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whentommymetalfie · 3 years ago

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Home to you -chapter 5

-Closer-

Prologue//1//2//3/4

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Tommy and Alfie both want to take things further. But it turns out, things might be more complicated than simply wanting.

Warnings: mental instability, hallucinations, self harm, self-hatred, ptsd, panic attacks, disordered eating

Content note: sexual content

Wordcount: 3,7

Tommy wakes up with led in his veins, head too heavy to lift from the pillow and confused about his whereabouts. The warmth of a hand on top of his head tells him he’s not alone, at least. It prompts him to squeeze his eyes open just a fraction to observe the world through his lashes. Alfie’s sat next to him, paper in his lap and with his glasses balancing low on his nose as he thumbs the pages with one hand, combing gently through Tommy’s hair with the other. Tommy stays completely still. Wants to stay in this moment, sink back into sleep and hide from the memories of the past night before they fully catch up with him. His right palm throbs dully and he clutches it against his chest, willing away the feeling of glass digging into fragile skin. He squeezes his eyes shut. Wants to stay in the warm safety of here and now, with Alfie, in bed, with Alfie’s fingers in his hair. Far away from the coppery smell of blood and the voices echoing between the tiles.

“It’s so easy, Tom, so easy, and then you’ll get to rest.”

“It’ll never be anything more than this. What do you have to offer him? Look at you.”

and he looks and looks until he can’t bear it anymore until it’s all too much and-

“Tommy?” Alfie scratches lightly at the nape of his neck. “You awake?”

He nods, because he needs Alfie to talk, bring him out of the darkness. Like last night.

Alfie keeps stroking his hair.

“You gonna open those pretty eyes and greet the day and your companion any time soon, eh? Nearly lunchtime innit.”

He can hear in his voice that he’s smiling. And he wants to see that, so he opens one eye to peer up at Alfie. Who is indeed smiling down at him. Tommy curls up impossibly closer, as if he could fully melt into him, face pressed into his soft side. Alfie flinches when his nose digs into a ticklish spot and lets out an indignant snort, but then continues petting him with a fond chuckle.

“Just a little kitten, aren’t you, petal? Yeah. Bet you’ll start purring one of these days.”

Tommy ignores the comment and drags in Alfie’s familiar scent into his nose.

“How’re your hands feeling?” Alfie asks. “You in much pain”

“It’s not too bad,” he mutters into his shirt.

With an unconvinced hum, Alfie takes his hand gently and presses his lips against the back, just softly, continuing over his knuckles, up his fingers and down the inside of them, featherlight over his bandaged palm, until he can kiss the inside of his wrist. Which sends a thrill of pleasure up Tommy’s spine.

Then, Alfie leans down and kisses him. It brings out different memories altogether from last night. Alfie kissed him then too. Lifted him up onto a counter and kissed him until his head was swimming. He sinks into that feeling now, happily following where Alfie leads.

The steps approaching outside makes Tommy pull away, but Esther just passes. He looks towards the door, unable to relax. Esther has certainly seen him in more compromising positions. But still---

Taking his chin lightly in hand, Alfie turns him away from the door and smiles again before pressing another kiss against his lips.

When the steps approach a second time, this time accompanied by low humming, Alfie relents.

“How about we pick this up later tonight,” he whispers into the hot air between them. “When we know we won’t be disturbed. And I can take care of you good and proper.”

The words light a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, his chest, and fluttering and fragile as it may be, it’s definitely real. So much so that Tommy finds his lips twitching into a smile as he whispers, “Is that a promise?”

Alfie chuckles, low and dark and the way his eyes light up makes Tommy wish he could find more enticing things to say, anything to keep that expression on his face always.

“Indeed it is, love.”

…

The day passes impossibly slowly. Alfie helps him stick to the usual routine, the firm schedule of eating, walking, resting, doing a crossword or two, followed by the usual afternoon nap. The one Tommy swears he doesn’t need but still always ends up taking sometime in the afternoon, cuddled up against Alfie’s chest in front of the fire as he reads, when the ever present weariness overcomes him.

It’s easy enough to fall into the familiar pattern, even if he can’t stop counting the hours until sundown, for once feeling something other than dread at the thought of going to bed. Everything makes him think of it: Alfie’s hands lingering after he’s helped him with his coat. The soft brushing of lips against his forehead as he dozes off in the afternoon. The firm warmth of an arm around his waist during the walk. Little things that remind him. He clings to those, to keep his head quiet. Tell the voices that no, Alfie doesn’t find him repulsive, Alfie likes touching him, Alfie doesn’t look at him and see something ugly and broken. It helps a little. Even if they’re not silent for long.

…

Despite what happened last night, Alfie lets Tommy take a bath on his own, that evening. Not without fussing first, and not with the door locked. And as Tommy reclines against the cool porcelain, all the anticipation that’s been building throughout the day seems to vibrate through him. Despite the heat of the water he trembles, and he tries to force himself to relax without much success. He glances towards the mirror. Where it used to hang, at least, the empty space above the sink. The bones inside of him seem to poke through his skin, bruising his insides and he can’t find a comfortable position. He wishes he could lay down completely, sink underneath the surface until the water makes him weightless and takes the pressure from his bones, but the mere thought of being under the surface makes his throat constrict in panic. Instead he sits up. Draws his legs towards his chest and stares at his bruised knees. Scratches hard over the place where the bone sits too close to the skin.

Alfie asked, last night, if he’d been trying to hurt himself. More than you already had, that’s what he said. Tommy doesn’t know. If Alfie hadn’t showed up when he did, to shield him from the ghosts and pry away the sharp piece of glass from his hand… he doesn’t know what would’ve happened.

The thought scares him enough to stop scratching at his knee and put his legs back down, hiding the thin trail of blood left by his nail.

Eventually he climbs out of the cooling bathwater. It’s a small mercy, not seeing his reflection. But it’s not enough. And they still remind him, even when he can’t see himself, they tell him, won’t let him forget-

He dries himself off and puts on the large flannel shirt, burying himself in the safe scent and the soft warm fabric. Pulls his underwear on and makes sure the long sleeves on the shirt cover his hands, cover as much of him as possible.

When he emerges from the bathroom on legs that still feel unsteady, Alfie is sat on the bed, glasses in place and with a book on his lap. The scene exudes safety and familiarity. He looks up when the door swings shut. Something dark and hungry seeps into his gaze, and it makes Tommy stop in his tracks, a shiver running down his spine under the intensity. He must be looking like a deer in headlights. Feels like one, at least, frozen and helpless.

“Come here, love,” Alfie says, beckoning him over with an outstretched hand. The hand is unnecessary because the command in his voice is enough to physically pull Tommy towards him. The book lies forgotten on the bed and when he’s close enough, Alfie grabs him by the waist and pulls him down onto his lap and into a kiss. It’s surprisingly gentle at first, but Tommy eagerly parts his lips and soon it becomes deeper, hungrier. Alfie kisses him like no one’s ever kissed him before. So self-assured and firm, taking the lead and making him follow. And he gives into it completely, desperate for more.

In a swift movement, Alfie spins them around, leaving Tommy laid out under him on the mattress, legs around his waist. A surge of heat rushes into the pit of his stomach, making his hips buck up against Alfie’s solid frame. Already gasping and aching for it.

“If you want me to stop or slow down, you just let me know, alright, pet?” Alfie says, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye. “Yeah? Just say the word. Or give me a poke in the shoulder if that’s too difficult. But other than that all you need to do is relax. I’ll take care of you.”

Tommy nods and sinks into the feeling of relief. Alfie’s got this. Alfie knows what he’s doing, even if Tommy himself suddenly feels like a blushing virgin all over again. Alfie flashes him a grin and plants a quick kiss on his nose. “Alright then.”

And take care of him, he does. Begins by kissing him on every inch of bare skin he can reach, the sharp edge of his cheekbone, his temple, trailing his lips down his jaw, stopping right at where his pulse throbs to scratch his teeth gently against the skin. It sends a pleasant shiver down his spine and Alfie must be able to tell because he lingers on the spot, sucking a mark onto the skin before moving further, down to where his collarbones peak above the shirt. His hands meanwhile are stroking down his sides, his hips and thighs, leaving burning trails behind. Lighting a dizzying arousal that collects in the pit of his stomach, burning hot and all consuming.

Tommy’s own hands are buried in the back of Alfie’s shirt. Eventually he works up the courage to tug it up towards his shoulders. Alfie sits back between his legs. Pulls the shirt off and smiles down at Tommy when he reaches out to touch, running his hands down his hairy chest, solid muscle and the swell of his stomach. If he could, he would’ve told him, how beautiful he is, how much he wants him, how much he wants this. Instead he pulls him closer, tries to show him. Needs to have that powerful body fully pressed against him, needs all of him at once-

Alfie is so warm and heavy on top of him when he kisses him again, cock hard and straining against his boxers, pressing against Tommy’s hip. Tommy wraps his arms tight, tight around his chest and just clings to him while Alfie’s tongue laps against the roof of his mouth, entwining with his own, setting the pace. He drinks in the kisses eagerly, desperately wanting more, more- His hips buck, searching for friction any way they can.

