#been queueing paintings I like for the rest of the year with timing based on era. currently we are in the medieval era and there is: nothing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lipstickstainz · 4 years

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true lies - s. r. (8/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: You and Spencer meet at your favorite coffee shop - and he asks you to spend some time with him.

Warnings: some minor talk about injuries, mostly fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: hello friends! here’s part 8! I hope you like it. gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

previous part

As you enter the bullpen through the glass door, you are immediately stopped. "What are you doing here?", Emily asks, confused. She's standing at JJ's desk, both of them holding a coffee cup, looking at you in amazement. "I told you to stay home."

As you set your bag down on your desk, you wince briefly. "It's boring at home. Besides, it's just a minor bruise, Emily. And sitting at a desk doesn't require much physical exertion. I can handle it."

JJ presses her lips together. "I thought the doctor put you on bed rest because you narrowly escaped a broken rib." You give her a meaningful look. "Sorry, Y/N. You should take that seriously."

"You don't have to stab me in the back, though", you say playfully, and the three of you grin. "Desk duty?" Your eyes shift to Emily. She shakes her head and you sigh.

"We're on a case, Y/N. So no desk duty, and like JJ said, the doctor put you on bed rest."

You cross your arms in front of your chest, carefully, because the skin underneath is stained dark blue. You took quite a beating on your last case. The unsub kicked you in the torso with all his might as you tried to wrestle him down. And even though the pain shot through your whole body like a lightning bolt, you managed to do it.The result is a bruised rib that hurts a lot, but isn't so bad that you can't go on a mission.

Only Emily disagrees. "Go home, Y/N. Get some rest. If we need your help, we'll get back to you." You want to say something else, but she beats you to it. "That's an order."

Reluctantly, you shoulder your bag and try not to let the pain in your torso show. "You promise to call me if you need anything, though?"

Both women paint a cross over their chests where the heart is located. "Word of honor."

You don't feel like going home, because there's absolutely nothing waiting for you there. You could clean - which is against the bed rest, which you wouldn't stick to anyway - or cook something sensible, because your stomach has only had to experience ready-made meals and fast food lately, but you don't feel like it. Although it would be just the thing for you. A bit of everyday life would do you good, maybe take your mind off Spencer for a bit, and honestly, your life needs to get back on track.

So before you head to your local supermarket, you step into your favorite coffee shop. The smell of coffee wafts into your nose and the atmosphere alone warms you up, even though it's not particularly cold outside. You stand at the end of the queue, examining the pastries displayed in a small window. After ordering, you wait patiently for your drink and the muffin you couldn't pass without your mouth watering. The barista wishes you a nice day as she hands you the cup and you make your way towards the exit.

"Y/N?"

Your gaze lingers on Spencer, who is sitting at one of the small tables. In front of him are several loose sheets of paper that take up the entire table and an empty coffee cup. You bite your lower lip. It's been several weeks since you've seen each other, as Spencer's one hundred days of work has expired and he's now teaching some students. As he smiles at you, you realize how much you've missed him these past few days.

"Hi, Spencer", you smile at him as you stand in front of his table. Your fingers curl around the back of the empty chair in front of you. "How are you?"

He reaches for the slips of paper in front of him and folds them before putting them in his pocket. "I'm fine, thanks." He closes his bag before placing it on the table. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a case to solve?"

"Emily gave me the day off. I took a kick and bruised up on our last case, so I'm not allowed to go out on case", you explain, shrugging. Spencer looks you up and down. He's probably trying to figure out where the injury is. "She sent me home again this morning."

Spencer gets up from his chair, shoulders his bag, and walks with you toward the exit. "So what are you planning to do today?"

"I was thinking about cooking myself something delicious and doing a little cleaning at home. To bring a bit of everyday life into my life," you answer and your tone tells him that you don't feel like it at all. "I'm not so sure about the cooking yet, though. After all, I don't want to risk food poisoning."

Spencer has to smile in response. "I can remember that. Everyday life isn't quite your thing."

You nod and pucker your mouth. "Right. But I have to do something. And just sitting around at home waiting for the day to be over isn't an option."

Together, you walk a short distance, chatting about his students until you arrive at your car. You push the button on your key and hear the central locking system open. You open the driver's door. "See you around, Spencer," you say goodbye and are about to get in, but Spencer stops you.

"You could come with me", he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah. I'm about to teach another class, and you're welcome to join me." Blush rises to his face, and you're not quite sure if he's serious and really wants you there. But when he lifts his gaze from his shoes and looks you in the eye, your doubts evaporate. "So?"

"I'm actually Emily's phone joker“, you give out, because really, you're not sure spending the day with Spencer is the right thing to do, even if you'd only be sitting in the back of the lecture hall. "She wants to call me if they need help." You see Spencer's expression darken. Apparently he was excited to have you on board today, and your cancellation actually seems to hit him a bit. You take a deep breath. "But I'll still be happy to come along. If Emily does call, it could be very interesting for your students."

A smile spreads across his face, reaching up to his eyes. "Well then, let's go. Class starts in twenty minutes."

There's something comforting about sitting in the back of the lecture hall and listening to Spencer explain things to his students. It reminds you of the time you sat on your couch in the evenings, eating delivery dinners and watching documentaries. The TV sound was always on mute because Spencer's knowledge was so vast that his versions of the documentaries were much more exciting than the original versions. Those evenings had been perfect. Listening to him now, with a passion that seems all too familiar, the way he explains things and the looks he casts around the room, some sticking to you, come pretty close to those perfect evenings.

The ringing of your phone snaps you out of your thoughts. The students in front of you turn around in annoyance and you apologize as you get up from your seat. Spencer looks at you questioningly, but you just press your lips together into a thin line as you look at him and leave the lecture hall.

"What's up, Emily?", you ask her as you answer the call.

"The unsub always leaves puzzles at the crime scene", she begins without greeting you. You don't blame her. "And always different puzzles. Self-created crossword puzzles, number sequences, picture puzzles and symbol series, for example. Maybe you can take a look at them sometime." Emily emails you the puzzles, and before you can ask how the case is going, the line goes silent. Typical Emily.

You open the emails and are inundated with images. Emily definitely didn't overstate. As you head back into the lecture hall, you give Spencer a meaningful look.

"Excuse me for a moment", he says to his students and is with you in just a few steps. "Does Emily have something for us?"

Us. As he says the word, you warm to it. While he doesn't mean it the way you'd like, you're incredibly glad that he considers you friends. Although, really, you don't deserve it, because it's all based on a lie. You push the thought aside. Spencer is standing so close to you that you can breathe in his perfume and feel the warmth of his body. You have to pull yourself together not to inhale his scent deeply.

"The unsub leaves puzzles at the scene", you describe the situation, handing him your phone so he can take a look. You can practically see his brain start to rattle and before you can do anything, Spencer walks forward again.

"So, guys. This", he turns back to his students and gestures for you to join him with a wave. Tense and a little nervous, you stand next to him and raise your hand. "Is my colleague and friend SSA Y/N Y/L/N. Since she sustained some injuries on her last case, she is assisting me today." He hands your phone back to you. "Can you project the pictures on the wall somehow?" he whispers to you and you have to grin. The guy has several PhDs, but can't manage to connect a cell phone to a projector. You tap the screen a few times, playing it safe to make sure the projector on the ceiling is actually turned on, and moments later the puzzles appear on the wall behind you. Spencer smiles at you.

"Today you have the honor of working on a real and, more importantly, current case", Spencer speaks to the students again, curiosity spreading across their faces. They all sit up straight and listen intently as he paces. "Unit Chief Prentiss and our team are in the field right now and have found these puzzles at the crime scenes. Please take a look and let us know your thoughts. Maybe you can give us an important clue."

Immediately, the students start talking to each other, sharing theories and jotting down their thoughts on paper. Spencer and you lean against his desk at the time, watching the scene. You keep noticing how some of the female students give him ogling looks, but as soon as they meet your gaze, awkwardly turn back to the task at hand.

"How many people audit in your class?", you ask him quietly, Spencer shrugs. "Because I think the girls in the first two rows are just here to stare at you." You nudge him with your shoulder and stifle a grin.

"You and your imaginations", he replies, but he has to grin, too. He opens his mouth, about to say something else, but a student beats him to it.

"Professor, agent, I think we've found something."

And indeed. Together you are able to crack the puzzles, which takes the rest of the day, but neither you two nor the students complain about it. After you update Emily on your progress and send the students home, they actually thank you and ask if you'll keep coming to class.

As Spencer packs up his things and the last people leave the lecture hall, you wait patiently for him at the exit. The day has been pretty exhausting, but you're glad you got to spend it with Spencer. You're sure that today is a very good start for a friendship. And that alone makes your heart beat a little faster.

A young woman suddenly stops in front of you, and you avert your eyes from Spencer. You recognize her. She was sitting in the front row until just now, and she was one of the girls staring at Spencer throughout.

"Agent Y/L/N?" She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and chews on her bottom lip. She's visibly nervous. "Can I ask you something?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Sure."

"Are you ... I mean ... are you and Professor Reid a couple?", she stammers. "I know it's a pretty personal question. But I've noticed the way they look at each other and -"

"We're colleagues and friends", you interrupt her immediately. You don't sound harsh, but your tone doesn't leave room for another question either, so she turns away with a quick nod of her head and disappears from the lecture hall. You look after her.

How did you look at each other? The way friends do, right? Maybe there was some longing in your looks, after all, you love Spencer, but you're pretty sure that wasn't the case with him. When Spencer walks up to you and puts a hand on your arm, you flinch briefly in shock. "Are you okay?"

You nod at him. "Uh, yeah." Together, you leave the room. Should you tell him about the question? Or would that be weird in light of the fact that you had actually been a couple once? "She had another question." Spencer looks at you, a sign that you should keep talking. "She asked if we were a couple." At your answer, he stops and looks at you curiously. "She was one of the ones eyeing you. She said we looked at each other in a special way, or something. But I think she just wanted to know if you were available." The situation is so weird that you can't stop talking. Luckily, Spencer eventually interjects.

"And what did you say to her?" He sounds unsure.

"What would you like me to have said to her, Spencer? We're colleagues and friends." You adjust the bag on your shoulder and smile slightly at him before turning and continuing towards the exit. You want to escape this moment and are relieved when the wind outside hits your face and cools your heated skin. Finally, you can take a breath.

You don't see Spencer's expression twist and his voice is just a whisper that you don't notice. "Right ... friends."

next part

- tags -

@obsssedwithjustaboutanything // @ashwarren32 // @slytherinbth // @rexorangecouny // @candlemouse // @lexymoniqu // @m3sml // @username2002 // @calliecookie // @haylaansmi // @thehuntresswolf // @skyslowalking // @padsfirewhisky // @criminalminds4days // @criminallyoddsocks // @takeyourleap-of-faith // @vladsgirlxx // @justdianaz // @x2moonlight2x-blog // @countingthestarsinfinitely // @box-of-fandom-stuff // @sergeantbuckybarnes // @princesssmooshie // @sassiest-politician // @ littledm2000 // @a-broken-pact // @strawberry-tea // @sassy-hades // @danrad-rdj4ever // @takeyourleap-of-faith // @smell-my-twisted-shadows // @poeticsassandtrash // @wintrrrsoldier // @peaceluvnirvana // @jemimah-b99 // @lokislilslut // @advicefromnixxxx // @panicattheeverywherekid // @my-guilty-pleasures--of-life // @itsdars @pjmjams // @imagine-this-motherfucker // @sasbb23 // @fivedicksinatrenchcoat // @missyoumaybank // @blameitonthenight21 // @s-r-16 // @knee-coall // @hamlewis // @twodirtymindedgirls // @peoplejustcanthandlemywierdness // @imdefinitelyfloating // @crazyloca06 // @gardenroses1 // @saspencereid // @enchantedlove90 // @sizzlingclamturtlesludge // @moondustmemories // @bambi-is-my-name // @beg0neth0t420 // @william-shookespeare // @pancake2603 // @ayo-cowbelly // @herbstmelody // @frnks-stuff // @mimischaos // @lilxnvm // @archiveofadragon // @burnin-passion // @oddobsessionbutotay // @chaoticdreamsss // @ghostly-ginger // @knittingstudyblr // @gorbagreb // @biafbunny // @ayo-cowbelly // @ellyseveronica // @saspencereid // @takethee // @ethereal-stark // @shirayuki1204 // @spencerreidspp // @jesuswasnotawhiteman // @stinkykay // @exzidss // @ifuckinghatepinapples // @youhaveabadconnection // @kaseyjohnson04 // @vampiracontessa // @princesssmooshie // @gardenroses1 // @r0s3mm // @willyoulovemeinthemorning // @rrtxcmt

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader

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shatterthefragments · 3 years

Text

I posted 1,516 times in 2021

360 posts created (24%)

1156 posts reblogged (76%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.2 posts.

I added 1,225 tags in 2021

#i shatter queue - 713 posts

#art - 77 posts

#vent - 66 posts

#saved - 64 posts

#video - 57 posts

#quizzes - 56 posts

#uquiz - 55 posts

#yes - 48 posts

#and bc i love your tags: - 46 posts

#things that make me happy - 43 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#on a more serious note i still don’t really think anybody would ever want to date me and that’s probably a sign i’m not ready but alsolonely

My Top Posts in 2021

The Joy In Our Embrace

For @unaestheticbiostudent - Happy new year! Hope you like the art and drabble! :D

Created for @bentomodachi‘s New Year Gift Exchange

Kouhei and Taichi walked to the park, and were the only ones there, despite it being a lovely day. There was a bench over by some trees, and they sat down side by side, curling into each other.

It wasn't long before they were fully snuggled up together. Taichi brought his legs up and draped them over one of Kouhei's. They leaned in to each other. Kouhei's hands rested on top of Taichi's knee as Taichi hugged him from the side. Their heads leaned in towards each other and touched in a lovely head bonk of love. It was perfect.

Find The Joy In Our Embrace on AO3 here!

progress pics under the cut!

Progress pics!

Thank you to Senshistock on deviantart who had the pose reference that I based this off of!

There was an inked photo, but I didn’t like it, so I didn’t put it here. Pencil -> ink -> watercolour pencil crayons -> water -> watercolour paints for the background

Painting is hard, but I am still having so much fun with it, so I hope you like the end result too!

6 notes • Posted 2021-01-06 01:39:06 GMT

tag people you want to get to know better/catch up with!

tagged by @rhubarbdreams and @boutiquetraveltravelboutique

Thank you both! For the doubled questions - doubled answers muahahaha

I got a bit wordy so under the cut it shall go!

Favourite colour: blue? Currently reading: ...like physically or digitally? Physically: Romeo and/or Juliet, but slowly. Digitally: trying to catch up on All The Things (like. I have. Over 600 email subscriptions to TOG alone...)

Last song: Holy by King Princess (as that was my sleep song last night) and before that it's hard to tell because I was queueing to see what I felt like sleeping to that night (I just repeat the song for an hour on the sleep timer) so probably either The Worst [Polyphia] or Soda [Nothing But Thieves] or Sleeping In Waking [Rina Sawayama]

Last Movie/Film: ok ok so. I thought it was Waves. But it might have actually been Wolf. Time is hard. Both of these were Quite Some Time ago now.... but since this is a doubled question: Waves and Wolf! Last Series: Leverage! (I haven't seen Redemption yet though) Sweet/Savoury/Spicy: oooh all of them <3

Tea or coffee: Ahhhh both? I'm currently not having coffee, nor do I go out of my way to make my own tea right now (but I will grab a mug when dad makes it). But during the school semester I'll usually have coffee in the morning (and maybe in the afternoon too if I'm tired) and keep adding hot water to my travel tea mug throughout the day, too!

Currently Working On: cleaning my desk so I can maybe start the art/pictures for the bottom Joe week belated thing haha oops... but who knows maybe I'll be in too much pain idk. Moving upper arm is not fun rn. But also sort of started the writing part of it~ Might make it sexy despite originally wanting to do it non-explicit! (I'm not sure if I'm good per se, but I'm less hung up over doing more explicit stuff after doing the top Joe pornathon) Then once I finish that I'm hoping to seriously rework my Etsy Chronicles (working title) and for that one maybe I'll even try to find a beta? idk. I am so excited for it though!!!!

Currently watching: ummmm nothing? Sometimes maybe youtube a bit? I'll loop a video of music (rn usually Ichika Nito or Tim Henson) for the background... intending to watch Hartenstraat <3

Craving: food: maybe chocolate mousse because I said I would make it as long as mum helped (limited use of the arm I got jabbed in rn wo pain so I just avoid moving it in ways it'll hurt). drink: we were going to get bubble tea after our second dose appts, but bc of the timing, they were closed. So maybe one of the fruity bubble teas!

I forgot to tag initially, but if you have time and want to!:

@alkaysani @caffeinatedbraincell @kiaya @nickydestati @posingasme @randofando-spoonie <3

6 notes • Posted 2021-07-28 06:57:10 GMT

*screams “FUCK” like Roy but like. My voice isn’t anywhere near as fuzzygravelly as his*

Ted Lasso y’all are just fucking me UP I love it and I’m here for it but also it would be nicer if I had access to a counsellor or something right now bc FEELINGS.

8 notes • Posted 2021-11-27 07:00:20 GMT

snapshots // my beloved // my heart

Filled my bingo card (at the last moment of course) for @yusufalkaysanibingo !

A collection of many things - art, drabbles, little ficlets, a poem, and photographic collages! (Little teaser shown above!)

12 notes • Posted 2021-11-01 02:09:14 GMT

SAME IF I EVER WHEN I FIND SOMEONE

13 notes • Posted 2021-05-17 20:04:55 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Shatters’ fragments #long post

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sweeethinny · 4 years

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Prompt idea (if u have the time:)): hinny taking 3-4 yr old teddy to a muggle amusement park. Or Disneyland I would looovvee for them to meet Mickey and Minnie and go on a few rides:)))

I LOVED WRITING THIS. (I left Teddy with six years old, so he could enjoy more)

I never went to Disney, in fact, I never left the South of Brazil, which is where I live, so like that, I really have no idea what a Disney park is like, only by videos and photos, so if there is something wrong, please ignore I love to write about these simple moments of Harry with the family, and I think this one shot was really good, thanks for the prompt! (it got a little big, but who cares?)

Teddy had been asking for a time to make this trip, Mathew, one of his classmates, had already been to the park more than four times and always came back with news, which left the boy saddened that he could not meet.

Harry rented several films of Mickey Mouse and his friends, his weekends together were based on watching that mouse go by boat, drive a car or build a house. But still, it didn't seem enough.

During the mid-year vacation, Harry managed to take a week off, just like Ginny, and they bought plan tickets to that park in the United States (because Teddy wanted to live the whole experience, and Andromeda was saying that the boy would not be well in a portal key)

None of the three had ever traveled by plane, so when they got on that machine, Ginny was already feeling sick and feeling a cold sweat running down her back.

''How can this be safe?'' She could barely look out the window as the pilot took off

''You fly on a broom, Gin-Gin'' Teddy looked shocked by his godmother's fear ''Will it be long? Wooow, look at this'' He pointed to the small screen in front of them, with the path the plane would take, movies and games to distract bored children and adults.

