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#and with that in mind. him living and attending therapy. I think he would grow to be quite awkwardly loving w his siblings
shibaraki · 1 year
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popping in to say i read the first part of little fires + i love where it's going so far. the idea isn't smth i've rlly seen before w this fandom, so it's super intriguing to read. but also - i love how you write touya. his internal voice feels very fitting, especially for the alternate reality ver of him + as always, i really really look forward to seeing what comes next <3
AHH hello my love thank you so much for giving it a read (๑>ᴗ<๑) I’m having a lot of fun! and it’s a relief to know you think his voice fits cause I was fretting a bit about that. dabi and touya are v different yet they are still the same. I thought it important that I stay true to my image of him while still applying it to different circumstances. this ver. of touya does not know the things that dabi knows yet, and what he DOES know he has never truly accepted. so I think I may have set myself up for a lot of pain lmao!!!
I appreciate you and your support more than words can say!! ily and hope you’re having a good start to your week bb <3
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elfqueen006 · 3 months
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Human Moonpie Headcanons
CW/Tags: AU, parenting, religious bashing, slight horror elements, implied possession, etc.
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• Full name is Miranda Durand-Cofer. Is 8-10 years old. Likes cats and princess movies.
• She's still blind but Shaun makes sure she's properly accommodated while not making her feel left out or "othered" from her peers.
• She loves to explore and color. Her favorite colors are purple and pink!
• Very chatty, but says the cutest (and sometimes weirdest) things.
• Wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up!
• Now, I used to have an idea that Shaun had a one night stand with a girl in college and they now co-parent. But after hearing of Olivia and their implied history, this could be applied to them but she mainly resides with Shaun.
• I feel like not only would Shaun be a good dad, but he probably had it in mind when starting his career. He'd have to settle down at some point, right? Though balancing work life and a child can be tricky, especially with the subject matter he portays in his films.
• I feel that now that a child is added to the mix, his uncle, Abraham Cofer, comes down on him much harder. Badgering him about introducing Miranda to "devilment" and "horror porn". Which Shaun rightfully goes off about this, seeing as he would never put his daughter in a position where she would experience anything inappropriate.
• There are times he tries to at least give Abraham updates on her, just to have some semblance of normalcy. And I think Abraham would want to be involved in Miranda's life, but he is an old man who is stubborn and stuck in his ways and probably thinks being involved means Shaun should see things his way about, well, everything.
• If Miranda has the clairvoyance that Shaun is implied to have in the Character Reveal Trailer, there's a chance she'd have the ability to see Sunny Day Jack without watching the tape.
• If we have a co-parenting situation with you and Shaun. Maybe the events likely to happen in the game with go a bit differently. It would still be horror, but with a different approach.
• Kids are not an uncommon factor in horror. They can range from being victims, killers, and even mediators of sorts between the dead and the living.
• Jack loves children! And I think if ever encountering Miranda and she was able to see him, he'd adore being like a big brother figure of sorts. Like Shaun, he wouldn't dare put her in a scenario that would harm her. Still, keeping in mind that he's a yandere, I don't think he'd be above using her innocence to his advantage; planting ideas in her mind that her environment might not be so safe.
• Shaun isn't fit to be a parent, in Jacks' eyes. He's too career oriented, makes indecent material, and is overall too lax in his parenting! If Jack had it his way, Miranda would be under his care 24/7...
• Strange occurrences start happening with Shaun soon. He has more nightmares, calls with his uncle distress him more than normal. It begins to scare you and Miranda so you take her to your parents for a short amount of time so he can calm down.
• After about a month or so of missed calls and frantic texting, Shaun is... completely fine! He'd been attending some therapy sessions and taking some time off work to get his head straight. In fact, he might just go into a different career path.
• He's eager to have Miranda in his arms again, and he reassures you and her that he'll always be here to spend time together... <3
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freezingmcxn · 2 months
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if Jeff and Liu meet again? But Liu is crazed up like him. More like fucked up actually, and Jeff meets his little brothers alter? Sully? What happens (not good with English alot ya)
Thank you for the ask! Sorry for the wait, I’m on a break from tik tok so I’ll be clearing out some asks over the next few days, they’ve been collecting dust.
I’m not really sure how to answer this because I don’t really know how they would react to eachother, especially Sully, since I don’t entertain the idea of Liu having DID. I will talk about this further on. But I’ll try my best!
Liu woods
In my AU Jeff knows Liu is still alive and Liu knows Jeff is still alive.
Liu never forgave Jeff and Liu does not kill people.
To answer your question, I doubt they would even meet. Liu would be unrecognisable to Jeff, and I’m sure Liu would definitely not engage with Jeff if they were to have met.
One of the more “controversial opinions” I have on Liu, is that I do not at all think he would have DID.
So in terms of Jeff meeting his alter Sully? He wouldn’t, he’s not real.
Sully was Liu’s imaginary friend.
Due to Jeff constantly neglecting Liu as a brother, Sully was a brotherly figure that Liu created.
As Jeff was gutting Liu alive he squeezed his eyes shut and clung to any good memories he could muster to the front of his mind, he needed to take himself out of this reality. He remembered Sully.
After Lius near death, Sully would appear more and more to Liu, he would “speak to him” and tell him to get that revenge he desperately sought for. This increased the homicidal ideations Liu began to consider. Since they came from Sully, an exterior source, it felt justified and helped him cope.
Sully dissolved as Liu got older and he was left to face these thoughts on his own.
He ended up attending therapy, his thoughts were accepted and validated.
He has since grown stronger and has been able to move on with his life, though he hasn’t forgotten what happened.
He lives in Augusta, Maine with two cats and works at a local florist, he tries to live a calm and comfortable life.
Liu’s DID ( my opinion on it)
From engaging with people who have DID they have told me it’s not an over night thing.
Looking at Lius backstory- he develops it over night.
“Sully, a dark-eyed sociopath/psychopathic personality he developed after the night Jeff tried to kill him to cope with the traumatic events.”
Now people might say “yeah, a personality, not DID”
Someone with DID has multiple, distinct personalities. He canonly has DID it is stated clear as day in his character descriptions.
DID cant form after 10 years of age, max. After that if you didn't form DID you can't form it at any point later in life due to how the brain grows and matures.
From what we know, he is, I believe, younger than Jeff but over the age of 10.
The disorder is thrown in to the story as a way to make him a “scary character”.
I think that’s so hurtful but the story was written years ago by someone young and uneducated(I’m assuming) so I’m not taking it seriously.
The irreversible trauma or damage from Jeff could’ve been elaborated on rather than pushing it to the side and putting DID randomly on the character.
Liu does not experience PTSD, emotional breakdowns, or flashbacks.
Sully would make sense if it was a pseudonym or something,not a personality.
That’s all just my thoughts, if you disagree that’s okay.
If I said anything inaccurate about DID I apologise, please correct me.
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hood-ex · 6 months
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How did you like mutant mayhem? who was your fav
Loved it!! I had SO much fun watching it!!
The turtles getting their groceries from shipping containers/trucks?? Brilliant! Love that take!
I was pressed when I read that Leo was going to have a crush on April, but I actually didn't mind it in this case. (Even though I 100% prefer for them to just be best friend's/family and would never want to see April with any of them). Like Leo being such a nerd made it work plus April didn't show any interest in him, so it didn't bug me like I thought it would. Now if they try to turn that into something in the future then we're gonna have a problem, but it being a one-sided thing that Leo will hopefully grow out of (quickly!) is fine.
Speaking of April, I LOVE this version of April, and I love how they switched up the reporter thing a bit with her being super anxious to be on air bc it made way for some character progression. I do tend to prefer her being quite a bit older than the turtles, but I feel like her being a teen like them works in this universe.
Also, I love it when Leo is characterized as a nerd who says cringey/nerdy things sometimes and they delivered on that beautifully here with his speeches. It's veryyy 2k12 Leo vibes. Fucking loved it. Especially loved it when Leo actually had an amazing rousing speech during the Superfly fight scene and then after Raph complimented him on it, Leo started geeking out about how cool he sounded LOL. Obsessed.
"GO NINJA, GO NINJA, GO!" I started screaming when this started playing!! Secret of the Ooze reference let's gooo!
The milking... THE MILKING... the nipples and the milking!! Mikey and Raph got milked!! That running joke killed me. Also, since Mikey got milked first, I couldn't help but compare that to 2k3 when Bishop was going to use a saw to cut into Mikey's carapace while all the other bros had to watch. Althouuugh... ngl, I kinda wish Raph had gone a little more berserk over Mikey getting milked since he's so protective, but I understand they were trying to keep the mood light even though... it was... a torture scene... so uhhh... anyway.
"6 N' THE MORNIN' POLICE AT MY DOOR!!" 😂
"He's molly-whopping me!" LMFAO I was wheezing
All the bros singing BTS for Donnie's sake, and Donnie being like, "You guys don't even know the words..." HAAA
I love it in every iteration when Splinter gets involved to save his boys and this time was no different. Hell yeah feral rat dad!!
Mikey and Mondo Gecko, hell yes!! Bro, when the explosion rocked all the turtles and Mikey was disoriented?? The way his eyes looked after that?? Yeees!
THEIR SHELLS CRACKED 😱😱😱!! That "I'm gonna crack you like pistachios" joke killed me though
WHEN THE NEW YORKERS STARTED HELPING THEM TAKE DOWN SUPERFLY YESSSS LET'S GOOOO!!
Mikey or whoever telling Raph he needed therapy ALSKDJA
All the mutants living in the sewers with the turtles?? Full House vibes!! With Bebop and Rocksteady there idk kinda weird but I guess it works for this version of them.
I could not with their high school fits like 😭 April please take them shopping 😭
All in all, I thought it was super fun and I couldn't stop laughing the entire time. There was still kiiinda more of a Leo focus this time around, but it wasn't nearly as much as the Rise movie, so I'm glad it felt more balanced between each brother (and thank god we didn't have to sit through another Leo vs. Raph type of beef thing).
I think in terms of characterization, Leo was definitely characterized the best and felt IC. I feel like there could've been a bit more development for Donnie, Raph, and Mikey. Donnie had his anime/kpop thing, Raph had his love for violence, and then Mikey... there wasn't anything super defining about him other than maybe the fact that he signed up for the improv team try outs. But honestly, I'm not that mad at it because I'm sure they'll get more fleshed out in the TV show that's coming in the future. Now that they're attending school, I do kinda hope that Donnie takes some kinda robotics/woodworking/science classes because I'd love to see him develop the skills he's always depicted with.
As for my fav, I mean, it should be noted that Mikey is always my guy and that I'm usually going to focus on him the most in every scene, but other than him, I'd say Leo. I also really enjoyed April, Splinter, and Superfly though.
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marvelmaniac715 · 1 year
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Andy finally goes to therapy. His therapist suggests that he writes a letter to Chucky expressing his feelings about everything that’s happened to him, but the letter will never actually make it to Chucky, right?... This is that letter.
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Dear Chucky,
That doesn’t feel like the right way to start it. I’m not sure how else to start letters though, maybe I’d have more knowledge on the subject if I was able to attend school full time as a kid. I was bounced around so many foster homes and guardians that I never got a full education, I guess I owe that to you.
Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder if you know just how much you affected me growing up. You severely impacted my life, yet every time we meet you don’t acknowledge this. Do you pretend that you didn’t play a part in traumatising me because it makes you feel better? Or do you know and just not care? The tiny part of me that wants to believe that there’s good in everyone would choose the former, but in my heart I know it must be the latter.
I googled you, did you know that? I learnt about your childhood, it was strangely healing to learn about the events that shaped you in your formative years. I saw a picture of you when you were about six or seven (the age I was when we first met) and I gotta admit, you were pretty cute. But the headline that accompanies the image I found reminded me that you’re psychotic. I know you killed your mom and dad, you’re beaming with pride in that photo, despite it being taken hours after their deaths. In horror movies, the killers usually had abusive childhoods that warped their perception of reality, but not you, huh? You were just born like that.
You grew up in a Home as well, so you can relate. That fact unsettles me, because you know how it feels to suffer, to grow up without parents. Yet you willingly chose that life for yourself, and you passed it on to me because why the hell not I guess. You made something inside my brain snap. I can’t pursue romantic relationships, I can’t maintain friendships or hold a job because I have trust issues. You fucked me up, Charles, and you have to face that.
I kid myself that I’m an adult, but sometimes when I see you I’m that scared little boy again, hiding behind his mother and desperately trying to prove that he isn’t insane, that his life is really in danger. My mom was traumatised too, she tries to hide it for my sake, but she can’t even look at a doll without breaking down into tears. If you read this part, you’d probably laugh that spine-chilling cackle of yours that still makes me jump every time it comes out of your mouth.
I was six years old, I just wanted a Good Guy doll for my birthday. My mom was just trying to make me happy, we didn’t have much but we had each other, life wasn’t bad. If I could go back in time I’d stab that first doll with a kitchen knife, that would’ve ended everything once and for all. If I really had the guts, I would’ve walked into that toy store where you lay dying and ripped that cursed doll out of your human form’s hands before you could even utter the incantation. But the past can’t be altered, it can only be reflected upon with a vague disappointment.
Was there ever a point where you saw me as a son? Maybe the first time around? Even when you tried to kill me, it was almost as if there was a certain fondness for me. You were the only constant male figure in my life, you taught me some valuable life lessons as well. Not to trust authority figures, because they can betray you. Not to give in to moments of weakness, you have to think on your feet in order to live. But most importantly, you taught me how to survive. With these things in mind, the case could certainly be argued that you were a father figure to me. In my angsty teen years, I certainly thought of you like that sometimes.
I have so much left to say, but I’m going to run out of paper. Long story short, I don’t forgive you, but I think I can understand you. The two of us are like kindred spirits, there’s so many similarities between us. Dead parents, grew up in the foster system, had to learn survival skills had a young age, if you disregard the murders, we could almost be the same person. The part of me that still cries out for a parental figure to fill that void in my life misses you, life is certainly much less interesting without you around. But I hope that I don’t see you again, because I enjoy living. You’re never gonna read this, but I hope you got a kick out of this, Dr. Mixter, maybe you found some information in here that can be brought up and worked on in future therapy sessions?
‘Kindest’ regards,
Andy Barclay
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Here is the requested excerpt from Attitude Magazine, where he talks about questioning his sexuality and attending therapy:
“When I was 14 or 15, I had a period of thinking I might be gay and I spoke to my mother about it. It was [a time] in my life where I was having anxieties about all sorts of things, panic and fears. I had some therapy and I was latching on to things to be anxious about.”
He continues: “It was part of a period of my life where my mind was figuring things out. You question everything, there are hormones...”
His mother, a single parent, did all the things you would want an understanding mother to do to help. “I think she knew in some ways because I was going through all sorts of other anxieties that I was just in a chaotic ‘looking for things to worry about’ period of my teens.”
These anxieties occupied his mind for about a year before therapy helped him get his head around his angst. “It was about a year where I was worried about everything. I went through a phase of obsessively washing my hands. I just went through a neurotic time.”
Does that still exist in him?
“Somewhere, I think, but that was bordering on OCD, and that isn’t in me any more. I still have a capacity to worry and be anxious about things, but it was crippling then. There were times I didn’t want to leave the house. One of those anxieties was about my sexuality.”
It’s a brave admission for a straight Hollywood leading name, to acknowledge that he has questioned his sexuality. And it’s not all that different to how young people today think about sexual identity as fluid compared with traditional, fixed ideas.
He puts part of that confusion down to a creative side that was at conflict with growing up in a small town in Wales, and being more comfortable in drama class than the traditionally masc activities such as football. The experience helped open his eyes to what his gay friends might have been going through when they were coming out, and the kind of fears they had.
“It was a very real feeling to me and I was very panicked and upset about how I would be perceived. That is not the same as going through it for real but there is some understanding of what it might be like, and I remember that feeling acutely. It was terrifying.
“I am not comparing that to living it for real but I am saying that I guess there is a small kernel of that which I have experienced.”
He also credits his stepfather, who heads a homeless charity, as being a bedrock of liberal, forward-thinking ideas that filtered through to him. “I have never had people in my life who exposed me to any prejudices. People aren’t born prejudicial, you learn it and I never had that. So, it never factored in my thinking.”
(Me again: I think it's great that he took initiative and got therapy. That's actually nice to hear. Did the therapist convince him he's not gay, we'll never know. But at the very least, it sounds like he got help with his other issues)
Whew, so much to unpack here.
1. "I was latching onto things to be anxious about."
Alright, sure. Sounds like the biggest cop out I've ever heard of in my life, but sure. 🤷🏻‍♀️
2. "There are hormones..."
Yes, Taron, that is correct. There are hormones, and they do spike during adolescence, but then they do not exactly go away, do they.
3. "I was just in a chaotic, 'looking for things to worry about' period of my teens."
This just sounds like something someone told him, which he is repeating more or less verbatim (and probably has been doing for ~20 years now?). I'd like to clarify I do NOT believe the man was sent to actual conversion therapy, but oh my god his therapist must have been shit.
4. "One of those anxieties was about my sexuality."
Sexuality is not a brand of anxiety. I will admit, sexual confusion is definitely a fertile environment for anxious feelings and sometimes actual fear, but you can't just boil your queer panic down to "anxiety", in my humble opinion.
5. "That is not the same as going through it for real" / "I am not comparing that to living it for real"
Taron, honey, who gaslit you to the point of believing this strongly that your feelings about your own (albeit limited) life experience and perception of yourself/the world were not valid? I'd like their phone number or address, I need a chat. 🙄
And, lord save me, even after all this, the person writing the article proceeds to outright call him straight. Welp.
I hope this has provided some more context as to what I've been talking about for days, months, and years now. This entire thing makes me supremely sad for him, and I hope someone, somewhere, somehow will be able to undo this damage. 💔
(Thank you so much for this @whenrockwasyoung19, a true public service to the community. ❤️)
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say-al0e · 2 years
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Choices
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Rating: PG-13
Summary: Frankie doesn’t think he deserves this; the white picket fence, the family, the happy ending. But you remind him that he does. | Ft. “Do you believe in soulmates?” + “I didn’t know where else to go.” +. “I love you.” “Why?” requested by @phoenixhalliwell​
Warnings: Mentions of addiction, relapse, desire to use again, anxiety, postpartum mental health, therapy, NA meetings, Frankie has a temper, breastfeeding, pregnancy.
Pairing: Frankie x fem!Reader 
Word Count: 7.3k
General Masterlist | General Taglist
When you and Frankie announced that you were expecting, it seemed as if everyone suddenly became an expert on parenting. Unsolicited advice was offered at every turn - you were told the best brands, the worst methods, the must-haves, the must-avoids, the good, the bad, the ugly - and you spent months being warned that your life would change dramatically.
The most common warning you were given was that, as a new parent, sleep would be difficult to come by. There was little doubt about that - you’d seen enough friends and family have children to get a firsthand look at the sleep deprivation - but hearing it got old. In fact, all of the joking complaints and not-so-joking resentment disguised as humor got under your skin immediately.
Still, you spent a little too much time considering it all. And each time you thought about it, you realized that you always imagined it would be the mundane things keeping you awake at night; late night feedings, soiled diapers, crying jags you couldn’t calm, no matter how hard you tried. It never really occurred to you that it would be your own restless mind keeping you awake.
Before Isabel, there was no shortage of things for you to think about - no shortage of mind-numbing thoughts that stole more than sleep - and no shortage of restless nights. Anxiety, nightmares, general discomfort; it all plagued you and Frankie regularly, kept you both awake and eager for sleep. Naively, maybe, you thought that those problems would suddenly dissolve in your desperate need to get a good night’s sleep. 
If anything, the thoughts that plagued your restless mind only seemed to grow louder as time went on.
Frankie was in a good place before your pregnancy. His nightmares were fewer and farther between, no longer haunting him every night. He’d been sober for nearly a year and a half, regularly saw his therapist, and attended NA meetings weekly.
Emotions he’d felt for years - guilt, fear, anger, resentment, hopelessness - still lingered, as did the ghost of self-doubt and self-loathing he’d picked up somewhere along the way. A dark cloud still seemed to loom over his head some days but it was no longer as stormy, no longer as threatening, as it had been.
There was a blossom of hope in you both, a light and airy feeling that wrapped around your lungs and made breathing a touch easier. It was a beacon in the darkness that you’d both been missing for years and made smiling, laughing, living less of a chore.
The future seemed brighter, less terrifying, and you were keen to take it on with Frankie by your side. A good thing, really, as it barreled forward, full-steam.
Both you and Frankie hated describing your pregnancy as an accident but that was what it was - a happy one, unplanned but in no way unwanted. There was never any doubt that you wanted children. It was one of the first conversations you’d had about your future, one you vividly remembered even as it was shrouded in the dim haze of a bar near a base in North Carolina so long ago, and you’d agreed that you would wait until Frankie was out for good.
Then, after everything he’d gone through - after everything you’d gone through together - neither of you found the timing to be quite right. There was another conversation, this one had in the living room of your shared home, where you decided to wait until Frankie had at least two years under his belt.
Still, life finds a way.
The moment you told Frankie, quietly handed him the positive test you took after weeks of feeling not quite right, his entire being seemed to shift. He was terrified - you could see it in his eyes, the way they blew wide and remained unblinking for a few long moments; saw the way his hands trembled as he took the test from your outstretched hand, the way his entire body seemed to tense - but the fear only lasted a few moments.
Beneath the terror that initially gripped him, Frankie was pleased. He wanted a child, wanted a child with you, and enjoyed the journey to fatherhood. There were moments of softness - gentle caresses of his hand across your growing belly; quiet words, spoken directly to your daughter, as if she could hear them; shining eyes as he watched your stomach swell, your body change; quiet laughter, gentle amusement, as you craved this new food or that odd combination - and moments of passion, moments where Frankie couldn’t be bothered to keep his hands to himself, where he couldn’t stop the filthy praise that escaped his mouth.
Frankie was eager to be a father, so excited to welcome your child into the world, and it filled your heart with an indescribable joy to see Frankie so positive. He put his all into becoming the best version of himself he could be for his little girl; saw his therapist more often, kept a journal so meticulously that it nearly worried you, spoke more freely, loved more fiercely, and even began building pieces for the nursery - a hobby he hadn’t indulged in in years.
During your pregnancy, things were good.
It was only after Isabel was born that things seemed to change.
There were many instances throughout your relationship where you woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed, sheets to your left cool to the touch. Frankie grew restless when he couldn’t sleep, preferred to wander around - or park himself on the couch and toss without fear of waking you up - but he always seemed to find his way back. After Isabel was born, however, waking to find Frankie gone seemed to happen with increasing frequency.
Usually, Frankie could be found in Isabel’s nursery, sitting in the small rocking chair he’d built not long after you found out that you were pregnant. Some nights he held her in his arms, soft brown eyes cast down to her sleeping face with a look of awe that made your heart ache. The way he looked at her had tears welling in your eyes each time you caught it, made you grateful he was the one you’d brought a child into the world with, and the feeling of gratitude only grew stronger as he spoke quiet words - soft praise, gentle affirmations, little words of love - that you tried not to listen to. 
However, as was the case more often, he opted to sit and watch quietly as she slept. He still sat in the rocking chair, arms folded over his chest, as he stared intently at the quiet crib. He never disturbed her - never acknowledged your presence when you came to check on them both - and it brought about another kind of ache that you couldn’t quite calm.
In the beginning, you wondered if it was some sort of protective instinct - watch over her, just to make sure she’s safe; be there, just in case something happened - as he’d done something similar with you throughout your pregnancy. There were nights he’d lie awake, one hand resting carefully on your stomach as he stared off at something you found yourself grateful you couldn’t see. However, as time passed, you grew less certain that it was protective and more fearful that it was a manifestation of his anxiety.
Most nights, you let him be. There was little you could say to coax him back from the dark place he’d gone when your own thoughts were beginning to spiral out of control in a mess of anxiety and postpartum feelings. Exhaustion,  heavy and overwhelming, weighed on your shoulders and kept you in a perpetual fog that never seemed to lift long enough for you to form a coherent sentence. And even when you were capable of stringing together some kind of thought that might help Frankie, you grew increasingly doubtful he’d let you.
Somewhere between Isabel’s birth and her sixth month of life, Frankie seemed to hit a true rough patch.
It all came on so gradually that the culmination of changes truly surprised you - and everyone in your lives. He stopped going to his NA meetings, stopped seeing his therapist as often as he should have - two things he chalked up to not having free time; something you immediately shut down as there was always someone eager to keep you company, even if you didn’t want them to, for the few hours a week he took for himself - but neither the  lack of sleep or his skipping appointments worried you as much as the shift in his behavior.
There was a pattern of behavior you recognized, one that terrified you for far too long - hiding things, edging back into secretive, easily irritated, distant, angry; the same behavior he’d exhibited when he was actively using - that began to reemerge and made it difficult for you to breathe.
For the first time in two years, you felt as if you were walking on eggshells in your own home again. Everything worried you, was compounded by the anxiety you felt as a new parent, and you hated it even more this time. And though you tried to be there for him, tried to use the tools you’d learned in therapy, talking to him only seemed to make matters worse. His agitation fueled your ire and, soon enough, neither of you were sleeping properly.
When you bought your mattress, it was with sharing in mind. It was too big just for you - something you hated when Frankie was still active duty - and you never seemed to be able to get comfortable when you were alone. The sheets were too cool without Frankie’s body heat warming them, without his arms wrapped around you, but you’d stopped counting how many nights you’d gone to bed alone over the last few months as you dragged your fingers across the empty space to your left.
Not long after Isabel was born, Frankie had taken to sleeping in the guest room or on the couch or in the rocking chair and that was infinitely worse than sleeping alone. Knowing that he was there, in the house but choosing not to sleep in your bed, made the weight on your chest unbearably heavy. It made sleep elude you, made your mind race and your heart ache in the worst way imaginable, but none of your tried and true remedies seemed to work.
Now, with him completely gone - out of the house entirely, no longer just down the hall - your body seemed to completely refuse sleep. You knew that it was necessary, knew that there would be consequences if you didn’t get some kind of rest soon, but it seemed impossible.
Sleep had eluded you since he left. You hadn’t gotten more than a few minutes of shut eye in nearly a week and you could feel the toll it was taking on your body. Your limbs felt heavy, as if they were made of concrete, and focusing on any one task seemed damn near impossible.
Each beat of your heart was too fast, too heavy, and your lungs could never fill quite enough to satisfy the ache in your hollow chest. You were moving on autopilot, wandering around your home on instinct, but it wasn’t enough. And when coupled with the fog you’d been feeling as the parent of a small baby, you sometimes wondered how you were managing to make it.
Try as you might to sleep, every otherwise mundane noise was amplified in your half-conscious state. Each gust of wind made the house creak and groan. You swore you could heard the near silent hum of every electronic in the dwelling just as clearly as if they were all in the bedroom with you. There was a faucet dripping somewhere - likely the bathtub; something Frankie had been meaning to fix for months - and a deafening roar as the air conditioner kicked on. The rattle of vents, the whir of the ceiling fan, the shallow breaths you took, the uneven thump of your heart; it all made your skin crawl, made your head ache and eyes burn with unshed tears as you willed sleep to take you, just for a moment.
So much noise, most of it imagined, and you angrily - irrationally - wondered how you’d ever managed to get any sleep with all of it sounding so fucking loud.
There was no time to dwell, however, when Isabel needed you.
A soft cry, the first real, discernible sound you’d heard in hours, echoed through the house. It crackled through the baby monitor on your nightstand, shrill and piercing in the otherwise still house, and you spared a glance at the alarm clock on Frankie’s nightstand - the old one he’d had for years and insisted on keeping - with a quiet sigh.
Like clockwork, Isabel was hungry.
The thought of climbing out of bed made you want to join her in wailing, letting the sobs you’d been keeping at bay wrack your body, but there was no one to piece you back together. The tears you’d already shed were enough as the two of you were alone, her completely dependent upon you, so you swallowed the bitter sadness lingering heavily in the back of your throat and pushed yourself up.
Your body protested, joints creaked and groaned as you climbed out of bed, but you trudged on. A few traitorous tears managed to track down your cheeks - wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard you blinked or how hard you scrubbed your hands across your face - and you were grateful that Isabel was so young. She might be able to tell the difference in your countenance but at least she wouldn’t remember seeing you cry.
Before you could slip into her room, pull her from her crib and carry her into the living room to get comfortable in the small armchair you’d taken to sitting in to avoid the rocking chair, a knock echoed through the house.
