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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Not today

Written by: @emilia206

Prompt 4: Trope: Jealousy Katniss. Modern AU Katniss Everdeen sees his ex boyfriend as the date of one of her coworkers in the company party. She shouldn’t care, because she broke with him, one year ago and still…. when their song plays, against her better judgements, she finds herself dancing with him. [submitted by @alwayseverlark]

Rating: Mature

Word count: 8062

British lingo you might be unaware of:

A-Level’s - Last form of examination before students go off to university.

Ladbrokes - betting shop

Tesco - food store

(If I left anything out, let me know)

A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta @melting-starlight, on ao3 she’s Starlight_Wren.

Forlorn, she stares down at her lager, it’s the first moment of quiet she’s had since she entered the pub. Plutarch had been the first to drag her away, talking about everything from what his lunch was like to how much the station was missing her shows. She had only been able to nod and smile, making agreeable noises at the appropriate times, but otherwise letting all of his words wash over her. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Plutarch had bustled off through the crowd to go talk to another unsuspecting colleague. She had tried to crane her neck over the other patrons’ head, to see if she could spot either Johanna or Annie, the only reason she had relented and come to this thing. But before she could make any discernible recognition, Fulvia, Plutarch’s right hand woman, had sidled up behind her, saying that they simply must ‘catch up’. Ever straight to the point though, she had skipped pleasantries and gone right to the heart of the matter. What had she been doing this past year?

The answer was a pretty simple one, but for some reason that escaped Katniss, it needed lots of explanation. She had spent close to forty-five minutes getting her brain picked apart. Trying, to no avail, to explain to the silly woman the exact reason she had uprooted her and left everything behind to travel all over the globe. Meeting new people, not many, but some. Enough people, Katniss thought. At first, there hadn’t really been a point in it, other than she had to get away from the shit show that was her life. Five years she’d worked at that stupid radio station, blathering on about meaningless things that made her mind fog up with the mundanity of it all. And all she had gotten out of it was a small damp flat in the north of London, with expensive bills and an insufferable landlord. Five years of only seeing her little sister once, twice if she was lucky, a year. Five years of shattered dreams and a dead end job. And still, this woman could not understand why she would want to leave. Of course Katniss never said any of this to Fulvia, but it had been swimming around her head throughout the entirety of the conversation. Instead, she had given watered down reasons and held her tongue as Fulvia had gone on to say, “But what about that boyfriend of yours? I remember him being so supportive…”

She didn’t want to get into that, how she had left him behind. It had been a year and the wound that it had inflicted still ran too deep, was too painful to get into. Especially with nosy, judgy Fulvia. So, she had politely excused herself from the conversation, taking to the bar and ordering herself an overpriced pint. Fantastic. It wasn’t like she was strapped for cash or anything.

Having given up on searching for Annie and Johanna at this nightmarish reunion, she had found herself a quiet corner in the buzzing room, sitting on a lumpy sofa and setting her drink down on an aged wooden table that had ring marks on the surface from drinks overspilling. It wasn’t often that she thought about Peeta, having long since trained her mind to immediately turn and run in the other direction if any thoughts began leading her down that painful path. But now, with Fulvia bringing him up, and being surrounded by people who had all been privy to their relationship, it was only inevitable that she should think of him. Specifically, the last time she had seen him.

—————————–

His face had closed off, completely shuttering all emotions that would otherwise flick across his face. And still, as he stood, staring blankly at her, she continued talking. Trying to explain herself, explain why she just had to leave.

“Please Peeta, believe me when I say it isn’t you,” she whispered, “I just feel so trapped in my own life, and I feel as if I don’t leave now, I never will get anywhere.”

“What about us?” he replied, tone blank and neutral, but still betraying the underlying anger and confusion.

She shook her head sadly, tears falling unbidden from her eyes. Desperately wanting him to hold her and tell her it would be alright, but needing him to stay well away from her so that she could do this. Finish this, clean and precise as Johanna had told her to do it.

“Right,” Peeta said, voice hollow.

They stood there, silence engulfing the little flat. It was never silent in there, the generators downstairs always humming, her boiler constantly gurgling away, but it seemed even these held their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I think you should leave now,” Katniss said to her feet, not daring to look up at his face.

She stood in her kitchen, stock still, as if any movement from her would cause her to break and shatter on the linoleum tiles of the floor. She listened as Peeta collected his toothbrush and spare clothes. Katniss flinched at the sense of finality she felt when the door banged shut.

————————-

Their break-up had been anything but clean and precise, and it wasn’t a wonder considering that Katniss had been at the helm of it. It was ironic, really, that for five years, her income had depended on her being able to talk for hours about nonsensical things, always upbeat and on the ball for the listeners chiming in, but when it came to her own boyfriend, she hadn’t been able to get the words out right. She had made him think that it was him that was suffocating her, when in actuality it was everything. She was pushing thirty and already she could feel herself stagnating.

She wished that she could do it again, try not to make such a mess of it as she had done. How could she have known, though, the profound affect it seemed to have had on Peeta? He had always been so supportive of her decisions, only asking that she open up to him and be honest. Of course she hadn’t expected him to be completely OK with her decision, but she had been hoping that he would at least understand her reasoning. Instead, he had been angry and confused, perhaps even rightfully so, before he had completely shut down becoming cold and distant in the moments prior to him slamming out of her little home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a perky voice said next to her, pulling Katniss out of her reverie.

Looking up, Katniss couldn’t help but smile at the big brown eyes that were peering down at her. Rue. Her intern from a year ago. She didn’t look much different, just a little older and worse for wear. But that’s what this job did to you, lured you in with promises of bigger and better ahead, before getting you trapped and very much stuck.

“You don’t want to know,” Katniss replied, shuffling over and making space for the young woman.

“Oh, and why’s that?” Rue asked, her lips quirked upwards in a smile.

“Neither thinking, nor talking about it will solve a thing,” she mumbled down at her glass before taking a prolonged drink from it. She reveled in the fizz and slightly bitter taste as it washed down her throat.

“Well, if you’re gonna be all closed off to me, your favourite intern, I’ll let you in on all of my issues to date,” Rue said, taking a sip from her own glass.

Katniss smirked. It was true that Rue was her favourite intern, but that wasn’t exactly a feat. Most interns that Katniss had been given the responsibility of taking care of had been so awful that they were fired within their first two weeks of working at the station.

“So, remember how you warned me before you left, that this job ‘will suck me dry of all inspiration and motivation’ whilst also ‘dashing my dreams and love for the craft’ but not before ‘restricting what me on what I can talk about, and instead giving me stupid shows that will make me want to die’?” Rue paused, taking a drink from her pint.

“Yes, I do recall telling you all of those things, I assume you’ve come to the conclusion that I was correct and that you should have saved yourself while you could,” Katniss said, trying not to gloat at the fact that she was at least right about something, and it wasn’t just her overreacting and being dramatic.

Rue nodded her head vigorously, her corkscrew curls bouncing, “Well, I’ll be honest. At the time, I thought you were just being dramatic, or maybe you were bitter about something, but you really were so right. I can’t get anyone to take me seriously or invest in any bigger show ideas, or get them to take on or promote more obscure artists. The sponsors continuously overlook me so that they can pour more money into presenters who have a body to boot. Even though that shouldn’t matter, ‘cause we’re on a fucking radio, nobody is looking at the face or body behind the voice anyway!”

“And as soon as I try to get Plutarch or Fulvia to give me a recommendation so that I can move to something a little more low key and less industrious, they tell me that I shouldn’t leave, that I have so much potential, and that it would be such a waste for me to go do something less mainstream, because how will I ever be recognised then?” Rue finished with a defeated groan, flopping back against the leather cushions.

Looking up at the ceiling, Rue asked, “How’d you get out? I mean for me, it’s just an endless cycle of early mornings, playing music that makes my ears bleed, and frustration that after all my hard work, I’ve just become another peppy girl on the radio.”

Katniss snorted at this, “Depressing, isn’t it? After all the analysing of different styles of music and poetry, it amounted to this.”

“Fuucckk,” Rue groaned at the ceiling fans, “It’s depressing because it’s so painfully true. Do you know how many hours I spent holed up in my room studying for my Music and English A-Levels just so I could at least get a seven, and now I’m stuck here.”

Katniss nodded her head, “Only ‘cause I did the same thing though. What were we thinking?”

“Ugh, I know! My mum told me that this was an ‘unsustainable career path’. I hate to say it, but I think she may have had a point.”

A crash came from the other side of the room, effectively interrupting their mutual venting session, a clattering of glasses fell to the floor and shattered, causing both Katniss and Rue to jump before turning around to see what happened. A flustered waiter apologised profusely to a skimpy blonde who looked upon him with narrowed green eyes, and a stain that looked an awful lot like red wine spilled on her yellow dress. The few people who had been applauding the waiters slip up began to slow their claps when they realised that the unfortunate woman who now had a stain across the front of her dress, was not taking it on the chin as it were. In fact, she looked like she was a few seconds from throwing a fit.

“Oof, would not want to be that guy,” Rue remarked, “Glimmer looks about ready to go get his ass fired.”

Katniss turned to look at Rue, who was leaning her chin on the back of the sofa, “How’d you know her name?”

Rue made a face, “She’s a presenter at the radio station, she does the show that Annie used to do.”

“Shit, really,” Katniss said, blowing air through her teeth to make a low whistling sound. “That show was one of the more popular ones.”

“Still is. Rumour has it that the company hired her to replace Annie, who was making noises to leave, so they sent her Glimmer as an intern. Annie left a week later, claiming that the work environment had become insufferable.”

Katniss had turned back to watch as the waiter bent to pick up the broken glass, whilst so-called Glimmer rolled her eyes impatiently at another waiter who was handing her paper towels to try wipe up the mess on her dress. While watching, Katniss listened intently to what Rue was saying, “People weren’t surprised when she quit. Glimmer is quite literally the epitome of a toxic work environment.”

“Oh well, this just makes me all the more glad that I left,” Katniss said. Annie had emailed her when she’d quit, but hadn’t given a reason why. At the time, Katniss had just assumed it was because both Johanna and herself had already left, but this must have been the breaking point for her.

“Oh, she’s not even the worst of it,” Rue said, a cynical smile touching her lips as they watched another woman with jet black hair and pinched features walk up to Glimmer, she took the paper towels from the waitress and threw them down to the floor, yelling something unintelligible, “That’s Clove. As you can see, she’s got quite a temper on her. She’s the one who replaced Johanna as DJ. The two of them together are quite… formidable.”

Katniss turned in her seat to grab her drink from the table so she could drink and watch this scene unfold in front of her. She would be lying if she said that it wasn’t just a teeny bit entertaining. Taking a sip from her mellowing beer, she almost choked when she saw who was joining the show. Blond ashen curls, broad shoulders, and a slight limp from a rugby injury that had never quite healed. It was Peeta. Her Peeta, consoling this shallow, pitiful, blonde bimbo.

She could feel Rue’s eyes on her, watching for a reaction. Katniss swallowed painfully, oblivious to the taste, eyes glued to what was happening in front of her very eyes. Maybe it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. There was no way, absolutely no fucking way, that the Peeta Mellark that she had known all throughout secondary school, was even remotely affiliated with such a cow. Deep down, Katniss knew that she was possibly being a little harsh, but jealousy, lots of it, was rearing its ugly green head, skewing her opinions.

“Yeah, and then there’s that,” Rue uttered, “reason number fuck knows what as to why I ‘strongly dislike’ Glimmer.”

Katniss breathed deeply, shoving down the irrational, possessive anger that was overcoming her. She cleared her throat, which had become exceptionally tight in the last two minutes, “Are they… an item?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Rue said, turning around to face the other way again, “as far as I know, they’re just fuck buddies. Who knows, though, maybe he does the wine and dining as well.”

Katniss, following suit, also turned around, sitting stoically, and taking slow sips from her sweating drink. “So he’s fucking her.”

Rue nodded, sighing a little as she did so, “I know it might not be my place to comment-”

“It probably isn’t then,” Katniss interrupted, wanting very much to go back to her hotel room now.

“But,” Rue continued, “you were really fucking dense to let that man walk away from you. I have no idea what happened between the two of you, but even I can appreciate that ass, and oh my god those shoulders,” she pretended to fan herself, before turning incredulous, “and he’s not even my type.”

Katniss snorted at this, turning around for a quick second, to survey the specimen that was now patting down an incensed Glimmer. She couldn’t deny that he still looked sexy as fuck. He definitely seemed to have fared this year a little better than her. Turning back around, she looked down at what she was wearing. A simple dress that she’d bought from a charity shop when she was sixteen, it was light blue and the material was soft and light, perfect for the humid weather that London summers were, but it did look as if it might be on its last legs. Her hair was loose for once, and hung in ebony waves down her back, but otherwise she hadn’t made much of an effort, as could be seen by her scruffy trainers and mismatched socks. She didn’t need to impress these people anyway.

“Yeah, stupid indeed,” Katniss muttered.

They sat there then, silence washing over them, until the unmistakable sound of a speaker system being plugged in echoed throughout the crowded room. Katniss looked up to see her friend climbing up onto the bar, a little wobbly on her feet, but her voice was commanding no less.

“Alrighty, I’ve been asked to do a little set tonight, but because I forgot to set up a good playlist that will please all of you old folk, I’ll be taking requests,” she made to get off the bar, but paused mid-step hollering across the room, “And if I think your song request is shit I won’t play it, feel free to take it personally.”

Katniss didn’t really care much for the offer to request music, she was just relieved to know that Johanna had, in fact, shown up. She had been wondering whether either of her ex-work-colleagues had actually bothered. Knowing that Johanna was here, though where she’d been all night was something Katniss would like to know, meant that Annie was probably here as well.

Rue, on the other hand, immediately got up. Kissing Katniss on the cheek, she proclaimed, “Oh, I have a song that Jo simply must play.”

She walked off into the crowd, but abruptly turned back, looking down at Katniss, who was still cocooned in the soft leather of the sofa, “Also, if you get any interesting job offers don’t be scared to recommend me,” with a wink, she waltzed off again.

Alone once again, and trying desperately to distract herself from the ‘pat down’ Peeta was assuredly still giving Glimmer, Katniss gulped down the rest of her pint, before standing to go get another.

Waiting at the bar for the barmaid to get to her drink, she tapped out a rhythm on the polished wood. Distracted, she almost didn’t notice the familiar opening chords to a song she hadn’t let herself listen to in a year.

Johanna’s voice sounded over the speaker system, “For all you lovesick idiots here tonight, Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey.”

Katniss’ breath stilled in her chest, this must have been some sick joke the universe was playing on her. Despite herself, Katniss searched the room for the familiar face that she had once danced to this with at prom. Scanning the crowd, her eyes finally landed on a seemingly just as stunned Peeta Mellark, his face so pale and pinched he looked like he was about to throw up. He, too, looked to be scanning the crowd. He couldn’t know that she was here, could he? She knew that she should probably shrink back into the shadows, or, better yet, vacate the premises and head back to her hotel room, to avoid any unnecessary drama that she most certainly did not need. Yet, against her better judgement, she stood her ground, not actively looking to be seen, but not hiding from sight either.

Her eyes stayed on him, noticing with a missed beat of her heart that Glimmer and Clove were both conspicuously absent. The song had already passed the first verse when Peeta’s eyes finally locked on hers. His eyes widened in surprise, but beneath it was still the same warmth and affection that had always been. Her sharp intake of breath told her all she needed to know, those baby blues could still make her knees weak, could still make her feel like she was adrift and untethered in a desolate ocean, with him being the only tether to reality. Their gazes locked on one another as the second verse began;

A singer in a smoky room

The smell of wine and cheap perfume

Peeta’s eyes stared holes into her, and for a moment it was as if no time had passed, as if he was standing on the other side of the school’s assembly hall as an entire year group of nervous sweaty eighteen year olds danced the evening away to overplayed 80’s tracks. Katniss was even greeted with the familiar erratic beating of her heart, wishing and hoping that he’d just bottle up the nerve and ask her already!

That night, she had been the one to walk across the dance floor to ask him to dance, but tonight, it seemed it would be Peeta who would take the first tentative steps towards her.

For a smile they can share the night

It goes on and on, and on, and on

Drink forgotten, Katniss stepped away from the bar, walking towards the people already congregating to dance on a small open space on the floor. The first chorus sounded through the room;

Strangers, waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

They met in the middle, and Katniss looked up at him through her lashes.

“For old times sake,” Peeta murmured down to her, offering his hand.

She tried not to let his remark sting, that their relationship is in fact in the past. That he had moved on from her, that she should too. But falling into his arms, head resting over his breast bone listening to his heart thumping away, letting him sway them to the music, felt so natural and familiar. The tears stung behind her eyes, and she bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing out loud. She didn’t want to be sad, to mar this song with her regrets, when it was accompanied by so many good and happy memories. Of the two of them messing around in his kitchen, or her bedroom.

So, she swallowed down her tears, and let herself fall back in time to when things were simpler. Letting the music and words wash over her, rejuvenating her weary soul.

Workin’ hard to get my fill

Everybody wants a thrill

Payin’ anything to roll the dice

Just one more time

Some will win

Some will lose

Some were born to sing the blues

Oh, the movie never ends

It goes on and on, and on, and on

She laughed when he spun her, then recaptured her in his arms. He swooped low, before lifting them back up and spinning them in slow circles.

Strangers waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

She took the lead, moving them faster, along to the tune of the song. Pulling away from his embrace, but holding on to his hands, as she spun herself to lean her back against his chest with his arms crossed protectively over her.

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people

Don’t stop, believin’

Hold on

Streetlights, people

As the song began to slow again, and Steve Perry ad-libbed his way through the end of the song, Peeta turned her again so that they were pressed chest to chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their steps became so minuscule they could do it on a pie plate if they wished to do so. She stared up into his bottomless blue eyes, a genuine smile lighting up her face for the first time this evening.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Her smile faltered slightly, and she looked down, ashamed at how easily she had let herself fall back into his arms. The moment of magic had ended, and she was thrown back into the icy cold reality of her life. For christ’s sake they hadn’t spoken in a year, and now suddenly they were dancing and laughing on the dance floor!

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people

He turned them one last time. He leant his cheek on the top of her head, sighing quietly as if knowing about the beratement Katniss was giving herself in her head. He swayed them as the song faded out. She pulled away, chancing a glance up at his face. The pain she had inflicted onto him shone through his eyes, and though it killed her to do it, she could only pull further out of his arms, backing away. He watched after her, arms limp at his sides, and she turned, pushing through the crowd.

“Oi, watch it!” Someone called after her as she shoved past people.

Finally, after stepping on numerous toes and elbowing a few people in the sides, she made it over to the makeshift DJ table. Johanna was leaning against it, chewing on a toothpick as she announced in a lazy drawl the next song. Behind her shoulder she could see Annie leaning heavily into some guy with bronzed curls and tanned skin, Katniss thought that she had seen him before in a couple of Annie’s instagram posts.

“Ahhh, Brainless,” Johanna called out when she spotted a breathless Katniss standing before the table, “here to make a song request? Maybe another one that you can dance to with lover boy.”

“What the fuck, Jo?” Katniss cried out, “Did you put that song on just to mess with my head? ‘Cause it sure as hell worked.” Katniss ran her shaking hands through her hair, not caring if she messed it up, or if it got tangled.

Johanna raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Wait, you don’t actually believe I put that song on, do you?”

“Well, who else, Johanna?!”

“I didn’t even know you were here up until five minutes ago, let alone him!” Johanna spat out, incredulity lacing her voice, “And besides, I’m only taking requests this evening. I did let everyone know,” she sniffed, rolling her eyes.

“Ok fine, if it wasn’t you, then who?” Katniss hissed, “Because I will start throwing arms if I have to, Jo.”

“Jeez, don’t get your knickers all in a twist, it was only a little dancey,” Johanna teased. Looking at Katniss’ bemused face, she relented, “If you promise to not beat the living lights out of her, I’ll tell.”

“‘Kay fine, I promise,” Katniss said, her anger subsiding a little. Whoever it was, it wasn’t their fault that she couldn’t just leave when she definitely should have, “Just tell me who.”

Johanna nodded her head in the direction of the bar, Katniss followed her gaze, eyes greeted with an apologetic looking Rue. Rue grimaced a little, apparently having watched Katniss’ outburst. At least she looked sorry, Katniss thought.

Her anger having dissipated, the feeling of regret and sadness settled cold and heavy in her stomach. She deflated against the table, feeling very tired all of a sudden, “I need a smoke,” she muttered, “Lighter,” she held out her hand.

Johanna grumbled under her breath, fishing through her pockets for a lighter. “Give it back after,” she warned, slapping it into Katniss’ outstretched palm.

Katniss weaved her way through the crowds once more, being a little more careful to not piss off so many people this time, until she got to the coat rack next to the door. The coat rack itself was leaning over under the weight of all the coats draped over the top of it. After some digging around, Katniss found her light jean jacket and pulled it out from underneath the mountain of others piled up on top of it. Pulling it on, she pushed open the door to the pub and stepped out into the night.

It looked like the sun had just gone down, streaks of orange fading into the sky as dusk settled over the stinking, sweltering city. It had cooled off quite a bit from earlier, and Katniss huddled herself further into her jacket, trying to leech off any residual warmth from it. She walked down the shallow stone steps, found herself a place to light her cigarette. Leaning against the cold brick wall behind her, not caring if she got her coat or dress dirty. She fished a loose cigarette out of her coat pocket, and lit the fag, taking a long drag from it, breathing it back out into the cooling air.

“Those things kill, you know,” A voice sounded from behind her. She scowled at how it made her heart leap hopefully in her chest.

“I know,” she almost growled, wanting him to fuck off back to Glimmer already. She couldn’t deal with having him thrust back into her life, pretending like nothing happened between them. Like she hadn’t irreparably fucked up their entire relationship, just because she felt ‘claustrophobic’.

“I thought you were quitting?” Peeta asked, walking to stand next to her and pulling out his own cigarette.

She passed him Johanna’s lighter, “You can’t talk,” she snorted as she watched him light his, “And anyway, I am. I just keep emergency ones in all of my coats, and in a few of my trousers.”

Peeta laughed at this, “Yeah, sure does sound like you’re quitting.”

“Hey,” she protested, “I never keep a lighter on me, that way I have to ask someone, and then they’re also accountable for my inevitable lung cancer.”

Peeta’s eyebrows rose at this, and he took a puff from his own cancer stick, “Oh yeah, and how long did it take you do that mental gymnastics.”

Katniss only rolled her eyes, and they both stood next to each other staring out at the street. They watched as a bus pulled up at the stop, and an old man stumbled out, hobbling into the Ladbrokes opposite. A siren blared somewhere in the distance. Two extremely drunk men sat on the steps a good ten metres away from them, but were loud enough for their slurred words to reach the two.

