A Flowchart Won’t Ever Cut It (Technically)

TO BE ADDED SOON

Chapter 3: So Many Easter Eggs

TO BE ADDED SOON

Chapter 4: The Best Way To Document Every Piece Of Bandersnatch

TO BE ADDED SOON

Chapter 5: Us

TO BE ADDED SOON

#blackmirror #bandersnatch #stefan #charlie brooker #black mirror

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make-it-mavis · 5 years ago

Text

Racing Thoughts

Wreck it Ralph fic 4549 words Characters: Turbo, Make-it Mavis Content warnings: themes of trauma and loss

Premise: After the Roadblasters incident, after finally reuniting with Mavis while the rest of the world still believes he is dead, Turbo takes refuge (with the help of his friend) in an unused wall socket. Nights spent there can be hard to bear, fraught with painful memories and a terrible sickness. This is one of those nights.

---------

It was around 2 AM.

At least, that was his best guess. In his new refuge, time was a slippery concept. There were only a few indicators to go off of. From his abandoned, desolate wall socket, he could hear Litwak arrive on the scene to set everything up for the day and sneak in some gaming time of his own. That was 9 AM. At 10 AM, there would be a loud click as the arcade doors were unlocked, and steadily, gamers would filter in. Their feet would stomp by. Their happy, muffled voices would overlap. Game cabinets would rattle and click with their enthusiastic playing. And at 9 PM, it would be over. The last gamer would leave, and Litwak would turn off the lights and lock the doors on his way out. Through the open hole in the socket where a train and a tunnel should have been, the blessed midsummer sunlight that shone through all day would fade completely.

Night would fall, and his sense of time would be left to fend for itself… but on restless nights such as this, it would stand no chance at all.

In the far corner of the barren train platform he was forced to call home, he sat up, wide awake, despite the sting in his eyes. He preferred to sleep in the corner, out of reach of the arcade’s light, but still, he watched the soft, multicolor glow from the outside games just barely illuminate the messy notes that decorated the walls and the “organized chaos” of random junk that littered the floor. It was calming in its own right. But it was not enough. None of it was enough. The wall socket was bigger than his old trailer, probably twenty times over, but the walls still felt too close. It was no home. It was an urn filled with the ashes of the life he burned to the ground.

There was only one thing that, by some miracle, survived the fire. Before everything went to shit, he might have called her his best friend. But even after the nightmare he had left behind for her to face alone, after he had let her believe he was dead, after he had broken her heart just to show up months later, pathetic, alone, defeated, half-deleted, desperate for help, desperate for company, her company... she did not turn him away. Despite everything she went through because of him, she followed him into the dark. She was willingly risking her safety and freedom just to help a guy who did nothing to deserve it.

Hell, without her… the ‘Roadblasters incident’ would have actually killed him.

Given all that, ‘best friend’ almost seemed a disservice. He was not sure there was any word appropriate to label someone who would do all that for him. As far as he could figure, ‘partner’ seemed like the best he could do, meaning partner in literal crime, partner to face life alongside, and… maybe one other thing.

Whatever she was, she was by his side even then, sleeping on the floor next to him.

He let his gaze fall to her. She was facing him, her chestnut hair thrown carelessly over her face and the pillows. Mavis’ experience with near-homelessness lent her the skills to make what he found to be a surprisingly cozy bed, a mess of pillows and blankets not too dissimilar from the one he remembered her living in before. In this nest, she was curled up way too tight, and she was twitching every now and then, but that was just typical of her. Seeing her like that, and feeling how nice and warm his crossed legs were under the covers, he had half a mind to just slide right back down and rejoin her. He wished so badly that he could just shut his brain off and go back to sleep, but he knew it seldom worked that way.

Lonely, bored, unable to keep his hands to himself, he lightly scratched his thumb on the tip of her nose. Huffing, crinkling her nose, her hand automatically darted up to swipe the bother away. When he did it a second time, she grunted in very real hostility for someone unconscious, and rolled to face away from him. He exhaled a bit, a faint, tired smile growing on his face, until something past her caught his eye.

Her clothes were piled up unceremoniously next to the bed, and on top of them were items she hardly let out of her sight: A scrap of a red scarf, and racing goggles. Both burned and blackened. Both his.

There was a low burn in his stomach at the sudden memory of the first time he saw those around her neck, and all the weight that her decision to wear them carried. Alone in the dark, he could not seem to take his eyes off them. Against his better judgment, he carefully reached over the sleeping Mavis to grab the goggles.

He leaned over his lap and held them carefully. Their weight in his hands was pleasant, their shape unmistakable. Even if he had not worn them all that often, the distant memory of them was a nice one… but their appearance was haunting, telling a story of awful things. The leather trim, once neat and smooth, was dark and blistered with chunks burned away. He stroked his thumb over the lenses and felt the cracks that ran over the surface like spiderwebs. No black smudge rubbed off on his skin. The glass was not dirty, it was charred for good. No one would be seeing through those goggles ever again. Not even him.

His heart began to ache. He imagined going back and doing his life over again, and making the decision to wear those goggles more. He imagined turning back time and reliving all the things he missed, all the memories that kept him awake. He missed walking freely through Game Central Station. He missed being seen by other sprites, and seeing them too. Greetings, nods, passing conversation, joking, insults, shouting, even annoying, cheery small talk. Bar patrons singing along to Mavis’ performance in Tapper’s. The smell of Burger Time fries. The low, bumping beats that rumbled the dance floor in Qix. The sound of a flowing river in Frogger. The howling wind in Ghosts ‘n Goblins. Even just the hustle and bustle of crowds traveling between games. He missed it all. He missed living in the world, rather than beneath it or on the edge of it. He detested living out of sight and out of mind, hiding from the consequences for what he had done.

