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oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years

Note

What will daddy Henry do if his little is sad because someone took something valuable from her?

So i wanst sure what to base this on entirely, so I'm going to go with something I went through over the last few weeks. I had a little bit of anon hate, which I deleted but the words stuck with me making me second guess everything i was working on and the confidence i had in my writing was taken away. so this is like a shameful self indulgent fantasy that im going to read to myself when ever im down.

Warnings: Pretty Personal For Me, Angsty, Fluffy, Self Doubt, Happy Ending, DDLG, Long!!

Tagging: @viking-raider @isitmine @tinabean37 @loserrlauraa @msblkfire84 @henrythickcavill @plainbrunettelbl @dummiesshort @cynic-spirit @pandaxnienke @two-unbeatable-beaters @libbymouse @wolfieash @eldarwen333 @princesssterek @mom2000aggie @blackestpinkworld

(not sure who to tag in headcannons? these are the ones on my everything taglist)

Henry watched quietly with a frown as you sat down in the living room, eyes cast down at the tablet in front of you shoulders slumped.

"poppet what's wrong love?"

"n-nothing da-addy" you said with a small stutter

Henry shifted on his feet looking at you critically before coming over to you.

"nothing? So your sitting here almost in tears over nothing" he stated sceptically rounding the sofa sitting next to you.

"I'm not cryin" you sniffled trying to bite your lower lip to stop it from wobbling.

"not yet, but close enough poppet, hand it over" he said holding out his hand waiting for the tablet.

You whined not wanting to hand it to him at first but after a mini battle of wills you placed the colourful tablet in his hand.

Your head was cast down and you rubbed your eyes trying to catch the tears before they were noticeable.

"okay then, so this is your new story?" he asked scrolling through the page not reading it all but scanning the words, it was well written like always.

At the beginning of the pandemic he suggested you started a blog, and you had. A writing blog all full of fanfictions of... Him.

He didn't mind he actually love you doing something constructive, it kept you happy and busy which helped him because there wasn't many free days even in lockdown. He was working out, reading scripts or rearranging covid tests and travel.

Plus knew these smut blogs existed, even lurked on a few.

"y-yeah" you mumbled leaning on him hugging his arm scanning the page as he scrolled, you knew he wasn't reading everything maybe every few lines

"sooo what's the problem?" he said not finding an issue with the writing.

"i... I cant post it" you muttered looking down avoiding his gaze

"why?" he asked frowning not liking the defeated tone you had.

"j-just because..."

"ah I see, you have lost your confidence" he said quickly figuring out the problem, the downside to writing was everything was personal preference so tiny comments could knock your confidence.

In a way it was like his work, you put your heart and soul into it and then people don't like it? It was always a bummer. But he was used to it, you were not.

You nodded to him it was true you'd lost your confidence, you hadn't wrote for a while.

You couldn't seem to find the words to fit together anymore.

You felt silly, they were just a few mean comments, words from a nasty troll who didn't have anything better to do but it hurt, you poured your heart into every chapter and then for people to rip it to shreds? It stung.

"y-yes I... They didn't like it" you hummed fiddling with your fingers, drawing deep breaths trying not to cry

"and so what?" he said shrugging making you snap your gaze to him.

"wha?"

"it doesn't matter love, so a few people didn't like it, lots of people do, I love your stories"

"you have to your my daddy"

Henry huffed and shook his head at you ruffling your hair pressing a kiss to your head amused that you thought that's the only reason he liked your writing.

"don't stop writing just because of a few mean people nugget, it takes a lot of skill to write and a lot of bravery to share it. Your a brave talented little baby and I'm very proud of you"

He said cooing as that seemed to be the final push sending you over the edge making you burst out into tears.

He hugged you moving the tablet out of the way before pulling you to his lap, unbuttoning his shirt half way and squished you into his bare chest knowing you needed to feel him, not a shirt.

"shh its okay babygirl, your stories are wonderful, and you have fun writing them don't you baby?"

You nodded crying harder trying to get the words out but you just couldn't instead whining incoherently into him.

"and you enjoy making the little banners? And collect all your photos and gifs?"

"y-yeah but they di-dn't like it last time!"

"they don't have to like everything you do sweety"

"but I don't wana upset them!"

"did you do the warnings?" he asked knowing all about the do's and don'ts of posting your erotica.

You nodded whining you always did warnings on stuff to be safe.

"and make the little cut thingy you were telling me about?" again you nodded at him

"so your telling me they read the warnings, clicked to see it and then were mean?" you sniffled biting your lip trying to calm down but nodded to him humming quietly.

"well then it sounds to me like they were going out of their way, looking for someone to pick on" he said slowly rocking you slightly.

You fell quiet resting your head on his chest as he rubbed your back and patted your bottom soothing you.

"but what if they wasn't? What if my stories are bad- and encourage bad stuff!" you cried tucking yourself into him tighter.

"no-no you repeat after me, fiction is fiction" he said pulling you back wiping your tears waiting for you to say it out loud.

"fic-tion is f-fiction" you repeated

"I did everything I could to warn people"

"I-I did everyth-ing I could to w-warn people" he smiled at you as you drew a huge breath calming yourself down.

"and they are jealous because I'm an adorable, smart, funny kind and caring babygirl who has the cutest little peach butt in the world~" he said smirking at you from above holding you tightly to him pressing a kiss to your head.

"and they- daddy! Noo! I can't say that~" you gasped flushing as you realised what he had said

"oh yes you can because its the truth now come here let daddy bite that peach~" he growled playfully snapping his jaws at you.

"ah-no!" you screeched giggleing as he began tickling you all over wrestling you playfully trying to lean over and bite your but through your shorts.

He landed two solid bite's on your bottom before pulling back. Even though he had cheered you up he could see you were still doubting yourself.

Henry cast a glance to the tablet and smirked forming a plan that might just get you back on track. He was not going to let anyone steal your sparkle.

"come on you you've spent enough time writing go play in the garden with Kal"

Once you left henry got to work swiping up the tablet and going on your one drive seeing the meticulously organized notebooks, recognising a few by name.

A few weeks later Henry came in to the living room with a medium size box and plopped it on the sofa next to you.

"here we go nugget!" he said placing the gift next to you, they couldn't have come quickly enough, he had noticed you hadn't been writing at all, which upset him because he knew how much you loved it.

"what's that daddy?" you asked peering over the box not expecting any gifts.

"why don't you open it and find out?" he said sitting the other side of the box handing you a pair of scissors to slice the tape.

You moved slowly cutting it open and pulled the box open then froze.

"d-daddy? What thats my..." you trailed off pulling out the hard back books your banner on the front cover.

"your stories? Yes poppet, I realised that you were putting so much work into these things but could loose them, they are soo good that daddy wanted to read them over and over and now we can!" he said pleased with himself as you sat there shocked looking at the small collection of a5 books.

"but their- i dont..." you said happy but completely shocked, flicking through the pages, there were even a few comments in the margins from henry pointing out the pits he liked making your heart swell with pride.

Henry moved to stand behind you pressing a kiss to your hair.

"They are brilliant! So good I'm so proud of every thing you have achieved and I want them on our book shelf, in the living room" he said making you tear up.

"Really? You... You think their that good?" you whined eyes blurring with tears as you hugged the first book to your chest.

"absolutely poppet now go on, you do the honours~" he said pressing your shoulder urging you to go to the cube bookshelf.

You tiptoed over to it and slowly pulled out each little custom book with your banner on the front.

You sat down placing each one delicately on the shelf the five books each lining up with one another half filling the empty cube shelf.

"oh no baby look? The shelf isn't full is it? You know what that means" he said standing looking

"I-I've gotta write?" you asked sniffling weeping softly but this time because you were happy.

"exactly! You need to fill the whole shelf, so you keep up the good work and tell daddy when you finish your next story and we can keep adding to it!" he said cheerfully walking over handing you the tablet.

You smiled to yourself and looked to the books, your books- actual real life books on a shelf!

You grinned throwing yourself at him latching onto him feeling your confidence come back just from seeing how much you had done.

Suddenly the hate didn't matter, your daddy like them enough to make them into real life books! And even annotated them himself?

And if your writing was good enough for your daddy then it was good enough for you.

"daddy, can I have my screen time now, I want to write!!" you said jumping up and down on the spot excited to start your next chapter.

Henry grinned nodding deciding you can have as much screen time today as you wanted as long as it meant you wasn't giving up your new hobby.

#oh-for-fic-sake ask #oh for fic sake ask #oh for fic sake headcannon #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill x little!reader

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voiceswithoutlips · 3 years

Text

Sugar - Chapter One

— pairing: Jimin x Reader — genre: College AU, Smut, Fluff, Minor Angst — word count: 2.7K — warnings: none yet

Click for Tag List

— chapter summary:

Its a normal day for Y/N, homework, lectures, club meetings and smack in the middle of it lands a hot boy, can Y/N resist him?

— A/N: This is my first time writing smut so I’d really love some feedback <3

“...what you need is some hardcore de-stressing,” Donna whispered in the middle of the lecture. “The kind where you are on your knees and …”

I elbowed her in the ribs before she could continue. Sure I was a little stressed, maybe more than a little but I wasn’t going to have some ‘hardcore destressing’. I stayed as far away from any kind of relationships as possible, even casual ones that came with certain ‘benefits’. Why? Because I didn’t want to fall into a pit of despair again. My last relationship blew up like a balloon with too much helium. It took a really long time for me to pull myself out of depression. So no more relationships, no more men or women. I was going to prioritize my sanity and focus on my studies. At least that’s what I told myself.

“Seriously Donna, I don’t need any kind of de-stressing, I’m fine,” I whispered back. Professor Cameron was talking about Paradise Lost today. He had the unique ability to turn every exciting story into a boring ramble. Something I learned on my first day when he taught Shakespeare as if he was reciting his grocery list. I bet even his grocery list was more exciting.

“Just come with me to the cafe, there's this new barista ...mmm the muscles on that guy. I wouldn’t mind having him with some cream,” she said, licking her lips.

“Eww Donna, keep your dirty mind to yourself,” I shook my head. Donna was the kind of person who enjoyed life to the fullest. She ate when she was hungry, drank when she was stressed and fucked when she was horny. I always envied her simplicity. I grew up learning control, you plan, you strategize and then you make a move. That’s what my parents taught me. I never did anything spontaneous, caution was my base nature.

“...Ms. Y/N do you have something to share with the rest of us?” Professor Cameron was staring daggers at me.

“Uh ..no Professor,” I said sheepishly as everyone in class stared at me. The rest of the class was uneventful, Professor Cameron went on and on with a few sarcastic remarks here and there about ‘undisciplined students’. I swear to god the man was a dinosaur, if it were up to him we’d be using slate and chalk to take notes.

“Thanks for that,” I said as Donna and I collected our bags and left the building.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee to show you how very sorry I am,” her tone was solemn but her eyes held mischief.

“Pfft, you only want to go there to ogle at the hot barista,”

“He is sooo hot. He is a second year dance major, he just transferred here. Man, the way he moves …” Donna was almost drooling.

“Not my type,” I said dismissively. There was something about muscular guys that put me off. Donna loved guys with big muscles, she loved Jocks. Personally I never saw the appeal, I liked my men on the softer side.

“Oh honey, he’s totally your type,” Donna scoffed as we entered the cafe. It wasn’t far from the main building so it was always full of students drinking their sixth coffee of the day so they could stay awake in their next lecture. We were no different, after Cameron’s class I desperately needed a ‘pick me up’ or I’d be too sleepy to assist Professor Min in the next lecture.

The first thing I saw as I entered the cafe was a bunch of girls making heart eyes at the new barista. He wasn’t much taller than I was and man was he hot. Donna was right, he was totally my type. He was muscular but not in a jock kind of way, he reminded me of a panther. He was lithe, his every movement was graceful as if choreographed. His mouth was feminine, plump lips that made me wonder what it’d be like to bite into them. His eyes slightly unfocused as if he was daydreaming about something intense. I wondered what it’d be like to put his tiny wait in a corset.

