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revasserium · 2 months ago

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had me at hello

todoroki shouto; 4,082 words; fluff, tiny sprinkle of angst, no "y/n", summer camp, canon-divergent, domestic fluff, teeth-rotting fluff, summer-time romance, self-indulgent as all living fuck

summary: nothing lasts forever, not even goodbye. or, in which todoroki shouto discovers that summer flings really aren't his thing

a/n: chat we are SO back. back on this todoroki brain rot GRIND!!! and as opposed to posting at the last possible second for @pixelcafe-network's challenge friday like i did last time, i'm posting mine first this time to make up for it! the theme was "saying goodbye to a summer love" ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡

It was to be a whirlwind summer, one that’s different from every one that came before it. Todoroki had thought, naively, that summer training camp would end up being just that — just another summer thing.

And he’d never been fond of the heat.

But you — you’d swept in like the rain, all bluster and brilliant, summer-thunder laughter. You struck across his storm-ridden skies like a spark of lightning, setting all his forests ablaze.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. Didn’t think much of the volunteers that the Pussycats had brought along to help around camp. Groupies, he’d dismissed, and thought of it no more. But the first night everyone came back, exhausted and sore and sweating in places they’d never thought could produce sweat, you’d been there along with the others (he doesn’t remember their names now, but he remembers yours), passing around cold water and setting up the food for dinner.

“Here,” you hand him a water bottle; he dips his head, his chest still heaving from exertion. He twists off the cap and gulps down half the bottle, feeling a cool trickle escape the corner of his mouth to run down his chin. He wipes at it with the back of his hand just as you cast him a grin before turning around to hand another water bottle to Kirishima.

Todoroki swallows, his palms warm, watching as you laugh at something someone says. He lingers on the gloss in your hair and the ease of your smile. He wonders what kind of quirk you might have; he catches himself wondering, and then proceeds to wonder why he’s wondering at all.

He thinks it’s the heat — fanning himself, he looks away — glancing up at the smoldering sky before sighing and capping his water bottle.

“They must love you at school, huh?” you ask, your voice jolting him out of one reverie and into another. Dinner’s almost done, and he’d wandered toward the edge of the wood for a moment of quiet, of peace or sanctity. He hadn’t noticed you following him, and that in and of itself should have set his senses on high. But, the air is tepid and the humidity heavy, and Todoroki only has time to cock a single eyebrow before you smile and continue —

“Your quirk — keeps you cool in the summer, and warm in the winter. Useful, no?”

He watches you watching him, your eyes huge and full of the dancing flames. He looks back towards the rest of his classmates, all chatting and laughing, grouped loosely with one another, Ashido flitting from one group to the other like the social butterfly she is.

“It’s alright,” Todoroki answers, surprising even himself. He drops his eyes, fixing his gaze on a point just above his own feet before you laugh, the sound drawing his attention back towards you.

“You’re not a very good liar, but that’s okay. It’s not a bad thing.”

You shoot him another grin.

“Your quirk,” he says, clearing his throat slightly as he feels a distinct heat prickling up the sides of his neck, “can I ask what it is?”

You list your head to one side, your expression curiously blank. Before you shoot him a smile that can only be called devious.

You nudge him with an arm before dancing away, but that momentary contact is all you’d needed. Todoroki feels his whole body relax, feels some of the tension drop from his shoulders, the strange nervousness that had been coiling in his stomach unclench.

“Guess!”

Someone calls your name from over your shoulder.

“Coming!”

You give him one final wink before dashing off, leaving him dazed, head reverberating as if someone had rung him through like a bell on a Sunday morning.

The weeks had passed in a strange blur after that, as if some vengeful giant had gone stomping through his memories, dragging a large hand across the vivid scenes, smearing the colors and scrambling the timelines. He remembers the ever-present ache in his muscles, the eternal shortness of breath that had accompanied the first few weeks, but he also remembers your presence in the evenings — always in the evenings, the shadow of you flickering around each and every one of his classmates, mostly asking about their days, but sometimes placing a comforting hand here or there.

He remembers your touch well, the gentle anchor of it, the immediate relief.

“Your quirk… it has something to do with feelings, doesn’t it?” he asks one night, a towel draped around his shoulders from a recent shower, his hair still damp in the early evening dark.

You flash him an enigmatic smile, swinging your feet as you turn your head back towards the liquid moonlight casting pale shadows along the edges of the summer-still leaves.

“What makes you say that?”

“Just…” Todoroki joins you, letting his arm brush along yours, his eyes following your gaze as he too sweeps the now empty campgrounds, the remnants of the barbeque fires still smoldering in their pits, the smoke twisting towards the cloudless sky like so many misty-tendrilled streams.

“Had a feeling.”

“A feeling, huh?” you echo, laughing softly, looking back down.

Todoroki doesn’t push you, but you don’t deny it either.

“You’re not wrong,” you say, after a brief moment of silence, “my quirk — it’s not offensive, or even defensive but… if I’m touching someone, I can… siphon their feelings into me,” and as if to demonstrate, you gently press your leg to his, and Todoroki feels the tired wariness drain from him, the feeling of ease trickling through him like hot water cascading down his skin.

He stifles a soft groan, feeling a blush press up against his cheeks.

You move your leg away, leaning back till your head is resting against the back of the park bench, poised at the edge of the large encampment.

“But that’s…” Todoroki searches for the right word — somehow ‘useful’ doesn’t seem quite right.

“No, you’re right,” you say, giggling even as you save him the necessity of finishing his sentence, “it’s a good quirk to have. It’s… necessary.”

But the way you say that word sounds a little too much like heartbreak for Todoroki to ignore.

“You said siphon…” he says, after a brief stretch of quiet, and he tastes the word on his tongue as if saying it for the first time.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you say, and longing is too close a friend of his for him not to notice it threaded through your voice like a secret.

“Which means… whatever you take from the person you’re touching… you have to feel it too, right?”

You lick your lips, your eyes flickering down to your hands, palms open.

“Yes.”

It’s a simple answer, but one that lands with a gut-punch of implication. Todoroki swallows, shifting ever so slightly to let his knee rest against yours. He tries his hardest to focus on calmness, to project relief. You turn to flash him a smile.

“You’re sweet,” and he hadn’t meant to blush, hadn’t meant for his heart to kick up like a drumbeat, but does. And he knows, instinctively, that you’d felt it too — passing through from his skin to yours by some strange glitch of nature.

He makes to pull away, but you reach out to rest a hand on his arm.

And almost instantly, he feels his heartbeat calm, feels the heat receding. But it isn’t like before — it isn’t the feeling of having something leave his body, but rather having something pressed in. Like a warm blanket settling over his shoulders, or a cold hand to ward off unwanted heat. Your calm seeps into him like summer rain, cooling his mind until he’s breathing steady.

He blinks down at you, startled.

“It goes both ways,” you say, and he can see the twin glow of warmth high in your cheeks. He spares a moment wondering if that blush had once belonged to him, if you were just holding onto it for a bit longer before letting it go. You move your hand away and he has to fight down the urge to pull it back.

“Oh,” is the only thing he can think of to say.

You are everywhere after that — perhaps not in the physical sense, but Todoroki seems to have lost the ability to not notice you. Or maybe he’s just gained the ability to — to what? Develop a crush? Is that even what this is? He doesn’t know — he’s never had one before to compare it to.

But he can’t help now how instantly his attention snags on the sound of your voice, like a stray thread on a mesh-wire fence, or how an unshakable shiver traces down his spine whenever you’re near. He feels childish, like he did when he was too little to control his quirk. But he’d learned since then, hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

“It’s all just hormones!” he overhears Ashido say to Uraraka one night, the girls all clustered together on a single long sofa, limbs against limbs, cheeks pillowed on shoulders, a careless sort of closeness threading them all together. Todoroki’s never thought himself a jealous person, but watching them now, he wonders what it might be like to be able to touch a person with little to no thought at all, for it all to be second nature.

Uraraka blushes something furious, crinkling her nose.

“I — I don’t know…”

“I’m pretty sure whatever Mineta-chan is feeling can’t just be explained by hormones,” Asui says, her eyes huge and dark even as Ashido rolls her eyes.

“Maybe not just hormones, but that’s a large part of it!” Ashido insists.

Dangling on the side of the sofa, one foot tapping to music only she can hear, Jiro glances over and shrugs.

“Boys are weird.”

The girls all make varying sounds of agreement, and Todoroki forces his feet to move, thankful for the thick slab of shadow that had kept him from view of the general common area. He stares ahead as he walks down the long length of hallway, wondering if hormones really are the culprit behind whatever the hell this is.

The grueling days bleed into sweat-slick weeks, and somehow, he finds himself seeking you out more and more often. Sometimes after a particularly hard training session, under the guise of needing some “help” recovering (it had come out that Recovery Girl couldn’t make it so the Pussycats had volunteered you as the next best thing), sometimes without any reason at all, other than the simple want of your company.

He finds himself laughing, finds himself reaching for you — and he blames it on the weather, blames it on the tiredness now eternally sunk into his muscles, the soreness that won’t ever quite go away. He tells himself that it’s just a summer thing, to feel so hot that he gets lightheaded, to laugh until his stomach hurts, to feel the inexplicable itch to graze your hand with his when you’re sitting too close and not nearly close enough.

Thinking back, he’d known it would never last. You’d told him early on that you don’t live in the city. But that it’s not too far, if ever he wanted to visit.

“Camp’ll be over in a few weeks,” you say, lying back on a patch of sun-dried grass, beneath a swirling canopy of stars, Todoroki sitting beside you, his arms propping up his torso as he stares up at the sky alongside you.

“Yeah. I’m surprised it’s been so peaceful,” he says.

You laugh, shooting him a curious look.

“Used to getting in trouble?”

“There… seem to be a few of my classmates that attract trouble. Of all kinds.”

“I don’t mind a bit of trouble.”

“Don’t you?”

You grin up at him as he glances down at you.

“Not one bit.”

You feel him shifting as he lies down next to you, your elbows brushing in the grass. He feels a jolt of electricity snake up his arm, coiling in the base of his belly. For a second, he wonders if its a him-feeling, or a you-feeling. And then, he realizes that it doesn’t really matter — and before he knows it, he’s twisting to his side, leaning over just far enough to press his lips to yours.

In the grand scheme of kisses, Todoroki thinks that it might not have been the most well-positioned kiss, or the most well thought-out. And for all everyone calls him genius, this is one thing he’s never really had the chance to practice. Still, by the time he realizes that he’s kissing you, he barely has the chance to reconcile with the fact that you’re kissing him too. You, pressing up against him and pulling him down all at once.

His lips on yours, and yours on his — an endless echo of this kiss, and this kiss, and just this kiss. He feels his heartbeat like a reverberation, because he thinks he can feel yours too. He loses feeling in all his limbs, and wonders briefly if this is what free-falling might be like — to feel weightless, to be lifted outside of yourself.

You reach up to press a hand to his cheek, and he feels himself being shunted back into his body. He feels each of his limbs like discovering them for the very first time — his fingers tangled in your hair, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in, holding you close. He does not remember pulling away. But he must have, because he remembers gasping for a breath he’s long since lost to the heave of your lungs.

He feels fire, and ice, and the spinning song of a million overhead stars.

“Is this — are you —” he struggles for words but you just smile.

“I don’t know — sometimes when I’m too —” you swallow, a bit breathless yourself, the head-thrumming heat of it all passing between the pair of you like a whisper, or a secret, “when I’m too excited I — I’ll accidentally make someone else feel it too but —”

You look back up to catch his eyes, and he finds himself smiling.

“It’s not just you,” he says, quiet and sure. Because this, whatever this is, is more than just a quirk — more than just the accidental bleeding of feelings from one body to another. More than simple empathy — it’s entropy.

A chaos of feelings.

Because he’d felt it bubbling inside him, alone at night, staring up at the moon-slatted ceiling. Wondering what it might be like to hold your hand.

And maybe this is what Ashido had been talking about — with hormones and urges and all the woes that come with being a teenage boy. But he doesn’t care; there’s time to worry about that later. For now, he thinks he’d just like to kiss you again.

And so, he does.

Time passes by strangely after that — and though neither of you had intended on it, the budding relationship between the pair of you had become a known secret. No one had ever called it out by name, but no one questions Todoroki either when he wanders off after dinner. No one blinks twice when you press a hand to the back of his neck after morning drills, smiling when he lets out a soft, pleased sigh.

Even years later, Todoroki can’t quite piece together the exact timeline of things. He remembers the late nights, staying up just to talk to you, wandering through the woods, you jumping at a rabbit or a squirrel, and him slipping his hand through yours with a silent reassurance. He remembers telling you about himself — even though he doesn’t remember you asking. About his father, his mother, his siblings, his scar.

He remembers how you’d reached out and held his anger and sorrow and resentment in your upturned palms, how you cradled them like bruised fruit, with delicate fingers and a smile that looked not one bit like pity. How you did not run.

He remembers you telling him about your childhood too, of your quirk being used and abused by careless adults and ruthless children alike. Of how your parents had used you as one might use a bad therapist, like a dumping ground for unwanted emotions. Of how you learnt to deal with the unbearable weight of all those feelings — things that a little girl should never have to learn how to deal with on her own.

He remembers how you held him and he held you, and how you both had allowed yourselves to hold and be held by each other.

But what he remembers most is the ending — the last night of camp, when he knew he’d be leaving the next morning. All the bags are packed, and they’d all come out stronger. It had been an uneventful, tiring sort of camp, where nothing happened except daily training, but for a class full of teens with super-human powers and the uncanny ability to attract life-threatening situations, it could be called a resounding success.

“Excited to be going back to school?” you ask.

He watches you drag a pale pink nail polish over your fingers, one by one, blowing on each finger as you smooth out the color with steady swipes.

“I guess so. We have provisional license exams coming up, so I doubt we’ll get much rest after this.”

“Aww… but I guess no one ever said becoming a hero was an easy thing, right?” you laugh, tossing him a good-natured wink.

He sighs, leaning back against the wall of your camp room.

“Nothing worth having is ever easy.”

“Hm…” you hum, finishing off your manicure and carefully screwing the brush back into the nail polish bottle.

Todoroki turns to find you frowning slightly at your nails.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just…” you press your hands carefully into your lap, “it got me thinking — this was… easy, wasn’t it?”

And he doesn’t have to ask what you’d meant by this. Because he knows. And with a jolt, he realizes that yes. This was easy. It was so easy, being with you, in this secluded place. So easy to laugh without worrying about the outside world, to forget, if only for a while.

Easy to kiss you, to hold you, to push away the thoughts of tomorrows and endings until — well.

“Yeah…” Todoroki breathes, “I guess… I guess it was.”

Silence blooms between you like a plume of smoke.

“But… I mean,” you say, waving your hands through the air to help your nails along, before slumping back into your pillows, “it was never going to be forever, right?”

And this time, Todoroki can’t quite tell if you’re talking about this or perhaps — he can’t help the tiny bead of hope coalescing in his chest — a future where your goodbye is the thing that doesn’t last forever.

“No,” he answers, allowing himself a small smile as he looks down at his own hands, “nothing really ever is.”

You giggle, rolling over to peer at him from your stomach, “You’re so serious.”

But by the time he lifts his head, you’d already crawled over to press your lips to his. It’s a sweet kiss, a simple kiss, and Todoroki feels his chest seize inside him, his arms going heavy with a liquid weight. When you pull away, he notices your eyes are fractured with tears. You wipe them away with a laugh.

“Look at me — I’m so silly.”

Todoroki shakes his head, reaching out to cup your cheeks gently between his hands, the way you’d taught him to with his own jagged emotions. And he feels it then, your sadness, your uncertainty, the stomach-twisting knowledge of endings.

“The beginning might’ve been easy but… this isn’t.”

You hiccup, going still as he holds you.

“So… I guess we were worth it after all, huh,” you say, looking down at the space between you.

Todoroki nods, leaning forward just enough to press his forehead to yours, nudging your nose with his for a second before bringing you in for yet another kiss. He pulls away and tastes salt on his lips.

“That’s how we know — because the ending is hard. That’s how we know it was worth it.”

When the next morning comes, you don’t cry when you wave them all off, though many of the girls are. You catch his gaze and hold it for just a second longer than you’d done with anyone else. Beside him on the bus, Aoyama makes a soft, knowing kind of noise.

“Ah… first love is always such sweet despair,” he says, twinkling in his usual way.

Todoroki clears his throat, leaning back in his seat, a strange stillness settling over him as he thinks about the days ahead.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” Todoroki says, to Aoyama’s dramatic surprise. But he recovers quickly and begins a soliloquy about something or other that carries them all the way back into the city, and to their assigned dorms.

