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nevadancitizen · 6 months

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-> YOU'RE OUT OF TOUCH – I'VE BEEN OUTTA TIME

synopsis: you died six months ago, but you've come back to haunt johnny. not as a ghost, no – as some twisted version of you that johnny still loves. too bad you don't still love johnny, or remember him in any capacity.

word count: 4k

characters: john "soap" mactavish, resurrected! reader

trigger warnings: talk of canon-typical violence, temporal weirdness, hurt + damn near no comfort

notes: first soap fic.. hopefully i've written him well!! also i couldn't resist incorporating madness combat in this somehow lol it's taking over my life (you don't need to know anything about madcom to read this, don't worry). also tumblr user nevadancitizen using the amnesia trope again? it's more likely than you think.

Somewhere in Nevada, a battered body is denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse…

And six months ago, somewhere in Russia, you were killed in action.

It was a single shot through the skull – nice, clean. You didn’t suffer. Despite your killer more than likely being a terrorist (or working for one), they did you right. It was probably unintentional, but they still did you right.

Johnny couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, even to piss, for weeks after. He was completely numb to almost everything. The world passed by while he stood completely still, laying on his side in your shared bed, spooning a pillow that was rapidly losing your scent.

(He even tried spraying it with your perfume or cologne, but it didn’t work. It was too strong – it didn’t smell like when you wore it.)

Johnny thought all-too-often about what happened after death. He was ready to die, always has been, but he never really thought about what would happen if (or, more accurately, when) you died. He always cast those thoughts away, because he was done losing people. He was done with grief and screaming, pleading to God, and crying so hard he threw up.

But he eventually returned to his job. He eventually put you to rest. He prayed for the first time in damn near two decades that, if there was really an afterlife, that you were in Heaven.

(He just hoped that, whatever Heaven there was, it was good enough for you.)

But again, six months ago, somewhere in Nevada, a battered body was denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse.

It is a land without sun, without warmth unless you could find it in another body. It is a land without rules, without remorse, without regret.

It is a land of violence. It is a land that fits you well.

Despite being dead, you were sewed back together and cursed to live once more. Someone put a gun in your hands and told you, “Listen bozo, I don’t care where you’re from – just shoot!”

Of course, Johnny didn’t know this. How could he? He watched your casket be lowered into the ground. He knew it wasn’t empty – he had to confirm your identity in the morgue.

But he can’t help but feel his stomach drop when Kyle comes rushing into his office, pointing behind him and, in a panting breath, says your name.

Johnny immediately springs up from behind his desk and almost pushes past Kyle to get out the door. He turns down the hallway to the left, where he knows it leads to the hospital ward.

“No, Soap – Soap!” Kyle sprints after him, just barely catching his wrist. “Wrong way, man.”

Johnny stops and, in his stunned state, lets Kyle lead him down the hallway to the right, away from the medbay, away from where you were surely waiting for him, recovering.

Kyle leads him into an elevator, scans his keycard, and presses the button for -3. They’re both uncharacteristically quiet. It just faintly registers in Johnny’s mind that the floor -3 is below the parking garages, past where anyone typically goes.

(Past where anyone can hear screams ripped from tortured throats, really.)

When the elevator doors open, Soap’s greeted by a familiar sight. It’s a grey concrete hallway, with two soldiers on either side, guarding the way in. Doors line the hall, each one steel with a keypad to unlock it.

Gaz leads Soap down the hall and doesn’t stop for a while. Eventually, he stops in front of the last door and takes a deep, almost shuddering, breath.

Gaz inputs the code into the keypad and opens the door, nodding at the inside. “Come on.”

Soap, almost so quick he clips his shoulder on the doorframe, goes into the room. It overlooks an interrogation room, and it’s fit with a double-sided mirror, recording tech, everything.

Soap freezes when he looks into the interrogation room. It – it’s you, but… not you. You’re pacing, and Johnny can only stare. There’s a grey flush to your skin – no, your skin is actually grey – and bandages cover the back of your head, dirty and frayed, like you haven’t changed them in a while.

You’re angry, a far cry from the person Johnny knew you to be. Sure, you could be angry, and Johnny’s seen you angry, but this…

You’re panting as you pace, fists clenching and unclenching as your eyes dart around the room. Soft mutters and expletives leave your mouth as you look around, surely looking for a way to escape.

Johnny just keeps staring. You’re… alive? Yes, you’re not what Johnny remembers you to be, but you’re still alive.

“Fucking – goddamnit!” You bang your fist on the steel table, causing it to rattle. “I don’t have anything to tell you! You’re all cowards –” you turn to the double-sided mirror and point at it “– especially you, Sheriff! Don’t tell me you’re not back there!”

You immediately turn away, your hands coming to clutch at the sides of your head, your fingers digging into the bandages, almost ripping them. “I swear, when I get my hands on you…!”

“We don’t know what to do,” Kyle says softly. He looks over at Soap, his gaze obviously sad and sympathetic. “Do you want to try ‘n talk ‘em? Even if they’re feelin’ a tad… neurotic.”

Johnny can’t rip his gaze from you as you throw a steel chair at the wall, still cursing out someone named Sheriff and his lackeys. The chair bounces off the wall and one of the legs hits your shin, causing you to curse it out, too.

“Yes,” Johnny says quickly, decisively.

Soap shifts on his feet, oddly impatient, as he waits for Kyle to unlock the door to the interrogation room. As soon as he does, Johnny shoulders past him and into the room. He hears a faint click as Gaz closes it behind him.

You immediately whirl on Johnny, your eyes wide and your breath labored.

“You!” You point at Johnny like it’s meant to be some offensive gesture. “What do you want?”

You move closer, and Johnny catches sight of the dogtags hanging from your neck. You were buried with one, and he kept the other. He even gave you one of his own because, on that day, a part of him died with you. But… instead of two, you have four hanging from the metal chain.

You shove your finger in Johnny’s chest, your fingernail digging through the thin fabric of his fatigues. “Answer me!”

Soap immediately takes your wrist and cradles your hand to his chest. “Bonnie, please, calm down.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” you bark, ripping your hand away from him. “I just lost one of my team and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Your team?” Soap echoes.

“Deimos!” you snap. “You – you killed Deimos.”

You take a step back, your fists still clenched and your eyes still angry. “I saw your stupid fucking Engineer murder him. He was dead from the first five bullets, and you know he knew that! But oh, let’s just make sure he’s dead by unloading clip after clip into him.”

You heave a breath, almost growling. “Let’s desecrate his corpse. All because he’s a dissenter. Let’s make it oh-so-hard to bring him back.”

Johnny steps forward, just barely moving his foot, and you jump back like he took out a knife.

He breathes out your name, soft and unbelieving. “Are… is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me!” You turn and rest your hands on the steel table, obviously resisting the urge to bring your fists down against it. “Always has been, always will be. It’s always me.”

Johnny circles around the table and leans down a little, taking in your face. The grey makes you look dirty and unwashed, like you’ve got a layer of dirt on you that you couldn’t wash away.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “I know you.”

Johnny’s heart leaps into his throat and, for a hopeful moment, thinks that you remember him, that this is all some sort of stupid trick, that you went MIA instead of being KIA, that this is really you. The you Johnny knows, the you Johnny loves. But his heart is crushed beneath your boot when you speak next.

“I know soldiers like you,” you say softly. “Soldiers, produced en masse, told to shoot first and die quietly. We’re both clones, you know? But there’s a difference in what we want.”

You stand up straight, glancing at the double-sided mirror before turning your eyes back to Soap. “You follow orders. When they say jump, you ask how high. But I…” you laugh beneath your breath. “I am fighting for change. Normality. You’re comfortable living in this… this chaos.”

“Bonnie, what are you on about?” Johnny reaches across the table, trying to take your hand. You snatch it away before he even comes close.

Gaz slides into the room, holding a tablet. You whip your head around and glare at him.

His eyebrows lift a little, and he raises the tablet, as if in a defensive manner. “Your tablet. It –”

You snatch it from Gaz’s hands before he can talk again. You set it down on the table and stare at it, waiting.

Johnny can just barely see the interface. The top of the screen reads COMBASIC .9(beta). It looks like some sort of chat room. A few messages pop up in quick succession.

FellowD9: GOTEM FellowD9: YOU WERE RIGHT FellowD9: HE WAS COMPLIANT 2BDamned: Neat FellowD9: CHECK MY SECTOR FellowD9: ANCHOR HIM NOW [user:FellowD9 IS OFFLINE]

The messages seem to relax you, even if Johnny has no idea what they’re talking about. You bring a hand to your forehead and laugh breathlessly, then set to typing.

CrosshairF6: lol hey im still alive CrosshairF6: aahw assholes gave me my tablet idk why CrosshairF6: check my sector & get me back 2BDamned: Getting Deimos right now, I’ll get back to you CrosshairF6: better do it right CrosshairF6: saw his corpse, looks like he ran through traffic [user:2BDamned IS OFFLINE]

Johnny watches as you tuck your tablet back in one of the inner pockets of your jacket, casting a suspicious glance at Gaz, like you expect him to take it back.

Gaz raises his hands and slips back out of the room, leaving you and Johnny.

“So.” You look at Johnny. “Why are you trying to act all buddy-buddy with me?”

“You’re… you were…” Johnny sighs, an overwhelming feeling settling in his chest. “Do you remember… dying?”

“Of course,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “2B brought me back.”

“2B?” Johnny echoes. “Like, the one you were talkin’ to? 2BDamned?”

“Yeah.” You move and lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s all doctor-like, y’know? Brings us back when we need it.”

“And he’s… on your team?” Johnny asks. He feels a deep pang of… something in his chest when the thought of you actually being on another team, separate from him, settles in his mind.

You nod. “Yeah. 2B, Hank, Sanford, Deimos.” You tap the dog tags resting against your chest. “We’re a team. Some of us are on a subteam, but still. We’re a team.”

Johnny blinks hard, shaking the thought from his head. “Do you remember anything before you died?”

“Some, but… not a lot. Just blips of fighting, some soldiers, then Nevada.” You shrug. “2B says that happens sometimes.”

Johnny feels his tense shoulders relax, if only a little. “Any one specific soldier, bonnie?”

“No,” you say. You look away and fiddle with your dogtags. “But I’ve got the dogtag of someone named John.”

“John?” Johnny echoes, his heart picking up in his chest. “John ‘Soap’ MacTavish?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze fixes on him again, immediately suspicious. “How do you know that?”

“That’s me, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly, moving towards you. He makes sure to stay slow and cautious, just in case. “I’m Johnny. Your Johnny.”

You move along the wall, away from him, just slightly. You seem to bristle a little, and bring your shoulders up a bit. “You’re not mine. I don’t own anyone.”

“Not in the literal sense, bonnie,” Johnny laughs, resisting the urge to trail after you. “I’m yours, romantically.”

You bring yourself off the wall, taking a step back. It’s like you’re repulsed by the idea. “I’ve never been romantically involved with anyone. You think I’ve got time for that?”

It’s like Johnny’s been punched in the gut. Tears well in his eyes and he suddenly feels so fucking sick. His feet almost come out from under him as he stumbles to the door, shaking hands putting in the code before slipping out.

He could take the idea of you maybe not remembering him, sure. He could just re-introduce himself. He could take the idea of you forgetting the time you’ve spent together, because you’d remember, right? But the way you were disgusted by the idea of romance, the vitriol in your voice as you spoke…

Johnny doesn’t like the word ‘relapse’ because he thinks it holds too heavy of a connotation, but that’s the best way to describe what he did for the rest of the day, and into the early hours of tomorrow. He rotted in your shared bed, but instead of feeling numb, he felt his heart being wrenched by your hand, by your words.

He just laid there, looking at his sketchbook – a good one with thick paper. The one you’d gifted him for your six-month anniversary. It’s filled with drawings of you: candid ones, ones where he had you pose (even though you were embarrassed), ones of you and him, together, doing couple-y things.

He could only mourn what was lost, because you seemed to have absolutely no interest in recovering it.

A week passes before you’re able to be let out of your cell. You slowly lost the fire and brimstone that filled your heart as you realized that the 141 really did want to help you. You feel better now that you have a few people by your side, fresh bandages, and a renewed sense of comfort.

(But you forgave yourself for acting like that in the beginning because, in Nevada, no one is nice. Not without an ulterior motive, at least.)

You’re practically on a leash as Ghost leads you throughout the base. He doesn’t talk as he guides you through winding hallways and up an exhaustive amount of flights of stairs.

Eventually, he opens a door labeled ‘ROOF EXIT.’ He tilts his head towards the door.

“Someone waitin’ for you,” Ghost says gruffly. “And…”

He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. Your cigarettes.

Ghost takes your hand and puts it in your palm. “Don’t set anything on fire.”

You close your fingers around it and nod. “Got it, boss.”

Ghost starts back down the stairs, leaving you and the open door to the roof. You move through it and look around.

Johnny’s sitting, cross-legged, on the concrete roof, facing away from you. It’s dark – obviously, it’s night. You look up and take in the stars, and…

“You have a moon,” you say softly.

Johnny looks back at you, a tentative smile on his face. Like he’s scared to be too hopeful. “Yeah. We do.”

You hum and look at Johnny.

“Do you…” Johnny glances at the floor, then back up at you. “Do you wanna sit with me, bonnie?”

You slowly move over to Johnny and sit by him. You keep a healthy distance, but you’re still closer than you’ve ever been to him before.

“Those fags for sharin’?” Johnny asks, a teasing smile on his face.

You look down at the carton of cigarettes in your hand. You grip them a little tighter, causing the thin carton to crumple a bit. “Sure. Don’t know if you’ll like them, though.”

“Nonsense, bonnie.” Johnny bumps his shoulder against yours. “Let’s give ‘em a go.”

You smile and take out two cigarettes. You hand one over to Johnny. They’re hand-rolled and don’t have a filter, so they look more like joints, but the overwhelming smell of raw tobacco quickly quells that thought.

“Got a light?” you ask.

“‘Course.” Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lighter. He lights his own cigarette, then pulls it away with a sputtering cough.

“Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?” He asks in between coughs.

You laugh, hitting your knee as Johnny reels from the taste. “It’s good, yeah?”

“Hell no!” Johnny wipes tears from his eyes and looks over at you. Despite his coughing, a soft smile spreads across his face at the way you’re laughing – loud, unabashed. Just like before.

You swipe Johnny’s lighter from his hand and light your cigarette, the cherry basking your face in a soft, warm glow. “Welcome to Nevada.”

“Let’s see that thing.” Johnny reaches over and takes the carton from your hand.

He turns it over, looking at it. The carton is worn, like it’s been refilled many times. There’s no warning about nicotine being an addictive chemical, just a grey box with a simple brand: G01 Choice. There’s a name scribbled on the back – Deimos, in all capital letters.

“Deimos,” Johnny says aloud. “The man died and you stole his cigs?”

“He’s not dead.” You take the carton back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. “Not anymore. Well, he’s died lotsa times, so I guess he’s an... honorary corpse.”

“An honorary corpse,” Johnny echoes, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. He puts it out on the concrete. “Just like you, yeah?”

You take a drag off your cigarette and blow out the smoke in a single, smooth stream. “Just like me.”

A silence settles as you look up at the moon. You can feel Johnny’s eyes occasionally flitting to you, then back up at the night sky.

“Your dogtags.” Johnny points in your direction. “Whose are they?”

You look down and tug on the metal chain, causing them to clink together. “Mine, yours, and my team’s.”

“Your team?” Johnny asks softly. “You never told me about them.”

“Yeah.” You look over at him. “I’m part of an extraction team. My partners are Sanford and Deimos.”

A pain, almost so real he thought he was actually injured, runs through Johnny when you say partners. The logical side of his brain chides him a few moments later because you obviously meant it in a militaristic sense, not a romantic sense.

“Can I see them?” Johnny asks.

You nod and take off the chain, then hand them to Johnny. He looks at the dogtags – he recognizes his and yours as being standard military dogtags, but Sanford and Deimos’ are much more… odd.

Sanford’s reads SANFORD / MELEE + EXPLOSIVES / G02 (NEG) / RETURN TO FAMILY. Deimos’ reads DEIMOS / FIREARMS + TECH / G02 (POS) / NO FAMILY.

Johnny tilts the dogtags so that you can see them and runs a finger along the lettering. “What do these mean, bonnie?”

You move a bit closer and lean in. “The first lines are their names, obviously. The second is what they’re proficient in. The third is what generation clone they are, and their blood types – there are only two blood types for second generation clones. And the last one is what to do with their bodies if they can’t be revived.”

“Wait, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly. “Clones?”

“Yeah, clones.” You tilt your head a little to the side. “What, you don’t have cloning technology here?”

“Of course not!” Johnny laughs.

You laugh and bump your shoulder against his. “You people are so primitive.”

Johnny smiles back at you and it’s like nothing is wrong. You both go quiet as you stare at each other until you look away.

“I, uh…” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry for being so… abrasive. Earlier, I mean.”

“It’s alright,” Johnny says, almost too quickly.

You scratch your cheek and glance over at Johnny, then away. “But it’s not, is it? I should’ve handled things better.”

“Someone you know died right before we talked.” Johnny reaches over and, cautiously, puts his hand over yours where it rests on your knee. “It’s expected that you don’t act like yourself.”

Your breath hitches, and Johnny squeezes your hand reassuringly in response.

“But that’s the thing,” you say. “I’ve seen so many awful things before. People getting shot, stabbed, beaten, Hank tearing people apart with his bare hands. But, Maker…”

You drag a hand down your face, rubbing your jaw. “Deimos is young. So young. He’s only twenty-seven, and he always has a smile like he’s just tied your shoelaces together and is waiting for you to trip. And he’s so smart, even if everyone calls him a bit stupid. Yeah, he’s got a slower reaction time, but that’s what me and Sanford are for, y’know? He…”

You blink hard, trying to will your tears away. A soft, frustrated groan leaves your mouth as you duck your head and put your cigarette to your lips. “Don’t look at me.”

Johnny starts to pull his hand away, but stops when you squeeze his hand. Instead, he squeezes your hand back, averting his gaze.

To Johnny, it again almost feels like nothing ever happened. Like there’s no Russia, no Nevada, nothing besides you and him on this roof, together. But he’s no fool. He knows things have changed – that Nevada has changed you.

You breathe out a shaky plume of cigarette smoke. “I just want to go back.”

“But you’re here now, bonnie,” Johnny says. He tries to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest, tries to keep his composure for you. “Aren’t you glad you’re back?”

“I don’t know this place.” You look over at Johnny, your eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “You keep saying that we’re together, that – that this is my home. But how can this be my home if I don’t remember a thing about it? How can you be my boyfriend if I don’t remember a thing about you?”

Johnny exhales sharply, like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him. “Bonnie, please don’t say that. Please.”

“I know violence, and I know bloodshed,” you say softly. “I know Nevada. This place, this world…” You gesture vaguely with your cigarette still in your hand. “It’s not mine.”

“But there is violence here, there is bloodshed here,” Johnny insists. “Here, we fought together.”

“But I don’t remember us being together, in any capacity!” you snap. You take a breath and try your best to soften your words. “All I remember from before is just flashes. I didn’t remember your face. I just had your dogtag and a weird, empty feeling.”

Johnny sighs and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He can’t tear his gaze away from you.

“You really expected me to trace the bullet and sift through fleeting memories when there was an entire agency playing Pinkertons knocking down our door?” you ask softly. “2B was bandaging my head ‘cause he just finished playing around in my brains and Sanford was shoving a gun in my hands. They pointed me in a direction and told me to shoot. I didn’t have the time to remember you.

“I’m sorry, but I just didn’t.” You squeeze his hand before letting it go.

Johnny immediately scrambles to catch your hand in both of his, holding on desperately. “No, bonnie, please.”

A few tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks as he looks at you. Your face is a mirror of his own, just in greyscale. Your cheeks are stained with tears and your eyes are just beginning to get a bit puffy.

“If you know you’re gonna be leaving again, then just let me hold your hand,” Johnny says softly, his voice wavering. “Just for a few more minutes.”

You nod and, when you blink, a tear rolls down your already-wet cheek. “Okay.”

Johnny slowly moves so that you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder to him. He hesitates before resting his head on your shoulder. You smell just like how he remembers, albeit tinged with the acrid tang of G01 Choice cigarette smoke. You’re just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

“Okay.”

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xxavengingangelxx · 1 year

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Long Way From Home 7/?

Ya'll know the drill. I assume this isn't ya'll's first rodeo when it comes to reading this but alas, because it's a dark fic, I will post triggers again. MDNI, 18+ TRIGGERS: Implied/attempted suicide, self-harm, torture, brainwashing, physical abuse, mind fuckery, Stockholm syndrome-related mental gymnastics, trauma bonding, mentions of foster care, threatened/implied/referenced rape, EXTREMELY dubious consent, flashbacks of torture, female being drugged. Self-hate in this one :( If I miss, any let me know, please! DARK FIC!

This fic is almost coming to an end...kind of. This will be the first part of the series. After MW3 comes out, I can start posting part 2. Now I've decided on an ending and just know I'm not a believer in happy, fluffy endings because that's just not real life. Read my other Graves/Reader fic As the; Rush Comes to see ;) @josieguts because they asked to be tagged :)

On top of not having laughed or smiled since Graves snatched you (2 months?) you didn’t speak unless spoken to. 9 times out of 10, you were silent. What happened to the talkative, bubbly you girl that would sometimes get on Ghost’s nerves? Oi, soldier, you never stop talking, do ya? He had said. Soap loved it because he finally had someone who matched his social energy. You’d both try to annoy Ghost until he finally said, Get lost, eh? The both ‘o yas. leaving you both to laugh. And despite his tough guy persona, you both knew Ghost would miss you both if anything happened or if your personalities changed.

But now if you said more than 10 words in a day it was a lot.

It was slow going when it came to getting back on Graves’s good side. He was still holding the night where you questioned him and argued that no, you hadn’t been dreaming when you’d heard him say you’d broke against you. You’d been right and you had heard him on that radio correctly but he hated it when anyone questioned him. Especially if they were right.

You were required to do a thing or two before fully getting back into Graves’s good graces.

There was one night when you were on your knees in front of him. He was trying to keep radio contact with some Shadows as they ran a basic, low-risk recon and he’d told you to blow him, challenging you that there was no way his men would hear him struggling to talk. If he lost the bet, you’d get that Samsung watch back.

How fucking wrong he’d been. You were under his desk, taking him into your mouth and throat. At times he’d grab your hair, hips stuttering into your lips. You were naked. He was still fully dressed and geared. You eyed that sidearm of his and a sick part of your mind that had been developing since Graves took you wondered what it would be like to suck him off while he held that gun to your head. You’d never had such thoughts before Graves got ahold of you. He’d really fucked you up, didn’t he? The relationship you shared with him was so dysfunctional, so unhealthy. But like either of you gave a fuck. Ya’ll didn’t. You both thrived on it.

When you introduced that hint of teeth on his shaft before dragging your tongue under his cock…that perfect balance of sharp and soft sensation was what pushed him over the edge. He had to take his thumb off his radio button but not before his breath caught in his throat. That same hand grasped your hair, pulling you closer as he released into your mouth.

“All good, boss?” A Shadow asked from the other side.

You swallowed what he gave you. Or tried to. You felt some drip out of your lips.

Graves had glanced down at you, seeing you use a finger to lead that cum that had escaped your lips back into your mouth.

“Gotdamn,” he rasped.

“Boss?”

“I’m 10-4,” his breath still came in short gasps. He was sure his men could hear it. “RTB, men.”

“You lose, Graves,”

Graves was a sore fucking loser because later that night he had you pinned to the bed facedown. You’d given him the greenlight, the codewords you both understood to mean that you wanted to be fucked that night. “Show me who I belong to.”

So he’d left finger bruises on your hips and wrists as he held you down. One of his hands was gripping your hair in such a strong grasp you felt a headache coming.

He fucked you so hard you were a blubbering mess. Edged you mercilessly at least 3 times. You’d screamed and moaned his name into the covers. You’d screamed it audibly once when he finally let you cum that first time and he’d threatened to duct tape your mouth shut and fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

You fell asleep in his bed because you were actually worried you’d walk differently if you got out of his bed.

You sure as hell made sure you got that watch back. It kinda made you feel like you were selling your body, though.

Your nightmares went from involving 141 to bringing back forgotten memories of the torture you’d endured at the hands of Shadow Company before you’d broke. 141 thought you were dead so maybe your head had put them out of your mind.

They came into that tiny room and instantly you were on the defensive. You didn’t care that they’d been keeping you awake for who knows how long. If they were coming in here to hurt you, you were going to put up a fight. Plus, Graves’s threat still hung heavy like a never ending storm threatening a tornado but not yet producing one. That he’d rape you and let you be passed around. So when multiple men came into your room you instantly became on edge.

“One chance,” Graves said. “Codes to the homing beacons.”

You flipped him off, adding a “Fuck you,” for good measure.

So when a Shadow stepped forward, grey eyes almost glinting with sadism, you swung at him, making (brief) contact with his face. He was shocked.

“You gonna take that?” Graves mocked. “I already told ‘er once not to swing at ya’ll. So teach her a lesson.”

Permission to put hands on you granted, the nameless, faceless Shadow grabbed you by the shirt and slammed you against the hard, cold concrete wall. You tried to knee him but failed. He grasped your hair and slammed your head against the wall. You slid down the wall while you tried your hardest to stay conscious as you fell on your side. When he stepped towards you, you tried to kick him but your coordination was off and he easily sidestepped you.

“You seriously picking a fight, little one?”

Hearing a Shadow call you such an innocent-sounding name disgusted you.

When he leaned towards you and over you, you scratched him, screaming, “Fuck off.” You’d only managed to scratch his face briefly but it was enough. He was bleeding.

Graves laughed.

That only made his subordinate madder, and he completely unleashed his anger on you. He unleashed punches, smacks, slaps, and finally, kicks. He’d beaten you to within an inch of consciousness and probably your life. You felt your ribs bruise and maybe some of your ribs broke (again) when he kicked you so hard you slid across the floor.

“Stop!” you shrieked.

You held your arms and hands out in front of you, unable to talk over the pain as you tried getting away from him by scooting away.

“Stop, soldier,” Graves commanded. “Think she learned her lesson.”

You woke with a start.

“Bad dream?” Graves’s tone was mocking, like it was every time he asked you if you’d had a nightmare.

“I was only dreaming about what I went through when I first got here,”

Graves was quiet but then he added, “I told you, Val. You could’ve avoided all that. If you’d just talked when I first told you to.”

Shadows looked at you different.

You wondered why until you saw yourself in a mirror. You avoided mirrors as much as possible because you hated how you looked. You were scarred, broken, damaged. You were sure the cut across the left side of your face was going to scar. It ran from just above your left temple and then barely missed your eye and curved under your cheekbone. The more time passed the more you realized it was going to be a permanent mark. You could still see the marks where they’d stitched your face up. Graves and his men had beat you so fucking badly that you’d required stitches to your face.

Your nose? Broken more than once in the last two months. There as a thin line right above the bone in your nose and you wondered if they’d literally taken a knife to your face. There was still a lot of shit you didn’t remember but you were almost certain it would come back to you in your nightmares.

