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actuallybarb · 4 years

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The Aftermath ~ Part 2

Summary: y/n gets knocked around by a water monster, has secret-sharing time with peter, and decides mj is more important than her pride. sleep deprivation and caffeine consumption are definitely involved.

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, mysterio being a dick, trauma, it’s marvel what did you expect

Word Count: 3978 give or take

A/N: endgame is canon, *vomits*, but we’ve all got a thing for broken peter parker, even if all i want is his never ending happiness

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“I can’t believe you punched Flash.” Brad, of course, decided to sit next to me on the gondola ride to the hotel. Figures.

“You better believe it, ‘cuz it actually happened.” I tried to pay as little attention to him as possible and just take pictures on my phone, but he kept talking.

“Why don’t you like me?”

I groaned. “Because, Brad, you ask stupid questions like that.”

We pulled up to the hotel and were all sufficiently underwhelmed.

“It’s flooded!”

“The hotel is sinking?”

I considered helping the hotel out, at least while we stayed at it, but there wasn’t much hope left for it. I took my room key and thanked my lucky stars I didn’t have a room on the ground level. In fact, I was sharing with MJ. I waited patiently behind her as she jiggled the door open.

“Is it safe to assume the building will crumble any second now?”

MJ burst out laughing. “I think that’s an understatement.”

“If I get TB, I’m suing.”

“The hotel?”

“Harrington.”

She smiled. “C’mon, let’s get outside before we drown.”

We walked along the water and let the sun happily reflect on our exhausted faces. Everyone was enjoying themselves, but I was starting to feel queasy. It was almost imperceptible, but I could feel the city moving with the water, and it was making me sick. I started lagging back and tried to find my “sea legs,” but Peter noticed and stuck back too. “You alright?”

I plastered on a weak smile. “That long flight is catching up with me. I’m just going to grab an espresso, I’ll meet up with you guys soon.” He looked at me one more time before nodding and meeting the rest of the group.

I didn’t completely lie — I was getting an espresso. But I wasn’t going to catch up with them, at least, not for a while. I needed to get away from the water, even just for a little bit.

I can’t fly, per se. I can control the air currents around me and change them how I want them too, like I did on the airplane with the turbulence. I can do that with most elements, (except wood, I hate wood) and that gives me a heightened awareness of them. I’m basically the Avatar and the characters from Percy Jackson. All I have to do is shave my head and tattoo blue arrows on my body. (And, yes, I did watch all seven seasons of the two series and read all ten Percy Jackson books to actually figure out what the hell it was that I could do. It helped. Clearly.)

I just lifted myself to the top of the coffee shop. I’m a sucker for espresso, I like to be close to it. The distance helped. I felt grounded enough to walk on the normal streets of Venice again, but when I touched down, I suddenly lurched to the right.

“What the hell,” I muttered. I got my answer soon enough. A huge river monster was crashing its giant water arms on anything it could see. And I was directly in its path. “Oh, shit.”

I shouldn’t have been as terrified as I was. I mean, come on, I can control water. Dissipate the water man, Y/N, I can almost hear you yelling at me. Shut up, I was scared. This thing was twice as tall as any of the buildings, and it had a direct path to anywhere in the city. Me, a seventeen year old girl, against that? Not a good idea.

So, like any logical human being, I ran. And I still got clobbered with water and ended up actually falling into the water. Let me just tell you, Italy needs to get a Brita, ‘cause their river is nasty.

But, once I was actually in the water, the river monster looked a lot less intimidating. Sure, the water was churning around and sucking everything into its path, but I was in my element — literally. I got close to it, like, really close. I pushed against the flow of the water and tried to stop the monster from forming, and it worked, for a little bit. It slowed down, and I got some newfound momentum, when all of the sudden, it all stopped, and tons of water crashed to the surface. That was my cue to leave, but then something caught my eye. A flash of metal was in the water. Luck would have it, though, that I could bend water and metal (shout out to Toph Beifong). I latched onto the metal and pulled it close to me, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Didn’t mean I would trash it though, this water was disgusting enough. I tucked it in my pocket and started swimming to the surface.

I got out of the water actually pretty close to the rest of the class, but I was the only one completely drenched.

“Oh, Y/N, good! We’re all here,” Mr. Harrington celebrated. “Let’s get back to the hotel, your families will want to know you’re all fine.”

“You’re soaked.”

I shivered, even though it wasn’t cold. The temperature difference between the water and the air was enough to make me shake. “Astute observation, Brad.”

“Here, you can have my jacket.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want it.” I kept walking and managed to bump into Peter. “You got wet too?”

“Just splashed. Did you get thrown in?”

“Yeah, the bastard caught me by surprise. I’m okay, just cold.”

“Here.” Peter slung his backpack around and took out a mostly dry sweatshirt. He gestured it my way, but I didn’t take it. “It’s just a jacket, Y/N. You’ll get a cold with your hair dripping all around you.”

I knew that wasn’t how colds worked, but I took it anyway and let it soak in the water from my hair. It helped, surprisingly, at least making me not shiver. We made it back to the hotel with no other complications, aside from Flash tripping over his own shoelace because he was too busy recording for his Instagram followers to pay attention to where he was going. I quickly went upstairs and changed out of my clothes, putting on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt that used to belong to Jessica. The room had a tiny balcony, and I took advantage of it and laid out all of my clothes and Peter’s sweatshirt. The last thing MJ or I needed was a puddle of water to slip in.

I went back downstairs and sat close to the top of the stairs, not wanting to get anywhere near the water at the bottom. MJ was a few steps below me, and Peter was leaning against the stairs, talking to someone on the phone. He hung up, and I slipped past MJ and wrapped around to the phone. I was about to dial, when I remembered something. “Hey, Peter.”

“What’s up?”

I pulled him away from the stairs and whispered, “Is the plan still working?”

“The—oh, that plan. Uh, yeah, I think so. I got her this necklace of a black dahlia from a glass shop, and I want to give it to her at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

I smiled. “That’s adorable. I’m going to use the phone, do you mind?”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll get out of your way.” We smiled at each other, then I grabbed the receiver and dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh my—John, it’s her. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Harrington wanted all of us to call our parents, so this is me, doing my due diligence. We’re still set for Paris tomorrow, so I’ll call you then, okay? Love you.” I didn’t even really wait for them to respond before I hung up. Truth was, I didn’t want to talk to them. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but I had to make one more phone call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jess, it’s Y/N. You watch the news nonstop, so I figured I’d call, let you know I’m okay.”

“Thank god, I was so worried about you. What happened?”

“This water monster literally came out of nowhere and knocked me straight into the murky junk, it was disgusting.”

“Were you able to help at all?” Jess was one of two other people in the world who knew about what I could do. She was the one who bought me the tv shows and books, of course she knew.

“I slowed it down at some point, but then all of a sudden it just dissipated, it was weird. I did find this weird metal thing in the water, I picked it up. I’ll send you a picture of it when I get the chance.”

“Okay. Call me soon, got it?”

“Count on it. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore, so I walked up the stairs, ready to succumb to the moldy mattress in my room. Unfortunately, I had to collect my clothes.

Everything was nearly dry, and Peter’s sweatshirt was definitely dry, so I brought them inside. I almost didn’t want to give Peter his sweatshirt back, just because it was so soft, but knowing him, it was probably the only one he brought, so I walked the ten feet to his front door and knocked. I wasn’t told not to enter, so I turned the knob and walked in. “Hey, Pete, I—“ I stopped with my hand by my face, terrified. A small dart was less than an inch away from my palm. I turned to the man in the corner who was holding the gun. “Did you just try to shoot me?”

“You’re the one who came barging in.” The scary looking guy with the eyepatch leaned forward. “What’s your name?”

I laughed heartlessly. “Ha, yeah, like I’m going to tell the man who just pulled a gun on me.” I looked at Peter and threw his jacket at him. “I brought this back.” Then I turned to the man in the chair. I crunched the dart, letting it fold on top of itself before his eyes, then I let it fall to the floor. “You can keep that.” I looked at Peter one more time, then slammed the door on my way out.

MJ was laying on her bed when I walked back in, but she could tell something was up. She had impeccable observational skills. “You good?”

I was pacing, a bad habit I picked up after The Snap first happened. “I just need to look something up.”

“Well, the hotel might be sinking, but they’ve at least got good wifi.”

I finally sat and opened my laptop, then turned on my VPN and put the whole device on ‘incognito mode.’ I had some serious investigations to conduct, I didn’t need the government to see what I was doing. Okay, I only had one serious investigation, but that could possibly have lead to more, so I kept my guard up.

First search: scary-looking black man with an eyepatch. The guy’s face was the first image that popped up. Nick Fury. Ex-director of SHIELD before all of that went to shit. Now he’s running some ‘underground’ SHIELD, I guess. Now I know the guy’s name.

But why was he talking to Peter? And why did he shoot me?

I was up all night doing research. Not just on Nick Fury, but on the metal piece I had found in the water, the Avengers, and as much as I could find on Peter Parker himself. Sooner than I thought, the sun peeked between the curtains at the window and MJ’s alarm came blaring through the speakers on her phone.

“Morning,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and finally taking a break from my computer screen.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Are you going to yell at me if I say no?” MJ just pursed her lips. I knew she wouldn’t.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pulled an all nighter. At least this one was productive.

“What’s on your bed?” She picked up a small spring and looked it over before putting it back beside the rest of the pieces of the metal thing. “Did you take apart your toothbrush?”

I chuckled. “No, I found this thing in the river when I got knocked in. I didn’t know what it was, so I took it apart.”

“Have you figured it out?”

“Not yet.” I rubbed my eyes again and groaned. “We’re going to Paris today, right?”

“Yeah.” MJ stood and stretched and I caught the smallest smile on her face when she replied. I smiled too and packed up my project. Something for another late night.

We were escorted outside with our luggage in tow, but Mr. Harrington happily informed us we would be taking a bus to Prague instead of a train to Paris. You’ve got to be kidding.

Peter was walking to the bus in front of me, but I grabbed his arm and dragged him away. “What the hell, Peter?”

“You can control metal?” He was in awe. His admiration would’ve been flattering if I wasn’t so pissed.

“You had Nick Fury in your room last night. I almost got shot last night. What the hell is going on?”

“It was only a tranquilizer, you would’ve been fine—“

“That’s not the point, Parker!” I basically hissed at him. He looked a little surprised that I was so upset. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down enough to not start shouting. “We were attacked by a water monster, I almost got shot, I didn’t sleep, and now four people in the world know what I can do, so give me some damn answers, because I sure as hell deserve them.”

Peter looked around, like he was looking for an escape, but I was ready. I might not have slept in almost 48 hours, but I wasn’t going to let him get away so easily.

Then Harrington was calling us over to the bus. Perfect timing.

“Can we talk on the bus?”

I nodded and let him lead the way to the back. Surprisingly we were the only ones that occupied those seats and the ones surrounding, but that’s what happens when you get a bunch of nerds in the same vehicle—they all sit in the front. He sat low in his seat, and I did the same, and I let him start the conversation. Prying it out of him wouldn’t be too successful, I figured, not with something like this.

We got fifteen minutes out of the city before he started talking. “Fury wanted me to go with him to meet this guy who defeated the Elemental yesterday.”

“Why you? And what’s an Elemental?”

“The water monster, it’s called an Elemental. And he asked me because I’m—I’m,” his voice dropped to an even lower whisper, “I’m Spider-Man.”

I almost didn’t believe him.

I almost burst out laughing at the hilarity of it all. Peter Parker, Spider-Man? Ridiculous.

But, remember, I learned from Toph Beifong. I can tell when people are lying.

And Peter?

Peter wasn’t lying.

Well, shit.

How do I even respond to something like that?

“Okay.” Good one. “Who was the other guy you met with?”

“You—you’re not surprised?”

Oh, young Parker, I was dumbfounded. But I had learned two years earlier how to control my heart rate, so he would never know how freaked out I actually was.

“You saw me stop a dart mid-air, Peter, you being Spider-Man is hardly out of the ordinary.”

He looked relieved, but he still hadn’t answered my question.

“Who was the other guy?”

“Oh. His name is Quentin Beck. He’s—“ another low whisper, “he’s from an alternate universe. He fought the Elementals before, and he and them got sucked into our universe when Tha—Hulk brought everyone back.” He didn’t look me in the eye when he talked about the snaps. I wouldn’t either, but I felt the little blip his heart made at the mention of Thanos’s name, so I didn’t push. Even though Quentin Beck and his story sounded like bullshit.

“Do you have a picture of him?” Peter looked at me skeptically, but hooked up his mask to his phone. A somewhat blurry picture of Quentin Beck popped up, and he sent it to me, but he didn’t seem happy about it. “I just want to know who to look out for. If I start chucking rocks at people, I don’t want to hit the wrong one.” The lie seemed to relax him a little bit. It wasn’t a complete lie, I did want to know who to look out for, but I also wanted to find this guy in our universe. “What’s the plan now?”

“They think another one will pop up in Prague—“

“Peter, we’re driving toward Prague. Shouldn’t we be going away from it?”

“I have to help fight this thing—“

“Let the Beck guy do it!” My voice had risen above a whisper and Peter quickly shushed me. “He’s done it before, he can do it again.”

“They need my help, I can—“

“Peter.” He kept muttering, convincing himself he needed to help, but I wasn’t having it. “You don’t have to save the world, Peter.”

That got him to shut up.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t owe the world a goddamn thing.”

“Help me.” That got me to shut up. “Help me fight the Elemental.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you’re one of the only people who can! The next one that’s coming, they’re pretty sure it’s the fire elemental, and any time it absorbs metal it can get stronger. You can help us beat it by keeping the metal away from it!”

Oh. He didn’t know I could do more than that.

“Peter, I — ”

“Please.” Peter Parker had the best puppy-dog eyes I had ever seen in my life. But I wasn’t convinced.

“I’m here for a school trip, Pete, not to save the world.”

It’s like I sucker punched him. He deflated immediately and looked away, and I got up and moved a few rows ahead.

I wasn’t opposed to helping, but I didn’t want to get near Quentin Beck until I had a full story on him. And that would take a lot of research and caffeine.

“Hey, Eugene.” We had stopped for a bathroom break and he was still using his phone to update his Instagram followers on all of the happenings on our way to Prague.

“Are you here to break my jaw again, Y/L/N?”

I looked at his face and didn’t see any swelling, barely any discoloration. “Nope, you’re healing nicely, I’m impressed. Do you have a hotspot?”

“Why do you think I have a hotspot?”

“Because you’ve been on your phone the entire trip.”

“What will you do for me if I let you on it?”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. Of course he would ask for a favor. “Anything. Within reason.”

“Can I cash in on the favor later?”

Goddamnit. “Sure, whatever.”

He laughed maniacally. “Okay, Flash Hotspot is the user, and spidermanrocks is the password, no spaces, no caps.”

“Really, Eugene, you went with that password?” I almost had to laugh. He would have an aneurysm if he knew who was really Spider-Man.

“What?”

“It’s a bit obvious, don’t you think?”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What were you doing with Parker?”

“Plotting the downfall of the European Union.” I let out a laugh. “We were talking about the water monster, and how there’s a light festival in Prague that’d be cool to go to.”

“Gonna go on a date with Penis Parker?”

“I was actually thinking about asking Brad.” That made Flash laugh, and I smiled myself. “But seriously, stop calling him that.”

“Whatever.”

Peter looked flustered as he got back on the bus, but I didn’t pry. But Brad looked awfully smug as he sat beside MJ. Focus, Y/N, you have to find Quentin Beck. I hunkered down in my seat and slipped my headphones over my ears, then logged onto Flash’s hotspot and got to work.

The number of illegal websites I went on was not something I’m willing to admit out loud, but I couldn’t find anything. Not a single facial-recognition scan showed any results for Quentin Beck, and I tried as many as I could get my hands on. But the more I looked at his face, the more I felt like I’d seen him before. And honestly, it was pissing me off.

I stared at the image on my phone, and I had a gut feeling it had to do with Tony Stark. This Beck guy was somehow connected to Stark. It’s like the answer was on the tip of my tongue. I rubbed my temples in frustration, wishing I could just reach into my memory and pull out the information when it hit me. “Memory, you’re so stupid, Y/N.”

Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, affectionately called B.A.R.F. was presented by Tony Stark at a lecture he did at MIT almost seven years ago. But this guy had released a paper about it six months before—a guy named Quentin Beck. I remembered reading about it for a school project, and the picture of the guy was the same person Peter met.

“There’s no way.”

I looked up the article, and sure enough, I was right. Quentin Beck was the scientist behind the technology, and he was an employee for Stark Industries when the article was published.

Great, now I had to break into Stark Industries and access their archives while on a hotspot provided by Eugene Thompson. Lucky for me, we pulled into the parking lot for our much improved hotel, which meant free wifi. Unlucky for me, Mr. Harrington now felt he needed to start bossing us around, considering he was the teacher. Which meant I had to put my investigations to the side. For now.

“Okay, kids, grab your room keys, same roommates as before. Meet back in the lobby at five o’clock for the light festival!”

MJ and I dragged our cases up to the third floor. We each chose a bed, but she was moody, more than her usual angst. But I didn’t have time to play therapist. “Did we get a wifi password?”

“Uh, yeah.” She passed over the card after logging in herself and sat on her bed, glancing back at me every ten seconds.

I was typing away madly, but her stares were making me uncomfortable. “Why are you staring?”

She looked away quickly. “I’m not staring.”

“You were totally staring.” I kept clicking and typing. “What?”

“What are you looking for? I know you stayed up all last night on your computer.”

To tell or not to tell, that is the question. Not a very hard one, but it’s still the question. This secret isn’t mine to make public, though. “I’m trying to prove someone wrong.”

“Who?”

I hesitated. “Peter.”

“Why do you need to prove him wrong?”

“Because he’s gotten his idyllic little hopes up and I want to squash them like a bug.” I glanced at her and smirked. “I’m kidding. I just don’t think he’s right about something, and I’m proving it.”

She nodded, not entirely convinced. “You’re coming to the light festival, right?”

I looked at her. Really looked at her. She was pulling her long sleeves over her wrists and switching her weight from foot to foot—uncomfortable as hell. I gave her a genuine smile and closed my computer. “Wouldn’t miss it. Wanna help me figure out what to wear?”

Friends come before saving the world any day.

tags: @eridanuswave @vampirestrawberries

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker series #peter parker oneshot #marvel #marvel comics #reader insert #peter parker x mj #ned leeds #michelle jones #flash thompson #spiderman far from home #mcu #spiderman #avengers

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writing-fool · 4 years

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mlqc | special kind of sadness

I’ve been having strange dreams lately. Maybe it’s because of the quarantine, or maybe because of my messed up sleep schedule. I don’t actually have severe nightmares, but somehow an idea for Victor + nightmares came up. It was going to be very short, so I included other types of comforting scenarios. Ahh...besides that, you might have noticed my url is writing-fool, right? It’s actually based off of a Korean song called Swimming Fool. But I think it fits with MLQC too, what with Lucien calling us ‘his little fool’ sometimes~ What a happy coincidence...

Love,

Warning(s): TW! Lucien’s scenario includes a panic attack.

Victor

You’re all about showing the world that you’re a grown woman with big girl pants on. You’re especially keen on proving to Victor that you can handle yourself, thank you very much. Even though he’s supposed to be your soft, loving boyfriend, he seems to grow stricter the longer you’re together.

“Really? You’re not capable of being a producer if you can’t even get these reports done.” Ouch. Your life doesn’t seem to be getting easier anytime soon.

So...you chalk it up as a grave, grave moment of weakness when you instinctively call his number at three in the morning, after waking up in a cold sweat. By the second ring, you regret your rash decision. What if he’s asleep? What if he thinks I’m some kind of weak child?

By the third, he answers.

“What. Why are you still awake?” His voice sounds as strict as ever. ‘Why are you still awake?’ is a question you would’ve asked if you were in a clearer mindset. Alas, this situation allows little clarity.

You decide against hanging up. I’m bothering him already, might as well apologise. “I-I must’ve misdialled. Sorry to bother you,” you mumble. You hate how your hoarse voice and ragged breaths betray the sobs that have barely subsided.

“...I’m coming over,” is all Victor says before abruptly hanging up.

It’s a twenty minute drive from his luxurious penthouse to your apartment, but you know he’ll make it in fifteen. Running to the bathroom, you try to fix your appearance to make you look more like a successful producer, and less like a woman gone mad. But while your hair can be combed down and your tears can be wiped away, nothing works against your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands and pale complexion.

The doorbell rings, and you’re in full panic mode. You really don’t want him to see you like this. But without him, you’re probably not sleeping tonight. Also, he’s here already. Wiping your sweaty palms on your pyjama pants one last time, you open the front door.

Even when he has his sleeves rolled up, shirt partly unbuttoned and hair mussed from running his hands through it, Victor is handsome. But today, you can’t bare to look at him. Your apartment floor suddenly seems incredibly interesting.

A small gesture encourages his entrance. The door is barely closed again, and he’s already got his arms wrapped around you, your face pressed against his chest. The warmth of his hug and his rapidly beating heart open the floodgates again, and while your boyfriend strokes your hair, you sob your fears out on his black dress shirt.

Later, when you’re both huddled in your queen-sized bed, he asks you why you didn’t tell him about the nightmare right away. “I thought you’d think I’m pathetic or something. You’re always so strict.” You look up at him, mouth formed into a small pout.

For a moment, he’s dumbfounded. Maybe he never considered the idea? Victor hesitates, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I’ll be more considerate from now on.”

And as Victor rubs your shoulder, legs intertwined with yours, you doze off under the cloudy night sky. But not before hearing his sweet whispers. “Lean on me more, next time. I’ll always be by your side.”

Lucien (TW: panic attack, minor mentions of death)

Disclaimer: I know this could be taken wrongly. I have no intention to romanticise mental illness. It isn’t something that makes you broken, nor is it a ‘fun’ or ‘special’ thing. The story is partially taken from my experience, so I know how this feels. I wrote this as a way to bring awareness in a light manner, and to show that sometimes, panic attacks can be alleviated with someone around. I hope it brings comfort to those who wish they had someone in moments like these.

Listening to Lucien’s lectures tends to transport you back to the time when you were still a university student. Ah, it is a nostalgic feeling. A part of you misses being in school; going out with friends, listening to the teachers drone on about various subjects, eating in the school’s cafeteria.

But if there’s one thing you don’t miss, it’s the immeasurable amounts of stress. So why is that the thing I’m reliving right now?

As a young adult, you struggled with anxiety and spontaneous panic attacks, rendering you vulnerable to a work overload. You’d think it’d gotten better, especially since you have to deal with a lot of projects as a head producer nowadays. However, it seems as though old habits do die hard...This week has been particularly taxing—emotionally, what with your father’s death anniversary, and mentally; an important and popular show just got compromised by one of the actors’ companies. All that, and the prospect of an even tighter schedule during Christmas season has sent you into a full-blown panic attack.