Mavis’ stirring caught his attention. Her foot kicked out a bit, and she whimpered quietly, clearly in distress. She was having a nightmare. The poor gal never was a sound sleeper. Having slept next to her quite consistently for several years, he was very well acquainted with her sleeping problems. He thought about how to proceed -- he could have woken her up, and then he would not have been alone… but she needed her sleep, having worked hard for him all day. Sometimes, scooting in close and holding her tight helped, but she could be highly reactive in her nightmare state. He thought about how many times he had been kicked in the shin or elbowed in the face in his attempts to help, back when they slept in his cramped car bed.

Car bed. Trailer. Race track. Home.

His mind fell straight down the rabbit hole. For his own sanity, he tried his best not to think about his old game too much. It just hurt too much, in ways he never would have expected. Even all the little things just piled so heavily onto his shoulders. He had his own fridge, once, full of root beer and pizza. He had a proper place to put his clothes. He had a couch that was actually comfortable and perfect for making out on. He had glistening, lovingly polished trophies on racks. He had real belongings. And that was just his little trailer.

His game had sunshine. Endless sunshine that he could actually run around in, rather than the few meager rays he could catch in the wall socket. His game had his garage, where he could work on his car -- but he quickly turned his thoughts away from that. There were showers in his game, real showers, along with all his makeup and hair products. It would have been easy enough to ask Mavis to steal him some, but… bringing it up would have felt weird. It went far beyond just the desire to feel clean and presentable by his own standards. What really got to him was that whenever he somehow saw his own natural face, bare as the day the Devs made it… he just looked so much like his brothers.

Brothers.

Dropping the goggles into his lap, he brought up his hands to rub miserably over his eyes. His brothers. ‘The Twins’. Nitro and Pyro. Memories of them haunted him more than he would have believed possible. The three of them did not exactly get along. They fought constantly. They did not actively try to spend time with each other. But, still… not everything was bad. They could talk cars together. Sometimes they gossiped about this or that. Sometimes they roughhoused. Sometimes they even played drinking games and laughed over stupid dares. They were annoying, smelly, overgrown stick insects… but they were his brothers. He actually had family.

And thanks to him, thanks to his one stupid, monumental screw up, they were both dead. Litwak unplugged his game and they went down with the ship.

He would never see them again. Never drive with them again. Never hear their cars revving up next to his, or hear their tires squeal, or smell that burning rubber. He would never feel the steering wheel of his car in his hands. Would never feel the weight of speed pinning him back against the seat. Feel the swing of momentum as he made a sharp turn. The rush of crossing the finish line. The satisfaction of winning. Doing what he was made to do.

Racing.

His head drooped lower, his fingers curling up over the curve of his skull. He went too far. It was too much. The gaping, aching, fizzling hole that was torn out of his code when his game was unplugged began to itch like a scabbing wound. He did not simply miss racing. He suffered for want of it, like a hunger that sapped the strength from his bones. Everything that was left of his code began to whisper in sharp, overlapping voices, begging him to obey his programming:

Race. Race. Race. Race. Race. Race. Race. Race. Race.

He had no car. No track. Absolutely no way to sate that need. Still, the urges were relentless, and he rocked slightly as they burrowed deep into his brain. He sucked in deep breaths, tension mounting in his body until, with one sharp, quick movement, he chucked the goggles clear across the boxy room.

The near involuntary action snapped him out of it just enough for him to make the decision to get out of bed. No sense trying to fight a full-body meltdown while sitting next to a sleeping girl. He stood, the restlessness in his muscles stirring him into a sort of quick walk, the sort that, if he were anywhere else, might have implied that he had somewhere to go. Still, he prowled around, setting foot everywhere that Mavis was not. He stepped over the backs of the bench-like couches that had been in the train platform since he arrived there. He took pause to look out of the socket, but the sight of other games filled him with resentment and prompted him to pace near the walls instead. Again and again, he passed by the notes he had pinned up. There were maps of other games that Mavis had charted. Next to them were notes pointing to locations on the maps, about entry points, Good Guy/Bad Guy residences, NPC cycles, places hidden from sight of the player, and miscellaneous. Next to them were sheets of badly scrawled ideas and theories, many already crossed out, some circled, some littered with question marks.

It had been a whole lot of work for both of them. But what did they have to show for it? Even if they succeeded, what would they have to show for it? Would this really bring him anything he wanted? Anything he needed? Would just living in a game ever be enough? He would be an NPC. A background character. Totally insignificant, yet in constant risk of being discovered for the violent criminal he was. Would that all be worth it, just to live in a game?

His pacing tightened to just that space of wall as he felt his blood begin to boil. Turbo was never meant to live in anyone’s shadow, to be a face in the crowd, to be alone in the back seat. Turbo was never meant to live anywhere without a track. Turbo was the king of racing. How could he have ever tried to believe he could live without it? How could he have wasted his and Mavis’ time by having her chart games he would have rather died than been confined to?

“I cant--” he hissed wetly. “I can’t-- freakin’--!!”

With a frenzied rake of his hand, he tore a fistful of notes from the wall. Then another, and another. His heart and guts blazed with a sick, toxic fire. It was useless, all of it. All the work, planning, ideas -- if it was not for a racing game, it was all for nothing.