There were a lot of things men didn’t understand about women. One of those was that a woman’s face defined her. How a woman looks defines her. And now? Your face was permanently altered because of the shit that was done to you. Because you’d been abandoned by the only team you’d ever trusted. They’d left you to die and for all they knew, you were dead. Tortured to death. Graves had made sure you died in their eyes.

The anger built up inside of you before you knew what to do with it. And you had to let it out. You couldn’t swing at Shadows and you sure as fuck couldn’t swing at Graves. So you launched a sharp punch into the mirror in front of you. The shattering sound was so satisfying and you were fascinated by the glitter of small glass pieces as they fell around you. The anger had come on so suddenly and you had no idea what the cause was. Was this going to be the rest of your life? Anger and feeling numb?

You glanced up and your dark gaze was briefly visible to yourself amongst the webs in the shattered mirror. It was not a gaze you recognized and that was when you realized that Graves had won.

The woman looking back at you was not the same woman who had flown into Las Almas planning to use her bilingual skills to help build bridges. It was not the same woman who wanted to use her counterintelligence and recon skills to make the world a safer place.

That woman had died in that room after you’d pulled that IV out of your arm.

“Somethin’ got you upset?” Graves drawled from the doorway.

In the past you might have been afraid that Graves would hurt you for destroying property but when you did it out of searing anger, he didn’t seem to mind. Almost as if he liked it that he’d turned you into this monster that he could take to the field with him.

You met his gaze in the smashed mirror and while you might have been seeing things, even Graves did a doubletake. Even he knew you were different. And if you weren’t mistaken, you’d swear that was a smirk pulling at the corners of his face.

You were beginning to see Shadows as your teammates. You didn’t really have a choice in the matter. You’d been here over two months now and 141 thought you and Graves were dead. You hated that when they talked to you, you noticed their eyes briefly shift to the permanent marks on your face.

Marks they and their kind had inflicted. But strangely enough, you didn’t blame them. You directed the blame at yourself because like Graves had told you multiple times: “You could’ve started talking a lot sooner. And if 141 really cared, they would’ve rescued you.”

Mirrors had been removed from common areas because you had destroyed all of them. You fucking hated how you looked. Being righthanded, your right hand held multiple cuts, some of them deep, from where you’d punched mirrors. But there were some on your left hand, too, just not as much. Adding scars to the growing list, weren’t you? So you took to wearing gloves.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, soldier,” Graves commented once. “But I like it.”

Now, before you couldn’t stand anything except for your hair touching your face. That was why you never really wore a mask, even though some of the members of 141 did. You’d never quite understood why until now. When you hate how you look, it’s a respite from having to look at yourself in anything that had a reflection which were lots of things.

You wore a dark mask and only took it off around Graves. Because Graves saw those scars every night so his eyes no longer fixated on them. The mask only covered the front of your face so you hair was free to flow over your shoulders on base. In the field it was in a single tight French braid on the back of your head to help your helmet fit better. Of course, you always had the problem of your bangs in your eyes but you didn’t mind those. It fixed the problem of Shadows looking at you and then shifting their gaze to the scars on your face. Your unstable mind swore you would’ve taken to breaking windows next. Anything to avoid seeing your reflection.

Graves had stopped replacing the mirror in the bathroom connected to the bedroom you two shared most of the time. Because you’d just break it whenever the mask came off. It got to the point to where you were scared someone else was going to see you, even in your sleep, so you slept with it on when Graves wasn’t next to you.

The next thing that bothered you was when someone would look at the deep cuts on your left arm, both from suicide attempts. One of them had been when you’d taken that piece of glass you’d found in that cell you were first put in and dragging it across your wrist no less than 3 inches. From one side of your under wrist to the other. The other? From ripping that IV out with such force you’d added another three inch laceration to your arm.

Your left wrist was also…different. You couldn’t put your finger on it but you guessed you’d hurt a ligament or something else due to being kept in tight zipties sometimes for 12 hours at a time. When Graves didn’t have anything else to torture you with all those months ago he would just have your hands tied behind you just to make you hurt and just to make you uncomfortable. You couldn’t move your left wrist at 100% anymore of that you were sure. You wondered if you had broken some of the smaller bones in your wrist because it cracked every time you rotated. He’d had you put in zipties after you’d picked a fight with one of his men and it had made the pain in your ribs that much worse because of the awkward position.

So you wore long sleeves. Even when you ventured into hot climates. You preferred dark clothing and that’s what Graves acquired for you. He hadn’t been lying that he would spoil you if you just cooperated.

You wondered if Shadows judged you before you started wearing long sleeves because of the obvious proof on your arms that you’d attempted to take your life.

The third thing that bothered you were unexpected noises. Loud noises were the worst. Now when you were in the field surrounded by your mask, your goggles, and other heavy clothing, the noises didn’t bother you. Plus you were in battlefield mode.

But during downtime at the base? Any unexpected noise made you jump. And when you jumped you looked ready to start swinging. So you were given those good quality noise-cancelling headphones for the base. If someone approached you a certain way or got to close you’d flinch.

Graves picked up on the fact that you seemed to dislike the chopping sound of helicopters the worst. You never really told him why but it was because it made you think of all the times you’d been with 141 on helicopters and it made you scared they were coming to take you away from Graves.

But 141 as well as the rest of your identity was fading away and fast.

Graves wouldn’t even call you by name anymore unless you were in the same private room you shared. If he needed you, he’d send you a notification on your watch. Sometimes during times when you were half-asleep you were sure you forgot your real name and heard only your callsign. All this thinking made you realize that…you didn’t remember your first name. You’d gone a little more unhinged over the next few days when you grasped that no matter how hard you tried you could not recall your first name.

You’d actually forgotten you first name.

You didn’t give it much thought after that because…surprisingly you didn’t care anymore.

Graves didn’t like to have you in the field. But sometimes he had no choice. He and his Shadows were big and tall. So when they needed someone to slip into a building or crawl under a gate or into an air duct, they used you. But when he did have you in field, you were covered in head to toe with gear. The only skin visible was the skin around your eyes and behind you goggles. He still made you wear a thinner Kevlar vest under your uniform shirt plus your larger Shadow vest. Double protection because if someone recognizes you, they’ll shoot you on sight.

He seemed nervous about losing you. Why? You weren’t exactly sure why. You’d eavesdropped on a conversation between Graves and Shepherd. You heard Shepherd tell Graves to not let you become “another loose end.” Graves responded, heatedly, that “She is not nor will she ever be a loose end.”

But while Graves liked to limit your field exposure, his narcissism shone through when he did put you in the field. Because while you were indeed geared up, he couldn’t hesitate to make sure you had brief pink accents to your gear. It was like he was proud to have a female on his team. It was like he saw you as a diamond in the rough, an advantage no one else had. Who else had the chance to seduce targets? Who else had a femme fatal? He knew he had a lead no one else did.

You noticed one day that your uniforms were no longer big on you. They fit you almost perfect. When did that happen?

The first time you killed someone in a field operation it was in the Middle East. Graves couldn’t use your bilingual skills here because you didn’t speak Farsi or Arabic but he sure as hell liked using you for recon. You’d been to so many places, boarded so many planes and choppers that you lost count. You had your watch but you’d lost interest in keeping track of time.

The Middle East was hot but you kept your long sleeves and mask.

The enemy combatant in question was shorter than your average male. By a lot. So even you were able to tackle him from behind after he fired a few shots towards some Shadows. He instantly turned onto his back and noticed the brief touches of pink on your gear. You heard him call you an American whore in Arabic.

You swung at him repeatedly and kept swinging, feeling bone and teeth break under you. Your gloves and hands became sticky with blood. A Shadow tried to pull you off the man but you then reached for your sidearm, raised it and shot him in the head.

Your second ‘victim’? A low-level, know-nothing enemy combatant who’d dropped his weapon. You raised your rifle and shot him anyway.

Back on base, you learned that each Shadow kept track of how many enemy combatants they’d killed on the inside of their vests. They’d taken yours and proudly added two tally marks before giving it back to you.

Notes: Ya'll, she is soooo far gone :,(

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #graves x reader #mw2 141

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story-island · 2 years

Text

Sleepless Nights (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

A/N: Thanks for all of the support everyone! I made a post the other day talking about being back and this is it!

Summary: Reader has a nightmare and goes to Ghost for comfort, but it eventually leads to more.

Word Count: 2k

Jolting up, your eyes flew open. Managing to strangle the scream that came from your mouth. This was not a good night. The nightmares that plagued you had taken a turn for the worst. It was brutal.

Usually, it was haunted images of yourself being tortured, but this time it was Ghost. He was at the end of a sharpened blade that had no mercy. The next thing you knew the shadow slit his throat and he was pushed down to the floor where his limp body sprawled. It was horrifying.

As the images flashed through your brain again you started shaking. attempting to calm yourself down you told yourself "Everything is ok." but your mind could stop telling you to go find Ghost.

It was illogical in every sense of the word, he was a trained killer, and definitely hard to kill. Still though you had to see that he was alive and well.

You found yourself outside his door in moments. Thats when sense kicked in. "what the hell am I doing here" you thought. "He's my lieutenant, and for fucks sake it 1:30 in the morning. It would be crossing so many boundaries. I mean sure we are close but that doesn't mean I should be here. But fuck I won't be able to sleep if I don't know."

Finally kicking yourself in the ass you knocked once. You knew he was a light sleeper, and the knock should have been loud enough.

In a moment a sleepy but annoyed Ghost was at the door.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"Nightmare" You almost whisper "I had to see you were alive."

"Well, here I am" he responded in a slightly lighter tone.

"Yeah" you manage "Sorry for bothering you."

Before you could walk away Ghost put his hand on your shoulder,

"It's fine, come in . . . I'm not that big a wanker." he said "you can talk to me if you want."

With a small smile both of you went and sat on Ghost's bed. Both of you got comfy, leaning up against the headboard. Taking a small breath, you started talking.

"I know it's weird, nightmares shouldn't bother me. I mean I'm an adult. But either way long story short I saw you get tortured and die and I needed to make sure you were still here." You spoke but weakly.

"It must have been bad," Ghost says.

"I mean yeah . . . The worst was when . . .your dead body was just . . . there . . .a bloody corpse." You were whispering at this point.

Ghost wasn't a man of many words. It was a wonder he had already spoken so much, but this time he just wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side. It was slightly awkward, but you made it work. Without even thinking you spoke,

"Simon, I can't lose you."

Your words hit Simon in his heart. His name falling off your lips was beautiful, but the fear in your voice is what got him to speak up.

"Luv, you know I don't die easy . . . especially not for you." He spoke.

"You mean that Ghosty?" You asked, looking up into those deep eyes of his.

He hummed and nodded in response. It was enough for you. This was his way of showing how much he cared. Though he never words it Simon secretly harbored feelings for you. However tonight was different. You came to him seeking a friend and comfort not for combat training or other assorted military problems. That is what prompted some of his last words for the night.

"I'm really happy you came to me. But it is late, so you need to try to get some sleep."

Simon moved away from you to turn off the bedside lamp. Then moving to pull you under the blankets with him. You started to protest.

"But I should go back to my room, someone will notice if I'm not there." you whine.

"Shh, sleep" he grumbled.

"I'll get in trouble."

"I will make sure you won't."

"Fine" You huffed "if you promise."

"I promise" he replied "Now sleeep"

"Night night Ghosty boy" you hum, content to snuggle into Simon's massive body.

"Goodnight, Y/N"

He relishes in the feeling of your warm body curled up next to his. Soon both of you drift into a nice sleep, dreamless but peaceful.

Morning came faster than Simon wanted it to, he had an internal clock that kept him from sleeping in. However, waking up to you wrapped around him made him never want to leave the bed. Simon's mind told him other things though. He promised that you wouldn't get in trouble, so he shifted away from your sleeping body. Getting up he opened his door and checked the halls.

No one was up, and that led Simon to his next actions. Gently and with so much care he picked you up and brought you back to your room. This was the easiest way to do things, "hope she just thinks it was all a part of the dream" he told himself. Finding a way to play down his emotions at every turn before he tucked you into your own bed. Leaving only after taking in the beauty of your sleeping form once again.

Your eyes fluttered open, a gentle light coming in through your bedroom window. Wait, this was your room. "I was with Ghost" you thought to yourself. But maybe it was the dream, either way you were going to talk to him about it at some point today.

That proved harder than you thought. Ghost was avoiding you today. Every time you got a glimpse of him it was always as if he was leaving for some reason.

You were so frustrated, not even getting to speak a word to him all day long. It was normal for you to do training and weapons checks together, but none of that today. It got to a point where you just retreated back to your room and hid, not bothering to come out for dinner.

Ever perceptive Simon noticed you didn't show, the cold shoulder treatment must have gotten to you worse than he thought. It wasn't his intention to hurt you, but he had a pattern. People that got close to him would die, so he was trying to defend you he reasoned. Deep down Simon knew that he fucked up though. You loved to come and talk with the guys during meals. Missing this meant he hurt you.

Slowly trying to figure out a way to fix this Simon made up a plate of food and began walking towards your room. As uncertain as he was, he knocked on your door only to get no response.

"Y/N? Are you there Luv?" Simon called out.

Still silent, and then there was a little movement and the door opened for Simon to see a teary eyed, messy haired girl that looked like she needed a hug. Immediately he felt terrible for what he did to you.

"Oh Sweetheart, I'm sorry" he started but before he got another word out you pulled him in a bone crushing hug.

"Why?" You asked, pulling away from Simon, suddenly remembering he hated being touched.

Before any more words were exchanged, he slowly entered your room and shut the door behind him. Taken aback you gave Simon a look of confusion. In your mind he was upset at you, probably for interrupting his sleep the other night. But he set down your plate of food on a counter, and spoke,

"I'm not mad at you, if that's what your pretty little brain is thinking over there."

"Then why didn't you want anything to do with me today?" you questioned.

"I thought it would have been for the best . . . People die when they get close to me." He finished.

As much as you wanted to be mad that he was pushing you away, you knew this was really hard for Ghost. He didn't do emotions and caring, but he was now. Just for you.

"Just because it has happened before doesn't mean it will happen again Simon."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any easier." Simon responded, hating the way he rationalized pushing you out of his life.

"I may not get it but please don't push me away. Even if all you want is a best friend." You say, knowing that your feelings for the man might complicate that. However, if that's what he needs, then that's what you'll give him.

Taking a moment Simon processed your words, he saw the way you were hurting yourself just to be there for him. Ever observant, your little crush on him didn't go unnoticed by him. That being said, he picked his words carefully.

"I don't want a friend; I want a companion." he said, looking deep into your misty eyes.

"What?" you asked somewhat shocked.

Without speaking another word, Simon moved his mask, so it lay just above his lips, and he leaned down to give you a gentle kiss. Something he didn't know he was capable of. In shock you didn't know what to do, and he could almost sense it.

"I want you" Simon whispered in your ear, making your knees almost buckle beneath you. "But only if you'll have me."

"Of course, Simon," you almost whispered, "just try not to push me away again."

"Never again Luv, never again." he said, giving you another small peck on the lips, before pulling his mask back down again

With that the two of you got comfy in your room. It wasn't as awkward as your midnight adventure, this felt right. Everything seemed lighter. Neither of you told each other how much you really felt but just asking for a companion was enough.

Breaking down Simon's walls was going to be difficult, but his show of passion and care for you made you ready to wait forever to see the man acting domestically.

Eventually the two of you were sprawled out on your bed, watching something stupid on TV. The show was half forgotten as Simon couldn't take his eyes off of you. Not in a particularly sexual manner, more in a way of memorizing every part of you in his mind. It was sweet to see his eyes so soft in his exploration of you.

Watching him was intoxicating to you, but the end of the night rolled around quickly. Soon it was time for sleep. It seemed as though neither of you wanted it to end though, so in a moment of confidence you ask,

"Did you want to stay here tonight?"

Taken aback Simon looked to your eyes, searching for any sign of uncertainty but it wasn't there.

"Not worried about getting in trouble anymore?" He joked.

Going red you realized how forward you question really came off.

"I mean yes . . . but no, I don't know. Just answer the question Simon"

"Sure . . . but don't get any ideas, the mask stays on," he responded tentatively.

"That's a given" you responded, unsure where his mind went.

Seeing the sincerity in your eyes the two of you got comfy on your bed. You found yourself with a leg thrown over his waist, and an arm wrapped around his torso. It was shocking when Simon relaxed under your touch, pulling you impossibly closer to him. That was how the two of you slept for the night, never not touching each other in some way.

Until morning rolled around and then you were subjected to camera flashes and giggling. Not even opening your eyes you could feel the room was full of people watching the scene in front of them.

Price and Soap got some pretty good photos of the sleeping pair until Gaz forgot his flash was on. That was how Simon woke up, almost throwing you off him in embarrassment.

"What the Fuck" He growled mainly at Price.

"Ghost needs some more beauty sleep?" he snipped back.

"Get of my fucking room" you said with a sleepy voice.

"Fine, fine, everyone out" Price called to the small group of four other guys.

"Thanks Price," you say

"Took the two of you long enough" he said as he shut your door behind him.

"Remind me to get you a better lock for that door" Simon said before adjusting his mask to give you a small kiss.

"I could get used to this"

"What, being woken up by the team taking photos?" He joked

"No, I meant waking up with you" You smiled.

"Same"

The morning was slow, each of you taking sweet time to get dressed in gear for the day and enjoying the presence of each other. Simon snuck kisses all over your face, neck, and shoulders before you left to meet the team for the day. Both Simon and you were content, there was peace for a moment. All that mattered was the two of you.

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #fluff #nightmare #comfort #hurt/comfort

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guardian-angel12 · 5 months

Text

Experiment: Flame and Ash (Chapter Three)

Previous chapter

There's nothing to say tonight You've made up your mind To leave this behind Stead of standing in line You're sure that in time You'll be alright

'Cause it was not meant to be this way If you could go back in time Swear you'd change it all But that's not possible Tell me what you're running from

Peter hadn't stayed still for more than a few moments, the longest had been when they had docked the Benetar before they boarded the Quadrant.

He had paced around nonstop. "Why her?" he asked for the millionth time, a question no one had the answer to. "What could they gain from her?" he turned around as if expecting someone to answer, but none came.

Mantis was wringing her hands in the corner, Drax sharpening his knives over his knee, stiff and ready to go get Gamora and Kraglin back, if only they actually knew where they were.

Rocket was silent and going through a hundred files on the navi-computer, Groot watching him from his shoulder.

"The more you ask the more the answer is still, 'no one knows'." Rocket answered irritably. "So shut the hell up already. I'm workin' on it."

Peter sucked on his teeth and finally spun around to Tess, silent as death and staring straight ahead at nothing. "Will you please say something?" he spread his arms out in emphasis.

Silver eyes went straight to his and Peter froze, seeing that deadly promise inside of them and not knowing what to think of it. He knew she was more than pissed—raging, actually—so her being still and quiet was probably a mercy rather than a punishment.

"Tess, I'm sorry, I just want to find them."

"Don't you dare even half insinuate that I don't." she stood and took a few steps toward him. "They just took the most important person in my life from me, for all I know they'll torture him...kill him. He's already hurt. I just don't know what to do!"

She was forcing herself not to cry, cursing and tearing herself apart internally to just hold back the tears that were stinging her eyes and burning in the back of her throat, but it was so hard.

She was scared. And couldn't admit it. Kraglin wasn't there to notice, neither was Gamora.

And Yondu...he wasn't going to tell her what to do. She couldn't just go to him for guidance. She had to do this alone.

"I know, I know, I just...I can't lose her." Peter's voice was no more than a breath. "Either of them."

Tess nodded, breathing in deep and looking around at the others. "Rocket?"

"Still nothing. These guy's are ghosts."

"There had to have been a symbol," Peter said, "Something to trace back—"

Tess suddenly spun around to them, looking mostly at Peter but glancing to Rocket and Drax. "Did anyone recognize the ship model?"

Rocket thought for a moment and nodded. "Yeah, some kind of o’nine inter-space remodel from the inner sectors, Kree territory."

Tess bit her lip and started pacing. She was beginning to think maybe she knew what this was. And she was getting colder the more she thought about it. "Rocket, set me up the long-range comm." she said quietly.

"What for?" the humanoid looked over his shoulder to ask.

"I need to reach out to someone, they might be our only chance of tracking these people down."

- - -

Martinex T'naga was not usually a cautious man, at least not for his own life, but when it came down to his captain, or his crew, anything could seem risky to him.

That was why suspicion was all he could truly think when he saw the transmission that had come in from deep space, saying it was from an old Ravager vessel he barely recognized anymore.

Yondu's contact code was on it, but he knew that it wasn't him before the female voice came over.

"This is Tessa Udonta, I'm needing to speak directly to Stakar Ogord, I'll come alone, you pick the place. It's important, otherwise I wouldn't have asked."

There was a pause in the message, almost like she was collecting herself before continuing, it only made Martinex's radar go off more.

"It...it possibly has to do with the Kree, I think. My brother—Kraglin...his life may be in danger. Please... I don't know who else to turn to."

He only stared at the screen for a few minutes, at a loss, but the way her voice sounded, so desperate... so scared, it made his demeanor soften just a bit.

My brother.

That seemed like a jab right where it was most tender. Since hearing that Yondu was dead he just couldn't shake the knowledge that they had never spoke again, even if he had technically broke the Code and the Code said that they couldn't anymore, they were still brothers, maybe it would have been more honorable to at least ask why Yondu had done it in the first place.

He would never get the chance now.

His life may be in danger.

Martinex didn't know a whole lot about Kraglin, only what he'd heard from different sources. He especially did not know the man he was now, his only memories of the two or three times he ever saw him being a boy of all bones and a narrow, calculating gaze...the same one Yondu had had, the gaze that marked a survivor. He was only twelve when Yondu had brought him into the fold, and some of them would've thought he'd been welded to Yondu's side for the way he never left it unless made to.

Thats when both Stakar and Martinex knew he had found his right-hand man, only he had a lot of growing to do before that.

Tessa wanted to speak to Stakar, but the last time she had wanted to 'talk' apparently she had barely made the decision not to kill him, there was no way he was letting his captain go alone to her again. Niece or not, he didn't trust her.

Maybe Stakar would be angry for it, but he knew what he was going to do.

"Aleta, I need someone to cover for me for a rotation, I'll explain later." he pressed his finger to the comm to say, he knew she would trust it, but he also knew she would ask a million and one questions when he got back. He could live with it.

And it was not a hard decision to delete the transmission from Tessa and leave without a word to Stakar.

- - -

One chance, that was all she would get to make him agree to help her. The first sign that this could end badly and he was done.

After what she had pulled with Stakar months ago, Martinex felt this may be more than she deserved. But even after that, he acknowledged there was a small piece of him that still just wanted to know her.

The fact that she was Yondu's daughter—his chosen daughter, like him and Martinex had been sons to Stakar—is what made him send her a location to meet at.

As he waited in the hazy cantina a dozen different scenarios played in his mind of how this would go down, and a dozen more of just what she would be like.

"She's just like him."

He found himself actually hoping that was true.

The door opened, and a cloaked figure stepped inside slowly, but with some kind of deadly, maybe dark air about them as they stepped, considering everyone and everything around them.

The figure felt feminine, and for a woman was averagely tall but thin, strands of silver hair falling out of the hood like they had escaped a hasty braid.

He kept staring as the woman kept looking around. A little less than a full hour early to the time Martinex—under the guise of Stakar—had said to meet. Ravager behavior.

Then this was Tessa.

This was Yondu's line.

He followed her with his eyes, resisting the urge to stand and address her and just watched, seeing her calculate everything around her. She was looking for Stakar.

- - -

Brothels and bars were not exactly Tess' favorite places to be, not when the memories she had from them either hurt to think of her lost life or that she had spilt an unholy amount of blood in them. But today she barely even thought about where she was as she stepped into the dimly-lit bar, the smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies was all that reminded her to think of her surroundings.

She gazed around, looking for Stakar and getting a scan of everyone in the decent-sized room, mostly harmless drunks and a few scantly-dressed waitresses. Maybe some were prostitutes, Tess didn't exactly care at the moment, the only thing that mattered was finding the Arcturan man who may just hold the fates of Kraglin and Gamora in his hand.

Her edge was peaking a bit as she swept her eyes around the space, but she couldn't find Stakar. She was sure this was the location he had chosen, being early was no issue because Yondu had always told her Ravagers came to their meetings an hour early whereas most others arrived only about half an hour.

He had to be here.

She swallowed the dryness in her throat and took a breath, focusing. And when she did she noticed the eyes that had been following her since she had walked in.

She paused, discreetly moving herself to where her eyes couldn't be seen in the shadow of her hood but she could look over at the golden eyes that hadn't yet left her, and the Pluvian man that they belonged to, sitting in the corner of the cantina.

She moved herself around the opposite way to get a better look at him, some kind of familiarity to him that she was trying to recall.

She acknowledged the navy blue leathers he wore, then, finally, the flame on his chest, and she knew. Her mind flashed back to that day that had changed her life, the day those golden freaks had shown up and sent them off on the last mission they would ever have—the one that had left her life ruined.

He was the same man that had stood beside Stakar when he had been on Contraxia, stood there with a posture that seemed defensive and protective as the older man had yelled all kinds of things to Yondu about the Code and how he had broke it. Bringing exile upon himself.

He had come in Stakar's place, but Tess only wondered if he had been told to, or if he had done it upon his own decision.

She considered only for the smallest moment to turn and leave, she had said she wanted to speak directly to Stakar, anyways, but now was hardly a time to be picky.

"Where is he?" she asked as soon as she made it to the table in the dark corner, looking down at those gold eyes that had not removed themselves from her yet, that face that looked like crystalline shards carefully molded together set in an indifferent expression.

"Not coming." the man answered, his voice edged with a sound like the gentle scrape of metal echoing through it.

Tess felt a tiny spike of regret wash through her. She never did know for sure how bad she had left him... "He dead?"

"No," came his calm reply. "He doesn't know you want to talk to him."

"And why?" she held her jaw tight as not to snap the words.

"Because as first mate it's my job to watch my captains back, so I'm here in case this isn't what you say it is."

She read between those lines, and knew what he meant. He would stand a better chance against her than Stakar if this was another assassination attempt.

Even if she knew that was not her intention by a long shot, she knew enough about his kind to wonder how hard it would actually have been to kill him first had he been there with Stakar that day.

Steel against crystal... she wondered which of them would break first.

He seemed to wonder the same, the way he kept glancing at her hands.

Bold. She respected that. That was real honor—loyalty, and if she hadn't already been irritated and overrun by emotions she might have admired it.

"Who are you?" she asked, bracing her hands on the table in fists.

"Martinex T'Naga."

Tess cocked her head slightly, then ran her tongue over her teeth as she slowly sat down, trying to reign herself.

Martinex was noticing so many things about her, from the way she carried herself, the way she talked, her small habits when she was frustrated... they were all Yondu. Those things this young woman did were all like his brother.

She was mostly what he had pictured, only, admittedly, more beautiful, especially with the knowledge of what she had been before this life.

She appeared Arcturan or Xandarian in features, only her flesh had a look about it that made him know she wasn't either of those. He had never seen skin that looked like the veins beneath glistened. But her eyes were what confirmed it.

They looked like orbs of steel sitting just under the shadow of her hood, the sheen stark against the pupils and he could see webs of black and white flowing through the irises.

