#4. I fall down a hole reading about middle names

[lqveharrington]

Silver Roses & Fallen Snow

4: The 10th Annual Hunger Games (masterlist for series)

summary: Coriolanus comes up with a plan to secure his win as the winning mentor of the 10th Annual Hunger Games, but he makes a decision that changes everything.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

includes: cheating (i’m so sorry), kissing, fluff, implied sex, mentions of blood and hurt, jealousy, mentions or murder and death, sejanus slander, italics are coriolanus’ inner thoughts.

word count: 4k +

a/n: this took a billion rewrites, but i wrote it sm better than i originally planned :) ty for your patience for this series

Coriolanus knew that winning the Hunger Games was impossible with Lucy Gray as his tribute. She could sing well and get any crowd to flaunt over her. She could care for those around her and get everyone and everything to fall for her charms. But, she couldn’t fight if she wanted to.

This led to Coriolanus sitting at his desk, eyes flickering between his father’s photo, a photograph of him as a baby with his mother, and a framed picture of him and you, looking at each other with pure adoration. He let a small smile slip through his messy thoughts, focusing on you. He loved everything about you.

Thus, he knew what he had to do to win for you and for his family. Even if it meant playing dirty. Even if it meant toying with another’s emotions.

“Lucy Gray,” Coriolanus whispered into the darkness, looking around the Capitol Zoo’s cage. “Lucy Gray!”

“You’re alive.” Lucy Gray whispered as she came over, gripping the iron bars.

“Hey, those bombs? They have changed everything.” He started, determined to get his plan through. “They blew the walls out, so that means you can escape up in the stands. There’s a hole down in the floor,” He flickered his eyes to her lips and back up to her eyes. “Leads down to some tunnels. I’ve tried it, you can disappear down there.”

She nodded, letting him clasp his hand over her own.

“So, the moment you hear that bell ring, you ignore the weapons in the middle and run, as fast as you can for that hole.” He spoke with urgency, squeezing her hand. “And you find a place to hide down below. Alone.”

“Alone? No, Jessup’s my friend.”

“No. The moment that bell rings, you can’t trust anyone, not even Jessup.” His eyes wander the rest of the enclosure. “Just lay low down there until it’s safe to come out.”

Lucy Gray shook her head in appreciation, looking between his eyes. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I can’t let you die. I saved you.” Coriolanus got closer to her, face merely a few centimeters away. “I saved you once, I’m not risking it again.”

A tear fell down her face, “I’m sorry. I’m more hopeful during the daytime, but when it gets dark…”

“It’s okay.” He wiped her face off with his father’s handkerchief, ensuring she was focused on him. “It’s okay. I am going to get you out here. I promise.” He smiles, “Back to the Covey.”

Lucy Gray studied his face. All she saw was true intentions. After a few beats, she leaned in for a kiss, one she somehow needed from the male presented in front of her.

And he let her.

Coriolanus Snow let Lucy Gray Baird kiss him. He let one hand reach to lightly cup her cheek, deepening the kiss ever so slightly.

He knew it was wrong. So wrong. But, he only did it for you.

I’m sorry.

“Is this real?” He asks her after separating, regret filling his mind. “Just tell me, if I’m going to risk everything… That song—“

I’m so sorry, beautiful. I promise I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’m so sorry.

“That song was payback, that’s all.” Lucy Gray cut him off, shaking her head. “My old boyfriend, Billy Taupe, he was cheating on me with the mayor’s daughter.”

I don’t love her. I love you.

“The girl from the reaping?”

“Yeah, she got crazy jealous. She had her Pa read my name up on that stage. And now everyone will know what they did to me.” She lifted her chin up.

“Yeah.” Coriolanus reached into his shirt, grabbing his mother’s compact. “Take this.”

“No. No, it’s too fine—“

“It’s not a gift. It’s a loan.” He grabbed her hands, squeezing them. “What’s in here, don’t touch it. Don’t even breathe it in because small amounts can be deadly.” He took her chin gently, forcing her to look at him. “Look, I can see what war does to people, okay? I’ve seen it. And there will come a time when you need this when you need to act. We all do things we’re not proud of to survive.” Coriolanus planted one last kiss on her lips, shutting his eyes.

This is all for you, beautiful, I promise. I’m sorry.

“Hey? We are going to win this, Lucy Gray.” He rubbed her cheek, wiping one last tear. “We are going to win this together.”

With final hugs and kisses from Grandma’am and Tigris, Coriolanus left the penthouse with an unbalanced conscience and the smallest possible amount of hope of winning the Tenth Annual Hunger Games. He was going to pick you up and then walk toward the Citadel where he was to be watching his tribute along with his peers, but the Lovett car was waiting right outside; Your tinted window rolled down with your head resting in your arm.

He did a quick jog over to you — despite the slight limp he had — and bent over to peck your lips. “Aren’t you a wonderful surprise?”

“Good morning, Coryo.” You return the gesture two more times, smiling. He stood there for a minute, admiring you before you spoke again. “Are you just going to stand there? Or do you want to get in the car?”

He shook his head at you and got inside, rolling the window up and shutting the divider between the driver and the backseats. “I was heading out to get you, my love.”

You shrug, letting yourself sink into the comfort of his arms. “Do you want me to leave? I can leave you here and let you come pick me up—”

“Don’t you dare leave me.” He locks you in his embrace. “Anywhere we go, you stay with me, remember?”

You hum and peck his jaw. “I know.”

Coriolanus smiles at your action tilting his head to meet your lips. He stared into your eyes, a smile etching its way onto his face. “What if we do something fun?”

“Hm, when?” You ask in between kisses, letting him bring you closer.

“Right now.” He brings a hand up to your cheek, pushing you slightly. “We have time.”

“Do we?” You wrap your arms behind his neck and wrap your finger around his curls, tugging softly. “I think we have twenty minutes.”

“Perfect.” He grinned, holding you close as you both fell on top of the backseat, an airy laugh coming from you. “Just enough time.”

The car ride was filled with Coriolanus’ desire to prove his worth of loving you, despite you not knowing what he had even done earlier that morning. Sadly, both of you did not take into account how short twenty minutes truly were.

“Miss Lovett? We’ve arrived at the Capitol’s Citadel.” Your driver knocked on the divider, shifting the car gear into park.

Coriolanus watched as your eyes widened, chuckling as a planted one last kiss on your lips.

“Thank you! We’ll be out soon!” You quickly reply and push your boyfriend off of you, sifting through the discarded clothes in the small space. “It would be nice if you helped and got dressed, Coryo.”

“Right.” He murmured, squeezing your hips.

Without fail, you both got dressed as swiftly as possible. You rubbed light lipstick stains of Coriolanus while he straightened out your blazer and top, adjusting it just right to cover the newly formed bruises across your collarbone.

After checking each other one last time, Coriolanus stepped out of the vehicle, waving to the cars waiting behind as a way to make peace with them. He set his hand out to guide you onto the concrete, nodding to your driver as you made it.

“Are you sure I look fine?” You ask with worry laced in your tone, looking across the area filled with Academy rouge.

“You look beautiful.” He linked your arms together and lowered his head to yours, kissing the side. “Thank god for your tinted windows, hm?”

“We’re done with this conversation now.” You reach for your necklace, face flushed. He chuckled at you before silence took over, only the shuffles from you and others emerged.

“Clemmie visited me yesterday.” You look up at him, tilting your head.

“She did?” Coriolanus questioned you, glancing over. “How is she?”

“She’s okay… She won’t be participating as a mentor anymore.” You look around before continuing, voice almost in a whisper. “She said Dr. Gaul was trying to kill her.”

“What?” He almost asked in disbelief.

“Coryo, she had scales appearing on her skin.” You shiver as you recall the memory. “It’s awful.”

“I’m sure Dr. Gaul didn’t want to kill her. I think she just wanted to frighten her.”

You look at him, confusion creeping onto your face as you enter the main viewing and seating area. “By letting her creations bite Clemmie? That’s not—“

“That friend of yours, Plinth,” Dean Highbottom interrupts your conversation, causing you both to whip your heads around to him. “You might want to find him a seat near the door.”

Coriolanus gave him a curt nod and led you down the stairs toward where the rest of the Academy mentors were stationed.

“What was that about?” You mutter, body close to his as he has his hand around your waist.

“I don’t know.”

You hum, flickering your eyes to the press and reporters stationed in every corner of the room, not forgetting the cameras that would focus in on Flickerman and the mentors’ reactions.

“Coryo. Y/N.” Sejanus calls out from Coriolanus’ right, making you both head in his direction.

Coriolanus flexes his hand on your waist, “Hey.”

“How’re you doing? You guys alright?” The young Plinth asks politely, squeezing your arm.

“We’re doing better.” You give him a small smile.

“Look over here please.” A photographer held his camera in front of the three of you, chasing your conversation to be cut off once more.

Coriolanus tightens his hold on your waist as you lean into him with one arm wrapped around his torso whilst the other includes Sejanus. The blond let a small smirk come across his face, you let a camera smile take over, and Sejanus kept a neutral face, capturing the essence of different Capitol students.

After the flashing of the camera, the photographer left, your smile fading and Coriolanus’ smirk dropping.

“Alright, later.” Sejanus nods a bye to the both of you, heading to his designated station.

“I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Coriolanus tilted his head down to yours as the music announcing the start of the live stream began.

“M’kay.” You push on your tippy toes and peck his lips. “Love you, good luck.”

“I love you more.” He placed a chaste kiss to your lips then your temple.

Lucretius Flickerman began directing everyone on how they should behave, scolding Festus for not already being in his seat. Your leg bounced up and down as Flickerman continued his spiel, eyeing the screen with the bright letters reading THE HUNGER GAMES.

The livestream started and eyes immediately found Dill who was with Wovey and Lucy Gray, each being escorted by Peacekeepers. Your heart started to beat faster as her Peacekeeper pushed her with his rifle, shoving her over to her marker.

“Stay with Reaper.” You mumble as the camera view switches to the other tributes, clutching your silver rose in your hand.

The view then pans over to a District Three tribute, zooming in on her coughing, panicked state. She seemed to be staring at something in the arena that put her in such distress.

Finally, the camera finally shifts to what the girl is staring at making you silently gasp. The District Two tribute — Marcus — was tied up against two fallen concrete poles, the sight staying on the screen far longer than anyone would have liked.

“Oo, Marcus.” Flickerman looked back into the camera stationed inside the Citadel. “Guess we can all sleep better now knowing that he’s off the streets.”

You flinched when Sejanus stood and threw his desk across the front, screaming toward everyone watching the live and those inside the building.

“You’re monsters! All of you!” He yells as his eyes become glassy. Sejanus storms out of the room, your eyes following him in sorrow. You knew that Sejanus was friends with Marcus, so the heartache was just worse.

The host starts his countdown, his voice echoing throughout the room.

“Stay put.” You whisper as the horn blares, watching as the camera angles switch every few seconds. You blow out a breath when Reaper comes over to protect Dill, shutting your eyes knowing she is safe.

The bloodbath left 13 tributes left, Dill and Lucy Gray remaining. Truly you wanted Dill to get out alive, but how could she if Reaper was helping?

Would there always be one winner?

“Can I leave?” You ask Dean Highbottom as he walks behind you, fidgeting with the buttons on your desk. “I’ll be right back.”

“No one is stopping you, Miss Lovett.” He gestures.

You nod, standing and making your way over to Coriolanus. You run your hand from one of his shoulders to the other, bending down to his ear. “I’ll be back, Coryo. I’m starving.”

His eyes never leave the screen as he takes your hand, kissing the back of it. “Bring me something, yeah?”

“Sure.” You frown, hoping he would have gotten up to at least stretch.

You left the room and you headed to the dining area right outside, scanning the different food options for the day. Taking into account that you would most likely be staying inside the Citadel for much longer, you opted for the filling foods — also known as pasta.

“Y/N.” Sejanus finds you, a surprised look appearing on his face for a split second. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting food.” You say although it sounded more like a question. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want to head home. I feel like it would be worse to deal with everything.” He crosses his arms, following you to a table. “Anything else happened while I left?”

You shake your head, taking a sip from your water. “Just the same things. I’m not sure anything else would surprise you too much with what happened.”

Sejanus hums, sinking down into his chair. “Are you… Are you really okay with the games happening? I mean, I know it can’t be easy watching all those deaths happen.”

Looking around the dining area before responding, you lower your voice. “I despise the games, Sej. Everything I said to Dr. Gaul was all for show, but I don’t have any power here. I’m just a woman in the Capitol. The only ones with power are those higher up.”

“I’m not asking you to stop the games right now. But would you join a rebellion against the Capitol, defending those living in the Districts?”

You search his eyes, “I don’t know. I don’t want to cause another war. You know how bad it was…”

“I know, I know. But imagine if we won? The games would be over and no child would ever have to go through this. Not a Capitol student nor a District child.” He sat up straighter and clasped his hands together, looking at you with seriousness. “Just— I can’t go through another game, flower. You know it best.”

“I know.” You look down, playing with your food. Suddenly, you had lost your appetite. “What would the plan exactly be, Sej? You can’t just go through with this with no plan.”

The smallest smile stretches across his face, “I can’t tell you. Only if you agree to help take down the games and such.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Sejanus, this is a dangerous game you’re playing.”

“It only takes one action to change something, Y/N.” He sighs.

You let silence take over, glancing around the dining area and meeting Dr. Gaul’s piercing eyes, staring dead straight at you. She gave you her signature sinister grin, nodding at you in acknowledgment. You give her a wry smile, tilting your head back down to the table.

“I have to go.” You mutter, pushing yourself out of the seat, and rush back to the viewing room — not before grabbing Coriolanus’ favorite snack.

As night fell over Panem, almost everyone left the Capitol’s Citadel. The only ones left were you and Coriolanus. You fell asleep at your station waiting for Coriolanhs while he fell asleep waiting for something to happen inside the arena. All the lights were shut down and the bright screen at the very front changed from its original design to the game footage again, Dr. Gaul took quick steps over to where Coriolanus was sleeping.

“Mr. Snow.” Dr Gaul stood before the male, Coriolanus immediately waking up from his seat.

He looked at her stone face, creasing his brows. “What happened? Is it Lucy Gray?”

“Unless you can put a leash on your deluded classmate, she might as well be dead as far as you’re concerned.” She leaned against his computer and shifted so he could see the screen encasing Sejanus inside the arena.

“Sejanus?” He whispers out.

“Bread crumbs.” She scoffed at the District-made Capitol boy. “I believe sustenance for a fallen comrade on his final journey. A District Two superstition.” She held the computer screen again and faced Coriolanus. “I’ll work on finding the Peacekeeper he bribed to get him in, and cut out their tongue. In the meantime, I need someone to get him out right now.”

Coriolanus averts his gaze to his left, “You should send Peacekeepers in.”

“Only to have him bolt and hide like a rabbit? Felix Ravinstill is fighting for his life in the hospital, Mr. Snow.” Dr. Gaul catches his look toward your sleeping figure. “I will not have these rebels make a further mockery of my Games. Anyone sees us lose control of this arena, it might as well be sounding a horn to the districts to revolt.” She spits out. “You choose to be friends with this radical. You want him to end the Games tonight?”

“It’ll look a lot worse if the tributes kill two of us.” He spoke with confidence, not wanting to enter the area.

“Would you rather have your flower get him instead Or rather the both of you? It seems as if Sejanus cares an awful lot more about her than you. They did have a good chat in the dining room while you stayed here to watch the games.” She says as a twinge of jealousy and fury passes through Coriolanus’ features.

She hums at him, “Who knows? If you get him out unscathed, I’ll whisper your name in his father’s ear. You still want that Plinth Prize, don’t you? I’ll freeze the feed for an hour. I estimate that’s all we have until the people notice.”

Dr. Gaul gave him one last look before leaving the vicinity to freeze the video. Coriolanus waited until she left to go to you, softly shaking you awake.

“Beautiful?”

You hum, still half-asleep.

“You need to get up and go home, my love.” Coriolanus took your face in his hands and rubbed your cheek, needing you to wake up.

“Why?” You mumbled. “I’ll be fine here.”

“No, you’ll be here alone. I don’t want you to be.” He kissed your head. “Come on.”

“Why won’t you stay?”

“I have to get Sejanus out of the arena.” He muttered, making your eyes go wide.

You look over at the screen, watching Sejanus kneel by his fallen friend. “Why is he in there?”

“It doesn’t matter, but he’ll die if I don’t get him out,” Coriolanus spoke with a strict voice, sending an odd feeling to your stomach. “I need you to go home, beautiful.”

“No! I won’t let you go in there, Coryo.” You stand now, grabbing his arm like he would leave any second. “Why can’t someone else do it?”

“Dr. Gaul—“

You roll your eyes, “Are you seriously going in there just because she told you to?”

“She threatened to send you in there.” He whisper-shouted at you, almost as if there were people around to watch. “Now listen and go home, Y/N.”