There was no reason for anyone to be knocking at two in the morning and even less reason for you to answer. But the soft voice that echoed from your phone, connected to your doorbell camera, quietly announced, “It’s me, querida,” had you padding across the living room on jelly limbs to wrench open the door.
Frankie had a key - you insisted he keep it, despite him breaking down and throwing it across the kitchen the last time you spoke - and could’ve let himself in. Still, he waited on the doorstep in the dark for you to let him into your home willingly. His face was hidden beneath the brim of his hat, shadowed even as the soft living room light filtered out into the night, but you could tell from the slump of his shoulders that it was a bad night.
Six days had passed since you last saw Frankie. He’d been crashing at Will’s place, sleeping in his guest room,, and you were grateful for the elder Miller brother. He kept you updated - promised that Frankie was in the house, in bed, safe - and kept an eye on your husband as he navigated his emotions. If there was anyone else that understood Frankie, could get through to him, it was Will. Still, he seemed to have hit the same wall with Frankie that you did.
The feeling of giving up - of quitting, of letting go when Frankie needed you - was one that haunted you. You’d been together for so long, been through so much, but things were different now. It was harder to be there, to be what Frankie needed and what Isabel needed and what you needed, all at once. You were stretched so thin between your own exhaustion, both mental and physical, and emotions you knew were normal postpartum but were still digging into your skin.
Frankie’s irritability only made you irritable, made you unable to do more than glare as he groused. Yelling matches grew more common, as did the return of Frankie’s volatile temper, and beneath your worry for Isabel - and your worry for your relationship, something so strong that now seemed so fragile - there was a constant fear that the next argument would be your last.
Beneath the mild mannered man you loved so dearly, a temper unmatched simmered. Frankie could be sharp, biting, lethal when he wanted to be - when he felt cornered, trapped, desperate. It was a side you only saw a handful of times, never aimed at you - even in the throes of his addiction - and you wondered what you’d done to draw his ire. Still, you were a force unto yourself.
Neither of you knew how to pull your punches, not when emotions were running this high and tensions were strung so tight that you were afraid you might snap. You constantly bit your tongue, tasted copper and bitter resentment as you wandered the shared halls of your home, out of fear that you might accidentally say something you wouldn’t be able to come back from.
Frankie, maybe in sharing that fear, ran.
For nearly a week, you were afraid that the last fight you shared was it - the one you wouldn’t be able to come back from - but there Frankie stood, eyes cast down and shoulders slumped as he waited.
Even in the dark, you could finally tell what toll the last few weeks had taken on Frankie. He looked a touch thinner - barely noticeable to those who didn’t see him daily but, to you, glaringly obvious - and his shoulders seemed to shake with every breath he took. His clothes were rumpled, as if he’d tossed them on in a hurry, and he curled in on himself, as if to make himself smaller instead of taking up his usual space.
Though your own chest ached, burned with a hurt that you had yet to truly catalogue in your need to care for Isabel, it still hurt to see him so clearly upset.
No matter how hard you tried, words seemed to fail you. Silently, you held the front door open a little wider, just enough for Frankie to slip inside, and stepped back to let him into the house. When he’s safely crossed the threshold, head still bent, you locked the door behind him.
“I’m sorry.” As usual, he broke the stalemate and spoke first. His voice, rough with disuse, shook with clear uncertainty as he took a timid step further into the living room. He kept his head down, almost as if he was unable to look you in the eye - which you imagined he was; fear, shame, anger, resentment, no matter what he felt that pushed him away before bringing him back to your door likely weighed heavily on his chest - as you waited for him to continue.
“I… I started driving and didn’t know where else to go.”
The rational part of your brain demanded you ask him why he’d left in the first place but that was a loaded question. It was one you knew needed to be eased into, not lobbed at him like a grenade when he’d wandered in looking so sad. The second question that came to mind was why he’d left Will’s, why he’d come home, but that was one you already knew the answer to.
In the beginning, when Frankie was fresh out and could finally do what he wished, things got bad. When he started thinking too much or found himself lost in thoughts he had no desire to entertain with no clear path through, he went for a drive. Sometimes he drove all night, with no destination in mind, while others he was fine after a drive around the neighborhood. 
Before Isabel, he took you with him occasionally - let you fall asleep in the passenger seat, head pressed to the cool glass of the window; shared a milkshake in silence as you drove down an empty stretch of highway; listened to you ramble about your day, just so he wasn’t alone - but the drives stopped around the same time as he sought help for his addiction.
He hadn’t needed to disappear in a long time and you sometimes wondered if things had been different, if any of this would’ve happened.
This wasn’t the time to delve into existential questions, though. He’d come home to you instead of going someplace he might regret, found his way back to your doorstep, so you shook your head. Frankie’s eyes remained steadfast on a spot on the rug and, when he made no move to react, you sighed quietly.
“It’s okay.” Your assurance was a hoarse whisper, voice thick with emotion. No matter how hard you tried to hide the fact that you’d been crying, Frankie’s sharp inhale told you that he heard it clearly - no need to lift his head and see the dried tears tracking down your cheeks. Still, you cleared your throat - as if it would help - and pressed on as you folded your arms over your chest. “It’s time for me to feed Belle, anyway.”
Any other time, Frankie would’ve followed you down the hall eagerly. Even when things were tense, difficult, he trailed after you on the nights you’d let him. He never pushed, never interrupted your time with Isabel - he gave you moments alone, quiet bonding time, just as he stole his moments in the middle of the night - but he’d sheepishly admitted that he liked sitting with you as you fed her.
There were plenty of jokes that you could’ve cracked at his expense but give the tension, none of them felt quite right. Instead, you let him flounder for an explanation he couldn’t give. There was no real answer as to why it was one of his most treasured moments, nothing he could give you other than how happy it made him to see his two girls together, but that was enough of an explanation for you. It made you feel wanted, like an integral part of his life still, and you took it however you could in the weeks leading up to his departure.
This time, however, Frankie waited quietly in the living room as you wandered down the hall. Inside the nursery, you took a moment to breathe. You stood over her crib, shaking fingers desperately clutching the side as you inhaled deeply, and offered her a watery smile when she reached for you. There was a moment of unwarranted hesitation - a moment where you held her close, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead,  and inhaled the soothing scent you associated with her - before you turned and headed back to the living room.
When you returned, Frankie hadn’t moved an inch. He only budged when you gestured for him to follow you to the couch. His steps were timid, soft, as he moved almost hesitantly through the space he was always so comfortable wandering around and it made your eyes sting as he settled unsteadily on the edge of the couch.
Frankie kept his distance, as if he was afraid of getting too close, of being so near you both, and the thought had your throat tightening. He’d been pushing you away for weeks, eager to keep the wall he’d built separating you both, but that was not something you could focus on as you attempted to make yourself - and Isabel - comfortable.
As Isabel latched, you were able to get a better look at Frankie.
Dark circles lingered beneath his eyes, a deep purple that bloomed so heavily he nearly resembled post-fight Benny, and indicated you were not the only one going without sleep. The set of his mouth was soft, a weary frown that curved the corners of his mouth, and your fingers itched with desire to reach out and drag your thumb across his bottom lip, just to see him smile. His curls were unruly beneath the brim of his cap, a touch greasier than you’d see them in a while, and there was a slump to his shoulders that almost made you reach out to pull him into your arms.
This was the most downtrodden you’d ever seen him, soft and sad and broken, and it hurt to see him so torn apart. Still, there was an ache in your chest that kept you from speaking for a few long moments.
The three of you sat quietly - Isabel’s soft suckling the only noise that filled the room - for longer than you had in months. There was no argument, no bitter words tossed at one another in the heat of the moment. There was only a tense silence that neither of you knew how to break. Neither of you knew where to begin, only that one of you would need to break the stalemate. 
His gaze remained on the floor, eyes fixed on the rug, before a soft sigh from Isabel caught his attention. His eyes to her face, small and round and pressed to your breast, and you knew that he would be content to sit in silence as she nursed. He’d done it before, a handful of times, but that was not what you needed tonight.
So, you spoke. “Bad night?"
Frankie’s gaze remained steadfast, soft brown eyes that Isabel had inherited glued to his daughter with a look so akin to heartbreak that it made you want to cry, as he nodded.
“I… I almost called him,” he admitted quietly, voice shaking as he dipped his head - dropped his eyes to the rug once again to hide the pained look that crossed his face. “I wanted to.” His voice pained you - the ache, the shame, the desperation - but you did your best to keep your expression level as you waited for him to continue. “And then I thought about her.” He lifted his head then, to glance at Isabel as her small hands reached out for something to hold on to, before he hesitantly admitted, “Thought about you.”
There was no question of who ‘he’ was; Frankie only spoke so vaguely about one person. To hear him admit that he’d thought about it and that Isabel - that you - was the reason he’d stopped himself only added to the weight on your chest. It was not surprising but it was the thing you’d feared for months. 
And as much as it pained you to speak the fear you harbored aloud, there could be no room for uncertainty. You inhaled deeply, tried to calm your heart and even your breathing - remain calm, collected, rational - even as sleep deprivation made your head ache and clouded your thoughts.
“Frankie,” you breathed, voice shaking as you cut your eyes to Isabel instead of him. “I need to know.”
The reply was instant. “I haven’t relapsed,” he declared, voice strong, steady, promising. “I haven’t been using.” There was a moment of tense silence, a brief pause where he took a shaking breath, before he admitted, “I’ve wanted to.” There was such an ache in his voice that it made the tears you’d been blinking back track down your cheeks but you kept your eyes on Isabel - desperate to avoid looking in his soft, sad eyes - as you waited for him to continue. “I haven’t,” he promised again, “I can’t.”
Frankie’s admission shattered your heart - broke it into a thousand tiny pieces and made you wonder what had gone wrong, where you’d gone off track -  and you struggled to rein yourself back in. The emotion lingered in the back of your throat, thick and suffocating, as you tried desperately to catch your breath. You could feel the weight of Frankie’s gaze on the side of your face but you couldn’t meet his eyes.
Not yet.
“What happened, Frankie?” The question was broken, shattering just like your heart, and you heard the quiet sound Frankie made - punched out, low, hurt. There was a moment of hesitation, a moment where you wondered if what you wanted to declare was too much - too demanding for the delicacy the situation required - but you decided there could be no words left unsaid. Not at such a critical moment. “I can’t do this if you won’t talk to me, Frankie. I can’t walk around afraid of what might be happening. Not now, not with her.”
“I know.”
There was an understanding there. He knew where you were coming from. Before Isabel’s birth, you’d talked about it, talked about needing more communication - stronger communication, steadier communication - just to make sure there were no lines blurred or crossed. So, Frankie nodded.
“I know,” he repeated, voice quiet as he shifted just a touch closer, his knees turning toward yours. “I just… I don’t know what happened,” he admitted with a sigh. “I was so happy, so excited to have her - to be a family. But then I started thinking. Now, I look at her, I look at you, and it’s impossible to think about anything but my past.” There was a moment of pause, a deep breath as he collected his racing thoughts, and you looked at him beneath your lashes. He looked lost, almost, uncertain, as he continued. “You deserve better,” he declared quietly, though certainly - his voice never wavered. “Isabel deserves better. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done…” He trailed off, voice breaking as he folded his hands over his lap and shook his head as if to clear it. “You both deserve better.”
That was it.
A part of you felt foolish for not seeing what had been eating at Frankie for so long. Despite your own anxiety and own emotions, it should’ve been obvious how Frankie felt. These were demons he’d been battling for years, for the entire length of your relationship, and you should’ve known that they weren’t going to go away over night. He’d struggled loving you at first, so desperate to believe that he didn’t deserve it, and Isabel was wholly innocent - a pure being that deserved better than the man Frankie believed himself to be.
It was all so obvious that it nearly hurt as a quiet sob forced its way free from your throat. Now, with the knowledge of why Frankie had fallen so deeply into a pit of self-hatred, why he’d spent months pushing you away when you knew all he wanted was to be by your side - to be with your daughter - you had a better idea of how to bring him home.
“Do you believe in soulmates, Frankie?” The question was whispered into the dim living room, broken and hoarse but genuine, and you lifted your head to see the look on Frankie’s face as he contemplated it.
“I don’t know,” he answered, honest, as he so often was. “Do you?”
“Not really,” you admitted, voice soft as you carefully brushed a finger across Isabel’s cheek. “I think there’s a little bit of destiny, a little fate, but there’s a whole lot of choices there, too. You may not fall in love by choice but you have to choose to nurture that love. Relationships aren’t perfect or effortless, no matter how good they are. They take consideration, choices. We met by chance, fell in love by chance, but I continue to nurture our love by choice. I’m still here by choice.”
“Why?”
The question was so broken, so disbelieving, that you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. Frankie recoiled at the contact, so unused to your touch after weeks of going with out, but held tight when you went to move away. His fingers tangled with yours desperately, so eager to have you close - something he’d call selfish, something you needed just as badly - as he waited.
“Because you’re a good man, Frankie.” Frankie inhaled sharply, as if it pained him to hear. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him open his mouth to argue. Before any words could escape, you shook your head. “Let me, please.”
Frankie nodded encouragingly as he brought one shaking hand to brush across the soft hair covering Isabel’s head. His eyes flitted between the two of you, only returning to you fully when you began to speak.
“All you can see is the blood on your hands, the mistakes you’ve made, and I can’t say that I understand because I’ve never been in that situation. I don’t know what it’s like to live with the weight you carry. But what I do understand is what it’s like to not be able to understand why someone loves what you perceive as flaws. You love with everything you have, even when people don’t deserve your goodness. You’re willing to do stupid shit for your friends because you want the best for them. You go above and beyond for me, do more than anyone has ever even thought of doing. You’re so fucking good, Frankie, and I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”
You could hear the shuttering breaths Frankie took as he attempted to process your words. His grip on your hand tightened but you only matched his grip as you continued.
“You spent months reading parenting books, building furniture by hand - and not that Ikea stuff, either; actual, real furniture that you built by hand. You worked with your therapist to get ready for Isabel, to deal with your anger and learn how to cope. You wrote a whole fucking journal for her to read when she gets older. You got up at three in the morning to get me McDonald’s when you had to go to work two hours later. And that was just while I was pregnant.”
There was no need to look at Frankie as you continued to roll through the reasons you loved Frankie so much, why you were so desperate to keep him close. You knew that his soft eyes would be shining with tears, dark and sad and in awe of the praise you heaped on him, but you would gladly repeat each and every sentiment. Frankie meant the world to you - was the partner you’d spent so many years longing for - and you would be damned if you let him go without him knowing why you continued to choose him.
“You’ve done so much for Belle, for me. Before you, I used to think that you had to truly love yourself before you could love someone else but that’s not true.” Frankie sighed quietly as his hand gently squeezed yours. He wasn’t the only one that dealt with demons, with insecurities, with doubt, but he’d done his best to show you love. “Loving you made me forget why I hated myself so much. Loving you made it easier to love myself. Loving you didn’t fix me, I had to do that work myself, but it made me want to be better. It made me realize I was worthy of the love I so desperately wanted. It made me realize that the love I gave, I could receive. Loving you has made my life so much better, Frankie.”
You took a deep breath, one that you desperately needed, and steadied yourself as you ran a careful finger across Isabel’s cheek as she continued to suckle. “The reason I started talking to you at that bar was because I thought you were gorgeous but the minute you opened your mouth, I knew you’d either be my worst heartbreak or my happily ever after. You’re a good man, Frankie, and I’ll repeat all of this every day, if that’s what you need. I just need to know what you want to do now.”
Frankie was stunned silent, lips parting but no noise escaping as you met his eyes for the first time in weeks. There was a raging darkness that lingered in them, pitch black darkening the honeyed brown, but the storm looked to be settling some. His cheeks were flushed - embarrassed, grateful, overwhelmed; all of it, possibly - and his grip on your hand tightened minutely as he shuffled even closer. His thigh pressed fully into yours, heat rolling off his body in waves, as he closed his mouth and swallowed.
“I want you. I want her. I want this. I… I want to be a family. But I -“
The shake of your head cut Frankie off before he could express the lingering insecurities you knew were weighing so heavily on his shoulders. “I’m not asking if you think you deserve this, Frankie. I’m asking if you want this. I’m asking if you want to be a father, a husband, if you want to be here for us, for this. Do you?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Frankie’s answer - just as you imagined. You knew that he did. There was so much Frankie would do for you, for Isabel; he just needed reminding that this is what you were asking.
“Okay.”
He frowned, uncertain, and tilted his head as he met your eyes. “Okay?”
“Nothing is easy, Frankie, and I would love to say that you wanting to be here is enough but we both know it’s not. But you telling me how you feel, acknowledging why you’ve been the way you have, that’s a start. And this is going to be harsh but I’m going to say it.” You paused for a moment, eyes searching Frankie’s for any hint of the wall you’d blown through so quickly, before you continued. “We deserve someone who will be here, Frankie. We deserve someone who wants us, someone who will choose us. And I know that’s you. You just said so. You may not see how good a man you really are, but I do. Isabel will. As long as you choose to stay. And that means physically and mentally.”
There was another quiet pause as Frankie digested your declaration. He knew what you were saying - that his presence, body and mind, was all that you wanted - but he still seemed to wonder if that was enough.
“I love you, Frankie, and I want you here. I want Isabel to have her father, I want to have my husband, and I want you to have the family you deserve. I know it’s hard to believe some days but you do deserve this. You deserve love and happiness. You deserve all the good things and I want Isabel to know the kind of man her father really is - not the one he’s afraid of becoming. I want to share this life with you. I don’t expect perfection, I never have. I just expect you to try. I expect you to love us and to choose to nurture that love and it’s something you’ve done for years now.”
“It is,” Frankie agreed quietly, almost hesitantly. “I always have and I always will.” He pressed impossibly closer, his body slotting against yours as his hand gently traced the slope of Isabel’s nose, before he returned his eyes to yours. “I want to be here. I want this. I choose this.”
A moment of silence lapsed as you contemplated your next words. You trusted Frankie implicitly, he knew you did, but you both knew that he needed someone else to talk to. “You have to start seeing your therapist again,” you declared, voice soft as you met his eyes. “And going back to NA. It’s a few hours a week; someone will come by and sit with me, if that’s what you really want. Send Benny over, he’s dying to play uncle. Or Santi, for all I care. You just need to talk to someone, work through these feelings so they don’t overwhelm you again. I’m sure there are other people who’ve been in the same place you are right now. Maybe it’ll help.”
Frankie nodded readily. “I know,” he promised, voice soft as his shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks. “There’s a meeting tomorrow and I set up an appointment with my therapist on Friday. I want this,” he repeated, certain as he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “I’ll do whatever I have to to keep this. I… I want to be worthy of this, of her, of you.”
“You already are, Frankie. I just hope this helps you see it.”
Another few moments passed, these less tense than the rest of the night had been, before Frankie frowned and brushed his thumb beneath your eye. “How long has it been since you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep?”
There was no room for dishonesty in this moment, in this space, so you answered honestly. “I haven’t really slept since you stopped sleeping beside me. Couldn’t when you were on assignment, can’t now.”
Frankie’s face crumbled at your admission. He knew that his disappearance had taken a toll on you, could see it in your eyes - in the set of your shoulders, in the curve of your mouth - but it still hurt to hear you admit it aloud. “If you’ll have me, I want to come home, sleep beside you again.”
There was nothing you wanted more.
“Please.” There was a moment of pause before you offered him your now satisfied daughter. As much as you’d missed him, you knew that she’d missed him, too - just as he’d missed her. “Can you put her to bed? I’ll turn off the lights.”
The look of awe he wore every time he held her returned nearly immediately as he cradled her in his arms. With his broad frame, she looked impossibly small but she fit so perfectly in his grasp. There was no safer space for her - unless, of course, you counted the moments the Millers and Santiago invaded your home; the three of them already as smitten as Frankie and just as willing to go to the ends of the earth to protect her - and you knew he needed a moment alone with her.
He walked softly down the hall, cooing in Spanish - soft apologies, promises that he would be there for her, promises he’d never leave again - and you scrubbed at your eyes to keep from crying as you turned off the few lights around the living room. There was a sudden weariness that weighed on you, more drained than you’d been only an hour earlier, as you wandered down the hall to the bedroom. You could hear Frankie, could hear the softness in his voice as he spoke, and closed your eyes as you settled into bed. 
After a few long moments, Frankie stepped into the shared bedroom and smiled softly - sadly - as he caught sight of you buried beneath the blankets. He took a moment to shuck off his clothes - t-shirt and jeans, tossed into the laundry basket; flannel, hung on the back of the door - before he climbed beneath the covers to join you. His body stiffened as you wrapped your arms around him for the first time in weeks, unable to stop yourself, before he allowed himself to breathe and relax into the embrace.
There was a beat of silence, punctuated only by your breathing, before Frankie spoke. “I’m sorry, hermosa,” he apologized, voice soft in the darkness of your room as he held you close - a proximity you missed desperately. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”
You knew that there was no point in telling him he had nothing to apologize for - in his mind, he had everything to apologize for - so, you nodded. “I know, Frankie. It’ll be okay.” It wasn’t, not yet, but you were hopeful that it would be.
Frankie made his choice and even if he wasn’t certain he deserved what came with that choice, you would do your best to make sure he knew that he did. You were glad he chose you, chose Isabel, as if he could’ve ever chosen anything else.
The road would always be rockier than other paths you could’ve taken, other paths he could’ve taken, but as long as he let you walk it with him - as long as he let you choose him - you had hope that it would be alright.
_________________________________________________________
Author’s Note: This got out of hand. Now I’m going to write something soft for Frankie, I think. Or maybe straight up smut. Maybe both. Not sure yet.
Tag List: @peoniarose, @karie-me-home, @rachelwritestuff, @stardust-galaxies, @deliciouslydisturbed365, @a-louise-juliane, @ben-is-a-hoe, @weasleywinchester, @crowfootwrites​, @winchestershiresauce​, @kesskirata​​, @lyr1ssa, @viyasstuff, @negansnympho89​, @im-just-a-mississippi-girl​,  @kirsteng42​, @balekanemohafe​, @avengers-fixation​, @buckybarneshairpullingkink​, @nintendhoe8​, @luciferiorbxtch​, @jettia​, @xoxabs88xox​
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oioinanami · 3 years
Text
routines. (ushijima wakatoshi x f. reader)
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word count: 1.9k
synopsis: ushijima had never considered himself to be a „relationship person“ - until he met you.
contains: fluff, acquaintances to lovers, very slight sexual suggestiveness if you squint
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Ushijima Wakatoshi had always considered himself a stoic and reserved man. He lived and breathed for volleyball. He went running every morning, ate three meals a day, showered twice. He had his routines and he liked it like that.
But then came you - and everything suddenly changed. It was his best friend Tendou - charming, loud and fun Tendou - who introduced you to one another, probably not even thinking about Ushijima ever falling for you, or anyone really, it just seemed too ridiculous, too far fetched. Of course Ushijima had his fair share of sexual encounters, but never anything serious, and all of those were mostly just for him to blow off some steam. He had never felt the need for a real and stable relationship before. But you - you felt different to him; like a breath of fresh air on a stuffy day, like rays of sunlight gently warming his cold face, like a soft and sweet scented breeze on the first day of early spring.
The first time he ever had the pleasure of meeting you and seeing you smile up at him, eyes bright and honest, he was absolutely helpless against the blush spreading over his cheeks and entire face until even the tips of his ears had turned red. As soon as his best friend Tendou saw the crimson color on his captain’s face, he suddenly sported the biggest smirk Ushijima had ever seen. The stoic volleyball player immediately knew that he was in trouble, in big big trouble. But it was too late - Tendou’s brain was already beginning to come up with a plan to set you two up.
So to Ushijima, it wasn’t the biggest surprise when Tendou began to invite you to all their volleyball matches, and being the sweet and supportive friend that you simply were, you actually tried to attend as often as possible. You cheered for the entire team, even though you were mostly acquainted with Tendou, knowing the others' faces and names, but none of them personally. Ushijima always tried his best during any game, no matter who was watching or not, but Tendou still noticed the way his best friend and team captain was trying maybe just a tad harder whenever you were present during a match. Should the team win while you were there, which was more often than not these days, Tendou literally dragged you with him to join the team for their celebratory dinners afterwards. Somehow you always ended up sitting beside Ushijima, slowly getting used to his stoic and calm presence, and beginning to try and make him smile by cracking an almost ridiculous amount of jokes around him. More often than not, your sarcasm went straight over his head, and once he even inquired if you were going to therapy after you jokingly said you were ready to kill for another of the extremely tasty Onigiri being served that evening. You only realized he himself was joking when you saw the tiny, private smile tugging at his lips. Maybe that was the moment you began falling for him, and you never stopped tumbling since.
After a few weeks of helpless pining, or as he called it “making sure his feelings were sincere”, Ushijima finally decided to ask you on a date. He just didn’t know how; he knew other people considered him blunt to the point of rudeness, and he never wanted you to see him in that way, he didn’t want to scare you off - even though you had never seemed to mind his directness before. Asking Tendou for help was definitely out of the question, because Ushijima knew his best friend literally didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut in times of need, so he’d probably just instantly tell you everything and Ushijima couldn’t have that.
But as fate would have it, he didn’t even need Tendou’s help - because a situation presented itself, so perfect, at least in his eyes, that Ushijima still smiled about it years afterwards. It was the last and therefore most important match of the season, and Shiratorizawa had not only won the first set, but was also currently in the lead for the second one. Only one point and they’d go to the nationals again. Naturally, you were pretty much at the edge of your seat, one closest to the field, all thanks to Tendou shooing away some younger girls before the match had begun and, unknown to you, making sure Ushijima had the perfect view of you cheering him on. You were currently biting your lips until you tasted blood, knees bouncing nervously while your eyes followed the boys on the field, more often than not landing on Ushijima. By now, you probably should have gotten used to him looking way too handsome in the team’s uniform, but even after months of seeing him wear it, your heart still skipped a beat whenever you attended any game. “Please, please, please, come on, boys, you can do it.”, you were muttering under your breath, the girl beside you giving you the side-eye but you just ignored her, heart beating twice as fast while you watched the game. Both teams were fighting for dominance, no one wanting to back down, the atmosphere thick with anticipation and nervousness. And then, it happened - Tendou’s quick eyes followed the ball, asserting which angle to use to best set it for Ushijima, who was already running towards the net for one of his incredible spikes. Rarely if ever could someone withstand the sheer power of his left hand, so no one was completely surprised when, a second later, the ball hit the ground with a loud smacking noise, resounding around the gym. Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds, before happy yells rose all around you and loud music suddenly started blasting from somewhere behind you. You were out of your seat in a split second, running towards where the team was hugging and high fiving each other on the field. “Ushi, that was amazing-”, you stated proudly, almost breathless with happiness, but were unable to complete your sentence because suddenly, there was a pair of strong arms around you, literally sweeping you off your feet and twirling you around once. You yelped, heart fluttering like crazy while you stared up at Ushijima, who had just set you back down on your feet again, the corners of his lips curling upwards into the tiniest of smiles. “Thank you, Y/N. I really appreciate your support.”, he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest, and you swore your knees were about to give out right there and then. You knew he wasn’t just being polite - he was being honest, his words always truthful, and it made your heart swell to know he liked you coming to his games. You had long learned to love his directness. Other people called him blunt, you called him honest, which was something not a lot of people could say about themselves, not in the modern times of Snapchat filters and Snow Apps. Ushijima cocked his head to one side, looking at you for a few seconds, his greenish-brown eyes almost unreadable, before he took in a deep breath. “I would really like to take you out on a date, if that’s something you’d want too.”, he then stated, and you just blinked a few times, before your face split into a huge smile, which made Ushijima’s heart burst and a deep blush creep onto his cheeks. It was the smile that had made him fall for you in the first place, the one he would never ever get used to - even years from now, when he was nothing more than stardust left behind, every single atom that once belonged to his body would still remember your smile, forever branded into the inner core of his soul, he was sure of it. And then you finally answered him, making his heart soar and his chest puff out: “I would love nothing more.”
For your first day date, Ushijima took you to a farm to pick the first strawberries of the season, shyly asking you to call him “Wakatoshi” by the end of the day and blushing madly once you did. You couldn’t help but stand on your tiptoes to press the softest of kisses against his cheek, feeling his slight stubble and hot skin under your lips, suddenly finding yourself blushing as well. When he took your hand, interlacing his strong calloused fingers with your smaller, softer ones, you knew your heart was long lost, forever his. But the soft, pleased smile he gave you, made you hope that maybe you weren’t the only one feeling like that.