But for all she was unlike anything he had ever seen before, he could feel her power radiating off of her like fumes. He was feeling all that rage and power and bitterness, absorbing her energy—and somewhere underneath it all he could feel a passion, some kind of love that she clearly reserved for very, very few.

"I truly do just want to talk." Tess said, her voice more even as she leaned forward, elbows up on the stained wood surface.

"That was the impression you had my Captain under last time."

His voice was cold. Tess held back a sharp retort. "I was...in a different mindset then."

"And now?"

"I just want to get my brother back."

"Kraglin." It sounded like a question.

"Yes, and they have my friend, too."

"Any ideas on who took them?"

"No, not really. Just that they're trained. And they were ready for us. I think... I think they were actually after me."

"Then if they took him that means they're waiting for you."

"I know what it means." He looked down from her, running his fingers up and down the glass of dark liquid he held between his hands, and Tess took a deep breath. "I wouldn't have came to you if I had another option."

"That's what worries me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He jerked his eyes back up to her. "It means you're a loose canon, and if you truly would've never reached out if not for desperation, then how fast will you be to mark me, or the others as expendable?"

Tess leaned forward, and he saw something light in her eyes, like all the vein-like colors in them started to softly glow. "Loyalty actually means something to me." she gave him a pointed look, sweeping her eyes quickly over him. "Like it should to Ravagers."

"Don't you imply it doesn't to me—"

"Then why did you abandon him?" she instantly hissed, her voice suddenly acidic as her throat burned. "Why did you throw him away?"

He drew back slightly, knowing who she was talking about without her saying so, and he realized that despite the situation she was begging him to help her with, those questions still burned inside her, she still wanted answers. He knew all too well what that kind of pain looked like.

And he knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved. To feel like you were alone.

Martinex shook his head a little, looking away from her. "He broke the Code."

"No, don't throw that bullshit at me!" she snapped, her voice low but harsh. "Did you even try to figure out what was fully going on?"

"It didn't matter, Stakar told us what happened and that was the end of it." he closed his eyes tightly, but she didn't care, in her eyes he betrayed Yondu as much as the Ravagers in the mutiny, she didn't care that they had done that Ravager funeral. It would never feel like enough for the pain she knew he went through. That was her father, and he wouldn't know they had ever done it anyways.

For some reason it made her feel like she had done something, as if her getting answers would make sure he knew the truth. "He didn't know what really happened—!"

"I didn't want to!"

Tess was a little surprised at the sudden outburst, not really a shout but more like an exclamation he was trying his best not to draw attention to them with, his glass-like fingers balling into a fist and slamming the table once when he said it.

"Then why did you?" she asked slowly, almost accusingly.

"As first mate, you have to make hard decisions, even if I didn't like it, Stakar was still my Captain, the man who gave me a home, a family... We were taught that the Code was obsolete, and the fact that he would deal in children... I just couldn't face him."

"He didn't deal in them! He was lied to, and you wouldn't know that because you never cared enough to find out yourself."

"That's not true." he looked broken as he said it, but her heart was too cold at the moment to pity him. "Me and Yondu... we had like what you and Kraglin have."

"No, don't you dare compare that!" she found herself straightening up, squaring her shoulders almost like she was about to stand and walk away. "If Yondu had exiled him I would've tried to figure out why, I would've been there for him, we both would've for each other."

"You don't understand. You don't know how hard it was—He was my brother, we grew on that ship together, learned together. When Stakar brought him there I was twenty three, and I hadn't even made it to first mate yet. I was the first person Yondu trusted, and by the time he was healthy enough to train we trained together. Sound familiar?"

She didn't know how he knew, but she didn't have time to think about it, even if her mind couldn't help but imagine; her father, younger than she was now, and only a little older than she had been when brought to the Eclector, that weak and scared kid, even if anger was always their masks. Him and his big brother, just like Kraglin and her. He had been the first person she had trusted even a little, when he had kneeled in that cell and spoke softly to her. Some part of her knew from that moment that everything was going to be alright after that.

"You aren't the only one who has regrets, Tessa." Martinex's hallow voice sounded more distant, his words coming in a little breath of a sigh that sounded like the ringing vibrations of bells or metal—something in that noise like he was remembering times or recounting all the things he could have done different.

Maybe he had never said those three words she had never said either. Maybe it was too late for both of them.

Tess felt a lump lodge itself into her throat, its presence becoming more demanding as she thought longer on that regret, she would not have the same regret for Kraglin. Or Gamora, for that matter, so she collected herself and tried to make her case. Resorting to that emotionless, suck-it-up demeanor she took when she couldn't afford the emotions. "Listen, Sparkles," she said, leaning forward again. "It may be too late for you and your brother, but as far as I know, it ain't too late for me and mine, and if you truly cared about Yondu, then you'll be willing to do anything to help the man that made up a huge chunk of his world."

He didn't respond, but was sucked backwards in time when he heard her words, saw the way she acted, how she was like a replica of the man he had known. And how she could call him that. If it weren’t for the files him and Stakar has first received about her Terran origins, he would have believed in an instant that Yondu’s Centaurian blood was flowing through her veins.

"Bested again, that's nine outta twelve for me." Yondu, still only twenty years old had sneered in good nature down at the older man, pinned under his broad hands and his legs pressed into the floor by the Centaurian's knees.

"I let ya off easy for that." Martinex sassed, nodding towards his brother's busted lip and cheekbone leaking dark blue.

"Ah, don't be sore about it, Sparkles, ya just don't wanna admit I'm stronger than you."

He snickered up at him. "You're yet to make me bleed, Blue."

"Now that," Yondu hauled him back up one-handed, squinting at his taller stance. "Is real petty."

It hurt, even if he would never admit it, it just hurt.

All those years ago the two had sparred with each other over Yondu's considerable strength and Martinex's near-unbreakable body, both of them forever trying to best one another.

And then, there they were, separated in life and in heart, standing in the snow, golden eyes glaring into crimson and not a single word spoken yet so many hurts and truths revealed in those few seconds.

But no apologies, no forgiveness... nothing.

Strangers. Enemies.

"If you hate me, I understand," Tess said, forcing him back from the thoughts. "I do, too, but Kraglin means more to me than anything. He meant the world to Yondu, too."

His brother's son.

He carefully looked up at her. "How far are you willing to go for him?"

She picked apart the question, but there was only one answer. "I would die for him."

"I can't help you get him back without resources, and Stakar will have to authorize them."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't."

"I know what this is about, but I would never betray someone who helped me, especially with something like this." She rose from her seat, feeling her anger start to boil over the flame of fear. "I don't have time for solutions that aren't definite."

"He wouldn't turn his back on his grandson."

"Yeah like he's done shit for him for years!" she hissed. "Don't you worry, T'Naga, I’ll figure it out myself. If I have to rip every archive apart myself, I will find him."

She didn't give him the chance to respond before she stalked away, but not before giving him a gesture of inclining her index finger towards him as she turned around, tossing the door open when she got to it.

He instantly knew that gesture, Stakar's gesture... he had passed it to Yondu, and in turn, to Tess. He wondered if she was purposely trying to be his replica or not.

But Martinex had heard what he needed to. She was loyal to who was loyal to her, and she was willing to die for her family, like a true Ravager.

- - -

Tess was shaking again as she walked briskly back towards her small ship, her footfalls not even registering. Not much was.

Her world fell into numbness when she realized she was back on square one, with no real way of finding out who those people had even been.

She was risking more each second. And now she had to deal with the surreal knowledge that she had just sat across from the man that was everything to Yondu that Kraglin was to her.

That she had just sat down and faced everything she had been running from and trying to hide from for the sake of her brother that she felt was all her life truly needed to be.

"Tessa."

She stopped like she had been shot through the chest when she heard that burnished voice behind her. She turned around slowly, just her head over her shoulder mostly.

Martinex was a few paces behind, seeming like he had hurried out of that brothel to make it this far before she left. "I can get you coordinates." he said. "But after that, I think that's all I can do."

Tess just stared for a few silent moments, almost like she was waiting for him to change his mind. It was too good of news after his initial refusal, she told herself.

"I have the feeling you don't need help on the physical side anyways. Just send me the information you have, and I can work into it."

Tess swallowed hard. "Thank you." she managed to get out, eyes going a little soft.

He nodded, and his eyes fell on the small flame emblem she had been subconsciously fidgeting with between her fingers, tied to a string that hung around her neck. She held onto that flame...the symbol of who they were, because her heritage had become the same as his. He found himself hitting his chest twice to her, a soft salute.

Tess nodded, blinking rapidly. But she couldn't get herself to do it back before she walked away.

- - -

"Tess, where the hell have you been?" Rocket started following her as she moved through the landing bay, walking fast to make it back up to the main deck.

So he had either been waiting for her, or he was the only one who knew she was coming back at that moment. For some reason he seemed so... protective of her since Yondu had died, even if he had a sort of strange way of showing it. Like he was trying not to make it clear. She wondered why but wasn't going to breach the subject right now, not when she was so close to having a lead.

"Getting intel."

"Wanna share how you came by that?"

She made it to the navi computer and Peter and Drax were already there, both looking at her like they expected a full explanation.

"I didn't kill anyone." she told Rocket as he continued behind her.

"I don't care about that, I just wanna know who from."

She stopped in her tracks, and looked at him, then glanced at Peter. "Ravagers."

Peter turned his head sideways a little, processing the answer. "Wait, Ravagers?" Tess didnt answer and went straight to the computer, fingers running across the controls almost as fast as Rocket usually did. Peter walked up right beside her. "Like you spoke to them?"

"I met up with them, I knew if I had even a little information on the ship then he could hack into that."

"Who? Stakar?"

"No. His first mate."

"And you didn't think this information should’ve been shared before you took off? Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"Because I needed to do it alone."

"No offense, but I dealt with them a lot longer than you did, you should've told me."

"Damn it, Peter, don't smother me! Nothing happened and I can handle myself."

Rocket was shaking his head but said nothing, Peter just pressed his lips together and started ambling back around the room, hands on his hips.

"Did you learn where Gamora and Kraglin are?" Drax asked, hands clenched like he was itching for a yes.

"I hope so."

"Hope so?" Rocket asked.

"Wait, a, second." Peter drew out his louder words, throwing a hand out to gesture at Drax. "You're not going to say anything to her?" his voice hit a higher tone.

"I asked her if she got the intel." Drax answered matter-of-factly.

"No. About her just leaving," he threw a hard glare at Tess. "without telling anyone."

"Tess can handle herself." Drax said like it was obvious, his broad shoulders lifting just slightly.

"Thank you, Drax." Tess said, giving an irritated look at the other two.

Rocket rolled his eyes as Peter turned around. "So, spit it out already. Where are they?" the anthropoid asked.

Tess pulled up a holo and ran her fingers across its surface, showing a glowing image on nearly the opposite side of the expanse of space the Quadrant hovered in now. She let out a breath. "I owe you one, Sparkles."

"That's halfway into the outer rim," Rocket said as he looked over the map. "Not only that, it’s in the Dark Sectors. Worse parts than anything you've seen in the frickin' Andromeda. Crime in there is a sorry excuse to what's in that Sector."

Peter's sea-green eyes were a little wide as he stared at the map, Drax squinting at it as if just waiting for them to say 'screw it' and forget the hesitation. "Yondu used to tell us that jobs out there were too risky to take, even some of the bigger factions got cut in half out there."

Tess nodded, swallowing and looking down. "None of you have to come. I can handle it myself."

"Like hell you can." Peter instantly said. "I didn't survive Ronan and a Celestial just to chicken shit out of a guild."

Tess looked at Rocket and Drax, both of them nodding, fire behind their eyes. "Alright then. Let's get them back."

"And kill everyone who gets in our way." Drax added.

"Agreed."

#guardians of the galaxy #kraglin obfonteri #yondu udonta #peter quill #rocket raccoon #tessa udonta #martinex tnaga #stakar ogord #aleta ogord #drax the destroyer #gotg mantis #gotg gamora #Tesslin #ravagers #fanfic writing #experiment:flame and ash #writers on tumblr #writeblr #Spotify

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odysseywritings · 11 months

Text

Obscured

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Why did I wake up here? It was so dark, so cold, that I thought I died. It wasn't until I felt my wheelchair that I knew I was still alive. Just feeling that material brought back my thinking and senses. I climbed back up and rolled my way around this black maze.

There were noises around me but everything was obscured by darkness. Water dropped from the top no matter where I went. The constant drip-drip-drip driving me nuts. Yells from children followed, so distant and spread out it sounded like screaming and crying, echoing out before fading. Another sound, but I couldn't for the life of me figure it out. Like an animal calling out, some sort of big cat warning of its presence, but far from earthly. It was quieter, flowing through my ears like wind, and my body tensed from this alien sense.

My heart stopped when a bottle crashed in front of me. Was someone else here? Did they drag me here, and for what? I rolled closer until I hit a bump, probably stairs, and there wasn't any point going further.

I went back into the darkness trying to find anything to help me see and I felt around for walls to give me direction and stability. I needed to find light to get me out of here. Another scream came closer, louder, clearer. My blood cooled and my heart felt ready to burst. Christ, I didn't want to see them, but I couldn't stay in the dark forever! Another scream and no light.

Another scream, no light.

I was losing my mind, my arms ready to flail and swing and punch the air, I was so tense and afraid of being tortured or dying. Were these people, ghosts, or tricks from my mind? Where's the goddamn light?!

I felt around these damp stone walls, the water falling harder, humanoid noises around me. A hand gripped me and I flinched with a strike. I hit harder than expected, adrenaline kicking in, my muscles numb from the impact. I rolled faster and fumbled my hands to find a torch or bulb. I felt a corner and went around. I didn't want to die, I didn't want to die here. I didn't- a candle! I found an honest to God candle!

I didn't care why it was lit, and I grabbed it like a dim flashlight, and I sent the whole row of wicks burning. I went too quickly to observe details, but it looked like an old castle or hospital. Either way I didn't feel safe so I bolted out.

I turned another corner and I stopped. In front of my wheelchair, lit by my candle, was a decayed man. Looking down at me, the rotting figure opened its ribs, and showed glowing green and blue lights that swirled hypnotically. I was in a trance, I remember nothing now, but that inside the man was something cosmic and eternal. An event horizon gazing at me.

I snapped out of it and lit the thing on fire on impulse. It screamed like a hundred people at once, glistening from the ceiling water as it rose up to flood the building, and I continued to burn it because my brain didn't know what else to do. The light opened brighter and engulfed my flame and then everything.

Not even a moment passed and my sight turned to the sky. I felt and looked around and I was outside the park. Clear blue sky, yellow sun, chirping birds and cheerful kids. It wasn't a nightmare or I'd be awake in my bed. It would always haunt me and I would never take light granted again. Even if the sight was horrible, even if the truth was hell, I could fight it and try to win.

#writeblr #horror #original writing #darkness #knowledge #mywriting #njm

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fiercehildr · 2 years

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Hi! I have 3 things if that’s okay!

Firstly, is it bothersome to ask why you stopped any ACOTAR blogging? Was it just to much toxicity? All good either way, still love you <3 I was just wondering. Pls ignore this if you want.

Secondly, what about ghost do you love? I love the art and such you’ve been posting even though I’ve never consumed any of that media lol

Thirdly, not a question but thanks for all the commissions you’ve posted! I love to see them (and I’m trying to read glow! It’s of course quite in demand at the library) k that’s all. Sorry to bother you!

Hi Nonnie! ♥️ Thanks for the ask! Sorry the answer might be long and trigger warnings: Traumatic events (second question)/A quick reference to s**cide (first question)

1- It’s fine, I can answer that no worries 🤗 What happened is that I realized the ACOTAR toxicity made my depression worse and constantly had me in a haze of anger as I could not really ignore everything going in that fandom, not with how deeply I was involved in it.

I was heavily bullied numerous times for liking a different fictional ship and I guess the last straw for me was when I was falsely accused of racism because of a commission of mine- never mind that the one thing they (-the usual suspects and bullies) complained about was the decision of the PoC artist I worked with and who they silenced or that their complaints actually highlighted how they automatically viewed a WoC serving tea as her being a slave.

I think we pretty much all knew that it was never our (the artist and mine) intent or that this drama was started with something else in mind. I even had numerous PoC in my asks and IG inbox telling me it was all good and that they couldn’t understand the issue at all. BUT… I was at a very low moment of my life, my mental health was extremely bad and I did a massive panic attack which was quickly followed by some pretty bad s**cidal thoughts where I almost did something really bad.

That’s when I decided to stop everything and after a 4 months long break from the internet and social medias, I came back but with not much love for ACOTAR anymore. I do not find joy in anything related to this fandom. My maximum is liking pretty arts from artists I like or friends and sometimes making games with the characters in my Insta stories. But I don’t even care about the characters anymore and I even feel a certain dislike for the author, for allowing us all to suffer this shitwar for the sake of her mental health. I know that, PERHAPS, the issue is more complicated than that from her side but I consider that my anger is justified anyway.

Will I come back at some point and rewrite posts and theories about the characters etc? Hopefully, but I’m fine in my little bubble right now. I’ll let the dogs eat their bones.

I hope I answer that first question for you and I’m sorry, I know it’s quite a long answer. 😅 I do love to hear you enjoyed my commissions! Always glad when I know they brought happiness to someone. ♥️

2- As for Ghost, funnily enough, he is not my favorite CoD character. I’d say he’s actually third on that list behind Soap and Price but he’s so aesthetically pleasing and makes for such beautiful art pieces! ♥️ I do appreciate his character though, mostly because I’m appreciative of his inner strenght. Now as you’re not familiar with the lore, to make it short, Ghost had a pretty horrible childhood, tortured by his father who was a notorious trash (like forced to kiss living snakes when he was terrified of them kind of stuff). Sadly, when he was in the army, he was also captured and tortured for month before finding his freedom again. Only to lose his mother, brother, sister-in-law and nephew to an atrocious murder. His past is basically the worst thing you could be imagining and if you’re interested in it, there is actually a comic about it you can find online. Do beware though, it’s pretty graphic.

So what I like is that even with that, he still remains level headed, tactical, and, to some extend, even kind. Seeing him develop a relationship with Soap and open up, even making jokes when he’s seen as this gigantic grumpy man, was actually a nice insight in who he really is! 🤗

Also watching plenty of tiktoks of him and Soap, even before I played the game (and I had never touched a CoD before!) helped me so much during my hard post acotar time.

There you go, I hope my answers was good enough and I do hope you get glow! If you do and read it, don’t hesitate to share your thoughts with me! 🤗

#acotar #gwynriel #ghost #cod #ghoap #ask #tagging gwynriel as I know some might wonder

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nerves-nebula · 2 years

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SO HEY UH You mentioned star/rainbow/indigo/[insert new alternative name here] children and how you wanna learn more and idk if you want first hand experience of being deemed such a kid but here it is anyways (no pressure to read though!) ALSO SORRY FOR THE LENGTH

SO my mother was pretty into that stuff and my father is pretty laid back in terms of contributing in a parental sense (to put it one way) so my mother had full control over parenting stuff. Ontop of the typical star-child treatment there was also all her personal beliefs too.

She believed that I was a star child for a few reasons, most of which can be summarized as undiagnosed neurodivergence (sarcastic yay sound effect cue). She treated my differences as something special, but also used it to further her own paranoia in terms of like, raising a kid to be 100% follower to everything she says and look down on the rest of society (raised with such things as (these are the more positive sounding ones that you don't think about until later lol) you're a gift from the stars, you're special, you have special powers, you're destined for greatness, you are better than other humans, etc)

The thing was that because of these "special powers" I had to do a lot of pseudo-healing on people and my mother, wasn't allowed to """mingle with people because the more time I spent with humans the more I would lose my special connection to the universe""". That lead to me being raised without any connection to any extended family, community/clubs, and few friends as she usually sabotaged those friendships.

Especially when I was younger she'd pull the card of ""you cannot tell anyone about what you can do because the witch hunters will find you"" and she'd explain different torture and murder methods witch hunters use to kill you. That lead to a general rule of not being allowed to talk about what goes on at home.

Because my mother believed I was a star child I was taught things to "hone my abilities and nurture my connection to the universe". This included parts of psychology, sociology, basic philosophy, raiki, chakras, EFT (emotional freedom technique) healing, quantum touch, aura reading and repair, prantic healing (I was told I'm particularly good at this one lol), and bastardizations of qi-gong and shamanism (among other things).

I was also given tasks such as controlling the wind, cloud formation, weather patterns, thought pattern reading, and stuff that I don't know if there's a name for? <- stuff like being able to "look" into someone's past to find what's causing them issues, be able to feel emotions/subconscious thoughts, and more (reading the future and communicating with ghosts/spirits are just some of them). There was also a time period where I was expected to be able to set paper on fire with the power of my mind.

Also because she thought I was a star child I wasn't allowed to be diagnosed with anything even though I've had learning difficulties that'd align with a learning disability, not allowed to go to therapists (this is a BIG one), rarely given medical treatment (pretty much the legal once a year shtick), and stuff like that. I was also expected to already know things because I "came pre-programmed with knowledge most humans either must learn or never will learn".

That's a basic rundown of some of the wacky stuff she did because she thought I am a star/rainbow/crystal/indigo child. But I think her beliefs are also fuelled by her own mental health stuff (might be some psychosis and delusions going on?) and she very much groomed me to have a very close enmeshed relationship with her (by the time I was 7 I was doing all her laundry and also being her personal therapist, massage therapist, and doing "displays of my powers" for her friends sometimes when I was young enough that I was allowed to be friendly with adults).

I pretty much spent as much time as possible in the forests when I wasn't in school or training lol, and the only reason that was allowed as because she "spoke to the universe and because of my non-human nature it agreed to care for me/protect me" (haha she's big on that dehumanization stuff :/ )

BUT THE FUNNIEST THING OKAY. IGNORING THE OBVIOUS WTF OF ALL THAT IS tHAT because I'm trans (after years of slowly feeding her information about lgbt stuff until she went from "having energy work done on my to erase my beliefs of not being cis" to the following) her beliefs that I am a star child has doubled down BECAUSE. GET THIS. She thinks that as a star child I was sent here to experience the world fully like no real human is able to, and me being trans is proof of that.

It's hard to describe but BASICALLY it's like "you have transcended the natural order of humanity and gender because of your non-human nature, and you experiencing multiple genders is a sort of spiritual godlyness". It's weird. I've tried talking to her about it but the only way I was "allowed to be trans" was because I made a whole argument that "gaining the experiences of multiple facets of humanity means I am more advanced" <- ties back into her belief that I am beyond human and her weirdness.

Same thing with being AroAce. She thinks that because I'm beyond human/a star child that I am "free of the temptations of mortal humans" and that it's another sign that I'm sent from the stars.

ANYWAYS YEAH there's a rough break down of some of the wild stuff that can happen when you're raised with the view of being a star/rainbow/crystal/indigo child. Probably more on the extreme end but maybe not. My mother's had some points where she's gotten all "we're the only people that really exist" and "never trust humans as they carry the inherent flaw of humanity, therefore everything they do and say are always lies because they are preprogrammed to seek their own doom" so I think she's perhaps quite psychologically unwell.

TLDR: It's wonky and weird and if your parent(s) get too into it it gets even weirder. also idk I think my mother is just built different. Also growing up believing the witch hunters will come gut you and set you on fire is such a weird experience like HOW do you tell someone that "yeah, I was raised that anyone might try to kill me because I'm inherently not-human and also if I say anything the witch hunters will come kill my family and any family I get after that :)"

Hope you have a good day and take care of yourself :] Love your art btw it's super duper cool!!

LIVE ME REACTION??? HOLY SHIT?? oh my god i love the ask box feature on this webbed site

ive been really busy and agonizing over not being able to read this BUT NOTHING COULD HAVE PREPARED ME FOR THIS???

first off YES I DEFINITELY APPRECIATE a first hand experience that gives me GREAT insight, secondly I'M?? SO SORRY???

all that stuff about witch hunters coming to kill you and you supposedly having mind-powers SUCKS. That's a lot of stress and pressure! And the isolation must have fucking awful, I am genuinely so sorry that all happened to you

on a less respectful note: I am morbidly curious how your mother kept thinking you had powers if/when they failed to work (like i doubt you ever really set a piece of paper on fire with your mind, right?) but i realize delusions aren't really logical and any coincidence would have reinforced it whereas any failures were probably just "flukes" to her or something.

also funny (in a morbid way) coincidence but I have a nonbinary character whose backstory is literally that they were fetishized and abused by an emperor/dictator who thought they were closer to divinity because of the specific way they were nonbinary so. I mean. I was thinkin of you I guess! Damn!

When I made that character I was like "is this weird?? are there really people who've experienced this??" but I'll never doubt myself again holy shit

#nnstuff #ask #asks are sweethearts #child abuse #abuse #indigo children #star children #dehumanization #religious abuse #long post #dont usually draw my sona with like. a face. but i think i can make a exception this time

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titanicfreija · 1 year

Text

"You okay?"

Freija stroked Sunny's core body with a fingertip and cupped a hand for her to land on. The ghost looked at her hand and her petals tick-tocked, then spun once.

"Did I do it?" Freija asked, frowning. She left her hand cupped but pulled it to her chest to wait. "Is something wrong?"

"It's... a lot more complicated than I think you want to think about," Sunny admitted.

"I can listen," Freija offered. "Is it something you can talk to me about?"

Sunny bobbed slightly and finally drifted into Freija's hand.

"I've. Struggled. Lately," Sunny admitted. "Since you hurt yourself. Resounding thoughts, that we really are just eternal soldiers. I can't fight by myself, so naturally I find someone who can fight and then I teach them how and tell them that's the only way. Until even I forget it's not."

Freija kept her face straight, petting Sunny's core again.

"Until we start doing it for fun. For sport. For baubles," she continued.

"You just feel guilty 'cos I got my arm burned," Freija said, but her voice held a sad undertone.

"I do. I feel bad that your arm got burned because I asked you to do something for me, but I feel bad that you got hurt at all--but the more I--"

"I'm gonna get hurt anyway," Freija objected.

"That! Yes! You're going to get hurt anyway! You're going to face pain and fear, and I'm going to take you to it and let you go and push you and teach you how to go through torture and torment--"

Freija's face finally twisted and she flinched, but she kept her mouth shut, even when Sunny stopped and spun to look at her.

"You don't even think of it as torture and torment," Sunny whimpered. "You think of it as another day. You think a day where you only burned to death once is a good one."

Freija's lips twisted again and she slouched into the couch. "Do you want to take a break? Do some other stuff? There's all kinds of ruins to explore. As long as I stay out of dark zones and radiation zones."

Sunny opened and closed, wobbling in the air. "I don't... I don't know. I just. I saw you get hurt and felt bad and then I felt stupid for feeling bad because--like you keep saying-- you're going to get hurt. You're a warrior. We've been at war for years."

Freija didn't argue, using her other hand to cup the air near her in another hug. "So now I've just spiraled into this horrible existential crisis about what we're even doing anymore. You settled on serving the traveler, but we don't know what it wants, either."

"It wants to raise and let fall civilizations?" Freija suggested. "I dunno. Thomas started drawing analogies about writing and what the gardener was doing. Said you have to know when the story is over, made a lot of sense but kinda fucked up."

Sunny's petals opened and closed, and she hovered close to Freija's hand and heart.

