#this is not even getting into how in her first gig everyone else died

[clonerightsagenda]

She remains remarkably composed for the most part but Holly Munro is really going through it tbh. Imagine: you are 18 and your boss is a 15 year old. You have a minor crush on one of your coworkers who hates you because she sees you as a threat to her crush. (He is a boy. You are a lesbian.) The two of you have such a bad fight it destroys a building and then she quits and everyone, including your boss, thinks it's because of you. Then she comes back and you try to bury the hatchet while sharing a hotel room and she reveals she's been enacting a horsegirl movie with an undead graverobbing cultist and fondly reminisces over how he'd encourage her to kill you with various kitchen implements. Over the span of a year you blow up a research facility, rob a grave, fight a crime ring, and take a day trip to hell. You were hired to be an admin assistant.

(Joking tone aside, she's vague about why she left her last job beyond that her boss was "disgusting" and "didn't treat his employees well", but given that she was a young woman who'd just turned 18 working as a secretary for a powerful older man, I wouldn't be surprised if he was acting inappropriately, which would make it even more galling for Lucy to immediately get her hackles up. The last thing Holly wants is special attention from her male boss. I hope she enjoyed blowing up Rotwell's laboratory.)

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance. 

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy. 

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless. 

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one. 

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death. 

But it was closure. 

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted. 

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room. 

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video. 

It felt fresh. New. Clean. 

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months. 

At first, he dreamt of death. 

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance. 

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red. 

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes. 

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before. 

It didn’t even really look like a gate. 

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods. 

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean. 

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms. 

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth. 

Pomegranates. 

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home. 

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them. 

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of. 

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there. 

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up. 

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too. 

He knew her. He knew her. 

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before. 

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you. 

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it. 

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap. 

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came. 

You were always alone. 

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work. 

Not yet, anyway. 

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back. 

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm. 

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet. 

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night. 

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really. 

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes. 

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security. 

Safety - an unknown feeling. 

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place. 

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too. 

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it. 

Then one night, he saw himself. 

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked. 

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up. 

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm. 

Safe. 

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be. 

Certainly not 1988. 

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before. 

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting. 

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello. 

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright. 

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy. 

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper. 

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia. 

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get. 

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before. 

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you. 

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one. 

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep. 

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s. 

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington. 

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee. 

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate. 

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit. 

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

[coraniaid]

I don't know how it's possible to watch Season 3 of Buffy and not notice that Buffy Summers is  consistently the one character most willing to come to Faith's defense, both before and after Allan Finch dies.

I mean, yes, I understand how in-universe it's possible for Faith to not notice this.  It's very natural that she doesn’t: Faith's a traumatized teenager with literally no support system.  She isn’t used to anybody else believing in her or caring about her. 

She’s somebody who is always willing to believe the worst of others (“all men are beasts”, “nine times out of ten the face [a person] is showing you is not the real one”).  And her own sense of self-worth is very fragile and deeply intertwined with her relationship with Buffy, fluctuating wildly between "I am better than everyone else (because I am a Slayer like Buffy)" and "every parental figure I've ever had has told me I was stupid and worthless and they were right (I will never be as good as Buffy)".  

So it's easy for her to interpret Buffy's overtures of friendship as rejections of a deeper connection, to take her suggestions that they should work together as judgments that Faith isn't good enough on her own and that she needs to act more like Buffy.

(And ... okay, yes, it’s also true that sometimes Buffy does judge Faith, and she does think Faith would be better off being at least a little bit more like her.  I think it’s clear that Buffy does care about Faith, and wants to protect her, but I don't think Buffy's perfect.  She's often afraid to express herself clearly or talk about her feelings, especially after what happened with Angelus in Season 2, and she does have a definite inclination to assume she knows best and that other people should just listen to her without question. She's a traumatized teenager too, even if that's not always quite so obvious.)

And crucially, Faith doesn't get to see Buffy defending her when she isn't around.

But the audience?  We do get to see that.  We see how much Buffy believes in Faith and how her first instinct is almost always to stick up for her.

We see it at the end of the first episode Faith appears in, when Buffy is talking to Giles about their fight with Kakistos.

Buffy: "[Faith] really came through in the end.   She had a lot to deal with, but she did it.  She got it behind her."

-- S3E03 | Faith, Hope & Trick

(This is also, as the episode makes clear, an example of Buffy comparing herself to Faith and deciding that she needs to follow the other Slayer’s example.  Which is something that Faith is convinced never happens.  But it does: when Faith isn’t there to see it.)

And after their fight in Revelations, we see Buffy admitting to Xander and Willow that she worries about Faith and wants to include her in the group more:

Xander: "How come Faith was a no show?"

Buffy: "Couldn't reach her ... again.  She hasn't been hanging out much."

Xander: "I detect worry."

Buffy; "A little bit.  Slaying's a rough gig."

-- S3E09 | The Wish

After Finch dies, Buffy is the one to tell Angel that Faith wants to be helped, and urge him not to give up on her:

Buffy: "How's she doing? ... You'll keep trying, right? ... I'll just go to Faith's and I'll get some of her stuff.  That way she'll see that we're on her side."

Angel: "Look, I don't want to get your hopes up, Buffy.  She may not want us to help her."

Buffy: "She does.  She just doesn't know how to say it."

-- S3E15 | Consequences

And at the end of the same episode, Buffy is again the one to persuade Giles that Faith’s actions in saving her from Trick show she deserves a chance at rehabilitation:

Buffy: "She could have left me there to die, Giles, but she didn't. ... I'm not gonna give up on her."

-- S3E15 | Consequences

And in the following episode, we see Buffy defend Faith to Willow and again talk about how similar they are.

Buffy: "[Faith] had it rough.  Different circumstances, that could be me."

-- S3E16 | Doppelgangland

And a couple of episodes later, when Buffy's attempting to talk herself out of the fear that Angel might be cheating on her with Faith, it's Faith who she tells herself wouldn't betray her, not the vampire she's actually dating.

Buffy: I went to Angel's last night and Faith was there.  They looked sort of intimate.

Willow: No way.  I know what you're thinking and no way.

Buffy:  You're right.  Faith would never do that.

-- S3E17 | Enemies

Even later on in the same episode, when Faith's actual collusion with the Mayor is revealed, Buffy's first reaction is to make excuses for her and then to implore her to listen to her:

Buffy: You don't know what you're doing ... Faith, listen to me ... I never knew you had so much rage in you.

-- S3E17 | Enemies

It's only after all of that that Buffy seems prepared to give up on Faith, and only in Graduation Day when Angel's life is on the line that she's actually willing to hurt her (earlier, in Choices, she’s still talking about ‘capturing’ Faith).  And when she does stab Faith, and Faith falls from the roof, seemingly to her death, it’s obvious from her reaction that Buffy immediately regrets this.  Even if she didn’t think she had any other choice, it isn’t how she wanted things to happen.

So honestly it kind of baffles me when I see people agreeing with the take that Buffy’s focus on how Faith might be feeling, when she hears that she’s woken up in This Year’s Girl, and her apparent hope that Faith might regret her past actions and want to change, is somehow something new.  That it isn’t perfectly in keeping with how Buffy’s always felt about Faith.  Or even that the idea of being willing to give people a second chance is something Buffy had to learn from Angel.

Because no, sorry, that's just totally backwards: Angel himself learned all that from Buffy.  

(Also, just logistically ... how would Buffy have learned anything from Angel at this point in Season 4 that she didn't already know back in Season 3, when – from her point of view, at least – she's barely spoken to him since he broke up with her and left town last season?)

Not just in regards to Faith, either, but the whole idea of needing to keep fighting for people and not give up on them, and how you have to keep doing that every day? Angel's whole mission statement (both the character and the show)? That's literally all taken from a speech Buffy gives Angel in Amends.  The show is very clear on this: it's Buffy who teaches Angel to be a better person, not the other way around.

[hilarychuff]

josie and the pussycats in my asoiaf au graphic series

Sansa dreams big. She can’t help it. She always has, always lets her romantic imagination run away with her. Whether it’s about a boy or about her band, she can be single-minded in her focus, pouring her all into a song and hustling to perform it in front of as many people as she can get to let her. It’s always been who she is, always been what she’s done, but it’s so much better now that she’s got the rest of The Direwolves. Growing up, she and Arya hadn’t always seen eye to eye on things (OK, that was pretty much the understatement of the century, they’d practically never seen eye to eye on anything), but these days things are different. Time and common enemies and shared heartbreaks have brought them together, a fierce and unwavering loyalty forged between them in the few years since their dad died. After nearly a decade of being one of the things that came between them, music finally bonded them together, too, and Sansa has discovered that she likes being part of a girl group more than she’d ever enjoyed being a singer-songwriter on her own. Plus, Arya’s taste for angry alt and punk rock complements Sansa’s pop sensibilities just fine these days instead of clashing with them, and it’s been fun and freeing to let her sister show her how to shake off her good girl image and just get mad. She’d already started dreaming of them touring, traveling the world together, playing sold out shows in all kinds of countries, and so it had only felt right when Robb decided it was his responsibility to be their manager. Who else would do a better job of fighting for them, after all? Do the heavy lifting of calling venues and booking gigs and negotiating fees? She hadn’t expected him to insist that his girlfriend join their group — she hadn’t expected him to have a girlfriend at all, but it seemed in the same moment Robb determined he needed a new career, he’d also decided he was ready for his first serious relationship. Sansa and Arya had only barely met Jeyne Westerling before Robb had informed them she would become the third part of their trio, but now she was as good as their sister, too. She was incredible at the drums, a blast to watch on stage, and she was always able to help them just have fun when they performed, always able to keep the peace when the sisters occasionally still butted heads. Plus, she’s the best at delivering subtle little digs at Theon’s expense, innocuous little one liners he can never quite decide are mocking instead of earnest. Still, making it big is taking… well, a little longer than Sansa had hoped. She’s happy to put in the work, however much it takes, but it’s getting hard to feel grateful for bowling alley gigs that cost them almost as much as they make. And while Sansa learned to stop blindly idolizing Margaery Tyrell years ago, it still stings to hear her and her cousins mock their music, their outfits, the furry ears and tails Sansa and Jeyne spent hours hand-crafting for their shows. So even though it feels too good to be true when Petyr Baelish appears out of nowhere to offer them a record deal, Sansa can’t help but jump at the opportunity. She wants it, after all. She wants to be the next big thing, wants to be able to play her music for the world, and Mr. Baelish says he can make that happen if they just move fast. He has to find the next Du Rocher after the band made up of blond Lannister heartthrobs disappeared in that tragic plane crash, and if it’s not going to be The Direwolves, he’s going to find someone else. So when Mr. Baelish tells them he’s got a limo waiting for them just as soon as they sign their contract, all they really ask is, “Where’s the pen?” It helps that he lets them bring everyone along with them. It’s not just her and Arya and Jeyne, it’s also Robb as their amateur manager and Theon as his fake assistant and Jon as her pretend guitar tech, all of them on a private jet as Mr. Baelish flies them out to New York City. If she’s honest with herself, Sansa has to admit that Jon is the most exciting addition. She’s been crushing on him for — god, it feels like forever now, but she’s not sure he’s ever seen her as anything other than his best friend’s little sister. Even if he had, his self-image always used to be way too low for him to even think about asking anyone out. Romance had been entirely off the table as he focused on music of his own. Sansa’s been determined to change that this past year, though, dedicated to building his confidence back up, and now if she could just get him to see her in a new light, she’s sure he’ll finally realize that they’re supposed to be together. Heading out to the big city, standing center stage seems like the perfect way to do that. She’ll happily put up with Theon tagging along if that means Jon gets to come with them, too. (Arya, however, is less forgiving. “You know what? I still don’t understand why you’re here,” she tells him point blank. “I’m here because I’m the only one who could pull off Missi Pyle’s skunk stripe from the movie,” he quips back.) Only, things start to get a little weird as soon as their flight touches down. Suddenly, their music alone isn’t enough, and the three of them are undergoing various makeovers big and small. They’ve got a whole new wardrobe picked out for them, clothing assigned not just for video shoots and performances but for parties, too. Their songs are all run through some fancy technology so the Megasound 8000 can make them perfectly produced, and Petyr’s even insisted on changing their name. They’re not The Direwolves anymore. Now, they’re Sansa and the Direwolves, and that’s how they’re being introduced to the industry at record company president Cersei’s palatial apartment.   Petyr says it’s what they have to do if they want to be successful, though, and given that he already got their first single to the top of the charts, made their faces so well-known that Sansa and Jon couldn’t even sneak off to the aquarium without getting mobbed, Sansa figures he knows what he’s talking about. Hell, even Margaery and her cousins had shown up at their hotel door, insisting that they’d been converted into Sansa and the Direwolves’ biggest fans. Plus, it’s not that big of a deal. She is the lead singer of the band, isn’t she? She’s the one who writes all of the songs. She was the only one taking it seriously in the first place, dreaming of something bigger than bowling alleys back home in Winterfell. If Arya and Jeyne aren’t on board, if they can’t see that this is the only way forward, that’s their problem, because they’re the ones glomming onto her talent and her success in the first place. And then she literally stumbles onto the realization that something isn’t just weird — something is wrong. When she trips, falls, and smashes her CD player while strutting around the city, Sansa discovers that Mr. Baelish — Cersei — has been putting hidden messages in the demos the label’s been giving her. They’ve been driving Sansa and her bandmates apart, setting the stage for her to go solo, trying to brainwash her into being the perfect little performer while limiting their liabilities down to just one person. When she drags Robb and Theon with her to the studio to investigate further, she discovers it’s even bigger than that. They’re not just trying to brainwash her. They’re trying to brainwash everyone, using The Direwolves’ music to do it, all so they can sell clothing and makeup and music and sodas and sneakers and anything else they can possibly think of. Sansa knows she can’t go through with the big stadium concert they have planned for her, knows she has to put a stop to Petyr and Cersei’s plans — but when it turns out they’re not just trying to kick Arya and Jeyne out of the band, they’re holding them hostage to ensure Sansa’s cooperation, things get a lot more complicated. Somehow, she’s going to have to save them, get them to forgive her, take down a major record label and expose Cersei for the power-hungry criminal she is. She can’t do it alone, though. Thankfully, she won’t have to. At the last minute, Du Rocher reveals they didn’t die in that plane crash. They may be a little worse for wear after they managed to land the plan in the middle of a Dornish heavy rock concert, all but one of them bundled up in near full-body casts, but little Tommen had been the one left mostly untouched (“And I thank the seven everyday that my sister taught me the words to ‘Enter, Red Viper,’” he’d told them), and he’s been trying to warn Sansa and her sisters all along. With the distraction Du Rocher’s appearance provides, Sansa manages to free Arya and Jeyne, and together they’re able to take on the record execs, smash the Megasound 8000, and even get Cersei and Petyr arrested thanks to another surprise appearance from the United States government, one so impressive it prompts Robb to consider joining the army. In the end, there’s nothing left for Sansa and Arya and Jeyne to do but take the stage, pick up their instruments, and find out if any of it can ever actually be real. If people might actually like them, their music, what they have to say. And maybe, just maybe, Sansa can get the guy, too.

ft. sansa as josie, arya as valerie, jeyne westerling as melody, jon as alan m., robb as alexander, theon as alexandra, littlefinger as wyatt, cersei as fiona, and the lannister boys as du jour

[munsonsduchess]

Master of Puppets

summary: you and eddie have a gig coming up that you've been looking forward to for months, the only problem is eddie's still injured w/c: 1,950 warnings: injury mention, swearing, pet names (baby, honey) a/n: i know the gig was ozzy with metallica supporting but i just liked this better, i also have no idea if this is actually how you get backstage at a show i just know it's a stereotype

this is part of the god and goddess of hellfire series, the rest of which you can find on my masterlist

if you enjoyed this please reblog and or leave a comment, it really helps me out 💖

(moodboard by me)

Someone once said “the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry” you can’t remember who said it exactly or what mice have to do with anything but you more than understand plans going awry. 