''I control the broom, and it's just me on it, not me and 100 more people'' She sighed, looking over the head of the godson who was enjoying the technology, staring at Harry who smiled more excitedly than ever ''You seem very happy for someone who is going to a playground''

''I always wanted to meet'' he admitted, not in the least resentful that he was finally going to Disney. He was sure that if it went with the Dursleys, it would be as bad as that time at the zoo.

The trip was fine, after a while Ginny seemed amazed that they were passing through the clouds, as well as Teddy on her lap and Harry who sneaked in to get to see too.

Harry had bought the tickets for three days, and it only started tomorrow, so by the time they arrived around 11AM, Teddy already looked like he was about to pass out from anxiety.

''Let's go for a walk around town first, buddy'' Harry reminded him, packing his muggle clothes and looking in the mirror of the hotel room they had rented ‘'Let's go to the beach, to the mall, we can have ice cream .. Even eat hamburgers'' The godson smiled from ear to ear, nodding excitedly

Harry was also happy, fulfilled to be traveling and going to see the damn talking mouse he saw in the comic he stole from Dudley, but also, very happy that he could be creating that memory with Teddy

''Why the hell do they have so much ... this thing of buying crappy food?'' Ginny asked, looking curiously at the passing streets, while Harry calmly drove the car they had rented, worried that he needed to use magic here or there ''We've been through more than ten, and we've barely left our neighborhood''

''Fast Food? I don't know, maybe they want to die early'' Harry turned his attention back to the traffic lights, ignoring the conversation Teddy had with Gin about whether or not they could eat one of those.

In the end, she decided that they would only eat once, because she would never let Teddy get clogged with that plastic food

They toured much of Orlando, visited shopping, bought gifts, clothes, toys, even a new sofa, which they would shrink and send by Flu later.

They visited some sights, took a lot of photos, especially when they went to the beach, and ate at one of those fast foods that had passed earlier, even though Ginny kept saying that it wasn’t real food and that there was no way that meat came from a live animal.

''I'm so excited'' Teddy said as soon as they left the American 'Diagonal Alley', which was much bigger than what they had in London, but much more hidden, being in a neighborhood far from the city center. His godson was in his lap, almost sleeping on Harry's shoulder, the hair constantly changing between animated pink and natural blue, sighing tiredly.

''We had a busy day, you need to rest to be able to play tomorrow'' Ginny helped the boy into the car, adjusting the little one in his appropriate seat and making sure he didn't end up with a neck pain from sleeping askew.

''I know .. '' Teddy sighed, closing his eyes before Harry even started the car and returned to where they were staying

''I bought the best tickets, they said we would not be in the public queue and that way we could access the toys more easily''

''You're excited, aren't you?'' Ginny put her hand on his thigh, also resting her head on his shoulder, her cheeks flushed from all the sun they had caught and looking absurdly beautiful wearing that yellow summer dress with her hair stuck up

'' Teddy is so happy and ... it makes me happy '' Harry kissed the top of the red head '' I want him to have amazing memories with me '' Ginny didn't answer, she was also sleeping, and Harry had to smile as he stared that scene, finding it almost unreal that he himself was there.

The next day, it was barely seven in the morning when Teddy jumped out of bed, waking up his godfather with all his enthusiasm, jumping in the middle of the couple and getting them up.

'' We're going to be late '' He whimpered when Ginny got in the shower, and Harry started ordering their breakfast

'' Teddy, we need to eat before we leave, and we're still on time '' Harry reminded him, forcing the boy to stay put while he applied sunscreen on his flushed cheeks '' We don't want you to get burned and be sore the first day, right? '' He fixed the cap his godson had bought the day before, helping him put it on his head.

'' I'm excited '' Teddy justified '' Mathew said that there is a castle, and that inside you can meet Mickey .. Can we meet Mickey? Please''

'' We can '' Harry had to restrain himself from saying that he also wanted to take a picture with that human dressed as the character. Not that he expected it to be a real mouse that was there.

After Ginny got out of the bath, wearing comfortable clothes to walk in a park, and they ate, the three finally headed towards Disney, following the map they had bought so they wouldn't get lost, talking animatedly about what they would do and where they would go when to get there (even if they didn’t quite know what to expect).

''Holy Merlin!'' Ginny looked most shocked when they parked, wide-eyed and blinking in wonder at the immensity of that park, definitely not a simple playground with some giant wheels and anything else that would entertain children.

Even she could almost feel anxious to start going on all the roller coasters around.

''I don't even know where to start'' Harry admitted, feeling like a child in the middle, so happy that his eyes shone with enthusiasm behind his sunglasses. ''Where do you want to start, Teddy?''

''I don't know'' The boy looked just as shocked. Flashing to all the stores, characters and attractions that were just in sight

The three began to stroll with much more enthusiasm than in the city, stopping at themed shops and buying ice cream, sweets, more gifts, and the long-awaited Mickey and Minnie ears, in various colors and shapes. Harry was wearing a traditional one, Ginny with one that was Minnie, blue and red, and Teddy with one from the movie 'Fantasia', which came with a 'wizard' hat, painted with moons and stars.

Ginny dragged them off to ride a roller coaster of terror, and Harry seemed the only one who was somewhat fond of the toy that was completely in the dark, even Teddy screamed with excitement at every descent they took, or scare they took. The next was another roller coaster, but this time with spins and falls, which caused scream and arms up, while the wind in face seemed to suffocate them.

''That was the coolest thing I've ever done!'' Teddy jumped for joy, his cheeks flushed with the newest emotion

''It looked like I was flying but without the broom, and no control'' Ginny also seemed close to jumping ''Let's go to the one who says it's 3D ..'' And so they went, as many toys as possible, passing through the Tower of Terror (which made Teddy cling to Harry) and a few more roller coasters, some that passed through the water and wet them whole, others that were quiet and let them admire the view

In the end, the time finally came that they most wanted it.

''Let's see Mickey!’' Ginny shouted excitedly as she joined the row, fixing up the Daisy themed hat she had bought and the new sunglasses ''Are you excited?'' Teddy nodded, eating his ice cream sandwich with the Mickey's face ''And you, Harry?''

''Also. Will Minnie be there?'' He could barely contain his enthusiasm, adjusting the tiara with ears on his head, not bothering to look like an idiot.

"I hope so, she looks so cool .. Daisy was super nice to me, and we won't even talk about Cinderella!" Ginny smiled again "Ahhh, we're coming"

''I'm so nervous'' Teddy sighed, seeming to do his utmost to keep from changing his hair color (They were in a dark shade like Harry's)

''Don't be, everything will be fine'' One more couple and it would be them, Harry could barely hold his smile ''Do you think I should take off the tiara?'' Ginny denied next to Teddy

''You look beautiful with her '' Gin nodded

When they were finally called, Harry thought that both he, his godson and his wife, would pass out in excitement. Mickey and Minnie were there! On their fronts!

''HI! What do we have here? Are you eating my face?'' Mickey bent down to be as tall as Teddy, who looked so embarrassed and nervous, and red as a tomato

''Hi, Mr Mickey'' The people around him laughed softly, admiring when the boy hugged him. The camera clicks didn't seem to end, and Ginny was more than excited to decorate the new photo album (which they had purchased with the park theme) with those. "Hi Mrs. Minnie" Teddy greeted the other mouse as well.

''Hello dear, you are very polite'' The woman bent down too, returning the hug. The five took the photo, Harry could barely contain his smile and Ginny looked almost ready to jump for joy when Minnie praised her.

''OK. That was the most incredible thing we've ever done. Forget winning the Quidditch Cup, Minnie praised me!''

''My chances are gone. Minnie, I will never get super you'' Harry admitted, as he took them to another attraction

''Never, it's a shame baby'' Ginny kissed his cheek ''But at least we're already married, so..'' She shrugged

The rest of the day was very lively, and in the end, when they stayed to watch the fireworks, Harry barely knew why he wanted to cry, holding Teddy on his shoulders so he could see better, and smiling like a child.

''It's beautiful'' Ginny leaned on her husband ''And look, we're wizards'' She whispered that part, making the man laugh

"It's because they really try, there's no wand trick," he whispered back, laughing when he saw her wipe a single tear that ran. Harry kissed her, quickly, just to mark that moment ''Thank you for being here''

'’I thank myself for accepting your marriage proposal. I never would have come here if it weren't for you.'' Harry laughed, so happy and light he didn't even look like himself. Ginny stood on tiptoe, pulling Teddy's hand to kiss her ''And with you, my Teddy Bear''

''Our next trip'' Harry started, as they headed back to the parking lot, Teddy still on his shoulders, admiring everything ''It's to Universal's park. I heard they have an attraction about wizards.'' His wife's eyes shone

''It must be hilarious .. We will ''

And they went, but that time, there was one more participant in the trip, one who, already with them at Disney, was just hiding in Ginny's belly

#hinny #harry x ginny #harry potter #teddy lupin #hinny fluff #hinny moments #hinny familiar moments #hinnyprompt #harry potter prompt #hp couples #hp next gen #next gen harry potter #harry one shot #my fic #read-a-hinny-fic

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starrybethany · 4 years

Text

Pierre Engvall: Rewind by Rascal Flatts

Word count: 2331

Music video link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPcASvgb7yg

Lyrics link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LEJRDWJYG8

Wish I could reach up and reset that sun

Reverse these wheels go back and re-pick you up

Went by so fast, oh, so sweet

Make me wanna remake a memory

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were working today,” my co-worker squeals excitedly as I walk into the quaint coffee shop.

“Yeah, my plane landed yesterday,” I inform her, pulling my apron over my head and yanking my hair out of the strap.

“How was Sweden?” She asks.

I know I could tell her so much. I could tell her about the beautiful weather and how my classes were so informative and how the culture is just so amazing.

But I also just want to tell her about one person who made the whole experience perfect.

The one person who could convince me to avoid my responsibilities and stay in that foregin nation for the rest of my life, the person who I could stare at forever without noticing the sun rising or setting.

I could tell her about how he would pick me up from my host family’s house to go to the bar at night in his expensive little convertible and it would make my host dad shake his head and laugh and my host sister smile with jealousy.

Or how he would push me on the swings at the park practically every night and would tell me all about his hockey team in Canada and funny stories about how stupid his teammates are.

“Y/N?”

I snap out of my thoughts, remembering her question. I don’t want to tell her any of those things. I feel like my relationship with Pierre is too personal to spread around- I want to remember him intimately.

“It was good. It was really, really good.”

Wish I had me a time machine

Oh, I float the moon back up in the sky

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

“2012.” He squints those brown eyes that I spend too long looking into at the bottle, reading the label.

“You spent $200 on red wine from 2012?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Well it’s from France.”

I laugh at that and he cracks a smile, popping the cork and holding the bottle out as an offering. I hold my glass out towards him, watching as he begins to pour.

“Pierre that’s too much,” I giggle as he pours practically half of the bottle into the glass.

He laughs himself, pulling the bottle away and giving himself half of what he’s given me.

“It’s like you’re trying to get me drunk or something,” I tease.

“Or something,” he repeats, watching as I take a sip. “Can I braid your hair?”

“What?” I ask, confused by the sudden question.

“Can I braid your hair? I’ve just always wanted to try and your hair is so pretty.”

I can tell he’s becoming nervous by my delayed response so I nod, turning so my back is to him. I tug my locks out of it’s loose ponytail and ask, “Do you know how?”

“I can figure it out,” he answers. I can feel him move behind me and the Swedish music he put on to ‘cultivate me’ as he put it, becomes distant as his fingers grip my hair.

I lean back into his hands, closing my eyes and enjoying this moment of the two of us together. I don’t know how many more moments like this I’ll get. I have to leave to go back home in a couple of months and I don’t know if I’ll ever see Pierre after this.

It’s a summer love kind of thing.

His hands move to rest gently on my shoulders as my hair rests down my back.

“It’s not working,” he says in a hushed voice.

I hum in response, just enjoying the feeling of his company in mine. He lets it happen.

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

“I used to be obsessed with astrology when I was younger,” I admit, staring up at the stars.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Um,” I point up at the stars and feel Pierre’s burning skin on my own as his hands slide down to grip my waist. “Do you want to know where the stars are or do you just want to fondle me all night?”

“I can do both,” he replies, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek. I laugh in response.

“Do you see that bright star, right there? Follow it down and there’s the Big Dipper. And where the Big Dipper is the Little Dipper is.” My eyes scan the sky as Pierre squeezes my waist, mumbling something quietly to himself.

It takes me a while to focus but as soon as I locate the constellation I light up. “To the right and down is the Little Dipper.”

“What about, uh, Halley’s Comet?” He questions, leaving a kiss on the back of my neck.

“Babe, Halley’s Comet comes once every seventy five years,” I tease, turning around in his arms to face him. His arms slither to rest on my lower back loosely and he leans forward, connecting his chapped lips to my own.

I will never get over kissing Pierre. Everytime we kiss it feels like the first time and I could live with that feeling for the rest of my life. He pulls back and smiles at me, brown eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Then he gives me a kiss. And another one. And another one.

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

“I hate to end this,” I mumble into his chest. “But I have class early in the morning so I should probably sleep before then.”

“Or you could just pull an all-nighter,” he suggests, tugging me tighter into him.

I grin. “If I pull an all-nighter you won’t be seeing me tomorrow night.”

“Then let’s get you to bed,” he responds, holding his hands out to help me rise to my feet. Our hands stay interlocked once I’m stable on my feet and they stay that way during the walk to the car.

I turn back that radio dial re-open your door,

Try to talk George Strait into giving us an encore

“Oh, a gentleman,” I tease as he opens the passenger’s door for me. He rolls his eyes but waits until I’m seated in his car, closing the door and running to the driver’s side.

“Are you going to play some more of what we were listening to on the way here or are you going to switch it up?” I question.

Pierre likes to put on a Swedish singer whenever we’re in the car to educate me on how many talented people come out of Sweden. I’m aware of it already since plenty of NHL players, including him, come from this nation but I don’t mind listening to music so I don’t say anything.

“Let’s change it,” he decides, “Have you listened to Avicii at all?”

“Only the songs that they play on the radio,” I admit.

“Oh, he has a lot more hits than that.” I watch as he pulls up his Spotify, smiling secretly to myself as I see his ‘Y/N’s hits’ playlist. I didn’t even know that he made a playlist of songs that I like. I wonder if it’s songs that I said I liked or if it’s just songs that we listened to together that I said that I like.

‘Wake Me Up’ begins to blast through the radio and I comment, “They play this a lot on the radio.”

“Then you have to sing along,” Pierre demands, beginning the drive back to my host’s home.

“Only if you sing too,” I protest.

“Y/N, I don’t sing.”

“Well, then I’m not singing,” I cross my arms as if to prove my point.

He gives me a look and sighs. “Feeling my way through the darkness…”

Re-spin you around

Replay that sound

Of you laughing when we hit the ground

“What are you doing?” I squeal as he pulls my door open and tugs me out of the car.

“I didn’t know I was lost,” Pierre sings along, wrapping an arm around my waist and gripping my other hand in his like we’re ballroom dancing to the song we’ve been listening to on repeat the whole car ride. “I didn’t know I was lost.”

He picks me up, gripping my waist and twirling me around, chuckling as I squeal in surprise at the action.

“Pierre!” I giggle as he continues to twirl us around. Finally he sets me on my feet and I’m laughing so hard I have to lean into him, too high off of life and love to be able to stand properly.

I can see it now how 'bout we

Float the moon back up in the sky,

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. His lips ghost over mine as he says in a hushed voice, “I think you’re about to get in trouble.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

He pulls back, nodding his head towards the front door of my host family’s home. I follow his eyeline to see my host father standing on the porch, arms crossed, but a fond smile on his face.

“I guess that’s my queue.” I kiss his cheek, a tradition we’ve started since he first picked me up at the beginning of summer. “Thank you for the wonderful night and the delicious wine.”

“Thank you for educating me on constellations,” he teases, kissing the back of my hand.

I roll my eyes at his gentleman-like behavior, giving him a final wave before walking up the sidewalk and stepping past my host father into the house.

“Don’t say a word, papa,” I warn him lightly.

“Young love is beautiful,” he tells me, ignoring my words.

Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

“I love your hair, it’s so much longer now,” my coworker snaps me out of my daydreams once again, brushing a hand through my long locks.

“Yeah, thanks,” I tell her, pulling it back behind my shoulders. Everything in me is telling me to fight the urge but I can’t help it as I begin to French braid my hair, pretending my fingers are Pierre’s.

It seems like a pointless act because as soon as the braid is perfected, I let it go.

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

I wanna re-fall and re-fly

Baby, re-live this night

“Do you remember when we went to that museum and saw that painting of that woman without her top on and you said that your boobs looked exactly like hers, and then didn’t show me your boobs so I could agree or disagree? The nerve,” he shakes his head.

I smile, watching him drive. I know he’s trying to get my mind off of my plane ride home and the fact that I’ll probably never see him again. Our whole relationship has been based off of teasing and lust, so he’s just helping me the best way he knows how to.

“And then you spilled your drink on my shirt to try to get me to take it off,” I continue, causing him to nod.

“I wanted to see them titties.”

I snort, leaning over to shove his shoulder. He jokingly swerves like I caused him to do so with my push and I squeal, not expecting it.

“That was a good date,” I mumble, sitting up and suddenly remembering that a date like that is never going to happen again.

Pierre doesn’t respond but reaches his hand over the center counsel, gripping my hand in his gently and raising it to his lips, leaving a kiss. It’s enough for me.

Float the moon back up in the sky,

Put a cork back into that sweet red wine

Put your midnight hair back up

So you can let it fall one more time

“Why did you have to book a nighttime flight? I’m so tired,” he yawns dramatically as he pulls my suitcase out of the back of his car, holding out his hand for me to grip as we make our way into the airport.

“So I could sleep on the plane. Let me remind you that I didn’t know you when I booked the ticket home, I thought my host father would bring me back to the airport.” I try to bump my shoulder into his shoulder teasingly but hit his arm instead because of our height difference.

“Well, you got something better,” he responds, stopping at the check-in station.

We face each other and he pulls me tightly into his arms, squeezing me like he’ll never let go. I’m not sure I ever want him to let me go. My arms wind around him in return and I grip him as close to me as possible, savoring the last few moments we’ll get together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a goodbye gift,” he mumbles into my hair. “I was going to get you some red 2012 wine but I completely forgot when I was at the store, if I’m being honest with you.”

I laugh into his chest. “I couldn’t even bring it on the plane with me, babe.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he pulls back, gripping my shoulders, “American customs and all.”

He gives me a fond smile, leaning in for one, last, passionate kiss. We suck all of the air out of our lungs before he pulls away, pushing me jokingly towards the counter. “See you later.”

“Yeah. See you later.”

Untouch your skin

Unkiss your lips and kiss 'em again

So good, so right,

This is one night I'm wishing I could rewind

The door chimes and I look up from the counter I’m wiping, freezing once I see who stepped in. It couldn’t be- no. Why would he be here, in America? I thought he played on a team in Canada? He stops once he sees me and I watch him for his reaction.

A smile beams across his face and he practically skips over to me, ignoring the questions that the boys he’s with are asking him.

“Hi,” he breathes out.

“Hi,” I repeat. I watch as his eyes flicker all over my face, from my eyes to my nose to my lips. They stay on my lips, the lips he’s kissed so many times.