He never forgets you, though there are moments when he’d wonder if that summer had really happened. Years later, when the memories have all gone watercolor-pale, and the edges blurred with time, he’ll still find himself reaching into the part of his mind that feels like the soft, steady weight of your hand on the back of his neck to calm him down, the smooth of your skin as you’d pressed against him and held him close.

And then, the year that he turns 24, it happens — he’d been called out into a small town just outside Shizuoka, for some kind of event that Fuyumi swears would be good for his publicity (as if he needed any more). Even after all these years, it still unsettles him to travel alone to these places, and he subconsciously reaches for the feeling of your palm pressing to his skin.

“Shouto?”

He turns at the sound of his name, and though a part of him assumes it’s yet another adoring fan, the deepest, most honest part of him whispers that it isn’t — that he knows this voice.

“Oh… its you,” the words slip from him like pebbles into a thawing stream.

And there you are, standing feet from him, your arms full of groceries, a red and white muffler strung around your shoulders, looking every bit as brilliant as the you from his memories.

The smile that splits your face is beautiful as heartbreak.

“Well, someone very wise once did tell me that nothing lasts forever… not even goodbyes.”

Todoroki takes half a step closer to you, a smile spreading across his own lips as he reaches out to help you with your groceries, taking the bags into his arms. The movement as natural as coming home.

“Yes but… I was thinking about it the other day and —”

“Oh? Just the other day?” you tease, bumping him slightly with your elbow was you set off down the half-empty street. It’s almost sundown, and the days are getting shorter again. Your breath fogs up the air before you and Todoroki suddenly thinks that winter looks good on you.

Even better than summer had.

“Yeah, but I realized…” he says, casting his eyes up at the cloud-strewn sky, the colors fading fast, the thick velvet of night inching up across the world like a curtain being drawn.

He turns his eyes back towards you, only to find you watching him with an indulgent smile on your face.

Todoroki blushes, feeling suddenly bashful, like the teenage boy he was when you two first met.

“I realized,” he says again, determined to finish his thought this time, “that when we first met… we never really said hello.”

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pumpkinpaix · 1 year ago

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Regarding #EndOTWRacism’s summaries of 2023 OTW Board election candidate positions

Before I begin, let me say now that while I am a volunteer with the OTW, my views are personal and should not be taken as any kind of official statement from the org, its leadership, or other volunteers, especially not the candidates in question. My focus here is on the Asian candidates for obvious reasons, but this post is not meant as endorsement or disavowal of any of the candidates, whose bios and platforms can all be read here.

Do not take this as an excuse harass the mods running EOTWR. I cannot make myself clearer.

I am making this post to express my extreme disappointment with End OTW Racism’s post purporting to summarize the platforms of the candidates for the upcoming Board elections. It is no longer rebloggable, but can be read here.

The way that the candidates with Asian names were spoken of is deeply insulting when compared with how candidates with English-language names were discussed. Asian candidates had their platforms misrepresented, their expertise downplayed, and their lived experiences reduced down to “bringing an international presence” to the board, which was then further caveated with, “diversity alone is not going to solve the issue of racist harassment currently allowed in the OTW’s policies and enforcement practice”. While it is true that diversity alone is not a solution, it’s pretty offensive to essentially have “remember! Just because they aren’t white doesn’t mean you should vote for them!” tacked on to one of the Asian candidates’ platforms.

End OTW Racism seems more concerned with whether or not candidates used the buzzwords they wanted to hear rather than with how racism is discussed holistically within the statements. While I can appreciate that EOTWR has a specific agenda, to say things like, “[s]he does not mention racism, racist harassment, or hiring a DEI consultant in her platform, so outside the outreach and support she mentions, there is not enough for us to conclude that these would be priorities for her” regarding Zixin Z.’s position, directly following the statement, “[s]he also mentions the need for outreach towards non-English-speaking fans and has a desire to provide support to volunteers from minority groups” is fucking laughable, especially after the initial mistake of stating that Zixin Z. only wanted to do more outreach to Chinese-speaking fans. Again, I understand that people make mistakes and that this mistake has since been corrected, but I hope it prompts some reflection on the sort of biases that would lead to such a mistake in the first place. It may have been completely innocuous, but in charged discussions about racism, please understand that it gives an impression that is difficult to shake. I do thank you for not trying to hide that this happened.

Why is Anh P.’s lack of discussion on TOS/PAC a point against her, while Zixin Z.’s years of experience on PAC, her role as a mod on Weibo, and her background in nonprofits don’t even warrant a mention? For that matter, why did none of the Asian candidates’ skills or experience warrant mention? Qiao C. and Zixin Z. have both been volunteers with the organization for several years now, and Anh P. has years of moderation and volunteer experience elsewhere prior to her work with the OTW.

It is so fucking frustrating that despite each one of these candidates specifically talking about the need for diverse voices, they had their platforms essentially passed over because they didn’t use the right words, and it is particularly fucking aggravating to see that EOTWR will use Chinese issues as props when trying to press OTW leadership on the racism that occurs within the org, but then completely fail to connect the dots on why these candidates are running because the wrong language was used. Zixin Z. is one of the Weibo mods, for fuck’s sake.

The entire post feels like an exercise in virtue signalling, from every time it was brought up that a candidate did not provide pronouns in their platform statements, despite every one of them having pronouns provided in their bios (why mention this detail at all? You could have simply used the pronouns), to what felt like willful obliviousness to the anti-racism stances in the Asian candidates’ platforms. It feels like the concern starts and ends with racism in Anglophone terms, on Anglophone terms.

I can respect the driving ideas behind EOTWR, even if I disagree with the way that EOTWR pursues their goals. I do believe that we want the same things in the end, and therefore chose not to interact with the many posts I have seen about the protest. However, I saw the summary post and could not let it pass without speaking.

For a protest group supposedly dedicated to ending racism in the OTW, this felt incredibly hypocritical, conscious bias or not. In my most charitable frame of mind, I can see this as misjudging and overcorrecting to ensure that there was no favoritism shown to the obvious non-white candidates lest EOTWR be accused of tokenizing– again, it is true, that diversity in and of itself is not a solution to racism.

In my least charitable and most bitter frame of mind, I feel inclined to wonder if EOTWR, much like the OTW itself, is uncomfortable with the lack of influence they could exude over an international candidate. It would be much, much easier to push their agenda forward with more culturally familiar candidates, particularly white ones. Guilt and public scrutiny are powerful weapons and easy to wield against those with perceived privilege in our current atmosphere, often to the detriment of the actual discussion at hand in my experience. I know that’s cynical. It’s hard not to be. (For clarity's sake: I do not know the other candidates' races. This is a hypothetical.)

This isn’t a demand for an apology. I think we fetishize the capital-A Apology to the point where I find them sort of meaningless unless they are given freely. I don’t need EOTWR to agree with me, and I don’t really want to keep talking about it. Rather, I would prefer that EOTWR take action to do better as they continue in their campaign. What that action is is their decision. If they truly mean to stand against racism in the OTW, then I’d like them to demonstrate it.

DO NOT HARASS EOTWR MODS. I AM FUCKING SERIOUS ABOUT THIS.

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 1 month ago

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Take It on the Run Pt. 1 | Tommy Shelby x fem!OC

Summary: Tommy checks out the local cabaret to survey the business potential of the place. You're a dancer and in need of some sort of change.

Warnings: borderline sexism, objectification of sex-workers and female performers, unprotected sex, no aftercare.

🎶 Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat - Del Water Gap

Author's note: I had to go back to Tommy to get out of my writing slump lol. This is very similar to my previous series but less intense, more lighthearted.

Thomas Shelby takes a deep drink from his glass of Irish Whiskey and lets his eyes wander around the room. He’s not as interested in the show occurring onstage as he is in the number of patrons sitting at the tables around the stage. Most are men, many of them are working class. They’re drinking cheap ale and whistling at the dancers on stage. Tommy takes a note in his notebook and finishes his whiskey. His pale skin takes on a tan hue in the darker light of the bar. He has his hat pulled down over his eyes and slips the notebook back into his pocket. When he finally turns his attention back to the stage, he sees the group of scantily dressed dancers and sighs tightly. This is not really his type of scene- he’d much prefer to be alone, somewhere quiet, private, calm. He’d only come tonight to take notes on the number of patrons, a factor in his future business dealings that may or may not include buying the bar and cabaret in which he was currently sitting. Arthur and John had volunteered to do the survey for him- of course they did- but Tommy needed a clear-headed, realistic description of the place. His brothers couldn’t do that for him, they just couldn’t.

His eyes fell on one of the dancers as she steps up to the microphone stand and starts to sing “Over There."

Johnny get your gun- get your gun.

Take it on the run- on the run.

Hear them calling you and me, every son of liberty.

She was a plain girl and couldn't have been more than 25 at the oldest. The song she was singing was a war song, one he’d heard in France from the Yankees. Hearing the young woman sing it forced a peculiar feeling in his chest to rise into his throat. He swallowed tightly and flagged the waiter for another drink. He turned back to watch the young woman, his face betraying no thoughts or feelings. He was leaning forward in his chair, his hand propped on his knee. He checked his pocket watch and paid the waiter for his drink.

…

From the stage, you look out at the mass of patrons hooting from their seats. This is not really what you imagined when you pictured your future as a little girl. You’d wanted to perform, and frankly, you were, just not for the right audience. You’d just turned twenty-two and felt decades older as you pranced around in your flapper dress with the low cut v-neck. You may have been the headliner, as you usually were at the cabaret, but it was certainly nothing special. Your name was up in lights but did it count when the cabaret was on a dirty side-street in Birmingham? Obviously, you have a problem with self-deprecation. You’ll have to work on that- note to self.

But as you sing, the steaming spotlights blind you from everything except for one patron sitting near the center of the audience. You can only make out a shape, like a black silhouette, but you can tell it's a man. When the spotlight moves, your eyes adjust and faces become clear again. Your eyes return back to the man and this time you can see his cap pulled down over his eyes and the way he lies his forearms on the table as he holds his cigarette. When the routine ends, you bow, your hand covering your cleavage as you bend over. When you look up again, the man is staring at you, clapping slowly like he’s from a different point in time and space entirely. You regard him curiously as you straighten up. Cheers and whistles berate you as you hurry offstage.

It doesn’t take long for your boss to find you backstage.

“Diana,” he starts, brushing off a thin layer of sweat from his balding forehead, “there’s a patron that wants to meet you… he's one of the Peaky Blinders.”

You turn, your brows furrow skeptically. “Peaky Blinders? What’s that?”

“You-you don’t know? Eh well they’re basically the most powerful gang in Birmingham, Diana. They’re the ones that run the illegal gambling rings and whiskey dealings.”

“And someone from the Peaky Blinders wants to meet me?” You clarify, a note of distaste and disbelief in your tone.

Your boss nods and shrugs hesitantly, “Seems like it. I mean I can tell him that you’re not feeling well, I’ll say whatever you want, but…” he trails off. You stare at him for a moment, your morbid curiosity piqued.

“Well… I guess I’ll meet him. Tell him that I’ll come out once everyone leaves. Can he wait?”

Your boss nods and turns away to relay the message. He returns after a few minutes and nods, confirming that the man will wait. Exhaling, you pinch the bridge of your nose and try to prepare yourself for whatever the man may want- god forbid. To be completely honest, you’re tired. You’re dead tired. Work at the cabaret is exhausting and emotionally taxing. The spotlights may hide the eye bags and shaky muscles but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. You adjust your makeup to hide the purple circles beneath your eyes before you force yourself to stand and greet the strange visitor.

…

Tommy is lighting another cigarette when he sees the velvet curtain shift and a person steps out from behind it. Looking over the end of his cigarette, he sees you step down from the stage and approach him slowly, your expression neutral. Tommy sits silently as he watches you approach his table, the last patron left in the establishment after closing. You stop on the opposite side of the table, your eyes unable to rest on his face for longer than a few seconds.

“My boss told me that you wanted to meet me…” you say as your hands rest on the edge of the seat. Tommy looks up at you from his seat, his face finally fully visible beneath the shadow of his Peaky cap.

“Yes, I did want to meet you,” Tommy responds coolly, his eyes on yours.

You take a deep breath, unsure what to say next. “You’re a Peaky Blinder?”

Tommy smiles slightly and tilts his head to the side in a curious manner as he responds, “I am. You’ve never heard of us?”

“No, I try not to get involved in business outside of the cabaret,” you respond, trying to gauge what kind of person he is and whether or not he’s trustworthy. Tommy raises a dark eyebrow and adjusts himself in his seat, a deep sigh escaping his puffy lips.

“That’s smart. Most people would be better off keeping their heads down… but sometimes business has a way of finding you, whether you’re looking for it or not. Just like trouble." Tommy’s eyes return to yours as he says the last line.

“So this is a business proposition?” You ask, gesturing between the two of you.

Tommy pauses for a moment and takes a sip of his whiskey. His eyes leave yours as he considers your question. Finally, his chlorine-blue eyes meet yours, a new expression visible beneath his eyelashes.

“In a way, you could say that. I’m… interested in you,” Tommy explains slowly.

“And I suppose I should be flattered,” you add, your eyes narrowing down at Tommy.

Tommy chuckles and shakes his head before he finally responds.

“Most women would consider it a compliment to be told that they’ve caught the attention of a Peaky Blinder.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not like most women,” you shake your head softly.

Tommy nods slowly, his eyes leaving yours as he thinks. “Hmm, that much is true but you wouldn’t be my type if you were ‘most women’.”

You try not to roll your eyes at his response and smile down at yourself, unable to take him seriously.

“Well the problem is that I’d much rather be like most women,” you open your small pocketbook to find a cigarette. “My line of work isn’t exactly ideal.”

Tommy raises his eyebrow and drums his fingertips against the sticky tabletop. He watches you rummage around in your handbook and pulls out his gold embossed cigarette case. He holds the case open for you, offering you one of his own cigarettes. You hesitate before taking a cigarette, meeting his eyes slowly again. He takes a drag of his cigarette and watches as you find your lighter and strike a flame.

“A woman as talented and captivating as you can have whatever she wants. Why settle for being like most women?” Tommy’s brows furrow as he taps his cigarette over the ashtray by his elbow.

“The safety… the normalcy,” you light your cigarette and place it between your lips. “I’m a dancer, most men see me as one step up from a common whore.”

His eyes follow the way you place your cigarette between your pretty pink lips and he nods finally, taking a deep breath.

“Safety and normalcy are vastly overrated. And for the record I can think of several steps between a cabaret dancer and a common whore.”

You give him an appreciative smile and pull out your chair to sit down opposite him at the table. You tap your cigarette over the ashtray by his elbow, your bare forearm nearly brushing his coat sleeve. He looks down, following your arm with his eyes as he takes another drag.

“Well,” you start as you exhale a thin stream of smoke, “are you going to tell me your name?” There’s a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Tommy’s eyes almost darken as he watches you bring the cigarette back to your lips. He allows himself to smile softly, glancing away and then back at you.

“Thomas Shelby. People call me Tommy… or Mr. Shelby.”

“Well, Mr. Shelby, what can I do for you?” You bring the conversation back to its original purpose, still morbidly curious why he wanted to meet you.

“I wanted to get to know you better… I’m not usually interested in women but you grabbed my attention.”

“Was it the low cut dress?” You respond nonchalantly, your free hand brushing over the deep V-neck of your dress.

Tommy laughs and rubs his thumb over his lips, shaking his head. “It certainly didn’t hurt.”

You shrug and cross your legs beneath the table, “at least you’re an honest criminal…”

Tommy takes a sip of his whiskey and smirks, laughing again. “I find it's best to be upfront about who I am… no point in pretending to be a good man when I'm not.”

You regard him carefully, your foot jostling nervously beneath the table. “You don’t consider yourself a good man?”

Tommy’s expression darkens and his lips pull back tightly. He downs the rest of the whiskey in his glass before pouring another one. He leans back in his chair, thinking of a response.

“I think ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are relative terms. I think I’m a man with ambition and the will to achieve my goals. But some of those goals may not be what most people consider… ‘good.’”

“Cheers to that,” you raise your cigarette and Tommy chuckles, raising his glass of whiskey back.

“And what about you? Do you consider yourself a good person?” Tommy asks after taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t think it matters anymore,” you shrug and take a drag of your cigarette.

Tommy clears his throat and sets his glass down. “Why not?”

“To most of the men here, I’m just a dancer. And after years of feeling less than human, I've lost any sense of introspection.”

Tommy regards you closely, his eyes focused but look relaxed.

“And yet, you don’t act as if you feel less than. I can’t imagine you’re as shallow as most of the men in this room think you are.”

You blow out a skinny cloud of smoke and it wavers around Tommy’s face like a gray serpent. “Funny,” you smile softly, “I didn’t peg you as an optimist.”

