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ethantalkstoomuch · 2 years

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Push The Sky Away - Chapter 5

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Tommy finally comes to turns with his feelings, but it look to be to little to late.

Find the rest of the fic here!

a/n: this chapter almost ate me alive but here it is!

cw for this chapter: discussions of grief, smoking/illness, and fatal car crash

Grief still finds ways to drag him back to the brink, teetering on the edge time and time again. It makes him spend more time smoking on rooftops, Frances has that look in her eye again. Every single time it claws its way back in. Maybe it’s made worse by Alfie's cold shoulder, not that he would ever let it be known that it bothers him. For a week after Alfie missed their meeting Tommy’s bad mood had hung around like a bad smell.

It eats away at him, the unknowing. He can’t take it in the end. The need to know chews at his resolve and brings him to the shop where he stands in the lobby sticking out like a sore thumb. Ollie doesn’t acknowledge him when he comes through the door, obviously still seething from their last encounter.

“I need to speak to Alfie.”

Ollie turns the page of his magazine. “He’s on smoko.”

“Alfie doesn’t smoke,” Tommy bites. He refuses to crane his neck to peek into the back room. The door at the back of the shop swings open and shut with a slam. Tommy’s eyes Ollie, waiting.

“Send him through Ollie!” Alfie calls out. Before Ollie can say anything Tommy marches through to the back room.

“I have to say, I was surprised when you didn’t show up to our meeting. I thought we were having a nice time.”

Without looking up, Alfie bustles around the room. “Nah, nah mate you’ve got it all twisted. There’s no hard feelings, just keeping you on your toes ‘s all.”

The way Alfie squashes Tommy’s misgivings in a single sentence, diminishing his hurt is the most disconcerting thing he has had to experience. Alfie takes him apart with a single blow. He stands quietly, waiting for Alfie to go on. He doesn’t.

“This is a business arrangement. If you fail to arrive at predetermined meetings I will not hesitate in ending your employment.”

Alfie barks a laugh, it fills the air and makes it hard to breathe around its sound. “Just business? Going to the pub after work is just business? Even if it were, I don’t need you. You need me.”

The air is sucked from Tommy’s lungs. It scrapes at his throat, cotton wool sticking to the roof of his mouth. Hot blood rushes in his ears, his beating pulse a sordid reminder of his painful existence.

“I don’t chase contracts, Mr Solomons-”

“ Mister? Fuck me Tommy are we back to that?”

“Yes,” Tommy hisses. His chest rises and falls rapidly, signposted by the bobbing of his tie. “Yes we fucking are. I don’t chase contracts, because I don’t need to. If you don’t want to finish the job, that's fine. Whatever game you're playing, I'm washing my hands of it. I refuse to be dragged along like a dog.”

Alfie’s beard moves around his smirking mouth, he lets out a huff of air through his nose. “We’ve come to an impasse. You don’t require me, yet you keep coming back. What do you call that Tommy?”

“A waste of my fucking time.”

–

Sometimes a craving stronger than nicotine flushed through Tommy’s system. Stronger than addiction, stronger than grief. Hatred so strong it could only ever be directed at himself. Its hatred that drives fingernails like claws against his skin; holds him ten minutes longer in his car, building a brave face for Charlie. Days have passed since Tommy stormed out of Alfie’s shop before that disgust seeps back into his skin. Out of nowhere, like a shock running down his spine, it jumps back into his life. Clinically, someone would call these moments depressive. But in his heart of hearts, Tommy knows it’s a moment of self reflection, of realisation. Disgust at his actions.

The sudden cognizance of what he has lost, risks losing hits him hard. It rocks his very footing, makes Tommy stumble up the concrete stairs. Corrosive clarity slams him so violently that for a moment Tommy thinks he understands how Grace felt as the van collided with her car. Thin breaths of air are caught in his throat and he’s choking. Coughing so hard he slides down onto the cool concrete feeling his face flush and ears burn. The sound of something wet hitting the tile causes the coughing to stop suddenly. With tunnel vision, Tommy’s sees the red splotch sitting stark against the grey tile. There is no way to deny what caused it.

In the new silence, Tommy can hear his blood pulsing in his ear. His lungs are bursting at the seams with nicotine. The blood clot swims and blurs below him and spots star Tommy’s vision.

He lets himself sink against the cold, hard steps, uncaring that the clot squelches beneath his shoulder. If someone found him like this, well, the fight burnt out of him a long time ago. He’d be okay if they walked over him.

–

Pre-cancerous cells, lung nodules.

“Fact is Thomas, you need to stop smoking now or you are on the way to a very short life expectancy.”

Some would be left reeling, but Tommy knew from the beginning. He wouldn’t be able to give up for good until this was waving in his face. Outside the wind blows and the streets are largely empty during the working day. As his diagnosis waves in his face, so does that awful feeling of losing something. Losing without trying. The walk back to the office is clouded with thoughts of Alfie.

Even in failure, Tommy was okay knowing that at least he tried. Maybe failure is the only way to shut the door on this part of his life.

Waiting at the zebra crossing for the lights, Tommy almost misses him. The wide-brimmed pork pie hat exits the front doors of Tommy’s office building, catching Tommy’s eye. Like a cold shower, Tommy realises that an opportunity he, too proud to seek out himself, has been placed in front of him.

His legs jog across the road before his mind has fully caught up but the rapid onset of burning in his lungs brings him back to himself. Even in failure , he tells himself as he shouts out.

“Mr Solomons!” His voice is weak in his throat. “Mist- Alfie!” There is no acknowledgement from the man ahead of him. Tommy’s footsteps falter with a sudden onset of horror at what he’s doing, chasing down a man in the middle of the street – in front of his own office. He pauses, waiting for a notion to strike him about what to do. Still Alfie keeps walking away. A sordid idea perhaps, to run after Alfie like a lovesick teenager. Ice cold fingers snare his heart.

A giddy feeling bubbles in his chest. He had spent months striking up a relationship with Grace, it took almost losing her to America for him to make his move. But in the end he had still lost her, maybe if he hadn’t wasted so much time…

Leather soled shoes slap against the asphalt, lungs burning. “Alfie!” Tommy’s voice is more certain this time, it rings throughout the partially empty street. In the few seconds of running he is painfully reminded again of the state of his lungs. Calling out causes him to choke.

When he is only a few paces away, only then Alfie finally turns around at the sound of pounding footsteps. He looks affronted at Tommy’s approach. Blindly, Tommy waves an arm and catches a hold of Alfie’s elbow. He doubles over, hands on knees, coughing and choking. It manages to alarm Alfie, they way Tommy sucks in scratchy breaths only to start coughing again. Without thinking he places a hand between Tommy’s shoulder blades.

“Don’t fucking die on the street,” he mutters, mind reeling.

“I told you,” Tommy splutters. “I don’t chase after people.”

And Alfie sighs, because every hope he’d had pinned in that moment fell, crashing and burning. Finally Tommy manages to stand straight. Neither of them let go.

“Tommy.” Alfie holds him by the elbows. “You can’t keep pretending you don’t care.”

Confusion flickers across Tommy’s flushed face and he swallows harshly. “What?” His furrowed brow shadows the blue eyes searching Alfie’s face.

“You have to stop, Tommy. You have to, or people might believe that you don’t.”

“I do, I do care,” he’s stammering, it’s a rare characteristic of his. Alfie’s meaning is starting to dawn on him. Even in failure sounds less of a clarion call and more of a half hearted comfort now. “Alfie I care, I do. I want to know you, to get to know you. I want to care about you.”

Alfie cocked his head softly. “Maybe right now. Give me a call when you know for sure. When you know this isn’t a last ditch effort at a power game.” He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder. “Then we can talk.”

“No,” Tommy tries to protest with all his normal authority but his voice is weak even to his own ears. Even if Alfie heard him, he doesn’t show it because he leaves Tommy there. Leaves him in the street, the world falling down around his ears once again.

“Tommy, you’re a fighter, a lover, a betting man. But you’re not a coward. Stop cowering from your own emotions.”

The edges of Alfie blur into the grey pavement until he melts into oblivion before Tommy’s eyes and the darkening sky bleeds into the horizon like a broken pen. Tommy feels rock sinking in his stomach, it weighs his soldiers. It makes him feel like if there wasn’t concrete beneath his feet he’d be sucked into the earth. The edges of his lips turn down, tightness in his throat.

“Give me a call when you know for sure.”

He is sure. The fondness he has grown for Alfie had snuck up on him, stalked him from afar until it was behind him. It had dug it’s claws, snagged on his clothes like a rose thorn. And Tommy was bitterly reminded of his inclination of one night stands in his youth. Loving, being loved, requires a certain vulnerability he fears. A fear that has caused him pain and devastation, perhaps more than being vulnerable ever would have.

–

Work as always, is a surefast way to block the world out; to lose the ache amongst circuit boards. Eventually he loses track of when he forgets about the guilt. When he does realise however, the guilt is only amplified.

He owes Tommy Shelby nothing, absolutely nothing. They’d both come to the conclusion of their shared feelings, Alfie isn’t interested in a bloke who can’t figure out where the game ends.

“Nah, nah mate you’ve got it all twisted. There’s no hard feelings, just keeping you on your toes ‘s all.”

Christ, his own words sound cruel in his own head. He didn’t care for unnecessary pussyfooting in relationships, so he had been blunt. Perhaps too blunt. Crestfallen didn’t come close to describing Tommy’s face. But he tried to be kind, he finished what he had planned on Tommy’s computers, leaving no loose ends. Yet there he was, running down the street. The coughing still leaves Alfie rattled. Tommy is ill, that was for certain. In his heart was an inkling of hope, but Tommy had dashed them. Alfie didn’t ask him to be a fucking poet, but he hadn’t been able to scorunge up a single thing to say other than an attempt to prove a point. It had been his sign to walk away, for now at least. Getting his heart broken wasn’t on his agenda these days.

He wanted to believe Tommy, wanted to believe that he’d had some revelation. The desperate pleading almost made Alfie believe him. But Tommy Shelby cares for three things, his heart is too fickle for anymore.

His son, his company and himself. In that order. Alfie knew that, maybe time would prove that he would join the end of that list. A wish upon a star, really, to be let into Tommy’s world. Time would prove whether Tommy really did care.

Alfie wishes he was wrong.

–

“Tommy.” Polly marches down the hall, Tommy turns on his heel at her approach. He had finally mustered up the resolve to collect his things from the office. “Mr Solomons was here.”

“I know. I saw him leave.”

“Tommy.” She steps closer, eyes slightly wide. “He fixed it. Sabini’s no longer on our servers. We’re clean.”

The wind is gone from his chest, sucked like a never ending vacuum. “That’s good,” he manages.

Polly leans back to stare at him with a calculating eye. “I suppose you wouldn’t be able to show any sort of emotion.”

Her words sting. He shakes his head, turning away. “I never said smoking was my only vice, Pol.”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Tommy looks back at her with dull eyes and she feels her blood go cold. “Christ.”

Tommy clicks his tongue. “Should have listened to you on this one.”

“There’ll be others.”

“I don’t want others.”

—

Very rarely was Frances asked to stay the night. Usually business or some emergency that called Mr Shelby away during the week. So she was surprised when her employer asked her to stay the night. Not that she would complain, her salary is already above the award rates and overtime was paid generously. Charlie wasn’t a difficult boy, far from it. Reserved, yes, boisterous, also yes.

She had been employed by the Shelbys when Charlie turned two and Mrs Shelby returned to work. The shift in Charlie after the loss of his mother was painstaking. For a time she found herself resenting Mr Shelby and his excessive absence and cold shoulder around the house. It seemed as if he didn’t know how to be a father without his wife.

But then one night he came home close to ten o’clock. Charlie was fussing, had been all week but she was able to get him down just fifteen minutes before Mr Shelby appeared in the entrance hall. If she shuts her eyes Frances can hear his voice, picture the pallor on his cheeks.

“Is he?” Mr Sheby gestures up the stairs.

“Just got him down sir, struggled to fall asleep, He’s been fussing for quite a bit at bedtime all week-”

But Mr Shelby was gone, bounding up the steps. So Frances had taken the plate of dinner left in the oven and set it on the island bench top. Unlikely to be eaten, but Mr Shelby’s cheeks had grown gaunt. Then, this awful sound can be heard, muffled through the walls. She stands there under the single light in the kitchen feeling like an intruder. Through the walls, Mr Shelby’s cries, a mournful sound, travel. Frances turns the radio on and pours a finger of whisky from the decanter and places it next to the plate of food.

Eventually, Mr Shelby comes down stairs. He throws the whisky back before seating himself on the designer bar stool. His eyes are as red as a blood moon.

“I nearly died tonight.” He looks up. “I’ll increase your wage. You can go.”

Mr Shelby changed after that night. Whatever happened had snapped him from his stupor. His grief was far from gone but he was no longer on autopilot. He brought out photos of Grace, the pain clear on his face as he hung the photos. As the days passed they didn’t seem to jarr him as they once did.

On this night however, Frances finds herself left with Charlie well into the evening. Mr Shelby always found a way to contact her if he was late. But tonight she receives no such message. Charlie goes to bed easily and she busies herself tidying the kitchen. Housekeeping wasn’t in the job description, Mr Shelby could easily hire a housekeeper but the fact is, after clearing up after Charlie, there really isn’t much to do. A bit of vacuuming and dusting kept the place clean.

The fact is that without Mrs Shelby’s more flexible work hours, the house was hardly a home. An almost sterile environment made worse by Mr Shelby’s absence. As it approaches a ridiculous hour, she finally rings the man. There is something sickening about reaching voicemail.

Charlie has an array of emergency contacts and a strict order about which one to try first. Ada Thorne is at the top of the list, a practising parent and with flexible hours lands her at the top spot. Then there is Polly Grey, an uncle named Charlie Strong. Then Mr Shelby’s brothers. The younger brother John before the elder, Arthur. The very youngest Shelby, Finn, is the last on that list. Frances often wonders whether any of them knew if there was an order.

She rings Ada, as the order specifies. The woman picks up within a few rings.

“Tommy?”

“No, it’s Frances.”

Ada’s surprise transpires down the landline. “Oh. Is everything alright?”

“Charlie is perfectly fine but it is quite late and I haven’t been able to reach Mr Shelby. Usually he rings if he will not be coming home.”

“You haven’t been able to reach him at all?”

“No, ma’am.”

Ada’s voice takes on a tense quality. “Fuck, alright. I’ll come over and let you go home.”

“No,” Frances rushes to assure. “I’m quite alright staying the night, it’s Mr Shelby I’m concerned about.”

“I’ll ring Polly, then I’ll ring you back.”

Frances doesn’t leave the phone. It’s probably nothing. She wants so desperately to believe Mr Shelby was out socialising, maybe drank too much and is on a friends couch sleeping the drink off. That’s not the Mr Shelby she knows, however. The Mr Shelby she knows is a danger unto himself. He is like a spinning top and will spin and spiral down the most dangerous of roads, too far gone before anyone realises.