Your initial plan was to just...ride this one out. That’s what you always did as a child. In an hour or two, your hands will stop cramping, your tears will stop falling, your breathing will return to normal, right? But it seems fate, and Lucien, disagree. I forgot I gave him the key to my apartment.

Lucien senses something is wrong when you don’t come out to greet him by the door.

“My love? Are you alright?” he yells out. Hearing little besides your irregular breathing, he kicks his shoes off, speeding towards the living area. You’re sat on the white sofa, knees to your chest, shoulders heaving and thick tears streaming down your face.

Lucien’s brows furrow in deep concern as he kneels down by your form. Even though he’s right in front of you, your eyes do not meet his. You’ve gone too deep in your own shell to even be able to acknowledge his presence. A tentative hand removes one of yours from its tight grasp on your other arm, and Lucien lets out a sigh of relief as he feels your hand clutch his. He takes it as a sign to lift you fully into his arms, and takes a seat on the sofa.

“Breathe. In,” he mimicks a deep inhale, “and out.” Lucien blows out, repeating the motion a couple more times. He rubs your back and your hands, constantly alternating between helping you breathe and gently uttering soothing phrases.

“Easy, I’m here with you. Do you feel my heartbeat?” When your hands have finally relaxed out of their cramped up form, he presses one of them against his chest. The slow, rhythmic thumping grounds you. Lucien. A stiff nod from you makes a soft, wry smile appear on his face. “Good girl. You’re getting there, my dear. Just stay with me, here. You’re doing great.”

You don’t know how much longer you stay like that. All you know is that he stays with you through the entire attack. Hours later, you two are having a steaming cup of tea at the dinner table.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to worry,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself,” Lucien’s violet eyes bore deep into yours, “Besides, how could I not worry when someone so dear is having a hard time?”

You shrug, a defeated look on your face. Your fingers fidget with the wood of the dinner table, until Lucien swiftly takes your hand in his again.

He sighs. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll take care of you.” Even though his tone is soft, Lucien leaves no space for argument. You know you should agree. There’s no way you could function properly if you were to go to work tomorrow.

“...Thank you.”

Lucien brings your hand to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses on your knuckles. “No thanks needed. You can be greedier with me.”

Gavin

There’s perhaps no person in the world who enjoys rejection. Sure, there may be those who bounce back quickly, those who see rejection as a new opportunity. But rejection, failure in itself, doesn’t evoke positive feelings.

As the producer of Miracle Finder, you’ve gotten used to rejection; it was hard to get the show back on track during the first year or so. Maybe you were arrogant, thinking it’d get better, or less painful, the more often you got rejected.

Things did get better, and last week you were even offered a deal with Loveland TV for a second weekly show. The company had seen the success Miracle Finder had, and had offered you the chance to come up with something wholly original. Something...you. That night, a mere week ago, you took the girls out for dinner and drinks. You were on cloud nine that day. In hindsight, maybe it was karma. Maybe I jinxed it. Cheered too soon, and all that.

This morning, you got a devastating e-mail that stated, in polite (but somehow still rude) terms, that your new show would not be broadcasted. The relaxed mood at the office rapidly turned somber once you mentioned the unfortunate decision. Your employees decided to give you some space afterwards. Not being able to stand the sadness, and feeling somewhat bad for them, you sent everyone, yes, including Anna, home early.

By three p.m., you’re the only one left at the office. You sit at your desk, head in your hands. I know it isn’t the end of the world...but right now, it almost feels like it is. With a deep sigh, you push yourself up, heading to the small kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. Maybe you’ll have a biscuit too. Anything to cheer yourself up.

Your mind automatically goes to Gavin, and without thinking it over too much, you dial his number. After a couple of rings, your call goes to voicemail. Stupid. He’s probably working. I’ll just leave a message.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I-uh, the thing I mentioned last week? The new show deal with Loveland TV? Yeah, that’s not happening,” your voice cracks halfway through the last sentence as you try to push down the disappointment that bleeds through, “I’m staying late today. Need some time to-to process things. I’ll be fine. Love you, hope you’re safe.”

Time passes agonisingly slowly, so slowly you might as well think Victor’s behind it, while you dive into a mountain of work. It distracts you from today’s events. but the lingering sadness is still present in the back of your mind.

Around eight, you start cleaning up your desk, shutting down your computer and gathering the papers. A knock on the window catches your attention as you’re about to head out. You turn around, noticing a tall figure on the balcony outside. Gavin! You hastily run back, opening the sliding door for Gavin to enter.

“Hi,” That’s the most awkward thing you could say. “I didn’t know you would come. Did you hear my message? You really didn’t have to...” you trail off when Gavin wordlessly opens his arms to you. His golden eyes look anywhere but you, and a slight blush is visible in the dark room, only illuminated by the bright lights outside.

You gingerly step into his arms at first, clutching the back of his signature denim jacket tighter as time goes on. A couple of stray tears that you’re not able to hold back create wet splotches on his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the soft fabric.

“No biggie. Are you feeling alright?” he asks you. A non-committal shrug is all you respond with. “I know it was a big project for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what to do now.”

Gavin bends down a little, kissing the crown of your head. “You move on, and you don’t give up.”

You fall into comfortable silence. Gavin’s thumb rubs up and down your waist, soothing you. “...Have you ever been rejected?” you suddenly ask him.

Gavin chuckles. “Sure I have. I got rejected by my very first love.”

You raise your head to look up at him. Gavin sees his own reflection in your large, teary eyes, and smiles. “And what happened then?” you ask, your voice lightly tinged with jealousy. Who was his first love?

“Well, she’s in my arms now, isn’t she?” Even though he’s embarrassed to say the words, Gavin forces himself to look at you. At those eyes that shine with love for the world, for him.

Bonus:

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” you pull out of the embrace to get your coat by the coat hanger, opening the door to head out again, like a normal person.

“How? You didn’t come here by bike, did you?”

Gavin’s already facing the window again, but he turns back with a smirk, holding his hand out to you. “I never said we were going by bike.”

“Gavin, no, babe, no, no, nonononononono—Aah!!” Your protests are cut short as Gavin swoops you into his arms bridal style and flies off. The wind rushes past your ears, almost making you miss Gavin’s gleeful laugh. “Gavin! I didn’t lock the doors!”

Kiro

On many occasions, you’re envious of Kiro’s Evol. But even without his Evol, Kiro is so bubbly and kind, you can’t help but like him. You sincerely wish you had that ability. And I know I’m supposed to make my own wishes come true, but I can only do so much to make people like me. I’m not going to bend over backwards and become a pushover just to be liked.

Still, it hurts when people are purposely mean to you. Especially during high school reunions. You were by no means a popular kid growing up...but you didn’t think that some people would still be stuck in a high school mentality. You held your own during the reunion, ignoring the backhanded compliments and blatantly condescending insults in favour of catching up with your old friends. Yet, all you can think of on the drive home are the negative comments.

“Oh, you still can’t drink alcohol? Seems like ‘someone’ hasn’t grown up yet!”

“You’re the producer of Miracle Finder? I hate that show, it’s so unrealistic.”

“Isn’t that a kids’ show?”

“My, you look adorable! My daughter also likes to wear those types of clothes, you know, to go play at the park.”

I can’t believe I missed game night with Kiro for this. With a terrible mood, you shuffle into the house. Kiro’s on the sofa playing A Chinese Ghost Story, a bag of chips on the coffee table in front of him. He turns to greet you with a smile, but it quickly falls after seeing your somber expression.

“Welcome home Miss Ch—eh? What’s wrong?” Kiro takes his headphones off to stand up in front of you. His hands instinctively move to your waist to pull you close.

“How was the gathering?” he asks carefully. His eyes are big, just like a puppy’s. Had you felt better, you would’ve commented on his cute appearance.

It’s as if that question flips a switch. “It was horrible!” you sniffle.

“Wha—Miss Chips!” Kiro grows panicked at your sniffles and sobs, and roughly pulls you to his chest. You retaliate by hugging him tightly, crying all your frustrations out on his shoulder.

Somehow, you move into a cuddling position on the living room sofa. You straddle his slender legs and his arms are wrapped around your torso, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Pulling away from his embrace, you start ranting about the terrible evening.

“...and I don’t even know why I’m this upset! It’s so frustrating. I’ve worked so hard to become who I am today, and the moment someone says something to me, I just break down. Maybe I am a child,” you look up at Kiro, eyes wide and brimming with tears, “Kiro, am I a child to you?”

Kiro chuckles. “Well, Miss Chips...sometimes you can be childish,” you jut your lip out in a pout, “b-but I’m childish too! And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people want to grow up too fast, so they drink alcohol and dress up in dark colours and stiff fabrics to feel properly imprisoned in the ‘harsh adult world’. But most of us could be happier if we just...let our inner child out.”

He cups your cheek. “Never be ashamed of being childish, Miss Chips. It doesn’t make you a child,” a mischievous grin appears on Kiro’s youthful face, “Besides, I wouldn’t do this if I thought of you as a child!”

With the hand on your cheek, Kiro draws your face closer to his. Your lips meet in a swift kiss that takes you by surprise. He swallows the startled gasp that escapes your mouth, retaliating by slowly swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You can feel him smile into the kiss as you lean into it, closing your eyes. Your tears are long forgotten as you tangle your hands in Kiro’s blond locks. Slowly, you part your lips, allowing Kiro’s tongue to slip into your mouth. The teasing flicks of his tongue make you go weak, and he chuckles when your grip on his hair loosens.

Kiro notices you’re growing light-headed, so he gives you time to regain your breath while he peppers little kisses on the corners of your mouth and on your swollen lips. You kissing demon.

His satisfied hum is disrupted by a vicious punch to the chest. “Ah! Miss Chips, why would you hit me?” It’s Kiro’s time to pout now.

“Who told you to do that?! You’re so sly, it’s unfair!” you scold him, cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yes, yes,” he pets your head, “but it helped, right? You’re not upset anymore, right?”

Your face scrunches up. “I guess not...I’m still mad at you for surprising me like that,” Kiro giggles, “But thanks.” His smile is contagious, and soon you’re both in a giggling fit.

When the giggles have subsided, Kiro pushes you back into his chest. As he snuggles into your shoulder, he whispers in your ear. “Don’t worry. Every time you feel sad, I’ll be there to cheer you up.”

I’m not saying dark clothes are bad! I have a black wardrobe myself...but we all need to remember that we don’t need to be so hard on ourselves sometimes.

For some reason I’ve never properly depicted kissing like that in my writing. Ehhh, forgive me if it’s bad. Little note...do you guys know what Chinese drama ‘A Chinese Ghost Story’ is featured in?

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lovabletomholland · 4 years

Text

Interviews, Premieres, and Panic Attacks

Tom Holland Imagine (Tom Holland x Reader)

Word Count: 2,112

Warnings: Language, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Fluff

Summary: You are Tom’s personal assistant and have been for some time. Tom has a panic attack at a London premiere from pressure and stress after several interviews and the fact that he was just at a premiere in LA. You are there to help him through it. He falls asleep once back at the hotel and you accidentally fall asleep there as well after the chaos of the day. What will happen when he wakes up?

A/N: This was requested by @averyfosterthoughts as a blurb, it ended up being longer than intended so here is it now, a one shot. I hope it is what you wanted lovely. So I hope you all enjoy and if it is something you all want there might be a part 2. Hope you all have a lovely day.

You have been on Tom's team as his PA for a while now so you can tell when things are starting to get to him. He has done several interviews. An LA premiere and now you are currently on the red carpet at the London premiere. You can see the distress on his face though he is trying to hide it. ‘Hey Mr. Holland look over here!’ ‘Mr. Holland over here!’ ‘Mr. Holland look this way!’ ‘Mr. Holland on your right!’ "Please don't shout at me. Please don't shout at me." He asks the paparazzi calmly. He stands in that spot a few more seconds as they continue to shout orders for him to do this, look this way, stand over there. "You call that a smile?!" Another shouts over all the others. You see the stress in his eyes and then the panic before he quickly walks away. You follow him through the door into the theater. You find him leaning against the wall. His hands are over his face as he shakes uncontrollably and it looks like he is having trouble breathing. "Mr. Holland," you say cautiously as you walk up to him. He moves his hands and looks at you, "My chest hurts," he manages to gasp out. He is having a panic attack, he has only had one other before but it wasn't this bad. "Feel like..." he takes several short breaths, "I'm dying," he finally manages to get out. "Mr. Holland, you will be alright. This will pass." You tell him calmly. "It is a panic attack, and it will pass. You are safe, it won't last long." "Tom," he breaths and you are confused at first, "please... Tom." He gasps. You know during these his responses will be short, curt. You think he wants you to call him Tom though. "Mr. Hol-" you stop yourself abruptly, "Tom." You amend and you see him visibly relax a little. "Okay, Tom do you want to go somewhere else?" You ask and he nods. "Okay, we will, right now I need you to take deep breaths for me. Okay? Can you do that?" You ask and he nods again and you watch as he tries to even out his breathing. Last time this happened you read up on what to do about it, you know touch helps but you aren't sure what to do. He is your boss, you can't just go touching him. You push that aside and take his hand, giving it a squeeze. You take only a second to call for the car so you can get him out of here. "Okay, Mr. H- Tom, the car is on its way. I am taking you to your hotel. Keep breathing for me, okay?" You smile reassuringly at him and feel him squeeze your hand in response. His breathing is starting to slow down and you are relieved. When you get the text that the car is waiting, you guide him out putting your arms around him to help him in the car, making sure no one sees. You get in after him and you see the relief in his eyes the moment you are next to him in the seat, "Don't worry. I'm not leaving," you reassure him. You are surprised when he rests his head on your shoulder and you unconsciously comb your fingers through his hair and that seems to help more than anything as you just talk to him about things he enjoys. In just a couple minutes his breathing has completely gone back to normal and he is no longer shaking. You know the panic attack is finally over. You get out of the car after him and he takes your hand as the two of you walk inside. This doesn't surprise you, touch continues to help even after the attack is over. So you don't think anything about it. In his hotel room you go to leave as he takes off his jacket, "Wait," his voice stops you, "do you mind staying with me just a little longer?" He asks and you nod. You can tell he is still upset about having a panic attack in such a public place. No one saw. You made sure of that, plus the rest of the team has confirmed it. "Of course Mr. Holland. Whatever you need," you smile kindly at him. "Please just call me Tom." Oh oops. It is hard to get out of a habit. "Sorry.. Tom," you say and he smiles weakly at you. "I think I'm going to take a nap. Do you mind staying until I fall asleep?" He asks and you see the vulnerability in his eyes. You know he hates to show that, so the fact that he is, just really proves how much today or even the past several days have messed with him. "I will stay as long as you need me to," you answer him. He smiles and grabs a change of clothes. He changes in the bathroom. When he comes back out he gets in the bed and you pull a chair up next to it so the two of you can talk. You just talk to him about silly things and you even manage to get him to laugh several times. You can tell he is feeling much better when he finally falls asleep. That is when you realize, to your horror, that you have been combing your fingers through his hair. You jerk your hand away immediately. You get up and deal with the chaos of Tom leaving the premiere early. When you are done, you feel exhausted and collapse back in the chair next to Tom's bed. What a day. Before you know it, you are asleep yourself. *** When Tom wakes up he has a splitting headache. He groans and covers his head with a pillow. Last night was horrible, and embarrassing. He can't believe he had a panic attack at a premiere of all places. His thoughts suddenly shift to you, his PA, which is something he had been trying really hard not to think about lately but that has been more difficult. His mind often wonders to you and after last night, he has a feeling that will happen even more often now. He enjoyed the feeling of your hand in his, of your fingers combing through his hair. He involuntary shivers just thinking about it right now. Tom shakes his head with a groan, he should probably get up but he just doesn't want to deal with the mess of yesterday. Unfortunately, his bladder needs to be emptied. He sits up making the pillow fall off his face and that is when he sees you, asleep in the chair next to the bed, exactly where you were when he fell asleep. Tom rubs his eyes and looks again, you are still there. Well, good at least he isn't seeing things. He feels bad, you do not look comfortable in that chair. He thinks about moving you to the bed but he's scared that will wake you. You must have been exhausted to have fallen asleep in that chair in that dress. Oh what the hell, he's going to do it anyways. He gets up and scoops you into his arms and then transfers you to his bed. He pulls your heels of your feet and then covers you up. Good, you didn't wake up. He smiles and then goes to the bathroom. When he comes out he hesitantly looks at his phone and is surprised to only see messages from his family and friends. None from his team about last night. He looks at you and sighs, you must have dealt with it last night. No wonder you were exhausted. It is while he is ordering room service for the two of you that he hears rustling coming from behind him and he realizes you must be waking up. He hangs up and looks around to see you stretching with a yawn. Your eyes meet his and then he watches them widen before you look around frantically. Tom watches as you get off the bed quickly and fix your dress, "Mr. Holland, I am so sorry! I didn't mean to fall asleep in here that was very unprofessional." You start looking around, he assumes for your shoes. "And I have no idea how I got on the bed, I was in the chair last night." Tom gets up and grabs your shoes, "You looking for these?" He holds them up. You look up at him suddenly and nod. You walk over to him and take the shoes, "Yes, thank you Mr. Holland. I will go now. I am so very sorry." Tom cringes as you call him Mr. Holland again. He has asked you so many times to just call him Tom. Last night you finally did, he was hoping you would continue to do so. It looks like that won't happen though. "Y/N it is fine. I'm the one who moved you to the bed by the way. The chair didn't look very comfortable. Thank you so much for yesterday. You knew exactly what to do." Tom sighs and decides to try again with the name thing, "And please, it's just Tom." "Thank you... Tom." He can tell it is weird for you to say his first name. "And it was no trouble at all." He watches as you sit in a chair and put your shoes back on. "I just ordered us some breakfast. It should be up here soon," Tom says. He watches as you nod, "Okay. Is it alright if I use the restroom?" Tom nods and watches you until the bathroom door closes behind you. *** Once you are safely inside the bathroom you splash your face with cold water and lean against the door. You cannot believe you fell asleep in here last night and Tom moved you to the bed?! Your cheeks are heating up just thinking about it. It is very unprofessional to have a crush on your boss. You have been trying to nip it in the bud for several months now. It just hasn't worked. You sigh and compose yourself before walking back out. You see that room service has come and your stomach grumbles. You did not eat dinner last night. Neither did Tom. You sit down at the table with Tom and he smiles at you, making your stomach flutter. It would be so much easier not to like him if he was a mean boss. Tom was very kind though, to everyone. "So I wasn't sure what you like, so I just got everything," he tells you, "plus I am starving," he adds sheepishly. "Sounds good to me," you laugh and dig in with him. Talking with Tom is easy going. The two of you have always got along well but it seems after last night the two of you have grown closer. Which honestly probably isn't a good thing, considering your crush. You have come to accept the fact that it probably won't go away and it will just be something you have to deal with. Once you finish it is time for you to go to your own hotel room. You have several things to do anyways and it is time to get on it. "Thank you for breakfast Mr. Holla- I mean Tom." He grins at your mishap, "No problem, Y/N. See you later, yeah?" "Yeah. See you." You walk to the door and Tom accompanies you. "Thanks again for last night." You hear him say as you feel him touch your arm. You turn to look at him, "No probl-" you are unable to finish your sentence because suddenly his lips touch yours but as quickly as they were there, they were abruptly gone. His cheeks are bright red when you finally look at him and you're sure yours are too, "I am so sorry, Y/N! It was- I mean-" he sighs and takes a deep breath, "I was going to kiss your cheek but you turned your head. I am so sorry!" He finally manages to get out. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know!" You exclaim, embarrassed. "I know, it was my fault. You don't need to apologize." He tells you. The both of you continue to apologize, red faced, until his hotel door closes behind you. As you walk to your own room you can't help but touch your lips and smile. You can still feel a tingle there from where your lips met his. Damn, this doesn't help your crush at all now, does it?

Taglist:

@averyfosterthoughts, @artsyle, @photoshopart15, @peterisparker, @rebekkah4766, @jackiehollanderr, @myr5heart, @143amberrose, @mendes-fan, @jdroman5432, @stxfxniexreads, @nightxshadex201, @literalfsngirltrash, @livingforbarnes, @headlights95, @parkerpeter24, @okami-the-oaktree, @the-crazy-fanfictionist, @whitewolfandthefox, @domisatop, @spn-assemble-seven, @meme-lord-shit

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #lovabletomholland #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Convenient Groom: 7/13

The slow burn continues to simmer in this chapter as Emma and Killian settle into a routine, and Anna’s wedding planning forces them to figure out “their song.”

This is first and foremost a gift for @spartanguard, and this chapter includes several little touches just for her!

As I wrote this, I tried to imagine what kind of music best suits Emma’s and Killian’s personalities. So, don’t take offense at some of their musical opinions - I made digs at music even I like! And fyi, if you go on YouTube to search for wedding songs, this is pretty much what will happen (minus the hot guy to dance with you, of course).

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard .

Rating: M

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

Emma and Killian both had thought that life would slow down once they were back from the honeymoon, and it most ways, it had. The past week they had fallen into a comfortable routine. Killian woke first, tidied up the sofa where he had slept, then went for a run with Smee at his heels. While he was gone, Emma woke, made the coffee, and filled Smee’s bowl with kibble. Emma had her run on the treadmill while Killian showered, then he made breakfast while she showered. This kept Emma from leaving dirty knives poised on the edge of the sink, and gave Killian an opportunity to put her half-finished coffee in a travel mug.

Emma then raced out the door after snatching her breakfast out of Killian’s waiting hands. She was always running late for her 9 am appointment. Killian had yet to figure out why she didn’t schedule her first one later in the day. As for himself, he lingered over his breakfast so he could read a bit before heading into work.

Her book - he was reading her book.

Emma had seen it in various places around the house - on the coffee table, beside Killian’s morning coffee, and on the patio table. She wanted to ask him what he thought, yet at the same time she feared what his opinion would be. Men didn’t normally read her book, after all. Except for that one pompous windbag who only read it so he could skewer it. She couldn’t see Killian eviscerating her like that jerk had, but she also knew he would be honest. That tiny voice of doubt always at the back of her mind kept whispering that he hated every word she’d written. So she remained silent. She did note, however, that his book mark kept moving deeper into its pages.

At work, things went on pretty much as they were before, with one exception. Even though the paparazzi hadn’t followed them to Storybrooke, they still couldn’t let down their guard. The town had to believe they were a couple too, and Emma still had to keep up pretenses on her social media. For that reason, Emma made her way into his workshop at twelve each day asking what he wanted to do for lunch. Some days they walked over to Granny’s to grab a bite together (hand in hand or arm in arm - for appearances sake), while other days Killian was busy on a project and Emma brought lunch back for him. Their “work lunches” had already appeared on Instagram.

They didn’t always leave for home at the same time. It depended on Emma’s schedule and how engrossed Killian was in his current project (he had a bad habit of losing track of time). Yet Killian always insisted on cooking dinner for them both, and no matter what work had been like, they were seated at the kitchen table with a home cooked meal at seven pm every night. After that, they’d plop down on the couch and find something to watch on Netflix. Right now they were doing a rewatch of Parks & Rec.