When Alfie’s hand finally trails up the inside of his shirt, tension ripples through his muscles like icy water. The hand stops and Alfie raises both eyebrows in a silent question. One Tommy knew would come but still doesn’t know how to respond to.

Alfie’s seen him in less clothes before. But so many of those times he was too far gone to even reflect on it. Now he’s painfully aware of his own body again. And Alfie is right, he doesn’t believe him when he says he’s beautiful. Only thinks of that scrawny figure in the reflection. He hides his face against Alfie’s chest. Alfie strokes his side gently. Each time a finger dips into the hollow spots between the ribs he feels his stomach turns into knots.

How can he let Alfie see, when he knows what he’s become?

“How could anyone want you? Look at you-“

Look at you

Alfie wouldn’t

Look at you

“There must be something you can do?” Lizzie’s voice is sharp and demanding as she speaks to the shadows looming over his bed. “Look at him, he’s wasting away.”

Wasting away locked away forgotten in this room

“The only option is to feed him more often, but-“

They keep talking over him and he wonders if he’s really here at all

“-considering his aversion to it that might have a negative effect on his wellbeing overall, I’m afraid.”

In this room

Where the door is always closed

And no one touches him except the men in the white shirts with their tubes and their cold hands and all the dark figures who try to keep him still and he’s wasting away nothing but a black hole

Cold mud

Pushing the air from his chest filling all the empty crevices-

No one can stand touching him.

“Shh, treacle, ‘s okay.” Alfie’s voice emerges from the chorus of others, whispered against his ear. “You’re beautiful. Let me show you. Let me take care of you”

He desperately tries to ignore the snide remarks that follow Alfie’s softly spoken words, things that echo in his own head, that’s all, not real. This is real, Alfie’s voice, Alfie’s body against his-

Alfie kisses him but he can’t feel it, the scratch of his beard or the soft press of lips against his.

He tears himself away, presses his face into his chest again as he struggles to breathe. Coughs to get the mud out, has to get it out, out pushes harder into the firm surface to find an anchor, it’s cold against his forehead, cold wet dirt and the smell of earth and

blood splitting pain and wetness trickling slowly down his face

splutters and coughs and chokes as bits of mud hack up his throat.

“God, there’s nothing there Tommy! Will you just fucking listen to me?” Lizzie’s fingers can reach all the way around his wrists. “Frances, get in here!”

“Fuck-“ the weight on top of him shifts but he still can’t breathe- “Tommy?”

he struggles uselessly against the hands.

Until they disappear and footsteps echo across the floor, doors slamming, new hands, shushing, dark figures and faces he doesn’t recognize.

The room floods with warm light and Alfie’s face swims into view. He cradles his face, holds it still, but he can’t feel it, can’t feel the heat against his skin-

“It’s alright, sweetheart, breathe with me, in and out- I’ve got you.”

He’s moved, pulled closer, ear pressed against Alfie’s chest, he listens to his breaths, the steady beating of his heart. In and out. In and out, the familiar mantra.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Alfie’s got him, he’s safe. Alfie’s got him, and he’s safe, Alfie- he clings to the words with every stuttering in and exhale, until feeling slowly seeps back into his limbs again, he can feel the warmth of Alfie’s skin, the firm hold of his arms encircling his waist and cradling his head against his chest. He winces when he comes back to himself enough to remember why they’re in bed together.

“I’m s-sorry,” he chokes out. His teeth clatter together so hard that getting any words out at all is a struggle. “I don’t know why- why this is happening,”

“Shh, fuckin’ nonsense that is. Apologizing. Nothing but a bad habit. If you’re not ready, we’ll take it slower. Simple as that, eh?

He grasps desperately at Alfie, shaking fingers against firm muscle.

“No, no, I want to- I-“

“Shh, love, just you focus on breathing and leave the talking to me. Sometimes your head knows it’s wants something but the rest can’t quite keep up,” Alfie says and rocks him slowly in his arms. “The opposite ‘s true too, I reckon. But I’m nothing if not persistent, so I promise we’ll figure it out. Don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout it.”

He presses his nose into the crook of Alfie’s neck and sinks into his embrace.

Alfie begins rubbing his back slowly. The hand moves up along his waist, outside of the shirt this time. He stays in one place. Rubbing warm circles into the skin. Tommy forgets to breathe.

“Relax, pet. ‘s nothing dangerous, this. I’m keeping it right here, see? Does that feel okay?”

The thin barrier the shirt provides helps somewhat. He nods. And as he gets used to the sensation the worst of the terror it caused before fades, at least enough for him to relax.

“There you go. Doing wonderfully, aren’t you?” Alfie moves his hand further down to his waist, caresses all the way to his hipbone and up again. Over and over. “Yeah, you’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just relax. It’s all fine.”

And as the adrenaline seeps out of his veins, his eyelids become heavy. Alfie keeps stroking him, lingering in each spot for a long time. And before he can even feel himself slipping, he’s asleep.

…

For once it’s not a nightmare that wakes him, but Alfie tossing and turning in bed next to him. By now Tommy’s instincts have him reaching for Alfie already in his sleep, so once he drags himself out of it he’s already firmly pressed against him, face buried in the crook of his neck and one arm wrapped around his bare chest. He drags his scent into his nose. Reassures himself that he’s safe. Not alone. Never alone again. And he’s already sinking back into sleep when Alfie lets out a grunt into his hair and presses closer. He’s hard, the outline of his cock pressing into Tommy’s thigh, thick and straining against his boxers. The feeling sends a sharp spike of arousal to the pit of his stomach. He lies frozen, barely daring to breathe. Alfie’s arm is tight around his waist, keeping him firmly pressed against him. His hips roll forward, making Tommy’s heart jump. Heat floods through him, pooling in his groin, and he presses his thigh harder against Alfie, can’t resist. Fuck, he’s so big. It’s a thing he never knew he’d find so arousing: the feeling of a big, hard cock pressing into him. Now, the reaction is so strong it almost frightens him.

Alfie’s arm tightens around his waist and another moan escapes him, hot and raspy against Tommy’s ear. His own cock quickly becomes achingly hard and he swallows down the urge to shove a hand down his shorts and touch himself. Or turn around. Rub himself against Alfie until- oh fuck-

Alfie suddenly jolts awake, unsuccessfully attempting to untangle himself from both the blankets and his own grip around Tommy all at once. He looks blearily around the room before setting his eyes on him, half closed and with a confused crease between his eyebrows.

“Fuck, sorry ‘bout that, love” he slurs. Gestures awkwardly downwards as he relaxes back against the pillows. “Don’t pay any attention to it-“

He clears his throat and once again shifts to pull away. Tommy kisses him. Surges forward and crashes his lips against Alfie’s, clumsy with need, tongues and teeth clashing as Alfie kisses him back with equal fervor. He tugs at the thick arm around his waist and Alfie rolls them over, settling his entire weight on top of him. Tommy spreads his legs, grinds up against him and whimpering at the feeling.

Alfie stills for only a second, but he squeezes his thighs tighter around his hips.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers against his lips and with a growl, Alfie thrusts forward, rubbing his stiff cock against Tommy’s. He moans, open mouthed and desperate against Alfie’s lips.

Then they’re moving frantically together, Alfie’s hands digging into his arse to push him closer, grinding down against him, hard and unforgiving. Pinning him against the mattress with his entire weight. Tommy rolls his hips, heels digging into the backs of Alfie’s thighs, desperately chasing friction and fuck, fuck, he’s so close already- it’s all too much, and not enough, Alfie’s cock, hard and thick under the thin fabric of his boxers, the soft ,heavy press of his stomach, he writhes against the heat and the firm pressure of muscle and flesh, close- so fucking close now-

“Oh, oh Alfie-“ he keens and the release washes over him in sharp waves of pleasure, quick and relentless and absolutely brutal, he’s crying out, voice cracking into sobs and Alfie doesn’t stop moving, chasing his own pleasure against his over sensitized cock.

“Fuck, Tommy-“ he groans into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck, that’s so good, love. Fucking hell-“ his hips push harder and faster until they stutter. He pushes his face into the crock of Tommy’s neck, hands painfully tight around his arse as he comes, shuddering through his release. Then he collapses on top of him, breath hot against his neck.

A warm stillness settles in the room, where only their breaths are heard. Tommy’s head is full of cotton, muffling all the noise, softening it. Eventually Alfie raises himself up on his elbows and lets out a chuckle.