“Listen Katniss, about before,” Peeta started, breaking their comfortable silence, “I didn’t mean to make you feel crowded or guilty, or anything like that.” He looked to her, but she stared resolutely ahead, taking slow small puffs from her cigarette.

“It’s fine,” she finally said, “forget about it. I probably shouldn’t have even danced with you in the first place, what with you being with Glimmer and all.”

“Ah, shit,” Peeta breathed out, “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

“Yeah well, I do,” Katniss snapped.

Peeta looked as if he wanted to say something, but Katniss cut him off before he could, “I really don’t want to know.”

Peeta nodded his head. They were quiet for a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re not allowed anyway,” Katniss said, scuffing the toe of her already scruffy trainer against the cracked pavement.

Peeta huffed out a bemused, short-lived laugh, “Care to explain that, whilst we’re out here talking civilly?”

“What?” Katniss asked, “Are you asking why I broke up with you?”

Peeta nodded his head once more.

Katniss sighed, “I feel like I’ve told myself and everyone around me the same explanation about a million times, but standing here it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Peeta whispered.

Katniss sighed, trying not to sound too exasperated. What’s it to him anyway, she thought. “Look Peeta, I told you before, and I’ll say it again. It wasn’t you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop asking myself if I did something,” Peeta said.

Katniss finally turned to look up at him, as he stared up at the darkening sky, searching it for the few visible stars, “We’re not even thirty yet, Peeta, I’m not ready to settle. I wasn’t last year, and I definitely am not this year. And I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you told me you weren’t ready yet either, and you’re allowed to be with whoever you want, even if it is someone as silly and shallow as Glimmer. I guess it’s better to get your mid-life crisis out the way now,” she said with a smirk, before sobering and adding quietly, “I’m not completely oblivious Peeta, it’s not like I don’t see her appeal.”

Peeta looked down at her, opening his mouth, she was sure, to deny that Glimmer’s big boobs were the reason. She held up her hand to stop him, “Who knows though, maybe someone’ll convince me to come to this thing again next year, and I’ll see you again. Hopefully with someone other than Glimmer. And just like this year, I’ll steal you for a dance, and then lure you outside for a smoke, and we’ll catch up,” she paused for dramatic affect, stealing herself for what she was going to say next, “After that, you’ll kiss me, right up against the cold brick wall,” she watched as Peeta’s eyes widened at her bold statement.

Maybe it was her pint of beer that had made her so free and uncaring with her sentiments. Though Katniss would never describe herself as a lightweight, she admitted to herself that it had been a good six weeks since she’d had a proper drink. On second thought, she remembered the last time she drank before tonight being a little over a week ago, and it had been a cider. She grimaced at the thought. Fuck, she mused, when did I become a lightweight? Peeta cleared his throat uncomfortably, prompting her to continue, but unsure of whether she was finished or not. Katniss mentally shook herself before finishing in a low, sultry voice, “Just like you’re going to do this year.”

“Fuck,” Peeta breathed out, and Katniss watched him visibly struggle to swallow. She tried, and failed, to suppress her smug little smirk, that she could still affect him like this. It eased the green beast within her, the one that had wanted to stamp her foot and cry out earlier when she had witnessed Peeta wiping down the front of Glimmer’s dress. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think of Glimmer, Peeta was out here with her now, that must count for something, right?

“Are you, umm - being serious?” Peeta stuttered, and despite herself Katniss grinned at how flustered he was getting, the pink staining his cheeks betraying how agitated he really was, “Or are you just pulling my leg?”

Katniss took a long drag from her fag, sucking on it until it was down to the stub, “Do I look like I’m joking, Mellark?”

She watched as his pupils dilated even more in the darkening night, until the blue of his irises were only thin rings around the black pits of his desire. She reveled in being able to do this to him still, after all this time. It comforted her, in a weird, possessive, unhealthy sort of way.

“No,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible. He dropped his cigarette on the floor, not even bothering to stamp it out before stepping forwards. Large hands came to a rest on her waist, pushing her further back against the wall. She bit back a slight moan at the way he seemed to shelter her, the stark contrast of the cold wall behind her, nipping at the backs of her legs, and the heat that enmantend from his body and radiated onto her. She took a deep shuddering breath, pushing her chest upwards against his. Her hand shook slightly as she stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette against the wall next to her, before letting it fall to the ground as well.

Their faces were so close now, their mouths only a hair’s breadth apart, all it would take is for one of them to lean in, to close the tantalisingly small space between them. “Tell me you want me to,” Peeta uttered, breath fanning her face. She bit her lip, a sly grin gracing her features.

She leant up on her tiptoes, tracing a path to his ear lobe with her breath, “Peeta Mellark, I want you to kiss me up against this brick wall, until I’m breathless and my knees are weak.”

He groaned loudly, and she was about to tell him to be quiet when his lips descended greedily on hers. Knocking the breath right out of her, as he sucked and bit tenderly against first her top and then her bottom lip. She whimpered, admitting to herself that she had missed the way it felt to be kissed by someone who cared. Who didn’t just do it as a way to get into her underwear.

It was his turn to smile smugly, he pulled away from her, and she chased his lips with her own. Wanting them back, wanting him to plunge and plunder. She huffed out a frustrated growl when he moved even further away. She opened her eyes, taking in his face that grinned with feigned innocence down at her, “What’s the matter Everdeen?” He asked teasingly, “Knees not weak enough yet?”

She glared at him, he knew exactly what he was doing, and she wasn’t having any of it, not tonight. Lifting her hands to his hair, she played with the blond locks, smiling up at him demurely. She would tell him what she wanted step by step if necessary, but she didn’t think it would be. Cocking her head to the side, she mirrored his look of feigned innocence, before tangling her fingers into the shorter hairs at the back of his head, and pulling his lips back down to hers. He grunted against her, and she opened her mouth ever so slightly in invitation.

It took her all of two seconds to lose all inhibitions, Peeta’s hands moved up from their resting spot on her waist, one cradling the back of her neck and one stroking up and down her back in a motion that made Katniss giddy with desire. Their tongues met in a dance, reacquainting themselves. Peeta’s dove into her mouth, rediscovering everything he already knew about her.

Peeta placed his leg in between her own, which had opened a little of their own accord, bringing it upwards slightly, daring her to grind up against it. Stubborn as ever, though, Katniss refused to take the bait. Knowing him, he would probably tease her, pull away before she could really get going. But when he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, she relented. She could feel her knees turning into jelly, forcing her to slump down onto his leg. She ground down on it experimentally, the rough material of his jeans rubbing up against her boy shorts. Katniss swore into his mouth, and did it again, letting the motion stimulate her throbbing center. She was almost glad that he couldn’t feel the intensity of the heat that seemed to be pouring from her core, but another part of her needed him to know that he could still do this to her. Could still drive her to do halfway insane things, like letting him ravage her up against a wall with all of her ex colleagues a mere few metres away. Pulling his head down further, she held him there, desperate to drink more of him in.

“Katniss,” he whispered against her mouth, before diving right back in.

It was her turn to grunt at the power in which he started almost devouring her mouth, she could only cling to the locks of hair wrapped around her fingers, in hopes that she wouldn’t just crumple to the floor. She was rocking against his leg in a steady rhythm, each stroke of his rough denim trousers against her center making her more frantic, desperate for more. Her nerve endings felt frayed, threatening to short circuit and send her spiralling through the abyss. Peeta continued to busy himself with her mouth, pulling away before delving back in, more thorough and rough each time, so that she could only whimper helplessly into his mouth.

It was when the hand that had been stroking leisurely circles into her spine crept towards her front before meandering downwards, that Katniss came somewhat to her senses. She stopped his hand with one of her own, before it could get to the hemline of the skirt to her dress. She pulled away from his lips that had been stroking soft sublime on hers, and looked at him. Eyes blown wide, lips swollen and red from kissing, blond hair tousled and mussed from all her incessant tugging. She was sure she was mirroring this disheveled appearance back at him. He lowered his leg from where it had stayed resting against her, but his hand stayed trapped between their two bodies. If it weren’t so painfully obvious how much they had missed each other, it would be comical how fast and hard they’d fallen back into heated touches and frantic kisses.

She took a deep breath, wondering if she should apologise, or at least explain, but her brain was still fogged with arousal, and she was finding it very hard to look him in the eye. Instead, she got back on to her tip toes and brought her arms up around his neck, pulling him close to her for a hug. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he slowly brought his arms around her waist, holding her to him as well.

“One day, Peeta,” she began, talking into his neck, “one day…”

“But not today,” he finished for her.

She nodded and squeezed him tighter, a hundred memories of them together flooding her mind, and for the second time this evening she had to fight back the urge to sob. She could only be relieved that he had understood, understood why she couldn’t let him do that, not now, and certainly not here.

He squeezed her back, and she swore she felt him inhaling her smell, at any other time this would have turned her on beyond reason, but now it only saddened her. How had she managed to fuck it up again? He pressed a quick kiss into the juncture of where her neck met her shoulder, before releasing her from his grasp.

She wobbled, still a little unsteady on her feet, but managed to start walking in the direction of her bus stop. As she walked past the two drunk men that were still sitting on the stone steps to the pub, she heard one of them call out to her.

“Is the show over, sweetheart?” he asked, sarcasm along with whatever he’d had to drink lacing his voice, “That’s a shame, me an’ Chaff here were really startin’ to ge’ into it.”

Katniss turned to look at the man who had said it, scathing reply waiting at the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything, the other man, Chaff she assumed, slurred out;

“Won’t you give an ol’ man a kiss before you go?” The two men guffawed as he made kissy faces at her.

“Arseholes,” Katniss muttered under her breath.

The man with salt and pepper hair down to his shoulders called after her again, though all traces of amusement were gone from his voice. He sounded surprisingly sober when he told her, “I see the way you have him wrapped around your finger, sweetheart, you could live a hundred lifetimes and still not deserve what he gave you tonight,” he burped loudly and continued, “One day he’ll realise that, he’ll realise that he’s better than tha’, be’er than you.”

Katniss tried to ignore his words as she waited at the traffic light for the little green man to pop up so she could cross the road, but they still made her blood run cold, because maybe he was right. She turned her head to the side, waiting impatiently for the cars to come to a slow at the T-junction, when the old man, who had since left the betting shop, added his own snarky comment to the fray. If she had known how many people were watching them, she wouldn’t have let it get that far, or go on for so long.

“When do you think he’ll notice the exact degree of your indifference?” He asked in a voice that was weathered and old, but still demanded her attention. He had posed his comment as a question, but he said it as if he already knew the answer. She wasn’t indifferent, she thought, but doubt coursed through her. Hadn’t she just used him to prove a point? A stupid petty point, that she was better than Glimmer. She shook her head at the notion, it had just been a drunken mistake, nothing more.

She turned her head to face the decrepit old man, biting out a response, “Those are some awfully big words for a filthy old beggar, let’s hope you don’t choke on ‘em.”

The old man threw his head back and laughed, his cracked voice making it sound more like a cackle than anything. To her surprise the man actually did start choking, on his own blood. He bent forwards, crouching low as he spat blood to the floor.

“Gross,” Katniss muttered, before hurrying across the road. To hell with the traffic, she thought, she just needed to get the fuck out of here.

The shame and regret were already starting to curl themselves around her, and she felt almost sick with it. She was once again being reminded of how easily being around Peeta could fuck with her head, how it could make her do things that she otherwise wouldn’t do. That she’d sworn to herself wouldn’t happen again. Because, yes, her drink might have had something to do with it, but it was also him, he was intoxicating. The moment she had noticed he was in the room, she had wanted him, needed him. And it might be true that she could make him feel the same way, but people never seemed to see that he was just as good at it as she was. He was always the sweet golden boy, who had had the misfortune of falling in love with the likes of her.

She looked across the street when she arrived at the bus stop. The pub was pouring light from it’s windows and she heard the music playing. Peeta had already disappeared, and Katniss wondered how much he had heard. She hoped none of it. The old man was shuffling into the Tesco next door to the Ladbrokes, and the two men were still sat outside the pub, drinking from flasks. She looked up at the timetable that the bus stop provided, and cursed under her breath when she saw that her bus wouldn’t be arriving for another seven minutes.

She was about to start walking down the highstreet, so that she wouldn’t have to stand, waiting like a sitting duck, when her phone vibrated in her coat pocket with an incoming message.

Pulling it out of the pocket, she read what it said.

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:21pm]: Where are you? I’m hungry and bored, wanna get smth to eat?

Katniss considered ignoring the message, but her stomach rumbled in response to the thought of food.

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:22pm]: At the bus stop across the road. Don’t you have a set?

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:22pm]: Ofc you are. Yh I do, but any moron can do this. These song requests are driving me insane tho, so… food?

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:23pm]: Yh alright, what tho?

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:24pm]: I could really go for a kebab… and a smoke. We’re leaving now.

Katniss looked up from her phone. Shit. Johanna’s lighter. Peeta still had it. She watched as Johanna banged open the doors to the pub. Trailing after her was a wobbly Annie and the man from earlier. Katniss looked around her, hoping one of the many corner shops littering the street were still open, but they were all depressingly closed. Katniss glared at the closed signs on all the shop doors as if their existence offended her eyes, because in that moment, they really did.

She’d get that lighter back - she turned and saw the group crossing the road - though, maybe not today.

#emilia206 #alwayseverlark #prompt 4 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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strayinvelvet · 3 years

Text

still at it

work is starting to pile and you kind of expected your boyfriend to support you, not annoy you

pairing: han jisung x reader

genre: fluff, implied enemies-to-lovers

wc: 1.3k

warning: swearing :(

a/n: happy hearts day, cuties! part of @districtninewriters dear skz, with love. this took so long mainly because of the recent news, yea. i’m so nervous about this i really hope i did the prompt and project some justice. phew (っ＾▿＾)💨. enjoyyy (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

“You’re insufferable.”

You rolled your eyes at the neon yellow post-it note placed on your office desk. It’s still early in the morning and you have a long eventful day ahead of you which is why you tried to get to work as early as possible.

The busy days have officially started for your company. Your partner company is planning to launch a new collection in their fast-growing fashion brand in Berlin and your company, being the most sought out marketing team in the industry, is tasked to implement the most appropriate marketing and advertising plan for the collection. Even the people working for you are already on their desks working on what they are assigned to do. Some are having coffee while some are already writing papers that are nearing their deadline. In conclusion, everybody looked busy and none of them looked suspicious enough to be part of this very eye catching note thing.

Rolling your eyes once again, you sat at your table and picked up the surprise note. Truthfully, even at first glance, you already know the person behind it. How could you forget this one of a kind handwriting, the one you so hated to see back when you were in high school. Han Jisung. That little shit is still going at it.

You folded it in half before placing it in between the pages of your planner. As if on cue, your secretary knocked on your office door asking for permission to enter. As soon as she entered your office, she immediately briefed you of your schedule for today. Meetings, briefings and scheduling of future meetings and partnerships. Exciting. You’re starting to regret all of your life choices.

“Oh and by the way, is this yours?” she showed another yellow note, “this was stuck on your office door.” You sighed. Just how many of these did he make? “Leave it on my table and then meet me at the meeting hall for the first meeting,” you gestured towards your table. “Will do.” with that, she left you to do your own stuff.

“And annoying.”

Yep, he’s one of the decisions you’re starting to regret (maybe not but you like exaggerating). You’re not gonna lie, at this time of the year, you expected little notes that would inspire you, make your heart sing love songs, or rush the blood to your cheeks. These notes, however, only made your blood boil. You swore that when you see him once you’re back from Berlin, he’s going to get it. You kept the note the same way you did to the previous ones. Goodness, if only he wasn’t a major player of your partner company.

You reached for your phone and dialed his phone number and true enough he answered just after two rings, “Are you fucking for real?”

You heard him laugh at the other line before asking your question, “Shouldn’t you be planning our marketing strategy?”

“I am and your lovely notes are helping me big time, seriously. And shouldn’t you be working on the collection’s designs instead of this bullshit?”

“Hey, I am currently approving those that are outstanding. I’m not like you who-”

You know he’s gonna bully you, you just know. So, you quickly ended the call before anymore bullshit comes out of his mouth. With your nth eye roll for the day, you stood up to attend your first agenda.

Hours passed and the series of formal business stuff is starting to get to you. Your butt is sore from sitting all day, plus your muscles are in dire need of a stretch. The last meeting of the day has just been adjourned minutes ago and you and your secretary are taking your time to breathe in your office. "Miss Y/n, your trip to Berlin is in two days. Have you packed?” well until your secretary went to business mode real quick.

“Kim, please, give me a minute,” you laughed but answered her question nonetheless, “Yes, I have and oh, can you try to squeeze in my schedule for the first four days so I could have the last two to myself?”

“That would drain you,” she answered confusingly. She’s not wrong, tho. You contemplated for a while but honestly, you wanted to explore Berlin too and you can’t do that by sitting in a meeting room for a week. “Better than seeing Berlin through a floor-to-ceiling window glass pane.”

Kim nodded, "I will update your schedule. Maybe you should bring your boyfriend over," she suggested which also suggests that she doesn’t know who the notes are from. “It’s a business trip, Kim. And I don’t know if i should agree or disagree with that.”

You both laughed lightly before Kim left you to fix your schedule per your request. You, on the other hand, are willing to give everything just to lay on your bed or have a warm shower. Whatever door is nearer to your entrance. So you left as fast as you arrived at this building just to feel the comfort of your home.

The apartment you were greeted with is not the same apartment you left. You left yours with unfolded clothes everywhere, full trash bin and sink and a disorganized living room. You tend to be messy when you’re ridiculously busy. But this, the place in front of you, is like a whole different scene. Every corner is squeaky clean from the shoe organizer to the kitchen. The apartment lights are also set to dim with candle lights and all but enough to see everything. Soon after, the smell of delicious food wafted through your nose.

The hints are giving you an idea of what is going on.

You went to the kitchen only to see a romantic dinner set up complete with those fancy utensils, fancy food, candles and wine, and of course, a yellow note.

“But i’m willing to suffer for you. Happy valentines, baby”

This dork, you thought while smiling like a goof (which you tried to hide).

“Han Jisung!” you called him. His head peeped through the doors of your bedroom with a big grin on his face. “Were you surprised?”

You couldn’t contain the smile anymore and so you let it out, “come here.” You gestured to him to come over with your arms hanging in the air as if waiting for him to come nearer so you could wrap it around his neck. He came out with a bouquet of fresh daisies in his hand which he had to place on top of the dining table in order to accept your cuddle invitation. Jisung kissed your forehead before securely wrapping his arms on your waist. “Did you like it?”

“Aside from being partly annoyed, yes actually,” you tightened your arms around his neck so you could pull him down to give him a proper kiss. This wasn’t part of your relaxation plan but you are glad to welcome him in your routine, as always. The kiss was starting to get heated when you pulled away from him and loosened your grip, making him look at you with a questioning gaze.

“Thank you for cleaning my apartment and all this.”

“Anything for you, my love,” he kissed your cheek, “and I also did almost half of your work in Berlin so you could relax a little,” then he kissed your other cheek. For some reason, he has to accompany each of his sentences with a kiss. But nevertheless, it still made you giggle. “I’m not thanking you for the notes, though- wait, am i really insufferable?” You looked at him like you’ve just been betrayed. Out of all people, he had the audacity to tell you you’re the insufferable one?

He smiled, “no baby,” he pecked your lips before continuing, “ you just annoy me sometimes.”

“So you just had to annoy me first?” you asked with a smirk forming on your lips.

He shrugged, “guess I’m still at it.” This time, he accompanied his replies with a brush to your stray hair with his fingers just so he could look at you properly. You squished his chubby cheeks together, forming a pout in his already adorable face.

“Yeah,” you pecked the pout you forced, “I guess we’re still at it.”

end.

yayyy omg this may or may not be from an e2l au that is currently sitting in my drafts hmm

#inkidz #districtninewriters #stray kids x reader #han x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids au #han jisung #stray kids scenarios #skz x you #skz x reader #skz au #skz scenario #stray kids

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citrine-elephant · 3 years

Text

Second Chances - Analysis of Zane Flynt’s relationships.

Zane, despite being a loner, seems incredibly friendly with everyone, even those he knows he’s going to kill, or those who try to kill him. It seems like he can see the good in people, and whether it be bloodlust or a ‘no other choice’ situation, it doesn’t stop him from carrying out a job.

Obviously, the guy has attention problems. He gets bored easily, is unsure how he gets into half of the things he’s roped into. He just... does stuff. While yes, some of it can be written down to just the way the game is, a little jab at it, it was shown in his trailer that he’s had plenty of jobs that mostly center around killing stuff. A variety of jobs, he’s been around. He’s got 3 dozen bounties on his head, afterall.

Either way, Zane seems to genuinely see goodness in people.

Zane Flynt is canonically pansexual and polyamorous. He’s said to have many spouses, some that he forgets about. Seems odd for someone who’s got extreme trust issues and is afraid people will stab him in the back, no?

No, actually. Despite Zane’s struggles, it doesn’t change his sexuality. Little disclaimer there!

But in terms of allowing himself a relationship or two or twenty? Zane seems like he CRAVES social interaction, but due to his own struggles, he tends to push people away or stay distant. But once you know him, he’s a shining light of excitement and happiness. If, he trusts you. His loner status is based on his mental health struggles. With Maurice, Zane straight up says that he “knew” he was going to be betrayed, that everyone he lets in stabs him in the back. And despite this, he keeps making friends, entering relationships… Why?

Zane is extremely willing to forgive anyone who hurts him, IF they show him kindness. Any tiny little atom of it. Hell, he’ll probably forgive someone if they still want to hurt him. He’s terrified of being hurt, yet he keeps going. Social interaction is a straight up ADDICTION. It’s human desire and he cannot fight his primal instincts to want love.

Which leads me to also believe my projection headcanon, that Zane was emotionally neglected as a child. It would make sense, being on Pandora. Most everyone there were broken people, ex-slaves to a prison industrial complex. They weren’t really to blame as they were just victims of the corporations. Had he not been born on Pandora, Zane may never had been a hired gun.

But being emotionally neglected, you crave love. You crave it so hard, something that was never given to you. Zane probably does that, hungering for a love that he never received. This is where “mommy/daddy” issues arrive, which I disagree with the stigma. Everyone deserves love and no one deserves to be ridiculed for what wrongs their parents gave to them. Again, not saying this is the reason he’s pan/poly. I’m applying this to his willingness to forgive, despite being afraid of betrayal and hurt.

Another thing I noticed was how when fighting the Valkyries, he might say something about only being 3 of them, and 2 of him. To me, it seems like Zane wants to give attention to his partners. That he wants them to feel loved as well. It doesn’t seem like a selfish thing for him to have all these partners, it seems to me that he wants to make people feel happy. He wants them to feel loved and wanted and important. Something he probably never got growing up.