Frances fears she may have sent the search party out far too late.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #ao3 #sholomons #tommy shelby x alfie solomons #angst #hurt/comfort #slow burn #push the sky away fic #i’m so proud of formatting this

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ptersparkers · 4 years

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scout’s writing challenge masterlist

my writing challenge is now CLOSED. you are all so talented and have me in my feels and i want to share your work. here is a masterpost of all the submissions this far.*

thank you to everyone who’s posted fics and to everyone who has yet to! reminder: this challenge closes on july 18! you’ve got time to submit a fic if you wish to participate.

jj maybank:

➫ last summer: With a bright future in front of her, Hazel braces herself for her last chance to make this summer the most memeorable yet (@pit-zuh).

➫ the coriolis effect: JJ notices that Pope is stressed and achy and decides to help him unwind. OR: Massage with a Happy Ending (@thistreasurehunter, nsfw).

➫ everything: everything about you annoyed jj maybank (@so-writing).

➫ breaking up: At the eve of the annual midsummers, you stumble upon a battered JJ. Your relationship turns upside down… all because of your dad (@pit-zuh).

➫ girl crush: JJ is harbouring a serious girl crush, but not in the most conventional way (@starlightstarkey).

➫ august: y/n returns to the island for her yearly visit with her cousin, Kiara. she loves everything about the outer banks, except one impossible blonde hair, blue eyed boy [enemies to friends to lovers] (@freyalittle).

➫ getaway driver: a blond haired stranger hops into your car begging you to drive, gaining you an unexpected friend and date (@ad-infinitums).

➫ confessions: You had been dating JJ for the for a few months after meeting him a year before and during a Kegger one night he gains the courage to confess something (@outerbankslut).

➫ water under the bridge: so jj & y/n broke up a while ago but y/n hasn’t moved on yet but trying to. and she thinks that jj likes kie now but in reality, he’s still in love w her (@harrysbbby).

➫ clever girl: JJ Maybank was always told he was stupid. So he never thought he’d fall in love with a girl as smart as she was (@hollandlovely).

➫ no strings: jj and y/n have had a no strings attached agreement for years, but that statement couldn’t be farther from the truth (@4umaybank).

➫ the biggest mistake: being in love with jj maybank has never been easy, especially after your friend john b’s presumed death. you’ve always been there for him, but when he tells you he’s not ready to get involved in a relationship, you’re completely heartbroken. until you find the comfort of a certain kook prince, rafe cameron himself (@jjmayybank).

➫ the noise: JJ and Y/N are woken up by a loud noise in their daughters bedroom (@dorkimkay).

➫ waves: One night Eliza Routledge and JJ get way too drunk and go for a surf. Eliza gets injured and JJ freaks out and ends up confessing his feelings (@poguelive).

➫ the long & winding country roads: Whilst on a spontaneous drive down the long and winding country roads of North Carolina, JJ Maybank can’t seem to keep his wandering, sinful hands off the playful little miss sat beside him in the passenger seat (@void-maybank, nsfw).

➫ the unexpected date: A Touron’s flirting triggers some unexpected consequences (@obx-adventures).

➫ unbreakable: Y/N’s Mother is fixated on social class and making sure that her daughter is a kook through and through. Y/N is a pogues by association with Kiara and Dating JJ. Just how far will her mother go in order to try and split the two apart (@northcarolinanative).

➫ tell her goodbye: even the most peaceful moments can turn into a nightmare in Outer Banks (@normatural).

rafe cameron:

➫ surprise party: You think Rafe has forgotten your birthday but secretly he is planning you a surprise party (@jjmeybank).

➫ for a kook: A dance with JJ leads to a jealous Rafe and a confession of feelings (@socialwriter).

➫ holy touch: It’s been years since Rafe has felt anything. That’s why he needs Y/N (@storiesbymads, nsfw).

➫ how you like me now: Rafe falls for you at the beach. He’s nothing like they say he is, and he just so happens to turn a new leaf with you (@maybankiara).

➫ nicotine: You’re already addicted to cigarettes, and Rafe is worse than nicotine (@diverdcwn).

➫ tell her goodbye: even the most peaceful moments can turn into a nightmare in Outer Banks (@normatural).

pope heyward:

➫ the coriolis effect: JJ notices that Pope is stressed and achy and decides to help him unwind. OR: Massage with a Happy Ending (@thistreasurehunter, nsfw).

➫ the gods don’t work here: Pope asks Y/N if she still wants to be with him as they prepare to go to the same college (@summerintheobx).

john b:

➫ gold: You were friends with John B until he met Sarah Cameron and things changed (@so-writing).

kiara carrera:

➫ bags: you have feelings for your best friend, but they aren’t mutual (@goldenpogue).

the pogues:

➫ moving out (take me back home): The Pogues and Sarah went on the adventure of a lifetime and found the Royal Merchant’s gold three summers ago. Now at 19 years old, they have more responsibilities- working, going to school, traveling, and figuring out how they should spend their money wisely (you know, like adults are supposed to do). Their first summer back in the OBX as young adults is bound to be memorable (@alexandracheers).

peter parker:

➫ bareback: You and Peter have been dating for a year now, and as your anniversary gift to him, you decide to have sex without a condom for the first time (you’re on the pill). It’s both of your first times trying this, so smut and fluff (@friedtacostarfish, nsfw).

➫ one night: you and peter spend a night together, basking in the desire for something more the morning after (@spider-pxrkers, nsfw).

➫ fuck, i’m kinda cross faded: as a superhero does, peter has a nightmare and forgets he's at the tower with tony for the weekend. as mentors fathers do, tony makes everything okay (@thedumbthewildthefree).

tom holland:

➫ two blue lines: You and your boyfriend Tom have been dating for a while. You found out that you are pregnant and are worried about how he will react to the news (@emptycanvasposts).

natasha romanoff:

➫ i cannot live without you: Y/N, Vandal, was dead. Natasha was fine with that, had grieved and had moved on. Her sudden resurrection is therefore unforgivable (@sleep-i-ness).

loki:

➫ motherfucking broccoli: some foul language, a smidge of angst, humor about broccoli (@jesuschristtakethewheel).

*this masterpost will be updated as writers post more stories.

#scout’s writing challenge #masterpost #txt #and the fact that some of you are writing for the first time? 🥺🥺🥺#my talented cherries

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msmarvelwrites · 4 years

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The Winter Ghost - Part 5

Info: A Devastating car crash causes you to lose your memory and start over. The only thing left in the wreckage was the horrific nightmares which plagued your mind. If you knew what today would entail you would have just stayed in bed. But you didn't and because of that, everything you knew was about to change.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/n

Warning: language, PTSD, anxiety, violence, fluff.

W/c: 3.5K ish

A/n : oooh getting serious. Im having so much fun writing this you guys! Shout out to @cutie1365 for all her support! Go read her fic A Kid From Queens, but dont say I didnt warn you. Its addicting!

Everything happened really fast after that day in the common room with Wanda. Shuri worked tirelessly in the lab trying to develop a softer approach to bringing back your memories. She believed if she could restore them fully, we would have the last piece of the puzzle.

Becoming the perfect war machine seemed like the most obvious use for the serum, but Steve reminded you Hydra always had something up their sleeve.

You really enjoyed living in Wakanda. Most days were spent in the gym training. Trying to harness the team's abilities was not so enjoyable. You worked with Wanda most. It helped that you were only 4 years older than her. She was younger than most of the team and had a dark past that seemed to mirror yours.

Most of your nights consisted of you, Wanda and Nat settling into the couch and cheesy eighties movies on the plasma TV. Bucky would often come out of his room and sit with you.

You really enjoyed Bucky's energy. Something about him just drew you to him. Maybe it was his smile, or the way he smelled like mint and nicotine, or that he read the newspaper and drank black coffee in the mornings. You weren't sure. One thing was for certain, the more time you spent together, the harder it became to leave him. Bucky would tell you about his past and how he used to have to bail little 'Stevie' out of bar fights and ally brawls every other day. He made you laugh like no one really did. When he told you about his time with Hydra and how they would control his mind you would rake your fingers through his hair and whisper to him he wasn't alone anymore.

As the days melted into weeks, the horrific nightmares began to grow legs. It was one of the many side effects from Shuri’s digging. Some days it felt like Hydra knew you would try to remember and this was their fail-safe. Every time you began to drift off you'd see Tommys pale face, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. You swear, right before he stumbled off the edge of the bridge you saw him say something. You could never remember when you woke, nor could you recall any other detail other than Tommy. It felt wrong. You felt wrong. Like he wasn't yours to grieve.

One particular bad night, you remember waking up screaming. Your whole body felt like it was on fire as your tears seared down your cheeks. The only thing that grounded you after that was the small knock that echoed from the other side of your door.

“Hey, doll. Let me in?” His voice was soft and smooth and the only thing that seemed to bring you back to the dimly lit bedroom. You stared at the ceiling for a solid minute before slowly rising and crossing the room. Gently, you opened the door just a crack and looked up. There stood a sleepy-eyed Bucky. He sported a baggy pair of grey sweats and an old beat up tank, his arms on full display. In normal circumstances, you believed that that was enough to knock you out of any state. You wondered if Bucky knew the effect he had on people. Or worse, if he knew the effect he had on you.

“Can't sleep, keep me company?” He spoke, huskily. You could tell he had just woken up. Sleep still clouded his eyes, and the yawn he tried to stifle gave him away. You appreciate what he was trying to do, so instead of calling the man out, you opened the door, and welcomed the Super Soldier in.

You talked for hours that night. He didn't ask about your nightmare, which you appreciated. You had recited the images to Shuri about thirty times in the past week. It was the only memory that seemed to come back. It replayed over and over on a continuous loop through your mind. This moment with Bucky was a welcomed break.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” You finally spoke. Bucky and you had found your way onto your bed at some point. His right arm draped around your shoulder, as you leaned on his chest. He cracked his neck to look down at you.

“Of course.” He offered, shifting onto his side so he could really look at you.

“Does it ever stop? I’m so exhausted, all I want to do is sleep but I- I'm so scared. I don’t want to see it again… What if it never-” Your voice broke off, shutting your eyes tight to stop a tear from escaping.

“Hey, hey. You're not alone anymore. Remember? I went through it and came out the other side. And look how well adjusted I am.” Bucky smirked, sarcasm laced his last remark. You couldn't help but smile at that. You didn't know if anyone but you and Steve really knew how funny he was. Maybe he liked it that way. Maybe he was only that way with you? You knew it had been awhile since Bucky had really been this way around others. It warmed your heart how quickly the two of you got along.

“Listen to me, doll.” He started, seriously, lowering his stare to meet yours.

“I’ll be here. Whenever you need me. I know what it's like, to feel out of control. To feel like a prisoner in your own body. To answer your question, yeah I think it gets better. I mean,” He paused then, looking you up and down in a way that made you blush. He started again, words laced with that old Brooklyn charm the ladies used to love. Granted, that worked back in 1940 - something and he had been out of the game for quite a while.

“I’m in bed with a smart, complicated, frankly beautiful dame. I’d say it gets better, wouldn't you?” He gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. His touch sent shivers down your spine. Bucky's stormy eyes bore into yours making your breath hitch in your throat. There was a moment, so brief that when you recanted the memory you weren't sure it really happened. But you thought maybe for just a second he wanted to-

“Up and at it, Y/n! Training starts at 0700!” Caps voice droned through your bedroom door suddenly, knocking you out of your thoughts and back to the bed you resided on. Your hand reached out for Bucky, who since that night spent most beside you. He would stay with you until you fell asleep and more often than not, when you woke, he’d be beside you, fast asleep. His side of the bed was cold, however. He had been up for a while.

You looked at your phone on the nightstand. 6:15 am it read. You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face and slinking out of bed. Pain screamed from your muscles as you opened the bathroom door. Carefully, you started the shower, steam quickly filled the room and calmed your aching bones. You stepped in and autobly signed.

Fifteen minutes later you met the rest of the team in the kitchen. You couldn't help but notice Bucky wasn't in attendance. Everyone looked like they had been awake for hours while your wet hair was pulled up in a messy knot on top of your head. Nat was pouring herself a cup of coffee when she noticed you come in. She smirked, instantly grabbing another mug and gesturing to the pot in her hands. You nodded quickly. ‘Coffee fixed most everything’. That's what Your Dad used to tell you before he left for work and you lived by that.

“Look who's finally up…” Cap announced. You had no idea how he was so chipper in the mornings. Even the sound of his booming voice made you cringe. The man must have coffee running through his veins. Maybe that should be Hydra’s next serum idea…

“I have risen. Just for you, Rogers.” You muttered sarcastically, taking the mug of coffee from Nat. You smiled and mouthed thank you, taking a big swig. Ugh, you grimaced, swallowing the brown substance much to your dismay. You didn't know what this brown water was but it definitely wasn't coffee.

Wanda laughed at your disgusted face, "It's decaf, Y/n '' she rolled her eyes, "Cap thinks decaf is better for the team. That coffee will mess with our 'performance' or whatever." She shrugged. What's even the point? You thought.

“Excuse me young lady.” Cap began, scolding Wanda like she was his teenager. Wanda smirked, turning towards his voice.

“Young lady?” Nat mocked her friend, nudging him out of the way as she reached for the piece of toast she had put in the toaster. She took a bite and over chews laughed, “You're really aging yourself, Cap.” She finished, hoisting herself up onto the kitchen island beside you.

You really liked Natasha. You thought she must have been the most beautiful person you'd ever met. Her red hair always curled around her soft features perfectly. You honestly didn't know how a human could look that perfect and be so deadly. Over the past few weeks, Nat had taught you a lot. You mostly trained with Captain Rogers and Wanda, but occasionally Nat would step in. She was small in stature, but she helped you learn how to use that to your advantage.

“What’cha say we go get some real coffee, babe?” Nat nudged you with a small smile. You looked up at her with a wide eye gaze. She truly was a hero.

“God, yes please.” You beamed as she jumped off the island.

“If you're skipping out on training then count me in! I” Wanda chimed. Rogers looked frustrated as the three of you started towards the door.

“Nat, you heard what Shuri said. Y/n cannot leave the premises until we know what she's fully capable of. She’s dangerous.” Cap stated firmly, but unmoved from the kitchen. You looked at the floor uncomfortably. He was right. You were a ticking time bomb. You all knew it. Shuri explained with the presence of the nightmares it was only a matter of time before something snapped. And no one really knew how that would look when it happened. For the most part, everyone treated you like a normal person. An honorary member of the team. But Rogers often reminded you that you were anything but. Just an experiment and a means to an end.

"Comeon' y/n. I know a place we can get some real coffee." Nat spoke, louder than Cap. Venom seeped from her words as she glared at the Captain. She shook her head disapprovingly. Wanda took your hand, pulling you gently out of the kitchen. When you touched you felt your skin sizzle, absorbing the power that surged through her body. You made a conscious effort to steady your breathing and push her power to the back of your mind. As you left you heard Natasha’s booming voice coming from behind you but decided to ignore it, as the two of you headed for the garage.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Steve?” Nat snapped at him. Steve opened his mouth and closed it trying to find the right words. “She’s a person, you ass! You can't keep treating her like some unhinged science experiment. She’s just a person. Just like me. Just like Bucky.”