“Fucking hell, love. Not exactly how I’d pictured it, bedding you for the first time. Thought’ I’d be more of a gentleman about it.” He brushes away a sweaty lock of hair from Tommy’s brow and smiles. “But I’ve always believed in doing what comes naturally. I promise to take better care of you in the future. Do it properly.”

Tommy knows he’s blushing and the cotton makes it impossible to come up with any words. Alfie rolls over onto his side to tuck him against his chest. He’s shivering for some reason.

“But perhaps some drowsy, half-asleep rutting was just what we needed, eh? Just to blow off some steam. And can I just say that you make for quite a sight when you- Fuck, sweetheart, you’re shaking.”

Alfie rubs his back and pulls the blankets up higher around him, tucking them around his face and wherever he can reach.

“You alright, love?”

Tommy hums, even if his teeth clatter together and every breath hacks its way up his throat. Because Alfie is here and Alfie holds him and keeps him safe.

And he’s alright. At least in that moment.

#tommy x alfie #breathe again verse #home to you #peaky blinders fanfiction #disordered eating tw #panic attacks tw #hallucinations tw #ptsd tw #self harm tw #I don't even know what to say it's here it's posted #it is what it is

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stages-of-mania · 4 years ago

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Lord Huron Timeline Masterpost

Disclaimer: A lot of this information is speculation and consists of a lot of theories. Feel free to take things with a grain of salt.

Lonesome Dreams:

Setting: 19th century Wild West (some theories suggested could be the Middle East in the mid-20th century)

Characters:

Huron (main character)

Blaquefut (Huron’s best friend)

Helena (Huron’s girlfriend)

nameless Helena’s Ex (we're gonna call him Sonny for convenience)

Story: (I’m sure that most of the songs are in chronological order from the album but a few of them I believe are flashbacks so I had to move them around.)

She lit a fire/one of the best love songs ever written: The story goes earlier in the timeline technically, as it’s flashing back to how Huron met Helena. This is how the pair met. She lit his fire to travel the world or something.

Ends of the earth: early on in Huron and Helena‘s relationship. He wants to travel the world but she doesn’t so they’re kinda like “let’s split up for a bit”

Setting sun/the most mindfucking song (yes this bonus track is played at the end of the song, but hear me out ): Sonny has noticed that Helena has found someone else. They both know that Huron is better for her, but Sonny’s still pissed so he goes full yandere and chases after Huron. This story was put at the end and made “unfinished” because Sonny will always have a vendetta while Huron’s alive.

Time to run: Huron and friends are being chased by Sonny’s goons. Blaqufut gets shot in the head while helping Huron escape.

lonesome dreams: now this is a bit of a stretch, but from this theory, LD is basically purgatory and Huron travels to it to rescue Blaqufut from death.

Ghost on the shore/best song: nothing too significant to the story, it’s just Huron talking about how he misses home/the Great Lakes

I will be back one day: again, nothing much, just Huron reminiscing over Helena in pursuit to find her.

Man who lives forever: again nothing too significant, just Huron not wanting to die.

Brother: this is possibly the aftermath of an altercation between Huron and Blaqufut that they resolve. It pretty much just reaffirms their friendship.

In the wind: this one actually occurs while Huron is still on the run but from Helena’s perspective. It’s basically her reminiscing over him. I think they put this one at the end because it’s spiritually the end of the album, as it discusses how long distances and death can stop love.

Lullaby: Huron finally makes it back to Helena. He’s a complete wreck but Helena’s just happy he’s back

Sidenotes: Lonesome dreams are a collection of stories from Jorge Ranger Johnson, a writer character that Ben made up. Because of this, some of lonesome dreams might not actually be real within the universe of Lord Huron. Or they might be real events and just happened to be written about by an author.

Alternate theories suggest that Setting sun was actually about Huron the entire time and it did take place at the end of the album, causing Helena to find someone else and Huron to becoming a murderer.

One last important thing, because these are stories and might not actually occur within the universe of Lord Huron, it is possible that there is no afterlife, as suggested in later albums.

Strange Trails:

Setting:

1950s, somewhere in America.

George’s: A bar that several characters tend to spend time at (probably in reference to George Ranger Johnson)

Characters:

Frankie Lou: washed up singer who presumably had a failed romance that fucked up bad. Probably an alcoholic. Sings at George’s

Cobb Avery: zombie brought back to life out of vengeance. His family was killed because his boss gave him a piece of land on a sinkhole. leader of the “World Enders” gang. Basically a bunch of terrorists. Kills everyone from the company that sold him the house. Hangs out at George’s

Jonnie: member of the world Enders. Kind of trigger-happy in a thrill seeker. Probably one of the less malicious members of the group. Probably 19.

Buck Vernon: I also think another washed-up singer. What’s important though is that he suffers from hallucinations and is desperately trying to find the girl of his dreams.

Lily: some girl that every guy in town has the hots for. Hangs out at George’s

Jim: Lily's boyfriend. Hangs out at George’s.

Danielle: Young girl. The only child character, I’d say 11-14. Best character. You’re never too young to have an existential crisis.

Justine: not really important, presumably a writer.

Louisa: some random girl (Assuming that this theory is true, she might also be a witch and might’ve started out as an asshole, might also hang out at George’s)

There’s also some other guy but he was part of one song and it wasn’t significant so disregard him.

Story:

Love like ghosts: this is Frankie reminiscing over her failed relationship

When the night ends: Jonnie talking about appreciating the finer things in life while everything’s going to shit

Dead man’s hand/also best song: buck finds Avery presumably dead while wandering the desert. He buries him only to find out that Avery is still alive. Avery says that there’s no afterlife for him and he doesn’t want to go back in the grave. The pair become friends and go their separate ways.

Hurricane: just Johnny talking about living life on the edge

La belle fleur sauvage/the beautiful wildflower: just the lead singer gushing over Lily. The guy singing this only shows up in this song, but it’s just meant to establish that everyone has the hots for Lilly. The song could also be talking about Buck in his pursuit.

Fool for love: Buck goes to George’s to win over Lily, but Jim is already with her. Being delusional, buck tries to take on Jim (in the music video he gets Avery to fight him), he trashed the place and because of this is kicked out. He’s pretty optimistic but after this, he feels kind of defeated. (*Post-Rejection Depression Time*)

World ender: focuses on Avery‘s story. Follows him as he seeks vengeance and kills the people from the company that sold him the shitty house.

Meet me in the Woods: more of Frankie reminiscing over her failed romance

Yawning grave: (OK so this is the first big roadblock in the story, so the character that this song is about is very much left up to interpretation) I assume Avery has kind of calmed down But still intends to pursue the people that have wronged him.

Frozen Pines: (disappointingly) The only song about Danielle. Her parents were abducted by aliens in front of her. She is sort of in denial and refuses to leave where she is in the middle of the forest out of the delusion that they’ll come back. The song ends with her realizing that she has to move on as she attempts to leave the forest. (also, frozen Pines is the name of the motel so it could also just be that maybe Danielle is stuck at a motel which would honestly be kind of funny.)

Cursed/best love song ever written: Buck has found himself a new girl. However, due to previous failed romantic endeavors and hallucinations, he thinks that she’s an asshole trying to put a curse on him. (The song is presumably about Louisa. It’s entirely possible that Louisa was being manipulative but they sort things out)

Way out there: (The most difficult song to figure out) presumably about Avery. I can only best describe it as him having an existential crisis and him missing his dead family.

Louisa: after Buck was tempted to kick bricks, Louisa helped him out and gave him a newfound appreciation for life. Now they’re happy =]

Night we met: last song of Frankie reminiscing over her ex. Also, the lyric video confirms that Buck & Louisa either broke up or she was just a figment of his imagination, so uh, ya. Hopefully you weren't as emotionally invested in these characters as much as I was because that tore me a new one.

Sidenotes: this album definitely had the most interpretations. The biggest issues are the stories of yawning grave and way out there, as I am unsure that it is even about Avery. The real issue tho is the lack of songs about Danielle. Ben Come On!

There are also a couple connections between this album and the next

Vide Noir:

Setting: 1960s. Detroit & Los Angeles.

Background info: A drug called vide noir has recently been legalized. It’s basically just a hallucinogenic that destroys the fabric of reality, good times.

Characters:

Buck Vernon: Christ Ben just can’t seem to give this guy a break.

Lee Green: Buck’s new girl. Probably wants to be an actress or something.

Lady moonbeam: A medium/psychic. I think she’s black but it’s hard to tell because of the lighting.

Cobb Avery: Best Boy Electrician on “Products of the Universe” TV show. (only mentioned in 1 song)

Marsha Tanley & Dale Frander: “Products of the Universe” host; guy selling vide & its derivatives. (not in the songs)

Story:

Lost in time and space: Buck is upset because Lee left. He decides to chase after her nonetheless.