With Moxxi, Zane was clearly upset that Moxxi had forgotten him. He’s terrified of being forgotten. With Barnabus? (I do headcanon they were lovers) The guy tries to kill Zane and Zane forgives him enough to offer a drink next time he’s in town.

Zane’s likely learned that trust cannot be thrown around so easily, but he’s so willing to give it that he’ll risk it as long as he has a potential advantage if it ever came down to the end of a barrel.

In conclusion? Zane Flynt is a victim of the corporations, just like everyone else on Pandora and billions of others in this universe. He’s emotionally traumatised and craves love. He may not be a good guy, but are there any heroes in the borderlands?

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #zane flynt #zane the operative #in this essay i will overanalyze #headcanons #analysis

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the-cookie-of-doom · 3 years

Note

In estranged , what if claudia took Mitch with her? What would their dinamics be like? How would Mitch feel about Noah stilinski? What is his reaction when he finds out he's about to have a baby brother? I just need Mitch being ruthelssly protective of stiles. I need stiles being spoiled by Mitch and them having the cutest sibling pair ever. I need Claudia teaching Mitch how to control his powers and teaching him about ✨magic✨. I need Mitch being the most famous lacrosse player in school and little stiles, Noah and Claudia cheering for him across the field. I need Mitch taking over his father's company ( he's still the heir) fixing it up the same way , but this time he has actual support. I need Mitch having real friends and family 🥺💔

Oooh this is a Good Ask, I love talking about the What Ifs 👀 (Edit to add: Also, not many people realize, but Estranged really is a tragedy. And seeing it side by side with how things could've been just makes it worse.)

The central mystery of the AU is why Claudia didn't take him with her (and there was a reason! She didn't just abandon him like everyone assumes), so I can't tell you much about that without spoiling the whole thing! I promise I'm going to write the sequels some day. But let's just say that she was protecting him, and the Nogitsune is involved.

I can also say that had they actually been raised together, they would've been a platonic pair. They only end up together in Estranged because they're strangers to each other, and their respective abandonment issues react interestingly, shall we say xD

But aside from that, it would pretty much happen exactly as you think! Mitch has no love for his own father, so I think he would respect John bc he makes his mom happy, and that's all Mitch wants. But John would treat Mitch just like a son and before long, Mitch would love him like a father.

I think in this case, rather than casting Mitch aside, Robert (his father), would have sued for custody. He would see it as Claudia not only leaving him, but stealing his heir, and he can't have that. And Mitch knows it; his father only wanted a legacy, not a son. There's also the fact that a lot of men sue for custody as a way to hurt their partner, by taking away her children. Robert is spiteful enough to do that, given their divorce reflects badly on him and his reputation.

In the beginning Robert might be more active in Mitch's life than he was in Estranged. Might try to bribe him with materialistic things, giving him a lavish life to make Mitch choose him over Claudia, but it never works. Because on one hand, you have a rich life that's cold and hollow with a father who doesn't care; or you have a more modest life with a family that loves you. Mitch is the kind of person to choose family every time, at least in this AU.

When he's old enough (I think it's 15, but it could be younger), Mitch would choose to stay with Claudia full time. At that point Robert would likely fully cut him off, aside from what he's legally required to pay, and give up his parental rights. Maybe Mitch should be hurt that his father is throwing him away, but he's really just relieved that it's finally over. And it means John could adopt him and officially, legally become his father. But until then, Mitch would have to live with being jerked around between two parents, which only gets harder when Stiles is born, because he doesn't want to leave his little brother behind. (Maybe it's every other month, given the distance.)

Also at some point, Mitch definitely tries to create credit fraud, probably when he's like 13 lol. He's just a kid but the financial differences are obvious. Claudia thinks it was very sweet that he was trying to help, but makes him give everything back. (In "canon", Mitch does steal his dad's credit card and buys a plane ticket to California when he's I think 14? But he gets caught before he can make it.)

Mitch would probably be so excited to have a little brother, but also Worried bc his childhood was so emotionally Rough, so he promises to always make sure Stiles is loved and cared for ;_; I think there's the opportunity for jealousy bc Stiles has both of his parents to unconditionally love him, meanwhile his are divorced, but honestly? Claudia raised him better than that. Mitch just wants to be a Good Brother.

Since a lot of his problems with his powers come from Claudia locking them until she died, Mitch would have a way better time growing up with her. She would teach him how to properly use and control them, and keep them from overwhelming him. In Estranged, the telepathy is actively killing him, but she would be able to protect him from that. And then when Stiles gets his powers, Mitch would get to help teach him, too.

Mitch would likely also have a tie to the Hales, since he'd have gone to school with Derek and Laura. Given he's psychic, he would've been able to protect Derek from Kate, and the Hales never would've died. (And bc I can't help myself: Mitch would probably end up dating Laura, and Stiles would eventually become Derek's mate/the Hale emissary. I like what I like, okay!)

Mitch would absolutely be a lacrosse star. It's American Assassin canon, and it's one of my favorite things about Mitch. He would still get the scholarship to Syracuse, but where he turned it down in Estranged bc he didn't need it, this time he would actually accept it, and go on to have a great college sports career. Or maybe he takes a smaller partial scholarship to a school closer to home.

I just reread the ask and see you want him to still take over the company, but I was actually thinking that in this AU, it would take a different direction. Robert lives bc Mitch was never there to kill him; his company is run into the ground and he doesn't know he's been betrayed by his partners until it's too late. That legacy he worked so hard for, destroyed his family for, turns to ashes right in front of him. He lives, but for a man like him, it's worth than death.

Meanwhile he gets to see Mitch's success grow. He's making headlines in college, and Lacrosse is much bigger on the east coast so of course his father would hear about it. He's got offers to go pro, but Mitch has lived the high life before, and he doesn't want it. He chooses a modest life with his family, in a career he loves, over money and fame. Works in a few different restaurants in San Francisco until he has the experience to open one of his own. He names it Orion, as a final fuck you to his father. (And, on a more sappy note - Orion is one of the main constellations to navigate by. It's what guides him home; to his real family, and the life he's built, not the one his father wanted for him.)

Because Mitch is with Claudia, fully trained in his magic, she never dies. There are other conflicts and close calls, but they're able to protect each other, and a young Stiles. But she never gets FTD, bc in Estranged, that not even what she had in the first place, and they survive. Not unscathed, but it's not they can't get through together ;_;

And then, the day Mitch is finally able to open his own restaurant (Either the same age he is in Estranged, or a little older, but definitely still Young for the industry), his family are all there to support him. John and Claudia and Stiles, and it will be absolutely packed (haha) with the Hales opening night. It's one of the proudest days of his life.

#cookie writes #success is the best revenge amiright?#The Hales probably offered to bank roll the restaurant as an engagement gift lmao #Mitch: gave up his family money and ends up marrying into Laura's xD #(I kid)#but also: it's a good thing he married a Hale bc he likes to cook and werewolves like to Eat #eventually he'll have babies of his own and it's always a toss up if they'll be magic or werewolf and he loves them either way #(or maybe they have twins one emissary and one wolf)#the story would be COMPLETELY different if Mitch grew up with Claudia #and now I want to write it #just as an AU of Estranged

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littlx-songbxrd · 3 years

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Tell me about your current favourite thing to talk/think/read/learn about! Whatever it is as long as it makes you happy to talk about it 😊

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷

*tries not to cry*

*fails*

I'VE BEEN SAVING THIS ALL DAY FOR WHEN I HAD A FREE MOMENT BUT OK LETS TALK ABOUT ENNEGRAM 8 AND WHY ALASTAIR CARSTAIRS IS LITERALLY THE POSTER CHILD FOR IT

So ennegram✨

The ennegram is a system of personality typing that describes patterns in how people interpret the world and manage their emotions. It generally has 9 types all named through the numbers (so type one, two three etc.)

Lets were gonna focus on ennegram eight the challenger

Main descriptions for them from the official ennegram page is

Eights are self-confident, strong, and assertive. Protective, resourceful, straight-talking, and decisive, but can also be ego-centric and domineering. Eights feel they must control their environment, especially people, sometimes becoming confrontational and intimidating. Eights typically have problems with their tempers and with allowing themselves to be vulnerable. At their Best: self- mastering, they use their strength to improve others' lives, becoming heroic, magnanimous, and inspiring

Their core fear is being controlled

Their core desire is to be able to control their own life

The ennegram also develops the concept of the childhood wound, the types 8 wound is

"They learned that they could find their place in the family system by taking on the complementary role to the nurturing role – often a patriarchal, “strong” role. They decide to grow up quickly because they felt that by showing vulnerability or “softness” they would be hurt, rejected, or betrayed. They became little protectors and showed an exterior of toughness and invulnerability. They became the one that others turned to for strength and guidance. Eights deal with issues of survival and strength. They believe that they must be strong, decisive individuals who can handle anything without flinching. They become tough and aggressive and often hide their hurts, vulnerabilities, and feelings because that would be “weak"

Alastair Esfandiyār Carstairs IS the DEFINITION OF AN EIGHT

In canon, one of Alastairs biggest struggles is vulnerability. Allowing himself to be taken care off, allowing people to see him as anything other than strong and above it all. It's a coping mechanism, he needs to have control of all information, of all aspects. Because if not what is there? Vulnerability? Letting the sword down for the first time in his life and allowing people in?

He tries to show complete invunerability to cope with the fact one of his greatest fear is to be rejected, to be controlled by others. Thats one pf the reasons Chain of Iron Alastair breaks me because HE FELT AS IF HE HAD NO CONTROL OVER HIS LIFE. It also explains SO MUCH of the chain of iron finally if we remember he needs to have control over situations, he hides underneath this mask of power to make up for the fear of rejection.

Another thing that stems an eights fear of being vulnurable, is the fact they believe people will be able to control them with that knowledge. They believe being vulnurable to someone shows them just the right ways to break them. Normally getting eights to trust you is hard work, and it is posible that in their fear that you'll hurt them in the long run they self sabotage their relationships (LOOKS AT CHOI)

Theres also this quote from their page in the official site that SCREAMS Alastair and Cordelia before the character development

"Thus, Eights are often extremely industrious, but at the price of losing emotional contact with many of the people in their lives. Those close to them may become increasingly dissatisfied with this state of affairs, which confounds Eights. (“I don't understand what my family is complaining about. I bust my hump to provide for them. Why are they disappointed with me"

Alastair is distant, but hes sacrificing everything for his sister. While Cordelia (a known 3) just wants her brother back.

I can go on but I feel like the page itself explains better than I ever will

Theres also a song (if you've been in this account for a while you know what im talking about) called eight based on the type by sleeping at last

IT IS THE ALASTAIR SONG

PLS GO LISTEN TO IT AND COME BACK TO ME

Some lyrics that break me include

"But I cant let you see all that I have to loose and all I've lost in the fight to protect it"

"I remember the minute, was like a switch was flipped, I was just a kid, who grew up strong enough to pick this armor up, and suddenly it fit"

"Im standing ground, im falling apart, and all i want is to trust you, show me how to lay my sword down, for longing how to let you through"

Anyways I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME TALK

#mutuals #go on join eight supremacy #tlh #tsc #chain of gold #chain of iron #the last hours #alastair carstairs

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mimipagemusic · 4 years

Text

An open letter to Lorin Ashton (Bassnectar) from Mimi Page: A call for true accountability, responsibility, and healing action on behalf of the music industry.

Dear Lorin,

You have willingly and openly invited healing on your part with anyone you have hurt in your past. While I am aware you are calling every past sexual partner you’ve had, you haven’t bothered to consider the trauma your actions have caused to your female colleagues. You haven’t reached out to me once. I am taking this opportunity to respond to your offer of healing by “calling you in” in this open letter. I am a relatively private person and would have preferred to call you and read my letter to you directly. The truth is, I don’t trust you. You have claimed to care about the healing of those you’ve harmed, but the recordings released prove that you manipulate and gaslight whoever confronts you. I privately confronted you about “Butterfly” back in 2016, so I’ve directly experienced your manipulative behavior. Because you have harmed so many people in your personal and professional life, my hope is that this open letter will bring forth clarity and healing to anyone who reads it. Healing to me, to you, to the young women you have sexually and emotionally abused, to the creative collaborators you have taken advantage of creatively and financially, to the professional team members you’ve betrayed and let down, and to the dedicated fan base you’ve mislead and abandoned.

While I am processing my own feelings of anger, confusion, and disgust, I am also writing you from a place of love. Tough love, that stands for healing, integrity, and transformative justice. Principles you claimed to stand for as a leader in the music industry. This situation is devastating on so many levels because you’ve also created a lot of good in this world. You have inspired millions of people and played a pivotal role in our culture. You’ve provided a platform for so many independent artists to be heard, myself included. I am forever grateful to you for that. But with the platform you helped me build, I am now speaking out on it. My hope is that deep inside your soul, you can listen, learn, and take accountability with an open heart. My own heart is broken, but it is also open. So with this open letter, I will address the evidence of both your “romantic” victims and my own negative experience with you, from my own perspective. If you can take true accountability and healing action with our best interests in mind instead of your own, then I believe you can still be a catalyst for the true change and healing we need in not only the music industry, but in our world.

My personal reasons for coming forward:

In response to your sexual abuse allegations, you have publicly denied “the rumors” yet claim to welcome responsibility and accountability. You have admitted to the possibility of hurting others, yet you have not clarified what pain you have actually caused. You have claimed your own romantic relationships were “positive, consensual, legal, and loving.” You have claimed you are an “ally of women” offering free therapy to “true survivors of sexual abuse.” As an action, you have chosen to step away from your musical career and abandon your non-profit organization without further clarity or closure with all of us. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse at ages 5, 13, and 16, I have lived with the PTSD that comes with experiencing both Pedophilia and Ephebophilia. I have spent many years in therapy unpacking my own trauma, healing it, and learning what true sexual health is. As a “true survivor” responding to your statement, you have absolutely no right to define what a “true survivor” is. To do so gaslights the women coming forward about the abuse you inflicted, and manipulates the public into doubting their truth. This creates victim shaming and I won’t stand for that.

The legal definition of a child is ages 0-17. Rachel was 17 when you groomed and pursued your sexual relationship with her. The definition of Ephebophilia is an adult who is sexually attracted to adolescents between the ages of 15-19. Ephebophilia is not a sexual preference, it is a sexual perversion. While the argument stands that some teenagers welcome a relationship with an adult partner, many survivors realize they were psychologically damaged by that relationship once they mature in their mid 20s. Clarity and healing takes time, I speak from experience. There’s a reason that by law, teenagers are still considered children. While it’s completely healthy for teenagers to date other teenagers, they have no business being sexually groomed and manipulated by adults, especially those with power and influence. Ephebophilia has been glamorized and normalized in the music industry for generations and it needs to finally change. Countless rockstars like you have gotten away with this illegal and psychologically damaging activity with their underage fans. Many of them are still massively successful to this day. As an artist who has built your brand and activism on the principles of compassion, equality, and integrity, why are you grooming and dating your teenage fans? According to your victim Lauren’s statement, you explained why you don’t date women your own age. You told her you aren’t interested in older women because “they have too much baggage.” Lorin, it is men like you that create this “baggage” for women. And because of this, perhaps it is you who actually needs the therapy you are offering your victims. There is something very wrong with the way you view and interact with our world.

As a female artist and collaborator of yours for over 8 years, I wish I could speak up in defense of your character and your treatment of women through the reflection of own relationship and your treatment of me. I can not do this. While I hate seeing your career destroyed, I can’t help but honor the karma. I have carried your baggage for far too long. You have leveraged your power and your fame over me during every creative negotiation we have ever had. Always manipulating me into taking less of a writing percentage than my actual creative contribution because you claimed your platform, “the bassnectar factor” as you called it, would benefit me as a “smaller artist.” You hid behind a public mask of humility and activism when in private you lead with entitlement and greed. As a collaborator of yours, I am also a survivor of you. Not of your sexual abuse, but your psychological manipulation and financial abuse. You have taken advantage of my vulnerability and creativity since I was in my early 20s. You used your charm to manipulate me into thinking you cared about me while you stole my creative credit and royalties. You used your fame and influence to manipulate me into feeling grateful for the benefits I did receive from working with you, gaslighting my own reality and pain. You strategically belittled me creatively and financially in order to assert your dominance and control in ways where I was brainwashed into continuing to work with you. You have said some incredibly inappropriate and hurtful things to me over the years which negatively affected my self esteem to the degree that I almost quit music. Like so many others, I put you on a pedestal and looked up to you before I experienced your darkness. Even when I experienced your darkness, it was like I was under a spell. I have been conflicted for years and your name has been brought up in my own therapy sessions many times. You are a master manipulator, and I believe that is your greatest talent. In light of these allegations from both your victims and collaborators, so much becomes clear. The spell you cast not only on me, but the world, has been broken.

Your undeniable abuse towards women:

The evidence and statements being released by women who you say have been your “consensual, legal, and loving partners” provides contrary evidence to the innocence you claimed in your public statement. In an audio recording with Rachel, you verbally admit to her statutory rape when she was 17. She explains to you that at age 17, she “had no idea who she was.” She expressed that she was impressionable and that a relationship with someone your age with such an extreme power dynamic was beyond inappropriate for her. You validate this by agreeing with her and regretting your actions. You then offer to take accountability directly with her, but ask if that accountability means being “raped and beat up in a Tennessee jail.” This type of response to someone you’ve harmed is not called accountability, Lorin. This response is called gaslighting and manipulation, and it is equally abusive. It subliminally asks your victim to doubt the severity of her own experience and put your well being above her own.

In an email correspondence that Rachel shared during her senior year in high school, you congratulate her good grades on a school paper. You then request she spend 4-5 hours writing you an essay for your own pleasure. In a second email, you admit “she is overloaded with school work” but confess you are “so curious about what goes on outside of school in her social life.” You then tell her she “so rarely reaches out” and you “want to hear her voice.” Rachel wasn’t a groupie who pursued you as so many of your defenders claim. You groomed, pursued, and manipulated her. This isn’t the behavior of a mentor, a teacher, or a caring friend. You were an adult celebrity taking advantage of your teenage fan. This is called predatory behavior. You were a grown man in your mid 30s who chose to groom and sleep with an underage teenager, knowing full well how old she was at the time. In seeking the truth for myself, I spoke at great lengths with Rachel over the phone and heard her entire story. I also spoke to Lauren and have heard hers. While I was disgusted by the trauma you inflicted on these women, I was equally inspired by their grace, wisdom, and bravery to stand up to you.

Rachel (age 17), Lauren (age 21), and another young woman have claimed you put thousands of dollars in cash in their purses and backpacks after their sexual encounters with you. They all have clarified that they did not ask for this money, were surprised and confused by it, and had to hide it from their parents and friends as they were sworn to secrecy by you. According to them, you were paranoid and made them communicate with you through encrypted apps so that your communication was hidden. In Lauren’s public statement, she claims she was “sexually groomed and manipulated” by you as your fan. According to her story, she was hand selected via Instagram and won a meet and greet with you. After thanking you on Twitter, you provided her your private email and asked her to continue communicating with you. When telling you her age, you said you were “surprised” because she “looked younger than 21.” You then requested she travel alone to visit your home. When telling you she wanted to inform her parents so they knew where she was, your response was that her parents “had no business knowing the details of her personal life”. If she was to inform them of her travel, she was to lie about your identity and say she was “dating a teacher named Gabe.” While demanding her sexual exclusivity with you, you refused to be sexually exclusive with her. You also requested she consider you a “life coach” as you would help guide some of her “biggest decisions.” Some of your advice included informing her that “every man she would ever meet would only want to have sex with her and would do anything to get it.” You offered to “protect her” from this. This is not a loving relationship Lorin, this is a manipulative, controlling, and psychologically abusive relationship. There are many other women you have harmed who have privately come forward but are too afraid to publicly share their stories. Several of them have stated that they were under the age of 18 when they had sexual relations with you. The amount of young women you’ve harmed is mind blowing, and they are all your “true victims.” In order to take true accountability, you have to be willing to own up to your actions and take legal responsibility for what you have actually done.

Our professional relationship:

I’ve spent the past few days going through my own emails and memories with you, trying to find clarity and understanding of who you really are and how you could have harmed so many people in the ways that you have. While going back to my early correspondence with you, I was disturbed to find the same style of inappropriate communication with me. Our relationship has always remained professional and I’ve considered you more of a dysfunctional “big brother” type throughout the years. An email you sent me back in 2012 reminded me that this wasn’t always the case. I had completely blocked out this email because it made me feel so uncomfortable at the time. I now remember that I chose to shelve this away in my psyche because I was conflicted with how excited I was to get the chance to work with you.

(Email Context: I had just sent you my vocal hook for our song “Butterfly")

As a female artist who has endured the gender inequality in this industry, I am used to putting my head down and tolerating inappropriate jokes and conversations with men as long as it never escalated to a place where I felt unsafe. Fortunately our collaboration was remote, and I was in the safety of my own home studio when I read this. Your email response to my creativity was not only disrespectful, it was completely inappropriate. It’s alarming you felt entitled to speak to me in this way, being that I was a professional collaborator and I barely knew you at the time. I responded to your email with a “haha thank you” but I wasn’t laughing. I was extremely uncomfortable and afraid to tell you how I felt because of your power and celebrity. I wanted to work with you and was afraid I would jeopardize that so I put the opportunity to work with you above my own comfort. I regret doing this. I am only sharing this email now as it corroborates the evidence of your language and inappropriate communication with the other women who have come forward and shared their own email correspondence with you. They are being attacked and doubted for sharing their truth, and I won’t stand for that. I’ve spent the majority of my time these past few weeks processing this horrific situation. I’ve had a lot of tears and a lot of sleepless nights, as I know so many others have. In the process, I had an epiphany. Your email of wanting to “fuck my voice” was actually a metaphor, foreshadowing our future dynamic as collaborators. You did end up “fucking my voice,” not as an artist but as a human being. While my voice in our collaborations soared throughout stadiums and radio stations around the world, my actual voice was silenced.

In 2012 when we negotiated our splits for “Butterfly”, you manipulated me into believing that music didn’t make money anymore because of music piracy. As a young artist that was new to the industry, you told me that touring was the main source of income for artists, and buying me out of 100% of my share of the master royalties of “Butterfly” would be in my best interest. I spent 3 months alone in my apartment writing and creating “Butterfly” for you. Your offer was to pay me $1,000 for each month I worked on the song. You convinced me that because music didn’t make money, "Butterfly” may make nothing. A $3,000 buyout would ensure that I would be protected and taken care of financially. I had requested an equal split of the writing and publishing of “Butterfly” because I had clearly created the majority of the song. You took that opportunity to lecture me on what “equal” actually was working with an artist of your caliber. That because of your administrative fees and expenses due to your platform, a 50/50 split of writing and publishing wasn’t fair to you. Regardless of my creative contribution, 33% was the number I actually deserved. As the main composer and co-producer of our song, you knew I wrote and created the majority of the creative content in “Butterfly.” Not only did I write and perform the vocals and piano, I composed, produced, and sound-designed the synths and ethereal pads. You never gave me credit for this. Not in the liner notes, and not in the press. You took full credit of the production of our song, allowing me to be viewed as a vocal feature with a piano performance. When your album Vava Voom came out, I saw that every male producer who collaborated with you had an “and” producer credit. I was young and naive at the time, I didn’t know what a producer credit was and you knew this. As a self-proclaimed feminist and someone promising to protect me in this industry, you knew better. You should have done better.