"I can't help," Freija admitted. "I don't know. I love you. You're right, I don't think anything of it because it's my normal, but I know it's not supposed to be like that. I know the goal is to make it stop. Make everyone on earth murder each other on one-on-one bases instead of on masse 'cos it's resource wars." She frowned, then shrugged. "It doesn't always hurt."

Sunny dropped and let her pieces fall loose into Freija's hands. "You really are horrible at being comforting."

"You have to know what's wrong to comfort," Freija explained. "I don't understand. You feel bad that I get hurt, but I don't mind, but you feel bad that I don't mind, too."

Sunny's eye flickered. "Yeah, that's about right."

"So I can't really make you feel better. Telling you it's okay or that I don't mind or it's not that bad is not helping. Telling you that it's awful and I hate it and want it to stop wouldn't be true or helpful. Telling you that you're right, 'cos you are, isn't really helpful, either. You're just on that spiral ride into the quiet, angry space I get into when I'm having that kind of losing streak. I love you no matter what. You're my favorite person and a part of me and my soul mate."

Sunny rocked in Freija's palm and twisted to look at Freija's face where she gazed at her ghost.

"I think the Xivu stuff lately got you, too," Freija said. "It's hard to fight her off when she's got a point."

Sunny didn't like how right she was, and Freija felt the shudder, holding her hand out to look at Sunny's eye. "That's what it is," she observed. "It's not about the burn, it's about Xivu Arath. The war stuff, soldier, yeah. Okay." Freija sat back and shrugged again. "But that still tracks with feeling bad about me being a fighter and you feeling bad about perpetuating --"

"I started it. I told you weapons and armor," Sunny objected.

"And you told me bubble was the way to go. Plus, I picked the first fight. And I already knew how to use a gun."

"That's not the point," Sunny cried. "The point is that my entire purpose of existence is to revive someone, wiping out who they were in the process, and then lead them headfirst into death and dismemberment and forces of nature over and over!"

"I think me being dead wiped out who I was in the first life," Freija objected softly. "Your purpose is to resurrect me, yeah. I feel like I guess you did when I said all this stuff. I don't want to think you feel bad about resurrecting me, any more than you wanted to think I felt like a murder puppet."

"I feel like a puppeteer for a murder puppet in a play that neither of us wants to perform," she clarified. "You obviously don't get to see your corpse, but I do. And I've looked at it every day for years, now, and I only just now considered how horrible it must be to die like that. And you don't think anything of it."

"That's not your fault."

"This is going to be a fight if you keep trying to help."

Freija and Sunny stood five feet apart, watching the other. Sunny's normally wide motions had frozen and she hovered practically flat in the air in front of her guardian.

"I don't want to fight, but I don't want to leave this," Freija said.

"And fighting's the only way you can handle anything because you were born into war and I hardly taught you to read because I was busy teaching you to use a damn scout rifle. Please, understand. I feel like I've been abusing you."

Freija snorted, then sighed and collapsed to the couch. "I'm not sure how you can feel like you abused someone who doesn't feel abused. Especially considering how much of the world would force me to fight. Normal humans all learn their weapons, too."

That helped. Sunny drifted low.

"You're right. I didn't get the soft squishy years of my parents doing their best to protect me from the horrors, but I'm a grown-up."

"Mostly," Sunny teased half-heartedly.

"Mostly," Freija agreed. "We're looking to end the war. Horrible irony. Gotta fight for peace."

Sunny nudged Freija's head and flipped to watch her sparkles float up. "I... I might need help when.... if... when we hear her again."

Freija sat up sharply. "Oh, she's fucking with you."

Sunny bobbed in her 'nod', and Freija shot back to her feet and crossed the room to hug her like the first day, knocking the lotus flaps aside. "She's just fucking with you, though," Freija swore. "It's not like how you feel. How you feel isn't the same as the real this time."

Sunny wanted to cry. "Did you feel it, too?"

"I mean, for a minute? Same murder puppet thoughts, same desire for death and destruction, but I already did this. Ran the circles, got to the settled conclusions. I'm here because the traveler wanted me to protect the stuff it loved, and you're here because the traveler wanted you to get me up and help me protect the stuff it loved. Without you, I'm a skeleton on a cliffside."

Sunny tried to escape Freija's grip, but she tightened it. "I can't do it," she whimpered. "I just keep thinking about all the times and ways I've watched you die. And it doesn't feel worth it."

Freija looked away and frowned. "I wondered how you could stand it. I guess I never thought the answer was that you couldn't. I couldn't watch you die. Even if I could put you back together, I don't think I could stand it. I can hardly stand letting Rise die, and she's fighting right alongside me."

Sunny tucked herself under Freija's shirt, at her heart, at the points of her tattooed sun. The heart beat firm and steady. The damaged tendon in her shoulder creaked when she moved a hand to cover her.

"And your fighting. Your war. You're still a warrior, your deaths haunt me but that eager and violent smile is just... not better. You should have had a different life."

"I could only have this one," Freija argued. "Let's go fishing. For a walk. Sparrow ride. Gotta go somewhere and do something nice, you can't just sit here and remember the various shapes of Freija Corpse."

Sunny didn't reply, and Freija settled on the couch again, cupping the ghost in her palm at her heart. "I'm just gonna rest here. Let me know if you want to do anything."

War Drums

Lost <-

No comfort

Real Purpose

Slipped Truth

Still Sulking

Stubborn Recovery

Freija's Waltz

#destiny 2 #d2 #ocs #writing #freija #sunny #prose

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omissilem · 1 year

Text

Panacea -2011

Freewrite from 2011. I remember wanting peace, and healing, from the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. I wanted a drop of that quintessential panacea. Clarifying, healing, renewing. I wanted to know what was real and false, so I could throw the false away. To me, truth is the panacea. Even if it hurts.

june 13: panacea 2011

truth is like tonic to a tortured mind

a mind at peace like still waters

reflect a spirit clear and unbothered

further inside ineffable items dwell

the sound of a heart's joyful swell

underneath the beat pacing pulmonary prose

here lies the essence of being, seat of the soul

beside the throne of spirit, it cradles seeds

planted by the potter, we clay pots contain HE

The I AM the father whose breath animated soil

formed man, then woman from his rib unspoiled

like them our toil isn't because he chose it upon us

we suffer because our failure to recognize who really to trust

that old dragon that snake still lives in you and me

all found at some point looking in the mirror discountingly

dissaprove of the visage that was formed divinely

how dare we doubt truth, stubbornly defiantly

living up to the being that we truly are

the image of our maker, made to show all who is GOD

discconected these days are man, it shows in his ways,

acts as a bastard child with no home, no last name

following his desires, corrupted mind, all his wishes

convict him of choices lived without love, just ambition

damaged souls and crippled minds meander the crooked path

conscious thought centered around the outward, the ghosts of the past,

but worrying bout the future is just as bad as old resentments,

we keep ourselves from now, NOW, is the gift of the PRESENT

NOW is what COUNTS, we aren't promised LATER

the moments before are just memories the light shone on and faded

so if you want to stay faded, left behind as you looked back from the fight

stay ingrateful, and complain about yesterdays problems and plight

go ahead and think what happened once, is how everything from then would be

I didn't know God crowned mistakes as the lords of our destiny

wake up from that illusion, clear your vision of distortion

what is real is what's right NOW all the rest is hokus pokus

june 13: panacea 2011

focus is required to stay in the light,

devotion to the visible is lazy attempt to gain insight

even then, people are so decieved, they can't get it right

light isn't one thing and darkness a seperate other,

the two are the polar ends of one whole mother

the moments of life are the secret of the most holy place

in each instant lived, is the soul rebirthed through a race

a pilgrimage to life on this earth, pain and joy are all parts of the course

stay the distance

whether you lose or you win it, death is inevitable to all participants

all the moments of life summed up are just the first stage

which door will you enter, if your last breath were today?

the next level is eternal, we are at the end of the cycle,

the universe watching closely, either enemies or fans,

who will join the ranks of angels?

who will die fallen, forever, ever, ever, and ever again

Why is all my stuff dark? ugh

#freewritting #poetry

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msoliviaswift · 8 months

Text

today's been a day. i have so many thoughts about ttpd and this new era that i need to get out of my head. i thought i would share them with you. feel free to leave your own thoughts and theories.

🤍

let's talk about the cover. black and white but in a washed out way. does it remind you of something? maybe reputation's cover. black and white. but a more intense kind of black and white. some people forget that reputation was the first album in which Taylor told us she was falling in love with him. now, with ttpd, that love is being washed out. disappearing.

reputation's color is black. Taylor has officially choose the white heart for ttpd. white is the opposite of black. black and reputation were about being in love. white and ttpd are about being out of love.

the cover is made of a white square and in its center we can see Taylor. it's like a polaroid. like a 1989 polaroid. we cannot see Taylor's eyes. in the 1989's cover we couldn't see Taylor's eyes either. she was a mysterious girl talking about a breakup. now she's a mysterious woman talking about a breakup.

after the release of You're Losing Me we all realised that a few songs on Midnights could have a different interpretation. one about a breakup. it would made sense that ttpd continued that storyline.

specially when Taylor appears on the Grammys wearing a white dress that looks like a wedding dress. 'i wouldn't marry me either' is what she sings on You're Losing Me. on Midnights.

i'm not saying that Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department are sisters like folklore and evermore. i think Midnights is a different concept but some of its songs, especially the ones from the 3am edition (You're Losing Me, The Great War and Dear Reader) could all be connected through the same theme: coming to the realisation that the love that you shared with someone is no longer there. ttpd could be a continuation of that theme that was shared on Midnights.

Taylor is literally refering to us as her readers. and now she is the tortured poet. we're going to read her tortured poems.

and now we go back to folklore. to the lakes. 'take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die, i don't belong, and my beloved neither do you'. her and her beloved are the tortured poets that don't belong to society. they belong to the lake. they felt connected through the art of writing, especially sad songs. they are the poets. we're entering these poets' house. we're going to discover what these poets really felt.

'on the way home i wrote a poem, you say what a mind, this happens all the time'. i rest my case.

going back to Grammys night, Lana and Jack were wearing black. Taylor was wearing black gloves and there was black in her accesories too. i'm sure ttpd is going to sound a lot like Midnights and a lot like Jack Antonoff. and maybe there is going to be a collaboration with Lana Del Rey? i could see that. there's black in the mostly white cover. in this case black complements white, as Jack and Lana were doing with Taylor on the Grammys.

in the spanish store the four editions of the album (standard CD, deluxe CD, vinyl and cassette) are under the name of "white ghost" which makes me think there's going to be different editions of the album.

but why white ghost? is this tortured poet dead? as she says in the post in which she announces the album: 'my muses, acquired like bruises (...) my veins of pitch black ink (...) all's fair in love and poetry'. the thing that inspires this poet the most is the thing that makes her suffer. the love she has lost is what has allowed her to create this collection of songs that feel like poems.

'and so i enter into evidence'. the poet is going to guide us through something that we thought we knew. she's going to show us the evidence. there's the public perception of what happened and the there's the truth. she's going to tell her truth.

'my tarnished coat of arms'. she has protected herself from everything that can hurt her but by showing us these songs she's going to show herself in the most vulnerable way.

she's The Chairman of The Tortured Poets. she's telling the story.

the first era of her music ended with Midnights, hence The Eras Tour. that's why i don't think she'll add this new album to The Eras Tour setlist. maybe as the surprise songs. now we're entering a new era which i think is going to sound more mature, in the line of what we've been hearing these lasts few years. and i'm almost sure she'll go back to country during this new era. i just know.

all of these are just thoughts. it's fun. i'm so excited. the photoshoots, the visuals, the promo, the street looks... i want everything!! how do you think she's going to announce the track list?? how will the sound be?? there were so many obvious clues right in front of us from years ago until now that we never noticed. i'm sure she's working on TS12 right now. being a swiftie is the best decision i've ever made.

#taylor swift #i love you taylor #taylor #t swift #taylor swift theories #swifties #the tortured poets department

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ofsootandsmoke · 9 months

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I'm losing my mind over here. I keep deleting and rewriting everything because it never ends up making any sense. I've decided whatever I have to write will just end up as is because I'm not getting anywhere, and if anything after this is senseless, then so be it. If I'm the only one who will understand me, then fine. I can live with that. Granted, I know me, and I crave being understood. I want people to know how I work, how I think, because then maybe it'll make me more likeable or redeemable. I write so much partly because I try to explain myself. I've said before that I will spend a lifetime trying to make myself understood.

It's even more unfortunate that I've been through things that almost no one can understand. How the hell can anyone ever truly understand Limbo without experiencing it themselves? Not to mention it scares most people, too. People don't like to think about death, but it's defined me so thoroughly that I need to. I can't just not think about it. I can't just stop thinking about the genuine psychological torture that it was. I was isolated for years at a time, left with nothing but my thoughts, a deck of cards, and some cigarettes. I can reiterate that a thousand times, but it means nothing when most people can't even wrap their heads around that. Being alone for so long. Some people can hardly handle a few days, and I went years upon years in a goddamn train station. I watched who knows how many trains go past and never once did any of them stop for me, not until I was finally revived.

How the hell do I even thoroughly explain it to anyone, though? That's not a feasible concept in this world and anyone can do is, at most, imagine. That in itself is isolating. I know how much I stick out in terms of... everything. Even outside of Limbo. On the SMP, I was the first to start a new nation, the first president. No one understands fully what it was like to be the one to pave the way for that. No one understands what it was like to try and raise my little brother while I lived in a ravine and was steadily falling into psychosis. I was the only one to commit suicide, the only one who was happy to die. I was the only person to have a long-lasting isolated Limbo. I was the only one to have a significant ghost part, and the way that fucked me up is something else entirely. I mean, he replaced me. He took my place and was living my life, the life I fought for and gave up on because everyone else gave up on my life, too. Then, after I fucking died, a significant amount of people moved on and favored him because he's nicer, as if I wasn't once like that, too. I only stopped being so naive and kind because I had absolutely everything thrown at me. Before I died, I never got a break. Of course, I lost my mind. Anyone would crumble under the stress.

Actually, when I think about it, I've really never just... had a fucking break. Never had time to dedicate to myself and actually caring about myself. 28 years later, I'm not sure I know how to do that. It's been years since I've cared about myself at all. It used to be, "if no one else cares, why should I?", but that's not even true anymore. Now, I just don't know how. I think I mostly just believe I don't deserve it. I spend a lot more time asking for forgiveness than anyone knows. I know there's people who don't forgive me, and while they can't, why should I forgive myself? That would also imply I need to apologize to myself. I need to say sorry to myself for ruining my life, for killing myself, for being so harsh to myself, and I'm not sure I know how to do that, either. I don't know where to even begin with that. (I read in a fic once, someone asked me if anyone ever apologized to me. I made sure to go to nearly everyone and apologize for what I did, but did anyone ever say sorry to me? And I still think about that. That concept seems wild to me, that anyone would need to apologize to me. The treatment I got from everyone was exactly the treatment I deserved, and sometimes, even better. It could've been so much worse. Why should anyone ever bother saying sorry to me?)

I don't know how to apologize to myself for everything. In turn, I don't think I'll ever really forgive myself. I think I'll still antagonize myself every night. I think I'll beat myself up for a while.

I don't even remember where this post started. I've just been typing endlessly for... god, 30 minutes now? Longer? It's 2:30. I have school tomorrow, it's too late. I should take melatonin or something.

I just took four. I hope these knock me out for a few hours. I should lay down. Here's hoping I manage to sleep.

#blowing smoke #behind the podium

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lokiprompts · 3 years

Text

Your Savior - Chp 3 (Fem Reader)

Summary: Loki infiltrates the base that had captured you.

Warnings: Blood, violence, mentions of SA and torture.

Words: 2.7k

It felt like all air and all life left your body as soon as Tony spoke those words.

“They have another base.”

Logically, you knew that was always the case. The agents were leaving way before the Avenger’s even came to their compound and so they had to go somewhere. Still, the thought that those men who starved you, violated you, were just in another area waiting for you chilled you to the bone. The thought that they were torturing another batch of people brought on a fresh, intense wave of anxiety and powerlessness. As you started to tremble, you felt Loki’s arms tighten around you as you still sat perched on his lap.

“What’s the plan?” Hearing Loki’s deep, velvety voice in your ear comforted you.

Tony and Steve went through the plan in great detail. Most of it went over your head with the technicalities, but you got the gist of it. Infiltrate, save any hostages, gather information, kill any bad guys, and blow the place to bits. Everyone had their role to play, including Loki. As soon as you heard that he would be going on the mission, your body tensed up. This feeling, this connection between you two was still extremely new, but even so, the thought of being without him terrified you. The thought of losing him completely was a horror your mind nor your heart couldn’t face.

“I don’t want you to go.” You whispered to Loki, now back in the privacy of your newly shared room. He immediately got up from his place on the couch and crossed the room to you, placing his hands on your arms as you held yourself tight.

“Little Dove, I know it doesn’t feel right but I must go.” The god diverted his eyes for a moment, but you didn’t miss the darkness that flashed within them, “They must pay for their crimes.”

You let out a long breath, knowing full well he could take care of himself, but the burning anxious feeling in your chest could not be ignored, “What are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“This feeling that I have with you. This bond that we seem to have. All I know is that I want to be always near you, but I don’t even know you. I mean we just met, and we are living together! I don’t understand it.” Loki wrapped you up in his arms and held you close. Despite your frustration, you immediately melted into his embrace. It always felt like home.

“I will be honest, I don’t know, Little Dove. I don’t understand it either. But I have always been one to trust my instincts and it tells me this is a good thing. That it’s right.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. His extreme height always shocked you yet calmed you at the same time. “Are we together?”

“I’m right here. Clearly, we are together, Little Dove.” He absentmindedly stroked your cheek with his thumb.

“I mean, together, together. Romantically.”

This made Loki pause. He has been grappling with the question of whether he loved you ever since Tony brought it up. In fact, he has been struggling with his feelings for you in general ever since laying eyes on you. Never once did he doubt that the connection and emotions were there and that they were positive, but the real question was ‘what did they mean’. He looked down at you, looking right into your eyes that were big and filled with worry for the future. Your future with him, no less. Over the past few weeks as you gained weight, your cheeks had begun to fill out. Even when Loki first laid eyes on you, he thought you were a stunning creature, but now? Now, that you were becoming healthy and back to your true, authentic self, you were gorgeous. There was no denying that.

Loki’s heart was hammering away in his chest when he found himself leaning down into you and much to his surprise, you were reaching up to him. You were on the tips of your toes as your lips just barely grazed his. A ghost of a smile flashed on Loki’s face as he relished in the feeling of you, his petite mortal in his arms. His? In these few seconds, Loki realized that was the undeniable truth. He wanted you to be his. His lover. His everything.

The tiniest gap lingered between the two of you and Loki knew once he closed that gap and finally kissed you, his whole being, his whole soul would belong to you.

“Okay, Reindeer Games! Time to suit up!” Tony yelled, banging on the door with his fist. You looked around the room, wondering if Tony had camera’s installed in Loki’s apartment – the timing was too good. The moment between you and Loki was spoiled as you took a careful step away from him.

With a green flourish and a flick of his wrist, Loki was in his battle armor. He looked magnificent, regal, like a true king. Again, you wrapped your arms around yourself and let your fingers danced over your flesh. This self-soothing action seemed to be becoming a habit of yours, but you couldn’t help it. Your mind was ruthlessly savage and cruel. It told you that you were nothing more than a mere pet to a God. A pet to be eventually tossed away and forgotten once he got bored of you. You didn’t even notice the tears coming own your face until you felt Loki’s rough hands wiping them away.

“Little Dove, I will be back before you know it, and everything will be fine. I promise.” There was a sadness in Loki’s eyes, but you were too thankful that he thought your tears were about him leaving and not about your pathetic feelings to pay too much mind. Loki left without another word and the burning, aching feeling in your chest settled in to stay.

The Avengers, minus Peter Parker, made their way to the newly discovered enemy base. The spiderling was benched due to Tony thinking he couldn’t handle seeing any torture victims. The boy had seen enough already as a young Avenger, but Tony wanted to spare him the burning memory of starved and decaying bodies if this base was anything like the one you were from. Loki, on the other hand, was quite thankful that Peter would be at the compound. There would be someone with you, someone to keep you safe. The last thing Loki needed was the fear of you being harmed as a distraction. You were safe in the Tower. What could happen?

The trickster’s large boots bounced up and down in the Quinjet anxiously. With each passing moment, his eyes grew darker, and his face was stone cold. The image of you back in the cell where he found you was at the forefront of his mind. You were so small then, so frail. He could count each rib and your eyes bulged out of your head from the malnutrition. Remembering the bruising around your waist and your thighs filled him with unbridled rage. For these past few weeks, he comforted you each night as your mind made you relive the cruel violations and assaults they did on your body.

He would make them pay for what they did to you. They will face the God of Mischief’s wrath without mercy.

The god who now realized without a shadow of a doubt that he did, in fact, love you.

Loki couldn’t let himself sit in this newest realization as the Quinjet landed near the base. The team filed out and started to implement their plan of infiltration. Loki summoned his daggers. If it wasn’t for the likelihood of other torture victims that needed saving, he would massacre the whole place himself and do so with a smile.

Loki cloaked most of the team with his seidr as they made their way into the building. The team paired up, except for Loki who insisted on handling things on his own. The truth was he didn’t want to be held back if he had the opportunity to rip apart an enemy agent. The team knew this deep down and they weren’t going to get in the way of his revenge. They just needed one agent alive for information. He could slaughter the rest for all they cared.

“This place looks empty. Is it the same for you, Steve?” Natasha’s voice rang on the com’s

“I don’t see anyone here either,” Steve replied, “I don’t like this.”

Rage radiated off Loki as his green seidr enveloped him like burning flames, pulsating with each step. Each room he passed by, he ripped off the door and flung it away without a care for what could be on the other side. The fury that threatened to boil over within him only grew as he was faced with empty room after empty room.

Loki roared in frustration, “Where the Hel are they?!”

Meanwhile, back at the Tower, you paced in the shared living room while Peter flipped through the channels on the television.

“Why don’t you sit down for a while? We could watch some T.V.” His tone was empathetic and kind, and for a moment you considered his offer, but the restless feeling was too much. This was the farthest and longest Loki has been away from you since the day he saved you and it tore you up inside. Your mind raced with all the possible horrific scenarios. The fact that Loki was a god didn’t matter. All you could see was Loki being captured and tortured over and over again like an agonizing record. You were so lost in your thoughts, you almost missed how Peter jumped to his feet.

Then you heard it. The alarms.

The screech of the alarms made your hands fly to your ears to protect them. Peter went to you instantly, wrapping an arm around you.

“Jarvis, what is going on?” He called up to the ceiling of the room.

“The Tower has been infiltrated. They are armed and put the building in lockdown. All floors are closed off, except for the Avenger’s floor.”

Peter’s eyes were wide with shock, “How could they even get in here? Mr. Stark’s security is ridiculous. How many are there?”

“There are ten en-en-en-en-en-en-en.” Jarvis’ voice stuttered and spat before going quiet. The fear in your heart only grew. This wasn’t good.

“Jarvis?” Peter called out, but there was no response from the AI system. Despite the fact you have only been in the Tower for about a month, you knew that the AI system was the life blood of the Tower and now that it was gone, things were serious. The dread that radiated off the teenage boy next to you only confirmed that fact. Within seconds, Peter was enveloped in his Spiderman suit.

With the suit came newfound confidence as Peter squared his shoulders and took on the role of your protector, “Okay, everything will be okay. Let’s get you hidden.” You gave him a small, unsure smile.

An explosion tore through the walls of the Avenger’s floor and before you knew what was even happening, Peter was covering you with his body. Concrete and debris went flying and despite Peter’s protection, your face and exposed arms were sliced from the shrapnel.

“Give us the girl!” A man dressed in black called out from the smoke. You gasped. You recognized that voice anywhere. It was one the guards that had raped you. There were many, but this man was a brand on your soul that could never heal. The one that always made sure you were coherent as he disgraced your body. You shook like a leaf in Peter’s arms.

A yelp escaped your lips as Peter scooped you up in his arms and forgone running in favor of swinging swiftly down the hallway with his web shooters. You clung to him and tried to resist screaming in his ear as shots rang out around you. The enemy agents were quick, but Peter was faster. Finally, he landed as he reached his room towards the end of the hallway. He pried you off his body and tucked you away in his closet.

“Stay here! Don’t make a sound.” Closing the closet door, he was gone.

All you could hear was gunshots, grunts, and crashing. Each minute that went by felt like an eternity. You covered your ears and rocked back and forth, surrounded by Peter’s clothes. All you wanted was Loki and he wasn’t there.

Then it was quiet.

You covered your mouth to stifle a shriek as the closet door was ripped open. A wave of relief washed over you as you saw Peter. The mask of his suit vanished, and the teenage superhero threw himself on the floor with you, wrapping you up in a tight hug. Sobs racked your body as he rocked you back and forth, cooing into your ear.

“Everything is over now. You’re safe, Miss Y/N. You’re safe.”

Tony had received an alert immediately after the Tower had been infiltrated. His voice yelled into the com’s, informing the rest of the team that their intel was nothing more than a diversion. Loki cursed and screamed at the team to get back to the Quinjet. The ride back to the tower was agonizing. Emotions swirled within the god. Anger. Worry. Guilt.

He never should have left you.

Loki barged into your shared bedroom to find you sitting on the bed with Peter rubbing your arm. As soon as your sobs had stopped, you had insisted on going back to your bedroom. All you wanted was Loki and just his scent brought you comfort. Peter supported your body as you made your way out of his bedroom and out to the hallway. He had instructed you not to look, but you couldn’t help but peek. The bodies of the agents were still on the floor, blood splattered everywhere. In your mind, those bodies were the ones that surrounded you for a month when you were captured. You were back in the cell again.

You couldn’t stop shaking and crying. No matter what Peter did or said, you trembled in fear like a terrified animal. The hands of the ghosts that haunted you made your flesh raise in goosebumps as they groped and grabbed at you. There was no fighting them off this time. Your mind was your prison now.

“What happened to her?!” Loki growled, unceremoniously pushing Peter away from you and taking his place on the bed. His hands wiped away at the blood that had accumulated on your face and started to anxiously work on healing the cuts that covered your body. But there was no comfort here. Not anymore. Not even with Loki.

A tortured shriek ripped through your body, and you started to thrash and kick. You tried to escape Loki’s grasp, but he held you tight. The feeling of being constricted and powerless only made you scream louder as you remembered your tormenters a restraining you. Loki’s soothing words meant nothing to you. All you could hear was the guards’ voices and their cackles and cruel taunts.

“Mr. Loki! You’re hurting her!” Peter yelled.

Loki looked down and saw bruises forming where his hands gripped onto you. Immediately, he released you like you had burned him, and your flailing, battered body threw itself on the floor. Peter was by your side in an instant, but you kicked at him too as you screeched in terror. He put up his hands and moved away from you, trying to show you that he meant no harm. You didn’t even register his face, the very face that saved just a couple of hours ago. Instead, you shoved yourself in the corner of the room as you tried to make yourself as small as possible.

“Miss Y/N, it’s me, Peter. You are at the Tower. You’re safe.” The young hero tried to reason with you and bring you back to your body.