Never ever: Buck's spirits are lifted as he heads out to find Lee.

Ancient names: Buck goes to Lady Moonbeam For advice but she sees into the future and sees that Buck will become a drug addict. He’s in denial but she knows otherwise.

Wait by the river: just Buck talking about how you would do anything for Lee. Also reveals the potential of an altercation between the two of them, presumably the two of them having a fight before she left.

Secret of life: (OK this one’s a little hard, the singer is clearly Buck, but it’s hard to tell if he’s confronting either Lee or lady moonbeam) either way, whoever he is confronting has allegedly made a pact with Avery that will cause something bad to happen to Buck. Because of this, he downs a bottle of fukitol/vide noir.

Back from the edge: the MF dies but comes back (where have we seen that before)

Balancer's eye: Buck runs into God and is denied access to heaven. Either because he wasn’t supposed to die or maybe people who take drugs aren’t allowed in. Or God has really high standards and no one‘s allowed in (again, weird knowing that Blaqufut experienced purgatory and Avery said there’s no heaven at all)

When the night is over: realizing the effect of VN, Buck is becoming worried for Lee that she might overdose if he doesn’t find her soon enough

Moonbeam: Like with Louisa, Buck ran into a girl that saved him from a bad place. Hard to tell if it’s Lee (it likely isn’t because of later in the story) or lady moonbeam.

Vide Noir: Buck talking about the effects of the drug.

Emerald star/The most depressing song ever written: after doing everything he can and fucking dying, Buck finally finds Lee but he is turned down as she would rather be a junkie. It’s also possible that she might die or be dying, judging by the fact that the second half of this song is just instrumental followed by a sudden halt at the end. {Yay, I get to experience “close to you” all over again}

Sidenotes: George ranger Johnson is a spiritual advisor for the show that Avery works on.

The events of the film are claimed to come at the end/after the album.

--------------------------------

All information was aggregated from the albums, interviews with Ben, music videos, articles about the film, Products of the Universe, & whatever else I could scavenge from LH’s YouTube channel.

I’d also like to give a huge thanks to the fanbase for their theories and research. It really helped out a lot piecing this all together. I had a lot of fun discussing this with fellow Wanderers and Enders and really appreciate being a part of this fanbase.

If you have any alternative theories, timelines, etc, be sure to mention them. A huge chunk of this info will probably become obsolete when the film/next album comes along so enjoy this while we can still be optimistic.

Dear Balancer help us.

#lord huron #lonesome dreams #strange trails #vide noir #cobb avery #buck vernon #ben schneider

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seancekitsch · 4 years ago

Text

Strictly Confectional.

a/n: part whatever of the prize buck series, slight spoilers of tua season 2 so you HAVE been warned but like if youve read the comics nbd, smut warnings, klaus being sorta dominant for once, slight sensory deprivation kink, unprotected norty bits (wrap it up folx), canon drug references, rehab references, drug use, cursing, the title of this fic is from a lemon demon song which warrants its own warning, my usual run of the mill warnings etc.

Halloween is a fucking ordeal when you work at an occult shop and date a personified ouija board, and that’s putting it lightly. Even more of an ordeal considering Klaus decides to go cold turkey for the holiday week without warning you. Of course it was easy to figure out what was going on. The his and her’s morning joints you typically had resting on the windowsill became yours and yours joints. He had exactly one beer since last saturday, and halloween was still a day away. It was starting to get a little spooky. Your boss Margie hated Klaus on a regular day, claiming he threw off the vibes her store was supposed to give off. She was a highly superstitious woman and you wouldn't put it past her to actually notice if Klaus agitated any of the spirits that were probably attached to the things you sell. Realistically, Klaus’ presence did in fact stir up the spirits in her store. Lots of victorian era mourning hair bracelets and taxidermy probably made before your birth would do that. He always claimed the store was extremely loud, but still liked to visit you when your boss was running errands because you were there, and he can't help that he gets bored easily. Klaus’ being there never went unnoticed by your boss, even if he was gone by the time she came back. But this whole cold turkey thing was new for him. Even Diego and Ben said he had only tried to do this one other time, and it was during the apocalypse that never happened that you still think might have been a case of mass hallucination. You weren't sure what his reasoning for it was, since he was just sober enough to conjure Ben any time enough for you to see him and speak to him, even if he was a glowing blue apparition that you compared to the Tupac hologram from Coachella that only appeared for a few minutes. This week was a lot of Klaus having the usual headaches and shaking that come with coming off alcohol, but probably heightened because you know the ghosts don't just shut up when he wants them to. He hasn't been sleeping well unless spooned by you and hushed to sleep with the cool beginnings of fall air blowing through the window.

Friday morning you get your first cryptic answer as to what's been going on with him.

“The veil is thinner on Saturday, I want to try something I haven't been able to do since the sixties,” is the only explanation he’ll give as he kisses your fingertips and holds the door open for you at the shop. Of course, it has something to do with the sixties. Normally you wouldn't pay much attention to his family’s antics because you knew something was going on there that probably didn't concern you, the exception being that time he pulled you back to the sixties briefly and you were handed a briefcase meant for an old man before ending up back at home. You still aren't sure how you made it back to your shift at work that day but Margie hasn’t looked at you the same since. She probably thinks you're a freak like your partner. Which, fair.

His answer doesn't give you that much clarification, but it's better than nothing which is usually what he gives you in warning for his ideas. But anything testing the limits of his powers is usually good for the both of you, because it's a testament to growth and confidence just as much as the pieces of furniture you're slowly accumulating. Sure, there are still bad days. There are still terrible days for the both of you. The more he learns to control his abilities and the more furnished your apartment becomes, it's almost more like you're becoming real functioning people and you can consider yourselves part of that human race you've heard so much about.

Your shift at work is… different. Friday is typically a slow day, but the holiday weekend packs your store in a way you can barely keep up with. The quiet baroque music generally wafting through the air is interrupted by quiet “ewwws” and “what is that?”s from people who normally wouldn't be setting foot in a store like this being dragged in by their spookier friends. You've sold hundreds more than you usually would, but the quiet almost holy spell of the place is broken today. At least the day passes quickly with all the sales you make.

You can feel Klaus coming before he even presses his face into the glass window, smushing his lips and cheek into the glass like one of those slugs in an aquarium. Maybe there is something to be said about the veil being thin and all that. When his tongue darts out to join the rest of his face on the cold surface, you giggle, but then begin to wonder if you're getting a taste of what all the ghosts see when he tries to get in contact with them. He pulls back and waves before putting a hand on the door, a silent question of if it's safe to enter. You shake your head no because your boss is in the back room, but he only has to wait ten more minutes.

Those ten minutes pass slower than the entire shift before that. Just knowing he’s outside has you almost itching for his touch. Since when were you so needy that ten minutes felt like torture? Blame it on the fucking veil or whatever. Your hands are clammy by the time you clock out and bid Margie goodbye,while she reminds you to show up at work in costume tomorrow. Only she doesn't know you fully plan to come dressed in one of your partner’s silly superhero outfits from when he was a teenager.

Klaus is all too happy to kiss you open mouthed the second your figure is out of your workplace, and you willingly ignore that it's the same mouth he just smeared all over the side of a storefront because you're all too happy to kiss him back. One thing about his little cold turkey experiment that you’ve been loving is how potent his sex drive has become. His hands grip your hips like a vice as you continue kissing on the short three block walk and up the flight of stairs to your apartment and travel down to your thighs as you fumble with the keys in the dark of the setting sun not facing the only window in the building that faces the front door of your apartment. It's always a testament to your will when he gets like this as there's nothing you'd like better than to just ride him on the steps in front of your door, but there's just something about doing it in the privacy of your apartment that you like better.

But it's seconds before you feel the key sink into the hole and the tell tale click of everything being pushed into place, and the door gives way almost not soon enough for the two of you to clumsily barrel through it. Now Klaus under normal circumstances is a sexual being, but this cold turkey sobriety and focus is new, and makes you feel wanted- maybe loved- in a way you've never felt before in your life. It's not just that he wants to get off, he wants you. He wants to get off with and for you. Specifically you. Which is the sexiest feeling in the world, you've decided.

You barely put your bag down before he's pulling your coat from your shoulders behind you and growling in your ear.

“Now we’re trying something new tonight, okay baby?” you barely get out an affirmative nod before he finishes, “good, just trust me, I've got you in safe hands.”