I feel electric now that I’m in his presence again. I feel alive, like something left me when I left Sweden and is now coming back now that I’m with Pierre again.

(Float the moon back up in the sky)

I'm wishing I could rewind

(put a cork back into that sweet red wine)

I wanna re-live this night

So good, so right

“I never thought I would see you again,” he confesses, reaching up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah, me neither. What are you doing here?” I question.

“We’re visiting the hockey team here.”

“This city has a hockey team?” I ask, bewildered.

His laugh rings through the small coffee shop. It’s a beautiful sound that I haven’t heard in a long enough time.

“Do you maybe want to go out tonight? And get some dinner and drinks and just catch up?” He suggests nervously.

“I would love that.”

#pierre engvall imagine #NHL imagines #toronto maple leafs imagine #pierre engvall x reader #pierre engvall fanfic

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threshasketch · 6 years

Photo

Hey, thank you for checking out my art commission post!

Commissions and Patreon and Ko-Fi are my only source of income right now, and every dollar helps me pay the rent, keep the lights and internet on, and (very important!) keep coffee pot full. ♥

First, a very important announcement:

Commission prices and guidelines have been revised as of 2/6/2020. All previous versions of my art commission guidelines are outdated, and will not be honored*.

*I want to make the changes here as fairly as possible, so anybody who contacted me about a commission before 2/6/2020 will still get the old prices for that commission, even if I haven’t responded to you yet. All commissions I am contacted about on or after this date will adhere to the new guidelines and pricing.

Why The Changes?

It’s become an annual thing for me to review and update my art commission guidelines, because after a year I can see that some items never get ordered and some prices are too low for the amount of time I’m spending working on them.

The prices haven’t changed much this year, and anything that has gone up, it’s because I’ve been doing commissions that involved those things and took me much longer than I thought they would. Price changes are not done to gouge anybody, but to try and be fair to myself for how hard I’m working.

As ever, I’m so grateful to everyone who has ever helped support me and my work – sincerely, thank you! ♥

Without further ado, onward, to the art!

Commission Guidelines

YES:

OCs

Child characters

Ship art (poly ships welcome!)

Specific poses by request

Pics with multiple characters

Characters from shows/comics/anime/manga/etc

Characters in outfits you send me a ref of (armor, a toga, fashionista ensemble, pink panties, you name it – talk to me)

Tasteful nudity (think pin-up style, coyly placed vases, that kind of thing)

Giant/tiny art

Different body types (I LOVE drawing different body types)

Backgrounds (not too complicated please)

Wings, horns, other non-human traits (♥)

NO:

Underage characters in romantic/sexual situations

Furries (nothing against these, I’m just not great at drawing them)

Mecha (see above)

Explicit sex/kink stuff (sorry…I’m sure there are others who will draw this for you out there)

Graphic violence

Non-con

Anti-something art/hate

RPF, aka Real Person Fiction (same thought as explicit stuff)

Closely copying or editing somebody else’s artwork for you

Drawing Styles

Coloring Styles

Pricing Info:

First pick a drawing style:

Chibi line art: $20

Non-chibi line art: $30 (complicated poses/details may be more)

Then add a coloring/shading style:

Flat grays: $10

Flat colors: $15

Gray shading: $20

Color shading: $25

Digital painting: $40 (may be more depending on how realistic/complicated)

Add any extras:

Additional character: $10 per chibi character, $15 per non-chibi character, $25 per digital painting character

Simple background: $10

Detailed background: $20

Add ‘em up and you have your price! If you want a dot chibi couple pic with flat colors, for example, you’re looking at about $45. A non-chibi couple line art? Also $45.

Specialty Projects

Tattoo design: Standard commission prices for characters, style, etc, additional $50 for extra time and care making super high res, smooth line artwork in a one-of-a-kind custom design for you. I have designed several tattoos already. ♥ Tell me the planned tattoo location and I’ll shape the art to fit and display nicely.

(Tattoo belongs to @vibraniumarm , photo and ink work by Diaz Tattoo.)

Fanfic illustrations/covers: Minimum $50 per piece (Will vary based on number of characters/details, art and coloring style desired, etc. I’m an experienced big bang artist. Please check out my Supernatural Bang Master Post for 2018 for examples of fic covers I have done with links to the full art master posts below each cover.)

More examples from my own fics:

Commission Conditions

Commissions provided in digital form only. I post commissioned art on my art blog and on Twitter with the name of who commissioned it – if you don’t want to be tagged by name or need to hold off the posting (say, for surprise birthday present art), please let me know. High-res file copies of commissioned art are provided on request, no extra charge. Payment is required before I begin to work.

I retain the copyright to my work. Under no conditions are you to sell it, print it to sell, repost it without credit to me as the artist, or claim it as your own work.

Revisions will be done within reason if you aren’t absolutely happy with the work (but that’s what I’m aiming for on the first try. ♥) If in doubt, please message me and we’ll work it out!

Payment Info

All prices are in US dollars, and I accept payments through PayPal. All I need is your PayPal email address, and I’ll send you an invoice of what commission item(s) we discussed, the price, the date and other important information in minutes. Once the invoice arrives, you can use PayPal to pay it in a few clicks.

I switched to invoices because it helps me track my earnings/tax info, as well as being a proof of a commission agreement between us. It protects everybody involved. ♥

How to Contact Me:

If you’re interested in an art commission, you can contact me any of these ways:

Send me an email at [email protected] with the subject line “Threshasketch Art Commission”

Toss me a Tumblr ask / messenger message

Send me a direct message on my Twitter

I’m usually around and will get back to you as quick as I can. Actual art-making turnaround time is pretty speedy, but really depends on whether the commission is complicated or simple.

I usually have a queue of commissions lined up, and I work on them in the order they were paid for. Please expect several weeks at the minimum for me to reach your place in the queue and create your art. Let me know if you have a specific time frame you need me to work within, and I’ll be sure I can meet that requirement before taking the commission on!

Think This Post Is Long Enough? Cripes.

If you’d just like to support my work and don’t have a specific art request in mind (fhdsfkdhdsk), you could buy me a Ko-Fi as a tip or become a Patron on Patreon as a monthly type of thing. (If you’re already a Patron, bless you and I love you to pieces!)

Congrats, you made it to the bottom of the post! Thank you for your interest in my art, hope the rest of your day is awesome! ♥♥♥

#signal boost #appreciated #art commissions #threshasketch #threshie #chibi #cute #fanfic covers #tattoos #tumblr #twitter #patreon #ko-fi #threshasketch art commissions 2020 #commissions open

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libermachinae · 5 years

Text

Spark Light

Sequel to “Logic Circuit”

This fic is also available on AO3!

Summary: Prowl is as comforting as Earth’s new black hole and Bumblebee has turned avoiding grief into a sound career option. After the end of the world, though, certain allowances can be made.

⭐ 🐝 ⭐ 🐝 ⭐ 🐝 ⭐

Bumblebee was dancing when Prowl found him. Music eked out the speakers of a transport shuttle, biolights blended and churned together, and several hundred mechs celebrated their continued existence in the universe by pushing their worn-out frames to just the point of breaking. It was a final farewell to the Cybertronian empire, a blending of Eukarian, Devisen, Velocitronian, Camian, Cybertronian sound and life in a way that many had suspected would never come to pass. Under constellations that even those whose species had lived under would have to reacquaint themselves with, dented, scratched, mangled, torn, forgotten bodies danced until overshot joints gave out, weakened armor buckled, frayed wires snapped, and in so doing they made their grief physical and gave it life.

It was the wrong place to seek out new friends. Bumblebee, every eager, ever lively, persevered for as long as he could, until a familiar voice pushed his designation into the space between songs and his optics threatened to flicker out entirely.

“Well, buddy,” he said, putting on his characteristic grin, “it’s been a while.”

Prowl had led him away from the party, up a slope and into the woods surrounding the refugee city. The low hum of thousands of voices carried through the trees, and between the gaps it was still possible to see the lines stretching outside of the Cybertronian aid stations, where volunteers had been working for hours to find solutions for every problem brought forth, from missing limbs to missing friends. Bumblebee had been with them for a couple hours before his human supervisor realized that he’d been one of the mechs directly involved in the battle. He was issued a firm command to take the rest of the night to recuperate, even though he pointed out that the war had prepared him for campaigns much longer and more grueling than this one had been.

Walking away while people still needed help had been one of the most frustrating parts of this long, terrible day, but at least from up here he could see the lines and knew they were moving. Even just a few hours out, progress was being made.

“It has,” Prowl said, glancing back to Bumblebee after letting himself observe the proceedings below. “Is your new body handling well?”

“It’s Wheeljack’s work, what do you think?” He proudly tapped his knuckles against the Autobrand on his chassis. “Getting back into the fight, it was like no time had passed at all. For I could tell, I’d just onlined from a really long recharge cycle.”

“But that wasn’t the case.” Though it wasn’t phrased like a question, the inquiry was there, and both knew Bumblebee was too good at picking up cues to miss it.

“No,” he said, dropping his hand, “I was aware for most of the last few years. Believe me, there were times I would have done anything to drop into defrag for a few hours, but I guess when you’re only kind of alive-ish your processor doesn’t work exactly the same way. I was pretty limited in what I could do.”

An unspoken answer to an unasked question. He’d worked with Prowl for long enough to be sensitive to the subtleties of such a trade of information, though he would always prefer to be forthright.

“How did you find me?” he asked. Even if he didn’t like the game, he knew how to play it, and that sometimes a risky move like a diversion was necessary to get ahead.

“Windblade noticed you while doing a sweep of the area,” Prowl said, accepting Bumblebee’s lead. “She was concerned but felt it would be out of line for her to interfere.”

“And she knew you wouldn’t be bothered by that ‘procedural nonsense.’” Bumblebee regretted the words as his vocalizer was synthesizing them. No matter how he smiled or the cute way his helm tilted to one side, there was no way to turn them into the casual quip he’d intended. Time had not yet healed that old wound, and all he’d done was exposed the damaged protomesh under the plating.

It wasn’t like he was seeking treatment for it, either. Left untended for so long, the frayed circuits and warped edges had become as familiar to him as any other part of his psyche, the way the war had shaped him to the point that he could not remove its influence and still remain Bumblebee of Iacon. He was his failures, and the last thing he wanted was for those who had pointed them out to think he resented them for doing so. Criticism meant people were paying attention. It was a reminder that his leadership had not existed in a vacuum, that there were reasons more than just personal shame to keep trying to be better. His one relief was in knowing that he’d revealed this vulnerability to the mech he knew wouldn’t try to take any of it back. He’d known Prowl to feel regret on only a handful of occasions, and never once bore witness to him expressing it openly.

“We each found the manner in which events played out on Cybertron to be disagreeable, for our own reasons,” Prowl said now, the burn of his optic as steady as his voice. “It might be inappropriate after all that we have done, and all that we allowed to happen, but I do still consider you my best friend. I wanted to check on you myself.”

The declaration surprised Bumblebee. Not being called Prowl’s best friend, which he’d known for some time and been unable to reciprocate for reasons they were both familiar with, but hearing that the sentiment remained even with the intervening years and numerous mistakes stretching out the space between them.

“And what’s the prognosis?” he asked, doing them both the favor of putting off that conversation for another day.

Prowl stared at Bumblebee; his lip twitched.

“Oh, come on, really?” Bumblebee said, waving a hand. “I’m fine—well, I will be. If almost surviving the war taught me anything, it’s that there’s always a way to bounce back. And anyway, right now, I can’t really say that I’m feeling any worse than everybody else. There are some mechs down there who lost way more than I did.”

He stopped himself before he could go too far down that road, realizing that he was starting to quantify lives in the same way that had gotten Prowl is so much trouble towards the end. Their dynamic only worked so long as he was the subjective one, the one who processed individuals instead of numbers, who couldn’t say how many Autobots were stationed at a given base but could tell you half the staff’s favorite energon supplements.

“Here,” he said, brushing away the carpet of needles and pinecones before settling himself onto the dirt. “We worked so hard to save these stars, why not take some time to enjoy them?” Whatever grit got into their joints and seams now would be a negligible addition to the filth caked to their plating. Dust and mud had combined with congealed energon to leave ugly streaks across most Cybertronians’ frames, paint dulled or rubbed off entirely in patterns that probably could have retold the story of the battle if observed carefully enough. Everyone was walking around with a narrative of what they’d been doing when the world nearly ended, and although Bumblebee would be glad to rinse himself of it once the washrack stations were operational, the sense of solidarity provided him with another reminder of why they’d put their bodies through such torment in the first place.

Prowl sat, leaving space enough between them that a third mech could have joined them comfortably. Gaze angled up, to the galaxy that somehow felt just as far away now as his home world, Bumblebee allowed himself to sink back into the feeling he had enveloped himself in at the party: spark spinning in its chamber, fuel pump beating against his lines, gyros calibrating, optics sensing, vents whispering. His body was alive, working, its systems operating in tandem to keep each other functioning. For the first time in years, he could not only see the world, but touch it, grasp it, and the burden of that responsibility was one he accepted with gratitude.

Responsibility under the scrutiny of others was much easier to manage than one taken on with no supervision. Managing Starscream had been a challenge not just for the logistical work involved, but because Bumblebee had never had anyone to assure him that it was the right thing to do, especially given his own track record in leadership. At the same time, there were elements of his self-appointed position that his processor longed to dwell on a little longer, memory files initiating playback without his consent and being halted just as quickly.

Late nights spent pouring over datapads, exhaustive lists of information on—stop.

Unshared cubes of celebratory engex after Starscream’s—stop.

Arguments with Starscream of completely forgettable—stop.

Starscream flying low over the rooftops of New—stop.

Starscream sentencing a mech to—stop.

Starscream standing at the podi—stop.

Starsc—stop.

Stop.

Queue for deletion.

Bumblebee’s sparked jumped and he immediately unqueued the file, holding it at the forefront of his processor to watch the playback: Starscream spinning on a heelstrut and pushing off his balcony with his thrusters, transforming midair and blasting off across the city. It was Starscream’s usual routine and Bumblebee likely had identical copies for every morning he’d spent in that self-indulgence of a penthouse, but he played it through several more times before returning it to his archives, processor finally sated.

Memories were all that remained of Starscream now, and that made them precious: impossible, irresponsible to discard.

His spark was spinning too fast. Silence wasn’t working; he needed to think about anything else.

“Are you okay?” he ventured.

Physical evidence of the battle was ubiquitous to the point that Bumblebee had stopped noticing its presence, but he hardly had to search for it once he started paying attention again. Like everyone else, Prowl’s finish was dusty and dull, paint rubbed off and armor dented in varying patterns across his frame. He was also littered in surface-level scratches, each of them glinting with jagged bits of shrapnel, and his shoulder betrayed the efficiency of some Maximal’s claws. It was all surface-level damage, which meant he wouldn’t be seen until the next round of medical exams took place, but it was still an interruption of the body and its normal functioning. The shadow occupying one side of his face was as loud and present as it would remain unmentioned, too like the new spaces between the stars.

And yet, his remaining optic burned like all the stars still clinging to life, refusing to be extinguished by this or any other darkness.

“I realized some things, about myself and my work, that I’d never had an opportunity to give voice to before today,” Prowl said. He let his singular gaze drift back to the masses of Cybertronians making their way through what could, for now, be considered their home. “For the first time since our return to Cybertron, maybe even since the start of the war, I feel like what I need to do and what everyone else needs from me actually align.” His lips quirked. It wasn’t a smile, but Bumblebee was under the impression that it was all Prowl was capable of now. “How I feel about such a revelation doesn’t matter; I’m going to do what’s necessary regardless. But I have to say, it’s pleasant.”

“It’s the first time in your life the choice doesn’t have to be a hard one,” Bumblebee said, “that’s probably why it feels good. It’s a relief.”

Prowl had his specialties, each of debatable merit and value, but this was Bumblebee’s: listening, filling in the gaps, forming the words that the speakers themselves couldn’t say but needed to be heard. People talked to Bumblebee because they knew he listened, and not in the way Prowl did, cataloguing information and storing it for later use, usually to the detriment of the subject. Bumblebee listened to understand. Though he struggled at times with sympathy, he still often found himself caring about those who opened up to him, causing him to wonder at times the motivations for even some of the most despicable acts performed in the war, regardless of faction origins. He’d stagnated some during his disastrous attempts at leadership, both for the Autobots and Cybertron as a whole, but the talent had remained, and in the years since he’d had nothing but time to practice and hone it.

Conveniently, it also made it easy for him to set aside his own, far less optimistic self-realizations.

“I’m happy for you,” he said, and though it was sincere, it was also inadequate. On all the planets Cybertron’s war had brought him to, not one had a word that would be able to encompass everything he was feeling in that moment, on that day.

“Thank you, Bumblebee.”

They grew silent and settled, trading glances between the cold stars above their heads and the living ones milling around the valley’s basin. It struck Bumblebee that his earlier search for company had been misguided in the same way his attempts at leading had been. He had a reputation for getting along with everyone, but experience by now had taught him that it only applied in one-on-one scenarios. On the dancefloor, surrounded by mechs eager to grab a drink and dance with the first bot to reach out to them, the energy had been right, but there’d been nowhere for it to go. Passed from dancer to dancer, he hadn’t worried about anyone looking too closely at him, accidentally peeling away the palatable upper layers and revealing that which he himself wasn’t ready to look at too closely. He was hurting, that much was obvious, but so was everyone else, and he’d thought that if he’d reached out to enough hurting mechs then maybe it would meet that need he had to connect and understand the internal structure of others.

He didn’t know how the night would have ended if Prowl hadn’t found him. Most likely, it wouldn’t have; he would have stayed on until the last dancers wandered off with the rising of the sun, and then returned to the aid stations to demand they let him help. As things stood now, he doubted he was going to be able to recharge with all the thoughts spinning through his processor, but better to spend these unintended waking hours with someone who he knew, to whom this day and its repercussions would mean the same as they did to Bumblebee.

“Without knowing what you do now,” Prowl said, “would you have tried to stop Optimus from annexing the Earth?”

The question was unexpected, the curiosity backing it a facet of Prowl that Bumblebee was not familiar with. He turned to look at his companion but received no responding glance.

“You mean, if we hadn’t known it would be our last salvation?”

“Yes. Obviously, it turned out to be in the benefit of our species in the end, but on principle, would you have stood against Optimus Prime?”

Bumblebee leaned back, letting his optics slide over the dance of the cosmos.

“It’s not like I could never disagree with Optimus, we argued plenty of times,” he said. “Pretty much every opportunity he took to leave the Autobots, I pointed out what a terrible idea it was, and I was right!”

“So, you’re saying the annexation was a similarly poor maneuver.”

Bumblebee wilted. He’d started to think that this conversation might avoid turning into an interrogation.

“No,” he said.

“It was a good decision?”

Bumblebee ran a hand down his faceplate, ignoring the bits of dirt that came with it.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even here for most of it. Can you—Primus, can you not ask me that question?”

“What should I ask you, then?”

“What?”

Prowl finally twisted to look at him, not just his face, but his whole chassis turning to face Bumblebee, who was inadvertently reminded of how much smaller he was than most of the other Autobots.

“You clearly have something on your mind, Bumblebee,” he said. “What’s the question you want me to be asking?”

