#(and it’s a bit of a hurdle to get her to stop seeing em as That Junior Helper From The Daycare Back In The Day. Who Is A Villain Now)

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

Em Farrow (tentative last name for dhsab si…..) makes a point of attending a book club at a college they don’t attend, for at least the first part of the storyline. It’s how they established and maintain a small civ friendgroup while living in the city and working under the ELE.

It’s just generally assumed by the other members that Em is a student, but when asked directly (hey, what year are you, anyway? you’re not graduating, are you?) they’ll admit to being a dropout. (nah, I failed out, haha. But Samantha said it would be alright if I kept showing up to our meetings, everybody say thank you Sam) (pan, over a chorus of thaaank you Saaaams, to the quiet club treasurer everybody loves who is a little embarrassed by being singled out and certainly isn’t going to make a fuss and REVOKE an invitation even if she’s pretty sure she never offered one because that would be RUDE and make everything worse)

[biggie-chcese]

concepts for kurumi wendy gumshoe gabs because why the fresh fuck did they not give her any like actually hey kodaka can we talk-

(rain code spoilers btw)(also gab will stop sounding like a word to you)

im gonna try to structure a kurumi gumshoe gab set but i will not be writing the conversations out bc im sorry girl but 1. im not obsessed with her enough to basically write a fic and 2. i think the conversations would still be comparatively dull due to yuma's function being "the normal one" to contrast the rest of the kooky cast and kurumi's function as essentially the same thing but also as a love interest and exposition dropper. but i still wanna at least give a model of what her conversations would be like for funsies. I'll be mixing what i think would realistically happen if they gave her gabs and also what i think should happen. alright let's get started

first off, obviously they shouldnt be available until after ch 2. maybe in ch 3 you get a new gab page and yuma can start finding new gabs out in the overworld (what sort of gem color would she have??? jade? is that too close to vivia's emerald? i dont wanna say some shit like rose gold). im not coming up with locations and hints sorry idc that much.

GAB #1

the first gab is them jumping over the hurdle of "wait we don't really have much interaction besides investigating murders and blushing dumbly" which is primarily what irks me in the game's efforts to push her as a love interest. at least let us watch yuma spend some god damn time with her holy shit WHYYY doesn't she have any fucking gumshoe gabs I'm going insa-

erm anyway let's make em have a casual talk abt something. yuma would probably start off like "this is the first time ive really been alone with kurumi ahh i dont know what to say this is awkward ahhhh" and shinigami gets rightfully annoyed with his cuckly behavior. but in an effort to save the awkwardness yuma asks her about her work as an informant. i think she'd enthusiastically spout off about it and how her grandfather inspired her (though keeping it vague because i think she could save more talk of missing family members for later). maybe she talks about her first forway into her informant work and a certain mishap that occured, yuma has to guess what happened bc she's a little embarrassed about it (this is whwre the dialogue options come in). but it's completely harmless. maybe she got spotted by the person she was tailing and then got a slap on the wrist and sent home. yuma finds it a little endearing, shinigami gives the bond level up message, and there. solid conversation. next

GAB #2

yuma asks her what exactly got her so interested in detectives. did she read heroic novels about them? did she see their noble efforts in the headlines? was she personally saved by one? the possibilities are endless and could all be answered here. actually lets have her teasingly make yuma guess here. poof, there's your dialogue options.

maybe she can even have a little kookiness as a treat and accidentally let the true nature of her admiration for detectives slip for a moment where it pretty much crosses the line of "that's a bit creepy". not towards yuma but still something a bit off putting like obsessively keeping track of her favorite detectives' activities or having information about their personal lives she absolutely shouldn't have (informant + proud participant in WDO stan culture is a dangerous combo) but she also misses doing that because now kanai ward is isolated. yuma could also be like "wait isnt what you were doing then a bit too much?" but it gets dismissed by shinigami telling him they levelled up their bond

Threeeeee!!!

this one should be about aiko methinks. yuma catches kurumi in a down mood and asks what's up and it goes from there. she gives us more detail into her friendship with aiko and maybe she could even actually acknowledge the deaths of those theatre club girls and mention how chillingly quiet the club has gotten. she tells yuma that she tries not to think about it, but the empty space they left behind is immense... yuma's dialogue choices may be to try to cheer up/comfort her. thank you, next

4

perhaps now she can talk about her grandpa (and also maybe drop how that home situation is cause girl where are your parents). she could talk about her mission in finding him cause he must be out there!!! somewhere!!!! this shit could be sentimental or smth. she could say something about kanai ward's nearly extinct species of people who are still fighting for the truth and how even when things are dangerous she remembers that no one else will do it so she's gotta step it up. she'd pivot that over to saying how glad she is that the master detectives are here bc of that, and yuma could have dialogue options where the correct choice is basically saying he admires her for that. idk. next

The Fiverrrrrrr

final gab. i was gonna be funny and say "probably another love confession like fubuki's and then yuma hits her with the nuh-uh" but due to the nature of the epilogue i actually dont think it does exactly that. maybe kurumi is stuck on a small, separate thing she's investigating and she summarizes what's up. i think it could potentially be a more personal problem or at least something she can connect to (another girl in school missing a family member? idk) so that it's a bit obvious she's more frustrated in not finding any leads. yuma helps her out a little in finding a lead (this is where the dialogue choices come in) and after thanking him, kurumi is like "y'know, we make a pretty great team" (flirting, but yuma doesnt read it that way.) shinigami groans and maybe even fusses about how she's yuma's partner but this goes ignored. and of course yuma's dense ass is like yeah i think you have the makings of a great informant and detective and he essentially coworker-zones her. kurumi then asks about how they could still maybe possibly work like this together perhaps maybe 👉 👈 🥹 after solving kanai ward's ultimate secret and yuma happily agrees. this will make his choice in the epilogue to fuck off to florida without much of a goodbye even funnier.

anyway thats it for my kurumi gumshoe gabs thanks for reading

[violetlilysunshine]

Like a Sleepover

Tom Holland x Female Reader

Requested

Anon: Sleeping over Tom Holland house for the first time. Lots of fluff please

WC: 3,544

Warnings: none, just fluff

A/N: I'm seeing this take place in Atlanta, but it’s not really specific if you wanna imagine it somewhere else!

REQUESTS OPEN - Or just come chat :)

MASTERLIST

You and Tom had been together for a little while; you were getting serious, spending more and more time together.

Last month, you finally put a label on yourselves, “is it...ya know, uh… can I, well…” he stuttered.

“Spit it out, Tommy,” you joked.

“Can I call you my girlfriend?”

You were taken aback for a second, “well, uh, to be honest, I kinda thought I already was…” you giggled.

He laughed at you gently, “well alright then, girlfriend…” he trailed off with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Okay, boyfriend.”

TUESDAY

Flash forward and you’re making plans for this weekend seeing as you're both off from filming.

“Yeah, so they’re showing Outsiders at the drive-in on Friday, and we’d have to go to the later showing after I finish filming, but uh, I thought it would be fun and something different for us and I know you love the movie. Might be fun to dress like Greasers too,” he proposed through the phone, calling you between scenes.

“Ooh that does sound like fun, but I wanna be Cherry,” you said, giggling a bit.

“Okay, you can be Cherry, I’ll be Ponyboy,” he finalized.

“Sounds good, well I gotta go,” you said, “duty calls.”

“Yeah, me too, but uh, one more thing real fast?”

“Sure, what’s up, babe?”

“Well seeing as it’s going to be really late, I just thought maybe after it’s over, you could maybe stay with me?” his voice tweaked up at the end. He was met with silence on your end for a minute before he added, “ya know, like a sleepover…”

“Uh, yeah, maybe…” you trailed off, “we’ll see what the wind blows, huh?”

“Oh,” he said, his voice dropping a bit, “yeah sounds good.”

“Okay, well I really do have to run.”

“Alright, darling, talk to you tonight.”

“Bye,” you said, already walking out of your trailer and back to set.

“Yeah, bye,” he answered to himself, seeing as you’d already ended the call.

You had never been nervous with him before, but now he’d casually invited you to stay over at his house for the night, something you’d never done with any boyfriend, ever. You didn’t know how to act, and it kinda freaked you out.

Was he expecting anything? What would you even wear? Should you bring a change of clothes? Would late night last into early morning? What if you woke up before him and didn’t know what to do in his house? What if he woke up first and you slept in really late, leaving him bored and trapped?

Questions swirled your mind, and you knew he would bring it up again, but you had to force them away. You hustled back to set, getting into character and trying to forget about everything.

He called you later that night, “wanna grab a bite with Harry and I?” he proposed.

“Uh sure,” you thought since Harry would be there, he wasn’t likely to bring it up again.

You met him just down the street from his house at the forgotten diner you frequented, never being recognized and getting some peace together. You grabbed burgers and chatted about your day as you ate and everything seemed fine. He didn’t bring it up again, and you thought you would have another few days to process everything and hopefully get over the hurdles in your mind. You wanted to stay with him, but you didn’t know how that would play out, exactly.

“Finished?” he asked, gesturing to your empty tray as he stood up.

“Yeah, thanks,” you smiled, and he cleaned up the table and took the trash to the can.

“I’m gonna walk back, if that’s okay,” Harry said, standing from the table, “got some photos I wanna edit.”

“Sure, bro, I’ll be right behind you,” Tom answered, coming back to you.

“Bye,” you waved as he left you and Tom alone.

“Walk you to your car?” Tom offered.

You stood up, turning around to thank the workers as the two of you left the diner. He walked you to your car, one hand secured around your shoulders, hugging you tight to his side.

“So, uh, I kinda got the sense that you didn’t want to stay with me earlier,” he said slowly, testing the waters to see how you would react.

You swallowed hard, turning to lean on the door of your car, “oh,” you whispered, “well uh, it’s not that, it’s just that I don’t - I’ve never really, uh, done that before.”

“Yeah I know we haven’t, love,” he chuckled.

“I mean, like ever,” you whispered, looking at the ground, “I just uh, don’t really know how that works.”

“Oh, well, uh, it’s not that hard really,” he soothed, “you just sorta sleep at my place, and I take care of you, and make you breakfast, and we just be together.”

You looked into his chocolate eyes, nothing but love pouring out of them. You don’t know how long you held his gaze for, but he started to get a little nervous at your lack of response.

“I mean, we’ve napped together before, it’s kinda like the same thing, just longer,” he added, trying to put you at ease.

“But like, what’s gonna happen?” you said, fiddling with your hands.

He understood what your emphasis meant, bringing a hand to your shoulder and rubbing it gently, “I’m not expecting anything, love,” he soothed you, “if it happens, fine, I’m ready for that. If you’re not that’s fine too, just wanna cuddle with you. Feel you pressed against me. Have my sheets smell like you when I get in ‘em the next night.”

You felt more at ease about it, but wrinkled your nose at his last statement.

His eyes grew wide, “no no no,” he hurried out, “I didn’t mean it, like, in a weird way! It came out wrong!”

You giggled at him, “it’s okay, bub, I get it. Why do you think I like wearing your hoodies all the time?”

He breathed a sigh of relief, chuckling at you, “yeah?”

“Yeah, and to be honest I don’t really even like hoodies. I’m a sweatshirt kind of gal.”

“Noted,” he answered, saving that info for later, “so what d’ya think about Friday?”

“I’ll stay, but like, do I bring anything?”

“You can bring whatever makes you comfortable, love,” he answered quietly, stepping towards you and cupping your face in his hands.

“Okay,” you breathed, connecting your lips to his.

You kissed for a while, his body pressing yours into the door. You pulled back to take a breath, resting your forehead on his, “but really, do I bring like, a toothbrush and stuff?”

“Yes, love, bring a toothbrush,” he chuckled, pecking you again. He swung his arm around your shoulder again, pulling you off the car, “let’s get you home, yeah?”

He opened your door, letting you inside the driver’s seat and closing the door. You started the car, him still standing there watching you. You rolled down the window, “are you coming or what?” you laughed.

“What?” he asked with a chuckle.

“I’m taking you home, obviously,” you giggled.

He ran around to the other side, hopping in quickly and buckling up. His hand rested against your thigh instantly, stroking his thumb across your skin.

You made the short drive to his house, lights on downstairs showing that Harry was already there.

“Thanks for the ride, baby,” Tom said, leaning over the console and giving you a quick peck.

“Anytime,” you whispered, pecking him again.

“See you Friday,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows, squeezing your thigh.

“Yeah, Friday,” you answered quickly.

He pecked you one last time before slipping out of the car and jogging to the front door. You watched him go inside, waving to each other before you drove off.

THURSDAY

After you were off, you took a long shower, exfoliating everything and shaving your legs, in preparation for tomorrow night. You carefully packed your bag: toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash, hair brush, extra ponytail holders, face wash, cute pajamas, fuzzy socks, extra undies (more than you’ll ever possibly need but can’t be too prepared, right?), a cute outfit for Saturday, and a book (because who knows what the tide will bring?).

You’d spent so long worrying about what you would take with you, that you’d forgotten that you had to find something to wear to the movie. You’d already agreed to be Cherry, so you had to come up with something.

You slipped to the back of your closet, finding an old-plaid-navy-school-uniform skirt. That’ll work. You pulled out a plain white sweater that you’d never found a chance to wear, thinking you could tuck that in, and a lace bralette to go underneath it; after all, you wanted to feel a little sexy. You pulled forward some old blue Vans and some white crew socks, planning to fold them over. You also planned to ask your hair and make-up artist to help you with your hair before you left set tomorrow, saving a few pictures for her.

By the time you’d done all that, you figured you better go to bed, turning off the light, crawling into bed, and thinking about what tomorrow would bring.

FRIDAY

You’d had a long and stressful day filming, stuttering over your lines, missing your marks, and overall just not giving your best performance. Everyone has their off days, but you knew this was coming from your worries about tonight.

You called Tom as you were getting your hair done after wrapping for the day.

“Hi, bub, am I interrupting you?” you asked as soon as he answered.

“Never, love,” he answered, “what’s up?”

“Well, I’m getting my hair done for tonight, then I was going to head home. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t want me to stop and get anything at all or bring anything specific with me..”

“Course not, darling. You just have to bring that pretty face…” he trailed off.

If you were with him, you’d have slapped his shoulder lightly. Instead you just giggled, asking, “you’re positive?”

“Yes darling,” he insisted, “I’ll pick you up at 9:00.”

“Alright…” you trailed, “guess I better let you get back to work.”

“I’ll see you later, beautiful,” he whispered, “bye.”

“Bye.”

Your hair and make-up artist finished her work, expertly recreating your example images. You thanked her profusely, complimenting her over and over.

She answered with a simple, “it’s nothing dear,” and a wave of her hand.

You hugged her thank you, heading back to your trailer to collect your things.

By the time you got back to your apartment, it was already 8:30. You quickly dropped your work and other set junk on the table, scurrying to your room to collect your bag for Tom’s. You checked over everything in there, playing all the possible scenarios in your mind before deciding you were prepared.

You changed into your outfit for the night, lacing your shoes and admiring yourself in the full length mirror. You snapped a few pictures, deciding that one was cute and posted it to your Instagram story with the caption, “where’s my Pony?” and a cherry emoji.

As soon as you put it up, Tom knocked on your door. You rushed through the living room to the front door, flinging it open to see what Tom had concocted for the evening. You took in his appearance, mouth watering at the sight. You admired his slicked back hair, tight grey t-shirt, sleeves rolled up a bit of course, loose jeans, cuffed at the hem, beat up black converse, and red flannel hanging over his shoulder; you didn’t realize the effect this dress-up would have on you. You giggled, eyeing him up and down as he did the same to you.

“Hey, doll,” he grinned, meeting your eyes again.

“Hey, Pony,” you laughed.

“Ready to go?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, let me just get my bag from my room,” you said, turning back to grab it from your bed.

At the last second you decided to throw a box of tampons in. You weren’t expecting to use them, but you didn’t want to get stranded without them. You sighed, zipping up the bag and turning off your bedroom light.

You emerged from the room, walking towards Tom, standing by the table.

“Ready,” you said, voice kind of quiet.

