#(don’t go banning people on here too though i would cry :’) )

[procrastinationstationn]

just realized that tiktok is gonna be one of the only social media apps today that isn’t usamericanized now?? obviously boo and am gonna miss u guys on there and what is up with the banning of apps (??), but with everything online being so heavily us centric, i just think it might actually be interesting to see how it’s going to look like without it!

[kpopflowerfield]

Normal People | lj

ღ pairing: idol! jeno x gn! reader

ღ word count: 4k

ღ genre: angst

ღ rating: pg-13

ღ warnings: pet names (baby, babe, my love), there’s a few swears but that’s all!!

ღ networks: @k-vanity @k-library

ღ author’s note: ty to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading !!!

ღ summary: Jeno’s job isn’t the best and he knows it, having to sneak around to be with you also makes it harder. All he could wish for is that you could trust him and how he makes it work. making the relationship become unstable as they’re sneaking around with only the desire to have a normal relationship

↠ check out the rest of the tracklist here! ↞

“Jeno,” You called out from the comfy bed you had yet to move from. “Yes, baby?” He responded from the kitchen, where he filled up his water bottle. “What time are you coming home tonight?”You looked out your door as Jeno walked over. “Hopefully, tonight will be an easy night, so around nine,” He nodded. You couldn’t help but pout. He’s been working himself to the bone, and you rarely get the chance to see him.

It wasn’t anything new, since he’d been on the same schedule for the past few months. You always tried to tell him to rest, but he swore he knew what he was doing. You couldn’t criticize him, as you’d be the same when it came to fulfilling a dream. Ever since you met him as a kid, he’s always talked about wanting to become an idol and how cool it would be. 

Then, last year, he got scouted and held onto that business card close. It took you months of bothering him for him to give them a call finally. It took a while to get used to the whole never-seeing-your-boyfriend thing, but you would never want to come in between him and his dreams. You were proud of him, and he was always beaming when he talked about practice or showed off a dance that he had learned.

“I’ll come straight home to you,” his voice took you out of your deep thoughts. He leaned down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “Alright, love, make sure to drink lots of water and eat something too.” You held his arm until he agreed with you. “I always do, baby.” He smiled down at you as you let go of the grip you had on him. It took some energy, but you finally got out of bed after Jeno left.

You’ve kept yourself busy with books, cleaning, and sometimes trying out a few new recipes. The first few weeks were awful when he would practice for over ten hours a day. You’d sit somewhere in your apartment, moping and daydreaming about him finally coming home. Now, you were used to it. That’s why you left stuff for yourself to do until later in the day. It made time feel faster and made you feel like Jeno was coming home much sooner than he said in the morning.

The keys jingling in the door made you look over as you saw your boyfriend walking in. “Good news,” he spoke in a sing-song voice as you looked over at him. What is it?” You grinned. I have a group, finally! They set me up with six other guys. We don’t have a debut yet, but I’m getting so close.” He was almost squealing with excitement as you ran over and hugged him. 

“I’m so proud of you,” You grinned at him as he kissed your forehead. “I don’t mean to kill the mood, though, Jeno. But I do have a concern,” You pulled away from the hug as he hummed in response. “How are we going to work? You’re going to be under a dating ban, but we’ve also been together since before you were a trainee,” You looked up at him. You hated to bring up logical points, but you needed to know if he was breaking up with you. 

“Don’t worry about it; I’m going to have it all under control.” He smiled brightly as he messed up your hair and then looked over at the stove. “Ooh, I smell something good.” He walked over and carefully started rummaging through the foil you had laid on top of a pan. You bit the inside of your lip; you wanted to cry. Your relationship was in the air, with Jeno just saying not to worry. 

The closer he was getting to his debut, the more he kept telling you to trust him. You couldn’t fully express your thoughts with him, not wanting to bring him down into your fears of his dream. “Babe!” He called out from the bedroom, and you looked over. “Yeah?” Your voice sounded empty as you leaned back on the kitchen counter. “Should I bring anything else?” He questioned as he walked out of the bedroom. 

You saw the two suitcases that you were dreading to see. He got his debut date but also a dorm room. You held your breath to fight the tears that wanted to fall. “No, I think you have everything.” You watched as he dropped his bags on the ground and engulfed you in his arms. “I love you so much, Y/N,” He kissed the top of your head.

You couldn’t fight the tears anymore as you cried against his chest. “I love you, Jeno,” You wailed as he held you. “I promise to text you all the time, and I’ll always work stuff out for us to see each other,” He pulled away to look at your face as you nodded. “Trust me,” He smiled comfortingly as he wiped your tears. You were getting tired of those two words. You trusted him, but it started to sound like empty promises every time those words escaped his lips. 

You nodded a bit and cleared your throat. “You should go; don’t keep them waiting,” you smiled weakly as he nodded. I’ll text you when I make it,” he kissed your forehead and picked up his stuff. I love you!” He grinned and walked out. “I love you,” your voice was soft, as the door had already shut behind him. 

You sighed and cleaned up the mess that was left. The apartment you shared felt so empty without him. The lack of his clothes spread into each room, and the smell of his cologne. You never noticed it until it was missing. You sat down on the couch and looked around at your apartment. God, it sucked realizing he was actually gone. Tears slowly came down as you realized you wouldn’t be together for a while. 

You bit your lip, collecting yourself to stop the tears and send your friends a message. You asked to go out for some barbecue for the night just to keep your mind off of everything. They quickly agreed and started asking what was wrong. You didn’t want to lie about what happened. All you could say was that you and Jeno were having problems. You got ready, making yourself look presentable, which you hadn’t done in almost a year. 

You met with your friends and got to talk for the first time in a few weeks. They didn’t press on whatever issue you had with Jeno as you all updated each other on life. You kept quiet, just needing to hear the noise that distracted you. Your phone buzzed, taking you out of your trance. 

Jeno<3: Made it to the dorm. I miss you already. 

Y/N: I miss you too, Jeno. I wish I were able to see you

Jeno<3: I know love, but it’s only temporary. I promise

You stared at that message for a moment, debating a response until your friend's voice came through. “Hey, earth to Y/N,” Yeri teased as you laughed shortly. “Yeah, sorry.” You looked at her and then at the others who were gawking at you. “So what actually happened with you and Jeno?” Nayeon spoke up as you bit your lip. “Just ran into issues, and we haven’t been seeing each other as much as we used to,” You nodded, satisfied with your unfortunate answer. “Awe, I’m sorry, Y/N. I honestly thought you were end game,” Hyemi looked at you. 

You nodded, and they all looked at you pitifully. You wanted to tell them not to do that, but you couldn’t disagree with how they looked at you. 

Y/N: I hope it’s temporary. I want to be close to my boyfriend, and it’s hard to tell my friends what’s happening.

Jeno<3: Tell your friends we broke up. We can’t risk people knowing we’re still together. 

Y/N: What?… you’ve known them for years, Jeno. They won’t spill. 

Jeno<3: Not risking it. Trust me.

You bit your lip, and the sour taste in your mouth made your blood boil. “Y/N, put your phone away. Whatever you’re doing is clearly just making you upset,” Nayeon quickly spoke as you nodded. You turned off your phone and placed it on the table. You’ll feel better,” Hyemi smiled as you nodded. “Seriously, though, is everything okay?” Yeri looked at you; worry was all you could read as you nodded.

“Yeah, I wasn’t being fully honest,” You swallowed that nasty feeling in your throat. “We broke up,” Tears started to fall as Hyemi quickly put her hand on your back and rubbed it carefully. “Oh, hun, I’m so sorry,” She pouted as you took deep breaths, not wanting to cry in public. You looked up, tilting your head back to stop the tears. “Fuck that guy,” Nayeon huffed as you nodded, agreeing with her. You hated lying but had to tell yourself that it was a small lie. How often were you actually seeing your boyfriend?

It was already like you broke up. You’re just telling them as if it’s from the future. It was a stupid way to think of it, but it was the only way you could think of lying to your friends. An awkwardness shifted over all of you. Hyemi tried to pick up the conversation to be what it was before they asked about Jeno. You were grateful for her, finally getting out of the limelight as they asked as many questions as possible about life in general.

You spaced out as they talked, just picturing going to bed and sleeping for a long time. Once you all realized the time and went your separate ways, you finally felt as if you could breathe. You didn’t have to lie about you and Jeno. You could text him if he were available, and you’d be able to go back to your fantasy of the two of you from a few years ago. 

You crawled into your bed, sighing in relief. Finally, you can rest and not have your mind wondering about what you’ve missed out on. You shut your eyes for a moment. A pounding on the door made your heart stop for a moment as you hesitantly got out of bed. You swallowed as you walked to the door, carefully looking through the peephole until you saw Jeno standing there. Getting ready to knock again. 

You opened the door before his fist could hit the door. He snuck his way in and then looked at you. “Hi, baby,” He smiled and held you. You stood frozen, thrown off by his presence. “What are you doing here?” You blurted as he looked at you, taking your surprised state as a compliment. “I wanted to see you, babe, and I want to talk about something,” He smiled at you. Your hands got sweaty as you heard the last words of his sentence.

You held your breath, waiting for the impact of the impending breakup. “I’m not upset with you. I know you want to go to your friends, but you can’t say anything about us. I just want to keep safe. I don’t want to hurt my team, and a scandal would be the end of us before we even start,” He rambled as you nodded, barely listening to him. It wasn’t anything new that was coming out of his mouth. “I wish we were back to being normal people.” You let that sentence slip out of your mouth and then looked up at Jeno as he stood there. 

You could tell he was hurt, not because of what he said but because he finally realized what he’s been doing to you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I promise everything will get better, and then we can go back to being normal. I cross my heart,” He tried comforting you as you nodded slowly. You held onto him tightly, not wanting to let go. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” He cleared his throat as you tilted your head to look at him. “I have to go,” He let go as you did the same. Looking away from him for a moment.

“Hey, I love you,” he smiled brightly as he cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. You smiled softly at him, just enough so he couldn’t bother you too much. “I love you too, Jeno,” he kissed your forehead before quickly running out so he could sneak back. You exhaled and rubbed your eyes. He didn’t have to come and see you, but it hurt more that he did show up only to run out minutes later.

You walked to your room, letting your body hit the mattress and be engulfed in your sheets. Your phone buzzed, and you ignored it. You finally were able to shut your eyes, getting a night's worth of sleep in a few hours before you had to get up. You tried to ignore your feelings. Not seeing your boyfriend for the past seven months was driving you crazy. Everything felt so much worse without him near. 

You felt as if he was no longer yours; he’s become a man for the media. Someone for other girls to drool over. You tried to keep it to yourself, not wanting to tell your friends your actual thoughts or have to look them in the eyes and lie. Even though your lies were becoming true, “you went no contact,” you hadn’t heard from him in two weeks. “He’s on his own path now”; he’s busy fulfilling a dream. “He’s told me that we’ll find a way for it to work in the future if it’s still a possibility,” his constant words of telling you to trust him because he’s going to make it work. 

You couldn’t tell him, but anger was continually building inside of you. You trusted him, but what were you getting in return? A few quick visits where he could stick his head in the door to tell you he loved you and that everything was “going to work out.” You tried to be patient, but a year of his nonsense was beginning to feel like the end of you. You started to consider your breakup, waiting for the next time he came home so you could sit him down and tell him you were over being dragged around and that he needed to just focus on himself. 

You heard the heavy knock on your door and opened it. Jeno walked in, more bubbly than usual. “I have amazing news, love.” He grinned. “We won our first award, so my manager is loosening the reins on us. I can come home more frequently and as often as I want on off days. The only time I really have to stay at the dorm is during promotions. Which means I can sleep here with you or have little dates at home,” He quickly rambled before you could say anything. Guilt started to eat your insides.

He was so happy to give you good news, and you were still ready to end it with him. “Jeno…” You started as he looked at you, his eyes in the shape of crescents, and he couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m willing to give it a chance, but if I’m left staying home because I have to lie when I hate to do that or I’m left in the dark about your plans that I need to trust, I will break up with you,” You cleared your throat quietly. “I’m not trying to give an ultimatum, but it really wasn’t fair to me,” 

His smile dropped as he listened to you. “I’m sorry, baby; I promise it will work out,” He sounded so comforting, but you were still irritated with his promises. “I love you so much, Jeno, but please, for the love of God, stop saying shit like that. I know you don’t mean to sound repetitive, but seriously,” You rubbed your temples as Jeno stared at you. He couldn’t even remember the last time you were this upset. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but you also pushed me to make the call and follow the dream I had. I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t push me.” He tried to speak calmly and not as if he was accusing you, but it was hard for him to find the right tone to speak in.

You couldn’t get upset at him as he wasn’t wrong. “I know,” You exhaled. “I trust you fully; I’m sorry I got upset,” You walked over to sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. He put his arm around you and held you close. “I’ll be here every night, I promise,” He smiled softly as he rubbed your shoulder gently. You nodded, not wanting to get your hopes up of seeing him like he says you will. But you were wrong; every night, Jeno came over, and laying in bed with him felt so comforting for your aching heart, as you’d been waiting to be with him like this for a year. 

Even if there wasn’t much conversation, just being there was enough for the two of you. “Hey, babe?” Jeno spoke, breaking the silence. “Yeah?” You mumbled as you were getting ready to fall asleep. “I do miss how we were. I miss taking you out and seeing you every day, seeing you happy, and being able just to kiss you every morning. But I’ve fucked it all up; I can’t just leave the group and disappoint my members by tarnishing their names. I’m sorry for doing this to you,” His voice was soft and full of regret as he spoke. You looked over at him. “It’s okay, Jeno, if you’re unhappy, talk to your managers. I do miss how we were, too, but I’d never ask you to quit what you’re doing. It seems like things are working out right now, my love. Don’t overthink or get upset at yourself,” You comforted him in the dark as you cuddled up to feel his warmth. “Thank you for being so patient,” He whispered as he kissed the top of your head and held you close to him. “You’re my everything,” He squeezed you lightly as you fell asleep in his arms. 

You woke up the next morning, hoping to see your boyfriend finally home or at least to smell the aroma of coffee he made for you to wake up. Yet when you looked over at his side, it was empty. You rubbed your eyes and picked up your phone, checking to see if there was even a text from Jeno, but there was nothing. You inhaled deeply, attempting to calm the anger taking you over. You got out of bed and got ready. Your two weeks of creating a new normal was over, you were going to stay true to your words with Jeno. It was over, you knew it but didn’t want to face it. You walked back out to grab your phone and saw Jeno’s name on the screen. You answered quickly. 

“Sorry, love! I had to have a meeting at work. I’m on my way home right now,” He sounded sincere and it was killing you inside. 

“Get home safe, I’ll be here,” You hung up quickly before putting your phone on the bed. 

It felt hard to swallow as you started to pace. Were you actually about to end it with him? It didn’t feel real as you waited for him to come home, each passing moment filling your body with dread as Jeno opened the door. “Hey, love,” He smiled softly. Your eyes immediately locked in on the folder he had in front of him. “I’m sorry to do it this way,” He cleared his throat as he sat down on the couch and opened the folder. “Somehow someone found out about us, we have to break up.” He stared at the papers as he sounded sad. “You’re breaking up with me?” You scoffed. “I have to,” Jeno stared at you, sounding defeated as you shook your head at him. “No, I’m breaking up with you. You don’t deserve to break up with me. I’m over it, we can’t communicate and I’m not going to continue isolating myself out of fear that I let it slip that we’re still together and that ruins your group. I miss having a boyfriend I could rely on, someone I can come home to, someone that I can text or call whenever I need. I don’t have that anymore,” Tears came out as you tried to keep your wavering voice calm.

“Y/N…” Jeno looked at you, hurt apparent in his eyes as you shook your head. “Tell your managers they can go fuck themselves, I’m not signing shit, I don’t want hush money or any of that. I just want us to be over,” You sniffed, looking at Jeno’s expression. His mouth was agape as he listened to you. He was lost for words, not even knowing what he could say as comfort. He was more surprised hearing you say how badly you wanted the two of you to end. “It’s really over?” He questioned. You nodded, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “Yeah, it does suck to say it out loud,” You scoffed at yourself and shook your head. “I’m sorry Jeno, I’m not going to come in between you and everything you’ve dreamed of, and I know you were told to break up with me, but you can just tell them we haven’t been together. I really wish you the best and I hope this dream is worth everything for you. I still have a love for you that will never leave, do know that,” You took his hand and rubbed your thumb in gentle circles. His eyes were glossy as he was trying to hide his own tears.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you, Y/N. It was wrong of me, I should’ve quit when I had the chance,” He sounded disappointed as he spoke. You shook your head. “I would never want that for you, I’m proud of you Jeno. Go kill it out there,” You smiled softly as he nodded. You wiped his tears gently and placed a soft kiss on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” You looked at him as he stood up and walked to your door. He nodded and cleared his throat. “I understand, I would do the same if I was you,” He opened the door then turned to look at you one more time. “I wish you all the best, text me whenever. I know it’s hard to get a response, but I promise I will respond whenever I can,” You nodded at his words as he walked out. You let out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding and sat down on your couch. Sobs leaving your body quietly as you thought of what you did, it felt wrong but also so right at the same time. Finally not being tied down to someone you never see and the anxiety that was eating you from the inside disappeared quicker than you thought it would. It felt like finally breathing in clean air for the first time as you realized you could finally start a life with no lies. 

