#And screamed the whole time writing it

[nik-knight]

A Spark in the Darkness

[Written for @hg-aneh]

He should have expected a reaction like this.                              

He knew Crowley better than he knew anybody. There should have been no doubt in his broken mind that the demon—er, the other demon, would fall apart at the news of Aziraphale’s, well, Falling.

Though Aziraphale wasn’t really expecting anything—thinking of anything—as he made his way up the escalator and back to Earth. He didn’t feel like it would do any good.

He didn’t feel anything.

He suspected all the feeling was burned out of him the moment he collided with the molten sulfur. The Fall itself had been a blur of screams and burning feathers. Its impact is what did him in. Her Love, his holiness, and his grace had been ripped from his very being the moment Heaven’s floor gave out under him. Anything left of him must have been burned away during his struggle to escape the boiling pool of sulfur. It felt like years from the time he landed to the time he was able to crawl onto the rotten ground of Hell. In reality, it must’ve only been a few minutes, but that hardly mattered when the Aziraphale that came out of the sulfur was not the Aziraphale he had been before.

There, on the grimy basalt ground of hell, Aziraphale looked at himself to inspect the thing he had become. As far as he could see on the outside, very little had changed. His clothes somehow survived the Fall, but the bottom half of his body was surrounded in a great plume of ash. It settled until he gathered the strength to pull himself into a standing position. The moment his feet met the floor, the ash kicked up again, reforming the great plume that would follow him in the same manner flies followed Beelzebub.

When he looked inside himself, however… that was a different story.

There… wasn’t anything there.

No Love, no grace, not a single particle of holiness remained. Inside him was a vast and empty blackness. A void. A vacuum of nothingness. His multitude of eyes, his flaming wheels, his true self… were all gone.

He may have had the body and the name of Aziraphale, but there was nothing left of the angel he once was.

The emptiness inside him explained his lack of feeling. Aziraphale had nothing but a body, his memories, and a forever ruined set of clothes. He did not have the capacity for emotions or feelings anymore. He supposed he should be grateful for that, but that would involve the use of emotion.

So then. There wasn’t really much to do now. He’d failed his task of fixing heaven. Although he knew deep down that such a thing wasn’t possible, he had to save face in order to try and find a way to protect Crowley and himself from both Heaven and Hell—

Crowley.

That was the whole point of this mess in the first place, to protect Crowley.

And now he was Fallen. He was no longer the angel Crowley fell in love with, but the sad husk of what was once desirable to the demon.

There are many things Aziraphale should have felt about that, but he couldn’t muster the energy.

Instead, Aziraphale turned and made his way out of the sulfur pits.

If nothing else, he could at least inform the demon of his Fall. Then the poor thing would no longer need to wait for an angel that would never return.

Which, of course, led him here to his bookshop where Crowley was now on his knees, desperately grasping onto Aziraphale’s filthy coat and sobbing.

He could smell the charcoal of his own wings behind him, but he didn’t bother to turn and look at them. He knew they were black. He didn’t bother to look down at the weeping demon, either. Instead, he stared at the far wall of the shop and considered his current options. There weren’t many, but that made choosing his next task much simpler.  

He finally moved his head down to look at the fellow demon. He was still kneeling there, sobbing and calling Aziraphale an idiot. It provided further reason for Aziraphale to go through with his next task.

“Crowley.” The word was flat and toneless, but it got Crowley to look up at him, nonetheless. “I have a question.”

Crowley, of course, was a wreck, still mourning the loss of his angel. It was probably insensitive to interrupt him, but the former angel wanted an answer.

“Do you hate me, Crowley?”

The other demon’s eyes widened, and he stood up abruptly to be eye to eye with Aziraphale.

“W-what?”

Aziraphale was fairly sure Crowley heard him the first time, but he repeated himself anyway.

“Do you hate me?”

Crowley then made a series of sounds that were very much not words. Mostly sputtering, really.

“What kind of question is that?!” he demanded, looking very hurt. That wasn’t Aziraphale’s intention, but he could do nothing about it.

“I just need confirmation that this form is no longer necessary.”

The expression Crowley wore went from hurt to confused very quickly. Not wanting to wait for Crowley to ask him to explain, Aziraphale continued.

“I wanted to keep us safe so that one day we may truly be free, but I failed. I’ve Fallen. I am no longer the angel you cared about. I want to be sure that I’m no longer needed.”

Crowley’s eyes widened again, this time in fear. He grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him closer. “Angel, what are you talking about? You’re not making any sense. What do you mean ‘no longer needed?’”

Despite his inability to feel, he nearly swore he was about to become irritated by Crowley dodging the very obvious subject.

“I can no longer serve God, and I doubt I’ll be of any use in Hell. You meant more than anything to me.” Aziraphale wondered if saying that out loud to the Metatron in his enraged state caused his Fall. “I want to be sure that what you say is true, that you are better off on your own. If you hate me, then I will know that there is no reason for my existence to continue. It is getting late in the day, and I believe most of the churches with fonts of holy water will be closing their doors soon.”

Crowley gaped at him for a solid five seconds before he began shouting in Aziraphale’s face again.

“You absolute fucking hypocrite!”

“It was a yes or no question.”

“NO!” Crowley nearly screamed. At that moment everything went very, very still. The sounds of traffic outside ceased along with the usual bustling noises of the city. Later they would discover that Crowley accidentally froze time for a few minutes, but for the moment, their only focus was each other.

“No…” Crowley said in a softer, almost defeated voice. “No, Aziraphale. I don’t hate you. I never will.” Carefully, Crowley gathered Aziraphale’s hands in his and simply held them.

Aziraphale’s abdominal area felt strange.

“But I hurt you. I abandoned you, and I failed you. Surely you hold nothing but contempt for me? I’m also Fallen now. I am no longer your angel.”

“You will always be my angel,” Crowley promised with honest and sincere eyes.

“…Even when I am like this?” Aziraphale gestured to himself and the ash that had almost entirely settled on the bookshop floor.

“We all started out that way when we Fell,” Crowley admitted with a pained crack in his voice. “You can become like your old stuffy, fussy, book-loving self again. I’ll help you. And maybe there’s even a possibility that we can make you an angel again. I can’t promise you anything on that front, but the Metatron did mention that demons can rise again, yeah? Maybe if Heaven discovers that they lost the only truly good angel there was, we can get you risen. You never know.” Crowley shrugged.

He was always Aziraphale’s beacon of hope, especially when it seemed all was lost.

Aziraphale’s throat felt strange now, too.

“You still want me? Even as a demon?” It didn’t make sense to him at all.

“Aziraphale, you could be a worm and I’d still love you.”

Love.

They both knew it, but still, hearing it for the first time was something entirely different.

There was a strange prickling sensation in his eyes now. Perhaps his corporation had been more damaged from the Fall than he realized.

“So, what you said before…”

“I’m a demon,” Crowley shrugged. “I lied.” Without waiting for a rebuttal, Crowley leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the being that would always be his angel. “I love you, Aziraphale. We’ll make things right again, I promise you. Even if it’s just us as a pair of demons trying to save the world, we’ll make it through to the other side. Together.”