“She’s nothing like Bucky!” He thundered. Nat took a step back, snaking her head disapprovingly. “I can’t keep thinking, what if we had it wrong. I mean, she can’t remember anything. What if her memories come back and she's not really on our side. I don't think we thought this through, Nat.” He huffed, running his hands over his face in frustration.

“I trust her, Steve. Bucky trusts her.” She started, taking a few steps closer to him. He shook his head in annoyance and scoffed.

“Bucky thinks the girl’s a doll. He’s totally smitten, that doesn't count. I think the guy would trust anything she said at this point-”

“Do you trust me?” Nat snapped, a brow arched, hands on her hips. Stever huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You know I do, but-” He began.

“Then it's settled. You gotta’ let the girl out. She's been locked up here for weeks. I promise, I’ll keep her safe. Besides, I’m getting pretty tired of her stealing my clothes. Coffee, and shopping and then we’ll be back, yeah?” Nat offered, voice dripping with sweetness. She knew she had won this battle. She always did.

“Two hours, Romanoff. That's all you get.” Steve grumbled. Nat smirked, rolling her eyes and spinning on her heel to meet you and Wanda in the garage.

“See ya later, Grandpa. Don't wait up.” She offered over her shoulder. Steve only shook his head and chuckled, hoping desperately he hadn't made a huge mistake.

Nat strutted victoriously out of the kitchen, and almost ran right into Bucky's large frame. She stumbled back, regaining her balance quickly. Bucky raised one brow curiously.

“Where ya’ going in such a hurry?” He asked, watching her carefully.

“I’m taking your girl out for a much needed shopping trip. Anything particular you'd like to see her in?” She quipped, sarcastically, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Bucky choked on a cough, clearing his throat and trying to turn it into a laugh. He failed, of course.

“I- ah, I don't know what- uh, what?” He finally got out. Nat smirkled, and patted him on his stiff chest. It was literally too easy. The man was such a ball of stress. Nat thought it was honestly cute. She’s never seen Bucky like this before. Nervous and blushing. She thought you were really good for him. Maybe you’ll finally take that stick out of his ass. She thought with a smirk.

“Have a nice day, Sergeant.” She cooed, pushing past his rigid body leaving Bucky in shock.

“You ready, babies?” Nat grinned, putting the key in the Jeep’s ignition. You sat in the back seat while Wanda sat in the passenger, both nodding vigorously.

“For the love of coffee!” You shouted, pointing forward. Both women laughed and with that you took off.

……………………...

You practically skipped through the Wakanda market. Beautiful earthy colours melted into the scenery practically taking your breath away. Wanda and Nat had stopped at a small coffee shop, but you wandered around, looking at the beautiful handmade clothing. The smoky smell of something cooking from a nearby street grill filled your senses. It was complex, sweet and spicy and sour all at once. It made your mouth water. Foreign and delicious. You followed the smell to a small hutch where people gathered around, eating and laughing.

“Beautiful isn't it? How food brings us all together.” A man spoke beside you. You recognized him as T’Challa, Shuri’s older brother and also the man who is letting you and your new friends stay in Wakanda. You had only really met him in passing, but never really spoke. Bucky always describes him as a kind, gracious friend. You smiled up at him.

“It is… Really beautiful.” You repeated.

“How are you liking Wakanda, Y/n?” He asked. His voice was deep and rich. Almost melodic. Just by speaking he had commanded the attention of the people around you. The new eyes on the two of you made you feel uneasy and small, but you took a deep breath and relaxed yourself.

“It's so gorgeous here. Thank you for having me, T’Challa.” You spoke his name and it made him smile. You froze unsure if that was the right thinking to call him. He was the King, sort of, but Bucky had always referred to him by his given name.

“Breath, my friend. You have nothing to fear here. You are with good people. Your friend Bucky speaks very highly of you. And any friend of the Sergeants is a friend of mine.” He voiced, placing a warm hand on your shoulder as you relaxed. From behind him you could see Nat and Wanda walking towards you. Wanda waved chaotically making you smile.

An old beat-up SUV made a loud popping noise as it pulled up somewhere behind you. The noise made you shudder. The familiar sound of gunshots rang through your ears as you grabbed your head, trying to make the noise stop. You looked to T’Challa who seemed only concerned, reaching out a hand to steady you.

“Is everything okay, Y/n?” He spoke, trying to gage what was wrong by your actions. The loud deady blows echoed through your head, unrelenting as a scream erupted through the crowd. You weren't sure if you had made the noise of if it was someone else. Everything seemed to fade away and your vision became blurry.

“Y/n, Y/n! Can you hear me?!” You heard a woman yell over the crowd. You tried to focus on her voice, but it was too late. Everything suddenly went black and you felt your body go numb.

You woke up in the dark cement room that plagued your nightmares. A man's eerie voice echoed off the walls.

“Еще раз!” Again! He shouted. Usually when you relieved these memories you didn't know what the man was saying. But for some reason, this time your brain was translating for you. You didn’t question it as you looked around the room. You felt your body scream as an excruciating electric shock ripped through you. Tears burned down your face as you begged incoherently for it to stop. As fast as it came on, the shock stopped, and you could breathe again.

“Ты сама во всем виновата, дитя мое.” You brought this on yourself, my child. The man cooed, wiping a bead of sweat that ran down your forehead. You winced at his touch, the feeling of him on you making you nauseous.

“Если бы ты только сделал то, о чем тебя просили. Если бы вы только слушали. Может быть, все было бы по-другому, хотя я сомневаюсь в этом.” If only you had done what you were asked. If only you have listened. Maybe things would be different, though, I doubt it. He spat, chuckling as he motioned for the other outside of view to start again.

“Please, don’t do this, Zemo. Обещаю. Возьми мою память. Заставь меня забыть, только не делай этого.” I promise. Take my memory. Make me forget, just don't do this. You begged. You tried to move your arms but they were secured down. The man only laughed at your feeble attempt, building a rage inside of you.

“Oh, don't you worry, мой ребенок. All in due time. When I’m done with you, you won't remember your own name.” He grinned a crooked smile as the machine you laid in whirled on again, sending a volt of electricity through your body. You clenched your teeth and stifled another scream.

Your eyes burst open, scolded by the sun and the tears that now streamed down your face. Gasping for air you tried to sit up, but your body shrieked with pain. On your left Nat sat beside you, Wanda was on your right holding a phone to her ear yelling something you couldn't quite make out. Your breath slowly began to return and the sunspots in your vision cleared. You looked around, the market was now almost empty but the small street grill was now billowing with smoke and flame. Nat helped you up, body still aching. You looked around, horrified by the mess that was once the lively market.

“Are you okay, Y/n” Nat started, her hands on either side of your arms. You blinked at her, terrified.

“What happened?” You asked, horrified to actually know the answer. She gave you a nervous look and tucked a loose hair behind her ear.

“It wasn't your fault, Y/n. No one was hurt, everyone got out. It’s going to be okay.”

“It most certainly is not going to be okay!” Captain Rogers' voice boomed from behind the three of you. Wanda spun around startled, while you just hung your head low. Whatever lashing he was going to give you, you deserved. It couldn't be any worse than what Zemo had done… You paused, eyes a gape.

“Oh my God.” You gasped, alerting the others. Steve looked at her angrily, impatient for your next words.

“I remember something… I think- I think I remember who did this to me.” You choked out, eyes glassy as you remembered for the first time the man who made you a monster.

................................

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope all have a great weekend! As always, feel free to leave me feedback! My inbox is always open!

@projectcampbell

#bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #buckybarnes #marvel fanfiction #natasha romanoff #shuri x reader #captain america #steve x reader #steve rogers #bucky barns imagine

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ieattaperecorders · 4 years

Text

Something’s Different About You Lately - Chapter 11: Going Out

Jon looks to the future.

* * *

The streetlights were coming on. One of them caught Jon's eye, flickering for a moment before settling. Its light didn't make it very far into the alleyway, cut off by the shadow of the institute building. As the sky grew dark, the last few feet of pavement were completely obscured. Something could easily stand in that shadow, unseen by anyone walking by.

The words can I have a cigarette popped into Jon's mind as he pulled out the slim package of Silk Cut, placed one between his lips, and lit it. His lighter was cheap yellow plastic, disposable and meaningless. There was no lighter with a spiderweb pattern in his pocket. Like the table, it had never been delivered.

That lighter. He wondered, as he inhaled nicotine and acetaldehyde, why he could think about it now. His mind had simply slid off it before, even when it was brought to his attention. Only recently had it finally occurred to him how strange it had been, to hold onto a thing like that for so long. He'd been made not to notice it. Why was he allowed to realize that now?

Maybe he'd been freed from something. More likely, they didn't need the lighter anymore, didn't need to hide their influence on him. They knew that there was nothing he could do.

Annabelle's words rang in his memory as he took another drag, telling him that addiction was one of the most powerful vectors of control. She wasn't wrong, and maybe he shouldn't be smoking at all right now. But the old lie of just one more still had its pull. Any fractional part of himself he might be feeding to the spiders with every puff seemed as irrelevant as lung cancer at this point. Besides, this really was his last cigarette. He knew a surefire way to quit.

Still a couple of hours until it would begin, and there was nothing to do but wait and contemplate. Everything was ready. It had been ready for some time, really. If he was honest with himself, he'd been putting this off. Stalling, telling himself he needed more time, when the reality was that he just didn't want to go through with it. It was strange that he was still afraid to die. After everything he'd been through – more importantly, everything that was at stake – one might expect him to go to his end stoically, even with relief. Comforted by some notion that he was making a noble sacrifice. Or by the darker hope that so many cross that line with, that at the end of it all there will be rest.

He didn't feel noble. He didn't feel like some soldier in a Tennyson poem, riding boldly and well into death. He felt like Alexei in the endless trench at the end of the world – scared, powerless, yearning for a home that had ceased to exist. All he had in him was a dull, cold ache, broken by the occasional stab of fear as he contemplated how little time was left. He supposed Terminus's torments got everyone in the end.

It would be nice, though, if he could be stoic. He didn't like thinking his last hours would be spent fighting down dread.

Another puff. The smoke made patterns in the air around him, the abstract shape of his breath outlined in ash and tar. As he watched it dissipate, the light hit it at a particular angle and for a moment – fast, but unmistakable – he saw the interlacing tendrils of a spider's web. With a start, he dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe.

Dying wasn't so bad, he told himself. Everyone did it eventually. And there were far worse things than death.

There was still time before Rosie would leave for the night, and he decided to treat himself to a last meal. He considered getting something extravagant or indulgent, but in the end all he wanted was a sandwich and soup from the nearby cafe, so it would be that. One more simple comfort, with enough calories to get him through this final push.

As he passed the front of the Institute he saw Martin sitting on the steps, staring out across the street and scribbling something in a little notebook.

Jon froze. He hadn't expected to run into anyone. "Oh. Hello."

". . . Hi." Martin seemed likewise surprised to see him, quickly stuffing the notebook into his bag. In the back of his mind, Jon wondered if he'd been writing poetry. "You, uh . . . coming to the meeting later?"

Martin was choosing his words carefully, he noticed. At least someone was taking his warnings about Elias seriously.

"Yes. Ah, yes," he replied. "I'll see you there."

Martin nodded. Jon began to walk past him, but after a few feet he stopped and turned.

"Have you eaten?" he blurted out. Martin blinked, surprised, and he continued. "I, ah, was just going to get something from the cafe down the street. If you'd like to join me."

He spoke stiffly and too fast, and maybe that was what made Martin pause – the nervousness apparent in Jon's demeanor. The weight he couldn't keep from placing on the question.

"Um. You mean. . . ?"

He could almost see Martin doing calculations. Weighing the intensity of everything that had happened that day, and Jon's own confusing outburst earlier. They'd eaten at that cafe before, but only during work hours. Did it mean something else if it was dinner?

Jon wanted to say yes, it meant exactly what he thought it did and more. But now was the one time when he really, truly couldn't, not with what he knew was coming. It would be too cruel. He'd had countless chances to tell Martin how he felt, and he hadn't taken them, and now it was too late.

"I mean," he said gently "that I think we could both use a little time to just relax. And not think about everything that's been happening. That's all."

"O-oh. Right. Of course." Was he disappointed? Embarrassed? Relieved? Jon truly couldn't tell. "Um, yeah. That sounds good. Let me just get my coat."

He vanished into the institute, leaving Jon outside. He wondered if it had been a mistake to ask. If he should have just left on his own, come back alone, and done what had to be done. Then Martin came back out, wrapping a scarf around his throat, and smiled when their eyes met.

After that, he didn't worry or wonder. He smiled back.

* * *

Jon's thoughts were scattered, and Martin's presence beside him as they walked was a source of gravity, pulling him back to the same questions, over and over. Would he believe Jon after he explained everything? Would he take it poorly? More than anything else . . . when it was over, all of it, would he be all right? Perhaps predictably, Martin was the one to actually break the silence.

"So . . . look. We don't have to talk about Sasha, or Tim, or–" he waved his hand, indicating anything and nothing. "All of that. It's just, today's been rough, and you're being really quiet, and . . . ."

A quiet warmth rose in Jon's chest. ". . . You want to know if I'm all right."

"Basically?"

"I'm . . . as all right as I'm going to be. Under the current circumstances," he sighed. "I'll let you know if I feel a nervous breakdown coming on."

Martin gave him an uncertain look, as if he might be serious, but when Jon smiled he seemed to realize he was joking. "Ah. Well . . . Sasha took hers this weekend, so the rest of us are probably due."

"Seems only fair."

"Maybe we can set up a schedule? ‘Oh, Tuesday – that means it's Tim's turn to do the dishes in the break room and Martin's to scream in the storage closet.'" He shook his head. "We're a mess, huh? The four of us."

"Could be worse. No one's murdered anyone else, or threatened a coworker with a deadly weapon. Those are a couple of points in our favor," he paused for a moment, then added. ". . . That was a joke."

"I should hope so. Sheesh. If I'm ever in a position to send out job applications again, remind me not to use you as a reference. Can't imagine what you'd say about my perfect no-homicide streak."

That made Jon pause. He tiled his head, considering. "I'm not sure that you actually have one . . . we did kill Jane Prentiss?"

"I – what? She wasn't even really alive, though, was she? That can't possibly count."

"Mm. Maybe not." He had his doubts, but how much of Jane had truly been there when they killed her wasn't a question he wanted to dig into at that moment. "Either way, since I was the one to set off the alarm, you were really more of an accomplice."

"And there's self-defense? She was trying to eat us, it doesn't get much more threatening than that."

Jon smirked. "It'd be a bold strategy, arguing that to a jury."

The last few blocks to the cafe had passed without him really noticing, and the two of them went inside. As they settled at a table, he turned to Martin.

"What would you actually do? If you could leave?" he asked. "If you really were sending out applications."

Martin paused in draping his coat over the back of the chair, startled by the question."Is this a, ‘what would you do if money didn't matter' sort of thing, or like –"

"No. Money is the same. Everything is the same, just the institute's gone. What would you do?"

"Dunno? Try to get another library job, I guess, since it's what I have experience in. Suppose that's not a very interesting answer."

"It's a reasonable one."