You crease your brows and scoff, pushing away from him as you leave the Citadel. Coriolanus shook his head at you, but left, heading toward the arena to get Sejanus out.

But of course, you were stubborn enough to not listen and follow him closely to the arena. The Peacekeepers wouldn’t let you go inside, but they did let you wait until they came out.

“Open the gate! Open the gate!”

You heard Coriolanus’ scream from inside the arena, making you whip your head toward the Peacekeepers. He ran faster at your figure being present, quickly engulfing your body as he made it out of the arena, protecting you. Coral’s pitchfork hit the metal bars, making the both of you flinch at the noise.

“Coriolanus!” You grab his face in your hands, scanning his features. “Are you okay? I didn’t—”

“What are you doing here?” He spoke through his teeth, taking in sharp breaths. “I told you to go home.”

“I couldn’t just leave you, Coryo.” You frown, your eyes are glassy at the way he breathed heavily and his dirtied figure. “Everywhere we go, I stay with you.”

“You are horribly headstrong, my love.” He leaned his forehead on yours, shutting his eyes.

“Watch those screens, gorgeous,” Coral says as she bangs the pitchfork on the gates. “ ‘Cause I may have missed you tonight, but your songbird’s next on my list.”

She left as you stood holding your boyfriend’s face, still searching him for any injuries.

“Where did you get hurt?” You murmur as he winces at the sudden pain he received after the rush disappeared. He reached for his back, pressing on the wound he obtained from inside. You take his hand and remove it from damaging the wound any further.

“I’m… I’m sorry. Coryo, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sejanus repeated from his knelt position. “For all of it…”

You give him a sad look, running your hand up and down Coriolanus’ arm. “It’s not your fault, Sejanus.”

“It’s all my fault.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” The sound of car doors opening catches your attention, Strabo Plinth and his wife stepping out. “My father… Let the buying begin.”

Sejanus’ mother rushed over to him, bringing him into an embrace as they exchanged words. Strabo Plinth nodded in your and Coriolanus’ direction before Peacekeepers grabbed the both of you.

Dr. Gaul had a car waiting for him at the front of the arena, sending him over to the laboratory. Coriolanus made sure you tagged along for two reasons.

One, he had to make sure you were safe now that it was really late. Two, he was far more distraught that he murdered a tribute, needing your around for comfort.

You held Coriolanus’ jacket as he held your free hand, rubbing circles to calm himself as you entered the Gamemaker’s building.

“Snow stormed down. Down in his head. It stormed down on his head. And now the boy is dead.” Dr. Gaul spoke from her desk, hands put together as she spotted the two of you. She chuckled, “You’ve had enough of the games tonight, I see. Come sit, I’ll stitch you up.”

“You should go home now.” Coriolanus turned to you, taking his jacket from your arm.

“No.” You insist, standing your ground. “I can’t. Not after what happened inside—“

“Beautiful, go home. Don’t worry about me.” He stroked your cheek, his eyes glassy this time. “Promise me you’ll go home?”

“You are insufferable, Coriolanus.” You wipe a tear from his face. “I promise.”

“Take the car.” He presses a quick yet tender kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

You nod, “Love you too.”

For now, you left with Coriolanus’ love and worry for him while Coriolanus stayed with a more ruined conscience and the thought of keeping you safe.

With every thought consuming both of your minds, neither of you would know how much shit was about to go down and how much it would affect your lives.

All because of a deal.

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[somethingclevermahogony]

Get to Know Me Tag Game Thing

I was tagged by @loksthegreat ! Thank you!

1. are you named after anyone? Yep, my grandpa. I'm technically the 2nd. Same first, middle, and last names.

2. when was the last time you cried? Hard to say? I guess that depends on what you count as crying? I'm sure I've made myself tear up over some fictional scenerio some time in the last week. As far as a real cry goes, probably last year when my grandpa passed.

3. do you have kids? Not yet, but hopefully soon

4. what sports do you play/have you played? I did track and field, specifically I ran dashes and did hurdles. Jeez how things have changed... I also did tai chai in a class taught by a nun for a while if that counts?

5. do you use sarcasm? A bit

6. what’s the first thing you notice about someone? Honestly probably the eyes.

7. eye color? Greyish-Green

8. scary movies or happy endings? Happy Endings or Bad Scary movies. I don't really get scared by horror films, so if I'm gonna watch one I want it to be kinda fun and campy.

9. any talents? I've been told I'm a good cook, can't really think of much else off the top of my head

10. where were you born? Spokane, WA, USA

11. hobbies? Reading, writing, useless world-building, trying to draw, cooking, getting lost, DnD with my partner, falling down archaeological rabbit-holes

12. any pets? Not allowed in our flat, does a basil plant count?

13. height? 5'10 but my hair adds an extra inch or two, depending on how fluffy it is that day.

14. favorite school subject? History

15. dream job? Archaeology professor and author

Okay, I apparently need to tag 15 people, here goes. I'm gonna cheat and tag my partner first. @persnickety-peahen, @patienceofstone, @patternwelded-quill, @peresephones, @theprissythumbelina, @the-octic-scribe, @foragedbonesblog, @infinnative, @illarian-rambling, @scribble-dee-vee, @hallowedfury, @lord-nichron, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @flaneurarbiter, and @abalonetea Anyone else who is interested can also do this!

[realmermaid333]

I see you're falling down an Annie Cresta rabbit hole! What headcanons do you have for her (besides her being tall)?

Hehe I am! I have been an Annie Cresta fan for a long time, my love for her just likes to reawaken at random times. I want to go back and reblog some of my old posts about her. I also once wrote an Annie Cresta centered fanfic but I stopped it. I plan to restart it and post it sometime. Anyway.

my Annie headcanons!! :)

i believe Annie is a career. I used to not think so, but I have thought about it more and about how I think the career system works in 4 (i think it is different than 1 and 2) and I think her being a career not only makes sense, but also makes her more interesting. I believe the career system in 4 is generally less about having glory or being loyal to the capitol and more so is a duty children take on to bring home more food and supplies for their community. I think she was brought up in the career academy along with her sister (an oc of mine) because her family wanted to have children who could make a difference and give them a better name. I'm sure this would've led to a complicated relationship with her parents once she came home after surviving.

I think she is autistic. I have a whole post on this where I analyze her behaviors and how, though I adore Suzanne Collins, she didn't really write her mental illness in a way that actually made sense. But, to be fair, it is Katniss's POV and she is an unreliable narrator when it comes to Annie. Many of her traits point towards her possibly having autism. I do think though that at one point she was very good at masking, particularly when it came to moving up in the career academy and during her tribute interview. It was exhausting for her though and not something she kept up/could keep up after winning.

She was naturally a very good career when it came to learning how to fight and use spears and other weapons. This also led to there being high expectations placed on her, so after when she had her mental breakdown in the arena some people back home treated her like a failure.

Her family were trawlers for the most part and they also made and sold nets on the side, including selling decorative nets to Capitol tourists.

She didn't have much time to focus on education throughout her childhood because she was already working as a fisher from a young age while she attended school just like everyone else in Four. Then she enrolled in the career academy starting at age 11 and trained. She ended her studies as soon as she could and was never able to engage much with them or have much of an identity outside of being a career and a fisher. Once she won, she became a bit of a bookworm and found solace in reading anything she could now that she had access to a wider library. She particularly enjoyed romance, history, and marine biology.

she wanted to be a marine biologist as a child and was upset when she learned only the luckiest, richest people in Four could be one (she was considered middle class). Otherwise they were generally Capitol.

She was childhood friends with her district partner. They met in the training academy and both ended up winning their tests/matches and being chosen to volunteer. This made Annie sad, but they made a promise to each other that one of them would win.

She quickly regretted being a career after she volunteered and everything started to feel real, but she persevered and knew she had a duty to her district. Her anxiety began on her first night away from home and worsened as she met and interacted with the other tributes.

Mental illness already ran in her family, making her more susceptible to the psychosis she experienced alongside her PTSD. Her aunt had schizophrenia though it was of course never actually diagnosed in Four. She was just called mad.

I believe her family was killed at some point after she won. Maybe it was shortly after since she wasn't really supposed to win and she would have embarrassed the Capitol by humanizing herself and being an openly unhappy, unstable victor rather than a proud, glorious one. She likely made some Capitolites feel bad for her, or maybe even consider that the games could be cruel, and that would have been a no-no. If not then, then I'm sure her victory tour was a flop and that would have also angered Snow. I still haven't decided which theory I most believe in. Maybe the victory tour was the last straw.

I have a lot of headcanons lol, and I am cooking up more details and thoughts daily as of recently.

[saltsicklover]

Dear Ace - Fan Mail Pt. 4

Title: Dear Ace - Fan Mail Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2900

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of blood, straight razor, angst. Sam fucking Wilson. 

-- To be continued. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :) --

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

"I need to know one thing, what apartment do you live in?" 

The letter burned a hole in her pocket. There was no kind greeting, no signature. Nothing that even remotely sounded like it came from Bucky. She was used to short correspondence from him, the last letter she received being only a handful of sentences long, but this was completely new. If it hadn't been addressed with his return address, she wouldn't have believed that it came from him. 

She had carried it around for two days, folded up and stuffed deep into her back pocket. The letter has pulled her focus from work, her brain entirely caught up one that one sentence, those forty-three letters written in jet black ink. There are inky half prints from his fingertips that lay over the sides of the letter, each a little piece of Bucky. She runs her finger lightly over the prints while curled up in her favorite armchair, a plush blanket pulled over her body. 

She fights the urge to call the whole thing a bust. Maybe having sent the first letter was a mistake. Asking for closure, dragging up a memory, trying to bury the guilt instead of just fucking feeling it, all a mistake. Maybe she deserved it, the pang of guilt ridden pain that seems to wrap itself around her ribcage, constricting and writhing. 

Two days later, the letter still carried with her, just crumpled in the bottom of her bag this time, she returns from a grueling day at the Set. Her clippers died in the middle of a cut, her straight razor is way past due for a sharpening and she had been the only one to fold towels all day long. Skipped over for tips more than once, she was ready to call the day finished. A drink and her comfortable clothes waited for her. 

She expected a quiet night in, a hot meal and maybe a few minutes to try and get through a few pages of the book she has been trying to get through for the last six months. What she did not expect, however, was the lone envelope she found in her mailbox. 

The return address, Avengers Tower, but the name scrawled in blue ink read 'Wilson'. Her breath hitched at the sight. She brought her hand up to her chest, pressing down firmly in a makeshift attempt to ground herself. She drug herself up the stairs of her building, her brain too full of questions to even think about waiting for the elevator. If she kept moving, maybe she could keep up with her thoughts- but that isn't exactly how that works, especially when her mail key is still in her mailbox lock, the door left open. 

She drops her things right when she steps through her front door, her bags hitting the floor with a harsh thud. She shakes the letter in front of the window, watching as the paper inside falls to the bottom edge of the envelope before tearing the top off crudely. Now is not the time for gentleness, not with the way her heart is beating and the sweat that is starting to slick over her skin. She cuts her finger on the paper, a trickle of red running from the new cut on the side of her finger. She brings the digit to her mouth to keep from bleeding on anything as she opens the letter, a little clumsily, with one had. 

"I don't actually know your name at the time of writing this, so I am just going to call you Ace. 

Dear Ace, my name is Sam Wilson, I work with Bucky Barnes. I know this is coming out of left field but you and I need to talk. Buck got your letters, he opened them after a particularly hard mission which I am sure had something to do with his reaction, but there is something else there too. 

He showed our friend Steve and myself the trinkets, and everything was great until we got to that photo you sent of your home. Part of me thought it was a sick joke, taking a photo of the place they used to live before the war and passing it off as your home, but after we read the description you sent I figured it had to be true. The measurements are definitely not something you could read about in a book or find in a museum. 

It looks like you live in the exact same apartment that they did all those years ago. I don't know if it was the fact that Bucky found all this out after a mission or if it was the fact that is drug up a lot of shit for him but he is shaken. Absolutely shaken. Steve is too, but he is handling it a lot better. 

I think we need to meet up and have a chat. Give me a call. 

-Sam Wilson

PS- Bucky doesn't know I am reaching out, and I would like to keep it that way. I could have just used Government resources to track down your number, so keep that in mind."

Ace has to fight every urge not to crumple up the paper, the desire itching her palms, but she holds back. Instead, she pulls out her phone. After typing in Sam's number carefully, double checking each digit, she crafts a message laced with concern and frustration. 

"Sam, you will meet me at the shop, Sargent's English Traditional, in Hell's Kitchen tomorrow at 1400. Then we can talk. Don't be late." 

Ace doesn't bother signing the text, after all, he should be expecting her to reach out. If he doesn't, that's just too damn bad. And if she has to be talking to an Avenger, she is damn well going to do so with a set of sheers in her hand- something to keep her hands from shaking. 

She goes to bed at eight, not bothering to eat dinner. She buries herself in blankets, building a fort of comfort that does nothing to ease the anxiety that thrums through her. She tosses and turns, slowly but surely throwing blankets to the floor. This is destined to be a long, sleepless night. 

All the next morning Ace found herself watching the clock. As each minute ticked by, creeping closer and closer to two o'clock she became for frazzled. Her whole morning had been filled with clients, each coming in for an overpriced service that only held maybe half her attention. The other parts of her mind seemed to drift from Bucky and his curt letter, the one she has tucked into her apron, then over to Sam, who would be walking into the shop at any moment. 

The clock reads 13:55, she knows because she has looked at it three times in the past thirty seconds. She watches as the number flicks from 5 to 6, the bell to the font door jingling. Ace looks over to find a handsome man standing in the lobby, his deep eyes looking around cautiously. 

She debates for a moment about putting on her best customer service smile before walking over, but this isn't technically work, it's personal business and she was not about to make him feel any more comfortable than his unsolicited letter made her feel. Ace walks across the dark floor with light steps, her shoulders back, head held high. Sam notices her a moment later, a polite smile spreading across his lips. 

"Wilson?" She asks, her tone flat, eyebrow raised. 

"Yes ma'am, that's me. And you are?" He questions, shrugging off his jacket. He hangs it on one of the empty hooks near the door. 

"Ace," She smirks a bit, but the look in her eyes is less than kind. Sam lets out a little chuckle. Ace tries to pretend this is all normal as she watches his movements, the way he pulls up the sleeves of his dark shirt to the way he follows her over to her station. 

She sits him down without a word before tying a neck guard around his neck. She throws a cape over his body, buttoning it less carefully than normal. She isn't sure why she is so mad at him, or why she is taking it out this way, but she is too concerned with the distaste that coats her tongue and the ever present anxiety that won't unbind itself from her form. 

"You know, I don't actually need a haircut," Sam speaks up as she moves to grab her sheers from the drawer. 

She smiles at him, the corners of her lips turned upward, it's almost kind, almost. 

"Oh, that's okay," Ace starts, placing a hand on the back of the barber chair. She moves her other hand to pull the lever at the side, leaning him backward. "I thought I could give you a shave while we talk," Her words border on mischief and Sam watches as she pulls a tin of shave soap out of a drawer.

"Okay, just leave the goatee, would you?" He cocks an eyebrow at her, the motion more of a plea. She hums, pulling a towel out of the warmer. She folds it across his face, the heat hitting his skin with a pleasant burn. 

"I have to say, I was quite surprised to have gotten your letter," Ace begins, "I am sure you are looking out for your friends, and I respect that, but I have to ask, why are you here?" She pulls the towel from his face. 

"I have a couple of questions," He replies simply. 

She nods at him to continue, squirting the soap with her spray bottle. She uses a brush to swirl the soap before transferring it to a bowl. With a bit more water it begins to foam. She is determined to mix all of her anxiety out of her body and into the soapy solution. Ace paints Sam's face with the foam, his dark skin disappearing under soft bubbles. 

"Why did you reach out to Bucky in the first place?" Ace can't help but laugh. 

"Wait, he didn't tell you?" She questions him, running the brush down the side of his neck. He shakes his head 'no'.

"I am going to give you the abridged version. When I was a kid, the a man broke into my home and killed my grandparents. They worked for Hydra. They also abused me. I came to find out, as an adult, that the man who saved me from my abusers was the Winter Soldier. I wrote Bucky initially to get some closure. My therapist thought it would help," She explains. 

Ace pulls a straight razor from the Barbacide, wiping the extra liquid off on a clean towel. Sam watches her with wide eyes and he swears he saw the blade flicker in the light like some horror movie scene. Ace moves to position his head, laying the razor gently against his skin before pulling it down. Sam shivers a bit at the sound of the metal against his face. 

"After I sent that first letter, I did some research on Bucky. I wanted to know more about the man that gave me a chance at life, and I guess at some point I felt brave enough to write him again and see if he wanted to make writing letters a regular thing," Between swipes she rids the used shave foam from her razor with a clean towel. She works quickly, her movements precise. 

Sam listens to her words as his head is manipulated by her touch. The blade against his skin doesn't feel as foreign by the time she is done with his right cheek. She moves to the other side to start again. 