“Fuck,” the word left my mouth. I knew I was done for. Just looking at him made me hot.

I made my way to one of the corner tables, leaving Donna to get our coffee. Dumping a bunch of books on the table I started working on my assignments. I was determined not to get anywhere near that barista. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to resist him. He was totally my type. Destiny was determined to torture me.

“This is my friend Y/N! She’s our resident assistant,” I heard Donna and I lifted my head. My heart stopped. He was standing there, beside Donna, looking at me like I was the sweetest candy in the world.

“Y/N this is Park Jimin, he is moving to our dorm today, can you believe it?!!” I could not. Dear universe, stop torturing me.

“Nice to meet you,” he said offering his hand. His voice was just like the rest of him, a mixture of delicate and sexy.

“Let me know if you need any help,” I said, taking his hand like the good RA that I was. Instead of shaking it, he lifted my hands to lips, sending electricity right down to my core.

“I’m sure I’ll need a lot of help,” I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until he smirked at me.

I quickly took back my hand. That man was doing things to me. I hadn’t gotten laid since I broke up with Dan months ago, my body was screaming at me. There was just something about Park Jimin that made you want to ride him till he begged for mercy. The thought made me incredibly horny.

Donna was practically bouncing in her seat. She had informed me multiple times that Jimin was staring at me from behind the counter. I just couldn’t make myself turn my head to confirm it, I didn’t want to confirm it. That’d be a terrible idea. He was bringing down my walls like a stick of dynamite and I’d only met him an hour ago. I had to stick to my resolve.

I sipped on coffee as dark as my soul. Donna always made a face whenever we went out. She had a sweet tooth, I hated sugar. Anything sweet was bound to make me nauseous. The only sweet food that I could tolerate was ice cream. Even on my birthday I only ate two bites of the cake before I tapped out, sugar just wasn’t my thing.

“So, what do you do for fun around here,” Jimin said, slipping in the chair beside me. He had taken off his apron. He was wearing a pink turtleneck that hugged his body and tight black jeans that left nothing to the imagination. I was surprised to see him in boots with two inch heels. Dan would’ve scoffed at him for wearing them.

I was hot as a furnace and wet. I was practically leaking, I thanked all the higher powers out there for giving me the brains to wear jeans instead of a skirt. I was two hundred percent sure that he could smell my arousal. The only saving grace that I had was that none of it showed on my face.

“Depends on your definition of fun,” I said as I watched him pour 4 packets of sugar in his coffee, eww.

“Do you like movies? You can join our movie club!” Donna said with puppy eyes.

“Are you in the movie club Y/N?” Jimin asked. I almost didn’t hear him, I was too busy staring at hands as he stirred his coffee. He had the cutest pinkie in the world.

“Pfft, she’s the club president and the RA and she’s also Professor Min’s teaching assistant. Y/N is like super smart,” Donna bragged. I could see the excitement on Donna’s face. This wasn’t the first time she’d tried to set me up with a guy. I knew all her tactics. It started with bragging and then swiftly escalated to Donna setting up dates. I never went to those dates. I wondered if I would go if it was Jimin.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I mumbled. I was never good with compliments.

“You must be so busy, doesn’t your boyfriend mind?” Jimin asked with a curious look.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I knew what he was getting at.

“Good to know,” he smiled. He was cute when he smiled. I mentally kicked myself for staring, in my defense he was gorgeous.

“I should go, I can’t be late for Professor Min’s lecture. He’s really strict,” I apologized as I gathered my stuff. It was true, Professor Min was known for his no-nonsense attitude but that wasn’t the only reason. I desperately needed some release. “It was really nice meeting you Jimin, see you at the dorm I guess,” I gave him a smile and before he could reply practically ran out of the cafe.

I woke up this morning thinking about my thesis, not even in my wildest dreams did I expect a Park Jimin to land right in the middle of it. He was the embodiment of my desires. Just looking at him made me horny, which was very uncharacteristic for me. I was a romantic, I wanted to fall in love and go on silly dates. The first time I had sex with Dan was two months after we started dating. I was the kind of person to take it slow. I’ve never even had a one night stand.

“This is so uncalled for,” I mumbled to no one in particular. I quickly made my way to the women’s locker, thankfully it was empty. I locked myself in one of the stalls, put one foot on the toilet and unceremoniously stuffed my hand in my pants. I sighed as my fingers touched my nub, finally! I rubbed myself in rough circles, pressing down hard. I was biting my lips to stop the moans that threatened to burst out.

I imagined what it’d be like to have Jimin’s fingers inside me, what it’d be like to have him lick the slick off of my dripping pussy. I wondered how his dick would feel stuffed in my folds, it definitely belonged there. Would he slowly make love to me or would he fuck me like some animal in heat?

My pussy was clenching on nothing, I desperately needed something inside me. But the downside of wearing skinny jeans is that there’s not much room to maneuver down there and I didn’t want to take off my pants on the dirty bathroom floor. I had to settle with rubbing my clit as if my life depended on it.

I imagined Jimin's beautiful mouth wet with my juices as he looked up at me from the floor, my hands in his hair, holding him there, on his knees. I was so close...

“Y/N you there?” I almost jumped out of my skin. It was Donna, how the fuck did she find me?

“Yeah,” I said, my voice was breathy. I reluctantly took my hand out of my pants and adjusted my clothes.

“Come on, we’re going to be late for Professor Min’s lecture!” I followed her out. My face was flushed with embarrassment. I was annoyed at Donna, I was so close... I screamed internally, this day just kept getting worse.

After the lectures were over Donna had dragged me around the campus in search of Professor Cameron because she forgot to log her attendance. And then there was the student council meeting that ended with us having a mini party to celebrate the start of the semester. To conclude, I didn’t get a chance to do anything about the wetness in my panties. I was still hot, horny and absolutely frustrated.

“Come on in Y/N,” our dorm supervisor said as I knocked on his door. “We have a new student who needs a buddy, I hope you won’t mind,” he said as soon as I entered.

I internally sighed. There he was, Park Jimin, in all his delicious glory, standing in front of the desk. He gave me a smile as our eyes met. I quickly looked away, I felt guilty, just hours ago I had imagined him doing things to me as I played with myself. If he ever found out what I did, he’d think of me as some creep.

“Of course not, welcome to Drake Hall Jimin!” I tried to sound welcoming but I was still horny and my state was only getting worse the more I looked at him.

“Excellent, it's settled then! Y/N why don’t you show him the dorm,” yep, sure, why not. It’s not like I wanted to jump him then and there, rip his clothes off and ride him like a friggin pogo stick.

It was well past midnight and I was all alone in the study room. I had given Jimin the standard dorm tour and then left him at his room, telling him to call me if he needed anything. I was his buddy after all. I groaned internally. It was like a meteor had hit my safe little planet and now it burned my body like never before.

I slowly slid my hand down to the crotch of my cotton shorts and cupped myself, slightly humping into my hand. The feeling made me gasp but it wasn’t enough. I tugged the fabric to a side, revealing my pussy to the room. Nope, I wasn’t wearing any panties. “Fuck you Park Jimin,” I gasped as I slid two fingers in easily, I was ready for a dick but my fingers would have to suffice. I slowly fucked myself, moving my hips to meet my fingers, trying my best not to make a sound.

“Need some help?” a voice whispered in my ear. I squeaked and tried to get up but he pushed me down on the chair. “So you want to fuck me?” I could hear the smirk in Jimin’s voice.

“Dream on loverboy,” I whispered back. His hand trailed down my arm and he cupped me over my hand. He buried his face in my neck, licking and biting until he heard my moan. He chuckled.

“Tell me, were you imagining what my dick would feel like in this pussy?” he said as he slipped a finger into me. “What it’d be like to be fucked senseless?” another finger. “To be fucked so hard that it’d be impossible for you to walk the next day,” third finger. His voice was breathy, sending vibrations through my body. He refused to move his fingers.

“Stop teasing,” I said through gritted teeth as I forced myself not to hump on his fingers like a bitch in heat.

“So eager, so wet for me,” he bit down on my neck as he finally started moving his fingers at a maddeningly slow pace. He licked and bit, leaving a trail of purple bruises. I desperately wanted to touch my breasts but he trapped my hands in his other hand. Not allowing me to touch myself.

“Faster,” I commanded.

“No,” he chuckled. Why was he so frustrating?

“Please ..” I whined.

“Please what?”

“Please make me cum on your goddamn fingers,” I begged.

“As you wish,” he earnestly started fucking me with his fingers. The room was filled with unholy squelching sounds. I couldn’t move my hands, he was holding them too tight. I couldn’t kiss him because he refused to leave me neck, the only thing I could do was gasp and moan.

I could feel the pressure building in my abdomen as he fucked my mercilessly. He curled his fingers and I came undone. My orgasm exploded through me, literally, I squirted all over his fingers. He kept going, helping me ride out the pleasure. Finally he withdrew his fingers and patted my crotch as I went limp in the chair, all blissed out.

“Good night princess,” he lightly kissed me on the cheek and left.

#bts smut #bts fluff #jimin smut #college au #jimin x reader #jimin x you #pink jimin #bts jimin #jimin fluff #bcc #btscreatorscorner #sugar

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yeats-infection · 4 years

Note

hard agree with ur roommate on that WIP, that snippet was sooo good oml

by popular demand, here’s what i have so far of the possibly never-to-be-finished or maybe eventually-to-be-finished band of brothers weed farm AU, tentatively titled PURPLE HAZE, below the cut:

Dick was no hippie. He was also no fool. “We’ve got to hide it from the air,” he said thoughtfully.

“The real pros plant it between rows of corn,” Nix told him.

All in all this was going better so far than he had thought it would.

“What do we do with all the damned corn?”

“Why, moonshine, of course.”

“That’s pushing your luck,” Dick said. He was a real pragmatist. “How do you know all this?”

Nix scratched his head. He knew it was his poker tic, and he knew that Dick would know that too. “Family connections,” he said.

“I thought your family connections were in the fertilizer business,” said Dick, who knew this well, in fact, having worked for said company, for a brief time after the war, during the period when they had all independently decided they were going to try to hack it in the Real World.

“Well, what do you think they started off fertilizing?”

Dick hesitated. “I just don’t know why you never told me any of this before,” he said. “You haven’t made a habit of lying to me.”

“This was just omission.” Nix shrugged. “You’re a straight laced kind of man.”

“That I never wanted to drop acid with you when we were over there doesn’t mean I’m… entirely opposed to mind-altering substances.”

Nix had sure as hell fielded a lot of dirty looks, and, worse, concerned looks, in the CP over in Vietnam, when he closed the tent flaps behind himself and Dick after some particularly rough patrol or briefing and sparked a joint. Dick had always put a thoughtful hand up to go with the dirty or concerned looks, because Nix had always offered the joint to him, even knowing he wouldn’t take it. Especially knowing he wouldn’t take it.

“Well,” Nix said, “before I brought this proposal to you I wanted to make sure I had retained anything at all from my degree in horticulture.”

He took the film canister out from his pocket and put it between them on the kitchen table. For a moment Dick studied him, and then he grabbed the canister and opened it and poured the contents out onto one of the nice floral cotton placemats that had been made for him by his sister.

“I’m calling it Easy Diesel,” said Nix.

“You’ve got to be god damn kidding me,” said Dick, but he picked up one of the larger of the buds and carefully started pulling it apart. They had come out nice, if Nix did say so himself. They were big and sticky and a psychedelic iridescent purple-green.

“It’s my own breed,” Nix went on, wondering if he sounded desperate. He sure as hell felt desperate, not least for a god damn toke. “Good for sleeping.”

Dick cocked a pale eyebrow in his direction. “It helps you sleep?”