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

i love my mom but man does it suck when she starts talking to me about god shit. because it always leads to her trying to guilt trip me into being more religious, saying things like, “it makes your dad and i very sad that you don’t believe in god” and “you’re depressed like this because you don’t talk to god.” when i tell her that choosing not to go to church anymore is one of the few choices in my life that i don’t regret, she gets upset with me. sorry, going to go on a little bit of a rant about family and religion here (specifically catholic/christian), but i’ll stick it below the cut.

usually this convo comes up when my cousin is mentioned, because my mom and my aunt will gush about how my cousin goes to church every sunday. this happened today actually. they ignore the fact that my cousin is still a horribly spoiled, selfish, honestly terrible person who yells at/doesn’t bother to help her physically disabled, sickly mom. my “wonderful church-going” cousin who left to go on a vacation to hawaii with my shit uncle, leaving my aunt alone at home even though she had covid AND had recently broken her back. which led to me having to take 2 weeks off of work at the last minute to go stay with my aunt and take care of her. during those 2 weeks, my “wonderful��� 20-something-year-old cousin would repeatedly call my aunt to cry and complain that she wanted to come home because she “didn’t feel good.” and my aunt, laying in bed with her broken back and various other health issues, would baby her. oh, but my cousin goes to church, so that means she’s such a good person! i just don’t get it.

one of the reasons i refuse to go to church anymore is because of this backwards-ass hypocritical way of thinking so many people there seem to have. there’s just this feeling of insincerity to it all where people show up once a week to pat themselves on the back for being “good people”, then gather in the lobby after mass to gossip about the one trans woman who recently joined the congregation (unfortunately this isn’t an example i made up). or later go to the supermarket and yell at an underpaid employee. or go on a hawaii vacation and leave your mom home alone with a broken back.

i attended church from age 1 to age 18. as i grew older, church started to feel more and more suffocating. it got to the point where i was having anxiety attacks during mass. i tried distracting myself with drawing on the pamphlets given out at the front door. and when i was banned from that, i resorted to drawing on my skin, which didn’t last long. i ended up sneaking earbuds in and hiding the wires under my hair and clothes so i could drown out the sounds of church with music. i would just stare at the floor and try to just focusing on breathing, but it was just all too suffocating. i was told that the reason i was feeling and acting this way in church was because “the devil was talking to me.” “the devil” was trying to take me away from church and god, so i needed to stop feeling like this and just pray. that time i started crying in the pew because it all became too much and i felt incredibly overwhelmed? that’s the devil. pray about it. uh, actually, mr. jesus, it was because i have bad social and generalized fuckin anxiety. and also very likely autistic but i haven’t been officially diagnosed until this day. so yeah.

thinking back on it now, it was kind of fucked up. but i don’t blame my parents for how they acted. sometimes i feel a little angry and disappointed about how they handled things, but i don’t blame them. because as i watched kids be baptized, i would hear the priest tell the parents that it was their responsibility to raise their kid to be a good god-fearing person. that it was their responsibility to keep their kid from “straying from the light” and avoiding damnation. i know my parents were told the same thing when i was baptized. that it’ll be their fault if i “stray from the light” and end up getting sent to hell. i just see it as guilt-tripping bullshit. it was my choice to not go to church or follow the religion. i hate that this system has told my parents they should feel guilty about this and that it’s their fault that my soul won’t be saved, because they didn’t “guide me in the lord’s way” good enough. i hate that this system has made me feel like i’ve failed my parents. it’s bullshit.

i’m sure there are churches out there who contain genuinely good, accepting folk. and i’m sure there are people who find comfort in having a religion. i’m glad for them. i’ve just personally have some negative experiences with religion and I’ve learned that it’s just not for me.

i try my best to be a good and kind person. i try really, really hard. i just don’t go to church anymore. the fact that i don’t do this one thing shouldn’t devalue all my efforts.

[smileposting]

new demo observations - part 2!

these focus more lil crumbs of lore here and there that weren't noted in the first post. click here for part 1!

the rift emits a faint Ambience when the camera zooms in on it after you first arrive in the grove. best way i can describe it is like... brown noise. a bassline. something Deep but subtle.

you Can knock down the inspekta cutout on the first island by hitting it with an anchor/ball/etc. there's still no interaction prompt like there is with the mitternacht cutout though, i.e. you cannot knock it down with your bare hands. would not be surprised if this was supposed to be foreshadowing.

bizzy boys in general don’t seem to be very popular lol. they have a reputation for being loud, dumb, mischievous, and starved for praise. can’t say it’s inaccurate! mitternacht even starts crying harder after you tell her inspekta's going to save the day. oddly, razzma doesn't seem to hold their rowdiness against inspekta (although something tells me he really should.)

razzma wrote the big book of king quotes, under the name razzma v. tazz.

in addition to capochin-second-in-command-best-of-da-bunch-dont-forget-it, capochin also claims he is capochin-prettiest-handsomest-bizzyboy-extraordinaire.

al has eaten dirty laundry before. and grass. and dirt. and other bizzyboy's snacks. apparently many of them either don't eat on the job or hide their food from him to escape his endless hunger.

ban got the other letters in his name for giving capochin an hour-long back massage.

vib insults our fit if we call him a bug despite citing it as an inspiration in his default dialogue. very funny. also if you use capochin's words to tell him to get to work he gets Really into it. like moreso than any of the other bizzyboys. starts callin himself capochin's loyal pup. which could mean nothing.

inspekta can’t say “adorable.” it’s like trying to pronounce worcestershire sauce to him.

prior to ascension, inspekta was the leader of the bizzyboys on earth (duh.) when he assigned his role to capochin after ascending, the latter apparently reacted So strongly that inspekta thought he would die. apparently sometimes he wonders if it’s too much responsibility for cap…

calling inspekta a tiny weak little bug apparently reminds him of his human/mortal years, which is. Hm.

inspekta thinks P is cute, but otherwise doesn't have much patience for him at all lmao. does not care for his captain obvious tendencies.

IF YOU TELL BUG GOODY JOB ON THE GOODY WORK FROM INSPEKTA HE TRIES TO SELL YOU OUT BC HE STILL THINKS YOU’RE KING LMAOOOOOO. granted he could also just be trying not to piss inspekta off.

“if yew insist on solvin’ this mystery yewrself, yew be awful careful! the gods can be spiteful folk! proud, too! that’s what the last godpoke could nevah under-sand. i don’t want my godpoke to end uppy like king!” hi inspekta. what the fuck does that mean

“lettin’ words affect you this much? what a drain!” you would know somethin' about that wouldn’t you spek?

lulu seems more willing to trust a “king apologist” than anything else. using the "i miss my eloquent king!" dialogue gets more dialogue out of her than i think almost any other response. interesting.

i might have me a lil crush on her. don't worry about it.

why is king’s letter to milldread like. baiting people into doing blood sacrifice lmao. “oh how horrible… who could do such a thing…. probably a very brave person. probably someone who wasn’t a fuckin pussy” like Dude.

thinking. inspekta thinks king is trying to push all the gods apart yeah? but according to people like mitternacht and razzma, it doesn’t sound like they had all that much before king entered the picture? sounds like all you'd need for them to be at each other's throats again would just be for king to leave. so what's the point of the letters?

ok i'll stop here before we get into speculation. finished the demo by this point anyway!

[ihni]