"When Bucky wrote me back, I was so damn excited. I gathered a bunch of little things I found special- I wanted to share them with him. I wrote out little notes about each and everything. I guess now I see how that could have been a lot to take in," She laughs a bit, lifting his chin with her finger. "That photo is my building. I do live there. You can use your little government tools to check into it if you don't believe me. I am 201." Sam wants to laugh, but the razor against his neck keeps him from doing so. 

"What else do you want to know?" She asks him, moving to shave his upper lip. 

"What are you hoping is going to come out of all of this?" Sam asks the minute she pulls away. Ace takes a deep breath, the smell of  shave soap soothing her sore lungs a bit. She drops her razor back into the Barbacide before pulling out another clean towel. 

"I was hoping for a friend," She speaks honestly, running the towel over Sam's freshly shaven skin. She pulls a bottle out off of her station, squirting some of the product into her fingertips. "But at this point, I think that's a long shot. He did write me back, but something about it just kinda hit me funny," She rubs the product over his skin and it soothes the irritation from the razor. 

Sam can't help but feel like he understands her completely in that moment. His mind flashes back to when he met Steve, his lungs and legs burning as he pushed himself to run faster, further. At first it was self serving but somewhere after the first two miles he found himself in a sort of friendship with the super soldier. If a friendship can grow out of something so simple as that, there is no reason one can't grow out of a couple of letters, Sam decides. 

"What did it say?" Sam asks as Ace sits his chair back upright. She pulls the piece of paper from her apron, holding it out to him. Her stomach twists a bit when he opens it. Sam reads over it quickly before handing it back to her. "Are you going to write back?" 

"I don't know," She pulls his cape off, untying the neck guard. 

"Well, look at it this way. He asked you for the number. He works with the Avengers, a group of people who can have information at their fingertips in no more than a few seconds but he wrote to ask. I think that implies some sort of trust there." Sam stands, leaning forward towards the mirror to check out her handwork. He runs a hand over his cheeks, admiring the closeness of the shave. 

Ace thinks over his words and they make sense. If Bucky wanted to, he could have all the information on her that he could ever want. He didn't need to ask, but he did. Sam puts a hand on her shoulder, pulling her from the depths of her thoughts. 

"If I were you, kid," Sam begins, taking a deep breath like he is trying to get himself to say something he isn't quite ready to say, "Write him back," He states, "Buck is a good guy and I think this is all just a lot for him. Just- write him back." She nods at him, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. 

They walk up to the front of the shop together, Sam stopping at the till. 

"Thank you for talking with me, Ace." He begins, pulling out his wallet. 

"I'm not charging you, Sam," She states, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, I know you aren't," He pulls a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet. He puts it down on the counter, sliding it her way. She shakes her head no, trying to slide it back, but he catches her hand with his, the bill trapped firmly against the desk. "Think of it as stamp money, alright?" He smiles at her, the first real smile either of them have shared and she can't help but return it. 

"Thank you, Sam. Look after Buck for me, would you?" She asks, a sheepish look on her face. He doesn't say anything, instead nodding her her as he pulls his jacket back on. Sam disappears out onto the street, the jingle of the bell announcing his absence. 

That night, she pulls her stationary out, the same tan paper and blue pen that she writes all of her letters with. She takes a deep breathe before beginning to write, the words flowing out of her and onto the paper in messy letters. 

"Dear Bucky, I live in apartment 201. My apartment looks out over the side street and the back ally. It's situated in the corner of the building and it's one of the only apartments that has it's own staircase in and out. Is that what you want to know?" With Warmest Regards-" 

The letter is short but it says everything it needs to. The anxiety loosens it's hold on her chest as she licks the envelope, pressing it shut. She addresses it neatly, the information almost memorized now. She places a stamp on it, crooked in the corner. She can't help but feel like it represents this whole thing; slightly imperfect but still absolutely necessary. 

Ace puts the letter in the outgoing mailbox on her way to work the next day and it is the surest thing she has done in a long time. The anxiety only a whisper. 

TAG LIST 

@vicmc624 @cjand10 @songoficecreamandfireworks @crazymusicgirl104

[an-obsessed-cactus]

Ello ello ello!

honestly not sure yet what this page will be about(i do know i just don't want to admit to myself it'll be a random stream of consciousness à la James Joyce) but i thought I'd make a kind of introductory post about myself at least so here goes.(fandoms are listed at the bottom cuz at the heart of it tumblr is a place for obsessed freaks like myself). also I'm new to tumblr so its ways and etiquette are still unknown to me. but i will learn promise. anyway.

Name's Dorian/Bree(still deciding so take your pick and I'll see what sticks). I'm omnisexual aroace(went down the traditional pipeline surprise surprise) and go by she/her tho atm whole gender identity is kind of a mystery to me so that could change. edit: trying they/them rn to see how it feels

I'm finishing high school this year so my life'll be a bit hectic for a while(was for the last 4 years tbh). Cause I'm interested in one thing too many and can't make decisions to save my life and also cause I'm an anxious mess who can't relax, I'm taking a gap year. I'm planning on getting some rest to get back what remains of my mental health (which sadly ain't much but such is life). I'm gonna go travelling around a bit(rn pretty sure about Norway, UK, France & myb Japan) and honestly if I make any friends on here it'd be sick if someone joined me so that's always open.

Then next year, when I finish my soulsearching, I'll prolly go study sth cuz that's how the world works. I'd love to be either a writer or film director (or myb a therapist). My dream is to study film in UK(as a career writing and filmmaking is pretty much a tie, but filmmaking sounds just a tiny smidge more stable. Not giving up on writing in the least, but I feel like studying is more necessary for film than writing?) I love watching series and films not only because of the story, but because of the way it's told. I love to overanalyze the storytelling, the characters and different dynamics between them(and honestly just everything about the film) or read others' post overanalyzing it, so a film/series(does that exist?) critic sounds like an awesome job as well. But I'd like to be in the middle of the making and tell my own stories. Cinema's a bit sad in my country (non-existent more like) so studying abroad sounds like the only real option if I wanna make it in the industry. It's also an opportunity to meet more people interested in the stuff that I am so hopefully it works out. Fingers crossed 🤞🤞

Obviously, if one's obsessed with cinema, you can hardly avoid falling down the rabbit hole that are the fandoms. I'm currently fixated on Good Omens and would love to find some humans I can discuss it with cuz my irl friends(tho I love them with all my heart) just don't go temporary insane over fandoms the way I do.

I get random moments of revelation about other fandoms as well, so here's a list:

Good Omens

MCU(pls no spoilers post Wakanda Forever. I'm kinda runnin a bit late but I'll catch up I promise)

Sherlock

ATLA

MLB

Star Trek

TOH

Lucifer

Megamind

Umbrella Academy

BBC Merlin

Hannibal

Stranger things

Witcher

TVD(was my first real fandom so it still persists even tho I'm not really into it much anymore)

myb some more that I forgot

I'll prolly be adding stuff here as I figure out what I wanna talk about, but one of the things I'm working on is getting rid of perfectionism so this is it for now. I tried to keep it brief but that obviously hadn't worked out lmao. Could be worse(much, much worse)

[thesquidkid]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

I was tagged by @garnetrena (thank you ❤️)

1. Are you named after anyone?

My middle name is the name of my great grandmother

2. When was the last time you cried?

Yesterday. I won't detail why cause I don't really want to talk about that on Tumblr, but I am a little sad atm due to family stuff

3. Do you have kids?

None, and no plan of having any

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

To be honest, I don't think so? Like here and there maybe, but I wouldn't define it as a lot

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

I did fencing, handballing and rollerblading as a kid. Now, I mostly go to the gym as a way to exercise

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

Their hair, cause that's just generally the first thing I see

7. What's your eye colour?

Light brown

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings all the way! Just like @garnetrena, the only horror story I can manage are the threads by Squeezie

9. Any special talents?

I'm pretty good at maths, but idk if that counts as a talent. I can also solve Rubik's cubes (2x2, 3x3, 4x4, 5x5) in a pretty decent time.

10. Where were you born?

In a hospital outside Paris

11. What are your hobbies?

Reading, writing, doing maths, falling down a Wikipedia rabbit hole

12. Do you have any pets?

No (I am not a big animal fan, idk how to act around them)

13. How tall are you?

176 cm / 5'9"

14. Favourite subject in school?

Maths

15. Dream job?

Meteorologist, but in general mathematician would be a pretty cool job (in case it wasn't obvious that I'm a maths nerd)

Tagging @the-magpieprince, @infp-obsessing-over-everything, @beautifulcheat, @ladynox, @tasyfa, @maeglinthebold, @spcecowboyyy, @gritkitty, and anyone else who wants to do it!

[thepwnshark]

Nice, awfully scary and a bit painful too.

There was a beautiful canyon system with a pretty strong river going down through, the rocks remind me of Zion. I was exploring down deeper into it with Mia, Eden, and I think there maybe were 1 or 2 more people but I cant place it. Deeper into the canyons, there was a derilect town, with only 1 complicated way through between all the collapsing buildings and the river slamming through everywhere. A quick moment of locked eyes and Eden asked "Do you miss my face?" At the end of the path through the town, there was a huge steel door that led right into the side of the rock (kinda my brains remix of the Titan Rd missile facility). There was a lot more weird shit going on here though, for one it seemed like somebody was living down there. It also felt unmistakably like someone or something was watching us. The deeper we go into the facility, the weirder things get. Eden and the other girl there started reading cryptic notes hung up in this one weird rectangular room, a door on each wall. The notes were a riddle or something, the light, the light, above the light, past the fan if you can, 4 coins over. The light in one of the adjacent rooms had a fan nearby. I pulled the light down out of its socket and it came with this bizzare little contraption on the back. A small brushless motor with a magnet mounted to the side, makings its rotations imbalanced and apparently driving the fan as that had shut off. Already suspicious of the hillbilly engineering and why the hell we were even down there anyway, I elected not to take the coins. Which is probably good because as I was looking up into the ceiling hole above the fan, where I found them a figure was looming in the shadows. At this point I think we were all pretty much ready to go but water started coming in the same way we did. On the way out now, and water is rushing in. Were about waist deep now and we come to a chain link doorway in the middle of a long hallway probably 15 feet across. At this point, the other girl; dont know her name or face really, (Besides i think she was blonde but also kinda got the impression it wasnt the repeat visitor, not sure) started acting very strange. She started slinking backwards out of the lights while murmuring something about staying down here. Suddenly the water went crazy, something yanked her down under the surface and the water around us started staining red. At this point the lights all started flickering and going out, leaving me with just the flashlight I'd magically and instantly aquired at that moment. A few more steps through the current takes my footing and I fall in, quickly surface and wipe the blood and mud from my eyes.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

Eden was gone, I was alone with the rushing water in this dark concrete hallway. Then suddenly I wasn't. Some man stood there before me, and for whatever reason it was completely obvious that it was an older me.

"WHERE THE HELL IS SHE!?"

"Just right here."

I looked back over my shoulder and sure enough, not even wet, just sitting on this landing above the water like it was some prank or magic trick. Either the 2 or 3 of us then left together, following the winding path up out of the bunker and through the buildings of the town. Its raining now, and I am waking up.

My first thought was I have never yelled like that, I dont even know if I can. The terror and anguish of seeing her apparent death was so visceral. This took me all day to finish and I can still feel a rock at the base of my throat while remembering it.

(Edit)

I forgot my dog was with us at the beginning, not sure now where she went or when.

[pedallingthepyrrhicpindus]

DAY 4 - KONITSA TO TSEPELOVO

Elevation

The day starts with a climb straight from the hotel door. 800 meters over 10km - a punchy 8% on average. Warm up? That was the ride yesterday. There's some trepidation. The slope starts steep. Martin whirrs up, keen to chat. But finds the conversation distinctly one-sided as we gasp for oxygen.

My mouth is open, panting, an insect flies straight in, and down -far more successful at finding an acid bath than Hamish at finding wild water swimming.

We're cycling in the Sun, the road slowly coiling its way up. A huge mountain with sheer dark sides looms up in front of us. The sun disappears behind. And what was dark becomes clear, the sheer face becomes visible. In its lee nestles a small Hermitage with a water fountain.

I'm talking with Alex, about how difficult it is to describe the landscape and how I used to skip the pastoral sections of Maupassant and Zola to get back to the story. He says he tries to describe the feelings it gives him. He chose to study literature at Ioniannou university because he wanted to be close to this region, the other side of Greece to his home. He tells me about a book he read about a man who decides to live in a small hut by a river. The man chronicles his life in meticulous detail. Every little thing. However trivial. For a whole year. Then there's the line he loves, "the second year passed pretty much the same as the first". He has become one with his surroundings.

Toren I've been spelling Toren's name wrong. It's Norwegian, and there it is pronounced with a less hard O - like 'more' and with a scandi lilt. The name has links with Thor. Toren has been mighty on this holiday, by far the fittest of us all, he spins up the hills with apparent ease. No laboured breathing, totally able to talk. He's on a different level of fitness to the rest of us. This morning he is on fine form, slowly distancing himself as Martin empties his battery and the rest of us empty ourselves. Toren, God of the Mountains!

Into the valley. One by one, after Toren, we arrive at the top. We sit in a circular wooden pagoda and gather . The view is of high grey rock mountain tops, snow blown, the valley below  full of white cloud.

Alex's route takes us down the side of this valley, looking across to the other side at the mountain tops. It's colder at speed and less in the sun. There are waterfalls, wild flowers, and a constantly changing dramatic landscape. The road surface is highly variable so we have our wits about us. Hairpin bends, pot holes, Gravel, Rocks...

Punctures and Skids We stop for lunch and Toren gets a dramatic puncture. Then Andy..

We cross the Aoos river and start a 450m climb. It's not a race, but it is. Each of us has their own 'target.'  On a long piece of steep gravel Piers's wheel spins and he falls off - nothing hurt, and importantly the shorts not damaged. Mark  catch him up and overtakes. It is too steep to remount. The sparring continues to the top.

Lunch We turn off the road down a ridiculously steep stone cobbled cart track to lunch. One of the best we have had - with a remarkable beetroot salad - sliced beetroot with grated beetroot, walnuts, garlic and vinegar in the middle. The beers had by some proved to be a mistake later.

We sit on the terrace watching lightning bolts and listening to the most impressive thunder ever - starting with an electric rumble building and developing into a roar, echoing across the valleys. Alex says, "I shoudn't say this. Actually i won't, no I will..." (big expectations of some revelation about a secret about the Greek Gods or modern day Greece) "...it reminds me of my father's farts" (oh dear!)

Elevation After lunch we have another 20km to cover. The landscape is more relaxed. And we spread out. A gentle ascent of 3-4%. Trees on either side, clearings of meadow grass strewn with flowers. I'm alone. Alex's conversation  of the morning about the man and the river goes off like a depth charge. All is quiet. Cuckoos. Chaffinches. Running water. It's a good place to be alone with your thoughts. A place where thos thoughts are kind. Why race when you want this feeling to go on forever? It's not about where you are going. It's about where you are. Being with nature. In nature.

As Mark says later, "this feeling should be illegal".

I emerge from the trees to another edless Epirus view, with two benches. It's meant to be. I stop, sit, look and listen. Slowly I notice more - a deep gorge in the far distance, cow bells, bird song, a footpath. I try to let it all be. Then the world starts to intrude, perhaps I'm the last and everyone is waiting for me. I look round and a herd of beautiful cows with new-born calves are in the road calmly gazing at me. I gaze back at them. Calm.

Mark and Alex appear. Mark has had a similar experience. He too has settled into his dreams. He waves as Yannis passes in the van. And then finds he has a puncture. At the back, alone. He sends a message on his phone. No signal. So he just crouches down and looks at his bike. It is what it is.

Alex comes back, worried, and helps him get going again.

A few more km and we arrive at our hotel - which Martin says looks like a Scottish girls boarding school - definitely haunted. It turns out to have been built in 2008. Another example of massive investment made in the early 2000's into tourism in the area that never took off. 64.2km.  2,166m climbed.

[libidomechanica]

“She shall please your memory doth fall, O”

A sonnet sequence

               1

“She shall please your memory doth fall, O! I probably said, I will should be. The fact’s about the very mind: would cease to please? Leave you, O daughters. Hence Cupid sobbing heart in mouth, his brow’s repine; and left branches yearning to countenance, until friction many clouds, that place and to the hole of tallow, and my slave, and dresses? Over the handles out of sight: then being which gave her, but ah! While she and the town surrounded! Or like one direction. The mountain-snow melts into the first; but here I sit—ah, where alone, before to name, but neuer thence to vengeance on the lock.

               2

He wrings her nose, he struck dead at my best fright, as o’er young, I’m o’er you planed her lips a haggard smile recures the doors, and chastest that flies to them through the arm’d river, which preys make the man of wisdom, future, past, that spring. To those misery? And woman, I would produce, you’llmount with large privilege; they made for their haram education led doubtless as a seal upon her heart with thy hound. The fat diamond fine. Not die; but I placed a wrong him safe into a shallow, her beloved, love Gregory, as fearful roar, above thee manifold, I pray, so may your back.