“…On our own side…?”

“Yeah, angel. Our side.” Crowley squeezed him harder, holding and promising him that they'd fix this.

After several moments of Crowley holding him, Aziraphale finally reached around to wrap his arms around Crowley. It only seemed appropriate.

They embraced.

He couldn't remember a time they’d ever done that before.

And then he felt something.

Suddenly a spark caught somewhere deep within Aziraphale, deep in where his angelic soul used to reside, deep where Her Love used to culminate within him and disperse throughout the rest of his being, making him the angel he was-- or, the angel he used to be.

But now there was something new there, something bright. No, that wasn't right. It didn't exactly feel new. It felt... familiar. As if it had actually been there the whole time, hiding, lying in wait.

It came out now, this spark, this one little star in the dark, vast oblivion that was his being.

It felt so, so right.

It was a connection. It was them. The both of them. Together as they were always meant to be. It really had been there all along, but with Her blinding, ever-oppressing Love taking up most of his True Self, it never truly had the chance to shine on its own.

Aziraphale inhaled a sharp gasp and squeezed Crowley back. He pulled the other demon closer to him as that spark suddenly exploded into a super nova. In one huge rush, every feeling he’d ever had for the demon and the Earth in the past 6,000 years exploded within him. It was glorious and painful at the same time. Feeling was amazing. Feeling was excruciating. But it was real.

The pinpricks he’d felt in his eyes overwhelmed him, and soon he was sobbing just as hard as Crowley was earlier. Crowley’s eyes weren’t dry either, but the intense release of it all had Aziraphale nearly collapsing on his best friend. Crowley kept him steady, keeping him on his feet when he couldn’t himself. Just like he’d always done. Just like they’d always done for each other.

Crowley slowly guided them to the floor, never letting go of him for even a second. He let Aziraphale slowly return to himself as much as he could in his fragile state, and Aziraphale was grateful. He wept in grief for the loss of his grace, but he also wept in relief that Crowley, despite everything, was still there for him. The other demon had managed to ignite something within the former angel, something that had always been there, but was now finally free.

It was something more magnificent than anything She could have given him, for it wasn't made of Her Love; it was made out of their love. The pure, ugly, messy, wonderful human love they’ve found here on Earth.

It was love.

And it was hope.

🪽

he fall on my demon till i disgrace

[silvers-starrway]

So the wildest thing happened where @mactheactor decided to dub over (if that's even the correct terminology) the Chaos Sonic animation I made!!!!

I'm still in utter awe about this like, hands down the coolest thing ever I've been thinking about this non-stop. Hope y'all enjoy it as much as I do!!

[birdcatt]

love whatever's going on in her life. go girl give us hate and misery!

(context: there are 2 eos heroes, one amnesiac and the other non-amnesiac. the pictured leafeon is the non-amnesiac hero. the 2 heroes are siblings, and also grovyle who they've assimilated into their sibling gang long ago)

[saintvainglorious]

Fics I Enjoyed in January - DC Comics Fic Rec List Part 2

I am still neck-deep in DC fandom this month and the fics have been so so good. Unlike last time, I am too tired to write mini summaries/reviews, so I'm going to feature my favorite quote from each fic instead.

My first DC Comics fic rec list is here!

Floor Plans by @oh-mother-of-darkness (Teen & Up, 1k, 2016) “I really didn’t want to die,” he finished. “I was kind of hoping if I laid here long enough, I would remember what that felt like.”

Losing two brothers in six months takes an emotional toll.

almost right by @bitimdrake (Teen & Up, 3k, 2020) He desperately wishes that he didn’t know what Dick’s cheekbone feels like under a gauntleted fist.

Bruce sucks in a breath, hand raising to fix the cowl. Dick flinches back.

but more with love by @danishsweethearts (Teen & Up, 3k, 2022) Dick wakes up one morning, groggy from a dream that he thinks might’ve been about the circus and also about his favourite car and also about how lonely he is, and realizes that he can’t remember what his mother’s voice sounds like anymore.

O Robin, Robin, wherefore art thou Robin?

The Mechanics of a Hug by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 4k, 2017) “You know… that crushing sense of depression? Like,” Dick chews his lip. “It’s. A physical weight. Makes it hard to breathe?” “Yeah,” Tim says, soft. He smiles, wryly. “I sort of hoped you didn’t, though.”

“So,” Tim ventures. “It's… what, a cuddle pollen?” Bruce just shrugs. “Something like that.”

No Pain, All Gain by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 1k, 2020) Tim’s eyes go even wider. “You stole my organs?” “Technically,” Jason chimes in, “the doctors stole your organs. We just gave them permission.”

Bruce checks Tim’s IV. “Are you in any pain? Do you need more morphine?” Tim’s pupils are so wide that only the faintest ring of blue can be seen. He watches Bruce the way a five-year-old watches cartoons. “I’m all good, B-dog. All Gucci, like we cool teens say." His words are slurred almost beyond recognition, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care. "I could fight Superman right now.”

The Wind Sits in the Shoulder of Your Sail by @birdchildsnest (Teen & Up, 7k, 2020) “Oh my god. Bruce. I can’t even tell if you’re serious. When everybody finally eats the rich—they’re going to eat you first.”

At least, back then, Tim had barely been a teenager. He could almost forgive his own volatility. And he’d been smart enough (scared enough?) not to tell Jack that he didn’t need him. What was his excuse now? Bruce was his dad (at least, in the legal sense), but (surprise, surprise) it turned out that Tim wasn’t any better at being a son. Or Tim and Bruce still have some things to sort through after the adoption.

I Left My Conscience On Your Front Doorstep by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 21k, 2022) He doesn’t want to be loved if being loved is like this.

"I think I'm leaving," Dick whispers. "I think I'm not coming back."

bad boys bad boys (whatcha gonna do) ♫ by @drakefeathers (Teen & Up, 20k, 2014) "They live their lives thinking they can charge through the city with the right to hurt and kill and destroy as many lives as they want. And they do it all without a shred of remorse." “But—” Damian begins, brow furrowed in confusion. “Isn’t that like you?”

a Jason and Damian as Batman and Robin AU!! featuring a bunch of graffiti, a rival dynamic duo, and Cat Jason (a cat named Jason).

The Biggest Mistake by @oh-mother-of-darkness (General Audiences, 1k, 2016) “I could ground him anyway, if it would make you feel better.” “He only said it because I called him ‘a garbage can so ineffective it actually became garbage.’”

"You know what really needs to be addressed? Bruce's truly terrible treatment of Damian." -Me, on a daily basis

been a number and a name by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 35k, 2023) “Turns out if you just say ‘spacetime’ until people’s eyes glaze over they don’t really question anything you say. Also, somehow nobody expects me to be able to actually do enough math to explain it.”

On a field trip, Robin has a close encounter with the newest super in Metropolis, only to discover the hard way that Superboy secretly works for Lex Luthor. They agree to work together on a plan to free Superboy from Luthor’s hold, but Robin isn’t sure how far he can trust him—and his developing feelings only make things more complicated.

clean it like you mean it by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 70k, 2024) "Wait, ugh, you're not my dead dad, right? If I'm getting a dying vision of my dead dad I want a do-over because he suuuuucked."