It had honestly been the most steady, domestic week of Emma’s life. She would never admit it to anyone, especially not to Killian, but she loved it.

Unfortunately, there was one thorn in both their sides, and her name was Anna. They really should have looked closer at the calendar when they had suggested July 4th for the family ceremony.

It was Thursday night, and their enjoyment of the shenanigans in Pawnee, Indiana, was interrupted by a light tapping on the back door. They both groaned as Emma pressed a throw pillow to her face.

“I guess we can’t ignore her?” Killian asked half-jokingly as he paused the show.

Emma whacked him with the pillow. “You’re the one who started the habit of your family coming to your back door. Who does that?”

Or maybe lots of families did that - Emma really wouldn’t know.

Killian sighed again, his head dropping onto the back of the sofa. “Come in,” he called out.

“There’s really only one more thing I need to ask you two,” Anna said without preamble as she rushed through the door. “Sparklers - yes or no? Because I think they’re romantic, but Kristoff says they’re for kids, and Liam said they’re cliche, and Elsa worried we’d burn our fingers, which if you think about it, kind of contradicts what Kristoff said because if kids use them, I’m pretty sure we can handle them without burning ourselves.”

Anna finally ran out of words, and just stood there in front of them expectantly. Emma was rendered speechless, wondering how Anna hadn’t passed out from lack of oxygen, and Killian simply looked confused.

“Sparklers for what?” he finally asked.

“The wedding,” Anna clarified with a roll of her eyes.

“You know, babe,” Emma teased, poking him in the leg, “the reason she’s popped over here every single night?”

Killian rubbed his jaw, and Emma noted the bags under his eyes and frowned. For the first time, she wondered how well he was sleeping out here on the couch.

“Aye, our small, family ceremony.” He looked at Anna pointedly as he emphasized the words.

“It will be,” she insisted, punching Killian in the arm. “It’s just going to be the six of us. Now, what’s your song?”

She had a literal binder opened on her lap. It was so large, her pregnant belly was about to send it sliding to the floor. Her gaze was on them expectantly, a pen poised over the binder.

Emma glanced at Killian. “Ummm . . . we don’t really have one?” She shrugged.

Anna’s shoulders slumped and her lips turned down into a frown as if Emma had just insulted her personally. “How can you not have a song?”

“It’s not a requirement, A,” Killian pointed out.

“But . . . but . . . you had a first dance at your big fancy wedding. I saw pictures of it on the internet. What did you dance to?”

“Don’t use that,” Emma blurted out before she could stop herself. Anna frowned.

“It was just some generic song the DJ picked out,” Killian explained hurriedly. “We didn’t like it, actually.” He turned to Emma with a grin. “Remember how we laughed about that song?”

Emma’s chuckle was genuine. “We sure did.”

“Oh, well that’s disappointing . . .” Anna trailed off, slumping against the sofa. Emma was really expecting the binder to hit the floor now.

“I tell you what,” Killian encouraged her, “Emma and I will pick out a song, ok?”

“You can’t just pick out a song!” Anna argued, and Emma was startled as tears welled in the redhead’s eyes. “It has to be meaningful!” She dashed at her tears in frustration. “I’m sorry it’s these stupid pregnancy hormones.”

Killian moved to sit next to Anna and put his arm around her. “Don’t worry, A. It’ll be meaningful. I promise.”

“By tomorrow?”

“By tomorrow.”

Anna narrowed her eyes. “And it won’t be generic?”

Killian put his hand to his heart. “I promise we will find something meaningful to our relationship.”

“I know I’m being ridiculous,” she chuckled as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“No you’re not,” Emma assured her, “it’s really sweet of you to put all this together.”

Anna gave her a watery smile, then started trying to hoist herself to her feet. Killian rushed to help her, then she gathered her binder and headed for the back door.

“Oh, and Anna,” Emma called out after her.

“Yeah?” Anna asked as she turned back around.

“Yes to the sparklers.”

Anna’s answering grin was almost worth the nightly interruptions. Almost.

“Okay, Swan,” Killian exclaimed as soon as the door shut behind Anna. “We’ve got some work to do.”

“The song?” Emma was incredulous. “You’re not serious!”

“As a heart attack. You heard her. She wants something meaningful. Don’t you think it will arouse suspicions if we pick, like . . . ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ or something?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Why would that be suspicious?”

“Because that’s in practically every rom com ever made.”

Emma snorted through her nose. “I never took you for the rom com type.”

He smirked at her. “I have many facets, love.”

Emma shook her head and couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Okay, romance expert, how in the world do we pick a song? There are literally millions of love songs.”

“Well,” Killian replied, plopping down on the couch next to her and taking the remote, “I bet there’s a wedding dance playlist on YouTube. We’ll start there.”

He scrolled through the menu on their smart tv as Emma lounged against the back of the couch and studied him. “I’m still trying to imagine you watching . . . say . . . You’ve Got Mail or something.”

“Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks are legends, darling,” he countered smoothly, still concentrating on the tv.

“Okay, I guess, but what about . . . While You Were Sleeping?”

“Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman? What’s not to love?” He winked at her. “Okay, Emma, here we have top 100 wedding dance songs.”

“100!”

He waved his hand at her dismissively. “I’m sure half of them we can rule out rather quickly.”

“You mean the super cheesy ones?”

“Precisely.” He narrowed his eyes as he pulled up the playlist, and Emma couldn’t stop the fleeting thought that he was cute like this - his eyes all crinkled at the corners and his brow furrowed. “Okay, we’ve got Bruno Mars, Justin Timberlake -”

“No, and no.”

“Okay, The Chainsmokers -”

“You can not be serious.”

“Whip/Nae Nae?!?”

“You must have the wrong list,” Emma told him, snatching the remote out of his hands. “That must be stuff to play at a wedding to get people to dance.”

“Ah, you’re right. Try first dance.”

“Wedding . . . “ Emma murmured as she used the arrow keys to choose the letters, “dang it, Killian, you really need to get one of those voice activated tvs.” She glanced over at him to see him grinning at her. “What?”

“You stick your tongue out a bit when you’re concentrating,” he told her, gesturing towards her lips, “it’s cute.”

Emma glowered at him, but felt her cheeks heat all the same. She forced her gaze back on the tv. “Okay, let’s see . . . First Dance - Wedding Suggestions or Most Popular Wedding First Dance Songs. Both have 117 videos.”

Killian shrugged. “Just pull up the first one.”

“Ed Sheeran,” they both read at the same time, then glanced at each other. Simultaneously they both burst out laughing.

“I’m hoping that’s a no?” Killian asked her tentatively.

“Of course it’s a no! Ed Sheeran screams generic.”

“You know, darling, maybe we’ve put the cart before the horse.”

“Okay, old man, what the hell does that mean?”

“Well,” he replied, smoothly overlooking her jab, “what kind of music do you like?”

Emma scrunched up her nose and tapped on her chin. Killian thought once again that she looked adorable, but he didn’t say so. “Ummm . . . I guess more rock than pop. Definitely no country. And don’t laugh but . . . I like punk.”

A slow grin spread across Killian’s face. “Love, I feel we are a match made in heaven.” When Emma’s jaw dropped, he sputtered and scratched behind his ear. “Uh, I meant musically speaking.”

“Riiight,” Emma said, nodding slowly. “Oh, and no power ballads. She rolled her eyes. I don’t think I can listen to an 80s hair band again after Walsh.”

Killian chuckled. “Okay then, let’s just scroll through these with all of that in mind, shall we?”

It wasn’t easy. Most were either pop or country, and the classics like Etta James “At Last” felt too cliched. A few had them chuckling. Who the bloody hell would dance to Dave Matthews Band. Do they have any idea what Crash into Me is about? And Killian played REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight this Feeling” just so he could dramatically sing it to Emma until she collapsed laughing on the couch.

“Wait!” Emma called out finally, clutching his wrist where he held the remote. “That one? Maybe?”

“This one?”

“Yeah - you think?”

He grinned at her as he rose from the couch and offered her his hand. Emma’s brow

furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m asking you to dance.”

She rolled her eyes. “We did that already, remember?”

Killian arched both brows at her. “But that was Walsh’s cheesy power ballad about sex, remember? Anna wants us to pick a meaningful song, and we can’t do that if we don’t get the full affect.”

Emma battled the smile that teased her lips and lost. “Okay,” she said, putting her hand in his. Her traitorous cheeks blushed as he pulled her up and close to him. He pushed the play button, and Paul McCartney’s voice filled the small house.

Maybe I’m amazed by the way you love me all the time. Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you.

For some reason, dancing with Killian now felt even more nerve-wracking than it had at the wedding. She stared down at their shuffling feet, inexplicably terrified to look into his eyes. His very pretty, blue, expressive eyes that she swore sometimes could see right through her.

Maybe I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time. Hung me on a line. Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you.

“Well, the lyrics are definitely meaningful,” Killian chuckled awkwardly. “A won’t be able to argue that point.”

Baby I’m a man and maybe I’m a lonely man who’s in the middle of something that he doesn’t really understand.

Inwardly, Killian was cursing Paul McCartney as the lyrics hit like barbs. He realized he had tightened his grip on Emma’s waist, but she didn’t flinch away. He cleared his throat nervously, then almost choked when Emma’s green eyes met his. She’d had them glued to her feet until this very moment.

Baby I’m a man and baby you’re the only woman who could ever help me. Baby won’t you help me understand?

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I mean, it is Paul McCartney.”

“Uh huh,” Killian winced at how utterly idiotic he sounded. What was this conversation about, again?

Blessedly, the song went into an instrumental break. They continued to shuffle their feet across the living room carpet, but his grip relaxed, and so did Emma’s shoulders.

“So . . . “ she said tentatively, biting on her lower lip, “I saw you were reading my book.”

“I am.”

Emma tilted her head. “So . . . what do you think?”

Killian pressed his lips together and gazed over her shoulder, collecting his thoughts. “I think you give women very good advice on how to be smart while dating. I also like how you draw a line in the sand, telling women they should never have to change who they are to keep a man. I feel like so much dating advice is really telling people to put on an act, and that’s just garbage. I think your book empowers women to cut off bad relationships.”

Emma nodded, impressed. Those were usually the things in her book that got her hate mail from irate ex-boyfriends.

“Do I sense a but after that praise?”

Killian let out a long sigh, then looked her directly in the eye with such intensity that Emma couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to. “But, the chart that’s in there? The one that will show you if someone is compatible with you?” He shook his head, and Emma swore his arm snaked farther around her waist, pulling her just a hair closer. His head bent closer to hers, and his voice dropped an octave. “Love can’t be quantified and measured like that, Swan. It defies logic. It takes everything you thought you knew and obliterates it. When it’s real, you can’t tell where you end and the other person begins. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and comforting all at once. When you love someone, you don’t need a chart. When you love someone - really love them - you just know.”

Baby, I’m amazed at the way you’re with me all the time. Maybe I’m afraid of the way I leave you.

There was no mistaking it now, Killian had pulled her closer, his hand splayed across her back. Emma pressed her face to his collarbone, relieved that she was no longer looking into his piercing eyes. Killian pressed his lips against her hair.

“I haven’t offended you, have I?”

“No,” Emma managed to choke out, “I appreciate your honest opinion . . . “

“But?” he prompted with a chuckle.

“But your romantic views are exactly what gets people into trouble. That’s why I suggest people analyze the person before feelings get involved.”

Paul McCartney’s voice trailed off, the final strains of the music died, and a YouTube ad for Facebook Messenger started to play. Killian lifted his head and pulled back a step. Emma looked into his eyes once again.

“What if it’s too late?”

“My book says to fill out the chart after the first date, Jones.”

“What if it doesn’t happen the traditional way?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What if love sneaks up on you?”

Emma swallowed and took a step back. His arm fell away from her waist, and she shivered.

“I think Paul McCartney will work, don’t you?”

He chuckled. “Aye, Swan.”

Suddenly, Kelly Clarkson’s voice filled the room as the first strands of “A Moment Like This” played, and they both burst out laughing. It broke the tension, thankfully, and Emma plopped back down on the couch and snatched up the remote. She started flipping through the songs in the playlist again, just in case. Killian sat down next to her.

“So,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, “you said we’re a match made in heaven music wise. You share my tastes?”

He shrugged. “Mostly. I’m rock more than pop too, though I don’t discount it entirely. I mean, The Beatles are technically pop.”

“True,” Emma conceded, “and then there’s Michael Jackson.”

“Exactly! And, I’d go less for punk and more for alternative.”

“Let me guess. Pearl Jam? Nirvana?”

“Naturally. And Goo Goo Dolls, Smashing Pumpkins, Barenaked Ladies -”

“Wait, wait, wait. Barenaked Ladies are not alternative. They are one hundred percent pop.”

Killian gasped. “Pop, no way! The lyrics are way too tongue in cheek.”

Emma stuck her lip out stubbornly. “They are pop, Jones! Maybe veering a little towards punk -”

“Absolutely not, they are not punk at all!” Emma rolled her eyes as Killian snatched his phone off the coffee table. “I’ll prove it! Hey Google, what genre of music are The Barenaked Ladies?”

“The Barenaked Ladies,” his phone replied in that emotionless robotic voice, “are a Canadian alternative rock band formed in Ontario in -”

“Ha!” Killian crowed in triumph as Emma scowled.

“Where did Google get that info, Wikipedia?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Swan,” he teased, and then his eyes brightened. “You know, I may have an even better song for us.” He took the remote from Emma and tediously typed something into the search bar.

When Emma saw what it was, she cried out in protestation. “That can not be our song!”

“Why not? It’s the style of music we both like.” He gave her a faux-innocent pout.

“Alternative Girlfriend?”

Killian shrugged then winked at her cheekily. “Well, there’s no song called Alternative Wife.”

Emma smacked him in the chest. He hit play on the YouTube video and then began crooning the song to her.

“You’re in an all-girl band, your futon is second-hand -”

“Yeah, Jones, this screams wedding song.”

“I have a job in a shop - see, that’s me!”

“Sure it is.”

Killian kept singing as he yanked her to her feet and swung her around the room. “You’re my alternative girlfriend. I love you and now you cannot pretend. There’s nothing left that won’t cross over.”

Emma laughed as he spun her out and back in again and she collided with his chest. “I’m pretty sure by alternative girlfriend they mean the alternative rock lifestyle.”

“No way, they mean a girl you date - or marry - because she’s in a pickle. For pretend.”

“Did you just basically say that I’m in a pickle?”

“Aye, Swan, a dill pickle because those are the only kind.”

Emma was laughing so hard now, her sides ached. They ended up staying up until two in the morning sharing music on YouTube. Some that were their favorites, some that they loved to make fun of, and others they were ashamed to admit they liked in their younger days.

And even though they had decided on it hours earlier, they texted Anna a little after two am to tell her that “Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney was officially their song. They figured it served her right.

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years

Text

Lie to Me (Ch. 27 of 27)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 3100

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, the absolute loves of my life

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity, @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany , @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings, @lokis-butter-knife, @help-i-need-a-social-life, @vodka-and-some-sass, @pandacookieowo

EPILOGUE

“Are you positive you wish to do this?”

You roll your eyes and shove a finger into Loki’s side. “Yes, Loki, I’m sure. Just as sure as I was ten minutes ago when you asked me, and the thirty minutes before that.”

He holds up his hands in mock defeat, a gentle smile on on face at your exasperation. “Yes, yes. Pardon my concern at your self destructive nature.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m pretty certain everyone already knows; second, being associated with you is not self destructive.”

“They still do not trust me.”

“That’s their problem.”

“Witling-”

“No, no, stop that. No coercing me with nicknames.” You grab his hand and entwine your fingers together. They fit together perfectly, just as they always have. “I love you, and I don’t give a damn if SHIELD, Bill Nye, and the freaking Queen of England knows or cares.” You wrinkle your nose at him, and he wrinkles his back, though it’s halfhearted. “You’re stuck with me. Suck it up, buttercup.”

Loki sighs and rubs a thumb over your own in small, comforting circles, eyes watching the city pass by as you weave through traffic. “I do not wish to bring malice upon you simply because you walk by my side. It isn’t worth the prejudice or the risk.”

The resignation in his voice makes your heart sink. He’s been training with the Avengers for a bit over a month now, and you’ve hoped that they’d be a little more open minded about their new teammate once they got to know him. Apparently that hasn’t been the case. You tighten your grip on his hand and scoot over so you can let your head settle in the crook of his neck. “Look, Loki. I don’t want to cause you any trouble either. If you really don’t want to tell SHIELD about us, fine. It’s more your head than mine after all. I just- I never want you to think that I’m ashamed of you. Ever.” You let your chin perch on the bony part of his shoulder and give him a wicked grin. “Plus, I’ve taken on Stark before. He’s just an asshole; I can handle him.”

“Please do not ever do that again.” He boops your nose lightly with his own before you pull away. “My healing skills are nowhere near sufficient enough to mend a repulser blast to the stomach.”

“I’m wounded!” Dramatically, you put a hand to your heart, pretending to swoon into the car door. “My one true love, unwilling to save me from death’s door!”

“I’ve done it once,” he reminds you firmly. “And I do not care to ever repeat the experience.”

“Fair enough.”

The car comes to a stop, and while Loki busies himself with opening your door, you grab your bag and your crutch from where it leans against the seat next to you. Your ankle is permanently problematic, unfortunately, and save for going in and replacing everything with steel, there’s nothing the doctors can really do. You never planned on going out for the Olympics, so you decided to just let it be. A crutch really isn’t that hard to maneuver anyways. And sometimes, if you whine enough, Loki will pick you up bridal-style and carry you around the apartment, even though the kitchen is less than ten feet away.

You’ve decided he probably secretly likes it.

The compound hasn’t gotten any more colorful or any less huge since you’ve been away. It was a bit strange, finally getting around to the paperwork and legalities and clearance of getting yourself reinstated at your job after basically disappearing for a year, but the second you step inside you know you’ve made the right choice. It’s a strange sort of home, with its stern-faced agents and terrible coffee and casually world-threatening incidents on any given Tuesday. Having Loki by your side, and not in a cell, makes it that much better. You can’t hold his hand while you walk, but he knows exactly where to step to avoid tripping you up; how far behind you to follow so he can support you if you need the help. The two of you being so in sync with such little effort always makes your heart happy.

You get a few hesitant nods from colleagues as you pass, and a deliberately blank stare from Sitwell, which you ignore. Deep breaths. You’re fine, he’s fine. This is just day one. It’ll pass.

You’re about to give him a peck on the cheek goodbye and turn off into your own hallway of offices when an intern appears, looking scared out of his mind. “Mister- um- mister Loki? Sir? The others are waiting for you in the training facilities.” He at least waits until Loki acknowledges him with a nod before scurrying away like he’s fleeing for his life, but- wow.

“Is it always like that?” You give him a glance. He’s watching the intern practically sprint down the hallway.

“Unfortunately.” He must sense your annoyance, because his next question can only be a distraction: “would you like to come see?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. You’ve asked several times what this group training entails, but he’s always avoided it or been extremely vague. Mostly you just want to make sure he isn’t getting hurt, and see if you need to punch Tony Stark’s face in. “Really?”

He nods. “This way.”

The training facilities turn out to be another building entirely, most likely constructed for the superheroes to do their… superhero-ing? Without breaking SHIELD’s fancy chrome offices or some poor intern’s leg. He opens the door for you and you duck in, unsure of what to expect.

The room is massive, and the ceiling is so far up you can’t even see it- the roof just ascends into shadow. The ridiculously high-tech looking screens and simulators are at odds with bare-bones gym mats lining the floor and a couple of old-timey punching bags hanging in the corner. Currently, the Black Widow and Captain America appear to be sparring, as both are on the floor with the Widow’s thighs wrapped around the Captain’s neck in a very unpleasant looking hold. Clint Barton looks on appreciatively from the sidelines. Stark is half dressed in his metal suit, fiddling with a hologram hovering in front of his face, and-

“LADY Y/N!” Before you can blink, you’re whisked into someone’s absolutely massive arms so quickly your crutch goes clattering to the floor. His voice booms in your ears, but you just laugh as you’re spun into the air, because only one person can have that loud a voice and that big of a bicep.

“Thor!” You wrap your arms around his neck, giggling as you receive one of the most enthusiastic hugs you’ve ever experienced. It’s like being tackled by a mountain of golden retrievers. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“Aye, I wished to surprise you!” Loki, who is watching amusedly from a few feet away, gives you a wink. “My brother aided me in my deception!”

“I can see that,” you laugh, tapping him on the shoulder so he’ll put you down before you suffocate. “Careful you don’t pick up too many of his bad habits.”

He laughs heartily. “It has been many moons. How fares my little sister?” He picks up your brace and hands it to you, but does so casually, as though nothing has changed. Loki must have filled him in, thank god. The last thing you need is for him to cause an impromptu thunderstorm over a limp.

“As good as I can be.” You grin at him, genuinely thrilled to see him. He tucks an arm around your shoulder protectively and gives you another squeeze, almost lifting you off the floor again.

“Please do not hurt the witling, brother. Mortals are such delicate things.” You stick your tongue out at Loki’s teasing but take his hand as you’re finally set on the floor properly, helping you steady yourself.

With the absence of Thor’s booming, you’re suddenly aware of the rest of the room and their incredibly loud silence. The Captain and Romanov, at least, are pretending to be uninterested while they discuss tactics and maneuvers, but Stark and Barton are openly, unabashedly staring at the three of you. Barton can’t take his eyes off the crutch tucked under your arm. You take a breath- you weren’t really planning on meeting them again- well, ever- but might as well get it over with. “Um, hi. Agent Barton. Stark.” You’re not really sure what to say next: ‘sorry about the screaming match we had?’ ‘No hard feelings?’

Unfortunately, Stark takes care of that little dilemma for you. He’s watching you with undisguised disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Steve Rogers looks over sharply. “Tony-”

“No! This is- this is absolutely ridiculous! This is insane. How the hell has SHIELD not mind wiped you and shipped you off to Antarctica yet? And you just waltz in here like nothing’s even happened?”

Every one of your nerves is immediately set on fire. You are not going to be cannon fodder for some stuck-up playboy. “Listen, Stark, I don’t answer to you, and whatever I do with my life is absolutely none of your-”

“What happened to your leg?”

The archer’s question is quiet. Unobtrusive, but yet somehow still louder than your rising voice. You blink at him. “Some HYDRA idiot crushed my ankle. Doctors can’t fix it.”

For a second, you swear he’s going to be sympathetic, until he snorts. “Your boyfriend has enough magic in his fist to drop a small country, but he can’t fix an ankle.”

Loki immediately steps forward and puts a hand on your shoulder, effectively holding you in place. “Witling. You should go.”

“I’m not leaving you here with people who apparently still want to tear your fucking head off!” You snarl, nearly fumbling your crutch to the ground with how much your hands are shaking.