You let him take the lead as he strips you bare in the middle of the studio apartment, which feels much bigger than usual, maybe because he’s still fully clothed. His movements are greedy, hands sparing no touch on even an inch of your skin, grabbing and caressing as if it was his property, which in a way, you'd be glad to grant him ownership. He takes control of you, your body not moving in any direction he does not will himself.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers as his hands find their way to your chest, and you do. You hear him sigh, and maybe a breath of “that's right” as his hand slides up to touch your face, making sure you listen to directions as well as he wants you to. You can hear him start to breathe a little heavier as he presses his leather clad crotch into your ass. He chuckles as you return the pressure, wiggling your hips a little to entice him, before he spins you around and presses your hand into the buttons that hold his pants up on his bony hips. Your eyes are still closed, that’s good, he thinks as he rewards you with a kiss. Your hands make quick work of the buttons, despite your impaired senses, and he shimmies the pants to his ankles, where his boots prevent them from falling any further.

“Wait a tic- wait, just…” he trails off and falters a little, you notice, before commanding you again, “stand there and touch yourself. I gotta get these boots off but if you open your eyes it'll ruin what I have planned for us.”

You comply and focus on the smells and sounds of the room as you part your legs a little further and trail your fingers down. There's a heady scent in the air from stale weed smoked this morning and the sickening sweetness of the strawberry hookah set out and packed for tonight, which now would probably be left to the wayside, you note, as you feel wetness collect on your fingertips even at first contact. You focus on the sound of his laces as they smack the hardwood floor as your middle finger rubs slow calculated tight circles on your clit. You don't dare pick up the pace or try to touch yourself in earnest at first, unsure of his intentions for the night as a soft sigh of a moan leaves your parted lips. You hear a loud dull thud, and then another. He must be done, you think, as your fingers pick up the speed, just a little, just enough to make you whine at your own actions. And he is, his boots are discarded near the door, but this isn't a view he's going to give up that easily. Its not every day someone is obeying his commands, fucking themselves and whimpering his name uninhibited like this. He smiles as he watches, and you can feel his eyes on you. You wonder what you must look like, shameless, wanton, on display for him. But then you feel a hand wrap around the wrist of the hand that's between your legs and he pulls it away from your body. Then the chill of the fall air hitting your wet fingers, then his wet mouth engulfs them, sucking. The action sending shockwaves up your arm to the joint of your shoulder, the entire arm pliant for him to use as he wishes. This is what being with Klaus does to you. Your body instinctively wants him to use it. Once he's content with licking every drop of you off your fingers, he moves your hand from his mouth to on his shoulders, and surges up to gather you in his arms, yours moving to grab him and stabilize yourself in return. He carries you to what you assume is your bed and settles you on his naked lap, his hard cock finding shelter between your thighs. He kisses you hard and deep, focusing on his tongue greeting yours, then pushing it out of his way as he explores your mouth. You've been so good, keeping your eyes shut for this long, and tells you so as he grinds up, the head of his cock just barely brushing against where you want him most.

His hips rock up and down, up and down, tantalizing and teasing you. Your moans and keens whenever he happens to hit the mark are music to his ears, something he holds so incredibly dear to him. Even with your eyes closed, when he looks up at them he can still see the love behind them. It's an acceptance he’s been struggling to find in modern times, until you. It’s the full trust you give him with your body and mind. He remembers every scrap and detail you’ve given him since he first tucked you into bed that day in the clinic, and hoards it like treasure. The way you’ve slowly opened up to him like dropping a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow, your willingness to work to give him what you can. You’re guarded for a lot of the reasons he’s so open. But you make the choice to be open to him, and he’s thankful. And as he shifts your bodies to thrust inside you, as your mouth falls open into an ‘o’ shape, he decides he wants to take everything you’ll give him, bask in the affection you readily shine on him, as long as you’ll shine on him. Tonight he wants to impress you.

You’re being so good, really so good. You haven’t opened your eyes once, not even to peek. You’ve just held on tight and let Klaus take the lead. It’s kind of kinky; really. Letting him be in control, losing one of your senses, blindly kissing the parts of skin you can reach, which you think is his chest and shoulder. Even as he shifts you, holding your legs now as he shifts the position a little more. It’s not uncomfortable, but never a position you’ve been in before. You can tell by the way your thigh muscles quietly burn that you’re pretzeled up in his lap, with him thrusting deeply up into you.

The way his thrusts hit inside you is delicious, each time he bottoms out earns him another moan falling from your lips against his skin, always vocal for him. This time your moans are uncontrollable, the way he controls the action is undeniably sexy and undeniably the Klaus of it all, the way he can toe the line between gentle and rough, the care he puts into every motion. He makes sure to use his entire body to get you off, and tonight he’s really trying to go above and beyond.

“Okay-“ a moan from deep in his throat, “open your eyes. Don't scream!”

The first thing you see is the blank white smoothness of the wall, specifically where it kisses the ceiling. At just above eye level. Your head has to be, what, inches from the ceiling? and. wait. What?

If you weren’t clinging to him for dear life, you certainly were now. He hisses then groans at the feeling of your nails digging into him, sure to leave shallow little crescent moon marks on the tops of his biceps. The ceilings are tall enough that Klaus can stand on top of it without his head brushing the ceiling, and you were somehow floating right up there.

Immediately Klaus sees the panic that crosses your features and shushes you, comforting, but not unlike how someone tries to calm a child or a pet.

“Hey, look! I haven’t levitated since 1963. I thought it would be a nice surprise, I can stop if you need, we can lay down,” Ever the sweet man, he’s instantly trying to make sure this is okay or if he’s crossed a line. But you shake your head no. Honestly, fucking freaky at first, but then its fucking freaky, and you are down with it. Up with it.

“No, no... I like this. Do your worst.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he leans back, bringing you with him. Now you can sit up, and give your body a little bit more space than he had been giving it before. You figure you could ride him like this and push against the ceiling for support, which actually, was Klaus’ whole idea behind this. Great minds think alike or whatever. So as he keeps thrusting you start to shift your hips back to meet his. It’s weird not having anything below you for leverage for your legs, but maybe if he does this again you can figure something out.

Instead it’s this steady grind, him up, you down. Now its less of an honest to god fuck and more of a writhing midair to make each other come.Instead of his worst like you’d asked, its incredibly intimate in a way you usually aren’t. But that's enough for the both of you. The ceiling does wonders to help your arms press you down into his pelvis, rocking yourself up and down on him while your legs dangled. You were honestly impressed by the way he was able to keep himself so horizontal. Maybe his being trained in combat as a teen gave him core muscles you didn't realize he had. All of these thoughts of muscles are quickly swallowed by Klaus, Klaus, and nothing but the way Klaus was making you feel at this very moment.

If any one would have seen the two of you climax, which happened at the same time for once in the hundreds of times now that you'd fornicated, one would have seen from the top of your window two legs go rigid before two bodies floated down back to where human bodies should be with surprising grace, the owners of those bodies kissing everywhere one each other that they could reach. He kissed your neck, your chest, your face, long strong fingers brushing your hair soothingly as his back hit the mattress. He slides out of you unceremoniously, at which you pout at the loss of him, but only to shift and tuck you into his side as his arms still cradled you close.

“So, as lovely and thrilling as that was, why did the veil or whatever need to be thin for you to do that?”

“Well, it didn’t, but I wanted us to get in the holiday spirit a little more, like that scene in Poltergeist.” He punctuates the sentence with a kiss to your temple as he slides off the bed, and gingerly walks over to the kitchen. He’s turning on the stove, then using tongs to place a coal onto the heat.

“If I torch this for hookah, will you take this bowl with me?” as if everything that just happened was commonplace. An everyday occurrence.

All you can do is nod.

#klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves smut #klaus hargreeves fanfic #my work #prize buck series

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 6 years ago

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Truth Pt. 6

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But… a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, lots of feels, night terrors.

A/N: Yeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh. Here’s a thing. It’s an intense thing. Though intense in a different way than Part 5.

@wonderlandmind4 and I were chatting about vulnerability and honestly, that’s kind of the entire point of this chapter. Because y’all, being vulnerable in front of someone is fucking HARD.

Tags are open!

@midnightdream83 @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @handplucked @buckysstar @sam-jae @marauder--harder @for-the-love-of-the-fandom

[Bucky]

Bucky wakes up drenched in sweat, shaking, throat raw.

“Sargent Barnes?” Jarvis intones in a way Bucky has heard far too many times.

“I’m… I’m good,” he pants not wanting Jarvis to call for back up.

“Sir if you don’t mind me-“

“Not now, Jarvis.” Jesus, even a dick to the computer aren’t you?

Jarvis had good reason for concern. This made five days straight, every night since that mission, he woke up screaming.

He braces his head between his knees, trying to get the tremors to calm. Counting, holding his breath the right way, all the different coping tools his therapist taught him. Sometimes though… you just needed to beat the shit out of something.

He looks at his phone, 2:45 in the morning. It was after midnight when he’d gone to bed so the dream couldn’t have been going on for more than an hour and a half… it felt like a lifetime.