It took Bumblebee’s processor a moment to understand what was happening. Like he had done for so many other mechs, Prowl was now trying to reach across that void, to help light that space where the self grew thin and words couldn’t reach, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own and asking for help to finish. It was a ridiculous request, and unselfish in a way that Prowl alone could achieve.

“What I told you earlier,” he said, words coming in such a rush they nearly scrambled, “ask me why.” He had no doubt Prowl would know what he was talking about. It was the only thing he’d managed to say that night of any substance, and Prowl’s constantly running battle computer would have picked it out and categorized it as such.

Prowl’s optic flashed.

“Why were you limited?” he asked. “Why didn’t you stop Starscream?”

There it was. The question that had been following Bumblebee for years, the one he could never close despite his spark’s aching need for resolution. His fans clicked on as his struggling processor started to heat his core, digging and calculating for the answer that had always eluded him.

“He’s tricky,” Bumblebee said, tracking the distances between stars with his optics, “and not just in the way he lies constantly, although that doesn’t make talking to him any easier, for sure. It’s more like his processor is constantly at war with itself. He’s scared of everything, but also entirely overconfident in his ability to defend himself. He doesn’t believe in anything, but still sees himself as destined for some greater purpose. Every time you think you’ve started to figure him out, there’s a contradiction, or he just sabotages himself to keep from being too predictable, and you can never be sure which way it’s going to go.” He meant it literally. Prowl’s battle plans had frequently been sidetracked by Starscream doing something unexpected, though there was no need to open those old wounds by pointing it out explicitly. “His processor works in layers, and they go so deep I don’t think even he knows what the core really looks like.”

It felt good to say it all out loud, to know that at least one other person might now understand the psychological labyrinth he’d been working through over the past few years, even if it brought Bumblebee no closer to understanding how Starscream functioned.

Had functioned. He realized belatedly that he’d said his whole piece as though Starscream were somewhere down in the valley, barking orders at the rest of the refugees.

“It’s a decent analysis, but it doesn’t answer the question,” Prowl said. “Anyone could tell you that Starscream is a difficult mech to work with. Why is it that your approach failed to yield results?”

Bumblebee frowned.

“I already said what I wanted to.”

“And I’m sure that was very individually gratifying for you, Bee, but you told me the question to ask and now I expect you to answer it.” Prowl’s expression was stern, and Bumblebee realized he was no longer talking to his old friend Prowl, whom he had accompanied on his first trip to a nightclub and had gotten flustered when a certain rookie grounder so much as entered the room. This was Commander Prowl, leader of the soldiers posted on Ark-19, greatest tactician of the Autobot army, and ruthless pragmatist.

He had half a mind to leave right then. He always knew it was possible for conversations with Prowl to take a turn like this, and normally he would find some way to laugh it off and change the subject, but he’d done that so many times that day he knew his defensive optimism was already spent. His tactile sensors were prickling from the extra energy being processed to match his frustration, and he could feel a familiar scowl starting to settle on his faceplate, one he’d hoped would go away once the main threat had been disposed of. It was only by the weight of loss that he stayed down, the knowledge that his spark wasn’t ready to handle another goodbye, especially one done out of anger. The crease remained between his optic ridges, but he did not move away from his spot on the ground.

“I wasn’t good enough,” he ground out.

“Even if that were true, I would expect you to be more specific.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” he spat. His anger was being fuel by a tangible, uncomfortable heat emanating from his overclocked processor, and he had to vent out a few cycles of hot air before he could trust himself to say more than static. “At first, I figured it was all just a game to him, so I tried to use logic. Find the moves that help him win and give Cybertron a better future, seemed simple. Except, he always found something wrong with it. Either this person didn’t trust him, or that idea had too many contingencies. I could never solve all the problems to make him confident in anything I had to say.

“So, I changed tactics. If he was going to push against concrete solutions, then I could just work him through theoretical frameworks, explain why certain things were wrong and let him make the logical steps to make the right choices. I know it sounds ridiculous, but he wanted to stay in power, and even he realized he would have to be a decent ruler in order to make that happen. It seemed like a good plan, and sometimes it even seemed to work. But then something minor would happen, one of the delegates would spook him or a disaster outside anyone’s control would cause some civil unrest, and he would go straight back to his old habits. I could never figure out what he needed from me.”

“You didn’t know what someone needed to hear? That’s hard to believe.”

“Well, like I said, he was a challenging mech to understand.”

“You made the galaxy’s foremost war criminal switch sides after a few minutes alone together, yet your years spent with Starscream offered no insights at all into his inner workings?”

Prowl was right: Bumblebee was making excuses again. He leaned forward and touched his face, remembering the unfeeling sensation of the battlemask, how it had acted as a buffer between him and Megatron right up until that last critical minute. Being around Starscream had always left him feeling exposed. Even if the other mech didn’t dig in the way Bumblebee had, he always knew how to push back, peeling away the layers of Bumblebee’s arguments and finding the hidden agendas Bumblebee hadn’t even realized he’d been hiding. Though he never felt the need to question his own intentions, the incronguity between method and motivation had given him pause on numerous occasions.

“I tried to be a political advisor, and then some sort of morality coach, and I was always doomed to fail on both accounts because Starscream already had mechs who could function in either capacity. What he needed, and what I failed to provide for him, was a friend.”

It had been no mere accident, either. Trapped in infraspace, kept apart from his friends and forced to watch as they scattered themselves across the galaxy without him, he’d been in just as desperate need for connection as Starscream. Aware of that desperation, though, and the effect Starscream had already proven to have over mechs much less easily swayed than Bumblebee himself, he had recognized the inherent danger in opening himself up to Starscream in any way that mattered. Even if infraspace had been his eternity and he’d never had to face the Autobots again, even more reason not to let himself be shaped into someone he could no longer recognize. So, with political rhetoric and claims for the common good and one-sided efforts to learn how Starscream’s processor operated, he had held intimacy at bay.

And still despite that, he had come to care for the other mech. He knew he was not alone in that: numerous others who’d been swept up in Starscream’s political dealings had ended up with some stake in their leader’s wellbeing, to variable degrees, but he knew there to be more to the connection than the keeping of Cybertron’s population. That had been the start, and remained the basis for some time, but the moment Starscream stepped into his cell, Bumblebee knew he could not leave the fallen titan to his fate. Had Shockwave never returned, he would have stayed for the entirety of the life sentence, acting as companion to the one person in the universe who needed one even more than him.

A part of his processor kept carefully encrypted finally released, and he wondered if Starscream would have opened the Talisman if he’d known there was someone who would miss him.

His vocalizer was working before his processor had decided how to communicate the thought.

“But something must have gotten through to him. I don’t know if it was actually anything I did, but he sacrificed himself to bring down Unicron. He died a hero.”

“Hm.” Prowl was staring at him, analyzing and cataloguing, calculating future outcomes. Bumblebee could almost see the process at work behind his optic, and he wondered if he’d picked the wrong mech to share all this with.

“I’m sure you mean that sincerely,” he said, “but I do feel it my obligation to remind you that this is the same Starscream who proposed to have Metroplex space bridge to Earth while more than half the population was still trapped on Cybertron.”

“I know, Prowl.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I know, I know.” Bumblebee drew his fingers through the dry upper layer of the soil, relishing the feeling after spending too long dwelling on the time in his life when he’d had no body to do it with. “Somehow, despite that, he ended up a true hero. I just wanted one other person to know.”

That felt like the closest he’d come to saying something true all night. Sure, he’d meant everything he’d said to Prowl, and in a certain context and for practical purposes it was true. All of it, though, was part of the system of layers of his and Starscream’s own making, and no matter what degree his honesty took, he always felt that there was something buried deeper, a further truth, like crystals buried in the roots of ore deposits. The desire to not be alone with his knowledge, though, that was pure. Even if Prowl didn’t share his view, took Bumblebee’s faith as a judgement on his character and nothing more: better that than to live alone with his belief for the rest of his life.

A streak of light flashed across the sky, its beauty reabsorbed before it could even be appreciated, and with a wrench of his spark Bumblebee realized that this was his final farewell to Starscream. The other departed would get funerals, boisterous reminiscences shared over pints of engex, teary quiet moments of remembrance, but there was no one with whom he could share this grief, no one who would understand what they’d been through, the intense bond that had been somehow formed from a conjunxing of desperation, loneliness, and a shared hope for Cybertron’s future. In the coming days he would lack the time to give adequate thought to the questions he still had, and as the present stretched gradually away from the past, memories would become unreliable, recollections of certain events contested until all that remained was a winged silhouette and a feeling of ever more unachievable ambition. Starscream’s eulogy had been written in words only ever spoken aloud, his legacy unforgettable and yet perpetually unclaimed.

“Establishing Starscream’s role in our history is going to be an essential if divisive task in the years to come,” Prowl said, once more reeling Bumblebee back in. “You will likely not find companions to agree with you in equal measure to those who oppose your viewpoint, but I would advise against rising to their challenges. Your skills would be better served elsewhere.” He made to stand, brushing off dust as he righted himself. “From what I’ve heard, an old colleague of mine has taken an interest in the new protoforms developing within Trypticon. She’s hoping to assist in their education and development, give them an opportunity to live lives free of the choices we were forced to make. It’s something to consider.”

“What, becoming a teacher?” The suggestion so surprised Bumblebee that he didn’t think to stand as well.

“Yes. You’re one of the few mechs I would trust with such a responsibility, Bumblebee.”

Prowl’s sincerity gave weight to the air, and for one brief moment, it was like the last several years hadn’t happened, and they were once more brothers in arms, fighting the oppression of the Decepticons and defending innocent life wherever it needed them. Bumblebee could never miss the war, but the links he had formed with his fellow Autobots were such that could only be sustained through a cocktail of mutual need for survival and crushing belief that the cause they fought for was the right one. Despite every well-meaning promise between veteran comrades to keep in touch after the fighting was over, there were some connections that could never be revived back to what they were when life and death were commodities in a galaxy-spanning trade.

The spinning of Bumblebee’s spark slowed, its chamber aching.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

“Good.” Prowl crossed his arms in front of his chassis, his weight shifting in the direction of the tree line. The moment was over; there would not be another.

“I’m going underground in the morning,” he said, voice still steady. “I’ve picked up some fragile cargo that will need to be stored in a more secure location.”

“Oh. Are you coming back?”

“Most likely, once I feel security is up to my specifications.”

“Well, I’ll be here,” Bumblebee assured, easing back again. “And hey, if the Lost Light’s back by then, maybe we can grab Hound and Ratchet and go out for a drink. You know, almost like pulling the old Iacon crew back together.”

“We’ll see if the timing actually works out so well,” Prowl allowed. It wasn’t a flat rejection, though he did turn to leave. “I suspect you’ll be busy soon enough.”

“We’ll see,” Bumblebee echoed. He liked the thought of being busy, of having a role to play in this fledgling society, but he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be yet. For a couple hours, he’d thought that maybe morale boosting could be his duty to the survivors, but this conversation had him thinking differently. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be known as the passive listener anymore, even if the alternative terrified him, memories of looking down on his Autobots plaguing his processor.

It would be different this time, he told himself. He would make it so. And if he was really serious about making changes from his earlier tactics, he knew one obvious place to start.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you on Cybertron,” he said. The words came naturally, like they’d been sitting in his processor for some time, waiting for him to discover them. “I was so wrapped up in everything else going on that I didn’t notice, but I should have, and I’m really sorry.”

Prowl paused, back to Bumblebee, the whir of normal systems working louder than anything else in the night.

“Prowl?”

“I heard you, Bee. I… I heard you. Have a pleasant night.”

It was simple, a clean cut. Prowl’s form disappeared into the darkness and Bumblebee couldn’t say for sure if he would ever see it again. He suspected he would; though Prowl liked to disappear from time to time, he never trusted the rest of them to be completely left to their own devices and would inevitably slip back into the command structure to keep things operational. Though everything was different now, it was comforting to think that some of their bad habits might stay just the same.

He looked up to the night sky, wondering if it would always feel incomplete, and tried to guess if his emotions were those that one was supposed to feel in such a moment.

“Finally. I was starting to think you might’ve already found my replacement.”

Bumblebee whirled around.

The glow was the first thing he noticed, light bleeding off Starscream’s immaculate frame while illuminating nothing around him, neither the branches his armor rippled around as he moved, nor Bumblebee’s own plating as he turned himself fully, optics wide and flickering rapidly. He was smirking, of course, lit red optics piercing through the night like beacons calling a ship home.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he chided as he strode forward, grace betraying none of his years spent in military service. “You didn’t really think I was just going to leave you to manage my legacy on your own, did you?”

He was smiling, not smirking, Bumblebee realized, smiling and radiant and gorgeous, and in that moment, he knew he’d been lying to himself every time he said he was afraid of becoming Starscream’s friend. He’d befriended questionable characters before, offered a listening ear to those who had nothing to offer but hateful rhetoric and come away from it stronger in his convictions and his loyalty to the Autobot cause. The wariness that had plagued him in infraspace, that had him turning his newly-built back on Starscream the first moment he could, was forged from the knowledge that his feelings for Starscream had the potential to run much deeper than any of the thousands of friendships he’d formed in his several million years online.

When Starscream came striding through the trees that night, frame glowing like he’d taken the light of Primus with him when he’d slipped out the doors of death, Bumblebee realized, without needing to say it out loud, that to offer his spark to Starscream would mean never getting it back. Starscream could reject him, belittle him, take off into the cosmos and never return to Bumblebee’s side in whatever years they had left, and still Bumblebee would feel the slow-burning jagged wonderful ache, this new desire to be known in a way that had never been of interest to him before. Though he believed (hoped) Starscream was desperate enough for company that he would not betray Bumblebee for this unfortunate truth, the thought of another mech having that much power over him was terrifying, and he was grateful that it seemed they would now have plenty years ahead to let those feelings develop before a time came for critical decisions to be made.

Worries for the future, then. On that day, with the sky twice as dark as it had once been and the shadows of their past lives draped overhead, mechs of all backgrounds were dancing together, celebrating those stars they had managed to save in time with their mourning for those they did not. Bumblebee and Starscream met in the middle, both talking too fast to understand what the other was saying, their shared lights more than enough to illuminate their new world.

#maccadam #transformers #starbee #bumblebee #prowl #starscream #my writing #fanfiction

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imjustthemechanic · 5 years

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Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion Part 13/? - Apocalypse Bunker Part 14/? - Terrible Truths Part 15/? - Library Crystals Part 16/? - The Stark Gallery

They landed at LaGuardia, where they had a quick (and expensive) lunch, and visited a kiosk to get Peggy and Howard a second set of cell phones before catching a train into the city. Peggy’s impression of twenty-first century London had been of the city she remembered but somehow more so, bigger and brighter and busier than ever before. Manhattan was, if anything, an even more extreme example. The streets were teeming with cars, dogs, and people. New, shiny buildings stood side-by-side with ones nearly a hundred years old. And like the familiar buildings in London, it hadn’t aged particularly well. Plaster was peeling and pavement was cracked, as if the entire island were crumbling away under the weight of all this human activity.

In the midst of all that, it was a bit unbalancing to find that the Fifth Avenue façade of Howard’s old mansion hadn’t changed a bit. It looked exactly as it had during the brief time Peggy and Angie had lived there – a mix of Georgian and Neoclassical architecture that probably looked refined to anybody who didn’t know the difference between the two. The magnolia trees had grown but they’d been lovingly pruned, and there were different flowers in the garden but the beds were in the same place. It looked as if Peggy could move right back in.

Except, of course, for the giant banner advertising a new exhibit of Jackson Pollock, and the massive queue of people waiting to get in. Those were very definitely new.

“That’s a hell of a thing to see,” Howard muttered, as they got in line. “A hundred people just waiting to get into your house.”

“Are you telling me that’s never happened before?” Peggy asked, skeptical.

“Those were reporters,” Howard told her. “Not members of the public.”

Peggy looked at the crowd of people waiting, and then at Toulouse herself, with blue and green locks falling out from under her knitted cap. It would be silly to keep Toulouse and Kevin out when all these other civilians were coming in, and Toulouse herself looked determined. Peggy had a feeling if she told her no, there’d be a fight.

“Not now,” she decided, “but this is just a scouting-out trip. Once we have a plan for what to do next, we may ask you to leave.” They probably wouldn’t have to worry about anything more dangerous than security guards, but Peggy wasn’t going to take that for granted. HYDRA might be able to find this place, too. They might even have followed them here.

“Let me know if I can help,” said Toulouse firmly.

While the main façade faced Fifth Avenue, the actual entrance to the mansion was on East Seventieth Street. Toulouse paid admission for four and then stepped into the main foyer, where Peggy discovered that Toulouse had not been joking about the interior having been preserved with its original décor. Even the wallpaper was, while not exactly what she remembered, certainly a very close replica. The coat check and small gift shop were on the right, and on the wall across from them was a large framed photograph of a family posing in the portico.

“Son of a bitch,” Howard said under his breath, and walked towards it.

The photo was in colour, and printed very large – nearly three feet tall, which rendered the image a little grainy up close. Even so, there was no mistaking the identity of the largest figure. It could only possibly be Howard himself.

Peggy came closer, too, to see how her friend had changed over the years. He definitely looked older, thinner, and more tired. His mustache was a little bushier and his hair had gone gray, and he looked more deathly serious than she could ever remember seeing him. Standing on his right and smiling gently was an attractive blonde woman, at least twenty years younger than he. Her hair fell long around her shoulders and she was dressed in a dark skirt suit and pearls. Between the adults was a little boy, three or four years old. He had a mop of dark hair and serious brown eyes, and looked stiff and uncomfortable in his little suit and tie.

There was a brass plaque below the picture. It said, Howard, Maria, and Anthony Stark, September 1973.

“So that’s them, eh?” Howard murmured.

“So it is,” Peggy agreed.

It was a strange thing to see, she thought. Toulouse had mentioned that Howard would get married, but here was the proof, staring back at them across forty years. His wife, Maria, was very much Howard’s type – a petite blonde with a pretty face and a charming smile. Peggy wondered what was different about this one. What had made Howard decided that out of all those little blondes, this was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

Howard must have been thinking the same thing. “I wonder what she was like,” he said. “I wonder where I met her.”

“It might say on your Wikipedia article,” Toulouse suggested from behind him.

“Yeah,” Howard said distantly, and Peggy could tell that he wasn’t going to look. He didn’t want to know. Why would he? Who wanted to know that here was the love of their lives, forever beyond their reach?

Peggy knew that feeling all too well. It still came over her every so often, usually in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. She’d told herself again and again that she was over Steve, that she couldn’t dwell on what might have been – she’d told Jason that, and it had been good advice for him as it was for her, but there was a part of her heart that just wasn’t willing to take it. Daniel had asked Peggy if she still loved him and she’d had to say yes, she always would. She knew better than to let it interfere with the rest of her life and relationships, but she was very much still in love with Steve Rogers.

Kevin and Toulouse were hanging back now, not wanting to interrupt. Peggy herself was of two minds about it. If they stayed here staring for two long, somebody might wonder why, but Howard was having to contemplate an entire life he could never live. A wife he would never meet, a son he would never hug… he would need time to cope with that. Peggy hoped they had that time.