“Sure, this strain does, but I can breed different strains that’ll make you feel different things…”

“Nix, you grew this?”

He turned the bud in the light through the kitchen window, curiously, like a jewel.

“Well, I grew its grandparents from seeds, and then I crossed them, and this is the cross, second generation, grown from a cutting.”

“How many of these have you got?”

“Four in my bathtub in Jersey,” Nix said. “I’ve been showering at my sister’s. Couple more in the basement too, under a light.”

“And where do you get the seed?”

He’d hoped not to have to involve Dick in this part of it. “I have a contact,” he said.

“Nix, if I’m going to go in on this with you, I need to be an equal partner.”

“Fine. It’s Spiers.” As it had been over there. “You know he lives in Texas now, and he can get seed from Mexico. But I don’t need him anymore unless we want to grow another strain.”

“We might want to keep that in mind,” said Dick.

“Alright. I’ll write to him.” He indicated the bud in Dick’s hand. “We might want to try that before you sign on the dotted line.”

Dick passed the bud back across the table to Nix who set about expertly shredding it into flakes. “I don’t have any papers,” Dick said, watching him.

Nix cocked an eyebrow. “You used to smoke rollies exclusively!”

“Been trying to quit cigarettes. You just can’t keep anything in the house.” At Nix’s upward glance he said, “This is fine, though. As long as you have a way to smoke it.”

“You think I’d come all this way and level you with this without a way to smoke it?”

Nix had a little pipe in his overnight bag. He packed it and they lit up. The rest was history.

Nix had enlisted right after college. He didn’t want to go through the whole song and dance of avoiding the draft, and his father was breathing down his neck, having gotten a Purple Heart at Monte Casino in the Second World War. Dick had signed up straight out of high school, having believed out of his damnable earnestness that it was the right thing to do. Dick was like the “some folks are born, made to wave the flag” line from the beginning of “Fortunate Son,” but none of the bad stuff after. That was just the way he was. He had been at boot camp then in school learning to be an officer. They saw each other summers and went to the drive in movie theater and talked about the news from the Soviet bloc, and about spies and space and music. Sometimes Dick had Things to Say about the stuff Nix was learning about at Yale, like colonialism and hegemony, but they argued about it good naturedly and then they moved on to arguing about music. Dick liked those Greenwich Village folkies and he was legitimately let down when Dylan went electric. Nix had Are You Experienced on repeat. There were other things they didn’t talk about at all, like that Nix had read Alfred Kinsey’s reports in class and thought of himself first as a one, then as a two, then a three, and now intermittently as a four, sometimes even a five. The truth was he only incidentally thought of any people who weren't Dick. He couldn’t even regret being doomed to such a sorry condition, because being around Dick was such a joy. It was a joy, in its brutal way, even when they were over there. It was a joy when he had forgotten he could feel joy.

Now, after everything, Dick had all this land, off Route 6 not far from the New York border, on which the trees moved quietly, and the hills were low and green. He had all that land, and just about nothing else, because he had spent just about every penny of his salary from Nixon Nitration and his war pension and his inheritance from his parents' deaths buying that plot to get himself away from the world. In New Jersey, working for his father as little more than a body in a suit, Nix had just about everything he wanted, except his own soul. That was somewhere yet to be seen. In Vietnam, he must have put it down somewhere, like his helmet or his canteen or something, except that he had forgotten to pick it up. This had happened to most of them, except for Dick, who had doggedly held onto his somehow as he had also held onto his life, his relative sanity, his damnable good looks, and his even more damnable good humor.

The big idea was a relatively obvious one to Nix, who had had his first toke in San Francisco just before shipping out, and who drove out to Dick’s farm twice a month or so to shoot the shit at the kitchen table and lie sleepless in the twin bed in the guest room listening to the woods and the snoring from the next room over and debating numerous impossibilities until dawn, when he would get up and go down to the fallow fields and make estimates as to the soil quality. Then he would make coffee and biscuits. “Well damn, Nix, you didn’t have to do that,” said Dick, coming down around seven, chuffed and bedheaded, which was exactly why Nix had to do it.

He understood he had ulterior motives. But he could make an entire list of reasons why this wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had that weren’t those ulterior motives.

Finally Dick said something like, “I don’t know how I’m going to do this anymore.” They were sitting at the kitchen table in the sunset. He offered Nix a weak smile that might be described as heartbreaking. “Might be scrounging for a job around Nixon Nitration.”

Nix couldn’t help himself, though it did feel like the first second when you had to stand up and start running across an open clearing under enemy fire, before the adrenaline kicked in and everything cleared. He had been waiting for the right moment for what felt like his entire life. “You wanna know what I think?”

Dick’s brow tightened. “I always wanna know what you think.”

“But do you really wanna know what I think.”

It was expensive to get a grow operation going. Nix had some money, but he’d long since drunk most of his nest egg, so it was barely enough to get seed and nitrogen and decent irrigation. They woke up with the sun and worked the field until it went down, and some nights they came stumbling in at dusk, sunburned, parched, and there was hardly any food to put on the table. It wasn’t much worse than it had been at war — rice, stale bread, cans of beans or tuna fish, hot water with lemon. Ears of steamed or grilled corn, eventually, when the crop got kicking. By night Nix hunched over the grow light in the living room and tended to the hatchlings. “Never seen you act so gentle,” Dick said, putting the radio on, settling onto the couch with the paper, dirt under his fingernails.

“Yeah, well.” His face was hot, not just because of the proximity to the light. “They’re notoriously fragile.”

They shared a joint, went separate ways to bed. Most nights Nix passed out before his head hit the pillow. This was a marked improvement from what things had been like back in Jersey. Who knew the secret all along had been back-breaking agricultural labor? He thought about writing a letter to the Secretary of Veteran’s Affairs or whoever was supposed to be handling the burgeoning public health crisis that was an entire generation's rampant PTSD.

They were accustomed to working hard together. Dick had never been the kind of officer who had gotten off on asking the underlings to do all the shit-shoveling, and Nix had followed suit, only wanting to be an officer half as good as Dick. He remembered participating in a kind of bucket relay, tossing sandbags off a truck toward the CP on one of the many, many nights it flooded. In the highest heat of the day he sat in the cool grass in the shade, drinking too-tart lemonade and puncturing a hose just-so with a knife to lay some makeshift irrigation. Dick came out after a few minutes with what passed for sandwiches. His sunburnt nose was peeling, even though he sometimes put zinc oxide on it like a lifeguard in a soap opera. “Remember when you got hit in the head?”

It was a ricochet that glanced off his helmet — the closest he had come over there to turning in his dance card forever. He had a headache for a few days after, and the doc had moved a flashlight between his eyes with an air of concern. Dick had been quite alarmed. He hovered for a while like some kind of fairy godparent. It was kind of embarrassing, but Nix didn't say anything about it.

“Of course I do.”

“Well,

Nix went to town to buy nitrogen at the Agway. On the way back he stopped for cigarettes at the general store. Scanning the magazine rack whilst the shopgirl fished out his Marlboro Reds he nearly had a massive coronary. There was a picture from Vietnam on the cover of Esquire Magazine with the following caption:

HEART OF DARKNESS: D.K. WEBSTER REVISITS VIETNAM

He picked it up. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What’s that?” The shopgirl was a pregnant woman in overalls and a man’s ribbed tank top. She tossed the cigs Nix’s way.

“Nothing.” He showed her the magazine, wishing he had the sleight of hand to just shove it up his shirtsleeve. “I’ll take this too.”

In the parking lot, he checked that the bags of nitrogen were secure in the bed of Dick’s pickup, and then he sat on the back bumper in the profound sun and opened to the table of contents, then, skipping cologne ads and spreads of beautiful women in states of undress, opened to the introductory page preceding Webster’s article. According to the byline, the pictures had been taken by a photographer who had been with their company for a little while, had been all over the country and had disappeared in the Spring of 1970 somewhere on Cambodia’s Highway 1. The article was preceded by a two-page spread of one such photograph of Easy Company on Hill 926 toward Christmas ’69. He looked over the faces of all the boys, naming them, the dead ones and the alive ones and the should have been dead ones and the should have been alive ones, inside his mind, until he came upon the pixelated black mar of his own eyes. Then he folded up the magazine and put it in his back pocket and drove back up to Dick’s farm in something of a fugue state. Over there, on the rare occasions upon which they had access to a Jeep, Dick usually drove it, because Nix was usually under the influence of something or other. Dick could not be gotten under the influence of anything besides grief, or anger, a few times that he let Nix see, and these did not seem to cloud his judgement overmuch. It had been something to see Vietnam that way — like a tourist, watching the forest from the windows, the beach and the water, the blood in the water, the great napalm swaths like deep burned scars. He had thought at first that Dick thought he was stoned and useless, but now he wasn't so sure, and anyway it had felt like a strange gift, like new eyes…

Back at the farm, he practically threw himself down in the better chair pulled up to the kitchen table. He rolled a joint and sparked the end of it. Thus prepared, he took the magazine out of his pocket and began to read:

In March 1969, D.K. Webster appeared before the editor of this magazine and just about prostrated himself before the news desk to ask if he might be permitted to cover the conflict in Vietnam. He flew to Saigon that June and embedded himself with E Company of the elite 101st Airborne, where he remained until February of the following year. Shortly after returning stateside he checked himself into an inpatient mental health facility. Now, three years later, he has at last filed his first story for this magazine. — Ed.

The boys were just about to go to the wire for the night when I got to the camp on Hill 926. The guns among them were varied and babied like children. Spit-shined barrels caught the last sun. The medic came over at the last with speed pills. There was no dinner. I was shaken up, literally, from the chopper, and also figuratively, being as I had been the only living cargo, unloaded en route to Saigon with corpses draped with their camouflage ponchos, ripped through with bulletholes and muddy with blood. I was pretty sure my brain had released the store of psychedelic chemicals you were supposed to get at the moment of death so it was just as well the medic didn’t offer any speed to me, that first night, though he would later.

The boys were my age. Some were younger than me. After some spiteful if hushed debate among themselves they gave me a helmet which had belonged to someone dead. There was blood splattered inside it and nothing to clean it out with. Still, I put it on. The bodies in the chopper had put the fear in me and there were not, absolutely were not, enough cigarettes. I waited for someone to offer me one, but nobody did. Instead the First Sergeant offered me a gun.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Remembered belatedly you were supposed to call them sir. Some of the grunts snickered.

“Point it and shoot it,” said the First Sergeant.

I’d been in places where they wanted to put a show on for me and in other places where they herded me back onto the chopper as soon as they heard I was a reporter. I had also been in Saigon, where there was not much to do but lie in bed drunk and jerk off until raw. On Hill 926 I was another body with a beating heart. I took the gun and we went to the wire. There were more boys out there taping sixteen clips together so they’d go faster. They had gloves to move the big box guns by the hot barrels but the fabric was wet and rotting. Cassette player spinning Donovan. Somebody had VOODOO CHILD engraved into his helmet. At last somebody gave me a god damn cigarette. You would have needed something to look across what men like these in previous wars might have termed no man’s land. The napalm had turned the edge of the forest into a bridge between this world and Hades. The night fog was coming out of it. Between us and that was barbed wire stretched over blood-slaked mud, hung with charred corpses. Now I was glad there had been no dinner.

The speed was kicking in for just about everybody else. Because there was nothing to shoot at yet they took a keen interest in my well-being. “Keep your head down.” “Keep your mouth shut.” “Keep the belt flat.” “If you get hit, yell for the medic. Only if you get hit!” Finally, “For gods sake wait for one of us before you god damn start shooting.”

I asked them if they ever got friendly fire.

“Medic in 4th Company got killed that way.”

“Took out some of the Lurps in the 67th.”

You were always learning new words which were just ways of saying things that took less time.