A flash of it plays in his mind: Dancing with Nancy, she was pretty and witty, had real moxie, he’d always liked his women with a little bite. As they danced though she aged in his arms until she was nothing but a wrinkled corpse, a reminder of what he should be now. Then the body morphed into that woman from the facility, skin red and painful to see, the power you so effortless wielded tearing her apart from the inside out. But… It was her eyes… they sparkled like yours. He shudders and bolts for the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

When he looks in the mirror he can’t help but stare. It always felt like the image was wrong somehow like a double exposure of almost the same exact shot so things were just a little off. On the one hand, he looked so much like the pictures in the museums, only a handful of years older, same dark hair, same eyes. He was even getting grey in his beard at the same spot his pa had. On the other, there was a coldness, something not quite human there he thought. Something broken.

Can’t focus on that. He felt like he was about to snap and that was never good. He pulls on some sweat pants and throws his hair up before heading to the elevator.

“Training ground, please.” The elevator moves. Even the AI wasn’t talking to him. Great.

On the way down Bucky tries to get ahold of himself. His right-hand keeps trembling, other images from the dream popping up as soon as he thinks he’s cleared it from his head. That fucking chair. Jarvis was going to suggest an appointment with his therapist, it probably wasn’t a bad idea, not that he thought it would do any good.

The doors slide open and he trudges out, not focused on anything around him. Because of this when he walks into the gym he’s a little taken back by the image of you sitting on the ground, back against the wall, and the meat locker temperature of the place making goosebumps rise on his skin.

He hadn’t seen you at all since the mission. Really, he hadn’t seen much of anyone. Steve hadn’t mentioned you and he was worried that maybe you had been disciplined on his account. He understood why you lashed out at him, they didn’t. But he knew logically that wasn’t how things worked here.

You look up, eyes red-rimmed, sweat glistening on your skin. Even in this state it still takes him a second to get his bearings. You were so striking, beautiful…

There’s a part of him that wishes you were happy to see him so it hurts that the look you cast is venomous. Which is stupid, you have every right to hate the sight of him after the way he behaved.

Your tone says it all when you rasp, “Of fucking course. Almost 100 stories and here you are.”

“Nice to see you too.” Even if it was deserved he’s not in the mood. “You done fucking up every punching bag we have,” he gestures to the pile of busted ones in the corner, “or do you plan on leaving some for the other kids to play with?” Can you not be civil for one second?! He inwardly berates himself.

“Have at it,” you say standing. He notes the way your body shakes. “Not like it’s helping me any.”

As you pass him he grabs your right arm gently, metal flexing around your wrist, “Wait,” he says softly needing to make amends.

White streaks of light pulse up your arm for an instant. “Let go of me, Barnes,” you growl. It feels like a slap.

“So I’m Barnes again?” For a second you shoot daggers at him and he thinks you’re going to snipe back. Instead, you sigh and look at the floor, seeming to wilt as you let the breath out. He releases you.

Slowly you lift your gaze to meet his. Your eyes are glassy, brimming with tears, and so very haunted. “Sorry,” you croak out and his chest constricts. He watches you, your eyes shift suddenly every few seconds as if to track something that’s clearly not there. Damn.

“What’re you seeing?” He asks softly. This was something his therapist had suggested when he first got to the tower and was crashing with Steve. If he was in a flashback talk it out.

You shudder and focus on a point beyond him, “Han… handlers.” These were a very specific breed of Hydra agent trained to keep their assets, in line. They were the ones with their little red books and ‘magic’ words. This could be very bad.

“Are they giving you orders?” A flashback could include auditory hallucinations. His had at the beginning, they almost wiped him, it was horrific. You purse your lips and shake your head no. “That’s good.”

Pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes you let out a low scream and thud to the ground. You bury your face in your knees and for an instant, you pulse, one solid light all over despite your attempts to freeze the power down. Shit. This is bad.

“I just want them to go away. I need it to go away. I just want to fucking sleep.” You’re rocking back and forth, a low keening coming from you. He had thought he was about to snap earlier. You were already fraying.

“Y/N,” he crouches in front of you, worried that if he touches you it will set you off and that would be… well a promise, the only one he made you, broken in a little over a week. You could level this building. “Look at me.”

When your eyes meet his, your pupils are blown out, adrenaline pumping hard through your system. He needs to bring you down but he needs to know how far gone you are.

“How long have you been without sleep?”

“I… I… slept with you. I mean…”

He smiles a little, “Yeah. I know what you mean. And since?” Your eyes shift, invisible enemies moving behind him. “Eyes on me,” he says firmly.

It takes effort, he can tell, but you move them to his. “It’s… I…” You pause thinking, “I mean here and there… bits. Not all since…” Another tremor rocks you, you don’t pulse but the tendrils of light on your skin glow bright. “They’re always… there.” Something like a sob comes from you, you cover your mouth reeling in any further expressions. He aches for you.

“Who’s there?”

You look at him, expression begging for understanding, “All. Of. Them.” He does understand. Your eyes clench shut. The nightmares are everywhere for you so it doesn’t matter if your eyes are open or not. “Her,” you manage, voice cracking.

“Me too,” he whispers. Your eyes open, little sparks there just around the pupil.

Your mouth opens and closes as if you can’t find the words. Finally, “She… she was like me… and I…”

“Saved my dumb ass is what you did.” Bucky offers you a smile. He doesn’t know if this will comfort you but he feels he should say it, “And saved her from more suffering.”

You scoff, “How fucked is it when you can’t tell the difference between murder and kindness…”

He just stares at you. Unable to formulate a suitable response. Because the real answer was that sometimes… there wasn’t a difference.

Suddenly you lean forward and grab his hand, he flinches a bit, worried about your stability. Your gaze is steady for the first time though, “Promise me something… please… please, Bucky…” You’re… begging.

He gives your hand a squeeze, “Anything.” He means this. Anything you asked of him he would do.

“Don’t let me become that again…” His brows knit. “I’d rather be dead than theirs ever again. Please…”

He stares into your eyes, for an instant they’re the woman’s from the facility, dead, dark, the feeling of his fingers closing them forever. He shudders, unsure if he could do the same to you.

“Bucky promise me…” your tone is desperate and your skin begins to lift to that solid glow.

It’s reckless, he knows this, but his body moves of its own volition taking your face gently in his hands. His eyes burn with tears that he won’t let fall and he kisses your lips softly, you press back into the kiss to his surprise, and his heart lifts a touch. He pulls back looking at you, still cradling your face. Your eyes are wide, the dark circles under them making them all the more haunted, screaming for his answer, but you aren’t glowing and that was good.

“I will never let them take you, Y/N… ever. I swear that to you.” He hopes you don’t call him out on his wording. While he means this, has possibly never meant something so fully in his long life, he won’t kill you to keep you from them. Burn every bit of Hydra from the face of the planet? Now that was a different story.

[Reader]

You swallow hard. The sincerity in his voice and his steady stare calms a part of the storm raging in you. In place of the swirl of fear, dread, and panic however you begin to feel how much your whole body hurts.

It’s as though every hair follicle aches, muscles throb from being constantly tense, head pounding from exhaustion, your skin raw on the inside from the power ceaselessly pulsing within you, and that makes you think of her all over again… You feel like you’re going to be sick. Bile rises in your throat, you force it down pulling away.

Reluctantly he lets your face go. You lean to the side, hands flat on the floor, staring at the concrete, and heave a little, trying to ground yourself here and not lose what little dignity you had left at this moment. His right-hand lights gently on your back, the touch sending not unpleasant shivers through you.

“It’s ok,” he says softly, “let it out if you have to. I’m sure as shit not going to judge.” You snort out something like a laugh.

He sighs, “When’s the last time you ate?” All you can manage is a shrug. Yesterday, maybe was the answer. You weren’t trying since nothing stayed down long.

“Ok, look at me, doll.” Doll. He’d called you that the night you were together… you kind of liked it. You do as he asks, turning to him slowly but remaining slumped over.

The fingers of his right-hand stroke the hollow of your cheek. “Is there… someone you… talk to. A-”

“Shrink?” You cut him off.

“Yeah,” he says. You don’t have the energy to explain you’d seen her twice since but here you were. Instead, you just nod. “I assume you’ve,” you nod again. He sits cross-legged, “Doesn’t always do much for me either…” It wasn’t her fault you think. She just hadn’t been equipped to deal with the level of fucked you brought to the table.

He rubs his right hand over his eyes, almost as sunken as your own. That mission did a number on him too, hence why he was here.

“I’m sorry,” you say, righting yourself carefully, to maintain your delicate equilibrium.

“For what?” Bucky’s face knits in confusion.