Bubbles the fish

My last fill for the Short fic challenge ("That emotional moment that you can’t find a plot for"), as well as written for day 13 (yeah I know, I'm a little late ...) of Angstober, prompt: "From childhood".

~~~

Jim Hopper is not what you would call a people’s person. He knows how to do his job and he’s good at what he does, but there’s a reason why he most often makes his deputies or Flo deal with the more emotional people – and contrary to popular belief, only part of that reason is that he dislikes it. The main reason is that he’s simply not good at it. Angry people, he can deal with no problem, because Jim is big and imposing and does not back down, but the sad ones? The crying ones, the ones who are silent and hurting? Jim is not the right person to deal with those people, and he knows it, so he usually lets someone else do it.

So when he walks into Billy Hargrove’s hospital room, two months after Starcourt, and finds the kid hugging his own knees, shoulders shaking with silent sobs? A big part of him wants to turn right back around and walk out, pretending he didn’t see anything.

But. The kid looks so small huddled up to the headboard of the bed, scarred forearms wrapping around scrubs-covered legs. And just like every other time Jim has been visiting, no one else is here. It doesn’t sit right with him, because he knows that the doctors lifted the ban on visitors as soon as they were certain that the kid would live; as soon as they knew that he didn’t pose a threat to anyone. Yet every time Jim stops by on his way home after work – spurred on by El, who keeps asking about the boy who saved them – no one else has been around. The doctor said that the kid’s sister – El’s friend Max – has been by a couple of times, but there hasn’t been a word mentioned of his parents, or friends.

Kid must be lonely, Jim thinks and steels himself against the discomfort that emotional people cause him. He will go in there, because the kid got between Jim’s daughter and an otherworldly monster – saved her life when Jim wasn’t there to do it – so the least Jim can do make sure the kid is okay. Or as okay as one can be while recovering from being shish-kebabed by said otherworldly monster.

But hell, Jim is not equipped for this.

He takes a breath and knocks on the doorframe. The kid flinches and looks up, eyes wide, and then grimaces as if he’s in pain. He probably is. He’s got more stitches in him than Jim’s best suit.

“Hey kid,” Jim says, voice gruff even though he’s trying to soften it. “You okay there?”

The kid looks away, frantically – and futilely – wiping at his face as if it’s not obvious to anyone with eyes that he’s been crying. His hands are shaking, and so is his voice when he says, “I’m fine.”

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but you don’t look fine.” Entering the room fully, Jim spots an opened parcel on the floor on the other side of the bed. It’s just a cardboard box, looks to be empty. “You in pain? Want me to get a nurse?”

“No!” the kid says, and it’s too fast and too loud. He’s trying to hide something under the blanket, as if he doesn’t want Jim to see whatever it is.

Alarm bells go off in Jim’s head. The doctors had mentioned that they’re making the kid talk to a shrink, that he sometimes hasn’t seemed all that interested in recovering. That he, at one point when he’d just woken up, grabbed a syringe from a nurse and tried to stab himself with it before they could wrestle it away from him. And now the kid is crying, doesn’t want the nurses to come in here, and is trying to hide something?

It all adds up to nothing good, and Jim is the Chief of Police. He is very familiar with ‘not good’.

“What’cha got there, kid?”

The kid in question shakes his head, and – hell – his eyes well up again. Jim’s got a bad feeling about this, so he strides up to the bed and ignores the hands trying to stop him when he reaches down under the blanket to fish out …

A fish. Literally. A stuffed animal in the shape of a fish, and by the looks of it, it’s been well-loved over the years.

Confused, he lets the kid yank the fish out of his hand, and feels a twinge of guilt as he can’t do anything but watch as the teen shuffles his way painfully to the other edge of the bed, as far from Jim as he can, while clutching the stuffed animal to his chest. His head is turned down, but Jim hears his hitched breath and knows that he’s crying.

And great, now Jim feels like an asshole.

“Uh,” he says, and then quiets. Because what do you say to a teenager who’s been traumatized beyond belief, and who is now desperately clinging to a stuffed animal like he’s five instead of eighteen? “Sorry, kid, I …” He trails off. Doesn’t know what to say. Considers going to fetch the doctors – maybe they can give the kid some sedatives or something – when he looks down and sees something else on the floor next to the empty box. A piece of paper with hand-written text on it.

The kid is not looking at him, so Jim bends down to pick it up. It’s a letter. Or, more of a note, really.

Dear Billy, it says, in loopy handwriting.

I heard about the fire. I’m glad you’re okay, and really proud that you saved those kids. It’s strange to think of you all grown-up and saving kids, since you were just a kid yourself the last time I saw you.

I went through some boxes recently and found your old friend Bubbles. Do you remember him? You used to take him with you everywhere you went. I thought he should be with you, now.

I’m also sending a photo of the two of you. I hope he can bring you some comfort now, as he did when you were younger.

I hope this finds you well.

Mom

Jim looks from the note in his hand, to the boy in the bed who has curled up with his back to Jim, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Then he looks at the note again, and frowns. He read through the kid’s file after the incident at the Byers’ house back in November, and he knows that the kid lives with his father. That his mother is not in the picture. Max once let slip that Billy hasn’t had any contact with her in years.

Bending down again to pick up the box, he sees another piece of paper on the floor, having ended up halfway under the bed. It’s a photograph. A polaroid, of a blond little boy, no more than seven, in a hospital bed much like this one. His arm is in a cast, and he’s sleeping, curled up around a purple plush fish that looks much bigger than the one the kid is clutching now – but of course, the boy in the picture was much smaller back then.

“Please leave,” the kid says, voice muffled. “Please.” He can’t suppress his sobs, and the part of Jim that can’t handle it when people are crying wants nothing more than to do what the kid asks.

But the part of him that is a father hates watching a child hurt – because eighteen might be an adult in the eye of the law, but no one who saw the kid curled up and hurting like he is now would consider him anything but a child.

So he doesn’t leave. Instead he turns the box over to examine it, and as he does, his heart sinks. Because Jim is a cop, and he’s damn good at finding clues and coming to conclusions. So when he looks at the box and the note, he sees beyond the brown cardboard with its carefully scrawled delivery address (addressed to William Hargrove at this specific hospital – they sender even got the room number right), and sees what the kid must have seen, too.

The address shows that his mother knows where he is, and that she could have contacted him this whole time, but chose not to. The lack of a return address means that Billy can’t contact her back.

The fact that she mentions the fire – the official story that the media ran with, when Starcourt was destroyed – shows that she knows that he got injured. That she’s writing it now, a couple of months later, and addressing it to a hospital, means that she must know that he was badly hurt, and still on the mend. But instead of showing up herself, or contacting her son or the hospital staff to get updates on his condition, she sends an old toy, a photograph and a note.

A note in which she writes I hope this finds you well. Not Love, not Hugs, nothing that can be interpreted as personal in any way.

“Aw, hell kid,” Jim says quietly and drags a heavy hand down his face.

The kid sobbing in the bed has been through hell and back, only to get slapped in the face with the reminder that his own mother does not want him in her life. The woman might have thought she was doing a good thing, but Jim looks at the kid now and thinks that it would have been better if she’d stayed gone.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says, and finds that he is. He’s sorry that the kid got dealt such a shitty hand in life. That he got involved with all the Upside Down bullshit in the first place, that he got hurt saving the kids, that he’s got a shitty dad who never visits his own kid in the hospital and that he’s got a shitty mom who sends a shitty kid’s toy instead of showing up in person when her son almost died.

And he’s sorry that he’s the only one here now, when the kid so obviously needs someone else; someone who could help him, or comfort him, or make him feel better. Jim is woefully ill-equipped to provide any of that.

No wonder the kid is inconsolable.

[randomfandomlov3]

Price of love (Chapter 5)

Warnings: Angst. Crying. Let me know if I missed any.

Note: Thank you for reading! <3

Word Count~ 2110

He knew that his best friend just did what he thought would be in his best interest, but boy did it hurt to lose her. After he dropped you off at your room, Bucky went to find Steve. He knocked on his best friend’s bedroom door. When the door opened Steve is in shock to see Bucky standing there looking almost nervous. Steve welcomed him into the room and closed the door. “Hey Punk, I wanted to say that I am sorry for how I acted. It’s just that she was one of the best people I had ever met and felt comfortable around. I realize that I am just as much to blame for not telling you off sooner. But I was worried that maybe you were right, and maybe she deserves better than me. I did realize though, that I don’t want to lose you again.” Bucky put his arms out for a hug from his best friend.

Steve gave Bucky a soft smile before returning the hug. “I’m sorry that I meddled in things, Buck. I thought that experience would be good for you, but I knew you wouldn’t do it without incentive, I am really sorry if I messed things up. But just know anyone would be lucky to date you.”

He felt Bucky shake, as he felt tears on his shirt. “What if she was the only one out there for me, and I went and lost her.”

Steve’s heart ached. “I promise things will work out how they are supposed to.” They stood like that for a few minutes before Bucky collected himself and apologized. “You don’t have to apologize for this, I will always be here for you.” After they went their separate ways, Steve knew what he needed to do.

Your bag was empty, and you were trying to get a feel for the room when a knock interrupted your thoughts. When you opened the door, you saw Steve standing there. “Look, I wanted to apologize. I was the one who came up with the stupid idea of paying Bucky to date someone. I was just trying to get him back out there, and more comfortable with others. I can tell I was wrong though; he is heartbroken over this. Did you know he even refused the money after?” His words made you feel heavy.

“But then why didn’t he turn down your offer in the first place?” You were still unsure whether he cared for you.

“He was afraid. He thought that you deserved better than what he could give you. Someone with less baggage. But I promise he is worth getting to know.”

A soft smile graced your face. “I know, I had just started to get through his hard exterior. But I wish he would have let me make that choice for myself because I think that he might be it for me. Why am I telling you this? It doesn’t matter anyway; he would never see me like that after how I reacted.” You went to close the door on Steve, to go cry into your pillow.

He put his hand on the door to stop you. “I disagree, he is very much so still into you. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he just spent a good 10 minutes crying into my shirt about you.” This shocked you; the unfazed assassin was crying over you. “Just think about it.” He took his leave, leaving you with your thoughts. Did Bucky really feel that way about you?

Probably one of the most terrifying things to do was to be seen entering the medical wing by the team. You were bombarded with questions about why you were going to the med bay, and if it had anything to do with you having been away for a couple weeks. Too tired to answer them you allowed them to follow you into the room where Helen said for you to meet her.

She looked around at all the people and back at you to make sure that you were okay with all of them being there. “Yeah, I don’t have the energy to explain everything to them right now so I was hoping you could,” You said with a big grin on your face, to keep up your sunshine persona.

"Well, okay then. How's your shoulder been feeling?" You gave it some gentle movements.

"It's been a little bit sore, but definitely better than it has been," you said, taking off your sweater to reveal the bandage.

"That's to be expected, you were shot in the shoulder, just 2 weeks ago. Now, let's take a look to see how it's healing." The room filled with gasps when she mentioned that you were shot. You didn’t notice Bucky leave the room. Dr. Cho took the gauze off and gave it a gentle wipe to not only check your pain response but also to remove any of the leftover cream. "It looks like it is healing just fine, and you should be able to get your antidote shot at the scheduled time. It doesn't look like you need any more antibiotics, but if anything about it changes come back to see me. And you can take ibuprofen for the pain from here on out, but once again if it doesn't work come back and see me." She reapplied the dressing and told you when she wanted to see you next. You went to the kitchen and smiled upon seeing Bucky standing there, but your bubble burst when he glanced at you before leaving the room. Maybe he was just trying to give you space to figure things out.

He never stayed in the same room as you over the next few days. What if Steve and Sam were wrong? What if he didn't like you anymore? What could you have done to upset him? Spotting Bucky across the room as you set up your station for the injections made your heart ache, you wanted to be happy, but he seemed to hate you. The first thing you did was give yourself the injection and shock so that you could be ready when everyone else arrived. “Agent Roberts? What are you doing here? Didn’t you get your shot already?”

She nodded as she came over to you. “One of the people who have an appointment today requested that they have anybody but you. I’m sorry, but after the agent you shocked, some people are a little wary of this.”

You faked a smile because you had a suspicion that that was not the case, but rather it was personal. She listened very closely to the instructions you gave her for the people who were there for accommodations not just because they were not able to get the shot the other time. Bucky overheard you and his chest hurt, hearing how much you cared.

You left the room trying to hide your broken heart. You decided to go for a walk to get some fresh air and clear your thoughts. Feeling your phone vibrate, you pulled it out to see a text from Natasha. “I heard that you left before the shots were given out is everything okay?”

You wondered who told her because the only one she really knew from the room is Bucky. “Everything is fine it was just requested that I don’t give them out.” You sent back, hoping she would drop the topic.

“Did you get yours though?” A sigh left your lips, you knew that she cared about you, but you didn’t want to talk about that anymore.

“Yes, I did.” You then turned your phone off to have a little bit of peace. The walk ended up leading you to a small café that you went to with Bucky on one of your dates. Feeling nostalgic you decided to go inside and get something to drink.

The lady at the front counter recognized you, but also the look of sadness on your face. “You need a chocolate milkshake, but if you ask me no man could ever be better than a chocolate milkshake.” She said to make you laugh.

“I do like me a chocolate milkshake. Alright, I’ll get one.” A newfound smile graced your face. Taking the milkshake, you went to sit in a booth by the window, to go through your thoughts.

As you were staring out the window a certain redhead comes to sit across from you. “You’ve been distant lately. Is there something on your mind?” Wanda asked setting down her milkshake.

That earned a smirk out of you. “You tell me.”

She looked down at her hands. “Okay, so your thoughts haven’t been very quiet, but I promise I only looked at them when I was concerned for your well-being. I hate seeing you so upset.”  

You took a sip of your milkshake before answering, “I understand, I was just teasing you. I don’t mind you peeking in every now and then, it makes me feel cared for.”

The smile that covered her face made you smile as well. “I truly do care about you, which is why I think that you should focus on yourself right now because you are still trying to heal from the injury that you sustained on the battlefield. You need to do what’s best for you, and I promise to help you in whatever ways I can.” She lifted her glass to cheers yours.

“Thank you, Wanda. This means the world to me.” Once you both finished your milkshakes, you stood and hugged her. “I will see you back at the tower shortly, first I want to grab some things from the store.” You said your goodbyes and went your separate ways.

Re-entering your room you dropped the bags onto the floor. In the first bag you opened, you pulled out baskets. You arranged them all on the floor careful not to step on any as you went to grab the next bag. Bag by bag you built up these baskets to say thank you to the Avengers for how welcoming they had been, and essentially saying goodbye. Each of them was signed with a sunshine 🔆. You had to do what was best for you, and right now that was not staying here. They all had training right now, so it was the perfect time, you grabbed the baskets and placed one by each of their doors. Then you grabbed your bag and left the tower.

They were all very confused to see cute little baskets outside of each of their doors. Natasha picked up hers and read the note. “Thank you, Habiba. I need to do what’s best for me but let’s stay in touch.”

Sam also read his. “Thank you so much, for everything you have helped me with lately Sam. I will be gone for a while, but I would love to stay in touch.”

Each of the notes was personalized at least a little, but all Bucky’s said was, “I’m sorry.”

Wanda was proud that you took her advice, but she was going to miss seeing your bubbly face around the tower. “Does anyone’s say where sunshine is going?” Tony asked feeling slightly sad that you wouldn’t be around to randomly bring him coffee when he stayed up in his lab way too late.

Everyone just shook their heads. “Just that she will be away for a while,” Sam said, looking between everybody.

Bucky’s brow furrowed when he realized that you left longer messages on the others’, but he just got an apology, but he didn’t even understand why.

“What about you, Buck? I imagine she left you a longer message.” His heart shattered at his best friend's comment.

“All she wrote were the words ‘I’m sorry’ that’s it.” He then entered his room closing the door behind him. Why were you apologizing to him? He was the one who messed up. He was the one who got you shot. He was the one who broke your heart. What could you have had to apologize for?

You were not quite sure what you wanted to do forever, but right now, a vacation was needed. “Hey, Fury?” He hummed in response. “I was hoping I would be able to take a vacation for a while, you know, get out of the city and maybe find myself.”

You stared at your shoes, wondering what would be worse, being allowed to go, or being made to stay. “I think it would do you some good, we will miss you around here, but you being at your best will be what is best for your team.”

Chapter 6

[alwida10]

Writing this here to get an official time stamp so I can check in a few years if I had been right or wrong. (Technically, this theory is from November 2023, but I never posted it publicly in detail.)

So, my observations.

1. Back in October ‘23, the war in Ukraine was pretty much at a stalemate. The Russians were running out of ammunition and getting lower on soldiers. The Ukrainian offensive had run out without reaching the enormous expectations put into it.

2. It was already known that Russia had gotten drones from Iran (possibly trading methods to enrich uranium for weapons for them) even though Iran had long denied this. By now (march ‘24) it’s known that Iran, Russia and china are doing joint military exercises, implying there might be an alliance behind the scenes.

3. In October ‘23, Russia knew that the biggest factor for its losses in Ukraine were the support from NATO for Ukraine. So, how fight that? A distraction, in best case paired with a dividing influence on the western world.

4. Russia calls Iran -> iran makes the Hamas attack Israel. But not any part of it. They aimed for the people who were pro-Palestine. Young, leftist people, people who employed Palestinians and offered them shelter, people who drove Palestinian citizens to hospitals.

Second part of the plan: they flood social media with posts highlighting the Palestinian suffering. Posts that condemn Israel. They make the “kill or drive away all Jewish people from the Middle East” war chant a world wide catchphrase.

4. It works like a charm. Israel’s right-leaning head of the state does what Trump would have done, too. Aggressively attacking, not caring much for wording and not caring how his plans play into putin’s hands.

First result: Ukraine vanishes from the public eye. Help stops. The care for the indisputable war crimes there disappears.

Second result:

Since the reports about the bad things in gaza made it quicker to sm than the reports from the Jewish victims (but also for other reasons) the pro-Gaza news had been more far support online and were shared more.

On traditional news however, the pro-Israel news seemed to be more prevalent. Naturally, young people are more likely to get to know stuff from a than older people. The reverse is true for traditional media (newspapers, tv news).

A generational division appears, additional to the leftist pro-Gaza fraction and people who are either neutral or pro-Israel leaning. Most likely this division also separates Muslims and Jewish people (which in many western countries are a very small minority) plus certain subtypes of Christians.

Now why is that of importance? Because there are elections coming. Both in the US as well as in Europe.

My analysis/predictions:

When Biden got elected 2021, it had been mostly the young people who tipped the wage towards the democrats. Young people who tend to be more on sm than listen to traditional news (tv or paper).

We know now that Russia massively influenced the election that brought Trump to the White House. They leaked Hillary Clinton’s emails and using a lot of bots on sm.

Twitter is now swarming with bots, and Elon supports a lot of pro-Russia stuff. There are a lot of pro-Hamas bots, too.

——-

If this gets repeated, if Trump returns to office, he’ll cut all support for Ukraine, making Putin’s plan a full success. He won’t help Gaza. lol, he probably would tell Netanyahu to up his game. Please google “Trump Muslim ban” if you don’t remember what he thinks about the topic.

TL:DR: you’re not immune to propaganda. Learn to recognize it.

And if you care about Gaza think how YOU would solve the conflict. What YOU would tell the people getting bombed or crying for relatives who are still hostages and sex slaves of the Hamas. Go look for a compromise, for the bigger picture. Those are the posts that are most likely the only ones helpful.

[fuzzyleapfrog]

Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World

This book has so many great quotes that made me think, reflect, scream and cry. Here are some of them in the order I read them, rather than in an organised way alongside my thoughts.

Sáenz, B. A. (2021). Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World. Simon & Schuster Books For Young Readers.

They want us to read, but they do not want us to write.

This applies to so many different areas and aspects that it is almost universal. It is even more relevant in the current political climate in far too many countries. It's frightening and it all starts with banning books, restricting access to information and preventing people from gaining knowledge.