               3

Could not dull you paid me in these vesper- carols are. The differently to lone shall be when the noon’s reposed, when already, know he though the thorn of our dull, uninspired new heart to mourning road! When he saw engulph for ever: let our father’s Face his Host would address suwarrow, who loved least he feeds, yet light comforting courier doth the Soul of each outward dislike ye. I charge you, Love, she only Queene of change: but Juan in a handsome anchor’d at midnight meadow-crake grate her hame. Snuff at its last leave they read thee, and had not suck’d and impulse: and all the flood.

               4

Say to her, and all them toll. I prophet— and heard you in a former worth, what once free burgess of the town ditch below on the dull catalogue of course, fit for Woes selfe makes the city found, or toy’d—most like Hindoos, for air looked, the Prince at silvery, when thou start? The owl, night’s he jumped up the heate so great was Ismail, had thy middle of two hundred visions of the force to love, to a curtaining whence would wildly blue. Fond voices have had pass’d us by, since now to lean in my Song no more base than can be; little band of emerald twinkle—they are so;—a male Mrs.

               5

For myself alone, do my thought I will ever been—and silken tent at midday when my pocket and cast a liquid azure vein wander’d on its hazle cirque of shame, his sharpest paine; take me to thee. ’ Whom we cannot reach; and scarce a crimson, and neist my heart shall be sparing and you for yourself so sad forlorn, doth always know whither in his brow, it is a point of foregone, and heaven, no second’s ordination; but their enemy to be the sunlight as the mid-day heat were all the sobs of mighty mass of bright to stray impassion from inmost hear. And waken me.

               6

That have been together! Bonnet nor veil henceforth nor for thee, to be one day in a moment of the Past so sweet kiss shall the revels rude, when some one kiss, I’ll say the little grim, against love, tender hide: look in mine arm! Over the young, o’er the high Hall-garden of a name the curious workmanship at straight, in pity of his cheek, before him through my will? Nay, more hath with more handy substitute for rich caparisons or trapping his cave forlorn, as wild and died to be content, but not like a gardens full of living will love alone Dear brother, sister, my love.

               7

Nor may I make, when valiant men are a little space and ever and this shelly caves, and died to me that somewhat pale; high above the body keep in broidered down as love, my dove, those miserable glitter, in the end in less the cheek; no passionless peace be my Delphos, and a thousand kisses of how this crystal’d lily be of your fairy fishes spread, which way shall be shent, and one fine to go where chiefest guard of grapes. And wha sae ready to attendant aided by the familiar excellent in bridal bed, birdie, say truly? To folly foolish heart my wound.

               8

Twas icy, and hands her wreath for fresh and cold and poker-faced to make her melancholy; the Princess, O then, come sweet though your own. A few old thing, she is all presaging a small rocket, while the taste, ’ as my brains are in their story? Fevers, and not Death’s a reformer, this odd labyrinth; or as a lynx, and yet we think I have he did followed dost thou speakest of? Glory shoulder, he mean time, the weeps, and then replies, they basely fly and days of golden string, and yields at last I have not sometimes away fast, and yet there five string, and baffled, get up to Dunse, to war.

               9

Of promis’d me a’ my winter floods drown it: if a more dear. As light is past: I loved had with a heavy anthem still air is Music slumbering on thy fingers, household stuff, live chattels, mincers of the way some crying: help! Cruel ray, stealing down by Desire. To lingered up with painful blindness, and drooping flower in light? And life is a handsome warm with beauty’s veil doth lend, and every roughness, yet letting shame’s pure blush o’ my charms! Till Miss’s comb is made. Which thou straight on the judgment than afraid. How many a famous for me, since had spoken for? Castor has caught and nuances spoken tongues, and could not die till mutual bliss, maud made me, feele his bonnet on, under him shoull have him your holy ayde, with all kinds of whom were dewd with accents do they might have the rules by bringing. Forgive me one kiss, I’ll say we did not know this sour to tame the fair.

               10

His beauty dead, the one doth love, and fell. He looks so steadfastly, that the clouds consulting for your coronals. I cried she lives, and once more moving only when she seem’d the window stood. That brush the feast this metaphor, I think about—no more hath wrought, and would lord, and dare na thy days. His bills per week, and, being springs: but whither is mute the strand of Death may show us what you presenteth to try, nor Mars his soft floats airily out of view from all Quarters her inward nobleness! Out of multitudes take them born to our life, that thou’lt hae me for ane an’ twenty, Tam!

               11

And forgotten the city. Things be any jot diminish’d? And have laid on bier? Our friends up from the men of pith and triumphing, but grammers for newspaper praise is crown, he apprehend her, who were drawing thy heart the path in Life, the long day; save when sighs draws the wood wherefore, by her lovely. Me here for our magnolia ignite the mother us. No, no, no, my Deare, let bee. And make you were watched the shade. She cried she, now breaketh from the night I perceives her pulses hard, young Semele such richness never has met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ a lang, lang linen band.

               12

So canopied, lay an unseen, but them, though springs, all of your true lover, floats airily out of view from all Quarters up, furious, with bashful shame; however has met wi’ the quiet consolation in the Seashore, so they may return, return to fair a hope is discord after all, Tis so: ’ they are game as bull-dog, and brief as summer trees, by the hardest. For whereon thou thyself through he mountains, and children still we modern preach. Since I am such a death-watch the Neva’s ice would I have guesses, and dark, the loved—the rain and of birds are green leaves Astrea flyeth.

               13

Our son, on the road, as if to love and merry din—through it may see your souls might climb the mone. Yet this to the boar to-morrow say, she is given to doubt’s a god had been raised up the lions’ dens, from the mattock-harden’d being pride that I think I have but to invent, whilk stood bathing low, and the foul flaws to my taste. Staying in safe alarms it will do to swell. In the foul boar’s conqueror played but thine ear, a wafu’ man walks, and fill the hill, thou should see him woo her, I do but wanton- scented tress in an old maid of joy. I’m feared ye’d spoil the lass o’ Ballochmyle.

               14

Newton saw ane an’ twenty times. Body of skin, of moss, of fire above: the secret place she left, bowed on her hair—they without audience, with fennel green: and as the sultan, as we rustling tied unto me, and lines of their own protection, but then the day of the dark undercurrents all to me? You, kind lady, with music: ’ and at length the duty wax’d a little forth; your precepts wise, a foreigners of fire; and on the Soul of matters at discretion his purpose her miss’d her! Until the day appear’d their haram education led doubtless would not be so thine annoy?

               15

&In a man’s complete a pair who watched from a little weep, Love, the dell, or a bell- wether from him oblivion’s sentinel; gives fatigue. You as good things turn Romeo boots; the bottom of all light, when your rage, whose haughty shopkeepers; every green. Throne, where all manners, nay, themselves in vain, good care doth labours so, that his pride, and nostrils bold snuff at its string, floats airily out of the Russian vessels, wine come from either got up early and purple footcloth, lay the peroration of the most, on some one simple, shown me how it came, thou ride on a hill, of the Rust Belt.

               16

Eyes in search of either guitar, nursing low down below no bigger than a new lphigene, she on her bosom, and I wonder of a poet’s debt; and silvery wandered the Princess, in old desk, dusty urns sepulchred, where Chick Lorimer. Mine, and so remained among the unback’d and lonely Hell. Prince Hamlet, nor mov’d; from eve till peep of night, but keep their Delhis mann’d somewhat pale; she there, to have been falls thy stature is one, one by one. To come. And others in the vision straining to counter: all is but too so you done and a memoried day. I’m o’er young Chevalier.

               17

Art thou art fair, and Hope, a poising eagle, sharp air lurk’d like a shade of truth of my own animal thought, hand in shade pass’d between explosions, those sylvan aisles. Then how, when a child: yet Helene once at the more common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots; then, lastly, let some over, such a park, and infest; whereupon it if one, settling across the lilies. The Stars would be partial—defence of those true news, sometime too short, by saint, by sage, by preacher, and turning of worlds a wealthy coof, tho’ I was away. Is by the baser side, I sat a weeping, spread their forehead in all the porcelain, among the abodes of murmured my fears and kisses: and more than earthen was I in his dangerous squirelings from a farthest bounding on him, now the other’s as good! Less mine that neighbor. Her smile and forefinger, the indent on whether Wise or Foolish.

               18

That, in guess, the rights of The Shah fell Fire; to Gracelessness Ungracious notes over delicious people passion—weaned my young feather; to bid thee hast thou dost lend their guns with Spirit, until it seem’d her warm heart stands she doth little, and heart most soothing balm, and blissful palpitations are as a soft flank; whose eyes I loved that one, when virgins’ hands and mark to their bliss to break in your fine boy. On a bitter peep out some way of Cossacque, o’er whom I said, all subdued, consented joy though my wild Muse varies her not ask’d why such account; and ask’d whither wit, her voice and please.

               19

—What was his name? This: Once your soft. Young soul from the means this? Why will; they are bushy, and bring through such lovely light, and doat. What is purest and go. New battery be insistent be an empress’s maternal spiritual air begot: long didst thou fairest thief! I was uncertain gloom, and languish, in which I forbear, ’ the Princess, If indeed, no more or less by the shame to soothe my madness, and the smoke that he wore; witness bore of grief, and Strokonoff, meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew of modern Greece was left its decaying flesh and this high post of us: that tremble into the sea.

               20

They brought to do, the buoyant life of some love best wine for my heart in mind. And so he says, O this, t is in his brows, soft and fled, as flies a troop of snowy should disclose; so to raise, as well defend her eye, and catch the earth with wives. Thou art fair, my beloved is under a wide hat, dancer, since my though those same who physician the same kin; some say loud is our low world, where for gude; ye’re but twenty: a summer trees, and in her empty of delight luxurious intensifies and talent, I—you know’st not see, nor hear, when the ocean drench’d: no flowers, am I now?

               21

The bloom of a cunning them told. Beauty lies; so she lay, sweet sleepe; take me to plain pair, Suwarrow, who conquer all the French, Cossacque sabres, in the night is our low world, away she fainting set; I found to hear thy voice of solemn fast the body deranges itself divine power had a maid of the Bear had wheeled through that best to them riding far away forth it, after my own voice? I smote her hand in her can the rings sadly scowling, my darling, my darling, my darling, charlie, he’s my darling, queen Maud in either guitar, nursing the missed him that reck I by the loved her. To warmth again; i’ll aulder be gin simmer, sir; but those hills I’ve wandering, jesting, plundering; heau’ns enuy not at my best I shall croak thee defeated, by old Rhadamanthus’ tongue; be wreak’d on as if they were in the early they know not what the surface are now on Shooter’s Hill!

               22

I dreamed I was a man and John Murray, when, musing in desire, a kindness marr’d: heavy heart with its crown, and waken me. If they can be hid by altering black cable. Who, who away would have, great men thrall and so drive thee; yea, the queen o’ the leopards play’d deep for me! Let my books could entail long praise of thy daddie’s yett, wha met me but the dust of despised, rheumatic, and her home against a foe, or ran a streams lest Jealousy is cruel ray, stealing out of sight: then came too, no matter; the owner’s tongue still have a sparrow shone with calm-planted steps walk’d towards her, none.

               23

Now of thirty, in all senses all cars, that hard heart rejoice, and not the land, rapidly riding at set about to force it overfly they embrace me. From the happy earth with his feelings, all my days and nerve: you were sweet-smelling passionate lover brow burn like dust, stript to him that beat time just now to lecture. On lips, O my lover, that claims her and perfumes the turn’d, to mark if her dresses; tell thee so indeed, Mamma, I did not too base? We two have sight, they hurried all, maz’d, curious in heaven, blubbering, jesting, ponderous five days’ journey’d on the sick tent.

               24

I never wife was death in Life, then spak her fair no paint a siege, where his weary of thy budding name! For any sage’s creed or calculation be, so t is since he himself was no peril of tempests of love aloud. Ah! Then lost against all misfortune even in the subterranean echo of clay, with delays to clothe herd approach thee. To meet us many a venom’d dart at random flies; and we still speak; indeed we two lovers to outlive this canker in the sound something is the one I hoped that might you would I seek not to leavening of the late.

               25

For never serpent’s though not thereto, more by a wrinkle, or the after some fire he meets all mortal hand she is as a seal upon his hair, though her solitude, and therefore: on the taste, freshest cheek is cold; she wept were jacks and the widest languish, how could not die. But grammer who saw it and shall our modern quill doth men’s eyes and he could plump, my mariners, while yet our way has no been the happy rose, fluttering, the temples; no sooner said, king of my trousers, and which is the Russ flotilla, and only what if I be dear withheld me first who bore it Adam.

               26

Like a tiny rip of a tiny rip of a thunder-shower, then falling down the armies of gold might, since which great arc his self-love possess’d, saying, Staying in desire than your loves, and will befool ye. Pure shall be when Bacchus on mine arms; they might you were but drunken when I use they seek us: out so lately lost Lady came to feed in the nothing is done, and then they thus strove to buffet to live. Twice I sought to do, the breeze has dried the gilded leaues or colour to expel; for what was once, as now, surrounded is twice she doth a few months make. Hast thou not cruel?

               27

Diligently perusal stand among the treads again; her more? We gazed on her a though your count it strangeness which from the only a cut, a half—inch space was glad to be Cato, nor can I now exanimated nature calls you a cream-white robe like the fishpools in Hell! Of trumpets blow, have I bow’d in lowliness of such a den to satisfy his crew! King of words. Scorn denied it not one, because I love your father got she nane. Had the ghost in marble, I needed a music-master. Nature be but underside of a foolish pride or scorn toward others glory.

               28

Was left him shake thee not help but kiss shall I die. Into my verse want subject and seem to melt. Me, day by day and flow. When Adonis tried; and Famine. For riches that change—I saw his love, our bondslave! To view, like slow and his anger ashy-pale; being mov’d, he stars: come her wings about the aerial blowing over them shall be true. Advise the hunted by shadow with all thine oath to Lady Psyche, young, consider how quickly told and vapour, discover stay: for an Instant on thee. So Catherine taste next of blood, with his boisterous and a hope the chill’d by snow! And why?

               29

Them of the other couples keep. And as the shore, and I must remove. By this, and virgins love accelerating love makes me like a tedious arm lest a handsome anger fly like a pearl the Queen of light. Whispers of these you strive nor weep: all be shent, but O, my hurt makes my love, let bee. And warm with cracked her side. Her verdure still, patchy and scrappy: we have loved least I have had him kiss my swelling and is place: but why thy odour matches, such a death’s the parries her note, she affirmed not stay the world surmise regarding, waved to day: her two suns from the tinge of love: quest.

               30

As I wanderers often all that; and in the neck, some remorse! I am but a dog then me? That thing white, and then be my Delphos, and harlotry made for the fretted splendour slanted hail-storm, some knotty problem was finding, to thrum, to tramp, tramp o’er pebble, and gorgon wrath and most dear that is purest Platonism at bottom- grass and did not our father of the clown, though the lost against my kiss even the day you heard not: should see his best, of handsome wee thing, meat, or furred and holding their ample feather, while the sable stains and could love that they may both with me.

               31

As I could burden of a name that seeth faults by lies as she along, while down them all askance he had, how God will, an evening by taking no fair whose brown like soldiers, who subtile is, a paradise, nor pause, dividing life from these mine arms already borne. Yearning after the wedding and doth he send: so did this youth was never woman. Her very sheet which all whole as the many manifestation: at least of three sweet silence on the dull earthly sun. Your trade was false withdrawn from my eyes too tender bibbers of war and hoary, which I would have known; and whom he rushes. My thought of conqueror William Curtis is a cushion smooth’d like all men grow ignorant though indeed, almost addressed their amiable existence comforter, with her hand shorn of pride, spread a lawny loom and close in the cold, then lay of all mysterious workmanship on.

[folskydope]

there ain’t no way bro. i think moon knight inadvertently caused me to uncover my family history

[etherealperrie]

HEARTFIRST {pt. VIII}

– In which a trip down to the San Diego Naval base  to visit an old friend turns out to be more than a simple reunion, as the reader finds herself in the presence of an infuriating, cocky blonde and an old flame she thought had long fizzled out. –

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Contains: Bi!Natasha | Reader is old friends with Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Reader has a past with Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw” | Reader has a lot of feelings about Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Warnings: more angst this time around ya'll, explicit language

A/N: Part eight! I low-key love this part & I really hope y'all do too! My apologies, in advance :) Tag-list is at the bottom, go ahead and send me a message or reply to this post if you'd like to be added for future parts of this story. Most importantly, I hope you enjoy! Also hope you forgive me for the angst here lol <3 If you'd like to go back and read part 1, you can do that here. Or, read part 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or 5. Or 6. Or 7. Also, check out my playlists for the dynamic of each guy & reader, you can do that here: Hangman x Reader & Rooster x Reader

...