It had been almost three weeks since you’d learnt about the inter dimensional hellscape known as thr “Upside Down” that mirrored Hawkins. Almost three weeks since facing off against monsters with D&D names. 

Since you’d learnt that Eddie’s non stop playing of the new Metallica track had been him learning to play it, in what could only be described as “the most metal concert, ever”.

Of course the concert was short lived and both you and Dustin Henderson had been the ones to find Eddie after his ‘heroic moment’ of drawing the bats away from the trailer, in that moment you had honestly thought you’d lose Eddie forever. That this would be it. Thank God for Steve Harrington and his lifeguard training. You’d never been happier to see the other boy in your life. 

You’d all ended up in the hospital after that with various cuts and scrapes, Nancy insisted someone check Steve over as her Upside Down first aid could only do so much, you and Robin had to drag Dustin kicking and screaming to have his foot looked at, he’d refused treatment until he knew Eddie was going to be ok. 

You’d say with him as the doctors looked at the boys foot and your shoulder, you’d both sustained your injuries jumping back into the trailer after Eddie but told the doctors it had been the earth quakes. Easiest thing to blame it on really. One severely sprained ankle and dislocated shoulder later it was time to talk to the police. 

Nancy to her credit had already been running interference and Robin had called Wayne to let him know what was going on. The staff at the hospital refused to let Chief Powell and his men restrain Eddie to the bed, claiming it would only aggravate his wounds even more. 

It took three days for Eddie to wake up and that’s when the shady looking guys from the ‘government’ stepped in. Everyone else seemed to know them and assured both you and Eddie that things would be ok. Just sign the NDA, take the hush money and don’t talk about what happened  to anyone outside the group. Ever. 

The government guys made up a story about an escaped serial killer Henry Creel and how he’d kidnapped eddie and was planning on framing him for the murders like he’d framed his father all those years ago. They insisted Eddie was a victim as much as anyone else had been, that he had tried to protect Chrissy and that’s when Creel had kidnapped him. 

Apparently in all the chaos Chief Hopper had come back, he hadn’t died in the Starcourt Fire after all but ended up in a Russian prison fighting other monsters with D&D names. Nancy promised to explain the whole thing to you from the start. Hopper had backed up the government's story and that was that apparently. Eddie was a free man. You and Wayne could take him home. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

You were sitting in your trailer and looking at the concert tickets in your hand. You and Eddie had scrimped and saved and sold for months to save up for these. They were the holy grail, Metallica in concert within driving distance of Hawkins. Indy was an hour and a half away and ordinarily that was nothing, this time around however with Eddie still having to change his dressings every few days and your shoulder still needing pain medication when it would flare up neither of you were exactly in the best shape,

"What am I gonna do Wayne? You know he had his heart set on this" you asked the older man, he'd taken some time off work to help look after Eddie, "but, is he really in the state to go?" 

"I dunno much about that whole scene but maybe if you could make sure nobody jostled him too much?" 

"Yeah no that's not likely" you had memories of coming back from gigs and being covered in bruises just from being on the outside of the pit never mind being in the pit itself, which Eddie would absolutely want to do.

The High School had given Eddie his GED which he counted as graduating, even if he didn't get to walk the stage or flip the principal off and the show was now a special graduation/survival thing and it would absolutely break Eddie's heart if you couldn't go. 

You were really gonna need to think this one through. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The closer it got to the date of the show the more animated Eddie became. Blasting his Metallica tapes at all hours of the day, speculating on what they'd play, how long they'd play for, if there would be any encore. 

You had an appointment a few days before hand with Dr Owens, the government's Upside Down specialist and you planned to ask him what he thought,

"Well I suppose if you were able to get to a place where you wouldn't be jostled around too much" he'd said, "aren't there seats at this rock show?" 

"I mean yeah but our tickets are standing, we wanted to be as close to the stage as possible" 

"Hmm well that is a problem" 

"What's a problem?" Eddie asked, he'd been off with a nurse for some tests and you'd thought you'd have more time to talk to Dr Owens,

"We'll talk about it at home. Thanks Doc, see you soon" 

You tried to walk out of the hospital without looking back at Eddie who was following after you. You knew if you looked back he'd have a confused and probably hurt look on his face, you'd gone behind his back about something and that's something you never did. 

It wasn't until you'd gotten back into Wayne's truck, it was less conspicuous than the van, and Eddie took the keys from the ignition so you'd have no choice but to talk to him,

"Eddie, I know you've had your heart set on this gig but I don't think it's a good idea. Not when you're still healing" 

"Baby, I know you're worried about me but you can't keep me from everything. You know I can be careful and I promise you I'll stay out of the pit, we'll find a spot away from the main crowd, I'll do anything you want, just please don't take this away from me" 

You looked at Eddie's face and you could see how much this meant to him. With everything you both went through over the last few weeks, could you really deny him something? 

"Ok. Yeah. We'll figure it out" 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

You weren't sure how you were going to do this. Wayne had offered to drive you both to Indy and back, he would figure something out to fill his time during the show and he'd call the payphone outside the arena after two hours figuring that would probably be about the right time. There were a few things he could spend his time doing. 

So you loaded up the truck and started on your way. Eddie of course bringing all his tapes with him to play during the journey, Wayne lasted about forty five minutes before he couldn't listen to Metallica, Dio or Sabbath anymore and switched over to a local country station. Which wasn't terrible, it wasn't great either but Wayne was the one driving so you weren't about to complain about the music. 

The station faded out the further out you got from Hawkins and you'd all compromised on a rock station broadcasting from the city which played a little of everything to keep everyone happy. Metal was after all an acquired taste and Wayne did not acquire it, no matter how long Eddie had lived with him.

The closer you got to the arena once you hit the city the more people in leather and battle jackets you saw, teased hair, heavy makeup, spikes everywhere. These were your people, you didn't get this kind of community in Hawkins and being amongst similar minded people was always a rare treat. 

Wayne dropped you both off and you headed towards the gates, Eddie practically vibrating with excitement. You'd both joined the queue and quickly struck up conversations with others in the line, sharing stories about where you were all from, what your favourite songs were, there was a sense of electricity in the air that you only found in situations like this. It was a welcome change from dread and despair. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The arena was packed. People were everywhere, buying merch, drinks, gathering in groups and talking excitedly. As you and Eddie moved through the crowd you were able to find a spot left of the main stage where you'd probably be safe from the worst of the undulating swarm of metalheads. As the support act started, a small local band that had made good and were selling their record at the merch table, the crowd kicked off. You felt someone knock against your shoulder and winced, it wasn't too bad so you were still more or less content with the spot you'd chosen. 

However, that was just the support act. Things really kicked off when Metallica took the stage, people were screaming, cheering, it was an absolute mob and suddenly your safe spot wasn't as safe as it had been. You scanned the crowd, looking for a gap, somewhere you and Eddie could move to and that's when you spotted the guy at the side of the stage talking to some girls. 

You made your decision there and then. You grabbed Eddie's hand and dragged him after you, as the two girls who had been standing there moments ago moved away with sad expressions you took their place,

"Hey, you've got backstage passes?" you yelled to be heard over the noise of the band and the crowd,

"Yeah honey I'll get you backstage, you want one for your boyfriend there too?" the guy asked, with a lazy sly smile

"Can you give me two?" 

"Sure can honey, if you can do something for me" 

You didn't wait for the guy to ask and immediately dropped Eddie's hand to use both so you could lift up your shirt and bra exposing yourself to the guy. You left your shirt up for a minute or so and then dropped it again,

"Is that worth one or two?" 

The guy didn't even respond, just handed you the two passes and stepped aside. You grabbed Eddie's hand again and pulled him behind you,

"That was insane!" he yelled, "I can't believe you just flashed that guy!" 

"We'll be safer back here, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need my sling again for a few days after that" you laughed rubbing your shoulder. 

Eddie didn't have the capacity to reply as a familiar opening riff began on stage and his attention was pulled there, 

"Oh my god I can't believe they're playing it!" Eddie yelled, he pulled you closer to the stage as Master of Puppets continued playing. Eddie mirrored the band as he banged his head along with the music, you'd been worried about this show for weeks and how you and Eddie were going to manage but it really seemed as though everything had worked out.

True you'd shown a strange man your breasts but Eddie now had a chance to meet his idols. So you were counting it as a win and you both really needed a win. 

Fuck Vecna. Fuck the Upside Down. You lived. 

Taglist: @pillow-titties @munsonology @thegirlblogstuff @boomhauer @prettyboyeddiemunson @hellfireeddie6 @that-lame-ghoul9000 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @anxiousstark @ruinedbythehobbit @winnifredburkleismyhero @manda-panda-monium @insertcoolnameherethanks @aftermidnightwriting @mcbeanzontoast

If you want to be added/removed let me know!

[copiousloverofcopia]

Better late than never with some content for the Goore Whores!!!!!

Here is the next chapter of Under the Spell with Mary Goore and OC Piper!

Thank you to everyone who is patient with me. I recently got a promotion at work, and it comes with a lot of new training and responsibility... so I am doing my best to bring you all some content. I really appreciate all the love, support, and the patience from you all!

Also once again, please be nice I am SO not used to writing for Mary, so I hope its ok!

Also thank you to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the awesome dividers.

Piper and Mary have been best friends since they first met as children. When Mary and her boyfriend Sid asked her to come along on gigs, Piper thought it was a no-brainer. But as the excitement of the buzzing amps dies down, she realizes she wants more—now if only she can get him to agree.

Chapter 5: REPUGNANT

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven’t started yet? Start from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

The hum of the amp sent shivers down his spine. Mary, feeling the thrill as he heard the crowd roaring. Walking out on stage for the second half of their show. His eyes were only able to make out a vague suggestion of bodies, hidden within the sea of light that shone on the stage. He felt amazing, ready, and most importantly—alive. 

Though he lived for the stage, he found himself distracted. Absentmindedly biting his lip and occasionally forgetting the lyrics, though no one seemed to care. His mind was too obsessed with the memories of the night before. Fixated on the feel of Piper’s mouth, crashing into his. The warmth from her tears, felt as they dripped down over her cheeks. 

The two of them, coming completely undone in each other’s arms until sunrise. Enraptured by the way they felt for one another. The physical attraction and the unspoken emotions between them tighter and tighter. Binding them together as they managed to fuck the night away.  

He could still feel her hands on the top of his head. Running her fingers through his hair as he held open her thighs. Devouring her, tasting the blood so sweet on his lips. Listening to the click of her tongue ring as he glided across her teeth. 

Though Piper had tried her best to stay quiet in the bathroom, she couldn’t help but moan and mewl with his touch. Mary, finding even more arousing that others at the party might hear them. Hear how good he was making her feel as he drenched his face in her juices and blood. Mercilessly eating her out until she came for him—over and over again. 

By the time Mary had had his fill, Piper was barely able to stand. Bent her over the sink as he slid his desperate cock inside her. Thrusting away—fucking her senseless as their eyes lingered on one another’s face in the mirror. Mary felt his mouth watering even now at the memory of it—how tight her cunt was as he came. Spilling himself inside her—kissing and biting her along her neck. Leaving splotches of blood in his wake. Both of them, looking like a pair of satisfied vampiric lovers, spattered and spent, as the sun met the horizon of the sky.  

Not many people had wondered where they’d run off too. The two of them stumbling, out of Tom’s friend's bathroom in the wee hours of the morning. Long after everyone else had left, making their way back to the hotel before ultimately passing out. Both of them woke up, hours later, in their separate rooms. Neither one of them, giving away to the other’s what had really  happened the night before. 

Piper had woken up that next day, covered in her own blood. Wondering to herself how things had gone so far. Sure she was already having sex with him, but that was different. For a purpose. Wasn’t it? Thinking to herself that despite how much she may want it, there was nothing real between them. 

By the time the band’s gig was on that night, neither had spoken a word to one another. Both, however, stealing a number of glances during rehearsal. Each of them explaining it away as coincidence—something other than what it was. Mary and Piper were falling in love, like it or not things had changed forever between them and there was nothing that could be done.

For Mary it was perfect madness. While he started off a bit apprehensive, now he wanted more than ever to be with her. To give her everything she wanted—especially the baby. Finding himself more and more excited to be a part of the family they were desperately trying to create. He didn’t want to be just a friend, some sperm with a bit of time on his hands, to help her own. No he, to his surprise, was ready to be a real father.

The thought of them creating a little Pipes or a mini him filled Mary with a sense of content he’d never felt before. Imagining them, running around and causing chaos, in between him teaching them to play guitar. All of it filled his soul with renewed purpose. Finding himself warmth watching Piper smile, wondering if their child would share it. That same smile that managed to rip his heart right out of his chest. What a beautiful, bloody mess they had made between them. 

Mary knew that they’d try again as long as Piper would have him. Though he doubted she’d turn him down now. He started to wonder when they should tell the rest of the guys in the band. After all, it would only be a short time before Piper would get pregnant if he had anything to say about it. Something that couldn’t be held secret for very long. Mary deciding that now he was ready to move forward—to tell Piper how he truly felt. 

When the show was done, Piper was sitting alone as she waited for Mary. Her legs, hanging over the stage while she wrapped up some cords to keep herself looking busy. Hoping to seem unbothered, though her mind was absolutely spinning. Completely unaware that Mary had been watching her from behind the stage. 

“Hey, you all almost done?” Yulan, the old headbanger of a manager, asked as he came towards her. The bar, now completely empty and quiet—everyone else having long gone. Before Piper could respond, Mary chimed in. Surprising her as he manifested from within the shadows to meet with them out on the stage.

“Yeah, we’re good. Be out in a few. Ok?” Mary said, coming up to stand beside Piper. She looked up at him, his face and body still covered in sweat and smears of paint as he held out his hand for her to take.

“Yeah, we are...pretty much done.” Piper agreed, without glancing away from him. 

“Alright… well I’m locking up in front. So you got 20 minutes before I lock the two of you inside.” the old man chuckled. Piper finally took Mary’s hand and got pulled up onto her feet. The two of them, staring at one another for a moment before Mary spoke.  

“You know what's funny?” he asked, Piper looking confused at the question. Still a bit embarrassed as she recalled what had occurred the night before. 

“What’s that?”

“The last time you waited for me on stage, you asked me to put a baby in you.” he laughed, Piper’s face turning blood red.

“I–-who said I was waiting for you?” she asked, giving him a swat to the chest. Mary couldn’t help himself from laughing as he brought his hand up and placed it where she struck him. Finding it funny as he felt the sting, just how much she excited him. 

“Ouch.”