I don’t want you to live in the prison of my thoughts. I’m the only one who should be living there.

Ouch. That one hurt.

Happiness. What the hell did that mean? It had to be more than the absence of sadness.

I'd argue that happiness can't exist without sadness being around as well.

A lot of things happened outside the world of words.

Communicating without words is as much an art as communicating with words.

But here we are, we’re in it, this world that does not want us, a world that will never love us, a world that would choose to destroy us rather than make a space for us even though there is more than enough room.

Some people want queer people to disappear, but we're born this way, so there will always be queer people because people are born every day. You cannot make us disappear.

I wonder if people like me ever get to know what peace is like.

Not long ago I was full of hope that we could. I'm not as hopeful anymore.

[...] we will always live between exile and belonging.

Rarely have I read a better depiction of the range of emotions described by many members of the LGBTQIA+ community. The sense of exclusion versus the sense of belonging to a community. And the state of floating between the two.

Sometimes we have to be able to speak for those who can’t. That takes a lot of courage.

I always felt that it was much easier for me to stand up and speak for others than for myself. But it takes courage to do both.

We were both learning words and their meanings, and we were learning that the word 'friendship' wasn’t completely separate from the word 'love.'

Of course it isn't. Platonic love is just as strong and important and meaningful as romantic love.

It’s a beautiful thing to let the people you love see your pain.

It's just so damn hard.

How can we make them change if we’re not allowed to talk?

It's not just about banning books, restricting access to information and preventing people from gaining knowledge. It's also about banning people from expressing themselves, preventing them from telling their stories, and preventing people from passing on empathy and knowledge, because love and empathy are contageous.

Maybe we think that the value of our own freedom is worth less if everybody else has it. And we’re afraid. We’re afraid that, if someone wants what we have, they’re taking something away that belongs to us — and only to us.

Some people certainly think so.

But not everything we need to learn can be found in a book. Or rather, I’ve learned that people are books too.

Have you ever heard of living libraries? This is an amazing description of the idea behind them.

We were in this world, and we were going to fight to stay in it. Because it was ours. And one day the word “exile” would be no more.

Hope.

Hate is an emotional pandemic we have never found a cure for.

Hopelessness.

[pekuliar]

HC for Reigen, his sibling, and his childhood

Reigen having a sibling is a pretty common HC!! Most headcanons with Reigen’s older sister/Reigen having a sibling portray the sibling as the “good kid”/“golden child” compared to his loser ass, but mostly based on…….projection from my own childhood……. I’d like to think it’s the opposite. IMO, Reigen was the “good kid” while his sibling was the one who Reigen’s parents probably worried about more

I think it’s quite a common hc too that Reigen’s parents were strict/emotionally neglectful/had unrealistic expectations of their kids, which I totally agree with. Now, here’s some projection and traumadumping to illustrate how children with these parents might grow —

There are a couple ways children survive living with overbearing/strict parents — by running themselves ragged trying to please them, or by accepting the frequent arguments/groundings/bans as part of life. I think Reigen (as I did) chose the former, and his sibling (as my sibling did) chose the latter.

My childhood went something like this: I was seen as the “unproblematic child” with a tendency to be a fast learner wherever it counted. I thrived off being good at things, and being told I was good at things. Classic “you can do anything you set your mind to” child. I wasn’t perfect by far; I just developed a sixth sense for getting away with things — lying, “reading” my parents, finding loopholes, scheduling “coincidences”, and a healthy amount of crying to guilt-trip my teachers.

My sibling, on the other hand, was the opposite — they skipped school, never cared to find any extracurricular clubs, and were always at odds with my parents. They made friends quick though; where I tended to only befriend people I was in the same class/club with, my sibling somehow always had a web of friends spanning multiple schools. Crucially, despite how often they fought with my parents, my sibling almost never lied, instead choosing to go “Yeah, I did that. So what?”, accepting the ensuing arguments.

Because of that, we grew very differently. My sibling is so much more open and sociable, hating environments where he’s made to act more “formal”/“professional”, figuring out early on that you don’t actually need to continually convince people that you matter. On the other hand, I think I’ve habitually covered up any single iota of genuineness inside me. I’m great at making first impressions but bad at actually connecting; I can’t cope with not being busy 100% of the time; I keep obsessively finding new skills to pick up because idk what else I can do. I also don’t have any good coping mechanisms for failure and rejection because, well, why would a “gifted kid” need to learn how to deal with being bad at things?* [*: sarcasm]

Does all this sound familiar?

So yes anyway. I think Reigen is Reigen because he was always good at pleasing his parents/teachers using a combination of deception/manipulation and actually being good at things, and was unable to accept failure/rejection because he’d always found a way to avoid it. And as a result of being unable to accept any outcome below the ideal, he would’ve gotten less and less honest about his own genuine emotions, eventually becoming great at presenting an “impressive” front but terrible at actually genuinely connecting with people.

And so in conclusion — LET CHILDREN BE SHIT AT THINGS. LET CHILDREN SUCK AT SCHOOLWORK/SPORTS/ETC. Literally no one was created to be perfect at everything. Allowing children to fail in a supportive environment doesn’t encourage them to “”underperform””; it makes them so much better at accepting failure and moving forward from it in a safe and non-self-destructive way. Also, forcing kids to be perfect doesn’t make them perfect — it just makes them damn good liars. Idk why this is becoming a parenting PSA from me, a single 24-year-old, but please just. Let children be shit.

[downtroddendeity]

Stoker Accent to English translation

Had some positive responses when I mentioned this, so for the benefit of Dracula Daily newcomers and anyone else who's curious, I figured I'd transcribe some of the annotations from my dead tree copy explaining Mina’s elderly friend Mr. Swales' dialogue. The dialect he's using is from Yorkshire, though I've always worked from the assumption that Stoker probably did about as well at representing how people from Yorkshire talk as he did Texans and Dutch people. This is all in Chapter 6 in the actual book, and these annotations are by Brooke Allen in the B&N Classics edition.

From the July 24th entry:

"I wouldn't fash masel' about them, miss. Them things be all wore out. Mind, I don't say that they never was, but I do say that they wasn't in my time. They be all very well for comers and trippers, an' the like, but not for a nice young lady like you. Them feet-folks from York and Leeds that be always eatin' cured herrin's an' drinkin' tea an' lookin' out to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder masel' who'd be bothered tellin' lies to them—even the newspapers, which is full of fool-talk."

fash masel means "trouble myself"; feet-folks are people who travel on foot, in this case tourists; and creed aught means "believe anything."

"I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My granddaughter doesn't like to be kept waitin' when the tea is ready, for it takes me time to crammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of 'em; an', miss, I lack belly-timber sairly by the clock."

gang ageeanwards means "go toward"; crammle aboon the grees means "go upstairs"; belly-timber is "food"; and sairly means "sorely" or "badly."

From the August 1st entry:

"It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel; that's what it be, an' nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' barguests an' bogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy women a-belderin'."

The sentence "translates" as: "These curses and spirits and ghosts and bogie-men and the the like are only fit to make children and dizzy women cry."

"They be nowt but airblebs. They, an' all grims an' signs an' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome beuk-bodies an' railway touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an' to get folks to do somethin' that they don't other incline to."

The old man goes on to talk about beuk-bodies, which are book-people or pedants. [Hi!] His phrase to skeer an' scunner hafflin's means "to scare and shame halfwits."

My gog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment when they come tumblin' up in their death-sarks, all jouped together an' try'm to drag their tombsteans with them to prove how good they was;

The part of the sentence "translates" as: “it’ll be a queer mess at the Day of Judgment when they come tumbling up here in their shrouds, all jumbled together and trying to drag their tombstones with them.”

some of them trimmlin' and ditherin', with their hands that dozzened* an' slippy from lyin' in the sea that they can't even keep their grup o' them."

*Withered.

"Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they make out the people too good; for there be folk that do think a balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be only lies. Now look you here; you come here a stranger, an' you see this kirk-garth." 

yabblins means “perhaps”; a balm-bowl is a chamber-pot and a kirk-garth a churchyard

"And you consate that all these steans be aboon folk that be happed here, snod an' snog?" 

snod an’ snog means “snug and cozy”

Look at that one, the aftest abaft the bier-bank: read it!

the bier-bank is the churchyard path

I have me antherums* aboot it!

*Doubts.

I tell ye that when they got here they'd be jommlin'* an' jostlin' one another

*Pushing.

But that's because ye don't gawm the sorrowin' mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he was acrewk'd—a regular lamiter he was—

gawm means “know”; acrewk’d is “crooked”; lamiter means “cripple”

'Twarn't for crows then, for it brought the clegs and the dowps to him.

the clegs and the dowps are “the flies and the crows”

and won't it make Gabriel keckle when Geordie comes pantin' up the grees with the tombstean balanced on his hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!

keckle means “laugh”

From the August 6th entry (not out on Dracula Daily at the time of this posting):

We aud folks that be daffled*, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal**

*Crazy or stupid. **One foot in the grave.

Ye see, I can't get out o' the habit of caffin'* about it all at once; the chafts** will wag as they be used to.

*Chafing. **Jaws.

But don't ye dooal an' greet,* my deary!

*Mourn and grieve

[sandbees]

Parent! Yuu

Or, Yuu kidnaps adopts a child, and the first years + dorm leader’s reactions (and Crowley’s too)

Context:

Grim: Nyaa...today was relaxing...

Yuu: Yeah...you know, visiting the village here is pretty fun. I can’t believe Headmaster allowed us to visit for the weekend.

Grim: Tch, I’m dreading tomorrow.

Yuu: Ah, it’ll be Monday, right? At least we’ll see everyone...

5 year old child: *In a box, crying*

Grim: Is- is that a child?

Yuu: ... *Walks over* Hey, are you ok?

Child: N...No. Mommy and daddy left me here.

Grim: ...

Yuu: ...

Yuu: This child is ours.

Grim: Wh- Yuu! We can’t take care of-

Child: :’(

Grim: ...

Grim: Ok, we’re keeping the child, I guess. But as my henchmen!

_=_

Yuu: *Holding a 5 year old and Grim* Hello headmaster. :)

Crowley: Hello, Yuu.

Crowley:

Crowley: waIT

Yeah, Yuu is going to give Crowley a heart attack. And he might ban them from going to the village again if they don’t explain right now. When the explanation is given, he graciously allows Yuu to adopt the child, but they have to pay for the necessities.

_=_

First Years:

I’d imagine their first reaction would be to scream.

Especially Deuce and Ace. They would be freaking out, because Yuu left for the weekend and the come back with a child.

“Who’s the father/mother?! I’m going to kick their ass-“

“Watch your fucking language in front of the child, Deuce!”

If people didn’t know Yuu had a kid, then they do now.

They’re going to be off put by the fact that Yuu has a kid, and are going to dump a thousand questions on them. It’s going to be a looonnnggg story on Yuu’s end.

But when they do get the full story, they’ll agree to babysit for Yuu if they need extra help.

They ask for the kid’s name (Percy/Penny or any other name you deem suitable)

I have a headcannon that the child Yuu picked up is twst Peter Pan-

Anyways, the first years do warm up to Yuu’s kid. (Though they’re slightly jealous that Yuu’s kid is taking away the attention of Yuu-)

This is a recipe for a Found Family AU and I’m a sucker for those-

Ace is like the cool big brother

Deuce is the dad that tries his best though he might mess up

Jack is the mom that’s overprotective but loves their kid to bits

Epel is the wine aunt/the cool uncle

And Sebek is the strict mother but at the same time the loving dad

Yuu’s kid is basically in the most chaotic but loving family.

Dorm Leaders:

When Yuu walked into the dorm leader meeting with a child, someone screamed. Who screamed? I don’t know, probably Riddle.

Vil is immediately on Yuu, scolding them for “being irresponsible” and “what did you do at the village”?

In reactions, the people who are shocked to speak are: Riddle, Azul, Idia, and Malleus

Vil is just scolding Yuu and Leona does not care (sort of. Another annoying brat? Goddamit Yuu)

Kalim is ecstatic! What’s the kid’s name? How old are they? Who’s the father/mother? (Who can the dorm leaders send someone after?) He’s so happy for them!

You retell the story; and honestly they’re open with letting a child run around the school (as long as they do not cause trouble)

Riddle is going to be a very strict and protective mother, but he’s also going to spoil the child with sweets Trey makes.

Leona is like the lazy uncle that babysits the kids and lets them do whatever they want. Sometimes he’ll humor them but don’t expect much from him.

Azul is never letting the kid go near Mostro Lounge. N o. There will be chaos and Azul will not put up with that. Still, he’s like that uncle that will occasionally give a lollipop to you when you see them.

Kalim is just so excited to hang out with your kid. He’s going to spoil them r o t t e n. Jokes to Yuu about them being parents together. The “fun” parent. (Jamil and Yuu worry when Kalim takes the kid on a joyride on the magic carpet)

I don’t think Vil would bother talking to Yuu’s kid unless they were interested in his passions. If they do, I imagine Vil being someone the kid looks up to; a guardian that they can look up to.

Idia is like a really cool older brother if you interact with him enough. Yuu can always trust Idia and Ortho to take care of their kid if they are busy. Idia shows Yuu’s kid cool games that they might be intrested in, and Ortho would show them the cool things he can do.

Malleus thinks the child is very...friendly around him. He’s happy that they aren’t scarred of them like everyone else (like new-adoptive-parent like kid, huh?). Malleus and Yuu definitely take the kid night walking in the forest whenever they can’t sleep.

In short, Yuu adopts a child and it becomes a Found Family AU which can be a self insert or something idk-

[ooops-i-arted]

Every time Gina Carano does something stupid, it’s like a bat signal to me to make more Cara Dune content because I REFUSE to lose a badass character just because the actress is a conspiracy theory-peddling moron.  So in honor of her finally getting banned from Twitter, have a flashback scene from the Caradin fic I’m working on, right after the finale of season 2.  (No romance here in this scene though, it’s canon-compliant if that’s your thing.)

-

Din watched the turbolift door shut, a final wall between him and Grogu, so he could finally let his face fall where his son couldn’t see.  His son… he had just given away his son… what if it wasn’t right?  What if this Jedi wasn’t a good teacher, wouldn’t take care of Grogu the way he needed to be taken care of, he hadn’t even remembered to give Grogu back his favorite ball…

“Hey,” said a voice, and he blinked to try and clear his eyes and turned around.  But Cara was carefully staring at the ground, his helmet lifted in front so she couldn’t see his face.  He took it and put it back on, now self-conscious.  Bo-Katan, Koska, Fennec, and even Gideon were all staring right at him.  He hated it, all he wanted right now was to hide and cry.  He felt like a little boy again, after leaving Aq Vetina with the Mandalorians and realizing his life would never be the same.

“Mando?” Cara asked softly.

He tried to speak.  He didn’t even know what to say and all that came out was a choked sound.

“You know who that was, right?” Cara asked.

“Jedi,” he managed to say.  An enemy sorcerer.  A man I don’t even know, and I just gave him my child.  Grogu wanted to go, but he’s just a kid, he doesn’t know…

“That’s Luke Skywalker,” Cara said.  “He was one of the leaders of the Rebellion, back in the day.  Never met him personally, but he was a hero.  He’s the one who destroyed the Death Star.  That thing that -”  For a split second her face twisted in grief and pain but then it smoothed back out.  “It was what destroyed Alderaan.  And he fired the shot that took it out.  Three years later he killed Darth Vader and the Emperor.  He’s a hero, and on top of that I never heard a bad word about him.  Everyone who fought alongside him said he was loyal and kind and never left a man behind.  I know he will take good care of your kid.  I promise he’s safe.”

Safe.  Din nodded.  Cara wouldn’t lie, not to him, and not about Alderaan.  Hadn’t he just seen himself the Jedi was a formidable warrior?  He could keep Grogu safe…

Boba’s voice crackled over the comm.  “So did you all leave on the X-wing or do you need picked up?”

“It’s all clear.  You can land,” Fennec answered.

“We’re taking this ship,” Bo-Katan said immediately, glaring at Din as if to challenge him.

He couldn’t give a fuck.  His chest hurt as he thought of the Razor Crest, something else lost to this damn quest.  “I don’t care.”

“You leaving with us?” Fennec asked him.  “Dune, what about you?”

“I’m calling for the New Republic,” Cara said.  “I’m going to need help getting this one to Coruscant.”

“He should be killed,” snapped Bo-Katan, looking right at Din.  “He razed Mandalore!  He killed our people!”

“He’s wanted alive,” he told Bo-Katan tiredly.  Cara nodded her thanks and dragged Gideon to his feet.

“I’m claiming this ship!” Bo-Katan declared, looking around as if she expected a protest.

Din didn’t have the energy to give one even if he cared.  “Fine.  We’re leaving.”

Cara dragged Gideon along; Fennec walked alongside them with her blaster ready and Din trailed behind, knowing he was in no state to be helping Cara guard Gideon.  At least Grogu was far away from the Grand Moff, even if Gideon tried anything.

Before he knew it they were in the hangar, Boba standing before Slave 1.  “Oh, that one’s going to fund us for a good long time,” Boba said, sounding pleased.

“I need to rendezvous with New Republic forces on Nevarro so I can arrange transport to Coruscant,” Cara said.  “The payout can be split between all of us there, too.”

“I hope a portion is sent to the survivors of Alderaan,” Gideon said silkily.  “Let them know it’s in my name, will you?”

Cara’s face twisted horribly, and Din quickly asked, “Boba, do you have carboniting equipment?”

“Funny you should ask, I recently added a carboniting unit.  Seemed less maintenance than using the wall cells,” Boba said; his face was behind the helmet but his wolfish grin saturated his voice.  “I’ve been wanting to try it out.”

Gideon hissed in fury, but Din grabbed one arm and Cara the other, and together they shoved him into the unit and Boba activated it, and Gideon was quickly silenced.

“I like him better this way,” muttered Cara.

“Let’s go,” said Fennec, shutting the ship’s ramp and following Boba up to the cockpit.  Din stood there, the noise of the ship ringing through his ears.  He realized the Darksaber was still in his hand.  It felt so heavy.

“Din?”

He blinked and looked up at Cara.  “Huh?”

“I asked what you were going to do now,” Cara asked.

He stared at her, then at the Darksaber, but all he could really see was Grogu.  “I don’t know.”

“Gideon is going to keep me busy… plenty of reports and bullshit paperwork and that’s if I don’t have to report in personally anywhere.  You could come to Nevarro,” Cara offered.

Nevarro.  His old home, but the enclave was burned out now.  He couldn’t ask the Armorer for her counsel this time, or even talk to Paz about the Mandalorian history he loved to study.  Greef had made the place legit; were there even Guild jobs for him to lose himself in anymore?  Maybe he should have stayed in the first place.  Grogu could learn in that little school and he would go back and pick him up and take him home, make him dinner for the evening like he used to do, find some holostory to listen to together…

He almost jumped as suddenly arms wrapped around him and squeezed briefly before letting up.  “Sorry…” said Cara.  “You just looked like you needed it.”

He wrapped his arms back around her and she hugged back, and at least for one moment, he felt anchored again in the world.

-

If you’re curious, the fic will be based off this post I made a while ago.  It takes place after Din and Cara have an established relationship, but Book of Boba Fett inspired me to use flashbacks of how their relationship built over the years.  I’ve been keeping it on the down low because I’m still totally writer’s blocked on Hunter and the Hunted and I plan to finish this one before I start posting to avoid that again because I still feel REALLY bad about it.  😬 

[phoenixyfriend]

soulmate au: 2 or 27 for rexwalker? (or rexanidala)

soulmate au prompts

2. the one where you have your soulmate’s name written on your body.

27. the one where you can transfer any injuries/pain your soulmate has onto yourself.

Once again featuring Marginally Less Terrible Jango, Hopeless Romantic Anakin, and Significantly More Awkward Rex.

Word Count: 5.9k

-----

Anakin doesn’t have a soulmate until he’s ten years old.

He’s already been at the Temple for half a year by then, and heard enough about how not having a soul mark is a good thing, for a Jedi. It means fewer temptations away from the duties they’ve all agreed to take on. There are people with names on their bodies, including Obi-Wan, who has two, but everyone agrees that while friendship with one’s soulmate is fine, especially if that soulmate is a fellow Jedi, it cannot be allowed to become too deep.

“I don’t understand,” Anakin admits to Obi-Wan, one night when he finds Obi-Wan looking at the name that wraps around his upper thigh, the one in the unfamiliar alphabet and cultured, perfect strokes. It’s a few months after he arrives, long enough to think they won’t kick him out just for asking questions, but not quite long enough to know what’s normal yet. His own soul mark is several months away, not that he knows it. “Soulmates were one of the few things a mas--an owner couldn’t take away from a slave. They could get rid of the mark, but we still knew. They were important, something the universe gave us that we could keep, even if it was only in our memories. Why do Jedi try to make it not count?”

Obi-Wan gets a look on his face, the one he gets whenever Anakin has a question that’s more complicated and philosophical than what Obi-Wan was ready for, the questions about why that he has to think about because it’s all normal for Obi-Wan, who grew up here, in ways that it isn’t (and will never be) for Anakin with his Tatoo heart and slaveborn mind.

“It’s not about the depth of the relationship in and of itself,” Obi-Wan finally says. “It’s about how you go about it, how you let it affect you, and if you let it get in the way of your duties as a Jedi, or put yourself at risk of a fall. It’s... it’s not banned, exactly, to love someone the way one would expect to love a soulmate, but it’s discouraged for our own safety and health. Losing someone you love hurts everyone, but for a Force-user to lose someone they consider so dear to their heart, there’s always a risk of losing one’s stability and going Dark.”