He chuckles and shakes his head slowly, “I’m not much of an optimist. I’m more of a realist. And any man with a brain should know there’s more to you lot than pretty faces and a pair of legs.”

You give a snort of laughter and stub out your cigarette. You don’t know what to say at first so you twist your mouth to the side, thinking.

“Thank you.”

He gives you a short nod, “You get used to men not seeing you as the person you are. I won’t claim to know you, but I know you’re not the type of woman who’s content being just an object for the men in this room to ogle at.”

You nod, appreciating his perspective, especially coming from a man. “It pays the bills,” you shrug.

There’s something about that moment between you. The cabaret is empty besides the two of you and everything is still and quiet. You suddenly feel so close like the space around you has shrunk. Though a table separates your two bodies, Tommy’s eyes push in with the cold severity of a cement wall.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Tommy finally breaks the silence, his voice is low and straightforward.

You stare at Tommy for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Finally, you shake your head.

“No.”

He nods, his eyes lingering on your face. The way your hair is shorter than your shoulders, the faint hint of rouge left on your lips, the way your dress clings to your body… it makes his skin grow hot.

“Do you want one?” He asks, his voice low.

Your heart starts to hammer against your chest and you take a sudden breath. Your instincts are suddenly silent like the system has been overrun.

“I don’t know…” you whisper.

He gazes back at you intently, watching your reactions to his question. The way your breath hitches slightly, the rise and fall of your chest, your lips parting ever so slightly.

“Do you want me to be more plain with my question?” He asks quietly, gently, like he’s addressing a child.

You regard him curiously and not knowing what to say, you say nothing. Tommy doesn’t even wait for an answer before he speaks. He leans forward, his chest pressing into the edge of the table. His eyes are locked on yours.

“I want you.”

“That,” you start shakily, “isn’t a question.”

Tommy takes in the way your cheekbones glow with color and how your neck flushes. He nods and meets your eyes again, serious.

“No, it isn’t.”

The way he says it sounds so effortless, so normal. You take a breath and shake your head, forcing some sense back into the situation.

“You don’t even know my name,” you argue.

Tommy looks down, smiling softly. When he looks back up, he’s still smiling.

“I asked your boss.” Tommy stands and trails his finger around the rim of his glass. One of his hands stays in his pocket as he clears his throat. “Your name is Diana.”

“So you do know my name,” you look up at Tommy. Your heart seems to forget its original rhythm and hammers at an uncomfortable pace.

“Yes, I know your name, Diana.” He repeats your name and the way he says it sounds so sexy. He’s leaning across the table now, his arms crossed against his chest.

“So you asked me to meet you just to tell me that you want to fuck me?” You clarify, your eyes narrowing. He’s not surprised by your bluntness. He’s heard much worse when talking to other gang members and criminals. He shrugs and clears his throat softly.

“That was my initial intention.”

“And what is it now?”

Tommy looks at you for a long moment, his eyes moving slowly across your face, taking you in. Your gaze is strong, but he can sense that beneath it there’s a hint of uncertainty. He lowers his voice as he answers.

“Now… I want more.”

“And what makes you think I’ll give you what you want?” You mutter up at him.

He’s acutely aware of how close your lips are now to his. It’d be so easy to reach out and pull you to him, over the table. He can almost hear your heart hammering in your chest and he can smell your perfume, your sweat. His eyes wander over your face, his voice low as he answers.

“Because you’re not saying no.”

“I could say ‘no’ right now.” You threaten, whispering now.

He places his palms on the table and leans down. He hears the lack of conviction in your voice. He's close enough now that he can feel the heat coming off your body, see the way your breathing is quickening, and his own body is reacting to your nearness.

“Then do it. Go on, say no.”

“And what if I do…” Your voice drops off at the end like an open ended question. Tommy lets his gaze drop to your mouth briefly, seeing the way your lips fall open at the end of your sentence. His heart might be beating slightly faster but he’s completely relaxed as he leans even closer.

“You won’t,” he says quietly but with calm conviction, his breath tickling your nose.

“Are you always this arrogant?” You ask, too aware of the closeness of his lips. You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, throbbing in time with your pulse. Tommy sees the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you blink, his voice just as soft.

“Only when I know I’m right.” He pulls back and steps around the table towards you.

“And are you very frequently right?” You press, trying to ignore the growing tension between your bodies. His cheekbones look deeper in the offcast shadow from the bar’s electric lanterns.

He smiles slightly at you, amused. He doesn’t answer you right away, just stares down at your lips. Just before he closes the distance between your mouths, he murmurs, “almost always.”

You feel him kiss you. The movement is fluid and deep like he’s breathing you in like a cigarette. He pulls you up from your chair and holds the place above your ribs with a gentle yet assertive touch. Your hands start on his elbows and slide up to his shoulders. The fabric of his shoulders bunch up as he holds you. When you kiss him back he immediately takes control, parting your lips with his tongue. Your lips are soft and hot against his and your breath is ragged against his face.

He tilts your head back with one of his hands by cupping the back of your neck beneath your bob. You’re leaning back against the table when you push his hat off his head and slide your hand into his hair. Tommy groans softly against your lips and cups your jaw in his hand.

“Can I fuck you?” He breaks the kiss you ask against your lips. His voice is gravelly and deep, like what you’d imagine coals sound like when they’re shifted over a fire. You gasp against his lips, feeling a shock through your throbbing cunt at his words. You normally don’t do this. But…

“Yes,” you whisper and nod against his face, your noses crushed against each other. He takes a breath before slowly starting to kiss you again.

“Here?” You ask breathlessly, looking around at the empty cabaret.

“It’s as good a place as any…” he responds calmly and kisses you again, his other hand cupping the other side of your face. You smile and laugh softly against his lips, nodding.

“I only ask one thing,” you break the kiss again as he presses his body against yours.

“What is it?” His eyes are closed as he bites your bottom lip and releases it.

“You won’t pay me afterwards. I’m not a whore. I’m not doing this for any favors.”

Tommy chuckles and moves his hands to your waist, picking you up and dropping you down on the table behind you.

“As you wish.”

He immediately slots himself between your knees and rolls up the skirt of your short flapper dress as he starts to kiss you again. You push off his jacket over his arms and pull him closer by the neck of his vest.

Once his jacket is off, he pushes against you again and reaches under your skirt to unclip your garters. The bands snap against your thighs and he groans quietly against your lips at the noise of them hitting your bare skin. He guides your back down to the table, kissing you deeply as he pulls down your silk underwear.

You’re panting as you feel Tommy slowly pull down your underwear down your thighs. He stops kissing you to watch your reaction as your underwear slips over your knees. You both exhale simultaneously as your underwear slips down to your ankles and finally comes off. His hands then slide up your thighs, his eyes still on yours. In one quick motion, he spreads your legs and presses his hips against yours. You gasp when you feel his large erection through his trousers

“You’ll be alright,” he mutters before he crushes his lips against yours, harder than before. He undoes the button at his crotch and opens his boxers with one hand with expert ease. You pull him closer, gasping when he enters you a bit too forcibly for his size.

“There you go,” he whispers, breaking the kiss to exhale against you. Your stomach tenses in pain and you whimper tightly. Tommy slows his thrusts down only slightly and puts his hand beneath your head to support it. His other hand holds your thigh up to rest at his hip. You moan and grip the fabric of his dress shirt on his shoulders as it starts to feel better. Tommy moves his mouth down to nip at the skin beneath your jaw. His thrusts get progressively stronger, leaving you gasping against his ear.

Tommy moves his hands down to your hips and holds them in place as he moves, lifting his chest from yours. His jaw is clenched as he puts space between you. You cover your mouth with your hand as you start to cry out in pleasure. Tommy chuckles down at you, his grunts and groans are dark and low. He says nothing as he goes deeper, his hands pulling your hips closer to the edge of the table.

You feel your pelvic muscles contract as a wave of pleasure comes over you. Your heart’s racing and you can feel sweat pool between your breasts. Tommy leans down again as he feels you get closer and nips down your neck again, his teeth barely scraping over your skin. He kisses your collarbone and pants against the shelf of it.

“That’s it, girl,” Tommy groans against you, his fingers digging into your upper thigh.

“Mr. Shelby,” you gasp against his scalp, feeling a climactic surge of energy through your body.

“It’s alright, girl. You’re alright,” he nods reassuringly. His words pull an internal trigger in your body and you orgasm. In your orgasm, you grab the back of his neck. Feeling your grip, Tommy raises his head to look into your eyes and watch you cum. Your mouth falls open in a way that makes him shiver in pleasure. His hips slow as you ride your climax and he starts to feel his. He thrusts deeply into you, his hips rutting against you with reserved power.

“Open your eyes,” he mutters and presses his thumb against your bottom lip, pulling it down to expose your row of bottom teeth. Your eyes flutter open and you see him looking at you. His gaze is nearly as penetrating as his cock.

Without giving you further instructions, he looks down into your eyes, his mouth open in a sigh. With a few more deep, slow thrusts, he finishes. He groans softly and lowers his face to yours but doesn’t kiss you. After a second of sharing breath, he pulls back and pulls out. He fixes himself back into his clothes and shrugs his jacket on once again. You sit up slowly, your thighs and abdomen shaking.

Tommy bends over and takes his cap from the floor and secures it onto his head. He hands you your underwear and looks away respectfully as you pull your underwear back on and clip your garters back to your garter belt.

“Alright?” Tommy nods at you as he looks over his shoulder, ensuring that the cabaret is still empty.

“Jesus Christ, Mr. Shelby,” you fix your hair quickly and push the skirt of your dress back down. “Ever a businessman, aren’t you?”

Tommy chuckles and offers his hand to help you down from the table. His eyes study your face down to your body.

“I try to stay efficient…” he mutters with a small smirk.

“Of course,” you smile softly back and smooth down your dress. Tommy chuckles again and shakes his head, enjoying your attitude. He leans in close to your ear.

“Thank you for your company this evening,” he whispers and pulls back to see your face. You blush and nod once.

“My pleasure, anything for a Peaky Blinder.”

“You tease me,” Tommy drops your hand with a chuckle and fixes his suit lapels.

“Yes,” you nod and take a few steps back towards the stairs of the stage. Tommy turns in the opposite way at first and then turns, slightly surprised to see you turn back to the stage.

“Live here, do you?” He asks, half joking. You look between him and the stage and shrug nonchalantly.

“It’s affordable.”

“Right.” He nods and takes a cigarette from his cigarette case. You watch him in silence as he switches the case for a lighter and lights the end of the cigarette.

“Will you be back to watch my shows?” You ask, and it surprises you that you almost hope that he says yes. You want him to treat you suddenly like all of the other men in the cabaret, to adore you. Tommy clicks the lighter closed and slips it back into his pocket. His brows are furrowed when he finally looks back to you.

“It’s not really my… thing,” Tommy gestures loosely with his cigarette. You nod in understanding and turn your back to him as you climb the stairs up to the stage.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby,” you call over your shoulder. Tommy grins around his cigarette as he watches you cross the stage.

“Goodnight, Diana,” he calls back and after a few moments of watching you retreat backstage, he exits the cabaret. On the street outside of the cabaret, Tommy takes a drag of his cigarette and looks back at the small building. Your name is spelled out on a hand painted sign. He runs his hand over his mouth and exhales a slow line of smoke. He contemplates going back inside, finding the girl, finding you. For what reason? He can’t say.

The lights start to go out inside the cabaret and Tommy watches them as he smokes his cigarette down to a stump.

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apas-75 · 7 months ago

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So last night I finished reading Rise of the Red Blade for TotE Vibes Research purposes and the two Inquisitor characters in it really illustrate exactly why I think Barriss is going to survive and escape them.

Because the thing is that there are two kinds of Inquisitors! The ones who volunteered, and the ones who...didn’t. Iskat (RotRB’s focus character) perfectly exemplifies the first type: she had some traumatizing experiences at a young age, fell through a number of institutional cracks in the Order, had a really terrible master (meet me in the pit, Sember Vey), everyone was too busy to give her the follow-up they would under normal circumstances, Palpatine had an agent actively gathering information about her and pushing her to become Worse—she was a pre-selected candidate who was offered the choice to come quietly when Order 66 hit, and she took it. By that point all of her issues and doubts had been exacerbated to the point where it wasn’t hard for her to make herself hate the Jedi, and then she rationalized her way through any indication that her freedom was a lie and doubled her way down right into hell.

By contrast: Tualon, Iskat’s crechemate situationship guy. He had some issues but was not someone on Palpatine’s radar; Iskat left him to die in Order 66 and he survived getting shot by darksiding out about her betrayal. Because of that he was taken alive and they did some shit to him. When Iskat runs into him at the Inquisitor HQ after he’s freshly-inducted he can barely remember why he hates her, or anything else from before he was taken. He woke up in the room where you fight Trilla and they fully shattered him and glued a semblance of a person back together out of the wreckage, just COMPLETELY Winter Soldiered the guy, and the only way he had to cope with it is to lean into a weird codependent situationship with Iskat.

And that distinction’s always been there with the Inquisitors; you have the true believers who ended up hating the Jedi or wanted to go on a power trip (or had the kind of revenge plan only a 12 year old could come up with and then stick to for a decade, in one case) and didn’t need any additional coercion to volunteer, and you have the ones that they broke. In the former group you’ve got the Grand Inquisitor, Reva/Third, Lyn/Fourth*, Fifth, and Iskat/Thirteenth. For the most part they’re certified freaks, but they came by it naturally. (Reva’s a different flavor.) In the latter, you’ve got Trilla/Second, Seventh, Masana/Ninth, Tualon, and probably most of the others. They all got disassembled and reassembled without much care given to the process and are all Coping with it badly in different ways, whether by deciding it’s Empowering, Actually (Trilla & Seventh) or by becoming completely jaded about everything (Masana & Tualon).

(*We obviously don’t know a lot about Fourth yet, but the fact that she shows up to recruit Barriss while rocking yellow dark side eyes before ROTS is even over tells me she’s definitely a volunteer.)

All this is to say: The Grand Inquisitor is making a colossal mistake with Barriss from the drop, and it’s why I think she’s going to win their battle of wits and escape. Because he is treating her like she is an Iskat and she could not be any farther from it.

He sends Lyn to get her to come quietly! They actively withhold information from her about what happened to the Jedi and what her expected role in it is! That’s not how they recruit the ones they think will be a problem; if that were the case she would have been stunned out of hand and woken up on a rack.

Instead, he’s giving her special attention,, he’s training her—he doesn’t think they need to break her. She’s just got a few...pesky hang-ups from her time as a Jedi that need ironing out**. He’s projecting on her; he doesn’t just want an empty shell holding a lightsaber—he wants Barriss Offee, loyally kneeling at his side, fully believing in their mission. She’s his favorite.

(**That “mercy only breeds defeat” line isn’t just a generic darksidism; I’m pretty sure he’s directly critiquing how Barriss got caught because she showed mercy to Asajj Ventress.)

And surely that's something he can turn her into, right? Because she hates the Jedi, right? She attacked them, she outsmarted them, obviously she’d be down for wanting to wipe them out! He was there when she confessed and, like pretty much everyone else in the room save for Ahsoka, he didn’t hear a single word that she said—just what he wanted her to be saying. He’s got a deeply incorrect idea of her, and that idea is “she’s just like me for real.”

And he’s wrong, because the Inquisitorius is everything she feared the Jedi Order was becoming—literally, an army fighting for the dark side—and the Empire is everything she knew the Republic was becoming. She might be prone to despairing, it might in some hypothetical be possible to get her into the same resigned despair trap as Anakin, but she would never actually want to serve the Empire, and they don't think they'll have to try hard to convince her to.

She loves the Jedi, she loved being a Jedi, she wanted to save them. She wants to be one again more than anything even though right now she thinks she doesn’t deserve it, thinks that she’s already too broken to reclaim what she was. But I think being surrounded by actual fallen Jedi and being told over and over again that she’s like them is, in the end, going to be what reminds her that she never stopped being a Jedi in the first place.

And as long as she can make sure her captors don't realize that's true until it's too late, she'll be home free.

#barriss offee #grand inquisitor #inquisitorius #tales of the empire #tote #star wars #they're gonna make her use the dark side and they're gonna make her do some stuff it'll be hard for her to live with #and she might give up hope for a minute #but I believe in her #she's gonna make it #the only way out is through

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nameless-ken · 14 days ago

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Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Two

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings: none, mostly all fluff again

Part One

Masterlist

It’s an evening on Wednesday, just a couple days before the school’s annual Halloween dance. The kids are buzzing with excitement, and after a busy day of classes, you’ve volunteered to help set up decorations with a few other teachers and parents. The school gym is transformed into a spooky wonderland of cobwebs, plastic skeletons, and orange-and-black streamers hanging from the ceiling.