“Let’s go then,” he smiled brightly, taking your bag from you and grabbing your hand. You locked the door behind you before following him to his car.

~~~~

When you parked to watch the movie, Tom was quick to pull out his phone, snapping a picture of the title screen and posting it to his public story. You knew fans would be in a tizzy, considering your earlier post, but they always were so what’s the point in worrying. Then he turned to you, “take a photo with me, love?”

“Course, Pony, anything for you,” you said dramatically, even though you loved it.

“Are you gonna call me that all night?” he chuckled.

“Maybe forever,” you answered, laughing loudly.

He pulled his phone up to take a selfie. You smiled wide, pressing your faces together, and he turned to peck your cheek. He snapped another, smiling as well, saving it and setting it as his lock screen.

The movie was great, as expected, and the drive-in atmosphere made it even more fun. You didn’t have to worry about fans interrupting you, a big plus, but it also just fit the movie so well, and it was fun to be in costume.

When it wrapped up and you were waiting in the traffic to pull out of the lot, Tom asked gently, “still wanna come over?”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, trying not to overthink things.

“Okay, just making sure. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just want you to be comfortable,” he said, dropping a hand to your thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Oh, well I wanna give it a go,” you said with a small smile, placing your hand on top of his.

He smiled wide, picking up your hand to give it a kiss, before dropping it back into your lap.

The drive to his house was quick after you finally made it out of the parking lot. He hurried around the car, opening your door for you, before grabbing your bag from the backseat.

He placed a hand on your lower back, gently guiding you to the front door. He shuffled around to unlock it, pushing open the door and allowing you to enter first. You stepped inside, making note of Harry on the couch. It was almost 1:00 AM, so you’d assumed he'd be asleep.

“Oh, hey Harry,” you spoke lightly.

“Hey, was wondering when you’d get here…” he trailed off, “I was just about to turn in. Outfit’s great by the way,” he said, standing from the couch and gathering his laptop.

“I don’t mean to chase you out,” you said, not wanting to be in the way.

“No, no, you didn’t,” he soothed, “it’s time to turn in anyway, gonna go golf in the morning.”

“Oh, okay, goodnight.”

“Night,” he said, trudging down the hall.

Tom had set your bag on the bench in the entryway, coming up behind you. He placed his hands on your hips, pulling you flush against his front, as he snuggled his face into your neck.

“Hi,” he whispered in your hair.

“Hi,” you giggled back, attempting to turn in his grasp.

His hands held you in place, wrapping around to cross over your stomach. He rested his weight against you, slowly swaying the both of you back and forth.

You eyed the mirror across the room, desperate to take pictures like this. After all, he got a new lockscreen earlier…

“Bub,” you giggled, feeling his breath fan across your neck.

“Mmm, yes, my love?” he grumbled, pressing kisses against your skin.

“I wanna take a picture,” you giggled, “over in that cool mirror.”

He squeezed you tighter for a second, before releasing you, “mmkay,” he answered, letting you lead him over to the mirror.

“Do that again,” you told him, guiding his arms around your waist.

He was quick to settle back into you, breathing in your scent as you snapped a few photos in the mirror: a few of him kissing your neck, a few with you both looking in the mirror, a few of him looking at you, lovingly. He buried his face even further into you, hiding completely, as you took just one more. You asked him if it was okay to post one.

“Let me see it first,” he said, wanting to check all of the surroundings for spoilers and whatnot.

He was quick to approve the photo with his lips pressed to your jaw, making you smile.

You put it up on your story, captioning this one, “found him,” with the horse and cherry emojis.

He kissed your neck a few times, watching you post, before mumbling, “ready for bed?”

You yawned slowly, “yeah, I think so.”

“Alright,” he whispered, pecking your cheek one final time.

He slid one hand down your arm, locking your fingers together, and pulling you towards the staircase. He picked up your bag, carrying it with him up to his bedroom. You followed him in and he set your bag on the end of the bed.

“Alright, darling,” he said, rubbing his hands together gently, “make yourself at home.”

“Okay,” you giggled, stepping towards the end of the bed gently.

He’d placed your bag in the middle, next to a sweatshirt. You looked at him, making note of its presence.

“Oh, well, uh, you said you didn’t like hoodies, so I uh, pulled this one out for you, ya know, if you want it,” he said, shuffling his feet.

All you could do was smile, You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you. You kissed him gently, lingering for just a second.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips.

“You’re welcome, darling.”

You turned towards the bed, stepping back from him.

“So what’d you bring?” he asked, one hand finding the zipper of your bag as he tried to get a peek inside. You were quick to stop his hands, not wanting him to see the box of tampons thrown on top.

“Things,” you said giggling, “teeth stuff, hair stuff, clothes, a book…” you trailed off.

“A book?” he laughed lightly, “what book?”

“Looking for Alaska,” you answered, “it’s my comfort book.”

“Well, you’ll have to read it to me,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“Okay,” you whispered with a sheepish smile.

“I’m gonna pop in the bathroom real quick, alright?”

“Of course, it’s your house,” you laughed.

In his absence, you changed clothes, dragging on your tiny sleep shorts and matching tank top and pulling his sweatshirt over the top. You moved your bag off the mattress, dropping it on the floor. He came back quickly, seeing your new outfit, and smiling widely.

“Looks good on you,” he grinned.

“Thanks,” you said, “can I take my makeup off?”

“Course,” he answered, gesturing to the bathroom.

While you did that, he changed as well, dressing in a new t-shirt and clean boxers; he didn’t want to get in bed with you for the first time in dirty boxers of course. He shuffled under the covers, tucking into his usual side and propping against the headboard. He scrolled through Instagram, reposting your stories to his own and liking a few posts of yours.

You returned, dropping your items back in your bag, and grabbing your book. You flipped off the overhead light and stepped into the other side, enjoying how utterly domestic everything felt.

He flipped on the lamp on the side table, opening his arm for you to rest against him. You settled against his chest, opening your book to start to read to him. He kissed your head and rubbed small circles into your arm.

Your eyes were getting heavy as you read, but you would gladly stay up all night reading with him. Unfortunately, he started to doze off, snoring just enough for you to hear. You closed the book, marking your page but knowing you’d have to go back a little bit tomorrow, and reached over to turn the light off.

He woke up a bit, grumbling, “what’re you doing, love?”

“Just turning off the light,” you whispered, “go back to sleep.”

He sank down to lay against the pillows. You dropped back over to your side, curling up, but leaving some distance between you two. You faced him, admiring his face as he slept.

“What’re you doing?” he grumbled, eyes still closed.

“What do you mean?” you giggled, “going to sleep.”

“No, c’mere,” he said, reaching an arm out to wrap around your waist.

He pulled you into him, tangling your legs together and pecking your cheeks. You giggled at him, pulling his lips to yours, kissing him goodnight.

“G’night, my love,” he grumbled, tipping his head back to rest his chin against your forehead.

“Night, Pony,” you whispered back.

He chuckled, squeezing you tighter before you both drifted off to sleep.

[katierosefun]

So you've successfully blindsided me with a new obsession... If you're still taking prompts, may I request a 'cool aunt Satine' and Ahsoka interaction, please? Literally can't get enough of those ficlets I recently stumbled across. Love 'em.

Prompt:

‘tis the damn season: “and the heart i know i’m breaking is my own.” 

ahahhaha, thank you for the kind words and!! yes, i am glad that i can now feed your obsession of ‘cool aunt Satine’ and Ahsoka interactions!! 

tis the damn season: “and the heart i know i’m breaking is my own.” 

Satine knew that the Jedi all had their hurdles—goodness knew that she had known enough Jedi to observe at least that much. (Or, more accurately, goodness knew that she had spent enough time with Jedi to observe that much.)

Satine just hadn’t expected the young Ahsoka Tano to get so caught in such hurdles at so young.

She was a bright girl, and Satine could see why Obi-Wan liked her. She was brash and bold like her own  master, of course—that young Skywalker, who walked with a confidence when there were people watching. But she was also more thoughtful, Satine realized, sometimes observing from the sidelines in a way that was too reminiscent of Obi-Wan.

And then there was something that was purely the girl’s own: curious, kind, and more open than the two other Jedi combined.

Which was how Satine very easily noticed the way Ahsoka’s face fell at the sight of a certain young girl dancing with another. Satine wasn’t sure who the girl was herself—perhaps one of the other cadets, certainly not one of Korkie’s friends, since she wasn’t too familiar with the face, but clearly, the girl had caught Ahsoka’s attention.

“Everything alright, dear?” Satine asked, walking next to Ahsoka.

Ahsoka blinked, looked at Satine. “Yes,” she said quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

“Mm.” Satine looked out to the hall, lightly folding her hands in front of herself. “The dance is rather lovely, don’t you think so? It’s a dance from the older Mandalorian tradition, but quite easy to learn.”

“Interesting,” Ahsoka commented, and the girl smiled, but Satine caught her eyes darting to the other side of the room, where that other girl still danced. With a different girl, Satine noted.

“Perhaps you should find a partner,” Satine said, nodding in that direction. “I’m sure there would be plenty of people just waiting to teach you.”

Ahsoka’s face darkened. “I…that’s kind,” she said, wounding her arms around her sides. “But I think I’m fine right here.”

“And why is that?”

Ahsoka looked at Satine. “I just…don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said quietly.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific than that, my dear,” Satine said. “I’m afraid I can’t read your mind. It’s one of my own flaws.”

“It’s not—” Ahsoka let out a short breath. “It’s just…it’s not a good idea. Because I might—and she’s really—” Clearly aware that she had let herself slip, Ahsoka’s eyes widened. She looked furiously down at the floor.

Satine smiled. “Surely, the Jedi are allowed to dance? At least, I can assure you they can.”

“Did Master Kenobi?”

“Of course he did,” Satine replied. “But this is about you, not him.” She nodded to the room again. “If you so desire a dance…I don’t think there could be anything wrong about that. It would seem innocent enough.”

“That’s just the problem,” Ahsoka said. “I don’t…if I do dance with her, then—I don’t know. I don’t know.” She looked up to where the girl was. “I just don’t want to risk it. Kind of. Because she’s really nice. And also…and also—” Ahsoka stopped.

“And also…?” Satine asked gently.

“Master Kenobi says that it’s fine to have feelings for someone,” Ahsoka said at last. She wound her arms tighter around her sides. “He says it’s natural.” She looked quickly at Satine, then back to the dance floor. “But—if someone…”

“If someone feels the same way back,” Ahsoka continued, her brows furrowing, “then it gets complicated.”

Ah.

“I just don’t think that’s fair,” Ahsoka said, her eyes still following the other girl. “And so…I just. I think it’s a good idea for me to stay out here.”

Satine looked at Ahsoka. She was so young—so young, and yet she sounded so old in that moment. Her small face was tilted bravely up at the chandelier now, shoulders squared and arms still protecting herself.

Satine smiled sadly. “Alright then,” she said. “In that case, would you at least like some company? It would be a shame for you to stay here by yourself.”

Ahsoka looked at Satine.

Satine tilted her head at Ahsoka. I know.

Ahsoka smiled—small, relieved, a little sad. “Yeah,” she said. “That’d be nice.”

[thequibblah]

director's commentary for the parts about how lily views sex in chapter 38? i found this so interesting and relatable and i love how it's so different from her attitudes in the solar power oneshot, it just shows how much awesome character growth is to come!

this is really the tallest task i've given myself with lily's character development LOLLLL but i at least have strong feelings about it so here we go

so. when i started writing this fic a significant question was what lily's level of romantic experience was because that will factor into not just her relationship w dex but also how her feelings for james evolve over time. (also it obviously impacts her and how she thinks of romance!) i find myself not very compelled by a lily who is waiting for marriage/love without like....a reason or a well-established underlying character explanation for that. i find it more interesting to explore when a principled character maybe has a less established principle, and finally has to come up against it and make a decision. (as a sidenote, i also wanted to write a lily whose fears and anxieties and desires are more in line with what i/my female friends talked about and thought about in high school)

lily re: sex has been a huge thread-the-needle sitch. like many in Our Society she has complicated feelings about the role of sex in her life, as a good girl tee em, but i also didn't want to establish a weird madonna/whore situation with the female cast of the fic, like, Only Some Girls Have Sex. considering that lily herself grapples with being a good girl and, well, still containing multitudes, i wanted to think out those complications through her.

at the same time, i think there's a tendency in fic (or really, any sort of romance story) to make sex super black and white. like, you have it with the Wrong Person and so it's bad, but then you have it with the Right Person and everything clicks! it's certainly true that you can have less-than-good sex with someone and the reason for that is them, but i really didn't (and don't!) want to make it seem like it'll be a simple and easy switch to james for lily because they're going to fall in love. it won't be! don't let the oneshot fool you!

she has things to figure out, and that, to some degree, is unaffected by who she's with (or isn't with). she's not like, wow it was such a mistake to have sex with this guy because i didn't love him! she's not like wow it was such a mistake to have sex with this guy because it wasn't mindblowing (she had low-ish expectations, which mary might say is a problem in and of itself but that's a separate thing lol)! it's all very convoluted and i don't want to delve too deep into questions that i mean to address in the fic itself.

but, anyway, though lily does do the deed, it's not entirely separable in her mind from residual shame. and who among us who experiences misogyny doesn't know that feeling lolllll. she's not walking around handwringing about how she's sinned against god, partly because catholic guilt would add about ten dimensions of complication to this fic and also because i was not raised christian, and don't feel well-equipped to go there. more than religion lily is anxious about having played against type.

this is made harder for her in contrast — obviously we judge ourselves not in absolutes but relative to those around us. so on the one hand lily has people like petunia who believe in propriety and undoubtedly look down on sex before marriage, and on the other she has friends like mary who are very ~modern~ in their sensibilities. rather than the latter being reassuring, though, i imagine it's....almost a barrier in its own way, because she sees a friend who's cooler and freer than her and is like, mary would do this because she's like this, and i'm demonstrably not like this, so i shouldn't do this (no matter mary's frank conversations on the subject!)

and in between all this is the fact that....she's a person who experiences desire! complication!!!! she wants something that she's not sure she should want, even though she feels that other people are free to have the same thing:

“Mare, are you really going to take a magazine’s advice on becoming a...truly sexual woman?” Despite her amusement, she half-stuttered over the word, even though she knew there was nothing to be shy about. It was the seventies, for crying out loud. They could talk about such things now. Said descriptors just did not necessarily apply to her.

in ch. 9 when she asks mary about sex, she really wants an answer that will absolve her of those complicated uncertain feelings — and of course mary can't give it to her. no one can!

so she's bearing all that baggage and trying to forge forward with the sensibility of well, i shouldn't be shy about this! it's the 70s! we're past that! without considering that just because society has apparently come so far (which, has it even? lol) that doesn't mean she's ready to go that far. and that was what i was pushing with the interlude bits immediately around the sexytimes:

Get it over with, a voice in her head said. The first time wouldn’t be the best time. All she had to do was cross this one hurdle and she could stop feeling so bloody nervous, like she was at the edge of a cliff she’d never be able to climb back up [...] and if only she could get over her silly hangup she’d be a lot less tense. That was just a fact. Everyone knew it about her. Even good girls needed to loosen up. Right? Right. This decision-making took a split second in her mind; she had rehearsed each argument so many times that she did not need very long to run through it again. So without a hint of hesitation she said, “Yes.”

and its not a coincidence that this comes right after a flashback to doris and her friend:

“Living together,” Lily’s mother sighed, her head angled towards her friend. “And she was such a sweet girl when I had her in school, too, so studious—” “Oh, yes,” Gertie said, nodding vigorously, “I always thought she’d wait to marry, let alone get involved with someone so soon—” “And like this!” Doris sighed once more.

of course lily can all too vividly imagine someone else saying that exact thing about her

this reads like so much word vomit LOL but thank you it was fun to try and explain my thinking here!

[smalltragedy]

* ryan destiny, cis woman + she/her | you know kira blake, right? they’re twenty four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ever? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to babooshka by kate bush like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole lazily stretched out in a ray of light, daisy shaped irises and daisy chain braids, performing an intricate dance to move the ocean's waves thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 31st, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hllo ive hd kira in my head fr a bit bt i also know ntohing abt her! this is me winging it even though i hv no right to <3 this is my third character maybe whose birthday is in honor of ella n coincidentally 2/3 of them r in this rp. yea im messy smirks sexily.

DEATH, GRIEF, DRUGS TW

mini playlist.

wuthering heights ;; kate bush / babooskha ;; kate bush / dreams ;; fleetwood mac / california dreamin’ ;; the mamas & the papas / lavender moon ;; haroula rose / time of the season ;; the zombies / after the storm ;; kali uchis / left hand free ;; alt-j / always forever ;; cults / wait a minute! ;; willow / your dog ;; soccer mommy.

statistics.

full name: kira blake

nickname(s): keely.

birthday: october 31st, 1996.

zodiac: scorpio sun, cancer moon, aquarius ascending. 

mbti & temperament: esfp & catalyst / sanguine. 

label: the ebullient.

sexuality: bisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

born to two original hippies which hs pretty much set up who kira is fr the rest of her life <3 the type of ppl who didnt like the boundaries of marriage n held off frm it fr as long as possible until theyd hd a spur of the moment elopement involving a celebrity impersonator at fannie’s <3 yea theyre lesbians lets go <3

nvr rly took things srsly until kira ws like 5 yrs old n then they were like ah gee ah fuck we probably shld probably settle settle. n they job hopped n worked many odd jobs until they found their footing in careers they liked n one of them probably does like. blown glass art. n the other prob fixes old computers n other ~vintage~ mementos of the past fr ppl.

they make a decent living n they live in delpinius heights n they try a few times fr another kid bt it nvr rly works out (raises an eyebrow. adopted siblings anyone?) n fr the most part kira as a child spends her time running around town and tugging on the hem of other’s shirts to ask them small favors (mostly to play a game with her)

often left unsupervised as a kid, bt not in the way tht her parents dnt care (bc her parents love her a lot a lot a lot like she is their world) bt in the way tht they simply raised her the way they were raised. running amuck all day n coming home jst in time fr dinner, front porch light always on, cat always waiting faithfully on their stoop.

pretty evident frm a young age tht kira’s mind saw things differently, in a different light - the world an array of light n mystery n sound n taste n sometimes those collided n created new experiences. prob hs some form of synsthesia bt dnt ask me which one yet. she’s a painting prodigy with an excellent understanding of color theory.

always ws known as a kind of like. rambunctious kid. a well meaning class clown who cld nt keep her mouth shut fr the life of her. grew up constantly with a yellow card beneath her name in school bt ws always well liked by her teachers n classmates alike.

jst a very bright child who did well naturally bt always ws turned more towards art.

feel like her parents very noticeably turned a cheek when she started smoking weed w the cool older kids when she ws 13. the type of person who wnts 2 b liked so bad she’d jump over a hurdle fr it. hs jumped over many hurdles n many fences n many other obstacles to be liked bt does it without breaking a sweat.

(edit: nw tht i think abt it hwevr i dnt think she does tht anymore i think while a bit of a mess atm she. likes herself. n doesnt rly want or need the approval of others anymore she jst does her own little thing. bt when she ws younger? she jst wnted 2 b friends w the entire world.)

nothing bad rly happened fr like. a good bit of her life. got into psychedelics at some point in high school n tht only heightened her artistic abilities. most of her high school art portfolio ws probably done while high bt <3 does it matter.

hd a high school sweetheart n they were pretty serious like. full on in love. a total believer of soulmates kira ws jst like. this is the one. there is nobody else i cn imagine my life with.

death tw

death tw

death tw.

death n grief tw // yea. sometime during their freshmen year of college. car incident. kira ws nvr the same though she’d like to pretend tht nothing’d ever happened. like theyd nvr existed. like she didnt plan out their entire lives together hiking thru hills n valleys n boating across various bodies of water n traveling together until they were old n wrinkly. end of death tw //

cld nt explain 2 u why kira hd bought a van n completely demolished it only to drain all of her savings remodeling it bt nw she lives in it by the beach. hd dreams of travelling the world bt cannot go long distances in a car without feeling sick. sees planes n feels envy. stopped painting fr a long time bt she’s started back up recently. took on surfing. told her parents tht it ws fine n tht she ws fine n theyre concerned bt shes always by the beach, her van rarely leaves. she’s trying her best bt its only been a few yrs n i think ppl cn sense tht shes jst nt the same cheerful girl as they once knew. end of grief tw //

anyways. tugs on my collar. tht’s kira! she lives on the beach n surfs everyday n is obsessed with daisies n is prob growing her own shrooms somewhere. 

personality & facts.

always been very emotional n a little dramatic. nt a drama queen bt is a little messy n does not hv like. many rational thoughts up in there. very cup full or cup empty.

regardless though she hs an. overall reputation fr jst being. enjoyable to be around. her her little moments bt shes also pretty like. laidback. in a way. KDSHFSDLKHGHFLKSD

prob bc she smokes a lot or is often <3 on a trip if u know wht i mean <3

god. got obsessed with the 60s n 70s aesthetic at some point n hs not gone back evr. big fan of psychedelic rock. is a prodigy painter bt her life dream outside of traveling ws always to own her own record label. hs nt happened yet, maybe will never happen? works at a record shop though n does hide the good vinyls tht she wants away frm the customers.

very cheerful n usually uplifting n she doesnt like to b negative around others bt smtms she cnt control it n smtms thinks tht ppl r out 2 get her jst out of. anxiety. hs long bouts where she’ll sit in a still sort of sadness n then shake out of it n hop back into conversation like nothing’s happened bt. its fine we’re fine kira is fine.

shes not gullible or naive bt wants to believe tht everybody hs a heart of gold even if its false. keeps giving ppl second chances bc she hs a savior complex n thinks she cn change ppl.

is very into zodiac n will judge u by ur chart. knows everybody in town’s natal chart. even newcomers. it’s a little scary hw quick she finds this information bt its very important to her.

kind of like. into spirituality bt i wont lie its very surface level n a little superficial. learning tarot cards bt cannot fr the life of her memorize the meanings so smtms she jst makes up things on the spot. hs so many crystals she will not stop buying them.

i think a part of her is desperately trying to cling onto tht like. think positive. self care. msg thts super prevalent online without addressing or actually helping any of her problems. it is her flaw </3

hates to admit when she needs help. wld rather do everything herself.

head is a little in the clouds n her parents r a little concerned fr her bc shes nt rly doing much rn bt like. she jst needs time i think. shes jst doing her little thing.

does not give up on ppl easily she absolutely hates dropping ppl frm her life even if she grows 2 resent them over time which is bad bc she is bad at hiding when she is upset at someone or when she doesnt like someone.

like shes jst passive aggressive abt it n does not properly communicate <3

bt this is rare i think ... negative feelings abt other ppl

self centered bt not selfish if tht makes sense. she will do things fr others without a problem n sometimes trips over herself 2 do it bt at the end of the day i think she cares abt herself the most.

hs only been in love once bt hs hd many infatuations n many like. admirations n very surface level feelings. her body is a temple n she loves 2 b worshipped.

prob does fkn. beach yoga. probably vegan bt also maybe breaks tht every once in a while. almost noncommittal its hard 2 distinguish between her being carefree, not taking care of herself, or jst hving commitment issues? flaky or not? who knows.

feels jst a bit too strongly bt tries to contain it. jst full of multitudes or smth. idk. icon <3

like. cares bt doesnt care. does thinks tht r purposely self destructive n then acts like shes like. cool girl monologue frm gone girl. bt does it while being like peace n luv on earth x

ok thts all i hv goodbye

wanted plots.