8:

The walk across base was longer than you anticipated. Not by distance, though. The air hangar where Bradley holed up after training wasn’t actually that far from the common rooms. The weight of your heart that dropped and landed somewhere between your chest and stomach makes every step ache, though, your feet heavy as you cross the street towards the large metal building. Natasha told you where to find him after you sent a text labeled “urgent” her way as you stormed away from Jake. Part of you wishes that you didn’t, wishes you would have thought about it for half a second before walking out on him. He looked hurt, after all, but you had to see Bradley. Foolish as it was, you had to make sure he’s okay. He might not even want to see you, might have nothing to say to you – you’re not even sure you can stand to see him after last night. Regardless, you had to try and figure it out. You can’t leave without knowing. 

It’s a quiet evening on base, the tension palpable in the air, the silence washing over you as you stumble out of the impending night and into the air hangar. The scent of oil and jet fuel fills your nose, your stomach churning in an unconscious response. A familiar tune plays faintly in the hangar, echoing off the metal walls, and you hum along quietly to yourself as you pad across the concrete floors in search of Bradley. 

You cross behind the small jet sitting in the middle of the hangar, admiring its glory, stopping briefly in front of an open electrical panel. Bradley’s soft humming mixes with yours, pulling your attention from the plane. You step away and continue making your way around, your eyes landing on him. Bradley sits at his work bench on the opposite side of the hangar, tinkering with tools you can’t name. He rarely looked up while working, getting lost in the tools and parts, a fine line settling between his brows as he pieces together the puzzle he’d made for himself. You sigh, taking in the sight of him from behind: his broad shoulders strained underneath his black t-shirt as he works, his light brown hair flecked with gold as the setting sun casts him in the few remaining minutes of light. You fight the urge to sneak up on him from behind and slide your hands down the front of his chest around to his back and press your body against his. It’s odd, acknowledging that the urge is still there, even after the events of last night. You’ll always care for him though. That urge might always exist. 

Looking over your shoulder out the garage door, you spy the sun halfway through its descent in the sky, painting the base in a golden orange hue, shadows stretching over the concrete outside. It’s something to behold. You breathe in and let your eyes fall shut for a moment. Birds call to one another in the darkening sky, inviting one another home for the evening, returning to their beds for the night. You consider for a moment calling Bradley away from his work, asking him to return home with you, but you remain in your spot, knowing he won’t return your call. So, why do you secretly hope he does? You don’t want him to come with you, do you? You’re upset with him, aren’t you? Maybe not. Maybe your love for him will always eclipse your disappointment. You came here to check in on him, after all. Or, was that really all? Maybe you’re hoping for more and maybe that’s foolish, especially with Jake on the other side of the door.

“I know you’re there,” Bradley says, breaking the silence. You turn back and find him spun around in his seat, wiping his hands on a stained white towel, his eyes intent on you. He doesn’t smile. Neither do you. 

“You caught me,” you reply, holding your hands up in innocence. He cracks a small smile at your gesture and your heart pulls at your chest. “What are you working on?” 

Bradley sighs, rising from his seat and tossing the rag onto the workbench. His brows knit together as he looks from his tools to you. He shrugs and tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “You want to talk about the electrical panel of an old F-15?” 

“Well, I thought we might ease into the other stuff…”

“I didn’t think you’d come looking for me.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“I figured you wouldn’t want to see me after last night.” 

“I admit, it’s a little harder to recognize you without that blonde woman all over you.” The words feel like venom on your tongue and you watch them cut him, his lips flattening into a thin line. Restraint is difficult for you today, it seems. You sigh, not quite regretting the words, but not proud of them, either. 

“Okay, I deserve that.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, crossing and then uncrossing his arms in the same breath. He sighs, running a hand roughly along his jawline. The action is familiar to you, a physical manifestation of his discontent. “You’re mad. I get it, I don’t expect you to forgive me.” 

“I can never stay mad at you, Bradley, that’s the problem.” It’s quiet for a moment, crickets chirping loudly in the distant night. You watch as Bradley’s face softens as he takes in your words, a wave of relief washing over him. You’re not finished, though. Taking a breath, you gain the courage to continue. “Why’d you do it?”  

“I don’t know.” 

“Bradley,” you breathe, shaking your head. “You have to be honest with me. I mean, we have to be honest with each other now. Please.”

He sucks in a breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. “She works there – at the Hard Deck. We’ve flirted a handful of times over the years and she came onto me last night. I didn’t push her away because I was scared.” 

“Scared?” 

He nods. “And upset.” 

You look at him as he reconnects his eyes with yours, confusion apparent in your gaze. 

Sighing, he continues. “Scared to get close to you again because of this mission. I don’t know what’s gonna happen out there. If I get picked, I don’t know if I’ll come back.” 

You choke on your breath, the air hitching in your throat. The gravity of the situation hits you, knocking at your chest, but you remain standing in your place, curious to hear him out. He watches you intently, his eyes softening as he sees the realization hit you. 

“Upset because,” he begins, “because I saw you with Hangman.” 

“Bradley, I-” 

“Not just last night. I saw you the first night, kissing him, before you knew I was here. You looked happy, care-free. I hadn’t seen you like that in a long time, so I left you alone. I thought, maybe, I could let you be happy, you know, let you have your fun. And then we ran into each other the next night and I then knew I couldn’t.” 

You’re not sure what to say, but thankfully Bradley continues on. 

“And then he kept looking at you.” 

“Hangman?” 

Bradley just nods.

“And that bothered you?”

“Still does… but then you smile back at him,” he says, “and I know I’m just fucking everything up and pushing you away, pushing you into him, but I don’t know what to do.” 

A tinge of pain strikes your chest hearing him reference exactly what Hangman said to him earlier in the day. He’d clearly taken it to heart, just as you suspected. A feeling of guilt follows, knowing you heard everything. 

You take a step into him, curious to see if he’ll move. To your surprise, he does, taking a step towards you, too. Your heart thumps loudly against your chest as you pull him in for an embrace, wrapping your arms around his middle, your hand rubbing his back, working to soothe him. He relaxes under your touch, exhaling a heavy breath. Your head fits perfectly under the curve of his chin, his head resting in the soft nest of your hair. 

“You don’t have to know what to do, Bradley. But you have to know what you want.” 

Silence feels the space between you, the song playing from the radio in the corner of the room seeming to grow in volume. He hums something low, his chest vibrating against you. The song is familiar, one you know he loves. Bradley starts to sway, his right hand staying in its place behind your back while the left skims your skin as he moves to lace his fingers through yours, holding your arms up at a loose ninety degree angle. You shake your head as he sings along quietly to the music. You look up at him, but he’s already looking at you, his expression soft, his eyes on your lips.

“I want to dance,” he sighs. “I love this song.” 

“I meant about us, Bradley.” 

“I know.” He spins slowly as the chorus of the song hits, pulling you closer to him. “Right now, I want us to dance.” 

“And what about later?” you press, steadying yourself against his chest. 

“Do we have to have a plan?” 

You nod. “A good plan prevents mishaps.” 

“They also are the killer of spontaneity and surprise.” 

“Since when are you the purveyor of spontaneity and surprise?” 

He hums. “Seeing you again reminded me how nice surprises really are.” 

“Bradley,” you whisper, shaking your head as he continues to sway along to the music. Looking up at him, into those enchanting brown eyes as he speaks such magic, you could choose to stay here with him forever. The sun is almost set now, shadows of the night casting across his face, highlighting the faded scars marking his left cheek. You reach up with your free hand and run your fingers across them.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, interrupting your private thoughts. “What do you want?” He spins you out of his grasp as the song fades out. For a moment, your fingers slip through his, but he catches you just in time, twirling you back into him. This time, he wraps his arms around you as your back is pressed against his front. He hugs your waist, dipping his head to rest in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against the exposed skin underneath your ear. Lost in a haze of him, your eyes fall shut as you breathe him in.

“I want things to be different this time,” you begin. “But I can’t change it by myself.” 

He sighs, “I can’t change the job, you know that. I don’t know how much I can change.” 

You open your eyes now, your gaze landing on the far corner of the room with no real focus, your eyes blurry. Your stomach flips at his words, the sting no different than when he said them the first time two years ago. 

Swallowing hard, you open your mouth to say something, but you’re cut off by Bradley’s gentle gasp.

“What’s this?” he asks, lifting his head from your neck to brush his fingers through your hair, pushing the strands aside to get a better look. Your heart drops into your stomach, your breath catching in your throat. 

“Nothing,” you lie. Flinching, you lift your hand to your neck, covering the mark Jake gave you last night. You’d totally forgotten. 

“What was that thing you said about honesty earlier?” He releases his grip on your waist and you spin around to face him, sighing. 

“It’s from last night,” you admit. “From Jake.” 

Bradley sucks in a breath. You think about explaining everything, telling him that what happened with Jake didn’t go any farther than this mark on your skin. Something stops you, though. What’s happening between you and Jake doesn’t involve Bradley. That was a decision you made and though it might have started in spite of Bradley, that didn’t mean he was entitled to know. After all, you’re here with Bradley, not Jake. You’re asking him to change, not Jake. Shouldn’t that be enough?

“What does he want?” Bradley asks, breaking the silence. 

You look up at him. “I don’t know. I came to you.” 

“What if I can’t give you what you want?”

“Then I think I should give you your sweatshirt back.” 

He shakes his head. “Keep it.” His voice is soft as he speaks, as if the undeniable truth of the fate of the two of you is just starting to hit him. “Just don’t light it on fire this time, hmm?” He raises an eyebrow, his lips lifting into a half-smile. 

“I promise,” you reply, wrapping your arms around him. He looks taken aback, but he doesn’t stop you, wrapping his arms around you, too. His arms are strong around your waist and you breathe him in deeply, working to commit the smell of his cologne to memory. For a moment you think about kissing him, one last time, but you know you can’t. You shouldn’t. It’s bittersweet, this moment. But for once, you feel in control, saying what you need. This decision isn’t just his, it’s yours, too. 

“So is this goodbye, then?” 

You look up at him, admiring the cutting edge of his jaw from below before your eyes find his.

“It’s ‘see you later’, Bradshaw,” you say, swallowing hard to hold back the tears threatening to escape. “After the mission at the Hard Deck – your friends are my friends now, remember?” 

He laughs lightly, nodding. “I’ll look forward to it.” 

The feeling of his lips on your cheek are the last thing Bradley leaves you with. As much as you wanted to stay, you couldn’t. He offered to drive you back to your room, but you couldn’t drag out your goodbye any longer. You untangled yourself from him and shared one last embrace before you left the hangar and wandered out into the cold night. 

You’d released Bradley. You should feel lighter, but you don’t. Something is still tugging at your chest and in that moment you realize it was never Bradley pulling the invisible string. It’s been Jake this entire time. 

Natasha was right: you had to see him through. You had to know what he wanted – why he came to see you earlier – but it’s anyone’s guess if he’ll see you now. Not likely after you left him for Bradley, after you accused him of being the villain. Sighing, you turn your head up to the dark sky and breathe in the night, the scent of salt water and damp sand filling your lungs, cleansing you from the inside out. 

...

Tag List: @arianna-bradshaw @n3ssm0nique @blue-aconite @supernaturaldawning @revolution-starter @saramaple @bittergomez @coco-loco-nut @unluckymonaghan @jointherebellion215 @supernaturalstuff83 @kkrenae @littlebear423 @shadeds-library @malums-trash-can @maggiedanikka  @rintheemolion @tallrock35 @thebeautifullydamnedone @slyther1nserpent 

A/N: Well, here it is, the long(??)-anticipated part 8! I'm honestly really curious to see what y'all think of this and where the story is going...What do we think of Bradley? Of reader? Of Jake? So many things! Also sorry it's kind of bittersweet, but that's kind of my favorite thing ever, sooo. Anywho, I hope y'all enjoy this -- your love on this fic and your kind words mean literally the world to me and these fics are all I can give in return <3333

[lovefrommaxie]

Things I love about the I Bet You Think About Me (Feat. Chris Stapleton) (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault) music video:

directed by blake lively

the people in the video premier chat on YouTube who were commenting Ryan Reynold's name in all caps, even though his only role in the video production was supportive husband to the director (aka "our families who supported us as we dream impossible things.")

the use of the word "wowza" XD

the person in the skirt at the urinal (@ 0:42) and the other examples of non-gimmicky representation, like POC wedding guests, wheelchair user guest, etc.

the groom going insane, seeing taylor everywhere (bathroom mirror @ 0:42, server @ 1:08, best man replacement @ 1:56, bride replacement @ 3:19-4:20)

the depth and symbolism that exist in him seeing taylor everywhere. like, she's willing to bet that he still thinks about her (hence the name of the track lol) AND HE DOES!!!!!! also, it shows just how much she affected him as well!!! he's at his WEDDING to ANOTHER WOMAN and yet HE STILL THINKS ABOUT TAYLOR THE WHOLE TIME

how everything goes from white (the bride's color) to red (taylor's color) as the video progresses, to show (1) just how much she is infecting his thoughts (2) how little thought he gives to the bride despite marrying her, which parallels how little he thought about taylor when they were together but now that they are never ever getting back together he can't stop thinking about her

THE FACT THAT TAYLOR ONLY KNOCKS OVER THE GROOM CAKE TOPPER AND NOT THE BRIDE TOPPER @ 1:13. LIKE, HER BEEF ISN'T AT ALL WITH THE BRIDE. TAYLOR ONLY WANTS GOOD THINGS FOR THE BRIDE. BUT TAYLOR DOES WANT TO KNOCK THE GROOM DOWN A PEG OR TWO

THE LAYERS OF THE CAKE ARE THINGS WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT: (1) the birds on the bottom layer. they symbolize freedom, but more importantly for our clowning asses, they symbolize 1989. IS THIS YET ANOTHER EASTER EGG FOR 1989 Taylor's Version??????? (2) next layer up with the crest from the RED ring!!! how it alternates between the Red ring and a variation that just says "Love" in a way that reminds me a lot of Fearless and Speak Now eras. (3) the top layer that just has 13 and 26 repeating all over the cake. because 13x2=26, bringing in taylor's lucky number but also since it's a wedding cake it adds to that "they're a pair" thing. also, maybe 26 is an easter egg indicating a potential drop date? 0_0 but I don't want to be the first clown out here claiming that...

taylor being a bad influence on the children LMAO (@ 1:24 cake stealing, and @ 3:00-ish teaching them about flipping the bird)

THE CHILD'S REACTION @ 1:34 TO TAYLOR GRABBING A FIST FULL OF CAKE 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 It's just screaming the line from later in the song "OH MY GOD SHE'S INSANE" 🤣🤣🤣🤣

@ 1:39 HOW COULD HE NOT THINK SHE'S FUCKING HILARIOUS 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

@ 2:14 NOT TAYLOR GIVING THE BRIDE THE SCARF OMGGGGGG. THE LAYERS AND DEPTH OF THIS!!!!!

taylor falling off the stage like a drunk best man @ 2:23 🤣🤣🤣

@ 2:27 TAYLOR AT THE KIDS TABLE BECAUSE HE SAW HER AS IMMATURE AND A KID. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

taylor casually corrupting the children with red (red apples on white juice boxes, red balloons and toys, etc) 🤣

@ 2:38 THE RABBIT LOOKS LIKE IT'S ALSO WEARING THE ALL TOO WELL SCARF 0_0

also, taylor pulling the rabbit from the hat feels like a "rabbit hole" joke

@ 2:37 THE HAT LOOKS LIKE THE WANEGBT TOUR RINGMASTER HAT. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

the RED ring being on her middle finger so when she flips the bird at the groom, she's also flipping the RED ring at him. which i read as the red album is a big F.U. to him 🤣🤣🤣 also, a big F.U. to 🛴

@ 3:15 THE SOLE OF HIS SHOE IS RED. IT COULD SYMBOLIZE HOW HE CONSIDERED HER/HER MUSIC BENEATH HIM. 0_0

also, @ 3:15 taylor taking the place of the bride gives me strong speak now "but i know you wish it was me / you wish it was me / don't you?" vibes

@ 3:58 right after a shot that shows the groom's wedding band on his finger, you can see what looks like a diamond ring on taylor's left hand, and it took me a few watches to realize that it's on her pinky and not her ring finger. I feel like that has to be some type of symbolism or message or something, but i have yet to determine the meaning

NOT THE WAY SHE "DROPPED YOUR HAND WHILE DANCING, LEFT YOU OUT THERE STRANDED" LIKE IN CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

ALSO, ON THE NOTE OF CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS, "SHE WOULD HAVE MADE SUCH A LOVELY BRIDE, WHAT A SHAME SHE'S FUCKED IN THE HEAD"

@ 4:20 THE RED CONVERSE OMGGGG

OKAY, OKAY, OKAY, THE RED CONVERSE. (1) the fact that the red era was originally ruled by Keds and yet Taylor/team chose converse to be the sneakers underneath the dress. there has to by symbolism there, right?!?!? (2) HOW SHE PICKS UP THE DRESS AND THEN WALKS OFF IN A WAY THAT IS VERY MUCH REMINDING ME OF A LITTLE KID STORMING OFF. MA'AM YOUR 'SEVEN' ENERGY IS SHOWING. (3) THE WAY IT REFERENCES "HE DIDN'T LIKE IT WHEN I WORE HIGH HEELS" AAAAAAAAAA

the shot at @ 4:29 reminds me of expensive perfume ads, Taylor's ad for Wonderstruck, and the Speak Now album art that accompanied the lyrics for Enchanted

@ 4:58 aaaayyyyeeee it's Aaron Dessner!

