#this bitch is making me almost as suicidal as my mother! i may as well work for my fuckin mother. fuck this place

[anotherpapercut]

i think in order to become a manager of anything you should be required to take a test that determines if you will take small innocuous situations and conversations and blow them up into a huge thing simply because you fancy yourself some type of all seeing all knowing god who has never and could never be wrong about anything

[blueflipflops]

Another incorrect quotes for my OC as Aizen fic before I post the final chapter!

Part 1

...

Aizen & Shinji @ each other: Asshole cat behavior🫵

....

Gin, about Aizen: Remember when he was mad at you and served you an assortment of funeral food?

Shinji: Yeah that was highly petty.

...

Random Rukon citizen: May Soumu-sama protect you, traveller!

Aizen, THE 'Soumu-sama', in disguise: let's fucking hope he does :)

...

Aizen @ a Division Meeting: —and if you have any suggestions, anything at all, please feel free to put them in the suggestion box!

Momo: Aizen thats a trash can.

Aizen: Sure is!

Shinji: No no he might be onto somethin-

...

Aizen: I can explain.

Shinji: Can you?

Aizen: If you give me 30 seconds to think of a lie—

...

*Division 5 Trio, doing paperwork and drinking sake at Shinji's office*

Aizen, suddenly: just once in my life I want to get up without experiencing the seven stages of grief.

Shinji: There are only five stages.

Momo: We're here for yo—

Gin, sneaked in to eat snacks: whats the extra two stages?

Aizen: Denial 2 and Astral Projection.

...

Shinji: *traps a spider under a cup*

Aizen: *appears and sets down two more identical cups *

Shinji: no wait–

Aizen: *starts shuffling the cups*

Shinji: NO

...

Aizen: Lying is not just a hobby. Its a national sport and I'm in the olympics with Kisuke and Shinji, the other two-faced bitches in this town.

...

Shinji: who? Sousuke? He's not evil. He just has a shitty personality. Which is almost the same.

...

Aizen, giving advice to his juniors: if you guys are ever thinking of suicide, don't do it. The Soul King doesn't want you to. The Soul King wants to kill you himself in his own special way

...

*In Canon Meets AU*

AU!Fifth Division, hearing about Evil!Canon!Aizen: Oh soul king… its the nicotine withdrawals isn't it? Its worse than we thought…

...

Shinji: Keep this shit up and I'll confiscate your cigarettes.

Aizen: *gasp* You wouldn't.

Shinji: Go ahead. Try me.

...

Aizen @ Canon! Shinji threatening to kill him: Huh… that was kinda… hot…

Shinji: what?

Aizen: Nothing

Canon!Shinji: what?

Aizen, full on blushing: NOTHING! LEAVE ME ALONE!!

...

Aizen: I think I would've thrived working and making one of those escape rooms thing

Aizen: that or I'd get too into my role that I'd get arrested for actual kidnapping and murder.

Aizen: ah. Well. That is, if I get caught. :)

...

Shinji: Remember that time when you planned an elaborate mystery game for the Fifth for 'Division Team Building Weekend'?

Aizen: Yes. It was painful to watch them miss simple clues and riddles. They've been doing this job for who knows how long, the least they could do is improve their observational skills.

...

Aizen: Do you mind if I light a smoke inside?

Shinji: Yes, I do mind.

Aizen: Shame... *lighting up a cig anyway*

...

Aizen: I could be so much worse. For example, I could start acting like my mother.

Shinji: Literally, the more I learn about yer mother the more concerned I get.

...

It's me boy, im the ao3 inside your brain. Go read my Bleach fic, boy

[cultofdixon]

Life or Death, Dixon

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • She/Her Pronouns • Youngest Dixon Sister!Reader • It’s always these messy arguments that lead them into messy situations…let’s just hope neither of them have to die for it • ANGST/SFW • TW: Arguments / Gun Violence / Suicidal Tendencies Mentioned / Injuries / Violence / Scar

Requested by: Anon

“Are you seriously still mad at me? It wasn’t just me!”

“Yeah a grieving mother and a fucking ex-tyrant. The perfect team with little miss flight risk”

“I’m your fucking sister and you talk to me like that?!”

“Merle called you way worse!” Daryl snaps as he couldn’t believe he agreed to go on a run with his sister when he hasn’t completely wrapped his head around everything that had happened. The end of the Whispers war and the Reapers.

“At least I didn’t sleep with a fucking pyromaniac’s bitch”

“Hey!” He shoved Y/N to have her get the idea she went too far. But she wasn’t done.

“Seriously. You’re going to be mad about risking my life to save our fucking family when you rolled over on your back for a woman you fucked once in a cabin in the middle of nowhere just to get “inside it all” only for her and her own bitch to escape Maggie’s revenge. They’ve killed a good chunk of her people, Daryl!”

Daryl quickly whipped toward his sister dropping his crossbow and grabbing her by the jacket.

“At least Henry never my goddamn fucking sight long enough for him to get killed” He did it. He needed the last word and the last nerve wasn’t just struck but burned causing Y/N to instantly force him off storming off.

Then what happened next was a blur. Which led them here…

Bounded to wooden chairs and Daryl was the first to wake feeling his mouth was duct taped shut. If only he had duct tape during this risky trips with his bike, it is an easy fix type tool. But that didn’t matter in the moment as he tried to get a better look of his surroundings.

The place wasn’t familiar and once he understood that he quickly glance to his sister noticing the blood pooling from her temple. He didn’t know how long she’s been like such and the panic started to pool inside of him as he tried to make any form of noise to get his sister to react.

But it got someone with a familiar, enraged tone to emerge from the shadows showing the injured Reaper Brandon that had it out for the archer when his idiotic fallen group took him in.

“You weren’t easy to settle down. She definitely was” He laughs lightly as he with all his force kicked the chair she was bounded to watching her quickly sit up.

Y/N had a cut dangerously close to her left eye and it was swollen shut with that side of her face bruised as well. She had to be “put down” in order to be tied up. One can only imagine what they did to Daryl. She didn’t say anything when she rose her head given the pain and she thought if she tried to protest that the gun in the man’s hand would be used on them.

“You pinned my brothers and sister against each other back at our home. Killed big man and that bitch that got away really should’ve been in what…this your sister right?” Brandon grabbed her shoulders from behind her seat watching Daryl tense. “In her place. But you know…pinning siblings on one another make for better entertainment”

Daryl couldn’t say anything but with the way his expression almost always matched his emotions. At least in a way only another Dixon can read. Y/N turned her head toward the man she didn’t know when he rounded back toward her brother.

“What do you want with us? Your family’s gone”

“Yeah…so I need one of you to be” Brandon drops the gun he held onto the table in front of them watching them flinch at first. “There’s one bullet. I think you understand the rules if you’ve lived long enough”

Russian Roulette.

“You know he’ll just aim it at himself” Y/N scoffs spitting a bit of blood onto the table causing the worry and anxiety to build even higher inside her older brother. “Too selfless…”

“Yeah, but I heard y’all’s little squabble in the woods…he may still do what you say. But what are you going to do?” He smirks pushing the gun toward Y/N and taking out his knife threatening to kill Daryl if she didn’t pick it up. But once she did he didn’t retract knowing she would aim at him if he wasn’t going to keep a short leash on the situation.

“Judith gave yea Rick’s gun?”

“Until she’s ready”

“You know how to shoot a colt?”

“I think I can handle a revolver” Y/N laughs holstering it. “We are the only ones besides Negan that have used anything other than a gun. Thought she’d trust you with it more than me”

“You know Rick liked yea. It would’ve been you or Michonne holding that. Both of y’all’s mains not being a gun”

“Michonne is badass with a katana. I’m just a wannabe track and field star with an old javelin”

“So what I’m hearing is you want me to teach you how to use it”

I wish you didn’t Y/N frowns holding the gun in her hand watching Brandon grab her brother by the hair forcing his head back and bringing his knife to his jugular if she didn’t take aim.

The second she aimed it at Daryl, Brandon backed off knowing she was pissed about their argument and finally putting a permanent end to such.

“Life or death, Dixon”

“I choose life, Merle” Y/N rolls her eyes at her eldest brother as they were on the roof he was currently chained on. She decided not to leave him as she watched the vehicles that got the others out flee the city to their camp.

“You chose death here, pumpkin. By staying with me while the walkers flood the building and gain a sense that there’s fresh meat on the roof. You’ve always risked your life”

“For my family.”

“So what are you going to do”

Choose my family. Y/N gripped the handle on the gun, clicking it to load or not load the bullet and right as her finger rested on the trigger.

The two froze watching her quickly aim it to her temple and Daryl fought against the restraints while Brandon stood a bit in shock that she would do such even from what her brother said that he didn’t entirely understand.

Then the gun fired

A thud met the floor

And silence grew in the room causing Daryl to hyperventilate filling the emptiness as he had shut his eyes when he heard the gun fire not wanting to open them.

“You seriously think you’re going to end up alone?” Carol accused Daryl after he had told her about this Leah woman. “As much as not everybody finds a romantic soulmate. There are platonic ones out there”

“I’ve been accused by Y/N that Rick was mine. So I really am gonna end up alone”

“Seriously? Did you forget about the other name in that sentence? Let alone forget that I’m right fucking here?” Carol laughed at such receiving a confused look from her friend. “You still have a family, Daryl. And as much as the world pushed both Dixons into the earth to show them a piece of its mind…Y/N ain’t going anywhere. It will take a real nuclear ending for her to say goodbye to her life. She’s never leaving you, Daryl Dixon”

She’s your blood Daryl felt tears spring in his eyes as his body flinched to the couch of a comforting hand that when he opened his eyes he was met with Rosita’s worry filled expression.

“Aaron told us about his crazy experience being…sort of kidnapped. When you and Y/N didn’t come back when you did…we had to make sure you were alright” She states carefully taking the duct tape off as Daryl quickly whipped his attention to his sister getting cut out of her restraints by Aaron while she also set the gun she held on the table.

The gun was freshly fired. But her end wasn’t met.

Rosita had taken out Brandon and that was the gun fire that out sounded the fire that Y/N triggered. But again, her luck in russian roulette was there this time around.

“You need help standing?” Aaron asked as Y/N shook her head giving out a soft ‘thank you though’ when he went to check their surroundings outside.

The moment Y/N rose to her feet, Daryl brought himself over taking her into his arms caging her a bit. She kept herself cemented at first trying to keep up her front when Daryl has already cracked after what happened. It wasn’t until Rosita gave her a look that led her to give the Dixon siblings a moment of privacy as Y/N sobbed softly the second she left and latched onto her brother.

“You could’ve died…” Daryl stated as the group started their journey back to Alexandria. Y/N just shrugged at him. “Seriously?”

“What? If it was Merle, I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot his bitchass.”

“‘M just glad yea didn’t eat a bullet” Daryl wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she opened the barrel and started laughing like an idiot.

“Bro I would’ve met fucking Merle in hell” Y/N showed him the next shot was the bullet as Daryl instantly swiped the weapon from her. “Hey! Imma need that”

“Nah stick to your sharpened stick shit. Shouldn’t have trusted yea with drugs when you were six. Ain’t trusting yea with a gun now”

“I didn’t take the drugs!”

“Whatever”

[siennablaze219]

@daily-writing-challenge - May 2024 - Day 6 - Confidence

TW: suicide

Art Appreciation

Orialeyne received an invitation to the gallery of Vixyanna Ana’diel, sometimes it was good to be the only daughter of House Daywhisper. The very, very, gracious woman reached out to her cousin, Zubrette Goldensorrow, of course that had nothing to do with the fact that Zub’s uncle Landannis was a very exclusive evening wear designer who always enjoyed dressing his niece and Ori whenever they went anywhere together.

Ebony hair trailed over Ori’s paper white shoulder as she relaxed onto a forest green velvet loveseat in her drawing room and reached out to her cousin, “Hey Zubs! I have an invitation to that gallery showing coming up, want to go with me?”

You could hear the smile on the other woman over her comm device, “I actually got one posted to the house as well, we can meet you there.”

Ori grinned and draped her feet over the end of the loveseat she was on, shifting so her head was partially hanging off the seat, “Oooh do I finally get to meet this hunka burning Dracthyr of yours Zu-brat.”

“Not if you keep talking about him like that and most definitely not if you call me that in front of him! Meet me at Uncle Landannis’ shop next week, I used that old ruby and diamond necklace set you brought me to work up a design with Uncle Dannis that you will love. I am still so amazed that you have so much jewelry from your great great aunt that you want repurposed. Guess it keeps me busy when I am not on campaign though.”

Orialeyne stretched her fingers out looking at the holographic nail polish she just had done at the salon, “How you ever got your short stack self hired on to stand behind a shield and fight whatever threat our world faces day to day is beyond me. I have seen you, you can barely see over your shield.”

“Bitch, please, you know I draw attention like no one in Azeroth except you. Now shut up and let me get back to work. Dannis has five orders for dresses for women going to this art showing and he wants jeweled collars for two of them. Some days I miss doing my twisted wire designs.” Zubrette sighed dramatically.

“They didn’t pay nearly as well as he does for you to make the bobbles he attaches to his gowns. You should just retire and stay in Silvermoon full time again.” There was a hint of pleading in Ori’s voice.

Zubrette snorted, “And be that close to mother? Nooo thank you. Can you imagine the fit she is going to have when she finds out I am dating a Dracthyr?”

“I want to be there when you tell her. It will have to be three times as entertaining as when she heard about your Illidari friend and you weren’t even banging him, which is a shame as that man was sin personified.” Ori teased.

The paladin replied almost sharply, “A fact his new Kaldorei boyfriend agrees with I am sure. Anyway, I have to work, we can’t all lay around our houses all day.”

The rich young woman sat up in the loveseat again, “Sorry sweetie, you are both happier this way. I know you two still love one another, but you can’t change what you can’t change.”

“Yep yep! See you next week.”

When they went to the boutique Landanis was an absolute joy to work with, as usual. He and Zubrette had collaborated together and mixed the tiny woman’s jewelry making skills with his design to create an exquisite gown in black. It was studded with red gems that started sparse but then covered the entirety of the bottom of the skirt. The piece Zubrette had made for her was a silver and red jeweled harness worn beneath ithe gown that accented the weight of Ori’s full breasts.A perfect pair of red shoes, a beautiful updo and Ori was ready to meet her cousin and this new man of hers at the show.

Later in the Gallery…

The beautiful dilettante walked through the exhibit, usually she expected attention to be focused on her when she walked through a space, but this time Ori was transfixed by the art to even notice if she turned a stranger’s, or an acquaintance's, head at all. Each and every piece was beautiful, she had purchased two of the pieces and was considering a third for the house she and her cousins lived when the other two weren’t gallivanting off to Fel knew where. Art was a good investment and she tended to replace it every year or two because she got bored of looking at the same things all the time.

A glass of rose champagne dangled between two fingers while she listened to the magical violinist play. The green eyed woman moved at her own pace, ignoring the flow of the crowd around her. While she found it nice to have people to go to these things with, Ori never really needed anyone else to feel comfortable. She was an exceptionally confident person, some might say too confident, who had been attending large social events with her family, and sometimes on her own, since she was a young child.

“Orialeyne!” A voice as warm as a single malt scotch cried out and she turned to see a white blonde in a bright pink dress waving at her from a group of about six other women. Ori stood her ground and they moved to her, all smiling and chatting amongst themselves. Sylensria Cy’alaeth dipped her head to brush Ori’s cheek with a barely there kiss that would not smudge her lipstick. “Can you believe all this? It is so dark…”

Ori looked back up at the painting she was considering adding to her collection and said, “I think they are hauntingly beautiful.”

Sylen placed a hand on the curvy woman’s shoulder, “Oh yes, of course it is beautiful, of course. I heard that Vaerenssa bought a piece from the artist, she said the showings are amazing but the after party is where it is at.”

One of the other women chuckled, “I always love attending for that alone. Well worth dropping the right word here and there to get invited. Speaking of the right people to get invited, how did your cousin manage to get in? Riding your coattails again? We saw her with this devastatingly handsome Dracthyr.”

“Her House was sent an invitation,” Ori said with a look that said she cared little about the other woman’s question. “I have not seen her here yet, but I knew she was bringing her boyfriend.”

“Oh yes,” the woman, Loraldina Hajirina-Lightfame, commented, “that is why she got invited. Her uncle never wants to attend these things and see his fashions sparkle in the light he creates them for.”

Taking a sip of her champagne with a small smirk, “Yes well, that sparkle comes from Zubrette’s shop now, she works almost exclusively making pieces for his gowns.”

Loraldina smiled haughtily, “A shop, yes, well I suppose she has to do what work she can with the disgrace and all. Last I heard they almost had to sell the estate because they were so poor. The sweet child, it must have been so tragic for her, losing her money and losing her brothers too, they were all so gorgeous, what a waste.” That smile was turned on another woman in the group, “Your aunt Eaamaie was married to the oldest brother, Estian, isn’t that right? It must have been awful having found him after the tragedy.”

“Ohhh,speaking of tragedies.” Sylen said and leaned into the group pretending to speak quietly, just a bunch of good friends gossiping as women do, “did you hear that the Emberring estate got robbed during their luncheon last week?”

Yes, that’s right make the transition right from Ori’s cousin committing suicide over losing his family’s fortune because he was trying to keep his wife ‘in a manner in which she had become accustomed to’ then the other brothers following Kael’thas to their deaths.

A towering redhead with freckles sprinkled across her nose and her chest, Ji’alothixne ‘Jinxie’, chimed in, “I bet it is that same daring thief that has been sneaking into places during parties and stealing all the jewelry. That makes six this year already, and at least twenty-five in the past two. Who knows how many before that.”

“Well, I know I am hiring extra security for my welcome to summer ball next week. Can’t take too many chances these days,” Loraldina said then looked to Ori, “Oh please tell me you’ll come.”

Ori took in the ropes of diamonds looped around the woman’s neck and smiled in a cat that swallowed the canary impersonation, “Oh I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

@vixannya

[randombush3]

No Longer A Lonely Person

florence pugh x reader

summary: you overcome one of the biggest obstacles in your relationship

words: 5412 (god, it’s long)

warnings: talks of suicide, divorce, and drug usage (barely), and very underage smoking

notes: first of all, this was never supposed to be that long, and it was inspired by multiple different songs. the ending was never planned, it may be messy.

french translations will be really difficult as i’ve written it as slang/spoken french. common ones as “chais pas” = idk, “c’est trop la honte” = it’s embarrassing, “chérie” = darling, “ché” = i know. Type them into google translate or feel free to ask. PFW just means Paris Fashion Week.

also, mathilde and fleur are half sisters of anyone was wondering.

“I don’t want her to be my mother.” You almost choke on your wine. “Maman, j’suis sérieuse. She’s loud and happy and I can’t have a mother who all my friends want to hook-up with! C’est trop la honte.” She’s red enough thinking about it, let alone actually telling you.

“Qu’est-ce que «hook-up»?” The innocence of four-year-old Mathilde isn’t kept long, as Fleur launches into an explanation and you focus on swallowing both what she said and your drink. Once the torture of hearing your daughter explain it has ended, Tilly looks at you incredolously with her mouth hanging open and her half-chewed broccoli threatening to leap out. “Tu fais cette?”

“Non, chérie. Fleur is being silly.” Fleur is not being silly. You’ve been hooking up with Florence Pugh for quite a while now, and the eldest of the two is yet to meet her. (She refused to acknowledge you were in a committed relationship when you told her two years ago on FaceTime during lockdown, so you left it.)

“Of course. When Maman and her are screaming at night it’s just them playing a fucking game.”

“Stop it,” you tell her firmly. “She’s coming over in an hour and I want you to be well-behaved or not here. I’m not having you be an arsehole to a woman you won’t meet.”

“I have met her!”

“Fashion shows don’t count.”

You met Florence at Paris Fashion Week in 2020, where she complained about being at the designer’s show because apparently she’s a bitch. Flo’s first words to you were ‘God, the French really are judgemental’. And then she heard your accent. And recognised your face. It was a two-in-one slap of realisation because you were the designer and you are French.

When the girls got stuck with your ex in Dubai (he has term-time custody and they spend holidays with you), Florence was there to offer comfort and companionship and a smaller but cosier flat in London with her. So there you stayed, only returning to Paris in June to prepare for PFW and your exclusive, annual Versailles show. It ends the week. It’s one of the coolest things you do.

Half an hour later, when Tilly has successfully convinced you that Flo will love her pirate costume, Fleur taps you on the shoulder. It’s the first you’ve seen of her since she slunk off to her room, gossiping with one of her practically identical friends. You turn with exasperation and tiredness. She scrunches her nose.

“You’re not going to replace me as your plus one next week, right?” Next week is Cara’s party. There’s no reason for it, but you suppose there doesn’t need to be — it’s Cara. Fleur is adored by all of them, and you trust that she’s in safe hands if it all goes to shit (Bella is a motherly drunk), so you enjoy lying back on whatever boat she’s chosen and sunbathing. You’re only thirty.

The genuine uncertainty makes you regret being harsh earlier. “I’m pretty sure I’m your plus one, babe. Flo is only staying for the weekend, anyway; she’s going to visit her family now that filming has wrapped.”

“I really want to meet her sister.” Teenagers and TikTok go hand in hand. Your publicist has begged Fleur to teach you to use it, but you’ve decided that your brand is doing okay despite you not having your own personal account, and that being the butt of your daughter’s jokes is enough for publicity. “She, like, followed me while I was at Dad’s but I think she unfollowed ‘cause she wasn’t sure. This is why I need to be verified, Maman.” You roll your eyes.

“If you decide to be a nepobaby then go for it. Until you actually do something, shut up. You haven’t earned it.” She mumbles something about Lila Moss. You laugh. “I knew your father spoiled you rotten but I didn’t realise it was to this extent.” Karma for marrying a businessman. The relationship ended the minute he brought up moving to a ‘more profitable’ place. Your girls living in bloody Dubai in a closed community with a maid and a driver and a butler 24/7 is only acceptable because Tilly’s most favourite parks ever are in Hackney and Brownsville. Balance is key.

“Dad only spoils us because he feels bad that he made you realise you’re gay.” Oh god.

“One, you know that I’ve dated women before, and two, what led you to that conclusion? Your biological father is the only man I’ve ever slept with who reminded me I liked women.”

“That’s why you don’t have sex at fifteen.”

“Putain, t’es vraiment une conasse.” She’s ruthless. Poor Florence is going to have her ego bruised the moment she walks in. Which is now. Because she has her own keys. Because you love her and kind of want to marry her. But Fleur doesn’t know any of that.

So she jumps when Florence says hello. You can tell your girlfriend is terrified of the flared jeans clad, highly intimidating fourteen-year-old, but she’s pulling it off with a welcoming smile that hopefully says ‘please just let me sleep with your mum in peace’. You think she really communicates her point to be honest. You also think Fleur is going to fuck with her as much as she can.

You’re right — you know your daughter very well.

“Bonjour, Florence. Tu parles français?” she asks with faux innocence dripping from her daggered gaze. For reassurance, Flo has looked at you. She is saved by a hyper toddler in the aforementioned pirate costume (something that’s frequently appears on vogue’s website when her more famous ‘aunties’ babysit), who immediately demands to be held and kissed and hugged. You catch the ‘mummy’ in the conversation and pray Fleur isn’t attentive enough for that. “Ah, t’es anglaise.”

- - -

The wine goes down very quickly once Tilly crashes and it’s just you three. It feels like you’re sitting in the middle of the Olympic staring event final, where they are both contending for twenty billion gallons of liquid luck from Harry Potter. You shuffle under the tension.