a pseudonym 2 fool ‘em... ;; jst hd this idea pop up bt i like the idea of kira going undercover 2 expose cheaters. whether she does this on her own accord or is personally requested by smbdy is up in the air. a plottable point. she h8s cheaters n is chaotic good she prob thinks shes the relationship vigilante testing the strengths of other’s relationships. once again she cld b. specifically going undercover fr smbdy 2 help them out. im sure she wldnt go 2 very. extensive srs measures like actually. sleeping w the assumed-cheaters bt once again. world is our oyster n i lov drama?

crystal visions ... ;; once again. shes super into crystals n astrology n she will base sm of her opinions of others on it. this is nt just abt her being judgmental of others bt also jst. catching her running around in the rain trying sooo hard 2 fkn. charge her crystals in the rainwater bc she forgot 2 charge them under the full moon the night b4. this is her giving wrong tarot readings. she hs no idea wht shes doing at any given time bt acts like she does know. acts like she knows the entire world. she gives crystals as gifts n will do ur natal chart for u bt will also pack her things n leave if ur a capricorn.

time of the season... ;; i dnt knw admittedly. this song’s abt being horny so perhaps? perhaps. kira isnt rly able to keep a grasp on long term relationships rn due to. factors in her life so she hops frm person 2 person often. smtms jst flings smtms its jst a relationship accidentally led on. shes noncommittal n a little flaky atm when she’s usually ride or die fr others. perhaps this is all in the name of some good fun! world? oyster. 

literally anything .dsfskhdkgs ;; god. shes so new i jst dnt know. childhood friends. current friends. friends shes hd frever. enemies n ex lovers n ppl shes constantly pushing away or scorned lovers or both or anything?? she pushed them out of the roller rink to make more room fr herself or maybe they did tht to her. perhaps theyre both constantly pursuing some sort of fkn. meaning in their lives tht they cnt quite grasp. mayb they go on an acid trip together. who knows. 

[hopeisour4letteredword]

innocent bones ch1

Summary: Apollo gets a wake-up call in a few ways. It’s okay, though--he’s got best-friend backup.

Link to AO3 in the notes.

Apollo’s first thought when his phone rings at some ungodly time in the middle of the night is fuck off. His second thought is oh my God oh no Clay, because he’s had a shit year and maybe it’s made him a bit paranoid and he’s Clay’s emergency medical contact. His third thought, as he toes the line of lucidity, is wait, that’s the ringtone I set for Klavier.

Fuck. If Klavier is calling him at this hour, it’s probably important.

He slaps haphazardly at his nightstand until he finds his phone and yanks it off the charger. He gives himself one last moment to squeeze his eyes shut against the ache of fatigue, then rallies enough to answer the call.

“Justice speaking.“

“...Hurts.”

Suddenly much more awake, Apollo sits bolt upright in bed. “What?”

“Herr Forehead,” Klavier says, in the most childish and petulant voice Apollo has ever heard out of him. To be fair, Apollo hasn’t heard him overtly childish all that many times, so that’s a low hurdle. It’s not much comfort. “Feel—feel sorry for me. I’m in pain.”

“You—what? Are you alright?”

“No.”

Apollo stares unseeingly into the darkness for a second until adrenaline overrides panic and he launches himself out of bed. He almost trips trying to keep his phone to his ear and disentangle the sheets around his legs at the same time. Light, where’s the light switch on his lamp? “Where are you? How bad is it?”

“It sucks,” Klavier whines. “An’ I’m all alone.”

“I’m coming to help. You’re gonna be fine. Are you—you sound really out of it. Did you hit your head? Are you drunk?”

Blood loss? he doesn’t ask. Don’t think about the worst-case scenario. Keep moving. He finds his keys and his wallet, tosses them over by his shoes near the door. No telling if he’ll need his bike or his bus card until he has more information.

“Drugs,” Klavier says, glumly. Apollo grits his teeth. Klavier is one of the most law-abiding people Apollo has ever met; there’s no way he took hardcore drugs of his own volition. Please don’t let it be roofies. Please don’t let him be stranded, injured and alone, in a place where somebody roofied him.

Clothes, clothes, Apollo needs to not get arrested for indecency the second he steps out the door. He yanks on the first pair of shorts he encounters. Shirt? He shoves a hand into his dresser blindly. It comes out clutching one of Clay’s old Sailor Moon shirts, faded and worn. Apollo wears it as a pajama shirt sometimes, but in public—fuck it. Klavier’s safety is worth the weird looks for being a grown man wearing a magical girl anime shirt in public. He’s not gonna dig around for an acceptable shirt at a time like this.

“Keep talking to me. What hurts?”

“My mouth.”

“Your mouth? What happened, do you remember?”

“They stole my teeth,” Klavier says, woefully, and that finally makes Apollo pause, balanced on one foot to pull a sock on the other.

“Your—your teeth?”

“Took ‘em—took ‘em right out. With knives. Now my mouth’s full of holes. It hurts, Herr Forehead.”

An image is cementing itself, slowly but surely, out of the fog of panic and lethargy in Apollo’s mind. He lowers his foot. “Who took your teeth?”

“Teeth doctor.”

“Did...did you get teeth taken out? By a dentist or—?”

“Yeah! Wis’om teeth. They stole them.”

Apollo slumps back against his door like a puppet with his strings cut, and sinks to the ground. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh my God, Klavier. Start with that next time.”

“Next time?” Klavier sounds genuinely befuddled. “But they’re already gone.”

“I thought you had been roofied or mugged or something,” Apollo says. He settles on laughter, and it comes out hysterical. “God. Don’t do that to me. I’m too young to have a heart attack.”

“Don’t do what? What’d I do?”

“You scared the shit out of me.” Apollo draws his knees up to his chest and leans on them, trying to take deep breaths. Klavier is okay. He’s not bleeding in an alleyway behind some bar. He’s not about to be assaulted. He’s only stoned on painkillers. “You owe me for this one. I was halfway out the door.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” There’s a rustling noise on the other end of the line. Klavier’s voice is soft and contrite. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“That’s fine,” Apollo says. “We’re fine. I’m not mad. Well, maybe a little bit. Just—goddamn. Okay. Talking. I can talk. Wait. You’re home, aren’t you? You’re not wandering the city like this?”

He’s hyperaware of his own heartbeat, still too loud and too fast. That was a hell of a wake-up call. Apollo has more than enough trouble getting to sleep on a normal night. There’s no way he’s knocking out any time soon after this—might as well keep Klavier entertained if he’s going to be awake the rest of the night anyway.

“Yeah!” Klavier says, perking up again. “I’m home. Oh, but—Vongole is gone.”

“Gone?” Apollo frowns. “Where’d she go?”

“Sebastian took her.”

“What for?”

“He said I prob’ly shouldn’t walk her tonight,” Klavier says, despondently. “I miss her. She’s a good dog.”

“She is a good dog,” Apollo agrees. He scratches a hand through his bedhead and tries not to yawn. “But you’ll get to see her again soon. I’m sure Prosecutor Debeste will give her back tomorrow.”

“But I want her now.”

Apollo doesn’t have a rebuttal to that. God only knows how many times he sprawled next to Vongole on the floor while Mr. Gavin was out of the office, complaining about the trials of law school. She’s a good listener. Always knows when someone needs a hug. She’d make a good therapy dog if she didn’t have so much energy. It’s no wonder Klavier wants her back when he’s this miserable.

“Sorry, man.”

Klavier sighs melodramatically. “Can’t believe he left me and took my dog. I think he likes her better than me.”

“Can you blame him?” Apollo says, wryly. He realizes his mistake right as Klavier makes a quiet, wounded noise.

“...No.”

“Joke,” Apollo blurts out. Fuck. Of course Klavier is too out of it for their normal banter. “I’m joking. That was a joke. I didn’t mean—“

“It’s okay, Herr F—“

“Of course he doesn’t like your dog better than you. Don’t be stupid. That was a really shitty joke for me to make, and I didn’t mean it at all.”

Klavier laughs, weakly. “Right, sure.”

“You’re—ridiculously likeable.” It spills out of Apollo’s mouth before he can stop himself. But why should he stop himself? It’s the middle of the night and Klavier’s fucked up on painkillers and Apollo was an asshole. He can part with some kind words to make up for it. It’s the right thing to do, probably. God, he’s tired. “And a good person. Everybody likes you just fine.”

After a few beats of silence save for the shudder of Klavier’s breath across the line, Klavier asks, half-joking, “Even you?”

Apollo rolls his eyes. “No, I’m talking to you at three AM while you’re high as a kite on anesthetics because I hate you.” Another beat. “That was another joke. Just to be extremely clear.”

“You like me?” Klavier asks, so damn hopefully that Apollo doesn’t have it in him to pretend otherwise.

“Yeah.”

“I like you, too,” Klavier says, happily. Apollo’s heart thumps traitorously hard against his ribcage. He’s too exhausted to deal with his own pining right now. It’s not fair that Klavier can do this to him out of nowhere. He’s not even trying to flirt right now. He’s just a naturally affectionate person and it’s destroying Apollo. “I wish you were here. I wish Vongole or Sebastian was here. I’m bored and lonely and my mouth hurts.”

“I know, bud.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Sleep?” Apollo suggests. Klavier makes a dismissive sound. “Uh. Watch something on Netflix? Or whatever rock stars watch their movies and shit on these days.”

“I start falling asleep when I try to watch anything and then I have nightmares ‘cause my mouth hurts.”

That sounds like it will be a problem no matter what Klavier does to occupy himself. “Do you have more painkillers?”

“I... forgot where I put them. And how many to take.”

“Find them and read the bottle, then.”

“Print’s too small.”

“...Are you so drugged up you can’t focus on text?”

“No, but they made me take my contacts out before they stole my teeth, and—“

Klavier wears contacts? Apollo opens his mouth to ask about it, but there’s an abrupt series of loud noises on the other end of the call. Loud, brief knocking, the thud of a door closing, the jingle of metal on metal.

“Sebastian!” Klavier cheers. Apollo hears a distant curse and thumping. “You came back!”

A voice, muffled and indistinct. The intonation lilts into a question.

“Herr Forehead,” Klavier answers, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, good grief. Give that here.”

“No, don’t—!“

“Hello?” Prosecutor Debeste says, his voice clear and focused now. It has the polite edge of professionality. “Mr. Justice, I presume?”

“That’s right,” Apollo says. He feels kind of weird about talking to somebody from the Prosecutor’s Office who isn’t Klavier while he’s on the floor, hair a bird’s nest, wearing a Sailor Moon shirt and one sock. Yeah, Prosecutor Debeste can’t see that or anything, but it’s the principle of the matter. “Hi. Um.”

“Sorry about the trouble. I hope he hasn’t kept you up too long.”

“Uh, no.”

“Sebastian,” Klavier wails, in the background. “Give it baaack!”

“Are you staying with him right now?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I just. To be honest, he made it sound like you stole his dog and ditched him.”

“Of course he did,” Prosecutor Debeste says, exasperatedly. Klavier whines, barely audible to the receiver. Vongole barks happily in response. “I’ve been here all night. I only took Vongole out for a bit to do her business and run around—she hasn’t been able to sleep either, not with Klavier this wound up. Don’t worry, he has someone keeping an eye on him.”

“That’s, um. Good to hear.”

“I can take care of things from here, so I’ll let you get some rest. Klavier can get in touch with you again in the morning if you need anything from him.”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Justice. Thanks for keeping him company for a while. Klavier, say good night—“

“But we were talking—!“

The line goes dead.

Apollo takes his phone away from his ear and just looks at it. He thinks maybe he should process the last thirty minutes. His mind chases itself in loops instead. After a minute, he presses the heel of his free hand against his eyes, trying to massage out the exhaustion headache that’s starting to set in. Fuck. He still doesn’t know if he can sleep. What’s Clay always trying to tell him, about resting and keeping your eyes closed for a while being better than not sleeping at all? Can’t be any worse, at least. He might as well give it a shot. He settles back into the sheets, long cold by now, and tries to relax.

A street—not dark, but dim, maybe, with the hazy glow of a setting sun in the evening. The shadows are long and the light is golden. It catches on the leaves of trees in the park, turns them ethereal with shining halos.

I’ve been here before, Apollo thinks, then, that’s absurd, it’s the park, of course I’ve been here before.

Another golden halo, beside him on the park bench. Klavier’s hair catching the sunlight it so often seems to be spun from. Klavier’s blinding smile as he laughs at something Apollo just said, something already forgotten. Déjà vu strikes Apollo again. He does remember being here, remembers the way Klavier turns to him with a conversational parry, smirking, words balancing perfectly on the bizarre line they walk between sharp and friendly.

That’s what he remembers. That’s not what happens this time. What happens this time is:

Klavier’s smile goes soft and warm, an affectionate curl of his lips, and he says, “I like you, too.”

[jbbuckybarnes]

Zerfall - 9/14

Pairing: Bucky x named!Reader (Agent Andromeda) Summary: After Hydra drops virus bombs in 7 major American cities in the height of summer, the team is locked in their emergency bunker for weeks. The virus commonly called the Summer Poison successfully brought the infrastructure to a halt in all big cities. When the virus slowly starts burning itself out SHIELD Agents and Avengers are sent out to bring back order into the cities and the international relationships. Not without hurdles. Warnings for this chapter: Pandemic, crime, canon typical violence, flirting, angst. Not beta read. **Image credit goes to Ubisoft.

Zerfall Masterlist || M a s t e r l i s t

The day after your little movie night was spent with taking down bases in the Central Park Zoo and the Bethesda Fountain. Being on equal ground with the enemies was making it a little bit harder but the civilians actually were pretty good at that after patrolling for weeks now. Some of the animals were roaming free in the zoo, some were still happily in their areas and some starved to death. The moment you personally lost it was when you found a wild cat that was shot to death. “God, what does an almost extinct animal have to do with fucking humanity going down the drain. Bastards!” You growled before sitting down in front of it, petting the poor soul. “Eda? Can you send Helen a message asking what to do with this one? Burying or freezing for DNA?” You mumbled into the watch. “And find out its name.” Bucky said behind you before squatting next to you, watching your sad expression at the poor animal. “Her name was Sophia.” Came back after a short search of the device. “Hope you took some of them with you into the death, Sophia,” you said feeling the soft fur. “Dr. Cho answered with burying.” Eda answered to the earlier question. “Need my help moving the poor thing?” Captain Davis called out moving towards you two. “Yeah.” you mumbled. “‘cmere. Gonna give her a nice goodbye.” Bucky told you softly while helping you up again. Fueled by the hate of this incident you walked to the second base, taking it down and coming back to spend the rest of the day burying animals and decontaminating areas of the zoo.

With more than 5 places in the hands of the civilians, the liberation phase was finished. The civilian militia started planning their own missions without you and started taking over the Upper East Side themselves, followed by Yorkville. They were so fueled by the many wins since you showed up. The settlement even got a food update. They could finally grow their own food on the roofs of the surrounding areas. Their next goal was to get electricity going from the tower to the settlement and they were working day and night to secure Park Avenue. That night you come to the tower earlier than usual. The plan for the next day was to push forward through East Harlem to get to Randalls Island as you had planned with the others. You spend the evening playing Uno and Scrabble. The amount of common 40s words you learned from him that evening was insane. Some of them sounded so dumb that you didn’t believe him until he explained you scenarios to use them in. “C’mon, that’s just- That sounds ridiculous. How did nobody laugh at that?” You giggled. “Well, those were different times, darling.” He grinned at you over the table. “They surely were. Tony would love that word.” You shook your head. What you didn’t expect after falling asleep on the couch with him next to you was the mission to go wrong. Not completely south, but south enough for you to get hurt. You were about to jump to another cover with him right behind you when you were shot right into the outside of your thigh. Bullet going through. “Shit.” You groaned dragging yourself the rest of the way to the cover. “Stay right there, Ann.” You heard behind you before you saw his shadow get bigger and bullets hitting his arm. You turned yourself around to see him shoot with a frown and determination in his face. With your full trust into him you got off your backpack, got out antiseptic and a bandage. While you were pouring the fluid over the wound with a sharp inhale and a bite into the glove in your mouth, he squatted down next to you. “How bad is it?” He asked laying his metal hand onto your lower leg. “Hurts like a motherfucker.” You groaned. “Let me help you.” He held out his hand for the bandage and you looked at him surprised. “C’mon. Gimme the bandage,” He said in a soft voice and you obeyed. “Glad it wasn’t the big artery,” you said pained while he pressed the bandage around your thigh. In the back, you could hear the civilians cheering, looting and setting up their stations. “You had me worried there for a second, Meda,” he said with a little frown at the work of his hands. “I’m fine, James.” You smiled before inhaling deeply at the pressure again. “Well, you’re half fine. I’ll carry you back to the tower.” He smirked at your inability to admit that you were worse than you actually were. After putting your pants over the thigh again and packing your backpack, you were helped up by him. With ease he picked you up, putting you around his neck like you are a pillow. “That’s not medical best practice.” You giggled. “Well, medical best practice would be an ambulance, but here we are,” he japed back. “Please don’t make ambulance sounds,” you said, sensing what he was about to ask. “Too bad,” he said squeezing your healthy leg. “Doctor Cho. What the hell do I do with this gunshot wound?” You asked, recording the leg with EADA. “Get into my laboratory, the med-tech one,” she ordered you and Bucky immediately picked you up to bring you a few floors downstairs. He laid you down on the metal table and followed the instructions Helen gave over the hologram call. “Type the green button on the machine. And type it again when it beeps twice after scanning her body,” she told him and he did as he was told with an interested expression. “Is that the fake tissue thing you created a while back?” You asked. “Yeah. I have better ways developed but this is all you have and that should be enough. You’ll need to rest 2-4 days though,” she added. You grumbled, “Fine.” Bucky sent you a chuckle and a shit-eating grin, “Can’t stand still.”

You walked into the kitchen the next day, leg sore from rebuilding muscle and skin still a little irritated after the procedure. “Are you wearing my clothes?” Bucky asked with his brow raised after watching you enter the room. “C’mon. It’s comfy. I feel bad, give a girl a break.” You whined. “No no no, it’s fine. You look cute in ‘em.” He grinned before biting into his second breakfast bar that morning. “Do I really?” You held out your arms and looked down on you. The black hoodie was way too big for you and you had sweater paws. His sweatpants were more comfortable with the freshly healed thigh. “You look like the small person you are.” He chuckled. “Hey.” You looked at him pouting. “I won’t take that back, you’re small.” “Compared to YOU.” You crossed your arms. With a head shake he stood up and walked over to you for a bear hug, “You feelin’ better?” “Yeah, thanks for all the help, partner.” You looked up at him, he really was quite a bit taller than you. “Of course, always.” “Maybe not ALWAYS.” You frowned and he mirrored the expression in concern. “Why? What do you mean?” He asked. “Maybe don’t shield me from explosions or stuff like that. I don’t need the survivors guilt more than I already have it.” Your frown deepened. “What happened?” He immediately asked, cursing himself for not being as calming as he wanted to sound. “My old partner from before all of this and all of the SAID extra training and being with the Avengers. We were on a mission involving A.I.M. and…” You stopped yourself. “Go on, it’s okay.” His hand went over your back soothingly. “...well, if you’re aware of what the Centipede program was, you know that people injected with that stuff explode after not being stabilized for a while. One of them did and my partner shielded me. I was the only person to come out alive, my partner burned to death because he saved my life.” His right hand got rid of your tears that had started spilling, “You won’t keep me from protecting you but I can keep you away from exploding humans and objects as best as possible,” A soft smile was right in front of you. “Mhm.” You nodded your head slightly before being pulled into an even closer hug. “Good.” His face landed in your hair and he closed his eyes while swaying you a little.

The rest of the day was spent in the tower, eating some of the candy that was still left in perfect shape and watching a good show. The three other rest days were days you spent mostly alone while Bucky went out and helped the civilians to reinforce Park Avenue and went on a few smaller missions with Captain Davis. It was almost domestic how you cooked every evening when he was coming back to the tower and the way you both fell asleep on the big couch instead of the two bedrooms you occupied. There was a familiarity that you both couldn’t describe. Doing all of this made you feel like family. You were each other’s ride or die.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Covered Mirror

Summary: A light bulb creates its own environment, photography creates the photorapher. Does Emma create her relationship, or does it create her?

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Explicit depictions of depressive episodes. Reader discretion is advised.

If those descriptions relate to your or a loved one’s mental state, do not hesitate to call health services operating in your juristiction. It gets better.

Words: 2200

Notes: I vacationed in Noahland, now it’s back to Masonville. Keep the balance or smth.

I’m real proud of this one. I’m happy how it turned out. I think it has weight, but still ends on a hopeful message. I hope you like it too!

Why do I think I’ll be swarmed with anon hate? Is there something I can do that doesn’t end with me swarmed with anon hate?

Marshall McLuhan once said that the light bulb creates its own environment, and Emma Price sometimes cannot help herself but think about it. She creates her photography, and her photography creates a new Emma.

Photography was a visual art. It might have an easier learning curve than, say, sculpting, but it was still an art that demanded perfection and practice. It was necessary to develop an aesthetic sense, an eye for the light. All in all, great abilities to have.

The problem was when that aesthetic sense turned around on her.

After another win for their school football team, Emma stood outside the pitch as the students and their families pass her by, waiting for her boyfriend.

Waiting for her boyfriend to finish talking to Ava Lawrence. The tall, blonde, fit cheerleader.

Emma did not really want to believe that she was jealous of her. Ava was a cool girl; they were friends from the photography club. They even hung out on occasion. Besides, Emma was dating Mason and she trusts him and Ava, so it is not like she should care, but she cares. Too much for her own good.

Emma Price felt like she was far from perfect, while Ava Lawrence was the epitome of perfect. Perfect hair, perfect marks, perfect personality, perfect social life, perfect figure. If she was honest with herself, Emma had to admit that, on her weaker moments, she wanted very much to be friends with her, just so she could absorb some of that perfection by osmosis. She wanted desperately to be like her.

When Mason first asked her out that day in sophomore year high school, after longing after him for so long, she could not have known that dating the most popular boy at school could feel so lonely.

Mason was not a bad boyfriend, much to the contrary. He was an amazing boyfriend. He would never go out of his way to hurt her feelings, but the decline in her self-confidence seemed to be getting to her. It was not about him, it was about her, and sometimes she had difficulty remembering that.

Once he was done speaking to Ava, he ran back over to his girlfriend. The wind hitting his blond hair in a way that was bound to make anyone have a crush on him. He had the widest smile on his face, waiting to talk to her about the game.

“I didn’t think you’d show up.” He said, with a boyish smile gracing his features.

Emma was a little taken aback by this comment. “What do you mean?”

Mason shrugged. “You just haven’t been wanting to hangout or anything... Or just not coming to my games.”

She tallied the season games on her head. He had a point, she concluded.

“Sorry, I’ve been really busy.”

She did not like lying to him, because she knew that after so many years of close relations with each other, he could tell straight away. However, at this instance, he did not bother commenting on it. He concluded she would tell him if something was wrong.

Or at least she used to tell him everything that was wrong. When they were still friends. Before they made their relationship public, and before she heard what everyone had to say about that relationship.

Teens were vicious creatures. They would be nice to her face, supportive and welcoming, but as soon as they thought she could not hear them anymore, their tongues would run amok.

“I don’t even know what he sees in her.”

“Have you seen her hair?”

“Is it just me or she put on weight?”

“What is she even wearing?”

“He could do so much better.”

She began to compare herself to almost every girl in town that said or thought things like that. She started to believe everything they were saying. Some nights, she stood in front of the mirror on her closet door looking unblinkingly at herself.

She did not like what she saw.

It had gotten so bad, she put a blanket over her mirror and tried not to look at herself at all. There were days she barely brushed her hair, days in which she gave up any thought or care into her appearance, into herself.

People saw Mason, with his light hair, football skills and rich parents and thought he was not that bright, and to be fair, he was not going to make it into any honours courses this year, but he was perceptive when it came to Emma. Deep down, he worried about her. He saw how this year at school has affected her, but he could not figure out how to confront her about it.

“Alright, it’s okay. There’s a house party this weekend, though, at Chad’s place. Do you want to go with me?” He asked, but soon amended, trying to lay off pressure of her. “It’s alright if you can’t. I can go by myself, or we could do something else if you’d like.”