His code carried on nagging -- Race. Race. Race. Race.

He took the scraps in his hands and ripped them to shreds. He would never give up racing. No one would make him. Safety alone could not be their top priority. It had to be racing.

His code chanted -- Race! Race! Race! Race! Race!

He would die without racing. He would die. He would die.

It shrieked -- RACE! RACE! RACE! RACE! RACE! RACE!

It broke him. In an instant, his senses were thrown into a vortex. His vision exploded into a red flare of flashing pixels, his ears crackled with deafening static, and the very integrity of his body seemed to give out. Something collided hard into his left side, but he could not have said if it was the floor or the wall, as the room had begun flipping over itself. A vicious glitching attack wracked his code. It was all he could do to clench up, hold still, and wait for the sensation of burning hooks tugging his body apart to die down.

Slowly, his vision began to return. Cracking open his raw eyes, he could see shapes around the room through the flickering red and orange static. He had fallen to the floor, and his head was throbbing, though that may have been from the shrill, garbled audio finally beginning to fade from his ears. As he fought to catch his breath, he watched his hand glitch as it lay flat on the floor. Ribbons of red binary leapt out and sliced his pixels into shuddering, uneven shapes before it would all snap back together like nothing happened.

When he gained the strength, he shakily sat up and brushed the dirt from his face. The worst of the attack had passed, but beneath his skin, his binary still skittered angrily around itself like digits of tiny, angry metal bugs. Drained of all his fire, he simply took shallow, unsteady breaths, scratching hard at the itch under his skin and wincing at the glitch aftershocks.

His code was sick. It was very, very sick. He resented the reminder. He resented how it was unsafe to even have memories sometimes. After all, memories were almost all he had left.

But he had to keep it together, or he would never make it out of the shadows again.

Across the room, a sound caught his tired attention. It was Mavis again, but from what he could hear, she was talking. He squinted, the light shining on him through the socket hole making it difficult to see her in the dark corner.

Throat dry, he rasped, “Mav? You up?”

For several minutes, there was no response, until he heard her low voice again, and a soft thump. With a deep, weary sigh, he pushed up on wobbly, flickering legs and hobbled back to her.

Still asleep. Still dreaming. It just seemed to have gotten worse. The blankets were thrown in a tangled mess, hardly covering her anymore. Her breathing was stressed and uneven, and her strained groaning occasionally opened to bits of broken words.

“Get--” he heard her say. “Get off-- off me… Don’t--...”

His post-glitch-attack depression began to set in, weighing heavy on his already exhausted body. Unable to stand any longer, he moved to sit next to her again while she fought her nightmare. He wondered just what she was dreaming about. Ever since the incident, she understandably had a whole new set of dangerous memories of her own. He knew that many of them had to have been about losing him, but… sometimes, she muttered in her sleep about things he did not understand. Over time, he had begun to wonder just what happened to her in the time he was gone. If someone might have hurt her. If she might have hurt herself. But no matter what, she refused to talk about it.

Whatever it was… it was his fault.

He startled a bit as she spoke clearer, “Get-- Get outta my way, damn it--! He’s in there-- He’s still in there!”

Heart thumping, he swallowed. This nightmare in particular, he had become very well acquainted with. It really was time to wake her up. Carefully reaching over, he gave her shoulder a single push. “Mav, hey,” he said. “Wakey wakey.”

“I don’t care, I don’t CARE!” she snapped, voice growing louder with panic as she writhed, almost in pain. “Just let me go! He’s still in there, I gotta save him! I can save him! He’s in there, my BEST FRIEND’S IN THERE, I HAVE TO S-- SS-- SAVE--!!”

Unable to hear any more, he grabbed onto her shoulder and shook hard. “MAV!”

“GET OFF ME!” she thrashed his arm away and shot upright. She froze then, breathing hard and staring out into the room. “I could’ve-- I could…”

“Okay,” he breathed, his voice high with distress, as he moved to touch her back. “Hey, hey, c’mon, kid, you’re fine. You’re fine.”

She did not turn. “He’s…”

“He’s good. He’s alive. C’mon--” he scooted forward and twisted her shoulders towards him, squeezing and rubbing all the way down to her hands, but her gaze was still downcast, her eyes wide with blank shock. Taking her face in his hands, he tilted it up to lock eyes with her. “Look,” he said insistently, holding up one of her hands to his cheek and patting to really get the point across. “I’m fine. I’m right here. It was a dream. No big deal. You’re okay.”

Once he finally got to look in her eyes, and saw the way she stared straight through him, it became very clear to him that she was still asleep. Even so, a very real, conscious grief touched her face, the sort that he found difficult to look at.

Brokenly, she muttered, “I could’ve saved him.”

His stomach twisted. He brought both hands to her face again, stroking a bit too hard in his distress. “S’okay,” he insisted quietly. “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

“I-- I could’ve… could’ve saved him...” her voice dropped short and her body suddenly grew heavier. As sleep swiftly overtook her again, he pulled her close and directed her head to his chest until he was leaning back against the wall, holding her.

“Relax...” he sighed. “Y’did.”

The close contact was very effective at soothing his glitch pains. Ever since his code had been torn down to size, hers seemed so much denser than he remembered… and he had begun to appreciate just what it was like to live with a code deficiency. Being in proximity to her code really did make him feel more steady. It made him feel less… small.