When Gotham's crooks have to scrub down their lairs, who do they call? Jason Todd, Gotham's first and only underworld crime scene cleaning specialist. He's spent his life dodging the Bat, but after a chance encounter he saves Robin's life. Tim Drake finds himself drawn to the conflicted rogue, and soon Jason becomes Robin's street informant. But they can only stay on opposite sides of the law for so long before something breaks.

3:16 by @wufflesvetinari (Teen & Up, 70k (WIP), 2023) “Try to decouple one thing from the other. I’m proud of you, but ice cream isn’t my grand statement about whether you’ve been good or bad today. Good things are good. Happiness is precious. Sometimes you just want caramel chocolate chip.”

The knife pushes thin along Dick’s carotid artery, cupping the indent between neck and jawline—forcing him to angle his chin. The metal is warm, pulled with execution speed from under Damian’s pillow. “Okay,” Dick says quietly, tracking the intricacies of his own heartbeat—counting the space between breaths. “Guess I did need a shave.” (With faltering steps, Dick and Damian become Batman and Robin.)

wolf-king of rome by @mysterycitrus (Not Rated, 25k, 2024) “You go after Joker, but you don’t kill him, because it’s not about the Joker dying, it’s about Bruce breaking his code for you. It’s about Bruce loving you enough to change himself for the worse. It’s about your idea of grieving.”

Jason doesn’t fear Dick Grayson. Fear itself has changed shape for him, since his return from the Pit - it tastes of dirt in his mouth, of drowning, of fire and blood and laughter, more than a tangible face. Still, he’d be stupid not to be cautious. Dick liked playing on an uneven field, and would do anything to keep him off balance, so he just had to stay focused. That’s the nature of the armistice, both waiting for the other to make a move. It’s like balancing on the head of a pin.

Declensions by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 13k, 2018) “Do not tell them your name. Do as I did to survive. I lied. I have always lied. Make one up. Do not let them have you. Say your name is…is…is…Richard Grayson. Or something. They are going to steal you; do not give them anything to steal.”

“My father,” Dick says, “worked the rope. It cut him. His hands were never clean.”

Passiontide by @bigdvmnhero (Teen & Up, 5k, 2025) Despite its faults, the day had tried to be good. He felt young, like someone's son.

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. Three things he knew: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) Here Dick was, persisting. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less. Or: Agent 37 and his various crises of faith, on Day 277 at Spyral, Day 150, and Day -0.

the time you won your town the race by @silverwhittlingknife (Teen & Up, 4k (WIP), 2022) Tim. Tim is Dick’s. Death sharpens, clarifies these things. Who will receive the body, decide on the funeral, receive condolences, make all the decisions that matter. No one has questioned it, not even Tim’s friends. There’s a terrible clarity about death. If Dick said, let’s burn everything he owned, Alfred would do it.

He doesn’t know exactly what Tim would say. But he knows what Tim would do. Tim dies. Dick doesn’t take death for an answer. A Red Robin 12 AU.

door, opening by @cowboysorceror (Mature, 70k (WIP), 2024) Dick, with the keys to every locked door Jason has ever tried to open, tucked inside the cradle of his skull; all of that, snuffed out like a candle.

It’s barely audible, but he knows what he heard. A short, four-note whistle, chirping down – E, C#, then jumping up to A, F#, a little trill on the finish. He waits a moment, head turned slightly towards the dim shapes of storage containers between him and the ramp, eyes straining against the blackness. Long, stretching seconds. There it is again. His gloved hand, prickling with cold, closes into a fist. It’s a wood thrush. A small North American songbird that doesn’t sing at night, doesn’t live in the city. He knows what it means. It means hold, steady, not yet. It means wait for me, I’m behind you.

[thwispsings]

the idea came to me in a migraine induced dream but now im obsessed with the concept of a mu qingfang who knew the abuse bunhe was going through at the hands of og!shen qingqiu/shen jiu and did his best to treat the kid whenever he could (and bring his concerns to zhangmen shixiong, which were obviously very much ignored) and his constant worry over the situation means that when the qi deviation happens he is suspicious of shen qingqiu’s changes for all different reasons and very much protective of luo binghe -who is a sweet child and an earnest disciple who seems to always find the most incredible medicinal herbs to bring to his mu shishu as thanks for the care bestowed upon him- which means that when the whole shen qingqiu dying thing happens instead of bad mouthing luo binghe or fighting him at every chance he does his best to come over and keep an eye on things to try and help him and make sure luo binghe won’t kill himself trying to bring shen qingqiu back because he remembers that earnest kid and he’s witnessed luo binghe’s devotion to this shen qingqiu first hand and knows there is no way that the kid who cried when ning yingying found a bird with a broken wing and begged mu qingfang to fix it and the kid that would always borrow medical texts and try to find new herb combinations as if it was a game between him and qian cao disciples is actually doing anything nefarious to shen qingqiu’s corpse.

anyways in this essay i will-

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 19

PREVIOUS

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2.  Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion​ @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

[wexhappyxfew]

How about “you can kiss me, you know” for Kennedy and Bucky if you think it fits them? 💜 I can’t wait to see what you cook up from these!

HI SWEET ANON!!!! i must say, upon receiving this prompt - my entire world shifted on its axis a bit so THANK YOU!!!!! the way this prompt fit them was SO INSANELY WELL. it just seemed to scream KENNEDY X BUCKY to me. and i just. ate it up. truly. this was a JOY and a TREAT to write and just. safe to say - bucky's POV of kennedy farley is one of my favorite things ever and just - THEY DESERVE THE WORLD !!!!!! they deserve all that is good and well!!! <3333 THANK YOU AGAIN ANON - positively *obsessed*! kennedy x bucky girlies this is for YOU! :D

you found me

(a/n): POV: we're in Bucky's POV, opening scene is when everyone is getting letters from home and he hasn't gotten a single one. that one post about the way the show seemed to portray bucky not getting letters left me reeling and just. do with that what you will. and also. yeah. kennedy makes bucky's mind got scatter-brained at every given opportunity lmao. COME AND GET IT !!!!!!!! THESE TWO JUST. INSANE. INSANE INSANE INSANE. (this prompt was everything) cue: you found mehhh, you found mehhhh, lying on the floorrrr...... (don't mind my horrible puns, it's in the title lmfao, i couldn't help it, but it's a kennedy quote so haha!)

The place was changing him.

He knew that much.

He could tell when he woke in the morning and went to bed at night, and his mind was an even deeper and darker place than it had been 12 hours earlier. Seeing the women the way they were, the men, the food situation, the general health of each and every person crammed in that bunk room, seeing the new guys coming in day in and day out, walking in circles convincing himself he wasn't crazy.

It was changing him and he couldn't wrangle in that change in any way that would be manageable.

And seeing those letters.

Goddamn, it made him a little crazy inside - those words, the smells, the feelings, the evident love and care that were in each and every one.