She rolled her eyes, and held his hand with a meagre smile, hoping her tone of voice inspires confidence. “Of course, I’d love to go with you. Why do you think I wouldn’t?”

“The last time we spent the Saturday together was last month, at that midnight showing at the movies, remember? We don’t even go out running anymore.” He pointed out. “I’d thought you might like your space on Saturdays.”

“Oh! So it is.” She said, realizing he, again, had a point. “I don’t mind spending the Saturday with you, Mase. Guess I’ve just been a little overwhelmed these days.”

“Good! It’s a date, then!” The boy beamed. “Would you like me to drive you home? I’m done here.”

Before she could answer, though, a high whistle came from their left. Mason’s teammates were hurdled to the side, signalling for him to come. He ignored them, but Emma felt their eyes on the two of them together.

“N-No…” She stutters, shaking her head nervously. “It’s OK. You’d have to drive all the way to my house and then back to yours. It’s too much trouble.”

“It’s no problem, Em. I want to drive you home.” He insisted.

“No, Mason, it’s better if I walk. That’s OK, really. I like walking. I get to admire the scenery, and you never know when inspiration strikes.” She motioned for the camera hung around her neck.

“Oh, well…” His smile falters. “No problem, then. I’ll text you tonight, yeah? And we can spend the Saturday together.”

The girl smiles toothlessly. “Sure, Mase. You should go, your friends are waiting.”

He sighed. “OK, then, I guess. See you, Emma.”

*_*_*_*_*

When Emma, predictably, did not answer her phone that night, nor made any sign to set up a date on Saturday, Mason decided enough was enough and marched his way to the Price household.

He parked his car on the driveway and walked in large, firm steps to the front door, on which he knocked three decisive times.

It opens.

“Hey, Mason.”

“Hello, Mack.” He greeted, stiffly. “Is your sister home?”

She hesitated. “Yes, she is sleeping.”

“This late?” He commented

“Yeah, it’s… Kinda of her thing on weekends now.” The younger girl responded; lips pursed. “Mom and dad are out. Why don’t you come in? I’ll take you to Emma’s room, and I want to speak with you, too.”

The blond nodded. “OK, I’m all ears.”

Mackenzie stepped aside for him to come in, and motioned for him to walk up the stairs.

“Emma is… Well, she is not herself. I think you noticed.” She began, and with Mason’s encouragement, she continued. “I don’t really know what’s up with her. Dad threw a few medical names at it, but we’re all grasping at straws here. He wants to get her on meds, Mom’s holding him back, but even she’s wavering at this point.”

His eyes widen. “I didn’t know it was that serious.”

“It… It’s something, alright.” They stopped in front of Emma’s bedroom door, and Mackenzie lowers her voice. “Look, you’re her boyfriend. I know she loves you. I don’t expect any miracles, and you shouldn’t either, but… I don’t know, try something? Anything.”

He sighed. “I am, but I think I’m not trying hard enough.”

“Just talk to her, OK? Try not to be too aggressive, she doesn’t respond well to that, and brace yourself. It’s ugly in there.”

Mackenzie opens the door slow and quiet, and Mason walks into Emma’s bedroom. As her sister said, she was asleep. He instantly noticed the blanket over the mirror and all the pictures of her on the desk turned down.

To say it was messy was an understatement. Clothes scattered across the floor, everything atop her dresser was on its side, and the blackout curtains on the window were closed.

He sat on the end of her bed and shook her awake.

The girl wakes up in a jolt. “Wha-…”

“Hey, Em.” He greeted, quietly.

“Mason? What’re you doing here?” She blinked in confusion.

“I came to pick you up; we’d agreed to spend the Saturday together.” He said, looking away.

“Oh, right. We did.” She said, pushing the hair out of her face. “Good morning.”

“It’s one o’clock.”

“Same difference.” She chuckled as she sat closer on the bed to him.

He reluctantly shook her off, giving another glance at her dorm and then he sighed tiredly. “Why is your mirror covered?”

Her eyes went wide and she looked down at her hands. She began to pick at her nails subconsciously as an act of nervousness.

“Oh... It’s nothing.” She responded, avoidantly.

He brought his hand up to her chin so she could look at him. “I’m not an idiot, Emma.”

“I know.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

She bit her lip, looking back at the picture frame on her bedside table that had a picture of her and Mason when they entered high school. It was face down, like all others, but she felt the need to look at it all of a sudden.

“Everyone says all those things...” She whispered. “It’s really hard to not let it get to you. Especially when the voices inside my own head speak even louder.”

He moved his hand from her chin to her cheek, caressing it, and she automatically leaned into his touch. “They’re all full of shit. They know nothing, they hear nothing. Why do you care for what they have to say?”

She averted her gaze, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Emma, you are the most beautiful girl in this entire school. Of the entire world, I swear.” He insisted.

She chuckled, pulling away from him. “Don’t lie to me, Mason.”

“I’m not!” The boy defended, his body facing her, grey eyes unwaveringly gazing her figure, begging her to look at him. “I mean it, Emma, honestly. There is no one prettier than you to me.”

“There are so many other better girls that would love to be with you, y’know.” She said, quietly. “Like Ava.”

“Like hell she wants to be with me.” He said, humouredly. “She doesn’t even like me that much, and even if she did! Ava Lawrence can’t even compare to you Emma. I can’t believe you would say that.”

She could feel herself crying, and before she knew it, he was wiping her tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” He hugged her tightly.

“I feel like I do.” The girl hiccupped. “I’m so stupid. I just cause trouble and worry, and I don’t want to be like that, but I just can’t help myself!”

“I know, Emma, but it’s worth it. You’re worth it.” He assured her, holding her while she cried it out. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix you up and you’ll be better than ever. I’m going to help you, your parents and Mack, too. It’s all gonna be OK.”

He sighed, kissing the crown of her head and getting up. He walked over towards her mirror and pulled the blanket off. He also opened the curtains and placed the pictures back to their original positions.

Afterwards, he asked Mackenzie to come into the room. She took her sister into the bathroom while Mason cleaned up some of the mess, taking the dirty laundry downstairs, the trash out and organized minimally the mountain of papers and photos scattered on every surface.

When Emma and her sister emerged from the bathroom, she had showered, put on some nice clothes and some light make up. It was not much, but it was enough to make her feel better than she had in a long time.

Her boyfriend beamed boyishly at her, and she could not help to smile back. He offered her his hand and they made their way down to the public park on her neighbourhood.

Sitting on the grass, with the sun warming her skin and Mason’s bodily heat against her waist, it was very nice.

Emma had a long way to healthy, and she knew that, but feeling his presence next to her helped a great deal. She felt hopeful, and perhaps he really had a point.

It would all turn out to be OK.

MTFL Masterlist

[kennedycatherine]

things may be shitty but sometimes I'm shittier

I’m overheard retelling half a joke my friends have heard 30 times over. One of the greats in my rotating stock of five. 

“Wait, what’s this about?” Asks someones boyfriend and I lean on an elbow, angle myself toward him with a grin.

“It’s actually a really funny story.”

His girlfriend rolls her eyes, “it’s not funny.”

My eyebrows go up, in, “I think it’s funny?”

“Kennedy,” she begins and looks at me with even eyes, “it makes people uncomfortable.”

She says it like a mother warning her toddler not to pull his pants off in front of the dinner guests, not again. And I feel a lot like he might;

Defiant - it is a funny story, I’ve done the math on which details can stay in, which have to go out, I know where to pause for a laugh or a sigh. He’d probably like it. 

Ashamed - it probably isn’t funny to everyone, perhaps my math was just enough to keep people engaged, the pauses great for a sympathy laugh. He probably wouldn’t like it.

“Another time,” he whispers with a soft, consoling smile and I silently curse his girlfriend. 

Fuck you, Kierstan, you don’t know the first thing about comedic timing.

The story in question is about the time I found my sister cold and unconscious. I thought she was dead. The punchline about my being in a pink velour costume when the EMT’s arrived and the bit about the stolen laffy taffy, oh and her not being dead - fully worth the undeniable emotional lows. 

Believe me when I say that in some circles, it’s a funny story. There are branches of comedy, Netflix specials, peoples entire careers and livelihoods that are rooted in dark comedy - there is a vast market for illuminating and lightening the horrifying. Also trust me when I say I know how deeply unfunny it is to watch someone you love overdose. 

The story is funny now. A few years ago it wasn’t. It was a nearly unspeakable thing. An experience that happened and it wasn’t funny. 

But life goes on. 

You have no choice. 

Around the time of the pink velour tracksuit and the laffy taffy, I found myself laughing uncontrollably at my desk. I’d just left the job I’d gone to college for and found myself in the pit of broken dreams - an 8 to 5 desk job. The absolute thrill of it all - somedays you might file, somedays you might answer a few more calls than usual. Somedays your boss might ask you to bend over and pick up his pencil while you wear the skirt it was gently (but firmly) implied was mandatory. Mandatory only in the sense that no one could tell you that you couldn’t wear pants but they sure were more forgiving of car naps running 15 minutes over if they could glimpse a knee. 

And boy, did I need the car naps. 

It’s funny because I thought I was doing great. Really, for awhile I thought I was the best I’d ever been. I was laughing pretty much all the time, at everything. I’d never found the world more funny. By all accounts, I was having a great time.

So imagine my surprise when one day I found my eyes full, my face damp and my car hurdling down the highway past the exit to my work. When I did arrive, this time with pants, therefor low forgiveness - I was asked to my boss’ office for a closed door meeting.

Why was I late?

Somehow telling my boss that I wasn’t exactly sure the reason but my brain was telling me I should just keep driving, maybe to the next town, maybe for hours, maybe until the border, didn’t really seem like an option. “I think I have the flu.”

Despite all the things I didn’t know, I did know I didn’t have the flu. I found myself laid out in my doctors office anyway.

When he finally threw the door open, all white coated and anxious, just like I like em’ - I sat up. We made a sort of frenzied eye contact and he asked me what was wrong. 

“I think I might be, like, totally fucking losing it.” 

I left with a plan and antidepressants.

It all sounds kind of simple and quaint.

But it wasn’t.

Stopping to consider if you’re a danger to yourself or anyone else so your doctor can qualify if you need counselling, pills, maybe a psychiatric hold isn’t charming. Those first few weeks of pills, even though you’ve been told and you know you’ll feel worse for awhile, they’re simply awful. This isn’t some beautiful woman on HBO popping a white pill with her chardonnay, suddenly noticing a pink bloom on her neglected cactus. This is ugly and painful before it’s anything else.

And slowly it did become “anything else” … most of the time. 

Depression isn’t a joke. But it is a static way of being that loses it’s edge. 

It softens. Like a shitty haircut, you come to expect the blunt, harsh edges. Your body adjusts to the sight of it. It’s still kind of scary to look at but you know what to expect.

Life goes on.

It’s just not precious anymore. 

I could barely say I’d been diagnosed. I only told the people who were close enough to see the new medication was wearing me out. Now it’s an introductory fact, “Hi, Kennedy Catherine, daughter, lover, lesbian, writer, major depressive disorder.” 

I felt for a long time like it was all behind me. The worst was over! Family, outside of some trick hearts, healthy. Depression, diagnosed, plans made, helpful medications on standby. Experiencing another dark episode seemed dull,  ya know? Just a tad fucking redundant. Been there, done it, bored by it. 

Then: March 2020. 

There was a period of limbo. I still had a job, I just couldn’t be there or do it until things got better - hardy har. I packed up my truck and settled into my families cabin for five or six weeks. It was fine, I was fine, I thought. One day I went out for a walk and awhile later watched my sister rumble through a long stretch of prairie toward me on an ATV. My phone was dead and I’d be gone, oh, three hours longer than expected?

“What happened?”

I just kind of… lost track of time? Lost my sense of direction? I don’t know, I thought. I was here but I sort of went away from myself for a second. When I sunk into the bath later with achy muscles and a blister, I felt nervous.

Now, I haven’t scared myself in years. My depression isn’t so severe that I feel unsafe with myself. Anything I did or have done to effectively terrify myself, I shed by the time I was 20. Because that can happen, you can do that. You can change coping mechanisms and learn real, healthy ways to parent yourself. The mood instability that came later, the dark times, I still felt mostly fortified. I felt like I could figure it out, like I still had access to myself to do the figuring out. 

But I could feel myself slipping away this time. 

I was talking fast about something or another when I finally said to my mom, “I think I might need help.” I wasn’t sure exactly what I meant because I didn’t really know how to help myself and I wasn’t really sure what was wrong. 

And that in and of itself is a problem. I didn’t know what was wrong? 

I was out of the job that got me out of bed Monday to Friday for three and a half years, I left the house that had become my comfort cathedral, I hadn’t seen any of my closest friends in months, I was living with my sister and my mother who I hadn’t spent longer than a handful of days with in like five years. There was global fear and uncertainty and the risk of contracting a virus that could or could not kill you but I didn’t know… what was wrong? Well that’s just deeply moronic. 

Sometimes when you need help, or when I need help, that does come in the form of professional counselling or medications or an anonymous support group. Sometimes, it’s just circumstantial and circumstances can change.

I went home.

And in a few weeks, when I’d more or less returned to myself, I could clearly see the hills and valleys my mind had just wandered. I felt strength again, a sense of renewal and excitement about my imminent return to work and society.

Then I actually lost my job.

I know, redundant. I’m tired of myself too. But bullshit is cyclical, that’s just a fact. 

And if there is one thing I’ll give myself credit for, it’s my ability to immediately concoct a backup plan in the face of a threat. Moments after I was officially terminated, texts and emails went out. The idea of not knowing where my next paycheque would come from and how much it would be, having lost the place I strolled into everyday with a sense of purpose and not knowing when and where I’d have that again was simply not an option.

My head went down, I narrowed focus and the efforts resulted in… enough. I’m living. Which wasn’t and isn’t the hope for life. Unstable stagnancy is deeply uncomfortable.

So, generally speaking, things are not great. 

I lost my humbly secure job. A place I comfortably could’ve lived and died if I’d prioritized everything other than work and my sort of crippling ambition. This effectively led me down the path of questioning every decision I’ve made past the age of 16. First and foremost, choosing radio. An industry that was at it’s peak in the 1930’s and on the decline ever since was perhaps not the most lucrative or secure of career choices. 

My romantic life developed far enough to remind me that often times I am a crusty, avoidant crustacean human and suddenly all those popular tweets about my deep emotional inabilities and intimacy issues seemed, well, not that funny.

I decided I probably shouldn’t drink. I don’t have a drinking problem but I do have a problem with drinking. Namely, waking with no memory, my legs shaking and my stomach clenched so tightly I could sense my body wanted to flee - itself, mostly. And let’s not forget the part where I get fighty and mean.  

When shit hit the fan and then shot off the blades into the face of life in my early twenties, it wasn’t my fault. To be clear, mental health is a no fault area. I was always predisposed to depression, mental illness is genetic. I had no control over that. But there were plenty of variables, extenuating circumstances if you will, that I also had no control over but sure as fuck could and did blame other people for.

This is not the same thing. 

This is a moment where it is necessary to discern illness from circumstance and living from coping. 

Like I said, bullshit is cyclical. And it this point, it’s pretty much just my own bullshit on repeat, forever and ever amen. At twenty or twenty three, when the circumstances weren’t my fault, it also felt like my reactions weren’t my fault. I was floundering, I didn’t know better. I learned some hard lessons about how I cope and handle things. I learned that I didn’t really like the person I was when I was figuring out how to survive myself and life. 

I was unkind, a lot. 

I hated the way that felt, I hated the way it affected my relationships and decided to learn from it.

Except, I didn’t learn. I said, great, noted. Dashed a nice little ~fini!~ at the end of that chapter, closed er’ on up and bypassed the bookshelf for the dusty box in the corner labelled, “garage sale.” Because surely no one would need to read that again! 

And then a few weeks ago when I had a breakthrough in counselling, I dug that chapter back up and allowed myself a few days of surprise. Bitch, you been done knew the WHOLE time. This isn’t news, this isn’t shocking. This is the part of you that developed somewhere along the way and it didn’t work and you didn’t like it but! But. It was comfortable. So you gave it a few years and then when things fell out of control again, let it settle back in all warm and snuggly.

You know what they say. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I guess I need to financially prioritize a CBT therapist. 

So here I am, again. 

Only this time feels deeply, deeply different. Because it’s not the first. 

I sat down with a friend to tell her how I was feeling. How much I felt like I needed and wanted to change my default settings. 

I need a factory restore. 

“I think you’re being hard on yourself.”

No, no, I have grace for myself! I actually have a lot of understanding. I’m parenting myself through this which includes showing myself love while I also discipline.

“I just feel like maybe you were doing the best you knew how.”

Well, I mean, sure? Sometimes? But there were moments where I knew I was saying or doing the wrong thing, where I was even challenged by someone else but I wasn’t challenging myself, you know?

“Well maybe that’s just who you are?”

Right… but this is also who I am? And we do actually have a say in that, you know? Like how I evolved from throwing toddler tantrums on the grocery store floor? I could actually just keep doing that, no one is stopping me, but I don’t.

“I think you’re being self deprecating and that is not healthy.” 

Since when is self identifying a problem self deprecation? 

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

… but change is hard? 

I appreciate that people want to protect me from myself or from bad feeling or whatever they perceive that all to be. More often than not, I think they, we, you, I, we’re all just trying to protect ourselves. But it’s not helpful. Pretending that everything is fine and that we’re fine and adopting an overarching, “I am perfect as I am, namas-fucking-te” mantra isn’t actually helpful.

What’s the harm in me saying I have been shitty? That I have acted poorly? That I have neglected to be better when there was clearly a different option? That I wasn’t honestly showing myself to people when I could’ve or allowing them space in me?

That it’s… not nice? That just like the joke about my sister not being dead, it’s not comfortable to listen to? It’s true and it is compassionate to view yourself as a whole, to know yourself and think I actually do like myself and this life enough to want to be better.

Just like what is coined the unfortunate evening of Velour and Ambulances or the depression diagnosis or life being turned on it’s head by a plague sent from hell, once it was deeply painful and then it wasn’t. None of this is precious. Being a shitty person sometimes isn’t a rare affliction. You’ve been shitty before, you’ll do it again, I’ll do it again, hey, you might even be shitty right now! Isn’t that something? 

Things are not great right now. They’ve been not great tens of times before. Only this time it isn’t taking me 2 to 4 years to talk and laugh about it. Because this is a muscle, the shit muscle and it’s exercised. It’s buff. 

And you know what? Things could be worse. They could even get worse now! I’m hoping they don’t but they certainly could, and in the thick of it, we’ll always have that glimmering possibility to hold onto. 

[lycorogue]

I Was Thinking Of You (full story)

You can also find it on AO3, or on FFN, or even on DA if you prefer.

So, I know that everyone is talking about “Miraculer” (it was a STUPID GOOD episode), but I also found out that “Silencer” finally got an English dub (along with “Bakerix” and “Onichan”). I figured I’d ride the potential Lukanette wave that could resurge with this dub release, so please forgive my shameless plugging. >3< This story was a birthday gift for the awesome @thetauruspixie <3

I Was Thinking Of You

Summary: Girls' Day derails when Marinette realizes the male lead of a romance movie reminds her of someone other than Adrien. (No tie-ins with “Silencer”)

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 3565

Status: Completed One-shot UPDATE: This story now has a sequel stand-alone story: Acting Weird

"Marinette!" Rose ambushed her classmate as Marinette walked the gangplank onto The Liberty. As Rose pulled Marinette into a tight hug, Juleka strolled up beside them.

"Yeah," Juleka mumbled, "Thanks for coming over." She didn't hold eye contact with Marinette, but she did brush her bangs off her face briefly.

"No problem. Thanks for inviting me over." Marinette smiled despite getting crushed by her petite friend.

"Rose!" Juleka softly scolded. Like a dog heeling, Rose released Marinette and scurried beside Juleka instead, her arm wrapping around Juleka's.

"It's fine, really." Marinette giggled. "Is everyone else coming over as well?"

"Mylène is already below deck, Alya should be here shortly, and Alix won't be able to make it. Her dad grounded her for rollerblading through the Louvre." Rose chirped as she pulled Juleka along to the stairs, Marinette following beside them.

"That sounds like Alix." Marinette shook her head, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face as they descended into the hull of the ship.

"Oh, hey, Marinette." Luka scooped up his plated sandwich and walked around the breakfast bar that separated the ship's galley from the main living area. His voice was as soft and soothing as usual, and he flashed her a gentle smile.

"Hey, Luka. Are you going to join us?"

"Yeah, we don't mind," Mylène chimed in from the sectional. She then pivoted a bit more to greet the girls coming down the stairs. "Hey, Marinette. Nice to see you."

"Same!" Marinette waved to her friend, but quickly changed focus back to Luka.

"Nah, that's alright. Thank you, though. It's such a nice day, I'm going to enjoy some sunshine on the deck. But you ladies are all welcome to join me if you'd like." He rested a hand on Marinette's shoulder as he passed her. "Especially you." His fingers slid back off her as he turned and climbed up to the deck.

"Subtle." Juleka mumbled as she shook her head, and walked around the sectional to sit beside Mylène.

"Huh?" Marinette struggled to get her bearings.

"He is so sweet!" Rose squeaked. "Marinette, I think-"

"Rose." Juleka shook her head. "Not the time."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Rose scurried around to sit beside Juleka. "Come on, Marinette, we were thinking of watching a movie today." She opened up Juleka's laptop and set it on the circular coffee table.

"What movie?" Marinette nestled herself on the other side of Mylène.

"Well, I was thinking we could watch the Ladybug movie." Alya stood about half way down the stairs, the DVD in her hand, and held up for the group to see. "Hey, girls, Luka told me you were all down here."

She was greeted with a quick choir of "hey" back from the group.

"Ladybug & Chat Noir again, Alya?" Marinette groaned. She could only watch an animated movie about herself so many times. Especially since it was barely based on fact.

"I thought you'd relish the chance to listen to Adrien's voice for nearly two hours." Alya hurdled the back of the sectional in order to plop beside Marinette.

"Yeah, but he's playing Chat Noir! I just can't take it seriously. He seems so overly goofy in it." Marinette held up a hand and turned away from her bestie. "As much as I enjoyed watching the movie, I need a bit of a pallet cleanser. We've been watching it practically non-stop since it came out on DVD."

"Alright, then what should we watch?" Mylène looked around the group, waiting for any sort of suggestion.

"Oh, I know!" Rose leapt off the sectional and sprinted to Juleka's room. Barely a minute later she was back out and snuggled next to Juleka on the sectional. "I love this movie! You're not sick of it yet, are you, Juleka?" She held the DVD out to Alya as she looked up at Juleka with puppy eyes.

"Nah," Juleka gave her a soft, half-smile back as she brushed her hair out of her face. "It makes you happy, so it's cool."

"Goodie! Girls, I think you'll really love it!" Rose hugged Juleka tight as she waited for confirmation from the group.

"Want of Two? Rose, what the heck is this?" Alya flipped the DVD over to read the back cover. "'Gareth has always been a loner, and he was convinced that it was by choice. Then he met Julia, an independent motocross racer in town for a tournament. Suddenly, Gareth realizes he's not as happy to be a lone wolf as he once thought, and he tries desperately to make Julia part of his life. Problem is, she's been burnt before, and has become a bit of a loner-by-design herself, only relying on her skeleton pit crew for both racing and emotional support. Is it even possible for Gareth to convince Julia to take down her protective wall? Or will he be forced to learn to live without her again once the tournament is through, and she moves on to the next town?'" Alya blinked a few times as she tried to register what she just read. "This sounds so terribly cheesy. We're definitely watching it!" She laughed and popped the case open.

"I'll grab the popcorn!" Mylène ran to the galley to start up a bag in the microwave.

As Alya put the DVD into Juleka's laptop, Marinette glanced at the stairs behind her. Always been a loner. That description of both main characters made her instantly think of Luka. She never saw him hanging out with anyone besides his sister and her friends, and she couldn't recall any friends mentioned aside from her classmates. For such a sweet and caring boy, Luka did seem to be quite the loner.