There was just one downside to the touching -- a glitch aftershock hit him again, and Mavis’ code got caught up in it. His body flickered with hissing red binary, and a flash of glowing blue zapped over her pixels.

With a real shriek of alarm that threw Turbo’s heart into his throat, she shot up again, finally fully awake next to him. “Wh-- What-- What happened?” she asked quickly. “What the hell?”

Exasperated with how upsetting his night was getting, Turbo just leaned back and wove his fingers together over his stomach, willing his code to stay intact. “Hiya,” he said. “Y’were havin’ a nightmare.”

She nodded slowly, her jaw jutting a bit. “Right…” she whispered, suddenly squinting. “But… I glitched?”

He shrugged. “Apparently, it was a real bad one.”

Mavis stared at him, and he could almost see her bullshit meter climbing higher. The look on her face was disbelieving, but after a moment, it softened just a bit, and she looked him over. “Program withdrawal buggin’ you again, huh?”

“Pbbt,” he blew out the side of his lips, loading up a half-assed lie. “Ain’t that bad. Just hard to sleep with it, is all.”

He had been hoping that she would sass him, or something. But she said nothing, simply looking at him in a way that implied her bullshit meter was at maximum capacity.

Looking away, tapping a thumb against his belly, he sighed. Reluctantly, he muttered, “It sucks. It sucks a lot. And it ain’t gotten much better since I started havin’ it. If anythin’, I think it’s just gettin’ worse.”

Mavis did not seem to know what to say. Her gaze just slowly dropped, and she idly rubbed his leg a bit, deep in troubled thoughts.

Turbo took in a full, steadying breath, and released it slowly, seeing no way around the question on his mind. He asked, barely audible, “How much worse is it gonna get?”

Mavis shook her head. “I… don’t know. These ain’t the kinda withdrawals I got experience with.”

“When’s…” he muttered, “when’s it gonna end?”

“When we figure somethin’ out,” she said without hesitation. “And we will. No question. So… hang in there. It ain’t gonna be forever.”

Although it did not immediately solve his problem, he was glad to have the reminder of how determined and virtually unstoppable his partner was. Just like him.

“Good enough,” he grunted tiredly, lying down a bit more before extending an arm and gesturing inward. “Get over here. Bring it in.”

Offering just a small puff of laughter from her nose, Mavis draped a blanket over her shoulders and crawled over him, settling in to lie right on top of him. She laced her hands over his chest and rested her chin on them. Turbo rubbed her shoulders a bit, sighing slowly through his nose. The deep pressure of her weight was quite nearly forcing the upset swirling in his code to settle down. It really was incredible how much it helped. It blew his mind the first time, and he was still baffled by it. Mavis must have been able to tell, from the knowing smile she was giving him.

It seemed just in her nature to be smug about being genuinely helpful.

For several minutes, he just fiddled with the soft, fine hair above the nape of her neck, looping and twisting it between his fingers, while she stared at his collarbone, clearly zoning out. Turbo almost believed she fell asleep with her eyes open.

“Where’d ya go, space cadet?” he asked.

Her brow furrowed. “Uh… somewhere either brilliant or stupid.”

“I think you’ve spent your whole life there,” he remarked.

Ignoring him, she continued, “Just-- Well, listen. I was thinkin’ we could try somethin’ that might help your withdrawals a bit. Maybe.”

He perked up a bit, but cautiously. “Oh..?”

She propped up a bit on her elbows to look at him more directly. “You really gotta race. Real bad. And, like, I know car racing is what you really need, but like… d’you think just comin’ up with some other sorta races we could do together would help? Even just to take the edge off a bit?”

He squinted. “What kind of races?”

“Pfft, I dunno, Turbo, the race template ain’t hard to replicate. Whoever does a thing faster wins. I can definitely make some fun things outta that. Things we can do in here.”

He pondered that. “I dunno if that’ll work or not, but it sounds fun, anyway. Some sense a’ competition and victory would do me good. Anythin’ to keep my brain from meltin’ out my ears in here.”

“Let’s give it a shot, then,” she said, smiling, as she settled back down. “I think I’m onto somethin’.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re all very impressed with your genius,” he said with a smirk, combing his fingers through her hair.

They were both silent for some time. Not long after Mavis’ eyes had fallen shut, Turbo piped up softly.

“Hey,” he breathed.

Her eyes opened and her face merely perked up a bit. Looking at her, he just kept getting stuck on the fact that in however many hours were left until Surge opened the wall port in Game Central, she would leave, riding the electric current back to the place he could not follow, and he would be alone again… for hours. With his thoughts, his memories, most likely his sickness. The crushing loneliness was never a fun thing to deal with, but after a rough night like that…

He asked, “What say you stay here tomorrow, huh?”

Her brow raised, but she was still smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his hand slipped behind her neck to scratch a bit. “We don’t even gotta do work. Let’s just hang out. When’s the last time we did that?”

“S’been a while,” she agreed. “You wanna try out my idea, then?”

“Yeah, maybe. I dunno. Let’s just goof off n’ see what happens,” he smiled a bit.

“Yeah, alright, I’m down,” she said. “I don’t wanna go back to Felix’s boring-ass game anyway.”

“Alright,” he nodded. “Nice.”

She smiled. “Nice.”

Turbo took a deep breath, straining just a bit from her weight on his ribcage, and finally closed his eyes. He felt Mavis scoot up a bit and lay her cheek flat against his chest, tucking her head in under his chin. After just a few minutes of wrestling with himself for being sappy, he placed a quick kiss in her hair. Against his chest, he felt her cheek smile for just a second.