You debate asking if they want refills, and decide not to out of fear. They both look scary.

“So,” Fleur breaks the silence, slicing down on it with a cold tone of utter dismissal. “You’re an actress. Pretty unstable income.” Suppressing your laughter becomes extremely difficult.

“Your mum’s a designer. That’s hardly better.”

“My dad owns a few businesses though.” With a smile, she adds, “Balance.” So far you’ve been insulted and compared to your ex husband, but at least they are saying words.

“I’ve met your father. A few is an understatement,” Flo replies, recounting that awkward dinner in which his parents had invited you. Your ex’s parents are thankful for their only grandchildren and treat you like a daughter they failed to have (they do have one, ironically). Though not uncommon, their invite a few months ago was a surprise mainly for the fact that Florence’s name was also written in the card. “He’s a nice guy.”

“Yes,” you agree carefully. Are you allowed to speak? Who knows. “If I leave to check on Mathilde, will the two of you murder each other?” As you stand up, Flo does too.

“I can go,” she says. Tilly can’t escape the apartment when Flo is over, unlike her sister who fucks off to god knows where, and so she is used to this odd extra parent-who-isn’t-a-parent.

Once Florence leaves, you turn to your daughter. She looks pissed off. “What the fuck was that?” She shrugs, swiping the deep maroon velvet of the sofa up and down into little doodles. “You didn’t even try. You could have tried.” To beg her to be nice would be a waste of time and energy; the world is already struggling with carbon dioxide emissions without you starting a rant. But you did want her to try, and she has upset you for doing exactly the opposite.

“She’s iffy.”

“How?!”

Fleur raises her eyebrows, shifting her weight from side to side. Doing so makes the leather sofa creak from its many years of service. It has moved from Porte de la Chapelle to your penthouse in the eighth arrondissement where supermodels hang out casually. Fleur doesn’t remember being three and living in one room, and though you sometimes regret hiding that part of her life when she spurts obnoxious bullshit, you are glad that she can’t. You are glad that the only life she has ever known is that of chauffeurs and Emirates first class and galas. Not many little girls have mothers who FaceTime them from the Met Gala every year.

“Don’t you think you’re a bit out of her league?” You’re flattered. “She’s talented, but so are you. You’re amazing, Maman.”

“I think Florence is amazing,” you say quietly. Your daughter’s cynicism catches on her lips.

“Tu l’aimes.”

It’s true. You do love her. You have loved her for a while now, possibly since you sat and she sat and the universe decided you’d be next to each other. She seems to calm the persistent storm in you that grows every so often. Sometimes the storm takes over, but Florence has found a way to love you when your face is blank and you can’t will yourself to move. You know that you love her because you have loved two others before her. You know that she is special because this love is different.

Fleur’s face becomes hard to read, but her brows are furrowed and her foot taps: she is thinking. You grew up together, you are her friend. Her closest friend. Fleur’s hero will always be you, she will always dedicate school projects to you, she will always choose you. Right now it feels like you’re not choosing her. Like you want more than her company. Because how can your daughter give you the love and care that you give to her?

She gets up and slots herself between the edge of the armchair and you. Absent-mindedly, you run your fingers through her hair. In its shine, you catch a glimpse of her father, the man you slept with far too soon. He was set to become a doctor. He had aimed for Oxford. You didn’t want to tell him you were pregnant, but when you did he offered to give that up. It’s heartbreaking to force someone not to love you anymore. He didn’t take it well; he couldn’t bear to tell his parents what he’d done, and he found himself struggling to deal with his conflicted emotions. He must’ve been sixteen when he killed himself, and Fleur must’ve only just been born. You wouldn’t have been happy together anyway, but being just you two in a big world full of parties of twenty seemed incredibly daunting. It got less scary over time.

When you met Tilly’s dad, Fleur would have been nine. He was on track to inherit a company from his recently deceased father, and you were suddenly a very popular designer. Your work was wanted on every runway, and he was wanted by every woman at every event you ran into each other at. His fondness for you stemmed from his love for Fleur, whom he met when he ploughed through her on his morning jog. She kicked him hard in the shin. You began to love him from that moment onwards, and enjoyed being a family. A proper family. Mathilde was the first of the four of you to be born into a healthy, functional family. She was smart enough to realise when it had ended that differences are as ugly as they are beautiful. He wanted to move to Dubai permanently, not just going there and coming back every so often. Your life had been in Paris since you were sixteen. You refused to go, but the courts ruled in the favour of his scarily stable income. It was alright, though. Without that, you wouldn’t have met Florence.

Memories slip through the soft strands of her hair. You can’t remember the last time you’d not been able to read her expression. Fleur makes a promise to herself that she will not fuck it up because she loves you and you love Florence. She tries to never break her promises. You taught her that much.

“If I loved her, would it be so bad?”

Maybe it won’t and Fleur can regain the family she once lost and secretly wishes she hadn’t. She’s grown up enough to understand that staying in a loveless marriage is never worth it, and that falling out of love can be as natural as its opposite. If she can smoke and drink and go to parties that last until the early hours of the morning, she should be able to accept that her mother will sleep with other people and move on. But it’s different because she can tell you and Florence are different. She can tell that you are going to last, and that is a terrifying thought. Like you said when Tilly was born, love creates more space, it doesn’t replace what was already there, and so maybe she can deal with possibly finding herself with another adult who cares and listens to her problems. If she really hates her, it’s not like she has to see her all the time.

Having processed this all in one second while formulating her answer, Fleur mumbles, “chais pas. I want you to be happy, does she make you happy?”

Flo watches you from the doorway of Tilly’s room, hating herself for spying but not being able to pull away. “Very,” you answer quite quickly. Florence admires the way you talk to your daughter, the way you handle pleasing everybody but doing what’s best for you.

She clears her throat so that you see her. Fleur hasn’t stiffened: you count that as progress. Progress is good. You can relax a bit now.

- - -

It’s close to two in the morning when Flo pulls on some pyjama bottoms and slides open the door to your balcony. Naturally, you’d ended your night with long overdue sex and a conversation about how well meeting Fleur went. When you fell asleep, she found herself tossing and turning. She concludes after an hour of thought that what she really needs is a cigarette. You keep a pack in your bedside drawer, beside a sketchbook that’s there if you dream of sewing and it actually looks good. She takes it and kisses your sleeping forehead.

The night is clear and warmer than England (even if there’s currently a heat wave). Your balcony overlooks Parc Monceau and so she watches the late-night walkers find ways to sneak in. She leans over the metal rails, letting her head drop to her folded arms, tensing when the metal is colder on her forehead than expected.

“Need a light?“ She hastily searches for the source of the question, wondering if she’s begun to hallucinate. With a flick of a light switch she’d forgotten was there, Fleur’s smirk appears, much like her mother’s. Fleur eyes the pack of cigarettes and pulls out her own from her hoodie pocket, extending the open pack to the woman with surprising generosity. Flo takes one, sinking to the floor beside the teenager. They sit with their backs against the wall, facing forwards.

Fleur tosses her lighter, Flo catches it. “Why are you up so late?” she asks, not bothering to berate her for owning any of the things she just displayed at such a young age. You probably know, she figures.

“In Dubai it’s too hot to go out with your friends during the day unless you stay inside, so we sneak out at night. Here, Maman has a rule that I have to spend four nights at home and can spend the remaining three wherever I want.” Flo nods. “Within reason, of course. If Bella is here I’ll stay with her.”

“Bella Hadid?” When she confirms, Flo wonders if Raffie will find out and complain that Flo’s famous friends suck. She lights both of your cigarettes. “You want to be a model?” She thinks Fleur could be.

“No, it is not my thing. I don’t know what I want to do.”

“Don’t be an actress,” Flo jokes, exhaling and watching the smoke softly billow in the light breeze. “I’ve got no privacy, night shoots exist, and doing press with people you don’t like is bullshit.”

“I’ve watched my mum scream at the paparazzi in stilettos while holding Tilly, all because they took one stupid picture of me.”

“She’s very passionate, your mother.” While Fleur cringes, Flo chuckles. “I think you’re doing a great job of pretending not to hate my guts.”

“You’re not even that bad.” It could have been worse. “I don’t like that you’re British and that my friends want to sleep with you. You could try learning French to fix the first one, and the second one is just a downside to being the daughter of a fashion designer.”

“Je ne parle pas français.” Fleur finds this funny, and giggles endlessly, leaving Flo bright red and feeling self-conscious.

“Tu parles d'autres langues? Español? Deutsch? العربية?” Flo shakes her head, says she almost failed Spanish GCSE, and seriously questions her intelligence. “I can speak French, Arabic, and English fluently, so I’m taking Spanish for GCSE. It’s like Arabic.”

“Your English is really good. You sound American though.”

“No I do not.”

“Yeah, you do.” It’s technically an International accent. “How long have you spoken English?”

“Since I was five, when I started to watch a lot of Peppa Pig.”

“Of course you watched Peppa Pig,” comments Flo. “You give off those vibes.”

“That’s a compliment.” You will never forgive your daughter for playing it on repeat. Tilly is only allowed to watch the same programme twice in a day because of the trauma. “Then when Maman began to become really sought after, I had all these models surrounding me constantly, teaching me their language. Cara Delevingne taught me how to swear in English, Gigi Hadid explained the immediate future. Bella just read me stories. Lots and lots of stories. And in turn Bella can now translate the Little Prince into French, Cara learnt how to flirt like we do, and Gigi understands du, de la, and des.”

There’s a missing model in the supermodel bunch, Flo notices. “What about Kendall? I thought your mum was close with her.”

“We would just have staring contests. I’m undefeated, actually.” Fleur’s pride radiates off her, making her warmer to be around now. “But my dad taught me the most.” You’ve explained to your girlfriend how close your ex and Fleur are. “He can speak seven languages. He taught me Arabic, and he taught me formal English. The only thing I could teach him was how to understand Baby French when Tilly was born.”

“You’re very sophisticated.” Florence can’t imagine how cool they’d find her in England. “Does everyone smoke or is it just you?”

“I don’t do it that much, I just saw you go out here.”

Oh. Florence doesn’t quite know if she’s about to murdered or accepted. She hopes it is very much the latter.

“For some inane reason, my mother loves you. And she asked me to not be a little bitch about it — which I suppose I have maybe been slightly. Ever so slightly.” Fleur gags. “She looks like she wants to marry you. The sheer thought is mortifying, but, I don’t know, I’m trying to be nice.” Before Florence can say something (thanking her, telling her off, who knows?), Fleur says, “You’re not even that bad. It’s just that she’s my mum and she’s my best friend, not in the way that your mum claims to be but in an actual, proper best-friend-way, because we grew up together and she used to only have me. I used to be her only person, but now she has Dad and Tilly and… you. There’s this awful feeling in my gut that she’s going to stop being that to me because you’re here. And then I feel enormously guilty and selfish because I know that you make her elated in a disgusting way and that you were there for her when I couldn’t be, and you’re also only, like, ten years older than me, which makes me feel a bit weird because it’s like those stereotypical stepmothers where the dad is fifty and she’s twenty, but then I remember that Maman is only fucking thirty and that I basically ruined her life, because did you know that my biological father fucking killed himself? He wanted to drop out and help my mum, but he also wanted to have the career he dreamed of. He was so fucking conflicted that he slit his wrists in his parents’ bathtub. Because of me, he’s dead, and I don’t remember him at all.”

How does Florence respond to all of that? Your daughter has just unloaded the most heartbreaking story onto her as an explanation of why she is so hated, all while having a smoke together. Florence thinks carefully about her phrasing. She knows teenagers aren’t dumb, and Fleur is clearly intelligent on top of that.

“I don’t want to be your mother,” she states.

With a scoff, Fleur replies, “thanks,” and taps the ash off the end of her cigarette.

“No, not like that.” Her free hand drums quietly on the dirty floor, a common beat she uses to steady her heart rate. “I wasn’t ready to have kids when I met your mum, and I don’t think I am now, but you’re like this bonus that comes with loving her. Tilly never fails to make me smile, and you don’t understand how much I’ve enjoyed this conversation with you. I love Y/n, and she loves you guys. I’d like to marry her too.” Flo finds that wanting kids of her own and having pre-made kids intertwines into a win-win situation, because Mathilde calls her ‘Mummy’ and she can have a smoke with a fourteen-year-old and not feel irresponsible. “I’m not trying to be a third prison warden.”

“Don’t say you’re trying to be my friend or something.”

“If I were dating someone with a cat, I wouldn’t suddenly view myself as the cat’s owner. I’d build up a relationship with the pet until there was a mutual respect, maybe even love, formed. Same thing for children.”

“I’m a… cat?” Fleur raises her eyebrows, not that Flo can see the subtler expressions in the darkness of the badly-lit street. “I see what you mean, but we hardly know each other.”

“That’s fixable.”

“Also, no one actually knows you and my mother are dating. Are you even out?” Are you even out? (Yeah, but it’s not common knowledge.)

Florence and you talked about that before her flight took off. They will know tomorrow at noon when you will be spotted at a café near the park. You suggested a kiss might just send the message loud and clear, but Flo wants the girls to come and the thought of being intimate with you in front of Fleur’s judgemental gaze makes her shudder. Leaving the details vague in some areas, Flo informs your daughter of the publicist-approved plan. Fleur is already judging it.

After a few more drags of her cigarette, she huffs an agreement, says she’ll cooperate, and makes Flo genuinely smile for the first time since meeting her.

- - -

The daylight is woven into the half-open blinds of the master bedroom intricately and purposefully; a quiet but firm call to wake up. You groan, aching from your tiring evening, and turn over only to find that Florence isn’t there. She should be there, you think. You pat the side of your bed just in case she has become strangely invisible during the night. When your hand hits the mattress, you frown, eyebrows furrowing.

Getting up, you slip into fluffy socks because the floor isn’t very clean at the moment. It always takes a week or so to adjust to the messiness of the girls being back at home.

You knock on Fleur’s door three times. “Coucou, Fleur, tu te lèves.” There’s rustling from inside. She’s always been quite good at getting up, so she opens her door with a moody grunt and flops into your hug very quickly. “Nous sortons, nous tous.”

“Ché, Maman. Florence a dit.” You don’t know when they could have spoken. “Nous parlions. Elle est allée chercher une table à la boulangerie.”

It is slightly suspicious that she knows. “D’accord…” You notice her panda eyes and sigh. “Quand t’as dormi? T’as l’air épuisé, mon dieu.” She smells of cigarettes too. There’s no way she went out during the night — she would’ve told you. “Et oú est Mathilde?” You usually find her with her sister in the mornings.

“Tilly has gone with Florence to the bakery, Mother.” Her sudden shortness with you is confusing, to say the least. “Et last night Florence and I had a smoke on the balcony together.” Cara promised that the pack of cigarettes was in her possession. You now have a bone to pick with a certain model.

“Did you talk?” Maybe they bonded.

She shrugs. “Yeah.” Her room is a mess now that she’s stepped back and you can see it properly. Her suitcase is half unpacked, and there seems to be a large amount of new clothes her father bought her for summer. It’s totally not like one of the most sought-after high fashion brands is owned by her mother or anything. It’s not like she was the living mannequin for the children’s line.

“Do you need help unpacking?” You offer it because she lacks motivation in lots of areas. You video call her teachers for parents evening.

“I’ll get Tills to do it,” she waves you off with a smirk. “After you and your girlfriend pull your stunt I’m going to Bella’s hotel. She blocked out her day to give me therapy.”

“You need therapy?” More therapy, would actually be correct.

“I heard you and Florence fucking last night.” You consider gaslighting her to keep some dignity. “J’pense que j’resterai à l’hôtel de Bella ce soir, oui? It’ll benefit us both.”

Her offer is calculated; crafted precisely to benefit you both while spiting your somehow. “Only if you take your sister as well,” you say, enjoying the slight falter in her smirk as she finds most of her fun ruined. “And you can’t drink until Cara’s party to give your poor liver a break.”

“Fine,” she concedes, pushing lightly on your chest to get you out. “Weed is still on the table though?” Nice try.

She gets ready dutifully, leaving your home in a mini dress that she keeps in Paris because it’s definitely not acceptable in Dubai and your Chanel sunglasses. You don’t ask how she found them when they stay well-hidden in your room. Instead, you are thankful she’s not putting up a fight by wearing something totally outrageous.

It’s hot outside and a nice day, so the sunglasses dim the world for you both as you take your usual route to your usual café. You walk straight through Parc Monceau to get there, meaning Fleur already sees a friend and gets distracted. She stops for a brief conversation, from which you gather she is now invited to a birthday party on the behalf of Teddy.

“Is Teddy a girl or a boy?”

Fleur scoffs, picking up the pace once she sees the maroon of the café’s sign through the trees. “Teddy is non-binary, Maman. You’re supposed to be woke.” Right. It’s hard to keep up sometimes. “They live in our building, so I’ll go round for an hour or so later.”

“Don’t you need to get them a present?”

“I’ll get Florence to collect me.”

So Teddy’s one of those friends… Flo’s ego will inflate to the size of a hot air balloon when she finds a bunch of teenagers throwing themselves at her. She does love a bit of attention.

Quickly, you spot Tilly’s head outside in the sun, bobbing up and down as she undoubtedly stands and crouches over and over again by the table. It’s a stupid game called ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ that results in lots of sore heads after banging them on a table. Flo looks relieved that you’re finally here.

She gets up so that Fleur can take her seat, immediately grabbing your hand. Decidedly, you hug her, sticking your finger up at the teenager rolling her eyes across from you.

“Who dressed Tilly?” asks Fleur, eyeing the white playsuit she’s wearing. It’s not yet stained.

“I did,” Florence says, sitting next to you, hand on your thigh. “She insisted on wearing white.” She probably just wanted to wear it because you designed it. It’s a literal prototype used to see how it fits, but the white makes her feel trusted so she begged to keep it. The final product has a few tweaks in sizing for a more generic cut, but you like that hers is made to fit her properly. If you had time you’d sew their whole wardrobe.

“She looks so clean.” She has to otherwise the media will call you a bad mother. “Maman, si Papa voit ça, il flippera.”

“Pourqoui est Papa freaking out?” Tilly’s half-translation not only clues Flo in on what’s going on, but makes her worried. No one should be freaking out. “Can we just order, please.” She drags out the ‘please’ with a pout and a longing look at the menu. Tilly can barely read in French (your fault — you forgot it’s not her first language) so you’re not quite sure what she’s staring at, but her point has been articulated enough for Fleur to mumble her order to you.

“D’acc, deux pains au chocolat pour Tilly,” you recite the order as usual in order to refresh Tilly’s counting in French and foods, “Fleur, tu veux un croissant aux amandes, oui?” She nods and asks for an Espresso. You tell her yes but make a mental note to get her and her sister hot chocolate instead. “Et Florence veut un croissant, j’veux un croissant.” Tilly shows you her fingers, four of them sticking up. All four people are accounted for. You could maybe call it a family.

You stand up to order at the counter. Florence stands too.

“Can I come with you,” she whispers, wary of listening ears. “I’ve yet to tell you about my night.” She takes your hand, smirking when Fleur groans in extremely audible disgust, and locks her fingers between yours, locking your faith into her.

As you walk into the crowded café, you find that Flo being recognised is more of an issue than anticipated for this part of Paris. This café is far from touristy, usually filled with off-duty models here for various shoots, but even they are turning their heads towards your girlfriend. Pride ignites on the gasoline of your blood, circulating around your body. She is yours and she is talented and funny and amazing in bed (not that you’d ever let her know it — her ego would inflate and suffocate you all). She still holds your hand in the queue.

“Why were you up so late smoking cigarettes with my daughter?” Panic briefly flushes her cheeks before she catches the softness in your eyes. You’re only playing. “If she said anything, I’m—”

“I didn’t know Marc killed himself.” Marc was Fleur’s father. “I also didn’t know that she was so clever. I thought her vocabulary was just grunts of varying pitches and tones. She’s so articulate, you know? Like, I just didn’t expect it.”

“Fleur is one of the most intelligent people I know.” So intelligent that she sometimes becomes sloppy and wastes incredible potential. “Did you sort out your differences?”

“We both agreed that you want to marry me.”

You think you’re embarrassed, but the blush might be from something else. Like the thought of having Flo there constantly and never feeling like you are trapped on a sole planet when the girls leave. Never being alone when you have a certain disposition to be extremely so. You know you have to say something in response, that you can’t let her comment end your conversation. “Yeah well I love you.”

Florence wants to propose. Right here, right now.

“I love you too.”

tags: @pewpughpew @ridlz @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take

[shorkbrian]

Prelude - I need to stop catching sight of poetry on my explore page lol. This is entirely self-indulgent and very specific cause I’m rotting thru life rn and so if u dislike I understand lol. When I was in the hospital this last time it sucked rlly bad and like the awful horny degenerate I was I kept thinking abt Kirishima and soft sweet Sugawara idk lol

Pairing - Death god Kirishima x Reader

Warnings - Suicide, suicide attempt, no smut. Death. Drunk Drivers. Yandere but only a little bit and cause I can’t voluntarily accept love it has to be forced bc I cannot handle the thot of someone who is sane loving me bc there is no freaking way lol

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5Iy1wdO0tMaHwKnfFYtlel?si=-vqod-W6SHia8ui2Hdl_9g 

Adding this one bc it’s like one of my favorites and I wish god I wish and I hope that this year is better than the last amen lol also there’s nothing more sad to me than someone pleading and begging and crying for the year to treat you nicely like bitch u okay? no. the answer is no.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0xRO7EKgYKVB8zKIoiXMDD?si=HYBaiBzjRGmQwfCHgnTUxA

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

“It hurts.” You had told him, as the entity sat at the end of your hospital bed.

He often sank heavily onto the nearest surface, as if his bones ached with the weight of his body. You saw him often during those first few days in the hospital, days spent puking up pills, every move you made monitored, doctors and nurses scolding you about the severity of your actions.

You didn’t think they could see the hulking figure that comforted you.

“I”ve heard that it’s supposed to.” The red god of death would think aloud.

“I don’t want it then.” Tears upon your cheeks, soft, misty. “Take it.”

“Your life?” A nod would affirm his question, but the red god would shake his head. “I am no thief. Not a hunter, simply a gatherer of souls. I won’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”

“Then it’s yours, have my life. A gift, from me to you. Don’t make me live it any longer…..”

His sadness would show in his eyes.

But the soul-crushing hugs that were provided were admittedly a tiny bit nice.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good. I’ll receive your life when the time is right, not before.”

“But I don’t want it!” You sobbed into his shoulder, the god seeming to be your only friend in the world.

Hands stroked along your back, soft shushing sounds as the god attempted to soothe you in the ways he knew how. Soft touches, kind truths. “Many don’t.  But it happens - life happens anyways. All you can do is find the things that make it less painful.”

“That’s not enough, it still hurts. I can’t stand it.” The sobs wracking your body didn’t stop the entity from holding you.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

——

He’s patient and kind.

Surprising for a god who’s work involves collecting souls as if they were taxes. A job that should be bitter and tiresome, but the entity has infinite softness resting inside of him.

He walks with you, as you get “better“.

You watch him stop to marvel at flowers, to study the way dew drips from trees in little drops, eyes wide and wondering as crows startle from their perches and take off with noisy weeping.

This courtyard is drab and brown, a prison. Safe.

Yet the god of death treats the space gently, with respect. He thanks the old walls for standing, the worn stones beneath your feet. Their service is noted and appreciated. He’s so tender it almost makes you sick.

But you come to realize that he’s simply allowing himself to be vulnerable, to experience the earth and the beings in it.