That was just the first date of many, many more to come. Soon, everyone was already used to always seeing you two together; the stoic tall volleyball player and his much louder, much smaller girlfriend, an odd pair that somehow still just fit, like two puzzle pieces finally put back together again.
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Ushijima quickly grew used to your constant presence in his life, and now, it almost feels like you’re part of him. He loves all your little quirks and antics - that you cling to him every morning, jokingly trying to keep him from going on his daily run and leaving you alone in bed; or how you confidently sing along to every song, drawing soft smiles from his lips whenever you mess up the lyrics and laugh at yourself; or that you like to speak to your plants, your green children as you like to call them, convinced it will make them grow quicker and stronger; or the way your eyes light up whenever he enters the room, reaching for him with one hand and making his heart swell twice its size; or your breathy moans and the quiet yells of his name whenever he touches your soft, flushed body in the darkness of your shared bedroom - honestly, there’s just so much to love about you, he sometimes gets a bit overwhelmed by his own feelings.
Ushijima Wakatoshi still considers himself a stoic and reserved man. But you have managed to melt some of his hardness away, your softness settling over all his angles and edges like sunlight reflecting on a still and deep lake. Yes, he still lives and breathes for volleyball - but now also for you, always and forever you. Yes, he still goes running every morning, still eats three meals a day, still showers twice. But now he runs much later in the day, spending the early hours of the morning with you in his arms, soft and warm body pressed flushed against his hard one, nose buried in your sweet smelling hair. His three meals a day are often prepared together nowadays, you singing loudly along to a song playing on the radio while chopping vegetables, smilingly observing him marinating and grilling the meat, sometimes standing on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss on his cheek like you did on you first date, oh so many years ago. Even his showers are less lonely - all in the name of saving water and the planet of course, or that’s what you always say whenever you join him, happily spiking up his hair with shampoo while he just looks at you, the corners of his lips curling into one of those private smiles he reserves just for you, making you blush at the way his eyes shine with love and adoration for you, even after years of being together.
Yes, Ushijima Wakatoshi still has his routines, but now he always makes sure to incorporate you into them - and he very much likes it like that.
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a/n: this is my first ever haikyuu imagine and also the first scenario on this blog - feedback and reblogs are appreciated, requests are open.
© oioinanami 2021 | masterlist
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messedupfan · 3 years
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Infinity & Beyond (Wanda Maximoff x Reader) Chapter 4
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Summary: This chapter focuses on the journey of the reader during the five years without Wanda.
A/N: Thank you for the likes and reblogs! Hope that you are all enjoying the story.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
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You wake up a few months later in the Avengers compound once again. This time with your memories intact and feeling unbelievably disappointed. “She found him,” you find yourself saying to whoever was in the room as you involuntarily sit up on the bed. The nurse brushes it off as some weird superhero thing and not something to address. But then you repeat yourself again and again until she alerts Bruce who grabs the attention of the other remaining Avengers.
"What do you think she means?" Natasha questions as you make the statement again.
"Maybe she's talking about Wanda and Vision?" Steve chimes in with a concerned look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.
"Why would she be talking about Wanda and Vision? Vision was an advanced robot with a stone in his head, he had no soul for Wanda to find. If any of that exists," Bruce points out.
"I don't know then," Steve shrugs. Then you repeat the phrase again. "Maybe it's Wanda and her brother? I don't know, maybe we're too focused on the cloudy eyes thing. We could be thinking about this too hard."
Then Rhodey comes into the room to inform the members that the radar has picked up a signal of an unidentified flying object. He thinks that Carol might be back. "Just say UFO," Natasha rolls her eyes as she follows the guys out of the building. On their way out she spots a worried Pepper Pots and quirks her lips into a reassuring smile. "I think she found him," she says to the woman and leads her to the landing zone of the compound. It's only then that Natasha realizes what you meant. Sure enough, a woman is carrying a ship into the landing zone with Tony Stark and someone named Nebula. Pepper wraps her arms around Tony in tears and relief. He is quickly brought to the medical wing where you remain. Somehow having watched the whole thing from your bed.
When you come out of it the nurse informs you that your eyes had gone cloudy for a moment and you had predicted the return of your father. "He isn't my father," you grouched. Huh, must be another ability, you think to yourself.
Later, after passing a few diagnostic exams with flying colors, you are discharged from your hospital room and are eating across from a very serious Thor as people argue and yell at each other. It was weird to eat actual food. Thor was almost amused watching you figure out how to hold your sandwich.
Tony is then rolled into the room with a furious energy. You can tell that he is really hurting from this loss, that he is frustrated and you can even feel betrayal radiating off of him somehow. Of course, it's not until he's shouting at the Captain that you realize you are feeling his emotions. You were feeling everyone's defeated emotions and it was beginning to suffocate you. As you try to distract yourself with the food, your mind wanders to how overwhelmed Wanda must've felt being able to read people's minds. That leads to the memory of Wanda slipping from you and it's almost too much to handle. You toss the plate in front of you, disrupting the ongoing argument. You’re squeezing your skull as the tears come and you scream for it all to stop. Natasha and Steve fall to your side as they do their best to calm you down. Once the memory leaves you and you've settled, everyone in the room gets serious about finding Thanos.
Nebula is useful as she provides the only lead to finding Thanos and you join them on the spaceship, brushing off everyone's concerns. The talking racoon asks how many of you haven’t been to space before, you raise your hand among the others which seems to be enough to make him laugh. You don't understand why until the ship rushes off to space.
Arriving just outside the planet, a floating woman you hadn't been introduced to yet appears at the front window and is surprised to report that the planet is just Thanos. Along with everyone else, you are heart broken to find out that he had destroyed the stones. You feel for Thor when he says he went for the head and shed another tear for the woman that Thanos had taken from you. It feels like you just lost her all over again.
The first year is the longest. The days feel never ending and drag on. Most nights were spent jolting out of bed in a cold sweat as you're being haunted by memories. It often felt like you were back in the hands of Hydra being electrocuted and injected, spoken to in a language you didn't know, probably German. Everything that was done to you in the time you were captured, everything that your mind had originally suppressed, was attacking you each night. Going through it alone made you miss Wanda even more. So once you could remind yourself that you were safe, you had also been reminded that you were alone. Lots of tears were shed in the night.
After Tony built up enough strength to leave the compound he did but he never stayed gone long. He would return often to attempt to build a relationship with you. It wasn’t easy trying to let him in, the lack of sleep being no help, so you didn’t. Your resistance never stopped him from making the effort to get to know you. Now that he knew you existed, he wanted to be part of your life. Tony knew that you needed family and he was all you had left, even if you didn't want to accept it. He promised to never abandon you ever again.
That didn’t mean he stopped living his life. Within a few months of his recovery, Tony invited you to his surprisingly low-key wedding which you begrudgingly attended with Natasha and Steve. They had been helping you out a lot with coping and figuring out whether or not you wanted Tony in your life. Steve often joked about fighting him again to get him to back off, but you never took the offer. You did your best to enjoy yourself at the wedding but it only reminded you of what you couldn’t have.
You smiled your way through the night as you thought about Wanda.
Her smile, the dress she would’ve worn, her laugh, that look in her eyes that is so full of love and only reserved for you. Your mind went even further back to a time when Pietro was alive and how they would’ve danced together and how happy he would have been for the two of you. You even imagine the wide grin he would have walking Wanda down the aisle and the single tear he would shed. Once he found that ring of yours he was constantly harassing you about when and how you were going to ask his twin. Even giving unwanted advice and ideas. It was all so consuming. That night you fell asleep crying in Natasha’s arms.
Months later, while Tony was visiting you he included you in on a secret. Pepper was pregnant. You didn’t exactly give the most joyous reaction but you were happy for him and Pepper. “When she’s born, promise me you won’t come back here,” you find yourself saying.
“Well I don’t know if she’s a girl yet but… why don’t you want me to come around here?” Tony asks as he returns the ultrasound image to his pocket.
“I want the three of you to be happy. I don’t want you to worry about me. Besides, I’m thinking of asking Nat to start assigning me to missions. I probably won’t be around as much and I really just need to get my mind off of the things I lost and the things I can’t have.” You keep your eyes on the promise ring Wanda had given you on your first anniversary. “But I want you and Pepper to be happy. Enjoy your life Tony. You don’t need to make things right with me to do that.” Tony disagrees but hugs you as he says his goodbyes and you find Natasha for your first assignment.
You are there for the birth of Morgan Stark. You forge her a special necklace from your powers and smile at the little bundle of joy. “Congrats you guys, she is so precious,” you say as you hold the baby.
“Thank you, Y/N,” Pepper says with hooded eyes and a tired smile. You hand the baby back to Tony and leave before thoughts of Wanda could invade and cloud your head. She always wanted a family. She used to fantasize about the kinds of parents the two of you would be. The types of kids you guys would raise. Baby names… Being away allowed you to forget her. But moments like these threatened to tear you down.
More years pass and Natasha is forced to ground you from missions because you have become too mentally unstable and a major liability. Steve drags you to his group therapy sessions but you hardly pay attention or contribute. You just miss Wanda and you allow yourself to feel that pain because running from it has only made it grow. For the most part you spent your time sitting in meetings with Steve or Nat. You preferred being in Natasha’s meetings since they were about mission updates and strategy and not about people crying over first dates. Shortly after that particular meeting Steve began to hint that maybe you should give it a try, you shut him down and turned it around on him. He quickly dropped the subject.
Among that daily schedule you would end your nights curled up on your bed in the room Wanda stayed in while she was waiting for you to come back to her. You would hold some clothes that still smelled like her to your nose as you listened to sad songs. For a while you’re stuck listening to Little Talks wondering if her spirit was lying by your side trying to reach out to you. Some of the things you felt were too painful to keep around and you had them stored at a special place far enough from here. One of them being the old computer. Well, they had been stored away for you but sometimes you convinced yourself that you made the call on your own. Not that Natasha arranged a team to steal most of your belongings.
Tony was generous enough to copy every video and photo file from the computer and put them into your phone. They helped you go to sleep at night.
Then one day, a man you swore had to have been on the vanished list that Nat viewed often, appears at the gate. “Is this old?” Steve asks.
“This is live,” Natasha says. They let him in and the three of you stand around as he explains how he can help. You, Nat, and Steve are skeptical but not so much that you guys don’t have hope it won’t work. Immediately you guys are on the road to find Tony Stark.
Over the years you tried to visit between missions, when you could. Not for Tony but for Morgan. You couldn’t help but fall for the little girl, she was your sister and you wanted to be the best big sister you could be for her. You also wanted to make sure she knew how many people cared for her and that she would always be safe and protected. Natasha was also captivated by her and would sometimes join you on the visits. You girls would play once she was able to run around and you even showed her some of your powers. During this time you finally allowed Tony in and even established a healthy relationship with him and Pepper because whether or not you wanted to accept it, they were your family.
When you arrive at the cabin, Morgan jumps out of Tony’s arms and runs into yours. “Y/N/N!” She shouts happily. You greet her with just as much energy and take her into the house to let them do the talking.
Pepper prepares some drinks and has you take them out to everyone. You re-enter the kitchen to help her with lunch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them?” Pepper asks conversationally.
“Because my powers are connected to my emotions and if your husband says no… I might accidentally blow him into bits and pieces,” you sigh.
Despite herself, Pepper laughs a little. “You know,” she starts. “If you called him dad, he won’t have any other choice than to say yes.”
You shake your head, not this again. “Not going to happen.” Tony hasn’t directly asked you to say it but Pepper has and she keeps bringing up how much it would mean to him to hear you say it. “Besides with what we’re trying to do there’s a chance that he might lose all of this. I’m not even sure if I want him to say yes.” Your gaze lands on Morgan playing with her toys. Pepper follows your gaze and smiles softly.
“Hey Morgan, sweetie?” Pepper calls attention to her daughter who curiously looks up at her mother. “You should go out there and rescue daddy,” Pepper says. The little girl's face lights up as she stands to run to the front door. “Knowing Tony, he will find a way to protect everything he loves and save the world. Even if it kills him,” there is something in the way she says those words that causes the two of you to share a look. A hopeful let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.
She then gives you a hug and tells you to stop by more often, she wishes you luck, and you leave the warmth of the home to the frowns of your rejected friends. You don’t look at Tony when you bid him goodbye.
Next you find yourself in Bruce’s diner and watch as Scott Lang fails to be recognized as Ant-Man by some kids. Bruce is willing to give the time travel a try and on the day the test run is done, you begin to lose hope again. You eat your taco near a window as you observe Scott set up in the landing zone. You laugh when Nebula and Rocket arrive blowing away his food. You almost can’t believe that is the guy who had access to the closest thing they had to a time machine. Steve walks in smiling at your laugh, you don’t do that often, with Tony barking orders behind him. People get to work on the machine and that pesky flicker of hope is restored.
As you work on things Tony is by your side teaching you about every part you are using and putting together. You just let him rattle on and on as you let yourself fantasize about holding Wanda in your arms again. Before you know it they are doing the first test run with Clint Barton. He disappears and instantly reappears with a baseball glove and a stunned expression. “It works,” he says and that feeling of hope causes your heart to pound in your chest. You are going to see her again. Now to find out when to travel to.
“See you in a minute,” Nat says with contained excitement. She is just as excited to complete this mission as you are. After a lot of thinking and planning they separated into three teams of people. Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Scott leave to 2012 to retrieve the tesseract, scepter, and the time stone. Nat, Clint, Nebula, and Rhodey vanish to 2014 to grab the power stone and the soul stone. The last team is just Thor and Rocket to grab the reality stone that is apparently inside of Thor’s former girlfriend. Tony, Steve, and Nat wouldn’t let you go on the mission because they still think you’re a liability. You argue that Thor isn’t exactly the picture of mental stability but they point out that Thor is the only one on their team that knows Asgard and where that stone is.
So you sit and pout in a chair for the quick minute that everyone is gone. Part of what has you so pissed off is that you didn’t get to experience time traveling. All because of a few bad missions. You watch them disappear and stare at the platform but time seems to drag on and you look down at your phone with a sigh. In that second everyone has returned with their stones and your heart drops. You notice one person missing and frown. “Where’s Nat?” You ask. Clint wears a broken expression and takes a breath before explaining how he received the stone. “Oh,” is all you can come up with.
Clint felt that it should’ve been him and you didn’t disagree but you understood why Natasha sacrificed herself. She confided in you a few times about how she felt like a monster because of what she was forced to do when she was being raised in the Red Room. She even talked about the mandatory hysterectomy and hated that she could never carry kids of her own. You did your best to try and cheer her up by telling her that adoption was always an option. “No agency is going to allow a former assassin to adopt a kid. Trust me… I tried.” She then boasted about Clint and his family, she loved them as if they were her own family. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone but I cried like a baby the first time his daughter called me aunty Nat,” she got teary eyed and you passed her another shot of vodka.
Natasha missed them so much and you knew she would sacrifice herself to get them back. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if his family came back and she had to inform them that he died to save her. She probably would have felt like a bigger monster than she already thought she was. You stood up and left the room to collect yourself and get as far away from everyone’s grief as possible. Natasha had easily become your best friend these past few years. In the past year that you’ve been stuck at the compound there were days when it felt like all you had was each other. You can’t believe she’s gone but you have to hope that there is still a way to bring her back.
Banner finds you later and makes you some food and Rocket sits with you and the rest of the guys sit by the dock to talk. You force the comfort food down despite feeling too sad to eat and notice Nebula walking back into the time machine area. They call you into another room where they’re going to put the stones together but you ignore them and follow Nebula. They let you go, assuming that you’re still upset about losing Natasha. The first time you went on an actual mission with Nebula, you were put off with how serious she was so you came up with random nicknames to call her. She was annoyed initially but eventually she mentioned how funny she thought it was. Her tone had remained emotionless as she told you that and you had to refrain from laughing because it felt rude to do so as she was opening up. Nebula was still a very serious person to be around but she loosened up a bit around you, even called you her friend.
“Hey Neb-Neb!” You called out after her but she ignored you. “Bu-Bu! Hello?” You followed her to the control panel, “Nella, what’s going on with yo–” she cuts you off by wrapping her hand around your throat and speaking to you through gritted teeth. There was definitely something off about Nebula but you couldn’t quite figure it out. So you fought back because you weren’t fighting your friend, you were fighting a stranger. The two of you go hand in hand until she slips out of your hold and goes back to the control panel. You move to stop her but are too late. Next thing you know, you are waking up in rubble.
With a groan you sit up and dust yourself off then quickly panic, you don’t even know if they had time to do the reverse snap. You crawl your way out of the rubble and find Steve, Tony, and Thor speaking in hushed tones. “Did you guys do the snap? What happened?” You ask frantically, you need to know that you’ll be seeing Wanda again. Losing her a third time was simply not an option. Then you see a very alive Thanos just sitting there. That’s when it connects in your head. It was a different Nebula and she was getting a past version of Thanos into this present. “Please tell me you guys did the snap,” you look at Tony and he nods. But the look on everyone's faces told you that they didn’t know if it worked.
You join them as they attack Thanos but he is powerful and not easy to bring down. You’re tossed into another pile of rubble and shake your head, annoyed with yourself because you felt useless. Your powers were failing you and you couldn’t fathom as to why. Out of nowhere you see portals open up one by one, the people that had vanished and the people that hadn’t stepped through each portal. Then an enormous Ant-Man emerges from the ground and drops off a few more people that must’ve been trapped from the destruction of the compound. You gather with the rest of them and really focus to activate your powers as Steve grabs Mjolnir and shouts, “Avengers… Assemble!” Despite the unsuccessful attempt, you still charge along with the rest of them to fight against Thanos’ army.
Without seeing her, you could just sense that Wanda is among the rest and as much as you want a reunion, saving the world takes precedence at the moment. You could practically hear her telling you to go be a hero anyway. As you fight against Thanos’ army, using the hand to hand combat skills Natasha and Steve taught you, a part of you is still distracted and searches for Wanda. Regardless of where you want your focus at the moment. You make your way around the battlefield hoping to knock into her or something so that you don't get yourself killed trying to find her. Then you hear her.
“You took everything from me,” her tone is heavy and her eyes are glowing. You come to the conclusion that she must not know whether or not you are alive. So you don’t let her know and wait to find out what she does.
“I don’t even know who you are,” Thanos responds, angered by the woman's threatening glare.
“You will,” she says before she starts attacking him with her powers. Discreetly killing off a large gathering of Outriders hurtling towards you, you watch Wanda as she comes very close to killing Thanos herself. He calls for the ships to rain fire on everyone and that’s when you finally make yourself present to her. You jump from your spot and land right beside her and create a force field to protect the both of you. Other members are being protected by the sorcerers and it isn’t until Captain Marvel comes flying through that the bullets stop coming down and people are trying to get the gauntlet out of there. You turn towards Wanda and feel her mixed emotions, you wink at her with a smile as you let the barrier go.
“It’s time to be a hero right now, love. We can say hello later,” you tell her before you go back into the fight, the adrenaline rushing through you as your powers have finally activated. Each member does their best to keep the gauntlet out of Thanos’ reach but sadly no one succeeds and he holds the extreme amount of power once again. Carol fights him with as much power as she has to keep him from snapping his fingers but eventually gets tossed aside. You step up next using everything that you have inside of you, using abilities you had no idea you even possessed. But in the end you are tossed onto a metal rod that had been protruding out from the destroyed building. It had stabbed you through your side making it difficult to breathe. As you fight for air you look around to watch Thanos and his army disappear. Tony collapses beside you. “No,” you cough out weakly. You reach out for him and luckily he was close enough for you to touch his shoulder. “Tony,” you gasp as the tears sting your eyes. His eyes follow the sound but you can tell that he’s not actually looking at you.
“Mr. Stark, we won. Mr. Stark,” Peter says as he tries to grab Tony’s attention. Rhodey lands beside his best friend with understanding and sadness in his eyes. Yours tighten shut for a moment as your tears start to fall. You want to wake up from this horrible nightmare but this is reality, a piece of you knew that you couldn’t avoid. Then Pepper arrives and pulls the boy in the spider suit away from her husband. You look up and see that he has finally returned somewhat enough to recognize his wife.
She tells him that he can rest now, then she looks over to you so that you know that now is the time to say something so you don’t regret it later. With a weak grip on his shoulder you nudge him to return his attention to you. It looks like he’s trying to smile at you but is obviously far too weak to do as such. You offer him the best one that you could muster in your current state. “I love you, dad. It’s okay, we’ll be okay,” your hand lands in his and he gives it the lightest squeeze before it falls limp.
Wanda makes her way over to you and panics at the amount of blood you’ve lost but at the moment you don’t feel anything. Not even the pain of losing your father. You just feel… numb. It dawns on you that your body must be failing but that doesn’t scare you. She takes your hand as your loud thoughts of just letting go enter her mind. “No,” she starts through frustrated teeth. “You can’t leave, Y/N. Please, keep fighting. This can’t be our ending. I need you, please don’t leave me,” she sounds so broken but equally determined to keep you alive. As you hold her gaze she lets out a broken sob and tenderly whispers, “I love you to infinity.” She continues to beg, depositing small kisses to the back of your hand. As her words sink in, you find the strength that you need to fight off the thoughts of letting go. Then, with your heightened vision, you look around and find every remaining Avenger kneeling out of respect for your father and you have the urge to join them. You struggle to get up from your position, Pepper and Wanda try to stop you from moving but all rational thought has left you.
“I’m not dying right here,” you grumble as you reach behind you and cut the rod. You shift your position and Pepper sprays your wound to close it around the remaining bits of the rod that was still in you so that the bleeding would stop until you could get it properly treated. Then you kneel for your father to show your respect for him in his death that you failed to show while he was alive. You think about how grateful you were for the last five years and how much you appreciated that he never gave up on you. You silently thank him just as the adrenaline leaves your body and it succumbs to the full extent of your injuries causing you to collapse and pass out.
Chapter 5
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amazingmaeve · 3 years
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atelophobia
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atelophobia is the fear of imperfection. the fear of never being good enough
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request - hello !! i've been wanting to see more sam wilson fics so do you mind if i request a soulmate au one and y/n and sam are frenemies of somesort? 🥺
summary:
y/n and sam haven’t been the best of friends. he always annoyed her and she annoyed him. he hates how snippy she is, she hates how sarcastic he is. however some jokes of his make her crack a rare smile and sometimes he catches that. two people made for each other.
warnings - angst, fluff
word count - 3.2k
a/n - its an au so no endgame/infinity war stuff happened. also no thanos. it’s my first time writing for marvel so go easy on me! also a happy late birthday to sam as well!
marvel masterlist // sam wilson masterlist
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“Why did you assign me with Wilson,” Y/N seethed out questioning the man in front of her. Her arms are crossed on her chest with anger burning in her eyes.
The man before her, Steve Rogers, raises an eyebrow at her sudden outburst. Sure the meeting was already done but he didn’t expect her to be this angry about it. Steve thought that Y/N and Sam were getting along better now and this could help them get along even better. But apparently he was wrong.
“I thought you two were okay,” Steve asked, confused in his voice as she rolled her eyes.
She didn’t hate Sam. No one could really hate Sam. But sometimes he got on her nerves and she has a short temper and the conversation usually ends up in an argument with both of them stomping away. Y/N was always serious about the work so no one would get hurt.
So it irked her when Sam would be casually joking while on a rescue mission or a mission in general. While Sam hated how Y/N would never have any fun, yes Sam did take his work very seriously but he wanted to make the time more bearable for everyone.
So when Y/N snaps at him whenever he makes a joke or just laughs in general he gets kinda pissed off about it. She’s just so unbearable sometimes that it increased his anger even more.
For the past few months everything was fine between them. Of course not finding her soulmate was bad. She hated feeling alone while couples scattered across the Avengers tower. Y/N would roll her eyes everytime Wanda asked if she ever wanted a soulmate and she would respond no. She thought that all the time ‘I don’t need anybody’ but deep down she wanted to have someone to love her and to love someone.
At least there were some Avengers who haven’t found the one.
Sam this last month has been growing on Y/N. He’s been more nice and actually funny in her eyes. He would crack jokes at the right time which would make her let a little laugh out much to Sam’s confusion. It was common that Y/N didn’t smile often. But then everything changed.
One mission which was a rescue mission ended up real bad. It was a mission that only her and Sam attended since everyone thought it would be easy. But Y/N turned the corner and had a fist to the face, she attempted to grab the gun she dropped but the guy shot her in her stomach making her lay down on the floor, holding the wound. Blood was seeping out of it fast and she could feel her vision get real blurry.
Y/N thought she would die there on the floor and she was fine with it as long as Sam got the hostages home safe and him safe as well.
But when she felt herself almost get lulled into unconsciousness a figure appeared before her and soon she realized it was Sam. He looked down both halls to make sure no one was coming before kneeling down before her worriedness in his eyes.
“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam reassured, putting pressure on the wound. His words sounded like he was talking far away. Tears quickly blurred her vision as soon she realized he wasn’t going to get the hostages.
“You-you have to…..” Y/N began to say but flinched when Sam put even more pressure on the oozing wound.
“Don’t talk you can’t waste your energy,” Sam interrupted her and then picked her up bridal style and began to walk her out of the building. Y/N flinched and looked back to see if she saw the hostages anywhere but her vision was getting blurred again.
“The-the hostages,” Y/N stuttered though pain and biting into her lip from screaming out in pain.
“There fine I got everyone in there handled,” Sam reassured as they reached out doors and then lifted himself up and flew across the sky towards the Quinjet that got them there. Y/N closed her eyes and hid her face in his neck as her arms wrapped around his neck. Her heart was pounding as pain pulsed through her body. God she hoped the people were safe.
Then out of nowhere Y/N and Sam heard an explosion and Sam turned around to see the building that was just standing there was up in flames and smoke. Before Y/N could do anything she passed out in his arms as the pain began to get too much for her.
When Y/N woke up Steve was there with Natasha and he explained to her that the hostages unfortunately passed because there was the explosion.
Y/N felt tears fill her eyes as she sat up on the hospital bed. Steve and Natasha left to give her some space as she wondered where Sam could’ve gone. If she would’ve been more aware of her surroundings she wouldn’t have gotten shot and they would've got everyone out safe and fine. She failed them. And she failed her whole team.
Of course she was angry with Sam after this, he should’ve left her there so more people could’ve lived. But she was more angry at herself. She couldn’t face Sam or anyone for a few days. Y/N was awkward around Sam and had anger radiating off her while she talked to anyone. So people avoided her.
That’s why she didn’t want to be paired with Sam. She didn’t want to have history repeat itself.
“I’m sorry Y/L/N but you’re going to have to face him someday,” Steve apologized. He saw how affected she was about this and maybe Sam could help her get over it since he was there with her when it happened.
“Fine,” Y/N scoffed, bumping into his shoulder as she walked off to her room to get ready for this mission.
Her heart was beating as she started to get more and more nervous about this whole thing. She didn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of her. She didn’t want anyone to die. So she wouldn’t be having Sam’s jokes or his snide remarks this day, she needs to be on point.
Y/N got all of her weapons ready before walking out of her room and finally reaching the Quinjet where Sam was sitting down cleaning his guns out. Once he heard her enter the room a smirk graced his lips.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Sam laughs, turning around to look at her but only finding her face clenching in anger. His brow furrowed in confusion not knowing what was going on with her.
“Let’s get this over with,” Y/N grumbled, taking a seat and getting all of her weapons in place. Sam snickered at her attitude with confusion all over his face.
Of course he knew that Y/N was upset but Sam thought she was over it by now, but he hasn’t seen her this past few weeks but he heard from Bucky that she was in a horrible mood. Sam sighed before going to sit next her which made her huff out of annoyance.
“Okay what’s your problem,” Sam snapped, turning to face Y/N who had shock written all over her face.
“Nothing,” Y/N lied straight through her teeth, not meeting Sam’s gaze which was burning a hole into the side of her head. She didn’t want to tell him that the reason she’s all broody is because of her own failure.
“I know you’re lying so just tell me the truth so we can at least tolerate each other,” Sam says frustration running through his veins as he rubs his forehead.
When Y/N didn’t respond Sam scoffed.
“Fine let’s just get through this and I’ll talk to Steve about us never going on a mission again,” Sam retorted then standing up and sitting on the other side of the Quinjet.
Y/N looked at him in shock, even though she showed signs that she didn’t like working with him, he was really fun. Now because of her own insecurities and failures she’s going to lose an incredible friend or enemy depends on how you see it. Of course Y/N knew it wasn’t his fault, it was her own. Y/N had to prove that she isn’t this failure that Sam or Steve sees in her.