“Long range recon patrollers,” explained one of the boys. The nameplate, as well as the sleeves, had come off his jacket, but everybody called him Babe, except for the medic, who called everybody by the surname, and Babe’s was Heffron. When he looked to the forest, he saw something I didn’t, because of his training, and because he had put greasepaint around his eyes, like an ancient Egyptian lady, against the infernal messaging of the high yellow moon. Ready to burst like a pincushion mushroom on the edge of the horizon. “Ours are coming,” he said.

“You see em?”

The call went down the line to hold fire. The movement in the fog and the skeletons of the trees — like actors on a stage, like apparitions, ghosts. There were two negotiating the brutal wasteland, delicately around the landmines. Someone put a flare up. There was a captain and a corporal, differentiable by the insignia upon their tattered uniforms. They wore greasepaint and carried rifles. The corporal had let his rest against his forearm and shoulder so that he could roll a cigarette from a pack of loose tobacco drawn from inside his destroyed fatigue jacket.

A line from Dylan surfaced in the civilian part of my mind: Maggie come fleet foot face full of black soot…

“How long have they been out there?”

“Since yesterday noon.”

The captain went toward the CP to speak to the major. The corporal came into our foxhole and sat up against the sandbags to light the cig he’d just rolled. His boots were so bad he might as well have been barefoot. His eyes were dark, helmet askew and dented. A startling quality of blood on his person not necessarily his own. “How many, Lieb,” said the gunner, Toye.

“Two companies coming down from the mountain camp. Who’s got pills?”

“Two companies?”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

“Lieb, we’re just one company.”

The dark gaze found me. It was like looking back into the edge of the forest, the skeletons and fog, shadows, death lurking close at hand. “Who’s this then?”

Heffron cackled. “They gave us a correspondent.”

I made up my mind I had to talk to the LRRP that the boys called Lieb, because he scared the shit out of me.

The Lurps’ job was to go into the woods and try to figure out whereabouts the VC were moving, where they were encamped and the gear they had, their numbers, the locations of their traps and tunnels. The company at the camp on Hill 926 had two men who served this purpose, the captain, Spiers, and the corporal, Liebgott. Rumor was general in the camp about the quantity of VC these men had killed and the things they had seen and done. Between them they had done five tours before this one. Between them they were rumored to have survived a chopper crash, at least three VC ambushes, a court martial, a suicide attempt, a week without sleep, more than fifty parachute drops, booby traps galore, setting foot in the city of Hue, flushing out a collective six VC tunnels, and stepping on a no doubt exaggerated quantity of dud landmines. Spiers was unapproachably scary. He had allegedly executed prisoners on numerous occasions. In the heights of misery when not even the Dexedrine pills could bring you up out of the depths of the fear the men would joke about asking the captain to take them behind the CP and get it over with.

Liebgott, called Lieb, not seeming to understand what this word actually means in the German language, was also a stone killer by all accounts, thoroughly dead in the eyes, like looking at them you were surprised his lips weren’t blue, and they caught no reflection, but he spent all his time at camp, which was slim, listening to Da Capo and The Notorious Byrd Brothers (Do you think it’s really the truth that you see? I’ve got my doubts it’s happened to me) on cassette and chain smoking. This made him seem like someone I might have gotten to know if I had stayed in college, though I understood this was a fallacy. Anyway, by this point I was taking the uppers when the medic offered so I went over of an early morning when he was shaving his face.

He had Love on. “You know you have the same name as this band,” I said.

He was trying to figure out if I was serious. He had the razor poised right over his carotid artery. Under all the greasepaint he had good skin, thin beard, hollow cheeks. His hair was limp and filthy. In another life he might have been good looking. I sat down in the mud. That’s how bad I wanted to talk to him. I sat in the goddamn mud. The mud was made of blood and piss and worse around here. It didn’t even faze him, because he was sleeping in worse every night he was out there.

Tried another in: “You listen to Forever Changes?”

He set the razor gliding again over the bone of his jaw. “Had a tape,” he said. “It rotted.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can get you another one.”

He was trying to get the read on me. “What do you want.”

“Talk to you.”

“Not enough to get shot at out on the wire?”

“This is for Esquire,” I said. “It ain’t for Newsweek.”

He spat in the mud, but it came so perilously close to the toe of my left boot that it might’ve been intentional. “Can’t say I’d make a good centerfold,” he said. His face was twitching with the smile he was playing like he was too tough to put on it. “Even in lingerie.”

I liked him, though he made himself very difficult to like, and was out in the bush with Captain Spiers more nights than not; when you got him warmed up, he would talk about it, sometimes too much, sometimes things you didn’t really want to know. I went back to my bedroll and wrote them down and tried to put them out of my head. Six months later, I was at the tail end of a sleepless 36-hour benzo binge, and the wind was blowing wrong, out of the wrong mouth at the wrong end of the world, bringing rain and the smell of death and napalm and the latrines, on the suffocating humid night when Spiers half-carried him out of the woods —

Dick’s shadow loomed over Nix’s shoulder and distorted the light on the text. “This is mildly embarrassing,” he said.

Nix felt like someone had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and yanked him out of a dead man’s float. “Hell,” he said, voice cracking, “for who?”

Dick shrugged. “Everybody involved.” He headed over to the stovetop percolator to spoon in fragrant coffee grounds. “David might've played it a little less fast and loose on the schoolboy crush front.”

“Schoolboy crush?”

Dick cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Nix, your reading comprehension leaves something to be desired.”

“On — wait. On Liebgott!”

Dick turned back to the stove. “Maybe you need an eye test.”

Nix dropped the magazine on the table like it was radioactive. He supposed it might have been. His heart was acting up. What other kinds of things had Dick noticed? “My head was pretty damn far up my own ass.”

“I’d say so. Anyway, in my day we called that kind of prose florid.”

“In your day! Where the hell?”

“High school English.”

The knock at the door in the night was a sharp shock, bright as lightning, that sent them both back to Khe Sanh and before. Nix ducked. Dick went behind the doorframe. They kept low into the kitchen, where Nix took his old officer’s pistol out from where he kept it hidden behind the fridge. Then they went to the door, keeping to the edges of the hallways.

On the porch was Liebgott. He could have made his own way in likely right onto the couch without either of them noticing, so it was something that he had knocked on the goddamn door. It was particularly something given that none of the boys from Easy should have known about the grow operation, or even about Dick’s farm, being as Dick’s address on file at the V.A. was a post office box in town and Nix’s was still in Jersey. These considerations were nil to somebody who had spent the better part of five years in the bush of Vietnam. He took a last draw from his cigarette and put it out against the rubber sole of his boot, then he put the butt in his pocket. As far as Nix knew, he hadn’t said a word since January 1970.

“Joe,” said Dick diplomatically. He put his hand out and Liebgott took it. Then he took Nix’s. He had handsome dark eyes, but they were full of a wall. You could tell he saw you, but it was like nothing followed the necessary channels to the brain to spur emotional response. It had been like this even while he was still talking, and after a while you got used to it.

“You comin' in,” said Nix, knowing he probably would even if he wasn’t invited.

Inside, they all three sat at the kitchen table in silence nobody was about to break. Finally Dick got up and went to the drawer where they kept the rollies and their share of the product. He passed a sheaf of papers and a film canister full of bud to Liebgott across the table. Nix understood as well as Dick apparently did that there would be no getting anything over on this kid, who had eyes in the back and sides of his head. He’d probably had a nice tour of the property before coming inside. “You hungry, son,” Dick said.

Liebgott shook his head. He extracted one of the buds from the canister and inspected it. They did look mighty good if Nix said so himself. They looked artful in Liebgott’s hand. There were black scabs across his knuckles and a dark rime of filth under those fingernails which still existed. He seemed satisfied enough with what he saw to take a paper out of the sheaf and start shredding the flower into it.

“Captain Nixon calls it Easy Diesel,” said Dick, like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.

Liebgott looked up and a smile flashed across his face like the savage golden light of a flare falling over the far hills. His smile was sort of brutal, like the edge of a knife in a barfight, or like a seething animal. Luckily it went away as quickly as it had come. He rolled the joint with a quick grace and lit the business end with his old silver Zippo Nixon hadn’t seen since the war. There was a skull engraved on one side and on the other it read IF YOU ARE RECOVERING MY BODY, FUCK YOU.

“I don’t know how you found us, Joe,” Dick said thoughtfully. “You don’t have to… tell us. But we ain’t exactly keen to have just anybody here.” He paused and looked quickly to Nix, who tried to make it abundantly clear by means of eyebrows that he wasn’t sure they ought to go down this road, wherever it was leading. Dick ignored him. Liebgott was watching them, fully understanding their attempted clandestine exchange. “We ain’t exactly keen to have the DEA here,” Dick said at last.

The cherry at the end of the joint atomized with a crackling hiss. Liebgott looked between Dick and Nix with extreme seriousness sullied only by his exhaling a dignified white cloud out his nose. Then he nodded, once, curtly, demonstrating he understood his orders as they had been relayed.

Nix flashed Dick what he thought was a what have you done type look. But Dick looked totally unbothered. He should have gone into this business years ago for how violently unflappable he was. He said to Liebgott, “I’ll get some blankets and you can make up the couch.”

Liebgott shook his head to say no need. He got up, careful not to scrape the chair against the floor, shook each of their hands again, and in less than a minute’s time he was back out the door with nothing more than what he’d come in with except the joint.

Nix and Dick, on the porch, listening to the crickets, watched him disappear into the darkness.

“Are we hallucinating,” said Nix eventually.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Dick replied. “We’ve got to ship all that product or we’ll starve.”

In the morning Nix was in the field, inspecting the plants. Liebgott was standing there at his quarter for god knew how long before he cleared his throat and Nix jumped about six feet in the air. There was a smirk shifting across Liebgott’s face that he would have been better about hiding when Nix had been his commanding officer. He looked like he hadn't slept. Back over there he had looked like that a lot, but it had been different, because of all the uppers they were taking. He cocked his head back over toward the long driveway and then he was off across the dew-wet grass which had already soaked through the hems of his canvas pants and his destroyed shoes.

Nix followed, like a duckling behind a hen. Liebgott still walked as though there were eyes in all sides of his head quickly processing information as he moved. Nix doubted you ever lost that kind of skill, even if in the real world it made you look like a mental patient. He caught up so they could walk side by side through the dew-wet grass. “What did you think,” he asked Liebgott.

Liebgott passed Nix the universal sign of furrowed brow that meant please clarify.

Nix gestured with pinched fingers to his own mouth as though Liebgott were also deaf. “The grass.”

He shaped his hand into an a-ok sign.

“You get any sleep?”

He nodded an infinitesimal nod, like the answer was a secret just for Nix to know.

“Well if you think it could be better just tell me how.”

Nix had had a high school friend whose sister was deaf from scarlet fever and whom he had watched on occasion communicate with her by means of sign language. Early on, back over there, he had sent off to command for a book, but by the time it came he understood it wasn’t that Liebgott couldn’t speak, he just didn’t want to. It was something like how people’s hair supposedly turned white if they witnessed some evil thing, or how people became ascetics in the name of god. If you were really fucked up on drugs or fear or otherwise, or if the natural magical thinking from childhood hadn’t been fully beaten out of you, you might have seen it as the sacrifice he had given to the forest for letting him out without a scratch so many goddamn times. It had been a bit of a trial to explain this to Spiers, who was practical almost to a fault, sometimes.

Liebgott showed another a-ok sign. Then he did a thumbs up which Nix knew meant it was good.

All in all it was smart. If he was still talking, Nix might have asked him, what have you been up to? You been sleeping on the street? You been to the V.A.? What did they tell you? And the answer would’ve been nothing good. Instead they just walked in the cool grass together in the sunshine and the morning was beautiful, and the air was sweet. It was all lovely until Liebgott had to physically stop him, laughing, somehow silently but also hysterically, from stepping right onto the razor-thin tripwire stretched invisibly across the dark gravel.