For as soon as one recognizes vulnerability, which is so different from weakness or tragedy, one experiences a sense of tenderness. Without tenderness, pleasure means nothing. You need only look at the animals to see the truth of that. It is gentleness that distinguishes their playing from the actions they constantly take to ensure their survival.

You ask why he walks with you, why he is so focused on seeing you get “better“.

A soft smile, a meeting of eyes. “There is an end to your pain, sometime and somewhere. It’s most likely not here, not in this place at least-“ and he looks around, at the cold walls, the other sick patients, the staff. All human.

“-It will come. But for now, it’s enough to try and seek it out ourselves.”

You must look more sick than you really are, talking to thin air like that.

——-

Once you return home, the red god writes you letters.

He’s an old soul, an old god. You’re sure if you asked, he’d be able to recount the very first souls he reaped, a man and a woman, sinful and sweet but in love.

The letters help you get out of bed. What new stories or little quips the god has written pique your curiosity, even when you don’t want to move, don’t want to be awake or alive.

He tells you stories about certain souls, how each one is infinitely interesting, how they all interconnect.  How some of them struggle against him, however fruitlessly. But he’s not the one who brought about their death, he’s there to comfort and guide.

Other souls, (“souls like yours” he writes) welcome him, run to his arms like a long lost lover. Their death was terrifying by their own hand, and it hurt. He can’t take away that pain, those memories. The red god says he wishes those souls find peace wherever he must take them afterwards, or at least, some form of contentment.

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning, at least, that’s what seems to be the consensus.” You rip off that part of the letter, hang it on your wall by your bed.  The other letters you keep in your nightstand, content with the knowledge that there are souls out there like you

It’s hard work, creating meaning for yourself.

The red god takes to visiting you between each letter, says he misses you, the way your soul cries. He tells you that he wishes he could help you quiet it, quiet that raging, terrible storm that hurls you about.

You make him cookies - it’s the only way you know how to say thank you. It’s what your mother taught you, so it may not be right, but the god eats them nonetheless. He likes it when you eat with him, feeding you bites from his cookie, wiping chocolate off of your nose, making you laugh with stupid jokes and a mouth stuffed full of cookies.

Even if some of them are too crunchy, or others too soft, all of them imperfect.

Imperfection is the essence of humanity, he tells you, and it’s more fun eating each cookie with the thought that you’re devouring your imperfections, making yourself whole again, filling up the empty spaces in your soul.

——

Eventually, the crawl back to your feet, rise with the unsteadiness of a toddler. You fall frequently, cry often, but you’re able to get up and try again.

Some days you need to bury yourself in sadness, let yourself feel and feel and hurt. Other days are not so bad, but still tinged  with regret and fear and sadness.

The red god is by your side, gives you something to cling to when you waver.

He is always there.

He will be there when you meet your end.

The god is in no hurry.

You question why he wastes his time on you, hours spent reassuring you, talking to you, tucking you in your bed and leaving glasses of water on your nightstand before taking his leave.

Home is a feeling, not a place. Home is with you - that’s what he tells you. You take his breath away, even though he might not even need to breath because he’s the god of death. HIs thoughts muddle and he trips over his feet and can’t help himself from wanting to hold you.

You learn that even gods yearn for home.

He’s capable of feelings and emotions just like any other human. He may be wiser, and older, able to draw from experience and a deep well of wisdom. But he still feels, and feels deeply.

Just as he gives the earth around him such reverence, he extends that same  attitude when he deals with you.

“Everything I see reminds me of you. When I wake and the sun creeps over the mountains, hesitant, it reminds me of the way that you rise - haltingly, yet it happens nonetheless. The flowers in the field that so steadily grow, you’re like ground they take root in, soft and unstable yet still tenable with the potential for growth. I don’t know, I haven’t exactly held such closeness with a human-“

He trails off, but you think you understand.

Maybe you don’t. It’s hard to relate to a god.

——

A confession occurs, and you’re surprised to learn that the blood-red god of death is in love.

“What did my hands do before they held yours? What did my heart do without all of this love? I can’t hold enough of you, I carry such love for you in my heart.”

With a frail, hopeless human nonetheless.

You don’t know what to tell him, how to explain that you can barely take care of yourself right now, meet your own needs.

But the red god seems to know, seems to understand the way your breath hitches and your eyes widen. One more hug, squeezed tight to his chest while he promises nothing has to change.

Things do change, even if you wish them not to. The world doesn’t bow to your whims, nor the death-god’s.

Innocent touches, his hand on your shoulder, patting your head, offering to rub out the tension in your back after you’ve had a crushing day - they don’t feel so innocent anymore.

The constant survellience still seemed kind, and you knew it was with your best intentions in mind that the god hovered so close, invading every aspect of your life.

But a creeping tendril of unease took hold, and you worried.

Everywhere you turned, he would be there, ready to support you, walk you through anything you wished.

Again, you questioned his commitment. Why? Why you?

“I can’t explain how fond of you I’ve grown. How heat blossomed in my chest as we grew closer. There’s infinite things I wish to say to you, ways for me to express my-my love, but I’ll just let you live.”

He neither killed you nor let you live.

Was it frightening? Maybe. But you had nothing to really live for, lost, searching for your own meaning in a big big world, floundering in an endless sea of sadness and suffering. You weren’t afraid of anything the god could, or would, do to you.

Until you woke up, not knowing where you were, in pitch black.

Arms encircling your shoulders, a soft body beneath your own, holding you tightly, a hand caressing your cheek.

A sun rose, on a strange new land, on the blood-red god gazing at you.

“There seemed to be so much more time for you. But accidents happen, Drivers drink and hearts give out. I was expecting you to grow old, for us to live and love like that, see how you grew through life.”

He looked around this new world, and you vaguely remember what had come before.  A walk along the sidewalk, blaring horns, impact, blood.

“But this will be just as nice. You can stay here with me now. Life can’t cause you anymore pain.”

You don’t feel comforted by those words.  There’s no way for you to know whether this new world would be better than the one you left behind.

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 4

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

The three of you gathered around the kitchen island and ate the pizza.  Well, more like Steve and Bucky inhaled a whole pizza each while you ate two slices.  The pizza was delicious, probably the best you’d ever had and your stomach was grateful for the yumminess.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself Y/N?” Bucky asked as he licked the grease off his lips.

“What do you want to know?” you replied.  

“Let’s start with your family and where you grew up.”

You shrugged as you wiped your fingers with a napkin.  “There isn’t really much to say.  I grew up in a small town in the Midwest.  Both my parents died when I was a teenager.  I never knew my grandparents and I was an only child, same with my parents, so I don’t have any other family.  I moved here when I was 20,” you stated honestly.  Well, mostly at least.  Yes, it was true both of your parents died, but how they died was tragic.  They both committed suicide.  First your mother, then your father one year later.  As far back as you could research, mental health issues unfortunately ran in your family and that was including you.  But you weren’t ready to open up that old wound yet. You were on medication to help it and that was that.  Luckily the dosing you were on worked well and you could only hope you wouldn’t need to adjust your medications anytime soon.  

“We know how you feel doll. Obviously all of our family is gone too. But we can make a new family with the three of us,” Bucky stated as he wrapped his metal arm around your shoulders. You liked the sound of that.  The three of you becoming your own family. It sounded nice.  

You gave Bucky a wide smile, mirroring his.  “What have your past relationships looked like?” Steve announced from the other side of you.  

This was something you had been debating on bringing up.  If you weren’t going to tell them about your mental health issues just yet, you didn’t want to lie and be dishonest about John as well.  Taking a deep breath, you held it in for five seconds before releasing it.  “I’ve only been in one relationship before.  His name was John, John Smith.  He’s in prison right now.”

From the corner of your eye you could see Steve clench his fist; his knuckles cracking in the process.   “What happened?” he growled out.    

“He…he umm.  Well, he hit me,” you said, almost as quiet as a mouse but you knew both men had super hearing and they damn well heard you.  

Steve slammed his fist on the granite countertop making you flinch.  

“Steve!” Bucky barked at him in anger.  “You’re not making this situation any better right now.  Calm the fuck down and let her talk.”  Bucky soothed his arm up and down your back.  “Go ahead doll.   We’re listening.”

Nodding, you began to speak again.  “Things were great in the beginning.  He seemed like everything I could have ever asked for in a man.  I didn’t know if or when I would ever meet the two of you so I decided to live my life and date him.   The first six months were a whirlwind of romance.  He was the most charming man I had ever met.  But then things took a turn when I moved in with him. I was ready to have sex yet, but he was sick of waiting.  That first night I moved in, he…he raped me.”

This time you saw Bucky’s right hand clench on the table in front of you while Steve knocked his chair over as he stood up, pacing the kitchen.  “Go on doll,” Bucky urged, trying to keep the anger out of his voice as best he could for you.

“That was just the first time.  He umm, he did it again for weeks.  I wanted to leave, I really did.  But he was rich and he had security around the house.  I knew I couldn’t just up and leave.  Finally, when he demanded I quit my job, I stood up to him and told him no. That was the first time he hit me. That continued for months.  I was ready to give up on myself.”

“What happened next huh? How did he end up in prison?” Steve demanded as he leaned over the counter, staring at you with those piercing eyes.  

“I got lucky,” you replied. “We were out shopping one day.  He felt bad for the wrist he broke the night before so he took me shopping.  One of the sales ladies escorted me into a fitting room and I slipped her a note letting her know what was going on.  I stayed in the fitting room for as long as possible.  And then I heard them.  The police. The sales lady called the police for me and they took him away.  He’s been locked up ever since.”

Closing your eyes, you let the tears slip down your cheek.  “You were so brave,” Bucky cooed as you felt his lips on the top of your head.

“Look at me Y/N,” Steve demanded yet again and that deep feeling to please him was happening again. You snapped your head up and looked directly into his eyes.  “That will never happen in this relationship. Do you understand me?”  You simply nodded.  “Bucky and I would never hurt you like that.  Ever.  You have our word.”  As soon as he finished talking, he stormed out of the kitchen and down the hallway to where you only assumed was his room.  

“Just give him a minute to cool off sweetheart,” Bucky spoke in your ear.  “Stevie gets pent up sometimes and he has a lot on his plate. He may seem like it, but he’s not mad at you.  I promise.”

You collapsed into Bucky’s chest and softy sobbed.  It felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders and you were relieved to have told them about John.  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that doll.  That will never happen to you again.  We won’t let anything like that happen.”

It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes later when Steve emerged from his room.  “How about we go down and show you the communal kitchen and living room.  Give you a little tour.  What do you say?”

A small smile broke across your face.  “I’d like that very much.”

As the elevators opened to the communal floor, you jaw dropped.  If you thought Steve and Bucky’s apartment was big, this was ten times the size. Not only were there ample more couches, the television was bigger and there was a large dining table big enough to sit at least twenty people.  

“Holy crap,” you exclaimed in awe.  

“Yeah, Tony likes to go big if you couldn’t already tell,” Steve joked.  

“You think?” you quipped back, earning a smirk from Steve.  

The entire space was void of anyone except the three of you as Steve pulled you further into the living room.  He explained that the group tries to do a movie night at least once a week.  “To make things as fair as possible, Tony pulls a name out of a hat to see who gets to pick the movie that night,” Bucky said.

“Yeah but it doesn’t really work.  There is still always complaining and bitching from everyone else.  Mainly Clint,” Steve chimed in.  

It made you giggle, genuinely giggle and it felt good.  That hadn’t happened in quite some time.  

Steve and Bucky guided you towards the hallway, explaining that these were the ‘hobby rooms’ of everyone and their soulmates.  Steve opened the door to the one at the end of the all on right left side.  

“This will be your room. You can make it anything you want. But I’m going to guess this will be your game room where you work.”

“That would be correct,” you answered as you turned on the light.  The room was very decent sized and you would have no problem fitting all of your gamer stuff in here.  Hell, there would be a lot of room left over and you were quickly trying to think what else you could fit in here.  

“C’mon.  Let’s go back to our floor and we can show you your room up there.”

On the elevator ride back to their apartment, Steve and Bucky explained who all lived in the tower and who their soulmates were.  Tony and Pepper were soulmates together, along with Bruce.  Bruce was best friends with Tony and more of a brother figure to Pepper. Then there was Natasha, Clint and Darcy Lewis and they were all in an intimate relationship together.  Lastly, there was Thor and Jane but they didn’t stay in the tower too much as they spent most of their time on Asgard.  

Steve stopped in front of your door.  It was across the hall from Bucky’s and right next door to Steve’s.  

“Go ahead and open it,” Steve said with a smile.  “Just place your hand over the screen.”

Taking a deep breath, you did as he said and placed your hand, palm down, on the digital screen where there would normally have been a doorknob.  With a soft click, the door opened for you and you walked into your new place.  It was nothing like what you were thinking. You were honestly just guessing it would be a bedroom, but no, this was an entire apartment.  

Straight ahead was a decent sized kitchen.   There was dark cherry wood cabinet with black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.  To the left is what you would assume would be the living room, however it was completely bare of any furniture.  As you continued to move through the apartment you found that the bedroom was all the way in the back.  It was a very nice sized master bedroom with the biggest walk in closet and on suite bathroom you had ever seen.  

“What do you think?” Bucky asked as he came up behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders.  

“It’s big,” you replied with a chuckle.  

“I’m going to have Tony’s interior designer email you.  Give him examples and ideas of what you would like and she will make it happen.  Don’t worry about prices.  This is Tony’s gift to you.”