Neither of you noticed that Loki slipped out of the room, whispering only a few words before closing the door behind him.

“I’m a monster.”

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

Unicorns: @gaitwae @theawkwardavenger @nonsensicalobsessions @purplekitten30 @lostgreekgod @slytherinintj13 @huntress-artemiss @midnights-ramblings @xorpsbane @ravenmailey @vbecker10 @lazulifoster @winterfrostsarmy @ada17h @lokisprettygirl22 @theaudacitytowrite @lokis-little-love @lokis-tigress @mochie85 @wheres-the-lamb-Sauce

#loki fanfic #loki fic #loki odinson #loki #loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki fluff #loki fluffy drabble #loki laufeyson x reader #loki angst #loki x reader angst #loki x reader fluff

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ibijau · 3 years

Note

27 for chengxian! (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

(Losing their memory only to have it come back after a much awaited true love’s kiss.)

Y'all really like that prompt lol I think I have at least one more ask for that one somewhere?

“And he’s been like this the whole time?” Jiang Cheng asked, repressing a shiver of disgust.

“Yes, zongzhu.”

“He didn’t even make a single inappropriate joke?”

“Not so much as a smile, zongzhu. And he said he was sorry for the inconvenience.”

Jiang Cheng gave Wei Wuxian another long look. He would have suspected a joke, but that style of humour would have more been Nie Huaisang’s thing. Wei Wuxian usually went for pranks instead of comedy. Besides, several Jiang disciples had been there when Wei Wuxian had taken in hand the cursed box, and they’d all testified to feeling a powerful discharge of Yin energy. Not only that, but the owner of the box had apparently warned them beforehand of the risk, and explained as well how to cure the curse.

True love’s kiss, of all things.

Normally, when it came to Wei Wuxian, that would have been quite an easy cure to organise. If anything, it was preventing him from indulging in those true love’s kisses that proved a challenge.

So of course this whole mess had to happen when, for once, Jiang Cheng had managed to get his shixiong to come without that damn icicle he called a husband. A favour he had only obtained because Lan Wangji was away on a Night Hunt in a place where resentment toward the feared Yiling patriarch remained too great for Wei Wuxian to go with him. It would take a few days until Lan Wangji could be warned of this incident and returned to administer his cure.

Until then, Jiang Cheng was stuck with this stranger who didn’t look like his shixiong, and didn’t even act like him either.

“At least it’s an improvement over his normal personality,” his first disciple scoffed. “Let’s all enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Am I really that bad?” Wei Wuxian asked with open concern. “If it is inconvenient for others when I am myself, perhaps I’d better stay like this.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. Lan Wangji would never have allowed that, he knew. Someone in that marriage needed to have a personality, and it wasn’t going to be the second jade of Gusu Lan. Although perhaps if they were both equally boring, then perhaps there would be a divorce, and Jiang Cheng could get his shixiong back.

A most tempting plan, except for the fact that this man before him just wasn’t Wei Wuxian, and thus wasn’t worth keeping around.

“Send for Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng reluctantly ordered. “And you, come with me,” he added toward Wei Wuxian. “I’m not letting you sleep at some inn when you’re in that state. I’ll have your room prepared, you’re staying where I can see you until you’re better.”

The man who wasn’t Wei Wuxian meekly followed him without a single objection, nor any attempt at teasing. Jiang Cheng found it almost sickening, which surprised him. He’d spent most of his life wishing Wei Wuxian would learn to act more appropriately and to show proper deference to those around him. By all accounts, this should have pleased Jiang Cheng to finally behold a version of his shixiong that knew his place.

He refused to dwell on that, mostly because it never did him good to think too long about that insufferable shixiong of his. Instead, Jiang Cheng congratulated himself on his decision to have had a room prepared for Wei Wuxian the instant he’d heard Lan Wangji wasn’t with him. If he wasn’t going to have shameless intercourse during the whole night, there was no need to banish Wei Wuxian to an inn. Of course Jiang Cheng hadn’t been sure how to offer that bedroom to the other man without being accused of being friendly, so at least one positive side to that curse had been to remove the need for an explanation.

After a few days together, Jiang Cheng had determined that being stuck with that unnatural version of Wei Wuxian was the worst torture he’d ever endured, even counting being struck by discipline whips and having his golden core torn from him.

Now that he’d had time to observe the amnesiac man during the afternoon and at dinner, Jiang Cheng had realised that contrary to his first impression, something of Wei Wuxian remained through the loss of memory. It was only small things, a manner of movement, the way he held his glass of tea, or the gesture with which he sprinkled additional spices over his dinner without even tasting it. A hundred ghosts of who Wei Wuxian was, lingering in a man who had too much politeness and not enough humour.

It was striking also to realise just how little Wei Wuxian looked like himself in his current body. Usually it wasn’t noticeable because his personality made up for the difference, but at the moment he truly looked like nothing but a complete stranger wearing a disguise.

Jiang Cheng hated it.

And Wei Wuxian, apparently, noticed it.

“If you tell me more about what I’m normally like, I can try to act more like it,” he said in a forlorn voice on the fourth afternoon, while watching Jiang Cheng take care of his correspondence.

Jiang Cheng only grunted.

“Though from what everyone says, aren’t I more pleasant to have around like this?”

Another grunt. Others were idiots for not appreciating Wei Wuxian as he naturally behaved, while Jiang Cheng was equally stupid for missing it.

“Just tell me what to do,” Wei Wuxian insisted, and Jiang Cheng hated that those were words he’d always wished to hear but now felt so wrong. “Should I smile? Should I be…” he hesitated. “Should I be obnoxious?” he asked in a trembling voice, just pathetic enough that in a roundabout way, it did sound like something Wei Wuxian might say if he were joking.

Jiang Cheng, exhausted and on edge, almost laughed.

Sadly Wei Wuxian noticed, and took it as encouragement.

“I think I can do that,” he claimed, coming to sit closer until he was nearly on Jiang Cheng’s lap.

That, too, felt a little too much like the real Wei Wuxian, though normally he kept that sort of behaviour for Lan Wangji.

Well perhaps that damn icicle liked being climbed over, but Jiang Cheng did not. Not at all, not one bit, that scenario had never once appeared in his dreams, when his mind thought it could betray his good sense. So Jiang Cheng tried to push away Wei Wuxian, who quickly threw his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck to make it harder.

“Isn’t this the sort of things I’d do?” Wei Wuxian pleaded, pressing himself harder against Jiang Cheng the more his shidi tried to get rid of him, until he was all but straddling him. “I’ve heard people say I’m flirty.”

“Yes, toward your husband!”

“Well, I don’t know him. But I know you. You’ve been kind to me those few days, even when it was obvious that you don’t like seeing me like this. You shout a lot, but I think you’re a very good person at heart.”

“I’ve tried to kill you in the past,” Jiang Cheng blurted, though he gave up on trying to push Wei Wuxian away. “More than once.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’re hardly the only one.”

Two thoughts crossed Jiang Cheng’s mind.

The first was that he might have to borrow some ideas and forbid gossip in the Lotus Pier, if Wei Wuxian had heard so much in so little time.

The second was that he probably ought to hate a little more the way Wei Wuxian was straddling him, and how close he was. Close enough that if someone were to come in, they’d get the wrong idea and think they were about to…

Jiang Cheng’s eyes flickered to Wei Wuxian’s lips. He wondered, and then mentally slapped himself for wondering.

“The cure is a true love’s kiss, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian asked in a whisper.

“Your damn true love is going to arrive tonight or tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng retorted in a voice that failed to be anything but pleading. “Wait for him instead of playing games.”

“If I wait for him, I’ll never be sure about you,” came the answer, before Wei Wuxian pressed their lips together.

Jiang Cheng, at first, merely allowed it to happen, unsure what to do with his hands, with his mouth even. Wei Wuxian appeared to understand and, without breaking the kiss, placed Jiang Cheng’s hands on his hips while also moving his lips in a gentle manner, as if trying to show him what to do.

When they parted, Wei Wuxian’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes shining with emotion. Then, slowly, his lips parted into the most obnoxious grin in the world, one that Jiang Cheng hadn’t seen once in those last few days.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian laughed, his voice just as annoying as ever. “Jiang Cheng, who knew!”

“Shut up! Get off my lap now that you’re cured!”

Wei Wuxian laughed again, sounding like a demented wolf, and Jiang Cheng hated how much he had missed that.

“Jiang Cheng, don’t pretend, I know you care, you can’t hide it anymore!”

“Who’d care for an asshole like you!” Jiang Cheng exploded, trying again to push away the other man, only for Wei Wuxian to laugh and press another quick kiss to his lips.

“Look at you, all embarrassed! Jiang Cheng, you’re an idiot, you know.”

“I’ll murder you!”

“Been there, done that,” Wei Wuxian retorted with another kiss. “Now listen. The cure was true love’s kiss, not ‘somewhat unrequited long lasting crush kiss’, alright?”

Jiang Cheng stopped fighting instantly, thus giving Wei Wuxian the chance to kiss him again, a little longer this time. Without any input from his brain, Jiang Cheng’s hands found their way to the other man’s hips, this time pulling him closer.

“What about your Hanguang-Jun then?” Jiang Cheng breathlessly asked when they parted. “Does that mean he’s…”

“I’m a very spoiled man,” Wei Wuxian said. “I can have two true loves, to make up for the fact that they’re both absolute bitches.”

The idea of sharing Wei Wuxian, now that Jiang Cheng knew he could have him, was particularly unpleasant. The only thing that would make it bearable, Jiang Cheng decided, was the certainty that Lan Wangji would be appalled that they had anything in common.

Happy with this petty thought, Jiang Cheng kissed Wei Wuxian again.

#chengxian #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #wwx is so fucking hard to write #and post canon jc is also damn hard to write #this caused me suffering but in a fun way

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 1 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 1: Speak to Me/Breathe

Chapter Summary: The last thing you remember was being mortally wounded, now having woken up in a completely different reality. And you’d soon need to face the horrors of who would seek you out...

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Suicide Attempt, Graphic Descriptions of Death, Dark! Loki, Spoiler you kinda die but kinda don't

Words: approx. 3800

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

Lyrics used from the Song: Kina ft. Snow - Get You The Moon

“Y/N, look out!”

The piercing sounds of gunfire nearby made your eardrums ring, yet Steve’s words got through to you nonetheless.

But you were determined to end this, here and now.

Tony was the first one at your side, catching you in his arms before you hit the floor. However, you could only do so much as whimper a silent apology to your friends, who now had to live with the consequences of your actions.

“Why did you do this?!” you heared Dr. Strange yell as he unsucessfully tried to close the deep cut in your gut. Too afraid of what you might see if you’d look at the wound, your glare was locked on the beautiful sky - yes, the sun was almost setting, and it was somehow calming to you that this would most likely the last thing you’d set eyes upon.

“There was no reason to be this reckless!” Steve followed close by, his scolding soon turning into desperate screams. “Fuck. FUCK!” If Captain America himself is cussing, then it’s as severe as you thought it to be.

Your wounds were lethal, that much was sure.

And of course they were right, as always: You didn’t need to play the martyr here, throwing yourself into danger to shield your comrades - well, you did anyway, and there was no going back now.

On the other hand, they were the ones taking a gravely depressed widow onto a dangerous mission. But you did not want your precious friends to blame themselves for that, for it was your own wish.

Dying in an honorable battle was what would send you to Valhalla, after all - where you could finally meet him again, hopefully.

The only one not having spoken a single word up until now was Thor, very well knowing what all this was about. It was no secret that you were sick and tired of how your life had turned out to be, ever since the Infinity War.

You felt empty. Incomplete. Desperate. Hallow.

The God of Thunder had turned his back to you, yet there was still agony radiating from that already broken man. Your almost-brother-in-law was the only one who could possibly understand your pain. Thor Odinson had lost everything: His homeland, most of his tribe, his family and best friend - and soon, you as well.

All this time, you wanted to be strong. For them, who had also lost so much!

But at some point things just got out of control.

“You can’t leave me alone, Lady Y/N! Not you too!” Thor finally whimpered as he fell onto his knees, softly squeezing your hand. “You’re the only thing I have left from him!

So this is what dying feels like.

The bloodloss caused your limps to go limp, and when the pain began to stop and got replaced by numbness, you knew it would soon be time. Your brain lost the remaining control over your body, and you found yourself encoated by pure nothingless.

Only able to listen by their screams, cries and kind words - at least you’d die surrounded by those marvellous people. It sure was a privilege knowing them.

You weren’t afraid - all in all, it had been a good life, after all.

There were no regrets.

“Shh” you hushed them, using your last bit of strenght so your lips formed somewhat of a most broken smile, forming words between gurling on your own blood.

“It’s alright, I-” you cut yourself off, trying to scream as a last, torturing pain shot through your whole system. “I-I-I’ll-- meet him again...you know?”

“I’m no-not strong enough, please...” Thor cried out like you had never seen him before, feeling a tide of guilt wash over you. “Loki wouldn’t have wanted you to go like this! He told me to protect you, so you could lead a long and happy life!”

Without him? Impossible!

“You gave me a shoulder when I needed it

You showed me love when I wasn’t feeling it

You helped me fight when I was giving in

And you made me laugh when I was losing it”

Yes, indeed: You had been to selfish to keep on living just for the sake of your friends, burdening them with yet another loss.

“I-I don’t wanna go...this was a mistake, I- please...”

How badly did you want to soothe them right now, telling them that everything would be alright and you’d meet them again, eventually?

It was too late now.

Your body gave up earlier than your soul, which had endured and kept on all this time, even in it’s shattered state.

And when Tony’s palm gently closed your eyes, making it easier for you to embrace the cold darkness, the last thing you heared before your senses gave up were startling you enough to almost bring you back to life:

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

That voice was familiar, yet it didn’t belong to Loki. Dr. Strange, no- Stephen Strange, your friend and mentor of the mystic arts.

“I don’t have the heart to allow this to happen” he stated frantic, making you wonder if that was a dream of your hypoxic brain or if you were still able to hear them? People tend to say the sense of hearing dies last, after all. “She still has a pulse, even though weak. Hurry!”

Their voices were far in the back, words way too far out of your reach to understand. As if you were an outsider, only observing from a distance.

Your friends were fighting, or maybe discussing something. That much you could make up from their tone, but your mind was too exhausted to make sense of anything.

It felt as if you were already without a body, floating through the unknown like a feather in the wind - not knowing where fate would lead you to next.

Everything was numb - even your pain. It was soothing, somehow.

Because you had been a ghost way before, when you were alive even. An empty shell of a human, acting like they weren’t dead on the inside.

Coherent thoughts, memories, emotions...even the fractions of your own past you had both collected and surpressed. Right now, they were all restrained and pushed far in the back of your very core, where you were finally able to evaluate them without earthly bondings.

Was this heaven, hell - or maybe both or none or them?

____

"Be aware of the limits this tactic has. It’s a very drastic measurement that can most likely be used only once in your lifetime, and it is not guaranteed to work either.”

Stephen’s voice again. You recall that scene, it’s been long in the past...but why are you remembering it now?

Yes, this was familiar. All of you had been invited to the Sanctum Sanctorum, a fitting place to teach about this ancient knowledge.

You clearly remembered that Loki was absent in any of the Doctor’s lessons, feeling that a “puny human” was “unworthy” to teach him, and “it would be nothing new anyway, Y/N, I am a god and the way better wizard, I know it all already.”

What he was about to tell you back then was some kind of crazy emergency-plan: Dangerous, unpredictable and escpecially untested.

“I’ve only read about this tactic up until now” the mage pondered loudly as he picked at his goatee, earning some childish giggles by you and Tony. “So I cannot promise that it will function as planned. The Multiverse is dangerous and acts in unforseen ways.”

“Very reassuring” you had mocked at the time, not really biding the topic any importance or thought ever again.

But now...

The trick sounded way simpler than it actually was, being as complex as it is only natural for something like that, costing a huge prize at that:

Dr. Strange would send any of you who were on the brink of death through a portal, thus leading you into a random dimension of this endless Multiverse.

That dimension, in which your alternate self has most likely died, will gladly accept you as a “replacement”. Some kind of what Peter Parker called a “glitch” will occur, instantly healing all of your wounds - even fatal ones, so you could remain in the timeline that was missing you.

Yet the consequences of this maneuvre would be unspeakable.

_____

“That bastard...” you gnarled internally, finally realizing why you would remember this of all things after apparently having just taken your dying breath. “He didn’t just-”

Eventually, you realized having escaped death’s grip, slowly beginning to regain your senses - yet still refusing to open your eyes.

“I don’t want to leave this place. My friends -- will I never see them again? No. NO! Life is meaningless. Just let me be with him. Please! Loki...”

“’Cause you are, you are

The reason why I’m still hanging on

‘Cause you are, you are

The reason why my head is still above water

And if I could I’d get you the moon

And give it to you

And if death was coming for you

I’d give my life for you”

Another part of Strange’s lesson echoed in your head, revealing that you were now in fact up on your own.

“Not even I can tell just how much this timeline will differ from what you know. Of course I will search for you right away, but considering the countless possibilities, it might very well be that we’ll never meet again. But you’re alive, and hopefully safe. That’s all that counts.”

Grass tickled your palm as you twitched your fingers, testing the limits of your body, which had literally just tricked death. Suddenly, you felt a stinging pain, almost like lightning boring into your temportal. The origin of this pain remained unknown.

When you finally found the courage to sit up, your flesh still feeling as heavy as lead, you realized that Stephen was most likely wrong: He assumed that you’d find yourself in a place you had a deep connection with, yet that place was unrecognizable to you.

Then why were you here of all places?

Actually, this location was incredibly beautiful, managing to stop the aching in your heart, if only for the fraction of a second.

Your former lover would’ve loved this place.

“'Cause you are, you are

The reason why I’m still hanging on

'Cause you are, you are

The reason why my head is still above water

And if I could I’d get you the moon

And give it to you

And if death was coming for you

I’d give my life for you”

Even though not all of Dr. Strange’s speculations were correct, you decided to stick to his emergency plan: Find as much information about this “new” earth as possible, point out the differences to your initial one, and then contact the Dr. Strange of this dimension.

Two mages working on crossing each other’s path would at least higher the stakes to find your original timeline.

Well, no one could guarantee you that the Avenger’s existed on this timeline, and they could as well be evil in this one...what a weird and horrifying imagination.

Knowledge really was power - that was another thing Loki had taught you a long time ago, and it would prove valuable, especially in this situation.

As you wandered this surprisingly extensive garden and getting lost in admiring the beauty of it’s nature, you found yourself devoid of any weapons. That fact made you slightly uncomfortable, even though your current location seemed absent of any ememies, making a peaceful impression.

Seemingly there weren’t any evil schemes going on in this dimension.

It basically were only minor differences, at least that was your first impression. At least there were no changes in natural laws or something as big.

“I miss the days where magic and science didn’t mix up like this” you whispered, mainly to yourself as you examined the new, large scar on your abdomen - the only memory left of your “almost-suicide-mission”.

To be more precize: The only thing left from your former life, now leaving you able to start completely anew, wether you wanted it or not.

Sun had almost drowned behind the horizon, diving the sky in a deep orange. Your eyes were still adjusting, yet you could’ve sworn to see the silhouette of a person. It was far away, at the entrance on what appeared to be a palace belonging to this garden.

Apparently, you had invaded someone’s propery, and you could only pray that it was noone important - or worse, a owner who would defend their ground with violence.

You don’t think your earth had a place this...flashy. The castle was way bigger than any you knew on the other timeline. The first difference you had figured out, yet it was only a minor one.

Maybe the headache you were experiencing was from someone making you out as an intruder?

One thing was sure: You had been noticed, and you immediately were on high alert.

Where to run to or at least hide?

There was a maze made out of bushed parting you and the palace, and since there was no better option, you’d enter it. Talking to that person and convincing them of your goodwill would make it way easier to gain information.

“You may come out” you declared as you made your way, unable to evaluate the situation properly. “I mean no harm. I’m just lost.”

Was it dangerous to be here? Obviously, you were not allowed to be here anyway.

However, when you had finally found the escape to that maze, only several hundret meters away from the building, the person was already gone.

Had your mind just played a dirty trick on you again? Wouldn’t be the firt time it’d betray you like this...

No. You clearly felt someone watching you.

And as soon as your senses had sharpened to your usual self again, you instantly jumped back, gaining some distance to the Citauri that had just appeared behing you.

Shit! You weren’t ready to fight again just yet. Not like this.

And where one of those vile beasts were, many others would appear. You knew that much.

Had Thanos invaded this earth? Oh god, not again...not him. You were so damn tired of those fights, escapes and especially the pain that always inevitable followed after.

Just when it was about to swing it’s weapon at your head, you felt dizziness crawl up your nerves, making you collapse on the floor. Lucky for you, because only like that, the stike didn’t hit you.

Even though having been taught basic magic skills, that certain kind of spell you were unable to fight against - only true masters of the art were able to perform a sorcery that well.

The Chitauri had left your line of sight, yet the other figure from before reappeared in a pace so fast that your eyes couldn’t follow. They sweeped you off the floor just before your head would meet the hard pavement.

“And now you will answer to me, shapeshifter.”

Once again someone robbed you of the control of your life and body, leaving you without a free will.

How long had you been passed out now? You didn’t know and honestly didn’t care either - since you had nothing to lose anymore.

In the meantime, the owner of those lands had dismissed his guards, not wanting to be disturbed as he was left alone with you in the giant throne room.

The apparent ruler of that unclassified location was sitting on his throne, warily observing you from above. You were lying to his feet at the bare floor, every piece of clothing robbed from you and restrained by a pile of chains. He watched every twitch, all breaths you’d take or groans escaping your mouth until you would finally awake.

Oh, how you really were just like he remembered you, with every little detail he had adored.

At long last, you would finally open your lids again, blinking heavily as you took in your surroundings - but when your eyes met certain emerald ones, they immediately sprung wide open, the emptiness in your heart being filled with all kinds of emotions once again.

The man - it was him!

“'Cause you are, you are

Oh, you are

You are'Cause you are, you are

The reason why I’m still hanging on

'Cause you are, you are

The reason why my head is still above water

And if I could I’d get you the moon

And give it to you”

“Loki!” you screamed from the bottom of your heart. Without a single coherent thought, your legs would carry on their own as your weakened body stumbled in their attempt to climb those stairs.

For both of you, that momend of reuinion had waited far too long.

The god was temptated to approach you, his trembling hands already reaching out to catch your fragile body should you fall - but suddenly, you felt his knuckles digging into your cheekbone.

“Stay away from me, you fake!” Loki yelled furiously as you hit the ground, rubbing your cheek as you tried to understand what just happened.

Yeah, that sure brought you back to reality again, after such a short high.

Right.

That isn’t your Earth - and not your Loki either.

You couldn’t even be sure this world’s Y/N and Loki had the same kind of relationship the two of you had back in your timeline! The only thing you knew was that he knew you from his past, but as it seemed not pleasantly.

Now that you looked closely, he even had less scars, almost looking untouched and pure - like a true, invincible god. Maybe life here had treat him well, unlike his counterpart from your timeline.

He was still wearing that excessive outfit with the golden horns, and much to both your amazement and fear, it seemed that he still possessed theTesseract.

Could it be...

Before you could connect the dots, the king would soon interrupt your string of thoughts. “Drop that disguise, scum!”

Loki kept on degrading you as he paced in front of his throne, brow sinking deeper and deeper. “Don’t think you can somehow appeal to those pathetic sentiments” he explained, “I’ve freed myself from them long ago. Just stop making a fool out of yourself, and maybe I’ll reward it with a quicker death.”

Yet when he saw your most innocent smile, even this Loki would stand frozen in place, deeply in shock.

How he yearned to see it, all those years - to tell you just how sorry he was for everthing he’s done.

No.

He had left all of this behind - to claim his birthright and rule.

“I-I’m deeply so-sorry...that is a mistake” you whimmered with a broken voice, wiping a tear of joy out of your face. “My feelings overwhelmed me, I guess. I’ve never thought to see you again, even if you’re not the same Loki I know.”

Still cowering on the floor, you looked up to him with compassionate eyes, as if he had not just beat you before. You did not dare to make any more, wanting for Loki to try and understand himself.

“A variant?” he gnarled, just like you did when he realized.

No force in the world had allowed him to access other parts of the Multiverse, no matter how desperately he tried - and now fate had literally dropped you in front of his door.

Loki balled his fists in anger, making you flinch as you anticipated yet another blow.

“Dear, I-”

“Shut up!” the God of Mischief shoutet, causing his magic to break free. The walls of the palace were shaking, most windows and furniture having been destroyed. “It’s no use, woman!”

That man was way more powerful than the “puny god” people called names back on Asgard - and his sheer might made you quiver.

Just what kind of monster had he become, and why?

“L-Loki, please...” you tried to appeal to the last bit of humanity he might possess, and your begging made his guts twist in agony. “You’re scaring me.”

“You better be scared!” he exclaimed, grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to look at him. “No matter what disgracefully weak “alter ego” of me you knew, I am built different. Stronger. Better. Everyone in the Nine Realms fears me, and I desire nothing else! Everything distracting me from fulfilling my destiny and reign over you dull creatures I got rid of. You’re nothing more than an insect I might as well crush right here and now!”

Choking on a sob, he tried to relish that last chance he got to admire you, smell you, touch what he cannot possess...no matter how many universes there may be.

A flood of tears cracked down your face at his words, yet you couldn’t be helped.

No matter what he would say - he looked just like him.

And that was enough for you to feel alive after such a long time of being a walking dead. There had to be a reason you landed right at his home, of all places in this universe. You had a connection, both of you felt it ever since you had been transported here.

"May I ask-” you disrupted yourself, awaiting some reaction. But the conqueror had seemed to have spoken what he thought important to say, not declining your question at all.

Whenever he seemed fit, he could disintegrate you - yet right now, this situation was way too intriguing.

“What happened to myself in this reality?”

Loki swallowed harshly, letting go off of you as he threw you down the stairs. He wouldn’t even bide you one look as he tried to surpress the turmoil of emotion still running through his veins, desperately keeping it from breaking free.

The outcome would always be the same: Suffering, for both of you.

“And if death was coming for you

I’d give my life for you.”

He only ever wanted it to stop hurting. To become unfeeling, since love had always been poisoning his mind, sometimes being gifted with it even though he knew he would never be worthy of anything else than disgust and hate.

And that contradiction caused him to throw away anything good that happened to him, through you. Let it be taken away from him just shortly after finally learning to remotely enjoy.

You deserved the truth, a reason to hate him even more than you probably already did.

Had you only come to his salvation earlier, then he might have been helped - yet now, he was beyond redemption. Broken. Sick. Dangerous.

And when the Chitauri dragged you away, his last words let your blood run cold:

“She died through my hands.”

_____

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#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki Laufeyson #Loki x Y/N #Loki / Reader #Loki / You #TW #Writing #Self Insert #Fanfiction..God of Mischief #Multiverse #Asgard #Midgard #Disney #Marvel #Avengers

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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

Text

sunflowers | m. tkachuk

a/n: today, i offer a humble too long matthew tkachuk fic, full of angst and thoughts about love.

i would like to thank @nolypats, for having a dream that i wrote a fic about? that dream looks nothing like this fic, but that was the og inspiration, and for being so supportive during the writing of this monster. also, @jasondickinsons and @slapshot-to-the-heart for freaking out every time i sent you a preview. never would’ve finished it without these three.

word count: 20K

warnings: swearing, and a ton of angst.

wine pairing recommendation: a full bodied cabernet sauvignon, because this fic is full bodied.