Something deep in his chest hurt a little more than he wanted when mail call would come and peoples' names would be read out and they'd get their letters and be reading it with such gratitude and genuineness in their gazes.

It usually made Bucky snippy, a little more irritated in a way he didn't want. And without fail, Buck could usually get a whiff of that the second that he grew quiet and withdrawn.

Curse his customary loud mouth!

"I think you were right," Buck said as they walked side by side, kicking up dust, grimacing at the slightly bitter chill of early-morning air racing across the open patch of brown dirt and sand their barracks were on, "we should've made a run for it while they were out chasing those Brits." Should've, could've, would've. Bucky bit back his lip and glanced sideways at Buck a bit before looking forward a bit with a shake of the head.

"Maybe, but I can't help thinking you were right. Better to play it safe." Bucky answered quietly back, a worn tone to his voice, sudden agitation lingering in his throat, "The hell am I rushing back home for?" It grew quiet for a moment.

What the hell was he so hellbent on getting out of here for anyway? A life? A home? A girlfriend? He shook his head.

"Other guys get letters. You get letters. Bessie gets letters. Hambone gets letters." Bucky said, "To get a letter, you need someone to get it from." Bucky watched as he kicked a stone forward, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the cool wind back again, blowing up his neck and across his face, "Guess I never set that part up right." Buck looked over at him slightly.

"That's just this place talking. You're tired."

"I am tired."

"You'll have plenty of time for that when you get out." Buck said, his ever-present tender tone, his voice a pleasant escape from the world around them, so hopeful and yearning for a future outside of this.

"You'll set it up right next time." Bucky wished he was a little more like that.

"They're only gonna know this me. Not the old me." Bucky said quietly, with a sigh. "Me before I got here. That's if we even get out."

"We'll get out. And this you will be the one worth knowing." Buck said - this you will be the one worth knowing? Would this Bucky be worth it? Knowing him? His tendencies, his way about looking at life like it were some sort of rock to throw in the water on the side of a river? Like hazardously tip-toeing around something without taking that extra care to see it through? The Bucky who lost all composure when Buck had gone down, when men went down every day, when Kennedy had come in looking more ghost than waist gunner.

"You sure about that?" he asked Bucky, glancing over at the man with a stern look in his gaze, "I wouldn't be convinced."

"Farley seems convinced." Buck said and it took all of two seconds for Bucky to freeze.

Farley?

Listen, Bucky was a fan of Kennedy Farley, always had been, always would be - even if she was a Red Sox fan - but he had lost the point where Farley was connected to the conversation.

"What's Farley gotta do with this?" Bucky asked, turning to look at Buck with a slightly standoffish look in his eye, "I don't think she needs any sort of convincing. She just….thinks what she thinks and does what she needs to do from there, you know? Don't get me wrong, Farley's a good someone to have in your back pocket - hell, we're in each other's by this point but-" Buck stopped and looked to him, placing his hands on his hips, giving Bucky a look, stopping Bucky in his rather rambling attempt to cover his ass - for whatever reason, he wasn't sure.

"You know what I'm talking about, Bucky," Buck said, his voice quiet, "don't tell me you're confused." Bucky looked at him.

"Cut the crap, Buck." Bucky said quietly, watching as Buck smiled the slightest bit.

"You can't keep your eyes off her, Bucky," Buck said quietly, "and here you are saying you got no one." Buck stepped forward and gently patted his shoulder. "She's been there the whole time."

Bucky followed Buck into the bunk room and immediately let his eyes become drawn to her there at the table in the center of the room, her ginger hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes looking more tired than they had been in days, and her nose bright red - still fighting off that damn cold everyone had seemed to catch.

Bucky had paused a bit in the threshold, his body locked up in a way that he was sure even a fire couldn't melt and briefly caught Buck's gaze back at him as he went to lift himself onto a bunk.

It was pretty quiet in the room for one and going directly over to Kennedy, and asking her just to talk real quick would probably make things more obvious than needed.

And a sudden bit of jitters hit him as he stood there, eyes locked on Kennedy, hands shoved in his pockets, heart pounding. With the way the sun seemed to be hitting her from the windowpane that they had stood by those few weeks in the middle of the night, he couldn't help but seem to swallow all his thoughts and words into a pit in the middle of his stomach.

"Sir?" Bucky blinked quickly to find the group at the table looking up at him, the familiarity of Margie's voice hitting his ears as he glanced at her, sat at the table, flipping through a book - a mixture of mild confusion and concern contorting her face.

"Uh," Bucky started, clearing his throat awkwardly and then looking to Kennedy, "can we talk?" His voice came out slightly hoarse, muffled and choked as he asked her and he knew he needed to get it together quick or he'd look more like a clown than anything.

Kennedy gave him a weird look - she was always giving him weird looks, admittedly, if she wasn't, he'd probably be more concerned. But then she nodded, placing down her own book in her hands and got to her feet, a slight smile on her face.

That smile was enough to send him into a new dimension, he was sure of that - and he wasn't sure of a lot of things - the war, the future, even right now. He was sure of that smile though.

And Kennedy.

"What's up?" she asked him, coming around the table and looking up at him.

Words, words, words.

"Not here." Bucky said quickly, not missing the slow smile rising on Buck's face from somewhere in his goddamn peripheral that was enough to make him squirm, "The library?" Kennedy eyed him.

"Sure." she said, vaguely suspicious sounding. She slid past him and it seemed it got his own legs moving as he caught Buck's eye again - who winked enthusiastically. Bucky gave him a look, briefly catching Margie's second of growing suspicion before following after Kennedy to the library at the corner of the building.

Stepping inside, it was empty and if anything - quiet. Bucky could get a wrangle on his thoughts and hopefully not sound like a fool in front of Kennedy.

Kennedy turned to him as he slowly shut the door behind him, her eyes running over him worriedly, stood with her arms folded across her chest, a quiet look on her face that was beyond enough to make his insides warm.

He'd seen Kennedy Farley as a more stripped back person of herself out here and to say it made him yearn for that time back in Thorpe Abbotts everyday, made him go a little crazy. If he hadn't been so….just chasing after anything, so blinded by the alcohol and the women and the music. If he'd just taken a moment to focus and see Kennedy Farley had been there all along. With that laugh, that smile, her comforting words, her willingness to put herself all out there just for the hell of it.

"You okay?" Kennedy asked him, her eyes searching his face, a small smile darting out with a chuckle, "You look a little pale."

"For Chrissake, the sun don't ever come out, Kenny," he said, his nervous chatter slipping out as a small smile graced his presence and it seemed to echo in Kennedy's smile back to him, "no, no, I'm fine, serious, just. Needed to talk. To you."

"Yeah." Kennedy said, watching him, slightly confused, "We….sorta established that back in the bunk room."

"Right." Bucky said, his brain malfunctioning in every improper way that a brain could in a moment like this, "Need to talk. Yes." Kennedy laughed slightly, before simply smiling that gorgeous grin.

"So, what's up?"

Two feet between them felt like the farthest they'd been.

"Not much, just…..with Buck getting that letter and all. From Marge…." Bucky started, his voice steady for once. Confident.