Finally, Howard tore himself away, with honest pain in his face that he couldn’t quite hide by forcing himself to smile. “Okay,” he said. “The vault entrance will be in the library.”

“Wasn’t it in the music room?” asked Peggy with a frown. Howard had used the library. The music room was only there because fancy houses were supposed to have one.

“It was, but when I decided to hide it better I planned to move the door,” he explained. “If I got on with that, it’ll be in the library.”

The music room was circular, and was now used as an exhibit of antique instruments, including an eighteenth-century cello and a white-lacquered grand piano. They looked like the sort of things Howard would collect just because rich people were supposed to collect things. A doorway from there led into the library, which was where most of the crowd was. Not only was it home to several rare books, but the featured exhibit of three paintings by Pollock were hanging on the far wall. These were not particularly impressive as far as Peggy could tell. They all looked like they’d been made by simply throwing paint at a canvas.

Howard took no interest in the art at all. He turned immediately to the right, where the library shared a wall with the music room – the fact that the latter was round left a wedge-shaped space between them. A large Indian rug was hung there, with a plastic panel in front of it so that people couldn’t touch.

“Is this the place?” Peggy asked. Based on her memory of the music room entrance, it did seem right.

“Should be,” Howard said. “Looks like they re-wallpapered, or maybe I did that. Either way, hides the entrance completely. If I can just find the seam in the plaster…” he reached to touch the wall.

“Sir,” a security guard stepped forward. “You’re not allowed to touch that.”

Howard looked at the man and began drawing himself up to his full height, and a horrible mental picture flashed through Peggy’s head. He’d forgotten the situation, and was about to tell the guard that he could touch whatever he wanted in his own house. She grabbed his arm to drag him away.

“There’s a sign right there, Honey,” she said, in an American accent. “I know it’d look nice in your study, but I’m sure it’s not for sale. Right?” She smiled at the guard.

“That’s correct, Ma’am,” the guard told her.

Howard deflated as he remembered where and when they were. “Yeah, okay. Sorry,” he said.

There was a little café in the museum courtyard. The food there was even more shockingly expensive than at the airport, but they ordered some coffee with steamed milk and some Danish pastries, and sat down to talk about their next move. Howard continued to be uncharacteristically quiet. The fact that this house no longer belonged to him was apparently as difficult for him as knowing he would never meet the woman in the photograph.

“I suppose we could always come up through the sewers, like the last people who robbed that vault,” Peggy observed.

Howard shook his head. “I filled in the hole and reinforced it. It’d take a bomb to get it out again. We’ll just chip off the plaster and go in through the door.”

“And how do we get back into the house after closing?” Peggy wanted to know. She didn’t doubt Howard knew how to do it, she only wanted to remind him that he hadn’t told her.

“Why would we leave?” Howard started to smile again. “You really think I built myself a house with only one secret room?”

“Oh, of course.” Peggy shook her head. “How very silly of me!”

“How can I help?” asked Toulouse.

The humour melted out of the conversation as Peggy and Howard exchanged a glance. Neither of them wanted Toulouse getting hurt, and the chances of them triggering some kind of alarm while doing this were very good. A technology that could create those multi-use mobile phones could do all kinds of things with surveillance.

“You can wait outside,” Peggy decided, “and let us know if the police are coming.”

Toulouse sighed. “That’s what I figured you’d say.”

“You’ve already been a great help,” Peggy assured her. “We couldn’t have come this far without you.”

“I know,” said Toulouse. She had a spoon in her hand, and was playing with the foam on her coffee, piling it up in to a mound that slowly collapsed again. “Daddy would agree with you. He’s all about paying to save the world, but he never goes to any of these places himself. I guess he’s afraid he’ll end up like Junior.”

Peggy had slept through the part of the conversation on the plane when Toulouse had said how her brother died. She wondered now if it might be important, but Toulouse didn’t look as if she wanted to talk about it and Peggy didn’t want to sound like she was prying. “Well, perhaps that’s a very good reason,” she said.

“I agree with them, for what that’s worth,” said Kevin. “I’m just sticking around to make sure somebody’s trying to avoid Yellowstone blowing up under me. I don’t actually want to have to fight a supervillain if I don’t have to.”

“Daddy isn’t a supervillain!” Toulouse protested.

“He kind of is,” said Kevin. “I mean, he wants to set off a volcano on purpose. That’s some top-tier supervillainy.”

“He is not a supervillain,” Toulouse told him. “Supervillains are like… are like Loki, or Ultron. They’ve got powers and stuff. Daddy isn’t a supervillain. I figure there’s got to be a reason why him and Cass are mixed up in this,” she went on. Now she was gesturing with the spoon, rather than scooping foam. “Maybe somebody’s using them. Remember I said Daddy did the investigation when HYDRA was exposed in the UK? Maybe somebody promised him something and he didn’t realize it was going to lead to this! I wish I’d been able to say something to Cass.”

Peggy wondered if she ought to be worried. It was possible that Toulouse was right, and if she told her father and brother what was going on, they’d put a stop to it. It was also possible, however, that she was dead wrong, and that trying to say anything to them would be a disaster. They needed more information before they could let her try. Before she could say anything, though, Howard spoke.

“Actually, Toulouse, Kevin, I’ve got a really important job for you two. We are going to need a distraction.”

The staircase to the second floor was between the foyer and the fountain court There was a security guard posted there to intervene if anybody decided to duck under the rope. Across from the staircase was a little marble table displaying an intricate silver-plated wine cooler. Toulouse and Kevin passed by this, and Toulouse hitched her purse up her shoulder and knocked the cooler over.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, and went to pick it up.

“No, don’t touch it, you’ll get fingerprints on it!” Kevin told her. He stuck out his foot to stop her, and bumped the thing again.

“Both of you get away from that!” the horrified guard exclaimed. He went to move them away from it, and with his back turned, Peggy and Howard slipped up the red-carpeted stairs.

“That poor cooler,” Peggy remarked.

“Eh, it’s not even real Sheffield plate,” Howard said, unconcerned.

At the top of the steps was a little room where another guard was supposed to be watching a bank of television screens that showed various views of the house. Peggy and Howard outside the door were quite clearly visible on one of them, but the guard in question was reading a comic book and not paying the slightest attention. As they tiptoed by, Peggy noticed what was hanging on the wall next to the shelves of screens.

“Is that one of those paintings from California?” she asked.

Howard glanced over his shoulder at the portrait. “I dated an artist there,” he said. “She told me I was her muse. That’s when I knew I had to leave her – I couldn’t take being anybody’s muse. Too much pressure.”

“Mmm,” said Peggy. “We’re lucky the staff didn’t recognize you, if they have to look at that all day.” Then again, perhaps they had, and just dismissed it as a coincidence.

“I wonder what happened to the ones she did of me nude,” Howard said.

“If she had any sense, she burned them.”

#fanfic #agent carter #peggy carter #howard stark

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redheadedramblings · 6 years

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Good for each other (Part 3)

Title: Good for each other (Part 3) Paring : Bucky x Reader Summary: Bucky Barnes has lost everything. He is alone in this world, at least not until you enter his life. word count: 3,804 warnings: Blood / panic attack A/N : Oh god here is the next chapter! I tried to keep a consistent schedule but I just started up work again so I haven’t been able to write! But to make up for it I tried writing a little more! Tell me what you think! The italics indicate a flashback.

masterlist

A couple hours later you went searching for Bucky to check on him. You wanted to make sure he was alright from what happened earlier. After leaving the meeting you gave some harsh words to Tony and stayed with Bruce for the rest of the day, giving Bucky some time to cool off. Walking up to his bedroom you knocked on his door. “Barnes its me, open up.” you softly spoke. Knocking again you waited for an answer but was greeted with silence instead. Sighing you put your ear to the door and listened for movement but you heard nothing.

“Bucky, I am coming in, alright?” you warned before opening the door. The room was empty, the walls were bare and the window to the outside was open letting in a cool breeze. You walked around the room and took a long breath in, he must have run off somewhere. Leaving Bucky’s room you walked down the hall to the common area and found his keys to his bike and his phone on the table. He always has his phone with him, when he doesn’t have it, that means he doesn’t want to be bothered or found. You checked all around the base, hitting his usual hang out spots. The Gym, the shooting rang, or even down in the med bay, but to your disappointment you couldn't find him. You scratched your head for a moment, thinking of some place where he might have run off to when it hit you. You knew exactly where he was.

You approached the big building in front of you, Smithsonian it read at the top. You looked around, it was dark. Deep blue clouds filled the sky as the sun set and the air had gotten cold. A chill shot down your spine and you dug your hands into the pockets of your coat and walked up the steps. You approached the doors and grabbed the handle but it was locked, of course. The museum was closed but that wasn’t going to stop you. Cupping your hands over your head and peering in you teleported in with ease.

Stopping in the main hallway you glanced around and looked at the security box, there was an old man that had fallen asleep at the desk which made you smile. Tip toeing past him you made your way into the museum until you got to a large sign hanging from the ceiling that read “Captain America in Memoriam.” A sad sigh escaped your lips as you stood for a second reading the sign over and over again. You still couldn’t believe he was gone, its been almost two years now, but it still feels like yesterday. Entering the exhibit your eyes scanning the photos that decorated the walls, they dated back from world war two up until modern day.

Wandering around the corner you came to an abrupt halt when you saw Bucky sitting there on a bench in the middle of the Captain America exhibit. He sat slumped over looking up at a large screen, his hat rested firmly on his head covering his face, his palms resting on his thighs. Flinching ever so slightly, as he knew you were there but he didn’t turn his head. Pushing your lips together you slowly walked over to him and gently sat down beside him on the wooded bench. Looking up at the screen in front of you, you watched the footage along with him, some of the footage was in black and white other was in color. Then there was Steve and Bucky shown standing next to each other laughing, Steve said something funny and Bucky laughed at his joke. It was during the war, before Hydra, before the pain, the experiments, before the suffering. You turned your head to see Bucky’s face, he looked tense, his muscles tightened and he sightly shifted in his seat.

Glancing down you looked at his hands which were gripping his knees harshly. Slowly reaching down you took hold of his left hand intertwining your fingers with his. Looking back up at the screen you see from the corner of your eye that his body falls and his muscles begin to relax under his leather jacket. A smile formed at the corner of your mouth as you felt him squeeze your fingers, reassuring you that he was alright. You watched as the footage repeated a couple more times, you weren’t in a hurry, you waited until he was okay to go. You knew how much this was effecting him. You sat with him for about an hour in complete silence until he turned to you. Your eyes met and he looked calm, his face was relaxed and it was almost as though you had scrubbed his sadness away.

“Lets go home, hm?” you asked softly, almost in a whisper.

Bucky slowly stood up from the bench and adjusted his baseball cap on his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You stood up next to him and he nudged his elbow into your side and you looked up into his eyes. He looked down at his arm signaling you it was okay to touch him and you looped you arm though his. Neither of you said a word as you walked arm and arm back down the hall making your way to the exit. Passing a large glass exhibit he suddenly stopped in his tracks and you halted to a stop and looked back to see him staring into the container.

Taking a few steps back you peered in and stifled a breath. Looking into the glass you saw it, the shield, Captain Americas shield. It was behind a glass case, the shield was split up into three large sections, two of them bigger than the other. Paint was scratched, the sides were scorched and the color was faded. The pieces were being carefully held up by some metal hooks, and it gleamed under the lights.

You waited for him to say something, anything, but his mouth didn't move. His eyes just roamed the shield for a bit scanning every inch of it. After about a minute he quickly glanced down at you and shot you a fake, half ass smile before carefully pulling you back down the hall. You looked back once more to take one more look at the shield before you left. Bucky had you looped with him as the two of you walked down the streets into the darkness, neither of you said a word for the rest of the night

The next morning you were sitting in the kitchen, your belly full from already eating lunch. Shifting yourself on the barstool you paused the racing game on your phone and glanced up at the clock that was hanging on the wall. It was almost noon and Bucky still wasn't back. He had gotten up in the early hours in the morning and left the apartment to go down to the gym. Bucky is always carful to not wake you up when he gets up, he knows that you are a sensitive sleeper. But this morning you could hear him dragging his feet, his footsteps loud and slow, you knew he must still be upset from yesterday. He found comfort in the gym, you would often find him down there when he needed to blow off steam or something was bothering him. It was a way to soothe his mind, it kept him busy, kept him distracted. He would be down there all day if you let him.

Jumping down off the stool you left the kitchen and walked down to the gym. Walking in you saw Bucky was in the fitness center on the bench press. Leaning yourself on the door you crossed your arms and watched him lift a ridiculous amount of weight on the bar.

Rolling your eyes you stepped forward taking a few strides in the room. He set the bar down at sat at the edge of the bench. He was shirtless, his sweat pants hanging low on his hips, his hair pulled up in a high bun. Sweat covered his body and it glistened in the bright lights. Reaching down he grabbed his water bottle that was at his feet and took a few big gulps. As he drank some droplets of water escaped past his lips and you watched as they ran down his neck and over his bobbing adams apple. Darting your eyes away you cleared your throat softly and felt yourself suddenly become warmer. He finally turned his head to look at you standing there a few feet away from him.

“Hey.” you heard him mumble as he acknowledged you.

“Hi.” you shrugged. Bucky turned away and began to take the large weights off the bar and set them down on the floor. The room fell silent and the only thing that was heard were the circle weights hitting each other as he picked them up. “Come get lunch okay, popsicle?” you finally say. You half expected him to snap back at you with a snarky comment or just ignore you. But instead he just nodded without turning around and simply said “okay”.

Waiting for him to say something more you stood there for another minute watching him. When the room fell silent again you took that as you queue to leave. You walked back up the stairs and to the kitchen and prepared lunch for him while he went to the showers.

A few minutes later he comes up and hobbles over to the counter and you turn around handing him a plate with a sandwich and some carrots and apple slices on the side. He mutters out a “thanks” and walks over to the table near the floor length windows and sits down. Leaning on the marble top you rest your head in your palm as you watch him from a far. The door unexpectedly opens and Bruce walks in with some folders in his hand.

“Well hello Dr. Banner.” you greet him in a funny tone.

“Afternoon Y/N.” He stands across from you at the other side of the island and leans on his side. River runs in down the hall way and greets him and he gently pats her on the head.

“These are for you. They are some files for you to review and look over.” He slides the folder over to you.

“Gee, thanks” Banner looks at Bucky who is eating by himself at the table.

“How is he?”

“Not as bad as he was.”

“Did you talk to Tony?”

“Yea I did. I said some not so nice things to him.”

“He deserved it.”

“Yea, he did.” He turned his attention back to you.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Pretty good. I woke up without a head ache this morning.”

“Thats great to hear. Have you been taking your medication?”

“Yes, I have.” 

Guards grabbed you by your arms and you are ripped out of the interrogation room. Speeding down the hallway you tried to keep up with their long strides as they dragged you. Your hand clenching tightly around your wrist, blood streaming down your arm leaving a trail of red liquid behind you. Glancing back you saw the Winter Solider right on your heals, a mixture of confusion and anger written in his eyes. Pulling you around a corner, your eyes snapping forward to see that you were approaching a lab of some sort. One of the guards harshly pushes open the door and the other throws you into the large room. Stumbling a bit you look up to see a man dressed in a lab coat with a red checkered shirt on. He turns around from his desk and looks at you his mouth slightly parted in shock.  “Whats this?” he asks eyeing both of the guards and then the Solider. “I need you to stitch her up.” the Solider says through his teeth. The doctor takes a few steps forward and looks you up and down and glances at your wrist. Blood was already beginning to form a small puddle on the floor. The doctors face went from confusion to concern as he watched you squeeze you fingers harder around your wound. “I can take it from here.” he raises his arm to the guards and shoes them out. The Winter Solider stands there behind you, it was though you could almost feel him breathing down your neck as you legs buckled. The doctor is quick to your side, holding you into place as you begin to sway from the blood loss. Flinching, you look up at him in alarm, goosebumps running up and down your arms. Sensing your distress he bends down slightly so that his face is now at your eye level. “I am not going to hurt you, I promise.” he says to you calmly. His voice is deep and southing, his brown eyes were soft and somewhat comforting. Your body began to relax under his gentle grip and your breathing softened. “Have a seat for me, please?” he asks. Silently, you nod your head and he leads you over to a table and helps you sit down in a chair. The Solider silently stalking you, stands near the wall, his eyes watching your every move. Walking over to a cabinet the doctor grabs some tools and places them on to a metal tray and walks back over to you. He pulls up a chair on the other side of the table and sits down setting the plate of tools next to him. Scotching himself forward in the chair he pull on some latex gloves and hovers his hands over your wrist. “Can I take a look at it?” the doctors asks. You give him another assuring nod and he lightly takes your left hand off of the gash. More blood spills out and he is quick to place a clean white cloth over the cut. “This is pretty deep, how did this happen?” he asks looking up at you. “The brat cut her wrist during interrogation, pulled out some sort of device out of her skin.” the Solider growls. “Barnes.” The doctor scolds harshly. He turns his head back to you. “Is that true? Why did you do that?” Your eyes met his and you slowly raise your shoulders to your ears. “They were listening.” you reply almost in a whisper. The doctor leans back in his chair slightly and looks over to the Solider who has now stood up straighter. Not pushing the topic any further he clears his throat and fishes for a needle out of the tray. “This is going to numb your arm so I can sew it up okay? Its for the pain.” he explains to you. The doctor begins to tell you everything he is going to do before he does it, knowing that you are scared. He is on the last couple of stitches, you cut is now almost completely sewn up. Hooking the needle into your skin you watch as he pulls the thread through and begins to tie the ends. Inspecting his work once more he cleans the dried up blood off your wrist with a damp washcloth. Grabbing some gauze the doctor starts to wrap it around your wrist covering your sewn up wound. When he is done you slowly take you hand off the table and place it on your lap and murmur a “thanks” under your breath. “So, whats your name?” the doctor kindly asks. After a couple moments of silence you finally open your mouth to speak. “I….I don’t know…” you manage to squeak out. Panic washes over you. You realize that you don't know, you don't remember. Come to think of it, you don't remember anything past being loaded into the armored truck. Your body suddenly feels cold and you shiver. Your eyes darting around looking at your fingers. “I..I don't remember. I don't remember.” your voice cracks. You desprtally try to remember but the harder you think the more your head hurts. Your mind is blank, you have no memories. Your heart beats in your ears, its the only sound you hear. Remembering back to the truck, you recall men covering your head with a cloth and throwing you into the back of the truck cuffing you to the floor. “Make sure those cuffs are secure, we don't want Y/N getting away this time.” you hear one of the men say. “Y/N…” you fearfully mutter. “I…I think thats my name. Thats…what they called me.” You begins to open and close your fists and your breathing picks up again. Hunching over you raise your hands to your head grabbing at your hair. “I’m….I’m sorry. I just don't remember. I don't remember. I don't remember.” “Y/N” the doctor calls your name. In an instant you look up at his with tears burning your eyes. He notices the war going on in your mind. “Thats a lovely name. I like it. Its nice to meet you Y/N.” He does his best to distract you from your impending panic attack. He reaches over the table and takes both you your hands in his. “My name is Bruce Banner.” he smiles at you and gently squeezes your palms.