“He’s a criminal-”

“So are you, Stark! The army would love to hand you your ass!”

“I’d like to see them try.”

“Maybe we all just need to-”

“Steve, he murdered Coulson. Remember that? Remember your trading cards with his fucking blood on them?”

“Clint-”

“Never mind the fact that he tried to, I don’t know, enslave the human race! No big deal!”

“Glad to see at least one of us has a level head.”

“I swear to god if another one of you makes another sound I will-”

“IT WAS NOT HIS FAULT!” Thor roars, and this time the air is charged with the smell of ozone. Everyone falls quiet, even Stark, though his mouth is still open to toss out another retort. “It was not his fault,” Thor says again, quieter, but with just as much anger simmering below his voice. He turns to Loki. “Brother, I tire of this falsehood. If you will not tell them, then I shall.”

Loki’s eyes widen. “Thor-“

“Loki is as much a victim as any of us,” he says firmly, “for he too had lost his reason and control to the Mind Stone. His will was not his own.”

And if that doesn’t just make everyone’s jaw drop. You almost wish you could snap a photo. The Avengers are staring at Thor, and Loki looks like he’s about to smite himself out of existence where he stands, and you instinctively take a few steps toward Loki like you can somehow protect him from the coming onslaught. “Thor..? How did you-”

“When you mentioned to me the infinity stones, I decided to follow the path your questions led me down.” Thor shakes his head, more serious than you’ve ever seen him. “The truth is dark, and more troubling than I can say, but it is the truth nonetheless. Loki is not at fault.”

Loki shoots you a venomous glare, and you hold up your palms, trying to placate him. “I ask him back when I didn’t know what they were! When I didn’t know. I promise, I would never have told him the whole story. Not without your permission.”

His jaw is still clenched tight, and you can tell he’s struggling to control his breathing. But slowly, his fingers uncurl from fists on by one. “It appears we need to speak privately, brother.”

Thor nods. “Indeed. This is a burden you have been forced to shoulder for too long.”

Across the room, Stark begins to clap. It’s the slow, mocking clap of a person who just witnessed someone falling on their face and is too cruel to go and help them up. “Fabulous. Really, five stars, I’ll call the Broadway producers right now and have them set the whole thing up.”

You take in a sharp breath in favor of gasping out loud. Loki’s fury is slowly being eaten away by a painful resignation that makes you want to cry. Thor hasn’t quite caught on. “I beg your pardon, but I-”

“No, sorry. I just can’t buy this one. You actually expect us to believe that shit? You try to pass him off as the misunderstood villain all this time and then decided, whoops, guess what, he was actually brainwashed! None of it was his fault!” Stark shakes his head. “Unbelievable. Seriously.”

“I do not claim that I am purely innocent,” Loki says quietly. “Though what my brother says is largely true.”

“He told me himself,” you add, trying to send positive thoughts to the man standing beside you. You’re pretty sure grabbing his hand to comfort him wouldn’t be appreciated by anyone right now. “Back when he was in his cell. You can check the footage yourself.”

“Oh, I have no doubt he told you,” Stark sneers. “He told you a bunch of bullshit and you swallowed it hook, line, and sinker, like a good little pawn. And Thor, buddy, I’m sorry, but Loki has been feeding you lies his entire life and you just keep falling for them. Stop making excuses for him and accept the fact that he’s a fucking murderer!”

Stark’s voice has risen to a crescendo over the course of his little speech, and small pieces of his armor lock into place until he’s fully suited in metal, save for his helmet. The repulsors on his palms are glowing white hot. At some point, Rogers grabbed his shield, though he looks as though he isn’t sure whether to throw it at Tony or Loki. Barton is remarkably silent, standing completely still, not moving a single tick. His eyes have a horrible haunted sheen to them, as though he’s reliving a nightmare. Romanov is taking to him in low, worried tones, in- Russian, maybe?- but she doesn’t seem to be getting through to him.

Thor, for his part, is in a proper rage. Mjolnir flies to his grip, and small streaks of lighting are beginning to form at his wrists. “You dare insinuate I lie?”

Loki has visibly locked himself away; pushed any thought or feeling deep down and thrown away the key. His fingers are twitching like he’s searching for something to defend himself with, and the hard look on his face says he’s preparing to fight his way out.

And then there’s you, small and remarkably unremarkable, standing in the midst of gods and monsters about to throw themselves into a civil war. You want to scream, you want to throw yourself at Stark and claw him out of that stupid suit of his piece by piece until he knows what real pain feels like. You’re mad. Livid. Indescribably enraged. Something hot and mean is streaking through your veins, and you let it race through you like wildfire, coating your vision in sparks of white and making you feel like crushing a gang of superheroes beneath your heel will be child’s play.

Your fists close around something sharp and solid.

Things happen too quickly for you to process. Loki shouts, alarmed, and Stark’s eyes widen in something that looks like fear before raising his hand and firing off two bolts of energy directly at you. Thor throws Mjolnir to intercept, but not before Captain America flings himself between you and the beams of light, forcing them to ricochet off his shield and into the wall, where they leave scorch marks and the smell of molten metal.

There’s a stillness that falls over the room, ominous as a single black crow. You’re still angry, still running hot with this indescribable something, but your brain is somewhat back online- why did Stark just fire at you?

And why does everyone look so scared?

“Witling.” Loki’s voice, gentle and very calm, floats through the haze. “Put down the knives.”

The… knives? You want to ask him what he’s taking about, you want to say something, but everything in you is frozen, quivering, waiting to strike.

“Love. It’s just me. I’m right here. Don’t move-” you feel his hand around your wrist, then deftly flick… something… from your hand into his. The spell is shattered, and he world falls back into place with a rush of static and a ringing in your ears. Everything in you seems to slump, and something metallic clatters to the floor.

Everyone around you is still holding their breath, watching the timer of a bomb hold steady at 00:01.

You blink, suddenly incredibly tired and confused. “What- what just happened?”

“I believe,” Loki says, his voice outwardly calm but internally shaking like a leaf, “you just conjured yourself some daggers.”

“Excuse me?” When you look to your right, a gleaming knife, dark as night and etched with glowing runes carved into the hilt, lies at your feet. Its twin is in Loki’s hands.

Your eyes widen. “I- I what?”

A hundred dimensions away, overlooking Asgard’s city of gold, Frigga smiles.

A/N: So. Here it is. The longest fic I have ever written by over 20k. I wrote this fic during a kind of terrible time in my life. My waking hours were basically nothing but scrolling through Ao3, and once I’d read all the fics I liked three times over, I thought, well... write what you’d want to read, right? So I did. The amount of love I’ve gotten has been asTOUNDING. Like seriously, guys. Wow. Thank you so, so freaking much. You have absolutely no idea how much it means to me, and I want to personally give each and every one of you a huge hug.

That being said... I, uh, kind of want there to be a sequel? Now, I started writing this fic in January of this year. I finished in September- that’s nine months. I only started posting when I had 35k written plus a very specific outline and idea of where everything was going. I have none of that for this sequel. I cannot promise this sequel will come soon. But I think it will happen, eventually. I like this world too much to let it go just yet. If you have notifications turned on for this fic’s updates, keep it, so six months from now you’ll know when I start posting the second part of the story.

I’m still dealing with a lot right now. I’m not sure if it’s because of the completion of this basically-a-novel or my health or school or all of the above but I haven’t really written anything in months. It scares me a bit. I hope my need to write will come back soon. Until then, I’m excited to fulfill the prompts I promised, and you can always submit other things you’d like to see here or on my tumblr- I’ll post them on here as they get finished :)

Once again, thank you all SO much. Sometimes the only thing getting me through the days was the excitement of posting another chapter and getting to talk and laugh with you guys. I love you all so much.

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wildedoves · 4 years

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A Star Wars Story

It’s a new fic I actually had the guts to work on. Have some Anidala with a touch of angst, adventure, action, and of course the occasional comedy. Warning: it’s slow paced.

Murphy’s Law with a Hint of Luck

Part I : Discovered

Padmé Amidala laid motionless on the pristine white bed, eyes closed and deathly pale in the center of the medical room. The monitors in the room indicated normal vital signs but Anakin, ever particular about Padmé’s well-being, noted her breathing was rather slow. Too slow, for his liking. He watched closely to the rise and fall of her chest, making sure she was still actually breathing despite the oxygenation levels indicating 99% on room air.

“Padmé…” he trailed. His rising anger and mal-intentions increased as he swiftly made his way beside her. Whoever was bold enough to even lay a single finger on her will have him to deal with later. Oh no, he wasn’t just going to stand idly and do nothing. Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, was not one to take kindly when angered. Those that knew this, stopped arguing with him after realizing they were speaking to a stone wall. Others, well, last they saw was the blue lightsaber whirring to life.

Someone was going to pay for this.

As if sensing his rising hostility, Padmé stirred. He watched her eyebrows wrinkle in discomfort as she slowly opened her eyes, observing her surroundings with perplexion. Her warm eyes then gazed into his. Anakin reached for her frail hand, intense worry overcoming his prior mounting wrath— or rather momentarily halting his ire.

“It’s okay Padmé. You’re okay.” He assured her, placing a small tender kiss to her forehead.

“Anakin…” She breathed, “Where...where am I?”

“On the Vigilance. Obi-Wan and I were on our way back to Coruscant when we got a distress call from Ryloth.”

Padmé tightened her grip in his hand. Mentioning the planet seemed to remind her, a tear aiding itself to the corner of her eye and sliding towards her ear. Through the Force, he felt her pain, her sorrow, and her anger.

When they had arrived on the planet, and to the apparently bombed village, Anakin noticed a droid fleeing on a speeder bike about 10 klicks away. Immediately upon landing, he hopped onto a speeder bike in hot pursuit, ignoring Obi-Wan’s instructions to stay instead. Capturing that droid took precedence since apprehending the droid meant obtaining answers which can then lead to whoever was behind this attack. Besides, Obi-Wan and Rex had it controlled back there. What could possibly stop him from this chase? At that exact moment, his comlink lit green with Rex’s voice patching through.

“Sir, you won’t believe this but it looks like we found Senator Amidala and she’s—well—you should come back here. General Kenobi has her now and is requesting your return.”

At that moment, his heart had dropped into the pit of his stomach. Kriff! What was she even doing on this planet? Hadn’t she said a few nights ago she would be providing relief to a distant...planet—and the horrifying realization had dawned upon him. Of course it would be Ryloth. Since its securement from the Separatists for the last couple of years, the Republic had been sending aid to restore the planet’s several damaged villages with the help of his wife and at times, Senator Orn Free Taa, who was practically useless in his opinion. (Anakin had actually said that once and if it wasn’t for Obi-Wan’s careful maneuvering of the conversation, he would have lost some of his privileges of the Senate Building, i.e., entrance to the building for public—and secret— meetings with his wife). He turned his speeder bike and revved the vehicle full speed.

His master had found Padmé alive under a pile of concrete rubble, including a Twi’lek family and a couple of clone troopers that were not so fortunate. From his description, and his master’s never failing reassurance, Padmé was gravely injured however, stable in the medical bay.

The medical droid attending her prior to his entrance in the room informed Anakin she has internal damage but with time and adherence to the droid’s medical advice, she would regain her health.

“Ani...there were children here and—and then the bombs…” she closed her eyes, tears spilling at the corners. Anakin gently wiped them away with his thumb, listening closely to her whispering hoarse voice. “This war doesn’t spare adults let alone children...I watched those girls die in front of me Ani...they were only eight.”

“I’m so sorry Padmé,” Anakin began, “War is ugly and there will always be innocent people caught in the crossfire. I don’t know who’s responsible for what happened here yet but when I find them, I’ll personally make sure they’ll regret it.” His jaw clenched. The situation became personal when Padmé became involved.

“Please don’t,” she pleaded.

“You saw what they did. You’re my family, Padmé, and I’m not letting them get away with this.”

“And you’re my family and I won’t let you.”

“You won’t? Or can’t?”

“Both.”

Anakin snorted while Padmé watched him carefully. “This is serious Anakin.”

“Look, I love you but I’m not going to just stand by and do nothing. You know me.”

“You can do something by helping the people here instead.”

“Not good enough. I’m going after that droid and finding out their reasoning behind this assault. You can’t change my mind.”

She closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh before looking up at him again. Exhausted, weary, and defeated Padmé painfully consented. “I can’t change your mind can I?”

It was pure fact really. “Well yeah. Not only did they attack this village but they also attacked you. You’re my wife and a senator Padmé. The chancellor won’t be happy about this. I’m not happy about this.”

She looked away and a momentary silence followed. It was obvious she was not fond of his plan and he didn’t blame her. His plans strangely seemed to go awry at times and Obi-Wan was (unfortunately) witness to this countless times. Padmé was still quiet. He glanced over at the monitors on the other side of her which were still rhythmically beeping without distress.

Anakin returned his gaze to her and she shook her head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

He graced her with his very well known Skywalker smirk. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Ani, just promise me you’ll come back. I always worry about you when you’re away.”

“Cmon Padmé, have a little faith in me. You know I’ll always come back to you.” He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “We’ll be heading back to Coruscant soon but until then I’ll be your personal guard. Once there, I’ll make sure you’re in good hands. How’s that?”

A small smile curved her lips. “I would like that.”

“Great, and besides, I think Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind.”

She chuckled and winced immediately. “I don’t know about that. He still doesn’t know about, you know, us.”

“I got this. You leave it to me and everything will be fine.” Of course, things usually don’t go according to plan and the worst typically tends to happen whenever he’s around but for her sake, she had to return safely to Coruscant. He absolutely will not risk losing her. If anything else were to happen— Anakin stopped himself right there and refused to imagine such a scenario.

“Anakin,” Padmé murmured and broke through his thoughts. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-----------------

Anakin remained beside his wife until she fell asleep comfortably, still holding onto his hand for reassurance. His presence alone brought her comfort, a sense of security and for this reason Anakin had made it a habit to be there beside her whenever she needed him (if, of course, he wasn’t on a mission some parsecs away). The medical droid had entered twice, checked her vitals, scanned for possible worsening wounds, and administered medications. When it was done and had left the room once more, Anakin leaned forward and kissed her cheek before stepping out of the room himself. She’s safe in there, he mused.

Then why did the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up?

He surveyed the corridor and observed every single passerby's actions including the medical droids robotic speech patterns. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Probably nothing. He was in Obi-Wan’s flagship which also happens to be one of the safest locations at this current moment. He shook the sensation off and headed towards the hangar where he felt his master’s presence the strongest. Probably still bringing down aid to the village before leaving the planet.

Pressing the button of his com link, he paged his master. “Obi-Wan, you there?”

“About time Anakin.” Pause. “Don’t tell me you’ve been with the Senator this whole time?”

He rolled his eyes. Well duh. “I promised her I’d be her personal guard on our way back.”

“We have other skilled people for that you know.”

Beside the point. His soldiers are great but nothing beats a Jedi husband. “I know but a promise is a promise and I don’t plan on breaking it.”

If Anakin paid more attention, he could literally feel his master shaking his head in disagreement but knowing Obi-Wan, he wasn’t about to protest considering Padmé’s condition. Of course, Anakin was right.

“Very well.” Anakin hears Obi-Wan sigh in defeat. “If I may ask, how is she?”

“She’s holding up but she needs higher medical care back in Coruscant. How long before we head out?”

“We’ll be leaving shortly. For now, meet me at the hangar. There’s something here I want to show you.”

“On my way.”

“Oh, and Anakin.”

“Yeah?”

“Do pick up the pace. We’ve been waiting quite a while for you to appear.”

Anakin chuckled and the com’s green light faded.

#star wars fic #anidala #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #my fic #MLHL #you guyyyssss #I just binged TCW #and on a roll here #yes hello have this #haven't written in a long time OTL

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baidar-oroq · 4 years

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14-Part

(Setting: Mor Dhona, after “Tooth and Nail” and “Ultracrepidarian”)

Darya was starting to notice that Baidar was spending a sizable amount of time in Mor Dhona since her training with Y’shtola had begun in earnest.

It did not take a genius to figure out why, after all, and she knew it had little to do with her. After the long ordeal of Y’shtola and the other Scions being trapped in a living death while their souls had been on the First, he simply wanted to be near her as much as he could. After all, with his ability to easily teleport insane distances from aetheryte to aetheryte, he could pop home to Shirogane with a snap of his fingers, and Kage certainly didn’t begrudge him spending some time with Y’shtola, after all. “Just make sure he gets home in time to help wrangle the kids in, unless there’s a crisis,” Kage had told her, and she did her best to do that. Baidar, at times, was a force of nature, but he adored his adopted family, and usually could be steered home easily enough. Otherwise, Baidar was a frequent presence in the Rising Stones, occupying one of the tables, his long legs propped up on a chair or the table itself, trading witticisms with Thancred or engaging in an activity he called “dunking on Alphinaud” with Alisaie.

Darya privately felt bad for Alphinaud for all of the teasing, but he seemed to take in stride, with a good nature. Which given the sheer volume of teasing that Alisaie could launch on her better days was necessary for him.

She was sitting at one of the tables with Y’shtola, taking a bit of a break from training, drinking water while Y’shtola drank her customary tea, when Baidar arrived in his typical fashion of essentially tackling the chair, landing in a slouch. “Ladies. How goes it?” he asked.

“You are going to break one of the chairs, sooner or later,” Y’shtola remarked. “And then you’ll earn the wrath of Tataru because she’ll have to replace it.”

“Kage’s a carpenter, he’d replace it.”

Y’shtola laughed. “Baidar, dear, I know Kage’s already very busy with his carpentry work. And he’d not want you making Tataru cross anyway.”

“Hmph. I mean, you’re right, but hmph.”

“Brat.”

Baidar turned to Darya to ask how her training was going; he had to learn that unlike himself, who had the Echo-given gift of learning how to master combat schools by essentially imitating them, Darya couldn’t master magic in no time. Before he could, though, his linkshell went off, and he said “Hold that thought,” as he answered. “Baidar here, what’s up?”

“Baidar, it’s Wedge. Got a problem you might be able to help us with.”

“Always have time for the Ironworks, Wedge. What’s up?”

“We sent a shipment of parts to Mor Dhona from Ishgard recently. Couple of weeks or so. Some of it was materials meant to remain there to manufacture armor and weapons for the House of Splendors to sell. That arrived there on time. The remainder, though, was supposed to be shipped through Vesper Bay to eventually arrive in Limsa for shipment to Kugane. It never arrived.”

“I’m getting the sense I’m not going to like where this is going, Wedge.”

“You’re right to have it. The missing shipment included redundant parts for the barrier protecting Doma. Thankfully none of them are crucial, and we managed to route replacements for them today, but someone picking off that shipment is concerning.”

“Very.” He looked at Y’shtola, who was frowning, having clearly heard the conversation. What do you need me to do?”

“For now, ask the person who arranged to have the parts shipped to Vesper Bay a few questions. Very direct questions, as Jessie suggested.”

“Should just send her down here, she’d have it solved in no time. Fine, that doesn’t seem too difficult. Who do I need to find?”

“A fellow named Vannes Arkwright. His family’s shipping company was going to make the delivery to Limsa, the East Aldenard Trading Company was going to take it from there.”

Baidar closed his eyes and counted to ten. “I’m familiar with him. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thanks, Baidar. Keep in touch.”

He disconnected and turned to look at Darya for a moment. “Can I borrow Darya for a little bit, Y’shtola?”

“It all depends on why, dear.”

“It seems I have an appointment with a lush that you nearly set on fire.” Baidar grinned. “I already scared him shitless when I overheard him telling someone about your encounter, but he’ll shit bricks if he sees Darya with me.”

Darya stood up. “I’m going with him, if that’s okay?”

“I would not deny you the opportunity, Darya. I thought afterwards that buffoon looked familiar.” She smiled a wicked grin. “Give him hell, you two.”

“We’ll have fun. Come on, Darya.” Baidar launched himself out of the chair, waving for her to follow.

“Is it always like this around him?” Darya asked.

Y’shtola sipped her tea. “Around him, Darya, this is a slow day.”

Vannes Arkwright’s offices were small, nestled in a building just behind the main markets, reached by climbing a flight of stairs that creaked under their weight as they walked up. Baidar privately wondered if the Arkwright family had just stuck their wayward son in a converted attic as they approached the door. It seemed likely, he thought. The door was a simple wooden affair, with a placard hung on that read ARKWRIGHT SHIPPING, which was crooked. Baidar tried to straighten it, and the sign slipped back into its angle. “Fitting,” he said to himself.

“Master...ah...Baidar?” Darya mentally cursed a blue streak in her head; she was, technically, still his retainer, but he’d essentially released her from his service when she’d agreed to learn magic. Habits die hard, she thought. “What was he saying when you overheard him?”

“Ahh. I’ll tell you later. Mostly he assumed you and Y’shtola were involved.” He reached out and tried the doorknob, which opened. “Mostly.”

Thankfully he did not notice her blushing as they stepped into the office.

The office was a small room, the floors paneled with wood, the walls and ceiling otherwise the masonry blocks that were typical of Mor Dhona. It was furnished with a desk, a single wooden chair, and a filing cabinet that looked like it was rusted shut. The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, shining down on Vannes Arkwright, who was, charitably, asleep in his chair. The empty bottle of wine on the desk in front of him suggested that was very charitable. Baidar shook his head, then clapped his hands and shouted “Vannes! It’s your lucky day!”

Vannes yelped loudly as his head snapped up, looking around the room wildly, his eyes bloodshot. He first noticed Baidar and, in a slurred tone, started to say “What are you doing here-” when he spotted Darya, and his voice turned into a squeak.

“Hello.” Darya’s tone was as cold as ice, her eyes narrowed in a glare at Vannes.

He looked from Darya to Baidar, then back again, then he dived behind the desk. “I am most sorry that I cast aspersions on you, madam!” he called. “I had merely been misinformed about...things about you Viera!”

Baidar sat on the edge of the desk and looked down on Vannes. “You know, I am a Warrior of Light, and she’s a gifted huntress and an apprentice thaumaturge. What were you hoping to achieve down there?”

“I...am not sure, khagan?” Vannes had mangled the pronunciation of the word horribly, but Baidar gave him credit for trying. “You’re not here because of the...unfortunate incident, then?”

“Oh, I’m not.” He jabbed a thumb at Darya. “She might be, and that all depends on how you answer my questions.”

Darya punched a fist into her palm. “I might be regardless of how you answer.” She was playing the part of being menacing, which seemed to be what Baidar wanted, but given what she suspected Baidar had heard, it wasn’t much of a reach.

Vannes stood slowly, hands raised as he found his chair again and sat down. “You have me at a loss, though, sir, madam. What is this about then?”

“For reasons completely unclear to me, the Ironworks contracted your family to deliver rather crucial parts from Vesper Bay to Limsa,” Baidar began. “They never reached Limsa.”