“You’re dealing with your own shit, you didn’t need me to come and dump mine on you too…” You were sure you could find room to tuck this guilt in with the other menagerie of painful emotions inside you.

“You didn’t dump,” he shakes his head, “I asked. And… like I said… you saved my life… hell, theirs too.” His gaze is intense, “We both know you did even if no one else does. I think that allows for just a little dumping.”

All you can manage, once again, is a shrug. You knew you’d saved him. He’d be dead in the bottom of a crater had you not turned back. A wave of exhaustion hits you and you sway a bit closing your burning eyes. This was sort of like being drunk, you think, only far less fun.

You feel his right-hand slip around your left, “Will you let me return the favor?” Opening your eyes, you stare at him, unsure of his meaning for a second. Oh.

It was true you could go longer than the average human without sleep or much sustenance but you were still for all accounts and purposes a human, you had limits, ones you were coming dangerously close to.

Part of you wants to ask how he intends to return it, wanting to know if its a kindness you can tolerate. Instead, some other part of you nods yes. Agreeing without consulting your greater whole to let someone in.

“Come on then,” he stands, extending his left hand. You take it and pull yourself up, relying on its seeming immovability. Still, you tilt precariously, having moved a bit too fast for your body which was now barreling toward a full shut down.

Without word or warning, he slips his right arm behind your knees and lifts your unresisting frame into his arms. You bury your face in his chest, so past caring, breathing in the smell of him, and grasping his shirt with your fist.

“I’ve got you now,” he whispers as he steps into the elevator. “You’re safe.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #the winter solider x reader

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matthewsmithfangirl · 3 years ago

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Long Way Down - Jason Reynolds

We’re going to start this one off with subtraction:

09:09:09 – 09:08:02 =

[(60 x 9) + 9] – [(60 x 8) + 2) =

549 – 482 =

67 seconds =

1 minute 7 seconds

Okay, cool.

This book is essentially divided into two halves. Pages 1-70, which are expository, provide the backstory for the second half, as well as the events leading up to our protagonist, Will, getting into the elevator of his apartment building with the goal to avenge the death of his brother. Pages 70-306 are set entirely on the elevator ride, and these—

306 – 70 = 236

--two hundred thirty-six pages tell a story of something which is happening over a span of one minute and seven seconds. I want to use this space to talk about how Jason Reynolds makes use of time, and how this helps create the structure of Long Way Down.

This novel is written in first person past tense, which aligns with the first page, which sets up the novel as if Will is telling the story directly to the reader. The events described in the first, expository section consist of memories Will is recalling about his childhood and family life, for the most part. The story does not necessarily start following Will’s actions until right before he gets onto the elevator—this is before the time is denoted, but these pages consist of him acquiring Shawn’s gun and walking to the elevator.

Seldom is the length of the elevator ride directly mentioned in text. It is, for the most part, left up to the reader to notice the time stamps above the poems. Nevertheless, an example of Will’s awareness of this can be found on page 96, as he wonders, “what’s taking / this stupid / thing so long?”. Buck replies, telling him, “it’s a long / way / down” (hey, that’s the name of the book), which seems to imply that ghosts are aware that ghost-time is different than regular time.

Okay, so why do we care about ghost-time, or a minute long elevator ride?

1. Poetry goes really fast—the combination of writing a book of poetry and slowing down time within the work allows Reynolds to play with the passage of time, while also using this to enhance the story he’s telling.

2. Emphasizing that it was “all a dream”.

Some of these poems are extremely short. For example, page 224 contains only the words, “and that’s when it happened. / He pulled the gun / from my waistband. / And put it to my head”, and this isn’t even the shortest of the poems. I could go into why writing this story as poetry was a great idea (it’s more conversational! More musical! More emphasis on each word, or how stanzas are formatted! No space wasted on unnecessary descriptors!), but that would be a whole different topic. In regards to pacing, it essentially just makes the real-world time spent reading the novel much shorter. This is juxtaposed to the flow of time in Will’s world, which is technically just over a minute.

Not only is this a fun, experimental way to mess with the reader, but it also seems to reflect the panic that Will is experiencing throughout the elevator ride. I have anxiety, so maybe it’s just a me-thing, but when I am anxious about something it certainly feels like time is slowing down—the wait to present a PowerPoint in class feels like an eternity. Though most readers will not have experienced the decision that Will is trying to make on the elevator, the feeling of panic and anxiety is universal, and slowing down time aids in conveying Will’s fears to the reader.

This change in passage of time also helps to separate Will’s experiences with the ghosts from the earlier pages of Will’s experiences without the ghosts. It is up to the reader’s interpretation as to whether the ghosts are real, as Will tells the reader on the first page, or that they are simply a manifestation/personification of his indecision (or, that he’s hallucinating—I don’t know, the reader can decide). No matter what the reader’s interpretation is, the slowing of time creates a dreamlike atmosphere for this section of the book. Even if the ghosts are all in Will’s imagination, it is undeniable that the conversations he has with them would have taken more than a minute and seven seconds, and thus more stuff is happening in this section than would be able to happen in real-time.

I interpret this as Will parsing out his thoughts. He is separating what he thinks each of these characters would advise him to do, because he is scared, and he seems to want, more than anything, to be told exactly what to do. Should he follow the Rules, even though it is dangerous? Is Riggs the right person to kill? Does Shawn even want to be avenged?

Since no living person can answer these questions for Will, the things he wants to hear are all laid out in front of him in his mind. But, of course, they aren’t even the things he wants to hear—they aren’t direct answers, they aren’t unbiased. This is because he does not know the answers, and there isn’t really any kind of black and white solution to the problem anyway. The problem Will faces stems from hundreds of years of political and social injustice, and there isn’t an easy answer—and it certainly can’t be solved in sixty-seven seconds (or 236 pages).

I give this book 8 out of 10 young adult vibes.

#yalit #ya literature #ya #bookreviews

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kittenears11 · 7 years ago

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stuff for me

Faceless (serial murderer, paranoid, quirk: No face, hole for a face, pocket dimension) The pale woman felt around inside the dark hole where her face should be, tugging things out. "That's not it...nope...nope...no-aw jeeze!" She tugged out a handgun and winced as it went off. "When did I put this in here?! Where is my knife??"

The faceless woman sat on the edge of the roof, playing with a barber's razor. "These are my friends...see how they glisten?" She raised it to the moon light. "See this one shine? How he smiles...in the light! My friend...my faithful friend..." she held it close, sighing happily. "Speak to me friend...whisper..." she held it to her ear. "I'll listen..." she nodded. "I know, I know! You've been locked out of sight all these years...like me my friend!"

Puff (Student, quirk: Pufferfish, looks like a puffer fish and can inflate cheeks)

Bitch (villain, media calls her miss canine, quirk: Wild mutt, sharp claws and teeth) The filthy, matted haired girl sat in the gutter, jingling her handcuffs as she punched at the pavement, carving her knuckles open. Her scarred face had been forced into a dog's muzzle and someone had filled it with peanut butter to keep her from tugging her way out of it. "This isn't gonna placate Bitch forever! The second Bitch gets out Bitch's gonna...Bitch's gonna...numnumnumnum...Bitch likes peanut bubbers"

The pale woman moved silently as she walked, her heels, which should have been making a soft 'click, click, click' each time they hit the floor, failed to so as she walked up behind him and sniffed at his neck. "...Thirsty"

The filthy, matted haired woman sat in front of the door, screeching loudly.

Kismet (Pro hero, addicted to her quirk, quirk: illusion, conjures smoke that causes hallucinations) The lingerie wearing hero sat on a park bench, crossed one leg over the other and sighed heavily. She raised her hands and allowed a black smoke to seep out of her skin, it settled for a moment before inhaling it, her eyes fluttering shut and her head falling back, a moan of ecstasy leaving her plump lips. "Oooh~ That's good..."

The pale hairless creature peered at them from the corner, bulbous black eyes shining hungrily.

Humming Bird (Student, aspiring singer quirk: Mocking Bird, can copy voices and voice quirks) Humming bird sat in the cafeteria, singing along to the music that left her headphones as she ignored the tray of food beside her. "The boys who kiss and bite, they are the brilliant ones, who speak and write with silver luck." She tapped her pencil against the blank sheet of paper in front of her, lacking inspiration at the moment. "They sing in clever tongues, oh, how my knees go weak to be the one, she kicks and bucks!"

Humming bird sat in the cafeteria, singing along to the music that left her headphones as she ignored the tray of food beside her. "I deserve to be alright...I deserve to sleep at night." She tapped her pencil against the blank sheet of paper in front of her, lacking inspiration at the moment. "I'm my closest friend, I remind myself again, better treat her well cause she's with me to the end..."