She saw it in Steve's eyes when she was in the hospital and she believes that she just saw it in Sam’s eyes just now. Deep down she knows she’s a failure and it cuts to her deep to the core to even think about admitting it. The mission she failed just proves it to herself and everyone else even more. God she can’t even do her own job right.
Ever since Y/N was young she was all about being perfect. The perfect grades, the attitude, and eventually to try to be the perfect fighter. Imperfection haunted her as the people in her life, she believed were better than her and sometimes didn’t even like her. Steve usually didn’t talk to her unless it’s work, same with Natasha. Bucky never talks to her, Tony’s too busy in the lab, same as Bruce. Wanda was very sympathetic towards her though since she’s looked through Y/N’s mind. Wanda and Y/N are friends and Wanda is her only friend. Vision was more of an acquaintance.
Sam was different though. She felt the need to prove herself to him. Y/N didn’t know why she felt this since she never felt this towards anyone on the team so why should it matter what he thinks. Sam was an enigma to her, he was an amazing fighter and had this charming personality that made her want to smile but she was too stubborn to do so.
This fear of imperfection ruins things in her life sometimes.
The mission was a success and Y/N gave it her all as she got everyone out okay and the bad guys were all on the way to prison. But it filled that whole in her heart, it didn’t prove anything to her or to anyone.
So whenever she feels frustrated she goes to the gym and let’s all of her frustration on the boxing bag. Y/N is usually here often. She likes to stay fit and it acts as some sort of therapy to her. While she was too busy punching the bag someone entered the room and she didn’t even hear it.
“Damn what did that punching bag ever do to you,” Sam’s voice rang through her ears and she dropped her arms to her side and let out a long sigh before turning to face him. He was in his usual work out gear with a smirk spreading across his lips.
“It broke my heart and dumped a year ago,” Y/N responded, a sarcastic tone in her face as her arms crossed around her chest. Sam let out a laugh at her monotone voice and clearly didn’t seem amused.
“That is the first time I’ve ever heard a joke,” Sam chuckled.
“What are you talking about? I'm a very amusing person,” Y/N let out a tiny smile on her lips.
“Who told you that lie,” Sams’ eyes narrow in confusion.
“Piss off Wilson,” Y/N grumbled wondering why she was joking around with the man. But that conversation caused some butterflies in her stomach. She turned around and bent over to grab her stuff.
When she turned around it showed the soul mark that has been there ever since she turned 18. To Sam’s dismay and his eyes widened in shock as the soul mark matched the same to his on his shoulder. Before he could even mutter a word Y/N left the gym giving him a sarcastic smile.
Sam just stood there in shock. His soulmate has been there all along and he didn’t even notice it. He didn’t know how to feel about it, of course he found Y/N attractive and her attitude was sometimes tolerable. But she made it very clear she was all work and no play. Deep down he knew he felt something for her even before he found out about the soul mate crap.
“Sam you okay,” Steve waved a hand in front of his face trying to get his attention. Sam blinked, rubbing his eyes and nodded at Steve's question.
“Pair me with Y/N for the next mission please,” Sam bluntly asked and shock was written all over the captain's face.
“But you told me last night-,” Steve began to say as he looked at him confused.
“Just please do it and don’t tell her she’ll just get all pissy about it,” Sam asked with a pleading look on his face. Sam narrowed his eyes but nodded anyway.
“Your secrets are safe with me,” Steve promised.
Over the next few days Sam has been trying to talk to Y/N but she always seemed to be in her room and it was clear she didn’t want anyone in there. He needed to talk to her about this, he’s been looking for his soulmate for years and he has to do something about it. Sam’s sure that she has no idea about it since she probably would be more awkward around her.
For her next mission Y/N wasn’t sure who her team mate for this one would be. She was hooping it would be Wanda since she was more comfortable around her than anyone else. Though she wanted to resolve this situation with Sam but was too stubborn to do it.
As she walked to the Quinjet she felt her heart drop as she thought she knew that Sam was going to be there. Even though it was tough to admit she liked Sam’s jokes and his whole persona. He wasn’t even that annoying to her but she has built up so much walls to protect her heart from anyone so she wouldn’t get hurt.
“I thought you didn’t want to work with me anymore,” Y/N stated as she entered the Quinjet and saw Sam sitting there with his leg jittering. He jumped not knowing that she entered the room and relaxed when he saw it was her.
Y/N didn’t blame Sam that he didn’t want to work with her.
“I need to talk to you before we go to this mission okay,” Sam firmly stated, making her eyes furrow as she had no idea what he wanted to talk to her about.
“Okay,” Y/N stated she tried to shake the shock off of her body. She sat next to him since he needed to talk about something. “What do you need to talk about,” She asked fiddling with her thumbs.
“About your soul mark,” Sam softly said resting one of his hands on top of hers making sparks flow through her whole body. It felt weird and she didn’t know. She didn't even know why he wanted to know about her soul mark.
“What about it,” Y/N asked curious as the pad of his thumb rubbed comforting circles on the top of her hand.
“I have the same one,” Sam whispers looking directly in her eyes and at first Y/N thinks this is one of his jokes so she let’s a little giggle out at it. But when he wasn’t laughing with her she looked at him with an un comprehensive look on her face.
“What,” Y/N says as she tries to remove her hand from his but he caught and gave it a squeeze. With a sigh he released her hand and lifted up his shirt to show his shoulder that the soul mark was placed. He bent over the seat he was in a bit to let her get a good look at it.
She was shocked as she stared at his back. Her soulmate was Sam Wilson and man she thought she despised and despised her. Her fingers trailed across the skin and kept staring at the mark. It was identical to hers. Goosebumps fluttered across Sam’s skin as she caressed his skin.
“How,” Y/N whispered as she removed her hand and he sat up straight pulling his shirt down.
“Well everyone’s got a soul mark when they’re born-,” Sam smirked as he started to respond to her question.
“Not like that,” Y/N smacked his arm.
“You’ve been working out haven’t you,” Sam grabbed his shoulder faking a wince. “Okay okay I’ll be more serious,” He put his hands up in defense. “I just can’t believe that my soulmate has been here all this time,” He says in disbelief.
“You don’t want me,” Y/N blurted out as she stood up and walked to the middle of the room as Sam stayed sitting down for the moment. His shoulders slumped as his face was contorted into disbelief.
“And how do you know what I want,” Sam fired back, crossing his arms.
“I just do and you won’t want somebody like me,” Y/N snapped, used her hand and pointed to herself and rested her hand on her heart which was racing.
“Why are you so closed off,” Sam fumed, standing up walking in front of her, his stance matching hers. “Why won’t you let anyone in,” He snapped, glaring at her. He hated the way he was talking to his soulmate but he needed some reasons.
“Because I’m a failure,” Y/N shouted as tears brimmed her eyes. “I couldn’t help those hostages. I don’t even know why I’m an Avenger, I suck so bad,” She ran her hands through her hand and tugged on the roots.
Sam stood there flabbergasted as Y/N turned around and cupped her mouth to keep the sobs in. She knew this was gonna happen, this has been building in her for a long time and it was about time that the volcano exploded.
“You’re not a failure,” Sam says still in disbelief that she would think this about herself. He walked so that he was standing in front of her and cupped her cheeks in his hands. He wiped the tears that fell from her eyes. But she had them closed not wanting to give into him. “You’re one of the most badass women that I know. And even though you can have a snippy attitude I know that you want to help people,” Sam softly says pressing his lips to her forehead making her shiver from the electricity.
“How can you think that I’ve been horrible to you,” Y/N says her voice hoarse from crying.
“I also know how dedicated to work you are and that I can disturb that sometimes,” Sam smiles, removing his hands from her cheeks.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Y/N nervously chuckles looking up at him as she feels heat crawl all over her body.
“How bout this you make it up to me by buying me a coffee,” Sam bargains a smile plastered on his face.
“Are you asking me out,” Y/N asks, feeling a bit of giddy in her.
“Depends on the answer,” Sam shrugs. She gives him a smile before leaning up and pressing her lips to his and putting her hand on his neck. His hands go to her hips as they stand there and kiss.
The Quinjet flying off breaks the two apart with smiles on their faces. The tears that were once there have been dried away and her heart was feeling better.
“I’m guessing that was a yes.”
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swanlake1998 · 3 years
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Article: For transgender dancers, progress can't come fast enough
Date: March 8, 2020
By: Avichai Scher
Sean Dorsey was tired of being the only transgender dancer in the room. So he took the bold step of starting his own company, the San Francisco-based Sean Dorsey Dance, and become the first openly trans director of a full-time dance company. It was a milestone for transgender and gender-nonconforming dancers and choreographers, and Dorsey hoped it would lead to a more inclusive dance world.
The company is celebrating its 15th anniversary this year, yet Dorsey remains the only openly trans artistic director of a full-time dance company in the country.
“We’ve definitely made progress since I started, when there was really no context for institutional or social support of trans dancers,” Dorsey said. “But there’s still a major lack of representation across the dance world.”
Dance, especially older forms such as ballet and modern dance, is mostly structured around strict gender lines. While the growing acceptance of transgender people in the United States has extended somewhat into the art form, trans dancers are often forced to choose between being their authentic selves and career opportunities.
Issues start in training
Dorsey’s choreography often deals with trans issues, and he is committed to being an advocate in the dance world for transgender people. But even in his own company, Dorsey is the only trans performer.
“In San Francisco, at least, I don’t have the luxury of holding an audition for trans dancers,” he said. “There just aren’t very many at the professional level.”
Dorsey said this is largely because barriers for trans and gender-nonconforming dancers start at a young age — as most training programs are gender-specific.
Jayna Ledford, 19, made headlines when she came out as transgender in an Instagram post in 2018. She was studying at the Kirov Ballet Academy at the time, a traditional ballet program in Washington, D.C. It was the first time a dancer at an acclaimed ballet school had publicly come out as trans.
Classes at Kirov, like most ballet conservatories, are generally separated by sex assigned at birth, and when students are combined, teachers offer different steps for men and women. Ledford, however, found ways to get the training that matched her gender identity, including dancing on her toes in special pointe shoes, which is done almost exclusively by women and requires unique training.
“I wanted to do what the females were doing,” she said. “I’d do it on the side and not pay attention to what the guys were doing. I’d also stay after class and practice pointe technique with my female friends.”
She hadn’t had the training other females at the school had, but she was hoping to transfer from the men’s program to the women’s.
“I knew I had a lot of catching up to do in terms of pointe work,” she said. “But just being in the room with the females, that’s what I wanted.”
The Kirov Academy told Ledford she could not join the women’s program unless she physically transitioned. Ledford was not ready for that, so she left the school. She was disappointed but now says she understands the academy’s position. The school confirmed Ledford’s account but declined to comment.
Maxfield Haynes, 22, who is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, said the large, prestigious ballet school where they trained was not supportive of someone presenting as male wearing pointe shoes.
It wasn’t until Haynes enrolled at Tisch School of the Arts at New York University that they were able to explore the more feminine aspects of ballet technique. Ledford also found higher education to be more supportive than a conservatory. She now studies at Montclair State University and practices pointe technique daily.
Lack of professional opportunities
After NYU, Haynes chose to dance with Complexions Contemporary Ballet partially because the company is explicitly supportive of gender fluidity, and even had a specific role for Haynes that is gender-nonconforming. In the David Bowie tribute piece, “Stardust,” Haynes dons pointe shoes and was partnered with male dancers.
“It was everything I could have dreamed of,” Haynes said of the role. “As nonbinary, I like to get to show all aspects of gender. I don’t think about dancing like a man or a woman, just myself.”
Opportunities to dance roles that are gender-nonconforming are rare in the concert dance world, even if dancers are becoming more open about being gender-nonconforming in their offstage lives. And those who want to physically transition face a stark choice, as none of the major dance companies in the U.S. currently have openly transgender dancers on their rosters.
Alby Sabrina Pretto recently made the difficult choice to begin physically transitioning with hormone replacement therapy at the expense of her performing career. She was a dancer with Les Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo, an all-male comedy troupe, for eight years. While she got to dance in pointe shoes, the style of the company is rooted in the comedy of men portraying women, which ultimately wasn’t how Pretto identified.
“There were moments I wanted to do things like a ballerina would and be ethereal and pretty,” Pretto said. “To dance like a woman.”
She knew that physically transitioning would mean she could not continue with the company.
“I wanted to have a career, and that slowed down my decision to transition,” Pretto said. “I waited until I felt like I had done what I wanted to do there.”
Liz Harler, general manager of Les Ballet Trockadero, said in a statement that transitioning does not disqualify dancers from the company.
“Dancers who expressed interest in transitioning to female have been told that their job would not be in jeopardy, though none have chosen to do so while continuing with the Trocks’ rigorous dancing and touring schedule,” Harler said.
Both Ledford and Pretto hope for the day when they can attend an audition and be hired without having to explain their gender identity.
Ledford said. “I’ll audition as any other woman. If I get in, then I’ll sit down and talk with them.”
Ledford is “optimistic” that this can happen in the next few years, but Pretto isn’t so sure.
“I am not naive, I know I cannot just audition for a major ballet company and join the female corps de ballet,” Pretto said. “But I would love for that to happen for me. It’s the ultimate dream.”
Her skepticism is partly based on the experience of her former Trockadero colleague, Chase Johnsey, who is gender fluid. He made headlines in 2018 when he was cast in a female ensemble role in the English National Ballet’s production of “Sleeping Beauty,” though it was not on pointe, and the heavy costume concealed his body. No additional female roles came his way afterward.
The question of who gets opportunities as a dancer often comes down to the taste of directors and producers and what they imagine their audiences want to see, not just ability.
Pretto danced a couple of character roles recently with Eglevsky Ballet, a growing ballet ensemble on Long Island, New York. The director, Maurice Brandon Curry, said he would consider Pretto for a female ensemble role next year, because her pointe work is “excellent,” though he wonders how some in the audience will react.
“Casting Alby in a female role would not be about passing as female, but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge my concern about an audience member who was offended,” Curry said. “But art is not prejudice; it’s about inclusivity and open minds. If someone is not willing to have that experience, they don’t have a legitimate place in our audiences.”
Signs of change
Dorsey said that even having discussions about gender identity in dance is progress from when he started, and he’s encouraged by changes he’s seen: Most theaters either already have gender-neutral restrooms or create them for his company’s visit; trans and gender-nonconforming students attend his workshops in various cities and share with him their efforts to be accepted in their dance communities; the San Francisco Ballet persuaded him to lead a training session on gender identity in dance; and he was on the cover of Dance Magazine.
Ledford was recently a “Gaynor Girl,” a spokesperson for the popular pointe shoe brand Gaynor Minded. Pretto said she worked up the courage to use the ladies' locker room at one of New York’s busiest studios, Steps on Broadway, and no one seemed to mind.
Still, the art form has not yet caught up to reflect the audience, Dorsey said. His company has worked in over 30 cities in the U.S. and abroad, and he is usually the first trans choreographer a theater has presented. But he said the response from audiences is almost always positive.
“Dance audiences are ready and hungry for trans voices,” he said. “It's our dance institutions that are still catching up.”
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h0unds-of-h3ll · 3 years
Text
Talking to the moon
The rumors and trauma lived inside his head in fact it ate him alive. Each and everyday lifeless and a black cloud hung over his head. Except when he received and a test message from an unknown number. He knew it was unknown for three reasons. 1) Everyone knew to not text him or disturb him unless he contacted them first. 2) He could recite his entire list of contacts over anything else in his life. And the third was that he didn’t know that this unknown message would change him forever.
Word count: 15,000 *im so sorryyyy*
This is another dreaded Bucky Barnes x reader fic.
Viewers beware you are in for a scare with the: fluff, Bucky is a wanna be alcoholic, blood, angst, cheesy tropes *wrong number,etc*, bad jokes, one liners, awkwardness, sexual innuendos, mentioned sexual harassment, suicidal thoughts, depression, murder, slight dark Bucky who’s just trying to get through life, Sam Wilson mentioned, astrology and planets, knifes, ptsd, nightmares and terrors, flashbacks, sad bitch Bucky missing Steven and using the reader as a better therapist then the certified one, she/her pronouns used for the reader, mostly from Buckys POV, she/you referring to the reader JOHN WALKER SLANDER NO HATE TO THE ACTOR, glass.
(This is dedicated to my friend, tiny adjustments to buckys story and I am dearly sorry if I didn’t write bucky true to his character!)
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He choked awake on the air that never left his cold lungs, meanwhile, his skin was afire. A coat of sweat coated him, he slept shirtless since this occurred so often. Always waking in the depth of night to little to no light, only the low gleam of the moon shone through his window near his kitchen along with the soft luminosity of the television sat in front of the sofa. One that he refused to sleep on. He couldn't even sleep on the soft bed tucked in the back corner of the room down the hall in his apartment. He debated why he just wouldn't move into a studio apartment instead of the one he resides in.
He huffed staggeringly and his eyes falling to the ground, searching for something that was never there. Tranquility. His brain trying to calm itself in some form, it never worked it took hours for it to. Even then it never lasted. He suffers another day's trauma trying to sort the world back into order. Sam would often notice but knew to never ask him about it. He knew from the months working together asking and attempting to comfort Bucky often led to arguments. Bucky strongly knew this was nothing and that others were just blowing it out of proportion.
That also led to bias work and Bucky not doing his best, since Sam put him in a bad mood beforehand. Bucky went to therapy. He was more forced than offered, the government felt he was more of a ticking bomb than anything else. Bucky thought of it as more of a joke than anything.
There was no sense in for him to go to the sessions. He often found himself trying to find excuses to skip sessions. He thought that the past is the past and trying to fix it wasn't a possibility. Bucky dealt with it the way he could. He pushed it deep, deep, down in the roaring sea of his mind and dealt with it later. Only in his dreams did it resurface to haunt him. Always making him uptight and tired from the lack of sleep.
However, at this point, he was use to the torture of it all. His brain is his worst enemy. Through shaky breath fanned on his arm, he was crouched over his left leg up his metal arm resting over his knee his other arm holding his weight. He watched the glow of the tv, his chest heaved in exasperation.
Nothing piqued his interest in broadcasting. It was all the same mumbo jumbo of stereotypical things like romance, the reality that was depicting the species as inhumane, the comedy he didn't understand, only one channel did hold his interest.
Perhaps it worsened his mental state but he didn't care and it was the news. It was all the current disasters of the world and the avengers trying to stabilize the circumstances and the best part of it all how disturbing the world is. Even if his bringing was normal to where he is now, he'd most likely be a deeply tormented individual.
He nearly had heart failure when a banner at the bottom of the screen read "John Walker elected as the new Captain America." In blinding letters. Above the banner was John Walker himself standing in front of the podium a hand raised in a gesture to recognize the audience's howl.
Buckys head burst with memories of Hydra and the way it evoked him. The way of how Hydra forced him to be something he wasn't. John Walker was the perfect example of an alternate reality with a substitute Steve. Everything Steve was for John Walker was against.
Images flashed in his head. He put his hands on his head his natural one warm and clammy, in contrast to the bitter cold one. It just gave his flashbacks even more fuel. Living with a constant reminder of who he is. A monster.
He grabbed tightly onto his hair the strands were being plucked as this was being written. He felt small patches of balding from this happening so regularly. His legs parted and creased by the knees. His face strained into pain. His extensive wrinkles from age, noticeable, and worsened from him doing so.
His blanket thrown away to the side with disregard, he started to rock softly front and back. The wood floor burned his tailbone from him sitting on it for so long. Suddenly he felt a different pain. A killer one.
The beige cabinets thrown open papers and documents scattered everywhere. The dark grey of a ceiling of the shelter peered over him judgingly. His arm pushed down into the metal of the chair burned from the uncomfortable position. The bolts leaving deep indentions in his skin. The helmet pressed tightly to his skull leaving him render less against the horror of hearing the words. So many times he had to go through this routine, the monitors loud and buzzing. He bit down strenuously onto the guard in his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. The electricity drumming into his head, his brain setting fire to its system, he feels it in his muscles, in his blood, the veins that pop in his neck. The tubes behind his head generated and pumped large amounts which umped higher and higher in velocity each time an activation word was spoken loud and clearly. Spat carelessly not in his mother's tongue, he would never think of the language to be beautiful only to be a monstrosity of the world one of the greatest. His dull fingernails dug into the chair it did nothing other than to give him some sort of balance. He screamed but it was muffled to an extent of the guard doing its purpose. "Daybreak."
The announcer spoke into the fuzzy black microphone that's the only word he made out to hear. The daily news report drone on for what of which he came back into reality.
He opened his azure eyes and looked to the left the window that sat in the middle of a pale white wall and his kitchen showed the red bloom of the sun and the tall buildings of the city.
He felt resentful towards the time of day since his flashbacks usually only lasted a minute or so.
Lately, they've grown in duration and that stroke dread into him. He was horrified that someone would say or do an act that would put him in a state of mind. One that he wished to not be in.
Somedays he just yearned to be left for dead in the snowfall of the forest. Notably, so far from the arm that was taken from him that it would be hidden to the world for eons. And from the pessimism of the clouds above him.
He grew irritably hot and damp from the excessive sweat he did to himself, he felt everything was his fault, enlisting, going on the train, helping Steve.
He hated himself for a moment realizing what he thought, he felt selfish for thinking that Steve did this to punish him. He sighed and laid his head tilted to the plastered ceiling.
His neck outstretched. His legs and his arm, limp from the compression of him tensing them for so long. His muscles trying their hardest to relax. His figure seeming to be the equivalent of a sack of potatoes.
He didn't care about how he presented, perhaps it was his past with being a soldier the constant thriving to be the strongest and the son of Hercules. He pushed so far that his body couldn't endure the strength he put it through.
Super soldier serum and all, he was still just a man. He was still human deep into the last atom of his DNA. His eyes nonchalantly examined his ceiling a soft pale white like the rest of his apartment, it reminded him of the moon outside.
If he were to take out his ceiling it'd be right above him. He was enamored by how it seemed to have an ever-lasting glow. He let out a shaky huff then fell ever quiet. Until the day grew old.
Yori had scheduled a lunch meeting earlier that week, they had a routine. Yori attended and Bucky paid. This happened every Wednesday they would meet up and discuss whatever they wished. Yori was just an old decaying man who lived in Chinatown, he lived across from Bucky's building. Yori was kind to the ones he knew.
It was otherwise to people he didn't. After Yori's son died it was hard to, if he only knew who Bucky was entirely he'd die out of shock. Bucky swore to tell him but honestly, Yori was his only friend he had out of work, and even that he couldn't let himself go and confide in Sam.
So here he was in a plain-back leather jacket, some jeans and the same pair of boots he had since the war. He didn't understand the fashion trends of late. Last week he and Yori saw a woman in a bright suit, it looked like a second skin from how tight it was.
Yori was simple-minded as he was and had similar morals and interests. It was disheartening to say that Bucky had a sort of envy for Yori, Bucky wished to have lived a normal life of maybe dying in the war or growing old and gray like Yori.
Get married, have a couple of kids, live a normal life. He understood greatly why Steve went back but he never fully forgave him for it. He felt like Steve was selfish for doing so, but isn't everyone? Steve got a normal life while Bucky had to rot in the world alone and was terrorized by his brain.
He crossed his arms, the leather making a strange sound since he gripped himself so tightly. He sat up straight, his shoulders back, his face set with a profound scowl. It forever imprinted on his face the dark scruff of a new beard growing in.
He hated how it meant uncleanliness, but he didn't have the motivation to shave it off, there wasn't a reason to anyway. He hadn't been on a date in years, centuries even.
He poked and played with his sushi that Yori said was great to try at least once. Bucky felt bad and tried a bite, he had to give credit for a thing so small having to be so spicy. That was about the first and last bite Bucky had. Since then he just jabbed at it with one of the sticks.
The other laid across the small complimentary plate with the rest of the remains of the sushi he failed to eat, he lost his appetite a few weeks ago.
He's been nursing a strong drink called Shōchū. Every time Bucky ordered it Yori said that he put an accent on it and that it made him sound like a foreigner. Although Bucky didn't know how since he was fluent but that was an argument for another day.
The employees there grew to know that they should just leave the bottle there since he usually drinks half their supply on each visit.
He just simply didn't think eating was something he needed. Recently things just seemed to bore him to the point where things that he needed to do he couldn't.
All because his brain tells him this doesn't matter. He's just lived so long from numerous life-ending things and he'd be damned if he'd kick the bucket from starvation.
"That scowl of yours is going to scare the women away," Yori spoke, breaking Bucky out of his trance. Bucky only saw the select few people around them and the women that Yori was referring to were a few older women with smiles and when Bucky turned to look they suggestively waved their fingers.
When Bucky looked back Yori smiled and waved and went back to inhaling noodles. Bucky looked at the man across from him in the small sushi restaurant he grew to know too well, they always sat in the same place a small table near the front of the glass doors.
Some posters and decorations were scattered throughout the small building. The dim lanterns gleam radiantly against the cryptic night. It rained before and the droplets of rain still reside on the windows behind Yori.
Yori slurped pounds of noodles into his mouth at a time, the residue of it was left behind on Yori's pale-white mustache. Bucky was surprised that the stick didn't break from the weight of it. Bucky's eyebrows furrowed together in thought, his posture relaxing.
He laughed inside his shoulders coming up and the side of his lips curved in a smirk. The demeanor he held was appealing from afar, (specifically to the cougars adjacent from where they were.)The conversation always breaking Bucky's previous mood, Yori was very light-hearted when he wasn't in a mood. Especially when he had food and good company. He decided to further it:
"What do you know about the ladies here that I don't?" Yori swallowed a big round lump in his throat slowly going down to his stomach, he must've had a pile of noodles in it by now.
"Well first off all, don't test my ways of making them swoon over me," Yori stated it more of a threat than a declaration. He used his chopsticks and pointed them at Bucky and a warning manner.
His eyebrows perked up and the wrinkles on his forehead worsened similar to the ones that grew on Bucky. His eyes became wide at the thought of being disrespected like the way Bucky just did.
"Second of all, you don't understand how to look without your eyes." And with that Yori chowed down once again on his bucket of noodles. Bucky couldn't perceive Yori's advice, what does seeing without your eyes even could mean?
His smirk faltered into his normal resting face which Yori liked to remark and say was the equivalent to people putting the trash into his garbage can. There was no rhyme or reason for people to do so but they just did.
Just like the way Bucky was always in a sour mood it reminded him of himself always being angry at the world because of other people.
"Have you been seeing anyone lately, if not that might be the cause of your problems," Yori spoke as if he knew everything about Bucky and maybe he could Truth it since Hydra and after being the winter soldier and Steve passing.
Bucky hadn't really been ready to mingle. He just knew he had too much baggage for a partner to put on deal with him. Every now and then when he felt completely alone he downloaded some dating app he didn't actually want and deleted it on the same night.
He had flings here and there and since he met Yori he had been setting him up on dates whether Bucky liked it or not. None of them worked out since Bucky didn't try; he was too wrapped up in his own problems to be listening to hers.
Bucky's gloved metal hand wrapped behind his neck and scratched his stubble coming back down.
"You know Yori surprisingly enough I haven't," Bucky spoke grimly and clutched his teeth. He knew Yori was going to tell him off. He winced when he heard Yori's chopsticks fall into the cup of noodles. Yori sat back into his wooden chair, his arms crossed and a displeased look came across his face.
"And why is that?" Bucky began to open his mouth "Don't give me some excuse that you always give me or this will be our last meeting." Yori stated in a harsh manner with his face twisted in that fatherly manner. "I don't understand why it's a great value to you, to know about my love life,"
Bucky spoke of it as a statement but it came out more as a question. Yori quieted and thought for a moment thinking of the proper words to say. "The stars are aligned in your favor, in which that means you should try and put effort into those small details in what is grief, if not love persevering."
Bucky sat there thinking over the things Yori told him. Bucky stretched his arm out to sip on the Shōchū. He was about a quarter way through. They'd only been there for two hours.
Since Yori met Bucky he learned that people can't always be that bad. Unless of course, you're the type who knocks over his trash can and the men don't pick it up and so it rots to hell when he fills it.
Bucky sighed and reached for the half-full glass of Shōchū. Yori never favored seeing him drink. It was too similar to him drinking when his son passed.
So Yori being Yori he made a little catapult with his chopsticks and put a small piece of noodle into his device and flicked it at Bucky. Bucky glared at him and touched the spot where it hit. Right in the middle of his creased eyebrows. The residue of the noodle followed his fingers Yori went back to eating but before he did so he gave a word to Bucky
"You're not supposed to think about how to see without your eyes. It defeats the purpose entirely if you think about it as strongly as you do, I may have some years under my belt of practicing but you are going to go nowhere soon with the troubles that live in your scowl."