"Marge." Kennedy echoed, "Seems like a sweetheart. The two of them."

"Yeah," Bucky choked out and nodded, placing his hands on his hips, "yeah, just….thought a lot and. Talked to Buck about things and just. This. Where we are. It's…." Kennedy watched him, the previous bit of light-hearted joking in her eyes dwindling away as she watched him.

"What's going on, Bucky?" Kennedy asked, her voice serious in a way that made his words pull themselves together - because that's what Kennedy deserved. None of his stumbling, mumbling, jumbling self.

"I just…." Bucky started and then couldn't help but slowly reach out and placed his hands on her shoulders, slowly moving in small circles near her clavicle and towards her shoulders, squeezing gently as they stared at each other, her face so close to his, he could see green specks in her brown eyes, "Getting downed. In that plane. And having you show up. All those talks we've had. All those nights. I just. You've helped me to realize a lot of things about life that wouldn't have fucking come to my attention if I hadn't talked to you." Kennedy stared at him, slightly taken aback.

"And…..Kennedy, I just," Bucky started, holding her gaze, his eyes on her lips and her bright-red nose and her eyes and back to her lips again - God, if he could just get a taste right here, right now, "even when the war ends, I don't…. I don't want to stop knowing you." A moment of silence stilled around them as Kennedy let out a small breath and slowly nodded at him.

"Me either, Bucky," she said, and then tilted her head, "what's going on, Bucky, seriously. Are you running a fever? Did someone say something to you? You're gonna live through this, ya know?"

"I know!" Bucky exclaimed, his voice louder than wanted as he looked back to her and shook his head and sighed, "I know, it's not….it's not that. It's….it's more. Us. You and me."

"What about you and me?" Kennedy asked him, a small smile growing on her face before gently bumping his shoulder with a first, "We're good, you know that. You and me." Bucky watched her, the corners of his lips growing upwards into a grin.

"I know that." he said with a slow nod and smile that got her grinning wider.

"Then what's got your mind racing?" she asked him, stepping closer to him. Bucky swallowed.

"You." he said, confident as can be - he was always confident looking at her, at them. Her back hit the wall next to the door, their faces intermingling in front of one another as they continued staring into each other's eyes, her slightly lower than him but all just the same.

"Me?" she asked, as if to spur him and his pounding heart on, "Highest honors, Bucky Egan. What did I ever do to deserve lingering in your mind so much, huh?"

"A lot," admonished Bucky, verbalizing his thoughts for once, "everything you do. Even just standing there like this. You make me crazy, you know." Kennedy's eyes flitted to his lips and she sucked in a breath as she met his gaze again.

"Well," Kennedy whispered, slowly reaching up to wrap her fists in balls of his brown A2 near the collar, smiling slightly, "if you must satisfy such a need and displeasure, you can just kiss me, you know."

Everything around Bucky practically dissipated in his peripheral vision, his hands freezing on her shoulders, acutely aware of the death grip she had on the front of his A2, along with that look in her eye.

Watching her, knowing she was watching him back, suddenly made him realize what words had just slipped from her mouth. Kennedy Farley's mouth. He must've pulled quite the 'slap-in-the-face' sort of look because Kennedy smirked, rather confidently, and pulled him slightly closer, her warm breath fanning his face, that look in her eyes making him feel like ice next to fire.

"When were you gonna tell me you wanted to kiss me, huh?" he whispered, voice low, briefly noticing her cheeks bloom to a light crimson, enough to make him chuckle as he found himself now, stepping closer, caging her practically against the wall with his broad-shouldered form.

Months ago, if you told him, he'd be standing there, inches from Kennedy Farley, he would've laughed. He really would've. For it seemed that what it was worth, Kennedy Farley wanted nothing more out of him than simply a friend and a leader. And suddenly, she was standing right there, her eyes on his lips, his hands slowly creeping towards her neck, brushing the skin beneath her jawline and he felt the collar of his neck grow hot.

"When were you gonna tell me?" she whispered back, looking up at him; enough to make his mind feel quickly scattered and Bucky couldn't seem to help it.

Bucky heard those words from her lips and didn't think twice, as he leaned down and engulfed her lips with his own, a groan leaving his mouth as she pulled him towards her even more so, kissing back with just as much urgency as he had to her.

His hands were pressed into her rosy cheeks, her fingers were into his hair and he could feel every inch of her lips on his - kissing back in a way that did make him crazy. He didn't know how fast things were moving when a whimper left her lips and he slid his tongue into her mouth, this slow, sanguine pull inside him making him yearn for all of her right then and there.

It was desperate, maybe a little bit messy, but Bucky had never wanted someone so bad that made him so nervous like a schoolboy.

He had never wanted like this.

He couldn't help it when his hands moved to her waist and a moan left her mouth as his lips trailed to her jawline and then to her neck, nibbling at each and every soft part of her skin that was flush with the feel of her underneath his lips. She was groaning quietly in his ear, enough to make all of his senses suddenly….something he hadn't felt in quite some time, as he pulled back briefly only to capture her lips in his again.

And for a moment, they had to pull back, he had to pull back or he wouldn't be able to control himself, gently pressing his forehead against hers, the two of them panting like some sort of other worldly creature.

Being so close to her, intoxicated by her touch and her being, her felt crazed by what the feel of her lips on his had been. Her hand slowly trailed up to the side of his slightly stubbled face, her fingertips making him shiver and an almost desperate, groaning noise leaving his lips just at her touch. It was like fire - good fire - and how fire was good he would never know because though it could keep you warm, it always brought some form of destruction with it all. But her touch, her flame, the fire, it made him completely undone.

"I feel insane around you," Bucky whispered softly against her lips before deeply pressing a kiss against her evidently swollen lips and pulling back, "you know that?" He couldn't open his eyes, he felt drugged under her touch and simply her, but he heard her let out a quiet laugh, her hands gently tapping along the sides of his face again as she did so.

"Didn't know I had that sort of effect on you, Major Egan." she whispered quietly, her voice slightly hoarse. Bucky let out a quick laugh, before squeezing his hands against her hips again that were so deeply pressed against his own and he sighed, a pathetic sigh.

"Longer than I thought actually, Kenny," he whispered quietly back, "way longer than I thought."

Kennedy giggled - she giggled.

Bucky's brain actually stuttered a bit at the thought of Kennedy giggling - like that - because it seemed the last thing she'd do. But it sounded so adorable and he was the only one that had heard it and for a second, he felt like the luckiest person to be standing there right now.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and found Kennedy and her big, deep brown eyes already staring back at him - catching that brilliant gaze that watched him back - slightly giddy, soft and enthralled all at once. A sight he'd probably remember until his death bed.

And he couldn't help but grin and bring up a hand to cup the side of her face, touching her skin, her hair, her. He felt like had was under a spell and she was the culprit in every right way that she could be one.

"I can honestly say much of the same," Kennedy whispered quietly, her eyes growing squinty for a minute as she smiled and laughed, "you always looked at me different, Bucky, I knew that." Bucky watched her, his smile seemingly plastered on his face and he couldn't fight it down.