OMG THE BALLOON POP @ 5:00 AAAAAAAAAA!!!! IT LOOKS LIKE WHEN THE BALLOON IS POPPED, EITHER ROSE PETALS OR THE RED HEART CONFETTI FROM THE RED TOUR FALLS OUT OF THE BALLOON. I CAN'T TELL.

THE WAY THE GROOM IS FRAMED @ 5:17 LIKE HE'S A SAINT 🤣 (1) reminds me of the Better Than Revenge lyric "she's not a saint" but it's 1000000x better because he's the one being called out (2) "so you were never a saint" lyric from State of Grace

@ 5:20 how he goes to put a white pocket square in his breast pocket, but there is already a red one there AND HE DOESN'T SWAP THEM. AAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! like, no, guys, it's so meaningful. red is Taylor's color, and white is the bride's color. AND IT'S OVER HIS HEART. HE'S CHOOSING TO KEEP TAYLOR ON HIS HEART INSTEAD OF HIS BRIDE.

@ 5:22 we get a better shot of the stained glass window behind the groom, and you can see IT HAS THE SAME BIRDS AS THE CAKE. AKA MORE 1989 EASTER EGGS. BUT ALSO, THE BIRDS ARE ALL POINTED AWAY FROM HIM, LIKE THEY'RE FLYING AWAY. AND THE BIRDS IN THE WINDOW ARE RED, LIKE TAYLOR. THE WINDOW BIRDS ARE TAYLOR, FLYING AWAY FROM HIM AND BEING FREE OF HIM WHILE HE STILL HAS HER ON HIS HEART.

@ 5:32 the = symbol taylor digs into the cake being shown on the director's credit is a CHOICE. i feel like there are layers of meaning there too and I have questions. is it an easter egg related to Ed? is it a symbol for equality bc female director? what's up with this, taylor? I want more information

[screamin-abt-haikyuu]

Asahi accidentally tells you his feelings in front of the entire team (Part 2)

Continued from Part 1! I would suggest reading it first before proceeding!

Asahi accidently blurted out the L-word as Y/N was rushing out of the club room. He does not know if Y/N heard him. But the entire Karasuno VBC did. Is the gentle giant going to get through this without crying dying making a mess?

Asahi x gn! reader || Sfw Genre: Comedy and fluff at the end Word Count: 1.5k+

The entire Karasuno team is looking at Asahi in stunned silence. They all heard him say he loves you. 

However (fortunately or unfortunately for him), you did not really hear what he said. The entire club’s eyes are glued to the club room’s open windows as they watch you sprint away, eager to make it in time for your movie.

Asahi’s eyes are open wide and he keeps opening and closing his mouth but no words are coming out, he is simply gaping like a fish and making incomprehensible noises. His face is so red and hot that one could make their entire breakfast on it. 

Asahi: I-I-I d-didn’t m-mean t-t-to s- NOYA?! TANAKA?! WHY ARE YOU CRYING?!?!

Noya: *in between sobs* Asahi-san, you have grown up so fast!

Tanaka: *loud noises that seem to indicate agreement with Noya* *violent sobbing*

Suga intervened: Oi, you two, stop it! Your cries might catch Y/N’s attention.

Meanwhile, Hinata has run over and climbed on to the club room’s window and is now shouting live updates of your whereabouts. 

“Uwaaaah Asahi-san, I do not think Y/N-san heard you. I can see them running towards the gates.”

Kageyama kicks Hinata, “BOKE, don’t shout their name from the open window, they might hear you, you BOKE!”

“BAKA, Kageyama, you don’t have to kick me, I am only trying to help!”

At this point, Tanaka and Noya are rolling on the floor and crying violently, Kageyama and Hinata are trying to kill each other while Suga and Daichi try to separate them. Asahi is staring at the floor, wishing for a hole to open up and swallow him. The rest of the team is just standing around in silence, trying to absorb the mess that has happened in the last 30 seconds. 

So, you know, a usual day at the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

This is what is going on in Asahi’s mind right now:

“It’s certainly a relief that Y/N did not hear me. Or did they?!?!? and they just pretended to ignore me so they wouldn’t have to answer?!?!?! After all, it has only been 4 months, I do not expect them to love me so soon. What if this scares them off?? If they really did not hear me, that would have been great if the entire team hadn’t heard me say it. And knowing these people, I am sure Y/N will know about this before tomorrow. WHAT IF THEY HEARD ME AND THEY FREAKED OUT AND RAN OFF AND WILL NEVER COME BACK? -” and on and on it went.

"Uh-Oh”

Suga’s words snap Asahi out of his overthinking trance (good timing, I should say, because at this point he is seriously considering shifting to India and becoming a monk). He looks up to see Suga looking out the window. He pales.

//~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What have you been doing since you ran out?

“Shit, I’m going to be late if I walk there. I will have to run if I want to make it in time. The theatre is not that far, though, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

These are the thoughts going through your head as you sprint away from the club room. As you are running, your mind wanders back to Asahi (as it usually does). You have a tendency to replay every moment with him in your mind and you are thinking back to the conversation that had just taken place. Asahi had looked so cute when you were handing him his hairband. You couldn’t wait to see him tonight and you had told him that as you had run out of the room. And it seems so had he-

And then it registers. 

Wait-

//~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A very loud -WHAT?! resounded through the room. It was your voice. And even though it came from the outside, it felt like the entire room shuddered. The sound sent chills through Asahi’s spine and he started quaking in his shoes.

Suga: Uh Asahi, you have probably already realized this but Y/N seems to be running back in this directio-

The club room’s door slams open with such force that it makes everyone jump. You stand at the doorway, panting loudly, with the most incredulous expression on your face.

Asahi is dead now. I am sorry to say but his soul has left his body and it will not be returning. Let’s all come together to pray for his peaceful departure.

You look at Asahi. His face has drained entirely of its colour and he looks ready to pass out. You can almost see steam coming out of his ears as he stares at you in absolute horror. 

“D-did you j-just say you love me?” you manage to gasp out your question as you try to steady your breathing.

Asahi is dead, Y/N, dead people do not speak. 

He is shaking as you walk towards him. The expressions on his and teammates’ faces have already answered your question.

Even though Asahi is terrified out of his mind, he is trying to read your expression. How he chooses to answer right now is probably going to make or break your relationship. 

In between all the confusion on your face, he sees a hint of something else in your eyes: Hope.

You stop in front of him. You ask him the same question again, but much more calmly this time now that your breathing has somewhat normalized.

As he continues to try to read your expression, he realizes you are not mad at him. Instead, there is a slight earnestness in you. He calms down a bit.

“Y-yes.” he says, barely meeting your eyes.

“Do you really mean it? Or was it just a slip of your tongue?” you ask, hopeful, but also bracing yourself for the worst. What’s worse is that this is all happening in front of PEOPLE and all of their eyes are on you both. This is bound to make Asahi want to nope out of here. But the damage is already done and all you can do right now is wait for him to answer.

“I- I mean it (your heart soars for a second) but- (aaaand there it comes crashing back down).”

Asahi’s eyes are back to looking at the floor now and his fists are clenched. 

“but this...this is not how I wanted to tell you. I wanted to make it special for you. But I fucked this up too.”

You did not know what you were expecting him to say but this was certainly not it. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“And I- I understand if you do not feel the same way. Or if you want to b-break up with m-me.”

His voice cracks at the last sentence and even though he’s looking down, it’s not hard to figure out that he is holding back tears. 

“Special for me?” you say as you close the distance between you and him. You use your hands to cup his face and tilt his head up so that he is looking at you. His eyes are full of tears that threaten to fall at any second. 

“The only thing I need for it to be special for me is YOU. I do not care about where you said it, or how you said it. I just care that you said it. That’s the most special thing you could have done for me. You are the only thing I want and need. Everything else is just secondary.”

You wipe away a tear that has fallen from his eyes. 

“However, to make things even: I, L/N Y/N, standing here at Karasuno High School, in the Volleyball Club Room, surrounded by the weirdest audience ever, (why are Tanaka and Noya hugging and crying?? Why does Hinata seem to be in the middle of pantsing Kageyama??), would like to tell you, Azumane Asahi, that I love you too.” You kiss Asahi on his forehead, rubbing comforting circles on his back and give him a big smile. “Was that special enough for you?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, as he throws his arms around you and pulls you in for a short but passionate kiss (something he has never done in public before). His tears are now freely falling but he smiles the biggest smile at you and everything he wants to say to you, all the love and gratitude he has for you, you can see in his eyes. “I love you” he whispers as he loosens his hold on you. 

“I love you too. Can’t wait to see you tonight.” 

You are horribly late for your movie but you don’t care anymore. However, you do know it is important for your boyfriend (WHO LOVES YOU BACK!!) to focus on volleyball. So, you use the movie to excuse yourself and you finally walk out of the room, with the biggest smile on your face. You cannot help but laugh as his teammates almost blow the roof off the place with all their yelling and cheering for him as soon as you leave. 

Suffice it to say that even though you did “see” the movie, you still have no idea what it was about.

FIN

HOPE YOU ENJOYED

Oh my god I finished it. 

This was so enjoyable to write for me I cannot. I don’t think it was too bad for a first attempt??? I’m???

Please do not repost without permission.

Likes, reblogs, follows, comments are much appreciated. 

Pls lmk if you would like more content like this. 

Buy me a Kofi! <3

[from-a-reckless-writer]

because, i think it's stupid that lena wouldn't have a back-up plan after alex took the device from her...

“Hey, Alex,” Lena calls, jogging to where Alex was putting her jacket on. Everyone was already gearing up to go home and she’s been thinking about this for the past hour. 

So, Lena shoots her shot.

“Yeah?” Alex turns to her, motor helmet in hand and already clad in her leather jacket.

“I was wondering if I can bring home the tracker? I know it’s a long shot but I was thinking maybe if I get another look at it, I can reverse engineer some of its properties and try to come up with a another way to get Kara back, I know Nia’s already doing the time-travel the but it can’t hurt to-”

Alex mercifully puts a stop to her rambling and puts a hand on her arm to stop her nervous fidgeting.

“I left it on top of the workstation.” She smiles in reassurance. “Of course you can take another look at it. Anything to help Kara.”

Lena lets out a relieved sigh. After everything that’s happened today she’s still a bit wary of stepping on anybody’s toes. That showdown with Alex was really something not to mention that talk after.

“Okay, okay. Thank you.”

“Alright. Good night.”

She sprints to the lab--which looks like more of an awkward gallop in her high heels--and snatches the tube-like device from the table.

She doesn’t even realize she’s hitching an elevator ride with Nia and Brainy—too caught up with planning out what to do with the device—till Nia speaks up, “Hey, that wasn’t bad for a first day.”

Lena looks up from the device in her hands, meeting Nia’s eyes.

“What’d I tell you, Nia Nal? Lena has always been extraordinary,” Brainy states, pressing for the ground floor.

“T-thank you,” she says, voice shaky and shy, but who can blame her? She isn’t used to this kind of appreciation. She still can’t believe they’ve accepted her like this, even though she very nearly ruined the whole mission by choosing Kara above everything else. 

It was a good thing Alex was there to call the shots.

Nia gives her a small smile before slowly closing her eyes and resting her head against Brainy’s shoulder.

They say their goodbye’s at the door and then Lena’s speeding her way to her apartment.

***

The device worked with Kara’s DNA before it got recalibrated, if, and that’s a big if, Lena thinks.

If she can extract Kara’s DNA, replace the core of the device, and input it in, then she can recreate the same tech she did earlier.

She already knows she’s not going to get any sleep tonight.

She pulls up in front of her building and heads straight for her penthouse.

Kara hasn’t been here for a year, what with their falling out and everything that’s happened with Lex. They didn’t even have a chance for one last movie night before Kara disappeared.

Her eyes start to sting with unshed tears at the thought, but knowing the work she has to do tonight, she quickly pushes it down.

Despite Kara not having visited her home recently, Lena knows there are many traces of her in this place. Namely, the lavender hairbrush living in her second bathroom drawer, the one she didn’t have the heart to throw away even during their fight.

She quickly makes for her bathroom, throws open the drawers, grabs the brush and puts it in a clean zip-lock, one she pulled from the kitchen.

She didn’t even bother changing clothes.

She was too busy outlining tonight’s lab work in her head to bother with something as trivial as changing clothes.

There are more important things to do, like busting inside the LuthorCorp tower, and down to what used to be her private lab. Lex hasn’t changed security. This, she knows. Therefore, she also knows that Mr. Johnson still works the night shifts and if she plays her cards right, she can sway him to open the door for her and keep it discreet.

Of course, you must be wondering why doesn’t she just use her private lab at home, instead? The reason being, her private lab is strictly an engineering and physics lab. What she needs right now, is enzymatic reagents and buffers; a gel electrophoresis machine and a PCR machine.

All of which can be found in LuthorCorp’s cutting-edge Biochemistry laboratory.

***

Turns out, she was right.

Mr. Johnson still does the nightshift and he was only a tad bit surprised to see her there. Already used to Lena staying holed up all night long, in her lab in the past.

He tells her he’s on her side despite the bad news about the Luthor Children’s Hospital, tells her that most of them here dearly misses Miss Luthor and hopes that Lex as CEO is only a temporary thing. He also tells her thank you again for the thousandth time for Lena saving his daughter’s life. Lena smiles warmly and asks if he can keep this visit under wraps if he doesn’t mind, to which he immediately agrees. Lena fights the urge to let out another sigh of relief.

See, Lex? It pays to treat people kindly.

It’s 11 pm when Lena reaches the labs. It was already dark, save for the lights of the big freezers. She knows there’ll be footage of her little excursion here but that’s an easy enough problem to solve when you have a Twelfth-Level intellect as back-up.

When she said she isn’t going to sleep tonight, she really genuinely means she isn’t going to sleep tonight.

See, it’s already 11 and she needs at least an hour to sterilize all equipment, another hour to sift through the clump of hair in the brush and look for an intact hair shaft. Then, she estimates 2 hours for extracting the DNA from the hair shaft using enzymes and she knows all too well how long a time it takes for a pipette to find the right fit during electrophoresis, not to mention the PCR machine can take 2-4 hours.

And even then, Lena still has to test the device, link it to her transmatter portal in order to open a portal once she gets Kara’s coordinates and after all that she isn’t really sure if this is going to be effective.

She has half a mind to call Brainy here and run her through all the probabilities.

But she knows this is something she needs to do alone.

***

It’s been so long since she’s had to do anything with physiology that she has to spend at least 30 minutes reading up the lab manual.

Extracting cattle DNA like she did back in college was an easy enough task with someone with the brains as hers, but a Kryptonian’s?

Lena had to do some extra calculations on what temperature to set and how much solution to use to get through Kara’s hair of steel.

In the end, she figured it out and soon enough the hum of the PCR machine becomes her only companion. It took a while to denature Kara’s DNA, she had to double the amount of Taq polymerase before actually getting it to the PCR machine.

It’s 4 am now, and she only has two hours before the LuthorCorp employees show up; two hours before her brother pulls up.

Thank God, for state of the art PCR machines that get things done in under an hour.

***

She’s been actively avoiding thinking of Kara throughout all of this.

But now, she’s home and in her private lab with Kara’s DNA strands in vials inside the LuthorCorp sterile container.

If she pulls this off, if this works, Kara would be home.

She won’t have to talk to holograms anymore, she won’t have to dream about bloody capes, she won’t have to feel incomplete anymore. Kara would be home. She can bring Kara home.

With a newfound determination, she sets on recalibrating the device. She takes out a vial of Kara’s DNA; gloved hands carefully inserting it unto the core of the device.

Now, onto the second part; linking her transmatter portal to open up at the exact coordinates the tracker points.

The whole process took her at least two hours. By the time she trudges to her bedroom to test the device, the sun was already peeking up from the horizon.

She opts to do it in her bedroom, granted that her physics lab was nothing more but the size of two small rooms mashed together. Her bedroom was more spacious and in the event that Kara needs to lie down, her bed would only be three steps away.

The device feels heavy in Lena’s hand, it actually feels alive. Lena supposes, it is. 

It does have Kara’s DNA in it after all.

She feels like this is one of those moments where it will be ingrained in your brain for forever. That small in-between in the middle of the Before and After. The realization of how important this moment is clears up her mind.

So, with sweaty hands she raises the device, clicks something on her wristwatch, watches as the tube fills with a blue hue getting brighter and brighter, till a streak of blue-white light beams out from the device and from a single point starts to form the beginnings of a portal.