“You big baby.” Piper said, shrugging him off as Mary’s face changed. The goofy smile turned more serious. His eyes softening towards her again as she felt her heart beating faster in her chest as she waited for what it was he would say.

“...baby…Pipes…ah when…when is the next time we can—-” Mary asked, choosing to not finish the sentence when he caught sight of Sid and Tom heading out the front door. Hoping they wouldn’t be overheard. 

“Oh…oh. Not for a couple of weeks.” Piper blushed. Mary was unable to hold back his look of disappointment. Piper instantly on edge as she looked at him. Why that face, is he…is he really upset , Piper asked herself. “Is that ok?” she asked him.

“That's fine…heh…heh…Just trying to plan ahead.” Mary laughed, scratching the back of his head and pretending to be casual about it.

“Mare, you have never planned ahead in your life.” Piper said, laughing back at him. 

“Well. I’m planning for this.” he assured her, closing the space between them. Piper found herself blinking. Wondering if she had imagined the change in him. The change in the way he looked at her. Hints of longing—or mistaken lust for love. Wishing she could know what he was really thinking. 

Mary felt breathless. Taking in Piper’s beauty, her dark circles and smeared eyeliner from the night, only adding to her appeal. He wanted so badly to kiss her, to tell her that regardless of how things might turn out with agreement between them, she was now his. He couldn’t help but bite at his lower lip, ready now to confess how he truly felt. 

Ready to tell her how he’d give her the world or burn it down—whichever she’d desire. Bringing his hand up to caress her face. Cradling her jawline as he inched towards a kiss. Both of their eyes closed, ready to give way.

“Hey you two coming?” Tom yelled from the doorway. Thrilled he’d managed to find the two of them before they left for the hotel. Mary and Piper both, looking over at him in surprise, wondering how much he had heard—or seen. 

“Be right there!” Mary called back, smiling at Piper before grabbing what was left of the equipment. Both of them heading out the door without saying another word. 

The hotel bed sheets felt too cold, Piper thought to herself as she laid wide awake. Her eyes fixed on the empty spot beside her. Wishing that Mary had come back with her to the room. Cursing Tom for having the nerve to show himself and interrupting the moment. Hoping there was something more going on—something still left unsaid. 

She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before deciding to give up. Throwing on an oversized Repugnant tee and some jeans before walking to a nearby coffee shop. Forgoing the free sludge they had in the hotel lobby, in favor of something that tasted rich and bold. Feeling she deserved to treat herself while trying her best to stay awake for the day. Hoping to find a moment of solace to think.  

When she walked inside, she saw the shop was rather full. Piper, smiling once the woman at the front nodded at her. Acknowledging that she’d seen her come in before pointing to the small set of stairs that led up to an additional seating area. Ascending the steps until, to her surprise, she saw Tom and Annie sitting towards the back.

Before Piper could sneak off, she saw Annie waving her at her. Calling her over to join them when all Piper wanted to do was be alone. Feigning a smile as she forced herself to approach them. Taking a seat beside Annie, rubbing her tired eyes beneath her glasses and brushing back her unwashed mess of hair. 

As usual, Annie was put together. Her hair swooped up into a ponytail, donning a mini skirt and an off the shoulder white top. Her makeup, already done even at that early hour. Tom was his usual self—long scraggly blonde locks draped down under a baseball cap and wearing his favorite jean vest. 

The two of them, looking a bit out of place together. Tom however, despite his appearance, was the more mature of the two. Annie rested her head on Piper’s shoulders, letting out a sigh as she rejoiced in seeing her. Tom on the other hand seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

“Something wrong, Bones?” Piper asked him, watching him take a sip from his cup of coffee.  

“Not really.” he said his tone quite as the waitress came to take Piper’s order. Her mouthwatering with anticipation of the French vanilla blend. Piper knew something was up, Annie was acting a bit nervous once Tom spoke and the air between them had changed from how it was just the night before. 

“Unlikely…seriously, what is it?” Piper asked. Tom set his cup down, taking in a deep breath. The act of which set Piper on edge. Something serious was about to come out of his mouth. 

“I think you’re making a huge mistake.” he blurted out. Annie’s face, looking as if it had been set on fire. It was clear that she had told Tom everything. 

“I see.” was all Piper could say. Tom, looking over to her with his eyebrows furred and a glint of anger in his eyes. 

“Is that all you can say?” 

“I don’t know what it is you think I am supposed to say Tom.” Piper barked back, Annie watching them in stark silence.

“You can’t have a kid with Mary.”

“Why not?” Piper growled. 

“What about Sid?” he asked her, hoping to avoid saying what he really wanted.

“Sid is no longer in the picture. I don’t intend on making the same mistake twice.”

“Oh but you’ll do this?” Tom snapped. 

“Tom, baby please…” Annie began before he cut her off. Annie mouthing an “I’m sorry” at Piper.

“No, she needs to know.”

“Know what?” Piper asked him. Tom’s anger turned to sadness. 

“If you and him have a kid…what do you think is going to happen to Repugnant?” he asked her. The words hit like a scorching flame—burning her ears and heart.

“Nothing is going to happen to it. I am not part of the band Tom. I’m just a glorified roadie. Mare will go on being with you all, I’m the one who will be taking off when the time comes.” Piper began when Tom began having a chuckle. Amused at her ignorance. 

“You really think that’s how it’s gonna go don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The second that baby is inside you, the man will NEVER leave your side. Don’t you get it Piper?” he asked, Piper felt as if her lungs wouldn’t fill with air.

“Tom…” Annie tried once more when he continued, Piper staring down at the table. Trying her best not to cry in front of them.

“Piper, he had feelings for you.” Tom explained, the words making Piper gasp. Looking over to him in shock.

“No… that’s not true. We are just friends, that’s it. He’s doing this to help me. I want this baby Tom. It was my idea… not Mary’s. He is just along for the ride.  

“Piper don’t be stupid. The rest of the band might not see it but I do. The way he looks at you gives it away every time. What do you think he will do when you get pregnant? Just let you run off with his child and be content to see you on the off weeks or months of time passing between visits? You gotta be outta your fucking mind if you think that’s what will happen.

“You’re wrong.” Piper cried, no longer able to hold back how she was feeling. Cursing her hormones for making her even more emotional and sensitive to Tom’s harsh—yet honest comments. 

“You get pregnant and he will have to choose between his dream. Touring with the band, making records, becoming famous—all of it and you. Choose between making something of himself and getting what he has always wanted and giving you a baby. You’re being selfish.” Tom continued, realizing that his last statement had taken things a bit too far. 

Piper swallowed back the tears. Wiping harshly at her eyes, leaving them red and sore as she stood up from her chair. She clenched her teeth, wanting to scream and holler at him. Not caring at all that they were in public. 

Stopping herself only because deep down she felt he was right. Sniffling back as she looked over to Annie and then back to Tom. Ready to leave the shop and never look back. Tears began to stream down her face as the two of them locked eyes. 

“Fuck you.” she told him, her voice trembling and low. Tom and Annie left alone at the table as Piper made her way back out onto the street. The pain inside her heart, unbearable. 

Mary had gone looking for Tom, wanting to get some advice on how to move things forward with Piper. A smile spread wide across his face as he left the hotel and headed to the little coffee shop Tom asked to meet that morning. Stopping only when he saw Piper coming from the front door. Her face, sullen and eyes shot red. 

She looked upset, more upset than he could ever recall seeing her. Running across the street with no regard for traffic. Heading the opposite direction of the hotel before Tom and Annie came running out after her. Piper, having disappeared around the corner as they caught sight of Mary across the street. 

“What is going on?” Mary asked them as they met with him on the sidewalk, “His eyes fixed on the corner from where he last saw Piper. 

“It’s what I wanted to talk to you about…I know about this thing between you.” Tom confessed, Annie almost hiding behind him. Ashamed she’d said anything now seeing what her slip of the tongue had caused. 

“Thing?” Mary asked, almost aloof to Tom at all as he pondered chasing after Piper.

“The baby thing, Mary, I told her that it was a bad idea. You don’t need all that shit looming over you. If Piper wants to be a mom, I told her she needed to find better options than trying to take you down with her. 

“You did what?” Mary hissed, turning back to face Tom with fury burning in his eyes. His heart pounding and his fist clenching up as he wanted so badly to punch him. Only seconds later, deciding to forgo the confrontation and find Piper. 

“Forget it Tom, think what you want but I’m outta here.” Mary told him, running down the street. Hoping that it wasn’t too late to undo the damage. Hoping to confess to Piper how he really felt.

[themichaelvan]

tagged by @changingcore / 15 questions for 15 mutuals (oh fuck do i even have that many)

are you named after anyone? - birth name, nope. does it count if i got my chosen name from a fictional character??

when was the last time you cried? - this morning!! nothing 2 be concerned about i got woken up by the fire alarm (also nothing to be concerned about it just needs the battery replaced) and was so tired & upset i started crying, which happens. more often than i would like. hm. maybe i named myself after the wrong afton kid

do you have kids? - nope!! i do like interacting with them though but only like 3 max at a time JFJRJFNG

do you use sarcasm a lot? - irl yes, online only sparingly. & i make it very exaggerated not usually deadpanned or anything so people can Tell (which of course nobody needs except for Me but i digress)

what sports do you play/have played? - did soccer when i was a little kid (Hated It), was on a swim team for a while, and did marching band for the longest (which is my favorite and yes it counts as a sport and you cannot say it doesn't until you've been in marching band. cunt)

what's the first thing you notice about other people? - typically clothes and then hair! i have a relatively mild (but still pretty bad compared to ppl without it) case of face-blindness, and i CANNOT tell people apart by their faces at all unless they have smth like a bunch of facial piercings or a scar or smth Noticable so i tend to look at other things first.

eye colour? - ??? hazel-brown ??? no idea tbh but at least partially brown

scary movies or happy endings? - HAPPY ENDINGS. i am soso scared of scary movies i will gladly watch the little prince for the 60th time. Alternate Universe - Everybody Lives / Nobody Dies is one of my favorite tags on ao3.

any special talents? - ? What does this mean. i guess proofreading/editing?? i have always LOVED doing it and i just. naturally keep track of all the Language Rules and enjoy using them. the autism kicking in i suppose. and yes it does count as a special talent actually you would not BELIEVE how many candies i got in 5th grade from ppl bribing me to read over their essays.

where were you born? - arizona/usa. same town as my mom actually (despite her moving like 7 times in between her birth and mine)

what are your hobbies? - listen to music and pace around my room until i pass out. and painting, writing, drawing, various other arts n crafts, guitar, percussion when i have the chance (rn i only have a practice pad :|), and mobile games of heavily varying quality.

do you have any pets? - not atm but i used to have two cats (both still alive just in different household) that i still consider my little kitties :] i have 150+ pictures of them on my phone if you ever need cats i Got you

how tall are you? - 5'11" now!!! was hovering around 5'7"-8" for the longest time but i recently had a growth spurt and now im only the SECOND shortest in my family (out of six)

favourite subject in school? - by the material probably math! it is sometimes difficult for me to get a concept but once i do it's Easy. i also do have an advantage (parent has math degree and is good at explaining) but i try and make up for it by helping everyone else as much as i can jfjdndjf. by the Class def band/music class if that counts. both of my music teachers have been both very scary yet very nice to me and i loved their classes so so much and i extremely enjoy playing instruments with other people (when they behave)

dream job? - sorting pokemon cards in a comfortable chair as a day job with a 4 day workweek, being a freelance renowned fiction editor on my own time, with occasional music-related gigs (tutoring, repairing stuff, playing in concerts, etc). i give you no shit if i could do that for the rest of my life and get paid well enough to live on my own or with roommates i like, have a cat, and have enough time and energy to homecook a meal 3-4 nights a week i would be so happy. that's all i want in life. "oh you would get bored doing the same thing day in day out" no i wouldn't "how" autism.

tags: @irradiatedblood @schmope-is-dead @sapphireclaw @bmo-2143 @pokette @soldiertransgender @astral--horrorshow @catnerdenby @unrestrainedbalderdash @buggiboo @lunar-anomaly @altruisticmystik @syntacticerrortxt @catlokis-blog @rosesareredjaybirdsareblue . okay. okay i think that's 15. im pretty sure. jegus.

[scribbling-dragon]

care to elaborate on what’s up with some of the characters in that beauty and the beast au? or would you rather not reveal and leave it for future works

i can certainly elaborate! i do have a few ideas for writing future fics, but i certainly don't mind expanding on the characters (especially because my writing is often..unpredictable dshkdshkjk)

jimmy, our main boy, our little harbinger of death. and he's pretty much the same here! he's a canary, a harbinger of death who has an unfortunate side gig of being incredibly unlucky. the whole harbinger of death shtick is also a lot harder than a lot of people make it out to be- what do you mean he's gotta choose them himself. (he has,, a lot of control over who lives and who dies. don't let his sunny smile fool you)

and tango! jimmy's friend since childhood, and local cryptid to the small village. he was genuinely cursed, but rather than it being some big evil that cursed him, the person that cursed tango,, was tango. him and jimmy found a book, failed to take jimmy's bad luck into account. and bam. big furry creature that everyone just assumes ATE tango, despite there being no evidence for such a thing. so he lives in the woods and jimmy brings him food on the regular.

grian,, jimmy's brother that left the village as soon as he could to see the great bi wide world. him and jimmy are a little different, though they certainly work together on a lot of projects. there's hardly a point to someone's life and death if there's no one around to remember it, right? grian isn't sure what his role is. he's certainly not a harbinger of death, despite how linked his role is to jimmy's. he's more of a collector, but of information rather than oddities (though he has plenty of knick-knacks he collects)

the seller of said knick-knacks is scar! your local friendly salesman that always has a grin for every customer and his cat is so incredibly cute too. his items are top quality! there's nothing else like them! until you get a few minutes from his stall, and it's suddenly a useless knick knack again, and you dont actually know why you bought it in the first place. but, by the time you've returned to the stall, he's nowhere to be found, not even a cat hair betraying the path of him and his odd companion that seemed to have far too many eyes-

(he's a sorcerer that accidentally sold his soul to some kind of demon because goddamit jellie is incredibly cute. yes. jellie is a demon cat that scar sold his soul to on accident. its fine, they have a working agreement)

and your local, slightly unhinged but overall okay-ish neighbour, joel! him and his wife lizzie live on the very outskirts of the town, far away from the general hustle and bustle of the other people, both for the sanity of lizzie's axolotls, and also so joel can slip over the wall every few weeks on a full moon, with no one the wiser. he's none the wiser either, because he doesn't actually remember the full moons. if asked, though, he'll recount them in a similar way to someone that got incredibly drunk and actually cannot remember what they did the evening prior.

and lizzie. who thinks all of her friends are really quite pleasant. sure, they all act a little weird at times, but who doesn't! she's not going to start judging them (especially not as someone who takes axolotls for a walk!)