As you finish taping the last paper ghost to the wall, you hear a familiar voice from the doorway.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” Elizabeth’s cheerful voice echoes through the gym as she bounces in, clutching a small bag of Halloween candy.

“Hey, Elizabeth!” you greet her with a smile, watching as she runs toward you, excitement bubbling over. “Are you here to help with the setup?”

“Yep! Uncle Bucky said we’d come and help out,” she says, glancing over her shoulder toward the door.

Sure enough, Bucky enters a moment later, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, looking slightly out of place amid the fake cobwebs and cut-out bats. He offers you a nod, and you can’t help but notice that familiar quiet presence that seems to follow him everywhere. But today, there’s something softer about it—maybe it’s the fact that he’s here, taking time out of his evening to help for Elizabeth’s sake.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greet him, trying not to sound too surprised. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, well,” he glances at Elizabeth with a small smirk, “this one convinced me.”

Elizabeth beams, clearly proud of her persuasive powers. “Uncle Bucky’s really good at hanging stuff up high! You should see him!”

You chuckle. “Sounds like we’ve got just the job for you.”

Bucky gives a half-smile but doesn’t protest. You grab a box of decorations and hand him a bundle of paper lanterns that need to be strung across the gym. As he walks over to where some parents are already on ladders, Elizabeth trails behind him, eager to help.

You can’t help but admire the ease with which Bucky takes to the task. He works quietly, but there’s something comforting about his presence—steady, reliable. And for the first time, you notice how relaxed he seems, especially with Elizabeth running around nearby, laughing and handing him tape and string.

After a while, you find yourself working on a section of the gym together, hanging a banner over the snack table. Elizabeth is off with a group of kids, decorating pumpkins on the other side of the room, leaving you and Bucky alone for the first time since the bookstore.

“You’re a natural at this,” you comment, offering him a length of ribbon to tie.

Bucky gives a soft chuckle, surprising you. “I’m not sure about that, but I'll do what I can.”

There’s a pause, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, it feels easy, like the two of you are falling into a rhythm.

“I didn’t think you’d be into school events like this,” you say, trying to keep the conversation light. “Elizabeth must’ve really twisted your arm.”

“She’s persuasive,” Bucky replies, glancing over at his niece with a fond look in his eyes. “But it’s good to be here. She loves this stuff.”

“You’re a good uncle,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Bucky stops for a moment, like he’s not sure how to respond. He doesn’t look at you right away, instead focusing on tying the ribbon to the banner, but there’s a quiet weight to his next words.

“I just want to make sure she has everything she needs. Steve and Peggy are so busy... it’s up to me to make sure she’s happy.”

You nod, understanding the sentiment. “Well, you’re doing a great job. She’s one of the happiest kids in my class.”

Bucky glances over at you, and for the first time, his expression softens a little more. “Thanks.”

There’s a shift in the air between you, subtle but undeniable. You’re starting to see beyond the quiet, brooding exterior—there’s a depth to Bucky that you hadn’t fully appreciated before. And somehow, in this moment, surrounded by fake spiders and Halloween decorations, it feels like you’re getting a glimpse of the person beneath all of that.

Before the conversation can go any deeper, Elizabeth comes bouncing back over, interrupting the moment with a grin. “Look what I made!” she exclaims, holding up a small, painted pumpkin.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell her, genuinely impressed. “You’ve got some real artistic talent.”

Bucky smiles, this time fully, as he looks down at his niece. “Yeah, she’s something else.”

The three of you continue working together, and by the time the gym is fully decorated, it feels like you’ve crossed an invisible line. The conversation has flowed more easily than ever, and though Bucky remains quiet, you can tell he’s more comfortable around you.

As the evening winds down and everyone starts packing up, you find yourself standing with him near the entrance of the gym, watching Elizabeth run off to join her friends.

“Thanks for helping out today,” you say, feeling a little shy now that the night is ending.

“Anytime,” Bucky replies, meeting your eyes for a moment before looking away. “Elizabeth enjoyed it.”

“I did too,” you admit, smiling. “Maybe we’ll see you both at the dance?”

He nods, and there’s something almost warm in his expression. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You watch as he calls out to Elizabeth, the two of them walking toward the door, hand in hand. And as you gather your things and prepare to head home, you can’t help but feel like something has shifted between you and Bucky—like the walls are coming down, bit by bit.

And maybe, just maybe, there’s more to come.

It’s the next day and the familiar sound of the bell rings out, signaling the end of classes. You step outside to the playground, the golden afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees. The air is filled with the laughter of children, but your attention is drawn to the gate as you notice a tall figure standing there—someone you didn’t expect to see.

Steve Rogers.

He’s leaning against the gate, a relaxed but confident presence, and Elizabeth is bouncing excitedly on her toes nearby, clearly overjoyed to see her father. The moment she spots him, her face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Daddy!” she squeals, running toward him with arms outstretched. He bends down to scoop her up into a hug, and you can’t help but smile at the sight—their bond is evident, pure joy radiating between them.

“Hey, kiddo! Missed you,” Steve says, his voice warm and full of affection.

As they share their moment, you clear your throat softly, not wanting to intrude.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” Elizabeth calls, breaking away from her father’s embrace to run over to you, her eyes sparkling. “Look who’s here!”

“Hi, Elizabeth! I didn’t expect to see your dad today,” you say, trying to keep your voice light.

Steve approaches you, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N,” he says, a genuine smile breaking through. “Elizabeth talks about you all the time. I’ve heard how much you and Bucky have been getting along.”

You feel your cheeks warm slightly. “Oh, really? She’s a wonderful student. And Bucky—he’s great with her.”

Steve nods, his gaze drifting momentarily toward the playground where the kids are playing. “She loves spending time with him. It’s nice to see her so happy. I appreciate you looking out for her.”

“Of course. It’s a joy to have her in class,” you reply, feeling a warmth in your chest at Steve’s words. “She’s a bright light.”

The three of you stand there for a moment, and you notice the easy rapport between Steve and Elizabeth—it’s clear he’s a loving father, just with a job that keeps him busy.

“Are you all set for the Halloween dance?” you ask, wanting to keep the conversation going.

“Absolutely! Elizabeth’s been talking about it non-stop,” Steve replies, glancing down at her with a smile. “She’s been planning her costume for weeks.”

“I'm going to be a princess!” Elizabeth announces proudly, her little hands on her hips. “And Uncle Bucky is going to be my knight!”

“That sounds amazing,” you say, chuckling at the thought. “I can’t wait to see you both at the dance.”

Steve’s expression brightens. “I’ll make sure to keep Bucky on his toes. He tends to be more of the ‘let’s keep it simple’ type.”

“Uncle Bucky is the best!” Elizabeth insists, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Well, we should get going. Elizabeth has some homework to tackle,” Steve says, ruffling his daughter’s hair affectionately.

“Okay, Daddy!” she replies, glancing back at you. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Y/L/N!”

“See you tomorrow, Elizabeth.” you call after her, waving as she skips away, hand in hand with her dad.

As they walk toward the gate, Steve turns back, his expression thoughtful. “Thanks for everything you do for Elizabeth. It means a lot.”

“Of course. I’m glad to have her in my class,” you say, feeling a bit shy under his gaze.

He nods, a genuine smile on his face, before heading out with Elizabeth. You stand there for a moment, watching them go, feeling the weight of the encounter settle in.

The late Friday afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the schoolyard as you prepare to wrap up for the day. Students bustle around, some practicing their costumes for the dance later, while others chatter excitedly about the night’s plans.

You glance at the clock, noticing it’s almost time for Bucky to arrive to pick up Elizabeth. Just as you gather your things, the familiar sound of footsteps approaches, and you turn to see Bucky walking through the school gate. Today, he’s wearing a simple black jacket over a gray t-shirt, and his presence instantly commands attention, even amidst the chaos of children.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greet him, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi Y/N,” he replies, offering a small nod. The corners of his lips twitch slightly, as if he’s holding back a smile.

“Is Elizabeth ready for the dance?” you ask, noticing the faint hint of anticipation in his eyes.

Bucky shrugs, a subtle movement that suggests he’s not one for grand displays of excitement. “She’s been talking about it all week.”

You chuckle softly, leaning closer. “I heard she’s going as a princess. Pretty sure she’s been preparing for this moment since last Halloween.”

He chuckles quietly, the sound low and warm. “Sounds about right. She’s really excited.”

Just then, Elizabeth appears in the doorway, her eyes sparkling as she clutches her backpack. “Uncle Bucky!” she exclaims, her face lighting up. “I’m so ready for the dance!”

Bucky bends down to her level, a rare softness in his expression. “You look fantastic, kiddo.”

“Thank you!” she beams, spinning around in her costume. “Are you ready to dance with me?”

“Always,” he replies, straightening up and giving her a gentle, reassuring smile.

You watch their exchange, feeling the warmth of their bond. “Just make sure she doesn’t trip over that dress while trying to dance,” you tease lightly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe,” Bucky assures you, his tone steady.

Elizabeth jumps in, her eyes bright with mischief. “You should wear a costume too, Ms. Y/L/N!”

“I might just throw on a witch hat,” you reply with a grin. “Can’t compete with you two!”

Bucky’s lips curl into a faint smile. “You’d make a good witch.”

“Thanks! I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say, a light laugh escaping you.

As Elizabeth grabs her bag and heads toward the door, you and Bucky share a fleeting moment, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air between you.

“See you later!” Elizabeth waves, while Bucky offers you a brief nod, his eyes holding a quiet intensity.

The gymnasium is transformed into a whimsical wonderland of autumn colors, with cobwebs draping from the rafters and jack-o'-lanterns flickering softly around the room. Lively music fills the air as students in all manner of costumes dance and laugh, their excitement palpable. You adjust your witch hat, feeling a bit silly but delighted to be part of the evening.

You scan the room, spotting Elizabeth in her princess costume, sparkling tiara perched atop her head, twirling in delight. Bucky stands nearby, his presence a calm anchor amidst the whirlwind of excitement, hands tucked into his pockets as he observes.

As you weave through the crowd, you catch Elizabeth’s eye. She rushes over, her smile bright. “Ms. Y/L/N! You have to dance with us!”

You chuckle, shaking your head playfully. “Oh, I don’t think I can keep up with you two.”

Bucky glances down at Elizabeth, his brow slightly furrowed, but the hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t dance either,” he admits, his voice low but teasing.

Elizabeth looks between the two of you, determination sparkling in her eyes. “But you have to! It’ll be so much fun!” She grabs your hand, pulling you closer to Bucky. “Uncle Bucky, you can’t just stand there! You have to dance with Ms. Y/L/N!”

You can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “I’m not sure if he’s up for it, Elizabeth.”

“Come on, Uncle Bucky!” she pleads, tugging on his sleeve. “Just one dance?”

Bucky glances at you, a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. But there’s a softness there too, an unspoken agreement that he would do anything for Elizabeth. “Alright, just one,” he relents, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

The music changes to a slower, more melodic tune, and you can feel the energy in the room shift. Elizabeth releases your hand and dances a few steps away, spinning in delight before coming back to you. “See? It’s perfect for a slow dance!”

You take a breath, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach as you step closer to Bucky. “Okay, I guess we’re doing this.”

Bucky’s eyes hold a mixture of amusement and resolve. “You ready?”

You nod, feeling a blend of excitement and shyness. As Elizabeth clasps her hands together in glee, you take a step toward Bucky, who slowly extends his arm. You slip into place, the contact feeling both comforting and electrifying.

With a gentle, cautious grip, Bucky places a hand on your back. You find yourself laughing softly, the tension of the moment dissolving as Elizabeth bounces on her feet beside you.

“See? It’s fun!” she chirps, her joy infectious.

You glance up at Bucky, whose expression has softened, his focus entirely on you and Elizabeth. “Just don’t step on my toes,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll do my best,” you reply, your heart racing.

The three of you begin to sway gently to the music, Elizabeth beaming as she leads the way, her laughter ringing through the gym. Bucky stays close, his movements tentative but gradually easing into a rhythm.

As you dance, you can’t help but feel a connection forming. There’s an ease in the way you move together, an unspoken understanding that feels almost natural despite the initial nerves. Elizabeth spins around you, her dress swirling like a whirlwind of color.

“This is the best dance ever!” she exclaims, clapping her hands. “You two look perfect together!”

Bucky meets your gaze, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he responds, “I think she’s just trying to get us to dance more.”

You laugh, your heart fluttering at the playful banter. “Maybe she is,” you agree, feeling a warmth bloom between you and Bucky.

As the song continues, you find yourselves lost in the moment, the noise of the gym fading into the background. The connection deepens, and for a fleeting instant, it feels as though the world has narrowed down to just the three of you.

When the song ends, Elizabeth cheers, pulling you both into a tight hug. “That was so much fun! Can we do it again?”

You and Bucky exchange a glance, and he offers a slight smile, a glimmer of newfound openness in his expression. “Maybe after another song, kiddo,” he replies, his voice warm.

As you step back, you catch Bucky's eye again, both of you sharing a moment of understanding, a shared secret in the midst of the joyful chaos around you.

As the next song starts, a more upbeat tune fills the air, and Elizabeth dances away, joining her friends in a circle of laughter. You watch her, your heart swelling with joy as she spins and twirls, completely lost in the moment.

“Looks like she’s having a great time,” Bucky says, his gaze softening as he nods in Elizabeth’s direction.

“She really is,” you reply, feeling a warmth spreading through you as you catch his eye again. There’s something comforting about being here together, witnessing her joy side by side.

A lull in the music prompts you to take a step back, glancing at the refreshment table where punch and treats await. “Do you want to grab a snack?” you suggest, breaking the momentary silence.

Bucky hesitates for a beat, then nods, his expression turning thoughtful. “Sure. I’m not sure how long I can keep dancing.”

“Good plan. I have a feeling Elizabeth will be out there dancing all night,” you chuckle, leading the way toward the table. The two of you weave through the crowd of kids and parents, the vibrant decorations making the gym feel alive.

As you approach the table, you notice a plate of cookies and cupcakes, their icing bright and festive. “I think I need to try one to keep my energy up.”

Bucky grabs a cookie, a small smirk on his lips. “I thought teachers were supposed to set a good example,” he teases lightly.

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s called balance. Plus, it’s Halloween!”

“Fair point,” he concedes, taking a bite of his cookie, the tension between you both easing further.

As you enjoy your treats, you find yourself stealing glances at him. Bucky looks at ease now, a relaxed smile on his face as he watches Elizabeth dance with her friends. “She really loves this stuff, doesn’t she?” he comments, a hint of pride in his voice.

“She does,” you reply. “She talks about you a lot, you know. She mentioned how you helped her pick out her costume this year.”

Bucky’s expression shifts slightly, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Oh? What did she say?”

“She said you made her feel like a princess. It was adorable,” you smile, recalling Elizabeth’s excitement when she showed off her dress earlier.

He chuckles softly, a warm, genuine sound. “Well, I might have gone a little overboard with the tiara,” he admits, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Just a little,” you tease back, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing. “But it’s sweet how much effort you put into it.”

A moment of silence passes as you both watch Elizabeth twirl and laugh, her happiness contagious. The connection you feel with Bucky deepens, a shared understanding forming without needing many words.

“Thanks for being so good with her,” Bucky finally says, his tone sincere. “It’s nice to see her happy and comfortable, especially with everything going on.”

You nod, appreciating the sentiment. “She’s a wonderful kid. It’s easy to be good to her. And honestly, I enjoy being around her. Oh, and speaking of family, I actually met Steve yesterday when he picked her up from school for the first time.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? How did that go?”

“It was great! He seemed really nice, and Elizabeth was over the moon. She talks about you both often, so it was nice to finally connect the dots.” You smile, recalling the warmth of that brief encounter.

Bucky’s expression softens, and you catch a glimpse of pride in his eyes. “I’m glad she has you in her life. It’s good for her.”

Just then, Elizabeth races over, her tiara slightly askew, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Can we do the dance again? Please?”

You smile at her enthusiasm and nod. “Of course! Let’s go show them some moves!”

With a delighted squeal, Elizabeth takes your hand and pulls you toward the dance floor, her energy infectious. As you reach the center of the gym, you glance back at Bucky, who stands a little farther away, a soft smile on his face.

“Come on, Uncle Bucky!” Elizabeth calls playfully.

He shakes his head slightly, a hint of shyness in his demeanor. “I’ll just watch,” he replies, leaning against the wall, his blue eyes twinkling with affection as he admires you both.