You ran a hand through your hair as you looked at Matthew across your apartment. The mug in your hands felt heavy and the tea inside had gone cold. The look on Matthew’s face when he walked in the front door had made you set it aside and forget about it entirely. He had been nervous, hesitant, his movements almost delayed, like there was too many thoughts swimming in his head for the signals to get down to his muscles at the correct timing. You drummed your nails on the cool ceramic, your fingertips tracing the outline of the sunflower on the mug, as you let out a long breath.

“We literally just-”

“I know,” Matthew cut you off. He stumbled through the next six words, but they stung all the same. “I think this was a mistake.”

It was as if he picked the words right out of your deepest vault of insecurities, sharpened them, then tossed them in your general direction careless, but still wasn’t surprised when they hit their mark. Your shoulders caved in, your body reacting to the weight of the insecurities you had tied to those words in your mind hitting you in the chest. You set your mug on the counter with shaky hands.

“Matthew,” you tried to start, but he just set his blue eyes to the ceiling instead of trying to look at you.

You pressed harder, this time, irritation in his inability to communicate with you boiling over, “You can’t just say something like that then not look at me.”

“Fine.”

His eyes were dead when they rolled back to yours, lifeless, emotionless, almost completely devoid of the person you knew so well that was usually behind them. He looked nothing like the friend you had for the past two years, nothing like the boy who you kissing on his birthday a few months before this terrible moment you were being forced to inhabit, and nothing like the boyfriend you had since that night. He was unrecognizable from the boy you loved, the set in his jaw unsettling you. Matthew had not come over to have a discussion. You could see that now. He was resolved to end this relationship when he walked through your front door. When Matthew Tkachuk’s mind was made up, you had yet to find anything that could redirect his course. You knew you wouldn’t be the first tonight.

“I think we can work on this, if you’ll just talk to me about it.”

The laugh that comes out of his mouth in response to your words made you instantly wish you had never tried. The part of you that had told you to just swallow the breakup he clearly wanted was screaming, “I told you so,” at the top of its lungs. There was no resolution to be had. This relationship was over before he walked in the door, before he walked in the building, before he had gotten in his car. It was over the minute he texted you, curtly informing you he was coming over. Now that your mind was ruminating, the tone of his text felt rough and succinct, like he just wanted to get through it to get to this.

“I think that there’s nothing to work on,” Matthew told you, his tone flat. “I think we were friends, are friends, good friends, and we just starting having feelings because we thought we couldn’t have each other. That whole forbidden fruit thing, right? And we got all mixed up. Sex was great, is great, don’t get me wrong, that kind of chemistry isn’t the problem, but I just don’t think we’re supposed to be together. I think we just got our wires crossed and mixed the chemistry and the friendship up to mean that we’re in love when I just don’t think we are. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. I don’t think I really have feelings for you and I don’t think you have them for me either. I think that’s why we fight a lot. There’s nothing really here, in all reality, and I think we can both sense it. You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Get. Out.”

You spat the words out with all the venom and anger you felt. It wasn’t until the door shut behind him, not another word spoken in the tense moments it took to cross your kitchen to it, that you felt the pain in your chest. The anger, and the adrenaline that came with it, had disguised it while he was still here. Now, it was just you, in your empty apartment, realizing you not only had to deal with the pieces of yourself left over after Matthew just shattered you, underneath that was the agony of losing a friend. A friend you had come to know so well over coffees and sheet pizzas and margarita pitchers, in parties and houses and parks and arenas. He left with your now ex-boyfriend, because they were one and the same.

All you had was the now tainted memories of him and an even colder cup of tea.

------

You shuffled around your kitchen island, skipping the tea kettle in favor of your trusty slightly rusty coffee pot. This wasn’t a morning tea could handle. None of the mornings since Matthew told you that, in essence, your entire relationship was built on false pretenses and was doomed to fail from the start, had been tea mornings. They’d all be coffee caliber mornings.

Just as the coffee started to drip into the pot, your phone lit up on the counter. It was either your mom or another friend checking on you for what had to be the hundredth time. Your friends had be rotating who would check on you and who would bring you food. They were genuinely worried this break up was making you a bit of a recluse. The problem was, the person that had gotten you out of ever breakup funk you had over the past two years, every bad date, every ghosted text, was the person that caused this one. Your mind unwillingly brought you back to a memory you had been trying to avoid for the last four weeks.

There was a knock on your door. You pulled your sweatshirt sleeves over your hands to wipe your nose and eyes. You would have thought that after two weeks, a whole fourteen days, you would have cried everything out by now. Your body apparently had other ideas and was content to continue to produce tears until you felt better. When that would be? Who could say.

Matthew Tkachuk was trying to have a say about it when he was on the other side of the door you opened. You sighed. You weren’t in the mood for him and his persistence in getting his way.

“I brought donuts, Legally Blonde because my sister said to, and my sparkling personality and I’m not leaving until you smile, eat at least two donuts, and take a shower.”

He pushed his way into your apartment effortlessly. You didn’t consider yourself particularly weak, but there really wasn’t much you could do against Matthew Tkachuk with his mind made up on his side. He kicked his shoes off on the way to your coffee table, dropping the donuts on it before grabbing the TV remote.

“I said I brought Legally Blonde. I meant that I brought my intent to watch it with you. We both know I’m just gonna rent it on your TV for you. I don’t own a DVD player and neither do you,” Matthew said to you as he started pulling up the movie. “Also, I have no idea how to log in to my stuff on this thing because you have a Fire TV instead of an Apple TV like a loser, so I’m just going to Venmo you $3.99 for the rental.”

“Matthew,” you sighed, running a hand through your unwashed hair.

“Yeah, you can’t physically remove me from your couch, so I will not be leaving this apartment,” he informed you. “Watching Legally Blonde on your couch without you and stuffing my face with donuts I’m not supposed to have feels like it would be a pretty low point in my life. Unless you come watch with me and save me from half of these donuts.”

You saved him from half the donuts. He saved your hair from a record eighth day without washing it. You saved him from actually watching the sequel. He saved you from your torturous thought spirals and your tendency to look entirely for mistakes you made and flaws within yourself in lieu of acknowledging that relationships always take two people. He saved you from becoming a recluse that time, pulling you out of your apartment for dinner with him the next day. It was just Chipotle. He said he chose the environment for low social stress, high food volume ratio. You had hit him in the chest and he’d squeezed your hand softly, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it softly.

“You know he didn’t deserve you, right?” he told you as you waiting in line. “You can and will do a hell of a lot better than him someday, probably sooner than you think.”

“Thanks, Matty.”

Looking back on that memory, you couldn’t find any fondness for it. It just made the dull ache in your chest that had become a permanent resident over the last month transform temporarily in a sharp, stabbing one, before returning to its original form. You poured your coffee, each movement it required felt exhausting. You felt absolutely spent constantly because you were spending all of your energy trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Relationships were a two way street, but you could never drive down the other side, only your own. Matthew’s side, his view of it all, would always be foreign to you, but you could analyze every word, every movement, and every piece of Matthew’s reaction to all of your actions to find what you had done, what you had done to contribute to the car wreck that had caused the pain in your chest. Did you veer too close to him? Did you veer too far? What did you do?

When you get together with a friend, after years of mutual pinning, it’s supposed to work out. Every book, movie, and hell, every other couple you had ever seen that had been great friends first, then started dating, worked out. It always had a happy, romantic comedy kind of ending to it all. Everything was supposed to fall into place the second Matthew kissed you for the first time because friends falling in love felt inevitable in the kind of way that made you believe in predestination, in fated futures. You had come to the conclusion that fate either didn’t exist, or she was a fucking bitch.

“Come here!” Matthew shouted to you across the party when you were less than two steps into his front door. “I want a birthday hug!”

“I literally just got here!” you shouted back, your voice dropping in volume as you got closer to him, bumping your way through the party to get to him in the kitchen. “You couldn’t wait two minutes for me to like, put your gift down and take off my coat? Needy.”

“Ah!” Matthew raised a finger to you and shook it slightly. “It’s not needy when I’m the birthday boy. Hug. Now.”

You rolled your eyes, but tucking yourself willingly into Matthew’s broad chest. He was so warm all the time, but particularly now that he was definitely a few drinks deep and very much enjoying himself here at his party. Matthew always smelled the same, like the slightly too strong laundry detergent scent boosters his mom made him use and spearmint toothpaste. You couldn’t stand the combination at first, but now, pressed into his chest, you felt calm, the stress of the day washing away when you enveloped in him. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of your head and gave you an extra squeeze before letting you go.

“Also, you’re late,” he pointed out as he grabbed you a beer from the sink he’d filled with ice in lieu of people going in his fridge.

You took the beer from him after he slammed the top off on the edge of the counter. You chugged about a quarter of it before scrunching your face up and stopping. The first few sips were always the worst, before any of the wondrous affects of alcohol actually kicked in.

“Work,” you told him with a shrug.

Matthew rolled his eyes at you, a common occurrence, and you rolled yours back, and even more common occurrence. He laughed a little at your routine, before he tapped his beer suddenly on the top of yours, making foam rise rapidly, overflowing the bottle. You cursed and shifted your hand over the sink so the foam covered his makeshift cooler instead of the counter, but your hand was a lost cause.

“Matthew,” you groaned, your displeasure heavy in your voice as you shook your hand free of the foam.

Matthew threw his head back and laughed as you rinsed off your hand. When his head lifted, eyes finding yours again, he was met with a glare and the displeased shaking of your head. He smiled lazily, his blue eyes crossing your face to take in your expression.

“You’re cute when you’re pretending to be mad.” His words were a little more connected than they should be, his faint lisp expressing itself more, endearing in a way that cut through your annoyance at him. “I would like to request a birthday, ‘One of my best friend isn’t mad at me anymore,’ pass.”

You rolled your eyes again at him for the second time in minutes, “You’re going to get real annoying with this birthday thing, aren’t you?”

Matthew smiled wryly at you, “Comes once a year. Feel like I should get my money’s worth for the twenty-four hours I can, no?”

You shook your head at him, then took a sip of your beer. You were pretty sure you knew how this night was going to go and after a long day at work, it wasn’t exactly what you had been looking for. But the smile on his face, the curls falling down his forehead, and the fact that you were head over heels for him, meant that even though you hadn’t been looking to get on a rollercoaster today, damn it all to hell if you weren’t going to throw your hands in the air, scream your head off, and enjoy the ride.

“How about,” Matthew slurred slowly at you, “a birthday dance?”

“You could just ask me to dance. I’m used to you stepping on my toes and elbowing me in the face,” you threw back at him.

He faked pain, like you shot him in the chest, a large hand clapped over his heart as he winced. You giggled at his expression, before your laugh made him laugh. Matthew extended the hand on his chest out to you. You sighed before clapping your hand into his open one and letting him pull you toward where a few people were dancing. He spun you into his chest with a tug on your hand, purposefully putting your hands on the back of his neck.

“Odds you step on my toes tonight?”

Your beer bottle tapped between Matthew’s broad shoulders as he slowly started to sway with you, using his hands on your hips, one hand still with two fingers wrapped around his beer, to guide you. He smiled down at you knowingly. You knew the answer to your question before you’d even asked, but Matthew knew you were just teasing him.

“Oh, one-hundred percent,” Matthew told you with a smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. “I should get you steel toes for your birthday.”

“If you can remember when it is,” you laughed as Matthew spun you by your hips, your hands breaking from his neck to allow the spin.

“Don’t doubt me,” Matthew grabbed your wrists with one hand and pulled them against his chest. “I might have had to make it my phone passcode to be sure I don’t forget, but I definitely am not going to forget it.”

“That might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever done in your life, Tkachuk.”

He rolled his eyes and freed your hands, only to wrap his arm around your neck and yank you into his chest where your hands had been moments before. You squealed at the action, which only made him laugh. Matthew was a touchy drunk, but it was the closest you could be to him. These were the moments you could touch him, dance with him, and let yourself feel like the world you lived in was also the world in which he had feelings for you too. But you knew those worlds weren’t the same. The would you lived in was a world full of stolen drunken moments like these and unrequited love.

“Birthday beer?” he asked you, presenting you with the empty bottle you hadn’t realized he’d finished.

“You are really pushing your luck,” you told him.

The smile that came across his face when you grabbed the empty bottle made your heart beat heavier in your chest. You smiled back up at him and you could have sworn you saw his eyes glance down at your lips, but you shook off the idea like the intrusive thought it was. It was a self-indulgent misreading of him, your mind projecting a motion you wished Matthew had done, instead of accurately reading the moment for what it was. It might have been a false creation of your mind, but it made your chest hurt all the same.

You grabbed Matthew his beer. Then you birthday grabbed him a slice of his birthday cake. Then you had to birthday dance with him again. Another birthday hug. It started to wear heavy on your shoulders because tonight all Matthew seemed to want was you glued to his side. Your mind was twisting and turning, running down dark, unlit roads you had blocked off in your mind for your own good, but the combination of alcohol and Matthew’s hand on your hip was allowing your mind to blast through barricades you’d built to protect yourself and you were imagining this being real. Worse, you were wondering if maybe he felt like you did, which was as dangerous as driving down a twisty, forest road in the middle of the night, with your highlights out, and faulty breaks.

As the last guests trickled out of the party, Matthew said you didn’t count as a guest, he collapsed onto his couch, throwing his arm over the back. He motioned over to you as he polished off his remaining beer. He sighed when you had yet to move, letting his head roll back, curling bouncing at the movement.

“Come on, birthday cuddle,” he whined softly, gesturing you over to him again.

You groaned and hoped off the counter where you had posted up as everyone else left. Matthew smiled and lifted his head up when he saw you coming, adjusting on the couch to give you a clear spot, right under his arm, right against his side. You climbed onto the couch and slid in, dropping your head onto his chest as his arm dropped around your upper back instead of remaining on the couch. You sighed as you snuggled into his broad chest and Matthew’s chest suddenly rattled beneath you as he laughed.

“Well, make yourself comfortable then,” he laughed softly.

“You’re comfy and I’m tired,” you mumbled, tucking your face down to try and hide the flush rising in your cheeks.

Yes, you were tired. Yes, Matthew was pretty comfortable. Neither one of those things had anything to do with why you were thrilled to be snuggled into his chest. The smell of spearmint and laundry detergent was mixed with cheap beer, but you found yourself falling more into him, your shoulders relaxing, your mind slowly, but your heart racing. You might be pushing your luck, tipping your hand with how you were openly enjoying this, but Matthew’s hand playing with the ends of your hair and the steadiness of his breathing plus the sheer volume of alcohol he had consumed tonight was giving you hope that even if you were tipping your hand, he wouldn’t be able to recognize the cards.

“Come here. Birthday hug.”

“I’m literally snuggling you. Why do you want a hug? Snuggling is an extended hug,” you muttered to him.

“Hug,” Matthew repeated, a hand patting his thigh.

You groaned as you lifted your head from your comfortable spot, twisting awkwardly to get your arms around Matthew’s neck. He huffed, clearly not thrilled with your position. His hands found your waist, fingers sliding into your belt loops to pull you onto his lap, situating your legs on either side of his. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tight against him, hugging you to his chest. His face was tucked into your neck, his hot breath fanning out over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He mumbled something you couldn’t entirely hear, but you caught the word birthday again and rolled your eyes. You sighed as you pulled back, his arms giving way to let you sit up on his thighs.

“What did you say?” you asked him softly.

Matthew swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from your attempted eye contact. His jaw clenched, nerves getting the better of him. You just didn’t know what he had to be particularly nervous about.

“I want a birthday kiss.”

His words were soft, vulnerability keeping his voice tense, but his volume low. His eyes lifted up, scanning over your face, looking for some sign as to how you received his words. Matthew moved a hand to the back of your neck and gently pulled, ever so slightly, to bring your mouth closer to his. His eyes continued to take in your face, trying to read your expression, but he was clueless, his own feelings clouding his judgment. His tongue darted out, swiping across his bottom lip.

“You don’t have to, obviously, but fuck, I really hope you want to, ” he breathed out, eyes still trying to find some sign, something to hang onto in your face.

It was clumsy with excitement, but you dipped your head forward and pressed your lips against his. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as he started to kiss you back, the sound blocking out everything except how you were finally doing this, you were finally kissing Matthew. All you could feel was him, his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his tongue working yours softly. Just him. You pulled back and resting your forehead against his as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair at the back of your neck.

“Thank god,” Matthew mumbled. “I thought I ruined us for a second there.”

You shook your head softly and smiled down at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips again. He was smiling before you even pulled away this time.

“Fastest my birthday wish has ever come true in my life,” Matthew told you softly, a smile wide on his face as he spoke. “Also, my best birthday wish ever, if I do say so myself.”

“Wait, what did you wish for?” you laughed, letting a hand run down his chest lightly.

“You,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wished for you.”

Everything after that was easy, for a little while. You both had dreamed, fantasized about having each other, so you were both in absolute bliss when everything came together. It felt like two pieces in a puzzle, finally finding each other after being separated by the expanse of the unfinished masterpiece in between if the masterpiece was the world as far as both of you knew. But you never found your place in it together, never locked into the bigger picture. Two pieces floating out in space can’t stay connected forever when hands start trying to smash them into place, hands that wonder if those pieces even belong together at all.

The hands that ripped you and Matthew apart weren’t from the outside looking in though. They were the same hands that held your hips so tightly on nights between the sheets. The same hands that held yours where you walked through the city after a few too many drinks at the bar together. The same hands that ran through your hair softly when you came over crying about something you couldn’t even remember anymore.

They were the same hands currently wrapped around a glass at a bar across town. The boy, not man, whose hands they were was running one through his hair hurriedly now. He couldn’t get you out of his mind and he just couldn’t figure out why.

“Okay, why did you break up with her again?” Johnny pressed Matthew for what had to have been the twentieth time over the last month. “Because you’re fucking miserable all the time. She’s fucking miserable. None of us can get her out of her apartment. So I’m just not getting this one, man. Why aren’t you at her place right now? Why weren’t you there a month ago really, begging for her to take you back?”

Matthew groaned and screwed his eyes shut hard. He had explained this so many times, the words and memories were starting to blur together for him. If you say the same word too many times in a row, your brain begins to question if what you’re saying if even real anymore. Matthew felt the same type of confusion and disassociation with recounting his reasons for breaking up with you. The version of him that had original thought those thoughts, felt those feelings, wasn’t here anymore. It was replaced with a shell of a boy who realized he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Wait, have you seen her?”

Johnny rolled his eyes at Matthew, but he answered anyway.

“No, I didn’t,” he sighed, motioning to the bartender for another beer. “A couple of the girlfriends stopped by, brought her some casseroles or something.”

“Don’t you bring casseroles when someone dies?”

Matthew forced the terrible joke and his own laugh in response out, in a poor attempt to disguise the ache in his chest at the thought of you. He could see you so clearly in his mind, pacing holes in the floorboards of your apartment, wearing out your favorite mug, but there was no way on God’s green earth you were wearing your Flames sweatshirt you usually did when you were upset. Hell, Matthew would be amazed if you hadn’t burned it after what he done. He knew you had to hate the casseroles, both based on the fact that you barely considered them an edible type of food, and the fact that they seemed to be an homage to the funeral of your love life. You would’ve made a better joke than him too and he wished he could’ve heard it, but you probably hadn’t made one. Matthew was the person who helped you out of the negative thought spirals that sent you spinning around your apartment. He caused this one instead and he was here, sitting in a bar, doing nothing about it because there was no way you’d even talk to him again, not with what he said.

“I just,” Matthew sighed again and fussed with his beer, lining and unlining it up with the condensation ring on the coaster as he talked, “I got too into my head. We were fighting. It just, it wasn’t good, Johnny.”

“It wasn’t good or you weren’t good?” Johnny pressed, watching carefully as Matthew’s body froze in response to the question, glass frozen mid-movement, eyes fixed on a broken neon sign in front of him. “Chucky, you don’t do anything unless you already know you can do it. You’ve never been in a relationship as an, I don’t want to say adult because that’s not entirely true, but as an adult, so you probably sucked at it.”

Matthew rolled his eyes before throwing back verbally at him, “Thanks, Johnny. Loving this pep talk. I’ll make sure when Gio retires, you get my recommendation for the C.”

“We both know exactly,” Johnny tapped Matthew on the forearm, “where that C is going next and don’t even lie. But that’s neither here or there right now. The point is that she was your girlfriend. You were supposed to talk to her about being a shitty boyfriend.”

“I am not in the mood for this,” Matthew groaned, dropping his head to the bar, recoiling when his skin stuck to it, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“I mean, Johnny’s right,” said Monahan as he slipped up next to Matthew’s other side, making a second groan slide from Matthew’s throat. “You were supposed to talk to her, not break up with her like a dumbass. She was your friend first. She knew you weren’t perfect and that she’s have to put up with some shit because you definitely don’t know the first thing about being someone’s partner. She went all in with you anyway,”

“Decided the person you could be and the person she could be with you was worth it,” Johnny jumped back in.

“Good one, Johnny,” Sean nodded appreciatively, tapping his beer bottle against Johnny’s across the bar in front of Matthew. “She gave you a chance, a hell of a good chance. And you decided to throw it all away? Because you fought?”

“Who the fuck are you right now?” Matthew cursed at Sean. “Where did you find all this girl advice, huh? If I wanted this, I would’ve asked your girlfriend.”

“Fianceé excuse you,” Sean reminded him, a smile pulling at his lips. “She relayed all of this back to me. She saw her a few days ago. This is all straight from the source, man.”

“Wait, she said that stuff?” Matthew choked a little on his beer.

“Yeah, she did. Wanna know what else she said?” Sean didn’t give Matthew time, much like Matthew gave you no time during that conversation a month ago, no regard to if Matthew could handle what he was about to say. “She said you weren’t good at communicating or being a boyfriend, but she was okay with it because she loved you. All she wanted was effort. Just a little effort from you, man. And you just left instead of trying.”

Your words, albeit coming through the probably clumsy filter of Sean, stung in Matthew’s chest. He felt like a coward, a fraud. He tried so hard to be tough, to be the guy that kept pushing, kept grinding, kept giving a shit even when his team was down three goals with five to play. He was the guy everyone counted on to try, even when everything else was screaming to just give up and accept defeat. That’s what he’d done with you. He gave up when the waves of trials started coming, when a storm kicked up. Matthew had taken one look at a swell coming that looked to be the type that could swallow ships whole, took the lifeboat, and ran without a second thought. He left you on a battered boat, full of holes, without even a bucket to bail yourself out.

To make matters worse, the wave he had been so scared of was either entirely a fabrication of his own mind and he had run from his own twisted imagination. Or worse, he had created the wave himself and ran before it could catch up to him.

It was catching up to him now though, sitting at a dive bar in Calgary, a warm beer in his hand, and the weight of what he had done sitting heavy on his shoulders.

“Fuck,” was all he could say.

“Your dream girl, really.” Johnny was twisting the knife now, but Matthew knew he deserved it when Johnny added, “And you fucked it.”

“Yeah,” Matthew laughed softly, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes that were still staring at a broken and sputtering neon sign, but really seeing something that wasn’t there.

He was seeing you, in that pretty sundress, the one with the sunflowers on it that Matthew loved on you because you always looked so happy whenever you wore it. Countless memories of you in that dress. You wore it out with friends, the second time Matthew had ever met you. That’s the first time he remembered thinking just how pretty you were, the way your hair fell down on your shoulders, the way your smile formed, the way your nose crinkled when you laughed. Matthew was used to thinking girls where hot, but you? You were beautiful, standing there, laughing at something Johnny had said, in that sunflower sundress.

He remembered that dress from the first time he almost kissed you, a month later, walking down the street together after dinner, his hoodie around your shoulders because you had gotten cold and Matthew was always warm. It was the first time you wore his clothes and it made Matthew’s heart beat loudly in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, couldn’t think about anything else, but kissing you. He almost went for it, but then you pulled him back to reality, actually pulled him out of the street he hadn’t noticed he stepped into because he couldn’t hear the cars over his heartbeat.

That dress starred in his memories of your first date that occurred a week after his birthday, the one where he finally kissed you for the first time, over two years after the first time he almost kissed you. It might have been January in Calgary, but there was that dress again, with tights and a thick coat and knee high boots and socks and a little hole at the bottom hem and it made Matthew want to die. If he died staring at you in that dress, kissing you in that dress, he was pretty sure he would be fine with whatever his obituary looked like.

Except that dress and all the memories of it were tainted because you had been wearing it when he broke your heart, when he watched you break apart and shatter, all of his own doing. Hell, he probably tainted sunflowers as a whole for you. He’d gotten you so many over the few months you’d been together, even though they had cost far too much money since sunflowers in Calgary in the winter weren’t exactly commonplace. The necklace for your birthday, a sunflower and his number in delicate gold, his sister’s idea.

Matthew wondered if people could hate certain types of flowers for the same type of reasons people loved them. People loved them because of how they looked and smelled, but also the memories associated with them. His mom loved pink tulips, but was it more because she always had or because his father always bought them for her and now she couldn’t look at them without thinking of his dad and all the times he has surprised her with them? Was the existing love or the associated love the more powerful factor in her love of them?

Either way, Matthew was just hoping you didn’t hate sunflowers anymore because of him.

“How do I fix it?”

Matthew’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper now, his hand tense around his glass. Matthew had too many thoughts running through his head, but he needed to make sure you didn’t hate sunflowers now. He just didn’t know how to even get you to talk to him to find out if you did.

Johnny and Sean looked at each other and Johnny sighed when the silent communication resulted in him being the one to answer. “I don’t think you can, Chucky.”

“No, I have to, I have to fix it, Johnny,” Matthew’s voice cracked. “I just, I have to make sure...”

He didn’t finish the thought because it wouldn’t make sense and they would both probably send him home, thinking he was either too drunk or having a breakdown, more likely both, if he started ranting about sunflowers.

“I think all you can do is reach out,” Johnny told him softly. “Just let her know that you now realize you made a massive mistake, that you want to be a team this time and work on it, I guess. From there, it’s up to her.”

“Should I bring flowers?” Matthew was asking the universe more than either of the two not so romantics next to him. “Chocolates? Something? Is there anything I can bring or do to fix it?”

“I don’t think you can fix it, dude,” Sean cut in with a sigh. “You can’t force it. if she even talks to you, she’s going to have to decide you’re worth a second shot and knowing her, she’s not going to just give it to you tonight or tomorrow or whatever. She’s going to want to see real change first. You just tell her that you’re going to try and then fucking try, even if she doesn’t ask you to try. Start working on yourself anyway. Start acting like she’ll give you a second shot.”

“Do you think she will?”

Matthew’s voice echoed how it sounded earlier, timid, small, a whispered prayer from a boy who knew his only hope was if fate heard him and decided to twist the world in his favor, if fate wasn’t a fucking bitch after all.