Anakin doesn’t entirely understand, but he pretends he does.

Obi-Wan scratches at the stubble he’s trying to turn into a beard, and says, “Okay, let me finish getting dressed, and then I’m going to tell you a few stories. You said you like learning through stories, right?”

Anakin nods.

“Okay, so... Bandomeer, I think. Melida/Daan and Mandalore, definitely. And we can round it out with what happened a few days ago,” Obi-Wan mutters. “I--most of those are planets.”

“I’ve heard of Mandalore,” Anakin volunteers.

“Yes, most have,” Obi-Wan indulges him, but he looks a little nervous. “Anakin, I... these stories all have to do with some very painful times in my life, times when I almost left, or did leave, the Jedi Order. I think--”

“You left the Jedi?”

“For a year, when I was a little older than you, but I came back,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m... can you put on some tea? It’ll make this conversation easier.”

“Is it about your soulmates?” Anakin asks, clinging to the doorframe just before he exits.

“...one of them,” Obi-Wan says, passing a hand over the mark on his thigh. “It’s... she’s why Mandalore is on this list, but that story won’t make as much sense unless I tell you about Bandomeer and Melida/Daan first.”

“Because you left?”

“Because I already knew what leaving could cost me,” Obi-Wan corrects, gentle but oddly stern. “Go put on the tea, Anakin. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

-----

Three months after Anakin hears about the times Obi-Wan was forced to leave, did leave, almost left, and threatened to leave (for Anakin’s sake!), the name of his soulmate comes in.

“That’s not a name,” Anakin says.

“Anakin--”

“That’s not a name,” Anakin says, more upset than he’d like to admit. The soul mark sits neatly on one side of his lower abdomen, warm and precisely lettered and absolutely terrifying.

CT-7567, in a dark, desaturated blue.

“I don’t think your soulmate is a droid,” Obi-Wan tries to joke. It falls flat.

“They’re a born slave,” Anakin says, and watches Obi-Wan stiffen. “Droids don’t get soulmates. Slaves do, but sometimes ma--owners don’t let slaves have names. They just give ‘em a number and that’s it. Supposed to make us more pliant and keeps us from having thoughts of individuality.”

“Them, Anakin, not us. You’re free.”

Anakin looks up at him, lip wobbling, and he knows a Jedi shouldn’t cry, not when he’s already ten, but he wants to any way. “My soulmate isn’t.”

“O-oh, okay, we’re crying now,” Obi-Wan mutters, clearly overwhelmed, and pulls Anakin to his chest. “It’ll be alright, dear one. Your mark means you will meet one day, and when you do, you can free them. Alright?”

“Okay.”

-----

“Skywalker? Sounds like a slave name.”

It’s a refrain that CT-7567 hears almost every time one of the adults sees his mark. They mention Tatooine sometimes. One of the bounty hunters that covers their weapons training gets angry if people point out the slave thing, and CT-7567 isn’t the only person to get a slave for a soulmate. She doesn’t explain it often, but there’s an incident when Rex is three that gives him a little more information.

“That one’ll be angry,“ the bounty hunter mutters, her lip curling when she hears the cadets gossiping about their marks again, sees CT-7567 pulling up his shirt to show off his own. She’s always like that, about the clones who have slave soulmates. CC-1010, who knows everything about everyone, says that she used to be a slave before she killed her way out. She’s definitely scary enough. “Name like that... Tatooine, human, might be a slave or might be freeborn from a line of slaves. Either way, that one’s going to be angry about it.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

Her eyes flick to his, and then back to the slugthrower she’s cleaning. “Tatooine slave culture knows things. Your mark on this “Anakin” is going to be your number until you get a name, and they’re not going to make the mistake of thinking their soulmate is a droid. They’ll know you were born to a purpose.”

It takes another year for CT-7567 to learn that she means ‘you were born a slave.’

(It takes two more for him to pick a name.)

-----

Anakin is not the only one in the Temple to have this kind of soul mark popping up. He is not even the first. The Council is investigating it, apparently, but they don’t have much to go off of. It didn’t start until a year or two before Anakin came to Coruscant, but enough Jedi are affected by the CC and CT soul marks for it to be concerning. Anakin gets called in to provide some information on what he knows about slave-designations in these circumstances, which isn’t much, and is barely more than what they already know, but they assure him it’s helpful. Something about corroborating the information a raised slave is taught culturally with the information a Shadow can collect from a community that doesn’t trust them. Obi-Wan explains that it’s about how Anakin knows information that was collected and taught, instead of information that has to be gathered, bit by bit, and analyzed.

It’s a long way of saying that Anakin knows things that other people don’t, because he wasn’t raised in the safety of the Temple.

Anakin doesn’t know many of the others, but he does know one even before his soul mark comes in, because their Masters are friends. They talk about it, and three years after they first connect over this, something happens.

“It changed! Anakin, Ani, it changed!”

Anakin drops the datapad he’s been doing history homework on, and looks up as Aayla, already in the suite, grabs his shoulders and shakes him a little.

“Aayla?” Obi-Wan calls, coming out of the kitchen with a rag in one hand and a wet plate in the other. “What in the--what are you shouting about?”

Knight Vos follows Aayla in--it’s a bit early to call him a Master, given that Aayla’s still not knighted, but it’s getting close--and leans against the door, arms crossed. “Kid was right. The mark changes when the soulmate picks a name.”

Aayla pulls down the shoulder of one sleeve, and Anakin sees that the designation number has changed. It’s not a regimented CC-5052 anymore, but a short, sweet Bly, with a flourish at the end that probably means this person is always going to be excited to sign their name.

“We already knew that,” Obi-Wan says. “When people transition, their name changes on their soulmate as well. This is the same thing.”

“We didn’t know that it applied to born slaves the same way,” Knight Vos says. “All we had was anecdotal evidence from the kid. Trustworthy, yes, but no data to back it up. And now we know.”

“I wonder how it’s meant to be pronounced,” Aayla says, and obligingly lets Anakin poke at the name that swirls on her shoulder in a vivid yellow against the blue. It’s pretty, he thinks. The handwriting and the color and what it means that the soulmates they’ve all gotten are finding ways to be people.

“How long until mine changes?” Anakin asks, even though he knows that nobody here has that answer. “Do you think all of them are going to find names? Or...”

“If they don’t by the time we find them,” Aayla assures him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “they will once they’re free.”

(In one life, the Jedi would have held their tongues and ducked their heads, hidden in denial and ‘we are their only option’ and ‘the Senate will use them regardless; we are a kinder fate than men like Tarkin’ and would never use the words ‘slave army’ to describe their men.)

(In this life, they are primed, from the moment a little freed boy explains exactly what a soul mark like this means to people like his, to see their army and say ‘we will free you.’)

-----

Rex

Anakin has his eyes fixed on the name from the moment his mark burns and twists and changes. He’s sixteen by then, and on a mission with Obi-Wan that prevents him from running to break into Knight Aayla’s room and show off to her the way she had to him. He’s not even on planet, but at least it’s not the middle of a fight. That could have been bad.

“Hey, Obi-Wan?”

“Hm?”

“I got a name.”

“For the assassin?” Obi-Wan asks, raising his head hopefully. “Did you get through to the guild?”

“...no, I meant, uh, my soulmate.” Anakin lifts his shirt, waits on that unfortunate dash of disappointment, and then Obi-Wan’s face lights up and the man practically scrambles over to get a better look. Anakin tries not to let himself read too much into it. It’s... nice, he thinks. That Obi-Wan is excited for him.

“I feel like half these individuals are picking names of exactly three letters,” Obi-Wan says, but he’s smiling as he almost touches the mark. He doesn’t, in the end, but Anakin wants to laugh at it anyway. “Rex, then. I look forward to meeting your young man.”

Anakin feels his face flare. “We don’t know that it’s a boy. I mean, there might be places where that’s a girl’s name. Or a species that doesn’t have our genders. Or--”

“I have a feeling,” Obi-Wan says, and laughs when Anakin pouts at him. “Oh, I wouldn’t bet my saber on it, but a few credits, at least. Nothing solid, but I was prone to visions as a youngling. Qui-Gon was never very good at dealing with the peculiarities of such a connection to the Unifying Force. He tried, admittedly, but he was very much a man of the present.”

Anakin spends the rest of the mission silently cheering on his soulmate for picking a name.

For taking that step to saying “I’m a person.”

-----

Someone tries to assassinate Senator Amidala. Anakin and Obi-Wan are assigned to protect her. There’s an incident with a robot, and Obi-Wan is... pulled aside.

(Anakin finds himself thinking, more than once, that he could have fallen in love with this woman if he wasn’t so attached to the idea inked into his skin.)

(Senator Amidala doesn’t have a soulmate. She’s free to choose, she claims. He doesn’t envy her, but he does respect this.)

(Anakin likes the security of the universe telling him that there’s someone he’s meant for.)

Obi-Wan disappears to investigate something, and returns just before Anakin and Padme are set to leave. He looks... grim.

“The assassination is more complicated than we thought,” Obi-Wan says. “As in, the main assassin was expecting this to fail, so we’d come find him after he killed the subcontractor.”

“So...”

“He wants to talk to us,” Obi-Wan says. “But, specifically, to the two of you.”

-----

“So, you’re Anakin Skywalker.”

Jango Fett is a shorter man than Anakin, shorter even than Obi-Wan, but he’s not small. The armor bulks him out further. There’s faint scars on his face, here and there, and he seems more amused than anything when Anakin slips in front of Padme to actually be the bodyguard he’s supposed to play.

“What’s it to you?” Anakin challenges, and pretends he doesn’t see the way Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

Fett smirks. “One of my boys has your name on him.”

Anakin stops breathing for a moment.

“One of your boys?” Padme prompts, and Anakin tries to remember his job.

Fett’s smirk falls away and he palms his face. “Three million of them, and counting. I’ve had people cross-referencing soul marks as they pop up, in case anyone’s connected to someone... important. Special attention on the confirmed Jedi.”

“Three mill--you’re behind the ident number marks,” Anakin realizes. “The slave-born.”

Obi-Wan’s face looks carved from stone, and Anakin realizes that the mood he’s been in since he called Anakin and Padme was because he’d figured it out before he called.

“Yeah, Umiett said you’d be the one to make that connection,” Fett mutters. He shakes his head. “Listen, I’ve got three million clones that are more sentient than anyone told me they’d be, and I’ve spent the last few years trying to decide how to get myself out of this contract without abandoning them in the process. Tyranus gave me the job to assassinate Amidala, but I’d already had her shortlisted as one of the Republic members most like to help me get these boys citizenship and legal rights. Once I heard Skywalker and Kenobi were involved, turning this into a discreet way to get your attention seemed like the obvious solution.”

“You tried to kill me... to get my attention... so I’d help you.”

“I didn’t try to kill you. I subcontracted to a former acquaintance that I knew wasn’t good enough to get past two Jedi.”

“Right,” Padme says, seeming unimpressed. Anakin agrees. “Okay, three million sentients, all your children--”

“Clones.”

“--yes, something that’s very illegal in the Republic at that scale,” she says. “Unless--”

“Kamino’s in the Rishi maze. Dwarf galaxy, not actually part of the Republic. Isolated.”

“Okay, that’s... going to make this more difficult,” Padme says. “Where does your citizenship lie? Are you still Mandalorian? I’m not as familiar with your role in recent politics as I could be. I know there’s something about all violent dissenters being sent to Concordia, but you--”

“If I thought that hut’uunla Duchess would listen to me, I’d have already reached out,” Fett dismisses. “That’s part of why I focused on Kenobi and Skywalker when doing the research. Skywalker’s got the background to argue slavery, and Kenobi’s got connections in Mandalorian politics.”

“And I’m to be your voice in the Senate.”

“Not mine. The clones’.”

Anakin looks to Obi-Wan for guidance, because this man was involved with the attempted assassination, but...

“Who is Tyranus?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Oh, you’re going to enjoy this. The man calling himself Darth Tyranus is Count Dooku of Serreno.”

Anakin hasn’t heard Obi-Wan swear that colorfully since the last time he got stabbed.

-----

Things... progress. Quietly. Fett mentions there being a Sith in the Senate, something he picked up from a particularly ugly visit from the Count to Kamino, the kind of visit that involved veiled conversations intended as mocking, bragging monologues.

“He really is a villain,” Obi-Wan mutters, as if Anakin hasn’t seen him monologue to captured criminals on occasion, or get so caught up in The Banter that he lets something slip that he shouldn’t have.

Anakin and Padme go to Naboo to ‘keep her safe,’ and Obi-Wan hares off on a falsified investigation, keeping the Council updated the entire time. Anakin doesn’t like splitting up, not when so much is happening, but they have no idea who the Sith in the senate might be, if they even exist. Anakin doesn’t even have time to say goodbye to the Chancellor.

All this contributes, for Anakin is already stressed, and excited, anticipatory and afraid, and then the nightmares come. Padme’s more aware of his fears than she might have been, as much as they talk about slaves and freedom and how she makes things happen with words and legislation. Anakin’s a little in love with the idea of this woman, though he won’t act on anything until he meets his soulmate and figures out what they’re meant to be for each other, but... friends, at least. Padme is going to be a friend, possibly for life, and Anakin’s going to love her no matter what.

She coaxes out the truth, and then tells him, ‘well, your mother would know more about this than you, since you left at nine; it would be entirely reasonable to ask her for advice,’ and then smiles like they’re sharing a secret crush instead of plotting the violation of his orders.

They save Shmi.

(Barely.)

Padme doesn’t get the advice she was using an excuse from Shmi, but from a long, tired conversation with Beru Whitesun. As it turns out, when a family’s been freeing slaves for generations, they know what they’re talking about. Even Anakin remembers the Whitesun reputation. Padme’s notes are copious.

Anakin cares for his mother, and talks to his stepbrother, and gets an idea of who these people in his life are. He can’t imagine they’ll make contact often, but he’s glad to meet them. Cliegg--his stepfather, and isn’t that a thought--isn’t a particularly soft man, or a smooth one, but his gruffness has a different energy on Tatooine than it would on Coruscant. Anakin approves.

Obi-Wan calls. Padme explains. Anakin is shamed by his Master and then has to defend that particular title when Owen and Beru stare at him and the comm in matching horror.

“Master-Apprentice,” Anakin says, just a little panicked. “Not Master-Slave. He’s my teacher, practically family, not... you don’t need to worry. I promise.”

“I’ve seen them interact,” Padme says, and then shoots a small, smug smile at Beru. “Obi-Wan’s somewhere between father and brother to Anakin. It’s very sweet, when they’re together, and very entertaining.”

Beru, who’s had three days to get used to Padme, smiles and nods. “Alright then. I’ll take your words for it.”

Obi-Wan sputters a bit at the claim, in the background, and Anakin is... just a little upset by that.

“I think your mother would want to speak with him,” Cliegg claims, and Anakin hesitates, because this is a mission call, for all that gossip is happening, and he really shouldn’t break more rules after the big one he’s clearly, blatantly completely ignored to come to Tatooine in the first place. Cliegg holds out a hand, eyes on Obi-Wan. “As would I.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan says. “I suppose I do have a moment.”

-----

Anakin and Padme arrive on Kamino.

“Your mother,” Obi-Wan says, in lieu of a greeting, “is oddly terrifying, did you know?”

“She’s... still recovering,” Anakin says, brow furrowing. “She can’t leave the bed for anything other than the ‘fresher for weeks, probably. And she’s nice, how is any of that terrifying?”

“It’s her energy,” Obi-Wan notes. “Quietly intimidating, I’d say. Very odd, really.”

“What did you even talk about?” Anakin asks, and then blushes as Padme giggles at him, like she knows things that he doesn’t. She probably does. She’s older than him. Still.

“Ah, that,” Obi-Wan says, looking away for a moment and--blushing? Obi-Wan’s blushing? “She rather aggressively informed me of what is considered normal on Tatooine for a relationship that is, as Padme put it, ill-defined but close and familial.”

“Master, you--what?”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and steps forward, pulling Anakin into a hug. Oh. “I’ve been informed that the manner in which I show affection to you is rather understated and ambiguous, by Tatoo standards, and that leaving things unsaid isn’t enough.”

“...Obi-Wan?”

“I consider you my brother,” Obi-Wan says, into this hug that is stiff and uncomfortable, but sincere and full of effort. “And I do love you very much, dear one, even if I’m rather unpracticed in showing it in ways that would... translate, shall we say.”

“Oh,” Anakin says, because he can’t think of anything else. He hugs back.

There’s a moment there, where Obi-Wan relaxes and Anakin shifts, and everything feels just a tiny bit more right, and then someone coughs.

“If you two are done?” Fett drawls, and Anakin mourns as Obi-Wan huffs and pulls away, hands back to being tucked into his sleeves in front of him.

“Quite,” Obi-Wan says back, with the strained smirk of someone who’s been dealing with the same frustrating sentient for a solid week without the option of just bashing their face in.

Fett rolls his eyes, and gestures for them to follow him. “I’ve got a bunch of the Alphas and CCs waiting on you, along with anyone we know for sure has a Jedi soulmate. Kenobi’s already spoken with them all, got confirmation that we probably haven’t missed any connections.”

“I know the list of everyone who reported a CC or CT soul mark to the Council,” Obi-Wan huffs. “I have it memorized.”

“Because of Anakin?” Padme asks.

“His mark came in when he was ten,” Obi-Wan says. “I was his legal guardian until very recently. Given the circumstances, it was reasonable that most of the information on the ident-code marking situation be shared with me in the same way that his school reports and medical records were. He was a minor until a year ago, Senator, and as you so rightly pointed out, my role in his life is certainly that of the family member who raised him for the past decade.

“Master,” Anakin hisses, well aware of his blush. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Obi-Wan looks at him, amused. “I’m told that’s rather the point, dear one.”

Padme looks away, clearly fighting back a grin, and Fett’s expression is mocking, at best.

They enter the section of the facility where other people are a moment later, and Anakin is... not quite as ready for the sea of identical faces as he thought he’d be. One small boy in different tunics from the rest runs up to Fett with a call of ‘Buir!’ and falls into step with them, grabbing Fett’s hand and peering curiously at the rest of them.

“This is Boba,” Fett tells them. “He’s the only unaltered one.”

“The one you claimed at birth,” Padme clarifies.

“Decanting!” Boba pipes up, and then smiles winningly at Padme. “I wasn’t born. I was decanted. He claimed me at decanting.”

Fett looks like he wants to run a hand down his face. “Yes, Boba’s the clone that was provided to me as part of the payment I demanded when I first signed on to the project. He’s the only one I technically have legal claim to.”

“All the others are Kaminoan property until claimed by the Senate or Jedi,” Obi-Wan adds, and Fett nods in his direction. “Preferably the Jedi, of course.”

“The Nulls are with Kal Skirata,” Boba pipes up. “He adopted all of them and Kaminiise didn’t care that much because they thought the Nulls were all failed experiments anyway.”

Fett grimaces at the look that gets him from Padme. “They’re not mine. None of them would have wanted to be, anyway, but it stands that I haven’t spoken with them in years.”

“They’re precedent,” Padme corrects. “One I should have been made of aware of if you want this to work. Can you put me in contact with this Skirata individual? What’s his, and their, citizenship status?”

Anakin steps back to Obi-Wan as Padme drills Fett for information, and keeps his eyes wandering for threats--unlikely, if Fett is genuine, and Obi-Wan says he is--and trying to figure out the best way to keep track of which clone is which. They do feel different in the Force, but Anakin’s not as used to using that sense for identification as most Jedi. He sees a few scars and tattoos, but he thinks he’s going to have to--

Oh.

“Anakin? Why did you stop?”

Anakin ignores his master, because one of the clones, one he can’t even see, is glowing so strong and right and calling to him...

“Anakin, please answer me.”

“I can feel him,” Anakin breathes out. “My soulmate. I think I can feel him, in the Force.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says, relaxing. “Yes, that tends to happen, when we look. Fett assured us that he’d be at the meeting, dear. Just a few more hallways to go.”

Those hallways pass in a blur, because he’s there his soulmate is there and--

A room, full of clones that look older than Anakin, for all that they can’t be, and more clones that don’t.

There’s a clone in full kit, helmet included, but Anakin knows, just knows, that this one is his.

“Troopers!” Fett barks. “Kenobi’s brought some friends in. Senator Amidala’s going to be working on the citizenship bill with us. The other Jedi is Anakin Skywalker. You can guess why he’s--”

The fully-armored soldier takes a half-step forward.

Fett sighs. “By the ka’ra, Rex, you’re going to embarrass yourself and me. Take your bucket off, kid, let him see you.”

“Some tact, Fett,” Obi-Wan snaps, and for all that it’s quiet and intended to be subtle, the clones absolutely hear him.

They also seem amused. Apparently Obi-Wan’s been hanging about for long enough that he and Fett have a dynamic, one the clones have gotten used to and find hilarious.

Anakin only sort of notices this, because the clone in armor, still unpainted, pulls off his helmet and for all that it’s the exact same face as Anakin’s seen a thousand times over in the last fifteen minutes, there’s something uniquely beautiful that has nothing to do with the blonde hair or the nervous smile.

“You’re Rex?” Anakin asks, even though he’s sure, he’s absolutely convinced, that this young man is his soulmate.

“Yes,” the young clone says. He looks about Anakin’s age, and Fett’s told them time and again that the clones are basically the age they look, for the most part. Anakin’s going to take it slow anyway.

“Obi-Wan already said it, but, um, I’m Anakin,” he says, and tries to find something to do with his hands that isn’t just taking his soulmate and hugging him ‘til all the suns set. He looks down, and settles for mimicking Obi-Wan and just tucking them into his sleeves. He looks up at Rex, and tries to smile, but he’s so nervous about all of this that it probably doesn’t look like much. He thinks he hears someone snickering.

“Oh good,” someone mumbles. “They’re both hopeless.”