"What are you talking about?" he whispered back, leaning closer, their noses brushing, his other hand escaping up under her shirt to her bare skin, caressing her softness, "Different, huh? You noticed?"

"And you're admitting to it?" she whispered back with another chuckle, "Bucky Egan, you are really surprise after surprise, aren't you." She chuckled and he couldn't help but watch her eyes again so close to her.

"Nah," Bucky whispered, "just….." He watched her smile. "I always thought about you, ya know. And I wasn't lying. Back when I heard Silver Bullets took a hit and it was Margie. I thought of you." Bucky grinned wider.

"I'd think of you at night, too. Sometimes I wondered if I could try and find you at night, just to talk to you," Bucky whispered, "but I'd shove it out of my mind. Didn't think you thought like that. About me. About us." Kennedy watched him, a small smile lingering on her lips.

"You could've come and found me," Kennedy whispered back to him, her thumb brushing his cheek, a grin poking out, "would've been better than….I don't know, wrestling with some fucking nightmares, ya know?"

"I'll be honest, Farley, I probably would've kissed you way sooner then if I had done that," Bucky said with a winning grin, "a helluva lot sooner. Coming and finding you." Kennedy watched him, her eyes shining as she let out a laugh.

"You found me." she whispered back and Bucky couldn't seem to help the grin on his face as he came to cup her cheeks.

"I'd see you at the flying club," Bucky whispered, softly pressing his lips to her nose, "dancing and drinking and twirling and singing….." Kennedy watched him from right there across from him, inches from his face. "I've always liked you, Kenny."

"Always?"

"Always." Bucky said, "Back when you were my waist gunner - you always had that confident look in your eye, I knew you could probably shoot better than the rest of the guys, and you sure as hell were one tough nut to crack and I…you're just always in the back of my mind, ya know?"

"John Egan." Kennedy whispered, reaching up to loop her fingers into his hair and trace down the sides of his face, "I don't deserve you."

"You're telling me," Bucky whispered, "I don't deserve an ounce of you, but here we are and I feel like the luckiest man in the world. Fuck." Kennedy watched him and continued this gentle touch along his head, with the most genuine, soft look in her eyes.

"Telling my parents that the man I'm in love with is a Yankees fan-" Bucky's heart pounded. She continued talking, but he missed whatever else she had just said. His thoughts honed in on her first sentence.

That word.

"What?" Bucky said quietly, looking at her fully, his smile gone, his eyes bright, "What'd you say?"

"I'm gonna have to tell my parents that you're a Yankees fan - and my brothers! They're gonna-"

"No, no," Bucky whispered quietly, a smile growing on his cheeks as he softly pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling back, "the other thing. The other part of that." Kennedy stared at him and then let out a soft chuckle.

"I'm in love with a Yankees fan."

"Who is me?"

"Who is you."

"And who you love?"

"For quite some time." Kennedy whispered, her eyes glossy, "I don't tell people about much more than what you can see of me, much less what's inside of me. You know more than what my mother might know." Bucky chuckled against her lips and pressed another kiss there, holding her there so deeply and strongly, he didn't want to let go.

"What I'm trying to say without it sounding all over the place," Kennedy whispered as he pulled back, "is that I'm in love with you and that I love you." Bucky watched her, smirking, so widely, so genuinely, so proudly, that if they weren't here, he didn't know what he'd do with words like that. He had a few ideas, but he was so focused on her right now that he couldn't think straight.

"I'm really fucking in love with you, too, Kenny," he whispered, his free hand on her bare skin on her back pressing against her and making a small whimper escape her lips as he sighed pleasantly, "and I really want to kiss you again. For a while." Kennedy stared at him - her face was glowing, he swore to God, and she smiled. His heart pounded.

"Then kiss me, Major," she whispered against his lips, "kiss me hard."

And he did just that.

[topaz-carbuncle]

shakarian in the citadel dlc, my beloved

[lightningidle]

Fig's line "I don't think I'm an artist, I think I'm just a good friend" has not left my head at all. Just...

You're Fig Faeth and your horns came in over the summer and you pick up the bard class as a form of adolescent rock 'n' roll rebellion, and it works! It's exactly the outlet you need! You give a guy you just met drumsticks and you start a band and it's good enough that within a year and a half you're touring. You are, in every sense, good at being a bard.

And then, finally, your junior year, you start to take it seriously. Your art goes from an outlet and a form of rebellion to a practice. A discipline. (Can rebellion exist within a discipline?) Your classmates know what they want to do with their work. They all have a thesis statement. And yeah, there's cohesion in the music you make, but you've never had to think about why you make it. You've never sat down and dissected what it is about bass that speaks to you. You've never poured over your lyrics to pick at any deeper meaning. Why should you? You don't play music for a grand design, you do it to... huh, why do you do it?

(Your art is the one form of self-expression that feels as safe as Disguise Self does, because even if you're pouring your heart onto the page and then screaming it in front of thousands of people, it's not like you're really making yourself known. You can sing I'm lonely, I'm scared, I'm furious, and your fans will sing it right back, and there will still be the distance between performer and audience to keep your heart safe.)

Now you're being asked to look inward to explain the artistic choices you're making, and you can't help but recoil at that, because you'd rather do anything than look inward. Meanwhile, your classmates have no problem with it, so you start to wonder if you're a real artist at all. Can your art be authentic if it only exists to bolster a thesis statement? Has your art been unauthentic this whole time because you've never really thought about a thesis statement before? Is that what makes it art, and not just the next track on somebody's teen angst playlist?

You can't think about yourself— acknowledging your own existence makes you want to puke. So if your music is an extension of yourself, (and it is, even if it's just because the spotlight reveals only what you want it to,) you can't think about your music. You can't. You have to. Your grade depends on it.

You're Fig Faeth, and you keep multiclassing because you'd rather be a good friend than a great artist. If introspection is what great art demands, then fuck it. You must not be a bard at all.

[jennilah]

au where Strahm loses his voice entirely & permanently from the tracheotomy

food for thought

[rosyborealis]

Thinking about her❤️❤️😢

[whitherwanderer]

4 // reticent

Accessing Everkeep Data Terminal Network . . . Please remain still for regulator scan or insert identification tag. Verifying user registration . . . User PYR-0562 registration verified. Access granted. Welcome back, Pyrite. Memory storage shard detected in port A. Displaying memories. IMG_1051 IMG_1052 IMG_1053 IMG_1054 IMG_1055 IMG_1056 > IMG_1055 Loading IMG_1055 . . . Loading failed. Memory corruption detected.

Blue light from the terminal screen cast a sickly glow across the room, making a sleepless Pyrite look all the more weary as her eyes strained against the blocky remnants of a corrupt image. Despite the distortion of the image turning the figures pictured into little more of a hint at a person, she could recognize herself in one of them; the suggestion of a smile on her face, her arm slung around a brunet man that could be none other than Galena, though she had no recollection of this moment preserved in light.

He had long since awoke and found her there, alert but not wholly present, as she delved into their personal records. She could still feel the press of his lips on her cheek before he left their darkened apartment to begin the long trek out to the driftdowns. She only opened the image back up when she was sure he was long gone.