"I liked it in the library, though. I guess it suited me . . . it was quiet and easy to keep things organized. Easier than the archive, at least," he shrugged, sitting down. "What about you? What would you do if you could quit?"

Oh. Fair question, one Jon should have realized he was opening himself to after asking Martin the same. He really wasn't sure what to say. Starting over outside the Institute . . . it was something he used to think about, occasionally. In Scotland he would allow himself silly, idle thoughts of the two of them settling there. Laying low, maybe finding work in the tiny village somewhere or in his more fanciful moments living ‘off the land' in some impossibly nonspecific way.

His mind still drifted the safehouse from time to time, but it was only a daydream. His already impractical, half-formed plans had turned into soothing fantasies disconnected from any reality – too perfect and comforting to bother with the question of how they paid for groceries.

"Hard to say. The supernatural has seemed like such an inescapable thing for a while now. I – I know it's only been a year. But it's still hard to imagine myself outside the archive anymore." He sucked air in through his teeth. "Which sounds awfully grim, I'm sure."

"I think I might get it. Honestly . . . this is going to sound just awful, but after you told us about the no-quitting thing, I think a part of me was relieved? Just a small part. But I'd been anxious about losing this job on and off for a while now, and on some level I guess I was just glad I wouldn't need to worry about that."

"Martin . . ." Jon said softly. "You – we can't think like that. You're not better off at the Institute."

"Oh, I know. I mean, I get it. Like I said . . . just a small part," he shrugged. "But you already know this is the only real job I've ever had. And even before the supernatural stuff, it's not like I had much of a life outside of it."

"You seem to get along with people, though," he said. "Hannah, and the others from the library. You talk with nearly everyone, don't you?"

"I guess . . . but only at work. Which kind of proves my point."

Jon nodded slowly, looking down at his hands. Once again found his mind returning to would he be all right? He knew that there were a thousand, thousand ways for a person to be trapped somewhere. After a moment of silence, he continued.

"Er. How is Hannah doing?"

"Oh. All right, I suppose. She's got her due date set, so she's making plans for that."

"Right . . . you know," he cleared his throat. "I don't think I know half the people outside the archive as well as you do."

"Well, I've been here a lot longer. You at least know Yolanda right? I saw you two talking last week, it looked like you were getting on."

"I suppose? I mentioned liking cats, and she sort of cornered me. Wouldn't let me leave until she'd gone through every detail of hers."

"Heh, that sounds right."

"I don't mind seeing photos of people's pets, obviously. But she insists on calling them her ‘fur babies' which really is an horrific term. . . ."

From there they got to talking about others in the Institute who had strange quirks with their pets. Apparently Iris had brought their bearded dragon into the library one afternoon and it had gotten loose in the stacks. Jon observed with a smirk that this seemed to be a pattern around Martin, which to his delight managed to fluster him a little. He stammered something about how he'd checked with the shelter and the dog had been adopted already, so Jon could rest easy knowing it wouldn't find it's way back there, thank you very much.

Listening to him speak, Jon found himself thinking about how much Martin noticed about other people. Little things that escaped Jon or fell through the sieve of his memory somehow stood out to him. It was a bit embarrassing to realize there were still colleagues of his in research that Martin knew better than he did.

Martin also had more than a small streak for gossip, a quality that hadn't had much chance to come up much in the time he'd spent with Jon in that other life. It was a recklessly endearing thing to discover, and the time passed quickly as they talked.

". . . And there's the live lobster that Rosie won in a raffle," Martin said, finishing out a story. "But you probably know about that one already, pretty sure she told everyone about it."

"Not everyone. Not me, anyway."

Jon's mind momentarily drifted to a cold, echoing tower, to a sense of being caught eavesdropping, and of swallowed regret. It was usually how he felt around Rosie nowadays. Things weren't made much easier by the fact that whenever they made eye contact he heard Jonah's voice saying "Nosy Rosie" in the back of his mind, and he'd grown vaguely terrified that one day he'd just say it out loud without thinking.

"I find it little hard to talk to her, though," he added. "And I don't think she's especially fond of me."

Martin balked at that. "Rosie? Come on, she likes everyone."

"No one likes everyone, Martin."

"Okay, fine. But, still, she's like, the most laid back person in the whole building. How is she of all people hard to talk to? Unless –" a thought seemed to occur to him. "Oh, wait – is this something to do with Elias? Is she, like, his henchman or something? Is she in on it?"

"What? No, no, it's nothing like that . . . though I suppose her closeness to Elias doesn't help. I can't exactly talk with her about . . . well, any of this."

"So talk to her about something else, then!" Martin's tone had taken on a determined edge, and Jon feared he had a point that he was making. "I know you can talk about things that aren't terrible, dire secrets. Tell her about emulsifiers or something."

"I don't know . . ." Jon shifted in his chair. "I think I lost the art of conversation somewhere."

"Oh, come on. You talk to me all the time, and Sasha and Tim . . . ."

". . . That's different."

Heat was rising to Jon's face, and it occurred to him that he should probably just agree with whatever Martin said in the hopes that they could move past this point in the conversation. But he just didn't have it in him not to be contrary over this – an energy that seemed to only feed into Martin's.

"Come on, pretend I'm Rosie." Martin folded his arms and leaned forward on his elbows, looking at Jon. "Tell me something about yourself. Talk about your hobbies or something."

"Hobbies . . ." Jon shook his hand, quietly baffled. "I don't know . . . I read a lot? I used to collect sea glass, but not really lately."

He sounded boring even to himself, but he couldn't think of a hobby that he'd stuck to for any real amount of time. What had he done with himself before his days were spent desperately scrabbling against a tide of supernatural horror? He thought back.

"Oh. Well, I did a little bit of theater in college. And I was in a band for about a year and a half."

That got Martin's attention. "You were in a band? Like, a real one?"

"I don't know what makes a band ‘real' or not," he shrugged. "We weren't imaginary."

"Fair enough, I suppose. Would I have heard of you?"

"Are you – are you still being Rosie, or –?"

"No, I guess not. I'm just curious. Would I have?"

"Definitely not. Not unless you happened to attend open mics around Oxford, or were a regular at the only bar that ever let us play," he waved his hand, already embarrassed that he'd brought it up and eager to move past it. "It was just myself and a few friends, really it was an excuse to blow off steam."

"Huh. What kind of music did you play?"

"Oh God. Experimental, I guess? Sort of industrial, but also operatic, maybe? Not – not what you're thinking of probably, but –" he huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not describing it very well."

He looked up to see Martin leaning forward subtly, arms on the table, a look of eager curiosity on his face. He was smiling. It was a nice smile, not nervous, not tired and worn down or wry, and Jon wanted to stop everything there. Stop time from moving forward, so that Martin could keep smiling like that, just for a while.

Nothing matters anymore, he thought.

"Hell with it," he said, reaching for his phone. "Would you like to see pictures?"

"Um, yes?" Martin said. "Absolutely."

Jon sighed, but felt a smile pulling at his face. "I'll warn you, they aren't very flattering. And almost all of them were taken in the dim light."

He thumbed through his photo albums until he reached what he was looking for, then passed his phone across the table. Martin took it, looking at the picture and then back at Jon, as if comparing the two.

"Huh," he said diplomatically, biting his lower lip. Jon was just glad he wasn't openly laughing. "You look different."

"Mmm. My hair was longer then."

"The makeup is nice. Are the silver things stars?"

"Oh. Yes . . ." Jon frowned, trying to remember details. "We each had sort of a character we played, though the backstories kept changing. Mine was a space explorer, I think? Honestly, I don't remember very well, and I don't think it was ever fully fleshed out."

"Have the others seen these?" Martin asked, flipping through them with growing delight.

Jon shook his head. "I've told Tim that I used to sing. But I'm fairly sure he thought I meant a school choir, and I didn't correct him. I haven't told Sasha at all, though I suppose it's always possible she's found out on her own."

"Really?" That made Martin pause and look back at him. Still smiling, pleased to have a secret, but surprised. "Why show me, then?"

Because I love you. Jon thought. Because I'm going to be dead in a few hours, and seeing the surprise and delight on your face is one of the last and greatest pleasures that I'll ever know. Because I want to give you so much, and I can't. I want to give you every wonderful thing you deserve, and I won't. All I can give you is this, and it's so small and stupid and pointless, but it's all that I have.

"I suppose I'm just in a sharing mood," he said.

* * *

Dinner passed far more quickly than Jon would have ever expected, and it was with a sigh that he finally looked at the time and realized it had nearly run out.

"We should probably be getting back."

A stab of something ran through him as he said it – fear, regret, or resolve, he couldn't tell. But it was soft, and didn't linger. Martin nodded and frowned as he looked at the bill.

"Forgot to ask them to split it," he muttered.

"Let me," Jon reached forward, gently slipping it from under his fingers. "It's the least I can do."

Martin hesitated, then said "I'll get the next one."

He managed half of a nod in response, he couldn't bear to agree out loud, it would feel too much like a lie. A moment later the bill was paid, and the two of them started back towards the Institute. As they left, Jon put a hand on Martin's arm.

"Thank you for this," he said, squeezing slightly before letting him go. "I . . . well, I think I really needed it."

The surprise in Martin's face at Jon's touch quickly turned into something softer, and he smiled down at him. "Anytime, Jon. Really."

The two of them walked back in silence.

* * *

Tim was still in the archive, meaning Sasha had managed to convince him not to go off in search of the circus again. Melanie had also arrived, brought in by the unavoidably cryptic voice message he'd left on her phone. She seemed to be in conversation with Sasha.

Jon nodded at them. "You're all here. Good."

"What's going on?" Melanie said. "You claim it's urgent that I come but you don't say why, and it seems to me like no one else knows either."

"Not here." He held up a hand and turned, gesturing for them to follow. "We can talk in the tunnels, I'll explain everything there."

#tma fanfic #ao3 link in reblog #tma #tma time travel au #cw: suicidal ideation #cw: smoking

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kingofbr00klyn · 4 years

Note

Newsies prompts! Yeah! Um... 1. Jack being a big brother to Race. 2. Crutchie and Racetrack getting into some trouble together. 3. Jack and Spot caring for some of the littles. Pick one or write them all idc. Can’t wait to read!

Hi this took me like 4 days to write, I thought it was longer than that but okay, I have loads of other stuff in the works, this is just the first one I finished. Sorry for the wait. So this is for the prompt we’re Crutchie and Race get into trouble.

I tried to mix both 1992sies and livesies in this, but I don’t think it really comes across. Also, this story is ever so slightly exaggerated, but oh well. But it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so this probably isn’t the best.

This will also be found on my AO3 account.

"Remind me ta never listen ta you again."

"How was I'se suppost ta know this would 'appen?"

"Well, I dunno. But now I’m in trouble because a’ summing I didn’t even do."

“Oh c’mon! Nuthin’ bad happened. I came out worse than you did. You get to go home scot-free.”

“But still. This is all your fault an’ I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.”

"Wow, Crutch, whatta' way to throw a pal under da bus."

"You'se deserve it."

Race rolled his eyes and sulked further down into his chair, only to regret it when the hard plastic rubbed uncomfortably into his back. He glanced at his companion, who looked just about as shit as he felt. Crutchie kept nervously running a hand through his hair and fidgeting with the helm of his shirt, he looked like someone who had just been caught doing something illegal. Oh wait, that's because he had. Let's take a step back, shall we?

2 hours earlier.

Crutchie stood outside his door step, awaiting Race's arrival. The two had decided to spend the evening together, since none of their other friends were available. Race had said he would pick him up at 6. After Crutchie's watch ticked 6:15, Race's old TP Cruiser pulled up. He wore a bright, cheeky grin as he leaned over to open the passenger side door. "Get in loser, we're going shopping!" Crutchie gleefully obliged, grabbing his crutch and sliding into the front seat.

"Are you ready for the funnest night of yer life?" Race asked, a unlit cigar hanging loosely from his mouth.

Crutchie laughed. "We'se just goin' ta the diner on 4th, ain't we?"

"Nope," Race grabbed something from the cupholder beside him and handed it to Crutchie. "Just got this from my guy. Thought we'd treat ourselves tonight." It was a fake ID.

Antonio Higgings

11/12l1997

XXX XXXX XXX

XX/XX/XX

"Yer guy?" Crutchie snorted, handing the card back. "You'se mean Albert."

"Maybe I do. Anyway, I'm low on cigs and shit, so I thought we'se stop by a corner shop and see how well this baby works." Starting the engine, Race pulled out of Crutchie's drive and set off for the nearest place that would give them what they wanted.

"What if we'se get caught? I don't wanna be done just because you'se got a nicotine addiction." Crutchie offered, messing with the diles for the radio.

"Then I punch Albert in the face," Race resorted. That drew a snicker from the blonde. "But seriously, don't worry 'bout it. Everthin's gonna be a-okay!"

Spolier altert; it wasn't.

After 10 or so minutes of driving, Race pulled to a stop and poorly parked the car. "Eh, good enough." He got out, with Crutchie tailing right behind him.

"You don't gotta come in. Ya know, cuz yer so scared of gettin' caught." The taller boy mocked.

Crutchie retaliated by hitting Race in the leg with his crutch. "I'm comin' wit' cha so you don't get punched in the face." Race forged offence, but waved off the comment.

The shop was small, just your regular off-licence, cheap booze with an even cheaper taste, the perfect thing to fuel Race's needs. A little bell rang as they opened the door, there weren't many people inside the shop, Crutchie noted the few middle aged men who were likely in there for similar reasons as themselves. Race swaggered to the front counter, an air of confidence around him. The shop clerk, a young man with a stoic expression, rolled his eyes at the tall blonde.

"What can I get you?" The clerk's tone was as cheerful as expected.

Race grinned cockily. "A smile would be a start, sweetheart," The shop clerk didn't respond, but continued to glare the boy down. "Okay then… A box o' ya finest Corona's and summa that scotch ya got up there." Race slapped $50 on the counter, along with his fake ID.

The clerk picked the card up, eying it suspiciously. Crutchie had a feeling this wouldn’t end well. “Yah think you’re funny, kid? Think I don’t know what a fake ID looks like?” The clerk said. “I’m gonna have to call the cops, you know.”

Race’s expression floored. Disbelief and fear quickly made itself at home. Crutchie felt a similar dread rise up in his stomach, he looked to Race for an inkling of what to do next, but the tall boy just continued to stare dumbly. Until he finally said, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill Albert.”

As it turns out, the shop had an undercover officer outside the shop to deal with instances like this. The clerk called him in, and he escorted Crutchie and Race to the local station. Luckily, they had pretty much just been given a slap on the wrist and a call home. Except, since this wasn’t Race’s first offence, so he had also been slapped with a $50 fine.

The boys anxiously awaited the arrival of the parents. Race had already had a million and one messages from his brother, Jack. The sonva’ was having a field day with this. Text after text about how much trouble Race would be in, how he was grounded and how much shit Jack’s going to give him for this. Race ignored his brother, instead opting for spamming Albert with a variety of angry messages in all caps.