Your eyes grew wide at his statement.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes sweetheart,” Steve replied as he slipped his hand in yours.  “We want the best for you.  Whatever you want this new home of yours to look like, then so be it.  We will make it happen for you.”

~~~

That night as you lay in bed after spending time with Steve and Bucky, you couldn’t help but frown. Things had seemed to be going much better tonight than they did when you first met them two days ago.  Now, you had to pack up your apartment and move. You weren’t really nervous about that part, hell, you were looking forward to it.  But then it meant things were starting to get real.  When things start to get intimate with them, would you be able to let yourself go and do that?  Would things be vanilla in the bedroom? Would you be able to tell them that because the only sexual experiences you’ve ever had was being raped, that you could now only get yourself off on violent fantasies of being raped, or tied up, or choked?  Fuck, what was wrong with you?

[gatespage]

‘Star Trek’ is just the tip of the galaxy for actress 

10 Feb 1991 - Palladium-Item (Richmond, Indiana)

Transcript below

Gates McFadden is feeling a little burned out these days.

The “Star Trek: The Next Generation” actress says she has no one to blame but herself — and maybe her mom.

McFadden, who plays Dr. Beverly Crusher on the syndicated series, hasn't had a vacation in two years because she’s juggled a play and a movie with a 26-episode series work load.

She says her almost compulsive need to work is “‘my mother’s fault. She had me doing everything as a kid. I had 31 merit badges, I was on the dean’s list, I did modeling, dancing...”

McFadden spent her last hiatus doing the legit production of ‘Viva Detroit" in Los Angeles. “I was the female lead, who would go into all these disguises. So it was like I was playing three characters. It was fun, but very tiring. I was still doing the play while we were filming a new season of the series and I exhausted myself. I'm still getting over the burnout.”

“But I needed to do it,” she says. “I really make a huge effort to do other projects besides ‘Star Trek.”

In spring of '89, she managed to squeeze in the feature film ‘‘Taking Care of Business" with Jim Belushi and Charles Grodin. ‘‘Which I actually had a ball doing,” she says. “It was a lot of fun to play a bitch after playing such a nice, serious doctor on the show.”

And she also got to work with David Rappaport again. The diminutive actor’s death by suicide earlier this year affected her deeply, she says.

The actress had also worked closely with the late Jim Henson (who died of a virulent strain of pneumonia in May) on such projects as ‘The Muppets Take Manhattan” and “Labyrinth,” on which she worked as director of choreography and movement.

“That was a big shock. In one month both David and Jim were dead. I hadn’t had that much experience with people I'm close to dying,"” McFadden says. “‘It really makes you look more deeply at your own life.”

For now life for the single actress still revolves around work. Although she has to have made plans for her next series hiatus. “I'll see what my energies are like,” she says.

McFadden's primary residence is still in New York, but she headquarters in Los Angeles while the series is shooting. ‘I love it out here in California, I’ve acclimated well and I really love having the garden.”

That's not to say, she doesn’t still have a strong allegiance to the Big Apple.

What she misses most about the Manhattan is “the real sense of community. Everytime I go back I run into four or five people I know just walking to buy groceries”

“Here in L.A, where you have to drive everywhere, I kind of just want to go home after I take off the wig and the space suit.””

Yes, McFadden’s Dr. Crusher character wears a wig.

“I have hair that’s down to my waist and I've been trying to get the producers to let me get rid of the wig, but I guess they feel the long hair isn't doctorly enough,” she explains.

On the other hand, “It might be a good thing to keep the wig so I’m not recognizable when I’m on the street." The actress, who used to teach at New York University and Brandeis University, recalls the time “a student became obsessed with me. Since then I've become very careful.”

[hopetofantasy]

Actress Nora Dari (wtFOCK): “I hope I don't go crazy. I wouldn't be surprised if that happens”

Two years ago she was allowed to bump into Matteo Simoni in ‘Patser’, now your fifteen-year-old knows her as Yasmina from ‘wtFOCK’ and she ended up in Cannes because of the new film by Bas Devos. Where it ends for Nora Dari remains to be seen, but you don't want to get in her way. “You’ve been looking so long for a Moroccan girl who wants to act and then you get me.”

“So I always try to be a bit low key...” She hesitates. "Eumh, do you know what 'low key' means?" "How much of antique do you think I am exactly?" “Gosh. You have a flip cover for your smartphone, I saw.” “Point for Dari. But what are you trying to be a bit low key...” “Huh? Sorry, I have no idea anymore. I was completely distracted by that pigeon over there.” It’s easy to forget - especially when she starts talking in her Genk dialect about her sky-high ambitions or her tough childhood in Winterslag - that Nora Dari is barely seventeen. After all, she’s already accumulated a nice record of achievements in two years. From the Belgian-Finnish crime series ‘Bullets’ (shown on Telenet) and a leading role in ‘wtFOCK’, the online series of SBS and Telenet, to her supporting role in ‘Ghost Tropic’, the most recent full-length movie by Bas Devos, who made the selection of Quinzaine des Réalisateurs in Cannes in May. The day after our conversation at an Antwerp terrace, she  leaves for London, for a fourth and final audition for a lead role in an international film project. “It looks good, but I can't tell you anything about it yet. That’s a tough assignment for me: my whole body really wants to scream. Seriously, I'm pretty much the Moroccan Tom Holland (Spider-Man, and the spoiler king of Marvel's Cinematic Universe). But I'll remain silent!”

How does a large, international production house ends up at your door? Nora Dari: “I started knocking on their door. I'm really not going to sit around and wait for someone to discover me miraculously, so if someone gives me a tip about an interesting movie, I'll go after it myself. I always want more and everything I set my mind to, seems to be working. An international series, ‘wtFOCK’, Cannes with my first film role and now this latest project is also within reach. Can you blame me for believing? In my head, I'm already in Hollywood. First become a Shooting Star at the Berlinale.” Just in between everything? Dari: “You can dream, right? Acknowledgement is not for me - I don't even know who decide such things - but rather, it’s a means to an end. If you end up in the same list of acting prodigies (those Shooting Stars) as Marwan Kenzari, Matteo Simoni and Matthias Schoenaerts, every director knows who you are.” You can also quietly build an acting career in Belgium. Or is that really not an option? Dari: “Why should I linger on a few square meters? My world was so small in Winterslag and now that it’s gradually getting bigger, I really don't know why I should stop at Flanders. Even if ambition is a very dirty word where I come from.”

How? Dari: “Winterslag is a neighborhood where many young people are going into the wrong direction. Big dreams are taboo, apparently. I was bullied, mainly because I wanted to start something with my life. Even if I said that I would one day want to go to New York, I would be laughed at: “Just sit down, Nora! Who do you think you are?”

Keep your head down, keep your nose clean and make sure that you can start working at the age of eighteen: something like that? Dari: *nods* “Graduating and going to work at the age of eighteen seems like quite an achievement in Winterslag. If you hadn't gotten into the wrong shit by then, you would’ve done well. At my school, we had two pupils without an immigration background and otherwise exclusively Turks, Moroccans and Italians from families who were really poor. Our parents worked very hard, you spend a lot of time on the street and bad things sometimes happened. *thinks* There’s a reason why I almost exclusively watch gangstershit movies. I come from a neighborhood where a lot of gangstershit happens. I’ve seen and experienced so many bad things, but at the same time Winterslag is such a big part of who I am and I get very angry when someone else talks about it like I do now. *small laugh* 

I’ll buy a house there one day. It’s still my home, all the beautiful things and all the rotten things in one pile. To be clear: I don't want to romanticize my childhood. Winterslag is hard, but nothing to be sad about. There are so many people who have gone through the same thing. Only, it sucks to be called a whore, because you want to do something that is apparently 'not normal'.”

It dawns on me why you once said that Algerian-Canadian Zaho's song Kif'n'dir summed you up quite nicely. Especially the text 'Je fais la morte pour ne pas mourir'. Dari: “That's what I've been doing for a long time. Keeping myself deathly still and don’t stand out too much. In the long run, you also start to believe what others are telling you, that acting is not for you.”

When did you finally stopping ‘being death’? Dari: “When I was fifteen, when I heard that Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah were looking for extras for ‘Patser’. That didn't mean much more than just bumping into Matteo Simoni, but I was sold immediately. In between shots, I approached Adil: “Mr. El Arbi, thank you for opening my eyes. From now on, I’ll go all out for this.” *laughs* We clicked and in the meantime we’ve become friends. I hope he thinks of me when they start recording ‘Patsers’, so that I can show how much I've grown in those two years.”

Not much later, through their casting agency Hakuna, you ended up as a suicide bomber in the Finnish-Belgian Crime series ‘Bullets’. What have I missed? How did you go from a sixteen-year-old extra to such an intense role in a few months? Dari: “I think - if I may say that - they were shocked after my casting. I’ve never thrown myself into a project as hard in my life. Whining. Shouting. Tantrums. All fucking emotions, one after the other. You’ve been looking so long for a Moroccan girl who wants to act and then you get me. *laughs* I've never loved anything as much as acting, so I’m giving everything during a casting. I know that I’m not the best and still have to learn, but I suspect my energy is making up for it. That, and I consider myself a very pleasant colleague. *laughs* I greet everyone in a Genk dialect, always walk around smiling and even bring cookies.

I've always had the feeling that I have to work harder than the rest, because people expect less of me. That's what my father taught my brothers and me. At the Liège boarding school where he studied, he was the only Moroccan in Latin studies: his classmates thought he was weird, because of his origins and the other Moroccans looked at him weirdly, because he aimed higher. "Ah, Mr. pope is back there." In the end it became so unbearable that he enrolled in the TSO (technical school), which was socially accepted.”

How does a 16-year-old feel like a suicide bomber? Dari: “They gave me a background, but I added a few things myself to make it easier. And music helps me really hard too: ‘Qui suis-je’ from Scylla on repeat and then a little method acting in that character. My mother was there on set and apparently got terrified. *laughs* I asked them not to accompany me anymore. When I see them, I come back to myself, while I try very hard to forget myself in front of the camera. I need to be able to get into a role on set. Although it remains very strange to hype yourself up for hours with the mantra 'I'm dying and I'm taking all these people with me'. Fortunately, I can also easily let go. I had to, I had exams the next day. *laughs* Suicide bomber by day, studying economy by night.”

In May you hopped around on the Croisette for the world premiere of ‘Ghost Tropic’. You play the daughter of Khadija, a woman who walks home through Brussels after falling asleep on the metro. Devos makes quiet, poetic arthouse films: it’s a huge leap from teenage series and thrillers. Dari: “It was an adjustment, yes. Before I played in ‘Bullets’, I had never even seen a Flemish film. Not a single one. Or wait: one at school. What was it called? I have to give a speech soon, with its protagonist.”

‘Daens’? With Jan Decleir? Dari: “That one! Everything I had already learned about acting was from Hollywood movies. That enlarged playing style also worked in ‘Bullets’, but when I tried that in ‘Ghost Tropic’, Bas blocked it very quickly. *laughs* "The less you do the better, Nora!" I thought about it all too hard. "Nora, just go." “Yes, but Bas, who am I? What have I been through up to this point?” I have a hard time playing without a backstory in my head.”

Did you learn something from Devos? Dari: “Bas and Maaike Neuville told me in Cannes that I shouldn’t forget to live. I was only busy with what should be my next big step, but I also have to learn to enjoy. Surrendering is nothing dirty, but if I put everything aside for this job, I’ll never be able to put content in my characters. Then they’ll give me a heavy role and I’ll get stuck.”

Sensible advice. Alarm bells already went off when I read in ‘Het Belang van Limburg’ that you certainly wanted to remain celibate until you were 27 and wouldn’t continue your studies, just focussing on your career. Dari: “In the end, I’ll study cross-media management and I’ve come back to that other one as well. *laughs* What?! I’m seventeen, I change my mind completely every month. When I am 40, I don't just want to have a nice IMDb profile to look back on.”

'9000 followers? That is more people than have seen my last film', Devos thought humbly in your Instagram Stories. Dari: “I hope ‘Ghost Tropic’ gets more visitors than I have followers, but I'm not going to bitch if only fifty people come to watch the film in the end. I just like to act and have hardly seen anything from ‘Bullets’ or ‘wtFOCK’ myself. When I'm not on set, I just feel bad. As if I'm not getting the most out of my life. 

At the very least, ‘Ghost Tropic’ gave me another experience and I was able to take my father with me, when we went to the Dominican Republic. My grandfather had passed away just before the shoot and we kind of processed that together there, while we were watching the sunrise at five in the morning. A very tender moment. Very cinematic, too. *thinks* I’m a very passionate person. Everything I experience is immediately very big. It’s all hard, good or bad. So hard that I can't always process all the feelings. *dryly* I hope I don't go crazy. I really wouldn't be surprised if that happens.”

You seem to be especially prone to obsessions. Whether it’s making music, painting or acting: if you decide to do something, everything has to make way for it. Dari: “When I got a keyboard, I was immediately very invested in my music. Making beats to accompany my slam poetry, tinkering at night, searching and keeping my parents awake until they went crazy. And then I suddenly got tired of it and started painting. Swimming. Dancing. I also played soccer for a while, mainly to get my dad's attention. During the 'consultation hour' around the tajine I could never have a chat with my brothers and father, because it was only about football and anime.”

Anime? Dari: “The men in my family are all next-level anime fans. They even speak Japanese to each other. *thinks* And I also plunged into my religion for a while, in between football and slam poetry.”

How? Dari: “When the community center closed its doors around the age of 13 and I saw a whole circle of friends go away in one go, I started clinging to something else. So, faith. At that time I also wore a hijab, because I was convinced that you could only be such a good Muslim. I was really pretty strict and took everything way too literally. Today I understand that you mainly have to look for your own interpretation.”

In the meantime, the average 15-year-old is also going through a storm for the second season of wtFOCK, which can be followed daily on Instagram and wtfock.be, good for about 400,000 visitors a week and more than 8 million watched - or at least started - episodes. Significantly more than the first season, although that also had good numbers. Especially for a series that was deliberately launched in silence. “You’re already bombarded with advertising on Instagram, subtle and less subtle,” says Dari, while she tries so intensely to make eye contact with a waiter that he almost bumps into a glass door. “I don't have any big theories about the future of television, but ‘wtFOCK’ really was a relief. It’s on the internet and you mainly do what you want with it. "Ah, I don't have to look?" That unforced approach works. The worst thing that could have happened to us, was that the press started writing about it en masse: it had to remain a bit mysterious and above all belong to the young people themselves. Normally we don't give interviews either: ‘wtFOCK’ is one big bubble that you shouldn't talk too much about.”

Without any illusions about the appeal of Knack Focus to fifteen-year-olds: is this conversation a good idea? Dari: “Sounds okay to me. I’m more now than just Yasmina? And I think fifteen-year-olds do know Knack.” 

For real? Dari: “That's the book we get in History as source material in class. *laughs* I think I'll stop giving interviews again after this. A little mystery can't hurt.”

SKAM, the Norwegian series of which ‘wtFOCK’ is a remake, became a hit in its own country. That’s not always the case with foreign remakes, except for the Flemish one. It continues to gain popularity. Do you have an explanation for that? Dari: “No idea why things were less successful in other countries, but ‘wtFOCK’ is so good because it is real. We don't disguise anything, don't pour Hollywood sauce on it and talk like I talk to my friends. Apparently, a lot of teachers also follow the series to get a better understanding of their students. Smart, because we tackle all issues a teenager has in a very realistic way.”

The makers of SKAM were prepared with a tour through its country and a survey of Norwegian teenagers. Their biggest conclusion was: no generation suffers as much from performance pressure and comparison anxiety as yours. Dari: “Social media. Instagram is a very beautiful, but at the same time very scary place. A lot of girls now ask me, for example, how they can also enter this profession. But if you ask them why, it turns out that there’s no passion, they just see it as a fast road to fame. Then join ‘Temptation Island’? They see  people like Millie Bobby Brown (from Stranger Things), who is barely fifteen and has a crazy career and they let themselves be hyped about it. I should actually say 'we'. I said it already: I ​​hope I don't go crazy.” *giggles hysterically* 

About 1200 teenagers showed up for the casting of wtFOCK, but the makers did not find their Yasmina there. Dari: *nods* “In the end they also had to call Adil, who gave me the tip.”

Why do you think that is? Dari: “I get angry when someone says they want more diversity, but can't find anyone. *throws arms up dramatically* "They aren't there!" They are there. In my neighborhood alone, so much talent is packed together. You may have to do your best to find them, because if you come from a neighborhood where ambition is laughed at, you’ll not find your way to a casting. Because the TV and film world seem so closed off from the outside - and it is. I also didn't know how to do that, I was just lucky that Adil, Nora Gharib and Ikram Aoulad wanted to help me. They helped me avoid a lot of rookie mistakes. And that I won't sign myself up for Temptation Island or something tomorrow.” *laughs*

Gharib also predicted that as a Moroccan woman she would have problems with ‘Patser’. From the moment you do not portray a classic religious Muslim woman, it seems to already lead to commentary. Dari: “I've had my part too. Women who send to me that I brought shame on the entire Moroccan community, for example, because Yasmina doesn't always wear her hijab. Usually these are women who’ve seen two minutes of the series and then get angry without seeing the context. *blows* You know, I don’t care. If my parents and I are okay with it, then no one has anything to say to me. Criticism slips away from me. It really takes more than an angry DM to get me off my path, I come from Winterslag breeding.”

*** Bas Devos, director ‘Ghost Tropic’:

“I had never seen Nora at work, but her audition video immediately made me curious. At the final casting, where she had to improvise a bit, it was already clear to me after a few minutes. She did a beautiful job. Nora is not trained as an actress, but I often work with a combination of non-professional and professional actors. That really doesn't matter to me. It's all about how naturally someone relates to the camera and how relaxed you are while being filmed. Then very beautiful things can happen. And I think she also liked not having to make her character bigger in an understated film like ‘Ghost Tropic’, as that’s sometimes the case for TV. To hear that you are still playing without doing anything. 

It's cool how she dares to go for something so outspokenly at such a young age, but I did point out to her that working alone isn’t the perfect solution. She’s very fond of that international career, but it is also easy to walk into a wall there. Seventeen-year-olds have to live, right? Well, she's sensible enough, I'm not worried. She'll eventually find the right balance. At the end of the shooting period, she said she hoped we could work together again. I told her that I hope she still likes it by then. *laughs*  Who knows which films will she be in then.”

[orsuliya]

Just finished Emperor’s Conquest and I need a moment to process. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming in a moment. First, some random thoughts. I may do an actual comparison after I get through the finale. Or I may not, we’ll see.

Is the book better than the drama? No, they’re both equally amazing. There are some things that I like much better in the book. Politcs, for one, world-construction, all military-adjacent scenes and okay, I will say it, book!XQ is the sexiest thing to ever exist, he only needs to appear in the distance and I’m gooone a really fascinating character. On the other hand TRP fleshed out many plotlines in a really solid way and gave us something that the book lacks - actual personal relationships between characters other that Awu and Xiao Qi. Sorry, but Emperor’s Conquest is guilty of a metric tonne of tell-not-show. We get informed that Awu feels this or that way about somebody for this or that reason, which sometimes gets coupled with a reference to past events and that’s it. And since she’s our only point-of-view character, other places and events only get reported on. The whole book narrative is very introspective, which is fine, but not everybody’s cup of tea.

How is TRP as an adaptation? Is it faithful? Well, some things got lifted from the book almost word-for-word, certainly the first half of Awu’s journey. Other events and especially characters are wildly different! Don’t worry, Zitan is still as useless as ever, even if less actively malicious. And seriously, thank you, dramagods, for our badass Ningshuo officer Hu Yao, for Best Bro Guanglie and especially for the hilariously magnificent and magnificently hilarious bastard Daddy Wang.

The most startling difference - for all that their relationship with each other remains mostly unchanged - can be seen in our main characters and it is closely related to how the main themes of the story have changed going from book to drama.

Book!Xiao Qi is a magnificent bastard with twice the army, four times the ruthlessness and twenty times the ambition of his drama counterpart. Oh, and he’s got STYLE, the showy, showy son of a bitch. There’s no quiet self-control there; if there’s self-control, then it will be pure mithril, cold smiles and chilling calculations included. Oh, he still goes soft with Awu, but it’s such a startling contrast to his usual coldness, that it’s much more noticeable than in the comparatively consistent drama!XQ. Oh, and he cries. A lot. Which... hnnnnng! In the book XQ switches back-and-forth, going from arctic gale to summer day in a matter of seconds; in the drama he goes from tiger to kitten, so at the end of the day still a cat, if of a different coat.

This whole Ningshuo-soldiers-as-a-family thing? Pure drama invention. Book!XQ has comrades and brothers-in-arms, not brothers-brothers. He still bankrupts himself for his soldiers, but there’s no sign that it’s because of any guilt or personal feelings; 100% feudal warlord, 0% humble fatherly figure, that guy. In fact this whole theme centered aroud family is largely a drama invention. Book!Awu goes ride-and-die for Xiao Qi very early; the only member of her family she ever goes against him for (although very spectacularly) is her brother.

Also, book!Xiao Qi is no beggar shepherd orphan. An orphan, yes, but not a completely lowborn one; his mother was not even a concubine, but he still comes from a noble if rather isolated clan of talented loners. He ran away at thirteen, true, but it’s not the same. For one, the book doesn’t really stress the class issue all that much. There’s absolutely a conflict between the old families and Xiao Qi’s new military elite, but there’s no hint of any kind of greater social change. Book!XQ wants to change the dynasty, that’s it. And that’s his goal from the very start, one which Awu fully supports; at one point she’s the one to urge him on, even as he leaves the choice to her. The issue of kneeling or not kneeling to the throne, so prevalent in the last arc of the drama, is not really an issue in the book - Xiao Qi has nothing against kneeling masses, as long as they kneel to him.

Awu... Oh, that was a surprise. Although it really shouldn’t have been. Guys, book!Awu is a cold magnificent bitch. I am not kidding. She makes for a perfect partner to book!XQ; it’s not that she’s completely ruthless, she will still save her aunt, if needed... It’s just that if she’s forced, she’ll stop at nothing. Her inner commentary is also absolutely callous in some situations; her reaction to Yuxiu’s suicide gave me chills, I kid you not. They really are a matching pair!

And you know what? I like both versions of our heroes. I am fascinated by this cunning, cold and ambitious book take; it’s very gritty and very daggers-under-magnificent-silks, very realistic at the end of the day. Drop book!Awu and XQ into TRP-world, they’ll have it conquered before lunch and even Daddy Wang in his evil lair will never see it coming.

But as a hopeless romantic, I can’t help but melt when faced with the much more fantastic drama take; a pair of truly noble characters who do not really want power, but are forced to take it up for the greated good? Sign me up! And let’s face it, as hot as this whole only-good-and-soft-for-you thing really is, sometimes you just need a man who is, in every single aspect of his life, undeniably Good with a capital G.

My advice? Go and read the book after you finish the drama, otherwise you risk getting serious whiplash. Also, be careful if you have ever experienced weird feelings when faced with magnificent ink-black horses, shiny swords, epic cavalry charges and unfurling standarts, it gets... intense.

[my-sherlock221b]

Supernatural Rewatch Ramblings: Wendigo

Wendigo

The long line of the MoTW series in Supernatural starts off with the Woman in White which is fairly well- known legend/ myth in most countries.  Then we get this one next which claims origin from the Native American mythology.

Here is a review of the Wendigo episode with thoughts from me and @soulmates-for-real​

I have always wondered why they were not so inclusive or better at being inclusive as a show. Yes, they did have many women and people of colour in important and strong roles, both positive and negative (though they could have done so much better!). But they steered clear from some of the huge mythology lores like that from Native Americans, Hindu, Latin American cultures. This may have been a wise political strategy to avoid conflict and so they stuck to the Judeo- Christian core but still managed a rather radical take on it!

Spoiler alert:

*God was the final villain?! Who would have guessed? And that the angels were dicks, relentlessly, and demons were in fact ex-humans.*

So back to Wendigo.

What a monster the Wendigo is!! In later seasons when we got only angels and demons and some vampires etc the other monsters were monsters in and of themselves. Like they were born that way—needing to eat human pituitary glands or whatever.

But Woman in White and Wendigo, and even Dead in the Water, or the Shapeshifter --the monster was created by circumstances. Betrayal and infidelity leading to murder suicides, extreme starvation leading to cannibalism and eternal hunger.

Far more terrifying than someone who is born a ghoul perhaps.

So here we are in Wendigo, at the forest/camp site with these fake, charming, rather useless camp rangers who carry M&Ms (nice touch and throwback to E.T. !), don’t wear shorts ( which anyway seems like a weird thing to wear when there is grass and stuff—why would you want to expose your legs?!), can’t see bear traps ( Seriously Dean?! ).

Sam is still restless and bristling at Jess’s death, as well as angry at Dad. All those years of separation do not seem to have given him any peace in his relationship with his father. Now to add massive insult to his already injured sense of self—he has lost his girlfriend in exactly the same way as his father lost his wife—making them even more identical.

So he is cranky and unwilling to give in to any of Dean’s suggestions. He denies his own nightmares, refuses good advice and food and is generally misanthropic. While Dean on the other hand seems to be enjoying this like a happy jolly road trip. The monster is almost like a secondary priority now.

What is most important, (and this becomes even more obvious in a re-watch post finale)—what is THE most important thing is that Sammy is riding shotgun, is in front of his eyes and safe.

Miserable and bitchy but safe.