Vannes blinked once, then twice. “That’s impossible,” he said. He sat upright in his chair. “That’s the only bloody shipment I’ve made in the past month, I made certain it arrived. I even contacted our warehouse in Vesper Bay, confirmed the delivery. We don’t get a lot of magitek parts here, that usually gets directly routed to Rowena, so I paid attention. I’m certain it arrived safely”

Baidar frowned. “Are you just saying what I want to hear?”

Vannes was quiet for a moment, considering his response. Finally, he spoke. “I am many things, sir. A man...a hero such as yourself...can doubtlessly tell what a lot of them are. But a shipment from the Ironworks of valuable parts that is meant to eventually be delivered to the East Aldenard Trading Company? Even I wouldn’t fuck that up.”

“That’s still up for debate.” Baidar stood and flashed Vannes a grin. “Right, then. Next stop is your warehouse in Vesper Bay then. Best let Y’shtola know before I go, if you still want to go along, Darya.”

She shrugged, doing her best to hide just how interested she was in going with him. “If you want me along, that is.”

“Sure.” He turned and looked at Vannes. “If I find out you’ve lied to me in any way…”

“I won’t be here when you get back,” he replied.

“Excellent! It wouldn’t save you, but I like your spirit. Come on, Darya.”

Vannes did his best not to admire Darya as she left with Baidar-in fairness, that damned Ironworks gear fit like a second skin-and as soon as the door shut he slumped in his chair and let out a deep breath. He needed a drink.

Or ten.

#FFXIVWrite #FFXIVWrite2020 #i KNEW i'd created a recurring character in Vannes Arkwright #the poor bastard

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mrs-mystica · 5 years

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Reminiscences [Prinxiety]

Pairing : Virgil and Roman

TW : implied abuse and past abusive relationship, unsympathetic Remus, symptoms of post-traumatic stress, hurt & comfort fic

(If you consider I should tag more, please tell me and I will tag it)

Author's note : This was supposed to be fluff. I guess my personal Remus overpowered my personal Roman because I only had ideas to make angst. I wanted to explore the concept of Remus truly being a bad guy, since I normally write Sympathetic Remus. Hope you'll enjoy this story !

Masterlink

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The first time it happened, it was nothing more than a nickname. Nothing unusual for Roman. He had made a habit of calling the other sides by something else than their names.

Patton, Logan and Roman were all sat in the living room. They were listening to a movie, a Disney movie, of course, to please the creative side. They had wanted to invite the anxious side, but he was still sleeping when they came to his door. And now, in the late afternoon, Virgil was awake, and despite his long night of sleep, he felt the urge to get a coffee.

Virgil headed to the kitchen, passing through the living room in the process. The three sides had to comment on his sleeping habits. Patton was the first to react to his presence.

- Hey, kiddo! You're finally awake!... Say, I can't help but be worried, at what time did you go to bed to be awake this late in the day? You know it's not healthy to sleep like that at impossible hours...

Virgil was already in the kitchen when Patton asked his question. He was watching his coffee slowly flowing in his Nightmare before Christmas mug as he nonchalantly responded to his parental figure.

- Relax, Pat. That's just how I am, I'm a night owl, sleeping early is just impossible for me.

Logan wasn't convinced by his answer.

- Impossible might be an incorrect statement, there are studies that show that light therapy can help people suffering of delayed sleep phase disorder to...

Virgil cut Logan in his speech, not wanting to hear his explanation.

- No Logan, I don't suffer from anything and I don't need to change my habits. Besides, it just makes Thomas less anxious during the day if I'm sleeping, so it's a win-win situation.

Virgil exited the kitchen with his now fully-filled mug. He stood near the couch where the three sides were sitting. Roman sighed exaggeratedly, to get everyone's attention for a moment.

- You know Virgil, it would much cooler if you were awake during the day. I'm sure everyone here would love to spend more time with our dear emo nightmare~!...

Suddenly, Virgil is back in the subconscious. He's laid down on the couch in the middle of the living room. His headphones are on his head and he's listening to some music. His eyes were closed. Everything seemed peaceful. But something was crawling in the dark. It got closer, slowly. It crawled its way to Virgil's right shoulder. The side could feel something cold and slimy on his skin. He realized something was wrong as it approached his throat.

Being the fight or flee instinct, he jumped off the couch to escape the danger. His sudden movement made him loses his headphones. He was now on the floor, his eyes wide opened from fear. Before he turned around to see his mysterious assailant, he could hear mad laughters behind him. Still out of breath because of his jump, he turned to see Remus standing near the couch, laughing. He had one of his tentacles out of his back.

Still laughing, he wiped a tear from his eye and offered Virgil a hand to get back on his feet.

- Hahahahahahaha! Sorry, I just couldn't resist!

Virgil sighed, still startled by what just happened. He took the other man's hand and got up. Remus took the opportunity to pull him closer. They were close, but only Virgil seemed uncomfortable. Remus raised his hand and moved a strand of hair that had fallen on Virgil's face.

- You should've seen your face! It was priceless my dear emo nightmare~

- Huh... Are you okay Virgil?

The anxious side was standing still, not answering, not moving, looking at an empty space in front of him. Patton was even more worried when a sudden spam went through Virgil's body. The scene seemed to be in slow motion. Virgil's mug fell from his hand and broke into little pieces on the ground. Virgil came back to himself at this exact moment. Roman and Patton immediately jumped off the couch. As they moved, Patton asked Roman to go see if Virgil was okay and that in the meantime he will go get the vacuum. Roman acted accordingly. He came to Virgil and asked him if he was okay. He raised his hand near Virgil's face, but his arm got violently pushed away. Roman was confused by the other man sudden movement. Virgil sighed and raised his hands to his face.

- It's nothing Princey, I'm sorry for the mess... I just... need some sleep...

Logan, still sat on the couch, looked at him confused.

- Virgil, I'm sorry, but this is contradictory to the fact that you just woke up a few minutes ago.

Patton came back with a vacuum at this moment. Virgil sighed again and whispered.

- Whatever... I'm going back to my room...

And just like that, he left, leaving the three other sides in confusion, looking at each other.

***

The flashbacks wouldn't leave him alone. They would only get worse with time. What was once a week became once a day. Anytime Virgil would be out of his room, Roman would do something that would trigger them. And Virgil didn't know why it was happening now in particular. He had escaped him so long ago, why was he obsessed with what happened then all of a sudden? He thought it was resolve the moment he exited the subconscious, that it was all behind him. It seems that he was wrong.

He opened the door of his room and looked around to make sure that Roman wasn't around. He really liked the creative side, he really did, but all these flashbacks were exhausting, and he didn't know if he could continue like this at this rate. He felt a little bad for Roman, being avoided isn't the best feeling for someone. Virgil justified himself by the fact that he was Thomas' anxiety, and avoidance is a pretty common behavior for anxious people, so if it's normal, there's nothing wrong with his actions, right?

As he confirmed that the hall was empty, Virgil exited his room and headed to the kitchen. This time, he really needed something to eat, he was starving. He had to wait for late in the night to make sure he wouldn't meet Roman by accident. That also meant no meals with the others, so he could only eat once a day. It sure wasn't healthy, but when you're literally the embodiment of Anxiety, your anxious thoughts are stronger than anything, and avoiding what's causing them is all you can think about.

Slowly, Virgil managed to reach the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed some leftover pizza. As he wondered if he should warm it in the microwave, and risking waking someone up, or eating it cold, he heard someone cough behind him. Virgil jumped and turned around to see a princely figure.

There was Roman, and he didn't look pleased. Virgil tried to keep his panic inside and played it cool.

- Hey Princey, what's up?

- What's UP? Well, one of my best friend is clearly avoiding me and I don't know why.

Virgil scratched the back of his neck nervously. Of course he had noticed, and of course he was mad, what else did he expect? Virgil tried to defuse the situation by playing the ignorance card.

- Oh, you're having problems with Logan again?

Roman wasn't in the mood to be patient and raised his voice.

- Don't play dumb with me Virgil and tell me what's happening!

Virgil's sight became blurry, and when it became clear again, Remus was in front of him, where Roman previously stood, his eyebrows frowning, anger deforming his traits.

- What do you think you're doing right now?

His voice was sharper than a knife, and it cuts right through Virgil. He could feel something stronger than his usual anxiety. This time, the weight in his chest was fear. He tried his best to let it show, knowing that if he did, Remus would take advantage of it.

- Eating...

Quickly, he wiped the last crumbs near his mouth. Remus let a growl escape his throat.

- And what did I tell you?

Virgil's arms were now behind his back, his hands playing nervously with his sleeves.

- ... That I'm... punished and... not allowed to eat tonight...

In a sudden movement, Remus rushed forward and took Virgil's cheeks within his hands. The anxious side's eyes opened widely and he could feel a shiver going through his spine. He was paralysed by fear, every part of his body refusing to move at his command. Remus' face was so close... And he definitely didn't like the anger he could see in his eyes.

- I'm gonna make you learn to respect my authority.

Virgil screamed. Roman was destabilized for a moment and he took a step back from the shock. It definitely wasn't the reaction he expected to get. Virgil continued to scream until his lungs were out of breath. He then raised his hands and took his head in them. It took him a moment to realise where he was, that he was not with the others anymore, that he was safe.

Patton and Logan were alerted by the scream. They came as quickly as they could in the kitchen, running through the halls without a second thought. As they both appeared behind Roman, they both stared at the anxious side. Patton was horrified, he hated to see his kiddo hurt. Logan looked at Roman and asked him silently was had happened. The creative side could only shrug, not understanding himself.

Virgil wanted to get out of there. There were too many people for his taste, all he wanted at the moment was to be alone. Unfortunately for him, the three sides were blocking his only way out. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the moral side slowly approaching him. He saw Patton' lips move, but he couldn't understand anything. He was freaking out.

He decided that his best move was to rush his way out. Suddenly, he pushed Patton aside, almost making him hit the kitchen counter. He then pushed Logan, who had made a step forward to come help Patton. But as he was in front of Roman, he couldn't do the same. Something was preventing him to do so.

- Move Roman.

His was was distorted by the tempest tongue. It was loud, but also shaky. His eyes were sending death threats to Roman, and it was enough to intimidate the creative side to step aside. As soon as the way was clear, Virgil rushed to the closest safe place. His room was too far away, so he ended up opening the door to the Imagination, while the three other sides looked at each other with confused looks.

***

Virgil and Roman had their little spot in the Imagination, just for the two of them. It was under a weeping willow located near a cliff. Sitting there gave them a beautiful view, which had proven to be efficient to provide a peaceful atmosphere for both of them to settle their conflicts, or just provide a quiet place when an alone time was needed. They would come there every time one of them felt bad, which is why the anxious side came there. He knew that he'd be able to calm down there. And it worked for a moment. The view helped him to relax and to forget everything for a moment. Everything seemed so peaceful in Roman's realm. But then, the anxious side heard footsteps coming his way. He tensed up, knowing that it was Roman.

The Prince came, still wanting answers. He was really worried about his friend, but his emotions had bested him. After talking with the others about what had happened in the kitchen, Patton had told him that to go slowly with Virgil next time. So Roman took the time to calm himself before entering the Imagination, with a little coaching of Patton on how he should approach things.

When he arrived near the weeping willow, Roman stopped to examine the other man. Virgil didn't look at him, keeping his head against his knees, curled up against the tree. Roman took a deep breath and sat next to the anxious side. They sat in silence for a moment, Roman staring at the view in front of him, trying to find the right words to say.

- I'd be lying if I said that I haven't noticed you acting strangely these last few days...

Virgil shyly raised his head from against his knees. He didn't look at the prince and was instead staring at the view in front of him. He didn't say anything. Uncomfortable, Roman spoke again, this time looking at the other man.

- I don't want to pressure you into speaking, but I must say that I'm deeply worried about you... And I'm not the only one. Patton is deadly worried, and Logan is as well, even if he won't admit it...

A little smirk appeared in the corner of Virgil's mouth, but he still didn't say anything. Wanting to be reassuring, he put his hand on the anxious side's shoulder.

Virgil is running through the halls of the dark Mindscape. He's trying to reach his room, to escape his pursuer, to be safe again.

But he wasn't fast enough.

Tentacles reached him, targeting his throat first. It stopped Virgil in his run instantly. He violently chocked as the tentacle tightens his grip around his throat. The anxious side tried to reach the tentacle with his hands, but two other tentacles grabbed his arms and kept them behind his back, preventing him from escaping.

A scream was trapped inside Virgil's throat, a weak muffled sound was all that managed to get out.

His eyes were wide open, almost popping out of their orbits. He could feel the other man getting closer to his back. He could feel his warm breath against his right ear. He could feel his whispers going through his skull.

- Where do you think you're going like that, lil' stormcloud? You should know better by now that you can't escape me.

Three words echoed in his head.

- You. Are. Mine.

Virgil flinched at Roman's touch. Roman noticed it and instantly removed his hand, scared to hurt the other man.

- I'm... sorry... I thought... I thought I was over... that...

Roman couldn't help himself but to ask.

- Over... what?

Tears started to fill Virgil's eyes. He took a moment before answering. His voice was shaky and weak, but he managed to speak.

- You know how I... just appeared in the Mindscape one day? You were all made because... well, what was a "dark side", like you called us, doing in the Mindscape? My place was in the Subconscious... with the others... but I couldn't stay there anymore... it wasn't safe...

Reminiscences of Remus hitting him while keeping him in place with his tentacle came back to Virgil. The pain, the feeling of helplessness, he could still feel it all as if he was still there.

- I... ran away from him... Your brother... He... He...

Tears were now flowing from Virgil's face. Roman could only stare and listen to him.

- I can't blame you, you were once the same person, but you two... share mimics... And I know you hate to be compared with him, but you do have these in common... You remind me so much of him... And that makes me think about... what he's done to me... It hurts so badly...

Virgil's head was now buried between his legs and his hoodie. He was having a hard time breathing. Everything was turning around him. He felt dizzy. His voice broke under the weight of his emotions.

- And... I DON'T know what to do! I want this to STOP! I want him OUT OF MY HEAD ONCE AND FOR ALL!

Virgil was crying loudly in frustration. And Roman was feeling powerless. He was used to conflicts that could be result with a sword fight, but right now, there was no monster to slay, no bad guy, to eliminate, all of his experience was useless. Even if he went to the Subconscious and killed is brother, it wouldn't help Virgil. And that was what he wanted to do, that was what he came to do in the first place! Emotions were not his speciality. He wanted to go get Patton, then hid in his room and wait for all of this to end.

He wanted to do that really bad, but he stayed still. No, he couldn't do that. There was a princess to rescue, and even if he didn't know how, he couldn't just hide and not try at least something. It took him all of his courage to finally move. He got up and knelt in front of Virgil. He tried to get his attention.

- Virgil... Virge, please, look at me...

He tried to speak as calmly as he could, even though he was panicking inside. He wanted to be reassuring. His attempt seemed to work. Virgil lifted his head a little to look at him. Roman could see his makeup smudged all over his cheeks.

- Virgil... I don't know what happened with Re- my brother... And I won't pressure you into telling me what happened if you're not ready... But whatever happened, you don't have to carry it alone!

Roman moved his hand to touch Virgil, but he stopped his movement midway, remembering what happened previously. He looked at Virgil in the eyes and asked him silently if he could. Virgil looked at his hand, scared, but he nodded shyly. Roman took Virgil's hand and continued to look at him in the eyes as he spoke.

- We can't erase what happened, but we can help you! We can support you! We can... We can be there for you!

Slowly, Roman was caressing the other man's hand.

- I... I can't release you from your pain, nor your flashbacks, but... I don't want you to carry this burden alone! More importantly, I don't want to continue hurting you without knowing!

Virgil wasn't crying anymore. He was staring back at Roman, a little shook by the prince's words.

- Please, Virgil, let me help you. Tell me when I do something that remind you of him, tell me what to avoid, tell me how to help you! Please, let me continue to be by your side... I don't want to lose you...

Roman was agitated, his head was moving and looking everywhere, nervously. He was running out of ideas of what to say.

- If... If you want... of course... I don't want to force you into anything you don't want!

Seeing the strong Roman losing his words and being uneasy put a tender smile onto Virgil's face. He was still scared, but Roman's words had convinced him to at least try. Maybe his strategy of staying alone and waiting for it to stop was indeed a bad idea. Maybe there was hope for something else...

Virgil slowly grabbed Roman's hands that was on his and he tightens their grip together. Roman blushed and looked back at Virgil. The two stared at each other in silence. They wished they could have stayed that way forever. And for the first time since a few days, Virgil was truly seeing Roman. Remus was way out of his mind, and it felt great at the time, even if deep down he knew that it was only temporary.

But he wanted to give it a chance.

He wanted to heal, and, contrary to what he previously thought, he now believed that his relation with Roman could help him to.

3284 words

#sanders sides #fanfiction #prinxiety #unsympathetic remus #ts remus #ts virgil #ts roman #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

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Where the Green Grass Grows - Part 2. All My Exes Live in Texas

Summary: After leaving town in 2001, Marianne Grace Barnes swore she’d never step foot in Texas again. She was happy with her life in San Francisco. She had great friends, a great job, and a loving boyfriend. But when her mother insists she come home after six long years away, Marianne comes face to face with someone she vowed to never lay eyes on again. Now the questions arise: Is he so different from the man who broke her heart? Is she so different from the girl she used to be?

And most importantly, is she as happy as she really thinks she is?

A story of love, heartache, and that special feeling of being home.

MASTERLIST

Prompt: Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

Pairing: AU Cowboy!Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: NA this chapter I think? ANGST!

Author’s note: It’s easier if you imagine everyone with a southern accent except for Marianne (Pronounced Mary Anne) who has a slight southern accent but’s lost it’s strength over the years. Also, how sexy is it to imagine Sam, Bucky, and Steve with southern accents?!?!?

My goal is to upload two parts a week for this series! Please bear with me, schools starts back up next week! xoxo

***

“Married?!”

“Mama—”

“You’re getting married?! And I had to find out through the paper like some stranger?”

“Mama, please. I said I was sorry—” Marianne tried to apologize once again but was drowned out by the hysterical cries of her mother through the phone.

“Marianne Grace Barnes, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but you will wait till I am good and finished talking before you interrupt me,” scolded Winifred Barnes.

“Yes ma’am,” grumbled Marianne, cursing every member of the staff at the San Francisco Chronicle.

***

It seems as though San Francisco’s most eligible bachelor, Tony Stark (32) is officially off the market amidst the announcement of his engagement to a Marianne Barnes (24). Mr. Stark, heir to the Stark fortune and founder of Stark industry met Ms. Barnes, middle school art teacher, a short ten months ago at an art show for the now celebrated artist Aldrich Killian. Sources say the pair hit it off almost immediately, and this can be confirmed by the fact that Barnes was rumored to be living with Stark in his sprawling San Francisco townhouse a mere two months after meeting. Since then, the two have been inseparable. Barnes and Stark have been spotted together at multiple Stark Industry events and frequenting many of San Francisco’s hottest spots. No matter the location, however, it is clear that the pair are deeply enamored with each other.

No details have been released on the exact date and location of the wedding, but our sources say they plan to marry soon in anticipation of the expected merger between Stark Industries and Pym Technology. Needless to say, we at the San Francisco Chronicle expect the event to be as lavish and opulent as the man, Tony Stark, himself.

***

Truthfully, she had no idea that they would do a piece on her and Tony’s engagement, although in hindsight it didn’t really surprise her. He was one of the most wealthy and successful men in California, why wouldn’t they? However, what really surprised her was that her parents were subscribed to the newspaper. Why they felt the need to keep up with the going-ons of San Francisco life from all the way in Texas, she had no clue.

“You know there’s this nifty little invention called a telephone missy and I know you have one of those fancy cellular phones with you all the time. And don’t for a second say that you called but we didn’t answer, because we even have an answering machine now. James went and got us one for Christmas so that we could stop ‘accidentally’ missing all those ‘calls’ you’ve been making—” Her mother’s tone was accusing and rightfully so. It was true. Marianne had a nasty habit of not calling home and lying about it later, but she had found over the years that things were easier when she spent less time thinking about home. Unfortunately, she did not know about the answering machine and now she had nothing to say for herself. “And to think we spent 18 years feeding you and raising you and giving you everything we could just for you to go and get engaged to a man we’ve never even heard of, let alone met!”

“Tony and I were talking about flying you, daddy, and Bucky down a week or so before the wedding, so you could spend some time with me and Tony. You know, get to know him and all,” said Marianne sheepishly, suddenly feeling so dumb she could throw herself on the ground and miss.

“A week?! Honey, I know you don’t think we’re gonna’ wait a week before the wedding to meet this man. You realize he never even asked your daddy for his blessing? He’s none too pleased about it neither. The man’s got a bur in his saddle so large you could see it from Houston.

“Mama, I’m not property. Tony doesn’t need daddy’s—”

“Nuh uh, you zip it right now missy. At the end of the day, it’s the principle Marianne Grace. Now, we wanna’ meet this man. Soon,” said Winifred so sternly Marianne could just envision her pacing the kitchen in a rage.

“Okay, I’m sure we would be more than happy to fly you all over whenever you like,” stated Marianne, standing and looking over to where Tony was fully engrossed in his work at his expansive glass dining room table. She tried to catch his eye, but he had yet to unglue his eyes from the screen of his laptop and the stacks of paper around him. Marianne was halfway to him when her mother’s words stopped her in her tracks.

“Your daddy can’t get a day off from the ranch any time soon since Sam Wilson fell off the barn roof and broke his arm; and Bucky’s busy with his practice and helping to fill in for Sam.”

Marianne swallowed thickly, “So what do you want to do?”

“You two will come here,” her mother stated flatly.

“Mama, I don’t think that’s a good—”

“No arguing with me Marianne,” interrupted Winifred before continuing in a softer tone. “You haven’t been back home in almost six years. It’ll do you some good to come home and spend some quality time with your family. We miss you honey.”

“I miss you too mama, but there’s absolutely no way Tony and I can make it down to Texas before the wedding.”

***

The air was hot and muggy in the small plane as they sat docked on the tarmac at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. They’d been sitting there waiting for an open terminal for nearly an hour, but it felt like four. Marianne was ready to open the emergency exit herself and face homeland security if it meant getting a breath of air that wasn’t shared with a hundred other people. Therefore, she was in no way ready to hear the news that Natasha had for her when she turned her cellphone back on.

“What do you mean Montecito fell through?!” exclaimed, smiling sheepishly to be the people around her in apology before turning towards the window and lowering her voice. “Please telling me you’re joking Nat. I really can’t handle any bad news right now.”

“I wish I were Mari, but unfortunately it wouldn’t matter if Tony had more money than God. There’s no way you two are finding a decent venue in California until at least next summer,” said Nat, only adding to Marianne’s stress level. She ran a hand through her brown curls, already feeling them begin to grow and frizz in the dry Texas climate. Yet, another reason to hate it there.

“Are you sure? Did you try Fairmont?” Marianne asked in desperation.

“Sweetie, I’ve tried Fairmont, The Langham Huntington, Montecito, Sherwood, Oak Mountain…you name it; I’ve called and been told no. Are you sure you guys can’t put off the wedding till next year?”