In the kitchen, Dick was doing the numbers. He took his glasses off when Nix came in and put the coffee on. “He learned a thing or two from Charlie,” Nix said, leaning against the counters.

“Who, Joe?”

“Our driveway is thoroughly ratfucked.”

“Hmm,” said Dick. He put the glasses back on and turned back to the accounting book. He was going to do this whole thing as above board as was humanly possible. The vivid daylight came through the window and struck the lens of his unstylish Ray-Bans and threw a kind of prism of color upon the white paper and the chicken-scratch sums. Nix felt like maybe this was something you would paint if you had the necessary implements and artistic ability. “Maybe we should see if we can get any more help.”

He was mildly ashamed to say it, but the doc had always kind of creeped Nix out. He imagined a hypothetical conversation with Dick, who he knew loved the kid, almost like a son: Listen, don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid, I owe him my life, yadda yadda. But either he’s dropped the brown acid one too many times or the voodoo exorcism went FUBAR.

The doc had arrived on the farm on the heels of Sunshine and Rainbows, aka Mr. Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed, aka one Edward “Babe” Heffron. Nix had written Babe in South Philly, being as he was a connoisseur of bud and once upon a time had been famed among their company for smoking anything anyone put in his hand, often to his own detriment. The operation was getting big enough that Nix needed another pair of hands, other than Liebgott, of course, who was still fortifying the long driveway whilst giving away his cover by playing Led Zeppelin IV as loudly as was possible. It was a tough calculation, because Babe was a genius of pot, but he couldn’t keep a damn secret, and lo and behold he had dragged along with him a dark shadow in the human form of Eugene Roe. They came up the driveway in a big old Ford pickup that rattled its rust off in the potholes. Liebgott had dismantled the traps specially for their arrival when they had called from Williamsport to say they were an hour out.

“I figured we could use a medical professional to lend some credibility to the operation,” said Babe thoughtfully, sparking a joint on the porch over sweating jam jars of iced tea.

Roe snorted or something but it wasn’t really a normal person’s self-effacing laugh. Winters clapped his back. Nixon knew Roe had dropped out of medical school after two years but there was no need to say anything. Everyone knew that. Now he was working construction and Babe claimed to be working as a mechanic in a garage, but this seemed suspect given the state of the car they had driven up in.

“Well we sure as hell are glad you boys are here,” said Dick magnanimously.

Babe exhaled an opaque cloud that rivaled Nix’s own father’s ability with a stogie. “Can we see the bush?”

They went out all together to the field and ducked between the rows of corn. Babe knelt in the soil. It was damp with dew and quiet in here. It would have been almost like over there except it smelled good. “What’s the cross,” Babe said, inspecting the plants.

“It’s an indica blend…”

“Well, I can tell that,” he said.

“So you’re an expert on the plant now too?”

“I’ve just smoked an awful lot of joints in my life, Captain Nixon.”

Roe snorted again. When they all looked to him he said, “You said in the letter there was some kind of altruistic reason for all this.”

“It’s medicine, Gene,” Babe said gently, but also like they had had this conversation thirty thousand times. Nix filed away for later the intimation that Roe had read the letter he’d sent Babe at home in South Philadelphia.

“I guess you don’t remember the psychic break you had at the Do Lung Bridge.”

Babe waved this remark off, even though Nix remembered it too. It threw a chill down his back, like a water balloon had hit him at the base of his neck. “That was laced,” Babe said.

“With what!”

“I don’t know! Something bad!” Babe turned to Dick and Nix. “Gene’s teetotal,” he said, like this was a big old point of contention.

So that counted out the bad acid. Maybe he was just like this. Maybe he had had those big sad bug eyes as a child or an infant or a fetus in the womb. “Good on you, Doc,” Nix said.

“I ain’t trying it,” Roe said, folding his arms over his narrow chest, “no matter what it does.”

The doc was a tough cookie. Babe had claimed, over there, about as high as the Byrds song, that the doc came from a long line of the kind of folks described in Dr. John’s “Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya” and that, as such, he could heal wounds with his mind. When it didn’t work, as on the night when Jackson died, or the night when Hoobler died, or in the forest when Muck and Penkala died, or the night when Liebgott stopped speaking, he went to sit for a while on the edge of camp until Dick went over and made him eat something. Nix watched them in a state of confused envy, and then he went to write the letters to the families, so that Dick wouldn’t have to.

At dusk, after they ate a light dinner of corn on the cob and rice and beans, he took the boys up into the hayloft with an armful of blankets. “Sorry this is the best we got,” he said. He had said that about a hundred god damn times since they got here.

Roe looked like he wanted to say, you’ve got to stop apologizing for everything. Instead he said, “Where does Lieb sleep.”

Babe perked up. “Joe’s here?”

“You didn’t see him in the driveway?”

Nix sighed. “He’s gonna want to know what he did wrong that you saw him,” he said.

“Does he still — ”

Nix shook his head. “Not a peep.”

In a couple days time, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was hot and tired and stoned, up to his elbows in earth in the field, showing Babe how to replant the hatchlings he’d grown from seed. “You guys room together or what?”

“Me and Gene?” Babe’s eyes were red in the corners from smoking and from the sun. “What about you and Dick?”

Dick, who had the radio on inside turned up as loud as it would go, so that they would hear it in the field, playing Crosby Stills and Nash doing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” “What about me and Dick?” said Nix.

Babe was a smart kid. He realized this was going nowhere. With muddy hands he popped one of the seedlings out of its little pot and cradled it into the ground. “Well, I think he thinks he’s looking after me, but in actuality, I am looking after him.”

---

i do hope to someday finish this. webster in this AU is based on michael herr and that whole section is my impression of dispatches. the band that lieb and webster start to bond over is arthur lee’s band love. lieb’s lighter is based on a real one i saw on here sometime. this whole conceit is inspired by steve earle’s “copperhead road.”

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prettyyoungtragedy · 6 years

Text

You and I, Just the two of us - Chapter 1

You and I, just the two of us - (AU!)

James (Bucky) x reader, – Steve x reader (Later in fic)

Summary: The reader is reeling from a life changing event, a year later can she finally move on? Or will the past come tumbling down like an avalanche…

A/N: Sooo I decided to do an AU! Its my first time writing one, I am rather excited so I sinceeeerely hope you all drop me some feedback, because I god damn love writing!!

Word Count: 3361

Warnings: Nothing I can think of…

1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10

“Y/N!” a voice called from behind you, you slowed down your pace and hopped slightly from foot to foot trying to keep up your body temperature in icy New York cold, it was your best friend Natasha. She never jogged with you in the mornings, so you were quite surprised to see her in workout attire jogging towards you.

“Hey Nat,” you respond giving her a quick hug,

“Thought I’d join you today,” she smiled, taking a spot to you right as you both began to jog down the pathway,

“You hate jogging,” you pointed out, you knew Nat was only here because of what day it was, and she wanted to make sure you were okay.

“I mean I don’t hate it, I just prefer less strenuous forms of exercise” Natasha replied, stretching her arms as she jogged in her bright pink parka and black tights.

You just shrugged and then fell into a comfortable jogging rhythm. Jogging had always cleared your mind, it was sort of comforting, especially in the crisp cool morning air.

Natasha made small conversation as you continued your run, you could see she was hankering to ask you if you were okay, but she was avoiding the topic entirely and after the run, she suggested you go for breakfast.

Once seated at a table in the warm bistro, you listen quietly to Natasha babble on about her fiancé Bruce and his upcoming event which both of you should attend, but your mind was only paying half attention to what she was saying.

“Y/N? are you listening?” She says snapping her manicured fingers in front of your face,

“Oh, shit sorry, what were you saying,” you say apologetically, snapping out of your thoughts

Natasha sighed, “I’m sorry, I have to ask but are you okay Y/N?”

“I’m fine Nat,” you respond, taking a sip of your latte in front of you nonchalantly,

“Are you sure, because I know today was supposed to be your,” she started but you cut her off

“Nat, I really don’t want to think about it okay, I said I’m fine”, you said, almost annoyed with her, but you stopped yourself. There was no point in getting irritated with her, she was only trying to make sure you were okay.

You both were quiet for a moment, then Nat broke the silence, “You should come over for dinner tonight,” she suggested “Bruce is making his famous lasagna,” she grinned, knowing how much you loved spending time with Bruce as you were both in similar fields at work but also because he was one of the easiest people to get along with, and his lasagna was truly great.

“I was actually thinking of staying in tonight, it’s been such a long week at work, Tony has me working overtime on this new eco project,” you said, knowing trying to get out of this invite was futile because Natasha was one of the most insistent people you knew.

“Oh, shut up, you’re coming, you don’t even have to bring anything.” She retorted, and you knew that was that, you were going.

You were appreciative of Natasha being so demanding sometimes, the two of you had been friends since high school. She was the frivolous carefree charismatic student body president type at Rutgers and graduated to become a magazine editor for the New Yorker and you in your quiet reserved way, had graduated from Rutgers university as one of the foremost scientists in nuclear physics and landed a job at Stark industries, one of the leaders in clean energy. You were an odd pair, but you had always been there for each other through thick and thin.

“So should we do some shopping on this fine Saturday morning?” Nat asked you, as you both finished up breakfast,

“Ugh, Nat, please don’t make me go shopping with you,” You groaned, you loved her but she had a genuine shopaholic problem.

“Oh, come on! We haven’t spent any time together lately!” She whined, “You’re always stuck in that lab of yours,”

“I have some work to take care of,” You chuckled as you see her pull an annoyed face,

“I call bullshit!” She snorted, “But fine, I’ll just go shopping with Wanda.”

You roll your eyes at her, Wanda was a mutual friend, but she was an upper east side princess. Which sort of annoyed you, she loved the glamourous life and Natasha and she got along famously, you though, not so much.

“Have fun with that,” You replied, gathering up your things, “I am going home to have a hot shower and enjoy the rest of my Saturday with my work,”

“But I’ll see you tonight, right?” Nat said pointedly,

“Yes, Natasha Romanoff, I will be at your place for dinner at 7 o’clock.” You said dryly.

With a satisfied nod from her, you and Natasha exchange goodbyes and you step out of the toasty bistro and into the icy morning air. As you walk down the block towards your apartment, you were suddenly almost bowled by a tall muscular guy, wearing a navy-blue parka. His face almost covered by the ski mask he wore, but beneath his cap all you saw were his dazzling blue eyes.

“Hey!” you exclaimed as he brushed passed you not even stopping to see if you were okay, “Thanks asshole!” you call after him picking up your belongings you had dropped on the floor and, flipping him off as he marched away in front of you.

You contemplated going after the guy and giving him a piece of your mind, but you didn’t have the energy today to deal with any drama. So instead you hurriedly walked back to your apartment, ready to get out of the now sleeting weather, as soon as you reach your apartment door you feel your heart sinking again. It was all well and good that you spent almost 20 hours of your day at the lab but coming home always flooded you with memories of him, you hated yourself for not moving out of this apartment and moving on, but your heart was still aching for him. Luke Charles had broken you heart and pretty much ripped your soul out of you when he left you for another woman 365 days ago, you were engaged, and today would have been the day of your wedding.

As you walk into the dark apartment, you gaze around at the remnants of your old relationship. You didn’t have the heart to get rid of all the stuff in it, all the stuff you had gotten together. You had turned all the pictures around but not taken them off the wall, you couldn’t bring yourself to close that chapter of your life. Because he had not given you closure, he left you in the middle of the night with just a text saying he needed to get out, it was too much for him and he had met someone else he loved and wanted to build a life with. You hadn’t seen him since then, no contact, nothing.

Your friends were there for you and had tried to get you to move out, and move on but your heart was still firmly attached to this place, and to Luke. Even after what he had done, you couldn’t believe he, the soft natured, loving generous person that he was could abandon you after four years of being together.