The young woman sat atop a pile of junk, her dull green eyes staring down at them. "Circus Monster does't like strangers." The floor started to shake as the junk pile rustled and slowly rose, taking the shape of a large lion made of junk. It roared, voice like radio static.

A Stone Pebblit The small rock monster waddled about, trying to find a soft patch of dirt to burrow into and pretend.

the single horned, pig looking woman sat in front of a fire, watching a hunk of meat roast on a spit. "....Meats"

The Red Queen (Villain, quirk: Off With Her Head, can dismember herself easily) The nude, crowned woman stood in front of them, a gleeful smile on her lips. "Do what you will to me, peasant, I assure you I've done far worse" With a sharp tug, she tore her arm from it's socket, blood shooting from the wound before she shoved it back in like nothing happened.

The nude, crowned woman stood in front of them, a gleeful smile on her lips. "Do what you will to me, peasant, I assure you I've done far worse" With a sharp tug, she tore her head off her shoulders, cackling happily as it floated in place.

"You wouldn't hit a woman!" the vainly dressed woman cried. "Especially not if she'd fall to pieces over it!" her head dropped off and started to laugh once it hit the ground.

http://www.shamchat.com/e5b6345b/

Princess (Student, brat, quirk: Demon, the angrier she gets the more demonic she becomes) Princess was new in school, having been dropped in after her parents had finally been caught and jailed. Her parents were villains This spoke volumes as to why she was so quick to anger and why her quirk was so...violent. This usually meant other students kept out of her way, but sometimes that was hard to do, especially during the rush to class. Princess took up most of the space in the corridor, twice the size she usually was and a deep red in color. "PRINCESS DOES NOT LIKE BEING SHOVED!" She starts pushing kids out of the way, slamming them against lockers.

The spider legged girl froze in the hallway, staring at them with large terrified eyes. "..." she starts running up the wall. "DON'T CRUSH"

The small vain creature buzzed around his head, giving his hair an irritating tug every few seconds.

The small tree-like creature waddled out from under a bed. "...Mr Hero didn't...didn't find me....yahaha" it began to cry.

The small tree baby waddled about, tripping every few steps. "Ya ha ha!" It grabbed their leg. "Me found you!"

The creature, which was most certainly NOT a student who learnt how to become an animagus, held a book in its mouth, waving it about happily.

The humanoid equine peered out of the forest, her green eyes bright and curious. "...Human boys..."

The woman sat still, watching her humanoid stand coil its fingers around her hand, closing up the gashes she'd managed to give herself while breaking in to the hotel room. "Next time we're paying, or getting that DIO fuck to pay, honestly..."

The limping horsewoman stumbled into view and paused, her tail swishing side to side. "...."

(let me know if you're reading?) The seventh year Hufflepuff tapped her wand irritatingly against the rim of her empty cauldron with one hand while the other played with her tangled brown hair, curling it around her fingers. Despite being in N.E.W.T level potions and being rather good at them, some would say a prodigy, before seeing her like this and retracting that statement, it was incredibly difficult to get Emily Bolsey interested in class when she wasn't in the mood. A wide variety of things ruined her desire to participate in class, such as, what they were learning, how cold the dungeons were that day and even the amount of sleep she managed to get the night before. Currently, she wasn't in the mood and opted to annoy her classmates and teacher as a way to protest the boring lesson, the cold dungeon and the fact that the girls she shared a dormitory with had cats that wouldn't be quiet at night. Her murky green eyes stared off into space, leaving her unaware of the death glares being sent her way, not only by the teacher, but by the other students as well. (OC: Emily Bolsey, muggleborn, 5ft, husky figured, 5th year hufflepuff. Has ASD, gifted in potions but hates doing the work as she isn't fond of being told what to do or doing things she believes to be beneath her skill level. Often hunts down magical pests to test her homemade potions on, leaving her hands covered in injuries. Preferred character would be Snape, if that's okay.)

(let me know if you're reading?) "Mr Filch." Spoke a soft voice behind him. The light of the caretakers lantern revealed the chubby form of a hufflepuff girl in a white nightie, ready for sleep but not in her bed. During the night, Emily Bolsey crept out of her dormitory with one mission in mind, find the schools caretaker and ask him a question. "You're a squib, aren't you?" it was inappropriate, she had no right to know and if the caretaker got his way she'd probably end up chained to a wall by her thumbs as punishment, but she had to ask. There was ample clues to this being true, his lack of a wand, he uses muggle means to clean a castle this large and the way he detests every student, clearly because they can do the thing he can't... She sort of understood where he was coming from, being muggle born, when her magic surfaced it acted like a pair of scissors, cutting the link she had with her parents and friends, she wasn't like them, she was never going to be like them...knowing that hurt a great deal. (OC: Emily Bolsey, muggleborn, 5ft, husky figured, 5th year hufflepuff. Has ASD, gifted in potions but hates doing the work as she isn't fond of being told what to do or doing things she believes to be beneath her skill level. Often hunts down magical pests to test her homemade potions on, leaving her hands covered in injuries. Preferred character would be filch, if that's okay.)

(let me know if you're reading?) The quiet hufflepuff sat in the hufflepuff common room, warming herself by the fire as she read the heart shaped note for the hundredth time. It wasn't often when Emily got notes, especially not ones as nice as this, and never under her pillow in the middle of the night and it now left her contemplating on who it was that gave her the love note, most likely another hufflepuff...unless it was a ghost? but they can't touch things, how would they be able to write a note like this, let alone place it under her pillow? Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar cackle, the noise high pitched and grating, followed by a few handfuls of notes being dumped on her, all of them covered in insults written in the same cursive as the love note. Her lips tugged into a scowl. "Peeves!" her aggravated screech was simply met with more laughter. (OC: Emily Bolsey, muggleborn, 5ft, husky figured, 5th year hufflepuff. Has ASD, gifted in potions but hates doing the work as she isn't fond of being told what to do or doing things she believes to be beneath her skill level. Often hunts down magical pests to test her homemade potions on, leaving her hands covered in injuries. Preferred character would be Peeves, if that's okay.)

(let me know if you're reading?) The hufflepuff rapped her knuckles against the door of the ground keeper's hut, she was having some difficulty with the homework he assigned, due to the fact that her school book refused to function as it should, she didn't know what to do about it and she didn't want to risk her fingers any more then she already had. Her knocking became more frantic as her Monster book of Monsters threatened to chew its way out of the sack she jammed it in. With her knocking, a scab on her knuckle opened up and began to seep red, making her wince and drop her hand. "Professor! I know you're home, I can hear Fang!" As if on cue the boar hound let out a loud bark. (OC: Emily Bolsey, muggleborn, 5ft, husky figured, 5th year hufflepuff. Has ASD, gifted in potions but hates doing the work as she isn't fond of being told what to do or doing things she believes to be beneath her skill level. Often hunts down magical pests to test her homemade potions on, leaving her hands covered in injuries. SRP is fine, and preferred character would be Hagrid, if that's okay.)

The horse woman laid on the floor, her front leg twisted awkwardly. "Now I must lay here and get body sores and pneumonia..."

She sat in the hallway, blowing into the instrument. "I found this on the floor!" Floot "It was kinda dirty" Floot "I picked it up!" Floot "And I blew into it!" FLOOOOOT.

Succubus (villain, always puking, quirk: Sick up line, contact with her vomit controls minds) The slug-like woman laid in her bathtub in a tiled room, the previously white room stained yellow from age and stomach fluids. She was constantly surrounded by her yellowish bile and spent her time shoveling food into her mouth. Her daily routine was interrupted by the door opening. "Who are /you/?"

Morning light seeped in through the thin motel curtains, somewhat illuminating the dingy room the pair spent the night in. With a groan the chubby woman beside him sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What the fuck...?"

A high pitched scream is heard as she falls out of the sky and lands. "...GOD DAMN IT!" she sat up, perfectly fine.

"So like, then he wanted me to touch his dink" she laid down on the couch, painting her nails with a red liquid that had a coppery smell. "And I was all 'lol okay' and then the fucker says i'm doing it wrong, like, what the fuck?"

Floating through the sewer was what looked like a bloated corpse, but if you dared to look closer you would see the opening and closing of gills and the careful swaying of a strong, garbage covered tail. She was covered in smaller tails, all of which belonged to her boyfriends, who bit into her, dissolved their faces and became little more than glorified testicles.

Akemi sat in her wheel chair, staring out the window as she played with her pachimari plush, tugging on a poorly stitched together tentacle.

The crunching of bone and the tearing of flesh echo through the cave as the spider-like being tore through the crotch of a dead woman, hungrily munching on the flesh as it made its way to the womb and its pedipalps clasped around the head of the deceased infant and tore it out, its jagged teeth ready to tear into it before light at the mouth of its cave caught its attention and made it drop the carcass. "Who there? Need help with birth? Can help!"

#writing #my writings

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