With a grin, you turn to Elizabeth, who’s already starting to spin and twirl. You follow her lead, matching her joyful movements as the music swells around you. Elizabeth laughs, her laughter mixing with the upbeat melody, and you find yourself getting lost in the moment, forgetting about everything else.

As you dance, you feel the warmth of belonging wash over you, the sense of community enveloping you both. You can’t help but glance back at Bucky, who watches with quiet admiration, his presence a comforting anchor in the joyful chaos.

“Look at us, Uncle Bucky! We’re amazing!” Elizabeth shouts out, striking a dramatic pose that makes you laugh.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You both are definitely stealing the show.”

As the night wears on, the energy in the gym begins to shift. The upbeat music slowly transitions to softer melodies, and you notice the crowd gradually thinning out. Parents are gathering their children, and laughter starts to fade, replaced by sleepy yawns and gentle chatter.

Elizabeth, who’s been dancing with all her might, suddenly plops down on one of the bleachers, her tiara now askew and her cheeks smeared with remnants of frosting. A contented sigh escapes her lips as she stretches out, completely worn out from the excitement. “Best night ever,” she murmurs, a cupcake in hand, frosting adorning her face.

You chuckle at the sight, moving over to her. “Looks like someone had too much sugar,” you tease, reaching down to gently wipe a bit of frosting from her cheek.

Bucky approaches, a soft smile on his face as he looks at his niece sprawled out on the bleacher. “She really went all out tonight,” he remarks, glancing at you. “Thanks for keeping her entertained.”

“Of course! She’s a blast to be around,” you reply, your heart warmed by the connection you’ve built with both of them.

As the last of the decorations sway gently in the dimming lights, Bucky shifts his weight, looking slightly unsure. “Do you need help cleaning up?” he offers, his voice low and tentative.

You shake your head, a smile playing on your lips. “No, it’s okay. You should take Elizabeth home. She’s exhausted.”

Elizabeth stirs slightly, eyes closed as she peacefully drifts off. Bucky gently scoops her up, her head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to you, a silent promise in his eyes.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say to Bucky, feeling the connection between you deepen. “It was wonderful.”

“Yeah, it was,” he agrees, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary, the quiet warmth between you palpable. “See you next Friday?” you ask, already looking forward to the next time you’ll see him.

“Definitely,” he replies, a hint of a smile gracing his lips as he walks away with Elizabeth cradled in his arms.

As the gym slowly empties, you gather the last of the decorations, the joyful echoes of the night lingering in the air. You can’t help but smile, knowing that tonight was just the beginning of something special.

It’s Friday again, and the classroom is buzzing with excitement. Today’s show-and-tell has everyone in high spirits, with each child eager to show off their favorite toy or stuffed animal. But Elizabeth, standing by her desk with a barely contained grin, seems more excited than anyone. You can’t help but smile at her anticipation.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Elizabeth whispers as the last student finishes their turn. “Can I go next?”

“Of course, Elizabeth. The floor is all yours,” you reply, watching as she dashes to the door with a squeal of excitement.

Right on cue, the door opens, and in walks Bucky, a bit shy under the gaze of all the kids and a few other parents, holding a fluffy white cat cradled carefully in his arms. His quiet, steady presence fills the room as he walks in, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Alpine, his cat, surveys the classroom with wide, curious eyes.

“Everyone,” Elizabeth says proudly, her chest puffed out a little. “This is Alpine. He’s my uncle Bucky’s cat, and he’s the best kitty ever!” She steps aside so the other kids can get a good look, her eyes twinkling with pride.

Bucky kneels down beside her, gently setting Alpine on her lap as the class oohs and aahs over the soft, snowy furball. “Alpine’s very calm, so he’s okay with being petted. Just be gentle,” Bucky says, his voice soft but warm, as he gives the kids a chance to meet Alpine one by one.

As the kids line up to give Alpine a gentle pet, you stand back, watching as Bucky interacts with them. He seems at ease here, his usual quiet manner softened by the enthusiasm of the children. And Alpine, for his part, sits contentedly, seemingly enjoying all the attention.

When it’s Elizabeth’s turn to pet Alpine again, she beams up at Bucky. “Thanks for bringing him, Uncle Bucky,” she whispers.

“Anything for you, kiddo,” he replies, ruffling her hair gently.

The show-and-tell wraps up, and the class gets back to their seats. Elizabeth gives Alpine one last hug before Bucky gently scoops him up.

The rest of the group continues showcasing their favorite items from home when the class day comes to an end. Bucky has stayed by the little cubbies near the door, Alpine’s carrier with the sleeping animal inside at his feet.

You clean up a few things while the kids and the rest of the parents leave for the day. You make your way over to the door as Elizabeth gathers the rest of her things.

“Thanks for tagging along and bringing Alpine,” you stand next to Bucky with a smile. “He was definitely the star of the day.”

Bucky chuckles softly, glancing down at the carrier where Alpine has curled up, seemingly unbothered by all the attention. “Yeah, I think he had a good time,” he replies, meeting your eyes with a quiet warmth. “Elizabeth’s been talking about it all week—she loves this little guy.”

Just then, Elizabeth skips over to Bucky and tugs on his sleeve. “Uncle Bucky,” she says, her voice filled with purpose. “You should ask Ms. Y/L/N to come to the farmers market again tomorrow. You know, since it was fun last time.”

You feel a flutter of excitement but try to keep your expression casual as Bucky glances down at her, clearly caught off guard. He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck before finally looking back up at you.

“Uh, yeah,” he says slowly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Would you want to? Don’t want to intrude on any plans you have already-”

Your smile widens. “No intruding here. I’d love to go.”

Elizabeth beams, clearly thrilled that her plan has worked. “Yay! It’s a date, then!” she declares, completely oblivious to the shy glance you and Bucky share.

As Bucky picks up the carrier, you exchange one last look, a silent promise of looking forward to tomorrow.

Saturday morning dawns crisp and bright, autumn slowly turning into winter. You stroll through the lively market stalls, weaving between families with strollers, couples with coffee cups in hand, and a few bundled-up kids clutching apples. A sense of anticipation flutters in your chest as you scan the crowd, looking for Elizabeth’s familiar face.

Then, just by the flower stall, you spot Bucky—alone. He’s leaning casually against a wooden post, hands in his pockets, looking slightly out of place amidst the bustling crowd. He catches sight of you, and a shy smile breaks across his face as he waves you over.

“Hey,” you greet him, glancing around. “Where’s Elizabeth? She was the one who orchestrated this whole thing.”

Bucky chuckles, running a hand through his hair, looking both amused and a little embarrassed. “Funny thing about that,” he says, shifting his weight. “Turns out this was her big plan to get us alone together. She made me promise I wouldn’t tell you, but… well, here we are.”

A comfortable silence falls between you both as you wander deeper into the market side by side. The scent of freshly baked bread and spiced cider fills the air, and you take in the atmosphere, grateful for the easy company.

“So,” he begins, voice low but curious. “How’d you end up teaching? Did you always know it’s what you wanted?”

You smile, thinking back. “Not exactly. I always loved working with kids, but I tried a few things before realizing teaching was it for me. It felt right when I finally took the leap.” You glance over at him, curious in turn. “And you? What’s your story?”

He shifts, his gaze following a kid holding a caramel apple as they dart past. “My story’s… a little complicated,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “Spent a while overseas, some time doing things I’m not exactly proud of. Came back, just trying to live a quieter life now. Elizabeth’s been a big part of that, actually. She’s… well, she’s kind of made me feel like I’m home again.”

There’s a warmth to his words, and you can see how deeply he cares for Elizabeth. “She’s a special kid. I can tell she feels the same about you. She talks about you nonstop at school, you know,” you say with a smile. “She adores you. Just yesterday, she was telling the class about all the Halloween fun you two had.”

Bucky ducks his head, a bit of color rising in his cheeks. “Yeah, she gets that honesty from Steve,” he says, a little amused. “Guess she’s kind of my rock, you know?”

You nod, feeling a pang of admiration for the connection they share. “It’s nice to have someone like that. Makes everything feel… more meaningful.”

He looks at you, a glimmer of something vulnerable in his expression. “Yeah. And, honestly, talking with you these last few weeks has felt… real. Easy.”

There’s a beat of silence as you walk past the bakery stall, the smell of cinnamon lingering in the air. Finally, you break the quiet with a soft laugh. “I never thought I’d be getting relationship advice from a ten-year-old.”

Bucky grins, relaxing even more. “Yeah, she’s definitely got us figured out better than we do.” He looks over at you, a flicker of mischief in his eyes. “Guess we should thank her?”

“Absolutely,” you say, leaning into the moment, your smile meeting his. “Maybe we can make her a batch of thank-you cookies?”

He chuckles, nodding. “That sounds like a good idea. Though, fair warning, I’m better with taking orders than baking.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m a decent baker. I’ll guide you through it,” you reply, eyes twinkling. “We’ll give her the best thank-you cookies she’s ever had.”

You stop by a stand selling pumpkin bread and buy a small loaf, breaking off a piece to hand to Bucky. He accepts it, looking down at you with something new in his gaze.

“This was a pretty good plan,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “She knew I’d be a coward about asking you myself.”

A little surprised by his openness, you feel your cheeks warm. “So… if she hadn’t schemed it, would you have eventually asked?”

He hesitates, looking down at the bread in his hands before meeting your eyes, his usual quiet demeanor softening just a bit. “Maybe. Though I’m glad she saved me the trouble.”

You both laugh, and a lingering silence follows, but it’s comfortable, the kind of quiet that feels easy, like you’ve both slipped into a rhythm you weren’t aware of. The sounds of the bustling market fade as you continue to stroll, lost in each other’s company, a shared warmth growing with each step.

As you approach the edge of the market, Bucky stops and looks at you, the faintest trace of nervousness in his eyes. “So, um… would you maybe want to do this again sometime? With or without Elizabeth’s planning?”

Your heart skips a beat, a smile pulling at your lips. “I’d like that.”

And with that, a new understanding settles between you—a feeling that this isn’t just a chance encounter, but the beginning of something you’re both ready to explore.

The following Wednesday comes to an end with the usual shuffle of parents and guardians filling the pickup area. As you chat with a few students, you see a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye—Steve Rogers, towering above the other parents, his face lighting up when he spots you.

“Hey!” He greets you with a warm smile, walking up with a relaxed confidence. “Didn’t think I’d see you here again,” you say, still a bit surprised by his appearance. “I thought last week was a rare appearance.”

Steve chuckles, giving a shrug. “It was supposed to be, but I thought I’d make it more of a habit whenever I can.” Just then, Elizabeth races down the hall and throws her arms around him, her eyes lighting up as she tells him all about her day, barely pausing for a breath.

After a bit, Steve looks back at you, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “You already know, Elizabeth talks about you nonstop, but Bucky… well, let’s just say he’s mentioned you a few times himself,” he says with a knowing smile.

You feel a blush creeping up, but you manage to keep your tone casual. “Oh? And here I thought I was only a hit with the kindergarteners.”

Steve chuckles, clearly amused. “Not at all. You’ve made quite an impression. In fact, we’re hosting a little Friendsgiving next weekend. Bucky might probably kill me for this, but we’d love for you to come.”

You’re taken aback, touched by the invitation but also feeling a flutter of excitement. “Are you sure? Feel like I might be crossing some school guidelines or something,” you reply with hesitation to accept.

Steve waves a hand dismissively, shaking his head with an easy grin. “Nah, you’re not crossing any lines—just friends getting together. Besides, Elizabeth would love to have you there. I know Bucky would too, even if he’s too quiet to actually say it.”

You laugh, glancing at Elizabeth as she chats animatedly with a friend nearby. “Well, if it’s an official invitation, then I’d love to come.”

“Perfect,” Steve replies, looking pleased. “We’ll keep it casual. Lots of food, probably more dessert than we need, and some questionable holiday games.”

You smile, suddenly excited for the weekend. “I’ll bring something,” you offer, “maybe a pie or cookies?”

“Anything would be great,” he says. “We’ll save you a spot at the table.”

With one last smile, he waves goodbye, leading Elizabeth toward the exit. You watch them leave, feeling a warmth in your chest, a mix of anticipation and comfort. The hallway quiets as you gather your things, but the thought of spending Friendsgiving with them lingers, filling you with a sense of belonging you hadn’t expected.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes fanfiction

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loveinhawkins · 2 years ago

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 ao3

Steve gets quiet.

They’re not talking about it, but Eddie can read more than enough into the silence, into the way Steve gets a fixed look in his eyes, keeps going to some place that he cannot follow. His jaw clenches a few times, as if he’s trying to hide how his breath starts to catch every so often; it’s such a subtle movement, but Eddie notices.

He can’t afford to not notice.

It feels too familiar. Feels like a clock ticking.

He slips away when a nurse brings up some dinner—tries to justify his exit as Steve is seemingly distracted, shooting the shit with her. The excuse is weak even in his own head; it doesn’t stop a nasty inner voice from whispering venomously, That’s right, run away. You’re a coward.

But his skin is crawling, and he can’t—He needs—

He presses the phone firmly against the side of his face, so that it feels as if each dial tone reverberates through him. He’s lucky, in the end, that Wayne picks up, caught in a lull between volunteering and his night shifts starting again. Eddie tries to crack a joke about how it didn’t take long for mundane routine to return, but his heart isn’t in it.

And of course Wayne can hear that. “Eddie,” he says, “what’s wrong?”

Eddie swallows. “I—I can’t stop thinking that—that something’s going to happen.” And the phrasing sounds childish out loud, but he can’t think of another way to put it. Can’t stop feeling that a part of him has never left the RV, still on the precipice of knowing…

“Saw that Nancy Wheeler at the trailer park,” Wayne says mildly.

Momentarily thrown, Eddie frowns. “Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. There was a big group of folks cleaning up there—I thought I’d shown up early for it, but she looked like she’d been there for hours.” Before Eddie can even ask how she was, Wayne goes on: “She smiled at me, but she was really quiet. Got her a coffee just so she could hold onto it, you know?”

Eddie smiles. “That’s… thanks, Wayne.”

“I think she was waiting for something to happen, too,” Wayne says, gentle.

Eddie breathes in and out.

“That kinda feeling doesn’t just leave you overnight, Ed. Even if there’s nothing left to—”

“But what if—” Eddie has to cut himself off, frightened suddenly that he will speak it into existence.

“Talk to him, Eddie,” Wayne says.

Eddie stands there holding the phone long after he’s hung up.

He moves the couch so it sits flush against the side of the hospital bed. Steve watches him absently; his eyes keep drifting over to Eddie’s guitar.

But Eddie doesn’t pick it up. He sits down on the couch, faces Steve. Tries to be brave.

Steve isn’t looking at him now; he’s staring at some fixed point in the distance. The sight makes Eddie’s stomach clench.

“You have to tell me,” he gets out.

Steve blinks, turns to him. His eyebrows furrow slightly. “…What?”

“If it’s—if it’s not over,” Eddie says. “If you’re… if you’re seeing… fuck.” He shakes his head, his attempt at seeming even remotely calm shattering all at once. “Look, I-I’m sorry, I just—I can’t do it again.”

Steve stares at him.

“Please don’t make me do it again,” Eddie pleads. His voice breaks at the end.

Silence.

“Oh,” Steve whispers. Then, louder: “Oh, shit. No, Eddie, that’s—God, I’m sorry. That’s not it.”

Air leaves Eddie’s lungs in a dizzying rush of relief. “N-no?”

“No. I don’t—he’s gone, I don’t feel… there’s nothing there. Nothing.”

“Okay, that’s… okay.” Eddie nods repeatedly, reaches for the guitar—it doesn’t need tuned but the pattern of it helps to hide the residual shake to his hands. He feels a bit foolish now, but he’s fine with that, honestly. Better that than…

“I’m… I’m really sorry, Eddie,” Steve insists. “You weren’t supposed to see, like, any of it.”

Any relief Eddie might have felt evaporates. He feels suddenly very cold.

“What,” he says flatly. Has to set the guitar aside again. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The worst thing is that Steve just looks confused, like what he’s said is meant to have been reassuring.

“What do you…? It’s not a riddle, dude, I just meant it wasn’t for you to—I should’ve—”

“Oh my god,” Eddie breathes. “Oh my god.” He feels like he’s just been pushed off a cliff, like he’s in free fall.

He can’t avoid the thought, now: that, if he had fallen asleep in the RV, if Steve was alone when…

Eddie makes an involuntary, despairing noise—not quite a whimper, but close enough to it that Steve’s expression softens despite his lingering frown.

“Eddie,” he says, far too kindly. “I don’t… I’m kinda lost here. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me,” Eddie manages.

“Tell you what?”

Eddie gives a shaky sigh. “Just—tell me you wouldn’t have—if I hadn’t heard you… Please. Please tell me you wouldn’t have—you wouldn’t have just gone off fucking quietly.”