You sighed and flipped the lights on, casting a warm glow across the cream and brown living room. you walk into the kitchen and immediately pour yourself a glass of wine, you needed it, because just this morning before your run you had found the invite to your wedding in a box you thought you had hidden away at the back of your cupboard, and that was now sending you into a grief spiral again.

Suddenly your phone rang on the counter, the chiming of the ringtone echoing through the kitchen. Grabbing it off the counter, you see the screen light up in bold letters, James Buchanan Barnes.

You groaned, knowing that this was a phone call you were avidly avoiding today of all days. James had been your friend since university, he and Natasha dated for a while before they spilt, less amicably that you would have liked but you adored James, so it was only natural that you remained friends with him even though him and Natasha split. They had tried to reconcile a few times but failed miserably so just opted to be tolerant acquaintances for your sake.

James had been the angriest then Luke left you, he vowed if he had to ever see him again he would kill him, and you genuinely believed him, because he was a built like a brick shithouse.

“Hello James,” you answer, anticipating his worried voice over the receiver,

“Y/N, hey!” his husky cheery voice sounded through the phone, hearing his voice cheered you up a little. He had been a source of comfort through this period in your life, trying his utmost to keep you happy and healthy.

“What’s up?” you ask,

“Are you home?” he replied,

“Yeah, I just got home, I am assuming you are on your way here?” You said, taking a sip of the cold wine,

“Yes, I am walking up the stairs as we speak,” he chuckled, “See you in two seconds,” then he hung up,

Sure enough, a minute later you hear the front door open and James walked in, “Y/N?” he called out,

“In the kitchen,” you responded, taking out a beer from the fridge already knowing he was going to ask for one,

James walked into the kitchen, pulling of his black parka, gloves and scarf. “God damn, its cold out there” he said tossing his items of clothing on the counter, and coming over to give you a hug.

“Hey buddy,” he says softly giving you a peck on the cheek, “You doin’ okay?”

You gave him a small smile, “As well as I will ever be I guess,” was your timid response,

James nodded sympathetically, and took the beer you offered him, he wasn’t going to dwell on the subject, so he distracted you, “Oh hey, did I tell you I bumped into that Wanda girl a bar the other day,”

You both took a seat at the kitchen table, “No, no you did not tell me that,”

He whistles, “That girl is a piece of work, she is all kinds of bat shit crazy.” He says, grinning devilishly,

“Ugh, James please don’t tell me you are sleeping with her, because my delicate constitution cannot handle that level of gross right now.” You respond, making a disgusted face at him.

James laughed gleefully, “Well, yes and no, I fucked her… once” he paused “Okay maybe twice,”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you groaned facepalming yourself, “Of all the women in the upper east side, throwing themselves at you, you just HAD to sleep with her!”

James laughed again, “Wait that’s not even the kicker, she now genuinely believes I want to be in a relationship with her,”

You sighed loudly, knowing that this whole situation was going to end up royally screwing you all over because he wasn’t wrong, Wanda was bat shit fucking crazy.

“So, I have been avoiding her calls and texts like the plague, but man that girl is relentless. Any ideas on how I can escape her, you know her pretty well?” He continued,

“ugh, my god you are disgusting.” Was your only response, “You’re on your own there pal, she doesn’t like me.”

“Ah come on, don’t leave me out in the cold like that, help a guy out.” He bargained, chuckling

You chuckled with him, shaking your head.

James had a way of making every situation so lighthearted and fun, you loved having him around for that reason. It was so easy being yourself around him, he never pressed you with questions about your feelings or how you were or pestered you to move out and on, he just simply wanted you to be happy. And that was the only kind of friend you needed right now.

“So, what are our plans for the day?” he asks you, sipping his beer.

You loved how he just invited himself into your plans for the day without asking, “Well, I have some work to do, and then Nat invited me for dinner. Bruce is making lasagna,” you replied,

“Oooh, I want to come for Bruce’s lasagna,” James said, faking excitement

“No, what are you up to James?” you say narrowing your eyes at him,

“Oh, come on, I want to see Nat and you know I love Bruce, and all his nerdy glory,” James laughed at his own comment,

“You’re the worst, but fine come if you want to but don’t get mad when you don’t get what you want,” you replied, polishing off the wine in your glass,

“it’s a Saturday, why are you working?” he asked genuinely perplexed by this, changing the topic,

“Because,” you say standing up, “Unlike some of us who have rich daddy’s who pay for our lifestyle, I have to work to earn a living” and walking to the living room,

James snorted, “Hey, I can’t help it if I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth,” he followed you to the living room, “I’ll pay your rent this month if you skip work today and just hang out with me,”

You scoffed at him, and sat down at your desk opening your laptop. You already had 42 emails to answer. “Come on, Y/N!” James whined, “Leave your sciencey stuff for a day, lets go to Rockefeller Center and see all the Christmas lights!”

“It’s the middle of the morning,” you retort, scrolling through your emails as he continued to shoot ideas at you,

“Lets go to 5th avenue then, I’ll take you to Bergdorfs and buy you …leggings?” he said, still trying to get you to budge.

“Really? Leggings?” you laughed mockingly looking up at him, as he leaned against your work desk.

“Okay, whatever you want,” James said pleadingly, giving you puppy dog eyes,

“Alright, well then I want to go to the Museum of Natural History,” you said gleefully knowing he would never agree to it.

You saw his face fall for a second then to your amazement he agreed, “Okay, lets go to the Museum of Natural History”,

You and James spent the rest of the day at the Museum of Natural History, he was bored senseless but he entertained your talk on space and time and history for hours on end. By late afternoon you had ended up in the planetarium, laying on the viewing deck looking up at the model of the constellations before you,

“Beautiful isn’t it,” you said softly

“Yeah,” was his equally soft reply, but he wasn’t looking at the constellations before you.

After almost an hour of comfortable silence between the two of you, you turned to him, “We should probably get going, if we are going to make it to Natasha’s by 7,” you say getting up,

James agreed, and the two of you made your way out of the museum. James’ town car was waiting outside for the two of you as soon as you stepped out of the museum.

“So should we go straight there?” He asked, opening the car door for you

“I suppose, but ugh I didn’t bring anything,” you groaned, remembering that Natasha was the kind of person to invite you for dinner and then complain If you dint at least bring her some bourgeoisie bottle of champagne or something,

“I already took care of that,” James said, motioning for you to get into the car, “Artur stopped by the house and picked up a bottle of Dom for her,”

You smiled at him, even after all this time, James still knew Natasha so well, “Alright then I guess let’s head straight there.”

When you arrived at the Manhattan townhouse that Bruce and Natasha shared, you were feeling somewhat glum. The house next door, was the one Luke and you were going to move into soon after your wedding, this neighborhood haunted you sometimes, all the future plans that were made, now clung to it like a dark cloud.

James seemed to notice the change in your demeanor, “Hey, you okay?” he asked, putting his arm around your shoulder,

“Yeah,” you sighed, “Just all this, brings back memories I guess,”

“Ah, you’ll be alright,” He assured you with a grin, “Let’s go drink all of Natasha’s good alcohol,” he said ringing the bell excitedly.

Natasha opened the door enthusiastically, “Yay! You’re here,” she exclaims, then pauses when she sees James,

“Hey, Bucky…” She says, her facial expression changing slightly, as if her excitement diminished a little.

“Hello Tash,” he said softly giving her a warm smile, and a peck on the cheek.

Natasha was the only person either than his mom to call James by his second name, Buchanan or rather Bucky for short, she was the only other person he would let call him Bucky.

Nat led the way inside, thanking James for the bottle of champagne profusely as it was her favorite. She bagan animatedly talking about her day to you as she led you to the kitchen where Bruce was preparing dinner.

“Darling,” she called out to him, “Y/N and Bucky are here,”

Bruce emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishcloth, “Hey Y/N, James,” he said coming over to exchange greetings with a warm smile,

Bruce was always the softest kindest person you had ever met, him and Natasha were opposites but worked so well together.

“I am so ready for that lasagna” you say, accepting the glass of champagne Nat handed to you, the food smelled heavenly.

“It tastes amazing,” Nat chimed in, handing James a glass of champagne as well, it was kind of her dinner party tradition to only serve champagne, it was weird, but you weren’t complaining as you sipped on the crisp beverage.

“Shall we sit?” James asks, motioning to the dining room,

“How’s work?” Bruce asks you, as you all take a seat at the dining room table,

“Ah it’s good, Starks got me working on nanomolecular energy development, its quite a big project for our department,” you replied. Bruce worked for Stark industries as well, just a different division.

“That’s great to hear, seems the idea is to run on clean energy by the end of the year,” Bruce began but Nat interrupted him,

“Come on guys, no shop talk!” she chided,

You couldn’t help but laugh, Natasha had no idea what half of the stuff you and Bruce spoke about, meant.

It felt good to be with your friends that evening, as it went on, Nat and James shared stories of recent events in their lives and Bruce adding a few comments here and there. You just enjoyed listening to it all, taking your mind of the stained memory of what today meant.

“Thanks for a great evening, Nat” you said, hiccupping drunkenly, as Bruce let you and James out well past midnight, “Ugh I love the two of you,” you exclaimed throwing your arms around both simultaneously.

Nat was a little too incoherently drunk at this point to even respond properly, so she just hugged you tighter.

“And we love you too,” Bruce replied, smiling and returning your affection, “you’ll get her home safe, right?” he says to James behind you,

He nodded, “Yes sir,”

You stumbled next to James as he led you to his town car, and sat you in the backseat beside him.

You lean tiredly against his chest, “James,” you mumbled,

“Yes Y/N?”

“Thank you for today,” you slur,

“Of course, anything for you,” he replied gently, kissing the top of your head,

“It still makes me sad,” you sighed sadly, pulling him closer to you in an embrace,

“I know it does, sweetheart” James replied in a kind voice,

“James?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Do you love me?” you asked drunkenly, James knew you probably wouldn’t remember this in the morning when he answered,

“I do, very much so,” he replied tenderly,

You sighed, seemingly content in his embrace, “I love you too James, you make my days better”

He smiled at your confession, knowing it meant more to him than it did to you.

xxx

Hope you guys enjoy it!

#fanfic #james buchanan barnes #reader x bucky #reader x nat #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #au!bucky #au!bruce #Steve Rogers #steve x reader #au!steve rogers

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hannahsfanficsforyou · 4 years

Text

A Whole New World pt. 3

Me and Aaliyah walk up to Fairy Hills and get settled into our new dorm rooms, they are next to each other but it’s nice to have my own room. It’s got the main room a bedroom and a bathroom. Thank god it has plumbing and “Ahhh a full bathtub, I can soak in this for houuuuurs” I say dreamily, “screw it I’m taking one now, I’m sweaty from that hike”

I fill the tub up and check under the cabinet and find some bottle of liquid, I read the properties of it and it says it has remedy effects for sore muscles and when you pour it in the bath to say the color then what you want it to smell like. “What.. No way it can actually do that” I pop the bottle open and pour it in the tub, “Pink and mint” As soon as I say it my eyes go wide as the bathwater turns a bright pink color and I can smell a fresh mint smell wafting up from the bath. “Holy shit, magic is fucking awesome, I think I love it here.” I climb into the bath and my muscles immediately relax and I let out a sigh, I haven’t felt this good in so long, It’s like all my tension floats away and melts in the hot water.

The water finally turns cold and I get out wrapping my body in a towel and look at the time. “Hmmm it’s only 10pm but I’m exhausted. Forget it I’m passing out now.” I say flopping into bed not bothering to put any clothing back on. I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

My eyes crack open and I give an annoyed growl because the sun was not up yet, “God, I knew I wasn’t going to sleep the full night if I went to bed before 1am” I say rubbing my eyes and seeing the clock saying 3am I let out a pained groan, “you know, I really am not one for walking around alone by myself at 3am in a city I don’t know yet BUT I can’t sleep and currently have nothing to keep myself busy with and hey apparently I’m super powerful sooo...Screw it.” I get up and put my clothing on “Ew, these smell gross, first on the list when I get money, new clothing.”