[cliffburton]

25?

did you create any characters (in games, art, or writing) this year?

i started developing my band oc's, a 70s all girl occult rock band (think integrated like fanny and sounding like black sabbath/coven/70s pentagram, that stuff) and a story abt a doomy zombie girl but it's all so, so rough, nothing's set in stone

band is a quartet, no name yet:

toni bolero is the bassist and singer, butch(y) mexican/chicana (i don't even have their geography or timeline right) that looks like geezer with cliff's stache but in black, frontwoman* the way al cisneros fronts sleep. *toni's what you'd call genderweird but she can't quite put it into words, very dykey! but that's abt it for her, and tended to keep that to herself. reserved, but open to talk n talk n talk if she was in the mood and found the interviewer's questions interesting enough. the band broke up in the late 70's (i think late 1979) after the death of their keyboardist (more on her later), they released a last album in late 1980/early 1981 in memory of her and the band, with material they already had written down with her, kinda the way and justice for all was written; much heavier album, with losing their keyboardist they also lost their psychedelic element.

toni, after the band naturally fizzled out, was part of a thrash band for maybe a couple of years, only girl in that band. i'm not too sure abt what went on but one of the dudes hated her and one of the dudes got very close to her.

morgan cosgrove, the keybordist, was daughter of a forensics couple, or they owned a morgue, or something i don't remember how i arranged that. thing is, she became fascinated with death, dead bodies, decomposition, the afterlife, all that, she went to piano lessons as a kid to be distracted from the gruesomeness, she couldn't escape it but it gave her something to look forward to. i'm not too sure how she died but it was def after a gig, maybe barely after getting backstage. she was a lesbian and helped toni figure some stuff out abt herself, morgan was also the most mysterious i think,,, i don't think she did much press if any.

i don't wanna go anywhere with this really, i just want to explore the idea of an all-girl lezzy occult rock 70s band. i think could do some comics (no clue where to put them tho LOL) abt them since that's the best way to tell their story, i think. lesser-known 70s rock bands don't have as much info on them as, say, ledzep or sabbath, so i want things to be left up to interpretation.

now, the zombie girl story: i may situate in the late 2000's since i wanna reference dopethrone and early EW, but i also want it to be a rather atemporal story. it's in first person, i want it to be half a horror story, half some girl telling you abt her day. the protagonist is (tentatively) named mag, magdalene gottlieb was the name so she could call herself maggot but it's too religious to me LOL, and she talks about how she goes slowly and secretly rotting, she knows she's dying but everyone either fails to notice it or brushes it off as her being weird. i don't have much else built. it's a story in a similar tone to ginger snaps but with the solitude aspect to it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.

You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.

Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.

You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.

An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”

“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.

“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, just… taking a break.”

“You working?”

“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, “I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”

“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.

“Four but I… maybe another day.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.

“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”

“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”

“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”

“You, too,” you said and the line died.

You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.

You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.

🎨

You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.

When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.

“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.

You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.

“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.

“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”

“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”

“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”

He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.

“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”

“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”

“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”

“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.

“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”

“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”

🎨

As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.

“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”

“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”

“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”

“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.

“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”

You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.

“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”

“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”

“Here?”

“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.

“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”

“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”

“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.

“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”

“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”

“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”

“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”

“I… thanks,” you murmured.

“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”

“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”

🎨

When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?

Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.

Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”

“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”

“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”

You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.

“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”

“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.

“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”

“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”

“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.

He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.

“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”

You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.

“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”

Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.

“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”

“What about you?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”

Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.

“I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”

He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.

Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”

“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”

Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.

You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”

“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”

“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”

“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”

“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table. 

There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.

His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Babysitting Duty

Summary: while Scott and Clint are away on a mission, you and Wanda are stuck with babysitting duty

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: some harsh language

Word Count: 5,117

"Your asses had better not leave the yard, got it?"

"Please don't swear at the kids."

"They're being little shits!" You insisted.

Wanda glared at you from where she was sat on the couch, cradling two-year-old Nathaniel, who had fallen asleep in her arms a few minutes ago. You scowled back at her as you moved to the other seat, closer to the open window, so that you could see and hear Lila and Cassie running around in the backyard. Lila ducked into the shed for a moment, re-emerging with a soccer ball. She kicked it toward Cassie.

Clint and Scott had taken up an offer to go on a mission with Natasha across the country. You didn't pry as to why she needed them specifically. Laura was in Los Angeles visiting some family, meanwhile Maggie and Jim were taking a vacation in the tropics. That had left Scott and Clint in need of a babysitter, and you'd been volunteered for the job. Now, you and Wanda were stuck at Clint's farmhouse for a few days until Laura got back. You were only in charge of Cassie, Lila, and Nathaniel, with Cooper having gone to stay with a friend while his parents were out of town.

"Why don't you go put him down?" You suggested to Wanda, the scowl on your face replaced by a soft smile.

Wanda shook her head. She didn't even bother to stand, instead simply laying him down on the couch they were sitting on. He whined a little as he left her arms, but after she'd stroked his head a couple times, he settled as soundly as he had been. She stood and crossed the room, sitting down next to you. Your arm moved around her waist and she leaned against you, legs curling up to her chest. You kissed the side of her head as you glanced out the window quickly to check up on the girls.

"What do you think about what Tony said?" She asked quietly.

You turned to stare at her. Her light green eyes flickered up to meet your gaze. It put a smile on her face. Her hand reached for yours, taking it and intertwining your fingers. You played with her hand.

"One day."

After getting the babysitting gig, you hadn't exactly been ecstatic. You were an Avenger, not a babysitter. Anytime Clint and Scott weren't around to hear, you'd repeat those words to whoever was close enough to listen. Most of them got that. They thought the same. It's why everyone had tried so hard to avoid the two men for those few days. When you'd gotten stuck with it, Natasha had even gone so far as to laugh at you.

You were good at avoiding. You'd practiced it all your anti-social life. So, it wasn't your fault that you'd be assigned babysitter. It was Wanda's. Clint had managed to corner her one day. Their relationship was a strange one. He'd cared for Pietro, and Pietro had cared enough for Clint to give up his life for him. Now, the surviving Maximoff and the archer had some sort of bond. That bond had made it impossible for her to say no to babysitting the toddler that was named after her brother.

Stuck with two kids anyway, you figured you might as well take care of Cassie at this point. Once you'd been nominated babysitter, though, Tony had taken it upon yourself to never leave you alone. It seemed, for those few days after you'd agreed to take care of the kids, Tony was around every single corner. You wouldn't have been surprised to learn he had been using the security cameras to keep track of you, because no matter how hard you tried to hide from him, he was there.

He was teasing you relentlessly about your having to babysit. Unlike the rest of them, Tony wasn't teasing you because you, an Avenger, were stuck with a 16-year-old high schooler's job. He was teasing you because you were stuck at a nice little home in the country with three kids and your girlfriend. He insisted, every time he saw you, that this was going to be good practice for your future. Wanda had blushed furiously the first time he'd said it. You'd shooed him away.

As much as you hated dealing with the billionaire and his stupid smirk when he'd approach you to tease you about practicing for your own kids, you would deal with it. Wanda would always turn away with a tomato-red blush burning on her cheeks, and so you would always find a way to give her an escape to stick around and take Tony's taunting yourself. Mostly you just ignored him, but he was persistent if nothing else.

Tony had driven you absolutely mad with his stupid suggestive tone and heckling comments. That was undeniable. Sometimes, you even wanted to take him down to the ring just for a reason to drive your fist into his gut. But after a long day of work and having to hear him go on and on, you'd climb into your bed, or sometimes Wanda's, fall asleep for the night, and dream up the pictures that he'd painted into your head.

There were two or three kids. One of them was always a boy. You were just getting home from somewhere, and Wanda was in the backyard of your house, watching the children play. The boy would be with one of the other kids, but when you approached Wanda and slid an arm around her waist, he'd run up to you. You'd ruffle a hand in his hair, and he'd giggle, light green eyes casting up to look at you. He had Wanda's eyes. You'd reach down and pick him up, kissing his cheek as he continued to laugh.

"Hi, Momma," he'd say.

"Hello, Pietro," you would reply every time. "Were you good for your mom today?"

Then he would nod and squirm a little, desperate to get back to his brothers or sisters. You'd set him down on his feet and he'd dash back to the others. You would lean into Wanda, then, kissing her softly. She would kiss you back, just as gently and lovingly as she did in your waking life. No words would be exchanged as you guided her to the bench swing, pulling her close and smiling as you both turned to watch your children laugh and play together.

It was just a dream, and it was entirely Tony's fault, you were sure. He'd put the idea of a family into your head and now you couldn't get it out. You'd always known you wanted kids and, even though you might not have known her all too long, you knew it was Wanda you wanted them with. She was your everything and you wouldn't want anything without her. Your future didn't exist without Wanda Maximoff.

"I've seen those dreams you've been having."

That honestly didn't surprise you too much. She'd seen your dreams on occasion. You'd learned that when you'd woken up absolutely drenched in sweat one night after a particularly inappropriate dream involving a particular witch. She'd watched your eyes open and immediately straddled your waist, promising to make your dream come true. You hadn't gone back to sleep that night, and it was clear as day that she had seen every single detail of that dream.

She was a mind reader. It wasn't hard for her to see just what was going on in your head; conscious or not. So, as you slept, she was able to see those images of you and she with your cozy little house and little Pietro smiling up at the both of you. It didn't surprise you, but it did make you a little nervous to know she'd seen them. You didn't want to seem like you were rushing into things at a pace that she wasn't ready for. You would wait forever for her.

You'd talked about it with her before. It was nothing too serious. It had been a simple conversation, the two of you discussing where you thought you might be five or ten years down the road. When you'd talked about it, the two of you hadn't been dating yet. You'd just been friends, both wanting to be more. It had been a quiet night, and you'd wanted to take her mind off Pietro, who had died only four months earlier.

Wanda pictured her future as a quieter life. She wanted a nice home on a quaint little street where she wanted a family, someone to love and maybe a couple of kids down the road. She'd told you she wasn't sure yet, if she wanted to continue being an Avenger. She hadn't always been fond of the sort of action you guys saw, but she knew she had the power to help people. Her heart was good. She couldn't just ignore that fact.

Your vision had been a little different. You were absolutely sure that you wanted to continue being an Avenger. You were a hero through and through. You couldn't imagine a life where you weren't doing what you did now: keeping people safe. You wanted to stay in New York, but maybe moving out into the suburbs in the outskirts of the city. You, too, wanted to start a family someday. Avenging could be a day job, you'd assured.

Then you'd gotten together. You'd admitted your feelings, you'd gone on some dates, and quickly, you'd fallen deeply in love with her. That dream of a future was still one you had: An Avenger by day and a wife and mother by night. At some point, though, that woman you saw yourself having that family with had become Wanda. Suddenly, you couldn't see it any other way. For a long time, you'd kept that from her. Now, though, she knew, and you were glad she did.

"What do you think of it? The dream," you asked carefully.

Wanda didn't answer right away. Her eyes had cast out the window to watch Cassie and Lila run through the yard, passing the ball between each other before Cassie turned and kicked it into the net. They both cheered loudly, raising their arms in the air, smiling widely, and high fiving. Their excitement made Wanda smile too. Her gaze turned back away from the yard and back to you, searching your face carefully. You let her study every detail of your eyes.

"I think it's beautiful."

Any life with her would have been beautiful. Anything with her was beautiful. You were absolutely sure Wanda Maximoff was the most beautiful thing in the world and there was nothing that could have changed your mind. The Avengers teased you sometimes. Natasha had teased one day, that you looked at your girlfriend as if she were the most exquisite piece in an art museum. You'd only assured her that no piece of art ever held a candle to the Sokovian.

"Would you..." You trailed off and took a breath, trying to figure out just what you were asking. "Would you consider it one day?"

Wanda didn't hesitate a millisecond. "I don't have to consider it. One day, Sweetheart."

That warmed you to your very soul. You put your hands on your cheeks and turned her face toward yours. You pressed your lips together, the feeling never failing to make your eyes flutter shut. You savoured the so familiar taste of her against your lips as you let your hands slide; one moved to the back of her neck to hold her close, and the other came to rest on her thigh. It wasn't a long kiss. It didn't need to be. It only took a few seconds to convey to her something words never could.

"How many?" She asked.

You laughed. "Two or three? What do you think, Baby?"

"Three," she hummed softly.

You couldn't believe that Tony was fucking right. Here you were with the woman you loved so dearly, babysitting your coworkers’ kids, and imagining having ones of your own someday. You had to admit, you did like it. They were a bit of a handful, that much was for sure, but you loved it. You loved watching their smiles, watching them play and laugh, and joining them in their fun and games. You loved seeing how Wanda would sit with them, cradle Nathaniel close, and read the girls bedtime stories. The thought of having this with her made your heart swell.

"Alright, where would we live?" You asked with a soft laugh.

"We'll stay near New York," she assured. "My big strong Avenger."

You laughed when she teasingly squeezed one of your biceps. You flexed a little, pressing the muscles against her hand. At this, the touches to your arm weren't so teasing. Her fingers traced the lines of the defined muscles that lay beneath your skin. You breathed out a quiet laugh, grabbing her hand and gently kissing against her knuckles. Her hand hesitated at your mouth as she ran the pad of her thumb across your bottom lip.

"Port Washington?" You offered. "Maybe a little way outside the city or in northern Jersey? I know you want to raise a family in a small town and New York City isn't exactly that."

She pressed her lips against your neck for a moment. "I love you."

You breathed out. "I love you, too."

She pulled away, moving to touch your knee instead. You put a hand over top of hers, turning to check on Cassie and Lila again. They'd taken to sitting in the grass, leaning against a tree trunk, and talking quietly. You weren't sure what about, but you were just glad that they seemed to still be having a good time. You slid Wanda's hand off your knee so that you could stand up.

"I'm just going to grab a snack for the girls," you kissed her cheek. "When I'm back, you can let me know if you've got any more ideas for this life of ours, huh?"

Wanda nodded.

You moved into the kitchen, opening up the pantry and putting together a couple of PB and Js, cutting them in half and setting them on the counter. You then mixed a few glasses of lemonade, put everything on a tray, and headed briefly back to the living room to hand one glass to Wanda, before heading out the back door. You whistled merrily, catching the girls' attention. They both smiled at your approach, and you settled into the grass beside them.

"For you."

They thanked you repeatedly, taking a plate and a glass each. You took your own glass, sitting back and sipping it as the cool breeze blew through your hair. You crossed your legs, watching their girls bite into their sandwiches. You tried to think back to what you'd been talking about at their age. You'd been in grade school and had often been in the schoolyard with your friends talking about boys. Well... they'd talk about boys and you would hesitate and make something up because you didn't know who the hell you liked.

"So, what are we talking about today, girls?"

"Lila was just telling me about a boy named Sam."

"Cassie!"

"What?" Cassie defended. "She's not gonna tell!"

You nodded. "Cassie is right, kid. I'm the best secret keeper probably ever."

Lila seemed to ponder this for a moment. It was a blatant lie, though. Every secret that was told to you was also told to Wanda, but it didn't go past there. You couldn't keep things from her. It was like she could pull anything from you with just a simple gaze from those light eyes. Even if you didn't tell her, she was a mind reader. Either she'd hear it from your lips, or she'd hear it running through your brain at one point or another.

Lila seemed to be contemplating this. "Okay. Well, there's this boy in my class. His name is Sam. I really like him."

"Oh, yeah?" You asked, sipping your lemonade. "So why don't you tell him that?"

"No! I can't tell him."

"Why not?" You scoffed. "What's the worst that could happen, Li? He either likes you back or he doesn't."

You'd always had trouble with your own advice. If you admitted your feelings to someone and they told you they didn't feel that same way, you felt awkward for months after that. But you were an adult. Lila was eleven. Even if kids these days were growing up way faster than you did, you knew that things were a lot more complex when you were a little more grown up. In a year or two, then she'd start realizing that.