After Bruce’s visit you said goodbye to him and agreed to meet him later in his lab to help him run some tests on a suit they have been designing for you. Bucky sat there for a while letting himself settle before getting up and busting his plate. He was speaking a but more now, he wouldn't give you one worded responses anymore. Bucky still wasn't back to his usual self but he seemed to be feeling a bit better. After spending about a half an hour with you he informed you that he was going to go back down to the gym and finish his sets. You tried to stop him and told him that he shouldn’t exert himself by he kept reassuring you that he was okay and that you should worry. You watched him leave and you stayed in your room for the remainder of the day.

Bucky comes back to the apartment later that night and sets his gym bag down near the couch. Walking into the kitchen he expects to see you sitting there on the bar stools eating dinner but you aren’t there. He raises an eye brow and walks down he hall way passing the bathroom door and stops when he hairs faint whimpers coming from inside. He stops dead in his tracks and leans into the door and when he hears them again his blood runs cold. Abruptly opening the door he sees you sitting on the marble top counter near the sink, hunched over with your hands on either side of your head gripping your hair. “Y/N!” Bucky yelps as he quickly approaches you. Flinching you begin to squeeze harder and curl into yourself more. Afraid that you might vanish he doesn’t touch you he is afraid that you don't know who you are.

“Do you know who I am?” he hesitantly asks after a moment of silence.

“yes…” your voice cracks and Bucky’s stomach drops. You voice was full of pain and panic. Imminently he is in front of you holding on to your arms squeezing you gently.  “Whats wrong? What happened? Y/N what’s wrong, please, you need to tell me so I can help you.” You hadn't had an episode like this in a while, so it was making him scared.

He holds his breath as you slowly lift your head up, his eyes scan your face slightly praying that you are okay. Your face is red, your lips are slightly swollen, he could tell you have been crying for a while.

“I…I cant remember.” you whimper. Bucky exhales and his heart aches. You looks so scared, your body is curled and your fingers shake.

“Y/N.” he whispers.

“I cant remember.”

“What cant you remember? What happened?” he asks.

“Bruce wanted me to come to the lab later after dinner. He told..told me to bring something with me, I don't remember what it was.”

Fresh tears began to fall down your face and you began to break down again. You just saw Bruce, he had just talked to him a couple hours ago. Why couldn't your remember? You dig your nails into you scalp and let out a frustrated cry. Your mind feels blank again. Quickly he cups his hands over yours, stopping you from hurting yourselves further.

“I cant remember. I cant remember. I cant remember. I cant remember.” you kept repeating over and over again.

“Its okay Y/N.” he reassured you. He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible but he was scared. He hated seeing you like this, it physically hurt him to see you in distress.

“Why can't I remember?” you sniffed slowly lowering your arms to your side. Your cheeks felt hot and warm as tears rolled down your cheeks. Bucky began wiping them away with his thumbs and moved in a bit closer to the counter. “I tried so hard. I tried and tired. But I cant. My head hurt. Its hurts.” You look down at your dangling feet. “I just cant remember.” Bucky moves his face in closer to yours his cheek almost bruising the side of your head.

“When was the last time you took your medication?” he asks. You don't answer and just shake your head nervously and he knows you cant remember. He turns around and quickly rummages though the medicine cabinet behind him and finds your pills, he then grabs a glass cup and fills it up with water. Facing back to you he grabs your hand places the pill in your shaking palm and helps it you your mouth. You put it on your tongue and then he hands you the cup and you place it to your lips drinking a few big gulps of water. He sets the glass down and puts his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of you. He didn't want to reach out and pull you in to him, for he knew that it wasn't a good idea right now especially in your current state. So he let you slowly lean in to his chest, pressing your forehead onto his collar bone. He slowly begins to wrap his arms around you and he feels your body melt into his. When he has you completely embraced he lowers his head giving you a reassuring nudge.

“Its going to be alright, Y/N. I promise.”

tags:

@slender--spirit @honeyicouldntthinkofaurl @aceanika @disneychic8

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marvel-lucy · 7 years

Text

The Fall, chapter 9

You want more overwritten melodrama? No? Well sorry, here’s some anyway. Complete story Masterlist is here

Steve flung himself forward, in a horrible mirror of seventy years before, but he was too late. By the time he reached the edge of the fissure, there was nothing to see. The grinding sound of the earth gradually settled down but still Steve didn’t move. He lay on the shattered floor, not caring as broken concrete dug into his body and dust settled out of the air onto his tear-streaked face. For years, he had suffered the same nightmares, watching Bucky fall and unable to reach him, and now it had happened again.

Finally, eventually, the chatter in his comm-link seeped through his desolation.

Cap, Barnes, come in? Anyone got eyes on Cap or Barnes? Where were they last seen? That explosion’s blown out too many sensors, we’re rebooting but we’re in the dark here. Cap? Cap?

I’m here. I… Bucky’s gone.

He pulled himself up slowly to a sitting position. His heart was pounding, and his hands were trembling. He rested his head on his knees and wept.

Stark found him. Sensors finally re-aligned after being blown out by the explosion, he made his way through the broken base. The building was quiet, cold and dark, all power out. Small fires gradually died out on the cold rock, their red glow making the dark even eerier.

Stark’s helmet opened.

‘Cap, what the hell happened?’

Steve lifted his head. His eyes were red, and there were blood streaks and bruises on his face. He looked human and broken.

‘The door was rigged. It blew when Bucky opened it, set another one off. He fell Tony… He fell, I lost him, I couldn’t…’ His voice thickened and cracked, and he broke off, swallowing hard.

‘My suit’s at 5%, I can’t go down there right now. We’ll look Steve, we’ll find him. We’ll try…’

Steve’s head dropped to his knees again and he shut the world out as Tony took control. More people arrived. He felt hands on his shoulders, offering comfort; heard conversations flying above his head. None of it made sense to him. Bucky had fallen, and he was gone, where Steve couldn’t follow.

He felt the heat from Stark’s repulsors as two of the suits took off and flew down into the chasm, saw with unseeing eyes the light bouncing off rocks in the dark. He was chilled through from sitting on the floor, but he would stay there forever, better than leaving Bucky again

The suits flew back. He heard talk, movement. Something fell into the dark and the echo rang back loudly in the room. The suits flew down again, and he heard the whine and scrape as the armour dragged parts of the mountain around, deep inside.

‘Cap? Cap…’

The voice finally cut through his wretchedness. He looked up. Romanoff was kneeling beside him. He focussed on her. There was a dim glow from one of Stark’s suits, but the hole in the ground seemed to suck the light into its depths. He tried to nod, to be strong, to show her he was there. She rested her hand on his shoulder.

‘Steve. Did you hear? They found him. They’re bringing him up now.’

He stood, his body feeling its age for the first time. He leant on the wall and watched his breath misting in the chill air. He heard the suit fly up before he saw it, then the rocks glowed red with reflected light, then it appeared. Bucky’s body was draped over the suit’s arms. His right arm was flung over the suit’s shoulder, his left hung limp and unmoving, the metal crushed and scraped. His trousers were torn and the red light made the blood glow too brightly. There was bone visible. Bucky’s face was turned away from Steve, and he was glad that he could hold off from seeing it for a moment longer.

The Legion suit landed heavily, and Steve waited for it to set the body down, knowing he would have to step forward, and that it would then become real. It didn’t stop though, walking forward, through the cleared route to the back of the room, and on through the base. He couldn’t stop it. He’d wanted to see, here, so then it would be over, and he could just sit there with Bucky until he died too, but to find the energy to follow him out of the base seemed impossible.

‘Hey, stop!’ he called, his voice filled with dust.

‘Steve, there’s no time, we’ve got to get him to the jet,’ Romanoff spoke gently, as if to a child who wouldn’t understand. ‘It’s touch and go, he needs stabilising fast.’

He looked at her, uncomprehending for a moment.

‘He’s not dead? But the fall…’

‘He’s not dead Steve. He’s not doing great, but he’s not dead. You thought…?’ She rested her hand on his arm, her face full of sympathy. ‘No, he’s not dead. I guess it’s always going to take more than a fall for that one.’

His face trembled as he began to laugh and cry, taking in a deep breath as the world lightened, then he made for the exit and the jet.

She had tried, on the fifth day, to contact him. It had taken her all day to summon the courage to press send on the simple message:

Hope you’re OK

When he didn’t respond, she started drinking again, to wipe out the hope she had felt for a while. The only care she took was of her plant, the one concrete symbol that there had been someone in her life, someone who even just for a moment, cared. The plant flourished. She did not.

She had changed her shopping habits, so nobody could notice how often she was buying alcohol. A little variety to the day, breaking up the drinking and sleeping. She wandered to a new shop, stood in the queue with a large bottle of vodka, and let her eye run over the newspaper headlines: ‘Explosion destroys Alaskan mountain.’ She didn’t care.

Then, two days later, the vodka gone, another shopping expedition, another store. She was waiting outside as soon as they opened in the morning. Papers, newly delivered, were stacked by the stand. Another headline: ‘Is This the End of the Line for the Winter Soldier?’. Two pictures of his face, one from the 1940s, the other with longer hair, the smile replaced with hateful blankness. Her breath caught in her chest and she grabbed at the paper, stood by the stand reading, trying to focus on the words.

Word from Avengers HQ is that the infamous Winter Soldier, also known as Captain America’s oldest and best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, is on the brink of death. The mystery explosion which toppled an Alaskan mountain earlier this week has been revealed as a bomb planted by Hydra, the Nazi organisation Captain Rogers and his team are working to end. Barnes was caught up in the explosion which ripped apart the mountain, his fall into a crevasse causing massive injuries. The solder is now seen as a victim of torture and the world’s longest serving POW, and was being rehabilitated and living with Captain America in New York’s Avengers Tower. The Avengers have said, via a spokesperson, that Barnes’ injuries are severe and life-threatening, despite the serum which has given him his long life and youthful looks. Our thought and prayers are with the Captain and his friend. For more on Barnes’ life, see page 21. For an alternate view on the world’s deadliest assassin, see…

She let the paper drop back to the stand and stood for a moment, finding it hard to breath. Then she carefully placed her basket of shopping on the ground, and walked out of the store, overwhelmed. Outside, the panic overcame over. Her fists clenched and each breath came faster, whistling through her lungs. Her eyes filled with tears and she knew only that she had to move, to keep moving, that as long as she moved, he would be OK. She started walking, towards the Avengers Tower she could see on the skyline and tried not to think.

It took her hours. The sun was bright overhead by the time she reached the Tower. There were press vans parked outside, the reporters waiting for any sign of movement like vultures. There were tourists too, posing for pictures beside the giant ‘A’ symbol, and bunches of flowers tied to the railings. Her heart lifted a little at that, that there were other people who could see the good in him and wished him well. She pushed her way through a crowd on a tour, heading for the large reception desk, out of breath and out of focus.

‘Bucky, is he…? I’m a friend, can I see…’ Her words slowed. She realised how she must look. Hair uncombed, clothes none-too-clean, the scent of alcohol on her breath. The guard was well-trained and polite, didn’t recoil or laugh, but she could only imagine how she must seem.

‘I’m sorry ma’am, all the team appreciate everyone’s good wishes but I’m afraid there are no visitors allowed.’

‘Of course, it was stupid… I shouldn’t have…’ she backed away as she spoke, her face flushing into sudden heat. Pushing through the doors again, she felt ashamed and humiliated, stood for a moment pretending not to cry, refusing to turn and see if the guard was watching her.

A cab, caught in traffic, caught her eye. She held up a hand and moved forward, opening the door and curling into the far corner of the seat as she gave her address. The cab moved off, slow in the lunchtime traffic in this busy area. She scrubbed her eyes with her hands and stared out of the window, barely seeing the city move by.

‘Hey, stop, can you pull over?’

The driver grunted with mild annoyance, signalled and swerved through the traffic to the blaring of horns. She pulled out some money and passed it over, barely checking the amount. Her eyes were drawn to the sight in front of her.

Tucked under the railway tracks, behind a shaped metal fence, there was greenery spilling over into the city. A train rumbled overhead, and the noise broke through her reverie, setting her moving forward into the site and the building beyond. She pushed through the gate and found herself in an urban jungle. Water fountains trickled in one corner behind bamboo screens while terracotta pots stacked high matched the rusting paint on the rail tracks above. This was the kind of place she would once have spent hours wandering through, letting her fingers trail through leaves, breathing in the wet scent of freshly watered earth and the heady scent of flowers. Now she only wanted one thing, and had to shut her mind to the life growing prolifically around her.

Bypassing shelves stacked with seeds and pots, weaving her way through the store, she read the signs hanging from the ceiling until she found the row she wanted. Glossy green leaves massed in front of her, plants competing for space and sunlight on the crowded shelves. She walked slowly down the aisle, one hand running along the rough wooden edge, the scratching helping to anchor her and hold down the panic. Finding what she was looking for, she picked up and then rejected two pots before finding the best specimen, tall and healthy looking. She wrapped her arms around the plastic pot, clutching it to herself as before she had clutched the child’s cup, and made her way back to the front of the store to pay.

Holding the plant carefully, she was about to leave the store when she noticed her reflection in the glass doors. She was wide-eyed with exhaustion and tangled with fear. She turned back, found an assistant to speak to.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, is there a restroom here I can use?’

The woman turned to her with a friendly smile and took in her appearance and the plant clutched to her chest. She rested a hand on her arm gently as if she was a frightened animal.

‘Right this way through the coffee shop, I’ll walk you there.’ She kept up a quiet stream of chatter, not seeming to mind the lack of response as they walked through the store. ‘Just through here. Would you like me to hold your plant for you? Peace lily is it, lovely choice. I’ll be right here waiting.’

She went in, saw herself fully in the mirror now, no hiding. Resting her hands on a basin she stared at herself, refusing to back down or look away. This was what she had become. Hands trembling, she turned on the tap, used paper towels to scrub her face, then dug into her bag for a comb. Tidier, she just looked sad now. Her face had gained new deep lines of sorrow since last she had really seen herself, and she was surprised at how much her loss showed.

Back out in the store, the woman was waiting for her. She thanked her, took the plant back, her shoulders perhaps a little straighter now, and left.

The Tower was not too far away, she hadn’t come far in the taxi. Before she reached it, she stopped, rummaged in her bag again for a pen. Folding back the paper bag to the height of the pot, she wrote a message on the bag. Inelegant, but she had to try.

At the Tower, the security guard had been replaced as the shifts changed. She straightened her back, plastered on a smile, walked forward as if she had the right to be there.

‘Hello, I’m sorry to bother you, I have a delivery here for Sergeant Barnes, from a close friend.’ She held the plant out, leaving the guard little choice but to take it. ‘Please see the plant gets to him quickly, and isn’t left sitting on a shelf. It’ll need watering, of course.’

She’d done all she could now. She knew she wouldn’t get to see Bucky, and that was right. She wasn’t anything to him, in reality they barely knew each other, and yet she felt broken that somewhere in this building, he was lying, injured, and not knowing she cared. She looked up to the guard again, to say goodbye, needing to get out now, get back to the oblivion that alcohol could give her. He wasn’t looking at her but was staring over her shoulder. Frowning with confusion, she turned to look. Blue eyes rimmed with red, above dark circles showing the signs of exhaustion and fear she knew from her own face.

‘I’m sorry ma’am, I heard you mention plants. Was that… a peace lily?’

@melconnor2007 @emilyevanston @kittyslove @badassbaker @phoenix21love @lbouvet @bellenuit45 @prplprincez @gingerrootknits @pineapplebooboo @feelmyroarrrr @avengerofyourheart @eyeofdionysus @hellomissmabel @learisa @mitra-k-w @imhereforbvcky @shaddixlife @iwillbeinmynest @amrita31199 @whatsbetterthanfantasy @pixierox101 @edward-lover18 @madcheshire89 @heartfulloffandoms @chipilerendi @kenya-17 @mckorni32843

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #angst fic

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kido-swagomi · 6 years

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this is one of those posts that I really shouldn’t make but am just absolutely out of shits to give and the bridges are burned anyway. So fuck it.

I wanted to talk to my therapist about this today but we ended up talking about a different issue instead, so I’m just going to vent on Tumblr because I’m sure that’s healthy. If you’re actually reading this expect no actual structure or purpose to this post. This is like the definition of a vent post.

So Aiareck. That blue dude in my icon. He’s my fursona. But he didn’t start off that way, he was originally a DnD character, made for a phenomenal campaign run by one of my closest friends. Past tense. That game took a lot of my energy, and it was by my choice. I was enraptured with the world the DM had created. Obsessed, really. My personality tends to lead to that. I had a massive backstory for Aiareck - dude was 42 at the time of the game so he had plenty of life behind him to write about. Fantastic adventures. Tragedy. Romance. The whole nine yards. I spent hours dreaming up characters and stories for Aiareck to interact with. My intent was to actually write this backstory out as a short story/novella/thing (spoiler, I never did because I’m so bad at actually writing things, I just have a bunch of character bios that tell the story through those).

Cut to about 5 months after the campaign started. One soft-restart after the OG party was a nightmare and we paused the campaign to focus on a different one before removing someone from our current group and bringing a new person in. I made the mistake of dating another player in the game. They flew out to visit me and meet in person for the first time since we started dating. Visit didn’t go well. They went home early. We broke up the day after.

Day after that, the DM ends the campaign.

Three weeks later, them, and most of that group, cut off all contact with me. Me specifically. I know they’re still in touch with one-another. Just me.

These people were some of my best friends. I had known the DM for six years. The rest I met with the campaign, but we became fast friends. And they just. Cut me out. No explanation. No arguments. No reason. Just shut me out.

My ex and I didn’t have an angry breakup. We agreed it wasn’t gonna work. We wanted to still be friends - or at least that’s what they told me. I know I did. We hadn’t even been dating two months, I could get over it. Wanted to just take a few weeks off from the game or something to deal with the grief, then get back into it and just be friends again. Easy.

But no. Instead I get shut completely out. No connection left. It was complete and total. Every single social network under the sun that we were mutual friends/followers on. Gone. A huge aspect of my life was just swept out from under me. A dear friend, whom I had already given a second chance after they did some pretty fucked up shit and shut me out before, did it all over again (fool me twice, eh?), the first relationship I had been in in 7 years, the campaign I had sunk so many hours into as a player, gone. Just like that.

Queue major depression spell. Went hard on painting Warhammer models to pass the time. Ended up getting burnt out on that and have barely painted since April. Started my own campaign with a different party in May in some desperate attempt to get back what I had before, and I’m rapidly losing motivation to continue that endeavor. Work continues to blow ass. And my self-esteem is basically shot and at this point I’m just convinced I’m going to be single for the rest of my life because of my own social awkwardness and anxieties.

But hey, at least I’m getting a bird in a few weeks, eh?

But what does this have to do with Aiareck? The blue boy from the start of the post. Well, even before all of this shit happened I had decided that after years of not having one, he was gonna be my fursona outside of the campaign. I love this boy. I got a really great badge commissioned of him to wear to cons. If by some miracle I ever acquire the money to pay for it I’d love to get at least a partial suit based off of him.

And now he’s got all these bad memories associated with him. I told myself after this all went down that I was still going to finish writing his story. I was too invested in it not to. Spoiler: I didn’t. Because every time I’d try to I’d find myself infuriated. He reminded me of what I had lost. This stupid blue bird had suddenly become a symbol for the shit that drove what had started as a pretty okay year for me into the fucking ground.