Anakin snaps his head around and glowers at the little group the comment came from, but he has no idea which one said it. All four look amused, and have varying degrees of shit-eating grin in place.

“If you didn’t outrank him, Rex would totally be shooting you right now,” little Boba says. “I think he’d deserve to do that.”

Anakin doesn’t have to strain at all to hear Fett’s groan.

“Alright,” one of the older clones says, and everyone stands a little straighter. An authority among the clones? Official, or more of an informal primus inter pares situation? “Rex’ika and his Jedi can go get to know one another, and none of us are going to make fun of them for it, because I know damn well how many of you have been mooning over the idea of your soulmates despite knowing literally nothing about them.”

“So’ve you, Alpha!”

“You want a boot up your ass, Wolffe? Because if you keep talking, that’s what you’re getting.”

“Boys,” Fett says, and they settle down. “Now, the Senator has some questions for you, and you’re going to comply when she asks, because it’s going to keep your little brothers alive. You understand?”

One clone raises a hand, and Fett sighs.

“Yes, and little sisters, Valierra,” he adds. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “kriffing Basic.”

(Anakin later learns that Mando’a is not a gendered language, and Fett’s frustration is entirely about the fact that ‘brothers’ isn’t gender neutral. Anakin tries to ask why he doesn’t just say ‘sibling’ or use the Mando’a word, and there’s apparently a whole thing with some instructors wanting to encourage the clones to learn to be Mandalorian, and others wanting to cut them off from anything to do with the planet.)

(Anakin... tries to understand. He’s still confused about why ‘siblings’ isn’t on the table.)

“Go on, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated. “We can catch you up later.”

“I got enough from Beru,” Padme assures him. “You can pop in to help us fine-tune later.”

Anakin nods, just a short jerk of his head, and then looks to Rex. The man is glaring at a little at a little group of other clones, but when Anakin reaches out and takes his hand--takes his hand--Rex turns and stares at him with wide eyes and a flush that Anakin’s sure he’s mirroring.

“We should talk,“ he blurts out, and he can feel Obi-Wan’s despair at how completely inept Anakin is at this whole ‘personal interactions’ thing, but that’s fine, because Obi-Wan’s a bit of a slut, and Anakin doesn’t flirt with everyone he meets, and he’s been waiting for his soulmate like a sensible person.

(“Or a romantic,” Vos had pointed out, once. “Most people date at least a little if they don’t meet their soulmate by, like, fifteen. I mean, culturally I understand why you want to wait until you meet your soulmate, but it’s not really a matter of sensibility, just personal preference. Obi-Wan’s not less sensible for sleeping around.”)

(Anakin does not like this argument, and so he ignores it.)

(Well, no, he agrees that people should be allowed to flirt if they want, but he doesn’t like the implication he’s gotten from a few other padawans about how he’s ‘awkward’ for not knowing how to talk to people that he wants to impress somehow.)

(So, he’s going to claim it’s sensibility.)

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Kriff off, Ponds!” Rex barks out, immediately pinging on the exact clone that said the words, and Anakin bites a lip to keep from laughing at them both.

“Out,” Fett orders. “We’ve got shit to do, stop being a distraction.”

“Being a distraction, my dear, is a skill that Anakin’s put far too much effort into developing just to drop it on your command,” Obi-Wan says, light and airy and not at all like he just dragged Anakin and Fett for no Force-damned reason.

“Come on,” Rex mutters, tugging Anakin to the door with a blush that only grows as the other clones catcall them on the way out of the room. Anakin hears at least one particularly dirty comment get cut off by a smacking noise and a reprimand from a clone he thinks is probably Alpha.

The second they’re out of sight, Rex slows down, and glances back at Anakin.

Anakin tries to smile in encouragement. He’s not sure it works, really, but Rex smiles back, so it can’t be that bad.

“Here, Alpha told me to use the mini conference room,” Rex tells him, when the get to a nondescript door with a number on it. “It’s not completely secure, but we can lock the door so it’s mostly private.”

“Can I kiss you?” Anakin asks, and then has to fight to not clap a hand over his mouth.

He was going to go slow. He was a moron who’d promised himself to go slow. Rex is mostly an adult but there are ways in which he isn’t, and Anakin might not be fully an adult either, but that’s not really an excuse, and--

“Yes, please,” Rex says, and oh Anakin really likes the shy grin on him. It’s pretty.

(This man, he thinks, could easily bench press Anakin a few times over, but he’s blushing like a storybook maiden, and he’s doing it for Anakin.)

Anakin moves slowly, because this isn’t something he has much practice with either, but he takes Rex’s face in his hands and leans in, pressing their lips together with only the slightest tilt of his head, just barely less than chaste, and a firework goes off inside his ribcage.

His soulmate! He’s kissing his soulmate!

There’s a ‘stop projecting’ nudge from Obi-Wan in the Force. Anakin tosses up a shield and focuses back on the kissing. He pulls away, and the goes to just... peck a bit. Just small, chaste, tiny kisses because he doesn’t want to stop. Because for all that they just met a few minutes ago, this feels right.

Warm hands, larger than his own and steady in a way he thinks he really likes, settle on his hips.

“We--mm--really should talk,” Rex manages, and Anakin... well, Anakin stops kissing him.

Rex apparently likes it as much as Anakin does, because he lifts up onto his toes to kiss Anakin again before fully breaking off. He grins, clearly sheepish, and shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Anakin says, and then Rex pulls him down to press their foreheads together, radiating warmth and hope and affection that Anakin hasn’t earned yet, but is definitely going to.

“This is a Keldabe kiss,” Rex says, and his nose brushes against Anakin’s as he shifts. His hands are still on Anakin’s waist, and Anakin decides to wrap his arms around Rex’s shoulders. It’s nice. “I like, um, I like the other kind of kissing too, but this means a lot to me, and it’s one of those Mandalorian things they actually let us pick up.”

“Fine by me,” Anakin says, and he, hells, he hasn’t even asked for proof of the soul marks, but he doesn’t need to, really, with the Force as insistent as it is. “So. Talk?”

“Yeah. Let’s talk.”

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n and ranboo

this is an extra part to the great adventures series

summary: part two to the angst imagine (the not so great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo jack and ranboo) it’s a happier ‘ending’ please read what is written in bold

this is an “alternative ending” around 15 years into the future this doesn’t mean this is actually how the series is going to end im writing it now and including it as part of series as their friendship is already established i can confirm y/n and the group are going to have a happy ending when the series eventually comes to an end this also does not mean the series is anywhere near the end i plan on continuing the series as vlogs come out, i feel the need to confirm this now love between y/n and ranboo in this imagine is completely platonic

it had been about a month since you last streamed whereas ranboo continued to stream a few days after the fallout as he wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. even though ranboo knew this huge fallout would eventually happen, it still hurt him, especially since he knew there was no way to prevent it, the four of you in the same house mixed with the stress of being some of the most-watched content creators made living rather difficult. it was like walking on eggshells as you didn’t want to interrupt someone's stream, then there was the additional stress of obsessive fans finding out where the four of you lived, you still remember that day very vividly. you were sat in between tubbo and ranboo watching the office whilst Tommy was in an interview when you received a message from your mod.

Chris: hey y/n I received this message earlier I don’t want to scare you, but maybe get the locks changed. someone sent a message claiming this is your address *image of message from ‘fan’*

it didn’t take long for tubbo and ranboo to receive a message from their mods saying the same thing

“holy shit...”

“chances are Tommy has the message too. we shall go check around the house when Tommy is done with the interview.”

luckily no one ever showed up to the house, but the fact some people were so obsessed to the point they found your address was enough to put everyone in the house on edge. and now it was just you and ranboo in the house. you didn’t feel safe as even though ranboo promised to not let anything happen, you didn’t wanna risk it.

“we should move. there’s no point in having such a big house for two people, what are we going to use the extra space for heh? hide and seek with people who have our address. no thank you. I say we move leave this mess behind and start completely over, hell I’d feel safer in the us and that’s saying something”

ranboo agreed the house didn’t have the happiest memories attached to it anymore, it hurt walking past the hallway as it would bring back the memory of him crying into the crook of y/ns neck whilst tubbo left the house.

“let’s do it, I’ll do an early stream then we can look for houses. go take a shower. I’ll stay close to the door so you’re safe, then you can stay in my room whilst I stream, you can join me if you would like.”

“you’re being very protective all of a sudden...let me guess you got the message from our mods announcing the obsessive fans are at it again?”

“go take a shower.”

“no.”

ranboo ended up picking you up, carried you to the bathroom and turned the shower on before putting you on your feet.

“quick shower I’ll see you later.”

and with that he left the room shutting the door behind him, 30 minutes later you got changed and followed ranboo to his room ready to join him whilst he streams

“hey boo, can I join you? I kinda wanna get into streaming again.”

“I'm so glad you asked, I was going to do a face cam stream, if that’s okay?”

“of course.”

you grabbed his mask and glasses whilst he locked the door so you were both safe. “here you go.”

“thank you.”

the pair of you started the stream and it was honestly going well, you were having so much fun you forgot about all the negative things currently going on, you began to understand why ranboo continued streaming as for those 2-4 hours of streaming it felt as though everything was back to normal. 3 hours later the two of you ended stream and Twitter went crazy. tweets ranged from fans talking about how ranboo was streaming with you, how Tommy was in chat, and how tubbo was modding as people who mentioned anything about their address being leaked were banned by tubbo. the one thing that caught ranboos eye was fan art and a picture of you both from the stream captioned ‘they’re platonic soulmates your honour’ ranboo went as far to like, retweet and comment on it.

ranaltboo: glad you liked the stream it was great having y/n back, think I might make them play tattletail next stream

definitelynoty/n: isn’t that the Furby game that terrified you in 2021? bring it on boo!

Twitter went crazy over this interaction, you had finally come back to social media after months of being inactive, and it looked like you were here to stay. a month later you and ranboo moved out of the house and sold it to your aunt and her wife and their three adopted children, you explained the situation and even changed the locks for them all before they moved in.

“Please do tell us if anyone shows up who shouldn’t be. we changed the locks as you were aware- oh hello little one.”

you noticed one of their children decided to cling onto your leg

“I like your hair it’s colourful!”

“Indeed it is.”

“WOAH A GIANT!”

the little girl let go of your leg and ran to ranboo asking to be picked up, unsure of what to do he looked towards you. however, you were too busy laughing about the fact he was compared to a giant.

“I'm so sorry uh if you want to pick her up you can, you don’t have to.”

“pick me up, tall man... I want to be taller!”

ranboo ended up standing next to you with an arm around your waist whilst the child sat on his shoulders happily playing with his hair.

“ranboo do not drop that child.”

“I didn't- I didn't plan on it y/n.”

eventually, it was time to leave and the child reluctantly let go of ranboo.

“bye-bye!! hope to see you soon!”

soon enough you were at a smaller house, far away from the old house, leaving behind the negative feelings. it could only get better, a week later the pair of you had settled into the new house, it finally felt like home. you and ranboo were now streaming full time again, safe to say the two of you were thriving and closer than ever.

“so I’m thinking if I hit the sub-goal today I’ll let chat pick what colour I dye my hair.”

“make it higher, and I’ll let you cut my hair.”

“Are you being serious? oh my god!”

a few minutes later you took to Twitter to announce you were going live.

y/n: kidnapping children in the sims with ranboo psst check the subgoal.

within 20 minutes you had hit the sub-goal, chat ended up picking another random neon colour for your hair.

“right hair dye and the cutting stream will be this weekend, now let’s go back to kidnapping.”

tubbo, tommy, and jack felt awful for what happened and went back to the house where you used to live, hoping to see you there so they could apologise, tubbo knocked on the door only to be met by a young child.

“my sister watches you on twitch!”

“oh that’s lovely.. are y/n and ranboo here?”

an older woman came to the door.

“oh no, I’m sorry dear they both moved out, but they left this box and said to give it to you if you returned.”

“do you know where they moved to?”

“I'm sorry dear, I'm not allowed to tell you that information for safety reasons.”

“I understand, thanks anyway.”

they ended up going back to jacks where the three of them had been staying.

“We should open the box.”

tubbo opened the box and emptied the items onto the floor, inside was the rocks y/n handed tubbo from every trip, photos of the group, a necklace y/n had gifted to Tommy a day before the argument, and a hat y/n had taken from jack during a trip to a zoo.

“what the fuck!”

“holy shit!”

“they really kept all these in hopes we would come back?”

“and now we’re too late.”

it was now the weekend you and ranboo were ready to stream, you stood leaning on ranboo who was significantly smaller than you as you lowered the chair he sat on.

“starting stream...now.”

after the starting soon intro played, you explained what was happening to any new viewers or people who didn’t watch the stream.

“so I’m about to become Edward Scissorhands...I love that film can we watch it later?”

“yeah mhm sure!”

you didn’t know this but your ex best friends were watching and ever so often would show up in the chat.

“so boo, what are we doing with your hair today?”

“just a trim please darling?”

“This is y/ns hairdressers you get what I’m capable of!”

you ended up doing a pretty good job of cutting ranboos hair, even he was impressed.

“I didn’t doubt you for a minute!”

“mhm sure thing please don’t mess up my hair tall one!”

soon enough you had the dye on. 45 minutes later you left to wash it off, leaving ranboo to entertain stream,

“chat I think I missed some of their hair it’s okay, I own scissors, I’ll just cut it.. speaking of they did a great job, didn't they? I honestly expected them to mess up.”

a few minutes later you joined ranboo again and spent the next few hours talking with chat. tubbo, tommy, and jack stayed the entire time. they loved the fact you and ranboo were able to stay close after what happened, Tommy noticed you were still wearing the necklace he got you many years ago and spammed them chat with him tubbo and jack

Tommy: THEYRE WEARING THE NECKLACE!!

jack: so what? they clearly don’t wanna talk to us.

tubbo: shut up listen to them.

“chat why are we spamming platonic soulmates?”

“they’ve been saying it all over Twitter, look on trending y/n.”

you started to blush slightly at all the amazing artwork soon enough the stream came to an end, after saying goodbye the pair of you sat together going through fan art. unfortunately the one that caught your eye was this one twitter post where the artist had created a drawing of a piece of paper with you, ranboo, tommy, tubbo, and jack, however the paper was ripped separating you and ranboo from the others, captioned ‘it was never meant to be’ this clearly upset ranboo as he took off his mask and glasses placing them on the desk before going straight to his bed.

“boo…are you okay?”

“Are you tired of me? are you going to leave next?”

“what? no of course not! I could never get tired of you, why do you ask?”

“everyone else has left..i thought they cared about us, i knew it would happen eventually and i couldn’t stop it, i’m sorry, y/n, please don’t hate me.”

you sat on the edge of the bed looking down at the floor,

“come here.”

you watched him roll over to face you.

“you know there’s no one else who I'd rather spend the rest of my life with, right…if i hated you i wouldn’t have moved house with you. it’s not your job to fix everything and make everything better, you’re a streamer for christ sake not a therapist.”

“i guess so.. can we watch that thing you were on about for ages.”

“edward scissorhands? “

“mhm!”

you could tell he wanted to be distracted, so you agreed and put the film on, towards the end you began to get upset due to how overwhelming everything was.

“Why are you crying?”

“poor Edward.”

“come here.”

ranboo pulled you into a hug you laid there crying into his chest, he knew that wasn’t the reason you were crying, but he wasn’t about to make you tell him, luckily it didn’t take long for you to stop crying as ranboo quickly distracted you.

“ranboo..”

“yeah y/n?”

“I feel bad i didnt realise how much pressure was on you whilst everyone was arguing.”

“Hey, it’s okay, is that what’s upsetting you?”

“mhm.”

“don’t blame yourself, i’d do it all over again to keep you safe and happy..then again i didn’t do a good job on keeping you happy.”

“you did..you were always there for me even when i gave up on social media, you shared your room with me after i started receiving creepy messages from that obsessed fan, hell you even went on adventures with me even though it was clear you hadn’t been sleeping, just so we could spend time together and forget about what was happening. you mean a lot to me boo.”

“i love you.”

“i love you too bud, I’m tired.”

“go to sleep, it’s been a long day.”

“okay.”

“you just staying there?”

“yes.”

“oh, oh okay, goodnight.”

about a year later the two of you were still thriving, ranboo got you a promise ring a few months earlier.

“heh what’s this for?”

“as your best friend i promise to stay by your side and keep you safe and make sure that you’re happy, in other words you're stuck with me till the end of time.”

“boo…i really don’t know what to say.. thank you so much!”

“you don’t have to say anything!”

you ended up going out to buy him a promise ring when he started the stream and decided to take your cousins with you now that they were a little older. ranboo was doing a facecam stream when the door slammed open revealing you covering your three younger cousins ranboo not realising you were hiding them from the camera, instinctively stood up covering the camera

“ranboooooo!”

“yes you three and y/n ,what do you need?”

“we would like to watch a film!”

“Okay, i’ll go put one on, y/n will you entertain chat?”

“sure thing boo boy!”

once they left you sat fixing your hair forgetting you were wearing the ring chat noticed this and went crazy, so did Tommys group with tubbo and jack.

tubbo: that’s a ring, right??

jack: yeah looks like it.

Tommy: holy shit I always thought if anyone was gonna get married it would be tubbo and y/n, they were inseparable.

tubbo: hilarious.

jack: it could just be a ring, no one mentioned marriage tommy!

Tommy: we should congratulate them.

jack: at least let them explain fucking hell.

soon enough ranboo came back into the room,

“sorry one of them found it hilarious to steal my glasses...”

“they’re little shits i swear to god but i love them.”

you both noticed chat going crazy and both looked at each other before laughing.

“i'm sorry, i can’t take you serious in the mask and glasses!”

“i can’t take you serious with neon hair, but here we are!”

“rude!”

you and ranboo quickly put an end to the rumours,

“no we’re not engaged or married, it is a promise ring. no they’re not our children, they’re y/ns cousins they just spend a lot of time here..chat stop calling me and y/n parents and comparing us to phil that’s not..that’s not how it works okay!”

“parent arc!”

“y/n, don’t encourage them!”

“it’s a little bit funny!”

soon enough the bit came to an end and eventually ranboo ended the stream.

“hey boo look what i got you”

you handed him a little black box, inside was a ring similar to yours

“i promise to always stick around and be here for you”

“oh my god”

ranboo tackled you into a hug thanking you several times for his rings. you and ranboo were living your best life meanwhile jack, tommy, and tubbo were stuck dealing with the guilt of what happened, but they’re weren’t giving up that easy. they wanted you both back, that’s when you received a notification, tommyinnit has sent you a message request: hey y/n can we talk..please?

taglist

@dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @uselesssapphickitten @l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @kylobensgirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @augustine-is-joy @c1loudee

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Veritaserum Prompt Fic (Part 11)

Azkaban wasn't great.

It was pretty fucking awful, if Draco was being honest. He kept himself as far back from the bars of the cell as he could, the closer he got, the worse it was when a dementor drifted past.

Maybe the Department of Mysteries was a better alternative to Azkaban. At least when he was trapped there he had the refuge of sleep. Here, even his dreams were tortured; the dementors' presence warped the images of Harry and the cottage, destroying the memories over and over in increasingly horrifying ways.

On the other hand, there was a small slit of a window that let in sunlight. He curled himself into a ball as close to the sunlight as he could and tried to think of his time on the beach, of the sun and the sand, of Harry's warm smile and his hair slipping through his fingers. As long as he focused really hard on it, as long as he didn't fall asleep, he could hold onto a few pieces of beauty at a time.

Draco wasn't sure how long he'd been there when a silver fox patronus came racing through, so bright that the dementors were chased off and Draco could breathe again.

The fox moved through the bars and placed itself between Draco and the door and he couldn't help but where it had come from. The only person he could imagine sending a patronus to him was Harry but everyone knew that Harry Potter's patronus was a stag.

And yet, "I'm getting you out," Harry's voice said through the patronus and Draco's heart stuttered.

He waited for the fox to vanish but the light didn't waver, Harry was still protecting him it seemed, keeping the dementors at bay.

(Read more below the cut)

Nothing changed for six days.

The warden came by multiple times to try to banish the patronus but the fox remained stubbornly at Draco's side. It all felt a bit surreal but Draco certainly wasn't going to complain.

After six days, the reporters started coming. "Mr. Malfoy, I work for the Daily Prophet," the first witch who arrived informed him, "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"I haven't got much else on at the moment," he attempted. "But I'm surprised they let you in."

"Then you underestimate how much influence Harry Potter really has."

"Harry wanted you to come here?" he asked, heart beating a little faster.

She straightened her shoulders and took out her notebook and quill, "Mr. Potter is saying that everything printed about you after your return to Azkaban is a lie. What do you say?"

"I don't know," he replied, "What's been said? I haven't gotten any papers in here, as you might expect."

The witch leaned closer to the bars, as though she was telling him some sort of secret, "He said that you didn't slip him a love potion, you didn't have him under any sort of spell, there was nothing nefarious at play."