"What about you, Cas? Any boys in your class you've got an eye on?" You winked.

Cassie didn't seem to find this very amusing though. Suddenly, it seemed, her sandwich wasn't very appetizing, and the lemonade had lost its sweetness. Her gaze moved to somewhere no one could meet it, locking to the ground as her fingers began playing absentmindedly with the grass. You tilted your head to the side curiously. You glanced over at Lila, but she didn't seem to know the reason for this either.

"Lila, could you give us a minute?" You asked the older of the girls. "Why don't you go see what Wanda is up to?"

Lila nodded and scampered off. She ran to the house and in the back door, and you watched in the window as she appeared beside Wanda. You saw her explaining something to the Sokovian, likely just trying to express that her friend was upset. You turned your focus to Cassie, who was busying herself by pulling a few blades of grass out of the ground. You didn't try to stop her, the fidgeting obviously calming her anxiety.

"What if..." She took a deep breath as she trailed off. "What if I think I like like a girl?"

Cassie Lang was ten years old. That's around the same age you started wondering what the other girls saw in boys. You hadn't realized as young as she did that you'd liked girls, but you knew something about you was different. At that age, you'd thought maybe something was wrong with you. It had taken you a few years to realize you weren't broken, just different. It had taken you even longer to realize that was okay.

You knew Cassie probably felt more comfortable asking one of her babysitters this question than anyone else. She trusted her parents and her stepdad, and she loved them, that much was clear. With them, though, she watched a man love a woman. With you, she watched you love Wanda the same way Scott loved Hope. She watched you do something she was feeling in herself. It made everything seem a little more normal and a little more okay. You knew that much from experience.

"Cas, look at me, Sweetheart," you said gently. Cassie looked up at you. "You can like whoever you want to like, and you can be whoever you want to be."

"But at school, all the girls like boys and I don't. Why don't I? I just want to be the same."

"Because not everyone is the same, and that's okay. You don't think there's anything wrong with me, do you?"

"No."

"No. And I love a girl. Isn't that okay?"

"Yeah."

Maybe it was a bit of a guilt trip, but it got Cassie to look up. You watched as her eyes travelled from you, to Wanda, and back. There was no longer any trace of nerves or anxiety on the young girl. It had instead been replaced by curiosity. It seemed your little pep talk had actually worked. She seemed more at ease after assurance that she didn't need to be normal. You knew that wasn't it for those nerves, you even got them yourself once in a while, but you were glad to have put her at ease for a while.

"Kiddo, are you going to talk to your mom or dad about this?"

As honoured as you were that you'd felt to be a safe person to come out to, you weren't really the person that she should be going to for support. Her mother and father would give her that. You didn't know Maggie well, but you knew Scott. He would be unconditionally supportive and wouldn't hesitate to reassure her if she ever felt like this again and if there were someone who didn't, he'd make sure to immediately remove that person from their life.

"I think I'm gonna talk to my dad when he gets home. Can you talk to him for me?"

"I can give him a little heads up, but you're going to have to be the one to actually talk to him."

She took a deep breath but nodded. "Okay."

You smiled proudly.

You sat with Cassie for a little while longer in that spot. Following your conversation, she seemed to be feeling better. She was eating and drinking again as she told you a little about this girl she was sweet on. You didn't comment too much, smiling and nodding along as she told you stories about the schoolyard. Soon enough you were once again trading places with Lila. The two girls resumed their gossiping in the grass, and you moved back to sit with your girlfriend once more.

When you sat down next to Wanda, glancing at a still sleeping Nathaniel as you moved, you immediately turned to the window. The two preteens had already regained that same calm expression they had been sporting earlier. Satisfied that they were both alright, now, you turned back to Wanda. She was watching you carefully, eyes flickering down to peek at the smile on your lips. You beckoned her to come back against you like she had been before you left.

"You and Cassie seemed to have quite the heart-to-heart," she hummed quietly as she leaned back against your side and your arm snaked around her.

"She confessed she might have a crush on a girl."

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, I see why you were a safe person to confess that to."

You chuckled and kissed the side of her head. "Yeah, I do, too. I gave her a little bit of reassurance before telling her she should really talk to Scott or Maggie."

Wanda nodded in agreement. She reached out to the table to grab the glass of lemonade you'd made for her, sipping it quietly. The cool glass pressed against your arm when she lowered it, sending a shiver throughout your body. She seemed to notice this, as she laughed, moving the cold cup up to your cheek. The condensation that coated it transferred onto your skin and you frowned, pushing her hand away. She laughed a little harder.

"So, what did you come up with?" You asked her. "I seem to remember asking you to come up with some more details."

"You did. So, I wondered what Pietro's siblings' names might be?"

You froze. That was from your dream. You knew she'd been seeing it, but you still got a little curious when she brought up the more minor details. You turned to look at her, curiosity burning in your chest. Pietro was her brother, not yours. You wondered briefly if she even wanted to name any children she might have in the future after the brother she'd lost.

"Pietro," you repeated softly. "Is that okay?"

"Fuck, Honey."

Wanda rarely swore, so when she did, you knew she was feeling something strong. You were assured it was a good feeling, though, when she grabbed you and pulled you toward herself roughly. Your lips connected and you felt the intensity in her kiss. You didn't dare be the one to pull away from this, letting her show you how she was feeling through the intimate touch. When she finally did, her hands were immediately in yours.

"Thank you. He meant the world to me and you mean so, so much to me, too and... thank you, Honey."

"You don't have to thank me, Baby. He deserves it," you assured, a hand on her cheek. "But did you have other ideas too?"

She nodded. "I did. We'll obviously discuss more when the occasion arises, right?"

"Right," you agreed with a laugh. "So?"

"I like the name Tommy. It's cute, don't you think?"

"I do think so," you hummed.

You don't know what it was, but something had you so drawn to her in this moment. You wanted to pull her close and never let her go. Granted, you wanted that most of the time. Right now, though, the thought of releasing her from where you had her flush against your side, her head resting so softly on your shoulder, made your heart feel a little weaker. As if she could feed that absolute need radiating off of you, she kissed your shoulder and put her hand into yours, squeezing tight.

"Any girls' names you like?"

Wanda stopped to ponder. "Violet."

"That's cute too," you smiled at the thought of your family. "You're pretty good at this, my dear," you paused for a moment. "So, Pietro, Tommy, and Violet Maximoff?"

She hesitated at hearing that. Her head moved off your shoulder, and you immediately missed the lack of pressure. You had to suppress a quiet whine as you glanced over at the curious eyes that were peering at you. You cocked your head to the side, in the movement, willing her to tell you what was going on inside her head. You felt as though her eyes could see into your very soul with the way she was watching you.

"Maximoff," she finally said.

"Yeah. I like it," you told her. "And doesn't my name sound so good with your last?"

You didn't even have to say the name aloud. Just hearing it in her own mind had a shiver running through her body- something you felt it against your own. She didn't have to say aloud, either, that she loved the idea. You knew she did. You both did. It was something that made you entirely hers. You were entirely hers. You belonged to Wanda Maximoff and her last name attached to your first would prove that to anyone.

"One day," Wanda said, repeating the words you'd spoken earlier. "One day you'll be my Mrs. Maximoff."

It was your turn to hesitate at those words. You were both talking about this as if it were inevitable. As far as you were concerned, it was. You couldn't even picture a life that didn't have Wanda in it. You didn't want to. You wanted to be her wife and live in a small house in the suburbs and raise children with her. You wanted all of it so bad you could hardly fathom it. You turned to her, making sure to catch her eyes.

"Did we just get engaged?" You teased.

You hadn't, but you had. All engagement was, was a promise to be each other's and to get married. There was no time limit on that. In the last little while, you'd promised that to each other. You had both promised each other this entire life that you could see laid out before you. Neither of you had been discussing it as if it were a possibility, but more as an inevitability. That sure sounded like a promise to you.

"I don't know," Wanda admitted. "We agreed we'd get married one day."

"Yeah," you agreed. "We definitely did."

Then you decided to make it less of a question as to what had or had not happened. You slid away from her and stood up off the couch. You took a knee on the floor, bringing her hand into yours. Your heart was thumping so loud in your chest that you had to wonder whether or not she could hear it from where she sat. Judging by the way her eyes widened, though, you thought that maybe her own heartbeat was drowning it out.

You didn't think this was how you'd do this. Sure, you'd many times thought about how you'd one day propose to Wanda. In none of those scenarios was she sitting on the couch in Clint's living room whilst Nathaniel slept ten feet away with Lila and Cassie's giggles floating in through the window. They were usually a lot more romantic than this. You couldn't find it in yourself to care. This was the moment. You could feel it.

"So let me clear up the confusion," you offered, eyes not leaving hers. "Wanda Maximoff, I cannot picture my life without this little suburban house and these sweet little kids and you, my love. I will walk to the ends of the Earth and back for you. I'd give you my heart and my soul in an instant if you wanted me to. Will you marry me?"

Wanda didn't seem to be able to find her voice. Her expression was one of shock. Her jaw had dropped a little, and her eyes were wide, watering a little. You wanted more than anything to reach out and wipe those tears away and to kiss her cheeks, even if they weren't tears of sorrow. But your knee was glued to the floor until she gave you an answer. She seemed to collect herself, then. Her hands wiped at her eyes, her lips curled into a smile, and then, finally, she nodded.

"Yes. Of course, yes."

She pulled you back onto the couch. It might have been a little far, with your knees on either side of her waist. The two girls could have walked in at any moment. But you were so completely happy that there was absolutely nothing that would have stopped you from resting your arms on her shoulders, linking your hands behind her neck, and kissing her like you needed her more than you needed oxygen in your lungs. You supposed you might have. She finally pushed you away.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, beautiful fiancée of mine," you teased. "I guess Tony was right then, huh? The babysitting gig was good for us."

She laughed and then buried herself in your embrace. You held her there, not a single care in the world, knowing she was yours and you were hers. One day you would have a life a little like this one. You and she together with a family of your own and so much love around you.

It was all thanks to the stupid, stupid babysitting gig.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi <3 I'm not sure if you're comfortable writing this but I'll try :) Smth where Buckys girlfriend suffers from a lung illness and normally he supports her whenever she feels bad, but one time he's on a long mission where he cant be there when he struggles breathing. Then the other Avengers at the compound take her to the hospital and call Buck who immediately rushes home to be by your side and it's all cute and fluffy in the end? :) Thank you very much <3

Trapped Air

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst on a mission, you suffer with your breathing problems, leaving all to panic as you have air trapped in your lungs.

Warnings | breathing problems, angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of torture

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There had been no call back from Bucky; he was on a mission far away, and deep undercover, and the fact that you had no response did not surprise you, however, it was impossible not to feel overcome with worry.

From what you knew, he was somewhere in Austria with Steve, and most likely irritated by the company of Sam. The thought of them together, waiting for further intel made you smile, and so you sat up on the sofa; the place where you had fallen into a rural slumber late the previous evening. That thought also made you lightly snicker to yourself, and had you grasping your chest in agony at the action.

You adjusted your seat on the sofa, kicking the blanket under your legs as you tried to relax your entire body. To subdue the worry for your love that you had and were experiencing, you and Nat had watched a movie, your head running with thoughts of the danger that your boyfriend was possibly under.

It was no doubt that James Buchanan Barnes, the White Wolf and former Winter Soldier was a fine fighter; he had endured and survived wars, achieving victory in the vast majority of his battles. But still, he was nothing more than a man, with a veil of serum coursing through his veins, and whilst it made him much stronger, he was still sustainable to injury, and worse.

Countless times had you seen him braised in bruises, and kissed along the seam of his scars, and though he had lived through decades, and still appeared unscathed considering the circumstances, he was a mortal man, able to die and it was far too clear for your scared eyes that he wouldn’t be able to survive every fall.

An emptiness peeled away inside of you as you placed the phone down, resting your head upon the arm of the sofa of where you had done so priorly. Taking a deep breath, you wheezed, feeling nothing more than internal pain, and it was not just for your longing to see Bucky again. It was indeed something else, a condition that you had grown used to over the years.

It had taken everything from you; the job that you had so well partook in was diminished to being unsuitable for your health. Being an avenger had once been your only purpose, but it had been the one thing that had broken you. From all the rubble and other pesticides that you had breathed in, it had tampered with your lungs, and made you to be nothing more than a victim, a fallen hero.

The worse thing about being fallen in such a way was that you had not died on the job, instead, you were being tormented every time you watched your friends leave the compound, carrying a duffel bag that had all the necessities that they could possibly need for the gruelling months ahead on the missions that they had been sent on.

Knowing that if you weren’t so inwardly broken and that if that were the case, you could have easily accompanied Bucky and the others on their uncover op made you feel worthless, and disposable. As your chest raked the air that surpassed its roots, it waded a feeling through every limb that was attached to you.

Large gulps from the air machine that was beside you usually helped, but as your brought the medically introverted oxygen mask to surround the lower half of your face, the torturous sensation failed to fade. It remained, stuck in the collapse of your airways, refusing to allow air into your defined bloodstream.

The factor alone had you panicking, and as you went to stand, there was a pounding fire coursing through your head. Your eyes got dreary, fluttering as you reached out to grasp for the side of the seating area to stabilise your steps. But it wasn’t enough, all of your weight leant to one side, and a loud and colossal smash echoed through the room.

You helplessly laid there, having no ability to get up, as the shards of the glass table that had tried to break your fall, and had ended up breaking instead, stabbed mercilessly into the canvas of your back. It made you feel like a dartboard, free to the attempts of anything that put a bet on to try. This was your final fall from greatness, and if you weren’t to survive this, that would be o-

“Y/n.” A voice rushed out, as footsteps scrambled to come to your side. The silouhette of a blurry man knelt beside you, sickened with their own scheme of panic. “Nat!” He called out towards the kitchen, you hearing the pitter patter of her assumed footsteps that were toed in competent heels.

“Clint, what happened?” She asked, but giving him a break to compose his answer as she called warily out for FRIDAY, relieved when the AI answered her order. “Get one of Stark’s cars ready to go to the hospital, inform who needs to know. Y/n’s just had a nasty fall, and I assume more.”

“She was like this when I got in here.” Was the archer’s delirious response. His hands raised your head out of the cracked pieces, gently picking the sharp crystals out of your hair. He was sick with worry, he knew that you were touring a difficult road, one that no one else on the team could fathom to understand, but despite all that, he was still there for you, as were the numerous others.

Wearing his priceless suit, Tony rushed into the room, his brown eyes blown wide as he scoped the scene. “She’s losing consciousness.” Nat informed the pair, focusing on how your eyes barely had the strength to stay open. Your breathing was laboured, and the choke emitting from it was audible, making all witnesses wince from the threatening sound.

“My car is ready, on our way to the ER, give Barnes a call.” He held the keys to his vehicle, swinging them around his finger, as he watched Clint and Natasha hoist you up, and support you through the journey to the front of the compound. Nat stroked your hair as she bit back her own tears, combing tenderly through the slightly bloody tresses to soothe her own present anxiety.

The mission was turning out to be a bust, they were tracking Zemo after his great escape; hence why their departure was classified. It was unknown why the once Baron of Sokovia had fled to the country, but all prior intel had supported the idea that he was searching for a partner to help finish his work, if he were to ever get caught by the American government again.