I open my door and look outside to make sure no one else is out and about, I don’t think there is a curfew, I mean we are adults we can come and go as we please but, just in case. I also have my camouflage so I think I would be fine either way, not that I’ve really mastered using it, but whatever.

I get out of the building and take a breath of fresh air, it really is beautiful here, the stars are out and the moon seems extra bright tonight. I smile as I walk down to the city, the lanterns light up the deserted streets and it’s oddly serene. The warmth of the late summer air feels so nice on my bare arms. Then the next instant the hairs on my neck stand up, what is this sensation? It feels like... terrifying magic power. My eyes widen and a cold sweat breaks out over my skin, chilling me, the power is so intense it doesn’t even feel human.

I whip my body around to look for the person who was emitting that terrifying aura but I see no one, and I hold my arms suddenly feeling exposed in my tank top and shorts. It’s 3am jeez who else is out, damn go to sleep... pff like I’m one to talk. I giggle despite still feeling a bit petrified as the chills go away.

What was that, God that magic power felt insane, I wonder who it was or if they are part of a guild... or, was it even human... I speed up my pace as I decide now would probably be a good time to go back home. I let out a shaky sigh as I make my way through the streets again, I walk down an alley and- wait. “Oh shit, where am I?” I look around but “Yep, fuck I’m lost, damn it” I hear some chuckling and turn around again, Is it the same person as before-no, these people are emitting magic but it’s, lesser and different than what I felt before, and I feel multiple presences, hmm three of them. Its strange I can tell from just feeling their magic near me, they are weak- how do I even know that.

It’s such a strange thing, but I can also feel them through the ground. It’s like I’m communicating with the earth itself, I could feel every step they took and what direction they were headed. Which happened to be right towards me. It was dark down this alley and eventually the three men came into where my eyes could make them out. All three were well built and tall, they were getting closer to me and I could smell the alcohol all the way from where I was standing. Fucking drunks.

My arms and legs were braced. My whole body tensed up with the stupid situation I’d gotten myself into. Jesus Hannah you know this kind of stuff happens to young women who go out alone at night, how can you be so dumb to think it wouldn’t happen to you. But there eyes on me, I shivered feeling their magic energy coming off them, it wasn’t as strong as mine but I still felt so small and scared under their evil smiles and piercing gazes.

Could I really take three people on in a fight? I have magic now but I haven’t even fought anyone, ever. My hands start to sweat and my heart beats faster, I- I can’t, how do I breath? I feel my chest tighten up and my anxiety makes me feel like I’m going to pass out. The three men are getting even closer “Ohh, look at this cutie, I bet we can have some fun with her.” The other two snicker menacingly as one reaches to grab me “n-no please, don’t touch me” My eyes start to tear up as I back away from him more tripping and falling backwards, magic, I have it now, use it Hannah. My brain is stuck with fear and I can’t even start to think about how to even use my magic.

I close my eyes trying to stop the tears of fear as the men reach for me. I’m so helpless, even with magic I can’t stand up or protect myself. Such a helpless idiot. Then suddenly it was like the sky came down from heaven itself and three giant lightning bolts struck the men in front of me. My mouth falls open and my eyes go wide as I see another man standing in front of me, he is taller than the other three, wait.. that spiky blonde hair, I’ve seen it before. Oh my lord, it’s hunky lightning man. God, I really need to find out his actual name so I can stop calling him that. Jesus his magic, it’s the most powerful thing i’ve felt.

Wait this magic, it feels familiar.. Suddenly it goes off in my head, the power I felt earlier, it’s the same. So he was back there then too, he was who I felt. I look up at his face and honestly almost shit myself, he has the most terrifying look I’ve ever seen, If his lightning didn’t kill them already it looks like he is about to with his bare hands. But instead he just tsks and starts to walk away and in the process he steps on one of the dudes to walk over him, without even looking at me.

I stand up quickly and rush forward, without thinking I grab the hem of his coat and a surge of electricity courses through my body. I gasp, I was so shook up I didn’t even see the mini lightning bolts surrounding his body. He looks back his face not as scary as it was when he was looking at the dudes who tried to attack me but still I couldn’t read it at all. His eyes pierced right through me, it’s like they could see right into my soul, fuck this is why I hate eye contact, the eyes always give you away.

“I- just- erm, thank you..” I say while my face turns redder than Ariel’s hair, hopefully he can’t see it since it’s so dark. He doesn’t say anything, still having the blank look on his face staring at me, God this is awkward, I wouldn’t feel like this if he wasn’t so damn hot, I mean look at him, I could melt right now. I don’t even feel like I was about to have a panic attack a few seconds ago, I feel so safe being close to him, but so nervous and scared too, and insecure.

“You’re welcome” I look up surprised and if my face was red before, after hearing him talk for the first time my body went from a regular temperature all the way to a fever that could cause brain damage, actually I think I do have brain damage now, because I can’t remember how to speak or form words. Note to self when clothing shopping buy new underwear. He starts to walk away again but “shit” I mumble “A-actually, I’m... I got lost, can you help me, I- Live at Fairy Hills, the girls dorms for the guild. I’m a new member I joined today.”

His face remains expressionless, albeit bored, but he nods and turns away with his hands in his pockets, “Oh thank God” I say quietly as I speed up trying to keep up with his long legs, Jeez I thought I was tall but my legs are nothing compared to his fucking 6′4 legs.

We make our way through the city and it seemed like in no time we were climbing the hill towards the dorms, the whole trip we didn’t say anything. I guess hes not much of a talker.. Mmmm sexy silent type, I dig it I think to myself while trying not to drool staring at his back as I walk behind him. Ahhh I wish I could see him shirtless, I bet he looks amazing, I can just tell even with a shirt and jacket that hes ripped. Wow Hannah this is how you think about the man who just saved you? Jeez, damn virgin. I cover my mouth to laugh at my own little joke but he turns his head with one eyebrow raised and I just blush again and look at the ground. I guess he heard that, gosh he probably thinks I’m crazy laughing to myself.

He walks me to the door of the building and I open it and walk inside “Uhm, thanks again, for- hah everything I guess, helping me with those guys and helping me find my way back, I um I owe you one, or two really.” I say looking up barley able to make eye contact, god his eyes are too much to take looking at for more than a few seconds, his gaze alone could kill someone.

He nods and turns to leave but stops and turns his head and with a little smirk says “The names Laxus by the way not hunky lightning man.” And with that he turns around fully and walks off into the night. My eyes almost roll into the back of my head and I feel like my body could explode right there in embarrassment. “H-how, when, what, when did he even, how did he hear that,” I manage to crawl back up to my dorm room while being mortified and drag myself back into bed. “How am I ever going to look at him again, this is insane.”

I didn’t manage to fall asleep and keep playing back our interaction the whole night in my head.

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cosmosogler · 7 years

Text

hi.

last night my brother screamed at his computer until around 1:30 even though i went to bed at 12:45. i finally dozed off around 2.

when my alarm went off at 9 i was so tired from not sleeping and from comicon that i slept in for 45 minutes. my brother was already up and screaming at his computer by 9.

i took a shower... needed to get the glitter from yesterday off. i scrubbed a little bit before bed last night but dumping water on myself for 20 minutes helped more. mom made french toast. i got real sick after trying it.

i mostly bummed around watching youtube videos until 12:30 when i needed to start getting ready for therapy. i got to the facility on time and filled out the daily check in stuff and blah blah blah. i really didn’t want to go, but i wanted to interact with mom and dad less than that. dad already had some judgmental things to say as i was leaving. something about honoring our veterans.

i tried to avoid over-participating in therapy today but got kind of dog piled during my check in. i kept it focused on what i did and not how i felt. i think that kept everyone pretty distracted. the therapist commented that i had done up my nails and looked really good and it was good to see me taking care of myself. i said i only did it for the costume but she didn’t respond or look like she had heard me.

also i feel even worse than usual so i thought maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring that up just to rain on their parade.

that sounds really, really stupid when i write it and look at what i just wrote.

but i didn’t want to be dour just for the sake of riling them up! i did that dumb thing where i would recount something bad that happened and laugh and then apparently immediately stop smiling. the therapist says i do that a lot. she said nobody else is laughing with me and i was thinking “just let me have this.”

sooo... we talked about boundaries today and co-dependence, which are important to talk about. more direct communication. how some people have rigid boundaries and some have porous, and in different situations, and how that can get out of control. i said i felt like i had porous boundaries and then the therapist was all “i see you as more of a rigid-boundaries person” and rated it 70/30. she asked if i had ever been open and honest with anyone which created a great launch pad for a list of people who snubbed me.

i need to be more direct about what i need from therapy. but i really, REALLY don’t want to spend 3 hours complaining about people i don’t like. which seems to be necessary to explain why i don’t like people.

i guess nobody knew that mom used to beat me when i was little because everyone got kind of quiet when i mentioned it when we were talking about physical boundaries. i forgot to mention that i had already called child services when i brought up she maybe hits my brother too... maybe wednesday.

um... i refused to participate when we talked about sexual boundaries.

and i talked about how i don’t really feel anything when i do big favors for people. like when i drove leah to the hospital and stayed there with her all night. she never even thanked me. and... i mean, it’s hard to thank someone in that situation.

well, no it’s not... i didn’t have trouble thanking bradley or hogan when they drove me to and from the hospital back in january.

mm.

and thinking about everything i did for craig for literally nothing makes me too furious to think about anything else so i will try to avoid that road for now. maybe later.

now i’m getting angry about other stuff. i poured my heart and soul into my relationship with jim. i did everything i could to communicate clearly and be open and trust as best i could (maybe not incredible amounts of trust, but, enough to expect him to tell me when things weren’t working out any more). and he DITCHED ME WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i spent 12 years of my life being friends with that guy. do you know how much growing it took for me to start being able to have actual, like, friendship activities with him? how hard i worked to learn how to be a good friend and treat people better?

i’m not saying he owes me anything. but, like, a “this isn’t working, i’d like to stop talking for a while” would have been nice.

but no.

the therapist says i spend a lot of my time living in the past, and yeah... i have trouble letting go of my anger and frustration. i feel like if i don’t hold on to it and etch it into myself it won’t have been real. if i stop being angry everyone just gets relieved and smooths it over and goes back to their lives. “forgive and forget,” the christian school kids used to sneer at me after, like, spitting on me. that happened.

i can’t forgive or forget because that would be letting the bullies win. and i’m stubborn and hate when bad people get away with everything. that’s probably why i can’t let go of the craig stuff either. because i was a bad person, so i got what i deserved. and i have to remind myself of that every day, because that’s justice.

that and isn’t an aspect of ptsd, like, being stuck reliving the same events over and over even if you don’t want to any more? i mean, i get flashbacks. i don’t know if they’re real memories or not any more... but sometimes they come on and i literally cannot focus on anything that is happening in the present because i can feel what happened. the thoughts just kind of waltz in, ruin my day, and then leave, and then my day is ruined and i’m frustrated because it wasn’t real that time and i’m letting it ruin my day.

and, i feel like, if i don’t let it ruin my life, then that makes what happened ok, because it’s fine now!!! it doesn’t matter what happened, because it’s not happening any more!!! like the crime never happened, because the evidence is eroded out. but it did happen. and until someone who was there fricking acknowledges that it happened it needs to stay right where it is and FESTER until it smells so bad they have to recognize it.

does that make me feel better? no. but justice. i can’t sit back and say “well, karma will get him someday,” because that’s super vague and probably won’t actually happen because good things always happen to bad people. even hitler wasn’t brought to justice. he just killed himself. and his family. he never had to sit and look at what he did.

it feels wrong to move on unless something changes, or the event becomes real.

things i see/hear/whatever aren’t real. i can’t ever be sure if i’m experiencing reality or not. someone else has to tell me they’re seeing the same thing for me to be sure it really happened.