He would have to talk to her tomorrow about why he tore her notes to shreds. Probably apologize. But she would have to understand why.

He had lost his crown. But even if it killed him, he would take it back again.

#fanfiction #wreck it ralph #turbo #make it mavis #angst #yeah idk heres a lil thing #brief interlude from wolf stuff #havent written in a while #hope u enjoy #main au

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years ago

Text

14x10: Nihilism

Then:

Son of a bitch. Michael’s back.

Now:

Welcome to tonight’s AU fanfic entitled:

Dean’s living the contented life running a bar (I’ve read this fic before, but I’m intrigued) listening to The Marshall Tucker Band’s “Searching for a Rainbow” (the BIGGEST EYEBALLS EMOJI), and working with Pamela Barnes! (Wha!?!!! Yay!!!) This bar had a squirrel and a moose and the monkey from The Roadhouse and the Impala’s old license plate and “Daphne Loves Fred” engraved on the bar. Here’s a great breakdown of the bar from @bluestar86. There’s a lot here, guys. This is a Jerry Wanek deserves all the accolades and attention possible blog. Pamela and Dean discuss where Sam and Cas are (hunting a ghoul in Wichita) when a businesswoman with a briefcase arrives. Apparently she’s been trying to buy the bar from Dean, but he’s not selling.

The woman storms out back into the rain. (About that rain: I loved this post by @postmodernmulticoloredcloak)

Later, Dean’s doing paperwork in his office (WHAT A CUTE, RESPONSIBLE NERD). Pamela comes in with a couple of shots and THIS exchange happens:

Pamela: I’m heading out for a hot date.

Dean: How come you always have a boyfriend?

Pamela: How come you only want what you can’t have?

Dean: Whoa.

Pamela: Besides, you don’t want me. You just like to flirt. I’m a psychic, so I kinda know.

That was a lot to process in 30 seconds and then we’re all blindsided by Pamela’s arm? Not cool show.

Later, Dean is pulling some Texan Beer (just go read all tagged posts by @mittensmorgul) from the walk-in fridge when Pamela alerts him to trouble: Vamps are at the bar.

They make fast order of the situation and in a moment I found quite touching, Pamela starts to clear the blood off of Dean’s face, and he lets her. And I just want Dean to know how much he can be loved and cared for if he’s just let someone (*cough* CAS *cough*) do it.

This whole scene almost made me forget that THIS ISN'T REAL. After the title screen, we’re back in St. Louis, Michael is possessing Dean, and his fingersnap that we all thought would end the world, just updated his clothes to a snappy suit. Michael is so extra.

He grandstands a bit and tells Sam, Cas, and Jack that he knew their plans the whole time. Cas starts to run at Michael, giving Sam time to Molotov Cocktail him, allowing Cas to throw the archangel cuffs on Michael. Whew, Team Free Will, they really are better together. Sam pleads with Dean to hear him, but Michael mocks, “Dean’s not home right now. Please leave a message.” Meanwhile, Michael’s monsters are out in the city attacking and building an army. Maggie and the other hunters check in. They need to save other people. Sam, Cas, and Jack are on their own.

Monsters arrive before they can make their escape from the highrise. Cas can only hold the door for so long. Jack asks Sam if they’re going to die here. Sam pauses, but it gives him an idea. He calls for Jessica, the reaper. Violet arrives instead. It seems the reapers have to take shifts on monitoring the Winchesters.

Sam begs for her help, and Jack and Cas wonder who he’s talking to. They can’t see her. There’s some back and forth, and Violet appears to have a silent conversation, and without a word transports them all back to the bunker. (BILLIE! She’s got a soft spot for the Winchesters. Ok, not really, she just knows way too fucking much and it’s stressing her out.)

They wrap Michael up in chains in the war room and discuss the details of how to hold him. He informs them that he can hear them, so they move 2 feet further away from him. (I’m pretty sure he can still hear you. He is a celestial being.) Sam brings up when Crowley busted into his head when Gadreel was possessing him. Maggie calls before they can formulate a plan. The monsters have left St. Louis and are heading for Lebanon. (Sidenote: I am so creeped out how Michael says “Castiel”.) Cas and Jack head off to secure the bunker, while Sam stays and listens to Michael mock that it’s just a matter of time before he escapes and everybody dies.

Sam pulls out the British Men of Letters mind meld machine. It’s their only hope to get in Dean’s mind and alert him to what’s happening. Cas agrees.

Meanwhile, Dean continues to relive the same moments at Rocky’s Bar over and over. (Seriously depressing Mystery Spot FEELS.)

Jack is left with Michael while Sam and Cas set up the machine. This is the perfect opportunity for Michael to place the seeds of doubt in Jack about how Dean feels about him, and Jack’s place in their lives. “You’re not Sam, you’re not Cas. You’re a new burden that he was handed.” UGH. Cas interrupts, and stops Jack --making it clear that Jack shouldn’t believe a word Michael says. Jack doesn’t look him in the eye before walking away.

Meanwhile, Maggie and the other hunters are preparing to stop the onslaught of monsters.

It’s now Cas’s turn to listen to Michael’s taunts. He doesn’t bite as easy. They exchange barbs about loyalty and weakness. All AU!Michael and Lucifer wanted was for Chuck to return, and he didn’t. So now Michael just wants to “burn every one of his little worlds” until he finds him. Michael reveals that he wants to kill God. Story aside: How crackling was this scene between Misha and Jensen? Even with ZERO sexual tension, they cannot turn off their chemistry. It was beautifully shot (Bravo Amanda Tapping!) and mesmerizing to watch.