Bucky hated being away from the place that had slowly become his home. It made him feel lost, but if he wanted to remain within said area to continue his life, he had to follow Fury’s orders, or else the panel that had granted him freedom for all his past actions, may happen to change his mind.

The gig of being an avenger was more of Steve’s expertise, he was loved by the country, and had never tried to break its order down piece by piece. Before he was cleared to join the team, and the debate that lead to Steve and Tony siding against one another, he was nothing more than a tense ghost story.

All knew he was real, but most were too scared to admit that the Winter Solider was an assassinating figure in existence. To everyone’s dismay now, following rule number two, he was no longer HYDRA’s pet weapon. He, for the first time in his life, had some kind of clarity on who he was.

His identity, was James Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, the protector of the world and a renounced ally of Wakanda. And he was happy to be known as such, in a way, the new him cleared his red ledger, and that faded away with that damned red book.

No one had the power to control his mind again, all of his actions were now completely up to him. At first, with the reign over himself, he had been unsure on how to start with this new and invented soldier that he had become. He was no longer taking refuge behind the facade of T’Challa’s country anymore, for he was no a wanted man of the state.

But Sam enjoyed prodding at his ‘cyborg brain’, driving him to certain frustration. Though, it did not matter as much, for he found the peace he had been searching for after that little bit of calm that he had experienced on his hideaway.

You. A retired avenger, that had kicked his ass, and continued to brag about it to this day, when he was under Pierce’s demeaning orders. Though, it saddened him, to have the knowledge that you no longer had the ability to pin him down on a training mat, or throw his best friend’s shield in his silent face.

There was no longer an ignition of strength to fight left within you, you were weak from the condition that had and was holding you hostage in its devastating grasp. The debts of your god deeds had wormed their way through your body, destroying it bit by bit.

Whenever he was away, missing the presence that you had once accompanied him with, he was unable but to do anything but worry about your struggling health. He feared that one day, he would get a call claiming that you had experienced a traumatic accident, and as he sat in the small and cluttered motel room, the vibrancy and life that his phone was off putting had him nervously on edge.

“It’s Fury.” He claimed to his rugged partners, putting the man that had regained control of his empire on loud speaker, awaiting for the patch wearing associate to respond to his acceptance of the call. A moment of silence had him standing, the next, caused him to pace. Steve frowned, well aware that Fury only went silent, and did not barking affirmative orders when something had happened.

That man was an absolute whore for the dramatics, he had even faked his own death on multiple accounts. There was nothing the man could fathom not to do, and this sure as hell, in the name of Goose, was not the first instance he had informed his recruits of shocking factors. Steve remembered when the dark clothed man informed him that he was in the 21st century, and to this day, it remained to be the greatest shock that he had experienced.

The second had got to be the reveal of Bucky’s survival, that heart stopping moment had gone in slow motion, as the soldat whipped his unmasked face around to face his opponents, and he was quickly recognised. You had been there to ease the confusion and the humongous shock that wired his brain. And not to mention, to soothe the wave of emotions, you had prompted at jokes at about kicking his best friend’s fine ass.

That had only been the start to a long road ahead, it had all seemed like your quad of rebelling would go on forever. Sam Wilson was your best friend, and the first to be told of your failure to continue your raids on missions, and to say that he was holding back fountains in his eyes, was a casual understatement. The Falcon had felt angry at himself for not realising the increase in coughs that fled from your sassy mouth, or how quickly you would get tired.

He put some of that blame upon himself, claiming that he should have been the first to notice the signs. It was his idea, before your struggles were revealed to anyone else, to refuse your aid on missions, which lead to conspiracies from the team. For a couple of weeks, the members that you had fought alongside for so long had speculated that you were pregnant,and even Bucky had even began to fall for that idea.

In the end, they had all wished for that to be true, a child would be a gift, whereas instead, you were bestowed with a curse. Sam had offered for you to stay with Sarah and the kids, but upon your insistence, you remained in the compound, organising files and watching cinematic classics for the thousandth time.

But anyone could see, that every time they discussed the missions, of left to endure them, your face fell, appeased by the thought that you’d never share that experience again. They all tried to distract you, Thor had even taken you on a vacation to New Asgard so that you could relax and play video games with Korg, yelling frustratedly at Noobmaster69 as the kid tried to spite your friend and his gaming skills.

That though, had not ended well, and instead, the noise had brought you insufferable pain, and you had to be taken home. But what was home anymore? You hardly felt as though you belonged upon the army of your friends, or the guardians that they were aligned with.

And so, it was very understandable why Bucky was inclined to worry. All his dragged our life, he had watched people die, or awakened from cryo to find them gone, and the split moments that he were required on missions, was another moment that he had lost with you.

He gulped as he waited for Fury to say something, anything! And when he did, he wished that he could go back in time, and stop you from ever having been an avenger. “It’s agent Y/L/N, something has happened...”

It had been hours of no news, and Stark tapped his well dressed foot. He had requested, - no, insisted the best doctors to tend to your internal and external injury, claiming that if your condition was made any worse, he would personally make sure that they never tended to another patient again.

He was not usually one to be so aggressive, but he feared loss, it was a great flaw and attribute of his. Possibly, in some people’s judgemental eyes, he cared too much, but he never thought so. To him, the billionaire was human, no matter what the citizens over the world thought of him.

Sure, he wore an iron suit to protect the world, but beneath all the metal, he had a heart. And he’d be damned sure that he used it, and that it beat for a purpose. Natasha and Clint were either side of him, the assassins on her phone as she read the captain’s well written message.

“They’ve entered the country.” She spoke, referring to Sam, Bucky and Steve. It was a relief that they were going to be here soon, then they’d all look sane in comparison to Barnes. It was doubtful that he was holding himself together well, these hours had been torture to all of them, but he had actually been tortured in multiple gruelling occasions, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

One of the country’s best and devoted doctors opened the door to the room that you were being stabilised in, leading to all eyes waiting outside to stare hopefully at him. It was an intimidating thing, to have three avengers leaving him with one of their owns lives in his hands, he was not a hero. But to them, he was to be, they trusted him and the various recommendations that had suggested that he would be best suited to the deed.

The fact that he was the man in charge in this situation was to be great steak in his career, though, he would never be able to anyone, not even family, that he had saved the life of an avenger. Due to doctor patient confidentially, he was bribed into silence by the philanthropist himself, who was certain that he was fine for paying for the entire service himself.

Money had no importance to Tony, not as his friend was the patient that could have died. The man removed his sunglasses, sternly looking up at the kind doctor with pleading and urgent eyes, wanting to scoop every detail that he could from the eccentric medic. “How is she?”

The doctor gulped, well aware that there was a weight apparent on his shoulders, even when delivering any news. But this, was a whole new experience, he knew that you, the woman hoisted up in the hospital bed, had saved his coursing during the battle of New York. He was grateful, for everything that you had done, but simultaneously, felt the need to be careful with any tactic that he used to save your life.

“Well,” he licked his dry lips, watching as the Black Widow herself stared into his soul, “she’s stable, for now. And it would be okay if one of you went in, she’s currently in the midst of waking up. However, she is going to be unable to give much in the verse of a conversation, the oxygen mask that she’s wearing has to stay on, and it will not be a good if she tries to waste the breath she’s being given to talk.”

He was interrupted by the sound of competent running down the hall, it was as though the men dressed in their gear ignored the no running rule. But it was understandable, seeing as Bucky’s eyes were wild and wide, as he came to a stop and asked what was going on. Clint stood, bracing a hand upon his shoulder, before informing him the details they had just been given. “I think you should be the first to see her.”

Bucky didn’t argue with Clint, and instead, walked into the room, ensuring that he shut the door behind himself. He smiled painfully at the sight; there were so many tubes, and all the surrounding machines were lit up with statistics that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he looked towards the vacant seat beside your bed, and claimed it for his ass that you had once kicked.

Your eyes watched as he looked down upon you, your hands reaching to remove the mask, but he placed his hand upon your own, and replaced them to be upon your chest. “Shush darling, no talking, doctor’s orders.” He spoke, rubbing your cheek with his right hand, feeling the corner of the mask against the inside of his palm.

“Had me so worried doll, thought I was gonna lose you.” At the thought, a grimace presented itself of his woeful face, and to comfort him, you placed your fingers around his own, absentmindedly playing with them as you listened to his sincere voice. “On the way here, I spoke to Shuri, we are going to see if she can help you in anyway, as long as you’re okay with that. Does that sound good baby?”

Fluttering your eyelashes as you looked through their webbed curtain to stare lovingly at him, you nodded your head, ignoring the spiteful pains that emitted from where the glass had shallowly penetrated your scalp. “Alright, I’ll let her know. And I was thinking...” he waited for a moment to continue, being encouraged by the crease between his brow line.

“What if we stay in Wakanda, and we leave all this behind? We can still see people when they visit, and we can just, have some calm to ourselves. No missions, no aliens to fight, and no Zemo to chase. Or I was thinking, we go and live by Sarah, you love those kids, they’re basically your nephews, and we could take boat rides during the middle of the night, and help the people who live there, and...”

At his rambling, you smiled beneath the plastic system that was around your mouth, listening to him talk and talk about your future together. Yes, you missed missions, but you would give all that up for a normal and easy life, with Bucky Barnes.

[theflyingfeeling]

So I don't know what you've already heard of the Lahti concert from other sources but here's my report anyway 🖤

The first thing I need to tell you is that in front of me there was this sweet sweet girl who needed a hair tie so I borrowed her mine because I wasn't using it and as a thank you she filmed me so many, long videos and she had an EXCELLENT view to the stage!!! 😭

I mean, I did too, holy shit they were close, my breath was taken away when Porko suddenly appeared what felt like mere metres away from me 😵

I could see all their expressions and omg 🥺 they were all so happy to be playing a show again 🥺🥺 I especially loved the look on Niko's face and in general I was happy to see him a little better, I feel like I didn't see much of him at the Tampere gig

Joel did lots of interaction with Joonas as per usual and 🥺🥺🥺🥺 sometimes he went up to stand next to Aleksi and just 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 smile and look at him 😭😭😭😭

OLLI SANG!!! ........except that he didn't 🤡 They/we hyped it up and everyone was like omg he's gonna sing HE'S GONNA SING--- and then he fucking lipsynced to the opening of a Bon Jovi song 🤠 I swear to fucking god. This man is such a troll and I hate him 💞

Also, getting fucking rickrolled at a BC concert is NOT what I thought I'd ever experience, and yet 🤠 thx Porko <3

Aleksi had a little DJ solo of his own and everyone was happy 🥰 He also jumped around the stage during Sharks Love Blood 💓

Speaking of which, The Kiss was 💀!! It happened right in front of my salad and I died, I'm actually writing this from the grave

The setlist??!?! They played SO MANY SONGS I DID NOT EXPECT THEM TO, such as Giants and Enemy For Me 😵 Giants especially was a special moment to me personally, will post a video tomorrow 💗

And they STARTED with Balboa of all the songs, blasting my brain right to the back wall 👌

Niko/Joonas flirting, but what else is new (Niko @ the crowd: "I've been looking at you all evening." Joonas @ Niko: "I've been looking at you too 😏" Niko: "who's surprised, hands up" lmaooo these guys 🥰)

Tommi didn't say a single fucking word the whole gig lol go on give us nothing, #onsealfa

Probably forgot something, will add later

I've had a shit past two months due to work stuff, but this kind of made up for it all. I love this band so much and oh god I'm gonna cry

Anyone with whom I talked about the gig beforehand knows how nervous I was (thanks for all the nice words btw <3) but, as per usual, everything went perfectly fine, I had possibly the best night of my life so far, and I'm so so happy that I went. I wish it would never have ended.

Some time ago someone sent me an ask asking what's the best concert I've been to. Back then I answered Antti Tuisku @ 2017 SuomiPopFestarit and BC @ Tampere back in August. They have now been replaced, and only another BC gig will ever compare. They are amazing live, and if you are given the chance to go to their concert, TAKE IT AND RUN 🖤

But let me tell ya, one of my absolute favourite moments happened AFTER the gig at the merch stall 🙈 This is the interaction I had with Miki, roughly translated:

Miki: *struggles to find the size tag of the WANS hoodie I'm buying*

me: it's an S

Miki: S, got it. *tells me the sum of my purchases*

me: *hands him my credit card*

Miki: *takes the card and inserts it in the payment terminal* it's a busy night!

me: yeah, but it's good you got your hands full am I right

Miki: yes, it's a positive problem! *tells me how to navigate on the payment terminal*

me: *barely manages to choose debit instead of credit and then just stares at the machine when it asks for my pin code because 1) the machine looks completely different to those in grocery stores for example, and 2) I had not expected to get to do small talk with Miki lol)

Miki: ..did you blackout?

me: YES, the numbers are in different order, you know, from the ones they have in grocery stores?!

Miki: *takes out that exact kinda payment terminal I'm talking about* no, they're in the same order

me: *upon seeing the more familiar-looking machine, remembers her pin code, THANK HEAVENS, and the payment is accepted* Y E S

In conclusion, you are all invited to our summer wedding 🥰🤣

[h50europe]

Why the myth about Steve's PTSD doesn't add up and other inconsistencies

In the last few episodes of H50, PL tried to sell us a mentally broken Steve suffering from PTSD. Only the whole thing came a bit too late. The clip you see is from season 4 and ended up - no, not in the series - but somewhere on the floor of PL's editing room. And why? after Kurtzman and Orci departed, along with their writers, PL took the helm and started turning Steve into a super-soldier. He stylized him into something that wasn't meant to be. Instead of developing the characters, PL began to incorporate more and more hair-raising action sequences into the series and then let Steve fight on the front lines. There was no mention of Steve's mental state, and a lot was explained by PL with: it just happened "offscreen." Yeah, sure. PL can't create a decent character. He can only produce stereotypes and one-dimensional beings. Like Adam. What potential would that character have had had he been turned into Five-0's antagonist? But no. So his role remained diffuse and monotonous. Sometimes even tragicomical.

Back to Steve. When SEAL Team started on CBS, PL also lapsed into SEAL mania. If someone who writes fanfiction were to produce as much garbage as this man did, he would be chased away from every writers' platform in disgrace. PL's Super SEAL also had to rescue his team members from a blazing inferno. Not man by man, no, he flew a helicopter right into the danger zone and lifted a whole cabin out of the burning jungle. If lunacy had a name, it would be PL. While the action became more and more exaggerated and unrealistic, the same happened to the protagonists. After the departure of Daniel Dae Kim and Grace Park, PL completely lost his mind. And please, don't blame the writers for the nonsense that was thrown at you. A series stands and falls with the showrunner. He dictates what he wants and passes it on to his staff.

And so, lovable Steve became a soulless robot who only showed feelings here and there. Danny diminished more and more into a sidekick. McDanno became a ship that drifted anchorless through a stormy sea and threatened to capsize again and again. From season 8, it became a reboot of the reboot. PL tried an ensemble show and failed more than miserably. Often the actors just stood around bored. At least that was the impression. The only highlight was episode 8.10. A feast for all McDanno fans. But even here, the outcome of "who shot Danny" was more than insubstantial.