"This is going to be great, right, Em?" Alya elbowed Marinette, which brought her attention back to the laptop. "Something up?"

"No. Just was wondering if we should ask Luka again to join us."

"I don't know if he'd be into watching a movie," Rose offered. "He's really into music, and likes socializing with us, but I don't think I've ever seen him just sit and watch something."

"He prefers being more interactive," Juleka added. "Reading books and watching films or TV is too passive."

"Oh." Marinette gave the stairs one last glance as the movie started.

Everyone was instantly sucked into the cliché romance movie. Gareth was suave, charming, a bit damaged, and his actor was handsome. Julia was strong, humorous, wounded, and her actress was almost blindingly beautiful. The chemistry between the leads was palpable, and from the moment they were on screen together it was obvious that they both wanted the other, even if Julia denied Gareth.

The girls alternated between passing around the popcorn bowl and the box of tissues as the drama continued to unfold between the leads. Scenes were also frequently accompanied with hushed mutterings of how the leads had characteristics that very much matched Ivan, Nino, or Juleka, depending on the situation.

Gareth's attempts to get Julia to fall for him was also very much like Chat Noir, Marinette quietly contemplated as the movie slid into its third act. In an instant she went from rooting for Julia to accept Gareth to hoping Gareth learns his love for her is enough; he didn't actually need them to be together.

In the end, Julia did open up to Gareth, who became part of her pit crew and toured with her on the motocross circuit. They rode off in the trailer together, the wind blowing through the windows, whipping Julia's short hair around her face as she gave Gareth a loving gaze. Her crew were all in the back, smiling at Julia's happiness. The trailer disappeared down the highway, and the credits started to roll.

"Wasn't that beautiful?" Rose squeaked as she blew her nose. Juleka instantly wrapped an arm around her, and rubbed her shoulder.

"Gareth is so much like my Ivan." Mylène pulled her knees up and hugged them; a huge grin on her face. "He seems like a loner, but he's really this gentle soul who wants to be loved. I'm so glad someone saw that."

"I get that, but I thought Gareth was more like Nino." Alya walked the empty popcorn bowl to the breakfast bar. "He was actually pretty goofy when he thought he could be himself. He was also willing to do whatever it took to defend Julia; a protector first and foremost. That's my man to a T."

"Goofy romantic also describes Rose," Juleka added with a little smirk, making Rose blush slightly.

"What about Adrien though?" Alya grew her own smirk as she leaned on the sectional back behind Marinette.

"Wh-what?" Marinette nearly fell off the sectional as Alya leaned in closer.

"I'm sure you saw bits of Adrien in Gareth as well, girl. So, what parts reminded you of him?"

"Was it his chiseled body and green eyes?" Mylène held up the DVD cover, which had Gareth and Julia on the front.

"Maybe it was how kind he was to everyone as he tried to make friends of his own?" Rose wiped more tears off her cheeks as she leaned into Marinette.

"Or how he never knew who his father was?" Juleka offered.

"Oh! Uh-" Marinette blushed as she realized it was actually Luka whom she was thinking of the whole movie. She never really knew much about Luka and Juleka's dad, or if they even had the same one. They never really talked about him. Luka was also a bit of a loner, even though he was one of the sweetest people Marinette had ever met. He seemed willing to do whatever it took to make his sister and her friends happy; anything to make sure Marinette was happy.

"I dunno. It's different for me and Adrien. We're not a couple."

Alya leaned further over the back of the sectional, making herself eye level with Marinette. "Yeah, but-"

"But nothing. He sees me as just a friend, so what's the point?" Marinette slid off the sectional. "Excuse me. I think I just need some air." She walked around the sectional and Alya, never taking her eyes off the floor.

"Marinette?" Rose stood, but Juleka grabbed her wrist and shook her head.

"Luka," Mylène mouthed to Alya, who nodded back and watched Marinette climb the stairs.

Marinette was greeted instantly by the sorrowful strumming of a lone guitar as she reached the deck. Luka sat at the bow, his eyes closed as he played. Nearly a quarter of his sandwich still sat on his plate beside him.

"Hey, Luka. I hope I'm not interrupting."

He didn't stop playing. He simply opened his eyes and slowly raised his head to acknowledge her.

"Not at all. Why aren't you hanging with your friends?"

"Well, they're your friends too, aren't they?" Marinette walked to the bow and leaned against it as Luka continued to play.

"I suppose they are, but you ladies need some time to yourselves too, don't you? I'm sure it could be weird to have Juleka's older brother hanging with you all the time."

"I wouldn't mind." Marinette truly wouldn't mind Luka spending as much time as possible with her, but at the same time, she knew he was right. Especially when she had Adrien Problems, it would certainly be weird to have Luka in the room too.

"You're very sweet, Marinette."

"This is a sadder song than you normally play." She moved his sandwich off the wooden crate beside him so she could sit down.

"I guess it was a bit of a sadder day, but it does seem a bit brighter now that you're with me." He shifted his fingers to a higher octave, and plucked the strings instead of strumming them. He even added some extra percussion beats by periodically tapping the guitar with his hand. It still had a soft melancholy undertone to it, but the new melody made Marinette smile.

"You shouldn't feel afraid to ask if you could hang out with us if you're feeling lonely or down."

"I appreciate the offer. You're always so kind, caring for others like that."

"Well, what about you? I feel like you're the one cheering me up every time I see you."

"About the same subject too, it seems."

He was right. She first met Luka while she was upset about Adrien not being able to come to the Music Festival. He had played a song to perk her up, and was kind to her until she smiled. Then she was upset about being a third wheel on Adrien's date with another woman. Yet again, Luka played her a song to lift her spirits and to vocalize, so to speak, the sorrow she had in her heart. At the ice rink, he did all he could to distract her from Adrien's date, in order to again make her smile. It nearly worked, too. Even at the end of their pseudo-date, Luka directed Marinette to talk to Adrien about her feelings. She had chickened out in the end, but it was sweet to know that Luka was cheering her on.

"Yeah, but I don't need help with that today. So today it's your turn." She gently bumped his shoulder with her own, careful to not hit his arm and disrupt his playing.

"You know what? I think just having you here is enough." He smiled at her, and switched up his fingering again. The melancholy left his song. His eyes closed and his head swayed a little as his fingers danced against the strings.

"Luka? If you don't mind me asking, do you have any friends outside of my classmates?"

He stopped playing.

"I like you guys. I don't really need any friends besides your class. You're all some really cool kids. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I guess we are, but don't you have any friends from your own class? School seems like it would be boring without friends with you."

"It is, but things are different for my grade. We weren't taught to be as accepting and loving as you guys were. I just don't fit in with them, but that's fine, because I truly enjoy having all of you as my friends."

"That's so sad. I'm sorry you don't really connect with your classmates."

"Don't worry about it. It gives me time to think about my songs. Ones like this."

The notes were slow at first, but quickly picked up until they were practically skipping off the strings. Marinette couldn't help but smile as she tapped her foot along, and her head swayed in time with his. There was so much life and optimism in the song. So much cheerful energy. She could picture a lively strut through the bustling streets of Paris as Luka played each note. All too soon, the song ended.

"That was amazing! What was your inspiration?"

"You were, actually."

"Oh!" Marinette blushed as she looked at her knees, her hands gripped hard on each side of the crate she was sitting on.

"You're a very special person, Marinette. You're so upbeat, and cheerful, and determined whenever you're helping your friends. This is the song that should be playing whenever you're around, and the song that plays in your heart every moment of your life. If I could, I'd chase all sadness from your heart so the proper song could play within it instead."

"Luka, I-" He was so sweet. He was always so kind to her, and he was gentle. He was romantic, and subtly suave. He never once pressured her, and always wanted what was best for her. Could he truly be attracted to her as well? Was it possible that he didn't just think of her as a friend like Adrien did?

"I'm sorry. I know you like Adrien." Luka shifted away from Marinette. "I just wanted you to know the kind of life a girl like you deserved."

"Luka, we're friends, right?" She still couldn't bear to look at him. She was probably wrong. Luka was older than them. Marinette was his younger sister's friend and classmate, and Luka probably just thought of her as a surrogate sister.

"I will always be your friend, Marinette."

"I thought so." Another friend. She enjoyed having him in her life, and was glad that they were friends, but it figured that was all Luka wanted from her as well.

"Did you not want us to be friends?"

"No! No I do!" Marinette flailed her arms about a bit, nearly smacking Luka in the face. "I just- With that song, I thought- Nevermind."

Luka's grip tightened around his guitar. His eyes wide and gorgeously teal.

"Marinette? Did you want us to be more than friends?"

She wasn't sure. An hour ago, even ten minutes ago, she would have told him no. She was in love with Adrien, not Luka. However, Luka was right there. He was kind, and made her smile. She didn't stammer (as much) around him, and she loved spending time with him. It was clear that Adrien wasn't going to see her as more than "just a friend," but maybe Luka did. She deserved happiness, right? That's what Luka told her. So, maybe she could let her heart have him instead of Adrien.

"I- I don't really know. But, I think-"

Luka put down his guitar and leaned in close, so tantalizingly close. His eyes never once drifted from hers. It felt like he was searching her very soul, wishing for a specific answer, and she hoped she had the right one for him.

"Do you know how I feel, Marinette? About you?"

"I think so."

"If you aren't positive, I'd love to spend as much time as you need convincing you, but only if that's what you want."

"I do. I think I really do." Marinette leaned closer as well.

"I want you do to this for you, not for anyone else."

"I am."

Luka raised his hand to Marinette's jawline, and let it hover close enough to her cheek she could still feel his body heat.

"You sure?"

She nodded, and rested her hand on his, pressing it against her cheek. Her heart raced as she felt his fingers against her skin.

"Then, may I?" Luka whispered as his lips crept closer to hers.

Marinette nodded again.

He pulled gently on her jaw, angling her face better as his lips lightly brushed against hers. It was a sweet, chaste kiss, but electricity still shot through Marinette. Her arms moved on their own. One wrapped around Luka's waist, as the other reached up for his hair, holding him against her.

Luka actually liked her back. He wasn't Adrien, and that felt surprisingly amazing. There were no games. There were no nerves. She could reach out for him whenever she wanted, and he could do the same. His lips felt so soft, and his hair silky, but it was more than that. Her heart was playing the song Luka had written about her.

Far too soon, Luka pulled away, instead resting his forehead against hers.

"I can't believe I could ever be this lucky," he whispered.

"I'm the lucky one." Marinette discretely shifted her hand to her purse, wondering if Tikki's luck brought Luka to her.

Their quiet moment instantly imploded as four voices hooted at the top of their lungs, cheering and clapping for the couple. Marinette jumped as she turned to see Juleka, Rose, Alya, and Mylène at the top of the stairs, celebrating.

"How romantic!" Rose chirped and nuzzled her folded hands, one foot popped behind her.

"Well, so much for Adrien, I guess." Alya teased before giving Marinette a thumbs up.

"It's about time you two got together. Ivan and I were wondering what was going on between you two, and you know it had to be obvious if Ivan noticed it."

"I'm so happy for you," Juleka intoned.

Marinette blushed, but Luka took her hand, and she instantly felt fine. She was happy the girls found out. She wanted the world to find out. She was happy, and Luka gave that to her.

"Thanks, everyone. Sorry if I interrupted Girls' Day." Luka gave them all a soft smile, and Marinette instantly noticed it wasn't the same one he always gave her.

"This is way better than 'Girls' Day'." Rose ran over and pushed Luka and Marinette closer together. "Oh! We all need to set up Group Date Night!"

"Yeah, Nino has got to hear about this." Alya was already dialing as she walked to the stern of the ship.

"I need to let Ivan know too." Mylène briefly bounced on her toes before jogging back below deck to make her own phone call.

"Come on, Rose, let's give them space." Juleka took Rose's hand and pulled her below deck as well.

"Well, that got out quick," Luka chuckled, a bit embarrassed.

"I'm glad." Marinette tucked herself against Luka's side.

He again tapped his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he took her in through that simple touch.

"Me too." He pulled back enough for their eyes to meet. "Do you mind if I indulge myself a little?"

Marinette brushed Luka's cheek, directing him back to her. "Only if it means I can too."

Their lips met once more, and Marinette hoped she'd never get used to the electricity that shot through her.

[charnamefic]

Once again, there’s a transcript below the cut.

Halfway down the hill the bundle began to cry: the air-raid siren wail of the newly born. High. Wordless. And old.

 --------------------

 There was something deeply unfair about being an Earthbound demon, Crawleigh reflected, as he started the 2CV and clunked it down the waterlogged country road. From what he could see, most people, ordinary human people, seemed to do far better than he did when it came to adding to the sum total of human misery.

 He gripped the wheel miserably. Where He’d gone wrong, of course well, of course, He went wrong all the time, it was His job. Where He’d gone particularly wrong was in making Crawleigh human. It subjected you to all kinds of little pressures, no wonder most of them were several coupons short of a toaster, you ended up feeling sorry for them, the poor bastards.

 It wasn’t that he didn’t want to ruin the lives and souls of strangers; it was just that after he’d given them nice cups of tea and homemade cakes, and listened to their problems and helped them balance their cheque books, and got their kittens down from trees, there simply wasn’t the time.

 The road to heaven, he would reflect gloomily, is paved with bad intentions, and resolve to break his ways. Starting, well, tomorrow. Probably.

 He stuck out his chin. Enough of that. No more messing

 about. From now on he was going to be bad. Worse than Michael Jackson. The thought turned his mind to something better in the way of in-car entertainment than the sloshing of the windscreen wipers. The radio would do nothing except crackle in Danish, so he fumbled for a cassette and pushed it into the slot.

 It was The Best of Queen. It always was. Crawleigh suspected that any tape left in a car for more than a fortnight metamorphosed into a Best of Queen album.

 He nearly stopped for a hitchhiker; but at the last moment he remembered the child asleep on the back seat, and sped past the woman hitching by the side of the road, drenching her. Pride and embarrassment struggled within him. Pride won. One of the windscreen wipers was swept away by the rain.

 The tape was bleating about someone who kept Moet and Chandon in a pretty cabinet. Crawleigh, in that dreamlike state that afflicts all car drivers in the pouring rain at night, found himself wondering who Moet and Chandon were.

 And then he wasn’t. Suddenly Freddy Mercury’s voice was talking to Crawleigh.

 WE ARE RELYING ON YOU, it said. DO NOT FAIL US, CRAWLEIGH.

 “No, Lord.”

 NO...WHAT DID WE DO TO YOU AFTER THE ATLANTIS DEBACLE? REMIND US.

 “Half an aeon, O Master of the Nine Hells, partially dismembered, suspended in the flaming cesspits of Abbadon. There were internal stoats in there somewhere as well. And after that l was Earthbound until further notice.”

 YESSSSS. WE TELL YOU THIS, CRAWLEIGH: LISTEN WELL: IF ANYTHING, ANYTHING AT ALL GOES WRONG WITH THIS VENTURE YOU WON’T FIND US ANYWHERE NEARLY SO LENIENT. GOT THAT?

 Crawleigh shook in his seat. He nodded violently.

 GOOD. I see a little silhouetto of a man scaramouche scaramouche will you do the fandango...

 A hole in the sunroof chose this moment to make its presence felt. The rain dripped onto Crawleigh’s head. He didn’t care. All he had to do tonight was to swap over two babies. What could be simpler than that?

 --------------------

 The maternity hospital was fairly quiet, if you didn’t count the screams of women in labour.

 Mr Brown knew what his role in the actual physical action of having babies ought to be. He should be pacing the corridors, puffing nervously on his pipe, making small talk with the other fathers. Then a matronly nurse with a twinkling eye would pop her head around the door and say Mister Brown? It’s a boy or a girl, or twins, or something

 and he would hand around the cigars he had bought for the occasion, congratulate Deirdre, and go off and get stinking drunk. He‘d done it twice before, and you soon got the hang of it. It was like shelling peas.

 The No Smoking sign was the first hurdle. Deirdre was the second. Mister Brown blamed Woman’s Hour.

 He felt strongly that it wasn’t his place to sit next to Deirdre and exhort her to breathe. She knew how to breathe. He was pretty sure about that. He had done his bit nine months earlier when a power cut had sent them to bed earlier than planned, and he didn’t see why he needed to go to classes on ‘Constructive coparenting’ at his time of life. And he didn’t see why he had to tell Deirdre to do something she’d been doing for years. And what was he meant to do with the cigars?

 It wasn’t like this in the old days.

 In the old days Deirdre had done little more than bustle around the house arranging flowers, with occasional spurts of shopping thrown in to liven up the day before the Women’s Institute meeting. Then one morning he had come down to breakfast to discover Deirdre in a smock that would have not looked out of place on a Nativity play shepherd, if the actor playing the shepherd was five foot eight and was the kind of Shepherd who had a NUCLEAR POWER NO THANKS badge pinned to the right hand side of his bosom. And there was muesli. Not kippers. Not sausages. Bacon was right out. Bacon was practically the Eighth Deadly Sin. From that day

 forward it had been muesli all the way. And Mrs Brown’s confinement had been mystically transformed into the most joyous and sharing experience that two people can have.

 Well, he hadn’t got anything against joyous sharing experiences. Here’s to joyous sharing experiences. Joyous sharing experiences were all right by him. It just that, as far as he was concerned, Deirdre could have this joyous sharing experience by herself. He’d sidled out of the labour room, and was now huddled by a service entrance puffing at his pipe. He was sheltered from the rain, but not from the cold or the wind.

 He shivered. It happened to them at a certain age. Your father never warned you about it. Suddenly they started ordering their own newspaper, the sort with pages with names like Lifestyle and Options. They started to join things, and did these robotic exercises in pink socks with the feet cut out. They started to blame you for not having had to work for a living for twenty-five years. It was hormones, or something.

 A Citroen 2CV drew up by the dustbins. The young man who got out was wearing a raincoat and carrying a large bundle. He ran across the car park getting wetter with each step. When he reached the service entrance Mr Brown said, “You’ve left your lights on.”

 “Damn. It’s supposed to have this thing that bleeps. Here, hold this.” He thrust the bundle into Mr Brown’s arms and dashed back across the car park to wrestle with the car's

 door and lighting system. Mr Brown was surprised to find that the bundle seemed to be a small carrycot, with a cover over it.

 From the weight there was a baby in the carrycot. Strange, thought Mr Brown, most people take babies away from Maternity Hospitals...

 “Thanks,” said the young man in the raincoat, who was by now soaked through. He took back the bundle and winked. “Is it happening yet?” he asked.

 Deep in the leather armchair of his soul Mr Brown felt vaguely proud to be so instantly recognisable as a parent.

 “Yes,” he admitted, “She’s in labour, if that’s what you mean.

 “Already? Any idea how long we’ve got to go?”

 We? Obviously a Doctor With ideas about coparenting. “Not long now,” said Mister Brown, “She was, uh, doing it when I had to pop out...” He gestured vaguely with his pipe to indicate pressing calls of nature.

 “Shaitan! Now? Why didn’t you say so?” Crawleigh shouldered his burden of waterproofed carrycot and headed for the green swing door. “Oh blast I’ve forgotten. What room’s she in?”

 “Room Three,” said Mr Brown “It’s at the top of the stairs.” He fumbled in his pocket for the packet. “Would you like to share a cigar experience?” he called, but Crawleigh was already running through the doors. Mr Brown sighed,

 and put the cigars away. Then he returned to his pipe.

 It had gone out.

 --------------------

 If you have ever watched a slick stage magician perform a three-card trick, or been hustled by a respectable gentleman with a pea and three shells, you will know the ease and dizzying slickness with which three similar objects can be swapped, exchanged and transferred from place to place, so that you lose any knowledge of which was where to start with.

 This was nothing like that, although the principle is sort of the same.

 Watch carefully. We will stop the action:

 Mrs Brown is giving birth in Maternity Room Three. She is having a dark-haired male baby we will call baby A.

 The wife of the American Ambassador, Mrs Harriet Dowling, is giving birth in Maternity Room Four. She is having a dark-haired male baby we will call baby B.

 Nurse Hodges is a devout Satanist. As a child she went to Sabbat School regular as prunes, and although she won several black stars for things like handwriting and liver she was never particularly bright. She is being handed a dark-haired male baby we will call The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is

 called Dragon, Prince of this World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness.

 There. Got it? Ok, roll ‘em:

 “Is that him?” said Nurse Hodges, staring at the baby. “Only I’d expected maybe funny eyes. Or teensyweensy little hoofikins. Or a widdle tail.” She turned him round as she spoke. No horns either. The devil’s child looked ominously normal.

 “Yes, it’s him,” sighed Crawleigh.

 “Well, I knew it must be, what with you saying he was and all. Coo. Fancy. Me holding the Antichrist. Me bathing the Antichrist. Wiping his little botty and tickling his little toesywoeses...”

 She appeared quite carried away, and was now addressing the child. Crawleigh waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello? Nurse Hodges?”

 “Sorry, sir. He is a little sweetheart. Do you think he looks like his dad? I bet he does. I bet he looks like his daddywaddykins...”

 Crawleigh sighed. “She’s in maternity room three, and she may already have had the baby. Be on standby I want the exchange made as soon as is possible. Got it?”

 “OOO’s a widdledumpydumpywumpyden? OOOOOOOOOO’s a widdlerumpypumpydumpyden? Room three is it, sir? Righty-ho.”

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 27

Author’s notes: This chapter is interesting to be sure, let’s keep it rolling kids! Gonna see a lot more of other point of views this time around.

Chapter 27

(Griffon  POV)

Bad, this was bad.

You had been out like a light for a while now. As soon as Nightmare wrapped you up in his strong, demonic arms your eyes closed and you lost all consciousness. It was for the best, but the bird wasn’t anticipating just how far down they would have to go. The tree was collapsing, making for treacherous travel, a lot of climbing and maneuvering, two things Nightmare was really shitty at. They were doing their best, but they were running out of Vergil’s residual energy. Which was the bad part. Everything had turned into a race against the clock, trying to get you somewhere safe to heal and recover before they had to return to your form.

Griffon had vaguely noted the silver cane that V formerly used before they set out. Dante had walked right past it, leaving it glinting in the sun with nowhere to go. He didn’t know why, but the bird grabbed it, swooping over quickly and returning back with it clutched in his talons. Any reminders of the poet would hurt you, that was obvious, but...he felt like it belonged to you now. After all, it was what V used to command them in the first place. So he chucked it into Nightmare’s swirling form, letting the bigger familiar absorb it into himself and making a mental note to tell you about it at some point. You deserved to have something left from him at least.

Griffon was still trying to process it all--being inside the body and mind of someone new was strange. And when it came to you, he was learning a lot more and realizing things he wish he’d known earlier. Christ, you were a fucking mess. Just as bad as Shakespeare was. Hell, you were almost worse, there was so many things to unpack about your trauma and body, he wasn’t sure where to start. There was this underlying feeling of pain constantly radiating in your limbs, that swirling Void power always leaving a dull ache in your stomach and chest. Was this how it felt for you all the time? Just how long did you suffer in pain? It never showed, save for the occasional wince or hand to your temple.

Fuck, he felt bad. You were such a cheerful thing before, but underneath was a storm of bullshit he didn’t know how to help. This whole situation had just fucked you up more. He should have been honest with you from the beginning, but what the hell would that have changed?

Regardless, that didn’t matter now. Getting you to the van did. But it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. They made it about halfway down before Nightmare’s steps started to slow, as if the tar-like substance that made up his body was sticking to the floor. Griffon was feeling fatigued himself, but they couldn’t afford to stop now, not being so high up. If the tree went down, you would get hurt badly--not to mention the threat of demons still crawling around.

“Come on, you big lug!” Griffon squawked at the giant moving ever so slowly along. But he was panting, exhaustion in his tone just from flapping his wings, “Get a move on, no time to rest now…! Gotta get her to the bottom at least!”

Nightmare’s eye rolled eerily over to look at him, conveying every ounce of annoyance he felt for his avian companion. Yeah, he got it loud and clear. Mouth shut, eyes forward. Couldn’t make what was impossible, possible. To be completely honest, Griffon was expecting them to kill Dante or at least die trying, then fade into nothing like Vergil wanted them to. You had never been a part of the equation, and if you had...he wouldn’t have wasted so much energy trying to blast away the idiotic demon hunter. He would have waited, so they could get you down the stupid fucking tree without so much issue.