That’s where my obsessive compulsive tendencies rolled their ugly fucking head. My brain wasn’t done obsessing over him and his story - it’s still not done. I pace the floor on slow days at work thinking about his story. About his adoptive mother. About how he ended an attempted coup on his homeland by eliminating the perpetrator, who was his own mentor. About how lost his parents at a young age and made his way after that carrying on his father’s love of music and dance, and spent his teenage years as a busker in his home city.

I think about how in the campaign, his home was under siege by the big bad, and now he’ll never get to save it. He’ll never figure out what the big secret that pirate captain was keeping from him was, or get back the Super Legendary Awesome Pistol™ from her that was stolen from his home years ago. And I can’t even ask anyone what the possible outcomes were. The only person who knows decided I’m some kind of bastard that should be shut out at any cost for reasons that I’ll probably never know.

I wanted to be able to detach Aiareck from those memories. To compartmentalize them and eliminate the negative associations so I could still enjoy developing this character that I’ve spent so much time on and want to literally represent me in online space. And eventually (still working on this one) have him redesigned with a more ‘modern’ appearance to detach him from his roots as a DnD character (at least outwardly). I intended the commission I got of him recently to be a kind of “last hurrah” for Aiareck the DnD character, and then I’d get a new character sheet done up with the “new” Aiareck.

Of course I’d still have his DnD story and if I ever get the opportunity I would absolutely play as him in a new campaign. I loved him too much not to.

But despite my efforts, I’ve utterly failed to detach him. Those memories still come back. That anger is still there. The absolutely un-fucking-shakable feeling that I’ve done something horrible to wrong these people I considered friends to warrant the treatment I’ve gotten and I don’t even fucking know what it is I could have done. And I don’t even mean that from a stupid, arrogant “I can do no wrong” stance. I mean I’ve seriously tried to look back at my behavior and my actions and I can find absolutely nothing that explains this response. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m a perfect person. Let’s be real, I’m an asshole. I know I can be a royal pain in the ass sometimes. I make plenty of damn mistakes. I made mistakes in the group setting of this DnD campaign. I made mistakes while my now-ex visited. I made mistakes in that relationship before they visited.

Yet, evidently, I did do something horrible. And I’m either too stupid or too full of myself to begin to have even the faintest idea of what it is.

There’s another hit to the ol’ self-esteem. ‘Cause I really needed another one of those.

I don’t even really know where I’m going with this anymore. Just... I just want to love my bird boi. I just want to be able to move on. But I’m so fucking incapable of doing that. It’s infuriating. It’s something about myself I fucking hate. I just can’t get over shit.

Seems like a lot of emotion over a stupid anthropomorphic bird. If only I could shed that emotion.

#personal bullshit #ridiculously incredibly stupidly unnecessarily long post #like fr

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mantrabay · 4 years

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Ballroom In The Sky

Short Story

Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds

Geoff Wild shakes, weeps and sighs.

He was on his knees on this grass-strewn, unkempt graveyard on the outskirts of his native town.

Two years later and her memory still intrudes in unexpected moments.

“Still so vivid. Is this a nightmare…..some trick of the light or just another passing dream?

The Passing Of A Velvet Heart.”

Geoff's thoughts almost choking him. Streams of emotion flowed down his face like someone who had just seen a tragic film.

Violet or Velvet heart, his pet name for his wife, had died and was still having difficulty coming to terms with it.

The sudden passing of his loved one had left this middle-aged man gaunt, ashen faced and skeletal. Wild’s troubled expression had become a haunted house of uncanny notions and strange secrets waiting to flow from his water-logged eyes. Those circumstances surrounding Violet’s death were never clear.

Was it a death wish or an accidental fall from the edge of the flat roof on their elegant townhouse?

Why would this lady of such excellent balance lose her footing in such a manner?

Death through misadventure was a colourful term used to describe what happens when there is no clear cause or explanation.

“Cherish all those wonderful experiences we had. Whichever one of us dies first.”

Violet once said. Almost as if she had some premonition.

This was six months before she passed away.

A creepy dawning sneaks its way into Geoff’s thoughts.

An endless see-saw of conflicting doubts convulsed him as he dwelt in the cemetery.

Yet Wild fondly recalled that night they first met at the Skyline Ballroom.

The Skyline was a battered tumbledown barn cum venue whose allure was based firmly on its availability.

The interior of this ballroom was hardly more enticing.

The chipped hardwood floor and the dusty pale cream walls with paint flakes that peeled off only confirmed its tenement status. It was known locally as the “Creaking Beam”” due to its ghostly acoustics and flickering lights. Here in this spooky venue Geoff and Violet had their earliest encounter. Wild remembered her radiant smiles and looping glances which he hoped were being cast at him. The ripples of long dark hair, those apple blossom cheeks and of course her angelic aura stood out.

On that night she wore a polka dot ruche dress, amethyst ear pendants and satin moccasins.

An opal choker completes the picture. “Have I the gumption? The courage.

A faint heart etc.” Geoff could hear his heart flutter as he did his tightrope walk toward her. Within seconds he was standing in front of Violet unable to control the tremble in his knees.

“May I dance with you?” Geoff asked.

Velvet heart’s hands formed a lazy arch and her dainty fingers curled inwards while she thought of a response.

“Of course. I would be delighted.” Violet spoke in that pear drop tone which beguiled everybody who met her.

Geoff, the local journalist and writer was in seventh heaven.

They never forgot that enchanting song they first danced to, “Ballroom In The Sky.”

The song was performed by Valerie And The Blue Skies, a rock and jazz band whose name was partially influenced by the venue that gave them their initial break.

They weren’t very big but had a cult following.

Something magical and unearthly happened every time they played that song on stage.

Geoff could see how similar Violet and Valerie were in appearance.

They were mirror images of each other.

It was frightening how easy it was to confuse the two of them in speech, mannerisms and appearance.

The drole, quaint, humour.

Age even.

Valerie was based in a remote enigmatic area outside town when not on tour.

She used to refer to songs as role plays in that banter between numbers.

“You feel as though you are a different person.

Maybe a member of the audience betimes.”

Valerie remarked.

Other than that they, Violet and Valerie, were virtually indistinguishable.

Violet did admit to meeting Valerie casually and for autograph purposes but other than that they had very few interactions with each other or so it appeared on the surface at any rate.

It seemed amazing how “ Ballroom In The Sky” with its airy ascending rock chords and jaunty jazz lines could draw Violet, Valerie and Geoff into a peculiar triangle.

The sudden moody breaks and abrupt silences built a momentary cocoon around the three of them which the rest of the patrons were unaware of.

For the most part or at least superficially.

They, the three characters, weren’t always aware that they were being sucked into a surreal threesome.

As for Valerie’s top sideman....well, he was known as Silent Sam.

He was the only member of this group that had any kind of track record or reputation.

Sam’s blue attire was in keeping with the band’s name. He wore a large trilby hat tipped over his forehead sheltering his pointed face and pencil slim physique.

Basking in the background one saw very little of him.

He, Sam, was short-sighted when it suited and though taciturn was also eccentric.

Practical jokes were his forte and the trademark impish grin was always an afterthought.

Then the usual quiet man mystery.

“Yep ..Yup....or Sure.“

These were the only asides from this oddball sidemen by and large.

He was prone to stumble and fall. Valerie had to indicate where things were to Sam in case he injured himself.

They would have words with each other which no one could quite figure out. Theirs was a sign language of its own complete with slanted squirms and facial signposts.

One often wondered if there was a deeper relationship between Valerie and Sam that others had yet to pick up on.

Leaving that aside, those Blue Skies airs would have been mere fillers without Sam. This lonely freak seemed aloof but by the same token these songs were peculiarly his.

“LOVERS TAKE THE FLOOR

FANCY DANCING WITH THE ONE THAT YOU ADORE

WARM EMBRACES AS YOU HEAR EACH OTHER SIGH

LOVERS TIL WE DIE

WE’LL BE DANCING IN THAT BALLROOM IN THE SKY.”

Every time that song was played Valerie, Violet and Geoff were sharing unwittingly a secret that would baffle even the most senior detective.

The startled looks, embarrassed smiles, were all part of this outlandish ritual.

Wild did try to piece all these recollections together.

“Valerie sure could croon those songs. In a real hypnotic fashion. Everyone in the dancehall was enthralled. People would sway like ice skaters one moment, waltz in a swan-like manner the next and just as often rave in the isles like end of term teenagers. The classics then came thick and fast.”

Geoff whispers to himself in this solitary graveyard.

“JUST A PASSING DREAM...........STILL SO VIVID.......DANCING IN HEAVEN...... KISSES ALL AROUND....MAGIC HAND........A LITTLE BIT BLIND, and of course “BALLROOM IN THE SKY”. Other favourites included “ LET YOUR LOVED ONE KNOW “ ( BEFORE SHE PASSES AWAY ) AND “ IN TWO MINDS.” Geoff and Violet would date and swing religiously to those fantasy songs every Sunday as their courtship blossomed.

“Ballroom In The Sky “ was always the highpoint of the dance with its mesmerising rhythms and choral mantras.

Like magic it weaved its way through every aspect of their relationship. Its spell was like an invisible hand shadowing their each and every move.

This constellation of events occurred in a scenic nineteen seventies spot.

Despite its haunting vistas and backdrop of panoramic hills it resembled a ghost town. Openings were few against an infinite spiral of closing factories, bookstores with half-empty shelves and shopkeepers peering out of doors.

A crushing gloom weighed heavily on this once vibrant resort.

Ten years earlier it was a beacon. “I shudder to think…...A jigsaw puzzle of past events.”

Geoff surveying the cemetery as if he were a stargazing prophet.

He didn’t want to be heard talking to himself.

Such memories could have been taken directly from some movie script. “Yes .. it was a hub that Skyline. Like homeless drifters, the folk who attended lapping up and revelling in the bonhomie of gemstone tunes and spritely pulse rate beats.”

The man Geoff communing with himself.

They were fugitives all of them. Be they fantasists, love seekers or escapees from that heavy-handed void called the dole queue. Suddenly an unusual presence descended without warning.

“What the heavens is? Snap…..ah it's a branch.” Momentary jitters engulfing Wild.

He shook in concert with the overarching colonnade of brown edge green leaf trees astride this burial ground.

An eerie rustling dewdrop tiptoe now caressing Geoff’s ears.

”Up there somewhere Velvet Heart?

Dancing in the heavens? You know that “Ballroom In The Sky.”

Nervous laughter now relief road to that traffic jam of sentiment just about to speed off.

Glued to the spot that macabre sixth sense of Violet hovering above evaporates due to an illusory shaft of late evening sun.

Warm misty comas presently forming a shroud over Wild but he was immune to them.

Geoff’s mental state shifts from doze to daze. Clouds of recall floated past his eyes with the odd fact jolting him out of his stupor.

Wild could no longer hide from the rather bizarre identities Valerie and Velvet Heart possessed. “Oh those comic jibes and piercing glances that they cast at any distance. Some ethereal intrigues were passing through the air in a game of bow and arrows that never missed their target.”

Geoff recalls with forensic clarity.

Poor Silent Sam who was also at a loss would do his usual u-turn into the shadow. He then shook his head in dismay.

Two months before Geoff's and Violet’s parting, an unforgettable incident occurred.

Quite often memory is a lodger which steadfastly refuses to surrender its keys. It was one of those Sunday’s that typified the area Geoff lived in.

Valerie and the Blue Skies were in flying form as the tunes morphed and segued into each other. Valerie and Velvet Heart who were magnets for men knew the music would amplify their appeal.

This tuneful genre helped both aforementioned ladies ooze black magic.

Violet's knowing stare caught Geoff off guard. “Guilty conscience, there Geoff?”

Having fantasies about Valerie.

Focus all those erotic thoughts on me.

As for that eternity ring remember?” Violet’s eyes twinkled as she seized Geoff up and down. Those penetrating peepers knew how to vet a body in a flash.

“Oh no .....not at all.” Geoff with a loop of a smirk.

“Just those mystical melodies working their spell.” He said.

“You came into my life like the early morning sun.... a new dawn.” Wild in poetic mode.

“You honey tongue you. Wait, Geoff our song. Yes, Ballroom.” Violet mutters gingerly.

Valerie nodded towards Sam.

Her expression was a hard to decipher veil and deep code command.

“Get those fingers flying, Sam.”

In a tone identical to Velvet Heart leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Sam didn’t always act immediately on Valerie’s cues.

“Yep.. Yup ...Sure.” Sam’s usual retort.

Eventually.

“Ballroom In The Sky” now strong as ever as it cast its bewitching spell to all sections of this venue.

A medley was now included tonight for the first time.

“SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE” ( Sam looked at Valerie), “A LITTLE BIT BLIND” ( Sam staring vacantly at both Valerie and Violet), “MIND YOUR STEP( Sam winking at Geoff while scrunching the mouth at Violet).

Violet edged toward the stage whilst tenderly clasping Geof. There was a dim-lit silence.

Ballroom started again. Valerie and Violet now singing this tune. An eerie vacuum filled the hall as they sang unaccompanied with Geoff simply awestruck.

A triangular crush of people occurred near the stage.

Valerie handed Violet a letter which Geoff could only peer at. What was in it?

Sam was now talking to Valerie with the usual economy.

In the confusion of memory images are both mist and blur.

“Pst...Pst. It's me. Your Velvet Heart is back to haunt you so I am.“ Violet’s lofty twang.

“What in the name….I can't phantom…..fathom.” Geoff nearly froze. Violet’s voice sounded like a wet whisper stretching over twigs that simultaneously tap against windows.

She pulled back an orchard pattern duvet which was covering Geoff.

“Fell asleep at your favourite film, The Passing Of A Velvet Heart. All those graveyard scenes shot in our small town remember?

Actually Silent Sam wrote the soundtrack for the film and Ballroom. He sings on that one.” Said Violet objectively.

“Incredibly you chose Velvet Heart as your courtship name for me based on the film.

The film was never a huge success at all but did get our area some limited publicity for a while.

Sam earned some extra royalties, though not a king’s ransom from the soundtrack sales.

Valerie and Sam tying the knot next Sunday of all days.

As for that love letter you mumbled about in your sleep.

It’s an invite to their secret wedding.

Very private. As Sam is.

What a time and place he chose for the invitation.

During that ethereal love song which brought us together.” Once more Violet observes.

“Poor Sam’s a little bit blind and confused on occasions.

You know next Sunday and all. Or is he?

I was upstairs on the flat roof today.

Six months ago I fell off it.

You’ve never liked me being up there since.”

Violet continuing.

“Guilty secret must confess. I used to be onstage instead of Valerie.

Well, sometimes.

She was dating you pretending to be me.

We never knew each other that well but it was a dare worked out between us.“

Geoff shouted. “Hoodwinked.”

An incredulous look ripples over Wild’s pale face.

Violet’s eyes now ablaze.

“You never noticed did you? Deep down.”

This dry playful tease surfacing from Violet again.

Geoff was thunderstruck. Violet strolled towards their CD player on the mahogany table near the drawing room corner.

“Think you’ll like this one. Our song with Sam on vocals.” A tranquil Violet stated.

“This is one tune you’ll definitely know.

May I dance with you?”

Geoff smiled. “Of course. I would be delighted.

And relieved!”

Silent Sam’s voice wafts and weaves in his own inimitable shy way a song usually sung by Valerie, his wife to be.

And sometimes Violet, or Velvet Heart.

A number that united three people in the most curious and otherworldly manner!

“Yep….Yup ….Sure.”

As Sam was in the habit of saying!

mantrabay Copyright Protected

All My Own Work

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jeffatk1ns · 7 years

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The Louvre - Monty de la Cruz x Reader // Part One

Request - “can you make a imagine with Montgomery based on “The Louvre -Lorde"”

A/N: The other half of this request will be done soon! (This request did jump the queue a little due to the fact that they are all Jeff requests and the last few I’ve posted have been Jeff so I wanted to section them up a little.) This is my first 1st person imagine- let me know what you think!

[[

Here’s the thing. It wasn’t until it was too late that I realised how far gone my feelings were. Although there’s no denying the boy looks like he was crafted by Aphrodite, I was never really a looks girl. I know, I know, cliché as fuck- but it’s true. So, the boy annoyed me. Sue me. And his looks were never enough to make me see past that. I hated everything he stood for and the teenage grind he bought into. Of course, I knew nothing about him and was being my usual judgemental self.

To start, I’d always found it odd that he took Art. Again, I was stereotyping the baseball star. That was the first seed I guess, planted way before the rest. The next was the fact that he actually enjoyed art, and the care he took with his pieces. Every single thing he produced was meticulously fawned over with each brush stroke and paint mix. Sometimes I’d catch myself watching, from behind a canvas, the way in which he performed. And it was - a performance I mean. I couldn’t even begin to explain it in a way that gave it any kind of justice.

It got a bit tricky after that. There wasn’t any helping the fact that i kept seeing him around with his sickening cronies putting into action their perfected formula for popularity. I was far too salty about clique culture because I never fit into it, but that’s for another time. The thing was - I noticed the falters. The falls of face, the glances around as if to say ‘I need something more.’, and the escapes; ‘Miss is keeping me back to finish my art, sorry man.’ Which I knew were complete lies. That was the next thing that kept me intrigued in the boy who was my anti-type.

Well, Summer slipped us underneath her tongue,

When it came around to summer, everyone was feeling the shift. Honestly, that’s where it really started for me. I was too consumed in the summery romanticist haze to notice what was happening. Like I said, until it was too late.

Montgomery de la Cruz painted in the most gentle fashion, no one would ever expect. He was a firecracker, always lit at one end, just waiting ‘til he’d burned all the way down and exploded. Fights or shouting matches were frequent occurrences for the boy, which was part of the reason I’d avoided him before. This, really, was the main factor in my confusion of Monty (as his friends liked to refer to him) taking art. I later realised it was a tactic to calm him down, keep him on the surface. So long as his head was above the water, the fire could be extinguished just enough to last a period of time. Problem was - small things dunked him back under and BOOM. All. Burned. Up.

Truthfully? I was embarrassed. I’d fallen for a guy I’d outwardly dissed for so long, I couldn’t even admit it for the longest time.

But anyway, it started one Art lesson in late May, when our teacher said we’d be doing a partner sculpture for the rest of the year. As you’ve guessed, I got paired with Monty. The first few times we planned our sculpture we didn’t really speak, aside from about the task. It was a little awkward, but I hadn’t expected anything otherwise.

“I thought maybe he’d have *something* going for him other than the temper, but he’s so boring. I am continually bored out of my mind when I’m with him.” I’d ranted one day to Jess and Hannah as we sat on the bleachers eating lunch. That was the start of the lies, because I’d already mentally determined that this boy was intriguing as hell, but I had to set them off my trail. Except, Hannah had given me the; ‘i know you’ look, so she became my one confidant in the Montgomery situation.

“This text, I know it’s only about the project but I can’t help but read too much into it.” I sighed.

“I’ve said it many a time, and I’ll say it many more, he definitely has the hots for you.” Hannah shoved me gently.