GottaGoFast - RedHeadHoe

19:05

GottaGoFast: ALBERT FUCKING DASILVA

GottaGoFast: U FUCKING BITCH

GottaGoFast: IM SO GOING TO KILL U

RedHeadHoe: ???

GottaGoFast: im at the police station

RadHeadHoe: oh what did u do now???

RedHeadHoe: OH

RedHeadHoe: YOU GOT CAUGHT

RedHeadHoe: HA

GottaGoFast: YEAH AND ITS ALL UR FAULT

RedHeadHoe: how is it my fault???

GottaGoFast: BECAUSE UR THE 1 WHO GAVE ME THE ID

RedHeadHoe: dude u didnt have to use it

RedHeadHoe: also i dont make them so it aint my fault

RedHeadHoe: blame my guy

GottaGoFast: ur guy?????

RedHeadHoe: ye

RedHeadHoe: skittery

GottaGoFast: ok but ur still dead

RedHeadHoe: cool

GottaGoFast: dentys gonna be here soon so gotta go

RedHeadHoe: good luck my dude

GottaGoFast: fuck u

RedHeadHoe: :)

Race slipped his phone into his pocket, just in time to see some familiar faces walk though the station door. Bryan Denton, Race’s foster father, walked up to the receptionist desk, before being pointed towards where the boys were sitting. Race looked at Crutchie, before straightening his back and putting on his most charming smile. "Heya Denty!" Race beamed, hoping to the gods above that this would go in his favour. Bryan didn't look particularly mad, but Denton never really got mad. It was like the man was incapable of it, it was great, and Race had done a lot of things that would cause any parent to flip their shit.

"Race," Bryan started, calm and collected as always."What were you thinking?" Okay, maybe it wasn't as great as Race thought, Denton's tranquill state was quite unsettling at the moment, Race had no idea what he was thinking.

"We'se just wanted to have a bit a' fun, ya know, teenage stuff," The blonde rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Did they'se tell ya 'bout da fine?"

"Yeah, they told me over the phone," Denton said. "I'll pay it and then we'll go home. Jack's waiting for us in the car.”

Race rolled his eyes. "Oh yay."

Crutchie didn't really pay much attention to the scene in front of him, he was too caught up in his own head. Fear and worry filled his thoughts, his grandmother wasn't the most forgiving then it came to things like this. Crutchie remembered once when he was 7 and snuck out of his room in the middle of the night to get one of the freshly baked cookies his grandmother had made that day, the elderly woman had found out about his midnight snack and boy was there hell to pay. She wasn't particularly mean or nasty, she could just be strict at times.

Times like these, Crutchie thought as he saw his grandmother barrel towards him with an expression that would make the toughest of men wet themselves. "Charles Andrew Morris! You are in so much trouble, young man!" Oh no, she used his full name. He really was a goner.

"Race, I don't think I'm comin' outta this alive…” Crutchie said.

Race snorted. "Don't worry, my dude, I got this." Crutchie didn't have time to ask what 'this' was, as Race stepped in front of him and greeted his grandmother.

"Mrs Morris, so good ta see ya 'gain," Race started. That diverted the woman from her path of destruction, as she instead gave the blonde a striking glare. The Italian tried not to shrink under her gaze, opting to continue with his sentence. "So um, ya see, Ma'am. It wasn't actually Crutchie's fault, it was mine. So, err, don't punish him for my mistake."

What?

Crutchie was in complete disbelief. And he wasn't the only one, Bryan shared a similar expression. While Race was a good friend, he was also a bit of an asshole, so him taking all the blame for this (even though it was his fault), was a surprise.

Crutchie’s grandmother eyed the boy suspiciously, before she turned on her heels and walked away. “Come on, Charlie, it’s time to go home.”

Crutchie was slightly dumbfounded, but didn’t question as he hugged Race. “Thanks man.”

Race winked and smiled. “No problem, Crutch. Text me if you ain’t dead!”

“Will do!”

RiceCrutchies - Racer

21:35

RiceCrutchies: Guess who aint dead :)))

Racer: yayyyy

Racer: so what happened

RiceCrutchies: Gran wasn’t very happy but she wasnt too mad

RiceCrutchies: Im grounded for 2 weeks tho

Racer: oh well at least we had 1 last night of fun before that

RiceCrutchies: Yea so how’d it go with Denton???

Racer: not too bad

Racer: im also grounded but they took my cigs at the police station so i need to get more from Albert

RiceCrutchies: You think you would have learnt your lesson but ok

Racer: 👌

Racer: i gotta go crutch see you in school???

RiceCrutchies: Yeah, see you and try not to do anything illegal between then

Racer: no promises

RiceCrutchies: 🤦‍

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propertyofnikkisthighs · 5 years

Text

Afraid Chapter 2

(So I’m picturing IRL Nikki as I write this, but feel free to picture Douglas!Nikki while you read. I’ll use gifs of both)

1988

Okay, rehab officially sucks. I can’t do anything without these assholes wanting to pry deeper into “where my issues and addiction stem from”. I’m not an addict, I just enjoy getting high from time to time. They had us seeing a psychologist in the mornings directly after breakfast, which was the only good thing around here. Cause that’s what I need after breakfast, to unravel all my childhood trauma. Gag me. Then after that was “free time” to do arts and crafts and basically try to get us to open up more about why we were fucked up individuals. Then in the evenings we did group which primarily consisted of Nikki telling all the workers to fuck themselves, Mick scoffing, Vince trying to fuck the female nurses, and Tommy (oh sweet Tommy) actually participating. I never gave more than the bare minimum necessary. It had only been three days and I was losing my mind.

I snuck away to the greenhouse that was behind the facility to smoke a cigarette, they had tried to prevent us from smoking cigarettes entirely due to wanting us to detox our bodies. Vince had slept with one of the night nurses on day two though and was able to score a pack of cigs for us all. I was lighting mine up and rounding the corner when I noticed the shaggy black fluff standing there puffing his own cigarette. Fuck me. He must have heard my lighter because he turned his head toward me almost immediately and flashed his devilish smirk.

“I see you’re tending to the garden as well” He laughed and pat the wall next to him. “Come on rule breaker get out of view.”

“I’m just trying to remember if chlamydia can be passed in the air before I get any closer.” I scoffed as I leaned against the wall near him anyway.

“Listen, if anyone in Motley has chlamydia it is Vince” He laughed and I actually joined in laughter with him. “Besides I’ve been strictly loyal to heroin as of late and ladies typically don’t enjoy being second to a drug”

“Hmm last I heard you were engaged.” I mused puffing a bit of smoke at him.

“To Vanity? Hell no. We were both just so high and I think she said she wanted to marry me and I just said okay to say it.” He puffed smoke back in my direction and smiled. From here I could really see the dark circles under his eyes and how sunken in his cheeks actually appeared.

“Didn’t she say it on a talk show?” I remembered seeing it on t.v. but I couldn’t place the interviewer.

“Ugh yeah don’t remind me” He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. I almost felt bad that he was in that predicament.

“Well if it’s any consolation I did get married while very drunk and very high, but we were too fucked to do things correctly so none of it is legally binding” I shrugged and snubbed out my cigarette.

“So was that the final straw to make them toss you in this place?” Nikki chuckled just tossing his cigarette over the fence. God, he could be such a dick head.

“No I think the final straw was me being so fucked off some quaaludes that I almost drowned at a party from just falling into the pool. Not my proudest moment.” I frowned at the memory of Sam screaming at me in the car on the way home about how I could have died. At the time I didn’t care though, I was still high and the stars seemed to be dancing against the dark background of the sky and that was all I could focus on.

“That’s pretty mild compared to the fucked up shit I have done.” Nikki chuckled, but it felt heavy and sad instead of humorous.

“You sure you don’t want to save this for group?” I joked. I didn’t want to hear about all the horrible things Nikki had done while strung out. I didn’t want him to open up to me and thus begin an exchange of emotions. I couldn’t do feelings.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes and headed toward the building calling over his shoulder “I don’t fucking need their group or anyone to open up to for that matter.”

I sighed and lit another cigarette. Way to fuck that exchange up (y/n). I scolded myself.

It wasn’t long before it was lunch time and we had to head into the small eating area. They said once we had been there longer we would be able to eat in our rooms, but since we just started we weren’t to be trusted, which was fair. The good thing about living in L.A. and going to a rehab meant for celebrities was that the food was actually good. There were worse options than a turkey sandwich on whole wheat that was for sure and I for one wasn’t going to complain, but apparently Vince didn’t get that memo.

“I fucking told you idiots I hate dijon mustard! Only fucking Nikki like’s that shit!” Vince screamed knocking over chairs.

“Vince dude it is not a big deal.” Tommy tried to reason with him “Just ask for packets of yellow mustard”

“I am fucking Vince Neil! I shouldn’t have to ask for yellow mustard. They should have fucking listened the first time when I told them I didn’t want that nasty dijon shit!” He was on a rampage and looked ready to harm anyone who got in his way. So what did I do? Get in his way.

“Neil shut the fuck up it’s fucking mustard.” I yelled slamming my hands on the table pushing myself up. I heard Mick chuckling at the table where he sat with Nikki watching the shit show unfold.

“Fuck you bitch I’m not gonna get screamed at by a fucking low level nobody who’s only here because she sucked someone off at the lable.” He stomped towards me and I felt an adrenaline rush pulse through my body. Like when I would get drunk and do reckless shit at parties. I felt alive.

“If anyone is a bitch here it’s you. Now shut the fuck up, eat your lunch, and go find a poor nurse to give your limp dick to so the rest of us can have a nice day” I said and shoved part of my sandwich in his mouth before shoving him backward. He looked bewildered and choked on the sandwich somewhat but he did go back to his seat and sat down.

“Damn I’m impressed.” Mick laughed shooting me a grin. “I don’t think a girl has put him in his place since before this band started”

“Yeah well someone’s gotta do it” I huffed sitting down to eat my fruit since I had forfeited my sandwich to prove a point. I heard the chair next to me be pulled back and I looked over to see Nikki cutting his own sandwich in half and placing one half on my tray.

“Here. You are gonna need more than an apple to get through group after this incident.” He smiled and it seemed like a genuine smile for once.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that for me.” I happily took the half of his sandwich and began eating it. Oh sweet carbs.

“You didn’t have to man handle Vince and you did.” Nikki shrugged and began eating his own half next to me. What was his deal? One minute he was kind, the next flirty, and the one after that it was like he hated me for something I couldn’t remember doing. I couldn’t make heads or tails of if he wanted to be my friend or if he still hated me like he did that night we met years ago. Maybe I should ask him if he really doesn’t remember me from then. He had been pretty strung out so it would make sense for him to not remember me. We ate in silence for a bit and then they called for all of us to gather into the larger room down the hall for our group session. Per usual Tommy was going in on how his parents giving him the silent treatment somehow resulted in him tossing a t.v. out of the window with Nikki and doing more blow than should be physically possible. The leader eventually had to cut him off and ask if anyone else wanted to speak. I thought she was gonna have to call a name when someone cleared their throat.

“I want to say a few things” Vince said softly. I nearly pissed myself in shock.

“Well go on ahead.” The woman leading group said with a look of relief.

“Um well first I want to apologize to everyone I called and idiot earlier. You guys aren’t idiots. Second I want to say sorry to (y/n).” He looked at me and smiled. That smile held something there, it was too suspicious.

“You’re forgiven Vince.” I said trying to pretend everyone wasn’t staring at me. That was fucking weird.

Nikki had an unreadable look on his face, but something tells me he didn’t believe Vince either. We briefly made eye contact and I quickly looked back to the ground. The rest of group went on as it normally did, Nikki told the woman to fuck herself when she asked about his childhood and I just threw enough out there to get the point across that I had been through a lot, but not enough to where they actually knew much about my life, and Mick just scoffed about how he was there for the band and that he wasn’t addicted to anything because it was a mind over matter situation. By the time it was done I couldn’t wait to break away for another cigarette. I bounded around the corner of the building back to the greenhouse and came to the same spot as I had been earlier. I hadn’t realized that Nikki had followed me until he spoke.

“Don’t trust Vince.” He said lighting his cigarette and motioning for me to lean toward him so he could light mine.

“Way ahead of you there. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him and I don’t know if you saw but I wasn’t able to shove him that far earlier” I inhaled the nicotine and breathed out the smoke slowly.

“I’m just saying he’s plotting something. I’ve seen that look before.” Nikki leaned up against the wall and stared at the sky. The sun was setting and the sky was shades of pink and purple almost casting him in a soft light.

“Thanks uh for the heads up anyway.” I said awkwardly trying to be nice.

“No problem. Pretty interesting day today, right?” He was looking at my face and I was looking forward refusing to make eye contact. I didn’t want to keep thinking of how the setting sun complimented his features. Why was he here muddying up my thoughts anyway?

“Why do you keep making conversation with me?” I suddenly blurted out loud surprising even myself. I winced and prepared for him to snap at me.

“Something about you that I like” Nikki answered easily as if it were obvious.

“Oh yeah?” I asked facing him “And what is it you like about me?”

“When I figure it out I’ll let you know” He smirked down at me before snubbing out his cigarette, pinching my cheek, and walking away.

“Hey! You can’t just leave me with a cliff hanger like that asshole!” I called after him and was met only with his middle finger in response. I chuckled and smiled feeling a slight blush form across my face thankful that his back was now turned to me and he couldn’t see the embarrassing redness in my cheeks. Maybe Nikki wasn’t as bad as I had previously thought.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx fanfic #Afraid #motley crue fanfic #douglas!nikki #douglas booth!nikki sixx x reader

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rasccolumbus-blog · 4 years

Text

Real Awakening Spiritual Center Columbus

Website:

Finding Mindfulness Meditation Near Columbus USA | Feel Life In The Moment With Real Awakening

Address: 3760 Conway Dr _B_, Columbus, OH 43227

Phone No: 380-201-7054

We all have moments when we feel lost in the world - disconnected from our Higher Power, purpose, and overall sense of well-being. The result is that we can feel sad, angry, heavily burdened, stuck, and alone. One of the most common questions that my clients and students ask is, "How do I reconnect with Source (Spirit/God) when I feel disconnected?" In an effort to support you in maintaining a connection with Source & Self and in reconnecting to your Higher Power when you feel lost, I offer the following 10 Tips:

1. Identify the issue(s) that are burdening you or making you feel disconnected and make a conscious decision to shift and realign your relationship with these issues. This tip may sound obvious, but it's easy to drown in sadness, anger, or frustration. We all have moments when we feel out of control and the only way to begin to make a change is to make a decision to do so.

2. Stop telling the story of your hurt. Psychotherapy and many cultures have long valued the importance of telling a story as a way to open the doorway to healing. This concept holds some truth. However, we can run into problems when we continue to tell the story over and over again (this is how someone upset me...this is why I'm so angry...and another thing is...this is why the situation is so unfair...I can't believe that this is happening because...) Every time you repeat the story, you reinforce a connection to the feelings, experience, person, or situation that upsets you. This negative energy is held in your psyche, astral body, and cells - and it expands!