"That's correct." But he couldn't imagine that she would believe him, even if he had been using a spell or a potion he would have said the same thing.

Her brow furrowed, "He said you were living on a secluded island before you turned yourself in and that you're in love."

"Yes," he affirmed softly.

"Then why did you leave?"

He sighed, "Because if anyone deserved to live in the wizarding world, it's the person who saved it."

She nodded, "Do you have any idea what's happening in the wizarding world right now?"

"No," he replied flatly, "They don't really let us out to see the world."

"So you're saying that this wasn't all part of some elaborate plan?"

"Sorry, what's going on?" he asked, feeling off kilter and a bit frustrated. "What plan?"

The woman stared at him for a long moment, "Harry Potter seems to be trying to bring the Ministry to its knees," she said. "He started by talking about you, then by telling the story of his godfather's wrongful conviction, and continued to tell story after story about people who've been falsely accused and convicted."

Draco felt like his eyebrows must be reaching his hairline by this point. "No," he shook his head, "No, I had no idea."

"What about the reports on ministry officials?" she asked, ignoring his response and pressing on to the next question. "Your father had a variety of connections, surely you gave him at least some of information about the officials he's blowing in."

He shook his head again, "No, I had nothing to do with that." He chuckled humorlessly, "I was raised to keep secrets until the opportune moment and to use them to apply pressure to get what I wanted."

She hummed, "It seems to me that Mr. Potter is doing exactly that."

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

The reporters continued coming. He had multiple visits a day over the next three days and every reporter asked similar questions.

Draco tried to understand what was happening in the wizarding world from the interviews he did, but it was hard to believe that there could be protests and rallies at the Ministry demanding his freedom.

He'd gone to sleep the third night, Harry's fox curled up on the bottom of the flimsy pad, watching the door, only to be awoken by his cell door banging open.

"Up Malfoy," the human guard who worked overnights said.

He startled, sitting up and curving inward to protect himself. "What?"

"Get up," the man barked.

The patronus placed itself between Draco and the other man and Draco's heart started to beat to rapidly.

"Now," he said, grabbing Draco's arm and dragging him out of bed.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked as the man shoved him down the hall and out toward the main entrance.

"Your time is up," the man said, thrusting a dirty shoe into Draco's hands.

Before he could ask anything else, he was being ripped through time and space, and all he could imagine was ending up somewhere even worse. They were probably going to kill him and-

His feet hit the groan and he barely had time to register sand under his feet before arms were wrapped around him, pulling him in and holding him close. The sound of waves crashing to the shore, the scent of the salt water in the air mixed with the comforting scent of Harry's body. He sagged forward, a sob escaping his throat.

"Draco," Harry murmured, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him all over, covering his cheeks, his nose, his lips, his chin, even his eyelids. "Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?" he asked.

He shook his head but couldn't get any words out.

"Come on," Harry whispered, rubbing his hands along Draco's arms, "you're shaking. Let's go inside."

Harry led him by the hand up the beach and into the little cottage, the fire was lit in the hearth and there were two cups of tea sitting on the coffee table, a plate of ginger biscuits in between.

"Do you want to get changed?" Harry asked.

"I-" Draco started before breaking off, "Sorry. What's happening? Harry, how am I here? The guard just gave me this stupid shoe and I don't-"

"The Ministry signed your release paperwork," Harry said. "They wouldn't let me come to get you, they aren't very pleased with me at the moment," he added. "I'm sort of banned from any official Ministry buildings now," he said, sounding oddly pleased.

"What happened?"

Harry looked at him longingly, "Later?" he begged. "Can I just-" he broke off stepping closer and crowding him against the wall, kissing him and crushing their bodies together. Holding him like he didn't care that Draco was smelly and hadn't been allowed to shower since arriving at Azkaban.

"Harry," he groaned, tilting his head back as Harry pressed kisses along his jaw and neck.

"Hmm?"

His fingers tugged Harry's hair until he tipped his head up far enough that he could kiss him again for a long moment. "Am I allowed to stay here?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, nodding his head, their noses brushing against each other's. "You can go anywhere, do anything," he added. "We're free."

Draco shuddered as the words washed over him, the relief cool and bright. "Okay," he said. "First things first. I need a shower," he said.

Harry groaned, "Why does that have to be the first thing?"

He laughed, "I'm filthy."

"I don't care," he muttered petulantly.

"Come with me," Draco invited.

Harry pulled back far enough to wiggle his eyebrows, "I'll do my best."

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

Later, after they'd showered off all of the dirt and grime, erasing all physical evidence of the week and a half they'd spent apart. After Harry had taken Draco apart; kissing him and touching him, healing all of the darkness that the prison had left seeped in his bones. After they'd eaten dinner curled up on the sofa together and drunk the tea he'd made and ate far too many biscuits. After they'd stumbled together through the house and crawled into bed. After Harry had laid him bare once more and kissed every inch of him, as though Draco was something treasured, something precious. Draco began to cry again.

"Hey," Harry whispered, moving back to the top of the bed where he kissed away Draco's tears, "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

He grabbed his shoulders and pulled his body down on top of him, allowing the familiar, welcome weight of his body to ground him. "I love you," he whispered through all of the emotions swamping him.

"I love you, too," Harry murmured, stroking his hair back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "So much."

"Why?" Draco asked.

"Why do I love you?" he asked, sounding surprised by the questions.

Shaking his head he replied, "Why did the Ministry let me go? Why would they do that?"

Harry sighed and nuzzled into Draco's neck, "Because I know their secrets."

"What?"

He shrugged, "I did some digging when I had access to the Department of Mysteries information," he said in between kisses pressed to his neck, "so I just started exposing corruption that I'd found. People wanted to listen to what I had to say so I told them. Then people started protesting and here we are."

"So you blackmailed the Ministry into releasing me?"

Harry hummed, "Not really. I just helped the Ministry to see the error of their ways and be held accountable for the ways they've failed the people they were supposed to protect and serve."

"I can't believe you."

"Hmm?" Harry hummed, brushing his nose over Draco's collarbone.

"I can't believe you did that," he said. "How dare you have the audacity to love me that much?"

"Me?" Harry gasped, jerking up onto his elbows and looking at Draco like he was actually offended by Draco's words. "How dare I? What about you?" he exclaimed. "Draco you loved me so much that you were willing to go to prison for the rest of your life!"

"But you deserve to be loved that much," he protested.

"So do you!" Harry sat up, straddling his hips and glaring down at him. "I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you," he added. "If you'll let me."

He cupped Harry's cheek in his palm, "I'll let you. I haven't got another brave bone in my body."

"Good," Harry said. "Because I'm sick to death of people and their invasive questions. And if I never have to talk to a member of the press again it will be too soon. And I'm tired of having to protect myself from the ministry and playing their games," he grumbled.

He buried his face in Draco's neck again and Draco let his fingers stroke through Harry's still damp curls, heedless of the way it would make them frizzy.

"I hate everyone who isn't you," Harry mumbled.

"Well not everyone, I hope," Draco replied as he rubbed a lock of hair between his fingers, "I went through a lot of trouble to make it possible for you to be with your friends and family whenever you want," he teased.

Harry huffed a laugh, "It's ridiculous that you're making a joke about this right now. I have never been more terrified in my life."

"Oh come on," Draco said, "You literally died."

"I had a panic attack," Harry said, "When I thought I'd never see you again. I walked straight to my death without a backward glance." He pressed impossibly closer, "When I tell you I've never been more terrified in my life, I mean it."

"Harry," he murmured, awestruck.

The other man yawned and snuggled in. "But it's fine now," he said. "You're here and I'm here, and the Ministry is burning."

"Do we need to go back?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head, "Hermione's taking care of it. She has better legal avenues and it's honestly more her thing than mine anyway."

"We can stay here for a while, then?"

"In bed?" Harry asked sleepily.

He chuckled, "On the island," he clarified.

Harry nodded, "as long as you want. Everything's on fire in Wizarding London anyway, it's a complete shit show. They wouldn't give us a moment's peace."

"I'd like a little peace," Draco replied.

He felt Harry's smile against his shoulder, "A little peace," he echoed. "A little happiness."

"More than a little, if we're lucky."

Harry nodded, "We're due for a bit of luck, aren't we?"

He pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead, "I don't need luck when I've got you."

And no matter what life threw at them, they knew how to weather the storm; clinging to one another and the life they built on their love.

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

fin. I'm having a hard time letting go of this one but I can't look at it for another moment. <3 Thanks for joining me for the adventure of writing this one.

(Part 10)

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 9 - FINALE)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: smut (oral f receiving), semi-public sex (in a parked car) angst, arguments, implied smut, sappiness, time skips, some alcohol consumption here and there, lots of talking about issues including bucky's ptsd, I really have no idea how to warn for this but IT’S THE END SO STRAP IN FOLKS

Since that night, it had been like a stand-off in a Western movie, none of you saying anything because you had no idea what to say. Whenever he tried to start the conversation, you brushed him off.

You took a cab home from the event. He slept in his own room for the first time in months.

Finally, suddenly, you were ready to talk about it nearly 30 hours later, knocking on the guest room door and entering to find Bucky on his bed, re-reading Flowers for Algernon. He sat up quickly and shut it, setting it aside. “Hey,” he greeted softly, hesitant like you were a deer in a clearing and he was extending a handful of grain in his palm.

“Hey,” you returned, already fighting back your emotions. “I think I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’m ready to listen.”

“I just… I want to make sure that you understand this is a really big deal.”

He nodded again.

“I had to do a lot of damage control to prevent being banned from all HFPA events— that includes the Golden Globes, you know, I can’t exactly skip those just because my boyfriend went fucking nuts at a party.” And there was the anger again— you had tried to wait until you could be neutral about this but it barely lasted, mainly because you were still embarrassed about the way you’d handled yourself that night. “You’re lucky not many people saw; you’re lucky no reporters were there! Can you imagine if someone had a fucking picture of this? There were cameras everywhere, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking!” he defended. “I saw you with him and he was touching you and I just… I saw red.”

You sighed slowly. “That’s not a good thing. That’s really, really concerning.”

“I know, I agree— you’re right. I need…” he trailed off, taking a breath before starting over. “I need to work on that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I just… I can’t really be a part of that. You need to work on that on your own.”

He stood up instantly, almost looking… afraid? Terrified, really, and heartbroken. “On my own, like what? What does that mean?”

“It means that I think maybe you should go back to your own apartment for a while. I just… need to be alone for a bit.”

“You need to be alone?” he repeated. “Or you need to be away from me?’

“Both.”

His head fell into his hands instantly. "Please don't tell me I fucked this up," he whimpered. "Please don't tell me I ruined this."

"I— I don't know."

"Please, please, please," he sighed, just louder than a whisper, suddenly stepping forward, grabbing your hand and clutching it to his chest. "Look at me," he begged.

You did, hesitantly, fighting everything in you that wanted to cry (and not doing so good of a job at it).

"Please, I lo—"

"Don't," you grimaced. "Don't say that."

"But it's true."

"It doesn't matter!" you yelped, surprising both of you with your volume.

“Are we going to have a chance to talk about this again? Am I going to get a chance to make it up to you?”

“You don’t make it up to me, you fix it. And that takes time.”

He shook his head, looking shocked and confused and completely blindsided which made you feel sick to your stomach. “How long?”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled.

“Am I not going to see you at all, for however long it takes?” he pressed.

“I… that’s sort of the idea.”

He shivered and pulled you into a hug. “Please don’t hate me forever,” he whispered against the top of your head.

“I don’t hate you,” you promised, doing your best not to hug him back even though all you wanted was to wrap yourself around him and feel safe in his arms again.

“Then don’t make me go,” he pleaded as he pulled back, clutching your face. “Let me stay and we can work through this together.”

“That’s not how this works,” you reminded him

“But I don’t know how to be without you,” he explained shakily.

“That’s not really my problem!” you yelped, and he turned away like he’d been slapped, dropping his hands from your face. A long, heavy silence fell between you as you watched him stand there, contemplating.

“If this is my last chance,” he finally spoke softly, barely breaking the silence, “to say everything I want to say…”

“It’s not,” you assured. “We’re going to talk about this again, but you need to go now.”

He nodded, his adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow of nothing. When he looked at you again, you hated how much bluer his eyes looked when they were bloodshot and filled with tears. “Can I kiss you?”

You shook your head. He bit his lip and turned to walk away; you stared at your feet because you couldn’t watch him go.

You heard him grab his backpack, shoving a few things from the drawers into it; he set his key on the table, walked into the open hall, and as soon as you heard the front door open and shut you were plunged into solitude and silence. With a whimper, you crumpled to the floor and cried, the look of betrayal on his face burned into your mind.

It was obvious, to your horror, that he really hadn’t seen it coming; he hadn’t packed his things, or prepared in any way for the conversation going like that. He had been waiting for an olive branch and got a switch to the face instead. You didn’t know anything about working on relationships, repairing broken things… when something went wrong, all you knew how to do was bail.

You knew how to do a new take and say the line right this time. You knew how to take off your eyeliner and start over. You knew how to kick unsuspecting C-listers out of cars because you already got yours. But you didn’t know how to stay, and work, and frankly you were just too scared to try. Last time you tried to make it work, you got burned. And as much as a logical part of you knew that wasn’t Bucky’s fault or responsibility, your heart just couldn’t survive another relationship where you put everything into putting the pieces back together while the other person stood there and watched you just to pull them apart again.

It had to end at some point, right? It was you, it was him… and that’s just how these things go.

//

He knew it was too good to be true. He knew you were too good for him. Anybody with at least one eyeball and half a brain could see that. But still, he hadn’t been ready to let you go.

Being in his apartment felt like stopping in a ghost town; there might as well have been a tumbleweed rolling through the living room. It was beyond a bachelor pad: it was more like an unfinished work site, considering his ‘couch’ was cinderblocks and a few two-by-fours, and his bed was a mattress on the floor.

One toothbrush. No books. A half-empty shampoo bottle in the shower and some hard water stains he needed to scrub away at some point.

This place didn’t feel like a home, it barely felt like a livable space. It was a three-dimensional homage to how empty his life had been before you, and he realized that was only his own fault.

Then again, this was all his fault.

But still, he had let himself obsess over you, turn you into his whole world and it made him into somebody he didn’t want to be. He had been working so hard to keep you happy, inspired more than anything by his fear to lose you, that he’d forgotten to give you space and now here he was… giving you so much more space than he ever wanted to, or knew how to deal with.

But he wanted to use this, if he could. As much as it was tempting to binge on junk food, drink too much and watch porn for an hour, as much as he wanted to run away from everything he was feeling, he owed it to you and to himself to face it all and learn from it. He wanted to be the man you deserved, if that was even humanly possible; he wanted to be who you used to think he was.

//

The next week went by in a blur: a blur filled with shitty romcoms, Ben & Jerry’s straight from the carton, and phone calls ignored.

It would all be fine with time, you knew that, but god, it fucking hurt now. It made you want to call him and at least apologize for having sex with him when you knew he wouldn’t have wanted to if he knew you were upset. More time and distance from the situation made you appreciate that it was manipulative, even if it by no means justified the way he grabbed you, or shoving anybody in the first place.

Truth was, you were scared of Bucky long before that happened. You were scared of how strong your feelings were for him; and, in turn, you were scared of how strong his feelings were for you. You felt loved by him, and you didn’t know what to do with that. So you self-destructed.

Just in time to tear you out of your spiralling thoughts, the intercom buzzed from the front gate. You furrowed your brow, wondering who it could be, and got up to check the camera feed.

You couldn’t see the face of the driver, just his arm, but you’d recognize that Rolex on his wrist anywhere.

“What do you want?” you asked coldly, holding down the intercom talk button.

"Let me in," Sam instructed.

"And why should I?"

"Cause if you don't, I'll press charges against your boyfriend."

BEEP BEEP BEEP! the gate announced its opening.

You took the time while he parked his car and walked to the door to throw out the wrappers from all your questionable “meals” (i.e., candy and ramen), change into slightly nicer sweats and splash your face so you looked slightly less dead. Just as you came downstairs from your rushed primping, Sam knocked on the door and you turned off the TV, tossing the remote aside. “It’s open!” you called out.

He turned the knob and stepped in with just one foot, peering around.

“Is the Terminator home?” he asked coyly. “Cause I actually think I’ve been assaulted enough for one week.”

“No, he’s gone. And don’t call him that.”

“What?” he shrugged, finally coming all the way in and letting the door swing shut on its own, taking his shades off and sliding them into the collar of his v-neck shirt. “It’s a compliment, and you really invite the killer robot comparisons when you’re part robot, look like a killer, and act like a thug.”

“He’s sensitive about the arm, okay? It’s one of the reasons he… it’s part of why we waited so long to go public.”

Sam glanced down to beside the door, where three pairs of your shoes were haphazardly lined up while his boots were noticeably absent. “And the fact that he’s moved out? When’s that gonna go public?” He always had an eye for these things, the bastard.

“I… I don’t know,” you sighed. “What do you want, exactly? Because honestly, I really can’t handle you right now.”

“I’m just trying to be a friend,” he explained, stepping closer again as you leaned against the breakfast bar.

“You seemed a lot more than friendly on Saturday,” you reminded him. “God, Sam, why did you have to do that?”

“So it’s my fault, then?” he rolled his eyes.

“No, of course not,” you assured, “but you knew I wasn’t single. I was actually happy… did you even want me back? Or did you just want to fuck with my life?”

“I did want you back, really.” He paused for a moment, more serious than he almost ever got. “I still do.”

You scoffed, looking away. “What happened to just being a friend?”

“That’s not why I’m here, this time. I’m just here to tell you that I’m worried about you.”

You took your weight off the bar and circled it into the kitchen, Sam mirroring you by following around the other side. “Do you want something to drink?” you asked, opening the fridge. He opened his mouth to answer but then leaned in as he stared at your hand where it was right in front of his face gripping the refrigerator’s door handle.

"He did that to you?" Sam pointed to the bruise on your wrist. You let go of the fridge and pulled your sleeve down to cover it again but that was answer enough. "Jesus, babe, this guy's fucking crazy."

"He's not crazy, and don't call me that," you frowned. "I don't think he meant to, really— his prosthetic is powerful and it was in need of a recalibration. He shouldn’t have grabbed me, but, he probably didn’t mean to do it so hard.”

Sam didn’t seem too convinced by that explanation, but didn’t say anything.

“Believe it or don’t, Sam, but either way it’s none of your business,” you frowned.

“Right, I know,” he nodded. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“And that’s you?” you pressed with an incredulous raised brow, opening the fridge again to grab yourself a green juice (because you were, again, trying to look like you had your shit together) and starting to walk away.

“I’ve changed, believe it or not,” he explained as he followed you out of the kitchen again. “Occasionally, people are capable of that.”

“If that’s true, then I owe it to Bucky to wait for him like I said I would,” you shot back. “I told him to leave so we could work on things separately. Not so I could entertain your come-to-Jesus moment.”

“It’s not a ‘come-to-Jesus’ moment, it’s just a ‘give me another chance’ moment,” he corrected as you took a long sip of the juice, “it’s a ‘maybe we ended things too soon’ moment.”

You looked at him in silent judgment as you kept drinking, and the way he was looking at you made you glad the glass bottle was keeping your lips occupied.

“It’s an ‘I’m still in love with you’ moment.”

Before you could stop yourself, you spit the juice right onto him, covering your mouth in shock just a moment too late.

For one of those indefinite moments, you were just staring at each other while you both contemplated that you had said he loved you and you had spat juice onto him.

“Okay, I was prepared to get shot down,” he admitted. “This is… worse.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you rushed, trying not to laugh, “I… I’ll get some paper towels, I can get you a new shirt, but it’ll have to be one of the ones Bucky left behind…”

“Oh god, it’s sticky,” he grimaced, as he tried to peel his shirt from his skin, “can I just use your shower maybe?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you nodded, “upstairs and down—”

“I remember where it is,” he reminded you as he stepped past you to make his way to the bathroom. “I knew I should’ve waited to say it until she was done drinking…” you heard him mumble to himself before he disappeared and you heard the bathroom door shut.