Watching our song "Butterfly” find it’s wings was a dream, but also a complete nightmare. It became the staple of your live show, to the degree that Butterfly confetti fell from the sky. I had fans tattoo butterflies and my song lyrics on their bodies. “Butterfly” was ranked the #4 best song of your entire catalog by Billboard. It was in rotation in terrestrial and satellite radio, licensed to network TV shows, films and video games, and was even featured in an art instillation at the Disney museum. While I did get my 33% cut of my writing and publishing, I watched you absorb 100% of every sale and stream. I saw how many sales “Butterfly” sold in the mechanical royalty statements from Amorphous Music, your own record label. That small $3,000 “buyout” you gave me under the pretense you were “helping me” covered 2 months of my rent. Had you given me an equal share of my writing and publishing and literally any percentage of the master royalty of “Butterfly”, it would have drastically changed my life. Had you given me the creative credit I deserved on our song, doors would have been a lot easier for me to open as a female producer and composer in this male dominated industry. I continued to work with you over the years because I was brainwashed into believing this was how the music industry worked. I was brainwashed into feeling “grateful” for the opportunities I received and the success I did generate from your platform. I convinced myself that I was less than you, and I had to pay my dues like everyone else in order to earn my worth as your creative equal. This equality never came. While I continued to fight for a small share of my writing and publishing on every song we did, you still refused to offer me a percentage of the master royalty. To this day you still collect 100% of the master royalties on every one of our collaborations.

I tried justifying our creative dynamic by your invitations to perform live with you. While it was only 3 times, those performances were, and will forever be, some of the most beautiful and magical moments of my life. What was odd to me was the way you financially treated me when I performed live with you. At Lighting in a Bottle I performed for free and got changed in a port-o-potty. After my performance you thanked me and handed me a bottle of wine as compensation. At Red Rocks and Bridgestone Arena you offered me $1,000 as an appearance fee. A fee that I had to deduct the airfare of my manager, my wardrobe, and all my food and traveling expenses from. I’m not sure how much income you take home after each one of your sold-out stadium shows, but I’m sure you could have afforded to treat me a little better. At the end of the day, I actually ended up paying out of my own pocket to perform with you. With what’s come to light, I now understand that you’ve had huge expenses paying out thousands of dollars to these young women, several underage, with the hopes of buying their silence and loyalty. As your female collaborator, I can verify that you are no feminist. You are a hypocrite, and the way you have treated me as an artist is absolutely disgusting.

In 2016 I was unaware of the extent of your corruption behind the scenes, but I found the courage to confront you about my own situation. I texted you that I was uncomfortable about our business dynamic with “Butterfly” and we hopped on a call to discuss it. We had a long conversation about my feelings, and you validated my belief that you were wrong and that you should have given me producer credit. You agreed that my deal wasn’t fair and said that you wanted to make it up to me. While I was grateful for this, the end of our conversation ended up haunting me for years. When talking about “fairness,” you lectured me on the difference between us as artists. You told me that if I were to release a song of ours by myself, that it wouldn’t sell nearly as many copies as it would if you released it. That your “Bassnectar factor” was the reason for the success of Butterfly, not the creative content of the song. I agreed that you clearly had the bigger platform, but argued that my creative contribution to your art not only rewarded you financially, it helped define your brand in a new way. That the majority of your music is intense and aggressive, and my feminine, ethereal, and peaceful aesthetic helped diversify your musical catalog. I opened up and told you that if you had treated me equally and hadn’t taken 100% of my master royalty, my life would look very different because of the success of our song. That I have bills to pay just like any other person, and that my husband also battles multiple sclerosis which is a hardship we privately face. Your response to me was cold, and cruel. You told me that the music business is really hard. That many of your friends are extremely talented like me, and that you tell them all the same thing. That if it’s too hard for me to keep going financially in this business, that I pursue music as a hobby and find something else for work. Even so, you would find a way to make “Butterfly” up to me. You would get with your team and figure out a way to make me “happy.” Lorin, I can’t tell you how painful this conversation was, it crushed my soul. Writing one of my favorite songs with you and watching it receive commercial success while you took 100% of my royalties was one trauma. Seeing my worth through your eyes was another, it damaged my self-esteem. For a while, I did contemplate quitting music. If it weren’t for the love and support of my family, friends, fanbase, and my own inner work in therapy, I probably would have quit music.

A week later you got back to me after discussing my request with your team. You indicated that you couldn’t renegotiate the terms of Butterfly, that the deal of that song was over and done with. What you did offer was a deal for a new song. This song would be credited as “Bassnectar and Mimi Page” so I would receive a producer credit. I would also receive 25% of my royalties across the board. I asked you why I wouldn’t receive 50% if I actually write an equal share, or even 33% like you offered me in Butterfly. You refused to negotiate and stated that’s the offer that was on the table. You then sweetened the deal by offering me an advance of $10,000 of this song, with no deadline to create it. At the time I not only needed the money, I foolishly believed that you actually wanted to create another song with me. Over the past 5 years I’ve sent you so many creative ideas for this song, and your response to me has always been the same. You were “too busy" to work with me. The only song we created together since then was “Was Will Be,” a last minute topline request with another small publishing cut and no master royalty. As always, this collaboration was attached with more empty promises to write our “actual song” with no followthrough. With what’s come to light in the accusations against you, it’s alarming to see where so much of your time has actually gone. Like your female victims, I can’t help but look at that $10k you gave me as hush money for my own silence against the issues I confronted you with. Watching other legal cases appear by other artists over the years brought me a lot of clarity on how you’ve been taking advantage of not only me, but other artists this entire time. I never spoke out publicly about my dynamic with you because I valued the peace and healing of the fans who enjoyed our collaborations. Now that you have destroyed not only your reputation but the trust and peace of your community, I am choosing to share my story now. Not just on behalf of me, but all the artists you have taken advantage of and ripped off throughout your career. There are so many.

After speaking with several of your victims, I’ve been horrified to learn that “Butterfly” was the song that lead many of them to the actual discovery of you as an artist. That the beautiful and euphoric qualities of “Butterfly” didn’t only function as a catalyst for peace and healing like I intended. Many of these women were mislead into believing those gentle, peaceful, and ethereal vibrations actually came from you because you took full credit for the song. My most grotesque epiphany of all, is that you never did care about me or actually value my talent and wellbeing as an artist. Instead, you used my artistry as bait for the facade you projected to the world, ultimately luring more young women to you. As a survivor of sexual abuse, music has always been my saving grace and escape from the horrors of my own reality. I can’t tell you how traumatizing it is for me to be associated with you after realizing what you’ve done. I am deeply disturbed and depressed in regards to our creative relationship. I am grateful that our songs have brought peace and healing to so many, and I will forever stand by the love and light that I personally contributed to it. I won’t let you take that away from me. Had you lived your life with the actual care and integrity that you claimed to lead with, we could have created so many more beautiful songs together. Instead, you chose the darker path and in the process, took advantage of my talent, my time, and my respect for you.

Our last and final collaboration was on your new album “All Colors,” and this was the final straw for me ever working with you again. During a pandemic that is killing people, destroying our economy, and shutting down our industry, you sent me an email “checking in”. Like always, your emails have tons of smiley faces indicating you “love me.” You reminded me that we “still need to do our song” but asked for a “little favor” on your new album. You wanted me to replace a vocal sample of another girl singing “dreaming of you.” No writing, no harmonies, no creative contribution, not even the consideration of me knowing what I was contributing to as you wouldn’t let me listen to the song. Just “a little favor” of singing and recording for you, for free. I almost said no, and I wish I had. The only reason I didn’t, was because you had just offered me a spot to perform my own acoustic set on the main stage at your festival Deja Voom. A gesture that shocked me and actually meant a lot to me. After years of you blowing me off creatively and taking advantage of me financially, that was a gesture that felt like it validated my worth to you. I will humbly admit that deep down, I have always wanted you to care about my art and creativity. So, like always, I did the mental gymnastics in my head and justified the reasons why I should do your little favor and I did it. I did it against the wishes of my own manager and attorney, that’s how strong your influence has been over me. After I sent you my vocal file, I also took the opportunity to tell you that we experienced a food shortage during this pandemic and I learned how to garden in hopes that I could feed not only myself, but my neighbors. This must have struck a chord, because you changed your mind about asking me for free work and you sent me this email:

It’s almost August and I’ve yet to receive your $250 for pumpkin seeds. In regards to my creative contribution on your new album, I found my vocal sample on the end track you called “Optimism.” I wasn’t credited as a featured vocalist, and I checked the liner notes and there was no reference that I even sang on the song. After 8 years of working together, you didn’t even give me a shoutout on social media, telling our mutual fans about my contribution being that they loved our past collaborations so much. After all these years, and the massive amount of income you have earned off the back of my own creativity, this is what you have reduced my talent to. During the horrific times we are living in, your expectation of an independent artist giving you free work is absolutely despicable, and $250 for pumpkin seeds is ridiculous. It is clear the amount of healing I have needed to do in regards to reclaiming my self esteem. I am saddened by the dynamic I allowed myself to participate in with you for so many years. I have been battling a lot of shame for this. Thanks to several of your colleagues who have experienced similar dynamics with you, I have found a lot of healing. I am saddened to see this is a trend with so many of your collaborators, but I’m also grateful to be in their company as we all try to find the light in this darkness. I am now shifting my perspective and looking at all of us as hard workers who believed in the original vision you claimed to have for humanity. We took your creative and financial abuse because we are all trying to survive in this dark and difficult industry and shine our light within it. One day I hope the industry changes, and hopefully this entire situation will be a catalyst for it in some sort of way.

It is painful, but also healing to write this letter to you. I feel like a giant weight is being lifted from my soul. It is healing to see corruption being outed on a mass scale in our society, and ironic that you were one of those activists that spent so much time outing that corruption. For years you’ve used Twitter as a platform to call out the corruption of political leaders. Now that you are the subject of your own corruption, you’ve gone silent and disappeared. I will remind you we are experiencing a pandemic and the state of the world is in a very dark and fragile place. Your fans no longer have a safe space to turn to and this hurts their mental health. A lot of your fans are getting bullied for following you, having your tattoos, and being a part of your community. While you take your millions and “go off the grid” I won’t stand for your hypocrisy. I have received over a hundred emails from fans expressing their own private traumas and being survivors of sexual abuse themselves. How damaging it has been to discover they have been mislead by you all these years. You have accumulated your wealth and lifestyle from the money and dedicated support of your fanbase. You have built the diversity of your brand off the backs of collaborators like me, Dylan, and so many others. You owe us way more than an apology. The time you have spent manipulating and abusing your teenage fans could have been better spent creating with the artists who have contributed so much to you and your community. How you’ve treated Dylan (ill-Gates), an artist who inspired and nurtured your own talent, is utterly repulsive. The sad reality is, your behavior isn’t just a reflection of the darkness within your own psyche, it’s a reflection of the power-hungry, abusive, and narcissistic behavior in the music industry. We need a deep healing and change in perception with the ways business is run inside the music industry. We need a safer space for artists to create and fans to experience our art. Music is sacred, it brings healing and unity to our world. We need to make an example of the mess you have created and transmute it for positive change.

As you walk away from your musical career, you also walk away with not only my royalties, but all your collaborators royalties as your future financial stream. I wouldn’t label your career cancellation as “unemployment,” I would label any future income as theft from those of us you collect from. As a collaborator of multiple songs, the only control I have to help save the integrity of my songs and heal this community is a promise to donate my own small writing and publishing percentages to non-profits that support sexual abuse survivors. After learning that you have spent thousands of dollars to silence your own victims, you need to rectify this behavior with all of us. You manipulated our bad business deals by using your fame to convince us the “exposure” we would receive would benefit us. While it did in the past, it is now traumatizing us. As a survivor of sexual abuse and an actual ally of women, I find it unacceptable for you to have committed criminal behavior with my royalties being a source of your income. I don’t find it acceptable that you continue generating any future income from my creativity moving forward. I want my royalties back and I want to use my royalties for goodness. I’d love to partner with a non-profit or even start my own with the royalties you’ve taken from me and will continue to take from me. I’d love to incorporate your past collaborators, ambassadors, and fans in whatever healing endeavors I pursue from these royalties. My goal would be to focus on sound healing and meditation for survivors of sexual abuse and use the symbol of the Butterfly as the emblem. This would redefine my song and represent that we actually transformed some of this darkness into beauty. This is one idea I have of how you can take accountability and healing action directly with me, on behalf of everyone in your community.

The abusive dynamics in the music industry have existed for far too long, we can use this experience to help stop it. While you were a part of this problem, I hold space for your healing and redemption. You can take true accountability for your actions and use this experience as a catalyst for massive change. The only way we can create actual change in this world is by living by example and being the change we need to see. Lorin, please step up. Stand in your integrity and take true responsibility and accountability for your actions no matter what the cost to you. At the times you caused harm to others, you didn’t consider the cost to them. Own up now to what you did, publicly admit it, and take the healing actions required to make true amends. Use your wealth and platform for the goodness you originally intended, it’s not too late.

Sincerely,

Mimi Page

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leejungchans · 3 years

Text

— our first snow.

word count: 2.2k

pairing: dino (svt) x idol!oc (juliet)

warning(s): mentions of cyberbullying, allusions to stalking (dispatch yucky), mentions of the toxic/dark side of the kpop industry

genre: mostly fluff; slight angst (about idol life); crushes-to-lovers; idol au

notes: can be read as a standalone but you can refer to juliet’s masterlist for more info on her!! there may be some weather inaccuracies in this ahskhwjs please don’t be mad 😭 i live somewhere that never snows :(

summary: a confession is made during the first snowfall of 2021.

a/n: thank you to the anon who suggested a cute dino/juliet scenario 🥺💖 i hope you like this!!! thank you all for reading and have a nice day!!

Winter in Seoul is beautiful.

Even though she’s been living in Korea for six, almost seven years, Juliet thinks she can never get tired of seeing snow. Something about it is just so utterly magical and charming, like being in a Christmas card. Sure, it’s freezing and the snow sticks to everything—her hair, parka, boots, even her lashes, but it’s still one of her favourite things about living in Seoul as it’s something she wouldn’t be able to experience back home in Sydney.

Juliet still remembers the first time she saw snow the year she moved to Korea and how transfixed she had been. Upon learning about this, Yeri, the first friend she made at her former company, immediately dragged her out to the sidewalk where snow elegantly floated down from the sky and would eventually envelop Seoul in a pristine white blanket.

Though, she supposes that at the moment, they’re experiencing more of a snowstorm than a snowfall. By the time she gets back to the dorm, her black parka will probably turn white from all the snow sticking to it. She wonders what her members are doing, if they’re also enjoying the snow or staying inside to shield themselves from the biting cold.

A particularly strong gust of wind blows the hood of Juliet’s parka off her head, causing snow to immediately start landing on her newly-dyed purple hair. A gloved hand instantly reaches up to tug the hood snuggly back into place.

The female idol turns to her companion and smiles, even though he can only see her eyes due to the both of them wearing black masks, but she hopes he notices her eye-smile anyways. “Thanks, Channie.”

Juliet watches Chan’s eyes curve into crescents, and she knows he’s also grinning behind his mask. They’re always so sparkly, she thinks, like they hold the entire universe in them.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “the snow’s getting heavier, better get you home before we’re both stranded out here.” Juliet doesn’t tell him, but she wouldn’t exactly complain even if they do get stranded as along as she’s with him.

Here being a mostly empty street with only the dim lights from the street lamps and the occasional passerby to keep them company. The passerby’s don’t pay them any attention either as they walk briskly in an attempt to get out of the snowstorm as quickly as possible. They did pass a few small groups of people who came outside to enjoy the first snow of the year, but those people too occupied with making snowmen and taking photos to notice that they had crossed paths with two idols.

Despite the late hour, Juliet doesn’t want to go home. At least, not yet. She knows she should be back by now, a few award shows are scheduled for the end of the month, not to mention ATEEZ’s upcoming projects and appearances, so she needs all the sleep she can get to keep up with the practising. Chan definitely also needs the rest, yet he insists on walking her back to her dorm after their late night out before going back to his.

Juliet knows they’re both physically exhausted from their hectic lifestyles, but it is the unspoken knowledge that this is the only time of the day they have for themselves, truly just themselves, that make them want to stay out longer to retain a sense of normalcy. Over the years, she’s learnt to cherish the short-lived moments away from the cameras and prying eyes.

It’s knowing this that causes her to deliberately slow down her walking pace, because she wants just a little more time where she is simply Baek Minyoung instead of Juliet from ATEEZ, spending time with her friend Lee Chan and not Dino from SEVENTEEN.

Juliet has always believed that she is someone who warms up to people slowly with the exception of her members. But then Chan came into her life and effortlessly wove himself into the seams of her heart in a blink of an eye.

She thought they’d just be friends, she really did, until she found herself falling for the energetic boy with a heart of gold after a few secret outings much like this one. Before either of them knew it, their friendship had morphed into something more, though neither dared to make a move. After all, they know how fragile idol relationships can be in their industry—interfering companies, invasions of privacy, the slew of hateful comments that every idol couple cannot escape...

There were many nights where Juliet stayed up late thinking if it was easier to stay friends than to take the next step. Idol friendships, even opposite-sex ones, typically last longer and are met with less scrutiny, after all.

In those times, she also found herself wondering what her life would’ve been if she never came to Seoul and became an idol. She never thought that at one point in her life, getting a coffee or grabbing lunch with friends without having people shove their phones in your face would be a luxury, but here she is.

But if she never came to Seoul, she never would’ve met her members, the kind staff members who treat her like a younger sister or daughter, the amazing friends she met along the journey of becoming an idol...

She also wouldn’t have met Chan, so there’s that.

She once asked him during a phone call last year how he and his members cope with all the downsides that come with being an idol.

“It’s a learning process every day, I think,” he says thoughtfully. “But in general, I try to tell myself that even though bad things happen, there’s still a lot of good that outweighs the bad...I get to meet amazing people and do what I love for a living...These things are what I will cherish forever, the bad things won’t last forever, and it doesn’t do me any good to lose myself in them instead of the good.”

Juliet thinks about that a lot. Not that he has to know, or he’ll never let her live it down.

“—say about the first snow?”

Chan turns to face her with confusion written across his face from a lack of response. She blinks blankly at him. “What?”

He shoots her a look of mock exasperation. “Were you seriously not listening to anything I was saying?” he whines.

“Sorry, I spaced out!”

“I’m not going to be friends with you if you keep ignoring me like this!”

Before the boy has time to react, Juliet grabs a handful of snow from the ground and launches it at his face. He splutters for a moment, brushing off the flakes from his mask as she cackles, but her glee doesn’t last long when he reaches for a larger handful of snow.

Juliet shrieks and jogs away from Chan, which isn’t as easy as she thought given that her feet keep sinking into the layer of snow. “Wait, wait! Stop! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“You have to keep it down,” he laughs, gently tossing the snow back onto the ground, “we can’t be out here screaming and drawing Dispatch’s attention.” His tone is light and teasing, but the mention of the news—no, gossip—outlet makes her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

Though she can’t help but find it funny that if someone from Dispatch is actually currently following them—and she hopes they’re not because, hello? What happened to privacy and human decency?—all they’d get would be footage of them throwing snow at each other.

“You’re right,” Juliet says as they continue walking, “let’s not give them more business. What were you saying earlier, by the way?”

“I asked if you know what people here say about the first snow.”

Of course she does. Even if it has never been brought up in the dramas or movies she watched, her friends outside the industry have certainly gushed about the symbolism.

“No, not really,” she replies, feigning innocence. Playing dumb is fun, especially when you can also play the ‘foreigner card’ to back yourself up.

“It’s said that any lie you tell on the day of the first snowfall will be forgiven, and that any wish you make will be granted.”

Juliet frowns. “I thought that was for the first snowfall of the season, not the year. So technically, today’s not the first snow.”

Chan’s mouth drops open in a large ‘O’. “I thought you said you don’t know much about the first snow,” he accuses before shoving her lightly.

“Ah-ah-ah, you can’t be mad at me! You said any lie told today will be forgiven!”

“You’re the one who said today doesn’t count!”

“Okay,” Juliet relents, “this can be our thing, then. We can have two first snows each year.”

He laughs, and she can’t help but admire the sound of it. It’s just so contagious and never fails to put her in a good mood. “Deal.”

They keep walking until her building is in view. Admittedly, it’s a risky move to have him walk her all the way to the building’s entrance, as it’s known that people tend to wait outside idols’ dorms hoping to catch a glimpse of them, but Chan insisted that he didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of her walking alone in the dark at this hour.

“You know what else people say about the first snow?” Chan’s voice loses its usual playful edge. Instead, it sounds far softer and might’ve even betrayed a sense of nervousness.

Juliet doesn’t respond, but she turns to face his side profile to assure him that she’s listening. He keeps looking down at the ground, so she decides to silently admire the straight slope of his nose and the sharp angle of his jawline.

“People say that if you confess to someone during the first snow, you’ll stay together for a long time.”

“Is this your way of saying that you want to be with me for a long time?” she teases, but her grin drops when Chan looks at her with a solemn expression. “Oh. Oh. You’re being serious.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh at her wide eyes. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but what would you say if I told you I want to be with you? Officially, I mean.”

What would she say? A million thoughts are running through her mind, and she feels as though she’s been struck by lightning. How would the boys react? Their second year since debut was only a few months ago, would they think it’s too early? Would they be upset with her? Should she tell her company or let them find out? Would they tell her to break it off if they knew?

What if they break up? Will they still stay friends after that? Idol relationships can crumble easily given the nature of the industry and its habit of selling the fantasy of idols being ‘available’. Ten fingers wouldn’t be enough to count all the couples who broke up due to the pressures that come with this job—hectic schedules, obsessive fans, meddling companies, cyberbullying, the list can go on forever.

Is it worth it to take the risk when there seems to be a million reasons suggesting that it’d be better to stay friends?

But what does she want? Does she want to live basing every decision off of appeasing people who only know her from what they see on a screen?

Or does she want to live unapologetically with the people she loves and cares about, even if she has to risk her reputation and image simply for being happy?