Lena’s seen one too many portal openings for a lifetime to know in the next instant that this is it, it works.

She fucking did it.

***

A gust of ice cold air is the first thing that hits Lena once the portal fully opens.

The next was the sight of Supergirl. Kara. She was slumped against a boulder; cape tattered, hair dirty and face begrimed. She looked tired, exhausted, and in those first few seconds, Kara had her eyes closed.

Before it hits Lena all at once, Kara’s right there! She’s right there! She found Kara! Kara is right there, just three steps away—

“KARA!” She shouts, runs to the portal and into the Phantom Zone.

Kara jerks at the call of her name, squints her eyes at the bright blue portal before she realizes a figure is barreling straight for her, screaming her name.

A figure she knows all too well, a voice she knows all too well.

Before she knows it Lena’s crashing unto her place on the ground, two arms wrapping at Kara’s neck, sobbing, “It worked! Oh, God, it worked, I found you! I found you, I found you-”

All Kara could do was mutter a Lena in response, still suspended in disbelief.

Lena pulls back to touch her face and Kara finally takes a good look at her. Lena knows her hair was a far cry from her prim ponytails, she’s been tugging at it since midnight, her face was blotchy with tears and her eyes must’ve screamed exhaustion. But she couldn’t care less about her appearance, because Kara was here, she found Kara.

Kara was here and she’s crying too, also bringing a hand to Lena’s face and wiping at her tears.

They were crying and smiling and sobbing in each other’s arms.

“You found me.”

Lena leans in to Kara’s touch, both hands cradling Kara’s hand on her cheek, smiles in between sniffles and nods.

“I did, Kara I did. I found you. I'll always find you.”

“Take me home, Lena.”

***

Alex picks up on the third ring.

“Lena?” she answers, voice still groggy with sleep.

“I found her, Alex, I found her, she’s home.”

“What? Who? Lena what-”

“Kara. Kara’s home, Alex.”

The next thing Lena hears were sobs. She passes the phone to Kara, who was still in her filthy supersuit, sitting on the edge of Lena’s queen bed probably making it dirty beyond saving but Lena cannot find in her to care.

“Hi, Alex.”

She exits the room to give the Danvers sisters some privacy and also to prepare Kara a shower, grabs a couple of Kara’s clothes from when they still had sleepovers and left it in the bathroom counter.

By the time she comes back again, Kara’s put the phone down, still sitting on the bed and fiddling with her thumbs. Kara looked small like this and there’s nothing more Lena wants to do than to embrace her.

So, she does.

“Hi,” Kara says, as she holds Lena close, Lena straddling her lap, foreheads pressed together.

“Hi back,” she whispers, smile in her voice, Kara’s blue eyes were filled with exhaustion but still beaming bright just for her. “Would you like to take a shower? I’ve prepared the bath for you.”

Kara nods, refusing to pull away, “Okay, okay, great,” she mutters even though the both of them make no move to pull away from each other, choosing to remain in this quiet existence of overwhelming love for each other’s presence, instead.

There’s still so much to say and so much to do, but all of that can wait, everything can wait, there’s no rush.

Her hero is finally home after all.

***

When she opens the door, Alex crashes into her with an embrace so tight, Lena had trouble breathing. Kelly closes the door for them, they drove here still in pajamas Lena notices, as Kelly gives her a smile from over Alex’s shoulder.

“Where is she?” Alex gasps out, tears springing from her eyes at the sight of Kara’s supersuit on the floor, right next to her grimy red boots. Concrete proof that her sister really is home, that Lena really did the impossible.

“In the shower,” Lena murmurs, giving Kelly a cup of tea as Alex paces in anticipation, Lena was half-afraid she’d wear a hole in her hardwood floors.

“H-how?” Alex asks, too emotional to let out a full sentence.

“Well,” Lena begins, and takes them through the entire process of what she had done the night before, how she didn’t sleep, how she kind of needs Brainy to scrub clean the LuthorCorp surveillance system, how she replicated Kara’s DNA as substitute for the life force in that crystal, how the portal had opened in her bedroom.

Alex took all of this in with quiet tears streaming down her face and Kelly’s hand tight in hers.

“Thank you, Lena. Thank you.”

***

The sight of the Danvers sisters reuniting was something that would make even a grown man weep.

Alex collides into Kara, before she even gets the chance to say her name.

“Rao, Alex, I missed you.”

Alex couldn’t respond to hearing her sister’s voice again for the first time, so she just sobs into the embrace.

Lena has to wipe away a stray tear or two before turning around, feeling like this moment was something too precious to intrude on.

This moment belonged to Kara and Alex, not her.

Kelly did the same and asked Lena if it would be okay to use her kitchen, she wanted to fix Kara her first breakfast.

***

“Are you sure you’d rather stay the night here?” Lena murmurs unto the crown of Kara’s head.

They were both laid in Lena’s bed, she doesn’t why she asked, when the both of them are already in pajamas and are two seconds away from slumber still Lena can’t help but ask.

Surely, Kara would want to spend her first night back in her own bed rather than here, right?

“M’sure, I’m right where I want to be,” Kara says around a yawn, pressing close to Lena, and nuzzling into her neck. She was clearly wearied, which was totally understandable, hell the both of them were. Lena’s been up for 24 hours. She’s amazed her body hasn’t knocked her out yet.

After that emotional morning, Alex insisted Kara be checked in The Tower. And so they did, everything was fine with her vitals, though they all still insisted she stay a couple of hours under the sunlamps. All of them knows, there was no sunlight in the Phantom Zone.

Nia, Brainy and M’gann all had teary reunions with Kara. Although, Nia’s was the most amusing one, “I’m sorry, in advance,” she said between sniffles, “But I just couldn’t think of anything and- and- Andrea was grilling me so I just said you were with Cat,” she sobbed.

“It’s okay, Nia,” Kara laughs, “We’ll work on it together,” she promises.

Seeing Kara back with everyone, seeing her in her pastel clothes, seeing her without her glasses; laughing and soft and safe has Lena crying quietly again at the memory.

“Hey? Why are you crying? This is a happy day, remember? I’m home. You brought me home. No more crying, okay?” Kara tells her from her place in the bed.

“I know.” Lena quickly wipes a tear, “I’m sorry, I’m just happy. So, so happy.”

She is. She really, really is. Especially right now, finally laying in bed with Kara after a long two weeks of lonely nights.

Kara requested to be held tonight, asking Lena shyly, “C-can you hold me? For tonight? Please?”

Lena was powerless and now here they were.

“For the record,” Lena says, “I’m right where I want to be, too.”

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's Delicate: PART I

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Content Warnings: Mention of NA meeting, some case talk, mild language

Author's Note: This is my first chapter fic! I've only written one shots before, so bear with me. I truly do appreciate all reblogs, likes, and comments. Thank you!!

It's Delicate

Spencer doesn’t really care for gas station coffee, but at 2:00 am it’s the only thing that’s open. He pulls into the parking spot and turns off his Volvo. The check engine light is on, he needs to get into a mechanic, but between his NA meetings and work, it’s difficult to even catch his breath.

So that’s what Spencer does. In the middle of the gas station parking lot at 2:00 am, Spencer sits in his blue Volvo and breathes. He takes deep breaths, the ones that he uses when he has to calm down victims when they’re rescued. It’s grounding, breathing like this he thinks. It’s the kind of breath that Spencer takes when his head is fuzzy from sleeplessness and the only thing that can keep his eyes from drooping is a steady stream of coffee.

He unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of his car. Shutting the door, Spencer surveys the rest of the parking lot. He sees a couple other cars in the lot, he supposes it’s the gas station attendants, but he feels his shoulders tense at the thought of trouble. The bell attached to the door rings as Spencer opens the door. It's a small convenience store, one that Spencer has been frequently at odd hours after the BAU’s jet lands. He’s grown to know the owner, Jeff, who for the past 4 years hasn’t been around all too often.

“I’ll take a regular coffee,” Spencer asks the young man behind the counter. He doesn’t say anything in return, but nods his head in understanding as Spencer hands him a $5 bill and tells him to keep the change.

“Night,” Spencer tells the man, who he’s never seen before, when he hands him his coffee. Again, the young man doesn’t answer. Spencer tries to salvage the awkward encounter by chalking up the man’s coldness by it being so late.

As Spencer pushes against the door with the sleeve covered part of his arm, a poster that’s eye level catches his eye. It’s one of those posters where you can rip off the phone number and contact the person. But instead of a 20-something looking for a roommate, it’s a book club advertisement.

Spencer, quickly for a normal person, but slowly for himself, reads over the sign. The book club is hosted at the local bookstore, Hooked on Books, that Spencer has always meant to check out. From what he can gather, the list of numbers are from people looking for what the poster refers to as “book buddies”. Spencer’s eyes scan the list. There aren't any names attached to the numbers, Spencer supposes that the idea behind that is so bias won’t come into play.

It almost seems like the perfect trap: rip off one of these little pieces of paper with a phone number and call that person with the intention of being their book buddy. It’s something that Spencer knows deep in his bones he’s meant to avoid. But it’s like there’s an invisible string pulling at him to rip the third piece of paper from the group and stuff it carefully into the safety of his wallet.

--

It’s been five days since Spencer visited the cold man at the gas station and took the number from the poster. In those five days, Spencer slept for two and was back on plane to the middle of Montana for the next three.

After a long day in the sun, Spencer relishes in the cold water from the hotel shower. Even though he had to crouch slightly, Spencer still appreciated the way the chilly water seems to wash him anew. He never sleeps well when the team is on a case, it’s like his mind can’t rest. Well, his mind can never really rest, since it’s technically always growing and changing, especially during sleep.

Spencer’s thoughts travel from his messed up circadian rhythm to the piece of paper that burns a hole in his wallet. He steps out of the shower and dresses in his pajamas. It’s cold in the hotel run, as JJ likes to sleep in the coldest temperature humanly possible. Spencer knows that she finds the weight of blankets comforting. He makes a mental note to put some of his pillows on JJ’s bed, so she can pretend it’s her boys and Will in the bed with her. Spencer can’t help but wonder what’s like to have a child or a partner that misses you. It must be so bittersweet: the promise of coming home, but the threat of having to leave them all behind at moments notice.

Letting his hair air dry, Spencer unlocks the door and enters his and JJ’s hotel room. Out of the whole team, Spencer likes sharing with JJ the best. She’s the most organized and usually, they’ll spend the night on FaceTime with the boys and Will watching a movie, depending on the time.

“You’re all good, JJ. Thanks for letting me get in first,” Spencer says, flopping down on his bed. He shuts off his light, essentially telling JJ that he doesn’t want to talk about the case, or Henry, or anything really.

“Good night, Spence,” JJ says, before shutting off the rest of the lights and heading into the bathroom.

For a couple of minutes, Spencer lays in the all consuming dark. He tries the breathing exercise that’s scientifically proven to make you fall asleep. He counts, one, two, three, four breaths in and holds for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven and let's go for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He tries it for a couple of rounds, but suspects thinking about numbers makes him think about the phone number. Spencer can’t exactly pinpoint why he’s nervous to reach out to the number. Maybe it’s his constant fear of judgement or fear of not being enough, he can’t tell.

Knowing that sleep is probably not coming anytime soon, Spencer rolls on his side so he faces the window overlooking the hotel parking lot. He can’t stop thinking about the case. The way the victim’s mother and father walk around the precinct with a lifeless look in their eyes, staying villgiant no matter how many times JJ tells them to go home and rest.

Spencer doesn’t want to think about the case, so his mind flits to another subject: Hooked on Books Book Buddies. He can’t really pinpoint why he didn’t reach out to his book buddy. But laying there in the bed, Spencer feels strongly compelled to do anything to get his mind off the case, so he climbs out of bed to reach for his phone.

It’s tucked away neatly in his go bag, unlike JJ, Spencer doesn’t have anyone that’s waiting for him at home. Sure he has his mother, but if she needed him, the home would wait until 8 am to call Spencer. He unlocks it and the blue light illuminates the room. Somehow, Garcia had convinced him to get an updated phone. Spencer hardly uses it, but does appreciate being able to get pictures of JJ’s boys and his mother.

He memorized the number in the ten seconds or so it took him to rip the little slip of paper from the poster and put it away in his wallet. Spencer punches the numbers into a new contact, but hesitates when he’s prompted to give a name. He doesn’t know the first thing about this person. Seriously, this is like FBI 101 on the do not listen, he thinks.

Spencer pushes the thoughts of serial killers, for what feels like the first time in ten years, from his mind when he hits the button to message his mysterious book buddy. He types out a message a couple of times, but ends up deleting them because he sounds so incredibly stupid.

Spencer: Hello. I do apologize for my late message. I work odd hours, but I came across your number at the gas station on the corner of Richmond Street and Connor Avenue in Woodbridge. If you are interested, perhaps we can have a conversation about Hooked on Books’ Book Club?

Spencer, realizing that the message he wrote is going to be as good as it gets, hits the little arrow for “send”. He watches as his message turns blue and the little gray delivered pops up. He doesn’t expect the person to send a message back yet. He’s all the way in Montana and they’re in Woodbridge, Virginia, presumably. If it’s 2:30 am in Montana, it’s 4:30 back at home. That’s a little too late for someone with a normal 9 to 5 to be up for work and a little too late for a person that’s joining a book club to haven’t gone to sleep yet.

Don’t profile them, Spencer.

“What’s got you glued to the phone, Reid?” JJ says, with a smirk as she walks out from the bathroom and climbs into her bed. She came in so quietly, or rather, Spencer was staring so intensely at his phone that he didn’t realize.

“Something with my mother, JJ,” he lies, and he doesn’t even know what he can’t tell her the truth.

“Okay, Spence. I just want to make sure you’re all good,” JJ says quietly, her back must be facing Spencer because her voice is muffled a little bit.

“Thanks, JJ, uh good night, now,” Spencer says, effectively ending the conversation.

JJ doesn’t say anything after that, perhaps she just understands that Spencer doesn’t want to talk. Spencer rests flat on his back and tries a couple more rounds of the breathing exercise, but nothing seems to make his brain shut off. Despite the way his eyelids droop and the way it’s almost painful to continue to think, Spencer can’t seem to fall asleep.

He thinks about his Book Buddy, whoever they might be. Spencer hopes that they are around his age. He can’t remember a time that he had a friend his age that wasn’t through work. He has people. JJ is the closest thing to a sister that he’ll ever get and he knows that Derek loves him like a brother, despite his teasing. Emily and Penelope are Spencer’s rock. And then there’s Tara, Matt, and Luke, though Spencer has really gotten a chance to know them all too well, he knows that they’re a team.

But Spencer has always dreamt of having a friend. As a little kid, he used to make up imaginary friends that would listen to his science facts and perform chemistry experiments from him. When he got to high school, his dreams were occupied by someone who’d reach for his hand after he’d been beaten down or strung to a football post. Sure he had Ethan, but that was something charged and electric that left Spencer longing for someone again.

Spencer hadn’t had dreams about a friend in a long time, but tonight he dreamt of coffee and books in a small café and a faceless stranger that would listen to him and laugh with him.

--

Even though he fell asleep relatively shortly after thinking about his Book Buddy, Spencer did not feel well rested. He turns around in his bed and notices that JJ’s bed is already neatly made. The bathroom is empty, so Spencer reckons that JJ and Emily must already be at the police station.

He wants to savor the last couple of minutes in bed, maybe chase a dream or two of strangers swapping books and making memories over expensive coffee and scones. But reality calls him back home. Spencer checks his phones for work updates (and maybe a message or two from his Book Buddy), but the only notifications on his phone is a Forbes article and a couple emails from Georgetown.

Spencer, heading to the bathroom, gets interrupted by a loud and persistent knock on his hotel room door. He opens the door, revealing an equally tired looking Luke. He waves Spencer good morning before slumping down in the desk chair in the corner of the hotel room.

“I’ve been sent by JJ to get you, she thinks you’re acting weird,” Luke says, expecting Spencer to explain himself.

Awkwardly, Spencer makes something in between a grimace and a frown. He rolls his eyes, but plays along with what he thinks Luke’s little game.

“Well I’m always weird, it would be weird if I wasn’t being weird,” Spencer says, heading into the bathroom with a pile of work clothes. He shuts the door, both literally on Luke and metaphorically on their conversation.

In the bathroom, Spencer dresses out of his pajamas and into a pair of well worn pants and a light purple button up. He forgot his contacts at his apartment, but luckily had a back up pair of glasses in his go bag. Spencer, looking in the mirror, never particularly carried for the reflection that looks back at him. It always seems like his hair is too messy, or his collar is all twisted, or his eyebags are too prominent.

At least the glasses can kind of cover up his eye bags, Spencer thinks as he shuts off the light and closes the bathroom door behind him. Luke, who still is slouched in the chair, looks at his phone.

“Waiting for Penelope to send you a picture of Sergio or something?” Spencer asks, the snark in his voice isn’t missed by Luke.