it’s not even that i have hallucinations or anything. it’s just... my sense of reality is so skewed from people being nasty to me that i cannot tell if my memories are real or not. and i know some of them aren’t, because that’s just how brains are wired. some of my earliest childhood memories, even the really sharp ones like the kicking and the beating and the screaming, have details that i’m sure just aren’t true. like what color the walls were. what time of year it was. what the floor was made out of. how big mom actually was compared to me.

just like i can’t remember for sure if there were actually other people in the room or not with the craig stuff.

but if there weren’t other people there, then like half of my anger is totally fake. and that’s awful to think about.

and like... i could always just reaffirm to myself that everything i think is true. but not everything i think is true, that’s the nature of being alive and learning things and changing your understanding, and i can’t deliberately lie to myself. things aren’t ok.

and i feel like people who haven’t experienced that can’t understand how it feels. when someone else spends years ungluing your reality, you can’t really just stick it back on the wall. you can’t put your sense of reality back together without seeing the glue holding it there. and it’s so artificial that it’s just not the same as having real confidence. cracked mirrors still work, of course, but their functionality is irreparably changed. you become aware that you are looking in a mirror, and a damaged one at that. if you look in a regular mirror you just see your reflection. but with the cracked mirror, you see the glass that your reflection is coming from.

i don’t know how to reasonably convey this to my therapist during the span of a single check in... i don’t know how to say what i want to say, or what direction i would like to go in now, so i don’t bring up anything, and then i don’t get help, so i can’t figure out how to say what i want to say. cool.

should i just... print this out and hand it to her? that is alarmingly direct, and also risky, as i have to use dad’s computer to print everything. so the file will be on his computer unless i delete it and then suspiciously clear his printer history and also his recycle bin.

i mean, he’ll probably think it’s porn, but i don’t want him thinking that either!!!

and it could potentially take away from other group members’ time, because this is freakishly long already and i haven’t even gotten to my evening activities. i could give it to her during a break i guess.

after therapy i resolved to, well, resolve some of the communication issues i’m having with my family with the chores and the screaming. so i got a chore chart! and several different-colored markers for my family members to choose from. when i got home i explained it to mom. i think she is already not using it how i had hoped.

i also bought myself a chocolate mint mocha and too late i realized i had not specified that i wanted decaf. so i had the jitters for several hours after that. i tried to keep the explosion confined to asher’s chat window. i appreciate that he also sat through the mood crash afterward.

i saw the steven universe event. i have a soft spot for really mean, really insecure characters sometimes... i really want to talk to someone about it but i am Afraid of The Discourse. i have a lot of thoughts about pearl too but i don’t post them here because i don’t want... well, random people looking at my journal. even though it is public. i’m just not in a very good position right now to participate in huge discussions.

my favorites are of course the ones with the overblown egos. they are SO CONFIDENT. i wish i could believe in myself that much.

i gotta get up around 7:30 tomorrow to go get my hida scan. according to the google i can bring my ipod, thank god.

oh, that reminds me. i spent most of the morning talking to gilbert. we just chatted about whatever came up. harry potter, archie comments, the terrifying archie cartoon i saw when i was a wee babby. it scarred me for life. i was so scared of jughead, i swear to god.

(the humor/script was the real thing to be scared of. i watched an episode today. there ain’t nothing wrong with jughead.)

so i gotta try to sleep now. i’m gonna yell at my brother to shut the hell up when he plays league of legends so i can get some shuteye for once. i, of course, will then not be able to fall asleep anyway, because that’s just how it works.

i guess i should find a way to print that stuff i wrote out. there’s no way i’ll be able to say it in group. and i think i have gotten to some stuff that we might be able to work on instead of “angery” and “i hate everyone,” which are not things i can easily work with.

oh, the therapist’s recommendation for what i should do to get close to people again was “make a new friend.” i started grinding my teeth.

i neglected to download all the cool music i found over the last few weeks... i will have to find something else to listen to during my hours on the scanning table. maybe i can mash a few soundtracks together on the way over to the imaging department. i need to tell dad i don’t actually know how to get to the hospital.

anyway, later. i hope you guys are having a better time than i am. that’s not setting the bar very high though.

oh, one more thing. i neglected to do any therapy homework over the weekend. my reasoning was, “if i am incapable of working hard in a way that will be helpful to me, then why waste my time.” i mean, i don’t have anything else to do, but it is less frustrating to talk about music theory with an acquaintance than it is to “phone in” yet another therapy work sheet. i worded it better when i was talking to asher... it’s too late to go into that now. i need to try to rest. i got individual therapy tomorrow and i need to make the most use of that ~45 minutes that i can.

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allbecauseofhim · 7 years

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the glory + romance are everywhere

the glory of God is everywhere He’s speaking to you everywhere He’s romancing you everywhere

be open. be ready to listen. be ready to see glory. i work at a grocery store (i’ll be telling a few stories about my experiences and how God always shows up) and since i have classes during the week, i work mainly every weekend. yeah i know, “that must suck” “don’t you want like a Friday off” honestly, after spending 3 weekends in a row there, i was kind of like, “ugh, i’m not feeling this” but God put me in check real quick. i prayed for this job. more importantly, i pray for God to use me daily… and He can and does right there in that grocery store. it’s funny how we get ungrateful about things we prayed for when they start becoming inconvenient for us. we forgot God was faithful to us and that He has us there for a reason. your everyday job/life is your ministry. whatever you do, work at it wholeheartedly as though you were doing it for the Lord and not merely for people (colossians 3:23). work at whatever you do, wherever you are placed with your whole heart, because that work is onto the Lord. just because you don’t have a theology degree, does not mean you aren’t a preacher of the Good News. you are. tell me where Jesus’ certificate in Doctorate of Biblical Studies is at? He was simply called by God. so are you. because you have Jesus inside of you, you get to ask Heaven to come to earth. you get to invite Jesus to come into every situation and help you scan those groceries or make that coffee or stuff lettuce and meat into tacos. even if you talk over the phone for most of your job, you get to invite Him to help you encourage people and be that loving word in their day. you get to ask Him to give you strength when you’re tired and comfort you when someone shoots you down. He’s your partner. He works alongside you. no matter your job, whatever God has called you to do, IT IS NOT SMALL. YOU ARE DOING KINGDOM WORK. throughout the day, put on the mindset willing to be used by God in any situation. and BELIEVE that God will show up in the middle of your minimum wage paying job. the glory of God is everywhere i’ve gained such a love for people… they are worth knowing. they’re so cool and weird. and it is interesting seeing how we’re all so different, seeing how God is in each of us and the desires He has placed in us individually. i get to hear about how God is working in their lives. i get to hear about their problems and their day so i know how to pray for them. in your job, you get to meet people and talk to them and show the love of Christ. you get to see His glory through each person. storytime!!! one day, at work, my line was backed up and this woman didn’t have enough money to pay for the rest of her groceries and the man behind her could have been getting impatient and irritated. but he kept smiling at me to know it was fine. i seen God in him so much just by his simple patience. she said, “i’ll just write a check i suppose” and starts rummaging in her purse for another 5 minutes. the man asked me how much she owed and said, “i’ll pay for it.” the woman insisted he not and he said, “no i want to. God bless you. He’s blessed me.” it was beautiful. she was taken off guard and i know that God through that man blessed her stressful day and shined His glory. and it was such a simple act of God… He’s everywhere shining through simple situations.

(sidenote: i don’t live in fairy land and i’m well aware that not every customer is kind and most of them are impatient but it’s just a chance to pray over the situation and ask God to comfort them and do a mighty work in their lives. everyone needs prayer on their behalf. and we, as God’s children, can be intercessory prayer warriors for those around us, and Jesus being our intercessor and advocate tells our Father (1 john 2:1)) KEEP PURSUING HIM AND HIS GLORY He’s speaking to you storytime #2!!! it was almost closing time and i had checked out an older lady. she had a bunch of gorceries and as she started walking away, i noticed she limped and i could tell she was in pain. so i asked if she wanted me to help put her groceries in her car. she was thrilled. her name was mildred. as we were walking out, the Holy Spirit hipped (lol hate that i used this word but ignore it and keep going) me that she needed prayer over her leg. after we put her groceries in her car, i asked if i could pray over her knee. and yeah, i was kind of nervous… what if she said no? but ain’t no fear in the Spirit so let’s goooo. she was again thrilled and started crying. i prayed for her- she had just had surgery on her knee- and her granddaughter who had also recently had surgery. afterwards, she said so many things to me, about my future and my now, and it was completely God speaking through her to me. i was thrilled and i wanted to cry. God met us in a grocery store parking lot… my buddy Mildred and i. what the heck. He spoke to both of us there, right beside the trash can. He doesn’t just meet you at church, early in the morning. He meets you everywhere, in unexpected places, simply because He is called upon. (psalm 145:18) mildred blessed me. way more than i blessed her. but it all happened because i obeyed God’s urge. God was in her words to me… it was confirmation to prayers. what if i hadn’t obeyed God? what are you simply missing because you’re ignoring God’s voice? what are you simply dismissing because you’re not open and willing to really, truly listen? *and there has been plenty of times when i felt God urging me to do something or say something and i didn’t. afterwards, i always wished i would have. but God is merciful and full of grace. He not only forgives, but gives a boundless number of chances. He’ll keep speaking to you even when you mess up or get impatient or lose your cool or don’t hear the first time. KEEP PURSUING HIM AND HIS VOICE

He’s romancing you God is a gift- giver and He doesn’t even have to be. He gave His Son to us… beautiful Jesus to die our death!! what more could He give? but as a good Father, He’s constantly giving us gifts and romancing us to say, “hey, I love you more than you know. I pay attention to you.” everyday, filling yourself up on the Word and with Jesus gives you an opportunity to take what He’s poured into you and pour it out onto others. so because Jesus loves me and loves you, and is constantly encouraging us, it’s so important that we pour that out onto others. personally, i feel Jesus constantly urging me throughout the day to tell women that they are beautiful… that their hair looks good… that they have great style… and so forth. sometimes, the women have pajamas on so i’m like ‘if i compliment them, they are going to think i’m trying to be funny or sarcastic’ but i know the urge is because God wants them to know it. He wants them to know He loves them and thinks they're beautiful, so be open to be the vessel and telling woman they’re beautiful… or men they’re handsome… whatever you feel led to say. God has taught me a lot about beauty this past year; inside and out. i’m comfortable with myself and who i am and what i look like because God created me and thinks i’m a masterpiece. He thinks YOU ARE A MASTERPIECE. but let’s be real, there are days when i don’t feel it all. storytime 3!!! i woke up one Friday and i was struggling sooo bad. i was getting over a sickness, coughing everywhere, didn’t have time that morning to wash my hair before my small group, and my small group was at 8:30 so i just rushed there. i planned on going home, washing my hair, and getting presentable for work after small group (but we ended up talking for hours, therefore when we were done i had to race home to get my work clothes). i threw my hair up and went to work. but guess what. God doesn’t care… even then He thinks you’re beautiful and you SHINE. that same day, a woman told me i was beautiful and in my head i’m like whaaat i’m sick and exhausted and my hair looks like someone could fry an egg on it. but i thanked her and we talked for a minute. when i handed back her money i told her, “you have a blessed night” and she turned around and said, “you know that’s what make you beautiful… Jesus” that’s what makes us beautiful. and that simple romance from God, spoken by that woman, made my night and it was a complete uplift to my spirit and how i viewed myself that day. God meets you in your insecurity and He’ll romance you. be open to listening. maybe He doesn’t send people, but music to speak and romance you. a line in a book that moves your soul. a free cup of coffee when you need it most. small, but sweet gifts from God that you need right at that moment. thank and praise God for it… for His romance for you and His attentiveness to even the small things you need in your life as you go throughout your daily life. KEEP PURSUING HIM AND HIS ENDLESS LOVE FOR YOU

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