He paused searching into Bucky's storm-driven eyes, Yori saw nothing that lived behind them other than sorrow. It pained Yori to see his friend in such a state.
Yori rested his hands on the table interlaced in front of him, trying to find anything worth reviving if it wasn't already killed behind Bucky's aurora. But then all of a sudden a glimmer, a spark you could say flitted inside the fellow in front of him.
Yori leaned back in his chair and smiled softly, his eyes creasing. "Ah, there it is," Yori spoke softly. Bucky confused more than he had ever been in his life questioned everything.
He had no idea what Yori was doing or as to why he endured the unwanted staring contest they just had. Then his answers were spoken by the one who created the questions.
"The way you see without your eyes is simply to be at peace with yourself, look at the moon and the stars.
They have no troubles or worries and they are the most looked at things in the entire universe no matter where you are. They see everything, yet they still choose to have no regard for the ones that judge them. For you young sir, for them to have that happiness you take that amount doubled."
Bucky scoffed that he didn't intend to be disrespectful, but how in the world was he supposed to be calm when he knew Yori's speech was literal. Yori never made jokes or metaphors, he learned that the hard way.
He uncrossed his arms for the first time since they sat down, and rested his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward in the wooden chair. He squinted his eyes, questioning Yori's statement.
He knew Yori hated to be questioned and tested, they always led to night and day-long arguments that never fully were resolved. Maybe it was the half bottle of Shōchū he drank that made him confident. He spoke rough and dry from it taking over his throat and liver.
"So let me get this straight. the only way I can find peace and happiness is if I talk to the stars and the moon? Yori, you've got to be joking." Yori grew agitated but his composure remained ever the slightest of relaxation.
Yori reached towards the back of his pants to retrieve something while glaring at Bucky and the staring contest resumed. Bucky thought for a moment that Yori was going to shoot him in point-blank range in front of the small company that was set at different tables all over the place.
Instead, Yori pulled out a small crumbling paperback book with the cover filled with stars and galaxy-type depictions and inscribed above it was
"Talking to the moon, and other astronomic casualties"
Yori sat the book gently on the side of the table he got up and before he left he looked at Bucky for a long while before turning and walking out the door. Not another word was spoken between them until the next Wednesday.
Bucky walked home that night by himself. Usually, he would walk with Yori but what happened at the sushi place he felt disturbed by. He lost his temper and he never should've.
He's been put in worse situations than thinking that Yori made him out to be a fool for believing that the stars could talk. Who knows if they do. He should've been more open-minded, he's just been riled up from the flashbacks.
Shōchū seemed to make things worse but he'd forget about things for a while. He wanted to apologize to Yori;
he severely drowned the urge. With the rest of the bottle. Yes, the restaurant let him take the rest. He had to pay handsomely. He thought it was worth it until he had to walk up the stairs to get into his apartment. He swayed back and forth mostly to the left. The arm weighed more when he was like this.
He had not a thought in mind about the world other than seeing the bottom of the clear bottle made of glass.
He tried to walk up the stairs he really did but his chunky boots made it hard to judge the height of the stairs. He got about halfway up them and then he fell. He smashed his chin against the wood and his chin started to bleed. He didn't try to stop the fall.
His right hand was occupied with the bottle. His thick scarred fingers tied around the neck of it securely. He'd kill anything that would try to take it away from him. He pushed himself up off the stair and he winced in pain when his right hand was now in the pile of glass. It fell and broke when he did.
His back burned with being indented from laying on the stairs. His chin seeped down onto the pit of his neck where his jaw formed.
He pushed slowly up off the stairs entirely putting his damaged hand behind his back. How ironic that his normal flesh is the damaged one.
He lifted off with the metal one. He clutched his wrist and pinched it tightly with the metal one.
Trying to cut off blood flow so it won't get more infected than it already had. He walked to his apartment shamefully. His head hung down low, too insecure and awkward about what happened. His jaw stern and gritted he was embarrassed.
The alcohol dimmed it but it was still a major event. He'd hit the rock bottom of an endless pit.
He dug out his key in his pocket and went inside. When he entered he always felt worse than he had left. Yet he never had a problem leaving. It always felt like he was welcomed back into a deep aurora of depression.
He stepped on the back of his boots and left them by the door. He walked to the bathroom but he stopped and turned to look at the tv. There he was again in all his glory. John Walker.
Although this time in his clutches was Steve's shield. He grew saddened by the fact Sam gave it over. He felt betrayed. Sam was the only one he knew other than him how valuable that was and John Walker out of all people had it in his possession.
He'd have a long discussion with Sam in the near future about this. He was always infuriated by John but now he couldn't put it into words. Except for the word imposterous.
Bucky felt a sharp pain in his wrist and when he looked down. He soon found that he was nearly fracturing his wrist with his metal modeled fingers. He also took into mind how deep the glass shard was. Some tiny, some huge. He cursed under his breath a soft and crude
"Fuck."
He quickly loosened his grip and shook his head in regret when he looked down to his wood floor. He realized that blood trickled from him since he opened the door.
He hastily shuffled awkwardly to the bathroom trying his hardest to not make more of a mess than he already had. He walked with long strides and his white socks dirtied from blood.
The bathroom was small, with half tiled walls and a tiled floor, beige paint covered the rest of the wall. A shower shoved to the left of him, an off-white bulb accentuated the room.
He swore to change it but he never did. A mirror and sink in front of him, the mirror was a small white rectangular one, matching the shape of the sink. Sandwiched in between the shower and sink was the smallest white toilet imaginable.
He hated going into the bathroom for this reason alone. He saw how weak he was in the mirror.
A busted bleeding wound. That crept close to the imprint that marked the middle of his chin, dark drunk eyes, shaded pink lips, sharp cheekbones accompanied with a keen jawline, scars littered across his body. His face had a few abrasions, and cheeks hidden in the scruff that continued to grow.
His hair tousled and strewn every way it pleased. He never cared about it; he never tried to style it since he'd just put his hands in it. His shoulders were clad in leather and a beige henley that matched the walls. The calmness after getting pounded reminded him of when hydra made him fight the other soldiers. Then suddenly he was there.
It was a day that Bucky would think about for the rest of his life. Bucky had a lot of those days but this one, in particular, was one that made him feel excruciating pain. The fight he was trained to lose. The compound was a dimly lit walkway in between the cells. Two would fight momentarily continuously one was declared the winner and fight the champion. Bucky or the soldier.
The commanders of hydra love to evoke fear. Seeing the men riddled with fear. Some vomit, others beg. Some are like Bucky. Ruthless. They don't care who they are or what they want to be. All they strive to be or do is fight and the blood splatter after winning against the enemy, releases stress so sometimes it's a release unless you have a guilty conscience. For Bucky, it's the latter. He has nightmares, sure, but everyone does.
Bucky had perfect posture, his head tilted into the way hydra trained him to do or to be brainwashed until he was complicit. Bright ocean eyes were unknowingly dead. The thunder of the other candidates to fight by the cells on the sidelines until it was their time to fight.
Although before they went to fight they would have a fistfight with Bucky to higher their combat skills. Bucky was the best soldier they had to let them practice on. That being said Bucky wasn't being used to his full potential. Bucky hadn't fought anyone to his skill level, everyone was either at a lower or average level. They were put into groups of two in fighting whoever won would fight either Bucky or another soldier even crueler than Bucky. Bucky had some remorse and would hold back. He still deep down was a person but the other soldier killed many from going too far. And today was the day that Bucky had to fight that soldier. Bucky had three other men for the soldier to fight until it was him, all skinny and small, scrappy.
The soldier was big and unruly. He was undefeated, sure Bucky was scared but at the compound, it's kill or be killed.
No one knew the soldier's true name, just the series of numbers he was given. His confidence may be the death of him. Bucky believed-knew that he was more than the average man. He had courage, a heart of gold, and the endurance of a bull and here he was amping himself up and nervously fidgeting wondering what would happen if he won this fight. He wondered if everyone would think of him as superior or if he'd be more of a black sheep.
He heard a crack of a hydra man yelling to start. The man in front of him was next and the one that lost had gashes to the bone and blood oozing out of places where he didn't know could.
Bucky felt exposed when the man in front of him went to fight, there was still a very long list behind him to fight but he was next up. The soldier looked at him, his demeanor felt like the grim reaper and Bucky was fixing to pay his toll.
The soldier had muscles upon muscles and as broad as one can ever be. The word powerful couldn't even describe him in the lightest.
Bucky chewed on the inside his cheek he was nervous.
The soldier was known to put the others in the infirmary for days on end and those he hurt abnormally bad gotta not fight for a while and rot in their cell until. More often than none they'd put you back out in the field.
The stories of this soldier were the type you'd tell sitting at a campfire to scare kids, instead, it was grown, men. Even if Bucky was the bravest out there he wasn't like the soldier.
Bucky observed all of his techniques and styles over the weeks. Preparing himself for his scheduled fight. It was an algorithm for the soldier to react to specific hits and counter them with the same thing over and over. The hydra men taught all of the soldiers the same moves except the one Bucky was going to go against. They knew Bucky was their best soldier so they had to at least put him in a good fight. Bucky caught on to this pattern and that made him think that he could win.
The man in front of him laid in a fetal position with mud and red splatter across his pale form, the boisterous crowd making the shame feel unbearable.
Then all of a sudden Bucky felt a harsh shove on his back. One of the hydra men shoving him into the pit with the soldier. Bucky nearly fell face forward on the cement. A burst of loud booming laughter deafened him more than the crowd on the sidelines.
The soldier crouched low and Bucky knew what he was going to do. He took out the legs then beat his component to a pulp like a gorilla. Bucky did the same stance. He looked foolish, his hair stuck to his forehead, sweat-soaked his clothes which were already tightened to his skin from the excessive working out he did. Courtesy of Hydra wanting him to be in top shape. The other soldiers grew restless as they psyched one out. They went into circles staring at one other like vultures testing who was the quickest. Whoever blinks first wouldn't blink for weeks after.
A screech came from the soldier and he came after Bucky.
Now imagine a vicious lion combined with a cyclops coming at you. Bucky psyched him out and pivoted. That just angered him more since the battles never lasted more than a couple of minutes. This one was already the longest. The soldier turned slightly and looked over his shoulder and before he could do so Bucky had gotten close enough to kick the left of his knee in and he fell. It was as loud as the thunder when he did.
Although Bucky wasn't watching his feet and the soldier took his left foot and grabbed Bucky. He fell. The roar of the other soldiers boomed. His ears went out painfully, a ringing sound, and the rain flew harshly against his face.
He couldn't move, the wind knocked out of him that he couldn't breathe. He felt ashamed to have even thought that he could win. The black ceiling littered with golden beams.
The gold reminded him of the stars behind them, how someday he could be out of this dungeon to see them again. Abruptly all the ringing in his ears came back. He heard a low hum of breathing; he thought it was his own until he saw the beast above him. The soldier grabbed his arms and Bucky struggled even through his stupor. Bucky wiggled and tried to get out from his grasp but he was a god amongst men. Bucky then thought of how Steve felt when he'd get cornered in an alley and he'd come and save Steve from being killed. But Bucky didn't get saved. The barbarian struck Bucky over and over. The nurse would later tell him that she was surprised that he didn't have any brain damage. Bucky waved in and out of reality. Every time he tried to open his eyes it'd be welcomed with a fist. Bucky spat the blood out of his mouth onto the soldier. The soldier was just too strong. He was impossible to win against. The soldier rubbed the blood into his face and laughed. He leaned to Bucky's ear only so he could hear "puny."
Bucky screamed loud. Loud enough that the neighbors awoke from their sleep and he'd sure have a lot of complaints to address in the morning. In a split second, he found himself with his fist through the mirror, the glass falling every way onto the tile into the sink and toilet. Into the already damaged hand of his, the glass poked through his palm, and through the other side, the previous glass dug deeper into his flesh.
Severing the tendons. All he could think about was the pain of having to clean everything up. He didn't feel the pain he caused himself because that didn't matter. It made him feel the least bit human. Pain. Everything living thing felt alive and once he lost that. He'd feel like a complete and utter monstrosity.
He looked up from his hand and to the mirror. Shards still hung and it displayed a perfect depiction of what Bucky was. Damaged.
Bucky spent the rest of the night with a bandaged chin that kept bleeding like a waterfall. Hw picking out pieces of glass with the smallest tweezers known to man, that too ruby red water ran down the sides of his hand onto his bare beefy thighs and pooled in the middle of his palm.
He had calmed down after a couple of hours by sitting on the bumped-out window.
He often likes sitting there and watching the city. The cars zooming past the bright casinos.
The one thing he enjoyed the most was watching the constellations and making them out to be the things he liked. Often he'd see a star in the moon and he saw the shield.
He hated that one since it put him in the pain of remembering Steve and how he had no one.
He didn't need anyone. That's what he told himself but he was very wrong. His jacket was thrown over a wooden chair in the dining area. The sleeves of his henley rolled around his elbows showing the veins in his forearms.
He changed out his jeans for a random pair of dark shorts, he threw off his dirtied socks.
To say the least, he was at comfort for the first time this week. He started to read the book a little, the pages were torn and faded. Yori must've read this multiple times.
Bucky wondered why. The book was small and petite and was only a hundred or so pages. It was interesting, it was all about philosophy, it was written as if it was a big life poem.
He hated a lot of it but here and there were a few good points. He was about halfway through the book when a paragraph struck him.
Heart. Mind. Body. Soul. Great beings of life and they can only communicate by stars. Life and everything between can be carried through them. So if you speak to the sky of night. You will often hear a reply.
He thought of it as silly but then his brain began to wonder. What if he could talk to whoever he wished dead or alive. Just from talking to the stars. It seemed too easy and childish.
Although what did he have to lose the majority of the world hated him and the other half tolerated him.
He put the tweezers down and wrapped his hand with the bandage used to box. He had leftover wrappings since he used to do dirty street fighting when he got dumped from S.H.E.I.L.D's payroll.
He picked up the book that was under his thigh, holding the book open. He held it there since that was where the most light surfaced. He didn't exactly have the expenses to pay the electric bill so he always kept it off.
His eyebrows furrowed ever close as he came across a sentence he seemed to not understand.
The book looked like it shrunk in the size of his hand. His fingers twisted and ran over the cover and the letters on the page fell off onto his lap. The shorts rode up about mid-thigh and engraved their way into his skin.
He couldn't read anymore. He sighed when he read the same paragraph twice over.
All he could think about was being able to talk to Steve. He pushed it into the back of his mind, he carried the book carelessly in his hand, the feeling an odd one since he hadn't read anything for ages.
He walked over to his little place where he slept and laid down.
The news wasn't showing anything interesting. He became quite bored. He wondered if Yori was doing okay.
Maybe he should check up on him even if they weren't on the best of terms. He drifted in and out of consciousness, he played with the wrapping of his hand to try and keep him entertained.
He sat up against his wall observing everything around him how bland and monotone everything was.
He felt a buzz in the pocket of his shorts. He begrudgingly went to grab it. He didn't know who or why they were messaging him. Whoever it knew that it was just for emergencies.
He swears that he was going to murder Sam if he sent him one of the pictures with a caption that never related to the image. Sam said that supposedly there was a joke in the caption but that just made Bucky even more confused.
Bucky didn't know why he kept the phone. He never answers it and usually, he finds out everything he needs to know by watching the news.
When Bucky did finally open his phone to see the lock screen. He stared at it in bewilderment for a long while trying to make sense as to why someone messaged him.
He noticed that it was from an unknown number. That being said there was a one in a million chance for someone to know what his number was. He sighed he was going to have to change his number again. He was surprised what the message was.
"Hey! I had a wonderful time on our date today, I was wondering if we could go on another this week? If not I completely understand I'm new to this..um..blind dating thing. I really enjoyed meeting you instead of talking to a screen! Lol! Anyway, Ttyl!"
Bucky didn’t know how or what to feel. What date? Why was she (he assumed so since the person seemed vibrant and bubbly.) So happy to see him? He didn’t even know who this person was! A thought crossed Bucky’s mind.
Perhaps he could initiate the partner she went on a date with. He wasn’t exactly busy and had a girl on his arm. He realized that if he were to go on this hypothetical date that it would be very obvious that he wasn’t the man she was interested in.
He subconsciously stood up and paced his living room to his kitchen to and fro. The soft glow of his phone illuminated his face in the dark. It was wrapped tight in his metal fingers. The yellow stripes that were like a snake coiling around his arm grew more visible.
He threw his right hand into his hair, his henley slightly rising and showing a patch of skin between the waistband of his shorts and where the sweater laid. It allowed a drooling sight of a teasing view of his defined “V” of his hip bone that flowed below his shorts.
It's been a while since he felt any blood circulate under his shorts. He didn’t understand what this girl did to him but it got him going and that was certainly uncommon under his circumstances of life.
Don’t get him wrong back in his day he was a player. Now it's lessened to nothing. Not even dates, so this could be big for him. He stopped when he concluded. What the hell did ttyl and lol mean? It took an embarrassing text to Sam and Sam merely laughed at him and told Bucky to google it. That just made things worse.
What was google? He went through every single thing on his phone until he found the icon labeled google and he did google it. ‘Talk to you later and 'laugh out loud' Oh. Bucky was embarrassed how long it took him to figure that out.
He sloppily used both of his thumbs and stood in the middle of his living room texting out a reply.
'I'm totally down to go on another date with you, sweetheart."
He was proud of himself since he remembered Sam using the word totally in a sentence before. He was confident that the confidence and the suaveness from his past never left. And then the regret started to hit him with a bat.
Why’d he called her sweetheart? What if she didn’t like to be called that. God how could he be so stupid?! He started to give up after he didn’t seem to have a reply in his future.
He sat down, crisscrossed in front of his tv and his couch, and began to swim ever so quietly in his mind. His eyes burned with strain as he watched the bright screen in front of him. A festival celebrating the new captain he nearly lost his mind until he felt a buzz against his thigh and when he looked down he saw that the mysterious girl messaged him again.
He opened his phone to find three little dots appearing and disappearing continuously. He wondered what she was writing that required that attention to thinking of what she was writing to him. He wasn’t anyone special. He was a natural disaster but that was about the unique thing about him.
He grew impatient and shifted his weight every few seconds. He was very nervous about what she was going to say. He felt like a schoolboy asking out his crush and being afraid of rejection. Lord help him because he missed feeling something other than pain. Then another buzz ran up his arm and under his spine, it was the message she sent. It was short and simple of the lines of what remembered to be:
"..."
Bucky nearly threw his phone across his apartment. But then sucked a huge breath through his teeth when another buzz went through.
"It's just no one has ever called me 'sweetheart' before."
That made Bucky feel like he wanted to crawl into the deepest darkest ice chamber and live there for the rest of his life. This was it he destroyed his life by trying to flirt with someone hundreds of years younger than him. He exposed himself and he could never redo it. He should've known that this was a bad idea.
Technically he did but he just ignored it. How could he be so idiotic to spoil his chances of getting out of this cage of death. This was the epitome of a fish drowning. He was overreacting and hyperventilating solely because he doesn't know how to flirt like the modern age. He was doomed.
His fingers resisting the strength of his mind telling him not to type out sent her the message reading:
"Do you like being called sweetheart or do you prefer doll?"
He swore he died when he saw that he sent that. SWEETHEART AND NOW DOLL? He wanted to take a steaming hot bath and maybe splurge with bubbles and fall asleep and hey maybe he'd drown.
At this point, he didn't think it wasn't that bad of an idea. He put his palms on his forehead, his knees on his thighs staring at the pitch-black rectangle below him. Impatiently waiting for her response.
An on-set headache developing from all the stress he's had under the last thirty minutes. His heart jumped at the sight of the glow lighting up his screen. He quite literally jumped out of his sin to read it:
"You have no idea. It's way better than getting called mama and shawty by the fuck boys. Lol!"
Bucky was now in the crisis of not knowing what was a shawty and an *ahem* fuck boy. It was so worrying the amount of googling Bucky has done just talking to this girl. He noted to never call her..shawty or mama and to never be a fuck boy.
When he did figure out what those things were he wasn't exactly surprised. He was jealous and angry that she'd been called things that she didn't want. The feeling was common but never this strongly. It was an odd feeling it rose from his stomach to his throat and made it dry and hard to speak.
It made him clutch the sides of his phone so harshly that webs started to hatch from within the glass. His eyes cold and dead staring at the screen reading over her sentence once, then ten times over.
A little buzz came from his phone gasping for air from Bucky choking it out with his metal hand. (You wish that was you, huh?)
"I do love how polite and gentlemanly you are tho. It's hard to find guys like you."
Such short sentences made his heart gallop so fast in minutes. The logical side of his brain kept telling him that her compliments weren't for him but the attention for someone was much louder.
Maybe his old ways of flirting were beneficial, which caused him to be more at ease. His tensed shoulders relaxed along with his metal arm. Although his body felt he was burning alive. His free hand pulled his collar off his velcro skin, letting his structured collar bones come breathable. His breathing became shallow.
"It's hard not to be when you meet someone so radiant."
He didn't even know who this girl was but all he knew is that he didn't want to lose her and become utterly alone again. Not this time. His hair stuck to his face. He was going to have to take the coldest shower ever to get rid of her and even that he won't.
"LOL, Speak for yourself, I'm nothing compared to you."
He scoffed and typed furiously, how could she think such things about herself. He was deeply frustrated he didn't know why but he felt very drawn to her. He'd do anything in his power to just want her to promise him that she'd never leave him.
God, he sounded like a psycho and maybe he was. Maybe this was his last straw and when she'd break off he would too. He was so afraid of going back to the way things were to going back to being the winter soldier that he felt like he lost his mind trying to prevent it.
"Alright doll, how about this, we meet up this Friday for dinner and a movie at nine o'clock?"
He was scared that she would reject him. Fuck. She didn't even know what he looked like. What if she took one look at him and saw past his facade and into how broken he was and decided that no. All these feelings are what drew Bucky to stop searching and to think that he was a burden to everyone. Maybe that's why he felt the only place he could be himself was when he knew that he was 100% alone.
He huffed softly and threw his head back against the couch staring up at the ceiling once again. His Adam's apple bobbed as he listened to the soft murmur of the tv. All the world's troubles put onto Steve's back for years and he gets a little tongue-tied and that was it for him.
He needed help. He needed to get better. He laughed softly, his face breaking out into creases of his tanned skin, his lips parting and his teeth glowing against the white flush. He was insane and there was no going back. He laughed at himself for what seemed like an hour until he felt the familiar buzz against his heated skin.
"Hell yes man as long as we watch sharknado!"
Bucky's smile grew more and stretched his face into a radiance that made him look like he did when he was young.
Bucky didn't know what the hell sharknado was but he was glad to know she liked him enough to go on a date with him. Bucky Barnes had a date to go on Friday and he couldn't be happier. He didn't have any nightmares that night but he'd rather have a life-ending one than what he told Yori in the morning.
It was a couple of days after the fight with Yori. Bucky finished the book the day after he read it that's why he was here along with wanting to apologize for his actions at the restaurant. He was currently sat on the wise man's couch. His son's shrine right on the small table in front of him. He bit the inside of his cheek hard and let his eyes fall elsewhere. He was ashamed to have kept this secret for so long but he couldn't find a way to tell Yori.
"Yeah, hey I murdered your son but it was fine since I was brainwashed by wanna-be nazis?" He let out a small nervous laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Yori was going to find out somehow sooner or later. Bucky just hoped it was later. He didn't want what he had with Yori to end because of his past.
"What's worrying you?" Yori said softly as he walked briskly into the living room with a cup of green tea. He sat down on the couch on the right side of the Bucky. Nearest to the door. Bucky couldn't but think Yori was in some form afraid of him since he tested him that night at the restaurant. No one ever tried to test Yori.
Bucky was different. A way that Yori wanted to understand. But Yori saw the trouble of the glass downstairs when he went to put the trash away. The brand was still visible and Yori only knew one person who drank that. Bucky. Yori figured bad things came from it.
Partly the reason since he knew what came after from drunken mishappenings. Yori sat the green tea on the brown coffee table in front of them by Bucky and put his focus back onto Bucky.
"I asked a question," Yori said softly. It seemed that Bucky was in a trance his head downward and his eyes shifting searching for something maybe an answer to Yori's question but there were so many things going through Buckys mind that it'd take months for Bucky to explain to Yori everything.
Bucky looked up to Yori with a smile but in his eyes were nothing but disaster. Yori sat uncomfortably. He was disturbed not once in the few months of knowing Bucky did not smile.
Bucky ignored the question instead "I finished the book you gave me," Bucky spoke with a waver in his voice making him sound unsure. While he reached into his pocket to grab it Yori pursed his lips.
"I didn't want you to read it I wanted you to return it to the library," Bucky's smile faltered and his eyes dimmed even darker than the way they did before. "Oh" is all Bucky said before he put the book back into his jacket pocket. He messed with the wrapping on his hand that Yori took notice of. Bucky was acting odder than usual and Yori couldn't put his finger on it.
Yori took out a scratch piece of paper and handed it to Bucky. In scratchy handwriting, Bucky assumed it was another book 'life on mars.' Then Yori spoke up "Are you going to drink your tea if not I will," Yori jabbed a finger pointing to the white cup. Bucky cleared his throat "I'm not that thirsty,"
Bucky handed over the glass cup to Yori and he glared over to Bucky and he glared back. Yori smacked his lips together after he finished. "If you're here just to have a staring contest with me, then I'm afraid you'll be here for a very long time,"
Bucky readjusted his posture and breathed roughly. "I wanted to apologize for the way I acted at the restaurant. I know I shouldn't have lost my temper at something so minor."
Bucky stopped thinking of words to say he gave up. Yori got up and left the kitchen uninterested in Bucky's apology. His son's portrait started yearning to be alive again. He stared brutally into Bucky's existence. It asked to switch position with Bucky and Bucky swore that he was out of his body and then sucked back in when Yori started to swirl a spoon around the top of the lip of the cup.
"Sugar makes green tea flavorful," Yori sat down when he was finished he swirled it into the now full cup. Bucky guessed he made a few more for later. Yori came back up to the lip and dampened it with tea it made and a remarkably loud song.
Around and around it went putting Bucky into a trance his posture regained to straight and his shoulder back head high with eyes dead. "When my son, RJ, was one he used to sing this song 'a longing rusted freight car coming to an end where it went when the furnace descended.' it was quite a beautiful song when he sang it,"
Bucky heard bits and pieces before his brain went to a mush of the activation words being said in his head. "When he was nine had a tumor and we took him to the doctor but we found out it was benign."
Bucky couldn't hear. He couldn't see. The sky was filled to the brim with stars. The moon brightened and removed his appearance from the trace of a normal eye. He stepped carefully on the roof of the building. His suit blending him into the shadows. His hair stuck to his face closing him in and disguising him more than he already is. He saw RJ through the roof's window. This couldn't have gone more perfectly. He slipped behind one of the paintings and was quiet, his breathing irregular. He heard footsteps and assumed it was RJ and punched through the painting and grabbed tightly onto the neck of the man he mistakenly thought was RJ and tossed him back into the debris of the painting. A man came after him and he quickly threw the knife from the back of his belt and plunged it into the neck of his victim. Another man slammed into the stairway when he flew out of the painting the rest of the men flew down the stairs in pursuit of fleeing the winter soldier. As they shot at him he was faster and killed them first he jumped off the stairs and threw the other spare knife at the man in front of him. An old man grey in the green leather jacket he smashed against the wall even threw metal Bucky could feel the man's heartbeat quickening and then faltering to nothingness. "Hail Hydra'' The last words the man heard as he dropped from Buckys grip to a heap of a corpse in a matter of seconds. Bucky turned to his right and watched the RJ struggle to put the key to escape Bucky. Bucky wanted to laugh at how weak and puny his attempt was to get away; he was constantly looking behind him at Bucky. Closer and closer Bucky's strides were to capture his life. Bucky's shoulder swayed a demeanor threatened with authority and anyone who dared to test it would feel the stupidity of their choice. When RJ started to beg Bucky thought that was all he had in him. Bucky didn't care. He raised his hand and straightened it perfectly matching the hilt to the RJs head.
"I KILLED RJ!" Bucky yelled standing upright. Saliva flew onto Yori when he screamed. Bucky's metal arm was tightly tied around Yori's throat. Yori was in pure terror, his eyes wide, his hands in front of him wrapped around the metal as he leaned back to get away from Bucky as he confessed to him who killed his son.