The other hunters lose track of the monsters. One hunter, Tiger, runs into the woods alone. It’s all good though! He’s fine and alerts everyone that the monsters went around them, heading for the bunker.

At the bunker, while Sam preps the machine, Jack wonders if this’ll work, and then offers to use his life-saving magic. NO BBY JACK.

Later, Sam and Michael are all plugged in.

Cas is going to mind-meld with Sam to hitch a ride. Jack is going to watch over them, making sure no one kills them.

Sam and Cas find themselves in a place astonishingly reminiscent of the Empty. It’s Dean’s mind, but he’s a no show.

Cas uses his power to scan Dean’s mind. It’s mostly just...screaming and pain. “There’s so much trauma,” Cas notes, traumatically. Having to hear the love of his life Dean in pain is hard, but the worst part is that there are so many awful memories they’ll have to sort through to find the real Dean. That’ll take time. Sam has a different theory. He thinks that Michael would swaddle Dean in something good because “Dean thrives on trauma.” Inspired, Cas begins searching for good memories and quickly locks on to the bar.

They zap to the bar, only to be confronted by the soft twang of music and Dean’s jovial greeting. Dean shills for Jensen’s beer company (which is, frankly, AHdorable) while Pamela warmly greets Cas and Sam. Both of them immediately swap stories about how they done Pamela wrong (burned out her eyes / got her killed by a demon). Oh. Bbys.

Sam tries to convince Dean that he’s living in a fantasy when Dean and Pamela zap out of there, cutting to one of their other canned scenes. The memories get increasingly choppy as Sam and Cas threaten Dean’s fake reality. Soon enough, they’re both bloodied bystanders of Dean’s monster bar fight.

For Nice Work, Special Effects Department Science:

Dean’s head is still sticking with the script, though and Pamela attributes Cas and Sam’s new blood spatters as leftover from their ghoul hunt.

Sam’s getting kind of fed up and reminds Dean of how Pamela was blinded. RUDE. Moments later, Pamela turns to them, eyes white in their sockets, claiming she’s been blind for ages. “You can thank Feathers here for that one.” (Cas looks mortified and tells Dean it was an accident. CAS BBY.) And then Dean remembers she died and she disappears.

“This is the dream!” Dean protests. Cas begs him to remember his real life and come back to them.

“Poughkeepsie,” Sam whispers suddenly after a long, searching look. Memories rush back to Dean.

“I remember,” Dean says. “I remember everything.”

Suddenly, off to the side Michael slow claps. Ugh. Go away, Michael.

He proceeds to tell veiled lies. Dean only tolerates “the angel” because he “gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” As for Sam, he was a burden well shed when he went off to college. Dean looks utterly perplexed by these stories.

Cas realizes that Michael’s stalling so his monster army can attack the bunker. Speaking of which...outside of Dean’s head the bunker door swings open and Maggie & Company rush inside. They start to lock down the bunker.

This is all okay. It’s FINE! Because Dean’s ready to take on Michael, given that Michael’s totally depowered inside Dean’s mind.

And then...it all goes to hell. In the bunker, monsters slam against the door but the bunker’s locked down. They should be safe there for a while! HOWEVER Tiger, one of the AU hunters, went into the woods alone and emerged a monster. The bunker door is actually unlocked and everyone in the bunker start to fight for their lives.

The hunters engage in a fruitless firefight against the mostly immune monsters and it’s looking like they’ll lose when…

Jack taps into his soul and zaps away some of his soul’s energy. Oh Jack. :(

Back in Dean’s head, he hits upon a brainstorm (har har?) and tells Michael that he’ll lock him up inside his own mind. He tries to shove Michael into a walk-in refrigerator and fails. Never fear, though. Because Team Free Will is here! Sam and Cas team up to trap Michael in the fridge and Dean slams home a locking pin. “I’m the cage,” Dean growls and my face melts off.

In the aftermath of the fight, Maggie promises to help clean up the mess from the fight and Sam thanks her. In the kitchen, Cas has a serious conversation with Jack. It’s 40% angry and 60% worried.

Cas tries to help Jack understand that the soul makes him who he is and he needs to protect it. “It won’t happen again,” Jack tells him and UUUUUUUGH it’s totally going to happen again oh NOOOO.

Meanwhile, Michael pounds and screams inside Dean’s head while Dean hunches over the sink in front of his mirror. “It’s only you,” he begins. “It’s all you.”

Suddenly, Billie appears.

For Science:

She knows about Michael throwing the equivalent of 80,000 keggers in Dean’s head. She tells him that Dean’s universe-crossing hijinks have delivered nothing but pain. She reminds Dean of the many notebooks describing how he might die. Since Dean’s possession, all the books have been rewritten to show Michael escaping his brain-cage and destroying the world. Actually, correction: all but one have been rewritten. She hands him a single volume. Dean opens it and….we have no idea what’s inside.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Dean asks, looking shocked.

“That’s up to you,” Billie tells him cooly before flapping away.

Where Everybody Quotes Your Name:

How come you only want what you can’t have?

It’s a big trunk.

The worst part of workin’ here is having to clean up the blood after some pissed off monster busts in to kill you.

What can I say? I’m famous.

Put a chair against the door. That’ll help.