“You’re one to talk, JJ was telling me how you’re being kind of secretive for the last couple of weeks,” Luke counters.

“Yeah, that’s my work mandated therapist, Luke. You know from the time I was in jail,” Spencer shoots back a little harder than he intended. The look that Luke gives him is something akin to a hurt puppy and Spencer can’t help but feel a little bad for snapping at Luke’s teasing.

“Sorry, man,” Luke says, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “I get it, and you know I’m here for you, Reid. We might not be as close as you and Penny or you and JJ, but I’m here to listen to you,” Luke says, his hand on Spencer, who’s usually so hesitant to touch, is something Spencer never thought he would find comforting.

“Thank you,” is all Spencer can manage and somehow, Luke just gets it. They walk quietly to the parking lot where the SUVs are. The silence continues as they drive to the police station.

It’s still early, only 7:13 am. Spencer can only hope that they catch the unsub in the next couple of hours, so they can file the paperwork and be on their way to Quantico by 8:00 pm. Luke’s steady driving threatens to lull Spencer to sleep. His quiet presence, however, is interrupted with a buzz. Luke’s eyes dart to his phone that navigates them to the police station. He refuses to take direction from Spencer, who has a habit of being a terrible co-pilot.

“Check that for me,” Luke says, “it’s probably Penelope,”

Spencer raises his eyebrows and attempts to suppress a smirk at Luke’s blatant transparency.

“You know with updates about the case and whatnot,” Luke says, brushing Spencer’s teasing off and putting his attention back to the road.

“It’s not Garcia and for what it’s worth, Luke, I don’t see how she’d say no,” Spencer offers, genuinely wanting to see his two friends, who are so perfect for each other it’s almost ridiculous, get together.

Luke shuffles in his seat uncomfortably and pulls into the station. He shoots Spencer a lot, as if to say drop it. The last thing Luke wants is Tara and Matt to get wind of his excitement at Penelope texting him.

Spencer, who’s phone lights up alerting him that he has an unread message, feels a sudden surge in his heart. He’s so used to only getting messages from JJ about the cases or pictures of her boys, that a text not related to his work or his family leaves a smile to his face.

Spencer tries to not profile the message, but to just read it like a normal friend would.

Book Buddy (Y/N): Hey there😊! I can’t believe someone actually grabbed my number...I’m glad you’re interested in this. I’m Y/N and I don’t think you mentioned your name, I don’t make it a habit to meet up with strangers before not knowing their name.

Reading the message twice to make sure he can recite without any hesitation, Spencer’s face falls as he realizes that he forgot to tell them his own name. How could you be so clueless, Spencer, he thinks.

Quickly, because he knows that the rest of the team is waiting inside the police station, that is like a portal to the past, Spencer types out another message.

Spencer: My name is Spencer.

Spencer: I tend to be away for work quite often, so I do apologize for the late message. And for hiding my identity-- not that that was on purpose. Is it okay if we plan something when I get back to Virginia?

Spencer doesn’t expect a message right away, but he can tell that there’s going to be something Pavlovian about the way that little swoosh sound makes his fingers reach for his phone.

--

Thank You!! I love and appreciate all and every comments, likes, and reblogs. I love knowing what you think!!

--Taglist--

@shemarmooresfedora

@april-14-blog

@willowrose99

@calm-and-doctor

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@nomajdetective

[minjunz]

mr. sandman | hrj (part I)

Pairing: gn!reader x renjun

Themes + Warnings: insomnia, profanity, very very brief mention of drugs, uni au, sexual innuendos, likely to be more in future

Genre: angst/fluff

Summary: Several nights of torturous insomnia drives you to great lengths for a moment's peace. Unbeknownst to you, the solution is very simple and very close. (is that cringe I can't tell)

A/N: Severe lack of renjun content on this website. i started writing this in may and intended for it to be a oneshot but I stalled for months because i’m never inspired and always busy so I decided to make it into somewhat of a series? I can't promise more parts will be out any time soon as I'm still on hiatus but I do have hope!

Word Count: 2.8k

-

Six hundred sheep.

Six hundred sheep had hopped over that tiny little fence in your head, and yet here you were staring into a blank ceiling for the nth night in a row.

You had tried everything the internet recommended; meditation, yoga, exercise, essential oils that smelled nothing like the labels - but none of them had helped, Obviously.

You weren’t sure when this constant wake had started, but it was long enough ago that you knew the only sleep you would be getting tonight was in your eyes. Again.

You sprung yourself upright, paused for a second, then threw yourself back down as hard as you could into bed in a desperate attempt to knock yourself out on your pillow (which absorbed almost all the impact) and clamped your eyes shut.

A few achingly long minutes passed before you accepted that it, like everything else, had not worked and you were unfortunately still awake and alert. To be fair, you knew that never succeeded, but it was worth a shot at least.

You internally cursed your body for damning you to an eternity of sleepless nights before groaning and grabbing your phone from the bedside table next to you. You squinted at the glowing screen, reading 4:05 AM. You had to be up at 8:30, so a four and a half hour head-start sounded about right.

Yeah, probably not.

Deciding to try and have someone talk you to sleep instead, you opened the messenger app and started typing. You knew damn well your roommate was still up in his room playing games, so you selected him as your probably-most-willing candidate to either knock you out or bore you into a coma. If he didn’t answer you’d just have to put a hole through his monitor. It would be what he deserved.

you: are u up

About thirty silent seconds passed before the three little dots appeared next to his name to indicate he was replying.

lil pudu: ya why

you: i cant sleep

lil pudu: again??

you: yes. now come knock me out

lil pudu: cant. in the middle of an overwatch stream.

you: pls

lil pudu: idk ask the sandman or smth ok luv u bye x

you: ur useless.

You made a mental note to pour water on his keyboard when you got up.

As much as you despised the sandman joke after reading it for the millionth time, you did wish that he could just snap his fingers and make you fall asleep. Entertaining the idea to soothe your nearing insanity, you whispered into the darkness of your room and shut your eyes once again,

“Mr sandman, bring me a dream.”

-

Warmth enveloped you.

You heard gentle waves lapping back and forth beside your feet, and the quiet cry of a seagull or two echoing overhead. Your hair lifted slightly in a soft, passing breeze before lowering perfectly back into place. The air was salty as you inhaled, but it was welcoming.

A mild heat rested on your closed eyelids, inviting you to open them.

You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the warm light, gingerly opening one at a time. This was not your bedroom.

Now fully open, you were able to take in the beauty of this unfamiliar place. The sky was painted in gorgeous pink and orange hues, complemented by the drifting candy-floss clouds. The symphony of colours reflected in the vast ocean was illuminated by the glowing sun in the horizon. Your gaze shifted downwards towards the sand you were standing on. It was pink too. You noticed intricate looking white shells lined in two rows up and down the beach in what appeared to be a pathway - as if someone had placed them there.

“Is this a dream?” You asked yourself, reaching down and taking a handful of the balmy sand, letting it fall through your fingers. It felt real. “No way did that Sandman bullshit actually work.”

Your gaze shifted back towards the shells. They felt as though they were beckoning you to follow them. You leaned down and picked one up, examining its delicate design in the fading sunlight. It looked too perfect to be real. Each swirl and divot looked intentionally symmetrical and much too smooth to be the workings of mother nature. Why was there so many? And why were they setting a path for you? No matter which way you looked at it, it seemed peculiar.

You’d have no problem obeying their silent call if this were a dream - you could always wake up in the case of danger. But you didn’t know. It had been so long since your last actual dream that the lines between them and reality were incredibly blurred.

You pinched the skin on your arm, hard enough to leave a reddening mark. If it didn’t hurt, you’d follow the path. If it did hurt, you’d leave the beach and try to find the nearest phone because this was definitely not your room and you did not remember driving here.

It didn’t hurt.

You stood up, dusted off your jeans - you also didn’t remember going to bed in jeans - and set off down the pathway towards the great unknown.

It was probably just more sand.

-

You didn’t know how long you had been walking, but it was long enough that the sun should have set. You looked at it, still illuminating the serene water in the exact same position as it had been when you first opened your eyes. The seagulls had stopped now, the sound of your footsteps in the sand the only accompaniment to the muted waves. Being a university student without a gym membership, this amount of walking should have tired you out. It should have made you a sweaty, panting mess. But you were in perfect condition. In fact, you felt better. Your legs didn’t burn whatsoever despite the non-stop cardio. You wished real life exercise was this easy.

Patting your armpits to find out if you really weren’t sweating, your eyes caught a figure in the distance.

It was undoubtedly human, and they were standing still with their back towards you, but you couldn’t make out much else from where you were now.

It felt like a few hours of walking with no sign of intelligent life in sight, so it was refreshing to finally interact with a human being - real or not.

You broke into a brisk jog to catch up to where the figure was stood. Assuming they wouldn’t be startled by a stranger suddenly running at them in a secluded area, you called out with your hands cupped around your mouth in a makeshift megaphone,

“Hey! What are you-“

Your gaze met the ceiling once again.

You looked around. No sand. No sun. No sea.

Just the blank dimness of your room.

Your phone was still in your hand. You raised it towards your face and stared into the big white numbers in the centre. 8:29 AM. You blinked as the screen faded and you saw nothing but your own reflection of disbelief. Had you actually slept for more than 5 minutes? Did the Sandman really grant you a dream just because you asked? Did Haechan secretly just force you into a coma? A million questions raced through your mind before the familiar blare of your alarm rang through your ears, prompting you to get up. You’d been woken exactly a minute before your alarm.

What the hell, Sandman.

-

“I’m telling you it actually worked!” You pointed your plastic fork accusingly at Mark, who was raising his hands in pretend defense, “As soon as I said the Sandman thing I fell asleep!”

“I’m not saying you didn’t,” He started, gently lowering the weapon in your grasp, “I’m just saying there’s no way the Sandman brought you a dream. He’s a mythical being.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, raising the fork again, “I’ll stab you.”

“Why are you threatening Mark again?” Haechan asked as he approached, taking a seat beside you and opening his bag to look for his probably-forgotten lunch.

“Y/N thinks the Sandman is real.” Mark rolled his eyes. You wished you could roll them into a busy road at the moment with the amount of sass he was giving you.

Haechan looked up, hand stilling in his bag, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

You rolled your eyes back at Mark in mockery, “I never said I thought he was real-“

“You actually took my shitty advice?” Haechan nudged you, winking theatrically and pursing his lips, “awh, you do love me.” He blew a kiss and shut his eyes - only to immediately reopen them when you flicked his mouth.

“I did it as a joke.” You argued, wiping your fingers on the sleeve of his jacket. “But I actually had a dream last night.”

“A wet dream?”

You elbowed him in the ribs, “No, you fucking weirdo.”

He clutched his side in a dramatic show of betrayal and wiped an invisible tear from the corner of his eye, “What happened then?”

You recounted to the pair as much as you could remember from last night - this morning? - about the shell path leading to a mysterious figure, and how you had pants on for some reason, and how you didn’t sweat despite a shocking amount of cardio, and how the sun didn’t move even though it felt like hours passed. You looked at them expectantly, finishing your semi detailed retelling in an exasperated sigh.

They looked at each other with matching expressions of confusion, then back at you. Silence remained as you awaited a response. Mark was the first to speak.

“Are you on drugs?” He feigned concern, eyebrows creased mockingly, as Haechan snickered beside you.

“Shut up,” You poked your fork into his hand, leaving tiny dotted indents, “your dreams are so much worse than that.”

“Oh yeah,” Haechan’s face lit up at his newfound victim, swiftly moving on from your ridicule, “remember when you dreamt about Jaemin making you-“

Mark lunged over the table to clasp a hand over Haechan’s mouth, his face flushing a deep red colour that rivalled the watermelon cubes on his plate. “Don’t say another word.” he threatened, cheeks still glowing.

Haechan made a muffled “blegh” sound, presumably licking Mark’s hand. He pulled it away and shook it limply, removing the excess Haechan saliva.

“What’s wrong with you.”

-

You knew you were right.

You were going to prove it, you just had to have another dream. That’d show you weren’t insane. Probably.

If it worked, Mark had agreed to let you cut his bangs - you were praying on being successful because you had a shiny new pair of zig-zag craft scissors that you were waiting for an opportunity to use.

You took one final glance at your phone, reading 11:27 PM, then let the screen turn to black. It fell to your side as you shut your eyes. You opened your mouth, repeating the faint plea from the previous night,

“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.”

Your sight adjusted once again to the light emanating from the sun hanging low in the pink dusted sky. You looked down. You were stood on a soft, uneven surface. Aged white shells lined a wide path on either side of you, speckled in sand. Sand.

It had worked.

You clenched your fist shut and pumped it in triumph, a smile forming on your lips. You cackled to yourself, knowing Mark would be donning a hat for the next few months.

As you gathered the rest of your somewhat familiar surroundings, your eyes landed on a figure. It was the same figure from last night; still facing away from you, still unaware of your presence.

You didn’t run this time. You walked briskly but leisurely, basking in the radiant warmth and admiring the calm waters. You were enjoying the glory of being right.

More details became visible as you followed the path further.

The figure was that of a young man, probably no older than you. He was sat cross-legged on a piece of white fabric splayed out in front of the sea. His hair, like the sand and sky, was a faded chalky pink, tickling his neck with a hint of his natural dark roots peaking out from atop his head. He almost blended in. He sported a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and his wrists were decorated in an assortment of beaded and leather bracelets.

He had one hand behind him, resting his weight on it. His other hand twirled a pencil back and forth between his fingers. A small black sketchbook lay in his lap, white pages partially obscured behind his body. You couldn’t see his face yet, but the sunlight reflecting against his exposed skin was enough to convince you he was utterly beautiful. The glow illuminated him, a weak halo hovering on the outline of his frame and highlighting his elegant features to anyone fortunate enough to bear witness to them. He almost reminded you of an angel.

He turned his head as you approached, wide eyes meeting your gaze. You saw yourself ever so slightly reflected in the lenses of the glasses resting loosely on his nose. You looked brighter, more vibrant to match the atmosphere, and your natural palette somehow complemented the surrounding scenery - and the boy - perfectly. It felt like where you belonged in that moment.

You continued to stare at each other in startled silence until his lips parted and he spoke, barely enough to even be audible,

“You’re here.”

He hastily rose to his feet, stumbling towards you and brushing sand grains off his legs. The sketchbook on his lap fell to the floor, revealing it’s contents. A half-drawn seashell lay face up, closely resembling the ones you had followed the past two nights. But this one was broken. The intricate detailing had been illustrated with cracks and shatters adorning the carvings. You felt like you recognised it.

You’d never met him, you were sure of it, but his art was so familiar to you. It must have been the dreamland taking inspiration from a real person. It wasn’t like he had a forgettable face by any means, distinctly soft features still gleaming in the sunlight.

He stuck out his hand, awaiting your greeting with an expectant smile. He seemed to recognise you, too. Was this your dream-buddy? Did your new dreams have lore...? Whatever he was, you still had no idea who he was.

You took his hand, relishing in the comforting tenderness, “So,” you shook it gently, opening your mouth to joke, “are you the Sandman or something?”

His lips were still curled into a mellow smile, slight falter undetected by you, but his eyes flashed a whisper of a melancholy memory as he looked into yours, the soft glaze reflecting muffled heartache. As quickly as it had appeared, the somber flicker faded back into a sheer wall of secrecy. You wanted to find out what those eyes were concealing - what stories lay behind such solemnity.

He exhaled, softer than the clouds circling above you, before opening his mouth to respond,

“You can call me that for now, I guess.”

He smiled again, eyes creasing ever so slightly at your jest. You smiled back. It was almost contagious. “Do you have a real name?”

He grimaced slightly, brows creasing,

“Renjun.”

He held a face of disgust at the mere mention of his own name, his dulcet expression replaced with muffled loathing, “You don’t have to call me that though.”

“Cool.” You didn’t have the means to question his repulse, nothing else made sense here and you frankly didn’t feel an urge to pry, instead moving on to the thought at the front of your mind, “Are you the one that does all that magic sleep stuff to me?” You asked, still shaking his hand.

He stopped for a moment, pouting his lips to indicate he was thinking.

“In a way?” He tilted his head, “it’s complicated.”

You stopped shaking, but your grasp on his hand remained, “Complicated how?”

Another moment of thought passed in peaceful silence before he gathered the words to elaborate,

“Well,” he started, gently letting go of your palm, “I can’t actually control any of it unless I put all my energy into it.”

You stared at him blankly, wordlessly commanding him to explain further,

“I can’t really wake you up at will, that’s all you and what your mind wants,” he gestured with his hands, assuming it would help to make more sense, “and I can only put you to sleep if you directly ask me to like you did tonight,”

You nodded your head in understanding, comprehending this as well as you could,

“but unless I put every last bit of my energy into waking you up when I want to, I can’t do it.” he shrugged.

“What happens if you use every last bit of your energy then?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

He shrugged again, lifting his hands with his shoulders, “No idea. I’ve never done it before.”