His mouth was wide in shock gasping for air. Bucky's eyes widened in horror, his mind running thousands of thoughts per second he took his hand off Yori's throat and choked on air. Bucky stared down at his metallic pitch-black hand and then Bucky ran. He ran to his apartment. Hands in his hair pacing kitchen to the living room.
What the actual fuck did he just do? He felt tears brim his eyes and he couldn't believe what he just did. He ruined everything he worked for since Wakanda. His reputation was obliterated just like that in a matter of seconds. His breathing became ragged; he managed to take off his dark black leather jacket and tossed it to the couch.
The black t-shirt he had on raised slightly from his arms being on his head. His wrapped hand tore into his skin making him even more upset from the broken mirror in his bathroom that he still didn't clean up. The memory just kept running itself over in his head he couldn't stop thinking about it. Yori's reaction.
There's no way he'd be able to repair what he did to Yori and he'd had to live the rest of his life knowing how badly he fucked up. He wanted to so badly tear this goddamn arm off with everything he had. He remembered trying the old one off that Hydra gave him it never worked. He still had the deep gashes from his nails where they latched onto his shoulder.
The scars never really healed right, instead of being in the skin, they rose like mountains from it. Bucky clutched his head tightly, his form shaking with tremors. He just kept thinking of the word stupid.
"I, John Walker. Captain America has taken the super-soldier serum and in my disregard, I feel as if there are no consequences and it should be open to the public. And in retrospect of the world, I personally think that Steve Rogers was too soft on his components and since I have taken the serum I will no longer be tolerating the life of the terrorists. That being said I will in no regard will hold back. I will do everything in my power to rid this Earth of the monsters we know until their last god-ridden breath."
Bucky lifted his head from its place hanging down into his hands, his jaw gritted tight, his nose flared, and his eyes full of fury. John Walker. He was going to kill that man one way or another. Bucky was pissed so beyond natural anger that he stood up and walked straight in front of the tv.
This man was beyond no right in having that televised. What he said could destroy the world in an instant. Who or why did he get the serum from? And Bucky was the time bomb? Bucky closed his eyes, his hands turned into tight fists, and let the image of John Walker in an interview with a lady sat across from him at John's old school burn in his mind. The white noise of the crowd cheering John's opinion made Bucky's blood boil.
Bucky thought he had calmed himself until he opened his eyes he saw John look into the camera and point.
"The world would be a better place if there were more brave soldiers like me."
Bucky reared his metal fist back and pounded the tv until the screen was ridden of John Walker's face. Bucky came to the idea that when he got another tv maybe he shouldn't watch the news for a while. Glass fell on the table and pieces on the wood floor by his feet.
He fell to his knees. His knees cracked from all his weight on them with no support. His knees being crushed by the glass. His hands hiding his face from the world.
His cheeks and face grew warm from how he felt. His nose burned when tears started to fall ever so gently down his cheeks. Grey eyes becoming the most vibrant of blues. He choked softly, his throat closing as he sat there in the middle of his destroyed living room. His apartment is the greatest amphitheater in the world.
His shoulders rising and falling and stuttering when he gagged on air. He parted his hands from his face and sat upright. His hands fell into fists, his arms tensed and the veins in his neck pulsed when he let out a blood curdling scream. It was a long screech filled with his voice cracking his vocal cords giving upon him.
His tears despite his yelling still fell and stained his cheeks. He thought so many things at once and everything involved him being a monster. He was hurt and this was the worst self-harm. The arm was given to him and the brain that wasn't his own.
He decided that he needed to go on a walk to calm himself down. Maybe he'd go and return Yori's book. All he knew is that the world for Bucky Barnes was getting darker and worse by the day. Who knows how long until he loses who he is. But one thing was for sure. It wasn't going to be for long until he does.
He stayed home for the rest of that day. It was in the evening when he had gotten home from Yori's. He was still greatly upset by what happened. He couldn't think about it until he grew angry with a suicidal rage. He was alone. All over again the monster that kids are scared to go to sleep over.
He sat by the window again just in the same random shorts and no shirt out of fear of coating it in sweat. It was the least of his problems but it was still a burden. He wished he had something to listen to, his thoughts were so loud that he was surprised that mind readers didn't go deaf from it. He watched the people below him walk past the building complex.
Not batting an eye at the monster in the window above them. He wanted to laugh at how normal people were and how he was once like them but now turned into this creature. His shoulders broad and held his form up by the sides of his sculpted waist.
His legs crossed over another he leaned against the wall that joined the window in the corner. He sat across from the kitchen. His stomach growled at the thought of food, the last time he could remember eating something was at the restaurant and that was just a nibble. It wasn't like he could eat something. He never splurged on food, all the food he had was fruit sitting in a white complimentary bowl on the middle of the island.
He pushed his head against the wall swallowing thickly debating whether he should or not. He decided he didn't deserve it after what he's done. Disrupted from his thoughts he felt a buzz on his thigh in the pocket of his shorts.
He fished out the stupid little box and saw that it once again another text from Sam. He's been ignoring them since he's had Sam's contact; he deemed them not worthy of a response. They were all on the lines of are you okay? Bucky smiled at something so incredulous. He started typing out
Yeah. Just losing my mind but other than that I'm just fine. But went against it. When he read more of the missed messages one did pique his interest. Did you hear about the rumor of Steve being on the moon? Bucky's eyebrows furrowed and his face contorted. What? How could Steve be on the moon? Sam and he literally watched Steve grow old in front of them. How absurd to say that Steve was on the moon. But when Bucky thought more of it, it reminded him of what he read in the book.
Talk to the stars and they'll talk back. Bucky groaned in annoyance. Was this what he was resorting to in a desperate measure for interaction? Talking to inanimate things. He let out a deep breath his chest rose then fell shortly after. He closed his eyes imagining Steve back in Brooklyn and all the mischievous things they did.
He remembered the day Steve got rejected and then Bucky being deployed the next day. The day that started it all. The downfall of Bucky's life. Bucky didn't know what he would say to Steve but he thought he started out well enough.
"Do you remember when we were kids and we'd always have to act like we were soldiers because of you. God Steve even when we were kids you had your mind made up. Always wanting to be something when I couldn't even choose what cereal I wanted,"
Bucky stopped and thought over the words he said. It was true. Steve was always headstrong about everything he wanted. Bucky remembered that Steve was going to create this comic of this monkey who shot bananas out of a bazooka. And Steve did.
It never took off or anything it was just the thought of if anything Steve wanted he would never stop until he got it.
While Bucky always had his priorities elsewhere, the majority of the time he made Steve do his homework so he wouldn't fail. Two opposite people were the best of friends, who knew that one of them would turn out to be the villain.
"You know Steve I enlisted because I felt like I had to prove something, I had to prove that I was better at something than you. Just that one thing I ended up not even being better than you at."
Bucky's voice was dry and raspy when he spoke. The screaming fried his throat when he talked. It burned like a good bottle of Shōchū.
He'd kill for a bottle right now. He was starting to understand that this wouldn't work but he grew angrier at the thought of Steve trading him out for some girl. Bucky knew how much Peggy mattered to Steve but he still never got why he'd trade him out for her. He was jealous in a sense over the life Steve got.
"If I could I would change places with you in an instant, to be at peace. You got to live your life and I had to decay for years without my best friend. Maybe this was for the best so you couldn't see me become who I am now. Someone that we swore to never be ever since we were kids, the bad guy."
Bucky chewed on his lip after that. Til the end of the line his ass. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, the strands comforting his hand. He got up from the window and walked over to his little bed and went to sleep. The night's toll took everything out of him.
The only thing he currently wanted was this thing he had with this girl to be good. How wrong he was.
He decided that he was going to go and return the book Yori gave him. He still hated what happened and he knew trying to fix it would make it worse. The least he could do is get him the book he wanted. So Bucky put on his washed-out jeans, his shirt he wore yesterday, shrugged on his jackets and slipped his feet into his boots, and a black glove to hide his metallic arm, and went to the Library.
The library was a little old place with the roof caving in not far from the complex building. He wondered why Yori didn't just go and get it himself, Bucky didn't really care about having to go but he just wanted to know if Yori was okay and doing well.
Bucky went down the stairs and found a few remaining pieces of the glass bottle he broke last week. The memory of him falling and breaking it etched in his mind vividly. He felt a chill run up his spine at the feeling of someone seeing him like that.
He hurried down the last of the stairs and opened the glass door and went outside. The warm air wafted itself around him in a soft summer breeze. It was warm but not hot enough for him to go without a jacket and the chilly breeze lightened it up. It felt relaxing since he forgot how long it's been outside of his apartment.
He took long strides on his walk. But he couldn't shake the paranoia of being stalked. He was about halfway when he saw a shadow mock him. He walked faster not wanting to have to deal with this today.
The other person's shadow grew larger and bigger as Bucky walked further. When Bucky saw the library and a few he nearly bolted to the building. When he was inside he saw that it was just a lost dog. He was losing it. He sighed his mind relaxing and then jolting when he felt a hand touch his shoulder.
"Hey, are you okay mister?"
A warm voice made his heart pump faster than it already was he felt like he was going to have a heart attack. When he turned around he was met by easily the most beautiful girl. It was you. He thought in that instant that everything about you was perfect the way your eyes looked at him, the way your face was adorable, the way your hair fell behind your ears, the way your lips looked the most perfect shade along with your eyes. He promised himself when he got home that he'd paint his whole apartment that color.
He went cross-eyed from staring at the shape of your lips and how they shaped around the words he couldn't hear from being so entranced by you. He started to feel his heartbeat out of his chest. When he thought of how you'd look with pretty lips wrapped around him and dull bedroom eyes looking up at him through thick eyelashes. He needed to stop, he just met you and now he's so hard against his jeans that he was sure that he was bruised.
And your hands on his shoulders shaking him wasn't helping him. His trance was broken when he realized what was happening. "Huh?" That is all he managed to make out through his lust-clouded mind. You did this face that made him die, it was when your eyebrows furrowed and your lips went to one side pursed together. Your eyes were cut at him and he knew he was in trouble but he just couldn't help being enticed by you.
"I asked if you needed help," You stopped and wagged a finger in his way "You're all sweaty." He looked down at himself and you were right, his hair stuck down and his shirt showed pools. Shit. Way to embarrass yourself, Buck. You're sweaty, you're horny for some girl you just met. He was a trainwreck embodied. "I'm okay, it's just the heat," Bucky spoke with uncertainty. He had no idea what was happening why he was acting like this. He usually never felt like this around a girl, especially one he just met.
Your face was still cut, your lips went back into the fullness of how they are naturally. "Weird but okay." You spoke under your breath since it wasn't sweating weather outside. You were going to be the death of him and thankfully there were only a couple of other people in the library since it was the morning of a weekday.
"There's a cool spot where the ac is over there." She turned and pointed towards the left somewhere. He couldn't concentrate in the slightest even if he tried. And god your body from just the standard shirt and jeans you wore he felt his turn into skinny jeans.
"But anyway if you need me just yell, its y/n." And you left and when you walked away to assist someone else he got the perfect view of your ass. He scurried into the thick of the bookshelves and triple-checked if anyone was around him and adjusted himself.
It was so painful to not jump your bones right there. He rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. Get it together Buck. He realizes that he was going to have to go and talk to you again since he had to check the book in. He mentally stabs himself in the neck.
He calms himself down enough so that he could talk to you again. He feels like a prepubescent boy talking to his crush. Bucky guessed that he lost his cool with talking to girls over the years since he stopped. This was hell. You were at the front desk, the one in front of the door. You were reading some book that he didn't know.
He took a moment to admire the way your hair frames your face, the way your ass jutted out so you could lean over the desk on your forearms. Your free hand, the one not holding your page was used as a support beam for your face under your chin. God you were so beautiful, he hooked his finger under the collar of his shirt and started to flick it back and forth to generate air.
He was the human-dog drooling over a mate. He hated himself for not getting to know you and he already felt like this towards you. He was a monster but he wasn't impolite; he drew the line there. He was in the clouds that he didn't notice you staring at him with squinted eyes. "Can I help you, sir?" Your voice hung on sir in his mind.
He couldn't help but envision you beneath him moaning sir. "Uh, yeah, there's this book" He startled himself when his voice croaked out a response. He patted the pocket of his jacket and had a crisis when he thought he left it at home. But when he shoved his hands into his pocket he let out a smile of relief and grabbed it and slid it over to you on the other side of the desk.
"I need you to check that in and then" He stopped and searched for the piece of paper Yori gave him. He found it crumpled as lint in the bottom of his other pocket and the words faded. "Shit, uh, and check out this." He shoved his hands in his pocket and looked at his feet afraid of confrontation. You silently grabbed the book and checked it in and grabbed the note. You couldn't make out a single letter. Your eyebrows pinched together and when he looked up quickly and then darted his eyes away. He knew that you couldn't.
He wanted a sinkhole to open up and swallow him whole. You scratched the back of your neck trying to decipher the note "I can recommend something similar to the book you turned in, I'm sorry but I can't read this." You spoke with sincerity. And walked out behind the desk and poor Bucky followed you like a lovesick puppy.
You cursed Jordan, another employee for putting the desired book on the top shelf. The bookshelves were very tall and you weren't short but you weren't 7' foot either. You pinched your nose shutting your eyes and put a hand on your hip. "Do you see the book at the very top with the red back?" You muttered and Bucky looked up and saw the issue. "Do you want me to grab it for you?" Bucky looked at you with the softest eyes and you couldn't help but admire them.
You shook your head and lord you were about to melt. His body was brushed up against yours, you could've moved but you really didn't. You could feel the texture of his jacket against your soft skin and you cursed yourself for blushing. He took notice and let a small smile creep on his face when he handed you the book and your head was hung low when you walked back behind the desk.
Bucky guessed that he didn't completely lose his effect on girls. When you were checking out the book he noticed the book you were reading. It was The hobbit. He actually enjoyed the book when he read it when it first came out. He didn't take an interest in fantasy and so he shrugged it off until he actually read it.
When you stamped the books inside the page and slid it back. Bucky smirked "You know they all die in the end." The pure confusion on your face was amusing and with that, he left.
When he got home he started to feel the metal of his arm become rusted and thinking back it had been a while since the last time he cleaned it. He was wanting it to fall off so bad that he forgot he actually needed it.
He wondered where the girl went that texted him before. He didn't want to bother her by texting her first that to him was unnatural. It didn't bother him that much since he used to. And that the date was tomorrow so she would either show up or not and he'd suffer the consequences either way.
He went to the bathroom to grab the grease and a rag he uses every time in the cabinet under the sink.
He stopped shortly catching himself in the shattered mirror. The bandage on his chin began to fall off God forbid it started to at the library. He took it off slowly, the hair of his stubble getting caught in the crossfire. There was a bright pink little scar where the gash was. His skin healed relatively fast but it never cured the scars. He figured if his chin was healed that his hand should be.
He unwrapped his hand slowly for some reason he was scared of what it looked like. When he finally finished unwrapping his palm was littered with scars ranging in size. He touched the scars to see if they hurt with his metal hand and nothing.
Just a scar.
Bucky grabbed the grease and took off his jacket and boots and the first time he moved in he sat on the couch.
It was stiff as ever and it never got out of the store phase. He poured some grease on the white rag and it turned brown and he started to put it in the creases where he noticed it too slow. His mind ran back to you that never happened to him. God he was caught red-handed too, he'd have to take a very long and cold shower when he was done cleaning his arm. The rest of the evening all he could think about was what would happen tomorrow and how he'd destroy the girl of his dreams.
Bucky spent Friday constantly checking his phone for two reasons.
1) to see if his admirer would message him and
2) always checking the time.
He honestly couldn't wait; it's been forever and he was excited about something new. For change. The only source of entertainment he had was the book he checked out earlier. It wasn't the book he was supposed to get. The book in contrast was called American Psycho.
Bucky was about halfway and he fairly enjoyed it. Although it disturbed him since he found similarities in himself with Patrick Bateman. Bucky laughed at all the dark jokes and liked all the points where Patrick lost all sanity; it was the highlight of the book.
Bucky flipped one of the knives carelessly in the hand that wasn't occupied by the book. Bucky loved the power a single knife had. A single slip of the wrist could end something as fast as it began. Time flew by when simple hobbies turned into jobs. He cursed himself because it was seven o clock and he had only an hour to go to the restaurant which was the sushi place that he and Yori used to eat at.
He texted the directions to the girl, he grabbed his glove and jacket and shoved the knife in the back of his belt and fled down the stairs and out the door, and ran the rest of the way.
You sat at the small petite table, your phone clutched in your hand carefully watching the time. When it turned to 8:55 your gut twisted. Maybe he didn't like you as much as you liked him.
The waitress came by once again asking if everything was okay and if you'd like to eat and each time and you'd have to politely decline. You crossed and uncrossed your legs, they grew numb from you sitting in the wooden chair for the past hour. You didn't know what to wear so you opted for a sleek white dress and some heels.
You hoped you didn't overdress and make the wrong impression. You sipped on your water looking through the window to find any hint of your lover boy. You knew what to look for since you knew who it was. But maybe he didn't come and you were set up. How embarrassing this was. Yori told you that he was stubborn but he seemed pretty into you at the library. You know Yori through Leah, an employee at the restaurant who was a friend of yours.
She promised you that she would pay for your meal every time you ate there. How could you refuse? You sighed and began to get up and leave since you thought Bucky gave up on wanting to go on the date. You quickly sat down when you heard the bell of the door ring open and then there he was in all his glory.
Bucky Barnes, in the same leather jacket but you couldn't believe how good he looked underneath the dim light. His bandages were now gone and his face was sullen and structured from the shadows that made his face deepen. You smiled your ruby lips catching Bucky's attention and he hadn't seen something so pleasing to the eye in ages. Although he was confused since he didn't know that it was you who he was texting was there something going on that he didn't know about?
He pulled out the chair and sat across from you with his face stern. "Why didn't you tell me it was you that I was talking to?" He spoke slowly and his head tilted in question like a puppy's. "Yori told me about how you are with dating and he was afraid of you always being alone, and he gave me your number, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
You fiddled with your fingers when you talked you were nervous about his reaction. You knew all about Bucky's reputation and embarrassing enough growing up you developed a crush on him, so you jumped for this opportunity.
You loved how strong and brave he was and even though he was brainwashed you thought of him as a good person. He chewed on the inside of his cheek thinking of what were the right words to say. "Just no more secrets from now on." With that, he waved down the waitress for a bottle of Shōchū.
After the half, the bottle was gone you couldn't help but be in wonder from how he managed to be able to drink all that meanwhile you were still sipping on your first shot. Every sip you took you gagged and your face turned into a kid who took their first sip of alcohol which made Bucky laugh.
Dinner was going along nicely there were many jokes and stories shared but Bucky couldn't help but be skeptical of how this could work. Bucky was severely messed up and couldn't care for another. He wanted to but he was just incapable, maybe he could just live this lie and things could be normal.
When they called for closure Bucky finished laughing at some remark you made, you and he were sat there talking for a couple of hours. It was just so easy to talk to him. Although you did notice a few times he would wince in pain and put his face in his hands. You thought it was odd but shrugged it off from his excessive drinking. Speaking of the devil he asked
"Do you want to go to my place. There have been complications with my tv so we can't watch a movie, but I can keep you company." You smiled a drunken buzz of Shōchū. Not nearly did you drink as much as Bucky but it was still written across your features. Your face flushed pink and your body made of jello hung off of Bucky's arm the whole walk to his house and Bucky every now and then had to pick you up.
Bucky didn't want to do anything rash to you but in the back of his mind, something kept itching it made it so painful that he couldn't ignore it. It kept making him shake his head and wince it was like a headache but much more painful. When he got into his apartment you took notice of what he meant by complications of a totaled tv. You shed off your heels and sat on the tv nervous to be in Bucky's house, your form off-putting to Bucky.
He sat down across the couch from you and he became hurt by you sitting so far away from him. "Are you scared of me or something?" He spoke grimly staring at the floor, his face holding no emotion to his words. "What? no!" You were shocked by his words. How could he assume that you were scared of him? Bucky looked your way and a strange look appeared in his eyes.
"Then why are you sitting so far away from me?" He gritted his teeth and his hands turned into fists, they were clamped tightly together on his thighs and this side of Bucky did scare you. He wasn't Bucky, he looked like him but his whole persona changed in the span of minutes. You wondered if it was something you said or did.
You became fearful when he fell off the couch onto his knees his head clutched in his hands. He started to scream not like the ones before this one was full of pain and torment. The moon's light made this scene unfold a lot more sinister. What was happening to him, why was he acting this way? Then all of a sudden he grew very quiet nothing could be heard other than your breathing.
You were confused and scared but you did care for Bucky and in his position, you assumed he was in serious need of help. You walked carefully taking notice to not step loudly to provoke him. You crouched down your dress falling over your feet, you reached your right hand out hesitant towards Bucky.
You stayed with your hand on his shoulder
"Bucky?"
You whispered softly, scared to disturb him. Everything was at ease at a calm one that felt too unrealistic.
That was true because a few seconds later Bucky grumbled out
"Who the hell is Bucky."
He slung around his body twisted and grabbed a knife from the back of his belt and stabbed you straight into the heart with it. Before you could even have time to run it was over.
The white of your dress now became a soaking deep red. The way your eyes forever open to the moon the way the moon took your life. And that day was when Bucky Barnes lost his sanity and forever came the winter soldier.
*A few months later*
She sat with her legs crossed, her hair tied up perfectly.
Her posture evenly to the ceiling while sitting. The only one that a soldier would perfect. She read over his portfolio over and over to get every last detail to stick in her mind so she wouldn't forget.
She breathed heavily finishing the last sentence. She took off her glasses and shut the case file on her lap, and put her right elbow up on the white seat, her glasses in the same hand.
She pursed her lips staring at the man in front of her and sat on the white couch in front of a forest mural. He was in all black a blank face, his hair a little longer and his stubble now thicker.
He played with the pink protruding scar on his right hand. Pushing and watching the blood rush to it. She wrote that in the notebook.
When he caught notice he stopped and tilted his head slightly. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her.
He was convicted of third-degree murder and numerous accounts of other convictions.
She thought over all the things that were stated in the portfolio but what struck her the most was that he drank excessively and faked being drunk just to feel
"more human."
She thought of a way to form a sentence to not upset him about what he's telling her to see if what he recollected matched what was in the documents but there was no easy way to do that.
She listened to him finish the last of what he was telling her:
"And that's how the story ended."
Fin.
87 notes · View notes
transsergio · 3 years
Text
The Invitation (read on AO3)
Moreid / Gen / 1561 words
The BAU is finally invited to the yearly FBI gala, and Spencer wears something new. Derek escorts him.
-
Spencer traces the raised script with his finger. The FBI’s winter gala is not something the BAU usually attends, so he’s missed out on this gold-lettered invitation for several years. This year, though, Erin Strauss has extended the party to them. Spencer suspects she’s receiving some sort of award and wants Hotch to see what he will never attain – upward mobility. It doesn’t help that the BAU has been on thin ice for a record number of weeks, making attendance more than “suggested”.
The morning they’d received the smooth, creamy envelopes warranting their presence, the bullpen had buzzed. Obviously the profilers were invited, but so were interns, clerical workers, and anyone else whose position fell under the BAU’s umbrella. It was going to be an expensive party, and Spencer was prepared. He had black-tie regulation suits in his closet. They were tailored and everything (at Penelope and Derek’s insistence once they’d seen how his coat consumed his shoulders). But something about them felt… off. They weren’t itchy or uncomfortable, but when Spencer looked at himself in the mirror, he felt like a mannequin in a store window. Too crisp. Too clean. So, he went shopping.
Spencer hadn’t been in the women’s department of a store in nearly a decade. He thrust himself into hormone replacement therapy as soon as he could afford it, roughly three years ago, but even before then he’d avoided the section. With his short haircut and a face that said he was either an ugly girl or a porcelain doll of a boy, people usually relied on other context clues to gender him. Wearing boy’s clothes, using the men’s bathroom, and jogging to the boys’ half of the gym when the coach separated a class by gender all helped. People usually didn’t question him, especially now that his voice had dropped and his little body fat had redistributed.
This felt most like freedom. Spencer no longer worried about caging himself in, speaking as little as possible, and the oversized fit of his shirts. He was still binding, but had found a groove in his own collection of sweater vests that kept him flat. He was realizing that his chest wasn’t really an issue anymore, regardless. It was no longer a dead giveaway that he wasn’t cis; and what was so great about being cis, anyway? Gender was a vast and personal experience that Spencer was only just starting to explore. While masculinity was what he’d chased for so many years, the distinction between masculine and feminine was growing increasingly blurry. Fabric was fabric draped over human form, and human form was pliable under their own hands. Had Spencer not developed a jawline by his own medical intervention? Had he not participated in his own evolution?
Spencer found himself nearing prom dress boutiques. He didn’t ask any of his team for help; this was something he wanted to discover on his own, and he wasn’t ready to answer any questions about whether he liked this fabric or this shape. He wasn’t sure if he would be truly comfortable in a dress, or if he simply admired the fashion. Once inside, he spent a lot of time touching. He got a sense for textures he didn’t like (gritty, shimmery layers scratched) and for what he did (smooth, cool satins were pluses). And then, the cuts and colors. There were so many more choices than men’s styles offered. Spencer tried to solve it like a puzzle. Somewhere in these shops was a dress he would feel most like himself in, that complemented his hair and skin, that went with his eyes. He wanted to find an extension of who he was, much like he had when he first came out to himself, trolling Goodwills for a new wardrobe – but this time, without making the attempt to hide in plain sight.
“Reid?”
Spencer turns, no longer lost in thought. He stands in the parking lot of the gala hotel, just beyond the yellow glow of a streetlamp.
Derek is looking at him. Derek, who teases him when he flunks his firearms qualification. Derek, who’s arriving in a standard suit and not smiling, for once. Spencer doesn’t particularly mind that part. He feels like Derek is in on a joke he isn’t most of the time, and he’s finally caught Derek off-guard.
“Hey,” Spencer says softly. He’s not so much afraid as he is uninterested in explaining himself.
Derek walks around Spencer’s car to take in the full view. Spencer wears a plum gown that poofs slightly from his waistline, but not excessively. The purple material extends up and is snug against his chest, his torso under a layer of lace that halts at his shoulders. It is technically sleeveless, and Spencer’s shaved his underarms for the occasion. The lower half is slit up to his knees and exposes his strappy silver heels. They’re short. He wouldn’t be standing if they were over two inches tall.
Derek’s hands are in his pants pockets. He takes a moment to read Spencer’s expression, who hopes he isn’t giving anything away.
“No makeup?” Derek asks.
Spencer rolls his eyes. “No. I’m not very good at it, so.” He shrugs.
Derek nods. He comes closer in a few strides. His shoes are freshly shined and reflect the parking lot lights.
“Were you comin’ in, or waiting for someone?” Derek leans against the side of Spencer’s car. Spencer considers telling him he hasn’t had it washed in at least a month, but figures Derek knows that. Derek seems to know a lot that Spencer doesn’t, ironically.
“I’m… not sure.” Spencer swallows. He doesn’t want to admit the rest. That he’s happy, that he’s had more fun swishing around his apartment in this dress than he has in a long time, doing something purely for himself. That if he were going to be alone in that ball room, this wouldn’t be a problem. That the last thing he wants is to put Hotch in hot water. That this will make things harder, and however useful he is to the team, it won’t compare to this new challenge he’s voluntarily imposing on them.
“Well, you got a date?” Derek is conversational. He talks like Spencer’s in his khakis and it’s another morning by the coffee machine. It’s a little grounding, a little exhilarating.
Spencer licks his lips. “No, nothing like that. I’m debating whether I should get back in my car or not.”
“Did you forget something in it?”
“Uh, no?”
“Then what’s the hold up?”
Spencer looks at him, truly, for the first time. Derek’s eyes are softer than Spencer usually finds them. They’re deep. He might trip into them and never come out. He’s focused on Spencer like minutes don’t matter. It’s a scrutiny based in full-hearted devotion that Spencer’s never seen before.
“I don’t… know.” Spencer says. He feels his eyebrows crease, his lips slightly pout, as he struggles. He does know. He won’t admit it here, not with a majority of the FBI waiting inside where they could see it all over his face – but the terror is shrinking. Derek is warm, and here, and gentle.