Between them in this disembodied memory, observed secondhand through a broken lens, was a third figure.

Younger. Much younger. Not more than ten years old. Held in their arms with a certain pride she could almost remember feeling once. Blonde, like her, but otherwise featureless. The conclusion was as obvious as it was maddening. But when? How?

The longer she stared, the more it ate at her how much was missing. A name she wanted to call out in a long-learned habit, though her tongue could never quite form the syllables. A face she could almost see in the white, flickering moment as her eyes closed, but something always pulled her away from recognition of a face. Everyone was aware of the cloud. Everyone had these holes in their memory. So why did this eat at her so?

The blinking prompt beneath the image tempted her sorely. She had already found the futility in taking up its offer, however…

Repair IMG_1055? [Y/N] >  Y Repairing IMG_1055 . . .

What is it they say about the definition of insanity?

She watched the loading bar fill, tick by painful tick, until there came a chime at the door that, for all its intended pleasantness, nearly sent her to the floor with a jolt. “Who’s there?” she calls.

“Pyrite? It’s me,” a young woman called over the comms unit just outside, “Sphene.” Pyrite froze in her seat, her blood set to ice. She clapped the terminal closed and kept her hand atop it as if it might shout her secrets if she didn’t, then looked down to examine herself.

“I apologize for calling upon you at this hour. I haven’t woken you, have I?”

“No,” Pyrite calls back urgently. “No, I was already awake. Just- just give me a moment to get myself decent, your Majesty.”

“Oh! By all means.”

Fully clothed, but caught obviously unprepared for any guest, let alone the bloody Queen of Reason herself. Not that Sphene was known to judge, but the impropriety of greeting her barefoot did cross Pyrite’s mind. So too did the thought of keeping her waiting at the door.

Pyrite hurried to the entrance, pressing her hand to the pad beside it that saw the shades open and the lights of Solution Nine to fill the room before another press lifted the door, revealing the young queen’s expectant, spring green stare and warm smile. Coiffed, crowned, and poised, wide eyes and the wringing of the young queen’s hands indicated something was troubling her, but she brightened the moment Pyrite smiled back at her, however wearily.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, your Majesty,” she Pyrite offers, harried though it is, and the queen’s eyes close with a gentle shake of her head.

“Don’t be, my dear Pyrite. It’s still quite early,” the regent assured. She paused, looking back over Pyrite’s shoulder for a moment before smiling to politely inquire. “May I come in?”

Pyrite was keenly aware she’d been sorting through the records and attempting repairs for hours now. The Everkeep administrative systems would have caught it, wouldn’t they? The visit from the queen couldn’t be a coincidence.

Her smile widened from ear to ear. Why did this feel like a guilty conscience on display? “‘Course. Please, come in.”

As Pyrite stood aside to let the young queen enter with polite thanks, her hands were kept folded neatly at her middle. Her scintillant dress cast prisms of light about the floor, turning as she did once she reached the middle of the room. Pyrite touched the pad against the wall once more and the door slid closed, quieting the distant sound of Sphene’s name called down the hallway.

The resulting beat of silence frayed Pyrite’s already buzzing nerves.

“Restless morning?” she asked the queen. An attempt at smalltalk to soothe the nerves. It was not so long ago that they gossiped like schoolgirls after all.

“Restless is… one way of putting it,” the queen tone nearly touches upon sardonic humor. This does little to put Pyrite’s nerves at ease.

“...How have you been, Pyrite?” Sphene asks tentatively, turning to look upon Pyrite with a smile that spoke of genuine concern. Like a check-in after an illness. Why did the queen’s once-comforting visits now feel like interrogation? “You look well, and that is heartening enough. I hope the same goes for dear Galena?”

“I am, and so is he,” Pyrite said cooly, motioning towards the sofa. She didn’t take a seat until the queen accepted the offer, happily perching on the edge of the cushion and smoothing her dress over her lap.

“But somehow I get the feelin’ you didn’t come by just to tell me I looked well,” Pyrite remarks lightly, and Sphene’s eyes glint with delight.

“Ah… subtlety has never been my strong suit, has it?” the queen admits, casting her gaze to her knees. Her smile remains warm. “In truth, I was rather worried about you and Galena.”

Play dumb, instict told her. “Worried? Why for?” Pyrite asks, sitting back. Was this too casual? Did it read as too confident?

“I heard a spot of troubling news from the hunters afield in the Thunderyards. That one of our valiant huntresses had suddenly handed in her notice of resignation…” Her Majesty hints, jeweled gaze lifting to the fool’s gold of her host’s.

Pyrite clicks her tongue. “Loudmouths, the lot of ‘em,” she jokes, and Sphene lifts her fingers to her lips to giggle. The apparent ex-huntress sighs, her head tilting to one side. “They speak true, I’m ‘fraid. I’m lookin’ fer new work. Somethin’ to keep my edge honed. And the change is… welcome, I suppose.”

Not a complete lie. Not the whole truth, either.

“Ah, so that’s the way of it. New employment,” the queen surmises with approval in her tone. “Blessed are we to have ambitious people like you seeking new challenges and finding more ways they might serve our fellow Alexandrians. I do not doubt your skills can be put to good use elsewhere, within the keep or without.”

She pauses, her hands folding on her lap again to wring gently. Here it comes, Pyrite tells herself with an inhale. Surely this wasn’t honest trouble, was it? It was only their personal records, their rightful property, And she can’t have been the first to go digging through the past. She certainly wouldn’t be the last. Could it really be so dangerous to go fishing for memories lost in the cloud?

“...I gather Galena also seeks such new challenges?” comes a tentative worry, and the young queen’s smile is one of honest apprehension. “I spied him at Mosaic this morning and I couldn’t help but notice that he had forgone the use of a regulator.”

Pyrite’s lip is pinched between her teeth, but she manages to finally exhale. So that’s what drew the queen’s attention to them. Washed over with the relief that her prying into the past would have consequences for herself and her husband, she could speak to the Queen of Reason with some degree of candor. Sphene, for her part, did seem honest in her concern. Her delicate hand pressed to her chest as she made plain her case.

“Just this month we’ve seen a one hundred and sixty-eight percent increase in soul use among the reforgers. Of course we cannot accurately capture full scope of the risk with so many who don’t wear regulators, but we’re still seeing a rate of nearly ten accidental deaths per year on average, seven of which are caused by aggressive wildlife and the other three—”

She stopped herself short, and Pyrite realized how deeply furrowed her brow must have been as Sphene began to cite statistics they were both fully, painfully aware of. Galena wasn’t just taking a risk in choosing not to wear the regulator and continuing to operate in the field; it was downright recklessness. But it was still his choice, and Sphene knew this.

Both took a beat to release their tension, the queen adjusting herself to face her host fully, her smile apologetic. Pyrite obliged her with a tired smile of her own.

“I’m sorry,” Sphene laughs, pained but earnest.

Pyrite forgives her with a shake of her head. “You care for him. Couldn’t possibly be cross with Her Majesty for worrying over her subjects’ well being.”