“I don’t know, It’s just a stupid one sided crush…”

I overthink your punctuation use,

Which brings us to this day, In which i met Monty once more to work on our project. A nervous rap on the door indicated him of my presence.

I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d be today. Sometimes, usually, he was quiet and we only spoke ideas and plans, but other times, more recently, he’d started asking me questions about myself. Randomly. The other day we’d been sketching plans and he’d blurted out; “what’s your favourite sport?” And we’d had a fairly long conversation discussing that and his baseball playing.

“Hey.” He smiled at the doorway. I hadn’t noticed him open it so I jumped slightly.

“Hello!”

As usual, we stayed quiet for the first half.

“Do you some drinks? Mum bought a six pack but she doesn’t like them, said we could have them.” He asked awkwardly after some time.

“Like, with alcohol?” I giggled, feeling naughty at the thought of day-drinking with Montgomery de la Cruz.

“Uh…no.” He grinned a boyish smile, affection washing over his face. “Sadly. But I can buy some to bring along tonight?”

“Tonight?” There was probably a party I wasn’t invited to. How embarrassing.

“Bryce’s. You should totally come.” He chewed on his pencil absentmindedly.

“I don’t think I was invited…” despite my hoping for it to go away, my profuse blushing was obviously apparent.

“Bryce doesn’t do guest lists, he’ll let anyone in.” Well, that sure makes me feel wanted. But really, the fact that Monty mentioned it in the first place was sending me over the moon.

And I’d already decided the look he was giving me meant I was going.

#monty de la cruz #montgomery de la cruz #monty 13 reasons why #montgomery de la cruz imagine #13 reasons why #13rw #thirteen reasons why #thirteen reasons why imagine #13 reasons why imagine #monty x reader #montgomery x reader #montgomery de la cruz fic #timothy granaderos #13 reasons why monty #monty de la cruz one shot #monty de la cruz fanfic #Monty de La Cruz fan fiction #13 reasons why fanfiction #13 reasons why fic

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holidayinhongkong · 4 years

Text

I don’t have a bucket list, but I have family goals

When I started working abroad, I promised myself to take my daughter to places I’ve never been. Apparently, travelling with my family has become my favorite thing to do as well as trying some things we’ve never done before at least once a year. With that being said, let me share with you our 5D/4N trip to Hong Kong and Macau in 2018.

I heard there are many good reasons to visit Hong Kong - from learning their culture, mouth-watering street food, night market, neon lights, Disneyland experience and many more! Thank God for making our dream trips to reality because of cheap fares! I rarely talk about figures on blogs cause I’m pretty bad at keeping track of our expenses but trust me - I’m trying. Since I don’t normally delete my flight tickets on email, I’m happy to share some of the costs for this itinerary.

Manila to Hong Kong: Php 5,747

Hong Kong to Macau via TurboJet Ferry: Php 3,483

I might have deleted our Macau to Manila flight tickets (told you, I’m bad at these things) but if I remember correctly, we’ve paid around Php 6,300

The rates I’ve mentioned are for 3 pax without baggage allowance. We always choose to pack light and tight cause we’re always on the go and of course, we try to avoid the chaos of travel - high cost of checked-in luggage, waiting at the baggage carousel and the inconvenience of having to carry heavy bags whilst navigating a new place.

Our flight was scheduled to depart at 0600. One thing I know I’m doing right is to arrive at the airport at the earliest possible time to avoid the Manila traffic jam and long queue (I hate lines!) Rational fears aside, we had plenty enough time to have breakfast whilst talking about Disneyland cause the little girl was too excited!

Most of you know that Hong Kong International Airport won multiple airport awards - World’s Best Airport Dining and World’s Best Airport Immigration Service in 2019.

We arrived safely and on time (yes, without delays thanks Cebu Pacific!) As soon as we passed the immigration counter around 0800, we saw immigration officers on the side doing random security checks. I’m not sure what the red flags are but I remember a friend of mine who travelled solo in Hong Kong years back and told me she was stopped by an officer and went through everything in her carry on luggage! She was also asked hundreds of questions and it scared the hell of her thinking someone might have inserted drugs in her luggage but she stayed calm the whole time and answered the questions promptly. I think it’s their way of stepping up the series of measures to avoid entry of prohibited items (drugs mainly) in their country. So guys, if at all they stop you at the airport, don’t panic. You may be asked more questions based on your answers so it’s important to be prompt and direct when talking and be ready to show proof! If you know you have nothing to hide, you’re good.

We took F21 Bus from Airport Terminal 1 going to our hostel. We were aware of the unpredictable weather in Hong Kong so we planned ahead. It was drizzling on our way but it stopped by the time we arrived at our destination.

Days Hotel - Chungking Mansion Building, 36-44 Nathan Road, Tsim Sha Tsui

I booked via booking.com and paid Php 7,800 for 4 nights excluding breakfast. Price was reasonable considering we’re a family of three. The room was clean and location was close to the metro stations and shopping areas. It’s most likely an old hostel with busy people (mainly Indians) selling food and stuff down the building. Our room attendant was a fellow Filipino who seemed very nice and helpful. We’re mostly outside exploring the city - so I can say it’s a good place after all.

If you plan to stay in Hong Kong for a few days, I would suggest that you buy an octopus card which can be used at public transport, fast food shops, convenience stores, vending machines and many more. It also comes with a refundable HK$ 50 deposit (we claimed our refund before heading to Macau) Their transport system is very well maintained so you won’t have a problem getting around by MTR and buses.

A glimpse inside the MTR (Mass Transit Railway) with the little one

Day 1:

When I watched Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, I realised that exploring cultures is also a great way of making travel more meaningful. In this journey, we visited one of the most famous temples closest to our hostel - Sik Sik Yuen Wong Tai Sin Temple. It claims to be a place of worship for people seeking to have their fortunes told whenever they have health and business issues.

Many people are praying and burning incense. We’re one of them

I planned to end the day by enjoying the spectacular view of Hong Kong Island at the Avenue of Stars along the Victoria Harbour waterfront but unfortunately, it was under renovation when we visited so we decided to go for a walk along Tsim Sha Tsui to look for a place to eat. My cousin’s ex girlfriend told me to try one of Jackie Chan’s Restaurants near the hotel. We didn’t have internet access outside and we found it extremely difficult to converse with locals cause majority of them don’t speak English so we spent hours of searching! Since my husband has a very bad habit of being grumpy when he’s hungry, he went back to the hostel instead. I tried my very best to go out of the way not to argue with my very hangry pouting husband knowing we’re on vacation. The next day was supposed to be our Disneyland trip so imagine the agony I went through. Haha! I bought food from Jollibee for our daughter and went straight to our room.

Day 2:

Our Disneyland trip was cancelled from last night’s dilemma. On this day we went to Sneakers Street to hunt the latest shoe trends located at Fa Yuen St., Mong Kok. Before heading to the Metro Station, we decided to have brunch near the hostel. You know they say ‘when you stop searching for something, that’s when you finally find what you’re looking for’ hell right we found that freakin resto just right beside our building! Grr! We went there to have brunch and I can tell you that food was bland at all and therefore not worth the fight. Lol

And just like that, everything went back to normal

Street Food

If you’re on a diet, Mong Kok is the worst place for you! Hong Kong street food made our trip more memorable! We didn’t make a list cause it’s going to be long plus we had limited time but here are some of the most popular food we’ve tried

Fish balls

Cheung fun (Rice noodle rolls)

Egg tart

Stinky tofu with chili sauce

Fried pig intestines & Steamed dumplings

Beef brisket noodle soup

Wonton noodle soup

Eggettes

More eggettes

Mochi (Blueberry)

More mochi (Chocolate)

Japanese cake

Chocolate croissant

Vanilla ice cream

The original Taiwan cake

How can we not love Hong Kong street food? Life sure is a combination of travel and good food!

Day 3

It didn’t rain, but wasn’t sunny either - we call it a perfect weather to be at the happiest place on earth - Disneyland Resort

Tickets booked and purchased via Klook: Php 9,730 1 day for 3 pax

Let the photos do the talking (;

The Disneyland Resort Line

At the entrance gate

Main Street U.S.A.

Adventureland

Fantasyland

The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh

Toy Story Land

Mystic Point

Wakanda forever!

Grizzly Gulch

Tomorrowland

Disney Parade

It’s a Small World

Disney’s Paint the Night

I didn’t upload all the photos cause it’s gonna be long so I just shared the highlights for you. It’s quite sad cause the Disney Castle was under renovation and there were no fireworks when we visited. We also didn’t get the chance to take photos with Mickey cause I didn’t want to waste our time to wait in a queue. Everything inside was expensive - from meals to souvenirs. I bought meal coupons in advance via Klook as well cause I thought I’d save more but the difference wasn’t that much.

A magical place indeed! We enjoyed every moment and it’s absolutely true that Disneyland is not only for kids but for everyone! This experience is something we won’t forget for the rest of our lives.

Day 4

We were supposed to see the Noonday Gun at Causeway bay and experience the ‘Ding Ding Tram Ride’ but we got lost trying to find the way so we went back to Mong Kok for more street food and a little shopping at the street market instead. If I knew that this was going to be a boring day for us we would’ve just gone to Ocean Park.

This was also our last night in Hong Kong. We packed our stuff as soon as we got back to our room cause we had to check out early morning to catch the Turbojet Ferry going to Macau (our Macau experience will be on a separate blog by the way)

I can only say that Hong Kong really is something - and will always have a place in our hearts.

#familygoals #hongkong #disneyland

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imagine-that-one-thing · 7 years

Note

Can you do 12 & 18 for Shawn or harry, whichever one you have more inspo for

Authors Note:

Requested || Based off of #12 & 18 prompt found here

“I’m pregnant.” .. “It’s okay to cry…”

He lives for being free, touring the world, singing, and doing what he loves the most, performing to his fans, there is absolutely nothing he would rather be doing. Even after five long years, five albums, and many achieved awards, he is still as lively, and as happy as ever, not to mention— married and loving it.

You're always jet setting to many places around the world, it is at a point where you spend more time in other countries and cities than you do your own.

You and Shawn have joked about selling the house because the two of you spend more time in airports and in hotels that you are barely at the house, in fact, his little sister has basically moved in, taking the guest bedroom and making it her own when the two of you are away. Shawn was apprehensive about her being on her own, but he had to learn how to loosen up and not be the over protective older brother, at eighteen, you assured him that she would be fine house sitting the house. You both always managed to call her daily to check up on her despite her parents doing the same thing.

You also quite like that Aaliyah has taken over the guest room, you love having her around when you are actually home, she is like your adopted teenager that you love to death.

The hotel room is quiet and cosy as you stay curled up between the white duvet, snuggling into the freshly scented covers, Shawn's figure standing at the window that has the view of the city—a view he has struggled to pull his eyes from.

"I think we need an apartment with a view like this, what do yeh say?" He peers over his shoulder to look over at you with his darling smile and bright eyes, "Breakfast on a patio, overlooking the Eiffel tower, I think that is a wonderful idea. Wouldn't you like to wake up to crepes, strawberries, croissants, Tartine, and a café au lait?" He names off a few of the wonderful choices of foods' he has managed to taste in the short time he has been in France.

You screw your nose up for a moment, burying your nose into the covers, the thought of food not settling too well with you.

"Mhm, lovely." You lie, not wanting to even think about Croissant aux abricots, Pain au chocolat, or whatever other kind of buttery pastry and jam that Shawn is more than likely thinking of at the moment.

He shuffles away from the extended window, striding towards the bed, "Okay, what's up with you? Usually, you are begging me to go with you to try new breakfast things. You don't even seem remotely interested at the moment." Shawn stands at the foot of the bed, cocking his head to the side as you continue to snuggle up to the covers.

"Just tired," you mumble,

His brows knit in a frown, "Hmm, you sure? You kinda look a bit... off."

With a heavy sigh you speak, "Thank you for saying I look terrible, Shawn." you mutter, watching as he instantly shakes his head, "Don't bother justifying yourself," you chuckle, calmly amused by the expression painted across his face.

He sighs and curls his lips into a pout, "I didn't mean it like that, you know I always think you look beautiful."

"You have to say that, you married me. Don't you have a Q&A to get to?" you change the subject, not wanting to really discuss the fact that he always thinks you look stunningly beautiful, even when you are dressed in nothing by a pair of pyjama pants, and an oversized t-shirt, with your hair a mess.

To him, you are everything he loves, no matter how you look.

"I do," he nods, "You trying to get rid of me?" he raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest,

"Nope, just askin'." You respond, watching as he moves away from the foot of the bed and makes his way over towards his jacket that is draped over the chair.

He hums as he grabs his jacket, sliding it up his length arms, "You wanna come? It is a short Q&A before my concert, I don't even have a meet and greets today." He informs you, flashing you his bright eyes that denote that he really wants you to attend, even if he won't say it.

He loves when you attend his shows, even if he doesn't see you in the crowd, or if you stay backstage— he especially loves flicking his eyes to the side of the stage to see you as he catches his breath.

The crowd always knows when you are backstage watching because every so often while catching his breath he flicks his head to the side, his smile becoming wide before he looks back towards his audience, his smile still plastered across his face. There's just something different about him when you're there. Everyone knows it.

You stand towards the side during the most part of the Q&A, listening and chuckling to the questions, watching as Shawn would occasionally nervously chuckle and muster up a response to some of the questions.

It was half way through the questions that you started to feel terrible nausea that had been creeping up on you since early in the morning.

For the last few days at around two-thirty, you've been feeling nauseous and today, right on queue, you felt it, but this time it was enough to send you over the edge and hiding out in the bathroom for the rest of the Q&A.

After a while you force yourself to emerge from the bathroom, stepping out into the backstage hallway area, blinking owlishly, you see Shawn at the end of the hall. Shawn instantly spots you and marches towards you,

"I have been looking all over for you for the last thirty minutes," he sighs, narrowing his eyes down onto you, "I looked to the side and you were gone and never came back, did one of the questions upset you or something?" he cocks his head to his side, his thumb benevolently brushing under your eye, "You've been crying, what's the matter?" he whispers, the pad of his thumb fixing the smudged mascara under your eye.

You tried your best in the bathroom to fix it, you had hoped Shawn would be far too busy to notice your mascara or the fact you had been missing. "Y/N.." he draws your name out in the tone of voice he uses when he wants you to talk to him and tell him what is going on in that pretty mind of yours,

"I'm not feeling great, can we talk?" you question, your eyes darting around to notice a few of his team wandering around, "in private?" you whisper, not wanting to have any sort of discussion where anyone can hear what you have to say.

He hums his response, wrapping an arm around you, leading you around backstage, dismissing anyone that tries to talk to him, politely telling them, "I can't talk right now."

He pushes his dressing room door open, allowing you to step inside it first as he closes the door behind him. You sit down and relax into the seat, your hand resting on your stomach,

"Do you want me to get you anything? You're not looking too good, honey." He offers, taking note of your slightly paled complexion getting sick managed to leave you with.

"No, I am fine," you assure him, a little nervous for what you have to tell him, "You're going to want to sit down for this," you gesture towards the other seat and he doesn't waste any time with sitting down, waiting for you to talk, squaring an ankle over one knee.

"How do you feel about a bit of a change?" you challenge, attempting to stop your nerves from causing you to blurt things out without easing him into it.

He is not the kind of guy to just spring things on.

He tilts his head to one side while listening, his thoughts twirling before he speaks, "What do you mean? Like changing your hair type of change, or moving countries type of change?"

"Uhm... I guess moving countries type of change."

Shawn hums, keeping his eyes focused on you, "Mhm, I am listening," he nods, "If you're wondering if we can sell the house, the answer is no," he chuckles, lightening the mood a little, causing your own giggle to escape your lips.

"No, it isn't that." ... "So, remember two months ago when we were in Barcelona, you were writing a few songs, and stuff?"

He grins, "Yes, wrote a few songs, had a few too many to drink."

"Mhm... and we also spent like two days in the hotel room." you delicately remind him of the two days spent between the sheets with the do-not-disturb sign on the door.

He laughs softly, "Quite a good time,"

"Uh huh, it was... so, I haven't told you, but the last few days' I have been nauseous."

"Yeah, I picked up on that. I am sorry about that darlin', I think I gave you the bug I had last week." He sighs, "Do you want to go back to the hotel? Is that why you were missing for like an hour?"

You nod, "Yeah,"

"I am sorry, hon, I told you not to kiss me and to stay with me."

"You didn't give me the bug, Shawn.... Although, you did give me something else." You nervously inform him, observing as he calmly awaits for you to tell him what is going on.

You inhale a deep breath and blow out slowly, “I’m pregnant.” You breathe out, his eyes growing wide and glossy,

"What?" He clears his throat, "Are you sure?"

You confirm with a nod, "I took a test while you were at the gym yesterday." ... "And, I know this is a lot to put on you, so if you need to like vent, freak out, or whatever, go ahead."

He stares at you, his eyes lustrous, his lips pursed into a fine line, “It’s okay to cry…” you add, unsure of how exactly he is taking the news, he looks as though tears are about to fall from his copper-colored eyes.

You cried until Shawn got back into the hotel when you found out, both happy and sad tears.

"You're actually carrying our baby?" He finally speaks, his lips curving up into a smile. "There's a baby in there?" He gestures towards your stomach your hand is resting on,

"Mhm, I am pretty sure it is like the size of a pea, but he or she is there." ... "Nestled inside me, making me sick, but they're there," You laugh, seeing as a few tears slide down his cheeks,

"Holy fuck, can I hug you?" he stands to his feet, seeming to be shocked and also overly delighted, a smile dangling on the corner of his lips, "Like, I have been waiting for a while for you to tell me. I know we haven't spoken about it or even really tried, but damn, this is amazing." he cheerily announces, opening his arms as you stand to your feet, nestling into him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "First you made me the happiest man by becoming my wife, now you are making me the happiest Dad by carrying our child." He whispers contently in your ear.

He carefully unwraps his arms from around you, unable to contain the smile on his face or the tears of joy cascading down his cheeks, "How do you feel about this?"

"Good, I uh, kinda freaked out at first, but a lot better knowing you are happy about this."

"Of course I am, can I?" he gestures his hands towards your tummy, and you nod.

He gets down on his knees, his hand tenderly pressing to your stomach, "Hey sweetie, I just found out that you exist and I am so excited, I don't know if you can hear me, but just know I love you so much already, I already can't wait to meet you in nine months." he whispers melodiously,

"Seven," you correct Shawn, "I think I am around eight weeks," you smirk as he stands back to his feet, towering over you, still with a smile beamed across his lips.

"Well, I can't wait to meet our baby in seven months. So uh, do you want me to take you back to the hotel?" ... "I don't think you need to be around all this chaos."

"Are you going to be overly protective?" You chuckle, watching as he proudly nods,

"You know it,"

"I am fine to watch your show,"

"And how are you feeling? Do you want me to get you anything? water, food, a blanket—"

"Shawn," you cut him off promptly, "I am fine, I don't need anything besides for you to relax and prepare for your show.. Oh, and try not to announce it to everyone, I would prefer to wait for the ultrasound and stuff."

"My lips are sealed." .. "Alright, c'mon, let's go before they send a search party out for me." He kisses your cheek before taking your hand, leading you out of the dressing room and walking around backstage to get to where he needs to be.

#Anonymous #shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes preference #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes preferences #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes prompts

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