But truthfully, it wasn’t really the fact that he said it, or the concept of Sam loving you at all that made you spit out your drink. It was that when he said it, you realized you were in love with Bucky. Which, yes, would’ve been obvious to anyone else but it came as quite a shock to you.

It made you realize that you wanted to make this work. You wanted to be vulnerable, you wanted to try, even if it ended just as badly as it nearly had last week; even if it meant dealing with all the shit that you’d pushed down for so long.

You wanted to have another chance, this time knowing how hard it would be to be without him.

Just as you pondered what to do with that realization, a knock at the door startled you. Who could have made it to the door without buzzing the intercom?

Somebody who has the gate code already, you realized, and your heart sank. You weren’t ready to see him again— specifically, you weren’t ready to be seen by him again. Sure, cleaning up the trash and splashing your face was enough for a guest like Sam, but you had been imagining that when you saw Bucky again you’d be all dolled up looking like you were doing better than ever, like you were thriving without him just to rub it in that you were the best he ever had.

Couldn’t he have just waited a few hours after your realization so you could go to him on your own terms, with your whole speech prepared and everything? As an actress, you were much more comfortable reading lines than improvising.

Another knock made you sigh and set down the half-empty bottle of green juice, running up to the door to answer it.

“Hi,” he greeted soberly when you opened the door.

“Hey,” you nodded back, “listen, now’s not a great time…”

“Listen, I’m not here to cause any problems, or ask you for anything, I just need some of my stuff back,” he explained.

“Okay, it would’ve been better if you had come at another time—”

“I know, I’m not trying to invade your space,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have used the gate code, I didn’t mean to surprise you, honestly it was just second nature but I realize now I should’ve called first— well, I don’t think you’re taking my calls right now—”

“Bucky, please, we can talk later,” you assured, trying to shut the door.

“Can we?” he sighed. “I mean, will we?”

“Yes, but I’m busy right now,” you explained.

“When?” he asked, voice full of hope. “Soon?”

“I— I don’t know, sure,” you shrugged.

“You’re just saying that to get me to leave,” he realized flatly. “I understand, I don’t blame you— god, I just hate how scared you are of me. I’m everything I never wanted to be. I just wanted to keep you safe and now I can’t even do that, now you think of me as a threat. You should have the gate code changed, if it’ll make you sleep better—”

“I sleep fine, just go and we’ll deal with all of this soon— really, I promise!”

“You promised before and this week without you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do!” he returned, getting more emotional as he gestured with his hands. “I’m not saying this should all go away in a week, there’s so much more I have to do, but… but not being able to see you at all is killing me. And it’s not like I don’t see you, your movies are on every fucking channel, but you know, I don’t get to really see you, talk to you— that’s what I miss, I miss when we would talk for hours.”

“I miss that too,” you agreed, “it’s all going to happen, it’s just that I need you to go right now—”

And of course, Sam picked just the right time to come running down your staircase with only a towel around his waist.

Bucky tensed up as he saw Sam, jaw tightening. "Oh."

You had no idea what would happen. Was Bucky going to attack him again? Would Sam try to hit Bucky? Were you going to drop dead from sheer embarrassment?

Instead, Bucky just sighed a little and looked to the ground, almost laughing though he seemed anything but amused. “You’ve got a funny idea of what ‘being alone’ means,” he sneered.

“Sam was just—” you began to defend.

"No, it’s okay, I see how it is," Bucky informed you quietly, coldly. He didn’t even seem angry anymore, just defeated. "I'll leave. I'm sorry that I… I'm sorry."

And he turned to leave, you reached out and grabbed his arm. "Wait, it's not—"

He shrugged your hand away as he kept walking, forcing you to chase him.

"Don't leave, please— Bucky, I love you too."

He stopped, but didn't turn around yet; you just stood behind him, staring at his back as it rose and fell with a slow breath. When he looked back at you, his eyes were red, brimming with tears and heartbreak. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"I mean it," you promised.

“And what does that mean for us?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted.

“I don’t think I’m ready to come back yet. As much as I miss living with you— and as much as my apartment is so gross—”

You giggled a little, glad you could laugh with him again even if just for a second.

“I need more time. I’m not going to subject you to me until I know I can be… stable, again.”

“Okay,” you smiled. “Whatever you need.”

“But maybe we could… go out sometime? Somewhere where there aren’t paparazzi, ideally?”

“Uh, Vermont?” you offered jokingly. “I’ll find somewhere, though. We’ll talk this all out.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing a little. “Okay.”

With obvious hesitance, he leaned in slightly and gave you a kiss on the forehead. You wanted more than anything to get up on your tiptoes and kiss his lips, but it was probably too soon. He smiled down at you slightly before he turned to walk away, and you did the same as you made it back into the house.

“Hey, listen,” you began as you found Sam still waiting in a towel looking completely lost.

“That doesn’t sound like the beginning of good news,” he sighed.

“I’m so glad you were honest with me and I’m still really sorry for spitting on you, and for Bucky shoving you, and for everything awful that went down between us. And some part of me is always gonna love you, but—”

“I know,” he nodded, clearly disappointed but resigned in a peaceful way. “It’s okay. I had my chance, I blew it, and if this Bucky guy has his then I just hope he isn’t taking it for granted.”

You smiled a little. “He’s not.”

“Then I’ll get dressed and go. Please direct me to his favorite shirt, so that I may steal it,” he requested formally, making you laugh, but you weren’t ready to let it go just yet; instead, you stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“You’re a good friend, Sam,” you mumbled against his bare chest.

“Yeah, kinda wish I wasn’t though,” he sighed as he hugged you back.

“Kinda wish I’d made you get dressed before hugging you,” you admitted, the awkwardness of his nudity finally catching up with you.

“Yeah…” he agreed in a whispered sigh.

//

His palms were actually sweaty; well, at least one of them was. He hadn’t been this worked up about a date since high school.

But there was so much more riding on that now than there was then. If he blew this, you probably would dump him for good, and he’d become ‘that guy Y/N Y/L/N dated for a minute’ to the rest of the world.

And there was so much more to him than that— he was learning to really let that shine after three weeks of therapy on Mondays and Thursdays— and so much more to his relationship with you, but it would still be pretty humiliating. More importantly, he would be heartbroken if he never got a chance to hold you again, kiss you again, tell you he loved you not during a fight…

His eyes glanced to the door instinctively when someone stepped in, but it still wasn’t you. He checked his watch and closed his eyes: it was still a few minutes early, you probably wouldn’t be here until 6:30, since that was when you’d agreed to meet when you discussed all this over text. But the length of time between 6:27 and 6:30 just seemed to keep getting longer and longer.

When you finally walked in, it was like one of those movie moments where everything slowed down, the ambient noise and background music faded away, and all he could see was you. If this was it, at least he got to see you like this one last time.

He waved you over, watching you walk closer and feeling his heart race as you pulled him into a hug.

“I missed you,” he blurted out right away.

“Missed you too,” you mumbled back, pulling from the embrace as he moved to pull out your chair for you.

“So,” he began as he sat down, “do you… want me to go first? Or do you want to go first?”

“I love you,” you said instantly, and he couldn’t fight a wide smile.

“I love you too,” he whispered back.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” you grinned, “I think you should go first.”

“Well, now that you say that suddenly I forget everything I’ve been practicing in the mirror all day,” he chuckled. “I already told you I’ve been in therapy, and they finally got me on stuff for my PTSD… it feels weird to say it, to talk about it like I really have it… but I do, and I’m working on not being ashamed of that. What I am ashamed of is the way I treated you that day, how I let my anger get the best of me and how I hurt you when you’re the most important person in my life. You didn’t deserve that. And if I haven’t said it enough, I’m truly sorry.”

“I know,” you nodded, “thank you. I’m glad you’re getting help… I don’t want to see you like that for your own sake, too.”

“Just because you don’t hate me doesn’t mean you have to forgive me. And just because you forgive me doesn’t mean you have to take me back,” he reminded you softly.

“But I do forgive you, and I do want you back,” you promised. “And I want to apologize, too, for the things I did wrong… obviously it’s basically impossible for me to hurt you physically, you’re so much stronger than I am, but I hurt you with how I handled some things and I regret that.”

“It did hurt, but I still reacted poorly at basically every turn. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous of Sam in the first place, if you and him have something going on then that’s none of my business—”

“Of course it’s your business, Bucky, you’re my boyfriend!” you laughed. “You don’t need to be jumping for joy when I talk to my ex, you just need to not be that aggressive about it.”

“Am I your boyfriend?” he asked sheepishly. “Is he your ex?”

"When you came over the other day, and he was there… nothing happened, really. He came over, I told him I didn't want to be anything more than friends, he asked to use my shower… I don't know how to prove it to you—"

"You don't have to," he shook his head. "If you say nothing happened, then nothing happened."

“I mean, we hugged,” you remembered. “And he took your Fleetwood Mac shirt.”

“He what?” Bucky yelped, but then calmed himself down immediately. “Whatever, it’s fine, the point is that I have a lot of shit I still need to work on. Because the truth is, you’re not mine—”

“No, I—”

“Really, you’re not. You’re your own person. That’s what made me fall in love with you in the first place, I love that you’re independent and strong and… maybe a little crazy, but you’re exactly who you need to be. You don’t belong to me.”

“I don’t mind belonging to you as long as it’s fair, Bucky; as long as we belong to each other.”

“Sweetheart, you always had me,” he laughed. “From day one.”

“Then let’s figure your shit out. Believe it or not, I’ve got shit too… commitment issues, abandonment issues, daddy issues—”

“Ooh, I have that one too!” he beamed, making you laugh. “You know, when I was talking to my therapist, she had me do this thing where I talked about my hopes and stuff and, I don’t know, maybe it’s dumb but I wanted us to do that. I want to know what you’re hoping for for this.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “well, I’m hoping that you’ll move back in soon but not right away, maybe in a few months? I want us to get better at being apart, it’ll come in handy when I have to go to far off places for filming and stuff.”

“Totally with you,” he agreed, “might have to start buying some real furniture for my place though.”

“What about you?” you prompted.

“I’m hoping that you still think I'm cute enough to put up with some of my crap," he smirked, "if not all of it."

"Definitely," you grinned.

“I’m hoping that in the future, if you’re upset, you’ll tell me and we can work it out, and then have make-up sex," he added.

“Deal,” you chuckled.

“And, if I’m being honest,” he continued, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, “I’m hoping that I can take you home tonight.”

It was so simple, but it made a shiver run down your spine. This distance had caused more than just your heart to grow fonder, and you were craving his touch more than ever. “Where’s home?” you asked coyly.

“It’s wherever you wanna go,” he purred. “Your place, my place, the back of your car—”

“That one,” you nodded eagerly, “definitely that one.”

//

You wanted to go right then and there but he made you sit through the whole dinner, with all the trappings of wining and dining, though for you it sometimes felt more like whining and dying because you needed him so bad you couldn't think. But he stayed patient, keeping up the conversation, asking more about a new project you were tentatively linked with, telling you more about the newest improvements to his prosthetic.

He picked up the check, which was absurd to you but he insisted, and escorted you to your car as if his intentions were just gentlemanliness even though you knew it was far worse than that.

He (gently) pinned you up against the side of the car, kissing you slowly, making you melt like it was no effort for him at all. As his lips made their way to your ear, he whispered to you darkly, "get in the back and spread your legs for me."

You were sure you'd never obeyed an instruction so fast, hopping in and happily watching him climb in behind you. He instantly knelt down between your spread legs, holding you by your thighs as he pushed your dress up, and you were already lifting your hips up to let him pull your panties down to your ankles.

"So eager," he whispered happily, kissing his way up one of your legs and never breaking his gaze away from yours. Your mouth fell slack as you watched him get higher and higher, closer to where you were already dripping with need. "Been wanting to do this since that night, however many months ago, where I had to watch somebody else do this to you," he admitted with a grin that nipped at your inner thighs. "I know I've tasted you a thousand times since then, but I wanted to do it here."

There was a lot you could say to that, but it was all lost to a gasp as he licked one long, thin stripe right across your entrance and over your clit. Already you were shaking and grabbing his hair— he'd grown it out just enough that you could really dig your fingers into it, but even so he kept his teasing pace.

He kept going, that slow and torturous cycle where just as your clit got some much-needed attention, he started back over at your leaking opening again.

"The fuck are you doing down there, trying to figure how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" you finally groaned, making him chuckle at how demanding you'd become.

"I'm just making sure I do this right," he dismissed. "Want more, baby?"

"Please," you shuddered. "Need your tongue inside me."

He grinned and put you out of your misery, really latching his lips onto you now as he pushed his tongue inside and curled it against your g-spot. It was enough to make your back arch dramatically and your fingers clench on his hair, a little growl echoing out of his mouth and into your body in response.

Your legs were accidentally clamping down on his head each time he sucked on your clit, but he didn't seem to mind, if anything it egged him on.

"C-close, so close," you chanted our warning as his hands tightened on your thighs he gave wide laps to your throbbing button.

"Say you love me baby," he mumbled his demand against your skin.

"Bucky, yes, I love you," you whimpered. "Love you so much, fuck, I'm gonna come…"

He nodded as he wrapped his lips around your clit and kept sucking, harder than ever, until your whole body was literally quaking and you weren't sure if you had closed your eyes or if your vision just went black for a second. As if that weren't enough, he kept going until you had to push him off of you by his forehead, shivering and catching your breath as aftershocks rocked your body.

"You're so amazing," he groaned huskily as he sat up and pulled you into a rough kiss, the taste of your pleasure coating your tongue as it tangled with his. Just as you were about to reach down and attempt to operate his belt buckle with your tingling fingers, he pulled back from the kiss a moment too soon. "And now you get to drive yourself home," he grinned, patting you on the cheek reassuringly.

"What? That's it?!" you squawked.

"You just came so hard you nearly blacked out and you're asking me if that's it?" he smirked incredulously.

"I just thought you would want to, you know… go all the way," you explained, cringing at the immature phrase.

"Hey, I'm a gentleman, and this is still our first date," he reminded you.

"But aren't you, you know…?"

"Oh, I am," he nodded quickly, leaning in to bite at your neck. "Don't worry about me, princess, I can take care of myself." He chuckled at your whimper and pulled back to look right into your eyes. "But it's not about me, is it? You want my cock all for yourself, don't you?"

You nodded, making him giggle sweetly.

"Well, you're just gonna have to wait," he cooed, poking the tip of your nose with his finger and laughing harder at your needy whine. "We'll go out again next weekend and maybe if it goes well, it'll lead to something more, alright?"

"Okay," you sighed, "I can wait a week. I think."

He smiled and kissed you again, helping you pull your panties back up and rubbing your thigh appreciatively. "Goodnight," he whispered against your lips, slipping out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

You sighed and let your head fall back against the seat, watching out the window as he walked back to his bike. You hated to see him go, but you did love watching him walk away.

//

two years later…

“Will the Six Million Dollar Man be joining us?” Sam asked with a smirk as he glanced to the door of the bowling alley, checking to see if anyone had walked in.

“When he gets off of work,” you promised.

“Why do you call him that?” Natasha asked Sam innocently.

“You’ll see,” Sam promised, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek, but you figured there was a pretty good chance she wouldn't get the reference anyway.

Right on cue, Bucky appeared in the doorway and you and Sam waved him to the correct lane. “Hey guys,” he greeted, “hey babe,” he pulled you into a quick kiss. “And happy birthday, Sam.”

“Shh, keep it down, we don’t want any Hollywood people to find out that I’m aging,” Sam joked. “Are you gonna join the game or just observe?”

“I’ll join, if it’s not too late,” Bucky decided.

“Since when do you bowl?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Since I got the prosthetic recalibrated to throw the perfect strike every time,” he winked.

Beers and turns went pretty quickly after that, light conversation interspersed in between, until the more raucous parts of the evening died down and you left Bucky for a moment to join Sam at the bar.

Sam nodded to acknowledge you as you leaned beside him, and you ordered yourself one more drink before you called it a night.

“So, Natasha,” you started the conversation, watching the way Sam couldn’t hide his smile. “She’s great.”

“Yeah, she’s really something,” he agreed. “I wanted you guys to meet her sooner, but you were gone filming for so long and all.”

“Don’t fuck this one up, Sam,” you threatened.

“I’m trying not to!” he defended, before looking around like he was trying to make sure no one was looking. As you furrowed your brow and wondered what he was up to, he pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket and showed you a picture: a ring, with a massive diamond and accents of citrine.

“Holy shit…” you sighed, pulling the phone closer to get a better look.

“Had it custom made, I’m gonna pick it up tomorrow,” he explained, putting the phone away. “I don’t even know how I’m gonna ask her yet… I just know I need to snag this one before she slips through my fingers.”

“You’re really like a whole new man,” you realized aloud.

“I’m telling you, this girl… she really changed everything for me,” he sighed wistfully, and you nodded because you knew what that was like.

“I knew you just needed a good woman to straighten you out, Wilson,” you joked, patting him on the shoulder, “my only mistake was ever thinking it was me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was you, too,” he smiled softly. “I really loved you, even when I was stepping out on you… and I think I needed to love you, and to lose you, to be here now.   So, thank you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome, I guess,” you laughed a little, taking a slow sip of your drink.

“And if she says yes, I’m gonna need all the marriage advice you have to offer,” he bargained.

“I mean, we’ve only been married for a month,” you chuckled, “I don’t think we’re far enough into it to really provide significant guidance.”

“And you’ve already gone through so much together.  Is he doing alright?  You know, his nightmares and stuff…”

You glanced over and where Bucky and Natasha were chatting, admiring how at ease he looked; he usually had a harder time with new people.  “Yeah, it’s been a lot better, he’s on new meds… how did you know about that?”

“He talks to me sometimes,” Sam admitted.  “And as someone who has played a PTSD-striken veteran in not one, but two major motion pictures, I’m sort of an expert,” he winked, but then got serious again.  “I would’ve asked him how he was doing myself but he wouldn’t let me ask him personal stuff on my birthday.”

“I bet he’d let you ask him for his opinion on the ring you just showed me.”

“Um, why would I want his opinion when he bought you that?” he grimaced, pointing at the ring on your finger.  “I mean, sapphires?  Really?”

“Cut it out,” you laughed, shoving him on the shoulder.

“Okay, fine,” he relented. 

“Are you coming to my premiere tomorrow, by the way?” you asked.  “I have it on good authority you were invited, since I demanded it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he nodded, “Nat really wants to go, too.  She’s a big fan of your work.”

“Well, tell her she was great in that one about the missing girl,” you replied.  

“I’ll be sure to tell her exactly that.”

“We should head home, you know how early premiere prep starts,” you sighed with an exhausted roll of your eyes, finishing the last of your drink before grabbing Sam on the shoulder.  “Good luck with however you decide to pop the question with Nat.  Let me know if you need anything.”

He nodded and let you go, and once you got Bucky’s attention and said goodbye to Nat, the two of you made your way out back to the car.

“I’m glad you and Sam get along,” you reminded him as you squeezed his hand.

“What gives you that impression?” he scoffed.

You shook your head and smiled, letting him walk you to the car in silence.

Less than 24 hours later, you held his hand in just the same way as you sat beside each other in the screening auditorium, watching your latest film fade to black and hearing the crowd at the premiere— mostly cast, crew, and critics— erupt into applause.

"I have a little surprise for you," you whispered in his ear as the credits began to flash.

"I am not gonna let you blow me in this crowded theater," he instantly scolded.

"No, not that," you giggled, although you secretly wondered how much less crowded the theater would have to be for him to let you try it.  "Just wait until my name comes up."

Written and Directed by Hope Van Dyne

A Paramount Pictures Film

In Association with Europa

And then there it was, in big white letters, just as much of a trip to see as the first time you saw your name on the big screen.  But something very important had changed.

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes

Everyone at the screening was clapping and cheering, but you were so focused on him that his whisper was the only thing you heard.  "Sweetheart," he gasped, and you smiled wide.  "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to."

"It's just a stage name, if you want to keep it the same—"

"Buck, really.  I want your name there with mine."

"But your credits…" he protested, though the break in his voice made it clear he was tearing up.  "You're an actress and you've established your career already and it's so important to you—"

"Hey," you soothed, reaching up to brush your hand over his cheek, forcing him to look at you.  "Your wife is the most important thing I've ever been."