That allows Dean to dial back a bit and bring into focus what has always been, for him, the really important part of their lives—saving people. This is always more important to him that hunting things. So, when he finds out about someone’s brother being lost and the coordinates match what his dad has left, well there is no choice really.

They have to find a way to save him.

If they find Dad there, well, good, but that is suddenly not a priority for him at all. He turned up at Sam’s doorstep, and as we know from the finale, waited there for HOURS since he was unsure of his welcome, then broke in at 3 am or something like an idiot….but anyway…..all that was because Dad had been away on a hunting trip and hadn’t been home in a few days…blah blah blah.

The first contact Dean makes with Sam who left home to go to college is to recruit him to help find Dad—the same guy who told Sam that if he went away to stay away.

And then suddenly now that Sam is with him, finding Dad is like meh. If we find him somewhere by the wayside while you and I hunt monsters Sammy, then yeah sure, great.

If not…well….we have stuff to do you and I…saving people, hunting things. The family business. 

And John Winchester….well, what can I possibly say about him without taking up pages in ranting?! Why did he ditch the first monster? Why was he in SUCH a hurry to leave that he left his journal behind??

My theory of course is that he had to run away from the Woman in White since he had been unfaithful to Mary ( yes yes I know it had been YEARS at that point, but hello, this man made his life a crusade for revenge and sacrificed his kids’ lives also to that darkness, so…yes, being with Adam’s mother was an infidelity and you can’t change my mind on that !).

So naturally John was afraid he would be killed.

But still….he left coordinates for the next hunt in the journal and just ran off?!

The other question is what the hell is happening in motels across USA? Guys like these can just check- in on fake credit cards, leave a room full of satanic and serial killer-y documents, sometimes dead bodies, lots of salt at the door and windows, and just disappear without checking out….

Though the police do seem quite alert and swift in action in the Pilot compared to some of the laidback and clueless ones we see later.

What is most interesting is to see the character of season 1 Dean emerge.

He sass, he boss, he flirt, he lie, he charm, he fight, he save.

In fact, the very first time I saw Supernatural, it seemed that Dean occupied so much of the narrative space that I barely noticed Sam except as a foil to and a brother to Dean.

Now in the re-watch what is fascinating in retrospect is to watch Sam slide into ‘the life’ without a hiccup. He reads the journal, he figures out it’s a wendigo, he gets the civilians to cooperate, he also fights and saves.

And that look he gives Dean in the car?

Well, those who missed the signs in Pilot and didn’t ship Wincest from day one, surely started doing it then!

https://www.geekgirlauthority.com/supernatural-rewatch-s01e02-wendigo/

This is also the first episode that gives a clear parallel to the Sam and Dean relationship through the B plot. When Haley says she MUST go to find her brother –Dean nods in instant understanding while Sam is pissed off at having to ‘babysit.’

We see this in many more episodes in the future, and what is fascinating is to see Sam gain insights into his brother with every such parallel. To recognize what being the big brother has meant to Dean and how much he has done and given and even suffered for that. We will discuss this in more detail in the next episode review! ( Dead in the Water)

The chemistry and ease, almost a fluid sense of flow between the two actors is unmistakable in this episode. Even as Sam is really being a bitch and Dean is being a jerk, there is a definite undercurrent of something holding them together. It may be all about revenge for Jess’s death and finding Dad for Sam, but he will still stick with Dean and want to protect him as fiercely as Dean wants to protect Sam.

.

Sheila O’Malley has given a detailed explanation for the acting styles of Jared and Jensen and what she said about Jared is spot on and brilliant. He does what she calls active listening.

It is amazing how once you realize that you notice it all the time.

The reason why Dean can manage such perfect comedic timing or non- verbal communication is because Sam is always ALWAYS tuned into him. Listening, watching, reacting, observing.

Once again, for those of you interested in the meta and more erudite and informed reviews that this one 😊 do read what Sheila O’Malley has written.

Here are some excerpts which will entice you!

“David Nutter, who directed the pilot, also directed episode 2, and there’s a new DP here, the phenomenally talented Serge Ladouceur, who is still shooting the show. If the DP for the pilot, Aaron Schneider, helped establish the dark mood and horror-movie feel of the series, then Ladouceur just helped deepen and strengthen that continuum. The look of the show has changed, by Season 9. I would say that it has a more glamorous look now, more colorful, while certainly still very dramatic (even melodramatic). Supernatural is (and has been) one of the best looking shows on television.”

“The ranger comes in to talk to them, and they pose as environmental studies majors at the university in Boulder. Sam says they are “working on a paper”, clearly improvising, and you can watch the glorious schtick of Jensen Ackles as he adjusts to the new information of who he is supposed to be pretending to be. God is in the details, people, and it’s the detailed scene work of both Ackles and Padalecki that keeps this show going. David Nutter referred to Jensen Ackles once as a “meticulous actor” in terms of his preparation for every scene, no matter how small, and it pays off. He knows what the fuck he is doing. So does Padalecki. I couldn’t give two shits about the demons. It’s that DYNAMIC that is so entertaining and watch-able.”

 .

And here are some thoughts on the episode from @soulmates-for-real, my partner in crime for the rewatch 😊

Except the fact that Sam is quite secretive about his nightmares but his body language is quite open and his expressions easy to read. On the contrary, I saw Dean posturing a lot with other people, pouting, flirting, making eyes...trying to be all nonchalant. But when it comes to Sam we see a different Dean - the more antsy and angsty Sam gets, the more intensely Dean reacts to him and you can see Dean's concern shining through. Leading to Sam coming to some kind of resolution and giving Dean 'that look' at the end! 

[6knotty6thotty6]

So a couple of months ago, I saw a YouTube video that was an audio recording of season 5, episode 6 of Bojack Horseman, “Free Churro.” In the episode, the main character, Bojack Horseman, spends 20 minutes giving a eulogy at his mother’s funeral. There’s one big problem though, his mother was an abusive bitch. His eulogy is him trying to contemplate what she meant by her drying words, “I see you,” and whether or not she loved him. As someone who has a dead parent who was abusive, this is probably my favorite episode of any show ever for how much it helped me understand my feelings. The comments section is filled with people sharing their pain with their abusive families, but one comment stood out to me above all the others by how raw and relatable it was. This comment was by a YouTuber named Moonstruck. At the bottom of this post is a link to her channel. Please support her. After reading this, she deserves a million subscribers. Also please watch Bojack Horseman. (I corrected some of the grammatical errors to make it easier to read)

Disclaimer: Child abuse, bullying, trauma, and mental health:

Moonstruck: 

This is a great monologue, but one part of it, in particular, really caught my attention was the 'grand gesture' bit.

When I was a kid, I read this book called "Chicken Soup for the Soul." There's a shitload of them. I don't remember which particular one it was. I hated the whole series because it's just someone profiting off a bunch of other people's stories rather than trying to write their own, in my opinion. 

Anyway.

This one story that I remember, the ONLY one I remembered,  was sent in by a little girl. She wrote about how her father never told her that he loved her. He never once, in her whole life, said the words "I love you." I don't remember her mom being mentioned, maybe she was dead; it doesn't matter. The point is her dad was basically an emotionless asshole. Well, one day, this girl gets sick. Really sick. Possibly on her deathbed sick. She wrote that one day she woke up to find a necklace sitting on her nightstand that had a pendant that looked like her dog. She said she held it to her heart and cried because that necklace said all the things her father never had.

I thought, "What a load of bullshit."

A cheap trinket doesn't make up for years and years of emotional neglect. Anyone can buy a thing and toss it your way. Hell, he didn't even hand it to her himself, just left it there for her to find if/when she woke up, then left her alone again to possibly die.

A lot of people say that actions speak louder than words, in cases like political protests and shit. While that's true, scenarios that this that girl are different. Gifts can never replace the words, "I love you."

When I was a kid, my father never told me he loved me. My mother didn't either, but she's a whole other kettle of fish. I would say 'my biological mother or father,' but I never got adopted ones, so who gives a shit. Anyway. My father was rarely around, and when he was, he just spent the entire time fighting with my mother and leaving again. He would do and say anything that could get him to spend less time in the house with her. With us. I can't blame him. If I could've left during those times, I would have. I tried more than once. I even earned the nickname 'runaway' from a family friend because of it. 

I was told that I was worthless as early as I could understand words. I don't know what it is about me that set my mother off, but she HATED me. I was always told how expensive I was to keep alive and how I wasn't worth it. If I dared ask for anything, she would remind me how much she spent just to keep me from starving to death and that it was too much already. On the rare occasion I was given something, it was so she could use it as a threat. She was like, "Sure, you can have that toy horse since we got your sister a real one, but you better behave or we'll give it to her and let her break it." Or "Oh, fine, we can keep this dog as a FAMILY pet (NOT YOURS), but if you do something we don't like, we'll take it away and kill it." 

Oh, yeah. I have a sister. She’s cut from the same cloth as our mother. I don't consider any of them family anymore. She was two years older than me. She was the "we should have stopped while we were ahead" kid. Anything she wanted, she got. 

"Mom, can I have an award-winning horse and expensive dressage lessons?"

"Sure!"

"Mom, can I have a car?"

"No problem!"

"Mom, can you pay for my ballet lessons?"

"Absolutely!"

She was the golden child. The one that could do no wrong and wasn't a mistake. Even after she totaled her car, got arrested for an underage DUI, and got pregnant three times in high school, she was still the good one. I never even asked to go to school dances, parties, or go out with the one friend I had. My sister liked to see me in pain. She'd tell our mom that I did things just to get me in trouble. Whether it involved blaming me for things she did or fabricating stuff, she'd say whatever it took to get my mother to beat me while she watched and laughed. Oh, yeah, our mom was BIG on physical punishment. I've been whipped with everything from a riding crop, a wooden paddle, spoons, and especially belts. Anything that was close at hand when my mother got irritated, I've been hit with it. 

At one point, my sister had three tall, beautiful show-worthy horses. I was allowed to keep a sickly old pony for all of a week before she was taken away, then I'd get called ungrateful for asking why we had to get rid of HER instead of one of the horses. Even though my mother said it cost too much to keep them all. With horses being obviously too rich for my blood, I asked for something cheaper, and for once, I got it. I was given a baby goat that one of our neighbors' goats had abandoned for being too weak, and they didn't have time to raise. I loved that goat. I bottle raised him, and named him Ben. He was my best friend for a while. When he grew up, he got so big that I was able to stand on his back to grab tree branches and pull them down so he could eat the leaves. I walked him on a leash like a dog every day. I loved him so much. My mother had me enter him in a show, and we won ninth place! I was thrilled to have something to show against my sister's collection of dressage show ribbons. I finally had proof that I could do something right! Sure, the prize money was taken away from me, but I still had Ben.

But Ben didn't come home with me after the show. It turns out he was sold to a slaughterhouse because that show was for meat goats. I didn't know until he was already gone. Of course, my mother punished me for being upset and even forced me to write a thank-you card to the people who bought his meat. 

My mother was always like that. Anything I loved was used as a threat. I eventually accepted that loving anything was a waste of time. I learned to detach myself from my feelings, and I got really good at it. I can completely turn off my emotional reaction to anything. One time I had to put down one of the egg-laying hens at work that got too sick to save, and I felt nothing while bringing down the ax. When I lost out on a job that could have changed my life, I told myself how stupid it was to hope for anything good. Any positive emotion I felt got me punished, so I learned to feel nothing at all. To this day, I still have trouble feeling things, even when I want to. I'm taking pills now, and they help, sometimes. 

I've had several suicide attempts. I keep a box of razor blades in my desk just to have them close. I got a tattoo of a heart with rainbows on my wrist. Partially for LGBT solidarity, but mostly to remind myself that there is still beauty in the world. I still struggle with wonder if I actually believe it or not. 

I've tried so hard to be a good kid. I never partied, never drank, never smoked even when the chances were there, and I would have greatly loved anything to make the pain stop or even just dull it a little bit. I was in the gifted and talented program at school and was able to graduate at fifteen. For a while, I was sent to a children's home where I was passed around to many people I didn't know, including a clown who I may or may not have actually been related to, until I eventually wound up out here where I am now. It's all pretty hazy, and the details get scrambled. 

It's been 10 years since I've had contact with my mother and sister. I can't even keep in touch with the one friend I had, even after I lived with her. She's tried to reach out to me, but I just… can't. I try, but I can't. Sometimes, I can almost pretend that my past wasn't real. It's just a hazy fog that isn't really there. I want to believe that if I don't allow something, or someone, who was part of that past, someone tangible and real, into my life again, then the fog will go away. This is why I can't do it. I know I'm a terrible friend. Ariel, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. You're better off without me in your life anyway. 

I typed all of this out because sometimes, about fifty dollars or so shows up in my PayPal from my father's email address. I don't know if it's from him or from her using his email, but it doesn't matter either way. The point is I know my mother is the one sending the money.

I know my mother likes to think she's a good person. She went to church every Sunday, and probably still does. She organized a lot of church events and participated in every church function. I had to be an altar server for several years until I aged out of it and was in the choir. She kept going to that church even after the priest got drunk, called me many horrible names in front of everyone, and was revealed to be a pedophile that raped a little boy at gunpoint. She probably still goes to that same church and organizes things. She likes being in charge. She likes having people look at her and say, "That there is a good person."

But are you, though, Mom? Are you really a good person? Were you a good person when you hit me? When you lied to me? When you laughed with my sister about how much I got hurt for things I didn't do? Were you a good person every time you told me you'd kill my cat or leave my dog at the pound? Were you a good person when you sold Ben to be eaten, knowing that I loved him? Were you a good person when you made me read "A child called It" and told me that you'd start doing the things in that book to me if I didn't behave? Were you a good person every time you told my father I was a liar whenever I tried to tell him what you were doing to me? Were you a good person when you told me I wasn't worth the cost of being alive? Were you? 

Fuck you, Mom! Keep your fucking money! A necklace on the nightstand isn't enough. A trinket can't heal years and years and years of abuse and hurt. You can't hide these scars under dollar bills. I hope you die alone. I know I probably will, but I don't even care anymore. I lost the ability to care thanks to you. You can't make up for the things you did and the things you didn't say now. Too little, too late! 

[misskittysmagicportal]

I’m A Creep

Fandom: The Messenger Jack x Rin Davies

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: suicide discussion, oral sex, penetration, mention of masturbation, angsty whomp because OOOOF is Jack a Whomp!character

Note: The events of this fic contain spoilers for those of you who havent seen The Messenger.  It takes place after the end of the movie.  Read at your own risk if you haven’t seen it!  If you want it’s free on Tubi :)

Present Day:

Jack stood beside Rin in the dead of night watching her sleep for just a moment. Only a moment because she roused the instant she sensed him breathe. Sitting up, she quickly reached inside the nightstand. He knew her routine, Rin was impulsive about making sure her leather motorcycle gloves were on before she let him in.

Jack wordlessly pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his sweatpants and boxers. 

Rin lifted her covers and opened her legs to him. Obliging, Jack lowered himself onto her showering her neck with kisses. His tongue and lips trailing down along her collarbone, erection hard against her thigh. A hand found its way under Rin’s t-shirt and over a naked breast where he pinched at a nipple. 

“Jack,” she was breathless. “Stop. Don't touch my skin, please.”

Jack pushed himself up by the arms, “How is this enjoyable to you, duck?” A northern term of endearment. “My thighs ah touchin’ you aren't they?” The moonlight caught his eyes as he teased her with the head of his cock. “What about this, inside you?” Suggestively whispered. 

Rin moaned but held her cool. “It’s not the same. Like you said, that's inside. It's just my.. skin. From my..” her voice trailed off. 

“Would it be so bad? I just want to feel you under me without fuckkin clothes.” Jack took a chance and kissed her. Tongue pushing inside of Rin, but she stiffened. “Sweetheart,” now he whispered, just his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Please, love, just touch me”

--------

Several Weeks Before:

Rin sat alone at a center table in the middle of the visitation room.  This wasn’t her first rodeo, probably won’t be her last.  She flexed her hands outwards the leather of her gloves cracking and flexing in a satisfying manner.  No one was going to come and see her. Besides, the solitude allowed her to quietly spy on all the other nutters around the room.

Just to her left Rin noticed a pretty redheaded woman and her son as they sat across from probably the most attractive guy ever in an institution.  There was a tenseness to the way he sat, shoulders hunched and hands between his legs.  His hair unruly and a blank stare that wasn’t really focusing on- she came to realize-  his sister and nephew.  Rin knew him from group therapy where he was equally quiet, eyes glassy from a psych med cocktail.  The majority of his speaking hours tucked away in that overbearing therapist’s office.  

“Jack, will you please just look at me?” his sister, Emma tried her best to reach out to her brother. “I.. I think Martin and I made a mistake.” 

Jack only stared straight ahead between Emma and his nephew, Billy. The preteen looked uncomfortable and scared as his mother nudged him softly. “It's ok. Billy tell Uncle Jack.” 

“I did, Mom” , his voice quiet. “I'm supposed to say no. That you should get me help before it's too late.”  Rin watched as Billy folded his arms and laid his head down. “Only I can't. It's all night and day, Jack. I can't sleep because they don't have you.” 

“Best leave him here with me then, Emma.” It was the first time anyone heard Jack speak in weeks. His sister had a posh accent, so Rin was surprised when Yorkshire dripped from his lips. “For good, right?” 

“That's not fair. You are sick, Jack.  You weren't caring for yourself. You.. you got too involved with that murder. You were hurting yourself,” Emma struggled with tears. “I want to take you home.”

“Oh like I'm some kind of fookin dog? Emma you and Martin made it clear I belong here. She's right, maybe it was all dad. That's traumatic you know.” 

“You deserve someplace warm! A home. Please, Jack. I found this in your things.” She slid a newspaper clipping towards her brother. “That's the boy who drowned. Why.. why didn't you tell me?” 

“Loads of kids drown in pools,” Jack stated bluntly with a shrug. “Why should your pool be any different?” 

“I never said it was our pool.” 

“I recognized the address in the article”

“Jack, it's from two years ago.” 

“I got lucky. Ah we doon here? I have walls to stare at. Here Billy you can have this back,” from between his knees he produced a glass paperweight with a scorpion inside. “Tell all ya mates Crazy Uncle Jack sends his loov” 

Jack tried to stand but Emma grabbed his arm. This was Rin’s cue to swoop in. She swiftly moved from her table to theirs. 

“JACKIE!’ I've been looking for you everywhere!” His eyes panicking in her direction. “I'm Wren,” she took her glove off and reached a scarred hand in Emma's direction. “But my brother couldn't say it so you can call me Rin” She smiled brightly. 

Emma tentatively shook Rin’s hand, smiling in turn.  Rin took a moment as her mind’s eye zoned in on what was inside of Jack’s sister.  It was a loneliness, a desperation to take care of her little brother but protect her son from the same fate.  But most importantly Rin felt a small tingling of warmth from somewhere deep inside of Emma’s heart.  It was white and pure and instantly recognizable as hope.  Even though it was tiny it was growing and starting to spread, and Rin knew Emma was eager to share that with her brother.

“Wow,” Rin blurted, “I wish my brother was as invested in me as you are.  You’re a good person, Emma.  Trust me,” she winked.  “Woman’s intuition.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and studied the crazed looking woman standing between her and Jack.  The scars on Rin’s hand raised some alarms, but Emma ignored them.  She omitted a relief and let go, “Well thank you.  Can you talk some sense into my brother?”

Moments later, with the visitors gone, Rin sat down in Emma’s place.  “Thank you is a start,” she teased Jack. 

He rolled his eyes and slowly turned in her direction to face her dead on.  The intensity of his eyes took Rin by surprise.  “Thank you,” the sarcasm poured like a waterfall.

Rin took off her other glove.  “Now, Mr-”

“Jack is fine.”

“Jack.  Tell me,” Rin feigned a German accent, “Und why do zey sink you are crazy.”   

He blinked slowly.

“You got sectioned.  What bullshit excuse did they force you to believe?  Because it seems like Lovely Emma is desperate to get you out, and we know how hard that is.”

Jack took an impossibly deep breath, “Schizo-effective disorder with some dissociation, post traumatic stress disorder, non-suicidal self injury disorder and depression.”

“Fuck me, that's a trail mix of bonkers. Now ask me” 

Jack closed his eyes. They were shut for so long that Rin was certain he had fallen asleep having given in to his meds. His hunched, thin body sort of folded a bit in on itself. A moment of possible self-soothing when he started to sway. 

“Jack?” Rin's tone fell quietly with concern. She poke his arm carefully avoiding touching the skin. “Darling what cocktail did these quacks put you on.” She was an expert after all these years; if the drugs were working, no way would he be this much of a zombie.

Green blank eyes hidden behind enviable eyelashes attempted to focus “Seroquel. Clozapine?” His words start to slur a bit. “Fine. How fucking barmy are you?”

“Well,”  the young woman softened, “I have suicidal ideations with self-injury tendencies myself, severe clinical depression, a bit of the old borderline personality disorder and wait for it..”  she practically whispered a few inches from Jack’s face, “total emotional attachment to partners.”  

The skin around Jack’s eyes crinkled as he squinted just enough to indicate his hazed brain was trying to process everything Rin just unloaded. His lips parted to speak but he paused resulting in a gobsmacked expression.  “You’re barking.”

“Says the sexy scarecrow with journo clippings of dead boys.”  Rin pursed her lips and crossed her arms, “Why are you really in here Jack.”

“I’m fucking mad.” It was matter of fact.

“To quote the Cheshire Cat, we’re all mad here, love.  Look at me,” she held her hands aloft to display gnarled and prominent scars covering both hands in their entirety.  “I developed a gift or two by primary school.  See I can touch a person, and I know what they are feeling.  Except it.. It goes deeper than that.  I can PICTURE their true selves.  It’s a bit overstimulating, but no one can lie to me.  Not really.  Doesn’t do much for my sex life.  Or lack of one really.  Honestly, you put a cock in your mouth only to find out the guy you’re with is fantasizing about slitting your throat and wanking in your blood.”

Jack shook his head, “Jesus christ.”

“Well yes! My parents were religious zealots, right?  They got wind of my gifts.  Tried to use me in the church, but I rebelled.  Long story short, darling Mumsy and Papa decided if they may be stuck my hands in boiling grease I wouldn’t be able to use it anymore.  It’s not in my hands though.  It’s in my skin,” Rin smiled almost pleasantly. “Sometimes I get a bit over the edge.  I stop shielding myself from the pure air around folks, I suffocate in it.  Then,” now she held out her wrists, “I have my little accidents.”

Jack’s mouth hung agape.  His brows furrowed in confusion, “You are off you’re fucking nut.”

“That’s all relative.  Now, you can tell me why they REALLY sectioned you.  What power or ability are they masquerading as mental illness, or I can find out my way.”  Rin shrugged. 

“Why the fuck do you care?  I’m sleeping at night.  I have food and a bed and a shower.”

“Und electro-shock zerapy, und coma inducing psychopharmaceuticals, und most importantly you has lost your voice und a chance to harness your ability correctly.”  that mock German accent again.  “You shouldn’t be here, Jack.  Emma certainly doesn’t think so, and neither do I.  You’re special.  Or that bitch shrink wouldn’t have made you the living dead.”

Jack snorted followed by a rather loud.  “Just fuck off. Fuck off.  Fuck off.  FUCK OFF!” he screamed in Rin’s face.  Not once did she flinch, arms crossed again in a challenge. Disgusted by her, Jack kept bellowing his words thick with anger and cotton from the meds, “I DON'T BELONG OUT THERE EITHER!  I DON'T BELONG IN HERE!  I DON’T FUCKING BELONG ANYWHERE. HE’S DEAD.  SHE’S DEAD.  EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE OF THE CUNTS IS DEAD!  DEAD DEAD DYING!  JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” 

He shot up out of the chair to leave, but Rin caught his large hand.  Skin to skin, hands so small together they barely covered just his one.  Instantly her body stiffened as she gasped for air.  Tears immediately stung her eyes as she crammed them shut.  There in her mind was just a large body of water.  Ocean waves crashed overhead as she sank far below the surface.  Dark, cold, horrifying that sensation of being drowned.  Rin choked on the last bit of oxygen in her lungs and started to suffocate.  The hand she held brought her mind’s eye around to opening under the water to see Jack floating near-motionless in front of her.  It took all of her strength to push against the tide towards him where she held his face in her hands.  Death and decay flashed above them, the dead peering down from boats just waiting for Jack to return to the surface.

Rin strained to convey that tiny bit of hope Emma had passed along to her earlier as she pressed her forehead into Jack’s in the icy deep.  There was no reason in particular that she was drawn to him.  Not in the hospital or here trying to save him from drowning slowly. Was he attractive, undoubtedly, but that wasn’t all or it. Maybe it was now that she knew he was a messenger, a harbinger of death.  That was itself a form of an empathic gift.  Or it was just compassion. 

Suddenly Jack’s eyes burst open.  In that languid way your body moves underwater, he pushed her away.  His arms and legs thrashed around in a panic as if he only just realized he was allowing this place to kill him.  There was an instant loss, and Rin’s inner self slammed into a brick wall.  The physical Jack had severed the connection between her body and his.  To resurface that suddenly forced Rin gulping in blessed oxygen that she never really lost.  It was an illusion, where the two of them had been.  He really had shoved her back though, she realized that now.  Storming out of the visitation center, Jack left Rin alone to cry.

--------

Several days later

Rin lounged against the wall outside of Jack’s room with her gloves firmly in place.  Patients weren’t SUPPOSED to fraternize outside of the common rooms, but Rin had been here a few times before.  She knew which orderlies and nurses to finess, and which to avoid.  In this case Jerry was the giant, affable St Bernard of a man that kept watch in this particular hallway.