3. Shift your focus to something enjoyable (even if it's just for a moment). Recently, I was obsessing over a frustrating conversation that I'd had with someone. I took a moment to gaze at the trees. The colorful fall leaves were beautiful as they swayed in the breeze. I connected with the glorious energy of nature and in a matter of seconds my whole experience shifted. I felt better. I've even used this method by staring at an open space on the wall or floor. The idea is to shift your focus. Anything (safe) that can help you do so may help.

4. Meditate. Meditation has gotten a bad rep. Many people believe that the only way to meditate is to enter a trance-like state for 20-30 minutes or more. Although some people find that form of meditation helpful, it's not for everyone. The truth is that meditation can take many forms. Walking meditation, guided imagery, guided relaxation, deep breathing, and allowing your imagination to wonder creatively are only a few forms of meditation. You can meditate for only a minute or two and your energy will shift!

5. Ask the Universe for help. Speak to God, Spirit Guides, Angels (whoever you associate with some Higher Power). Tell Them that you would like to feel better and ask for guidance to assist in your healing. Even if it takes some time to get answers, initiating a conversation with Divine Energy or Power will help prevent you from feeling alone.

6. Allow time for healing. Sometimes we have trouble accessing "answers," because the Universe wants us to be present with the situation at hand, riding the waves of feelings that are arising in order to heal. Being present with feelings is part of our life's "work." In other words, a good cry (or a good run on the treadmill) can play an important role in the catharsis that leads to transformation, new perspective, deeper understanding of the purpose of circumstances, and greater opportunity to actively reconnect with Source afterward.

7. Spend time with people who help you connect with your Higher Power. This may be a meditation group, a spiritually focused class or workshop, or a good book that inspires you.

8. Disconnect from people who pull you down. Sometimes your loved ones can make you feel worse - even when they wish to help. If someone is carrying a vibration or belief of fear, worry, sadness, or negativity (the type of person who adds details to your story, reminding you of additional reasons why it's a difficult situation and how you really do have a problem), this person is not going to help you reconnect to Source or find peace - no matter how much s/he loves you. Many of us become addicted to speaking with certain loved ones about our troubles even if they aren't really helping. Take notice of how you feel after talking to different people about challenging situations. If you feel the same or worse, it might be time to look to other sources for comfort.

9. Hypnotherapy. In addition to bringing you into a state of calm, hypnotherapy can assist you in accessing the power of your Super-Conscious. This part of your psyche, spirit, and energy system is your innate connection to wisdom, comfort, and healing energy.

10. Take Care of Your Physical Body. It may seem obvious, but many of us prop ourselves up on junk food and chemicals when we're feeling stressed. Plenty of research has confirmed that high quantities of sugar, caffeine, nicotine, & processed food can make us feel worse - emotionally and physically. Drinking a lot of water can actually flush high levels of stress hormones out of your body. These stress hormones surge naturally when we're stressed and can make us feel irritable, anxious, and fatigued. It's been said that when we're really stressed, drinking enough water to urinate twice as much as usual can flush out enough stress hormones and toxins to improve our sense of well-being.

Please take good care and contact an appropriately credentialed medical or mental health practitioner in your area if your stress or fatigue level presents any risk of harm (at any time) or continues to burden you for more than a couple of weeks. May you find peace and health of Body, Mind, and Spirit!

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rawakeningspiritualceres-blog · 4 years

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Real Awakening Spiritual Center

Website:

Finding Mindfulness Meditation Near Ceres USA | Feel Life In The Moment With Real Awakening

Address: 2708 Garrison St _D_ 2708, Ceres, CA 95307

Phone No: 209-273-3423

7. Spend time with people who help you connect with your Higher Power. This may be a meditation group, a spiritually focused class or workshop, or a good book that inspires you.

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analbumiwillnevermake-blog · 6 years

Text

Tobacco Chew

I'm flat broke and broken

I've got no hope and no home and

I've given my heart so many times

I'm over trying to love in this life

Every night before i sleep

I pray the lord my soul for good he keeps

I hope I die before I wake

Because death is a gift i’d gladly take

I've loved for a lifetime

And the only thing that's left behind

Are the empty bottles of beer and wine

That remind me of happier times

I drink to numb the pain, i escape

I smoke to run away, i erase

When my lungs are full i let it all out

But when the hurt comes back who hears me shout?

And i smile looking back at you

I've thrown out my tobacco chew

I'm already addicted to the pain

I didn't need that nicotine anyway

You're hurting like me and i hate

That you can't see yourself my way

The weed we share to hide ourselves away

Therapy aint our scene, so we break more everyday

I wanna help you but helping is loving

I'm not ready to open up and take care of you

The cigarette burns my fingers as I take my hit

But the pain of losing you is so much worse than it

I see how you look at the other guys

I can see the pain in your eyes

Red and swollen high out your mind

The numbness takes over, and then in time

I’ll forget you, you’ll forget me

I know we will find ourselves another

I’m hoping I’m praying you'll get me

That we could patch up each other

So every smoke is our last smoke

And every drink could be our last drink

Till you find somebody new

And I’ll go buy more tobacco chew

#depression #love #hope #mental health #addiction

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espejonight28738 · 6 years

Text

All That Hate

You can read it too in Ao3

"They don't know what love is. Here they learn what hate is, and I am so sad that they might never know love because hate came first." -A.S. King, Everybody Sees the Ants

Orihara Izaya wasn't like other children while growing up.

He saw things a different way the rest of them did, he understood things different, so it was no surprise he never had any friends. He was an outcast even before he turned five years, in his firsts interactions with the world, everyone gave him the cold shoulder.

But, far from upsetting him, he found it fascinating. The way boys his age would cry in an attempt to get something, or the way they just accepted everything they were told with a blind faith in adults. They didn't think things through, all their actions were irrational, and the way they were curious and afraid at the same time of everything different amazed the boy.

But for Izaya, nothing could be more interesting that relationships. How people of all ages interacted with each other.

Kids would automatically trust and cling to their parents, even though they understood next to nothing about who those people really were. Izaya's mother said it was normal, that kids felt attracted to the comfort and feeling of protection their parents provided. She never seemed hurt that her son didn't felt that way about her, she probably attributed it to her being at work most of the time.

"I don't understand it, mother. Why would someone would be so upset about something that didn’t happened to them? It doesn't affect their life in any way."

So, she tried to satisfy his curiosity about human conduct, but most of the time she could only give him an answer.

"Feelings doesn’t always have a logical reason, Izaya, sometimes they just are. People try to be sensitive about other people's problems, and share their feelings, it's called empathy. Not everything about human conducts can be rational."

Izaya didn’t like that, he wanted things he could analyze, and so he stopped trying to get reason for people's feelings, and instead he started to predict them. How would they react to a certain situation, what would they chose if they were faced with the choice? Izaya saw right through people feelings and it was as easy for him to make them do what he wanted, as for the rest of the child to control their toys.

It wasn't like he didn't have feelings at all, he did, they were just different. Something that would make any child his age make a tantrum, would just cause a mild annoyance to him, and he would just have to think a different way to make things work the way he wanted.

When he had nine years, his sisters were born. His parents tried to prepare him to have to share the attention with the twins, something that in most cases would cause a resentment between the siblings with an age difference of so many years, but truth to be told, Izaya just couldn´t care less.

Babies were boring, they didn't make decisions, nor they had thoughts more complex than if they were hungry or sleepy. Nothing that could keep his attention. But, indeed, they took away his mother's.

And he didn't care, his parents' attention was as relevant as the one from a completely stranger to him. In fact, he didn't notice his mother had stopped explaining emotions to him until he was sitting in a classroom and the teacher told them to write a list of all the people they love, and Izaya started comprehending that humans were far more complicated than he originally thought. Love? What was he supposed to write? He knew what love was, at least in definition, but he had never tried to apply it in his life. It was far too irrational, he had no way of telling if a person would love someone or not. He watched as his classmates wrote the names of their family and their friends. That was what he was supposed to write, it was expected from a child to love their family. Those kids had love imposed to them even before they could really comprehend it. Izaya didn't write anything, even after the teacher told him he had to love someone, Izaya just shrugged and enjoy the face of his confused teacher.

The moment he arrived his house, Izaya read all he could about human emotions, he wanted so bad to understand them, but it was all so confusing. All he could find it was people talking with metaphors and hyperboles and it just didn't make any sense. He already knew his precious humans were desperate to be in company of others, but this was... too much. Why would someone kill themselves just because other person didn't return their feelings? And why would someone feel empty and alone just because one specific person wasn't with them?

No, Izaya didn't understand love at all, but there was something in his investigation that caught his eye, hate. Just like love, it has romanticized beyond salvation most of the information, but even those were far more intriguing for him. A person you wanted so desperately to make feel miserable that you would do everything, even at the expense of your own happiness, to make them suffer? A true marvel.

It was so wonderful! Humans could still surprise him like this, like they wanted to make sure they still had his attention. Like he could just forget about them! They should know he wouldn't just do that, after all...

Izaya smile at where this train of thought was going to.

His precious humans, no matter what they did Izaya was never let down, he would always take delight in all they did, and he would watch them from afar, making sure everything about them was the way he liked it. His smile grew fascinated.

Before that day, Izaya never knew how to call the way he felt about humans. But after that...

He decided to call it love.

When Izaya enter High School, it was the first time a human stood out of all the rest at first glance. Of course, through the years a few humans had caught his attention more than the rest. Kishitani Shinra, for example, was someone he could consider a friend. Even his sisters, in a desperate attempt to get his attention, had chosen their style and personality to be the opposite one of each other. Even if they were just two more of all the humans he claimed to love, he had to admit they sometimes were more entertaining to watch.

But this was different. The moment Izaya saw him, every part of him screamed for him, but why?

Heiwajima Shizuo.

Everything about him surprised Izaya, and he just couldn't stand to stay back, he needed to be closer to him, the blond wasn't someone he could just watch from afar. He was just so different from the rest, it was impossible not to notice him trying to blend with the crowd. Izaya never went out of his way to get to personally know someone, but this time he did.

"You piss me off" were the first words the one who would be known as the strongest man in Ikebukuro ever said to him before trying to hit him. And years later he would still refuse to admit that the rejection affected him more than it should, that it hurt him like nothing ever did. But in that moment, he didn't think, he stabbed him, and the chase started.

It was something Izaya couldn't quite explain, but it was something without a doubt. The way his heart would beat faster at the mere sight of him, it was impossible to ignore. It was terrible, and he had a feeling it would kill them both eventually, but he couldn't stop, it felt so good.

The problem was, Izaya was supposed to love all humans equally, despite their flaws or gifts. But the feeling in his chest every time he saw Shizu-chan, the way he ached for him or even the way he was completely unpredictable, it was completely different, and Izaya couldn't just accept that. The way he ached when he saw Shizuo being civilized with other people the way he never tried to be with him, wasn't something he should feel.

What was it? Why did this human could make him be so reckless, even if the rest of his life was perfectly planned? He would think about Shizuo all the time, even when he wasn't doing it in an active way, just a part of his brain was always wandering what was the blonde up to. It was because he could have hurt his beloved humans, he tried to justify himself, but it was so painfully obvious the lie in there, that he never tried telling it out loud.

It was not about humans, he still felt the same way about them, it was about Shizuo. The one who insisted to throw things at Izaya, chase him around all the city, terrifying every single one who saw them. The guy who could catch a knife with his teeth and claimed that he could even smell Izaya's stink! Shizu-chan was far too in contact with his animalistic nature.

And something clicked inside Izaya's head with that. He didn't love Shizu-chan like he loved the rest of the humans because he wasn't human, he was a monster. Yes, that made sense.

Their relationship wasn't something Izaya had ever experienced before. The need for each other, it was an addiction. An addiction far worse than nicotine or caffeine could ever be. He spent hours thinking what he could do now to captive Shizuo's attention, speculating what would drive him to the edge. He wanted to make him loose control, stop holding back his unnatural force, and he wanted Shizuo to do it all for him.

This new obsession made him ecstatic, it was like an adrenaline injection every time he saw him, his own personal drug.

He felt the need to remind him what he was, and to make sure the humans wouldn't try to tame the beast, but above all, he needed to know the protozoan thought about him all the time, that he was always at the corner of his mind, just like Shizuo was in Izaya´s.

The adrenaline of the chase, insults threw at each other, along with knives and everything that crossed the blonde's path, and promises of killing the other, they shouldn´t excite Izaya as much as they do, but he didn't care, because while they ran, it was as if he was alone with Shizuo in the world, just he and his monster, and that thrilled him more than any human would ever do.

He didn't know what this feeling was called, but it was intense, draining, suffocating and painful.

He decided to call it hate.

As the years went by, he really tried not to think too much about his own feelings anymore, he came to the conclusion that he felt too different from his humans to try and compare, but it was okay to him, just another thing that make him feel more like a God for all of them.

He no longer had people wanting him to act normal, no one gave a shit about him nowadays, and that was supposed to make him feel free, but instead it caused an awful sensation of void in his chest, he never tried to name it. There was only someone who cared for what he did, even if it was for bad reasons, and it was the same "someone" who made all the aching in his chest go away.

He tried not to think too hard about why the protozoan had such an effect in him.

But one day after a particular exhausting chase with his enemy, the monster of Ikebukuro, he founded himself having problems falling asleep. This wasn't anything new, Izaya slept very little without need of a reason, but this time something was occupying his mind.

He knew this must have been an error, but he was so sure Shizu-chan was missing with his projectiles directed at him on purpose, they fell to far, he had better aim than that. So, why was he pretending to fight Izaya, but wasn't doing any effort to actually win? And why did that make Izaya so annoyingly happy?

When he was finally able to fall asleep, he dreamed about a classroom, and a blank sheet, and a teacher asking him to write the name of the people he loved the most, and this time he did. But he woke before being able to read what the Izaya in the dream had written.

He had an annoying feeling in his heart, when he woke up that morning and a voice in the back of his head whispered that something was terribly wrong with him.

“When we don't know who to hate, we hate ourselves.” -Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

Longing. That was a feeling Izaya was far too familiar with to try to deny it. After all, in the sleepless nights, his only company being himself, what could he do except think? Think about how different his life would have been if only he were normal.

Sometimes he longed to be as the rest of his beloved humans, who could easily surround themselves with people without a worry, who acted in what they felt, even if that wasn't the logical decision. They lived a live where tomorrow guarded a thousand surprises for them, for Izaya it wasn't like that.

Of course, there were little surprises now and then, but mostly he knew what was going to happen, when, where, and who would be involved, and even if he liked it that way, he felt like something was missing.

The more he thought about it, the more he came to one conclusion: his life was loathsome.

It was good at the beginning, or at least he liked to think that. The info broker, one of the two more dangerous men in Ikebukuro. He had a lot of money, making a living of watching his humans, and playing with their destiny as if it was just a game of chess. And for him, it was.

But in the end, he was human, and he couldn't be okay with only that.

His love for humanity was something safe. He loved them all, and no one love him in return. This unrequited feeling never hurt him. Because he couldn't trick himself, he knew the truth. Loving everyone was like not loving anyone at all.

And that was fine, he never loved anyone, he wasn't like the rest of humanity. His parents were just acquaintances, Mairu and Kururi were just little inconveniences he had to take care of in the multiples ocations their parents were overseas for work until they learnt to take care of themselves.