Her answer couldn’t be clearer.

“I’d say that I’d like that a lot. Unless you’re secretly playing a prank on me.”

To say that Chan is flooded with relief would be a massive understatement. “You scared me!” he whines as he clutches his heart. “You weren’t saying anything for so long and I thought you were thinking about how to reject me!”

“I’m sorry,” Juliet giggles, eyes shining up at him. “Forgive me?”

A dramatic, reluctant sigh. “I guess I can make an exception for you,” he finally says.

Despite their masks hiding most of their faces, their eye-smiles tell the other just how happy they both are.

Deep down, Juliet knows that a simple snowfall cannot guarantee a fulfilling, long-lasting relationship. Perhaps a few years later, or even shorter if they’re unlucky, they may find themselves dealing with imminent heartbreak and separation.

But when her gloved hand—gloves courtesy of Chan because he somehow knew she’d forget her own— reaches for his, interlacing naturally as though they’ve done it a hundred times prior to today, she hopes that the universe will grant her silent wish that they can stay like this for a long, long time; that no matter how much they and their environments may change, they will still be able to find happiness and comfort within each other. She thinks it’ll come true.

After all, it is the first snow. Their first snow.

— bonus!!

a/n: eeeeeeeeppppp ngl this is,,,kinda cute if i do say so myself ;-; and yes this is also indulging my wish to have a cute boy (preferably park seonghwa or lee chan) confess to me on a snowy day ahdjhwjs 😔 again, thank you for reading and take care!!

feedback is always and highly appreciated!! whether it’s a reblog, a reply, or a short ask, it would mean the world to me 🥺💗 and remember that you are more than welcome to chat with me about anything in my asks!!

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somerpmemes · 3 years

Text

Killing Eve S3 Starters

Change as needed

“If you want to be a winner you have to sacrifice everything.”

“I am so much happier now she’s dead.”

“Bureaucracy in all its glory.”

“I’m back now, with bells on.”

“We’re always like this, aren’t we?”

“We’re gonna make a fabulous team.”

“You’re not easy to replace.”

“What’s in it for you, hmm?”

“Whatever you want, I will do it.”

“Power is there for the taking, ___. You just have to be smart about how.”

“You have friends?”

“You realize to fit in here you have to be socially inept like the rest of us.”

“You know, a normal person would flake on their friend when something better turns up.”

“Well, remind me not to rely on you for anything.”

“You can hide from it, but it won’t hide from you.”

“Are you crying? Don’t be a wimp.”

“Nothing good comes fast.”

“My work remains totally untouchable.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t leave your front door open considering the amount of people that have tried to kill you.”

“Yeah, well it’s not my problem anymore.”

“You just don’t seem very happy, that’s all.”

“Who says I want to be happy?”

“You see this and you’re transported to a time of happiness?”

“Are you ever going to apologize?”

“You really don’t think you did anything wrong at all, do you?”

“Life is just a series of trade-offs, ___.”

“This isn’t something you can fix, ___.”

“Our entire relationship has had you at the center of it.”

“She’s lying, okay?”

“You’re crying because you feel stupid. Because you WERE stupid.”

“Hey, these drinks don’t involve games or organized fun, do they?”

“I hear you’re a walking miracle.”

“You know, when a bullet has been through you, it leaves something behind.”

“And then you taught me how to swear in Russian.”

“It’s about acknowledging the sad together.”

“Couldn’t we be sad and listen to good music?”

“It’s push by the way.”

“Why would I want to look ten years younger?”

“It’s good to have many lovers. Keeps you limber.”

“Winners win alone.”

“You can’t go down that path anymore.”

“So you don’t think about her anymore?”

“So, shall we just dive right in?”

“I don’t believe in distractions.”

“I’m fully capable of doing my job without any approval from you.”

“I know you think I’m a self-serving prick.”

“Some things are bigger than the job and this is one of them.”

“You have to start taking care of yourself right now or it’s going to catch up with you.”

“How long do I have to stay?”

“Anybody can fight. It takes a special person to kill.”

“Just so you know, I’m kinda a big deal in this industry.”

“You do everything I say exactly when I say it.”

“If you make me look bad I will kill you.”

“You did all that for a boyfriend?”

“You only know a country once you know it’s drink.”

“It’s good to know he was getting some before he died.”

“Being hard on someone is sometimes what they need.”

“Don’t be embarrassed will you?”

“Why don’t you go and do your thing where you close your eyes and breathe?”

“You do not get to come here without an invitation anymore!”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m moving up in the world.”

“If I killed everybody who betrayed me there would be nobody left.”

“You have to know, you’re not safe.”

“You think you’re in control but you’re not.”

“Really, I’m fine. You should go.”

“You know I care about you?”

“You really like that baby, huh?”

“It would be really unsettling if he actually got something right.”

“I have all my best thoughts in the bath.”

“I haven’t looked up in ten minutes.”

“Meetings have biscuits.”

“That is literally the most parenting this household has ever seen.”

“You have been unfocused and manic for days.”

“I’m just having some fun.”

“It’s not my fault he was an idiot.”

“You want to amuse yourself, go crazy.”

“I’m the one doing all the work.”

“You think handling you isn’t work?”

“You should get your act together.”

“I’m not ready!”

“Once I pop, I just can’t stop.”

“I don’t have any self-control.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Did you take this job thinking it’d be easier?”

“You really should have some kind of protection, you know that right?”

“Have you ever locked and popped, ___?”

“I want to smell powerful.”

“Pushing ourselves out of our comfort zones is how we grow.”

“I adore a coincidence, it makes me feel I’m in the right place.”

“I just had the novel experience of being stood up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have him killed.”

“A terrible lifestyle suits me, huh?”

“Do you believe a word of that?”

“This place is psychopathic.”

“I should have shot you in the head.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I’m not here for you!”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Who doesn’t answer their phone on a stake-out?”

“Everyone, look innocent.”

“Don’t wait for me in the dark like that!”

“Don’t you want to know why I’m in your bed?”

“They own every little bit of you.”

“What kind of baby do you think I was?”

“I’m wearing power. And to keep power, you need knowledge.”

“This is where you belong!”

“So you’re saying this is it?”

“You do realize that’s my desk?”

“What is that smell?”

“You’re supposed to share the cake!”

“You’re like a sad teenager, waiting for a like on Instagram.”

“Don’t you like having fun?”

“You don’t know what it’s like when you’ve chosen to destroy your own life.”

“I promise you, whatever you’ve done is not half as bad as the stuff in my checkered past.”

“I stabbed someone.”

“Do not think that you are the only self-loathing as whole in the room, ever.”

“Choices, ___. It’s all about choices.”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“But it’s my job to do terrible things.”

“I want you to have a plan.”

“So not over me.”

“Ah. You made me cake.”

“It really doesn’t look like the picture.”

“Wait, wait, just because it looks bad doesn’t mean it tastes bad.”

“You don’t deserve nice things if you don’t look after them.”

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I gained valuable insight into Victorian gender politics.”

“You’re so close to getting what you want. But you have to play by the rules.”

“You are so annoying today.”

“I am just trying to save you from yourself!”

“You know, you really don’t have to be so dramatic.”

“This would be a really bad way to go!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be my favorite.”

“What got you in such a good mood?”

“I really hate it when you do that.”

“You’re free now. You can be whoever you want.”

“But I don’t want to be free.”

“You have the hiccups?”

“I’ve been ordered to stay away from all of this.”

“What are you doing home at this hour of the day?”

“It is a bit odd being here in the daytime, isn’t it?”

“I get up to all sorts of stuff.”

“You barely even look at me.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m worried about you, ___!”

“You have hat hair.”

“You said you have everything under control.”

“Not getting any, huh?”

“Did they air bnb my room again?”

“I know a killer when I see a killer and she’s a killer.”

“You were mean.”

“I beat the crap out of the sofa so I don’t beat the crap out of people.”

“You’ll have lots of fun, I promise.”

“Being strong is a choice.”

“That looks like shit.”

“You don’t want to dance?”

“Eat this. Be quiet.”

“Come on, it used to make you laugh.”

“You always laugh at things that aren’t funny.”

“You do not belong here.”

“I was not a happy person.”

“You were never a happy person.”

“You were bad from the beginning.”

“Oh, I think I need to kill you.”

“It’s so good to see your eyes.”

“Do you want to put ice on it?”

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“This is the same stuff I was doing before.”

“You know that would be okay... if you’re not okay, that is.”

“Sometimes you just need to let it win.”

“You can’t watch sports without a hot dog.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Where are we going? It better be someplace hot.”

“You should run away.”

“I don’t think you really want this.”

“Don’t let them see something’s up.”

“The plan only works if nobody knows there is one.”

“Should I… trust you?”

“None of us are to be trusted, that’s why we work here.”

“Don’t be a grump.”

“Stop or I’ll scream.”

“You know how annoying it is when you have to be around two people in love?”

“You’re a real role model, you know that?”

“You don’t have to do this. I already know you are scary.”

“___, are you comparing yourself to a carrot?”

“I don’t love being here either.”

“It would be so much better if we could have this conversation after I’ve eaten.”

“To you, I am harsh and cold and, to me, you are disappointed and expectant.”

“You don’t talk to people when they are bowling.”

“You can’t beat us, you understand?”

“Oh, I’ve got to get out of here.”

“That guy was really staring at me.”

“Do you know why I love you, ___? Because you’re an agent of chaos. And I love chaos.”

“You’re a beautiful monster, ___.”

“Thank you for the inappropriate touching. It was actually pretty nice.”

“You’re a child. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“It’s just standard white person stuff.”

“Jokes are for people who do their job correctly, ___.”

“Do you ever think of anything else?”

“Heroes only get the girl in Hollywood.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“Is this one of those moments we pretend never happened?”

“Look what someone just gave me. It’s a shank made out of a toothbrush.”

“Tone all this down a little. It’s too much.”

“So you’re actually leaving me here?”

“Why are you making this difficult?”

“You can’t get raided twice in a day. It’s a rule.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“Germans don’t wear kilts.”

“Russia has vegans now.”

“There is no such thing as a nice surprise.”

“Just once I want to make a scene and not be told to “be quiet” or to “pull myself together” or that I’m being ridiculous!”

“What kind of person does that?”

“I hope you die.”

“He’s crying out to be killed.”

“You have lost it, haven’t you?”

“Okay, I’m gonna make myself an omelette to celebrate.”

“That random guy now wants to kill me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Wherever I go, someone wants to murder me.”

“I probably deserve it.”

“Let’s face it, ___, I’m a prick.”

“Don’t argue with me we’re celebrating.”

“You’re not really okay, are you?”

“I fear the walls may be closing in on me.”

“It’s starting to feel personal.”

“What is wrong with you?! You’re an emotional iceberg!”

“I’m not coming at you, I’m trying to hug you.”

“This isn’t healthy.”

“You can’t just refuse to feel anything for the rest of your life.”

“A little overdramatic, don’t you think?”

“Is this really necessary?”

“You’re going to die in this room.”

“We are both to blame.”

“Do you ever think about the past?”

“They seem happy. Carefree.”

“I want to feel like that.”

“Dancing’s not my thing.”

“Are you leading or am I?”

“We’d consume each other before we got old.”

“Talk me through your outfit.”

“Comfortable is what you make people with a terminal illness.”

“I was trained to look devastating.”

“You know, you almost have no sense of humor.”

“What am I supposed to do? Applaud or…?”

“What is this really about?”

“You’ve not tried to bribe someone before, have you?”

“I expected you to look more like a stripper.”

“You know your problem? You don’t know what’s good for you.”

“Well, this is something new.”

“You’re going to burn for this.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“You never loved me. Not even close.”

“You can be pretty athletic when you choose.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore. Any of it.”

“You were never like them. You only thought you were.”

“When I try to think of my future I just see your face over and over again.”

“Did I ruin your life?”

“Do you think I’m a monster?”

“I think we all have monsters inside of us, it’s just that most people have managed to keep theirs hidden.”

“Help me make it stop.”

#killing eve #ask meme #rp #rp meme #rp starters #starters #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #long post

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shanie-the-toyaddict · 3 years

Text

Stay

A Sami and Kevin Fanfic

_____________________________________________

4070 Words No Pairings Present (Zowens if you squint)

As Kevin lays in a hospital bed after Money in the Bank, he finds himself confronted by one Sami Zayn. But has Sami come to gloat? To enjoy Kevin's suffering yet again?

Or is there something else motivating his visit?

No violence or smut, but there is some foul language so, Rated T?

The worst thing about ladder matches was the fucking ladders.

Well, maybe not the ladders themselves; ladders were a useful tool in everyday life and carried no ill will of their own. But when you put them in the hands of the type of angry, violent assholes who filled the locker room of the WWE, it never ended well.

To be fair, Kevin Owens was one of those angry, violent assholes and he was happy to use the ladders to commit such acts himself but as he lay in a hospital bed in Fort Worth Texas battered, beaten, and with an injured neck that didn’t want to work courtesy of Seth Rollins powerbombing him through one of said ladders, he couldn’t help but curse the existence of the damn things.

Still, he wasn’t in much pain. He wasn’t feeling much of anything, really. Kevin was never one for painkillers outside the hospital; he'd been in the industry long enough to know that they could lead you down a dark path of no return and that was the last thing he wanted for himself or his family. But, as long as he was in the hospital, they were fine. Plus, if you got yourself into enough trouble to wind up in a hospital bed, you were likely at a point where they were a necessity.

This was one of those times.

On top of the painkillers, he was tired, so tired. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but it couldn’t have been long. Two days at the most. They’d taken the neck brace off at some point, although they’d warned him to try not to move his head much. He’d been sleeping on and off ever since arriving, but it never seemed to help. He wanted to sleep more, the utter exhaustion from the past few months having caught up with him.

His body was broken. Between his injured arm, his injured knee, and now his injured neck, he was ready for a vacation. He’d intended on taking one several weeks back but Sami, that infuriating bastard, couldn’t be left alone for more than a week. Kevin had been drawn back in again, this time for a Last Man Standing match, in an effort to end Sami’s reign of terror once and for all.

It hadn’t worked. He’d beaten Sami down until he couldn’t get up again, sure. But his original goal of fixing Sami went unfulfilled, and Kevin realized it always would. You couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped and it was clear Sami didn’t want his help. He was too deranged and paranoid to see that Kevin gave a damn and, whatever, it was what it was. Kevin was shit at trying to help people anyway, he had no idea what made him think he could help Sami in the first place.

Best just to leave him to his insanity. He’d burn himself out eventually.

Hopefully.

Still, a break was a break, nearly literally in this case, and as he lay in the hospital bed half asleep, he couldn’t help but think that the room would be better with company. And as he stared up at the ceiling of the hospital room, contemplating another nap, he got his wish... in the worst way possible.

Kevin heard him before he saw him.

“You're an asshole, Kevin Owens,” he heard the voice say as he entered the room.

Kevin’s eyes shifted over to look towards the door.

Yep, it was definitely Sami Zayn, as bitter as ever.

Kevin squeezed his eyes shut.

Great, he thought, completely disgusted, the last fucking person I wanted to see.

“Go away,” he grumbled. His voice was raspy and weak and it only served to piss him off more. Being weak was never something Kevin tolerated from himself and being weak in front of Sami? Unacceptable.

Still, Kevin knew he didn’t have the strength left for the appropriate amount of rage warranted, so he would just have to make do with what he could give. Staring up at the ceiling once more, Kevin responded.

“I’m not dealing with your shit today,” he told Sami. “I’m tired. Whatever the hell you want, it can wait till Friday.”

A chuckle escaped Sami’s throat as he replied, “Oh, and I care so much about what you want. Really, I do. Oh, hang on, no I don't.”

Kevin sighed. If he’d had the strength, he’d already be out of his bed, strangling the lunatic. It was true that Kevin cared about Sami, but as he’d stated before, Sami wasn't Sami anymore. At the very least, he wasn’t his Sami. His Sami was an angel, kind, loving, protective, and all the things that Kevin secretly wished the powers of the universe had given him the capacity to be. But this new Sami? He was one big ball of psycho and just being around the bastard made Kevin want to throttle him.

But the truth was, there was nothing he could do about Sami being there. Sure, he could call the nurse to have him removed, but Sami would just cause a scene like he always did, and Kevin didn’t need any more stress. The best option was to ignore him until he went away.

He closed his eyes once more and said nothing.

Fuck him, he thought.

He feeds off attention. Don’t give it to him.

Kevin heard Sami drag a chair across the floor to sit down beside him.

“Besides,” Sami said, “I’m loving the look. You stuck in a hospital bed? It’s such a wonderful birthday present. A bit late, but really, great job, Kevin. A for effort. You outdid yourself this year.”

There was something about the tone in Sami’s voice, something that Kevin couldn’t quite put his finger on. Kevin pushed it from his mind. Whatever new flavor of insanity Sami had brewing he didn’t care.

Still, Sami didn’t shut up.

“I mean, I’m sure that’s what it was. A birthday present. At the very least it’s a gift from the universe. Karma for everything you’ve done to me. And it is so sweet. Sweet, beautiful Karma.”

Kevin was rapidly losing his patience. He wasn’t going to shut up. Granted, he never did, but like an idiot, Kevin had hoped this was the exception.

Mustering up all the energy he could but still not looking at Sami, Kevin responded, “Is that why you came? To gloat?”

“Gloat? Gloat?” said Sami, the mania not leaving his voice, “Why wouldn’t I? It isn’t like you didn’t try to break my back two weeks ago.Again. I mean, I have to hand it to you, credit for staying true to form. It isn’t enough to betray me time and time again, the consistency for you trying to end my career is admirable.”

There was definitely something about Sami’s tone. Kevin was trying valiantly to try and ignore it but the more the redhead ranted, the harder it got. Through the weariness, Kevin tried to place it. Once upon a time, he’d have been able to read Sami like a book without the need for words or other lesser means of communication. But whatever hellscape Sami’s mind had become, there was no understanding him anymore, even with words. Still, Kevin needed to try.

Anger? Well, that was surface level and to be expected. Hate? Again, par for the course between them. Regret? Possibly, but they’d put each other through so much by that point that their entire history was coated with regret. It was nothing new for either of them and it wasn’t what he was hearing now.

“Although, I have to say, Kevin,” Sami continued, “trying to end your own career? Odd choice. Brave, and entirely on point for your level of bullshit but still – odd choice.”

As the statement left Sami’s lips, the tonal shift became more evident than ever and, suddenly, Kevin realized what was happening.

Concern. That’s what was burning at the edges of Sami’s voice. Concern.

Suddenly, Kevin couldn’t avoid looking at Sami any longer. Pushing through the grogginess and haze, he turned his head to look at his former best friend. As he did, Kevin realized that, as tired as he felt, Sami somehow looked even more tired. His face was haggard and his already wild curls looked messier than usual, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple of days and the sight caught Kevin off guard like a kick to the stomach.

Still, Kevin didn’t care. He knew he didn’t. Not even a little and if he could just convince himself of it long enough for Sami to leave...

“You look like shit,” Kevin said.

Sami’s eyes fell to the floor, the façade starting to break. “So do you.”

Kevin couldn’t deny it anymore. Sami was worried about him.

And somehow, that made everything so much worse.

Don’t say anything,Kevin’s mind was screaming. Just let him leave. Don’t engage, don’t say a word...

“Are you... worried about me?” Kevin asked, despite himself.

Goddammit.

“NO!” Sami replied fervently, shaking his head as his eyes darted off in another direction. “No, of course – no, no! Why would I – no. No.”

It was far too many “no’s” to be a denial.

After a moment, Sami settled down again, his eyes once more on the floor. There was a knot tying itself up in Kevin’s gut, a familiar ache that Kevin loathed with every fiber of his being. He hated that knot, but he could never seem to escape it. As much as he told himself, swore to himself that he didn’t care, it always came back. With every stunner, every beatdown, every apron powerbomb atrocity he committed against Sami, he felt it. He’d fought against the feeling for over a decade by that point but it was relentless, carving up his insides and leaving him empty.

It felt a hell of a lot like guilt.

Kevin watched as Sami rubbed his face with his hands.

“Sami...” he said warily, but he was immediately cut off.

“I mean, I hate you!” Sami exclaimed, his voice turning wild once more. “I hate you with every fiber of my being! Every part of me, every single strand, every single sinew stands in defiance against you and what you have spent your life doing to me. You represent everything that is wrong with the WWE, and you are everything that is wrong with my life! You’ve been holding me down for so long, why the hell do I care?!”

For a moment, Sami’s crazed eyes locked with Kevin's, and Kevin realized two things immediately. First, Sami had accidentally replaced the word “would” with “do” in his rant and, second, Sami knew that he had and suddenly needed a way out of it. As quickly as they met, Sami’s eyes were gone again, slammed shut, and turned away from Kevin.

“I don’t care,” he muttered. “I really, really don’t. I just -”

Sami tensed up for a moment as if trying to restrain himself from something before letting out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair, and relaxing slightly. He was still pointedly avoiding Kevin’s gaze and as Sami rubbed his nose with his hand a nagging thought crept into Kevin’s mind.

It was the kind of thought that, were things different between them, might have meant something. The kind of thought that, was Kevin’s heart not already hardened against his former friend, might have given him hope. It was the kind of thought that chewed at your soul, stabbed you in the chest, and left you feeling raw and gutted inside.

He knew he should ignore it and any other lies like it. They couldn’t be true, the universe was too indifferent to muster up that level of cruelty. Were Kevin a wiser man, he’d have thrown the idea into the metaphorical dumpster, tossed in a burning match, and slammed the lid shut. But when it came to Sami Zayn, Kevin had never been a wise man, and the thought kept building and building until it was roaring like a freight train in his brain.

Somehow, the thought told him, likely against his will and buried deep in the shattered and broken mind of his ex-best friend, Sami still loved him.

It was a horrible thought, and as it tore through Kevin like a chainsaw he realized that a far worse fact lay buried beneath that.

Despite everything he had convinced himself of, all of the violence and aggression, rage and bitterness, he felt the same way.

Fuck.

Kevin stared at Sami, the silence between them almost tactile. It was no good. Kevin knew as much. Whatever they might have had long ago, it was gone now. Whose fault it was didn’t matter, although he knew in his heart it was mostly his. His friend, his Sami, the man he loved so much and who Kevin once would have gladly laid down his life for knowing that he would do the same, was gone. Immolated and turned to ash amidst a thousand paranoias, conspiracies, and obsessions. But as Sami sat beside his bed, his shoulders slumped and what Kevin swore looked like tears in his eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance, some excruciatingly small chance that they could be mended; Made whole once more.

Put back together.

They sat in silence for several long, agonizing minutes and Kevin watched as Sami fought the moisture in his eyes, steeling himself before finally shaking his head, scrubbing his face and eyes with his hands roughly, and hunching over in defeat.