Wait, there was something about SEALs... Oh, yes. Junior appeared on the scene and became Steve's lapdog. I really wondered when there was going to be an episode where he would fetch sticks for Steve. Luckily we had Eddie for that. And because he thought he was so clever, PL invented the episode speed dating. How many subplots can you squeeze into one episode at the same time? In some episodes, you couldn't even take a look at the bag of potato chips without losing the thread.

The case of the week became the yawn of the week. There were so many loose ends that PL then came up with something called retconning. That's what you do when you're no longer satisfied with what was once established in the series years ago, or it no longer fits. But PL went one step further and did the same with the characters. The more the series was dragged out, the more the characters deteriorated and became OOC. It means, often, they were not recognizable at all. And that's where we come to Steve. Because PL, in his desperation, didn't know what else he could do to Steve, and so he killed Joe White. He did it in such a cheesy way with a fake sunset that it made you sick.

Of course, one episode later, there had to be another gig of PL's favorite Barbie. He stuck a fake beard on poor Steve/Alex, so he couldn't even hug Danny/Scott properly. The episode also raised more questions than it answered any. And Steve? He still didn't suffer from PTSD, even though he had now lost Joe White and a fellow SEAL. Everyone is dropping like flies, except for Steve, who is standing like a rock. No matter what. He doesn't need in-depth talks with Danny, nor psychological care, nor any sleeping pills. No, he's doing great. He also opens a restaurant with Danny because apparently, the carguments are already getting on PL's nerves. Unfortunately, this plot device leads into nirvana. The idea was nice, but nobody thought it through to the end. And the merry-go-round continues. Until we get to season 10, where it gets even more absurd. Now PL is almost bombarding us with McDanno episodes, or at least it should seem that way. Oh well, he's already planning for season 11, so a new character has to come on board quickly. While in the beginning, Steve's mother, Doris, dies.

Alex was allowed to take on the subject. Of course, only under the strict eyes of PL. He then nullifies Alex's idea that Steve kills his mother. Because a good soldier and Super SEAL won't do that. Little does PL know. THAT could have been the opening of a PTSD scenario for Steve. However, apart from that, this episode would have had any potential for a multi-arc. Just imagine Steve chasing his mother across multiple episodes. Again, PL stepped in and butchered Alex's episode. You can really feel sorry for the guy. PL at his best or worse? He just can't help it. And then, on the very last meters of the series, he brings someone new, who is allowed to cruise around with Steve most of the time. Because Danny was kidnapped by Wo Fat's widow, PL also invented quite late to have some villain at his disposal. This wannabe mastermind must really have been living under a rock somewhere if she wasn't even mentioned by her husband or appeared earlier.

Because towards the end, PL obviously ran out not only of steam but also of ideas, everything culminated in a wildly illogical scenario. Steve has to live through a dramatic day with Eddie, who stands as a metaphor for Steve (as I said, PTSD was never a thing for Super SEAL), Danny bangs his brains out in a ladies' room with a complete stranger, who dies shortly after that in an accident with Danny's rental car. Apparently, there was no budget to turn the Camaro into scrap metal. Danny then also goes home alone, ignoring the incoming emergency vehicles. Everything remains open at the end of the episode. While Steve expresses his gratitude to Tani and Quinn and says, he would be just as lost as poor Eddie without the dog and all of them. The strange thing is that you never notice anything until that sentence. A few forced dialogues are supposed to make the drama visible, but they all happen way too late or are so poorly written that you miss them.

PL had decided early on to make Steve a Teflon hero. That also means he didn't need to put much substance into the character. Which you can clearly see if you compare the first three seasons to the rest of the series. But towards the end, PL wanted to turn the tide and forcefully rewrote Steve's past. There is a huge difference if you compare Steve from seasons 1 to 3 with Steve from season 10. It is only a sparse remnant of what made this character so great. This change in Steve's personality also affects his relationship with Danny. The witty, affectionate banter degenerates into a snappy, humorless bitch-fest that takes all the joy out of it.

The final two episodes could have been written for any other crime show. As mentioned, we have Cole, who even gets a book'em Cole from Steve, which can only be described as out of line. And it begs the question, was that what Lenkov originally had in mind? Danny out of the show and Cole in? Was the last episode, which mainly featured McCole, something of a test run? Did all the McDanno moments happen only to tear the two apart eventually? Was the real final scene the one where Steve and Catherine take Danny's coffin back to Jersey? Was Danny not supposed to survive? Was that the real reason Steve wanted to get out of Hawaii because he wanted to pay his respects to Danny? And would he really have returned to Hawaii later? Or would he have turned his back on Hawaii? To me, this ending is more plausible than what PL served us. Then, Steve handed over his credentials to Cole instead of Danny, his second in command. Honestly, you can't make the end of a series any more sloppy and dumber than that. And I won't even lose a word about the last 1:30 minutes because I think everything has already been said.

No PL, mission absolutely not accomplished. You created Teflon-Steve. You never wanted him to show any weakness. You turned him into a superhuman who can survive anything. Only to pull the rug out from under him on the last few meters to the finish line and spit on his legacy. How can you dismantle such a great series and its characters like you did? How much do you have to hate something to do that? In the final interviews, the showrunner didn't exactly cover himself in glory either. Everyone who grew up with the series from day one knows that its end was wrong on all the possible levels and that the showrunner is solely to blame for that. It takes a fair amount of egoism and carelessness to drive 10 years at full throttle against the wall. Not many people can do that. Whether you can be proud of that, however, I doubt.

My respect if you have made it this far. Each of you gets 10 extra brownie points for it.

[chilligyu]

info: wen junhui/reader, teen+, soulmate au genre: angst, romance | word ct: 2k warnings: descriptions of injuries, scars, blood, hospitals summary: forever was a powerful word, and it was the only word he could think of when he imagined his soulmate. someone who was just as powerful as she was terrifying. because forever was a powerful word, and it scared him to no end. author's note: please read! this soulmate au deals with soulmarks in the form of injuries. once someone turns 18 their body will be marked with their soulmates scars and they will acquire all of their future injuries (i know it's a little confusing, story explains it better). if talks of scars and blood make you uncomfortable, respectfully, this fic will not be your cup of tea. thank you all!

Forever. Never, in all of Junhui’s life, had he heard a more terrifying word. He hated the permanency of it, the idea of being stuck doing one thing, being with one person. The thought of it alone made his skin itch. He loved being able to get on a train and go absolutely anywhere, loved never being tied down, loved being free. Sometimes he didn’t even know where home was, where he’d be sleeping, and that’s when he was most happy. He couldn’t explain it, nor did he want to.

What scared him most, was what he was destined for, what forever truly meant for him. For years he was told how his life would change, how it would never be the same once he became an adult. And he believed them. No matter how much he hated it, he’d have to be delusional not to. Because he’d been watching it play out on his skin since he turned 18. He’d been watching his body pucker with scars, little nicks here and there, for the better part of four years. A thin line across the back of his hand, a surgical scar on his stomach, it was so nerve-wracking. Because he hadn’t been injured.

His soulmate had, and he was a first-hand witness.

That was the sad existence he was left with, the one he’d been running from for years. He lived in a world where everyone was covered in the injuries and scars of their soulmate. Your body wasn’t a canvas of your own life, it was the story of someone else’s. And God Junhui hated that more than anything. That his life wasn’t his own anymore and there was nothing he could do about it.

It all became real for him when he came home from school on his 18th birthday. He shouldered off his bag and was getting ready to shower when he saw the bright pink mark on his stomach. A little thing, only two inches in length, half an inch wide, almost completely negligible. At first, he was confused, then scared, and finally—mortified.

No. He said to himself as he inspected the scar. Please tell me this is a lie.

For years he stared at his own body, repulsed and confused by the injuries that kept cropping up. His friends would laugh at the little marks, claiming that his soulmate was a complete klutz. Still, he refused to acknowledge it. He didn’t care what sort of scar showed up on his body, he refused to care. He refused to think about the one person who was tied to his entire existence. No matter what they were going through. He didn’t care when the eight inch gash appeared on his arm, nor did he care when he saw the surgical scar sprawled across his knee. It was just skin, scar tissue and skin. It didn’t mean anything.

Or that’s what he tried to convince himself.

Sometimes, if the injury was bad enough, he would even feel the pain from it. One day he was walking to work, and suddenly he was struck by an intense migraine. The throbbing alone was enough to make him want to puke. The world was spinning, he could barely feel the ground underneath his feet when he caught his reflection in a store window. His eyebrow had split open, a single trickle of blood streaking his face.

What happened? He found himself wondering despite himself. Are they—are they okay?

Before that moment, he had never actually bled from one of his soulmate’s wounds. And it terrified him. He had only seen the injuries once they’d healed, meaning that the danger, and pain, was over. That little bead of blood meant—meant that this was real. That on the other side of his scars was a real person. He hated forever, he hated the word, hated the meaning, hated what he was forced to endure because fate had better plans for him.

But still, he couldn’t help but wonder. And that was harmless, right?

Going to the doctor after that was interesting, because he had to get a full body X-Ray to see what sort of damage his new body had endured. Standard protocol when you turned 18, he’d just been putting it off for as long as he could. Injuries from his soulmate's childhood were clear against the backlight, several broken bones from when they were young, or reckless, or both. Without realizing it, Junhui found himself smiling at the sight. It was sort of comforting, knowing that he’ll always have this part of someone else. That it’ll never leave him.

He gingerly touched each wound and tried to imagine the story behind them. There was this one right up his shin, very old, very faded, it reminded him of the one time he fell off his bike as a kid. Maybe he had something in common with his soulmate. Maybe they had a similar past. He had no idea, but it was fun to wonder.

For periods of time, Junhui wouldn’t accumulate any new marks, and he felt lonely. He pretended like he didn’t, he continued on as he usually did. A string of flings and drunken escapades kept him busy, but they just—they weren’t as fun anymore. Car rides with no destination, late nights underneath the stars, the things he loved most no longer held the same weight. He felt stupid, selfish, wishing for some sign of his soulmate. Because that meant that they’d have to get hurt for it to happen.

And then, he thought he lost them.

He was getting set up for a gig, plugging in his mic and laughing with the stagehands, when he felt his life flash before his eyes. Like he’d been crushed by a car. The pain was so excruciating, he was finding it hard to breathe. Collapsing to the floor, he could’ve sworn that he saw a bright light above him. Tears streaked his face, his stomach churned like the red sea—he thought he was dying. He had no idea what was going on, until—until he realized that he was fine. That his soulmate—that his soulmate might’ve—

Pulling up his shirt, he watched a deep gash form on his stomach and a deep bruise color his whole abdomen. Propping himself up onto his elbows, he instantly fell back to the ground. Looking at his arm, he noticed the swelling. He was being covered in bruises, several of his bones were broken, and he only had one thought on his mind.

I have to find them.

He managed to get to his feet, finding his right leg weaker than he remembered, and he practically sprinted out of the bar. Pulling out his phone, he started searching every news site he could think of, looking for any news of any sort of car crash. Of any sort of accident.

Every few minutes or so, he’d check to make sure that his scars were still there. That his soulmate hadn’t left him. Because that’s what everyone truly fears, and the one thing Junhui has grown to fear more than forever. When you slowly see your soulmate's scars clear up, when your skin is your own once more, it means one of two things.

Either you’ve found your soulmate, or your soulmate is dead.

Please stay alive. He found himself begging, finally catching word of a couple car accidents in the past day. He scrolled through them, scrolled through the pictures of victims, desperately trying to find them. Dozens of faces blurred past his vision, and he finally stopped at a picture of a young woman. A woman with a small scar on her chin, just like the cut Junhui got when he was a kid and banged his chin on a coffee table.

After years of denying her existence, he had finally found his soulmate. For a brief moment, he was caught in some sort of trance, completely awestruck by the person who was a permanent part of his life. She was beautiful, perfect, everything he had ever dreamed of and feared all at once. It broke his heart, knowing that it took her getting hit by a car for him to find her.

When he figured out which hospital she was taken to, he hailed a cab and paid him extra to get him there as fast as he could. As he rode, he read the article more thoroughly, reading about how she was hit by a drunk driver, how she was in critical condition, and how she was in a medically induced coma. He had to fight back tears, knowing that she might not make it.

Arriving at the hospital, he showed the front desk her picture, desperate to find her any way that he could. They confirmed that she was there, that she had just got out of surgery. They kept telling him that only family could see her, that he’d have to wait until she was out of the ICU, and a million other things that he didn’t give a damn about. He had to see her.

“She’s my soulmate.” He whispered, trying not to lose it. “Please, please, let me see her.”

Even though the nurses were conflicted, they eventually let him in. Thanking them quickly, he sprinted down the hall to her room, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t lose her. Not before she was even a part of his life. Not before he could even tell her how important she was to him. He hadn’t even met her yet, and yet if she died – then his life would be over.

He slowed down as he got closer, his heart beating in his ears. She was just a few doors down, she was so close, he could feel it deep down inside. As he stood outside her door, he tried to calm himself down, he inhaled and exhaled, attempting to stabilize the raging storm inside of him.

Mentally preparing for the worst he reached for the door handle, his entire arm shaking. He was fully aware that she wouldn’t even realize he was there, that she’d be lying catatonic in a hospital bed with tubes and wires hooked up to her. He didn’t care. It was still an important moment in his life. He was about to meet his soulmate for the first time.

Turning the handle, he felt his heart stop when he saw her. Even though the actual sight of her broke his heart, something he couldn’t explain started to stir inside of him. Like—like his entire existence led him to this point. And while that thought alone would’ve terrified him not too long ago, it now gave him a purpose to strive towards. He wouldn’t run from this.

He approached her carefully, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her. As he sat there, he watched as the little scars across his knuckles started to disappear, and saw them reappear on her. Unconsciously, he started to check on every single scar on his body, finding himself frowning as they vanished from his skin. He would’ve preferred to bare them, knowing that they wouldn’t mar her beautiful body. And he’d miss the proof that she was meant to be with him. Fate determined that they were meant to be together, and for the first time—he accepted that. Because he finally learned that alone was a far more terrifying word than forever.

“I don’t care how long it takes.” He whispered, taking her hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[heliads]

Forever Separated

Based on this request: “Reader is Luke’s girlfriend in the 90’s and is at the gig at the Orpheum and hit by a drunk driver and dies instantly. She and the boys come back as ghosts 25 years later. She’s there for everything that goes down with Julie, Willie, and Caleb.”

masterlist

Your fingers tap absentmindedly on the steering wheel as you careen through the streets. It’s late now, the beacons of headlights guiding you down the asphalt. There’s a grin on your face that won’t seem to go away- your boys are playing at the Orpheum tonight. The Orpheum. That’s been their dream for what feels like forever. It doesn’t even seem true.

By your boys, you mean Sunset Curve, of course. The motley collection of four teenage boys with dreams bigger than the world and the need for a chance to prove themselves. You stumbled across them at a small jazz club, at what had been one of their first performances. It hadn’t been long after that when you had become a friend of the bandmates, and an even shorter time before you fell in love with Luke. When you started dating, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

You had always known that they would make it, even when they seemed to doubt it themselves. You knew they had gathered regrets over the years- Reggie with the fracturing of his family, Alex with his parents’ lack of acceptance of him, and Luke with the way he’d run out on his mother. You had seen it in their faces- if their band never got off of the ground, they would continue to doubt themselves for the rest of their lives. There had been times when you thought that it might be over for good, that they’d be done for before they even got the chance to get started. Yet here you are now, driving towards their gig at the Orpheum.