“Wren back so soon?” he teased. “What are you doing hanging around the human handbook for the recently deceased?” 

“Delightful, Jer.  How is he?  I mean really.” Rin hooked her thumb in the direction of the room.

“Easiest patient I’ve dealt with on account of he rarely speaks, pops his meds and keeps to himself.  Gave us a bit of a row when he first got here, but I like the guy.  I don’t know what to believe though.  His sister’s been sniffing around administratives.”  The orderly shrugged his massive shoulders.  “Heard you took quite the piss on visitation day.”

“I didn’t take the piss!” 

“Did ya do your handsy thing,” Jerry made jazz hands.

Rin’s eyes almost rolled back in her head, but suddenly there was a figure in the doorway which caused her to jump.  “How about we don’t talk about the nutter like he isn’t 10 feet away and only 27 years old?” Jack insisted.  His arms crossed and shoulders sagged in their usual way.  

“Can we talk?”  

Before Jack could truly answer, Rin had already pushed past him and sat down on his bed.  His mouth hung somewhat agape before he eventually joined her.  Jack attempted to sit close, just for some human contact, but the young woman beside him shied away.

“Right,” a retort.  “You’ve started being just as bloody fucking annoying as they were.”

Startled, “Who?”

“You know those.. Schizo delusions I’m here for.”

“The dead?”

Jack’s green eyes narrowed and Rin knew there was a sarcastic remark just sitting there waiting to be released.  Instead he curled his posture as if he was trying to fold in on himself.  Make himself smaller, less noticeable.  “Dissociations sparked by my father’s suicide.”

“Psycho babble bullshit jargon.  Congratulations, you’ve become a parrot.”  Rin waved her hand, “Jack has anyone ever-.”  There was a hesitation.  

“Has anyone ever what? Go on, enlighten me then”

Rin started stripping her gloves off but thought better of it.  A sense of foreboding, of drowning and clutching her chest for hair flashed across her mind.  The loneliness emanated from Jack without her touch. That empathic conduction of her skin.  Reaching instead to place the soft leather against his cheek, her thumb brushed his bottom lip.  Her eyes searched for him in that moment where time stood still before a mouth replaced a thumb.  

To not only Rin’s surprise but his own, Jack didn’t recoil.  His body relaxed as instinct took hold. There was a fervor in hands that got tangled up in hair.  Tongues fought each other as arms made their way around bodies in an embrace.  They held one another tight, the desperation apparent.  

The spell broke when Jack laid Rin down on the bed and let his warm mouth trail down her neck. He was awkward and hungry like a teenager.  He fumbled around her chest to attempt massaging her breast. 

A snort came from Rin simply to hide the panic of rushing water when Jack’s lips came into contact with her skin.  Maybe hers found it easier to beg off that inner eye from opening, but now she didn’t have a choice.  They weren’t as deep with the surface just rippling only a few inches away.  

Before she started to lose oxygen again, Rin began to squirm.  “ Stop.  Please?”

Jack sat up and faced forward as if nothing had transpired.  His cheeks flushed and a hand tugged at his tee-shirt embarrassingly then stuffed between his legs. He blinked a few times as he breathing calmed. 

“I only came to ask you if anyone had ever shown you affection.  Held you.  Emma.. Emma”  Rin inhaled deeply as she forced Jack to hold her glove hand.  “I know she sort of longs to hug you.”  Back on his cheek to make him look at her. “Obviously I got my answer,” she laughed. 

Jack silently replied by pushing his forehead into Rin's.  They laid down again this time with their heads on his pillow legs and arms tangled up in each other. Jack nuzzled the edge of his nose into the skin behind her ear; her breath caught. Then the couple seemingly melted together.

“Jack you seem less-” fingers twisted up in his curls.

“Like a walking coma patient?” hand gripped the thick of her thigh.  Then reaching a shelf above Rin Jack seized one of those creepy glass paperweights housing a floating tarantula. Turning it over underneath to show a tiny white envelope. “I started hiding my meds. Pass them along to my sister when she visits.”

Just under the surface of the water, still struggling for air exploded before Rin's eyes. Perhaps she had passed something between Emma and Jack. Was it her own faith that was transmitted to him? That first touch that woke him up after all this time. 

The next few weeks became a game of trial and error. Of how little or much Rin and Jack could consume of each other.  Kissing was no longer an issue once the meds began to wear off, lips and tongues and mouths. It felt more like standing ankle deep in a bathtub. Warm and comforting; it was Jack that was overpowering.  

Eager to make up for a very long very lost amount of time. He stumbled along Rin's body uneasily because of how little clothing she removed at first. Not that he was in a rush to reveal what was underneath his oversized shirt and sweatpants. He wasn’t the one recoiling when the stimulation overwhelmed.  

“I'll take off my shirt. Touch me here, but where the fabric of my bra is. Tease the nipple with just your fingertips. No that's.. maybe under? Touch them. Oh God. Now your mouth. Right there.  Are you.. you took your shirt off too?” (She marveled at how defined, muscular Jack's body seemed despite his slight stature)   

Jack took initiative now and slid his fingers inside of Rin. He pumped them a few times guided by her ``Oh.. maybe you can touch me.. Do you feel.. It’s like a bud or a kernel.. Here let me.. It’s just right.. OH GOD.  Right like.. ”   And she would ride his hand and fingers that circled that bud.  

Rin would cry out in surprise.  Her body exploded in ecstasy. They weren't drowning anymore. Just swimming, bobbed under the water and surface. It was the sense-memory of suffocating, coupled with the dazzling pleasure of Jack's warm tongue as it teased her nipples, his strong fingers teasing her clit at the same time. His hot skin meshed with hers washed out by fear.  She apologized as they scrambled to arrange themselves. 

“Don't think I'm going anywhere for quite some time, my love.”  His words changed with the possessive my in lieu of the once meaningless sentiment. He would steal a chaste kiss from Rin whose cheeks flushed to match his own as he made that familiar adjustment between his legs.  In the future, Rin would come to him without a bra but reluctant to take her shirt off when Jack kept on never minding.

Jerry became an ally of sorts. He always had been on Rin's side after she read him her second section. It wasn't difficult to get him to believe in Jack's abilities. Staff has whispered down the corridors that Jack had suddenly found himself aware of a suicide attempt.  That dead reporter Emma mentioned, his fiancé had taken more pills than Rin ever fathomed any number of her attempts. (She had a flare for dramatics: slit wrists) Jerry mentioned Jack had a tantrum the likes of a toddler screaming the name Sarah whatever over and over, pounding his fists into his head to make whatever haunted him. Sure enough, this Sarah was found nearly having bled out and foaming at the mouth. 

“How would he even fucking know, poppet? Not unless Jack really was chatting up her dead fiancé “ As if that was all he needed, Jerry turned his back and caused distractions all the nights the Empath and her Beautiful Broken Man longed to be together.

It was stunning the way Jack learned to manipulate the system.  Only Rin, and reluctantly Jerry, knew he pocketed his meds.  Safely tucked away in those ugly arachnid globes in the pockets or purse of Billy and Emma.  He started talking more in group therapy and far less in private sessions.  Engaged in conversations with his sister and nephew, true ones that resulted in a simple smile or a laugh free from a facetious tone.  To the staff and doctors those fucking psychopharmeceuticals worked.  To Jack’s sister and nephew and whatever Rin was to him, there was a slowly lifting weight making the air around him lighter. Yet Rin kept her hands to herself.

More trial and error.  In the midst of fervent kisses, Rin took Jack in her hand.  A stroke or two was all she got in before he spasmed and came.  The mortification that flashed in his eyes as he curled in a fetal position between her and the wall while she whispered reassurances in his ear.  Touching him, caressing him and eventually taking him into her mouth became easier and longer with practice and patience.  

They laughed into each other’s mouths before Rin let her tongue trail down over his stomach. Anxiously Jack took off his pants and boxers, lying backwards.  He held the back of her head, moaned and twisted as she licked and sucked on him. His hips bucked and thrust upwards.  

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

Present Day, Again

“Would it be so bad? I just want to feel you under me without fuckin clothes.” Jack took a chance and kissed Rin. Tongue pushed inside of her, but she stiffened. “Sweetheart,” now he whispered,  just his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Please, love, just touch me?”

Rin took a moment to think.  He wasn’t drowning anymore.  She could push that old feeling out of her third eye and bury herself in new ones.  She took a hold of her shirt and tossed it on the floor.  She took the erection that twiced against her thigh and held it just outside of her pulsating and ready sex.  With hands that sunk into her vunerable skin, Jack buried himself inside of her. 

That fire from Emma all that time ago poured from Jack’s body into hers.  It pushed back the water as he pumped rhythmically into Rin.  Building into a frenzy quickly, his pelvis crashed into hers before she could really come around to what was happening.  It briefly conquered the fears from before; caused hot tears to spring to her eyes that flowed uncontrolled down her cheeks.

In his fervor, Jack noticed and bent to kiss them away.  The gesture she had made that first time, a thumb brushed across her cheek and lower lip as he slowed his pace. Wren,” he took to calling her that tentatively.  “What is it?”

Before she could answer, Jack became distracted by something in the corner of the room.  Eyes passed between Rin and whatever it was that she couldn’t fathom or see.  She took his chin and focused it on her as they crashed together and apart again in another wave of building friction. It was too late though, he had abruptly pulled out and away from her. 

“NO!  STOP!  LEAVE ME ALONE!  CAN’T I HAVE ONE MOMENT OF FUCKING HAPPINESS WITHOUT ONE OF YOU LOOMING OVER ME LIKE A FUCKING PERV.”  He used fists to beat out a rhythm on his temples as he scurried to the corner of his bed with knees up to his chest.  

In the frenzy, Rin had been knocked to the floor.  Jerry had rushed in, he was never too far away just in case.  In a whirlwind, he picked Rin up with one hand and with the other attempted to intervene between Jack's fists and his head.  What could either of them do?  If attention was drawn to the room, surely the doctors would realize Jack had gone unmedicated for weeks.  Jerry’s eyes wide gestured towards Rin’s hands.  She shook her head, but Jack carried on.  

“Go on Jenny Wren, there has to be something your hands can do.  I’ll lose my job and you’ll be separated.  They’ll put him back in the Zoo.”  He was already yanking her arms forward and trying to remove her gloves before she could consent.

Rin knew The Zoo. It being rooms that could be monitored with two way mirrors.  You got a bed and a blanket.  They controlled when the lights came on and when they turned them off.  No privilege, no real structure.  They fed you, bathed you, and gave you “playtime” when they said.  No matter how you suffered from mental illness no one deserved that. She would never forgive herself.

“JERRY LET ME DO IT MYSELF!”  Rin bellowed if only to out yell Jack and his fit.  “Make her go away!  LEAVE ME ALONE” he cried underneath her.  Her hands free, she flexed them a few times before joining Jack on the bed.  She clutched his forearms and struggled to get a grip enough to pull them away from self-harm.  “JACK!  YOU HAVE GOT TO FUCKING STOP, MY DARLING.”  She slid her hands over his temples before he could punch them anymore.  She used the heels of her palms and pressed.  

It was immediate, the way her mind opened to him.  This time he was floating along the tide in a boat surrounded by what Rin could only guess were dead people.  They grabbed and tugged on Jack’s clothes.   Rin sat on the other side from him between two oars; she used one to swat at the ghosts who tried to pull them back in.  But there, walking along the surface, was a beautiful young woman.  Blonde hair flowed in waves down her back.  Sarah.

“You said we would be together, Jack.”  She was angry.  “That’s what you told him when he warned you I overdosed.  I survived that attempt, but not the second one.  Where is he Jack?  Why isn’t he here waiting for me?”

Jack stood up and the boat began to dangerously rock. Rin took his hand and he squeezed it in return.  He bellowed at the dead woman, “YOU SURVIVED AND HE MOVED ON.  I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU BEING FUCKING STUPID, SARAH.  WHAT I TOLD YOU WAS MEANT TO EASE YOUR GUILT.  HE LOVED YOU.  YOU WERE SO LOVED.  HE DIDN’T CARE ABOUT YOUR MISTAKES.  YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME ALONE.  ALL OF YOU.  I’M FUCKING DONE.  MOVE ON.  GO SOMEWHERE ELSE.  I CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE OF MY KIND.  AND FUCK OFF BILLY TOO, MATE.”

“Jack?”  Rin spoke softly.  The hands gripped her tight in place of him.  They started to pull her in with him because he was useless now.  He stood up to them for possibly the first time in twenty years.  They would take her instead then.  

Jack seized Rin’s body before she could go over in his place.  He held her fast and tight and shielded her from them.  “NO.  You don’t fucking get ANYONE I love.  Not Billy.  Not Emma.  Not Martin.  No Wren or Rin.  AND YOU DON’T FUCKING GET ME ANYMORE.”  He took the oar up in his free hand and swung it around the bodies in the water.  He jabbed it forward like a sword at Sarah still pacing the side of the boat.  “GO, SARAH.  HE’S WAITING FOR YOU.  I PROMISE THIS TIME”  Jack insisted and pleaded.

Then it was so silent it deafened both Jack and Rin as they clung to one another in the boat.  In a flash and explosion, they separated and landed back on the bed in the room in an institution.  Jerry panted and pawed at the two of them dazed and uncertain.  Jack blinked a handful of times with no recollection of what just took place in his head and Rin’s.  They never knew or remembered Rin had learned.

Jack scoured the room for any sign of Sarah or anyone else.  He rubbed his eyes a few times then sighed heavily.  “I.. I want to go back to my room now.”  It was matter of fact.  

Jerry nodded and helped him back into his clothes.  Jack stumbled a bit but managed to kiss Rin sweetly before being led away and down the hall.  Rin knew Jerry would probably give him something to help him sleep at least for the night and probably into tomorrow.  She was afraid Jack had woken up a second time.  Not just from his nightmare of the last twenty years, but whatever happened between them.  It was a price she had to pay sometimes when she helped.  There was something Rin longed to say earlier.  What made her cry was an ember somewhere deep inside of Jack that he had never experienced before.  For the first time in his life, he had hope.

[sgt-morgan]

Lucky Kentucky ch. 1

Chapter 2

Hello there, this is my new Rockstar!Bucky x Reader fic. It was heavily inspired by my love of seventies mega rockstars, Almost Famous, Classic Rock, and a little bit of personal whimsy. I hope you enjoy, and read responsibly.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ : cussing, sexy times, drugs, booze, smoking, objectification, fornication, liberation, and a litany of other sordid topics and traumas.

Your name didn’t matter, at least not so far as you could tell. They called you Kentucky, sometimes if they felt cheeky, Bluegrass. You liked it, the first band that gave you that name was some shitty college band out of Detroit. They were convinced they were gonna be the next Led Zepplin. They called it quits three years later, a good old fashioned Rock n’ Roll suicide, booze, women, and drugs. The finer things always gets the best amateurs. However, their lead singer had a way with words, he came up with the nickname. He also wrote a beautiful song about a girl named Kentucky, who he just couldn’t swing, some big named country superstar sang the song and the last you’d heard he had been writing for the best of the best since. This earned you your title, Lucky Kentucky. A bit on the nose for your taste, but it made perfect sense. You kept following the music, you went to a band in L.A., the day you left, they signed a record deal with Sony. The next was a little English girl and her backing band, her first tour of England with you landed her a tour of the US faster than they could say ‘Burbon.’

You are what is known in the music business as a road manager, so far as you could tell, this was the job you were born to do. You made schedules, you supplied booze and other artifacts, you got hotels, paid off paparazzi, packed busses, and shoved half out of their mind rock stars on to stages in more countries than you could count, you couldn’t imagine any better life. You were the best of the best, you were who the record company called when everyone else had given up. You were a fixer, and an incredibly talented one at that. You had a gift for taking a mediocre side show band, and turning them into headliners.

So when you got the call from Tony and Pepper that you had to fix The Howling Comandos, you were shocked. They were big time, nothing like your usual fixer upper opener that you could make insta stars. They certainly weren’t your crowd, but you always had a problem saying no to Pepper, Tony’s company manager. Tony was a talented mixer, and a gifted album technician. So when he started his own label, it blew up pretty quickly. The comandos were the first band he signed. They had won Album of the Year their first Grammy season without even batting an eyelash. So once business started booming, Pepper took over the paper work, and Tony did what he did best, Fucking around with a mixing board. You had met them when you started working with Natasha and the Widows, a Blondie style punk outfit. They had a pension for eating men alive. Eventually, it got in the way of their success, so you stepped in and saved the band from total destruction. You and the starks had been thick as theives since.

“Tony, you mean to tell me, that the Commandos, the biggest artists of the decade, need my help?” You scoffed down the line, checking the Widows out of the last hotel of their tour with Greta Van Fleet.

“Yes Bluegrass, I do. Barnes is going through some existential heart break shit ‘cause ole bitch called of the wedding, and fucked the Guitarist of their opener. He’s been all drugs, booze, and sappy shit since, and someone’s gotta get the mother fucker back on stage. I’m Loosing money here Kentucky, something’s gotta give.” Tony sounded livid, there were very few times where Tony was as frazzled as this, so you knew it was serious.

“Alright, but I have conditions.” You sighed, you thought you could hear the sound of Pepper weeping tears of joy, but you couldn’t be sure. “I want the Widows to open, I’m not done with them yet Stark they’ve got some potential that still needs to be tapped. I want Frankie on security, I want Wanda for wardrobe and makeup, I want Vision for my techie, and I’m taking Peter as my Head roadie.” It was a big ask, but if you were doing this, you were gonna need the best possible team.

“Jeez woman, rob the treasure chest would yah? You want all of them? You just asked me for the entire roster. They’re on other tours! I can’t just- HEY! Woman don’t you-“ you heard a slap and an ow, and suddenly you were with the one and only Pepper Potts- Stark.

“Kentucky? You have a deal. You can have the Allstars in three months, everyone’s tours should be wrapping up, that puts you just in time for festival season. You up to it?” Pepper sounded like someone had just kicked her puppy. So you knew, you were the only one that could save the day.

“Virginia? Count me in. Give me the three months to plan and connect with the team and I’ll make sure James Barnes makes it onto that bus.” You could practically taste her relief through the receiver. What had you just signed up for.

————————————————————————

You’d done it. Six months, 7 bus rentals, 75 hotels, 107 plane rides, 20 festivals, 95 shows, 89 cities, and roughly 200 people later, you had managed to construct the American leg of one of the biggest and longest tours you had ever seen. All it took was two months, and 23 bottles of Jack Daniels, and you had done it. Now all you had to do was meet the band, and have your first tour meeting.

You had never been so nervous to meet a group of men in your life. Normally, these meetings we’re pretty laid back and informal. Lots of getting to know you, and goofing off. This time, you were in charge of a multi-million dollar tour that could make or break the band of the decades d ruin your career. No pressure. Needless to say, you were fairly nervous.

You were relieved upon arrival that the first people to make it in were the people who seemed to be the most reliable. Vision and Wanda were quietly whispering  to eachother in the corner as always, their hands gently intertwined as they surveyed the rest of their new subjects. Frankie was standing off in another corner looking like an immovable brick wall. His sunglasses firmly in place on his nose, looking scary as always. Peter was off with the widows flirting with their drummer. You didn’t think it would end well, seeing as MJ was a bit of a hot head, and Peter was akward and nerdy, but to your surprise, they seemed to be getting along swimmingly. Natasha and Carol were staring at a book full of something, if you had to guess, it would be song lyrics of some variety, and to your shock and absolute awe, Peggy had saddled up to Steve Rogers. Steve was the guitarist of the Commandos, and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her company. Tony and Pepper were chatting with Clint and Sam the drummer and bassist of the Commandos, and Bruce Banner, your newly appointed second hand. James Barnes was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, well, good to see that most of you have arrived early!” You smirked walking to the head of the table with your big box of tour folders, Peter moving instantly to help you. “If I have not yet made your acquaintance, I am Kentucky, just Kentucky, you may call me Bluegrass or Lucky, but I will always prefer Kentucky. It has come to my immediate attention, that you sorry suckers were in need of a fantastic road manager, and here I am.” You survey the room as you spoke taking into account every face that you could see in the room and making sure everyone was following. “Now, where is James?”

————Some unnamed bar across town ————

Bucky’s head pounded. Wether it was from the booze or the pounding music he had no clue, but he could tell that it was far too early to be in this booth.

“You really went for it last night Barnes,” Bucky looks for the source of the voice to find that, Luke Cage, owner of the best bar in LA, was unloading boxes of tequila into his storage cabinets under the bar. “You shouldn’t have either, you’re late for your tour meeting.”

Bucky absorbed the information, and felt it melt out of his brain as if it were nothing more than an irritating ear worm. “How do you know about that?” He sighed running a hand down his face and slowly standing to grab his leather jacket.

“It’s sharpied onto your arm,” Luke chuckled pointing to Bucky’s right arm in just about the only clean space someone could fine. “Steve came in and did it last night before giving about a hundred dollars to let you sleep it off in that booth.”

“Of course he did,” Bucky scoffed, “the punk never knew when to leave well enough alone.” Bucky quickly slipped his sunglasses over his aching eyes, as he watched Luke slide a cup of coffee across the bar. “Goodbye Luke, your bar is the only thing I’m gonna miss about this town.”

“Goodbye Bucky, the free live music, and the fantastic tips are all I’m going to miss about you boys. I’ll tell Jess you said hello.” And with that final fond farewell, Bucky left Luke’s bar for the last time before he was trapped in a tour bus for six months.

The drive to Stark Records was as second nature to him as tying his shoes. He easily glided in between cars, making record time to his place of employment. He parked his bike next to a slot that occupied the sweetest little red corvette he’s seen in a good while. The tune in the reference catches his brain and he starts to whistle the chorus, wishing the artist formerly known as Prince was still around. He walked past Sharon, the desk clerk, giving her his customary wink and a smirk, stealing a sucker out of her candy dish and wandering into the meeting.

That’s when he saw her, the hottest piece of ass this side of the sunset strip. She looked powerful, she looked commanding, she was covered in tattoos and wearing the best looking little black number. She was saying his name. “Where is James?”

“Right here sweet thing, I hope I’m not too late to the party, I’d hate to miss anything that came out of that pretty little mouth.” Boy was it pretty, the full lips covered in a red shade that he could only seem to imagine smeared all over her moth as she panted his name.

“Ah, yes there he is. Hello, James. Just in time to-”

“James is my dad sugar, I’m sure we can think of something a little more clever for you to-”

“Alright then Junior if you don’t mind, I’m trying to conduct a meeting, and I will not be letting a drunken moron interupt my carefully planned work flow.”

Bucky’s jaw snapped shut as the people around him, some friends and some strangers, laughed at the clever lady’s little barb.

“Alright then, as I was saying, I’m here to help. I believe in the Peter Grant method of representation. The you-have-a-venue-you-want-it-filled-I-have-just-the-band-sixty-forty method.” She said, flipping her hair into a simple bun on the top of her head, which Bucky couldn’t find more attractive if he tried, “I have made hotel arrangements for every show, I have made bus arrangements, I have planned for added shows, and delayed dates. I have brought you the best opener I have, the best artists, roadies, security, and technicians I could scrape together, and most importantly, I have given you my time and my trust. I can make your touring life as easy and as simple as humanly possible, or I could ruin it. However, all I want is to get you out there, grinding again, reminding your fans the reason they love you. All you have to do, is let me work, and focus on the music. Can we do that?”

“Doll? I like the way you think.”

“Junior? It’s gonna be a long fucking six months.”

[lockedstuck]

sorrow that you keep

March 2021 - Sollux Captor

“Vitals!” Dirk announces, rapping on your door with his knuckles. “C’mon, let’s get this over with so I can serve breakfast!”

When you walk out of your room, there’s already a line leading out of the treatment room. The person in front of you, a dark-skinned kid with an Angela Davis-style afro - Karkat, you think his name is - curses up a blue streak while he waits in line.

“I don’t see why I had to get a prissy fucking bastard with insomnia as my goddamn roommate. I didn’t ask for any of this fucking shit. Fucking involuntary status, fucking dumbshit Eridan, I hope this fucking hospital burns down.”

It’s too early to put up with this guy, especially with the migraine you woke up with.

“Not tryna piss you off or anything but do you think you could keep it down with your tirade?”

If looks could kill, the glare Karkat shoots you would have rendered you to a pile of smoldering ash.

“I haven’t had a cigarette in six days, it’s seven oh fuck in the morning, my roommate wakes up seventeen times a night, and I might be losing my job because my shithead brother signed me into this fucking place, so you can go straight the fuck to hell,” Karkat replies.

“Are you this obnoxious later in the day, or did they just forget to give you your ativan last night?”

“I don’t even take ativan, dumbfuck.” He squares up. Maybe if he weren’t five foot one, you’d actually be afraid. “I’ll knock you out if you keep talking, though.”

Behind you, a guy with eyes so dark that they might be violet moves to plant a hand on Karkat’s shoulder. It’s your roommate, Gamzee Makara, who appears to sleep for fifteen hours a day. Karkat surprisingly refrains from flinching or scowling. You probably wouldn’t scowl at this guy if you had the opportunity either; he’s easily six foot four, his hair curling around his ears and sticking out worse than Karkat’s.

“Now there’s no reason to get up an’ motherfucking truculent with the new guy so early in the morning.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Makara, if you tell me to calm down and wait for the morning miracles, I’ll kill you too.”

“There’s no need to wait, Karbro. The sunrise is a miracle in and of itself. When I looked at the ceiling in my room, I saw miracles. Everywhere.”

“They need to put you on haldol, man.”

“I don’t need no helldogs telling me what to do. I just go with the flow.”

“Of course,” Karkat says, almost fondly. “You and your motherfucking miracles.”

When it’s nearly Karkat’s turn for vitals, Dirk escorts Roxy over to the nurses’ station. She blows a kiss at Karkat, who raises his hand in half-salute. Ignacio walks out of the charting room and takes a look at her.

“Miss Lalonde, I have medication for you. This’ll help with the shakes, hypertension, and sweating.”

Roxy puts her hands on her hips and winks at him. “Again, cutiepie?”

Ignacio rolls his eyes at her and shakes his head, his mohawk moving slightly with the motion. He hands her a medication cup and a paper cup of water. She swallows her medication down fluidly, without drinking any of the water. That has to be an xbox achievement.

During breakfast, as Eridan continues to scowl and bitch about his lack of breakfast (he has ECT today), and Karkat tells him to stop being an overdramatic fuckass before he stabs him with a fork, Dr. Vandayar pulls you aside for one of his “no big deal” discussions.