Derek sighs. It isn’t exasperation or impatience, like many of the sighs Spencer’s familiar with, but thoughtful. Derek refuses to look away as he says, “I get it. The fear that you’ll show this part of yourself and have to live with the judgment. I have my own secrets, kid. But you’ve gotta know the whole team will be behind you, no matter what. We won’t let you do this alone. I won’t let you.”
Spencer can’t stop himself. “How could you understand what this feels like? What’s Derek Morgan, ladies’ man and hunk of the office, got to hide?”
Derek scoffs with a grin, the kind that lights up his face. “What do you think, genius? I’m telling you, I get it. I’m glad you think I’m hunky, though. Was worried you weren’t getting my signals.”
“Signals? What signals?” Spencer feels his brain come to a screaming stop. He hates when it does that – when it processes new information too fast, and doesn’t know what to do with the rest of him. He’s still, like a beautiful scarecrow letting its arms wave in the wind.
Derek stands upright and shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve given you too much of a head start already. You come find me when you’ve figured it out.”
Spencer’s about to protest when Derek offers him his arm. Spencer reaches for it cautiously, as if he might startle Derek and bring the reality of the gesture crashing in. That Derek is essentially sacrificing himself for Spencer’s sake. For the life of him, Spencer can’t figure why, but Derek is already leading them towards the building.
“This isn’t a case, you know. You don’t have to do this,” Spencer whispers. They’re nearing other agents as they move through the parking lot.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t have to save me.”
Derek slows and turns in toward Spencer. His breath heats Spencer’s ear. “I’m not. I’m taking a pretty boy to a good meal. Is that so wrong?”
Spencer shivers. Derek takes his silence as a no, and they keep walking.
“Besides, you sit by Elle, and I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure she’s wearing a knife."
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pi-cat000 · 3 years
Text
BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (6)
Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.
Characters:  Kakashi Hatake
Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto
WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury
START  / PREV / NEXT 
As predicted, the day following the seal’s application is miserable. His chest is tight with almost anxiety, pins and needles run up and down his arms making his skin itch, and he is increasingly lethargic. All symptoms of a chakra imbalance and to be expected when one’s normal chakra replacement rate was thrown out. The sensations would pass once his body adjusted as they had with his sharingan.
He is eating three square meals a day, doing the bare minimum when it came to exercise routines and avoiding excess chakra use. It had been literal years since he had had this much bed rest. If he were ever going to slap a chakra collecting seal on himself, this was a perfect time. Okay, so maybe he should have steadily increased the chakra drain over the course of a few weeks for a smoother adjustment period. Hindsight and all that.
What mattered was that he would be fine, and he just had to wait it out. Bright side? No one had commented on the seal yet. Oh, he has definitely noticed serval people throwing the odd confused frown at his shoulder, but that was as far as anyone had gone in acknowledging it. His oh so clever strategy of acting like nothing was wrong worked so much better when he wasn’t surrounded by other shinobi and medic-nin.
“Your blood pressure is still too high. Are you sure you haven’t been experiencing any additional fatigue or other symptoms? Is something about the hospital causing additional stress? If there is something wrong, we should work on strategies to fix the problem.”
Well… it worked on everyone who wasn’t Wada. The man was irritatingly persistent in his doctoring. Apparently, the pressure of adjusting to an increased chakra drain wasn’t doing his body any favours.
“Maybe it’s a part of my quirk. High regeneration. High blood pressure.” Kakashi shrugs loosely not bothering to look up from HEROES and HEROINES May Issue. Unlike his previous reading material, people gave him odd looks when they saw him reading these magazines which immediately upped their entertainment value 100-fold.
Wada undoes the compression sleeve he had been using to measure Kakashi’s blood pressure, lecturing as he goes, “From what I can tell your cells produce more energy-rich molecules, ATP, NADH, then is typical, increasing cellular functions. Where your cells are getting the energy to produce these molecules, I have no idea seeing as you eat about the same amount as any baseline human. What I can safely say is that it should not influence your blood pressure. If anything, your blood pressure should be a bit lower than average. Now don’t dodge the question.”
He pauses, waiting for Kakashi to cave and suddenly confess. Kakashi, an old hat at dodging medical questions, continues reading unperturbed.
“I’ve been at this for over 30 years. An attack like the one you suffered is understandably traumatic, not to mention the stress of severe amnesia. I’m sure, whatever is bothering you, I’ve heard it before.”
Kakashi very much doubts that. “I feel fine.”
Wada huffs, unconvinced, “Young men. You all think that admitting you have a problem is a sign of weakness. High blood pressure can damage your heart and lead to problems  later in life so finding the cause is important.” Good thing a shinobi life spans tended to max out around 30. The odds of him making it to an age where he’d have to worry about the long-term effects of anything were pretty low. He doesn’t voice this opinion, continuing to read.
Wada continues talking with greater gusto, “No matter, I’ll prescribe you something for stress hopefully that’ll help with your blood pressure. However, this is no replacement for healthy habits both physical and mental. You should consider professional therapy.”
Kakashi snorts. Yeah, that sounds about right.
“Oh, you think that’s funny do you,” Wada makes to grab HEROES and HEROIENS and he lets the doctor pull the magazine free from his hand. It gives him a good view of the man’s irate expression.
“No, of course not.” Kakashi attempts to placate and gets a light smack over the head with said magazine for his troubles.
“There is no shame in pursuing a healthy mind!”
“Weren’t we going to test my quirk today?” He complains to derail the current line of questioning.
“I have half a mind to put it off and have you rest another week,” is threatened before Wada’s stern expression relaxes, “Lucky for you, I’ve booked you into serval tests that can’t be rescheduled.”
Kakashi breaths out dramatically. He thinks Wada might have made a good medic-nin if he had lived in Konoha. Sure, he is a little too trusting, but he was also not above pestering his patients into taking better care of themselves. Sakura would approve.
The doctor, with the assistance of an attending nurse he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, helps Kakashi out of his bed and into a wheelchair, ignoring his protests about his leg being all but healed.
“You’re to avoid putting weight on it until you start physical therapy,” Wada snaps at his continued complaints, “You’ll need to be careful, extended bed rest and surgery can leave your muscles weakened. Also, leave that magazine behind. You’re doing eye tests when do you think you’ll have time to read!”
Kakashi doesn’t push the matter further, resigning himself to being wheeled down the hospital halls like the invalid he was pretending to be. It is not like Wada knew about his frequent excursions to the roof or the fact that he has been running through strengthening exercises on his own time for several weeks now.  Best he keeps that information to himself.
Partway down the hall, he pulls out HEROES and HEROIENS from where he had slipped it into his shirt, enjoying Wada’s exasperated expression. Of course, he stops reading when the doctor threatens to start lecturing again. The man could definitely talk when given the chance.
Wada and the nurse take wheel him to a set of double-door elevators which take them down several floors below the ground level. The hallway they exit of a mirror of every other hospital hallway. Grey and white walls, pale blue lino floor and bright fluorescent overhead lights. The only difference is that this hallway is lined with heavy-looking metal doors. From snooping through patient files, he knows that all quirk tests are carried out in specially designated underground ‘safety rooms.’ That doesn't make him any more thrilled about being several stories underground. It cut down on his escape roots.
“These are some of the more secure recovery wards in the hospital,” Wada explains as their little group stops at a small reception desk where the doctor taps away at a computer screen, “they’re mostly for treating patients with unstable quirks.” Kakashi maintains a neutral expression, accepting the explanation.
Wada wheels him up to a steel door, swiping his ID card which also doubled as a key to many areas of the hospital. The heavy door is automated and slides open. A lot of the doors in the hospital operate this way and always made sneaking around slightly more troublesome.
Inside walls and floor are plain white and there is an odd number of tables and chairs pushed to one side out of the way. Everything stinks of disinfectant. On the far wall is a single solitary painting of a tree in a field, the only splash of colour in an otherwise depressingly sparse room. A poor attempt at living up the space. The opposite wall sports a rectangular, reflective surface which was probably some sort of observation booth. Well, if being underground hadn’t put him on edge, this obvious confinement room definitely did the job. Kakashi eyes the space. Worse comes to worst, he could use the kamui and remove the adjoining hallway wall then climb his way out through the elevator shaft. There are only two other people in the room with him and one woman at the reception desk, all were most likely unenhanced with quirks unsuited to combat, easily removed.  He doesn’t let his body language reflect his unease. He is just a little on edge because the new seal is messing with his body’s natural homeostasis. If this is a trap there would have been other signs of deception before now.
“Yes, I know it might seem like a whole lot of fuss just to run through a few flashcards,” Wada comments, oblivious to Kakashi’s poor mood. He waves to his assisting nurse who wheels over and lowers one of the metallic tables so Kakashi doesn’t have to move from his wheelchair. “But it’s a standard safety procedure when an unknown quirk is involved. Trust me, this is a lot easier than travelling to an external testing range.”
Wada stops to give Kakashi a once over, frowning, “How much do you know about your quirk sub-type?”
Kakashi shrugs, “Nothing much.”
“Ah,” The doctor’s frown grows, and he grimaces, “Of course you don’t.” A sigh.
“Typically, ocular quirks will act to enhanced sight in some way or improve base level memorisation and recall ability. It is also common to have a replicating function, allowing the user to produce some sort of copy of things they see. In rarer cases, ocular quirks result in precognitive abilities.” Wada explanation falters, “They can also have a line-of-sight emitter effect, such as laser vision, optical blasts, a few instances of mind control and other mental effects. These can also be incredibly dangerous if the user isn’t in control. There have even been instances where whole buildings have been levelled.”
“I see.”  He supposes Wada's irritation at this private 'quirk' testing made a bit more sense. A doctor faced with an unknown and possibly dangerous ability would be annoyed if said patient went about experimenting without taking safety precautions.
“I should have checked whether you knew the dangers instead of just assuming. Apologies. That is my own error.”
He peers at Kakashi, almost guilty now, “and you don’t have a phone either so there would have been no way for you to research quirks yourself.”
“Ah,” Kakashi rubs the back of his head not likening how torn up the other man seems to be seeing as Kakashi had ever been in any real danger. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures.  
His reassurances land flat, the doctor still frowning, “I’ll see if I can get you access to the internet somehow.”
Privately, Kakashi adds 'research' to the list of functions ‘phones’ apparently provided and 'internet' to his growing list of terms to investigate.
Wada sighs again. “Regardless, let’s get these tests done first.” He places a thick folder labelled National Standard for Registration: Kit Type 3 alongside one of those portable keyboard-less computers the doctors tended to carry around.  “Hold on, been a while since I’ve done one of these. Need to find the rights files. Ah, here we go. First, these rooms are monitored, and all tests are recorded. The data collected is confidential, accessible only to the patient and physician unless doing so causes the patent harm. Information regarding quirk function and use is shared with the Registry Office. You have a right to stop testing at any point. You got that?”
Kakashi grunts, his already poor mood souring further. He is not sure he wants the hospital - or anyone - keeping records of anything sharingan related.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Wada continues unperturbed, a testament to his serval weeks of trying to doctor Kakashi, “remember to let me know if you’re experiencing any discomfort. Don’t want you busting anymore blood vessels.
Kakashi lets out a tired breath, “Sure.” The sooner they left this room the better.
“We’ll test memory and vision first to compare to your baseline, then we’ll run through the replication and precognitive tests just in case.”
The nurse, who had been on the opposite side of the room waves, “All ready over here.” There is now a large poster with letters of varying sizes hung on the wall. He recognises the chart from his previous eye tests.
“Okay, let’s start with just uncovering it. Make sure you’re looking away from me as a precaution.”
Kakashi resists rolling his non- sharingan eye at the obvious instruction, shifting his attention to the poster on the wall. He flips his padded eyepatch up with his index finger so it partially rests on his forehead. All the letters, no matter the size, immediately snap into sharp focus. Nothing spontaneously combusts under his gaze. When he glances at the painting of the tree, he can now see a lack of brush texture, suggesting that it wasn’t a painting but a print of some sort. With that useless information now forever etched into his memory, he turns back to examine at Wada.
The sharingan picks out all the wrinkles and pores lining the older face. It focuses in on minuscule muscle movements as the man’s expression shifts from professional and accommodating to curious. The doctor’s fingers twitch ever so slightly over his computer. Most likely an unconscious habit. The man’s breath is slightly uneven like his chest can’t smoothly expand, suggesting some sort of lung problem. A past smoking habit perhaps? Nothing threatening is revealed.
“Doctor.” Kakashi prompts when Wada spends a little too long staring back at him. The sharingun did have a weak hypnotic effect, encouraging extended eye contact to help catch targets in genjutsu. Kakashi rarely uncovered his eye in the presence of civilians so he doesn’t know if the effect is more pronounced or if Wada is just curious.
Wada blinks, “Well…I certainly see where the ‘wheel’ description comes from.” He spends a second more staring then turns to start writing notes and tapping away at his computer screen. “I wonder if those spinning tomoe are purely cosmetic or if they have some other function because they are certainly fascinating to look at. There is also faint bioluminescence to the eye which is a common feature of ocular quirks…”
Honestly, the blatant eye contact is weird. Even his closest allies tended to avoid looking at his sharingan out of habit - expect for Naruto who was an outlier in almost everything - for understandable reasons. He thinks the people here would also exercise caution if an ocular abilities included mind control or exploding a person through eye contact. But no, Wada just goes right ahead and stares. A few seconds later and the unnamed nurse is also looking curiously at his eye. … …
Aside from redoing a standard eye exam, Kakashi runs through a marathon of flashcards to test both his memory and then precognitive abilities. The tests are done with lights on then in the dark and Kakashi is given a perfect 20/20 and an enhancement score of ‘15 grades above average’ for both. There are also several pages worth of words and numbers in progressively complex arrangements to test his information retention. Of course, everything is easily remembered with the sharingun active.
“Well, it seems to give general across the board vision enhancement alongside perfect recall and retention,” Wada finally concludes as he records all Kakashi’s results, “Of course, we’ll have to re-test retention in a few days so see if the information degrades over an extended period and we don’t know whether your quirk effects your long distance eyesight, but, for now, this appears to be all. The link between your quirked eye and the regenerative side-effect is still unknown. Odd that we couldn’t trigger any ‘copy’ function considering the quirks name though  ‘copy’ could also be a reference to memorisation.  If any other features do reveal themselves make sure you alert a medical professional.”
… …
Kakashi despises the process of getting an MRI with a heated passion. He hates having to lie prone in a loud confined space. It is the height of discomfort, making him tense up and clench his jaw. It is only the fact that Kakashi had researched and mentally prepared himself for the experience that stops him from accidentally snapping someone’s neck.
“We’ll have the results back in a few days,” Wada informs once the trying ordeal is over with, “From there we’ll update the Registry so you’re properly in the system. Speaking of which, have you made any progress on remembering a surname? I need something for the forms.”
“Hatake,” he grunts, too irritated to bother evading - he just wants to return to his room and wait out the side effects of his seal in peace- the question like he had every other time the man asked, “I think I prefer Kakashi though.”
It wasn’t like the name meant anything here and, who knows, maybe someone would come looking for him. This way they would have a trail to follow.
NEXT
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rosethornewrites · 2 years
Text
Fics I read this week!
MDZS/The Untamed, entirely. Including Tumblr fics here now, even if I shared them as well.
A lot of these are super short since I decided to embark on a journey to clear my AO3 “Marked For Later” list of anything under 3k words by reading them.
This is also a lot of fanfiction and I might have a problem. Any fanfiction addict support groups out there?
Also, I learned that I can only post 100 links. So this is going up early and I’ll separate the Not Rated, E, and M ones into a different post for next week.
Finished:
Not Rated (or Tumblr fics):
Parents, by @bloody-bee-tea
Untitled, by @mondengel
Untitled, by @mondengel
Untitled, by @cerusee
Xue Yang - The Third Jade of Gusu, by inawritingfrenzy
As Long as You're Here, by Aitheriomeraki
You are the last person I need to tell me exactly what I already know. You’re going to tell me to go back to cultivating the righteous path. You’re going to tell me that this is against the principles of a cultivator. I’m going to hear you drone on and on about what’s wrong with what I’m doing. You’re going to tell me that I’m acting like a pure disgrace, completely out of line, extremely unhinged and unruly and every other word your Lan vocabulary can muster up.” His words felt heavy but unstoppable, tears making their way to his eyes.
“You’re-” He was about to continue before getting cut off.
“Wei Ying… zhiji.” Lan Wangji breathed out like a plea, like a prayer. -------------- OR Lan Wangji talks to Wei Wuxian the day after killing Wen Chao.
Things we lost in the fire, by KatAnni
Three instances in Lan Wangji's life that involved fire. One of them certainly ends better than the others.
OR Wangxian can be cute in any situation, even when someone sets fire to their inn.
Sleep Talk, by breezebrocolis
"...But being awakened through such ungodly hours is worth it after all, because Wei Wuxian discovered that, contrary to popular belief about his boyfriend's sleeping habits, there’s a moment when Lan Zhan sleep talks, and he's the only one who knows it."
and
"...for now, after all and a year more, he'd never choose to have those lonesome minutes back. It turns out that filling the gaps with emptiness was necessary once, but it doesn't really fit him anymore. Lan Wangji has Grace on his side for now, the print of Wei Ying's delicate fingers into his skin."
In other words, a study about WangXian's sleeping habits.
Hold On, by voxnoxsox
“And really,” Wei Ying continued, “it makes no sense. Why would they not want to hug you, Lan Zhan, or, like… Do you warn them off or something? Give them the ol’ icy Lan glare?”
“No,” Lan Zhan said, when it was clear a response was required. His mind was a little preoccupied with Wei Ying’s hands still running up and down, up and down.
Rated E:
The Dreams of Youth, by Sami (25 chapters)
"Mother, I have to go, with or without you. Please come with me."
"A-Zhan, you're five years old," she says.
"With or without you, Mother," he pleads. "Please come with me."
Lan Wangji starts again from the beginning.
Rough and Tumble, by SugarMilkTea (3 chapters)
Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are paired together for sparring, because of course they are.
Wei Wuxian is better than the rest of the disciples, because of course he is - so Lan Wangji takes him to another field to train privately.
Things escalate, because of course they do.
and if we choose to fall (who's to say it isn't flight?), by KiaraSayre (2 chapters)
Wei Wuxian has an idea and makes a talisman. A sexy talisman.
to live this way is not for the meek, by la_muerta
Yiling Laozu and his band The Restless Dead are one of the biggest names in the rock scene, playing to thousands of screaming fans in sold-out concerts all over the world.
But underneath the black leather, makeup, and untouchable, arrogant facade is a side of Wei Ying that only Lan Zhan gets to see.
Awareness, by syriala (last in a series)
Awareness is slow to come to Jiang Cheng, mostly because he doesn’t want to be aware. He’s warm and comfortable and Jiang Xiuying is bound to be still around and that is really all Jiang Cheng needs in life.
But then there’s an open mouthed kiss to the hinge of his jaw, Jiang Xiuying slowly trailing his way down Jiang Cheng’s throat, and it’s enough to get Jiang Cheng’s eyes open, however reluctant he might be.
Jiang Xiuying seemingly knows him better than Jiang Cheng does himself because he is already looking up at Jiang Cheng, his eyes sparkling and a teasing grin on his lips.
“Good morning,” Jiang Cheng says, his voice still rough from sleep and Jiang Xiuying leans up to capture Jiang Cheng’s lips in a kiss.
The heat behind it tells Jiang Cheng exactly where Jiang Xiuying wants to take this today, and Jiang Cheng can’t say that he minds too much.
yours for the taking, by SugarMilkTea
“There’s still time to back out, you know,” Wei Ying says, quiet enough that even the attendants waiting at the corners of their table won’t hear.
Lan Wangji pauses in the middle of reaching for the sash on Wei Ying’s—on his husband’s—outer robes. A pit opens in his stomach. His hand falls to his lap, and he lifts his eyes to meet Wei Ying’s. “Is that what you want?”
---
The components of the marriage ceremony are easy in theory. The handfasting, the bows, the feast... and the Taking.
housed by your warmth, by wangxiians
wei wuxian may never grow to enjoy mornings but he enjoys this, he really enjoys this – stolen time together, bodies reuniting, waking up before the world.
Rated M:
Heaven Hath No Fury, by Lady Mythos (Lady_Mythos)
The two biggest mistakes Yu Ziyuan has made are as follows: assuming Wei Wuxian was the cause of all her problems and assuming Cangse Sanren was dead.
Or, Cangse Sanren has a lot of things to say to the bitch that abused her son.
weird and awkward, by sami (3rd in a series)
At the age of sixteen, Lan Zhan falls in love, somewhat against his will.
Have Your Cake and Eat it Too, by adrian_kres (4 chapters)
Like half of all sound-tied people, Wei Ying was born with words in his heart and needing the melody they belong to. It’s his soul marker, and he’s been searching for his soulmate his whole life. Things change when he hears a tune being hummed in a cafe that matches his lyrics perfectly. Except he didn’t see who was humming it! To help, his brother’s soulmate puts him in contact with the beautiful pianist Lan Wangji, who makes Wei Ying question if he wants to find his soulmate at all…
Until The End, by abCEE (40 chapters)
"When I - when I tied my ribbon around our wrists, I knew what I was doing and I privately honored it." Wei Wuxian's brows continued to meet as he tried to understand where the conversation was going until realization dawned on him. "Wa - wait! Lan Zhan, is it what I think it is?!!" "It is usually done at the end of a wedding ceremony -" "What-" "But it could have been acknowledged as an engagement." "Lan Zhan!" He cannot believe what he is hearing now. "But my ancestor revealed herself -" "And we bowed… three times. We bowed, Lan Zhan!"
In which wangxian are married since the Cold Pond Cave incident, knows how proper communication works, and had confessed in the middle of the Sunshot Campaign. Things went up and down from there.
Breaking The Ice, by aflaminghalo
“Why are are you asking for punishment?”
Bring Your Honor, Bring Your Shame, by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (21 chapters, third in a series)
Nie HuaiSang has a problem. His brother is losing his mind.
Rated T:
don't close your eyes, by howodd5ever
In which Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian actually talk about the porn book.
Another Road, by Rynne
Something in the Guanyin Temple goes wrong. When Lan Wangji opens his eyes, he's fifteen again.
Phobia, by yougetsomekisses
What if Lan Wangji had been thrown in that dungeon with Wei Wuxian?
Snow Hunt, by InsanitysxCreation
A short scene of a winter hunt.
Entirely self indulgent, in that the idea of Lan Wangji in white leather gloves arrived in my brain and wouldn't let me continue until I'd written this.
真金不怕火炼 | True Gold Fears No Fire, by adrian_kres
In the immediate aftermath of a successful Sunshot Campaign, Wei Ying is kissed by Lan Zhan at the Phoenix Mountain Hunt while blindfolded. But when the blindfold comes off, Lan Zhan is nowhere to be found. Now, Wei Ying must deal with this heartbreak on top of forced therapy he was mandated to complete due to using demonic cultivation to end the war. Through it all, Wei Ying learns he has value, and that his assumptions about what happened at the hunt may not be entirely correct.
Fantasy, by snowberryrose (3 chapters)
In which Wen Qing leaves Or: Wen Qing rescues herself
Canon divergence from episode 20
Chapter 2: Qin Su’s choice Chapter 3: Xue Yang’s end
Four Parts Honey and One Part Vinegar, by masked (6 chapters)
“You know,” Ouyang Zizhen says thoughtfully over dinner one day, “I’ve never seen Wei-qianbei get jealous before.”
Lan Jingyi pauses for the briefest second, remembers the sect rule of keeping silence during meals, and decidedly forgoes it. “What?”
“Well,” Ouyang Zizhen continues, “Hanguang-jun always has a lot of admirers everywhere we go, but Wei-qianbei never seems to mind it.”
“Why are we talking about this?” Jin Ling asks flatly.
Four times Wei Wuxian doesn't get jealous, and the one time he does.
sweet dreams, by ShippersList
Distance won’t hinder Wei Wuxian from giving his Lan Zhan a goodnight kiss.
Sugar Baby, by nirejseki
“Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said, and uh oh, that sounded like his ‘bad news’ voice. “We need to talk about your spending.”
That was worse than Nie Huaisang had thought.
“Is the talk going to be about how amazingly economical I am in making intelligent and aesthetically appropriate purchases?” he asked hopefully, clutching his latest and most aesthetic fan.
“Oddly enough,” his brother said, “no.”
Somehow, Nie Huaisang hadn’t thought so.
He was...No, He was Incompetent, by Corundum_Creations
He was Lan Wangji, a Twin Jade of the Lan Clan and he could face anything... so how did he become so incompetent with taking his Wei Ying and hiding him away?
The Resentful Cultivator Who Cried 'I'm Fine', by Mikkeneko
"Who's possessed?" another voice joined the scrum, and Wei Wuxian moaned in despair as Jiang Cheng came marching over to join the rest of the party, glaring daggers at Wei Wuxian for being the source of all this trouble. Purple lightning crackled on his wrist as his eyes narrowed. "This idiot got possessed? I can take care of that with Zidian! Stand back!"
"Ahaha, Jiang Cheng, there's no need for that!" he protested hurriedly. "Really, I'm not possessed!"
"Ah," Lan Jingyi nodded knowingly. "That's exactly what someone who was possessed and trying to throw us off the trail would say!"
---
While on a night-hunt with his friends and family, Wei Wuxian takes a near miss from a dangerous beast. Fortunately he wasn't hurt... but for some reason, they have trouble believing him when he says I'm fine.
Why I Can’t Help But Love Red, by spiralingbutmakeitanimerelated
Lan Wangji takes a bath after a night hunt. Wei Wuxian has questions about the night he branded himself.
Not Till Then Dare I Part From You, by forgottenenvy
WangXian share a tender moment as Lan Wangji braids flowers into Wei Wuxian's hair.
Snowmelt, by sugar_shoal
Lan Zhan has been badly injured on a night-hunt. Wei Wuxian panics only a little. Jiang Cheng drags them all to a nearby abandoned hut to wait out the encroaching blizzard.
Head Empty, Only Wei Ying, by nana_banana
Wei Ying is getting married? To someone not Lan Wangji? Fuck. Not if Lan Wangji has anything to say about it.
sparrow heart, by CeliaBlair24 (fourth in a series)
They pass notes through the spaces between their desks about nonsensical, inconsequential things. About the weather and birds, romance novels, and the forest behind the Cloud Recesses where they spend all their afternoons playing.
And Wei Wuxian is smart, both by the books and on his feet. If he wanted to, he could easily play Lan-xiansheng’s favorite class pet --studious and diligent about being studious; creative besides-- but he doesn’t. He listens to Lan-xiansheng and Jiang Wanyin’s complaints with half an ear and when all is said and done, he turns his back on them both and greets Nie Huaisang with his cheeky smile.
Otherwise known as "Nie Huaisang falls into like."
Retrospective on the State of the Field: Qinghe Patron X (QPX) Studies, by bladedweaponsandswishycoats (jeweledichneumon)
"Qinghe Patron X, eh?" Nie Huaisang chuckles, noticing the heading. Licking his lips, he circles the listing for the conference panel with a yellow highlighter. Despite the moniker having become common several years ago, he still gets a kick out of it. Of course he'd have to go to that one. He takes a moment to feel the faint touch of regret that he isn't on the panel himself; it is always more fun messing with people as a panelist than trying to rely on the Q&A period to say something provocative but relevant.
or
In which immortal cultivator Nie Huaisang likes to fuck around with scholars attempting to study what they think they know about him, and other shenanigans he gets up to (both with and without the help of his friends) in the modern age.
or
The year is 2021. Lan Wangji still goes where the chaos is, though these days that can mean a lot more than night hunts. Especially when Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang are dedicated to making sure being immortal never gets boring.
A Story for the Ages, by Supernova_Sage
Lan Wangji saunters over to the mystery section. He can hear people whispering, but he isn’t close enough to make sense of the conversation. The lilt in the voice makes it sound like one person is asking a question. Hmm. If he can hear whispering, they’re still being far too loud. He shakes his head and continues his browsing. He pulls his phone out to check the time. It’s nearly 6p. He really should get home. He still needs to feed the bunnies and feed himself and look over emails and—
He stops in his tracks. Stops when he sees the book that he’s been waiting to check out for months now. Every time he’s stopped by, though, it’s been checked out by someone else. And now it’s finally here. Sitting on the shelf in front of him. Once he manages to collect himself, he reaches for it. His fingers don’t touch the spine of the book, though. Instead, he finds his fingers brushing against the fingers of another.