Kevin couldn’t hold it in any longer. He had to say something, anything to break the tension.

What came out of his mouth was a question.

“Are you alright?”

Such a stupid question.

Sami didn’t respond at first, and Kevin watched as he bit his lip angrily before, strangely, he let out a small chuckle. Then another, followed by a laugh, and before Kevin could react, Sami was laughing. Rising, escalating laughter that reeked of the insanity Sami had been suffering from for so long. Crazed, maniacal laughter that shook Sami's whole body, and, as he cackled, he started shouting.

“Am I ok?” he hollered, “Am I ok? The man in the hospital bed asks me if I am ok!”

Anger filtered into Kevin's heart. What the hell was the asshole laughing at him for, all he asked was...

Sami bolted to his feet kicking the chair out from under him.

“YOU DIDN’T MOVE!” Sami cried out, and suddenly, he wasn’t laughing anymore.

Kevin’s eyes went wide as Sami’s laughter choked and sputtered turning into something that was entirely different and burned itself into Kevin’s brain.

“You didn’t move!” repeated Sami, waving his hands as the tears in his eyes threatened to spill over, “You landed on your head, bent in half and you didn’t move! I mean, it was just for a second, but I thought...”

Kevin wanted to say something, anything to calm Sami down, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth and the words got caught in his throat.

Sami’s words were soaked with pain as he continued. “... I don’t know why the fuck it matters, anyway, we aren’t friends. You didn’t... I don’t think we ever were, you just used me, used us for years until you were done with me and - and then... but we...”

Sami trailed off and Kevin watched as he fought to regain control. It struck Kevin as odd that he was fighting, that he was even trying to calm down. Sami had been ranting and raving for so long that Kevin had assumed he’d just stopped giving a damn about civility. But standing at Kevin’s bedside, Sami’s hands were now clenched into tight fists at his sides, with his body stiff, his eyes closed, and a face straining under the pressure to keep it together.

And, somehow, the impossible occurred.

Sami succeed.

Kevin watched the visible signs of Sami’s battle against his own mind start to subside and an uneasy calm fell over the redhead. Sami relaxed a bit, taking several long breaths before continuing.

When he did, he sounded nothing like the Sami that Kevin had grown accustomed to. He wasn’t Kevin’s Sami either but, somehow, it was as if a middle ground had been reached.

“I know it was Seth,” Sami told him. “Seth powerbombed you, that – you didn’t choose that, and I can’t hold it against you. It happens. But even on Smackdown, with the ladder there, and all the other crazy shit you’ve been doing? You’re going to injure yourself. End your career. Or worse…”

Sami trailed off once more, wiping his wet eyes.

Kevin knew Sami had a point, some of his antics from the past few years had reached new and creative levels of stupidity, outpacing the risks he so willingly took in his younger years. And yes, time and time again, he’d managed to injure himself in the process.

Still, it wasn’t all on his shoulders and Kevin’s jaw was tight as he replied.

“You know, I remember someone shoving me through a pair of tables a couple weeks ago,” he said.

Sami’s eyes were once more on his shoes as he responded.

“I remember some asshole powerbombing me through a pair as well. You wouldn’t happen to know who that was, would you?”

There was so much hurt in Sami’s voice that it broke Kevins’ heart. The anger was feeling dissipated and KO could feel his soul shattering into hundreds of mirrored fragments, shards of a past, present, and future devoured by fury and hatred, each reflecting back a stark reminder of who caused this, who was to blame.

He’d done this. He was the one who turned Sami into who he was now. Sure, the mental breakdown had a hand in it but Sami’s fall from grace was entirely on Kevin. He was the one who dragged Sami into his world all those years ago, determined to “fix him” and “bring him to the light”. All he had done was pull his best friend into a darkness that Sami had yet to come back from.

And still, as far as Sami had fallen, as much as he had crashed and burned, somehow Kevin was still managing to hurt him more.

Kevin’s voice was low when he finally responded.

“I never meant to -” Kevin paused for a moment, modifying the sentence in his brain, “ - worry you. Sorry.”

Sami scowled, shaking his head. “Sorry doesn’t begin to cover it, Kev. Not anymore. We have gone so far past sorry. So damn far.”

Kevin tried valiantly to shut down the part of his brain that was screaming at him. They’d gone too far, it was true. Anything they might have once had was irreparably broken. His gut was twisting as he realized it but there was a voice in his brain screaming at him to try anyway. Do whatever it took. Apologize more. Get on his knees to ask forgiveness. Plead. Beg. Hell, just kiss the guy if that’s what it took. Whatever was necessary to bring Sami back into his life. Sure, his Sami might be gone forever, but watching Sami struggle not to care, fighting back tears as Kevin lay in a hospital bed?

Part of Kevin believed that there might be enough of his Sami left to pretend they were ok.

And, at the moment, that part was winning.

Looking over at his former friend, Kevin’s brown eyes were full of love as he spoke his name once more.

“Sami...” he said.

The way the name came out, passing over his lips like a tragic reminder of what once was and what he wished could be again. It was a promise that Kevin would never give up on Sami, regardless of what new hells they might put each other through. A sacred oath that no matter what fate or any other force might do to them, Kevin would keep fighting to save them both.

Worst of all, Kevin knew it was a prayer. A prayer that, against all odds, there was something still worth fighting for.

That’s what you do with angels, isn’t it, he thought, the regret in his heart twisting like a serrated blade.

You pray to them.

Sami’s eyes returned to Kevin’s once more and KO realized that he was right. There was so much hurt, rage, and yes, insanity there in those hazel orbs. But Kevin had spent so long staring into them over the last two decades that he knew, in his heart, that his guardian angel wasn’t dead.

Not yet.

Fallen, yes.

But not dead.

And at that moment, Sami’s fight against the tears in his eyes was lost and they brimmed over, rolling down his cheeks.

“Don’t,” Sami said, his voice equally as sad as Kevin’s, “Just... don’t.”

“What?” Kevin asked.

Sami’s voice was cracking as he replied. “Don’t talk like we’re friends.”

Despite himself, a smile began to break through Kevin’s soul-torn expression

“I just said your name,” he said.

“I know.”

For the briefest of moments, Kevin thought he saw Sami smile in return when, just as before, the moment was wrenched from him as Sami broke away, turning his head aggressively to send a clear message that he was having no part of Kevin’s attempt at kindness.

“No,” said Sami firmly, “No, this isn’t happening. You don’t get off that easily, you shithead. We’re done here.”

Without looking back, Sami turned and started walking towards the door.

“Stay,” Kevin blurted out before he could stop himself.

God, you’re hopeless.

Sami stopped in his tracks, still facing the door.

“Why,” he asked. “Give me one good reason.”

Sleep was beginning to wash over Kevin. He fought it, he had to. He wasn’t ready to let go of... whatever the hell was happening between them. He had to stay awake, even if it was only until Sami was gone.

He didn’t want it to end.

“I’m waiting,” Sami said. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t just walk away.”

There was no anger or attitude in his voice and Kevin couldn’t help but think Sami sounded as tired as he felt.

“Because I... I want you to stay,” Kevin admitted. It was all he had.

With a bitter chuckle, Sami turned his head sideways to say over his shoulder, “I said a good reason.”

His voice weary with pain and exhaustion, Kevin said, “I don’t have one. Stay anyway.”

Kevin watched as Sami tensed up for a moment as if ready to throw attitude once more before he slumped and let out one final shaky breath. Wordlessly, he turned around and, retrieving the chair from where he’d kicked it, set it upright and sat down.

Nothing more was said. It was better that way.

Looking one final time at Sami in the chair, Kevin couldn’t fight the need for sleep any longer. He wanted to memorize the sight, Sami beside him for the first time in years peacefully and without them hurling insults, powerbombs, or helluva kicks at each other.

It wouldn’t last; Kevin knew that and Sami had to as well. By Friday, none of it would matter, they would be back to hating each other. Or, even worse, not caring at all.

At least when Sami was wailing on him, Kevin was close to him. Fight forever, that’s what they always said. When he was fighting Sami, they communicated on a level few could hope to comprehend. At Wrestlemania, there was an energy in the air, as if they’d found a canvas to paint a masterpiece on that would rival the greatest works of Rembrandt or Van Gogh. When he fought Sami, it still felt like home.

Sami loving him was the greatest gift of all. Sami fighting him was a close second. But indifference?

That was the worst fate imaginable.

And as sleep started to consume him, Kevin gave a silent prayer to any angel that was listening, Sami or otherwise, that that wasn’t the future that awaited him when he woke up.

The heavy silence between them faded away to foggy nothingness, and Kevin felt himself drift away.

The final thing he registered before unconsciousness took him was the feeling of a hand wrapping around his own.

#Fanfiction #Zowens #Shanie's Fanfiction #WWE

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

Riven x Musa

Ok, so I keep seeing posts everywhere that basically badmouth S8 and after seeing ten seconds of the trailer (YIKES to the animation, what’s wrong with the industry that they are making everything anime? Powerpuff Gen Z, I’m looking at you – obs: I didn’t watch it fully yet) I can see where some of the criticism is coming from but anyways…

My favorite Winx!couple EVER has always been Musa x Riven since I was kid and first watched the show (Netflix is not helping ‘cause I ship them even there).

I remember yawning at Bloom/Sky, rolling my eyes at Stella/Brandom and making a completely incredulous expression that I could literally feel forming on my face at Helia/Flora (can anyone say ‘unrealistic’?). Timmy/Tecna are a second favorite.

And why my Winx OTP are Riven x Musa followed after Timmy x Tecna? Because it reflects real life. In real life you’re not gonna stumble into people whose real and deep relationship problems are solved in twenty four minutes (not even that considering that some episodes present the “problem” half-way through said 24 minute-episode).

The breakup between Riven and Musa in S6 (spoilers everywhere after all) was one of the most mature breakups in the history of breakups with the hope for the future (yes, I’m completely ignoring S7, sue me, the whole thing was one huge filler anyways). And, after reading a lot of opinions on both ends (defending Musa/attacking Riven and defending Riven/attacking Musa) and watching the episodes in question (reuniting through reconciling) I think I can give my own analysis.

Since Musa AND Riven (individually and as couple) are my favorite characters in Winx, I think I CAN give a fairly unbiased view (hopefully).

*clears throat*

Ok, keep in mind that I’m defending BOTH of them, because I ship them too hard not to.

Musa Being OC (sometimes being called ‘brat’): C'mon, people! Musa and Tecna are OC since S4 anyways, where are the tomboy and the nerd? With the sneakers, T-shirt and comfortable-looking clothes? Noooo, now they all need neat skirts and hot pink high heels and long, glamorous hair. Do they look good? Of course, but and I would totally be less pissed if there was ANY indication on the reason for the change. Are they just maturing? Expressing themselves differently? Crowd mentality? Tune and Stella finally broke Musa down and Tecna followed soon after? Was it just to please Riven and Timmy? ANYTHING (even the 'pleasing a boy’ would at least be A reason - a ridiculous one that would piss me off, but A reason none the less), was just a sudden impulse that took?

Sure, we can talk about “character growth” until we are blue in the face, but the matter of the fact is that there was none.

The changes we see in Musa and Tecna are basically the creators making them more like the rest of the Winx (I’m including Aisha in this too, where is the sporty girl that matched the boy’s interest in extreme sports? C'mon! Even Bloom and her Girl Next Door looks are replaced with Bratz and Clueless-level of outfits).

Is anyone really going to look me in the eye and say Stella wasn’t a shallow (if friendly and good-natured) Mean Girl? She got better, but as I re-watch the show (currently in S3, meaning almost half-way through the content), Stella still worries more about her hair than anything else even while under literal fire.

More and more, Musa, Tecna and Aisha are losing their identities and what made them, IMO, the more badass Winx.

How did the two on the left went from this…

… to this:

Yeah, yeah, Musa still sings, Tecna still technobabble and Aisha is still a Warrior Princess but Aisha was the first one to go Bloom and Stella on us with Musa and then Tecna following soon after. It’s not just their clothing style, it’s the way they carried themselves too.

Right now? The only thing keeping them apart is their BF blues (different kind of blues) and some personal interests (singing, shopping, tech, the whole drama with Domino/Sparks, etc). But that’s IT, their personalities are going down the drain!

Sorry for the long-winded text, but the reason I’m expressing my disappointment at their change is because Musa’s reaction fits it. S6 we have such an AMAZING breakup (didn’t even think that was possible, WTH, right? Amazing breakup?) only for her to be mad as hell at Riven at S8? Bad writing, that has been dragging her (and the rest of the Winx) down to becoming just one unilateral, shallow character (the Specialists are also falling into that pit, what in the world did they do Helia in S8? He sounds like Thor telling about his “brave exploits” there, yikes). And continuity what? What continuity? Do they even remember how the breakup was written?

But ok, let’s put the Audience View aside for a moment and focus only on the In-Universe terms.

S6: You’ll always be my hero.

S8: What on EARTH are you doing here.

I laughed a bit, the contrast just got to me but instead of getting mad at one or the other like most of the fandom, I laughed.

Musa followed that by saying that Riven has not maintained contact and just in that I would be beyond pissed as well and giving my support to Musa. WTH, Riven? I think that each season is more less six months to a year? Sort of? Still, zero contact for so long even after ending on amicable terms and wanting to stay friends? And he went off on his own! A text now going, “I’m not dead” would be the bare basics for Musa not to worry herself bald!

BUT then I also read comments about how this was a two-way street, why didn’t Musa call either? That’s unfortunately something that I very much doubt will ever be explained. One of those: did it or didn’t it? Musa could have called and went straight to voicemail with no signs of life from Riven or she might not have called and just expected him to call as if feminism were dead and all initiative must come from the guy (which doesn’t even fit because they parted as friends).

Since we have no info on the above, I put it on both of them. It’s not fair to say, “HE should have called!” or “Why didn’t SHE call?” because we don’t have fricking context. So the only thing we can take is: no contact.

BECAUSE I put the lack of contact on both of them, Musa’s reaction was a little too much, however, Riven shows up all smirks and leaning against a tree with his arms crossed and I would have flashbacks to S1 if it wasn’t for the animation style that made all the guys look like girls. Dude! Not the time for that kind of posture. Not saying that he should be all sheepish and rubbing his arm as if he had done something horrible (again: we don’t have context on the no contact) but a more neutral approach was warranted here. Nobody does themselves any favors with that kind of attitude no matter what how high of a horse they may be (rightly or not) riding on, if anything I would react like Musa solely on that one.

Next episode we have that Riven convinced the guys to follow the girls in some mission and Musa was angry. Again: I would be too. WTH? Yes, yes, they helped and if it wasn’t for them, the Winx would gotten seriously injured but Musa did have a point saying that this demonstrated that they had no trust in them and need their hand held, it was no sanctioned mission like on Earth after all. BUT, Riven does something that I would never expect from in S1-4: he explains, he reasons it, he puts it in all the words that he does trust Musa and co and that he only wanted to show that he’d be there for her (you know? One of the main issues in S6 that made them breakup in the first place? His inability to conciliate Specialist work with supporting his girlfriend and ultimately failing or feeling like failing in both?) and Musa still pouts, crosses her arms, and turns around. Geez. I expected that one from Stella, not Musa. I think the closest Musa has ever come to THIS was back in S2 when Jared explains that Riven was the one to recommend that he interview Musa and yada yada yada and she got mad and stomped off on the poor guy that didn’t even understand what was going on (only to immediately apologize to Jared and recognizing that it wasn’t him that she was mad at… like I said: what character growth?).

Riven then goes to show that he indeed grew when he asked for advice from Sky and Brandon (WTH, right? Can we picture that happening back in S1-3? He very grudgingly would LISTEN to UNSOLICITED advice from Nabu and Helia in S4-6). And does a very, very goofy and embarrassing show of affection. Yeah… again… I can picture Stella loving the light show with her face for IDK how many people to see but not Musa (although can we really blame the guy after the series went out of its way to make Musa all Stella-like? Clothes, attitude, the only thing missing is making Riven carry her shopping bags around and call him “Shnookums” (although the mental image is already enough for me to fall over laughing, just for the face Riven would make). Still, I have to count that one against Riven if only because (as much as the show gives only lip service to it) Musa isn’t Stella.

Riven being mind controlled (again) aside, those two are back together. And on the overall? Riven showed more growth than any other character in the show COMBINED (he is the Zuko of the show), that doesn’t go to say that he didn’t make mistakes since coming back in S8 (but that was more a guy trying to win back a girl than… betraying his friends for a pair of nice legs or… IDEK like in S1 – where, mind control or not the show itself made sure to make it clear that he had free will) or that he is now the one out of Musa’s league. I think that NOW it can actually work… if the show allows him to keep the progress, Musa is the next to see her flaws and work on them (which she showed to be able to do since S2) and put effort in the relationship. The difference between them is that Musa can actually work on herself and the relationship at the same time. That’s not me saying she is better than Riven in any way, everybody has their own pace and their own way to cope, to improve and to self-reflect.

I still root for them.

~*~

PS-IDK why, but I read posts about how Riven changed so much and posts about how all his progress disappeared and he is now back to his S1 attitude and I’m just cofused. Yeah, different of opinions and so on, but such opposite opinions on the subject of a guy whose relationship was focused on three episodes?

#winx club #winx musa #winx riven #musa x riven #rivusa #anti stella #submission

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years

Text

New Amsterdam Chapter 17

“Peter, Jamison wants you in his office.”

Peter winced and clutched the handle of his bag defensively. “I’m not late!” he said desperately.

Beth rolled her eyes at him, purple eye shadow glinting in the office lights. “It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “He wants you in his office now.”

Peter knew better than to argue. The whole staff of the Daily Bugle knew better than to argue. He quickly made his way through the crowded halls of the Bugle to Jamison’s office and timidly knocked to introduce himself before going in. Standing at Jamison’s desk was another man, a guy with short, pitch black hair, who looked about as happy as Jamison—i.e. not at all. “I’m here, Mr. Jamison,” said Peter nervously.

“Peter, meet Eddie. Eddie, this is Peter. What have you got for me today, Peter?” demanded Jamison’s harshly. Peter could hear the crunching noise as he savagely chewed through the candy he’d taken to eating when he’d stopped smoking.

Peter quickly reached into his bag and pulled out the pictures he’d taken before handing them to his boss. “He—hello,” he stammered towards Eddie. The man just glared at him and Peter tried to retreat further into himself.

He found himself wishing, as Jamison went through the photos, that Wade was with him. He had no doubt that Wade’s presence might just antagonize his coworkers at the Bugle more—but Peter found his presence reassuring. He felt warm and safe with Wade and none of that had anything to do with how Wade was determined to not only respect Spiderman’s identity, but defend him against what anyone else had to say about the subject. Nope. Not at all.

Jamison slammed one of the photos onto the desk and Peter jumped—and then stared, confused. It wasn’t one of his best works; the lines were blurred and it was difficult to see what was going on. Why would Jamison draw attention to t his one?

“See that, Eddie?” growled Jamison. “This is the worst of Parker’s photos. And this,” he added as he slammed down another one—showing Iron Man and Black Widow in battle with a faceless (literally) man, “This is the quality he usually brings me. You want his job? Do it better.”

Peter first glowed at the rare (exceptionally rare) praise until he realized the other man wanted his job. Why? The Bugle didn’t even pay that much, and Peter knew for a fact that they negotiated to sell the photos to other newspapers and sites. He cringed away from the sudden death glare he was getting from the other man.

“Parker, the printer’s acting up again,” growled Jamison.

Peter didn’t have to be told twice. “Yes, Sir,” he said quickly retreating from the office. Beth looked up and smirked at him. “You knew,” he whispered, feeling betrayed.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I knew. Just as I know that he’ll be hired anyway, because Jamison loves his turn of invective phrase. And when you’re done with the printer I need help with the website.”

Peter nodded jerkily and went to get a set of the company over-alls that they used for the printing press in the basement. The thing was old, and was always jamming. It was easy enough to fix—and messy enough that only people at the bottom of the hierarchy (Peter) were sent to do it. He cleared the old blockage and closed the lid before jumping back at the sight of Eddie staring at him.

Eddie regarded him through narrowed eyes. “How do you do it?” he demanded suspiciously.

“I—uh, I take out the old paper to clear the blockage before refilling with new paper,” said Peter warily as he moved, cautiously, towards the door. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly sharing a room with Eddie—the man looked at him like he was scum and his senses were giving a low-level, irritating buzz.

“Not that,” said Eddie. His tone was casual. His body language was anything but. “I mean the pictures.”

Peter was even more confused. “The pictures? Well, the programming does most of the work—”

“The pictures you take,” growled Eddie through clenched teeth. “How do you know the best places to be?”

Oh. Oh. Peter nervously fidgeted with the safety goggles he was wearing. “I work at Stark Industries,” he said, “and they’re pretty good about assistants taking odd breaks as long as all the work gets done.”

“What does that—oh.” Eddie regarded Peter with a little bit more respect. “So you use the information you get at work to know when and where to go.”

“It’s not secret information,” Peter said quickly. He didn’t want anyone to think he was stealing secrets from Mr. Stark. “They announce it over the intercom. The only times I can’t go is when they’re expecting something to attack the Tower and lock it down with everyone inside.” The buzz wasn’t diminishing, and Peter swallowed. “I’ve got to—I’ve got to go,” he said quickly before fleeing.

He carefully hung the ink stained over-alls back up, grabbed his bag, and clocked out before leaving. He fled the building and then sighed as he trudged back home. He had some money from Jamison—but he was going to have to use it for the rest of his rent, some food, and some more medical supplies. His first aid kit was dangerously low, and he didn’t have anything to eat at home. The food he’d gotten at Oscorp was already wearing thin. Not for the first time, he cursed his quick metabolism.

“Petey-Pie!” called a familiar voice.

Peter whirled to see the familiar red and black figure coming towards him. “Wade!” he said happily right before he was squeezed in a hug.

“Oh, Petey-Pie! It’s been forever since I hugged you!”

Peter reached around the mercenary to hug him back and felt tense muscles relaxing. “You liar,” he said fondly. “It was just four o’clock this afternoon.”

“Do you know how many chapters that was Petey?” whined Wade. “I need my Peter fix!” He rubbed his masked cheek against Peter’s bare one and the stitches rasped against his face.

“Chapters?” he asked in confusion. “Are you reading a book?”

“I’d tell ya, Pete,” said Wade as he held the smaller man, “but you’d think I was crazy.”

Peter chuckled and gently squeezed in a return hug. “You are crazy,” he said fondly.

Crazy enough to believe he could change.

Crazy enough to believe Spiderman had a good reason for keeping his identity secret.

Crazy enough to get close to Peter Parker.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Wade said.