Otherwise known as morning check-in.

Truth be told, you rather like Dr. V, or Krishna, which is what he told you that you could call him, even though he has a doctorate.

He got you access to sharps, your body wash, and your clothes. He means well, and aside from when he checks in every morning, he doesn’t force you to talk if you don’t want to.

“How are you doing today, Mr. Captor?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m okay, I guess. Pretty much the same as yesterday.”

Then come the “one to tens”, as you’ve come to think of them. Krishna has his little clipboard balanced on his thigh.

“Urges to hurt other people, one to ten?”

You think of Karkat Vantas and that smug fucking look on his face.

“Two.” It’s always less than three. Maybe that’s why he starts with it.

“Urges to hurt yourself, one to ten?”

You contemplate yesterday’s DBT handout, Roxy’s outburst about self-destruction, and its many varying connotations.

“Eight,” you reply.

“Suicidal thoughts, one to ten?”

“Nine.”

“Active or passive?”

“Passive, mostly. Fleetingly active. I don’t want to live if I’m going to burden people, the usual.”

“Do you have any plans to seriously harm yourself on the unit?”

“No. Not here,” you say. “Everything I’d want to do would require me to be outside.”

“I see,” Krishna says. “Have you been seeing or hearing things that aren’t really there?”

“No.”

“What about feeling like people are out to get you, or sending you special messages?”

“No. Nothing like that. I get enough of that shit at home.”

Dr. V does not laugh at your attempt to joke about your chaotic home life.

If you were to be completely honest, you’re wondering when your medications are going to start working, or if they’re going to start working. Talking to the other patients has been a double-edged sword. So many of them have been on a million different drugs without relief.

Logically, you know that it’ll probably take whatever you’re on more than a week to cure you, but… You’re scared. You’re not in full control and it scares you. There’s a reason you slit your throat. There’s a reason you’re here.

You’re scared the melancholy will wrap itself around you like a shroud, and never relinquish its hold. You’re scared you’ll hate yourself and this life forever.

“I thank you for your honesty, Sollux,” Dr. V says, once he makes his notes. “Any uses of target behaviors that I should be aware of?”

“I cut myself with a plastic knife on Friday evening. Not deep enough to need medical attention, though.”

You scan his expression for evidence of emotion, but he has the mother of all poker faces. All he does is write your answers down in his incomprehensible shorthand,

“How did that make you feel?” he asks. “Remember, it didn’t necessarily have to make you feel anything.”

You shrug. “It helped relieve the tension in the moment, I guess.”

“But it also made me feel disappointed later on,” you go on. “Disappointed at myself. I’m such a fucking idiot for relapsing.”

Dr. V jots this down as well, and shuffles through his papers.

“I wouldn’t use that language to describe yourself. Ridding yourself of maladaptive coping mechanisms can be quite difficult, especially if they have worked for you in the past,” he says. “Nevertheless, do you think you need to be on one-to-one for a few days? So that you stop hurting yourself while you’re here?"

You shake your head vehemently. “Absolutely not. I won’t do what I did again.”

“That is reassuring to hear. I’ll refrain from filling out the paperwork that would put you on constant observation for self-injury. That said, though, there is something you also need to do to prevent that.”

You roll your eyes a little. “You want me to contract for safety, don’t you? Like, filling out one of those sheets that says I’ll grab someone else before I decide to hurt myself. Otherwise I end up on one-to-one, right?”

Dr. V nods at you, before going on. “Yes, that is the general idea. You may either fill it out with me later on in the afternoon, or with a member of the staff with whom you are more comfortable.”

“I’d rather fill it out with you, to be perfectly honest. I trust you.”

He smiles. “I am very glad to hear that, Sollux. I don’t have any further questions for the moment.”’

You get out of your conference with Krishna, and walk into the dayroom.  

Gamzee sits there, watching Good Morning America. He’s got a small smile on his face, and a faraway look in his eye, like he’s both here and not. You call his name to get his attention. It works, his dark eyes trained on you.

“You mind if I sit down?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Naw, it’s cool. You can even change the channel if that’s somethin’ you wanna do.”

He’s built like a linebacker, all broad shoulders and muscles. He could probably snap you in half if he wanted to. You take the seat next to him and he smiles serenely at you.

“So what’s up?” he asks.

“Nothing, man. Just got outta session with Dr. V. He wanted to make sure I didn’t want to hurt myself.”

Gamzee looks thoughtful. He pulls a red paper flower out of his shorts and hands it to you.

“I folded that a couple days ago. You can have it, if you want.”

“For what?”

“For when you need to up an fuckin’ remember the miracles. Like we talked about last night.”

Last night, Gamzee harangued you at length about the Mirthful Messiahs, and the Dark Carnival, and with a practiced skill you have learned from your sibling’s rants about the NYPD following them, you tuned him out utterly. You really hope he doesn’t count you as a believer in his weird ass faith, which seems like some kind of psychotic juggalo cult.

He’s a nice guy, though. You know he’s not utterly harmless, but he seems easygoing enough. You fiddle around with and tear at a piece of paper until you have a square, which you then use to make a paper crane.

“Hey, Gamzee,” you say. He glances up at you.

“Yeah?”

You hand him the paper crane. “You know, the Japanese believe if you fold a thousand of these, you get a wish. I’m not folding a thousand cranes, but this is for you.”

“I will cherish it every day of my motherfucking life.”

You think he means it, too.

Art group is at 11. Katya herds everyone who wants to show up into the art room. So far, that’s you, Roxy, Karkat, June, Gamzee, Calliope, and Porrim. Karkat nods his head at you, and then inclines it toward the door. He wants to talk to you one-on-one. Whatever the fuck about?

He looks like he’s swallowed a lemon before he deigns to speak to you, all pursed lips and narrowed eyes. You’re tempted to ask him what the fuck’s eating him, and then he speaks.

“Listen. I want to apologize about earlier this morning,” he says. “I was in a foul fucking mood, and I need to work on not taking that shit out on other people.”

Wait, seriously? He can’t actually think you’re still upset about that; you get cursed out worse by your sibling on a daily basis, and that’s when they’re in a good mood.

“Accepted,” you reply. “Don’t worry about it, man.”

Faint relief breaks out on Karkat’s features.

Katya has all of you gather around before she constructs a box out of a weirdly shaped piece of cardboard that looks as if it’s been cut so that a small briefcase sized box could be constructed.

“These are what I like to call coping boxes. You make the box, and then you decorate it. You can put anything in here. Things that make you feel good, or that make you think, or handouts you get during other groups. Whatefur you want!”

She hands a box to each of you, after she puts out tempera and acrylic paint, colored markers, gel pens, and colored pencils.

You weren’t planning to keep any of your distress tolerance handouts in the box, but maybe you should. Gamzee’s staring at you while he paints, and that’s kind of weird, at least until you get a good look at how he’s decorating his coping box.

He’s painting halfway decent pictures of you, Roxy, Karkat, Calliope and Eridan on the front part of the box, with the word “friends”, in purple cursive.

He counts you as a friend even though the only thing you’ve really had to do with him was vaguely listen while he spouted his weird theories about the mirthful messiahs?

You have to hand it to him, though. Kid’s a real artist, probably - no, definitely - good enough to paint portraits for money over in Washington Square Park or something. Karkat gets a decent look at what Gamzee’s painting and blushes.

“Oh, come on, you didn’t have to put me on the damn box,” he says.

“But you are my best friend in the whole wide motherfucking universe,” Gamzee replies.

Karkat splutters something and looks like he’d like to object, then just sighs, and tells him to make sure he gets Karkat’s good side. 

“Hey, Gamzee!” Roxy calls.

“Yes, Roxybro?”

“Does painting that mean you’re gonna paint me like one ‘a’ your French girls one of these days?”

Gamzee gives this a good half-minute of thought.

“I ain’t up an’ got any motherfuckin’ French girls.”

Meanwhile, you focus on your tree. It looks like a lollipop with antennae, but whatever, that’s going to be as good as it gets. You ask Katya if you can get a piece of paper to paint on, she “of course”s you and hands you a piece of printer paper.

What will you paint today, Sollux Captor? More trees?

Tears spring to your eyes, and just when you think the worst is over, they start trailing down your face. Roxy recoils and apologizes to you, thinking she’s done something, and all you do is cry harder, you fuckup. You can’t do a goddamn thing right. Only things you’re good for are fixing computers and having nervous breakdowns.

Katya looks up from praising Calliope and Gamzee’s collaboration, and walks up to you.

“Hey - no, it’s okay, mew don’t have to cover your face - what’s wrong?”

She crouches so that she’s eye level with you as you sit in your chair. It somehow makes you feel even worse, like you’re some small child that can’t control their emotional outbursts. Come to think of it, you were like this as a kid, too. Tuna was the outgoing twin who made all the friends, and you were the twin who would start crying if you accidentally colored outside the lines.

“It’s alright. If you don’t want to paint, maybe you’d like to go for a walk?” she asks. You shake your head emphatically.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s just that I’ve never really been good at artistic stuff. Sorry I suck so bad.”

“Art group is not about being good or bad stylistically,” Katya says. “It’s about expressing yourself. As long as you’re doing that, you’re fine. I like your tree. You and Roxy are both excellent at trees.”

Roxy, who has been sitting next to you, using highlighters to draw what looks either like a really bad tree or a neon colored mushroom cloud, gives you a small little smile.

“Wanna draw with me?” she asks.

At first, you assume she’s found some oblique way to hit on you the way she does everyone else, but then she hands you the bottle of black tempera paint and a couple of colored markers. You don’t know what she expects you to do with them. Your tree sucks way more than hers.

“If you can’t think of anything to draw, why not try making patterns?” Katya asks.

You guess you can do that. You start drawing red and blue circles on your piece of paper, clustering them closer and closer together. 

Apropos of nothing, you remember the time in undergrad where you and Ray couldn’t get back to campus in time to beat the blizzard. You and she slept overnight in your car, parked in a gas station. Outside, nothing but a vast, enveloping white, what you imagine death or infinity must look like. The whole world rendered down to the slope and curve of dunes and valleys.

If you think hard enough, you can feel the wind rocking the car, can imagine the sound of Ray’s teeth chattering, or the occasional slip of her hands as she does a tarot reading. Another one. Another one down, another one down, another one bites the dust, Queen playing through your radio speakers. She sits in the front passenger seat, one leg bent beneath her.

“You think we’re ever gonna get out of here?” she asks.

At this moment, you ask yourself that same question. It’s a little different, now.

You wish you could take your seven eighths of a computer engineering degree and come up with a way out of this, but you can’t. That’s your problem. You’re only you, and you’ve never been good at managing your emotions.

[seapandora]

Illusion, Part 4/?

Illusion｜Part 4/?

Bucky x oc!Lori

Warnings: Angst, betrayal, swearing, torture, (suicide is mentioned once), violence

A/N: Part 4, wow. Ehum, Its this part and one more before I take a sort of break from this fic for a bit. There might be a one-shot here or there, but for now I´m just tired of writing this. I still live the story though so I´m not leaving it just yet, but I have so much in my head right now. Thanks for coming by! Please comment, reblog, like and share this if you enjoyed it! I appreciate it! As always, gif-credit to the owner! Oh and send me a message or so to get added to the taglist!

Summary: Reader is a supersoldier, one of a number, one of nine. Hydra´s backup for the asset. The group was started in 1974 and has been working under the radar, training for the day when the asset no longer exists. Lori is the only one left. Left in a cryo, she wasn’t discovered until 2023 when a certain captain and his buddy found her.

Words: 9k+ (I´m so sorry, this chapter, as a full thing, was a bit of a bitch)

Taglist: @selfsun​

2024

Lori walked back to Wanda and immediately began to tell her what had just happened. She wanted to solidify it in her memory, it was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Wanda was happy for her but made sure that she was okay before she asked for any details. They finished up the decorating while joking around before they walked to the kitchen. Wanda had to finish up her gifts for everyone, which happened to be cookies for everyone. Lori was not a baker and Wanda didn´t want help anyways, but Lori stayed as company.

The kitchen was also one of Lori´s favorite rooms to be in. It looked similar in almost every house and so did the compounds kitchen. Lori had a good memory from her life before Hydra and from before her mother started to hate her, and it had been in their kitchen, baking a cake together. She couldn´t remember why they were baking a cake, and she couldn´t remember what type of cake it was. All she could remember was that it was something she made with her mom.

Wanda talked away, as if she could feel the unrest and thinking Lori was doing. As if she was trying to distract Lori from her own mind. Wanda made sure to keep Lori busy with questions about the cookies for the other members. Like flavor, color and shapes. For Thor, they had decided on hammers and lightning bolts. His flavor of choice was always oranges and Wanda had made him orange-infused cookies. Loki would get cookies in the shape of reindeers with a mix of chocolate and vanilla flavor. Sam was getting bird-shaped chocolate-chip cookies. Wanda put a little more love into Sams cookies. They had gotten close over the past few years, but neither felt like it was the right time to pursue their feelings. Wanda was still in therapy after the loss of Vision. Loosing him twice had been a heavy blow to her and for a while she had let herself go which had led to her safety being in danger several times. Sam was always there for her but he had his own issues of course, suffering from more PTSD than he previosly had. The inifinity war and then endgame had brought back a lot of bad memories, and then having Steve leave had just been the icing on the cake.

Lori was quietly rooting for them to get together, and her christmas gift for Sam was part of that. Wanda was working quickly and using her powers to clean up while she was baking. Lori was sitting on the countertop and dangled her legs a bit. It was really nice to just hang out with Wanda and not have to think too hard on anything in particular. Peter eventually joined them and tried to snatch a few cookies which Wanda wouldn´t tolerate and Lori had to pull Peter away, into the livingroom, to stop the fighting.

A movie would surely distract Peter from the cookies and Lori could always use some Peter time. He was like a little brother to her and she loved him dearly. She loved spending time with him and watching their favorite movies. Currently they were knee-deep in Supernatural, the series, and they could fit in one of the christmas episodes before Sam would take charge of the tv and force them all to watch Die Hard, or some other bad christmas movie, he had been ranting about the past few weeks. Peter wasn´t brave enough to watch Supernatural on his own, so he came over two or three nights a week to watch a couple of episodes with Lori.

Once the episode was done Sam put on Die Hard to everyones groans and complaints. He didn´t care though and blabbered on about it being tradition. Despite the complaints everyone watched it, even the gods… although both Loki and Thor had questions about the plot. Sam did his best to explain or make sure they had patience for the plot to evolve and show itself. The 2 hour movie left them all exhausted on the couches. Lori and Peter had all but fallen asleep. Peter was laying on Lori who was laying on Bucky. The couch wasn´t very big, at least not for two supersoldiers and a boy who was still growing.

Bucky let out a soft cough and gently poked Lori to get her to sit up. “Come on sleepy head. Let´s get you to bed, the couch is comfortable but not as good as your bed, plus I might provide cuddles if you come with me,” he whispered and kissed Lori´s temple. She hummed and nodded before she slowly began to sit up. She gently nudged Peter and let him wake up fully before she pushed him off her. Lori was exhausted and she groaned as her back cracked when she stretched. The others looked over to her and she raised her eyebrows. “What? I´m almost 70, technically. Leave me alone,” she joked and that was the first time anyone had heard her joke about her age.

Age had been a very sensitive subject according to the therapist Lori had been paired with, but they had worked on it a lot. Lori clearly wasn´t 70 something years. She had been frozen for at least 30 of those years. Considering the serum and all her training the doctors had first aged her around 30 when she came to the compound. Technically she would have turned 30 the year she was put in cryo. It didn´t do her well to dwell on her age though. That was why she had started to joke about it. It took the bad vibes away from it.

Peter yawned but got up. They all helped clean up the livingroom before they made their way to their own rooms. Lori, Sam and Bucky all had rooms on the same floor. They took the elevator because they were all too tired for the stairs. Lori was the most tired and Bucky eventually picked her up as she seemed to be falling asleep standing.

Sam smirked as he saw the two of his best friends together. He was really happy for them. Of course he had noticed the change in their behavior towards each other during the afternoon. He may be a bit dull, but he wasn´t stupid. They went their separate ways from the elevator. Bucky carried Lori to her room and gently tucked her into bed where she would be the most comfortable. He got her a water-bottle as well to have on her nightstand. Once she was in bed he went to his own room and put on some news to fall asleep too. The quiet wasn´t something he enjoyed anymore, and he needed some sound around him to be able to fall asleep.

He slept well for a few hours. At 3.30 in the morning he woke up to something warm pressing against his right arm. He opened one eye and chuckled as he noticed Lori trying to slip in unnoticed. “Bad dreams or just cold?” He asked quietly and got comfortable on his back before opening his arms to let Lori curl up close. “A bit of both. This time of year brings out some bad memories. Plus I forgot to turn the heat up in my room and I´ve lost my extra blanket,” she mumbled and buried her face in Buckys neck. He was so warm, even his metal arm was at an ambient temperature.

Lori was soon asleep again, before Bucky had the chance to answer her, but he let her sleep. He wanted her to have all the energy possible for Christmas Eve, and if that meant sleeping in his bed, enveloped by his warmth, then he wouldn´t complain. He was also a little pissed that they didn´t have the time to cuddle during the evening before, but again, he wouldn´t complain. The past few days had been more than Bucky could have ever hoped for. He got to spend time with his family, and he had gotten together with a girl he had learned to know as a sweet and warm person, over the past few months. This Christmas definitely wouldn´t be so bad.  

They slept through Buckys alarm. It had been set for 6 am, but neither of them heard it. They stayed cuddled up together until Friday made them aware of the other avengers waiting for them for breakfast. Bucky turned around to look at his phone, Lori seemed to be asleep still and he didn´t want to wake her up. They had no reason to get up early, The Donald Duck showing was available online and Lori had spoken on her wish to see it at around 3 pm local time. She claimed it felt right to watch it at 3 pm local time instead of Swedish time. That was all good with Bucky. He mumbled out a command for Friday to let them sleep in a bit more. He turned back to Lori who curled up to his side and pressed her lips against Buckys neck. “What´s going on? What time is it?” She asked softly, but she didn´t make any effort to wake up. “It´s just after 8, we can go back to sleep for a little bit,” he replied quietly and kissed her forehead.

While Bucky hadn´t expected himself to fall asleep again, he was glad he did when he woke up two hours later. He felt very relaxed and well-rested. Bucky turned his head and smiled as he found himself staring into the bright eyes of Lori. “Morning,” he mumbled and turned onto his side to look at Lori. “Merry Christmas Buck,” she said softly and leaned over, pecking his cheek quickly. Neither of them were much for laying in bed after having woken up and they decided to get up to get some breakfast.

Sam had made pancakes for everyone and once Bucky and Lori arrived in the kitchen he reheated four of the pancakes for the two supersoldiers. “We chose to bring out the whole deal so toppings are on the table,” he said and nodded to the big table to urge the two to sit down. “It started snowing late last night and it´s still going so we probably won´t be able to go anywhere. Wanda and I were thinking of going down to the river and pay our respects to Natasha, Vision and Tony. Pepper is going tomorrow with Morgan and we were thinking we could leave something nice at the memorial.” Sam continued and plated the pancakes for Bucky and Lori.

The two sat down by the table and smiled as Sam served them the pancakes. Lori decided to put jelly on her pancakes. She had never really liked Nutella, well she liked it, but only in croissants. She got the raspberry jam and put some on her pancakes before she poured herself some mango-juice. “I would really like to come with you to the memorial. If that´s alright?” Lori asked softly before she dug into her pancakes. They were delicious of course. Sam and Wanda nodded eagerly and smiled. They both looked to Bucky who shook his head a bit. He had never been able to ask for forgivness from Tony, and he felt unworthy of paying respect to people he had once fought. It didn´t matter how much Wanda and Sam encouraged him to go, or how much Morgan had begged him to go. It felt wrong.  

“You guys go, and I´ll clean up and prep lunch for us, okay?” Bucky asked and smiled softly. The three in front of him smiled and nodded in agreement. None of them wanted to force Bucky into a situation where he would feel uncomfortable. Lori gulped dopwn her juice and pancakes happily. “These are so good Sam, what do we have to do to get you to make these every day?” She asked and looked at Sam. He chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing in the world can make me get up early enough to make breakfast for y´all,” he said and looked back at Lori.

She finished eating after fifteen minutes or so and leaned back in her seat groaning softly. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back hearing a familiar crack in her neck. Wanda made a sound of disgust and shuddered. “I really wish you would stop doing that,” she said and poked Lori´s arm. “Hey, don´t judge my bones, or get me new ones,” she teased Wanda back and slapped her hand away gently.

Sam, Wanda, and Lori left the kitchen once they had put the dishes in the dishwasher. Sam and Lori went to their floor while Wanda went to her own, or rather the one she sometimes shared with Peter and they all got dressed for the snowy, and chilly december day. Lori went for some sweatpants and a hoodie, sure it wasn´t super-conventional to go to a memorial site in such clothing, but she would stand back, she was there for her friends, not those the memorial was for.  

Sam had gone for jeans and a nicer shirt and jacket while Wanda had put on a dark red dress and her coat. Sure Lori felt a bit underdressed but it was okay. Peter, Pepper and Morgan were all going the next day so she didn´t have to impress anyone. They left Bucky to prepare lunch. He had promised not to go overboard with it but they all knew he would anyways. Bucky always went all in with a task. He was planning on making meatballs, baked potatoes, and cooked salmon for them all.

The three avengers didn´t stay long at the meorial. Sam and Wanda left their gifts for Vision and Natasha and they all wished the three former avnegers a merry christmas and a happy new year. Lori stuffed her hands in her pockets and pulled her shoulders up towards her ears. It was getting windy out and if this continued they would get snowed in over the new years. She looked up to the sky and took a deep breath. She jumped a bit when she felt a heavy hand land on her shoulder. it was warms o she figured it was Thor, and she was correct.

Thor had decided to join them in silence. While he wasn´t close with all of the avengers he still had serious respect for them all, and he for sure missed Tony a lot. Tony had helped him get past a rough patch, and Thor didn´t believe he had repaid that debt. He therefore saw it as his duty to keep a check on the universe and the new avengers in Tony´s stead. Lori gave him a soft smile and patted his hand. “Are you and your brother staying til tomorrow?” She asked quietly. Thor seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts before he replied. “Yes, we also know swedish people traditionally celebrate tonight so we thought we´d dance around the tree with you tonight. And it might bring you joy that Loki has agreed, although quite unwillingly,” he said with a bright smile.

“Wow, that´s huge coming from Loki,” Lori chuckled and stepped closer to Thor who wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She felt really happy around the gods. Thor was like the teddy bear brother she had always wanted, while Loki was the kind of brother who made sure she was educated and always had books to read. Loki had helped Lori with a lot of the history in the past 30 years. She had missed a lot. Espeially when it came to freedom and technology. While the technology hadn´t been hard to grasp, it had been ahrd to grasp that Europe was no longer as segregated as it had once been. The soviet was no more, and neither was Yugoslavia. Sweden had joined the European Uninion, and the world looked slightly different. A few wars had been fought, a few were still ongoing. Old conflicts had been exchanged for new ones.

Lori was really confused by the new world. She couldn´t understand why peace wasn´t an option or why people couldn´t get along. She had also found that social media added a whole other problem, and that more fights were breaking out because of it. It was all very strange and Lori did her best to stay out of conflicts. She had an instagram, but she barely used it, and it was run by HR anyways. She never read comments, she didn´t read news about herself or the team.

She was unsure where her thoughts came from, but she guessed it was because of the current season and the holiday in front of them. Lori had always learned that Christams was for thanking God for everything in her life. Sweden of course didn´t have thanksgiving and very few other holidays were they would be thankful. It was weird. It was strange to have gone from Europe to USA. The culture was very different. It had been a schock to Lori in the beginning. Now, while she wouldn´t say it didn´t bother her, she could handle the different culture and how different people were.

Sam and Wanda came over to the god and the supersoldier and Lori held her hand out for Wanda. Anyone with a sense, knew Wanda needed some comforting. Vision had been a very important person to her. A role no one could really fill, even though some had tried. Wanda smiled at Lori and stayed close to her as they made their way back to the compound. The snow was coming down hard now and eventually they found themselves running to the compound, rather than walking. They made it inside just in the for the wind to pick up as well, and they all let out a sigh of relief.

Wanda seemed cold and Lori made sure to get her to the couch and wrap her up in a few blankets. “Do you want some tea?” Lori asked and gently stroke Wandas hair. They were so close now, like sisters. Wanda nodded and Lori walked to the kitchen to get her a cup of hot tea. Bucky was all up in the cooking and Lori chuckled a bit as she watched him. “Hey there Ace, want some help?” She asked as she filled the ketle with water. She flipped the little switch and turned around to watch Bucky while she crossed her arms.

“Only if you´d like too sweetie. You dont have to,” he said and shrugged. “I´ll happily help,” Lori replied quickly and smiled at him. “I just need to get the tea to Wanda,” she added and walked over to Bucky wrapping an arm around his waist. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I´m awful when it comes to cooking but I can for sure roll the meatballs,” she chuckled and hummed as she leaned her head on Buckys flesh arm. The water was done within seconds, much thanks to Stark tech, which Lori had learned fairly quickly.