Yeah. Planning ahead wasn’t his best feature.

It was an unfortunate trait that he began to regret more and more, finally coming to an ultimate wall when Nightmare stopped entirely, falling to his knees still holding you. Fuck, that wasn’t good--they were never going to make it down the tree at that rate, leaving you exposed and in danger up on a goddamn ledge. Griffon panted heavily, landing on the ground next to Nightmare as he sat you gently down, your head lolling to the side in your unconsciousness. The bird felt a pang of guilt as he stared at your face, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and the pallid color of your skin. You looked like hell and then some, the days events showing on you and taking their toll. Griffon felt awful. The look you wore when he saw you standing there, watching them fight…

Damn it, he didn’t like feeling this guilty. What was he supposed to do? They had fucked up, all of them including the poet. Griffon had been concerned all along that this would happen, encouraging it in the beginning but...he didn’t know then. How could the bird have imagined just how close you and V would become? At first it seemed amusing, an attempt to get V laid and loosened up a bit. But getting to know you, seeing how you interacted with him made the bird realize just how dangerous it could get. Love was never part of the plan. But V still never stopped, he went through with it despite his guilt and reservations. And that...fucking sucked.

“Shit, fuck,” Griffon panted, nosing your face with his beak and trying to will you awake, “Up and at em’, toots! We can’t go any further, you gotta pause that nap for a little bit…!”

You gave no sign of stirring, so deep under now that any and all chances of waking you were slim to none. Griffon looked up anxiously at Nightmare, meeting his glowing eye and letting out a light trill. What the hell were they supposed to do? Even the giant was at a loss, sitting back on his ass with a heavy thud and closing that eye of his. He had no juice left either. Griffon grunted lightly, trying to latch his claws onto you and hoist your body up, but he had no energy left either. You were heavier than Shakespeare--the man was a twig and you were healthy and having more...er...filled out areas.

“We’re so fucked,” Griffon groaned, slumping over your form and pressing his head to your hair, “We tried, but we’re still useless. God damn  it!”

There was no response from the other familiar, which was typical. Wouldn’t stop Griffon from muttering to himself.

“We fucked up big time,” He continued to grunt, ruffling his feathers and staring ahead while he talked to no one in particular, “Could have told her in the beginning, could have saved her from all this bad shit. But no. Had to be as dumb as Shakespeare--bonus points for being an even bigger dumbass earlier.”

Nightmare made no sound, but Griffon could feel the exasperation coming from him. The bird was fighting the urge to absorb back into your body, debating if maybe Shadow could come out and drag you a bit further at the very least. But that could be a waste of energy better suited for protecting you where the other two couldn’t, Shadow being the only one who stayed in your body while they traveled downwards. The mighty cat materialized as soon as the thought popped into his skull, landing on their paws in a cloud of black dust. As much as he hated it, they would be forced to summon back for at least a little while, leaving Shadow to make sure no baddies tried to come at you.

“Stay with her for a bit,” Griffon told the cat, exhaustion in his tone from blasting so may demons on the way down. Shadow blinked their red eyes, sitting back and listening attentively to the bird as he continued, “If we play our cards right...we can move her down in bursts. Just...just gotta catch our breath.”

Shadow bowed their head, understanding flickering along the connection they shared as the cat settled along your form. Providing warmth, ears flickering as they watched over the ledge and incline downwards. Griffon knew they could last for an hour at least, providing cover and protection while Nightmare and Griffon recharged a bit. That is...unless they wouldn’t be able to--you were so injured, tank running on empty and healing on top of all of it. If you were still weak, they couldn’t very well get energy from you. It was his last thought when he and Nightmare finally succumbed to the need, turning into dust once more and taking their place under your skin.

They would reach that hurdle when it came. But if not...well. Griffon could pray for a miracle, right?

(Vergil POV)

Well. To say that Vergil’s day had been strange would be far understating the true gravity of it all.

His memories were spotty, fuzzy. A whirlwind of things from the past, the present, and things that didn’t even seem like he lived through them at all. Upon reawakening as his full, revived self his skull had rattled with things that were definitely unfamiliar to the elder son of Sparda. It was disorienting, strange, unsettling. He felt far more whole and complete than ever before, and yet...there was a sense of being disjointed, unsure of himself. He felt different, changed, unlike who he was before separating man from demon but still retaining all his base personality and desires.

Vergil still carried his mistrust of Dante, the resentment. Though it was changed now, mellowed and quiet in comparison to how he was before. It would be fair to say Vergil himself felt a lot more in control of himself compared to when he stabbed his form with the Yamato, body no longer damaged and his nightmares remaining from being Nelo Angelo seemingly...gone. But that wasn’t to say things weren’t growing more hectic and confusing by the second, mind struggling to keep up with it all whilst maintaining his usual demeanor. Those defense mechanisms were kicking in, the ones Vergil was reluctant to admit he had at all.

For one, he had memories from his demonic half. The more unsettling ones, memories of erecting the tree and the death of so many human beings. Vergil was not a man easily made uncomfortable, or guilty for that matter...but such sensations existed, and they irritated him on top of tugging at the edges of his thoughts. The memories were in his head, but they didn’t feel like his. Disjointed, the actions beyond his will and plans when he used the Yamato on himself--to be completely honest, he had not anticipated that when he did such a thing it would literally separate his two halfs entirely. The son of Sparda had convinced himself that it would merely cast away his humanity, leaving him with the same consciousness but a stronger, less brittle form. To make him wholly and completely demonic in nature.

He was not so lucky. Such actions had caused him to stumble around in two, separate forms for a while. And one cause so much death and destruction on the city Vergil wasn’t sure how to process it.

His mind focused on what it knew in an attempt to defend itself from the guilt. Dante was here, and he wanted to fight. That provided normalcy, amusement. That was something Vergil knew, remembered, and understood. A deep, burning need to defeat his brother, to prove himself stronger. It was something to root himself in reality, and he kept to that while his mind allowed it, fighting his brother like old times and reveling in his newfound strength. Vague memories of taking a bite out of the forbidden, powerful fruit lingered on the edges of his memory, explaining why he felt so spry and alive. But...it didn’t make a difference.

Dante still held his own. As always.

Why was he so strong, so powerful? He still had strength, enough so that Vergil found himself toe to toe with his brother, the one who didn’t eat the fruit at all. Maybe it was due to Vergil being distracted...he had a lot on his mind. First of all being the revelation of his son--Nero. Finding out he had spawned a child down the line was...staggering to say the least. Vergil was reluctant to admit he didn’t know when he went to get his sword back that Nero was his son, but it was pretty easy to guess in retrospect. Had he not been so broken then, sickly and dying...he could have figured it out. But he hadn’t, and he ripped off Nero’s arm without a second thought.

Did he feel guilty? He wanted to say no, mind not really dwelling on any of it too long. But...there was a twinge of something he tried to ignore. Focus on the fight, focus on beating Dante. A son is of little consequence. Right? He tried and tried not to think about it, but the knowledge was now a burden on his mind, so loud among the already chaotic thoughts and memories. He didn’t like having so much confusion, so much to worry about and that stupid, foolish guilt. That had to be why he lost to Dante, surely. All these new, chaotic thoughts had to have made him sloppy, giving his brother and edge he wouldn’t otherwise have.

And amidst all those chaotic thoughts...was you.

You were the most confusing of all the memories, Vergil unable to comprehend just what to think in regards to them. Upon waking up again, he couldn’t understand the images floating around in his consciousness, fuzzy and both familiar and unfamiliar. It was…curious. Strange. He was certain he had never met you before, but...he knew you. There was a familiarity there that he didn’t understand, so many tangling emotions pushing against his skull and only seeming to complicate things more.

Why? Why did he feel that hard ache in his chest when he saw your face? That horrified, broken expression you wore while staring at his newly awakened form. The shock, the remembrance when you attacked him--usually he would have simply pulled out his sword and struck you down. You were volatile, easily defeated in such a weak, collapsing state as you were. But he found hesitation there when he stared into your black eyes, a dull throbbing in his chest as he took in the blue streaks staining your cheeks, your lips. Why was that look you wore so upsetting? Those eyes, hollow and shattered as you begged him for answers, lips trembling and body pushing you far too much.

His first thought should have been “who is this girl? How pitiful”. But instead, he found his mind snapping to attention, realizing how much you were damaging yourself and...worrying? Surely not, but it was there. It was so perplexing to Vergil, mind reeling and trying to process even while his mouth spouted the first things he could think of.

Calling you the only name that came to mind. Sparrow. The look you wore when that name was uttered on his lips was seared into his brain--like he had slapped you across the face without realizing it. There was opportunity in such a distraction, but Vergil felt like it was a hollow victory. Like kicking a puppy.

Even after fighting Dante, then Nero in turn he couldn’t shake it. The way your tone cracked, voice wavering painfully as you asked him “why?”. Your black eyes, filling with tears and lips trembling as blow-tinted tears rolled down your cheeks.

He didn’t like that, didn’t like the thoughts and emotions he couldn’t seem so shake. Especially more intimate ones, things he surely should not have. Of cupping your cheeks, stroking your hair and touching your lips. Of you underneath him, eyes staring at him in adoration as his tattooed finger slipped over your mouth…

Such a memory was dangerous, threatening to make him falter when he should otherwise focus.

What in the world was happening to him? Those were not his hands. He bore no black tattoos, but...he remembered times where he had. Of the familiars he commanded, the manifestation of his nightmares made real. These were the memories of his human half, of that he was able to figure out fairly quickly. And that was...alarming. Why was he seeing all of these things, these images and thoughts mingled with the demonic ones as well? It left him questioning so much, torn between feeling the emotions and images as his own and like they belonged to someone else.

That was him, a part of him. He felt both connected and not.

How unbelievably confusing--Vergil was just barely able to cope with it all, maintaining himself through the fight with Nero. And that, too, lead to defeat. Why was his son so strong? He had a strange power, a curious one, holding his own perfectly fine against his father despite his diluted demonic blood. The fact that Nero came to stop the fighting at all was so perplexing to him, since he clearly meant nothing to the boy after not knowing him his whole life. Why was he so determined to try, to get between Vergil and Dante in their fights? It was irritating, but even Vergil knew when he was beat.

He tried to tell himself it was due to him fighting Dante earlier. Maybe.

But he stopped when Nero asked of it, deciding that taking down the Qliphoth was more important than defeating his brother at that moment. He wanted to be done with the tree--maybe cutting it down would cut away some of that stupid, nagging guilt pinching the back of his skull? Such thoughts made Vergil scowl, but he bit back the annoyance and settled on letting Dante come with him despite his reservations. The annoying, white-haired sibling provided a distraction that Vergil felt he needed with everything going on.

Nero also asked about you, like he expected you to already be up with the other two when he arrived. That made Vergil both surprised and uneasy, the idea of seeing you again was...a strange one. Dante explained to the worried boy that he had sent you back down the tree, but didn’t elaborate in the slightest bit. They had a job to do, a tree to cut down in the underworld.

As for Nero, he wasn’t allowed to come. A single, hard placed fist to the face from the brothers sent him flying back, sprawling on his ass several feet away. Vergil admired his dedication, but he was another thing the cold man really didn’t want to think about while they cut down the damned tree. Besides, he had things to take care of on the surface and had no place in hell like the rest of them. He was filled with that humanity Vergil didn’t care for, emotional and brash through the entire fight and filled to the brim with resentment. He wanted to prove himself, with Vergil didn’t have the patience for.

“Take care, Nero,” Dante said with a smile and a salute, stepping back while the boy sat up and stared at them both with annoyance, “Adios.”

He leapt off the side of the Qliphoth, turning into his Sin Devil Trigger form and gliding down toward where the portal opened below. Vergil lingered for a moment, meeting Nero’s eyes and sizing him up one more time. He did certainly look like him, there in that furrowed brow and in his eyes and lips. But his attitude and emotions were very reminiscent of Dante, who definitely had a hand in shaping who Nero had become. Vergil let out a low hum of amusement, a bit of a smirk curving his lips as he pulled out the book he acquired as a child.

“I won’t lose next time,” He promised, tone full of cold challenge as he tossed the leather-bound novel onto the floor in front of his son, “Hold onto that until then.”

It was a declaration, and also...a reassurance. That he and Dante would return, despite how cut and dry things seemed. And he would come back--there was a score to settle now. He wanted to see just how powerful his son could be, a rematch after he wasn’t so scattered in the head. Distracted. That was what he blamed for so many losses after another--surely he would do better if he didn’t have so many confusions and concerns.

Vergil turned, sparing Nero one last glance before he launched himself up, turning into his own blue Sin Devil Trigger form and diving in the direction Dante had taken. The rush of air past his armored body felt good after the stagnant heat of the Qliphoth, wings gliding him quickly downward to reach the portal he had caused. Up in the air, the destruction was plain to see--the Earth cracked, buildings ruined, broken roots lining the streets down below that were now empty of human life. The tree itself was ugly, an annoying eyesore despite the fact that it had lead to Vergil gaining more power, devouring its fruit and regaining his vitality. And what good that did him--he still lost to the other two. Still lacking, it would seem.

And what an annoying thought that was. The fact that despite all his efforts, he was still lacking the necessary strength to fight his brother. So many failed attempts had only ended in ruin, and now several deaths added to the price paid for the sake of power. Vergil was...tired. Too tired at that moment to maintain the level of anger he needed to keep his drive. The events of the month or so had left him different, and he needed to figure out whether he embraced the changes or not. It seemed like something worth thinking about briefly as he followed Dante’s path.

Vergil’s eyes scanned the tree on his way down, taking in the curling roots, the way it curved into the sky. It definitely needed to be destroyed, it served no purpose now but to be a reminder for how much things had gone poorly. It was already on the verge of dying, grey and turning brittle now that the fruit was--

He saw something that made him halt.

His wings pounded hard, sending up gusts of wind as he stopped his velocity in its tracks. In this form, his eyes were sharper, so he definitely wasn’t mistaking what he was seeing. There, on a ledge halfway down the tree. You were unmistakable--body prone on its side and the familiar form of Shadow curled protectively around you. Vergil hovered in the air, staring at you lying there unconscious with that nagging sensation pressing on the edges of his skull again. What the hell were you doing laying there? Dante claimed he had sent you back down, but it would seem you didn’t make it all the way. Something about that annoyed him--why would Dante send you back down in such a state?

She reached her limit, his mind thought on its own, it’s dangerous there. It came without him even thinking, the nagging voice in his brain urging him to help you. Instinctive. His clawed fingers clenched into fists, a low growl emanating from his glowing chest cavity as he trying to decide what to do. He had a job to do, a task to focus on that didn’t involve you in the slightest bit.

But...there was that feeling again, pressing to his chest at the sight of you lying there. Looking broken and tired, body curled up next to his former nightmare and not moving. And what was that about? Why was Shadow still around, the manifestation of his abominable thoughts sitting with you like a protective house cat? Dante failed to mention that you were being helped down by them, but it seemed to not be working out to begin with. Foolish. Vergil would have scowled if this form allowed it, his eyes narrowing slightly as he debated for a few more seconds what to do. That sensation grew, moving him closer without thinking so he could see your face, the way your hair pooled around your head. You looked exhausted, you looked...not like yourself.

Guilt.

God damn it.

Vergil growled again, wishing he could even remotely understand what he was feeling. He felt like a fool, body moving on its own and flying over to your ledge. Shadow looked up at the sound of beating wings, eyes narrowing and baring their teeth at the demonic male. He saw them jolt in the next instant, recognition flashing in those bright red eyes as they realized just who he was. How absurd it had to be, to see the very person that they once used to be a part of. Vergil landed, not breaking eye contact with the glorified house cat and watching how their pelt rippled warily with glowing patterns, ears flat against their skull. No friendliness left for their former master, it would seem. They certainly didn’t look happy to see him, curling around you more and lip curling up in warning.

Vergil tilted his gaze to you, making Shadow leap up and snarl loudly in threat, back arched and claws scraping against the greying ground. Vergil wasn’t fazed--Shadow was the manifestation of bad thoughts, made into a demon that he could easily defeat. But he took in your form, realizing by the changes he saw that the familiars now had to be yours. Tattoos lined your arms, a single part of your hair now black as it draped over your face. He remembered then, a brief few flashes of images that made him lose focus for a moment. Images of you with Griffon on your shoulders, laughing and grinning. Of you teary eyed, beaming as you kissed the top of Shadow’s head like they were a big, fluffy cat. Charming his nightmares like it was nothing, loving them despite what they were.

God damn it.

“If she stays here,” He said to the growling demon, tone warped and demonic as his wings folded against his body, “She will die. With her this weak, you won’t be able to sustain yourself for long.”

Shadow’s ears pressed tighter to their skull, eyes glaring daggers at him as another growl burst forth. That spoke their message loud and clear.

Vergil clicked his tongue, half turning away from the cat as he replied coldly, “If you wish for her to die, then so be it.” He didn’t have the patience for this, but...his feet felt rooted to the spot.

I can’t just leave her there.

But why?

Shadow let out a low, distressed sound, gently lapping at one of your cheeks in an attempt to wake you up. For a moment, Vergil felt a twinge of concern that you may be dead. But your chest was rising and falling, eyelashes twitching against your cheeks as you slept away all the pain. Your breaths were short and pained, he saw you wince occasionally and curl up on yourself more. His fingers twitched at his side, Vergil clenching his jaw when he realized he had to physically push down the urge to stroke one of your cheeks. What was happening to him? And why?

But Shadow seemed to sense his confusion, staring at him with red eyes far too knowing as he struggled with himself. Even in this form, they were able to read his expression, bowing their head to him for a moment before raising it again. There was a warning in that sharp gaze, one that clearly said if anything would happen to you Shadow would tear him to pieces. Or at least...they would try. The mighty cat then turned into swirling dust, absorbing back into your tattoos and making them darker now on the one side. Home, it would seem.

Vergil didn’t want to waste any more time, walking slowly closer to you and crouching down next to your body. Inside he was a storm of emotions and confusion, unable to understand his own thoughts and instincts anymore. What had become of him when he split himself in two? His human half was far more busy than he had ever thought capable...far stronger now. These emotions definitely felt human in nature. There was no mistaking that.

He pushed back his reservations, sliding his clawed hands under you and lifting you up into his arms. You were so light, body curling up against his hard chest and still out like a light. Something about this felt...Vergil couldn’t place his finger on the term. He resisted the urge to hold you closer, to press his face to your hair and inhale. He could smell it, the faintest hint of apples from you. Foolish, he told himself harshly, turning and launching himself off the edge again with those mighty wings. The movement jostled you, but there was no sign of waking. Only a soft whimper of pain, one that started that dull ache in his chest again as he carried himself swiftly upward again.

He couldn’t just take you down below and deposit you on the street. That was equally, if not more dangerous. Vergil could not see the van either, his best other option was to leave you with the only person he knew would take care of you. The thought triggered another memory, one of you walking and talking with Nero, smiling warmily as he talked about his fiance at home. The boy was your friend, wasn’t he? Vergil swallowed his pride and annoyance, knowing full well the best course of action would to hand you off to Nero before heading back down. Dante could wait and wonder where he was for a few more moments.

Vergil wasn’t shocked when he saw Nero still standing where he left him, staring at the book and flipping through the pages. He looked annoyed, an expression that morphed to shock when Vergil crested over the ledge and into sight. Nero was by far the easiest person to read that Vergil had ever known. His face went through several emotions as he registered that his father had returned moments later. First being shock, then aggravation, then more shock when he saw you, landing on relief and worry.

He will take care of you. Of that, there was no doubt.

“Y/N!” Nero exclaimed, rushing forward when Vergil landed and tucking the book into his jacket. The demonic male held out his arms automatically for the boy to take you, but it felt...stiff. Like his body didn’t want to let you go. He tried to keep his expression in this form neutral, but his eyes lingered on your sleeping face as it moved away, now resting against Nero as the boy continued on, “Where the fuck did you find her?! I thought Dante said she was making her way down…!”

Vergil snorted, turning away with a growled, “She made it halfway down. The familiars couldn’t carry her the full way.”

“The familiars?” Nero blinked, taking in all of your new tattoos with even more shock as he settled your limp body more steadily, “What the...hey!” He protested when Vergil started walking back to the edge, the sound of his footsteps sounding as he followed behind, “Wait a goddamn second!”

Vergil didn’t slow, eager to get away and back on task. No more distractions. But Nero had other plans, one of his ghost-arms whipping out to grab Vergil by the shoulder, forcing him to halt in place. The older male turned, face conveying a barely-veiled threat as his firey gaze met Nero’s. The boy wasn’t fazed by his anger in the slightest bit, which was either courageous or absolutely foolish on his part. He was certainly a lot like Dante. Vergil’s other hand twitched, resisting the urge to summon the Yamato and whack at his wrist with the sheath--remind him of who took his old arm to begin with.

Nero’s eyes were sharp, staring him down with intensity as he held you firmly in his arms. Vergil tried to focus on his face instead of yours. He was speaking, after all.

“You remember her, don’t you?” It was just too bad that what Nero was saying turned out to be exactly the conversation he didn’t want to have. Vergil felt his hand twitch again, resisting the urge to just fight again so he could move the topic onto something else, or at least distract Nero long enough to make his way back to the portal.

“...Get her back to the van,” He replied coldly, turning his eyes forward again as he continued, “I have things to do, and no time to waste on this.”

Nero scoffed, hand still firmly clamped on his arm as he replied, “Yeah? Yet you took the time to bring her up to me, could have left her behind. I could have seen her on my way down, but you didn’t want to take the chance did y--”

Vergil let out a low growl, summoning the Yamato and whipping its sheath around at Nero. It startled the boy enough to let go, using that arm to block the blow as he leapt back with you in his arms. The movement barely jostled you, your head resting calmly against his shoulder and eyes still closed. Vergil spared that one last glance, loathing the feeling that the sight of you brought before he turned away, starting forward again with purposeful footsteps. This had wasted time he should have spent focusing on his task, and that alone spoke volumes to how messed up his head had to be. Before all of this, he would have sailed right by you on that ledge, without a single care. But…

Those times were gone.

Nero let out an annoyed growl as he walked, rasping under his breath, “You really are a bastard, you know that?” He straightened up, glaring holes into Vergil’s back as he made his way for the edge again, “She really cared about V, and you’re just gonna walk away from all of that?”