You’re confusing loyalty and compassion with weakness.

Get me a shot WITH YOUR BRAIN.

My mind. My rules.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn 14x10 #nihilism #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #jack kllne #michael #maggie #billie the reaper #death #pamela barnes #supernatural season 14

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astarryon · 7 years ago

Text

Hard Feelings Part 6

Pairings: Bucky x reader

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

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

Part 5

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, sir.”

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

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

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

Is your heart filled with pain?

Shall I come back again?

Tell me darling, are you lonesome tonight?

—

“Y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You guys know I don’t like parties.”

“Come on, man, it’s New Year’s Eve!”

“And?”

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

“Name calling, Sam? Really?”

“Well, it’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

“Come on, Y/n! You look hot!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you asked, stifling a hiccup.

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh, shit.

—

Part 7

Tag List:

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

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martini-shaken-not-stirred · 7 years ago

Text

BTS Reactions - They found out about a bad past relationship

*Love a bit of angst, don’t you? Requests are still open as well :)*

!WARNING! Mentions of abuse, rape and emotional abuse! Please don’t read if you will find this triggering or upsetting!

Kim Namjoon:

“Namjoon please be careful.” You shouted into the kitchen where you had, regretfully, entrusted the job of carrying in plates to Kim Namjoon, aka The God of Destruction. “Baby, i’m always careful, i just sometimes can’t help the clumsiness.” You shook your head and went to take a seat at the table, when all of a sudden you heard a loud crash. You darted to the corner of the room and curled up into a ball, protecting yourself on instict. Namjoon solumnly walked in, ready to apologise, but he shot over to your hunched over figure that was visably shaking. “Hey baby are you okay? Did that really scare you?” You nodded and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and his heart broke. “How? Why does that sound scare you so much?” You gulped and tried to compose yourself, whilst Namjoon sat on the floor next to your and pulled you onto his lap. “Well,” You wiped away the last few remaining tears, “My last relationship was abusive.” Namjoon’s mouth fell open and he started to reassuringly rub your arm to continue. “They would always come home angry and would throw things, sometimes just at the walls, and sometimes at me. They would scream abuse at me and make me feel like shit. That crash sound just sent me back to the past and i relived everything. I’m sorry.” Namjoon kissed your forehead and choked back tears, “Baby i’m so sorry, i didn’t realise, i’m going to be a lot more careful now, i promise. You won’t ever have to go through that trauma again.”

Kim Seokjin:

“Thank you Jin, that was the best date i have ever been on!” Seokjin frowned. He had only taken you to a little amusment park, nothing special. “Really? The best? Surely other boyfriends have taken you better places?” Seokjin said tying the scarf around his neck. You looked down and shuffled with your feet. “Boyfriend, singular, and no, he didn’t take me out.” Seokjin looked back at you confused, “What a crappy boyfriend, I’ll be a million times better I promise.” You half smiled, “You’re already a million times better, Jinnie, he used to abuse me.” You said the last bit quietly but it still made Seokjin stop in tracks. “He abused you?” You shyly nodded from embarassment and tried to walk away, but Seokjin tugged on your wrists and pulled you into his chest. “I’m so so sorry, he took what he had for granted. You’re so amazing, wonderful and beautiful I can’t see how anyone could hurt you like that.” You felt a drop of water fall on your head and looked up to see Seokjin staring straight ahead, looking as if he’s trying not to cry. “Jinnie,” He slowly looked down at you and your suspicions were right, he had a couple of tears brimming in his eyes threatening to fall. “Jinnie I love you so much, thank you for loving me unconditionally too.” He kissed the top of your head and pulled you in closer. “Of course Jagi, you deserve the best.”

Min Yoongi:

“Well, well, well, look who it is boys.” You froze in your spot at that ghastly voice. “Aw, little Y/N is all vulnerable and on her own. She looks like a lost sheep.” You turned to face the voice and he stood with an arrogant smirk on his face. “Have you missed me Y/N? Those few years we had was fun.” Your breathing started to get heavier and you desperately turned looking for Yoongi. You spotted him busily talking on the phone, he had excused himself earlier because Namjoon was texting, asking for some advice. Yoongi didn’t look up and you were cornered by your ex and his friends. “Leave me alone, I have a good and loving boyfriend now.” You said, trying to sound brave but your voice wavered and it only achieved a chorus of laughter. “And where is he now?” You eyes shifted over to Yoongi’s slumped figure, leaning on a wall still arguing with Namjoon over the phone. Your ex followed your eyes and found Yoongi. “You’re dating him? Wow he must care, he’s probably on the phone asking for a fuck right now with some random chick.” You bit your lip and looked down. “I could take you with me right now and not let you leave like you did last time, nothing is stopping me, I could beat you until you’re begging me to stop and i will, only so you can stay alive.” You let out a sob but yelped as you saw a fist connect with your exes face. He fell to the ground and Yoongi stood over him, intimidatingly. “You leave her alone and never lay a finger on her again.” Yoongi grabbed your hand and took you away from the scene. “I’m so sorry you had to found out about that, i was going to tell you in my own time but i couldn’t find the right time to-” Yoongi pressed his lips softly to yours then pulled away. “You don’t have to explain anything, I don’t even want to know what that guy did to you, because it will end up with me getting life in jail.”