Everything was fast, there was no need to wait for anything really. It had been a strange thing to get accostumed too. Speed with any kind of technology in the late 60s and early 70s wasn´t something that existed. Television was a very good example. During the 60s Sweden only had one channel. It wasn´t until 69 that sweden got its second tv-channel. Lori´s family recieved a tv in 1965, but Lori wasn´t allowed to watch a whole lot of it. She wasn´t allowed to watch tv everyday until she was 18, in 1970. 1970 was also the year they officially got colored television. Losing all that when she was pulled into Hydra and then getting it all back multiplied by a million was a weird and unsettling experience.

Technology had been, as one would imagine a tough learning curve. Hydra had techonolgy, and “modern” one at that, but Lori had still gone into the ice in the late 80s or early 90s. Everything was different back then. She had still to fully grasp the wastness of television and cellphones. Her phone wasn´t used a lot and charged maybe once a week because she used it so little. Had she been given a choice she would have skipped the phone completely.

Bucky kissed her forehead before he helped her get a cup, and some of the better tea that was stored higher up. Lori prepared the cup quickly and brought it out to Wanda, who had been joined by Sam on the couch. Lori handed her the cup before she made her way back to the kitchen. The big windows showed the snow coming down harder than Lori had ever seen before. “Would you mind if I put on some music?” She asked Bucky who shrugged as a reply. He wasn´t much for music, but he realized Lori would feel better with it on in the background.

Lori was aware that Bucky didn´t care much for music, so normally she wouldn´t put on music. There was enough noice going on around them anyways, but now the compound was silent, and nature made no sound. Birds weren´t chirping, and the snow falling on the windows and roof wasn´t audible. “Friday, please play my Christmas list, low volume,” Lori said out into the blue, before she washed her hands to be able to roll some meatballs. Bucky had heard part of her christmas list earlier and he actually liked it. It was mostly older songs, and even better, older versions of the songs, none of the Mariah Carey-shit. He couldn´t handle the newer versions, it was too much pop, or whatever the kids called it.

A lot of the songs were also in swedish, and Bucky wasn´t too mad about that. As an american in the 1920s his geography lessons had been less than detailed. Hell, not all states had been formed when Bucky was born, and not when he was in school either. Bucky had been good in school. He had always been an overachiever, but he had also had an academic interest which he would have pursued had he not inlisted. He chuckled to himself at the thought. It was always strange to imagine the life he would have, was it not for the war. For one, he would be dead, probably by a few years margin. Second he would have most likely found himself a good girl to marry. Maybe that girl would have been Dolores.

He tended not to dwell on what could have been. That had been every therapists recommendation, and so he didn´t. But sometimes, like with the music that was clearly from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, thoughts came wandering. He felt lucky to be a part of the avengers though, because it meant he was isolated. He didn´t have to change too much to fit in with the outside world if he didn´t want to. He didn´t have to listen to modern music because that´s what others did, he could stick with his 20s and 30s jazz.

Bucky looked over to Lori who was humming along to one of the swedish songs that was playing. He wasn´t in any rush to finish his tasks, as it would be better to have the meatballs done first. Almost everything else was already prepared. He decided to help Lori, it would go a bit quicker that way even if she seemed fairly sure with the rolling. He washed his hands before he took his place besides Lori and grabbed some of the meat. He had gone for beef raher than pork, neither Lori, Sam or Wanda liked pork.

They had all of the meat rolled up and lined on a sheet in just a few minutes, Lori had already done a big part of it. Bucky put the tray in the oven and set a timer for 20 minutes. He had a bit of a different approach to meatballs than many others. He always threw them in the oven and then fried them up in some crushed tomatoes. It wasn´t traditionally how meatballs were made in Sweden, because of course he had looked that up.

Lori hummed to herself before she began to sing along with the song that was playing. She was no singer, that was for sure, but she didnt sing for others. Her therapist had asked what her hobbies had been before she was kidnapped and Lori had answered singing so here she was singing, trying to take back what she had liked. Her mother had always sung Christmas songs with her when they were driving during the winter. That had been some of the best times of Lori´s life.

Wanda and Sam came into the kitchen together. They both seemed happy and calm, and Wanda seemed to be a lot warmer. “Hey, lunch should be done in about half an hour or so,” Bucky said and smiled at the two. Sam nodded and patted Wandas shoulder. “I´ll get a fire started in the diningroom, maybe you could set the table Wan?” Sam asked and smiled at them all. Wanda nodded and Lori offered to help her, but Wanda declined, reasoning that Lori had helped Bucky cook. Lori huffed and crossed her arms, ready to argue but Wanda just turned her around and pushed her into Bucky. “Dance with her and make sure she stays out of my way while I set the table,” Wanda told Bucky and left the two in the kitchen.

Bucky managed to catch Lori by the waist and kept her close. “Well, my lady, would you care to dance with me?” He asked and held out his hand for her to take. She took his hand gently and squealed as he pulled her closer and placed his other hand on her waist. Lori had never danced. She had learnt a bit during her time in Hydra, but only enough for one mission. Bucky asked Friday to raise the volume slightly and the two began to dance to the tunes of `Have yourself a merry little christmas`. The Sinatra version. If it was one thing that Bucky had learnt it was that Lori really liked Sinatras voice and found it soothing enough that she often fell asleep with his music playing.

It was very noticable that neither of them were used to dancing or had done it in a long while, but that was alright. They managed to avoid each others toes at least, which they were both happy with. Dancing with Bucky was fun. Lori had never had that much fun. She felt seen for the first time. The timer for the oven went off behind them and they both sighed. Bucky leaned down and pressed a quick, and soft, kiss to Loris´ lips before he released her to take out the meatballs. Lori stood frozen for a second before she decided to move so she was out of the way.

Bucky got the meatballs and immediatly tossed them into a pot he had prepared with tomato-sauce. He wasn´t sure what spices to toss in so he had gone for paprika, garlic, black pepper, and oregano. He had also shredded some mozzarella beforehand. Again it wasn´t a very traditional thing to have on Christmas, but it was meatballs at least. He turned the pot, which contained water and potatoes, on. Lori stayed out of the way as this was Buckys field now. She jumped up on an empty counter and swung her legs a bit as she watched Bucky work.

The food was prepared to perfection, everyone thought so, apart from Bucky. He was happy with most of it, but he was nervous. He wanted Lori to approve of it so badly. He had done it all for her after all. He wanted her to be able to hold on to some traditions, and if that meant them all eating together for two whole days then so be it. He would also sit through an hour of Donald Duck for Lori if it made her happy.

They all helped each other fix up the last of the lunch and took it out into the dining room. Bucky called out to everyone through Friday and they all gathered in the dining room. Aunt May had arrived just in time for lunch, and Peter had brought Ned as well. Scott and Hope was there, like Bruce and the gods. Lori sat down between Loki and Bucky. She poured herself and Bucky some water and asked wether Loki wanted some or if he was drinking mead. He accepted the water quietly and the whole team began to dig into the food on the table. There was definitely enough for them all.

Conversations were started and ended, but no one was arguing, as if it was a quiet rule. Not even Bruce and Thor argued about what was magic and what was science. Loki was quiet in general apart from when Wanda asked him a few questions abut his powers and how they differed from hers. They hadn´t always seen eye to eye and they hadn´t had a lot of time together to just talk. Lori smiled her way through the lunch. She felt happy, and safe. Safe was the most important, but feeling happy was an amazing experince.

The food was all eaten by half past two. Sam was complaining about how full he was and Wanda was teasing him for it. Bucky was quiet but he looked satisfied and happy. Thor was wondering if there was more food while Loki had picked up his book. Lori sighed happily before she began to clear the table. It was getting close to tv-time but it was always nice to have some stuff cleared up. She grabbed all the plates and got them all to the dishwasher. Bucky helped her of course and they cleared off the table quickly, and then moved to the livingroom with the rest of the team.

Bucky took the two-seat couch and patted the seat besides him to invite Lori, who made her way over to him happily. Sam and Wanda took the other two-seater while the others sprawled out on the third couch or the bean-bags on the floor. Bucky wrapped a blanket around them and pulled Lori into his arms before he asked Friday to play the Donald Duck showing from the swedish television with english subtitles.

Lori curled up to his side and laid her head on his shoulder as the hour-long segment started. She was quite invested in it in general and laughed a bit as the music was all in swedish. She could definitely recognize a lot of it from her childhood but there was also some new parts she didn´t know off. even when she was a kid there would always be new parts to the show, seeing as Disney were growing. Some of the original scenes had been shortened and some were completely new, from recent movies.

She was close to falling asleep by the end of the hour, as a mix of the food and just the calmness she was experiencing. She was happy. No other word could describe what she was feeling. Content maybe, but in general it was a positive experience and she was very glad she got to share this moment with the people that had saved her and helped her. She was especially happy that Bucky felt like spending the time with her, and her crazy traditions. He truly had done a lot for her in her months at the compound, and part of her regretted how she had treated him in the beginning. Especially when she broke his nose.

Bucky stroke her arm lazily. She was warm and soft under his touch, but he was cautious. He knew her strength, and part of him felt responsible. But he wasn´t with her out of pity, and he hadn´t enjoyed their kiss out of pity. The only thing he hated, was seeing what Hyda had destroyed within her. Much like how they destroyed him. Stripped him of his personality and replaced it with the one of a killer. While he was uncertain about the fate Lori had planned for her while in Hydra, he was under the impression she didn´t have as many kills under her belt as he did. He sighed softly before he stretched.

His watch showed 4.07 pm and he hummed. “I kind of want to take you out tonight, to a really nice place I usually go to for peace and quiet. How does that sound?” He asked quietly into Lori´s ear. She looked back and up at him and nodded. Her face was heating up quite a bit at the thought but she would love to spend a larger amount of time alone with Bucky. “Do you mean like a date or just dinner?” She asked and bit her bottom lip. Bucky chuckled softly and nodded. “Well, I was thinking of it as a date. But, changes can be made,” Bucky said but Lori shook her head. “No, no, I´d be very happy to go on a date with you, as long as it stops snowing,” she mumbled and looked to the outside to the darkness that faced them.

The team went their separate ways. The gods were going to Aasgard. Well, new Aasgard, to celebrate the night there. Wanda and Sam had plans on going out on their own, and Bruce was off to help some of the local hospitals with some new equipment. Peter and May were opting to just stay in and take a nice evening together. Lori got to her room to get ready. She had asked Wanda for help. She had no talent in putting together an outfit, which was why she was mostly in sweats or cargo pants. A black shirt went well with that obviously, and that´s why her warderobe looked just as dark as the vast space.

Wanda came to her room half an hour after Lori, and knocked before she opened the door. “Okay, let´s get you dolled up, I brought three dresses, two skirts, and some blouses that you can choose from. I also know you own two pairs of black jeans, one pair untorn, that I would recommend you keep in mind,” she explained as she placed the clothes on Loris bed. Of course she noticed it was made like it had been the day before, and she quickly deduced it hadn´t been slept in at all and that Lori had spent the night with Bucky. She didn´t mention it though, it was none of her business.

“Do you want to borrow a bracelet or some earrings. Maybe a necklace?” Wanda asked as she went through Loris wardrobe in search of a few nice shirts and her jeans, which she had realized Lori wasn´t wearing. “So, do you know where Bucky´s taking you?” She asked and looked over at Lori. Lori just shook her head and sighed. “He said a nice, quiet place,” she replied and sighed softly. “That makes me want to bet on jeans and a nice shirt or blouse. Maybe I can borrow the gray one from you?” She asked and looked to Wanda. “Of course you can borrow it. Are you wearing heels or just sneakers? Or are you going for like proper boots?” Wanda asked and frowned knowing Lori favored the boots over almost anything. Lori shrugged and looked to her warderobe, and her small selection of shoes.

Lori walked over and picked up her boots. They were simple matte black ones, but she really liked them. They were very comfortable. And they would keep her warm through the snow. “I´m going with the boots today, so jeans it is. I think the gray blouse would look great with them and then I´ll just throw on my black coat on top of that,” Lori explained and pulled everything out to line it up on the bed. “Are you sure? You won´t get cold when you take the coat off then?” Wanda asked and frowned. Lori chuckled a bit at Wandas worrying expression. “I´m a super-soldier Wan. I run warm, just like Bucky. We aren´t as affected by the cold,” she smiled and shrugged. “Plus I´m guessing I´m getting some warm food and possibly coffee or tea after that, so either way I should be fine,” she added quickly.

She really liked the outfit they had picked out. The jeans and blouse fit her perfectly and she pulled on some socks before she pulled on her boots. Wanda walked over to her nightstand and picked up the necklace Lori had lying there. “Wear this as well,” She said and helped Lori put it on. It was quite squiggly and silver but it was still very simple and went with pretty mcuh whatever Lori was wearing. Lori turned around when she was done and held out her hands. “Well, do you think this will be okay?” She asked Wanda and frowned. Wanda smiled and nodded happily. “You look great Lori,” she replied and skipped over to Lori to hug her. Wanda didn´t mention make-up as Lori didn´t wear make-up, ever. She found it unneccessary, seeing as she always got sweaty on missions. And she didn´t understand the whole deal anyways, there was just too much of it.

Back in her day, back in the 60s, when Lori would have been wearing makeup, the things she used was eyeliner and mascara and that was it. Now there was so much more, and so many different versions of essentially the same product. She had felt so confused while walking into a CVS, and seeing the whole aisle of makeup. It had freaked her out to begin with, not that she cared if anyone else liked it, or used that much makeup. She was just worried that that was the supposedly new normal.

She didn´t put on any makeup for the date either. It was still snowing and that was a good way to get runny mascara, which wasn´t a very attractive look. Wanda skipped out of her room to get ready for her own dinner date. Lori watched herself in the mirror and took a deep breath. The date would either be wonderful or it would be awful, she was hoping for the first option. She took a deep breath before she left her room to go look for Bucky.

He wasn´t far away, waiting in the living room. They were matching, but as always great minds think alike, and Lori was surprised to see him in dark pants, a lighter shirt and a leather jacket. She walked over to him and smiled softly. “You look great,” she said quietly as she began to pull her jacket on so they could leave immediately. Bucky looked up at her and let his eyes wander for a few seconds before he smiled back at her.

“YOU look great. Let´s take one of the nicer cars,” he said and held out his right hand for Lori to hold. She took it happily and intwined their fingers as Bucky led them down to the garage. He had a love for the very beautiful Range Rover the government had bought them. It was sleek, black, and frankly Bucky liked it for all the horsepowers it had. It was also a great car for the winter. He opened the door for Lori and helped her in before he walked over to the drivers side and got in.

It was manual. Bucky approved off that. Not that it mattered a whole lot to him anyways, he didn´t even have a valid drivers license. Sam had pestered him about it the past year but Bucky just couldn´t be bothered, plus he was well recognized as an avenger so cops didn´t stop him. Despite Bucky missing a lisence, Lori preferred his driving over anyone elses. He was always safe, and always kept to the speed-limits. Unless a situation needed him to exceed them.

Lori curled up in the seat and turned the heat on. Not because she was cold but rather because it was comfortable. Bucky glanced over at her every now and then as he drove and he eventually reached over and placed his hand on her leg. Lori smiled and placed her own hand over Buckys. Sure it was his metal-hand, and yes it was a bit cold, but Lori wasn´t bothered by it.

Loris life with Hydra had been hard, rough, and cold, but she had always found comfort in the strict schedule she had to follow. It had changed since then. It was the same shape, but so very different in structure. She couldn´t get to the metal nerves of it and it still bothered her a bit, she just didn´t know why.

Bucky parked the car by a diner which looked to be ancient. He got out of the car and got the door for Lori. “I used to visit this diner back in the 30s and 40s, before the war,” he explained and held out his arm for Lori to hook her own with. She did just that and stayed close to Bucky. “It looks very cozy,” she said softly as she followed him inside. Bucky introduced Lori to the owner, an 80 year old woman who seemed to be slighty too old to run a diner, but she was very nice and active for her age.

They got a table in the far corner from the door and a menu each. They weren´t as sticky as Lori would have expected from a diner. Of course Lori had a preset thought of american diners, but if this was as old as Bucky claimed it to be, she was excited. She looked through the menu but fairly early decided on a burger. It was simple, and no one could make a bad burger in Loris mind.

The old lady returned to take their orders. Bucky ordered a burger as well and diet sodas for them both. Lori watched him, and tilted her head as she leaned her elbows on the table. The lady left them to it for now but returned a few minutes later with their drinks. Not a word had been exchnaged between the two supersoldiers during that time. Once they had their drinks and were properly settled in Bucky let out a soft sigh. “I told Steve to take Peggy here when we were fighting the war, little did I know he wouldn´t come back home. And even less did I know he´d return to her from the 2020s,” he said as he turned the glass in his hand.

“You used to come here before the war with him, didn´t you?” Lori asked and smiled a bit. She really couldn´t imagine Bucky in the 30s and 40s, but she still tried. How different he must have been. How different everything must have been back then. Everything was very different for Lori, just from the beginning of the 90s til the 2020s. She despised some parts of it, but felt lucky to have been able to experience other parts.  

Bucky nodded to her question and crossed his arms. “Yeah, the lil punk used to come here with me. Usually I tried to set up double dates for us, but he was never interested. All he wanted to do was serve,” Bucky explained and looked over to a wall of pictures. Lori followed his gaze and saw a bunch of black and white pictures. Some which clearly resembled Bucky and Steve before the serum. She was very thankful for her enhanced eyesight, which made it easier to see the pictures without having to move. “His father died before he was born, right?” Lori asked and glanced over at Bucky once more. She was trying to tread lightly knowing how important that time, and memories were to Bucky.

“Mhm, he died in the first war, two months before Steve was born. His mom used to say she was lucky that I had entered Steves life. She was working a lot to make sure they were both in a good position, and it helped if Steve stayed at my place,” he said and smiled at the memories. He didn´t have a lot of them, but some of the early memories had come back. “My family had money, I lost my ma when I was a kid, and pa went when I was a teenager. By then it was just me and Becca,” Bucky continued.

Lori listened with great interest. There was only so much she could deduce from a file. She had learned that stories were told, not written in a file. She took a sip of her soda as she listened to Bucky. He spoke of the 30s and 40s with such care. “Becca was sent off to some boarding school, and I didn´t get to see her before I was enrolled. I´ve seen her later on in life. She turned 100, four years ago and I was there to celebrate her, but she passed away a year later. I don´t keep in contact with her kids, it doesn´t feel right,” he added and bit his lip. He wasn´t interested in getting to know his family.

“I can understand that. My cousins have reached out to me, and their kids as well, but I… I just couldn´t bear to face them,” Lori said and sighed. “But, I´m eternally greatful for the family I´ve found with you at the compound.” She said quickly and gave Bucky a soft smile as a reassurance. “Yeah, I was very lucky to be able to join Steve and Sam for a few years. Even if Sam is a pain in the ass he´s still my best friend,” Bucky said and reached out for Loris hand. Lori took his hand quickly and smiled.

The food arrived just a few minutes later, and despite it being on the standard diner plates it looked amazing. And it smelled amazing too. “This looks great,” she told the old lady and got her hand back from Bucky to dig into her burger. She had always been eating the burger before fries. The burger was the main meal after all, and the fries were just a side. Sure she loved fries, but not as much as she loved a proper burger. Bucky started with two fries before he picked up his burger and turned it upside down. Lori watched him and raised an eyebrow but turned her burger as well before she took a big bite of it.

She moaned softly at the taste of it and closed her eyes. Everything about the burger was just perfect. It was savory, and round in flavor. The dressing was delicious and went very well with the pickled red onion. “Okay, from now on, I trust you wherever you take me on a date,” Lori said once she was finished chewing and swallowing her bite. Bucky chuckled at her and shook his head. “This is honestly the only good place I know. I´ve refrained from going to Manhattan or popular New York in general,” he explained and took another bite of his burger.

Lori continued to eat and a few bites in she coughed slightly as a piece of her burger got stuck in her throat. She groaned softly as she swallowed it down with a few sips of her soda. “Fuck, I should know better than to chug down food, shouldn´t I?” She asked and laughed. Bucky laughed with her and reached over with his napkin to wipe some dressing off of her chin. “Hey, I can´t blame you. The burgers are amazing,” he said and smiled softly. He finished his burger in three more bites, and Lori was amazed at how much he could fit into his mouth.

“What´cha staring at doll?” He asked between bites and leaned back as he swallowed his last bite. “Oh, nothing, just a real cute guy,” she teased him and smirked as she watched him. She finished her burger just in time for the old lady to come back and asked how they found their meals. They both thanked the old lady and asked her to send their compliments to the chef. “Well, my husband will be very happy to hear it. You kids are welcome here any time, we love seeing Bucky here, and it´s so nice to see him bring a lady with him,” she said and patted Loris shoulder.

Lori felt her face heat up and looked down at her hands. She wasn´t embarassed, but she felt as if she was getting praise she didn´t deserve. “She is the only one I feel comfortable enough to bring here,” Bucky explained. Lori looked up at him and bit her lip. “Oh, so you´re the only one who can beat him up, when that is necessary?” The old lady asked and placed a hand on her hip while giving Bucky a stern look. Bucky blushed and coughed to himself. “I´ll have you know that I´m a very nice man ma`am, no need for a beating here,” he said quickly. Lori couldn´t help but laugh and shake her head. “Don´t worry ma`am, he already knows I´ll win, I´ve done it once before,” Lori said and glanced to Bucky.

Bucky groaned as he thought back to the day and moment Lori was referring to. He had known Lori was like him, but he had thought she would go easy on him. Or that he´d have the upperhand, with his metal arm and his years of experience and training, but no. He had pushed her over the edge with his teasing and she had broken his nose and bruised him up good. “Yeah, and I was a mouthbreather for a week, that´s your favorite story to tell, but I´m sure Mrs. Green has better things to take of right now,” Bucky said and gritted his teeth a bit. He did not like to be ridiculed, and that story really wasn´t a suitable date-story.

With a sigh Lori instead dug into her fries. “Sorry, but you were the first person I got to fight, and also the first person I touched voluntarily after I came out of the Cryo,” Lori said softly. She didn´t mean to embarass Bucky at all, it was a good memory to her, despite hurting a person she had come to hold very dear. Bucky ate his fries in silence but hummed in approval of her apology. “I know doll, it´s just… I was undefeated until you came along, so my ego was bruised,” he said and frowned. Lori gave him a small smile and reached out to take his hand. “I get it, but hey, I´ll let you win next time, alright? I could use a more fair challenge than Wanda anyways,” she teased him and moved her hand out of his before he could smack it playfully.

“She is quite the unfair fight, isn´t she?” Bucky asked with a chuckle. Lori nodded and laughed. “But it´s great practice, she really keeps me on my toes when we train,” Lori said and shrugged while she polished off her fries. Bucky did the same and leaned back patting his stomach. “Please don´t tell me you´re better than sharing a slice of apple pie with me and have some coffee or tea?” Lori said and smirked at him. “Oh, I´m better. I suggest we get a slice each, and bring them back to the compound for a movie, I can even drive us past a Starbucks if you´d like. I know how much you like their drinks,” he teased Lori.

Lori lit up in front off Bucky and nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes please, I want a peppermint hot chocolate so bad,” she said and clapped her hands excitedly. Bucky chuckled again and ordered their apple pies when Mrs. Green came back. He also brought out his wallet to be ready to pay. Their pies came back in a cute little box with a bow on top. “It´s on the house today kids, just come back every month, alright?” Mrs. Green said and smiled at them both. Lori thanked the old lady a few times and once more complimented the food.

Bucky stood up and reached out to take Loris hand while she grabbed their to-go box. He stepped closer to her and pecked her lips. “Thank you for coming out with me, I always love spending time with you,” he mumbled against her soft lips. Lori smiled against his lips and pressed hers to his once more. “No, thank you Buck, I haven´t really ever been on a date, but this was just perfect,” she said softly with a smile. She was happy, and it showed. Bucky led her out to the car and opened the door for her. “Keep the pie safe, or I´ll have you pay for it later,” Bucky teased Lori who protectively wrapped her arms around the box. He laughed at her and shook his head before he closed the door behind her and got behind the wheel.

“So, Starbucks, and then back home to a movie?” Bucky asked as he backed out of the parking lot. Lori looked out the window at the snow that came down in beautiful flakes. It had eased up quite a bit while they were at dinner. Bucky drove them for a little while before Lori asked him to stop. “You brought your mobilephone, right?” She asked as Bucky parked the car by the side of the road. He nodded with a frown. “Could you take a picture of me, in the snow?” She asked excitedly and opened the car door.

Bucky nodded once more and got out of the car as well. “Alright, let´s do it, but quickly, it´s windy and I really want some coffee,” He confessed and got his phone from his pocket. He looked at the background and directed Lori to a place she could stand. Seeing as Bucky hadn´t turned the car off the headlights would work as their lightsource. “Okay, now hold up your hands as if you´re trying to catch the snow,” he insisted and held the phone up to snap a few pictures, from which Lori could choose her favorite.

Lori rushed back to the car and got in blowing some warm air onto her hands. Sure, both her and Bucky could withstand colder temperatures for a longer time, but it was still uncomfortable to be in. “Okay, let´s get drinks and then go home. This is enough nature for me today,” Lori laughed and turned the seat heat on for them both.