DanTian - Into the Dark (LWJ), by ArchiveWriter (fourth in a series)
Wangji's memory holds images of Wei Ying. Wangji does penance by reliving his memories, and by making sure Wei Ying is loved. Wangji burns the millet porridge he's supposed to stir whilst Wei Ying fetches water for tea.
chasing echoes, by SWANPYRE
Lan Wangji must learn to co-exist with what he has learned his entire life to despise.
Snowfall, by nightflower
During a winter storm in Cloud Recesses, Wangji's old scars ache. Wei Ying takes care of him.
relics of love, by cl410
“Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Lan Zhan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The bunnies were almost eaten.”
“Our son was almost traumatized for life,” Wei Ying said, choking on a laugh. “Lan Zhan, he almost witnessed a double homicide on our own balcony.” He wheezed with laughter, clutching his ribs.
“We will install higher locks,” Lan Zhan said grimly.
Rated G:
A-Yuan's guide to eat the rich (a.k.a. How A-Yuan single handedly stopped a siege from happening and saved everyone), by fanficaddictXOXO
A-Yuan is only three years old. But he knows many things. He knows how to write his name. He knows potatoes are better than radishes (Xian gege said so). But the most important thing he knows is that the handsome gege with a white forehead ribbon is rich.
Obviously You Hate Me, by Sarehz
Wei Wuxian leans across the round table. "Okay, this isn't going to work."
From across the very same table, Lan Wangji raises one puzzled eyebrow. "Mn?"
"This!" Wei Wuxian gestures between them.
Begotten, by ecorie (6 chapters)
“He’s mine.” He echoed what had once been teasingly said in jest, and added, “This is my son.”
Against all odds and without a choice, Lan Zhan brings A-Yuan back to Cloud Recesses. Xichen keeps his brother’s secrets, and shields the child when Lan Zhan could not.
Alone Stands the Quiet, by ecorie
The story of the Yin Iron starts with a celestial war and ends with Lan Sizhui.
A Good Plan, by nirejseki
“The…Lan sect?” Meng Yao said doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
“I am,” his mother said, her mouth tight. She looked upset, the way she always did these days when he referenced, intentionally or otherwise, the original plan that she had had to send him to join his father, sect leader of Lanling Jin. She’d raised Meng Yao on a steady diet of stories of what his life would be like when his father finally took him back the way he’d promised her he would, stories that had filled his days and nights for years and years and years, and then just last year she’d suddenly stopped talking about it entirely. It was as if the person who’d told those stories had nothing to do with her.
Meng Yao didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed it must have been pretty bad.
“It'll be a good fit,” she added.
The Late Great Custody Debate, by stiltonbasket (5 chapters)
"You owe me child support," Lan Zhan blurts, before Wei Wuxian can open his mouth to say hello to him. "Take responsibility."
Or, the one where Lan Wangji's pet rabbit has a better love life than he does, and single father Wei Wuxian develops a healthy fear of attorneys, courtesy of his next-door neighbor.
Switcheroo, by nirejseki
Mo Xuanyu thought that this Wei Wuxian person whose body he’d stolen must have been a really interesting person, mostly because he’d been here for three days so far and nobody’d noticed the switch yet.
A Kiss for you, my love, by Speechless_since_1998
"Ladies and gentlemen."
Suddenly the attention of the whole hall turned to Nie Huaisang, near the orchestra with a microphone in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, "On this wonderful evening I would like to share with you all the happiness I feel. for a wonderful couple who got married today. " Wait a minute did he say marriage? He must have heard right, even Lan Zhan had stiffened. “Let's give him a wonderful round of applause. To Wei Ying and Lan Zhan newlyweds. " Hot shit. They weren't supposed to attract attention.
The attention of the room focused on them, whispers in the crowd, some scandalized, some excited. Nie Huaisang motioned for him to keep the game, but what was she supposed to do ?! "Lan Zhan, we mustn't ..." He didn't have time to finish the sentence as Lan Zhan kissed him. In front of everyone.
Soulmates, by Yacs_Weasley
Ever since he was a little boy, Wangji had longed to find his soulmate.
Stay with me, by KatAnni
Sizhui's memories come to him in pieces, and some of them in dreams. This time, he dreams of Wei Wuxian putting him in a tree. He runs to the Jingshi immediately, to find his Baba.
The truth, by syriala (first in a series)
“Do you even remember a single person of those you killed after the war?” he demands to know and Jiang Cheng turns his glare on him.
“Why should I?” Jiang Cheng asks and a fearful hush falls over the crowd. “Do any of you remember even a single person you killed in your lives?” he asks them and is met with a pretty telling silence.
“You’re a monster,” someone whispers, but in the quiet it rings out loud and clear.
Jiang Cheng has heard these words a lot in the past sixteen years, and so he simply smiles at them, even though they sting like always.
He reminds himself that the people that matter know the truth, that they know him for who he truly is, and that it has to be enough.
Boys, by nirejseki
“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”
“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”
That sounded like a recitation.
“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.
Loss, by FlutterFyre
Lan Wangji knows something is wrong.
Hearsay, by syriala (second in a series)
“A girl went missing a few days back,” Wei Wuxian says, voice serious, and Jiang Cheng can just imagine the accusatory look on his face. “Coincidentally you were seen in that area during the same time.”
“So?” Jiang Cheng wants to know and Wei Wuxian makes a frustrated sound.
“What did you do with her?” Wei Wuxian asks him, even though he clearly already made up an answer for himself.
An ally, by syriala (third in a series)
“I just don’t want you to force yourself to face them,” Jiang Cheng finally says and Jiang Xiuying smiles at him.
“I’m not forcing myself. I am going on my own free will. It will be fine. And besides, Lan Xichen was never the reason I left.”
“But he didn’t stop you either,” Jiang Cheng mutters, and then rolls his eyes. “Fine. Accompany me, see if I care.”
“All I see is you caring,” Jiang Xiuying honestly gives back and Jiang Cheng flushes bright red.
Escalation, by syriala (fourth in a series)
“How can you lie to him like that?” Lan Wangji wants to know but it seems to be morbid curiosity more than anything else, because he goes right on. “You’re coming with me to the Cloud Recesses. There will be a trial.”
“A trial,” Jiang Cheng scoffs out, because it’s a farce and nothing more.
Lan Wangji has already decided on his sentence. And they all know it's going to be death.
Resolve, by syriala (fifth in a series)
“Regarding the accusations made against me today,” he starts and cuts his glare over to Sect Leader Yao, who has the good grace to shrink back at the venom in that glare, “I have something to say.”
“Speak,” Lan Wangji demands, but he doesn’t sound too sure all of a sudden, doesn’t seem too happy with the proceedings, and Jiang Cheng does rather enjoy the feeling of triumph it brings him.
“I am innocent. I did not kill any demonic cultivators, nor did I torture them.”
His voice rings out in the courtyard because everyone is silent for two seconds, but then chaos erupts. The voices calling him a liar are the kinder ones, and Jiang Cheng shakes his head at them.
“And I have proof,” he continues, raising his voice so that it carries over the others.
Devotion - Gather, by syriala (sixth in a series)
“What?” Jiang Cheng asks, because for once he is in no immediate danger of being murdered by the other Sects and Jiang Cheng really doesn’t think that look is fair.
“You absolute asshole,” Jiang Xiuying hisses at him and Jiang Cheng knows that if he wasn’t injured Jiang Xiuying would try to slap him over the head or shake him until he sees sense.
“What? What did I do now?” Jiang Cheng wants to know because he was asleep! There is no way he could have done something to upset Jiang Xiuying like this!
“I don’t even know where to start,” Jiang Xiuying says and starts to pace Jiang Cheng’s room, without giving any thought to the fact that this is Jiang Cheng’s bedroom and he really shouldn’t be here.
Well, Jiang Cheng is not going to say that to him, because with the mood Jiang Xiuying is in right now it wouldn’t go over well for Jiang Cheng, Sect Leader or not. Not that he actually cares anyway.
It’s Jiang Xiuying after all.
Home in Lotus Pier, by syriala (seventh in a series)
Jiang Cheng's angry frown turns into a confused frown when he sits down for breakfast and finds a box next to his bowl of congee.
“What is this?” he asks into the room, because someone is bound to be around, but he doesn’t get an answer and Jiang Cheng heaves out a sigh.
He tugs the box close and opens it and he’s surprised to find that his favourite tea is in it. It’s hard to come by lately, as it is entirely seasonal and only grown in a small spot in Sect Leader Yao’s territory, and after everything that happened at the Cloud Recesses a few months back, he already mentally said goodbye to it.
He wouldn’t be getting any more supplies from Sect Leader Yao after all, so this is more than surprising.
But the gifts don't stop there.
Parallelism, not equivalence, by DreamaholicsAnonymous
Wei Wuxian reminded him of Xingchen, Song Lan thinks, not for the first time.
Bring Your Secrets, Bring Your Scars, by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (fourth in a series)
Nie MingJue keeps his promises.
All Your Madness, I Will Tame, by Terri Botha (Isilwath) (fifth in a series)
Wen Qing in the Burial Mounds.
Puppy, by Speechless_since_1998
Returning home, Lan Zhan found his husband hiding behind the sofa and A-Yuan sitting on the ground playing with a puppy dog.
The puppy must have been a few months old, probably hadn't even been weaned. It was harmless, but Wei Ying didn't care. It was enough that it was a dog to be afraid.
“Ah, Lan Zhan! You finally arrived! Take that monster away!" Wei Ying pleaded, refusing to come out of hiding.
A-Yuan puffed out her cheeks, "Shiro is not a monster!"
Heaven, he had already given it a name.
Being Good, by ricochet
Lan Wangji tries to be good.
no shadow can touch, by sunflowersfield
When it is time to hand out the mics, Lan Zhan forces himself to lower his expectations. Their exchange will be fleeting, and Wei Ying will barely even look at him.
Or: Wei Ying is cast in a musical at his local community center. Lan Zhan is the theater technician.
make a mess (inside my heart), by avenqelic
Wei Wuxian looked comfortable against Lan Wangji’s white sheets, curled up in his blankets. Lan Wangji’s chest ached, mind swirling with possibilities – falling asleep looking into Wei Wuxian’s eyes, waking up in his arms, holding each other close as the moon shifted across the sky and the sun rose.
Finding a way home, by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens
Prompt idea for a less than one thousand words one shot! Lwj walks into a coffee shop and barista wwx cannot stop flirting with him while both of them are dying on the inside because the other is so handsome! Wwx writes his number on the cup! Up to you if lwj has an existencial crisis after finding the number or if he even finds the number. Bonus points if the oneshot ends with lwj going back to the cafe and wwx smiles at him when he sees him! — this is a.a. now with a prompt
DanTian - Planting Gentians (LWJ POV), by ArchiveWriter (1 chapter plus art)
Wei Ying's been up their old mountain early in the morning. Wangji does needlework and indulges in watching Wei Ying's hands. A slice of domestic contentment because I like them happy.
Tease, by annjellybean
Now, Wei Ying had long outgrown teasing his husband mercilessly the way he used to back in their childhood days, they had been through so much since then, he had honestly forgotten how to do so. That being said, it did not mean Wei Ying had completely forgotten his gremlin roots, and as a self-proclaimed gremlin husband, today he wanted to tease.
Pure Morning, by ShizunThirst
It’s on mornings like these that Lan Wangji can love Wei Wuxian the way he deserves to be loved.
deeper etchings, by fensandmarshes
“And remember, a-Yuan,” comes the voice, lowered but still loud as though it shuns the petty boundaries of the house, “you absolutely cannot tell diedie about this.”
Lan Wangji pauses, there in the middle of the portal array, halfway through setting down his bag, and tilts his head just slightly.
Caring Warmth, by MountainMist
Wei Ying is sick and lonely. Head empty only Lan Zhan.
And how Lan Zhan takes care of him.
just them, together., by adeptiwings
It was okay, now that it was just them.
the boy with rabbit ears, by dragontea
Lan Zhan got lost in an amusement park and found his way home in the company of the boy with rabbit ears.
heart-shaped knots, by twigofwillow
There’s been a ghost in Cloud Recesses for over thirty years, but no one has talked to her until now.
Setting Suns and Dawning Realisations, by wereworm
Wei Wuxian's plans for a romantic night out in Caiyi with Lan Zhan are ruined when he works late, the sun already setting by the time he makes his way home to the Jingshi. Instead, they enjoy a quiet night in and Wei Wuxian comes to terms with the peace that he'd fought so hard to earn and the life that's he's finally allowed to have.
[For the prompt: a sweet wangxian date night in]
Won This For You, by Preludian_Staves
He looks up as his husband comes into the room with something suspiciously large hidden behind his back.
A single soul (no more), by Lysdance1
The core transfer surgery goes as in canon BUT it leaves the spiritual link open between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian and, well, what goes one way can go both ways.
"It's what keeps him (mostly) sane, a tether in this dark place where he cannot feed and cannot sleep and cannot escape; through the link he feels - trickles of love, Jiang Cheng's worry for him. It shouldn't be enough, but somehow, in this dark, dark place, it is. It reminds him, faintly, of home, and in the dark he hears the rhythm of one, luminous, far away soul."
To Need Someone, by Preludian_Staves
"A-die?"
"Hm?"
"What does mean to need someone? To want them with you?"
Approval, by Speechless_since_1998
"You look tired, "he said, sipping his tea. He shouldn't, it wasn't kind. But he couldn't resist teasing him a little.
Lan Zhan stared at him blankly, "I've been drinking."
"I saw."
"I kissed Wei Ying."
"I saw that too."
And thanks to the gods there was no uncle because he hated worldly occasions, otherwise he would have a heart attack.
"We had sex at his adoptive parents' home."
"And?"
Lan Zhan raised an eyebrow, "Aren't you surprised?"
"Oh, sorry, now I'll try again ... Really? !!"
"You're not funny."
Unfinished:
Not Rated:
An Obsidian Among Jades, by bluebeads
What happens when a sad lost mantou cheeked Lan Zhan teams up with a cheerful one to find his family in the unfamiliar streets of Yilling. A Yu Ziyuan Ultimatum AU which I submitted a while ago on angstymdzsthoughts Also a Gusu Lan Sect Wei Wuxian.
I've had enough, by pluma1007
He is ascending. They’re minds unhelpfully supplied.
Then, Wei Wuxian is gone.
The cultivators are in disarray.
“Wei Wuxian… Wei Wuxian ascended!”
“How can this be?! A monster ascended?!”
“No! My core! My powers had diminished!”
Hearing that, the cultivators checked their cores. Gasps rang out the mountains. Enraged cries are heard, cursing Wei Wuxian. There are also those who kowtowed, praying for forgiveness. There are others who praised him.
Song of Joy and Regrets, by HelloKitten
The Archery competition at Qishan this year has hit a snag. As the Sects face the wrongs perpetrated by their future selves, Wei Wuxian finds himself adopted by half of the cultivation world who are determined to save him from himself.
Baby Wangxian suffers. Adult Wangxian's job here is done.
"I'm starting to see a pattern to all his plans..."
"Do they all involve him being bait?"
"Yes" came deadpanned responses.
Hua Cheng is not amused.
Rated E:
the long way back home, by Misila
Wei Ying always knew he was the single discordant note in the Jiang household. That was why, after graduating from university, he didn’t return home. With him gone, Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t have anyone to compare her son to, and Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t have to keep avoiding his own family to prevent further conflict.
…Right?
(Seven years later, married to the man of his life and with a four year-old son, Wei Ying returns to his hometown and tries to reconnect with his siblings and befriend his nephew; but, most of all, he struggles to figure out what’s wrong with his brother and how to help him, despite Jiang Cheng not wanting to have anything to do with him anymore.)
Will You Stand Beside Me, by trashgavin
Wei Wuxian takes all his strength and spits blood in Wen Chao’s face. His eyes narrow and he speaks, though his voice is quiet and full of pain.
“Go to hell.”
It only makes Wen Chao laugh. He releases his hair and stands to his feet. “Bring me a whip.”
Rated M:
For the Dust and the Dirt, by Nyxelestia
His breath came out in shaky gasps, but still he could do nothing as the demonic copy of himself brought the blade down to the bare skin of Wei Wuxian’s uninjured shoulder. He whimpered when he felt a small cut, then when the blade lifted. He didn’t have time to even think of relief before it came back, right next to the first cut in a different direction, then again below in a line, multiple small lines in multiple directions like…like a character.
“Like I said,” the demon mused as Wei Wuxian realized what it was doing. “I’ll write it down for you.”
A brutal assault on a Cloud Recesses student leaves the Cultivation world reeling. Wei Wuxian struggles to recover, while everyone else tries to make sense of an ominous message. But since when do demons care about sect politics, anyway?
Between Wen Ruohan's rising aggression, simmering tensions across the guest disciples, and the mysterious fierce corpses still popping up all over the place, Wei Wuxian would rather ignore the confusing, horrifying visions the demon left him with.
If only the demon's taunting predictions didn't keep coming true at every turn.
I Know How Those in Exile Feed on Dreams of Hope, by rabbit_habits & saltedpin
“What does it mean, that Wen Ruohan has all the Yin Iron?” Jiang Cheng asked, dragging himself up into a sitting position – her medicines must have worked quickly, because his ribs gave only a twinge when he moved.
Wen Qing settled down beside him, head bowed as she packed away her supplies, her shoulder brushing his arm when she moved. “It means that no one in the cultivation world can oppose him,” she whispered.
Canon divergence AU in which Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are captured by the Wens after escaping from the Xuanwu's cave, before they can return to rescue Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.
Misunderstood, by Silver_Flame_2724
There is something called a memory ball that shows the memories of a chosen person.
In order to further incriminate the already dead Yiling Patriarch, the cultivation world decides to use this memory ball at the next Discussion Conference to show how evil the demonic cultivator can truly be.
What appears, though, truly shocks them all.
laughing shadow, by ich_bin_ein_stern
During the commotion involving Wei Wuxian, A-Ling refused little sleep. His screams carried across Koi Tower, putting wailing ghosts too shame. He was inconsolable by everyone. It was only when Jin Zixuan unintentionally passed the room holding Wei Wuxian while trying to calm down his son did A-Ling miraculously settle down. Since then, he has slept peacefully every night. Yanli expressed, in the quiet and security of their bedroom, that perhaps Wei Wuxian's spirit soothed A-Ling and continues to do so.
At the least expected times, Jin Zixuan swears he can hear the distant sound of a flute.
But when he stops to actually listen for it, he hears nothing.
Come From My Inkstone, by magicgenetek
“So your plan,” Nie Mingjue said dubiously, “is to move into the Burial Mounds to write and illustrate erotica about you and Lan Wangji seducing the Yiling Patriarch to earn his trust and sell the public on the idea that he's not a threat, then convince him to give up the Yin Tiger Seal?"
“The way I said it sounded better,” Nie Huaisang said. “And you forgot the part about me seducing the Ghost General, that is crucial.”
“I hate this, and as your brother, I am begging you not to actually stick it in a fierce corpse. How much money do you need?”
Rated T:
Here We Go Again, by Alliandra
He looked over to where the swordswoman was still fighting, but her focus seemed entirely locked onto that fight so it was unlikely that she could have had anything to do with the energy drain. He was still wracking his brain for something else to do to assist, so this thing didn’t kill them both, but now he was feeling weak, dizzy and currently not far from helpless.
~~~~~~~~~~
It has been several months since the events at the Guanyin temple and Wei Wuxian is wandering around on his own. After he helps a stranger kill a very dangerous beast he uncovers what seems to be a conspiracy aimed at ending his life. He heads back to Cloud Recesses with his new companion in tow, looking to get Lan Wanji's help in working out what is involved.
Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling made a surprising discovery under Koi Tower that may well be linked to the threat against Wei Wuxian's life.
Can they all work together to find out what is going on and put a stop to it, before something disastrous occurs?
A place of Gold, by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens
A few days after Wei Wuxian has parted from Lan Wangji on a forest path, he gets surrounded by Jin officials in an Inn, who formally ask him to return to Jinlintai to fill in the position of Sect Leader, as is his right and duty.
Wei Wuxian thinks it is an artful prank. Until it is not.
Blossoming flowers in a full moon - 花好月圆, by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens
What if Wei Wuxian wasn’t able to get out of Lan Wangji’s grip at the cliff in Nevernight? What if Lan Wangji refused to let go?
All will be well when the day is done, by abCEE
The one where Yu Ziyuan time traveled but she thought that it was her visions of her alternate life.
She learned that there is a brat named Wei Ying who brought destruction to her and her family's life.
And so in her present, she vowed that she will never allow that to happen.
In which Yu Ziyuan found the four-year-old Wei Ying, newly pushed out of the inn where his parents left him, and decided that no, this child must never be associated with her, her family, and their sect at all.
And so Yu Ziyuan thought that she could bring him somewhere where someone may or may not find him but definitely far from where her husband could find him. If he's lucky, he'll survive that winter, if he's not, then death awaits the fevered child.
This is the extent of mercy that Yu Ziyuan could give a child.
With this, she'll raise her children without having to deal with a brat that brings trouble where he goes according to her visions of her alternate life.
Like the tag stated, this is definitely not Yu Ziyuan centric.
Rated G:
How Jin Zixuan Helps Everyone, by BryxcrSt
The Yunmeng Heroes, Twin Jades, Nie Huaisang, The Peacock, Cinnamon Roll Ghost General and Lan Qiren suddenly transport back to the past before the Conference in Qishan, with their very memory of how all their clans battled Wen Rouhan's and now they're all ready to prevent it from happening now that they're back to the past. Especially Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian.
Surprisingly, Jin Zixuan wants to help them instead of standing out of the front line like how he used to but what can he do?
To Repeat, Repay, and Repair, by adrian_kres
Wei Wuxian has died again and his family grieves. Lan Sizhui, now married and with children of his own, grieves the loss of both fathers, as Lan Wangji has entered seclusion. But somehow, he unknowingly sends himself back to the time he spent in the Burial Mounds at three years old. Will his family take his confused, nonsensical warnings seriously? Are they doomed to repeat the same fate?
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neuroduckvergency · 3 years
Text
was going to write this as an entire fanfiction but i got too occupied with college lol rip
"You're such a nerd."
"You know, I was probably listening for a good 20 seconds, but I just learned to tune you out when you start going on your tangents."
"The world isn't some Nerd Science Convention, you know."
Deep down inside, Huey knew his brothers didn't mean it when they made these comments. Or, at least, that's what he always tried to convince himself so that he wouldn't get too upset or hung up on them. But the reality of it was, it hurt him a lot. Being the oldest, Huey always just wanted to be of use to somebody, especially to his younger brothers, but as they got older, there was more of a disconnect between Huey and his other two brothers. Growing up moving house to house with Uncle Donald due to his financial issues, having to help Uncle Donald deal with said financial issues since he was a lone parent, made Huey gain a sense of responsibility, and maybe he grew up faster than he was supposed to. Huey was alright with that, because in his mind, he felt that he could still have fun and enjoy himself like a "normal kid" would do. Della coming back in the picture, and them moving in with Uncle Scrooge definitely took a lot of weight off of Huey's shoulders, but between all of the dangerous adventures the family would embark on almost weekly, it was hard for Huey not to step up and be the "adult" of the group at times. There's nothing wrong with that, right?
Except when Dewey would say that Huey would almost obsess over the idea of being the oldest triplet by 3 seconds, and Webby would make comments of Huey "living out of a book" rather than just living day by day, experiencing life as it comes along. Now, Huey always disagreed with this perspective of himself, and for good reason. He wasn't obsessed with being the oldest, he actually had experience being the oldest dealing with Dewey almost always putting his life in danger, and getting Louie out of whatever sticky situation he couldn't get himself out of.
But the more Huey tried to disagree with Webby's point about his "over usage" of his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, the harder it became to find good reasons to argue against it. Sure, the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook offered a worldwide viewpoint of survivor skills, and knowledge about history, mysteries and the way the world functions, but there were times where Huey was disappointed from his usage of the book: Whether it was debunking things that were eventually proven true, denying the own historical research he had (granted, it was very outlandish and if one did not experience it with their own eyes, it would be hard to believe), or not being able to function without being able to use it. That's what really struck out to him when he did the Senior Woodchuck challenge a few months back, how anxious he had gotten once he wasn't able to go through the course with his book on hand. Deep down inside, Huey knew that he could've fared well in the challenge had he not gotten so caught up in not being able to have his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook on hand, but having it with him was what he was used to. In a way, it provided a sense of security for him, especially when facing the unknown, which was undoubtedly his biggest fear.
But maybe, it wasn't normal for him to have reacted the way he had when he was told he couldn't even do as much as make eye contact to his book during the competition. Other past competitors, especially Violet, seemed to fare well without it. So why couldn't he? Maybe he wasn't as good as a woodchuck as Violet, but he definitely knew in his heart that he had the rules of the Guidebook memorized in his brain as if it was implanted into it. So why couldn't he go, I don't know, maybe 2 or 3 hours without it?
That's when Huey decided to do some research.
Of course, his first resource was from the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, but it didn't exactly deliver the answers that he personally needed. One thing about Huey, that all of the adults in his life have credited him for time and time again, is that when he's looking for answers, he always knew directly what kind of response he wanted, and he wouldn't allow himself to stop until he gets that desired response. So when the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook failed him, he went to the source he almost hated the most: The Internet.
Now Huey knew that the Internet had a tendency to overcomplicate, or overexaggerate certain things, but for some reason, when Huey found a certain answer, it almost resonated with him.
"repetitive movements, such as flapping their hands, flicking their fingers or rocking their body"
"not seeming to understand what others are thinking or feeling"
"liking a strict daily routine and getting very upset if it changes"
"finding it hard to make friends or preferring to be on their own"
"having a very keen interest in certain subjects or activities."
The keen interests, and liking a strict daily routine struck out to him the most. Huey never thought anything of them, but now seeing those words on a screen, linking to autism, a developmental disorder, made Huey put them into a whole new perspective. Made him put his whole personality in a new perspective, even.
Huey was used to other kids telling him that he was different, an outsider, an "old man in a child's body". But hearing that from a Doctor? Huey wasn't sure if he was ready for that kind of reality. Yet, at the same time, if this was something that Huey actually had, he wanted answers, and he knew that if he didn't reach out to a Doctor and get those answers, all he would do is obsess over the thought of it, and get even more anxious and stressed.
His research online told me that while there weren't any medications that were prescribed for autism as it's not something that can be treated with medication, there is therapy available for it. Huey remembered Uncle Donald and his Mom having Louie start to go to therapy for his anxiety attacks, but he also remembered how they reacted when they finally realized something was wrong with Louie.
Now, don't get him wrong: Uncle Donald and his Mom were two of the best parents that a kid could have, especially a kid growing up in the conditions that he and his brothers did. Huey knew that no matter what, they loved their boys with all of their hearts, and will do anything to make sure they're okay. But when Louie started having his anxiety attacks, it was as if a light switched, and things went from 0 to 100 rapidly. Constantly checking on Louie, not allowing him much personal space, almost treating Louie as if he was 5 years old again. Huey knew that this was only out of love, but Huey could also sense Louie's growing annoyance with it and imagined himself being annoyed as well if he constantly had the two breathing down his neck. Even in times when Louie would call them out for it, it wasn't long before they were right back at it again.
At the same time, Huey knew that he needed some adult to accompany him if he were to get diagnosed, as minors weren't allowed to go to appointments without the presence and permission of an adult. And Huey knew that at some point, his Mom and Uncle Donald would have to know, if they didn't find out themselves.
But what if they didn't have to know right now? What if Huey had another adult figure accompany him to the appointment, found out whatever answers he needed and worked through them, and then once he was ready, tell his mom, Uncle Donald, Uncle Scrooge, his brothers, Webby, and whoever else needed to know?
The idea sounded good in theory, but he definitely needed a plan of attack, especially since Della and Uncle Donald were the only ones who were legally on his documents. He also needed to figure out who he felt comfortable with taking him.
Huey already knew Uncle Scrooge was a hard pass. Not that he didn't trust him, because he did, but the only experience Scrooge had with raising and taking care of children was occasionally baby sitting Uncle Donald and his mother as kids, and Huey didn't know how exactly he'd handle the situation at hand and didn't want to risk it. Beakley, on the other hand, had tons of experience with raising and caring for Webby on her lonesome, but would also probably encourage him to confide in his parents about it, if not telling them herself. So another hard pass.
That's when another idea came to Huey's mind, and he almost immediately ran out of the mansion to find the source.
"So you... want me to attend your doctor's appointment with you?" Fenton asked.
"Please," Huey begged, "You're the only person I trust with this."
--- @neurodihuegent
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