Steve glances away.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says.

Because he can see it now, can imagine blearily waking in the RV along with everyone else; can see the driver’s seat lying empty.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve says, and his voice sounds strange—choked with something Eddie can’t truly place.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s some…” Steve exhales, and he sounds almost angry. “I don’t know! Like it’s some big thing.”

Eddie laughs in disbelief. “A thing.”

“Yeah! Like it’s something—fucking noble or—”

“Then what is it?” Eddie counters, heart pounding.

“I—”

“’Cause from where I’m standing, Harrington, it seems like—”

“Look, would you just—”

“—you’re the only one who can play the hero card, is that it?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he laughs harshly. “You know what? Yeah, that’s exactly what I—Stop looking like that, you’ve got no fucking right to judge what I—”

“I’m not judging, I’m—”

“Just shut up!” Steve says, eyes wild; and Eddie has the sinking feeling that he’s somehow missed several steps in this conversation. “I don’t care what you think, ’cause even if I’d—no matter what, I’d choose it. I’d choose it fucking gladly.”

“How can you say that?” Eddie says, hushed. “How can you even—”

“Because it had to be me!”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Eddie laughs again, but it barely counts as one; the sound equal parts tired and devastated. “You realise that’s not a fucking answer, right?”

Steve’s hands are clutching the sheets with a vice-like grip. “Because,” Steve says, suddenly very, very quiet, “it couldn’t be anyone else. I… I couldn’t handle it, okay? I’m not… I’d never forgive…”

“Steve—”

“And he knew that,” Steve says. He sounds close to tears. “He knew.”

A long, long moment.

Eddie sighs. “Jesus. I’m—okay, okay. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Can you just…?” Steve’s jaw clenches again. “Please just play.”

Eddie hesitates. Thinks of when he played the song this morning, Steve’s thousand-yard stare. “Not if it’s hurting you.”

“It helps,” Steve says, and Eddie can’t help thinking that it’s not quite a denial. “Helps me… remember.”

Eddie plays the song, but he doesn’t sing. Instead he searches and searches for something to say. He thinks of Chrissy. Fred. Patrick. How perhaps no-one had ever… noticed. Had never asked them.

But, faced with Steve, he doesn’t know where to start—instinctively feels like a question that’s too open-ended will seem too daunting to even begin to answer. So, he tries to keep it small. One step.

“How long did what?”

Steve blinks back into awareness. “Hmm?”

“This morning,” Eddie says. He slows his tempo until the song sounds almost like a lullaby. “You were gonna ask something, and you stopped yourself. How long…?”

“Oh.” Steve sighs. “Yeah.”

Eddie waits patiently, plays right through another verse until…

“How long did it take?”

Eddie hears the question, but he doesn’t understand. He continues to strum, replies, “How long did what take?”

“In your trailer,” Steve says, “for me to…?” And he must see something in Eddie’s face, because he’s quickly saying, “You don’t need to—Christ, I’m sorry.”

“No, I just—” Eddie drops the guitar, swallows through the sudden light-headedness, the nausea. “Just gimme a second.”

He must not be doing a very good job at collecting himself, because Steve looks stricken. “Eddie, you don’t have to—”

“Just gimme a second,” Eddie repeats, because if Steve withdraws now, he’ll never forgive himself. He covers his mouth with his hand for a moment, then says, “It was really fucking quick, man. Like…” He clicks his fingers, and it seems as if the sound echoes in the silence between them.

“Oh,” Steve says again. He pushes a palm briefly against his forehead, as if he’s the one to now feel light-headed. “That’s… Jesus, that’s really trippy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Felt like I was… Um. Felt like it went on for a… A lot longer.”

Eddie reaches out, slowly, slowly, to where one of Steve’s hands is gripping onto the sheets. He places his own hand on top, squeezes once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were…” Steve relaxes his hold, then pushes the back of his hand up against Eddie’s palm, like he’s leaning into the touch. “I remember, you were making me laugh. And then…”

The sight of the white film across Steve’s eyes flashes through Eddie’s mind, as harsh as lightning. He doesn’t allow himself to flinch. Keeps holding Steve’s hand.

And he gets it, suddenly. Because whatever is in Steve’s head is killing him, hurting him deeper than any physical wound ever could.

“Steve,” he says softly. Begging. “Please.”

Tell me.

Eventually, Steve nods. He smiles, of course he does, even through his fear. Takes a deep breath, then lets it out slow. “Okay.”

#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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cozage · 1 year ago

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Heyyy first of all I love you works so much, you are such a good writer😭 I saw your requests are closed so feel free to ignore this but I just saw the latest post were anon asked you if you preferred karaoke with strawhats boys or spa with the girls and I found that a beautiful idea. So if you can/want could you please do a karaoke with strawhats (boys and girls) hc please?? Thank youuu💜💜💜

This is a request for my Sleepover Event, send me one too! :)

Okay for starters if you have not heard the groups “Family” song, I’m going to need to you go to Youtube and check it out (they recently re-recorded the japanese version with Jimbei and 🥺🥺)

Most of these are just how everyone would act at a karaoke bar. But I added everyone singing with you, take that as you wish :)

Karaoke Night

Luffy

He’s starting off the night with a song. The first to volunteer without even a drop of alcohol in his body. Literally pulls you up on stage to sing with him.

He’s SOOOOO bad. He’s always offkey but that makes you feel a little better because at least people’s ears already hurt so your voice doesn’t matter too much.

He likes to sing the classic sea shanties and older stuff that everyone can sing along to (if it was our world he would be singing Journey and the old classic country music). He’s big on yelling “You guys know this part, sing along!” and holding out the mic for the crowd to join in.

When he’s not on stage singing, he’s either dancing or running around to all the groups of people mingling, asking if they’re going to sing

He always volunteers to be a partner if people are too nervous to sing along. He’s there to have fun and wants to make sure everyone else is having fun too :)

Zoro

Nope. This man is not singing.

That's what he says. That’s what he promises. No way in hell he’s getting up on that stage.

Until he gets about 10 tankards of ale in him. Then he’s climbing up on the stage ready to sing his HEART out.

He sings loud and proud, and halfway through the song beckons you up to join him. If you don’t go, he’s going to jump down and slowly walk to you and serenade you.

He’s probably going to sing some oldies song that’s deep and slow. Like Frank Sinatra or maybe even Johnny Cash. (I can imagine him absolutely nailing “And I did it….MYYYYYYY WAYYYYYYYYYY”)

At the start of the night he’s sitting in the corner alone, watching everyone carefully to make sure nobody tries to make a move on you or any other crew member, but by the end of the night he’s up, sitting with strangers and laughing and having the best time ever.

Sanji

His eyes are always on whoever is singing…unless it’s a man.

Sanji himself doesn’t sing, and he’s definitely not singing alone, but any time a lady goes up, Sanji’s asking if she needs a duet partner. He can’t let a lady sing alone, afterall.

He’s more of the kind to just sit and enjoy the show, show support when he needs to, heckle when it’s one of the Strawhats up there. If he hears any mumbling or rude comments while a lady is up singing, he’s going to war.

He can tell you kind of want to go sing, but you’re too nervous to go up or initiate asking, so eventually he pops the question and asks you to sing with him.

You guys are definitely singing some kind of duet song. Definitely Troy/Gabriella vibes from that first scene in High School Musical. You both start out kind of nervous but by the end you’re only focused on eachother and you’re both into it. And you sound pretty good too!

Nami

She’s definitely not the kind of person to start the singing, but she’ll do it with enough encouragement.

She’s not singing alone though. Unmless someone pays her to sing alone, she won’t. She doesn’t even like duets (she knows she’s not the strongest vocally and hates when people make fun of her).

She prefers group songs. Usually three or more gets her comfortable singing. Her, Usopp, and you know all the good music, so the three of you can sing some songs without even looking at the words.

Early 2000’s music, especially R&B, are your alls go to. Rich Girl, Umbrella, SOS, all the bops that people that grew up during that time know and love.

She is definitely a heckler when someone is singing badly too. She may not boo them off the stage but she WILL be laughing at them.

Usopp

He’s not singing. He has allergic-to-crowd-itis. No way is he going up on stage.

Unfortunately, he's bad at betting, and Nami makes him go up. You offer to join him so it’s not as scary for him.

He’s picking some random song that nobody has every heard of. If they don’t know what the original sounds like, they don’t know how good or bad it is. Mt. Joy, Portugal, The Man, Go Radio. Music that if you know, you LOVE. Upbeat folky music that’s easy to have a scratchy voice and be offkey.

After the first time, he realizes he actually had a lot of fun, and starts doing it with bigger groups. He even gets Nami and Luffy to join you all and you guys all sing a fun upbeat song.

When he’s not on stage, he’s laughing along with the boys and cheering on for whoever is on stage at the moment. Over-exaggerated screams of support and lots of clapping.

Chopper

Terrified of the thought of being on stage. But he’s a supportive little guy, and he’ll do it if you do it.

He walks up and hides behind you. Looking out at everyone in the crowd is so scary for him! Especially knowing how vicious Nami’s comments have been.

Once the music gets started, his voice is a little shakey, but by the time the chorus rolls around, he’s into it! The whole crew is yelling cheers of encouragement to him and he really starts to get into it.

I could see him really getting into some fun pop music. Katy Perry, Olivia Rodrigo, Taylor Swift. He doesn’t get why the songs are so aggressive but he loves scream singing with you

After the first song clears his nerves, it’s hard to keep him off the stage. He’s jumping into every group song there is. He loves the RUSH.

Robin

You’re convicned this woman is not singing. Like she’s just not. I’m sorry. You can beg and plead all you want but shes not-

“Do you want to sing? Sure! I’ll try everything once!” And with that she puts her book down and walks up onto the stage.

You guys are going hard or going home. The slower songs of people like Adele, Miley Cyrus, Billie Ellish, Lizzy McAlpine. Voices that you KNOW you will fail at replicating or sounding better than, but that’s just her vocal range, and she’s actually pretty good!

She enjoys it, but once is enough for her. She might do it again if you or someone else asks, but it’s always going to be those hard to match songs.

She is honestly so fulfilled watching everyone else take the stage and be absolute goofballs. She prefers to watch and laugh along with everyone from the back of the room, a part of the family but then not center of attention.

Franky

Frankie loves pop music and you can’t convince me otherwise. The second he hears a song he likes, he jumps up to be next in line. He’ll sing anything, but his first pick is pump up 2012’s music like One Republic, Tao Cruz, Imagine Dragons.

He’s such a star when he sings too. Dancing around on stage, pulling you up to join him and serenading you. He can really put on a show for the audience.

He definitely made adjustments to body to have little smoke [things] and little sparklers. It definitely starts a small fire.

He’s having a GREAT time and loves loves loves it. He knows it’s important to let everyone have their turn, but he’s almost always in the lineup for karaoke, whether it’s the two of you singing or with a group of people. He’ll sing with just about anybody (and he gets requests for it too)

When he’s not on stage, he’s talking to the other patrons (trying to get in with other groups to sing more)

Brook

Brook…what can I say? He was born for this. And died for this. And came back to life for this. Brook has ALWAYS loved karaoke. It’s what got him into performing.

He asks if you want to sing one of his songs with him (what an honor!), and he does his best not to steal the show. But he’s missed performing and he’s missed the crowd, so he goes overboard a little bit the first time.

The crowd goes freaking insane. He gets so many comments about his voice, and he always does his best to say he only sounded better because you were with him.

He likes to sing his own songs, but after a few rounds, he just lets you (or whoever he’s singing with) pick the music. He’s got a very specific range though and doesn’t like to go outside of it.

He’s surrounded by fans most of the time, and anytime he spends offstage is met by autographs and fans fauning over him, buying him drinks and trying to get him to notice them.

Jinbe

Jinbe does group singing only. He won’t sing alone, and he doesn’t really want to do duets either. Even group songs he doesn’t love. He’s not big on singing or being the center of attention.

He will join people on the stage for a group performance though, but he will only join in for the chorus or moments where everyone is singing.

He can tell you’re nervous about singing, so he stays close and gives you little words of encouragement as you’re singing with everyone.

He’s so supportive from the crowd though when you go up without him! He always tells you how great you did and tells you his favorite part of every songs so you know that he was actually paying attention.

He really just sits and enjoys the vibes. He’ll sing along from the crowd if he knows a song, but he’s just there for the atmosphere and to support his crew.

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or0ch1maru · 1 year ago

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Akatsuki Beach day HCs?(also include orochimaru if you don't mind) kisame is thriving

Anytime I think akatsuki and the beach I can only imagine absolute chaos

I’m loving all these fun and mushy scripts y’all are sending my way🖤🥺also, please don’t worry if it takes me a while to get to yours, my small business and my job(I work retail and it’s been a HOT MESS with Christmas right around the corner) tend to take up a lot of my time but I promise to get to every one you lovies send in<3

Okay, back to it..

•

🐚so for starters I could see Konan being the main planner. Food, drinks, making sure they have enough of literally everything they could need, as well as making sure everybody wakes up on time to leave.

🐠then for the majority of the time they’re at the beach she would be found relaxing under an umbrella reading or watching everybody have a good time.

🦞pain on the other hand would be trying to stop deidara from blowing up Tobi. (I’ll elaborate further down)

🪸pain would definitely be the ‘dad’ of the group, making sure things aren’t getting too out of hand, and failing terribly at it. Zetsu lost a sandal? Just go barefoot, what’s the worst that could happen? He gets a splinter or a rock scrapes his heel. Feels bad when Zetsu starts crying about his foot hurting, would buy him ice cream as an apology.

🌊I imagine Zetsu as being a big softie. Just like Tobi he wouldn’t know what to do first. I also see him having a slight fear of water? Someone tries splashing him he’d close his leaves? Pinchers? Locking himself in his own shelter

☀️he’d find a bucket, a cup, literally anything and start collecting all the pretty shells he spots, even when the bucket gets full, he’ll start stuffing them in his pockets.

🪼our gentle masked comrade Tobi would refuse to take his mask off, let alone his shirt🥺

🐙poor thing couldn’t figure out what to do when they first arrived; go swimming? Build a sandcastle? Collect shells? Stare at the fish and other sea creatures showing themselves in the water? Nope, he decided on doing what he does best, piss off Deidara

🐬doesn’t even mean to do so, deidara is as explosive as his art so of course he’s going to get mad when Tobi accidentally gets sand in his hair.

🐋would retreat far into the ocean on a floaty, avoiding Tobi as much as possible. His hair would be tied up into a bun to keep the sea water from drying it out. Would most likely be those floaties with the little cup holder in it, probably with a beer can or sake in it.

🦭Sasori my man, I can imagine him working on a sandcastle. Using his skills to make a large one with details that would be tedious to anybody but him.

🦐he would volunteer to run up to the shops to grab things his comrades may want. No matter how small or stupid that item might be. Would buy small toys and presents in the gifts shops for everyone. He really enjoys walking through the board walk, will take a break and hang out on the pier for a bit before returning to the group.

🐚the zombie combo would both be talking and trying to pick up the gorgeous women who also decided to head to the beach that day. Hidan of course would be much more outgoing and flamboyant about it. Showing off his muscles and abs.

🐠Kakuzu on the other hand, all he’s gotta do is show off that one smirk of his to have them hypnotized. Wouldn’t care if one of them felt up on his scars or touched his hair. He won’t voice it, not even to Hidan, but he enjoys the attention, even if nothing comes of it.

🦈oh boy Kisame. Do I really have to say anything? As you said, he’d be THRIVING.

🦈would be moving through the water with ease, not even a ripple would be seen as he swims. Within minutes, sharks and other large sea animals would be seen following him around. He’d be so cute about it too, feeding them random shit he’d find, knowing what they want, or giving the sharks little boops on their noses(you can’t tell me you don’t see him doing this) and would be the main one to eat like 90% of the food Konan packed. She would make him join Sasori when going to the shops so he can stock up on everything he devoured.

🦞our sweet boy Itachi would pop into the water for a little bit before wandering off to the tide pools. He would find a patch of sand to sit on, watching as the sea stars and small fish go about their business as they wait for the tide to come back in

🪸would eventually get tired of being in the sun and lay out a towel next to Konan to hang out under the umbrella. They would talk or sit in silence, depends on how either of them are feeling that day.

•snake boy orochimaru would LATHER himself in sunscreen, you see how pale he is? (No offense, i love him) and he would also wear sunglasses to protect his eyes.

🌊I could see him complaining about the sun and trying to avoid it like the plague, acting as if the sun is the worst thing imaginable. Not one to express his feelings well if at all and uses his complaints to hide the fact that he’s actually having the time of his life. Would put a fish or eel in a jar, wanting to bring it back to the compound to keep as a pet until Konan tells him release it. Promising to take him to a pet store to get one there instead.