Peter leaned back enough to where he could look into the whites of Wade’s mask. “Who says it’s a bad thing?” he challenged. “I—”

“So this is how you get your information,” said voice, dripping with disgust. Peter broke way enough to see Eddie behind them. The raw disgust on his face was enough to make him take a step back, and the mere sight brought back that low-level warning buzz. “Fucking the freaks.”

“Hmm. Peter, who is this?” asked Deadpool as he tucked himself around Peter again.

“This is Eddie. I think he’s my coworker?” Jamison had mentioned something about Eddie wanting his job—but why? It just didn’t pay that much, and no one like to wrangle the printer.

“Oh? Hello Eddie. I’d offer to shake your hand, but I’m hugging my baby boy right now.” The arm around Peter’s waist tightened slightly, and the other crossed Peter’s torso. Peter would have relaxed into the embrace—if he hadn’t been all too aware of the fact that Deadpool had just moved his hand closer to his sword.

Eddie put both his hands in his pockets—and Peter winced. Deadpool had once sliced the arms off of a crook who did that (I swear he was reaching for a gun, and you’re not bullet-proof Spidey!) and Peter waited anxiously to see what would happen. Eddie simply left his hands there, and chuckled.

The sound was disturbingly similar to what Norman had uttered as Harry was recovering from nearly dying in the office.

“I just want to get an edge, that’s all,” Eddie said with a sly grin. Without looking at Peter he asked, “Peter, do you believe in the concept of fair play?”

“Um—yes?”

“Do you believe that in a competition to see who is truly the best, both people should be on equal footing?

“…yes?”

The grin widened. “Excellent. Hey, Deadpool. How about you give me a heads up, next time shit’s going down?”

Deadpool tucked his chin into the crook of Peter’s neck and there was a slight change—an almost relaxation that left him somewhere between Deadpool and Wade. “Hmm. That does sound fair.” Eddie smirked. “But, I won’t do it. You upset my little Petey-Pie, and the only reason you’re still breathing is because Spidey Senpai would be mad at me.” He rubbed his cheek against Peter’s again. “And just as Baby Boy believes in fair play, he also believes in honesty. Don’t you Baby Boy?”

“We—well, it’s always important to try to be truthful,” Peter said. He couldn't tell anyone he was Spiderman—but he didn’t deny it either. Actually, he was more careful that it didn’t come up. He wasn’t sure if that counted as lying or not.

Deadpool heaved an exaggerated sigh. “There you go. If Spidey asked Petey-Pie if I killed someone, Petey would tell the truth. So you live. Now live somewhere I’m not tempted.” He took his gloved hand away from Peter’s shoulder and made shooing motion with it. Eddie growled—but left. Peter let out a low, slow breath and relaxed as Wade cuddled him close again. “I don’t know how to say this, but you need a bodyguard.”

Peter really wouldn't put it past Eddie to ambush him in an alley on the way home. While he could fight off the other reporter—he couldn't do it without telling people he was Spiderman. “True,” he said. He looked up at Wade’s chin. “Want to come shopping with me? I got paid today.”

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

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theonewiththefanfics · 4 years

Text

Touch (one-shot)

Synopsys: There was a time Bucky hated touch. He hated to be touched and to touch. Not anymore. Now things are different. And as the snow slowly covers New York, Bucky thinks of how he got to that point.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluffffff, lil bit of angst as insecure and guilty Bucky

Warnings: swearing, suggestive stuff, Bucky feelin low at points and insecure (yes, that is a fucking warning)

Word count: 5517

Bucky loved touch.

He used to hate it, given how any time for the past seventy years touch meant harm, excruciating pain and torture. And not just it being inflicted upon him by his captors. Sometimes he was on the delivering end.

But he loved it now, just like he loved the early mornings of New York when the city still somewhat slept, and he could just watch the twinkling lights flicker through the pale curtains.

Now, everything was covered in a layer of snow. The sky looked lighter, despite the fact that it was 5 AM, but each flake reflected the beams of the city, encasing it in a warm white blanket.

He loved the touch of snow. It was cold, but not an angry cold. It was the kind of cold that reminded him of her feet stuck under his back in the middle of the night or the kind of cold that he felt on his lips as he leaned down to kiss her frigid nose. It was a safe cold. A loving one.

It hadn’t come easy though – getting to the point where he didn’t wince when someone clapped on his shoulder, or be the one to seek out someone’s hand, let alone initiate a hug or bring her in for a kiss.

It was Tony’s funeral of all places where everything had started. Sam was talking with Steve as his best friend passed on the mantle of Captain America. In a way, Bucky was glad it hadn’t been him. He didn’t feel like he deserved it, nor did he feel like he could carry such amount of responsibility. Not then at least.

He turned around, head tilted downwards as he watched pine needles crunch under his feet when another pair came in view. Bucky instantly recognised her.

Y/E/C eyes met his blue ones, and although there wasn’t much physical resemblance of her father, Y/N carried herself in the same suave way, and her gaze always glinted with knowledge and mischief. Now her eyes were rimmed with red.

“I uh,” she started before clearing her throat. “I wanted to say thank you for coming. He’d… he would’ve really appreciated it.”

Bucky almost choked on the sudden tears, and he shook his head. Throughout the whole funeral, he’d barely kept it together, as waves and waves of guilt rolled around. “Y/N, I don’t think anyone would want the murderer of their paren-“

She shook her head in dismissal not letting him finish the sentence. “He forgave you. A long time ago. In fact, I don’t think you were the one that hurt him the most. Dad was a lot of things… but despite what many believe, when he found out he was wrong, it wasn’t hard for him to admit it.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He should be on his knees begging for forgiveness and mercy, he should be begging her to believe how truly and utterly sorry he was.

“I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t come up with anything else. Because there was nothing else to say. Nothing he’d do would ever bring Tony back, and nothing he’d say would ever bring Tony back. He was just stuck in a loop of grief, guilt and sorrow, and would never get out of it.

Maybe that’s what he deserved, Bucky thought to himself, maybe that was his punishment for Tony sacrificing his life only so he could live.

“Anyway, I found this while going through his stuff…” Y/N handed him a little flash drive taking Bucky out of that wallowing pit. “I really think you need to see it.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at Y/N as she wiped away tears. “What’s on it?”

She shook her head. “It's not my place to tell,” and gently she took Bucky’s still open palm and closed his fingers around the little device. “Please,” Y/N sniffled looking from their clasped hands back up at him and gave Bucky a tight smile. “Don’t be a stranger. I’d love to get to know you.”

And then she left. Her black trench coat billowed around her in the soft spring wind. He watched as she picked her sister up in her arms, and Morgan’s little legs and hands wrapped around Y/N in a secure hug. Brown eyes met Bucky, and a little hand raised in a wave. He waved right back.

That night he went to the hotel the Stark’s had so generously placed everyone who had been decimated and newly brought back or who had arrived at Tony’s memorial. Most of them didn't have a place to stay. Bucky was one of them.

He felt Sam approach before his strong hand clapped on his right shoulder.

“You gonna be okay?”

Bucky nodded. “It’s just been a long day.”

A deep hearty chuckle, that had an underlying layer of exhaustion reverberated through the quiet hallway. “You can say that… If you need anything just knock. I’ll probably be up until whenever…”

Sam wasn’t one to really talk about his emotions, but Bucky knew he felt just as much guilt as he did. Maybe not as much, but he could see that emotions and words left unsaid, weighed on his friend’s shoulders.

Sam's door clicked shut, and only then did Bucky turn to his own, swiping the key card, and letting the small happy beep announce that it was open. He stripped off his jacket, combat boots and jeans. Unlike Y/N, he didn’t think Tony would have wanted him there, that’s why he wasn’t in a suit. It had been a last-minute decision when he realized there would never be a time, he’d be able to apologize to the billionaire. Not anymore. So, the least he could do was show respect by supporting the people he’d loved more than anything.

In a black tank top and boxers, Bucky plopped down onto the hotel bed and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. For a good couple of minutes, he stared at it, trying to find answers to unanswerable questions, but once he figured, unless the walls started talking there would be none, he grabbed the jacket and pulled out the flash drive Y/N had given him.

Not only had the whole Stark family been generous enough to grant him a place to stay until they figured out further accommodations, but they’d also given him anything he wanted or needed. A computer had been one of the things. He hadn’t requested it, but Pepper refused him refusing.

“If only to quench the boredom,” the redhead has smiled and slipped the slim rectangle in his hands along with a phone, credit card and a notebook. The last thing was already almost half-filled.

There was no password necessary as the computer camera scanned his facial features and granted him access. He plugged the flash drive in. Only one file resided on it.

With bated breath, he clicked on it. The second he saw Tony, Bucky sat up straighter.

“Hey… Hi… Bucky… I don’t know if you’ll ever see this because… well, because you’re dead,” Tony let out a bitter chuckle. “And I should be happy about it. I feel like I should. But I’m not. I’m not happy about any of this. There’s not much to celebrate nowadays." There was a slight pause as Tony bit his lip and smiled. It looked like he almost didn't want to, but he couldn't help himself. In a moment, Bucky understood why.

“My daughter was born today. My second kiddo. Her name’s Morgan… probably the greatest day of my life… it would be the second greatest had I been able to see Y/N be born, but I gotta do with what I’m given.”

He shook his head and waved a hand around, “I guess that’s why I’m making this. Also, because my therapist said it might help, but I think it’s because of what happened today… I don’t want to live with all of this weighing on me. Ever since that whole thing in Siberia, this has been the one thing on my mind I haven’t been able to push away into some dark corner with the rest of my problems…” he looked up at the camera as if he could see Bucky. “You can’t blame me for how I reacted. You can’t tell me that I was wrong in how I dealt with everything… but you can tell me that I should’ve given you a bit of time to explain yourself.

I know this will sound like an excuse, but the only thing I was thinking was – he already took away the people I love, so I won’t let him take what little I’ve got left… I know how unfair it is… was… but I hope you understand…”

Bucky let a tear freely flow over his scruffy cheek as he nodded. He did. He’d do the same if he had a family. Without. A. Question.

“But here’s the thing,” Tony sighed and looked to the side. “I can’t change the past… not what happened with my parents, not what happened with Thanos… I can’t do anything to bring you all back. And then I started thinking – what if I could go back far enough that I could save you?”

The super-soldier almost felt his heart stop at the thought of Tony risking his life just to save his.

“What if I was able to save you before any of this happened? And I pondered it for quite a while. All of those what-ifs and such… and I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t. And I know it sounds horrible, but here’s the thing, if I did – I wouldn’t have become the man I am today. There would be no Iron Man, no Stark Industries as they are now, and I wouldn’t have Pep or Y/N or now Morgan… I would've never have become an Avenger if things were even remotely different. I’m not saying it’s easy to come to the terms that it wasn’t you who did that… but I’m saying that every single piece has led me to where I am now. And that also includes you. And if you’re even a little bit like me, which from dad’s stories, I think you are, I know how you’re feeling, so I just want you to know that I forgive you, Bucky. For everything. I read some of your file and yeah…” he dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck man… I get it… I understand it…”

Bucky could see in Tony’s face that he truly did understand. He had been kidnapped and held captive as well. He knew what it was like to do things against his own will and be betrayed by humanity. Hell, he had been betrayed by someone he had considered family.

“And I want you to know I’m sorry too. It’s hard. Knowing everything you ever thought is a lie. I blamed my dad for most of my life for what happened when instead I should’ve been blaming someone else... HYDRA fucked us both over, didn’t they?”

Bucky choked back a sob. “Yeah, they did.”

The high-pitched wail of a child cut through Tony’s words, and he looked at the camera with a soft and genuine smile. “I gotta go, Maguna’s calling. But yeah… I guess that’s all I wanted to say. But if I could ask of you one thing – if you’re watching this, most likely I’m not there to tell this to you in person, so just… take care of them, please. My girls. They’re the one thing in this world that I have left.” And with a delicate smile Tony said ‘bye’, and the screen turned to black.

Bucky cried that night and the following morning. He curled up in his bed and sobbed until he couldn’t breathe, and then he took a warm bath and cried some more with his knees pulled up to his chest and hands in his hair.

That day he cut the long tresses off. It was sloppy and uneven, but it felt good. Like he was letting go of all of the guilt and pain, and he was finally forgiving himself. Sam wasn’t half bad at evening everything out.

That same day he went over to the lake house Pep and Morgan still resided in. As did Y/N.

“She’s in the basement,” Pepper nodded towards a set of stairs and readjusted how her daughter sat on her hip. “She’s been working on one of Tony’s unused patents. Something with nanotech and neurology.”

“Smart girl,” he mumbled and tickled the little sock-clad feet of Morgan, who giggled and tucked her face in her mother’s hair.

Pep laughed and patted Morgan's back. “Just like her dad. Hasn’t even taken a break since last night… would you be so kind and maybe bring her lunch? I just made some lasagna, which you’re more than welcome to as well.”

Without a second to spare, Bucky plated some food, ready to bring Y/N the much-needed fuel. He would’ve left without taking a bite for himself, but Pepper’s disapproving gaze told him he didn’t have a choice.

“No, DUM-E!” he heard her exclaim as he balanced the two portions in his hands. “Fuck, why do you even have that function? You do that again, and I’ll donate you to a community college. Dad didn’t go through with it, but I will; mark my words!”

Metal elbow knocked against the glass door, and it made her spin around.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Bucky apologized in a quiet voice. Rock music had been turned on a low hum, and goggles sat perched on Y/N’s nose before she removed them and beckoned him inside not even glancing in his direction. He heard the band sing something about teenagers and having the living shit scared out of them by them. He chuckled, thinking that teenagers were the least horrifying things on the planet.

“Don’t worry. It’s not something that can’t wait a bit,” she pulled off two heavy-set gloves and threw them onto the table, and immediately stumbled back a bit as her eyes befell on Bucky. “Sorry, I just... you look very different without the uh,” she waved at his head.

“Yeah, I uh, cut it off.”

Y/N snorted and turned back to whatever she had been fixing, pushing a piece of paper away. “I noticed. Oh, shit, sorry,” she motioned to how he was still holding the food and took one of the plates. “You made this?”

“Uh, no. Pepper did. Said you hadn’t eaten in ages and asked to bring you down something.”

She rolled her eyes but gave him a small smile as a thanks and put the plate on the table. “I’m not that bad. I just got carried away.”

He did it without a warning. Bucky just stepped forward as she rambled on about finding some clean forks when he grabbed her by the writs and pulled the woman in his chest. It was the first time he made the first move to hug someone. He pulled Y/N against him and pressed his face in the crook of her neck, muttering never-ending apologies and promises to keep her, Morgan and Pep safe just as her father had asked him to do. She didn’t respond, just wove her own hands around his shoulders and soothed him until he could form a coherent sentence.

Thumbs roughened by battles she should've never been involved in and manual labor because, just like Tony, she always had to be tinkering with something, wiped away tears. “It’s okay,” Y/N whispered. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

He pulled in a shuddering breath. “I just needed you to know.”

“I do,” Y/N smiled at him. “And so does he. Now… food?”

After that, he really kept his promise. He didn’t have any external threats to really worry about that could harm Y/N, Pep or Morgan, but Tony’s eldest daughter could be a menace to herself, so Bucky was sure to supply her with water and food and overall company.

They talked about everything under the Sun. Mostly everything beyond the Sun, as he was a huge space nerd, and even in her contacts Y/N had named him ‘Bonky-the-space-Boi’. He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t flutter every time she sent him a meme or a NASA article while sitting right beside him.

“Maybe you could ask Carol to take you with her when she visits next,” Y/N suggested, chowing down on some duck gyoza and soy sauce. “See the universe for yourself.”

And Bucky had thought of it. He’d met her at Tony’s funeral as well, and had fallen in a two-hour conversation with the woman because there was going to be no meteoroid left unturned. Not when he had the expert available for him. But he shook his head.

“I don’t think I’d be able to stay away for that long.”

“From what? Earth?” Y/N quirked her eyebrow up.

“No, Earth I could live without…”

“Then what?”

“You.”

It was so simple, a single word, yet it held so much weight to it. And at first, Y/N was going to say, if it was because of that promise he’d made to her dad, Bucky had nothing to worry about, but she didn’t. Because in his eyes she could see - that wasn’t it. She could see that when he said ‘you’, he meant that he wouldn’t be able to live a day without her. That any moment she wasn't in his life, was dull and bleak.

Y/N cleared her throat, put down her chopsticks and took Bucky’s hand in hers, slowly intertwining their fingers. “Well… if you do uh decide to visit space someday… I wouldn’t mind going with…”

Bucky swore when she looked at him, all the stars dimmed in shame from just how much her eyes sparkled.

He had asked her out that evening. With half-said words and pieces of rice still stuck in his throat, he had mumbled out something along the lines of ‘would you ever consider going on a date with me’, and Y/N had shaken her head and returned to her food with an ‘I already thought this was a date’.

Still to this day both of them continued to argue when did their relationship truly start – the evening in the basement when they’d confessed their feelings, or the following week when he’d taken her to a quaint little Italian place in Brooklyn; where they’d sat in a corner booth and shared two pizzas.

Bucky said it was the latter. Because it was also the evening when they’d first kissed. She had been the one to initiate it. They were on their way to the Avenger’s tower which had been rebuilt in the memory of her father and to house the new generation of Earth’s mightiest heroes as well. It was also where Bucky resided.

“Do you not want to kiss me?” she asked, chuckling before he could even say a thing. He could hear there was no hurt in her tone, and his breathing evened out a bit, knowing she wasn’t offended. “’ Cause I see you keep glancing at my lips, and I’m just waiting for you to make a move, but any time I try to look at you, you look away.”

Bucky gave her an apologetic smile and squeezed the hand he was holding in his won. “I don’t think it’s too shocking if I say I haven’t kissed anyone since the forties, so ‘m sorry that I’m a bit nervous.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Y/N brought one of her hands to his cheeks, and he practically melted. “There’s nothing wrong with being nervous. I’m nervous too. You just gotta talk to me, ‘cause your eyes are saying one thing, but you’re doing another. I just wanna know if we’re both on the same page… I don’t mind waiting.”

Bucky’s eyes softened at her words. “Really?”

“Of course,” she scoffed as if him doubting that, was the most offensive thing in this world to her. “I want this to be enjoyable for both of us, and putting you in a situation you don’t wanna be in, is not how to achieve that.”

With every passing second, Bucky’s heart beat harder and harder, and despite him giggling, he was terrified to the core. “So, if I said I wanted to kiss you now?”

Y/N shrugged as if she wasn’t about to leap out of her skin from the anticipation. “I’d say I’d be more than up for it. I did say I don’t mind waiting, not that I want to.”

Bucky’s core was shaking as he leaned in. He rested his forehead against hers; her beanie scratched against his skin, but he didn’t mind it much. He didn’t even mind the first flakes of snow that covered the November swept Central Park.

“You gonna kiss me, Buck, or just stare into my eyes?” Y/N teased him, her breath fanning over his face in a white cloud. It smelled of the sweet red wine both of them had drunk. He couldn't wait to taste it on her lips. Never in his life did he think he'd be jealous of a wine glass, but that night he had been.

“I could stare into your eyes forever.”

She snorted. “You’re such a sap… but I kinda like it.”

Bucky smiled as wide as his cheeks would allow before slipping one of his hands to rest on Y/N’s waist and the other cupped her autumn-air touched cheek.

The kiss was more than he ever could have hoped for. It was sweet and short, but it filled Bucky’s soul to the brim. He didn’t know if he believed in souls or God, not after what had happened to him, but what he did believe in is that there was a person out there that was meant just for him.

Not a soulmate that would complete him like a missing puzzle piece, but someone that made him strive to be a better person, someone that would bring only the good out in him and the bad parts… they’d accept and help him find a way to shape them into something worth living for. With that one kiss, Bucky was one hundred percent sure he’d found her.

Y/N pulled back, eyes still closed and a wide smile on her face, and Bucky watched her face intently. “Not bad,” she muttered, “for someone who hasn’t kissed anyone in like eighty years. But you could use some practice.”

Bucky’s whole chest exploded with warmth. “Yeah. And are you offering to be the teacher?”

She opened her Y/E/C eyes and gazed at him; lips pulled in a teasing smirk. “For a good price.”

“And that would be?”

“Another kiss,” her mouth skimmed over his. This time Bucky was the one to press his lips against hers first.

Now any time he wanted affection he’d gently come to Y/N, though never if she’d slipped into work, and he’d lean down to her ear and whisper his wish. He wanted to be respectful of her space and boundaries much like she was of his. Sometimes he still whisked his hand away from her if she touched him a bit too quickly and unexpectedly. Once he’d realize what had happened, he’d inch his fingers along Y/N’s forearm and intertwine them.

‘Sorry,’ he’d say with a squeeze of his hand.

‘Me too,’ she’d squeeze right back with an apologetic smile.

So, he always had to make sure she wanted his affection.

“Bucky, you never have to ask if you can kiss me or hug me,” she responded one late evening as she pecked his lips and rested her back against his chest. Brooklyn Nine-Nine played in the background. “I always want to kiss you and hug you.”

And although he tried to settle it in his mind, that he needn’t question whether she wanted him, because for some weird (in his mind) reason Y/N wanted him in every way, there was a thing he wanted a solid confirmation on.

“Can we sleep together?” his question came out as an uncertain whisper, voice trembling.

Y/N chuckled as Jake Peralta smashed through the window from a zipline and busted the bad guys. “Of course,” she said. “I kinda expected you to stay over. It’s snowing like crazy right now.” And it was. Behind the window of her house, an actual blizzard raged on. Pep and Morgan were out of town for that weekend visiting her side of parents. Y/N had insisted they stay over there and had actually threatened Happy if he tried to even sit in a car. She wasn’t going to let anyone get hurt. Besides, Christmas was in two days. They’d all make it back just in time.

“I wasn’t gonna let you drive in this kind of weather,” Y/N said, trying to reassure Bucky that he was more than welcome to snuggle up with her and spend the night. But it wasn’t what he was asking.

“No, I meant can we… sleep together?”

Instantly, her head went to the side only to see him looking at his lap. Her heart stuttered in her chest, not just at the thought that Bucky wanted her in that kind of a way, but because he asked. Because he wanted to know if she was ready to be intimate with him to the highest degree.

“Bucky,” she lifted his face so their eyes could meet. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

There was no judgement of having asked that question, there was no mockery of him being shy and scared to bring it up. All he could see was Y/N making sure he was certain in what he asked. He fell a little more in love with her.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “I think – I know, I’m ready. I wanna be with you… in every possible way… do you want to?”

She nodded her head maybe a bit too eagerly, but there was no shame in it. “As long as you’re completely sure.”

Bucky knew there was nothing in this world he was more certain of.

Y/N switched off the TV and rose from the couch, her hand extended for him to grab. Both of them were filled with nerves and excitement as she led him through the house, up the stairs and to her room. Fairy lights had been left on just so she wouldn’t have to walk inside a pitch-black room, but unintentionally it created the perfect mood – gentle, kind and trusting.