“No, Tony is dead set on having the wedding in June and seeing as it’s April, well…” Marianne trailed off, unsure of how even to end that sentence. Two months. Tony had given her two months to plan this wedding and she was scrambling. She felt the plane lurch forward as it began a slow crawl across the asphalt. The overhead intercom crackled before announcing they would be departing the plane in ten minutes. The plane erupted into a smattering of applause that seemed to rouse a sleeping child as a high-pitched cry sounded soon after.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were knocked up,” laughed Natasha, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“At this point, a pregnancy would be the least of my worries,” sighed Marianne, leaning back in her seat and plugging her free ear with her finger. As the plane continued to move towards its gate, the space filled with the sound of passengers gathering their things and chatting excited.

“Where are you? It sounds like a carnival on your end.”

Marianne laughed bitterly, “A carnival would be more fun. Unfortunately, I’m currently stuck on the world’s most uncomfortable airplane.”

“An airplane? Where could you possibly be going right now?! We have a wedding to plan in less than two months!” exclaimed Natasha in exasperation.

“It’s less where I’m going and more where I am, actually.”

“Okay, well then please, enlighten me. Where are you?”

“I’m in Texas,” confessed Marianne, unbuckling her seatbelt and standing as the plane door finally opened and the deboarding process began.

“Oh no…”

“Oh yes.”

Two hours later and Marianne was convinced that her luck couldn’t get any worse. As if Texas itself was punishing her for six long years away, the airline lost her luggage indefinitely and her taxi driver got lost, twice, before they finally pulled up to her parents’ home in Georgetown, Texas. The farmhouse was small; built in the 1800s as a place of residence for the ranch foreman, it still held its original purpose. White with baby blue shutters and a large wrap around porch, Marianne had many memories of sitting on the porch swing and watching the time inch by. Stepping out of the air-conditioned sanctuary of the cab, the full force of southern heat hit her square in the face. Before she could even turn to close the car door behind her, her mother’s excited cries floated through the air. The screen door squeaked and groaned as the greying woman heaved it open and ran towards her daughter with open arms.

“My baby is finally home! Hallelujah!” cried Winifred, engulfing her daughter in a tight hug. Winifred Barnes, standing a few good inches shorter than her daughter, hugged her with surprising force. Years of helping out on the farm left her figure lean and muscular, while years of good ol’ southern cooking left her with a pair of hips that still made most of the men in town turn their head when she passed by. Of course, none of that was new to Winifred. In her day, the woman had been the bell of the ball in Texas society. A former debutant and pageant queen, she had the pick of any wealthy Texan she came across, but when it all came down to it, she had chosen George Barnes – a lowly ranch hand with no prospects outside of roping, riding, and herding cattle.

“Hi mama, it’s good to see you,” said Marianne, feeling her heart clench slightly as she hugged her mother tightly. She was surprised to see some grey in the blonde, pin straight hair Marianne had always envied growing up. The lines at the corner of her mother’s eyes and mouth made her wonder for a moment if she truly had been gone for too long.

“Do you need help with your things?” Winifred asked, looking between Marianne and the taxi driver who was currently making no move to get out and help her daughter with her luggage.

“Oh! Hold on—” Marianne leaned back into the taxi and dug into her purse before pulling out cash for the driver “—Sorry. Thank you so much.”

With that she exited the cab, purse, and small carry-on in hand, slamming the car door behind her. The cab took off with a cloud of dust that sent Marianne and her mother into a small fit of coughs.

“They lost my luggage. I’m supposed to be hearing from them some time in the next few days, but they told me not to get my hopes up. Apparently, my bags never even made it on the plane,” Marianne told her mother.

“Oh dear. I hope they find them; it’d be a shame for you to lose all those fancy clothes—" her mother took a moment to take in Marianne’s outfit, an outfit Tony had bought her for her birthday actually. She thought the black pencil skirt, white Calvin Klein button up and thick chunky belt cinched at her waist was a cute ensemble, but judging from the way her mother appraised her, perhaps she was wrong “—we’ve still got all of your old clothes. I’m sure they’ll fit you. If anything, they’ll be too big! You are so skinny; do they not eat in California?”

“Yes, they eat plenty mama. Don’t worry. Now, where’s daddy?”

“Well he should be coming in soon. He found a section of fence down up past the crick, so he took the boys up with him to fix it,” said Winifred, looking out into the distant pasture.

“I thought Sam broke his arm.”

“He did, but the damn fool still insists on helping where he can. Couldn’t get him off that horse if I tried and the good Lord knows I have. Still, your daddy won’t let him do much. Till then Steven and your brother are putting in extra work to fill in the gaps.”

Just the utterance of his name was enough to throw Marianne for a loop, “I didn’t know Steve worked here now.”

“Oh, he doesn’t dear. He’s just helping out. He’s still over at—oh there they are!” exclaimed Winifred, pointing out in the far distance where the silhouette of four men on horse back could be seen against the setting sun.

They should have been indiscriminate from each other from that far of a distance, but Marianne knew without a doubt which one of the men was Steven Rogers. Larger and thicker than the rest of the men, he held a certain grace in the saddle that most professional riders lacked, but Marianne would know anywhere. As they got closer, approaching at a well-paced canter, she couldn’t help but keep her gaze trained on the man in question. The one person she was least excited to see upon coming home. It was no secret how she felt about him. Everyone knew her disdain for the man ran deep, however he was unavoidable given he was her brother’s best friend. Spitefully, she imagined that after all this time he would have gotten fat or perhaps lost all his hair – anything to cut back the enormous ego he possessed. Yet, as they approached it was to her dismay that the exact opposite was true. Not only was he not fat and bald, but he was probably more muscular than he’d been the last time she saw him and his thick, dirty blonde hair was thicker and longer than ever, hanging down to the nape of his neck under the brim of his tan Stetson. To top it all off, the bastard had a beard so thick and rugged, it put Kenny Rogers to shame…bastard.

She had no time to focus on the way the sweat glistened off the exposed skin of Steve’s neck or the way his thick thighs gripped the leather below him, because the moment they were close enough her older brother of two years was launching himself out of the saddle and onto her. His large, strong arms wrapped around her middle and hoisted her into the air, spinning her in the air and nearly causing her ankle boots to fly clear off her feet. When he finally placed her back on the ground, his grin was as wide as the Mississippi and as bright as the blinding Texan sun.

“There she is!” he beamed before looking all around her. “Where’s that fancy fiancé of yours?”

“He’s not coming till Wednesday, remember?” called their mother over her shoulder as she made her way back to the porch steps.

“He had some business to take care of before he could come down. Figured I’d come down ahead and let you get all of your crazy out before you meet him. That way you don’t scare him off,” teased Marianne, punching her brother’s arm in good spirits. “You look good. How’s the practice?”

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was the most accomplished of the Barnes’ children. After undergrad at the University of Houston, he went on to become a veterinarian and take over the old clinic right in town. Of course, that couldn’t be enough for the young Barnes man. No, he had to be annoyingly handsome as well; possessing the same brown curls as her, his boyish smile, tall height, and muscular stature always seemed to work in his favor. “Oh, it’s great. Busy as all get up,” he answered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dirty wranglers.

“What? Your old man doesn’t get a hug as well?” asked George Barnes, handing his and Bucky’s reigns over to Steve before walking over to her and engulfing her in another hug. A feeling of safety and serenity washed over her as she hugged her father tightly. In truth, she’d always been a daddy’s girl. Never did she miss a moment growing up to help her father on the farm right alongside her brother. George Barnes, while coming across as stern and taciturn at times, was nothing more than a soft, kind-hearted man.

“Hi daddy. I missed you.”

“I missed you too pumpkin. My successful, big city daughter has been away for too long,” her father teased, an edge of sincerity to his tone. She gave him one last tight squeeze before releasing herself and turning her attention away from her father’s comment and instead to Sam Wilson. Sure enough, there he was, cast and all, sitting high and good-naturedly on the back of his Appaloosa. He was everything her mother described, kind brown eyes, a sweet gapped smile, cropped black hair, and deep tawny skin that glistened in the warm setting sun.

“You must be Sam!” Marianne said enthusiastically, crossing the distance and holding her hand out to him. Sam came to work on the ranch a few years after she left and while she’d never met him, she had heard quite a bit about him. Originally from Alabama, Sam Wilson moved out to Texas chasing a girl and fell in love with the open range and rolling river of Georgetown instead.

“And you must be Marianne. Pleasure to finally meet you,” Sam greeted her, taking her hand in his good one and giving it a gentle shake.

“Please, call me Mari. How’s your ar—”

“I’m gonna’ go put the horses up, George,” the gruff timbre of Steve’s voice interrupted her, the sound both grating to her ears and causing her heart to leap in her chest.

“Oh, alright. Do you want any help?” asked George, turning away from his daughter as Steve began to ride away, leading the other two mares along with him.

“Nah, you stay and catch up. I’ll only be a minute.”

“I should probably go and help him,” said Sam, grinning pleasantly at them before righting himself in the saddle and turning his horse back towards the barn.

“Why don’t you get settled in your room, while your brother and I get cleaned up for supper?” her father suggested, breaking Marianne out of her stupor. She only realized then that she’d been watching Sam and Steve intently as they rode away and disappeared into the large, red barn.

Marianne’s room hadn’t changed a bit. Apparently, her mother had never even given a thought to redecorating or repurposing the room and for that, she didn’t know whether to be grateful or concerned. The same baby pink covered the walls and stuffed animals adorned the surface of her flowery bedspread. Posters littered the walls showcasing the stars of her youth including The Dixie Chicks, Shania Twain, and, embarrassingly, Randy Travis on the ceiling above her bed. Trinkets of her childhood remained on shelves and her desktop. 4-H ribbons and trophies sat in all their glory, reflecting the days in which she put more stock in goat wrangling and horseback riding than watercolor technique and Renoir’s crippling arthritis. It was like walking into a living memorial of the late 90s in the loudest and most obnoxious way possible. She placed her purse and carryon on the bed when a thought popped into her head. Rushing to her closet, she pushed through the clothing, shoes, and a few boxes till she found the special hiding place she created all those years ago.

“Aha!” Marianne exclaimed when her fingers wrapped around the binding of her old diary. Suppressing a childlike giggle, she sat down on the thick carpet of her bedroom floor and opened the dusty journal to a random page.

Dear Diary,

Last week Mrs. Darlene said she was bringing in an older student to fill in for her and teach some of the class and you wouldn’t believe who it ended up being. That’s right. Steve. I mean, I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’s like the most talented artist in the school. Clint reckons he’s going to Julliard or Paris or something when he graduates. Too bad I still have to deal with his annoying face till then. It’s bad enough that I have to see him all the time at home with Buck. Now I have to see him in my classes too? Of course, he just had to get on my nerves too. He couldn’t just leave me well enough alone. He kept leaning over my shoulder and telling me my shading needed work. Sorry we can’t all be artistic geniuses. Some of us are just okay.

After class Clint kept saying how he thinks Steve has a crush on me. I said if that were true then he wouldn’t spend every waking moment with his tongue shoved down Sharon Carter’s throat. Of course, Clint had to go and rile my feathers by saying I was jealous. AS IF! I wouldn’t want Steven Rogers’ tongue within spitting distance of me, let alone in my mouth.

I mean, sure. He does have nice eyes and I can see how some people might think he’s handsome, but he’s no Tom Selleck. I wouldn’t kiss him if someone paid me $1000. Anyways, that’s all for today Diary.

Till next time,

Mari Grace xoxo

“Marianne! Supper’s on!” called Winifred from down the stairs, sending Marianne into a spiral of déjà vu. She shut the journal tightly, throwing it back into her closet before standing and heading downstairs. The expansive kitchen was everything she remembered from the olive-green cupboards to the faded pine table sat on a threadbare rug. She was the last to arrive, finding the table full and the setting across from Steve the only available spot. Begrudgingly she sat, purposefully avoiding any and all eye contact with the man sat in front of her. Instead, she opted to turn her attention to the delicious food in front of her.

Her mother had gone all out cooking her favorite foods: fried chicken, new peas and potatoes in cream sauce, corn on the cob, ham steak, green bean casserole, salad, fresh rolls, corn bread, and if her intuition was correct there was sure to be a peach cobbler sitting in the oven at that very moment.

“Wow mama, I hope you didn’t cook all of this on my account,” said Marianne, grabbing a chicken leg from the platter in front of her.

“Well it’s not every day my only daughter decides to grace us with her presence. I didn’t know if you still liked the same things, so I made a bit of everything,” said Winifred, helping herself to a bit of salad.

“Yea, we didn’t know if you’d become one of those vegetarians like all those hippies in California,” laughed Bucky, cutting a large piece of ham steak, and shoving it in his mouth.

“They’re not all vegetarians and they’re not all hippies. But even if they were, there’s nothing wrong with being morally and environmentally conscious of what you consume,” remarked Marianne putting a bit of potatoes on her plate and picking up her fork.

“Yea, a consciousness that could put all of us out of work,” said Steve bitterly.

Surprised at his comment, Marianne glared at Steve in annoyance. His face was tilted down towards his plate, but she didn’t need to see his eyes to know that he thought she was all hat and no kettle. She felt a heat begin to bubble just below the surface but bit her tongue. Turning to her father, she asked him how things were going around the ranch.

“They’re as good as any. Flannigan is thinkin’ of sellin’ again, but he’s promised if he does, he’d put it in writin’ that they have to keep me on as foreman. Looks like this ol’ place isn’t rid of me yet,” laughed George.

“Have you thought about buying the ranch yourself daddy?” asked Marianne, who’d never understood why her father never took the next step.

“Oh, I don’t know about that…”

“Sure, you can daddy. You definitely have the know how and I bet you and mama could qualify for some kind of loa—”

“There’s a lot more that goes into buying a ranch than you know, Marianne. It’s not as easy as snapping your fingers and having your rich fiancé get it for you with daddy’s money,” interrupted Steve, now looking up from his plate at her with a superior expression.

“Yes, I’m sure you know all about success what with going to college and—oh wait. You didn’t. You’re just still working at the Double R for old man Jackson like you were almost ten years ago. My mistake. And it’s Mari to you,” bit back Marianne, angrily stabbing into the food on her plate.

“Marianne you don’t—” began Winifred, stopping when Steve held up a hand.

“That’s alright Wini. She said what she said. I’m sure it’s easy to look down on all of us from such a high and mighty position as a middle school art teacher. Isn’t that right, Marianne,” said Steve smugly.

Marianne’s blood boiled, a red-hot rage heating her face, “At least I actually did something with my talent, Stevie.”

“That’s enough you two. If ya’ll can’t act civil at the table, you can just leave. Steven, you’re just as much a part of this family as anyone else, but you’re also a guest and you know better. Marianne, your mother worked very hard on this meal and we’re all excited to finally have you home. Don’t make us change our minds,” George scolded them, the kitchen going quiet as Steve and Marianne hung their heads in shame. It was silent for a while, the sounds of forks and knifes scraping their plates filling the air before someone finally spoke up.

“I was vegetarian for a while,” remarked Sam, putting his corn cob down and wiping his hands on his napkin.

“What?!” asked Bucky in surprise, “When?”

“I think I was…twenty? There was this new girl that started working down at the local diner in Mobile that was vegetarian. Rumor had it she only dated other vegetarians, so I came every day and ordered a veggie burger for lunch hoping she’d notice and we’d strike up a conversation,” Sam told them, reaching forward and grabbing a roll. “Turns out, she wasn’t a vegetarian. She was an Episcopalian.”

The table erupted into a fit of laughter, Marianne herself giggling so hard tears were brought to her eyes. “How long did you go in before you found out?” asked Marianne, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her napkin.

“About a month.”

The group laughed even harder.

“See, that’s the difference between you and me Sammy. I’ve done a lot of stupid things for girls, but I’ve never let them change me,” said Bucky resolutely.

“Nah man, it’s not changin’ yourself. It’s takin’ a chance on love! You’ll never settle down if you aren’t willing to risk it all for the woman you love,” Sam put wisely, earning him a fond pat on the cheek from her mother.

Marianne smiled happily, missing the gentle banter that a meal at home could bring. She felt the prickle of gooseflesh rise on her neck and the looming sense that someone was staring a hole in the side of her head. On instinct she turned to find Steve’s stormy blue eyes trained on her in solemn concentration. Their gazes locked for a moment, a strange mix of emotions flooding from Steve that made her heart clench in her chest. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. Steve was the first to break their connection, turning to George and beginning a quiet side conversation about the new cow horse he’d just bought.

“Don’t listen to this liar Sam. Buck has definitely changed himself for a girl,” said Marianne, shaking off the strange encounter and turning back to the rest of the table.

“What are you talking about girl?” asked Bucky in exaggerated confusion.

“Oh, you don’t remember Suzie Quentin?” Marianne questioned, knowing Bucky remembered exactly who Suzie Quentin was.

“Now wait—” began Bucky, shortly being cut off by Marianne as she turned to Sam to regale the tale.

“In the eighth grade Suzie Quentin said she thought Louis in Interview with a Vampire was hot and so Bucky spent a whole year growing out his hair so he could look like Brad Pitt!” said Marianne with a loud guffaw, moving away as Bucky tried to cover her mouth to keep her from talking. “Except, he didn’t know how to take care of long hair so—”

Bucky was successful the second go around, managing to clamp a hand over Marianne’s mouth so that the only sounds heard from her were a jumble of muffled words.

“Don’t listen to her, Sammy. She’s got a head full of stump water.”

When Marianne had finally managed to wrangle herself out of Bucky’s hold, she couldn’t find it in herself to be mad at her older brother. Quite the opposite really. A sense of sadness filled her at the realization that for six long years she’d missed out on this. The lightness. The familiarity. The happiness that only her family could provide. And for what? Taking another glance towards the large, sun kissed man across from her she felt a renewed sense of bitterness towards the man.

Once dinner finished and everyone was full on peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream, Marianne excused herself from the table, standing and making her way to the porch. The sun had set. The brightness of the moon, hung fat and heavy and almost full in the sky, lit up the night. More stars than she could ever remember shone brightly from above creating a familiar wonder she often felt growing up. She never felt that in San Francisco, where the stars were constantly shrouded by heavy clouds and the lights of the city.

Reaching into her skirt pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and was surprised to find only a single text from Natasha informing her that their caterer had backed out. Nothing from her fiancé who promised to check in on her the moment he could. Of course, he probably was too busy with work. Sighing, she tried not to think about the wedding for at least one night and instead dialed Tony. The phone rang for a few moments before he picked up. From the other end she could hear the raucous sounds of people, music, and laughter blaring through.

“You’ve reached Tony: multimillionaire, genius, extraordinaire,” answered Tony, his voice vibrant and jovial.

“Tony, hey,” said Marianne feeling slightly confused. She thought he had a late-night conference call with Tokyo that night.

“Mari! Hold on one second—” the boisterous noise began to fade and then a door clicked shut before Tony spoke again “—sorry about that. How was your flight? Did you make it to Texas alright?”

“Yea, I did. Unfortunately, they lost all of my luggage, but it could be worse. My mom still has pretty much all my stuff here from high school still,” Marianne laughed lightly, leaning against the railing of the porch, and gripping it tightly. Her palms were slick with sweat despite the temperature cooling exponentially with the setting sun. Why on earth was she so nervous?

“Do you want me to have some of your things express shipped over to you?” asked Tony kindly.

“No, no need. I can get by. I suppose if I really need something that badly, you can pack it when you come down later this week.”

“Well, don’t go without it you don’t need to. You have the card I gave you. Don’t be afraid to buy whatever you need,” remarked Tony in the offhanded way in which he solved almost all of his problems. Normally this kind of answer wouldn’t make her think twice, but that night something about it irked her.

“Right. Hey, I thought you had nonstop meetings all this week. It sounds like you’re at a party.”

“Oh right, well, you know. Sometimes a meeting is a room full of boring people in suits and sometimes a meeting is cocktails and firebreathers on a rooftop,” joked Tony. Marianne could just envision the charming, devilish smile on his face. It usually did a fine job of getting him out of most trouble, but Marianne found that her inability to see it in person left her feeling put off. Before she could open her mouth to say as much, Marianne heard the sound of a door opening and then muffled voices. “That would be a business associate wanting to talk to me about reactor batteries. So…” Tony dragged out the word, waiting for her to make the decision on whether their phone call was about to end. Marianne paused. In this moment she could get mad, or she could let her fiancé continue to ride the high of a successful business for a while longer.

“Go. Have fun changing the world over flaming tequila shots,” sighed Marianne in good humor. Who was she to rain on his parade?

“God, I love you. Wednesday can’t come soon enough.”

Before Marianne could even get the words ‘I love you too’ out, the line went dead, and she was left standing alone on her parents’ porch in the deathly silence of the country. Or so she thought.

“Big city boyfriend too busy to talk?” asked Steve, sidling up beside her and leaning against the porch. He placed all his weight upon a single veiny forearm laid upon the chipping paint, crossing his long, lean legs, and cocking his hip to the side. It was the familiar ease in which he held himself that while normally made her skin itch, instead filled her with a weighty exhaustion she hadn’t felt in years. It had been a lot for a first day back.

“Fiancé and it’s none of your business,” spat Marianne, her tone barely holding half of the harshness it held earlier when they argued. She folded her arms around her like a protective blanket and looked out on the darkening fields ahead of her.

“Oh, come on Marianne—”

She sent a bone chilling glare in his direction that stopped Steve in his tracks. He let out a long breath.

“You’re right, it’s none of my business. Look, I just came out here to apologize. I didn’t mean to start a fight in there. God knows Wini and George wanted things to go well tonight and I’m sure us bickerin’ didn’t help any. They’d be devastated if you decided to wait another six years to come and see ‘em.”

“Don’t for a second think you have any right to talk to me about my family. Or to try and make me feel guilty for being gone. Not when you’re the reason I stayed away so long,” scoffed Marianne, taking one last glaring look at the man above her and storming back into the house, making Steve the one alone in the deathly silence of the country.

Taglist:

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

@caffiend-queen

@grincheveryday

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers #cowboy au #steve x ofc #tony x ofc

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ardenttheories · 5 years

Note

1. Love the new url, it sounds great! 2. If you want to, what are your thoughts on the extent of the knight class’ exploitation abilities? Like, how Dave needs some ability to See timelines in order to be able to exploit them, and how Karkat sees himself as a master of interpersonal relations, though I’m less sure about how that influences his role as a Knight of Blood. Where does the justification “in order to allow for exploitation” end? Dave can travel through time but why? Seems like an heir

Ran out of characters. Where does it end? Dave can travel through time like an heir would, and then wield weapons that pause time like Aradia can, and then travel instantaneously—again, like an heir, and have a sense of which is the alpha timeline, like some sort of knowledge class. And then that’s not even mentioning his awareness of the narrative. Where does it end? Dothe ends justify the means and you can look sburb dead in the eye and say “I need this to exploit my aspect” that’s ok?