☀️towards the end of the day, moving into the early evening the whole group would play volleyball or fuck around in the water, splashing each other until everybody’s out of breath.

#akatsuki #orochimaru #konan headcanons #zetsu x reader #hidan headcanon #deidara x reader #kakuzu x reader #obito my beloved #orochimaru stories #kakuzu headcanons #sasori x reader #kisame headcanons

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maddy-k-reads-all-day · 6 hours ago

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School Shopping Chapter 5 (Final Chapter)

Here's the final chapter of my first ever fanfic! The Amanda the Adventurer Piper introduction fic! Hope you've enjoyed

“Actually… I kinda like my hair the way it is. I mean, isn’t it recognizable this way?” Amanda asks. I really just want this episode to be over. She thinks to herself.

“I guess you’re right. How about makeup?” Piper says, pulling out a makeup kit out of nowhere.

“Absolutely not.”

“You can do my makeup!” Wooly volunteers.

“Aww but I wanna do girly stuff with Amanda!” Piper whines. “Please… if not the makeup then at least let me do your hair! Just for today?” You are not touching my head. She thinks.

“Wooly can do my hair.” Amanda responds. “Really?” Wooly gasps in excitement.

“Good enough.” Piper sighs. She pulls out the book again. Riley picks some cute braids. “Fun! How about while you do that, I’ll get us some bracelet making stuff! Be right back!”

While Piper runs off to who knows where, Amanda sits on the floor and Wooly sits on Piper's bed, where there are a bunch of hair styling supplies already laid out. He undoes her buns and starts brushing her hair. “I’m shocked you let me do this.” “I just didn’t want her to do it. And… I don’t know how to do it myself…” Amanda admits. But once the brush touches Amanda’s hair, Wooly feels like he won’t have an issue. Why is this so… familiar? He wonders. It feels like he’s done this before… a long time ago… before he was in the tapes. Back when he was human. He can’t remember what exactly it was, and part of him kind of wanted to. “I don’t get you.” Amanda sighs.

“Huh?”

“Today when I looked at you for help… you just stood there… but then you helped me afterwards. I don’t get it.”

“I wanted to help! I did! Really want to… but…” his words stop making sense and the room begins to glitch again. Wooly stops brushing.

“Wooly?”

“I’m not brave like you Amanda.”

“I’m back!” Piper beams, bursting through the door. The room returns back to normal. She looks at the two almost friends in confusion, “Did I… interrupt something?” Yes. Amanda thinks in annoyance.

“No, it’s fine. I was just about to start braiding her hair.” Wooly says softly.

“Need me to show you how? I got a book here.” “No… I think I got it.”

“Cool. Amanda, wanna make some bead bracelets with me?” she asks. Amanda nods. The group sat in silence for a bit.

“Is this okay?” Amanda asks.

“Should be fine. We’re not a preschool show anymore. Besides, this was just a test episode. The tape was only sent to Riley.” she replies casually, without even looking up. Amanda’s blood runs cold. They know where Riley is. Her heart sinks into her stomach as she looks at her finished bracelet. Is Riley going to die too? Was this doomed from the start? She feels her eyes start to get wet. No! Don’t cry! Not here, not now! “Oh, Amanda, you're done with your bracelet? Let me just give you a clasp- Oh no! I left them downstairs. Be back in a jiffy!” She listens as Piper’s footsteps fade as she disappears down the stairs. Amanda starts a new bracelet.

“Riley… stop watching the tapes. It’s hopeless.”

“It’s not hopeless Amanda. If Riley is watching the tape that means they're fine! They can still escape, we can… still escape…”

“But…”

“I mean…” Wooly turns to Riley, “You will be in danger. You could still die. It’s your choice.”

“And what if they die?”

“Let’s um… not think about that. But… with the show being put back on TV maybe we can find new friends? So that doesn’t happen?” So we’ll just replace them? Wow Wooly. Amanda thought unenthusiastically.

“I thought you didn’t want to escape.”

“I didn’t think we could. Now I do, and it’s all your fault.” Wooly replies. A teasing tone floats in his voice. A tone that makes Amanda feel like maybe things will be okay. Just this once.

“You know, you’re very good at this. The braids, I mean.” Amanda said quietly, teasing one between her fingers.

“Yeah… I think I might’ve done this before… for my-”

“Sorry it took so long. It took me FOREVER to find them.” Piper burst back in out of breath. “You were saying something?” Was I… saying something? Yeah… What was I saying? Wooly wonders. Piper put the clasps on the floor. Amanda takes one and attaches it to the bracelet. “Is that for?” Amanda silently puts her finger to her mouth. It’s a surprise. Piper nods in understanding. “Look, I finished mine! It’s got a raspberry on it. Because I love Raspberries!” she grins.

“Oh yeah, you’re done with yours right Amanda? Can I see?” Wooly asks, Amanda hides both of them.

“Not until you’re done with my hair.” she replies.

“Aww… Fine.” he pouts, slouching in disappointment as he continues to braid. It wasn’t long before they were finished. Amanda looks in the mirror.

“Wow, they're so pretty! Wooly did such a good job. Don’t you think so?” she prompts Riley, who types in “no”.

“Hey!” Wooly shouts.

“Don’t tease him, he did a good job.” Amanda says, smiling and shaking her head.

“Can I see the bracelet now Amanda?” Wooly asks. Amanda looks at the bracelet in her hand and back at Wooly. Should I really do this? I’m still not sure if I can trust him. She made up her mind. Oh well, should be fine for now at least.

“Only if you close your eyes first.” Amanda grins. Wooly reluctantly closes his eyes. “And hold out your hands.” “I feel like you’re gonna give me something gross.”

“Maybe…” she slips the bracelet in his hand and he immediately opens his eyes.

“Huh?” In his hands was a green bead bracelet with a Peach bead in the middle. Amanda shows off her own apple bracelet.

“They're proof of a truce between us! By wearing the bracelet, you are agreeing for us to get along!” Amanda announces. “And promising that you will not do anything to betray the truce!” This… is so corny. What am I even saying?

“So no more trying to kill me or break my bones?”

“Oh please it was one time!” Amanda says, crossing her arms and pouting.

“It wasn’t…” Wooly sighs, but he put the bracelet on anyway. “So this is like… a friendship bracelet right?” He’s really insistent on calling us friends isn’t he? Amanda thinks to herself. Oh well.

“I guess it is.” Amanda replies.

With that, the tape ends and falls out of the machine.

Just so you know I'm very new to writing fanfic. I don't know if any of the characters ended up falling out of character, if so oops, my bad. But either way I hope you enjoy!

First:

#amanda the adventurer #amanda the adventurer 2 #wooly the sheep #amanda the adventurer wooly #ata 2 #maddykpost #piper the mouse #fanfic #fanfiction

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aplgy-girl · 2 months ago

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THE QUARRY — bloodline ᝰ.ᐟ

~ fem!oc x jacob custos — fem!oc x max brinly 𝜗𝜚

CHAPTER ONE — prologue

TAGS ༉‧₊˚.

17+ !! suggestive, gorey, NOT PROOFREAD, cancellation of characters and/or dialogues, no caps friendly, lore is semi changed to fit into my characters plots! <3

no schedule — chapters might be short ྀི

────୨ৎ────

THE MOONLIGHT SHONE through the cracks of the van max borrowed from his mother, four young adults sat on the cushioned seats of it. all met from college classes, turned to study group, made into close friends. laura sat in the back with a veterinarian technician textbook in her sleep, whilst the purple haired woman, valerie, on her right side with her eyes closed, head bobbing softly to the soft music coming from her vintage ipod thrumming in her hand.

“okay, but seriously, max.. you shouldn’t be so stubborn and listen to me about directions.” a dark haired brunette cooed towards max, her hand holding onto max’s free hand, rubbing delicate circles on top his soft knuckles. max was noticeably anxious, driving into circles for what feels like eternity.

“sammie, hun, i tried. you told me two signs ago that we should go left… we are at the same sign.” he sighs, glancing towards his lover with adoration and agitation. they all decided to volunteer at a children’s summer camp over the season, to allow themselves “peace and tranquility” through the upcoming hardships they will have to encounter at university. it was also a farewell vacation for max and sammie, since they were moving universities to study abroad, or so what sammie said. max didn’t seem too keen on the plan, moving away from his childhood bestfriend, laura. sammie reasoned they will return to visit soon, since she would also be leaving her bestfriend, valerie.

valerie understood though, shes always supported samantha through everything. if you were a stranger to them, you would think they’re dating, but its quite the opposite. sammie and val always were like two peas in a pod, her mother being the sister to val’s, causing them to be close from the get-go.

they met max and laura in middle school, after sammie talked max’s ear off in aquatic science that she adored sharks, she introduced max to val, who then introduced laura to the bestfriends.

“i—ouch!-” val yelped when laura kicked her in a sleepy haze, causing val to lightly kick the girl in retort. the blonde stirred awake, eyebrows furrowed as she glares at val, in which she shrugs, kicking the blondes feet down from the seat to make more room for herself.

“whatever, whats going on guys? do you need a map, max?” she yawned out, stretching as much as she could in the confined car. she looked around the area to find the map, causing max’s attention to deviate to the movement.

sammie turned back to address max about what an offline book just experienced, before realizing he wasn’t paying attention. “max! road!” she groaned, lightly tapping his head as to signal it to turn.

he mutters a sorry, quickly turning to the road but sees a…. he doesn’t know exactly what he sees, but it’s big and most importantly, in their path. sammie’s eyes widen in realization as time feels to freeze, her hands flying to swerve the car to keep them from running over whatever that was.

the sudden movements pick up the attention of the two other women. the car thrashed wildly as you can hear sammie panicking while max tries to maintain the cars balance.

“ohmygodohmygodohmygod-” sammie rambled, one hand holding onto max’s shirt tightly, his once free hand now on the wheel to offer extra support, and the other hand holding the grab handles at the top of the car.

after what feels like forever for them, but in reality was 20 seconds, the tires screech to a pit stop. the only sound made was the panicked breathing of the group, eyes wide as saucers staring at each other.

“can somebody tell me what the fuck just happened?”

#nick furcillo x reader #the quarry #jacob custos #max brinly #nick furcillo #jacob custos x reader #max brinly x reader #the quarry fanfic

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hathay · 1 year ago

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twst first years halloween headcanons<3

warnings: none!

(tis but just small silly hc’s. i may make some hc’s for the other years too im not sure yet😍😍)

♡ace♡

- will literally take candy from children. doesn’t matter how he has to, he will brisk right on by, snatching a handful from a child’s bag. using a magic trick to distract a big group of the to get more? he will. he has no shame.

- couldn’t care less about wearing an attractive costume, would wear something awful and stupid like a banana or like one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes. (he still thinks he looks so attractive in that costume too)

- actively steals parts of the other first years costumes and just waits menacingly for them to notice.

- will discreetly (sometimes.) judge other people’s costumes (even though he looks ridiculous).

- INSISTS they take group photos especially if they’re in awful costumes, and will post the worst photos of everyone off guard.

- he will also force everyone to watch horror movies afterwards, but only ones he’s seen so he can seem like everyone else is a scaredy cat when in reality, his first time watching them he almost peed himself.

♤deuce♤

- takes halloween seriously.

- absolutely loved being home for halloween and helping him mom decorate to liven up the holiday.

- he calls his mom on halloween from NCR and even sends her pictures of his costume, and later group photos.

- volunteers to hand candy out to kids, absolutely LOVES IT.

- doesn’t know what he wants to dress up as, but will take suggestions and loves group costumes.

- has to HIDE his candy because he doesn’t trust ace nor grim enough to just leave it lying around, it is quite literally under his bed within like 3 different boxes.

- hates the horror movies ace puts on, literally cannot stand them. almost punched ace in the leg MULTIPLE times when he was jumpscared but jack put a stop to that.

❆epel❆

- sometimes joins ace in snatching candy from kids, sometimes he smacks aces hand away and thinks he’s definitely stolen too much.

- definitely with deuce in enjoying group costumes, it makes him feel included, but definitely wants to dress cooler than sometime goofy

- almost brawls with adults who try and say they’re “too old” to be dressing up and getting candy

- LOVES trick or treating since he was one of the few kids in his hometown, he loves being able to go door to door with other people and seeing kids running around in costumes just beaming.

- so hyped about candied apples, gets everyone some but tells them he could could make some better ones in his hometown for them one day!

- tries to get everyone to trade candy because he doesn’t want some of the ones he got, but he doesn’t wanna give them away for nothing!

- def hides all his candy from vil, it’s hidden so well in a bag, in a bag, in a box, in his closet, with shoes on top and all.

☾jack☾

- sometimes gives off the “too cool” for halloween vibes, but absolutely loves it. he finds it so fun to dress up.

- used to help out around his house, making sure his siblings had their costumes on, taking them door to door just to see them smile.

- would dress in whatever people wanted him to, group costumes, solo ones, coordinated, he’s down! (his sister once tried to get him to wear a matching princess dress and he refused, but she did end up convincing him to wear a tiara with her)

- will carry everyone’s candy bags if they need be, also scolds ace every time he steals a child’s candy, taking it back n stealthily putting it back into the kids bag.

- (secretly adores the photos they take in costume and even posts some on magicam)

- at some point may also end up holding grim under his arm like a rag-doll when grim decides he doesn’t feel like going around anymore.

- he only keeps a little bit of the candy he gets, giving most of it to other first years, or ruggie later.

- he will give you some of his candy if he knows it’s your favorite and he doesn’t want it.

♞sebek♞

- definitely acts like he’s above dressing up for halloween. untilllll he overhears malleus discussing how excited he is for halloween, dressing up, all the festivities and suddenly sebek is over the wall for it.

- only goes out with the first years on halloween when lilia & malleus practically force him to.

- acts like he would rather be anywhere else doing anything else, but is actually having so much fun.

- thinks it’s odd parents just let their children run amuck.

- he brings back candy/treats for lilia, malleus, and silver that he’s sure they’re gonna enjoy. (considered bringing back trick candy that ace used on him for silver)

- the horror movies ace forces upon them, he lowkey cannot stand. he thinks the people are foolish because for WHAT REASON are they to walking around where they heard someone scream without any weapons??

(also @kasdan has some slay writings as well so you should check her out🥳)

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sl-newsie · 2 months ago

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American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 28: Unnoticed

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Enough with socializing. Enough with fighting. Thomas can have his kill but I’m through with watching grown men fight like children. Can we ever go to a single event without someone being shot? As I pass by the groups of men the trait that relates them all is their unbelievable arrogance- Wait.

I stop walking and stare straight ahead. Those men in that truck- Those are Irish men. A volunteer force. What could they possibly-?

I gasp and push through the rest of the crowd. “Thomas-!”

A large man in a flat cap blocks my way. “Sorry, lass. Private business.”

An Irish accent if I ever heard one. “I know who you are. You should know who my uncle is! Ever heard of Edmond Colon?”

His eyes slightly widen at the mention of the name. “Aye.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Then you would know that if he hears that you’ve killed his niece’s boss you could run into some trouble in the future.”

The man begins to stutter an answer but another giant man turns me away. “Walk along, Ms. Steenstra.” He leans in and his voice changes to an English one. “No harm will come to Mr. Shelby, orders of Churchill. He will not die today.”

I protest further but it’s too late. I’m pushed back into the stadium and lose sight of the truck. What does he mean? Where’s Thomas now?!

“Fucking kings of the world!” I hear John’s voice over the noise and see him beckoning me over. “C’mon, Verena! There’s a celebration in order!”

“Lizzie’s alright?” I ask immediately.

John puts an arm around me and walks me to a table. “I talked with her. She’s better.”

So goes another wild game. It’s what I get for tagging along with the Peaky Blinders.

Back at the office Arthur shouts for everyone to quiet down. Thomas is still missing. It’s rather odd that his absence is labeled off as normal now. I can’t stop the worry pooling in my stomach no matter how many drinks John offers. One drink is all I take.

“Right! Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to make a toast!” Arthur announces. “To the Small Heath Rifles! To the Lee boys! And to the Peaky fucking Blinders!” Glasses are raised and cheers are shouted. “Who’s gonna stop us, eh?”

This is all fine and dandy but I have no part here. My ambition is for a partnership contract, not expansion. If only Thomas were here then a contract could be accomplished as he promised.

“You’re turning in?” Finn asks before I reach the door.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t argue. Only nods his head. “I understand. I’m not a fan of our big parties either. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen.”

“Alright. I’m going to Thomas’ office to file a few papers.”