Shinra, his only friend, didn't care for him. The only thing he cared about was his beloved Celty, and even if he could amuse himself a little by being Izaya's friend, in the end he could die any day and the doctor would only care if that brought problems to him or the dullahan.

Namie was only there because she needed the job and it was very helpful for him to have an assistant. Kadota was also an acquaintance at best.

There ended the list of the people that knew him and didn't despise him. Though he wasn't so sure about Namie and the twins.

That was the painful truth. His humans despised him, and he couldn’t help but feeling hurt.

Because Shizuo was a monster, but even he wasn’t alone. He was surrounded by people who loved him.

Humans should love Izaya. Him, who loved them in spite of who they were or the crimes they have committed. Instead, they hated him.

And he couldn’t even blame the beast for that, it was only his fault.

He was cruel.

He was heartless.

He was despicable.

A fucking blood-sucking flea at best. How cruel that it was Shizuo the one who had been right about him this whole time.

It was his fault that everyone hated him, but he couldn’t help it, he didn’t know how else to be. He didn’t choose to be like this, it was just the way he was—

Ah, so this was it. Izaya sighted as the puzzle in his mind finally started to settle. He had never understood his emotions, but he thought he knew what this was. A familiar feeling that had accompanied him all his life, and he finally was able to give it a name.

It was almost liberating to know the truth.

Izaya hated himself.

Izaya loved to spend time playing with humans. It was easy, but never boring, and it was distracting. It had kept him from thinking about his feelings for almost ten years, but in the end, he couldn’t run way from it for the rest of his life, even if he wanted it so much.

His mind was the one puzzle he has never been able to solve, but far from interesting him, it frustrated him.

So, what if he hated himself? It shouldn’t change anything, he should be able to ignore it and keep going on with his life. But there was something else wrong, and he couldn’t quite identify it.

Until he could.

It had started like any other day. He had business in Ikebukuro, so he went to his meeting. It was obviously a trap, but he was curious about what this man would try, so he went anyway.

In the end, it was just another boring ambush. Really, he wouldn’t complain if this people started being more creative, it was the second time this month!

And, as expected, Izaya walked out of it with no more than a little scratch in the cheek. He was a little careless for a second, just a slip.

But of course, this was Ikebukuro, and a certain monster there claimed he could smell Izaya from a long distance, so he wasn’t lucky enough to avoid him.

"Izaya-kun..." Screamed the blond right before throwing the first thing he saw.

"Shizu-chan, your mother never told you that throwing vending machines at people is rude? Maybe she was too busy repairing all the things you broke. I can’t really blame her."

This time he had to dodge a traffic signal, and he started to run.

"Why not instead of talking, you fucking flea stop running so I can beat the shit out of you?"

Ah, Shizuo, a master of oratory like always.

"Unlike a certain monster I know, I have a lot of things I need to do, so I can’t have you killing me. Can I, Shizu-chan?"

"What the fuck would you need to do? The world would be a better place If I killed you once and for all."

Those were the words the ex-bartender has been telling him for years, he wondered why they still hurt him after all this time, even if just a little.

"Such an awful thing to say, do you want to hurt my feelings? What a heartless protozoan you are."

"You don’t have feelings. And I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. There’s no one who would mourn the dead of a fucking flea like you, everyone would be happier."

I know that, Shizu-chan, Izaya thought, but why does it hurt so much when you say it?

"If I stopped coming to Ikebukuro you would miss me. I’m the only one with whom you let yourself be the beast you are."

"The day I finally kill you, I’ll be the happiest."

"Then I guess I’ll just have to kill you first. I can’t let my precious humans be left alone with a dangerous monster like you."

But his words no longer carried the venom they usually did. For a reason he didn’t comprehend, those words had hurt him more than they usually did. He didn’t say anymore as he lost his persecutor in the crowd.

Shizuo hated him, that he knew. It had been like that since they met.

And he had heard those words from tens dozens of people, but they weren't supposed to hurt him. But why does the idea of Shizuo being happy after his dead was so dreadful?

He wasn’t supposed to forget about Izaya. He had twisted the blonde's life to the point everything in it was because of him. He was supposed to think of Izaya as much as Izaya thought of him. That was the whole point of making the life of Shizuo miserable! To remind him of what he was.

He liked to think he wanted Shizuo to hate him as much as he hated him. He wanted Shizuo to hate him more than Izaya hated himself. But suddenly that hate punctured his heart more than nothing ever had.

He wished he had kept ignoring his emotions till the end.

But he didn’t, instead he dialed a number he hadn’t call in years, ready to make the question he should have asked her a long time ago.

"Izaya?" Asked the voice, obviously confused at the sudden call.

"Can I ask you a question, mother?" The words tasted bitter in his mouth. The last time he had asked that was more than 15 years ago. The last time he had talked to his mother was more than 5 years ago.

The line was silence for a moment.

"I didn’t think I would hear you say those words again." The woman sounded almost suspicious, but kept talking "What’s your question?"

He didn’t say anything for a while, he even contemplated the possibility of ending the call in that moment. His mother would see right through his question, there was no way to make his motives more ambiguous. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to hear the answer at all.

He asked anyway.

"What is love?"

It was really lame. The powerful informant, Izaya Orihara, alone in his apartment, asking a question like that to his mother, so afraid of the answer as a child would be afraid of darkness.

"I guess we’re talking about romantic love, aren’t we? That’s... not something I can just answer. Love is the most complex of all human emotion." She said that, but it was too cruel to leave him like that, he must have been so desperate to call her and ask her, even when he had learnt as a child she couldn’t give the answer he wanted, so she tried anyway. "Love is something... egoist. And selfless. You want this person to be happy, even if it isn’t with you, but hate the thought of them with someone else more, to the point you would rather see them miserable. You would do everything for that person, but most of the time you don’t do anything because of the fear of rejection. Nothing can make you as happy or as miserable as love. It really is something complicated, even for... the rest of the humans"

She didn’t like to say it like that, as if Izaya wasn’t a normal human, but knew Izaya would understand she didn’t mean it in a bad way. Even if she was never the best mother, and was a little absent in her children lives, she loved them as much as any mother loved her kids.

The unconditional love of a mother is another thing that never made much sense to Izaya.

"If you want my opinion" she added when realized her son wouldn’t answer, "I think that if after all this time you had to ask me that question, it probably do is love. And I think you already know that, and just had hope that talking with me would made you realize it was a mistake. But I suppose I could be wrong, you’re the expert in humans and their emotions after all."

Those words sounded like mockery in Izaya’s ears. The woman knew she was right, and he could feel the satisfaction in her voice at being able to read him.

He didn’t expect her to say something more, so her next words caught him with his guard low.

"It’s that Heiwajima guy, isn’t it? The boy you always fought with in High School, although your sisters have told me you still fight a lot this days."

His chest ached with the mention of the blond. He wasn’t ready to admit it, much less to hear it from other.

"That mere suspicion is insulting, mother. Why would I be in love with that beast? To think so lowly of you own son..."

He had always been the perfect liar, why now his words sounded so empty?

"There's never been someone else. You said you can't love any human in a special way, so you decided to make him a monster."

He hung up the phone, refusing to listen another word that woman had to say. Who did she think she was? Just because she was pregnant for nine months, and procured he didn’t die as a child, did she thought she had this motherly instinct to know why did he acted like he did? That was ridiculous, an insult to his complex psyche.

So how the hell was she right?

In the end, Izaya had to accept his feelings. It would be highly inconvenient to keep denying them.

But that didn’t change anything. Shizuo hated him. And it was okay, because hate is also a passionate emotion.

He didn’t need Shizuo to love him, it wasn’t necessary, and he wouldn’t know what to do if for the first time in his life his feelings were returned. All he needed was to be Shizu-chan’s most important person. If it was because for the extreme hatred he professed to him, then so it be.

He just needed to bother Shizuo a little more. Remind him that, even if he tried to trick himself into thinking he could live a normal life just because he had more people being foolish enough to befriend him, he would fail in the end. He wouldn’t be able to control his inhuman strength, he would end up hurting someone he cared about. And he would unleash all his rage on Izaya.

Shizuo could only be the beast they both knew he was with Izaya, he needed him. And what is love, if not a passional feeling full of dependence and obsession?

“I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.” ― James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time

The cognitive dissonance theory refers to a situation in which a person has conflicting attitudes believes or behaviors that cause a feeling of discomfort and psychological stress.

For example, Izaya had the firm belief that human emotions such as jealousy or loneliness didn’t affect him. This was a deep-rooted belief in Izaya, as old as his consciousness, and a fundamental pillar in his personality

But the last time he went to Ikebukuro to meet a client, he started hearing rumors. This was nothing out of normal for him, taking in count his line of job, but this one was especially hard to let slip. Because it had all of the city skeptical, and this was a city were the Headless Ridder and a man who could throw vending machines as if they weighted no more than book were part of the daily life. It was pretty difficult to surprise the population of Ikebukuro, but this made it

Heiwajima Shizuo, the Monster of Ikebukuro, had a date.

Even the words left an unsavory taste in Izaya’s mouth, it was a piece of information difficult to process. Of course, his first though was that it was just a misunderstanding, it was the most logical explanation, and the one he wanted to believe.

As a good informant nonetheless, he had to corroborate this. Fortunately, Shizu-chan and him had a lot of acquaintances in common, so it wasn’t difficult to find some reliable information.

Unfortunately, he didn’t want the answers he got. It seemed that his beast had managed to get a date with that co-worker of him, the Russian assassin.

And there was this disgusting feeling inside of him. It burned inside of him, and he wanted nothing more than go to Vorona’s house and teach her not to mess with what was his. And the logical part of him classified that as jealousy. But it didn’t end there. Knowing that Shizuo could just go and try to have a girlfriend, have a life outside of his hate of Izaya, it made him felt as if someone has extirped his heart out his chest. The same part of his brain classified that as loneliness.

And so, this is where the cognitive dissonance takes place. Izaya’s beliefs were that he was different from the rest of the human, above all of them, and in consequence he didn’t felt those petty emotions. But the information he was now provided indicated he could indeed feel such emotions with the same intensity as the rest of them. And it didn’t end there, Izaya knew himself enough to be almost sure that, even if not with the same recklessness as any other person, he was about to act on those feelings. He never acted on his feelings.

Now, there were three different pats he could take to eradicate the dissonance.

The first was to reduce the importance of the cognitions. This one was, of course, infeasible. The foundations in which Izaya had constructed his personality were too profound to just dismiss their importance. And it would be foolish of Izaya to downplay feelings that would have a good grasp of his actions. This option was discarded.

The second one was to acquire new information that outweighed the dissonant belief. This one was temptress. If he could just justify these emotions without invalidating his beliefs, just as he had done when he declared Shizuo a monster and not one of his precious humans, the problem would be solved and he would be able to ignore these feelings. But, no matter how much he thought, he just didn’t know what information he lacked, which part of the bigger picture he wasn’t seeing.

He didn’t come up with any idea, and that left him with the last option.

The third option was to change one or more of the attitudes, behaviors or beliefs to make the relationship between the two elements a consonant one. If only he could change his feelings to disrupt the dissonance, he wouldn’t had had this problem in the first place.

Change his beliefs...

That meant he would no longer believe he was a god for the humans he loved so much. He would have to admit he was just as the rest of them, no one special. He didn’t want that, it wasn’t worth it. But his human instinct to eliminate the dissonance was already kicking in.

It was pathetic, really. He told Namie she had the day off so she wouldn’t bother him, he canceled all his meetings for the day, he even went as far as turning off most of his cellphones.

Of course, not all of them, even in the middle of an existential crisis he was sensible enough to know it was a terrible idea to risk being needed by Awakusu-Kai for some urgent business and not picking up his phone. He had an image to maintain, after all.

An image of a god who couldn’t be bothered by nuisances of the life like the humans he takes delight in watching. Nothing stopped him, he had no rival, no one could hurt him. Nothing farer away from reality.

Ironically enough, if you asked people who they though could face Izaya as an equal, people would think of The Monster of Ikebukuro. They had seen them fought, none of them getting hurter than a few bruises or cuts. Force and intelligence balancing each other, neither capable of overpowering their enemy. It was just poetic justice that in the end Shizuo did managed to break Izaya, just that it wasn’t with a punch, or a vending machine. He didn’t even intend it. Who would have thought the mighty informant of Ikebukuro could have emotions as any human?

And who would have thought his heart would break just as easily?

Probably Shinra, he had an awful habit of being able to read Izaya.

He had clung to an illusion he had created many years ago, and now he was stripped of his façade he was left with a feeling impotence and weakness he hated. He was just a human, even if smarter than the average, at the end he was as weak, as predictable, as defenseless... No.

Izaya Orihara wasn’t defenseless. He was in control of all of Ikebukuro and Shinjuku, god dammit!

He would regain the advantage in the game, he would win the game.

And the solution was easy, it had been there all along. As if nothing had changed, his future resume in two possible outcomes once again:

He would kill Shizuo, or he would die at the monster’s hands.

It was a real shame it had to come to this, but it was the only way. Izaya wouldn’t stand seeing Shizuo having a disgusting domestic life with some girl stupid enough to believe she could tame the beast. Izaya wasn’t a man who wasted his efforts, and he had been working for years in making sure Shizuo was obsessed with him, and procured the monster emerged a little more each passing day.

His work wouldn’t be in vain.

There was a lot of work left to do. Izaya couldn’t just go and kill Shizuo, God knows that if it were that easy he would have done so years ago. And, deep inside, he didn’t want Shizuo dead, because that would leave him with a hole in his chest he was sure would never heal. But if he took advantage of his survival instincts, maybe he could pull it off.

But he would have to be really desperate, at the very verge of dying. It was a dangerous bet, but it was his only option. To infuriate Shizuo more than ever, he would push him to the edge, to the point the beast would no longer respond to reason. He needed Shizuo to be ready to truly kill him to wake up his instincts and, if he was lucky, the adrenaline would be enough to manage to take his nemesis’ life once and for all.

The best part was that even if he failed in killing the protozoan, he would still win! Shizuo would be killing a human, completely on purpose. He wouldn't’ be able to deny his monstrosity any more after that. It would be a psychological scar so profound he would never heal. He wouldn’t be able to even see himself in the mirror. The man that hated violence massacring someone. Not a day would pass without him thinking about Izaya, it would mark him for life. Perfect. He wouldn’t let any other human get near him, his self-loath and fear for himself would be enough to isolate him once and for all from the rest of humanity.

No one would touch Izaya’s monster ever again!

This was a game he would win, no matter the outcome. Just as he liked.

Just as it must be.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald

“Have you ever wondered how things would have been had you done something different, Namie? Like what would have happened if you hadn’t show Seiji Celty’s head or something like that. The endless possibilities of a life far better of the one you have, if only you have done something slightly different, or in another moment. If you have met someone in different circumstances...”

Nowadays, listen to Izaya’s ramble was as much of Namie’s job as the paperwork or scheduling meetings. She hated it, it was disgusting to listen the twisted thoughts of a delusional man, but she had caught some patterns to the point she sometimes managed to discern the real motives behind the ramble. Most of the times she didn’t care, the motives being as despicable as the owner, but sometimes she caught glimpses of Izaya’s real feelings, and even if for morbid, it was interesting the possibilities of who could it be under the image of an asshole he had carefully created.