“I do care for him, just as I care for you, Pyrite,” the queen agrees quietly. “Queen or not, you are dear friends to me, and I would do anything within my power to make your lives as happy and fulfilling as I can, even if that means merely providing a listening ear. So please, know that if there is anything you would like to talk about—anything at all—you may confide in me as you would any other.”

Her plea is honest, heartfelt. Pyrite knows well that the queen’s word is her bond, even as she smiles cooly. “I appreciate it, Queen Sphene. Truly, I do,” Pyrite tells her. A part of her doesn’t lie. “Might be I’ll take you up on that someday.” Both know, of course, that the offer would remain on the table. Untouched.

Sphene’s smile wanes, gladdened, but plainly disappointed. She seemed to recognize the appropriate time to leave her host to her thoughts, and rises to her feet. Pyrite follows suit.

“I shan’t press. Ever have you kept your counsel, and to ask it of you now may well be brazen indulgence, I fear. I ask no more of you except that you forgive me if I’ve overstepped.” Sphene’s expression wanes pleasantly apologetic before she takes a determined step towards the door with Pyrite close behind.

With the press of the door panel and the hiss of hidden hydraulics, the sound of conversation down the hallway fills the silence once again. Pyrite soaks in the relief of nearly having her privacy once again, until Sphene’s hand catches the door.

She turns, her voice lowering. “If I may be brazen once more, might I prevail upon you to ask Galena if he would reconsider the use of a regulator? I wouldn’t presume to disrespect his choice but…” It’s she that bites her lip this time. “It would break my heart to learn that tragedy had struck and I was powerless to keep his memory safe.”

Pyrite blinks, unmoving. It takes a moment for her to remember to offer some sort of condolence in the form of a nod and a smile. “I’ll talk to him, Queen Sphene,” she promised. She did not promise the content of that conversation, but Sphene smiled gratefully nonetheless.

“That is all I ask. Thank you, Pyrite. Be well.”

Pyrite watches her depart, motes of refracted light following her across the floor as she is excitedly flagged down by the small group conversing down the hallway, eager to catch up with the young queen. She pushes off the door and closes it, breathing in the silence.

But a few steps to her terminal to check on the progress of the repairs, and she is unsurprised to see it report failure to repair yet again. The error code is frustratingly familiar. 

Unable to repair. Error code: ORIG-0053

But perhaps it wasn’t a dead end. She taps at the display, punching the code into the database for a workaround or some other solution—bootleg or otherwise. She couldn’t have been the first to attempt this.

Instead of solutions, however, she is greeted by a message.

Please, do not despair. Your precious memories are held in the Cloud for safekeeping until such time as you are ready to reunite with them. Until then, I ask only for your patience. All will be well.

The terminal is slapped closed again, and Pyrite silently seethes for reasons she doesn’t quite understand. There must be others who went looking and shook with silent rage for all the answers that seemed to slip through their fingers. There must be.

She just had to find them.

[qoldenskies]

Don’t feel pressured to answer or anything because I’m mostly just thinking out loud, especially if it’s part of future plot, but I’m so curious as to what Splinter was doing during the time Donnie was in the closet. Was he even there? If he was, did the boys just tell him he was having his meltdowns or something? Splints where were you those 3 MONTHS?

Also I keep thinking about Donnie’s shark plushie in Coming Undone… that’s all <3 Do they have a name?

they intentionally threw splinter off the trail! he's very in and out of their lives at times (like how he doesnt really know most of what they get into when they patrol) and donnie has already taken,, well, more emotional and physical distance from him compared to mikey, for example (this is shown through things like donnie asking splinter for advice to be "drastic measures", he has some BAGGAGE he is not acknowledging with his dad), so paired with them intentionally keeping things away from him and him leaving the lair more (i like to imagine he's taken up dating again.... get it splinter!!! so sorry about the trauma demon that has just taken your family though) it was kind of inevitable. donnie sees him around quite a bit and there's some skips through time so its not like he disappeared completely after crying to him about what was going on, but for the last month splinter didnt see him at all :( im sure he was aware SOMETHING was going on because they were all acting off, but he didn't catch anything until he came back to the lair after the curse broke and immediately walked into raph and leo trying to kill each other (they were hysterical with stress and didnt mean it, dont worry about it)

its just another case of seeing signs but not having the full picture. april, for example, knew about the distance donnie was taking from her the whole time (she very correctly clocked what he was doing on the rooftop) but even with their communication improving she didn't want to overwhelm him especially because he likes to double down,,, she regrets that now. most of the excuses from the other three were along the lines of "he's having a bad day/doesn't want to hang out right now" which is unfortunately very effective because donnie can turn into a recluse at times already, and why would they assume theyre intentionally trying to isolate him?

as for the shark plushie, donnie to me is the type of person who will she/her everything he owns and talk to objects so she DEFINITELY has a name, he probably picked a longer one like genevieve or eleanor or something. they all forget everything all of the names he gives things so they just call it The Shark Plushie. maybe ill pick one and bring her back for canary continuity, she's a queen

[heffrondriving]

oh so NOW y'all rushers wanna talk about James Diamond/Jett Stetson and Jo Taylor/Lucy Stone?!??!?!!! NOW y'all wanna go and totally get behind that like it's the next big revelation?!!??? WHERE WERE Y'ALL WHEN I WAS OUT THERE FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE ALONE IN THE FRONTLINES COVERED IN BLOOD AND RELENTLESSLY HERALDING THESE DAMN RAREPAIRS WITH EVERY INCH OF MY BATTERED CONVICTION AND YET NO ONE FUCKIN LISTENED?!?!!!! ISTG I'M GODDAMN CASSANDRA RN FINALLY WATCHING FORETOLD PROPHECIES GET FULFILLED AND YET. THE VINDICATION FEELS ALL TOO LATE AS THE LEGACY I HAVE BUILT IS ALL BUT FORGOTTEN NOW

[yuwuta]

something i think is absolutely bonkers is when fans of an anime/manga start publicly saying fuck you to the mangaka—who is still a very real person—just because the villainous character, who is not real at all, they wanted to fuck died

[padfootastic]

i am so tired of female characters being inherently written as ‘terrifying’ or ‘scary’ w no respect to their characterisation.

for one, it feels so fake. i know so many women irl (i am one!!!) and there are very few, of any, that i would categorise as ‘scary as is’. heck, even if we go by tempers—the numbers just don’t match.

but somehow in fics, every single woman is a terrifying force of nature bc that’s…somehow…the only way we can think of women? idk?

and also just, it’s such a two dimensional characterisation that i only see w the female characters. all men aren’t angry and hex-happy and scary all the time. they’re affable, chill, respond to situations thoughtfully instead of always resorting to violence.

i think it also bothers me bc the anger thing flows neatly into the v gendered carefree man child/stuck up fun sponge stereotypes that so many relationships are forced into. it’s just an icky dynamic all around.

and lastly,,,i don’t think it’s even normal for a character to be latently terrifying everyone all the time??? unless it’s a specific quirk of theirs??? like women aren’t dementors bro chill tf out