“I mean,” Sean sighed, thinking about himself now, trying to shove his feet into Matthew’s water-logged shoes for a moment to find an answer, “if I was her, I wouldn’t. But she’s a better person than all of us put together, so maybe she will, but I know I wouldn’t.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening them to pick his phone off the bar. He knew you wouldn’t answer a phone call. He also knew your voicemail was definitely full at this point. He was always the person who had to tell you to delete the old ones whenever he tried to leave you one and couldn’t, but he wasn’t there to do it, so it would be full by now. He had to settle for a text, which felt like a much shittier version of a handwritten letter, but he had terrible handwriting and spelling, but at least it ranked well above an email in the power ranking of methods of communication.

Please tell me you don’t hate sunflowers because of me. I really hope I didn’t ruin them for you.

Matthew placed his phone face down on the bar, then nervously flipped it face up even though he knew you wouldn’t have even been able to read his text in the millisecond his phone was face down. He didn’t know if you would answer, or if you would even read it. You would read it, Matthew assured himself. He knew you. You never got a text or a message you didn’t read. Would you say anything to him about it though? Would it be on your phone, nested among texts from people who didn’t break your heart until one day, probably a year from now, you would meet someone else and have no need to remember him anymore, so only then would you finally delete it?

Matthew tried not to think about it, but his eyes glanced down at the screen every thirty seconds even though he was willing them to just give you time. He didn’t even realize it was past one in the morning. You were definitely up, he knew you better than to think you would be asleep, but awake and awake and answering texts were different. He just hoped if you were awake, that you didn’t hate sunflowers, maybe that you didn’t hate him, and that you weren’t crying.

You were awake though, holding that godforsaken necklace that you had ripped from your neck the morning after he ended it and thrown into the back of your jewelry box. The necklace was in one hand and your phone with Matthew’s text pulled up in the other. You were crying, something Matthew desperately wished you weren’t doing as he drank the last dregs of his beer and headed home with his head hung low, his phone alight in his hand as he ritually checked for a reply from you. You sighed, looking between his text and the necklace, wondering if you hated your favorite flower now. That question hung on another one though, one domino relying on the other to fall. Did you hate Matthew Tkachuk?

Yes, you did. That was decided the moment the door closed behind him and he left you to deal with the crashing waves of grief all by yourself, without even a bucket to bail you out.

Did you hate him more than you loved him though?

You stared at the necklace, the one you hadn’t been able to throw away, and you knew the answer. The delicate golden necklace would be buried deep in a landfill if you really hated him more than you loved him, not in the palm of your hand now. But here you were, staring at it until your eyes went cloudy with tears, before you had to put it back in the box. You couldn’t put it back on, not now, maybe not ever, but you also couldn’t bear getting rid of it, the idea making your heart twist in your chest in a way that made you physically wince.

You put your phone on your nightstand at the same moment Matthew did across town, both with your minds racing over the unanswered text. Matthew went to bed thinking you would never answer it, forever leaving the question hanging in the wind. You went to bed knowing your answer, but unsure if you were ever going to share it with him.

------

Matthew groaned when he heard his doorbell ring, followed by cautious knocking. He hated that doorbell. The noise was absolutely piercing, especially to his hungover brain. He hadn’t even drank that much last night, but he was so incredibly hungover. Matthew could only guess that the alcohol had worked in tandem with the ache in his chest after deciding he needed to feel worse to create a hangover this bad from five beers over three hours. He shuffled to the front door, not even caring he hadn’t bothered to find any clothes other than sweats on his way to it. Whoever it was was too goddamn early and they would need to come back another time.

When Matthew ripped open his front door, a groan falling from his mouth at the effort it took, he was looking at the ceiling, head thrown back in hatred of the exhaustion he was now feeling due to having to actually do something other than lay in bed and be hungover.

“Look, this building better be on fire or-”

Everything stopped when he saw it was you. You looked so small to him, standing there, a tray with two coffees in hand and a brown bag in your other hand. Your sweatshirt was swallowing you up and you looked like you were strongly debating making a break for the stairwell with the way your eyes were shifting to the right. There were dark circles under your reddened, swollen eyes, eyes that only looked like that when you had been doing a lot of crying recently.

Matthew thought you would have a lot of possible reactions to his text. He never once let himself think you would show up at his front door.

“I brought bagels,” you finally said, after far too long of both of you assessing the other.

Matthew looked almost as bad as you did. His hair was unkempt beyond normal, the curls broken and haphazard across his head, hanging into his forehead. His eyes were sunken and absent, vacant like a forgotten home on the outskirts of town. Days old stubble patchily covered his jawline, razor clearly lost among his things again. If you weren’t at his apartment, if you had just passed him on the street instead, you might not have recognized him. There was always a lightness to Matthew, an inability to keep his feet on the ground as he searched for the next adventure he could have, but he seemed rooted in place, held down by some outside force. He was complying with it, the force, but it was clearly under duress and it was exhausting him. The force was absolute agony and it was written all over his face, in his posture, in his every labored movement.

“And coffee,” you added after no words left Matthew’s mouth long enough for an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both.

“You’re here,” Matthew breathed out, words spoke so softly as if he feared if he said them too loudly, you would disappear.

Matthew’s head was pounding. His mouth tasted awful since he went straight to bed when he got home, not even stopping to brush his teeth. He knew he looked like an absolute mess because there wasn’t a way a person could feel like he did and not look like a mess. He didn’t care about any of it. You were here. You were actually here, with coffee, and bagels, at his front door.

He didn’t think. He knew it was a mistake after the fact, really as soon as he did it, but he also knew there was a chance you were here just for personal closure, that this might be the last time he ever got to see you again. He reached out and grabbed you by your waist, crushing you into his bare chest. His face pressed into your hair, which always smelled like strawberries to him even though you swore your shampoo wasn’t supposed to smell like strawberries. If you never talked to him again after today, he just wanted to hold you one more time.

You hugged him back, hesitation evident in your loose arms and your tense shoulders. It was barely a hug, but it almost made Matthew cry. Even just the small response, no matter how cautious it was, made him feel better than he had felt in a month.

“Go brush your teeth and like, actually wake up,” you told him as you pulled away from him. “I’ll, um, toast the bagels, I guess.”

Matthew was on autopilot as he walked into his en suite and grabbed his toothbrush. His movements were slow, robotic as he brushed his teeth. There was only one thing on his mind, replaying over and over incessantly, persistently. Why did you show up at his place? Matthew was desperately trying to turn the broken record playing his mind over to the other side, hoping to find the answer, but it was only more of the same. There was no reason, no reason he could understand, why you had shown up at his front door. Why you had shown up with coffee and breakfast for him was so far outside of the realm of things Matthew could understand, he had to eliminate it from his mind.

Until it all suddenly clicked in place, Sean’s words from last night flowing back into his mind.

You were here because you were a better person than he was, a far better person. Sean had said you were better than all of them, very much including Matthew, put together and it was true. You were bright and beautiful and good, so incredibly good. You loved people with an honesty and a bravery that made Matthew’s heart ache due to the effort it had to put in to keep up with you when he’d been smart enough to accept your love. You were so much better than he was four months ago when you kissed at his birthday party, so much better than the bedraggled boy looking back at him in the mirror today, and somehow infinitely better than the person he was going to be in fifty years, already. Who you would be in fifty years? You were going to be the kind of person that needed a designated overflow zone at your funeral because too many people were going to want to acknowledge they’d felt your love in front of hundreds of others.

Matthew never deserved the piece of you he’d gotten. He knew that now as he heard you humming softly to yourself as you dropped the bagels in his toaster. Matthew had never deserved you and it’s why he had ended it because he’d known all along. He knew you were fighting because he wasn’t good enough for you and that he never would be. He would have spent his life running at top speed behind you, trying not to slow you down, trying not to be a drag on your life, trying not to lessen the impact for good you could have on the world. You would have never let him go, slowing yourself, stunting yourself in order to accommodate him.

But here you were, looping the train of your life to run back through the temporary station of your relationship with him that was in complete shambles, and Matthew let himself dream it was because you were ready to hold his hand and fix it up brick by brick, piece by piece because you were so good it hurt. Matthew knew the right thing to do would be to make sure your train left the station today, unencumbered by any damage from him, and more importantly, without him. But Matthew Tkachuk was three things that made that impossible. He was competitive, problematically so, always wanting to get better, always wanting to win. Damn it all to hell if he couldn’t spend the rest of his life running to keep up with you because one day, he just might actually catch up if he could figure out how to run fast enough. Matthew Tkachuk was also incredibly selfish and incredibly in love with you, one a personality flaw and the other the purest part of him that had ever existed. He had to figure out how to catch up because he couldn’t let you go.

Matthew stepped out of the bathroom with resolve settling into his clenched jaw. He knew asking you to take him back without any proof he could improve was a hopeless avenue. He couldn’t ask you for that; him asking for anything was already unfair, he needed to try to at least ask for the least he could. Any plan he had formed was tossed out the window of his high rise the second he saw you, sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder, hair piled on top of your head, humming softly to yourself as you spread cream cheese on his and your bagels, barefoot in his kitchen. For a moment, that moment Matthew held his breath so you wouldn’t hear him standing in the kitchen doorway, it was like the last month hadn’t happened and you were still his. Matthew hung in the moment as long as his lungs would allow, soaking it in case he never got to see it again.

“You going to keep staring or are you going to come get your bagel?”

Your words pulled him out of his thoughts violently, head shaking off the ideas that had been swirling, pulling him down that whirlpool of you and him that might just kill him. He yanked the nearest bar stool out, dropping down into it unceremoniously, before graciously taking the bagel and the coffee you’d brought for him.

“Why did you ask me that?” you finally said, words slicing like knives through the palpable tension in the air. “The sunflowers. Why that? After a whole month? That?”

You said a few extra words then you’d meant to say. You were trying to keep everything short and brief, just here in a quest for the peace you needed and nothing more. More words meant more feelings and more feelings meant the idea of peace slipped further away with each expressed word.

“I just,” Matthew ran a hand aggressively through his curls before starting over, “I just wanted to make sure that after everything I did, I didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you.”

You sighed, debating if you wanted get into this or not with him. What could it hurt? It was just a story.

“I like them because my mom does,” you told him softly. “She always had them growing by our house when I was little. She always had them in a vase by the front door, and she had these sunflower earrings, these little golden ones. They’d kind of like the necklace-”

Your fingers touched the bare skin where the necklace he gave you had sat until a month ago, fingers finding nothing to touch to. Matthew’s eyes had followed your movement, saddening when he saw you weren’t wearing it even though he hadn’t expected you to be.

You cleared your throat before continuing, “Anyway, she lost them a while ago. But I guess they just remind me of home. That’s why I got that dress. I got it when I first moved here. I saw it walking around downtown in a window and just took it as a sign that everything was going to be alright, you know?”

Matthew nodded softly as he continued to listen and mindless pick at his bagel.

“And then when we started dating and you figured out they were my favorite flowers and started getting me dozens of them all the time, I guess you and us started creeping in as part of those reasons I love them. It kind of sucks because they make me sad now and I can’t wear that dress anymore.”

The words were tumbling out of your mouth now, practically on top of each other. You weren’t sure where you’re going, but more words meant more expressed and acknowledged feelings and you were saying a lot of words. Matthew was trying to keep up, trying to take time to process and read between the lines. You always said so much whenever you spoke, half of it jammed in between sentences in pregnant pauses and shifting eyes. He was trying to take it all in, trying to figure out how you were actually feeling, but you weren’t resting in any one emotion long enough for Matthew to identify it.

“But no,” you sighed. “I don’t hate sunflowers. They’re sadder now. It used to just be missing home, but now they make me miss us. But I don’t hate them. I don’t think you can fully hate something that reminds you of so many people and places and times that you loved. I don’t hate them because I don’t hate you, Matty.”

He didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you and you didn’t hate him. In full honesty, Matthew didn’t think you hated him. He knew one of your flaws, but also your best quality, the one that made Matthew feel so lucky to have been with you, was your capacity for love. It got you in trouble sometimes, kept you with people you shouldn’t have been, made you believe in fake friends’ false pretenses, but it also the only reason you didn’t hate him now and the only possible reason you would ever accept any sort of olive branch Matthew could clumsily extend.

“I fucked up,” Matthew said suddenly. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t filtering. He should have taken his time, picked his words carefully, but it was you and you didn’t hate him and Matthew was painfully awful at this sort of thing and he was overwhelmed with the idea he might just have an opening back into the warmth that was you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I totally get if you can’t trust me again. I know I’m a shit boyfriend. But fuck, I love you. I know I do. I’m just so bad at showing it. I want to fix that. I want to fix it with you. I want you and I want to show you I’m not a fuck up and that I do love you. I won’t need a second chance ever again, just some patience. Please.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath when the final begging word left his lips. He knew he’d been pleading with you with each and every word, hoping something he could say might hit you in just the right away, might have just the right effect to get the result he so desperately craved. You. Back in his arms. Back in his bed. Back in his jersey at his games. Back with him, where he wanted you more than he had wanted anything in an embarrassingly long time.

“Is any of that even true?”

Your question stopped Matthew in his tracks. It felt like a punch to his chest, right over his already aching heart. How could you doubt that? No, Matthew knew how you could doubt it. You could doubt it because you could doubt every single thing about him if you damn well pleased. He deserved every bit of doubt and caution you presented. He had broken you because he refused to take his seat at the adults’ table and talk about how he felt, how he was feeling insecure, how he felt like a bad partner, and how he felt worse about all of that because he felt like he couldn’t fix any of it. He attributed the two of you not working out to you two not being a match, instead of acknowledging his own flaws and what they were doing to both of you. In retrospect, all of that probably would have been far better to say to you than what he had actually said, but words couldn’t be stuffed back in his mouth. They were now in your mind, in your memory, and Matthew would just have to live with another mistake on the laundry list of things he had done wrong regarding you.

“Every single word is true,” Matthew told you softly. “I have so many other ones too, if you want to hear them.”

You breathed out hard, shoving the air forcefully out of your lungs as you ran a hand through your hair, “You don’t get to say those kinds of things to me, Matthew. You don’t have the right to that.”

“I know,” Matthew grimaced in reaction to your words.

He should’ve held his tongue, but he had so much he needed to say to you. But there he was again. Thinking about himself, only himself. He wasn’t considering you, wasn’t communicating with you. He just vomited all of his thoughts and feelings up without even bothering to see if you were actually open to receiving them. Saying you didn’t hate him didn’t even correlate to being open to the conversation Matthew had forced into your hands, unaware he had even pried your fists open to put it there.

“I shouldn’t have forced that all on you,” Matthew admitted softly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just, I have so much I want to say to you.”

“Matthew,” you sighed. You had been doing a lot of sighing lately. “I don’t think-”

“I don’t want you to take me back,” Matthew cut you off. “At least, not right away. I don’t deserve that. I know that. I’m not asking for that.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes scanning over his face to try and figured out where he was going. You thought he would ask you to take him back, something you weren’t going to do without a sign from him that it would actually be different this time instead of exactly the same, with a shorter honeymoon period. Another two months with him, only to suffer the same heartbreak wasn’t enough time to make you take a blind chance it would be different. You needed something to hang your hat on, something to make you feel like he wanted to be your partner this time around. You needed to see him try, try in the long nights apart, try in the close nights together, try in the afternoon dates, and try in the stolen morning moments. You needed to see Matthew try and be your partner, and not just some emotional, freeloading friend with benefits version of a boyfriend who would spin you around a dance floor, then into his bed, then leave whenever you asked for more.

“Then what are you asking for?”

Your words were quieter than you expected, confusion ringing heavy in each syllable. Matthew ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in how his fingers tugged on his curls at the end. He didn’t really know what he wanted. He just wanted a shot to prove to you he was worth your time, that he could be the partner you deserved. He wasn’t even sure he could be, which was part of the reason he was struggling to speak to you now, feeling like he was trying to row up a rushing creek made of his current feelings and his past failures without any sort of paddle or even a life vest, about to drown at any possible second.

“I just, I want to show you that I’m worth a real shot again.” Matthew was begging now, figuring that if you said no, at least you would know how badly he wanted you. He couldn’t get more pathetic than asking you if he’d ruined your favorite flowers because it had somehow said everything without saying anything at all. “Just, let me be around, let me earn a second chance. Let me show you I’m trying, trying to get better, trying to communicate better, trying to be someone who is good enough to deserve half of you. Let me show you I can try and that I’ll keep on trying forever, if that’s what you want from me. If you want to watch me try for five fucking years before giving me another shot, that’s fine. If you want to watch me try to five fucking years and then not give me another shot, that’s fine, at least I spent five years trying for someone who is so goddamn worth it, it hurts.”

“So, you want what exactly?” you pressed, a defensive laugh edging at your voice. “You want to just, what? To be around all the time? To be together all of the time? That’s just being friends, Matthew, and you were always a great friend, but you were a shitty fucking boyfriend. You want to spend all day with me, showing me that you’re trying to be better, then do whatever you want when you’re not around me?”

“No, I, fuck,” Matthew groaned, hands digging into his hair, head dropping to the cold granite counter in dismay at the mess he had made.

“Here’s your first communication test then,” you told him, letting the passive aggressive biting words you held at the back of your tongue roll off the front of it instead. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” Matthew banged his forehead on the counter with each word, frustration getting the better of him now. “I don’t even think this is going to make sense, but let me be your boyfriend even though you won’t be my girlfriend. That sounds so fucking stupid now that I said it out loud, but I guess I’m just trying to say I’m going to be one hundred-percent, all gas no brakes, full throttle about you and trying to actually change for you and show you I’m changing, but you can do whatever you damn well please because even letting me try is a fuck load more than I deserve.”

Matthew let out a breath to try and steady himself before continuing, “I know I’m still asking for a lot, both of your time and of your ability to at least sort of try to look at me not like the guy who said all of that shit a month ago. But I promise, I’ll be worth it. You do whatever you want, no strings, no jealousy, nothing. Let me be around and prove I’m worth a real second shot, please. You can send me packing whenever you want and I won’t bother you. You’re just too fucking incredible for me not to ask to try, even though I don’t have any right to ask.”

You breathed out hard, forcing all of the air out of your lungs. Matthew was asking, begging, for an opportunity to prove himself, to prove he could do what you wanted all along, just for him to try. Standing in his kitchen, bare feet cold on his hard wood floor, the idea of giving him that opportunity made your heart pick up in your chest, but made pain radiate through it at the same time. The romantic in you, the part of you that wondered if maybe Matthew Tkachuk was actually worth it, the part of you that loved sunflowers even though the memories attached to them were so incredibly mixed now, wanted to give him a chance. The other part of you, an equal part of you, was screaming, demanding that you be protective of yourself, of your happiness, from the people you let into your life, especially ones who had already proven then had no problem burning the life you were building for yourself and leaving before the ashes started to fall.

But did you even have a happiness you needed to protect? If you didn’t, then the answer was simple. If there was nothing to protect, there was extremely limited risk. You were already in a variation of hell of his own creation, sponsored by the feeling of someone you love deciding you weren’t worth an ounce of effort. What could it do to you if he failed? It would just affirm what you already experienced as a perennial fact instead of a potentially annual moment.

But the romantic inside pushed back, hard. Would you always wonder what would have happened if you gave him a chance? Would you always carry a torch for him? Would there always be an empty room, with a light left on, for him, in the house of the life you ended up making for yourself?

Romanticism versus realism. That was the question at hand. You knew both sides of the argument, the angel and devil on your shoulder both just facets of you, screaming at each other, both trying to decide what was best for you. They were just extensions of you though, so if you didn’t know, they didn’t know. But you did know two things though.

You knew you still loved sunflowers and you still loved Matthew Tkachuk.

And that was enough to convince you punch him a round-trip, one month ticket on the train of your every moving, ever developing life. You would be directing the path, choosing which tracks you would take, making all the moves, and he would have to figure out how to be your co-director. You weren’t going to stop or simplify anything for him. You were just going to continue on. In a month, the train would loop back to the station and you would decide to punch him another ticket, offer him the seat next to you, or leave him stranded there, alone at a run down train station probably in the pouring rain like in all the movies, before he would leave and watch as the station crumbled to dust upon his exit along with the idea of you and him.

“Okay.”

You settled into your answer as you gave it, trying to get it to settle over your body in a way that made you feel warmer rather than colder. Matthew’s eyes were staring into yours and he looked like he was teetering on the edge of crying, like he wanted to tell you everything that single thing that word made him feel, but he bit his lip and held his tongue. He was listening instead of talking, a welcome change, a welcome first attempt.

“You get one month,” you told him, your voice shaking as you tried to force it to be level. “One month of being around, I guess we can call it that. You figure out how you want to prove it to me. I’m not here to help you out. You hurt me. This is me, unlocking the front door for you. You have to figure out how to open it all on your own, okay? After a month, I guess we can talk and see where we’re at.”

“Thank you,” is all Matthew can figure out how to say for a moment. One month to try and show you he was worth another maybe, or if he let himself dream for a second, one month until you might want to be with him again. “I’d take anything, so thank you.”

“Take your fucking breakfast,” you smiled softly, trying to break the tension as much as one joke can. “And your coffee is cold now but that’s going to be a you problem.”

“Is your coffee cold?” Matthew asked you. He just wanted to fix something, even something as small as a too cold cup of coffee. “I can fix it.”

“Well, it’s iced coffee,” you informed him, a genuine laugh in your voice this time as you reached behind you to grab your drink on the opposite counter, giving the cup a little shake, ice rattling, as you showed it to him. “So, I sure hope you’re not going to try and warm it up.”

“No, no,” Matthew laughed softly, hands fiddling with the collar on his now room temperature at best coffee. “Probably should’ve asked what you were drinking first.”

You nodded softly, “Your heart was in the right place.”

Matthew smiled softly as you and your heart picked up in your chest again. God, that smile. It cut through everything, through the dull ache in your chest, through the deafening noise in your head of your own thoughts, and hit you right in the room in your heart that was reserved for him. It was vacant now, but the lights shone brighter for a moment and the furniture in the basement that used to be in there for him rattled, drawers and cabinet doors smashing, a reminder that everything you felt for him was still there. It might be covered in drop clothes and an inch of dust, but it was there. Part of you was already ready for him, but it wasn’t most of you. Maybe one day it would be. Or maybe this was one of the worst things you’d allowed in a long time under the impression that he simply couldn’t make things worse for you, which was almost a challenge to that fucking bitch fate at this point. Your insecurity and shaky foundation got the best of you for a moment and a sentence like a child’s prayer slipped out of your mouth.

“Matthew, please don’t waste my time.”

“I won’t,” Matthew’s words followed yours without a second of hesitation. “I promise. I won’t.”

The romantic in you hoped he was right, that this would be worth how difficult it would be, how difficult it would be to look at him over and over again with his past words playing like a broken record stuck on a broken record player in your mind. If he truly did try, then enduring the torturous reminder of the past would be more than worth it because you were pretty certain that if Matthew Tkachuk could figure out how to be everything you knew he could be, he would be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. But could he get there? You didn’t know, but sometimes people take risks, people bend until they almost break in search of love, like sunflowers bend towards the sunlight, in search of a new and brighter day.

------

You woke up the next day after breakfast at Matthew’s, after ducking out for a planned series of activities, lunch with a friend, and errands to run. You had tried to fill your day after Matthew’s to give yourself an out if it went poorly and a break from Matthew to process everything if it turned out positive. Part of you was wondering if what had happened was really positive or not, but you felt better today than you had over the last month, able to get out of bed and get the coffee pot started with too much extra effort. The bags under your eyes looked better than they had in weeks.

A knock on your front door, eerily reminiscent of the one you’d delivered on Matthew’s door the day before, brought you and your freshly poured cup of coffee in hand to the door. You opened the door and were greeted with an unfamiliar face with a very familiar expression, one far too cheery for the hour in the day. The smile plastered on her face didn’t falter as she read your name and address off her list to confirm who you were and that she was in the right place. You nodded as confirmation, which just made her smile impossibly wider.

“Great! These are for you then!”

Her voice was somehow worse than the fact that she was downright euphoric before nine in the morning. No one who could be this excited about life before nine could be trusted. She practically shoved a bouquet into your hands, turned on her heels, then seemed to skip down the hallway and out of your building. You shook your head as if to shake off the memory of the world’s cheeriest delivery person from your mind, before turning back into your apartment, kicking the door closed on your way to the kitchen table.

Of course, they were sunflowers. Matthew’s consistency with flowers was never in doubt. You grabbed the card, smiling at the words printed on the small card.

If you don’t hate sunflowers yet, give me a month. You’re going to get so many, you’ll be sick of them. Lunch today? - Matty

You tapped the card in your hand, taking deep steady breathes as you walked over to the counter where your phone was. You were really doing this. You were really giving him a chance to show you he could be better than your downright awful four months full of casual disagreements, fights, and near constant miscommunication had shown you. There were people in your life you didn’t think would approve. No, you knew they wouldn’t approve. That’s why you hadn’t told a single soul about yesterday, but this wasn’t about anyone else. It wasn’t about the opinions they would be bound to have. It wasn’t about what they thought was best. This was you and Matthew and everything that was still there. It wasn’t for other people; relationships never were.

You texted him, accepting his invitation for lunch. He texted back immediately even though it was way too early for him usually. If Matthew had practice at ten, he wasn’t out of bed until a quarter past nine and he lived fifteen minutes from the arena. Your mind wondered if he had been awake, just waiting for your text, but you pushed the thought of side as you headed to take a shower. He wouldn’t get up before nine unless his building was on fire.

Across town, a curly-haired boy who had woken up two hours earlier than he usually did, just to see if the girl he loved had gotten her sunflowers, smiled when he saw her text.

She had gotten them, thankfully. Matthew got to go to practice with a smile on his face, wondering how she’d smiled when she had seen the flowers arrive, and with the knowledge he’d get to see her smile in person after practice. Well, if he played his cards right, he’d probably be able to con a smile or two out of her. He felt damn near giddy, like a kid at a county fair who had too much cotton candy and who has just accidentally won the biggest prize the fair had to offer, even though he hadn’t even come close to winning you back yet. Getting to be around you again was his win, and it was so much more than he thought he would ever get, he could feel like a little kid for the morning if he wanted to.

He could and did feel like a little kid the entire time he waived for you at the restaurant. Matthew arrived fifteen minutes early. Being late had been his specialty the first time around, not necessarily a problem often within itself, but compounded upon everything else Matthew didn’t do then, a list that seemed to grow longer the more he picked apart the past from your point of view, showing up early carried more weight. The shock on your face when you saw him already waiting at the table when the hostess brought you around was proof enough that every effort Matthew made, every single thing he took notice of from the past and changed, would make a difference.

“Hey, how was practice?” you said as you dropped down into the seat opposite him.

Matthew had the smallest sliver of hope that the sunflower dress would have reappeared, but he knew he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to see you look like you had when he had gotten the opportunity to take you out the first time, to do this right the first time. If he hadn’t screwed everything up with his stubbornness and his general inability to be a boyfriend, he wouldn’t be wishing for that dress right now. He could be in your apartment, holding you, face in your neck, arms around your waist, decompressing from practice and life in general. But he was here, sitting four feet apart, in the middle of a restaurant, knowing he wouldn’t even get to hold your hand on the walk to his car later because you hadn’t even driven together.

“Um, practice was good,” Matthew told you, his mind still running through a seemingly endless list of things he could be doing with you right now if he hadn’t given up before ever really getting in the game. “How was your morning?”