“What? Are you insinuating that the mighty Orihara Izaya can feel regret? Or maybe that there are some things that even you weren’t able to control? The curse of the inevitability that us humans are force to deal with. Could it be it also affects you?” Her tone full of bitterness and sarcasm, but a genuine curiosity underneath. Izaya didn’t like to admit that things could go different of what he wanted, and so he hide in a lie that his love for human made him love all the outcomes.

Such a repulsive liar, the curiosity of what could have made something so close to truth come out of his mouth was enough for she to ignore the comment about her loved brother. Just for this once.

“Of course not. I love everything my dear humans do, even when they don’t let my control their actions, in the end I always take delight in the results. But I’ll give you that your words have caught my interest. ’The curse of the inevitability’, could it be that Namie is a secret romantic and believes in things like destiny?”

“Obviously not, I think that’s a lazy excuse for people who doesn’t want to take responsibility for their life. I personally found that an act of cowardice, but I admit that sometimes there are things that seem to be meant to be. No matter how much you think about them, there could only be one outcome. Or maybe that’s another excuse because we think as unimaginable the actions we must had made to give a different result. However, I’m a scientist, so I don’t really care for ’what if’s’ as much of what was.”

Izaya’s laughter resonated in the whole apartment, as if Namie had just said the best joke he had ever heard. But it was a hollow laugh, hiding the true feelings behind it.

“Clearly, I should have known the pragmatic Yagiri Namie wouldn’t let anyone take credit for her actions or feelings, not even destiny. Your perspectives are as amusing as ever, but I have to disagree with you in something. I don’t think believing in destiny is coward, I think it is an act of hopelessness. Because if a man finds himself in the worst of situations, with no longer hope of things getting better, it would crush him to think it was his complete fault. A little bit of comfort in times of need humans have to give to themselves. Isn’t hilarious, Namie?”

She looked at the clock, and decided it was enough of putting up with her boss for the day. Anyway, is obvious she wouldn’t find out what was he thinking this time, and her curiosity wasn’t enough to keep trying. She started collecting her things.

“I’m finished for today.”

“You’re lucky you have a boss as permissive as I am. Most wouldn’t accept their secretary living when she wanted.” He said, if only to have the last word on the matter, to feel some sense of control over it. She had finished the paperwork he gave her, so there was no real reason to keep her there, or at least no reason Izaya would admit out loud.

“In case you do are interested,” she resumed in her way to the door, “I still think is coward, and no, I don’t think of it as hilarious. More as pathetic. And I don’t know what made you bring this up, nor do I care, but I’m certain that whatever had happened, it was in its entirety your fault. Goodbye.”

She slammed the door as she left.

Everything was in silence for a few minutes until Izaya, who was still at his desk, turn to the head of the dullahan on it.

“Do you agree with her, Celty?” he asked, already use to the silence that followed his questions every time. “If you are anything like the rest of you, you probably do. Your body this has predisposition to assume everything Is my fault. I personally think her choice of best friend is partially to blame about that. Still, it is a good question, and probably the first thing I have felt so much curiosity for.”

What if?

Izaya had no control left over his life, even if he pretended otherwise. Of course, he still had his plans for bringing war to Ikebukuro, and he still had people which would do what he wanted if he just pushed them a little in the right direction. But everything was numb for him.

He hadn’t seen Shizuo in months. He knew it was the right thing to do, he was far too busy for distraction, but the absence of the beast is his life made him feel empty, and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking.

“Do you think, Celty, had Shinra presented us in another moment, Shizu-chan and I could have been friends?"

The silence in the room was absolute, just as Izaya’s mind. He didn’t know the answer either. But it felt too fake, too simple to just blame outside forces, as if they were some plaintive case of star-crossed lovers. But it wasn’t like that, because they weren’t lovers, because no matter how much Izaya’s heart ached for it, his feelings weren’t returned, and he was all alone talking to a head that couldn’t hear him, because no one cared his life was falling apart. Not even him.

What if, indeed.

In the end, he could always dream.

“Do you think Shizuo could have love me?”

“The only things I regret, and the only things I'll ever regret are things I didn't do. In the end, that's what we mourn. The paths we didn't take. The people we didn't touch.” ―Scott Spencer, Endless Love

“I’m sorry” the moment those words left the doctor’s mouth, he had all of Izaya’s attention.

He didn’t expect to hear those words from his only friend, much less in the situation they were currently in. Shinra was bandaging Izaya’s arm after a violent encounter with Shizuo, hardly something Shinra could be apologizing for.

“I think I’m not quite following you, Shinra, you’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“For ruining your life, and Shizuo’s. I was so sure you could have been friends, that was why I introduce you to each other in high school. Even after many years I still had some hope you would make up and be friends. No matter how many times Celty told me I was delusional, I was certain you were doing too big of a deal for it to be truly hate.” The doctor finished bandaging Izaya, and sat quietly for a moment. Even Izaya didn’t dare to interrupt. “I’ve started to realize I was wrong all along. You’re truly the worst thing that ever happened in the other’s life.”

And for the first time in all his life, Izaya was left speechless. How could he respond to that? The situation was too surreal, those words lacked of real meaning. He didn't know how was he supposed to react, so he did the only thing he could still do.

He laughed.

“Oh, come on, Shinra! Did you really though there could be anything but hate between that repulsive beast and I? Even though we are your best friends, it seems as if you didn't know us at all” Or as if you knew me too well, Izaya though. “But please, indulge my curiosity, why bring it up now? What could have made you feel some responsibility for Shizu-chan's monstrosity?”

“Vorona broke up with Shizuo” he stated, as if that explained anything in this situation.

Still, Izaya didn't try to stop the little smile coming from the warm feeling creeping in his chest.

“I still fail to see how any of that had anything to do with me. Contrary to the popular believe, I'm not culprit of everything that goes wrong is his life. Much less his...romantic involvements. Maybe the girl just saw reason.”

“I'm conscious that you aren't to blame about everything that goes wrong, but this particular incident is, in fact, partially your fault. After all, she told him she was breaking up with him because it was ridiculous of him to try and have a relationship when he prioritized you over everything and everyone. From what Celty told me, he had ditched her in multiple occasions for chasing you around.”

“I didn't ask him to chase me, it was completely his—” he tried to defend himself, but Shinra ignored him and kept talking.

“You know the best part? What he was angrier about wasn't Vorona leaving him, I'm quite sure he just saw her like a friend anyway, but that he kept allowing you to ruin his life, even when it wasn't your doing. He's been so obsessed with you since high school he can't even have other relationships for how much he hates you. Hate is a pretty fucked up feeling for you to let it rule your life, if you ask me. But I imagine you know that better than me, after all.”

Love is also pretty fucked up for people like us, he wanted to add, knowing the doctor was another perfect example of it, but he didn't.

“Well, that explains why was him so angry with me today, even though we hadn't seen each other in months. But why are you telling all this, Shinra? I don't think you actually believe this knowledge will push me to stop hating him as much as I do. Then, why go all the trouble? And why apologize for introducing us when I asked you to do it first?”

“I recognized that look in your eyes the moment you arrived. I've seen it plenty of times, but I never expected to see it in you. That was the look of someone who is ready to die.”

The stayed quite for a few minutes. Now all the cards were on the table, there was no use in trying to deny it anymore.

“And why can't it be the look of someone ready to kill?” Izaya wondered out loud, more for him than for his friend, but he got an answer anyway.

“When it comes to both of you, I think it's the same. I'll assume there's nothing I can do to persuade you, right?”

“Right.”

Izaya departed the apartment without saying goodbye, and Shinra didn't try to stop him.

It wasn't his fault, Shinra reminded himself. But Celty would be so angry with the result of this madness, be it her best friend either getting killed or becoming a murderer. And in the loneliness of his home, he admitted he was even sadder for himself.

He was about to lose his two best friends.

One would die.

And he wouldn't be able to face the other ever again.

“Just 'cuz you get to the end doesn’t mean you know what happened.” ― Karen Tei Yamashita, Tropic of Orange

“Goodbye, Izaya” and Shizuo hang up the phone, leaving no room for an answer.

It was very anti-climactic. Boring. It wasn't how he expected his last phone-call with his mortal enemy to go. It was too... empty, no feeling behind. It didn't feel real, more as if it was forced. Something they had to do even if none of them knew why.

That, Izaya though, is a pretty accurate description of our entire relationship.

“Goodbye, Shizu-chan.”

“Do it, you monster” spat Izaya. Most of his body was already numb, but he refused to let his voice tremble. Until his lasts moments he would remain composed, he wouldn't give Shizuo the satisfaction of seeing him weak. And if that only helped infuriate the beast further, then it was even better.

He wasn't naïve enough to think he actually had a chance to kill his enemy, he wasn't able to hold his knife anymore. This was his end, and Shinra had been right, he was ready to die.

Because in this moment he was the only thing in Shizuo's mind, he completely owned the monster. Every breath he took, every beat his heart made, everything was Izaya's. He had never fully appreciated his possessiveness over the other until now. And he was satisfied, because he knew that even when he was long gone, Shizuo wouldn't forget him. Izaya would be engraved in all Shizuo's skin and life. This was the ultimate technique to claim ownership over his enemy.

He would made him a monster only for him.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, I'M GONNA KILL YOU, SON OF A BITCH” screamed the so-called Monster of Ikebukuro.

And Izaya didn't know if it was for the adrenaline or a possible concussion, but even in this situation he could appreciate the power of his opponent. He had just a scratch, even though he had move and throw things no human should be able to, but he did. And that display of power, of rough strength, of savagery. This had to be the epitome of all the beauty in the blond. Beauty all humans failed to appreciate except for him, and maybe he was the fool, he was about to die because of this.

Shizuo grabbed Izaya by the collar of his shirt and threw him across the room they were in. They were the only ones in the building, the offices empty for it was no longer work hours.

Izaya crashed against the wall and fall to the floor. But the moment he tried to sit, he felt it.

He couldn't see what, but something had stabbed him in his lower back. He couldn't really feel the pain, his body full of adrenaline, but he knew that was worse. The faster his heart was beating, the faster he would bleed out. He tried to think of everything he had read about exsanguination. He couldn't see how much he was bleeding, but he doubted he had more than a few minutes before losing consciousness, and just a little longer before he died. But it wouldn't take that long, he knew Shizuo was ready to give the coup de grâce.

He tried to convince himself he had to be calm about that, this was his plan all along, this was exactly what he wanted. But he was afraid of dead, just as every other human, and he felt overwhelmed by all these feelings.

Over all, he was starting to fear Shizuo would forget about him anyway, and all this would have been in vain.

But the blond was oblivious to everything happening in Izaya's mind. He was ready to give the final blow, to end the other life for one and for all.

But then he saw it. It was for only a second, but shocking enough to make all rage in him to stop. There, in the flea's eyes he saw what he had never seen before in there.

The flea was sitting against the wall, in obvious pain, even if he tried to dissimulate it. He was shaking a little, and didn't even tried to run. He probably couldn’t. And it was wrong, because he seemed fragile, and Izaya Orihara wasn't supposed to seem vulnerable. But above all, he was sure that, even if for a second, he caught a glimpse of the last thing he expected to see. Fear.

And that was wrong, because fear was a feeling for humans, not for monster like them—

But Izaya was human. A normal human, for the matter, not like Shizuo.

Shizuo, who was the real monster. Who had been seconds away of killing him.

He fell to his knees in front of Izaya, his face hiding behind his hands.

“Why the fuck did you have to do this, Izaya?! Why couldn't you just leave me the fuck alone?! Do you want me to kill you that badly?! If your life is shit, you shouldn't drag other people to take part in ending it, fucking asshole.”

He's not going to kill me...? That was the only thing in Izaya's mind for a moment. But then he remembered, he was already dying of blood loss. Well, at least he would amuse himself with Shizuo before closing his eyes forever.

“You're an idiot, Shizu-chan, you can't do anything right. You are just a blow away from killing me and you stop. You're really useless... just as expected from a monster. I guess I understand why Kasuka is so careful with hiding his real name, his career would end if people knew who he was related to...” he stopped talking when a mand caught his throat, depriving him from the oxygen he so hardly was getting.

“FOR ONCE IN YOUR FUCKING LIFE TELL ME THE FUCKING TRUTH.” It was more like roaring than screaming, but Izaya didn't have the coherency to make a joke about that anymore. “Why, Izaya? Why do you want me to hate you that badly? Why do you want to ruin my life at the expense of yours?!”

He took his hand off Izaya's throat, but didn't stood back. There were barely centimeters apart. It had to be one of the closest they had ever been. Izaya could lose himself in those amber eyes, had he not been in the situation he was. And even with all the warm emanating from Shizuo' body, Izaya felt colder he had ever felt in his life. Also a symptom of blood loss, he remembered.

Izaya decided that there was no use in keep lying. He wouldn't live to face the consequences of this anyway. Had he been more awake, he would completely blame that decision in the dizziness of his head, but he wasn't. And all the strength left in him was concentrating in his next words, his last words.

He didn't bother in keeping a bay his tears.

“This is all your fault, Shizuo. I hate you so much that I don't care what happens to me anymore if that means you'll be miserable.” His voice was shaking, but he refused to go without telling him, that beast had to knew it was his fault. “You rejected me even before I could say a word to you. You kept repeating me how much you hated me, how much you wanted me to die. And then you tried to have a fucking girlfriend when you were supposed to only think about me...”

Izaya was unable to keep his seating position and fell to his side on the floor, his tears running down his face in a way they had never done. Only in that moment Shizuo noticed the hemorrhage in the back of Izaya. At first, he was definitely in shock, probably trying to understand how could Izaya could even speak in those conditions.

A little hypocrite for someone who got shot twice and the walked as if it was just a bruise to Shinra's place.

He was taking his phone out of his pocket, Izaya supposed to call Celty, but it would be in vain. Instead, he extended his hand to grab Shizuo's clothes in an attempt to avoid him leaving. He knew the grab had not an ounce of force, but it petrified Shizuo in his place anyway.

“Don't bother, Shizu-chan, I'm almost dead anyway. You killed me.”

The man probably answered something, but he couldn't concentrate enough to process the words. His eyes were now closed, so he wouldn't be able see the face of his murderer when he told him his very best secret. Such a tragedy, Izaya was sure Shizuo would make an expression disserving of remember, a mix between confusion, disgust and fear. Fear because the words he always wanted to hear came of his most hated enemy.

And fear because he had finally done it. He had killed the only person who had ever, truly, loved him.

“My love for you killed me, Shizu-chan.” His words were hardly more than a whisper, but he had confidence he had got his message across.

And if he hadn't, well, there was nothing left to do.

Such a proper ending, thought Izaya before losing consciousness for the last time, for something that never came close to be a love story.

The perfect end for a coward like him. Confessing when he was going to the only place Shizuo wouldn't chase him after.

#durarara #shizaya #Heiwajima Shizuo #orihara izaya #oneshot #my writing

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