“Guide me, Bucky,” she kissed right below his ear and wove her hands around his middle. “I want you to tell me and show me what you like.”

His touches started out trembling, slow and unsure, but soon enough, as he moved Y/N’s hands and allowed himself to show her mouth where he liked to be caressed the most, they became greedy and demanding.

They demanded to feel more of her, so he removed the shirt that had been covering her body, they were hungry to roam over her skin, so both flesh and metal slipped across every curve and dip in their way, eagerly memorizing how she shuddered and responded, how she became pliable in his fingers.

He didn’t know that it was Stark who years ago had sent over to Wakanda his nanotech patent, so Shuri could one day implement it in his arm. He didn’t know Y/N had been doing the final tweaks before Bucky was called over to the other country on the same day he’d made the promise to keep her safe. He didn’t know it was because of Tony he was able to touch and feel and relish in being touch and felt. But the day he found out about it, he swore all over again to never let go of his word.

Their first time had been soft and tender and filled with reassurances and breathless love confessions. When Y/N had touched the shoulder where his metal arm connected to real flesh, Bucky almost started crying. Her nails were digging into the scarred flesh much like his own had at one point, but they weren't trying to pry that horrid silver appendage that he once owned away. HYDRA had had to restrain him in the chair and sedate him to repair the damage he’d done to their newest weapon. Bucky had practically ripped his arm off anew that time leaving his skin in bloody scraps. But Y/N was holding onto him like if she didn’t, she’d be the one to fall apart, that somehow someone would rip her away from him, and there was no way she would allow that to happen. She bit down on the joint as she came soothing the sting with her tongue.

That night (or rather that morning), after they’d tried every possible position before Y/N had exhausted all of her energy, Bucky watched her sleep on his chest, her right palm cradling his left shoulder. She let out a small snore and furrowed her eyebrows. Whatever she was dreaming about, she was not agreeing with it. Bucky huffed and pushed away a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead. Instantly the lines between her brows disappeared.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered as the Sun slowly rose. He thought his only witness had been the quiet of her room, but the small ‘I love you too’ proved him wrong.

Bucky had never been the white-picket-fence kind of a guy, not even before the war. And he wasn’t one either now. But he did want a family, he did want to belong somewhere... with someone. And he’d found that with Y/N.

What had started off as a promise to her father, had morphed into a vow to himself. Bucky looked over to his left where Y/N had her head resting on a white cloud of a pillow, Y/H/C hair sprawled all across it.

Three years later to the day, with Christmas fast approaching, they found themselves in the exact same position as they had been in her house, this time, in the Avenger’s tower. Their frames were covered by the fluffiest and warmest duvet ever known to humanity. Bucky wouldn't allow anything less. ‘I’ll keep her safe,’ his thoughts rang, ‘because I love her’.

It was as if she could feel him thinking. Two Y/E/C eyes blearily blinked open, trying to focus in on Bucky. “You okay?” she whispered sighing and rolling closer to snuggle deeper into his chest. She shivered when his metal hand trailed down her naked spine. “Nightmares?”

“No.”

“Then why are you up at,” she leaned over to his side where the clock sat, “5:30 in the morning?”

“Jus’… thinking.”

She raised her eyebrow but didn’t pry. Bucky would tell her in his own time. “You should get some sleep,” Y/N rested back into his side. “You won’t be able to get any until he turns eighteen.”

Bucky let out a soft laugh and allowed a warm hand to weave away from her waist to her stomach. “I think you’re the one that needs sleep the most.”

Instantly Y/N winced and glanced down. “Yeah, well I woke up because you woke up, and now I’m up because someone likes to fucking assault my bladder. I swear he already loves you more than me.”

Bucky chuckled and slipped under the covers. If he wasn’t dead tired, he would’ve taken Y/N for another round, especially as he gazed over her bare chest. But he didn’t. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her round belly and addressed the person growing inside there. “Hey, Anthony, please let your mom sleep. You know she needs it. It’s how she’s keeping you safe and strong.”

“You do too,” Y/N whispered holding Bucky’s cheek in her palm once he emerged. “We’re both in this together, you know.”

If this had been the first time, she’d ever said those words, he was sure he would’ve cried. He had cried. Nobody in his life had trusted him to the degree Y/N did. Not to love or keep or hold or touch.

“You already do, Bucky,” she had wiped his tears away the day she told him he was going to be a father. “Every day you keep Pep and Maguna safe. You keep me safe… you’ve kept your promise… you’ve always taken care of us… what makes you think this will be different?” a small laugh escaped her when he finally smiled. “We’re in this together. You and me. We’ll figure it out. You'll keep them safe too.”

They still hadn’t grasped everything, not fully at least; every day was filled with new challenges and obstacles, but if there was one thing Bucky always had, it was Y/N’s touch to guide him.

With a hand on her huge stomach and a kick from their boy against Bucky’s palm, he fell asleep cocooned in the warmth of their bed with the soft winter layer protecting New York.

Y/N laid her palm over his. Yeah, Bucky loved touch.

P.S. Thirteen-years-later Bucky could finally understand why teenagers were scary.

Tags (crossed out wouldn't take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @raquelbc2003 @watch-out-for-thorns @potentially-kinetic @thatonegirljessy99 @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611 @horrorx570ximagines @the-nargles-made-me-do-it @pooslie @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel @purplebananatragedy @pxrrishly @parker-barnes-af @skulliebythesea @california-grown @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @belongsto-prachi @hello-i-am-insane

Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @happyseagrill @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @wishingforahome @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @sweet-ladyy @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28

A/N: woo, am I on a roll! All this Seb content is giving me life! I might have something for Star Wars with Kylo Ren/ Ben Solo that I’m thinking of writing since I’ve seen the movie now :)

P.S. what did ya think?

P.S.S. my tags are always open :)

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universalfanfic · 3 years

Text

Oh boy. Here it is. The last part of the Mind-controlled Owen AU. This one has a fight scene and emotional conversations. :)

Mary belongs to @inkoutsidethelines <3 (I’m sorry for hurting her!)

---

By the time Mary finished cleaning herself up as best she could Connor already had the name of their target and was closing in on his possible location. His search was made easier by the fact that only one of the “Fish Oil Gang” had escaped custody.

But now Mary had a name.

Elliot Moran.

He’d been escaped from police custody for over a week with nothing from authorities but a quiet notice that he was on the lam and that citizens shouldn’t approach him.

Mary was going to do more than approach him. She was going to decimate him.

Connor was able to narrow down his location to a business district on the other side of town. There were a few buildings in particular that were vacant or under construction, and they focused on those. Maddie and Mary teamed up to search the buildings closest to the city center, while Connor split to look at the ones near the docks and industrial district in his suit. They’d meet up in the middle if neither party found anything.

Maddie made quick work of searching buildings. Her face was set in a grim expression for once and her eyes held an edge, her mischievous sparkle dulled. Mary was used to using the shadows, relying on the element of surprise and her visions to guide her, but Maddie, while quiet, sped through each room with a force just barely restrained. Normally Mary would have no problem keeping up with her, but after fighting Owen, she was bruised and aching and tired.

None of that was going to stop her, of course. The rage under her skin fueled her, crackling in her veins and licking up through her muscle.

The only thought that threatened to dowse her fury was the possibility that she might have to fight Owen again.

“Possibility”. “Might”. She was going to have to fight him again and the knowledge hurt.

They found him in the third building.

A dark haired man stood in the shadows of an empty office floor. He was unassuming, with a square-like face and average build. But his eyes held a sharp sort of vindictiveness that put Mary on edge. Mary had fought people like him before.

“Where is he?”

Maddie’s voice echoed harshly through the room and her tone betrayed her inner turmoil. The man, Elliot, smiled.

“Come a little closer and I’ll tell you.”

Maddie bared her teeth but, amazingly, kept her distance. Mary took a step forward and his attention switched to her.

“Ah, and there she is,” Elliot said. “The epic love, right? You know, I’ve never had someone fight against me as hard as he did when I made him go after you.”

Mary could feel her restraint fray as her fists clenched and knuckles whitened.

“Though I’m intrigued you brought a civilian along to face me,” he commented. “Doesn’t seem very heroic of you, Miss America.”

“I’d be careful.” Maddie grit out. “I’m not feeling very heroic right now. Let my brother go before I hurt you.”

Elliot gave an exaggerated grimace and shrugged as he shifted to the side.

“No can do, I’m afraid. See, unfortunately, I’m not exactly the forgiving type and I’ve found your brother rather useful. He can get into so many places without all the trouble I have to go through. And, of course, there’s the bonus of it bothering you so much.”

“You’re outnumbered,” Mary finally spoke up.

Elliot looked at her with a scathing smirk.

“You really think you have an upper hand here?”

He took another large step to the side and the shadows shifted. Owen stepped into the light and Mary thought the rage would boil her from the inside out.

He was ragged, one of his eyes was starting to swell and his knuckles were dripping red like he’d been punching a brick wall. He held himself up, hunched at the shoulders, and his breathing was more strained than it had been during their fight.

His nose was broken, Mary realized. It sat crooked on his face and blood ran down, staining his beard red and splattering over his shirt. Her rage only roared further, as if it could escape her and burn down the building itself.

“What did you do to him?” She demanded.

“I didn’t touch him,” Elliot said. There was far too much amusement laced in his voice.

Maddie was deathly still. Her eyes roved over her brother and seemed to take in all the injuries Mary had already catalogued.

“When I get my hands on you,” Maddie said, her voice unnaturally even, “I’m going to rip your arms clean off your body and let them pickle in that fish oil you're so fond of. Let’s see you control people without limbs.”

Elliot gave another exaggerated grimace and his face puckered.

“You hear that, Star Jumper? Pretty vile things your sister said. They sound kind of illegal to me. Downright criminal, actually. You should do something about that.”

Owen stepped forward.

Owen stepped through a portal and appeared behind Maddie. She spun around and threw a kick at his chest.

“You think I don’t know what my own brother’s power feels like?” She yelled.

But Owen grunted as he caught her foot and twisted sharply. Maddie leapt up and spun to stop him from breaking her ankle. He jumped positions to punch her in the abdomen mid-spin, into Mary which sent them tumbling across the floor.

Mary groaned and Maddie gave a wheeze as she pushed herself up. Her eyes were already on fire.

“Alright.”

Mary pulled Maddie by the arm as she spun them away from Owen, behind him to try and flank him again.

“We have to work together if we want to stop him,” she said in a rush. “Owen’s not our main target; remember.”

“Oh,” said Maddie. “I know who the target is.”

“You can’t let him get a hold of you either.”

“I’ll break all the bones in his fingers first.”

Mary couldn’t say she disagreed with the sentiment.

Owen eyed them both impassively as they all took each other in; waiting to see who would make the next move. His face still betrayed nothing, but one of his hands trembled.

“I’m stronger than Owen,” Maddie said.

Mary took that as Maddie’s suggestion she be the one to fight her brother while Mary went for Elliot, but Mary could see all the holes.

“He can move faster than you can.”

She left out, you’re too impulsive. You get too competitive and it clouds your judgement. Instead she added,

“Have you contacted Connor?”

“N-”

Owen lunged for Maddie specifically and Mary cursed under her breath. He leapt and brought his fists down from above his head as if to smite her; Maddie dodged to the side as she brought up a knee into his already broken nose. There was a crack and Mary’s heart lurched.

“Maddie!”

But Maddie didn’t remove her eyes from her brother.

“Snap out of it! How hard do I have to hit you to knock you out of this?”

Elliot clapped at her display from his corner.

“Oh, I’d love to find out.”

Maddie took her eyes off her brother to snarl at the villain.

“I’ll feed your liver to Connor’s ferrets.”

The moment of distraction was all Owen needed. He rushed her and gripped her around the waist as he forced her through a new portal. It opened near the ceiling and Mary watched helplessly as he pressed into Maddie, making sure she hit her back against the floor with full force. The floor cracked under them with a vibrating boom.

Mary took the given opportunity.

She ran and jumped onto his back, throwing her arm around his neck and locking it in place with the other right as Owen’s hands were going to his sister’s neck. Her arms burned against the strain and wear from their previous fight, but she tightened her grip as much as she could.

“Owen.” She breathed into his ear. “I love you.”

His whole body shuddered beneath her as he took in a ragged breath of air.

He elbowed her violently in the solar plexus and-

He elbowed her violently in the solar plexus and her hold broke as she went stumbling back, the air knocked from her lungs. A blinding pain in her torso warned her that she may have a broken rib.

Maddie launched herself up from the ground with a gasping grunt and shifted to throw herself in Elliot’s direction. Owen, still on his knees, grabbed her leg and yanked it out from under her. Maddie landed in a practiced fall, her arms out and body arched so she didn’t slam her face into the floor. Her free leg shot out, catching him in the shoulder, and she managed three heavy strikes before he let her go.

Mary swiveled and bit back a cry of pain as lightning shot through her body. She had to keep moving. They had to finish this.

She rose to her feet and stomped a foot down as hard as she could on Owen’s calf. Before he could move she once again wrapped her arm over his throat and locked it in place. This time she squeezed against the sides of his neck, trying to cut off some of the blood flow from his arteries.

His body shuddered again.

Owen struggled and arched. He reached back and grabbed Mary by the hair.

“Maddie now!”

Maddie pushed up from her hands, landed on her feet and didn’t stop; she spun and the heel of her foot struck Owen’s temple. He crumpled and sagged in Mary’s hold.

The room went still.

Mary loosened her hold and the shifting of fabric, the garbled wheezing of his breath, was deafening. Mary’s eyes heated and she grit her teeth as she locked eyes with Maddie. Maddie’s face was pale and her eyes were wide and red. For a moment it seemed like she was frozen to the ground. But Mary saw the crack in her eyes as Elliot, suddenly uneasy and lacking bravado, tried to move towards the exit.

Maddie rounded on him with a feral cry. It took her only three strides to reach him and she bounded up and threw down a punch to his face with enough force to send him flying back. It knocked him out instantly. But Maddie either didn’t realize or didn’t care. With another yell she grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up, over her head, and slammed him down like he was a rag doll. He hit the floor with another sickening crack.

Mary didn’t feel sorry for the man. The anger in her raged too hot. But she could still feel the tingling dread for Maddie.

It seemed she wasn’t done.

“I told you. You think you can touch my brother? You think you can hurt him and I won’t wipe you from existence?”

“Maddie, he’s down.”

She didn’t respond to Mary’s call as she stalked towards Elliot’s prone body.

“Maddie, you don’t want to do this.”

A window shattered and glass went flying as a streak of red and gold flew into the room. Connor grabbed Maddie, pinning her arms to her sides, and her feet left the ground as he flew across the room before coming to a halting stop away from the immediate scene.

Maddie seethed and squirmed in his hold, but to Mary’s relief it didn’t look like she was putting real effort into breaking away.

“I know, I know. It’s over.” The tinny voice of Connor murmured from the suit. “It’s over, Maddie. I’ve called for help.”

It was like all the energy and adrenaline left Mary’s body at once. She slumped down further as she cradled Owen’s head in her lap. Her fingers shook as she brushed some sweaty, tangled hair from his forehead. Her stomach twisted as she ran her hand along his jaw, over his bloody face.

The fight had ended. Owen would be free.

But the hard part was far from over.

[][][]

The hospital smelled like chemicals and latex. A nurse had already patched Mary up and gently suggested she go home and rest.

That wasn’t going to happen.

Mary limped down the hall back towards Owen’s room and stood silently in the doorway. His parents were sitting at his bedside. Mrs. Rogers had her hand clasped over his limp one and tears streamed down her face. Mr. Rogers’ jaw was tight and his eyes were flinty as he kept one hand on his wife’s back and the other on Maddie’s arm. Maddie’s leg rapidly bobbed up and down, up and down, as she stared blankly at the opposite wall.

Mary let the quiet linger. Her family would burst through the hospital doors soon enough, and then she’d be swarmed by them and peppered with probing questions she wasn’t sure she had the voice to answer. At least not without her family recognizing the simmering anger that she was using to push back the lingering tendrils of fear, of hurt, of heartbreak. Anger was easier. It always was.

Someone cleared their throat behind her and Mary spun around, only barely keeping herself from lashing out, to find Tony Stark standing behind her.

“Whoa there.” He said, hands going up. “Don’t beat the messenger.”

Mary let out a breath.

“Mr. Stark.”

“You look rough, kid.” Mary made a face and his gaze softened. “You should go home, see your family. They’re going to be keeping him sedated a while longer.”

She shook her head.

“My family is already on their way.”

The Rogers’ turned their heads and Mrs. Rogers took a shuddering breath.

“Tony,” she said.

She stood and embraced him, burying her head in his shoulder as he hugged her back.

“He’s gonna be alright, Small Fry. I got people on call and this guy’s going to The Raft, if he makes it.”

Maddie’s head snapped up and her eyes were wide and tight.

“If he makes it?”

Mrs. Rogers stepped away and Tony Stark leaned back, a flash of pity and uncertainty crossed his face.

“He’s under security in the ICU with a broken spine,” he said. “For the moment he’s stable-ish, but he’s not in great shape.”

Maddie’s expression shuddered.

Mary knew, then, that Maddie, despite her confidence and bragging and mental snap, was a Rogers. She took her parents’ ideals to heart more than she probably cared for.

More noise erupted behind her and Mary turned to see her family rushing towards her. Her breathing hitched and she met them halfway. She was still too angry to cry. To break down. But she held onto her father as he stroked his hand over her hair. She let her mom sob into her shoulder.

[]

Mary was still in the hospital hours later when Owen fully woke up. She stayed out of the way while his family had their moment with him. The blinds had been shut, but she knew it was messy when Maddie came stalking out, trying to remain more frustrated than upset.

“How is he?”

Maddie clicked her tongue behind her teeth.

“Stupid,” she said. “He has the audacity to think this was all his fault, or something. Like he had a chance at defeating us and I didn’t beat the crap out of him.”

Mary pursed her lips and looked back towards the room.

“Mom and dad are going to run and get him a change of clothes and a few things in a second,” she continued, softer. “He’ll heal fast, but- they just want to monitor him for a bit. Apparently mind control recovery isn’t a widely explored medical field.”

“I want to talk to him,” said Mary.

Maddie eyed her, looking uncertain for the first time since Mary met her. Mary refused to budge and Maddie tipped her chin down in acceptance.

“Just- wait until my parents leave. I don’t know if my mom can handle seeing him the way he’s going to be around you.”

So she waited.

The minute they got into the elevator Mary moved. Maddie gave her a solemn nod and left the hall, following a sign that pointed the way to the cafeteria.

The door opened with a small whine and Mary froze in the doorway as Owen’s eyes landed on her; his face twisted in despair and horror.

She was patched up, but there was still plenty to see. Bruises and cuts. Her hand was wrapped and her limp was obvious. He’d find out about her ribs sooner or later.

“Owen.”

“No.”

He sat up in bed and his movements were sluggish compared to his normal ease.

“Mary, you need to go.”

“Go?” Mary snapped. “You’re here, where else would I go?”

His eyes were already bloodshot but between his irises brightening into a more vivid blue and his chest heaving, she knew he was trying to keep himself from crying again.

“I’m sorry.” He gasped. “Mary, I can’t- you need to stay away from me.”

“Stop that right now. Owen, that wasn’t you. This isn’t your fault.”

He gazed over her injuries one more time before he actually turned his face away from her and squeezed his eyes shut. His knuckles shone white as he gripped the hospital sheets.

“I did it.” He grit out, still refusing to look at her. “And I was aware of every sickening second. I know what I did. I know how I hurt-” He choked on the words.

Mary grit her teeth and stormed towards his bed.

“Don’t you dare,” she said. “Don’t you dare give him one more second in your head.”

He kept his head turned away and it irked Mary even more. His shoulders rose and fell in a steadying breath before he spoke again. His eyes were still closed.

“I understand this changes everything.” He said. Mary’s hackles rose at the tone of resignation. “I understand there are consequences. But if- if you could just leave the ring with my mom, I can’t-”

It was the last straw.

Mary grabbed his hand and forced it against her cheek. He flinched harshly when their skin touched and she managed to keep herself from doing the same.

“Shut up and listen to me,” she said. “We’re the children of heroes and fighters and we decided to follow in their footsteps. We made those choices knowing the risk. But we made it out and now we get to heal together. You already gave me your love and you don’t get to take it back.”

Owen hiccuped and crumpled.

“I don’t want to go back,” he murmured. “I can’t. I never wanted-. I wasn’t even strong enough for you. I should have been strong enough.”

Mary climbed up in the bed and stamped down the moan of pain the effort caused. Owen didn’t shy away, but he didn’t move closer. He was afraid to touch her. Gently, she guided his head down until it rested on her shoulder and ran her fingers through his curls. His tears for her finally broke through and he openly sobbed. Mary’s heart cracked and she hated Elliot Moran even more.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry; I’m so, so sorry.” Owen managed between cries. He curled into himself and covered his face with his hand. “Never to you.” He said. “And never by me.”

She sat and held him until the crying stopped.

[]

When Maddie returned, Mary finally excused herself. Her family would want her to come over and they deserved the full story.

She went out the front of the hospital, where the cameras could see her leave.

In the Army, there were certain truths a soldier had to learn to accept. Casualties were often unavoidable. As a soldier, it was your job to be the one who got your hands dirty so others didn’t have to.

She rounded the hospital and found another entrance; this one dark and rarely used by medical staff. Mary zipped up her dark jacket. Tied up her hair.

Found her way through the ceiling to the ICU.

Sometimes adversaries were too dangerous for a capture mission.

Elliot Moran lay broken in his bed. The various tubes and braces attached to his body made him look like a science experiment.

He couldn’t be allowed to do something like this ever again. To anyone.

Perhaps The Raft could hold him. But people like him sometimes had a way of getting lucky.

That was assuming he lived. Mary glanced briefly at the heart rate monitor. The chart at the foot of his bed listed internal bleeding. Cranial swelling.

If Maddie was the cause of his death, no matter the evil, she’d probably never fully forgive herself. She’d never really seen battle. She didn’t know how to compartmentalize it away and try to forget and move on.

Mary did.

Her jaw ticked.

And he’d hurt Owen in the worst possible way someone could. He’d turned Owen into a weapon against the people he loved. He’d driven a wedge of fear and trauma in their relationship that they’d have to chip away at until Owen learned to forgive himself. Until she stopped remembering what his hands on her causing pain felt like.

In a world of ever expanding abilities, some were too dangerous to let the evil men who wielded them live.

And wasn’t that what she’d signed up for? She was the Daredevil. Judge and jury.

Executioner.

Mary picked up a pillow.

#ink tag #friends oc #mary/owen #mindcontrol au #my writing #ah this was so painful to write #im sorry!#they're gonna get better tho

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