Sorry for pestering you so much, I have a habit of not being able to stop my train of thought once it gets going. Last bit: we haven’t really seen much of what happens in a fully realized page in homestuck (Id argue that Steven Universe at the end of his movie is a pretty good example of a fully realized page of heart) but I’m curious how you think the page being exploitational actually manifests in the page’s powers. Sorry this got so long, I’m just curious if you’ve got any thoughts on this

I’m glad you like it! It’s taking a bit of getting used to tbh - I keep going to naturally type sburbtheory instead of ardenttheories. Oops!

I think, in some ways, it’s as important to look at HOW Dave uses his powers as it is to look at WHAT powers he has.

Dave can travel through Time, much like Aradia can. That’s true! But the way Dave uses his Timetravel is quite different to hers.

Whereas she tends to use it to set up things for the longhaul future, to escape danger, to allow for the continuity of the timeline - and thereby follows exactly what she dictates Time to be - Dave is very much restricted to doing only what Time allows him to do.

His Exploitation of Time works because he spends a week in the game in the course of about three hours. He Exploits the Timeloops to make sure that they can get everything done in their very restricted amount of Time before the Reckoning - something even Aradia may not have been able to do. She doesn’t tend to use her Time abilities a whole lot, especially after a certain point (e.g. when she starts spending more time in the Dream Bubbles), whereas for Dave, Exploiting Time to give them more Time is one of his key moves.

In the same way, he Exploits Time to give them more Boonbucks and more Grist so that they can get everything they need extremely quick. Making loops upon loops upon loops of Daves doing things and then becoming those Daves ensures that everyone is able to survive even when the game seems to be actively working against them.

That’s also another thing to consider, I think. Dave’s Exploitations of Time are completely stable. Every single Dave that we see in the second part of Act 5 - which is especially prominent in the panel where Jade tries to focus in on Dave through her compugoggles, which comes up showing 12 different Daves in the timeline at once - is the exact same Dave.

It’s Dave going back and forth through time, seeing his past selves and future selves and then eventually becoming or having been those selves, rather than a bunch of different Daves from different timelines (such as we see with Aradiabot, for instance).

If Dave sees himself and hasn’t been there yet, he knows that it’s something he has to do in the future - otherwise he’ll end up as a Doomed Dave. And Doomed Daves are Dead Daves, which is something he tries his best to actively avoid.

So, in other words, he can travel through Time because he’s Exploiting how Time works for a purpose; to give themselves MORE Time in a session that has almost no Time at all. It oddly works, because he’s still having to exist within the rules of Time, he’s just… pushing them a little bit.

Heirs of Time, on the other hand, tend to have Time bend to their whim. It does whatever they want it to do, and might even push a bit harder at the rules than a Knight can.

They can become Time itself, do more jumps than Knights can (such as jumping through Timelines without becoming a Doomed Self like Dave would), can have Time flow differently around them (which Dave can’t; he has to create stable Timeloops, whereas the Heir could likely just make everything very slow or even stop around them while they kept going at a more natural pace).

In some ways, a Heir of Time might even be able to slow down their own ageing! We know for a fact that Dave’s grasp on Time isn’t that firm; he can’t Control time, just work within its grasp a bit.

I think, honestly, Dave knows what the Alpha Timeline is because he’d be dead if he was wrong. Which is a pretty simple answer? But all Daves that don’t follow the Alpha Timeline tend to end up dead pretty quick, and if he’s not meant to do it, he’ll die as a consequence of trying.

We know he doesn’t really know what makes the Alpha Timeline because there are instances where he just can’t explain things - when Jade tells him to just “do what feels natural” when he asks about his copy of the SBURB Beta (which somehow ends up with her); when he blatantly ignores Rose trying to leave him behind on the Green Sun suicide mission, which turns out to be the right course of action but isn’t something he thought actually NEEDED to happen - and I would therefore have to assume that his knowledge of what is and isn’t the Alpha Timeline stems pretty significantly from an innate sense that “if I do this I will fucking die”. Or, like, he’s just seem a dead self and knows that’s a bad choice.

His awareness of the narrative, from what I can understand, stems predominantly from exposure to Bro (the alternate form of Dirk). I went over that a bit ago, but it seems that Dirk has a habit of imprinting some of his abilities onto Dave, without actually giving him the full access to his powers (such as how Dave is kind of awake on Derse, but not fully; it’s a reflection of Dirk’s ability to be awake on Derse and Earth at the same time, but because it’s not actually HIS power it doesn’t work quite right).

There was more. You can find that specific post here! There’s also a few other posts in the discussion around that time, too.

Essentially, the narrative awareness thing isn’t totally a Time thing, nor is it anything really to do with his position as a Knight - so we don’t really have to worry about that.

So, to make a long post a bit shorter, there’s actually a lot Dave can’t do. He has to work firmly within the realm of Time, and he can’t do anything that would actively break its laws. A lot of Knights are going to work like this; trying to break the rules will make them face colossal punishment, and really all they can do is use what little wiggle room exists in the Aspect to their advantage.

If it would break how the Aspect works, the Knight can’t do it (Dave can’t have Doomed Selves exist in the same timeline because there can only be one Dave per timeline) - but if it can be justified, then the Exploit works (Davesprite isn’t actually Dave, the Player, so it’s accepted by SBURB).

We unfortunately don’t get to see a whole lot of Page Exploitation, which is frustrating, and also tends to be why I focus more on the description of Protecting for both Classes. However, to give it a pretty simple go…

Pages use their Aspect to Protect themselves. It’s actually a fairly selfish sort of Class - a bit like the Thief - and they have to work up to Protecting other people with it.

As such, when they Exploit it, it tends to be for their own gain - and isn’t usually that flashy at first.

Jake Exploits Hope by enabling people to Believe whatever the hell they want about him so they almost always dismiss him as a threat. He manages to talk Jane round in circles when it comes to her feelings for him so he doesn’t have to give her a firm yes or no, and it’s accepted because he’s “a bit of a dunce”, even though, like John, he can actually be fairly smart.

We can also say that he Exploits how goddamn vague Hope is as a concept. Some of the things he does are based solely around his own Belief in them - and that means he’s actually Exploiting his Belief into ensuring that these weird and wonderful things happen.

If we’d seen more of him in actual Hopey combat, we might have seen even more amazing spectacles like the Giant Hope Explosion. If he’d believed in it, he could have Exploited his Belief (or that of others) to make things Real that never should have been real - like Brain Ghost Dirk!

BGD was never actually a real Dirk or a real Splinter of Dirk, but because Jake Believed that he was, he managed to become Real. He gained all of Dirk’s powers even though he strictly speaking shouldn’t have, and almost managed to defeat Aranea single-handedly. And we know he was almost Real because he managed to stay in one place with some form of automony while Jake ran away.

So, that’s an Exploit x2; Exploiting Jake’s Belief in Dirk to actually make BGD in the first place, and then Exploiting Jake’s Belief in BGD’s existence to make him Real enough to actually Protect Jake (and again, this does come back to Protection, because that’s partly what BGD is for).

Like, it’s not technically stretching the definition and abilities of Hope too far, but it’s definitely getting closer to that line than a Knight would be allowed, and it’s very much more personal than a Knight tends to do.

In a way, you can say that Tavros Exploits Freedom and Options by gathering the entire Ghost Army. There’s an unknown number of Ghosts out there that he can use to his own gain, and plenty of Options to choose from with how the Dreambubbles work. Plus, to find Freedom by beating an unbeatable game, using all the dead souls who were never actually MEANT to be around in the first place seems like a pretty good Exploit to me.

Of course, I say both of those with a HUGE pinch of salt. Tavros’ for sure doesn’t really work when you think about how Knights Exploit, and that can be a bit… tricky. Although a lot of that could be because Hope and Breath are very non-physical Aspects that don’t have exact rules? Whereas Time is very distinct and firm, and there’s definite rules you have to obey.

I’ve seen people use Support instead, but I still think Protect works best. In either case,

They’d still have to obey the same rules as Knights, but I think they’d probably find even more wiggle room. They might be able to find the same sort of footing as a Heir, although it won’t come to them as naturally; the Page of Breath, for instance, might not be able to literally turn into the Wind, but they sure as hell could just mysteriously escape every confinement you try to force them into.

How do they keep escaping? Nobody really knows. But they probably can’t escape things that are sealed 100% tight - such as if they were teleported inside a concrete cube - and they probably rely on using the Breeze more than being the Breeze.

E.g. the Breeze can be used to steal back keys. It can also be used to throw rocks at keypads with perfect precision and oh look, the door’s open, lets go.

They might also be able to phase through things, but not actually turn into the wind - so they’re just corporeal enough to get dragged back through if they’re caught.

It might also just be the difference between what they can Exploit. For instance, a Page of Time might not be able to do the same Timeloops that a Knight can because that ability is focused a lot more on helping other people. They might, however, be able to send other things back and forth through time, like a personal Appearifier/Sendificator, because that’s technically not cheating so long as they remember to send the thing back to just a few seconds after they took it in the first place.

That’d be Exploiting how Time works as a fundamental thing, and just how far you can go before you start screwing up the Timeline. In that sense, I think Pages probably have to be VERY careful.

They might also have a better time at Exploiting Time on much more finite scales - such as by reverting time around a specific object because they’re technically not interfereing with the Timeline.

Pages’ powers tend to be more finetuned and a little more dubious without really stepping over into Heir or Witch territory. That’s as best as I can think to explain it, admittedly.

So, while the Heir of Hope could literally become Good Vibes and Positive Feelings, or literally become an angel, the Page of Hope can only spread those feelings if they already feel them, or could just summon an angel/take on its shape - the difference between Spontaneous Positivity and Shared Positivity, or Actually Being and Pretending To Be.

I think that probably makes sense. It might do! Pages are weird, if I’m completely honest, and the best way to understand them might just be to look at what an Heir can do and think, “okay, if that’s how far you can go when you’re actually becoming a thing, how far can you go when you’re not the thing without breaking the rules?”

#page class #knight class #ardenttheories #class analysis #knight of time #long post//#fun-with-colors

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1dfangirls35 · 5 years

Text

Voir Dire (N.H.): A fake dating OU about contracts, soulmates, and risking it all for love

prologue one two three

four

Kelsey had been right about it being a busy night. Since the second the doors had opened the bar had been bustling, and it wasn't showing any sign of stopping soon. Tom had just let them know that the AMAs had just ended, which meant a bunch of drunken celebrities were headed their way, wailing in their sorrows of not winning the award they had been nominated for.

Maya came up behind Kelsey with the drink she was mixing. "Tonight we're gonna see someone big-I can just feel it. I'm thinking Taylor Swift- heard she got beat out for Female Artist of the Year."

Kelsey rolled her eyes, throwing some ice into the glass of the whiskey sour she was mixing. "Please Maya, Taylor Swift's not the Manhattan type. She'll be home with a bottle of wine and her cats."

Maya stifled a laugh and headed back to her customer. She couldn't keep them waiting if she wanted a nice tip. Kelsey glanced at the time. It was only ten pm, which meant she had four more busy hours before bar close. Kelsey had thought that maybe she would be let off a little early tonight after working so many shifts this week, but with the amount of traffic in the bar right now, she knew there was no way that was going to happen now.

"Kelsey, can you deliver these Manhattans to table twelve please?" Meg, the bar's manager shouted in her direction.

"Of course," Kelsey responded, wiping her hands on a dish towel, before setting it on the counter and grabbing the tray of drinks. She navigated her way through clumps of socializing people towards the table in the back corner. Then set down the drinks in front of each of the women in the back corner. Although she didn't recognize any of them, she was guessing they had come from the awards show by the way they were dressed. Full length ballgowns and jewelry she only could dream of affording.

The woman handed her a twenty dollar bill and Kelsey placed it in her pocket after giving a polite thank you. She headed back towards the bar. She made her way through the crowd, pushing when her 'excuse-mes' go unnoticed. She had nearly made it back, when a man started backing into her. Like some kind of bartender premonition, Kelsey could tell what was going to happen before it even began.

"Shit," the man exclaimed in a thick accent. His beer splashing onto Kelsey as he bumps into her, leaving her shirt drenched with the sticky substance. Kelsey glances down to see just how bad the damage was before her eyes travel upward to meet those of the man that had so kindly spritzed her with his beer.

His face was soft, with a slight scruff along his jawline. His blue eyes full of apology. Kelsey was sure that she knew his face, but at the moment she couldn't quite place it- not that she could acknowledge it even if she could- another of Manhattan's strict policies to ensure its elite patrons were not bothered.

"I'm sorry, wasn't watching where I was going," he apologized.

"Don't worry about it, happens all the time," Kelsey replied. It was for occasions like this that Kelsey was now sure to pack at least three different shirts with her when she came to work. Even the elite could get a little sloppy.

"Can I get you another one of those?" she asked, gesturing to his now almost empty glass. Kelsey had never understood why they had to provide compensatory drinks to patrons who had money coming out of their ears, but it was yet another policy she had to follow.

"Think I should be the one buying you one," he said with a laugh.

"No drinking on the job unfortunately, but just give me a minute to change and I'll get you a fresh one."

The man's eyes flashed with the realization that Kelsey was an employee, as always. Once this occurred, there were usually two outcomes. The first being the guy lost all interest in her and pretended her ever offered to buy her a drink in the first place. The second being the guy took this as an opportunity to continue to flirt in hopes of getting stronger drinks and someone he could talk the ear off while he continued to drink. That was the bad thing about being a bartender, you couldn't exactly run from the creepy guy at the bar.

Kelsey hoped he was the earlier, because although this guy was attractive, she was far too busy to feign interest for some lonely drunk. Grabbing her bag from behind the bar, Kelsey headed to the bathroom. Throwing on a new black tank top to replace the wet shirt she was currently wearing, then stuffing it into her bag to add to her pile of dirty laundry.

It suddenly occurred to Kelsey that the man who spilled his drink on her was the 'Slow Hands' guy. His name was on the tip of Kelsey's tongue, and she tried to mentally recall the names of the One Direction members. Her mind came up blank.

"What happened to you?" Maya asked Kelsey as she slid back behind the bar. Grabbing a glass to fill a new beer for Slow Hands guy.

"Beer spill. What's the name of that guy that sings Slow Hands again? You know the one in One Direction? He's not Harry Styles but..."

"Niall Horan?" Maya said in a hushed voice. Kelsey knew she could always count on Maya to identify celebrities. "He's the one that spilled a beer on you?" Kelsey looked at her friend's incredulous face. She could only hope Maya was smart enough to not try and sneak the poor guy a copy of her demo on a night that was as busy as this.

Kelsey nodded.

"Can't believe you don't remember his name," Maya said with a laugh. "You kept raving about how he could use his slow hands any day on you last month when you were drunk."

Kelsey felt heat rise to her cheeks. She may or may not have had a bad habit of making remarks about celebrities while she was drunk. She blamed it on being ridiculously single- not that she didn't want to keep it that way.

"I better get him his beer," Kelsey rolled her eyes, filling the glass and bringing it over to where Niall was now seated at the bar.

"Ye didn't have to do that," Niall said as Kelsey set the beer in front of him. Niall didn't like to be the kind of celebrity that demanded things. Pop superstar or not, he wanted to be treated like everyone else, especially when it was his own fault. "I've been the center of attention all night, would've liked to just be a clumsy lad in the bar for once," he admitted.

"Company policy," Kelsey responded, but she couldn't help but be a little impressed with the fact that this celebrity didn't expect to be treated as such. "Let me know if I can get you anything else," she said with a smile, and then moved on to helping the next patron.

As Kelsey filled drink order after drink order, her shift kept gazing back to Niall, sitting quietly at the bar sipping on his beer. She wondered what was going through his mind, and what kind of international popstar comes to a bar alone after an awards show. She shakes it off her mind, moving on to pour another glass of wine for the publicist that won't get off her phone for more than a second.

"You've caught someone's attention," Maya said as her shoulder brushes Kelsey's. Kelsey glanced over at Niall once again. The two make eye contact before Kelsey quickly turned away.

"Probably just wants a refill, I go check on him," Kelsey said, beginning to move in Niall's direction.

Maya grabbed Kelsey's sleeve and pulls her friend back in. "He's been staring at you for over twenty minutes now. Go talk to him. I got it covered." She pushed Kelsey in the direction of the Irishman.

Kelsey approached slowly. "Need another one?"

"That would be great, thank you..." Niall paused and Kelsey realized that this was his way of asking for her name.

"Oh, Kelsey, I'm Kelsey," she stumbled.

"Nice to meet you Kelsey. I'm Niall," he replied . Of course, Kelsey didn't need that introduction.

"Another beer coming right up," Kelsey smiled and headed back to the tap. It was only when she felt the foam begin to overflow from the cup that she realized she had been staring at Niall.

This was out of character for Kelsey. She didn't get intrigued by cute guys talking to her at the bar. After all, that was part of her job. And she certainly didn't stare at them from across the bar. The people at this bar weren't the kind of people that were interested in bartenders. And quite honestly, Kelsey knew that if an average guy could break her heart, it was even more likely with this clientele.

Kelsey tried to shake the feeling in her chest as she approached Niall and set the beer in front of him. "Long night?" she asked.

"The longest," Niall said with a sigh, taking a sip of his beer. "Red carpets and awards shows aren't really my thing if I'm being honest."

Kelsey raised her eyebrow.

"Oh no, I'm not complaining about it. I mean I am...ahh dammit," Niall said, running a hand through his hair. "Now you think I'm one of those people that's ungrateful to be in the position I am. I'm grateful, I really am its just..."

"A bit too much sometimes?" Kelsey finished his sentence for him.

"Ya something like that. What ever happened to it being about the music anyway?" Niall spun his glass in a circle in front of him before shaking his head. "Sorry, look at me just being like any old grump at the bar telling you about my problems. Tell me about you Kelsey."

"Me?" Kelsey asked with confusion. People rarely asked Kelsey about herself at the bar. Niall nodded to confirm, that he was in fact, asking about her.

"I'm Kelsey. I've been in LA for three months and I'm a bartender here at Manhattan."

"That was a bullshit answer if I've ever heard one," Niall said with a laugh, taking another sip of his beer.

Kelsey crossed her arms over her chest and feigned offense.

"Why'd you come to LA? We both know no one comes here to be a bartender," Niall asked, his eyes scanning Kelsey's face in a way that sent her stomach in knots.

"Bashing on bartenders now? It just so happens that my life aspiration is to become a world renowned bartender," Kelsey answered with a smirk. She sighed and rested her elbow on the bar in front of her, leaning a little closer to Niall. He shot her a smile of amusement.

"I came for a fresh start. Plus, I'm hoping to get into Stanford law in the fall so I figured might as well move to California sooner versus later."

"You want to be a lawyer?" Niall said with an incredulous look on his face. Kelsey wasn't sure if it was him being impressed or mocking, in her experience it was often the latter.

"You think I'm crazy right," Kelsey said, shaking her head.

"Not at all," Niall replied. "I think it's brilliant." He offered her a sincere smile and Kelsey felt her mouth move to mirror one. She caught herself, and quickly returns to a neutral expression.

"Why do you want to be a lawyer?" Niall questioned.

Kelsey knew that was a loaded question and a complicated answer. One that boybander Niall Horan likely didn't care to hear the explanation to.

"I like to argue," she said with a shrug.

"I can see that," Niall laughed. "But seriously."

"That's not a simple answer," Kelsey said, grabbing a strand of her brown locks and twirling it in her fingers. "Guess I like the idea of building a case. Seeing all the aspects of something and using it to put together an argument. There's also a lot of psychology involved, a lot of personal relationships. You have to be able to integrate a lot of complex skills at once and I like the challenge."

"Guess you get good practice as a bartender then?" Niall asked.

"Oh ya, especially when I have to thwart of the advances of famous boybanders," she teased, flicking her hair over her shoulder before scanning the premises to see if her manager had caught on to her single patron service.

Niall looked to his left, then to his right, he sets his glass back down on the table before saying, "Don't know what you're talking about, I don't see any of those around here."

Kelsey rolled her eyes at his attempt at a joke. Had she heard better? Absolutely, but his sarcasm was a bit enduring. She appreciated someone who didn't take themselves too seriously, lord knows she needed to apply some of that rationale to her own life.

"So where's your entourage tonight?"

"Entourage? I'm just a lad from Mullingar I have no entourage," Niall said with a laugh.

"So you are telling me you came from the big AMA festivities to this bar all by yourself?" Kelsey probed.

"I mean I suppose a few of my mates are around here somewhere but sometimes I need some time to meself." Niall was omitting the part of his plan that involved ditching his "girlfriend" as quickly as possible following the show before calling up a very drunk Louis Tomlinson and being instructed to head to the bar.

"The bar's not usually my place for some me time," Kelsey remarked, looking around the bar to observe the mad chaos that surrounded her. It was loud, chaotic, and full of people dressed far too nice to consider themselves relaxed. Kelsey's me time involved a tub of Ben and Jerry's, a bottle of wine, and a romantic comedy on Netflix.

"It's me time when you want to drown out your feelings with alcohol," Niall sighed. After realizing what he had just admitted out loud, Niall quickly tried to rebute his words. "I'm sure there have been many lads sitting at a bar that have it worse off than me though."

Humility. It wasn't something that Kelsey had witnessed in many of patrons she served at the Manhattan. She certainly wouldn't have expected the quality to be displayed in a world-famous superstar like Niall Horan. It was refreshing, and although Kelsey didn't want to admit it, a bit intriguing as well.

"Kels!" Kelsey turned to see Becca, flagging her down, her hot date still by her side. She assumed the date must have been going well if Becca had convinced him to follow her to a bar where the drinks would cost you almost as much as a nice dinner. She gave her roommate a wave of acknowledgement before turning back to Niall.

"I'm sorry, that's my friend and her date. I have to go get the scoop. It was nice to meet you Niall Horan," Kelsey said with a smile. Niall felt a wave of disappointment. He had been quite enjoying his chat with Kelsey. He wasn't sure what he had expected though, it wasn't like it was her responsibility to keep him from getting lonely.

"Nice to meet you too," Niall replied. "oh, and sorry about the drink," Niall laughed, motioning towards the beer he hadn't managed to spell down the front of a beautiful girl.

"Don't worry about it," Kelsey responded before making her way to her friend.

"I hear you were hitting it off over there," Becca laughed, motioning towards Niall who now had a cell phone in one hand and a beer in the other. Kelsey glanced back at the Irishman who had had her interest over the past half hour. Her mind started conjuring up all the possible reasons a guy like him would be hanging at a bar by himself after an awards show.

"Earth to Kelsey," Becca snapped her fingers in Kelsey's face, and Kelsey turned her attention abruptly back to her roommate.

"Sorry, oh no just having a chat that's all. He's a freaking celebrity after all," Kelsey answered. It wasn't like someone like Niall was interesting in Kelsey. Kelsey wasn't even interested in the whole dating scheme in the first place at the current moment, much less with a celebrity.

"That's not what Maya told me," Becca said with a grin. "Anyway, still think you can sneak out of here early and hit the club with us?"