“Good. Didn’t do much since I didn’t have work.”

Matthew nodded, taking a sip of his water before doing what he would need to do over and over again, if he really did want to get the chance to love you to you again. He tried again.

“So, um, how’s your mom doing?” Matthew asked, hands trying to find a resting spot on the table, his lap, somewhere.

“Fine.”

The distance across the table felt wider with each passing second to Matthew, like you were somehow slipping further away from him with each clipped answer you gave. It was painfully obvious that the sunflowers had only gotten you to show up. The magic of them had worn off the second you sat face to face with him and had to claw through all of the emotional shrapnel that was heavy in your chest and in your mind that Matthew had caused to sit across a table from him. Just sitting across the table from him, all you had was your past with him on your mind. You had too much time to think, to remember. Matthew needed to find some way to overcome it, to make you see the him from the present and not the past when you looked at him. It wasn’t going to happen in this restaurant with nothing but time for you to get hopelessly lost in the past.

“Okay, nope,” Matthew sighed, tossing his napkin and menu onto the table. “We’re not doing lunch here.”

“You picked it,” your brows furrowed down in confusion as Matthew stood from the table. “Do you not like see anything you like?”

“I see you,” Matthew slid in with a playful smile on his face and just for a moment, you remembered why it had been so easy to fall for him what felt like a lifetime ago. “But no, this just isn’t working. Let’s get out of here.”

Matthew threw far too much money on the table considering the only thing you had ordered was water, but he felt bad for wasting the wait staff’s time, and started putting on his coat. You slowly rose from your seat to do the same, confusion pulling your brows together. A patented Matthew Tkachuk date was a meal and that was pretty much it. A change of venue mid-date? Multi part dates? Definitely not in his wheelhouse. Especially when you considered you hadn’t even ordered an appetizer yet.

“Where are we going?” you asked him as he gestured for you to lead the two of you out of the restaurant.

“Honestly,” Matthew sighed as he pulled the door open for you, waiting for both of you to exit before continuing, “I don’t really have a plan. That just felt stuffy? Weird? I don’t know. It didn’t feel like us.”

“What does us feel like, Matthew?” you sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear, a nervous habit that would never die and never stop making Matthew want to die since he thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, every single time.

“I know what it used to feel like when it was good,” he told you. “We could talk for hours about anything. We used to be able to anyway. I know it might be awhile before we can do that again, but that wasn’t like the good parts of us and you know it.”

You sighed again, something you knew you would probably be doing a lot as you tried to give Matthew the space to just try, but the part of you, a large part of you, the part couldn’t stand not being the line leader in kindergarten, was screaming at you to do something, anything. Kiss him, which would have been the worst idea you might have ever had, slap him, also not advisable, get in your car and leave, not a great suggestion either. Just something, anything other than just standing in the street, looking at him and remembering how much it all hurt, how much it hurt to love someone who always seemed to have one foot firmly planted somewhere that wasn’t with you.

“Come on. I know a better place,” Matthew told you, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts before you could fall too deep into them.

It took everything in him not to offer you his hand. He was pretty sure holding your hand might make him cry, which wouldn’t be the best look for him, but he was pretty sure it would feel like heaven. But no pearly gates were going to open for him today. He’d have to settle for standing next to you with the knowledge that maybe heaven did exist after all.

You walked side by side with him as he weaved through the streets of downtown, staying close, but far enough apart so you couldn’t accidentally brush his hand with yours. You stayed in step with him into a nearby coffee shop, the warmer more comfortable atmosphere already sinking into you and Matthew, loosening your shoulders, the tension softening. The restaurant had been cold somehow, harsh, and considering your love for him was pretty frozen in permafrost, this was much better.

“They supposedly, according to Benny, have the best blueberry scones in the city,” Matthew said softly.

“You know me,” you smiled softly.

“Love a good baked good.”

You and Matthew spoke in unison, bringing a laugh over both of you, tension continuing to loosen with each passing moment. Matthew asked you what you wanted and ordered for you, mostly so he could pay without hearing a fight from you about how you didn’t need him to pay for you. You sat down with your scone and your coffee at a table Matthew dwarfed, but he didn’t seem to mind too much as he looked at you.

“So, take two,” he joked. “Is this better by the way? You just didn’t seem happy at all there. It seems like this is more your speed.”

To say you were stunned that he was actually checking on you, trying to tune into your emotions, would be an understatement. He had showed up early and was asking about how you felt, genuinely. His blue eyes, long standing one of your favorite features of his, bounced across your face, trying to take in every micro expression before you could even answer the question.

“Yeah, Matty,” the older nickname sliding out, “this is better.”

“Okay, good,” he smiled softly and this one made its way to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

He asked you about work, desperate to catch up on the office drama he had missed. You asked for updates on the team, the things the media would never and could never find out about. He asked about your mom again and you actually told him. Sliding back into old ways, it didn’t feel like your relationship in the coffee shop. It felt like your old friendship. The world felt like it felt when you fell in love with him in secret originally. Matthew was actively listening to you the entire time, something he deeply struggled with because did he ever have the tendency to talk too much, but he was trying. He apologized for cutting you off once to tell his own story and you almost got whiplash when he sank back into his chair and verbally gave you the floor. He was making space for you, fully and honestly, and trying to appreciate you inhabiting the space he was making for you in the conversation and in his life. He talked too much, but there was a peace he found in listening to the best person he had ever had the privilege of knowing tell him stories, tell him about her life like she wanted to give him part of it and god, did he ever want part of your life.

Matthew went home that day and was damn near clinical about the whole thing, breaking apart everything he could remember about how you reacted to what he said, what you seemed to appreciate and what you didn’t. He treated his memories of it all like game tape, reviewing what he considered to be a win after a rough first period showing, looking to areas of success and areas of possible improvement and man, he was finding a lot of areas to improve. He kept getting stuck on your smile, the few true ones in the coffee shop, where you looked like the girl he fell in love with instead of the hollow one he created with his own words. Matthew let himself sit with those moments for a couple of steady breaths. You were worth the effort, he reminded himself again. You were.

The next morning you were thankfully already milling about, halfway through your coffee and halfway through getting dressed when the knock came to your front door. You had a suspicion based on the knock which somehow itself was cheery that you were going to open the door to the same delivery person as yesterday. There she was when your door swung open, ponytail swinging, smile tattooed on her face, unable to fall. This time though, she shoved a bouquet of a dozen red roses into your hands, much to your confusion. You almost asked her if she’d given you the wrong flowers, but she had already vanished who you looked up from the flowers, off to curse the next person with her cheeriness.

When you placed them on your side table next to your sofa, the spot on the kitchen table still inhabited by the sunflowers from the day before, you at least knew she’d given you the right bouquet.

Can’t always get you sunflowers, sweetheart. Got to keep you on your toes. :) - Matty

You immediately pulled your phone out of your pajamas pants pocket and shot off the first thing that crossed your mind to him.

Variety is NOT the spice of life, Tkachuk. Stick to the status quo.

You got a text back shortly after exchanging your comfortable pajama bottoms for the confines of work appropriate pants. You checked your phone seven times on your walk to your car, feeling like a version of yourself you thought you left behind in middle school. You had dealt with unrequited feelings for Matthew so long, fell in love with him in secret, that when you had the chance to love him out loud, you jumped at it and so did he. It might have been the only time you had ever been completely on the same page together. Before that, you had been fast friends, falling into friendship without any effort really by either of you. This was something else. Matthew Tkachuk was putting in more effort than you saw him put into anything besides his career. The effort was making you feel like you should be back in a plaid skirt, shoving a binder into your locker, and whispering about the cute curly-haired boy from your science class, a kid with a crush who had no idea what was yet to come.

But you could only wish you had no idea of what was to come. It had already come, running you over faster than you could ask, your heart shattering under Matthew’s feet due to his carelessness. One sentence from the speech he so carelessly used to break your heart felt like this moment. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. The amount of times you had fallen in and out of crushes in middle school was too high to even attempt to count. Was what you were feeling just a recurrence, a temporary realignment of the train on the tracks? Was Matthew putting in all this effort for fleeting feelings? Was he right this whole time?

------

Matthew Tkachuk was working against himself with you, fighting the mess he’d made of you and him a month ago. He created the situation that made you build the walls he was trying to surmount with an army of sunflowers and his poor excuse for love. Matthew was good at a few things, hockey, being a pest, and creating chaos. Righting the chaos he made had never been a task that was asked of him before and now, three days after that first day in the coffee shop, he was struggling to figure out where to go from here. He wanted to make the right decision, systematically work through the heartbreak he’d caused, taking leaps each time he saw you until maybe he’d be close enough to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again. He might have to settle for a baby step today though since you were at work, slammed with a new project from your boss, with no time to see him

He sent you lunch at work instead, from your favorite burger place you always went together. You swore you could have cried when you realized he included both sweet potato fries and regular fries, your mind pulled back to the first time you went together, back when you were just friends.

“Should I get the sweet potato fries or regular?” you asked him.

“Get the sweet potato ones,” Matthew told you, running a hand to push his curls out of his face. “You always get regular fries and complain about how you should’ve gotten sweet potato whenever we all go out to eat together.”

You agreed with his suggestion, letting the conversation fall comfortably back over the two of you as you waited for your food. You hadn’t even realized time had passed when the waitress dropped off your food. Spending time with Matthew melted away stress and your perception of the passage of time, letting you live in the moment, unencumbered by the stressful comings and goings of your day to day life.

The sweet potato fries had been a good choice. They had a honey drizzle on them and you were more than pleased with your selection. But Matthew’s regular potato fries appeared to have some sort of special seasoning on them and you were itching to try one, but Matthew wasn’t big on sharing in general, let alone when it came to food. He saw you staring at them and groaned.

“You’re the worst,” but he flipped his plate around so the fries faced you anyway. “Don’t say I never do things for you.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Tkachuk.”

You frequented that same burger joint with him throughout the years of your friendship that came after, and during your short relationship. The burgers you ordered changed, but never the fries. You got sweet potato. Matthew got regular. He let you steal as many of his as you wanted without a single complaint sliding between his lips despite dozens of repeat visits to the restaurant.

In your office, holding a container of sweet potato fries and a container of regular in opposite hands, you thought it was a little ridiculous that french fries were making tears well up in your eyes. He hadn’t forgotten. You shook your head to shake off the desperate thoughts that were swirling, the ones that were tying emotional weight to french fries of all things, and shot him off a quick text to thank him for lunch before getting wrapped back up in your day. You didn’t see his reply text until you had already kicked your heels off at home too many hours later.

Would never forget to get my girl her whole meal :)

Sometimes, love wasn’t big gestures. Oftentimes, it wasn’t even gestures that would make much sense to relay to other people. Two kinds of french fries wasn’t something you could explain to anyone else because it would just seem childish, but you felt cared for. Above all, you felt remembered when you’d opened that bag. You felt like Matthew Tkachuk had seen you almost two years ago in a restaurant and remembered exactly who you were in that moment and still knew who you were today. The french fries would go untold to anyone else, but they made you smile more than the roses on your coffee table when you fell asleep that night.

The next month felt like it happened all at once. There were enough sunflowers to create your own you-pick patch of them, rose and tulips and whatever other kinds of flowers Matthew knew the names of interspersed, just to keep you on your toes. Movies nights at his place, complete with half-burnt, half-unpopped popcorn courtesy of Matthew’s non-existent culinary skills. Nights out, full of laughter and storytelling that made you feel like nothing had ever changed, like you had flipped over an extra month in the calendar, skipping one entirely, the month you’d been apart, and moved on without it. He felt like your friend again, something that had lapsed when you’d started dating. You both tried so hard, arguably too hard, to change your relationship into a romantic one that you didn’t leave space for friendship, booting it out without anything solid to fulfill its previously occupied space. The relationship collapsed without a solid core, the frail coverings of romance too heavy for the hollow center to bear.

Matthew wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. He still talked over you, parts of his brain running faster than others. He still forgot to talk to you on road trips sometimes. He still forgot your sister’s birthday. He still resisted emotional responses from you, physically pulling back and trying to dodge conversations that would bring discomfort. The gestures were there, hundreds of them in the form of your favorite flowers, but was it enough? Did you truly believe you two were hand in hand, putting the train station of your relationship back together, or was this just an attractive paint job hiding the cracks for a few months until they became exposed again because of time? Was the effort a permanent fixture? Or was it just a passing small town station that Matthew had created to attract you, pulling you into town with the promise of nice accommodations and restaurants always being available, only to abandon them as soon as the train left the station and your life got on without you, leaving you stranded, trapped in a small forgotten town forever?

As you walked into your favorite coffee shop, you cut the line, heading right to the front like you had become accustomed to doing. Matthew had called your order in and paid for it over the phone every work day before you got there since that first day after he sent you lunch. He knew what time you usually got to your favorite shop, and worked it out with the staff that they had your order ready for you now like clockwork every day. You had been able to gain twenty minutes of sleep from it, but you were wondering now if this would all stop if you took him back or not. Really, the coffee order ceasing would be more than fine. Love wasn’t in monetary gestures like this one technically was, but what else would disappear with it? Would Matthew trying to verbally and physically make space for you in his life disappear too? Would him genuinely trying to, even if it’s hard and he’s pretty shitty at it, understand your emotions fade away? Would all the effort fragment into sporadic moments, slowly growing further and further apart until they stopped happening all together and you wasted years of your life giving Matthew Tkachuk your love and not getting enough back?

You didn’t know the answer, which is why you were thrilled you were having dinner with some of your closest, non-Matthew related friends after work. You had been keeping Matthew a bit of a secret. Actually, a complete secret. You knew your friends wouldn’t approve at the start, so you hadn’t told them a thing. They would have told you he didn’t deserve any semblance of a second shot, that the things he had said in the past could never be overwritten by future good actions, that you weren’t supposed to give people who break your heart second chances. But now, you were at a crossroads.

You could give Matthew more time, maintain the status quo until inevitably your heart gave out. You could open your arms to love him again, knowing full well that you would never be one hundred percent sure or not. You could brush him aside, thanking him for his temporary effort that would never be enough for you. Three clear options left you further from a solution than you thought possible. You needed advice. You needed opinions from people who only had stake in you in this relationship. You needed to be more selfish than you knew how to be, so you were passing the task off to your friends.

While they were usually quick to pass judgment, they were silent as you went through every painstaking detail of your past month, starting with that fated text about sunflowers, through every dinner, every movie, every moment until the text you got before you sat down in this chair at dinner with them. You were exhausted by the time you got through everything, emotionally and verbally spent, feeling no closer to your answer. You had hoped retelling everything would pull you in one direction or the other, with no such luck. Your friends, however, weren’t undecided in the slightest.

“So, you’re ending this experiment, right?”

You were shocked, almost spitting out your drink at the harshness of the words that spilled out of your best friend’s mouth. She shrugged off your shocked expression.

“I mean, it was a nice experiment, I guess, but a total waste of your time,” another friend added. “There isn’t any way to prove this is a permanent change and I, for one, will never tell you to take that kind of a risk. You’re too good to put up with a guy who very well could end up not being worth it.”

Your friends were talking a mile a minute, all at you, but really at each other in their bubble of agreement, agreement that Matthew Tkachuk was not worth your time. He could buy you flowers, coffee, as many lunches as he wanted to. He could make promises about listening and trying and making an effort, but he was on trial during it all. He was under a performance review. It was a manufactured situation as far as they were all concerned, entirely unrepresentative of who he would be outside of it. When there wasn’t a close date, a date he could begin to slack off again according to your friends, and you demanded engagement and effort from him every single day without any relief from that pressure, he would fail. He would fail every single time.

How had you not seen that? You created a situation with a time limit, a window in time he would have to be a different person than he was, with a definitive end date. Was anything he had done representative of actual change, or was it just a temporary side step towards being closer to what you needed, only to return back to his original spot when you took him back? There was no way to know if anything he had done over the last month was real or some elaborate farce.

The farce, this charade of a month, it swept the both of you up with returning feelings of seemingly endless longing from when you loved each other in secret. You were pretty sure Matthew had gotten swept up right along with you by the fantasy of fate and love being something unbreakable that would always pull people back together. This effort wasn’t real, even if Matthew believed it was. It was all part of some twisted game fate was playing by telling the both of you that you were meant to be. Two puzzle pieces that aren’t supposed to go together don’t go together, even if one tries to bend their corners until they can. Matthew thought he was cutting corners off, not just bending them, making permanent changes to fit with you, but it would never matter. The picture the two pieces that were you and Matthew created together would never be correct. You were shades of blue, like the sky on a Sunday morning as you remembered it as a child full of wonder, like the ocean, powerful and unstoppable. Matthew was red, like the deepest tones of a fading sunset, like the feeling of sitting by a fireplace on Christmas morning. Both pieces individually were beautiful and important to the larger picture, but they didn’t belong anywhere near each other. There were no transition colors. It was blue and red, black and white. They couldn’t mix. They just had to fit. And you two just didn’t fit. You didn't create a picture together. It was just two pieces trying desperately to create something you couldn't because red was your favorite color and blue was Matthew's and fate was a fucking bitch.

You were crying as you walked into your apartment building and pulled out your phone. You typed out a text that echoed one you’d received two months ago without even meaning to do it.

We need to talk. Come over?

It was identical to the one Matthew had sent before he set all of this in motion and you were about to mirror him even more closely. Before he came over, you had to have your words collected. You knew he would push back, try and argue that your friends didn’t know the two of you, that they didn’t know what you both felt. But feelings were fickle and often told lies and it was telling you and Matthew the same one right now, that this would work if you tried hard enough even though it would just hurt a thousand times worse when the lie became undeniable six months down the road.

You almost didn’t notice the small package on your doorstep, eyes too clouded with tears to successfully unlock your door on the first three tries. You snatched it off the doorstep, a sob breaking through your chest when you realized it was from Matthew, no address on the package, just your name scribbled on the top in his horrendous handwriting. He had dropped this off himself and somehow that made it all feel more heartbreaking in your chest. You shuffled inside, the fourth attempt being the charm today, and tore into the package as you kicked the door shut behind you. The wrapping was even his handiwork, too much tape, not enough but somehow too much paper, and you were ruining it with tears dripping on and staining the paper.

You sat down on the floor, back against your front door. The lid of the box slid off easily and you tossed it aside. You were greeted with a picture of your mother, one you had framed on your front table, mere feet from where you had collapsed on the floor. It was your favorite picture of her, something you had definitely told and retold to Matthew one too many times. You flipped it over in search of some reason for it’s inclusion, finding more of Matthew’s handwriting on the back.

Hey sunflower,

Hope work was good today :) If it wasn’t, I’m sorry and call me and we’ll talk about it. They switched our flights around for this roadie so I’m on a plane right now, but I wanted you to have these before I left.

You told me your mom was a big part of the reason you loved sunflowers and that she had these sunflower earrings you loved growing up, but that they were lost. I saw your mom was wearing them in this picture, so I took it to a jeweler and well, they aren’t the ones your mom wore, but I hope you like them anyway.

I know you probably aren’t ready to hear it from me, feel free to skip to the end if you aren’t, but I love you and the past month has made me realize just how much I do and how stupid I was in the past. I’m going to keep trying to get a little better every single day and maybe, if I try hard enough, I might become someone who deserves you.

- Matty

Your hands shook as you slowly set the picture on the ground next to you and pulled back the tissue paper. Nestled safely in the box were two golden sunflower earrings, delicate golden wire bending to make up their shape. They were identical to the pair your mother had worn almost every single day of every summer of your childhood. Except these were yours. And they were made for you by a boy who loved you who was trying really hard to become a man who loved you and deserved to be loved back by you.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter. Your judgmental friends didn’t matter. Your negative thought spirals that tried to ruin everything good you ever had that was risky because the best things in life were always inherently risky didn’t matter. Fate and whether or not she was on your side or not didn’t matter. Matthew Tkachuk mattered. His effort was real and raw and pure and the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for you and it mattered. And all Matthew needed for all of his effort to matter was exactly one single act of effort from you. It would have to be a continuous act, a constantly, daily task, but all he needed was your patience with him. And as you sat on the floor, tears staining your cheeks, holding a pair of sunflower earrings you knew Matthew Tkachuk was worth your patience, that he was worth your love, and that you didn’t hate sunflowers at all, not even a little bit.

People weren’t puzzle pieces. You and Matthew Tkachuk didn’t fit together seamlessly to create one image because that’s not how people work. Puzzle pieces are stagnant, fixed, unchangeable. People are supposed to flex and grow and change, be mutable over time, with contact from others. You were blue now, but there was no reason to say throughout your life, from touching other people and their beautiful lives, that you would always be the same shade of blue you were now. Tomorrow, maybe you’d meet the most yellow person you had ever met in your life, and you’d be a little more green for it. Matthew Tkachuk was red and just maybe, purple was supposed to be your favorite color.

You pulled out your phone and deleted six words and two punctuation marks you had typed walking into your apartment building, but never sent. You replaced that text with a picture of the earrings in your lap, and simple red heart emoji because you knew words would fail you and any words that came to you, you wanted to say to his face when he got back from his trip. He texted you back almost instantly, just a simple red heart emoji. Matthew had started the red hearts. When you were friends, he’d send every other color except red. But when when you started dating, he would send a red heart whenever he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t, when he was on the road and wouldn’t see you for a while, when he was across the table from you at dinner with his parents. It was one of your little quirks, little things that neither of you had forgotten, an old habit that never worked its way out of your behavior. You didn’t send red hearts to anyone else anymore, and neither did he. But you sent one to him now.

Matthew Tkachuk sat on a plane that night, wishing he could driven across town fast enough to deserve to get pulled over and kissed you instead of sending you a stupid fucking emoji. He fell asleep that night, letting himself remember what it felt like to kiss you, something he had kept in the back of his mind for the last month because the thought of never being able to do it again made his knees pull up into his chest to try and block off pain that was unfortunately coming from inside himself. But tonight, tonight he let himself remember it, let himself pretend that you were thinking of the same thing, let himself remember what it was all like with you because you wanted to kiss him too. He fell asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in months and woke up the next morning with it too, still thinking about you and getting back home to you to finally get to kiss you again.

------

Matthew didn’t even think twice when his feet touched the tarmac a few days and two road wins later. He knew where he needed to go. He got to his car and tossed his tie into the passenger seat before starting to drive way too fast to your apartment. He didn’t hit a single red light, which made him think about fate again for a brief moment, but then he remembered this wasn’t about her or anyone else. Everything was just about you, you and your love affair with big yellow flowers and hopefully, him again. He took the stairs two at a time after parking incredibly poorly in front of your apartment, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to kiss his best friend, the girl whose heart he broke, the girl that somehow didn’t hate him or sunflowers, the girl that just might love his undeserving self in spite of it all.

He barely got two knocks on your front door before you yanked it open and Matthew could swear he wanted to die. There you were, a lightness in your eyes he hadn’t seen for months returned to you. Your hair was pulled back, the earrings he had made for you on display. His eyes drifted down, taking in the familiar golden chain around your neck, the one that had been missing for two months now, the one that held a small sunflower and the number nineteen at its base. But Matthew Tkachuk swore his heart almost gave out when he saw the familiar white neckline of that damn sunflower dress. You hadn’t worn it in the past two months, unable to take it out of your closet without crying, but you put it on today and it made you smile.

“Hi,” he breathed out.

Driving over with the intent to kiss you was as far as he’d gotten and you in that sunflower dress was making it impossible to think of anything other than that one word he had managed to say.

“Hi,” you breathed back, a genuine smile pulling up the corners of your mouth.

Matthew cleared his throat, letting his eyes close for a second so maybe he could try and think about something other than how you looked right now. He let his head fall back, taking in a deep breath, giving his head a shake in a vain attempt to shake off some nervousness from his mind to clear his thoughts. It worked well enough so one thought could slip through as he let his head fall forward and opened his eyes into your gaze again.

“Do I, um, get another month?” Matthew asked you, his voice timid and frail, on the edge of breaking. “Today is a month.”

You looked up at him, eyes taking him in. The parting of his lips, the happiness that finally reached his beautiful blue eyes, the curls falling on his forehead, the wrinkled game day suit sans tie that you knew was probably crumpled in the passenger seat of his car. He was on a tightrope, ready to fall to either side with your answer. One side was absolute heartbreak, the kind he was pretty sure would taint the concept of love for him for most of this life, and the other was joy and love and happiness and everything he ever wanted. He was ready to fall with your words, giving you all the control to push him to one side or the other.

“No, Matthew,” you told him softly.

Matthew’s face started to fall instantly and he felt like his heart dropped into his stomach where his own body started to eat away at it immediately. The dress, the earrings, the red heart, everything, he thought he had finally broken through to you. More than that, he had thought he finally was loving you in a way you wanted, in a way that you deserved. He thought he finally had enough of the pieces of what you needed, wanted, and liked together in himself to be someone you wanted to give your love to. He knew a month wasn’t a lot of time, but he’d loved for over two years now. He loved you as a friend. He loved you when he thought there were only unrequited feelings. He loved you when he was your lover. He loved you when he broke your heart out of sheer stupidity, when he thought fighting meant you would never work together, that somehow he was wrong to love you. He loved you the entire month he didn’t see you. He loved you this past month he spent desperately trying to show you he could love you through actions, not just in his own head and chest, that he could love you like a partner, like you deserved to be loved.

“You don’t get another month,” you continued, each syllable twisting the knife deeper into Matthew’s chest. “You don’t get another month because you don’t have anything else to prove to me, Matthew.”

Matthew willed his eyes to find yours again, hoping the hope that had just alit itself in his chest wasn’t misguided. You were calm, your eyes steady, keeping contact with his. Matthew almost dared to feel reassured for a moment, like maybe the hope he felt when you said he had nothing left to prove was correct. But if he was wrong, which he so often was in general, but especially with emotions, yours in particular, it would just serve as an additional twist of the knife. When it was already in so deep, did it really matter anymore?

“You’re not on trial. No more tests,” you said to him, letting your love for him you had tried to store away pour out. “I want you, Matthew. I want you and me. I want to see if purple is my favorite color.”

The purple part was beyond Matthew and he made a mental note to ask you about it in a minute, but he needed to kiss you right now. He reached out and you leaned into his touch for the first time in a long time. His hands cupped your face and you rocked up on your toes as he pressed his lips to yours. Your hands came up to rest on his chest as he kissed you so softly, tenderly. He wanted to crush you into him, but that wasn’t what this moment was. This was hopefully the end of the longest period of his life he’d ever have to go without kissing you again. He wasn’t going to rush this, his second chance with the girl who loved him for some reason and sunflowers for much more obvious reasons.

Matthew was slow as he pulled away and tilted his head down to rest his forehead against yours. One of his thumbs shifted to ghost over your lips, his blue eyes staring into yours, but really past your eyes, and into you, seeing you better than anyone else did. He loved you without the rose colored glasses. He saw you and loved you, it had just taken him almost too long to figure out how to show it. It had almost taken him too long to figure out that love wasn’t just something you could feel and ride the feelings to bliss. Love was daily effort, trying and retrying and sometimes he would fail, but it was constantly showing up anyway. Love was hard, but holding your face in his hands, he knew you were worth the effort he planned on putting in every single day for the rest of his life.

“I love you, sunflower,” Matthew whispered, the words left raw and unpolished by how real the feelings he injected into them were.

“I love you too.”

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