Glad to know I’m not the only skeptic of wild parties. Even back home they never appealed to me. All those drunken souls flailing about-

“Oh!”

When I open the door the sight of red is too alarming to go unnoticed. In the shadows I make out Thomas’ blood-splattered face.

“You’re back,” I gasp.

“You look relieved,” he replies from his desk chair.

I walk to him slowly, almost like approaching a ghost. “I recognized those men. Before they drove off. I tried to…” I trail off, still staring at his unreadable face. “The red right hand never kids around, Thomas. It’s a miracle the Crown stepped in. I’m guessing that’s not your blood?”

“No.” Thomas shifts in the chair and looks up again, this time with devoted eyes. “Are you still up for another therapy session?”

Faith. Sympathy. Loyalty. Shards of emotions running through me all at once. Am I still staring? I need to answer. Thomas needs this. And he’s asking me. Not May, not Lizzie. Me. I need to help.

I take a seat on his desk and open my arms, surrendering to his words. “You know I’m always here to listen.”

Those eyes. Eyes that seem to melt when he hears me. Thomas takes a quick breath and looks to be thinking over what to say.

“There’s change coming, love. I’ve got ideas I’m gonna pitch to Michael, since he’s staying. For you too. I’ve drawn up a contract for your family. Shelby Company Limited would love to partner with you.” He reaches over to take my hand. “Your loyalty to my family deserves proper benefits, Verena.”

My breath hitches. “Thomas, this isn’t all about money. The contract is to help us, yes. But it’s also proof.”

Thomas frowns. “Proof?”

“Yes. To show that I’m making a proper living for myself. Why do you think I’ve gone this long without my family disapproving? I’m here to help with the bigger picture instead of having my mother train me to be a meaningless housekeeper.” I squeeze his hand. “And I am here to help you face whatever demons haunt you.”

Thomas just stares at me. Then leans in closer. His smell of cologne and cigarettes makes my heart race even faster.

“You are one of the most peculiar people I know. Even when you have your own ambitions they hold a deeper meaning for someone else.”

“I know I play a small part-”

“No,” he cuts me off. “Not small. Not to us. You help us remember to stay a family, Verena. And I promise these changes will make good profits for your own family. And…” He pauses and licks his lips, looking down to the floor. “We’ll need help with business overseas while I’m taking time off. I’m getting married.”

Crack.

Another piece of my heart is ripped away. You knew this was coming, Steenstra. He knocked her up, I’m sure of it. Now he will have his blushing bride and forget all about us. About me. Instead of looking to me to listen he will rely on her. Did I not just say I’m dedicated to helping him?

“That’s wonderful,” I whisper with a forced smile. “Matrimony in the eyes of God is always something to marvel at. Congratulations, Thomas.”

I pull my shaking hand away before he can ask what’s wrong and excuse myself for the evening. I shouldn’t be upset. He’ll be happy to have her as his wife. She should be happy as his bride. And little old me will keep to the side, unsatisfied. Is this what they call irony? I reach out and give my heart to him, only for him to discard it unnoticed.

Let it go. Grace is… nice. Even after she lied. And hinted at threatening to expose my family ties. Could she still have hidden means for Thomas?

You’re concerned for him? Well, yes. He’s my boss. But you think of him as more than that? More than platonic? No! I wouldn’t… Oh God. Am I in love with Thomas Shelby? Ding ding! We have a winner!

@meadows5

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #polly gray #arthur shelby #john shelby #finn shelby #grace burgess #cillian murphy #alfie solomons #tom hardy #michael gray #may charelton

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strawberryshortcake1495 · 26 days ago

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Book 1: Disaster on Ice

It’s been 9 months since Jaden met that pretty manic pixie dream girl, Mabel Pines, alongside her brother, Dipper. Jaden’s pretty sure he hates him cause sometimes the nerdy boy tended to glare at him from afar and seemingly judge his actions. Anyways, one day, Mabel invites Jaden over for a study date at the library. That’s where Mabel tells him that her Grandpa Shermie runs an animal shelter called “Furry Friends” and even shows him pictures of the cute dogs. She then sadly tells him that in the recent years, the business has been failing and she and Dipper have been volunteering to help take care of the animals ever since they started highschool. The next day, Jaden walks by Furry Friends and decides to pay the place a visit. He helps the twins take care of the dogs and one of the dogs escape their cages and once the door was open, a swarm of dogs tackled Jaden to the ground. He and Mabel bond together over dogs. Before he leaves, Dipper gives Jaden some pictures he took during “the Great Puppy Escape”. Jaden was about to ask Dipper why he’s so aloof around him but the fluffy-haired boy was already inside, leaving Jaden all alone. The next day, Jaden returns to Furry Friends and comes across Sherman Pines himself. Shermie tells him that yesterday, his wife fell off a ladder and broke her leg, and because of the failing business, he can’t afford to keep the animal shelter and plans to sell it to the local flower shop next door. Jaden asks if Mabel and Dipper know about this, to which Dipper suddenly walks into the room and the silence was so loud. That’s when Jaden gets an awesome idea. Recently, his mom has been reading magazines about the upcoming “Holiday on Ice” show and that certain candidates play for charities, and Jaden suggests that he attends the event, skating for Furry Friends. He even adds that the prize winner will get a million dollars, which will be just enough to help support the animal shelter. Shermie is overjoyed and says that he’ll help sign Jaden up. What Jaden wasn’t expecting was for Shermie to sign Dipper up in the show too (with his parents’ permission). In the paperwork, he and Dipper were forced to be partners for the show since you need a group of at least 2 people to be qualified. That just made things awkward. During practice, it turns out Jaden is AWFUL at skating. He can’t even stand on the ice for longer than 2 seconds. Dipper was hella embarrassed, and so was he, to be honest. 2 days later, it’s time for the show and Mabel is attending which makes Jaden super nervous. Through some mishaps, he accidentally locks himself and Dipper in a storage room. Dipper calls Mabel and she tells them she’ll figure something out and that they should just wait there. So now, the boys are forced to kinda talk their feelings out. One of their exchanges goes like this:

Jaden: I told you not to distract her! But you just LOVE feeling like a hero, don’t you?

Dipper: You’d rather I let you go out there and embarrass yourself on that rink?!

Jaden: What do you care? I know you hate me!

Dipper: I don’t hate you!

Jaden: What?

Dipper: I never did.

Jaden learns that Dipper has been acting a little harsh to him because he’s been really on edge because of something that happened last summer, but Dipper doesn’t say what. Dipper apologizes to Jaden for being a little too cold to him, he knows that they both care about Mabel so much and that the black-haired boy’s proven himself to be trust-worthy. Jaden apologizes for being so quick to accuse Dipper of being a jerk, and they do a little fist bump. Then, the door is unlocked and the boys are freed just as they’re next. Dipper and Jaden come up with a plan: Dipper will skate on the ice and carry Jaden during the entire routine, and if they’re lucky, they might win. They proceed with the plan and wouldn’t ya know it, it works! Dipper and Jaden win the show and Furry Friends is saved. But the real game changer happens at the end. Jaden is being interviewed some some news reporters when Mabel comes right up to him, picks him up, and spins him around in the air. The two laugh before Mabel suddenly asks Jaden to go out with her. All the cameras are pointed at Jaden, and with his face bright red, says yes. This was just the beginning.

#gravity falls #gravity falls oc #mabel pines #dipper pines #season 3 #mabel’s boyfriend au #gravity falls au #oc x canon

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mikhailwrites · 9 months ago

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Soaring Ever Higher 3 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

Previous chapter | This Chapter on AO3 | Next chapter

Ghost still owes Trigger that drink. However, it's not so easy for RAF and SAS soldiers to meet by chance. Or is it?

Two months after returning from Colombia, Ghost finds himself in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Scotland, to supervise part of the SAS selection in the Highlands. He actually volunteered because it’s been either that or R&R, and he hates the leave much more than dealing with recruits.

The weather is British or, well, Scottish, he supposes. Heavy clouds hang low, crying rivers over several dozens of trekking soldiers. Ghost doesn’t particularly mind; he would take rain and cold over humid heat any day. He’s on the tail of the group. He is casually noting who’s lagging behind, who’s breathless or sweating more than they should. For once, his mind takes a break, and he can take in the scenery. Harsh rocky terrain, hillsides covered in lush green grass and hardy shrubs. Ghost stops for a minute to take a few deep breaths, to taste the rain and the air. Momentarily, he looks back, just in time to spot… something flying in the distance. A bird, eagle, perhaps. But then it gets bigger and bigger, closing in fast. Soon, it’s clear that that’s no bird, or at least not one made of feathers and flesh. It’s a… jet? Every fibre in Ghost’s body tenses and senses focus on discerning if it’s friend or foe. It doesn’t make sense for it to be an enemy this far inland. How would they get here? And why? The jet closes in, rolling between the hills at high speed, manoeuvring with practised and deadly efficiency. Ghost realises the jet is flying even lower than he first thought. He can hear the aircraft now, too. The sharp, powerful whine will morph into a thundering roar once the jet passes.

As it closes in, Ghost frowns. That’s not the Typhoon. Nor the Lightning II. It’s bigger, sleeker, and weirder. And it’s dark, almost black. With three white strikes and claws painted on the tail fin. No way. Ghost’s breath hitches as the jet passes him. One person is sitting in the cockpit, and Ghost is pretty sure he knows them.

What are the bloody odds?

Later that day, when they return, and most of the people in selection end up immediately in their bed, he goes to the canteen, hoping to catch some locals there. He’s in luck; there’s an SAS sergeant currently engaged in a lively chat so that Ghost can pick up her Scottish accent. He gets a tea and waits patiently until she disengages.

He asks about the RAF bases around and is given a name: Lossiemouth Airbase. Apparently, the gal has some friends and even family there. Military runs in their blood or something. Ghost tries his best to be tactical and friendly at the same time, and he suspects he fails horribly in the friendliness department. It’s not that he’s a bastard or cold; no matter what people say, he’s just… not as good with words as he is with actions. It’s simple, really.

“You interested in a tour?” the Sergeant asks him with an easy smile, “I’m sure I could arrange something.”

“I’d like to meet someone stationed there,” Ghost admits.

“Right! Well, you should be able to get inside with your military ID. If yer lucky, you could even catch someone driving there who could take ye,” she shrugs and smiles, unperturbed by Ghost’s presence. It’s refreshing, but it makes sense; all sort of people try their luck in the selection; she must’ve seen weirder stuff than tall, broad and brooding Ghost.

He gets a couple of days off at the end of the selection. The last part are interrogations and he doesn’t need, nor does he want to be present for that. Instead, he hitches a ride to Lossiemouth.

His military ID gets him through the security checkpoint without any issues, just like the Sergeant said it would. After that, he’s a little lost. The base is big. It's not the biggest he’s been to, but it's big enough to warrant asking for directions. He also feels different. RAF is its own thing, with its own language and culture. Even though he only wears a plain black balaclava, he gets a lot of lingering stares. In the end, he chooses his victim: a wide-eyed young man.

He asks for the Strider squadron and then, specifically, for Trigger. The man, a Lance Corporal by the insignia on his shoulder, looks up at Ghost with poorly disguised surprise. “You a friend of Trigger’s?” he asks, searching Ghost’s plain attire for any indication of rank. He has a feeling he should be addressing the man as “sir”, but there’s no proof.

“Something like that,” Ghost answers without really answering, and he doesn’t clarify on his own rank, either. These are not his men, his people; why should he care?

RAF bloke nods and points to one of the large hangs further away. Ghost thanks for the help and goes on about his business.

The day is pleasant, with clear skies and sun that’s not too hot. It's a true rarity around here. As he nears the hangar, he notices the gate is open and, sure enough, there’s Trigger’s aircraft. Ghost strides across the tarmac, eyes set on his target. A shadow passes over him, and he pays it no mind. But then he’s startled by a deafening roar. He looks up, but the plane is long gone. Bloody madmen, these fighter pilots.

The path before him is clear, so he continues, noticing four Typhoons taxying on the runway. Nearing the hangar, he notices two people there. One is Trigger; his mohawk is easily recognisable. The other is a young woman with short, dark hair, clad in a grey overall and tinkering with something on the workbench.

Ghost comes nearer, stopping right at the entrance.

“Take a look at the starboard tail; it’s been acting up again,” John tells the engineer, motioning with his hands to illustrate the issue better. “I got a feeling it’s gonna jam one of these days. Maybe the frost issue, again?”

The engineer nods, scratching at her neck. “Listen, John, I know you love her. Believe me, I do, but it may be time to let her go. The tail, the flaps, the outer cockpit glass crack... I could go on. These issues? They’ve been stacking up lately. She will let you down one day, and I won’t be up there with you to fix ‘er up.”

“I ken,” Trigger sighs, brushing his fingertips over the edge of the wing; his voice is wistful. “I ken, Avril. But what am I gonna do?”

She cleans her oil and lubricant-stained hands and tosses the rag on the workbench nearby. “Fly something else, of course. The craft doesn’t define you. Do you think the brass doesn’t like you enough to get you the Lightning? Plenty of those down at Marham base. Or, hell, maybe some hush-hush deal to get a Raptor loaned?”

“I dinnae ken,” John shrugs, “that thing in Colombia is gonna stink for a while longer. Just… look at the tail for now. Please.”

“I’ll do the thorough maintenance, like I always do, love. Don’t worry. I’ll get the old Gray Ghost here all patched up and air-worthy,” the Scrap Queen smiles. “Just don’t go feeling sorry for saving someone’s life. You’re a good lad, John; don’t let the brass scream it out of you.”

“Thanks, Av, wouldnae still be here if not for ye.”

“That’s for damn sure,” she laughs as she picks up the toolbox and stepladder and goes around the plane. That’s when she notices Ghost, still standing by the entrance.

“Uh, John… you’ve got a visitor,” she calls out.

Trigger walks up from behind the jet with a mildly confused look. The frown deepens momentarily as he takes in the visitor in question. “Ghost? How did you... what are you doing here?”

Avril eyes him with sudden recognition; there’s a subtle smile on her lips as she pretends to focus on the machine.

“I was nearby, and I still owe you that drink,” Ghost goes straight to the point. No greeting, no explanation. Simply stating the facts.

John visibly relaxes and chuckles. “That you do, but considering I stood you up, I guess we are even.”

“Duty called. Nothing you could do,” Simon shrugs. “So, I still owe you a drink.”

“Well, who am I to say no if you insist?” John inclines his head, blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

“I insist,” Ghost nods before he changes the topic. “I overheard her, something about old Ghost?” Ghost lowers his voice. He’s still unsure if he should feel offended or not. He’s not that old, after all.

Trigger takes a few seconds to connect the dots and then starts laughing. A bright, hearty laugh that causes Ghost to smile in return. Not that anyone could see it under the balaclava. “Come ‘ere,” Trigger leads him around the plane until he stops and points at something under the fuselage. Ghost looks, unsure what he should see there. Then he understands. Behind the front landing gear, on the cover that is now open, is writing in thick black lettering: Gray Ghost. “It’s her name. And thank you for spoiling that, by the way. I was saving that piece of trivia for when we’re at least the second, possibly even third, drink in.”

Ghost’s mind is reeling both because of the explanation and implication. “So... that Ghost saved this Ghost’s arse, eh? What are the odds?” Ghost shakes his head in amusement.

“Not massive, I reckon, but it is funny,” John agrees, then, suddenly, his smile freezes, “or... it’s fate,” he says in a low voice, almost whispering. The sparks in his eyes are proof enough that he’s only joking.

“Yeah, I guess as far as destiny is concerned, I could’ve ended up worse than a destined love made of steel and having some wicked angles and curves,” Ghost snorts, placing a palm on the nose. The metal is warm as the sun shines through the open gate. “I wonder where the ring goes.”

Trigger laughs, then feigns offence. “Oi! This lass is already taken! And you don’t have what it takes to be with her, anyway.”

“Oh, and what is that? Lack of common sense and self-preservation?” Ghost mocks him lightheartedly.

“Exactly! Anyway, I still have some stuff to finish here, so how about you walk around, see our lovely home, and I’ll meet you here at…” he looks at the wristwatch, “five?”

Ghost agrees and goes on to explore the base as suggested. He truly hopes they will get to enjoy that drink this time—that, and maybe something more.

Some useless trivia for you:

Soap, or, rather, Trigger, in this case, is flying Northrop YF-23. Two prototypes were made in the late 80's/early 90's to go toe to toe with (Y)F-22, one of them was painted charcoal grey and named Gray Ghost. And yes, that is one (but not the sole) reason why I decided he will be flying this cool af, weird-ass thing.

#Johnny is sentimental about his jet #of course he is #And Johnny and Avril are terrific friends #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ace combat #ace combat 7

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