Kelsey surveyed the crowd at the bar. It was significantly less busy than it had been a few hours ago and with a good chunk of the patrons buying wine by the bottle instead of mixed drinks she thought it was worth a shot. "I'll check with Meg, be right back."

Luckily for Kelsey, Meg was in a good mood. She agreed that the decreased traffic and long work hours Kelsey had already put in this week warranted her getting off an hour and a half early. After shooting Becca a thumbs up from across the bar, Kelsey headed to the back of the bar to hang up her apron.

"She's letting you out early I see," Maya noted as she filled another vodka lemonade.

"Yeah, Becca wants me to go to the club with her and her new guy," Kelsey said with a roll of her eyes. She knew she had promised her roommate this, but as she watched Becca and her date suck face at the corner of the bar, she began to wonder if maybe this wasn't going to be the best of ideas.

Maya followed Kelsey's eyes and let out a laugh. "Don't worry, I'm sure there will be plenty of single guys looking for someone to dance with at the club."

Kelsey gave her Maya a questioning look. She wasn't looking for a single guy right now. She wasn't looking for anyone.

Maya gave Kelsey a playful shove. "Go let loose girl, you deserve it. You can dance with a guy without committing to date him."

"I know," Kelsey responded slowly.

"Well then, go get ready girl. If you take to much longer, I'm not sure those two are going to make it to the club." Kelsey laughed before going to the bathroom to touch up. She applied a fresh coat of mascara and lipstick and gave her hair a little fluff before calling it good.

As she walked back towards Becca, Kelsey scanned the bar for one last glance of Niall, but he was gone.

*******************************

Kelsey was beginning to wish that she had just stayed at the Manhattan with Maya instead of becoming the third-wheel of Becca's date. The two had clearly hit it off- they could barely keep their hands off of each other.

Kelsey was happy for Becca. She deserved to find someone as much as the next person, but that didn't keep Kelsey's bitter distrust for any kind of romantic relationship from wondering if this guy would become just like one of the countless guys Becca met at bars since Kelsey had moved in with her- untrustworthy and unwilling to commit.

After the two shots Becca had suggested they take before they left the Manhattan and the vodka cranberry Kelsey was sipping on now, Kelsey was beginning to feel the beginnings of a buzz. God knows she was going to need it if she was going to "let loose" as Maya had put it. She scanned the room for potential baes for the night.

Through the dimly lit club lights, Kelsey swears she sees a man that resembles Niall across the room. She shook the thought from her mind and blamed it on her escalating blood alcohol levels. The atmosphere of the club was altering her senses, between the pounding music and the sweet alcohol, it didn't surprise Kelsey that she might be misperceiving things. This club was far from exclusive, and a celebrity would never be spotted in a club like this. Kelsey couldn't believe her mind was still caught up on the clumsy Irishman from the bar- her loneliness had clearly combined with the alcohol to make her forget every reason she was single in the first place.

Kelsey turned back to face Becca who was now seated on the lap of her new beau. Dylan, his name was Dylan. Kelsey was really hoping that Dylan hadn't invited any of his friends along to this club. But knowing Becca, there were probably several of them just lurking at the bar waiting to make their move.

"It's busy in here," Becca practically yells, her attempt at trying to make Kelsey feel like she is part of the group instead of just the outsider invading on her date. In the past, Becca had often brought her dates to the club in an effort to "lose them" when things weren't going well. Tonight, however, seemed to be an entirely different story.

Kelsey feels her face go white as she notices the distinct outline of Niall's nose, three sleek white barstools down the bar. Now she was sure she wasn't seeing things.

"What is he doing here?" she wondered out loud.

Becca answered. "Oh, your boybander from the Manhattan. I told him we were coming here," Becca offered a mischievous smile.

"You what?" Kelsey felt her jaw drop.

"I told him we were coming here. You know in case in case he wanted to continue the conversation," Becca said, looking extremely pleased with herself. "Looks like he did."

"Becca..." Kelsey started to protest.

Becca threw her hands up. "It was Maya's idea, so if you want someone to blame, blame her."

Kelsey shook her head. Of course Maya was behind all this. That girl and her dreams.

"But I have to say Kelsey, I agree with her." Becca leaned forward from her perch in Dylan's lap. Kelsey reached out to steady her friend, who appeared to be more intoxicated than Kelsey initially thought. "You need to get laid."

Kelsey felt her face heat up at her friend's bluntness. Kelsey strongly disagreed. This 'no strings attached' method may have worked for Becca, but Kelsey didn't think she could ever be so impulsive. Guys were bad news. Period. And Kelsey planned on staying as far away from a relationship as she could.

Becca continued, "I mean this is the first time since you've been here that I've seen you gawk over a guy."

"I'm not gawking at him, Becca," Kelsey replied sharply. "Besides you are completely ignoring the fact that he is a c-eleb-ri-ty. He can't be with a girl like me and he most certainly shouldn't be in a club like this. It will be all over the tabloids tomorrow."

Kelsey couldn't believe Maya and Becca's lack of cognition behind the whole plan. Niall was a well-known star. Judging by his comments earlier in the night, Kelsey was fairly confident that he wasn't someone that enjoyed being in the public eye. But if all this was true, why would he come here?

"If you aren't interested then why do you keep glancing over in his direction," Becca raised an eyebrow. Once again, Kelsey felt a hint of color rise to her cheeks after being caught straight in her own lie. She couldn't help but feel somewhat drawn to Niall. She just couldn't figure out why.

In that moment, Niall seemed to glance in Kelsey's direction. Locking eyes with her before heading over her way.

"Dylan let's go dance," Becca said abruptly, grabbing her date's hand and dragging him out onto the LED- lit dance floor to join the countless other drunk couples shamelessly getting their groove on.

"So can I buy you a drink this time?" Niall asked as he slid into the barstool next to Kelsey. Kelsey looked at the pop star in front of her in shock, waiting for the camera man to jump out from behind the bar and tell her she was being Punked.

"I mean, I guess you can," Kelsey answered hesitantly. Niall looked down at her drink.

"Vodka cran?" Niall asked. Kelsey nodded, at a loss for words on how to approach the situation.

"Listen Niall, I don't know what my friends told you, but honestly are you sure you should even be here right now? I mean don't you have like stalker fans or something? And what about your entourage?" Kelsey's mouth spewed words out as faster than they crossed her mind.

"Kelsey," Niall said, setting a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't come here because of anything your friends told me."

"You didn't?" Kelsey was surprised. She also felt incredibly stupid for assuming Niall Horan had come here looking for her. She supposed he could have coincidently arrived at the same club as her. LA was a big city, but it wasn't impossible.

"I came here because I was hoping I could talk to you some more," Niall replied. "And the entourage? Well, I sent Louis home in a cab hours ago."

"And the fans?" Kelsey asked again, still hardly believing that Niall had come all this way to talk to her.

"Sometimes it's best to just hide in plain sight," Niall shrugged.

Kelsey took another sip of her drink before repositioning herself on her barstool so that she was close enough to Niall to hear him over the loud music.

"I'm sorry I don't mean to like follow you or anything like that. I just felt like there was some kind of connection between the two of us?" Niall questioned more than stated. Niall realized he could have been reading the entire situation incredibly wrong. He was a bit out of his element after all, especially after the day that he had. He only hoped that Kelsey didn't think he was a total idiot.

"There might have been something like that," Kelsey responded back, the buzz from her drink suddenly making her far more straightforward than she intended. She wasn't looking for anything, really, and definitely not a relationship. But if she and Niall could continue their surprisingly interesting conversation and he would buy her a drink or two, she couldn't complain. After all, it wasn't like she was going to be seeing much of Becca tonight.

There was no doubt in Kelsey's mind that she was attracted to Niall. His bright blue eyes stood out against the dark brown of his hair, almost as if they were piercing into her very soul. But it wasn't just Niall's looks that had caught Kelsey's attention. There was something about his sense of humor, and his ability to be- well, so normal.

"So your friend and her man really can't get enough of each other?" Niall laughed, Kelsey followed Niall's gaze to spot Becca and Dylan pressed up against the concrete wall of the club, barely a space between them. "How long have they been together?"

"It's their first date actually," Kelsey laughed.

"Really?" Niall asked, lifting up his drink to take another sip. "Quite the chemistry then I suppose."

"You could say that," Kelsey replied, although she wasn't quite sure if this was truly chemistry or just a lot of lust.

"A bit of a skeptic?" Niall asked, reading the way Kelsey's face instantly lost a bit of its glow as she watched her friend and her date. He knew that face because he'd worn it himself many times before. It was the face of someone who had been heartbroken before.

"My friends would say that," Kelsey took another long drink. "I prefer to call myself more of a realist."

"Well, cheers to being realists then," Niall held up his glass to toast Kelsey's. Their hands brush as their glasses clink together. "Want a shot?" he chuckled. Talking about relationships had reminded him of the reason he had ended up at the bar in the first place, and that called for more alcohol.

"Please," Kelsey agreed enthusiastically.

Two tequila shots later, Niall and Kelsey found themselves on the dance floor. Niall pulled Kelsey in front of him, hands on her hips as they moved to the music. Kelsey happily obliged, the feeling of Niall's breath on the back of her neck sending shivers down her spine.

Kelsey began to wonder if maybe Becca and Maya had been right. Maybe she needed a night to just let loose. For so many months now she had focused on all the things that were going wrong in her life. Maybe for tonight, she needed to do something that felt right.

As if suddenly having a revelation, Kelsey turned around to face Niall, bringing her hands to rest at the bottom of his neck as she brought her mouth closer to Niall's ear. Niall's skin bubbled with goosebumps as her warm breath grazed his ear.

"I thought One Direction couldn't dance," she practically yelled, hoping that her sound waves would be able to overcome the pounding bass of the music.

"Doesn't mean I don't know how to," Niall said with a laugh before grabbing Kelsey's hand and giving her a sudden twirl. The two laughed, and with each beat their bodies moved closer together. The proximity leaving the tips of Kelsey's fingers tingling.

"I get the feeling that Becca won't be coming home alone tonight," Kelsey sighed, glancing over at her roommate who still seems to incapable of keeping her hands off Dylan.

Niall glanced over as well. "Doesn't appear that way."

As if Becca had a sixth sense that she had become a topic of conversation, she pulled away from Dylan long enough to motion Kelsey over.

"I'll be right back," Kelsey whispered, before heading over to her friend. Becca's face filled with delight as Kelsey approached.

"I spy some chemistry going on over there," Becca laughed.

"Oh like that's not what is going on over here," Kelsey rolled her eyes at her friend. Becca didn't protest. "So let me guess you called me over here to warn me about the guest we will be having in our apartment tonight?"

"You would be correct," Becca replied. Kelsey searched the room for Niall, who was now up at the bar grabbing what appeared to be another round of drinks for the two of him.

"Don't write him off Kels, just because he's a superstar. He's definitely into you." Kelsey sighed. She couldn't help but admit that she was a little into Niall as well. Maybe she should just embrace it.

"Just let me know when you are ready to leave," Kelsey instructed, before heading back towards Niall.

"Grabbed us another round, want to grab a seat?" Niall motioned to a small booth in the corner of the club as he handed Kelsey her next drink. Kelsey nodded, and Niall took hold of her hand and led her towards their destination.

The pair slid across the black leather seats, first Niall, then Kelsey, before settling in at the center of the table with a bird's eye few of the club in front of them. Kelsey took a sip of her sweet drink, becoming slightly more aware of the closeness of Niall's body next to her.

"You got the heads up I take it?" Niall motioned towards Becca once again.

Kelsey laughed. "Oh yes, should have known that was how my night was going to go," she shook her head. "Has there ever been a third-wheeling scenario in the history of third-wheeling in which the third-wheel doesn't regret every agreeing to go out with the couple?"

Niall chuckled, his laugh deep. "I suppose that's why they call it third-wheeling."Kelsey looked back over at Niall, his eyes twinkling even in the dim club lights. "But I don't think you can consider this third-wheeling anymore because there's now a fourth wheel on this vehicle."

"There is?" Kelsey raised her eyebrow. She watched as Niall's eyes scanned her lips, and she felt herself bit her own lip. Niall leaned, reaching a hand behind her neck before his lips brushed hers.

And then it was electricity. Kelsey hadn't kissed a great number of guys in her life- sober or otherwise, but she had to say that this kiss ranked pretty highly. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that kissing someone like Niall Horan was something that would only happen once in a lifetime, but Kelsey couldn't get enough.

There is a hunger behind this kiss. A passion and urgency that makes it delicate and yet strong at the same time. Soon Kelsey is pulling herself closer to Niall, his hands entrapped into her chocolate hair while her hands roam the top of his chest.

Now who was the one all over someone in the club?

Kelsey's not sure if it had been minutes or hours but when she finally pulled away long to catch her breath, she finds her mouth forming a smile. She'd forgotten what it felt like- that feeling of overwhelming desire. It felt good, addicting almost, and Kelsey knew she wanted more. She leaned in again, this time finding herself nearly on Niall's lap, the smell of Niall's cologne and the taste of his beer invigorating her senses.

"If you wanted you could come back to mine," Niall whispered. "I mean, if you wanted to get away from the lovebirds for awhile. No pressure or anything, just offering up a place to stay."

Kelsey thought about it for a minute. One night couldn't be that bad. And being with Niall sure as hell beat being in an apartment with Becca and Dylan. "Take me home Niall," she batted her eyelashes.

Niall nodded, grabbing her hand and sliding back out of the booth. "Let me just tell Becca we are leaving," Kelsey whispered into Niall's ear before heading off into the direction of her friend.

Niall watched her as she walked, hardly believing that this was happening. This wasn't something Niall usually did. In fact, Niall wasn't sure that he had ever simply taken a girl home from a bar after meeting her a few hours ago. But something about Kelsey was different. There was an instant attraction, but yet it went far deeper than purely physical.

"Are you sure?" Niall asked again as Kelsey approached, wrapping her arm around Niall's back as she leaned against his shoulder.

Kelsey nodded. "Gotta see if those slow hands live up to the hype don't we?"

#now that the next singles been announced I guess I better get writing lol #writingby1dfangirls35 #voir dire #niall horan #niall fanfic #niall x ofc #1dff #niallff #one direction fanfiction #nh

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dre--scape · 6 years

Text

Slow Down (Stephen Strange x Wife!Reader)

So i’m finally done. AND ITS MY FIRST REQUEST!!!! I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT I DID IT AND I DID MY BEST AT EDITING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY. i also wanna apologize for the terrible title and if it may seem rushed, everything played out in my head perfectly, but once I got to writing, it was all there, but it didn’t want to go d o w n . i also wanted to include billy but icouldntimsosorry

Pairing: Stephen Strange x fem!reader

Word count: 1781

Request by @mrs-walka-blog: Hii Can i request a Stephen x wife!reader ANGST where they are having a heated argument in the car (reader accusing him of cheating with christine) and then the car crash happens. It would be before he got his powers obviously.

Summary: ^^^

I also accept requests!

Warnings: ANGST, Major Character death, descriptive car crash, moderate swearing (3 B---- words)

Your gaze watched the rain race off of the Lamborghini’s windshield and the wipers that pushed them off faster as Stephen drove quickly along the mountainside. The anxious feeling in your stomach made your nausea worse as your husband weaved through the two lanes. But you were certain that your mind was faster.

Stephen had been spending too much time at the hospital lately and you were beginning to wonder if he would come home at all. Of course you knew that being married to a neurosurgeon, you wouldn’t see your significant other for hours at a time (You felt terrible for silently thanking the Libby Zion Act). But the fact that he would be around a past lover most of the time had you slightly on edge.

You felt bad for thinking about it too because Christine was a dear friend of yours and you knew she was extremely kind, that she would never have those intentions. So why was it only now that your mind decided to berate you?

Who would want to be married to a lawyer for Christ’s sake? Oh God, what if he’s cheating on me with Christine? He probably is. He’s around her almost 24/7, so I wouldn’t be surprised. She definitely looks like Regina George. Only so much nicer. But if I had to give a rough estimate, he’d probably leave me in two-

“Darling, you really think that low of me?” Stephen asked through a strained chuckle. He wasn’t hurt by the fact that you thought he would actually leave you. No. He was furious at the fact that you thought he was one of those low-life people who’d do it behind your back.

He hesitantly looked over at your face which was mixed with confusion and embarrassment. “You mumble when you think, Love.” You were too flustered by your vocal thoughts to notice the spite in Stephen’s voice.

“I-I do?” You questioned timidly, carefully looking up at your husband.

Stephen nodded slightly, “Yeah.”

You couldn’t help but quietly ask, “Are you really with Christine though?”

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you and you leaned your head against the cool window. Placing a finger against your lips, your mind started to race again.

A couple of minutes passed before Stephen spoke up again. “Do you really think I would cheat on you?” He asked, a slight edge to his voice. That drew your attention back to the man at the wheel and you shook your head. “No, I don’t.” You mumbled, hands fidgeting out of nervous habit. “I-I just-”

“Thought I was a low life asshole who moves on from woman to the next?” Your eyes narrowed and you gazed at Stephen, wishing looks could actually injure someone. You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. “It was just a simple question, Stephen.” Your brain finally registered how fast Stephen was driving when you glanced at the speedometer. “Now slow down.”

You saw him roll his eyes before placing them back on the road. “And it was a good question because?” Your mind immediately started piling up with evidence against him, but you knew they were all petty accusations. “You’re around her almost all week and when you come home, it’s always: Christine this and Christine that!” You huffed, cheeks turning slightly red.

“Am I not allowed to have any female friends?” The question lingered in the air along with his booming voice. You took a deep breath, calming yourself before speaking. “No, you are.” You said collectedly. “I’m just saying-”

“I’m always spending time with Christine!” Stephen cut you short. “We work together for Christ’s sake!” An irritated groan ripped out of your throat as you shifted in your seat. “Can you stop interrupting me?”

“When you stop accusing me!” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I was going to let it die, Stephen.” You informed him, training your eyes on the dark road ahead of you. You had hoped he would just leave it at that and stay quiet, but as soon as he raised his voice, you knew his ego wouldn’t allow that.

Stephen sneered and you felt the car go a little faster. “And let it run through your head a little bit more?” Your hand instinctively reached for the grab handle and you shot your husband a side-glare. “Can you blame me?” You asked, tightening your grip. “Your ego won’t let anything go because I just asked a question.”

The whole night, something hadn’t been sitting well in your stomach as your husband drove quickly. You blamed it on the speed and the type of road you were driving on. But now it went past that and you felt your breathing pick up. “Stephen, please slow down.” You whispered.

You heard Stephen sigh and you thought he would finally let it go and listen to your pleads. Until he said, “If I knew marrying a lawyer would mean having to justify my work, I would’ve tried to make it work with Christine.” Your chest constricted as you loosened your grip on the handle. “She’d probably be less of a bitch than you are now.”

A breath got caught in your throat as your heart dropped to your stomach. Your jaw dropped slightly and your lip tremble as you looked at Stephen for an apology.

He said he would never hurt you. He said you were enough. He said you were always enough.

But here you are: stupid enough to believe him. You were stupid enough to believe the egotistic man beside you. Tears threatened to spill as you looked away, finally focusing on the car that was seemed too close for your liking.

“Stephen-” Your worried tone wasn’t detected as the back of the Lamborghini sideswiped the car behind you.

That seemed to snap Stephen out of his exasperated stupor as he slammed his foot against the breaks. His hands impulsively turned the wheel to the left to try and straighten out the car. The seatbelt you wore tensed as you were tossed against it and you had the feeling of being slightly choked.

The first hit was expected. However, you never knew how painful it would be to actually hit something. It was somewhat equivalent to getting hit by a truck. The tree hit your side of the car and you were thrown against the seatbelt, feeling the material rub against your skin.

It was another few seconds before the car spun out of control and hit the traffic barrier of the road. This hit launched you head-first into the glass window. That seemed to slow everything down as you felt the car tumble down the mountain-side. Your head throbbed as you were flung around, glass shards flying around you. And if you were screaming, you couldn’t hear it.

The whole thing felt like a death-inducing rollercoaster.

It wasn’t until the third hit against your side, you were finally put into darkness.

Stephen was unfortunately still conscious by the time the car landed in the ditch. He wished he blacked out on the way down, but he didn’t.

The pain finally registered into his brain as he hung from his seatbelt but you were far more important. “(Y/N)...” His voice was slurred as he tried to call out for you. He craned his head the slightest bit which caused a great deal of pain.

But it couldn’t compete with the pain that spread from his chest when he saw you, unconscious and limp, dangling from the seatbelt. Your face was bloodied, bruised and littered with cuts. He saw the incisions on your figure from the glass shards as he attempted to reach out for you, but even thinking about it hurt his body.

“Love…” His voice trailed off as he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

Stephen finally woke up, his hands at his eye level.

He wasn’t put off by the metal needles sticking out of his hands or the stitches that covered them; he was put off by the fact he didn’t have his ring on.

Reality started crashing down on him. The words, the red, the crash, your screams… All of it.

Stephen’s eyes widened slightly as his breathing became slightly laboured. A soft hand placed itself on his shoulder to calm him down. But how could he when he came face to face with the cause of the argument instead of his wife?

“Stephen…” Christine looked like she was on the verge of tears as she glanced up at the doctor.

“Wh-Where is she?” Stephen asked almost immediately, his voice strained, rough, and coarse. He didn’t want to bother with her until he saw his beautiful, beautiful wife again. “Where’s (Y/N)?” When Christine bit her lip to hold back a sob and tears started falling, he knew he got his answer.

“-Severe brain trauma, abrasions, multiple fractures…” Christine mumbled the autopsy report at Stephen’s request.

He deserved to know what he did to you because he remembered his promises to you and your father.

He remembered to keep you safe. To not hurt you. To make you happy. He broke his vows in your last moments.

“She asked me to slow down.” Stephen murmured, cutting Christine off from the painful reading. “It was raining, I was driving at full speed, and she asked me to slow down.” The woman heard the strain in Stephen’s voice as he spoke. “We were fighting a-and…” Stephen let out a soft sob as the female surgeon put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He looked at the point of contact and laughed bitterly. “Do you know what I called her before she died?” Stephen looked out the window, eyes dull and emotionless. “I called her a bitch.” He heard Christine inhale sharply before he continued. “I called (Y/N), my wife, my love and my world, a bitch.”

Tears started flowing again as he let out another sob. “She’s d-dead because of me.” He cried as he leaned forward in his bed, glaring at his hands. “I never even said sorry.”

He felt so guilty. He was riled up and ignored your pleads. He said words he knew he wouldn’t be able to take back.

So when he glared at his hands, he was glaring at himself. His hands were the epitome of his work and the cause of your death.

I deserve this.

Stephen looked up at Christine, tears falling from his eyes and a sad smile painted onto his lips. His eyes glanced over his bandaged finger, the place where his ring should’ve been, before flicking back up to ask Christine, his voice soft: “Do you think I could’ve saved her?”

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