Vergil paused again, tips of his demonic feet touching the very edge of the precipice. Something about Nero’s words made him...irritated. Hearing that name, “V”, and hearing about how much you cared. It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either. All it served to do was kick up that nagging guilt again, the one that made that part of his chest ache incessantly. His teeth grouns slightly, the sensation strange in this form that was so far from human. It wasn’t like him, so different from how he was before that he didn’t know how to process who he was becoming. To focus on anything but the tasks at hand was so out of character, shocking to even he, the one who prided himself on his focus.

“There is nothing to walk away from,” He said coldly, not sparing a glance back as his hand clenched into a fist, “Her feelings for a man that doesn’t exist anymore have nothing to do with me.”

With that, he took a step off the edge, hearing Nero growl in annoyance as he did so. The rush of air past his body felt a lot less soothing now, the roar filling his ears as his wings unfurled to glide him back down. That ache refused to leave, no matter how much distance he put between himself and you. It felt like something was pushing forward on his consciousness, loud and furious about the blatant lie he had told Nero about you. It urged him to turn around, to make sure you got to your destination safe. Apologize. It made him want to punch the nearest object, which if he played his cards right would soon be Dante waiting down below.

Don’t leave her again, That voice in the back of his head whispered, Look how much damage I caused. Fix it. You have to fix this.

He couldn’t turn around. There was so much to do, so many things to fix and a tree to cut down. He continued downward, trying to ignore that sensation looming over him like a persistent rain cloud. Like hands trying to pull him back, following him down as the portal loomed ever closer. Crackling, glowing purple and glowing with demonic energy. Focus, he needed to keep his eyes on the task. He would join in his brother in hell, setting about destroying the roots of the Qliphoth and dealing the portal to hell. But after that…

After that, he would be forced to address these new, persistent thoughts.

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[followingfallout4]

How would the companions seduce Sole - part I: the guys

Synth!Codsworth: He doesn’t intentionally seduce Sole; Although he may slowly realise his feelings are no longer platonic, his main play is waiting for Sole to figure it out. Whenever Sole then does realise what is going on, Codsworth figures that they can opt to ignore it so they continue to travel together, confront him which allows him to deny it if he deems it necessary or ideally allow things develop naturally in a positive manner. The latter not requiring him to make a move; succes! Nevertheless, Codsworth has seen all those romantic shows too and subtly tries to get closer to them. Sole considers it at least endearing when he tries come up with ideas of things they could do together. Codsworth has always seen happy picnics and going to the movies together as a means to ‘woo’ someone, so it’s dificult for him to figure out how to handle things now those places may spell danger instead. In the end, he mainly uses very genuine compliments to get Sole swooning. That and the way he just understands Sole because he’s been in her life so long ends up being the biggest turn-on for Sole. 

Danse: He finds excuses to get more time away from them at first, when he’s still with the brotherhood. Seducing is not an option, he is not having any kind of... romanic entanglements when he has his duties to uphold. Then he realizes that he cannot stop thinking about them and does the opposite: constantly seeking their company. He tries to get them involved in things he likes to do in his downtime. His go-to place is armour, working on it with sole ideally. The fact that that gets him and Sole to both work up a sweat is just a very nice side-benefit that allows him to take his shirt off around them (and gauge their reaction) and that allows him to sneak a peak at Sole from time to time too. But when push comes to shove, if Sole wouldn’t shove him against that working bench for more than smithing, he isn’t gonna either. That is until they are together. Then he takes every spare moment he can to get to them. As far as words go, he eventually opts for some big ones, the kind that show Sole that he is a little bit more invested in their relationship than just being a companion. Danse has a way of making Sole feel like they’re the most important person in the world to him. Actually, they’re not entirely sure that that isn’t the case. 

Preston: Chivalry isn’t dead because Preston is still out there. He praises Sole and looks at them as if they are a god(dess) and cannot believe he’s lucky enough to even be in their vincinity. He doesn’t actively try to seduce Sole that much (he wouldn’t know how best to handle that), but damn the lingering stares he does. When they walk into a room, when they walk out, when they are speaking to an audience,... he looks at them with pride and reverence and something quite different. Basically tension between them can be cut with a knife half the time.  Any and every settler has at some point at the very least once left a room with them in it because they felt they were interrupting something just by the way he looks at his commanding officer. He jumps on the opportunity a little too fast if Sole shows any interest which makes for some laughs and smiles. The rest is babe-story.

MacCready: MacCready isn’t exactly a natural at flirting and needs Sole to take initiative there. The main way in which he tries to seduce Sole is by simply opening up to them more than to anyone, show his softer side and hope his hopes for a future with them don’t get crushed. He essentially does whatever he can to show Sole how important they are to him and beyond that just hopes that Sole gets the subtle hints. Hints such a letting Sole sleep an extra shift when they take turns to watch for enemies, protecting them to the extent he steals their kills, allowing them to sleep in his arms if they want to, giving up his own vest and scarf when they get cold, somehow always keeping snacks around that Sole likes... Once they’re together he suddenly regains his bravado to just randomly remind Sole that whenever they need a break from the battle or if they want to try something new he’s always game. . 

Nick: Nick’s a gentlemen and a suave one at that. He mainly seduces by paying attention to them, by remembering the little things. That varies from the name of their childhood dog to the way they like their drinks. The only hiccup is that he in’t sure to which extent Sole would be interested in a heap of ‘scrap metal’ as he often considers himself to look like, ut it is not a hurdle. He is just fine with treating Sole right regardless, and not taking it any further. If anything, it allows him to be even more smooth because he feels like he has nothing to lose by it anyway. The only way Sole can really tell he’s doing it on purpose are the nicknames he chooses for them; they become terms of endearment. He does, however, ask them if that’s all righ first. Additionally: the man may have robotic limbs but he still remembers how to dance just fine, thank you very much. ;) 

Deacon: Deacon knows how big of a part their shared sense of humor and ability to rapid fire sarcastic comments just makes him and sole *work* together, but when it comes to seducing sole he mainly uses a sense of almost reckless arrogance and banter to get Sole out of their concentration and in his arms. His quips become a little more suggestive at first, to test the waters and whether Sole is  responding in kind, and turn into innuendo-loaden quips and battles of sarcasm, winks and grins that eventually drive Sole up the wall in all the best ways... especially because he is patient enough to never make the first move beyond that and somehow seems to use a deeper voice to talk to Sole when he really means business.

Gage: The main advantage of their ride-or-die lifestyle is that both Sole and Gage get their adrenaline pumping by fighting. Because of that, Gage knows well enough that the moment to suggest some time alone is right after a fight. Which coincidentially, is also when they’re most impressed with each other. Blood runs hot, one thing lead to another and before either of em knows it the porter and the boss are giving the most scarce variant of pillow talk a go. This also may mean he tries to actively seduce Sole by challenging her to a fight without weapons and if they’re up for it also not too many clothes. Beyond that, however, he always waits for their cue to continue the ‘fight’ below the belt.Last thing he wants to risk is confusing a sense of bloodthurst for something else. But the moment Sole kisses him, all bets are off.

Hancock Hancock may be a ghoul but he’s very physical. He knows exactly where and how to kiss Sole in such a way it’ll drive them mad and he knows it. More importantly, everything in his body language when he is near Sole shows it too. The sheer amount of self-confidence with which he approaches Sole is his secret weapon. He excels at suggestive grins and using a lower tone of voice to blatantly tell Sole -when he knows they are interested- how he feels when he feels it, which serves to be a a pretty devilish combo. Subtlety is not his game. When they don’ have the time or space to do anything specifically but if Sole does clearly show romantic (or even just sexual) interest in him, he also always seems to be standing extremely close and yet not close enough for Sole’s liking. When Sole finally would manage to get him into bed, he doesn’t hesitate to drag it out and be a total tease to them. 

X6-88: X6 would take  a very long time to even consider making a move on Sole. What comes first is a thorough analysis of the way they have been behaving aorund him, and it is only when he is convinced that he isn’t just reading into things what he wants to that he acts. X6 tends to be so focused, so composed, that the moment he is alone with Sole (or knows only they can hear him) and he makes a quip or a jab at Sole -especially out of the blue-  it stands out. He knows Sole is particularly sensitive to knowing X6 lets his true colours shine through only for them. X6 gets to Sole by saying things that an easily be taken two ways: a dubious way and a very innocent remark. But also by not behaving the way he ought to as their protector but the way wants to as their lover. X6  just stops supressing his more human nature from time to time in subtle ways. When those rare comments are of a sexual nature... well he doesn’t even have to put in much of an effort.

Maxson: Maxson challenges Sole. He asks them to go on increasingly more responsibility-demanding jobs and seeks to see them thrive. This also allows him to discuss tactics with them until late in the night if need be. He doesn’t want to risk coming on too strong and have Sole feeling pressured into anything. Instead, he takes these moments as a chance to get insight in several ways. He allows Sole to ask more personal questions, if they answer some personal questions in return. It gives him a chance to let Sole to see him as something else than ‘The Elder’ when they are alone. He drops his posture a little, relaxes, leans forward to express interest when they talk. He shows them that he’s more than his rank and also only allows them to really go head-to-head against him. The more challenging the mission, the more he can be found subtly protecting Sole. Not against incoming enemies, Sole’s got that covered just fine, but against those who may be against their presence in the Brotherhood for any ungrounded reason. He makes sure people know they are under his protection. If need be he takes up responsibility for some more reckless actions of Sole’s, after which he just tells them to see him in his office for a debrief on their mission. In closed quarters, when Sole asks him about it he pretends he has no idea what they are talking about with a hint of a conspiratory smile.

Upon request by an anon (the Far Harbor DLC ones are gonna be shorter because these characters are... harder for me to grasp cause I’m not as extremely familiar with them. I know you also asked for Faraday but I can’t grasp him quite yet. But give me time ;) ): DiMa DiMa doesn’t really flirt. DiMa is upfront, compliments Sole just straight-up asks them whether and how they want to be ‘courted’. If anything, what marks his flirting is his patience and honesty about his feelings. He likes to tell Sole about his dreams of the future, and how he would like them to include Sole if they so wish. He paints pictures of love and peace. Aside from that; if Sole takes 5 minutes or 5 years to return their feelings, DiMa does not mind to wait. This also may mean a relationship may be put on the long track if Sole is equally bad at taking the initiative there.

[let-it-raines]

No Longer Blue (4/5)

Summary: Killian Jones met Emma Swan on one of the worst days of his life. That day continuously plays over in his mind, and as much as he wants it to stop, he never wants to forget.

Rating: Mature

A/N: There’s a line in here that says “I will stab you with my fork.” I jokingly said that to my fiancé the first time I celebrated Thanksgiving with his family. I thought we were having a private conversation, and he was teasing me while there were thirty people loudly talking...and all of their conversations stopped the moment the words came out of my mouth. So you could say I make a good impression. 

On Tumblr: | Part 1 |  | Part 2 |  | Part 3 |  | Part 4 |  | Part 5 |

Entire work on AO3 | Here |

Tag list:  @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @wellhellotragic@nikkiemms @profdanglaisstuff @mayquita @ekr032-blog-blog@bmbbcs4evr @teamhook @branlovesouat @onceuponaprincessworld @dreadpirateemma @captainsjedi

When Killian drops Emma back off with Ruby and the rest of the bridesmaids, or really when she runs away from him down the hallway because her mind is all over the place and just looking at him made her more confused than anything in the world, they’re all thrilled to see the bag of food, practically tearing it apart before she can place it on the table at the edge of the room. Half of them moan while they’re eating, mumbling something about not having eaten for days to fit into the dresses, and she knows that none of that is true because she saw them eating both last night and this morning. Whatever, it doesn’t matter anyways. She just really wishes people wouldn’t make sex noises when eating food. She’s not saying she’s never done it, but some of these are a bit exaggerated.

Of course, sometimes sex noises during actual sex are a bit exaggerated.

It seems to take eons for everyone to finish getting ready, the next two hours passing at a snail’s pace, but Granny eventually comes in the room right as it’s time to help Ruby into her dress, and while the other girls are crowding around the three of them, this is more of a family moment than anything. They’ve all been through different versions of hell both separately and together, and while a wedding doesn’t always guarantee a happy ending, this seems like one, the zipper and buttons all coming together to make Ruby’s dressing complete.

If not a happy ending, a happy beginning then.

“You look so beautiful, Rubes,” she compliments as she helps to get Ruby’s veil situated for when they take pictures in a few minutes.

“Thank you, Ems. I love you, you know?”

She does.

“I do. I love you, too.”

Emma spends what feels like hours carrying Ruby’s train and smiling for pictures, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it to see Ruby happy, and as Emma watches she and Graham see each other for the first time, she can’t help the smile that breaks out across her face at the pure joy there. It makes her think a bit of she and Killian, but in no way are they the same. They’re not a couple, and they’re not in love, no matter what everyone seems to say. She simply can’t believe the words of others as they seem too good to be true.

She’s in love with him, and as much as she knows that he loves her, it’s not quite the same. It’s something she’s lived with for awhile now, and even if she’s one day brave enough to tell him how she really feels, jumping all of the hurdles and risks of losing him should he not feel the same and not want to be friends with her anymore, she’s not even sure how she’d go about that. She’d probably do something stupid like just blurting it out of nowhere.

“So tall, dark, and handsome,” Aurora inquires as she slides up to Emma while Ruby and Graham take some pictures, “he’s yours?”

Emma feels her stomach drop, a pit forming there while something unpleasant lodges in her throat, and all she wants to do is scream yes, yes he’s mine. But he’s not. She was just thinking that because she’s a glutton for punishment, and if someone is interested in Killian, she can’t hold him back from that. That’s selfish, and even if it kills her, she wants him to be happy. He deserves it more than anyone in the world.

It’s going to kill her.

“He’s a friend,” she says instead, and technically that’s the truth even if it burns her up inside.

“But what about that thing Ruby said about him being taken?”

She has to grit her teeth to try to keep herself from snapping at Aurora, and she might as well just ball her hand up into a fist to keep her from doing something stupid. “I don’t know what she was talking about.”

“Good,” Aurora smiles, and Emma’s unclenched hand instinctively goes to rest at the ring around her neck like it’ll keep her heart from breaking.

It doesn’t.

The rest of the afternoon is like torture, and she hates herself for it. She hates herself for having to force herself into smiling for the pictures, standing with Ruby and faking smiles and laughter as Ruby is practically shaking with giddy anticipation. Meanwhile, Emma’s being eaten up by the little (or more accurately big) green monster called jealousy.

She hates it. She hates being jealous. It’s got to be one of the worst feelings in the world, even when there are much worse things to do or be. And she doesn’t even have anything to be jealous about. Nothing has happened with Killian and Aurora or any other girl that’ll be at this wedding, but all she can think about is his hands running up Aurora’s back or his lips running against her neck. That last thought has her imagining him taking someone back to his hotel room only to realize he can’t do that because they’re sharing a room. That calms her for a moment before she thinks of him thrusting into someone against a closet door or going back to Aurora’s room, and it’s not that hard to imagine. She’s been in a similar situation with him.

It eats at her for the rest of the afternoon and early into the evening, but she has to push it aside to be a good maid of honor and more importantly a good friend. This is a day where Ruby deserves all of the happiness in the world. She’s been through the ringer in life, and Ruby deserves better than Emma living in her own personal hell while she’s getting married.

So Emma pushes her feelings down, keeping her stomach where it’s supposed to be and her throat clear of this awful feeling she’s had for most of the day. Aren’t weddings supposed to be more fun than this? More alcohol, dancing, and love, and less moping, jealousy, and petty hatred.

Screw it. She’s going to smile while she walks down the aisle, and she’s going to mean it.

So she does, walking down the aisle in her red gown, forgetting the chill in the air that’s causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms, and grinning as wide as can be as she looks from side to side at all of the people watching her. Her eyes find Killian without even looking for him, and he gives her a real, genuine smile before mouthing you’re beautiful, and she’ll blame her cheeks blushing on the nip of cold air that just blew through.

She doesn’t have anything to blame for the rapid beating of her heart, however. That’s just all Killian.

The ceremony is beautiful, even if it’s just your standard vows, but it’s something differentto see your best friend get married. She’d felt the same way when David and Mary Margaret got married, and even if her mind had been bit clearer then, she still feels the same amount of joy when the pastor announces them as husband and wife and Ruby cups Graham’s face and kisses the living daylights out of him.

She looks to find Killian in the crowd and is glad to see the smile gracing his face for how emotional this weekend has been for him.  

The bridal party finished taking all of their pictures before the ceremony, so everyone but Ruby and Graham are immediately removed to the reception, bulb lights glistening under the white tents that have been set up and red and white flowers covering the white table cloths that rest atop the black and white checkered floor. The place is packed, barely a foot of space to maneuver around in as people alternate between the bar, the buffet tables, or the dance floor where a live band is performing.

Graham’s parents really know how to throw a party.

She’s trying to find Killian, having lost him when everyone rushed here from the ceremony, but all she finds is David and Leo, the both of them in nearly matching suits that may very well be the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

“Well, hello my handsome little man,” she tells Leo, kissing his cheek before she swoops in and takes him out of his father’s arms. “Are you having fun?”

“I’m having a blast,” David answers, cocky little smirk on his face, “and thank you so much for calling me handsome. Though I don’t know about this little thing.”

Emma rolls her eyes, and at the same time she feels a hand wrap around her hip and a solid arm rest on her waist. “I do,” Killian jests, and where in the world did he come from? “It’s a miracle that our favorite toddler friend here even exists.”

Emma has to hold back her chuckle at that because she promises she’s more emotionally mature than a sixth-grader laughing at a joke about a small dick, but Killian doesn’t contain his, especially because of the way David’s lips are downturned and his eyes scream murder.

Bloody murder.

“You are a word I cannot say right now, Killian Jones.”

“I know, Dave.” Killian moves to scratch behind his ear, glancing over at her quickly before looking back to David. “Would you mind taking your handsome mini me back so that I can take our lovely Swan to get a drink?”

David simply nods and takes Leo from Emma’s arms, and when Killian offers his hand as the two of them weave through the crowd on their way to the bar, Killian shuffling through people in line like they’re not angering people who are most likely only at this wedding for the free alcohol, she takes it without question.

“One glass of whatever rum you’re serving plus a glass of wine,” Killian orders, holding up two fingers with his free hand while his other is still holding Emma’s palm, and she really hopes that her hand doesn’t start sweating or become clammy at the heat of Killian’s skin against hers.

Killian releases her hand when they get their drinks, and as much as she misses the contact and the thrill that runs through her, she’s glad to calm her racing heart. It’s getting to be a problem lately, her racing heart when near Killian. A lot of the time it’ll be fine. They can watch television or go to the grocery store together and it’ll all be normal. But other times he’ll just look at her, his blue eyes staring into hers, and something will shift. Something she’s not okay with because it’s every bit as thrilling as it is heartbreaking, and she can’t handle the emotional turmoil of it all.

The fact that Killian is in a fitted suit tonight, his lean muscles obvious under the material, and a tiny bit of black chest hair exposed from the way he doesn’t wear a tie or completely button up his shirt, well, that doesn’t help in the slightest.

He’s stupid hot, and she can’t think of another way to describe him right now as something she’s trying to ignore coils in her belly.

It’s a fun night, and she seems to have forgotten about all of the idiotic, unfounded jealousy she felt earlier by the time she’s on her second drink and her stomach is full of poppy seed chicken that’s some of the best damn wedding food she’s ever had. Killian is teasing her about how Graham’s grandfather very seriously just asked if she’d like to go on a date tomorrow, and how he not-so-helpfully told the man that she was free.

“I will stab you with this fork,” she teases, waving around the utensil with a piece of broccoli on it.

“Oh come on, you – ”

She sees Aurora before Killian feels her tap his shoulder, and when he turns, he’s directly eye level with her cleavage, her bridesmaid’s dress readjusted to give everyone a more obvious look at the tops of her boobs. Emma both hates this girl and respects the hell out of her at this moment.

She mostly hates her.

“Would you care to dance?” Aurora questions, her eyes quickly darting to Emma’s and slanting just the slightest bit while her lips quirk up on one side. Did this woman just fucking smirk at her?

Killian’s a nice guy, and even if Aurora wasn’t offering her boobs on a platter, he’s still going to say yes. She already knows.

“I’d be honored to, milady.”

Killian glances back at her for a moment, smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and he probably doesn’t. He’s going to dance with a beautiful woman, and the only option she’s gotten all night is an eighty-year-old man. It’s not that she wants men traipsing all over her. She only wants Killian, but he’s off dancing to the band cover a Frank Sinatra song while she’s thinking about legitimately stabbing someone with her fork.

She considers throwing in her knife too when Aurora’s hands start roaming Killian’s body, one around his neck while the other moves closer and closer to his ass. She can’t see Aurora from her position at the table, just Killian’s backside, but she sees him dip his head to whisper in her ear and that’s about all that she’s willing to take. It’ll be awhile before Ruby tosses the bouquet or something else Emma needs to be here for, so before she has to watch more of this she’s heading outside of the tent, grabbing a tall glass of wine off the end of the bar on her way out.

She downs the entire thing before she even decides where she’s going in order to get some air, and it’s only after the last drop is consumed that she remembers the lake Killian talked about earlier. Here she is trying to forget about Killian, and all she can do is think about him.

Isn’t that how it always works?

She finds the water after a few minutes of wandering, and how the hell is this place so big?

Killian was right, this place is beautiful. She bets it’s even better when the sun is in the sky, the light from it reflecting off the water so much more than the dim reflections of the moon and the stars. All she has to go on is the picture Killian sent her earlier, but she imagines it’s so much better in person. The sounds of the wedding are in the distance, muted music that she can feel more than she can hear. It’s soothing being out here all alone when she knows that there’s so much life happening a few hundred feet away.

Emma’s not sure how long she stays out there, but she can feel herself shivering and her breath is white every time she exhales and she knows she needs to go back inside before the freezes. She just can’t bring herself to go back quite yet, despite the chill.

Her phone buzzes a few times in the pocket of her dress (which, holy shit Ruby thank you for that), but she doesn’t check it. There’s something calming about staring out at the water. Maybe it’s how it rocks gently back and forth, still if you don’t pay too much attention to it, but her eyes are glued to it as she tries to drown out all of her thoughts.

She can’t though. All she can think about is Killian, and it’s not necessarily about the fact that he’s back at the wedding with another woman, but it’s the fact that she’s out here looking up at the sky and the water without him. It doesn’t matter where she is now. When she sees the water, she thinks of Killian. She thinks of his love for it, even if he’s hesitant to go near it now because of Liam’s death. But he was made to be near the water, just as he was made to be somewhere outside of a city so that he can look up and see the stars.