Jung Hoseok:

Yet again, another text. This had become a daily occurance. Your ex had somehow got hold of your new number and has been incessantly spamming your phone with degrading messages and death threats. At first you blocked him, but he quickly gained a new number and text you from that. You had given up trying to ignore the messages and put your phone beside you, laying down hoping to go to sleep to forget about them and to hopefully let you have a calm nights sleep. “Who the fuck just texted you that!” You shot up at Hoseok’s raging tone. You stuttered a response, all whilst Hoseok had unlocked your phone and was scrolling through the messages, the light falling from his eyes, now being replaced with impending tears. “Why didn’t you tell me about these?” He said, now in a softer voice. “I was scared and embarassed.” Hoseok tossed the phone to the side and sat next to you, burying his face into your neck. “He had been emotionally abusing me for the year that we were together, he made me do things, and said things to me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just feel so weak and pathetic and I hate people’s pity.” Hoseok only shook his head and pulled you closer, unable to utter a word in case he breaks down. “I would..n-never d-do such a thing t-to you.” You lightly ran your fingers through his hair to calm him down. “I know you wouldn’t Hobi, because you’re so amazing, you’re the best friend and boyfriend anyway could ask for. I trust you Hoseok-ah.” He snuggled into you and kissed your shoulder, as a way of affection.

Park Jimin:

“Jimin, we’re so lucky to have you, thank you for lighting up our Y/N’s life.” You had finally taken Jimin to meet your parents. He was so nervous but thankfully your parents love him. “Oh it’s an honour to be with Y/N, i couldn’t be more grateful that day she said ‘yes’ to going on a date with me.” Jimin smiled and the memory and squeezed your hand. “But seriously, thank you for taking care of her, we were so worried about how she would be after the last ‘boyfriend’.” You froze in your spot at the mention of him. “Oh what did he do?” Jimin asked innocently looking at you. Your parents looked at each other, then at you. “I think that’s something for Y/N to tell you. Come on let’s give them some privacy.” Your mother pushed your father out of the room and you sat down on the couch with Jimin, who started to sense that this was a serious matter. “I don’t really know how to say this without being blunt so here it goes... My last boyfriend physically abused me, he would beat me, kick me, he raped me a couple of times too.” Jimin grabbed onto your hands, “I’m sorry, i should’ve told you before how weak I am.” He dived forward into your arms. “I don’t think of you any differently, but i know i’m going to make sure i’m the best boyfriend ever and you’ll never get hurt. I’ll never be that guy I promise.”

Kim Taehyung:

“Pleeeeaaseeee.” Taehyung was knelt on the floor infront of you begging you to reveal some secrets about past boyfriends. “No Taehyung, please stop asking.” He pouted and rested his in your lap, still looking up at you with curiosity. “Why? Were they better than me? Were they nicer? More good-looking?” You placed a finger on his to silence. “I’ll tell you, but i need serious Taehyung now.” He slowly nodded, now slightly concerned. “The reason I don’t like to talk about the other ‘boyfriend’ I use to have is because,” You paused and bit your lip. “Because I was abused and manipulated by him.” Taehyung sat stunned in silence, he couldn’t process the idea of someone purposefully hurting you. “I’m sorry Y/N, i didn’t know, i wouldn’t have pressed you about this, shit i’m so sorry.” You slid down and hugged Taehyung and you ran your hand over his back soothingly. “I was scared to tell you incase you thought less of me, or you’d leave because you’d think i’m too fragile and overly-sensitive.” This time Taehyung pulled back and slowly rubbed your cheek. “Baby, i’m going to treat you like the Queen you are now, don’t worry about it. You’re one of the most strongest people I know, now that you’ve told me about this, you’re even braver for having lived through that. I love you so much, you’re with me now okay, you’ll be safe.”

Jeon Jungkook:

“Hey Y/N, isn’t that your ex?” Your heart started racing at Jungkook’s inquiry as you slowly turned towards where he was pointing. You quickly stood up, “Kookie please can we leave now.” Jungkook smirked, “No let’s stay and lets make that fucker jealous.” You tugged on his jacket trying to get him to move. Your sudden movements attracted a certain someone’s attention and he bounded over. “Ya! Y/N! You’re looking as ugly as ever, you don’t age well do you.” You slowly lost the grip on Jungkook’s jacket and shook your head looking down. “Even after all those years, i can still make you looked so scared, like a little bunny.” Your exes eyes left yours and found Jungkook’s who was now stood infront of you protectively. “Speaking of bunny, who the fuck are you? Y/N’s new toy?” Jungkook landed a punch on the side of his head making him stumble back. Jungkook grabbed his collar and forced him to look at him. “Look, I don’t know what you did to Y/N, but I can tell it was nothing good, now leave us now before I kill you to the point of where you’re unrecognisable.” Your ex scrambled to his feet and ran off. “Y/N are you okay?” He walked towards you but you slightly trembled at his touch from fear, you had never seen that side of him before. “No, no, baby please don’t be scared of me. I’d never hurt you, I’d never lay a finger on you like how I did with that piece of shot, he deserves it for whatever he did.” You nodded and walked into his embraced, and Jungkook cautiously wrapped his arms around you. “He abused me for 2 years.” You mumbled into his chest. Sensing you didn’t want to talk about it, Jungkook pulled you tighter into his chest. “I love you so much, Y/N, you’re going to be safe and loved and cared for as long as i have you in my arms.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shit, i’m so sorry that was angstyyyyy. But what the people ask for, I give. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!

#bts reactions #BTS #reactions #bts angst #angst #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #park jimin #kim namjoon #Jung Hoseok #min yoongi #kim seokjin

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