You’re only a couple of streets away. You’re practically shivering with anticipation at the thought of it- all of their dreams and hopes, finally come to fruition. You, however, are running a little late despite your best interests, and so your foot involuntarily presses down on the gas. You’re not speeding, always careful to follow traffic laws, just making sure you’re not going to be as late as you fear.

It only seems fitting that something would go wrong on this night of nights. Thinking back, you’re almost glad it happened to you and not someone else. You had this awful feeling that something was going to happen to ruin this gig, and maybe if it happened to you it would protect the boys and let their show run on uninterrupted. When you pass through the intersection, this thought may have protected you.

When you see the truck out of the corner of your eye, you continue driving. You know it will stop, it has to. Maybe it’s the way you’re eager to see your boys again, or the fact that the light has been green for a long time now and there’s no way the driver could miss the glaring red in front of him. Maybe it’s just because you feel sheltered by this bubble of hope that comes with seeing the boy you love play at the Orpheum. Regardless, there is nothing you can do to avoid the truck, and you keep expecting that it will stop until it is inches away from you. Then you finally realize that there’s no getting out of this, and it is only then that it is too late to act.

You’ve seen car crashes in the movies. They’re always a blazing whirl of headlights and screeching tires, a hailstorm of broken glass that reflects the light in the most beautiful arc around you. It will be slow, like time itself crawls to a stop, just in time for your head to fly back in a graceful motion. Then it will speed up again, and just like that it will be over.

This is nothing like that. It is over an instant, no beautifully devastating moments. You’re not a marionette to be hung delicately in the air, your strings are cut within seconds. You do not have time to see the poetry in your last moments, they’re already over. All you manage to see is a quick glimpse of a bottle resting in the driver’s hands, a tremendous impact like the very shaking of the earth, and then there is nothing at all. No orchestras reach a momentum, no lens flares pierce the night. There is everything, and then there is nothing. It is painfully ordinary.

There is one feeling that seems to surround it all. A pain, numb at first and then growing to a fever pitch. You don’t know when you wake up, only that it is much later. There’s someone dressed in a paramedic’s uniform standing over you, the piercing din of an ambulance somewhere behind you. You want to form words together and ask who it’s for, but the answer comes to you the second you realize you can’t move a muscle. It is for you. You are the one in need of saving.

The paramedic is standing over you, shouting something about a drunk driver and two casualties, the driver and the girl right here. You want to stand up, to shout to the world that you’re alive and fine. But for some reason, you can’t move at all. You can’t say anything except feel the last of your pulse die from your veins. Distantly, you feel a raw anguish creeping up in your throat. Luke and the others are still waiting for you at the Orpheum. Who will tell them that you’re gone?

It should have been over then. You died, certainly. You bled out on the streets and ceased to draw breath. Indeed, you had the classic fading of color and acceptance of the darkness just like everyone else. It appears that you will only have access to the clichés of the stories in death. It’s oddly fitting. Regardless of the beauty of it, you died. End of story.

Or at least, it should have been the end. Yet, you find yourself standing again, waiting at the back of a crowded room. You stare at your hands, at your body, which appears unharmed. Your eyes travel from yourself to the people in front of you. Your parents sit in chairs, their backs to you. They’re looking over a photo album, crying softly. “She was so young. She could have done so much more. I miss her, even though it’s been so long.”

You step forward, but the ground makes no sound underneath your feet. “Y/N wouldn’t want you to be sad. She would want you to remember her with happiness, not with tears, right?” Your mother nods sadly. “I can’t seem to help it, though.” An icy chill runs through your veins as you realize what’s happened. All you can think about is that you need to get away from here, somewhere where you won’t be surrounded by people mourning your death.

And then you’re gone. One minute you’re in your home, the next minute you’re standing on the sidewalk outside. Although you look around frantically, no one notices your sudden appearance. No one, that is, except one boy. He’s riding a skateboard, long dark hair tucked underneath a helmet. He stops suddenly, staring at you. “Hey, you just poofed here out of nowhere. You’re a ghost?”

You stare at him. “You can see me?” He nods. “You must be new to this ghost business if you’ve got questions. I’m Willie, by the way.” You smile weakly at him. “Y/N. I guess I would have to be a ghost if I died in the accident.” Willie winces. “Ooh, accidents. Those hurt. I died around the early 80s, a couple of decades ago, so I know what you mean.” You stare at him. “The 80s weren’t a couple of decades ago. They were recent.”

Willie shakes his head. “Sorry, man. You must have only been brought back as a ghost recently. It’s the 2020s right now.” You shake your head slowly. “That means it’s been 30 years since I died. How is that possible?” Willie places a hand on your shoulder, and for some reason the gesture is surprisingly comforting. “Hey, not a whole lot about the ghost stuff makes sense. If you want to talk about it, though, I’m here.” You smile at him. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

Willie ends up becoming a fast friend. He explains everything there is to know about ghosts, and the two of you have fun messing around with your ghost abilities, whatever those are. It’s nice to have someone who understands about the ghost business, and you find that in leaps and bounds with Willie.

One day, you’re lying on a grassy hill admiring the clouds when Willie poofs into existence next to you. For some reason, he looks almost flushed with excitement, cheeks pink with thrill. “You won’t believe who I met. The cutest guy. He’s a new ghost, too.” You grin over at him. “Already making moves? You’re unreal.” Willie rolls his eyes. “I played it safe. We had a nice chat. He seems very cool, in a band or something. I think he plays the drums. Alex, was in a band called Sunset Curve. I think that’s a good name for a band, and I’ve heard a lot of bad ones.”

You sit up suddenly, all thoughts of the bright afternoon sun quickly abandoned. “What did you say? About Sunset Curve?” Willie frowns. “That’s the guy’s band. Or, it was until he died. He’s about our age, played in a band called Sunset Curve.” You shake your head slowly. “That makes no sense. They should have grown up a long time ago.” Willie still seems confused, so you clarify. “I know Alex,  and I know the rest of his bandmates. I was friends with them until I died.” You fix him with a sudden purposeful look. “I need you to bring me to meet these guys.”

Willie has to ask around, but eventually he finds Alex and discovers that they’re staying in their old studio, now inhabited by the Molina family. You thank him, setting off as soon as you can. As you stand outside the doors to the studio, you find yourself suddenly nervous. Will they want to see you? Will they understand what happened?

The faint sounds of music drifting out from the doors is what convinces you. It sounds just like them, like this is another afternoon from the 90s when you’re meeting up with Luke and the others. You gather your courage and knock twice on the doors, then push them open. You stand for a moment in the doorway, staring. The boys stare back at you. It’s funny- everyone looks the exact same, even though everything has changed.

Then there’s a voice from the back of the room. It’s quiet, as if he’s afraid to say anything lest the moment be fractured away into nothingness. “Y/N?” Luke steps forward, disbelief warring with hope in his eyes. You nod slowly. “Luke?” Luke stands still for a moment longer, then runs forward, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close. You tuck your head into the space between his head and his shoulder, letting yourself relax once more.

After what could be ten seconds or ten minutes, Luke reluctantly pulls away. He cups your face in his hand, just staring with awe. “How are you here? We died- you weren’t at the Orpheum-” You laugh bitterly. “I died too. There was a drunk driver on the road, he hit me when I was just a couple of blocks away. I was so close, that was the worst part.” Luke nods slowly. “I remember hearing sirens. I didn’t know it was you.”

Something like guilt passes over his face, and you hurriedly shake your head. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. I guess you died some time after that?” Luke nods. “Just before the show. We never got to play.” A sad sigh rips from his chest, and you pull him close again. It isn’t fair, not at all. He shouldn’t have died, you shouldn’t have died. He should not have been robbed of this chance to live the dream he always wanted.

There’s the sound of a throat clearing from across the room. “You know, we’re here too. Not just Luke.” You look up, laughing. “Sorry, Reggie, Alex. Love you guys too. I’m glad we can all be dead together.” Alex flashes you a thumbs up from across the room. “Me too, Y/N. Me too.” Luke laughs now, albeit reluctantly. You squeeze his hand one more time, then step into the room, greeting the other boys. 

Your gaze falls upon a figure you don’t recognize- a girl, about your age if not a year younger. She has dark, curly hair and a fascinated smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N.” The girl startles. “Julie. Julie Molina. It’s nice to meet you- you must be the girl Luke keeps talking about.” You toss a grin Luke’s way. “You’ve been talking about me?” Luke moves to deny this, but Reggie speaks up loudly. “So often. You have no idea. He’s been very sad.”

Luke glares at his friend, but you just grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, it’s nice to feel wanted.” Luke beams at you, still thrilled that you’re here again. “Trust me, you are. I can’t believe you get to stay with me.”

Neither can you, actually. Somehow, despite the fact that you died and came back again, Luke did the same, and you can be with him again. You’ve lost everything- your family, your future, your life, but you still have him. It feels impossible, but it’s true.

This isn’t to say that life is smooth sailing from here. It turns out Luke, Alex, and Reggie have gotten themselves tangled in the mess that is Caleb’s club, and they’ve got the stamps to prove it. You find yourself holding Luke close while he spasms from jolt after jolt, forcing smiles to pretend like it doesn’t kill you every time he’s in pain. You also have to defend Willie to the rest, as he’s been your friend for a while and would never knowingly betray them. You have a feeling that Alex is pretty happy to hear this.

At last, you find the way to save Luke and save the boys- another performance at the Orpheum, this time as their unfinished business. Standing outside the building, staring up at the blinking neon signs, you can’t help but feel some strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. This feels like a sick twist of deja vu. This is how you died- waiting for the boys’ performance at the Orpheum. Staying here now, in the same position but after you’ve died, feels somehow wrong.

You try to shake the thoughts from your head, slipping inside the building to go find Luke, Julie, and the others. This isn’t like that night, you can’t die twice. Everything is going to be fine. Yet when you walk in the dressing room and catch sight of a panicked Flynn trying to calm a visibly shaken Julie, you have a feeling that things aren’t exactly smooth sailing.

Julie looks up when she sees you appear in the room. “Y/N, it’s good to see you. Have you seen Luke and the boys?” You shake your head, a crease forming between your brows. “No, not since I left the studio to let you say your goodbyes. Have they not shown up?” Julie sinks back down in a chair, hands pressed to her temples. “Not at all.” You slump against a wall. This feels like history repeating itself again- you dead, the boys not showing up to their performance at the Orpheum. No matter how many times you tell a story, it tends to end the same way.

Distraught, you wander back through the building to attempt to find the boys, but your search is to no avail. They’re nowhere to be found. You stumble through the auditorium just to see Julie taking the stage. You have a brief, wild hope that she’s managed to find them, but then you see the red rims of her teary eyes and hear the goodbye she issues to the crowd. If they haven’t shown up, then that means-

You try to distract yourself by listening to Julie sing. It brings a smile to your face in spite of yourself. Julie is a bright firecracker of a girl, and it’s been wonderful to get to know her. At least you know you have her at the end of this. Yet when the beat drops, Alex appears in a flash of sparks. You stand up, pressing forward through the crowd as if your proximity will do anything more to bring them back. Yes- there goes Reggie, and there’s Luke struggling to flicker back into existence. You send out a silent plea: bring him back, please. You can’t do this without him. 

Then he’s back again, and you feel like your heart might burst. He flashes you a grin, as if to promise that nothing could separate you again. You smile back at him, finally letting yourself relax. He’s here, it’s okay. It’s all okay. When the song ends, you watch through joyful eyes as the boys stand next to Julie, clasping hands before taking a bow. There’s something wrong, though, something wrong when they disappear. Usually, you can loosely sense them when they poof away, but this time there’s nothing. Nothing at all. It’s like they’ve been erased away from the song of their lives.

There’s something pounding in the back of your heart, and you poof away to Julie’s rooms backstage. She appears there seconds later, as if she’s been expecting you. She runs over to you, stopping a few feet away as she remembers she can’t touch you or hug you as a ghost. “Tell me they’re still here. They didn’t just cross over.” You shake your head slowly. “I can’t feel them. They’re not in the building anymore. Julie, I think they’re gone.”

She nods slowly, fighting a losing battle to keep the tears at bay. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. So sorry. You just found Luke again, and now he’s gone.” You force a smile. “It’s alright. We’re just ghosts, remember? We’ve been running on borrowed time all along. I’ll meet you at the studio, alright? We can say our goodbyes.” Julie nods. “I’ll see you then.” You give her one last wave, then poof out.

You reappear outside the doors of the studio. You can’t quite bring yourself to go in, to face the empty stillness of the studio and know that the boy you love isn’t there. What are you supposed to do now? You have no idea what your unfinished business could possibly be. Most likely, you’re going to live out your endless days as a ghost, not noticed by anyone except Julie and Willie and whatever other ghosts you manage to find, forever haunted by the knowledge that the one person you’re looking for the most will never appear around the corner, never be waiting for you again. It’s like you’re back to that car crash, knowing you’ll be separated by death once more.

You hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and straighten up. Seconds later, Julie appears down the path, and you nod at her slowly. “Are you ready to do this?” She sighs. “It seems fitting to say goodbye, even if they aren’t here.” She pushes open the doors, letting the darkness wash over the two of you. She looks over at you. “I don’t know what to do.” You smile gently. “There’s no script. I have a feeling they’ll be able to hear you. Just say what you wish you got to say before they left.”

Julie nods. “I’m glad I got to meet you guys, and grateful to you for everything. You got me back into music, and I’ll never be able to let go of it again. I thought I’d never play after my mom, but you convinced me that I could. Thank you.” There’s a muffled voice from the back of the room, one that’s quickly shushed by two annoyed boys. “You’re welcome.” You stare. “Reggie?” You’d know him anywhere- you’ve heard that voice in band practices for the last couple of decades, even if it doesn’t feel that way.

Julie runs over to turn on the light, and your hand flies to your mouth as you see the boys crumpled in a heap on the floor, in obvious pain. “Did it not work? Did you not cross over?” Luke shakes his head, gently extricating himself from the heap of band members on the ground to stumble over to you. You catch him before he falls, holding him upright. “We won’t play with Caleb, that’s a promise. It’s not worth it like that.” You cup his face in your hands. “I don’t want to let you go. Not yet.”

Luke laughs quietly. “I’m not sure we had a choice. I love you, Y/N, no matter what. You know that, right?” You nod, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “I know.” You feel one last jolt rack his body, and somehow you know that this will be the last. This is it, the moment when he truly dies. You fling your arms around him, holding him close one last time. If you can’t have the future with him you had always planned, you can at least have this moment.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for the moment when he disappears from you forever. Yet it doesn’t come. You open your eyes carefully, then stare at him. “Luke, you’re- I think you’re glowing.” Sure enough, he’s surrounded by this golden haze of light. He smiles at you, chuckling slightly in awe. “I feel good. Strong, like I haven’t felt in a while.” Alex stands up too, as does Reggie. “Actually, I feel better too. I think you saved us. Both of you.”

You laugh incredulously. “Really? You’re not going away?” Luke presses a kiss to your cheek. “Never again. I’m not leaving you ever again.” You beam at him. “Good. I don’t intend to be with anyone else.” He laughs at that, pulling you in for a kiss. For once, you know that he’s here to stay.