Emma can almost imagine that she’s back at his apartment with him resting in the hammock of his balcony, his arms wrapped around her as his heat encompasses her and he takes her hand and points out the constellations. They’re not back there, though, so she’s left to try to find the constellations on her own, wishing and hoping for something unknown even to her as she holds to the chain at her neck, lifting it before letting it fall back against her heart.

He’d ended up finding David and Leo after Emma had left him to finish getting ready, and as much as he was thrown off by Emma’s quiet demeanor toward the end of lunch, he tried not to think about it too much. It’s already been a pretty emotional weekend, and he doesn’t really want that anymore. He just wants to go to a wedding and pretend everything is perfectly okay, that there are no underlying emotions about his brother…or Emma.

Gods, she’s beautiful. Just stunning really, and as much as he likes when she’s bare of makeup with her hair matted to her face after they have a late night and she falls asleep as soon as her face hits the mattress, the way her makeup had highlighted her eyes made his heartbeat quick and his spine tingle like he was a teenager again. She makes him feel ridiculous, like that very teenager sometimes, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can take being around her without actually being with her.

At least she’s not dating anyone right now. It’s been awhile, maybe a year since she broke up with Walsh, and how selfish is he that he was relieved when it ended between the two of them? If she had been heartbroken, sobbing in a ball and feeling like life wouldn’t go on, maybe he wouldn’t have been so relieved. Maybe he would have pushed his own feelings aside and simply been there for her without the guilt in his mind that he was glad that she was unattached. But she hadn’t been sad, or at least she hadn’t been on the surface. She had been pissed beyond belief because Walsh had been spreading false rumors about her at work. She really knew how to pick the assholes, didn’t she?

Not that he was any better.

Because he was an asshole for being glad that she was unattached because it made his heart ache a little less and allowed them to have more time together. They’ve been close for years, but this past year they’ve been inseparable. It’s like the only place he goes without Emma is work and even then they often meet for lunch. It’s ridiculous, really. He shouldn’t be so dependent and tied up in her when she’ll never be his, and sometimes he tries to resist and move back. But that lasts for about an hour before Emma sends him a meme or God forbid, smiles at him.

He’s a goner.

And there’s no coming back.

“Earth to Killian,” David pokes at his arm above the table, shaking Killian a bit out of his daydreaming. “You got a little starry eyed for a minute there, bud.”

“Twas simply thinking about you, dear old Dave.”

“No offense, but I hope you never look like that when you’re thinking of me.”

Killian rolls his eyes in annoyance before blowing David a kiss, using his hand to make it more obnoxious as Leo blows kisses back at Killian…unlike his father.

“So no babysitter for the little lad today?”

“He’s the ring bearer, so he’s got to be here all day. Mary Margaret and I will probably head out of the reception early to get him to bed.”

“Married life sounds like a blast.”

“It is. You should try it sometime, preferably with – ”

“Don’t make me get irritated in front of the boy.”

David shrugs. “I’m just saying. Settling down isn’t all that bad.”

“It’s not for everybody.”

He and Dave sit in one of the lounges watching television and playing with Leo as he babbles about with the bag of toys the Nolans packed for him, but eventually the three of them do have to get ready, Killian dressing as David took Leo to go take pictures with everyone.

The rest of the day passes quickly, and he manages to feel nothing but joy for Ruby, letting his previous feelings subside as she walks down the aisle with this smile on her face that he can’t help but return even if she’s not looking at him. It’s intoxicating seeing such happiness on her after going through some of his lowest points with her, and he swears that he claps louder than anyone when she’s officially married, even letting out a wolf whistle just for her.

This place is packed, people milling around with barely an inch of skin between them, and as he moves through the crowd, he feels his arm being tugged, his entire body turning to see the photographer grabbing onto him and saying that the bride has requested his presence. How could he ever refuse her?

He’s led out to one of the gardens where Ruby and Graham are laughing about something he’s not privy to, but when Ruby catches sight of him she scurries toward him as quickly as she can in her dress. Her arms around his neck before he knows it, the force of her embrace knocking him backwards until his arms wrap around her waist and he rests his chin against the top of her hair, pressing a kiss there when he pulls back the slightest bit.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” he whispers into her ear as their embrace continues. “You look so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Killian.” She pulls back and places her hands on his shoulders before she studies his face, her gaze intense like she’s looking for something specific. “You look handsome.”

“Dashingly so, yes.”

She slaps his shoulder as she laughs, and he can’t help but chuckle, too. He and Ruby don’t get together very often without Emma, but they talk constantly. He didn’t know her well when she was with Liam, but he knows her now. As selfish as he’s been with his feelings this weekend, he knows that Ruby doesn’t begrudge him for it. On top of everything, though, now that he’s out of his own head, he’s happy for his friend.

It’s what he wants, and it’s definitely what Liam would want.

“Not that I don’t want to be here as you and your new husband take more pictures, love, but is there a reason you called me over here?”

“Yeah, I wanted a picture with you, ya doof.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “You’re family, and I love you.”

Well, that’s just not fair when he thought he finally had a good hold on his emotions.

“I love you, too, lass.”

He leaves the two of them to finish their pictures after he takes a few and to allow them to spend time together since they’ll be bombarded with people all night, and when he gets back to the tents where the reception is being held, it takes him a bit to find Emma, finally spotting her holding onto Leo and chatting with David. He slips his arm around her waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is with the way she leans a bit into his touch, her skin warm through her dress.

Feeling his skin through her dress has him really, desperately needing a drink, and it’s not his smartest move when he grabs onto her palm and guides her through the party-goers until they reach the bar, ordering a glass of wine for Emma and some rum for him. Everything feels much lighter after that. It could be the alcohol, but it’s more likely the way that Emma seems to be absolutely beaming with happiness compared to how sullen she was earlier, laughing at his stupid jokes and smiling throughout their conversations while eating dinner.

She’s just hopefully playfully threatened to stab him with her fork when he feels a tap on his shoulder, turning to the side only to come to face to face…actually, face to boob. He’s face to boob because one of the bridesmaids is standing in front of him with her dress pulled sinfully low in a way that makes him uncomfortable because it’s not…it’s not Emma.

“Would you care to dance?”

He wouldn’t, but his mother raised him to be a gentleman, and even if he doesn’t always fit the bill, he can try.

“I’d be honored to, milady.”

The woman leads him to the dance floor, and he should truly learn her name sometime in the next few minutes. He doesn’t want to leave Emma behind, and he was honestly only planning on dancing with her tonight. It seems the universe has other plans for tonight.

Her name is apparently Aurora, and while she’s a beautiful lass who he definitely would have gone home with in the past, he has no interest in going home with her tonight. That’s obviously her intention from the way her hands have started to roam his body, and he honestly just feels fucking uncomfortable at this moment.

This is the longest Frank Sinatra song of all time.

When it’s nearing the end of the song, Aurora’s lips brush against the lobe of his ear before she whispers, “there’s plenty of empty sitting rooms inside the house if you’d like to join me.”

A shiver runs down his spine and not in the pleasurable way, and he chuckles while trying to brush off her advances, pulling back from her embrace as the song ends and scratching behind his ear now that his hands are no longer on her waist.

“That’s a kind offer, lass, but I think I’ll have to decline.”

“Why?”

“I’m not particularly interested in a romp in the sheets with a stranger to be honest.”

“We’re not strangers. We’ve danced together.”

This is damn well awkward now, and he has to slowly start inching himself away from Aurora because he doesn’t know exactly how to get out of this without seeming like an asshole, not that he really cares about that because Aurora is being a bit of an asshole in not letting him go when he’s trying to back his way out of her hold.

Ruby, bless her soul, somehow finds him and pulls him into a dance herself as Aurora storms off to what he assumes is the bar. That’s probably where he’d go. This song is much faster than the last, allowing him to spin Ruby around in circles, her gown flaring out at the bottom as she laughs when he pulls her back into his arms.

She’s happy, and so is he.

When sweat starts to bead at his forehead, he excuses himself to go back to the table to grab a sip of water before forcing Emma to come out to dance herself. She’s not much for dancing, but he’d like to dance with her. Plus, he knows that deep down she enjoys it. She’s just always needed to find a partner who knows what he’s doing, and he likes to think that he’s got smooth moves.

Probably not if he’s telling himself that he has smooth moves.

Emma’s not at the table when he gets there, but he doesn’t think much of it, assuming she went to the restroom or the bar to get herself another drink. But after a few minutes when she doesn’t return, he begins to worry the slightest bit. His first thought is that she’s gone off with someone, but who the hell would she go off with? She hasn’t had a one-night stand in…awhile. He doesn’t remember when, unless she just hasn’t told him. But Emma tells him nearly everything.

So he shucks that idea for his own sanity, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket and sending her a text.

9:03: Hey, where’d you go? You hiding from the dance floor?

9:13: I assume you’ve just gotten caught up talking to someone, but I think your suitor from earlier might come onto me soon if you don’t return soon.

9:17: Swan, you’re missing Granny twerking. I’m going to send a video because this should be immortalized.

9:17: Or maybe not. I might be a little scarred.

By the time thirty minutes have passed and she’s nowhere to be seen, he really does start to worry, rising from his seat and wandering around, asking anybody and everybody if they’ve seen her. He gets a few crude responses, but besides those, it’s mostly people saying that they don’t know her or don’t know where she’s gone. Logically, he knows that nothing could have happened to her. They’re at a private wedding, and as big as the grounds are, she can’t have wandered far.

He’s seemingly searched every square foot of the place, and when he pulls his phone out to check to see if she’s texted him back, he sees the picture of the water he sent her this afternoon. It’s a little off the beaten path of the rest of the estate, but it’s the only place he hasn’t checked, assuming she hasn’t gone back to the reception while he’s been searching for her. He probably should have asked someone to let him know if she came back, but he was a little preoccupied with his thoughts at the time.

Killian practically sprints there, the chill of the air making him shiver away from the heated tent, and when he sees a small figure in a strapless red dress standing in front of the water with her arms wrapped around her body and her breath white in front of her, he knows that something must be wrong if she’s standing out here freezing herself to death.

His suit jacket is off him, the cold air already prickling at his skin, before he’s even close enough to confirm that it’s her and when he reaches her and officially knows that it’s Emma, he drapes it over her shoulders, shocking her so that she turns to him with wide, watery eyes and a gaping mouth.

“Bloody hell, Emma. Are you trying to freeze to death?”

“I’m not cold.”

He reaches out to touch her cheek, and it’s like he’s touching ice when his skin makes contact with hers. He sees her eyes flutter shut at the contact, her long, black eyelashes reaching down to her cheeks, and her entire body practically shivers.

“You’re freezing, love.” He moves to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and she finally opens her eyes when his hand caresses her neck and moves down to rest at her shoulder, his fingers playing with the chain around her neck. “What’s wrong, darling? Why are you out here?”

“I love you.”

[bucky-at-bedtime]

Buddy Pt. 2

Summary: Bucky tries to save a dog when it is involved in a car accident, only to discover his cute neighbour is a veterinarian. A series of meet-cutes occur and with the help of a certain dog, the two end up tangled together.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Vet!Reader

Warnings: Mention of animal cruelty and FLUFF.

A/n: Chapter two guys!! Thanks to everyone who supported chapter one! I love you all so much. If you want to be tagged please let me know!  I wasn’t going to post this so soon, but I couldn’t leave you guys hanging with that ending 😫

Let me know what you think!! 

Words: 2560

Part 1//Masterlist

It had been almost 2 hours since Bucky had stumbled onto the doorstep of your clinic, dog in his arms and panic in his eyes. He had been sitting in the waiting room anxiously, pretty much tearing out his own hair. His mind kept flicking back to that moment - to the light that flooded the road and the terrified eyes behind that wheel. He was taking short breaths and could feel the tears brimming in his eyes. He just wanted to go for a drive, but it felt like danger followed everywhere he went.

Meanwhile, you were stitching up the final few cuts along the dog’s left leg. You were finally able to breathe again after 2 hours of surgery, taking a heavy breath into your lungs in relief. Your scrubs were smudged with blood and you peeled the gloves off of your hands, giving the pit bull a final look-over before walking out into the waiting room, your eyes surveying the room for your neighbour.

“He’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky’s head shot up from his hands and he looked up at you, eyes lined with the red strings of exhaustion.

“He’s okay?” his voice was shaky and full of hope. You could see how much he cared instantly.

“Yeah, James, he’s alright.”     

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning back in the chair, a heavy breath escaping his chest. You took a sharp intake of breath when you finally got a chance to look at him, noticing his torn black t-shirt and the scrapes along his torso.     

“Oh my god, did you jump in front of that car or something?!” you yelped, rushing forward and falling onto your knees, reaching out towards his bare skin. You noticed the shards of gravel that were still littered in the dry cuts.     

“...yes?”     

When the world fell from his lips you looked up at him, a disbelieving look on your face. This man threw himself in front of a car to save an animal that wasn’t even his, and now he was acting like it as no big deal.     

“Oh my god, come with me.” You grabbed his wrist, pulling him up from the chair and leading him back to an examination room.    

“Sit on the table” you directed, pointing at the table in the middle of the room and rummaging in a few draws to find some disinfectant.

“You really don’t have to do this, I’m fine,” he mumbled, pulling gently at the tattered t-shirt. “I’ve had far worse than this.”     

“I’m sure you have, but I’m still going to insist that you let me clean it because I’m pretty sure you have bits of road in your skin,” you mumbled, pouring some alcohol onto a cotton pad. “Now, sit.”  

You didn’t see the smile that tugged at his lips at your direct tone, but when you turned around he was sitting on the bench, his shirt in his hand as he pulled at the torn material anxiously. You tried to avoid looking at his bare torso, instead, focussing on the gashes along his ribs.  

“Alright, this is gonna sting,” you murmured, surveying the shallow scrapes.

“S’alright, doll.”   

You dabbed the alcohol-soaked cotton across his ribs, your other hand resting on his metal shoulder to keep him still.     

He winced slightly in contact with a sharp intake of breath, but when you looked up at him with worried eyes, he sent you a tight smile to let you know he was okay. 

“So why are you still here? Its 3am, shouldn’t you be at home, in bed?” he wanted to fill the silence and was curious as to why you were still at work at such a ridiculous time.     

“I had to finish some paperwork and then I was watching ‘Brooklyn Nine-Nine’ on my laptop. I didn’t realise how late it got.” you chuckled to yourself, glancing over at your open laptop. “Plus, there are some really cute kittens I’m taking care of right now and I just didn’t want to leave them here on their own”     

He chuckled at that, “I guess we’re both suckers for cute animals then.”    

You laughed as you finished cleaning the scrapes on his torso, agreeing wholeheartedly. “You probably don’t need any bandages, you’re healing really quickly.”     

“Perks of being me,” he laughed. 

You threw the used cotton balls away and lead Bucky through the halls, into the room where you had left the dog, head still resting on Bucky’s denim jacket. You rustled through a few shelves, finding some scrubs that would fit Bucky and throwing the light blue shirt at his chest, allowing him to cover-up and cutting off your own temptation to stare at his fucking perfect abdomen.    

“He doesn’t have any tags or a chip, so I can’t identify him. Unfortunately, judging by these older scars and his malnourishment, it looks like he came from an abusive home.” Bucky’s eyebrows knitted together at that and he brought his fingers up to gently trace along the old scars on the dog’s skin. “The only thing he had on him was this.” You held up a thin metal chain that had been around the dog’s neck.    

“So what now?” Bucky mumbled, eyes still on the unconscious dog in front of him. You watched as they glistened with a tenderness you could’ve sworn you had never seen before.

“Well, I could keep him here for a few days and look for someone to adopt him, but unfortunately there’s a stigma around pit bulls and I don’t know if I could find anyone,” you said, running a hand through your hair and glancing at Bucky. He was still staring down at the animal, eyes full of worry and care, flesh hand gently grazing over his ears. “...or you could adopt him.”   

His head shot up at that, eyes wide. You tucked your hands into your pockets, leaning back onto the bench behind you and feeling your lips stretch into a genuine smile, shrugging your shoulders.   

“You seem to really care about him - I mean, you threw yourself in front of a car for him - I don’t think anyone I found would do that.”   

His eyes flickered between you and the dog with surprise and curiosity.    

“You don’t have to decide right now, I want to keep him here for a day or two, but I think it’s a good idea.”   

“I– I don’t even know how to take care of a dog, I–”   

“Hey,” you stepped forward and rested a hand on Bucky’s arm. “jump that hurdle when you get there. It’s not too hard, and I’ll be around if you have questions.”

He nodded lamely.      

“Anyway, it’s almost 5am and I would like to get some sleep before I have to be back here at 10.” 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorr–”  

“It’s okay, James,” you reassured.

The two of you made your way out of the building, not before Bucky helped you carry the dog into a more comfortable, blanket-filled enclosure. When you reached the car park, Bucky began to walk back to his bike, but stopped short a few feet away.

“Hey, could I– could I give you my number? Call me when I can come see him?”

“Of course.” you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, handing it to him. “I’ll probably call you tomorrow.”

He nodded gently, sending you a smile before throwing his leg over the bike and peeling off in the opposite direction to you, heading towards the Avengers Compound.

You drove home, your eyelids heavy, and finally fell into your the grasp of your warm blankets, falling into a deep sleep almost immediately, completely exhausted from you unexpectedly wild night.

Meanwhile, Bucky was at the compound at the break of dawn, switching the scrubs t-shirt for some workout gear in his locker, he made his way towards the gym immediately, wanting to blow off some steam. He couldn’t get his mind off the dog and really needed some sort of distraction.

“Hey! Tinman, what ya doin’ here so early?” Sam jogged across the gym, jovially punching Bucky’s arm when he reached him.

“Had a weird night.” He mumbled, wandering towards the reinforced punching bags and beginning to strap up his hands. “What do you think of pets?”

“Pets?” Sam raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall behind him. “I’m gonna need some more specifics.”

Bucky pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, gesturing to the punching bag. Sam moved forwards, leaning his shoulder against the opposite side of the bag and holding it still for Bucky.

“I uh– I guess I’m thinking about adopting a dog.” he mumbled, “Again, weird night.”

“Well, it’s not a bad idea. I mean, there are heaps of studies done on how dogs help with PTSD. Could help with your nightmares.” Sam mumbled, grunting slightly in the middle of the sentence when Bucky threw a punch.

“Yeah, maybe.” He threw another punch.

“So, you gonna tell me about this wild night of yours?”

Bucky chuckled, but nodded anyway, beginning the story.

When you woke up to your alarm a few hours later, you could hardly convince your own eyes to open, weighted down with such exhaustion. When you finally managed to roll out of bed, have a quick shower and grab a bite to eat, you pulled on a fresh pair of scrubs and stumbled out the door.

“Emily, you’re a lifesaver,” you mumbled as you entered the clinic, grabbing the coffee cup off of her desk and taking a long sip of the caffeinated beverage.

“Why so tired?” You missed the cheeky look on her face as you continued past the front desk. “Could this have anything to do with the pit bull in exam room 3?”

You turned on your heel and raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you know?”

“Well, when I got here I noticed the new, injured animal out the back and was extremely curious,” she stated slyly, smirking in your direction “so, I looked at the security footage from last night and found something very interesting.”

“Ok, you can shut up now, Em, I need peace and quiet and to check on that dog.”

She cackled loudly at your words, turning away to answer the ringing phone as you escaped to the back, putting your stuff down and going to check on the new dog.

“Hey there, pup,” you whispered, reaching into his cage slowly and letting the now-conscious dog reluctantly sniff your hand. You gently scratched behind his ears, but he stayed laying down, seemingly uninterested in any interaction.

You figured he had anxiety from his previous owners and decided to just check on his stitches and leave him be for a little while. You made a mental not to call James when you got the chance.

The day passed without too many hiccups (you only fell asleep at your desk once) and you managed to make it to 5:00 without majorly injuring yourself or anyone else. Finally, the place was empty and you pulled your phone from your bag, scrolling until you found his number.

The phone only rang 3 times before there was a clattering sound and Bucky’s voice rang out from the other end.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah, it’s me,”

“Hi, how’re you?”

“I’m good, I’m tired, but good” you chuckled. “You wanna come see him? He’s been awake today, I took him for a very slow walk but he hasn’t been very lively. I’m sure he’d like to see you”

“You think he’ll remember me?” Though he tried to hide it, you could hear the smidge of insecurity in his voice. He was worried that this animal was going to hate him before it even really met him. You sincerely doubted that.

“Only one way to find out.” you murmured, tapping a pen against the bench with a hopeful smirk on your face.

It was silent on the other line for a moment, but you heard a sigh as Bucky made his decision. “Alright, I’ll be there soon.”

You felt a smile stretch across your face at his words and had the urge to roll your eyes at yourself. “See ya soon, James,” you said, pulling the phone away and hanging up. You still couldn’t wipe that smile off your face.

Around 20 minutes later, you had managed to usher Emily out of the clinic and were waiting patiently for Bucky to arrive. Your head was resting in your hand, your eyes desperately trying to keep themselves open when there was a rattling knock on the glass door. You lifted your head and smiled welcomingly when you saw Bucky standing at the door, holding a coffee in his hand.

“Hi, come in,” you unlocked the door and allowed him to walk inside.

“This is for you,” he mumbled, holding the large coffee cup towards you. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I just got a normal latte and a bunch of sugar packets.” he pulled a handful of little brown sugar bags out of his jacket pocket and your eyes widened at the gesture.

“If I wasn’t so tired I would tell you ‘you shouldn’t have’ or something,” you mumbled, taking the warm cup from his hand and practically inhaling half of it.

He chuckled. “I guess that’s a no to the sugar,” and stuffed them back in his pocket.

“Alright, follow me, let’s go see this dog.”

He followed you through the halls once again and you led him into the free examination room where the dog was still laying in a mountain of blankets. The dog hadn’t noticed your entry yet, still deeply asleep.

You turned to look at Bucky, watching the creases in his forehead appear. He was worried again, losing his confidence. You reached out and gently placed an arm on his shoulder, sending him a gentle smile of reassurance. He looked up at you, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and then turning back to the dog. He took a few cautionary steps forward, and then finally fell to his knees beside the bed.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered.

It was like magic. The minute those words left his lips the fuzzy grey ears perked up and the dog lifted his head, searching for the source of the noise. He struggled to roll over, sitting up and surging towards Bucky, pawing at legs and immediately licking his stubble-covered chin.

Your mouth fell open at the interaction, shocked that the dog suddenly had so much energy. You felt your breath catch in your throat when your eyes found Bucky’s face and caught sight of the show-stopping smile that stretched across his lips. He gently scratched the back of his ears turning his chin up and allowing the dog to lick his jaw.

“Oh my god, he loves you,” you whispered, walking towards the two boys, and crouching down next to them. Bucky simply laughed in response, staring into the dog’s grey eyes.

“He’s barely moved all day and now he’s all over you,” you chuckled, gently patting the dog’s back. “He must remember.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered between you and the dog. “I want him. I want to adopt him.” The words tumbled out of his mouth as if escaping a cage and he pressed his forehead to the dog’s. “I’m gonna take you home, buddy.”

part 3

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